CHAPTER 13

GOOD EVENING SUNSHINE

No matter how well you plan your day, you never truly know how it might turn out.

A bad day could turn out to be a pleasant surprise.

On the other hand, you could do absolutely everything right and still have the day turn around and bite you in the butt.

“This is useless,” Wendell mumbled, finally plopping down onto the sun-warmed grass patch.

Every effort to leave, whether it meant side-stepping, trying to walk around the beast, reversing to just leave the O’Brien farm, or even ignore the sabertooth horse-dog altogether, it failed.

Mouse silently matched each and every step Wendell made to escape, positioning himself in front of the Hero.

If he raised his voice—such as an attempt to yell for help—the canine stepped forward with an intense growl which could be felt through the ground.

At least the creature hadn’t bitten him.

Yet.

Pulling out a handful of grass, Wendell tossed it up into the air in exasperation, “I give up.”

Mouse took one step forward and snorted loudly, blowing the drool-covered grass fragments directly into Wendell’s face.

“Ew,” he grunted, slamming his eyes shut. “That was just… gross, Mouse.“

Wiping the gunk from his cheek and chin, Wendell glared directly at the dog. “I have no idea what you want. You know that don’t you?”

What am I—of course he doesn’t know that? He’s a dog.

“You won’t let me leave. I can’t cry out for help. And if you haven’t noticed yet, I don’t speak dog,…so what are we supposed to do now? Ride off into the sunset together?”

“Snort.”

Wendel leaned back on his hands, “Well you’re big enough. Goodness—I’ve never seen a dog as big as you before. What are you, 300 pounds?”

A low grumble rose from Mouse’s chest.

“You can’t be over 300…”

At that, Mouse sat down for the first time. Rolls of fur and muscle settled into the frame of the beast. A deep red tongue rolled out of his mouth like a six-inch carpet, along with a gallon or two of slobber.

Welllll, this is interesting, Wendell thought to himself. Could it be possible that I’m being understood?

Tha-THUMP-THUMP

“Seriously? You’re heavier than 300?”

Mouse let out a short snort and added a nod.

I wonder…

“You know,” Wendell grinned to himself, “I’ve talked with an animal before. A dragon, in fact.” The thought still hurt. Nothing had been more exciting in his life up to that moment, than seeing a real dragon. Creatures Wendell had always dreamed about, wished to be real, and hoped that one day he would see…

And he’d caused the death of the first one he’d met.

She had sacrificed her life for his.

“I love dogs,” he whispered to himself, caught in the thought. “Had a dog growing up. She was smart, like you, though not so big.” He chuckled, “She wasn’t the size of a small house, but she was amazing. Her name was Muffin.”

Mouse tilted his head to the side, ears perking up.

“Yup. Amazing. Loved to go with me everywhere when I was younger, too. We’d play fetch, I’d hide things for her to find, and if anything got into our yard—especially cats—she’d chase it off.” He gave Mouse a serious look, “I’m not fond of cats.” Scratching his chin, “Allergic, that’s me. Oh sure, everyone loves a kitten, right? Who doesn’t, but—oh buddy—when those things get bigger and sprout those attitudes, they hit my system like the plague and BAM—I’m off to the ER for shots, just so I can breathe again.”

Wendell shuddered at the thought of the needles growing up, “Know what I mean?”

He looked up to find Mouse staring intently at him. 

“What am I saying, of course you do. Probably a good dog and eat 50-60lbs of those nasty little felines a day, right?”

Mouse whimpered.

“Heh,” he grinned, “Just kidding. That’d be mean. And I don’t do mean very well.” Dropping his head, Wendell rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. I’m losing it. I swear to TGII I’m losing it.

…and he started laughing.

Wendell threw his head back and let out a burst of deep belly laughter that echoed through the surrounding trees. It felt good, too. The release of pressure, the huge intake of air…and to realize how crazy all this was.

Why am I questioning every little thing? None of this would make sense to me if I was back home on Earth, but that’s the point you have to accept and understand now, Wendell. You’re NOT on Earth.

You’re on Elämä now.

Where monsters are real. Where magic is real.

Crap,…where YOU can do magic!

He laughed even louder.

So why is it so strange that a beast could be intelligent enough to understand you? For goodness sakes, you just swore in the name of an alien god!

…which probably wasn’t a good idea, he noted.

He looked upward, Sorry for that.

Wendell stared at Mouse squarely. “Okay, look Mouse, I’m hoping you want to be friends. Cause you kinda scare me, all right?” He offered a smile and lifted both hands, palms upward, in a show of defeat. “I figure, if you were going to eat me, you’d probably done it by now, right? So this is your call, big guy. You want to be friends?”

Surprisingly, Mouse leaned his massive head down, ears drooping to the sides. With silent grace, the giant beast crawled forward on his paws and plopped his massive head into Wendell’s lap.

…and let out a soft whimper.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP

****

“Stop fidgeting, child. You’re starting to make me nervous.”

Elsa crinkled up her nose, her head lightly shaking from side to side. “No, this is taking too long. Way too long. One of us should go out there to make sure he’s all right.”

“Oh for goodness—,” Silas cursed, “let matters take its course. I haven’t seen that pup so focused on a critter since he ate that stray wolf that tried to run off with my sheep last fall.”

Elsa gulped, “…ate?”

Jan leaned back against the heavy carvers table, scratching his head, “Well don’t look at me, Elsa. It took forever for Mouse to accept me around here. I’m not interested in getting on his bad side.”

She frowned and folded her arms, “You both talk as if Mouse is the one in charge here.”

A cold, wet nose nudged Elsa’s elbow. Tam nuzzled up against her hip until the girl rested her arm around her.

“I’m not,” she started to say, but then she looked down into the clear dark eyes of the hound and let out a deep sigh. “I like Wendell, Tam. He’s…kind. We’ve needed more kindness in this village for some time and I just don’t want him to get hurt. Especially when he came all the way up here on my invitation.” She scratched the fur between Tams ears, “Does that make sense?”

“Perfectly,” replied Wendell.

They all looked up as he walked through the workshop doors.

He grinned wide as he entered, Mouse several paces behind him. “But don’t worry, I was ready to protect this big guy from whatever lurks out in those wild woods you dragged me through!”

Mouse shuffled past Wendell with a grumble from his chest and bumped him aside using a muscular shoulder.

Wendell stumbled, to the chuckles of those present.

“Hey,” he whispered, “I thought we had a deal here.”

Mouse paused, looked over his shoulder and snorted openly.

Wendell glared back. “Traitor.”

“Well I’ll be an honest politician,” guffawed Silas, “I don’t know where you come from, Wendell Dipmayer, but you are welcome on my farm anytime.”

Wendell stood next to Elsa and nodded. “Thank you, sir. And that’s Dipmier.”

“What’s that?”

“My name, sir. It’s Dipmier.”

“Well that’s not my fault, boy—but you’re still welcome to come to visit.”

Elsa giggled.

“You know, Silas,” Jan cut in, “Elsa mentioned that Wendell came to the village looking for work. If I understand it, the townsfolk turned him away.”

Silas snorted, which sounded a lot like his hounds. “Townsfolk are idiots.” But he stopped and considered his words. “No, that’s not right. Their ignorant, cowardly fools.”

Hobbling forward, Wendell noticed for the first time that the old artisan wore braces of some kind on both legs. He wasn’t using a cane or walking stick, but his movement started from the hips, dragging the knees, which created a sort of waddle effect. O’Brien put a hand on a massive carving of a bird, propped up on one of the several tables in the shop. Rough and gnarled fingers, scarred with decades of use, caressed the grooves between delicately shaped feathers, bending in a wind that didn’t exist.

“What kind of work are you lookin’ for boy?” Silas snapped, inspecting his workmanship.

“I don’t know, sir,” Wendell started, “My hope was to learn how to carve.”

The old man turned with mouth open to respond, but Wendell continued.

“But after I met some of the people in the village, I realized I was probably asking for the wrong thing.” He met Silas’s stare without blinking, “I’d just like to be of help. I don’t have any real skills that I know of, sir. Don’t even know if I’d make a good carver or not. Its just something that seemed, well,… a beautiful art. And I don’t know any beautiful arts.” He shrugged then, “So I thought, if I could be a help to someone, then maybe…” and he grinned then, “just maybe, that someone would give me some guidance so I could be less than useless.”

Silence swallowed the heartfelt speech.

Until a descending whistle cut through the air.

“Well, if that wasn’t the damnedest sales pitch I’ve ever heard!” Silas blurted out. “I don’t think I’ve ever SEEN humble in a male youth before.” He looked over at Jan, both eyebrows arched so high they almost touched his receding hairline. “Scary thing, that,” then to Wendell, “Don’t do it again.”

“Sir?”

“Don’t do that humble thing again. You’ll give me hope for the youth of this world and I know damn well it’s pointless. Little hound-turds think they own everything and can do whatever they like without consequences.” Silas whipped his head back to Downing, wagging a finger at him, “Did that farm boy realize there were consequences when he tried to steal a chicken?”

Jan chuckled, “Oh, he most certainly did.”

“Yes, he DID! …and my blessed puppy made sure he will feel those consequences of bad decisions every single time he sits down on his lazy backside.”

Wendell tried hard not to laugh watching the old man get so animated. It reminded him a great deal of Chuck.

“They don’t have a damn clue how ignorant they are, and I’m too old to teach them, SO…,” his wagging finger turned onto Wendell, “Don’t tell me that youth can be humble, boy.” A sly grin inched its way up both sides of Silas’s face, just enough to make his eyes smile. “Because I’m not sure what I would do if I started feeling hope for the youth of tomorrow.”

Wendell blinked.

Then blinked again.

“Uhhh, yes, sir?” He answered sheepishly.

“Excellent!” Silas cried out, “Now let see if you’re actually kind, or scum pretending to be kind.”

Wendell gulped. “Sir?”

Waddling away from the table, Silas sat down on a stool and pulled out a long pipe. “The only thing left that I need to know is how twisted and stupid your world views are, boy. That way I can determine whether or not I want to deal with the headaches from your stupid questions and overwhelming lack of life experience.”

Wendell looked between both Elsa and Jan.

Both of them were smirking.

“Don’t look at them, boy, look at me.” Silas’s voice was firm, but softer now. “I’m serious here. My shop deals with nearly every profession. I’ve worked for kings, queens, lords, dukes, magistrates, wizards, sorcerers, priests, patrons, drunkards, and every merchant you can throw a stick at. Which I often do. But my clients are not all human.”

Wendell stared back plainly.

“Do you have a problem with other races?”

“Problem?”

“Do you gawk at, make fun of, or look down upon people that ain’t your shape, size, color, or share your particular speech impediment?”

“Speech imp—”

“Never mind that last part.”

“Uhhhh,…no sir.”

“You sure?”

“Well, maybe Vallen.”

“Don’t count. They’re scum-sucking-flesh-eating freaks.”

“Okaaay.”

“Any other race?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You’re sure.”

Wendell nodded firmly, “I’m sure.”

“Evolu?”

“No sir.”

“Kutollum?”

“Never met one personally, but they seem nice.”

“They’re not. Gypsies?”

“I love the Black Market.”

Silas yanked the pipe from his mouth. “You’ve been there?”

“Yes sir. I have friends who live there.”

Silas sat up stiffly. “Well I’ll be—what about Iskari?”

Wendell grinned, “Wonderful people. I’ve met the Iskari High Council personally and lived with them for a time.”

Silas’s eyebrows popped up a second time. “On…”

“Erimuri, sir.”

“That damned moon, as in….in the sky?”

Wendell nodded, again without showing much emotion. “My father introduced me to High Elder Delnar and I’ve had many conversations with him personally.”

Jan coughed aloud, and Wendell turned to catch the shocked looks on both his and Elsa’s face.

Silas on the other hand sat there, staring for what felt like an hour. When he finally spoke, his tone was cool. Deliberate.

“Your father introduced you.”

“Yes sir,” Wendell replied, but he let a bit of a squeak escape. Uh-oh, Wendell, you said too much, blast you.

Watching Wendell through narrow slits, Silas pinched something pale green from an open box at his side and started stuffing his pipe. “And who is your father, boy?”

Wendell hesitated.

“Well?”

“I…,” but again he hesitated.

“Look, boy, I have to know who works for me. My reputation is what’s built this life, so if you can’t answer a simple question…”

“That’s the thing, sir,” Wendell cut in. “It’s not simple.” He glanced briefly at Elsa, “I ran away from my family, because I didn’t like how my life was going, plain and simple. Up until now, I’ve tried to do everything that was expected of me. With every fiber of my being, but it was never enough. It was never exactly how other people wanted me to be.

“I was tired of trying to live up to someone else’s vision and came here looking for my own. To learn how to do things and make choices for myself, and see who I really am.”

He looked around the room, meeting each stare, “This might all turn out to be a bad idea for all I know. In fact, I could spend time here and realize that my family was right and just go back to meeting those expectations. But for now, this is about me…and only me.”

Looking Silas square in the face, he added, “So I’m not willing to reveal who my family is. Not at this point, anyway. And if that’s not good enough, sir, I respect that. But they don’t have anything to do with this. My father isn’t asking you for a job. I am.”

Both Jan and Elsa looked at Wendell openly shocked.

“What about gnomes?” Asked Silas, puffing wildly on his pipe to check the air flow.

“Sir?”

“You know, the irritating little people who get under foot and make everyone nervous.”

Wendell reached over casually and scratched Mouse between the ears. “What about them?”

The old man shifted in his seat, gripping the end of his pipe so firm his knuckles went pale. “They use black magic boy, you know that? Technology they call it. I’ve been happily dealing with their kind for ages… so how do ya feel about that!?” Lifting a slender piece of wood from a small batch of coals burning in a black metal bowl the woodcarver lifted it to the bowl of his pipe.

Wendell smiled softly to himself, “Some of my dearest friends are gnomes, sir. Their environment feels more like home to me than anywhere else I’ve ever been on this planet.” Hehe, now you finally got to say the absolute truth and they don’t even know it.

Tha-thump-thump.

Now it was Silas that sat there, stunned.

Until the wood he’d just lit burned his finger.

“Well damn and tarnation,” he cursed, dropping the burning sliver, grinding it into the floor with his boot. Turning to Jan, “I’d be a fool not to hire this child, wouldn’t I?”

The woodsman shrugged. “I’d say it would be foolish not to give him a chance, at least.” He gave Wendell a quick wink.

“Likes gnomes, he says…” Silas shook his head. “What’s this world coming too, I ask you. Youth with manners, trained killers going soft…”

Mouse looked up, ears twitching.

The woodcarver glared at the dog, “Yes, I’m talkin’ about you.”

The canine flopped to the ground with a soft whine.

“Then I guess that settles it. You’re hired, boy.”

“I am?”

“You’re not deaf, are you?”

“No sir.”

With that, Silas leaned forward and gave Wendell a strong handshake. “Then you can come back tomorrow to clean out one of the rooms in the loft.”

Wendell grinned wide and shook the old carvers hand vigorously. “Sounds wonderful. Thank you, sir!”

“What are your terms?”

Wendell paused, “Uhhh, terms?”

“The terms you want, for employment, boy.” Looking between Jan and Wendell, “Goodness boy, what did you negotiate for your last job?”

Wendell shrugged sheepishly. “This is the first job I ever got on my own, sir.”

Throwing his hands into the air, “Will miracles never cease on my farm!?!”

Now all three looked upon the old man confused.

“Oh for goodness, don’t look at me like I’m a fool. Can’t anyone see the gold here?!? I get an honest youth, wanting a job doing anything he can learn from, willing to take accountability for himself and not ride on the back of his own father, AND he has a clean slate for me to make my mark on? Glory BE this boy is a rare find!”

Leaning forward, Silas gave Elsa a side hug. “It’s good to see you, my dear. Thank you for the lovely bread. Delicious as always, I’m sure.”

“You know Mr. O’Brien,” Wendell started.

“Silas, boy. You work for me now and my ‘men’ call me Silas.”

“Silas,” Wendell corrected himself. “I’m taking Elsa and the children to The Den for dinner tonight to show my gratitude for helping me. I’d be honored if you and Jan could join us.”

The old man looked taken back—his nose wrinkling up, eyes squinting. “You mean…with those…runny nose…things?”

Elsa rolled her eyes, “Oh please. You love those orphans and you know it.”

Silas laughed. “Perhaps, but I have work to be done on time. A man of my reputation has to KEEP his reputation. Appreciate the offer, but no.” He took a puff of his pipe, looking between Jan and Elsa. “Though, I think Jan here deserves a night off. Huntin’ and pullin’ stumps is hard work. So you take him in my stead.” Pointing the pipe, “And Jan, you make sure you drink a mead in my absence, alright?”

Jan nodded, “That I can do.”

Silas grinned. “Good. It’s settled then.”

****

“Oh come on, Elsa,” Jacob whined, “why do we have to wear our dress-up clothes just to go out fer dinner?” He tugged at her grip as the wet comb loomed closer to his properly ratted hair. “We ain’t seen a Brother in our village for over a year, so it’s not like we’re going to church!”

Gripping the boys chin in one hand, Elsa worked out the tangles in Jacobs hair. A few rough tugs and their accompanying grunts later, the short ruffian looked almost presentable.

Satisfied, she looked across the frowning faces of all the children. That is, all except Shayle, who was delighted to be in her faded blue dress. The children stood from oldest to youngest, all washed and dressed in their best clothes.

Tim tugged at his collar and grumbled, “Feels like somebody died.”

“Oh, you all look delightful!” Elsa beamed. “This will be the first time we’ve gone to dinner as a family. Don’t you want to make a good impression on everyone who sees us?”

Eyes glanced about at one another, them up at Elsa.

“Why?” they asked unitedly.

Shayle nodded her head vigorously.

“Oh stop it. All of you. This is going to be fun.” Turning to the small cracked mirror attached to the wall, Elsa adjusted her hair, then softly tugged at the sleeves of her light cream dress, making sure the shoulders were aligned and straight. “Think of it this way, boys…you get to stay up late, eat anything you want…,” she paused for effect, not looking at them directly, “AND drink as much barrel butter you can get Old Mayson to bring you.”

All three boys stiffened upright at the mention of there favorite drink.

“A-as much as,” Kale started…

“We can drink?” Jacob finished for him.

They looked at each other with smiles so big Elsa thought their cheeks might pop. Both boys turned the shock and glee upon their older brother still standing there, stunned himself.

Tim swallowed deliberately. “You know we can drink a lot of barrel butter, Elsa.”

She smiled, still working with stray strands of hair with delicate fingers. “Is that a challenge? Wendell said you could all have anything you want tonight AND as much of it, so long as it was okay with me.”

She turned in a sudden spin, bending forward, letting her hands drop to her knees. With eyes wide, teeth gleamed in a bright smile, “And I give you MY permission to drink as much barrel butter your little tummies can possibly contain.”

Standing back, she looked from boy to boy…and gave them all a single nod. “Just this once.”

Voices exploded as arms flipped into the air.

“WaHOOOOO!” they all cried aloud.

A tiny finger poked Elsa’s leg.

“When are we gonna go?” Shayle asked.

There was no sign of Wendell anywhere.

“Kale, didn’t you and Jacob let Wendell change in your room?”

The boy nodded. “‘Bout an hour ago…but I don’t know why he asked to have a room to change.” He made a dramatic shaking motion with his whole body, “With his mägoweave stuff, he can change anywhere he wants, can’t he?”

“Good point.” Elsa frowned, “Why don’t you boys go see what’s keeping him and I’ll get coats on the girls, alright?”

“Will do,” replied Tim. “Come on guys.”

The three boys sauntered across the room and up the stairs to the main bedrooms.

As they reached the top steps, Kale slowed. “Say, you don’t think he’s not coming out because he ran out of coins in that magical purse of his, do ya?”

The question made Tim and Jacob slow their pace as well.

“Gee,I hadn’t thought of that,” replied Jacob. “Maybe he’s too shy to show he’s poor now, like us.”

“Naw,” chimed Tim, “he’d say something if he couldn’t keep his word.”

“Not if he was embarrassed,” Kale challenged. “He gave us a lot of money this morning, ya know.”

“Yeah, and even gave Elsa a gold coin,” added Jacob. “So maybe that was all he had!”

Tim frowned sternly. “Well the only way we’re gonna find out if he’s got money to keep his word is if we ask him, right?”

“Right,” echoed Kale and Jacob simultaneously.

“Then let’s ask him.”

Marching down the hall, Tim rapped loudly on the bedroom door. “Wendell?”

There was a small pause, and then, “W-who is it?”

“It’s Tim. We’re all downstairs waiting for you.”

Another pause, then, “Tim,…are you alone?”

Tim looked at his brothers curiously. “Jacob and Kale are with me.”

The three boys could hear a deep sigh behind the door.

“Come in,…quick!” Wendell whispered from the other side.

Tim tried to open the door, but after about three inches, it jammed.

“Push,” Wendell said, “push hard!”

So the three boys did just that…and coins tried to escape out into the hall.

“What the…?” Tim grunted, but his words were lost over the sight. Thousands upon thousands of coins lay piled up in the center of the room. Gold, silver, copper, some coins of a strange shimmering bluish color, but that wasn’t all. Gems of red and blue, green glowing orbs and strings of pearls speckled the pile with their presence. Trapped in the middle of it all, was Wendell, stuck waist-high in a sea of wealth, a bewildered look on his face…trying frantically to shove fistful after fistful of coins back into the magical container.

Wendell looked to the boys, then down to the coins and other goods sprayed across the floor, then back up to the boys again. “I…wanted to see how many coins my father left me.” An awkward giggle escaped his lips, to which he slapped a hand over his own mouth. “It wouldn’t stop flowing,” he whispered through his teeth. “It just…kept…falling out!”

Tim quickly closed his mouth and pointed back at the hallway. “Elsa and the girls are waiting to go…downstairs,” he said, just above a whisper. Then he made an awkward motion to the hallway.

Wendell flinched, blinking twice, as if he just remembered something important. “Oh. Right. Dinner. Crap.” Then pulling the drawstring of the coin purse open fully, he increased his speed, scooping the coins frantically, putting them back into the bag.

It was a minute before he noticed all three boys were still standing there, staring at him.

Wendell paused in mid-scoop.

“I’ll give you each another silver coin if you help me get this pile back into the bag….right now.”

Tim and Kale scrambled over to Wendell, digging their hands deep into the pile of coins, while Jacob quietly closed the bedroom door, grinning to himself.

“Nope, we’re good.”

****

As the only formal gathering place in Putäyäl, The Den was rarely empty. Tonight was no exception. A mild haze of pipe smoke hung in the air, complimenting the low hum of conversation between patrons.

The children rushed through the tavern door and up to the bar.

“Hello Mayson!” chimed the girls, waving their hands up over the counter.

Old Mayson beamed back, a soft chuckle escaping his rotund belly. Hugging Elsa and then kissing her on the forehead, the owner then produced two pieces of his special hard candy for the little girls.

“My, my, my… don’t you all look especially nice tonight. And all to come enjoy food at my fine establishment?”

“It’s not like there’s anywhere ELSE to go,” muttered Jacob.

Tim clipped him on the back of the head.

Old Mayson laughed. “Good thing then, Jacob,” he grinned, “or I’d not have the enjoyable, and should I say, brutally honest company of such fine young men as yourself!”

Elsa rolled her eyes dramatically. “They were all pulling and tugging at me to get here as soon as we could! Goodness sakes.” Smirking, “They’ve been besides themselves to get at your barrel butter stash.”

Mayson raised an eyebrow, “Have they now?” He gave the young boys a sly look. “We may just have to satisfy that craving, eh boys?”

All three nodded enthusiastically.

When Mayson finally made his way to Wendell, he hesitated. Looking him up and down, he asked sternly, “You have coin, do you now? Cause there’s not likely to be enough dishes for you to clean in payment of all these little bellies.” He looked to the children and winked at them. “Because I intend to feed them til they pop.”

The children giggled together.

Wendell produced a single gold coin between his fingers, reflecting the light of both candle and lantern, its yellow sheen glimmering.

Old Mayson’s brows jumped to attention. “How does such a young man have—Is that even real?”

Wendell placed the coin nonchalantly in his palm.

“Cause I ain’t—” the tavern owner continued.

“It’s real,” Wendell said reassuringly. “And again, I apologize for the other night. As I said, I lost my coin purse, which these fine boys found for me.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice, “I’d like to make this night a wonderful experience for all of them. They’ve been kind to me and I want to repay that kindness.” Wendell cocked his head to the side, staring firmly at the owner, “With your help?” He gave the tavern keepers arm a quick squeeze, “You probably know what they like—so if you’d make sure each of the children go home with an extra portion of whatever they enjoy the most, I’ll be ever-so-grateful.”

Old Mayson looked down at the coin and clenched his fat fingers around it. “You’ll be paying for it, is what you’ll be doing. You’re an odd one, lad.” His eyes wandered fondly over to Elsa and the children, helping each other move two of the smaller tables together. He nodded once, “But it’s about time those little ones had some kindness in their life.” He nodded a second time to himself, “You may be odd, boy, but I like you. You can count on me—but the treats they take home will be MY gift, not yours.”

“Even better,” Wendell grinned wide. “Thank you very much.”

“There’s those manners again,” Mayson chided, “Go sit with your own, you’re hurtin’ my brain.”

Wendell chuckled, “You’re the second person today to say my manners were a problem.” Snapping his fingers, “Oh, I almost forgot…Mayson?”

“Eh?”

“I promised food and drink for Sawyer and his friends tonight. Would you get them what they want as well? It’s a peace offering. If I owe you any more by the end of the night, just let me know and I’ll settle the bill promptly.”

The tavern owner shook his head disapprovingly. “Making peace with a snake just get’s you bit, boy.” He shrugged, “But it’s your money.”

Wendell took a deep breath and stretched his arms wide, letting the stress roll from his shoulders. This is good. I can finally make amends and leave my troubles behind me. Thanks to a magical bag of coins.

It felt good to make friends. People who liked him for who he was and not who he was expected to be by others.

Wendell lowered his arms and looked around the room. Staring at all the people in their conversations, eating and drinking, laughing and storytelling.

…and the truth hit him in the chest.

No one really knew who Wendell was.

He wasn’t from this land. He was from Earth, not Elämä. Even now, unprepared and untrained, he wasn’t like anyone else on this planet—because no one knew he had a giant diamond wedged in his chest that gave them abilities.

Abilities he still didn’t know how to use.

Oh, and don’t forget being required to fight and defeat the greatest evil this world had ever known.

Win a fight.

Him.

Wendell.

The kid who cried when he discovered his first pimple.

…or shut his big toe in the front door…last summer.

Whatever, he told himself. For now I’ll take what I can get. First mission is to learn how to blend in. Be one of the people in word, deed and looks. I have to be able to connect, relate, negotiate, even gain the confidence of others, right?

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Is that right?

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Mission one it is then!

He’d decided to wear a simple outfit tonight, which Wendell had created by watching the big burly men of Putäyäl. He was sporting a natural, earth-colored shirt with a wide collar, animal skin pants and rough brown leather boots. Instead of a coat, he’d created a wide-weave wool sweater in a natural earth color, which he rolled up to mid forearm.

Elsa had smiled when he’d shaped it, then laughed when he added some strategically placed stains into the weave of the cloth. The kids had nodded approval however.

I fit right in.

Wendell was proud of himself. Out all on his own, no one to boss him about or criticize him or his choices and he’d made friends and new connections all on his own.

He looked about the tavern.

Most the patrons were over fifty years of age, covered in dirt or soot. Many had scruffy beards and tattered clothes from their hard days work.

Well…at least I look like I COULD fit in, anyway. Just have to keep my mouth shut and it should be fine, right? He nodded to himself. Right.

I’m a fantasy version of a young Bruce Wayne!

His mind wandered off, wondering if the gnomes would be willing to build him a fantasy version of the bat-mobile.

Probably have to be a metal horse of some kind.

With rockets.

…and rocket launchers.

Jan Downing wandered in behind a few of the locals and shuffled to the side, closing the door behind him. Seeing Wendell, he waved hello and made his way to the tables.

“Sorry I’m late.” Shaking Wendell’s hand, they sat down together. “Silas had a shipment going out today and I couldn’t leave him to do it on his own, no matter how much he protests.”

Wendell took a chair between Tim and Jacob, while Jan took the last seat open—next to Elsa.

“I’m glad he has you there to help him,” Elsa replied. Her smile lingering.

“Completely understand,” Wendell added. “I’m really glad you could join us, Jan. I wanted to say thank you for the help in getting that job with Silas.”

Jan chuckled. “Don’t thank me yet. That old man is going to work you hard, Wendell. He’s fair, he’s honest, but he’s tough, strict, and expects the best from you at all times.” He rapped his knuckles on the table, “Which is why I like him.”

“Well thank you, regardless. All I was hoping for was a chance to prove myself.”

Again Jan chuckled, “Oh, you’re going to get plenty of opportunities!”

Wendell grinned, “That a promise, I take it?”

Scratching his head, “More like a subtle threat. I mean it, Silas is tough.”

Rubbing his hands, Wendell looked around the table at all the children, “Then I say we really enjoy ourselves tonight!”

The children gave out a cheer.

Jan and Elsa laughed.

A middle-aged woman approached the table, her blue dress worn at the hem and shoulders. She wiped her hands on a heavily stained rag attached to her apron string. “Evening folks,” she smiled, then nodding, “Don’t usually see you on your night off, Elsa. Special occasion?”

Elsa nodded, “Special indeed, Karyn. We are all being treated to a meal by our new local resident, Wendell.” She motioned to Wendell, who gave an awkward, though genuine grin. “What’s our brilliant chef cooking up tonight?”

“Well, we have—”

With a clatter and thud, the front door to the tavern swung wide, slamming roughly against the rammed earth wall.

“LET THE FEASTING BEGIN!” A burly man shouted, to which his company replied, “DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!” Men pushed their way through the frame, dirty, loud, and not altogether sober.

More than a dozen swarmed the room, snatching up every table left available, though not filling the seats. Instead, many threw their feet up on open chairs and motioned for others to move on. Those without a seat at a table took the remaining stools at the bar.

The last man through the door closed it with a thoughtless swing, slamming it hard against its frame.

He gave the establishment a defiant grin.

“You be careful with my door, Sawyer,” boomed Old Mayson. He shook a stew-covered spoon in the air, flicking bits of vegetables about, “Or you’ll find yourself without a place to drown your stupidity!”

Sawyer scowled, baring his teeth in a wicked grin. “Less talk and more drinks for me and my…friends, old man. Tonight the bill is being paid by our newest friend.” He looked hungrily at Wendell, not a sliver of kindness behind the glare. “Isn’t that right?”

Wendell gulped loud enough for his own table to hear. “Yes,” he said as calmly as he could, “It’s all on me.”

“Hear that boys?” Sawyer chuckled, “Drinks and meat, all you can eat!”

…and the tavern erupted into cheers and rough worded curses.

Wendell’s heart sank.

“Do we still get to have dinner?” Lyndie asked, flinching as the men shouted from the table behind them. Elsa leaned over and covered both her ears with her hands.

“I’m not sure I want the girls listening to this kind of language!” Elsa exclaimed.

Wendell noticed even the boys were cringing at some of the harsh words now booming through the room.

Even Jan was getting red faced, though it wasn’t from embarrassment.

That’s it. That is IT! I have tried to do the right thing, Wendell grit his teeth, to be a kind person and to be a peacemaker, but nooOOOOOooo!

Wendell smiled wide at Lyndie and gave her a great big wink.

“I’ll be right back, then we will order anything you want.”

Then he stood up, excused himself past Karyn and marched over to the corner table where Sawyer and his two buddies from the afternoon sat.

The redhead was leaning back in his chair against the wall, muddy feet crossed and propped defiantly upon the table. The smile on his face reminded Wendell of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland.

All he needed to make the look complete would be the needle teeth.

“Can I speak with you?” Wendell said through clenched teeth.

Sawyer spat on the floor. “Speak.”

Wendell shifted his weight. “Privately.”

Looking to both of his friends, then back at Wendell, “No.”

You really are a… Wendell took a deep breath. “Fine. I keep trying to give you some measure of respect Sawyer, but you just don’t seem to get the hint.” Here I go… “Either you’re that mean and spiteful, or…too stupid to realize I’m trying to make peace.”

Sawyer kicked his feet off the table and rocked forward. “You just call me stupid?”

“See, that just makes my point. If you weren’t so stupid, you would have noticed that I DID call you stupid. Which means you’re dumber than I thought and actually had to ask me if I’d called you stupid.” Wendell paused for effect, then, “That makes me feel bad. I shouldn’t make fun of people who are too stupid to actually BE stupid.”

The two bench-idiots looked at one another, confused.

Wendell rolled his eyes, “Oh for…Sawyer, get your friends to stop using foul language, alright?”

Sawyer’s face was almost as red as his hair, his mouth in an open snarl. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because I’m treating little children over there to some much needed food and decent company. The vulgar language of your friends makes them want to leave.”

“Then LEAVE!” he snarled.

Wendell tapped his bottom lip. “Okay, I guess we could do that. But if we leave, I’m taking my money with me and you’ll be stuck with quite the bill.”

As if doused with water, Sawyer’s face changed from anger to immediate shock. “What?”

Wendell grinned. Gotcha. “What? You think that I agreed to pay for you and what I thought would be a small handful of friends to a meal and drink, so you could abuse my kindness? That you could do whatever you wanted and I would still pay for it? Seriously?”

Walking to his side of the table, Wendell glared at Sawyer and raised his voice so loud, the whole tavern could hear him.

“I tried to say this just between you and me, but you wouldn’t have it. Okay, then let me explain this in a way you can understand.” He raised his voice to a shout, “IF you don’t explain to ALL your friends in the tavern that they are required to SHUT THEIR MOUTHS and STOP SWEARING WHILE CHILDREN ARE PRESENT, then you can forget about me paying single copper piece for ANY food or drink.”

Looking up, Wendell had the eyes of the whole Tavern upon him, including the wide grin of The Den’s owner. Old Mayson gave Wendell and enthusiastic nod, and then went back to cooking.

Wendell made sure to take a moment to glare at each of the ruffians who’d obviously come in to intentionally cause trouble. “I see an awful lot of drinks on the tables…and heard quite a few orders for food.” He grinned then. “Hope all you men brought your coin with you, cause I’m not paying for trouble-makers.”

Nearly two dozen eyes shifted from Wendell to Sawyer.

Rolling his shoulders back, as if he’d just finished a good fight, Wendell turned back to Sawyer. “IF, however, EVERY man in this tavern will choose to curb their tongues while they’re here, and this ONLY for the sake of the children present…I will gladly cover the charge of ALL food and ALL drinks tonight. For everyone in this room, right now!”

The tavern erupted in deafening cheers.

All except Sawyer.

He leaned forward and gave Wendell a deep-chested growl. “You’re going to PAY for this, kid.”

Wendell smiled back defiantly. “Only if you keep your mouth shut.”

****

An hour later and the table was piled high with plates of meat, bread and Mayson’s favorite pies. The mood of the tavern completely shifted from shadow and woe to an unlikely cheerfulness.

Wendell’s words had not only struck a cord—his offer of generosity won over those present. Some came and gave their apologies to Elsa and the children, while others offered to pay for another round of barrel butter.

The children laughed and cheered as Mr. Koons, a local farmer, sang another round of Up the Mountain Side, upon the corner stage. The locals both mocked and chided the old man, who was too intoxicated to care either way.

Yet all seemed happy, content, and for once in a long time, united in some form of friendship.

“That was quite the speech, Wendell.” Jan set his drained mug on the table and leaned back in his chair. “At first I thought you’d put yourself in danger, but look at them. You offered the whole room a single nights release of their own life sorrows, and you created a common ground.”

“It probably won’t last,” Wendell admitted.

“Probably not, but they’ll most likely remember you for it, and that can’t be bad.”

Wendell glanced over at the empty table in the corner, where Sawyer had sat. “Not all bad anyway,” he added. “Still don’t understand why Sawyers stormed out?”

Jan shrugged, but then motioned at Elsa, who was cheering and clapping with the children, encouraging Mr. Koons to dance while he sang his tenth round of the same song.

Wendell sighed, “Ah.”

“He’s had a rough life, Sawyer. Not an excuse for what he does, but when you understand what Sawyers lost, it’s hard not to have some amount of compassion and patience.”

“Like?”

Jan scratched his beard, “Like being rejected by his own father and constantly berated for not being ‘good enough’, or blamed for his fathers own insecurities.”

“Oh.”

“On top of that, all of his siblings died. One at a time. Which weighed heavily on his mother.” Jan pondered, “The worse one was the baby. The only child born as healthy as Sawyer. Nanette was her name. Such a happy little girl too. Flipped over the side of their wagon as they were crossing a river. Current took the little girl down stream.” He swallowed hard and absentmindedly picked up his mug, raising it to his lips. His eyes suddenly turned red. “Whole village went looking for her. Found her little body, dashed upon the rocks.”

Wendell sat frozen in his seat.

“They were a good family, Wendell. Even Sawyer. Truly. But fate beat them, over and over again, and that loss was the last straw. Neola, his mother, cried herself to sleep a few days later and never woke up. Sawyers father, Oleg, came here every night after that. Drank himself to death.”

Jan paused until he noticed the whole table was watching him.

“Sorry,” he gave Wendell a weak grin. “I’ve worked with Sawyer on many occasions and I still feel for him in many ways. Unfortunately I think he gave up on life a long time ago.”

Wendell shivered. “Did anyone ever reach out to him? When his parents died?”

Elsa nodded soberly. “Putuyäl isn’t a very forgiving village, Wendell, but yes. Everyone reached out at one time or another. Sawyer wouldn’t have it. There’s always been this drive to prove his worth, and anyone who offers anything to him seems to be an insult.”

Wendell slapped a hand to his forehead. “So my offer tonight was an insult right from the beginning?”

Jan shrugged, “Maybe. Maybe not. But I don’t think you’ll ever find out. All of us who know him try to keep him as focused as we can. He won’t leave the village to move on, and yet most won’t hire him for anything but grunt work. Jobs business owners don’t want to do or don’t have the time to do.”

“He’s here, Elsa!” Lyndie cried aloud, “Bart-Bee is here!!”

Shayle pointed wildly at the stage as a gnome in a forest green and golden embroidered tunic walked onto the small platform. He smiled at the patrons, who gave him a hearty round of applause. In his hands he adjusted a red and golden-leafed lute, picking at each string to test the key.

Elsa chuckled. “That’s Mr. Bartleby, girls, not bart-bee…BAR-TUL-BEE.”

At that, Bartleby looked over at their table and waved.

Wendell choked on his drink and coughed up over the rim of his mug.

“Woah there kid.” Jan popped up and leaned over to give Wendell a few good whacks on the back. “You okay?”

Wendell tried to clear his throat. “Sorry,” he muttered. “You guys don’t like magic in this town, but you have a performing gnome?”

Jan smirked, “That’s why Silas asked you about gnomes. Bartleby’s your roommate.”

“My--?”

“Him and his brothers, actually. He was sent here with several orders, including one for King Robert III himself. Saw the paperwork with my own eyes. Was instructed to stay here until it was done and then ride back with the delivery.”

“Really?”

Jan nodded. “His room and board were included, so Silas made sure Mr. Bartleby and his siblings stayed with him at the farm. But that gnome didn’t mind wandering into town. Zero fear of humans, that one. People took to him like bees to a flower.”

Wendell’s eyebrow arched. “Likes bees to…”

“Shhh!” hissed both little girls.

Elsa rolled her eyes and then whispered, “Just listen.”

Wendell had never heard a gnome sing. Of all the time he’d spent in Clockworks City, he’d been to gnome raves, heard DJ drops, synthesized music for the opening Trench Wars competitions, but not once that he could remember, did he hear a gnome singing vocally.

This should be interesting.

Even Old Mayson and the servers took a break from what they were doing to focus their attention on the tiny stage in the corner of the tavern. A simple, six foot platform for those who wanted to share some talent with patrons on cold winter nights.

Mr. Bartleby adjusted himself on a small stool, propping the lute upon his leg and then rolled his head, his mouth uttering something in silence, and then—

Magic happened.

Bartleby played a single note with his hand on the neck of the lute, and then sat back.

The note did not diminish.

Instead it reverberated throughout the tavern in perfect clarity as the gnome closed his eyes.

Wendell wasn’t a student of architecture, nor did he understand how places like The Greek Theatre in Berkely California, or the Merriweather Post Pavilion in Columbia, Maryland could take sounds from performers and enhance them to such heights of enjoyment. But he knew such places existed. He simply didn’t think such feats could be performed underground, surrounded by dirt, mud, tree roots…and dozens of fat, sweaty, intoxicated bodies.

The single note was joined by a second, then a third.

And when Bartleby gave his lute a strum, the whole tavern was sitting on the edge of their seats.

…and the room erupted in a frenzy of echos.

Wendell watched Bartleby’s fingers moving in odd rhythms, palms bouncing off the lute at different points, adding a beat to the strumming fingers and irregular plucking of strings.

He’d never heard such sounds, or witnessed such skill with a string instrument. The whole room was enraptured by the deep resonating beauty of the music, complimenting the dancing fire of the hearth, enhancing the scent of spices and pipe smoke in the air.

There was no other way to describe it, other than…happiness and contentment.

Bartleby swayed in his seat, his fingers and palms never faltering until the last note rang true.

The tavern remained dead quite until the final note retreated fully to where it had been given birth.

The applause was deafening.

Wendell, eyes wide with amazement, clapped until his hands hurt. “That was…AMAZING!”

Jan nodded. “You should hear him…,” but the little girls cut him off, yelling at the top of their lungs.

“SING! SING MR. BART-BEE, PLEEEEEASE!! SING! SING! SING!”

The cheering of the tavern morphed into laughter.

“Oh my,” came the voice of Bartleby across the room.

Wendell snapped upright, looking over his shoulder, the voice sounded so close.

“It looks like I have a couple fans in the audience tonight!” The gnome gave both little girls a wary stare. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed by now? It’s quite late, you know.” He looked to Elsa.

“It is at that, young ladies,” she replied aloud. “We’ve had a wonderful evening, but it’s time to get home and into warm beds.”

“NOOOOOOOO!” The girls cried aloud, though Jacob and Kale added their own protest to the whine.

“I’ll tell you what,” Mr. Bartleby called out, “I’ll sing a song just for you two girls if you promise to accompany your mother home for the night after I’m done.” He stared them both down without blinking. “Agreed?”

The girls looked at one another, frowning, but nodded.

“Alright then,” the gnome grinned, “then I have something extra special for you. A song my mother wrote for me a year before I was even born.”

With that, fingers strummed stars and moon to life, accompanied by a soft, deep baritone voice, perfect in its sphere.

Oh hush now my baby sleep gently,

The twilight is melting away,

The stars sparkle brightly,

The moon shines above,

And angels are with you this day.

 

Come lay your sweet head on the pillow,

Upon it the sandman will creep,

He’s bringing a bag full of dust for your eyes,

And soon you will be fast asleep.

 

Dream of tomorrow and fluffy white things,

Dream of soft kittens and rose petal wings

Dream of the sunrise when I will be there,

Dream of the love and the joy we will share.

 

Oh hush now my baby sleep gently,

The twilight is melting away,

I’ll kiss your sweet fingers,

And small rosy cheeks,

God Bless you, and keep you, I pray.

Bartleby’s voice was warm and kind, each note a wisp of breath, yet it carried throughout the tavern from every direction. As the music faded to silence, all eyes fell upon the children, old men smiling, many with tears of memory.

It was a song for the child in everyone present.

Old Mayson started clapping.

He sniffed and wiped the wetness of his face on his oily sleeve and kept clapping.

The room joined in.

Mr. Bartleby stood up and bowed.

“Well,” sniffed Elsa, “it’s time to go, children. It’s been a wonderful evening. Thank you Wendell. This is the nicest outing we’ve had in a long time. You’ve been very kind.”

Jan stood with her, the children already starting to pout.

Wendell waved the comments away. “I just wanted to show my appreciation.”

“Oh, you’re not leaving without gifts from uncle Mayson!” grumbled the tavern owner. He and Karyn walked to the table with several large bundles, each wrapped in cloth. “I have treats for all the children, and a special bundle that should keep for a few days if you pack it in a little snow, alright?”

Elsa gave Mayson a hug and then took the biggest package, passing the smaller ones to each of the children. “Thank you Mayson.”

The old man grinned. “And you take the day off tomorrow. I’ll set aside some coin for your wages.”

She frowned, suspicious. “You’ve never done that before.”

He gave a quick nod at Wendell, “You can thank this lot for closing me down. I sold all my food and drink stored for several weeks. I’ll be working tomorrow to restock.” Then with a grin, “But with the nice profit we made tonight, all you girls deserve a rest for how well you help me around here. So just rest.”

“Thank you.”

“Have a good time?” Wendell asked the kids.

“Yes!” they said in unison.

“Good. Then if Jan will walk you guys home, I’ll settle the bill and follow right behind you.”

“You sure?” Jan asked.

Nodding, “I’ll be right behind you guys. Just want to make sure everything is settled before I leave.” And maybe have a little word with our gnome friend, he thought to himself.

Old Mayson snorted. “There you go, being all responsible again.”