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It’s quiet outside the inn.
It’s been quiet for a while, there had been yelling and recriminations at first, but it’s quiet now.
“We will send you a message and a demand at sundown tomorrow outside of The Landlocked Lady.”
That had been the only reply to her sendings. Sendings, plural. (She’d begged and begged the Traveller, but Caleb had his medallion and there was no way to find him.)
Two days. Caleb’s been gone two days, and they don’t know how he is or if they are torturing him or if he’s still alive or…
Someone takes her hand, from where she’s wringing her dress with it. She’s expecting Veth or Beau, although why she’s not sure, since she knows it’s Yasha.
Yasha, stooping over a little bit and holding Jester’s hand now, with an apologetic look on her face. Yasha’s had that look since they realized Caleb had been taken and Jester knows she’s blaming herself. She wants to tell her it’s not her fault, but she doesn’t think Yasha would believe her. (If someone tried to tell Jester it wasn’t her fault, she wouldn’t believe them either.)
They all blamed themselves or each other after, splintering into little factions. Veth blamed Caduceus, surprisingly, as he’d had been the last person to have seen Caleb during the fight. Beau completely blamed herself, the location didn’t help, and she shutdown a bit. Fjord and Caduceus changed up what might have been more usual, with Fjord looking after Veth (it’s going shockingly well actually) and Caduceus keeping an eye on Beau.
They might have splintered in a different way, but she had latched on to Yasha as soon as she’d realized he’d been taken. She knows the rest of them are assuming it’s because of the memories.
It’s not, or not mostly, it’s because Yasha’s the only one who knows, who’d seen them that day. It feels like forever ago, but it’s only been three days.
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They had gotten to ShadyCreek Run that afternoon and gotten rooms at the Landlocked Lady. The others were going on errands or trying to get some info from the locals. They all agreed that they should ‘use the buddy system’ as Beau called it. Caleb wanted to work on his spells and she’d suggested she stay behind with him. “I can paint next to you, Caleb, I’d be super quiet and not distracting at all!”
It had been very nice actually. Relaxing and calm, Caleb murmuring to himself in the background as she hummed and painted. They’d been there a couple of hours and the light outside was starting to dim, when she got a little bored. She knew she’d promised not to be distracting, but Caleb looked a little worn from studying himself and so she’d leaned over his shoulder and asked him to teach her how to write some of his runes.
“Ah, ja, but I’m not sure how learning them will help. You are already super powerful.”
She’d laughed, agreed that she was super powerful, and explained that she’d like to be able to understand what he was working on. He’d looked at her so sweetly that she’d gotten flustered and claimed that right now she just wanted to learn to draw them so she could include them in her paintings.
He’d suggested that perhaps they could try painting the runes together on the walls as it could only improve them, and had looked so surprised at his own suggestion that she’d immediately jumped on it to prevent him reconsidering.
She’d given him one of her brushes and they had chosen the wall next to the door, so people would get a nice surprise once they entered. She’d gotten out her normal paint and he’d starting painting runes on the wall. She had copied him, while asking how adding additions to her runes would affect the spells. Though she thought with all the flowers (and dicks) she’d added and how Caleb’s runes were slightly smudged, it would be kinda difficult to use these runes for any magic.
“Ah, I’m not good at painting,” Caleb had remarked, looking at the wall and then at the paint smeared on his hands, “I seem to have possibly gotten more paint on my hands than the wall.” She had giggled and gingerly taken the paint brush and small paint pot from him before setting them down. “I am sorry, Jester, I did not mean to waste your paint.”
“Cayleb, you didn’t waste anything. The wall looks beautiful now! And your hands are a bit of a masterpiece too,” she’d laughed. And he’d smiled back at her, his hair glowing in the evening light.
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They never should have come to ShadyCreek Run again. It was just that’d they’d grown so strong and survived so much, that they’d kinda thought themselves invincible. Not completely of course.
It’s just, well, the Jagentoths were just slavers, right? How could they bring the Might Nein low when creatures from the realms of nightmares hadn’t managed it? (They maybe should have learned from previous mistakes.)
She grips Yasha’s hand tighter as the clip-clop of horse’s hooves echoes down the street. Everyone straightens, and Beau steps towards the front of the group.
It’s a single rider on a brown horse, hood up and features undistinguishable under it.
“I bring a message and a demand. The demand is that you bring what you have stolen to the remains of the Nest tomorrow at noon.”
“What about the man that was kidnapped from our group?” Beau gritted out, gesturing angrily. She hadn’t managed to say Caleb’s name yet, not since they’d realized.
“Here is the message,” the rider said, tossing a bag towards Beau, “if you do as instructed, you might be able to get the rest of him back.” Beau caught the bag and before any of them could respond, the rider had turned and ridden away.
Beau looked down at the bag and gingerly opened it. She looked inside cautiously, before swearing loudly. “What is it? What’s in the bag?” demanded Veth, rushing over to Beau.
“His hand, they cut off his fucking hand!”
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A spark of mischief had arisen in his eyes as he smiled at her, and he’d suddenly grabbed her hands, smearing the paint that had covered his hands all over hers.
“Now we both have masterpieces for hands, ja?”
She’d giggled, and when his face starting closing down and he’d started pulling his hands away, she’d entangled her fingers with his and pulled him close.
She’d looked down at the entwined fingers and said, “They do look rather beautiful, don’t they?”
He’d said, “Ja, beautiful,” but when she’d looked back up at him, he’d been staring at her. She had leaned forward or he’d leaned forward, someone had any rate, and their faces were so close together that their noses were about touching. She moved up just a little, and he’d tilted to the side just a little, and then —
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Beau had put the hand back in the bag as they furiously discussed. “I have regeneration,” said Caduceus. So did she, but it wouldn’t be the same hand, it wouldn’t be the same hand that had held her’s so gently, paint smeared over both.
She felt her own hand be squeezed gently, and when she looked up, Yasha was watching her concernedly.
They all agreed they would return the statue they’d acquired, even though it could be dangerous, if they could just get Caleb back.
But they all knew it couldn’t be that easy. Asking to meet at the Nest? The Jagentoths knew more than any of them were comfortable with. It was a trap, obviously, but it was one they’d have to spring if it meant getting Caleb back.
Sans hand, though.
He used his hands so often too. For magic, for daily routines. Rubbing his fingers through his hair, scratching at his arms (though he’d been doing that less and less), grabbing Beau on the shoulder so he could look through Frumpkin, scratching Frumpkin behind the ear, patting Veth on the head, holding Veth’s hand, holding her hand.
Which hand was it? The left or the right? He was right handed, but he seemed to use them both equally.
Was it the one with the cut on the palm from when both he and Fjord had been so stupid? Or was it the one that had a little white scar on the middle finger from when he’d managed to slice his finger open on one of Beau’s throwing stars? (It had happened a couple weeks ago, and they’d all given him such a hard time.) Would it be covered in soot from the spells he uses to protect the group, even though he hates hurting people with fire?
I want to see it, she thinks.
“What? See what, Jester?” Fjord inquires.
Oh, so I said it out loud, she thought. Well, in for a copper…
“I’d like to see the hand,” she states calmly.
The response is not calm at all, she knew it wouldn’t be. She shouldn’t have asked, but she needs to see.
“What?!? No!”
“No, no, you don’t want to see the hand, Jester!”
“Why do you want see the hand, Jester? It isn’t Caleb, it’s just a disembodied hand.”
“Miss Jester, that might not be the best idea…”
“Yes, she should see the hand,” they all turn in astonishment towards Yasha and Yasha shrinks back a little, but holds her ground, “if she wants to see it, why shouldn’t she get to see it?”
And none of them really have a response to that. Though Beau does try one last time as she hands the bag to Jester.
“You don’t want that sight in your head, Jester, you really don’t. I know you feel guilty, we all do, but that’s not an image you want in your head.”
“I don’t want to see,” she tries to explain, “but I need to.” She knows it’s not the best explanation, but it’s the truth.
She takes the bag and goes to lean against the side of the inn. Yasha goes to turn to face the rest of the group, planning on blocking her from their view, but before she turns, she puts a hand gently on Jester’s shoulder and says quietly, “It’s not too late.”
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And then —
Well, and then Yasha had entered. She’d been knocking on the door, she later said, but neither of them had heard her.
They had both startled badly, and quickly tried to jump away from each other, an attempt hindered by the fact their hands were still entwined. Yasha had apologized and gone to leave the room, but they had both swiftly called her back. Jester’s face had been bright purple and his bright red.
“We were painting,” she tries to explain. “Ja,” agrees Caleb, “and I got paint all over my hands.” “And I told him they were a masterpiece.” “And I got paint on her hands too.” “And we were just comparing what they looked like.”
Somehow, the explanation makes it sound worse. Right then, she doesn’t think she’s very good at explanations. When she turned to look at Caleb though, all she can see are his bright red ears, and she thinks he’s not very good at this explanation either.
Yasha just nodded, and said that their hands were very colorful and beautiful.
“Oh, if you think our hands are pretty, you should see the wall,” she said gesturing Yasha over to where the wall can be seen easily, though it is getting a little dark to see it clearly. Before she can mention that, Caleb gestured and his pretty lights appeared illuminating the room.
She averted her eyes from Caleb, and turned towards the wall to appreciate their handiwork with Yasha. It’s covered in runes, flowers, lollipops, smudges that look a little like cats, and hidden dicks. It looks beautiful. It looks like them.
It also manages to make everything seem less innocent, somehow. She’s not quite sure how, though she doesn’t actually think it was the dicks. Yasha just stood there awkwardly, though with a slight smile on her face.
Caleb seemed to have really seen the wall now too and started to bring his hand towards his hair, but before he could reach it, she managed to grab his hand. They’d stared out each other as Yasha faced the wall solidly, before both pulling back their hands.
“You have paint, you don’t want to touch your hair, you’ll get paint everywhere.” “Ah, ja, I should—“ “We should wash—“ “Wash, I should wash—“ “Yes, I should wash my hands, too.”
They had awkwardly stumbled verbally over each other before Caleb had said, “Ja, I go wash,” and exited the room. “But this is your room, Caleb…” she’d called to no avail. Yasha had apologized again, said she liked the painting, and left.
She’s pretty sure Caleb scrubbed his hands clean afterwards, as they had looked a bit red at the table that night as they sat and had dinner with everyone.
She’d noticed though that he still had paint around his cuticles and peaking out under his nails.
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She takes the hand out of the bag. It’s not completely fresh, half a day to a day old, though Caduceus had already examined it and told them that.
It’s his right hand, no cut on the palm. It looks like his hand. It’s soot-stained and calloused.
It’s Caleb’s hand, with no Caleb attached.
There’s a soft plop as a tear lands on one of his fingers. She scrubs her face with the hand not holding, not holding his hand.
Then she goes to clean the tear off the finger. She grabs her handkerchief and very carefully tries to wipe the tear away. She just wants to get the tear, she doesn’t want to wipe away the soot or the paint. Traveller forbid, she does not want to wipe away the paint….which is not there. There is no paint under any of his cuticles or his fingernails. It’s only been three days, two since he was taken. She knows paint, knows how it sticks, how it lingers. Perhaps, if he was washing his hands daily, perhaps there’d be no paint there now, but she doubts captivity is allowing for daily hand washings.
This isn’t his. This isn’t Caleb’s hand. This isn’t his!
She doesn’t realize that she’s kneeling on the ground and screaming it until Beau is gently prying the hand from her and Yasha is rubbing her back with one hand while Veth is hugging her on the other side. Caduceus bends down in front of her as Fjord awkwardly hovers.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” says Beau, but there’s only guilt for herself in the admonishment.
“Perhaps, we should go in and have some tea,” Caduceus adds.
They don’t understand. They don’t see. She tries to dry her tears and reaches for the hand that Beau is putting back into the bag.
“No, no, don’t you see! It’s not his hand, it’s not Caleb’s hand,” they’re all looking so pained, and Caduceus holds her back from Beau and the hand. For Caleb, she tries again, “It’s not his hand, there’s no paint under the cuticles.”
They all look confused, but Yasha, Yasha looks like she’s starting to hope.
“Paint? You’re not making sense, Jester. Why would there be paint on Caleb’s hands?”
“They were painting Caleb’s wall together the evening before,” Yasha states, “Caleb got paint all over his hands.”
“Oh, the painting on Caleb’s wall, but it’s been three days, would paint stay that long?” Veth asks hesitantly.
“If he’d been washing them a few times every day, maybe it’d be gone,” Jester said, “but I don’t think they’d be letting him wash his hands a lot.”
Fjord agrees with this, Fjord who was there beside her last time.
Beau has gotten the hand out and is examining it again. The combination of the hand and Beau reminds her. “The scar! Where he cut himself on your throwing stars. Does it have the scar?” Beau quickly checks the middle finger, and, “No, no, it doesn’t. You’re fucking right, Jester, this isn’t his hand!”
They are a lot less reverent with the hand once they realize it isn’t Caleb’s.
“Have you tried to send a message to Caleb recently or scry on him?” Veth asks suddenly derailing their celebrations and hasty planning.
“I can’t, remember, not while Caleb’s wearing the necklace,” Jester reminds.
“But have you tried, you or Caduceus, to send him a message or scry on him in the last day?” Veth urges.
In the last day. This hand is the hand of someone who has callouses and soot on their hand and it was cut off, at the earliest, one day ago. It was meant to represent Caleb’s hand, but they didn’t send Caleb’s hand. So that either meant, they didn’t want to cut off his hand or they couldn’t cut off his hand. And perhaps they couldn’t cut off his hand, because they didn’t have him at all. And if he was running, he might take off the necklace at times so a message could get through.
She’s sending, before the thoughts completely register, babbling out, “Caleb! Caleb! Can you hear me? This is Jester! Where are you? I don’t know if you’re wearing the necklace or not, but maybe you—“ Fjord cuts her off before she can get any further, having counted out the words on his fingers.
There is silence.
Then, blessedly, “Jester. Are you safe? Are the others safe? I got away and I’m in the woods a day south of the Jagentoth’s mansion.” A pause, and then, “do do” finishes off his reply. She’s laughing and tears are pouring down her face.
A day south, going straight from the mansion, puts him just east of the town.
“We’re safe and in town. We’re coming to get you, Caleb! Stay where you are, but keep hidden and safe. We’ll find you. Keep your—“ Her spell cuts out.
“'I'll stay safe, Blueberry, I am near a grove of very large trees. I will put light on one of the trees and hide nearby.”
And they are off. Getting horses, grabbing their stuffs, searching, running, it’s all a blur. But then he’s there, and there’s screaming, and crying, and yelling, and hugging.
They all step back after a bit to let him breathe, and Beau grabs and holds up his right hand and points to the scar on the middle finger. “I’m never giving you a hard time over this fucking scar ever again, cut all your fingers with my throwing stars, Widogast, I won’t say a word.”
“Was?” Caleb questions.
“They sent us your hand,” Fjord explains, “at least we thought it was your hand.”
“But Jester figured it out!” Veth exclaims, “She’s such a good detective. She figured out it wasn’t your hand.”
Caleb looks at her, he hasn’t stopped looking at her really, but it feels a bit like he’s staring into her soul now.
“There was no paint,” she says shyly. And he pulls his hand away from Beau and reaches out to her with it. She grabs his hand in hers, entwining their fingers, and looks at the pair of them together.
There’s soot on his hands, dirt under his fingernails, a little scar on his middle finger, and just a remnant of paint under his cuticles.
She looks back up at him and he smiles slightly, and it is enough.
She can feel them all around them, the gentle eyes of Yasha on their hands, and it is enough.
They have time to figure the rest out.
It’s not too late.