by Adrian Juhl
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Vibrant reds and shades of orange reflected off the flat ocean as the Methuselan sun slipped beneath the horizon. Weary anglers weighed their catches, while greenhorns scrubbed the decks. Frustrated voices surrounded the elderly woman as she approached the tavern. ‘By Hook or Crook’ announced the large sign that swung above the entrance, suspended from a ship’s beam on two rusty chains. The large door creaked on its hinges as her aged hand pushed against it. It jammed on the uneven floor. The skin of her finger turned pale around the edges of the golden ring she wore.
“Perhaps it’s fortunate the door jammed, deary. You definitely don’t want to go in there.”
She turned to see a large, obese man standing behind her. His small shirt exposed the bottom of his hairy, unwashed paunch.
She smiled up at him. “Be a dear and push this for me. I’m very tired, and it’s cold out. It can’t be that bad.” She looked around, stood on tiptoes, and lowered her voice. “Not like some of those off-world places.”
He frowned. “How about I call a guard to escort you to the Little Princess Bed and Breakfast.”
She glowered at the man. He tried to hold her stare, but gave up and shook his head. “Hey, lady, I tried to warn you.” He leaned over and pushed the door open for her. “After you.”
The old lady thanked the fisherman and walked into the warm tavern. It was a typical tavern, with a bar at the back and a room full of men, just back from sea, accosting the female barmaids. She made her way toward the crowded bar, clutching her walking stick as she moved.
“I’ll have some King’s Ale, please.” She placed three bronze coins on the counter in front of the bartender.
“King’s Ale?” he asked, studying the old woman. He pushed the coins back toward her. “It is not often we are visited by our elders. I am more than happy to send a barkeep down the road to procure some wine.” He paused. “Or maybe he could even escort you to the Little Princess Bed and Breakfast. They have an excellent selection of—”
“Before I die, perhaps?” she interrupted, sliding the coins back to the bartender.
“As you wish.” The barkeep poured a large mug of ale and placed it on the bench. He took a single bronze coin and smiled.
“The last I checked, young man, there were three coins on the table.” She leant forward. “What do they teach these young ones in schools these days?”
“I’m sorry? I don’t understand,” he replied, confused.
“I’m sure I asked for some King’s Ale. Three coins, for three ales.” She picked up the mug and raised it to her lips. The bartender stood amazed as she downed the contents in one breath. She placed the empty container on the bench, looked down, and wiped the froth from her top lip.
“Some?” he asked.
“Some.” She nodded, smiling.
He filled two more mugs, which she drank with the same zeal.
The room, now well aware of her presence, sat in silence as she slammed the last mug onto the bench in appreciation.
She pointed to the men’s room and called out, “I think I need the ladies room now.”
One of the barmaids took her hand and escorted her to the room beside it. “Here you are. I’ll wait outside for you.” She winked. “Just in case you need a hand.”
“I’m sure I will be fine. You be on your way, you fine thing.”
Puzzled, the barmaid forced an awkward smile and replied, “I think I might wait here. Normally, two mugs is the limit for most men.”
“Suit yourself then. But I’ll tell you now, I’m married and my dear is very good at finding out secrets.”
The barmaid opened the door. “There you go. Don’t mind the mess. We don’t get many lady visitors here.”
“I’ll be fine,” she replied, as she closed the door.
Inside the room, the old lady turned the ring on her finger one half-turn. Intricate script in an unknown tongue ran across the surface. She removed the mirror, and examined the small grooves on the wall. Counting across three grooves, and down thirteen, she placed the back of her hand against the wall, so that the ring fit snugly into the small groove positioned there.
In the back corner of the room, the floor vibrated. A trapdoor slid to the side, revealing a large hole. Gears whirred into action, as a staircase in the form of an Archimedes screw, began to wend its way up through the hole in the floor, to stop level with the woman. The old woman stepped onto one of the large steps, and leant against the smooth metal surface of the center pole. She placed her ring against another groove and it reversed its way down.
The stairwell’s rotation moved in a slow, fluid motion as it descended. She waited as it stopped in front of a solid wall. With a swift step, she walked through the wall and stopped on the other side of the illusion, facing another door. A magical eye appeared in the door. It melded seamlessly with the thick, wooden boards bound together inside a large iron frame. It scanned her up and down and disappeared. The door swung open, allowing the old woman entry into the Rogue’s Guildhall.
She passed the members without incident. Some of them acknowledged her with a nod or raised an ale. Her cane tapped against the wooden floor as she passed by the tables. Suddenly the cane gave way, kicked aside by a large Feral. With a quick step that belied her age, she regained her balance and continued.
“Hey, lady,” the Feral called out. Its voice was high and broken. “You made me spill my drink.”
She ignored the rooster and kept walking. Incensed, it stamped its clawed foot, scraping its talons along the floor. Curls of wood peeled away, leaving gashes where the talons had been.
“Hey, lady. I’m talking to you. How about you show some manners and look at someone when they are speaking to you,” it mocked.
One of its colleagues, a small Feral gecko, tapped on the rooster’s wing. “Stop messing with the old biddy, Torik. I just want to finish one drink in peace.”
“Bah,” Torik retorted. He called out to the woman again. “Turn around and answer me.”
She stopped, turned, and walked up to the Feral. Although seated, he still towered above her. A shrill clucking filled the room as the lines of a smile formed around its mutated beak.
“Wow, you are an ugly thing. So old and wrinkly. I see why you didn’t want to look at me. Turn back around and be on your way. I’m trying to eat, and your ugliness is ruining my appetite!”
He flung his head back to crow in success. The old woman grabbed him by his red wattles and pulled down hard. Torik’s head slammed against the table, splintering the wood. She looked into his unconscious eyes and let go. He slithered to the ground like jelly.
She looked at the smaller Feral, who slunk in his chair and raised his glass. The rooster let out a groan as she stepped onto his back and up onto his chair.
She picked up the fork, took a bite from Torik’s blueberry pie and said, “You’ll do.”
“Me?” the gecko asked.
“Yes. You and sleeping beauty here. Unless you feel he would better serve me at the thanksgiving dinner table?” she replied. She reached inside her sleeve and produced a small piece of lace fabric. Embroidered on it was the King’s seal.
Terror filled Dee’s thin face. “We are definitely the ones you need…um…want.”
“Excellent! Then I need you to deliver a message to Ketu for me.”
“Ketu? A message? I’m sure we can assist you in finding a courier for that.”
She picked up a steak knife from the table and pointed it at the unconscious Feral on the ground.
“But of course we could deliver it ourselves. We don’t mind at all.”
“Pleased to hear that. You will need to leave at once. Report to the Great Portal. Speak with Samuel and he will fill you in on the details.”
“Of course.”
“If you don’t let me down, Samuel will compensate you for your time with a bag of silver.”
The Feral’s large lizard eyes widened. “Very agreeable. Thank you. You can depend on us.”<
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She whispered across the table in a terrifying tone. “And you can depend on me…to fill that bag with your head if you disappoint me.”
The old woman left the lizard to sort out his companion, and made her way back to the bar.
“You know what I want,” she said to the bartender.
He filled three mugs of King’s Ale and placed them on the bench in front of her.
“Perhaps next time you could use the back door?” whispered the bartender.
“Now where is the fun in that?”
The bartender laughed. “I guess that’s about right.”
Once again, the old woman guzzled two of the ales. The room turned and cheered as she downed the last one. A big burp escaped her lips. “Oops, where did that come from?” She handed the barman a piece of silver. “For your discretion. One wouldn’t want the king finding out.”
He nodded at her and pocketed the coin.
She exited through the back door and onto the deserted docks. Making her way to an old siege tunnel, she waved her hand in front of the stone wall. The wall moved silently to reveal a dark passage. She pulled out the delicate handkerchief and wrapped it inside another piece of cloth. Her appearance shimmered and faded. The illusion disappeared, revealing the tipsy king. He approached his aged advisor and squeezed him in a tight hug.
“The queen is looking for you, Sire,” his advisor responded, unamused.
“Thank you, Rory.” He handed Rory the handkerchief. “I trust you’ll put this back where it belongs.”
“My old knees can’t take that climb. Perhaps Sire should put his own toys away.”
“You know, I’ve fired men for lesser things.”
“Yes, Sire, but who would wait here for you all night when I’m gone?”
The King patted his friend on the shoulder and headed back to the treasury. “Tell Shannon I’ll be along soon.”