Sodas, the 17th of Lost Speed, 4E 201

“Well, I’m not going and neither is Bessie,” Draloth said.

Kharla shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to walk all the way to the barrow, then.”

“This one thinks that will be quicker,” Ti’lief said.

They all sat around a table in the Mannered Bear. Bessie had been treated to a fine stable out back for the night. Draloth had sold all his wares off at the trader, although he hadn’t much liked the owner. Draloth had told them that the ‘sleazy little man’ had tried to buy one of his relatives. Mell meanwhile had left the priestess in a more depressed state than when they’d first met and now sat reading one of the books she’d nabbed from Rod and Gertrude’s house.

The bard started to sing. Perhaps, thought Kharla, it would cheer Mell up.

“Our hero, our hero, he isn’t too smart,

I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonbore comes.

With a Voice wielding boredom of the ancient Nord art.

Believe, believe, the Dragonbore comes.

It’s an end to the bickering, of all Skewrim’s foes.

Beware, beware, the Dragonbore comes.

For the dullness hasn’t passed, and the lethargy yet grows,

You’ll know, you’ll know the Dragonbore’s come.”

Mell looked just as glum after the song finished. Kharla bit into some cheese and wrinkled her nose. There was definitely a hierarchy of cheese quality. Orcish cheese was the best, Mammoth cheese was all right, and then there was cheese made by Men in distant third place, and of the latter the Nordic variety was the worst.

Was the Cat smiling? “What are you grinning about, Cat?” She wished Khapiit wouldn’t smile. It just looked creepy. Ti’lief needed to take a leaf out of Mell’s book (speaking figuratively of course, not the actual book she was presently reading) and avoid smiling at all.

Draloth answered. “He unstole something today.” Kharla raised her eyebrows and the Dark Elf continued. “Asked the owner of the inn if there were any reports of any missing or stolen items in the last day or so. Found out an ornate silver candlestick, in Nordic style, had been reported missing.”

The chair creaked as Thral downed his thirteenth mug of ale and then wiped his mouth. “Candlestick,” he said.

“That’s right, Thral,” Draloth continued, “and the next thing I know is that the Khapiit has said candlestick in his possession, purloined—or is that unpurloined?—from the merchant camp outside the walls.”

“Ri’chard and the other Khapiit didn’t see this one slip in and relieve them of their stolen goods. Ti’lief take it from under their whiskers.” Ti’lief smiled even more broadly.

Kharla winced. “And where’s it at now?”

“Ti’lief completed his mission and returned it to the owner’s home. Very simple lock. No wonder the candlestick was stolen so easily. This one gave the house a good tidy too, and straightened the flying ducks on the wall. They were all over the place, as if a hunter with a bow had frightened them—”

“Maybe,” Kharla interrupted, “you could’ve given the candlestick back to them in person and collected a reward?”

Ti’lief looked shocked. At least the smile had gone now. “The Honorable and Tidy Guild of Anti-thieves works in the shadows. Besides, if Ti’lief had done that he would not have found this,” he paused and pulled out a statue of what looked like an Elf about the size of Thral’s forearm. It was solid gold and of a strange design Kharla hadn’t seen before. It must’ve been worth a pretty penny. “This one recognized it from his list of stolen items that he keeps about him. It is Eyelid design, Early Era.”

The Eyelids were High Elves and the very first race to found an empire in Tamarind, so-called because of their practice of painting eyes on their eyelids. Why they did this is not known, but some speculate that it originated from the strict laws that mandated harsh punishment for any guard found sleeping at his post. Others believe the eyelids were only painted at death during the embalming process, either to represent them going into the next life with open eyes or as a macabre sense of humor intended to scare the life out of future grave robbers and archaeologists.

Mell looked mildly interested as she examined the statue. “Are you going to return it to its rightful owner?”

The Cat shook his head. “Ti’lief marked original owner dead on his list. Eyelids also dead. So Ti’lief keep this one and maybe he sells it.”

“What about the original owner’s next of kin?” the Breton asked.

“The ‘Rules of Conduct’ of the Honorable and Tidy Guild of Anti-thieves stipulate kin have no valid claim,” Ti’lief explained.

Mell frowned. “That doesn’t seem very honorable.”

“Ti’lief did not make the rules—ah, actually this one did make the rules, but it is hard to get them changed.”

“Why’s it hard to change them?” Mell asked.

Ti’lief held his palms upward and shrugged. “Because the rules say so.”

Mell shook her head and went back to reading her book.

“I’ll sell it for you!” said Draloth to the Cat. “And give you all the coin, minus my thirty-percent fee, of course.”

The Khapiit, a great anti-thief no doubt, but not so much the businesscat, agreed to the deal.

Mell closed her book. “I’m off to bed. I’ll come tomorrow if you want. It’ll be dark in Teak Halls Barrow and I can provide some light. Besides, I’ve not been there before so it might be interesting. It will distract me from the dark abyss that fills my mind.”

“Thank you, Mell! It’s much appreciated.” Kharla turned to the strongman as Mell left. “Thral, are you coming?”

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The Nord looked at Kharla. “Where Orc lady go?”

Kharla wished he wouldn’t call her that. It made her sound so old. She was probably a couple of years (at most) older than him. “To Teak Halls Barrow!”

“Can smash things with warhammer?” Thral asked.

“Yes,” said Kharla.

“Thral come.”

Good, thought Kharla. This dragonstone sounded heavy. She’d need someone to carry it.

Thral was soon asleep in his chair. “Well, I’m off to my room too. I need to come up with a good business plan to launch my new merchant empire in Whiteruin tomorrow.” Draloth looked at the Nord. “You might as well take the large bed upstairs. I don’t think there’s much chance of us dragging him upstairs even if the whole inn helped out.”

Draloth had booked all the rooms for them. He said it was the least he could do for helping him escape Helga.

Kharla put her mug down and refilled it from the bottle on the table. “You didn’t book me a room?”

“They didn’t have enough for all of us, so I booked one of their bedrolls for you, the ones on the floor. Much cheaper than a room too!”

“Thanks,” Kharla said as the Dark Elf headed toward the stairs. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

The Cat-man had emptied his mug and now pushed it around with his paw. “Ti’lief will visit more homes tomorrow, do some more spring cleaning, see if he can liberate some more stolen goods.”

Kharla felt a bit light-headed now. Not much but enough to ask questions she probably would’ve avoided if she was sober. “So, how did you become an anti-thief?” (Like that one).

“Ah,” the Cat looked up. “Ti’lief, his whole family were thieves. Part of a large family guild in fact. This one was young and sent out to hit his first ‘target’—the home of an old Khapiit who lived on his own. Ti’lief picked the lock with ease, but when he got inside he saw it was a right mess. Clothes in piles all over the place, dirty food plates everywhere, cobwebs in corners, pictures not hanging straight, that sort of thing. So this one had to tidy up. Ti’lief cannot stand mess, disorder, dirt, things not in the right place. After he finished he left a little pearl behind Leaving a little gift made this one feel happy.”

“Well, that’s all very kind,” said Kharla who was dimly aware that she’d be saying something quite different if she wasn’t so drunk.

“Family did not think so. They said Ti’lief was disgrace to the guild. This one was thrown out of home. From the top window too.”

“I’m sorry, Cat.”

Ti’lief shoved his mug again. “He landed on his feet, of course, but it was tough for poor Ti’lief. So this Khapiit slept in many homes when the owners were out, and tidied them as well. Soon everyone was talking about it. The guild did not like it, said that it wasn’t right; that Ti’lief should be cleaning out not cleaning up houses. So Ti’lief was cast out of guild and had to leave Noweyr. So this one journeyed through many lands and mastered the art of cleaning across cultures. Then he came to Skewrim.”

“So why were you at the circus?”

“This one was trying to win prizes from the stalls, so he could have them as gifts for the houses he breaks into and cleans.”

“I see. That makes sense,” Kharla said, aware that it really didn’t make any sense at all.

***

Despite the open-plan design of the room, and absolutely no privacy whatsoever as guests walked past her bed to and from the balcony that overlooked the main floor with the bar, Kharla managed to drift off to sleep. She dreamed of cutting a path through Daughtr in Teak Halls Barrow, of finding the dragonstone laden with finely matured Orcish cheese wheels, and of enjoying its deliciousness as Draloth shouted in her ear. She woke up. The room was dark and the noise below had hushed to a mere murmur. She sat up and listened.

“I never even got a say in the naming of the cow!” came a voice from one of the rooms. It was a Dark Elf’s voice. He sounded a little older than Draloth.

The voice Kharla heard next was Draloth’s. “And are you going to support my next business venture rather than sabotage it like you did last time?”

The other laughed mockingly. “Business venture? Pffff. Always you are an embarrassment.”

Who was in the room with Draloth? Maybe someone he knew had heard he was in town. Still, it was kind of late for a visit, and the visitor didn’t sound too friendly.

Kharla lay back down. She heard no more talking and soon fell asleep again. She was in Riverweed. It had been invaded by Frostboot Spiders that were all barking while the villagers ran around screaming. Screaming. Kharla woke up to Mell screaming. Kharla jumped to her feet and took in the situation. She could smell smoke and hear the crackles of flames.

The Breton girl stood in the room staring at Draloth’s room. The door was open and the Dark Elf was frantically trying to put out a fire that had engulfed the bed and crept up one of the walls.

“We’re all going to die,” intoned Mell. “Perhaps it’s for the best. Life is so hard.”

Kharla could see that Draloth’s efforts weren’t going to be enough. She rushed down the stairs even as the owner rushed up to see what the fuss was all about.

“There’s a fire!” Kharla shouted as she sped past her.

Kharla dashed into the kitchen and looked for something to quench the fire. Anything. A Rudeguard serving girl appeared from the back of the kitchen. “You! I need water. Lots of it. There’s a fire upstairs!”

The girl pulled a lid off a barrel. “This is our cheap ale. It’s more or less just water. It should work! Here,” she grabbed a couple of pans, “we can scoop up some water in these.”

Kharla knew that wasn’t going to do it. She’d seen Thral stirring from his seat as she’d rushed down the stairs. “Thral!”

Thral appeared at the entrance to the kitchen and yawned.

“What Orc lady want?”

“Thral, can you take this barrel upstairs and throw it on the fire upstairs?”

Thral nodded. “Upstairs, right.” He wrapped an arm about the barrel and lifted it easily. Then he strode up the stairs followed by Kharla. The fire was now reaching the ceiling but Draloth still tried to put it out with a rather small wet cloth.

“Right, throw it—”

Thral didn’t wait for instructions. He just loosed the water from the large barrel in a wide arc. It soaked the wall, bed, and Draloth and the fire ceased. He then drank the small amount still remaining in the bottom of the barrel.

“What happened?” the owner said.

“Ah,” began a dripping Draloth, “I must have left a candle unattended.”

“You’ll have to pay for damages,” the owner said, looking at the charred bed and blackened wall. “Fire and water damage, oh and the cost of the wasted ale,” she added.

“Of course,” the Dark Elf said. “I can’t pay right now but by tomorrow—”

The woman crossed her arms. “Make sure you do or I’ll have the city guards show you the inside of the jail. And I want one of you to remain here as an act of good faith until you pay your debt.”

“Right, well Bessie can stay here,” said Draloth, looking at Mell.

“Right,” said Mell. “I think that will be fine.”

“Good,” said the owner. “Now stay out of my way while I get someone in to look at this mess and see how much it will cost.”

A Nord in banded iron armor and wearing a horned iron helm appeared at the top of the stairs and looked at the burnt-out room as Kharla and the others passed him to leave. It was Sithir, one of the other guests at the inn. “The fire safety in Whiteruin is terrible. Shameful is what it is.”

“Did you just lie to the innkeeper?” Ti’lief said as they reached the bottom of the stairs and made their way out.

“Technically, no. I just let her believe something that wasn’t true.”

Ti’lief nodded. “This one sees Draloth is a shrewd one.”

Kharla eyed Draloth. She had questions but they could wait. “Right, I suggest we all leave here before anything else happens.”

“Quite right. Off to Teak Halls Barrow it is!” said Draloth.

“I thought you weren’t coming?”

“It’s going to take some days if not a week or two to find a buyer for that Eyelid statue,” the Dark Elf explained. “So I can’t rely on that to pay off the debt. But we can be back from Teak Halls by tomorrow with a haul of treasure and, if not, then the Jarl is rue to reward us generously. You see, I can’t have a criminal mark against me in Whiteruin if I’m to trade in the hold.”

“What about you, Cat?” asked Kharla.

“I’m a bit concerned that Ti’lief might be locked in the Mannered Bear or even jail when the owner finds out Bessie is a cow, so he will come along too. Let us get this sorted out so that this one can return to tidying the beautiful houses of Whiteruin. Maybe he also help repair wall.”

“Right,” Kharla said. “So that’s agreed then. We’re all off to Teak Halls Barrow.”