Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms

by Michael DeSousa

After a few moments, a loud gravelly voice shouted, “Who goes there? We’re closed. Free soup’s down the Buy Way.”

  “It’s me.”

  “Who’s me? —Ugh. Mister M, stop that or I won’t let you in. It’s too damn early to feel ‘happy.’”

  “I wasn’t trying to make you happy,” Markus said. “I was trying to make you curious.”

  “Still can’t tell the difference, can you?”

  “I…” He glanced back at Sil “Haven’t had the chance to practice.” Odd conversation. Was it code for something?

  The man behind the door snorted. “All the same, I want none of that here. You on business?”

  “Yup.”

  “You know what I like. Good trades. Precious stones, metals. Gold. None of that minted stuff.”

  Very odd conversation, but Sil rounded her shoulders and raised her chin nonetheless, committing herself not to be intimidated. Besides, it sounded like the place was empty. Just the three of them. She could handle that.

  “Yea, I know. Go on, look,” Markus whispered. Look? Could he see through the door? That’s impossible.

  “Hold on,” came the reply. “…You’re mind wondering or something ‘cuz…I…can’t? Ha, I see it, good; now what else you got in there—”

  “Just open the damn door,” Markus snapped. “I don’t want to be standing out here.”

  A chuckle echoed through the other side. “Tense, are we?” A clank sounded before the rusty door groaned open. Smoke bellowed out of a surprising well-lit interior with such a variety of pleasant aromas from earthy bitterness to mint to surgery fruits. And was that chocolate she smelled too? She loved chocolate, a luxury her devotions wouldn’t allow. She hadn’t eaten it in years! It reminded her of Sato back when her family used to join the other townsmen at the Zien’s Public for a relaxing evening after a week of hard work. Maybe it was the same here; she shouldn’t have judged them so quickly.

  The bronze skinned man who had opened the door stood in the doorway, all of four feet, stout with a mostly white peppered beard under a bald head and sullen irritated eyes like he hadn’t slept for days. He appeared as though he had been more accustomed to working under the sun than indoors.

  Markus spread his arms out. “Hello—”

  “No,” the man said, crossing his arms tightly.

  “No? Is that what you go by now? No imagination—”

  “Nobody I don’t know comes in here.” He peaked around Markus, eyeing Sil suspiciously. She returned the stare back, keeping her chin high. “Who’s the beauty? Awe, no hair? Hair’s the glory of a woman, love. You’d do well—”

  “Ignore her, she’s harmless. Some stray cat I helped. I’ll send her home as soon I find someone with the means,” Markus interrupted, and luckily, he did. Sil was in no mood to indulge someone giving her unsolicited advice on her appearance. Wait, what did Markus call her?

  “A stray cat? Is that what I am,” Sil said coldly to which Markus mouthed ‘please.’

  “Thief then,” the short man scratched at his cheek. “Prostitute? White powder on your face don’t excite the boys around here—"

  “Priest,” she corrected, letting her gaze grow colder. “I am a priest of the Golden Lady.”

  Markus slapped his forehead, shaking his head.

  “A priest,” he repeated, flashing his eyebrows. “Never would have guessed a priest would come ‘round here.” He glared up to Markus. “I take back my warm welcome. We don’t have time for useless proselytizing. Bad for my business. Now get out of here.”

  Markus rushed around the stout man before leaning his body on the door jamb, blocking him from reentering. “She’s not here to convert anyone. Partner, that’s who she is. You can trust her.”

  “That seems unlikely.”

  “You want to make a living or what? You know I already brought good stuff.”

  The stout man looked over his shoulder at her again, scowling. Then he grunted. “If she keeps quiet, minds herself. Fine. Name’s MaCathy, after my third wife, My Cathy —Almighty grant her sleep ‘cuz I can’t afford her when she’s awake.” MaCathy pushed himself through Markus, shouting, “It’s fine, you louts. You’re safe. Get back to drinking and plotting and spending!”

  “Aye, aye, Lord of the Manor,” came a rambunctious replied.

  “Aye, aye,” MaCathy muttered, before disappearing inside. “I’ll cut your aye, aye…”

  Markus gave her an ‘I told you so’ look.

  Sil snickered; she was right in the first place. This place was a den of iniquity. “I won’t be ‘proselytizing.’” Markus creased his mouth to one side in doubt before opening his hand toward the door. “I’ll be just as nice as people are to me,” she said, passing him inside.

  To her surprise, the tavern was very clean and orderly, and filled —no, bursting— with patrons. Finely furnished tables occupied almost every space of the floor except for a thin walkway to a servers’ bench and to a stairwell that hung on the left side leading to rooms upstairs. People of all kinds —clean, dirtied, well clothed, and not— conversed in huddled whispers and loud rambunctious shouts with mugs and glasses clinking in their hands. Others stood off in dark corners and dimly lit alcoves overly dressed to hide their faces while others wore more scandalous attire, giggling in the arms of their patrons. Everywhere the unmistakable oder of scented tobacco permeated the air. Sil would have been warmed by it if not for all the immorality present. At least, it was a welcomed change to the sooty, metallic air outside.

  MaCathy whistled from the servers’ bench, hidden behind a line of people, his finger appearing between two broad shoulders, signaling up to the left.

  Someone pressed up against her; she jumped.

  “Up there,” Markus whispered in her ear, nodding up toward a room on top of the stair. “Go first, I’ll keep a look out.”

  Look out for what, Sil didn’t understand; everyone here seemed engrossed in their conversations and company, some with card and dice while others with maps open, apparently unconcerned about onlookers. Why anyone would pay attention to the two of them anyway? They both looked dreadful from their travel like paupers out in the sun all day, and she felt dreadful as well. This MaCathy had better have some good information, and maybe with her money vouchers, she’d be able to afford a clean bath.

  Markus insistently pushed her from behind as she navigated around the tables with no one seemingly taking notice until she met the stairs. Narrow and crowded, as they were, she would have to hug the walls, climbing up sideways.

  Markus pressed her on again. She had half the mind to snap at him, if for effort she’d have to make to talk over the crowds. Instead, she went on, facing the wall and moving up to the complaint of others raising their cups and mugs for her to pass.

  Suddenly, she felt a hand grab the back her leg through her dress, and swiftly move up to her hip— She spun and grabbed a forearm. A man, clean shaved but with broken rotted teeth, leered up and down at her up. “How much?”

  “Nothing,” she seethed with her hand heating his forearm. Hotter, hotter, she sent the intention to her palm; if she had to burn the man’s arm to ashes, she would. But he just smiled, whispering, “Very nice.”

  Markus shoved the man away. “She’s mine,” he said.

  “I’m not—”

  “And everything she has is mine too.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the man threw up his hands apologetically. “Didn’t know.” Then he revealed her sheathed knife. “Here you go, pretty.”

  Sil blinked, confused by what could have caused such a change in him. She took back her knife, holding it close to her.

  Markus smiled warmly, clasping the man’s shoulder. “It’s fine, friend,” Markus added. “Go on, enjoy yourself. Be sure to make two fortunes today. One for the Well and for yourself,” to which they both erupted in laughter before Markus shoved her up the stairs to the top.

  “What just happened,” she whispered. “That was the strangest—"

  “Not here,
” he said, nodding forward. “There’s MaCathy, second door, just go.”

  Sil found the stout man peeking out of the door and signaled them inside. Sil went in first, finding a room —again, well furnished— with a hearth flaring, table and chairs in the center and ruby leather couches lining all the walls. Such a strong contrast to the patrons outside, she’d expect to see such furnishing in some noble’s house.

  On the table sat a bottle of wine, a glass jug of clear brown liquid —probably ale— and three cups, one fine gold etched wineglass and two decorative tankards. MaCathy stood staring out a window on the opposite side, one that wasn’t boarded or barred.

  The door closed and Sil jumped. Markus, gave her a wry grin, before locking the door.

  She snickered. “Your white powder on my face isn’t making much of a difference.”

  Markus shrugged. “Some people just have strange tastes.” Sil huffed, unsure if he meant it as an insult not.

  “I don’t want you influencing my costumers, Mister M,” MaCathy said before blowing out smoke from his pipe, a whiff of vanilla coming off of him.

  “I had to protect my interests,” Markus answered.

  MaCathy faced them, pointing his pipe at Sil. “You shouldn’t bring wide-eyed girls here.”

  “Wide-eyed? I am not a girl, Mister MaCathy. And I’m not naive to the iniquities of man. I know what goes on here.”

  “Do you, now,” he replied, taking a puff from his pipe. “Found yourself a quick learner huh, Mister M.” Sil couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or sarcasm either, but she refused to be intimidated, so she rose her chin and stared him down.

  “Sil,” Markus came from behind. “Could you at least sound like you’ve done more than just read books for a living.”

  “I speak the way I speak,” Sil said, crossing her arms. This place was already corrupting her; the faster she could leave, the better. “Let’s just found out where G—”

  Markus coughed. “Where did you get all this furniture from?”

  MaCathy bellowed out a hardy laugh. “I already see I’m going to make a lot on this trade,” he said, pointing to the table with his pipe. “Sit down. Have some ale. I know you priests drink wine, right?”

  “Yes, we do,” Sil said, as Markus helped her by pushing the chair under her. His sudden chivalry caught her off-guard, but she accepted and appreciated it. She grabbed the bottle, finding no label. “Abesken? Uskato?”

  “Red,” MaCathy replied dryly before sitting down himself.

  Markus took the seat next to her. “You’ll have to taste it, Sil. They get their stock from that expensive tavern next door.”

  “Stolen,” she yelped, setting the bottle back down. “I won’t drink it.”

  They both shrugged.

  MaCathy then revealed a pouch from his shirt pocket, unstrung the top and smelled inside. Sil didn’t have to guess what it was; the smell of chocolate already teased her nose. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t want this either?”

  Sil pressed her lips to a line, eyeing the bag. It had been a long time, but how would he know? Easy guess, everyone loved chocolate, she assumed.

  Markus smirked, shaking his head. “Oh but then it’s perfectly fine for you to use your talents, MaCathy?”

  “You’re under my roof. And besides, if it’ll get the girl’s evil eye off me, I think our transaction would go better.” He tossed the pouch on the table. “Go on, love. My compliments.”

  Sil reached for it—

  “Oh sure, trust him now, Sil,” Markus said with a half smile and an eye roll. “I should have given you chocolate back at Sato.”

  She took back her hand. “Yes, you’re right. And, no. I don’t trust you Mister MaCathy.”

  Markus closed his eye and rubbed his forehead before MaCathy bellowed out a smoke-filled laugh. “You amaze Mister M with the people you associate yourself will. Do you find them? Or they find you?”

  “You found me.”

  “Yea, yea, I did. You know, you could have at least told her,” MaCathy said.

  “He did tell me. That this place is a den of thieves, and robbers, and conspirators.”

  MaCathy sighed. “You make it sound better than it is, love. But no. It’s not like it used to be. Not sense the Armistice. Landrie’s done a good job cracking down, keeping his industry strong, so everyone just keeps to their small fortunes, bootlegging, smuggling, drinking and smoking. There was a time when pretending to be closed on an early morning meant someone needed my place to plan something big. Now, they just need my place to drink the next door’s stores. Nobody dares anymore, and that makes me damn depressed, almost as much as my fourth wife’s death—”

  “Fourth wife?” Sil straightened in her chair. “I remember you saying you had a living third wife?”

  “Oh did I?” MaCathy chumped on his pipe before closing one eye and looked up to the ceiling, his sun-tanned forehead creasing. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Markus shook his head, chuckling before pouring himself a full tankard of ale. “What about the Night Lady? She gotta be still doing big things.”

  “Bah,” MaCathy slammed his palm on the table. “No. Not even her. She’s laying low around here too, sending her crew working foreign jobs. Don’t know why either; she’s got the sweetest deal. Smart for me to following suit. If the big bears are scared, smart for the cubs to hide, if you know what I’m saying. So, I’m keeping low, maybe find a nice girl to marry again.”

  Markus brought his tankard to his lips. “I don’t have to read your mind to know you lying.” MaCathy grinned ear to ear with his pipe in his mouth. “You’re on to something big, aren’t you?”

  “A hope,” he replied.

  “And…”

  “Well…,” MaCathy drew out as though he was considering something. “Fine, alright. I’ll tell you. You’ll find out anyway. There’s been a military shake up lately; Landrie’s been moving his troops around. Rumor is some big military uniform in Landrie’s pet project, Ruby City, got pushed out for not meeting some goals.” —Sil exhaled; none of this had anything to do with finding her sister. Probably on purpose— “So, the garrison here in Sat’r is moving on out, down there to double the man-power. They’ve practically already packed their bags.” MaCathy leaned back and took in a deep drink. “We’ll have the city all to ourselves again. Well, for a little while anyway. But that’s all we need. Landrie’s ‘touring’ idea has really changed this place, forced the local skilled-labor guilds to protect their own by giving the touring men menial work.” He laughed. “A real king-doesn’t-know-where-his-food-comes-from kinda problem, if you get my meaning. That leaves a lot of bored and lonely men, not good for our city. Such a shameful loss in productivity too. What they need is organization, purpose, and something to do to make touring here worth their time.” He smiled a toothy smile. “I can provide them with all that. By the time new law comes back, I’ll have a better goods distribution network in more cities across the princedom than I have wives in different countries.”

  Markus tipped his hat lower over his face. “Is that so,” he said, slowly. “Kinda generous telling me all that, isn’t it? Not the MaCathy I know.”

  MaCathy leaned in and glanced warily at Sil before whispering, “It’s not all that easy. I’m not the only one thinking of putting deeper roots in Sat’r, I’m sure. I’ve got my people scouting out for competition. Friction might turn to fire, if you catch my meaning, burn the entire city down if not careful. But a controlled fire? Now that’s healthy for everyone. What’d say?”

  “Absolutely not,” Sil objected immediately. “We have our own—”

  “After, priest, after you’re done,” MaCathy added, batting his hands at her. “I’ve got time. This job is perfection for someone of your talents. I’ll write up a list of who’s in town and let you work how ever you want. Jealousy, greed, anxiety, god-like ambition; loved it when you made that one bootleg corker think a Chronicler fell in love with him. He just marched right into the garrison keep and
asked for her hand. Instead of giving her hand, she shackled both of his.” MaCathy burst out laughing while Markus chuckled sheepishly, exchanging nervous glances with Sil. And for good reason, a very different image of Markus was developing in her mind. “Fine work! But whatever. Up to you. I’ll contact the old crew too. It’ll be like the old days. We pulled some big ones then.”

  Sil snapped her head at Markus. “Old days? We? I think I’ve heard enough. You were a criminal, weren’t you?”

  Markus choked.

  MaCathy bellowed out another laugh. “You never told her? Mister Investigator.”

  Sil stood, her chair slamming to the floor. “You had better explain, Markus,” she stuttered his name.

  Markus lifted his hands, palms out. “It’s not like that, Sil. Relax. Sit down. Have some wine.” Then he muttered, “Maybe it’ll soften your piety.”

  Sil clenched her fists, steadying herself from shouting. “If that’s what you think,” Sil said softly. “Then I will leave—”

  “Sil,” Markus opened his hand to the chair. “I’m not asking you to rob anyone. Just listen.”

  MaCathy smiled at her, nodding his head between the wine bottle and her empty chair. “Yea, listen to Mister M. Life’s far too short to put on so many restrictions on life. It’s what why we’re here, isn’t it? To experience as much as we can in as little time as we have?” He then took in a deep draught from his tankard. “Who knows! We could all be dead tomorrow.”

  Sil hesitantly sat back down, scrapping her chair away from both of them. She decided to just listen for now, and take in as much information as possible. She might have to find Gene on her own after all.

  “Thank you,” Markus said to her.

  She lifted her chin against him.

  MaCathy chuckled. “I’m surprised you got her to join you. Don’t they call you imperials blasphemers, god-killers or some crap like that?”

  “You know, MaCathy,” Markus said with an edge in his voice. “If you had come with me back then, maybe you would have moved on like the rest of us. Had a real job. One wife. You know, work for money.”

  MaCathy grabbed the glass pitcher, flexing it in his hairy hands. “Do you want me to break this on your face. Is that how it’s going to start this time? I never was, never am, and never will be a subject under some high castle Jonas or Janus who cleans their mud hole the same as I.”