Grimdux
I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck
Touch O' Luck
II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.
It will be a superior reading experience
to start this story from the beginning
Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)
Chapter specific maps of the realms
Maps of the Realms
Lord Storm Nattas
Business with the Guild
Part I
-Fleur De Luce-
Regia circa 194 NC
The Horned Hen was built close enough to Alden’s central square, to offer its services to the more ‘cultured’ clientele residing there, but also comfortably away from the government buildings and the Dome of the Five. Those couple of streets removed from the main square, had proved a sage foresight, as it placed the old, though recently renovated, two story building, safely out of the range of the Uher fanatics patrolling the streets those days. While the Priests and the Order of Golden Spears were officially scouring the old city for heathens, they were notoriously opposed to those under Naossis protection as well. A sexual deviant, or degenerate brothel patron, was no more than once removed from an infidel and Old Gods worshipper, in their eyes.
Their particular brand of heavy-handed rectification had been offered with enthusiasm to many a circumstances and people were rightly on edge. Not that the Horned Hen looked like a brothel of note outwardly. While a fresh coat of green paint had been applied over the thick cement varnish, the outer walls still looked old and unexciting. The Horned Hen large marble sign itself depicted, what basically was, a bloated chicken with fuckin’ tits; as ridiculous an engraved image, as Storm had ever seen and he wasn’t completely blind to the arts.
Himself an avid collector of secrets.
Though admittedly his second stronger suit was in real estate.
Still an art unto itself, he mused with a shrug, following Secundus inside the heavily scented corridor, hands clasped behind his back, the garishly nude marble statues a shocking surprise, to any careless folk that had mistaken the brothel for just another apartment building.
Secundus Sorex stopped abruptly the moment they entered the large central hall, with the worn out velvet couches. Zizel Verano, the experienced Lena –the Lorian name for Madam-, quickly came to greet them wearing a practiced smile, recognizing Lord Nattas from his previous visit. Close to fifty now, she had kept herself and still had the aura of a younger woman. Her painted blond hair clean and brushed away from an oval –mostly unblemished- face, green-blue eyes cold and calculating.
The cut on her rich and many layered silk gown, cavernous. Secundus had every reason to appear stunned, Storm thought, with a small lecherous smirk.
“Lord Nattas,” Lena Verano gushed, fluttering her heavily-painted eyelids, before going for a low curtsy.
Them old bones on her, are holding up mightily fine, Lord Nattas thought, giving her a good onceover.
I should have gone for her the other day, Storm decided, after a thorough examination. A whore’s wealth of experience sometimes matters and an old famous beauty, while perhaps loose at places, is still acres better than bedding a young donkey.
“You honor us,” Zizel said, offering a small smile to an enthralled Secundus Sorex. An orphan girl from Lesia, she had made her fortune in Issir’s Eagle, catching the eye of the High King’s father according to a decade’s old gossip, before retiring of sorts in Alden. “So soon after your last visit.”
“It came as a surprise to me as well,” Storm noted sourly, remembering the young whore with the tiger’s mouth. All teeth and no tongue.
A right meat grinder.
Brr.
“Shall I ask for the girls? I can have them here—”
Storm stopped her with an impatient gesture.
“I’ll have a table at the corner,” he said and Lena Verano glanced at the side of the big hall reserved for clients wanting a drink, after sampling the venue’s wares. Half a dozen people were there, talking and sipping wine, while perusing the scantily clad girls picking clients and leading them upstairs and the private rooms. The bouquet coming from incense burning pots and oil lamps, mixed with that of the heavily scented whores and made the air heady.
“I shall arrange for refreshments,” Zizel said, with a professional smile. “If you follow me, Lord Nattas.”
“Stay here, keep your eyes on me,” Lord Nattas ordered Secundus and followed the slow moving Lena to an open table. Zizel smelled of jasmine oils and lemon.
Storm didn’t mind taking his time after her. The cultured man can appreciate the back as much as the front.
“I’ll sent our best wine,” she informed him pleasantly seemingly unaware of his thoughts, as Storm sat down with a sigh.
“I’m sure you will. But do tell me, do you still take clients, Lena Verano?” Storm asked her, just to satisfy his curiosity.
Zizel wore too much makeup for Nattas to discern whether she’d blushed to his query, or not.
Assuming years of whoring hadn’t fucked that out of her.
“It’s heavy the purse that shall entice my affections, dear Lord Nattas,” Zizel teased, a twinkle in her eye to soften the rejection.
Uhm.
“I’ve a fairly heavy purse,” Storm insisted his cheeks burning, feeling more than a little affronted and quite embarrassed.
“Then you’re fairly close to yer goal. I shall be patient, if you are,” Lena Verano deadpanned and with another well-practiced curtsy that offered him a good view of her impressive bust, she walked away. The moment she did a man of medium height, sitting alone on the table next to him stood up, turned without hurrying and walked to the spare chair across from Storm, pulled it back and sat down, after placing a robust square leather satchel he carried on the floor.
What in Abrakas rude cousin is this shite?
“Excuse me?” Storm snapped at the man’s audacity.
The long faced man of about forty years, wishy-washy Lorian face, pale brown large eyes behind a pair of thin wiry round glasses and wearing an austere dark-grey redingote, reached down with his right hand, searched for a bit, keeping his civil-servant expression unflappable and then placed a small bronze flat plate on the table between them.
Nattas cleared his throat amused and then scrunched his mouth this way and that.
“I’m Robart Barlow,” the man introduced himself, talking alike a tired but loyal employee of the Mayor’s office would to the last petitioner on the line, just before his day’s shift was over. “Chief Mediator for the Guild.”
Ah.
Of course.
Storm pushed back on his chair, keeping his eyes on Robart’s bland face.
The man returned his stare casually with no sense of urgency whatsoever.
“I’m Lord Storm Nattas.”
Robart didn’t move a muscle. Storm wondered whether the man even breathed, or he was thrifty on that front too. Feeling nervous, he glanced about them out of the corner of his eye, but the brothel patrons seemed unaware of their discussion, or just plain uninterested.
Discussion is used loosely here.
Storm snorted, the moment dragging, Mister Barlow still as a statue, both hands set on the table in front of him on either side of the small bronze plate. Looking at it again, Nattas realized it looked like an ashtray.
You got to be kidding me.
He reached inside his dark blue smug-fitting doublet, unfastening a couple of silver buttons and found the folded piece of parchment. Storm –feeling rather silly- dropped it on the table right next to the small bronze platter. Robart used his right hand to pick it up carefully, unfolded it and then glanced at the scribbled message, pushing his glasses on the bridge of his straight nose. He was clean-shaven Storm noticed, but his dark black hair were thinning at the front of his head.
Without talking Robart placed the unfolded parchment on the bronze ashtray and then used one of their table’s gilded candle holders, nicely polished naked mermaids engraved on the stem frozen on various lewd poses, to lit it on fire. They both watched it burning for a couple of minutes.
Okay, this is a nice tactic Mister Barlow, Storm thought, rapping his fingers on the table’s surface. The man, still disinclined to utter a single word after his introduction, again reached down with his right hand, searched for a bit and then unhurriedly brought a blank vellum up, the size of a normal book page, an inkpot and a simple thin steel quill.
“The mark’s name,” Robart said, in his accent less voice.
Right.
“Can I give more than one?” Storm asked, the Mediator’s expression unreadable. “That’s a lot of room on that vellum,” He continued. “Do you charge by the words?”
Apparently Mister Barlow didn’t have a humor bone on his body.
“Gordian,” Storm said, with a sigh and watched Robart scribbling it down. “He’s a Magister of Uher.”
“The servant’s name?” The man asked, when he finished.
“I have more people…” Storm paused and looked over his shoulder for any eavesdroppers. Secundus was talking all serious with a young brunette, Abrakas only knew about what, the whore’s perky left breast exposed, the pierced nipple too large for the amount of flesh and painted a dark red. Shaking the image off, he turned to the silently waiting him to finish Robart. “…I want relieved from their duties.”
He almost threw a wink at the tail end of that.
Robart blinked slowly like a bird, but didn’t say anything.
“Sir Adam Reus,” Storm added, seeing they weren’t going anywhere.
Robart scribbled the new name down. He’d a very clear and controlled handwriting, as far as Storm could see.
“The servant’s name?”
Nattas smacked his lips and returned his stare without answering.
Why would you want that?
Maja hadn’t given him another name.
“The same I used on the paper, you just burned,” he finally replied.
Robart looked at the burned ashes inside the tray.
Oops?
Don’t tell me you forgot you needed that, he thought, a taunting smirk on his mouth.
Mister Barlow put his quill down and stared at the parchment in front of him intently.
“You were given the name,” he said matter-of-factly, as if that was supposed to mean something to Storm.
“I want her to take the job,” Nattas explained, wanting to speed this along. He caught a flicker of recognition in the Mediator’s eyes. “More names, may be added to the contract,” Storm finished not sure what that was about.
Robart again reached with his right hand down, searched inside his leather satchel, found whatever he was looking for –a fact that was noteworthy unto itself, as he kept on staring at Strom while doing it- and placed another two parchments on the table next to the one with the names. There was a lot of text on these fresh pages.
“You will discuss compensation with the Servant,” Robart said monotonously. “The Guild shall accept its share now.”
“I pay twice?” Storm asked and changed position on his chair. “Is this the half now, half after the job is done pitch?”
You can substitute Robart Barlow for the wall over his right shoulder and no one would catch the change, Storm thought.
“What’s the amount?” He probed, seeing the man was as forthcoming as a corpse and half the company.
“There’s a ship,” Robart said. “Moored in Caspo O’ Dor,” Storm stared at his hands not getting where this was going. “We want you to purchase it.”
This time it was Lord Nattas that blinked in shock.
“You want me to buy a ship? Like a large fishing boat?”
Surely…
“A Barque. Fleur De Luce.”
It was as if Robart had just shoved his fist into Nattas arse, all the way up to his throat.
Storm sucked a deep breath in, a nervous tick appearing on his left temple. He pressed a finger on it, trying to stop an aneurysm from killing him outright, while trying to calm himself down.
He almost didn’t make it.
“You want me… to purchase a fuckin’ Barque?” He croaked, in the attempt to keep his voice down.
“Fleur De Luce,” Robart reiterated like an automaton.
“A fucking Barque,” Storm repeated warningly.
“That is correct,” Robart agreed, infuriating him even more.
Storm licked his lips and looked around him for that bottle of wine. Half in the mind to drink it whole and then smash it on Robart’s stupid head.
Zizel is probably holding on to the fuckin’ bottle waiting for me to pick a girl first.
Coin-sucking whore.
“What’s the price?” He asked, curious where this was going.
Of the ship was his meaning.
“Ten thousand gold Eagles,” Robart deadpanned and Storm almost had a heart attack right then and there. The scandal from him dropping dead on a brothel’s side-table not as feared, as the humiliation he’d kicked the proverbial bucket, not while wildly fornicating with Lena Verano, but while talking to this fuckin’ glorified bank manager.
Storm also didn’t have anywhere near that amount of coin available.
“That’s an… outlandishly expensive ship,” he said, puffing out. “I’d use a bigger superlative, but I can’t think of one.”
“It belonged to the previous Duke of Raoz,” Robart tried to justify the unjustifiable.
“There’s a new one?” Storm queried to stall, while still searching for a way around this new problem.
“Victor Reeves, his old chamberlain. He married the late Duke’s son wife, to get his hands on the lordship of Altarin.”
Sounded perfectly reasonable to him.
“That sounds quite scandalous,” Storm commented instead rubbing his forehead, the throbbing replaced by a stinging headache.
“The woman was his brother’s daughter,” Robart countered with a creepy half-smile, his first real attempt at a joke.
No wonder they’ve put you at clerk duty.
You’re not a comedian.
Better keep yer job dude. You’ll get booed out of stage.
“Huh, talk about keeping it in the family,” Storm kinda indulged him, the small detail useful. He filed it away for later.
Robart, creepy grin wiped from his face, pushed one of the written contracts towards him and tapped at the end of the text, where Storm’s name was written with clear bold black letters.
“I’ll need your signature, Lord Nattas.”
Uhm.
And I want to be a good head taller and ten years younger.
“I don’t have the amount,” Storm was forced to say.
“The price we will pay is one thousand gold,” Robart explained.
Still a good chunk of gold.
However…
“That’s quite the discount,” he admitted and took the quill Robart gave him.
The Mediator offered no comment and Storm put his signature on the parchment. Robart checked to see everything was proper, as if Storm could just write the King’s name and get away with it, then offered the second page for him to sign.
“What’s this?” Storm asked, very uncomfortable and unsure on what exactly was happening.
Having pages shoved in your face to put your mark on, one after the other, is a stressful ordeal.
“A rental contract,” Robart explained. “You will rent the ship to me, Lord Nattas, for the sum price of one thousand gold Eagles.”
Storm blinked.
“I buy it for a thousand. I rent it for a thousand,” he could kind of see the man’s scheme now.
“That is correct.”
Storm signed the contract.
Robart checked it carefully and then took both and returned them to his unseen satchel.
“The Guild is satisfied,” he announced and made to get up, but Storm stopped him.
Who would’ve thought you folk, are a bunch of darn crooks?
“Where do I find the Servant?” Lord Nattas asked instead.
“The Bridal Shirt,” Robart replied and got up, but not before returning everything into his satchel and hanging the leather strap from his shoulder. “It is where she lives.”
“Where’s that?”
“Rosebush,” Robart Barlow said and walked away, without hesitation.
A tiny village, on the coastal road between Alden and the port of Illirium.
Sudi looked weird and probably way worse than yesterday.
“Good grief man,” Storm said recoiling at the sight of the worn down lackey. “What happened to your fucking hair?”
Sudi run a hand over his bald head.
“I shaved it all, chief.”
“It’s not that you had that many left to begin with,” Nattas noticed and grinned at his hurt frown. He’d taken enough ridicule in his life to not give half a shit about other people’s feelings. “It looks good though. Eh, It just takes a long minute to appreciate it,” he softened it up a bit.
“Aye. The Dottore said it will help the remaining roots grow back stronger.”
Storm didn’t believe there was any hope of salvaging those roots.
“Well, no harm in trying I suppose,” he lied.
“Yep,” Sudi agreed. “Titus is out.”
“Good. I’ll take him with me on a quick field trip,” Storm said hastily and glanced at Secundus bringing the former mercenary along from his house. They were standing in front of the entrance, the streets pretty dead for the time of day.
“A field trip?” Sudi queried. “Since when do you—”
Storm tapped his hurt leg. “Riding helps. Dottore’s orders.”
“Do you want me to come?”
“I want you to stay and watch the Magisters.”
He couldn’t risk Sudi seeing Maja again.
“Okay. Utnas reached Bayspell by the way,” Sudi reported.
“He did?” Storm thought about it for a moment. “How long before he can give us a report from the front?”
“He needs to get to Rida first, blend in and stay alive,” Sudi crooked his mouth, the lips sinking where he’d lost most of his teeth.
“I can see him reaching the city,” Storm commented. “The rest, I’m cautiously pessimistic.”
“He’s a Cofol,” Sudi countered.
“There’s that of course,” Nattas agreed, with a smirk.
Secundus, square jaw clenched pushed Titus towards them.
“I brought the prisoner, milord,” he reported and Titus, looking rather fresh for a man that had stayed in a cellar for a month, protested raising his hands.
“You just let me out, ye bucket head!”
“Alright, stop this,” Storm intervened. “You boys are going to come with me. We will go to Rosebush.”
It was apparent no one had any idea where the place was.
“Remember that small village with that tavern, the tasty fried trout, back when we made the journey from Novesium last year?” Storm probed, the memory of the quality whores working at the leisure resort port hurting his soul. He missed those Novesium girls and Nattas was a decent enough human to admit it. Lusting over the Queen of Regia also didn’t help, as it only increased Storm’s frustration.
Mainly because while he could handle lust, it was all these other new feelings Storm feared.
The Unknown was Abrakas bastard child.
His men were still staring at him numbly, the biggest gathering of buffoons ever. Nattas sighed deeply and stared at the cobblestone road all sad.
“Get the bloody horses ready,” he ordered them, after a full minute of soul-deep retrospection.
The afternoon of the second day, since they had departed from Alden, going over the Maiden Bridge, near the spot where Sir Reus had executed Arietta and after following a relative pleasant coastal route, but for the rotten heat, the small group reached Rosebush.
Barely thirty houses, all painted a pleasant deep blue, with red roofs, divided by a nicely paved main street and a picturesque tiny port made of white stone. Rosebush was a nice little village, squashed between two larger cities and ports. Alden and Illirium.
“Yeah, I remember it now,” Titus commented, the trip bringing his old self back, after his incarceration. “There’s the tavern.”
It wasn’t difficult to spot. Rosebush had a bakery, a tavern and inn, a small fish market by the docks and a butcher. All facing the main street cutting through it. It also had a clothing store he’d completely missed that first time, Storm thought, staring at the well-put bronze label and the black writing on it. The store front windows lined with iron bars, the kind of security one would find in a bank, or prison.
“Right,” he decided and climbed down his horse, the leg hurting, but holding up still. Storm was grateful to be able to stand on two feet and he would take the pain gladly. He was used to it. “We make a stop here boys, give ourselves a good rest, before we head back.”
“So, we head to the tavern?” Titus asked, stretching his back from the ride.
“You come with me,” Storm said and pointed at the store with the red door. “I need to check on some things.”
Titus frowned, mouth dropping reading the label.
“Yer getting married, boss?”
Secundus cuffed him hard on the nappe.
“Don’t be an idiot!” He barked, still not used seeing Titus as a free man.
“It’s a fuckin’ Bridal store!” Titus protested, but retreated a couple of steps, while Secundus read the label for himself. “Can ye stop just for a moment suckin’ the boss’ cock and read ye dork?”
“Okay,” Storm started, but he was summarily interrupted.
“It says shirts on there, stop twisting words ye vile scum!” Secundus snapped and Titus, long mustache dancing over his mouth, threw his arms in the air giving up.
“Fine, ye want to pretend it’s not weird as fuck—”
“Enough!” Storm yelled at them both, clenching his fists, sweat running down his face. “You’re both utter idiots. Gods, are you kidding me? Paying coin for this fuckin’ crap?” He puffed out exasperated, before continuing. “Now, Titus guard the fucking door, I’m going inside. Any other bloody questions?” He added ominously.
Other than a couple of petulant stares, there was none.
Grimdux
I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck
Touch O' Luck
II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.
It will be a superior reading experience
to start this story from the beginning
Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)
Chapter specific maps of the realms
Maps of the Realms
Lord Storm Nattas
Business with the Guild
Part I
-Fleur De Luce-
Regia circa 194 NC
The Horned Hen was built close enough to Alden’s central square, to offer its services to the more ‘cultured’ clientele residing there, but also comfortably away from the government buildings and the Dome of the Five. Those couple of streets removed from the main square, had proved a sage foresight, as it placed the old, though recently renovated, two story building, safely out of the range of the Uher fanatics patrolling the streets those days. While the Priests and the Order of Golden Spears were officially scouring the old city for heathens, they were notoriously opposed to those under Naossis protection as well. A sexual deviant, or degenerate brothel patron, was no more than once removed from an infidel and Old Gods worshipper, in their eyes.
Their particular brand of heavy-handed rectification had been offered with enthusiasm to many a circumstances and people were rightly on edge. Not that the Horned Hen looked like a brothel of note outwardly. While a fresh coat of green paint had been applied over the thick cement varnish, the outer walls still looked old and unexciting. The Horned Hen large marble sign itself depicted, what basically was, a bloated chicken with fuckin’ tits; as ridiculous an engraved image, as Storm had ever seen and he wasn’t completely blind to the arts.
Himself an avid collector of secrets.
Though admittedly his second stronger suit was in real estate.
Still an art unto itself, he mused with a shrug, following Secundus inside the heavily scented corridor, hands clasped behind his back, the garishly nude marble statues a shocking surprise, to any careless folk that had mistaken the brothel for just another apartment building.
Secundus Sorex stopped abruptly the moment they entered the large central hall, with the worn out velvet couches. Zizel Verano, the experienced Lena –the Lorian name for Madam-, quickly came to greet them wearing a practiced smile, recognizing Lord Nattas from his previous visit. Close to fifty now, she had kept herself and still had the aura of a younger woman. Her painted blond hair clean and brushed away from an oval –mostly unblemished- face, green-blue eyes cold and calculating.
The cut on her rich and many layered silk gown, cavernous. Secundus had every reason to appear stunned, Storm thought, with a small lecherous smirk.
“Lord Nattas,” Lena Verano gushed, fluttering her heavily-painted eyelids, before going for a low curtsy.
Them old bones on her, are holding up mightily fine, Lord Nattas thought, giving her a good onceover.
I should have gone for her the other day, Storm decided, after a thorough examination. A whore’s wealth of experience sometimes matters and an old famous beauty, while perhaps loose at places, is still acres better than bedding a young donkey.
“You honor us,” Zizel said, offering a small smile to an enthralled Secundus Sorex. An orphan girl from Lesia, she had made her fortune in Issir’s Eagle, catching the eye of the High King’s father according to a decade’s old gossip, before retiring of sorts in Alden. “So soon after your last visit.”
“It came as a surprise to me as well,” Storm noted sourly, remembering the young whore with the tiger’s mouth. All teeth and no tongue.
A right meat grinder.
Brr.
“Shall I ask for the girls? I can have them here—”
Storm stopped her with an impatient gesture.
“I’ll have a table at the corner,” he said and Lena Verano glanced at the side of the big hall reserved for clients wanting a drink, after sampling the venue’s wares. Half a dozen people were there, talking and sipping wine, while perusing the scantily clad girls picking clients and leading them upstairs and the private rooms. The bouquet coming from incense burning pots and oil lamps, mixed with that of the heavily scented whores and made the air heady.
“I shall arrange for refreshments,” Zizel said, with a professional smile. “If you follow me, Lord Nattas.”
“Stay here, keep your eyes on me,” Lord Nattas ordered Secundus and followed the slow moving Lena to an open table. Zizel smelled of jasmine oils and lemon.
Storm didn’t mind taking his time after her. The cultured man can appreciate the back as much as the front.
“I’ll sent our best wine,” she informed him pleasantly seemingly unaware of his thoughts, as Storm sat down with a sigh.
“I’m sure you will. But do tell me, do you still take clients, Lena Verano?” Storm asked her, just to satisfy his curiosity.
Zizel wore too much makeup for Nattas to discern whether she’d blushed to his query, or not.
Assuming years of whoring hadn’t fucked that out of her.
“It’s heavy the purse that shall entice my affections, dear Lord Nattas,” Zizel teased, a twinkle in her eye to soften the rejection.
Uhm.
“I’ve a fairly heavy purse,” Storm insisted his cheeks burning, feeling more than a little affronted and quite embarrassed.
“Then you’re fairly close to yer goal. I shall be patient, if you are,” Lena Verano deadpanned and with another well-practiced curtsy that offered him a good view of her impressive bust, she walked away. The moment she did a man of medium height, sitting alone on the table next to him stood up, turned without hurrying and walked to the spare chair across from Storm, pulled it back and sat down, after placing a robust square leather satchel he carried on the floor.
What in Abrakas rude cousin is this shite?
“Excuse me?” Storm snapped at the man’s audacity.
The long faced man of about forty years, wishy-washy Lorian face, pale brown large eyes behind a pair of thin wiry round glasses and wearing an austere dark-grey redingote, reached down with his right hand, searched for a bit, keeping his civil-servant expression unflappable and then placed a small bronze flat plate on the table between them.
Nattas cleared his throat amused and then scrunched his mouth this way and that.
“I’m Robart Barlow,” the man introduced himself, talking alike a tired but loyal employee of the Mayor’s office would to the last petitioner on the line, just before his day’s shift was over. “Chief Mediator for the Guild.”
Ah.
Of course.
Storm pushed back on his chair, keeping his eyes on Robart’s bland face.
The man returned his stare casually with no sense of urgency whatsoever.
“I’m Lord Storm Nattas.”
Robart didn’t move a muscle. Storm wondered whether the man even breathed, or he was thrifty on that front too. Feeling nervous, he glanced about them out of the corner of his eye, but the brothel patrons seemed unaware of their discussion, or just plain uninterested.
Discussion is used loosely here.
Storm snorted, the moment dragging, Mister Barlow still as a statue, both hands set on the table in front of him on either side of the small bronze plate. Looking at it again, Nattas realized it looked like an ashtray.
You got to be kidding me.
He reached inside his dark blue smug-fitting doublet, unfastening a couple of silver buttons and found the folded piece of parchment. Storm –feeling rather silly- dropped it on the table right next to the small bronze platter. Robart used his right hand to pick it up carefully, unfolded it and then glanced at the scribbled message, pushing his glasses on the bridge of his straight nose. He was clean-shaven Storm noticed, but his dark black hair were thinning at the front of his head.
Without talking Robart placed the unfolded parchment on the bronze ashtray and then used one of their table’s gilded candle holders, nicely polished naked mermaids engraved on the stem frozen on various lewd poses, to lit it on fire. They both watched it burning for a couple of minutes.
Okay, this is a nice tactic Mister Barlow, Storm thought, rapping his fingers on the table’s surface. The man, still disinclined to utter a single word after his introduction, again reached down with his right hand, searched for a bit and then unhurriedly brought a blank vellum up, the size of a normal book page, an inkpot and a simple thin steel quill.
“The mark’s name,” Robart said, in his accent less voice.
Right.
“Can I give more than one?” Storm asked, the Mediator’s expression unreadable. “That’s a lot of room on that vellum,” He continued. “Do you charge by the words?”
Apparently Mister Barlow didn’t have a humor bone on his body.
“Gordian,” Storm said, with a sigh and watched Robart scribbling it down. “He’s a Magister of Uher.”
“The servant’s name?” The man asked, when he finished.
“I have more people…” Storm paused and looked over his shoulder for any eavesdroppers. Secundus was talking all serious with a young brunette, Abrakas only knew about what, the whore’s perky left breast exposed, the pierced nipple too large for the amount of flesh and painted a dark red. Shaking the image off, he turned to the silently waiting him to finish Robart. “…I want relieved from their duties.”
He almost threw a wink at the tail end of that.
Robart blinked slowly like a bird, but didn’t say anything.
“Sir Adam Reus,” Storm added, seeing they weren’t going anywhere.
Robart scribbled the new name down. He’d a very clear and controlled handwriting, as far as Storm could see.
“The servant’s name?”
Nattas smacked his lips and returned his stare without answering.
Why would you want that?
Maja hadn’t given him another name.
“The same I used on the paper, you just burned,” he finally replied.
Robart looked at the burned ashes inside the tray.
Oops?
Don’t tell me you forgot you needed that, he thought, a taunting smirk on his mouth.
Mister Barlow put his quill down and stared at the parchment in front of him intently.
“You were given the name,” he said matter-of-factly, as if that was supposed to mean something to Storm.
“I want her to take the job,” Nattas explained, wanting to speed this along. He caught a flicker of recognition in the Mediator’s eyes. “More names, may be added to the contract,” Storm finished not sure what that was about.
Robart again reached with his right hand down, searched inside his leather satchel, found whatever he was looking for –a fact that was noteworthy unto itself, as he kept on staring at Strom while doing it- and placed another two parchments on the table next to the one with the names. There was a lot of text on these fresh pages.
“You will discuss compensation with the Servant,” Robart said monotonously. “The Guild shall accept its share now.”
“I pay twice?” Storm asked and changed position on his chair. “Is this the half now, half after the job is done pitch?”
You can substitute Robart Barlow for the wall over his right shoulder and no one would catch the change, Storm thought.
“What’s the amount?” He probed, seeing the man was as forthcoming as a corpse and half the company.
“There’s a ship,” Robart said. “Moored in Caspo O’ Dor,” Storm stared at his hands not getting where this was going. “We want you to purchase it.”
This time it was Lord Nattas that blinked in shock.
“You want me to buy a ship? Like a large fishing boat?”
Surely…
“A Barque. Fleur De Luce.”
It was as if Robart had just shoved his fist into Nattas arse, all the way up to his throat.
Storm sucked a deep breath in, a nervous tick appearing on his left temple. He pressed a finger on it, trying to stop an aneurysm from killing him outright, while trying to calm himself down.
He almost didn’t make it.
“You want me… to purchase a fuckin’ Barque?” He croaked, in the attempt to keep his voice down.
“Fleur De Luce,” Robart reiterated like an automaton.
“A fucking Barque,” Storm repeated warningly.
“That is correct,” Robart agreed, infuriating him even more.
Storm licked his lips and looked around him for that bottle of wine. Half in the mind to drink it whole and then smash it on Robart’s stupid head.
Zizel is probably holding on to the fuckin’ bottle waiting for me to pick a girl first.
Coin-sucking whore.
“What’s the price?” He asked, curious where this was going.
Of the ship was his meaning.
“Ten thousand gold Eagles,” Robart deadpanned and Storm almost had a heart attack right then and there. The scandal from him dropping dead on a brothel’s side-table not as feared, as the humiliation he’d kicked the proverbial bucket, not while wildly fornicating with Lena Verano, but while talking to this fuckin’ glorified bank manager.
Storm also didn’t have anywhere near that amount of coin available.
“That’s an… outlandishly expensive ship,” he said, puffing out. “I’d use a bigger superlative, but I can’t think of one.”
“It belonged to the previous Duke of Raoz,” Robart tried to justify the unjustifiable.
“There’s a new one?” Storm queried to stall, while still searching for a way around this new problem.
“Victor Reeves, his old chamberlain. He married the late Duke’s son wife, to get his hands on the lordship of Altarin.”
Sounded perfectly reasonable to him.
“That sounds quite scandalous,” Storm commented instead rubbing his forehead, the throbbing replaced by a stinging headache.
“The woman was his brother’s daughter,” Robart countered with a creepy half-smile, his first real attempt at a joke.
No wonder they’ve put you at clerk duty.
You’re not a comedian.
Better keep yer job dude. You’ll get booed out of stage.
“Huh, talk about keeping it in the family,” Storm kinda indulged him, the small detail useful. He filed it away for later.
Robart, creepy grin wiped from his face, pushed one of the written contracts towards him and tapped at the end of the text, where Storm’s name was written with clear bold black letters.
“I’ll need your signature, Lord Nattas.”
Uhm.
And I want to be a good head taller and ten years younger.
“I don’t have the amount,” Storm was forced to say.
“The price we will pay is one thousand gold,” Robart explained.
Still a good chunk of gold.
However…
“That’s quite the discount,” he admitted and took the quill Robart gave him.
The Mediator offered no comment and Storm put his signature on the parchment. Robart checked to see everything was proper, as if Storm could just write the King’s name and get away with it, then offered the second page for him to sign.
“What’s this?” Storm asked, very uncomfortable and unsure on what exactly was happening.
Having pages shoved in your face to put your mark on, one after the other, is a stressful ordeal.
“A rental contract,” Robart explained. “You will rent the ship to me, Lord Nattas, for the sum price of one thousand gold Eagles.”
Storm blinked.
“I buy it for a thousand. I rent it for a thousand,” he could kind of see the man’s scheme now.
“That is correct.”
Storm signed the contract.
Robart checked it carefully and then took both and returned them to his unseen satchel.
“The Guild is satisfied,” he announced and made to get up, but Storm stopped him.
Who would’ve thought you folk, are a bunch of darn crooks?
“Where do I find the Servant?” Lord Nattas asked instead.
“The Bridal Shirt,” Robart replied and got up, but not before returning everything into his satchel and hanging the leather strap from his shoulder. “It is where she lives.”
“Where’s that?”
“Rosebush,” Robart Barlow said and walked away, without hesitation.
A tiny village, on the coastal road between Alden and the port of Illirium.
Sudi looked weird and probably way worse than yesterday.
“Good grief man,” Storm said recoiling at the sight of the worn down lackey. “What happened to your fucking hair?”
Sudi run a hand over his bald head.
“I shaved it all, chief.”
“It’s not that you had that many left to begin with,” Nattas noticed and grinned at his hurt frown. He’d taken enough ridicule in his life to not give half a shit about other people’s feelings. “It looks good though. Eh, It just takes a long minute to appreciate it,” he softened it up a bit.
“Aye. The Dottore said it will help the remaining roots grow back stronger.”
Storm didn’t believe there was any hope of salvaging those roots.
“Well, no harm in trying I suppose,” he lied.
“Yep,” Sudi agreed. “Titus is out.”
“Good. I’ll take him with me on a quick field trip,” Storm said hastily and glanced at Secundus bringing the former mercenary along from his house. They were standing in front of the entrance, the streets pretty dead for the time of day.
“A field trip?” Sudi queried. “Since when do you—”
Storm tapped his hurt leg. “Riding helps. Dottore’s orders.”
“Do you want me to come?”
“I want you to stay and watch the Magisters.”
He couldn’t risk Sudi seeing Maja again.
“Okay. Utnas reached Bayspell by the way,” Sudi reported.
“He did?” Storm thought about it for a moment. “How long before he can give us a report from the front?”
“He needs to get to Rida first, blend in and stay alive,” Sudi crooked his mouth, the lips sinking where he’d lost most of his teeth.
“I can see him reaching the city,” Storm commented. “The rest, I’m cautiously pessimistic.”
“He’s a Cofol,” Sudi countered.
“There’s that of course,” Nattas agreed, with a smirk.
Secundus, square jaw clenched pushed Titus towards them.
“I brought the prisoner, milord,” he reported and Titus, looking rather fresh for a man that had stayed in a cellar for a month, protested raising his hands.
“You just let me out, ye bucket head!”
“Alright, stop this,” Storm intervened. “You boys are going to come with me. We will go to Rosebush.”
It was apparent no one had any idea where the place was.
“Remember that small village with that tavern, the tasty fried trout, back when we made the journey from Novesium last year?” Storm probed, the memory of the quality whores working at the leisure resort port hurting his soul. He missed those Novesium girls and Nattas was a decent enough human to admit it. Lusting over the Queen of Regia also didn’t help, as it only increased Storm’s frustration.
Mainly because while he could handle lust, it was all these other new feelings Storm feared.
The Unknown was Abrakas bastard child.
His men were still staring at him numbly, the biggest gathering of buffoons ever. Nattas sighed deeply and stared at the cobblestone road all sad.
“Get the bloody horses ready,” he ordered them, after a full minute of soul-deep retrospection.
The afternoon of the second day, since they had departed from Alden, going over the Maiden Bridge, near the spot where Sir Reus had executed Arietta and after following a relative pleasant coastal route, but for the rotten heat, the small group reached Rosebush.
Barely thirty houses, all painted a pleasant deep blue, with red roofs, divided by a nicely paved main street and a picturesque tiny port made of white stone. Rosebush was a nice little village, squashed between two larger cities and ports. Alden and Illirium.
“Yeah, I remember it now,” Titus commented, the trip bringing his old self back, after his incarceration. “There’s the tavern.”
It wasn’t difficult to spot. Rosebush had a bakery, a tavern and inn, a small fish market by the docks and a butcher. All facing the main street cutting through it. It also had a clothing store he’d completely missed that first time, Storm thought, staring at the well-put bronze label and the black writing on it. The store front windows lined with iron bars, the kind of security one would find in a bank, or prison.
“Right,” he decided and climbed down his horse, the leg hurting, but holding up still. Storm was grateful to be able to stand on two feet and he would take the pain gladly. He was used to it. “We make a stop here boys, give ourselves a good rest, before we head back.”
“So, we head to the tavern?” Titus asked, stretching his back from the ride.
“You come with me,” Storm said and pointed at the store with the red door. “I need to check on some things.”
Titus frowned, mouth dropping reading the label.
“Yer getting married, boss?”
Secundus cuffed him hard on the nappe.
“Don’t be an idiot!” He barked, still not used seeing Titus as a free man.
“It’s a fuckin’ Bridal store!” Titus protested, but retreated a couple of steps, while Secundus read the label for himself. “Can ye stop just for a moment suckin’ the boss’ cock and read ye dork?”
“Okay,” Storm started, but he was summarily interrupted.
“It says shirts on there, stop twisting words ye vile scum!” Secundus snapped and Titus, long mustache dancing over his mouth, threw his arms in the air giving up.
“Fine, ye want to pretend it’s not weird as fuck—”
“Enough!” Storm yelled at them both, clenching his fists, sweat running down his face. “You’re both utter idiots. Gods, are you kidding me? Paying coin for this fuckin’ crap?” He puffed out exasperated, before continuing. “Now, Titus guard the fucking door, I’m going inside. Any other bloody questions?” He added ominously.
Other than a couple of petulant stares, there was none.
