Bad to the Throne, page 28
part #15 of The Good Guys Series
Since it was the middle of the day and in the middle of the week, the park wasn’t too crowded there were some people. Mostly with very small children who wanted to play in the grass and such.
I looked around, trying to appear as if I was just enjoying the views of the park while I was actually doing my best to spot Clyde the elf boy.
I paused in front of a statue of a man wearing full armor, one foot up, Captain Morgan style, lifting a very large sword.
“A great hero, eh?” someone next to me said.
I hadn’t noticed anyone approaching, and jumped a little.
A tallish woman with a slender, delicate frame stood next to me. She had a face that seemed wise despite her apparent youth, framed by hair that seemed silver by choice, not age. Her eyes were a piercing violet color, unusual and captivating, as if they were windows into something, just not her.
“Apologies for the surprise,” the woman said. “I forget how quiet I have become.”
“Uh, no problem,” I said, unsure how to deal with such a strange and striking person.
“You are, I believe, who I have come to speak with,” she continued. “Are you not Montana of Coggeshall?”
“That’s me. Are you a friend of Regina’s?”
“I would hesitate to call myself a friend. That would seem too familiar, but in this context, I suppose that is sufficient to say that we are supposed to chat, yes?”
“Okay. I’m, um, you know who I am.”
“I do. You may call me Leora. Please, this way.” She strolled along, as if we were here to take in the sights, looking around pleasantly, but not making eye contact with me. “I know of a place where we may converse in private.”
“Should we, um, not talk until then?”
“Is there a question you have for me?”
“Are you from Kronth?”
“It is more fair to say that is my previous place of residence.”
“Would you prefer to speak in Kronthian?” I asked, in Classical Kronth.
She stopped and looked at me, one slim eyebrow arched upward.
“I could,” she replied, in Classical Kronth. And then she said something else, with a smile.
Smashing! You’ve learned a new language, The Shattered Tongue.
“Did you want to speak in this instead?” I replied, in my newest language.
This time, both eyebrows went up.
“You have been to the Shattered Lands?” she asked.
“Just picked the language up somewhere. I have a gift for them.”
“I wonder how deep I would need to go into my history to find one you do not know.”
“How many do you know?”
“Seventeen.”
“That’s really impressive.”
“You?”
“Oh, just a few.”
“There is no need to be modest here. While I am here to provide you with information about our group, our group also sent me here to determine your value.”
I flipped to my character sheet and did a quick count.
Goblin
Imperial Common
Mahrduhmese
Infernal
Hobgoblin Battle Cant
Night Goblin
Ursusian
Lutra
Northern Kobold
Carchedonian
Undermountain Common
Draconic
Grey Veveridia
Plains Centaurese
Koäðemaarian
Base Ogrish
Ethusian
Chasoneintails
Classical Kronthian
The Shattered Tongue
“Twenty,” I said. “If I hear a few words of any language, I can pick it up.”
“How?”
“An actual gift. I meant that literally. It’s a boon.”
“You possess a boon?”
“I do.”
“From whom?”
“Gotta keep that secret.”
“Ah. A provision of the boon?”
“Sure, let’s call it that.”
“A powerful gift for sure,” Leora said.
“It has its uses.”
“Would you like me to teach you a few languages I know?”
“If you want.”
“You are sure you can keep up?”
“I mean, we can try, and if I miss something, then we can stop.”
“And you are able to switch between languages without issue — amazing.”
“Wait…” I said, and I realized that she’d been bouncing between Imperial Common, Classical Kronthian, and the Shattered Tongue each time she spoke. “Yeah, I guess I can.”
She nodded, and then started speaking in a different language.
Smashing! You’ve learned a new language, Gradonthan.
“Got it,” I replied in Gradonthan.
She smirked, and then said something else.
Smashing! You’ve learned a new language, Bandertongue.
“Ooh, that’s a neat one,” I replied in Bandertongue.
We repeated that a few times, until I’d learned ten new languages.
Gradonthan
Bandertongue
The Old Tongue
Western High Common
Old Farthic
Zoonistic Pigdin Pidgin
Krzysźntwařżek
The Split Tongue
Grystyllym Frystlyn
Frandish
“I find that your gift both amazes and frustrates me,” she said. “It took me great effort to learn each and every one of those tongues. And yet, here you are, able to pick them up with nary the slightest concern.”
“It’s definitely something deep in the ‘not fair’ category,” I replied, nodding.
“It does give me a measure of confidence that no one listening will understand what we say.”
“Are we where you wish to talk?”
“We can speak in a largely dead and forgotten language from a fallen land a world away. It matters little where we speak now.”
“Oh. Well, that’s nice.”
“I did not expect this from you.”
“What?”
“A modicum of intelligence and thought. You were described as a bloodthirsty brute who views the world as being at war with him. Ready to fight and kill for any reason.”
“I see my reputation has preceded me. I have, um, done a little death dealing here and there. And probably could be seen as, um, bloodthirsty, I guess. But I had a reason for doing what I did.”
“I would imagine all do.”
“Sure. Anyway.”
“Yes. What are you aware of?”
“In a broad sense?”
She gave me a half smile and shook her head.
“Of what we are here to speak on. Or, rather, what I am here to speak to you on.”
“Ah, the group. Not much. Regina made it seem like you are people who think the world has gotten into a bad place, and are devoted to making a major change to it in some capacity.”
Another smile.
“It is always interesting to see the manner in which Regina speaks of our goals.”
“That’s not the aim?”
“It is, just not necessarily… there are many ways to describe what it is we hope to do, and bettering the world is perhaps both the best and the most broad. We do believe the world has gotten to a point where what hath been wrought is, and forgive the vague nature of the term, but bad. Things are bad.”
“In general?”
“Yes. Do you not agree?”
I paused. My natural inclination was just to be honest, since I wasn’t great at lying or even pretending. Probably why I never got cast in any of the school plays. Didn’t audition either, which might have been a bigger reason. But now I needed to lie. I needed to lean into whatever they were saying so that they’d let me into their club. Which I could then destroy.
“It does seem that way,” I finally said.
“I appreciate that you take time to think on your answers. These are not simple questions — too often I feel that others simply answering from emotion.”
“Um, yeah,” I replied. “Do you have an idea on what to do about, um, making things better?”
“We think that is not exactly the correct question to ask.”
“Oh. Then what is the right question?”
“What can be done to fix the problem.”
“And do you have an answer?”
“I feel as if you will find this annoying, but I will answer that question with a question. Maybe there is nothing that can be done to fix that problem.”
“That seems like a statement.”
She smirked. “What if there can be nothing done to fix the problem?”
“Better. I don’t know — if there’s nothing we can do, then maybe it’s not a problem?”
“I think it is more to be said that is not the problem we should seek to solve.”
“Okay, but then aren’t we kind of going around in circles?”
“In the early days of our group, these were the sorts of conversations we had.”
“And you finally came up with something, though.”
“We did.”
“Care to share that with the whole class?”
“Perhaps. The issue is that some may not understand the value of our proposal.”
“Why?”
“Because some view it as extreme as they do not understand the full scope of the problem.”
“Okay, well, I like to think of myself as open-minded. You can just hit me with it.”
“I would, but I fear you are not ready. Only if you are brought fully within our group will you be told of our true plans.”
“Seems a bit suspicious.”
“It is built out of a need for safety. Many have sought to challenge our goals, to destroy us because they disagree. But that is because they are either fools or afraid. Or both.”
“But you are trying to make the world a better place, right? Like, that’s your goal.”
“Yes. Very much, yes. But that is easy to say, isn’t it?”
“Of course.”
“It is harder to put into practice. Especially when what is good for the world as a whole might not be what is best for you.”
“One of the better people I’ve ever met once told me, when I asked him why he was being so nice to me, that the greatest men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in.”
“A beautiful sentiment. Is that something you believe in?”
“I mean, yeah, I think so. I’ve tried to focus on that while I’ve been, um, doing what it is I do.”
She nodded, staring at me.
“That is the crux of our group,” Leora said forcefully. “What we do is not pleasant for us. There may be no payout that we see the benefits of, because what we do is not for us, but for the good of everything that comes after us. It is a noble pursuit, but a difficult one, and so we must be careful who we bring into the fold. Too many believe in making the world a better place, but nearly all only want that for themselves, not others.”
“I’ve noticed a fair amount of that myself.”
“You are not the man others say,” Leora said. “And I doubt you are the man you think you are. There is a depth to you, and I believe you care more about others than yourself — likely to a degree that might be detrimental to yourself. That is a quality that many of us in our group share.”
“Um, thanks?”
She gave me a pat on the arm. “It is merely an observation. Neither a compliment nor a detraction. I have much to think about, and much to speak with my betters about.”
“You don’t make the decision on your own?”
“I do not. Nothing in the group is done on the orders of one man.”
One man, I thought. Interesting phrasing.
“I do hope you are able to find proper justification for supporting Regina in her election.”
“You do? So this was all just a clever ploy to get me to swing my votes her way?”
“It would be foolish of me to forgo that chance, yes?”
“True. No promises, but I’m considering it.”
“Thank you for meeting with me, Montana of Coggeshall. I will be in touch with you regarding the group.”
“I look forward to it. I mean, unless you reject me, and then I’d be a bit sad.”
She shook her head a little, still smiling, and then walked away. She put a hood up over her head as she did so, as if she wanted to keep the sun off her head.
74
I was deep in thought as I left the park. Out of nowhere, I felt something tugging at my hand. I looked down to see a kobold standing there.
“You Coggeshall,” the kobold said. Or asked. It was hard to tell.
“I think so,” I replied.
“Have message for Coggeshall. You sure you Coggeshall?”
“Who’s the message from?”
The kobold frowned and then looked at the little piece of paper in his hand. Then back at me. He shrugged.
“You want message?”
“Sure.”
“Here,” he said, handing me the paper. The second I took it, he ran away. I noticed he had on a little backpack that conformed to his back, and as he ran, he put his hand in the pack from the side and pulled out another folded-up bit of paper. He looked at it, then immediately hooked a sharp left, almost got hit by a carriage, and then seemed to disappear.
I checked where the carriage had passed, wanting to make sure he hadn’t been smooshed. But there was zero smoosh evidence.
“Huh,” I said.
Then I read the note.
Would appreciate a moment of your time, Duke of Coggeshall. I await your presence at the Thirteen Coins, on Paternoster and Boren.
His Royal Highness, The High Prince of Glaton, Valamir Glaton
Had to love a note where the signature was nearly longer than the text.
I sighed, and looked for a carriage to hail, hoping it was going to be a less interesting ride than the last one.
75
In a break from tradition, I was neither kidnapped by the carriage driver, nor did I wind up having to fight for my life. Instead, the driver knew exactly where we were going, navigated around traffic with ease, and didn’t want to talk to me. It was, I daresay, nice.
The 13 Coins didn’t seem like much of anything. Boren Ave was a side street off the more main street, Paternoster Row. And I agree, it made little sense to me that the avenue was the small street while the row was the big one. That’s Glaton for you.
There was just a door with a little brass plaque inlaid in the middle that said ’13 Coins.’ No pictures to match the other businesses, no big sign hanging out. No windows to let passersby glance inside. Just a heavy wooden door with iron bands across it.
I opened the door and went inside.
It was a long hallway that had a right-hand turn at the far end, about twenty yards away.
A quick peek into tremorsense, and I ‘saw’ that there were figures on either side of the hallway. Given their staggered placement, I’d bet they had crossbows set to fire through the wall.
I realized a bit too late that this could be a trap — there was nothing to indicate the message had actually been from Valamir. I mean, it had the same dickish tone Valamir gave to all things he touched, but it’s not like that was unique to the prince.
I just wanted to get things over with, so trap or not, I walked down the hall and took the right turn.
A man in a nice suit stood on the other side of the corner, in front of a door.
“Name?” he asked.
“Montana of Coggeshall,” I said, so shocked by his presence that I just sort of blurted the answer.
“A moment,” he said, and closed his eyes.
I stood there, mystified.
His eyes opened, and his head nodded almost imperceptibly.
“You may enter,” the man said as the door opened. “Fourth booth on the left.”
“Um, thank you.”
He just stood there, holding the door open, waiting for me to walk through.
As I did, he closed the door.
It was, in fact, a restaurant. A dark sort of place with high-backed booths on the walls and clear floor between. There was a touch of light down low, but nearly none from the waist up. So it was possible to walk around, but nearly impossible to see who was in the joint.
I counted to the fourth booth, and then went in, sitting down.
I realized two things immediately. One, there was some sort of magic that controlled the room’s illumination, because as soon as I was in the booth, I could see. It was still dark, but more in the vein of mood lighting. I was also cuddled up right next to someone.
Valamir glared at me.
“Didn’t know you felt that way,” I said, waggling my eyebrows at him.
“Go sit over there,” Valamir hissed.
I slid out of the booth and moved to the other side.
“Not my fault,” I replied. “It’s dark as fuck here.”
“That is the point of the place,” Valamir replied.
“So you don’t see the worms wriggling out of your meat?”
“If you’ll notice, the lighting is adequate to see what you are consuming, Duke of Coggeshall.”
“Well you can’t see where you’re sitting, High Prince of Glaton.”
“How was your meeting?”
“Better than this one.”
“Rather a low bar at the moment.”
“It was interesting. They’re very careful to frame whatever they’re doing as being something that is for the greater good, and something that we won’t see. Or, um, benefit from, I guess. That’s a better way to phrase it.”
