The Perils of Untying Love – Episode 9
I’ve been into lots of alehouses, inns, and other watering holes on more worlds than I care to remember. Of all of them, The Old Workshop is the closest to home – what with it being located in the heart of Castle Silverhill’s bailey – but it is at the very the bottom of my list of Recommended Drinking Establishments.
Which is why, when we were as close to the alehouse as I dared to go, I stopped by a bay window of the house next door and released Grimmon’s arm.
All the while I’d been dragging him along the streets after we’d left the herbs and spices shop, I’d ignored his questions about why I’d turned myself into a rat, and what did I think I was doing frightening him and an innocent dwarf by changing back into a human in such an brusque, high-handed way.
“Right,” I said in a firm tone, cutting off yet another of his queries midstream. “I’ll keep watch out here while you go in there and fetch Trewla.” I pointed at The Old Workshop’s battered and stained door.
Grimmon frowned. “The alehouse? It isn’t dangerous. So, why did you say Trewla’s in danger? And what’s she doing in there? I thought she was more of a wine person.”
“She’s… ah… looking for someone.”
“Well, I suppose The Old Workshop is a good place to start. Popular venue. Who’s she looking for?”
“Oh, you know… Nobody in particular,” I said, examining my nails.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Come on, you can tell me.”
I ground my teeth. The last thing I wanted to do was tell Grimmon about Cosferas, the brownie who had absorbed the contents of an ancient spellbook. Locked away in Cosferas’ head was a set of spells that held the key to what makes Castle Silverhill hop from one world to another every couple of weeks. Who knows what Grimmon would do with that information. I mean, he might decide to help Trewla catch Cosferas and thus aid her in her quest to return to her own world.
I couldn’t have that.
“She’s on the trail of… of… um… a murderer,” I said. “Yes, that’s it. A murderer who’s murdered people. Lots of people. Dangerous. Needs to be stopped. That sort of thing.”
“Eh? I haven’t heard of anyone being murdered lately.”
“Ah, well that’s it, y’see. Um… The murderer’s crimes are as incognito as he is.” Without giving Grimmon time to think, I gave him my sternest gaze and hurriedly continued, “So, you see, Trewla is in a lot of danger. You need to go in there and bring her out, pronto.”
“I’m sure she knows what she’s doing. Are you sure she needs our help?”
“Yes! Because the murderer is a lot more dangerous than she thinks!”
I gave him a helpful shove towards the alehouse.
Grimmon stayed where he was and put his hands on his hips. “Why me? Why don’t you get her yourself?”
“Because I’m keeping watch out here. The murderer’s accomplices might come along any minute. I’ll fend them off and keep you safe.” I raised my fists in my best boxing pose. “Now go! We don’t have much time!”
I could see the doubt in his eyes, but when I cast my manly gaze up and down the street as though looking for bloodthirsty villains, he began to edge away towards the alehouse, coward that he is.
A creaking from behind me made him pause. I turned to see the front door of the house we stood next to swinging open. An ogre shuffled out, stooping to get his huge, musclebound body through the doorway.
“I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but yer voices carried through the window,” he said bending down and putting his huge face in front of mine. “It sounds like you could do with some help. If Trewla’s in danger from this ‘ere murderer wot you say is on the loose, I’m more than willing to keep watch while the two of you go in there and bring ‘er out. Safety in numbers, and all that. And to be honest, I’ll do a better job than you of taking care of the murderer’s accomplices.” He patted the enormous club hanging from his belt.
“No. No. Really,” I said, recoiling from his rank breath. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. We’ve got this in hand.”
The ogre squinted at me. “Hey… Aren’t you that supposed lord of the castle who thinks he’s better than everyone else?”
“Yes,” said Grimmon.
Like lightning, I clapped my hand over the treacherous goblin’s mouth before he could say anything more.
“Goodness me, no!” I said, my eyes wide with innocence. “I’m not as handsome as that magnificent fellow.”
The ogre was glowering at me in suspicion. There was only one thing I could do to defuse the situation and that was to take him up on his offer. I grabbed Grimmon shoulder and frogmarched him towards the alehouse.
“I’m grateful to you, kind sir,” I gabbled over my shoulder. “The murderer’s accomplices had better beware! I have every confidence you’ll fight them off while me and this deceitful goblin risk our lives to save the fair damsel in distress.”
I whipped open the alehouse’s door, pushed Grimmon through, and stepped inside.
Nothing much about the place had changed. It was as crowded with patrons as ever, and the stone floor was as littered with rubbish as the last time I’d seen it. Just above head-height, the room was crisscrossed by thick wooden beams which almost hid the vaulted ceiling. Weak daylight dribbling through a dirty window high on one wall, did barely any more to lift the gloom than the sickly yellow light from the oil lamps dotted around the room. The atmosphere was rank with the stench of unwashed bodies and the reek of spilled ale. Sitting at heavy wooden tables, and lurching unsteadily between them, were the usual mix of dwarves, humans, trolls, and humans with the odd banshee and pixie thrown in. As far as I could see the place was devoid of interfering ogres, which cheered me up.
“Where’s Trewla?” said Grimmon. “Can you see her?”
“No.”
I have to admit, I was more concerned at that point about the other members of the alehouse’s clientele. A few were casting mean looks our way, but to my relief, nobody seemed to recognise me or appeared especially hostile.
Nevertheless, it pays to be cautious.
“I’ll stay here and guard the door,” I said. “You stroll around and find Trewla. Act casual. Don’t meet anyone’s eye.”
Grimmon gave me an odd look. “You really didn’t want to come in here, did you?”
“Nonsense.” I smiled and nodded at someone I pretended to know. “I come here all the time.”
“Now I know you’re lying. You rarely go into the bailey. You’re always banging on about how awful the people here are. You call them lowlifes.”
“Denizens,” I corrected him.
“And what’s more, all that stuff about keeping watch outside, and now guarding the door. It’s because you’re scared of something in here.” He raised one eyebrow. “Or someone.”
More eyes were looking our way. I threw back my head and laughed as though Grimmon had made a joke.
Out of the corner of my mouth, I said, “Shut up! You’re attracting attention. Go and look for Trewla!”
He was about to reply when the door behind me burst open, thudded into my back, and sent me sprawling face down on the floor.
Dazed, I rolled over to see a hulking figure standing over me, holding a sword the size of my leg inches from my throat.
A voice like gravel scraping across a gravedigger’s shovel said, “You’ve got some nerve showing your face in here again.”
“Hello, Hettgur,” I said. “You’re looking well. How lovely to see you.”
*** Continued in episode 10 ***
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