When they reached Telemont Square, the temple guards were joined by a pair of soldiers wearing armbands of white, yellow, and slate gray. Joe had seen these shades on pennants and flags all throughout his forced march from the ship. He assumed they were the colors of Peregrin Harbor. Each of the city soldiers had a short sword at their waist and polearms with hooks and points that Joe knew were called bills. Joe tried to assess what order these guys belonged to without trying to directly assess them personally. Instead of focusing directly on the man, Joe tried to let his assessment just brush across him, kind of like letting his eyes go slightly out of focus. He hoped that by assessing them indirectly, it would make his peek less likely to be detected.
Peregrine Harbor City Watch: Level 20: Humanoid: Soldier
The guardsman didn’t react at all, leaving Joe both relieved and excited. It had not occurred to him until now that his skills had some flexibility in the way they were used. He looked at a nearby Aresa wearing a shawl of green and yellow feathers. Again he tried to lightly gaze at the horned man’s information instead of staring at it.
Khazbu Wildbreath: Aresa: Druid/Worldkin 15
Your skill [Assess Creature] has increased to rank 21.
The large horned highlander showed no sign of noticing either. Joe could not help but grin. In the back of his head, he knew he should probably be asking questions of either set of guards, but for the moment, he just wanted one simple good thing. He could worry about dank cells and chains later. For now, it was fun to see the classes and levels of those around him while he followed the marching armored guards.
Vaklug Brickbrewer: Dwarf: Delver/Stonecaller 23
Jyanjadha: Roca: Acrobat/Jester 12
Barzroz Bandarun: Jotun: Gladiator 8
Your skill [Assess Creature] has increased to rank 22.
Joe kept skimming across the crowd filling Temelmont Square until his Assess Creature hit skill level 25. After that, it did not go up again, no matter how many others he scanned. Joe realized that he was not going to be able to power level the skill indefinitely by speed-scanning crowds. From here on, he would have to Assess more challenging targets.
The other thing he realized was how the classes worked. He could have asked Hawking for sure but given the number of people he just looked at, he was pretty certain of when the second and third classes became available. Everyone under level 10 only had one class, and only those over level 30 had three classes. That meant that Joe needed three more levels before he could take a second class.
This whole process only took a few seconds, and in that time, the temple guards were having the city watchmen sign some sort of document. One of the centurions quickly scanned the document and then snapped it closed with a sharp motion. He handed the city guard a small bag while the other one yanked Joe’s arms up and removed his shackles. The pair spun about on their heels and marched back into the temple, leaving Joe and the watchmen staring after them.
“Pompous buggers ain’t they,” the shorter of the two men groused. The watchman was not actually short, so much as his partner was very tall. The one who spoke was Joe’s height, but he probably had a good 20 pounds or more of muscle on him. This guy was not someone Joe would want to try and match in any test of strength.
“Considering the way my day has been going, I’m just happy to not be dragged around by any more followers of the law gods.”
“Yeah, we heard ya got on the bad side o’Phealti’s bully-boys.”
“You heard?”
“Yup,” said the other guard. The tall man had a youthful face and clearly some jotun-blood in his family tree. He did not have the truly towering height of one of the purebred giantkin, but he stood several inches over six feet and had the similar hard features angular of that race. Joe carefully brushed his [Assess Creature] over the younger guard.
Osko Harman: Half-Giant: Fighter/Pikeman 20
“Wakely told us a little about what ya did on the Tide Dancer,” Osko continued. “Oh, and he told us ta give ya this and tell ya to drink up.”
The guardsman handed Joe a flask that was a dead ringer for the one the sailor carried but it looked new than the one Joe recalled. It was not fancy, just an ordinary steel hip flask, but, at that moment, the sight of it made Joe choke up. He did not realize all the tension that he had been carrying for the last few hours, or days even. Knowing that one guy was looking out for him, even if he was just a simple sailor, made Joe feel slightly less like a stranger in a foreign land. Joe downed a big swig before he remembered Wakely’s beverage choices. The harsh whiskey burned its way down the healer’s gullet, and before he could stop it, Joe let out a couple of choking gasps.
“Pay up, Osko,” the muscled guard laughed.
Newver Coltin: Human: Fighter/Legionnaire 21
“Damn it!” the tall Osko barked. “Wakely said he could handle his booze.”
“Yeah, but he just spent all morning getting his head hammered by the hardliners,” Newver replied. “No way was he not gonna take a gulp, and you know how Wake loves his rotgut.”
Osko handed over a couple of silver quins as Newver continued talking. “So we gots ta take you to a cell, but since you ain’t done nothing violent, we don’t have ta put you in the Hole. That’s good for you. We’re gonna take ya over to the Canakin. That’s way better for you. Now the food there is awful, but I don’t see why we couldn’t snag something off a cart as we pass, especially for a friend o’ a friend.
“But we gotta get something straight right first,” Never added, stopping to look Joe straight in the eyes. “You’re getting the soft glove treatment cause a mate o’ ours spoke real highly o’ ya. This is not our normal attitude with prisoners. You don’t want us ta be them boys. So, listen up. We are your guards, but if ya don’t try nothing stupid, then we can have ourselves a pleasant stroll on our way to the Can. You do try something hinky, and we’ll make ya regret it.”
Osko cracked his knuckles right on cue by Joe’s ear.
“What do ya say? Ya gonna be good?” Newver asked in a voice that held a calm but clear threat in it.
“Scouts honor. Something to eat and a place that is not called the Hole? Lead on McDuff.”
“Wake said you was a squirrely one. My name’s Newver. This is Osko. Awl’right. You stick close to us and we don’t need ta cuff ya. If you see or smell something that you think you wanna eat, let us know and we’ll grab it. Wake already spotted us a couple a crowns to pay for it. Keep in mind some o’ that coin was for our gentle manners. So no leviathan rolls or spiced hippogriff and gravy. Got it?”
“No problem, At this point, I am hungry enough to eat a horse, so I’m likely to overspend on quantity over quality.”
“We should take him to Dubbie’s then,” Osko suggested eagerly.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“Dubbie’s? Again? What is it with you and that place? The food ain’t that good.”
“It ain’t bad neither, and more important, Dubbie don’t skimp on portions. I can’t get by on a couple a sticks a meat like you, New. I need a bowlful. This guy says he’s starvin’. Besides, Dubbie’s is right on the way.”
“Alright. Dubbie’s it is. Again,” Newver said without much enthusiasm. Osko, on the other hand, gave Joe a huge nodding smile and a thumb’s up.
“So how is it that Wakely got you two here to meet me?”
“Ain’t much of a mystery. Most of the East Markets guards know Wake. He was one of us for, what was it, four years?”
“Six,” Osko corrected.
“Really? That long? I guess I can see that. He was a good guy to have in a fight, great with the people, but I never knew nobody who hated standing watches more than Wake did.”
“Remember when he left the palace postern wide open ‘cause he had ta help that old guy with his cart.”
“Yeah. That dumb move cost him a rank. Idiot.” the stocky guard scoffed, shaking his head. “He’s better off at sea.”
“He did seem pretty happy on the ship,” Joe added.
“That’s Wake. He can stand all day on that little deck but stick him on a street corner, and he gets all itchy. Well anyway, he came into the guardhouse this morning and said that he met a good man who got taken by the hardheads. He wasn’t sure if you’d be coming out, but, just in case, he asked if any of us would keep an eye out for ya. When we told him we’d do it, he handed out a crown to Osko here and me.”
“Wake was me first squad leader,” Osko said. “He’s the one who taught me how to use the bill.”
“Which explains why yer still so bad with it,” Newver huffed, suggesting this was a standing quip between the pair.
“At least I ain’t gotta stand on a bench every time I need ta scan the crowd.”
“Yes,” Newver replied in a voice thick with light-hearted condescension, patting his partner on the arm. “You are very tall. We’re all very proud o’ ya.”
Osko did not reply. Joe could tell that Newver probably won most of those exchanges. Joe started to smile when suddenly he became utterly aware of the street around him and all the people on it.
Now that he was not being hauled through the city or distracted by his skill usage, the sight of the kaleidoscope of people around him swamped his focus. Here he was witnessing the fantasy world of Illuminaria so much more clearly than in sleepy Crowfield. The three of them had left Telemont Square and were in the middle of another market, a block deeper into the city. People of every race from those first index screens wandered around the plaza, talking, buying, selling. Giantfolk towered over the humans, elves, and many other races. Broad-shouldered Aresa and wide dwarves had to push their way through the crowds while the small gnomes and lithe catfolk slid through effortlessly.
There were races Joe had not seen before, like the scaled reptilian people. There seemed to be a variety of types of lizardfolk. Some were heavily muscled with alligator-like coloring. Others were thin gecko-like humanoids with jewel-hued scales. Another race Joe saw was called the Nu. Where Arcinons, like Valek Ghan, were the embodiments of rigid order, the Nu were avatars of individuality. Their skin constantly changed color as it swirled into different patterns. They seemed to have no standard height. One was no taller than a gnome while another had the stature of a Jotun. One had horns and a tail, but neither of the other two he saw did. One had two pairs of eyes, one set above the other.
The variety of anamorphic races was also far beyond what Joe knew of. He had only skimmed the basic model of each race and had skipped most of the subraces before his freak-out landed him as a changeling. There were tortoise-folk and vulture people. A troop of grasshopper-looking humanoids was performing acrobatic stunts for the crowd. Plantfolk were not uncommon either. Joe had to stop as a mushroom being walked slowly past him.
They eventually reached Dubbie’s stall. The vendor was a satyr who was whirling around, stirring pots, filling bowls, and taking coins pretty much nonstop. The busy goatman looked at Osko and gave the tall guard a nod. Without stopping his service to the customers in front of him, Dubbie brayed, “Heyo Osko. Usual?”
“Nope. Three today. Got a hungry man here with us.” While Osko dropped some silver coins into a box bolted down to one of the countertops, Dubbie snagged three bowls off a stack and filled each first with a large scoop of some steaming gray-green grain. He then ladled on a thick gravy-like sauce, topping it all with hot meat and vegetables. It looked like a rice bowl, except the rice was one of the least appealing colors for food Joe had ever seen.
Newver must have noticed his face. “I know how ya feel. Marsh Sorghum kills my appetite too. It does taste better than it looks.”
“I’ll take your word for it. It really couldn’t look much worse.”
“Oh ho, you ain’t never seen chilled Crag Ooze. That stuff will turn you off food for a week. The Saurians love that gook. I can’t stand the sight of it, let alone the smell.”
“It’s not that bad,” Osko whispered low enough that his partner could not hear him over the noise of the market. Joe was not sure who to believe, but by the sound of it, he was glad he did not have to answer the question now.
Osko reached out and grabbed two extra bowls. He put one upside down over his bowl and handed the other to Joe. Joe looked and watched Newver bring his bowl up to his belt where it simply vanished. For the umpteenth time, Joe vowed to get himself a dimensional storage item as soon as his life was his own again. Osko’s big mitts were large enough to hold the two bowls together in one hand. Joe had to use both of his hands. Since he did not have to carry a polearm, like his guards, he could easily manage it.
The trio left the market, and, a block later, took a right-hand turn onto another wide avenue. A few minutes down that road, they passed a building that was clearly a garrison of the city watch. Men and women carrying hooked bills were entering and leaving the sturdy-looking structure. The sound of weapon training could be heard rising out from a walled yard. Many of the guards called out greetings to Newver and Osko. Joe noticed that subtle hand signs were being sent to his guards from those around the barracks. Joe guessed whatever Newver was signing back indicated there was no problem since questioning watchmen seemed to relax as soon as they saw the muscled guard’s replying gestures.
The next building down had barred windows and looked to be their destination. Joe was still expecting some dark foreboding prison even though Newver had ruled out whatever the ‘Hole’ was. This structure was not at all what he had been dreading. They entered a large room with desks and guards. Through a heavy open door in the far wall, Joe could see barred holding cells. Nothing about this room spoke of oppression and despair. It was clean and well-lit. It reminded Joe more of a Wild West sheriff’s office than any medieval dungeon, even though it was made more out of stone than wood.
“Alright, Joe. Let’s get you locked in for the night. I recommend you get yourself some rest. Looks like you are bound to a quest tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Newver. You guys have been a welcome change from the Phealti’s followers. Can I ask for one more thing?”
The stocky guardsman raised an eyebrow. “We got you a safe bunk and a meal. You sure you want to push your luck?”
“That’s just it. You got me food. Any chance of getting a spoon?”
A deep chuckle sounded over Joe’s head from Osko while Newver smiled and pulled a wooden spoon magically out of his belt. “Fair nuff. Now get in there.”
‘There’ was the central holding area. The room was divided into four sections; the walkway in front of the bars, a big central cell, and on each side were smaller cages. The one to his right had manacles stapled to the wall. Newver said the Can was not for violent offenders, but maybe they had to have a place to hold one temporarily. To his left, the cell bars were much closer together, and the benches inside were half the height of the ones in the main cell. The idea of cells designed for the smaller races was something that had never come up in Joe’s games. He wished he had thought of it.
Currently, there was no one in any of the cells. Joe had the place to himself, which suited him just fine. He had had very little time to himself ever since he had entered this world.
The cell door clanked shut behind Joe. The sound was sharp and distinct. That clang had been made iconic by hundreds of television shows from Joe’s prior life, yet he was neither cowed nor dismayed by its sound. The heavy thud of the door separating the two rooms followed. Joe was finally alone.
After Azbekt’s hostility, the court’s twisted accusations, the need of the refugees, Kaid’s acidic personality, and just the endless introduction of new people, the empty barred room felt like a sanctuary. For the moment, he was safe. He would hopefully have a few hours on his own to recharge his batteries before he had to deal with people again.
Best of all, as he lifted the top bowl off his meal, he had food. With his first bite, Joe was firmly siding with Osko. Ignoring the awful color of the grain was easy once Joe tasted the meal Dubbie had made. Wolfing down the well-seasoned dinner, Joe only wished he had thought to ask for something to drink, besides Wakely’s flask of rotgut whiskey.