Chapter 15: Spice Girl
The night was aging rapidly, it seemed, as she tried to pry off the thick lock from the fortified drawer. She’d already raided the variety of cured meats and cheeses and drying herbs in the pantry, stuffing them all into her pockets, and the only thing remaining of interest was the large, fortified cabinet that seemed to enjoy defying her attempts at forced entry.
It was too big to pack away into her dress pockets, and the lock seemed unnaturally sturdy, even after she hissed at it a few times. Never hurt to try a few hisses. She suspected witchcraft. Or magic or whatever it was called.
Hawk had left several minutes ago, his job merely to replace the crate in the adjacent storehouse with the one they brought, and dispose of the extra. She assumed he dealt with the other guard already, since he hadn’t stopped in to see what happened to his friend.
She returned her attention to the matter at hand. This lock… someone should have a key. But who? Someone who would use these often… Probably the chef, but where would he be?
She glanced outside at the warm orange glow just beginning to tinge the sky. There wouldn’t be much time before the sun rose.
Quickly making her choice, she slipped through the kitchen door leading to the main part of the house. She knew that rich people generally didn’t like to see poor people, even their own servants, and the chef was probably included with the “poor people”. Probably they were all lumped together, near the back, so guests wouldn’t see them, or maybe downstairs…
She looked down the hallway lined by a few narrowly spaced wooden doors ending in a thin spiral staircase going up, and a proper staircase leading underground. Figuring she was probably already in the right place, she contemplated.
How will I even find the chef? The hat is pretty uncomfortable, so they wouldn’t wear it to bed… maybe. I mean I would, just because I look fabulous in it, but I doubt a human would.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the faint mix of spices mingling in the air, giving her an idea. Now she really wished that lout Dantes were here. As much as she hated to admit it, he had a better sense of smell, one of the few things he outperformed her in. Not the magic variety, just mundane smelling.
That and the way his hair was always annoyingly perfect. Even after sweating all day under a salty breeze, firing cannons, and sailing through a storm, he still came out looking fresh as a can of tuna. Mmm tuna.
At the thought of food, she refocused.
She swept silently down the hall melting through the shadows as though she were one of them, cracking open the first door. Inside the room, barely a closet really, slept a teenaged boy on a cot just small enough that his feet stuck off the hay mattress. She doubted he was the cook but took a whiff anyway. Potatoes, soap, and… something flowery… lilac? She didn’t actually know what flower it was, but it was definitely lilac, because that was a flower. The boy was probably a kitchen aid, though she couldn’t imagine why he smelled of flowers.
The other rooms(closets) were of similar interest, which is to say, little, though she did find a small wooden carving of a cat, as well as a pair of dice, some marbles and a wooden hairbrush, all of which she took for herself.
She was really just looking for things to put in her pockets. It was so novel just seeing something she liked and being able to bring it with her that she couldn’t help herself.
She came to the end of the hall, but still no cook, though she did find an older woman who smelled like lilacs as well. She descended the stairs, hugging the shadows, the cloak one with the deep shadows flickering in the corridor. She couldn’t see where the cloak ended and the shadows began, and she liked it like that. Truly a worthwhile bargain. The pockets were still the best feature. Unfortunately, her magical coat pockets were already approaching full, having looted just about everything in sight from the larder. Or was it a pantry? Is there a difference? It didn’t matter.
Rounding the bend in the staircase, a similar hallway presented itself, and she poked through the doors silently sniffing all the sleeping servants. She silently debated against leaving a stern review of one particularly offensive smelling one but decided against it. Maybe he was just scared of bathing. She understood. Her human form’s tongue was completely insufficient at cleaning her own body, so she always changed form to clean up.
Entering the second to last room revealed what she sought. A rather rotund red haired man slept in a decidedly nicer room than the rest, though still far from luxurious. Most importantly, the room smelled very faintly of spices. It reminded her a bit of the air in Esthar, though to a lesser degree. It was almost nostalgic, though she’d not been there for more than a week before they’d had to flee.
On the bedside table was a small brass-coloured rooster which immediately went into a pocket, but she saw no keys. Tossing the room only yielded another chef’s hat, which she slipped on over the one she was already wearing, a few dull copper coins which she left behind (only thieves take money), and a rather worn wooden spoon with some decent heft to it (which she did take).
In the dark, the man shifted in his sleep and a faint muffled jingle of metal on metal sounded out. Ugh.
She considered just clubbing the guy with the brass rooster and taking the keys off him like that, but decided a fellow chef probably didn’t deserve such treatment.
She delicately lifted his blanket revealing a keyring glinting in the dark, reflecting off the faint light creeping in from the hallway. It looked pretty stuck. She gave it a light tug, but it was attached to a loop on his pants. She could thread it through… or.
She withdrew a knife she’d borrowed from the ship and moved to cut the keys off, but suddenly-
COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO
The noisiest damned rooster she’d ever heard (it was her first time hearing one) sounded out. The man groaned reaching out to his bedside table before freezing.
A pair of reflective green eyes glared at him in the gloom, a knife catching the light coming in from under the door in her hands. His eyes widened.
“OH FU-“
And then promptly rolled back in his head as he fell back into his bed with a rooster shaped dent in his forehead.
On the bright side, hitting him with the rooster had stopped it from making that god-awful noise. She felt a bit bad as she scooped up the keys from where she’d dropped them in surprise, before stealing away into the night, ready to collect her prize.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
***
Dantes was no stranger to waking in discomfort, having lived mostly uncared for his entire life, but the constricting headache he woke up to was a new experience, and not one he would be eager to repeat. The large bell ringing directly over his head was not helping at all.
He tried to recall what he’d been doing the day before, pulling a blank. Everything seemed a blur: Mitts had gone ashore, he’d gone to a bar… and met… someone? He put it out of his mind for now, instead focusing on his surroundings.
A small wooden staff that he didn’t recognize lay at his side as he got up, which he looped through his belt, next to his flask that should have been there but was not.
He was in a small room on top of a tower looking over the bay. Gauging that this must be what the humans call a bell tower, he descended the narrow stairs leading down to the lower floors. He’d never been one for heights, though he’d not learned that until recently with an experience in the crow’s nest, when he was relieved to get down to ground level.
He was met with a squat, bald man wearing an irritated look, and before he could get a question out, was cut off by a gruff accusation.
“Made a right mess of the place didn’t yas?”, gesturing behind him where several wooden pews were stacked together, somewhat resembling a hut. “Yer lucky I din’t call the guards on yas, tho maybe like a shoulda. Bah, this’le take all mornin for these old bones ta get back all right like. Dun expect ya’ll be much elp will yas?”
He spoke with all the confidence and cadence of someone who didn’t care whether you understood him or not, though he’d stopped glaring at Dantes, and instead went back to trying to pull the pews apart without the whole structure collapsing.
Not liking the idea of leaving an old man to deal with such a burden alone, he rushed to help. “You don’t know what happened last night do you, sir? Here let me help you with this.”
The old man raised a bushy eyebrow, the only hair adorning his head, nd exhaled sharply from his nose before turning back to his task.
“Mm, guess yas really dunno lad. Wells, ah coulda guessed from how yas made a fool of yaself, comin’ in with yas buddy, makin ah fort outta me pews. An… eh ne’ermind that. Aye, elp me out ‘ere an I’ll let yas know what ‘appened, eh?”
He needed a minute to go over that in his mind, so he worked on untangling the pews. He managed to unhook one which was surprisingly light but remained quiet as the old man thought.
“Well ah’d just about finished cleanin’ out tha place and was lookin to lock up, when ya buddy and yas walked up. Cann’ just close up on ya snouts, tha Lady wouldn’ look kindly on that nay. So ah let yas stay the night. Eh, jus’ see ‘ow it ended up, eh? No that I woulda turned ya ‘way knowin’ it, that just nay ar’ way, still…” he devolved into unintelligible mumbling even more than he already was. “An before ye ask lad, nay, I din’t see ya mate this’n mornin’”
Taking a moment to parse what the old man was saying, and feeling rather bad about the whole thing, and entirely uncertain what had gotten into him last night, he worked in silence for a bit more before probing more answers out of the man. “You didn’t happen to see a woman with us, did you? I think I was looking for her last night. Smaller than me, blue eyes, short black hair and a black dress, likes to cook?”
“Nae, din’t mention er much eh? This’n bein’ Mitty? Nae, but ahs ‘erd yas talkin’ bout a Stephon, so mayaps ‘e knows?. Ya finish up ‘ere an I’ll let yas know ‘ere to find ‘em, eh?”
They worked mostly in silence for a few minutes, pushing the benches back into some rough semblance of order. It got easier after unwedging the first few and before long, the old man continued.
“This’n Stephon yas mentioned, ‘es from tha Ram’s Shipyard, eh? Yas were goin on bout ‘ow ‘ed make yas rich or summin’ alike that, eh? ‘Ed down to tha water an’ ‘ed left an’ inna tha shipyard an’ dun be commin back any time soon, ite sonny? Now git”
With that, Dantes found himself brusquely thrust out on the street before having understood much at all of what had been said, though he’d caught the directions well enough, so he set off down the dirt road towards the docks.
The morning bustle of the waterfront had not yet ceased to amaze him since coming to this world, and he found himself enjoying the bustle of the morning workers. Carts full of lumber were hauled through the streets, workers unloading cargo from ships like a stream of ants on a sugar cube, criers seeking to employ idle hands for some venture or other, and most importantly street food vendors.
At the thought of food, he suddenly felt at his belt for his wallet. He had no head for money, but these transactions were simple enough. Unfortunately, the pouch was completely empty, though he was certain it hadn’t been so yesterday.
He also noticed some curious looks leveled at him but shrugged them off as unimportant. He was taller than just about everyone he’d met and was used to a few odd glances.
Not really thinking about much at all save food, he arrived at a huge building with the profile of a ram’s head carved in white about the door. The building wasn’t big in the fancy way with all the ornaments and complex decorations, no, this building was just a big box that someone had placed, bridging the land and the water.
A large door was open on the side parallel to the waterline with a rather sharp looking lady sitting behind a desk writing down something in a large book. Without pausing her writing she sighed.
“Don’t just gawk there in the doorway, come in or go away. I don’t suppose you need something do you?”
Dantes stepped forward uncertainly.
“Yes, I’m looking for Stephon. Do you know where he might be?”
The scratch of her quill stopped for a moment before resuming.
“I suppose he’s stepped on the wrong toes again, has he? Never mind, you can find him over there caulking the hull, greasy red hair, missing tooth, looks about as trustworthy as a fox, not as smart though, can’t miss him. Please make sure he’s still in condition to work when you’re done with him.”
She gestured vaguely in a direction before refocusing on her writing, which upon closer inspection was just a bunch of numbers. Boring.
He was easy to find though, being the only redhead among the bunch, with fairer skin than most around the shipyard.
As Dantes was deciding on how best to approach the working crew, Stephon noticed him and approached, wringing his hands nervously.
“Ahh, bossman. So good to see you again after… last night. Yes, yes, I’m actually just on break now, come sit down over here.”
Dantes quickly found himself seated on some lumber with a warm mug of something thrust into his hands. A careful sniff revealed it to be some cheap ale, and NOT something he was interested in touching again so soon. Maybe ever. He set it aside, which seemed to unnerve the greasy man. Having no idea what to say or how to approach this situation, he just evened a level stare at the man, which seemed to do the trick.
“So, uh, bossman, about that deal we had going last night. I know I said I could double your money no problem, triple even. No problem at all. Well thing is, the bookie uhhh… Yeah the bookie, he cheated me. Refused to pay me out at all; won too big, he said, an’ he said he’d wring my neck if I told you. Don’t you worry, you an me can go confront him tomorrow… uhh I mean tonight! Tonight, yes. A big guy like you, looking like you could pop his head clean off…”
At that the man gulped, eyes lingering briefly on his biceps. He was pretty big from the start, but the manual labour he’d done since arriving certainly hadn’t hurt in that sense. An eyebrow raise had him continuing hurriedly.
“Ah, I mean, you give me a week... no, 5 days, and I can get you that money. Look bossman, uh, I just need a bit of time, then you can get your money back, four times over even. What do you say?”
While the greasy fox in front of him gave a servile smile, he considered his options. This man seemed the type to never mean what they say. He didn't really like those types at all, though he knew they cared mostly about themselves over others.
“I could give you those 5 days...”, he held up a hand, forestalling another barrage of platitudes, “if you can tell me if you've seen my friend in black”, he said, briefly describing her.
“Err, don't think I've heard of her bossman. Mayhaps you tried the market square? Heard something about troubles there this morning, something about a pair of drunks dumping a bunch of eels in the fountain. The one with the statue of the mayor, if you'd believe it, mate. Would'a loved to see the eels comin out o' the statues... bits, if ya catch my drift mate, err... bossman”. Stephon quickly corrected, having slowly slipped into a casual street cant, all while edging closer, before seeming to remember the cause of his caution in the first place.
There was an empty pause before they both rose, and Stephon pinched out a smile. “Err, five days, bossman, don't you worry. I'll have it all there, don't you worry. The full amount.”
Dantes grunted, having no interest in replying. He did not expect to see that money again, and did not particularly care. He was pretty certain Mitts had gone out to get some food anyway.
With a rumble in his stomach, he made his way inland to the market square.