Notes: Some of you will have seen this coming. Others...hopefully not. Either way, enjoy!
Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards, Ch. 16 Pt. 2
***
Chapter Sixteen, Part Two
Threaded
It took Hiram fewer than five steps into the Yew Brew to determine that, in fact, it was not as good a place to start as any. There was no missing Bard inside, or if they were there, they weren’t in a performing mood. There was a man in the white robes of a Healer, a bit stained from travel, his hands practically flying about as he chanted a calming prayer over…
High Priest Velagros?
Mayor Hurst was there as well, in the middle of an argument with Jonn over the suitability of performing a healing on a person out in the open like this. “—not appropriate, is all I’m saying, sir!” Jonn insisted, wringing his hands in his apron. “There’s a free room right upstairs they could use.”
“And have you charge for it?” The mayor sneered. “You Gnomes, ready to wring the last drop of money from a purse at the first chance. Almost as bad as Dwarves, the lot of you.”
Jonn looked distraught, Robard looked like he was about to launch himself off his stool at the bar and start a fistfight, and the rest of the regulars were sitting back with frowns on their faces, not quite ready to intervene but not enjoying the show either. Fence-sitters, Hiram thought with a glower. Well, that wasn’t his way, baby or not.
The Healer broke the standoff before Hiram could, though. “I’ve never seen a man of your stature with an aura so awry, sir,” he said with a tsk. “It shouldn’t be possible, not for someone who’s learned the basic shielding spells for their minds and souls. Heavens, did you even try to protect yourself from the backlash?”
“It was rather more than I imagined I’d have to deal with,” Velagros said, and Hiram was a little startled by how thin his voice was. “Now can you put me to rights or not?”
The Healer huffed. “If I haven’t managed it after an hour, I’m not going to manage it here. We need to go to the Temple of Bayd in Garrison—Oribel’s would be even better, to be honest.”
“You can’t take that kind of time away from our temple, Ismaen,” Mayor Hurst insisted. “What will our own people do?”
“I have acolytes they can rely on,” Velagros whispered. “He’s right. I cannot stay. I can barely perform my duties as things stand right now. If it becomes worse…” He shuddered. “The things I feel when I close my eyes, the power of those painful emotions…I don’t know how it could get worse, and I don’t want to.”
Ah. They were talking about him, then, about the ritual cleansing that had gone so wrong. Hiram didn’t know the aftereffects were still bedeviling the man. He’d have offered to make him a tea that would help him gets some distance from the experience. Hiram was sure he had the right mushrooms somewhere…
But not right now. Right now the best thing he could do was move on and not attract attention, especially when the results were primed to be poor. I’m just a humble herbalist, after all. What do I know of healing and spell recovery?
More than he liked to remember.
Hiram left quietly, bouncing Davey a little bit as the baby finished the apple slice and began looking for something else to gum. The crowd had picked up a bit by the plaza, probably mostly for the fun of watching a confrontation between one of their own and the Guide of the Thread, but perhaps it would grow for the right reasons soon. In the meantime, he would continue his search for the Bard.
The second obvious choice was The Highwayman, the inn and tavern on the east side of town that he’d passed on his way to Garrison. It was a seedy looking place, with timbers stained black from tar and a roof with visible holes in the thatching, but Hiram had gotten to know the owners somewhat after his time at market. The Vilnias were an older couple, both of them retired after adventuring consumed their prime years, and what the inn lacked in the homely charm of the Brew, it made up for in the promise of circumspection. The Highwayman was a no-questions-asked sort of place, ideal for meetings with people who might be considered less savory if they came all the way into town.
Mistress Vilnia was blind in one eye with the other getting steadily worse, while Master Vilnia moved with an ingenious pair of crutches that affixed to his forearms after taking an arrow to the hip long ago. Together they could just about manage to keep the place in cheap booze and greasy food, and it was genuinely lovely to see how sweet they were to one another.
They weren’t that kind to anyone else, but Hiram had hacked out a small place in their tolerance with his remedies for what ailed them. Not to mention, the pair of them were wild about babies, especially since they saw their own children so infrequently.
The door stuck, then squealed as Hiram pushed his way inside. The front room of the place was half as large as the Brew’s and far from crowded at this time of day. The Highwayman was a place for nighttime activities, not warm meals and merry chatter. There was a table in the back where a person that Hiram thought might be a Gnoll in a hooded cloak was sitting, but the second he entered the room the brigand shot to his paws and darted out the back door.
“Scaring off my paying customers, eh?” came the crotchety voice of Mistress Vilnia as she stepped out from behind the bar. “How unfriendly of you, Master Emblic.”
“I’ve no idea why he ran off,” Hiram said, although he was willing to bet it was because the Gnoll smelled Mule on his clothes and knew better than to stick around, just in case.
Mistress Vilnia cackled. “Oh, don’t you?” She pointed a gnarled finger at him, shaking it with mock menace. “Just what a rogue like you would say, hmm? Don’t bother to deny it, I know the look!”
Her guess, though wrong, wasn’t so wrong that he couldn’t be amused by it, especially because she guessed something different every time she saw him. “Oh, I’ve never had the dexterity of a rogue,” Hiram assured her as he shifted Davey on his hip.
“Ha! I know a man who’s good with his fingers when I see one, lad.”
A laugh burst out of Hiram despite himself, and Mistress Vilnia grinned triumphantly. “You’ve quite a way with words, Mistress,” he managed after a moment.
“Aye, that I do. Should have heard me when I was young.” Her rheumy eyes went unfocused. “I could have given that silver-tongued Bard a run for his money.”
Just where Hiram had been hoping the conversation was heading. “Is the Bard accompanying the Thread here, then?”
“Mm, in a room in the back.” Her gaze sharpened again. “And I don’t mean to tell people their business, Master Emblic, but I’d think twice about lettin’ my man go having private meetings with Bards, if you know what I mean.”
He blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Young Avery! They’ve been triflin’ back there together for a quarter hour, at this point.” She crossed her arms. “I s’pose he didn’t tell you, eh? Make sure you’re choosin’ the right man, Master Emblic. Any lover who’ll set you aside for the first smooth-talking, pretty faced bit of silk he sees is no good man for the long term.”
Hiram was entirely taken aback. No, more than that—he was stunned. Not because he thought Avery was stepping out on him, as there was no formal arrangement between them to be stepped out on, but that he had any reason to meet with a random Bard in The Highwayman.
Well, fine, the stepping out part did hurt some. Perhaps more than some. But…
“Och, poor lad.” Mistress Vilnia patted his cheek, then reached for Davey, who went to her with a happy, baby giggle. “Aye, you’re a sweet one,” she cooed, patting his arm with a wizened palm. “You’ll stay with old granny while your uncle checks on his naughty man, won’t you?”
“I don’t think I should—”
“Down yon hall, straight back, last door on the left.”
Hiram felt roundly dismissed. He had to admit, his curiosity was strong as well. Perhaps just for a moment. He nodded, then turned away and slowly walked down the hall Mistress Vilnia had indicated, careful not to let the boards squeak beneath his feet. The farther he got, though, the worse he felt about it.
What kind of relationship could he ever hope to build with Avery if he didn’t trust him? What sort of precedent was he setting?
But then, you already set a precedent for lying to the man. Avery didn’t know who Hiram truly was, and the way things were going Hiram would have to leave Lollop before he could even consider revealing himself. He should turn around. He should turn around and get Davey and go back to—
“—think you can say no to me?”
Hiram paused mid-turn. That wasn’t Avery’s voice. That was someone else, someone who knew how to project, and he sounded furious.
“I am saying no. It’s too dangerous, Marlon!” There was Avery, and he also sounded angry and…afraid? “Two tries was too many!”
“Not tries,” the other man—Marlon—argued. “Two successes! The loot you got from those trips in was enough to keep us in ale and women for years.”
“You call what happened to me a success?” Avery demanded, an edge of hysteria in his voice. “I barely survived last time! And the time before that…it ruined me for years, Marlon. I still can’t show my face to the world for a week out of every month. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for Narion’s care.”
“But Narion is caring for you, so you’re fine.”
“I’m not fine, I’m barely—Marlon.” Avery’s voice went softer, his tone placating. “See things from my perspective, won’t you? I’m finally starting to become someone I can live with. I can’t throw that away just for the chance of getting in and out of Gemmel’s Tower alive again.”
Gemmel’s Tower? What in the hells?
Marlon laughed mockingly. “Is that the story you’re going with? Becoming a better person?” There was a sound like footsteps, and then the slow strum of a lute. “I hear it’s more that you’ve found someone you want to live with. What do you think they’d say when they learn what you really are?”
“Marlon, please…”
The strumming got louder. “If I went to them and told them the truth about you, hmm? That you’re a monster through and through, and that you always will be.”
“Marlon.”
“No, Avery, you don’t get to refuse me. Not now, not ever. Do this job well, though, and perhaps I’ll let you keep your happy home for a few more years.” He hit a low note, and suddenly his voice was infused with such power that it almost bowled Hiram over, and he was outside the room. “You shall speak to no one of this and do as I bid you, or share the pain of consequences with the man you love.” It was more than an order he’d given; it was a geis, a bond of power.
It was completely and utterly amoral, and Hiram wanted to use his own powers to rip this door of its hinges and trap the bastard doing this in a pocket portal for the next hundred years. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t use his powers; not even a susurrus, not now. It was too dangerous.
“I’m glad we understand each other,” Marlon said a moment later in his normal voice. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and put on a bit of a show for the simpletons here or lose my standing with Wynne and the others. If you show up, remember to refer to me as Robb, won’t you sweetheart?”
A board creaked, and Hiram realized he was going to be found if he stayed put. He turned on his heel and hurried back down the hall, mind spinning with everything he’d just learned. His face felt hot and his chest cold, and his hands were shaking. How dare that man? How dare he? And yet, what could Hiram do about it now? How could he help Avery without giving himself away?
He found Mistress Vilnia by the front door, amusing Davey with a little lizard she’d coaxed onto her hand. “Watch him catch that little bug, eh? Mmm, yummy! We likes a good bug now and again, don’t we?”
“Pardon me, Mistress,” Hiram said as calmly as he could. “But this young man and I need to be getting back to the square.”
She squinted at him in the bright light, then sighed. “Eh, lad. Sorry it wasn’t what you wanted to hear.”
He forced a smile for her. “I’m perfectly all right, Mistress. Thank you for your assistance.” Hiram took Davey back, then set off at a brisk pace for the center of town once more.
He had a lot of thinking to do.
