by Mike Truk
She pushed off the bookcase with a thrust of her hips, and arms still crossed, began to walk around the table, looking down at the topographical map of Khansalon. “I’ve deduced a few things which this meeting has already confirmed. You’re the leader of a dangerous team of individuals. A war troll. A half-orc of obvious military competence. You’ve legal experts who can negotiate contracts, as well as Cerys here who took out Jessie’s rooftop sentries and then hid with admirable stealth in the rafters. I can’t guess at what you do, Lady Tamara, but I would guess it is of equal weight, and that you might have a few more friends waiting back in the Bonegwayne. And yet.”
“And yet,” I echoed, wanting to see where she was going with all this, and mildly annoyed that she seemed to already have sounded most of our strengths and intentions.
“And yet, your face positively blanched when I mentioned the sum of three thousand gold. You don’t have it, and this ‘tidy sum of money’ you teased Jessie with last night can’t come close, or you’d have shown relief instead of panic.”
“That wasn’t panic,” I said. “More like mild concern.”
She smiled but let my comment pass, finished her circling of the table and turned to consider me. The way her arms were crossed under her chest, and the manner in which her tight gown thrust up her breasts was very distracting.
“Competent, determined, yet poor. You’re serious about attempting the ruins, but can’t afford a license. There are two other teams in Port Lusander who are preparing to make offers. Once they do, father will hold a ball, dispense his discretionary license, and the ruins will be closed to you until next season.”
“That would be unfortunate.”
“It would. Now, I can’t offer you three thousand crowns with which to purchase the license, but I can offer you something else: a way to earn my father’s gratitude such that he’ll most likely offer you his free one instead of giving it to Gremond’s son, Naveric.”
“Interesting,” I said. “A three thousand crown favor. And why, pray tell, would you do such a thing for us? We are, as you just said, a group of strangers.”
“Hmm, yes.” Elsa leaned back against the wall once more. The shaved side of her head contrasted almost shockingly with her opulent gown; I couldn’t help but wonder how her father had reacted when he’d first seen it. Exactly as she’d hoped, no doubt. What did that say about her relationship with him, and perhaps by extension her relationship with Port Lusander…?
“My father is a controlling man.” Her voice grew subdued, pensive. “His plans for me are as simple as they are direct. This year he’ll give Gremond’s son a free ticket. Next year my father will give me. Though Naveric’s not of a noble house, he’s being groomed by his father to inherit the directorship of the Nautilus company. That will lead to a serious influx of gold that will quite change things for my dear father. I am, as you may have guessed, not in favor of the match.”
“Then book passage on a ship and sail away,” said Cerys, voice hard and unsympathetic.
“Easily done, to be sure. But then what? Begin a new life without money? There is no ready gold which I can steal on my way out. Call me shallow, but I’ve grown used to luxury and power. But if there’s a way to escape and maintain the lifestyle I enjoy, I’ll take it. Hence, this ploy. I told you it was a gamble to enter the ruins. But a gamble that has richly rewarded the lucky few who have stumbled across the right chamber. I’ll tell you how to impress my father so that you may acquire a free license, but in exchange you must agree to take me into the ruins with you.”
“Out of the question,” said Cerys without hesitation.
“I might agree with Cerys on this one,” said Tamara.
“You’re aware of the dangers?” I asked.
“I’m neither a child nor a fool.” Elsa didn’t seem upset. “Of course I know the dangers. And not only am I willing to take full responsibility for my potential injury or death, but I believe I may even prove an asset to your team - or, given who’s on it, at the very least not get in the way.”
“Let me guess,” said Cerys, “you’ve taken a few fencing classes. Your fencing master even said you had a ‘rare talent’ unlike any he’s ever seen. Your father gifted you a beautiful blade you consider your prized possession. You’ve begun consorting with thieves and thugs, and telling yourself that by spending time with the likes of Jessie you’re proving you’re actually tough, and have what it takes to face danger. That if you ever got in a real fight, you wouldn’t scream and piss your petticoats, but would laugh instead and fight without fear?”
Elsa’s dark-blue eyes glittered as they met Cerys’ acidic ones, but to my surprise she still didn’t seem upset. “Something like that, sure. Look, I’ve no need to prove my bona fides to you all. All I need to do is help you acquire that license. Don’t want me on your team? Come up with three thousand crowns within the next day or two. Otherwise, I believe you’ll have to bow to my condition.”
Cerys scowled at me and turned away. Tamara was gazing thoughtfully at the noblewoman.
“Just out of curiosity,” I said, “what can you do? Any magical talent?”
“None,” said Elsa. “But as Cerys said, I’ve had a few fencing lessons.”
“I see.” I rubbed at the stubble on my jaw. “Well, it’s an intriguing proposition. How certain are you that your information will result in your father giving us the license? If he’s that set on your marrying this son, he’ll think twice before giving it to us instead.”
Elsa shrugged one shoulder. “I know my father. If you’re able to act on the information I’ve uncovered, he’ll be forever grateful. You don’t have long to decide, however. Acting on my information will take a day or two.”
What was unnerving was how confident Elsa seemed to be. She wasn’t worried in the least; just like last night, she held herself with the poise and sardonic detachment of someone who was above the fray. There was no doubt in her eyes, no hesitation. Interesting.
“We’ll think about it,” I said. “I, of course, have to discuss with my team. How about we arrange a second meeting this evening? Come to the Bonegwayne.”
“No.” Said without rancor or intent to offend. “A pretty fool I’d be if I danced aboard your ship and into your control. Gallant as you are, Master Kellik, I doubt you’d coerce my secrets from me, but still, a girl must be cautious. Let’s meet instead at the Mermaid. I’ve heard it’s a favorite haunt of yours. Sundown?”
“Sundown,” I said. “Very well.” I pushed off the armchair, stepped around the table and took her hand in my own, raising it to my lips as I bowed low. “A pleasure to see you again, Mistress Beauhammer.”
She inclined her head. “It remains to be seen to whom the pleasure belongs. Good day, Master Kellik. Ladies Cerys and Tamara.”
The other two said their goodbyes, and then we let ourselves out, walked down the hallway, and into the large entrance room.
“Good day, Master Kellik,” said Hadric, rising swiftly to his feet and bowing low. “I do hope that our misunderstanding -”
“Don’t worry, Hadric.” I waved for him to sit down. “You hate my guts, I’m not fond of yours, we’re both willing to play nice because of Mistress Beauhammer. Let’s leave it at that.”
Hadric gave me a hard, small smile. “As you say, Master Kellik. As you say.”
I led the way past the benches and the curious stares from those who still waited, and then out into the sunshine of the front porch. The market yet bustled before us, its clamor and verve a shocking contrast to the cool, dark stillness of the magistrate’s hall.
“I can’t believe her nerve,” said Cerys heatedly, stepping up alongside me. “It was well played, I’ll give her that, and a fine deduction to expect us here this morning, but to think we’d -”
“Iris is gone,” said Tamara.
I startled, scanned the length of the verandah, and saw that she was right. I rushed to the railing and examined the immediate environs below. The closest stalls, the tortured p
aths between them, the far edges of the market square.
Nothing.
Tamara and Cerys did the same, and together we searched for the necromancer with increasing desperation, until at last I stepped back. “Where the fuck did she go?”
Cerys rubbed the back of her wrist across her forehead. “We shouldn’t have left her alone. She’s not all… well, there.”
“Back to the ship, perhaps?” Tamara bit her lower lip. “Maybe she grew overwhelmed by memories and decided to return to her cabin.”
“I don’t know. But we need to find her before someone from her past recognizes her and sounds the alarm.” My thoughts were racing. “Tamara, head back to the docks and search them, then check in on the Bonegwayne. If she’s not there, return to this verandah so Cerys and I don’t have to go all the way back to the ship. Cerys, you scout the market and surrounding streets.”
“Where are you going?” asked Cerys.
I looked higher up the slope toward the base of Beauhammer Hill. “The noble quarter.”
“Good luck,” said Cerys. She stepped in, kissed my cheek, and then turned to clasp Tamara’s hand before skipping down the steps and plunging into the market.
“I can’t tell if she loathes you or likes you,” said Tamara. “You’ve certainly a way with women.”
“If you say so,” I said, feeling bemused. “Good luck, Tamara.”
She stepped in close, and then, before I knew what was happening, cupped my face with both hands and kissed me lightly on the lips. Pulled back, smiled, and then laughed as she turned, exhilarated. “For luck, Kellik!”
I watched as she hurried down the steps. Watched her shapely rear, if I’m to be honest, and felt my bemusement grow. Was this part and parcel of being a king troll? Drawing powerful and beautiful women into ever closer proximity? Should I actively make an effort to keep them at a distance? Was there danger down this road? Given what I was, could I even take credit for their attraction, or was there something else at play?
Unsure, I made my way down the steps, followed the market’s bustling edge, and then hurried up the main avenue toward the higher reaches of the city. The sun was beating down on the busy streets, having just cleared the castle up ahead, and I felt sweat trickle down my back and prickle across my brow. No wonder there were awnings everywhere.
The universal logic of cities made finding the nobility’s quarter easy. Filth ran downhill and downstream, and thus the wealthy always sought to live as high up as they could without unduly inconveniencing themselves; views and fresh air were an attractive quality, as well as being close to nexuses of power, like Beauhammer’s castle. Thus I followed the avenue as it sloped up, the buildings around me growing grander, their estates larger, the walls about their gardens taller.
For the first time I saw guards. Patrols of two, men in iron helms and breastplates, pikes propped over their shoulders, blades at their hips. Their ballooning sleeves were either yellow or blue, and they seemed at ease, expecting no trouble, but following my passage with curious eyes.
Not much trouble up here, then. Why was that? Didn’t the rabble below spend their evenings burglarizing the wealthier manors?
The avenue became cobbled, and pavements melted into existence on either side, broad and even and passing beneath the colorful canopies of Royal Poinciana trees. Bright beds of flowers were planted down the center of the broad avenue, and the quality of the phaetons and carriages that rumbled by grew similarly elevated.
Very nice, and oh-so typical.
Iris would know this area like the rotting anatomy of a favorite corpse. She’d have made a beeline for her manor if she’d come this way at all. Yet how to find it? The size of the estates up here were such that each block only held two or so at most; I could spend an hour running down endlessly long streets, peering through gates at homes and still not find her.
Inspiration struck. “Excuse me,” I said, approaching an older man in a stiff coat and unseeingly tight leggings that squeezed his fat thighs into fantastic rolls. “Do you know where the necromancer’s house is?”
“The Kargashina estate?” The man blew out his cheeks as if I’d ask him for a loan of ten gold crowns. “Well, yes, of course. Tourist, are you? Come to gape? There’s nothing there to look at but shutters and weeds, you understand. Not worth your time, and to be honest, we’ve all suffered enough with that scandal to have the likes of you come to peer through the gate -”
I channeled my inner Pogo. “My name is William Blocker, Esquire, representing the accounting firm of Demellon and Fairchop, and we’ve been commissioned by benefactors to do a survey of the chattel that remains within the estate.” I sought hard to sound as much as Pogo as I could. “Perhaps you could stop insulting me and my character and instead direct me to where I need to do business?”
The man blinked, clearly unused to being spoken to in such terms, and then spluttered, “Yes, very well, no need to take offense, my good man, just - but never mind, never mind. First left up ahead, down the street, it’s the obviously abandoned home on the right. Good day to you sir, I say - good day!” And he turned and huffed off down the street, cane rapping importantly on the cobbles.
“And a good day to you, kind sir,” I said, executing an overly florid bow in his general direction. “My thanks.”
Iris’ street was the last but one before Port Lusander fetched up against Beauhammer’s hill. I hurried around the corner, made my way past two estates, and then slowed as Iris’ came into view.
The old duffer had been right about one thing: it was impossible to miss.
The manor was huge, a sprawling, elegant affair now draped in melancholic abandon. A gravel driveway curled in a circle around a dry and ivy-draped fountain, the centerpiece of which was a seahorse covered in a mosaic of black and crimson stones. The building was two stories tall, and somehow even in the morning sunlight had a faded air, as if a subtle shadow remained always between it and the light of day. The windows were all shuttered, the garden overgrown, with what once must have been splendid little box hedges and flower beds that now ran rampant with weeds and strangled blooms.
The gate, I saw, was ajar.
I glanced up and down the street. A carriage was rolling away from me. A group of men stood on the far corner, engaged in earnest conversation. I pulled the gate open. It creaked loudly, but I slipped inside and pulled it shut.
And immediately noticed a subtle shift in the air. It was oppressive, as if a storm were about to break. The gravel crunched under my boots as I made my way down the driveway, casting glances to the left and right, half expecting to see some horror or other dragging itself my way through the undergrowth.
A carriage house was set off to the left. A stable beside it. The Kargashinas had been an opulently wealthy family. No wonder Beauhammer had desired Iris’ hand. It also added credence to Elsa’s claim that he was going to marry her off to a wealthy son: the man seemed obsessed with gold.
I reached the broad front steps and paused. For how long had this home stood empty? Iris had been with us three weeks now. In Wargiver’s clutches for a couple of weeks before that. It would have taken three or so weeks to transport her to Port Gloom. A week while she languished in Beauhammer’s dungeon. So - almost three months since a mob had come for her here, torches burning, crying for her death?
Three months was enough for neglect to creep in. For moss to have grown across the window sills and down the length of the shutters. For leaves and branches to have blown in across the porch. And yet not so long for it to appear a ruin; a good week’s work with a team of dedicated servants would see the place put to right. It stood poised, perhaps, between both states: easily tilted towards greater neglect or restitution.
The massive front door was cracked open.
I crossed the porch and opened it further. “Iris?”
The hall within was impressive, dimly lit by shafts of light that filtered in through the shuttered windows. Two grand staircases flanked the hall, curving up to th
e landing above, while doors to the left and right led into great, shadowy chambers. Dusty suits of armor stood at attention along the walls beneath dark, heavily framed portraits of pale-faced men and women in stiff, black finery.
“Iris?”
Nothing. I entered, and felt my pulse pick up. Was I in danger here? I wasn’t sure. I restrained the urge to draw my sword. Moved by curiosity, I paused before some of the portraits. The people depicted therein bore a striking familiarity to Iris; the same heart-shaped faces, the bow lips, the black hair. The fashion of the older portraits was Mendevian; was that from where her family hailed?
I moved to a set of double doors on the left. Peered within. A sitting chamber of some kind, the furniture draped with heavy white sheets, the shelving bearing endless rows of books. Silence. Stillness. Shadows heavy like the palls of the dead.
Moved across the hall to the other set of doors. A small antechamber, I realized, the parquet floor gleaming dully, the furniture again clothed in white, a magnificent chandelier gleaming like a sorrowful orrery of glass stars. I entered, drawn by a whispery sound that came from a large archway leading deeper into the house, and peering through saw Iris dancing in a great dark void, lit candles revolving about her in different directions.
The scene was captivating in its strangeness and wonder; it was a ballroom, extending back no doubt to the rear of the house, large enough to house hundreds, but now only Iris danced here, alone. Gone was her practical city-wear, replaced by a black dress, reminiscent of Elsa’s gown, intricately stitched with onyx and obsidian and black gems so that she gleamed and glittered like her own dark star, her skirt raised with one hand, the other extended and curled oh-so gracefully as if around an invisible partner.
And how she danced. Twirled, sweeping about as if guided by a pair of powerful, invisible arms, her great skirt flaring out, her head lolling from one side to the other as she smiled, eyes half closed. And the candles, rising and falling as they revolved around her, candles as thick as my arm and by the dozens, their flames streaming and brilliant, surrounding her dark form in an intimate glow that seemed to only accentuate the darkness that consumed the rest of the ballroom.