Notes: Let's get to know the little town of Lollop, hmm?
Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Chapter One, Part One
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Chapter One, Part One
Ga-Lollop-Ing Into Town
At first glance, Hiram had to admit that Lollop wasn’t all that prepossessing. Maybe it was because they’d taken the side road instead of the Imperial vein that ran in from the north—safety first, after all—or maybe they’d just happened upon the less-developed part of the village, but the first house Hiram saw as he looked out from his perch on the wagon was decidedly run down. It had a massive but entirely overgrown garden in the back, complete with what looked like a rotting wooden arch weighed down with dead grape vines, and in the side yard was a rabbit hutch without a roof. The house itself was missing its back door, and half the shutters had fallen off their hinges.
It was, in a word, shabby.
“Nice place you chose to plant yourself.”
“Why thank you,” Hiram said, keeping his tone light as they ambled past the old house and down the rutted road.
“Very…rustic.”
One of their back wheels dipped into a slightly deeper groove, and Mule had to dig his heels in to get them out. “I agree.”
“You might even call it ‘miserable renegade chic.’”
Hiram laughed. “How many miserable renegades do you think live in this little village? Liira told me it’s only got about five hundred inhabitants.”
“It’s got at least two now.”
He shook his head. “I’m not miserable, Phlox. And neither are you.”
“I am.”
“Oh, you’re not.”
There was a little huffing sound from the earring. “You don’t know how I feel.”
“Well, I know that compared to what you could be feeling right now, you’re having an absolutely amazing time,” Hiram said. “Or have you forgotten all the nonsense that happened at the conjunction?”
“You only bring that up when you know you’re going to lose an argument,” Phlox mumbled, but quieted down afterward.
Hiram was glad. In all honesty, he was feeling a little bit…well…antsy about his decision to move to Lollop. It was a small farming town smack dab in the center of Oribel, the smallest of the Empire’s collection of kingdoms and the most resolutely dedicated to growing grain over training soldiers. Oribel was the breadbasket of the Vordurian Empire, and its ruling family had absolutely no plans of changing that. They liked their heads where they were, thank you.
The remoteness was the selling point, though, wasn’t it? No one would ever think that a wizard of the first class would abandon the delights of Galenish for a ramshackle town in the middle of the least interesting nation for a thousand miles. It was the perfect place for rest, relaxation, and settling into a new way of life. Hiram needed the last more than he could say; certainly more than he’d been able to express to the emperor.
Some messages couldn’t be spoken, though. They had to be experienced.
I doubt he killed anyone over it. Hiram had been very careful not to implicate anyone else in the capitol in his escape plan. Almost everyone he loved there had been gone, and the few people who remained had unimpeachable characters and enough personal power that even Andurion would think twice about going after them.
Hiram felt his heartrate speeding up. Seven gods, every time he thought of his old life, it felt like every organ in his body wanted to jump right out of his skin. It’s all right now. It’s all right. We’re safe, everyone is safe. We’re free. Free, and almost to the town proper, if the rooftops up ahead were any indicator. Hiram smiled as he took in the neat thatched homes—no slate or tile rooftops here, of course, not with all the straw to be had. Each house had its own little vegetable garden, and some of them had pens for livestock; mostly pigs, cows, and chickens.
And, of course, rabbits. Every house had a rabbit hutch and a patch of land dedicated to the bunnies they were raising. The Lollop Grand, a larger breed than most, heavy-bodied and with huge variations when it came to their fur color and markings, were the one thing that put this place on the map. They were good for meat, for fur, and some of them—those with the most fantastic markings—even became posh pets for the children of the upper class back in Galenish. Misha had had one when she was a little girl, a rabbit half as big as she was with velvety blue fur and everywhere but its paws and nose. Those had been bright white. She’d loved it so much she’d even walked with it during parades, to the coos of thousands of watchers.
Thinking about Misha settled Hiram’s heart right down, and by the time he’d gotten to the center of Lollop he felt ready to find the woman Liira said would have a house to rent him. Not that he knew exactly where she was, but if there was one thing he did know, it was that taverns were the social centers of every city quarter, and a small town wasn’t much different from that. And bless his little woolen socks, there was a tavern right there, with a surprisingly new sign hanging above the door that read, in bright white script, Fuzzle Pinky’s Drinkies.
Huh. Must be Gnomish. They always have to rhyme. Hiram tugged the reins a bit, drawing Mule to a halt. As he descended from the wagon, he could feel eyes on him—that was something he didn’t need magic to detect, not in a place like this. He knew what they saw when they looked at him.
A traveler. A stranger. Perhaps someone just a bit…odd. Hiram had done his best to grow his beard out, and his hair was more salt than pepper these days—nothing like the famous descriptions of him, all “raven-locked” and “fair of face.” He was on the tall side for a human, but that didn’t mean much in a world where elves and serpentkin walked the streets. He was in nondescript clothes, a simple tan tunic that laced up the front and black leggings that flared a bit over the top of his boots, with a thick wool cloak around his shoulders and neck…which, whew, it was getting hot. He’d have to pack that up soon.
All in all, the only thing of interest about him was his shiny earring, and even that would slip right out of sight just a second after it was noticed thanks to Phlox’s anti-detection array. Hiram had done his best to make himself look like just another traveler, and he thought he’d done a decent job.
Now, to see if he could make himself look like someone who wanted to put down roots.
He loosely tied Mule’s reins to the post out front, then stroked the beast’s silky nose careful to dodge when Mule tried to affectionately headbutt him. “You trying to kill me?” Hiram asked with a smile. “Stay here for a few minutes, all right? I’ll be out soon.” He turned, catching the eye of a man across the street wearing an apron and holding a rather long razor blade in his hand.
City watch? Ha, no, what city? Let’s see…full leather apron, hair tied back, full coverage despite the heat…doctor. Or barber. Or both. Hiram nodded companionably, then headed into the tavern.
He was immediately welcomed by a small Gnomish man the color of a green oak board, wearing in a bright red longshirt nipped in at the waist with a half apron. “Welcome to The Yew Brew, sir,” he said, inclining his head. “I’m Jonn, the tavernkeeper. What’ll you have today, then?”
The Yew Brew, huh? Well, that made more sense given the enormous evergreen tree behind the place, but… “I confess, I expected to meet a Fuzzle Pinkie,” Hiram said.
Someone in the back of the tavern laughed. The proprietor’s face took on a slightly strained look. “It’s…a temporary designation, sir. Just—”
“He lost a bet to his wee son!”
“Shut up, Robard!” Jonn called out grumpily. “Ignore him, he’s a bit into his cups,” he went on. “Now, sir, we’ve a fine spread for supper cooking in the back, though it’s a bit early for serving yet, and a good selection of ales and ciders. What’ll you—”
“Lad don’t even come up as high as yer knee!”
Jonn sighed. “Robard, please, I’m trying to talk to this gentleman here.”
There was a scratching sound against the floor, like a chair being noisily pushed away from a table, then a thump-thump-thump, and a moment later what looked like five bird’s nests stuck together poked itself out from behind the wall that separated the entryway from the main room. Hiram could just make out the tip of a rounded nose beneath the strands. “Huh. Don’t look much like a gentleman,” the dwarf—probably a very drunk one, given how he’d let his hair go—muttered. “Eh, don’t matter. Aye, Jonny here made a bet with his boy that if the lad could memorize all his letters in a week, he’d let the lad rename the Brew!”
“Only for one day a week,” Jonn said, a faint flush rising in his cheeks. It made them look like little apples. “And I didn’t think he’d actually manage it.”
“But he did, got his teacher to help him special an’ everything! And he wanted to name the place after his stuffed bunny, who—guess its name!”
“Fuzzle Pinkie?” Hiram hazarded.
“Aye, good on ye! Fuzzle Pinkie, a stuffed rabbit who now owns the tavern a day a week because Jonny’s got a heart as soft as a pussywillow for his wee lad.” Robard the dwarf slapped his knee and bent over at the waist, he was laughing so hard.
“It’s only one day a week!” Jonn protested a bit more loudly. “And—never mind, I’m done with your for now, you old block. Go back to your chair and finish your pint, hmm? Darla will be here for you soon.” He refocused on Hiram with an almost manic determination. “Now! What can I get for you, sir?”
Hiram had mercy on the poor gnome. “A pint of beer, and the location of a person if you’ve got it,” he said.
Robard came fully into the entryway. He was an old dwarf, fully white haired and with a belly well out past his feet, but he still carried an axe on his back. An axe that he was reaching for now, actually. Ah. Not good. “A bounty hunter, eh?” he growled. “Come hunting up old Robard at last, then? You won’t find me easy to take!”
“I’m not looking for you,” Hiram said while Jonn dithered with a panicked expression. “I’m looking for someone name Raileene Shore. I was told she might have a house to rent.”
Both of them went completely still.
What did I say?
