Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards, Ch. 8 Pt. 1
Notes: Let's have our potential lovers sit down for an actual conversation, hmm?
Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards, Ch. 8 Pt. 1
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Chapter Eight, Part One
Photo by Kasem SleemPeverell’s Demon
“What do you carry for nightmares?”
A startlingly blunt question to begin a conversation with,but Hiram couldn’t say he wasn’t intrigued. He contemplated the man in front ofhim for a moment, took in the light in his eyes and the faint curve at thecorners of his lips, and after a moment he said, “That would depend upon thestrength and the source of the nightmares, Master…”
“Surrus. Avery Surrus.” The smile edging those lipsblossomed for a moment. “Lollop’s schoolmaster.”
“Ah.” Hiram felt a surge of gratification. “I thought asmuch. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
Master Surrus chuckled. “From the Neven clan, yes? I’m notas beastly as my dear students say, I assure you.”
“I would never accuse you of such a thing,” Hiram replied.“Children aren’t always the best character witnesses.” Sometimes they were, ofcourse—sometimes they were spot on, but a teacher could encompass fear, faith, appreciation,and resentment all in the same breath. Still… “No one has said anything ill ofyou in my presence, so your reputation is safe as far as I’m concerned.”
“As is yours,” Master Surrus said, but there was a hint ofsomething else in his voice. “Or perhaps I shouldn’t say ‘safe,’ since I’veheard a great many reports about you since your arrival in Lollop and not allof them agree. Rather, let me say that you seem to be a man of much interest.”
Ah. He’s fishing. Not really surprising, consideringhow many people had come by his stall this morning with no intention to buy,just wanting a bit of conversation. Still, it was a trifle disappointing. Backto the matter at hand. “Tell me more of your nightmares, Master Surrus.”
The young man nodded like he hadn’t just been put off. “Theytake an unfortunately broad number of forms, I’m afraid. Most often they creepup on me at night, but occasionally I’m lost to them during the day.”
Interesting. “Do you suffer from waking nightmares,then?”
Master Surrus nodded stiffly. “From time to time.”
That was rather serious. “How long has this been going on?”
“Oh, for years now,” Master Surrus replied with more than abit of fatigue in his voice. “For a time it wasn’t so bad, but recently itseems like they’re increasing in duration and intensity.”
“Was there a catalyzing event for these nightmares?”
He smiled again, a barely-there curve. “Yes, but I’d rathernot talk about it.”
“Hmm.” This was beginning to sound more like the domain of apriest, but there had to be a reason the young man was coming to Hiram insteadof them. Perhaps they’d tried and failed to cure his mental affliction, orperhaps he was afraid they would dig too deeply into his psyche. At the veryleast, Hiram could give him a good start to his sleep. He began to dig throughhis sachets, looking for ones he could combine for better effect.
“Let me give you something to start your night off sweetly.Chamomile.” He tapped three of the bags into a small ceramic jar, then added aspoonful of tiny stone fruits he’d found at the back edge of his garden. “Sourcherries. And some of this.” He retrieved the ground valerian root he’d broughtall the way from Galenish and poured a spoonful of that in as well. He shookthe jar to mix it, then contemplated it for a moment and added the last of hispackages of chamomile. “Soak a spoonful’s worth in warm milk at night—water ifyou don’t care for milk, but no alcohol—and drink it down a few minutes beforeyou go to bed. It should give you a head start on a good night’s sleep. Itshould certainly suffice to keep your dreams pleasant through the length of a nap.”
Master Surrus’s expression was a trifle…disappointed, itseemed. “Thank you.” He shook his head. “I suppose it would be too much to hopeyou had a Peverell’s Demon on hand.”
Hiram laughed with delight. He couldn’t stop himself; it hadbeen a very long time since he’d heard that particular name brought up. “Areyou trained in the classical philosophies, then?”
Master Surrus blinked. “You know of Peverell’s Demon?”
“Who doesn’t? A creature devoid of desire except to serve,but only able to do so in a manner that is both destructive and creative at thesame time, in equal measure. A hypothetical posited to students of manydifferent stripes, so that they can examine their own biases and thoughts withrelation to their field of study.”
Master Surrus nodded encouragingly, his smile back fullforce. “A gentle introduction to discussion and, more importantly, todisagreement. Not to mention finding a creative and hopefully positive solutionto a problem.”
“Indeed.” Hiram chuckled and shook his head. “Ah, it’s beena long time since I’ve contemplated Peverell’s Demon, Master Surrus. Not sinceI was a student myself.”
The other man sat back a bit farther in the other chair, hisgaze contemplative. “And what does a student of herbology make of Peverell’sDemon, Master Emblic?”
In truth, most herbalists would know nothing of thisparticular philosophical construct. It acted as a thought experiment to thosewho went into more esoteric fields of study, which herbalism decidedly wasn’t.But Hiram was enjoying the conversation and wanted to draw it out a bit longer.Tilda wasn’t back yet…there was no one waiting for his services…what could ithurt?
“An interesting question,” he said after a moment. “The mostdirect application of this particular Demon lies in the harvest of ingredientsfor the things an herbalist makes. That’s destruction and creation in equalmeasure. However, the same could be said of most types of healer, or even afarmer, so that’s not a very compelling or unique example. Let us consider yourparticular predicament, Master Surrus.” He idly rolled the jar back and forthin his hands as he spoke. “You wish to be free from your nightmares. Nightmaresin and of themselves are creatures that can have many different layers anddistinctions. Without knowing how to name your nightmare or the depths fromwhich it springs, I cannot outright kill it with the tricks of my particulartrade. Even if I could, it’s likely other parts of you would be affected. Partsyou’d rather keep whole.”
This was the point in a conversation where a normal sort ofperson would blink or look away, but Master Surrus didn’t so much as twitch. “Andso I must dance around this nightmare instead and create a different sort ofbarrier,” Hiram went on. “Something less effective than an outright assassin,but more effective than a child with a pointy stick.”
“I don’t know about that,” Master Surrus murmured. “Childrenwith pointy sticks can be quite dangerous.”
“I daresay you’d know best. Nevertheless, and at the risk ofbelaboring the metaphor, in your case the Demon cannot seek outright destruction.It can only seek to tame, and so Peverell would say this is a weak example ofthe good to which this predicament is applicable. Personally, though, I wouldsay that murder is always a serious undertaking, whether you’re slaying your nightmareor someone else’s, and that softening is as good a place to start as any.”
He set the jar down on the table and reached for one of theempty sachets, stretched it over the top, and bound it in place with a piece ofleftover twice. “This should last you until the next Market Day,” he said,focusing on the knot he was making instead of the weight of those bright blueeyes. “Come back then and let me know how it works for you.” When Master Surrusreached for his money, Hiram shook his head. “A fair exchange for aninteresting bit of conversation,” he said as he held out the jar.
Master Surrus stared at him for a long moment before saying,“I don’t think my value as a conversational partner is so high.”
“I get to be the judge of that, I’m afraid.”
“No, truly. I can’t…I can’t accept this for free.” WhenHiram started to speak again, Master Surrus shook his head, then leaned inclose. “Let me give you a useful bit of advice instead, if you don’t mind. TheHigh Cleric of Melemor is a true devotee of his god, but his ability withprayer is akin to attacking with a glass bludgeon. He strikes hard at the most obvioustargets, but he can only strike once. If you were to for some reason be calledout during a service and asked to confess your lies before his god, it wouldn’tbe impossible for a mind like yours to position only that which you wereprepared to share front and center for the blow.” Master Surrus held his eyesas he took hold of the jar, then stood. “Thank you for your time, MasterEmblic.”
“Hiram.” It felt important to break down this particularbarrier before he left. “Please, call me Hiram.”
Master Surrus smiled. “You may call me Avery, but not wheremy students can hear you. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, after all.” Thenhe turned and walked away, and Hiram was left feeling a trifle breathless forno good reason.
“I know why, you horny old—”
“Shut up, Phlox.”
