The Questory of Root Karbunkulus - Quill (3 page)

Ironically, its continued preservation now
fell upon the shoulders of one who had no interest whatsoever of
taking up its torch. Watilda’s great, great, great, great, great
grandson, Lian Blick.

Lian, routinely resistant when it came to the
demands of his father, Lord Blick, the current Brédin Master, had
grudgingly agreed to regular observational visits to the Wheel. It
was something that didn’t appeal to him at all, sitting around
watching the Brédin train. But even less appealing was the critical
tirade of his father should he refuse.

And so he would go and for the allotted time
keep his nose in a book or his scrutinizing eyes on an exquisite
sample from his increasing collection of the natural world. It
wasn’t that he disliked the Brédin; he admired them greatly. It’s
just that, to the very core of his being Lian was a Natruid of the
most intellectual kind. His mind lay wholly in matters of nature,
its living, breathing processes and feats. There was simply no room
in this obsession for warrior arts.

When Dwyn asked if he could join Lian, it was
at first received with a cringe. It meant conversation, something
that Lian chose to avoid as much as possible, being one to prefer
the silent communications of earth, air, fire, water and most
precious of these, Aether, the Invisible Breath.

But, as Lian gave it more thought, he
realized Dwyn could be of benefit by serving as a warning post to
Lord Blick’s surprise check ups. Enough time to slip out of his
books and pretend to be engaged in his so-called future. In the end
he agreed to Dwyn’s offer, on this condition and one of minimal
talking. Dwyn of course heaved a contracting high-five at him. Ever
since his first encounter with a Brédin on Loz of the Squawnch
Isles, Dwyn was mad for them, determined to sponge what he could of
their skill and expertise.

And so while Dwyn sponged, Lian attended the
many other more pressing tasks at hand, the latest being the review
of Quest competition.

In a well worn notebook he turned to a page
labeled
Opposition
and underlined each team name. There were
six teams left, including the Valadors. Of these six he had a
pretty good indication of where Hilly Punyun and The Pinks stood in
the playing field;
BIG FAT LYING CHEATERS
had been scrawled
beside their name.

Then there was Kor’s Kings, consisting of the
rotten, puny eyed jerk Kor Bludgitt, his blockhead goon, Flink
and…what was her name again? Oh yeah Tamik, the one everyone felt
sorry for because she was stuck with them. Though from what Lian
could tell, she hardly seemed to care. More often than not she was
seen rolling her eyes at Kor and walking away. She was funny, that
one.

Then there was Mekruzela, Milden’s team. This
was the kind of team that made one always wonder. Especially with
Tompy Fibler on board. Was there ever a time when he didn’t have a
cold? And then of course Milden’s unfortunate allergy didn’t help
things. Clearly their other team member, Jake Turner, who had been
an accomplished Stealthlete before the Quests, helped tip the
scales more in their favour. A lot more.

The Blue Knights were interesting indeed. As
an all girl team made up of Brittany Goss, Ashley Edye and
Alexandra Thorburn they showed considerable skill and strength.
Now, if only Dwyn could stop flirting with them. The rules clearly
advised against interrelations.

The last team was in no way the last team,
especially since it had been the first team to bring home the Miist
of Kalliope. Its mates were Sebastian Roberge, Olympia Kolakis and
Rory Dumelie. Lian remembered them from the Scholarly. They were
good then. At everything. And it seemed they had continued this
trend as many a gasp was often heard surrounding their first Quest
adventures. The problem was they were, all of them really, really
nice, which made hating them difficult.

“Woah!” Dwyn stood to take in a pair of
Brédin poised mid air, mere feet from him, in a sparring deadlock.
He had to shield his eyes, as the sun was shattering off their
silvery wings, now spread wide and dangerous. Then, in the split of
a moment, they were entwined and cleaving the air in an ascent
toward the highest clouds. It was spectacular.

“Didjya see that?!” Dwyn tried to imitate the
move with what Lian considered to be lame sound effects that were
very close to breaking the ‘no speaking’ rule.

“Mmpph.” Lian often
mmmpphed
in an
attempt to stem conversation and get back to business. With the
second Artifact briefing only hours away, they had to ensure utmost
preparedness. Using a marker, he turned to another page of his
notebook, this one entitled
Assets.

So far, in a mere twelve weeks they’d done
pretty darn good. Both Dwyn and Root had managed to gain a fair
amount of magic basics. Dwyn was plowing through his Molds with
considerable accomplishment and Root was getting quite savvy with
her Quatra too.

Lian, in the meantime was thoroughly enjoying
his many ecological advances. His room had become his macrocosm
with every drop of time placed on invention. He had even impressed
himself with a few of his latest creations, including Skim Sandals
made of an extremely lightweight water lily…handy for walking
across water; and Cooling Beads for the Hovers on hot days.

Both were now neatly packed away in the
travel pack, waiting for their big moment in the next Quest, A-2 as
Dwyn so coolly put it.

Lian’s father, Lord Blick had no idea that
Lian’s room had become its own breeding ground of nature. Lian made
sure all visits were anywhere else. The last thing he wanted was
his father’s disapproving look and the swift cleaning up of “such
nonsense!”

His mother, Estrella Fuffleteez was much more
open to Lian’s tinkering. As long as he was getting healthy social
interaction too. And so she was frequently urging him into the ick
and awk of social events, pouncing on his hair and face with saliva
smeared fingers. It was disgusting. And really annoying. He loved
his mother; he just wished she’d…

“Oh no! Mum! I forgot she’s visiting today!
C’mon!”

“But the Brédin, they’re just getting ready
to…”

“Suit yourself. But then you won’t get any
treats.”

Dwyn forced himself away from the Brédin. It
was a difficult decision but one could hardly ignore the wonders
and delights of an Estrella Fuffleteez visit.

“D’y’think she brought more of those
chocolate toes?”

“Probably.”

“Sweet! And maybe more socks?”

“You need more socks? Didn’t you just get
some?”

“Well, yeah but I left them at Chanéa
Tweeger’s. She had a Swap Party and…”

Lian shook his head.

“Hey, at least I got a new scarf out of it.”
Dwyn held up a long, fluffy soft scarf. A long, fluffy, soft,
pastel peach scarf. “Nice, uh?”

Lian blinked. “Sure. On a girl.”

“Hey, good thinking. I’ll give it to
Laronette.”

“But what about Chanéa?”

“What, she got my socks! C’mon!”

Lian rolled his eyes and walked after Dwyn
who was already running toward the castle.

Inside the castle, also off and running was
Studaben Picklepug’s rambling trap.

“Yes, I can see your concern for… for…
for….”

“Krism!” Root said for the third time.

Krism sat silently beside her. He had been
cleaned up but Root could still see remnants of the fight clinging
to him, making him look ugly to the Guardian who was now twiddling
his thumbs.

“Krism, right. We certainly do not condone
that kind of behaviour at all.”

“So, what’s going to be done about it? He
can’t even take a walk by himself.”

“Well, as Guardian of DréAmm I can assure you
that I will do everything in my power to protect Krimson’s well
being…”

“Krism!”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

“Look, Mr. Picklepug, sir. With all due
respect, you said that last time and it’s still happening!”

“You’re right! You are right, it is. And it
shouldn’t be. Not one little bit. Something should be done about
this. In fact I’m going to do something right now!”

Picklepug snatched his bright orange Talker
and dialled. All at once the ceiling and the walls of the
Guardian’s office all fell away. The three of them, Root, Krism and
Picklepug became small as dolls as the darkly stained office of the
Guardian’s secretary, Slim Pulpit came towering up to greet
them.

“Slim Pulpit.” A voice barked.

Root turned to see the secretary, bigger than
the sky staring down at them. A fat cigar hung from his toady lips.
In his hand was a paisley coloured Talker. His other hand clung to
a folder.

“Hey!” The secretary pointed at Root. “How’d
she get in there?”

“Good question, Master Pulpit,” The Guardian
scowled.

“They musta snuck in while I was in the men’s
room, sir.” Slim Pulpit growled. “I can escort them…”

“That’s fine, Slim. We were just finishing
anyhow.”

“We were?” Root was not impressed.

The Guardian didn’t even hear her as he
clapped his interest upon the folder in his secretary’s hands. “Are
these the float prints?”

“Indeedy they are, sir.” Slim Pulpit gave
Root a cold glance.

“Splendid!” Studaben Picklepug was already
tugging the folder down. Once shrunk and in his hands he excitedly
flipped through its pages. He stopped abruptly and drew his face in
to a particular image. For some time they endured his hmms and
mmmms, until finally he lifted his head. “I think the posters of my
head should be bigger; I am the Guardian of DréAmm after all.
Perhaps double in size. And can you look into how they might be
touched up…my chin is rather…well, it’s…”

“More than one?” the secretary dared.

“Well, I…I wouldn’t go that far. Just see if
they can…”

“I’m on it, sir.” Slim Pulpit promised. “In
the meantime there’s a girl here collecting last minute donations
for the parade and...”

“Tell her I’ve gone for lunch. That will be
all.” Studaben Picklepug handed the file back and was about to hang
up when Root loudly cleared her throat. “Oh yes. Now then, hold a
moment, Slim. This is your superior, Guardian of DréAmm Studaben
Picklepug.”

“I know. I can see you.”

“I know that…I just…never mind…I have with me
Miss Root Karbunkulees and her friend…”

“Krism…”

“Krism. Yes, of course. It…erm…it seems we
have a problem in that
Krism
claims to be a victim of
frequent bullying.”

“Y’don’t say.” Slim Pulpit picked up his fat
cigar, sucked its smoke into his innards and skulked at Krism. Some
ashes fell and drowned in the flash and pomp of his paisley
jacket

“I do say.” Picklepug continued, waving the
smoke out of his face. “And I’d like you to do something about
it.”

“Of course, sir. Can’t have that kind of
behaviour under our watch. I’ll get on it right away.”

“Thank you, Slim. I shall await your report.”
Picklepug coughed.

“Sure thing, Mr. Picklepug, sir.”

“And don’t forget to contact the poster
committee and tell them to triple the size of my headshots.”

“Triple, sir?”

“Yes and the touch up work on…my…uh…”

“Your chins, sir?”

“Chin, Mr. Pulpit. One chin. And put out that
blasted cigar! ”

“Sure thing, sir.”

They hung up. Root watched Slim Pulpit’s
paisley bulk disappear behind the re-establishing walls and ceiling
of Picklepug’s office.

“Ahem! See! No job is too small for the
Guardian of DréAmm. We are on the case.”

“But…” Root was about to mention the fact
that he’d been on the case many times prior and that if her
calculations were right, that nasty sack of bull rot, Slim Pulpit
was now eight reports overdue! But “but” was all that was
allowed.

“Oh, you’re welcome, my dear. It was my
pleasure. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have another meeting. Toodles
and all that.”

He nudged them along out of his office and
then shot down the hall, craning his neck in an undeniable attempt
to smooth out three folds of chin.

“I’m sorry.” Root grabbed Krism’s hand.

“Hey, you tried.” Krism smiled lamely. “No
one’s even tried for me before.”

“But I just wish…”

“You’re my friend, Root. That’s enough for
me.”

Root and Krism lugged themselves down the
hallway, hoping not to run into anyone and then, of course running
straight into Lian and Dwyn.

“Oh there you are.” Lian said. “C’mon. Mum’s
here with our stuff.”

Root looked at Krism and then back to
Lian.

“Um…sure, he can come, too.”

But Krism had become quite adept at
deciphering a true welcome and an obligated one. He declined
quietly and walked away, muttering a quick goodbye to Root.

In his room he was greeted by Wilma, his pet
chameleon. She was too big to travel on his shoulder now so he
often had to leave her. Now on his lap, she purred while he
smoothed his hand over her blue skin. Blue for the color of his
pants.

“One day,” Krism sneered. “One day, I’ll get
even. With them all. They’ll regret everything they ever did to
me.”

As he spoke, letting the dark angry words
engrave him, he looked down, startled. His loyal chameleon Wilma
had turned as black as the night.

As black as his raging, vengeful heart.

Estrella Fuffleteez had entered her son’s
room and got right to the business of cleaning it up. Lian, she
could see was in dire need of pizzazz. From a pocket of her apron
she withdrew a favourite Glong-hair brush. This she dipped in a
small clay pot labeled Pirate Blue of her mobile unit of paints and
swept it across her son’s blanket. What had looked like a tattered
rain cloud now seemed a bright swatch of ocean billowing over his
mattress. Estrella Fuffleteez was pleased.