The Diary of Raoul Grincheux

Part 3

In which our heroes set off for Sophia.

Noon, Clayday, Truthweek, Seaseason, 612

So we set off – the wevver’s fine but cold for the season – I’m glad I got me brand new quilted jerkin. Sergeant Savage holds the crossbow and lets me drive for the first day, but I reckon the ‘orse is drivin’ itself. Lookin’ around it looks like it’s the same wiv most of the toffs on their ‘orses.

We’ve bin goin’ for about three hours when we come across a Gyppo bazaar by the roadside. The toffs ain’t used to ridin’ a lot (lumme, an’ I fort all toffs spent their lives inna saddle) an’ reckon their behinds need shoppin’ therapy. So I park the cart and we tie-up the ‘orses before visitin’ the bazaar but I see nuffin’ worth buyin’, it’s all tat.

It’s a Gyppo bazaar so I should ‘av bin on me guard, like, but I’m just thinkin’ I’ll go back to the cart when I feels not-so-nimble fingers fumblin’ at me purse. I turns to find a nine-year old kid. I was goin’ ter belt ‘im but he reminds me of me at that age so I lets ‘im scarper. I takes me purse from me belt an’ tucks it in me jerkin. Then I goes back to the cart an’ gets out me penny whistle – I reckon I’m gettin’ good. I try a bit of singin’ but goes back to me whistle ‘cos it’s wot I’m good at. Gonna ‘ave to learn to sing iffen I wanna join the Gowrie minstrels, though.

I think the toffs buy some stuff but you can’t be a toff less you got more money than sense, can yer? We gets movin’ again…

Couple of hours later we reach Troyes – either a large village or a small town. I know it’s famous for its Helios shrine wiv its stained glass windows. It’s got two inns – the one nearest the shrine is the best for toffs, called the Maison de Troyes – the other’s a dive so the Maison it is for us. I helps get the ‘orses inna stables. I figure that’s where I’ll be sleepin’ but Sieur Alphonse says they ‘ave a room for commoners like me an’ I can kip there – he seems to think I should know this – like I ever slept in an inn before!

The ladies and Sieur Alphonse get a room to themselves (bet he’ll be tired inna morning) an’ the rest of us spreads our blankets inna commoners’ room. Everyone’s a bit sore and tired but the nosh is great and so’s the show – the harpist can really belt out the songs an’ he knows all the best tunes. In between his numbers I gets to natter to the locals – seems business ‘as been a bit slow. They had a bunch of Gyppos yesterday (mustabin them Gyppos we passed today – ‘ope they counted their spoons when they left) an’ they’re lookin’ forward to a regiment passin’ through soon ‘cos soldiers like their beer.

As I wraps meself in me blanket I thinks, ‘Cor! A lot’s ‘appened today – wonder wot will ‘appen tomorrer?’

Windsday, Truthweek, Seaseason, 612

Inna mornin’ the toffs visit the Helios shrine to gawk at the windows while we flunkies get everyfing ready to go. Breakfast is great, fantastic nosh and as much as you can shovel – I really stuff meself. The toffs are impressed too an’ Lady Samal writes sumfink really flowery inna big book they keep for guests to say whevver they like the place or not.

But blind me! I ‘eard them settlin’ the bill ‘an it cost a whole wheel for all of us to stay the night! An’ it’s gonna be like that every night we’re onna road! Good job the toffs are rollin’ init, right?

Today Sergeant Savage does the drivin’ and I holds the crossbow but he don’t seem any better than me and it’s the ‘orse wot does the real drivin’, know wot I mean? After a couple of hours the crossbow starts feelin’ real ‘eavy.

It’s well past noon ‘an we should be cummin’ up on the turnoff to Duckpoint soon (which we won’t be takin’) when I spots sumfink real odd – it’s a bush wot’s been cut up an’ planted to cover a track leadin’ back from the road, toward the sea. It must ‘ave bin there a few days ‘cos it’s beginnin’ to dry out, which is how I spots it.

The sergeant seems to fink it’s worth lookin’ at – Troof cultist, wot can I say? And Stella says sumfink about trackin’ so I gets me ratty head on and we ‘ave a sniff…

Stella reckons she sees Duck prints – I can smell two Ducks wot snuck off the road, maybe about two days ago (good job there’s bin no rain since) – I reckon they were tryin’ to avoid a bunch of people onna road. Stella sees me sniffin’ an’ asks if I can track ‘em – well, reckon I can, but I ain’t sure why, know wot I mean?

Then Sergeant Savage spots sumfink glintin’ inna sunlight about a hundred yards away from the road – not all that glitters is gold but it’s still a pretty good bet so I starts sniffin’ the trail. Lady Samal and Blen stay on the road but the rest come wiv us.

Turns out the gleam is a sword blade onna dead body – a Duck wiv black fevvers an’ red beak an’ feet – wot call themselves ‘Redbills’.

Stella ‘an me, we reckon two Ducks carried this one from the road ‘an tried to hide the body. It’s had its throat cut but someone ‘as partly healed the corpse! I mean, that’s mucky! It’s like they were tryin’ to cover-up that it’s ‘ad it’s throat cut – but they’d need Corpse Healin’ to do that – I’m inna a Healer cult, I knows wot I’m talkin’ about.

Me nose reckons the two Ducks dropped the corpse an’ made for the sea. About a hundred yards further on we gets to cliffs an’ it’s clear enuff they went down to a cleft inna rocks. I offers to scramble down. ‘Hwood yoo likes a rope?” says Sieur Alphonse. I says, ‘Yes fank you, monsieur, that hwood be much better’, so he says there’s one on the cart an’ tells me to get it – bloody toffs! But someone gives me Coordination, too.

So I scrambles down – ain’t difficult – an inna cleft I sees some sort of rock wedged in a hole dug out by a dagger or sumfink. There’s sumfink behind the rock so I works it out wiv me own dagger.

Blow me! But that stone turns out to be a gem once all the dirt’s bin wiped off – big an’ red it is, must be worth a fortune! The thing it was hidin’ izza bit of parchment wiv writin’ on it. Now I ain’t wot you’d call a reader but I knows me letters an’ these ain’t wot me Mum taught me. Look a little like beaks, feets an’ fevvers so must be Duckish – means nuffink to me, anyhow.

So I scrambles back up – easier than cummin’ down – an’ hands over gem an note. (Reckon that’s the last I’ll see of that jewel – ‘spose if I’m lucky I’ll get a shillin’ for me trouble.)

Lady Samal reckons the body ain’t got no spirit ‘angin’ around – she reckons that ain’t right an’ I agrees (Spirit cult) – Spirit should ‘ang about for a week if the body ain’t properly buried, like. The Duck’s only bin dead two or three days, so where’s the ghost?

We wraps up the body inna tarp an’ takes it to Duckpoint. (Reckon the toffs are gonna keep the swords wiv the body anna purse wiv eight shillins.)

Turns out in Duckpoint they’re holdin’ two Ducks as thieves and when we give ‘em the body an’ the note the charges get upped to murder. They put us up inna inn for free on account of us bein’ so public spirited.

A Duck Shaman calls round after dinner (fish stew – not bad!) The dead Duck was Percy Redbill – seems he caught the perps burglin’ his home an’ laid into them wiv his broadswords, a bit manic, like. Somehow they killed him and tried to hide it.

Now this is the strange bit – they tries to hide Percy’s cut throat, usin’ Corpse Healin’ (I mean, wot? Woz they morticians… or sumfink…?). An’ they say they bound his spirit inna gem ‘cos they din’t want the Duck shamans whistlin’ up Percy’s spirit to say who did him in. That’s a lot of work to get away wiv murder, but then they drags him out an’ dumps the corpse, instead of tryin’ to bury him – an’, even though they’re thieves, they don’t take his swords or his purse an’ they leaves that big gem stuck inna rocks by the shore.

I knows Ducks is weird – everyone says so, even the Ducks – but that is just plain pecoolier! I reckon sumfink is goin’ on there, but I reckon we’re better off not knowin’ – Duck business, know wot I mean?

Fireday, Truthweek, Seaseason, 612

Inna mornin’ it’s kippers for breakfast – I quite like Duck nosh – it ain’t all duckweed and worms, after all. An’ then we’re back on the road. This time it’s Blen drivin’ an’ Sergeant Savage has the crossbow so I gets to take it easy an’ practice me penny whistle – an’ me singin’, but I’m better wiv me whistle.

Mid-mornin’ we spots a cloud of dist inna road ahead – someone says it’s from the north but the Sun’s at our backs so I reckon the road’s headin’ west right now. Lotta dust so lotta people. Blen manages to get the cart off the road just in time for a comp’ny of hoplites to march past. They take up the whole road. Their officer is an Humakti at the back. When he sees Blen an’ Spathi he gets the verbal shits, an’ inna a lot of words says he’s Cuthbert Nomily and he’s challengin’ ‘em to duels.

Bloody Humaktis! I looks over the soldiers an’ I reckon they look hard, seen real fightin’, an’ they look real tired, like they’ve bin marchin’ all night – so ol’ Cuthbert force-marches ‘em all night only to take an hour out to pick a fight wiv his fellow-cultists – Bloody Humaktis!

Well they make a real palaver out of the duels – lots of posin’ an’ choosin’ swords an’ reckonin’ exactly wot magic they’re gonna use. Then they actually gets down to fightin’. I reckon Cuthbert’s pretty good, probably better than Blen an’ Spathi, but he’s just as tired as his men an’ he loses both duels. Blen gives him a nasty clip to the head but Spathi gives a vicious thrust wiv his shortsword wot’ knocks a big splinter out of Cuthbert’s sword an’ near takes his arm off! Cuthbert stabs Spathi inna chest practically at the same time, so I guess that one’s a draw? Gets a big round of applause all the same.

I fink they’re all tosspots but I can’t let Cuthbert’s useless healer kill him. I stops the bleedin’ an’ straps him up – maybe his soldiers can heal him but I’d be careful if I were him – I don’t reckon they can like him much the way he’s bin treatin’ ‘em.

We stops at Colmar, a town wiv a lot of old wooden buildings onna river – famous for its wines (‘ad some once – not bad, great bokay, I got licorish wiv blackcurrant overtones).

I’m inna commoners’ room again. This time we makes our own entertainment – I’m outa voice but I accompany Eliza wiv me penny whistle an’ together we ain’t half bad. Lady Samal composes a poem about today’s duels an’ she makes it sound way better than it was.

Moonday, Truthweek, Seaseason, 612

It was anuvver wheel for the bill this mornin’ – them Ducks puttin’ us up the other night saved some dosh. Food’s alright but not as good as the Maison de Troyes.

My turn wiv the reins again this mornin’ – reckon I’m getting’ the ‘ang of this drivin’ lark. Late mornin’ I’m kinda focused on the ‘orse an’ I don’t see a bunch of lads off the road to one side, but I ‘ears ‘em laughin’ an’ someone else cryin’ an’ pleadin’.

The toffs call a halt and get down off their ‘orses. I stays onna cart. Five lads ‘av got a boy strapped to a log, like a yoke, an’ they’re takin’ turns whippin’ his back – he’s inna right state.

Well I gotta say Sieur Alphonse, Lady Samal, Blen, Eliza an’ Sergeant Savage does a good job breakin’ it up, though I’d have given the bâtards a good thrashin’ if it was me. The Sergeant asks the kid if he wants to press charges but he just snivels an’ walks off.

So that evenin’ we gets to Orleans – big city but nowhere near as grand as Heliopolis. We stay at the town house of a relative of Lady Samal’s, Lady Henriette de Bourbon – I can’t blame the toffs for wantin’ to save a wheel – these inns are plush but they costs a mint.

This time I kips in the stables – turns out their stable-boy is also a Rat; Ional’s just a kid but we ‘ave a good natter in Ratspeech so no toffs or their flunkies can ‘ear us. He reckons he’s got it easy – gets paid a shillin’ a week wiv grub thrown in an’ it’s always warm in the ‘ayloft over the stables – he makes sure the rats get some oats so they don’t have to raid the ‘orses’ troffs. Cushy number!

Tomorrer we should get to Honfleur and Mount Ofrys – ‘cos Lady Samal’s uncle was a Celestine we gotta visit their abbey – probably gonna get more of them forbodings we got off Lady Sybil – but if one more git says I gotta ‘role to play’ I’m gonna get ratty, I’m tellin’ yer.