Timothy Jones - Tibtarnitallimardarian

Knowing this gave him pause, the mug drawn to his lips. He could not imagine someone calling for Orlon at this hour either. With a sigh, he shrugged it off and took a sip. Did it really matter who the caller was? By all evidence, after a brief conversation, the visitor had gone and Orlon and Tarl had retired to prepare for the new day.

Despite the hour and unexpected visitor, as well as his own aches and pains, he had not been idle on that point. Upon returning to the kitchen, he cleaned up last night’s mess—the bowl and spoon—and prepared for the day himself. This involved performing his morning ablutions and dressing in clean tunic and breeches, his other set drying on the line outback, and sandals. Then he prepared Orlon and Tarl’s breakfast of rolled oats, milk and apple, followed by fixing his usual mug of hot chocolate for a brief respite before the two were up to truly begin another day.

Thought of the deceased plow animal and the extra work that loss entailed made him groan…. Though with another sip of his soothing drink, he considered the fact the plowing was done yesterday, which meant today was planting day. He was not sure he could have survived another day of such strenuous labor as pulling a plow at his age. A day of carrying seed bags might not be too bad. He smiled. Besides, Orlon might give him the day off, if he played his cards right.

"Ah, you’re still up," Tarl said, hurrying into the kitchen. "Good."

He stopped at the table and his eyes dropped to the still steaming bowl of rolled oats, milk and apple. For a fraction of a second he considered it, eyes darting from the meal to the adjoining door and back again. Then he sat and began wolfing it down.

"We’re going on a trip," he told the servant between bites.

Jujay looked at him questioningly.

"The guy who came by last night—" he dropped the spoon into the empty bowl "—oh, but you wouldn’t know about that, would you."

Jujay quietly sighed, eyes briefly lifted to the heavens.

"Anyway, he went on and on about Orlon joining him on a trip—a quest or some such," he picked up the apple and between bites continued: "He said he would be back this morning, which we didn’t really believe, but…he’s here!

"So me and Orlon decided we would take him up on his offer."

Eyes closed, Jujay felt the hairs at his wrinkly nape stir. The idea of taking a trip with Orlon did not sound bad to him, as he could not imagine it being far, but Tarl’s addition of "a quest or some such" brought back too many bad memories. The only type of trips he took in servitude to warriors was quests. The type of thing he wished to escape in his declining years…. How could this have happened? Before his mind’s eye appeared the image of Orlon, smiling that friendly smile of his, eyes all innocent and pure, and he sighed. How could it not?

Oh, the legends he had heard of quests involving some innocent and pure fellow upon whose shoulders rested the fate of the world. The quests remembered wherein one master or another was finagled into joining to protect such fellows, dragging him along. But this was different! Such quests occurred in obvious times of conflict between good and evil, not a time of peace and tranquility as the world was in now.

With a final bite, Tarl dropped the apple core into the bowl, rattling the spoon. "Naturally we’ll need you to come along—" he downed the glass of milk in three quick gulps "—to carry things and such. Speaking of which…"

The scrape of chair legs on stone floor opened Jujay’s eyes to watch him get up and cross the kitchen to what he sneeringly referred to as the servant’s "work station." It consisted of a counter upon which Jujay prepared their meals, with two cabinets above and two drawers set above two cabinets below. Despite his misgivings about this whole affair, the servant could not help but be curious as to what the Midget had in mind.

"Let’s see," Tarl said softly. "I think we will need enough for a simple lunch, something to tide us over 'til we get home for supper. But first, we’ll need something to carry it in." He scratched his head with a finger, that finger suddenly pointing to the heavens, as he said, "Ah ha! If memory serves me…"

He opened the right upper cabinet and tried to look on the top shelf without luck. This failure did not daunt him. He stretched up a hand to reach it, fingers flexing just short, hopped to grab at whatever he found up there. What he came down with was a pair of leather bags joined by a two feet length of four inch wide leather strap Jujay knew well—and had no idea at all how Tarl knew of its whereabouts.

It was the carryall he had packed his meager belongings and food and water in to journey to Dwarf Road, leaving his long past of journeying behind him. Or so he had hoped, and still hoped.

"All rightie then," Tarl laid the bags on the counter, unstrapped and flipped back their cover flaps. "Now, something simple…"

There was a moment of thought before he sprang into action. From the breadbox on the counter he got a loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth, carefully put it into one of the bags. He opened the lower left cabinet, retrieved a covered platter from the second shelf and placed it on the counter. Lifting the lid, he found a small wheel of red wax covered cheese. This he carefully slid into the bag next to the bread, then strapped down the bag’s cover flap.

A smile showed his satisfaction with his choice of cheese sandwiches. Now, even simple meals needed liquid refreshment, and he knew exactly what Orlon would want. During planting season they kept a supply of small jugs filled with water to quench their thirst while working in the field. He plucked one of these from the right upper cabinet’s bottom shelf and slipped it into the empty bag.

When it came to liquid refreshment for himself, he paused, eyes darting to the left, then right. Water was fine and dandy for his best friend, but he felt a need to imbibe in something with a little more…spirit. Something he kept handy and secreted away just for himself, for those times he needed to relax a little, or to celebrate, or just wanted to forget his woes.

His eyes shrank to mere slits with the realization of the one drawback to his desire. To obtain his bottle of spirits meant revealing its hiding place to Jujay. But upon reflection he decided it did not matter. Finding another hiding place would be no big deal. So he opened the lower left cabinet, knelt and reached way back on the bottom shelf. He brought forth a corked bottle, and as he brought himself erect, he noticed a definite lightness to its weight. A close inspection of its contents showed him what should have been a finger’s width over half full bottle was now two under.

With a grunt, he cast an accusing eye on the servant, whose eyes found something of interest in a shadowy corner.

"It’ll do," he sighed and slid the bottle into the bag next to the jug, and tying the cover flap down, said: "This meal should do us just fine on this trip." He picked up the carryall by its leather strap. "Speaking of which…"

Carryall swinging in hand, he hurried back to and around the table. Jujay watched him warily for he knew not what. What he got was Tarl slinging it around his neck, the bags flopping onto his chest, causing a rippling of flabby flesh beneath his tunic. Despite his best effort to hold them up, the weight of the bags, though not overly much, was enough to add visibly to the servant’s hunch.

"Time’s a’wasting," Tarl turned toward the doorway to the front room. "Let’s go."

Jujay did not move a muscle. In spite of Tarl’s urging him to hurry, his only concern was for Orlon, the time of day and that his master enjoyed the meal he had prepared for him. His tired gray eyes looked at the bowl of the still steaming rolled oats, glass of milk and apple, and Tarl looked back to follow his look. He thought he fully understood the servant’s concern—and wholeheartedly agreed that food should never go to waste.