While his brain was trying to think of something, he remembered that he had left a friend, so to speak, on board, who certainly wasn't worried about him, but perhaps there was something he needed to see.
He left the cabin and glanced at the brownish ball, the size of six raisins. As he suspected, it was where he'd left it. But now it wasn't vibrating, and it even seemed as if he wasn't thinking about it at all. As if his mind were occupied with something else. He descended and reached for his friend, then quickly made his way to the cabin. The sky had already darkened, and he could no longer see his enemy, who he had hoped had already turned back from the faction he had previously marked out by… himself.
The retreating ship seemed very suspicious to him, but not enough to make him afraid to follow it. Turok knew the fisherman had found something and that he had undoubtedly been tracked down, which certainly wouldn't make the rest of his task any easier. He had the feeling he'd seen the fisherman haul something out of the sea. Something that definitely wasn't shrimp. Perhaps he'd been at sea too long, perhaps the air had taken a toll on him, for he could have sworn he saw the fisherman haul a bucket from the water.
Destiny glanced at the approaching storm and rightly decided it would be best to get out of the way as quickly as possible. He wouldn't spin the wheel today. Let the storm cleanse the area of all pollution. Time to rest a bit. After all, tomorrow was another day.
There was no one around to offer advice or even a word of encouragement. No one seemed to care about the fate of the missing well, much less the young potter.
If he could somehow shake people up, it might do some good. Maybe not everyone was as selfish as they seemed. He might not be tastefully dressed, but he liked his blue coat and yellow shoes. It suited him, and he hoped others would too. Apparently, he was wrong, because instead of looking at him with admiration, most people looked at him as just another fool visiting their town.
The only thing he could do in this situation was ignore the ignorant and do what any self-respecting potter must do. He turned and ran as fast as he could to the inn, which was located near the bridge he had recently crossed. He entered and the first thing that gripped him was utter astonishment. Everyone sitting there, like one potter, turned towards him and stared at him, leaving him quite astonished. After a moment, however, everything returned to normal, for, as he suspected, he wasn't the one those eyes might be searching for. He was often wrong, but he preferred to be right about this one. Why tempt fate, which didn't like him anyway? The first thing he did was go to the bartender, who seemed to him to be a rather unfriendly character. He hoped, however, that he could help him solve his problem.
"Two beers, please," he said, tossing two silver coins onto the table.
The bartender looked at the newcomer and brought two beers.
"One will be enough," he said.
"Two beers is just the beginning," the potter said, not quite believing what he was saying. "I'm looking for some information," he continued.
"We only sell beer, not information," the bartender said, a little too firmly.
"Oh, and what do you say if I throw in four more coins and ask you something you'll find unpleasant?"
He looked as if he really cared. He hadn't imagined he could be so assertive and yet look so menacing. He glanced around to make sure he wasn't talking too loudly, but no one seemed to be paying much attention, which he was definitely pleased about. It would be a long time before he got over his memories, which weren't the most interesting ones. Bars like this always gave him goosebumps. Just the view from the outside didn't fill him with optimism, let alone hanging out in such a bacterial culture facility. He definitely preferred the fresh air and the smell of flowers to the stench of someone's tobacco and old beer stains.
Henrietta wondered what question she shouldn't ask the little cornflame. Of course, she could do it another time, but she felt that since she'd already encountered him, perhaps she should seize the opportunity. Who knew when she'd have to deal with him again? Henrietta was a brave person, which didn't mean she liked risks; quite the opposite. She preferred to know everything clearly, preferably before anything happened. She was about to open her mouth and say something when a voice reached her. She turned and saw a young man shouting something at the people in the square. She couldn't hear what he meant, but she was certain it had nothing to do with what she wanted to ask the little cornflame. So she turned and asked him the question she desperately wanted to know the answer to. It was the most innocent question she could muster. Her heart wouldn't allow her to break the generally accepted rules that governed and applied to all the inhabitants.
The answer she received was the most astonishing she'd ever heard, and for a moment she even wondered if everything was alright with her, for she'd never heard such utter nonsense in such a short time. Although she hoped she'd misheard, she knew she'd heard the whole truth and nothing but the truth. She immediately grabbed her companion and headed for the only place she deemed appropriate.
Several times a year, the tree changes color. Its leaves, actually. Supposedly, it's scientifically proven that this is a form of deterrence, but in a world where fishermen haul in sacks and buckets, anything is possible. Sometimes, leaves fall so quickly that it astonishes even the most skeptical. But sometimes, leaves don't fall, but are transported by enormous clouds, carrying them away to some unknown destination. Attempts were made to track them, but it usually didn't do anyone any good. Besides, when clouds strip leaves, another thing happens: the tree's world is disrupted. This is because the creatures lurking beneath the tree don't see the colorful foliage, preventing them from working and thus inhibiting the growth of microorganisms in the soil where the tree grows. However, this also has its advantages, because as we know, all the leaves collected by the clouds serve some purpose, just what isn't yet known, but perhaps it will soon become clear that they are being gathered for some higher purpose, beyond the reach of even scientists. As the people who inhabit this part of the branches say, "There's a right time for everything." And they're certainly not wrong.
Given the choice of staying in his cabin or watching the now-stormy sea, the sailor chose to stand guard over his companion and the table, which held a bucket and a fresh sack. It was a different matter that everyone else had long since gone home or to the wells. As usual, he was the last to do anything. Well, you didn't want to fish for sardines when you were young; you wouldn't have enough at a seasoned table.
Turok was in his element. He always knew he'd end up well, but he never suspected he'd live to see the day when he could defeat two opponents at once: the storm and the fisherman.
He hadn't imagined it would all be so easy that he wouldn't even have to move the helm. Everything, except perhaps the storm, was going according to plan. He hoped that after his encounter with the fisherman, he'd never experience any of the misfortunes that awaited the evil, venomously greedy Turok. He never spoke ill of himself, especially among his friends, but he knew there were things in this world even he hadn't heard of. He'd seen a lot in his life, had also experienced a lot. Judging by the scale of his family, Turok was already more than halfway mature, which was precisely what he meant. He was a self-sufficient Turok who knew his place in the ranks, one who would soon catch his prey and surely have a great deal of fun doing it. Who knows, maybe he'd even receive an honorary amber elm. Who knows, time would tell if it was worth devoting his entire life to a single profession: robbery and robbery. Well, maybe two, but in the end, it didn't make much difference. Now he had to focus on the task at hand, and overthinking would be of little use. At least in this case, everything had been decided long ago. There was nothing to question, so why worry? The sea was enveloped in maddening white waves, visibility was poor, though Turok wondered if that was the right word for hopeless visibility. To make up for everything he'd done, he silently vowed that after catching the sailor, he'd never do it again. He'd change his profession and take up cooking. He only dreamed of passing on his talents to someone who would bravely serve the sea and fulfill the role of the worst possible one. If only he had someone he could trust enough.
The fisherman calmly stared at the chestnut. Since he found little satisfaction in staring, he decided to shift his attention to the bucket. It was average. In every respect. In appearance, in shape, it gave the impression of being just one of a thousand buckets found in the world. Admittedly, he hadn't encountered many himself, but he had no doubt that in this case, he couldn't be mistaken. He knew he could recognize an ordinary bucket. It couldn't be anything other than an ordinary bucket, which certainly shouldn't be there. He looked into the bag again, wondering if he'd missed something. However, there was nothing there but a long rope. For a moment, a strange thought crossed his mind: shrimp, which he could have instead of this strange object. Perhaps he should simply throw them overboard, like one does with bad shrimp. Or perhaps he should throw them into the sea and see how many shrimp he could catch? There were many possibilities. But how to lower them into such shallow water? The chain was surely too short. Maybe he should leave them, put the chestnut in it, and see what happened? He honestly had no idea what would be better. Suddenly, a white wave crashed against the ship's port side, leaving a wet trail of unstained water in its wake. "
At least my deck will be washed clean," the sailor thought, and looked out the window. His fears were confirmed. A massive storm had begun to rage. He wondered what the chestnut would do in such a situation. Surely it would only start to wobble, then sink back down as before, seemingly inconsequential. Friends—he adored them. Fighting is different, but with a motionless chestnut, a bucket, and a not-too-long rope as your helper, you might as well jump into the middle of the blue sea. Better, however, to consider what to do next with the inevitable: Turok lurking somewhere in the distance, who surely hadn't given up and was waiting for a suitable opportunity.
Six yellow coins lay squarely in the center of the table, the countertop where the bartender and the young potter sat. The interior was filled with a musty stench. All the windows were open, but even without them, it was difficult to get a breath of fresh air.
Some were drinking, others were chatting with waitresses, and some were looking toward the door, as if constantly expecting someone to enter with whom they would have to settle a score. Only two people, besides the bartender and the young potter, were looking at anything else. Eight eyes saw six yellow coins, and four of them already had plans for them. One couldn't help but feel that some of the inn's regulars hadn't seen such a large amount of money in one person in a long time. It would be different if it were other coins, like silver or bronze, which no one liked because they made a lot of noise and were of little use. After a moment, all six coins disappeared and landed in the bottom of the innkeeper's pocket, the bartender.
Life must be balanced, otherwise nothing would make sense, thought the owner of one pair of eyes. That much gold in one person was definitely too much. No one in their right mind would carry that much on their person, let alone bring it into an inn, and if they did, they'd have to accept the fact that they'd done something wrong and would soon face the consequences for their mistake.
"Of all the strange things on earth, at least two should be forbidden. Wearing yellow shoes on a day as white as you could ever dream of, and carrying at least six gold coins in a red coat, which could be used to finance the entire bar. They should also let more air into the room; who knows, maybe that smoke isn't some harmful toxins for the skin," the owner of the second pair of eyes whispered, then stepped down from the ledge he'd previously occupied. The second pair followed close behind, stepping delicately on a wooden pole attached to the upper ceiling.
The inn needs renovation, thought one of the guests drinking the golden beverage, as his mug suddenly filled with bits of brown wood.
You can only be certain of three things in life, the young potter thought as he spent all his savings on the information he needed, which he should have devoted to a completely different purpose. Many different ideas came to mind, but it was impossible to describe what he thought at that moment. He realized something so obvious and so clear that even the clouds from within that accursed cave couldn't obscure it. From now on, he would always listen to his heart and reason, only later would he be guided by emotion. He regretted not realizing this sooner.
"How far is it to the nearest harbor?" he asked the bartender on his rounds.
"About fourteen minutes by road and six through the forest. What?"
But he couldn't hear the answer, because the potter was long gone from the inn, racing towards the forest and then the harbor.
"I wonder what they were talking about," one of the guests asked.
His companion, whose face bore no resemblance to anyone normal, or even sober. He simply waved his hand and picked up another mug of beer, raising it high in another senseless toast.
The potter was already so fast that he didn't even notice a strange-looking individual with a gaze as mysterious as it was terrifying, pass by him. If he had noticed him, he would have known his presence here did not bode well. This individual paid him no attention either, which was definitely to the potter's credit. He was busy with his own affairs and had no time to deal with strange-looking people in red cloaks. Besides, he distrusted individuals wearing yellow boots, especially when their owner looked as if he had discovered some unknown secret. He had always thought he would never meet anyone crazier than blue bards. He still had much to learn.
Henrietta reached her destination, beads of sweat evaporating from her bare arms. Her kind heart was slowly losing patience. Her companion reached her about thirteen minutes after she finished explaining what had happened to his companion. The wardrobe listened to Henrietta's complaints and ordered her to open its right door, decorated by a cheap graffiti artist. There was a mirror in it, and she saw a woman. The woman definitely reminded her of someone. She was sure she'd seen her before.
"It's you, stupid," the wardrobe finally said, as if surprised that such a dimwitted woman had just told her so many interesting and unheard-of things. With or without human help, it's safe to say that over half the population of this land are either eccentrics or lunatics. Who else would be capable of something so fabulously naive as not recognizing their own reflection?
"Enough of the smart-assery," the woman suddenly shouted. "I'm not paying you to preach here. I want the answer, and I want it now."
The wardrobe door slammed, and she thought to herself that she was dealing with not only a strange but certainly a sick case.
"Yes, that's true," she finally said, and showed the woman a few things that the woman clearly didn't like. She cursed repeatedly, infuriating her friend, who almost got trampled underfoot.
After a short but interesting demonstration, the wardrobe closed the oak door and looked at Henrietta, who was shifting from foot to foot, searching for the solution to this riddle.
"Perhaps it's not as you're showing," she said aloud. "Old wardrobes can be wrong, after all," she added quietly.
"I heard," the wardrobe said. "Don't think you're smarter than old wardrobes. It takes a lot of nerve not to believe what I've shown you, and if you think I'm lying, you should go and check for yourself and then judge me."
There was a lot of truth in what the wardrobe said, Henrietta thought.
She should do as the old wardrobe said; she was already certain of that. The only thing she wasn't sure of was whether she had the courage to do it. Courage wasn't her strongest trait.
"I'll go with you if you want," the wardrobe said after a moment, seeing the immense indecision on her interlocutor's face. "I see you're a total coward who would benefit from an adventure like this, and we'll certainly manage to handle it together. The only thing I'm not sure of is whether your imagination will keep up with the current events and not get too far off the ground. "
Henrietta looked at the old wardrobe and said without hesitation,
"And how can I take something as large as a wardrobe your size?"
"You people always have to create problems for yourselves," the wardrobe replied. "I knew you'd ask me that question, and I've already found the answer. Sometimes a tree takes on a form several times larger than normal." This is caused by a change in the composition of the earth on which it grows. It can sometimes be twice, or even three times larger than normal. However, for as long as anyone can remember, even when it has grown larger, it has always maintained peace and harmony. Nothing, scientists say, should disturb the harmony of this world. Not even some unexplored force or phenomenon. Not everything is openly discussed, but it is assumed that the great tree will lose its life energy when it reaches its maximum height, which will be no less than fifty thousand years from now. Until then, anyone who wishes can visit the entire vast world it sustains.
When he saw those eyes, he was certain of one thing – he would never again see the world as it was before. He regretted not taking advantage of the situation and fleeing while he had the chance. He never imagined that this could happen to him as well.
"Apparently, the blue boots are protected," he said when he saw his prey.
"Hmm," the blue Bard swallowed, and that was the last thing he managed today.
Time – a radiant entity; if it could be touched, it would undoubtedly be a global event. Well, some things…
"Actually, what happens if we don't find the Lost Well?" Henrietta asked, racing right behind the speeding mirror.
"You can stop asking stupid questions," the mirror said, and looked ahead as if searching for something.
The dragon-dog glanced at the mirror and left the already strange situation without comment. After all, he had his principles too. Besides, he had to save his energy for what really mattered right now: running.
He only had a pair of legs, but he still felt superior to Henrietta. After all, he had been the one to discover the ray of grain.
Brak komentarzy:
Prześlij komentarz