The volume of the cacophony that the junior members of both guilds are making could very well be taken for the sounds of a protracted and hard-fought battle – if Shaddar wasn’t watching the grown men bang on pot lids like toddlers, just to make noise.
The more senior members of both guilds have gathered in the center of the playing field. Shaddar is near the front of the villain’s side. He doesn’t want to miss a single moment of this convention.
The leader of the villains is a swarthy man who has a real eye patch, bolted right onto his face. His face has several deep scars and he moves like a man that knows his way around a fight.
“This man may actually live up to the title of villain,” Shaddar thinks, “At least, he is confident that he is a dangerous man.”
His opposite number is the man who challenged the villains when the heroes first arrived. His hair still has not a strand out of place and Shaddar realizes that the man has used some kind of vain magical spell to always keep looking his best. His strikes a picturesque pose of arrogance and moral superiority. Shaddar feels nauseated just looking at him.
The two men nod to one another in greeting. Then the leader of the villains speaks.
“Alright! This riot will come to order!” Several quiet conversations die out near Shaddar, but the horrible din being made to simulate the sounds of battle continues.
“It has been eight months since our last get-together, Marcelo,” the man continues.
“Correct!” the leader of the heroes replies, “You hosted the purge and we settled a great many matters. And to be quite frank, Flame Albion, the Heroes are glad you called the riot – we were on the verge of proclaiming another purge ourselves. We have business to discuss!”
Flame shakes a fist, “But we called the meeting – so our business with you will be addressed first! We want to know when you are going to do your job? You heroes are supposed to handle rogue villains! You have been so remiss in your duties that there is now a whole band of rogues running around the city!” he snorts in disgust. “Your job, Marcelo. Remember? And instead of stopping them, this pack of rogue villains is free to cause havoc, disrupt commerce, and upset all kinds of clockwork arrangements! While you do nothing…”
Marcelo goes red in the face before his fires back with an angry retort of his own: “Before we deal with your paltry little internal problems with petty crimes, we demand answers of more serious deeds! Why, it seems to us that your entire guild has turned rogue, Flame! When members of your guild commit Murder-Most-Foul in our fair city streets!”
“We never would do that!” Flame bellows, “Cease your slander, at once Marcelo Erasmo!”
“Trying to distract us from your crimes with this weak story of rogue villains! Ha! You’re all liars! Liars!” a member of the Heroes Guild calls from the crowd.
At once the entire center area turns into a seething pit of contention and loud argument. Men on both sides yell out accusations and insults to the other side. Fists are raised and fingers pointed. A few men begin to push each other around angrily. The tone of this meeting has definitely turned ugly.
Shaddar is delighted. If this keeps up, soon these guilds will come to blows!
The trumpets of the Heroes sound once more and the potential melee dies down as both sides quiet to look at Marcelo who is holding his hands up in a placating gesture.
“Gentleman! Gentleman, please! There is only one way to settle which question should be addressed first. The way that the Lords of the city have ordained for us to use in cases like this.” Men begin to nod knowingly and with a bit of excitement.
“Trial by pudding?”
“Yes! Trial by pudding!”
“Bring out the pudding! Pudding, I say!”
Shaddar is dumbfounded. What new lunacy is this?
Huge vats of pudding are brought forth to the cheers of the men on both sides of the argument and champions are selected. While the pudding is slopped onto the ground to form a slippery, sticky patch of dirty custard, the two men who will represent their guilds remove their shoes and their shirts. Then they take padded quarterstaffs in hand and met in the center of the slimed field.
The crowd cheers for their respective champion and Shaddar surmises from the wild and excited thoughts of those around him that the first man to get a mouthful of the dirty pudding will be the loser. The combatants slide and slip around on the pudding like they are standing up in a canoe, while trying to either trip their foe or flip a gob of vile pudding into their opposite’s face. The men around the conflict are excited and laugh every time a spectator gets a splatter of goo on them, with much cursing from the unintended target.
Shaddar’s tentacles hang limp under his disguise – a clear gesture of his absolute astonishment at the antics of these humans. Un… be… lievable…
Bets are soon made, with the villains, of course, acting as the bookies. The heroes look a bit guilty about the vice of gambling, but some evidently feel it is a matter of pride to support their champion with their gold and not just their cheers of support.
In the midst of this spectacle, Shaddar notices a disturbance on the side of the arena that the heroes entered from. A man in bright, shining full plate has ridden onto the field and is cantering up to the confusion of the uncouth and ludicrous pudding-eating contest.
Shaddar notices that even the horse is wearing exceptionally fine, full plate barding that matches the suit worn by the rider. This man plainly looks to be someone important. His weapons look combat-ready and well cared for and the fellow has several of them.
The men part to make way for this figure and even those in the middle of their disgusting pudding battle cease as they notice him. Soon the armored figure reigns his mount to a stop and no one speaks. Even the clang of metal slows and grows quieter, but it does not stop completely.
The man rises the visor on his helm and speaks with disdain.
“What are you doing?”
Marcelo clears his throat before he speaks, “We’re having trial by pudding, sir knight. It is the established way to settle which of two important cases should be heard at a meeting of guilds when they seem of equal importance. Allow me to explain why we can’t decide–”
The knight cuts him off abruptly, “I don’t want to hear your bickering.”
The somewhat hopeful looks on the leaders of both guilds fall at this firm rebuke.
“We heard that you called the riot,” the knight says calmly. “And I know you may have some… minor difficulties that you need to settle. But first, hear the word of the Knights!”
A sort of sigh runs through the crowd at this saying. Even those making noise stop and the sudden silence in the coliseum is startling.
The knight continues, “Someone… in the city… has dared to impersonate… and slander… one of the Lords of the city.”
The thoughts and looks on the faces of every man and woman in the arena is one of stunned disbelief. As if some horrible taboo has been broken or a great tragedy has befallen them.
Marcelo whispers, “Was it a minor infarction, perhaps, sir knight?”
“It was not minor!” the knight bellows, “It would be impossible to imagine a more grievous insult to their pride! I dare not speak of it!”
And the stadium erupts in noise! Shaddar is battered with the noise and fury of the voices of all of the humans, as they talk over one another in a strange array of responses. The emotional range goes from outrage to panic. Some call for vengeance against those who insulted the Lords of the city. Some weep and call out for the gods to be merciful. Some speak in terrified tones of how they can save their families from the wrath that is sure to follow.
The leader of the villains calls for quiet with a pasty complexion and addresses the knight. “I have but one question…” the man is trembling his fear is so great. “What… do the Lords of the city plan to do… in retribution for this outrage?”
The knight’s expression is severe. “Thus far, we, the Knights, have kept them from the knowledge of what has happened.”
A collective sigh of relief runs through the crowd at this news. Some people sit down and begin to fan themselves. Many begin to call out prayers of gratitude.
The knight continues in a grave tone, “I cannot say what will transpire if news of this insult were to reach their ears."
A lone voice calls out in fear from somewhere in the crowd, “But what if one of the Lords of the city is here!? They sometimes walk among us in disguise!” A fearful murmur begins to emerge from the crowd.
The knight holds up one hand and the whispers cease. He slowly wheels his horse around, looking intently at every section of the mob before returning to his original position. Shaddar can feel a tingle of… something. Some kind of magic is being used here.
The knight gives a quick shake of his head. “None of them are here. And now that I have relayed the seriousness of our situation,” he pauses, “we must discuss what is to be done to rectify this problem.”
The faces of the mob look grim. Some of them begin to clean up the pudding mess.
The knight commands, “Tell me what you know that might have bearing on our finding this lunatic before he insults the Lords of the city, yet again! I will take what you know, combine it with the knowledge of the Knights, and direct your efforts to the solution.”
Quickly the leaders of both guilds relate their problems to the knight. The villains talk of violence in the border zone with citizens being left naked and destitute, limping to their homes and not being recognized by their servants. Vile slanders and vicious insults are being bandied about with no restraint. All done in the name of some upstart and unheard of new guild comprised of rogue villains!
“No!”
“Who could such things?”
The heroes then talk about the deaths of constables and the report that the Guild of Villains was responsible. The villains are shocked – having not heard a whisper of this. The heroes bring out their star witness to report on the Murder-Most-Foul. Shaddar recognizes the man as Constable Snook.
“I have had a chance to examine the bodies and let me tell you: it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Snook says with a frown. “Not caused by undead nor by any weapon that I know of. Vile and unnatural, sir knight! The victim’s skulls were melted open and the brains removed.”
Some retching sounds echo across the arena.
“The brains? Gone?” the knight questions with a hint of incredulity.
Constable Snook nods sharply.
“This is unknown to me also,” the knight muses. “I will take this report to the Senior Knights to see if our chapter history records anything like this. Perhaps they can tell us what depraved evil now walks our fair city streets…”
The knight turns to Marcelo and asks, “Have you detected any great evil or powerful undead in any of the street’s alarms?”
“No, sir knight! No undead! And no evil until the villains crossed over during the riot just now!”
Flame speaks up, “Surely you know that the Guild of Villains is not responsible for this.”
The knight nods, a thoughtful expression on his face, “No. None of us did these things. These acts are far outside the established boundaries given to us by the Lords of the city for the proper outlet of all human emotions. This is far beyond the pale. Far beyond all established norms. Periodically some brain-sick soul will snap and go rogue – requiring that the misbehaving, anti-social villain be stopped by the heroes – but this?” He shakes his head. “No. This is something else…”
“Indeed it is,” Shaddar thinks with gleeful malice.
Chapter 1 < Chapter 18 Chapter 20 >
No comments:
Post a Comment