The last time Arthur Chubs wore such fine clothes was almost sixteen years ago, when he had been at the peak of his career. The yellow vest looked rather fetching with his fair complexion and hid the paunch of his years. All the travelling and hardships he had endured had done nothing to deflate that paunch. He had learnt to simply live with it.
His pants were a warm brown and the shirt was a startling red. He would never have paired these colours together but Lord Mereko had insisted. He had called Arthur his little bird, and had decided to take the analogy a bit further by dressing him like a bird.
Not that Arthur minded. The silk was smooth and warm. His hair was clean. For once there was no dirt under his nails and his eyes looked bright. This is what it was to be well fed and well looked after. Though he had been loath to leave his library and teaching job behind, he knew now that he belonged in the thick of things. He had tried obscurity. Now it was time to re-join genteel society.
After that first night, Lord Mereko had offered the position of Keep Performer to Arthur. He knew it was an honour and he knew he would be foolish to decline it. But he had enjoyed his freedom and some of his reluctance must have shown on his face because Lord Mereko had pulled out all stops. He showed Arthur all that he would be saying no to – spacious rooms, a man to do all his work, a space to call his own, a way back into political intrigue, clothes, coin, prestige…the list was endless.
At the end, Arthur was only human. He couldn’t say no and left behind his students and books so he could tell stories, to lords and ladies, yes, he thought with a delicate nose wrinkle but he felt a sense of peace that had been missing from his life.
“It’s safety my dear Chubby chub chubs, not peace,” he mocked, thinking of what Tully would say if he could see him now.
Arthur sighed and pulled at his cuffs, straightening the shoulder so the shirt sat more comfortably beneath the vest. The tailor had done an exceptional job, he thought, and yet…and yet…
He shook his head. “What is wrong with you? What do you want? When you were on the road, you had a problem. When you had money you had a problem, when there was Tully you had a problem. You thought students and books were your calling and now you think telling your stories to pander to the snobbery of the rich is your purpose. Why can’t you be happy?”
He had no answers for himself. Suddenly the clothes started to itch and he wanted to tear them from his body and burn them. He hadn’t felt this restless in a while and he couldn’t fathom the source. He knew he had assuaged his self-respect by taking on his actual first name but it was still a far cry from what he really needed to do.
The servant saved him from doing anything dramatic though. He came in with a tray filled with tiny bottles and a brush.
“Sir are you ready?”
He turned to the servant and looked at the tray. He knew tonight’s party hosted by Lord Mereko mandated that all his guests come with painted faces. The most intricate ones would win a prize. He didn’t see why the lords or ladies should win the prize when it was the servants who had done all the work.
This was the second party in a week…a week. Is this how King Janah kept a hold on his noble-people? By allowing them to spend coin so ceaselessly and pointlessly?
But the courtier side of him laughed. The only way people could earn was if the lords spent. And he knew the number of people that had been hired to put together tonight’s party.
Why should it matter to Janah how the noble-people spent their money as long as it was not to create mischief?
“Sir?”
He opened his mouth to say yes but what came out was entirely different, “Can you give me a minute?”
“Are you well sir? Do you need me to call…”
“All is well. Just one minute. Leave the tray here and I will call for you.”
Seeing the boy’s crestfallen expression, he grasped the situation at once. “You’re dismissed.”
The alarm in his eyes caused him to add gently, “It’s okay boy. Go on. I know you don’t want to miss the festivities. I know they have set up a booth for anyone who wants to add to their face tattoos and you’re not unskilled with a brush. Go on. If there’s trouble I’ll speak to the lord.”
His smile and gratitude were genuine as he set the tray down and ran from the room.
Arthur moved away from the mirror, realizing he couldn’t stand to look at himself anymore. He wondered how the boy would react if he found the mirror covered with a shawl. He decided to forego the theatrics. The questions it would raise would not be worth the solace it would bring.
A bone-deep tiredness engulfed him as he went to the window in his room that overlooked the front lawn of the keep. There were people milling about in as much finery as he. He knew he couldn’t stay away for long – he was the entertainment after all and he had to earn his coin.
But he took five minutes to allow himself to grieve. For what he grieved he knew not. But there were tears that turned into sobs and for once he let himself be. He did not demand anything, and let the sobs turn into gasps and then into hiccups as he came to the end of his little meltdown.
Feeling even more exhausted, he decided to forego the paints entirely. That was something he knew he could get away with. He smoothed out his clothes and left the rooms, with a courtier’s smile on his face and a warrior’s swagger in his walk. He was right on cue to be introduced so he could begin his entertaining. He chose to tell the story of Illuvey and Corum because at least then, he wouldn’t have to feel like a complete and utter failure.
This is Chapter 13 of 26 of The Travelling Librarian series. Written as part of #BlogchatterA2Z.
Psst: I also have 2 ebooks on Kindle – and if you’re on Kindle Unlimited, they’re free!
- Read The Gunslinger here.
- Read 23 Letters of Love here.
tales of Suchita 
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