“Wh-what was that?”
Loki bent forward, his eyes blazing with a life Minion had never seen before. “Home!” he cried. “Where I belong. What I've sought for a long, long time. We're going there as soon as that little window is big enough to allow us to pass.”
“When will that be?”
“I calculate in about two, maybe three moons passing.”
“What if the portal doesn’t get any bigger than that?” Minion asked innocently.
Loki’s eyes widened and he looked around as if someone might be overhearing. “Shssh! Shut your mouth!” Loki slapped the little man upside the head. “You mustn’t say such things!” Then just as suddenly he grabbed Minion’s head in a playful headlock and stroked it gently. “No matter if it shouldn't get much bigger. The important thing is that I found it. I am not without means to force it wider. However, I should still wait until the moon and Venus are properly aligned to try. I may only get one chance. Unfortunately, that will mean putting up with that nest of do-gooders, Greensprings.”
Minion made a muffled concession from Loki’s armpit.
Loki stopped his stroking, absent-mindedly wiped his hand on Minion’s shoulder, and turned them back towards the keep. “But that is acceptable. I am a patient man. I've waited this long; I can wait a little longer. Even if I have to put up with those wretchedly happy people. They remind me so of that silly Marcus Ionus whom I beguiled into inviting me here. I'll just have to make a game of it.
#
“Is it only me, or does Sir Gregory seem a bit cockier than before?” Patrick said to Sir Jon at breakfast, gesturing for his fellow Reservist to pass him the bread. “Certainly he never swaggered like that before.”
“Gregory has never been, nor is he now, cocky. You're just angry that it was he who made Avangarde, and not you.” Jon passed him the loaf. His moment of uncharacteristic wisdom sounded like condescension.
“And you aren't?”
“Of course I am, but I don't let it disturb me,” Jon responded in a whisper, for the Viscount Loki’s servant, Minion, came to sit at the table.
“It doesn't disturb me
that
much,” Patrick lied, also whispering and trying not to make eye contact with the little man who was for some reason methodically touching every utensil and plate near him. “I was just making an observation.”
“Well, what is past is past, so...” Jon paused to pass a fork to Minion, whose arms were too short to reach it. “So we must try ever harder to prove ourselves.”
“I
have
been trying.” The Irishman smirked, not bothering to whisper anymore. “It doesn't seem to be doing me any good. And I don't see what Gregory did that was so special to be chosen.”
“Maybe you need a whole new approach.”
Minion was now biting on the fork. “Like what?” Patrick asked.
Jon looked about as if he were about to divulge an important secret, whispering even more quietly, though Minion was already moving on to the next utensil, oblivious to the knights’ conversation. “You need to win your way into the confidence of the key players in the keep.”
Patrick slapped his hand to his face. Of course Jon would say that. “I have no intention whatsoever of demeaning myself to 'win' anyone's confidence. I want to become an Avangarde by my merits, not by whose arse I sniff.”
“Look, Gawain, if you really want it, you have to become creative. A knight's skills do not lie in the sword alone. Sometimes it's necessary to be a diplomat, not a warrior. For example, I hear that the staff is going to try a new chaperoning method to divide the duties among the staff and Avangarde. They are going to let the Guests choose by whom they are chaperoned when they go outside the keep, or are tutored, and so forth.”
“So?”
“So if I can convince a certain Guest, a certain older and influential Guest, to request me as a chaperone, then that Guest will certainly have positive things to say about me, and thus word will reach those who make the decisions, and eventually I will be a prime candidate for an Avangarde.” Jon paused and looked at Patrick for a reaction.
Patrick stifled a laugh. “And just what Guest did you have in mind?”
Jon tried nonchalantly to jerk his head in Minion’s direction, which of course, only made it look more obvious.
The little man was now digging through a burlap sack.
Patrick frowned. “I don’t think Minion has much influence in these matters.”
Jon rolled his eyes. “No,
his
master...Loki,”
Patrick shook his head whimsically. “Jon, Jon, Jon. If ever I am master of my own kingdom, I certainly would want you as my advisor, for humor's sake if nothing else.”
Jon smiled. “Well, we'll see.”
Minion departed then, not having eaten anything, slinging his sack over his shoulder.
“Where’s my fork?” Patrick frowned as he searched around his seat.
“Look, there is Viscount Loki now,” Jon said excitedly. He straightened out his collar and quickly ran a hand through his thick blond hair. “Wish me luck,” he said, and left. Patrick smiled and shook his head.
“Ho, Jon!” Sir Peredur, an Avangarde, intercepted the Reservist in the middle of the dining hall. “Ho, Jon. Where are the scissors I lent to you?”
Patrick saw Loki glance at the two men, and pass out of the room. Jon didn’t notice. “I left them in front of your door, as always.”
Peredur was angry. “If someone else borrowed them they would have left a note.”
Jon crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “Just what are you suggesting?”
Peredur raised his hands defensively. “Look, Jon, I know that they are handy and you have been busy, but those scissors were a gift from the finest smith in my home city. Their handles are gold. Just bring them by later tonight and everything will be fine.”
Jon's face turned crimson. “
I left them at your door
.”
“Just bring them back,” Peredur said, stalking away.
#
Minion entered the kitchen unobtrusively and went straight to the drawers that held the keep’s silverware. Unfortunately, most of it was made of wood and iron.
“Can I help you?”
Minion stopped his rummaging and turned to find Rosa, the kitchen madame. He swallowed hard under her stern gaze, then fumbled in his pocket and produced a piece of paper.
“I’m looking for a bottle of vinegar?” he squeaked after looking over the list.
“Well, you’re not going to find it there,” Rosa said in her thick Italian accent. She reached up into a cabinet and produced a small earthenware bottle with a red ribbon tied about its neck. This she handed to the little man. “Now you bring that back when you’re finished.”
“Yes’m,” Minion replied, snatching the bottle and running.
He stuffed the bottle in his belt and moved through the corridors towards his destination. On his way he came across Father Hugh walking ahead of him, a glistening string of silver prayer beads dangling from his cassock belt. Minion surreptitiously unhooked them and stored them in his sack. Shortly after, while passing through the dining hall, he grabbed a pitcher of water off a table—leaving a Guest scratching her head after turning to fill her cup.
Thus armed, he arrived at the corner of the keep where a spiraling staircase wound its way up to the second and third floors. Minion made the short but taxing climb, lugging the sack over his shoulder. It was here that Loki had parlayed sumptuous lodgings for himself and his servant—sumptuous by Greensprings standards. The apartments were meant to house distinguished visitors away from the hubbub of the Hall for Guests, and had more than one room, a fireplace, and a view overlooking the main courtyard. Once upon a time, these rooms had been a part of the keep’s corner watchtower, hence its circular main room and pointy roof.
“Ah, it’s about time,” Loki said when his servant entered their apartments. “I was starting to wonder. We have much to do.”
Minion approached the central table and deposited the burlap sack there, followed shortly by the pitcher of water and bottle of vinegar. Loki stood up from his chair next to the window where he had been handling what looked like a clay jar. He approached the table, touching on his way the largest object in the room, a pottery wheel. He set the clay jar and a butter knife on the table, wiping his hands on an apron splattered with drying clay. His sleeves were rolled up and his hair unkempt—he had been at work for long hours.
“I hope you have the last of what we need,” he said, sifting through the sack’s contents. “Any more scavenging forays and people will become curious.”
“I’m curious,” Minion said.
“Soon, soon,” Loki responded, picking through the assorted spoons, forks, and knick-knacks. “But it will be far easier to show you.” Loki frowned at the contents. “There isn’t much here in the way of precious metals.”
Minion squirmed. “I’m sorry master, but there are very few true pieces of silverware about. Perhaps if we waited until a festival or holiday when they bring out the good stuff...”
“Ah-ha, that’s more like it!” Loki said energetically, snatching something out of the pile. He held in his hand a pair of scissors with gold handles. Neatly engraved along one of the blades was the name
Peredur
. “This more than makes up for your ineptitude. Silver would have gotten the job done—not that you brought very much—but gold is much better.”
Loki moved to another part of the room where a small anvil stood near the fireplace. On top of it rested an iron mallet. He grasped the scissors by the handles and laid the blades on the anvil such that they mostly hung over the edge. With the mallet he swung down and neatly broke the blades off.
“That should do nicely,” Loki said, examining what was left in his hand. He tossed the hunk of metal to Minion. “Heat and soften that in the iron pot, then beat it on the anvil into roughly a cube.” Loki retrieved the pitcher of water and moved to a basin where he used the water to wash his hands of the dried clay. “I don’t know what was more of a coup, you finding those pair of scissors or the pottery wheel with which to make the jar.”
“Thank you master!” Minion said, basking in the rare praise.
Loki went back to the table and brushed aside the pile of material from Minion’s latest haul. He hefted the earthenware bottle from the kitchen, unstopped its cork and sniffed the contents.
“Excellent! We are almost there.” As Minion removed the hot piece of gold from an iron pot sitting over the fire with a pair of tongs, Loki grabbed the clay jar and butter knife and finished fashioning a hole in the top of the otherwise closed container. The jar was much smaller than the water pitcher Minion had brought, but still large enough to contain a fair amount of liquid. On the pottery wheel, Loki had essentially created a completely closed capsule, then poked a small breathing hole in the top for the firing process. Once hardened in the fireplace, Loki took the butter knife to the hole to widen it out and smooth its edges. Satisfied with his work, he blew the dust off and set it on the table. He then filled the vessel with the kitchen vinegar.
As Minion began beating on the piece of gold, Loki set to making a fresh batch of clay in a bowl. He threw in some powdered raw material and the water from the washbasin, then kneaded the mix into a fist-sized lump of sticky mud. After washing his hands again he took the bowl to the table and drew from his apron an iron spoon beaten flat, wrapped by a sheet of copper that had once been a small mirror.
“There, master, it’s finished,” Minion said, proudly holding up the pummeled gold with the tongs.
Loki looked down his nose at the object from across the room. “It’s not as pretty as me, but it will do. Now bend a copper fork about it as if wrapping a present, leaving the fork handle hanging out like an excess strip of ribbon.”
As Minion carried out the task, Loki inserted the rod into the hole of the clay jar, pleased to see when looking down that the vinegar rose to fill the spaces between the spoon and the many folds of copper. Next he packed the fresh clay around the rod so that it stood propped up and snug, leaving only the rod sticking out. Finally, he took from another pile of loot a daisy chain of copper necklaces, bracelets, and even a candle-snuffer pounded together end to end. He handed this to Minion.
“When you’re finished, attach the fork handle to the end that isn’t the candle-snuffer.”
After that, Loki turned to his personal luggage and rummaged through a leather satchel. After finding a gold locket, he pulled a chair up to the table and waited for Minion to finish. Once braiding and pounding the pliable metal together, Minion brought the ball-and-chain contrivance to the table where Loki examined it with a critical eye.
“It will do,” he said simply, as Minion stood nearby rubbing his hands.
Loki held up the gold locket. “Recognize this?” he asked.
“Yes my lord, it is yours. A fine piece of jewelry, but you never wear it.”
“That is because it is much too precious to risk losing or having stolen,” Loki replied, slowly opening the locket on a hinge. Minion reacted, having thought all along the teardrop shaped object carved with unknown symbols was solid through and through. Loki presented the contents, a fine white powder, at a safe distance.
Minion tried bending closer for a better look, but Loki pulled it away.
“This, my little helper, is magic powder.” Loki held the locket in the palm of his hand, the lid open. With his other hand he made a waving gesture over it and it began to levitate. Minion gasped. “With great effort, I can make objects move such as this,” Loki explained, concentrating on the floating locket. “But with each passing day, it becomes more and more difficult. Once upon a time common people could do this, but few can do it at all any more. The world is changing.” He made another gesture with his free hand and the powder rose from the locket, swirling in the air like smoke. The locket then slowly settled in his hand as the powder danced above it. “But with this powder, I can do this all day. I can make whatever it comes in contact with levitate as well...” He made a tossing gesture and the powder engulfed Minion in a cloud. A moment later, Minion gasped and kicked as he rose off the ground. “That is but just a sampling of what this powder is capable of.” Loki snapped his fingers and the cloud coalesced and shot back to its resting place in the locket.