Chapter 2: Rogues and Guards
Thump, thump. Bump and bump. To see Cathaldus bang his walking stick repeatedly on the bare floorboards with the vigour of youth is a joy. A child with a new drum. I blink away happy tears.
‘Never lose faith; never lose faith. Didn’t I tell them? Keep praying. Rain or shine. Moon after moon. Hah! Oh I told them. Wasn’t I right?’
‘You kept the faith,’ replies Mistress Withen, sweet-faced. Happy. Indulgent. Agreeable. We three, the lucky three; famous now for history. Witness to the god of necromancy. I want to hug them both.
‘May I see the ring, Crow?’ asks Mistress Withen. When she has it in her hands, cupped like bowl at her face, she sighs. ‘Such a shame to sell this. This ring has been on the finger of our lord for decades. But sell it we must. We need food; we need paint; we need carpenters and roofers; we need to replace the south gutter entirely. And it will bring us what we need to restore all the tarnished and worn brass in the shrine.’
She passes the god-given gift back to me, but I shake my head.
‘Lord Scrithax gave it to you, Crow. You were the one who dared ask him for food. Sausages. Whatever made you think of sausages!’
I act out my next words, fluttering to her side and going down on one knee. ‘“Good merchant, here is a golden ring with precious black pearl. Crow wants your barrel of apples. And a bag of silver coin as change.”’ Changing my voice, to deep and stern: ‘“Get away thief!” says the merchant. “Guards! Guards! Has this youth not stolen a ring. Into prison with him!”’
Appraising my performance, Mistress Withen closes her hand around the ring. ‘Ahh. You’re probably right.’ She looks across to Cathaldus, who remains in a state of triumph over imagined doubters. ‘Master, may I sell the ring and arrange the purchases we need?’
‘Of course, of course. And let them all know Scrithax himself was here. In our humble temple. And they missed him. The fools.’ With one last thump of his stick, Cathaldus gestured for me to come to him. ‘I’m sorry, Crow, that I’m too old to travel with you. This quest is daunting and – forgive me – I don’t see how you can manage it. But our lord’s instructions are clear. You must go to the Necromancer and get his help in completing the Epic Draco Missio.’
He pauses and touches my hand, puzzlefaced, seeking guidance. ‘Explain it to me. The boon that our god gave you. Lord Scrithax praised you and said you had given him hope. Yet it seems a weak enough gift, when you could have been the owner of a Ring of Invisibility.’
I open my notifications and read again the happy result. ‘Afk levelling is the name of the boon; my next success with a skill will be soon. Three minutes will pass, then another check. Each time as if an automatic success. My skills will be at five in a matter of days. Crow is in a daze. Their maximum. Just days! Years should pass.’
Cathaldus nods, ‘I can see that. And for stealing onions having your skills at five will be more than enough. Yet I’m sorry, lad, the epic dragon quest is just so formidable. Disregarding the opposition of our rivals and the danger of being killed or imprisoned while in hostile realms, you will have to defeat ogres, and sirens, and mighty terrors. You’ll have to enter lost dungeons, grim castles and stone circles defended by powerful spirits…’
‘Don’t scare the boy,’ says Mistress Withen. ‘If our lord believes in Crow, then so do I.’
I stand up, hand on dagger hilt. ‘Afraid? Not I. Crow will soon fly. You’ll see master, how this afk levelling makes all the difference.’
Cathaldus shakes his head but says nothing, only hangs on to my hand and holds it in both of his. ‘I’ll miss you. And we’ll be praying for you. Won’t we Mistress Withen?’
‘We will,’ she says firmly. ‘But not today. Today, we celebrate together. We have been blessed by the presence of our lord.’
***
The roof of the temple is in need of repair and each step I take requires great care. To the top of the slates I ascend and sit astride the cap as if to ride the building on a journey into the sky. South is the sea. Silver. Beauty spoiled by a line of longships like black insects. Jomskar Vikings from the west, determined to keep closed the port of Nekis until we submit to them. East and the distant, thin lines of grey in the blue are the fires of villages now in the hands of the fierce axemen of Trolland. And north? My view was obstructed by the castle of the Necromancer but somewhere between Crow and Snowfell Peak were the knights and archers of Southway who refused all merchants use of the road.
This crow has never flown beyond the walls of Nekis. Yet my god asks me to journey forth and my heart flutters with more than fear. Freedom. Adventure. Treasure. Levels. Love. I am the fine fellow. I have afk levelling. I can complete the quest.
Then I set off for the Necromancer.
In Crumblin I have no fear. Every alley and every door are known to me. Even some secret ones. In the many shadows of these narrow, cobbled streets did I not play for all my youth? Avoiding temple chores with the slightest excuse. My favourite games with the other urchins were: Gryphon, Gryphon; Where’s the Locket, Mr Wretch?; Frog in the Pond; Blind Man's Bluff; Sir Derringdo; Red Rover; The Stone Game; Stuck in the Swamp; Corners; Wriggle; Snatch the Bacon; Rogues and Guards; and Seven Up. Here I used to hide behind the blacksmith’s sign; there the alley was so narrow, I could place my back to one wall and foot to the other, walking upwards to an arch to wait in the dark, while below my friends ran without knowing they had just passed me.
Not that I had many friends. Other children had thought me jumblemouthed. A fool. And the boys did not like losing to me, not when they were older and craving the admiration of the girls. Many a flight had flickered through these ‘fares, when a fleeing Crow fled fast from a furious fist.
Crumblin. Dark, dirty. Secrets and daggers. Never were the rich to be seen in our streets. Even the guards did not much care to leave the wide South Street for the narrow alleys either side. They knew from the sullen looks and shuttered windows they were not welcome. Our own realm of the watchful, sly, opportunist poor. And it was a realm that was now too small for me. No girl of Crumblin wanted to kiss Crow. And if I were ever to kiss Belle, it would only be after she sees me a hero. A fine fellow.
North of the crossroads is the district of Spur, through which I must travel to reach the castle. Shops and housing intermix either side of wider, paved streets. It even smells different here, fresher. The owners and shopkeepers watch with suspicion as I walk past them. What manner is my walk? Not the furtive manner of a Crumblin rogue, not at all. Jaunty, godblessed, mission-filled, self-important. Mistrust me now, good burgess of Nekis, but you will praise me when I save the realm and bring glory to Scrithax.
At the outer gate of the castle are four guards. A big, big, big gate. Mostly timber (what the massive tree? What the forest to grow such mighty trees). Some metal. Someone made that metal that reinforces the heavy wood. Some smith. Did they enjoy curving the black steel to suggest four crossed scimitars? Closed door. Bored guards.
‘What do you want?’ asks a greybearded iron-helmed man, not unkind, just brusque.
‘The Necromancer. That is, to enlist his help for my god-given quest.’
Now all of them look at me: one angry, two amused, and this one, in charge. Breadbeard.
‘Oh, is that all? Just a minute while I fetch him for you.’
Chuckles from two. Thin mouth on the other, Crankface.
‘I see. I see. Of course I do not look right.’
‘You don’t smell right,’ said Crankface. ‘You have the stink of Crumblin.’
‘Agreed. Although scent is less of a stink. Think. I know I’m not what you expect. But this morning Scrithax himself you would detect at our temple. Cathaldus is priest there. You might be aware? Scrithax. Our god. He came in person.’
‘Wait now, slow down.’ Greybeard looks uncertain. ‘You are saying the god sent a vision to Cathaldus, that old priest in the Level One temple off South Street? With a message for the Necromancer.’
‘Were that true it would be great news indeed; share it from the towers and in the streets. Yet my eyes beheld the god too. He was there, as real as me and you. I sat beside him on a bench. Yes, me, Crow, beside our god. And there’s more. He gave me a gift. “Fine fellow”, he said. And made me his champion and bid me come to the Necromancer for help with the quest. The quest of quests. The most epic dragon quest. Yes.’
Like a storm cloud has rushed over the crenelations (delectations of stonework) to block the sun, all humour is gone. All are angry now.
‘That’s enough. Our god may be weak but he’s not to be mocked.’
‘Crumblin Scum!’
‘Clear off, or you’ll get the butt of my spear.’
‘You’re mad, a fool, or mocking us and I reckon it’s the last.’ Greyhead, Greyeyes, checking all around for the trick, trap, danger, stepping back, lowering the spear head. A sharp blade, made to peel apart skin and muscle.
Can I save my mission? There is only a short distance between me and the man who would surely listen and welcome Crow, aglow with news from his god. Yet that distance may as well be the whole length of the twenty-four kingdoms, for the door is closed. Closed. Shut. Firm. Even if I could outrun them all – easily, yes, yes, probably – I cannot dash through an opening for there is none. Retreat. Re. Treat. My body will not stay close to a blow from that spear. It runs away, carrying me with it. All the way home. The little piggy. Sad little piggy. How can he see the Necromancer? Stealth. Stealth to enter the castle? Surely 20 would be needed. Or more? Then Belle? She dances inside.
A crowd are at the temple! Well, a dozen people on the benches as Cathaldus stands in the central space, arms wide, speaking apace in his soft voice. ‘Exhausting his final expenditure of mana, Lord Scrithax chose to come here, the temple of Crumblin. And you know who he found here? No one. No one but the temple servants. Not one of you, who owe your god all your hopes of an afterlife, had come to morning prayer. Yes, be ashamed. Be remorseful. Be regretful. Our lord came in search of a champion and found only Crow worthy of the honour. Crow it is, who has been tasked with saving the Kingdom of Lost Souls.’
‘Crow?’ A journeymen tailor, who had once played street games with me, shakes his head.
Mistress Baker stands up, ‘I believed you when you said the god came here this morning. But I don’t believe he made that foolish youth his champion. You just want to shame us. Well it’s not going to work, old man, and you are no priest of mine.’
This woman of muscle, swinging her thick arms from her shoulders, swaggers as she leaves, both journeywomen follow, chins up, trying to walk with equal pride. Master Carpenter and his two journeymen get up too, benches creaking as they are pushed back for these three to leave.
‘Sorry,’ says the ropemaker. ‘The menu calls me to complete my daily task and there is still much to be done.’
Pushing past those who are leaving coming into the shrine is Belle. Beautiful, beautiful Belle, dark hair, all curves and curls, as lithe on her feet as only a dancer can be. ‘Is it true? Scrithax was here? In person?’
‘He was.’ Despite losing half his congregation, Cathaldus is proud. As he should be. Let the disbelievers go. Let them mock Crow. Our god truly was here. And our god called on me to be his champion. I would not let him down.
‘What did he say?’ Belle walks right up to the centre of the shrine, looking everywhere, as if there were still a trace of Lord Scrithax to be found.
‘He said that he would ask the Necromancer to raise me as a vampire; a reward for my faithful service.’
Belle paused her search give Cathaldus a long look. ‘And Crow. What was that about Crow?’
‘Crow is instructed to attempt the Epic Draco Missio.’
A hand to her mouth. ‘Oh poor Crow. He’ll try it, of course. There will be no stopping him. But it means his death.’
Cathaldus bows his head. ‘I think so too, poor boy,’ he whispers.
‘I got a boon. Divine intervention.’ I skip and flutter over to them quickly, to flap away their distress. ‘I am the afk leveller.’
‘Crow! I didn’t see you there.’
‘A tear in your eye. Don’t cry. Crow will be fine. A full set of skills will be mine.’
‘Just a bit of dust. But Crow, the best warriors and wizards of the twenty-four kingdoms attempt that quest. And they all fail. Please. Don’t go and get yourself killed.’
‘Such sweetness lies behind your words that I hear the notes of ten songbirds; yet the god has spoken and I must go. Fear not for afk leveller Crow. Just help me through the castle gate for upon the Necromancer must I wait.’
As if to send me a message of approval for my words, the system rewards me with a welcome notification.
Skill Success: Stealth
Skill increase! Your Stealth score is now 3.
I am more aware of the sounds of the shrine and how Mistress Wither’s steps in her wooden clogs create echoes that could hide me. I am more aware of the shadows of the shrine and how the shutter swings and the lamp flickers, creating moments in which I could move undetected. I am more aware of my body and especially my feet, knowing how to place them upon the ground in order to move silently.
While rejoicing in this new knowledge, I catch Belle’s hands and spin her around the shrine.
‘Lord Scrithax says I am a fine fellow. That the Necromancer will help me. I need you to get me through the castle door. Then there will be hope once more.’ I drop her hands and her smile ends. ‘Beautiful Belle: our enemies eye Nekis with greed and lust. If I do not save us, then all that we love turns to ashes and dust.’