Something Extra - Hungry Heart - Ch. 23 (Patreon)

Chapter One  / Chapter Two  / Chapter Three  / Chapter Four  / Chapter Five  / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten  / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen / Chapter Fourteen / Chapter Fifteen / Chapter Sixteen / Chapter Seventeen / Chapter Eighteen / Chapter Nineteen / Chapter Twenty / Chapter Twenty-One / Chapter Twenty-Two 

Chapter Twenty-Three – Toward the House of Merchants

Toru hurried through the first droplets of rain that began pelting his back. He hoped that Duril had found shelter at the library and was not forced to wait for him outside in that weather. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed things in passing. Everybody had rushed indoors, but now and then women with children gripping them by their large skirts walked out of their houses and threw hurried worried looks up and down the street.

They had to be wives and children of the fishermen still out at sea, Toru thought. Didn’t they know the weather and its caprices better than any others? How could they be out on the water in a storm like that? But, in all truth, when they had walked into Shroudharbor earlier, the weather had been fair, not at all foreboding of the heavy clouds now gathered above his head. Maybe not even seasoned fishermen could have known about it.

The man they had helped pull the cart had said something about the riches of Shroudharbor. But he couldn’t see even one. The street was lined on each side with houses, and while they weren’t in disrepair, they weren’t lavish either. Toru had a mind to think that those riches just weren’t for everybody.

As he walked toward the center of the city the landscape changed, and now he could see better houses with shops downstairs and living quarters above. Still, he had a hunch that the richest people didn’t live there, either.

The library was located in a square and had a small park at its front. He noticed Duril at the large library doors, accompanied by an old monk. Right away, he rushed to him.

“You two should hurry now,” the monk said the moment Toru reached them, and disappeared behind the wooden door.

“That was a bit rude of him,” Toru pointed out. “He could have let us inside.”

“I don’t think we would be of any help to anyone if we took shelter in the library,” Duril said and wrapped his arm around Toru’s.

“Help? With what?”

Duril shook his head in an absent-minded manner. “I’m afraid the only thing I uncovered here so far is more questions. Now let’s hurry back to Varg. Did you two find shelter?”

“Yes, we mucked some stables for it, but the innkeeper told us that he would give us some soup, too, for the effort,” Toru said with self-importance.

Duril squeezed his arm in sympathy. “Thank you for all your hard work, Toru. I feel guilty now over drinking tea and reading books here while you two had to do it all.”

Toru leaned to one side and rubbed his head lightly against Duril’s cheek. “Don’t ever say that. You feed us and care for us all the time.”

Duril laughed softly. “Are you curious about what I’ve found so far?”

Toru was indeed curious, but at the same time he wanted to hear about it all only once they got back together with Varg. The mutt’s ominous words had left him feeling a bit unsettled, although he would never admit to that. Tigers weren’t ever afraid of anything.

“Let’s just hurry to meet the mutt,” he said. “And then you’ll tell us both what you discovered.” He threw a look around at the deserted street. “All the people are inside. I’ll shift and you can ride me. It’s the only way for us to reach Varg in time without getting sopping wet.”

“Are you sure, Toru?” Duril asked cautiously. “I’m not sure the people here have seen a tiger before.”

“It’s a big place, much bigger than Whitekeep and Fairside. Maybe they did.”

“And maybe they’re scared of such big majestic animals,” Duril argued, although not strongly.

The rain was growing heavier, and the droplets turned into vicious tiny projectiles punishing their skin. Above, thunder roared and the sky lit up with bleeding lines of light.

“Then let them be scared.” Toru didn’t hesitate as he shifted into his tiger form, and Duril didn’t seem to be in the mood to protest any further as he climbed onto his back right away.

***

Varg watched from the stables with worried eyes. If it had been just the storm, he wouldn’t have thought twice about Duril and Toru taking too long to get back. But there was something unsettling about that thunderstorm that seemed to have brought with it the anger of the sea and wash it over the city, again and again.

He noticed the golden fur right away and didn’t think that there was anything wrong about that. Toru was right to choose to shift, regardless of what the people of Shroudharbor might think. That was no weather for strolling around the city as if one had not a care in the world.

Nonetheless, he looked around to see if there were other people about to witness the sight of a half orc riding on the back of a tigershifter. The caravan had arrived earlier, and Varg had helped them get their horses inside the stables, but they had to be all in the dining hall by now, enjoying the fish soup the cook had prepared.

“Good to see that you made it back in one piece,” he said, as soon as Toru and Duril reached him.

Toru shook, sending droplets of water everywhere and, only after that, he turned into his human form. “This storm is something else,” he said.

“Indeed. It’s raining cats and dogs,” Varg said with a hint of humor.

Toru squinted and gave him a defiant look. “Are you trying to start something, mutt?”

Varg put his hands up in surrender. “I’m just happy to see the both of you.”

“It’s not like I was gone that long,” Toru said. “Varg,” he added, now in a serious tone, “what does that nose of yours tell you?”

“Isn’t it strange that it’s raining so hard?” Varg asked, although of no one in particular. “And I just found out from the innkeeper that these unexpected storms have been plaguing the city for a few weeks now.”

“Maybe ever since the people here have started falling sick,” Duril offered his opinion.

“That would be quite the coincidence, don’t you think?” Varg said.

“Indeed.”

“When are we going to eat?” Toru inquired.

“We’ll have to wait for the innkeeper to take care of his paying guests first,” Varg replied. “Then we’re welcome inside to help ourselves to some fish soup.”

Duril kept adjusting his bag on his shoulder, letting his hand tap against it from time to time.

“How did your scholarly endeavor go?” Varg asked, noticing right away a small tremor of anticipation from the healer.

“I found more questions than answers,” Duril replied. “It appears that there’s a myth that refers to what has happened so far, but it also speaks of things that happened a long time ago.”

***

Duril hesitated, although he could feel both Varg’s and Toru’s questioning eyes on him. Was it wise to let them know everything? Would it be fair toward Toru to announce to him that he would have to give up on what or who was most dear to him to complete his quest? And, to begin with, was that the truth? Because if Duril had correctly interpreted Elidias’s words then Toru’s history was yet to be written and not set in stone.

Toru scratched his head. “That sounds confusing.”

Duril smiled at him. “Confusing doesn’t cover it. I gained entrance to the library right away, and Elidias was most welcoming. He’s the librarian.”

“That rude monk who didn’t allow us inside?” Toru asked. “I swear I heard how he slammed the door in our faces.”

Duril laughed softly. “He was worried about us and told me that we should get back together soon. His slamming the door meant nothing.”

“That was still rude,” Toru insisted.

“So, Elidias, what did he tell you?” Varg intervened, bringing Duril back to the topic.

“He didn’t tell me anything directly. He gave me this.” Duril took out the tome from his bag and handed it to Varg.

Toru gathered close while the wolfshifter opened the tome and began reading out loud. They all remained silent until Varg said the last word. All the while, however, Toru moved his weight from one foot to another, with growing frustration.

“Is that all?” he exclaimed, the moment Varg fell silent. “Are you leaving something out, mutt?”

“No, didn’t you read along with me?”

Toru’s face turned crimson red, and he looked away. “I don’t know how to read.”

“That is the whole story so far,” Duril intervened, hoping to smooth over Toru’s embarrassment without making the situation worse for him. “Elidias couldn’t tell me more, except that I have to carry this tome with me and write down all our adventures.”

“That’s quite the task,” Varg said. “And hopefully, you’ll do a better job than whoever wrote this down so far.”

“Yeah, like not so confusing,” Toru added.

“I’ll do my best,” Duril promised. “But what do you think of the illustration?” He pointed at the representation of the tiger on the yellowed paper. “Is this you, Toru? I couldn’t tell, much to my shame.”

Happy that he wasn’t being judged for his lack of understanding of the letters, the tigershifter took the tome from Varg’s arms and examined the picture carefully. “It’s not me,” he said with conviction.

“How can you tell, kitty? All tigers have stripes,” Varg teased him.

Naturally, Toru bristled at those words. “Mine are just different. And look here,” he put his finger directly on the tiger’s forehead, “I have a different pattern.” Then, he put his hand to his forehead, triggering a small laugh from Duril and Varg.

“It’s not like we know all your fur, hair by hair, kitty,” Varg said. “You’ll have to prove it to us.”

Duril stopped Varg with a gentle touch. “Toru shifting here might scare the horses. Let’s not get ourselves thrown outside in this weather.”

“What do you think of it all?” the wolfshifter asked him. “It looks like Elidias gave you a noble, yet difficult, task.”

“I don’t mind it. What I see, and Elidias confirmed it, is a myth, but also the truth. A tiger saved the world once, and another will save it again. Those were his words.”

“What’s that thing about a senseless creature?” Toru asked, visibly jarred by those particular words, just as Duril had been when reading them for the first time.

“I don’t know exactly, and Elidias was a bit cryptic when I asked about it. You’re not a senseless creature, Toru,” Duril said to appease him.

“Except maybe when you stuff your belly,” Varg joked and caught Toru swiftly into a tight hug so that he couldn’t protest much.

“I don’t know much about shifters,” Duril admitted. “How did the first come into being?”

Toru fought to get out of Varg’s embrace, but to no avail. “I don’t know anything. Maybe this mutt knows.” He struggled to turn and tried to bite; the wolfshifter evaded him with ease and laughed in his face.

“I know of legends, but not much else.”

“And what do you think about these words, ‘senseless creature’?” Duril asked.

“Maybe the myth is extremely old, and the sense of the words is lost on us,” Varg explained. “Maybe the tiger who saved the world once was not a shifter, and the expression is used only to point out that aspect.” All the time while talking to Duril, he continued to block Toru’s playful attempts to release himself.

Duril smiled. He was starting to understand why Elidias wanted him to chronicle their adventures. Varg and Toru would never enjoy being put to the task of sitting down and scribbling on the pages of the tome; their playful side shone through, even if there was an age difference between them. He didn’t mind it; in all truth, he felt honored by it.

“I learned of some things myself,” Varg said. “About this place, and why it is called Shroudharbor.”

“It is a strange name, indeed. I’ve never traveled here,” Duril admitted. “Actually, I’ve never traveled much of anywhere, except when we fought in the war.”

Varg nodded. “Well, let me tell you then. This place,” he began, and his voice dropped lower, “might hide some deep dark secrets.”

As he continued, Duril could feel an unease growing inside him. And, from time to time, his eyes wandered to the storm outside that was only growing heavier and angrier.

***

“Come inside, lads,” the innkeeper urged them from the door of the dining hall as they hurried through the pelting rain.

A few people that had to be part of the caravan were still there, savoring one last pint and talking in hushed voices. Varg took in the surroundings with keen eyes. Toru had taken a gamble rushing through the rain in his tiger form, but it had been the only way for him and Duril to reach the inn, and safety, fast. Now, he was wary of someone there having noticed the giant tiger heading to the Spicy Clam.

It looked like no one had noticed anything, as only eyes shiny with too much drink turned toward them when they entered. After they were seated, the caravan people returned to their hushed conversation. Varg continued to examine them, nonetheless. They appeared to be well-off, by the garments they wore and the golden chains adorning their outfits.

One of the men must have sensed Varg’s interest, and he turned a few times to stare at him. Without hesitation, Varg met the man’s eyes. If he had something to say, it was better for everyone to say it sooner rather than later.

“Strangers to this place?” the man asked.

Varg nodded. Duril and Toru were busy savoring their fish soup by his side.

“Just like us. Where are you from?”

“Whitekeep,” Varg replied. “And you?”

“Slyholde. My name is Margrave, and these are my companions, Otis and Gefroy.”

Varg had never heard of Slyholde, but he didn’t mention it. “I’m Varg. These are Toru and Duril,” he offered in exchange, while pointing at his companions.

“Care to join us?” Margrave asked. “We tire of hearing only our own tales. We’d like to hear of other places.”

Varg asked Toru and Duril with his eyes, and then they all grabbed their bowls to move to the other table.

“The ale’s on us,” Margrave said and gestured for the innkeeper to bring them another round.

“You look like wealthy merchants,” Varg said courteously.

Margrave laughed and patted his large waist. “That we are. It’s the first time for us in Shroudharbor. There are no pearls or gemstones as beautiful as the one’s found here. That’s what we have heard.”

Varg expected the question the merchant truly wanted to ask.

“I see you are all strong men. Would you like to earn some coin?”

“Depends on what you have in mind.”

Margrave’s eyes traveled around for a moment before they set on Varg again. “A bit of protection. While we have heard about the riches of Shroudharbor, we have also heard of other, rather more unpleasant, things.”

“Such as?” Varg asked, keeping his voice neutral.

“The merchants here are a cunning bunch,” Margrave said. “We brought our own steel,” he gestured at a small dagger at his waist, “and some extra men, but we wouldn’t want to be outnumbered when we negotiate our deal.”

“I didn’t know merchants are versed in the art of negotiating with steel on the table,” Varg commented. He was aware of Duril and Toru following his exchange with the merchant closely. So did Otis and Gefroy on the other side of the table.

Margrave let out a low, guttural laugh. “A merchant should be prepared for everything. What do you say? You won’t have to do much but guard our backs.”

Under regular circumstances, Varg would have turned down the offer, but something about the legend of Shroudharbor irked him. The shroud that had to be fed, through unknown means, elicited his interest. And only merchants could get anywhere near it.

“We will do it,” he said shortly.

“Then I hope you’re ready because tonight we are summoned to the House of Merchants,” Margrave said.

“Tonight?” Toru interjected. “But it’s raining cats and dogs outside.”

Varg hid his smile. Toru had caught that expression swiftly.

“We’ve gone against much worse in our time,” Margrave said. “It was terribly difficult to arrange this appointment, so we cannot let a little drizzle get in the way. Going back to Slyholde empty-handed is not in the cards.” He pulled a small pouch from his belt and placed it on the table. Golden coins tumbled out of it. “If everything goes smoothly, this reward is yours.”

Varg turned his head and looked at Duril and then at Toru. Duril’s eyes warned him that the deal had to be at least a little shady, while Toru’s were curious. He shared both their feelings.

“And if not?”

Margrave laughed and patted his belly again. “We’re merchants, not warriors. As long as we get out of a deal with our purses full and all of our limbs, we reward our helpers lavishly.”

Varg wondered why the caravan master thought it such a dangerous job to deal with the guild of merchants in Shroudharbor, but kept his questions to himself for now. It was a way for them to gain entrance to the building where the mysterious shroud was kept, and asking too many questions was a sure way to talk themselves out of that deal.

“Then consider us part of your caravan for your time in Shroudharbor.” Varg shook hands with the merchant.

“Enjoy your meal and ale, and if there’s anything else you want, I’ll order it for you.”

Varg couldn’t stop Toru from asking for more food, preferably with more meat in it. He just smiled and let Margrave ask for the innkeeper again.

***

If Varg had decided to have them all hired by that merchant, Toru knew it had to be for a good reason. Ever since he had heard about the story of the shroud, he had felt bothered, like one was when a nasty fly was trying to get in his ears. There was something dark about that story, and even though he hadn’t shown that side of himself freely, he had felt for the fisherman who had been killed while trying to protect the golden pearl and rubbed against his eyes surreptitiously while Varg had told the story.

Now, he was curious to see that shroud with his own eyes.

The caravan master was keen on being on the move, so they barely managed to eat everything on their plates before Margrave stood and gestured for them to follow. Not that he liked the idea of going into that pelting rain again. Outside, the storm was raging.

All of the other caravan people rode horses, and they went to the stables to saddle them. However, the moment one of the hired hands tried to pull his horse outside, the stallion rose on his hind legs and let out a nervous neigh. The man tried to pull harder, but the horse just pulled back, not at all keen on going out in that rain. Toru could sympathize with that.

Around them, the other members of the caravan were struggling just the same. Varg hurried to help the caravan master, while Duril tried to stay out of the way.

“They won’t go out,” Toru said loudly.

“Bloody beast,” the hired hand said through his teeth and raised his hand to hit the horse with a riding crop.

Toru caught his hand. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said thickly. It was, without a doubt, the part of him that helped him shift one way or another, but he understood animals more than anyone else he knew. In the horse’s frightened eyes, he read the truth. They were mad to go out in that rain, but they were humans, and their lack of self-awareness made them both bold and reckless.

“We need our horses,” Margrave said, visibly annoyed now with the delay. “How are we to get to the guild in this rain?”

“We’ll walk,” Toru replied.

“Walk?” Margrave threw him an incredulous look.

“Yes, walk,” Toru said and grinned. The fat merchant must have walked through a rainstorm rarely in all his life, if ever. “These horses will throw you off your saddles. They don’t like this storm.”

Margrave mumbled something under his breath, but it looked like no one could make any of the horses behave. “We cannot dally,” he said. “Just leave the horses. We’ll walk,” he added, as if he had just come up with that idea.

Toru didn’t have trust in the merchant kind, but he didn’t dislike Margrave that much. The caravan master appeared to be a practical man, and he didn’t seem like the kind to beat his horses to death only to push them out of the stables.

There was murmuring between Otis and Gefroy, while Toru observed them with keen eyes. After a short while, the two produced something resembling a small carriage from the back of the stables, and Margrave climbed into it with his head high.

Toru ground his teeth. So the fat merchant wouldn’t walk in the rain, after all. He was such a sly one, he thought, and he was about to give him a piece of his mind when Varg stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “The caravan master cannot make an appearance at the guild of merchants sopping wet,” the wolfshifter explained. “And we want to get inside,” he reminded Toru.

That was their goal, and for that, they had to put up with that sly merchant. Still, he growled quietly while eyeing the man until Margrave turned his head to look at him. To his surprise, the merchant smiled to welcome his displeased expression. “We don’t see tigers much around these parts,” Margrave said, his eyes smiling, too.

That was enough to make Toru fall silent right away. How could the merchant tell? He wasn’t one to keep things to himself. “How did you know?” he asked.

The same mysterious smile fluttered on the merchant’s lips. “Merchants are knowledgeable people. Your spirit shines through, young tiger. Don’t ever change.”

Toru snorted. “Like I would.”

But the merchant had already turned in his seat and talked to his associates in a hushed voice. Four men grabbed the carriage and pulled it out in the rain, but not before a leather hide was turned into an improvised cover to protect the merchant’s head.

***

The rain had seeped through their clothes, and most of the men cursed through clattering teeth, but they marched on. Toru held Duril by the shoulders and close to his body, so they could share a little heat. Neither he, nor Varg suffered from the same discomfort as the rest of the caravan, but that was the only solace in that weather. If he could help it, Toru preferred to curl beside a fire and dream of hunting and lots of meat. The water dripped from his hair and it was hard to see the way in front of them. The menacing sounds of thunder spilled above their heads, showing no signs of wanting to move away from Shroudharbor. He could only imagine what was going on at sea. If any fishermen made it back alive, it would be a miracle.

“How do we know where we’re going?” he asked no one in particular.

Varg was marching by his side, and he was silent, a sign that the wolfshifter was thinking of something and didn’t quite yet care to share his thoughts. Throughout their travels so far, Toru had learned about the quiet ways in which his companion’s mind seemed to work. As reluctant as he was to the idea of having someone ordering him around, Toru was glad Varg was in charge. He had the experience that came with age, and the battle scars to make him fit to be a leader.

“Margrave must know it,” Varg replied with a small grunt. “Let’s hope we’re not on some wild goose chase here.”

“He must hope to become richer and fatter than he already is,” Toru said, feeling a little more miffed than usual.

Varg laughed. “He paid for a hearty meal for us. Wouldn’t that put him on your good side?”

“Yes, but he’s still fat and wants us to march through the rain like this.”

“There has to be a reason for this rain,” Duril intervened. “What did Randle tell you, Varg? About signs of corruption…”

“He didn’t care to share,” Varg replied. “He discovered that he had found himself talking about things that no one was supposed to mention.”

“That’s very suspicious,” Toru concluded. “Is this blasting storm one of those signs?”

“Who knows?” Varg said, shaking his head. “But we’re bound to find out. After all, that is why we’re here.”

“There is no smoke without a fire, and there can be no myth without a grain of truth,” Duril said. “The question is, what does the shroud feed on?”

Toru perked up. “I know! Maybe it likes fat merchants!”

Both Varg and Duril laughed.

“Don’t dislike Margrave too much, kitty. He’s a man of the world and our ticket in. Let’s see what this house of merchants is all about. And then, we’ll take it from there.”

Duril stared at him enough to make him turn his head. “Why do you dislike Margrave so much?” he asked gently.

“He rides in that carriage while we’re ankle-deep in mud,” Toru said with petulance.

“And? Did you want to ride in a carriage, too? Like a king?” Varg teased him.

Toru bristled. “I’m not a king, and I don’t like carriages.”

“Then maybe you just envy him because of his girth,” Varg said in jest.

Toru pouted. “He must be eating a lot to keep that belly.”

Varg threw one arm over his shoulders. “Look at it this way, kitty. If you got so fat, Duril wouldn’t like you anymore.”

Toru frowned, and Duril gasped.

“That’s not true,” the healer denied right away. “I would like Toru no matter how he looked.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Varg warned. “He’s a bit of a spoiled brat. It might be your fault a little.”

Duril snickered. “As it might be yours, too, my friend.”

Their happy banter made walking through the heavy rain less challenging and kept them going. But the carriage in front finally stopped, and only then they noticed that they had arrived in front of a large white building. Its façade jutted toward the sky and, in that rain, it was difficult to look up and see where it ended.

It had to be the curtain of rain touching everything with a tinge of grey like the brush of a maudlin painter, but at a closer look, the building didn’t appear to be of a clear shiny white. It was more like the color of a shroud that had been left interred for a while. Toru shuddered.

Someone opened up the gates in front of them, and they walked inside. All this time, Toru couldn’t stop thinking that it felt as if they were entering a tomb.

***

To his surprise, the inside of the house of merchants wasn’t as unwelcoming as he had thought it would be. The halls were brightly lit by torches and along the walls, stone benches were placed to accommodate the weary travelers.

A man in fine livery, spindly in appearance, appeared to be their guide. His face was devoid of any traces of hair, unlike the merchants who all took proud in their well-cared-for beards. Save for a few grey strands on his head, he was bald as well, and Toru half-expected all of those torches to reflect their light from his forehead. However, it appeared that the man’s scalp was worn like leather and creased heavily, so no ray of light bounced off of it.

“Master Margrave,” he said in a grave voice. “Master Blayves is waiting.”

The carriage had been taken to one of the stables adjoining the building, and Margrave was walking in front of their group, with the importance that his station required.

Margrave inclined his head in understanding and followed the spindly man. Otis and Gefroy made a move to follow, but the guide turned toward them and put one hand up. “Only merchants of the highest rank are allowed to see Master Blayves.”

Toru could tell there was tension among the men who had followed Margrave here. The caravan master turned toward them, as well. “I will make sure to strike a deal that will please everyone.”

One thing that Toru couldn’t quite get his head wrapped around was how the caravan treasures had been left behind. No one could pull those heavy carts in that weather, but Margrave hadn’t appeared inclined to drag them all through the rain. That meant that his word weighed much more than the gold and fine fabrics he had brought to exchange for pearls and gemstones.

He leaned slightly toward Varg. “Isn’t he full of himself now? Wasn’t he a coward, hiring us to protect him? How will we protect him if he goes by himself?”

Varg leaned toward him as well. “I have a hunch that Master Margrave has a plan of his own. He doesn’t look to me like the kind to walk into the lion’s den without a hidden sword,” he whispered.

Toru nodded. That made Margrave a brave man, not a coward. “But how are we going to get inside and see the shroud?”

“Patience,” Varg said softly. “For now, we are witnesses. Margrave must feel that there is something off about this place. He may be a merchant, but he strikes me as the honest kind.”

“If you say,” Toru replied, not entirely convinced of what Varg was saying.

Inside those walls, the storm seemed far away. Only then, Toru realized the one thing that should have struck him as odd the moment they had set foot inside. There were no windows anywhere.

TBC

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