The Girl From Out Of Town
Act 1
By Matthew Farmer
Published by Matthew Farmer as Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Matthew Farmer
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Book cover design by Scarlett Rugers Design 2012 – www.scarlettrugers.com
Thank you to Vandal Hype for being my strongest outside voice and pushing me to this point. Thank you to my readers and editors- Catherine, Scarlett, Michelle, Ian, Alison and Katrina.
Chapter 1
Zila wiggled her little finger in her ear. She tipped her head to the side and smacked it. “I got mice in my head.”
“I can help you get rid of them,” Yizhibo said, sliding a blade from his sleeve.
Zila muttered something about baiting them with cheese later, but took the hint. She stood up and concentrated back on the stone.
They stood in a sealed chamber, faceted like the inside of a jewel. Glyphs adorned the walls, glowing in power, feeding off the magical energy from the stone.
In the centre of this chamber, floating about a meter above a pedestal was the stone. It was pitted and scarred, about the size of a big man's head and spun slowly in the air.
“They are coming,” Yizhibo said quietly. He was an average built man, but he was particularly handsome, if a little pale of skin. He dressed in the latest fashion with a long jacket and a shirt, the left collar longer than the right collar, and he had a fantastic head of hair.
Zila patted down her leather skirts and focussed on the floating stone. She was a wild-eyed red-headed sorcerer. Most men found her attractive, until they were in her grasp. Then they found her quite mad and scary. Not all of these suitors escaped her embrace.
She clapped her hands above her head and rubbed them together vigorously. She chanted and hummed while she brought her hands down, palms up, out to her sides.
A tiny spot of green light danced on the surface of the stone. Quickly it turned into arcs of green energy which writhed over the rough surface.
Zila reached out in front of her and grabbed the air with her fingers. With more chants she drew her hands apart as if drawing open curtains. A bright white light appeared, a rift, opening with the actions of Zila's hands. Soon a good sized rift appeared right above a set of very worn stone steps leading down from the pedestal.
“Keep it stable you crazy woman,” Yizhibo said, tension in his voice.
From the rift stumbled a giant of a man, blue skinned and tattooed. He fell to his knees at the bottom of the stairs and was breathing heavily. Over both shoulders he had woven bags, inside of which rattled a large number of glowing orbs.
“Do not drop them!” Yizhibo yelled. He stepped forward to catch them.
“No!” Zila snapped. “You stand very still or the rift closes and you lose your precious cargo.”
Yizhibo growled at her but took a step back.
“We have resistance,” The blue man said, slowly getting to his feet. His name was Dabb, a Mountain Man, and a slave.
Two ladies leapt through the portal, carrying bags with smaller orbs contained within. They pushed Dabb across the bridge which connected the portal to the chamber's wall, and to where Zila held the portal open.
A hulk of a man with a leather bandanna covering his right eye stepped through next. He shook glowing blue slime from his hand. “Stupid demon muck. Had me a perfect Lymbo-head in my hands. But bring it here and it just turns to muck,”. He wiped the slime onto his top. His name was Khaldin, an ugly man but effective at killing things.
Two more figures stepped through. A tall and slender man, named Ash, wore a leather hat and long duster coat. He pointed his pistol back through the portal and fired off a lightning bolt.
The second man, larger than Ash by a good head and a half, was a pale skinned bulk of a man named Zotoga. He wore a silver visor on his eyes and a sneer on his face.
“Close it,” he yelled at Zila.
Straining against the powers surging between her and the stone, Zila lifted her arms upwards to clasp them above her head, but she was meeting resistance.
“I said close it!”
Strain was clearly showing on Zila's face as she tried to clasp her hands. Then with a whip like crack, her hands came together. The portal closed and she was thrown off her feet and crashed into Yizhibo. The others in the room were also knocked over, Dabb managing to catch the sack full of orbs and not break a one.
On the pedestal, standing in front of the floating stone, was a glowing blue form. It was slight in build with a distinct feminine form. It looked around slowly, at the people in front of it, and at the walls around it. It saw Ash on the ground and started to approach. Glowing blue footsteps remained on the stone from her foot steps.
Ash, shaking sense back into his head, raised his gun. He shot off a lightning bolt. The blue figure ducked out of the way effortlessly. The other members of the hunting party were regaining their feet and also raising their weapons.
It looked up at the walls where Ash's shot struck. The wall was cracked, shattered. It opened it's mouth and screamed, a bright blue flash blinding them all. Then it leapt at the wall and slid through the cracks.
“What was that?” Ash asked, looking to Zotoga. “Who was that?”
Zotoga had his nose raised as he searched for a scent. He then looked to Yizhibo.
“You need to find her.” Yizhibo said. “Now.”
“I don’t know why you don’t just tell him,” Veil said as he poked Navarr in the shoulder to get his attention over the din of the bar. The three of them sat at a table in the corner of the humid room. It was quiet enough so they could talk without having to yell. “You simply walk up to him and say 'Larin, you stink. You need to bathe more'. You are not paid enough to sit in that office next to him day in and day out. There is not enough money in the world for anyone to have to put up with that.”
Veil and Chyp laughed. Navarr joined in uncomfortably, but it was not as funny to him. Conversation seemed to inevitably end up around his job and his work mate, both of which he had been suffering with for many years.
“I cannot simply tell a man he stinks,” Navarr said. He drained his tankard and slowly put it down onto the rough-hewn wooden table. “It is just not the done thing.” He stared at the glyph floating in the globe above their table, shedding a wavering light for them to see. It had been fading for weeks and Navarr could now stare at it without seeing spots. But they came to this bar for the prices, not the maintenance. “And besides, my solution is simple and elegant.”
“What? Spraying a man with perfume every day? Making him smell pretty?” Veil snorted and drained the last of his ale. “No wonder you have just as much trouble finding a woman as you do a job. You waste all the good scents on men.”
Chyp laughed and clanked tankards with Veil. They both sounded empty.
“Your round,” Veil said to Chyp and handed him their tankards.
“Well, the money is not a problem. I have a regular customer discount,” This brought more chuckles from his friends. Chyp stood and went to get some more ale.
Navarr scowled. He was the lowest paid member of this troupe and yet had been at his job the longest. He was not starving, he had a small roof over his head and clothes on his back, even if both had holes and leaked. But he was comfortable enough. Unlike Chyp and his well paid job at Royal Automatons, Navarr did not feel the need to have ten shirts of different colour and of the latest styles to wear to work. And unlike Veil, Navarr did not see the need to have clothes for the day time and then new clothes for the night time. His work suit was perfectly fine for working in the office and still be respectable enough for the pub at night.
“I do change the scent each week,” he said, more to himself. “I had Larin smelling like Hearth Root this week, and next week I am thinking of Storm Roses.”
“You should spend this much thought on the ladies,” Veil said with a wink.
“If he could even get a lady,” Chyp said, landing a tankard in front of each of them with some spillage.
“Ha, funny,” Navarr said, picking his drink up and taking a sip. He hoped the tankard would hide his scowl but he put it down with a disgusted look on his face. “Is this from the bottom of the barrel? Yuck. I cannot drink that.”
“It puts hairs on your chest,” Chyp winked at Veil and they laughed some more.
“Well, I will not be drinking that. It is late and I must go.”
“Big day ahead tomorrow?” Chyp asked.
“It is close to the end of the month. I have a lot of reconciliation to do on my books. It has been a busy month, I do not want any mistakes on my books when the bosses look at my work.” Navarr puffed his chest out slightly, proud of his book work.
The smile dropped from Chyp's face. He became serious all of a sudden. “You have been showing your bosses your book keeping skills for close to three years now, right?”
Navarr nodded.
“Why don’t you apply for a position in Research? Or the marketing team you keep telling us about? Lenzell and Associates must be rolling in coin since taking the market share from us. Look at Veil. He showed his bosses all his great work in The Yard, and now he has his own design team.”
“I have my own Glyph Worker, two sorcerers and a great team of tinkers and alchemists,” Veil said.
“You need to apply yourself,” Chyp continued. “You need to be bold, be creative, show them that you are a brilliant person, and you are. You are my friend but you are also bright and smart and could be doing so much more.”
Navarr nodded and looked away. He didn’t want to show them the resigned sadness in his face. He had applied for a transfer to Chyp's company, Royal Automatons and was rejected. He had secretly applied for positions in Research and in Marketing, all of which had come back, rejected. He even applied for a position in Veil's team, but was refused because he had no relevant skills. Meanwhile, Larin had been promoted from janitor a year ago and was now considered the equal of Navarr in the office.
Chyp cleared his throat to break the uncomfortable silence. “I told you not to make yourself too valuable at your job. If you become too good at your job they will never be able to find a replacement, so they will never promote you.”
“Maybe you need to start making mistakes?” Veil suggested. “Stop becoming so good at your job? Rock the boat a little, get noticed by management?”
Navarr laughed. “What on earth could I do which would get me noticed by management? Or anybody?”
“We will think of something,” Veil said, patting his friend on the shoulder.
“And on that note I must take your leave.” Navarr stood up. He shook the hands of his friends.
“Shall we meet back here on Wednesday?” Chyp asked.
“Sure,” Navarr said.
“No excuses,” Veil said.
“The only excuse I will accept is if it involves a woman,” Chyp said, giving Veil a wink.
“Ha ha,” Navarr replied. He grabbed his hat and coat from the rack near the door and shrugged himself into them before going outside.
The wind was picking up. He popped his collar and dug his hands deep into his pockets. He turned towards North End and ducked his head into the wind. The first storm of the season was nearly upon them. It could be felt in the air, the smell of water on the winds.
He stopped at the top of a hill and waited for two golems to trudge by. The heat from their furnaces warmed him briefly before the winds drilled their way inside his coat.
They were two of last years models, some prototypes using Lenzell And Associates new engine model. Navarr was sure that if he checked the serial numbers he could tell who purchased them and when. Some days he wished he didn’t know that information, that it didn’t just come from his brain like that. Some days he wished he could look at a golem and think of better designs, or better slogans to sell them to everyone. He had tried, in his applications to various departments, but anything he thought of just sounded wrong. He watched the two golems trundle down the street. They stopped at an intersection, turned to each other, which looked remarkably like they were discussing which way they should go. They both turned left and disappeared.
He crossed the street and continued on his way. He figured his knowledge of all models and serial numbers might have even put him in good stead for a customer service role. But that interview did not go well. He was described as not much of a people person, which he didn’t understand. Surely the service he provided his office in making Larin smell nice was a prime example of how he helped other people?
But no. Navarr had been stuck in Accounts and Inventory for close to three years. He had arrived in the city three years ago, and his first job was with Lenzell and Associates. And from there, where had he gone?
Finally he turned down his street in North End. Navarr lived in a neighbourhood which was almost middle class. His street backed onto a river. It smelled ripe and was a great place to dump rubbish, dish water and the occasional body.
He spied 'Charters Cartel Cartography and Curiosity Store'. His apartment was above this store and he spied the rickety staircase in the alleyway just next to the shop. A couple of night lights were floating around the shop, but other than that it was quiet.
The acrid smell of the river made him sneeze as he climbed the stairs. He held his breath while putting his key into the door. He turned the cog and aligned a glyph. The door opened, he stepped in and closed it quickly. After the count of three he exhaled, and then breathed in clean air.
“Quinnlon's Locksmith,” he said as he tapped at the glyphs by his door. “Fresh air, indoors, guaranteed.” He sighed and hung his hat and coat up by the door. “Such a simple idea and yet it made him millions. I need one of those ideas.”
He fell on to his bed without taking his shoes off.
Navarr reached out blindly towards the source of the annoying ringing noise. He waved his hand around but found nothing. He was forced to pull his head from under the covers and risk the bright morning light. It dazzled him for a moment and he grunted as the light pierced his brain and caused it to hammer.
It was hammering in time to his automaton alarm clock, funnily enough. Navarr flicked a release and the little man stopped hitting the bell, took a step back and stood 'at ease'. He sat up and took stock of his hangover. A little nauseous and the head ache, of course, but not too bad all things considered. He reached for 'Holly's Hangover Cure in a Bottle', a wicked alchemist's cure. He took three deep breaths and then a good nip from the bottle. His body slammed back on to the bed and twitched a few times before a fine mist evaporated through his pores.
“Much better,” he said as he sat up and towelled himself off. In between bites of jam on toast Navarr dressed in his dull grey suit. He reflected on the clothes his friends would be wearing today, and chose a brightly coloured tie as a compromise.
Being a Monday morning Navarr purchased a couple of fried lizards with barbecue sauce from Lepton's Fine Fare. The windows were fogged due to the warm, meaty air on the inside. On a good day you could smell this shop from the end of the street. On a bad day, even further. But they made a fantastic Ox burger with their special sauce. And Lepton was a friendly fellow once he got to know you.
He was halfway through his second lizard when he made his second stop on the way to work, Pendler's Lotions, Potions and Fine Assorted, a small store nestled between an undertaker and a bank. A bell tinkled as he entered. This shop was a far cry from the meatery Navarr had just visited. Quiet and dusty like a mausoleum, every step would set bottles and decanters tinkling against each other.
“There's nothing good about those lizards on a stick. And if they ate a pick bug before they died then you're going to get pick sores”.
Pendler could smell Navarr when he entered. Pendler had a very good nose. A small man with thinning grey hair, Pendler always smiled at people who entered. He loved people and he loved how they all smelled different.
“And if I get pick sores then you'll be getting three sceptres a week for an ointment until they clear up.” Navarr replied.
“Ah, excellent point. Now what scent for Larin this week? I have a special on Peach Field for that sweet, dessert aroma. Oh, I know, how about this? I have just developed this new scent, perfect for you in the office.”
He handed Navarr a small bottle with a clear liquid in it. A small shake however showed tiny flakes of gold.
“It is a very subtle mix of Pointer's Willow and Dusty Leaf.”
Navarr opened the bottle and had a sniff. “I don’t smell anything.”
“Precisely. You do, in fact, smell something, but it is so subtle you think you do not smell a thing. A few drops of this on Larin and he will now smell of almost nothing. I call it No Scent.”
Navarr smiled. “You are truly gifted,”
Pendle gave a small bow. “I do love my craft. Now, for three bottles I will ask two crowns.”
“Gifted and a little crazy. One crown four.”
“Two crowns, and I will give you a complimentary Sweet Water.”
“And an ointment of Griffin Salve.”
“Done.” They shook hands and Navarr put a crown and twelve sceptres across Pendler's palm.
“Sorry about the change.” He grabbed the package and tipped his hat as he left the shop, already chewing on the remaining lizard.
“It is getting colder and windier,” Veil said as he joined Navarr heading up the street to the factory. “Nice tie, by the way.”
“Good morning Veil, and thank you. Indeed, I think the storm is due very soon. When do you think the festival will begin?”
“A friend at the ports told me that there are grey clouds building in the south already. I think the storm will come through tonight or tomorrow morning. The regular storm lasts two or three days but I get a feeling that this storm is going to be bigger than normal.”
“A feeling eh?” Navarr asked as he stepped around a crew of tiny street cleaning golems. “And that feeling didn’t come from any Wind Wardens did it? No? None touched by the elements?”
Veil grunted and they both had a chuckle.
“I do believe the sky-ships are already lashing down to ride out the storms,” Navarr continued, “So I agree with you. I'd believe the captains of those ships over someone claiming affinity with the winds any day.”
“Agreed. Could you imagine? Soaring through the clouds on one of those things?”
“No, not at all.”
“What, scared of heights? Is that’s what is stopping you from getting an office with a window view?” Veil nudged him and winked.
“Oh, no. I've been on one of those nice air ship rides around the city.”
“Oh, I hear that’s nice. Was it a date?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“No, nothing came of it. I don’t mind those little rides around the city. But the thought of being out there, high above the plains, on one of those rickety boats? Any moment they could fall from the sky, and we don’t have wings you realise.”
“I've heard there are some people out there who do.”
“Oh, those crazy Valley People? Leather and feather contraptions. More of them die from falling than they do from old age.”
The shadow of a late sky-ship arrival crossed them as they crossed the road and entered the gates to the factory, headquarters for Lenzell and Associates, purveyors of fine mechanical creations. It was generally called The Yard. Other people waved to them as they entered the main building. They all wore coloured scarves and the collars of their coats were up to protect them against the wind and cold.
Once inside scarves were unwrapped and coats unbuttoned. All the talk was about the pending storm and when the festival would start. The money was on Sunday night with the storm lasting all week. Navarr was holding off his judgement, but he had a feeling it would be Friday.
Veil waved goodbye after arranging for lunch, and went down to the workshops. Navarr envied him his job. There was movement and that feeling of satisfaction of building something. He created things, built them and saw them through to completion.
Navarr squeezed into an elevator with a load of other people and slowly rose to the third floor. The doors opened slowly to the sound of a door chime in desperate need of repair. Where once before it would make a happy ding sound, now it warbled and strained a slowly dying dong. It just made Navarr's mood that much more morose to start the day.
He passed the kitchen and onto the office floor. Divided into a maze of cubicles, there was already a buzz of people working. There was also the buzz of tiny golems running around the office, picking up rubbish or delivering messages. He caught the flash of copper and bronze between cubicles. He made his way into the middle of the cube farm, hung his coat and hat on a little rack and slipped the bottle of No Scent into his hand.
Larin had arrived early and had already started work. He looked up at Navarr with that snide look of his. Larin was a gentle fellow, lanky hair, and he sighed a lot. But he also had an odour disorder. He assured people he showered everyday, but it didn’t fix the problem.
Rather than fight the battle of getting him clean, Navarr had switched tactics to making Larin smell better with scent potions. A couple of drops, on the crown of the head, each morning, and he would smell much nicer for the rest of the day. This tactic was approved by everyone who knew the situation, including Navarr's direct manager.
Navarr palmed the No Scent potion, leaned in to see what Larin was doing and applied it. So the day began.
The ground was wet when Navarr left that afternoon. It wasn’t raining now, but he could feel the weight in the air. He could smell water, along with the other chemicals, in the air. The brief shower had already started to clean the city. Dirty streaks ran down the sides of buildings, street lights glowed just a touch brighter.
As he walked down the cobbled streets, putting the factory behind him, he picked up on the anticipation in the air. The wind had stilled, the street noises had dulled. It was if the whole city was waiting for it to rain. The whole town was waiting for the first storm of the season, the one that would cleanse it from dirt and pollution.
Navarr burst into Lepton's take away shop, encouraged by a strong gust of wind and a few big drops on the back of his head. The storm had almost started. It was aggravating everyone. Someone had even yelled to the skies to get it over with.
“I had bets on this Saturday,” Lepton said, his smile shining through his thick beard. “Guess I was right, eh?”
“I still think it will be Friday. I think this will be a big storm, but will blow itself out quickly”
“Well, I hope so too.” Lepton spat on the ground. “There is a lot of shit in this town which needs cleaning out, you understand?”
“No, I don’t,” Navarr said, picking up a news paper to read. Navarr knew what Lepton referred to. Lepton didn’t trust foreigners. The dusty skins from the south and the cold skins from the north. The lazy farm hands from the steppes, or even the wild people who eked out a living in the wild forests. Navarr was from the west, out in the lakes country, but Lepton liked him because he was educated, he would know what Lepton was talking about.
“... and they're making far too many golems.” Lepton slid a greasy ox burger into a sour dough bun, slapped a slice of cheese on top and then smothered it in their special sauce. Then, with practised skill it was slid into a paper bag and then twisted to seal it in. “I swear, I look out my window and every third or fourth person is a golem, clunking by on some business or other. They scare the children with their steam and break the cobble stones with their heavy feet. How many golems have you people made this year?”
“Only around five thousand or so. No where near the population of the city. You just live on a popular thoroughfare. This is why you see so many golems.”
“Seems to me you could hire some of those useless street rats from the South Ward to do the same job.”
“I doubt the street rats could do the heavy lifting of our newer industrial units.”
“Messengers then, what about that?”
“Can you guarantee that a message you trust to a street rat will reach its intended recipient without being opened or sold to a higher bidder?”
“Well, I don’t know. But there must be a good use for all that human waste down there.”
“Thank you Levin,” Navarr said, taking the burger from him and scattering some coins on the counter.
It was busier on the streets now. He bumped shoulders with a lot of people heading the opposite direction to him. He kept his head down in the strengthening wind and was paying more attention to his burger than to these people. When a massive blue hand shoved him into a wall and a deep voice told him to get out of the way, Navarr was understandably startled and nearly dropped his burger.
A big blue skinned Mountain Man hefting a large axe jogged up the street, eyes scanning the roof tops. Navarr looked up to the rooftops as well, much like most other people on the street. He caught a fleeting glimpse of movement, a flash of green moving along a darkening skyline.
“What is going on?” Navarr asked someone.
“Don’t know, but there’s hunters all over the roofs, here and in the markets. No one knows what they're looking for.”
Navarr watched as the Mountain Man stopped at the top of the street and looked up again. He pointed to the north, and then kept jogging. A few people not quick enough to get out of his way were bowled over.
“Well, that was exciting,” Navarr said to his random stranger. “Good evening.” Navarr cut down a side street and continued munching on his burger.
A few streets later, nearer to his home, Navarr caught sight of the big blue brute again. He thought for a brief moment they were following him, but laughed that suggestion off. Navarr never did anything to attract that kind of attention. A big drop of water splashed down the back of his coat. He shook and shuddered with the sudden cold. When he looked again, the Mountain Man had disappeared.
Moments later he turned down his street and caught the smell of the river. It was both disgusting and comforting to him. Familiar. He caught a brief flash of a fireball off in the distance, shooting over the roof tops. That was unusual, he thought, but then, so was seeing the same blue man twice in the one evening.
He walked down the hill to the map shop and to the steps up to his apartment. The lights were still on inside the shop. As he came closer the door opened a crack, enough for Foxen, the proprietor, to speak through, but not let much weather inside.
“Are you alright?” Navarr asked. “Why are you staying back late?”
“I am protecting my shop from any beasties they might be hunting.”
Foxen was a lovely lady. Buxom and plump, her shiny black hair was always almost perfect, with just a few strays that could never come under control. She was dressed in a business like manner and her spectacles were well balanced on the end of her nose, even now.
“Beasties?”
“Haven't you seen the hunters out tonight?”
“I was shoved against the wall by a big blue man with an axe. He kept staring at the roof tops,”
“That would be Dabb.”
“Oh, I thought he looked familiar. He works for us. He is a part of the Cabal's private security.”
“If he is around then you know the rest of that shady lot is about too, good thing you're home. I would get upstairs and lock your doors and not break those seals for anyone.”
“They're just a security team, there is nothing evil or bad about them. But if you have trouble, bang on your roof and I will come down and save you.”
Foxen looked at his wiry form and shook her head. “You, save me?” she snorted once with laughter.
He just nodded then and trotted up his stairs. The smell of the burger was making his stomach growl, even though it was half eaten. He fished in his trouser pocket for his key, aligned the glyphs on the door and it opened for him.
Suddenly there was a crash from above him, followed by the searing heat and whoosh of a fireball. The roof above him exploded in hot flame and shards of tile rained down on him. Something heavy fell on top of him and dragged him to the door step. The bottle of No Scent in his pocket shattered.
Another fireball flew past, lighting up the alcove for a moment before exploding further down the roof. In the brief moment the fireball lit up his doorstep, Navarr thought he saw a woman beneath him.
He then heard the crunching of footsteps across the tiles coming closer. Two hands grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down. The foot steps stopped above him and it sounded like a big dog was sniffing the air. This creature even growled, before moving on across the roof tops.
After a while, when the fear had subsided, Navarr managed to lift himself up from whoever it was beneath him and shuffle to his door. The bottle had broken in his pocket and blood was staining one of his better pairs of trousers. He would need to get that looked at, certainly.
When his door opened glyphs came alight automatically. A soft beam of light streamed onto his porch. There was movement and Navarr gasped. On his door step he spied bare foot and a pale leg, cut and bruised. His eyes continued up the leg and discovered a tattered green dress, scratches and bleeding coming from beneath the dress. Further along there was a mess of black hair and a pair of bright purple eyes staring at him.
“Oh my,” Navarr said quietly. “Are you alright?” He moved towards her but she scrambled away from him. She snarled and lifted her hand. A soft purple glow appeared around her outstretched fingers, but nothing happened. The light helped Navarr see other scratches and bruises and a nasty burn on her shoulder.
The effort of magic was too much for her. She collapsed on his door step. Navarr looked around, wondering what to do. He looked at the blasted roof and the charred tiles on his door step.
Then he picked her up in his arms. She weighed next to nothing. Her head flopped down and he briefly panicked that she might hurt herself more. He kicked the door closed behind him and laid her gently on the bed.
“Well, now what?” He asked himself, looking at this strange, beautiful woman now laying on his bed.
Chapter 2
The storm crashed into the city in the early hours of the morning. The rain came down harder, roofs rattled and ripped off in the winds and the first clap of thunder shook the city to it's core. Soot and dirt and pollutants in the air fell with the rain, dragged down to earth to fill the streets and gutters with it's grittiness, its odour, it's foul taste.
The water dripped through Navarr's roof and into a wide variety of containers sitting on his floor. Normally the dirty water would be thrown down the drain, but this time he was using it to dab at the injuries of his new patient. He had carved some rudimentary cleaning glyphs into the bottom of the bowls, the boundary circles must have been round enough as it seemed to be working. The glyphs were sold at the markets and a nice side effect was they produced a pleasant lemon scented water.
Herbs from beneath the sink he had crushed into a poultice for the shoulder wound, but the rest he just kept clean and bandaged. He was, of course, looking this woman over carefully as he did so. Navarr tried to keep a modicum of decency while tending to her wounds, but she was very beautiful. His hands shook from nerves as he patted down the wounds on her upper thigh, and he nearly cut his finger while dressing the wound on the shoulder because his eyes were shut for modesty.
She had pale features, a faint blue hue to her skin, probably from the cold, Navarr thought. A small, button of a nose above full lips. Her hair was the deepest of blacks, shiny and long, so very long. It was spread out across both of his pillows. She seemed to be sleeping, she looked so peaceful.
Navarr woke with a jolt at the sound of crashing thunder. The rain was a deafening staccato on his roof accompanied by a wide range of accompanying splashes from the full containers on his floor. He was leaning against the bed with his arm draped across someone.
He gasped and apologised quickly and profusely as he removed his arm. But the woman was still unconscious, so he said it quietly. The poultice must have been good because the shoulder wound seemed to be healing well. And as he cautiously checked the other wounds he noticed they were healing quite nicely as well.
He tidied up the apartment a little, dumping full containers of water down the sink and mopping up as best he could.
“I will go get us some breakfast,” Navarr said to the sleeping beauty. “I think a good hearty soup would do us both the world of good.” He grabbed a hat and coat and pulled the door closed behind him.
“Good morning Navarr,” Lepton said with a big happy grin. “Lovely weather we are having, yes?”
“I take it your roof isn’t leaking then?”
Lepton chuckled in his big barrelled chest. “One or two lizards this morning?”
“No, not this morning. I didn’t sleep well last night. I think I caught something.”
“Your potion friend can surely fix that?”
“I think I might get some reflux if I tried a potion today. I was hoping for a good big pot of vegetable soup from you? Give you two crowns.”
“Let me see what I have out the back. You wait there. Have some coffee, free on house.”
Navarr grabbed a mug of coffee and added a dollop of warm cream. It tasted strong and bitter and made him wince. He went and sat in a window seat while he waited. Dirty grey rain whipped against the window and ran down to the ground. It gave the outside world a surreal ripple effect. People ran past, collars drawn up, hoods drawn down.
The water from the window joined a deluge of other dirty water and detritus flowing down hill towards the river. The scene lit up in bright white for a moment, followed by the thunder. He felt it through the seat, through the floor.
“So, any news on all that excitement last night?” Lepton asked as he came back with a big container of soup. Unlike the coffee, it smelled fantastic. “Wife, she gives you some bread and lard to help you, and she says to stay away from work a few days.”
“Thank you Lepton. And no, I don’t know what was going on last night.”
“Some customers tell me that there was hunters on the street last night.”
“Oh, yeah, Foxen told me the same. That the hunters from my work were out last night.”
“Top shelf hunters those people. They were hunting down by the river, near where you live. Running all across the roofs,”
Navarr paused on the way out the door. Something was ticking in the back of his head. Fireballs, running across roof tops. That woman fell on him, broke the vial of No Scent, the snuffling sound. The fireball which was fired at his house, at his house when the lady fell,
“Oh,” Navarr said quietly, his stomach dropped to his knees. “Oh my.”
“Are you all right?”
“No, I am not. Hold his for me, I think you are right,” Navarr crashed out the door. “I have to get to my potion guy.”
“Crazy young man,” Lepton said, shaking his head.
Down one street Navarr was picked up and tripped along the cobblestones, down yet another he was hanging on to light poles for traction. The rumble of thunder literally had him off his feet twice. Pendler was open and sold him a dozen No Scent potions and something for his cold.
Navarr picked up his soup on the way back to his apartment. He could not avoid the rivers of putrid water rushing down hill to the river on the way back, and his trousers were soaked to the knees by the time the warm light of Charters came in to view. He risked a quick look inside and his heart leapt. There was some storm damage to the store and Foxen looked ready to murder anyone. Navarr did not want a confrontation this morning. She would insist on coming upstairs and he did not want to risk her seeing the woman in his bed.
Navarr crept as quietly as he could up the stairs to his apartment. He closed the door behind him slowly as to not make any more noise. A few moments later he let go of the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding, and took the soup to the stove.
The mystery woman was still asleep in his bed. This was good. He would hate for her to get up and go exploring.
Navarr skirted around the pots and bowls, full again of water. The rain hitting his roof had become a constant hiss of sound. Each thunder strike had him ducking reflexively. He emptied a large sized pot and poured in the soup. He packed the pot bellied stove with some dry tinder paper, picked up his Dragonstone, traced a fire glyph inside the circle on the smooth underside and quickly threw it into the tinder. Moments later there was a small flame. He slowly fed the fire until it was crackling away nicely and closed the oven door.
“We will let that heat up some more, and then give you some breakfast,” Navarr said as he knelt by his charge. He inspected the wounds again and was amazed. It has only been half an hour since he had been out, and the wounds seemed further healed. He shook his head in bewilderment as he took out a vial of No Scent. He dropped some on to the dark hair and the forehead. For a moment she had a very slight lemon scent, and then nothing.
“Lets hope that keeps them off your trail.”
He dished out two good sized bowls of soup and brought them to the bed. He lifted the woman's head and fed her a spoonful of soup. Her body's reflexes took over and she swallowed. This encouraged him so he fed her some more. She ate the whole bowl but did not wake up. Navarr ate his soup and wiped the plate clean with a hunk of bread.
It was now mid-morning and everyone at the office would know he wasn’t at work today.
Yizhibo sat in his chamber tumbling a crystal ball over his knuckles. It was a spacious office carved into the stone beneath Lenzell and Associates. Lit by some glyph globes, the stone floor had some wonderfully stitched rugs from the south. There were pieces of art in shelves mounted on the stone walls. While those who did not understand these pieces called them art, Yizhibo and his cohort Zotoga both knew better. Artefacts from their home world through the portal, they were actually quite functional.
Two thumps came from the door before Zotoga let himself in.
“Report,” Yizhibo said placing the crystal ball into a holder.
“The scent was lost at the north river.”
“That is a very long river, be more specific.”
“I was following it across the roofs above some shops on Bank Street. Someone shot a fireball at a shop on the street, and after that I lost the scent.”
Yizhibo slammed his fist on the desk. “Who did that?”
“Gart did.”
“And where is Gart now?”
“I took care of him.”
“Good. So. You think she is in Bank Street?”
“She must be somewhere in the area. She may have taken to water.”
“And with this storm,” Yizhibo growled.
“We will go back out again tonight and continue looking.”
“Yes, you will.” Yizhibo snapped. He hurled the crystal ball at the far wall. In a flash of movement Zotoga caught the ball in flight.
“There is something,” Zotoga said. “It didn’t feel like I lost the scent. You know that we, you and I, that wouldn’t happen. It felt more like, it just disappeared. I know she is still here,” Zotoga tapped at his chest. “But the trail, it just stopped cold, right around that area.”
“Get Ossar down there to watch.”
“She wont be able to pick up the scent, she is only a human.”
“Fool. Ossar will be watching with her eyes, which are ten times better than yours.”
Zotoga self consciously touched at the visor across his face and growled.
“Calm down, old friend. Remember where you are. It is not home, but in some ways it is so much better than home.” Yizhibo tapped a tiny bell on the side of his desk. From behind a small curtain a copper coloured golem no higher than Yizhibo's knee, walked out with stiff mechanical foot steps. “Here, you can have your enemies as pets.” Yizhibo spat on the floor. “Clean that up,” he pointed and the golem dutifully obeyed. “That never ceases to amuse me,” He said, looking back to Zotoga.
“And what would you like me to do?”
“Go to the Yards. Put the new spheres into their new bodies. Take one if you wish, you will need the strength.”
Zotoga gave a wry smile, nodded and left.
When the door had closed Yizhibo turned and watched the small golem cleaning up his mess. “Why have you come here?” He thought out loud. “Surely you haven't come for him? How would you have known?” He tapped at his chin turning these thoughts over.
“.. and we have known each other since grade school. He works Royal Automatons, which is a rival company from mine, and I think he is always trying to get company secrets from me, especially since our new models came on to the market last year. Well, he introduced me to Veil. Veil works with me at Lenzell and Associates. And we meet every Sunday night at the Pride of Bayriss.”
Navarr pulled the plug from the sink and reached for a ratty dish cloth to wipe his hands.
“You see, Bayriss is a small city up the coast. They have a sky ship race around these three tall peaks, islands in the bay, and the winner is titled the Pride of Bayriss. This gentleman won the race five times in a row and became a legend. He retired undefeated, moved to Old Darbeton here and set up a pub, oh.”
Navarr had turned while talking and wiping his hands to see the woman sitting up in bed staring at him. Her eyes were large, dark purple and oh so deep and enticing. They studied him with fear, trepidation and curiosity. He was pinned to the spot.
“Yes, you are safe,” he said. “I have healed you and fed you soup. I also gave you some of this,” Navarr held out a bottle of No Scent to show her. “This changes your smell, they could not smell you.” He put the bottle to his nose and sniffed loudly then held the bottle out to the woman. She took it, sniffed, looked at him and shrugged. She looked around her surroundings.
“Yes, this is my house. Well, I rent it from the lady downstairs. It is small, but cosy. It doesn’t get too hot in summer time, which I like, oh!” Navarr gasped. “How rude of me. My name is Navarr. Navarr,” he repeated slowly, annunciating both syllables and tapping his chest. “And you?” He gestured towards her.
She opened her mouth and made a noise, a mixture of letters and sounds, but no words. A look of confusion came upon her and she opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish. Each time she would make a new sound as if discovering her voice for the very first time.
Navarr offered her some clean water to drink. She snatched it from him and emptied the glass in four gulps.
“More?” Navarr filled the glass three more times before she had had enough.
She pointed to him. “Na-varr,” she worked the word out of her mouth with some difficulty.
“Yes, Navarr. And you are?”
“Mizzell,” she replied, tapping her own chest. Then she winced at her shoulder wound.
“I put a poultice on that which seems to be healing you, oh.” Navarr said.
Mizzell was humming. It was pleasant, it was soothing and it was hypnotic. As she hummed the scratches and bruises on her body disappeared. The burn wound faded and healed.
“Oh my word,” Navarr said in a whisper.
With a sigh, Mizzell lay back on the pillow and fell asleep.
“Mizzell,” he said with a happy sigh.
“We noticed you weren't in your cubicle yesterday.”
“You actually noticed that?” Navarr said.
“Where were you? You know dedicated employees don’t take days off when the storm hits, they make it in rail hail or shine.”
Navarr was trying to get himself a cup of coffee in the communal kitchen, but he had been bailed up by two co-workers, some of the 'talented' people from Marketing.
“I caught a cough,” Navarr said, nudging one of them out of the way to get to the fridge.
“A cough?” Gust asked, laughing. He looked around at his friends to show he was making a joke, his sculptured hair did not move.
“Yes, a cough. Excuse me.” Navarr pushed his way through them and back to his cubicle.
“We heard there was some excitement down by your house,” Mystle said. She sat down on some paperwork blocking Navarr from working.
“Excitement?”
“Yeah. We know people who know that there was a hunt on down by the river.”
“A hunt? I didn’t notice anything.”
“Can you believe this guy?” Gust poked Navarr's shoulder. “It's this lack of awareness, this disinterest with what is going on around you which is keeping you here.”
Navarr opened his mouth to retort but Gust cut him off.
“We all know you want to move somewhere 'more exciting',” Gust did rabbit ears with his fingers. “But if you're not on the ball, how do you think you're going to get out of your little hole here? You've been here for three years in the same little cubicle doing the same little job for a reason.”
The main doors leading to the hall way crashed open, startling everyone and interrupting Gust in his tirade.
A worn leather hat sat atop a worn weathered face of a man wrapped in a tattered and well-used leather coat.
“That is Ash,” Navarr said. “He is the head of Lenzell's security.”
“You know Ash?” Mystle asked.
Navarr shrugged nonchalantly and tugged the paper work from under her butt.
The office was silent while Ash made his way to the manager's office. Everyone noticed the heavy firearm hanging on his hip. Navarr also noted a polished silver pommel of a rapier hanging from his other hip. Both looked well used, well maintained, a nice contrast to the rest of him. Navarr bet he had an exciting job.
Then Navarr ducked his head into his cubicle as he realised that this man, Ash, and his security team, his hunters, were in his neighbourhood the night before when Mizzell landed on him. He was not one to believe in coincidences, but it was hard to believe these two instances were related.
Ash slammed the manager's door behind him and everyone rushed back to their seats to look busy.
“Good morning,” Larin said with a sigh as he collapsed in his chair. “I got a lot of work done yesterday when you weren't here. I appreciated the silence.”
At the same time Ash stormed into the Division Manager's office and the Administration Centre of Lenzell and Associates, out by the Western Wall another meeting was taking place. It was not the nicest of neighbourhoods, it didn’t get a lot of sun in the winter and had very bad plumbing, but it suited these people just fine.
Nestled by the western wall of the crater, night time came early to this district of narrow alleys and muddy streets. It was furthest from the ports and closest to the waterfalls which fed the rivers of Old Darbeton.
Squatting in this dark dingy neighbourhood sat was a surprisingly cheery looking pub. It was a dirty red brick building with three lanterns always burning out the front, which is how it got its name. It squatted on one side of a cobbled square, a broken fountain sitting in the middle and five streets leading away into the gloom.
Despite the nefarious nature of the surroundings there had not been a murder at The Three Lanterns for over four years, something the owners were particularly happy about. They did not have any Mountain Men body guards like some other establishments. What kept their establishment so safe was the rumour the Royal Secret Service, the Ravens, often drank at this pub. No one wanted to kill someone in a pub frequented by Prince Malco and his Ravens. In fact it was very safe for a few blocks around this pub for the very same reason.
Today you could barely see across the square it was raining that hard. The fountain had filled within an hour of the deluge starting, and now the surface was a chaotic scene of dancing water and over flowing muck.
From out of this curtain of rain appeared two silhouettes. They were withdrawn, ducking against the rain, but it did little use. What little rain didn’t hit them on the way down would splash into puddles and wet them on the way back up again. They made their way quickly around the fountain. There was a statue in the fountain. It might have been a horse, or a knight on a horse, but vandals and the weather had conspired to obscure what it once was. But, the two men seemed to nod in deference to the statue, and then crossed to the doorway of The Three Lanterns. They shook off as much water as they could before finding a good seat in front of the roaring fire.
Some patrons came and left, it wasn’t very busy in the middle of the day, especially in this weather. However, an hour after these two arrived, three more stomped through the front door, shaking their heads dry of water, wringing out scarves and gloves. The three of them headed to the fire to dry off. The shortest of the three smiled while the largest of the two earlier companions stood and greeted him.
“Malco,”
“Father,” the shorter man hugged his father, King Gessar. “Lovely weather we are having?”
“You're bloody kidding me, aren't you?”
They laughed together while the waitress brought them both mugs of warm mulled wine.
“I still have my money on Saturday,” Gessar said.
“Ten Crowns says Sunday,” Malco countered. He took a long draught from his mug and sighed with delight.
“This storm will blow itself out soon. Its a big one, but its just full of bluster. No teeth.”
“No teeth?” Malco chuckled. “My Ravens tell me it is a large storm.”
“Are you advising the king not to bet against your Ravens?”
Malco just smiled and enjoyed some more wine.
“So, Ash and his team were out hunting the other night? Any idea what they were chasing?” Gessar poked at the embers to get the fire going again.
“We think something has come through, something big, but we cant be sure.”
“No?”
“My men were shadowing them closely, but the hunt went awry by Bank Street. One of their men blew up a store front with fire balls, and then Ash and his crew stopped the chase.”
“Is there something there?”
Malco shook his head. “I have had a Raven there ever since and nothing out of the ordinary. Ossar is camped on a roof watching the area. But nothing else.”
A rumble of thunder shook their glasses as they rested on the table. Malco grabbed his just as it was rattling off the edge.
“Do you think whatever it is they are chasing has anything to do with their golems?”
“It must be. Why would they try so hard to get it back?”
“We need it, whatever it is. If they are watching that street, then so will you.”
“I already am, Father.”
“Can you get rid of Ossar?”
“If we do that, then Lenzell will know we are watching him.”
“It is getting closer to that time when I don’t care that they know I am watching them. I am sick of dancing around these people while they completely flood the market with these golems of theirs. Have we been able to open them yet?”
Malco shrugged. “Ask my sister. She is in charge of the business.” He took a long satisfying drink from his mug.
“I will. But in the meantime, I want you watching that street. And I have no problem if you remove Ossar from her perch. I will not have Lenzell and his thugs gallivanting around my city like he owns it. We need to know what is is he is doing with his golems, and we need to put him back in his place.”
“I will find out what they were hunting, what got loose, and catch it for you.”
“Good. I have had enough of those upstarts.”
“The game is afoot?” Malco asked.
“It is.”
“Do you think, for public safety, that the military had a presence?”
“I think that is a splendid idea. Someone was shooting fireballs at a citizen? There must be something dangerous going on, certainly, the military should be patrolling the streets down there.” Gessar smiled.
Malco chuckled. “You get the troops down there, I will look into trying to find and capture whatever it was that came through the other night.”
“Good luck,” Gessar gripped Malco's hand tightly.
“I don't need it,” Malco returned the grip and gave his father a wink.
Chapter 3
Navarr thanked the shop keeper for all her help and ducked out into the sheets of rain. It had been a last minute decision, a spontaneous thought to duck into the shop on the way home from work. He couldn’t say why he thought of it right then, but he just knew he should shop. Lucky that he found a clothes shop open so late, but as the lady had told him, when the first storm hits everyone wants new clothes for the festival.
Navarr held the package under his coat as tightly as possible. It was hard to keep anything dry in this weather. No matter how many drying or warmth glyphs you pinned to your coat, some part of you would always get wet. No one had figured out how to stop the most basic of elements yet. Maybe that’s what he could do, Navarr thought to himself as he skipped over an oily looking puddle. If he could just think of the right wording, the right symbols, he could perfect a drying spell. Then he would get noticed and remembered for doing a brilliant thing for society.
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