Fable: The Balverine Order (Fable), Page 6

  “I guess.”

  James sat down, perplexity on his face. Thomas turned in his chair and looked at his friend. “James—?”

  “That’s just . . . it changes things.”

  “Changes what things?”

  “Well . . . if I were attacked by a balverine, I’d feel badly about killing it.”

  “Why in the world—?”

  “Because they didn’t ask for it, Thomas. They didn’t ask to be made over into those . . . those things. You said it’s spread by the bite? So if I get bitten by one of them, and I’m changed into a balverine, people will hate and fear me. For all we know, the people that they were . . . they’re still in there somewhere, trapped in their brains. Inside every balverine there could be a person trying to get out.”

  “Perhaps several people if they feasted.”

  “Thomas!”

  Thomas slammed the book shut, causing dust to fly from it, and he was on his feet, facing James. “I don’t give a damn, James. So they didn’t ask to be that way. So what? Neither did nymphs or scorpions or hollow men or whatever else is out there that crawls or swims or flies. They are what they are, and any of them would just as soon kill me, so I sure as hell better not hesitate because otherwise they’ll manage to do it. If you’ve got a problem with that, tell me now, because if you do, then maybe you should think about going back home.”

  The air seemed to chill between the two of them. Thomas looked away first, dropping back down into his chair and turning his back pointedly to James.

  James’s jaw tightened. “Fine,” he said between clenched teeth, turned on his heel, and strode away.

  And Thomas started to call after him, but then caught himself and went back to his reading.

  JAMES STRODE THROUGH THE LIBRARY, more agitated than he had ever been. Thomas had been the one constant in his life that was remotely worthwhile, but when his friend had lashed out at him that way, it was as if he didn’t even recognize him. “Maybe he was possessed,” he said to himself sarcastically. It certainly would have explained a good deal, but he knew that wasn’t the case. He felt as if he had seen a side of Thomas that he hadn’t known about before. What else, he wondered, was Thomas hiding?

  He turned the corner and discovered the Librarian seated at a table, studying a book. The Librarian looked up at him and took immediate note of his agitation. “Problem, young sir?”

  “No problem. No problem at all.”

  It was clear from the Librarian’s look that he didn’t believe that for a moment. “Tell me, young sir: Why are you here?”

  “To learn about things. You know that.”

  “Yes, but why? Young people nowadays”—and he made an expression of disgust—“have no interest simply in knowledge for its own sake. The deterioration of the human spirit is a truly tragic thing to witness for any who have a sense of history. That is all that Heroes are these days, I fear. History. Here”—and he tapped the book in front of him—“look at this.”

  James hesitated. Something warned him against doing as the Librarian bade, but then he mentally scolded himself for such unseemly cravenness. It was an old man who just wanted to show him something in a book. Are you determined to go through life jumping at shadows?

  He leaned in and looked where the Librarian was indicating.

  “Your friend reads of balverines, who live to the east, when they lived at all,” said the Librarian. “Of far more interest than monsters of the east are the Heroes of the east. Three formidable ones of true legend. Rather than obsessing about the worst that humanity has to offer, why not dwell upon the best?”

  “How formidable were they?” said James, interested in spite of himself.

  “I said the best, and I did not overstate. Balverines trembled in their presence, and hollow men bent to their will. Or so the legends claim,” he added with a shrug. “It is hard to say of a certainty because, well, people talk, and they can exaggerate. That is the nature of legends, after all.”

  James was studying the texts. The Librarian was certainly right; page after page of text discussed their amazing accomplishments. In times of great crisis, people turned to these three Heroes to have their problems solved and their needs attended to, and apparently these Heroes never once let them down. Evidently, with their combined skills, they were capable of just about anything.

  “It says here that nothing had ever defeated them,” said James. “Apparently they died peacefully, in their sleep. Hunh. Doesn’t seem like much of a death for Heroes. Heroes should die in battle with their teeth sunk into the throats of their opponents.”

  “And you would know this from personal experience?”

  “Hardly,” James admitted. “I suppose it’s easy for someone who isn’t a Hero to decide how others should lead their lives, or end them.” He read further. “It says here they were each buried with some sort of weapon. Supposedly those weapons have great power—”

  “And is that what your conspiracy is interested in?”

  “What?” James, who had been bent over the texts, started to stand upright. “What are you talking ab—?”

  Suddenly, the Librarian’s hand was on the back of his head and slammed his skull down into the book, causing it to strike with such force that James thought the world was spinning around him. “Tell me!” snarled the Librarian in his ear, his voice no longer elderly. Instead, each word was crisp, the voice deep and resonant. “Do not think for a moment that you can fool me!”

  “I . . . I don’t understand! Fool you—?”

  “Heading east, searching for balverines? What is your true mission?”

  “That’s it! That’s all! I swear!” James tried to struggle against the old man’s grip but didn’t begin to make even the slightest progress against it.

  “You’re not searching for the power of the Heroes to use for your own selfish ends?”

  “Are you insane? I never even heard of them before you brought it up!”

  “And your friend?”

  “I think maybe he heard of them. But even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. He’s looking for—”

  “Balverines, yes. So you say. And why, pray tell?”

  “Because his brother was killed by one and he wants . . . I don’t know! Peace, I guess.”

  No reply came. It seemed as if the man was considering his words. Then the hand withdrew. James gasped, sucking air in deeply, because the man had been pushing hard against James’s throat, and he’d been having trouble breathing. He took a moment to gather himself and then stood and turned to face the man who had been abusing him so.

  There was no sign of him.

  He stood there, gasping, looking around, and was about to go in pursuit of his assailant before he realized that that probably wasn’t the best idea. But why in the world would some librarian be attacking him? Asking him about conspiracies and such? It made no sense.

  “Excuse me,” said an elderly voice from near him, and even though it was soft-spoken, it caused him to jump. He grabbed for his sword and saw an elderly woman looking at him in confusion, her head cocked. She didn’t seem to notice that he had his hand on his hilt, or perhaps she was just so old that she didn’t give a damn if he cut her head off. “What are you doing here? Only scholars are supposed to be using this facility. You look like a vagabond.”

  “The . . . the Librarian said we could . . . that ...” His hand involuntarily went to the back of his head. “I ...”

  “What Librarian? There’s no one overseeing this facility save me. And you shouldn’t be here.”

  “But . . . the old man—”

  “You’re blathering. There are no old men here. Just a young man who’s making no sense. And I will thank you to leave now.”

  “I ...” James stopped himself. There was no point in arguing with this withered crone. How was he to convince her that some strange man was wandering the halls of the Library posing as someone who was supposed to be there? And even if he did accomplish that feat, what was to be gained from doing s
o? What was the crone going to do? Sound an alarm?

  Far better to just get out of there as quickly as possible.

  He moved through the towering shelves, his thoughts racing far more quickly than he was able to keep up with them, and suddenly a figure stepped from the shadows into his path. Once again, he started to go for his sword until a familiar voice said, “I’m sorry, James, did I startle you?”

  “No!No, not at all, Thomas,” said James, trying not to let any sound of trembling be evident in his voice. “I was just ... I—”

  Thomas put out a hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

  “Oh. Well . . . all right,” said James, and he shook Thomas’s hand firmly.

  “No, it’s not all right. You’re my only true friend in the world, James, and you deserve better treatment than that.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “You won’t be leaving?”

  “Of course not. If I did, who would you have that you could abuse?”

  “That’s very true.” Thomas said it with a straight face, but he wasn’t able to maintain it, and they both broke into laughter. He draped an arm around James’s shoulders. “Come. I’ll buy you as decent a meal as this rathole of a city can provide, and tomorrow we’ll get out of here.” He glanced around. “Have you seen that nice Librarian guy? We should really thank him for his help.”

  “We don’t need to thank him for anything, actually,” said James. “Come, I’ll tell you over a drink because drink always makes the incredible far more credible.”

  Chapter 5

  THE INN WAS REASONABLY BUSY THAT evening. Hardened travelers sat at the tables, chewing on what passed for meat in the place. There was one traveler who seemed to stand out among the others, though, as least as far as Thomas was concerned. He was seated toward the corner, his back firmly against the wall. He didn’t appear focused on any individual; instead, he seemed to be watching everyone there all at the same time. He resembled to Thomas nothing so much as a snake that was basking on a rock, prepared to strike at any time but otherwise perfectly content to be left alone. He appeared middle-aged, and he had a narrow, hawklike face with a high forehead and thin hair graying at the temples. His eyes were half-lidded, as if he were partly asleep, yet for some reason Thomas had no doubt that he was entirely awake. His hands were resting lightly on a tapered black walking stick. His clothes were of a higher caliber than others around him. For one thing, they were freshly laundered, and the black material was fine rather than coarse. Cotton or perhaps even silk although Thomas didn’t exactly have an expert’s eye for such things. A gray greatcoat was draped over the chair next to him. He looked as out of place there as the boys themselves, but Thomas wasn’t going to worry about him if he didn’t appear to be presenting any manner of threat.

  Thomas looked down at the plate piled with thin, barely cooked strips of meat, which was identical to the serving placed in front of James. As the serving wench turned away, wiping her hands on her apron, Thomas said, “Excuse me.” She turned back to face him with ill-concealed annoyance. “Just out of morbid curiosity, what sort of meat is this exactly?”

  “Snow cat,” she said. “Fresh killed. Eat it and like it.” Shaking her head in a way that made it clear that she didn’t gladly suffer fools—or anyone, really—she walked away from them, leaving them staring at the unappetizing repast.

  “Think it’s the same one that tried to kill us?” said James. “That would explain why the beast wasn’t where we left it on the stairs. Someone found it and—”

  “And brought it here. Makes as much sense as anything.”

  “We’re eating something that tried to eat us. Guess we had the last laugh.” There were no utensils on the table, so he simply picked up a slice and bit off a piece. More accurately, he pried it off with his teeth. Then he chewed slowly and with a great deal of effort before forcing himself to swallow.

  “Well?” Thomas prompted.

  “I stand corrected. The beast got the last laugh after all.”

  Suddenly, there was an explosion of noise from upstairs. It was a door slamming open and a big, burly northerner, all bristling beard and cold fury, stomped to the top of the landing and bellowed, “Which one of you bastards did it?”

  Such a challenging declaration was impossible to ignore. Immediately, the men in the main dining hall of the inn were on their feet, and if the northerner was outnumbered by five angry men to one, he didn’t seem especially concerned about it. “I’ll take all of you together! For all I know, you were all in on it!”

  “This isn’t our problem,” James said nervously.

  “I’ll go through every one of you and break you apart piece by piece until it’s returned, starting with you!” And he pointed at Thomas and James.

  “Now it’s our problem,” said Thomas. He stood and looked at the northerner in what he hoped was a placating manner. “Look, fella, uhm . . . I don’t know what’s going on, but I swear you—”

  “He lost a ring.” It was the hawklike man in the corner who had spoken up. His eyes were now fully opened, and they were glittering with amusement. “About yea large around,” he indicated with his thumb and forefinger, “and a glittering sapphire in the middle.”

  “Yes! Exactly!” raged the northerner. “And if you stole it, then I’ll—”

  “Save your threats. I have taken nothing of yours.”

  “Then how do you—?”

  “Because you were wearing it earlier this afternoon. Then you went upstairs to sleep off all the alcohol you consumed during the day, and when you chose to grace us with your presence just now, the ring was no longer on your finger. I assume that you removed it along with other trinkets—”

  “I did not!”

  “Then it must have slipped off your finger while you slumbered.”

  The northerner was coming down the stairs one shaking step at a time. Each thud sounded like a thunderclap. “If it had slipped off muh finger,” he rumbled, “then I’d have found it on the floor! Or under the bed! But it wasn’t there! I looked! I crawled around on the floor like a damned fool before realizing that one of you lot must have taken it!” He stepped from the bottom stair onto the floor with such force that pans hanging on the wall nearby shook violently. “All I found was this!” and he held up a small, half-eaten biscuit. “Somebody’s idea of a joke, obviously! I’ll show yuh who’s laughing last!”

  “Did you lock your door?” James spoke up.

  “Of course I did!”

  James continued, “So you’re saying that someone picked the lock on your door hoping that you would be sleeping in there—and would also sleep through them coming in there in the first place—on the off chance that they might be able to find something worth stealing, either right off your hand or maybe being lucky enough to find a valuable trinket lying around on the floor? Come on. Does that make any sense to you?”

  “Yes!” said the northerner, but he said it with a healthy measure of uncertainty. He hadn’t even managed to convince himself, much less them.

  “Okay . . . I’m glad it works for you,” James said, trying the best he could to keep any hint of sarcasm from his voice. The fact was that the northerner could still pick him up and break him in half if he were so inclined. “But you’ll understand if we find it a bit, uhm . . . dubious.”

  “The only thing I care about being found is muh ring,” said the northerner, who was obviously starting to get himself worked right up again. James took an involuntary step back, certain that this entire business was going to start spiraling out of control very quickly.

  He glanced toward Thomas, but Thomas seemed fixated with staring at the floor.

  “Well?” thundered the northerner, clearly ready to keep true to his promise of assaulting everyone there—beginning with Thomas—until his ring was returned. The other customers were now glancing nervously at each other. None of them was especially enthused about the notion of taking on such a behemoth of a man. Even
though they outnumbered him, somehow the odds still seemed tilted in his favor.

  That was when Thomas looked back to the behemoth, and said with a calm voice, “Let me take a look up in the room.”

  “So you can put it back and hope yer not caught?”

  “I don’t have it, but I have a thought as to who might. Come along with me if you feel like it. In fact, it’s better if you did, so you can see for yourself.” With that, and without bothering to see if the northerner was in fact going to follow him, Thomas started up the steps.

  The northerner looked puzzled. James had a feeling that the northerner was unaccustomed to people speaking to him in a reasonable manner, particularly when he was being belligerent. The bruiser shifted his gaze to James and looked comically quizzical, although James suspected that laughing at the man would be about the worst thing he could possibly do. Instead, James opted for the chivalrous course, bowed slightly, and indicated with a gesture that the northerner should precede him. The northerner did so, albeit with a skeptical grunt.

  James also noticed that the hawk-faced man was watching the proceedings with what seemed a keen interest. James wasn’t altogether sure that that man wasn’t the one responsible for the ring’s vanishing and was getting some twisted amusement over watching them run around in frustration.

  Thomas was waiting at the top of the stairs and, when the northerner was in sight, pointed, and said, “That’s your room?”

  “How would you know that,” said the northerner, his suspicions aroused, “if ye weren’t already in it? Eh?”

  “You knocked the door off its hinge when you barreled out of there yelling.”

  “Oh.” Slightly abashed, which James wouldn’t have thought possible, the northerner said, “Aye, I, uh . . . I did do that.”

  “That’s going on your bill!” the tavern wench shouted up from below. He answered back with an inarticulate growl, and she backed off and settled for glowering up the stairs at him.

  Thomas stopped at the doorway of the room, the northerner right behind him. The rest of the northerner’s supplies were stacked up to the right of the small bed, the mattress upon which looked as if it had been permanently bent courtesy of the man’s weight. James noted with worry that most of them appeared to be weapons shoved in a large duffel bag.