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Chapter 12

The sun had moved well past its zenith when Slim and Wellynd finally came to a halt in front of a blank, grey-stone wall. In similar fashion to Wellynd’s trip to the square, the pair had weaved through several smaller plazas and back alleys of the Old Town, making their way north towards the boundaries of the city.

Wellynd had never been to this part of town. It was reminiscent of the religious quarter, but the buildings were further spread out from one another, accented by wide cobbled roads in varying degrees of disrepair.

“Is this really necessary?” asked Wellynd.

Slim scowled at him and jerked his head further down the alley. Several paces further ahead slumped against one of the walls, sat what appeared to be another monk, garbed in a robe similar to Slim’s.

Slim sauntered over to the man and tossed a coin in the brass pot sitting beside him. The beggar must have been blind, as he didn’t react until the coin clanged against the brass.

In response, the man pulled a burlap cowl out from his robe and handed it up to Slim, who snatched it and walked back towards Wellynd.

“Put this on. And don’t let me catch you peeking. Dhengis here will know if you do.” sneered Slim, holding out the sack whilst pointing his thumb back to the blind man.

“Really?” sighed Wellynd before grabbing the sack. He flashed Slim a sarcastic smile.

The Mox were always up to this nonsense. They fashioned themselves as some great shadowy organisation and tried to act like one.

In reality, they were just another small criminal outfit. And from what Wellynd heard from the crew of the Brinebreaker, they were only known in Revenshore, and had very little influence beyond the city limits.

From his previous interactions with Slim, Wellynd learned that the only way he could deal with them was to cut through their nonsense with acerbic wit.

In comparison to Laine’s other client, the Resistance, the Mox Ambrum were, to use one of Bilge’s favourite phrases “litt’l potatoes”.

Wellynd arched an eyebrow as he watched Slim twirl a dagger while looking up the street behind them.

The whole song and dance was exhausting.

Finding the holes in the sack and coiling the sides up in his hands, he pulled it over his head and immediately began to cough.

It smelled like old feet.

Just as he began to get used to the smell, he felt Slim’s hand grasp his shoulder and push him forward.

Underneath the burlap, Wellynd rolled his eyes. They were off again.

Unable to see anything besides a few specks of light through the shroud, Wellynd let Slim’s rough hand aggressively guide him through what seemed like leagues upon leagues of winding alleyways, occasionally tripping over his feet.

He had no idea where they would end up.

In order to confront the tingle of dread that had begun to foment in his stomach, Wellynd passed the time by imagining himself as a captive trying to figure out where he was going. He listened closely to the sound of his shoes upon the cobbles and sniffed the air for the salt of the sea.

It seemed like they were moving further towards the outskirts of the city; further from the conveyor and further from the crash of the waves. Less and less did he hear the footsteps of another person walking by. Every now and then Slim would grunt “What are you looking at, Nump?”, but as time drew on, even these interactions faded beyond seldom.

After a time, he gave up on trying to figure out where they were going, and his mind began to drift back towards the blue-tented shop and the stone that now sat heavy in his pocket.

Was Slim right? Was it just another fake piece of junk? Although he hated to admit it, Slim’s aspersion of doubt further dampened his already narrow hopes.

After what seemed like the whole afternoon, Wellynd finally felt Slim lift his hand off his shoulder as they came to a halt.

It was quiet. The drone of the conveyor had died out some time ago, and he heard no nearby sounds of life.

Wellynd jumped as a sudden and violent grinding, the absonant grating of stone upon stone, echoed through the alleyway. He felt the deep reverberations in the stones in front of him, so he stepped back and began to pull off his mask.

A hand firmly gripped his shoulder.

“I said keep it on, dumbass” said Slim in a low, threatening voice.

“What is that? On Arthus, if something happens to me, the Captain is not going to be happy” yelled Wellynd, unable to keep a trickle of fear from leaking into his voice.

Slim didn’t reply.

Stolen story; please report.

After a moment, the grinding stopped, and Slim pushed Wellynd forward. He tripped and almost fell as the ground seemed to fall out from under him. Slim held him fast as his foot finally touched ground.

“Oh ya, watch your step.” he snickered.

Wellynd huffed as he carefully made his way down the steps, the air growing cooler as he descended.

The few splotches of light visible through his mask shifted from the bright golden sheen of afternoon sun to a dimmer auburn glow. The ground soon levelled out, and the smell of damp stone soon overtook the now faint stench of feet.

They had walked about fifty paces when Slim stopped him. Once again a grinding sound echoed through the tunnel, this time louder in the confined space. Wellynd put his hands over his ears. Slim shoved him forward onto a step and they began to ascend again.

A new scent wafted in through the burlap. Candle wax?He felt a tug at the top of his head as Slim pulled off the bag.

Wellynd gaped.

He couldn’t think of any building of this size in all of Revenshore. He had never been in a room this big. It must have been some sort of temple. Not that he’d ever been in one, but he’d read about places like this. This was the type of place where ancient priests worshipped even older gods.

He craned his neck upward. The vaulted ceilings must have been fifty paces high; the tops of each wall were lined with stained glass transom windows. He couldn’t make out what they depicted, but they were clearly more aesthetic than practical.

There was one source of proper natural light. A large oculus had been built right into the centre of the ceiling, the afternoon sun pouring down into the hall in a dazzling beam of light that seemed to contain innumerable trails of swirling dust. Wellynd followed the light down and scanned his more immediate surroundings.

The hall itself was in an odd state of disarray;piles of wood pews were scattered about the temple floor, some shattered, some twisted and burnt, the ground beneath them speckled with shattered wood. An ornately weaved violet rug ran the length of the temple floor.

He and Slim stood at the far end of the rug near the middle of the hall. At the other end were a few steps leading up to a section that held the dais, although what lay beyond was obscured. The whole area had been cordoned off with large black drapes, and two men paced back and forth in front of the divider.

Behind them, what Wellynd presumed was the back of the temple, was even more shrouded in shadow. Squinting his eyes, he could only make out the silhouettes of what must have been more dilapidated furniture.

“Pretty nice, eh?” said Slim, puffing out his chest and spreading his arms as if he owned the place.

“If you like creepy, sure. Am I supposed to pray to some crusty old god or something? Why did you bring me here?”

Slim grunted and made a dismissive gesture, turning on his heel and making his way towards the back of the hall.

The two made their way through the debris, Wellynd occasionally kicking detritus as he walked. Eventually, they came to a spiral stairway at the back of the hall. Wellynd carefully followed Slim up the narrow steps, the soft sounds of voices and music growing as he ascended the stairs.

The stone passageway had been mended with mortar in places, and entire blocks were missing in others. Reaching the top, they made for the wooden scaffolding that bridged a gap in the stone, their feet clacking against the planks as they crossed to the other side, eventually passing through a wide door.

This was not what Wellynd expected to find.

In front of him sat half a dozen tables sitting in the middle of a sizable room, most of them occupied with groups of two or three figures huddled over candles, drinking from an eclectic array of mugs and flagons.

A wooden bar lined the left side of the room, the far end of the tavern sectioned off by another velvet drape. The scents of spilled beer and tobacco smoke intermingled with those of the old temple, creating a rare and strange smell distilled by damp stone.

What Wellynd found most surprising , however, was the quietude that permeated the makeshift tavern. People spoke, but they spoke in hushed voices. Music played, but the strings of the rebec were plucked softly, as if the cloaked figure at the corner of the bar was playing in private contemplation.

The members of the Mox Ambrum were uncharacteristically subdued.

All eyes turned to Wellynd and Slim when they entered. Smiles turned to grimaces and blurry eyes fixed to hard stares. Slim began boisterously slapping backs and grabbing shoulders, calling aloud for ale, pointing over to a makeshift booth in the far back corner towards the drape.

Wellynd shimmied into the booth and slid onto the bench opposite Slim, who had already sat down and was eying Wellynd, an annoyingly smug grin on his face.

“Nice place” said Wellynd, looking around, nodding. “how long you guys been squatting here?”

Slim ignored the question and took a long drink from the mug of ale that the bar keep had just brought over, the dark liquid spilling down the sides of his cheeks and onto his tunic. He then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and gestured to the bar keep before looking back at Wellynd “I don’t know why the boss wanted you here. But he did. So keep your mouth shut and wait.”

Wellynd swallowed. He’d never come this far for a deal with the Mox.

“I don’t know what you think you’re going to get out of me, but I really don’t have that much time. Can we hurry this up?”

Slim ignored him again.

Wellynd shrugged his shoulders and looked around.

“Whats behind the curtain at the front of this place?”

Slim sneered. “None of your business, kid. We have many secrets in the Mox. Much of our power comes from those secrets.”

“You’re not important enough to know, are you?” chuckled Wellynd.

Slim straightened and slammed his mug on the table “If you don’t stop wagging that tongue I’ll cut it out.” he feigned a thinking pose, exaggerating his movements “Hmm. Now that I think about it, we don’t really need you to talk.” He pulled out a knife and smiled, turning it back and forth in front of Wellynd, the gleam of candlelight dancing on the edge of the blade.

Wellynd forced a straight face. “Listen Slim, I know you’re a funny guy, but on the off chance that you are planning on doing something to me, I would really recommend that you don’t. The captain really won’t like it if his main delivery boy gets hurt, you know?”

Suddenly, a crash shook the booth.

Slim stopped spinning his knife, his smirk fading away as he sat back in his seat, eyes fixed on something behind Wellynd.

A choked gurgle echoed through the tavern, followed by a wet thud that caused the hairs on Wellynd’s neck to stand as he turned to follow Slim’s gaze to the far end of the bar.