*
The puppet dressed as a serving lass jumped and cavorted about the little stage in the corner of the inn’s common room, waving her arms in distress. “Arise, arise!” she wailed. “Our gracious Lord Marcus lies dead. He has succumbed in his sleep to the stress of administering to our hold!”
Behind the jumping puppet, a lordly man in doll form lay dead in a little bed, while puppet Lady Iris wept over him. The puppet serving lass exited the stage calling for all the household to wake.
Puppet Lady Iris rose and lifted her arms. “Oh! My dear, beloved husband. You leave me much too soon, and without a child of our own to one day inherit your title. Woe to Hold Draffor. Our subjects will weep, but none as much as I!”
From the side of the stage by which the serving lass had departed, the puppet Marigold entered. “My Lady Iris, I have just heard and now see for myself that your husband is dead. I mourn for him, and for you.”
“Mourn for our hold, Mage Marigold, for it has lost a fair and proud Lord.” The puppeteer caused her to raise her head proudly, as though the virtues of her deceased husband strengthened her.
The innkeeper had extinguished most of the candles and lamps in the room. Only the light from the hearth, and from a couple lamps the puppeteers had positioned before the little stage, lit the performance. The crowd of inn patrons watched the show raptly. It was telling the story of the lady of their hold, extoling her virtues, and by extension theirs as well.
Vetch turned his eyes toward Lily. She, too, watched the play intently, but not with a smile and murmurs of approval, like so many of the inn patrons. Her expression was unreadable. She sat perfectly still, one hand covering her mouth, taking in every word of the performance. He wondered what she must be thinking. This was new information to them both, but, for her, it must carry a significance he could not fathom. He returned his gaze to the little stage.
“Such a tragedy, my dear apprentice, such a tragedy,” lamented the puppet Marigold. “But despair not, Lady Iris, for your lord husband has kin who may be summoned here to take up his title and the rule of Hold Draffor. And you, now freed from those responsibilities that were yours by marriage while Lord Marcus lived, may now devote yourself entirely to the learning of magic.”
The puppet Lady Iris moved to the little window painted upon the stage’s backdrop and appeared to gaze long out of it in deep contemplation. Again, Vetch stole a look at Lily. She was subtly shaking her head. Puppet Lady Iris turned to look out at her audience in the common room.
“It is true, I have studied long and hard under your tutelage to learn magic, Mage Marigold, as was my talent and my desire. But if I must choose between my magic and my hold, I choose Hold Draffor and its people.” The puppeteer paused in her speech to allow for the cheer from the audience. Once it died down, she went on louder. “I renounce my apprenticeship in magic, willingly and without regret, to take up my responsibilities as Lady Iris of Black Crux, to continue my husband’s work and make Hold Draffor the brightest jewel in all Kaldura. Go now, Mage Marigold, with my thanks. I retire from my studies in magic in order to steer Draffor.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
The puppet Mage Marigold bowed her head in respectful deference. “Then, Lady Iris—”
“What a pile o’ horseshit!”
The outburst came from the back of the room. People turned their heads at the interruption. Vetch and Lily did, too. The man who appeared to have been the speaker wasn’t even looking at the stage. He sat alone at a back table, head bowed over his tankard, long hair hanging down over his face.
When he had the room’s attention, he followed up his first comment with a second, louder one. “I was there and it wasn’t like that. Those two never stopped arguin’, and Lady Iris hardly gave a damn ‘bout ‘er ol’ husband croakin’. But he was a good lord, a good—”
Vetch couldn’t discern the rest of what he said, for he was drowned out by numerous shouts of anger from people all around the room. Some pleaded for him to shut his mouth, while others taunted and goaded him on. One woman threw half a boiled potato that missed him by a thin margin.
“Oh, give it a fucking rest, Siegert!” the innkeeper shouted over the clamor. “We’ve all heard enough of that. Don’t start up again!”
The man shook his head, causing his long hair to sweep wildly back and forth across his face. He raised his head and leveled a drunken smirk upon the innkeeper. “Well, I’ve heard enough outta you, Jann. So, why don’t you shut up. I was there, not you.” He stood up from his bench and gestured at the stage with his tankard, so that ale sloshed out onto the table. Vetch was surprised the man didn’t fall over in the process, so unsteady was he on his feet. “The play’s horseshit,” he resumed his diatribe yet louder, heedless of those who tried to shout over him. “Iris never said any o’ that and she don’t care about any o’ you. Our lady only cares about power, and bleedin’ us all out o’ our hard-earned coin with higher and higher taxes.”
“Throw him out!” Jann the innkeeper roared. Some of the patrons were only too glad to do his bidding. A number of burley laborers converged on the drunk. They grabbed him by the shoulders and began hurrying him toward the door. He didn’t fight, just let his tankard fall to the floor and went on with his ranting. Vetch thought it fortunate the man didn’t try to resist, for he was tall and well-muscled, despite his otherwise disheveled appearance. He could do some real damage to those forcing him out if he had a mind to.
“You know, and you know,” he slurred at the various people he passed on the way out. “Don’t act like I’m the only one who’s hated workin’ the farms under her rule. Tell me this, how many o’ you’ve had to resort to paying your taxes in kind lately, eh? Not only me, I’d wager! But who’s doin’ anything about it?”
That was the end of the commotion. He was shoved bodily out the door, before it was slammed shut behind him. With that bit of side entertainment concluded, order soon returned to the room. The innkeeper nodded his head at the anxious puppeteers and they ducked back behind their little stage to resume the show. Quiet, however, did not resume as quickly, as Vetch’s ears picked up a few whispered conversations related to what the drunken man had been saying about taxes. Not all were in denial about it.
He felt a touch on his hand and Lily leaned in close to say, “I’m going back to our room.”
“Don’t you want to finish watching the play?” he whispered, but she shook her head and stood. “I’ll come with you then,” he said, and stood to follow.
On the stage, Puppet Mage Marigold re-started her speech.