When Matthis came to he was running. And then he was falling. He found himself face down in a puddle.

“What in Pasht’s balls!”

In the gloom he could just make out three giggling street children as they ran off into the distance. Matthis felt lightheaded, weaker and more exhausted than he’d been in a long time. He wretched. When nothing came up, he wretched again for good measure.

Feeling leaked back into his body. And pain. His right shoulder burned with fire, his knuckles, he could feel, were bloodied and bruised. And his left thumb! Fire ripped through it and he looked down to see it swollen and jutting from his hand at a funny angle. What the fuck had happened to him? Staggering to his feet, he spun, nursing his right arm and left hand carefully as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The smell of human waste that lingered on the air told him he was probably near the river. Spotting a barrel collecting rainwater, he stumbled over to it, dunking his head and drinking deeply.

Feeling a little more human, he took another look at his thumb. It was dislocated. With a grunt he grabbed the dislocated joint and rolled it, feeling it snap back into place. Immediately, the burning pain became a low throb, followed by a feeling if slight relief.

The smell of roasting meat reached his nose and he followed it hungrily. After only a few steps he stopped, leaning up against the rough wall of a dark building. Weakness flooded his body and he felt dizzy.

“What in Pasht’s name happened?” he asked again.

Only when the cold streets remained silent did he realise there was no other voice but his. Not from the outside, nor from within.

“Where are you?”

No answer.

“Fuckin typical that you would leave the one time I need you!”.

The flicker of a torch caught someone stumbling down the street towards him accompanied by clumsy footfalls on the uneven ground. He pushed himself up against the wall, slinking into the shadows.

As the stranger grew closer Matthis saw he was a drunk. Average height but wiry, the man burped, said something to himself and then stumbled into a nearby fence. His clothes were well-fitted but of a cheap material. Matthis glanced down at his own. He still wore the potato sack given to him by that fucking cuntwagon, Lapis.

Though, try as he might, anger wouldn’t come. Never before had he been so weary. Never before had he blacked out for so long. Cradling his right arm, he approached the drunkard slowly. Small eyes squinted his way and the man mumbled something, just as Matthis’ fist struck his jaw. Pain immediately tore through his damaged shoulder.

Without a sound the small man slunk to the floor. Matthis crouched over him, digging through pockets. His hands came away empty except for a fine comb of bone.

He swore. Vermasse was probably the last place in the world that still accepted coin and this drunken miser had none. Still, he reckoned some of the poorer inns might be willing to barter. For a moment, he considered taking the man’s clothes. Then he decided he’d rather wear a potato sack thanks another man’s britches. Instead, he staggered forward and, leaning against any wall he could find, stumbled down street after street. A shiver began to set in. He folded his arms, hugged them tight to his body. Wherever he was, he knew he needed to find shelter soon.

“What did you do to me!” he demanded.

Still no reply.

The sound of footsteps made him pause. Low chatter and light laughter quickly followed. Matthis froze. It was likely the city guard, who would demand answers he didn’t have. Doubling back, he came to an alley, alive with the smell of roast meat and unwashed humanity. He turned into it, following his nose as much as his eyes and ears. It led him to an ill-fitting door in an ill-fitted building with no sign. A faint flicker of light surrounded the door with an orange glow. If anyone were inside, they were strangely quiet.

Matthis pushed open the door. Well, more fell into it really, stumbling inside and squinting at the bright fire that greeted him from across the room.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

In the far corner a large man wrapped an even larger hand around a goblet. Two scruffy looking men nursed drinks on a table opposite whilst a weary looking serving girl rested her elbows on a table. She was the only one who bothered to look up when Matthis entered, though her eyes showed little interest.

He was annoyed with the girl, incensed that she could possibly choose to ignore a man of his looks and stature. Give me a hot bath and some new clothes and those eyes will be alive with lust. Forcing his best smile, he made his way towards her.

“Food, drink, and lodging,” he said cheerfully.

Her heavy brown eyes looked him up, then down, then up again. Without a word she disappeared into a door behind the bar. Matthis waited, his irritation growing. After a few moments a tall, slender man emerged from a backroom.

“What do you want?” he barked, eyeing Matthis in much the same way the serving girl had— with a deal of disdain and disinterest.

“Food, drink and lodging,” Matthis repeated.

“What you got?” The man’s heavy brow creased suspiciously.

Matthis reached into his pocket and drew out the small comb, placing it on the worn out bar between them.

“Ivory,” the man muttered.

“Er, that’s right.” What the fuck was ivory?

The man picked up the delicate comb with long, greasy fingers and examined it closely. His expression softened as he turned back to Matthis. “How long you wanna stay?”

“How long will that get me?” Matthis countered, nodding at the comb.

The innkeeper paused in consideration. “A week.”

Matthis did his best to hide his shock. Whatever ivory was, he needed more of it. “Food too?”

The man nodded enthusiastically.

Matthis adopted an expression of deep thought. “Agreed. Bring me out some stew and have your serving girl prepare a bath.”

The innkeeper guffawed, a sound which annoyed Matthis immensely. “Ain’t no bath. We got a bucket and a well.”

Matthis scowled. “Just prepare my food. And have your serving girl show me your well.”

The man nodded. “Amber!” he called. A few moments later the serving girl poked her head from around a side room. “Show this customer to the well.”

She nodded quietly and, without a word, beckoned Matthis to follow her. Matthis bit down his anger and forced a whistle. A jaunty tune to a layman, but to anyone who knew the song would know it was about a village burned down by a man whose wife had been drowned for witchcraft.

“There,” the serving girl pointed after leading Matthis outside. “I’ll light a torch. Wait here.”

“Thank you.” He gave her his best smile as she returned carrying a burning torch.

She merely nodded and hurried back inside the inn.

“Unbelievable,” Matthis muttered to himself. “Outright unacceptable. Completely improper and bordering on offensive. How very dare they!” As he stripped off his clothes, he found himself growing angrier and angrier at their treatment. If he had a blade, he fancied he would have gone in there and slain them all.

He winced.

The cloth of his tunic caught on the dried blood of his right shoulder. His left thumb, too, still burned each time it was used. With a cry, he ripped the clothing from his body and tossed it to the floor, examining the shoulder wound in the light of the torch the serving girl had returned with. It was bloodied and bruised and yet, remarkably, it didn’t show nearly as deep a cut as the blood had suggested. Matthis had always been blessed with good healing. Just another sign he was favoured by the Gods.

Filling a bucket, he emptied it over his head, relishing the cold on his bones. Above him the stars shone bright. “Enjoying the view?” Matthis, now completely naked, shouted to the heavens.

He chuckled and continued to scrub the dirt and grime form his body. When he was satisfied, he turned to his old, dirtied clothes and wrinkled his nose. “Unacceptable,” he muttered once more, shaking his head.

He was still shaking his head when he strolled naked into the inn. “I’m going to need some new clothes,” he declared.

Five mouths hung agape.

Taking a seat at an empty table, he sat and waited. “Food!” he shouted, annoyed that it could possibly take so long to be served.

The serving girl yelped rushed into action.

Very composed. Good job not drawing attention to yourself.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Matthis said, drumming his fingers on the table.

Sleeping. Escaping from that cell cost a lot of energy.

“Cost you? It’s my body! And if you ever treat my body like that again and I’ll reach inside and gut you.”

Noted.

“Good. Now, why don’t you tell me what the Pasht happened back there.”

I dislocated your thumb, freed a hand from the chains and grabbed the keys from the doctor. Then I took Lapis as a hostage, fought a few guards and escaped.

“Just like that, was it?”

Just like that, the voice agreed.

“Fine. Then tell me, who in seven hell’s was that strange man in the hood? And how did he talk directly to you?”

I don’t know.

“Bullshit!”

It’s the truth. There is… something. Some recognition. The voice seemed familiar to me, but the face did not match.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Matthis said quietly. “You’re not real. Nobody can know you.”

There came no reply.

Matthis leaned back in his seat. He had the unsettling feeling that there was something very important his own mind wasn’t telling him. Before he could consider it further, the serving girl returned carrying a bowl of hot stew. He swallowed a spoonful. It needed far more salt. As a second spoon followed the first, Matthis pushed all thoughts of The Other to the back of his mind. Whatever happened at the sanatorium didn’t matter. Matthis had far more important things to worry about. He had revenge to seek.

He had a city to take over.