Jujay did not move a muscle. In spite of Tarl’s urging him to hurry, his only concern was for Orlon, the time of day and that his master enjoyed the meal he had prepared for him. His tired gray eyes looked at the bowl of the still steaming rolled oats, glass of milk and apple, and Tarl looked back to follow his look. He thought he fully understood the servant’s concern—and wholeheartedly agreed that food should never go to waste.
"Waste not, want not," he said, sat in Orlon’s chair and started wolfing down the rolled oats.
Jujay caught his jaw before it dropped, and his surprise at Tarl’s gall turned into disbelief he would do such a thing to Orlon, his so called best friend. His disbelief melted into outrage that culminated into a harsh glare in his eyes.
Swallowing the final spoonful of oats gave the Midget a very satisfied feeling of being full. He dropped the spoon into the bowl and threw back his head to gulp down the glass of milk. With the last swallow, he brought the glass down on the table, his head down to meet the servant eye to eye. The outrage he read in those eyes confused him—briefly. Upon realizing his mistake as to Jujay’s concern about the meal his crafty mind went to work to get himself out of this pickle.
"Hey, don’t take that attitude with me," he said and picked up the apple. "I saved him this."
The servant looked to the heavens.
"Now," Tarl brought himself to his feet, turning to the doorway to the front room. "We have people waiting on us. Let’s go."
This time Jujay reacted to his urging, but rather than follow him he stood and headed the other way. Despite his misgivings about this trip, be it a quest or not, he was certain of one thing. If he was going to walk any distance, he needed his walking staff. He retrieved it from where it leaned against the wall by the back door, a thin thread of cobweb stretching from its top as he turned to recross the kitchen. Within three steps the cobweb broke free from the staff and drifted away.
When he reached Tarl, the two headed through the doorway.
Completion of his final morning duty left Orlon concerned that his attempt to hurry in his morning duties had failed. The first two, making his bed and performing his morning ablutions, were done without a doubt in good time. It was in getting dressed he slowed down, and that was mainly due to his inability to decide what to wear. He had never been on a trip before and had no idea what was proper attire for such things.
After spending far too much time eyeing the clothes in his wardrobe, he had decided on wearing his "best." There was, after all, a Party accompanying him on this trip, and for reasons beyond him he wanted to make a good impression. His "best" consisted of a white shirt, brown coat, vest and breeches, and comfortable walking shoes. And he now stood before his mirror, giving the outfit a critical look over. Was this the right attire? Did he have time to change?
The sudden empty feeling in his stomach reminded him of a fourth duty: breakfast. Thought of the delicious meals Jujay prepared for them made him fret over even more time lost…. Wardrobe forgotten, he hurried out of his bedroom, drawing the door shut behind, mind focused on eating a delicious breakfast in record time.
Down the hall and into the front room he went, mouth watering, picking up speed with every step. He came to a bone-jarring halt as did Tarl and Jujay, coming through the kitchen doorway. Tarl looked his best friend up and down, whistled.
"My," he said, "aren’t you the fancy one."
Orlon felt the heat of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks, and he hurriedly asked, "Are you ready?"
"Yes," he said, then waved up and down his own wardrobe, saying, "Though I didn’t dress quite so fancifully.
"Oh," he thumbed back at Jujay, "but I did think ahead enough to pack us a lunch. Nothing special, mind you, just something light and tasty to tide us over 'til supper."
Orlon’s eyes followed his thumb to Jujay, noticed the carryall hung around his neck only in passing. There was something far more important to do than seeing a packed lunch upon seeing his servant at this time of day, and he promptly did it.
"Good morning, Jujay," he said, smiling. "I hope you’re up for a trip."
Jujay returned the smile and nodded.
"Now, speaking of tiding over…" Orlon rubbed his hands together, mind set on scarfing down a delicious breakfast prepared by his servant.
"No time for breakfast, buddy," Tarl said. "We were told to hurry, you know."
Orlon looked disappointed.
Jujay looked utterly outraged.
"But I did bring you something to put on your stomach," he went on, holding up the apple and then tossing it to his best friend.
"Thanks," Orlon said, catching it.
Yet he did not devour it. He could not. A sudden churning in his stomach brought on by the events of last night and this morning, and the fear this trip actually was a quest depending on him to save the world from evil Tibtarni—whatever warned him the chances of keeping anything down were minimal at best. Looking at the juicy, green skinned fruit, he sighed, hoped there would come a time when he could eat it later.
"You’re right, Tarl," he said and pocketed the apple. "We were told to hurry…. Well, no need to keep Ty the Parson waiting any longer."
With that, he headed toward the front door, and Tarl followed.
Jujay stood his ground, too stunned by his master’s mention of the name Ty the Parson to move. Well did he know of the three mysterious men known as Parsons, Ry, Sy and Ty by name, and of the three he knew of Ty the Parson most. While none of his masters had every personally dealt with him, many were the tales he heard from fellow servants of their masters being roped into long journeyed adventures by the verbose fellow in robes for one presumed glorious end or another… The very idea this man awaited them made him worry what they…what he was in for.
"Where do you think we’re headed?" Tarl said, catching up to Orlon.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Orlon opened the door and, hand held up to ward off the bright sunlight, walked out.
"I just hope—" Tarl stepped out onto the porch and turning to close the door saw Jujay unmoved. "Um, we’re leaving now," he said, eyeing the servant with disdain.
Jujay blinked, shook his head and noticed the absence of his master. Not giving Tarl the slightest bit of attention, he hurried with slow, shuffling feet across the room and out the door.
"I just hope," Tarl repeated, closing the door, and concluded, "we get back before dark."
"I wouldn’t bet on it if I were you," Orlon said absentmindedly, on his way across the lawn.
Tarl gave him a double-take, his astonishment quickly turning to disbelief. That Orlon was buying into this man’s—this Ty the Parson’s blather after all their discussion about it was just too much for him to believe. With a sigh and shake of his head, he was glad he was coming on this trip to keep an eye on him. Who knew what kind of trouble Orlon might get into without him. He hurried to catch up with his best friend, passing Jujay on the way.
Within three steps thereafter, he skidded to a stop, narrowly avoiding a collision with Orlon.
Despite his raised hand against the sunlight, its brightness made it impossible for Orlon to see clearly what lay ahead. And what lay ahead, who awaited them on Dwarf Road, was of utmost interest to him. He knew whatever he found there would determine his future. If the Party consisted of men like the man who visited Sleen Manibeen, elderly and touched by his years, he would be in for nothing more than an odd but nice trip. If they were not… He gulped.
Step by step his eyes adjusted more and more to the glare, letting him make out more of what awaited them. There were three distinct groups, one large and two small, standing in the road. The two small groups, he presumed, were curious farmers and their wives, and were of no interest to him. So he focused his attention on the large group.