Today I present part 10 of the blog tour featuring Tallis Steelyard's adventures. If you've missed reading one or more of the other parts you can catch up by visiting these links.
Part 1: A significant gesture
Part 2: An eye to the future
Part 3: Butterfly net
Part 4: Getting rich moderately rapidly
Part 5: In tune with the Zeitgeist
Part 6: Learning a role
Part 7: Love letters
Part 8: Matchmaker
Part 9: Mother mine
Now on to, today's part: No strutting or fretting.
I’ve known and respected old Tallan Wynfeather for many years. He is, in my humble opinion, one of the great actor-managers. Admittedly you’ll rarely see him or his troupe grace a Port Naain stage. But over the last forty years he has kept on the move. By his own account he’s performed in every keep, town and village in Partann, and in every community north of Port Naain as well. They’ve performed before brigands, nobles more bloodthirsty than brigands, and burghers more avaricious and hypocritical than nobles. Yet he has brought his people through it all and has not lost one to the manifold dangers of the area.
There are times when I find that it is advisable not to be in Port Naain. I’m not talking about the occasions when it’s necessary to disappear for months, but sometimes it helps if you’re not available for a week or two. I’ve discovered over the years that if you’re too available, nobody appreciates you. So in the early years I got into the habit of disappearing off for a fortnight, and travelling with Tallan did at least mean that I still ate.
Now one of the strengths of Tallan’s troupe is that he has never written the plays. Far too many actor-managers do, to ensure they get the good parts. With Tallan, on those occasions where he hadn’t got a writer, the troupe wrote them. Mind you, such was their repertoire; it was possible for them to survive without a writer for many months.
Indeed they performed a very wide variety of works. Depending on just who they had travelling with them at the time, they could put on some of the old standards such as ‘Darkshore Revealed’, Cleethbart Ingratstone’s famous ‘Silent Monologue’, and ‘Three Shorecombers and the Lost Dinket’. But the company’s real strength is its ability to put on a score of different tales of ‘Forfulum the Buffoon.’ You must have seen some of them; they are based on a series of comic tales about the sordid, debauched and incompetent individual after who they were named.
Sometimes Tallan and his thespians have to cross the city to get from the villages in the North back to Partann, or vice versa. Tallan will always book a hall or even a theatre if the price is right. So on perhaps two nights a year, in some years, you can see a performance in Port Naain. He’ll send out children pasting up fliers and handbills to bring in an audience. At the start of the evening, the audience will take their seats, as strait-laced and po-faced as you could hope for. By the time you get to the interval they’re clinging to each other and hooting with laughter. The reviewer will write an utterly damning review, and next time Tallan passes through the city, the theatre will be packed again.
Nowadays, Tallan’s daughter, Tessi, writes for the company. To be entirely accurate, she doesn’t merely produce new plays for them; she pays suppliers and generally acts as Tallan’s factotum. She even pays occasional walk-on parts and helps with the catering.
To give you a feel for the life, I can do no better than describe what it was like the last time I was with them, north of Partann. We had just finished the evening performance in Lannan Crossroads. The performance had been held in the great barn that was part of the Crossroads Hotel. The performers were relaxing with a meal Tessi and I had prepared whilst the play was being performed.
Tallan had spent that day in Muckleport. We were going to move there next. He had arranged with the Dullard’s Lament, the largest Inn in the village, that next day the Landlord would erect an awning outside the inn. Then that evening the company would put on a play. The whole thing was cleverly arranged. To get under the awning you had to pass through the bar, so the landlord was happy, he’d sell more food and drink. At the same time it made it easier to make sure nobody attended without a ticket. Tallan had already been spotted by people who asked when the performance would be, so he reckoned that they’d get a good crowd.
Once this was arranged Tallan then loafed about the bar for an hour or so, chatting and listening to gossip. Then he rode back in time for the performance, played the part of Ruff Tumble, the unfortunate pimp who has inadvertently purchased the indenture of Forfulum the Buffoon. The play is the tale of how he tries a series of increasingly desperate expedients to get his money back.
The play over, their meal eaten, Tallan and Tessi retired to the wagon which serves Tessi as office, writer’s studio and home. Tessi sat down, picked up her pen and asked, “So what do we perform tomorrow?”
Tallan had been contemplating this, “Forfulum the Buffoon and the Magistrate. Make the magistrate female and let her be thin, venal and severe, with a fat, self-important husband. That way they’ll recognise her as Lady Vestan, who sits here in Lannan Crossroads.”
Tessi makes a brief note. “What about the arrest scene? Gallan has been working on his pratfalls and it would be nice to give him a chance to use them.”
Tallan nodded. “Yes, and Treggor and Mifelt can do their clothes washing scene. Have them washing the magistrate’s formal regalia before the trial.”
Thus and so, the next evening’s play is decided. Tessi will hand out a synopsis to the cast with their breakfast so everybody knows their role, and if anybody does need to learn their lines, during one of the stops, they can copy them from one of the script books kept in the wagon.
Mind you, to see father and daughter at work, one really had to be there when they decided to play Woodpin. The village sprawls over about four miles of road. There are farms and fields in the middle of it. When you arrive from the west the first building is the Woodpin Grandiloquent Hotel. When you leave heading east the last building is the Woodpin Salutation Hotel. The two hotels are managed by two sisters, termagants who apparently loath each other even more than they dislike the rest of humanity. Yet they both brew decent ale. Given that they were taught by the same mother, there is little to choose between them when it comes to brewing, cooking or general cleanliness. A fair man might comment that the standard is high and all that is lacking is hospitality.
Over the years Tallan had tried to be reasonable. He’d suggested that his troupe alternate between the two inns. He’d even offered to stay two days and play each inn on the same trip. Finally Tessi came up with a plan. Father and daughter went to see old Bulwin. Bulwin farmed exactly in the middle of the village. He brewed his own beer and shunned both inns equally. Bulwin was happy to let Tallan put up a big awning against his barn and brew house. They’d put a stage under the awning and put on the play there. Bulwin even promised to run a temporary bar. The evening was a great success, and judging by the number of drinkers supping old Bulwin’s beer, there couldn’t have been many in the two hotels.
The next morning, Tessi went to see the two termagants. She explained that she was already thinking ahead to the next time they passed through. She and her father had agreed with old Bulwin that they’d have a Woodpin theatrical festival stretching over three days (and more importantly, three nights).
The two older women were not entirely happy at this, but then Tessi pointed out that whilst they could doubtless allow people to camp, she and her father felt it better to help those who became partners in the festival. This they would do by insisting there was no camping and people stayed in one of the two hotels.
Immediately the two ladies were more sanguine about the plan, especially when Tessi suggested that they might both like to have their own temporary bar, one on each side of the theatre, where they could sell drink and food.
By this time they were calling her a wise young woman and came dangerously close to mothering her. In fact they were so caught up in her vision that both paid over twenty alars apiece in cash for her to use on advanced publicity.
The author has a few words to say about Tallis Steelyard's other adventures.
So welcome back to Port Naain. This blog tour is to celebrate the genius of Tallis Steelyard, and to promote two novella length collections of his tales.
So meet Tallis Steelyard, the jobbing poet from the city of Port Naain. This great city is situated on the fringes of the Land of the Three Seas. Tallis makes his living as a poet, living with his wife, Shena, on a barge tied to a wharf in the Paraeba estuary. Tallis scrapes a meagre living giving poetry readings, acting as a master of ceremonies, and helping his patrons run their soirees.
These are his stories, the anecdotes of somebody who knows Port Naain and its denizens like nobody else. With Tallis as a guide you’ll meet petty criminals and criminals so wealthy they’ve become respectable. You’ll meet musicians, dark mages, condottieri and street children. All human life is here, and perhaps even a little more.
Firstly; Tallis Steelyard, Deep waters, and other stories.
You can find in UK Amazon here or US Amazon here.
More of the wit, wisdom and jumbled musings of Tallis Steelyard. Discover the damage done by the Bucolic poets, wonder at the commode of Falan Birling, and read the tales better not told. We have squid wrestling, lady writers, and occasions when it probably wasn't Tallis's fault. He even asks the great question, who are the innocent anyway?
And then there is Tallis Steelyard Playing the game, and other stories. Which you find on Amazon UK here or Amazon US here.
More of the wit, wisdom and jumbled musings of Tallis Steelyard. Marvel at the delicate sensitivities of an assassin, wonder at the unexpected revolt of Callin Dorg. Beware of the dangers of fine dining, and of a Lady in red. Travel with Tallis as his poetical wanderings have him meandering through the pretty villages of the north. Who but Tallis Steelyard could cheat death by changing the rules?
If you want to see more of the stories from the Land of the Three Seas, some of them featuring Tallis Steelyard, go to my Amazon page at UK Amazon or US Amazon.
Tallis even has a blog of his own here.
Want to see what other adventures Tallis Steelyard shares with everyone, visit these links over the next few days.
Part 11: Something of the night?
Part 12: The civilising influence of Betta Thrang.
Part 13: Unfashionably tired
Part 14: Vegetating
Wordsmiths work not only for the kind praises but the sale of wares to put food on the table and a roof over their head. Therefore, if either of these books tickles your fancy, then click on the appropriate link or visit Jim Webster's Amazon page to see what other delights might suit your palate for reading.
Founder of Call Sign Wrecking Crew, LLC
Jim Webster, author of The Port Naain Intelligencer series, is a recent addition to my author friends. We met on Goodreads. I'm most honored to be among the people he trust with this blog tour.
You are welcome to visit the various blogs to see what has been going on or buy the book and read on your eReader at your leisure.
Parts thus far:
1) For want of a knight
2) The eyes have it
3) The miser and the demon
4) Just one more glass
5) Occasionally one has to do the right thing
6) Consummate artistry
7) Something fishy
8)The ethical choice
9) Delicate work
Without further ado, here's the next part in the ongoing story.
10) A cup of Wine, a Loaf of Bread — and Thou?
Benor sat drinking coffee with Faldon and went through what he had learned
from the boat yard. The priest sat thoughtfully staring out of the door, his
heavily bandaged ankle propped up on a stool.
Slowly he said, “I keep going back to that note, where it says, ‘The two
lilies will die from salt water.’ Perhaps the intention is to use the boat to kill the Chevaleresse and her daughter, not just as an insurance fraud.”
“It could be. But how would they get the two women on the boat. They’re in
Partann and that boat would never survive the journey.” Benor paused, “The
same note hinted at a son being killed in an accident as well.”
“But do we know where the child is?”
“No.” Benor sighed. “I’m not sure how on earth to find him either. We know
nothing about him except for the fact we’ve deduced his existence from the
desire somebody has to kill him. And then Tallis found a patron who is sure
his mother the Chevaleresse mentioned him in passing.”
Faldon stood up. “I’ve heard nothing, but I was given this. He reached down
and picked up a bundle of old sheet that was on the floor beside him. Slowly
he unwrapped it and revealed a drinking cup. He passed it to Benor.
“Yes Benor, silver. Virtually pure.”
Benor examined the drinking cup carefully. There was no handle but it just
sat nicely in his hand, reassuringly solid without being over heavy.
“It is a nice piece.”
“Look at the engraving, Benor.”
Whilst there were the usual bands of decoration, on one side there was a
running horse. It was beautifully executed. It was so lifelike Benor
wondered if it was the image of a real horse, a much beloved companion
immortalised in silver. Then below the front feet of the horse he noticed
there was a small crouching dragon, and below the rear feet a small stylised
He reluctantly handed the cup back. “I might be able to put a name to the
person who engraved it.”
“A Partannese artist?” Faldon asked.
“Vortac Lilywhite. I’d put money on it.”
Faldon contemplated the cup he was holding. “I got it given.”
“Somebody must have been really pleased with their haircut!”
“In a way, perhaps he was. I won’t mention his name; he’s a jeweller and
‘almost a fence.’”
“I thought you were or you weren’t. Being almost a fence is like being
almost a virgin.”
“I think he mean that he did buy and resell stuff, but he always managed to
convince himself that the person selling the item did genuinely own it. In
this case he couldn’t do that. It was obviously stolen. The woman who
brought it to him merely described it as ‘an heirloom.’ So he tested her. He
offered her a third of what he’d normally offer and she took the money and
“So how is it that you’ve got it?”
“That’s my fault. He heard me talking about honesty and the advantages of a
clear conscience, and he realised that he wasn’t comfortable with what he’d
done. Up until he’d got this cup he’d always managed to convince himself he
was an honest man. Now he couldn’t, he was just another crooked jeweller. So he gave it me and asked me to find a good home for it.”
“Did he say how long he’d had it?”
“Just a couple of months.”
“So what now?”
“Well I thought you could approach your Vortac Lilywhite…..”
Benor interrupted, “It’s Vortac Saltwrack now.”
Faldon continued as if Benor hadn’t spoken, “And show him the cup, ask if he knows anything.”
Benor thought briefly. “I wonder if he knows where his son is.”
“I think you should first ask him if he has a son. After all we’re only
Benor knocked on the house door which was opened by Vortac. The tall man’s face fell. “I wondered when you’d come back for the blackmail?”
Benor held out the cup. “No, I just want to talk to you.”
Vortac took the cup, glanced at it, “Then you’d better come in.”
He led Benor through the house to his workshop and gestured for Benor to sit on the bench.
Benor asked, “So is it yours?”
“My work certainly, but not my cup.”
“So whose is it?”
Vortac seemed to take a long time to collect his thoughts and put them into
words. “I made it for my wife. I gave it to her when our daughter, Natisse,
Vortac held the cup and stared at it as if trying to see into the past. “She
loves horses, and hadn’t dared ride for months. The horse I engraved on the
cup was one of her favourites. I remember her face when I gave her it. She
burst out crying and hugged me.”
He looked up at Benor, “And now she’s given it away.”
“We don’t know that. It could have been stolen by a maid.”
“That’s as might be.” Vortac seemed to have sagged into himself. Somehow he didn’t seem as tall as he had done. His face looked older.
“Well I could write to her, tell her I’ve found a cup, describe it for her
and ask her if she wants to buy it off the current owner.” Improvising as he
went along Benor added, “I’ll ask her how much I should offer for it?”
Vortac still looked almost grief stricken. Benor added, “If she wants it
back enough to pay for it, then the cup must still mean something to her.”
Vortac sat the cup on the bench next to Benor. “Do it, we’ll see.”
“Do you want to keep the cup safe while I do it?”
“No!” Vortac almost shouted the word. Then softly he said, “I do, but not if
she doesn’t want it.”
Benor carefully put the cup back in his bag. “Another thing, do you have a
“Yes.” Vortac seemed surprised. “Young Vortac.” He looked a little
embarrassed. “We’re short of imagination in our family. Every generation a
son is called Vortac.”
Cautiously Benor said, “There might be a conspiracy afoot to kill him. Is
“He’s the heir to a Partannese keep, of course it’s possible.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Katin and I were going to have him educated in Port Naain. We’d reached an
agreement with a school master up here. Garrent Woolmin. He was going to
attend his school and live in.”
“If I can find him we might have to get him to a place of safety. Could he
“Of course!” There was no hesitation in Vortac’s voice.
“Can you let me have a token from you so he knows he can trust me?”
Vortac slipped off a ring. “It’s not my seal; I left that for Katin when I
disappeared. It’s a ring of mine he loved. He used to sit in my lap and play
with it on my finger. He loved tracing the engraving with his little
Benor produced a piece of cord and hung the ring round his neck. “Right, now we’ll try to find him.”
A Message From The Author Regarding This Blog Tour
I’ve thought long and hard about blog tours. I often wonder how much
somebody reading a book wants to know about the author. After all, I as a
writer have gone to a lot of trouble to produce an interesting world for my
characters to frolic in. Hopefully the characters and their story pull the
reader into the world with them. So does the reader really want me tampering
with the fourth wall to tell them how wonderful I am? Indeed given the
number of film stars and writers who have fallen from grace over the years,
perhaps the less you know about me the better?
Still, ignoring me, you might want to know a bit about the world. Over the
years I’ve written four novels and numerous novellas set in the Land of the
Three Seas, and a lot of the action has happened in the city of Port Naain.
They’re not a series, they’re written to be a collection, so you can read
them in any order, a bit like the Sherlock Holmes stories in that regard.
So I had a new novella I wanted to release. ‘Swimming for profit and
pleasure.’ It’s one of the ‘Port Naain Intelligencer’ collection and I
decided I’d like to put together a blog tour to promote it. But what sort of
tour? Then I had a brainwave. I’d get bloggers who know Port Naain to send
me suitable pictures and I’d do a short story about that picture. It would
be an incident in the life of Benor as he gets to know Port Naain.
Except that when the pictures came in it was obvious that they linked
together to form a story in their own right, which is how I ended up writing
one novella to promote another! In simple terms it’s a chapter with each
picture. So you can read the novella by following the blogs in order. There
is an afterword which does appear in the novella that isn’t on the blogs,
but it’s more rounding things off and tying up the lose ends.
Given that the largest number of pictures was provided by a lady of my
acquaintance, I felt I had to credit her in some way.
So the second novella I’m releasing is ‘The plight of the Lady Gingerlily.’
It too is part of the Port Naain Intelligencer collection.
So we have Swimming for profit and pleasure
Benor learns a new craft, joins the second hand book trade, attempts to
rescue a friend and awakens a terror from the deep. Meddling in the affairs
of mages is unwise, even if they have been assumed to be dead for centuries.
And we have The Plight of the Lady Gingerlily
No good deed goes unpunished. To help make ends meet, Benor takes on a few small jobs, to find a lost husband, to vet potential suitors for two young
ladies, and to find a tenant for an empty house. He began to feel that
things were getting out of hand when somebody attempted to drown him.
If you’d like to learn more about Jim Webster and his characters, simply visit his Tallis Steelyard blog.
If you've been following the blog tour, here's what's next.
11) An appropriate boy
13) Everything going swimmingly
Polite comments are always welcomed. Many thanks, Jim Webster and fellow bloggers, for allowing me to participate in this event. I hope you've been enjoying the story as much as I have.
Don't forget you can always pick up your copies of Swimming for profit and pleasure as well as The Plight of the Lady Gingerlily whenever you're online.
Founder of Call Sign Wrecking Crew, LLC
I am Lynn Hallbrooks. I am an author, blogger, cheerleader, founder, reader, and reviewer. I have read and reviewed books for Masquerade Crew, NetGalley, and Reading Deals, to name a few. I enjoy reading books by new-to-me authors as well as sharing my love of books with others.
As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases. The same is true with any Google Ad Sense purchases. I've also been approved as an Apple Author Affiliate.
This simply means when you purchase a product through Amazon or any other advertisement on my website, I get a few pennies here and there and that helps me maintain the website and perhaps get a few other bills paid.
If you are not seeing any advertisements, it could be because ad blockers and other browser functions.