This is a novelization of a campaign that Asp was designed to be a part of, beginning with this, her intro session.
“Excuse me, sir, but have you heard of anything around town that no one seems to be paying attention to?” Asp adopted her most deferential of tones as she approached the smith between heavy strikes of his heavier hammer.
“That’s a mighty specific question, little one,” replied the elven smith without taking an eye off of his raining blows on a slowly forming blade.
“Specific questions usually get the most specific answers,” she replied, placing her inkpen against a notepad in readiness.
He chortled and hammered again before turning his attention to her. “Nothing I think you’d be interested in.”
She flashed a toothy grin. “You’d be surprised. I can find most anything to be interesting if I try hard enough.”
He laughed again, a touch harder this time. “Nothing you won’t learn from just being around for a while.”
She widened her smile. “I believe your people’s saying is something to the effect of ‘readiness is the friend of experience.’”
The smith shook his head, a broad grin on his face. “That’s a rough translation. ‘Knowing beforehand is the friend of knowing in the moment’ would be a more literal way to put it. But something like ‘being familiar is better than being forced to be ready’ would be closer to the spirit of it.”
“Thank you,” Asp replied in earnest. “I’m Delia. I’m a reporter from out east. I heard things in Lo’Torrin can be rough, and I want to help in the small way I can. If you help me to be familiar with the news around here, I can try to help before I’m at the disadvantage of being forced to find out on my own.”
The smith nodded, his smile fading. “You might take this down, then: be careful of the–”
Asp furrowed her brow when the man stopped short of finishing his sentence. “Be careful of the what now?”
The smith’s eyes had grown cold, and she could see that his breath was shallower. He turned back to his anvil and began to hammer the blade again. He seemed to be suddenly unaware of her presence.
What did I do? She glanced down at herself to check her body language. Am I too eager? In that moment, she recognized that the whole area had grown quieter. She looked around. All around her, people seemed to move more awkwardly, mechanically almost, as though they were all consciously choosing to move rather than simply letting themselves do as they would. Bad acting. Everyone’s acting. She furtively traced her eyes over the area. The only person around not locked into manual motion was a tall and thin elven woman with a severe face; she had a small insignia stitched into the lapel of her fancy tunic. Guard. But not the same as the other guards. She waited until the woman’s casual stroll had carried her out of the area, then turned back to the smith.
“Be careful of her?”
“Hush, child,” whispered the smith between hammer strikes.
Asp nodded. “Thanks for your time.”
She turned and scurried away in the opposite direction that the guardswoman had gone.
Spooky, she thought to herself. Ever since I got tangled up in things here in Lo’Torrin, I feel like I’m being watched. I mean, a good criminal always feels like that. A great criminal only feels that way when they are being watched. So I guess the question is, am I good and hopefully wrong, or great and right? Neither one is particularly good for me. Alone, I need to be great. But if I’m being watched, I’m in trouble. Shit. I gotta figure out which bad news is the truth.
She entered another little square of the merchant district and scanned the area as she had in the last one. Too busy, she thought, eyeing up a baker at a crowded booth. A clothier sneered around the square, her elven eyes narrowed at everyone around her–too nasty. Asp sighted a tired-looking tanner at the edge of the square. He seemed resigned to simply wishing that a customer would stop by, and she noted that his wishing wasn’t amounting to much. Perfect.
Asp put on a show of wandering in looping and indirect paths across the square, giving the appearance of inspecting the wares of the merchants on her circuitous route. Nice tapestries, her face seemed to say, and she would hesitate for just long enough in front of certain sellers to suggest she was making up her mind about whether to stop, but she only ever slowed and began pushing forward again. Eventually, she stood before the tanner as if quite by accident. She made an effort to adopt a surprised look when she arrived there, as if to say, “Now how in the world did I end up at this particular merchant?” but found she didn’t have to try that hard–the man surrounded by leathers and furs looked strikingly like an elven version of the tanner she had apprenticed for back in Thistlewade two decades before.
“Hello, good sir,” she said with a genuine touch of sweetness. She realized with a start that she had missed her old tanner employer without really thinking about it. How many other things would I miss if I made myself think about it?
“Morning, miss,” said the tanner slowly. He was equal parts morose and sleepy with just a dash of resignation. “You in the market for hides?”
Asp smiled. “Depends. What solvents did you use on that buckskin right there?”
The tanner raised his eyebrows and stood up straight. “I use a combination of fish oils and chalk. Why do you ask?”
“Fish oils make sense in a port city,” said Asp, ignoring his question for now. “Is chalk readily available around here?”
“In the hills just outside of town,” he replied. “You can get it pretty cheap from the miners who come to town.”
“Good to know,” she said, rubbing her chin. “But you’re still omitting something, right? You need something stronger to break down the proteins for curing.”
The tanner blinked. “Trade secret,” he said, crossing his arms.
“Fair enough,” countered Asp. “So it’s not a standard tanning process.” She carefully gave this last bit an intonation that straddled the line between question and statement.
“Family tradition.”
Short answers now. He’s getting defensive. Crack his defenses.
“I only ask because I worked in a tannery a long time ago. I’m no competitor of yours. I actually have a question for you if you’ll hear it.”
The tanner uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on his hips. “So you’re not looking to buy?”
“I didn’t say that,” said Asp with a smile. “Question first, buckskin later.”
The elf allowed himself a measured grin a light chuckle. “Ask away.”
“I’m somewhat new to town. I came here from out east.”
The tanner guffawed. “Everywhere’s east from here, missy.”
Asp matched his laugh with a feigned one of her own, carefully tempering the surprise of the pitch with an innocent tinkling. “Very true, my friend.”
The tanner’s shoulders relaxed. Good. The “my friend” gambit is a gamble.
“I’m new here, as I said, and I was hoping to get a good story to establish myself in the city. See, I’m a freelance reporter, and I want to do something to help Lo’Torrin. You know of anything that more people should know about?”
The tanner shrugged–not lack of knowledge, but resignation again. “I imagine that most anyone who needs to know something about this city knows it already.”
“Ah, but that’s a matter of perspective. I’ve lived in a lot of cities, my friend, and I can tell you this for sure: what one corner of town knows is not necessarily common knowledge to the rest of town. What you know all too well could be baffling to someone just a few streets over.”
“I doubt it.” The tanner crossed his arms again.
I gotta make this fool laugh if I’m gonna get him on my side. She smiled. “I grew up in Thistlewade, the slightkin capital on Eunax. For six years or so, I slept in a tree. Plenty of people knew me as the little girl who sleeps in the tree. But let me tell you, there were people who lived in houses I could see from that tree who never knew I was up there. I guarantee you this, my friend,” she said, placing a hand firmly down on his table, “you know something that people down the road don’t. Let me tell them.”
The tanner shook his head and slapped his thigh hard as he laughed. “You really slept in a tree for that long?”
Asp nodded, an unintentionally pained smile on her lips. “We all know struggle. Sometimes telling people about those struggles does more good than you realize.”
The tanner’s eyes grew cloudy, and he wiped them with the back of a gloved hand. “Fair enough. My wares got picked apart by the guard captain on the way through the slums. From what I understand, she does that to lots of folks. I had some beautiful pieces, miss, and now I got these simple skins you see before you. And I got away easier than most. But everyone in the slums knows about her.”
“So let me find out if the folks in the other parts of town know too,” said Asp, fishing a few helms out of her coinpurse and placing them on the table. “Three for the buckskin,” she said, pushing the silver coins towards the tanner, “and one for the story,” she added, pushing one more across the table. “What’s her name now?”
“Madris,” said the tanner. He took the buckskin from the wooden frame from which it hung and handed it over. “Careful, now. She’s one beast you don’t want to cross.”
Asp smiled at him. “I’ll be cautious. Good luck getting yourself back to where you were.” She squeezed the hide at a few points and beamed at the tanner. “Nice even work. This thing is smooth as the water’s edge.”
He smiled back. “Thanks. If you ever need work, I wouldn’t mind an apprentice who knows their stuff.”
“I’ll think about it!” she cried. “Take care now!”
Right. The day I do honest work again is the day I’m manacled and forced to do manual labor.
—
After another hour or so of asking questions about this Madris woman, Asp had come to the conclusion that there was really only one way to learn more. Like the smith, the people she talked to grew instantly and unbudgingly quiet and defensive. Some of them seemed to regard Asp as a fool meddling in things she didn’t understand; even more seemed to think she was an agent employed by the guard to trick them into saying something for which they could be punished, and it appeared to Asp that the threshold for punishment was wildly low.
In my first couple days here, I did some pretty risky things. I guess I got very lucky that I didn’t end up on this lady’s bad side. She had explored the merchant district pretty thoroughly, but only the tanner had been willing to give her much of anything to go on. Years of con artistry had taught her when pressing an issue would get more bad attention than information, and she found it frustratingly difficult to get much more than warning signs. Maybe I leave the merchant district and hope for better answers here. Think–where would Madris spend most of her time? From here, I could go to the government seat, the slums, or the industrial sector. But merchants would mostly need to get to and from the docks. So, through the slums to the docks? Worth a shot. It’s not like I have any real information to go on yet.
Asp made for the slums, keeping an eye out for any city guards who might be prowling about. The weird thing is that it seems like most of the guards around here are pretty decent. No excessive violence. No extortion. No blackmail. It’s kind of idyllic. It’s certainly no Strey–shit, half the guard there were crooked in one way or another, and only some of them were the bribable kind of crooked. She thought of the two guards who had plotted to kill her as she’d hidden beneath the floorboards of the abandoned house back on that island city where she’d started over with Jehosaphat, Kyrn, Dancer, Annabel, Candace–Fuck. I’ll never see any of them again.
A series of clattering and raucous sounds spilled from a doorway at the road where the merchant district met the slums. She glanced inside. There, four identical men moved frantically around, tools and unidentifiable machines in their hands. Above the doorway was a finely lettered sign that read “The Four Hammers.” Asp chuckled to herself and shrugged. Why not? She stepped cautiously inside.
“Hello!” all four of the identical elven men shouted in unison.
“Um, hi!” she offered in return.
“Hi, I’m Galen. Looking for something?” inquired one while the other three loudly tapped, turned, and twisted various instruments and gadgets.
Holy shit. These guys are Gilbert, but for real. This could be good.
“Yes, actually,” she said, working to keep from looking like the cat that ate the canary. “I’m in search of something that looks like a traditional newtkin gadget.”
Galen helping her screwed up his face, suppressing a laugh. “Looks like? Or is?”
“Whichever is easier to make and cheaper to buy.”
Galen her chuckled. “That’s a curious request.”
“You seem to be curious shop owners,” she said as lightly as she could manage.
All four of the men laughed together.
“Fair enough,” said Galen. “What should it do?”
Asp blushed a bit despite feeling only the calm of working, a trick she had taught herself while in Despair Prison when there had been nothing else to do, which was most of the time. “Whatever you feel like making, really. I’m good friends with a newtkin, and I want to give him something that will remind him of home.”
“Ooooh,” breathed Galen. “A real challenge–satisfying a newtkin with an invention of newtkin style.”
“The real challenge,” said Asp, “would be if you could make a bunch of them at low cost. And really, it doesn’t have to do anything special. Just kind of have the feel of a newtkin gadget.”
Galen cocked an eyebrow. “That’s doable, I suppose. About how many?”
“Oh, fifty or so would do. Something small and easily portable if you can.” The kind of thing I can haul around and con people into buying without much trouble.
The man nodded, apparently more taken by the challenge than by the questions it raised. “Absolutely. Let me make some notes, and I’ll give you a total.”
Asp smiled politely and turned to wander the shop. A fine telescope sat in the corner in the window display; next to it was a clothes wringer without a crank, and a small sign explained that it ran automatically after the press of a button; a series of navigational devices set into a collapsible frame sat just beyond them. I always played Gilbert as what I thought was cartoonishly eccentric. I didn’t realize that he was pretty average amongst real inventors. She watched as the four elves moved quickly about the room, pure chaos channeled into creation. If only I could have four Gilberts–the multiplication effect really sells the eccentricity. She glanced back out the window past a boxy device with keys all over it. That’s the strangest accordion I’ve ever seen. Wait, why are there elven letters on the keys? Unless–
“Hey, wait–what’s that thing right there?” she asked.
Galen looked up from his scribbling. “Printing press,” he said. “You plug in the letters you want, and it will make as many perfect copies as you want if you’ve got the paper and ink for it. My brother Faroren’s work.” One of the identical elves perked up at the sound of his name.
Asp’s eyes shone in the dim light of the shop, and she didn’t bother hiding her fascination. “Could you make one in the common tongue?” she asked Faroren
Faroren shrugged. “I don’t see why not. You a writer?”
“Reporter,” said Asp, puffing out her chest. “I’m Delia. I write about social issues that face the public and bring them to a broader attention.”
“Oh, so that would be perfect for you, huh?” chuckled Faroren, and Galen returned to his scribbling. “Yeah, I figure we can make you a press with the common alphabet and Galen can make a cache of faux newtkin gadgets in . . . about five days’ time. I’ll need to get construction underway before I give you a final total, but it should be about 18 crowns.”
“I’ll give you 25 if you can make it three days.” She did her best to keep her negotiating tone gentle but firm, but her ears told her she leaned more towards the firm side of things than she meant to.
Galen and Faroren raised their eyebrows but nodded in unison. Faroren spoke: “I’ll see what we can do. See you back here in three days? We’ll at least have a status report for you.”
Asp smiled and nodded back. “Thank you kindly. Say, any news one should know about in these parts?”
Faroren nodded. “We don’t leave the shop much. But there’s always something happening in Lo’Torrin.”
Asp forced a chuckle and waved, heading back into the city. “I get that sense already. Thanks again! See you in three days!”
The four identical elven men shouted a unified “Bye for now!” as she left the shop, and Asp turned toward the slums.
Things are looking up. Just gotta make it three days without getting into too much trouble, and I’ll be set.
—
The slums were not unknown to Asp–the cozy little inn run by Madge, her landlord for now, was located there, and the trouble Asp had already gotten into had taken place here, in the slums. But the slums were sprawling, convoluted, and dense, and it would take weeks to fully get a sense of the area. But Asp wasn’t entirely sure that weeks were what she had before a working knowledge of the city was required of her. If I’ve learned anything today, it’s that things are more dangerous here than I really recognized when I decided to try to start over here. Shit, I don’t even know the official name of the slums–only that they’re basically the poorest part of town. So explore the area more fully and keep an eye out for Madris. I can do that.
She made her way up and down streets playing a game she had perfected back in Thistlewade: who does one make eye contact with? People who want to be seen, you make eye contact with. People who don’t, you don’t. The trick is knowing who’s who before they see you. She came towards an elven woman with three children in tow, her shoulders heavy and her brow furrowed. Not her. She’s too tired to want to be seen. Beyond her, a dwarven man with a fine cloak and a broad smile. She beamed at him and nodded; he nodded back. She turned a corner and saw an elven man with a worried expression, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trousers. Asp stared at the cobblestones before her and watched him from her peripheral vision. When he passed, she glanced back up and spotted a red-haired slightkin, his spectacles flashing in the sun, his face familiar.
Gregorio!
Asp made eye contact at the exact moment that Gregorio looked directly back at her. Their eyes widened simultaneously as they saw each other.
It’s been over a year–maybe he’s softened since we last saw each other. Maybe he’s wised up to Oslo’s nonsense. Maybe I can talk to him and set the record straight. Maybe–
Gregorio’s face contorted into a bitter glare, and he turned on a heel and dashed the other way. Before she knew what she was doing, Asp gave chase. Through the narrow streets, the former gangmates sprinted between oncoming people, around simple vendors, past crowded intersections. Asp was quick and talented when it came to moving through crowds. In fact, had she known the city better, she would have caught up with the slightkin quickly. But Gregorio has evidently explored the city well, and by the time Asp arrived at the next busy intersection, Gregorio was gone into the slums like smoke in the wind.
Fuck. Fuck. I was so close. I could have fixed things. I could have told him what I was too dazed to tell himr all that time ago. It really is over. My past is gone. This is all I have. Fuck. I’m screwed. All he has to do is report me to a guard, and I’m cooked. Beyond cooked. Just a slightkin with nowhere to go. Damnit. Afira was my last shot. I have nowhere to go now. I guess I could try my luck with the Ronan’el on the other side of the continent. But I’ll have to move fast. She stopped walking at the side of the road. Wait. Gregorio doesn’t want to talk to a guard, not really. Does he? Did he go clean? Fuck. There’s no way to know. I guess I just have to wait and see. Oh, gods, I’m in deep trouble. I’m–
“Excuse me, miss?”
Asp wheeled and looked at the source of the sound. A very young elven boy, perhaps five years old, likely younger, stared up at her, seated jauntily on the ground.
“Miss?” he repeated, his face a horrible mixture of bright and beaten down.
“Yeah?” she managed after a moment of trying to not recognize that look as the one she wore at his age.
“Will you jacks with me?” His eyes moved from hers to the jacks on the small patch of street between his outstretched legs.
“Uh, I mean,” she stammered, “I can, I guess.”
“No one will play with me,” he said, his bright eyes meeting hers again.
Asp bit her lip hard enough to keep from crying. “Yeah, okay.” She knelt and inspected the jacks. They were not quite jacks–more caltops with the points filed down than anything. “You ready with the ball?”
He shook his head. “I don’t have a ball. You have to pick them up before I count to three.”
She nodded shakily. “Okay, you go first.” She held out a fist with three raised fingers. “Ready? Go.” She slowly counted the fingers down. “One . . .” The boy held all of the “jacks” in his hand before she got to two.
He grinned mischievously and dropped the jacks back onto the road. “Your turn.”
Asp nodded and looked at the jacks. “I’m ready.”
“Onetwothree!” cried the boy in half a moment. Asp had managed to scoop up half of the jacks but winced in pain. The points of the caltrops had scarcely been filed down enough to blunt them.
“Ow!”
He raised a hand in celebration and uttered an almost feral cry of joy at his victory. Asp noticed the marks left in his hand where he had gripped the jacks tightly.
“You win,” she said. “Nicely done.”
He giggled to himself and shouted, “Again!”
Asp swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m Delia. What’s your name?”
“I’m Malek,” said the boy with the kind of pride that only children possess. “Again!”
Asp played several more games of jacks with Malek. She counted a bit faster each time, but never fast enough for him to fail to gather the caltrops in time, and she gathered the jacks a bit faster each time too, but never fast enough to beat his racing count to three. After one round, Malek gripped the jacks a bit too hard and punctured the skin of his palm.
“Owwwwww!” he moaned, holding his wounded hand before him.
Asp shook her head and pulled a cloth from her bag, wrapping his hand delicately to stop the slow trickle of blood. I wish I could do something more than this for the wound. “I think we should take a break from jacks,” she said.
“I don’t wanna,” he protested.
“But you got hurt,” she reasoned.
“But I don’t wanna,” he insisted.
“Malek, are you hungry?”
The child looked up at her, conflicted. He’s hungry, but he knows not to trust strangers. Smart kid.
“Here,” she cooed. She pulled some dried meat from her pack and handed it to him.
“I don’t eat meat,” said Malek, crossing his arms.
“Okay, then,” said Asp, scanning the area. “I’ll be right back.”
She stalked quickly from the boy to a baker’s stall.
“I’ll take three pieces of that dark bread and one pastry,” she said to the elven baker as quickly as she could while still being understood.
“That’ll be five caps,” said the baker, frowning at Asp’s lack of social grace.
Asp scooped the baked goods up and dropped a helm–twice the price of the food–on the table. “Thanks,” she said, and was gone.
When she got back to where she had just left the boy, he was gone. She glanced this way and that but couldn’t see him. Did I spook him? Was the food thing too much? Where in all that’s holy did he go? She looked down in defeat, and her eyes widened. The jacks were on the ground where they had just been playing. Would he leave without the jacks? She scooped the jacks up and placed them into her bag.
She raced towards a nearby elven woman who’d been nearby during their games. “Did you see where that little boy went?”
The woman turned up her nose. “What boy?”
Asp stamped a foot without meaning to. “The little boy! The really young elven kid who was just over there? With the jacks?”
The woman frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Asp growled, frightening the woman. “Fine.” She stamped off away from the unhelpful woman and looked once more around the area from where they had played together. She saw plenty of people, loads of commotion, lots of vendors–but no Malek.
I’m gonna find you. Even if I have to ask every single person in Lo’Torrin–
Asp froze. She looked down at her Delia outfit with a wicked smile.
I won’t have to. I just found my article.
—
Asp had wandered the slums for about an hour before she had grown restless. Everywhere I go, there are people tired, hungry, afraid. But no one wants to talk. No one will just tell me what’s going on. She shrugged to herself. When the indirect way doesn’t work, you go the direct way.
With a heavy sigh, Asp approached the nearest person, a plainly-dressed newtkin woman. “Excuse me,” she said. “Could you direct me to the nearest guardhouse?”
The newtkin looked back uncomfortably. “Why?” she drawled in a thick newtkin accent. “Have you been assaulted? Robbed?”
“I need to talk to a guard,” said Asp. Because desperate times call for desperate measures.
The newtkin rolled her eyes. “So, like, assaulted or robbed? Or just looking for trouble?”
Asp laughed nervously. “More looking for trouble than anything.”
“Well, look no further,” said the newtkin. She inclined her head to the left, and when Asp followed her gesture, she saw the tall elven woman from earlier that morning–Madris.
Asp swallowed hard and nodded. “Thanks,” she said.
The newtkin shook her head and tsk-tsked as Asp strode forward and waved down Madris.
But Madris did not seem to notice. Asp was perhaps a third of Madris’s height, and a casual wave was not enough to distract the guardswoman from hungrily scanning the area.
Here goes nothing.
Asp walked up to only a few feet from Madris and all but shouted. “Excuse me!”
Madris looked down, mostly amused but also a touch annoyed. “Did someone forget to eat their vegetables? Or are you just a fool slightkin, as all slightkin are?”
Asp took a moment to breathe before responding. In Thistlewade, it was almost all slightkin, so no one was ever rude about that. And in Strey, everybody’s from everywhere, so it wasn’t much of an issue. The little I saw of the Myriad wasn’t terrible about it. But damn do the elves love some casual racism. Grin and bear it.
“I do neglect my vegetables, yes, ma’am, and I have been known to be a fool at times, and I am indeed a slightkin. So right on all three counts, I would say.” She grinned back sheepishly to suggest that she didn’t know better and wasn’t talking back.
Madris smiled fiercely. “And what the fuck do you want, fool?”
“Just some answers to some questions.” Asp smiled sheepishly again. Play dumb, but not too dumb. This is a balancing act. Naive might be a better word. “I guess I’m curious about how to report a suspected crime.”
Madris’s face didn’t change, but her eyes seemed to grow more intense. “You’re in the right place. What’s the crime?”
“I fear a child has been kidnapped,” said Asp sweetly. Watch her closely now.
Madris didn’t flinch–at least, to a normal person, she didn’t flinch. But Asp was not a normal person. She had lived based on reading faces for her whole life. Whether she had food in her belly and a roof over her head depended on knowing what was going on in someone else’s head. It was clear to Asp that Madris knew something. But Madris was not a normal person either–that much was clear. She’s a con in her own way, thought Asp. She knows how to control a look, how to read people. I gotta be more careful than I thought. I don’t know what she knows, but she knows something.
“Your child?” replied Madris, her voice just barely strained.
“A child I met,” said Asp quickly.
“I’m sure the child’s parents will have already reported it,” said Madris, looking away to scan the intersection in the slums where they stood. “Duplicate reports can really complicate things for the guardhouse.”
Asp gritted her teeth while Madris looked away, then donned a naive smile again. “But what if the child’s parents are missing? Or dead?”
Madris looked quickly back at her, her eyes purely poisonous. “Then I suppose the orphanage would have reported it.”
Keep playing the game, thought Asp. This is a delicate thing. No sudden moves. I just need to–
Suddenly, Asp’s memory came at her like a tidal wave. Malek crying out in joy at his victories. His bleeding palm. The look of being beaten down in his eyes. The same feeling on his face that Asp had known for so many years of her own. Something delicate inside of her snapped, and she felt it snap, and she had to stand witness as it caused her to react.
“Unless the orphanage is already overwhelmed with hungry kids. Unless the orphanage didn’t have record of this kid yet.” She smiled a bit too sweetly up at Madris. “Unless the orphanage knows their report will be met with this kind of reception.”
Madris glowered down at Asp, and her nimble hand slipped silently to a long dagger at her hip. “And you are?”
Asp was surprised but not entirely disappointed to find that her reaction now was to stare back with the most dead-eyed, furious, unhidden rage she had kept secret for decades. Suddenly, Madris was to her every unkind person who had said “no” or added even more stress and pain to what she faced. Madris was Oslo and all the selfish monsters like him. Madris was her mother and every liar she’d ever met.
“I’m Delia Violet.” She reached a hand up to shake Madris’s. Madris did not move, so Asp continued. “I’m a reporter. I was under the impression that a boy kidnapped off the street in broad daylight would be a story. But perhaps the fact that it’s not a story is the story.”
Madris’s face finally soured, and Asp grew fearful enough to dampen her rage. She’s letting me know she’s upset, and that’s a sign of danger if ever I saw one. Madris seemed to be relishing the visual threat she was offering Asp, and her smile grew more and more intimidating. Still, she remained silent. Asp poured everything she had into sending back her own menacing look, and she thought she saw a waver in Madris’s menace that indicated that she was succeeding.
To an onlooker, Asp and Madris had had a very neutrally-intoned conversation with unremarkable body language for less than a minute. But to Asp, it was clear that the two were locked in a hideously intense battle of wills that would end in pain for at least one of them. I really, really hope she looks back on this regretfully instead of me.
“I think perhaps you have it wrong, traveler,” said Madris. “Our city is quite peaceful. Can you even be sure that the child was kidnapped? Perhaps he just left when you weren’t looking?”
“Perhaps,” said Asp, not breaking eye contact nor allowing her fury to abate. “So, any comment from the guard on this story?”
Madris dropped the glower and offered a big, fake smile. “Only that we’re actively looking into all matters of safety for all citizens as they are reported. I’ll follow up with our official records to ensure it’s being investigated.”
Asp smiled. I won the standoff. Holy shit. I stared her down.
Madris smiled ever wider and drew her dagger slightly from its sheath, just enough to show its wicked greenish blade. “And please do report any other concerns directly to me.”
Asp managed to not flinch. And maybe I didn’t.
Madris reseated her dagger, casually stretched, and strolled off into the slums, happily whistling a tune. As Asp watched, people parted the way before her, some nervously whistling along with Madris and dropping off as soon as she was out of earshot. Once Madris was well and truly gone, the street grew louder, as though people had been afraid to be heard while she was around. And that’s when Asp had a realization that squeezed all the rage and indignation right out of her.
She’s the wrong hornet’s nest to have kicked, huh?
But again, Malek’s weary face flashed into her mind. The way his rough little palm had felt as she wrapped it up. The way he’d been hungry and scared and still wanted to play a little game that literally hurt him to partake in. How he would never have left those jacks behind.
No. Somebody had to do something. I don’t care if it has to be me, it needs done. I’m coming for you, Malek.
—
Still dazed from her standoff with Madris, Asp wandered the city slums blindly. She kept telling herself to come to her senses and learn from her surroundings, but her mind wavered back and forth from Malek to Madris, and the mounting stress from what she’d gotten herself into pulled at the stitches in her brain until she felt herself about to unravel. She was so distracted, in fact, that she nearly walked in front of a man with a sword drawn, about to burst forth onto the street before her. She saw the glint of his steel just in time and stopped herself short before he launched himself out into the road. Before she could fully grasp what she was seeing, two men dressed in identical clothes and similarly armed leapt from nearby hiding places, and the three of them ran together a few steps toward an unarmored elven man with a massive rectangular shield.
Asp managed to recover her wits and started to cry out to the elf with the shield, but he seemed not to hear her. And yet all the same, as the first man to reach the elf fell upon him, the elf effortlessly shifted his shield and sent his attacker sprawling backwards, stumbling into a pile on the ground as his sword fell harmlessly to the cobblestones. Undeterred, the other two attackers leapt at the elf with the shield, and the elf twisted and turned the massive, heavy thing to send each and every blow glancing off in different directions. The people in the area surrounding the melee quickly left, and soon, only Asp remained watching as the attackers were joined by the first armed man, who had recovered himself enough to rejoin the fray.
“Get around ‘im!” called the first armed man.
The second and third attackers began circling around the elf with the shield while the first positioned himself opposite them. Asp held a hand to her mouth helplessly as the armed men began to close in on the elf with the shield, who seemed quite unperturbed despite his situation.
“Strike!” called the first armed man.
All three attackers lifted their swords high over their heads and brought them racing down towards the elf with the shield. It seemed certain that the elf with the shield would be overwhelmed, cut up by the attackers on one side or another. But deftly, the elf with the shield ducked down and held the huge shield over himself as though he were a turtle in its shell, and he stood back up with such force that all three attackers’ blades were flung from their hands. Without losing his momentum, he thrust the shield back and forth, catching the men square in the chest one by one, sending them hurtling away.
“Retreat!” called the first armed man.
The three attackers left their swords behind and beat a hasty retreat in opposite directions, apparently afraid of being pursued. The elf with the shield calmly stood up straight, reset his shield at his side, and breathed heavily once, as though he was sighing. He caught sight of Asp and smiled, beckoning her towards him with a friendly laugh.
“Ho there, stranger!” he called.
Asp shook herself from her shock and rushed towards him. “Are you okay?”
The elf chuckled. “Quite fine, to be honest. You?”
Asp laughed in disbelief. “Who were they? Why did they attack you? Who–who are you?”
The elf grinned with an air of humility. “Those were guards. They attacked me because they were ordered to. And I’m Celeon. Celeon Telethyr. I’m a paladin of sorts.”
Asp sputtered a bit. “I mean, yeah, now that I think about it, they were wearing guard uniforms. Why were they ordered to attack you?”
Celeon laughed lightly. “You have lots of questions. Why don’t you introduce yourself, and I’ll see if I can’t answer them all.”
Asp smiled self-consciously. “Right. I’m Delia Violet. Just arrived in town last week. I’m a reporter.”
“A reporter, huh? What do you report on?”
“Um, you know, social issue kinda stuff. Like, things the public should know about. Trying to help people.”
Celeon nodded, his eyes glittering. “Helping people is the most important thing we can do. But of course, not everyone agrees.”
Asp nodded back. “Oh, I get it. You help people, but the guards don’t like that, right?”
He chuckled. “You catch on fast, Delia. Yeah, I have a little healing clinic out in the foreign quarter. It’s free, which some of the bigger temples don’t necessarily like. And I make a habit of defending innocent people when I can, which the guards don’t necessarily like. So I have some powerful enemies.”
“You said they were ordered to attack you. Does that mean ordered by . . .”
“Madris.”
She nodded. “So, if Madris didn’t like you, she’d send guards to attack you?”
Celeon nodded, then looked sharply at Asp. “You didn’t get on her bad side, did you?”
Asp grinned. “You mean she’s got a good side?”
Celeon laughed hard, allowing his shield to swing a bit at his side. “Fair point. But yeah, she’s known to send guards out to attack her enemies if they’re thorns in her side. Did you piss her off, or get in her way?”
Asp giggled nervously. “I more threatened her.”
Celeon raised his eyebrows and stared hard at Asp. “You are a wild one, Delia. You’re ever in trouble, run on down to my clinic. I’ll take care of you.”
“Thanks, Celeon. I appreciate that.” She smiled. “Thanks for giving me hope in this city.”
“Sure thing,” he said. “It’s the least I can do. I mean, I wish you luck dealing with Madris. She gets away with a lot here in the slums. I wish sometimes that there was more than just us in the slums who cared.”
Asp’s lips curled into a fierce grin. “I think I might be able to help with that. I’ll see you around, Celeon.”
She began to hurry back towards her inn.
“See you round, Delia! Stay safe!” called Celeon.
Asp traced the shortest route home, slipped into her room, and quickly wrote several lines.
“No,” she said, crossing out and replacing a few words. She reread it, frowned, and added a few more lines. She reread it again, smiled slightly, and replaced a few more words. One more rereading, and she grinned. She placed the draft down and began to copy it again and again onto new papers, folding them into neat pamphlets which read:
Lo’Torrin citizens! A tale too common: a good person with nothing to hide is targeted by the powerful. An elven man who shall remain unnamed spends his days toiling to heal the weak and afflicted, and on his way home every day, he is accosted by a powerful woman--a woman we all know and need not name. She orders her men to attack him, and he does not so much as harm them. He simply shrugs them off like the common thugs they are. But she is not a common thug. She will pick at the strong like him in order to make us all weaker, so that there is no one to defend us when she comes for us. And she’s willing to break the rules that protect elves in the city just to get at this innocent man.
But it’s not out of our hands. Look for further bulletins as this story develops, and do all you can to quietly resist her.
-Delia Violet
You can read the next chapter here!
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