Chapter 11: 13. The Widow

Rorri

 

On an ordinary midweek morning early in Iridan’s summer, Rorri sat at the kitchen table, eyes losing focus in the fluffy yellow mound on his plate. Adar had asked him to assist in running errands, and this was his advance. Never a morning person, Rorri couldn’t help thinking that perhaps he shouldn’t have sold himself so cheaply. He’d certainly had better eggs before.

A sharp CRACK interrupted Rorri’s stupor. He started violently, accidentally loosing his fork, which flew across the room – narrowly missing Adar – and stuck in the wooden washbucket like an arrow, tail wobbling in the air.

“Gots us a job, lads—!”

“Goddammit, Bilge!” Rorri threw his hands up, fingers sprawled like claws. “For once in your life, can’t you just open a door like a regular fucking person?”

Bilge stayed frozen in the doorway, watching the elf with a faint twitch in his brow. It took every drop of patience Rorri had to quell the pressure in his chest, the pressure that begged him to kick the chair, or flip the table, or throw the plate of eggs at his boorish housemate. An awkward beat of silence followed the outburst. He sighed heavily, his face hot despite the dwindling adrenaline. Adar picked up the rogue fork, and Bilge finally broke his gaze, cleared his throat, and procured a folded up paper from his coat pocket.

“Anyway, as I was sayin’—”

“It is incredibly obnoxious,” Adar interrupted as he scrubbed the fork clean. “Just keep your hand on the knob. It’s not that difficult.”

“As I was sayin’,” Bilge repeated, snapping open the paper, “I gots us a bloody job.”

 

WANTED:

“The Widow”

For Crimes against the Nobility of Iridan

To Include:

Grand Theft of Property

Vandalism

Intimidation

Arson

The Criminal has not yet been identified!

Eyewitness Reports suggest They may be,

Or may be working with,

An elderly Human Female, thin Build, gray

Hair, tan Skin, blue Eyes, white

Bonnet, floral patterned Smock

REWARD: 5,000 (FIVE THOUSAND) STARS

Interested Parties should contact the Royal Guard

ALIVE AND DETAINED IF POSSIBLE

DEAD, WITH EVIDENCE, FOR REDUCED COMPENSATION

 

“So we’re bounty hunters, now?” Adar said after reading the poster aloud, eyeing Bilge dubiously.

“Who’s betta to catch one thief than anovah, ay?”

“An old lady, though?” Rorri raised an eyebrow. “Did I hear that right? It’s an old lady in a pretty hat?”

Bilge shrugged. “I gots a friend wot wagers she’s a bloke on magic.” He sat down, dropped the poster on the table, and propped up his feet.

“If that’s true, it’s brilliant,” Rorri said. “Five thousand Stars, too? Wonder what they stole?”

“Please tell me you have a back-up job,” Adar pleaded. “Something a bit more… realistic, maybe?” He glanced at Rorri’s cold breakfast, then narrowed his eyes on the pantry. “We’re out of eggs.”

Bilge offered a disingenuous smile. “Not at present,” he replied, “but we’ll have our hands full wif this one!” He reared back with a hearty laugh, though his volume barely disguised the uncertainty in his voice.

Still, the prospect intrigued Rorri. The poster was missing a facial composite, and he loved portraiture. Perhaps if he brought them some samples of his work, the Guard might commission him to draw the suspect? He’d do it for free, even, if it meant meeting the eyewitnesses. If there was a market for art anywhere in the city, it would be on the Plateau, where the nobility dwelt. He knew not to get his hopes up, of course, but it couldn’t hurt to try. And, who knows? Maybe their ragtag group of petty scoundrels could, somehow, manage to locate and detain the master criminal. He wouldn’t even need to sell his art if they could cash in that sort of reward—

“Oi!” Bilge snapped his fingers in front of Rorri’s face, breaking him from his trance. “Y’there, mate?”

“What? Sorry.” Rorri shook his head. “Were you saying something?”

“Oh, fergodssake…” Bilge groaned. “I said I got’cha set up wif a tutor. Buddy a’ mine’s got a gig keepin’ the wait list fer those magic lessons wot’s been advertised ‘round town, managed to fiddle yer name in.”

“Wait – magic lessons?” Rorri glanced to Adar. “What’s he talking about?”

Bilge rolled his eyes. “If ya’d been payin’ attention, ye’d have heard me say already—”

“I wasn’t paying attention either!” Adar chirped as he stacked the clean dishes on the drying rack. Bilge threw up his hands and inhaled deeply, exhaling into a superficial calm.

“…Right,” he continued. “The family wot’s doin’ the lessons was the Widow’s firs’ victims. Alls y’gots to do is git in, git some insida’s information, an’ git us on ‘er tail.” From his inner coat pocket, he pulled out a slightly-bent envelope sealed with red wax and slid it across the table.

“And you’re sending me because…?”

“’Cause I can’t do magic werf a shit,” Bilge said, dropping his foot. “And ‘cause you’re the second-smoovest talker we got. No offense, mate.” He turned to Adar and waved his hand apologetically.

“None taken.”

“I mean, I’ve never really done magic either,” Rorri said, wrinkling his nose. “And, I don’t speak Human, so—”

“So wot?” Bilge said. “It’s a white elf fam’ly nobody eva heard of, not the bloody Queen, mate.”

“You mean elves can be nobles?”

“Look, I ain’t got time t’teach ya about Iridanian politics, ay?” Bilge stood up and clapped Rorri on the shoulder, knocking him off balance. “Yer the best man fer the job, ‘else I wouldn’ta picked ya. Anyway, we might could use a bit a’magic when we throw down wif the old bag, yeah?”

“I-I would like to talk to the Guard, though,” Rorri said, giving the poster a wary look. “See what other leads they might have…”

Bilge snorted. “Good luck wif ‘at. Five-thousand Stars, they gots to be drownin’ in poor sods lookin’ fer a break.”

“When’s your first lesson?” Adar asked.

“Open it,” Bilge said, nodding at the envelope.

Rorri hesitated, pinching the invitation between his thumb and forefinger as if it were wet tissue paper he was desperate to keep intact. He paused to admire the symbol on the seal – a magpie in flight, impressively detailed for such a small stamp – then gingerly peeled it and pocketed it before sliding the letter out from its crib. He unfolded the page, reeling back as if confronted by a blinding light.

“What is this…?” he said, giving Adar a pleading look.

Adar had taught Rorri the basics of written Elvish, but nothing could have prepared him for the overwrought script therein. Adar took the letter and brought it in close, furrowing his brow.

“Nobles…” he muttered.

“What does it say?”

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“Um…” Adar grimaced and rubbed his eyes. “Basically, be there at noon tomorrow.”

“Where’s ‘there’?”

Adar squinted at the invitation, his nose nearly touching the text. “I want to say… four-one-five Pirouette Lane? Either that or nine-one-five. It’s impossible to tell.” He passed the letter back to Rorri, appearing relieved to be free of its burden.

“Right…” Rorri absently rubbed the wax seal in his pocket, a far-away look in his eyes. “Up on the Plateau, I imagine?”

“S’where all them rich pricks is, ay,” Bilge said. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ll hold yer hand ‘til we get to the top. Jus’ pay attention an’ get yerself there after, ay? I’m not yer nanny.”

“Lovely,” Rorri breathed, his head swimming. “Erm, th-this is a lot to take in… I thought I was just going to the market today. I really didn’t think I’d turn into a bounty-hunting magic student before I finished breakfast.”

Adar perked up. “Speaking of the market—”

“It’ll be fine, mate,” Bilge said with a dismissive wave.

“I guess…” Rorri sighed. “I don’t even know what to bring – or, goodness, what to wear.”

“There’s quite a few things on the grocery list—”

“S’called ‘community outreach,’ mate,” Bilge chortled. “I’m pretty sure they’ll be expectin’ ya to look like y’just crawled out the bog!”

“…So, are we still—”

“Okay…” Rorri yielded. “Well, do you have any Snow for the trip, at least?”

“Aye, was plannin’ fer it,” Bilge said. “Won’t have none ‘til tonight, but ye’ll be set fer the mornin’.”

“Perfect—”

“RORRI!” Adar shouted. “We need to go now if we want to beat the crowds!”

“Fine,” Rorri grunted. He hopped from his seat to follow his friend, leaving his cold, half-eaten eggs on the table.

“If ya see the broad wot sells them apple muffins, get one fer me, ay?” Bilge called out, answered only by the gentle ba-clack of the door.

 

*******

 

“When yer talkin’ to a noble,” Bilge said, “you have to call ‘em ‘my Lord’ or ‘my Lady’, ‘else they git all pissy. Don’t forget it, mate, tha’s the biggest one.”

Rorri jogged to catch up to the long-legged human, his cloth bag bouncing unpleasantly on his thigh. The sun had just passed its apex, and they still hadn’t reached the Plateau, thanks to Rorri’s lengthy morning routine…

“And don’t look ‘em in the eyes,” Bilge continued. “Keep yer head low, an’ only speak when spoken to. Jus’ act like a nice pet dog an’ it’ll be fine.”

“So,” Rorri panted, “h-how is a nice pet dog supposed to get information on the criminal…?”

“Uh…”

As the two verged upon the west end of Iridan, the waterfall’s hiss intensified to a constant background static, warbling Rorri’s eardrums. Suddenly, the streets cleared. Wherever they’d turned last, it passed them into another world, with no garbage littering the gutters, and not a beggar in sight. Perfectly rectangular buildings watched them on each side, their windows reminiscent of eyes, and from behind the glass, he glimpsed silhouettes drawing their curtains shut, and the few pedestrians they passed wouldn’t stop staring, except when he glanced their way. Though the Plateau’s too-early evening should have already touched the city’s inner ring, it was bright with false sunlight, some sort of magic with no discernible source. Rorri couldn’t help feeling cheated, knowing that darkness would be hitting the Wall far too soon, with no such accommodations made for Iridan’s poor.

Bilge slowed his gait as soon as they entered the middle-class territory, giving Rorri the chance to catch his breath.

“I hate the Inna’ Ring,” Bilge muttered.

Rorri gave him a sidelong glance. “You didn’t answer me—”

“Almos’ there,” Bilge chirped, pretending not to hear him. “Reckon they’ll have guards on the propahty. Dunno if it’ll be Royals or wot, but be prepared fer anyfin’, ay?”

Rorri sighed, reconsidering everything he’d already agreed to.

“No turnin’ back now,” Bilge said, as if reading his mind. “Oh…” He lowered his voice to a gravelly whisper. “If yer gonna eat it, do it now, ‘fore we see ’em.”

Rorri paused and shifted his eyes, subtly plucking the Snow from his waistband, its stem trimmed of its thorns. In one swift motion, he bit off the flower’s head and pocketed the evidence. If someone were watching, they’d only have seen a brown-skinned elf scratching his nose.

“They prob’ly beefed up security afta the Widow robbed ‘em,” Bilge murmured. “Might search ya at the gate. I’d toss that twig if I was you.”

“I’m not going to just throw it in the street,” Rorri protested. “What if a cat got into it? Or a bird, or someone’s dog, or…”

Bilge rolled his eyes. “Didn’t know I was livin’ wif a damn sissy.”

Rorri scoffed. “Well, excuse me for not wanting to murder an animal today!”

“Ain’t murdah if they choose to eat it—”

“They obviously don’t know any better!”

“Woteva, mate.” Bilge stopped in an empty alley, leveling Rorri with a glare. “Jus’ don’t get caught, yeah? I invested too much in yer fairy arse fer ya to git booked ova’ a goddamned twig…”

Rorri glared back at him, but quickly glanced away, unnerved by the human’s scolding eyes.

 

*******

 

Iridan’s enormous Wall hedged in the outer edge of the ramp that led to the Plateau, but a knee-high fence was all that protected its citizens from tumbling down the inner cliffside. Horse-drawn carriages and caravans filled up this part of the Portal, seemingly heedless of what foot traffic remained, and a vision of death by trampling insisted upon Rorri’s mind.

“I-is the gate up t-t-top?” Rorri asked, grinding his teeth. He barely registered the nausea lapping in and out of his body, already so accustomed to the Snow’s tide, but it had definitely hit him, evident in his intensified stutter and ceaseless fidgeting.

Bilge shrugged. “Prob’ly.”

“Looks like a l-long walk,” he said. “There’s n-no way I’ll get there in t-time…”

“Stoppit,” Bilge hissed, elbowing him in the side. “Bouncin’ ‘round like that – y’look fishy as fuck, mate.”

Indeed, the jittery foreigner provoked scrutiny from every direction. One woman clutched her purse as she scurried along, while others checked their pockets as they passed.

“S-sorry, I’m just nervous,” Rorri whispered, forcing his heels to the ground.

“Hang on, I’ll git us a cab…”

Eventually, a plain coach rolled to a stop in front of the odd couple, and a human leaned out the driver’s window. Bilge dropped a coin in their hand, exchanging a few words and a hearty laugh, as Rorri waited, singularly focused on not bouncing. Finally, the driver grinned at Rorri, gesturing to the passenger cabin at the back of the carriage.

“Go on, I’m right behind ya,” Bilge said, nudging him along. Rorri climbed up the step and scooted in to make room for Bilge, but before his rear even met the seat in full, the wagon lurched forward.

“What—?”

He steadied himself on the armrest and poked his head out the door, but all he saw was Bilge’s backside, shamelessly trotting away.

“Hey!” Rorri shouted, panicked. “What the—”

“Seeya back at the house, mate!” Bilge called back, not bothering to turn around or feign an apology. Rorri gaped in disbelief, but, with the cab already in motion, he had no choice but to accept his plight.

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