NOVEL NEXT 34 - Stagfolk Party
The Downs might've claimed Hogg's Hollow and Grimsgate under its banner, but the two districts were nothing alike.
Stump arrived at the corner of Crooked Cranny and Norwen's Nook, where the Nook & Cranny Inn shouldered the weight of two separate inns above it. He'd parted ways with Morg after a disappointing turn in Stonegrave—the dwarf returned to the inn for another round of interviews, while Stump headed out to his Stagfolk Party quest in the Hollow.
Double and triple storey tenements leaned precariously on every street corner. Arms of wood reached from window to window, bridging neighbouring buildings together in a rickety patchwork of aerial roads. He craned his neck to watch ratfolk, humans and dwarves strolling across the rooftop streets as casually as people walked below. The ground was flanked by so much crooked verticality that not an inch of it was touched by sunlight, and was instead bathed in the colourful gloom of dozens of lines of mycolights criss-crossing above like the web of some giant rainbow spider.
"Larea?" said the barkeep of the Nook & Cranny, after Stump waddled through its open corner doorway. He paused his study of a beer stained ledger and glanced at the inquiring goblin through a set of small glasses. He jabbed a thumb in the air. "He's upstairs."
"Larea, eh?" said the barkeep of the second floor. He looked and sounded as if the bartender below had crept up through an unseen passage, swapped his glasses for a monocle, and threw a slightly less grimy apron over himself. "You here for the party?"
Stump nodded.
Another cocked thumb. "He's upstairs."
A narrow spiral staircase led to the third floor. Evening light set the wood aglow. It spilled in from everywhere, denied only by the two walls bracketing the inn. One was the wall spearing out of the corner steps where Stump had ascended, and the other stood beyond the varnished tables and chairs and bar countertop. An open balcony jutted out of where a third wall might have been. Vines colonized the balustrade and half a dozen chirping bird cages.
"Welcome to The Rookery," someone said. Stump turned to the bar, where a female stagfolk hung pewter mugs on a rack. "Are you lost?"
"I'm looking for Larea's party," he said.
As if on cue the shrieks and laughter of children spilled through the missing fourth wall, which had been lowered like a castle drawbridge across the chasm between The Rookery and its neighbour.
The bartender conceded a smirk, then nodded to the makeshift bridge. "My husband's out there," she said. "You came just in time."
Stump cautiously made the crossing, then leapt out of the way as a train of hollering children bolted past, pursued by a grey stagfolk armed with several colourful birds.
"Not so fast!" Larea called. "Away from the ledge, please! Ren, don't push Noreggan! Slow down!"
"Run! Jump!" squawked a low flying mimicaw. "Goblin!"
Larea skidded to a stop in front of Stump. "Oh, thank the Bright Queen you're here. I think we've fed them too many hushcakes."
Stump's only experience with children had been the other younger members of his own tribe. They were often angry, loud, and liked to impress upon squishy surfaces with sharp objects, especially if blood came out. Adult goblins were no different.
"Do you need some help?" he asked.
Larea's gaze followed his son and his rascally pursuers as they pivoted at a rooftop corner and darted along a walled edge.
He nodded breathlessly.
Stump hovered the lumen over the centre of the building, adjacent to a consortium of nervous parents atop stools and buckets. Their gossipy chatter petered out as all heads turned to the light.
He nudged the colour from white to blue, and felt a twang of pride as the gasping children broke off from their game and started towards it.
"The Lumergist!" one called, pointing at the light.
"The Lumemurgist!" cried another.
Like nightflies to a fire they were drawn, forming a circle beneath it and staring up in glassy-eyed wonder. Stump weaved his hand in the air, urging the blue to purple, then red. He made it flicker, drawing on the newly acquired inherent abilities of Chromomancy, and fanned illusory flames around its core.
The children hollered and leapt up to catch it.
Larea sighed relief. "Thank you."
For the next hour Stump was a god. The children circled him, heaping praise and admiration, prodding the limits of his powers.
"Can you control the sun?" asked Ren.
"Can you set things on fire?" said Kazzu.
"Can ye explode me nan's house?" Noreggan wondered, who was six years old and already as bearded as Morg.
Stolen story; please report.
They were convinced Stump was a citizen of Aubany itself, a traveler from beyond the black gates of Lumensa, or a mercenary from the Amber Bastion.
"Can you take me back there?"
"I wanna go there when I get older."
"If I study there can I learn how to explode me nan's house?"
Stump treated them to another colourful display, and when they were bored of that he had them chase it around, drawing it away from the edge when the parents protested with a collective gasp. When the novelty wore off he duplicated his lumen and pretended to bestow on the children the power to launch them at each other in one on one duels, while he stood to the side, secretly orchestrating the trajectories.
Eventually they collapsed in tired heaps. Stump spent two virtue on Moving Images and presented them with a colourful rendition of his favourite knightly tales while the parents returned to their hushed conversation, free from the worry of their children launching themselves onto neighbouring dwellings.
Exhausted and down several points of virtue, Stump waddled back to the bar and hauled himself up the nearest stool. The clink of coins drew his eyes farther down the counter, where Larea's wife polished a glass.
She nodded him over. He relocated and stared at the six glimmering copper pieces.
"He spoils him," she observed, flashing a brief smile to where the children had resumed their chase.
"I think I did too," Stump said with a prideful smirk.
She placed a mug in front of him. A quick sniff nearly sent him reeling off the seat. "I don't really like beer," he said apologetically.
"Good thing it's not beer."
He hesitated, then dared to lean close and wrap his fingers around the handle. With a held breath he took a sip and choked on the smokey flavour. "It's interesting," he croaked. His throat warmed.
She chuckled. "Ruinfire's not to everyone's taste."
There was a question, but Stump, still grappling with the bitter burn trailing down his throat, missed it. "Sorry?" he said.
"Where are you from?" she repeated. "I think I'd know any Lumenurgist in these parts."
Stump's reply arrived slowly, on a breath that tasted of burning leather. "That's a complicated question."
"Most are." She extended a hand. "I'm Jeyenne. Together my husband and I run The Rookery."
"I'm Stump. I run the Nobodies with my friend Morg. And my friend Reema, as of yesterday."
Recognition lit Jeyenne's eyes. "Reema? Of the Knight Inn?"
He nodded, suddenly aware that the warmth of the inn wasn't just emanating from his own esophagus. It curled around him like a knitted blanket, like Reema's Hospitality.
"That's right. My company works out of the cellar there," he said.
The brightness of her smile hinted at old, cherished memories. "I used to visit when her father ran the place. He had a delicious recipe for spicecap stew. I hope they kept it."
"They did," he said. "It tastes like home, but spicy."
"Not so easy to visit now, with my boy and the Rookery doing so well. Knowing Reema she's probably got her hands full, too. Her father left behind a solid foundation."
The sleepy golden shafts of sunlight that slanted through the balcony and scattered around the cages stirred a deep yearning in Stump, for a man he'd heard of but never met.
"It sounds like I missed a great person, the way Reema and Jin talk about him," he said.
She gave a wistful nod. "Do you know how he is? If she's come by any word?"
"Word?" he said, uncertain. "Isn't he… well, dead?"
Confusion wrinkled her snout. "Dead? No. He's in prison."
"Prison?" he blurted, then looked over his shoulder to ensure he hadn't caught the attention of anyone on the neighbouring rooftop. "What happened?"
Jeyenne fell back on her heel as if retreating from the question. She frowned. "It wouldn't be my place to say."
"Of course. I understand, but… are Reema and Jin going to be alright?"
She stopped herself from answering and glanced outside at the screaming children. It was a while before she sighed. "You should know. You're running a mercenary company."
Stump leaned forward. "Know what?"
"Have you heard of the Midnight Ocelots?"
His stomach tightened, and this time it wasn't the Ruinfire. The mention alone had the capacity to stir Grumul's rage in his veins. "I know the name," he muttered.
"Like Aubany we've got no king here in the Downs," she began in a low tone. "But if you're a mercenary company or an inn that makes its due, you best be ready to open your pockets to the Pale Lady. Doesn't matter if you're from Grimsgate, Guttershine, Brinetown, or here in the Hollow."
"The Pale Lady?"
"She's their leader."
His skin prickled at the memory of that voice at the Cantankerous Tankard. The one Germott and Sylas took orders from. The voice that frightened Daggan. The whispers. Was that her?
"Anyhow," she went on. "Back before they had their claws in everything and everyone, Reema's father built up that inn far enough outside the Downs to start a whole new district. He wanted others to start their trades there, too. The Ocelots weren't much at the time, just a group of smugglers out of Guttershine."
"But the Pale Lady came?" he said.
Jeyenne nodded gravely. "Comes for us all eventually. She asked real polite if he'd give up some of his income and his loyalty to the Ocelots. In return they'd guarantee protection, and maybe see the inn thrive."
"And he said no," said Stump. Just like Morg's company, he thought. Seawind Silver.
"Couple weeks later he was in an Auber prison cell for poaching. They smeared the inn's reputation, too. Made it so it doesn't see traffic like it used to."
"How long ago?"
She glanced up at the ceiling for an answer. "Five years," she mused.
Five years? How many other inns had ended up like Reema's? Or worse, Dusty Taps? How many mercenary companies had gone belly up? Five years was a long time to shatter dreams.
"Have the Ocelots come to you, yet?" Stump asked.
He didn't mean to accuse, but she frowned and turned away as if hiding an old wound opened by the question. A joyful shriek from one of the children sounded through the inn.
"I have a son to look after," she said, her voice cracking. "They'll come for you, too. Once you reach copper, maybe sooner."
It might've been foolish to be more angry than afraid, but Stump couldn't suppress the imbalance in his feelings as Jeyenne told Reema's story. He'd already dealt with the Ocelots. He'd seen the lives of others burn from their tactics. There was nothing frightening about someone bullying those weaker or smaller than themselves. It wasn't powerful or strong. It wasn't brave.
The Downs had learned that for more than five years.
And Stump had learned that his whole life.
Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (5/9)
Jeyenne slid her hand across the counter. When she pulled it away a single coin sat next to the other six, but it didn't have the glow of the minted currency of Aubany. Stump plucked it between his fingers and examined the coppery texture. One side was imprinted with clanking tankards, and on the other was the head of a bird. Perhaps a raven or a mimicaw.
"What's this?" he said.
Jeyenne leaned in close, her jaw tight. "You give that to Reema, dear. She ever finds her establishment in trouble with the Ocelots again, you trade that coin to any innkeep in the Hollow." She placed her hand on Stump's and firmly closed his fingers around it. Behind her eyes a storm brewed. "We've got no room for kings here in the Downs. Not now. Not ever."