Myth-Gotten Gains

"Aahz!" Tananda said, pointedly. She dropped an arm around the brat's shoulders. "We're scribes from the Margrave's castle. We're here to get an important story about a boy who took part in a race."

"I ran a race," the boy said, eagerly. "I won the race in front of our whole school!"

"Not you," Tananda said. "It's another boy who ran that we're interested in."

"But I won!"

"That's not as interesting to the Margrave as the boy who tried hard, but didn't succeed," Tananda said. It sounded lame even to me.

I took charge of the conversation. "Bug off, kid. You don't want to get involved in Margrave's business, do you?"

The kid's face screwed up, making him uglier than ever. He kicked my shin. "I'll tell my dad on you! He's the mayor! He'll make you interview me!" I made to grab him, but he ran away. I added him to the list of people I was going to 'chat with' when I got my powers back. He needed to learn some manners, one way or another.

"Are you sure this is the best way?" Calypsa asked, with dismay. "The open approach, in the middle of the day? Why could we not make a secret visit, perhaps in the night?"

"Right turn, no, left. Left!" Kelsa's voice echoed in the narrow alley. Tananda gave an apologetic smile to the crowd following us.

"It wouldn't be secret with our own personal foghorn letting off like that," I said. If the crowd was growing suspicious of the disembodied voice, the swiftly spreading rumor of the Margrave's involvement kept them from getting too curious about our strange behavior. I began to get nervous about the formidability of the local laird, and wished we'd done a little more investigation before we marched into town. Too late, I thought, squaring my shoulders. Just keep going.

"That's it!" Kelsa screeched happily as we arrived in front of a house. The garden gate was painted white, and young shoots of climbing flowers were just twining their way up the arch. The house beyond was pretty good sized. We were dealing with a merchant or better. I sized up the amount of gold I still had in my pocket, and wondered if I might have to slip the dad a bribe.

"My goodness, Lord Wordsmith," Tananda said, flourishing her hand at the door. "Is this not a fine place?"

"Could use a coat of paint or two."

"Well, I like it," Tananda said, pouting prettily for the crowd. I spotted some movement behind the curtains. The family must have been tipped off we were heading in this direction, because they came boiling out of the door like a horde of puppies that had heard the words, "Chow time!" The Klahds, two girls, a boy, a man and a woman, were dressed in their best clothes. All I could say was that in my experience only one person had had taste that bad, and he had been taught better. The woman beamed at me out from under a tall, conical green hat tied onto her head with a bright yellow scarf. Around her shoulders was a shawl of blue and red, over a brown dress and white apron. The man must have been at the same sale of clown-clothes. His parti-colored tunic of brown and green was topped with a purple hood. He looked uncomfortable, as if he was not responsible for the choices, yet had no option but to appear in what he was given. It was a good thing I wasn't there to write an article praising their garments, because it was going to be hard enough to keep a straight face.

"May I help you, sir and ladies?" the man asked.

"Good afternoon, sir," I said, heading straight for him with my hand out. "I am Lord Wordsmith. The Margrave has commanded me to record instances of great importance and record them for the kingdom archives. He has sent me here today because of an accomplishment in your own family. May I have all of your names. For the record, of course?"

The man looked nervous. "The Margrave is interested in us?"

"That's right," I said. "He was pretty impressed. He sent us to get an interview that will become part of the permanent record."

"Oh." He looked a little less nervous. "Was it my scholarly takeover of the gristmill in Fleben?"

"Why, no, though that was a masterful stroke," I said, though I had no idea what he was talking about. He preened.

"Maybe the embroidery exhibition that my wife and her sisters put on at the village hall? The Margrave must

have heard that she made over thirty-five different kinds of antimacassar!"

"No! I mean, no." I softened my tone as they backed up a pace in alarm. "We're here to talk to your son about the race he ran at school. We understand that he came in second."

I turned to the boy. He was a stocky lad of twelve or so summers, just the age when a young man's heart turns to petty vandalism and wondering why the girl next door seemed to be growing into such a different shape than his. "How about it, son? Why don't we go inside and talk about it a little?"

"Oh, yeah!" the boy crowed. "That'd be terrific!"

"Well," the woman said. "I hope you'll excuse the house. I didn't know you were coming here today, you see. The place is a mess!"