by Dan Ehl
"Ah, thanks be to yah, ah, sire," Grup stuttered at the unexpected compliment, or at least what he took to be a compliment. " I, ah...Say, how be that you know us?"
The four were now nervously shifting around at this unexpected turn of events, pretty much confused at being recognized at an attempted heist in a section of Duburoake they seldom visited.
"It is I, Jak Barley, the private inquisitor. Your benefactor for this past afternoon's inebriations."
All four sets of eyes seemed to bug out from above their masks then the would-be scofflaws began nodding in spirited unison.
"It be true, I didn't recognize you in those posh togs," said Frit, who was easy to tell with his carrot-topped head. "What yah be sitting in the streets next to this hearse? Be yah on some case?"
I sighed. "It is a long story. And yes, I am on a case."
"Is it dangerous and be there a damsel in distress?" Frat asked as he pulled off his kerchief. "And be she comely?"
"Yes. All that and more," I assured them. "But I must be off, so I will say a good evening to you."
They again grinned in delight and stood as one gazing at me. I smiled back, rubbed my chin, and coughed. The four continued their cheery regard.
"Yes, well, I guess this is goodbye then," I observed and kicked a wheel, and winced.
"Godspeed," wished Frat.
"Sure, see yah," added Luginie.
After a bit of silence, I again bid my farewell, "So, I guess you will be off now."
"Yup," said Grup. "Me guess you too."
More quiet. A dog barked a street away and I could hear the last cry of the day from a sausage seller somewhere out of sight.
Grup cocked his head and looked with curiosity at the hearse. "Where be yah driver?"
"Oh, him. I am afraid he had to suddenly go home."
He grinned. "Me git yah. And now it just happens you must fill in for the meat hauler and go to some entombment. It is clever how you ferrets find your way into places. But me thinks you be dressed wrong for the part."
"That is private inquisitor, Grup," I corrected the brigand. Even I carry a bit of vanity and was loath to admit even to low-lease hooligans I was stranded in the middle of the street with a hearse. "I dress this way because I am the passenger."
"They all four eyed me with amazement.
"Cool, yah be a corpse," gasped Frat. "That be way awesome. What a disguise."
"No, I am not the corpse. This is to be my carriage and I was on my way to a ball at the Baron's when my driver fled."
"You be going to a ball in a hearse?" asked Luginie, who I would have thought to be the last one bound to the normal conventions of decorum.
"It was all I could get on a short notice," I replied with just a bit of defensiveness. "But it does have a bar, divan, and hot tub."
"Bar and divan?" they chorused and scrambled to look in the door.
"Cool, ain't never seen that in a hearse."
"It be very pretty."
"What be a hot tub?"
"I wonder if there be Rabid Dog Drool among them bottles."
"Funny this ain't been done before."
I waited until their surge of admiration had diminished to where I could herd them away from the carriage and shut the door.
"Yah driver was frightened off? Most likely he be wanted by the Baron's constabulary. Maybe we could help yah," Grup offered in an offhand way, though I could tell he was trying hard to contain his excitement at the prospect of such a glamorous job.
I eyed the eager crew and tried imagining the impression I would make at the Baron's estate. Crowds of commoners gathered to watch the rich and mighty being escorted from their carriages to the open doors of the palace. Everything from the color of the carriages to hem lengths and gown materials would be discussed for days afterwards.
"I could not ask such a favor of you men since there is great danger involved."
"Danger, at the Baron's ball?" asked a puzzled Frat.
"Yes, you see I first must pick up my escort--at the domicile of the Witch Morganna."
"Cool."
It was not the reaction I expected. My curiosity finally got the best of me. "Where has all this 'cool' stuff come from?"
"It be what this drinking chum says," answered Frit. "His name is..."
"Never mind," I surrendered. "I don't want to know. So you are not frightened of the Witch Morganna?"
"Why should us when yah be dating her daughter?" asked Frit.
"I am not dating her daughter, just taking her to the ball." I shook my head and sighed. "Up on the carriage, then. Frit. Can you drive a hearse?"
"Cannot be much difference from a freight wagon."
"Good, you are the chauffeur. Take a lively pace down this street until I tell you to stop."
"But Morganna's is to the right."
"First things first," I said as I climbed in the hearse.
This time I made sure I had firm seating when the vehicle jerked forward. I kept a watch on the street ahead by sticking my head out the window. I was about to give up when I spied a lone figure walking alongside the street.
"Halt," I cried to Frit then opened the door and stretched so the three clinging to the roof could see me. "We need a chauffeur's suit and there goes one now. Does that bring anything to mind?"
They grinned villainously at me and quickly hopped to the street.
My former driver was looking at the hearse in puzzlement then jumped back when he saw the three rough-looking rogues drop from the hearse like fat ticks from a dog. They were on him before he could even half turn to run.
I must admit I felt more than just a little satisfaction in seeing the insolent knave get his due as they yanked and pulled until he sat on the cobblestone wearing nothing but his skivvies.
Frit held the jacket up and gazed at it as if he were holding a golden fleece. "Me never have worn such fine dress in me life. Can I keep 'em?"
I had planned upon sending the suit back the next day with the carriage, but seeing the luminous face of Frit as he admired the jacket was too much. I turned to the former driver and advised, "Come to the King's Wart Inn in two days and ask for a Lorenzo Spasm. He will see you are reimbursed for the apparel."
It was the least Lorenzo could do after setting me up with a hearse manned by a cowardly chauffeur.
I turned to see three of the rascals fumbling with buttons and catches as they attempted to dress their comrade.
"No, this goes in front and this one under this," I had to explain before Frit was finally decked out as a high class chauffeur. I would have preferred one who had showered first, but he would have to do.
"What 'bout us?" asked Luginie.
"What about you?"
"Don't we get somethin' to wear? Yah know, like footmen?"
"I tell you what, Luginie. If we meet up with any footmen before we get to the witch's, they be yours."
That seemed to suffice for all three.
It would be pleasant, I thought as I climbed back into the hearse, if I could travel more than a few blocks at any one time. The divan was comfortable and I began investigating the interior of the hearse. It was designed to carry two stacked coffins and six pallbearers, therefore it was quite roomy. The ceiling was still low enough that I had to crouch as I looked through the shelves and cupboards behind the small bar. Finding a Duburoake Star Ale, I dropped back on the divan and tried relaxing.
What had to be the hot tub was half of a huge wine barrel, its staves rubbed and oiled like a fine piece of furniture. Instead of the usual pitted iron hoops, the metal bands were of a burnished brass. Across the top was a leather covering. I pulled it aside to feel a warm vapor brush my face. Peering over the rim, I observed what appeared to be a bench that curved around the interior. You didn't have to be a rocket alchemist to figure out the uses of a hot tub.
"Lorenzo, you trollop hound," I muttered as I took another sip of my ale.
I was able to enjoy about fifteen minutes of peace reclining on the divan and wat
ching the scenery roll by a window opposite the door. My frayed nerves were just beginning to ease when the hearse came to a sudden halt. I was lucky the bottle was almost empty or I would have spilled half of the ale. I clutched at one of several handles mounted on the interior of the hearse to keep from again tumbling.
I looked out the window. A swollen, bloody moon shimmered across the bay and revealed a narrow drive that precariously twisted up the side of the cliff until it reached the witch's new estate. Even under a cheerful blue sky and bright sun, the former temple would have had the ominous appearance of a massive stone fiend ready to leap onto whatever hapless ship was entering or exiting the cove below. Under such a dark crimson light as tonight, it looked positively loathsome.
Pulling myself to the other side of the hearse and peering out the small window of the door, I observed my new accomplices swarming over a nearby carriage. They were shoving several terrified servants to the ground.
"What are you doing?" I shouted as I scrambled out of the hearse. "Are you all lunatics? Stop this."
Grup was already kneeling over one of the cowering men from the carriage and attempting to yank off the servant's trousers. My earlier remarks upon acquiring more uniforms came back to haunt me. I stood with my mouth open, but no words were willing to leap from my mouth.
"What is happening out there, by the Gods of Barsomia? Desist your thievery," thundered a clear and powerful voice from the carriage.
The door was flung open and out leaped a tall nobleman. The aristocrat was garbed in attire so white that it seemed as if it could burn away any blemish or shadow. It was inconceivable that anything could be so unsoiled. The gold trimming of his cloak was matched by a luxurious mane of blonde hair that fell to his shoulders. He had the high cheekbones of someone with Hinish lineage. The fop wore a wide brimmed hat and a long sword that he was now waving about.
"Ah, please, there is no need for violence," I broke free from my shock and shouted to the nobleman, then ordered, "Grup, Frit, Frat, Luginie--halt this instant."
All four brigands paused in their procurement efforts and turned to me in surprise. The nobleman was looking no less bewildered as his gaze swept over my raggedy henchmen, his pummeled men, the hearse, and me dressed in the fancy Stagsford apparel.
"What mad extravaganza plays before my eyes? Have lunatics escaped from their sanctum after being driven mad by the full moon?"
"Arg, there be no cause for insults," Grup growled as he maintained his grip on a frightened footman.
The well-dressed swaggart looked at Grup as if he were seeing a dancing duck.
"Oh, please excuse my poor manners. How could I ever have been so rude as to disparage one of several ill-dressed ruffians intent upon stripping my servants? I am so ashamed."
I regarded the dandy with perplexed eye. By experience, I have come to regard such popinjays as effete, witless dunces. But there was something about how this fellow calmly held himself while surrounded by street thugs. He seemed clear of eye and had swung the blade as someone accustomed to the sword being more than just an adornment.
"And you, I take it you are these knaves' leader," he directed his attention to me. "I am sure you have a perfectly rational explanation for this outlandish behavior."
"Ah, well, no."
"No?"
"No." My answer seemed to provide him the most surprise so far. "I have an answer, but it is not perfectly rational."
"I would be happy with even a flawed account," he countered.
"I am afraid my cohorts took some past banter literally. As you can see, they are in need of proper servant attire."
"Cannot we take these togs?" implored Grup. "This one would fit me good."
It was the aristocrat's turn to examine me. "One usually dresses one's servants before leaving the manor. But then, why follow ritual when traveling in a hearse."
"It has a bar, divan, and hot tub," volunteered Frat, who was sitting on the man's chauffeur.
The nobleman contemplated Frat's words. "A bar, divan?" He nonchalantly stepped over the forms of foes and servants and walked past me to gaze through the door. "Quite ingenious."
I was surprised when he held out his hand. I took it and felt a firm grip.
"I am Viscount Mika Stov at your service. I offer this," he spoke. "Your lads can have their attire, but we ride to the witch's residence together. Life has been much too boring lately. I cannot think of a more interesting evening than to visit the ghastly den with such an entourage."
"I am private inquisitor Jak Barley. That is all very generous of you, but I will be escorting a young maiden to a ball and, well, you know what they say, three is a gaggle."
He eyed my cohorts.
"They are riding outside the hearse," I answered his unspoken question.
"But that makes it all the better. We can twin court. I also go to the Baron's ball after picking up the witch's daughter, Morgana."
"Morgana, but Barley be escorting the witch's daughter," exclaimed Grup. "Ferret, you have been double-timed."
I gave the brigand a dark look. "That be private inquisitor."
"Is this so?" the viscount laughed. "Then we have both been cuckold. That vixen. We must face this tart for such outrageous behavior."
Sometimes it just does not pay to get up in the morning--or any time of day for that matter. I could not turn without seeing a pleading face among my new troop. I contemplated Grup's entreating expression. He really wanted the suit. Maybe I should seek another line of work. My mother had begged me to take an apprenticeship with Uncle Med, a municipal employee in charge of clearing horse droppings from the streets. It was not that prestigious, she noted, but training was brief and I could make a few coins selling manure to the vegetable farms.
"Why not?" I answered Mika. "And I think you would fit well in that footman's garb."
"Hah, that be a good one," he laughed and clapped me heartily on the back. "That be a good one. I believe we shall get along well."
That was one for the tomes--a nobleman with a sense of humor. I try to avoid such blue bloods because they are usually such haughty snobs.
Mika waved his hand and my scoundrels jumped to their feet. His servants then shakily regained their own. "Herrent, have your men trade clothing and take the carriage back to the stable. I will see you are all rewarded for your sacrifices come the morn."
His retainers did not appear that happy with the promised bounty, seeing what they must wear home, but they obediently began disrobing.
"It better be a damn glorious stipend," muttered the one Frat had been sitting upon.
Mika laughed again, seeming not annoyed by the outburst of insubordination.
The switch took but a minute and I was again on my way. Frit turned the hearse to the entrance of the treacherous lane and began the climb. Mika fell to the divan and took in the interior of the vehicle.
"What be that?" he asked of the hot tub. I explained the nature of the cask and he laughed even louder. "I believe this will be an evening to remember."
I was only too afraid he would prove to be right. We spent the last of the ride exchanging further introductions. The viscount was visiting relatives in Duburoake, having just returned from being stationed along the interior borders of Glavendale near the Gjh Swamps. My opinion of the young nobleman rose even more. Such service in the King's Pickets is not what most men of birth select. It is both dangerous and disagreeable.
The viscount in turn seemed engrossed in my profession and I found myself telling him of the past week's ordeals.
"I knew you were an uncommon man the minute I laid eyes upon you, despite your garish apparel."
I pointedly glanced at his own dress.
"Oh yes, this outfit. I am afraid my aunt made me dress for the occasion. I would much more prefer something less pretentious. My family comes from the Shadow Forests where we do dress less formal. But when visiting the city, one must make exceptions, or so says my aunt."
Chapter Eleven
Th
e slowing of the hearse foretold our arrival. I looked out the window to see the former temple was even grimmer up close.
Mika spoke my thoughts, "Frightful place. We are still plagued with this cult in my province."
I turned for further comment but stopped when I saw his half-lit face as he peered out the window. Mika had taken on a stern look as he viewed the dark edifice, one that spoke of no goodwill toward the death cult.
