Kingdom of Jovana: Day 2

Jimmy stood at once upon a vast parade ground, the world around him arranged with impossible precision. Ranks on ranks of soldiers stretched to the horizon. Their uniforms were ceremonial and wrong for war: plates and plumes in vivid blues and purples, gold and bright red that clashed with such vigor it almost made his eyes water. Boots struck the earth in perfect time, a relentless thud, thud, thud. Above, banners snapped in the wind, each bearing an unfamiliar sigil painted in colors that refused to agree with one another.

He realized none of the soldiers had a face he could truly see. Some wore blank, featureless helms. Others seemed to have nothing there at all, only shadow. Yet their attention pressed against him as if he were the point of the entire spectacle.

A towering figure stepped from the ranks, armor gleaming with shifting, iridescent patterns that crawled like oil on water. The general’s voice carried across the field, deep and commanding, though the words would not resolve themselves in Jimmy’s head. The figure came close and held out a gauntleted hand. Resting upon the metal palm was a shard of light, a small, bright thing that pulsed in time with the marching boots.

He reached to take it. Color broke. The soldiers’ brilliant uniforms ran like wet paint down a wall. Banners smeared into streaks of wind-torn lightning. The perfect ground softened and slid, order dissolving into a whirl of color, and the general with it, the offered shard unmaking itself in his hand.

Jimmy woke with a soft gasp, the memory already drifting like smoke. Soldiers. A shard. A key, perhaps, to an empire. He tried out the words in his head: King Jimmy. That sounded tidy enough. He frowned, then smirked. A king needed a queen. He would have to think on that.

He dressed and went downstairs.

The Cursed Arrow lay under morning light, and a different barkeeper worked the counter, a bespectacled woman with round lenses and a temperament that looked ready for anything. At a table sat Azwin, Tyria, Unica, and Adegar. Aureliana was there too now, and that was trouble. She wore plate mail, and she rose so suddenly her chair clattered to the floor behind her.

“You,” she snapped.

“Hey! Behave yourselves,” called the barkeeper without looking up from the mugs she was drying.

Aureliana pointed a sharp, accusatory finger at Jimmy. “What is this business I hear about you leaving with the rest of my party and leaving me here with nothing?”

He studied her, still buoyed by the tail of his dream. Temperamental for a queen, perhaps. “They were lost and helpless, heading toward trouble,” he said, mild as a knife sheathed in velvet. “I am doing everyone a favor by teaming up with them, bearing the costs.”

Her eyes flashed. “My business in Onher is concluded, and I must head south to the Paladin’s Mace Tavern. I was told this morning that instead of leaving today with Unica and Adegar, I am to go alone. I will not stand for it. I insist you escort me there. It is only right, given how you have wronged me.”

“Speaking like a queen already.” He shrugged. “This is not an escort service, your highness. Our group is leaving on important business very soon. Right now, in fact. If you choose to tag along, I may not deny your wish. We might even visit this Aladdin’s Face Tavern at some point, once the urgent work is done.”

“Aahrge!” she cried, and stomped out.

Tyria tried to hold it in and failed entirely, laughter spilling out of her until she had to hold her sides. Azwin looked baffled. Adegar grunted, “Damn, that was cold.” Unica leaned in, practical as ever. “You should consider letting her come. She can poke the hell out of things when she needs to, even if her attitude curdles milk.”

Tyria alone looked clean and well rested. The others had clearly wrestled with a night that had given them no favors, and they smelled of it. Azwin rubbed his temples. “So did you decide what we are doing today?”

“Gah,” Jimmy said eloquently, and turned on his heel.

Outside the morning was clear and breezy. The street lay nearly empty. The city barracks stood next to the Cursed Arrow, and a guard lounged by the door, entertained. Aureliana had chosen a nearby wall as her opponent and was ramming her polearm into it with grim satisfaction, muttering elvish oaths that would make a priest blush.

Jimmy approached. “Damaging that house may be costly,” he said. “How about calming down, lest people think this is a lovers’ quarrel or something.” He softened the last with a lopsided smile. “As said, I have nothing against you joining my group. I might even offer you the same terms as Unica and, uh, the other one.”

“I do not want to work for you,” Aureliana said, punctuating her words with two sharp jabs into the wood. “I need to get south, and you are heading south.” Another two jabs. “If I happen to follow you, what is the harm? I will not be beholden to anyone, you see?”

Something odd glinted in her hair. Jimmy squinted. Strange colors, stiff and crusted, exactly like the frosting on that pocket cake from yesterday. “Is that cake in your hair?”

She froze, reached up with her free hand, and found it. “Eww!” With theatrical disgust she combed the dried icing out with her fingers. “Disgusting. Will the indignities never cease?”

Then she leveled the polearm at his chest. “You will escort me to the Paladin’s Mace Tavern.”

She pivoted and stalked back into the Cursed Arrow.

The guard by the barracks sighed, disappointed the entertainment had ended. The street settled again into quiet. Greenfell lay to the south, as most of the party knew well from their road into Onher. Jimmy alone had come by sea. He stood for a moment in the clean wind, thinking of kings and shards and queens who jabbed houses, and then turned back toward whatever passed for breakfast.

Jimmy stepped back into the common room and clapped his hands once to quiet the morning chatter. “New plan,” he said. “First the Paladin’s Mace. Then Greenfell.”

Azwin rubbed his hands together, pleased. “Excellent. We just follow the King’s Road south. The Paladin’s Mace sits on the stretch between Greenfell and Zamara. Did you get a lead on how we can make some gold there?”

“We should inquire with her ladyship about that,” Jimmy said, keeping his face carefully neutral. In truth he was not entirely sure whether the place was called the Paladin’s Mace or Aladdin’s Face. “Is Aureliana around?”

She was, of course, seated at the table like nothing had happened outside.

“Happy now?” Jimmy asked her. “Also, since you would not wish to be beholden to anyone, how about seeing to some provisions for your numerous and sooner or later hungry escort?”

Aureliana answered with a rude elven gesture, the delicate pantomime of plucking and discarding a leaf. Then she rose and strode out, polearm over one shoulder.

“Bold to trust her with food,” Tyria said, folding her arms. “For the record, I am not eating anything she brings back, if she comes back at all.”

“It will be fine,” Adegar said. “She has a tendency to be a touch dramatic.”

“Understandable in this case,” Unica muttered. “Jimmy is being an ass.”

“Has she been paying you?” Tyria asked.

“No,” Adegar and Unica said together.

“Then why does she get to treat you like property?” Tyria tipped her head. “If you were only traveling together to get here, why is she offended when you get hired by someone else?”

“Good question,” Unica said. “Odd that she wanted to come here anyway. What does an elf really need with an academy of magic?”

“She said curiosity,” Adegar said. “Still a strange reason to travel to the back end of nowhere.”

“But she can fight?” Tyria asked.

“Can she ever,” Adegar said. “She gutted a bandit who waylaid us in the forest. She is scary when she needs to be.”

Unica went a little pale. “I am still not entirely convinced that was a bandit. But yes, she did what she did.”

“Interesting,” Tyria said softly, filing that away. Azwin, meanwhile, looked perfectly content, happy simply to have work.

Tyria turned back to Unica and Adegar. “You said you were going to the Academy of Magic. How long were you actually there?”

Unica shifted in her seat. “Not long. Just enough time to soak in the atmosphere, speak with a few influential people, and get a sense of what the Academy is about.”

“One night,” Adegar admitted. “We did not want to overstay our welcome. The place was busy, you know. Lots of magic happening.”

Tyria’s brows shot up. “So you spent one night in the most prestigious academy in the kingdom and left because it was busy?”

“They are very particular about who they mentor,” Unica said, defensive but defiant. “Clearly they missed the potential standing right in front of them. Their loss.”

“Exactly,” Adegar said. “It was not about us. It was bureaucracy. Endless bureaucracy.”

Tyria leaned back with a smirk. “So the greatest minds in the arcane arts were too stupid to recognize your brilliance.”

“If you want to put it like that, sure,” Unica said with a scoff. “Their loss.”

“And Aureliana?” Tyria asked. “What did she do while you were there? You said she went with you.”

“She knew one of the students,” Adegar said. “They hung out while we were busy being rejected.”

“Aureliana certainly gets around,” Tyria murmured. “A wonder anyone with that attitude has friends at all.”

Jimmy cleared his throat. “Just how did that cake end up in her hair,” he muttered. Then, to Tyria, “Do you know something?”

“About cake?” Tyria said. “You are the one who produced delicious cake from your pocket yesterday. I do know about the two rival bakers in town, on account of independent research, but I do not know how one gets cake in one’s hair. Maybe she is simply a messy eater.”

“Or a raccoon,” Jimmy mumbled. He turned to Unica and Adegar with a more charming look than he felt. “So what spells do you know? Let me guess, Unica. Charm Person?” He nodded toward the little skull hooked through her nose. “And what is with the skull?”

“I wish,” Unica said. “I can create light. That is pretty cool because I can also make it into a bit of darkness, but only kind of, because I can only memorize one or the other. I have to decide ahead of time. Usually I pick light.” She brightened as she spoke, delighted with the topic. “Oh, and the skull? Do you like it? I got it to look more bad-ass.”

Tyria rolled her eyes.

“I know sleep,” Adegar said. “Helpful for getting out of a pinch. A lot easier to deal with something that is asleep. In theory.”

Elves did not generally approve of poking holes in the natural holiness of one’s body, at least in Jimmy’s experience, but Unica did not need to know that. He offered a careful smile. “Yeah, it looks, uh, cool. And Light is a useful spell. I guess.”

The door banged open. Aureliana stormed in with her polearm slung over one shoulder and a burlap sack in her other hand. She dropped the bag on the table with a heavy thud and a smirk. “Here. Food for the journey. Do not say I never did anything for you.”

Jimmy studied her face for a telltale mask. Her eyes had the wild glitter of someone still very angry, but no black-bandit rings. Perhaps not a raccoon after all.

“What is in the bag?” he asked, making no move to open it himself.

Tyria sighed, reached in, and drew out a thick, hard ring of something the color of old straw. Oats and bran were pressed into it, with a suggestion of hay.

“Are these horse biscuits?” she asked, appalled.

“It is food,” Aureliana said. “Excuse me for not arranging a fine dining experience for you. Options are limited in this backwater.”

Raccoons eat grain too, Jimmy thought. The plot thickens. He kept his face smooth. “We can hunt later if needed,” he said. “The horse food is good as a backup, I suppose. Now that everyone is finished with breakfast, shall we get going?”

They gathered their things and stepped into the mild fall air. A west wind came thin and cool, tugging cloaks and tickling the edges of tempers. Jimmy glanced at Aureliana marching out beside them with her polearm and her burlap of hard victuals. In his head he titled the mission: escort the princess who may or may not be a raccoon to the other tavern.

The last wooden buildings of Onher fell behind them, and the land opened into rolling, treeless hills. Southward the world turned to grain. Endless fields bent under the wind, and in those fields bent the people too: children no older than twelve, women and men, every able body stooped to the work. They moved with the slow, weary rhythm of those already tired before noon. Along the road stalked enforcers, barking orders, cracking whips that sounded like tearing cloth.

“See, some people do honest work,” Jimmy said to Tyria with a mockery light enough to pass for banter.

They pressed on. Hill after hill unrolled with the sameness of a prayer bead. At last the land changed: a broad, rocky outcrop shouldered up from the plains beside a meandering river. The road kept the water as a companion for a time, then let it drift away. There were no other travelers, only the hush of grass and the low voice of the current.

Jimmy walked close to the bank and watched the river run clear over smooth stones. Small fish flickered in the shallows. Waterbirds skimmed the skin of the stream and struck like thrown knives.

“Ever met a naiad?” he asked. “They are interesting. Usually very pretty too. They try to drown the man they charm more often than not. The one I met was different. She was called Lily, and her lover built a house on the shore, partly over the river, because a naiad can never fully leave the waters.”

Tyria snorted. “Lily, was it? And you lived to tell the tale. She must have been one of the nice ones.”

“Naiads are dangerous,” Adegar said, curious despite himself. “Although I suppose not all are bound to the same nature. That house over the river, did it have wards, or was it only ordinary wood?”

Unica’s eyes went bright. “I find it romantic. Tell me it worked out for them. Happily ever after, or did the river demand a price?”

“I was not there long enough to see the ending,” Jimmy said. “I hope it worked. Winter worried me. Sitting with your foot frozen into the ice does not appeal, and she could not leave the river. Perhaps it never froze entirely. As for the house, it was built by a reanimated stone golem. They make good servants, I am told. Kind of dim. I would not want to meet an unfriendly one I did not control.”

He watched a silver shape bolt between weeds. “We should have brought fishing rods. Spears might work.” He threw a look at Azwin, then at Aureliana.

Azwin laughed. “These fish are smaller than my spear point. The spear is nearly as big as they are.”

“Then no fish for now,” Jimmy said, and they turned back to the road.

The hills gave way at last to a forest that hunched over the path. Above, a faded canopy clung to the tops of the trees, but the trunks themselves were naked and twisted, their branches bent low like grasping hands. The place felt touched, and not kindly. The road tightened into a walled corridor through the wood, and the light thinned to a greenish dusk though the sun still rode the afternoon sky.

Stone rose ahead. A tall, dark wall, blackened and weather worn, loomed across their way. Moss and lichen climbed its base. Weeds tufted in the cracks like old scars growing hair. Towers pricked up along its length at measured intervals. The dirt turned underfoot to uneven cobble as they neared the gate, and two statues flanked the entrance, so eroded by seasons that their faces had dissolved. The gate itself was heavy oak banded in iron.

It creaked as it opened. Two guards stood within, chainmail bright in the gloom, halberds at rest, livery quartered in green and black. They waved the travelers through.

Inside, the town folded around them in a tangle of narrow streets and buildings set where whimsy had left them. The air smelled of damp earth and acrid smoke. Most houses climbed two or three stories, their dark timber framed on gray stone foundations, steep shingled roofs shouldering close above the lanes. Ivy climbed some walls in patches like old maps. Iron lanterns had already been lit, and their small fires made islands of warm light on the cobbles.

Behind them the guards hauled the gate shut, wood groaning, iron ringing. Jimmy craned his neck. “Is this town supposed to be here?”

Tyria laughed, cheerful in the dim. “Yes, silly. This is Greenfell.”

Aureliana’s jaw set like a vise. “It is another eight or ten kilometers south of here,” she said. “I do not fancy walking there in the dark. We should stay the night. This forest is creepy even at noon.”

“No argument,” Jimmy said. He glanced at the dark trees pressing against the city walls, then at her polearm. “We will find you to your tavern tomorrow, princess.”

They walked Greenfell until the sky went from iron to ink. The town was a knot of narrow lanes and steep roofs, the buildings stitched together with black timber and gray stone. Lanterns bloomed early, and behind the light moved people who did not linger. Faces slid away, curtains twitched, whispers passed like moths between doorways. On the streets they found a tanner’s reek, the clean bite of a carpenter’s saw, a weaver’s warp clacking, two flower shops with windows full of blooms that looked too bright for this place, a blacksmith’s sparks, a printing press thudding like a steady heart, a mill’s slow grind, a bookstore with leaded panes, a grocer, a spice seller, a jeweler, a cobbler, animal supplies, an armorer’s rack of steel, and, strangely, more than one hatter and more than one mortician, as if Greenfell anticipated both odd tastes and bad outcomes. The barracks and jail kept silent watch over it all.

At the south of their circuit the citadel rose, black-walled like the outer curtain but heavier, with a single guarded gate. Through it Jimmy glimpsed the keep inside, a dark tooth against the last of the sky. He felt the weight of eyes and kept walking.

“There was a rumor the queen lives here,” he told the others lightly. “Keep an eye out for anything royal. Other than our fearless warrior, of course.” He sent Aureliana a glance that tried very hard not to be a grin.

By full dark they gathered at a two-story tavern of dark timber and gray stone. A faded sign above the oaken door showed a snarling troll with a tankard. Iron lanterns smoked on their hooks. The name creaked in Jimmy’s head as he read it. The Gloomy Troll.

Inside, the air was thick with stale beer, roast meat, and damp wood. To the right stretched a long hall of heavy tables and scarred benches. To the left a fireplace hunted warmth from the chill, flanked by a few upholstered chairs and small tables. Above the mantel a grotesque carving of a troll leered at the crowd. Along the right wall a bar of dark oak gleamed from years of elbows, and behind it a frowning man looked up at them through a forest of dusty bottles and squat barrels. Two dozen souls filled the room, locals with guarded eyes and travelers with the look of people who slept in their boots.

“Now what?” Jimmy said, thinking about the shrinking purse that had begun to jingle like a joke. “Anyone see stables or something cheap? The horse biscuits will keep us alive if they have to.”

He drifted to the bulletin board by the door. Yellowed notices curled at the corners like old leaves. He ran his eyes across the ink, hoping for anything that looked like work, or failing that, a bed that did not cost the crown of a king.

Tyria sagged against the nearest post and looked longingly at the rafters. “Oh well. I guess we will not be living the high life after all. The place I stayed last night was probably the nicest I have ever slept. My own room. I cannot remember the last time I had my own room.” She pointed with her chin at the taproom benches. “I have stayed here before. They will let you sleep on those for five copper. Right unpleasant, but better than a stall with horses.”

Jimmy crooked a smile. “Horses can be pleasant company. They sense the aura of dishonest creatures, though. Perhaps that is why some people do not get along with them.” He winked at her, then let his eyes skim the notice board by the door.

Two papers flapped in the draft.

“Heading to Bahari? Payment guaranteed to a trusty courier. Ask for Percipia of Xathar.”

“Stolen! Something very dear to me was stolen. Please reach out if you can help. Pettita Theodebrand.”

Aureliana had already swept toward the bar with the air of someone ordering a siege, not a supper. Jimmy followed, curious what she meant to arrange.

He arrived just in time to see the barkeeper press a key into her palm.

“You may be fine in a barn,” Aureliana said without looking at him. “I need my privacy.” She said it oddly, clipped and careful, priv-uh-see, as if the word belonged to a different tongue.

The barkeeper turned to Jimmy. “Welcome to the Gloomy Troll. Can I get you something to drink?”

He was a dour man with wise brown eyes and a permanent frown, dressed in a plain tunic and a neck band. His frown lifted the smallest degree at the question, which in this place counted as warmth.

Jimmy muttered a few unkind elvish syllables into his collar and asked, “What would it cost to decently accommodate and feed a party of five? Nothing luxurious.” He tipped his head after Aureliana. “Milady will enjoy her privacy. Your faithful servants will take care of themselves.”

“Ah, so you are staying the night.” The barkeeper glanced at the benches, then back. “If you do not need privacy,” he said, with a ghost of amusement, “you have two choices. A bunk room that holds six for ten silver a night, or these benches for five copper a person. If you take the benches, get good and sloshed. Things take a while to settle down, and we do breakfast here.” He chuckled at his own counsel.

He set a stained board on the counter and tapped the menu with a broad finger. “Dinner is two silver per person. Choices tonight. Stewed fillet of pork, marinated in red wine, with mashed potatoes. Barbecued fillet of fish, glazed with white wine, with fresh salad. Stewed chunks of meat in red wine with baked potatoes. Barbecued chunks of pork with garlic and wine, and fresh salad. Wine is another two silver. Beer is five copper. I recommend the beer. You look mighty thrusty, son.” He laughed outright at the slip.

Aureliana ignored Jimmy entirely and drifted for the stairs, key in hand.

Jimmy sighed the sigh of a good employer and set coin on the counter. “Room and dinner for five,” he said, counting out the silver, “and beer for four.” Wine would be wasted on the lot of them, and he preferred water anyway. He toyed with an extra silver between his fingers. “Any interesting rumors?”

On his way back to the table he found himself unreasonably grateful that the flower shop earlier had been closed. The impulse had passed like a fever. He shoved it away and listened.

The barkeeper leaned in. “About a week ago a rowdy bunch came through. Adventurers, much like you. Drunk as skunks and carrying on, but I heard them talking about a place they called the Caverns of the Twisted Pain out in the western deserts. Said there was a huge treasure there. Seems like the kind of thing you keep to yourselves.” He laughed softly, then slid over a key. “Here is your bunk room.”

“How goes the city?” Jimmy asked, lowering his voice. “I had a strange feeling at the gate.”

“Different, since the queen holed herself up in the citadel. Town is on edge, waiting for the glove to drop, so to say.” The barkeeper’s wise eyes flicked to the door and back.

Jimmy returned to his companions. “There is a room, food, and beer,” he announced.

A cheer rolled along the long table where they had taken up the end. They had left a space for him, which warmed him more than the hearth.

“Keep the horse crackers for later,” he said as he sat, thinking of the rough wafers Aureliana had handed over earlier. Sixteen of them, hard as saddle leather and just as appetizing. Enough to keep a person alive for a day each, if not cheerful. “We should learn what we can without raising suspicion. After dinner, use your charms on the chatty ones and bring back anything useful.” He tried to sound like a leader delegating tasks and not like a man who wanted another glimpse of shining, smooth obsidian skin.

A dwarf with a heavy black beard arrived balancing a platter of five cups. He set four beers down and, with a discreet lean, offered Jimmy the fifth. “Here is your water,” he murmured. “I cannot guarantee it will not leave you indisposed tomorrow though.” Then, louder, “Dinner will be out shortly.”

Azwin lifted his beer in tacit thanks and took a long swallow, content to watch. Tyria began lightheartedly baiting Adegar and Unica, which had the useful effect of keeping them both amused and occupied until food arrived.

Dinner came, smelled like wine and garlic, and disappeared. Afterward the party dissolved into the wider current of the room.

Tyria made straight for the richest-looking man by the hearth, sliding onto the bench beside him like a cat settling on a windowsill. Now that he stood, Jimmy could see the man’s attire: a dark green doublet trimmed in gold thread, black breeches, polished leather boots. When he rose again an hourglass later, he did so with a cane and a slight limp.

Azwin, after a moment’s reluctance, took the path of least resistance and sat with a man who wore a soldier’s gear at war with a prodigious belly. They talked over a battered table with benches.

Unica and Adegar went together to the most interesting person in the room, a woman in dark flowing robes stitched with constellations. She wore face jewelry that echoed Unica’s own. She had been speaking with Tyria’s mark before, but now her attention belonged entirely to them.

The rest of the tavern bubbled with the sort of adventurers a person could recruit if he wanted more trouble. At the far end of Jimmy’s bench a feisty halfling lass flirted shamelessly with a muscular fellow in chain mail. Near her, a male and a female dwarf tried to drown each other under mugs while a cheerful robed woman egged them on.

Jimmy did not feel like small talk. He drifted to the bar and bought himself a cup of wine after all, then settled into a watcher’s quiet.

Aureliana returned from upstairs sooner than he expected. At the foot of the stairs she paused, scanned the room, and gave him a glare sharp enough to cut rind as her gaze passed by. Then she fixed on Azwin and glided to join him and the overweight soldier, taking the bench as if it owed her rent.

Tyria and the man in the green doublet stood together and went for the door. Only then did Jimmy notice the cane and the limp, the way the gold thread caught the hearthlight. They stepped into the night.

Across the room Unica lifted her hand and caught his eye, a small wave inviting him over. The table next to hers had emptied, leaving a free chair he could pull up if he wished.

Jimmy drifted through the tavern as if a lazy current had caught his boots, angling his course so he would pass a certain table by accident. Aureliana sat there with a clutch of men and Azwin among them. Her voice, which had been thorns and nettles to Jimmy all afternoon, had turned bright and sugar-sweet. He caught, with those inconveniently sharp elven ears, the lilt of persuasion. “Come on, just do it, it will be fun.” Laughter fluttered like ribbons. For a heartbeat he pictured tipping his remaining wine over her coiffed head, then he exhaled and let the image go, as one lets a moth slip through open fingers.

He reached Unica’s table. She cut off mid sentence when she saw him. “Oh, here he is now. This is Jimmy. Jimmy, this is Percipia.”

The woman who rose to greet him had the kind of presence that made the room forget its own clatter. Wild green eyes, short wavy brown hair framing her face as if it refused to be tamed, and a long black robe stitched with constellations that seemed ready to tilt and spin if the cloth ever billowed. Small pouches hung from a belt cinched at her waist, and she smelled of smoke and strong herbs.

“A pleasure to meet the man himself,” she said, her hand outstretched.

He took it. “A pleasure, indeed.”

Unica leaned forward, eager. “We explained that we were adventurers traveling south toward Jokka, and she said she has a job for us.”

Percipia’s smile sharpened with opportunity. “Yes. I have something that needs to make its way down to a dear friend in Bahari, in the mountains to the south. When Unica said you were headed to Jokka anyway, I thought I should ask. I even posted a message on the board here a couple of weeks ago, but no one has been going that far south. My friend Aicfrida in Bahari will pay you six hundred gold on successful delivery.”

Unica’s eyes widened. Adegar’s did too. Both looked at Jimmy as if six hundred gold had suddenly sprouted wings and was circling just above his head.

“More jobs,” Jimmy murmured, mostly to himself. Louder, he asked, “Is this Bahari before Jokka toward the south? If so, we could consider it. What are you doing here, if you do not mind me asking? And have you by any chance seen the queen?”

“Behari is a bit farther south than Jokka, in the Battlewon Crags,” Percipia said, pronouncing it with a neat e that tugged the name into a new shape. “Please at least consider it. Most travelers like you linger in the north, so it is rare to find someone headed that way. As for me, I run a shop here in Greenfell, and I like to relax at the Gloomy Troll, keep an eye on my patrons.” She winked. “Seen the queen?” Her tone turned cheeky.

“Rumors say she is here in Greenfell,” Jimmy said. “So I wondered if you, as a local, know something. What sort of shop do you have, by the way? You look like a magic user to my eyes and not a bad looking one at that. Potions, perhaps?”

Percipia waved the question aside as if brushing flour from a sleeve. “Oh, she is here. I saw her arrive in the dead of night. You are unlikely to see her yourself. I have not seen her leave the citadel since, but you will see guards on the walls at all hours. My shop and rooms are right against the citadel’s south wall, so I get a good look at them.”

“She’s a witch,” Adegar added.

Unica kicked him under the table. “That was rude.”

Percipia sighed, patient. “That is unfortunately what you must call yourself to do business here. But you all seem to be magic users yourselves, you understand how it is. Magic is not black or white, we live in the grays. Sometimes it is a charm of protection, sometimes a curse to encourage better behavior. The world is messy, and so are we.”

From behind them the tavern swelled with a chant. “Drink, drink, drink.” Boots thumped, palms slapped tabletops. Jimmy glanced back and caught Azwin and the fat guard throwing back two large tankards of beer like champions of a very specific sport.

He turned to Percipia again, his eyes bright. “No worries. I adore witches. Especially when they are as pleasant as yourself, unlike all the silly legends about ugly hags they tell children. Nonsense.” He lowered his voice until it rode just above the growl of the room. “Now, I was wondering. Is there a way, a potion, charm, or curse, to make someone who is not nice to you be more friendly?”

“Of course,” Percipia said, delighted. “In fact that is my most popular product.”

“Really? And what form would that product take? The someone in question should not need to know it is being applied.”

She leaned in, eyes gleaming, and her voice dropped to a conspirator’s hush. “Discretion is essential in such matters, is it not? It could be many things. A potion stirred into a drink. A charm placed beneath a pillow. A delicate thread tied where it will not be noticed.” She tapped her chin as if considering a shelf lined with options. “The specifics depend on the target, and how strongly you want the effect to take hold.”

Unica’s mouth turned down. “You are not seriously considering doing something like this, are you?”

Adegar stared into an empty corner as if it might help.

“Another round,” someone roared near the bar.

Jimmy kept his tone gentle for Unica. “You are too young and sweet to understand. When a group faces unknown dangers, it is not ideal when a certain someone is not nice to others. It endangers everyone if trouble rises. That includes you. So let us see what Percipia has to offer.” He turned back. “Something simple to place on the target, but effective.”

Unica sighed. “Okay. I guess.”

Percipia opened one of the pouches at her belt and drew out a small woven charm, thin black threads knotted around beads that caught the firelight and held it the way dew holds morning. Her theatrics softened into ceremony. “All you need to do is place this near the target. The closer the better. Ideally on their person, or in the belongings they carry. It will work silently, softening their mood and bending their heart just enough to see you with kinder eyes. Do not forget, the magic thrives on intention. Think of your desire when you place it, and it will do the rest.”

She held the charm between finger and thumb. She did not hand it over.

Again the chant rose behind them. “Drink, drink, drink.”

“Sounds so easy,” Jimmy said. “Will it really work? And how much do you want for it? Mind you, I am a poor elf with limited funds, and if those funds do not sustain us until Behari, the package may never get there.”

“No gold necessary,” Percipia said with a smile that suggested payment all the same. “But I will need a few softer things from you. First, a lock of your hair or a drop of your blood, to align the charm to your energy. Second, a promise to perform a favor later. Not the delivery, that is paid for by Aicfrida. At some point in the future I may have need of a favor, and I need you to promise to fulfill it if and when the time comes.”

Unica groaned.

“What kind of favor?” Jimmy asked. “If you mean becoming your servant, or some weird sacrifice thing, that will not fly,” he added with as much dignity as he could gather, while a small and entirely unhelpful part of his mind wondered what being a servant to Percipia would actually involve.

Percipia laughed, bright and untroubled. “Oh, darling, nothing so dramatic. A tiny thing. Helping me move a cabinet up a flight of stairs. Retrieving a misplaced book from a musty attic. Delivering a sealed letter to someone far away. Holding an item for safekeeping. Keeping an eye on a troublesome person.” She tilted her head, thinking. “Perhaps something as simple as saying my name fondly when you are in an interesting place. Nothing untoward. Think of it as leaving a small thread in the tapestry of life for me to tug when the moment feels right.”

Unica seized Jimmy’s arm and hissed, “Seriously, Jimmy. This is a witch you are talking to. Consider this carefully.”

Percipia only smiled, all innocence and constellations.

Jimmy’s certainty wobbled. Was this really worth it, just to coax Aureliana into behaving? He cleared his throat. “Perhaps I have to think about it.”

“It is no problem,” Percipia said, composure unruffled. “Think it over and drop by my shop if you change your mind. You should consider my job offer anyway. My shop is near the south wall of the citadel.”

She tucked the charm back into her pouch. Adegar had gone a shade paler than the beer foam. “I think I am going to get another drink,” he muttered, excused himself, and made for the bar.

“Uh, me too,” Unica said, standing. “It was nice to meet you.” She paused long enough to glare at Jimmy, then followed Adegar into the noise, where the chant rose again like surf against stone.

Jimmy tipped his head, studying the younglings who had scattered after a brief encounter with Percipia. Perhaps a charming witch was too much for them. Her offer had been suspicious, true, but charm counted for a great deal in a town like this.

“Do you wear a witch hat, by the way?” he asked, letting a smile spark at the corner of his mouth. “The long, pointy kind. Kinda like my ear, hehe.”

Percipia threw her head back and laughed, a bright peal that rolled across the common room. She leaned forward again, chin propped on her hand, eyes quick with mischief. “A witch hat? My dear, what do you take me for, one of those storybook crones with warts and a broomstick?” She flicked a stray curl aside and spread her hands. “Would not want to cover up this hair I work so hard on, you know.”

She paused, gaze sliding to the elegant tips of his ears. “Though if I did wear one, it would be black, stitched with silver thread and little stars along the brim. Elegant and enchanting, just like its owner. I am far too modern for such clichés.” A wicked smile. “Your ears, on the other hand, are delightful. If I had those, I would not bother with a hat at all.”

“Actually, witch hats and elf ears pair stylishly,” Jimmy said, then hurried to clarify, “not on my head, of course. I once knew…” He stopped, catching the trace of smoke that threaded the air around her. “By the way, do you have something to smoke? Herbs and such. I have not had a good pipe in ages.”

Percipia produced a carved pipe and a small pouch. She began to load the bowl with deft fingers.

A warm breath tickled his ear. Unica had drifted behind him like a shadow. “I know you are busy trying to bed this witch and all,” she whispered, dry as old parchment, “but meanwhile half your party has inexplicably disappeared, and we are kind of concerned.”

“It is fine,” Jimmy murmured, eyes still on Percipia’s hands. “Tyria is probably busy robbing that rich man, not that I approve. Azwin is likely drunk. Aureliana, nobody cares.” He slipped two bright silvers into Unica’s palm. “Get yourself some wine. And gather more intel.”

Unica accepted the coins and gave him a look that promised an accounting later, then stomped back to the bar.

Percipia smiled as if none of that existed. “Here, try this.” She offered the pipe.

He took it, oddly pleased by the intimacy of it. Using her pipe felt like an indirect kiss, which was juvenile to think and impossible not to consider. He lit the bowl and drew in. “What is in it? Any special weed? I heard a good pipe blend does not just taste and feel good, it also increases stamina and intelligence.”

“It is a special blend I made myself,” Percipia said. “I have access to all kinds of dried plants and herbs at the shop, so I like to experiment.”

He leaned back and let the smoke bloom through him. The fire in the hearth fractured into green and violet, the air thickened like honey, and the tavern’s clatter slowed as if the musicians had been told to play under water.

Percipia slipped the pipe from his fingers and took a long pull, eyes half-lidded. “Thought you would like that.”

“Oh yes,” he said, captivated by the shimmering flames. “The fire is gorgeous. Like your eyes.”

Her voice arrived inside his skull, faint and far. “It is the Dreamer’s Fog in the mix. Powerful hallucinogen.”

The world unstitched itself. Laughter, tankards, the smell of stew, all peeled away, leaving silence and a damp chill that crawled into his bones. He found himself seated in a vast, desolate waste. The earth was dark and slick with rot. Mist lay in a heavy veil across an endless horizon.

A crow’s caw cracked the quiet. On a broken branch, a black bird watched him, eyes lit with a pale green glow.

“Caw. Caw. Caw.”

“Meow?” Jimmy said hopefully. Pretending to be a cat seemed, for reasons that made perfect sense right now, a very good way to frighten off a bird. A proud, fierce, black tom with long, pointed ears, obviously in the service of a witch. Perhaps there were mice.

The crow cocked its head, unimpressed. Ash and black feathers shed from its wings with a papery hiss. “A cat? In these woods? Foolish,” it rasped, voice like a thorn in the throat. “Even predators kneel here.”

It leaned forward until its beak was nearly at his nose, somehow both near and far in the milk-thick mist. “Meow at the forest, then. Perhaps it will meow back.”

With a final contemptuous caw, it leaped and vanished into the fog.

“Fine,” Jimmy muttered. The tree it had perched on looked like an insult formed in wood, all twisted bark and fungal scars. He stretched his hands, or claws, and raked them against the trunk. The bark yielded with a wet sound and a viscous red liquid bled from the gouges, warm and sticky on his pads.

He climbed. The tree’s roots murmured beneath him, a low voice in the marrow. “Climb, child, higher.”

The trunk kept going, past the height he remembered from a heartbeat ago, higher and higher until the air grew thin and cold. The top stayed impossibly distant, a promise that receded as he reached. Still he climbed, breath smoking, claws slipping in sanguine sap.

At last he pulled himself to a swaying crown where the world lay exposed. Below, a dead country stretched away in every direction, a quilt of withered trees and rivers that ran with ash. Fields lay burned to grey crusts. Far off, a glimmer flickered, the smallest of flames trying to live in an empty sky.

He fixed on the light, and whispers brushed his mind. Not words at first, only the comfort of being spoken to. He thought of hearth warmth and soft hands stroking a cat’s back while snow fell outside the shutters. He lifted a paw toward the distant spark.

“Meow,” he said, desperate.

The single flame trembled. For a breath the entire world paused. Even the wind held still. Warmth seeped across the distance, faint but certain. The whispers returned, and this time he understood them perfectly.

You dumb, dumb, son of a bitch.

It did not sound angry. If anything, it sounded fond.

The light danced closer, brighter, until heat bit his skin. Pain flared across his palm.

“He waking,” Adegar’s voice boomed, close and real.

Jimmy jerked back from the inn’s hearth and blinked at the room. Adegar had an arm around his shoulders, steadying him. Unica hurried in, her face tight with worry. The tavern had dimmed to embers and snores. Somewhere, a late drinker muttered and rolled over.

“What the hell?” Unica demanded. “You have been over here drooling and occasionally meowing for hours. What did she do to you?”

“Retractable claws are incredible,” Jimmy whispered, groggy. “Elf ears should be retractable too.” Panic tried to stand up inside him. “Where is my witch?”

“She has been gone for a while,” Adegar said, shaking his head.

“You told us to keep working,” Unica said. “So we did, and we were not watching you. After we talked to a few more people we came back to tell you what we learned, and she was gone, and you were here, staring into the fire and drooling like she took your mind. We told the barkeep and he shrugged. Said if you died, that was our problem.” She folded her arms. “So we have been keeping an eye on you to make sure you did not get robbed.”

“I wish she took more than just my mind,” Jimmy said, then winced at himself. “We should invest in a few pipes and some weed in the near future. Perhaps something milder. And thank you for keeping watch. Did you learn anything?”

Unica exhaled through her nose. “Yeah. I spoke with a group of adventurers. Something big is happening in Aral. They tried to get into the city a couple of days ago and were denied entry. The guards said nobody goes in or out.”

Adegar’s face went hollow and somber. “Both our families are in Aral. I hope they are fine, whatever is happening, but it is hard not to worry.”

Unica yawned, the fight draining out of her. “Now that you seem to have survived, can we consider getting some rest?”

“That could explain why the queen is here rather than in Aral,” Jimmy said, rubbing his eyes. “If something is going to go down there. Not sure where that leaves us for gathering information here, if the action is over there.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Rooms, then.”

They climbed the narrow stairs. The room they had rented waited, unlit and close. Three bunks filled most of the floor. Azwin snored on the bottom of one, a rumble like a distant millstone. Adegar and Unica took the top and bottom of another without a word. Thin straw mattresses creaked as bodies settled. Rough wool blankets scratched at exposed skin. In the corner, a wash basin reflected the faintest slice of moonlight. The oil lamp sat cold and dark.

They were the only occupants.

Jimmy took a top bunk, the wood cool beneath his hands. He lay back and stared into the indistinct rafters. He tried not to think of Percipia’s laugh, the tilt of her head, the way her pipe had tasted faintly of mint and smoke. A successful witch like her would have a much better bed than these sorry bunks. Probably silk sheets. Probably a bedroom that smelled of musk and citrus and spellbooks.

He wondered if she had a cat. A black one with long, pointed ears.

Lucky cat.

Sleep found him before the thought could make him any more sad.