For a Song Pt. 04

Blake runs a tight, tight ship. I do not. The knock on the door was about half an hour ago and we are all just now filtering in for his very, very important briefing.

"Soddal was silent," he says with his grimace. I yawn. Gawain leans forward a bit. Gerardine nods and sniffles. Her eyes are red. I assume she's been crying.

"So," he continues, "We are prepared for a longer communion. Four hours this morning on the other side of the river and then four more back on this side."

"Was that where the bodies were found," I ask. The grimace tightens a bit.

"We don't know where the bodies were found," Gerardine hiccups, "But I feel only the weakest of threads on this side. I'm hoping that the other bank is more in tune. The shape of the current leads me to believe that."

I stifle the sigh building in my throat. Official business, I am working on official business. Eliza was too busy to go full hand holding outside of her bedroom. This is how official business is done.

"Do we at least know who drowned," I ask.

"No," says Blake, "Gerardine and I have discussed this. The current is accepting of all. It does not matter who is taken, just that they were."

"That's not going to win us any points with the town," Gawain says.

"That doesn't matter. We just need to find out what is in the water and report back."

"Like not even get rid of it," I say, "Just say it's this thing good luck."

"That's all they asked. The Weavers will dispatch another team when we report back."

I am stifling down every bit of protest I have in me. Eliza had an excuse for bureaucracy. She ran an army. A whole army. Lots of moving parts, lots of paperwork and reports and things that just have to go right because it's a fucking army. We are four people. We have a place to sleep and food. That's about all the back work we need. Gawain's leg is shaking and not because of me. I tap his foot with mine and no one remarks on it. Not even Gawain. His leg is still shaking in impatience.

"Do we have a way over the river at least," I ask. Blake doesn't like that. Tight ship, insubordination, heavily implied contempt, and a hard ass don't mix in a good way.

"Your contract hasn't been finalized, Dumile," he says, "But I still expect you to fall in line."

"I will. I just want to know what the line is."

"Yes, we have a way over the river. The town has a set of pulley rafts to cross over. They've been shut down under advisement of the Weavers, but they are still operational."

"Did we ask the town if we can use them?"

"They'll allow it. We don't have time for questions, since you decided to dilly dally. You have five minutes to finish getting ready. Gawain, same for you."

His leg finally stops shaking as he finally gets a task. It's a simple one and it's mostly done, but it's still something.

We don't get a sharp 'dismissed.' A terse nod is all he gives and that's enough. Gerardine sobs and stands to see to her own final preparations. I don't think it's her shoes. She doesn't wear those, but it might be a veil or a hat or something. I don't know. I tap Gawain's foot again as I stand. I need to see to my own hat. It's very important. He comes with me.

The tavern is still quiet in the early morning. Everyone industrious is out and about as much as they can be. Everyone lazy is still asleep. Gawain's stompy steps are the loudest thing we have, and the tavern keeper is still mad about how much noise the small man can make. I am rather appreciative of that fact, so I think we will remain at an impasse.

"You want to talk about any of that," I ask as we get back into our room. He immediately starts rummaging around to find his cloak of heavy wool.

"No," he says, "No, they're just like that. Just be glad you didn't have to share a boat ride with them. Could not get a straight answer out of how long we'd be on the river. 'The current will take us there when it is ready.' Ok. Fine. Are we going to run out of food? 'The current will provide.' You're not wrong, but only because I had to stand on deck in the rain with a fishing pole, pulling catfish out of the muck all day."

"I could go for some catfish right now. Do you think there's a place here that serves it?" I ask.

"I hope not. I don't want to look at fish for a year after the ride down. Have you seen my cloak? I need it."

"I mean, you look good in it, but I don't think it's a necessity."

"Are you me? No? Then help."

"Check under the bed."

He disappears and I get to watch his hips sway and bounce. I have some ideas for that. He gets a slap and I get a fun little squeak. The bed gets a heavy thump and Gawain starts swearing. It still doesn't work with his voice.

"I appreciate that," he grunts, "but don't do that again. At least I found the fucking thing. Ow. There's going to be a lump there."

"Sorry. But you'll have your hood. It'll be fine."

"Yeah, sure. Son of a bitch, these are sturdy beds."

"Eh, I've seen tougher. I bet I could break it given a full night."

"Is that so? Huh. I guess you'll just have to prove it."

"Big words, little man. But I guess that's a problem for tonight. We have business to take care of."

"Unfortunately. Come on, let's go and get this over with."

I don't understand the urge to hurry up and wait, but the ass I am currently interested is walking out the door. It's a bit hard to see under the heavy cloak, but if I have any hope of getting a hint of it, I need to follow it. Kind of how I live my life, really. Chasing tail from here to there. Not the worst way to live. It works for me at least.

---

I stifle a yawn and that sets off Gawain. Blake's not looking and Gerardine is lost to her own all-consuming sorrow. Good for her. I wish I could feel but a fraction of that sadness, as it would only serve to broaden my horizons and take me to new depths of my soul. She's blue, so incredibly abyssal blue. I tap my foot against Gawain's, and he taps back. Blake coughs and we stop.

Not even an hour and I'm bored out of my mind. I try counting the raindrops spattering against my partner's umbrella, but that distraction is gone. Gawain's head is on my shoulder, and I feel it's my duty to keep him awake, if only to share in my torture. He doesn't appreciate that. He doesn't appreciate any of that. He just wants something to eat that's a bit more filling than biscuits and coffee.

"I will suck your dick again if you ditch them with me," he whispers in my ear. A wonderful proposal. The best I've ever heard. Moot, considering we're sharing the room again tonight, but I appreciate the temptation.

"Not quite the offer you think it is," I say, "Because those two things are happening regardless."

The look of relief on his face is something I want to burn into my mind forever and ever. He glances to my crotch and that's something else I want to keep in my mind just as long. Blake's keeping his vigilance and I have to admire the stalwart nature of his being. I'm not that. I can never be that. But he can be that.

I hide my intent with a moment to stretch and move and pop everything out. Gawain watches me and Blake has no response at all. I creep closer, weaving my footsteps in between raindrops. Still no response. I stand by his side, and I am not there. I choke back a laugh, otherwise the whole thing will be for nothing.

He's asleep.

I motion to Gawain, and we move as fast as we can. No one deserves to have their sleep interrupted. Big boy's having a big day and needs a big rest. Together, we get a handful of blocks away before we start giggling.

"I wish I knew he did that before," Gawain snickers, "Would have saved me so much trouble on our last job."

"And that whole bit this morning?" I ask.

"Not even the worst they've been. I been with rule sticklers, but man, those two are in it deep. C'mon, I'm starving."

He leads on at a surprisingly jaunty pace. Kind of hard to keep up with him, although I think that's still me just giggling at the fact that Blake, for all his hardassedness, was asleep on the job, standing up. Like a horse or something.

"I told them we should have done some recon before we went right into the trance," he says, "Tried to get them to a do bit of research of where we're going. They only know about the rafts coming on the way in. I would put money down that they didn't even know this town was on a river. It's called Riverbend. Of course, it's on a river. Where else would it be?"

I also think the speed is a desperate attempt to get far, far away from those two. I don't disagree, The crying's a bit much.

"How do they think this looks?" he continues.

"I'm on your team and I don't think it looks good," I sigh. I brush off some of the water. It could also be a ploy to keep me close.

"And the rain," he sighs, "It's going to flood. It just is. Its only helping the thing in the water."

We turn a corner and I step in front of him. We've finally found some other people milling about in the rain. And I don't like them. I don't like the way they are looking at us. I tap Gawain's shoulder and the rant stops. We just keep shuffling along, heads down and trying to make the world simply forget that we are a part of it. One of them spits and I chose to believe it's just her chaw working through her. Gawain eyes me and I agree with the sentiment. Not a good look for any of us. He hides the pendant around his neck in the deep folds of his robe.

The urge to bolt hits me and it's gone a moment later. A man of my word, and a man of my heart, they are both telling me to stay here. I am helping, even if it's not in the way the contract wants. I know why it isn't working and I know that's another time bomb that's aimed squarely at my delicate face. Fun to watch explode, though.

It's a quaint little thing, basically a stall open to the street and open to the world. And it's mostly empty. The only signage on it is a bowl etched into the wood over the entrance and on creaking sign. I smell broth, good broth from strong bones and hearty vegetables. I see the man in the back, Gargan, toss a handful of noodles before curling them into a soft nest. Suddenly, I am very hungry.

"Take a seat," he says as we part the curtain and the attached bell. Loudly. I like this place. Good acoustics, nice and cozy, a welcome distracting from the rain

"Oh, the church boys," the shop keep says when he takes a gander. I don't like his tone now. It echoes too much. He turns back to his work and that's very important.

Gawain doesn't seem to pick up on anything. He's busy reading the specials. They seem interesting, but I am more interested in our host. I pick us a table and keep my eye on the rain. Heavy, heavy rain.

"Ok, doing the pork special with an order of the bamboo shoots."

"No, you're not," says the shop keep.

"Excuse me."

"You heard me. Not serving you. Get out."

I sigh and lay a hand on Gawain. He's wet and cold and shivering from the chill. Or he's shaking with rage. Those tend to look very similar.

"Buddy," I say, "We're just looking for some food. That's all. Not here as part of the church. Not here for some vision. We're here for food. You have food and we have money. Doesn't have to be anything other than that."

He turns around and he is a very, very tall man. His head almost brushes the ceiling and that's an almost just because he cranes his neck hard enough to snap it.

"Look," I continue, "Why do you think we snuck away? We're just standing around being useless in the rain. If we're going to be useless, might as well spend some money, see the sights."

"You're the first ones to cross the river in a week," he says.

"And that's fucking stupid."

"Hold on a sec. Do you know a tavern guy?" Gawain asks. I take another look and that has some traction.

"My guess is brother," I say, "He's doing good, if you want to know. A bit pissed at us since we got a little loud, but that's also this guy's fault. Not mine."

Gawain glares at me and that's not my fault. He's loud. He gets loud. People tend to hear loud things when they are made. It's not my fault I can make him loud. The shop keep huffs something out of his nose and turns back to his work. I assume there's a lot that goes into his noodles and I hope he puts all of that in there.

"Just had a kid," he says, "That's probably why. Can't get a good night's sleep with a kid."

"That's why I am always gone the next morning," I say, "I need my beauty rest."

He huffs again and that's a good sign. That's always a good sign. Not quite as good as a full-on belly laugh, but it's something.

"You're still not getting any pork," he says, "That has to come across the river. We only have the fish."

"That's fine I guess," Gawain sighs, "And I guess he'll get one of those too."

The shop keep grunts and this one is a bit better. The acoustics are back to good and smooth and perfect for what it is.

And he is fast. I like fast things. I like loud things. This whole affair is turning out better than I had ever hoped. In a flash we both have a big bowl of soup, little light on the accompaniments, but it's hot and it smells good, and everything is right in the world.

Then a boot slams down on the table. It spills a good half of my broth. That's terrible.

Gawain is decidedly angrier than upset, pulling a nice long curvy knife. Food aggression, an important little characteristic that I file away for the future.

"Leave," says the boot. The boot makes a good argument, if just the same one we just heard from the shop keep.

"Maya," says said shop keep, "You're wasting food. Let the boys eat."

"You're wasting food on these idiots, Kamaal," says the food waster, "Let em starve, we'll use them as bait. Chop them both down to chum. And put that knife away, boy. You don't know how to use it."

"Now, that might be the smartest series of ideas I've heard all day," I say, moving the bowl as far away as I can from the boot. There's still a good few mouthfuls of broth in there, along with all the noodles.

I look up and there are the boot's eyes glaring back at me. Sylva, and she's the one who spits, if I remember correctly. I prefer it if they swallow, although chaw definitely does not feel good going down. I assume. But beneath that rather piercing glare is a flicker of surprise.

"Dumile," hisses Gawain, "I'm not putting the knife down."

"You might as well. Can't eat soup with a knife. Welcome to try. Prove me wrong. I've been wrong before. Like signing on with the crybaby."

Gawain shoots me a look that is a little crueler. He wants to use the knife.

"Look, just had this bit with the big guy back there," I sigh, "But yeah, I'm having second thoughts. Not about the soup. Kamaal, seriously good job. Even with a boot stomping, it's amazing."

Kamaal grunts, and I suddenly think that's the most beautiful noise he can make. So versatile. I need to start working that in.

"Gawain," I sigh, "Seriously, sit down. Eat your soup. It's going to get cold."

He eyes the boot, even as he spins the knife and slots it back into some hidden pocket deep within the cloak. Good hands, it seems. Much better than I thought he would be, honestly. Another funny little nugget about him. Maya and he are still staring each other down. It's hard to look intimidating while eating soup. That's why I'm not trying.

"If you're looking for the crybaby," I say, "She's at the docks. That said, she's got a big guy guarding her. So, y'know, give that a shot if you're feeling yourself."

"Is that a threat, little man," says Maya.

"No. But I do think it's a dumb move. Anything to do with them is a dumb move. But back to the smart moves. Fish, bait. I like that. It's actually something to do. And I like swimming."

Maya moves her boot from the table and that's nice. It's a good boot, though. Might have to find who did them and get a pair for myself. Always a good idea to stock up whenever the chance comes around. She also decides that she wants some soup, and she wants our company. I agree. I'm good company.

Maya is fun, for a hardass. The grimace never really leaves her face, but that's mostly because of the scar in the corner of her lip. Apparently, it's from a fishhook cast by some other idiot catching her lip. She is a good catch, as far as I can tell. Much like Gawain, most of her is hidden beneath heavy clothing, although hers is in mostly separate pieces. She is also a fast eater, faster than both of us.

"You're not the first to get frustrated with them," Gawain says through a mouth of noodles, "Had a stint in Iceflow and we were almost run out on rails."

Maya grunts. That seems to be the local language around her. I should pick it up. Seems very versatile and concise. I could write a song with nothing but grunts.

"Before that, though," Gawain continues, "Good team, real good team. Zeamays and Long Walker. Neither talked much, but that only got stuff done."

Maya grunts and I grunt and somehow that all works wonderfully. Gawain should grunt. I bet it sounds fun from him.

"But these ones aren't getting stuff done," Maya says, "That's the problem."

"It's the second day," Gawain says, "They get some slack, right?"

"It's been two weeks," she says, "Our time. Two weeks where we can't fish. Two weeks without crossing the river. And a week of this stupid rain from your girl. Two weeks where I can't kill the thing that killed my baby brother."

I stop grunting. I'm out of soup so I have no more excuses for not using my words.

"And the mayor wanted to pull in the Weavers?" I say, "That's not great."

"It's a water horse. I will put my life on it."

"Grabby thing? Many hands? Maybe something with eroding the banks?"

"Exactly. And the flooding's not helping. We need her to stop but she's Weaver. We can't touch her."

"I don't think she can stop it if she wants to," says Gawain, "Not how her little talks work."

"So, why's she here? She needs to go. And if she's not going to go, then we're going to make her go."

"Or we catch the thing as soon as possible," I say, "I have a little spill on my way in, and Gerardine did save my ass. So, I would prefer to not have anything bad happen to her, if only for my principles, scant as they are."

"And that's not happening with her crying all damn day," Maya says as she bangs her fist on the table. I have no more soup to spill, so I don't mind. Kamaal does, if I interpret the grunt correctly.

"And us eating soup," I sigh, "We're pretty useless. Someone should chuck us in the river."

"You keep saying that, but I don't want to go in the river," sighs Gawain, "I really, really don't."

"You don't want to go in there," says Maya, "Besides, our hands are tied."

"Not if you're with us. Now, I don't have any authority to induct anyone, but our mutual friend with a very nice ass does have the pendant."

"Dumile, what are you saying?" Gawain says. There's a bit of concern in there and I don't particularly mind it. I have an idea and I will see it through, for better or worse.

"Look, I don't want to be here. You don't want us here. And the simplest way for all this to simply go away is to do what you want. And we can do that. Everyone will bitch and moan and do everything to stop it, but just do it anyway. I'm not real big on pomp and circumstance. So, chuck me in the river with a line around my waist and drag me back in. You're a fisher. Same principle. And worst case, you get rid of an annoying, albeit attractive, piece of trash that the world will be better off without."

"But down a very good dick," Gawain sighs, "So that's kind of a wash, if you ask me."

I nod my head in appreciation, although Maya does not seem to share that sentiment.

"Are you really that stupid," Maya asks.

"Oh absolutely. I'm even stupider, if you can believe it. I'm here talking with you, aren't I?"

She grunts again and it's mostly through her nose. That's a little bit of a laugh, I think and that means we're doing this. Gawain still has to finish his soup though.