The Fire and the Fog Read Free

lose interest in the
subject, in Gel, and would let him go, and then the afternoon would
be his.
    Lady Vaen’s tirade lost steam quickly, and as
her oration began to wind down, Gel started moving anxiously in his
seat, his anticipation rising. 
    ‘Oh what does it matter,’ Vaen said finally,
her hand going to her forehead and shading her eyes in exasperated
resignation.  ‘Off with you then.  But I expect you back
here on time, tomorrow, and no more nonsense.’ 
    Gel’s lute was in its case, its clasps
latched tight, and Gel himself was bowing his way out of the house
before she managed to finish the sentence.
     
      ***
     
    As soon as Gel’s feet hit the cobblestone
street outside his tutor’s elegant, narrow house, he was off at a
run, only slowing long enough to push the large wrought-iron gate
open and closed behind him.  He ran through the town, too
quickly to appreciate its beauty: the detail of the architecture,
the angular lines of the roofs and the contrast between the wooden
beams and colored panels.  Most people would consider the
small stone walkways flanked on either side by lovingly tended
gardens as things of grace, would know that the tall, narrow houses
lining each side of the cobblestone road were monuments to both
architecture and history.  And Gel too knew all these things,
and would readily have agreed had he been asked.  But, as boys
his age always do, he had more important things on his mind.
    So the fine houses passed by without notice
as Gel raced down the street, free from the day’s duties.  His
shoes, fine though they were, had not been cobbled with running in
mind, and so the slaps of leather on cobblestone echoed off the
houses, following him out of the town, just a half-beat out of time
with the shocks that ran up and down his legs with each step he
took. 
     
    ***
     
    Reaching his destination didn’t take
long.  The cobblestone street changed to a well-travelled dirt
road just outside of town, and then it was only a minute or two
before he moved into the tall grass along the side of the
road.  Gel listened to the bird-calls in the air as he walked,
tried humming along with them, but birds had always seemed to be
the most experienced musicians of all.  He had no luck fitting
a pattern to their sweeping calls, and so he let the birds chatter
back and forth, filling the air with their conversation, their
song.
    Gel had been walking for a quarter of an hour
or so. The dull red roofs and dormant chimneys of the tall, narrow
houses were still clearly visible off to his right, when he started
to climb towards a solitary oak atop a low hill.  The lute
case in his hand beat against his leg with each step he took,
creating the rhythm section for a melody he had decided to compose
while he walked.  He may not be able to compete with the birds
around him, but he could still compose something that would make
Sheane or Mae smile.  Both if he did his job well
enough. 
    As Gel looked towards the old oak, his
favorite spot to sit and play, he saw that two figures were already
waiting there for him.  Sheane sat on a blanket that had been
spread over the short grass beneath the tree, her skirts arranged
in a neat circle to cover her legs, and her hands folded patiently
in her lap.  Mae on the other hand, stood leaning against the
oak, one foot angled behind her and planted on the oak for support,
her arms crossed across her chest.  She was scowling, and from
the way her skirts hiked up around her calves from leaning against
the tree, Gel could clearly see that she was tapping her foot
impatiently.  He could also see that she had nice legs and,
while he knew that already, little reminders were always
nice. 
    ‘Gel.  You’re late.’ Mae pushed off the
tree and stood, arms still crossed, face furrowed into a
scowl.  Her skirts fell back to cover her legs once more, and
Gel couldn’t help a wry smile of disappointment. 
    ‘A thousand apologies, my Lady’ Gel bowed
mockingly,