It's the Thought that Counts

The young ninja stumbled through the crowded street trying to find his way. It was the busiest hour in the market right now and there were people everywhere. Garla never liked crowds and was even now resisting the urge to just hide in a dark alley, unnoticed. People continually jostled him as they pushed by, their arms full of food for the night’s cooking, large bolts of colorful cloth, jars sealed and filled with liquid. Merchants hawked their wares to anyone in sight. They cried out to women to buy their sweet smelling perfumes, for large men to try out their finely crafted swords, and enticed children so strongly with sweets that eventually their parents were forced to give in to the desperate cries and pleading. It was loud and colorful everywhere and Garla felt very out of place. No one paid any attention to the young man in tight fitting black and purple clothing. No one noticed him until after they had already bumped or tripped over him and even then some shoppers swore they tripped on a rock.

As Garla stood gazing from one merchant stall to the next he was nearly trampled by a man with blazing red hair and unkempt beard reaching down to his massive chest. Garla quickly dove out of the way, but his foot caught on the ankle of the mountain man, causing the ninja to collide head first into the backside of a rather scary looking gentleman wearing leather armor and a sword at his belt. Garla looked up as the man turned around, an angry look on his face. Garla shuffled backwards on hands and feet away from the dangerous man.

The red mountain man was picking himself off the ground, and spit a mouthful of dirt as he wiped off his face. “Who tripped me?” came the bellow from the man. He looked around at the crowd, and Garla did his best to be small and unnoticed. The dangerous man was also looking for who had pushed him. Both men locked eyes at the same time. With a bellow Red charged Danger and the two went crashing into a table that had been covered with pottery seconds before but now held only shards.

Not wanting to get into any trouble or be around when the men discovered that neither had touched the other before the fight, Garla slipped through the crowd looking on and continued his search of the market.

He knew he would find it here, he just didn’t know what it was. He wound his way through the market streets, searching each stall hoping it would be there. He saw fine porcelain for sale, furs from animals he didn’t recognize, amulets and charms to protect against disease, and countless other objects but none of it was what he was looking for.

Then he spotted a merchant selling finely crafted daggers. The man was holding up the blades and showing them off to the small crowd in front of his stall. “…and never loses its edge. A secret technique I learned from an old man in the mountains.” Garla knew this was what he had been looking for. He waved his hand from the back of the crowd trying to get the merchant’s attention. “How much for one?” he tried to ask but was drowned out by another customer asking about the special forging technique. Apparently the technique was secret and the merchant could not say anymore about it. Garla tried several more times to gain his attention.

“So, who would like to purchase one?” called out the salesman.

“I’ll take one.” Came Garla’s muffled response from the back.

“Come now, someone must want to purchase one. They are a steal and you’ll not find this type of blade anywhere else.”

“Um, sir, I’d like one.” Garla tried again in vain.

“No one? How about half off for the first customer to purchase one?”

“Please sir, I would like to purchase a dagger from you!” Garla was frantically jumping up and down at the back of the crowd and waving his hands.

“Hey you, I thought I told you to stop selling your fake merchandise here.” A large town guardsman had arrived at the head of four others. The salesman looked suddenly panicky.

“Oh, uh, captain Rivers. I was just um, telling these people about these fine products here. No counterfeits here.” The salesman gave a nervous chuckled and seemed to be sweating now. Captain Rivers approached the stall and picked up one of the daggers. He looked at it momentarily before he slammed it blade first into the table. The blade of the dagger cracked and shattered, too brittle to withstand the blow.

“Alright you, come with us.” Captain Rivers made a move to grab the salesman but the charlatan was already running and scrambled past the other guards as he took off down the street. The guards gave chase and the crowd of onlookers quickly dispersed with mumbles about bad craftsmanship and oily salesman.

Garla slumped his shoulders. This was proving harder than he expected. He thought he had finally found what he was looking for but it turned out to be a fake. Garla shuffled down the street his head hanging low. He followed the crowds without really looking at them, lost in thought about what to do. Nothing was going right on this journey. He had elected to go on this trip, refusing to take the easy way out offered to him by the others. They told him this wasn’t necessary but he knew that it was. He knew that it was crucial he find what he was looking for. The only one who seemed to really understand was Niebias. But then again, he was probably just hoping the young ninja would bring something back for him to tinker with. Garla had seen many things that would fascinate the engineer but he refused to get anything until after he had found what he was searching for.

Garla suddenly realized he had been walking for quite awhile and had only been following the feet of the person in front of him. He looked around to find himself standing in a small courtyard outside a large house. He just walked through a set of gates guarded by several men in armor who had let in the two people that Garla had been following. He had simply slipped in behind them unnoticed by anyone. There was loud bang as the doors to the gate closed behind him.

Garla panicked. He was trapped inside this court yard in the bright sunshine and surrounded by guards who would surely be angry to discover him trespassing. They probably would not appreciate the myriad of knives, darts, and poisons concealed throughout his clothing. No, they would not appreciate that at all. And Garla knew he would not appreciate what they would do to him if they caught him. Time to disappear.

Garla dashed across the courtyard and through the open entrance to the large house. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness and he moved through the first door he could find off the entrance hall. The room was completely dark and seemed rather small. He could feel lots of heavy soft things around him. Great, a cloak room thought Garla. Knowing he could not just wait in the closet to be discovered. Too late he made his move. The door opened and a young girl was standing there holding the cloaks of the two men Garla had followed into the compound. She was looking over her shoulder to speak to the new arrivals, not watching where she hung the cloaks. When she shut the door again Garla had one cloak hanging from an outstretched hand and another draped over his face.

Garla threw the cloaks on the floor and then cracked the door slightly to peer out. He watched as the servant girl lead the two men into another room and the door closed behind them. Hoping he was alone now, Garla crept out into the entrance hall and looked around for the first time. He stood in the welcoming hall, decorated lavishly and filled with statues and other art, with several doors leading off of it. There was a balcony circling the entire room with more doors to more rooms and a large staircase leading up to. The entrance doors were closed now that the guests had come inside. The place was quiet and Garla crept as silently as possible towards the stairs. He had to get out of here and figured his best chance of clearing the outside wall was through an upstair window from the roof.

A door opened as the serving girl left the room she had taken the guests in to. Garla quickly jumped behind a statue and struck a very similar pose to that of the stone man beside him, chin in hand as he thought on some important issue. The serving girl walked right past Garla and had nearly reached the door on the opposite side of the hall when she paused. She turned and looked again at the statue of the thinking man. Seeing nothing out of place she walked through the door and disappeared.

Garla looked down from his new hiding place on the upstairs balcony and let out a sigh of relief. The serving girl had noticed him! There were few people that ever noticed Garla and he was not quite sure what to make of this. Perhaps he should try and talk to her. Garla was halfway down the staircase and heading to the door to follow the girl when he remembered he was not supposed to be here and that a serving girl would probably not appreciate being snuck up on by a strange man. Sighing heavily, Garla walked back up stairs with an air of sadness.

He pushed through a door and shuffled lightly down a carpeted hallway light with small oil lamps. Dragging his feet through the plush carpet Garla opened another doorway without light coming from under it. He stepped into a dark room that smelled old and musty. Heavy curtains were drawn across the windows not letting any light in to the room. As he waited for his eyes to adjust further, Garla noticed a constant sound in the room. It was light and wheezy, but slow and steady. As he acclimated to the darkness a bed took shape to his right and then in the bed a form and then on the form a head and arms. Finally he saw the form rising and falling in time with the wheezing sound.

Garla crept to bedside, trying to determine if the person was sleeping or awake. The closer he got to the bed the worse the smell got. It was a pungent sickly smell mixed with herbs and oils. Bottle and jars covered the bedside table. Garla understood now that this person was sick and probably dying.

Fearful of catching anything, Garla turned to leave when a thought occurred to him. Maybe it is here, maybe this is where I will find it. And so he began searching the room. He pulled open drawers in a large writing desk and shuffled through the papers there, dug through a large trunk filled with clothes and footwear, and even peaked at the jars sitting by the bed. Nothing here was what he needed. And then he saw an old armoire in the corner, dusted over and hiding much like Garla did. He pulled open the doors with a slight creak and looked inside. There was what appeared to be a set of metal armor in the bottom, damaged and used. Whether or not it was a complete set Garla could not tell, he knew little of such things. On a shelf in the top of the armoire sat a metal helmet that did not seem to match the set of armor in the bottom. Even in the low light of the sickroom, Garla could tell it was a dark metal, nearly black. Its front visor had vertical slits for vision and it did not carry any useless ornamentation. It too was damaged and used.

He picked up the helmet to give it a closer look. He barely had time to peer inside the helmet before there was a loud shriek from the bed and the occupant was in some strange crouch and launching himself at Garla. “Mine! It’s mine! Give it!” Garla could not tell if it was an old man or a woman as the creature launched itself at him, wearing only a thin nightgown with straggly white hair flying. The creature pounced on Garla with surprising speed and power, knocking him backwards. Garla felt himself hit what he thought had just been windows covered by curtains, but as they opened up against his weight he realized they were glass paneled doors leading to a balcony.

Doing a strange backwards roll, Garla managed to propel the creature off of him, but was now on his back. He lifted his head enough to see behind him and had an upside down view of the creature grabbing the stone railing of the balcony and then gathering its legs underneath it like a frog. “Mine!” it shrieked again and once again jumped at him. He felt its withered hands pummeling him and was surprised at the strength there. Hooked fingers were grabbing at his hands, trying to pull them away. He gave the creature swift kicks to the head, knocking it away, and then leapt to his feet.

Still holding the helmet in one hand Garla turned his back to the sickroom and looked at the creature now in the sunshine. It was pale and ghastly with age spots covering much of its face and arms. The sunlight did little to help discern the gender of the creature but at that moment Garla cared little if it was man or woman.

He dropped his hands to his side in a more relaxed and ready position and saw the creatures eyes follow the helmet in his left hand. It stared hungrily at his left hand now. Tossing it to his right hand, the creature startled for a moment as it now stared at his right hand. Garla tossed it back and forth a few times to be sure the helmet was what the creature wanted. He knew the creature would pounce again soon, it was just waiting to see what he would do. Fine then, let it have the helmet.

Tossing the helmet up and down in his hand a few times like a ball, Garla smiled behind his ninja mask as the creature bobbed its head up and down. Garla made a few half heart tosses from one hand to the next and began to toy with creature, threw the helmet behind his back before catching it and then under his leg. He was nearly juggling the helmet. When he threw the helmet up in the air and caught it behind his back holding it there, the creature nearly went berserk as it lost sight of the piece of armor. He pulled it back out before the creature attacked him which seemed to put the creature at ease, but it was still tense and made little leaps at the helmet each time Garla moved it suddenly.

Realizing he could not stay here any longer, someone was bound to see him on this balcony or come to check on the sick creature, Garla decided on a quick plan of escape from this obsessed being. Holding the helmet in his right hand, Garla made a few motions with it and looked out over the balcony. He changed his stance as if to throw a rock and pulled back his arm with the helmet. The creature seemed to understand his intentions and prepared itself. Garla threw his arm forward with all his might and watch the creature leap off the balcony arms wide to catch the helmet. It turned in the air, looking for the object of its desire only to see Garla still holding it in his hand, having never released hit. The creature fell through the air to bushes below with a loud crash.

Guards were instantly there to see what the disturbance was and seemed both shocked and scared that the creature was out of its room. Garla slipped back and listened to the commotion of the guards trying to get the master of the house and something about his mother. Garla decided it was time to go.

Eyeing the distance from the balcony to the wall, Garla knew he could jump it easily with a running start, and with everyone distracted below him he’d be over the wall without anyone seeing him. Backing up in to the sick room, Garla prepared for his leap and then looked at the helmet in his hand. It was nicer on inspection and it was definitely better than nothing. Maybe this was what he was looking for. It looked like it would fit. But would it be right? Oh well thought Garla as he ran and leaped over the balcony. Landing on the wall in a roll that he continued off the other side and finally into a crouch outside the wall, Garla decided that the helmet would do fine.

His mother had once told him it was the thought that counts, and he had definitely put thought and effort into finding a gift for Vorgen. “Just chip in with us and buy him a book,” the others said. No, that was the easy way out. He had asked special permission to leave and find a good present for his friend. Besides, he wasn’t even sure if Vorgen knew how to read.

Written by: Garrett