“Um, hi. Do you sell underwear here?”
“Do want top, bottom, short or long ones?”
Was the indifferent reply from the old lady with little worry over trivial matters like customer service.
“Uh, can I see samples of the bottoms please.”
The lady quickly disappeared, appearing a few moments later with a few off-white cotton clothing pieces. There were obviously two types, both tied with top chords: shorter briefs and longer looser-fitting breeches. Sizes were haphazard and generally it was one size fits all in three categories: small, medium, and large, although small sized underwear best fitting children, was missing from the options the lady showed me. No doubt she came to that logical conclusion herself.
“How much for these?”
She smiled a nearly toothless smile that left me shuddering and pointed first to the briefs then to the breeches.
“This one, three silver. That one, five silver.”
What the heck! A second-hand pair of underwear costed as much as a day’s wages. Had I still been a woodcutter earning eighty coppers a day, I’d probably be wearing no underwear for months. I was suddenly struck by an unusual thought; just how many of the woodcutters I knew actually wore underwear if they were that expensive? Yeah, I decided it was best to rather not think about it. Grenfell once corrected my thinking about low woodcutter wages. Apparently, woodcutters usually earned a commission off the wood they chopped and processed, so depending on the wood type, they could earn more than the average wage.
There was no getting around it, I had to spend some serious money on clothing if I wanted to feel better. I felt determined to get as much as I could while I was there. At the end of my bargaining session, I ended up buying three knickers, a second shirt for me as a backup, and a decent jacket to replace the well-used mould smelling one Orilay kindly gave me. I never did manage to get rid of that awful damp smell on it, I even tried wind skill on it with limited success. I haggled her price down to one small gold coin for the lot, including three children’s underwear thrown into the mix. When I handed the gold coin over to the lady, she put it in her mouth and bit down on it.
“Is there something wrong with the coin?”
“Ah, no problem. Coin is fine.”
She grinned with satisfaction and put the coin away.
“We have problem with bad gold coins.”
In that case I could understand her actions. Seems there may have been problems with fake gold coinage. Pure gold coins were soft enough that a bit of pressure from biting down on it could dent it. Any added metals would strengthen the coin and it wouldn’t dent. That way the old lady could check the coin before accepting it. I don’t know what made me feel worse, that she felt she needed to test a coin from me, or that she used her rotten teeth on the coin. I certainly wasn’t going to put gold coins anywhere near my mouth in future. From then onwards I decided to validate any gold coinage I received with my appraisal skill before accepting them from anyone. Back to the lady, I planned to get some clothing for Alma and Orilay’s kids while I could and the old lady’s keen sales sense cottoned onto that, because she offered me some decent discounts on children’s clothing. I had to think hard about it since I only had two small gold coins left on me, but I felt I really wanted to help the orphans. I closed my eyes, imaging each of the boys and girls in the orphanage and realised I couldn’t say no. I tried my best to remember the different sizes for the orphans, thinking of the smallest nose picker all the way to eldest sister helping Alma in the kitchen. Since children grew faster than clothes wore out, I suspected many of them would soon outgrow their hand-me-downs. With that in mind I decided to go a size up for all of them.
Eventually I haggled the old lady for more underwear, pants, shirts, and girls’ dresses eventually adding up to one gold and fifty silvers. I considered warmer clothing, but if I thought normal clothing was expensive, the cold gear turned out to be at least three times as much, and I just couldn’t afford it. The sales lady said a sad farewell to me and even threw in a rough cloth bag into the deal for free. I think she enjoyed the bargaining as much as the final sale. However, I only had fifty silvers from my original three small gold coins I earned for fixing the portico gate and I was quickly heading down broke lane again. It was only then it dawned on me that I never thought of selling the cold gear clothing I found in the pocket dimension storage. I’d look to sell it on another occasion then, perhaps when I desperately needed more money.
While walking back to the inn, I wondered if I could somehow buy warm clothing. Especially for Alma, Orilay and the rest of the family. From what I could remember, they didn’t have much to keep them warm and wrongly or rightly, I felt obliged to help them. I knew well enough to understand Orilay wouldn’t allow them to suffer, but if summer already posed a challenge to them, then what challenges would winter offer? Unless they hid a larder under the house somewhere I didn’t see, I couldn’t fathom how they intended to feed themselves.
The obvious solution lay half a day’s travel from the city. On earth, our ancestors once hunted rabbits and furry animals for food and winter clothing. I could hunt and trap animals for their fur. I pushed my thoughts to the back of my mind when at the inn I found Grenfell returned from his networking session and already sitting in the dining hall with a drink in his hand. He waved me over and I joined him. The innkeeper approached us.
“Would you like anything to drink?”
That little trip of mine left me parched so I ordered the only drink I trusted.
“I’ll take the inns’ available fruity alcoholic beverage. Do you have ice with that?”
When I asked if it came chilled, he looked at me like I said something incomprehensible. As it turned out, ice remained something of a luxury only the wealthy afforded. Even though it snowed in the winter, locals only managed to store snow for a few moon cycles in underground stores and not in the form of clean ice. They only used ice to store food and not for cooling drinks. The innkeeper patiently explained that decent ice worth drinking came at a hefty price because it required teams of men to harvest that ice off glaciers in the Mystral mountains. No doubt retrieving that ice remained a challenging feat. Travelling distance, climbing, avoiding rockfalls and surviving icy conditions remained the least of their problems. From my little experience on that world, I surmised that monsters added a far bigger issue to overcome.
“Ah, Satou. Did you manage to get a chance to look around?”
Grenfell’s question distracted me from my pointless thoughts.
“A little, went to look at the market to see what they had there, but it closed by the time I got there and then two gentlemen decided I needed an education in manners.”
“What happened?”
He sighed in resignation, knowing I couldn’t stay out of trouble.
“Those men became my proselytes. Look for two idiots sporting round tattoos on their foreheads and you’ll know they’re mine.”
Grenfell shook his head; he knew exactly what I was referring to. Afterall, I used a similar technique as practice on the trees during our travels.
“I could’ve sworn I said not to run in with the locals?”
“I certainly wasn’t looking for trouble.”
He started to say something again when a commotion at the door suddenly caught our attention. A royal messenger strode through the door, his spotless uniform marked him unmistakably as a royal messenger because he sported more flashy trimmings than a pimped-up ride. His attire never knew the meaning of the word dust was, let alone catching it anywhere in the city outskirts. I caught a glimpse of a royal carriage and two horsemen outside the door, obviously palace escorts. I doubted they were there for emotional support, especially since they all wore long, sharp, and shiny pointy things on their waists.
In a loud, well-trained voice, the royal messenger announced his title and purpose to everyone in the hall, regardless of who they were or their purpose for being there.
“I’m the royal messenger from His Majesty, King Leopold, ruler of Aryonne. I am sent by His Majesty to deliver a message to a one, Grenfell Sotherly.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
He looked around the room as if demanding a reply. I think everyone was just too shocked to say anything, after all, just how many times did a royal messenger rock up at the door demanding to speak to someone? Heck, he even impressed me to the point that I couldn’t but stare at the spectacle for a moment. But Grenfell never wavered and immediately stood up.
“Are you Grenfell Sotherly?”
The royal messenger turned to look at Grenfell.
“Yes, I am.”
The messenger strode towards Grenfell with purposeful steps. He walked as if he accidentally sat on a broomstick, his back straight as a rod. I got a sharp look from Grenfell as I stifled a laugh, the messenger strongly reminded me of the Sheriff of Rottingham in Robinhood, Men in Tights. I could hear him saying, ‘walk this way!’
“Grenfell Sotherly, His Royal Majesty, King Leopold, invites you to join him as his guest to the royal palace. You shall leave immediately at your earliest convenience. We will take care of all your goods and possessions. Please follow me to the royal carriage.”
It fascinated me no ends that we could leave at our earliest convenience, yet we had to follow him immediately. I don’t think the messenger was used to anyone giving him any flak over his choice of words. Should I walk that way, I wondered? I died to say something, but a smart look from Grenfell warned me not to do anything stupid. I sighed as I followed him to the waiting carriage. He was no fun. We climbed inside the carriage while broomstick man remained outside, seated next to the driver.
My eyes and neck hurt by the time we arrived at Shimmerstal’s palace. I suffered from ocular fatigue because there was that much to see in the higher regions of the city and my neck hurt from all the rubbernecking. For the first time I travelled past the middle city walls into a wholly different world. Gone were the tidy cottages and instead, whitewashed houses lined the streets like the quintessential fantasy city houses with their black painted vernacular framework over white panelling. Comparatively speaking, the houses in the lower city region between the middle and lower walls seemed simpler in nature and looks than those in the upper city region. But it was far more than the housing that attracted my attention. The trading stores in the higher city were far superior in exterior quality. Judging by their liberal use of small glass paned windows, far more affluent. We travelled past the stores far too quickly to see any of the shop’s displayed wares, and I may have picked up a mild case of whiplash from trying. The middle wall sported its own gatehouse guards who simply waved the royal carriage through.
Another set of guards waited for us at the palace entrance gate. Unlike the previous two wall gates, that one was not fortified and was only a wall about two meters high with aesthetic iron barred openings about every so often that showed plush-lawn vistas with the palace as a backdrop. It would have made for a wonderful postcard on earth. We were immediately ushered through the gate along a wide paved road. On the other side of the gate, a copse of gardeners busied themselves trimming low hedges, cutting lawn edges and the vast lawns. I had a strange feeling the large, flat, featureless lawns were as much as a barrier as any wall. Uninvited persons trying to cross the lawn unseen or unchallenged would find the task next to impossible since they stood out like red pimples on a beautiful pristine face. And besides, I doubted the bastions on the palace roof were purely architectural in nature. The OCD part of me counted thirty large windows on the first floor of the double storey palace that reminded me of a similar style to Buckingham Palace. I tended to do OCD things like that when I felt nervous. The palace intersected into left and right wings by a central square-shaped colonnaded balcony.
Rounding a small circular piazza, the carriage stopped in front of a flight of marbled stairs that led to the balcony where a small group of palace attendants met us. There were three women and three men, and they all wore smart black uniforms with gold trimmed embroidery and gold buttons. The men’s jackets were short with long arms, neat fitting and smart whereas the women’s dresses came down to their feet and they also wore jackets, but shorter than the men’s. Because none of the attendants wore hats, I suspected they worked indoors most of the time. The door of the carriage opened, and we were greeted by a gauntlet of attendants, three on each side. The oldest male attendant welcomed us.
“Shimmerstal palace welcomes you Sir Grenfell Sotherly and Shane Karosaki.”
I didn’t realise the old man had a title. Judging by his aged face, his white hair and the numerous buttons on the attendant’s lapel, it seemed to indicate he was the head attendant there. I had no idea what to do or say in that occasion, so I left the talking to Grenfell, who seemed to know exactly what to do.
“Ha, Duke Waldheim, long time no see old man. The kids keeping you going?”
That was exactly what I planned to say, not. It would probably be the last on my list if I had one. No doubt a history there and not the first time the old man visited the palace.
“Nice to see you again, Sir Sotherly.”
“What’s all this sir stuff. Call me Grenfell, after all, we all went to military school at the same time.”
Yeah, and I was happy for them to keep their war time stories to themselves. Duke Waldheim’s face reddened slightly.
“Please come with me sir. The king awaits.”
At least Duke Waldheim’s face was smiling, I guess he was happy to see the old man but in his capacity as head attendant, he couldn’t be too informal in front of everyone. As we followed Duke Waldheim I couldn’t but wonder about the name similarities with the previous human owner of the Crimson Battle Axe, that monstrosity I constantly dragged behind me. I was about to ask Grenfell about it when he shook his head.
“I’ll explain later.”
Was all he needed to say. The duke led us up the stairs through the colonnade balcony to the large, guarded doors. I could appreciate the artistry of the doors which liked a bit like patterned Turkish inlaid doors. The ornate, wide hall we stepped into I assumed was the reception area. Ahead of us, a red carpet carried on towards another to elaborately set of doors I assumed led to a throne room.
Instead of moving forward the duke unexpectedly ushered us left, through a side door into a wide, sunny corridor extending the wing length of the building. On our left were a row of windows, each made up with numerous panes of slightly translucent panes of glass. Some of the hinged windows opened downwards to allow fresh air. Through those paned windows, I caught glimpses of the road we travelled on to approach the palace as well as breath-taking views of the city below. Although I really wanted to stop for a moment to look, the head attendant continued walking down the corridor passing closed doors to offices on the right. The OCD in me counted two windows for every door in the corridor which meant there were at least seven rooms, I assumed were offices of sorts. My guess was proven correct when we stopped at the second door from the end which I assumed led to the king because it was the only door with two very imposing complimentary guards. Lightly armoured they carried what looked like short halberds. I couldn’t imagine effectively swinging anything longer in that corridor, as wide as it was.
“Please wait.”
Said the attendant as he knocked on the nearby door, opened it and then closed it behind him again. After half a minute the door opened but that time the attendant held the door open, allowing us to step through.
We entered a red carpeted office with three comfortable red-leather couches positioned closely together on three sides of a square. A facing desk finished off the fourth side of the square, placed on the far side of us.
An imposing man with a neatly trimmed beard sat behind the desk could only be king Leopold. He looked to be in his late fifties but judging by his fit physique he stilled worked out and I could be wrong about his age. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but he and Commander Karato shared a similar air. I’d be wise not to get into a one-on-one battle with him. He might look older, but he’d seen his fair share of battles no doubt.
“Come in, come in. Please make yourselves comfortable.”
He motioned for us to sit down on the couches.
We bowed slightly.
“Your Majesty.”
King Leopold stood up.
“Yes, yes, all the pomp. Graham that old attendant of mine always insisted on decorum. Do you know he was first my personal tutor when I was a boy?”
Somehow, I could see that. The head attendant would totally fit that profile.
“Grenfell, it has been a long time. Hold on for a moment. Thank you, Graham. Perhaps you can arrange some tea for us?”
The head attendant bowed his head, closing the door behind him on the way out.
“Yes, it has. How are you doing Gregory?”
Grenfell replied to the king. Right from that moment there was no doubt in my mind that the two knew each other. Being on a first name basis with a king meant you either knew the king extremely well or you had a death wish. In that scenario I detected an underlying current of competitiveness between them for some reason.
“Still busy as ever. How’s it going with Lucille?”
“You know her, still the same and hardly changes. It’s me that doing all the aging.”
At the time I didn’t understand why King Leopold found that statement funny but afterwards it dawned on me that Lucille must have been an elf. Elvish lore pointed to the well-known longevity of elves so doubtlessly Grenfell’s joke pointed at him ageing more than Lucille. Sadly, I understood the
“Well, I have to say that I didn’t expect to meet you again under these circumstances, and I am sorry that you were forced to come to Shimmerstal instead of going home. As it is, we were lucky the Royal Knights could defend the backline as we retreated, otherwise it would have been a far worse situation. Hopefully we’ll have the road open in the next few lunar cycles, but I can’t guarantee that now that we have lost control of the Blister Oak Forest. Our military focus will shift to relieve the monster’s pressure on our northern trade route.”
Blister Oak Forest. That was the first time I heard the name of the forest the monster dungeon resided in. The northern trade route the king mentioned would be the road to Draguilet City in the north. Grenfell mentioned that the route would come under pressure from monster attacks if the forest dungeon wasn’t subdued. I guess we found ourselves in that situation. Grenfell wordlessly nodded at the king’s words, there was nothing more to add.
“Is there a way of getting word to Obon that we’re safe?”
The king looked concerned at Grenfell’s request.
“I can’t say we could expect a courier to get there on the main route any time soon, two moon cycles at the earliest.”
“I understand. We’ll do what we can under the circumstances.”
“Good. I’m happy to have a master weaponsmith here, and I’ll make sure we have something set up for you soon. Meanwhile feel free to tell me if there is anything you need. As compensation for your troubles, the palace has free accommodation in the both the higher and lower city regions for you.”
He looked around as if checking that there was no-one observing them and whispered in a voice just too loud to be of any secretive value.
“I have covertly tried various inns out before…and I can recommend them.”
I got a distinct impression the king occasionally liked getting out incognito. Up to that point in the conversation I’d pretty much avoided the king’s attention but that suddenly changed.
“Ah. I have heard some interesting things about you from others, Shane Karosaki.”