Barnaby the Wanderer

Chapter 1: Wolves, Snakes, Spiders

Axe at ready, cat on shoulder, ghost at side, Barnaby the miller's son set foot upon the first step to the saint-cursed Sainless tower... then paused. Recalling all he'd heard of these very stairs. A thousand black steps guarded by snakes, spiders and wolves. He looked about; seeing cold stone beneath fresh snow. No wolves, no spiders, no snakes.

He felt he could handle a wolf or two. But what good was Dragontooth against snakes and spiders? Unless they came big as wolves. Which would be easier to strike. Yet more fearsome for being so terribly unnatural. Ah, but suppose the wolves came small as spiders? All too easy to picture swarms of tiny wolves tearing at one's ankles...

"Barnaby!" shouted Val.

He turned to see her appear through curtains of falling snow.

"Where you been?" he asked.

"Chasing your dog."

"Festus? Where is he?"

"Dunno. Ran this way. See the tracks?"

Barnaby studied the steps. Spying no regular trail; but every fifth or sixth step showed a brushing of snow.

"Must have been going fast," declared Val. Then went silent, following the snowy steps higher and higher.

"Euterpe sing me to sleep offkey. That's, that's your tower, isn't it?"

Barnaby nodded.

Voices behind announced Cedric and Jewel, Matilda and Bodkin. They gathered before the step, gazing upwards through the falling snow.

"So we have arrived," said Cedric. Voice solemn, face solemn. "And it is no owl-haunted ruin."

"I smell treasure," declared Bodkin, nose twitching same as rabbit's in unguarded garden.

"Strange to see it up there, isn't it?" asked Val. "After coming all this way."

"It's been waiting for us," mused Barnaby.

"Let's get on," said Jewel. "Be warmer inside."

"Oh, sure to be," laughed Matilda.

And still they lingered. Till Val gave Barnaby a shove. "Your privilege, Mister Miller. Go first."

He considered. Then turned to face the Society of St. Benefact. "Right. But listen, all."

The company waited, shifting and shivering. While Barnaby struggled with all he wanted to say. Finding the total beyond a miller's tongue. He settled for the important part.

"Let's just remember that gold isn't worth a one of us dying."

"How much gold, exactly?" asked Matilda. "Per hypothetical deceased Benefactor, I mean."

"Personally," said Bodkin, "I never consider dying for anything less than a basket of diamonds."

"How big are these theoretic diamonds?" asked Val. "I'm not dying for tiny diamonds slipping through the basket bottom."

Cedric smiled, Jewel giggled.

"Suppose it's just one diamond, basket-sized?" That, from Bodkin. "I'll trade one Benefactor for that. Not me, of course."

"How big a basket?" countered Matilda. "We talking egg basket, or bushel basket?"

Barnaby smiled to hear his friends' jests. He looked to Dark Michael; standing off from the group. Gazing up at the tower. Hands deep in pockets, in search of warmth left in the grave.

Barnaby's smile died.

He recalled the battered corpse buried in a potato field. What did Michael think of jests upon death? Did he think the Benefactors foolish? More likely, he saw them as brave children dancing before the mouth of the dragon's cave.