25
UNPLEASANT SURPRISES
“I’m surprised it took you so long to get here,” Bardon told Regidor.
Gilda placed a hand on her hip and protested, “We haven’t been wasting our time.”
Regidor drew her close with an arm snuggled around her waist. “That isn’t what he meant, sweet woman. And if you take note, he looks as harried as a rabbit with no hole to hide in.”
Bardon’s head jerked, and he grimaced at his old friend. “I do not.”
“You do,” said Regidor.
Gilda smiled and dipped her elegant hat with a nod of her head. “I agree. He does.” She wrinkled her long nose. “And I’m afraid the news we bring you will not brighten your day.”
“Great!” Bardon motioned them toward one of the tents set up on the hillside. “Come with me, and I’ll see if I can commandeer some refreshments. We’ve been organizing a network of supplies to get salt to strategic places along the coast.”
They passed a marione youth wearing huge boots and a too-tight jacket.
“Lad,” said Bardon, “see if you can hijack the cook and bring him to my tent with food and tea for our friends.”
“Yes sir.” The boy saluted with more precision than the soldiers who had arrived from Paladin’s forces.
Bardon led Regidor and Gilda into the headquarters he shared with Sir Dar.
“How long have you been here?” asked Regidor.
“A week.”
“You’ve established quite an outpost in such a short time.”
“As everyone keeps reminding me, we have no time to spare. Stox and Cropper are up to something we haven’t been able to discover. And who knows when Pretender will pop up to add confusion and chaos.”
“Are our countrymen finally seeing the malevolence that surrounds them?”
“To some extent. Dar’s away being a diplomat, trying to make people realize that all this hardship is the result of the devious plans of Burner Stox and Crim Cropper.” He motioned for his company to sit. “Lady Lyll is off saving children.”
“Saving children?” asked Gilda as she arranged her beautiful gown around her and sat on a camp stool.
“In one of the seaside towns, she found a workhouse where children labored from dawn to dusk and dined on weak soup.”
“Again,” said Regidor, “a sign of our society’s degenerate state.”
Gilda patted his arm. “Not our society, Regidor. Their society.”
Bardon raised an eyebrow at her, and she fluttered a fan in front of her face.
“I’m sure,” she said, “when we find the hidden meech colony, we will find a much more civilized social order.”
In response to Bardon’s inquiring look, Regidor shrugged his shoulders. The meech dragon’s voice entered his head. “Gilda’s philosophy of life is sometimes tainted by her early association with Risto. We’re working on these lapses. But prejudice instilled at an early age is hard to extract.”
Regidor smiled his toothy grin at his bride and winked. “Yes, my wife longs for more of a higher culture. Since Gilda has been released from her bottle, she no longer allows me to go to rowdy dens of iniquity.”
“You never!” exclaimed his wife.
Regidor grinned with the sardonic twist that always made Kale double over in laughter. Bardon wished Kale were here now. She could help him sort out this mix of signals he got from Regidor and Gilda. His wife assured him that Regidor only enjoyed looking worldly-wise, but in actuality, the meech preferred a tamer lifestyle than he pretended.
Bardon shook his head as he thought. Kale knew Regidor better than anyone, and with the bond that had formed even before the dragon hatched, she certainly should be able to discern his core code of ethics. Gilda, on the other hand, could be either as shallow as she seemed or a river running deep. Only time would tell.
“Tell him what we saw,” demanded Gilda. “Explain why we took longer to get here than he expected.”
Regidor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his interlocked fingers. “We saw a migration of sorts.”
Gilda rolled her eyes. “We saw bands of grawligs all headed toward a central spot. Of course, we investigated.”
Regidor steepled his forefingers and tapped them against his lips. “They looked very much like herds of wild deer gathering at a winter pasture.”
“But, of course,” interrupted Gilda, “grawligs are not herding animals.”
Bardon shifted uncomfortably on his stool. “They aren’t animals at all.”
“Technically,” said Gilda. “But I see little reason to belabor the point.”
Regidor cleared his throat and sent Bardon a warning glance. “Gilda, customarily the people of Amara give the low races the benefit of the doubt until facts prove otherwise. With quiss, blimmets, and schoergs, the evidence indicates they are nonrational beings with no sense of right and wrong. Bisonbecks, grawligs, and mordakleeps have shown themselves to have intelligence and the ability to choose to obey orders.”
“They also,” said Gilda, “show a propensity to choose to do evil.”
Regidor sat up straight and stretched. “That’s true.”
“And ropmas?” Bardon asked, knowing that studying the different races fascinated his meech friend.
Regidor smiled and stood up. His head almost brushed the tent’s roof. “Ropmas are like big speaking dogs. They can be intensely loyal, but they can’t reason out whether their actions will hinder or help in the long run. They are guided easily and have an unpredictable stubborn streak.”
He crossed to the tent flap and held it open as the cook and two boys came in with trays of delicacies.
Regidor sniffed, smiled, and turned a knowing eye on Bardon. “Oh my, you are roughing it, aren’t you? Is that pâté sot grunmere I smell?”
“If you mean that ground-up meat that Leemiz spreads on bits of bread, yes.”
“I’m starved,” said Gilda. She pulled off her gloves and motioned for the servants to place the teapot near her. “I’ll pour.”
“Thank you, Leemiz,” said Bardon. “Thank you, boys.”
Gilda did not acknowledge their departure, but Regidor tapped each lad on top of his head and gave them the coins he “found” there.
“Wheezers! Thank you, sir,” said the older boy.
Regidor reached in his pocket and tipped the cook with a larger coin. He smiled, bowed, and followed his young workers through the tent flap.
Gilda offered a cup of tea to Bardon. “This is refreshing. We’ve eaten in poor country inns since we started our journey to join you.” She took a bite of a daggart. “Mmm. Delicious!”
“I agree,” said Lady Lyll from the entrance to the tent, “but I, for one, want to sit in a real chair, at a real table.” She advanced into the small headquarters and gave Gilda a peck on the cheek and Regidor a warm hug.
Lady Lyll leaned back from the tall meech dragon and patted his leathery cheek. “In celebration of your arrival, I suggest we go into town and eat a real meal, complete with napkins and a tablecloth.” She smiled at Gilda. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, dear?”
“Yes, and if there is a decent inn, I prefer to sleep in town as well.” Regidor bowed to the women. “Consider it done, sweet ladies.”
Late that afternoon, Dar returned from his most recent sojourn among the people of Trese and agreed to a trip to the nearest settlement. The seaport of Grail had three taverns and four inns to choose from. Dar knew which one had the most elegant dining hall and delectable cuisine.
Bardon had to admit that even sitting in the crowded room didn’t dampen his enjoyment of the dinner. He leaned back, sipped his drink of mulled cider, and listened to the others talk of fashion, modish places to visit, bazaars, and excursion trips. He longed for Kale to be with him and could imagine her animated face as she asked questions and laughed at their sillier tales.
Always, though, their stories had a tinge of regret. The places that used to give so much enjoyment now seemed to have fallen under the tawdry influence of an immoral world. They could think of no place in Amara that had remained untouched.
Gilda discreetly pointed to a table in a dark corner across the room. “That’s typical of the degeneration we see everywhere. There’s an emerlindian girl keeping company with a bisonbeck. I admit he dresses better than most, and his table manners are more refined, but still…”
The others followed her gaze and watched as the lithe young woman leaned toward the bulky man and whispered something in his ear. Bardon sat up and exchanged an incredulous look with Dar.
Lady Lyll spoke up. “Don’t judge by appearances, Gilda. There may be more to that story than we can see on the surface.”
Bardon worked to bring his expression under control. I certainly hope Lady Lyll is right. I can’t imagine a legitimate reason for Leetu Bends to be flirting with a bisonbeck.