High gloom, p.2
High Gloom, page 2
part #6 of The Bad Guys Series
“Not seen someone like you in here before,” she said.
I gave her a looking over. She had a round face with dark hair framing it. Stocky, with serious muscle hidden under her leather bodice and wide skirt.
“Elf?” I asked.
“Milk drinker,” she replied.
“Not a big fan of alcohol.”
“Not something I’ve seen is all.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Raim? Born ’n raised. Been working here since I could walk.”
“Have you been to Gloomguard?”
“No. No desire. I suppose you’re some sort of adventurer?”
“I mean, not exactly. At least, not by choice.”
“So you’re one of those fools who think you’ll find your fortune below? Because you’d be making more coin giving those fools what they want instead of trying your lot in the Gloom or the, uh, other place.”
“Not that either. Personal quest.”
“Ah. Think you’ll find salvation down there?”
“Maybe?”
She shrugged. “Most likely you’ll find your death.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that.”
“Still willing to go?”
“Not sure I have a choice in the matter.”
“Hrm,” she said with a slight nod. Then she walked away.
I watched her go for a moment, confused at the conversation. But when she got to the other end of the bar and spoke to someone else in hushed tones, I figured that someone had been asking about me, perhaps even trying to ascertain if I’d be willing to not go down. Which made me wonder about things. Why would it matter if I was going down unless there was some sort of a limit…
Quickly, I ate all the food I could and basically poured the milk down my throat.
I left a whole gold as a tip, since it seemed to be the going rate for everything in Raim.
3
As soon as I stepped outside, I got soaked. We were back to the perpetual rain. Which was irritating. I didn’t know how people lived with crummy weather almost always interfering.
I pulled my hood up, and Grim went flying out into the rain. Oops. I snatched him from the air and held him up.
He hissed and snapped at me, making his displeasure known.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said softly, letting him dart up my arm and settle around my neck like a stole.
I had my destination in mind: the lone building that restricted access to the lift. I went up the short set of stairs and pushed through the heavy wooden door, which was far more substantial than the door at the inn. I felt a tingle of magic pass over me as I stepped across the threshold.
Inside, I found a warm, dry waiting room. There were beautiful carved chairs everywhere, plus plenty of spectacular sculptures of all different forms and materials. Art covered the walls, and gorgeous plush carpets were layered across one half of the wide room. Here and there were short bookshelves filled with books. Across from the main entrance was a desk, small but nice, once again with exquisite carving everywhere.
The young man sitting behind the desk looked up from his book when I walked in.
He smiled broadly, and slipped his book to the side.
“Might I help you?” He asked, his voice light and cultured.
I took a step, but then realized how much I was dripping on everything, so I stopped.
“Don’t mind the rain,” the man said. “We’re quite used to it.”
I nodded, and walked over to the desk.
“Is this,” I started, then paused, “Well, where do I go to get to Gloomguard?”
“You’ve come to the right place,” he said.
“Is there, I mean, what do I do? Sign up or—?”
“I can understand you might have some questions if this is your first time here,” he said. “How about you take a seat—” he gestured with a small wand, and I felt a seat push against my knees.
Behind me, I saw a velvet-covered stool suddenly there for me to sit on.
“Neat trick,” I said, sitting.
He winked as he slipped the wand into the top drawer of the desk.
“Plenty of those in Raim,” he said. “We should really just call ourselves The City of Neat Tricks, though I suppose that’s a bit long to say instead of Raim.”
“A bit.”
“I am Lancelot Rogers, personal secretary to Lord Quince—”
“Clyde Hatchett,” I interrupted.
He smiled. “Right. Welcome to Raim, then, Master Hatchett.”
“Thank you.”
“It is not quite the simple matter of putting your name on a list that gains you access to Gloomguard, however.”
“Oh?”
“Those you see here are waiting for their opportunity to visit with Lord Quince in order to request a space on the lift.”
“Request? Like first come, first served?”
“Lord Quince has a grave responsibility guiding who is allowed access to Gloomguard.”
“Ah. So how much does it cost to go down?”
Lancelot Rogers tilted his head and gave me a smile. “Certainly not a thing in gold, Master Hatchett. Lord Quince has little need for more gold.”
He gestured around at the room, which made the point obvious. The wealth on display was incredible.
“So what does he want?” I asked.
“It is not for me to say,” Lancelot replied. “Lord Quince holds his own counsel in the matter, and it would be unseemly for me to attempt any sort of guess. But he will ensure you are not heading down to just die. Your skills will be tested, and your character measured. Only then will you be given access to the lift.”
This all seemed more than a little ridiculous. Why did I need to go through all this trouble just to get on a damn elevator? But I knew the answer without asking: because it was his elevator.
“Okay then,” I said. “I’d like to, uh, have a meeting.”
“Naturally,” Lancelot replied, and with a wave of his hand, the surface of his desk disappeared, revealing a large ledger. He pulled the ledger open and held out his hand. Something unseen put a pen into the man’s hand, and Lancelot licked the nib delicately before setting it against the paper. “Clyde Hatchett.” He wrote my name in swooping letters, as if doing calligraphy. I supposed that if my job was to write down names, I might do so with a little flourish myself. “Are you a solo adventurer?”
“No, I don’t think.”
“Hrm, usually people know if they’re party of a party.”
“There’s a party together right now, but—”
“Say no more,” Lancelot said with a finger raised. “Often the case. The reality of Gloomguard looms and there are always those who need to back out. Fear is a natural feeling in the face of Gloomguard and what it holds.”
“Can I ask what it holds?”
“Certainly.”
I waited a second, and Lancelot smiled at me.
“What does it hold?” I asked, annoyed at the little games.
“Dreams and nightmares,” he replied. “But I’m afraid that’s all I’m at liberty to say.”
“Okay. Well, glad I asked.”
He chuckled. “I can understand the disappointment, but Lord Quince has his rules.”
“It seems he does.”
“Now, if you would like to wait inside here until I call your name, I would appreciate it.”
“Can I wait somewhere else?”
“Not if you’d like to hear me.”
I nodded, got up, and noticed that the stool beneath me disappeared as I rose.
Lancelot gave me a smile. I found a chair near one of the bookshelves and sat down. I noticed Lancelot writing a surprising amount in the ledger before disappearing it into his desk and resuming reading his book.
A quick glance around the room confirmed I’d probably be waiting quite some time. There were seven others, all of us occupying seats quite distant from each other. It meant there wouldn’t be any chatting. I recognized two men from the caravan, both wearing heavy armor. I got a slight nod from one, but the other just looked at me with a stoney face. There was a woman on the far edge of the room, sitting near one of the fireplaces. She wore black robes that covered her entire body, except for her head. Her long brown hair was held back by a thin black metal circlet. I could feel magic radiating from her even at a distance. I wasn’t sure if she was holding spells or not, but given the sweat on her brow, she was doing something.
That reminded me I should be using this time better, so I closed my eyes and started running my mana around my body, burning my channels clean once more. There was something comforting in the pain. It actually felt good, like I was coming back to myself. Like I was somehow cleansing myself of the corpse king’s taint. Which I knew was probably not true, but still, I appreciated the feeling for the moment. I let the mana cycle around, pushing it everywhere I could, letting my whole body get worked over. Forcing myself to take more mana in and around.
I opened my eyes and saw the robed woman staring at me. Not with malice, but intensity. A green snake, something that looked a bit like a viper, slid out of her collar, and popped up right next to her ear. I swore it looked like the snake was talking to the woman, and even made a few gestures my way with its snake-head. She nodded at the snake, and the snake looked once more in my direction before slithering back down out of sight.
Then the woman closed her eyes once again.
Weird.
One by one, our names were called out. There was a short conversation at the desk, one that, despite not being that far away, I couldn’t hear a word of. Plenty of magic was in use in the space, so it wasn’t hard to imagine there being magical means to keep eavesdroppers out of the equation.
I lost track of how long it took before I heard my name called, but it finally happened.
“Master Hatchett,” Lancelot called out. He smiled and gave me a gentle wave.
I walked over and stood in front of the desk.
“Last for the day,” Lancelot said.
“Is that good?” I asked.
“Depends on how hungry Lord Quince is,” Lancelot said. “I must tell you a few things before you go in. There are three potential outcomes. One, you are accepted. In that case, you will be expected on the lift tomorrow morning, just after first light. If you miss this, you must request a second audience, and it is rare for Lord Quince to grant a second chance for those who aren’t punctual. Outcome number two is being rejected outright. If that occurs, you must wait a fortnight before requesting another audience, though I would advise you to just move along because it is rare for Lord Quince to grant a second chance for those he finds completely lacking. Most likely, however is outcome number three, which is that you are given the opportunity to prove either your or your party’s worth. In that case, when you have completed Lord Quince’s quest, you will return here for an audience. Is that all clear?”
“Seems pretty simple,” I replied.
“You’d be surprised how many individuals have trouble with simple directions. Through the door to my right.”
Two doors suddenly appeared on the wall behind Lancelot. One to his right and one to his left.
I went to the one to the left, which was his right. He smiled as I walked by, and pulled open the door. Again, it was remarkably heavy, and it didn’t really open. It was more like I pulled on the door handle, and it somehow also pulled me through the door, so that everything went a bit dark as I broke the laws of physics once again. Then I was on the other side.
4
I stood on red carpet in a short wood-paneled hallway, about ten feet long. There was an opening at the far end with the gentle flickering of firelight. I walked down the hallway, impressed at how quiet my footsteps were. I wished I could have this sort of carpet everywhere I tried to burgle. I’d never be heard again.
I paused at the open doorway to knock on the wall.
“Enter,” came a soft, very deep voice.
I stepped into the room, and saw that it was much like a small den. Just two large chairs in front of a crackling fire. A window on one wall looked over the hole and the lift, and I could hear rain pattering down against the glass. A lean, tall man with a close-cut beard and short salt and pepper hair sat in one of the chairs. It was hard to tell how old the man actually was, but given the clean silk he wore, and the lack of any mud on his dark boots, I was confident this was Lord Quince.
“Clyde Hatchett,” the man said. “A seat, if you will.”
“Lord Quince,” I said as I sat. The chair just sort of held me like I was being cuddled.
“Before we continue,” he started, “I must ask if your little friend would mind coming out?”
For a second, I worried our interaction was about to get really weird, and I wondered how exactly I was about to be measured. But then I felt the sharp claws of Grim’s small hands as he grabbed on. Yeah, he probably meant the little monster.
“You’re not going to hurt him, right?” I asked, already starting the debate if I was really willing to fight this guy over my pet monster.
“Not at all! Curiosity more than anything,” he replied, a smile blooming on his face.
“Come on then, Grim,” I said.
Slowly, Grim came out of my hood, and then stood on my lap.
Lord Quinn leaned forward and peered at the grimeling while still keeping a safe distance.
“Fascinating,” he said softly. “What is it?”
“A grimeling,” I said.
He pushed himself back in his chair, and clapped his hands. “Fantastic. And he is tame?”
“I don’t know that he’s tame so much as he’s just settled into being whatever it is he is. Maybe more a friend.”
“Is he that intelligent?”
“Are you, Grim?” I asked.
Grim looked over at me, face scrunched together.
“Moderately intelligent,” I said. “But he seems to be learning.”
“Again, so fascinating.” He smiled at Grim, and then pulled a piece of paper from somewhere on the other side of his chair. He read over it a few times, and then balled the paper up and tossed it into the fire. The fire burned a deep blue for a moment, then returned to normal. “You seek access to Gloomguard?”
“I do.”
He stared at me, pushing his head back against the chair, and leaning a little on his hand.
“It would be,” he paused searching for the word he wanted, “different for me to do something like allow you access, based upon your level alone.”
“My level—”
He gestured with his hand, and I found I couldn’t speak.
“A moment for me to finish,” he said, and I nodded because it’s not like I had a choice in the matter. “You say you have a party of sorts, but you are their leader. Is there, hrm, how do I phrase this...”
We sat there for a moment as he thought about what he was going to ask.
“Are you some lordling?” He asked. “Do you hold some title?”
I shook my head.
“No title. And judging from your clothing and gear, I don’t see any indication you have access to bottomless wealth. Your party, they are now debating going with you into Gloomguard, is that true?”
I felt my throat loosen.
“Yes,” I said, rubbing my neck.
“I have looked over them, and they are, hrm, shall we call them an interesting mix? I think that might be the most polite way of phrasing how that collection came together, eh?”
“It wasn’t exactly, I mean, we just sort of came together on the road.”
“I have heard those are the most genuine parties. Those that just come together. Say, meeting in a tavern and forming a bond, eh?”
“I suppose. I don’t know really. This is my first party.”
He nodded at me. The he picked off a tiny speck of something from the arm of his chair, and flicked it away.
“You have a tjene,” he said.
“I do.”
“Explain.”
I wondered how much I could claim as invasion of privacy.
He smiled at me. “Fear not, my young elf,” he said. “Whatever is said within these walls stays here. With me. This decision rests with me, so I have no need to speak to anyone about this.”
“Can you read my thoughts?” I asked.
He actually laughed out loud, in one sharp bark. “Of course not. I have met thousands who chose to come here, and I ask most of the same questions. I know the look on your face. You have something you feel might be better kept a secret, and I am letting you know that this is one of the few places where a secret will not spread.”
I took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly.
“I saved the life of a prince of Carchedon,” I said.
“Oh?” Lord Quince asked, eye brows rising.
“And so he gave me a tjene.”
“Very interesting. It is very surprising to see something like that for someone not from Carchedon.”
“I don’t look Carchedonian?”
“No,” he said, “not in the least, really. Elves are rather rare there.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Your kind blends quite well, but Carchedon has had some issues with elves in the past.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Much is hidden behind history’s veils. But I admit that I cannot quite place you. Do you mind telling me where you are from?”
“Glaton,” I said, unconsciously rubbing my neck.
“A bit distant for a casual visit,” he said. “Clearly Gloomguard is your goal, yes?”
“It’s why I came, yeah.”
“Naturally.”
He reached out into the air and did a little thing with his fingers. I felt a tingle of magic as a piece of parchment fluttered down from somewhere above. Quince grabbed the paper and looked over it.
“Forgive the showmanship,” he said, “but it can get a bit boring doing this day in and day out.”
“I don’t mind.”
He gave me a distracted sort of smile while he read.
“Right,” he said, “a few more questions.”
“Shoot.”
“Answer these with just yes or no. I don’t require an explanation. Should you have the power, would you eradicate all monsters?”
