This is the last of these chapters that I will be publicly posting.
I will continue writing until the story is complete, then format it, gain approval from those whose lives have contributed directly to the tale, and look to publish this, in book form, by early summer. I will be sure to let you know when it will be available for purchase.
For now, enjoy the first twenty chapters of this tale, with the added scribe introduction at the beginning. We end here with the imminent arrival of that awaited Pirate Captain.
And may a wilde Kentari heart dwell deep in your soul.
A Summer Barbaric of Shenanigans
The whole crew slept-in the following morning. There was little else to do as the transports drove on to the next township of Keaneton: a double-bliss countryside town that butted up to the beach as well. It was a minor port town on the ragamuffin side of culture; part fishing community, part base for many free-sailing merchant vessels. As is the nature of communities that feed upon the lives of free adventurers, this town was considered wild, even by Kentari standards.
Tambeaux’s caravan was booked into a farming camp-ground, off to the side of the township proper. It was the perfect distance for the adults to be able to jaunt down and partake in whatever revelry they desired. While at the same time, being distant enough for the younger members of the children’s transport to be held aloft from any of the excessive roughness. The kids were excited as many of them were not accustomed to farm life. The promise of animals and hay fields lit even the quietest of hearts.
The directing crew organized a gathering with the families to focus upon the simple pleasures of life (and detract from not going into town). A pot-luck luncheon was set for the mid-afternoon. It coincided with the choreographer’s birthday, so celebrations were blended.
Rhyn blushed her quiet giggles when balloons and flowers were offered to her. She was a dancer, pure in heart, and thus expressed herself freely in movement, yet, not so freely in spoken conversation. Unless talk carried on in quiet, smaller circles, the shyer Rhyn often felt too overwhelmed to participate. Yet, with the horses and chickens and goats roaming about, the attention squared upon her delicate shoulders was brief. Her anxious delight became distracted by farm life pleasures; as did the children’s.
Filly encouraged everyone to calmly approach all the animals. She guided the nose pats and pointed out warnings to bare toes, wriggling too closely to hooves. The chickens teased the most, tempting hands to reach out to touch them, but as soon as the chook realized there was no food within, off they would scatter. Except the one big red chicken whose nickname was Pirate Jayne. She preferred to sit upon Filly’s chest and allowed her soft feathers to be petted by all.
There was a drove of goats that bounced about, too. They were typically kept within an enclosure, lest they run off. The gathering was allowed in right after lunch and many took their food scrap, leftovers to feed the nannies and their kids. One billy was determined to get fed and butted in wherever he could. He only toppled one unsuspecting child before dashing off with a plate of chips. He ate it all, including the paper plate. That kept him busy a while. The rest of the children played and giggled and chased the kids on their tiny four feet, jumping about the playground. When the goats were just about as wound up as they could get, the billy goat got gruff. So, a walk out to the hay field was quickly decided.
The first round of hay was already brought in, off the fields, and there was a stash of large, round bales beneath a shady, old-man tree. As the only adult willing to jump the fence and take the children to examine the wonder, Filly carefully taught them how to climb up the tall stacks, using leverage against side-by-side bales and soon all the children were bouncing, dashing, and bounding upon mother nature’s trampolines.
In the end, the farm picnic was one of Filly’s favorite memories of her children that summer. Sure, she was beaming proud of all their accomplishments on the stage, and continued enjoying familial get togethers even long into the next year. But, that one picnic on the farm, will ever be held in the lush memory of eternal childhood.
That upcoming week was the nationwide Kentari celebration of freedom from the government of the Trevel civilized cities. There is much history there, but for now, in this tale, I will simply focus upon the festivities at hand, rather than the darker histories of the past.
Many of the children took a break with their parents and returned to home celebrations. Travel back and forth between Kentari towns was made easier from this bustling port of Keaneton, rough though it was. It not only housed a wharf port but, also, an underStation for the swift train system that zoomed through HDP coated tunnels across both Kentari and Trevel Underlands.
The children’s directors arranged another gathering, after all the children had gone home. They took a trip into Keaneton to visit the largest community playhouse there, taking dinner in the bistro of one of the finer hotels. As is the habit of chain establishments, this hotel was the Keaneton Hotel Standard, so there was a pleasant familiarity within its walls. Filly booked herself a garden cottage, again, to enjoy some solitude and quiet, as a week’s vacation from a traveling lifestyle.
She was just settling in on her private porch, painting another landscape of an old metal truss bridge, when the door knocker tapped for her attention.
Luc Tambeaux bowed respectfully at her open door.
“Forgive the intrusion, m’lady,” he smiled politely with his southern drawl, “the Count sends you a message.”
Filly studied the boy’s face, but couldn’t tell if he was being polite, or if he knowingly addressed her correctly, using her appropriate Trevel title.
“I’m sure he does,” she snickered. “It seems he can barely leave me be.”
She leaned on the doorpost awaiting his news.
Luc cleared his throat,
“There is a spot concert tonight. The Lords of Ragefall are playing in the tavern on the beach front.”
“Oh! Excellent.” Filly clapped happily.
Luc continued in an almost awkward pause, but Filly disallowed such and smiled as she stepped back to close the door, assuring him,
“I will see you tonight, then.”
Clearing his throat again, Luc leaned forward slightly. His stiffness caused Filly to pause, suddenly wary.
“That’s not the actual message.” He said.
Sensing his uneasiness at having to be the deliverer of such news, Filly’s breath froze in her throat.
The young Tambeaux reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded parchment. He bowed stiffly and quickly, as formally as possible, held the note out, then swiftly turned on his heels to leave as soon as the Oracle took the paper from him.
Filly didn’t take a second glance at the blue-grey paper in her hand. She recognized its seal immediately. She closed the door and walked out to the serenity of her garden courtyard. Slowly sitting, her sigh mixed with heaviness and excitement as she swallowed and opened the telegram.
One the last tide of the morrow. I shall return to you.
It was signed with the insignia of Captain Jeremiah Quillchef.
Tears stung her dry eyes as she stared at the message and her breathing became shallow. She left the note open on her side table and went to dress for the concert. Loud music and energy draining dancing is what she needed, this night. Thanks to the Lords of Ragefall for obliging her so politely.
To start reading this tale from the begining: Pre-exposition Letter by the Scribe
If you would like to see more of Gregga’s books and other creative projects, check out her website: Gregga J. Johnn and Story-in-the-Wings.