Friday Fiction: Thrand (Continued. Part Thirteen)

[What Has Gone Before: Chief Justice Thrand of Morg City has been summoned to the palace to bear witness to the passing of the human King Taryn. On the way back to the Courts of Justice he has been rescued from a couple of street toughs by the small but wily Kettle.]

High Secretary Gawnich kept vigil near the private entrance at the rear of the Halls of Justice.  Thrand should have returned; it was nearly lunchtime, and the Tower wasn’t that far away. He could only imagine that the Chief Justice had been delayed by petitioners. They would have started thronging him by now, surely. The thought gnawed at the skinny Morg. After all, he had a candidate that he meant to put forward, a client who would be sure to pay him back for such a favor, and he didn’t need anyone influencing Thrand before he could. That just wouldn’t be fair.

Suddenly a black-robed figure broke away from the river of similarly clad traffic passing by the Halls' back gates, and Gawnich immediately recognized the twisted walking stick and protruding paunch. He hastened to meet Thrand with relief.

“Chief Justice! Thank goodness you’re back!” He laid a solicitous hand on Thrand’s shoulder and looked searchingly into his hooded face. “Are you well? What took you so long? The Crownhelm was delivered an hour ago already; I locked it up safely in your apartments.” He started to draw the older Morg forward as if to herd him safely back into the fold. “Do you want to check on it?”

Thrand shrugged the patronizing claw off his shoulder.

“No, I don’t want to check on the Crownhelm; I am sure it is perfectly safe. I am perfectly fine myself, thank you, and what I mean to do first is to go get me some lunch.”

“Of course, of course, Chief Justice.”  The skinny Morg hastily and humbly drew himself away and fell back a step behind Thrand, who began striding to the entrance with exaggerated vigor. “Dinner is almost ready. I …” He looked down. “Here, what are you up to?” he asked sharply. “You’re not needed here. Go on, hop it!”

Kettle, who had been following discreetly and cautiously in Thrand’s shadow as they approached the imposing building, flinched at Gawnich’s upraised bony hand, but the older Morg stopped the Secretary with a sharp bark.

“Here now! That’s no way to treat a lad that just saved me from a thrashing! Young Kettle here is my guest for lunch today. In fact…,” he looked down sideways at the grubby child. “Maybe longer than that.”

“High Secretary, I’m considering getting myself a page. If he wants the job. I thought we’d discuss it over a meal.” Thrand turned and looked the surprised Kettle in the face. “Would you like to be a page, eh? And maybe even an apprentice, if you show an aptitude for the work. Page work isn’t the most exciting, but there’s a future to it, which is more than I can say for guttersniping. And I really could use some help right now.”

The young Morg’s brow furrowed a moment in thought, cracking dirty cheeks screwed up in thought. Kettle looked up at last and smiled.

“I tell you what, chief. Let’s have lunch like you said and talk about it a bit first.”

“Very wise.” The old Morg was solemn. “That’s a good way to start the job.” He turned to Gawnich briskly. “Have an Articles of Employ drawn up for me right away. Leave the usual spaces and enough room for three or four special clauses.” He reached down and took Kettle’s hand and headed for the door to the Courthouse.

‘But … but, Lord Thrand!” Gawnich spluttered. “Do you really think this is wise? You can know nothing of this child!”

“I know enough.” Thrand grinned reassuringly down at Kettle. “And, yes, I do think it is wise. You’ve been saying yourself for years that I should have a page, if only to take some of the pressure off of you. Well, the time has come. Things are going to be pretty busy around here for a while.” He looked up again, muzzle in the air, breathing in deeply as if to scent the future from afar. “Ah-h-h. I hope we have fried pork today.”

The bewildered Gawnich watched the two disappear into the shadows of the portico, then gathered his wits about him and headed towards the corner for the Scriptorium, the proper forms for the Articles of Employ already dancing in his head with all the possible outcomes of this latest whim of the Chief Justice’s.  Had Thrand’s latest attack addled his brains? It was quite a left turn, and totally out of the High Secretary’s expectations. Gawnich liked to know where things were headed. He took a left turn and was gone around the corner.

Notes

Here we are back at last with Thrand, the first new entry since the end of October 2023. How did half a year go by so quickly? This section is graced, you will notice, with a little rough sketch I have done of Kettle. I'm afraid I don't do a lot of drawing these days, and this is the first new picture I have drawn of a Morg (and a 'new' Morg at that) for quite a while. The first new picture in a while, period. I don't know why I don't draw more, except I seldom have pencil and paper at hand, and the height of my desk does not lend itself to such activity. You can see that half the lines on the left look lighter; that's because the silvery pencil lines are lit up by my desk lamp.