John Anderson - The Dungeoneers

But it wasn’t a dream. There, right outside his window, Colm saw that same man making his way up the road. He moved with a surprising swiftness, Colm noticed, tending to gravitate toward the shade — the shadow of a wagon, the canopy of a tree, the long silhouette of the house — as if he couldn’t bear to be in the rising sun. Colm watched him slink up to the porch. Heard his knock on the door. Heard his mother’s voice.

“Mr. Argos,” she said, bright as polished steel. “You’re just in time for breakfast.”

Colm opened the door of his bedroom to find everyone seated at the table already. His father and all eight sisters. It was the first time he’d seen Seysha out of bed in two days. She looked better, though she still huddled in two layers of blankets and her plate was empty. Obviously she had insisted on coming downstairs to say good-bye. All the girls were glancing back and forth from Colm to the man standing in the doorway. Colm had never gotten such concerned looks from the whole lot of them before. He took a moment to revel in it.

The rogue smiled at Colm, then turned and gave a humble bow to his mother. “It smells divine, Mrs. Candorly, but I’m afraid Colm and I have a long journey ahead of us. It might be best if the boy takes his breakfast with him.”

Colm’s mother’s face fell. “Oh,” she said. “Very well, then,” and she glanced at Colm before turning and rummaging through her cabinet for some food that might travel better. “I’ll just pack a bag.”

Rove Candorly rose from his seat at the head of the table and bent down to inspect Colm’s boots. His mother with the pantry. His father with the boots. His sisters whispering and tittering to one another. They were all looking for comfort in the things they knew best.

Colm’s father inspected the laces. Lifted one boot up and then the other, checking the heel, flicking the steel-tipped toes. “Seem all right to me,” he said, straightening himself. “Yes. They’re good,” he said. “Quite good. They should hold up.” He put his hands on Colm’s arms as if making sure he was solid too: no holes or frayed ends, no parts needing to be nailed or glued together. “All good,” Rove Candorly concluded, then turned to the girls, who instantly stopped their twitter. “Aren’t you going to say good-bye to your brother?”

There was an uncomfortable silence, as if each of the sisters dared the others to speak first. Naturally it was Celia who said something, but it wasn’t to Colm. It was to the man by the door.

“Mr. Argos,” she began. She was only ten, but looking at her now, Colm might have guessed her to be the oldest of the eight. So calm and determined.

“Please, you can just call me Finn.”

“Fine, Finn. I want to know, is it dangerous, this place you are taking our brother?”

The rogue pursed his lips, considering the question. He struck Colm as a man who carefully considered everything: Which table he took in a tavern. How much of his face to show in public. Which side of a cup to drink from.

Which pocket to keep a pilfered piece of silver in.

“I’ve found that, in most cases, it’s not the places themselves that are dangerous, but the people who inhabit them. So no, the place we are going won’t pose any threat to your brother.”

“But there might be danger somewhere, maybe somewhere along the way, perhaps. After all, you carry a sword. Men who carry swords are obviously afraid of something .”

Colm’s father told Celia to hush, but Finn was laughing.

“Too true, Miss Candorly, and I would be lying if I said that I was fearless.”

“You might be lying about everything,” she snipped.

“Celia!” her father barked.

“Rove!” Mrs. Candorly scolded.

But in response, Finn took two steps toward Celia, knelt down before her, and took one of her hands between his gloves.

“You are wise beyond your years, Celia Candorly. But I make you this promise: I will look after your only brother with the same ferocious devotion that you would yourself.”

Celia leaned in and whispered something in the rogue’s ear that Colm strained to hear but couldn’t. Finn nodded, then kissed her hand and stood up. He turned to Colm. “I will give you a moment,” he said, looking over the full table. “Or maybe ten. When you’ve said your good-byes, I’ll be right outside.” Then he bowed to Colm’s mother and father in turn and moved swiftly toward the front door, where he paused. “The difference between a good-bye and a bad one is in thinking there’s a hello at the end.”

Finn closed the door, and on cue, all of Colm’s sisters rose from the table and swarmed him. Even Elmira, sensing the occasion, grabbed hold of one leg and latched on. There was a flurry of questions. Would they see him tomorrow or next month? (He didn’t know.) Where exactly was this castle that Finn was taking him to? (Finn couldn’t say.) Would he get a sword too? (Maybe; he hadn’t really thought about it. Which was, in fact, a lie. He had thought about it all last night.)

There were a dozen more. But none of the answers really mattered, Colm knew, because he didn’t really have a choice. He had to go. So he hugged them each in turn, spinning Elmira around twice for good measure. He had been smothered in his sisters’ kisses before, but always as a form of torture. This time he didn’t mind as much.

When he came at last to his mother, she handed him a thick wool hat and a small burlap sack full of food.

“Keep your cloak wrapped and stay out of the wind. Don’t go stomping in puddles — you’ll only dampen your socks. Be sure to eat, even if you’re nervous. And no matter what happens, you let us know, somehow or other.” Colm shrank under the weight of another crushing embrace.

His father held up his empty hands. “I wish I had something to give you. An heirloom or something. Maybe something to protect you.” Colm thought of the hatchet they used to make kindling, thought of the dull knife his mother used to slice potatoes. He imagined his father handing over the knife, reverently: “Your grandfather used this butter knife, and your grandfather’s father, and his father before him. Wield it well, Colm Candorly, and may your bread never be eaten dry.”

Instead, Rove Candorly leaned in close, whispering. “Watch out for that Finn fellow, understand? Be polite. Do what he asks. But at the first sign of trouble, you get away from him, you hear? You run as fast as you can and find your way back home. I don’t care what the magistrate says.”

Colm nodded, then clasped his father’s hand. Behind him, Cally and Nila whimpered in unison. Colm made for the door before his mother could catch hold of him again. He heard his sisters telling him they loved him, probably even meaning it this time. Outside, he took a few faltering steps, as if imitating Elmira’s wobbling gait. He looked back to see everyone standing in the door or the open window, watching.

Finn was preoccupied, staring at the pattern of veins along a leaf. He let it drift lazily to the ground when Colm approached. “They act like they’ll never see you again,” he said.

“I know,” Colm said, faking a laugh. “Silly, isn’t it?”

“There’s nothing trivial about a family’s devotion,” Finn replied.

“Don’t eat wild berries!” his mother shouted to him through the open door. “Watch out for wolves. Don’t take food from strangers! And for gods’ sakes, be careful!”

“She’s a worrier,” Colm muttered.

“She’s a warrior,” Finn corrected. “Anyone who can have as many children as you have fingers is a force to be reckoned with.” He turned and bowed to Colm’s mother once more, then pushed Colm forward, giving him the momentum he needed to take the next step.