The Ragman                by: Trainmaster

 

Synopsis: The 16th Century was a dreadful time, not yet risen from the feudal age. Though poised for liberation, it was yet filled with magic and ignorance. The ragman, disenfranchised, wandered the land until he met by chance a wizard and sorceress locked in a mortal, if enchanted, battle. His unwitting role decided the outcome for them--and for him.

It was a rough life that Nagyri, the ragman, lived. He tramped from town to town, village to village, hamlet to hamlet, carefully avoiding the cities, where vagrancy ordinances might affect his freedom to move about or to linger as necessary.

Small communities suited him; the people were generally amenable to his "invasion" into their quiet environment with his loud cries of "Rags for sale. Rags for trade. New rags for old." With a pack full of, well, rags, he represented the first of the new entrepreneurial class, as well as the last of the disenfranchised land-less poverty-strickened victims of rampant feudalism.

Nagyri wandered through Europe, seeking nothing in particular because in the Fifteen Hundreds, he was not supposed to have such freedom. Somehow, he'd become disconnected from the soil. He didn't farm, he wasn't a serf, and no lord he called master. He was independent but far, far from wealth. Nagyri was the poorest person many of these villagers had ever seen.

He was also the smelliest. In a period of history lacking even the rudiments of modern sanitation, people accustomed themselves to living in and around the awfulest odors or they went insane. The ones who survived learned to ignore, and eventually became inured to bad smells--but not to Nagyri.

The ragman, wandering the miles with only the meagerest of incomes and no real home, was not called to bathing or personal cleanliness. He'd fallen in a river once and felt better for a few weeks, but the dust settled and the lice moved back into his rags and gradually he began to stink again.

And his rags were very poor quality. The concept of his profession was to collect old but usable garments and cloth items, clean them, patch them, and sell them, or trade them for other rags that could be sold. Nagyri's rags went unwashed, unpatched, and--often--unsold.

As he walked from village to village, Nagyri hummed his monotonous song, a single-note totally-non-melodic song of no meaning intended solely to keep his mind off the distance ahead and the ache in his feet. He sang to distract himself, though his singing often distracted others. And in the singing, he uncluttered his mind so completely that he was often surprised at his surroundings when at last he re-focused.

The carriage approaching from behind brought him prematurely out of his hypnotic reverie. He'd been plodding along a farm road in a new part of the low countries, aimed for a town only recently opened by the manor lord to merchant access. Nagyri reasoned that his reputation--and his odor--might not have preceded him and he would at least have a fair chance to do business.

Stopping his song, Nagyri stepped off the hard-pack to avoid being mowed down by the brace of horses whose hooves thundered ever closer. There was no dust, the road was caked dry from the harsh summer sun, so he had a good look at the vehicle as it passed beside him.

Above the carriage top, the leathered coachman cracked his whip ineffectually at the ragman far below in the roadside ditch. Inside, Nagyri could see two shadowy figures peering at him through curtained openings. They were talking loudly.

"I tell you, Evidan, the man is ideal," called a noblewoman's voice. "He would do anything. Sell his soul for a moment of appreciation, he would. The perfect fool, hungry and lean."

"You suggest he can be forced against his will," said a man. "I do, of course, challenge such assumption ..." and the carriage passed out of Nagyri's hearing.

As he climbed back to the road surface, rag-bound feet sloshing from the muck in the ditch, the coach come to a full halt. The coachman stared back at Nagyri from his lofty purchase, obviously arguing with the occupants.

It gave the ragman no concern as he began his plodding and resumed his song. Within minutes, he caught up to the motionless carriage.

As he started to pass, the well-born man stuck his head out the door. "A moment, good fellow," he called jovially.

Nagyri stopped, confused. No one had ever spoken to him on the road before, and he wasn't even sure he was being addressed. He turned his head quickly from side to side but saw no other who might be a target of the gentleman's conversation.

"I say, ragman, I should like a moment of your time," the man called again.

"Me?"

"Why, yes, of course. I see no one else upon the highway. I would like to make a proposition ..."

The woman inside interrupted, "If you intend to convey him, Evidan, pray, put him up with the coachman. His very aroma overpowers my senses."

"Serena, you are incorrigible," said the gentleman, looking back inside. "Hush, woman. Let me handle this in my good time."

"Yes, but you must ... follow the terms of the wager. We have a bargain."

The man looked back down at Nagyri. "I would like you to join us for repast at yonder public house. We shall provide a meal at our expense, if you would be good enough to become part of our company. It is your choice, sir."

Still somewhat confused, but sensing a chance to fill his belly for free, Nagyri nodded. Much of the man's high-born talk was just out of his grasp but the ragman understood "at our expense" all too well. He realized there was indeed an inn in the near distance, raising its three-story thatched roof into the shimmer of the summer heat.

Nagyri chose his words carefully. "Great lord, I beg your pardon sir, for my humble appearance and speech ..."

"Yes, yes. Bother all that," said the man. "Are you coming, or not?"

"Yes, sir, good master. I thank you greatly."

"However, my man," said the gentleman in the coach. "My traveling companion insists that you can be conveyed atop the seatbox, there." He pointed up toward the front of the sedan. "Seat yourself beside the driver, if you would be so good."

As Nagyri climbed up the coach's side, the coachman scooted well away from him. Nagyri knew why and mindful of the man's whip, he didn't question that his rightful place was farther back among the luggage. In moments, the whip's crack startled the horses into motion.

The first service Evidan and Serena purchased at the inn was to have Nagyri bathed by the innkeeper's servants. They hustled him around the back and filled an old iron tub with hot water as they stripped him of his tatters. With a stiff brush, they scrubbed his head and back. Taking his hands firmly, they gouged out the caked grime from under his nails, and then trimmed the nails themselves. As Nagyri stood dripping, they toweled him dry and gave his hair a quick trim.

Lastly, they redressed Nagyri in breeches of coarse cotton, better than anything he'd sold in his life, and a coverlet of slightly-finer weave. He felt, for the attention, altogether like a king, as they led him back inside to the booth wherein Evidan and Serena were already conversing.

Both had changed apparel--or maybe, Nagyri realized--he might not have given enough previous attention. Evidan wore traveling garb of fine leather. Serena was bedecked in a gorgeous red silk dress which enhanced her charms in an almost-unholy way. She was positively bewitching and the ragman couldn't take his eyes off the rise and fall of her chest.

The gentleman noted Nagyri's attentions. "She is ravishing, is she not? Unfortunately, what you see is merely external. My dear Serena, unlike myself, is well over one thousand years old. Could you but see her as she really is, you would shudder in revulsion."

"I am only a girl," she rejoined. "While you yourself were present at the birth of the world. Really, Evidan, spreading lies about us among the proletariat. Why, in three or four hundred years, they will have us in irons. They will perforate us with knives and pitch-forks in places like Estonia and St. Petersburg."

"You ... speak nonsense," said Nagyri quietly. "Yet, there is a purpose to your generosity."

"Ho, ho," chuckled Evidan, "a perceptive man."

"Listen," said the woman, leaning forward so the ragman had a clear view of her full cleavage. "My companion holds ... believes with all his heart ... that mankind is good and true at the core. His premise is that you will make right decisions where the possibility of a wrong choice hurts others. What nonsense ..."

"And the lady," Evidan interrupted, "believes that you will make decisions reflecting only your base selfishness. She does not share my optimism in the inherent goodness of mankind." Nagyri's head swam from their high-born gibberish.

"He doesn't understand," Serena complained. "Mayhap, this is serious."

Evidan smiled. "Of course he doesn't. Look at him, Serena, he's starved. Where are our manners?" He clapped his hands and the innkeeper scurried up. The two men whispered to each other and the keep began to smile. He darted his eyes toward Nagyri as Evidan palmed a small pouch from Serena and handed it over with a handful of golden coins. After testing them with his teeth, the keep raced away.

Within moments, the servants arrived bearing trays of food. For the ragman, they pro-offered a large wooden bowl with a hot stew, carrots and potatoes, and to Nagyri's profound surprise and delight, chunks of meat. He snatched the spoon they offered and began gulping down his fare.

For Serena, they delivered a china plate containing two lovely strawberry crepes suzettes with light cream. Evidan received a metal plate holding a large cut of meat and a potato baked in cheese. The co-travelers spread their napkins in their laps and delicately attended their own cuisine.

Sooner than they, Nagyri was finished. He gave a belch and sat back against the bench's backrest, thoroughly satisfied. A servant brought mugs of steaming tea, which by its heat the ragman was forced to sip. "I thank you most gratefully, lord and madam. 'Twas a meal fit for gods."

They paused long enough to extend polite welcomes and giggled at Nagyri's attempt to be well-mannered. When their plates were finally empty, the couple leaned back and smiled.

"It is well you are satisfied," said Serena. "You meal contained a tonic to ... boost your appetite. You have eaten well--and in the doing, ingested a full measure of potion ..."

"What!" Nagyri was shocked. How dare they poison his food with their magicks.

"You see, Serena. Once again you have offended our guest." Evidan smiled. "You are incorrigible, my dear. How can you expect humanity to act anything less than the ideal you model for them. No wonder civilization is doomed."

"You talk too much," she hissed at her companion. He shrugged and sipped his tea.

"What the lady means, my good fellow, is that you have been gifted with the means to test our long-standing mutually-exclusive hypotheses. When next you meet your peers, things will ... ummm ... unfold in your wake. There will be ... changes."

"Yes, and it will be up to you to amend them--if that is possible from one so ignobly-born. And if you cannot ..." Serena grinned wickedly, "... your life shall be forfeit."

Evidan, obviously also enjoying himself, added, "In moments, you will become drowsy. When you are asleep, we will transport you nearer to your destination and release you. You will awaken remembering nothing of this conversation except your acquaintance with milady and myself."

"And, once awake," smiled the witch. "you will have little control of your actions ..."

"... until you meet with us once again," smiled Evidan. "Then we shall see of what mettle you are made."

Sure enough, Nagyri suddenly realized that he was very tired. His travels having exhausted him, his eyelids became heavy weights which slowly descended and terminated his consciousness. The food in his belly warmed him and he slumped to the bench.

The ragman roused himself from his hypnotic sing-song and realized that he'd walked quite some leagues farther and much faster than he ever anticipated. The sun was still high in the sky, yet he found himself approaching a community of some small stature. He could see wisps of smoke some distance ahead.

Looking around, Nagyri was elated by the prosperous look of the agricultural lands stretching to the horizons. The fields were lush and well-tended. They were irrigated, as evidence the tidy laterals and drains crisscrossing the thoroughfare on which he walked. The road was itself paved with groomed hard-cake.

Nagyri gave himself a brief inspection as he walked. He remembered not of his present garments, neither the trading for them nor the donning of them. His breeches were new and his tunic fit well to his torso. The pack on his back reassured him, yet reminded of his station, which his new dressings belied.

The ragman knew he had passed into the limit defining the local constabulary, which generally surrounded the community by two or three kilometers--the area local laws could be enforce. This was an area in which his luck would be secured by his anonymity, or his misfortunes--should there be objection to his presence. He gave a sniff, he was clean and not possessed of his usual odor ... another auspicious blessing.

He continued walking, observing small herds of dairy cows. His invigorated pace led him past a milkmaid on a stool, bent under her charge, draining her cow's udder into an iron pail.

Nagyri suddenly sneezed. As anyone with common sense knows, it's impossible to keep one's eyes open when sneezing. Illiterate but not ignorant, the ragman didn't fight his body's reaction to the sneeze. He blinked.

When he looked again, the milkmaid was gone. The cow, spooked by his sneeze, was rushing madly around the near pasture, bellowing in pain from the fullness of its udder, staring plaintively back at the overturned pail and stool. Nagyri was half-convinced the animal wore a young woman's face.

He walked another kilometer, catching up to a peasant woman and her young son, who was struggling to control the large goose he carried. They were obviously going to market with this, their sole income. Nagyri sneezed again, quite unexpectedly, startling all.

When his head cleared and he'd brushed the tears from his eyes, the woman was chasing the goose down the road away from him. It ran faster on what appeared to be the legs of a small boy, then took wing and soared away from the wailing woman. The ragman shook his head.

The village was in sight and Nagyri walked more briskly--he was always pleased to see buildings and dwellings. At first, the structures were rustic but they gradually became more substantial and well-constructed.

He passed the smithy, slowing to peer inside--blacksmiths were unusually good customers. This smith was shoeing a mule, bent over the rear hoof with his back to Nagyri, holding the shoe with tongs while he struck with his hammer. The ragman sneezed again and blinked--and the mule was missing. The smith, tongs and hammer clutched tightly to his sides, appeared to have lost his trousers and his legs appeared so furry they were almost indistinguishable in the shop's darkness.

He hurried away, almost afraid to see what his head was telling him his eyes had beheld. Around the corner, at a tiny, spotless cottage, the mistress was beating dust out of a bearskin rug hung on a neat little clothesline. Nagyri sneezed again.

He started to turn away but in the bright sunshine, had to turn back for a second look. The woman was now wearing the bearskin, or perhaps it had fallen on her while he'd blinked. In any case, she was clearly encircled by the hairy hide, which made her look huge. He hurried on, she had all the grace of a live, lumbering bear.

Around another corner, hoping the bearskin woman wasn't following closely, Nagyri passed a two-story house. An upstairs window was open, as the gentle breeze shook the curtains, he could hear a couple in the act of passion. Without wanting to, Nagyri sneezed again. The love-making sounds halted immediately, followed by a woman's wail and the yip of a man suddenly in pain.

What Nagyri couldn't see through the curtained window was the local peace officer and the housewife, who had been cuckolding her husband, the blacksmith. The deputy's male organs were curiously missing, replaced by the woman's miniaturized upper torso and head. Though affixed securely and integrally to his nether anatomy, she was still fully in control of her facilities. His yip of agony derived from having attempted to stroke her with his finger--she'd bitten him.

Nagyri hustled away, not wanting to understand what had transpired in his wake. He was relieved that no further sneezes haunted him. He arrived suddenly at the open-air market adjacent to the town's far perimeter.

There, he discovered Evidan and Serena. They had stepped down from the coach and approached him as he retreated against a canvas stall. "Please," Nagyri pleaded. "Come no closer. Strange magic surrounds this burg." A mother pig and her piglets wallowed nearby, tethered for sale by someone momentarily absent.

"Indeed it does," smiled Serena, continuing past the gentleman toward Nagyri with an evil leer. "You see, Evidan. I told you he was reproachable. Do you see here any redeeming qualities in the brute?"

"None," he agreed, waiting at the opposite side of the market square. "At least, none yet. I have hopes."

"You waste your breath," she sneered. "Come, ragman. Face your doom." She hoisted her silk skirts to take a long step over the pig wallow.

Nagyri felt another sneeze. He pinched his nose and tried to hold back the nasal explosion he knew was imminent. Despite his effort, it blasted out of him, spraying his hand and blinding him.

There was a surprised grunt. As Nagyri opened his eyes and refocused, Evidan's hearty laugh boomed out. "Serena, my dear, have you forgotten your station? I should never have thought such a disgrace possible on your part."

Sure enough, the woman's face was fastened to the mother pig's head. She had the ears of a pig, the massive swine body and swollen teats, and the rear quarters and curly tail. From her piggy shoulders, though, her slender, soft human arms were too weak to hold her front quarters up. She could only grunt, having acquired the vocal chords of a pig. Her human face was crimsoned with anger.

Her dress was many feet away, heaped in the dust where Nagyri's sneeze had blown it--a red flag calling attention to itself as groups of townspeople gathered in the square. Some were interested parties, some mere lookers-on.

A small group were victims of Nagyri's affliction, half-human and half-monstrosity. There was the cow with its inflamed, overly-full udder stretched unseemingly, confirming to Nagyri that it did indeed have a young woman's human face.

There was the blacksmith, hobbling on the hooves of a mule, dark brown hair caked to his equine rear quarters. He raised his ... tong and hammer ... which grew directly out of his muscular shoulders.

There was the mother, tightly clutching a large white goose which struggled and whined in a childish voice, as it flapped its wings ineffectually. Its head was that of a young human boy and it had the boy's legs and feet.

There was the bear. It had the face of a bear and its massive body was hairy as it lumbered into the square on all fours ... on ... human hands and feet attached to immense bear legs. It snapped its teeth in Nagyri's direction--fixing him with fiery red eyes.

There was the policeman, clutching his trousers with both hands because he could no longer fasten them around the buxom bulk of the miniature woman growing out of his crotch. She gesticulated wildly and made angry noises in a voice so high-pitched it was barely audible.

"It ... eh, hmmm ... appears we have something of a mess here," said Evidan. "I think you see it clearly, ragman. Certainly Serena does." He waved down at the pig woman and she responded by grunting angrily.

"'Twas magic done it," quaked Nagyri. "I did naught but sneeze."

"Agreed, good man. You were as much victim as perpetrator." Evidan smiled. "We doctored your repast at the inn wherein we propositioned you--as you said, you did naught but sneeze--and the sneezing ... what comedy, sir." He looked around the square. The normal townsfolk kept their distance from the halflings clustered nearby.

"And yet," Evidan looked intently at Nagyri, "and yet, your half of the bargain is unpaid. Having caused this travesty, you must make amends, sir."

Nagyri flinched. He didn't like the sound of this.

"My colleague, the lamentable witch Serena, lately taken with maternal instincts, believes you will run and hide. It is her contention that you lack the character ... not to mention backbone ... to see this drama to its ultimate finally curtain." Evidan reached into Serena's pouch and withdrew a handful of yellow powder.

Holding it out to Nagyri, the gentleman continued. "You have two choices, ragman. Breathe in the antidote and sneeze until all is right again. Or run, and spend the rest of your life cursed by those you've disfigured."

"I did nay do this," Nagyri sparked. "You made me do thusly ... not of my choice. Why should they hate me for this when 'twas your enchantment trapped me?"

As if by answer, the bear shuffled up and spoke in a sweet woman's voice. "You, sir, are the trigger of the evil. You may not have part in its origin, but you ..." her voice broke with a sob. "... but you caused this. Am I to spend the rest of eternity thus? My hands, my feet, they are blistering from the weight of my body."

Serena grunted again, as the goose's mother pleaded from across the square, "Am I to lose the security of my son's future? What will he be, what will he do? Please, sir, sniff the cure ... sniff and sneeze again."

The blacksmith raised his tong and beat a tattoo on it with his hammer. "Make amends, ragman. Else I'll avenge this ill all the days of my life. Your life is forfeit." And he stomped heavily with his hoof.

"You see, sir," smiled Evidan. "They need you. They depend on your kindheartedness," he chuckled at his little joke. "It is your decision."

Nagyri stared from face to face to face. Finally, he held out his hands to the wizard. "Use me, lord, to render your awful spell remedied. I ... am ready."

Evidan poured the yellow substance into the ragman's hands and watched as Nagyri sniffed it suspiciously. "One. Two," he stepped back out of Nagyri's direct aim. "And ... three ..."

The ragman threw his head back and roared a sneeze that was awesome to perceive. The yellow powder lifted out of his hands and spread in a cloud that enveloped the market square. Nagyri, when he reopened his eyes, was amazed that a handful could proliferate so visibly. About him, there was coughing and choking as the "normal" folks retreated from the yellow haze.

When it finally settled, he was dismayed. The changelings were ... still changed. The blacksmith rested on his restored elbows on the ground, his lower body missing. The mule's lower body lay notionless next to him, without its fore quarters.

The goose flapped feebly as it struggled without legs and face. The young boy's legs thrashed and his mother cuddled his head tightly to her bosum, but he had no body.

The constable fastened his trousers but it was obvious that certain organs below his waist were absent. The bear-woman, the dairymaid and her cow, the blacksmith's wife, all likewise were minus vital portions of their anatomy.

"It ... it didn't work," Nagyri wailed to Evidan. "They are still ..." and he let the thought trail away in the breeze.

"There is yet another charge," replied the wizard. "There is enough missing from the aggregate to constitute a full being. One of these must sacrifice for the good of the others. You must decide whom it shall be."

"I cannot," cried Nagyri. "That is not fair."

"As though anything else in your life has been ... fair," reprimanded the gentleman. "Nevertheless, as such they remain but for your good office of making the proper choice. Would you leave them so?" He swept his hand around the square at the cripples.

"Would that they should take my being," whispered Nagyri. He thought about the tragic loss of all his business potential. "All else is valueless. I have no further purpose in this place."

"You are wrong, sir," said the well-born traveler. "Your purpose yet awaits."

"Then I should gladly sacrifice myself. Naught has ever come good to me. 'Tis of no future that I might linger here. I ... choose to give up my own life--if that be possible."

"And a well-spoken choice it is," laughed Evidan. "It is indeed possible." He brought a fistful of bright blue powder out of the same pouch and threw it into the air. "And it is done."

Nagyri sneezed again as the blue powder tickled his nose. This time, the sneeze pitched him backwards and he staggered several steps before falling. He struck something and passed out.

A ring of faces peered at him as he opened his eyes. The blacksmith and his wife, the housewife clutching the bearskin, the police man, the mother and her little boy, the cow, the mule, and Evidan all waited for Nagyri to recover.

"What ... what happened?" he wondered.

"You fell and knocked yourself unconscious," replied Evidan. "We are thankful you are yet with us again." There was an echo of good wishes around the circle, as the others thanked the ragman for a wise choice and for restoring them.

"My voice," said Nagyri, listening to himself speak. "It sounds ... funny ... different."

"It is different," agreed the wizard. "You sacrificed yourself, remember, for the good of your fellows. Your body was needed to create unity of the sneezing fragmentation." Evidan held out a hand to help Nagyri up.

The ragman peered into the gentleman's eyes as he accepted the offer and the man's hand. He raised himself halfway and then wondered, "Then ... how ... how am I still here?"

"Look at yourself," commanded the wizard, "and see."

Nagyri looked down. His legs were smooth, lightly covered with fair hair. They were ... shaped unlike he remembered. His hands ... and arms ... were delicate and smooth. He felt the pull of weights at his chest and discovered he had a pair of woman's breasts. Everywhere on his body that he looked, or touched, was feminine. He had blonde hair rolling down his neck and swirling around his shoulders. Between his legs, there remained no vestige of his manhood.

"I'm become a maiden," he said with astonishment.

"Indeed," responded Evidan. "You are the dairywoman."

"But ... what of she?"

"In their final moment, each of these made an unspoken choice to become what they wished. The young woman's choice was to become the cow. She is here," Evidan placed his hand on the bovine face next to him. "In a day or less, she will lose all sense of her former humanity, all memory, and will become your property. This was by her own choice."

Nagyri shook her head. "I don't understand. What happened to me?"

"You gave up your body but your soul, your precious inner being remains," explained the wizard. "The cow's was cast out as your body was displaced among the others, and ultimately vanished. That left the young woman's body, whole and intact, yet soulless. Nature allows no voids--something had to fill the female body."

"And I became her," said Nagyri, comprehending at last. "I've been given a new life. The choice of the dairymaid provides me with a changed ... future."

Stepping around the pig-woman in the wallow, Evidan picked up the red-silk dress which Nagyri's sneeze had kited it into the market square. Handing it to the nude ragwoman, he said, "This ... will restore your self-confidence. You earned it, with your excellent, well-thought choice. You have proven yourself worthy of the new age to come. You will be the mother of that age."

Nagyri took the dress gingerly from him and stepped into it. It felt wonderful, cupping her breasts and fitting snugly about her waist. She could feel her intelligence growing, even as the stirrings of her new young nubile body fascinated her. She could suddenly see a long, bright potential, filled with her progeny, stretching into the far future.

The others, satisfied that their rescuer was unblemished, departed back to their homes and workplaces. The market square was deserted again. The squeal of tiny piglets remained the only sound.

"Ah-hah. For once, well-played magic is its own reward," remarked the gentleman. "Eh, seeress, you must surely agree. For nigh these many years, your sorcery has been a plague unto my house. Now, it appears your spell-casting days have reached their number." He laughed harshly. "And to think it was by your own hand, at that."

The woman-pig grunted at him, obviously frustrated at her lack of a human voice. The angry look in her eyes frightened Nagyri, who stepped back fearfully, clutching her skirts.

"I am sorry, Serena," said Evidan with mock sincerity. "It appears you must be human in order to work magic. As you are now more porcine ... what a pity, you cannot undo your own undoing."

The piglets continued to butt and thrash at each other, determined that they would win their way to Serena's swollen teats. She struggled to raise herself away from them, but her human arms were too weak to support her massive swine body. With a sigh of resignation, she flopped down, splashing the babies with mud.

"Well," said Evidan with finality. "I guess there IS truth to the old story." He looked at the pig woman suckling so many grunting, noisy piglets. "One cannot change a sow seer into a silk person."

Serena glared hatefully at him, as he turned and followed the former ragman to the village.

 

 

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