Aya and Carrick Part 6: Jailbirds do Sing

I’m sorry you were arrested for kidnaping me,’ said Sunny, looking firmly at the cobblestone floor of the jail and avoiding the glares of her two new friends.

Jumping back in fright as a metal teapot reverberated off the bars that separated them, Sunny caught one of the two prisoners performing an obscene gesture with as much gusto as manacles allowed.

‘It’s ok Sunny,’ said Carrick, a dishevelled wizard of Gorey and a man who was currently between usable spellbooks, ‘How were we to know that forcibly taking a postman’s wagon, and the postman herself, for a joy ride was technically a war crime.’ Looking over to his fellow incarcerated friend, Aya, who was yelling without words, Carrick could only shrug.

‘Why isn’t Aya talking?’ asked Sunny, no longer concussed as she had been that morning but still human enough to ask stupid questions.

‘She made a few guards cry so they got a wizard to cast a cone of silence around her, Lundrians have quite the impolite vocabulary it would seem.’

Mouthing something that would make paper blush, Aya stalked around her small cell and looked for something else to throw.

‘It’s weird, I’d never failed to deliver something before; I may get fired for this.’ Sunny said dejectedly and lost for nowhere to sit down.

‘Wait!’ said Carrick, excitedly jumping to his feet and being immediately propelled back downward by the ball and chain around his ankle. Landing with a thump he slowly stood back up and dusted his moth-eaten robes off as much as he could.

‘Ahem, Sunny you are an accidental genius.’

‘Thank you!’ She replied not following the conversation.

‘…You’re right. We paid you to deliver us to Gorey and because of that we are legally mail; so what do you do when mail can’t be delivered?’

[—]

In a land where the power of the postal service exceeds both that of the army and the many lawyers that twist and beguile language to their many whims, the law of the post office is absolute. The mail must be delivered and equally any undeliverable mail must be returned to its sender.

So Aya and Carrick, while guilty of trick-kidnapping an injured postman, had technically become items of mail when they paid the quarter dollar for a stamp and clambered aboard Sunny’s wagon.

[—]

Striding from the jail and out into the tree lined streets of Gorey, Aya and Carrick both took an exhausted breath and allowed themselves a moment of respite: watching a small wind blow past the browning leaves of Autumn they saw droplets of rain patter upon the ground around them, cast from clouds overhead that remained in two minds of whether they should rain or not. It was peaceful in Gorey; Carrick could finally deliver the message that he was paid for, Aya could get drunk and brew potions again- -things were going to be ok.

‘Where do you think you’re going friend.’ said Aya as she noticed Sunny trying to slink off back into the guardhouse unnoticed.

Sheepishly the postman raised both her hands and cursed her legs for not being clever enough to run away.

‘I suppose an apology wouldn’t cut it?’ she offered without confidence.

‘No,’

‘Ok, how about a few drinks at-’

Marching past Sunny and dragging her by the collar Aya headed in the direction of what looked to be Gorey’s tavern district. ‘Scotch,’ She said gruffly, hauling the unresisting Postman behind her, ‘five scotches and then we’ll talk about things being even.’

Watching on, Carrick wondered if this counted as kidnapping again but decided that he’d done enough thinking for now and followed along. Life was happening far too quickly for thinking at the moment.

---

J.McCray
2021