War of the Posers

by Eric Ugland

“You okay?” I asked.

  Boris nodded a few times. Then he nodded a few more times, and seemed to pull himself together.

  “This way,” he said.

  We came up and out of the sewers in a small green space tucked in the semi-courtyard of a building, crawling out of the manhole under the cover of night and shrubberies. There was a narrow exit leading to the streets, but, otherwise, walls soared up around us, at least four or five stories high.

  “Is neighborhood,” he said, pointing forward.

  I walked out to the street, found where the mountains were, and oriented myself. It was handy having such massive mountains looming directly north. Sure, they seemed like they made the weather worse, but it also made finding your way through the city easier.

  “I follow?” Boris asked, still in the safety of the courtyard.

  “You can,” I said. “If you want. I’m going into a house though, and you can’t follow me there.”

  He looked back down at the manhole, and I could tell he was thinking about the big slime.

  There was no guarantee the thing had gone away. It might have been following us. It made sense that it would follow us, just sneak along in the water until we weren’t paying attention, biding its time until I didn’t have a fire spell ready. Might even be waiting at the bottom of the ladder, hell, might even be climbing up the ladder after us.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  He nodded, holding back a smile.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  The Imperial Palace was just to the east of us as we moved along the street. I thought it might be safer there, what with the palace having plenty of armed guards about. But we moved in the shadows to remain unseen nonetheless. It’s not like there were any other people out and about, so anyone walking in plain sight was suspicious. At least to me.

  The neighborhood, Santilloton, was posh yet subdued, a stark contrast to both the Bright or the neighborhood where Valamir and Lord FancyPants Tollendahl lived. This place wasn’t quite as obviously monied. The homes looked a bit older, and though they were closer together, also seemed like they were be more secure.

  I sorely missed having access to actual maps. Walking through an entire neighborhood in order to find the cross streets was remarkably annoying. And yet, what alternative was there?

  In the end, the Rowland manor house had an air of failure to it. It was large enough that it could reasonably be considered an estate. There was yard all the way around the house, and a tall wall around the yard. But the place was, well it wasn’t quite falling apart, but there were definitely some obvious improvements that most homeowners would want done in order to sleep soundly. Paint was peeling off, and several tiles were missing from the roof. The exterior wall had a bit of lean to it. And, making me happy, the lights were all out, and there were no guards out front. It looked like no one was home.

  “Wait in the bushes,” I said to Boris, and he quickly complied.

  I ran up to the wall, pausing to listen. Nothing from inside the compound.

  I moved around the wall, and still heard nothing. At all. It took me a hot minute to find a place to climb over without toppling the wall. I picked a spot right by a column, and even then, I knocked a few bricks off.

  Dropping to the ground, I paused in the shadow at the base of the wall.

  Nothing. The yard was unkempt and overgrown. Pavers were being pushed out of the path by overambitious weeds. And nothing in the yard moved, save the branches from a mild southern wind.

  I crept up to the house.

  There was no sign of life, but I wasn’t about to make a rookie mistake. Sure, it was possible no one lived in the manor house any longer, but it was also possible they were just heavy sleepers.

  I paused at the first window and peered inside. But even with dark vision, it was hard to see anything. Dust covered everything. And below that, the furniture, what little there was, was all covered in white cloth. The window wasn’t locked, so I shimmied it open, then climbed inside.

  The house smelled like dust, the air almost stagnant. I stood up and walked across the living room, picked up an edge of a sheet and took a peek underneath. A couch, somewhat moth-eaten and certainly aged. All the glowstones had been taken from their housings, whether on from the chandeliers or the wall sconces.

  I made a quick circle of the ground floor, and basically every room was like the first, save a small study. There was only a desk and a chair in there. All the bookshelves had been emptied out, but judging from the dust patterns left behind, it had been over time. The kitchen had been used at some point in the recent past, but any food remnants were rotten. A few rats glared at me as an interloper, and I left them to their meals.

  I headed up the stairs, which were covered in threadbare carpet. I found a number of bedrooms. The first, and largest, held an empty four poster bed, but no mattress. No other furniture either. The next room over had just a small mattress on the floor, plus a large wardrobe squatting to the side. Inside the wardrobe were posh clothes I recognized. The well-worn attire of my former Biscuit’s Union mentor, Rowland Tamblyn. Next to the mattress was a small candle holder with one third a candle remaining.

  I went to the last room on the second floor.

  This one wasn’t empty, but mostly on a technicality. There was a bed, something that seemed about queen-size, with a mattress and a number of blankets. And the rest of the furniture you might expect to find in a bedroom: a writing desk, small writing chair, Dresser, wardrobe, easy chair. And, you know, an emaciated corpse.

  The room smelled very bad. A few rats scattered off the corpse as I walked into the room, none of them brave enough to stand their ground here.

  Carefully, I approached the corpse, a tiny bit worried it would to come to life and jump-scare me, like in a bad horror film.

  But the dude was dead. Very dead. Impossible to identify, given what the rats had done, but if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say he was the elder Rowland. I wondered how long the man had been dead. If he’d still been living when I killed Rowland. If Rowland’s death kept anyone from continuing to care for the old man. Was I, then, responsible for killing the old man when I killed Rowland?

  I stood there for a long few minutes trying to come to grips with that reality. Here was a man who’d never done a damn thing to me, and yet, I was likely instrumental in his death. How was I supposed to just let that go?

  A rat scurried past me, making for the door, and I jumped out of its way.

  It broke my reverie, and I came back to myself somewhat. I could feel bad for myself later, but at that moment, I still had a job to do.

  Being a thief, I went through the drawers in the room, but they were mostly empty. There were a few nightgowns left in one drawer, a few shirts in another. Nothing whole, though. It was all stuff that was worn and really ready to be thrown out. The nightstand held a chamberpot, which was a little odd because I hadn’t encountered one of those in Vuldranni before. Maybe it was because the man hadn’t been able to get out of bed.

  On the other wall a small painted portrait of a young woman hung in a silver frame. I left it there. No need to take that sort of memento.

  I left the room, and went up another flight of stairs.

  At one point, the servants would have lived on the third floor. The ceiling was quite low up there, to the point where my head was basically rubbing against the ceiling.

  I counted eight doors going off the narrow hallway. I went through the rooms quickly, because they were empty. Whatever furniture they once held had been gotten rid of at some point, leaving behind just some scratches in the poorly-finished wood floors.

  I stopped at the last room, and took a look out the window. The city looked asleep. It probably was. But over across the way, I saw a large winged creature launch itself off a building, and fly away. I shook my head, feeling cold fear spread across me. Just the sheer size of the thing.

  Better to pretend I hadn’t seen it. Just one more thing to force into a hole of f
orgettiation.

  I pulled a string from my pouch, and tied a ring around it. I cast Detect Secret Doors, and walked slowly through the house, pausing in each room to give time for the spell to activate.

  Finally, I got back to the office. I had a feeling it had to be in the office — it was the only place that made sense. And sure enough, as soon as I got there, the ring moved out from the string as if pulled by a magnet. Right to the desk.

  I paused, letting the spell fade, and leaned over the desk. It just looked like a desk. A big desk, sure, something rather substantial that looked a bit like the Resolute desk from the White House. The drawers were all empty, and none had locks on them. I pulled the drawers out, hoping to find some mechanism or something hidden under them.

  Nope. Nothing like that.

  Next, I tried to push the desk. It wasn’t moving.

  I tried lifting it, but it felt like it was attached to the floor. I tried picking it up from another side, and there was no give whatsoever. I was actually about to throw in the towel when I noticed that there was a very faint angle to the desk after I got through my second attempt to move it. So I went to the other side of the desk, the short side, and lifted it from there.

  It moved like it had been counterweighted, revealing a staircase leading into the dark basement below. The desk itself was the door. In a sense, I suppose it would actually be better to say that the desk is attached to the actual door, which was a piece of the floor.

  I could see the dust on the stairs, thick and gross. Spiderwebs hung in the corners, and the air smelled fetid, which was impressive considering what the house already smelled like. Still, I had to go down.

  Each step creaked underfoot. I wondered if that was a security function. It would be impossible to sneak into this basement.

  The stairs ended in a door. Mostly normal, a little on the heavy side, and more substantial than anything I’d seen in the rest of the house. It was locked, however. That was annoying.

  I dropped to my knees, got out my tools, and set to work.

  It took a few tense moments, and a few broken picks, but I opened the lock. And:

  Cool Beans, you’ve learned the skill lockpicking. Decreased chance of breaking picks, increased chance of unlocking lock.

  Sweet.

  I opened up the door, and saw that Rowland’s private room hadn’t exactly been spared the loss the rest of his house and fortunes seemed to have suffered. There were the remnants of riches there, stands that probably held cool magic items from time immemorial. There were empty chests that were likely once filled with gold coins. But now, there was just a single leather arm chair in one corner, and a single occupied stand on the opposite corner, holding what I’d come to grab. The Orb of Leeching. Carefully, aware that this man had been a thief, and it would certainly be like a thief to boobytrap his hidden treasure room, I went across to the pedestal. I dropped the leather bag over the orb. Then I lifted it up slowly, tied the leather bag shut, and hoisted it up on my shoulder.

  Then, I left the house to the rats.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Boris and I walked around the Imperial Palace in an awkward sort of silence. It was very clear the little kobold really wanted to know what I’d taken out of the house. And whose house it was. But I didn’t want to get him embroiled deeper in this mess than he already was. And also, I wanted some time to think. To process what was going on.

  This was definitely a moment that made the ramifications of my actions crystal clear. That even trying to be better than most people, trying to be the Robin Hood of Glaton, there were going to be, and I wish I could have thought of a better term, collateral damages. My actions were going to have negative effects, because my actions brought about violence. Was this world that different than back home? Was there some easy way out of this mess? Could I, perhaps, just turn my life to farming, or something less prone to deadly consequences?

  Back in the other world, I really didn’t think about what I’d done that often. I figured that focusing on robbing wealthy assholes somewhat lifted me out of having to consider the consequences. Most rich pricks could easily afford to replace things like jewelry and consumer electronics. Sure, maybe I’d pilfered a family heirloom or two, but it’s not like I was taking food out of the mouths of children. And, you know, here I’d made it possible for several children to eat. I mean, if you counted the baby kobolds, a ton of kiddos. That had to count for something. But did it balance out deaths? Had Klara thrown away her life trying to save me? And what had Mornax meant when he said there were problems for the whole tjene if I died?

  We’d made it to Valamir’s estate, but I was still deep in my own head. Perhaps that’s why, when the guard stopped me, I just presented the pass Valamir had given me without a second thought.

  The guard read over the pass, then looked over me. And Boris.

  “That thing with you?” the guard asked.

  “That thing has a name, dick,” I said.

  “It’s a kobold,” the guard countered. “Doesn’t know what I’m saying, so relax. Dick.”

  “Why he call you penis?” Boris asked the guard.

  “I, uh, did he talk? Was that—“

  “There a problem here, Benedict?” another guard asked, coming out of the darkness with his hand on his sword.

  “No, sergeant,” Benedict the dick guard said. “Just some late-night visitors.”

  “They have a pass?”

  “Yes.”

  “Valid?”

  “Yes, I checked. They—“

  “Then let them in, Benedict.”

  “Yes, sergeant.”

  Benedict shook his head as he stepped out of the way, and opened the gate to give us access. It felt a little weird going in the proper way — I wasn’t used to the scrutiny. Or how long it took to walk up the winding pathway to the front door. A footman was waiting there. He stifled a yawn and looked at us a little askew.

  “Did you,” the footman began, and then stalled, obviously trying to think of a more polite way to ask what he was about to ask, “have an accident of some kind?”

  “Did the kobold poop himself?” I asked. “Is that what you mean?”

  “No, I would never — but maybe? There’s a bit of a smell.”

  “We had to take some of the sewers to get here. Bit of a funk down there.”

  “Ah, yes. If you don’t mind waiting here a moment,” he said, pointing to a small room next to the large staircase sweeping up to the second floor.

  I really considered just going up stairs. Because, I mean, I knew the way.

  Instead, I walked into the room, listening to Boris’s feet scrape a little on the wooden floor.

  I took the moment to retie my mask a little tighter, and unslung the leather bag from my shoulder.

  “Big house,” Boris said quietly. “How many live here?”

  “One,” I replied. “I think.”

  He shook his head and whistled.

  “Silly,” he said.

  I shrugged. It’s not like I would turn it down. Although, clearly I wasn’t that invested in having a lot of personal space, because I’d consistently gone about filling every last inch of property I’d purchased so far in Glaton.

  A moment passed, then another.

  I heard a throat clear, and a footman stood with a silver tray. There was a young woman with him, who I recognized as the maid I’d seen the night before. She took a small bowl off the footman’s tray, and dipped a brush in it. She shook the brush our way, splattering us with water.

  “What the—“ I started.

  “Rosewater,” the woman said, interrupting me. “Otherwise, you’ll offend the lord with your stench.”’

  “Oh. Uh, thank you,” I said.

  She nodded, and then left, the footman following her.

  More waiting.

  Finally there were footsteps on the stairs.

  “His royal highness will see you in his office,” the valet said as he came around the corner. “Follow me.”r />
  Chapter Sixty-Three

  The valet let us into the room, and then immediately backed out, closing the door behind him. Valamir sat at his desk. I think he’d made it look like he was awake and working, because I could see and unmade bed through the door open behind him.

  “Thief,” said the prince, “another visit so soon?”

  I slung the heavy leather bag around and set it gently on the desk.

  “A gift to get Tollendahl off your back,” I said.

  He pulled the bag toward himself, and started to open it.

  “I wouldn’t touch it,” I said.

  He paused, then nodded, and peered into the bag.

  “I admit that I am more surprised at your company than the contents of the bag,” Valamir said.

  Congratulations! You’ve completed a QUEST!

  An Orb Reward

  Acquire the orb for Valamir and return to him.

  Reward for success: Information on the ‘Immortals’

  “Valamir, this is Boris, kobold guide of the sewers. And my friend,” I said. “Boris, this is Valamir Glaton, High Prince of the Empire.”

  “I bow?” Boris asked.

  “I wouldn’t,” I said. “Just gives him a big head.”

  Boris frowned at me, and gave Valamir a head nod instead.

  I sat down, and then Boris hopped up in the other chair. It took him a second to figure out what do with his tail, since there was no opening on the back of the chair. He ended up winding it around his back and holding it in his hands.

  “A kobold?” Valamir asked. “Is that right?”

  “Yes, is correct,” Boris replied. “Kobold. Boris the kobold. Good name for a kobold. Bad for a goblin. Confusing then.”

  “I suppose it would be,” Valamir said, hiding a bit of a smile. “Are you a resident of this city?”

  Boris looked at me, and I nodded, so Boris nodded at Valamir.

  “Working on getting them official citizenship,” I said.