CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6

Truck and Hugly awoke early to the smell of spicy sausages and found that on the supper table was displayed a full meal. Isha Maera was humming and full of energy as she went about, although it was clear by her face that she had been awake much of the night. Hugly had come in quietly with his shoulders forward and his chin down as usual. He took some food into a napkin and wandered away to eat. Truck had hobbled over in time to see him with his gray shirt being oddly worn—showing his ribs and one sleeve coming up through his collar as if he had had been dressed by a blind squirrel. Hugly’s thin and stringy hair was side-pressed and probably itched, as he had several times put his hand to touch it while he snatched and tucked food and simultaneously pulled his trousers, because he hadn’t tied the draw string to hold them up. His hands and mouth were full upon departing to sit beneath the landings.

While Truck was eating, he was examining a page he was creating a list upon. He looked up to see Ginah and Fetter come through the entry hall and be steered into the kitchen by Isha Maera, who, a moment later, emerged with a tea tray.

She came over, sat down across from him, and poured a steaming amber tea from her pot for both of them. She then looked at him across the table with a smile on her face. “Did you tell Ginah that we were Bones?”

Truck looked at her over his spectacles. “Not directly, but I suppose I did. Why?”

“She asked. It’s not a problem. It’s just that it’s never come up.”

Truck crinkled his eyes as they shot about to his right in thought. Then, renewing himself, he looked back to his texts. He picked up a blue bound book, which was old and worn, and held it in reference. “Foster has some extensive books here. Some of these historical manuscripts I’ve never even heard of. Very impressive. However, I’ve been searching, but I have not yet been able to find what I’m looking for. What do you know about Hugly’s beliefs?” he asked, looking up at her over his reading spectacles again.

“It’s some form of Brood,” Isha Maera surmised. “You know how varied their sects are. He just comes from a more docile group than the rest. There isn’t a cruel bone in his body. Bless his heart, my little Schmonkle.”

“Hmmmm…” Truck expressed mild skepticism.

She continued, “He mentions his mother often, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard him mention his father. Foster says, ‘It’s just the way the Cursemong are,’ given the abuse and all.”

The Cursemong are a people whose god gave them a sickness from birth, to do evil, for it was done to them. And to return evil is their righteousness. They name their children out of evil and nurture in them that which they themselves fear to do. Among them is no love. Among them is only a method to out-pace each other in the name of their god. Only the worst of them would become their leaders. They fear and hate one another at all times, unless they are united against God’s Remnant.

“Hmmmm…” Truck had said again. This time stretching his thoughts. “Mosimpofah—who is that?” he asked her.

“Mosimpofah?” she repeated, showing her ignorance.

“It’s a name he uses when praying. I’ve heard it twice now. It’s not a word I’ve heard before. It’s invoking something?” Truck said adjusting his spectacles.

“That

is

what he says, isn’t it?” she remembered, then sipped her tea and searched her thoughts. “An ancestor, maybe?”

“Not likely,” said Truck. “They’d draw and quarter anyone that venerates their ancestors like that. What region does he come from?”

“He crossed the border I think about eight years ago. Probably North Broodland. Let’s see. That means he was fifteen when he arrived. I think he just wandered around scrounging in the wilderness and selling things to get along until I found him. He’s just a scared little boy, sent for me to watch over him.”

“What about Foster? Is he a scared little boy you watch over?” Truck knew his sister would never marry a man she thought was weak in any way.

She replied in a very sure tone. “He’s anything but scared. Everyone respects him. He has a real heart for people too, and he listens for the voice of God. When he hears it, he acts upon it without hesitating. Matter of fact, he’s returning from the border where he’s spent the last eight months teaching fighters about God. He’ll return to it, even and especially if the war starts.” She stiffened her jaw at this with resolve.

“He’s been gone for eight months?” Truck was surprised.

The pain of this showed a bit in Isha Maera’s face, as her tone softened considerably. “Something began to bother him. He studied day and night, and then he predicted the Cursemong would begin coming up from the south. So he sent warning letters to Secretary Cospretine and the Senate. When they refused him a hearing, he went to Temple in Lavish to seek representation from the Precus. Lavish’s under-ruler, an awful man named Kissip, had Foster followed to his inn. The next day, Gallium fighters took him from his room. They beat him and threw him from the city. So he became convinced, and he’s always right, that God had prepared him to go and to teach our fighters that God loves them and that it was Him for who they fought.”

Truck was astonished. “He went to the southern marches?”

“Yes, he did,” she answered.

“So he’s teaching Gallium fighters down where all the skirmishes are?” Truck was putting things together.

“He’ll teach anyone about God’s rescuer, and if anyone needs God, it’s the Gallium. The harvest is plentiful,” Isha Maera declared.

Truck pulled off his spectacles, sat up with a shift, and then settled back against the wall under the enormity of this news. “And he returns to the marches at the end of this winter?” he asked with incredulity on his face.

“War is coming,” Isha Maera said emphatically. “If I thought there was the slightest chance Foster was wrong, I would have begged him to stay. But when Foster says something, he is seldom wrong. If he declares something will happen, it happens.” She spoke the words firmly and with conviction, as she leaned over and topped off Truck’s tea, before standing and taking the tray into the kitchen.

Just as she turned, Truck declared, “More than ever, I look forward to meeting him.”

Truck stayed at the table through the day, while Isha Maera had conducted her helpers, sending them on errands or having them move or clean things. She had gone to the door and met with numerous visitors, who had come hoping to see Foster—some concerning business. She brought them in, and they sat near the entry, as she conducted the business herself. She had also spent time pausing to pray silently, while putting her hand on some of the many texts engraved in wood or pressed in tiles throughout the home. Though Foster was late from his expected day, Isha Maera showed no disappointment or worry in her voice.

Truck witnessed Hugly come and go several times before the evening meal. He was interested in the fact that Hugly seemed almost incapable of walking erect in the confines of the home. Where just about anyone else would step one foot in front of another, as they crossed a room or turned a corner, Hugly would go very much bent over, almost animal-like. He would have little tempo to his steps. He would spin about instead of turn. He would sharply cut corners and would sometimes incorporate his hands on the floor, the wall, a post, or furniture to negotiate with his environment in a way that was not an economy of motion, but it was the quickest way. His way of traversing was always faster. He even once put his foot high up on the wall to quickly turn into the entry hall, drawing a huge smile and suppressed laugh from Truck.

Hugly is truly unique,

He thought.

Isha Maera entered the kitchen where she would soon begin to fill the house with the scent of flavored meats and stewed roots, Truck was off in one of the anterooms to leave his drop. He would only be a moment, so he didn’t bother to close the door or shake a luminary.

Ginah and Fetter came by just then. She was pushing him along with her finger at the back of his head. With the door ajar, Truck saw Ginah tell Fetter to: “Put your hands on your stomach.” She forced his head to bend down as they went toward the kitchen. “I know you’re hungry. We’ll eat when we get home. It’s time to go, so stop complaining. Don’t make this harder on me. “The last words were whined out.

Isha Maera came out the kitchen doorway with things in each of her hands. “Can you stay for supper? I need some help.”

Ginah perked up. “Oh, we’d love to stay.”

“Come put an apron on,” Isha Maera said, pretending she didn’t understand what had just happened.

Without a breath, Ginah began a tirade of complaints about distant and irrelevant things, as she followed Isha Maera and left Fetter standing there. He took four broad steps to his right and threw himself down in an exasperated clump at the base of a thick pillar, letting out a pitiful whimper.

Truck stepped through the door and said indirectly, “Fetter? Come to me, boy. I need some help.”

Not wanting to be seen in his pitiable state, Fetter launched himself up and ran to Truck, helping him back to the table that was covered with papers and books. Hugly walked up and stood at the corner of the wall. When Truck had sent Fetter to bring Isha Maera, he leaned over and whispered to Hugly, “A man whose life is tuned to a woman is no man at all.”

When Isha Maera came, she readily agreed to Truck’s request that Fetter and Hugly be at his disposal before supper. Then sending them to shake to light all the lower floor luminaries, Truck drew something on a sheet of paper, and he finished it just as they both returned.

“I need to understand this construction before me.” He gestured to the landings and rafters that filled the room to the high ceiling. Bringing the two close, he then held up his drawing. “This shows the direction of the front door…” which he pointed to, “…and the two closet doors there. You see?”

He had their full attention.

“This door is to the south. So naturally these other two doors here are north. Then, of course, this little smiling sun is rising in the east, where the storage is, and this little sleepy sun is setting in the west over by my bed. See?”

They were nodding and absorbing quickly and were smiling in the feeling of it.

“I need help to represent this on paper. So the first thing I want you to do is to run together, right-hand round, and tell me how many floor posts are in the north, south, east, and west of the rooms. Go.” There was a method in his curt instructions.

Both Hugly and Fetter turned to go. Hugly went right and Fetter began to go left, but stopped and turned to follow Hugly, who just ran the circumference of the platforms to come and stop smiling before Truck. When Fetter arrived, he looked bewildered.

Truck had them where he wanted them. “You went right, but you should have gone left to be going ‘right-hand round’. This time, stick together.”

Hugly attempted an adjustment in his thoughts, and Truck gave them little time. “Go.” He launched them.

This time Hugly turned and worded it, “The left right hand,” before deciding for the opposite direction. He ran just as quickly as before, with Fetter far behind again. Hugly had a hopeful look on his face, while it was now becoming clear to Fetter that they were being put through a process.

Truck continued the lesson. “Very good. Now which hand was close to the posts?” They both raised their right hands, and Fetter called it. “Right.”

“Yes. Now keep those hands up,” instructed Truck. “So, the posts were on your right hand.”

Hugly saw this, and it showed on his face.

“Good. Now drop those and show me your left hand.”

This they both did with confidence.

“Now, I want you to go left-hand round. Go.”

Fetter was on it and departed earlier with Hugly running confidently in this understanding far ahead of him. They were both enjoying themselves.

Truck brought them back again to reiterate the lesson. “Very good. Now show me your right hand.” Which they both did correctly. “Now show me your left hand.” Which they both did even quicker.

“Excellent. Now I want you to both go left-hand round. But this time, together. Go!” he said this all rapidly.

And looking at each other for surety in agreement and only with a slight awkwardness at first about speed, they trotted together around the circumference of the posts, arriving before Truck at the same time.

“Very good. Now how many posts were there?”

Truck continued this stuttering lesson method for nearly an hour before supper, incorporating counting, direction, and elevation. From this, he drew the whole construction by posts, staircases, steps, levels, and landings.

Hugly and Fetter enjoyed the whole process, and they found themselves becoming quite serious about accuracy.

As Isha Maera was helping Truck clear off his study, he asked if she would ensure that everyone sat at the table.

“Hugly doesn’t like to eat in front of others,” she said.

“Ask him anyway for me, would you?” requested Truck.

A few minutes later, they were all sitting at the table. Ginah was talking abundantly, while Isha Maera ensured that Hugly and Fetter were comfortably seated across from each other at the end of the table, where a few more people could have found room.

Truck was smiling. Without warning, he closed his eyes, lifted his hands before him and began to speak a prayer of thanks. Isha Maera bowed her head; Hugly and Fetter did the same. Ginah blinked in surprise at the abrupt end of her discourse, before following suit with: “Blessed are You, our ruling maker, gifting to us our daily sustenance. May we be a blessing to Your name and lift it up before the nations. Teach us to be truly grateful for our meals. Amen.”

“Amen,” They all said in disunion.

Hugly turned and began eating, faced away from everyone in self-consciousness. Fetter’s face was low to the table. Neglecting his fork, he began chasing food around and off the edge of his plate with his spoon. Isha Maera cut up her meat and began dipping it in the dark sauce of her little side bowl, and Truck’s first indulgence was to bite a large biscuit in half and to draw down half his broad mug of dark ale. Ginah’s mouth was still noisy, but much quieter as she steadily put things in it to fullness, briefly, before swallowing again and again, outpacing everyone during their procession.

Truck spoke first. “Depending on his route, Foster would have to pass through Behtlam or Murdrup—both of which would take about maybe two weeks? Does he have business along the way?”

Isha Maera swallowed. “Maybe. He should be going through Behtlam, but he would go through the onion fields or the marshes before he ever entered Murdrup. He’d obviously have to go around Lavish on the way, and that might take some time. He’s traveling with a merchant who probably has business along the way that is delaying them. He delivers our parcels, news, and letters, almost always to the day. He’s quite regular. Then there’s Wrenfinch. He may not be up to the return trip. He’s old, so he may be dragging his feet or may not survive the trip.”

Truck looked at her curiously, and Hugly turned to momentarily look at Isha Maera with his concerned brow crunched down.

“Wrenfinch is a broad-faced water rat that Foster raised. It’s around nine years old, so he put a smaller cart on him for the journey down south. Hugly is very fond of it. Gumming its feet, grooming it, and giving it treats. He’s exceptional with animals. I tried a dozen remedies for a bacteria that had eaten up Wrenfinch’s nose for almost a year. Then after Hugly came, it healed up in two weeks. I still don’t know what he did.”