Tales & Treasure Chapter 17

Vidmar - Questions & Answers

Start from the beginning - Tales & Treasure Table of Contents

Thud, thud, thud. The door to Vidmar’s room shook.

“Wake up, you lazy shits,” a deep voice bellowed. Vidmar rolled onto his stomach. The room spun. His dry lips cracked as he opened his mouth. The sour, stale taste of mead clung to his tongue like shit on a shoe.

“Wake up,” the voice hollered.

The door and a soft buzzing in his ears altered the gruff shouts. Vidmar sat up. Golden specs of light danced in the room. He blinked and hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. Not only did the stars remain, but pain coursed through his stumps, reminding him of his uselessness.

“Vidmar,” the voice called again, followed by an even more aggressive knock.

Vidmar pushed the imaginary stars away as he shuffled to the door. He slid the lock open, turned the knob, and Kamet burst into the room. “Rise and shine,” he said, almost knocking Vidmar over.

“I’m up,” Vidmar said, rubbing his face with his less crippled left hand. “What do you want?”

“Where’s the bard?”

“I don’t know. I just woke up.”

“Fine,” Kamet said. “But midday approaches, and I can only sharpen my knives and clean my mace so many times. I’m starving. Let’s get one of those mammoth ear things.”

“Why do you need me? Go,” Vidmar said, sitting down on the bed. 

“Never scout alone,” Kamet recited, standing straight. 

“We aren’t scouting. We are one of Emre’s largest cities. I’m sure you can manage breakfast on your own.”

“You don’t remember last night, do you?” Kamet said.

“Is it that obvious?” Vidmar said, laying down and pulling a blanket over his head.

“We may have made a few enemies.”

“We have plenty of enemies. What’s a few more?”

“Nothing normally, but we took these poor bastards for everything they had,” Kamet said, jingling his coin purse. 

“I still don’t see the problem,” Vidmar said, peeking over the blanket.

“Normally, there wouldn’t be a problem, but those fucking unlucky pigs are downstairs, and I don’t want to leave you alone.” 

Vidmar sat up. “You don’t think I can handle a few drunks.”

Kamet didn’t answer.

“You don’t.” Vidmar stood. The stars returned, spinning around the room. “Fine, but I’m not going anywhere until I get some water.”

“I thought you might say that,” Kamet said. He tossed his waterskin to Vidmar; it sloshed as he bobbled the catch. He pulled the cork out with his teeth and took a long, slow drink. 

“Ah,” Vidmar said, wiping his mouth with his forearm. He took another deliberate drink. “Boots,” he said, pointing to his worn leather pair near the door. Kamet set them at the foot of the bed. “Thanks.”

“What do you remember?” Kamet asked as Vidmar tied his boots. 

“Ah. We had a drink while we waited for our food. I brought a chicken up to Vatis. He was writing something in that journal of his, I asked him if he was coming down, and he said, ‘No, I’m working on my story.’ He asked me a few more questions about my escape from Jegon. Then I went downstairs, and you were playing dice. I sat next to you; you handed me a pint of mead and the rest is hazy,” Vidmar paused, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his bandaged palm. “Did I, ah, throw a knife at you?”

“Yes,” Kamet laughed. 

“You let me throw a knife at you,” Vidmar said, looking at his hands. 

“I never miss,” Kamet mimicked. 

“Did I miss?” Vatis asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Depends on what you were aiming at. If you were aiming at the apple in my hand, then yes, you missed. If you were aiming at my forearm, then no, you didn’t miss. Either way, it made us about thirty Kan each,” Kamet said, rolling up his sleeve and revealing a small, scabbed gash on the top of his forearm.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.”

“What can I say? I trust you. You were much closer than Simon, or was it Samon or Semin? Anyway, you won the bet,” Kamet said, rolling up his pants. He peeled back a dark red bandage. A deep, wet slice still dripped blood down his leg. 

“Why were you holding the apple? Why didn’t we put it on a shelf or something?”

“They paid double if I held it.”

“You’re an idiot,” Vidmar smiled. He rubbed his left hand, packed his knives into their hiding places, stretched his hands over his head, and vomited in the chamberpot. “Let’s go,” he wheezed through teary eyes. 

Vidmar followed Kamet down the rickety staircase. Three men rolled dice at a table near the door. “Boys,” Kamet said, nodding. All three stood. The stools screeched against the wood floor. The hollow thud echoed in the nearly vacant tavern. “No hard feelings,” Kamet said, walking to the bar. “Miss, a round of mead for my friends.” 

A choir of grumbled insults followed them out the door. “That wasn’t so bad,” Vidmar said.

“No, but it helped that they were a few pints in already,” Kamet said, straightening his belt. “Now, where can we get one of those sweets I’ve heard so much about?”

An hour later, Vidmar savored the last bite of the soft, warm pastry. “Damn,” he said, licking his lips.

Kamet mumbled incomprehensibly with a full mouth. 

Vidmar’s stomachache dissipated, but his headache lingered like a long winter. He rolled his head in a circular motion—a merchant selling fresh vegetables and herbs called to them from across the street. “Go back to where you came from,” the haggard man with warts on his nose yelled. 

Vidmar bowed. “And a fine day to you as well.” The street brightened as he bent down, almost knocking him off balance. “Folk around here are so pleasant.”

“Aye, they treat us like royalty. My mother isn’t as welcoming,” Kamet said loud enough for the merchant to hear.

“Don’t be silly, Kamet. Your mother is very welcoming,” Vidmar winked.

Kamet punched Vidmar in the shoulder. “Fucker.”

They walked through the market, basking in the insults slung their way from merchants and townsfolk. “Do you know where you are going?” Kamet asked after a long silence. 

“A shop called Gaffer’s,” Vidmar said. 

“The yellow building with the crooked sign,” Kamet said, squinting. “Yeah, Gaffer’s Goods. We have passed that place already.” 

“Three times.”

“Why?”

“I’m waiting for it to be empty. Someone is in there, some snob who has tried on at least three different shirts,” Vidmar said.

“How do you know that, and how will a tailor help you find the crown?”

Vidmar hushed Kamet, putting the bandaged remains of his left index finger to his lips. “Every time we pass, a skinny little shit is wearing a different shirt. And Gaffer, he’s more than a tailor. He sells a little bit of everything.” They walked by a fourth time. As they passed, a chime rang, and the door opened. The meticulous model ambled onto the street, carrying a pile of neatly folded clothes. The familiar melodic bounce of his steps could not be mistaken. Of course, it was Vatis.

“What are you doing here?” Vidmar asked.

“Gods,” Vatis said as he jumped, fumbling with the clothes. “Vidmar, ah, where did you come from? What are you doing here?” 

“I asked you first.”

“I’m buying new clothes for the tourney,” Vatis said, straightening the pile.

“Right. So, you were able to sign up?”

“Indeed. With little time to spare.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to your performance, but I don’t know why you aren’t telling the story of Montalvo,” Vidmar said, stepping closer to Gaffer’s.

“The people of Yimser are not fond of Montalvo, but that is a story for another day. Now, your escape from Jegon is a tale worth telling.” 

Vidmar shrugged. “I should never have told you about that. Can you at least change my name?”

“Why? I could surprise the audience and bring you on stage if all goes well,” Vatis said,  his voice changing in demeanor and inflection like he was performing. 

“I think that’s a bad idea,” Kamet interjected. 

“Since when do you think? Also, why are you talking like that, Vatis,” Vidmar added.

“One must prepare themselves for a performance, get into character as it were,” Vatis said, shifting on his feet and avoiding eye contact. He’s hiding something, Vidmar thought. “Are you sure you want me to change your name? Such a heroic tale could yield the companionship of a fair maid or maiden,” Vatis said, tilting his head. 

Vidmar looked at Kamet and smiled. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s never worked before, well, except on Kamet’s...” 

“Talk about my mother one more time, and I’ll finish what Alcin started,” Kamet said, bumping his chest against Vidmar’s. 

“Gentlemen,” Vatis said, stepping between them. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I must change into these garments and prepare for the tourney.” Vatis bowed gracefully and spun on his heels.

Vidmar rolled his eyes. “Good luck.” 

“Thank you, sir. I shall see you, gentleman, after the tourney,” Vatis said, prancing away. He hummed a strange tune, garnering equally strange looks from the men and women he passed. 

“He’s odd,” Kamet said as they watched Vatis disappear around the corner of a building. “I can’t get a read on him.”

“Vatis is strange, and I think there is more to him than his traveling bard gimmick,” Vidmar said, shaking his head. “But he’s not so bad, we’ve been through a lot together in a short time, and he’s a fine companion to have around a campfire, maybe the best storyteller I’ve heard. I don’t know how long he plans on following me. He has most of my stories. I’ve told him almost everything, probably too much.”

Kamet spat onto the street and nodded. “Definitely too much. Are you sure we can trust him?”

Vidmar looked down. “No,” he said after a moment's hesitation. “Not yet. Come on, let’s go inside before another customer enters.”

The chime rang as they entered Gaffer’s Goods. Vidmar gently closed the door, sliding the lock into place as it clicked into its frame. A cat jumped down from a shelf on Vidmar’s left. Two glass jars wobbled but didn’t fall. The feline landed silently and approached Kamet. It took a careful step forward, smelt his boot, and bolted toward the other end of the shop. 

An old man appeared, dragging a burlap sack behind him; his legs shook as he took slow, deliberate steps. The cat darted between his feet. “Who spooked you, Meeza,” he said, dropping the sack. Small black beans spilled out of the top of the bag. “Meeza,” he said, clicking his tongue. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Hello,” Vidmar called.

“Hello. I’m coming,” The old man said, approaching slowly. His shoulders arched rigidly, swallowing his neck like a turtle. He moaned as he sat on a nearby stool. Specks of dust floated in a beam of light pouring in through a high cat-nose-smudged window. A musty aroma hung in the air. “How can I help you?” he said, wheezing. Vidmar stepped forward. “Vidmar. Is that you?” the old man coughed. 

“The one and only,” Vidmar said, waving. I’ve spent too much time with Vatis. He thought as he finished the awkward gesture.

“Let me have a look at you, boy. Darkness, what happened to your hand?”

“We ran into some wolves - they got both hands,” Vidmar corrected, holding up his bandages. The left hand was healing as nicely as he could have hoped. His diligently sharpened knife had cut clean, but an infection coursed through his right hand. Black veins spread from his knuckles to his wrists. Oozing scabs itched on the stumps of his missing fingers. He hated to admit it, but the pain worsened by the hour. I can’t die, not yet, not here,  Vidmar thought, pulling his hands away. 

“Come closer. Let me see your hands,” the old man asked, scooting forward on the stool.

Reluctantly, Vidmar stepped closer, placing his hands in Gaffer’s upturned palms. “I’m fine.”

“We will see about that,” Gaffer said, unwrapping Vidmar’s left hand. “This looks ok, though I’ve never seen a wolf bite so clean,” he said, looking up. Vidmar felt the intense scrutiny of Gaffer’s gaze but remained silent. The shopkeeper unwrapped Vidmar’s right hand. “Everlasting Darkness. This infection will take your arm in a week if you aren't careful.” 

Kamet stepped around Vidmar to look at his hand. “Gods, Vidmar, we need to get you to a medic.”

“I’m fine,” Vidmar insisted. “I’ve been cleaning it with alcohol.” 

Gaffer stood, using Vidmar’s shoulder for support. “You need something more than alcohol, boy; the rot has sunk in. I might have something back here.” Gaffer moved behind a wooden desk with stacks of books on each corner like towers on a castle. He groaned as he bent down out of sight. Vidmar heard a lock click and a door slide open. Meeza returned, jumping onto the desk to watch Gaffer. “Ah, here we are,” he said, closing the door. He emerged a few seconds later with clean bandages and a black canister. 

“What’s that?” Vidmar asked. 

The old man mumbled something to himself as he scratched the cat’s ears. “More than you deserve. We haven’t seen you in years, and you show up at our shop dying.” 

“I’m not dying,” Vidmar said.

“We all are welcomed by the Darkness sooner or later. You’re just on an accelerated path,” Gaffer laughed. “But don’t worry, I’ll save you…again.” Gaffer winked at the cat. He opened the canister and rubbed a white, speckled paste over Vidmar’s wounds. It burnt at first, but after a moment, a cool, numbing sensation invigorated Vidmar. 

“What is that?” Vidmar said, feeling like his fingers had grown back. “The pain is gone.” 

Gaffer closed the container. “It’s made from the Axiro plant that grows near the tar pit. It will save your life,” Gaffer said, sticking his tongue between his teeth and bandaging Vidmar’s hands. “There. Leave them wrapped for a few days, then clean them with the alcohol you’re fond of; then, you should live another few weeks before you run into wolves again.”

“Thank you, Gaffer,” Vidmar said, wiggling his unwrapped fingers.

“You’re welcome, Vidmar. It is our duty to help those in need before we can rest, though I don’t think you came here for medicine,” Gaffer said.

“Nothing gets by you. I need your help,” Vidmar said seriously. 

“He needs our help, Meeza. What do you think of that? We just saved his life, yet he needs more help,” the old man said, petting the cat. 

“Please, Gaffer. I’m out of leads,” Vidmar said, stepping closer. The cat jumped off Gaffer’s lap. 

“You wouldn’t be here otherwise. No one comes to visit us, Meeza. Where did you go, girl?” Gaffer said, slowly turning his head from side to side. “What is it this time? Provisions, poison, another book, another name?”

Vidmar felt anger boil to the surface of his cheeks. I never use poison, a coward’s weapon, he thought. He inhaled slowly. “I need you to translate something. You claim to know every language in Emre,” Vidmar said, pulling the flat circular stone from his pack. Narrow silver markings shimmered on its face. He handed it to Gaffer. 

“What’s this?” Gaffer said curiously.

“My only lead, and I paid dearly for it. Do you know what it says?” Vidmar asked. 

Gaffer examined the stone, running his fingertips over the markings. “Where did you get this?” he said, holding the stone into a light beam. 

“Does it matter?” Vidmar asked. 

Kamet shifted from side to side. He tapped his foot on the floor.

“I suppose not,” Gaffer said. “Quit that tapping.”

Kamet stiffened and stopped.

“Interesting,” Gaffer said, examining the stone like a banker inspecting a counterfeit coin. “I’ve seen these markings before. They…” 

“What does it say?” Vidmar interrupted. 

Gaffer huffed. “Follow me,” he said, then turned to Kamet, waving a crooked finger. “You. Yes, you. Guard the door. If anyone comes by, tell them I’m out for a walk. We love a good walk, don’t we, Meeza? Where’d that cat go off to? Anyway, don’t let anyone in. Vidmar, come.”

Vidmar nodded at Kamet. “This way,” Gaffer said.

He followed Gaffer through the shop. They passed shelf after shelf of various goods. One wooden shelf sagged in the middle as it struggled to hold what looked like a perfect iron sphere, another had carved figurines of soldiers, and another held a single boot leaning against a stack of leather-bound books. One shelf, in particular, captivated Vidmar’s attention. It held knives and daggers and other weapons arranged haphazardly. The sharp metal gleamed in the dim light. He extended onto his toes to get a better look at the blades. A door creaked open.

“In here,” Gaffer said. They walked into a dark room; Gaffer lit the lantern on the wall. The air was heavy and smelled of mold. He stepped into the cold room. Gaffer rummaged through a chest against the wall. “Vidmar, do an old man a favor and grab those stools,” Gaffer said, pointing to the opposite end of the room. 

Vidmar dragged the heavy stools into the center of the cellar. Goosebumps rose on his forearms. 

“Ah, here we are,” Gaffer said, carefully shutting the lid. Vidmar heard two clicks. Two locks. Whatever is in there must be valuable, Vidmar thought, examining the chest further as Gaffer wandered over carrying something wrapped in white cloth. Metal straps bolted the chest to the stone floor. The trunk wasn’t made of wood but solid metal inlaid with silver veins. That chest is worth more than his entire shop. 

“Vidmar,” Gaffer said, adjusting his seat. “I don’t know where you found that stone, and I don’t want to.” He uncovered the object under the cloth, a nearly identical stone with slightly different markings. “Members of The Pact traded and communicated with these stones. Some stones held secrets, some stones held locations, and some stones held names.” Vidmar didn’t speak. Vatis was right – it is The Pact. God’s I always believed they were a fairy tale, something orphans made up to escape their reality, he thought, leaning closer as Gaffer continued. 

“My stone holds a name, Dinardo. The founder and leader of The Pact. It is the most common of the stones. They exchanged these while recruiting to confirm validity. Your stone isn’t the same,” Gaffer said, pulling Vidmar’s stone out of his pocket. “This appears to be a secret as it is neither a name nor a location.”

Vidmar clenched his fists; searing needles stabbed his tender wounds through the numbing ointment. Of course, it’s not a location. Why is it always difficult?  “What does it say?” Vidmar asked through gritted teeth. 

“Patience,” Gaffer said. “It takes time to read The Pact’s code. It’s like mathematics; it takes many steps for a simple answer.” Gaffer traced the markings on the stone and drew intricate shapes in the air with his other hand. He squinted and scratched his chin before letting a solitary sigh escape.

“What?” Vidmar asked. 

“Hush,” Gaffer said, never taking his eyes off the stone. “Very clever.” Gaffer paused before he retraced his steps. “Better to confirm than to report inaccurately, eh Vidmar?”

Vidmar bit the insides of his cheeks and nodded. Tell me what it says, old man. 

“It lies near the dead,” Gaffer said.

“What?”

“That’s what the stone says, ‘It lies near the dead,’ I’m sure, oh there you are, Meeza.” The cat’s eyes glimmered atop a high shelf in the dark room. It jumped down gracefully. 

Vidmar watched the cat stretch its back. “What the fuck does that mean? ‘It lies near the dead.’ What is it? The crown? Fuck, damnit, shit, this is no help,” Vidmar’s voice grew louder with each curse. Why can’t anything be simple? He looked at his mangled hands. After two years of searching, I now have another riddle to solve, another clue that leads to another mystery. “What do I do now?” He asked more to himself than Gaffer, but the old man answered anyway. 

“I think this is good news. ‘It lies near the dead’ must mean the crown is in Barna, in the palace. Many believe masons constructed the palace over the tomb of The Nameless King.”

“It could mean the crown lies with Greco, and no one has found his tomb,” Vidmar mumbled, covering his face with his hands. “Or it could mean it lies in a random graveyard. Or it might not refer to the crown at all. It’s another riddle, and I am sure another will appear when I solve this one.”

“Isn’t that the task of a treasure hunter?” Gaffer said. “To solve riddle after riddle until the treasure is found.”

Vidmar stood. He kicked the stool. It shot backward, bouncing loudly off the stone floor. Meeza hissed and scattered out of the room. He bent over, collapsing onto his knees. “I’m tired, Gaffer - so tired. Every time I wake, I feel like my fingers are still there. It is a haunting feeling. I can feel my missing knuckles bend. I can feel the tip of a blade between my fingertips, and then I look down at emptiness, and icicles stab my wounds. I don’t know if I did the right thing. I don’t know if I’m working for the enemy. Even if I succeed and find this damned crown, I don’t know if I’ll be remembered as a traitor or a savior. Either way, I will be on the run for the rest of my life.” He blinked away tears from his itching eyes. “I believed him, I believed in him, but now, I fear I’m supporting another monster, a less obvious but equally ruthless monster.” 

Gaffer didn’t respond. He watched Vidmar closely. One, two, three, four, five, Vidmar thought, counting his breath. He sighed, relaxing his shoulders and cracking his neck. “I’m sorry, Gaffer.”

Gaffer stood. “There’s no need to apologize, my boy.”

“Thank you for your help,” Vidmar said, looking at the ground.

“Hope is not lost, Vidmar,” Gaffer said, picking up Vidmar’s chin with shaking, crooked fingers. “There’s a reason the crown has stayed hidden for centuries. The path was never meant to be easy. But I feel that you’re closer than anyone has come since The Pact disappeared. So, compose yourself, collect the information, and continue your search. I’m sorry I couldn’t offer more aid, but I may have something that could provide some support.” 

Vidmar furrowed his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“A book.”

“Of course,” Vidmar laughed. 

Gaffer shuffled out of the room. “Come, follow me.” 

Kamet stood statuesque at the door. He peered around a table holding miscellaneous traveling supplies mouthing the word “well.” Vidmar shook his head. Kamet bit his lip, punched his thigh, and returned to his post. 

Gaffer searched through stack after stack of books. “Where is it? Darkness. A book doesn’t simply walk off on its own.” 

“What’s the matter?” Vidmar asked as he piled fallen books into a neat stack.

“I can’t find it,” Gaffer said, half answering the question and half talking to himself. “By night’s long rest,” he said after throwing another book onto the floor. It fluttered like a bird with a broken wing before knocking over Vidmar’s stack. “Mia,” he finished as he sat in a chair. “Mia.”

Gaffer breathed heavily. Meeza shyly jumped onto his lap. He took a deep, wet breath like he was inhaling water. He coughed. Green mucus splashed against his wrist and his upper lip. The cat scurried away under a small table. 

“Can I get you anything?” Vidmar asked as the coughing slowed. 

“No. I’m fine. Thank you,” Gaffer said. He exhaled smoothly through pursed lips. “Ah, there we are. I’m afraid the long dark is beginning to cast its shadow on me, but nonetheless, I know where the book is. Mia has it.”

“Who’s Mia,” Vidmar asked. 

“Oh Mia, there aren’t many like her. She’s a brilliant girl, quick as a cat and sharp as a knife. She likes to come in every once in a while.”

“I’m sure she’s a fine woman. Where can I find her?” Vidmar interrupted. 

Gaffer narrowed his eyes and cleared his throat. “Not a woman, a girl, but as I was saying, she likes to come in and borrow books. She lives on the other side of the bridge, but she hangs around the market during the day. She’s no more than ten and has brown hair, usually tied in a bun. She loves books, histories, and stories. I’m sure she will be at the tourney.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Vidmar said. 

“Because I’m rather fond of the girl, and she can help you if she likes you. She’s rather particular in that regard. Probably had something to do with abandonment and raising herself in a tough city. You know you two have a lot in common. Anyhow, she has a book on the disappearance of The Pact. It might be able to help you with your search,” Gaffer said, scratching his chin.

“Mia?” Vidmar asked. 

“Yes, Mia.”

“Well, I guess I’ll go searching for my next riddle. Thank you, Gaffer,” Vidmar said. “Someday, I’ll repay you for your kindness; maybe I’ll see you at the tourney.”

“I never miss it,” Gaffer smiled. “Good luck, Vidmar. May your feet find the road.” 

“And yours.”

Vidmar and Kamet walked onto the busy street. Herds of people passed by in both directions. “What now?” Kamet asked.

“There’s still some time before the tourney,” Vidmar said, looking at the descending sun above a steeply pitched roof. “Let’s go back to Geoff’s.”