[Idgian]

Madi’s belly was uncomfortably hard. He sighed and pulled his habit taught against his spherical midriff, worried about its cannonball size.

Ruthven looked down and chuckled. “Only one left, Madi,” she said, offering him the last cucumber. “Shame to waist it.”

With a sour expression, Madi shook his head at the cucumber, his eyes imploring Ruthven to take it away.

“Over eaten, eh?” the old woman mocked.

Madi wasn’t listening. He suddenly jumped to his feet and gripped the edge of the wagon tightly. A pained look cracked his features. He darted his confused gaze around the area, panic rising in him like a fever.

“What is it, Madi,” Ruthven asked, her concern clear.

Madi’s eyes widened to the size of saucers and he belched massively (surprising himself as much as Ruthven) and fell back into the wagon seat, snoring loudly, deeply asleep.

* * *

It was the smell of curiosity that disrupted Madi’s slumber. A darker shade of green that tickled his nose and sneezed him awake.

“So you’re back with us, little man,” Ruthven said playfully. “Is your stomach feeling better?”

Madi stood on the seat and stretched. He scratched his head and looked around, feeling a little sleep-disorientated. “Madi dreamt of honey,” he mumbled and plonked back down beside Ruthven. He yawned and looked up at her. “What?” he asked pointedly.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Ruthven retorted, somewhat wrong-footed by Madi’s abruptness.

“Madi can taste your questions.” He smacked his lips to emphasis the point. “Just ask,” he assured.

Ruthven smiled with more than a little wonder. There was no fooling this one, she realised. Something deep down told her there was a well of discovery beneath Madi, and she wondered if even he realised it was there. “All right,” she said after a moment. “Tell me about master Jian; the scholar, from Minas Tirith.”

Madi nodded. “He was nice. Madi was his helper. He was old and died.”

Ruthven nodded sympathetically. “And what did you help him to do?”

“Speak.”

“Speak?” Ruthven echoed.

Madi confirmed with a curt nod, but offered nothing more by way of explanation.

“Was master Jian a mute, Madi?” Ruthven prompted.

Rolling his eyes, Madi tsked. “No.” He began drawing in the air with an invisible quill. “Madi speaks. Master Jian writes.”

Ruthven pursed her lips and thought for a second. It took a moment for her to realise what Madi meant. “You dictated,” she said, with a soft chuckle. “Master Jian wrote down the words you . . .” Ruthven looked at Madi sharply, the implications dawning on her. “Madi, can you read?”

Madi shook his head and screwed his face up, wondering what reading had to do with anything. Venny, he decided, had trouble sticking to one subject at a time.

Ruthven frowned. “Then what did Master Jian write?”

If Madi was honest he could’ve sworn Ruthven was mocking him now. After all, there was only certain number of ways one could say the same thing differently. He took several long sniffs of the air. No, all he could smell was the dark green shade of curiosity. There was no fun being made here. Perhaps Venny was a bit slow on the uptake.

“Master Jian wrote what Madi spoke,” he said, spreading the words in a slow, deliberate way, making it easy for her to understand this time.

“Then . . .” Ruthven paused, wondering if the little man was mocking her. Perhaps he was finding it difficult to understand and follow the conversation. “What did Madi speak?” she asked, adopting the little man’s tone.

Madi made an exasperated noise at the back of his throat. “Words!” he snapped, jabbing his hands forward to emphasis the statement.

Ruthven stopped the wagon and eyed Madi curiously, struggling to find a little extra reserve of patience. She tried to see his face hidden in his hood’s shadows.

In return, Madi pushed his hood back and looked up at Ruthven with a semi-irritated glare. “Problem?” he enquired, prissily.

Ruthven’s sternness dissolved and she laughed heartily. “I think Bethberry, was right,” she said and reached under the seat. “I don’t think I’ve realised what I’ve let myself in for. Aha! This should help make things clearer.” She lifted up a rolled parchment triumphantly. “I’ve had this thing a long time. Never been able to read though.” She offered it to Madi. “Will you speak to me like you did for Master Jian?” She asked kindly.

Madi smiled and took the parchment. Venny might be a bit dim, but he was quite happy to do as she asked. Of course, he realised he was giving away nice for free, but that was all right, just this once. He remembered how much his speaking pleased Master Jian, and he felt safe and wanted around the old one.

Madi unrolled the parchment and sniffed it. He smacked his lips and closed his eyes.

Slack-jawed and dumbstruck, Ruthven watched in incredibility as Madi stuffed the parchment into his mouth and began happily chewing. Noisily, he ate the whole thing in one go, even seeming to savour the flavour. Madi swallowed the parchment in a single, throat bulging gulp.

“What are you doing?” Ruthven demanded, her momentary stupefaction passing.

Madi hiccupped, licked the end of each finger, and cleared his throat. He stood and opened his arms as if addressing the world. When he spoke, it was with a voice not his own. Gone was the simplistic, careful and overly pronounced accent of Madi. Now a smooth, deeply rich tone purred from his voice box. Even his gestures and mannerisms had changed and belonged to someone else entirely.

“He caught her, held her fast! Water-rats went scuttering. Reeds hissed, Herons cried, and her heart was fluttering . . .”

Ruthven baulked. “Madi?”

But the little man was somewhere else, and continued, oblivious to the old one’s surprise, rolling poetry from his tongue like the purrs of a cat.

[ August 17, 2003: Message edited by: Idgian ]