Sagaria (3 page)

Tod gave a loud, mocking laugh to show he believed not one word of this. There was a brief pool of silence around them as people paused in their chatter and turned to look, then the faces turned away and the babble resumed.

To calm his mind, Flip focused on what he could see over Tod’s burly shoulder. Up on the dais at the end of the tent sat the chieftain, Luti Furfoot, behind a table that creaked under the weight of the delicacies heaped on it. On one side of Luti sat Jinnia, looking a little bored but even more beautiful than ever as she picked fastidiously at a bright red berry. She was wearing a circlet woven from fall flowers on her head.

On Luti’s other side was Old Cobb.
Now how did they manage to coax him 
from his home?
thought Flip. Old Cobb had the longest beard and the shortest sight of anyone in the village, and he hadn’t set foot out of his filthy cottage for a long time. He’d even missed the past few years’ festival parties. Some of the children, reluctant but acting under strict instructions and dire threats from their parents, had taken goodies from the feast to his doorstep so that he wouldn’t feel left out. At least, that’s what the grown-ups had told them. All they’d received by way of thanks from Old Cobb had been a torrent of reedy, querulous abuse hurled through his gnarled bark door. Although, as everyone had joked, he’d eaten the food and drunk the cider readily enough once he’d convinced himself no one was watching.

The tales were that many, many moons ago, Cobb had been a sprightly young fellow who’d known the woods like the back of his paw. Some said he’d learned how to talk to the birds, so they did his bidding, but obviously this couldn’t be true. Birds were big and savage and dangerous, and could tear a person to pieces with their swiftly slashing beaks and claws.

At the moment, Old Cobb was turned away from Luti, earnestly saying something to the chair next to him and quite unperturbed by the fact that the chair was empty.

“… and she won’t give you so much as a second look,” Tod was saying in that offensive bray of his. “The prettiest girl in the whole of Mishmash and the chieftain’s daughter as well – what makes you think she’d have a moment to spare for the village headcase?”

Flip tried desperately to think of something witty and devastating to say.

“B–but,” was all he managed.

Tod ignored this as beneath his contempt.

“She told me that what she loves are
real
adventurers, adventurers who laugh in the face of danger.”

Tod put his fist on his chest and let out another sample of the kind of laugh real adventurers gave in the face of danger. It sounded to Flip like someone who’d never played the trombone before, but it seemed to have the desired effect on the merrymakers around them, who once again paused and looked at the big peacock-like figure Tod struck.

The audience didn’t go back to their gossiping this time, but kept their attention on the big fellow as he continued declaiming to Flip.

“Too bad
you
don’t fall into that category,” Tod boomed. “I’m surprised you dare to call yourself ‘adventurer’ at all.”

I’m cowering,
thought Flip furiously.
I really am.

He tried to make his shoulders bulge. Remembering his secret wish at the cottage, he shot a few nervous glances around, hoping to spy a bowl of custard.

No such luck.

“There are some who do,” said Flip, “and some who don’t, but still talk about it.”

He’d spoken very quietly, almost in a hiss, but all those standing in the temporary silence around them heard every word. Glancing up at Tod’s face, Flip suddenly realized with a jolt of astonishment that the shot had struck home. There was an unusual uncertainty behind the braggart’s eyes. You could see the thoughts chasing each other there. No one had ever called Tod’s bluff. Was Flip about to? If so, Tod could be doomed.

Tod visibly tried to shake off his doubt. “I don’t have the time to waste standing here chatting with you, dear chap, much as I’d like to,” he blustered in a show of hollow good humor. He waved a sheet of paper under Flip’s nose. “I have my speech to practice, you know. My voice will need a little warming up if it’s to be at its best.”

With a final wave of his paw, he pushed back through the crowd and soon, even the top of his head was out of sight.

Someone pressed a goblet of cider into Flip’s paw. “Good to see that fabricating loudmouth getting a little of his own back.”

Surprised, Flip looked around. He only vaguely recognized the grinning face. It was one of the millers who lived on the far side of Mishmash and only occasionally came into town. Then he noticed the miller’s wasn’t the only smiling face; the people to either side of him were glowing with approval as well.

“Thank you,” he said politely, raising the cup first to its giver and then to his lips.

A bell rang – the signal that the grand festival dinner was about to be served. As Flip scouted around for somewhere to sit that would give him a good view of Jinnia (he might never capture her heart but he could still admire her from afar), his mind was full of speculations. He’d always assumed Tod was popular, but earlier he’d seen that Dodgem didn’t much like the fellow and now, it was clear that there were others who felt much the same way.
If all of those people can see through Tod’s bragging and despise him for it,
he thought,
maybe Jinnia does as well.

This notion was so stunning that for a few long moments, he was frozen in place. By the time he’d recovered, he discovered that all the chairs around him had already been eagerly seized. He looked about for any sign of a vacant space at the trestles, but couldn’t see one. He noticed somebody waving at him in the distance. It was Luti Furfoot. Why would the chieftain be trying to attract Flip’s attention?

Then he saw that the chieftain was not just waving, but pointing to the empty chair beside Old Cobb. It seemed to be the only one in the tent that was
still empty, and no wonder. Nobody would sit next to Old Cobb if they could possibly help it. It wasn’t that Luti Furfoot especially wanted Flip to dine at the top table. It was just that the chieftain was desperate to find someone to distract the dotard’s attention so that he, Luti, wouldn’t be stuck talking to him for the rest of the night. And, standing there with his mouth open as if he’d just been stung on the rear end by a bee, Flip was the obvious candidate.

Ho hum,
thought Flip as he made his way to the dais.
At least I’ll be near Jinnia.

When he got closer he found that Old Cobb had dozed off, doubtless from one cup too many of strong cone cider. Cobb’s head rested on his shoulder and a steady snore issued from his nostrils. A little drop of drool had formed at the corner of his mouth. Flip scooted into his seat as quietly as he could, for fear of waking up the ancient.

He was just in time. He’d hardly settled when Luti Furfoot pulled himself up onto his hind legs and hammered the table in front of him to call for quiet in the room. Old Cobb stirred a little as the conversation died away, but mercifully did not waken.

The chieftain cleared his throat loudly and the last of the whispers stopped.

“I bid you all welcome,” Luti Furfoot proclaimed, “to the two hundred and fiftieth harvest festival of our proud community of Mishmash!”

There was a roar of applause. If the tent had rafters, the cheering would have raised them.

Flip joined in the ruckus cautiously, one eye on the still-snoozing oldster beside him.

“Today,” the chieftain continued, once the noise ebbed a little, “is a very special day for me, as many of you know. For today is not just the birthday of my beloved daughter, Jinnia Furfoot, but also the day on which she has come of age. As her proud father, I have to confess that this creates for me a certain amount of trepidatiousness.”

Luti was grinning as he carefully enunciated the long word, chosen deliberately for its cumbersomeness. Everybody knew what he meant. Before today, anyone who wished to claim Jinnia’s hand in marriage had to gain Luti’s permission for the union first. From now on, the choice of consort was solely up to Jinnia. Although one assumed she would still ask for her father’s blessing, she was legally entitled to go ahead and wed whomsoever she chose without it.

There were cheers, stamping and a few shouted off-color remarks. Squinting along the table, Flip could see Jinnia blushing prettily as she toyed with some morsel of food on her plate.

“But most of all,” cried Luti Furfoot, his voice rising to a crescendo, “her coming of age gives me great joy!”

He paused for a split second.

“Now, let the festivities begin!”

This time, the cheering was like a rapidly advancing tidal wave, a wall of sound that seemed ready to engulf everything. Scores of hats were hurled into the air. Laughter and shouting added to the din.

The food that had been on the tables earlier had merely been the beginning of the feast. An army of young folk emerged from all sides, staggering under the weight of serving dishes that seemed half as big as they were and at least half as heavy. Some of the boys rolled mighty barrels in front of them filled with cider, beer or fruit juice. Every plate in the room was soon piled high, every goblet brimming.

Flip ate sparingly and drank only a little of the beer an enthusiastic youth poured for him. Restraint in eating and drinking was a habit he’d picked up during his long ventures away from the village. Too much of either slowed the wits and the body, which was not at all what an explorer wanted when an unknown peril could lurk around every corner. He couldn’t help noticing that it was a habit that Tod, sitting among a group of his cronies at the table directly in front of the dais and tucking in with enthusiasm, had not acquired. Flip idly wondered if the big fellow had really ventured far from Mishmash at all or if, as soon as he was out of sight, he just holed up in a tree for a while with a mound of nuts and berries.

Flip ground his teeth, annoyed with himself. He disliked the boaster, to be sure, and he knew with every fiber of his body that Tod embellished his tales almost to the point of unrecognizability, but to think that the fellow was an out-and-out liar – why, that was to demean oneself. The people of Mishmash did not lie, except perhaps sometimes a little white lie or two in the service of a higher truth; they were very proud of this fact. They might embroider things a little, but that was all.

He soothed himself by stealing another sideways glance at Jinnia. Smiling broadly, her cheeks flushed, she was talking animatedly with her father. As Flip watched, his heart yearning for her, she bent her head forward to kiss Luti on the cheek.

The serious business of eating and drinking carried on for a while longer. At last, when the pace of even the most dedicated trenchermen was beginning to slow – by which time Old Cobb was far from the only person to be snoring from the beer and cider – there was another tinkling of the bell.

Flip’s spirits plunged like a stone. This was the sign that the speechifying was set to begin and, undoubtedly, the very first person to take the floor would be none other than …

Sure enough, Tod was already on his feet, a grin the size of a barn door plastered across his face.

“Well, I guess that was my signal,” said Tod with a supposedly modest chuckle.

There was some scattered applause.

“Tell us the one about the lizard,” bellowed a beer-coarsened voice from the back.

“No, no! We want to hear about the fish!” came another voice. “The great big scaly monster that swallowed you up.”

There were groans and giggles as people indicated this was perhaps not the most suitable story to tell folk who’d just eaten a hearty meal.

Tod waited until all had quietened before bowing his head in false humility toward where Luti Furfoot and his daughter sat. Flip couldn’t help but notice that Jinnia’s face seemed filled with rapt admiration for the big storyteller.

“Well,” said Tod, “since today is the birthday of the lovely Miss Furfoot, I do believe that she and she alone should be the one to choose the tale I shall tell you all.”

Jinnia’s voice was like a song. Flip had always thought this and normally, he could have listened to it for hours on end, whatever she was saying. She could be reading a laundry list and it would still be the sweetest music to his ears. But it seemed that today, she had chosen a melody he didn’t enjoy at all.

“Tell us, dear Tod,” she said a little breathlessly, “do tell us the story about how you fought the colossus of all cockroaches.”

“Oh,” said the storyteller with a broad sweep of his arm. “A very wise choice, my beautiful Miss Furfoot, if I might say so.”

Jinnia giggled. “You most certainly might.”

Flip felt sick. Surely Jinnia wasn’t so senseless as not to see through the cape of falsehood that Tod wore? Yet, it seemed from the way she had her forepaws knitted together in front of her ardently smiling face that she was just as gullible as the rest of them.

Except
, he thought, remembering the fellow who’d given him a goblet of cider and the people at his shoulder, the rest aren’t nearly as gullible as I thought they were before this evening.
At least, not all of the rest. Maybe Jinnia’s just pretending, the way the others have always done.

It was a weak hope, but a hope.

“Well,” Tod began, “it must have been three years ago last spring that I …”

Flip rolled his eyes resignedly and tuned the words out. He’d heard the story a hundred times before. Who hadn’t? Each time the cockroach got bigger and fiercer, and Tod got braver and braver. A few more tellings and Tod would have
saved the whole world from being gobbled up by the ravening insect.

Suddenly, Flip could stand it no longer. Some of the avid faces watching Tod spin his lies, shiny with heat and good food and drink, belonged to Flip’s friends. He knew the other people either a little or a lot, and liked most of them well enough. He’d had his fill of watching them be fed this preposterous nonsense just to fuel the conceit of a …

…
of a liar.

There, Flip had thought it. He’d flinched from the notion the last time it had popped into his head, but this time he didn’t. Tod’s elaboration of reality had gone far beyond mere improvements on the truth.