A World Without Heroes (11 page)

The harsh whisper came from a stand of low trees to his left, making Jason jump and turn.

“Be quick about it,” the voice urged. Near the base of a tree, obscured by brush, squatted a disheveled man in layers of dark, filth-stained clothing. He wore fingerless gloves of gray yarn.
A shapeless black hat sat on his head like a deflated basketball. His furtive face bristled with whiskers. “Come down here out of sight.”

“Are you trying to rob me?”

“I’m harmless. Be quick.”

Jason complied, descending the shoulder of the lane to stand above the stranger within the cover of the trees and undergrowth. “What do you want?”

“I know this community,” the man said. “You’re an outsider. What brings you this way?”

“I’m looking for the Blind King,” Jason said.

The man squinted up at him skeptically. “I suggest you move along. There’s barely enough pickings around here for one man to quietly skim the cream. Two would starve.”

“I’m not here to beg,” Jason said.

“Beg?” the man spluttered, obviously offended. “I’m no beggar! I live by my wits! And I don’t need interlopers stirring up the henhouse.”

“Why are you hiding here?”

“I’m taking measure of the situation,” he said. “Franny’s been baking. Mind crouching a little? Good lad. Name’s Aster.” He held out a hand. Jason shook it, certain the courtesy was transmitting fleas.

“I’m Jason. I’m not here to cause trouble for anyone. Once I find the Blind King, I’m sure I’ll head elsewhere. I’ve got plenty of my own problems.”

Aster gave a curt nod. “I believe you.”

“You’re going to steal from that house?”

Aster’s face split into a wicked grin. “More than likely. Not enough to do the owner any harm, mind you. Just pinch a pie or two.”

“Do you travel much?” Jason asked.

“Don’t have much use for it. Travel involves uncertainty. I found myself some well-fed gulls, so I chiefly stay hereabouts. Live off the surplus. Say, you don’t happen to have a morsel to spare? Not a handout, mind you. I’ll pay you back tenfold in meat pie if you’ll wait around for an hour or so. It’s just that all this waiting has teased my appetite.”

Jason opened his food sack. “I guess I could spare a couple of mushrooms.”

The vagrant pulled a disgusted face. “You must be in a worse fix than I am, if you’ve resorted to dining on fungus. And I honestly have no idea what to make of your outfit. But you strike me as a companionable fellow. Tell you what—sit with me a spell and I’ll snatch us a hearty meal. Assuming you’ll move along afterward.”

The reek of the man alone was sufficient deterrent. “Thank you for your generosity, but I’d better keep moving. I actually meant to knock on the door to that cottage and ask directions.”

The vagrant suddenly looked alarmed. “You won’t seek to spoil my raid, right, friend? I’ve been counting on this meal.”

Jason wondered if the man could be dangerous. “I’ll do my best to repay your friendliness,” he replied ambiguously.

“Fair enough,” Aster said. “Try not to cause a stir. Give my regards to the Blind King.”

Jason returned to the lane, glad for the fresh air, and strolled to a sky-blue gate in the low green fence. “Hello?” he shouted. “Anybody home?”

A moment later the front door opened, and an obese woman with a bright scarf tied round her head leaned out, a cheery smile spreading her cheeks. Her smoothly bloated features gave her face an ageless quality. The smile disappeared when she saw Jason. “What business have you here?”

“I’m just passing through the area,” Jason said amiably.

“This town has no use for drifters,” the woman warned, scowling. “Keep on walking.”

Jason looked around. He saw no town. Her home must be on the outskirts. “I’m wondering if you can direct me to the Blind King?”

Her scowl deepened. “Are you one of his misfits? You ought to know where to find him.”

“I’ve never met him,” Jason said. “I need his advice. I’m Jason.”

The woman sighed. “I don’t mean to be rude, Jason, but these are ugly times. Fair faces and kind words can disguise foul intentions.”

“I’m only asking for directions,” Jason maintained. “I’m not trying to make waves.”

The woman opened the door wider, and an enormous dog padded onto the porch. The beastly canine looked like a bulldog the size of a Saint Bernard. Its hair was short enough to imply it had recently been shaved bald. The animal shook its deeply folded face and emitted a brusque sound between a growl and a cough. Jason would not have been eager to steal anything from a house with such a monstrous guardian. Aster was apparently bolder than Jason had realized.

“Puggles here would prefer if you stopped straining our hospitality,” the woman insisted. “I have an alarm beside the door. Don’t make me call the militia.”

Jason glanced over toward where Aster was hiding. “Listen, lady,” Jason confided in a loud whisper. “I don’t really need anything from you. I have food in my bag and a destination in mind. But I have important information.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean? Who sent you?”

“Nobody sent me. I just happen to know about a thief who intends to raid your house.”

Her expression relaxed, and she chuckled. “You mean Aster?”

“You know him?”

A smile crept onto her face. “That scoundrel takes food from me three times each week, like clockwork. I’ve known him for years. The loafer refuses to accept charity, but if I let him feel like he’s stealing, he’ll swipe whatever I leave to cool on the windowsill. He fancies himself a soldier of fortune. I would welcome him to stay in a guest room, but he won’t have it. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“How odd.”

“Perhaps. But he keeps his pride, and I perform a service for a friend. He watches out for me. He’s run off troublemakers more than once.”

“You’re a generous person.”

Her smile widened, then faltered. “Funny he didn’t bother you.”

“We spoke,” Jason said.

She nodded. “He’s an able judge of character. You must have landed on his good side.” She looked Jason up and down. “You tried to warn me of trouble. You can’t be all bad. You wear strange apparel. Do you come from far away?”

“You have no idea,” Jason said. “Look, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I could really use directions to the Blind King.”

The woman paused, biting her lower lip. “I’m Francine. Franny. I hate to be unwelcoming. It isn’t my desire. You can come up to the porch if you like, Jason. I can at least offer you some bread.”

“Would you rather I swiped it from your windowsill?”

“Don’t try it. Puggles knows Aster. I’d end up finding pieces of you buried around the yard.”

Jason held up both hands. “Okay. Maybe the porch would be best.” He reached for the gate, and Puggles barked. Jason paused.

“Puggles, heel,” Franny ordered, slapping her thigh. She pointed for the dog to go back inside the house, and the bulky canine trundled out of sight.

Jason let himself through the gate. Franny disappeared inside. By the time Jason had mounted the porch steps, she had returned with a loaf of bread wrapped in a coarse bag.

“I have a weakness for the downtrodden,” she confessed. “But that doesn’t make me gullible. A word from me, and Puggles will tear you apart. If you know boarhounds, you know I’m not exaggerating. And we know Aster is watching as well.”

“I hear you,” Jason said politely. “About the Blind King . . .”

“It isn’t far. Continue down my lane to the crossroads and turn left. You’ll pass the Gamester’s farm, fork right onto the gravel road, and shortly come into view of the castle.”

“So he’s a real king with a castle and everything?”

“Not everything,” Franny clarified. “He’s the unofficial arbiter around here. It would be a stretch to label him a real king. Opinions about him vary. He settles disputes, offers advice. Some do his bidding, but he lacks real authority from the emperor.”

“Will it be hard to get into his castle? Do I just knock?”

“Speak with the gatewarden. The king grants audience liberally. You really know so little about him?”

“I only know I need to have a talk with him.”

“Your business is your business. By all reports he is a just arbiter. Some who surround him seem odd. You’ll have to form your own opinion.”

“What do you think of him?” Jason asked.

“He keeps a fairly high profile in a time when it might be more prudent to lay low. You should be on your way.”

“Thank you, Franny.”

“You seem very open,” Franny said sadly. “You should travel
with more care. There are plenty abroad who would take advantage of you.”

Jason descended the porch steps and backed toward the gate. “Thanks for the warning, and the bread.”

“We never met,” Franny said, retreating into her multihued house and closing the door.

Jason waved at the trees where Aster was hiding, then started down the lane. He opened the bag and tore off a chunk of warm bread, which tasted hearty. By contrast it made the bread back home seem ridiculously flimsy. Grateful to have something to eat besides mushrooms, Jason consumed almost half the loaf.

Not long after Franny’s home passed out of sight, Jason reached the crossroads. A white stone obelisk marked the intersection. One side of the obelisk was deeply scarred, as if an inscription had been gouged away. Aside from the tall marker and the dirt roads, no evidence of civilization could be seen in any direction.

Jason turned left, passing feral fields of tall grass interrupted by occasional copses of trees. He saw the charred remnants of a house, thorny shrubs growing up among the blackened wood, the scorched chimney still mostly intact.

Presently he came upon tended fields where crops grew in long rows. A fenceless house came into view up ahead: a low, sturdy structure. Out front a burly, shirtless man in overalls sat on a short stool sketching on a large parchment propped on an easel. Another fellow sat nearby on the grass, fiddling with a series of interlocked iron shapes. On a nearby table rested a ceramic dome segmented by lines suggesting it was a complex three-dimensional puzzle. Farther back towered a bronze sculpture comprised of bizarre shapes balanced precariously. Certain portions of the sculpture were on pivots and swiveled lazily in the breeze, squealing faintly.

“Hi, there,” Jason said from the lane. “Is one of you the Gamester?”

“I am,” said the man in overalls. He stood, a husky man with arms like a linebacker. He seemed a tad wary, but unafraid.

“Did you make that puzzle?” Jason said, jerking his head at the man trying to unlink the shapes.

“I did, along with many others.”

“I like that sculpture.”

“It can be reassembled in many combinations.”

“Do you sell your puzzles?”

He shook his head. “I give them away.”

“Do many people come by?”

“Mainly just Jerome here. Most folks would rather not bother. Sometimes a few will come and watch Jerome solve a series of my toughest creations.”

Jason gestured at the parchment. “Are you designing a new puzzle?”

The Gamester nodded. “I permit no man to view my designs.” He rolled up the parchment, even through Jason could view none of the drawing from where he stood. “What brings you this way, stranger?”

“I need to speak with the Blind King.”

“How do you know the Blind King?”

“Isn’t he famous?” Jason answered vaguely.

“Locally, yes, to some extent. But you are not from these parts.”

Jason was unsure what to say. “It might be best not to ask me too many questions.”

“Fair enough,” the Gamester replied. “Safe journey.”

Jason turned his back on the peculiar pair. The Gamester had not acted very welcoming and had seemed a little too curious. He walked briskly.

After a few miles Jason stopped and stripped off his gray coveralls for the first time, revealing his T-shirt and jeans. A tentative
sniff proved that his sweat-marked underarms reeked like unwashed monkeys. It was long past time to wash up and do some laundry. Maybe the castle would have someplace to bathe.