28 – The Beast Within

Ward and Haley walked to the nearby market square as a starting point for their day’s shopping. The shops in the square catered to the upper-class citizens of Westview, thanks to the proximity of the governmental district and the more exclusive neighborhoods in the upper half of the city. Of course, as far as goods went, that was fine with Ward; he didn’t want to shop for cheap weapons or hunt through bargain shops for books and texts, but everything hinged on their first activity of the day: selling the gemstones they’d pulled from the spire.

The hotel manager had recommended a jeweler for them to visit, and he’d also been eager to hand Haley back her sack of glories, apparently uncomfortable with the responsibility. As Haley stashed away her fortune, Ward had taken the sealed metal box and stored it back in their room, locking it in the safe. He intended to seek further answers about the evil artifact contained within, but he didn’t want to carry it around town while he shopped.

They found the jeweler’s shop exactly where the manager had promised, on the northeast corner of the market square. Haley read the sign aloud as they approached, “Gregor’s Gilded Touch.”

Ward snorted. “Sounds a little…”

“Creepy?” Grace finished for him.

Ward sighed and went inside. The shop reminded him of a jewelry store from an old movie, with glass display cases, a finely dressed “hostess” in a silken gown, and men with jeweler’s lenses sitting behind counters, examining gemstones and fine jewelry. When Ward showed his handful of gemstones to the woman who greeted them, she hurried them back to a private room, where they waited for only a few minutes before one of the jewelers entered and sat down on the opposite side.

He was a pleasant enough fellow, and to Ward’s sensibilities, he seemed honest enough. He valued their gemstones at nearly thirteen thousand glories and didn’t bat an eye when they asked for payment immediately in cash. Ward insisted on giving Haley a thousand of his payout for Blazewitch, but she flat-out refused to take anything further for the things she’d paid for while he’d been short of funds. As a result, when they left, Ward had a nice fat pouch with more than five thousand glories in it, and Haley was flush, having recouped far more than she’d put out since leaving Port Granite.

Standing outside the jeweler’s shop, Ward nodded to the far side of the square where no less than three alchemical arms shops stood waiting. “I want to see about trading Blazewitch for something a little less cumbersome.”

Haley nodded. “And I need to buy a new wardrobe, among other things.” Ward knew part of the “among other things” was a set of tinker’s tools for future explorations in challenges.

“I wish I could go with Haley!” Grace whined, folding her arms over her chest.

“Well, you have my permission,” Ward quipped.

“You know it doesn’t work that way!” Grace looked at Haley. “I wish it did, though.”

“I know, Grace. I’ll show you everything I buy when we meet back at the hotel. Will that be fine?”

“Fine,” Grace veritably pouted.

“I’ll go to the library after dealing with this.” Ward held up his malfunctioning gun.

Haley nodded and smiled as she started toward a dressmaker a few shops down the way. “I’ll just meet you back at the hotel, then. I don’t want to try to find you.”

“See you later.” Ward wanted to tell her to be careful, but he knew it went without saying; besides, she was tough as hell. Anyone who tried to mug her was going to be in for a very bad day.

As he made his way across the square, skirting around a central fountain, Grace tugged on his wool jacket. “You need to replace this.”

“Yeah, I know. I’d like something lighter than that chainmail shirt, too.”

With no recommendation to steer him, Ward stopped at the first alchemical arms shop he came to: Philosopher’s Forge. It was smaller than the shop where he’d bought Blazewitch, but the front window boasted a wide array of guns, many of which looked a lot more modern than those Ward had seen in Tarnish or Port Granite in that they seemed to have blued-steel barrels and featured a breech-loading cartridge design.

When Ward stepped into the shop, he had to wait a while as the only proprietor helped a man purchase a hunting rifle. As he waited, Ward perused the weapons, lingering in front of a wall hung with all manner of pistols, though, sadly, no six-shooters. When the older gentleman with a walrus-style mustache exited carrying a very long-barreled rifle, the shopkeeper, a tidy, older fellow who smelled like tobacco and spiced cologne, walked over and gestured to Blazewitch, hanging from Ward’s shoulder. “Quite a weapon there.”

“She’s a work of art but not exactly durable. I need something a bit sturdier and more compact for my line of work.”

“Oh? Looking to sell that one?”

“Sure, or trade it for store credit. It’s, uh, currently a bit jammed. I think one of the gears is bent.”

“Bring it over to my workbench.”

Ward did as asked and set Blazewitch on the well-worn wooden countertop. The old fellow brought out some fine brass tools—pliers, screwdrivers, and the like. After fifteen minutes of tinkering and a little pounding from a tiny brass hammer, he managed to get the lever to start moving again, actuating the cylinder smoothly with each pull. “Aye, she’s a work of art, but I wouldn’t carry her onto a battlefield, mister.”

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly. I’ve got a couple boxes of ammunition to go along with her if you’re interested in taking her off my hands.”

“I’m sure I could find a buyer here in town. What kind of replacement were you thinking of?”

“Well, something reliable and accurate and compact. In my old line of work, I carried a handgun that could fire six cartridges before needing a reload. I don’t suppose you’ve got anything like that?”

“I’m afraid not. Best I can do is a two-barrel, breech-loading cartridge pistol. Here.” He walked over to the wall and took the gun in question down. It was bigger than Ward’s old pistol, but he could see it was well-made with a pair of eight-inch, blued-steel barrels and a hand-carved hardwood grip. “This one was made by a local artisan—Mitt Mayfield. He has a way with barrels that gives the bullets a bit of a spin. ‘Course, that means you need to be pretty precise with the size of the lead balls. Anyway, you won’t find a more accurate handgun in Westview.”

“May I?” Ward held out his hand, and the old timer slapped the butt of the pistol into his palm. It had a good weight, and when he cracked the breech and looked through the barrel at a light, he saw that his suspicion was correct—both barrels were rifled. “How much?”

“Well, seeing as you carry a sword, do you want a shoulder rig for that piece? If so, I’ll do the gun and the rig for six-fifty. Or, trade me that cannon and your ammo, and we’ll call it good.”

Ward knew full well that Blazewitch was worth a hell of a lot more than a two-barrel pistol. He chuckled and shook his head. “I’ll pay you for your time fixing Blazewitch, but I think I’ll try to sell her elsewhere. I paid more than a thousand for her.”

“Oh, hold on now. Never bargained with anyone before?” The older man reached into his vest and took out a leather pouch. Ward watched as he scooped a wad of tobacco out of it and stuffed it into his cheek. “I was just feeling you out, ya see?” He turned and spat on the sawdust-covered floor behind his counter. “I’ll give you the pistol, a shoulder rig, a box of munitions, and two hundred glories. Now that’s the best I can do.” He locked eyes with Ward and held out his hand.

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Ward grinned. The truth of the matter was that he was glad to be done with the deal; he wasn’t the kind of man who wanted to walk from store to store looking for the best bargain. He nodded and clasped the old timer’s hand, surprised by the strength of his grip. “Deal.”

Fifteen minutes later, Ward walked out of the gun shop with a new pistol slung under his left arm and a much lighter backpack, having unloaded Blazewitch’s heavy ammunition boxes. On one hand, he regretted letting the gun go so quickly and easily, but overall, he was glad not to be lugging the thing around. He hadn’t been lying when he said it wasn’t the right sort of weapon for him.

“Well, that’s one impulsive decision that didn’t cost you too much,” Grace remarked as Ward contemplated where to go next.

Ward glanced at her and scowled, a wave of irritation rising in his chest that, he was a little embarrassed to say, sounded like a growl. “Which way to the library?” He was trying to remember the directions he’d gotten from the hotel manager before leaving.

“North out of the square. When you see the gated manors on the right, you’re supposed to follow the lane along the river park, and the library will be across from the cemetery.”

Ward smiled, trying to recapture his earlier good cheer, and nudged her with his elbow. “See? You’re not useless, I don’t care what other people say.”

“Hilarious. So? Are you going to shop a little more or go straight to the library?”

“I need to know what the hell is going on with me, so, yeah, I’m going to put off shopping for jackets and whatnot until I try to find out if I need to, you know, chain myself down at night.”

Grace hurried to follow as Ward started off toward the square’s central, northern exit. “Do you feel more angry or hungry? Can you smell the blood of the slaughterhouse on the other side of town?”

“Are you just going to throw movie clichés at me, or do you have some actual ideas?”

“Well, answer me! Do you get the urge to bite people or, you know, sniff their crotches?”

Ward laughed. “Nah, nothing like that yet.”

Grace pointed to a mangy yellow-white dog sniffing around an alley nearby. “What about him? Any urge to chase him off or bite him?”

Ward adjusted his hat, chuckling. “You’re an idiot.”

The walk to the library was longer than he’d expected, but it was nice and cool out, and the river park was lovely, despite the fall weather. Ward watched more than one fancy little coach roll by with finely dressed ladies and gentlemen out for a morning tour. Part of him thought it looked fun, and he imagined taking a ride like that with Fay or—and this he wouldn’t admit to anyone, especially with Grace around—Lisa. He had to admit the sorceress was growing on him. The thought brought a question to his mind, and he asked Grace, “You suppose Lisa’s doing all right? Her bullet wound was healing fine, right?”

“Of course, she is. If our ministrations weren’t enough, I’m sure her fancy cousin has a surgeon on call.”

Ward nodded. “Yeah.” He strolled the rest of the way in silence, hurrying his steps in eager anticipation. Was he finally going to start getting some answers about all the strange shit he’d been experiencing?

The library was an enormous stone edifice with stained-glass windows and gargoyle-like statues lining the crenelations on the third story. No crowds milled about, and the foyer was quiet when Ward went inside. When he stepped onto the marble floor, and his boots clicked, echoing hollowly, a small, bearded man wearing a dusty smock emerged from an office behind the central counter and beckoned him over.

“How may I assist you today, good sir?”

Ward doffed his hat and hung it on a rack before walking closer. He knew his eyes would be bright in the dim light of the library’s foyer, so it wasn’t surprising that the little fellow straightened up and glanced left and right a bit nervously. Ward cleared his throat and nodded. “I have important research to conduct. How are your books organized?”

“Sir, we follow the Burns-Thatcher method of cataloging, and I’ll be more than happy to assist you. However, I must ask: are you a member?”

“Not yet, I’m not. What will it cost me?” Ward slipped a hand inside his coat.

“Oh, a nominal fee, sir; however, I’ll need to file your sponsor’s letter of introduction.”

Ward felt a low growl in his chest as he muttered a curse, but the man hastily waved his hand.

“Apologies, sir, but are you, um, registered with the Assembly? Perhaps I could waive the membership requirements for you, at least temporarily.”

“I’m not registered.” Ward rumbled, frowning, but then another idea came to him. “I’ve done some work as a Marshal—deputized and everything. In fact, I think I might have my letter of introduction from Marshal Aldiss here somewhere,” Ward unslung his pack and made to open it, but the man waved his hand again.

“Not necessary, sir. I can see clear as day that you’re on the Road, and if you say this is Marshal business, I’ll not be fool enough to interfere. Follow me, and I’ll set you up in one of the reading rooms.”

Ward nodded and followed him into the grandly appointed library, inhaling deeply, savoring the scents of old paper, vellum, and leather. They passed by high library shelves equipped with rolling ladders, ornately carved tables and chairs, and then into a smallish room dominated by a large, polished mahogany table and chairs. “You won’t be bothered in here, sir. Now,” he produced a small notebook and a stick of charcoal, “if you’ll tell me what texts you’d like me to fetch you, I’ll be quick as can be.”

“I need books detailing bloodlines—particularly lycan, aetherborn, celestial, and infernal. I also need any texts you have that might provide clarity about anima and ‘anima hearts.’ Finally, I need information regarding refinements from the challenges.”

“Ah, well, those are certainly esoteric topics, sir. I won’t pretend to know what sort of business you’re about. I won’t promise we’ll have all the information you seek, but I’m certain I can find a few documents and tomes on those topics. If you’ll be pleased to wait, I’ll do my best to gather what you seek.”

Ward nodded, and the man hurried out, leaving him alone with his thoughts, which Grace was quick to intrude upon. “He certainly seemed helpful.”

“Yeah, it almost feels suspicious, doesn’t it?” Ward clenched and unclenched his fists.

“It’s called intimidation, Ward. You looked like you were ready to rip his throat out when he started asking you about a sponsor’s letter. Did you realize you were growling at him?”

“Not until after it started,” Ward admitted. Grace seemed amused, but he didn’t think it was all that funny. He couldn’t go around growling at people until he got his way, could he? What if the kid working the library counter went to the local constabulary? What if they came with witch hunters and priests to lock Ward away or put him down? Hadn’t he just helped slaughter some guards in the street that very morning? Sure, they’d been crooked and tried to rob him and his friends, but if they had a grudge and were looking for strangers causing trouble…Ward shook his head and pushed the worries aside. What could he do about it? Hopefully, the kid was just getting him the texts he requested.

“What do you think your new spell will do?” Grace asked, perhaps trying to help him take his mind off things.

“Lord knows. I didn’t expect the first spell I got to conjure phantoms from the past.”

“Did I say something to irritate you?” To his surprise, Grace seemed genuinely concerned.

“No. Why?”

“Your tone. You’re snapping and, well, like seriously, Ward. There’s a growl rumbling in your chest.”

“The fuck?” Ward held his hand to his chest, and sure enough, he could feel the rumble. Why couldn’t he hear it? Was it too much a part of him? “I feel irritable. No, it’s more than that. I feel stressed.” He glanced around the little room, at the walls with no windows and the heavy oaken door. “I feel trapped.” He stood abruptly, sending his chair clattering back into the wall behind him, and approached the door.

When he grabbed the knob and twisted, he half expected it to be locked, but it turned easily, and when he jerked the door open, nothing waited outside—no soldiers with spears or torches, no hunters with silver-tipped crossbow bolts or muskets primed to fire. Ward stepped out and walked down the short hallway to a tall, narrow window letting in a pale shaft of daylight. When he stood before the glass, the sun hitting his face and the trees and grass of the park in view, he felt his racing heart begin to calm.

“Something’s going on with you,” Grace said, clearly trying to keep her tone calming and her words less than inflammatory.

“You think?” Ward growled. He sat on the window sill, his back to the glass, and watched the hallway, alternating his view toward the room he’d come from and the far end where it opened onto the central library. When he’d been sitting for a while, and nothing moved, let alone threatened him, he began to feel more relaxed. “It’s the lycan—the wolf or whatever beast I’m becoming. It doesn’t like being cooped up in an unfamiliar place.”

“Why are you speaking about it in the third person? Isn’t ‘it’ you?”

“I don’t know, Grace. If that kid ever returns, maybe we can find out.” To her credit, Grace didn’t reply, and Ward sat there stewing for several more minutes before a trundling squeak announced a book cart long before it came into view. Even knowing what it was, Ward found himself standing with his hand on the hilt of his sword when the young man pushed the cart around the corner.

When he saw Ward by the window, he paused and called out. “Shall I bring the books to you there?”

Ward shook his head and started forward. “Nah, I just wanted to stretch. Did you find what I needed?”

“I hope so, good sir. I found several books on bloodlines, a religious text from the fourth era on anima, and a traveler’s guide to the Vainglory challenges.”

Ward wanted to ask what ‘the fourth era’ meant but didn’t want to look too much like a fish out of water, so he just grunted his thanks and followed him into the study room. “What’s your name?”

“My apologies, sir. I’m Kandish. I’ll be working the front desk until evening, so if you need anything at all, that’s where you can find me.”

“Do you ever allow books to leave the library?”

“Only for members with borrowing status, I’m afraid. I’d love to waive the requirement, but I can’t afford a single one of these books, and it would come out of my—”

Ward waved a hand. “It’s fine. I was simply curious.”

The young man pushed his narrow triangular spectacles up on the bridge of his nose and nodded. “Very well. As I said, I’ll be at the front desk.” With that, he left, closing the door gently behind himself.

Ward looked at the leather-bound tomes on the cart, one of which was a good six inches thick. Taking a deep breath, trying to push his earlier agitation out as he exhaled, he looked at Grace. “Please tell me you can read really fast or something.”