(Art source unknown)
Index: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
Chapter 5
The Sonsy Maid
The hooded dwarf entered a wynd, thick with all kinds of stored trash. Long since disused pots full of rusted scraps of metal, dilapidated, yet still useful crates, the edges of folded clothing and rags sticking under their lids. Bottles, all washed and packed neat in rows upon rows of fishing baskets...
Aaah, yes, the fishing baskets. There was always an overabundance of such in these parts and Joel knew very well why.
Dressed in everyday clothing, the dwarf nevertheless wore a chainmail under his shirt. His clerical broadsword and a dagger in his left boot completed his entire armament. Not that he had to carry something heavier, but a stroll so deep within Krart’s broodier quarters might end with a scuffle.
As a matter of fact, Joel had so far escaped one just by flashing his weapon belt.
Despite the fact that this was a path he rarely took, the priestly dwarf knew exactly where he was going. Deep inside the somewhat bedraggled, yet still cozy bowels of the Workers’ District, there was a tavern of sorts. Known for its goodish gathering of denizens supremely apt in their shadowy professional attributes, to even enter “The Sonsy Maid” one had to be invited one day in advance, at the very least.
Joel examined the masterfully carved statue which represented this tavern. Erected next its wide-ish and definitely tallish than usual door for an establishment of this kind, it was recently repainted. Tall and gloriously endowed in the chest area, this was a sculpture of great elven craft; a woman with gray skin complexion, her long, flowing hair was so black it showed a dark-blue tint.
The statue was clothed in a long sapphire-blue gown, the folds of which closely followed her shapes, tiny flutter of lights emanated by enchanted golden embroideries. True to the nature of the woman it was commissioned by, the clothing left everything to the imagination.
A pair of smiling pink eyes were carved with such immaculate precision, the statue always appeared to be watching, no matter which side of the street you approached the tavern from. Face adorned with a heavenly smirk, head gently canted towards the venue, she extended her hands in a graceful, welcoming gesture.
The priest knew he was being expected and pushed the door open. Noon, it was supposed to be full with hooded persons from many a race, all quietly munching sammiches, sipping soup, or vigorously devouring skewered meats. Noticing the glaring absence of its usual murmuring cheer, yet the substantial presence of cloaked patrons, Joel raised an eyebrow.
True that the serving maids, all young ladies in waiting, they were darting between tables and the kitchen carrying big trays heavy with food and drink. Yet the mantled customers feasted not, but threw concealed glares at a trio of burly men. The latter were unsightly to behold and had surrounded a spitting image of the statue outside.
“See ‘ere, elfey,” – spat one of them, a foul-faced gnoll armed with a pair of curved swords – “boss sayz dat dis is not nego...nigauth...negahhh... abiableh.”
“Does the many-a-sword-carrying sir meant to convey his superior’s notion that, indeed, her offer is nonnegotiable?” – asked the elf woman with her fluttering voice, as she articulated every word, nodding and smiling.
“Yaaas! Muh boss sayz ya haff till t’morroh.” – snarled the jackal-faced gnoll, a slither of icky drool sliding its way from his full of rotten teeth snout, and down his bulky cuirass.
The gnoll’s companions, a dwarf of brownish complexion and perhaps the bulkiest, tallest halfling Joel had ever seen, snickered, nodding in complete unison with their chief. What passed for a dwarf and a real disgrace for Joel’s own people, carried the dirtiest basket hilt broadsword the priest had ever seen. The unnaturally buff halfling sported a small, but vicious warhammer, paired with a rusty buckler.
They both stank, their breaths rancid and clothes filthy, but the gnoll’s malodorous aura took the cake. It also did not help that their shifty eyes were ogling the maids of his tavern as if they owned them. Only now did Joel realize why weren’t the regular patrons eating with their usual gusto.
“Could you, dear sir,” – began the elven woman and made quite the calm hand gesture, a sign easily understood by all of her patrons before she asked – “just so everything is clear and our girls know exactly where to go, repeat said offer?”
“Yaaas!” – barked the gnoll as he leaned forward, drooling over the immaculate tablecloth – “Yer wenches gonn’ be all whoring for boss Sarkss’ian from da morro’.”
His dwarf associate sneered, reading from a scribble-covered rag, which was perhaps once somebody’s underpants – “Go to Farhaven street, numbah one three fiddy, tis da fist tall bildin’ on da lefft side.”
With a polished smile and another deft move, the elven woman flipped open her notebook. She had somehow produced a pencil and seemingly out of thin air which was then used to write down the address, number, building description and everything. The notebook was then oh-so-swiftly pocketed, again with the calmest of smiles.
Though Joel’s own wife always said that a matron of such stature needed little to no jewelry, yet the elf actually wore not one, but two rings. One forged from a silvery metal, adorned with a smallish red stone and the other, a gem-less circle, crafted from black gold. The dwarf felt that something, he was not entire sure of what sorcerous nature, was put into motion when the lady clapped.
“All well and good then! Sirs, I speak for my maids when I say that your most bravest of bosses, lady Sarkss’ian, she shan’t find us wanting.”
The halfling, in all his imbecility, demonstrably licked his dirty lips and attempted to touch one of the girls. However, something was wrong since his limb outright refused to obey. It was not just him, but the pitiful excuse of a dwarf and their stinking gnoll of a leader too. A few thuggish seconds of confused blinking, huffing and puffing later, and Joel realized what had occurred.
Paralysis.
Unable to move or speak, the stinkers watched in horror how three tall, tough-looking forest elves approached, sacks and ropes in hand. Eyes tearing up from the stench, nevertheless, the young men proceeded to disarm, tie up, and bag the three hoodlums. On command, the cloth of their sacks became invisible and thus vanished, the unwelcome guests of “The Sonsy Maid” were promptly carried out of the back door. Where to, the priest hadn’t but the slightest of ideas since he was not a vigilante.
Joel worked with the Red Hoods only on special occasions and, from time to time, supplied them with intelligence. After all, numerous as they may be, the city guards could not be everywhere or protect everyone. Somebody had to be the so called “Justice in Shadow” or many more innocent people would end up suffering.
“Lady Thaliel,” – Joel addressed the owner of “The Sonsy Maid” local Red Hood information broker, and a matchmaker extraordinaire – “excuse my tardiness, but... By Mother Mara’s Light, who were the three simpletons?”
“Please, your Eminence, worry not, for this is an affair of the most trivial kind!” – and the lady elf greeted him right hand on her heart and left touching her forehead.
One of the maids ushered him into a clean chair, and, as he made himself comfortable, the Doula whispered – “I am supposed to be all incognito here.”
This prompted a number of hoods being removed and Joel realized that the entire venue was occupied by a fully armed, ready for action Red Hood cleansing band. More, he recognized some of the younger faces since he’d assisted their births himself. Elves of all colors, sturdy humans, real dwarves, halflings, and even a couple of proper orks, they had the same look in their clear eyes. The gaze which Joel’s long dead friends, bar Captain Brelain, all had.
Kannites named this look “the eye of righteousness”.
“I heard about that slime you interrogated.” – said she waving her enchanted handkerchief in the air, which quickly prestidigitated the stench away – “Did he know anything about Lifestealers?”
Joel first sniffed around, inhaled and exhaled, raising his gloved hand to ask one maid over. Priests in general, they were not bothered too much by stank. While Lady Thaliel examined his grizzled visage, the dwarf scratched his beard, ordered a sammich, and having gathered his thoughts, elaborated:
“Apparently, that parasite was fencing stolen household bits for some bint. Orkish lass of the noblesse kind, she came every ninth or so, a big carriage full of crates and such. I’ve got descriptions of said lass, the boxes, those who offloaded them, and everything.”
He handed her a folded note – “Captain Brelain asked me to tell you that he and his guards can only do the preliminaries. You know why.”
“Oh,” – sighed the lady elf and read his note – “that means this comely orkish lass is connected.”
“Neither I, nor any of my Temple guards or paladins can help investigate. We will stick out like sore thumbs.” – said Joel and reached for the hot pork sammich a maid had just served him.
“Worry not, Eminence.” – almost chirped she, and pointed at the trio of athletic elves who’d returned from disposing of the stinky trine – “My own sons will take turns combing the Trades’ Street, Workers’ District, and covertly snoop around the noble mansions. Whoever this she-ork is, we’ll find the sneaky lass.”
Once more, Lady Thaliel scanned his note, made a copy in her own notebook and then burned his, so it could not be magically traced back to him or Captain Berlain. The gray elf watched as Joel ate his sammich with motherly affection, offering him her handkerchief when he smudged his mustache. As her boys took her instructions and went out on the lookout for Joel’s orkish noblesse, Thaliel asked:
“You don’t have to tell me, but... how did you get so much detail from that guy?”
The priest stood silent for a while, his facial expression changing from calm to anxious. Joel looked at her and there was sadness in his eyes when he whispered:
“Us doula absorb much pain from every woman in labor we help.”
Her eyes widened.
“To take the pain, I embrace your bane—my life for two.” – quietly chanted the priest, one droplet of crimson blood dripping from his nose – “It is how every Doula prayer begins and, eventually, this is how we all end.”
“How many and... how soon?” – Lady Thaliel was able to ask only after a minute of thought.
“I lost count. Thousands, maybe?” – Joel sighed his quiet reply and wiped the blood with the handkerchief she gave him – “Hopefully, Mother Mara will give me a dozen more Turns before I stand before Kan and be judged.”
Thaliel and he sat for a long while, quiet, listening to the cozy murmur of dining patrons. This mutter and the clatter of tableware, it shrouded them like the soft hug of a loved one. Ever growing in intensity, a notable bit of said chatter was actually enabled into existence by the doula himself. He’d wiped the bottoms of many who now sat in these chairs, gave them their first baby teeth blessings, and made sure their young parents knew exactly what they were doing.
“Eminence, why is it that you like to catch these Lifestealers in particular?” – Lady Thaliel broke the silence when her motherly eye noticed that Joel’s face had regained its normal color.
“That boy I adopted, Keryln,” – replied he, his voice a bit livelier – “I want him to live long and die in peace.”
“Then I will promise you this.” – whispered Lady Thaliel as she made a discrete gesture pointing her thumb at one of her maids – “When he becomes of age, I shall matchmake for him and without fail, make sure that the maiden he weds is of great merit.”
Joel’s visage livened even more and he snickered joyfully, drawing looks from patrons and maids alike.
“I think that my young charge has no need of your marvelous matchmaking services, wise Lady Thaliel.”
The elven lady looked at him and her pinkish eyes were glowing when she clapped – “Oh, glory to life and happiness! Who might that future young woman be, eminence?”
Joel gracefully offered her magical handkerchief back, yet she made it apparent that was a gift with an even gracile a gesture of her own.
“Another orphan by the name of Aeriale he befriended at the Temple, and hopefully a future mistress of pastries.” – boasted the dwarf as if his adopted son and said girl were all grown up and married.
“You know, I do offer great opportunities for the younglings at my establishment!” – said the elven lady and pointed towards her famous kitchen, where another squad of maids had just entered with trays soon to be filled – “Arts, literature, social graces, and dancing classes, plus a modest stipend, all and more I give to the maids under my wing.”
“That is true, Lady!” – Joel exclaimed, his voice back to its usual strength, and he gently bowed, cowling his head ready to leave – “More, the maidens are quite safe here, protected from the dirty hands of certain denizens.”
“So say we all!” – grumbled the Red Hood vigilantes, forks, spoons, and pints full of drink raised.
Lady Thaliel saw Joel off, who, just before opening the door, whispered a question in her long ear – “You don’t have to tell me, but... what exactly happens with nasty fools like those three who stank your establishment so gravely?”
“Weapons and gear either get smelted or if mundane enough, sold. We use the money as stipends or dowries for the poorest of our maidens. As for the stinkers themselves; they are being quietly and efficiently unalived. Then, they are transported down the sewer levels and...” – began her explanation the lady and she showed her white teeth before completing the answer with a colorful homonym – “Omnomnomnom!”
[Ninth] — Krartian weeks are nine days.
[Turn] — This is a planetary rotation numbering seventeen thirty five day months.
This is such engaging storytelling! Thank you, Knight!
Delightfully homely in spite of righteous morbid disposal, presumably had they not been ignorant, the thugs would not have messed with the big fish in the lake, no virtue staying their hans of course just fear of the larger fist warding them off.