“My most sincere apologies, can we be of assistance?” The way the doorman says it sounds so much more like a threat than his words would ever suggest, but he delivers it with just the right kind of blank face I’ve come to know so well in professional security the world over. He’s real large for a human, significantly taller than I am and very broad across his shoulders, built like a particularly heavy orc in fact, almost wide as he is tall, and with no neck at all. The fact that the other man stepping out to join him is almost as big is not lost on me either, his expression as practiced blank as his colleague’s but form still radiating just as much threat.
They’re certainly real impressive as well as intimidating, their clothes the richest I’ve ever seen hired muscle wear, in fact. A mixture of robes and well-made, highly stylised martial uniforms, giving them a certain rakish flow as they move, but clearly made for ease of movement and some protection while still making them appear smart and professional. Silk and linen mixed with wool, but with a significant amount of tough leather in the mix too. And neither make any effort to hide the longswords hanging at their hips.
Doing my best to keep from frowning, I give Sonagh a sidelong glance and he coughs into his fist to clear his throat as he steps forward. “Maybe you could, we’ll have to see. We’re here to see Master Refik Hontiresk.”
The first doorman looks him over for a long beat, and while his expression don’t get any more readable, I get the impression he’s going over Sonagh’s response as much as checking him over. I learned long ago not to take folk on first impressions, but neither o’ these two look all that bright, ‘least not outside the pretty narrow requirements of their profession.
Sonagh certainly looks a good deal more impressive than he has any right to given he was nearly dead less than a week ago. His bugbear barman Dow, who was apparently once a corporal and most his trusted right-hand when he was a sergeant in the Regulars back in the War, certainly set him up well when he promptly answered his call from the temple. Not only did he bring his sword, which he’s wearing just as prominently on his own hip, but also a change of clothes. It’s not quite as striking as his old armour might’ve been, but the battered but well-maintained leather tunic and jacket certainly serve well enough to make him look tough as any old soldier I used to know. Together with his tight ponytail, steely gaze and strong, steady back, he sure don’t look like any kind of pushover right now.
I’m making the full effort myself, even though after last night I don’t feel much better myself. That fall into Big Man’s un-cushioned grasp sure didn’t do my back any favours, even if I did land on top of Shay, who managed to take the brunt of that hit, and even after Krakka and one o’ the temple’s clerics gave me a once-over I still been a little sore since. There’s a lingering stiffness in me, thankfully more in my back than my limbs, but it’s enough I reckon I might be a touch slower’n I’d really like if I had to proper move right now. I’m still really hoping I can just get by on bluffing here.
So I brought my best game here with me instead. I put on my spare jerkin and so Hefdred could hang good and proud at my side, and while I washed the grease outta my hair again I still tied what there is back the best I could to keep it out my face. What’s on top o’ my scalp still ain’t really long enough for a proper ponytail, instead just making for a messy topknot, but with the sides and the back o’ my neck still shorn close I should look suitably fierce, even without the black strip painted across my eyes.
Ain’t taking any chances with it, anyway. I got plenty o’ knives on me ‘well as da’s sword, and I got Yes to dig my spare jack-of -plates outta her bag of holding since the one I been wearing since we left Hocknar got pretty comprehensibly ruined by Tavarrat’s nasty little surprise in the Hardway. It’s the first time I really worn this one so it still needs some breaking in, a little stiff and itchy over my shirt right now, but I’m trying not to let it get to me. Maybe if it does come to a fight I can turn the irritation into a little angry fuel. Certainly with this under the rest o’ my gear I don’t need to worry so much about taking a sly knife in the back, at least.
Thel’s scrubbed up pretty well too, all things considered. I had a couple o’ the clerics give her one last little boost before we left, just to make sure she could stay on her feet and actually be able to carry her weapons without falling over, and it seems to have done a good enough job to at least make her look ready again. She changed into some of her less showy leather gear, but definitely ain’t scrimped on the armaments, bringing her battleaxe along with both handaxes and almost as many knives as I have. She ain’t quite lost the dark smudges round her eyes yet, but the way she’s scowling up at these two right now reckon it could probably be mistaken for smeared kohl.
Besides, it’s Tulen who’s the most uncomfortable one here right now. It was hard enough getting her out of Sessa’s recovery room, but then when she heard my plan she became even more reluctant. I’m not sure I can entirely blame her, she’s clearly deeply nervous about being part o’ something that could potentially blow up bad enough to become a major black-eye for the Silver Order, given we’re here largely on their behest. I wanted to bring her along to give this a little more official weight, but if it were to become an actual incident then it could look very bad for her indeed.
But this is as much for Gael as it is for Madame Daste and Lord Wralin and all their friends and confidantes that’ve been snuffed out this past day and night, and it was enough to get her on board after all. So she pulled on a fresh set of robes, something a little more businesslike this time round, and strapped her own sword back on, as well as finally bowing to Lady Naru’s advice and accepting a loaned staff from the temple. It’s quite a simple piece o’ work compared to most wizard’s staffs I’ve seen, just a simple wooden stave with a few bands of burnished steel beaten into the top, but it looks like it’ll serve well enough for her. And she’s brought her wand and components too, just in case she needs to work some magic after all.
Just as I’m about to clear my own throat and step in to back Sonagh up, the first doorman rumbles: “D’you have an appointment?”
“No, we don’t. But we do have business with him, all the same.” Sonagh don’t move a muscle this time, and his inflection doesn’t change at all. He ain’t giving nothing away.
This just makes the huge man frown even deeper. “Well I’m afraid Master Hontiresk couldn’t possibly see you without one, I’m afraid, whether you got business or not. He’s a real busy man, you understand, and it’s a matter of professional courtesy and propriety.”
Well that settles it, all these big ten copper mark words he’s bandying about speak to this fellow’s intelligence as much as anything else. He may be built like a bruiser, but he clearly ain’t all pure muscle in that skull. Maybe that’s par for the course, though, from what I’m learning about the man I suspect Hontiresk likely prefers to surround himself with smart henchmen. It’d would just make it easier.
“And yet, here we are.” I interject, keeping my voice level as Sonagh’s doing. I got my hands folded behind my back, my feet planted and my expression coolly neutral, not presenting an intentional threat but just letting my sword and size speak loud enough for me. “Trust me, fellas, it’s gonna be very much in his interest to speak with us. It’s better’n the alternative.”
The second one steps a little closer, his own brows knitting a little tighter too, and the first one rolls his shoulders a little as he straightens up to make himself seem even taller. “Now I’m sure that weren’t intended as an actual threat. Cuz that would be foolish.”
“Oh no, of course not. I’m just stating facts. Everything would simply go much smoother if we were allowed to speak to him. Other way’s where the problems start.”
Through the corner of my eye I see Tulen shuffle her feet a little as she moves a little closer to me, and she’s starting to look more nervous than ever. Like she can sense how much of a knife’s edge this is actually sitting on right now …
I really didn’t think the first doorman’s frown could grow any deeper, but it does as he cocks his head a little, looking me over once more, and this time I’m sure his eyes actually linger on Hefdred just for a split. Evaluating me proper now. His fingers flex and curl tight again for a moment as he ponders, which ain’t a good sign.
Honestly, I’d rather not have to follow through on any threats, implied or otherwise. Never mind that it’d be one hell of an incident, looking at these two I ain’t convinced me and Sonagh could actually take ‘em. I know full well Thel ain’t actually up to real violence. Tulen could probably turn the tide if it actually came to it, but that might just make things a whole lot worse.
“No, don’t reckon you will be seeing Master Hontiresk today, Mistress. As I said, not without an appointment. Now, I’d rather you were on your way. Perhaps you could catch the matinee. It’s a whole new production, I’m told.” He offers up a smile, like he’s doing us a favour with this recommendation, but it falls flat together due to the complete lack of change in his tone. Then he gestures to the curving, thickly-carpeted ramp back down the way we came, round the corner. “If you would …”
I just turn to Sonagh again, and he looks my way almost on cue. He simply shrugs, but the way he shifts his stance while letting his wrist hook over his sword’s hilt, only casually resting but with his hand right there if he did need to draw, makes a point on its own.
I just shuffle my own feet again, letting my weight settle onto my left foot while I give my head a cocked little tilt while I let my gaze return to the more garrulous doorman. “Yeah, like I said, ain’t gonna happen. Maybe you should just toddle on back inside and let your high and mighty boss know Kesla Shoon wants a word.”
His jaw tightens as his eyes narrow, and I think I see his composure slip just a little. He turns just enough to give his companion a subtle sidelong glance, and he moves a step forward too, moving out on the left, but his own expression don’t change at all, like his face ain’t even capable. I’m still not sure if this one’s bright as his friend, but he’s ‘least sharp enough to pick up on his cues.
Finally the first one steps closer, and even if his face weren’t clearly darkening the way he’s squaring up now tells me he’s contemplating violence. “Now look here, luv, don’t reckon you heard me, I –”
“That’ll do, Grib.” The voice that checks him is gentler, but similarly deep, richer in tone but carrying similar weight. “You heard the lady sure enough. Best run and give the Master her message.”
The effect this has on both the doormen is surprising, but the more verbal one in particular. They both immediately snap to attention, but he also spins on the spot to dip a very clipped, deferential nod to the newcomer who’s ducked through the door with uncanny stealth before stepping round him and folding himself the best he can back through. The other one stays where he is, but suddenly he’s being very particular about not paying attention to any of us now, like it ain’t his place to actually acknowledge what’s happening.
Curious about this intriguing change in both demeanours, I take a moment to look the newcomer over, immediately surprised to see he’s a full-blooded orc like Sonagh. That being said, they otherwise couldn’t seem more different if they tried.
Sonagh looks like a bone-deep veteran, a real fighter, it’s etched in scars over every inch of him, and ain’t afraid to let folk know he once fought for his country. That longsword at his side is clearly a soldier’s weapon that’s seen a lot of use, a long double-handed hilt with a thick, heavy pommel of simple dark iron and a similarly workmanlike cross-guard, somewhat like a bastard sword. The width of the sheath, though, makes it abundantly clear the blade’s a good deal broader, likely it’s one heavy weapon, well-suited for a true orc as it’s designed to be laid about in big, hard haymaking swings designed to cut foes down left and right in the midst of heavy battle. It’s not a finessed weapon any more’n he’s a finessed warrior, I suspect, but he never made any bones at pretending otherwise.
This one, on the other hand … looking him over, I get the feeling he likely served too, but he’s a good deal younger, likely didn’t see anywhere near so much o’ the battlefield before the Occupation, and for now looks to have mostly gotten by without many real marks. He’s also every inch a good deal smarter in his presentation than Sonagh too, dressed somewhat similar to the two doormen but his costume is a good deal more expensive, genuinely cut to fit and really rather dashing, actually. It don’t look like a uniform on him, these clothes are more like something he chooses to wear which just compliments the style o’ the rest.
This care in his appearance extends to his grooming, too. He wears his thick, naturally shaggy black hair trimmed fairly short for an orc that don’t just shave his head instead, cropped a little below his jawline and clearly slicked back with much more expensive oils than I ever use. His beard’s full but trimmed real close all the same, seeming less like a particularly thick scruff than something he obviously pays a lot of attention to curating on a morning. As he lets his hand rest in a very obvious conscious gesture on his own sword’s hilt I notice his nails are almost ridiculously well-maintained too, which is something I never heard of an orc doing. This is one seriously cultured son of a bitch, clearly.
But that sword at his hip … yeah, that’s a warning clear as his manner, all the same. In spite of all his fancy duds and fancy grooming, that sword speaks volumes about how serious he really is. This one is a bastard sword, like my own, guard and pommel looking like darkly polished copper ‘stead of steel but clearly well-worn as Hefdred, while the particular soft sheen o’ the leather on the hilt says it’s been handled a lot.
He looks at us all with a good deal more calm care than the two doormen did, one brow cocking just a little as he gives Sonagh a once-over, definitely measuring him up. They’re both of a size with one another, so it’s more like a younger man measuring himself up to his obvious elder. For now they both seem to be tolerant enough of each other, but I wonder how easily this could turn into a pissing contest, and how bad that could be for the rest of us.
Finally he turns to me, giving me a second, closer examination now, and Hefdred in particular. Finally he tips his chin up, cocking his head just a little. “You’d be Mistress Shoon, I take it? Doubt very much the daughter of Edhril Shoon joined the Silver Order, after all.” He shoots a quick glance at Tulen, and through the corner of my eye I see her cheeks start to darken a little again.
I just maintain my air of indifference as I leave my own hand where it is on my sword too as a counterpoint. “You reasoned right there, mate. That’d be me.”
Nodding, he shifts his own footing to match mine. Like he’s reading me as the biggest threat here, even though Sonagh’s bigger and very obviously an orc like him. “Seems about right. You’re definitely big enough. So I understand you have … business with Master Hontiresk here? But you don’t have n appointment, which does make things rather … difficult for me. Means I have to make it difficult for you.”
“You mean like us handing everything over before you’ll let us through, something like that? And I suspect you’re probably gonna request we leave Tulen out here, since you can’t trust a wizard won’t try anything anyway, even without any weapons, if we’re so inclined as to make things more difficult for you. We on the same page there?”
He tilts his head a little more as he waves his free hand off to the side in a little shrug. “That would be the smart play if I were to let you through. And yet …”
“And yet, that ain’t gonna happen. Not after what we been put through this past week at the behest o’ your boss and the hands o’ the people working for him.” I step forward now, brushing past Sonagh now as I get right up in front of the newcomer, and look right up at him. He may have five whole inches on me but I still give him the full force of my blank stare. “So we ain’t giving up our weapons, not for you, or anybody else you send. We see Hontiresk as we are. And we will be seeing him.”
The orc looks right back down at me for a long beat, not blinking, and I try my damnedest to do the same, even though it does start to niggle at my eyes some after a little while. Then he finally smiles, not quite stepping back but still shifting his footing again so he can give me a little space after all. “Yeah, reckon I like you as much as I thought I would. You really are his little girl.” He tips a respectful little nod now. “Gubal Spine-Render. I’m Master Hontiresk’s chief o’ security. Means what I say goes on that front. So if you won’t be handing over your weapons, but you still insist on this, then I’ll have your word you’re all gonna behave.” He gives me a particularly pointed look now, serious again. “You being his daughter, given what I know of the man himself, imagine you’re cut from the same cloth, so …”
Damn it … he’s got me there. Maybe I can at least trust it means he’ll make sure things go easier on us in there, so I don’t have to keep one eye wandering the whole time just in case. So I take a deep breath and step forward again, extending my free hand even as I keep the other right where it already is. “Yeah, sure. You have my word. And that’ll go for the rest of us too. Obviously. So long as you extend us the same courtesy, o’ course.”
This time he proper grins, not even needing to step forward this time as he just reaches out to give my hand a good, hard crush. Not tight enough to hurt me, but he definitely makes the point that he could if he wanted to. “I’ll do what I can. Long as you behave.”
As he lets go again and steps back, the original doorman ducks back through and lumbers over, still frowning up a storm. He gives me a particularly dark look as he arrives, his jaw clenched tight, then leans in close to mutter to this Gubal fellow: “Boss says all right, he’ll see ‘em. If you’re sure it’s safe, that is.”
“We just worked that out, yes.” He gives the big man a gentle tap in the side of his arm and starts to back up towards the doorway, gesturing for us to make our way inside as he opens some room for us now. “By all means, after you.”
Turning back, I step up to Tulen and lean close, lowering my voice to a whisper now. “Might be the best time.”
The dragonhalf frowns at me for a beat, flicking a look past me as she’s clearly watching Gubal and the rest of this particularly intimidating security force. “You’re sure?”
“Enough.” I give a little shrug, and turn away before she can answer, stepping after Sonagh as he follows Thel through the doorway. The fact that she’s a moment catching up with us after tells me that she did indeed bow her head for a moment and close her eyes with her hands folded so she could send Lady Naru the go-message.
Stepping into the long, curving corridor beyond, the light remains the same with more of those brightly burning oil-lamps lining the walls, not to mention more of that rich gold leaf detailing so much more of everything here, as it did on the way in. This whole place is just covered in the stuff, I noticed, an almost ridiculous nod to unapologetic highborn opulence highlighting vast stretches of intricately carved wooden moulding lining the walls. It picks up the lamplight and intentionally reflects it, seeming to make every inch of the place gleam and glisten around us, like we’re in some absurdly clean gold mine with thick red carpets under our feet.
Honestly, I never really been one for the theatre, but I’ve gone to a few shows in Hocknar since we set up our base there, mostly at the insistence of Gael, who enjoyed having an occasional opportunity to enjoy something of her old life back in Bavat. Granted, the few playhouses there are in that far more northern city ain’t no great shakes, they’re just poky converted warehouses filled with simple bench-seating with a stage set up at one end and backrooms for the cast and crew. And the companies that ply their trade there, they tell me, are somewhat amateurish compared to those in bigger cities, but they make up for their lack of training with enthusiasm, and I’ll admit the few times we been I’ve enjoyed myself well enough. I know Tabaphic has the biggest and most expensive playhouses in all of Rundao, but back then I never had time or taste for any of that, so it’s been an interesting learning experience for me.
I’m definitely getting an idea of what that’s really all about now, though. This place is nothing like those ramshackle, makeshift old buildings up north, it’s like I stepped into a whole other world. Something as strange and alien to me as any time I ever set foot in any rich estate or official seat of government during our business before now, but a whole lot more baffling, too. We’ve arrived a little before the matinee, I understand, pretty much muscled our way in before Sonagh guided us up here, but the place is already starting to come alive as folk get ready for the big show. Apparently this is the first matinee performance of a brand new play, just opened, and the whole place is alive with feverish activity to make sure the second performance runs as smooth as last night’s big premier.
Before we left Sonagh conferred with Sirsk, before they went off with Shay and Lady Naru, to work out the best way to go about getting hold of Hontiresk, and after we’d finally won ‘em over to this particular plan, at least dubiously, they came up with this place. Apparently while his main domain of influence here in Untermer is the docks, the Administrator prefers to defer much of the day-to-day business of running that to his various underlings, preferring to concentrate his own attentions on where his true passion lies. The theatre, particularly the Oceanic Playhouse, which is supposedly the true crown jewel of the arts in all of Tao. And he owns the place …
To be fair, his family has owned it for generations, but since he was the only child of his late father it’s essentially the same thing. He was raised around this place, as much as in their rich, expansive estate, and it permeated deep into his blood over the years, becoming the one thing that mattered the most to him in all the world. He spends most of his working time here, at least when he doesn’t have to be at Redarra House or the Transit House to take care of those aspects of Administration business that he absolutely must handle himself. Schmoosing with his richest investors, moulding the talent, or just indulging in his biggest personal vice – theatricality itself. He lords over every aspect of the Playhouse’s operation, making sure everything is operating at its most optimal setting at all times, and reaping the rewards that this then bestows upon him.
This place is a money-making machine, apparently. For centuries, his family have been living large off the profits they been able to squeeze out this place, even at the height of the Wars when the country was at its most fearful, although in a way that makes perfect sense. When shit’s at its worst folk will do anything to distract themselves, and what could be better than the evocative fantasy world theatre allows them to dive into for three or more hours at a time? Hontiresk almost don’t need an inheritance with what he can pull out of here in just a month …
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Since they just opened a brand new play, there was nowhere else that he was going to be. Sirsk tells us he has a relatively modest apartment in the topmost level of the backstage for whenever he has to stay overnight, so he likely never even left after the premier. So we went to the temple’s private teleportation circles and Tulen worked her magic and dropped the four of us right outside, and now here we are.
There’s music coming from the main chamber of the theatre itself, but it ain’t like anything I ever heard. It’s not particularly tuneful, more like just rising and falling notes on various instruments, and it keeps starting and stopping. I asked Tulen about it earlier, when we were making our way round to this entrance to the box seats, and she said that it’s the orchestra warming up for their performance. That boggled me some, hearing that – an orchestra? An honest to the gods fucking orchestra? Bloody hell, back in Hocknar the places we went to had to make do with glorified tavern bands, and even then they’d mostly just strike up to accompany bawdy jigs or ballads the actors might strike up during the course of a play. She told me that here they play quite often throughout the performances, in order to create what she called “atmospheric ambience”. I never heard of anything like it, in fact it weirds me out. Music to accompany the characters living their lives, that’s just … wrong to me.
“Have you never been to an opera, then?” Thel asked me after that, and I had to shake my head. I understand the concept, Gael’s explained it to me, and I’ve heard snatches of some when I’ve met other wizards, they seem to enjoy weaving spells that let them play what they call “recordings” out of thin air. But even so that’s even more of a truly alien concept to me. Folk going round singing about everything they’re doing instead of just talking, or even just doing it … bloody rich people proper confuse me sometimes.
“So what’s the show?” I find myself asking now as Gubal catches up with me and falls into step on my left. He cocks a brow as he watches me for a beat, likely wondering what I mean. “The play. That just opened.”
“Ah, yes. Of course.” He smiles again, and it’s a good deal more disarming this time. Honestly, he seems like an alright sort actually, despite the company he keeps, and his clear personal vanity. I could almost like him. “It’s the second of two plays we got from a playwright from Tektehr. He’s been taking much o’ the North by storm, I’m told, he’s real good. Dark and violent stories, like you usually get from up there, but I s’pose that’s to be expected. Ain’t seen it performed myself yet, I was pretty busy last night. Truth be told I’m looking forward to getting a chance to catch this matinee, see what all the fuss is about.”
“And the other one? You said you got two.”
“We did, yes. They’re a proper duo, they’re s’posed to be seen one after the other, they tell a larger story. It’s an entirely new concept, I hear, which is why all the fuss. First half’s been playing here for almost a month already, and it’s been one o’ the biggest smashes we’ve had in a real long time, I’m told.”
“But you have to see that one first, before this one? Otherwise you don’t know what’s going on?” I frown when he nods, having to shake my head. I don’t understand that, it sounds even more needlessly complicated really. Besides, it’s from Tektehr. Don’t sound like my kinda thing at all.
There’s a lot of guards in here, I notice. I feel their eyes scanning us as we pass, various large men in the same striking uniforms as the two we met outside, all conspicuously armed, and there’s as many half-orcs as big humans here. It’s becoming abundantly clear that Hontiresk ain’t a man who likes to take any chances in life, and seeing all this makes me worry about our chances if we did have to start something, or ‘least finish it.
Then halfway round Gubal takes a step to the side, moving towards a pair of open doors with another of his breezy, gesturing hands guiding us to follow him. “If you would.”
Shooting a look to Sonagh, I let him go ahead while I look down at Thelgaewynn. She’s starting to breath heavy, I notice, likely winded by the stairs when we were coming up and now suffering worse from the gentle slope of the ramp coming round here too. When she realises I’m waiting for her she looks up, frowning deep, looking distinctly unhappy, but she just shakes her head, as if to warn me off from asking after her. So I hold my tongue and just give her a reassuring pat on her shoulder as she passes me, turning to Tulen.
“How you doin’?”
This makes her frown too, and she has to think for a moment before answering. “I’m not sure … I mean I’m nervous as hell right now, I don’t like this at all. This seems like a very bad idea.”
“Yeah, you’re right, it probably is.” I lean closer still, so I can just breathe the words to her. “But don’t forget, it ain’t really about us, it’s about the others. We’re just the distraction, remember?”
Tulen looks down now, sighing deep, and when she gives the borrowed staff a good close grip to her chest it’s a gesture that reminds me of Gael. “Yes, I do. Of course, you’re right. I’m just … I don’t want to make things worse.”
“You make things worse?” I have to stifle a bitter laugh at that. “You prob’ly got the most level head here right now, I’m counting on you to keep the rest of us honest in this. Just watch our backs while you’re at it, yeah?” I reach out and give her shoulder a firmer squeeze. “You picking up on anything?”
“No, nothing that seems out of the ordinary.” She looks around us now. “Not that I really know what I’d be looking for. Gael’s the expert in this …”
“Yeah, but they ain’t here. We’re doing this for them. Might just be we get ‘em back doing this.” Letting go, I step back and turn away again, not particularly surprised to find Gubal waiting by the open doors, watching us both closely, his expression mostly expectant, but a little more complex besides. I wonder how well he’s reading the situation on his end.
“In here, then?” I muse out loud for his benefit as I step past him, looking back to make sure Tulen’s still following me now. So when I step inside I don’t see what’s actually going on in here until I turn round again.
Obviously, I never been in a big fancy theatre like this, so I don’t really know what these fancy big private boxes are actually all about, but seeing it all now I think I get what these rich folk are actually about a little more now. This is all about getting to enjoy the big theatre experience while having as much privacy and security as possible, it’s perfect for someone who’s likely as understandably paranoid as Hontiresk. There’s a surprising amount of space back here, although given there’s four more big guards in here I ain’t really feeling the full benefit of it.
Breaking away from us at last, Gubal heads over to a trio of smaller, more normal looking folk stood just short of the collection of almost ridiculously oversized, softly-upholstered chairs set just behind the balcony. Beyond is the main open space of the theatre itself, a great gaping cavernous emptiness where I can vaguely make out a whole lot more seats spreading out below, and the stage itself below. Some of the most enormous thick, opulently rich red velvet curtains hang open on either side of it, while something vaguely resembling a forest scene seems to be set out on the open boards. I say forest only because it's suggested by what looks like wooden partitions with trees painted on them, but then I understand it’s s’posed to be more about what you can imagine than what’s actually there, anyway. Gael called it “suspension of disbelief”, which just sounds like a headache for me.
The three individuals seem to be deep in a somewhat heated conversation, but they break off when the orc steps up and ducks down to speak close and quiet to the one in the middle, who’s holding an open leatherbound folio in his hands. Like he’s been checking off details while they’ve all been arguing. He listens close, but after a moment his eyes turn my way while Gubal’s still speaking, and they narrow as they take me in.
Honestly, I don’t know if I’m just surprised or genuinely disappointed. Rekik Hontiresk looks younger and a lot more unassuming than I expected him to, in truth he’s one of the most average human males I reckon I ever come across, actually. In many ways he’s very much like most o’ the pompous highborn types I had to deal with in my line o’ work, but I guess I just expected something … well, more of the man who wants us all dead and out of his way.
Clearly Thel’s thinking the same thing I am, openly scowling as she looks the Administrator over. He’s of decidedly average height and growing a bit portly, although his rich grey silk robes have definitely been tailored well enough to mostly hide this fact. His ginger hair’s thinning on top and seems to be greying already, but he just brushes it back and lets it hang wispy like he don’t care what people think of him. He’s clean shaven, which to me seems a bit of a mistake given how weak his chin is, only accentuating his unpleasantly thin, cruel mouth, while his thin nose is hooked like the beak of a particularly vicious bird of prey. His eyes though … yeah, there’s definitely something a whole lot more striking about them. Pale, almost steely grey-blue, and deeply piercing, alive with a particularly fierce intelligence, I can see. And, from the look of it, not an ounce of mercy. This is a cold, ruthless man, and now I’m looking at him in a whole new light the rest of his appearance almost feels like a particularly clever disguise …
When Gubal finally stops speaking he simply nods, and the orc backs away while his boss frowns down at his folio for a long moment, working his mouth as he pores over the contents a little more, then snaps it closed before handing it off to the left. The man there seems almost surprised to have it simply shoved in his face, like he considers himself above such things, but the moment those freezing eyes turn to him and latch on sharp he balks, clearing his throat as he steps back. He averts his eyes fast, too, visibly paling despite the fact he's taller, clearly older and definitely more physically imposing.
The other man seems slower on the uptake, starting to speak now, but when Hontiresk raises his hand and lifts a single finger his words choke right off, shoulders visibly slumping while his eyes go wide too. Then he nods, clipped, and steps back too, also looking away.
“Thank you gentlemen, I believe there’s time enough for a small recess. Clearly there are more pressing matters for me to attend to at this time.” He turns away now, hissing: “That will be all.” over his shoulder before turning to a small table I now notice set just behind the back row of seats. Opening a large box, very rich, gleaming red wood inlaid with etched gold inlay. Seems to be a theme, I’m starting to notice.
As he starts rooting in the box, the two men hustle out of the room, barely registering us as they scurry on, clearly more worried about him right now. I notice Gubal smirking as he steps back our way, reaching up to give his chin an idle little stroke now with thoughtful fingers. “Well, you said you wanted to see the man, so …”
Giving him a particularly sharp look, I step aside so he can walk past me and take a few closer to the Administrator himself. He’s snapped the lid closed again, now rolling what I see is a particularly long, thick cigar between his fingers, close under his nose now, as he turns back to look us all over.
I’m about to speak up when another substantial guard steps in through the doorway and goes straight to Gubal, leaning close so he can whisper to him. The orc frowns immediately, flashing a surprisingly wary look at his boss, then just breaks away, hustling right out the door, the newcomer following close behind. I wonder what that’s about as I turn back.
To find Hontiresk still just looking me over in particular with a far more critical eye. He’s stopped fiddling with the cigar, now producing a small piece of silvered metal from somewhere inside his robe which he fits over some of his fingertips before giving it a little squeeze and snipping the tip off the cigar. “I am deeply curious what all of this is about. I never would have expected you to have come here. To be honest I can’t decide if it smacks more of immense bravery or misguided foolishness. Or perhaps it’s simply desperation.”
“That’s cute. Personally, I could almost wonder the same thing about you, mate. ‘Specially given what you let your pet psycho off her leash to do the past two days an’ nights.”
Cocking a brow, he slips the silver cutter back inside his robe and then produces another intriguing little object which he snaps open to reveal matches. He slips one out and idly starts to twist it about between his fingers, proving impressively adept considering he’s doing all of this while also holding onto the cigar. “Why, whoever might you mean by that?”
“Fucking creepy pale bitch, name o’ Vandryss, who’s been dogging us one way or another for more’n a week now. She’s now murdered half the Hill, from what we can tell. I wanted to know how you felt about that, if you thought that was any better an idea than kidnapping our friend. Or their father.”
Biting the cigar between his teeth, Hontiresk closes the clever little matchbox up and turns it over, striking the match against a section of crosshatching on the side before lighting up with a single stroke. He takes a few moments to suck on the cigar, clearly taking his time over it, and I get the feeling it’s as much to make me wait for his answer, which just irks me. His face is cool and almost unfathomably calm, and it fills me with a powerful itch to punch him repeatedly as he watches me through the billowing smoke.
“My dear Mistress Shoon, I can assure you that none of these … fascinatingly outlandish charges could possibly be levelled at my feet, for I am a simple servant of the people. Like all my fellow Administrators. Especially the poor, late Madame Daste. I was so upset to hear of her sudden passing. I don’t suppose you would have any idea what happened there?”
“Not so much as you do, I’m sure.” I chance a sidelong look to the others, who are watching him with similar closely guarded disdain, I can see. Even Tulen seems to be getting over her former awkwardness now, instead seeming mostly offended by this man’s mocking demeanour.
“Oh no, surely not. These things are so bad for business, after all.”
“That’s all it’s really about, of course. Ain’t it? Business. With the North?”
“Well, our friends from Tektehr can be surprisingly accommodating customers and business partners when there are opportunities to be had. Although I would, of course, understand your reticence, given past …” He muses for a long beat after sucking in a deep drag, then breathes out as he adds: “… associations.”
Ignoring the obvious poke, I have to clench my jaw to keep from snapping my response. “Yeah … not really what I was thinking about, there. I meant your other friends. A bit further north, if you will.”
Now he pauses, his brow starting to crease a little bit as he falters, although he covers well enough I almost miss it. Instead of responding this time he takes another big pull and when he breathes out this time he blasts the smoke directly at me, so that when it reaches me the spreading cloud envelopes me. I don’t wave it away, but it’s tough to fight the urge, this shit stinks. Never been a big fan o’ that weird Abharetian weed, folk actually burning it and then sucking on the smoke makes no sense to me, but the smell’s always been the worst thing for me.
“There’s nothing further north than Tektehr. At least nothing that anyone here deals with, I’m sure.” He says this with a good deal more conviction, almost like he actually believes it, and it makes me wonder if he really knows what Vandryss is actually about. He folds his arms across his chest now, and it feels like he’s getting defensive, despite his words and tone. “You might want to rethink your line of questioning.”
Cocking my head now, I try a different tack. “So the shipments that your man Jammund’s been sending up there, all that … live cargo … that’s just going to the Tektehrans, then?”
His frown deepens a little as he looks me over, tilting his head somewhat to get a fresh angle, looks like. “My, you are deeper in this than I gave you credit for, aren’t you? I won’t waste your time any more than I’d waste my own playing around, then, it’s clearly not doing either of us any favours, so I won’t bother warning you off anymore since you’re clearly of a mind to turn this all over after all. I imagine you wouldn’t be inclined to take your people and just leave the city, forget you ever heard about any of this after all, would you?”
“Not with one o’ my best friends being tortured or gods know what else by that sick, twisted cunt under your orders, I won’t. And definitely not after you lot tried to kill us a bunch o’ times now. Most of all though, cuz you killed some folk we all become real fond of, including a boy who barely got a chance at life. For Deriel Vezrim alone I’m tempted to snap your neck with my bare hands right here.”
Several of the guards still gathered around us start to move towards me at that, they’re impressively on the ball, but he stills them all with a single raised hand. He can read how empty that threat really was, ‘least under the present circumstances. But he can also tell I’m honest in my sentiment, nodding now as he loosens his arms again and takes another large drag as he starts to move to the side of the room instead, shooing one of his men out the way. Now I see the small wet bar he’s heading to.
“I don’t think I’ll offer you a drink after all, decorum can be damned.” Uncapping a decanter, he starts to fill a single cut glass tumbler. “Usually I’m far more lenient with my enemies, I play along with the perceived game of civility until I can find a point of weakness and then strike deep for a mortal wound. But with you I’m just going to be honestly and brutally straight.” Setting the cap back in the bottle, he lifts the glass and, after giving me a beat’s narrow-eyed look, knocks the whole thing back in a single gulp. Then he tosses the glass back onto the top of the bar without even bothering to see how it lands and just walks back, this time stepping right up to me as he licks his teeth clean. Looking right up into my eyes, despite our significant height difference.
“You’re all going to die if you stay here. Every last one of you. You may think you’re safe and secure in Minerva’s temple, but I assure you, hiding in the Gods’ Round is, at best, a bandage on an arterial bleed. You have cost me enough money already, and every moment you insist on continuing this ridiculous, misguided crusade of yours only succeeds in costing me more. I have more money than I could ever wish to count, but I value ever copper mark of it, so you are preying on my patience as well. And that is a resource of which I have a far more modest collection.” Reaching up now, he sucks another deep lungful from his cigar and blows the whole breath right into my face, and I really have to fight the urge to lamp him right here. “So you would do well to heed this last, most generous warning and just leave. Now. Or I will butcher you all, and every family member you have, everyone they’ve ever known too if you make it necessary for me to extend my wrath so far. Please, test me. I promise you’ll regret it before I send you to meet whichever god you favour most.” Stepping back, he gives me one more look down and up again, seeming more non-plussed than ever. “Given the look of you, it could only be Thorin.”
I’m worked up enough it takes me a moment to notice the raised voices approaching fast from the antechamber outside, and another to realise I actually recognise one of ‘em, too. A lot’s happened since the other night on the Heath but I’m sharp enough to remember that one. Turning to follow Hontiresk’s glance towards the door, I’m already stepping back towards my friends when two new figures shove through ahead of Gubal before stopping just inside as they take in the scene. More’n a little surprised by what they found, clearly.
Well shit … I almost can’t believe my eyes when I see the tall one looking me over now, even though it already occurred to me that I might be seeing at least some o’ that other mercenary crew here with the rest of Hontiresk’s people. She’s just as impressive now as she was when I saw her last, even if she is somewhat more dressed down this time.
So this is Dramrath Mallys, if Sonagh got it right after all. Seeing her in simple britches, tall boots and a lightweight buckskin jacket instead of her expensive leather armour is very interesting, it’s a striking difference, and now I think I understand what her appeal must be to that young half-orc she was with. She is sexy, exuding a lithe, vital athletic sensuality which I don’t doubt is an entirely unconscious thing for her, certainly with her much looser hair giving her a more feminine air. But she’s still got that lethal sword of hers on her hip, and just one glance tells me that ain’t all she’s carrying right now.
The short one I ain’t seen before, but even before I see how Thel reacts to her I know who this is. She’s the half-hob cleric that damn near killed her. She’s a little smaller than Art, and seems just as lean and lithe, the way she moves, and her entirely black wardrobe grants her a little more of a cosmetic similarity too. That being said, there’s something more priestly to her outfit, more like Krakka’s which marks her as a servant of Corvina, not least the decidedly on-the-nose mantle of her cloak, clearly made of actual raven feathers. But instead of a hammer she seems to favour a sword, although I’ll admit I ain’t seen one like this before, a strange, thin curved weapon which looks almost long as Thel is tall, which she’s just carrying round sheathed in her hand.
She’s a pretty little thing, too, but very young, from what I can see. Maybe Gael’s age, even. Just one look tells me she ain’t like any of our other enemies in this room, she ain’t a proper killer, even if she is a hired thug like Mallys. There’s too much softness in her face, still too much innocence in her big, dark eyes. Honestly, now I see her there’s no wonder she didn’t finish Thel off when she had the chance.
When she steps inside she stops dead the moment she spots the dwarf, her eyes going wide and her mouth falling open in clear shock. It’s a complicated look, too, I can’t tell if she’s feeling relief or sadness or a strong dose of guilt, but I think it could be all three at once. It takes her a beat to find her voice. “You … you’re … My Lady, I don’t believe it … you’re not dead.”
“No, I ain’t.” Thel growls, her face darkening instantly. “Not for lack o’ you fuckin’ trying!” She starts forward right away, and I can see the two guards closest to her starting to shift too, although their intentions are a little less clear while she just goes straight for the handaxe on her left hip.
Thankfully Tulen’s already realised what’s about to happen and she immediately lunges forward, crouching somewhat as she just lets go of the borrowed staff so she can wrap both her arms right round the dwarf from behind, trapping her arms as she hugs her close. Thel squawks in indignant surprise as she’s dragged backwards again, her feet peddling somewhat uselessly now to thump on the carpet, and she starts to thrash immediately, trying to wrestle her way out of the dragonhalf’s iron-strong grip.
“What … fuck, get off me! Tulen, let me go! Let me fucking … just let me kill this little bitch! I owe you blood! I fucking swear I will end you, you little shit!”
The young cleric’s backing away, clearly alarmed by this particularly strong reaction, and she almost seems hurt too, but not particularly surprised. Mallys, meanwhile, is just staring at me, her expression unreadable. But she’s got her left hand gripped tight round the top of her sword’s sheath, the fingers of her right working as she’s clearly itching to draw on me.
“Ah, yes.” Hontiresk steps forward now, surprising me somewhat as he stops right next to me. “Dramrath, good. Your timing is impeccable. Would you and your … interesting young friend be so kind as to escort our guests back out into the street? Whatever you do after that is entirely up to you, but I would encourage you to start doing the job I hired you for while you have this golden opportunity.”
This seems to snap her out of something of a trance as she blinks and turns to him. Now I can see there’s a definite tension in her, the stiffness in the way her head moves on her neck giving it away, while I see the fire in her eyes as well as tiny traces of dark smoke starting to curl from her nostrils. She was already angry, it seems, when she came, even before she saw we were here. Now, seeing me she just got wound a whole lot tighter still.
“What the … fuck are they doing … I can’t … what?”
“As I said,” Hontiresk deliberately adds a note of irritated insistence to his voice now, while his face visibly tightens in well-restrained annoyance. “Would you both please escort these four … unwanted visitors out so I don’t have to order my own men to ruin my private box trying to remove them instead? If you would be so kind?”
“What?” She practically snarls the word now, visibly foaming at the mouth now, and I wonder if her redirected anger might put him in danger instead. It’s certainly having an interesting effect on his bodyguards. “You want … but … no, I need to talk to you. Right now! This is more important. That fucking bitch that you’re –”
“Dramrath, I am holding onto my patience by the barest thread. I would advise you to do as you’re told, and remember that you have already taken my very generous down-payment on good faith. If you want the rest of that money, and for the rest of your miserable gang to live to see their next Winterheart festival I would urge you to do as you’re fucking told.” He crushes the rest of his cigar into a bent, crumpled little wad, despite the fact it’s still lit, and tosses it aside, the closest guard having to scramble to retrieve and extinguish it before it ignites the carpet. “Please.”
“Never mind.” I sigh as I step away from him, taking a circling path away from Mallys and her alarmed young friend as I head for the door, tapping Sonagh on the shoulder as I pass him. “We’re leaving anyway. It was no pleasure at all making your acquaintance, Master Hontiresk. Honestly, I’d be happy enough if we never met again.”
I don’t bother looking back to judge if that gets a reaction out of him or not, instead laying my hand on Tulen’s shoulder too and giving her a little nudge towards the door along with me. ‘Least Sonagh seems to have enough piece of mind as he starts moving himself to stoop to retrieve Tulen’s new staff before following.
“Fuck!” I hear Mallys growl behind me as I duck out the doorway, but by this point I’ve already come face to face with Gubal, who’s regarding me with an interesting mix of dubious concern and wry amusement.
“Back out the way we came, I s’pose?” I venture now, and the cocky half-smile I try on feels surprisingly solid.
“Prob’ly best, aye.” He nods as he steps aside and gestures round the gently curving way we previously came. “Might wanna make it hasty.”
“No need to worry ‘bout that.” I manage something like a wolfish grin this time as I grab hold of Thel’s arm as Tulen finally manages to manhandle her through the doors and she finally gives up resisting.
“For fuck’s sake … I was owed, you could’ve let me –”
“Just quit it, Thel.” I growl at her as I guide us round the gentle curving slope of the passage again at a brisk clip, and the dwarf has to trot somewhat to keep from losing her footing and getting dragged. “This ain’t the time, remember? Revenge really wasn’t the point o’ this.”
She don’t answer that, which tells me I finally got through to her, reminded her of the real plan. So she shrugs loose of Tulen’s grip at last and starts walking on her own, going fast to match our pace. I know full well that Mallys and her friend will be coming fast once they’ve extricated themselves from the box and the rest o’ the guards.
Shooting a sharp sidelong glance to Tulen, I lower my voice to a hissing whisper now. “Reckon you can muster up a quick jump for us soon as we’re outside?”
“Of course.” She collects her borrowed staff from Sonagh now as he falls into step beside her. “What about the others? Do you think they’re … you know …”
“I really don’t know. We’ll just have to wait and see.”