by Dan Ehl
"I will keep that in mind. And it is private inquisitor," I answered and wished him farewell.
I turned again to view the pilgrim. He was no longer at his seat. Sighing, I tested my injured foot and stood. It did not protest too much. I managed to get back to the bar with barely a limp. Lorenzo's stool was empty and I gave a questioning eye to the barkeeper. He shrugged and grunted something that sounded like my companion had left with the Dorga pilgrim.
I wearily took a stool and debated my next move. Lorenzo had an inclination to disappear at odd times. Should I wait or join Sergey at the coach stop? Though the prospect of a hike home alone was not that appealing, I decided to stay. Curiosity played a major part in my decision. What was Lorenzo doing with the demonic pilgrim?
I did not have to wait long. Halfway through my second Horse Lips Ale, Master Spasm walked through the front door and made his way to the empty stool beside me.
"How'd it go?" he asked.
"Go?"
"With the witch."
"Witch?"
"Morganna's daughter."
It drove me mad how Lorenzo seemed to know everything. It was highly irritating at times.
"Daughter?"
"It sure wasn't the witch's son. Okay, I can see you don't want to talk about it."
"What was with the pilgrim," I asked.
"Pilgrim?"
I cocked my head and eyed him for a moment. "We have a date tomorrow evening at the baron's. I am to pick her up at her mother's."
Lorenzo seemed impressed. "Cool."
I raised my eyebrows.
"He wasn't a pilgrim," Lorenzo offered in return.
I had to smile at how accustomed I had become to our banter. I had been wary of Lorenzo when I first met him on my way to Stagsford. He had a room down the hall in Kaiserhelm and answered his door to a Ghennison Viper Mage.
~ * ~
I remember that first meeting very vividly. I had looked out my door standing bare foot, hair mussed, and mouth agape. Just several yards from me stood a Ghennison Viper Mage and two Glavendale warriors, all now turned to my door and staring in serious displeasure. Even without the conical hat, the wizard was tall. He had an unhealthy yellow complexion like that of a fading bruise and a reek of mold and dank caverns. A guard looked as if he were about to bark a rebuke when the door they had been beating on flew open.
"What the…?"
I assumed the ominous trio elicited such responses wherever they went. I looked at my neighbor with pity. He stood in a state comparable to my own--that of obviously having just risen from bed. I guessed him to be middle aged with dark hair to his shoulders, and a mustache streaked with gray that hung almost to his chin. Olmsted was still hoarsely begging me to shut the door.
The wizard gave my neighbor but a brief glance and said scornfully, "This wretch is not whom we seek."
"Who, dunghead, do you think you're calling a wretch," the man grumpily answered in an unfamiliar accent. "You have a lot of insolence calling anyone a wretch, dressed in that clown getup."
It was not an expected reply. I involuntarily retreated a step into my room but could not completely tear myself from the unfolding drama. The King's men looked outraged then fearful as they turned to see how their companion was reacting--which was not good. Ghennison Viper Mages are known for their arrogance, evil tempers, and as loathsome students of the black arts. This is too often an unfortunate combination of personality traits and talents for those who come under the scrutiny of the notorious magicians.
The wizard's eyes erupted into burning coals as if fanned by the insolence. He reached out with a finger that more closely resembled a bird claw, but it came to an abrupt halt as my foolish neighbor seized the mage's wrist.
"Beat it, Bonzo, and take your two girly boys with you. I'm trying to get some sleep."
An ear-splitting shriek erupted from the wizard, and he thrust his free hand at the foolhardy stranger while mouthing a fierce curse. I frantically closed my eyes and shoved the heals of my hands into my ears. It is dreadfully painful to hear the dead language of the even deader Xlantians spoken by a human tongue. The following discharge of light seared its way through my closed eyelids and sent me staggering against the doorframe. The hall was flooded with the stink of seared meat and hair.
I could hear my half brother Olmsted's lumbering tread behind me as I forced open my eyes. The hall was filled with noxious black fumes that made me lightheaded and stung my watering eyes. Strong hands gripped my arms and tried pulling me back into the room. I struggled reflexively and jerked free in time to see the smoke thinning. A greasy patch of charred cloth and crumbled bones lay on the hallway floor. It looked worse than the meals they call food at the King's Wart Inn. Two frightened faces looked down at the incinerated mass and to each other. The King's guards were bewildered by the sight. Instead of the expected cremation of the stranger, it was the Ghennison Viper Mage who was blasted into ashes and oil.
My neighbor opened his mouth to speak. The soldiers fell over themselves to escape before he could utter a word and their footfalls could be heard pounding down the stairwell after they were out of sight. The amazing event had the opposite effect on me. I stood frozen in my doorway.
"I could have warned the cretin, but he probably wouldn't have listened," said whom I was soon to know as Lorenzo Spasm in a matter-of-fact voice. "I hope they clean the mess up before I leave in the morning. I hate looking at crap like that before breakfast."
"W-what did you do? That was a Ghennison Viper Mage. They are invincible. Even the lizard wizards of Ghostlike fear them."
"The mightier they are, the faster they burn," the stranger replied solemnly as if importing some great wisdom, then stepped back into his room and shut the door.
Olmsted had hesitantly craned his head out the door and gasped when he saw the stinking mass--greasy scraps in the muck still bubbling and smoking.
"Amazing," my half brother said in a husky voice. "I have never heard of a Ghennison Viper Mage bested at his own trick."
I shoved him back into the room and bolted the door against the unpleasant reek.
~ * ~
It was later I learned that Lorenzo, a traveler not of this world, was immune to magic. All curses and spells rebounded upon those who cast them. And since that initial meeting, we have become stalwart comrades.
"I thought something was amiss about him," I said of the supposed pilgrim.
"He was a Reverian Assassin."
I was in the middle of a swallow when Lorenzo made the revelation and I began choking. He slapped me on the back and continued. "His buddies have gone back to town. They are after you, hired more than a month ago in Stagsford. This one does not know the client's identity, though he said others did. He did know whoever hired them was not from Duburoake.
I ran a sleeve across my chin and put down the bottle. "I was not aware Reverian Assassins were so loquacious."
"It is surprising what they will say when faced with alternatives."
"Alternatives?"
"Alternatives."
"I have been led to believe Reverian Assassins are impervious to torture or threats."
"They are a recalcitrant bunch," Lorenzo admitted as he emptied his bottle of Duburoake Star Ale.
"Do not make me hurt you," I threatened.
Lorenzo sighed and said, "I told him I would emasculate him, dress him as a harem girl, and sell him to the black ship that lies at anchor in the bay."
"The black ship is that horrendous? Where is it from?"
"You don't want to know."
"And what has become of this assassin?" I forced myself to ask. Though I trust Lorenzo with my life, I still find his drastic solutions to certain situations unnerving.
Lorenzo smiled and paused, giving my imagination time to dwell on a number of disturbing outcomes. "He runs with his tail between his legs. I doubt he will return to Reveria since he has failed his task. I expect him to take up a more sedate occupation, maybe that of a rabbit shepherd
."
"Well, it was good your bluff worked," I said.
"Bluff?"
I tried to ignore his rejoinder.
"At least now you now know your future mother-in-law isn't out to kill you--with Reverian Assassins, anyway," he continued. "But the assassin's confession does signify that there is someone else, obviously with wealth, who wants you dead-though they live in some other part of Glavendale."
I felt my head whirling. "I cannot contend with of any of this right now. I need some sleep. Let us see if there are still seats on that coach."
Chapter Nine
I woke up feeling better than I had for many days. Even the pain in my foot had abated to where it was just a dull throb. I felt even better after a bath and fresh change of clothes.
Lorenzo was waiting for me in the inn's long hall. He had finally convinced me it would not be safe for me to return to my quarters with so many assassins still out for my blood. The Reverians were as mad as hornets with the humiliating deaths of their brethren assassins.
"So, how am I to continue my investigation into Frost Ivory's mysterious slumber if I cannot go about in public?" I asked while attacking a plate of ham and eggs. Lorenzo had been adamant about me staying out of sight. "Or how am I to even discover the origins of the Reverian Assassins?"
"You say you are the master of disguises. I guess you're going to have to go undercover and I have just the masquerade for you. I took the liberty of visiting your loft while you were asleep and brought this back," he said after depositing a bag on the table.
It wasn't that I couldn't pull off a successful disguise. I had scored quite well in disguises during my apprenticeship under Phen the Razor. A credible disguise did not necessitate elaborate wigs or costume, but a shift in gait, expression, manner, and a sweep of the comb to rearrange the hair. It was just that I questioned Lorenzo's idea of a masquerade.
I eyed the poke with caution, puzzled as to what he could have found in my closet that would lend itself to a different identity.
"It better not be that gown the fishmonger's daughter left. I refuse to go as a damsel, no matter what the danger you say dogs my heels. And quit looking at me like that, the gown does belong to the fishmonger's daughter."
"I didn't say a word. It's just that I've never known a fishmonger's daughter to also wear fishnet stockings and a push-up bra made from the eyelids of an elephant."
"Oh, those. They belong to one of the barmaids at the King's Wart Inn."
"Tell me, what do these maidens wear home if they leave most of their clothing scattered about your loft?"
I ignored Lorenzo and cautiously opened the canvas pack, not knowing what to expect with my friend's twisted humor. "Why, it is just my black tunic, breaches, brimmed felt cap, and a narrow dark ascot!"
I looked at him in puzzlement. "How can this be a disguise? It but shouts private inquisitor. No, you cannot mean me to go as..."
"Yes, Slim Sim," Lorenzo rejoined in obvious relish.
"No, not that miserable dolt. I refuse. Allow me some pride. Go back and get the gown and stockings, I beg of you."
"It's perfect. It will mask your true identity much better than that of an ugly woman."
"Ugly!" I began to protest his description of my female visitors then caught his snide remark. "But Slim Sim is the most second-rate private inquisitor ever to walk Duburoake--no, most likely all of Glavendale. I do not even look like him."
"Just pull that hat down low as you ferrets like to do and no one will see your face."
"That is private inquisitor. I refuse, I absolutely refuse."
~ * ~
I flashed my brass identification badge showing I was bonded and licensed by the Duburoake Royal Council of Public Safety as a private inquisitor. It was done quickly so the old lady peeking out the door could not read my name.
"Good morning, mam, my name is Private Inquisitor Slim Sim," I introduced myself with just a bit of cringe. "I would like to ask you a few questions."
I could mostly only see her hooked nose sticking out the door crack about a foot beneath my chin, but her voice dripped with mistrust.
"Whatya want? I ain't done nothin'. Go away," she drummed at me quickly and tried shutting a door kept from closing by my remaining boot toe.
"Just need to ask you a few questions about your neighbors, the seven dwarves."
"I donna rat on my neighbors, thankyah."
"It is not ratting. I have been hired by another private inquisitor who represents the dwarves. It is about Frost Ivory. We are trying to help them find a cure."
"Yah?"
"Certainly," I said in my most sincere voice. "Can you tell me if the maiden had any enemies?"
"Humph! That Frost Ivory. Everyone thinks she be such a genteel maiden, always makin' over her like she be the Queen of Dairre. But I heared stories..."
"Yes?" I prompted her to continue. I had stopped at every farm and cottage within three miles of the seven dwarves and this was the first time I had heard anything but how horrible was the sweet little dear's plight.
"Just that I heard she was not always the innocent farm maiden. A cousin's son from Duburoake said he'd swear he'd seen the girl in Old West Town. That be all I say, now be gone," the old crone croaked and slammed a cane on my toes. I was lucky that it was not the injured foot, but the unexpected assault made me jerk back and she slammed the door shut.
Old West Town? The seediest, most ill favored section of Duburoake that even I hesitated to visit alone after sunset? What would the likes of Frost Ivory be doing there? Maybe it was just the spiteful gossip of an old busybody.
I walked back down to the lane to where a flea-bitten hag waited with head drooping. Riding Hazel would have given me away. The old nag I now rode was slow and swayed, but at least I did not have to walk. I clumsily climbed her back and we set off for Duburoake with one last stop at the dwarves. Heading in the direction of home prompted the horse to almost trot.
I contemplated the approaching evening as I lurched from side to side on my mount. Lorenzo had promised to find me a carriage. Oylani had pressed the attire I last wore at a private inquisitor convention banquet in Stagsford. It was a bit gaudy for provincial Duburoake where styles were always several years behind those of the Capitol, but Oylani and Jennair convinced me I would be the hit of all the young women coming in such recent style from Stagsford.
I let my attention wander while contemplating these worrisome problems. I was foolishly feeling too secure in my disguise. A knave leaping from a tree took me completely off guard. I think he was surprised as I when we both toppled off the horse and to the ground. They say the gods look after fools and at least I landed on top. I crawled off my attacker and stumbled to my feet, pulling my saber from its sheath and gazing about in confusion. Several other ruffians were coming out of the brush.
I half expected the horse to come to my rescue as Hazel would have done, but it wearily stood in the middle of the road and hung its head. I gathered my wits and observed that my attackers were not the caliber of the Reverian Assassins or Blackwatch Goblins. Whoever sent these rogues was going the economy rent-a-thug route. The three standing had about five teeth among them and they wore ragged attire that made mine look freshly scrubbed. They carried crude cudgels. I could see the fourth knave was cut from a similar cloth as he staggered to his feet.
They eyed my blade with uncertainty. It was the only part of my costume that was un-Slim Sim, but I had become so accustomed to the small saber I could not leave that morning without it.
"I thot yah said he be unarmed, Grup," the smaller of the four whined.
Who I took to be Grup snarled, "Shudup, yah numskull. They said he be a spineless one. Git on him."
Spineless? Whoever was my latest foe, they irked me. First, they sent louts who looked as if they didn't know one end of a stave from the other then they also took me for a coward.
"Go on, me said. Git him," Grup again ordered his hapless crew. He stood nervously moving from foot to foo
t as if the facing of an armed foe had thrust him into unfamiliar territory. Grup had an exceedingly large nose that was narrow but projected from his face like a lugsail waiting for a breeze.
"But he's got a sword," the little one again whined. He was such a miserable looking wretch that I made up my mind I'd use just use the flat of the blade on his skull.
"I said, git him."
"You git him if you be so rarin' to go," another of the muggers answered, this one as tall and skinny as a beanpole.
"This can be worked out. I am sure this be just a misunderstanding," I offered. "There is no reason to spill blood on such a nice day."