by J. P. Ashman
Fascinating…
Gently lifting the glass vial from the chest, he placed it into his nightgown’s inner pocket and stood, groaning as he did so. I’m feeling my age of late.
Moving towards the door, Orix heard familiar yet slightly more exaggerated chants floating along with the equally familiar shadows, which flitted around in his periphery as if sentient.
Oh Severun, I do hope this works, or then again, do I?
Guilt, that’s what I shall feel should we succeed.
The old gnome chuckled to himself and shook his head.
That’s what I shall feel should we fail!
Orix shuddered before opening the oak door. He wandered across the hall to the steep, spiral staircase, which whistled and moaned with internal winds.
Reaching Severun’s waiting room, he sat on a small rosewood chair built just for him. He wondered how many times he’d sat in that very chair, waiting for Severun to finish some spell or other, before his mind moved on to other things.
‘I hope we’re not set for a full blown storm.’ He spoke this thought aloud, as a sudden deluge hammered against the room’s window.
‘I think we are, Master Orix.’
Orix jumped and instinctively raised his hand to his chest, where the vial was hidden in his inside pocket.
‘Don’t scare me so, Falchion, especially when I’m holding such a dangerous item!’ Orix directed his outburst to a man stood in the shadowy corner of the room.
‘Why couldn’t you sit in the torchlight? Skulking in the shadows trying to scare an old gnome, it’s not on.’
‘My apologies, Master Orix, I didn’t feel like sitting is all.’ Fal, as he was commonly known, moved into the light, rubbing his tribal-tattooed face as he did so. ‘I don’t even know why I’m here at such an hour. I haven’t been ordered to do anything but wait here for further instructions from Lord Severun. You mentioned a dangerous item?’ he added quickly, before Orix could speak. ‘Something he needs for his spell I presume?’
‘Yes, for his spell,’ Orix snapped, ‘but no further concern of yours, Falchion. A sergeant-at-arms needs only to follow orders, not ask questions.’
‘Of course, Master Orix. It was not my place to ask.’ Fal bowed his head briefly, before leaning back against the wall besides the old gnome, his leather armour creaking as he did so. He looked down at his chest to see the coat-of-arms of the Wizards and Sorcery Guild; a blue and black split field, with a white crescent moon crossing the centre and a yellow crown above that. Looking back up from the heraldry that he was proud to wear, Fal asked another question of the master cleric sat beside him.
‘For weeks, Lord Severun has conjured ghostly shadows and winds within Tyndurris, but never have I seen so many, right down to the lower levels. Do you think these uncommon gales are causing the increase in the spell’s effects, Master Orix?’
‘The reason for the increase is because Lord Severun is completing this lengthy experiment tonight. Gales from the west… south… or wherever, is a mere coincidence. You don’t believe the rot about curses and bad omens being sent from other lands do you, Falchion?’
Fal laughed. ‘Not at all, it’s an unusual storm for this time of year, nothing more. I admit, however, that I know nothing of magic.’
‘Well I’m glad you realise that whisperings about curses and omens are utter twaddle, Falchion. I took you for one of more intellect than that and as I thought, I was right.’ Orix’s grin was just visible through his wiry beard. ‘Otherwise your next task might give you the creeps even more than I expect it will anyway.’
Fal’s eyes widened a little.
‘Well, I’m going to shut up now,’ Orix said, hastily. ‘Your orders will come soon enough from Lord Severun, not me.’ Thankfully. Fal nodded to Orix and moved back to the shadows to lean against the wall and await his orders.
An hour or so went by before the winds died down, in the tower at least, for outside was quite the opposite compared to the now eerie stillness within Tyndurris.
Orix jumped when the door to Severun’s chamber swung inwards with a bang. Noticing the lack of Fal’s animation didn’t help, and the gnome’s cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red than normal.
‘Come on in, Orix, it’s all going wonderfully. Now it’s time to complete the task and add your potion.’ The wizard’s voice echoed around the stone walls as if amplified, but Severun himself wasn't in view from where Orix now stood. The old gnome noted Fal peering through the door from his position by the window, where he’d been watching lightening split the sky. As Orix looked at the sergeant, the man turned to meet his gaze, smiled and bowed his olive-skinned head. Orix nodded in return and entered the larger chamber.
Severun smiled broadly when he saw Orix, which, along with his flowing robes, made the wizard seem quite intimidating.
The hairs on the back of Orix's neck stood to attention. I’ve felt like that often of late in here, especially since he came by that ornate chest. Makes the room feel… cold, dark even. Oh don’t be stupid, it’s an oak box you old fool.
‘Lord Severun, I pray the spell went accordingly? You do seem to be positively beaming, which I hope answers my question. You know my reservations about this experiment so I need not say any more about that.’
Orix looked away from Severun for the first time since entering the chamber and saw a room covered in scattered papers, fallen books, paintings from walls and all manner of debris.
By the gods…
‘Of course it did, Orix. It went perfectly in fact. The wind blew my window open and caused all this.’ Severun swept his arm around about him, gesturing towards the mess lying on the floor. ‘Certainly not the spell, if that’s what you were thinking, I assure you.’
That’s exactly what I was thinking, and worse.
‘Do you have the vial?’
Straight to the point, Orix thought. He fumbled through all his many pockets. After an impatient few moments which felt much longer, Orix remembered the new inner pocket he'd sewn into his night gown. He carefully retrieved the vial and looked up into Severun’s eyes, just in time to have the vial plucked from his hand by the wizard.
‘You’re certainly eager to see this through aren’t you?’
Severun didn’t reply. Spinning on his heels, he strode across his chamber before stopping at a stone alter in the centre of the room.
Orix shook his head and looked about the chamber once more. Around the walls hung all manner of strange and foreign objects, from paintings, some of which seemed to have a great sense of depth to them, architectural plans and tall ornate mirrors, to outlandish carvings and ornaments, one of which Orix could have sworn blinked as he looked away from it. The walls were usually cluttered with many more such items, however, with most of the lighter objects now decorating the floor, the chamber walls looked almost bare compared to usual.
On the right-hand side of the chamber stood Severun’s desk, littered with scattered papers from the wind that continued to howl through the open window.
Orix tutted. This just won’t do, damned wizard. Never seen him so distracted. At least his mind is on the spell… I hope.
Orix hurried across the large chamber, cursing as his woollen slippers soaked up the rain-sodden floor. Reaching the opposite side of the room, he dragged the ornate chest under the window, his stomach twisting for some unknown reason as he did so. He never noticed Severun’s sudden attention as he touched the chest, and so continued to reach up, managing with some effort to slam the window shut.
Turning from the window, Orix saw Severun turn away, before proceeding to pour the contents of Orix’s vial and Severun’s own magical potion into an empty wine bottle. A violent hiss and thick smoke poured from the bottle as the two liquids met, rolling across the floor and ceiling briefly before dissipating swiftly. The luminous magenta glow of Orix’s liquid met with the luminous green glow of Severun’s to create a… somewhat disappointing brown liquid, which the master cleric thought resembled ale. How uni
nteresting, Orix thought, frowning. He’d hoped for something a little more dramatic, and even the hissing sound and smoke had gone by the time the bottle was full. Orix wondered if Severun had planned it that way, so as not to draw attention to the bottle once it was being transported through the city streets. Orix began to worry as usual about the experiment. As they’d discussed it, the ghostly shadows seen earlier throughout the tower, would carry the potion’s effects to their targets, and then Severun and Orix would record the results as they came in.
If they come in…
Orix was still unsure any of this would work.
Surely he’s not expecting someone to drink the contents of the bottle?
‘Here we have it.’ Severun turned to face Orix, the unsettling grin still plastered across the wizard’s face.
Orix frowned again. ‘Yes I can see that. It doesn’t look incredibly impressive though, does it?’
Severun walked towards the chamber door, laughing. ‘Well of course it doesn't, we can’t have Sergeant Falchion discarding a bottle of luminous potion in the city before walking off minding his own business, can we?’
‘I suppose not,’ Orix replied whilst shaking his head. He was at least satisfied that Severun hadn’t decided to feed it to some street urchin or beggar in Dockside.
‘Good evening, Lord Severun.’
Orix barely heard Fal’s voice from where he stood on the farthest side of the chamber from the door. He hopped down off the chest and slopped across the chamber, whilst nervously playing with his beard and mumbling to himself about the cold and his wet feet.
‘Good evening, sergeant,’ Severun said. ‘I trust you don’t mind being called here at this late hour? I’d just prefer someone I can trust to see this experiment through, as well as someone who can look after themselves around Dockside at night.’
‘Of course not, my lord. I’m honoured you thought of me, and I’m as ever at your service. Where exactly am I to go in Dockside?’ Fal rested his hand on the single-edged sword at his hip as he thought of the dangerous district he’d be heading into.
Severun looked at Orix, lost for a way to explain Fal’s orders. Orix shrugged and Severun turned back to Fal, answering in a very serious manner.
‘I know you well enough to know you need no explanation of the task I ask you to perform, but respect you enough to tell you as much as I can, Sergeant Falchion.
I wish you to take this bottle to the harbour end of Dock Street, but to stop before you reach the wooden jetty. Once there, I wish you to empty the contents onto the ground, taking care not to draw attention to yourself.
Fal nodded and Orix rolled his eyes at the wizard’s dramatic tone.
‘After emptying the bottle,’ Severun continued, ‘you may see shadows like those you saw earlier tonight and on other nights when I have enacted similar spells. This is all part of the experiment, and is nothing to worry about. As I'm sure you know, all our work here comes with the approval of the king himself, and I would never ask or order you to do anything that would have you break the law.’
It doesn’t have the approval of the king yet though does it, Severun? Oh gods above, what are we doing? Just smile and keep quiet, it’s too late for anything else.
Orix grinned suddenly, and both Severun and Fal looked at him, expecting an addition from the gnome. Fal never noticed the nervousness in Severun’s eyes, but after a moment of Orix grinning at them, yet saying nothing, Severun continued and Fal looked back to him.
‘After the potion is released, you are free to make your way home. Your work will have been done. I wish you to report back to me tomorrow, so I know everything went smoothly.
‘Any questions, sergeant?’ Severun held the bottle out to Fal, who took it gingerly, whilst shaking his head.
‘None at all, my lord. I will see it done immediately. Good evening to you both, Lord Severun, Master Orix.’ Fal turned and descended the stairs into darkness.
‘Will Falchion not realise what he’s released when people turn up dead in a few days’ time, all with the same symptoms, and all over the slums of Dockside?’
Severun snorted. ‘A mere coincidence is all he’ll think. A few dozen people will not be missed, and as I said, this storm is a blessing, Orix. You know how folk gossip. People will claim a ‘cursed wind’ caused the deaths, by carrying whatever their imaginations can conjure from foreign lands. Sergeant Falchion isn’t the sort to listen to such nonsense, so I doubt he'll even entertain such rumours.’
Orix looked unconvinced. ‘Maybe not, but he also has his wits about him. He didn’t make sergeant-at-arms of such a prestigious guild without them.’
Severun laughed. ‘You worry too much, Orix. Get some rest and we shall talk to Sergeant Falchion tomorrow, then you can hear first-hand exactly how simply it went.’ Orix felt weary all of a sudden, so he didn’t question Severun’s admission of a few dozen, rather than the handful he’d previously been told would be involved.
‘Very well,’ Orix said, finally. ‘I shall return to my bed and meet with you here tomorrow. Good night Lord Severun.’
Severun smiled, nodded and they both turned their separate ways, to retire to their rooms and beds for the remainder of the night.
Fal’s night, however, had just begun.
Chapter 2: Dock Street
Fal waited in the doorway of a large outbuilding used for storage. He’d requested a guild coach to take him as far as Piper’s Inn, half way down Dock Street, where he would continue down to the harbour on foot.
He checked again that the wine bottle Severun had given him was securely strapped beneath his waxed canvas cloak, and then moved his hand instinctively back to the falchion at his side.
The clattering of hooves and metal-rimmed wheels alerted Fal to the arrival of the coach as it rounded the base of the large tower, travelling from the stables on the other side of the courtyard. The black cab rocked on its springs as the driver pulled on the reins to halt the two bay mares. A familiar face peered from a low-pulled hood as the driver, Casson Bevins, climbed down from his seat at the front of the coach.
Fal pulled back his own hood and nodded to the driver.
‘Good evening, sergeant, where is it you wish to go tonight?’ Casson opened the coach door, wrestling with it against the wind whilst inviting Fal to enter the sheltered cab.
‘Thank you,’ Fal replied warmly, once inside. ‘I’d like to be dropped off on Dock Street if possible, just by Piper’s Inn.’
Casson looked surprised at the request, but shrugged, smiled and bowed all the same. ‘As you wish sergeant.’ He closed the cab’s door, climbed back up to his driver’s seat and with a jerk, the coach set off towards Tyndurris’ double gates. Once through, the horses began to trot proudly through the deserted streets.
Fal rubbed his face and let out a groan.
Casson Bevins, of all the drivers.
What rumours would Casson spread tomorrow? He was notoriously nosy and as bad a gossip as the servants in the guild washroom and kitchens, and Dock Street wasn't the sort of place Fal wanted to be associated with.
After several streets and one large avenue, the area visibly changed as the coach proceeded onto and further down Dock Street. Although architecturally not all that dissimilar from buildings they'd already passed, those along Dock Street became untended and downright decrepit at times.
And so I come back to Dockside.
The number of people on the streets for such a late hour increased. Painted ladies stood on street corners despite the weather, offering themselves to passers-by, whilst groups of men stumbled up and down the street from one drinking hole to another. There were also children darting from shadow to shadow, looking for pockets to pick for their respective gangs, none of which was missed by Fal’s trained eye.
The coach jerked to a halt. Looking across the interior of the cab and through the opposite window, Fal saw the inn’s brightly lit bay windows. Silhouettes moved to and fro on the other side of the small glass squares, creat
ing a jumble of figures with no features, whilst a rowdy chorus of laughter and awful singing emanated from within.
Fal stepped out of the coach’s door before Casson Bevins had time to open it for him, and received a score of whistles, whoops and jibes from locals and sailors alike. Ignoring the comments, Fal spoke just loud enough for Casson to hear, but loud enough to be heard over the gusts of wind blowing straight up from the harbour further down the hill.
‘Best be on your way, Master Bevins. I’d hate to have to explain to Lord Severun that I lost a coach… and driver tonight.’
The scrawny man’s eyes widened at that.
‘You don’t have to tell me twice, enjoy your night, sergeant.’ With a smirk and a wink from beneath his hood, Casson Bevins shook the reigns and the coach sprung into motion, turning a full circle in the wide street and heading back up Dock Street.
Turning to face the hecklers, Fal saw thankfully that they'd already moved on. Even the sight of an expensive coach couldn’t keep them from their next drink.
After walking for what seemed like an age, Fal was regretting not putting extra layers on to counter the cold and harsh winds. He covered his face as much as possible with his hood, although his vision through the gap was still impaired by the fine rain collecting on his eyelashes, causing him to blink constantly. At least my back will be to the wind and rain on the way home. I must be getting old, I used to patrol these streets in all weather and hardly feel it. Or so I remember. The mind dulls the past though, I’m sure of it.
As he reached the end of Dock Street, the buildings fell away and the space opened up into Market Square. The centre of the square was raised, the road leading around the edge of an island of stone where crates, cargo and tied up stalls were left ready for the next day’s trading. A couple of crates had collapsed in the wind and various items of cargo blew across the square, whilst the constant clanging of rigging on masts continued to play their tune.
