Chapter Seventy-Five: Odd Bunch

Down in the Tolmish Quarter, businesses that on an ordinary evening might’ve gone dark and shuttered instead hung high their lanterns and shouted enticements. Underfoot went children in brightly-colored masks. One interloper pinched Osmund’s leg and ran, giggling.

This tradition was new cloth stretched over old bones. It was a bit like every festival he remembered rolled up into one: an excuse for the little ones to be wayward and naughty, and for their elders to let loose and get merry. A merriment well-wetted, for the Tolmish Merchants’ Guild had once again contrived a way to break their stalemate with the dock authorities.

Osmund arrived at the boardinghouse just as the front door burst open, and out emerged a plucky youth with red-gold hair, wearing a mask in the shape of a tiger. Seeing Osmund, her delight was obvious. “You decided to show!” Ken squealed.

The others appeared behind her, faces hidden, though he knew them on sight. “I wouldn’t have missed it,” Osmund breathed, winded from the walk.

The big figure of Rylan approached and extended something out in offering. “That’s yours.”

Osmund took it wonderingly, even as he felt Ro at his back, tying on his cloak for him. “So it is a bird,” he said of the mask, but he couldn’t be displeased, not at all. It was a beautiful invention, bright red and orange, nothing like the cold, suffocating blue of the royal house and its falcon, and certainly not a pheasant, either.

“It’s a phoenix,” said Ken brightly.

“A phoenix!” Osmund laughed. He half-remembered the little tale told at the coffeehouse—this had to be a nod to their first meeting. “It’s wonderful! Oh, the feathers! But you must have spent so long on this.”

Rylan didn’t say anything. Osmund looked up at him, and recognized for the first time the mask the other was wearing. The sight made him nearly laugh again—expecting an animal a bit more, well, imposing—but then it made sense. “A beaver,” he mused. “I get it! They’re hard-working and leave a big impact on their environment, plus I’ve always heard they have strong family ties. It’s an underappreciated animal!”

From beneath a carved stoat came Ansley’s unmistakeable guffaw. “It’s because he carves wood, Hal!”

“O-oh. Well, that too, I suppose.”

Ken pushed him along then, with an impatient “Let’s go, let’s go!”, and they started to walk. In windows all along the street, glowing tallow candles made dangling streamers flash with color. Carolers regaled them at corners. Children and adolescents held out their hands for gifts and ran by with shiny fruits clutched to their chests like treasures. Throughout it all, curious Meskato loitered about, their expressions ranging from cautious disdain to befuddled amusement to spirited cheer. For a time Osmund forgot about Mylo and the ships and the manticore and even Pravin, forgot everything except his present company. Well, almost everything.

He caught himself watching a group of friends passing around a shared story, each adding their own recollection to the telling of it. A man hung on his lover’s arm, head tilted back with mirth.

“What’s eating you, Hal?”

Sigebert, carrying his squirming young daughter on his shoulders. Osmund managed to tear his eyes away from the scene. “I was just thinking about…someone. And wishing they were here.”

The man exchanged a look with his wife. “I’m glad you came tonight,” said Sigebert confidentially to Osmund as Ro rejoined the others and signaled them to keep walking. “I heard about what happened with Lord Arren in the storehouse. It’d have broken Ken’s heart if you weren’t here. Ken and Rylan. They like you. And they don’t warm to folks easily.”

Osmund heard a shout, and snuck a glance at the rest of their party. They’d been set upon by masked “vagabonds” pretending to steal Ken away, now obligingly crumpling to blows by imaginary weapons and perishing in a most entertaining fashion. “I think we’ve got to stick together, is the heart of it,” Sigebert said over little Alice’s babbles. He laid his hand on Osmund’s shoulder the way the Tolmish prince had seen knights do with their young squires. “It’s great you’ve bonded so much with the locals, but don’t forget where you came from. It’s important to have people you can fall back on when things don’t…turn out, the way you hoped.”

Just what was he trying to say? Osmund smiled uncertainly. “Thank you for the advice.”

“Even if work takes us separate ways, I hope you’ll come back ’round once in a while,” Sigebert continued, apparently not through to his point. “You’ve seen we’re an odd bunch. To tell you the truth, Hal, we were all in a bad way when we landed here. None of the local language, barely a penny to our name, me and Ro with the baby. It was only by finding each other that we made to survive. We first met you, I even felt ashamed.”

“Ashamed? But why?”

“Because you did it,” Sigebert said simply. “Hell, we thought you a Meskato at first, wearing their clothes, speaking their tongue. And here we were, big and pink and obvious, like new rats. Even your Tolmish is prettier.”

Osmund just stared, completely taken aback by this admission. Sigebert rubbed his neck and went on.

“But more time we spent with you, forgive me this, more I saw how much you needed us. And this.” He indicated their surroundings with a gesture. (Little Alice spied a passerby with a particularly gaudy mask and loosed an exultant shriek.) “Just…remember that it’s here. That we’re here. All of us. And we’re, um, good people. Humble stock, no ‘important family’, but, well, we’re not going anywhere.”

The earnestness of the pitch was astounding, as if the man were trying to sell him on a dependable grade horse. Sigebert shot one last surreptitious look to where Ken seemed to be pestering Rylan to buy her a meat pie. Osmund knew then his angle, and couldn’t blame him for his loyalty to his friend. “I’ve become very fond of you all,” he said honestly. The thought that this might be his last night together with the group tore at his conscience. “I do believe you’re right. I have needed this, for a while, a long time in fact. And, um, if you happen to talk to Rylan about it…” He took a deep breath. “I hope you’ll tell him that I’m…I’m perfectly flattered, but…”

Sigebert gave him one final pat. “You don’t have to go off making any decisions right now,” he said placatingly. “We know you’re a loyal sort.”

“He’s very kind and handsome,” Osmund babbled. “There have to be plenty of other men in Şebyan who would jump at the chance.”

The other just smiled at him. “Yeah,” he said, when Alice tugged at his ear. “Right, said my piece. Let’s join the rest.”

The rest of the evening…well. To write it all down (in a journal, or perhaps a letter) would have been to flatten these emotions which were suddenly loose and wild the first time. It was the first time since leaving the Isles that he had ever felt anything like pride at being Tolmish. These joyous, covorting, lively people—somehow, they were his own.

By the time they arrived back at the boardinghouse, little Alice was sleeping deeply in her father’s arms. Ansley had found a giggling female companion wearing a rabbit’s face. “Get to bed,” said Rylan to Ken. He stood next to Osmund. “We’ve got business.”

“Ohhh, business,” Ansley drawled, pulling out the word in a way his (equally inebriated) ladyfriend found to be the height of wit. “How interesting…”

Ken was less amused. “That Mylo can fend for himself,” she said resentfully. “We don’t need his money. Don’t go.”

Behind her, Ro rubbed the girl’s shoulders. “Your brother knows what he’s doing, I’m sure,” she soothed her, though it was plain the words were only for Ken’s benefit, and the girl herself wasn’t to be deceived.

“Last time,” said Rylan. “Promise.” This seemed to comfort his sister a little. She gave a reluctant nod, and headed inside.

Sigebert frowned at them both. “You’re going too, Hal? Rylan, are you sure…”

“Thank you for tonight,” Osmund said quickly, struggling to keep pace while Rylan made an abrupt exit. “I had a lovely time!”

Osmund had learned the streets in this quarter well, both in their morning and evening colors, but the processions of merrymakers and the accommodations for the festival changed things. He tried to orient himself first by sight, then by smell. He knew exactly when they were downwind of the tannery, and was nearly glad when they weaved off the main road again, though it meant he worked twice as hard to learn their location.

The house—for he knew which was their destination at a single glance—was not especially grand, nor well-lit, nor had it shut itself off to the carousing of neighbors, but there were masked men posted by the entrances like those stone sentinels outside a church, ready to ward off evil. The uncertainty in his bowels coiled tighter.

He gave a sweep of the crowd for Emre and Sakina and saw no sign. But that was good. Wasn’t it? It meant they were well-hidden.

Or…had they lost sight of him?

It was too late for doubts. “Already started,” barked one of the men, and ushered them inside. Rylan stepped forward, and Osmund followed.