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The Year Of The Bear - Ep.7

ButonflySep 2, 2018, 11:51:25 PM

(Start at the beginning)

“Ow! Hey, do you mind? That’s a little tight.”

Carmel finished tying the knot, answering the question with little more than a silent stare.This day had only grown more troublesome with time, and while he had found no reason to level a complaint, there was something about the nature of the spy that had him anticipate the worst.

She was a Midlander, bound to the Kingly realms south of the Highlands- though where specifically was currently up for debate. Carmel knew nothing of the lands outside of the High North, and if it weren't for the Bears he’d not have been able to place her origin at all.

That wasn't to say he couldn't tell she was different. It was quite obvious she was not from around Ipswitch. For one she appeared very beautiful to his eye. She had a slender face with pale skin, and the odd profound freckle dotted about. Her hair was a dirty blonde, tied back and stylized for obvious practical reasons. Her clothes were finely made, the finest Carmel had ever seen, and every bit as close fitting as they were stylish. Suited to a different form of living that had no place in the wilds. Then there was her speech and mannerisms. Every expression seemed the embodiment of energy, full of flavour, and clear in their means and intention. She was almost overbearing to witness, but fascinating to the extent that one couldn't look away. In a word she was exotic to his sensibility and, we’re she to be believed, her name was simply Julia.

“Listen, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not a spy.”

She was also a terrible liar. Carmel watched for a moment as she tested her binds, pulling at her wrists behind her chair. He was as satisfied as she frustrated.

“Okay, I suppose it may look that way, but it’s not as bad a you think.” She went on.

Carmel stood off to one side, his arms folded, watching the drama play out. It almost appeared she were having the conversation with herself more than appealing to his good sense. The display was confusing to behold, and it made him think she were either extremely cunning, or utterly incompetent. He allowed her to continue.

“I get it, I’m from out of town, I was hanging around in your roof, and I ran when you saw me, but believe me when I say, I’m not a spy. I didn't even know who you all were before today.”

Most of the Bears had resigned for the evening, either patching up the roof, falling to quiet corners of the hall, or leaving for alternative quarters entirely. However, Dolev was still present. She produced the notebook from a pocket, snatched up amidst all the confusion, and passed it to Carmel as she crossed the interrogation.

“It’s full of our names. Records of tonight’s conversation, and countless notes about the town and everything in it.” Dolev interjected softly.

Julia laughed sheepishly. “Okay, I can explain that. It’s not as crazy as you think.” Her eyes shifted from person to person, looking hopeful at the prospect.

Papa Bear sat idly by, just far enough behind Carmel and Dolev so as to not be imposing, but not far enough away to exclude him from the conversation.

“You say you’re not a spy, we say you are, tell me Ms Julia, what would you call yourself?” Papa bear asked before taking a sip from a mug.

“Chronicler! I’m called a chronicler,” she laughed nervously. “My job is to chronicle, that’s why I’m here, actually.”

Carmel was not familiar with such a job, and while the word was not lost on him, he wondered if the terms weren't just two sides of the same linguistic coin- a collapse in interpretation.

“Don’t spies chronicle?” Carmel asked.

“I’m more interested in who might want to chronicle us.” Papa Bear mused, his eyes thin with analysis.

Julia’s head whipped back and forth between them.

“Are you hungry Ms. Julia?”

“Boot,” She corrected. “Ms. Boot.” She thought about the question. When was the last time she ate? Breakfast, before all the commotion. After that she might have snacked on a morsel throughout the day but she was so busy sourcing information from around town she had not stopped for a proper meal. Now that she was forced to think about it, her stomach reminded her, she was famished.

“I am a mite peckish, yes?” She answered, sounding confused by the relevance.

Papa Bear and Dolev exchanged a look, the meaning of which appeared lost on Julia. Carmel caught it and, having previously been subject to such a test, saw it for what it was. Papa Bear scooped up a plate which Dolev graciously received. She shuffled it over to Julia and, taking a piece of uneaten mutton, held it up for her to bite.

“My apologies for the seconds.” Papa Bear offered. Carmel noted the sincerity despite the situation. In fact every situation in which he’d seen the Papa Bear speak, he’d seen the same commitment. Even when confronting the Yos.

Julia stared at the meat and withdrew her face. “I’d rather not. No offense, it’s just not done where I come from.”

“That’s precisely what we’re hoping to determine.” Papa Bear answered. The moment felt pensive as all eyes stared.

Julia stared back.

“Just take one bite, for your own good. I promise your fate will be far worse if you can’t.” Dolev said softly.

Carmel felt a chill run down his spine. He watched as Dolev and Julia locked eyes for a moment, a long trusting stare, then without breaking the gaze, Julia leant forward and bit.

Dolev took painstaking care to assist as best she could with her hands, then returned the plate to the table.

Julia chewed and swallowed.

Papa Bear nodded.

Carmel grew impatient.

“Thankyou, Ms. Boot. You’ve been more helpful than you know. There’s just one question that remains,”

“Yeah,” Carmel cut in. It was so obvious even he could have guessed. “Who do you spy for?”

“Chronicle,” Julia corrected. “I chronicle, even if it does require a little bit of spying,” she admitted quietly. “My Mistress is named Lady Fareamay, of Torethorn, in the Kingdom of Landon. And if I may, it should go without saying that she would be most appreciative of my swift and safe return. As she likes to say; the only thing she values more than the chronicles are the chroniclers themselves.” Julia laughed a little, not confident her appeal hit the mark.

It hit a mark though, “Are you saying there’s more of you?” Carmel asked, properly engaged for the first time since the whole conversation started.

“Of course. Taking stock of the worlds happenings cannot be done by me alone.”