[Idgian]

Hidden in darkness, Madi waited until all sound had quietened, and the air was still. The last of the night’s drinkers had long since departed the inn across the way, and he felt isolation encompass him with utter certainty. Total solitude was something Madi was very good at recognising.

He crouched and scooped a small mound of dirt into his hand. Lifting it to his face, hidden in the depths of his habit’s hood, he dipped the tip of his long tongue into the powdery hill and at once smacked his lips to savour the taste. Madi then brushed the remaining dirt from his hands, and sniffed the air deeply. It certainly smelt like a good place. And it definitely tasted like one. Surely his daylong deliberations were concluded. This simply had to be a good place.

As the clouds obscured the moon’s light, he left his safe haven and started toward the inn. With keen eyes and a cautious step, he moved as silently as mist, ever alert to the risk of detection. It was apparent to Madi that folk were not generally fond of being disturbed in the dead of night. But he had little choice. If the people of this ‘good’ place saw him in the light of day . . . Well, Madi wasn’t prepared to travel that particular road again. Better to keep his presence hidden.

A crooked smile parted his lips.

As the inn drew closer anticipation span Madi’s senses, and his dogged gait grew in fervour. He moved across the sun-baked road, his dragging footsteps rustling in the still air, the need for stealth all but forgotten. He could almost taste the shape of things to come. With the patience of a mountain, Madi had secretly watched the inn all day. Although the comings and goings had been fascinating, it was the landlady who really caught his attention. She had what he needed. She was . . . Madi racked his brains for the right word, but he couldn’t find it.

All too soon he was before the inn’s bolted door. He looked up at the gently swinging sign: The White Horse Inn. Madi briefly debated finding another entrance, somewhere more secluded. He decided against it. There was only one sure way to conclude this situation: head on. Besides, he really didn’t enjoy all this sneaking about. He had to get to the landlady before anyone else saw him, and raised the alarm. She would be the one to open the door to this inn. And she would bring with her the answers to everything.

Taking a deep, ragged breath, Madi raised a fist and banged upon the door: once . . . twice . . . three times. It seemed that every knock was as loud as a temple bell, and carried with it a resonating undercurrent of foreboding. He hopped from foot-to-foot, wishing he’d found a latrine before leaving his hiding place, or at least the side of a tree.

The mad hopping stopped abruptly. There was a light approaching the door from within, Madi could taste it. A moment later the grating sound of drawn bolts echoed dully through the wood. Madi’s breath caught in his throat. He crouched low as the door swung open and a figure lofting an oil lantern peered out into the night. Madi swept back his hood and felt his heart quicken.

It was she!

* * *

Bleary-eyed and nastily-haired Bethberry peered into the gloom, found no one there, and wondered if she had perhaps dreamt the sounds of knocking. She was about to return to her bed, when there came a tugging at the hem of her nightgown. She lowered the lantern and there, cowering on the doorstep was a small, stick-thin figure. He was dressed in a dark brown burlap habit, and dirty woollen leggings, which were much too long for his short legs. His face was unique. The bottom half of his jaw was twice the size of the top, and jutted forward. Two tusk-like teeth protruded from the bottom jaw, sitting either side of a wide nose. One tooth was broken and half the length of the other.

There was a glint of destitution in the strange little man’s huge, round eyes. Bethberry gazed into them for a long moment, and discovered she was no longer annoyed at having her sleep disturbed.

“You’re a queer one,” she said. “Are you lost?” The visitor shrugged. He was shivering, practically quaking. “There’s no need to be afraid,” Bethberry added. “Not on my doorstep.”

At the sound of the landlady’s soothing reassurance, Madi stood to full height, and relaxed a little. He reached almost to Bethberry’s waist, and she had to crouch to be at eye level with him.

“There must be a very good reason for banging on my door at this time of night,” Bethberry said.

Madi smiled with something akin to a pained grimace and jabbed himself in the chest. “Madi is ugly,” he stated, and then gestured to Bethberry. “You are . . .” Again he searched for the word that would describe how he saw the landlady. This time, the elusive phrase came to him. “You are nice!” he said with an air of certainty.

Bethberry blanched, unsure how to react. The little man’s speech was strange - not broken, just simple and direct. Never in her time at the White Horse had she laid eyes on one such as he, and fancied many different breed of creature ran through his bloodline. “What is it you want, Madi?” she asked gently.

Madi drew himself up. “I will work,” he announced. “You will be nice.”

Bethberry frowned. “You want a job?” she asked, still confused.

Madi rolled the word over in his mind, and imagined that it looked good and was therefore something he wanted. He nodded vigorously. “I work for you . . . only. Madi wants nice.”

Standing upright, Bethberry puffed her cheeks and exhaled heavily. She searched the gloom for signs of anyone else nearby. Everything was deserted and still, as it should be this time of night. She looked down at the pathetic and desperate creature staring up at her.

“Well, I tell you what I’ll do now, Madi . . .” Bethberry paused. Oh my, she thought. What do I do now?