Chapter 26: Chapter 26: Cruel Folk

Another week passed and there weren’t any more abductions.

Yet the anticipation of another occurrence hung in the air like a heavy fog. News of a monster from The Scar hunting in Lucerna’s End was the topic everyone whispered about, but people could find some relief from the fear by enjoying lively company and good food at Quincy’s Lodge. The people needed some form of release from the tension, and they naturally gravitated towards the place that lit up the dark nights with light and laughter.

Although the Bouldershield Brothers had issued a curfew that went into effect once the sky got dark, many of the town folk ignored it to get to Quincy’s Lodge. Everyone was on heightened alert, including the town watchmen whose numbers were boosted with concerned volunteers, mostly other parents who wanted to protect their children, too wound up to sit around and wait for something to happen. They wanted to do something, so patrolling the town became an outlet for their nervous energy.

And while most of the town was shuttered up and quiet, most of the after-dark activity was coming from the Lodge and the House of Saccharine Delights. Laughter and mirth traveled through the air from these establishments.

Meanwhile, across town, the Two-Headed Trout was having its worst night of all time.

Everyone knew that the real party was happening at the Lodge, and people always eventually followed the current of social flow, so the servers at the Trout found themselves mostly standing around wondering where all the customers were at.

When its owner, Wint, entered the common room of Quincy’s, perched on his cane in the threshold of the entrance, the whistling wind fluttering the ends of his fine coat, no one took notice of his presence because the place was so busy.

Nay and Nom were in the kitchen in the midst of the dinner rush, arguing about chicken wings. She had created a recipe for a Stitchdale-inspired spin on wings.

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[Chef’s Delight Recipe]

[Frostfire Wings] [Base Rank]

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“Take it from a fried food connoisseur,” Nom was saying. “The best chicken wings are fried chicken wings.”

“Look, no one is not on your side here,” Nay said. “Fried wings are best. Everyone knows that. But it’s good to have a baked wing option for those customers who might want to make sensible choices.”

“How is not ordering wings fried a sensible choice?” Nom said. “It’s the only choice if they have any damn sense about them!”

“Some people might want a healthier option,” Nay said. “Am I right, Gracie? Help me out here.”

“No one here usually has much of a choice on their food,” Gracie said. “Sorry that I can’t help you out, but this is the first time they’ve probably been presented with such a choice.”

“See?” Nom said. “Life is hard here. Their daily activities make them strong and keep them in shape! And it’s so damn cold they could use a few extra calories!”

Bryja came through the double-doors in a hop on her faun legs, which Nay had never seen her do before. She had been in a hurry to get back here. “Wint the Fishmonger is here!” she said.

Gracie looked out into the tavern, alarmed. Nay made sure her new Kickin’ Chicken Pot Pies weren’t burning the alcoves and then made her way to the anteroom. “What?”

Bryja hissed, picking up a tray. “The owner of the Two-Headed Trout. In here! Can you believe it? He hasn’t been in here since he opened the inn.”

“Gracie,” Nay said. “Watch the pies for a few minutes, will you?”

Bryja went back out into the tavern with her tray and Nay grabbed a tray of her own, following her. “Bryja!” she said, under her breath. “Where’s this order go?”

The chillwind faun nodded her head at a table full of stitchguy lumberjacks near the hearth. Which also happened to be near where Wint was sitting. A basket of stripped wings were on the table and he was currently digging into the kickin’ chicken pot pie entrée.

Quincy was standing in front of him, holding a horn of ale, looking not all too pleased to see the Fishmonger in his establishment.

As Nay started putting the plates in front of the lumberjacks, one of them said, “What an honor! Served by the cook herself!” She smiled politely but turned her attention to Quincy and Wint.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re screwing me over with the stunt you’re pulling on the vendors,” Wint was saying between mouthfuls of pie. He was doing something Nay couldn’t stand, which was talking with his mouth open full of food. Chicken juice dribbled down his chin.

“What? A man isn’t allowed to do business in the market anymore?” Quincy said.

Wint didn’t say anything to that. He continued attacking the pie with his fork, plucking chunks of it into his mouth like a man at a buffet on a mission.

“It’s not my fault that they like the deal they have with me,” Quincy said. “We just gave them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

“You edged me out,” Wint said and burped loudly. “Doesn’t that put your finances in the hole?”

“Does it look like it puts my finances in the hole?” Quincy said.

Wint froze mid-bite and looked around him. The place was doing business hand over fist. Then he looked down at the food and set his fork down. “That girl from the market. She’s your new cook isn’t, she? I knew there was something fishy about her. These Reith girls, you can never trust them.”

Quincy stared Wint down. “I’d be careful about giving attention to a Reith girl. I hear they can also be quite devious.”

“Where is she?” Wint asked. “She’s in the back now, isn’t she? In the kitchen whipping up all this exciting and delicious new food. How lucky you are! To snag a cook like that. Tell me, can you make an introduction? I want to confirm it’s who I’m thinking of.”

“I’m afraid the kitchen staff is quite busy now and can’t be bothered by visitors,” Quincy said. “They must focus on their work.”

Nay put her head down and held the tray up near her face, hiding behind it as she made her way back to the kitchen through the crowd.

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Nay and Gracie were decompressing behind the Lodge after another busy dinner shift, smoking iceflint cigarettes the stitchgal had rolled, sharing a bottle of Icemarrow ale between them.

“Didn’t expect Wint to show up here,” Gracie said. “I reckon that’s not a good sign.”

“You really think he’s bold enough to start some shit with someone like Quincy?” Nay said.

“There’s whispers he’s the one who put Captain Skorr at the bottom of the Lac,” Gracie said.

“Yeah, but Quincy is a retired adventurer,” Nay said. “He’s one of those…Alric called them cultivators. He can do things normal people can’t, right?”

“Aye, if he can,” Gracie said, “he’s been good at hiding it. I’ve always just known him as the bartender and owner of the Lodge. The charming old man with lots of wild stories. I figure he exaggerates them, ya know? To make them more entertaining.”

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“No,” Nay said, “that old man has seen and done things. If Wint is going to try something it’s not going to be straightforward. He’ll try and hurt him another way. I’ve seen his kind before.”

“Him and his family, they’re cruel folk,” Gracie agreed. She took a swig from the bottle of ale and discovered it was empty. “Ah damn. I’ll get us another one.” She got up and went back inside the Lodge.

Nay looked up at the green-tinted moon above and the swath of magenta in its vicinity. She figured that was probably gas of some kind. She wondered where this world, where this planet was in relation to Earth. Was it in the same galaxy? Or even the same universe or reality? She wondered if anyone here had such knowledge.

“So you’re the new cook everyone is talking about.”

Nay took a drag of her iceflint cigarette and squinted at the figure emerging up from the shore of the Lac. It was a stitchgal as tall as her. She moved with a litheness that didn’t seem so common for her kind. As she stepped into the lantern light Nay saw the runic-style tattoos on her neck and along the side of her head where her hair was shaved. Her hair on the other side was long and gray and down to her waist. Her nose was pierced with what looked like a bone fish hook. Her coat with lined with dark bear fur. It was open at the collar, exposing her runic-decorated chest and mid-riff.

She got an instinctive feeling that the stitchgal was bad news and she climbed to her feet.

“I’d love to stay and chat but I have a kitchen to clean,” Nay said. She turned to go back inside but there was a tall stitchguy standing in front of the door.

His wide frame completely blocked it. His face was scrawled with runic tattoos and a thick beard covered the lower half of his face. His lips protruded out of the hair. They were etched with runes. His nose was as big as a tuber and was riddled with blackheads that poked out of the craters like the bulbous tip of maggots.

“Excuse me,” Nay said. She went to move around him but he moved with her, blocking the door.

“You don’t happen to have another one of those?” the stitchgal said. She was looking at the iceflint cigarette in Nay’s hand. “Would be nice to have a smoke while we chat.”

Nay knew these two were trouble. And now she was stuck in-between them. If she tried to run, they would just grab her. And there was no shoving her way back into the Lodge with the stitchguy blocking her. She could cry for help, but she didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.

So she remained calm and produced another hand-rolled iceflint cigarette and held out to the stitchgal. “You must be Mishell.”

The stitchgal smiled and accepted the cigarette. “My reputation must precede me.” She struck a match and lit the cigarette, then exhaled frost into the air between them. “Iceflint? I would have taken you for an elderleaf gal.”

“Why’s that?” Nay said.

“Because don’t all humans from Reith love elderleaf?” Mishell said. “Or am I mistaken?”

“So you know where I’m from?” Nay said, deflecting the question with her own question. If Mishell was trying to trick her to see if she was really from Reith, it was best to not even engage in the game. “I guess my reputation precedes me.”

Mishell smiled at that and chuckled to herself, pulling another drag of iceflint. Her pale blue eyes gleamed in the lantern light. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

“I appreciate the compliment,” Nay said. “But I don't think you're here to talk about my looks, are you?”

The stitchgal was amused by that and made contact with the stitchguy behind Nay blocking the door. He shook his head and snickered.

“And you must be Krill,” Nay said, turning to him.

As he regarded her, he stopped snickering. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her like she was a curious specimen.

“Don’t talk to him,” Mishell said. “You’re talking to me. In fact, don’t even look at him, look at me.”

Nay put up her hands. “Chill out, we’re all friends here right? So what is it you wanted? You wanted to have a word with the cook who made your dinner?”

“Sure, we’re friends,” Mishell said. “Except the thing is, you’re the type of friend my father doesn’t exactly approve of. In fact, he’s not very happy with you.”

“He’s not?” Nay said.

“He says you accused him of things in the market last week,” Mishell said. “Embarrassed him in front of some people.”

Nay played dumb. “He’s a big boy. Shouldn’t he be telling me this and not his children?”

At that moment, the back door budged open, nudging Krill in the back. He turned around in surprise and Gracie looked out through the crack, confused. “Nay?”

“Gracie, go back inside – “ Nay started to say, but Krill grabbed her by the arm and yanked her outside.

Gracie started to scream but Krill put a hand over her mouth and pinned her against the side of the Lodge.

“You don’t need to hurt her,” Nay said. “Your beef is with me, right?”

Mishell walked over to her brother and exhaled iceflint frost into Gracie’s face then put the cigarette out on her cheek. Gracie screamed into Krill’s hand and tears ran down her face. She thrashed against Krill but he held her tighter against the wall.

Nay couldn’t believe her eyes. She watched this in shock and then found herself swinging at Mishell. But it was a clumsy punch. The stitchgal caught her fist in her hand and then twisted it behind Nay’s back. Searing pain shot up her elbow and upper arm and Mishell forced her onto the ground.

The stitchgal planted a knee on Nay’s back and pressed one of her hands into the back of Nay’s skull, holding her cheek against the cold cobblestone. “Our problem is with Quincy and his Lodge and everyone who works for him.”

Nay whimpered in pain, the weight of the stitchgal was killing her spine. “Your problem is my cooking, leave her alone,” Nay said through gritted teeth.

“Consider this a warning,” Mishell said. “If we have to come back, then it will be the back of your skull next time.”

Mishell reached in her coat and pulled something out tucked into the back of her breeches. Nay saw the moonlight reflect off silver metal. She glimpsed a shaft ending in a flanged head.

The stitchgal was holding a compact mace.

Krill pushed Gracie to the ground and then grabbed Nay’s arm and stretched it out, pinning it on the ground to expose her hand.

“No,” Nay said, panicking. “No wait –“

Mishell brought the mace down on Nay’s hand, shattering bone. Her vision went red and she screamed.

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