By noon I thought I had a handle on the place, and by one-ish I realised just how naive I’d been.
Telior really was Sticktown, but its warrens were even twistier, if such a thing were possible. What looked like a dozen ways into and out of a particular ‘street’ actually turned out to be a hundred, men and women and children all happily climbing what looked like rigging at the ends of alleyways. We made our way up five levels, bit by bit – there was nothing like a connecting ‘road’, no place where ramps or bridges took you more than one level at a time. You had to memorise each pathway, it seemed, or just find your way by getting lost. We were quite adept at the latter, and it was mid-afternoon before we reached the Flying Swordfish. The owner, a boisterous woman of advancing years, was already half-drunk when we arrived, competing with her patrons. She cast her bleary gaze over me a full three times before adopting a fawning, subservient tone of voice, breaking off her drinking game to escort us – on very wobbly feet – to our room. I very much got the impression that her servile attitude had a lot more to do with her expectation of tips than anything coming naturally to her. (She got a tip, and from her bright, wide eyes it was bigger than she’d hoped.)
Things were cheaper here, that much was for certain. I’d been afraid, seeing our pile of stolen money dwindle each time we replenished supplies, booking lodgings, booking the sea-voyage… But now? I paid a few copper bits, not even enough to get you a room the size of a coffin in Sticktown, never mind a nice part of Mund – but here in Telior it brought a spacious apartment, three separate beds, a sea-view through the glass…
“I don’t see why we’re even taking a room,” Jaid sniffed. “We should just leave already – we aren’t staying, I know that much.”
“Jaid,” I said firmly, removing my sodden robe, “I am sleeping in this bed tonight. This one, with its soft pillows and three blankets and unmoving foundation. Tomorrow, fine, we sleep on the road, in a ditch, wherever. Even another boat, if you really must. Tonight…” I lay down on the bed I’d chosen (or, more accurately, the bed I’d been left with). “This afternoon,” I corrected myself, “I’m in the Twelve Heavens.”
“Fine,” she huffed, pulling off her soaked outer clothing and sitting down on the stool by the small table.
“And now for our little friends.” I was too tired – the boat journey had really taken it out of me – so I summoned an imp by the shutters and had it open the window.
With a little bit of careful manoeuvring, my invisible minions brought through our chestful of belongings. Once it was in place by the wall under the window I gave them the rest of the day off. I’d commanded them all to avoid being overheard by strangers, so it was a grateful chorus of soft grunts and hisses that I received in reply from the exhausted critters, punctuated with one “Finally!” and a more than one muttered Infernal swear-word. I waved them away, and after a bit I got up and started trawling through our possessions, hunting some clean, dry clothing to wear to bed.
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It turned out to be a fruitless search – the only dry options were dirty, caked in old sweat and salt-water. I picked out a stinky vest and some loose pants, and turned around to get changed.
I had one leg in, one leg out, when I felt an intrusion on my barriers. I studied the flickering shapes around me for a moment, then teetered and toppled onto the bed, the wraith-foot unable to bear my weight.
Jaid asked if I was okay – I mumbled a response, concentrating.
I determined that there were some hostile people on the walkway outside the inn’s front door. They were pressing on my outermost shield, being repelled by what would look to them like thin air.
Some… It wasn’t just a few. I could tell from the amount of pressure – there was a whole row of aggressors, each of them stopped in their tracks.
Zero chance of getting through, from what I could tell so far, but they might’ve been armed with some magic they’d not yet brought to bear.
“What is it?” Jaroan demanded.
“Enemies.” I let the smelly shirt drop to the floor and pulled my soaked robe back on, wincing at the feel of the drenched, stiff material against my skin.
“Enemies?” Jaid whispered.
There came a knock at the door.
“Young maaaaster?” came the drunk innkeeper’s voice. “You in there?”
Then there was a sudden loud knock, which surprised me – I hadn’t yet locked it, and I wasn’t expecting such propriety. Why not just walk in?
Ill-will was a nebulous thing, teetering on the lip of unthought-of intentions.
Jaid was frowning, despondent eyes fixed on the floor; Jaroan was smiling, but all the colour had been washed from his face.
I steeled myself, double-checked my scar-masking illusion. “It’s open!”
There was some murmuring outside the room, then the handle turned, and a man stepped through the doorway.
He was almost as tall as me, but he had to be mid-thirties. Like most Telese, he was pale-skinned, almost sallow-looking, his eyes and hair and moustache all as dark as the sea. He wore a thick padded jacket and iron-shod boots; there was a plain-looking scabbard at his belt, and he rested his left hand casually on the grip of his sword – to steady the blade as he moved, or in preparation to draw it, I was uncertain. Upon his shoulders were pauldrons marked with some kind of scaly insignia – a symbol of rank, perhaps. The armour wasn’t ostentatious like the mantles worn by the waywatchers of Mund, however – it was practical, wrought from form-fitting steel, designed for use rather than display.
He halted on the threshold, and his sea-dark eyes scanned the room a single time before they settled, meeting my gaze coolly.
* * *