The wumpus cat -- the Lady's wumpus cat, now,
thought Kern -- glided to a halt just above an open window and
dropped lightly down on the sill, folding its wings with a snap and
settling down to purr and fix Kern in a red-eyed glare. It wore a
leather harness, to which was affixed a cloth pouch; it was this
that bore the Lady's letters to and fro.
The wumpus cat extended a brace of claws with
a barely audible snick and began to lick them clean, watching Kern
all the while. Something in its gaze told Kern it was recalling
nets and catching-sticks, so he stuck out his tongue and the cat
looked smugly away.
It was only after a thorough round of
badgering that Kern learned Oomish weddings never take place all at
once. Wistril finally explained that while he and the Lady had
indeed exchanged more vows just before the jinni appeared, there
were still more vows, still more ceremonies to be spoken and
completed before Kauph and Hohnserrat were truly joined in what he
called "high marriage."
"And when will this take place?" Kern had
asked.
Wistril had shrugged. "The Lady and I agree
that our current situation is ideal, with no further ceremonies,"
said Wistril. "She will no longer be bedeviled by suitors, as she
is simply wed to Kauph," he said. "The same holds, of course, for
me."
"Simply wed?" asked Kern.
"It is a rough translation," said Wistril.
"Suffice it to say that we are just married enough to turn the
threat of higher matrimony away. Now be off, Apprentice. We both
have work to do."
Kern had shrugged, and let the matter drop.
Kauph seemed so empty now, with just the Master and the staff
rattling about; I even miss old Genner, even if he did talk too
much and sing off-key.
Kern put down his pen and watched Wistril
write, and smiled to himself. Up all hours with the glass, he
thought. I wonder if they'll settle down one day just to start an
encyclopedia?
Sir Knobby stuck his head in the door.
"Hoot," he said, in question.
Wistril, without looking up, motioned to
Kern. "See to Sir Knobby, please," he said. "I must finish this
passage."
Kern rose and followed Sir Knobby into the
hall.
"Hoot?" said Sir Knobby. He walked to a tall,
round-topped window, and pointed with a claw to House Kauph's
makeshift wedding flag.
"Hoot?"
Kern pursed his lips. "Take it down," he
said. "But leave the sheet on the lance. Wrap them both carefully.
Hide it somewhere in the South Tower. Somewhere dry."
Sir Knobby nodded.
"Hoot?"
"Oh yes," said Kern. "I do believe that one
day, the Master will have need of it again. Let's make sure we know
where it is, shall we?"
Sir Knobby bared long fangs in a sly smile,
saluted, and turned toward the walls of Kauph and Wistril's
flapping wedding flag.
Other Tuttle Titles for your
enjoyment
!
The Markhat Series
The Mister Trophy
All the weary finder Markhat wanted was a
cold beer at One-Eyed Eddie's. Instead, Markhat gets a case that
will bring him face to fang with a dark House of crazed halfdead, a
trio of vengeful Troll warriors, and Mama Hog's erratic backstreet
magic. All that, and the possible resurgence of the Troll War.
All right there in his own none-too-quiet
neighborhood.
It's beginning to look like Markhat will
never enjoy that one last beer...
Dead Man's Rain
Can a haunted man help the dead find
peace?
Markhat is a finder, making a living tracking
down sons and fathers gone suddenly missing when an outbreak of
peace left the Army abandoned where they stood. But now that ten
years have passed since the Truce, all Markhat is finding is
trouble.
This time, trouble comes in the form of a
rich widow with a problem. Her dead husband keeps ambling from the
grave to pay her household regular nocturnal visits. Markhat is
skeptical of the widow's story but not of her coin.
But as a storm gathers and night falls,
Markhat finds that darker things than even murder lurk amid the
shadows of House Merlat.
Hold the Dark
Quiet, hard-working seamstresses aren't the
kind of woman that normally go missing even in a tough town like
Rannit. Martha Hoobin's disappearance, though, quickly draws
Markhat into a deadly struggle between a halfdead blood cult and
the infamous military sorcerer known only as the Corpsemaster.
A powerful magical artifact may be Markhat's
only hope of survival -- and the source of his own inescapable
damnation.
The Cadaver Client
Being hired by a guilt-ridden ghost to make
amends to the wife and child he abandoned right after the War was a
first for Markhat. But as Markhat begins to search for the missing
Mariss Sellway, he quickly discovers that even the dead keep
secrets - secrets that may conceal murder. As Markhat's search
leads him back in time and deeper into the dark, he wonders if the
next grave he sees might well be his own…
Other Fantasy Titles by Frank
Wistril Compleat
All three of Wistril's magical misadventures
are included in this complete compilation of cantrips and
catastrophes!
Wistril Besieged --
Wizard Wistril's wants are simple -- four
meals a day, a steady supply of honey-gold Upland beer, and above
all else, peace and quiet. All but the latter are in plentiful
supply at Castle Kauph. Despite secreting himself in the Wild,
Wistril finds himself battling an army of relentless mercenaries
while the entire population of the nearest village takes refuge in
his home. Even Kern, Wistril's long-suffering, sharp-tongued
apprentice, isn't sure whether the army or the houseguests will
prove to be Wistril's undoing!
Wistril Afloat --
Wistril doesn't believe in lake monsters --
until they invade the lake that just happens to provide Wistril's
favorite fish dinners. Faced with the choice of adjusting his menus
or daring the wilderness around Lake Ovinshoon, Wistril and Kern
soon have bigger problems than mere lake monsters on their hands.
Because while Wistril wishes only to study the beasts, others wish
to hunt them and skin them. Will Wistril's peaceful White Chair
magics prevail against a ruthless band of wyvern-hunters who have
only profit on their minds?
Wistril Betrothed --
If ever there was a determined bachelor,
thought Kern, his name was surely Wistril. So when Wistril's
wife-to-be shows up with a pursuing army on her heels, life at
Castle Kauph is turned upside down. And when another suitor for
Lady Emmerbee's hand arrives, with a dark and menacing wizard of
his own in tow, it's up to Kern and the rest of Castle Kauph to get
Wistril wed without losing his head!
Passing the Narrows
In this story of an alternate history, magic
was as common as cannons in the American Civil War, leaving a
defeated South in ruin. The safest way to travel from Memphis to
Vicksburg is by riverboat -- and on certain moonless nights on the
Yazoo River, even the safest way to travel is hardly safe at
all...
On the Road
Being a female Sorceress with a bodiless but
smart-mouthed assistant is trouble enough for anyone. But for
Mallara, appointed by the Crown as Royal Sorceress to the Five
Valleys, trouble is all in a day's work.
Join Mallara and her quick-witted companion
Burn the Shimmer as they take to the road to keep the peace!
Featuring four Mallara and Burn short stories, this anthology is
sure to amuse lovers of fantasy fiction.
In "The Ringed Round," Mallara must face a
ring of vengeful stones and the trapped embodiment of an ancient
harvest feast -- which may or may not be the friendly old sprite he
appears to be!
"Night Stand" finds Mallara and Burn camped
amid the ruins of a haunted villa for what the villagers swore was
a routine Cleansing. But as night falls, the duo realize the
villagers may have left out a detail or two concerning the true
nature of the haunting.
Trolls haven't been seen about for decades --
but in "The Asking and the Vow," Sorceress Mallara comes face to
face with not just a Troll, but with the weight of history
itself.
Finally, Mallara and Burn arrive at a village
besieged by a small but growing army of overly-helpful goblins.
Every roof has been patched, every walk has been swept, every fence
has been mended. But what will the goblins do next, when they've
run out of chores? Join Mallara and Burn as they take on the task
of patrolling the Five Valleys, and discover magic and mayhem with
every turn of the road.
Frank's email address is
[email protected]
Visit Frank's webpage at
www.franktuttle.com
Curious about the Upland beer preferred by
Wizard Wistril? Well, sample some of the magic yourself by visiting
Upland Brewing Company of Bloomington, Indiana!
Finally, here are some excerpts for you to
enjoy...
DEAD MAN'S RAIN
Markhat is a finder, charged with the
post-war task of tracking down sons and fathers gone suddenly
missing when an outbreak of peace left the army abandoned where
they stood. But now it's ten years after the war, and all Markhat
is finding these days is trouble.
This time, trouble comes in the form of a
rich widow with a problem. Her dearly departed husband, Ebed
Merlat, keeps ambling back from the grave for terrifying nocturnal
visits. Markhat saw numerous horrors during the war, but he's never
seen anyone, rich or poor, rise from the grave and go tromping
around their old haunts. But for the right price, Markhat is
willing to have a look.
As a storm gathers and night falls, Markhat
finds darker things than even murder lurking amid the shadows of
House Merlat.
Enjoy the following excerpt from "Dead Man's
Rain!
DEAD MAN'S RAIN
copyright 2008 Frank Tuttle
Noon found me standing at the edge of a
fresh-dug grave. Sunlight mocked and set the blue-jays to singing
but couldn't quite reach the Sarge's casket, no matter how hard the
sun shone. I crumbled a damp clod of earth, let it fall.
We'd lived through the War, the Sarge and I.
Lived through the three-month siege at Ghant. Lived through the
fall of Little Illa. Lived through two years in the swamps. I'd
once seen the Sarge snatch an arrow out of the air and shove it in
a charging Troll's eye, and now he was dead after slipping and
falling in a public bath.
"Bye, Sarge," I said. "You deserved
better."
I met an Orthodox priest as I walked away. He
dipped his red mask in greeting and slowed to a traipse, but I
fixed my eyes on a big old pin oak and marched past. I'd said all
my words, and had no use for his.
I was halfway to the cemetery gates when Mama
Hog stepped out of the shadow of a poor man's head-stone and
planted herself squat and square in my path. And that's when it
started. I knew before she spoke what she was going to say. And I
knew that I should just keep walking, ignoring her like I did the
priest, ignoring everything and everybody except a bar-keep named
One-Eyed Eddie and his endless supply of tall, cold glasses. The
Sarge was dead and I turned forty with the sunrise and the Hell
with everything else.
But I stopped. "What is it, Mama?" I said,
gazing out over the neat, still ranks of sad-eyed angels and tall
white grave-wards. "Come to pick out a spot?"
Mama grinned up at me with all three of her
best teeth.
"Come to find you, boy," she said. "Come to
send you some business."
"The only kind of business I need now is the
kind Eddie runs," I said. "Anything else can wait."
Mama frowned. "This ain't any old business,"
she said, shaking a stubby finger at my navel. "This is Hill
business." Behind us, the first spade of dirt hit the Sarge's
coffin with a muted, faraway thump.
"Hill business," I said. "One of your rich
ladies need a finder?"
Mama's card-and-potion shop does a brisk
business in sleek black carriages that hurry to her curb and
disgorge Hill ladies wrapped in more cloaks and veils than the
weather truly demands. I don't know how Mama attracts such
well-heeled clients, but she does, and more than twice a week.
Mama Hog cackled. "Rich widow, boy. Rich
widow." She grinned and shook her head. "She needs more than a
finder, I reckon, but you're the best I can do."
The thump-thumps of earth on coffin came
faster now. I squinted toward the gate, not wanting the Sarge's
widow to catch me in the graveyard. Outsiders aren't welcome at
Orthodox funerals, and the service would begin as soon as the
coffin-lid was fully covered with earth.
I sighed. "Let's walk, Mama," I said. "You
can tell me on the way."
Thump-thump. Another shovel rose and
fell.
"He was a good man, your Sergeant," said
Mama. She fell in step beside me. "No words taste more bitter than
goodbye."
"Tell me about my new client, Mama," I said.
"What's her name, how high up the Hill is her house, and what does
she want me to do about her dear sweet Nephew Pewsey and that awful
conniving gypsy girl?"
Mama Hog chuckled. "Her name," she said, "is
Merlat."
Behind us, after a while, I heard the Sarge's
widow start to cry.
THE MISTER TROPHY
"We seek the finder named Markhat," boomed
the Troll.
And that's when Markhat's troubles begin,
right there in One-eyed Eddie's unfortunately named Dead Troll
Tavern. Three Troll warriors have traveled all the way across the
magic-blasted Wastes in search of something, and now Mama Hog has
told them only the dauntless finder named Markhat can lead the
Trolls to that which they seek.