by C G Gaudet
He gives us a doubtful once over and I can see him lose interest in the conversation in that glance. “If you’re looking for maid work, I can’t help you. Not much need for one with a shop like this.”
I glance at his table covered with clay pots of every size and shape a person could ever need. Some are plain while others are richly decorated with scenes of battle or romance, or both. Not something particularly useful to us at this point, nor something either of us would be able to help him with, unless he wants me to smash them. I bet my scythe would be very good at breaking them.
“We’re actually in need of money much faster than maid work would afford us.” Willow steps out from behind me, a stern expression on her face that’s completely at odds with the childish glee she showed around Kesarre. “Perhaps you know of work more fitting for a reaper?”
She and the merchant turn to me with an expectant look like I’m supposed to do something. I stand awkwardly for a moment before I notice Willow nodding pointedly toward my pillow. Right. That.
I hold the pillow out and concentrate on it being a scythe. It transforms instantly, once again fitting perfectly in my hand as though I was born to wield it.
The merchant steps back with a jolt as I rest the weapon casually against my shoulder. I give a shrug.
“Gods,” I say by way of explanation.
He nods his understanding but doesn’t relax as he stays pulled as far away from me as his table allows. A shaking hand lifts and he points us toward a building painted bright red with a yellow and blue sign above the front door saying something I can’t understand.
“Thanks so much,” Willow says with a small curtsy. “Kesarre thanks you for your help and blesses your shop for many good days of sales.”
Looking a tiny bit pleased with himself, the merchant returns to his business as we make our way through the crowd toward the building.
“Can you bless people like that?” I ask.
“Of course not,” Willow answers. “But he doesn’t know that, and by thinking he’s blessed, he’s much more likely to act pleasantly to customers, which will in turn earn him more sales. If he earns more sales while under my ‘blessing,’ he may start believing in the power of Kesarre and as such lend his energy to our cause.”
“Clever,” I say, though a little part of me is disturbed by the devious thought process of my new friend. Partner? Colleague? Whatever we might be, I’m just glad she’s on my side.
Chapter Seven
Side Quest
As I press my hand onto the door of the building the merchant sent us to, I notice Willow hesitate with her gaze on the sign.
“What’s it say?” I ask.
“Herbs and spices,” she replies, but there’s a doubtful tone to the words, as though she’s not confident.
“You sure?”
Her chin lifts stubbornly as though I’ve just insulted her, though I’m not sure how.
“There’s an oddness to the wording that doesn’t make sense.” She pushes past me to enter the building first. “I’m positive it’s nothing important, just a small misspelling.”
The girl at the counter within the shop reminds me so much of myself, I nearly turn around and walk right back out. She slouches on her stool with her elbow on the counter and her chin on her hand. There’s so little life in her brown eyes, I wondered if she’s asleep with her eyes open or simply a shadow of her former self.
In contrast, the room’s full of piles of brightly colored spices and dried produce. The walls are filled with glass jars stuffed full of even more items. The smells of cinnamon and garlic and so many others I don’t recognize make my eyes water and nose run.
Maybe this is the sort of thing Willow can handle on her own. She doesn’t seem bothered by the girl or the onslaught of smells.
“Welcome to Olerra’s Spice of Life,” the shopkeeper says without a hint of emotion. Her gaze only makes it to us for a moment before she returns to focusing on the dirt in her fingernails. “Please take a look--and sniff--at our glorious foreign spices. You can’t find this product anywhere else.”
Gods, I’m glad I never had to give a spiel like that every time someone walked through the door. I would likely be as dead inside as she is. It’s bad enough just trying to smile at everyone, though clearly the owner didn’t force her to do as much, or if he did, she didn’t care.
“We were told there’s a possible job here?” Willow spoke for us, which came as a relief to me. I don’t know if I could have opened my mouth without starting a sneezing fit. “One that requires special abilities?”
The shopkeeper’s gaze follows Willow’s to my scythe, and she instantly sits up a little taller. A bit of life comes back to her eyes at the sight of my weapon, though I’m not sure if it’s because of fear or vague interest that someone other than a customer entered the shop.
“You know how to use that thing?” Her tone is still dry, with a touch of arrogance that makes my neck prickle.
“Swing it around and hope you kill the thing you’re aiming at?” I smile at the girl in a way to let her know I’m thinking about aiming it in her direction.
Willow steps in front of me with a look to say I should keep my mouth shut from here on. Maybe that was best. I’ve never been one for making conversation.
Though I can’t talk any more, I stare down the shop keeper to let her know I’m still considering swinging the blade at any moment.
“She’s quite skilled, I promise you in the name of Kesarre.” Willow bows her head slightly at the name of our patron and I have to close my eyes to keep from rolling them in response. “Whatever ails you or your business, I promise we will help.”
The shopkeeper looks between us once more, seemingly unfazed by my threat or Willow’s mention of our god. I wonder what it would take to get someone so clearly broken to care once more.
“There are rats in the cellar.” Her nose wrinkles in disgust at either the thought of the rats or me, I’m not sure. “The store’s owner is offering ten gold to anyone able to get rid of the beasts before they damage the precious items kept in storage.”
“Ten gold to kill rats?” I can’t help but blurt out my surprise. “That’s more than I’ll earn in three years.”
Willow turns back to me with a look telling me to shut my mouth before I spoil our chances of getting the job, but I can see she’s as shaken as I am. It’s an absurd amount of money for her as well. Depending on the house they work in, a maid like her might make more than a shop keeper, but not ten gold for a few minutes’ work.
“They are very large rats.”
“I can imagine,” Willow responds with a respectful nod that belies none of her feelings. “What sort of proof would the owner like to have that these rats have been slain?”
The shopkeeper still looks sceptical about our abilities to fulfil the request, but she continues, which I take to be a good sign.
“The tails have some medicinal properties,” she says. “If you bring up five of those, the job will be considered complete.”
Two gold per rat. I’ve never heard of something so foolish before. If only we could go back home, we could catch dozens of rats in our rooms for these people, whoever they are to be throwing away money for such idiotic purposes.
“Consider it done,” I say before she or Willow can change their minds. “Where’s the cellar?”
The shop keeper beckons us around the counter and lifts a latch attached to a square piece of flooring that looks only slightly different than the rest of the floor. I probably wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t shown it to us. Damp, stale air wafts up to us with the movement of the door. Three rotting wooden steps lead down to a red dirt floor and darkness beyond.
“We could use a light,” Willow says to the shop keep who shrugs her disinterest. She’s already back to her stool, picking at her fingernails once more.
I stuff my hand into one of the pockets of my apron and pull out a stub of a candle. “Never thought I’d be grateful for work
ing in a candle shop before.”
Using one of the several lanterns in the shop, I light the candle and hand it over to Willow before digging out another stub and doing the same for myself. Even with the light, Willow hesitates at the top of the stairs, so I take the lead and make my way into the cellar, my flickering candle in one hand and the scythe held out in front of me in the other.
Chapter Eight
Oh, Rats!
The cellar beneath the store is much larger than I expect. Much MUCH larger. I expected it to be the size of the store front, and maybe a bit larger to make up for whatever rooms the building might have in back, but this space keeps stretching on, well beyond the reach of my candle. It’s a simple narrow hall at first, that opens into a larger area filled with barrels of what my assaulted nose tells me are more spices. I pause, looking for any sign of the rats we’re seeking, but Willow moves past me to explore an area I thought was a simple dead end. Her light passes through the shadows into another passageway that seems never-ending.
“This must be the cellar system for the entire block,” Willow mutters to herself. “I suppose that could explain how they can afford to hire people for so much. A number of wealthy businesses could have pooled their resources.”
“I don’t much care how they got their money,” I say. “As long as they pay up. Can you imagine what we can do with that much? We could buy proper beds with brand new blankets and everything. Maybe even a new pillow that I don’t have to worry about getting guts all over every time I need to use my scythe.”
I keep my eyes low, moving the candle to break the shadows behind piles of crates and baskets that fill each room we enter. No sign of any rats. Not even any droppings, which seems a little odd. Normally, I’d expect them to be skittering all over the place, scared by the light and our chatter. I’ve been in brighter and drier locations with a lot more signs of rodents.
It’s once we’re in the fourth huge storage room with no sign of even a mouse that I start to get suspicious.
“Not much of a problem they have if we can’t find a single rat.”
Willow gives me an incredulous look. “You still think this is about a few rodents?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “I can see why he made you a reaper.”
I feel like that was meant to be an insult, but since I’m the one holding a scythe and she’s got the boring abilities of reading and knowing things, I think I came out on top.
“If you believe we’ve been lied to, why don’t we leave and find someone who’s actually willing to pay us?”
I stop exploring the moment I realize there are no rats, but Willow keeps poking her head into every corner and checking the symbols on each crate and barrel as though they might hold some secret.
“There’s a reason they sent us down here.” Willow sets her candle down, which is burning close to the end. Another five, maybe ten minutes before it’s out for good, from the look of it. She motions me over with a finger, not taking her eyes off a particularly average looking barrel. “Bring that scythe over here and use it to pry this lid off.”
Seemed like a good way to lose a finger or more to me. I concentrate on the scythe and it shifts in my hand until I’m gripping steel rather than ivory.
Pry Bar of Kesarre – Epic item Level 1
Attack – 4
Defence – 1
A useful tool for prying open wooden items or smashing heads.
Ha! I wasn’t sure that would work, but it seems Kesarre really did come through for me. “Would this work better?”
I hold out the newly shaped item in my hand for her to see but don’t give it to her. She’s too smart to be able to use it anyway. Better I do the physical labor since my tiny brain won’t get in the way of my brawn.
“Convenient,” Willow mutters, and I notice there’s a touch of bitterness to her voice.
Perhaps her annoyance with me stems from a touch of jealousy.
I get to work on opening the top of the barrel and attempt to start a casual conversation, something I’ve never been much good at, but figure if we’re going to work together, I might as well get to know her a little.
“You’re pretty good at upselling Kesarre to people.” I grunt as the nails holding the lid on the barrel stay tight though I press down with all my weight. “You’d do well in a shop, not that I’d ever recommend the job to anyone.”
“You heard what he said.” Her hands grope around the lip of the barrel, getting in the way of me putting my all into the job. “He doesn’t have enough power right now. But look at the amazing weapon he was able to make for you. Imagine what else he could do if he got stronger. What more he could give us.”
Something clicks, and my pry bar slips at an odd angle, catching me in the gut. As I groan in pain at the impact, Willow whoops with delight. The top of the barrel lifts as though on a hinge, and not at all from the area I was prying. She must have found some sort of button to open the top.
“I knew there was something off about this one.”
“You’re so clever.” I rub my stomach and concentrate on turning my pry bar back into a pillow so I can clutch it to my new bruise.
“It’s the same sort of mistake in the writing as on the sign outside.” She finishes lifting the lid out of the way and reveals another set of steps down into an even darker area. “I can’t believe there was a button. That sort of stuff is only supposed to happen in stories, not real life.”
“We’re working for a god who turned my pillow into a weapon,” I remind her. “I don’t think there’s a lot of difference between real life and your stories anymore. Come on.” I grab her arm before she can go down the stairs ahead of me. “We’re leaving.”
She gives me another dubious look to tell me I’m being stupid again.
“Look at your candle.” I point at my own in hopes she’ll understand my meaning. “We have minutes left before everything goes black. We’re not going down into an even deeper unknown area in this strange cellar.”
“But...” I can see Willow’s mind battling with her curiosity over what might be hidden in the secret space and the danger of continuing. Luckily, reason wins out. “Fine. You’re right. Let’s go.”
Even with her agreement, I’m forced to drag her back toward the hallway we entered from. Between her being difficult and the dim lights from our dying candles, I don’t see the figure blocking the entrance until I’m steps away. I stop short and hold the candle out for a better look.
The shop keeper stands before us, though I almost don’t recognize her to be the same person. Where her clothes were standard affair for a store, she now wears skin-tight black trousers with leather boots that reached up to her thigh and a leather jerkin that shows more skin than is decent. In her hand is a pair of matching knives about the length of her hand. As she is, it’s easy to conjure the symbols over her head revealing her to be another champion.
Heather – Champion of Olerra
Level 3 Reaper
Abilities
Attack: Dash
Movement: Quick Step
Movement: Shadow Walk
“Convenient,” Heather—now my least favorite person even above Kesarre and my boss at the candle store—says. “I’ve never had anyone attempt to climb into their own dungeon cell before. Shame you didn’t follow through. It would have been less painful for you that way.”
Chapter Nine
In the Dark
“I knew I didn’t like you,” I say while staring a little too apprehensively at her knives for my own ego. I shouldn’t find them as scary as I do with what I’ve seen and done over the past few hours, but I do.
Interestingly, no matter how hard I concentrate on the blades, no secret symbols show up above them. I suppose that makes them normal weapons, and not as good as mine.
“I couldn’t care one way or another about you,” Heather replies. “Though that weapon of yours looks decent. Much too good for a low-level scrub such as yourself.” Her eyes glide around the shadowy room before lan
ding back on me. “Where have you put it?”
I blink, unsure what she’s talking about. Clearly, it’s in my hands. Except it isn’t. I’m holding my pillow right now, not a deadly scythe, and she doesn’t seem to be able to recognize it’s the same thing. Yep, my weapon definitely wins over her boring knives.
A small smirk lifts the corner of my mouth as the silence stretches out between us, causing Heather’s eye to twitch with annoyance. The first bit of real emotion I’ve seen from her, and it makes me wish I could irritate her even more.
“No matter,” she says, though I can see she’s not convinced by her own dismissive attitude. “I’ll find it soon enough.”
She waves her blade in the direction of the barrel-stairs. “Move.”
I try to remain defiant, but some warning is set off deep in the pit of my stomach that tells me to do as I’m told. She’s claimed she was going to kill us, and I believe her. I’m also pretty sure her two levels above me means she has much more experience fighting than I do, and likely knows how to use her skills, unlike me.
A bit of sweat beads at the hairline above my brow the longer I try to defy her. I get the feeling I wouldn’t even be able to see her attack before she struck, and the fact that we’re both still alive is a small mercy from her. Or maybe she’s being lazy, but if I push the issue, she’ll be forced to act.
“This is all a trap, then?” Willow speaks firmly and not at all like she’s worrying about being ripped apart by the reaper. “Pretty obvious if you ask me. You practically have ‘this is a trap’ written on the sign outside.”
“Yet, here you are,” Heather yawns. “Boring me with your pitiful attempt to talk your way out of this.”
Pain in my side causes me to lurch into Willow. The dagger pierces through my heavy dress too easily though she barely presses it against me. I don’t want to think how little effort it would take for her to do some true damage.
