The mists of sorrow ms-7

by Brian S. Pratt

  “Come on,” Jiron says as he quickens his pace to the door.

  “How did they find us?” asks James.

  “I don’t know and I’m not about to hang around to find out,” Jiron states. The last few yards to the door he practically sprints forward. He finds the door unlocked, opens it and rushes inside with James and Reilin right behind. Just as he closes the door behind them, a ruckus is heard coming from the courtyard. One woman screams and several men yell.

  “Hold the door,” Jiron tells Reilin and then moves to an adjacent window overlooking the courtyard. He and James look out as Reilin braces the door with his shoulder. Out in the courtyard, the guards have two men in custody and are escorting them out the main entrance.

  “They weren’t after us,” observes James. Then to Reilin he says, “You can relax.”

  Reilin nods and moves away from the door.

  They find themselves in a room with storage shelves on one side and a table with several chairs on the other. Two doors exit the room other than the one through which they entered. Jiron checks the one on the right while James listens at the one on the left.

  “Quiet,” Jiron says after a moment’s listening.

  “Here too,” states James.

  Jiron opens his door slowly and looks out at a hallway extending away further into the building. Several doorways line both sides. The hallway is currently empty.

  When James looks through his door, he finds a storage room full of chains and other paraphernalia that slavers might find useful. Turning back to the others he says, “Just a storage room.”

  Jiron nods and indicates they should go through his door. “Lead on,” James whispers. Opening the door, Jiron moves out into the hallway. Passing slowly and silently, he listens for any noise which may indicate that someone is approaching.

  As he reaches each door, he puts his ear to it and listens for a moment. When he fails to hear anything, he continues on to the next. At the third door where he stops and listens, he hears the sound of conversation coming from the other side. Motioning for the others to stop, he then moves back to join them.

  “There are at least two people in that room,” he says pointing to the door. Then to Reilin he says, “See if you can figure out what they are saying.”

  Nodding, Reilin moves to the door and places his ear against it. He listens for a moment then returns. “They are talking about another slaver,” he says. “Nothing of any importance.”

  Just then, the door through which they originally entered opens and voices are heard coming from the other side. All three of them turn to look and find that a slaver is there with his back to them, paused in the doorway as he speaks to another.

  Panicking, James grasps the handle of one of the other doors and throws it open. Jiron and Reilin both follow him in before he shuts it. A second after the door shuts, they can hear the other door close and the man’s footsteps approaching down the hallway.

  Jiron pulls his knife and waits next to the door in case the man should enter. But the footsteps pass by the front of their door and continue further on down the hallway. Then they hear another door open and close. Putting his ear to the door, Jiron listens and finds the hallway quiet.

  “I think it’s clear now,” he says.

  “Should we even be in here?” James asks.

  “We have to find Buka,” insists Jiron.

  “I understand that,” James tells him. “But do you think he’s going to be very helpful to those he finds sneaking around?”

  “We’re here now,” Reilin adds. “Let’s just find him and get the information we need. Then get out of here.”

  Jiron is about to open the door to leave when they hear a door opening and footsteps approaching. They sound like they are coming from the direction the earlier footsteps went. They can hear two men talking as they pass by. Jiron looks to Reilin but he shakes his head. “Nothing important,” he whispers.

  As soon as the two men are gone, Jiron opens the door slowly and peers out to find the hallway again clear of people. Moving out of the room, he continues down the hallway in the direction they were originally heading.

  At the end of the hallway is another closed door, they continue on down toward it. Jiron still pauses at the other doors they pass and listens to see if anyone is there. When they finally reach the end door, he reaches for the handle when it suddenly opens up.

  Three slavers stand there in shocked surprise at seeing them there. “What are you doing in here?” one asks.

  Jiron is about to pull one of his knives when Reilin places a restraining hand upon his. Moving forward, Reilin asks, “Isn’t this the way to view the slaves?”

  Shaking his head, the slaver replies, “No.”

  “We’re sorry,” Reilin says, “we must have gotten turned around. Could you direct us to where we can?”

  The slaver looks at him quizzically, and seems to be contemplating whether or not to believe him. Then he makes up his mind and nods, “This way.” Indicating for them to follow, the slaver turns around and begins walking down the hallway.

  “Come on,” Reilin says and motions for James and Jiron to follow. He can see the questions in their minds but are unable to ask. “It’s okay,” he says to put their minds at ease.

  Trusting in him, they nod and the three of them follow the slaver. He leads them along the corridor and then pauses at a door on his right. Opening it up, they find that they are being led outside the building and into the courtyard. He indicates a doorway over on the far side and says, “Go through there and you can view the slaves waiting for auction.”

  “Thank you,” Reilin says and then walks briskly away from the three slavers.

  “What was that about?” asks James when they are again among the crowd.

  “I told him that we wished to view the slaves and had gotten turned around,” he explains. Glancing back, he finds the door that they just passed through closed and the three slavers gone.

  Not to be deterred, Jiron looks around and sees two slavers talking to each other as they stand against one of the walls near the platform. From their age and dress, he figures them to be more than the run of the mill slaver. Deciding on a more direct approach, he grabs Reilin’s arm and points to the two slavers. “Go ask them,” he says. “See if they can help us.”

  “Alright,” he says. Crossing over toward them, he gets to within fifteen feet when the two men notice his approach. They stop their conversation and turn to meet him. “Excuse me,” Reilin says as he comes to a stop a couple feet away.

  “Yes?” one of the men asks.

  “My friends and I are looking for a slaver by the name of Buka,” he explains. “Would either of you know where we might be able to find him?”

  When he says the name ‘Buka’, both men’s expressions turn dark. “Buka doesn’t see anyone,” the older of the two men tells him. “Let alone you people from the north.”

  “But this is of some importance,” Reilin insists.

  The younger of the two visibly frowns. “What?” he asks.

  “That would be better left unsaid until we could speak with Buka,” Reilin replies.

  Snorting, the older man looks with derision at him. “If you wish to buy a slave, then buy a slave or go away,” he says. “But Buka doesn’t talk to anyone.”

  “We would be willing to compensate you for your help,” offers Reilin.

  “There’s no amount you could give me that would make me help you,” the older slaver states. “Your kind is only suited for the block. Only the propriety of the auction has made me endure your presence even this long. Go away before my patience wears any thinner.”

  Reilin looks from the older to the younger and sees the veiled threat should he persist. Without a word, he turns around and walks back to Jiron and James. “They’re not going to help us,” he tells them. Then he summarizes the gist of the conversation.

  “Sounds like a couple of bigots to me,” James says. “And you’re right, men like that are unlikely t
o prove helpful.

  “I’m not going to give up,” insists Jiron.

  “No one is saying that we are,” James assures him.

  From the platform where the women were being auctioned, the auctioneer begins speaking loudly. They turn to look and see that he’s standing there alone, the girls that had been there having already been sold.

  “He’s saying the auction is closed for the day,” conveys Reilin. “There will be another in two days.”

  “Two days!” exclaims Jiron loudly.

  “Shhh!” says James. “Keep your voice down.” Looking angry and upset, Jiron glares at him.

  “Everyone is leaving,” Reilin states. “We need to go or risk having attention drawn to ourselves.” Indeed, the people are all moving toward the main entrance to the slaver compound. “We can’t stay here.” Glancing back to the two older slavers he just talked to, he sees that they continue to talk in quiet conversation near the wall and are watching them.

  “He’s right,” James tells his friend. “We must go.”

  Seeing no other alternative, Jiron nods and the three of them join the crowd in its exodus from the slaver compound. Once through the gate, they move down the street for several blocks then come to a stop. Moving near the edge of a butcher’s shop, they try to come up with another idea.

  While they are throwing ideas back and forth, a small boy no more than eight crosses the street and stops before James. He looks up at him with a crooked grin.

  “Go along with you boy,” Reilin says when it doesn’t look as if he’s going to do anything.

  The boy suddenly raises his hand and holds it out to James, the crooked grin remaining on his face. Clutched in his hand is a piece of paper. “Is that for me?” James asks. When the boy doesn’t reply, Reilin translates.

  Nodding his head, the boy’s grin becomes larger.

  James reaches out and takes hold of the paper. As soon as he has hold of it, the boy lets go and turns to leave. Reilin grabs him by the shoulder and asks, “Who gave this to you?” Bursting into a flurry of motion, the boy wriggles from his grasp and disappears into the crowd.

  “Who would know that I am here?” he asks, fear growing inside him.

  “Maybe it’s Azku,” suggests Reilin. “Other than us, he’s the only one who knew we would be heading in this direction.”

  “Perhaps,” James says as he looks at the paper.

  “Better see what it says,” Jiron tells him.

  “Yeah,” agrees James. “You’re right.” Uncrinkling the paper, he sees there is writing on it.

  Common room of the Wallowing Swine. Hour after dusk.

  “Great,” says James, “another enigmatic message given by persons unknown.” He sighs, “Can’t people just come right up to you and say things themselves?”

  “This is often the way with those who wish to remain unobserved while doing things that could bring them embarrassment, or trouble,” explains Jiron.

  “I suppose,” he says. Looking up at the position of the sun, he figures dusk to still be a couple hours away. “Let’s find where this Wallowing Swine is and then get something else to eat before we meet with Mr. Mysterious.”

  Jiron chuckles, “Mr. Mysterious.”

  James gives him a grin and shrugs. “Let’s go. I’m still hungry.”

  Reilin asks directions and eventually they find themselves in the seedier part of town. When they at last stand outside of the Wallowing Swine, James looks at the place and shakes his head. “Why can’t they arrange for us to meet at one of the better places?” he wonders.

  Overall the place has the general look of disrepair, nothing major, just looks like the owner hasn’t put much effort into it. The outside walls are cracked and one of the steps leading up to the front door is missing. Rolling his eyes, he can hardly wait to see what the inside is like.

  “Still an hour to dusk,” he announces to the others. “Let’s get something to eat.” They move off and head back to the better part of town.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  They return before the appointed time and find that the common room of the Wallowing Swine is already becoming full. James is amazed at the number of people here. All the choice tables are taken and they are forced to sit near the center of the room. Jiron would rather not sit so exposed, but there’s nothing to do about it.

  Once they’ve taken their seats, a girl comes by and takes their order. Soon, all three are sipping mugs of ale. While James sips his, he unobtrusively takes in the other patrons to see if he can possibly determine which one sent them the note.

  “They have a better clientele than I would have expected,” observes Reilin.

  James understands what he’s talking about. The outside of this tavern gave the impression of a dive, yet counted among the patrons are men and women in fine clothes. Gentlemen and ladies mixed in with the riff raff, altogether an unusual sight.

  “I wonder what brings them to a place like this?” Jiron asks.

  “The food maybe?” suggests Reilin.

  “Hardly,” he replies. “No noble I’ve ever heard of would be seen mixing with some that are in this room.” Indeed, those sitting at one table look as though they’re a bunch of thugs fresh out of the gutter. And next to them are a gentleman and a lady who have to be some form of nobility, or at the very least, wealthy.

  As time passes, James begins to get impatient. Whoever had sent him the note has yet to make an appearance. His attempt at ferreting the person out by studying the other patrons has yielded nothing more than returned looks of annoyance. None of the others have given their table more than a cursory look.

  Then a hushed murmur begins from the back of the room and James turns to see what it’s all about. One of the wandering minstrels that are so prevalent in this world is making his way from the back. Blonde hair and dark skin, he carries his instrument to the stage that’s set against the wall. Calls of ‘Kir’ and other salutations are given to this man, both from those who are the dregs of society and those who are well off.

  “I think this minstrel may be the reason why everyone is here,” observes Jiron.

  From the way everyone has perked up and treating the man, James can only agree with him. “I think you’re right,” he says.

  The minstrel sets his instrument on a stand that is already in place on the stage. Then he brings the stool that was against the wall forward and sets it next to the stand. Taking his seat upon the stool, he faces the crowd which has grown very quiet. James glances around and can see that every eye in the place is on him.

  From within his cloak the minstrel produces a cracked wooden bowl that looks like it’s been with him for a very long time and sets it down on the edge of the platform. Before he straightens back up, several coins are flipped from the crowd, landing in and around the bowl.

  Taking up his instrument, Kir, at least that is what James assumes his name is considering the number of times people have said it to him, gets set to play. The room has fallen absolutely quiet, you could hear your own heartbeat in the stillness if you had a mind to.

  Then he strums the strings of his instrument and begins to sing. With the first note, James can see why this place is so packed. The quality of the music is far superior than anything he’s heard in a long time. The music is perfectly pitched and his voice seems to move inside you and pull at your emotional strings. When the music is happy, you are glad. When it moves to a more somber tone, you sink with it.

  During the time the minstrel, or rather the bard as the quality of his music warrants him to be called, sings the first song not one person says anything. Silence reigns until the last note fades away, then the common room of the Wallowing Swine erupts into thunderous applause. James, Jiron and Reilin join in with great enthusiasm.

  Then the bard begins a rollicking tune and the patrons resume their conversations, albeit at a much lower volume than what it was before Kir made his appearance. “I can see why the people pack this place,” James comments to Jiron.

&
nbsp; Nodding, Jiron says, “He’s about the best bard I’ve yet heard.”

  The night continues to deepen and still no one has made any attempt to approach them. They empty mug after mug while they wait for whoever it was that gave them the note. An hour into his set, Kir gets up and tells his audience that he’ll be taking a short break. He places his instrument on its stand and then makes his way to the back where he enters the kitchen. A smattering of applause follows him until he disappears through the kitchen door.

  While he’s gone, people gravitate to the stage and place coins within his bowl. James gets up as well and places a silver in among the other coins. To his surprise, he finds a couple golds already there.

  Back at the table, he says to the others, “This Kir does pretty well for himself.”

  “Wonder why someone with that much talent hasn’t been snatched up by some noble before now?” questions Reilin.

  “Who knows?” replies James. “Could be he likes life on the road.”

  “Some do I hear,” agrees Jiron.

  The buzz in the tavern has grown loud during Kir’s break and only subsides when he finally makes his appearance from the back. Taking his place back on the stage, he takes his instrument in hand and then pauses a moment while the crowd quiets down. He gazes around at the men and women who have come here to hear him play. His eyes stop on this table and that as they make their way from one side to the next. Then he gives them a smile and starts in on a song.

  After he sings the first line, James realizes there’s something familiar about this song. Though he cannot understand the words, he comes to the startling realization that he knows it. It’s a song from back home that he taught Perrilin shortly after he came to this world. Perrilin had bet him a silver that he couldn’t sing him a complete song that he didn’t know. He taught Perrilin ‘Home on the Range’ and won the silver.