Douglas Clark - Saving Solace

Gerard groaned and rolled out of bed, being careful not to stand too erect and bang his head on the rafters. "Just a minute," he growled. He pulled on his doublet and hose and opened the door.

Lady Drebble stood on his doorstep, looking disheveled. Her hair stuck out in every direction, having come loose from its normally elaborate coiffure. She wore an old robe that appeared to be reserved for household use; it was frayed at the cuffs and elbows. As soon as Gerard opened the door, she barged in.

"Why don't you come in?" Gerard said sarcastically, addressing the now-empty air before him.

"Sheriff, something terrible has happened, and I really must blame you," she said from her place in the room behind him. "This is all your fault. Nothing like this would have happened had it not been for your heavy-handed constabulary tactics the other night."

"Slow down," he said. "Nothing like what would have happened?"

Lady Drebble looked around for a place to sit and took the only chair, leaving Gerard standing. "Oh, it's just horrible. Horrible! You've introduced my little Nyland to these dangerous ideas, and now he's gone out shopping for a sword."

"A what?"

"A sword! He's even talking about joining the town guard. My little Nyland, associating with riffraff and common rabble." Lady Drebble sniffed loudly and began blubbering.

"Lady Drebble, the town guard ordinarily doesn't have all that much to do with handling prisoners," Gerard said, stretching the truth a little. "Really, most of their work is in more of an, um, peacekeeping nature. So Nyland wouldn't really have that much association with, as you called them, riffraff and common rabble."

"Prisoners! Who said anything about prisoners?" Lady Drebble drew herself upright where she sat. "I'm talking about the members of the town guard. A ragtag bunch if I ever saw one! Now you tell me he might have a regular association with prisoners as well?"

"Ah," Gerard said, finding no other words suitable for the occasion. He stood there a moment, trying to collect his patience. "Well, you know, serving in the town guard is a most honorable endeavor and might prove to be just the sort of discipline Nyland needs-"

"Discipline! My little boy doesn't need any overbearing, dictatorial discipline by the likes of such… such…" She foundered, at a loss for words.

"Hmm, how about if I talk to Nyland?" Gerard suggested, unsure the boy would be a suitable candidate for the guard in the first place. "Perhaps I can convince him to undertake some other, more befitting pursuit."

"Yes, I think you should," said Lady Drebble, rising. "And talk him out of the ridiculous notion of buying a sword."

Gerard thought about the danger to society of having someone like Nyland going around armed with a sword and tended to agree. "Oh, believe me, Lady Drebble, 1 will certainly do my best," he promised. He added to himself, "Even if I have to break it over his thick head."

Lady Drebble nodded but made no effort to leave. She just stood there, glaring. Gerard wondered momentarily about Nyland's father, whether the man had actually passed away or simply slipped away-silently, in the night. "Well, then," she huffed. "Well……."

Gerard gently eased her toward the door. "I'll get right on it, Lady Drebble. You have my word. As if the very welfare of Solace was at stake." As soon as I get enough sleep, he amended to himself.

Lady Drebble allowed herself to be nudged toward the door, although at the threshold she turned, as if needing to assert that any exit she made was of her own volition. "Very well, then, Sheriff, I leave the matter in your capable hands. But be advised, I'll be watching you." She wagged a plump finger under his nose. "Yes, Sheriff, I will be watching you very carefully indeed!" With that, she wrapped her frayed robe tighter around her and left in a swirl of tattered elegance.

Gerard let out a deep breath of relief, pulled off his doublet and hose, and fell back into bed. With a satisfied groan, he found a comfortable position. Hardly had he fallen asleep again, however, than another knock sounded on his door, this one more tentative than Lady Drebble's.

"What?" he demanded.

"Sheriff?" came a man's hesitant voice from the corridor. It sounded as though the man had his lips pressed to the wood of the door and was whispering. "Might I have a word with you? I'm sorry to disturb you, but it's… it's… a delicate matter of the utmost urgency."

Gerard's shoulders sagged. But he got up, put on his doublet and hose again, and opened the door. Outside stood Bartholomew Tucker. His hands fidgeted at his sides, then he tried interlacing his fingers in front of him, and finally he clasped his hands behind his back. He glanced about the corridor warily, as if afraid of being recognized, although Gerard's attic was the only door the narrow corridor led to. "Might I come in?" Tucker asked, leaning close and keeping his voice down. "I believe an element of delicacy is called for in this matter."

Gerard stepped aside and let the man into his room. As soon as Gerard closed the door, Tucker adopted an affected, blustering manner. "Sheriff, I must confess to a certain degree of embarrassment at being seen down at that… that lowlife establishment the other night."

"The Trough," Gerard said.

"Yes, ahem." Tucker forced an awkward laugh. "That place. Well, it wouldn't do for a man in my position to be thought a frequenter of such a place. I hardly ever go there, you know, it was just an unfortunate coincidence I was there." He tried to laugh again, but it came out as a choking sound. "Anyway, Sheriff, I thought perhaps we could come to some sort of arrangement with regard to the other night." He gave a broad wink, no doubt intended to be conspiratorial.

"An arrangement?" Gerard said.

"Yes, you know, in return for certain funds changing hands…" Tucker fished out a purse and began rummaging through it. "I'm not sure how much would be appropriate, having little experience in such matters, but I'm certain we could come to some kind of understanding."

"Master Tucker, are you trying to bribe me?"

Tucker's laugh this time was high-pitched and brittle. "A bribe? Why, no. Whatever made you call it that?" His hands came forward to trace vague, anxious designs in the air. "No, I'm only offering a certain inducement, as it were, as a means of showing my gratitude for any service you might see fit to render me…" He wound to a stop, like some kind of fantastical gnome device running out of steam. His hands fluttered uselessly in the air before dropping to his sides.

"Master Tucker, I think you should leave now," Gerard said as seriously as he could manage.

"But what of the other night?" Tucker asked, the wind having emptied out of him like a punctured air bladder.

"I assure you, I have no interest in revealing your indiscretions to anyone," Gerard answered. "I am a guardian of public morals and do not care a whit about your private behavior."

"Thank you!" Tucker swelled up again, trying to regain some of his earlier dignity. "Oh, thank you, sir!"

"Think nothing of it," Gerard said, showing him the door.

He closed the door firmly behind Tucker's receding back and returned to bed. A few minutes later, just as he drifted off to sleep, someone else knocked on the door.

"What!" Gerard demanded.

"Gerard, is that you?" It was Palin's voice. "You sound upset about something."

Grumbling, Gerard got out of bed and donned his clothes once again. He opened the door, letting his head hang wearily. "Hello, Palin."

"Good morning! May I come in?"

With a feeling of deja vu all over again, Gerard opened the door and let his latest guest enter.

"Is something wrong?" Palin asked. "You look terrible."

"This is the way I always look when I don't get enough sleep."