Tall Tales

"Hell, I've got the scar to prove it!"

For perhaps the seventh time that evening, Captain Gabriel Foote rolled back his garments to show off some elaborate scar tissue on one of his extremities. These old injuries were his prized possessions, his tangible proofs to the veracity of his amazing adventures, of his times spent daring dangers against harrowing enemies on far-flung worlds. I had already tired of them.

"I understand the trophy value of these wounds," I said, "but they are not healthy. At least, not in such number. Surely so much scar tissue must lead to health complications later on in life. If you anticipated such dangers, why did you not travel with a trained physick, or at least learn something of the arts of healing yourself, so that you could properly bind your own wounds?"

"I did pretty damn good by myself, son," Foote said, holding his head high. "But for this one - the jagged tear in my bicep opened up by that grackle fox - I didn't have any thread. I had to use the sinews of the grackle itself. Almost fainted from blood loss by the time I'd skinned him enough to get at the tough cords. If I didn't have my Martech Gold with me, never would've cut through it at all. That's stuff's tough! A knife'll go dull before slicing a grackle fox's guts up!"

I looked at my companions. Cardanzo nodded knowingly, as if Foote had stated some eternal verity. Even Ong nodded eagerly. Grackle foxes were native to his world; he surely had some experience in such matters. If he agreed, perhaps it was so. But I felt it more likely that the beast served the same purpose for Vorox hunters that it did now for Gabriel - a prey whose capture is greater in the telling than in the deed.

It was Julia who introduced us to Gabriel. She knew him from her apprentice days among the Charioteers. Actually, we had all heard of him. Who in the Known Worlds has not? The famed Captain Foote and his exploits for the guilds are well-told tales throughout the Known Worlds, providing proof of the virtues of heroism and duty. Of course, the occasional parish priest sermonizes against Foote, fearful that his exploits will provide example for fools to venture forth to the stars, and thus meet useless deaths on distant worlds. But his reputation was enshrined in most houses.

But now that I had met the legend, I thought him a blowhard. Most of his stories were sheer illusion, tall tales which - amazingly - everyone seemed to believe. Even my Lady, Erian Li Halan, was genuinely excited at meeting a man who, in most circumstances, would be her social inferior to an extreme degree. But she treated him with the deference due a count. For such he was, in her mind and the minds of others. A hero, regardless of actual worldly rank and station, is often considered a de facto lord.

And here this lord sat, on his well-worn bench in the Rampant Gurdvulf, the throne on which he gave audience to his visitors. The requirements for admission to such an audience? As much alcohol as the lord requested. And should the well run dry, the audience would end, the supplicants sent on their way to make room for the next batch. Such is the life of retirement for Captain Gabriel Foote, former pilot and explorer.

We had already been overlong on Criticorum when Julia heard word of Foote and his night roost. Now, we had spent another three nights here, plying Foote with liquor in return for tales of his exploits. The longer we stayed in one place, the closer the Inquisition would come. But Foote assured us that no Inquisitor would dare step foot in this district of Nueva Janeiro. So far, he was correct. But could we risk an exception to his rule?

My Lady believed the risk worth the prize, for she had grown up hearing of Foote's legendary adventurers, told among the noble youth of Midian when their instructors were not listening. Such exciting stories, especially ones about a guildsman, were not considered proper for Li Halan lords and ladies, but they heard them nonetheless, spread by the children of householders, whose connection to the bustling world outside the palace was greater. For my Lady, Foote was a childhood hero, and she was proud to meet him. His slovenly ways and colorful language seemed only to reinforce his legend.

And so we listened to Foote. How many exploits can one man possible have? His seemed innumerable.

"Julia," Foote said, "Didn't you say you'd been to Nowhere?"

"Yeah," Julia replied. "We saw that gargoyle thing in the desert. Erian and Alustro got some weird dreams after seeing it."

"Visions," I said. "We both had the same true vision."

"Okay, right," Julia said. "But we've been there. Why?"

"I've been there, too," Foote said. "Saw the gargoyle also. I didn't get a vision, but my passenger did."

We all waited as he took a swig of ale. He certainly knew the art of suspense, purposefully pausing at just the right point in his narrative.

"Whatever it was he saw lit a fire under his butt," Foote continued. "We were off again the next day, hurrying to Shaprut. Over the journey, he wouldn't tell anyone about it or why we were going to Shaprut. When we landed a week later -"

"A week?!" Julia said. "From Nowhere to Shaprut? That's at least half a month's journey, what with the time it takes to get to the gates-"

"Well, we had a fast ship."

"Fast is one thing, but that's not even counting the shakedown you get from the Stigmata Garrison before they let you take the jump out of the Stigmata system. How'd you avoid that?"

Foote shrugged. "The regent could go where he wanted, when he wanted."

"Regent! You mean Alexius was your passenger! No way!"

Foote smiled. "Ask anybody in the guild, Julia. I served as the regent's pilot for three years. Luckily, I went freelance before he crowned himself Emperor. Things would have gotten a bit hot even for my taste."

I rolled my eyes, but Julia saw me.

"All right, Alustro," she said. "I'm sick of your attitude. Gabriel's been an excellent host to us, yet you seem bored. Or disgusted. I can't tell which. What the hell's the problem?"

I gave her a glare. How dare she say this in front of Foote! I did not wish to openly insult the man, but I could not lie about my feelings once asked directly. "I am most grateful for your time and entertainment, Captain Foote-"

"Gabriel, please," Foote said, "I'm retired now, and my first name's good enough for friends." He flashed a smile which seemed to charm them all. Friends of the great Gabriel Foote. What a high honor.

"Gabriel. Thank you," I said. "But Well It just seems so elaborate."

Foote raised a single eyebrow.

"I mean You seem to have done an awful lot of things. So many things"

Everyone was looking at me now, staring me down, telling me with intent alone not to say what I was about to say.

"They cannot all be true. These are tall tales."

"Alustro!" Erian said. "How dare you!"

Foote chuckled. "Can't fool a confessor, I guess. Of course some of it's overblown, priest. Tales grow in the telling even if you don't mean them to. Do you think your friends here don't know that? Only a fool would take it all at face value. But I tell you this: the important things happened. I did fly for Alexius, for a time. Were we friends? No. I doubt he'd even remember me. Hell, boy! Ask me anything about any place you know and I'll bet I've been there. Go ahead, ask."

I frowned, but thought for a moment. "Pentateuch. Have you been there?"

"Ha! Of course."

"Then surely you visited Heliopolis. In which quarter is the Basilica?"

"Son, anybody could answer that question even if they'd never been there. Let me ask you: Have you been in the Sirocco from atop Mount Tabor?"

"No. And you have?"

"Aye, I have. An old friend of mine led me there - we went through flight school together here on Criticorum when we were as wet behind the ears as you were. He's a Marabout now. Saw the World Fire and it changed his life. Out of remembrance for our youth, he took me there when I asked him to. I waited for three nights and nothing happened. I gave up and left.

"But on the way down, the storm came. Next I knew, I was in the desert, miles from where I'd been standing, my friend and pack beast no where to be seen. I had to walk without water or food for three more days before I came across the Ur-Obun pilgrims train. But I did it without complaint. I'd seen something in that storm. Something I've never talked about to anyone. But I'll tell you. As naive you are in the ways of people and the worlds, I think you'd understand this best of all - begging the Lady's forgiveness, of course, but she's not a priest and you are."

He leaned forward, staring intently at me. All the bluster had left him, and he seemed instantly sober, as if his drunken cheer was all just in jest. Despite my earlier feelings, I had a slight chill. He seemed to be in the grip of some deep passion as he spoke about his holy experience. I could not help but respect it.

"I saw myself in the cockpit of my ship, flying through an atmospheric storm. My instruments were out and it was too dark to steer by sight. I was freaking out, flying wild. Then my navigator told me to fly by instinct, that faith in myself would get me through this. And he was right. I calmed down and just flew like there was nothing I couldn't fly through. Next thing I knew, the storm cleared, and the sun broke through, so bright I had to squint. It felt like victory. And only then did I remember that I don't have a navigator - I fly alone.

"I looked at the seat next to me and there was this pilot, smiling at me. I knew he was a pilot, 'cause he had on flight gear, except it was old, like they used to wear a long, long time ago. He said that only when everybody could trust themselves enough to weather any storm would the light of the sun shine bright enough to blind us. I knew then who it was. I can tell by the look on your face that you also know."

"Yes," I said in awe. "Saint Paulus. Those were the words the Prophet spoke to him after he had safely flown through the terrible storms of Manitou, before the Prophet made his final journey. But this is not in the Omega Gospels! It appears only in the apocryphal scripture of Darius, apprentice to Paulus after the Prophet's death. Only the Eskatonic Order keeps this scripture and they do not reveal it to the unordained. How did you know this?"

"I certainly didn't read it in your books. It was what the World Fire gave me. And it changed by life. You think I'd travel to all those worlds and get into all the trouble I told you about because I like it? What kind of idiot prefers getting shot at, stabbed, chased, locked in dungeons or possessed by demons just for the fun of it? I was questing, son, because the Prophet demanded it. Only out there, among the stars, was the answer to my fate.

"Only on worlds unseen by other men, in places damned by priests and peasants, did the answer to my destiny lie. And I wasn't alone. It was my going to such places that led me to Alexius's service. My time with him saw some of the strangest things I've yet seen. Weird things which I'm under vow not to tell of - a vow which I'll keep. You don't break an oath to the Emperor. Hell, if he hadn't gone questing, he wouldn't be Emperor now and we'd probably have some Decados or Hazat pig ruling us all.

"And my travels weren't all heroic, either. There was a lot of misery, too. And heartbreak. Times of such despair that I'd liked to have killed myself - and I almost did, taking risks no sane man would. But I survived it all, lived to tell of it. And the telling's just as important as the doing. When someone hears about such quests, it's sort of like they're participating in them, even when they're just sitting on a barstool farting. What's the difference between questing in the body and questing in the mind? It's questing either way. 'As long as our hearts are ever expanding to distant orbits.'"

"Paulus 23:5," I said.

"I'm not just telling stories, I'm telling sermons. Parables of sorts about the places I've been and what they mean to me. What they could mean to others. If it gets even one person up off his butt to find out what's what - what his purpose is - then it's not a lie."

I nodded, beginning to understand. Gabriel Foote was no priest and no lord. He sought to change the world the only way he knew how: through example.

"It is true that our own experiences would not be believed even were I tell them with no art whatsoever," I said.

"But the secret of storytelling," Foote said, "is to weave the truth with a little art - even with a lie. If the art's good enough, they'll want to believe it with all their hearts. The Prophet knew that. When you tell folks about your own adventures - and you will, come time - remember that." He sat back and winked at Julia. "Sorry I never told you any of this. I hope you understand."

Julia nodded. "Oh, I understand."

And I, too, finally understood Julia's fondness for the man. His deeds light the way for us. Without the possibility of great deeds, what use are our travails? Is our suffering and hardship simply for naught? Or can we forge from them something worthy of the telling?

From Weird Places