Lore of the Underlings: Episode 8 ~ The Trial Read Online Free PDF Page A

we
wrought, the artifacts of life.” He caught Treygyn’s attention and
winked. “Simple implements. Tools like us. Just what is just plain
useful, handy. Everyday treasures — nothing fancy.”
    He pulled a bunch of something from the
pocket of his quilted pants. “I’m talking things like these nine
inch nails that keep our Keep together and standing. Shoes for our
chevox. Or plowshares for farm work. But most of all the toiling
sticks that made my little sweatshop famous.”
     
    From her perch the elderwoman nodded to
confirm his claim.
    “A shame you couldn’t see the laddie wield
one,” Ferrous beamed with pride. “I’d like ya ta witness the
promise he has. Stick tricks he’s picked up so young…”
    Bong! Gong! A second alarm. Double trouble.
Overtime.
    “Better get down to brass tacks craftsman.”
Fyryx hit wits’ end with him.
    Meanwhile the court clerk checked the sundial
on his wristwatch. “Sudden death.”
    And woodsmith turned to character witness.
“Last few bullet points. I’ll be quick.”
    Judge Hurx tapped his foot. “I doubt it.”
    Turtle one, on the bottom, had an itch and
shifted weight to scratch it. Ferrous, tossed, lost his spikes but
spoke on.
    “Bottom line — he’s fine (for a teenager),
with more skill than run-of-the-mill. ‘Cept maybe…”
    “What?”
    “When his friends come by.”
    “Friends, eh? Clerk take note. I’m
listening…”
    “Every afternoon like clockwork, orange sun
high in the sky, I spy a couple of them out back. Always scheming,
up to something. Mischief-making valley folk.”
    He paused and squinted at the crowd. “In fact
I see the blokes right now.”
    Fyryx craned his neck to look but they’d
already ducked from sight. “These clucks,” he cracked, “egged this
one on?”
    “Scrambled his brains, the rotten yolksters.
Poached him from his smithing work. But I can’t vouch they hatched
this plot… It’s got to do with a chick, I think.”
    “Chick? A girl?”
    “The daughter of Yo. Though I don’t claim to
know much of women — I ply softer mettle than them. But he came to
me asking questions, advice. And even this smithy could read his
eyes.
    “He was beside himself by fair day.”
    “Be that as it may,” said Fyryx, “it’s short
of a motive. Not cause for effect. Oh yes, I know less of that fair
sex than even you do. Voodoo dolls to me. And yet my male intuition
senses a manufactured conspiracy…”
    The brother Treasuror drew in closer.
    “You swear you know no other catalyst?
Nothing to get off your chest?”
    “No justice.” Ferrous looked flummoxed.
“Unless…”
    “Yes?”
    “Unless you count talking politics. You know
— chawin’ with folks, just chewin’ the fat. And tellin’ ‘em tales
of wonder and wanderlust from old Syland’s misty past.”
    “Really! Now what could go wrong with that?!”
Fyryx was at his most sarcastic. “Myth maker. Master fabricator.
I’ve got a mind to arrest you right now.”
    The partisan artisan tried to explain and buy
a little more time somehow.
    “It’s largely harmless fun yer honor.
Homespun yarns of my daddy’s dad, Grandy. Thought the boy’d enjoy
them too. And he did. They mesmerized the kid.
    “Grandy, he was an olde tyme journeyman, back
in the day when they crisscrossed the island. Traded rare ore in
all thirty-three sectors. Knew each one like the back of his hand.
And o the epic adventures he had…”
    “Surely the kind long since forbidden —
pushing the limits, at our land’s end.” Fyryx fought the glaring
sun and eyed the witness with disdain. “Now I see clearly who’s
sparking dissent, casting aspersions on our regime. And forming a
rebel alliance no doubt of fresh young revolutionaries.
    “Pikesmen! Put this forger in irons!”
    Ferrous steeled himself, but then…
    A three-alarm death knell shook the ground
and opened a crack for the quick-footed craftsman.
    “Apocalypse now judge, gotta go. It’s a
towering inferno!”
    Fyryx just