There was no response, and no sign of Wulfonson anywhere. The alley was deserted.
“Wulfonson?” I called out, wincing at the pain in my head. Still no answer.
I shuffled over to his shack and pushed the ratty blanket aside, not even making a pretense at stealth this time. The huge orc wasn’t in there either. It took me a minute to spot what had changed.
His books and candle were gone. Wherever Wulfonson went, he had taken his treasures with him.
Later, I sat in a tavern near my house, The Wooden Pig. I returned most of the three-hundred rubles to the Stonecutters Guild, since I hadn’t even come close to finishing the job. In what I was sure was an uncharacteristic display of compassion, the dwarven woman at the desk cleaned up my face somewhat and insisted that I keep twenty of the rubles as compensation. I took it, because my pride could absorb that, and besides, Wulfonson was technically gone.
Which meant I had enough money to last for several days, as long as I stretched it out. In my present condition, I didn’t think I was up for much drinking anyway.
I nursed an ale, looking over the tavern from my corner table. The Pig, as we affectionally called it, was a working-class bar, and that’s using the term nicely. Yes, a lot of the clientele had jobs, it was just that a lot of those jobs were better off not being spoken about. Certainly not in mixed company, meaning anyone in the law enforcement business.
But I grew up around here and was tolerated. Not least because Nuisance Men aren’t technically law enforcement. There were those who didn’t consider us as anything more than bounty hunters, an appellation that I found distasteful. Bounty hunters were in it for the money. Nuisance Men served the public good.
But always for money. Don’t forget the money.
No one had spoken. As a matter of fact, after some curious stares at my swollen nose and blackened eyes when I first came in, no one paid much attention to me at all.
I looked around, but as I recognized the voice, I wasn’t expecting to see anyone.
“Wulfonson was right, I am going crazy,” I muttered.
“First sign is sitting in a tavern talking to yourself.” This was a different voice, which made sense since the speaker was standing on the other side of my table. He was a young man, about my age, and dressed in the sort of casual finery that spoke of money that could be spent without a second thought. Not the normal sort to show up in the Pig, unless of course they were dragged there by someone, mostly by their feet.
“Can I help you?” I asked. I wasn’t in the mood to be congenial.
“Not really. But I’ll buy you your next mug.” He pulled out a chair and plunked down into it, not waiting for my response.
“I can buy my own,” I growled. My nose had cleared somewhat, so it was sort of a growl.
“No doubt, no doubt. Still, I find myself curious, and I figure the price of a good story is a mug of good ale. Or whatever it is that they serve here.” He peered into his own mug with a doubtful expression, then shrugged and took a good-sized swig. I had to give it to him, he hardly even shuddered.
“Story about what?”
“All that,” he said, pointing at my face and moving his finger around. “Someone got you good. Did you get them back?”
“No,” I muttered, and covered my embarrassment by taking a large drink from my own mug.
“Ah, well then, two mugs. One for the story and one for your pain. Name’s Jessup, by the way.” He reached a hand across the table and held it there, waiting for my own.
There was something about this guy. Here he sat, obviously out of his element in a run-down tavern, trying to make friends with a guy who looked like he had been on the wrong end of a battering ram. And yet, his mood was upbeat and friendly, and he showed no signs of being uncomfortable sitting with his back to the room at large.
I found myself responding to his personality.
“Duke,” I said, shaking his hand. “Ale first, story second.”
Jessup smiled and flagged down the serving girl.
Much later, I staggered home, only this time the reeling was from my own doing, not the actions of an overgrown orc.
Glutton for punishment, aren’t you? There was that voice again.
“No,” I slurred, not sure who I was talking to, but getting tired of one-sided conversations. “Out having a pleasant evening. No harm in that…”
Jessup had been good to his word and stood for two rounds. There was nothing to do then, but to pay him back with a round of my own, which he then returned. Manners dictated that I retaliate, and then so did he. After that, he bought for the entire tavern, and before long the whole place was smiling and singing, as if we had all been the best of friends all our lives. It was a night rarely seen in the Pig.
No, no harm. Until you wake up, the voice said.
“Why, what happens then?” I was sure I was forgetting an important social event I scheduled to attend.
You’ll see. The voice sounded very chipper and happy. Good for them! It was a night to feel like that.
Which was more than I could say for the next morning. The amount of ale I had drunk would have given a troll a headache the next day, although maybe not a barbarian. Add that to the kick I had taken, and my head felt like it was going to burst from the pressure inside.
I moaned when the sunlight hit me, and curled up, trying to keep the contents of my stomach down.
See? Told you. Oh good, the voice was back. I wasn’t crazy. What a relief.
“Shut up,” I mumbled, pulling the blanket over my head.
Get up, you have things to do today.
“What are you? My mother?”
Get up, you have things to do today.
“I heard you the first time. Saying it again isn’t going to make it happen.”
Get up, you have things to do today.
I opened my eyes, pulled the blanket from my head and stared around the room. No one was there, again.
“What do you want? And who are you anyway?”
Get up, you have things to do today.
“Shut up!” That was a mistake. The scream set off flashes of light inside my head, making me sink back down into my pillow, moaning piteously.
Get up, you have things to do today.
I gave in. I didn’t so much rise, as roll out of the bed, keeping my stomach on it for as long as possible while my legs slowly found the floor. I rested there for a moment.
Get up…
“Alright!”
I stood all the way, straightening, but keeping my eyes shut. Movement, even at this pace, was the enemy. I stood still for a moment, then forced my eyes open, blinking and watering. Nausea flooded into me, and my head still felt like it was several sizes too big and too heavy even for that. But I held on, and a moment later, took my first hesitant step.
Good job! the voice said. Here.
The relief was immediate and blessed. My stomach stopped roiling and my head stopped pounding. Even the pressure from my poor abused nose was gone.
“What the…” I began.
Ah-ah. Language.
I was beginning to think that the voice really was my mother.
“What things do I have to do today?” I said this around a mouthful of toast and egg. When my stomach stopped rolling around, I became immensely hungry. The eggs, toast, bacon and coffee I was shoving into my mouth was helping with that.
You have to take a nuisance off the Board.
“Why? I still have plenty of money.”
That’s not the reason.
“Then what is?”
Can’t tell you. You just have to.
“But not Wulfonson?” I was pretty sure the Stonecutters Guild would have put him back up there.
No! Oh gods, no! Stay away from him!
“Okay, okay. You don’t have to sound like that.”
Take something else. A goblin, maybe.
“I’m tired of goblins.”
Doesn’t matter. You have to do the job.
“Why?”
I already told you, I can’t tell you.
This was getting me nowhere. But, whatever it was that was talking to me had done a bang-up job of taking care of all my hurts. I felt great. Better than I had in ages, as a matter of fact. I shrugged. If Mr. Mysterious Voice wanted me to take a job, I’d take one. As soon as I finished breakfast.
I lingered after, sipping a second cup of coffee.
Get up, you have things to do today.
“Alright!”
Sarge looked up as I came through the door.
“Huh. You don’t look nearly as bad as I thought you would.”
I glanced over at the Board, but surprisingly, Wulfonson’s name wasn’t back. Maybe he had moved on.
“Maybe I won. Ever think of that?”
“Sure, I thought of it, but I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago.”
I opened my mouth to reply and realized that I had nothing. What could I say? He wasn’t wrong. Dropping my head, I took a goblin off the Board with a sigh and showed it on the way out. He barely glanced at it, and off I went.
It wasn’t hard. Goblin’s usually aren’t, but given my experience with Wulfonson I might have been overcautious. Still, I found him, hiding in plain sight as they often do, and eliminated him. It doesn’t really matter what he had done. It was vile, he needed to go, and the money was decent.
Feel better? the voice asked when I finished the job.
I shrugged. “Not really.”
Feel more confident again, though? Like you could take on the world?
“What are you talking about?” I started to move down the street, aware that people were looking at me strangely.
Wanted to make sure that you felt that you were back on the horse, that’s all.
“Why do you care? And who are you, anyway? For that matter, where are you?”
All in due time. Be seeing you.
“Wait. What are you talking about?”
There was no answer. I asked again but got the same result. Worse than that, my headache was starting to come back. Not severely, but in the background. A low, persistent throbbing at the base of my neck and in my temples.
Great. Well, it was early yet. I could go home, take a nap, and hopefully it would have passed by the time I woke.
Sleeping in the middle of the day is a horrible habit.
“Wha…huh?” I was often horribly articulate like this when I first woke, but today felt even worse. The sunlight was flooding my bedroom, but despite that I had no problem in falling asleep when I returned home. Now, that voice woke me up again.
“Really?” I moaned. My head was pounding. “Can’t you leave me alone?”
No, you have things to do.
Wait. This voice sounded different. It was more high-pitched than the other one.
“I already did what you asked,” I said. As I did, I was cringing inwardly, knowing the response I was going to get.
I haven’t asked you to do anything. But come on, it’s not hard.
“I don’t feel well,” I protested. “My head hurts.” Hey, it worked once.
Oh. Is that all? Here.
Like before, the pain was gone like it never existed in the first place.
I sat up and sighed. “Right. Okay, what do you need me to do?”
You need to go to the Guild.
“The Stonecutters Guild? Why?”
No, not that one. Yours.
“The Nuisance Man Guild? For what?” The truth was I hadn’t been there since registering to be a Nuisance Man a few years ago. There was no reason. The Nuisance Man Guild wasn’t like some others. It wasn’t a comfortable home away from home, with its own members-only tavern, or a place that hosted seminars on how to be a better Nuisance Man. It was just a place that took down your information, gave you a number, and notified your next-of-kin when the Watch told them that you were deceased.
There was no reason to go there. Ever.
You’ll see, the voice said. Go on, now.
I had a feeling that if I refused, not only would my headache return, but the voice would keep nagging me about it.
I wasn’t a happy customer as I stomped through the streets to the Nuisance Man Guild. Regardless of what the voice said, I knew a fool’s errand when I heard one, and there was nothing that…
What was going on? There was a crowd of people milling around outside of the Guild office. Weapons of every sort were on full and plentiful display. I recognized several people as fellow Nuisance Men, most more experienced and deeper into the game than I, but a few that were still taking on the luckless goblin, like I was.
Then, I saw a truly huge man, bulging with muscles, moving through the crowd, parting it like a ship pushes through the waves. He drew lots of stares, both appreciative and not-so-much, but no one said a word to him. That may have been partly because he was dressed in a fur loin-cloth, and partly because of the massive sword hanging in a scabbard down his back.
I hustled my way over and fell into step next to him.
“Hey, MM. What’s going on?”
The barbarian looked down at me, obviously surprised at being addressed. He didn’t get that very much.
“Oh, it’s you. You became one of us after all, huh? Good for you.”
I was a little hurt. I had met MM, or Man-Mountain as most called him, several times in the past. First when I followed him into a witches’ tavern to ask him about being a Nuisance Man in the first place. After that, I ran into him a few times at the watchhouse when we were both there to collect nuisances off the Board.
Still, he seemed amiable enough, so I decided to ignore the unintended slight, and not demand immediate satisfaction.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “There’s never anyone here.”
He scanned the crowd.
“Big announcement,” he rumbled. “Something about a contest.”
A contest? I wasn’t sure if I liked the idea. It could give all of us a bad name. But then again, no one thought to ask my opinion.
There was a noise from the Guild House. The double-doors opened and a short, heavy-set man, with a large moustache and thinning hair came out. He was busy reading a notice to himself, his lips moving slightly. The crowd went silent as he swung the left-hand door shut. Then he glanced up and flinched in surprise at seeing the gathered crowd, but he turned and faced us, and began speaking.
I couldn’t hear what he was saying, and neither could those around me, judging from the calls of “speak up!” and “louder!”
He did neither of those things. Instead, he pulled a hammer and a couple of nails from his pocket, held the notice to the door, tacked it up quickly, and with a last glance at the crowd, scuttled back inside, shutting the other door firmly behind him.
The crowd pressed forward. I fully expected MM to push his way to the front and didn’t see anyone that had any sort of reasonable chance of stopping him. Instead, he hung back, letting others approach, read, and then turn away. Some with obvious glee, some with confusion, and a few in anger.
Finally, the crowd thinned out and MM made his approach, with me trailing in his wake.
The notice that was attached to the door was a simple sheet of white paper with black lettering on it. I read it over and turned to MM with a question that died unsaid on my lips.
He was staring at the notice, his lips moving and a frown deepening his features. After a moment, he glanced quickly at me from the corner of his eye, and then went back to reading. There was a slight flush on his neck, and if I didn’t know any better I would have said that it was from embarrassment.
But there was nothing about MM that I could see that would cause any sort of embarrassment. Then it occurred to me what was really going on.
“Ah,” I said. “You know what? I’m one of those people who remembers things better if they hear them out-loud. It’s embarrassing really, but I’ve always been that way. Do you mind if I read this aloud? Maybe you could kind of hang around. Occasionally, I have some s
mart-aleck make a comment about it, but I don’t think they will if you’re here. You’d be doing me a big favor.”
“Go ahead,” he grunted, still not looking at me. “But don’t take all day about it.”
I nodded, turned back to the notice and read out loud:
Attention Nuisance Men of Capital City!
Feeling blue? Depressed because you can’t make the money you know you deserve? Too much competition for those prime nuisances?
Fear not! Your hour of deliverance is at hand!
See Lord Pennywithers at the Gilded Swan for more information.
Fun! Fame! Profit! And a chance to become a legend!*
The little star after the word “legend” was repeated at the bottom of the page, followed by small print reading, “*no explicit promise of living or dead implied by this notice. Not all casualties will become legend. Some will simply be corpses. Results may vary.”
“Huh,” I said, once again displaying my remarkable grasp of the king’s language. “What do you think that means?”
“Don’t know,” Man Mountain said. “Sounds like I should go talk to this Pennyworth guy.”
“Pennywithers.” I said.
“Right. Pennywithers.”
He stood silent for a minute. “Thanks, kid. Want an ale?”
Now the last time I had an ale with MM, I paid for it for days. And given my performance of the night before, I really should have said no. But. MM was one of the fiercest, biggest, meanest and best Nuisance Men ever. If someone like that asked you if you wanted an ale, the answer was yes.
“Yeah!” I responded. “One thing though. Can we go somewhere other than the Witch’s Kettle?”
He laughed. “Yeah, no problem. I’m not real welcome there right now anyway.”
He started walking and I didn’t ask any more about it.
MM never did say if he was actually going to go see that Lord Pennywithers or not. But I didn’t see him for few days, and I did notice a reduction of the number of Nuisance Men I saw around the watchhouse. Maybe they all went to see what the fuss was about and were off becoming legends.
Duke Grandfather- The Whole Story Page 58
