Chapter 27: Chapter 22: Why does the damsel in distress feel more dangerous than the attackers?

      “There she is, the otherworlder witch apprentice. The one who knows guild secrets.”

 

             The words were shouted at me by a group of three men, who were inconsiderate enough to barge in while I was, while not exactly enjoying, having a meal with Elizabeth.  I recognized one of them. He had made an awkward show of leaving the building even if at the time his actions seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, what with Liz making everything intensely awkward for the other patrons. But the other three wore strips of cloth covering their faces. It’s worth noting that the quality of the cloth seemed suspiciously nice for common criminals, as if they had raided the scrap bin of an upscale shop. The swords at their hips were also a cause for concern.

 

             First of all, I should really think over what just happened. I suppose that it could be said I often take a more analytical approach towards issues. I mean, at one point it was my job. So it only stands to reason I should apply that to the events I’m currently facing.

 

              Putting aside the weirdness of Elizabeth’s actions towards me, the immediate concern would be this group who barged into a respectable tavern and loudly called me out. This would suggest that they don’t particularly care about maintaining a low profile. Loud and brash in a case like this is usually a cause for concern. It would imply either confidence or stupidity, and either one of those traits can cause a metric fuck-ton of trouble.

 

              Now, I can only assume the guild they mentioned refers to the Tailor’s guild. While I can’t be absolutely certain, and if this was something I had to report to someone else professionally I would include a load of “possibly’s” or “it suggests” to pad things out and give me some insurance if it turned out I was wrong. Personally I was rather good at that practice, and it’s one I probably could use if I ever need to make a living as a fortune teller. Actually wouldn’t divining the future be a part of being a witch? I'll have to ask Mary when I get back... Oh well, getting back on topic.

 

              There’s a fair bit of evidence they’re from the Tailors guild. And by a fair bit, I could probably safely say “who else could it fucking be?” Despite being a member of the Magician’s guild, my interaction with them has been zilch since registering. It’s probably safe to rule them out. More so in the face of literally everyone and their mother telling me about the Tailor’s guild, and their increasing grip on the industries of the town. And several warnings from multiple sources saying they'd be interested in what I know about dyes and fabric production in the outside world. Come to think of it, people have been rather well-informed on the matter.

 

              That also leads me to question the line “knowing guild secrets” they said. If everyone here knows about the Tailor’s guild’s business, then it stands to reason they might be similarly informed. They clearly arent here about my knowledge of dyes, but Jeanne did warn me that what I had assumed was common sewing techniques would be guarded jealously by the Tailor's guild. How they found out about that is concerning. I don’t want to suspect Jeanne the tailor, but it’s possible they could have learned of me knowing things like pad-stitching through less “mundane” means. Possibly consulting a soothsayer? Hell, even in the world I came from the government had messed around with that paranormal information gathering, with Project Stargate and similar stuff.

 

              So, a group of masked…tailors?... had me surrounded. Masked was bad, since it implies they might commit more unsavory actions, such as murder. While that may seem extreme for a few minor business secrets, they’d be desperate to protect their monopoly. They clearly weren’t intending to hold back, and while I’m not sure I’m fairly certain they haven’t recognized the daughter of the local lord eating with me. They’d likely silence this witness before confirming her identity.

 

              This was a real pickle. By virtue of being in a booth rather than a table, we were surrounded. While not as bad as sitting with my back to a door holding aces and eights it still was a precarious situation, four men intend on doing harm and me with my sword at an awkward angle to draw, my back to a wall. Worse, I had a princess, well, lord's daughter to protect. Is there any way out of this nightmare of a scenario? Gripping my glass in my right hand, I braced myself.

 

“What the fuck is that thing?” I shouted, pointing towards the bar with my left hand. Despite seeming overused in movies, mostly for comedy, it can be surprisingly effective. People tend to instinctively look when someone’s pointing at something. The original bar patron and two others looked. The one who didn’t caught my glass to the side of the head, falling to the floor with the blow. I’m immensely grateful the wine was a white, rather than red, since a bit of it got on my new outfit.

 

            Grabbing Elizabeth’s hand, I rushed forward, roughly slamming the one closest to us with a shoulder check as we barreled towards the door. The miscreant tailor tumbled into the other two in a pile of flailing limbs as we made our escape.

 

           Quite frankly getting out of Dodge seemed like the only logical choice here. There’s all sorts of drinks that would risk staining my newly purchased clothing. It’s already bad enough that my predisposition towards zoning out means my clothes tend to get roughed up quickly. Adding a full-on bar fight would only exacerbate the trend. Furthermore, I was stuck with a noble, and could only imagine the trouble that would come if she were injured. It’s better if I just ignore the overjoyed grin she gave as a dragged her by the hand away from danger, however. That expression seemed just as dangerous as the swords carried by the men we left behind us on the floor.

 

            As I threw open the door, it became clear that things were a bit more precarious than I though. Six more men surrounded the entrance to the bar, faces covered and swords drawn. The brazen openness of it all really was concerning, but I can only assume they paid off the local guards.

 

“It looks like you’re trapped, witch!” shouted the one in the middle, presumably their leader. “Let’s make you a deal. If you come peacefully, I can promise your friend over there wont get hurt.”

 

“And if I don’t?” I called back.

 

“You may be the Madness Witch’s apprentice, and an otherworlder, but you’re new, and had a soft life in the mundane world. Do you really think a skinny thing like you can beat six men with the drop on you? If you come quietly things will work out best for the both of you. What do you say?” Their leader said, making all manner of assumptions about my previous life.

 

“Nuts.” I replied, though I don’t think they got the reference.

 

             They seemed confused, but the tone alone should have made it clear enough what my answer was. What I did next removed any doubt. Now, while I was rather new to this world, I hadn’t just been sitting on my ass eating bonbons. I felt for the now familiar warmth, picturing the intended effected I wanted. The warmth fled down, through my legs, and out into the cobblestones of the street, and a massive flash of smoke exploded out from the cracks in the street. The assailants yelled in surprise.

 

              Pulling Elizabeth’s hood firmly over her face, I rushed forward through the smoke. Caught off-guard, the men were a sorry sight, having taken faces and lungs full of the spicy air. Hell, I kept my eyes closed and still could feel the burn on it on my skin. While the magical CS gas I summoned wouldn’t kill, it would sure as hell hurt, and was already leaving the men as gibbering heaps of snot and tears. Serves them right. If anything they’re lucky I didn’t just kill them, since they were threatening me.

You are reading story In the House of a Witch at novel35.com

 

              Rushing down an alleyway, I reached out to the magical warmth inside of me and willed it to act again. Like magic, the stinging feeling on my cheek and the, for lack of a better description, “spicy air” smell emanating from my clothes disappeared. It’s never fun getting tear-gassed, but with magic the clean-up of it is far better than usual. Normally even after exposure the gas lingers on your clothing making things unpleasant for the people around you, whether at a civil disturbance or the line at the Camp Lejeune Burger King following training.

 

              We fled further down the warren of alleyways, heading further from the docks back towards the center of the city. At first we would catch glimpses of pursuers, masked faces just around the corner, but as we continued on this occurred less and less, until I was finally certain we had lost them.

 

“What should we do?” I finally asked. It only made sense that I ask Elizabeth; this was her hometown, and she lived her far longer than I had. But upon me asking her face soured slightly.

 

“Isn’t it the hero’s place to make decisions, while protecting the poor damsel in distress?” she explained. She seemed rather invested in her role here.

 

“I’m just a victim here, not a hero. If anything they were after me specifically with you just being extra. But I guess you have a point. Should we go to the guards? They’d be sure to help the daughter of the local lord.” I replied. Her face paled.

 

“I can’t let daddy find out I snuck out again. He’s still angry about the last time that happened.”

 

“Given the uproar we seemed to have caused, expecting to sneak back quietly seems like a lost cause at this point.”

 

               We both stood there a moment, in thought. Finally, I spoke.

 

“Well, since you have pretty much no chance of making it back without your dad finding out anyways, can’t we use that to our advantage?”

 

“That?”

 

“Your position. It’s not like they’d attack the daughter of the local lord. That’d royally fuck them over, regardless of whatever influence their guild has.”

 

“…are you saying you’d pretty much use me as a hostage?  That’s…”

 

“It’s not exactly like that, you know…”

 

“…devious!”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I love a woman who isn’t afraid to take risks! If we use me as a distraction, you can be sure to break free and get help, and there’s no way they’d hurt the daughter of the lord. This way of thinking is just so endearing.”

 

             While I was the one to suggest the idea at first, I was getting an ever-increasing feeling that things were just getting more and more dangerous. Will we really be okay?