A Day In The Life Of Fleet O'Feet

A Day In The Life Of Fleet O Feet

by Bob Liddil

My master, Professor Doctor Griswald Grimm, alchemist to the little shop of poisons and potions, instructs me in all things. He teaches me the differences between the powders and liquids that are our stock in trade. He pounds into my sometimes-unwilling brain the maths required for measurement and the exchange of coinage. I am apprentice to the man some believe to be more dangerous than any other alive, a man feared by commoner and kings. From him I learned the spoken word in languages other than the gutter talk of the street of dreams, my home.

More than the learning of which words mean what thing, my master requires that I be able to inscribe, as well. Not just the putting of scratches onto the record book at the store, mind you, but the inscribing of my thoughts and the events of my life, this is the task he has set forth for me and I don’t mind saying (here, at least, for elsewhere, impudence would earn me a swat on the backside ) that I think this is a terrible waste of time.

Nonetheless, my task has been set. I am to record the events of a day in my life, not necessarily as they occur, but in the chronology of their occurrence. Mundane as my life is, I have chosen tomorrow for the completion of this task. I fear Grimm will be disappointed in the literary content of my tale.

Morning

Dawn comes early on the street of dreams. I am awakened by the sounds of scuffling in the alleyway below the window of the loft I sleep in. Looking out and below, I can see two ruffians standing over a third man who is lying prone and still. One of the two must have heard the squeak of the window opening because he looked up at me.

He is ugly. Bearded, his hair uncut and straggly, one eye closed by a knife scar, he is truly ugly. He does not speak a word but I can feel the hatred inside him. He will kill me if he can. Quickly, I retreat into my loft, chilled by the knowledge that today may be my last breathing day.

I am writing this after the fact. The walk from my mother’s rooms to the establishment of my master was uneventful. I am fortunate in that certain protections are accorded me within my station as apprentice to Grimm. Many a would-be slaver has reconsidered the taking of me for servitude, after encountering a watcher - someone indebted to my master and charged with the task of being his eyes and ears when he cannot represent himself personally.

It is not unusual for there to be at least one attempt per day to waylay me, by someone who loves coin more than life. Always, these attempts fail, either through the actions of a watcher or by direct action from one of my own protective devices. However, this particular morning, I saw no one, not even watchers and that is strange.

As I write these words, it occurs to me that maybe the one-eyed man saw me more clearly than I thought. Perhaps, since I saw his crime, he wishes to kill me as well. What if he can bypass my protections the way he bypassed the watchers? I had better take some precautions.

The first customer of the day is a member of Prince Ossarian’s court. How long has it been since anyone dressed in velvets and silks has passed through our door? A while, I assure you. But we serve noble and common alike.

“Good morning, Sir.” I say pleasantly, “How may I be of service to you?”

Master Grimm taught me manners straightaway upon taking me as an apprentice. No customer finds rudeness in this shop unless it comes from the doctor, himself.”

The man nods, acknowledging my greeting, but does not reply. Instead, he walks right over to the display where we keep the Travelers’ Kits, as though he knows exactly what he is looking for. He examines the standard kit and wrinkles his nose in a frown of dissatisfaction.

I say, “The Deluxe Travelers’ Kit has Reptile Anti-venom in it in triple dosages if you’re going to be traveling west.”

I know, I know, it is presumptuous to try and second guess what a customer is looking for, but I’ve been taught to read body language and to use deductive reasoning. That he knew where to find what he was looking for, suggested to me that he’d been instructed. The standard kit is less expensive but used for travels on the east-west road or local journeys. The facial signal of not finding what he was expecting cued me to the one important difference between the kits, that being the snake-bite packet. Not finding that where he was looking gave long odds of him preparing (or fetching preparations) for a journey to the west (land of the snakes). Simple, right?

He says, “Oh.” and fetches the right kit.

I say, “That will be 20 in gold, sir.”

He antes up the coins from a fawn skin pouch (the favorite purse of the idle wealthy) and leaves without responding to my closing comment of, “Have a pleasant journey, sir.” Some people have no manners at all.

A tidy shop is a profitable shop. That’s what Grimm always used to tell me when I was much younger and ill enthused where the tasks of sweeping, dusting, placing jars and kits and the ordinary daily routine of my employment were concerned. I am older than that now. I do not require entertainments during my working day, nor do I particularly seek them out after the shop has closed in the evening. The street of dreams is a place where entertainments can kill. A bard may be an assassin working for the enemies of my master, plotting to snatch me and hold me for some ransom. This happened once or twice when I was younger, but since my master demolished the wizards’ quarter in the south city with the misplacement of a single word in the spell part of a fireball potion, his enemies have shown less inclination to use me to get to him. So I keep busy dusting and tidying. It’s part of my job to do this and to know what needs doing.

As I was about my tasks a little while ago, a customer entered the shop and seeing him almost stopped my heart. It was him from the alley this morning, the man with one eye. It so happened that at the moment of his entry, I was behind the curtain which separates my master’s study from the main shop. So the man did not see me as I watched him. He departed within seconds of entry. He knows I work here. He will return to kill me.

Fear is a deadlier toxin than venom of sea snake. I’ve heard my master say this more than once. Always in the past, whenever anyone has decided to use me as a weapon against Grimm, it has always come as a complete surprise to me. This is the first time I’ve ever been stalked, knowing beforehand that it is happening. Well, I’m not going to wait for him to choose the time and place of events meant to harm me. I will get him first.

Mid-day

I asked for and received some time off, promising to return before the shadows get too long. Grimm has always been indulgent of my need to get away from the shop occasionally. He seldom questions me about what I do, or who I do it with. Although, he once gave me a five hour lecture on honesty after I’d been caught stealing from the fruit stand. I believed that whole time that at any second I would be killed, diced and dried for zombie powder. I haven’t stolen anything since. Today, he asked me if anything was wrong. I told him no, there wasn’t and could I please just go, to which he responded with a wave of his hand. I wonder if he’s guessed that I’m in trouble?

For the last two hours, I’ve been moving up and down the street of dreams, speaking discreetly to people I trust, attempting to get a handle on who is the man with one eye. But no one seems to know him. Oh - they’ve seen him. Nasty looking fellow isn’t he? Wouldn’t want him angry with me. Is everything all right, Fleet? Does Doctor Grimm know about this?

“... and don’t you tell him, either.” I say to each.

I’m sixteen years old and almost a full Guild Alchemist (well, in another ten years). I guess I can take care of myself.

Shadows are beginning to creep out onto the street of dreams. Having promised Doctor Grimm I’d return before dark, I need to hurry. By way of comment . . . writing all this has allowed me to reason concerning what has been happening today. If One-eye kills me, it will likely be because I stopped to write stuff down. This assignment could be my the death of me.

My return to the shop, indeed, all the rest of afternoon, has been relatively uneventful so far. Two fighters stop by, fully armed and clad in leathers, asking if my master knew of any work that might be offered. Grimm sends them to see Captain Sypos of Prince Ossarian’s guard. They are always looking for soldiers.

A brother of the Assassin’s Guild comes in and has a brief confidential chat with my master. I am always discreet around these guys. Sometimes what you know can hurt you. So I busy myself in a far corner near the door.

Gods! There he is. One-eye is across the street in one of the doorways. He’s watching the shop. I’ll bet he’s waiting for me to be alone here so he can kill me. He must have been following me all afternoon - following me as I tried to find out about him.

At the moment of this discovery, my master calls me back into his study.

“I’ll be gone for a few minutes,” he says, offering no further explanation as to where he is going.

Should I tell him about One-eye? He is distracted by the guild-brother and I cannot catch his attention. Then, just like that, he is out the door and gone.

Well, apprentice alchemist, i mutter ha;f-aloud, you’d better arm yourself. One-eye is going to be here any minute now to silence you. The murder you saw this morning must have been of someone important for him to stalk you like this . . . Gods. This guy has me talking to myself.

That’s when the bag of stasis powder above my master’s desk catches my attention. This is the powder that freezes anything in its tracks and holds it frozen for up to eight hours. Good product actually . . . I’m babbling. Get a grip Fleet, wouldja?

The bell rings on the door as it opens. I peer through the curtain. It’s him. I come out with lightning speed and before he can react, I use the entire bag on him. This guy’s not going anywhere.

There’s stasis powder dust everywhere. Uh oh. I think I got me too.

Late Evening

Retrospect. That is the word my master uses when he wants me to examine the events which have led to some mistake or another on my part. Stasis powder halts movement of an individual (in this instance, both one-eye and myself. But it does not halt perception or time sense. So I was quite aware of the events subsequent to the powder bombing of one-eye. So I will offer them in retrospect, along with some commentary on my behalf (maybe Grimm will see the irony in it all and let me out of the doghouse).

As soon as I hit One-Eye with the powder, I knew I’d used too much. It began to affect me as well, though not to as great a degree. Where one-eye was frozen fast, I simply slowed down. Knowing that the light was both my enemy and my friend (my friend because it would null the effects on me if I could get into the outside light and enemy because it would nullify one-eye’s dosage through the uncurtained windows) I knew I would have to close the curtains to keep trapped my prisoner, then get outside myself.

Moving under the influence of stasis powder was painful and laborious. Every muscle in my body had tightened into bands of strain for the task at hand. I don’t know how actual long it took, but I got the curtains closed tightly, no light at all. Then, at one step for every thirty heartbeats, I started for the door. After about twenty five steps or so, the door rung open and in came Grimm. Stopping suddenly, in the door frame he just stood for a moment, staring at the powder covered interior of what had been a tidy venue.

Then, to me, half frozen and covered in powder dust, he just said, “ I trust there will be a good explanation for all this.” and dusted me with antidote from a pouch in his cloak.

He listened patiently to the events of the day, as I recounted them, then laughed aloud when I had finished. Then, he rose from where he’d seated himself for my story and un-dusted One-Eye. They stood in the middle of the floor, out of my earshot, for a moment, while my master replayed the day’s events for verification to him. Then he started laughing as well. It was obviously a good joke, though I wasn’t in on it.

It had been a long time since I’d seen Grimm laugh outright. That startled me more than anything. Then the two of them came over to where I sat miserably waiting for whatever humiliation must be about to follow.

Grimm said, “Lad,” (he always calls me ‘lad’ whenever he wishes to drive a point home about my youth or inexperience).

He said, “Lad, I want you to meet your new language tutor. Fleet O’feet, this is Thaddius Felonis, linguist.”

Oh, great, I thought, not only was I wrong, but this fellow will be rubbing my nose in it in some northern dialect.

I said, “I am pleased to meet you.” and offered one dusty hand to another.

Then Grimm started to laugh again, and before he regained control once more. I thought, I hope there’s a good explanation for all this. I was getting irritated.

“What you saw in the alley this morning,” began T. Felonis, was two friends, trying unsuccessfully to get a third friend back to his inn room before passing out from too much drink.”

Grimm spoke more seriously, by his tone. “You jumped to conclusions and acted without facts to support those conclusions. You erred on the side of caution and that’s not necessarily bad. . .”

“But,” Felonis interrupted, “you judged a man by his appearance alone, a habit that could cost you seriously if you do not correct it.”

I offered apologies to my new teacher, who said that was all right, payment would be forthcoming, (with a smile. I hate it when they do that), then he departed seemingly not worse for the wear. I promised to stay late and clean up, but Grimm said go home and finish my scribing assignment - which is what I’m doing now - that I could clean up in the morning.

So that’s one day in the life of Fleet O’feet. Not so dull as I supposed it would be, but then, we do not always see the excitement in our own lives until someone else points it out.

That’s what Grimm says.

Notations at the bottom of the last parchment page of the assignment:

Lad, you organize your thoughts well, but you jump around from past to present to future. Settle on a time reference and stick to it.

Grimm

Fleet, we’ll begin translating this into Vishtarian on the day after tomorrow. Good descriptive wording.

T. Felonis.