Shaddar gives his thralls a few more basic instructions before ordering them to carry out their orders.
“Return sometime around nightfall and report,” he broadcasts. The thralls stand and leave the pub.
Shaddar also stands, but he moves to the bar and takes a stool, setting the tankard of ale he has been slowly sipping during the meeting with Jorin and Bort and then the interrogation of Constable Snook down on the bar. Hawke nods in his direction as he hears him arrive.
Shaddar has picked up enough mental comments from the blind and quiet barkeep to know that the man is much more perceptive than he appears. He has been looking forward to questioning the man.
“Hawke is it?” Nod. “You look like a man who knows things about this town. Tell me: what do you know about the Lords of the city?”
“Don’t know much about that,” Hawke replies in curt tones, clearly designed to indicate his reluctance to talk at all. His thoughts are much more verbose: “Lots of folk talk about the Lords of the city, using their names in vain and all, but not many of them know who they really are or have ever seen them, I warrant!”
“Do you know who they are?”
Hawke lifts his head up towards Shaddar with a funny look. “I just said I don’t know, sir.”
“What’s the matter with this fellow? Does he think that if he asks me more than once, that he’ll get more information?” Hawke thinks.
Shaddar finds this hilarious. “That’s exactly what I think, yes…”
The bartop is glistening and Shaddar can not see a stain or even a speck of dirt. The cleanliness and sterility of this place, whether it has been the city, alleys, or even the interior of the pub, is disturbing in its universality. It is impossible for a city to not have refuse somewhere! Where is it? Who has tidied it away?
Shaddar decides to ask. “Your fair city is so clean! As is this establishment! Tell me: who handles your sanitation?”
“I keep a clean shop, sir. And at night, those whose duty it is come and clean up.” Thinking: “Filthy palehairs and lumpys! I don’t see why we should pay any taxes at all to give them food, clothing, shelter… They should be happy to live in and under the gutter! They collect enough trash to eat well enough. I can’t stand to be near their filthy hides! All around me they are… I can’t live in the streets and I’m banished from the slums so I must live here where I can smell the reek from their vermin-infested hovels!”
“So who is it exactly that comes and clean the streets?” Shaddar asks.
“You know. Palehairs. Lumpys.” Shaddar can taste the vitriol of disgust and racism in the man’s thoughts.
“I don’t know these names. I’m foreign. Can you help me out a bit?”
“They go by lots of different names. Call ‘em what you like, sir. Lumpys are short, but strong. Brown or green, with foul, lumpy skin.” His thoughts clarify the issue for Shaddar, “They like folks to call them by their ‘proper name’, but I’ll wander in the Mist before I’ll call ‘em hobgoblins!”
“It’s unlikely you’ll see any lumpys. They stay out of sight as is proper. Palehairs, though? Might see them out in the streets at night if you squint.” The man then thinks, “Those scrawny, pointy-eared freaks. Never met a single dark elf that was worth the spit they deserve to have in their eye. I’m almost glad I’m blind so I don’t have to see their ugly faces anymore!”
“But where do they all live? Do they have their own quarter or part of town?”
“They live here. All those locked doors? That’s them.” As Hawke washes an empty tankard busily, his mind carries on the conversation, “All of us who no ‘proper’ citizen wants to see are kept in the border zone. Every building wall is lined with lead so they won’t be able to peek out at proper folks with their wicked palehair sorceries!”
Shaddar find this quite fascinating. “Locked doors? Which side is locked, I wonder? Are they houses or prisons? Hmmm… I’m glad to see that there is a dark underbelly to this pristine utopia. I can work with a dark underbelly.” He is glad to know about the lead lining the walls also. It indicates a level of paranoia that is quite illuminating. And of course, the lead is also blocking his ability to see the thoughts of the inhabitants, and that explains why the border zone has seemed so lifeless to him.
“Well. What about the Guild of Villains and the Guild of Heroes? I am new to town and must confess I am less aware of the nature of these groups than I should be.”
Shrug. “Too bad. Can’t help ya. Haven’t seen much of either one of ‘em.” A stream of curses in the man’s mind is followed by more coherent thoughts, “Villains don’t show up in my shop! Oh, no! I’m not ritzy enough for them! They’ve got their own pubs and clubs. Sure, as soon as I lost my eyesight they said, ‘Get lost, old man! You’re no good to us anymore!’ But I had my revenge! They didn’t realize how well I studied – I stole so much gold off the top of their profits! Ha! That’s how I was able to buy this place and have a decent retirement. Well. It would be decent if I didn’t have to deal with such sulking pules like Jorin, Bort, and now their country-bumpkin friends… And the Heroes? Ugh! They come in here all high-and-mighty and order a glass of milk… or water! Pompous! They act like they know what they are doing, but they are totally incompetent!”
Shaddar is very pleased to hear this! “Perfect. Incompetent opposition is the best kind.”
“Thank you, sir! You have been very helpful.” He knows the man will not believe him and this is nothing but an advantage.
An eyebrow is raised and a slight headshake in disbelief. As Shaddar expected.
Shaddar sets off into the city, looking to find his way into the slums in order to take a gander at them. He has seen, from a distance at any rate, the streets. He has walked in the border zones quite a bit, but he wants to see the part of the city that is controlled by the Guild of Villains that he is working on antagonizing.
Shaddar is sure he will find the slums if he just keeps walking. According to the minds he has read so far, the border zone is like a filament running down the center of the city, filled with small branches and avenues that reach every part of the city easily, with streets on one side and slums on the other.
Even though he doesn’t know his way, he is fearless and confident of handling any challenge. “It’s not like anyone will try to mug me!” he thinks with humor.
Chapter 1 < Chapter 8 Chapter 10 >
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