Chapter 31: Where No Bench Can Sit

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“Hungry?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says. Her sister and the man look on.

I look to Trinket, for this is his house and his is the hospitality of the place.

He shrugs. “Water or ale, but no more than one.” Meaning one ladle. “It’s almost time for bed.”

I ask each, in turn, whether they’ll have water or ale. The man chooses water and I bring it to him, one hand under the bowl of the ladle, to catch any drips.

Then I stop, confused. I reach out to take his chin and put the ladle to it, but the water drips off to the side.

Then I tip his head back and try again and this time the water goes into his mouth.

The head woman has water, as well, and Jimbe is content for me to do this task, so I manage her head as well.

And the woman in the green scarf. “Ale,” she says, and she catches my eye as I hold her mouth and catches it again as I take her head in hand for her sips.

I meet her eyes - deep brown with flecks of gold that I can barely make out in the faint light of the fire.

We burn the second candle and Mrs. Trinket lights the third as I mash up bread for the People of the Circle. Trinket gives me a bone spoon and tells me not to use it wrong when I turn it around.

“It’s not a pestle,” he says. “Have some respect.” He shoots a dirty look at the People of the Square. A poet can mix words as the artist mixes paint - anger, disgust, revulsion.

I turn the spoon back to its wide end and use it to stir together the water and bread. I feel my own stomach protest hunger, but the previous candle taught me my lesson.

I ate first and fell asleep leaving a grumpy Jimbe to the task.

“You’ll feed them next candle,” he says, as he shakes me awake and bids me to lie down.

So now, I’ve broken up a loaf of bread - the peasant loaf, larger than a man’s fist - and poured water in and now I’m mixing and worrying the water into the bread.

I wonder what the People of the Square think of me. And who are they? Are the two women truly sisters, as I call them? Is the man a husband to one? Both? What are the ways of the People around family?

Finally, I turn to sit on the other side of the bench, facing the People.

“Is everyone hungry?” I ask.

I go across, weak to strong, the man, the head woman, and her sister, putting a spoonful in each mouth and opening and closing their mouths in turn. When each swallows, I move to the next one.

“Water or ale?” I ask each in turn.

My duties discharged, I break apart my loaf and mix it with ale. I put the spoon aside, for my fingers are up to the task.

Two more dragons approach on my next watch. I’m wearing lenses, even though we’ve already passed through the cloud of sprites and haven’t seen any this watch.

Jindal had been taken by the sprites only the second watch after we left Ploth. The captain tells all of us we’ll not throw him off, not should he rave every word in every language twice.

He would lay in a Garden and be taken to a Sailor’s Grave on world.

Thus speaks the captain.

The Dragons do not approach quickly. They pass on the strong side of Leth-Rothioria and then drop below. I keep to my task of oiling the Leviathan’s skin around the fins.

Leth-Rothioria shudders underneath me. I cling to the guide rope. Leth-Rothioria contracts to the strong side, the great body curving in a parody of the gracefulness it displayed in life.

The dragons fly up, past me, one then the other. By the time I can lock my eyes on them, they are gone, for dragons are creatures of action.

And the People of the Square are there. A true dream bleeds into my Sailor’s Dream, for they sit on a bench in the air where no bench can sit.

The Headwoman looks at me disapprovingly.

Her sister says, “You looked at my stuff when Jimbe put me on the pot. Naughty boy!” Her lips do not move in the dream, but I feel her smile and adult smile of humor and understanding - without rebuke.

The man has no face.

I start awake, shivering.

There is no light in the cottage, save for the Clock Candle, and that only a pitiful light. I listen for the sound of goblins. I hear only one forlorn scraping of claw on rock, slow, persistent.

I’m on the bench. Jimbe sleeps on the table, for the floor is very cold.

I sit up, quietly, in the dark, feeling that cold on my feet. I sit and listen to the sounds of the darkness - Jimbe, the goblin scratching, and the breathing of the People. Two of them are breathing as sleepers do.

Who is awake?

I close my eyes - as if that little darkness would make the difference in my hearing - and wait. Then I slide down the bench, slowly, and reach out.

“Are you awake?” I ask. My voice is breathy - not a whisper, barely the remnant of speech.

I reach out, carefully, to find the woman in the hat woman’s chin and close and open her mouth.

“Yes,” she says, just as quiet. I continue to open and close her mouth. “But if I weren’t, wouldn’t I be now?”

“Yes,” I say. “Are you cold?”

“Warm enough,” she says. “Warm as I can be.”

“Why are you people like this?” I ask. “Why the cords? Why the mark?”

I feel a smile in her voice. I have no other words for that.

“What answer satisfies?” she asks. “Why are you here? Pulling a cart? Does that man own you? The bone man?”

“He doesn’t own me,” I say, face hot with indignation. Of course, anything hot feels good in the cold, damp cottage, even indignation. “I owe him my carting, that is all. And I’m true to my word.”

“How?” she asks. “Like you are true to us?” I keep moving her chin, but she stops speaking with “us”.

“What does this mean?” I ask.

“One loaf for three of us,” she begins again. “All on the same spoon. Nevermind, though,” she says. “You do not despise us like the bone man.”

I want to ask more about why Lianth so despises the People of the Square that he will not speak to them, will not spend time in the common room with them, but something else comes out.

“Did you see me looking at your woman parts? I’m sorry.”

“No offense,” she says. “Natural for a boy. Wants to see.”

“Thank you,” I say. Only the tiniest sound lives in my breath.

“Go back to sleep,” Jimbe says.

“Happy in the light,” I say, still softly, and settle back in on the bench, facing away from them again.

Submitted: August 15, 2023

Fantasy sprite goblins bones