Story for the Day: The Leaf Flute - Part 2
Since Seamhair, the Frewyn Halloween, is around the corner, we are giving away The House Guest as part of the Spooktacular Giveaway. Enter HERE for a chance to win. And now, more of Bartleby and his flute:
Form his place,
however, being nearer the teahouse, Danaco saw Shandanzo, coming at last down
the lane. Danaco extended his calves and danced about on tiptoe, invigilating
his target from over his shoulder, looking and trying not to notice his missing
guardsmen. Here was an odd way of going about, first to be insisting that more
protection was required of his sentries, and then to enter the most crowded
part of the markets with no one at all—very strange indeed, and Danaco swiftly
danced back to their stall and prepared for the real performance.
“Rannig, begin to
play,” he commanded, in a hush. “Bartleby, sit in your abditory over there and
look as though you are watching us but keep a lookout.”
Bartleby hopped
over to his hove in the shade of the laurel, trying to keep out of the way of
the two caiques, who would not go away or stop dancing along the boughs, and
Danaco clapped his hands and pointed his front foot as Rannig began to play.
Danaco struck out
the rythym with his heels, Rannig followed with a succession of notes, and the
display was begun in earnest, Danaco making wide gyrating motions whilst
undulating his hips and holding out his arms. A small collection of women began
to form, some passing by and stopping to watch the dark Lucentian with the long
hair and painted skin bend and thrust, some came from the teahouse, leaving
their places at the terrace to gain a better look at what was to pleasing to
the eye. Children began to gather around the edges of the congregation, come
first to see the large and painted foreign man do a ridiculous hip dance, and
then to see a giant playing a small whistle. Some of the children, in
clamouring to see Rannig, bushed against Bartleby’s surcoat, and after he
flurned and called them disease-ridden urchins, he looked up and heartily
wished the caiques would do onto their heads what he wished they would not do
on his own.
Danaco twirled and
began the dance again on the left foot, craning his neck and swaying his body
with a saltational step. His eye was on Shandanzo, who was moving down the lane
and going, Danaco trusted, to the teahouse directly opposing the stalls. Bartleby
too was watching him; he seemed to be waiting for someone: he was standing at
the entrance to the terrace, he was looking about expectantly, he was growing
impatient, and then, from the top of the lane, came four men, one of them the
guardian whom Danaco had seen before, and the other three large and looming,
looking very much as though they were hired. They moved as one entity toward
Shandanzdo and clouded him on all sides.
“Oh, drat,” Bartleby
sighed. “We will have to do something—go away, you sniveling droolmonger, and
stop sucking on your arm,” he hissed at the child beside him, who had stepped
on his hem. “That is a very unsanitary and unwholesome habit, and if you don’t
stop screwing up your face, it will stay that way, which I should like to see
for the scientific aspect as well as for revenge.”
The child, now
perceiving the small old man, started and stared at him.
“Stop stepping on
my toes! Oh, go away, you wretched pusill. Nobody cares about and you are a
blight on your family.”
Once having
understood him, and having been properly horrified, the child’s lip began to
quiver, and he flailed and ran away.
“Bartleby,” Danaco
sang, dancing close to the old man. “You ought to be more forgiving to the
children.”
“It stepped on me
twice! think it might stop crying long enough to apologize. Instead, it runs
back to its mother. It ought to run back to the womb, where it can only be an
annoyance on the lace-mutton who brought the harbinger of microbes into the
world. I do not mind a good and quite child so much as I always hate
their parents, who are thankfully very far off. Our man is at the terrace,
captain.”
Danaco turned his
back to the audience of applauding women and whipped his hips about in a
circle. “I know,” he said to Bartleby surreptitiously, “and he has come with
three more than I was expecting. Very well, a change of plan.”
The captain
performed a last thrust and ended his dance in a low bow. An ovation resounded
from the crowd, and they all milled about in anticipation of more, remarking on
the Lucentian’s extraodirnary abilities, as the captain turned back toward
Rannig. He motioned for Bartleby to join them, and once Bartleby had pried
himself from his spot, the captain spoke seriously, his eyes low, his mind
working feverishly away.
“If we are going to
get that seal from him, we must first do something about those four guards.
Splitting their ranks and disabling two at a time would be much the best
thing.” He turned and peered over the dispersing crowd. “He is going to sit on
the terrace by the edge. Two of his men are moving into the teahouse, probably
to place his order, and the other two are standing on either side of him. Rannig,
you go into the teahouse and dispose of those two guards. Break them, if you
must, only do it in the alley behind the establishment, and do try not to
create any mess.”
“Aye, boss.”
“Bartleby, you will
change places with Rannig. You will stay here and play.”
“Play, captain?”
said Bartleby, with unanswerable dignity. “Play what exactly?”
“Anything you like.
You see how Rannig did it, keeping to the same six notes. Play anything, so
long as it have a beat. Rannig, when you are finished making those guards
regret their meeting you, you will signal us.”
“Aye, boss.”
Rannig shambled
away, endavouring to hide himself with copse of trees lining the lane, and as
Shandanzo was facing the traders’ stalls, Rannig was able to hasten passed and
slip into the teahouse from a side entrance without being noticed by Shandanzo
and his two guards.
“Go on, Barlteby,”
Danaco encouraged him. “Play something.”
“But I don’t know
how to play either of those instruments, captain,” the old man contended,
looking at the whistle and recorder Rannig left behind.
“Oh, Bartleby, what
a fuss you make. You need not write a symphony, only get together a few notes.
Hurry, we must continue the distraction to give Rannig time. Shandanzo should
not see the time pass or wonder where his guards are.”
Rannig, having
heard the captain’s comments in the subliminal and particular part of his brain,
wondered how anyone could see time, and moved toward the second and main
entrance of the teahouse.
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