“Look out, master!”
Elarra pushed Master Tilborn aside, causing the viper to miss its strike. Annoyed, it drew back and stuck again, sinking its fangs into Elarra’s ankle. Or rather above her left ankle, just where the muscles of her calf began.
The viper coiled once more, rather than slithering away like a cowardly villain ought to. Elarra had only sandals and garden gloves, but Master Tilborn had a hoe. He neatly separated the viper’s head from its body, as it attempted a third strike, and that was the end of the viper.
Elarra wondered dizzily if it was the end of her, too. She felt suddenly cold despite the blazing midsummer sun. Except for her left leg, which burned hot. Master Tilborn stood within arms reach, yet seemed miles away.
“Let’s get you to– No.” Master Tilborn dropped his words and picked up Elarra, carrying her out of the half-weeded garden and into his halfling-house.
Elarra considered the matter during that short trip. Master Tilborn was strong, for a halfling, with pink-brown skin, round human-style ears, and tough bare feet. He couldn’t have carried a human woman this way, but Elarra stood just slightly shorter than Master and wasn’t nearly as stout. She was a goblin-maid, with green skin, long ears, and green-black hair that Master Tilborn had insisted she grow out long as well. He could do that because she wore a slave collar. The Furfoot Counties did not allow free goblins within their borders.
Elarra’s garden gloves fell to the path. As Master Tilborn paused to open the door, she let her sandals fall as well. Master Tilborn always had Elarra wear sandals when outside, while making her go barefoot when indoors. So at least she was properly barefoot when he set her in the armchair. Master Tilborn gave her a wait-here look, and left to rummage in a cupboard.
He returned quickly, with a vial of antitoxin and a wad of bandages. “Drink this,” he commanded, handing Elarra the vial, and she obeyed.
The antitoxin didn’t taste quite as bitter as Elarra had imagined it would. It made her calf bleed freely for a bit, forcing most of the venom out. Once the bleeding stopped, her left leg no longer felt like it was being roasted over a hot fire, and the rest of her stopped feeling like it had been dipped in a winter-frozen pond. She sat to let Master bandage her wound, and stood up to let him take her to the bedroom. He started to say something, but then allowed her to walk, rather than carrying her again.
Now Elarra felt hot again, all over. Not roasted-hot this time, but feverish. She was grateful that Master Tilborn let her strip off her tunic-dress before making her lie down. She started to thank him, but he held a finger to his lips.
“I understand,” Master Tilborn told her. “I won’t let you hurt yourself. Now raise your hands above your head. Good.” He applied the ropes, tying her wrists well apart before moving down to tie her ankles. The concern on his face as he made her comfortably helpless showed that he really did understand.
Elarra had heard that half of all humans suffered aftereffects when they took antitoxin. For halflings, the number was only one in six or seven. But goblins almost always suffered from a strange bout of brain fever as the antitoxin worked through their system. It was still much better than dying from poison – if the victim could be kept under control. Elarra smiled as she quietly tested the ropes binding her wrists. Master Tilborn was very good at keeping her under control.
The dwarf-clock in the parlor struck two. Master Tilborn pulled up a chair beside the bed. “Try to relax,” he told Elarra. “You’re going to be there for a while.”
Elarra smiled. “Yes master, and I’m glad you’re here, too.”
After a minute, Elarra tested her ankle-ropes, gently at first, and then more vigorously. She started pulling at her wrist-bonds as well. She loved Master Tilborn and wanted to show him her heart. There were knives in the kitchen; sharp knives she could use to show him her heart, and her bones, and all of her blood. But his ropes had made her helpless. Completely helpless! He was watching her struggle helplessly against his ropes, but it wasn’t amusing him. It had always amused him before, so what was wrong? Something had to be wrong.
Elarra subsided, panting. Master Tilborn stood and pulled the sheet over her, almost up to her neck.
“It’s beastly hot,” he said, “but we still don’t want you getting chilled.” He sat back down again. “Let me know if you feel chilled. Or if you start to get too warm.”
“Yes master.”
Elarra stared at the ceiling, thinking about knives. A wave of embarrassment ran through her as she realized the madness of her earlier thoughts. Her ears grew hot and she felt her face flush. It must be dark green now, with her mortification. “Nooo,” she moaned.
“Hush,” Master Tilborn told her. “It’s just like a bad dream. It doesn’t mean anything, and you’ll have forgotten it by tomorrow.”
“But there’s worse to come, master.”
“Not worse. Just more.” Master Tilborn caressed her brow, and under her chin. Elarra could feel him fingering her collar. “They say no good deed goes unpunished, so this is your punishment for saving me from that viper. For which I thank you.” He kissed her, a lover’s kiss with his hands on her body and the familiar pleasant frustration of not being able to embrace him back. “Thank you,” he repeated. “Now just lie there and try not to do anything.”
Elarra went back to staring at the ceiling. For a time she forgot about the ropes on her wrists and ankles, but then she found herself growing more and more aware of them. Not that they bit into her skin. As always, Master Tilborn had made his ties firm and comfy. But if she tried to move, the ropes would stop her, proving her helplessness.
She turned to thinking about Master’s kiss instead. It was too bad that she couldn’t have more of that medicine.
#
The cannibal pears in the pear pie were going to eat each other. Elarra had to stop them. She had to jump off the cliff at the sand quarry to stop them. A fall of fifty or a hundred feet ought to be enough, or the pears would eat each other and make Master Tilborn sick. But Master Tilborn had chained her down, with chains that looked like ropes. Elarra struggled, trying to escape the chain-ropes. But of course she couldn’t. She couldn’t even find the key, or the keyholes.
One of the cannibal pears was coming into the house. “Hallo!” it called. “Anyone home?”
“In here!” Master Tilborn called over his shoulder. He could hear the pear too.
Wait…
Elarra stifled a groan. It had been a disturbing bad dream. Except for not being a dream. The ropes were Master Tilborn’s ropes, of course, tying her down to keep her from doing something… crazy. She silently thanked the ropes, regretting that she couldn’t relax and enjoy them the way she usually did.
The voice was Master Wil; Wilstan Sandyfields, one of Master Tilborn’s many cousins. “I expected to find you at the Jesting Goat. What are you doing here? Oh.” He stopped at the open door of the bedroom, taking in the scene.
“It’s not that,” Master Tilborn said. “I had to give Elarra a swallow of antitoxin.” He explained about the viper, and about the peculiar effects of antitoxin on goblins.
“That’s awkward,” Master Wil said. He stepped away, and Elarra heard him banging around in the kitchen. After a time he returned with a large and loaded tray.
He set a basin and a pair of ewers on the chest of drawers. “Here,” he told Master Tilborn. “I know you won’t leave your green-eared girl, so you can wash up right there.”
As Master Tilborn washed, Master Wil moved the tray to the chair. He stood beside it, looking down at Elarra on the bed. Elarra looked back up, knowing that her eyes were bulging. Master Wil had disapproved mightily on Elarra’s arrival, calling her ‘green-eared’ and intending that as an insult. Then one day he had burst out that he wasn’t her master, so would she please stop ‘master-ing’ him every time she spoke. After that, he still called her green-eared when he remembered to do so, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it any more.
Now Master Wil produced a lopsided smile. “Here. You must be thirsty.” He poured a cup of water and held it for her. Elarra was thirsty, and Master Wil refilled the cup.
“Thank you,” Elarra whispered.
“Thank you. For keeping Coz Til from being vipered. You did good, and now you’re getting punished for it. Sorry about that, but – you did good. Those vipers like to strike twice, you know. So smile about it if you can, and get well. ”
Master Tilborn reclaimed his chair, setting the tray on the floor. Master Wil told him, “You’ll need food. I’ll arrange something. But for now I’ll leave you alone to cheer up your Elarra.”
Elarra wasn’t sure if she saw Master Wil waggle his eyebrows during his last sentence. Master Tilborn had a better view of his cousin’s face. “You have a low mind, Wil,” he said.
“Not like that,” Master Wil said as he retreated. “Not now. I mean you should show her you care by, you know, caring for her.” He shut the bedroom door.
Master Tilborn sighed. “Cousin Wil does have a low mind, but he isn’t wrong.” He wet a bathcloth and began to wash Elarra.
He washed her all over. It felt wonderful. Elarra purred, and Master Tilborn ended by rubbing her bare feet. That felt just as pleasant as when he would tickle them silly, but in a completely different way. Elarra smiled, closing her eyes. The foot-rub ended – too soon – and Master Tilborn pulled the sheet back up to cover her nude body.
The dwarf-clock struck three. Elarra wanted to whimper. Instead she asked, “How will you know when it’s safe to untie me, master? You’ll just know, won’t you?” That’s how they did things, back under Cheetpinkiz Mountain, but it didn’t always work out well.
“It doesn’t work that way, or at least not very well,” Master Tilborn echoed Elarra’s thought. “There’s a test. If you can roll your tongue, like this,” he demonstrated, “then the antitoxin has finished its work and is gone.”
Elarra tried to roll her tongue, and failed miserably. “It’s too soon.”
“Much too soon, I’m afraid.” Master Tilborn took Elarra’s bound right hand between both of his. “As Cousin Wil said, you’ll just have to endure and try to smile about it.” He sat back down to resume his watch over her.
#
Elarra never remembered, afterwards, the dwarf-clock striking four and five. She did remember, vaguely, the giant vinegar squirrels and the desperate need to get up and swallow a hot frying-pan. In fact, she was still flushed with embarrassment about that frying pan when the clock struck six.
A few minutes later a pair of female voices entered the halfling-house. Elarra recognized them as Myrtle Greenbluff, and Primrose Roothall. Mistress Myrtle was another cousin of Master Tilborn’s who, by a quirk of the family tree, was not a cousin of Master Wil. She was also a few years younger than Master Tilborn, and not yet married.
Gray-haired Grantie Primrose, following Mistress Myrtle into the room, wore round spectacles that made her eyes look huge. She wasn’t related to any of her neighbors, but instead was the adopted aunt or great-aunt of everyone in the community. Even Elarra. The old halfling-woman had insisted, and Master Tilborn had ordered his slavegirl not to argue.
The two women carried in food. Mistress Myrtle set out scones and sausages, while Grantie Primrose supplied a bowl of fresh salad-greens and a jug of cold herb-tea. All three halflings helped Elarra sit up, tactfully not mentioning that they weren’t releasing her to feed herself. Master Tilborn did stroke her hair, half in apology and half in commiseration, after rearranging her wrist-tethers so as to keep her just as helpless in her new position.
Elarra chewed a bite of scone and swallowed. It felt oddly pleasant to eat from Master’s hand this way, as if she were a wild thing that needed taming. But it would be more amusing if the situation wasn’t so serious. She caught the look in Master’s eyes, and had to tamp down a smile. He felt the same way.
The two halfling women sipped herb-tea and made conversation. After talking about the chances for rain, the various vipers people had found in their gardens over the years, and the possibilities of sewing a new dress next month, Mistress Myrtle told Master Tilborn, “You need to eat too. Just not too much, if you want to stay awake all night.”
“Of course he does,” Grantie Primrose said. “Elarra did good, and Til isn’t one to forget that. Nor am I. Elarra, you hear that? You did good, and you can take that to bed with you tonight, to set against this unpleasantness. ”
“Yes,” Mistress Myrtle said to Elarra. “Thank you for watching out for Tilborn, and I’m sorry that you’ll be,” she hesitated over a word, “stuck in bed for a day. For a full twenty-four hours. That’s the way to be sure the antitoxin has worked its way out.”
“Not the best way,” Grantie Primrose said. “There’s a better test than relying on a blind clock.”
“The tongue-roll test?” Master Tilborn said after feeding Elarra a forkful of salad. She chewed and cocked her ears to catch the response.
“That’s not a bad test, but I think the candle-charm is a better one. Here, give Elarra a swallow of tea, and I’ll show it to you.”
Elarra swallowed salad, and drank herb-tea from the cup Master Tilborn held for her. Grantie Primrose set a candle on the table beyond the foot of the bed, making sure it was placed where Elarra could see it.
After lighting the candle, Grantie stepped aside and told Elarra, “Repeat after me: Gikil zigg zine urth!”
Obediently, Elarra repeated the four strange words.
The candle went out.
“We’ll try again tomorrow,” Grantie Primrose said. “When the candle stays lit, we’ll know that it’s over.”
“We should give them some privacy,” Mistress Myrtle told Grantie. “It has to be embarrassing for Elarra when she has her fits, and we shouldn’t be making it worse by standing around to watch.”
When the bedroom door closed, Elarra said, “I’ve had enough, master. You should eat too.”
“Are you sure?”
Elarra nodded.
“All right. I’ll eat, and you can sit there and be bored.”
Elarra smiled faintly at her owner’s faint joke and closed her eyes. She could still hear him eating. That was good. Just as Mistress Myrtle had said, Master Tilborn did need to eat to keep his strength up.
She began to pull once more at the ropes holding her helpless. Quietly testing them, glad that they kept her from escaping. Then that gladness stole imperceptibly away, and her struggles became more and more urgent. She had to get loose. She had to stick forks into herself, and then into Master Tilborn. She had to do this or they would both turn into dragons and fly away. Fly off to the Weeping Mountains and be dragons forever, and never ever be happy, ever again.
Master Tilborn had set aside his plate and was now watching her struggle. Elarra wanted to beg him to untie her, but she didn’t dare. He wouldn’t believe her if she told him why she needed to be untied. He would think she was crazy.
Because she was crazy.
Elarra froze as that realization came crashing down upon her. She was crazy and worse than crazy; she had wanted to hurt Master. And now he was caressing her ears in that way she found particularly pleasant. She began to weep. She didn’t deserve that. She tried to explain this to Master Tilborn, and it came out all garbled.
“Hush. Hush,” Master Tilborn told her. “You don’t want to hurt anyone. You’re just blindfolded about what would hurt. It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault – except maybe the viper’s. It just means we need to keep you tied down for tonight, and that you have to obey me. Of course,” he added in a matter-of-fact tone, “you do have to obey me anyway. I bought you fair and square, and you are wearing that pretty collar. Now I’m going to adjust your wrist-tethers to have you lie down again, and then I’ll read to you for a bit.”
Master Tilborn suited actions to words, rearranging the pillows to make Elarra more comfortable. A few minutes later, she was listening to the story of Captain Fire, Prince of Pirates.
#
The adventures of Captain Fire held Elarra’s attention well enough that she only half noticed Mistress Myrtle coming in to remove the remains of supper. Likewise, she only half-noticed the invisible tiger, and the stone spikes that started to grow from the wallpaper.
The water-wolves, however, came pouring in through the window only after Master Tilborn had set the book aside. A whole pack of them, ready to drown her with their liquid teeth. Elarra had to leap out of bed and run. Run as fast as she could, to keep from sinking beneath them. But her owner’s ropes stopped her, holding her in place. So she fought against them. Fought as hard as she could.
When the water-wolves vanished, Elarra found herself gasping for breath. Master Tilborn was watching her intently, leaning forward with a worried expression.
“That wasn’t – so bad,” Elarra gasped, trying to reassure her owner.
“Good. That’s good.” But Master Tilborn didn’t relax. He waited for Elarra to catch her breath, then ordered, “Close your eyes.”
Elarra obeyed. She felt his hands untie her wrists. “Master?” She kept her eyes closed. “I can’t roll my tongue yet.”
“I won’t ask you to. I want you to roll over on your belly, instead. And put your hands behind your back.”
Once again, Elarra obeyed. She felt Master’s hands, massaging her wrists, and rubbing her lower arms and her hands. Then came the touch of supple leather; a leather strap binding her wrists behind her. Different from the rope, but just as comfortable – and just as inescapable. Elarra sighed in contentment.
Now Elarra felt Master’s hands on her ankles, removing that rope, soothing her legs and feet. Then more leather; straps going around each ankle in turn, tying them apart rather than together. Well-secured once more, she kept her eyes closed. Master Tilborn moved around to briefly massage her shoulders and upper arms before helping her turn to her side, adjusting the pillows for her.
“Rest now,” he ordered. “Sleep, if you can.”
“Yes, master,” Elarra murmured. The dwarf-clock struck ten.
#
Elarra woke up, frozen with fear. Master Tilborn had turned down the lamp, and now he stood at the window, closing it. The weather outside had turned blustery, with the threat of rain. He returned to his chair by the bed.
The leather straps still held Elarra’s hands behind her back. They still held her ankles, keeping her from either closing her legs or leaving the bed. The slave-collar was still in place around her neck. Master Tilborn was still here, even if he looked tired.
The dwarf-clock struck two. Master Tilborn usually kept it muted at night; Mistress Myrtle must have changed that. Elarra began to shiver, not with more fear, but with relief. It had just been a bad dream. That huge, unremembered black-blind horror had just been a bad dream.
Master Tilborn hovered over her. “Did the clock wake you? You’re shaking, are you cold?” He felt her with the back of his hand. “No, you’re frightened.”
“It was just a bad dream, master,” Elarra said as he shifted to sit on the bed. “Just a bad dream.”
Master gathered her into his arms, and she melted in them. Not with madness, but the way she always did when he held her like this. She made her usual small happy-sound, and he tightened his hug. She stopped shivering, but she could still sense his worry.
“It was just a bad dream, master,” Elarra said again. “I think the worst is over now.”
“Can you roll your tongue yet?”
Elarra tried. “Not yet, master,” she admitted. “But things could be worse.” A scene arose in her imagination, of Master Tilborn being bitten by the viper. Of the viper striking him a second time, putting him beyond the help of antitoxin. She shivered again.
Master Tilborn was silent for a bit. At last he said, “I wouldn’t call it worse if I’d been bitten instead of you.” Another hesitation. “What would have been worse is if we’d both been bitten by that blasted viper. That would have been worse.” He gave her another squeeze. “It’s bad enough that you have to go through this rough time. But you will get better, and I won’t let anything happen to you while you do.”
“Is that a command, master?”
Master Tilborn smiled. “Yes, my emerald beauty, that’s a command.” He kissed her, and his right hand gave Elarra a teasing reminder of her of her complete nakedness. Then he sighed. “I had better have you lie down again, before I’m tempted into doing something foolish.” He settled her again, pulling the sheet over her body and adding a comforter on top.
As Elarra drifted off, she regretted that Master was right: It would be foolish for him to exhaust her; it would delay her recovery. But those hugs and kisses felt so good. She wanted more of them.
#
Elarra woke again when the dwarf-clock struck six. Master Tilborn still sat beside the bed, looking tired and no longer able to hide it. The leather straps were still there, too. Elarra secretly tried a tongue-roll. It wasn’t successful, and from Master Tilborn’s smirk, it wasn’t quite as secret as Elarra had intended, either.
A hot frying pan came bouncing into the room. “You didn’t devour me yesterday,” it complained.
“I’m sorry,” Elarra told the pan. “I wasn’t that hungry.”
“Humph,” the frying pan said. It frowned at her, despite having no mouth to frown with. Then, with a sudden grin, it began to dance and sing.
Its song was a humorous one, a bawdy version of ‘The Merry War.’ Elarra felt her ears grow hot even as she suppressed her giggles. When the song ended, Elarra wanted to applaud. It would be rude not to applaud. But her hands were still bound behind her. She pulled at Master Tilborn’s leather straps, finding her helplessness both frustrating and pleasant. She struggled harder.
“What is it this time?” Master Tilborn asked her.
The frying pan was no longer there. Because it had never been there. Elarra explained that imaginary pan and wanting to applaud it, skirting over the bawdiness of its song.
“You didn’t want to do anything drastic, to save me from this dangerous frypan?” Master Tilborn asked.
Elarra shook her head, and Master Tilborn leaned forward to caress her ears in that way she liked so much. She closed her eyes, smiling.
“I think you are getting better.” He touched her slave-collar. “I’m still keeping you tied down, though, until you stop imagining things.”
“I still can’t roll my tongue, master,” Elarra admitted.
Master Tilborn started to say something more, but at that moment they heard the front door open.
“Hullo?” came the voice of Grantie Primrose. “Are you awake?”
“We both are!” Master Tilborn called over his shoulder.
A minute later, Grantie appeared in the doorway, looking rather damp and carrying a covered basket. “It’s wet and nasty this morning,” she said, “and I left my cloak to drip in your front hall. I brought you a little breakfast to keep your strength up. There’s hard-boiled eggs, and jam, and I’ll make you some toast. Myrtle banked the kitchen fire, last night, so it should be quick to stir up again.”
So once more Elarra ate from her owner’s hand. “You’re getting better,” Master Tilborn told her again, “but I’m still not untying you.”
“I know.” Elarra smiled. “Thank you, master.”
“You’re welcome.” Master Tilborn smiled back and fed her another bite of egg.
When they finished their eggs, Grantie Primrose brought in a tray with hot toast and hot tea. Real tea, rather than herb tea, imported from the far-lands of the East. Master Tilborn held the cup for Elarra. Grantie left them to it, puttering about the hobbit-home before returning with a pitcher and a clean basin.
“Rainwater for washing up,” Grantie Primrose explained. “And for keeping awake. I hope you didn’t eat too much; if you did, you’ll have to miss your second breakfast.” She took the empty teacups, peering into each of them in turn before setting them on the tray. “I’m seeing a lovers’ spat, and someone being laughed at.” She turned a stern gaze on both Elarra and Master Tilborn, her eyes seeming even larger than usual behind her spectacles. “You’re both of you tired; more tired than you think. If you listen to me, you’ll forgive and forget any unpleasantness.”
“We’ll do as you say,” Master Tilborn said meekly. He looked at Elarra and then at the unlit candle, still on the far table.
Grantie Primrose exchanged a glance with Elarra. “All right,” she told Master Tilborn. “We’ll try the candle-charm again.”
She lit the candle and had Elarra repeat the four strange words. “Gikil zigg zine urth!” Elarra recited obediently. The candle guttered and went out. “Well!” Elarra said, more cheerfully than she felt. “At least we know it works.”
“Yes,” Master Tilborn said. “At least we know it works.” He gave the old halfling-woman a seated bow. “Thank you.”
“Yes,” Elarra agreed. “Thank you for everything, Grantie Primrose.”
“You’re both very welcome.” Grantie took up her now-empty breakfast basket. As she left the bedroom, she called over her shoulder, “Remember what I said about forgiveness!”
#
Master Tilborn gave Elarra another cloth-bath, not quite as pleasant as yesterday’s. The morning weather and the cold rainwater made his toweling at the end into the best part. After covering Elarra again, he splashed his own face and sat down to resume his watch.
The morning hours dragged, without even a delusion or hallucination. The dwarf-clock in the hall struck eight and nine. It was perhaps a quarter-hour after nine when Master Tilborn shook himself.
“I know what I’ll do,” he told Elarra. “I’ll put you in the goblin-harness.” He went to the bedroom closet and dug it out.
The goblin-harness was a thing of metal and leather, with two halves connected by flat-linked chains, and two locks that opened to a common key. Master Tilborn undid the leather strap binding Elarra’s wrists and placed her in the high half. This held her upper arms against her body, leaving her hands free but out of position to do anything. He then untied Elarra’s ankle straps and locked the low half of the harness on her. This held her legs together, above the knees, leaving her feet free but, again, in no position to do anything useful.
Elarra didn’t like the goblin-harness. She couldn’t honestly call it uncomfortable or even unpleasant, but… she just didn’t like it. Of course she had never said so or even hinted at her dislike. Equally of course Master Tilborn had noticed anyway, and after a couple of trials had packed the harness away in the closet.
Now, however, Elarra had to admit that it was a blessing to not have her wrists and ankles bound. Master Tilborn was always comfy with his ties, but there were such things as too long and too much. Yet despite the deceptive freedom of her hands and feet, the goblin-harness was effective. A pair of straps over her shoulders kept her from slipping the harness down, and the pair of flat-linked chains kept her from slipping it up. The locks were positioned to be out of reach of the captive’s hands, even if she could somehow acquire the key. The other fastenings were likewise arranged out of the captive’s reach. In all, the goblin-harness kept Elarra just as helpless as most rope ties, and better than some.
Master Tilborn helped Elarra sit up again. His hands reached to give another of his wonderful ear-caresses, and to connect the harness’s leash-chain to a fastening set in the bed. Elarra smiled, considering the ways she might suggest that Master try the harness again, after this antitoxin-annoyance was over. But Master Tilborn frowned thoughtfully, and suddenly broke away to return to the closet.
“I should have thought of this sooner,” he said, returning with a Lutz-gown. The linen garment was named after the slave-dealer Lutz – not the one who had sold Elarra, but his cousin – and was designed so that it could be put on or taken off a captive without removing her bonds. Master Tilborn did have to unhook the leash-chain to dress Elarra, but put it back once the Lutz-gown was in place. “You’re not going anywhere,” he told Elarra with a smile. And it was true. A goblin-harness would allow the captive to take tiny mincing steps, if she were careful, but the leash put paid to that.
At this point a chorus of two voices called out “Hullo!” It was Master Wil and Mistress Myrtle.
“We brought you a second breakfast,” Master Wil said.
“It’s ten o’clock,” Mistress Myrtle added, and the dwarf-clock started ringing to confirm this. After it had finished she went on, “We brought bacon, and sweet scones that won’t need any jam, and a dish of taters-and-cheese.” She came into the room carrying the supplies she’d named. “It’s wet and nasty this morning,” she said, echoing the words of Grantie Primrose.
“I’ve put on the kettle for tea,” Master Wil said. “And how is the patient this morning? I hope she got some beauty-rest, even if Coz Til couldn’t.”
“I did get some sleep,” Elarra admitted.
“She had a bad nightmare, last night,” Master Tilborn said. “But I think the worst is over.”
Elarra suddenly grinned. “Yes! And I can roll my tongue, now!”
She demonstrated, and the three halflings beamed at her. But then Master Tilborn shook his head. “I want you to pass the candle-charm test, too.”
“And the twenty-four hour test,” Mistress Myrtle put in. “I’m sorry,” she told Elarra, “but it’s better to be safe.” Elarra couldn’t disagree. She shivered, remembering the forks she had wanted to stick into her master.
“What’s the ‘candle-charm test’?” Master Wil asked.
“It’s something Grantie Primrose showed us.” Master Tilborn lit the candle. “All right, Elarra, repeat after me…”
Elarra obediently recited the words, and the candle went out. She felt her face fall.
Master Tilborn shook his head. “Not yet, Elarra.” He forced a smile. “You’ll be eating out of my hand, again.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.” Master Wil grinned. “I wouldn’t mind it myself.”
Mistress Myrtle gave him a sharp look. “You’re not eating out of my hand.”
“Not what I was thinking.”
“And I’m not eating out of your hand, either!”
Master Wil cocked his head. “There’s an idea. But I wasn’t thinking of that, either. More like making a little journey and bringing back an emerald beauty of my own.”
Elarra wasn’t sure if Master Wil was joking or not. Mistress Myrtle didn’t seem to have any doubts. “Don’t. You. Dare.” she finally ground out.
“Why not? I wouldn’t stop courting you, after.” Master Wil’s tone was… over-casual, Elarra decided.
“You two-footed scoundrel! Wilstan Sandyfields, if you run off and come back with… someone, and then try to court me again, I’ll skin and salt you!”
“Wouldn’t be running off. You’re welcome to come with me, and help me pick out the right one.”
“You shameless two-footed scoundrel! If you dare–” The teakettle’s whistle interrupted her.
“Whoops!” Master Wil hurried from the room.
Mistress Myrtle huffed twice, then managed a thin smile. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t lay this on you, on top of your other troubles.” Her smile grew a little warmer. “And I’m afraid I’ve embarrassed you, Elarra, even if you are too well-behaved to show it.”
“I think,” Master Tilborn said carefully, “that you and Elarra should talk, after her trouble is over with. Girl talk, just the two of you.”
“Three of us, please, master,” Elarra said. “I’d want Grantie Primrose to be there too.”
“Maybe,” Mistress Myrtle said. “Maybe.” But she was nodding agreement. On the other hand, she still had one last eruption left:
“That shameless two-footed scoundrel!”
#
When Master Wil brought in the tea, he and Mistress Myrtle tacitly agreed to a truce. Elarra hoped it was for Master Tilborn’s sake. Master was looking positively bleary, and it was embarrassing to think that the truce was for her sake.
After finishing the second breakfast, Elarra settled back to wait out the final hours. Master Tilborn sat in his chair to keep watch over her, and the other two halflings cleared away the remains. However, both Master Wil and Mistress Myrtle ignored the pair of black boots standing by the bedroom door.
They were Master Tilborn’s boots, and Elarra had to clean them and put them away. She tried to get out of bed to clean them and found that she couldn’t. She squirmed, trying to unhook the chain-leash that held her to the bed, and couldn’t do that, either. Her struggles grew more and more vigorous as she tried to slip out of the goblin-harness that her owner had locked her in. But the harness had been designed and crafted to keep its captive from escaping, and it did its job well.
Fighting the harness and finding herself helpless might have been pleasant, if Master Tilborn didn’t look so tired and concerned. And if it weren’t for his boots needing to be taken care of. Elarra had to clean Master Tilborn’s boots and put them away. She had to. She had to.
“Please, master,” Elarra pleaded. “Please unlock me. I have to take care of your boots. They’re standing there by the door, and I have to clean them and put them away.”
It was terribly important, and Elarra tried hard to make Master understand that, even if she couldn’t explain exactly why. But Master Tilborn just looked at her, and Mistress Myrtle and Master Wil were now staring at her as well. “Please,” Elarra said, appealing to all three of them now. “Leave me in the harness, but unhook the leash. I have to go clean Master Tilborn’s boots!”
“Elarra,” Master Wil said slowly. “We’re halflings. We don’t wear boots.”
“You don’t?” Elarra asked blankly. Of course they didn’t, one thought answered her. “But the boots are right there by the door,” her other thought protested aloud. “And it’s terribly important that I clean them. They’re dirty!”
“Dirty?” Master Tilborn asked. “Are they singing ‘The Merry War’?”
Mistress Myrtle looked stuffed. “The bawdy version?” she squeaked. Then she began to snigger.
Elarra tried to hold back her own sniggers, and found herself giggling instead. Master Wil joined in the laughter. Master Tilborn grinned: A tired grin, but a big one.
Master’s boots no longer stood by the bedroom door. They had never stood there. They didn’t exist. Elarra’s owner was a halfling, and as Master Wil had pointed out, halflings didn’t wear boots.
“You’re not seeing any more boots, are you?” Master Wil asked when the laughter died down.
“No, not any more.”
“Then I want to see you try that candle-test again. Cousin Til’s about to fall over from lack of sleep, and you’re not having any fun neither.” Master Wil waved his hand down as Master Tilborn started to rise. “You just sit, Til. I’ll light the candle.”
He did so, and Elarra recited, “Gikil zigg zine urth!”
The candle stayed lit, but, “I can’t roll my tongue,” Elarra confessed.
The candle went out.
After a moment, Master Tilborn asked, “Can you roll your tongue now?”
“Yes, master. I can now.” Elarra demonstrated. It didn’t bring her as much relief as she wished.
“Twenty-four hours,” Mistress Myrtle sighed. “I’m sorry, Elarra, but you’re going to have to stick it out.”
“I’m afraid so,” Master Tilborn agreed. His hand reached out to squeeze Elarra’s bare foot, different from an ear-caress, but just as comforting.
“I don’t mind, master,” Elarra said.
After Master Wil and Mistress Myrtle left, Master Tilborn stood and rubbed both of Elarra’s bare feet. “You shouldn’t lie, Elarra,” he said, softening his rebuke with a smile. “You do mind having to stay locked up.”
“I don’t mind this, master. But yes, I wish I could be unlocked now. Only Mistress Myrtle was right; there isn’t a better choice.”
Master Tilborn didn’t answer. He finished his foot-massage and sat back down.
After a long moment, Elarra said, “Master?”
“Yes?”
“Grantie Primrose’s predictions have come true. We did have a lovers’ spat here – between Mistress Myrtle and Master Wil. And someone was laughed at, even if I’m not sure who it was.”
“It was my boots who were laughed at,” Master Tilborn said. “They’re ‘someone’ enough if they can sing ‘The Merry War.’ Even if they don’t exist.”
Elarra sniggered.
#
Elarra woke from a doze. Master Tilborn looked more than just tired, now, but there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes. He held a finger to his lips, commanding silence. In the kitchen, Elarra could hear Grantie Primrose handing out pieces of her mind.
“You are a two-footed scoundrel, Wilstan. But at least you’re honest about it. Just keep it under control, and don’t expect everyone to forgive you about it. Because not everyone will, and you can’t blame those who won’t.
“And as for you, Myrtle,” Grantie’s voice went on. “You should know better than to be rude about it. You knew what Wil was when he started courting you, or you should have. So if you want to turn him away for that, you ought to be polite. Say ‘No, thank-you,’ instead of calling him names. Even if they are true. Do you hear me, young lady?”
“Yes, Grantie,” Myrtle’s voice answered.
“All right. You’re both in a tangle now, and no mistake. So if you listen to me, you’ll think about it. Just that – both of you. Days aren’t too long for a decision that will last for years, so take until at least the end of the week. Don’t talk about it until then – with each other, I mean. Talk to your friends, or take long walks, or whatever it is you do to think. The only thing you should decide now is when you’re going to decide, if you take my meaning. I’ll leave you to that, now.”
A few moments later, Grantie Primrose entered the bedroom. “So how are you two, this afternoon, other than miserably tired? I didn’t bring lunch; you can eat after you’ve slept.”
“I did get some sleep, Grantie,” Elarra said. “I don’t think Master did, though.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Master Tilborn said.
“Of course not. You were being noble – and I don’t mean to mock you when I say that. You were noble. Only no good deed goes unpunished, and now you’re getting your punishment. Speaking of which,” Grantie Primrose turned to Elarra. “If I haven’t told you before, I’ll tell you now: You did good. I don’t want you to dwell on how much worse it could have been, if you hadn’t kept Til from being vipered, but don’t let anyone tell you it was nothing special, neither.”
Grantie Primrose fell silent as she set out a house dress for Elarra. The voices of Master Wil and Mistress Myrtle came in through the open bedroom door.
“We’ll talk on Monday, then,” Master Wil said.
“Yes. Monday,” Mistress Myrtle agreed.
Kettle-banging sounds came afterward, continuing as Master Wil entered the bedroom but ending just before Mistress Myrtle followed.
“It’s almost two, by the dwarf-clock,” Mistress Myrtle observed to the room in general. “Go get some sleep when it strikes,” she added to Master Tilborn. “You look like something a dragon spat out.”
“I’m all right,” Master Tilborn mumbled.
“We’ll try the candle-charm now,” Grantie Primrose said. She pointedly didn’t add, “Since everyone wants to watch.” Instead, she lit the candle.
“Gikil zigg zine urth!” Elarra recited, and the candle stayed lit. “And I can roll my tongue, too,” Elarra added.
Everyone smiled at Elarra: Master Tilborn tiredly, Master Wil broadly, and Mistress Myrtle prettily. Grantie Primrose’s eyes danced merrily behind the spectacles that magnified them. Elarra’s smile felt a bit embarrassed at all the attention.
The dwarf-clock struck two. The kettle whistled. “I’ll get it,” Master Wil said as he hurried from the room. Master Tilborn fumbled for the key and released Elarra from the goblin-harness. Elarra stood, stretched, and fell into her owner’s embrace, hugging him back.
A moment later, Mistress Myrtle hugged her as well. “Welcome back, Elarra.”
“I never was gone, really,” Elarra said.
“You know what I mean. And I can tell you appreciate being able to hug back. And we need to talk. Later.”
Master Wil returned with a pair of ewers, with steam rising from one of them. “For Elarra to wash with. Not for Cousin Til to splash his face. Elarra, beg your owner to get some sleep. Maybe he’ll listen to you, if you’re pretty enough about it.” He exchanged a grin with the goblin woman.
By unspoken agreement, the three visiting halflings departed, leaving Master Tilborn alone with Elarra. He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, but not lying in it.
“Master,” Elarra said. “I do beg: Please, get in bed and get some sleep.”
“Not yet. I want to see you washed and dressed, first.”
Elarra washed and dressed quickly, and gave her green-black hair a few strokes of the brush.
“That’s good,” Master Tilborn told her. He held up a pair of slave hobbles, retrieved from under the bed. “Now lock these on – and tell Cousin Wil to lock away your sandals.” He smiled a very tired smile. “Can’t have you running away, after all this.”
“Yes master.” Elarra sat on the chair to lock the fetters on her ankles. When she had finished, she saw that her owner had dozed off. She set the fetter-key on the dresser, lifted her master’s legs into the bed, and drew the sheet and comforter over him.
Then Elarra left the room, her steps made slavegirl-short by the hobble. But not too short, she decided, to work in the kitchen. Master would be hungry, when he woke up, and she would want to have a good dinner ready for him.
THE END