Barnaby the Wanderer

Chapter 8: To Mill, or not to Mill

Barnaby lay on the ground, back against a tree. The summer night felt warm now; but he knew that by midnight he'd be shivering in the wind off the river.

Should have taken time to gather proper supplies from the cart, he thought. But I felt too angry to think right.

He sat up, adjusted the spit holding a rabbit haunch above the little campfire. Sharing his conclusion with the fire. "Being angry makes a fellow stupid."

"Truth, that," agreed a voice from the tree branch above him.

"Quite true," agreed Dark Michael. Sitting on the far side of the fire. Barnaby studied how the man's eyes returned no reflection, though he held out large hands to catch the flame's heat.

"Do you get cold, Master Dark Michael?"

Michael considered. "Not as you think it, boy. But yes. In my own way, I know cold."

"Well, we shall get you a better coat at the next town."

At which words, the ghost smiled sad; the cat laughed loud. Barnaby reached, pulled the wooden spit from the fire. Using his knife to cut two portions. Laying one down beside him.

Night-Shadow leapt from the branch, hurrying to the still smoking offering. Nibbling here, sniffing there, testing.

"On the whole, I prefer rabbit closer to raw," he observed. "In the future, just so you remember."

"Bah," said Dark Michael. "The witch-cat needs dinner as much as I need a new coat."

The cat made no answer; mouth now full of rabbit.

"And I need a blanket or three to go North," observed Barnaby. "And a better cloak."

"Then you still journey to the tower?"

"For sure. I won't be called a quitter, no matter what, what they thought of me."

"You do have other choices," observed Dark Michael. "It is best to weigh them, even if only to strengthen your resolve for the choice you make."

"Go back to Val and the others, tell them I've gotten over being angry, want to be their fool friend again?"

"Returning to your friends is a choice before you, yes. Whether they take you for fool is their choice."

Barnaby shook his head, feeling of a sudden hot as the fire before him.

"No, sir. I find I'm still angry. I'd rather go back to Mill Town."

"That too, is a path."

At which Barnaby barked a most un-barnabish laugh. "Return to my loving step-mother and Alf and the Squire? I'll knock on the door of my Da's house, and they'll open it surprised to see I yet breathe. Then they'll start in with their cursing and cuffing, demanding to know where the Lucif's seven asses is the treasure they sent me to fetch."

Cat and ghost said naught to that.

Barnaby considered. "But I suppose I could take up milling in some other town. There are those watermills near Persephone. Amazing thing, your water mill."

"Why return to milling?" asked Night-Creep. Delicate tongue licking lips. "Why not Marquise?"

"Is there livelihood in being the Marquise of Millstones, Lord of a Thousand Winds?" That, from Michael.

"No, but there is in being the Marquise of Pentafax Abbey," replied the cat. Sitting up, curling tail in pride about his feet. "This midnight past I journeyed across the leagues, swift as owl shadow, silent as cat's step, to the door of Pentafax Abbey."