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Get your own Free Home PageRoseanne A. Elder does not have a middle name. The A stands for angel, a reminder to her of her patron saint, Lladmieh, the bright Angel. She rubs her prayer beads on this cold, but clear morning, as she steps over an inert body on her way out of the alley where she lives. Her apartment is small but clean - the best apartment which city wages can pay for. "Lladmieh, forgive me, she's just a drunk, I have work," she mumbles as she moves away from the prone figure.
She heads for the local church, whose doors would not yet be open, but she stands outside and touches the icon of Lladmieh, for luck. She feels that once she touches the silver image she can safely put away her morning beads, and proceed with her work. The stone public building next to the church is where Roseanne collects the iron pole she uses to snuff the lanterns burning around the city.
When Roseanne was younger she was not as devout as she is today. She and her husband, bless his soul, had had four children, three girls and one boy. They were all still alive, thank Lladmieh, and doing very well. She did not hear much from her son, who was off at the Western Defenses. Roseanne could not be more proud. When Tommy did come home, he always had stories to tell about the Western Mountains, about Lord Ogenbefner, the commander of the Western Defenses, and about his friends. He was even friends with a Viscount who had a position at the Western Keep. Her daughters worked in the city. Only young Rilke worried her. Being a barmaid was not a proper job. These blessings, Roseanne knew, were directly from Lladmieh's generosity.
Things had not always been so good. Roseanne had gotten pregnant a fifth time. However, very early in the pregnancy something very wrong happened. She and her husband did not have funds to go to any of the houses of healing - in fact several of them turned her away when they discovered that there was no money to pay. It looked very dark at that time, as one night the pain was so great that Roseanne blacked out. She did not wake up again for a long time, and when she did, her life had changed.
She woke in a clean dormitory, with several other people in the adjacent beds. There were several nuns and a priest walking between the beds, checking on the others. She raised her head to look around, wondering where her husband was, and what had happened to her baby. A nun came over to her bed and told her to be at peace - but when Roseanne started speaking to her, asking questions and demanding answers, the nun was very surprised and called the priest over to her. "Ah, good, good, Roseanne - we though we might lose you!"
Although Roseanne was happy to be alive, she was stunned by what the priests told her in the following weeks. Her pregnancy had been ectopic, which Roseanne did not understand, but she knew that it was not good. Her husband, at his wits end, had taken Roseanne's limp body, dead weight in his hands, and brought her through an intense winter storm to a temple of Lladmieh, the only place he could think to go. There the priests cared for Roseanne, ended the pregnancy which would have killed her, and nursed her through a few months in a comma. However, her husband did not fare as well. He had caught a chill in the winter night, and was in despair over the lost pregnancy (he was always such a sensitive man) and over the condition of his wife. His chill turned into water in the lungs, and he was found dead on the steps of the church two weeks after his nocturnal walk in the night to save his wife.
The following year was a black and painful year for Roseanne. Depression grabbed her soul, and would not be shaken off. Near the end of the year, she found that simply going to the church of Lladmieh every day helped put a routine back into her life. Her daily visits became very important to her, and soon she found that, with the help of this small daily affirmation, she was able to leaven her pain. One day, about a year and a half after she woke up from her comma, she realized while scrambling her eggs that she was humming a happy song, and that she was happy. On that day she bought her first set of prayer beads, in remembrance of the help Lladmieh had given her. She also added the A to her name, in case the beads were not enough.
About six months after that, one of the priests who happened to see Roseanne come by the church every day told her about a job opening. Roseanne had been depending on her son and daughters to support her, as well as the small amount of money her husband, rest his soul, had left her. She applied for the job, and has been snuffing the lamps for fourteen years come this spring.
She begins her rounds, saying hello to the woman who sweeps the streets, and heads for Dolor Bridge, where the first series of lanterns needs to be snuffed. She does her work simply, although perhaps not as efficiently as she may. After doing this work for over ten years, she has learned how to take breaks, and how to look in at the shop windows on the Rou Boulevard, which is the main boulevard flanking this side of the Lexia river. On the other side of the river, another woman is snuffing the lamps on the Trellis Walk. Through the years of morning snuffing, the two women have barely spoken to each other, and yet there rarely a day goes by when they do not think of each other, on opposite sides of the river, one going upriver, the other down. They discern each others progress in the winter with greater ease than in the summer, when the days are long.
As she walks from lantern to lantern, she looks in at the shops. Along this road are the more fanciful artisans shops, such as the chocolate shop, the bookbinder shop, the Moorland traders shop. Due to their prime location, these shops are affluent and have well painted and hung signs, advertising their proficiencies. The artists boxes on the river side of the street are closed this early in the morning, but the coffee trucks are open for business.
Roseanne A. Elder spends more time than usual looking in the shop window of the chocolate shop. Once a year, she saves enough money to come to this shop and buy one of the boxes of candy. It is one of the small pleasures she affords herself. 'Lladmieh doesn't mind a bit of comfort', she would think to herself, after buying the box. She has saved almost three-quarters of the amount she would need for the middle-sized candy box, so she has started looking in the window on her mornings, to pick out the exact box which she will posses, Lladmieh willing.
As the day wares on, the crowd begins to grow, as humans, elves, dwarves, gnomes and half-elves walk to their place of employ. Despite her years performing the same duties, her arms are tired at the end of her run. Holding the iron pole and snuffing the lanterns is taxing.
The light from the sun is starting to become stronger when she sees her friend Steve Felts heading towards her. "Well, I always know I'm nearly finished my work when I see Mr. Felts," she calls out as he passes by.
"Well, hello, Roseanne, how are you today," he says, stopping to chat briefly.
"Can't complain, can't complain. The arms are a little tired, and the eyes don't seem to work as well as they used to, but it's a beautiful morning, thank Lladmieh. You're a little late today. I'm usually only at Crescin bridge by the time you saunter by, but it's behind me now."
"Well, then, I had better be going," he says with a smile. Every day Roseanne reports on his timeliness based on her completion of her own task. He teases her about it, "Perhaps you got up earlier than usual in your zest, Roseanne, and left the streets too dark in the morning,"
"Why Mr. Felts, I wouldn't" she says with a smile. They part, Roseanne continuing down the street performing her duties.
'Nice lady,' thinks Steve as he continues down the Rou Boulevard. He reaches Dolor Bridge and crosses the Lexia. As on every morning, Steve thinks of Fis, his patron goddess, as he crosses the river. There is a story that Fis used the Lexia river during her war with Ikol in order to foil an ambush. Fis granted her troops the ability to breath water for some time, then submerged them into the river, marched them behind the ambush laid by Ikols creatures, and surprised the creatures from the rear, unprotected flank. A beggar was on the Dolor Bridge, and Steve put two copper pieces in the man's hat, in remembrance of Fis.
Steve crossed Trellis walk and continued into the Singing Wolf district. The Singing Wolf District is named after the popular tavern of that name, and is an area where many artisans who work with leather find their shops. Steve approaches his own small shop, un-boards the front window, and goes inside the small building. A new shipment of leather had arrived yesterday from the Apple Caravan company, and he has some work to do this morning. Before he can make any sandals, boots or other leather footwear he needs to prepare the leather. He starts working immediately.
A couple of hours later a customer has to shout in order to get Steve's attention. As often happens, Steve has gotten lost in his work, and it is unpleasant to break out of the physical and mental rhythm which he had gotten into. Unfortunately, he also has to sell his workmanship. His wife keeps telling him he should take on an apprentice. He knows what an apprentice means, though: paying for the apprentices food, and having the apprentice do all the good, real work while Steve deals with customers. If Steve did not love the work so much, it would not be a problem. Sometimes he feels unlucky that he loves his work. 'If only I could be more like Samson,' he thinks. 'Samson actually likes to deal with customers.'
This particular customer is a Gnome, looking for a new pair of sandals. After some time bargaining and haggling a sale is made. Steve is proud of the fact that his love for his work means that people of all races who value quality come to his store. It is known that you can get your leather goods cheaper at Samson's, but that the quality is not as good.
Steve is not able to get back to his leather until later in the afternoon. It is always market day somewhere in the city, but today is market day in the Singing Wolf district. So there is a steady stream of customers, fittings, sales, lost sales, special orders requested, and special orders fulfilled. After a long day, Steve gets sick of the din, and closes his shop earlier than usual. He needs to get some real work done. Granted, the money he had made today would equal the amount he would make the rest of the week, and his wife would be happy, but he wants to get some of that leather softened so he can begin crafting soft leather boots, which are in style these days.
He stays into the evening. Lost in his work again, he does not hear the knock at the shop door. At last, the knocker enters without waiting for an answer. Sal Gambino, the representative from the Singing Wolf guild makes his presence known. "Whas up here - yous tryin to hide from me?"
Despite the fact that Sal comes by regularly, Steve is still annoyed every time he comes. "Oh, its you already. Don't you have anyone else to rob this month?"
"Aw, now, come on man. You know I ain't here to rob anyone. Me and the boys are lookin' out for yer best inerests. Anyway's yous sometimes makin some money off me, too, so I done wan a hear it this time," says Sal.
One time, years ago, Steve put some money down on the winning horse at the track. Although Steve plays the horses with Sal every week, it has been a long time since he had picked a winning horse. Steve feels guilty about this habbit of his. So every couple of fortnights, Steve takes his wife to the track, paying for a nice meal, nice wine, and some excitement. His wife doesn't approve of his gambling on the races, so he promises her he only bets at the track on their outings. She doesn't know about his weekly silver piece, usually on a forty or fifty to one. He liked the long odds, which Samson said proves that Steve is not a real gambler.
However, Sal is not here in his capacity as a bookmaker. He is here to collect the protection moneys. In some respects these dues are worse than taxes, but in other respects they have direct influence on the business prospects of the shop, unlike taxes. He often heard Samson say that he would rather pay the protection money than the taxes, but Steve preferred the taxes. At least the taxes went toward public efforts, like the new courthouses which King Bertrenand was building. The protection money simply keeps the thugs from the other parts of the city away from the Singing Wolf district. Although sometimes Steve wonders if the thugs are not from the Singing Wolf organization itself.
"Alrighty, then Sal. Here is your two gold Bertrenands," says Steve, who had done well enough on this day to cover the monthly protection fees.
"Ah, yeah, that's what I wanna talk to yous about. Ya see, IBM and them, they has increased their prices, so its more expensive for, ahh, equipment."
"So, what are you telling me, Sal. What equipment do you need? Why do I care that IBM has raised their prices? Apple has also. I had to pay an extra four silvers for this shipment of leather!"
"Ya know, wees gots to get daggers an the like - too expensive from the armories, still cheaper on the sly from IBM, but theys gots to make a livin. Hows else is we gonna protec ya? Did ya hears about the shop over on Tunis street? Someone's burned it down. Don't know whose it is as done the burnin, and ya know the city guards got more trouble protectin the Viscounts and such than to think about a little shop like 'dis one. So, the ways I gots it figured, yous coming out cheap with just the extra gold Bertrenand."
"Another whole Bertrenand? Are you crazy, I'll go out of business, what with taxes *and* this. Besides, that famous IBM merchant, you know, Baley, was caught transporting and selling drugs. Let IBM make their money off of their drug trade."
Steve is very angry about this betrayal by Baley - one of the most respected merchants of Kron. In the past, Baley had been associated with IBM, but now IBM has been making public statements distancing themselves from Baley. Nothing had been proved yet, but the story itself had already caused many of Baley's businesses to fail. Baley had been born of peasant parents in Kron, and therefore was something of a folk legend amongst the artisans and merchants.
Sal shakes his head in agreement. "Yeah, that's right. You think a guy is such a smart guy. I mean, this guy Baley seemed to have the world at his heels, here in Kron, and now this. I don't blame IBM refusin to tote his 'wares anymore." Sal sees that Steve is upset about the downfall of one of the more popular people in Kron. Sal likes the authenticity of Steve. While other merchants are only concerned as to how the Baley situation affects their bottom line, Steve is truly concerned. "All right, listen, Steve, cause I'm a friend of yours, I'll let ya slide with only 5 silvers - Rhondas, I don't trust those George II's. And I'll give ya a nice tip on the track. 'Griffon,' is playing at forty to one, and I hear that 'Babies Blush' is gonna pull up lame, so ya never know."
Steve does not have a choice. He knows what happens to shops that do not pay the protection fee. So he takes the bargain price, and pays Sal. He also places a bet on 'Griffon,' with a silver George II, just to get under Sal's skin.
Sal leaves the shop and continues on his rounds. He likes Steve, and cuts him a break whenever he can. Besides, Sal knows that 'Griffon,' would not be winning the race, since 'Babies Blush' is feeling fine. Sal loves these blokes who go after the long shots. They don't mind if they only win once every couple of years.
Sal thinks of his employers as 'The House,' though he knows that most others think of it as the Singing Wolf guild. Sal doesn't like to think of it as a thieves guild, since most of the members are not thieves. Most members are regular guys like Sal, who simply have a job to do and do it. Sal's job is to collect the protection fees. It is true that every once in a while, a demonstration has to be made - usually in another guilds area - after all, why destroy your own source of revenue. And there are protection issues. If Sal has done a shop or two over in Tunis Street in his day, he knows there are blokes from Tunis Street ready to do a shop his people are supposed to protect. Sal believes in the protection fees, and believes the protection fees are spent on protecting his 'customers.' And Sal doesn't listen to the liars who say that the names and locations of 'unprotected' shops are sold to other guilds, like the Tunis Street gang.
On the way to the Singing Wolf, where the money Sal has collected will be laundered, Sal thinks of Melissa, his wife. Like nearly everyone in the guild, Sal had had his wild years. The Singing Wolf guild itself had helped him come out of those years without major incident. During those years he had been luck to only have been in jail a couple of times. Now, however, with the protection of the guild, he didn't worry about jail anymore. Sal looked at the guild as a saviour and a home.
After he was accepted into the guild, he married the woman of his dreams. She was his companion in the streets after he had run away from home, and he always meant to marry her. Before he was in the guild, however, he did not have any income or anything else to offer her. Although he asked her to marry him several timesyway, she always refused. Once he was in the guild, however, Melissa relented and agreed to the nuptuals. His wedding day was the happiest day of his life, as it represented the culmination of his plans, and his rise from a runaway street urchin to respected businessman, member of the Singing Wolf fraternity.
The first years of his marriage he spent cheating shamelessly on his wife, as a sign of respect. He remembers many of the women he had seduced, mostly human but a couple elves, half-elves and once a gnomic woman. He still visits Debbie, but she's special. Sal sees her less frequently now, only once or twice a month. He pays Debbie's mother for the privilege. Sal came out of his early married years with a strange soft feeling of respect and trust for Melissa which he had never had for anyone.
Sal's parents had beaten him often as a child, and he does not keep in touch with them. He does not know if they are dead or alive, and he doesn't care. His father used to get drunk every night. He would come home smelling of liquor, and beat Sal, Sal's mother and Sal's sister. One time, he beat Sal's sister so hard that she fell down a flight of stairs and lay lifeless on the floor. Sal was told to go to bed, and he was too frightened to come out of his room.
The next day, Sal's mother told Sal that his sister had run away and was never coming back. Sal was close to his older sister, and knew that she would not have left without telling him. So the next night, he also ran away, looking for his sister. Despite the fact that he was only ten years old, he knew that he he would never find her. Yet, he used the story of his lost sister many times to explain his situation to others, and to the authorities. Although he knew perfectly well where his parents lived, whenever he was caught by the guard, he never revealed who his parents were or where they lived, explaining only that he was an orphan looking for his sister.
As Sal completes his rounds, he thinks 'That guy Samson pays too fast, I'll have to raise the bar on him.' He heads back to The Singing Wolf, in order to turn over his dues. After giving the password for the day, Sal is admitted into the back rooms and greets some of his fellow collectors.
"Hows da business," Sal asks many of them. Invariably these 'businessmen' complain about business, but Sal knows more from body language than from the words spoken that business has been good recently. After all, Kron is becoming the center of the world, and the local artisans and tradesmen profit from the trade. Not that there aren't poor, because there are, but even the poor seemed to be doing better these days than they have in the past. Sal waits in a short line with the rest of his collector friends, waiting to pay his due to the guild. Anything left over is Sal's to keep. He figures to make a nice profit today. Nearly everyone can pay after a successful market day.
On the other side of the room are another faction of 'The House', the numbers guys. There is competition between the collector guys and the number guys, to see which group can bring in more for themselves and 'The House.' The collectors often feel jealousy toward the numbers guys, since the numbers guys always seem to profit more. Sal had tried the numbers game in the past, but he just wasn't smart enough for it, and had lost money. You need to know how to give money to make money in that racket - all about odds, how to cheat cleanly, and those sorts of things. It was more risky, but more rewarding. Sal feels that he makes enough as a collector, and doesn't run the risks. People don't mind when their tax money is wasted, but if they get wind of a numbers scheme not paying to winners, it is enough to start riots.
After turning over his share of the protection money to the guild, Sal has several gold Bertrenands left over. He goes out to the public area of The Singing Wolf and orders a lager. "Mellisa'll be happy," Sal thinks to himself. "I'll buy her a rose on Trellis Walk today." As he is thinking these thoughts Jack Rager, a friend of his from his urchin days on the streets comes into the bar.
"Well, if it isn't Sal Gambino," says Jack. "I'll buy you another, now come on, drink up. Two more lagers, barkeep!"
"Hey, Jack, how's it goin? Wha brings ya rown here? Hey, look at that new pair of boots. Lookin' good!" Sal slaps Jack on the back, and admires his new pair of boots.
"Just thought I'd come down this way in order to get the party started. Ya like these boots, eh? I got 'em from that funny Felts guy. Overpaid, too - but they look good, don't they?" Jack sits on the barstool with his back to the bar, and looks around the bar. "Any women around?" says Jack. He spots a half-elven woman sitting alone at a table and saunters over. Sal watches the scene as Jack makes an ass of himself in front of the half-breed, and gets slapped in the face. The woman, obviously disgusted, leaves the bar in a hurry, without paying. Instead of being embarrassed by this rejection, Jack comes back to Sal acting like the triumphant hero. "Ah, she's just bein coy, know what I mean? What do you say to another? Barman"
"Hey man, not for me, Jack - I've got a wife at home. Ice gots to be goin soon"
"What is this? Sal Gambino worrying about the ball-and-chain? I thought I'd never see the day. Anyway, the night is still young. You can certainly stay around for a little while, can't ya? I haven't seen ya in a while. Remember last time? Wasn't it last time that we ended up in tha overnight, drunker than hell? Lucky your blokes came to bail us, eh?"
Sal does not remember much from that night, but he does remember that every time he hangs out with Jack Rager some wild things happen. Jack is a member of that set of people who made some small amount of money in the world, and ever since has spent his time spending that money partying. There is never a dull moment with Jack, there is always a party somewhere else.
"Come on, let's go. I know a place where the women are a lot friendlier than at the famous Singing Wolf. Let's go, Sal"
"Well, I dunno. Ice gots to get back home."
"What is this, the ball and chain, eh, come on, one little drink over at the Six and Nine. You're wife'll hardly notice the difference"
"Yea, except she wanted me to take 'er out to Lilne's, ya know, the new one over on third."
"No, sorry, old man, don't keep up with Lilne. Rigae's the god for me." He then shouts to the crowd, "Eh, all, one for Rigae," and then spills a small amount of his beer on the ground, as a libation to Rigae. A couple of patrons of the bar raise their bloodshot eyes and likewise spill a small amount of their drink on the ground. Jack lowers his voice and pleads with Steve again.
"Come, on, old boy, lets go to the Six and Nine. I'm tellin ya your wife won't notice. You'll be back in time for your Lilne thing."
Although Sal knows he shouldn't be going with Jack, he goes with him anyway. "Jus a couple, for old times," Sal thinks to himself.
In order to get into the Six and Nine Jack has to bribe the doorman, as well as demonstrate his knowledge of the nature of the club. Once inside, Jack goes to the bar in the garish red light which permeates the atmosphere. Sal follows him, looking around at the nearly topless women, who are smiling at him with a professional air. Jack orders some shots of whiskey and sits at the bar stool, looking into the interior of the establishment. Around the walls are couches where several of the patrons are being coerced into the back rooms for a fee. "Ah, now this is more like it," says Jack.
Sal has not been to the Six and Nine in a while, and he finds that he has a feeling of guilt, something new for him. Soon a pair of elven women, who look waif-like and who have the hollow cheeks of opium addicts, approach the two men. "How are you, Jack. Who is your cute friend?"
"Ladies, allow me to introduce to you Sal Gambino. Sal here's a member of the Singing Wolf fraternity, but we should keep that quite here in Slavly. But Sal's a wild man. Used to come here a lot, but somethin's happened to him."
"Well, big boy, why don't you buy me a drink," said the second elf, who is slightly smaller that the first elf, but who has a tremendously curvaceous body.
Sal sighs and buys her a drink. The conversation goes on, and more drinks are imbibed. Sal waits for his opportunity to leave. After a couple of hours, Jack is good and drunk, and shouting, and finally takes the woman elf he has been buying drinks for into one of the back rooms. Sal, who has been discreetly nursing his drinks turns to the woman he had been buying drinks for. "Look, lady, I'm gonna go now. Ice gotsa lay some bets at the track. Sorry. Here, have her a silver for yer time."
"Hey, what the hell is this?" the elven whore says angrily. After all, this is not her usual fee, and she has spent time with Sal, while other patrons of the Six and Nine have come and gone. A very large man comes over to the bar, to see what the woman is yelling about.
"Whatsa madder, buddy, causin trouble? Whatsa problem, here, Nastyia?"
"Look, man, I aint lookin for any trouble"
"Not lookin for trouble?" says Nastyia, obviously upset, and wracked from withdrawal. Nastyia needs her next opium fix, and she is willing to do nearly anything to get it. "He gives me this, and says he's goin," she shows the silver coin to the big human.
The big fella seems to grasp the situation. "You tryin to go without treatin Nastia right?"
"Look here buddy," Sal says shouting. "I paid for all her drinks, and I gave her a silver for nutin. I don havta partake, she's just lookin fo some more ah her drug."
Just as this line of defense seems to be having some affect on the bouncer, Jack Rager comes out of the back room, assessing the situation. He sees the bouncer and Sal arguing over something, and makes a quick decision. Launching himself from the top of one of the couches, he bowls into the bouncer, who falls to the ground with the force of the attack. However, the bouncer is a large man, and a fight quickly breaks out. Sal begins punching another bouncer, but the brawl is centered around Jack. A couple of bouncers and a couple of patrons join the fray, and no-one seems to care who is who, or what the argument is about. Sal gets a punch in the gut, which bends him over double, and then is knocked on his back, which pushes him to the ground. His assailant sees more promising fighting over by Jack, and leaves Sal on the floor.
Still conscious, Sal feels Nastyia trying to get his belt pouch. He grabs her by the wrist, pulling her to the ground beside him. She spits in his face half-heartedly, silently; she does not have enough energy to hate him. Sal gets up, and makes his way to the door. The pain in his gut forces him to walk bent over.
At the door, Sal looks back at the chaotic scene in the brothel. Chairs are being smashed, the slut who tried to rob him is lying on the ground, Jack Rager is in the middle of it all. Only now Jack is getting the worst of the action, as usual. He shakes his head sadly, thinking of his wife. He turns his back on the door and disappears into the night, leaving the brawl and the Six and Nine behind.
Nastyia rolls away from the feet which threaten to stomp her head into the ground. While she is able to roll away from one pair of feet, she is too slow and dazed to avoid a group of people who fall on her legs. Pain courses up through her body, and she screams in agony and blacks out.
When she comes to, she is lying on one of the couches, and she can feel some pain in her ankle. She looks around the room, and sees the aftermath of the fight. There is a brawl in the Six and Nine nearly every night, so by now they have already pushed the couches back into place and cleaned up the room. On the couch next to her a 'John' is being coerced into one of the back rooms. It makes her sick to her stomach.
Bobby, the manager of the Six and Nine comes over to her. He's a halvling with greasy black fur which looks as though it is going bald in spots. He has small, vicious teeth, and the yellow look in his eyes makes him appear broken inside. His hot breath uncomfortable on her face, he asks "How's the leg? We think it's just a strain."
Nastyia does not answer immediatly. After a moment of silent thought, Bobby grins, licks his lips with his tounge, and asks, "Well, are you going to be able to continue 'working?'" The dead part inside of Nastyia no longer cares, or can be insulted by his callous behavior. Her leg might be broken, and she hasn't had any opium in a long time.
Nastyia gathers energy for her defense, sensing the tone of dismissal in Bobby's voice. "Hey, Bobby, my ankle may be broken. Cool off," she says hotly, desparately.
"Well, you're takin up a couch."
Nastyia gingerly swings her legs over the side of the couch. She tries to put weight on the leg, and the pain is less than she had feared. However, she is plays this one for all it is worth. She yelps with pain. "It's definitely broken, Bobby. Come on, cut me some slack."
"You know the rules, Nastyia. If you can't do the work, you don't get paid." Again the grin, and the licking of chapped lips.
"But I've been injured." Pleading. Nastia can hardly stand herself, or how far she has fallen. Her elven parents had been killed in the human Orc wars. She came to Kron thinking that if her parents died for the humans, then the humans must be the kindest, most gentle creatures in the world. She fell in with a bad crowd, and now she finds herself working in a whore house, with an expensive and driving addiction to opium.
Bobby is talking again, but Nastyia can hardly hear what he is saying because of the opium withdrawal din in her head. "Well, Nastyia, I hear it was you who started the argument anyway. You know the deal. If you can't work, you don't get paid." Now he is getting angry.
Nastyia is desperate for money, so she decides to try blackmail. "Look, Bobby, I was hurt here. Maybe you've paid your protection money this month OK. But maybe neither the guild nor the guard want to hear about how you treat your workers when they've been hurt in a brawl. Even the guild knows that this kind of operation is dangerous in their territory. Attracts too many of the Kronian guard. I'm also sure the guard would love an excuse to shut this place down. After that scandal with Duke Satch and the sixteen year old, I wouldn't think you'd be too happy to get any attention at all."
Bobby considers Nastyia, and figures that Nastyia may be correct. He can have her killed, he's done it before. But that always leads to trouble, and Nastyia is just an opium addict looking for her next fix. 'There's nothing wrong with her that ten gold pieces won't fix,' he thinks to himself. "All right, look: I'll give you ten gold redundancy pay. That'll pay for a whole night in one of your dens. Then you get the hell out of here and never come back. And if you do tell anyone about what happened to you here, either in the Slavly or the guard, I'll have someone find you. And after they find you, no-one else ever will. Understand?" The grin is wider than ever, and the yellow gleam in his eye has something behind it which enforces his threat.
Nastyia takes the deal and limps out of the Six and Nine with ten gold pieces in her pocket. 'It'll be enough,' she thinks to herself, 'It'll be enough'. Nastyia is desperately hungry, and ten gold pieces is enough to buy a lot of food. She can even buy some decent clothes, perhaps look for a real job. No, she's tried that before, and it doesn't work. Few people want to hire an elf with no skills. She thought Kron would be big and friendly, like the humans she had imagined. Now she knows the truth. The city is a cold, dangerous place, with predators and pitfalls. 'At least in the forest the predators are obvious and the pitfalls kill you quickly' she thinks.
'In fact,' thinks Nastyia, 'the ten gold pieces would be enough to buy transport with DEC back to the High Forest.' Suddenly, a sense of shame washes over her body, and she knows that she cannot go back. For Nastyia, having a strong emotion, even shame, is a relief. Nastyia decides to celebrate by going to the opium den. Shame is better than the flat affect which has been besieging her for weeks. Perhaps she still has a little life inside.
Nastyia limps through the streets, looking for one of her opium dens. Her favorite had been closed down a couple of weeks ago. A recent crack-down on opium dens by the Black Ambassadors is an obstacle in her life. After trying several dens she finds one that is still open. This one is in the basement of a laundry shop. The manager, a very human looking half-elf makes sure she has enough to pay in advance. Four Bertrenands for the bed, six Bertrenands for enough opium for the night. It is a rip off. Four Bertrenands would pay rent for a month or more in a normal appartment. She accepts.
In the darkened interior of the basement there are rows of wooden bunks, three high. Most of the bunks are full, the patrons sucking out of hookahs which have been placed in holders by each billet. Some patrons are awake and sucking the straw, while others are asleep in opium induced bliss. Nastyia longs to get to that state, quickly. She finds an empty bunk and gets into it. The half-elven proprietor brings the opium and places her hookah in its holder silently. There is no need for words amongst these still living dead. After a couple of hours of smoking the sweet drug, Nastyia falls into a stupor...
Something is happening. Dazed forms are being rousted out of their bunks, dropping to the floor like the dirty laundry upstairs. There is noise. The proprietor is waving his hands, and saying something unlike language. The door slams shut, and a bolt slams into it's receptacle. Magic. Now there is pounding at the door. It all goes by very slowly, and is not frightening. The proprietor wants something from her. He wants her to get out of the bunk. "But I paid for the whole night," she complains. He grabs her clothes and pulls her out. "All right, all right."
"There is a back exit, go out that way. Follow these others." She follows the forms, none of whom appear to be concerned, though there is a look of tension on some faces. She has forgotten the pain in her leg, though she can vaguely tell that there is now a lot of swelling, and that the ankle is definitely broken. Thank Ayefr for the opium. After going through the short tunnel the silent haggard forms empty out onto a back street of Kron and disperse. Nastyia barely feels the chill in the air. It is getting colder. Soon there will be snow, and the river may freeze. White snow, over everything. A blanket. A blanket of death. White death. Nastyia wonders. She has nowhere to go. The lanterns burn on Dolor bridge.
Soon the opium will wear off, but not for a while. That is lucky. She is tired. She wanders. She sometimes babbles. It is good, sometimes, to hear your own voice. To talk of the past and the future. To talk of Kron. She is tired and cannot go on any further. She finds a place where pigs are kept and steals some of the hey. In a nearby alley, she drops the hey, and falls asleep on it.
A few hours later a pious old woman steps over her, on her way to work...
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