Chapter 26: Chapter Nineteen – Tea and Biscuits

Curesoon groaned and slowly opened his eyes. At first, he thought he had awakened in the middle of the night, but as the fog of drowsiness cleared from his mind, he remembered where he was and why it was still dark.

“But what is that dreadful noise?” he thought to himself.

Sitting up to investigate, the bard winced with pain. They had been forced to sleep upon the dry dead leaves that covered the muddy forest floor, and though it was not stone, it was far harder than the soft bed that he was used to.

“How I miss my pillows and cushions!” he grumbled and stretched his back.

After momentarily being distracted by his pain, Curesoon remembered the awful noise when it abruptly came to his ears again.

Glancing around, his blue eyes fell upon the little man as he snored loudly.

“Well, good morning, Mister Tippleglee,” the bard greeted the other man with a sarcastic smile. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

In response, the little man broke with his rhythmic snoring and snorted as if a bug had flown up his nose.

“How ever do you sleep so soundly on this hard ground?!?” Curesoon asked as he shook his head with disbelief.

Still, Tippleglee was undisturbed by the bard’s words.

Curesoon grimaced again. “Well, my back won’t let me sleep another second.”

He turned and began to rummage through his pack.

“You do remember what I told you about Runereader and his smelly old book?” The bard inquired of the sleeping man while pulling a small teapot from his bag. “He taught me a lot of things, and one of the more useful is how to make an herbal tea that helps with stiffness and mild pain.”

Tippleglee snorted again.

“Oh, I understand your skepticism.” Curesoon replied with a grin as he poured water from a skin into the teapot. “And I must confess that I agree: one should never trust a wizard, but I did trust him… At first, but then, I had an excuse: I was only a child.”

With a sigh, the bard stoked the embers of their campfire back to life and added a few dead sticks. Once he had it going again, he set the teapot down into the coals and leaned back against a stump to wait for it to boil.

“In the beginning, when my father first let me be his apprentice, I thought the old swindler worked real magic, but when I learned the truth, I was so devastated that I stopped talking to him altogether.” Curesoon scratched his short beard and added thoughtfully, “I think the reason I was so angry was because I felt like I finally found something I could do better than my little brother, so when it turned out to be a complete farce…”

The bard shrugged and then pulled a cup out of his pack. With a glance at the little man, he went on.

“It wasn’t long after that my father and I met you on the road through Blackthorn. And that same night, she…” He paused and then let that sentence die upon his tongue. Instead of saying more, he stared into the fire for many long moments.

Suddenly, the teapot whistled startling him from his thoughts. Without words, he took a clean piece of white linen cloth and stuffed it down into his cup. Next, he took several pinches of ground herbs, and rubbing them between his fingers and thumb, he let them fall into the cloth. Lastly, he poured the hot water in with the herbs. He waited several minutes, and as he did so, he started talking again.

“As you probably remember, I became terribly sick while we stayed with you and your lord in the castle of Blackthorn. My father was so worried that he didn’t go on to Silverkeep, but instead, he turned back and hurried our horse and cart home.

“In the end, it was only Runereader who knew what to do. He opened that stinky old book and found a remedy for what ailed me. Afterward, when I was well, I asked him to teach me the craft of herbalism, and he did so gladly.”

The bard paused and frowned. “You know, I never realized this before, but I think it really hurt him that I didn’t want to talk to him anymore. He was so glad I wanted to be his apprentice again.”

When Curesoon was sure the tea was ready, he slowly removed the cloth from the cup leaving the tea behind while taking the grounds away.

After blowing on the brew to cool it a bit, the bard brought the hot tea to his lips. Once he had carefully taken a sip, he started talking anew.

“It tastes better with a little honey,” he admitted to his still sleeping friend. “But it’s a great improvement over the original recipe. All of the concoctions in Runereader’s book called for some strange ingredient: eye of newt, a bat’s wing, or a lizard's tongue. In fact, there were, sometimes, even more revolting things like the little toe of a man who had been dead for three days.

“After the old wizard taught me a recipe, I secretly did experiments on my own in which I took out the fouler elements. During the following years, I discovered that all the cures were found in the weeds, herbs, leaves, bark, or roots, and not any in the…” He paused to search for more discreet words. “…Exotic ingredients.”

Curesoon took another sip and smiled at his cup. “With those things removed, every recipe tasted so much better.”

He set his cup down and began to rummage through his bag again.

“I wrote all the improved recipes down in my journal, but instead of writing them in the runic script, I just wrote them in the common-tongue.”

As he said this, he pulled out a small book. Its cover was made of wood with three hinges down its spine, and a simple geometric pattern was carved onto its front and back.

As he thumbed through the book looking at his sketches of plants, he continued.

“Later, I asked the old wizard why those other ingredients had been added, and he admitted that he didn’t know for sure – the book had been given to him by his own teacher – but he did venture a guess, it was to add to the spectacle.

“After all, my boy,” Curesoon mimicked the old man’s voice. “Half of wizardry is making a show that folks will believe in. If you merely said, this root will help, they’d never have faith in your ability to heal them.”

The bard returned to his own voice. “The eye of newt, the dead man’s toe, all the babbling spells, and all the rambling chants – It was all for show…”

“I'm pretty sure you were talking when I fell asleep, and here I find you still rattling on.” Tippleglee abruptly interrupted. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you talked all night.”

He had awakened without the bard noticing.

“I didn't talk all night…” Curesoon began to protest, but then he shook his head and fell silent with a growling sigh.

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Seeing that his blunt comment had stung the bard’s feelings, Tippleglee dug into his bag and pulled out another cedar box. Opening its lid, he brought forth several biscuits.

With a grunt, he offered Curesoon a few. The bard glanced at his hand and let a sad smile lighten his expression.

Though the little man did not apologize with words, the gesture felt something like an apology, and Curesoon’s mood lifted a little.

“Would you like some tea to go with your biscuits?” he asked the older man.

Tippleglee answered with only a terse nod.

The bard brewed him a cup of tea and then began eating the biscuits.

“Wow! These are very fresh!” Curesoon remarked absentmindedly.

However, in the middle of enjoying them, the bard brought one of the biscuits up before his blue eyes. There, upon its top side, a symbol was pressed into it, and this caused a troublesome question to jump into his mind.

“Wait!” Curesoon suddenly exclaimed. “Where did you get these biscuits? Did you make them yourself?”

“No,” Tippleglee shrugged and shook his head. “I bought them from the baker in Juttown.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know your way out of the swamp!” Curesoon growled with irritation.

“No!” the little man argued angrily. “You asked me if I knew the way to some farm owned by some man named Guileless. How should I know where that place is?!? I only know my path to Juttown!”

Curesoon glared at Tippleglee for a long moment and then let out a frustrated sigh.

“Well,” the bard forced a smile. “At least we can go to Juttown now.”

“I hope you don’t mean that I’m to show you the way!” the little man growled.

“And why not?!?” Curesoon looked puzzled.

“I knew the way from my cottage!” Tippleglee almost shouted. “But now you’ve gotten me far too lost to know the way from here!”

The bard just looked at the other man. He did not bother saying anything else. After all, what could he say?

Once they had eaten the rest of their breakfast in silence, the two men packed up their camp without a word.

In the process, Tippleglee gathered some of the ash and pieces of charcoal for later use and then made sure that their fire was well quenched. Meanwhile, Curesoon gathered the discarded waxcloth that had covered the cake they had eaten the night before.

“I’ve always been taught that I should leave the place where I camp better than I found it.” The bard grumbled under his breath to himself and then looked around doubtful. “But this place is so filthy that leaving our garbage behind might actually be an improvement.”

Tippleglee made no reply, but he could not help but let out a quiet humph.

Once they had made ready, they began to follow their little stagnant stream again, and the foulness of the bog seemed to sink into Curesoon’s heart. From time to time, he would let out a grumbled sigh, but still, he refused to talk.

“Juttown!” the bard muttered irritably.

Tippleglee only rolled his eyes in reply.

After a few hours of wordless marching, the little old man could take no more.

“I don't know what's worse: your silent sulking or your never-ending chatter!” Tippleglee growled.

Curesoon did not respond, but a grin crept across his face without his bidding.

When they had walked for an hour more, they found that the land began to grow steeper, and the stream started to actually move. Not long after that, it started to make a joyful little noise.

Curesoon was glad for the sound, for the silence of Miremurk had put a foul mood in him, but with the hearing of the tiny trickle, he felt slightly better.

Not so with the other traveler. Tippleglee grumbled under his breath. “Well, there’s no doubting it now, you’ve taken us the wrong way. The river flows into the bog, and there’s a slim chance that our little stream flows back around the other way.”

“Well, this direction seems far more cheerful to me, and I do not wish to enter the darker parts of this wood again – at least not before it’s required of me.” Curesoon answered with a shrug.

“But shouldn’t we go back?” Tippleglee asked with a scowl.

“If we go back following our stream in the other direction, what will we do if it goes beneath the earth or dries up completely?” the bard asked respectfully. “Remember, we started in the middle and know neither where it starts nor where it ends, and to abandon it would be foolishness.”

“But what of your pony and cart?” The little man protested.

“Fear not, Mister Tippleglee, for they are both well looked after.” Curesoon smiled and then began to walk in the direction they had already put themselves upon.

The older man growled and shook his head, but he followed all the same.

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