“What’ll you have, son?” the large woman bullishly asked him.
“Ah I wish I had time, food later, first off to find the Grey Crow.” He replied, earning a rolled eye. She could care less about Logan if he was not ordering, and neither could the man behind him who shoved past into the small space to place his order, knocking him rudely out of the way.
Logan decided he would need to learn to become more thick-skinned, if he was going to stay in Fal, it looked as though he would need it. Not one to dwell, he circled the tent, continuing his search. Todd had given him directions to the back alley shop, in exchange for a share of Logan’s amassed winnings from the patient’s unauthorized card games. Despite the confusion of the bustling marketplace, he was still able to orient himself according to the man’s directions. The porter had warned him how easy it would be to get lost and had given a great piece of advice.
“Keep your eyes on the top of the buildings around you. Stalls move daily making the market square unpredictable, but the buildings of Fal are carved from the great mountain itself, and they are not likely to be moving any time soon.” Todd had chuckled.
To the right he could see the faded blue waves, painted under the third story windows, of what must be the public bathhouse. That was the direction to head so he made his way around another set of stalls, slipping between them to take a shortcut out of the swelling crowd. As he passed by he could see a group of citizens gathered inside, praying to the Great Crystal, Baetylus. On their knees in supplication, the men and women rocked back and forth moaning.
“What rubbish.” He thought, dismissing their faith for idiocy, before slipping into the narrow alleyway leading behind the bathhouse. He was surprised to see even here some tables were set up with merchants hocking wares.
A big-bellied man walked into his path peddling beaded necklaces.
“For your lady, a fine gift to be sure made from the...” he began.
Logan just kept walking, flicking the man’s arm out of his face in annoyance. “No lady here, pal.” He replied, but the merchant was persistent and jumped back into his path.
“Then what about for the lady of the evening, my friend?” His large devious smile ruined by rotting teeth.
Logan just kept walking by the man without attempting to mask his contempt. Remembering the porter’s directions, he veered right, where the alleyway split, walking directly in the middle of something that instantly set his blood boiling.
On the ground a makeshift table had been knocked over, blocking the narrow path. It looked to be made of nothing more than a wooden slab that was set on top of some dirty old boxes. Small paper charm bracelets were scattered all across the dirt. The owner of the cheap merchandise appeared to be nothing but a child; he could not be more than ten years old, Logan guessed. The boy was backed up against a wall, with three scruffy looking teenagers cornering him. Two of the ruffians wore bands of tan cloth around their heads, while their leader wore some across the lower half of his face.
“Quit your lying, Peck! Cough up the money what you owe us.” The leader jammed a bony finger into the kid’s chest, pushing him against the wall with every syllable.
“Uh…owe? Uh…but my mam needs the money.” The exasperated boy stammered, looking like a cornered mouse about to be eaten. The ringleader backhanded him hard, knocking the boy to the ground, while his lackeys cackled.
“Don’t act like ye don’t know who this alley belongs to, Peck!” he spat, kicking the boy in the belly, before turning to laugh with his friends, and adjusting his beret.
“Now be a good little Peck and cough up the toll.” He added, kicking the kid again for good measure.
Logan was making his way around the table when the other two noticed him.
“Hey, fuck off, Sally!” one of the punks flexed.
Without even thinking, he backhanded the little prick, sending him flying into the alleyway wall from the force of his new metal fist. His head whacked hard against the stone, knocking the ruffian out cold. “Watch your mouth little guy. Didn’t your momma ever tell you not to talk to strangers?” Logan taunted, and grimaced at the remaining pair.
“Hey…easy man...easy.” The other lackey put his hands out to calm Logan.
“This ain’t got nothing to do with you bro. We just collectin’ our dues for Old Roger is all.” The punk’s nose made a crunching sound, as Logan’s fist smashed the cartilage inside. Blood splattered down the troublemaker’s face, covering his leather vest.
“Is that right? Oh, do tell me more.” Logan dared the thug, who was clutching his broken nose and crying as blood gushed out from between his fingers.
As he taunted the thug, the ringleader was howling in motion, lunging at him with a knife. Logan spun around, kicking the tabletop across the ground. The wooden slab skittered directly into the charging thief’s path, knocking his legs out from under him. The knife went flying into the air as he tried to stop himself from falling face first into the soil. Logan caught him by the collar, tightly twisting the leather jerkin and cutting off the attacker’s air.
“Tut tut.” He teased, wagging his finger inches from the teenager’s face. “Now that’s not a nice way to invite me to the party.” He grinned down at the bastard, raising his other arm to punch him in the face.
Unable to avoid the oncoming blow, the ringleader winced, gurgling incoherently for him to stop. Logan’s eyes squinted and his face curled in disgust, looking down to see the punk had pissed through his pants. Still scowling, he lowered the fist, and wrinkled his nose.
“Oh, you little coward, big enough to beat on this poor kid, but can’t even take a punch like a man?” He asked. The punk just whimpered, looking to his friend for support, but he was still so worked up trying to stop his nose bleeding that the thug probably had not even noticed what was happening. Rolling his eyes, Logan gave two quick tugs, wrenching the wooden rings from the ringleader’s right ear. Then he let the punk go and slammed his left fist into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs.
”Get out of here and go play in your sandbox, Peck.” He ordered. The bloody nosed thug was helping his friend up from the wall and eagerly nodded in agreement. Just to give it good measure, Logan shoved the ringleader’s behind with the heel of his boot.
Once Logan was satisfied that they were leaving, he turned to check on the young boy they had been harassing. Behind him, several of the peddlers stood watching the commotion in awe. They began clapping and talking excitedly with one another, one man even walked up and thanked him, shoving a belt into his unsuspecting hands as a token of appreciation. The boy sat on the ground looking up at the young man who had just stuck up for him. To the kid, he was a hero of myth come back to life, like Great Ulysses overthrowing the dragon horde to save the innocent. No one had ever stuck their neck out for anyone else in the alley markets. Logan walked over and knelt down to the boy’s level.
“You okay, kid?” he asked sincerely, the gusto now gone, replaced by genuine concern.
“I am now, mister! Wow you really gave it to the Drugenns!” The boy hopped to his feet in excitement, punching the air like a boxer.
“Why were those punks messing with you anyway?” Logan asked, as he helped set the boy’s table back up again.
“Oh, that’s just the way it is around here, mister. My bracelets have been selling and they must have caught wind of it.” The boy showed Logan two coppers as way of explanation.
“How could they beat this poor kid over two coppers?” He wondered. “Well they won’t be bothering you again. Try and stay a little safer from now on, you hear?” He advised, mussing the boy’s hair before striding away.
“Sure thing, mister!” the boy called back, starry eyed and quickly surrounded by the older peddlers who were all excitedly recounting the fight.
After a series of back alley turns, Logan found his destination. The shop looked as old as the caves of New Fal themselves. Its windows covered with solid sheets of soot and c
obwebs. A sign hung loosely above the door proclaiming The Grey Crow then underneath in smaller letters Oddities & Wonders.
It stood in stark contrast to the sign of the parlor next door, which was of a buxom lass leaning back in a silhouette of red. Instead of a proper door, or shutters, that building had red velvet curtains, which were swaying in the breeze. Out on the balcony upstairs, some city watchmen laughed rowdily, with their arms wrapped around the working women. As he approached the storefront, one of the women next door called down to him.
“You got the wrong door, sugah. The real experience is right here.” She suggestively pointed down between her legs at the doorway directly below. Falling for her ruse Logan’s face blushed a little, and a group of the women burst into laughter, joining in to taunt him with promises of what could be.
“Ye got that right, Veronica!” One of the watchmen drunkenly agreed, swilling his beer over the edge of the balcony in his excitement.
The man turned to wink at Logan then buried his face in her bosom. He had to admit to himself, the prospect was intriguing, he had never seen so many women ready and able. It was not like his small village had anything even remotely like this bordello, not unless you counted Francine Erwil’s place, she was considered the village tramp. A name she never deserved in Logan’s opinion as he could not understand how sleeping with two men before settling down with her husband was any different than what most of the guys in town did.
He shook his head in response. “Maybe later, fair ladies, but for now business is calling.” he said with a comical bow and flourish of his hand.
“Don’t know what you’re missing, lad!” One of the other city watchmen called down as Logan headed inside the shop.
The old wooden door slammed shut behind him, bouncing against the frame on springs that wore out ages ago. A little bell above the door clanged to announce his arrival, as if the slamming racket were not enough. The shop was nothing like Logan expected, with dusty tables and shelves overflowing with wares literally crowding the room. There was not an empty spot among them that he could see. The place was dimly lit by a single candle, glowing somewhere in the back of the cluttered store, its light dancing back and forth flickering across the ceiling. The shelves held so many interesting artifacts, most of them utterly foreign to him, like the large winding brass tube or the small carriage wheel that was coated in a blackish gray substance. Many empty oil lamps hung from the ceiling, some rusty, some polished to a sparkle fit for a queen. He had also never seen so many books in one place. The village only had around eighty and he had read them all cover to cover before his fifteenth birthday. Someone cleared their throat behind him, causing his heart to skip a beat.
“Ahem, what is it I can do for you, son?” Somehow, the little gnome speaking had snuck up on him. The shopkeeper looking up at him could not have been more than four feet tall, wearing red suspenders over a white collared button up shirt, rolled neatly around the sleeves and tucked into beige trousers. The hair on his head, well what little still remained at least, most of it having fallen out decades past, was white as soap and seemed to glow with the candle that was floating in the air above the gnome. He adjusted tiny spectacles over his broad flat nose to get a better look at Logan, impatiently waiting for an answer.
“Uh…well...that is...” Logan stammered, still taking in the gnome’s features and wondering about the man’s odd white patent leather shoes.
“Well? Out with it son, I haven’t got all day!” the gnome wrinkled his bushy white moustache, muttering, “Very busy man I am, important things to do.”
“My apologies, I guess I’m still a little jumpy after the surgery.” Logan replied, offering the mechanical hand as way of explanation.
Faster than he could blink, the little gnome scurried closer, grabbing his hand. Flipping another lens in front of his spectacles, the shopkeeper studied the mechanical fingers intently. He scrutinized every angle of the thing, turning it this way and that, opening and closing the digits one by one, as he continued muttering. “I see, I see...oh yes, very nice design.”
Beginning to feel like the prize ham, Logan interjected “Right then, if I’m not mistaken you are Mr. Beauford, correct?”
The old man eyed him, still silently turning his fingers. “Might be that I am, just as likely I ain’t. Who are ye to be askin’ then, eh?” he questioned suspiciously, with his strange accent.
“Todd Thornhill told me you were the man to talk to about a little upgrade.” Logan explained drawing out the word while he tried on his hardest carefree smile.
“Never heard of him.” He replied before Logan even finished the man’s name.
“Oh?” Logan asked. The little gnome grumbled and leaned back with arms folded over his chest, standing there in silence while he tried to get a grip on Logan’s angle. Pulling a pouch of coin from his pocket seemed to be all the credentials the shopkeeper needed. As it landed on the table, a couple shillings skittered out, lighting up the gnome’s eyes. He looked to the stash then back up at Logan with a smile that stretched ear to ear.
“Well, why didn’t ye say so earlier lad! Oh, it’s certainly great to have ye ‘ere, it is. Why any friend o’ Todd Thornybeak’s a friend o’ mine, I always say!” He exclaimed, hopping up onto a chair to clap Logan on the shoulder.
The little gnome began to pull Logan away from the table by his forearm. “C’mon then let’s get to it! No time to be a wastin’!” he ordered, ushering him into the backroom.
Chapter 9
“Now then, let’s leave that to set before we finish the job.” Beauford said as he pulled away the tiny precision torch from Logan’s mechanical fingers, guiding his other hand to cover the spot with a dampened thick white cloth.
“Just keep pressure right there for a few and I’ll go fix us some brew, eh?” The gnome said, heading into the next room, out of sight. He could hear the man opening a cupboard, followed by the clanking sounds of pans. Logan had been looking around the room, while his hand was being worked on, to keep his mind occupied. This room, like the many shelves and tables in the main storefront, had the most peculiar items for sale. There were small tin cylinders, sealed over the top with funny painted pictures of dancing animals; Mr. Beauford called them “soda,” glass picture frames with no pictures in them that he called the “telie.” One shelf had rows of glass bottles filled with various liquids of all different colors. When Logan asked what they were called, the little gnome gruffed and grumbled for a moment then said “What do I look like, a flippin’ tour guide?”
He realized he had been asking the gnome one question after the other at that point, but he chuckled anyway at the shopkeeper’s grumpy nature. Clinking sounds interrupted his train of thought as someone triggered the little bell above the storefront entrance and quite hurriedly made their way toward the back room.
Mr. Beauford popped his head around the corner. “Eh? See who that is, lad.” He said, motioning to the doorway.
Logan was just about to get up when a teenage boy in a brown hooded tunic came huffing into the backroom. Looking surprised to see him sitting there, the kid stopped for a moment, then shrugged to himself.
“Have a hand delivery for you, Master Beauford.” The boy called out, looking around for the gnome.
“Eh? No doubt ye do, lad.” The little man replied over the sounds of running water. “I’ll be right there in a jiffy, hang on to your whiskers already.”
The boy smiled, nodding his head, as if Mr. Beauford could see him through the wall then looked around the room while awkwardly shuffling his feet. He caught a glimpse of Logan’s hand and perked up like a cat, leaning in toward him.
“Oh sir, you are that fella that came to save the capitol, aren’t you?” he asked, brimming with excitement.
Logan was confused by the delivery boy’s words, he had never been known for being much more than the village trickster back home. So the revelation that someone was actually looking to him in admiration made him s
quirm slightly in his seat.
“Aye, I guess that I am. The name’s Logan Walker, what’s yours?” he replied.
“Who…me? Aw, I ain’t nobody sir, just a simple mail porter. Name’s Henri, sir.” The boy grew shy, shifting from foot to foot under Logan’s stare.
“Seems like a good gig for a kid to have around the capitol.” He said, paying the boy a compliment.
“Oh it is, sir, it is. Helps put food on the table for my family too, plus I get to meet all sorts of interesting folk.” Henri puffed his chest out, beaming with pride.
“You know Mr. Beauford pretty good then?” he asked, the boy shrugging as a noncommittal reply.
“Where does he get all this crazy stuff from?” Logan asked, cocking his head toward the nearest shelf of shiny stones.
“Well...uh...” Henri dropped his arms down as he stammered, nervously looking over Logan’s shoulder.
“From the surface.” The little gnome spoke, making him hop straight up from the seat with fright. The damned little man snuck up on him again, with nary a sound to announce his arrival, and was standing right beside his chair. The delivery boy took that as his cue to jump into action, moving to help Mr. Beauford with the tray he was carrying. A ceramic teapot clanked, as he pulled it out of the little man’s hands and set it on the nearby table.
“Oh wipe the skepticism from your face, boy, don’t tell me ye still be believin’ in those children’s tales.” He waved away the notion, as if it were the most ridiculous thing possible.
“I don’t follow what you are trying to say, old timer.” Logan replied, which stopped Mr. Beauford dead in his tracks, directing a dark look to the man.
“Whoa…okay, down boy. No offense meant it’s just an expression. But I still don’t follow; the surface of Acadia is a wasteland, scorched during the Jotnar Invasion. No one can travel up there and hope to survive, so where did you really get this stuff?” he asked.
Secrets of the Elders Kindle Version Page 9