In Which Erynn Does Not Get Laid

The town was smallish and rather sleepy, but that could have been due to the hour.  It was late and we were tired when we rode in, and by “late” I mean “the sun was rising.”  It was, without possible room for argument, “tomorrow.”  I wanted a drink and some time to examine the insides of my eyelids.  Food could wait until I was rested enough to actually be hungry.

There was some kind of thing going on in the town, trade fair, spring celebration, hell, maybe even a wedding, but the point of the matter was that the inn was full.  Both of them.  And the boardinghouse.

Of course they were.

I was tired, dammit.

"At least let's get breakfast," Erynn pleaded, and that sounded close enough.  I could get something to drink and maybe, just maybe, catch a nap at the table.  We asked for a recommendation, crossed the street, and went inside.

There we no empty tables.

Of course there weren't.

But Erynn, bless him, turned on the charm and we found room with a sandy blonde named Linnet and a little old woman introduced as her grandmother, Keila.  Erynn introduced himself, and me, with all the bells and whistles, and Keila smiled like a little girl.  She asked Erynn where he had learned such "fine manners," and then promptly interrupted him.

"When I was a little girl my mother taught me manners.  We sat at the table, and we wore our nice clothes, and we had gloves whenever we went out!"  This wasn't a conversation.  It was an oration, paced to emphasize every trivial detail, and it was all Erynn, a fully trained Poet, could do to even vaguely steer the flow speech.  I was impressed.

Linnet was looking at me.  I raised an eyebrow.

"You look about done," she said.

"My apologies.  We've been riding all night and most of yesterday."  Not that it seemed to be bothering Erynn much.  Must be the prospect of a party.

"Ah," she said sympathetically.  "The festival lasts for a week and the next town's a couple hours' ride from here.  Would you like to have a nap at my house?  There's a spare bed and a sofa, and you and your friend can fight over who gets which."

Erynn was on his own.  "Thank you," I said as sincerely as I possibly could, which was quite a lot.  "I'll take you up on that.  Erynn?"  We'd sat down at the end of their meal, but Erynn was apparently substituting food for sleep.

"Go on ahead, I'll catch up."  He smiled at Keila.  "It was lovely to talk to you, my dear, thank you."

"Oh, it was no trouble at all," the old woman gushed, grinning gape-mouthed.  "Why, it was my pleasure."  It certainly was.  "Do you know the address?"

"I've got it, grandmother," Linnet cut in smoothly.

"But he doesn't know the town!  I'll tell you what," she said.  "I'll stay here with Eric, and give him directions, and he can take me home!"  She beamed at all of us as if this was the greatest idea anyone had ever come up with.  "I live right next door," she assured Erynn.

"Are you sure?"

"Go on," Erynn assured us both.  "We'll be fine."

~*~

The bed was narrow but it was clean and it was comfortable and it was a bed.  It was midmorning when what sounded like an army of screaming children woke me up.  I looked out the window to find... an army of screaming children.  Children ran rampant through the streets shrieking and flinging things at each other.  Of course they were.

"I'm sorry," Linnet apologized when I came into the kitchen, though she didn't look particularly sorry.  "The festival starts tomorrow, so the children have all been released to help decorate."

"It's fine."  It was just after ten in the morning.  "Did Erynn come in?"  She shook her head.

"But my grandmother got home half an hour ago," she clarified.

I sighed and went to go look for Erynn.  I found him in what was probably going to be the area cleared for dancing--a large, open, grassy area with a trestle table to one side and a bandstand--being mugged by a couple of old people.

No, really.

The tiniest, wrinkliest old woman I had ever seen was snuggled (there was no better word for it) around Erynn's elbow and keeping up a constant narrative that seemed to boil down to "where are we going?  What are we doing? I like you."  She was the one holding him down.  The one doing the mugging was an old man so bald and bandy-legged he looked like a frog wearing pants.  The contents of Erynn's rucksack were scattered around them and he was trying to stop the old man, hide his rucksack, pick up his things, not step on them, not trip over the old woman, and not hurt either of them in the process.

He was not succeeding.

“No, I—take that out of your mouth—would you—stop--Ger!" He'd spotted me.  "A little help here?”

“Nah,” I smiled, watching a frail little old man rifle through Erynn's pockets while a little old lady petted his hair and babbled incomprehensibly, “I think you're doing just fine on your own.”  Watching Erynn try (and fail) to avoid being groped and get control of the situation without hurting either one of them was hilarious.

“Bastard.  Hey, Sir.  Could I just get that--”

“What are you doing?!”  The old guy had a surprising set of lungs on him.  He also had Erynn's purse clutched to his bony chest.  Erynn had tried to take it back.  This, apparently, was a mistake.  “This's mine!” he spat.  “Sissy gave it to me for my birthday!”

“No, um--” Erynn, astonished, didn't have a chance.  "You took that out of my pocket."  The man blinked.  "It was in my pocket," Erynn repeated clearly.

“It was?  It was!  It's mine!  And it was in your pocket!  How'd you get it?  Why was this in your pocket?  Huh?  HUH?  This is MINE Sissy GAVE IT TO ME and it was in your pocket!  THIEF!  THIEF!  YOU TOOK IT I SAW YOU!”  He began to do his feeble best to beat Erynn to death.  Erynn did his hampered best to avoid being hit without snapping the guy like a twig.  He was hampered by the little old woman cuddling his arm like a winkly, senile limpet.  Lovingly telling him it was wrong to steal.

I was hampered by laughing.

“Oh for—Jerry!” A hassled-looking brunette rushed past, voice chirpy and her sweet expression pasted on.  “Jerry, I haven't seen you in forever!  Hi Jerry!”  She held out her hands in a credible, if vastly over-dramatized, welcome.  The codger blinked at her, smiled toothlessly, and took her hand.  She held it in hers, and in the act of beaming at him deftly turned him to take Erynn out of his line of sight like a pro.

“Nice tits!” Jerry, the old man, said, smacking his lips in delight as if he'd never been angry.  He tried to paw at her and I had the chance to appreciate how masterful that kindly hold was.  The old man couldn't coordinate a cross-body reach with what was evidently his non-dominant (purse-clutching) hand.

“Excuse me, that's my-”

“Hide,” she hissed to Erynn.

Erynn tried.  He really did.  In the middle of an open field, twenty-five paces away from the nearest cover (a trestle table) with an old woman who refused to let go of his belt.  Evidently how to hide at a hobble was not part of Poet training.

“Okay, okay, don't leave me now, okay, where are we going?  Okay,” trilled the little old woman, as near to bolted onto Erynn as I had ever seen anything.

“AND HE STOLE MY PURSE!” the old man roared in reply to nothing.  He must've caught sight of Erynn.

“He stole your purse, Jerry?”

“But-” Erynn looked pitiful.

“Shut up,” the brunette snapped.

“Thieving bastard!”

“Don't go too fast, okay, don't leave me now, oh, look, it's Susan.  Hi Susan!  Okay.  And it's Jerry."  She smiled.  "He found his purse.”

“Ooh!” the brunette woman made an exaggerated expression of surprise.  I could just about see the light go on over her head.  The little old man's attention swiveled to her.  “Jerry!  Let's go put that someplace safe, okay?  We don't want anything to happen to it.”

“But it really is my-”

“I'm watching you,” Jerry hissed, allowing himself to be guided off.

Erynn looked like he might cry.  The old woman petted his hair clumsily and asked what they were doing.

"Thanks a lot," he said to me, and I grinned.

"Any time."  I took enough pity on him to help him pick up his stuff.  "I'll buy you a beer if you tell me how that started."  I grinned wider.  "You can bring your date."

~*~

Erynn's new shadow, because the woman would not let go of him, they were even sharing a chair, was named Ginny, and she never stopped talking.  She interrupted Erynn constantly to ask what he was talking about and what were they doing?  Constantly peppered with a trusting "Okay, don't leave me" like a tic.  I could tell from the stricken, rather hangdog expression that every instant Erynn thought of leaving or even interrupting the dotty old thing he thought of Bronwyn.  It didn't matter that she wasn't here; even the thought of her knowing that he'd ditched a little old lady was enough to stay him.  Benny being disappointed is enough to crumble sterner hearts than Erynn's.

I settled back with a smirk and flagged the barman for another round.  "What I can't help but notice, Erynn, is that you haven't explained how you managed to escort the first little old lady next door and then get waylaid completely across town."

"We're not going to talk about that."

I snorted.  "Or how the guy got hold of your bag in the first place."

Erynn gave me a dark look.  "We're not going to talk about that either."

"What are we doing?"

Erynn sighed and patted her hand with the only one he had free.  "We're sitting here, Ginny."

"Okay," she said happily, and snuggled tighter.  "Don't leave me."

"Well!" I said cheerfully, "I'll just go check on the horses and leave you lovebirds alone."

"You're a bastard, Ger," Erynn said glumly.  I clapped him on the shoulder and left.

~*~

By the time I got back Erynn was alone.  I handed him one of the beers I was carrying.  "How'd they liberate you?"

Erynn pouted.  "Her niece and her family showed up and they peeled her off."

I settled back down.  "Did they use a stick?"

"No, no thanks to you."  Erynn sank lower in his chair and pouted harder.  "It was horrible.  I had to hide under the bar so she'd calm down.  They didn't even give me a free beer!"

I was laughing into mine.  Erynn punched me in the arm.

"Hey there."  It was the brunette who had rescued Erynn from the enraged old man.  She smiled.  "I see you got rid of Ginny."

"Um, yeah," said Erynn.  He looked profoundly uncomfortable.

The brunette's smile got kinder.  “Here.”

“What- my purse!  Thanks!”  Erynn beamed.  Then he looked crestfallen.  “I thought--”

“Never argue with Jerry.  He's too senile.  Whenever he takes something we just watch him until he puts it down, and return it when he forgets about it... and that's about a minute after he can't see it any more.  Just make it so he can't see whomever he's yelling at, then provide a distraction, and if you're quick then it's as if nothing ever happened.  Do you have a hat?”

“What?”

“A hat.  To tuck your hair up under.  He fussed too long.  We have to make you look a bit different or he'll throw stuff at you the next time he sees you.”

“I thought you said he wouldn't remember.”

“He won't remember who you are or where he met you, but he will remember he hates you.  He just won't remember why.”

Erynn winced.  “Charming.”

“And it'd be a good idea to change your jacket.  Or at least take it off.”

"Hey, Gerude, give me your jacket."

I raised an eyebrow.  "Why don't we just leave instead?"

"But-"

"Unless you wanted to take your date to the festival tomorrow."

The brunette (what was her name again?  Susan?  Helen?) laughed.  "Or two.  I heard Keila was quite taken with you at breakfast."

Erynn got that kicked-puppy face that meant what he wanted to do was fighting with his inner Bronwyn and losing.  The woman patted him on the shoulder.

"You're a nice guy," she said.  "Thanks for not hurting Jerry," and left.

Erynn hunkered behind his beer, looking at once irritated and woeful.

"You," he glared, "owe me a lot of alcohol."

“Oh, don't worry,” I said, snickering.  “I'll be sure to tell Benny how valiantly you fought the old people.”

Erynn pouted.  “Jerk.”

"Two to one, it was, and the senility was winning-"

"I remember senile from my grandfather, Gerude.  This wasn't senile, this was deranged."

I smirked.  "Demented, actually."

"Shut up," he scowled.  "Fat lot of help you were."

I saluted him with my beer.  He glared at me.  Beadily.  It was hilarious.

"We're leaving as soon as I finish my beer," he told me, "or so help me I will stick an old lady on you."

~*~

The next town was a couple of hours away, and they did, thank every God and dragon and cracker in the universe, have room for us in one of the inns.  It was even a respectable establishment, wonder of wonders.  It was again so late it was early, and I was once again awake, but at least this time I was indoors, fed, clean, and on my way to being asleep.  The special thing about two in the morning is that there aren't nearly as many people trying to take your attention after you've been awake twenty hours, and after being awake for twenty hours, an uncomfortably scant amount of sleep behind said hours, not being talked at is damn near paradise.

Erynn was talking.  Of course he was.  It was as if the words, dammed up inside him by a dotty old lady and a long ride of alternately dozing and sulking, were now fountaining up.  "Fountaining" was a good word.  He'd been going pretty much non-stop since dinner whenever he wasn't actively engaged in swallowing.  It was like listening to the verbal equivalent of a pressure hose.

I rolled my eyes.  "Erynn, shut up."

"But have you?  I mean, really."

I hadn't been listening.  "Nighttime is quiet time, Erynn."

"You're an old man, Ger."

I leered.  "Because I know how you like that sort of thing."

Silence, pouting, victory-tainted silence, was sweet.