
Dear readers, tonight with us is the leader of a wandering troupe of acrobats, dancers, singers, and performers of small wonders. In a misty forest and a bizarre twist of fate (or the gods), he ran into our own Felix. We faithfully reprint their conversation.
A cold night. Mist settles over the pine forest, obscuring the thin moon. Two men pass through each other.
“Whup,” one said. “I didn’t see you.”
“Nor I you,” the other said. “Not even as you walked through me.”
“Noticed that, did you?”
“Hard to miss.”
The first man held out his hand. The other reached out as well. Their hands met but did not touch.
“Even harder not to miss, seemingly.”
“This is strange upon strange,” the first man said. “, but we can be strange without being strangers. My name is Valentin de Broceliande.”
The second man raised an eyebrow. “You’re well-spoken for a barbarian.”
“I’m no barbarian, sir. As you see, I am not jabbering bar-bar-bar.”
“Heh. Fair enough. Valens Tine De Bro….”
“Call me Val.”
“I can manage that. My own name is Spurius Vulpius Felix, from here in Egretia.”
“The Lucky Fox?”
“Er, call me Felix, if you please. I like to think I depend more on skill than luck.” He cocked his head. “Your blond hair and blue eyes say you are from the north. What brings you so far south?”
“Magic, seemingly, for I am not so far south. Only in Suevia.”
Felix’s eyes widened. “But the Suevi dwell north of great mountains.”
Val nodded. “Indeed.”
“This has to be some sort of sorcery,” Felix declared, “though I’m not sure to what purpose.”
“Or it’s the work of the gods, and therefore has no sensible purpose at all.”
Felix chuckled again. “We seem to have a similar temperament, friend. Come, let us sit and see what we can puzzle out from this puzzle.”
“It’s a cold night, but this is worth a talk,” Val agreed. “I’ll sit here on this stump.”
“And I on my bench here. You will not be surprised to hear that to me you too are sitting on a bench.”
“No, on a stump,” Val said. “Just as you are.”
They shared another chuckle.
“Tell me, Val,” Felix said, “what brings you to this place … wherever it is?”
“We travel further north, looking for work.”
“We?”
“The Compagnie des Trouvères, a performing group.”
“Ah. You are an actor?”
“Director. I’m the padron of our little troupe. We do plays, but we are also acrobats, dancers, singers, and performers of small wonders.” He paused. “And yourself?”
“I am,” Felix hesitated a little, “an independent investigator.”
“That’s a curious title.”
“It’s an occupation more than a title. I look into … well … wonders both large and small. For a fee.”
“Oh, I see. I’ve done a little of that myself, though not always intentionally.”
“How so?”
“The Trouvères were indeed south not so long ago. On Capreae we recovered a valuable ring for the Duke of Calabria, for which we were paid.”
Continue reading “Valentin de Broceliande (of The Signet Ring, by Ellis L. Knox)”
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