Chapter 4: The Silver Fawn

I left the guildhall when darkness still cloaked the streets, wearing a cape and hood. I crept against the sides of houses staying alert for the high-pitched clangour of walking plates and mail.

Whilst Vidal recovered with Santiago, the day would be best spent attending to the matter of The Silver Fawn’s day-manager. As far as I was concerned, Santiago’s judgement was trustworthy, but no lead nor ally would be a lead or ally lest verified by my own judgement.

Getting to the tavern took a meagre half hour, interrupted by no hidden wait. To my surprise, not a single citizen or guard passed by or near in any capacity. The closest came in the form of archers on the walls, whose gaze rested outward and whose gaze if turned inward would surely miss me.

The Silver Fawn was shaped like a pentagon, with its entrance situated at the peak, and its base backing up against a block of adjacent houses, and its sides fixed between businesses fronting market stalls in the heart of the bazaar.

The quality of the wood arising from its stone base gave it a style and a light unlike the surrounding architecture. Not only did the craftsmanship come across as fine and well, but it was without tarnishes, damage, or flaking paint. Likely one of the many new constructions dotting the city. One I probably missed during my arrival whilst weaving through the thicket of the occupied crowd.

Following assurance I was without lingering eyes, I planted my hands upon the flat wall of The Silver Fawn’s neighbour, an apothecary-clinic of some sort. There I rode the wall, carrying myself to the roof with sticky hands and feet. From that roof I was able to drop onto a balcony on the tavern’s third floor, and enter into a bedroom through ajar doors.

A quick visual sweep of the bed and armoire settled nerves about its occupation, allowing me to comfortably slip into the hallway. It was decorated sparingly with paintings and prints, illumined only softly by the flickering of low candles resting on bulbous clouds of wax.

A creaking of wood that I knew was not my own brought me to extinguish the light of the hallway. Two fingers outstretched, index and middle, swept through the air and gave life to the wind, stripping the fuel from the fire.

The hallway culminated in a three-stair descent to a landing that carried one down to the first floor, beyond my view. It was from this obscurity that a figure emerged, casually carrying themselves to my level with a guiding arm sliding along the right wall.

Three steps took them to an end table below a landscape drawing of the cheerless Juhaszan countryside upon which sat one candle, now leaking a dissipating sliver of smog into the air. The figure took something from their pocket, matches, to relight the candle.

The illumination revealed to me a man of my height and stature, wearing green and brown with a belt that carried keys and a stained rag. His hands were horrendously calloused, and hairy, which matched his lurid, albeit well proportioned, face.

“Hello.” My voice carried a timidity. I didn’t want to scare him any more than I had to. Of course, he jumped.

“Valskov!” Old Uhraan, an insult. Had he been any louder I’d have feared the inn would awake prematurely. Stepping forward only once, I held out my arms, and in the light of the candle revealed, at least externally, that I was unarmed.

“Peace, peace. I am a friend of Santiago.” This brought him to pause. An adrenalized visage gained curiosity, and his movements back towards the stairs ceased.

“Did you think not to warn me?! How’d you even get in?”

“Through an open balcony.” I gestured towards the door, down the hall, that I had emerged from. “Perhaps we could speak inside?” I slid my rear leg back in anticipation.

“No one is visiting on this floor. We can speak here.” He crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you warn me? Is San with you?”

There it is again, ‘San.’ I stifled a frown. “Santiago is tending to an ill mutual friend back at the guild. So, he isn’t here, but he knows I’ve come to see you, because he told me about you.”

“He told you about me?” He seemed insulted.

“Likely not in the sense that you’re thinking.” I responded quickly, but I did not speak quickly. Calm and collected, to quell his dithering. “Santiago and I are in business together, and he expressed that the two of you were friends.”

“And Santiago told you to bother me before work? Not, say, after? Or on a day when I'm free?”

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“I didn’t ask, nor did he volunteer a suggestion. You see, however, the importance of my coming outweighs the annoyance of being bothered at such an early hour, I assure you.”

“You assure me?” He hesitated before continuing. “I feel uncomfortable being so rude, but I’m not going to entertain whatever this–” He waved his hands around the air in my general direction, “–is right now. I have to clean and prep, so you’ll have to leave.”

“You have to listen to me.” A darkening of my aura accompanied the command. Aura, this is to say, meaning my ambiance. A fan of darkness encircled me, having materialised at will. The shift in composure in the day-manager was subtle, but noticeable enough for me to feel confident that my presence had influenced him.

I went on speaking, “You, by virtue of your employer’s cravenness, pay a weekly protection fee to Rodrigo’s men, correct?” He nodded, “I take it that this fee is somewhat crippling to your business, and you feel you cannot go to the guard for help, correct?” Again, he nodded. “Good. You’ll pay me henceforth, and you shall pay half what you pay Rodrigo’s men.”

He nodded, and then spoke, “Will you be here when they come?”

“Yes.” I said, and he replied, shakily,

“Just as the doors are unlocked they enter, they’re paid, and they leave, so that no customer lays eyes on their doing so.”

“What’s your name?”

“Efrain.” He spoke it proudly.

“Good, Efrain. I take it you fight or that you’ve fought?”

“I’ve fought. We keep a club behind the bar.”

“I want you to finish whatever your duties are for the morning, and then unlock and open the business at the standard hour.” I brought my arms to cross, “I shall join you in this uncomfortable extortion, and we’ll bring it to an end.”

“And what about my boss?”

“I shall take care of whatever turmoil you fear to be the outcome of this exchange of lordship, I assure you, Efrain.” I took a step forward and momentarily put a hand on his shoulder, comfortingly.

He seemed to appreciate it, for however muted his emotions had become. Influence, this growth of presence, was a byproduct of my Ascension, of all ascensions. It is like a status symbol that, when shown, elicits a universal response from the weak willed and ignorant.

“Go then, I shall wait.” I followed him to the ground floor where he returned to his duties tidying the bar and room, stocking liquor, and the like. The establishment was quite modern by Kaerdan standards, free of what I took to be the usual dated references to the last dynasty’s taste for over-enthusiastic regal stylisations. Rather, the decor all seemed to seek to mirror the natural dread of the countryside, floral and greyscale fashions.

It wasn’t until the nearest sun rose above the walls and brought light to the room that Efrain announced it was time to open. Through tall windows at the front I saw a band of three approaching through the empty square.

I took up a seat at a round table next to the stairs, and sat facing the front. Efrain moved slowly to the doors, unlocking and opening them before rushing back, past me, to take up a position behind the bar with his club. We exchanged a glance before the trio entered, his confidence, mine sobriety.

“Early riser?” The frontman asked me, sporting a smile and a comfortable gait as he passed through the threshold with two lackeys in tail towards Efrain. His men were all chattel, I could feel it. Their auras were weak.

I stood abruptly and kicked out the chair with my legs, melding through a shadow in the floor to reappear behind them in the blink of an eye. Their surprise prompted them to turn towards the sound, to their right, which left them open for quick disposal. I placed my hands on their heads, respectively, and dissolved their matter into dust.

It was over in three seconds. Where once stood two Humans, proud and industrious, now sat two piles of grey soot. Their leader, however, although not Rodrigo, or at least, I assumed he wasn’t Rodrigo, was like Santiago and me, Ascended.

His eyes wandered to the floor and then back up to meet my gaze. “I apologise for trespassing, Upyr.” He addressed me respectfully. I reckon he immediately recognised the change in arrangements.

“The Silver Fawn is under new management, as you seem to understand. New policies, new policing. Keep the riff-raff at home if you decide you want to return, friend. I wouldn’t want them dirtying up my bar.” I explained, although his expression, remaining passive and positive neglected confusion or surprise.

“I appreciate the explanation, and your understanding of my nescience. I’m sure Rodrigo would appreciate meeting you, if you’d have him.”

“Bring him along tomorrow and we’ll talk, over tea. Come early, we’ll open before the crack of dawn.” To avoid unwanted interruption. We were nearly out of time to avoid the first patrols and crowds of locals rushing in to break their fast before work.

“I bid thee well, my friend.” He replied, and walked past me to depart. In the process of doing so he patted me singularly on the back.

“Grab a broom and clean up this mess.” I said to Efrain, whose awe I disregarded. He just stood there.

“Efrain.” I barked. “Get moving.” And he complied, the rapid aggression snapping him out of the daze. As time elapsed, and the people approached, I could hear their desperate musings and collective feet moving upon the dirt streets, so too did my time elapse to abuse the influence. He’d lose the memory of the executions, but the bias would linger.