Last Tea Shop: The Diplomat

Ild stared at the empty shelf. “Well.”

The gentle squeaking of mice filled the cabin as she stared. Tiny bodies, dressed in fur ranging from white to brown to black and back again, darted across the room like flashes of lightning in a thunderstorm.

“Well,” Ild muttered again. “This is a bit of a problem.”

A few of the mice stood on her shoulders and crawled through her hair, seeking warmth and comfort from the whispering mists outside the threadbare shack. Those that stared at the empty shelf did so with quivering whiskers and ears twitching in fear. Periodically, Ild reached up to gently brush their backs and heads with a soothing thumb. She glanced at the pane-less windows, where tendrils of dark mist were slowly seeping in.

“Don’t worry,” she muttered to her furry friends. “We’re safe. They’re not here for us.”

Nevertheless, the gentle whispers crept into her ears. They were distant, indistinct, but present. It was concerning, but more concerning was the empty shelf.

“We’ve got some longgrass,” she tapped a finger on the counter as she thought, “not enough for a whole pot though. Got enough redleaf, but that’s not suitable for the shadow mists…could make a blend, but who knows what might happen if I get the mix wrong…hmm…”

A gust of wind shook the haggard walls. The mice continued to squeak and scurry, alternately hiding in dark holes and huddling their furry bodies against Ild’s feet.

Ild turned to the rattling door. “They’re certainly taking their time…”

After a moment of thought, Ild clapped her hands. Instantly, the squeaking stopped, and a chilling stillness settled over the cabin. “Right, you lot, listen up! We have an emergency on our hands. Someone’s got stuck in the shadow mists, and you know that ain’t good. We have to find them, and fast — they been out there for longer than’s healthy, and if we don’t find them ‘fore the whispers get ’em, we’ll have a whole new problem on our hands, right? Right then, move sharply now and as fast as you can!”

She clapped her hands once more, and the hundreds of beady eyes vanished like smoke.

“Ooh, I hated to do that,” she muttered to herself as she aimlessly ran her hand over the empty shelf. “Sending them out in this weather…and me without any special ingredients…this is going to be a hard one, I can feel it.” Shaking herself free of her concerns, she walked to the door, grabbing a ragged shawl and rusted lantern as she went. “Going to be a hard one indeed.”

The shadow mists clustered about like eager hounds, nipping and yapping at her heels as she hobbled through the mountain pass. Her lantern provided little light, but the mists were quieter than they might have otherwise been. Their whispers were constant as they sought to find some hold, some crack they could slip through into Ild’s soul. Ild didn’t pay them any mind.

She trudged through the mists for hours until, at last, a squeak drew her attention. She followed the noise as quick as she could, only to find a large man huddled in a ball at the base of a twisted yew tree.

“There you are,” she breathed a sigh of relief as she hoisted the man’s distraught form against her side, slipping under his shoulder. “Okay, everyone back home, quick as you can.”

The scurrying of feet was a feeling, more than a sound, as Ild made her way back with the large man’s form weighing heavily on her back. The going was slow, but the whispering was quiet as they drew closer to the cabin and its warm fire.

At long last they were through the door. Gently settling the near comatose man in his seat, she shut and barred the door. “Good riddance,” she sniffed as she made her way to her porcelain pot. “Thick though, and too persistent for their own good. No wonder you couldn’t get anywhere in the mists like that, I dare say you…” She paused, staring at the man. His eyes were wide and staring. His hands clutched each other tight against his mouth. He was gently rocking back and forth, his every heartbeat setting his body quivering. His breathing was ragged and gasping, the breath of a man claimed by terror.

“Right then,” Ild muttered. “Nothing else for it, gotta make do.” She reached under the counter and brought out what tea supplies she had left. She mixed quickly and set the pot brewing before she moved to sit down next to the man.

“So,” she began, brushing her hands on her dress, “Where did you live?”

There was no answer. The only sound in the hut was the gentle creaks of the chair as he rocked back and forth.

“Well,” Ild muttered.

A gentle squeak caught her attention. She looked at the tiny mouse and gave a nod, “Good idea.”

Like a blanket gently pulled over a sleeping child, mice poured out of the detritus to climb up and over the terrified man. Their soft warm bodies pressed tightly against his shivering form until he was dressed in the warmest and softest blanket the mice could provide.

The change was subtle, but Ild was a practiced hand at noticing the oft-overlooked. The man was still terrified, but it was the terror of thought and memory, not the world around him. His muscles were relaxing, as slow as melting ice. Around his eyes, water was gently starting to brim.

“There we go,” Ild whispered. “The block’s easing up. That’s something at least…” She stood up and checked on the tea. “Not perfect, but…” She lifted the pot and poured a single cup. Sweetening it with honey, she hobbled over to the man and held the cup under his nose.

After a minute, a single tear fell from his eyes.

Ild breathed a sigh of relief. “There you go. That’s it. Everything will be alright now. Here, have some Gumboot tea. It warms the soul. You’ll be right as rain in no time. Come on, just a sip…there we go. Good boy.”

The tears were flowing freely now. The man took the cup with a slow and trembling hand, his mouth quivering like a terrified rabbit. He moved slowly, like a man uncertain if he was really there, or just someone else’s dream.

Ild knew better than to push. She waited patiently while the man sat there, barely moving at all with the cup in his hand. Then, slowly, he took another sip. Then another. Then another.

Hours passed.

At last, the cup was empty. The man shifted in his seat, pulling the blanket closer around his shoulders. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“My pleasure, Ild answered.

More silence. Ild could hear the whispering outside, a horrible susurrus that colored the silence ominous. Her heart beat hard in her chest, but she didn’t push. He would speak on his own time.

The tears finally dried. The shaking stopped. Now the man stared at his cup with something like longing. At long last, he lifted the cup to Ild.

“Do you have any more?”

Ild shook her head, sadly. “Alas, no. That’s the last of my supplies, I’m afraid. Not even enough for two; I’m sorry I couldn’t drink with you. It might have made things easier.”

The man’s hand lowered. His voice ached with sorrow. “Must be hard to supply a tea-shop so far away from everything.”

Ild didn’t bother to correct him. After a few moments he took a shuddering breath. “I’m dead.”

“Yes,” Ild nodded.

“Good,” he replied.

Ild’s mouth dropped open, then closed again. She shifted in her seat before resting her hand on the fellow’s own. “I’m sure things aren’t as bad as all that.”

“I deserve worse,” he muttered. “I did a terrible thing.”

Ild shifted again. She should have tried a blend. It was always so much harder when she didn’t have tea. “We’ve all done terrible things. None of us deserve death.”

“No,” his hand gently raised to his ear. “Some of us…”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

The man paused for a moment, and then heaved a sigh. “The letter. It was from my Kingdom, a dispatch telling me that…” He swallowed hard. “They had attacked the border. That I had served him well, but I would not be welcomed home until such time as the war was concluded. He was angry with me, I could tell. If I had prevented the war, I might have…”

“War’s aren’t any one person’s fault,” Ild’s tongue felt thick.

“I could have stopped it,” the man sniffed. “I was his diplomat. I said things, did things…I thought I was doing good in the world, but I was facilitating a slaughter. I let monsters off easy and coddled murderers. Do you know what I did?” His hand slowly moved the cup to the table and set it down. “I tried to be clever.”

Ild frowned. “I imagine there are lots of people who try to be clever. They don’t deserve death.”

“No,” the Diplomat grimaced, “because their cleverness doesn’t result in a war.” The Diplomat sighed, tears beginning to fall down his face once more. “I thought I knew him well enough. I thought because we were co-workers, we were also friends. It didn’t matter that we served different countries, different kingdoms. We were working together, in a way. I thought we could forgive each other…”

He sobbed once, his hand pressed against his eyes. Ild was patient.

Finally, his hand lowered. “I thought I was making a point. I thought he would go back to his king and say ’they’re serious this time, they’re even willing to insult us. If we don’t back down, they’ll start a war.’ I thought it was all a big game, and instead…” his face crumpled.

Ild rested a hand on his. “You didn’t know what would happen.”

“I should have,” he shook his head. “I killed thousands because I thought I needed to pretend I was strong. No,” he gave a wet chortle, “that I needed to pretend to be angry, because that’s what I thought strength was.”

Ild’s jaw set strong. “You didn’t kill anyone,” she said. “I’m certain of it.”

“We die easy,” he said, tracing the rim of his cup with his finger. “It don’t take much. Lots of us die every day.”

“That’s on them,” Ild snapped, “not you. Got that? You didn’t pick up a sword or rifle, did you?”

“No,” he admitted, “but I gave them a reason. They are always ready to kill, they rarely need the excuse, but I gave them one all the same. How is that not my fault?” He looked at the door. “Now I go to my judgment, my final punishment for hurting so many people that never did me wrong.” With a shudder, he put his head in his hands and heaved another shuddering sigh.

Ild watched him for a moment before replying. “Seems to me you’ve already judged yourself. What use is another judgment?”

The Diplomat looked up. “I’ve done wrong.”

“And now you’re dead,” Ild shrugged. “Maybe I’m old fashioned, but I figure you’re not going to be hurting anyone else anytime soon, so why bother with punishment?”

“You don’t understand,” his hand moved to his throat. “I couldn’t…When I saw what I’d done —”

Ild’s hand was like a viper, snaking out and grabbing his arm as quick as lightning. “That’s enough of that. You did the best with what you had, and made mistakes. That doesn’t make you much different than anyone else, in my book.”

The Diplomat’s hand fell as he leaned his head back. “I don’t know. My brother had the right idea, I think. He went into the clergy — second born, you know. Last I ever heard from him was a letter saying he was going to leave the church to run off into the forest and find ’true divinity,’ whatever that meant.”

“He became a hermit?”

“Who knows where he is now. I hope…I hope he was able to find what he was looking for.”

“He did,” Ild patted his hand. “Later than he thought he would, but he found it.”

“Good,” the Diplomat closed his eyes as fresh tears poured down his cheeks. “Me…Goddess, I don’t even know what I want for me. Justice, I suppose? We’ve all made mistakes, but my mistakes resulted in so many deaths…”

“Well,” Ild shrugged and threw up her hands, “I’m afraid I don’t have any answers for you. I don’t know what sort of justice you’d be satisfied with, and that’s not my department anyway. I’m more of a dealer in lost things.”

“Lost things?” The Diplomat looked around. “These were all lost by someone?”

“True enough,” she nodded. “Some were forgotten, others left behind. Some were torn away by fate and fortune, only to be found by someone else, then lost again.”

“And you keep them here for…” The Diplomat wiped his face, “for what?”

Ild shrugged. “They have to end up somewhere, and most people pass this way eventually. Might as well collect what people don’t want or forget they had.” She leaned forward and rested her hand against the Diplomat’s cheek. “You lost quite a few things, didn’t you?”

The Diplomat nodded as he raised his eyes towards the window. “They were waiting for me. I couldn’t escape.”

“They’re horrible things,” Ild nodded. “They tell the truth sometimes.”

“For me, I think they told nothing but the truth.”

Ild anorted. “I know that’s not true. They probably told you just enough truth that you started listening to them.” She leaned closer. “Then they told you all the lies you believe already, so you’d believe them. Then, they started lying.”

“What horrible place is this,” the Diplomat shook his head, “that has such hateful things in it?”

“Oh, well,” Ild leaned back, a suddenly sweet smile printed on her face. “They’re not from here, you see. Sort of brought in, you understand.” She sighed and looked at the window. “They’re still here, I’m afraid. I wish I had better tea to give you, but it looks like you’ll have to get to the bridge through the mists.”

“The bridge,” the Diplomat considered for a moment. “Is it far?”

“Not usually,” Ild admitted, “but with the shadow mists about, well…It’ll be longer.”

The Diplomat gave Ild a smile as he gently took off the fluffy white blanket. “Well then, I’d better get started.”

“You sure?” Ild watched as the carefully set-aside blanket dissolved and ran off into the bric-a-brac again.

“I think I am,” he brushed at his pants. “You warmed my soul a bit, and I think that’s more than I deserved. It may take a long time, but I’ll get to the bridge one way or another.”

“Suit yourself,” Ild was about to usher him to the door when her eye caught something falling from his coat. “Oh, you dropped something.” She reached out to pick it up. “A…a sprig of dried sage.”

“Dried sage?” The Diplomat blinked. “That’s not mine. I must have picked it up from the ground outside.”

“Did you?” Ild’s eyes flashed. “Did you. Well, then, I suppose that’s another lost thing come to me. Well, no matter. Off you go now, and remember: don’t listen to the mists. They’re an ill wind, to be sure.”

“I won’t, and thank you again, good lady.” The Diplomat gave a regal bow, and stepped out into the chill air. The mists were lessor than before, only coming to his shins, but they gamely clung to his legs as he walked towards the bridge; tentative, but steady.

Ild closed the door, and stared at the sprig of sage. “Well, I thought it was about time you showed up.