It was in the middle of the afternoon with the sunlight coming in and twinkling off the glasses, and the tavern was quiet because no one came in at that time. I was in my corner with a pile of wanted posters on the table and a newspaper for company, and as the old barkeep Jen came around with a white dishcloth he said, “Ain’t seen Tabby in a while. What happen’d ter him?”
He was falling and I thrust out my hand but it missed his by inches and he fell and fell I tried to scream but it was no good and he was smiling, he was smiling, he held up nine fingers and as I stared the darkness swallowed him up I couldn’t save him I couldn’t save him not dear lucky Tabby no –
“I don't know,” I said, and sipped at my coffee.
“I remember how it were like,” mused Jen, absently polishing the tabletop. “It were grand times, it were. Angel an’ Rosemarie, and that there bard chap –”
“Fugue,” I supplied distractedly.
“Aye, that were his name. Good lad, always a-ready with a yarn. Prob’ly a chronicler fer one o’ them grand houses in Pichon now, I shoun’t wonder.”
“Or rotting away in Menksvale Prison,” I muttered under my breath.
“Now wouldn’t that be nice?” Jen rambled on, noticing nothing. “An’ Meerschaum. Har, now that one had a laugh. Did us all good, hearin’ it boomin’ up ter the rafters.”
He went like that too. He was laughing, a horrible sound as he swung his daggers in a deadly crossing arc, the carcasses forming a putrid stockade about him but never strong enough to protect him. They just kept coming and he knew he’d never survive, gruesome purplish blood splattering across his fair skin and his fine clothes, and by the time his own was let we were well out of sight and knew we’d lost him –
“Yes,” I said shortly. “It did.”
“They were good times, lad.” Jen, eyes far away, automatically wiped the ashtray with his towel, sending deep black streaks into the white cloth. He would get it from his wife later for that one. “We were all so happy. An’ now yer’ the onley one still here.”
I saw Angel at the executions the other day. He did not pull down his hood so much as he had in the old days, so I recognised him easily. He still disguised his arbalest in the form of a bulky staff though. His eyes flicked into mine briefly, blue-green and haunted, and then he pulled away with the crowd. I could not even smile at him –
“Yes.”
“An’ we be grateful,” said a new voice. Hanna came from the back, wiping her hands on her apron. “Folks as likes ter forget their heroes, but we never do. Yer’ll always be welcome here.”
“Thank you,” I said, sincerely. I might have been aloof, but I was not incapable of gratitude. Hanna huffed, a little embarrassed, and looked for something familiar. “Jen! What yer be doin’ with me best dishcloth?”
Jen almost dropped the ashtray. “Um...” he fumbled.
I rose, rolling up the posters and tucking them under one arm along with the newspaper. “I have to go.” The barkeep and his wife immediately turned from their impending argument to detain me, but I spoke before they could. “I have something to take care of.”
They understood of course. They were good, sympathetic souls, for all their village roughness. Hanna pressed a warm paper parcel into my hand, and Jen accompanied his insistence that I would always be welcome with a hearty clap on the back. I nodded to them both and stalked off down the street.
It was a good walk up the hill, and the sun was sending golden threads through the trees as I reached my destination. The small white stone was almost overrun with flowering creeper, so much so it was almost invisible, but I found it easily enough. I had always been able to.
I carefully sat down next to it on the grass and stared out, looking over the town and the dying sun beyond it. It was a quiet evening, still and peaceful. Away across the hills, a nightingale began to sing.
Presently I spoke. “I should have listened to you. We all should. I wish... I could tell you that.”
The stone sat unmoving, unable to forgive.
“That’s what you hated, wasn’t it? Not about what you could see. It was that no one else could. You were sighted in the land of the blind, and none of us understood what you meant. Not until the end.”
I leant back into the grass. “You know, I never cared much for the company,” I mused. “Everyone was just there. I thought I could have done without them. I thought I was there from pure courtesy. But then we started to drop away, one by one, and I realised how much more I could have given back then. Back when it wasn’t too late. Back when we were... whole, I suppose.”
The golden rays had now deepened to orange, and they coloured the sky in brilliant streaks. The grass rustled in acknowledgement of the light breeze.
“I miss those days.” I stood up suddenly. “But things must change, or they never will. Goodbye, Rosemarie.” I touched the top of the stone lightly, then turned and walked, away from the town, towards the darkening hills.
As I tread the narrow rocky paths, eating the warm bacon-and-egg pastry Hanna had packed for me, I thought about the days before the change. About the decisions I could never rewrite. They were sombre thoughts, but not discouraging.
“After all,” I contemplated, “Someday I will be old and toothless, or perhaps freezing in some cave somewhere, or alone without hope in a graveyard. And then I will look upon these days as the best in my life.”
The thought made me chuckle.
Fin.
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