The gods help none, so help yourself.

                        — Arkendian Proverb

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It was more than an hour before Harric brought Holly to a stall in the barn beside Rag. Since she'd gorged in the meadow, he left her only water and a handful of hay, before wearily plodding up the stairs and into the tower.

The base of the tower formed a single spacious circular room with stalls for animals and barrels below and heavy timber beams above, with a central pillar of stone that Harric deduced encased the base of the thunder-rod.  Stairs curved up the circumference to the right. He climbed toward the sounds of conversation above, and wondered how Abellia managed such stairs when he could barely lift his feet to make it.

He emerged onto a landing with a single doorway through which came smells and sounds of pleasant cooking and conversation, and stepped through into a high-timbered hall with windows as big as doors. The wood floor was entirely carpeted in lush Iberg rugs, and two high-backed stuffed chairs faced each other before the hearth. The window shutters were flung wide to admit the western breeze and the last evening light. Brolli, Willard and Caris lounged with their host in a cozy alcove before the western window, watching an orange sunset over the ridges, upon pillowed benches. They'd washed and combed and each enjoyed a pint of something frothy that Harric imagined must be coolly refreshing.

He felt instantly sweaty, and dirty, and mightily abused.

No one noticed him standing in the doorway. Abellia seemed to be in the middle of a story of Caris's first visit to the tower.

"It gave a horrid wet storming in the sky that day, so she must stay. Mio doso! She looking like the poor wet cat!" The old woman cackled, and beamed at Caris. Caris put on a smile, but Harric could see she was distracted, worried or upset, probably with him for being so late.

When he shut the door behind him, Caris's eyes snapped to him. He fully expected her to scowl, but found instead all the signs of urgent worry in her face. Not surprisingly, though she seemed anxious to speak to him, she had no words to gracefully excuse herself from the table.

Willard noted the intensity of her gaze, and followed it to Harric. "Boy! By Bannus' stinking socks where have you been? Get cleaned up. I can smell you from here." He pointed to a door on opposite side of the hearth and said, "Bathing room."

 The old knight's armor had been removed and replaced with a worn brown doublet and hose. He'd girded the doublet with a clean bandage, over which his considerable guts hung obscenely. It embarrassed Harric to see him out of armor. He felt like he'd walked in on the old man naked — arms and chest strong as firecone roots, but the belly grotesque, and the old legs spindly and weak, like a hermit crab plucked from its shell. More bandages wrapped his ribs beneath both arms, and another embraced his left wrist, but all were clean, without seepage.

"Good to see you in repair, Sir," Harric said, but in truth the medical attentions appeared to have taken their toll; the old knight's face seemed sunken, and the already pale cheeks had lost all trace of color.  The sight made Harric ashamed of his self-pity.

"Molly swallowed Idgit, sir," Harric replied, with his best manservant imitation. "I had a bit of a time making her cough her back up, and when she finally did, I had an even worse time calming Idgit."

The table laughed, and the joke had the desired effect of diverting attention from Caris's obvious need to speak with him in private. She is useless keeping secrets, Harric noted, amused. An open book for all to read. Even Willard.

He started for the bathing room, but stopped when he noticed a shadow shifting by the side of the hearth. A figure moved there. A child? Whatever it was stood no taller than half the height of a man. It stepped from the shadows and walked with a jerky sort of stride to Willard's discarded armor, where it swept needles and twigs from the blackened steel into a little dust bin. Not a child. Not even human, Harric realized. From a distance it looked like a walking hat rack.

Conversation stopped at the table as Caris rose and crossed to it. She stooped to embrace the strange figure in an awkward hug, and said, "Mudruffle, I'm glad you could join us!" Mudruffle returned the embrace with two long arms, and Harric began to see that the creature was roughly man-shaped, but made of staves and dark clay.

"Mudruffle, this is Harric, Sir Willard's manservant." Her tone was practiced and formal, and she was obviously standing in such a way that her mentor could get a view of the creature from a distance. "Harric, this is Mudruffle, Abellia's companion."

Harric watched in fascination as the creature jerked around to look at him, and then lurched toward him like a very ill-handled marionette. Mudruffle's arms and legs were too long for the truncated body, and crudely formed, with knob-jointed quality. His clothing appeared to be etched into the clay that composed his limbs, with little flourishes like cuffs and collars and coattails extruding. He currently wore a suit in the fashion of an Arkendian steward's livery, complete with waistcoat, ruffled shirt, and a jacket with tails too short for his spidery legs.

Willard stood, unsteadily, belly jarring the table and sloshing the drinks. He stared, chewing at his mustache before he whispered to Brolli. "What the Black Moon is wrong with his head?"

"Wrong?" said Brolli. "I see no wrong."

But Harric had wondered the same thing. The problem seemed to be that Mudruffle had no head. Or what served as a head was in fact a hat — a squat, short-brimmed butler's hat, resting directly on the shoulders. If there were a head inside, it would have to be a very small one, and it could have no neck to speak of. Harric decided that since the hat was made of the same material as the rest of the creature, the hat effectively was the head, but that the face on the head had been scrunched down low beneath the brim amidst the collars as if in an effort at hiding it. Since the creature kept its posture deferentially bowed, he could see only the top of the hat and part of the collars.

"Master Mudruffle, my greeting," said Harric.

"I'm honored, young master," the hat honked. Mudruffle bowed, a spidery hand laid to his lapels. "You are welcome here."

Caris pinched Harric's arm. He'd been staring.

"Ah! The — honor's mine," Harric said, feigning a cough. "Caris speaks very fondly of you, Mudruffle." He bowed then, rather lower than he needed, and stole a glance upward at the steward's face. He saw a small, serious mouth, like a slot, and two button-like eyes of what might be polished stone. Then the hat dipped to hide it.

"My appearance must be strange to you," said Mudruffle, honking through the tiny mouth. "I hope it causes no alarm."

"No! Ha—of course not. It's just that I haven't seen anyone like you before."

The creature bowed again, then stalked back to the hearth, and disappeared through an opening beside it, which Harric guessed must be a door to the kitchen or pantry.

Sir Willard stared after him, then sat and downed his remaining drink. Abellia watched closely; Caris too, biting her lip. It had been a staged introduction, Harric realized. Caris rightly guessed that Harric would be less upset by the creature than Willard, so she'd staged a meeting where the old knight could watch Mudruffle without having to interact himself.

Fortunately, Willard appeared to be taking it like soldier — by pouring another pint.

Mistress Abellia beckoned Harric to the table, where he stood feeling particularly smelly, for there was only room for four and if he squeezed in before his bath it would be uncomfortable for all present. She poured him a jar of something she called "honey wine," which proved fizzy and sweet but strong as any ale. Refilling Brolli's jar, she chirped about Caris's first terrified view of Mudruffle—more staged information—and Willard managed a gruff interest. Then Mudruffle appeared behind her, and made a little sound like the clearing of his throat. Abellia performed a very poor impression of surprise.

"Oh! Here he is!" she said, as if it was the first anyone at the table had seen him. The theatrics were not lost upon Brolli, who watched the whole show with evident amusement, but Willard seemed oblivious. "Sir Willard, ambassador Brolli, you must be meeting my tryst servant. This is Mudruffle. I think he is having something to show."

Mudruffle cradled a large, rolled parchment in his arms, large enough to cover most of the table. He lurched up to the end of the table across which Abellia and Willard faced each other, and bowed, then laid the roll on the table. Harric noted his knees didn't really bend, which accounted for his jerking strides.

"My mistress tells me you are in need of a forest route northward," honked Mudruffle. He spread the parchment with flat spider hands. Black lines and colored drawings covered the parchment in complex profusion, accompanied by minute scrawls in Iberg. A map. The blue snaking bar along the top had to be the Arkend Rriver. Once Harric identified that, he could make out the hatch-marks signifying Gallows Ferry, and by extrapolation, the fire-cone tower, and some of the other landmarks they had passed. Indeed, it was a map of the region as far north as the Giant's Gorge, and in tremendous detail.

"I make a hobby of maintaining this map, and find the practice very stimulating," Mudruffle honked. "You will recognize the river and the main road." He indicated the blue and black lines. "To this I've added settlements, and signs of yoab I encounter in my expeditions. I have also developed a system of paths and trails for my own use, leading northward; I cannot use the main road, for there is a high probability I would be seen, and a high probability that my appearance would cause alarm among the natives. Since it seems you also have need of avoiding being seen, I thought my system might be of use to you."

Willard stared, hypnotized by the toneless falsetto.

Caris cleared her throat, nodding encouragement to Willard.

"Ah. Your routes would be of use, ah...Mud...fellow," Willard said. "A great help."

Mudruffle nodded. "As you can see, it is indecipherable to anyone but me, as I never imagined its utility to anyone else. However, I cheerfully offer my service with the map. It would be very stimulating for me to accompany you as far as the Giant's Gorge."

The knight blinked. "It — would?"

"Indeed, it would give me great pleasure to be of use."

Harric felt a pang of pity for the bizarre creature. So bored he maps game trails for a hobby. Looking around the overly tidy tower he imagined there wasn't much to do with only the old lady as companion. It would also explain the swept dirt around the tower. But there was clearly more to the eagerness than that; this was as close as any Iberg had ever been to a Kwendi, and both Mudruffle and Abellia appeared determined to milk the opportunity for every drop of advantage they could get.

"I am an excellent woodsman," Mudruffle was saying. "You may not think so by the festive attire I have donned for this occasion, but I assure you I am as well fitted for an outdoor expedition. Perhaps you would like to view my outdoor gear."

Before Willard could object, Mudruffle's surface altered.

They watched in varying degrees of fascination or horror as his well-tailored ensemble became a dashing jerkin and hose with a broad belt and a buckle the size of a horse shoe. His squat bowler became a spirited tricorn with pointed brim and feather, and his little steward slippers a pair of high woodsman's boots with tops turned down above where the knees would normally be.

Willard seemed stricken between hilarity and alarm.

Harric pressed his lips together tightly.

"As you can see," honked Mudruffle. "I am amply suited for the task."

Abellia beamed. "Oh, Mudruffle is always able for making other clothes. I make this suiting a long time past. Mio doso! Here is the Iberg forest hat!"

Willard stammered something about this being, "Arkendian forest — more dangerous—"

Brolli interrupted. "I am to believe our generous friend is the excellent guide. We can't take risk of the main road, and we can't risk time lost finding passes on our own. We accept your offer, and are to be grateful."

Willard's mouth worked mutely. He closed it. He lifted his jar and gulped his drink.

Brolli clearly enjoyed the knight's discomfiture.

"Sir, I am a proficient woodsman."

"And he never needs sleeping," added Abellia, "making best for night watchman."

"Excellent!" said Brolli. "I will have a nighttime companion. In fact, as Willard and I discussed, I must to return to the guardhouse in the pass below your valley, to watch for pursuit. I wish to watch the bridge for at least three nights, and would to enjoy a companion who can watch in the day."

Mudruffle stiffened, as if coming to attention. "I would find that very stimulating."

"Then it's decided."

Abellia's eyes shone with some of that hunger he'd seen when first she saw the Kwendi. "I am too old for explorings. And I will have my Caris near me some days, and that is all I am wanting. It will be good for Mudruffle!"

And good for her too, Harric mused. She wants Mudruffle to have a chance to pump Brolli about Kwendi magic as much as I want to pump her about witch-stones.

Willard raised his glass to Mudruffle, apparently making the best of being cornered. "Very well, Mudwallow. You accompany Brolli to watch the pass for a few days, and when we leave, you and your map come with us. We only plan to stay a week here, at most, mind. That ought to be time enough to prepare, heh? Of course my manservant and apprentice are at your disposal during that time."

Willard toasted his jar to the man at his right, who was Harric, and Harric raised his to Mudruffle, and so on around the table, in the manner of an Arkendian toast. Caris caught Harric's eye across the table, once again full of mysterious urgency. He gave a small nod in acknowledgement, which seemed to relieve her.

"To Abellia," Willard said. "And to an excellent Iberg brew!"

"GODS LEAVE THEM!"

"And to Mudruffle," said Brolli, "for a map through the mountains!"

"GODS LEAVE HIM!"

"And to Caris for bring us together!" said Abellia.

"GODS LEAVE HER!" 

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