Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

He stayed like that until dawn.

When Goda knocked to tell him a messenger had arrived with a letter from Gandogar, he was still debating with himself, and wrestling with his emotions. The night had made him no wiser.

Girdlegard,

Queendom of Weyurn,

Early Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

T he Curiosum had struck camp overnight. The brightly colored wagons had left Mifurdania at dawn without having put on a single performance. Now they were making their way westwards.

A ragged hunchbacked beggar in a big floppy hat on his greasy hair was searching for something to eat amongst the remains of the cooking fire and the rubbish left behind.

Not finding anything to his taste, he headed toward the town and the fish market. He sat himself on a barrel with a good view of the newly laid-out port and stretched out a hopeful hand whenever anyone passed by. “Please can you spare a coin for a starving man,” he coughed plaintively.

Nobody knowing Rodario would have suspected that the impresario’s refined features were concealed under the filth covering the beggar’s face. The actor had delved deep into his stage make-up box for the wherewithal of disfigurement. This included putting an ugly scar on the left cheek, applying stains to his teeth and giving himself a full shave. His beard had gone, much admired though it had always been: a painful sacrifice for the sake of his mission.

Tassia and the others had been taken aback when he summoned them in the middle of the night to tell them what he intended to do: there was a sensitive and dangerous task to be carried out, investigating the recent occurrences in Mifurdania. He placed the running of the Curiosum into the hands of his blond muse, not knowing how long he would need to fathom out the Furgas mystery. Tassia had accepted the promotion with a charming smile and had gone on in the intervening hours to make it almost impossible for him to leave.

“Give me a little something,” Rodario begged a rich merchant, who spat at him and went on his way. “No, that’s not what I meant. Your snot will buy me nothing. Give me a coin,” he called out after the man, earning a few laughs in the process.

The morning passed by. The sun rose high overhead and then sank toward the horizon.

Rodario stuck it out bravely in his chosen place of duty. He warded off importunate flies, annoying urchins and a tradesman who disputed his right to the barrel. Altogether his modest takings for the day were enough to get him a piece of bread and a cup of plonk. You could put up with poverty better like that.

The waiting continued.

Twilight arrived. Then he noticed the barge the archer-woman had used. The load line on its hull was now well above the surface of the water. So it was traveling to town empty.

Rodario made for the port and lay down between a couple of heaps of coiled rope opposite the freight quay. He looked like a beggar who had found a corner for the night. Nobody would be suspicious.

It wasn’t until darkness fell that the brown-haired woman appeared, wearing a black mantle over her shoulders. Beneath it Rodario espied a dark, tight-laced dress and a dagger as long as a man’s forearm hanging from her belt She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

She walked over the deck, jumped elegantly onto the quayside, put finger and thumb into her mouth and issued a deafeningly shrill whistle.

Near to where Rodario lay a warehouse gate opened; light cascaded onto the cobblestones and a man dressed in a brownish robe came out. He wore a hat, and the chain around his neck marked him out as a member of the merchant’s guild. “Kea! Back so soon?” He was about to go over to her when he caught sight of the apparently sleeping form of the beggar. “Oi! Scum!”

Rodario did not move, hoping to be left in peace, but he was kicked in the side, and cowered in a heap, groaning.

“Up with you, you tramp. Sleep it off somewhere else.” The man leaned down and punched him on the back of the neck. “Can’t you hear? I’ll get a knife to help you.”

Rodario could hardly not react to that threat. He struggled up, drunkenly protesting and slouched off along the warehouse wall to turn into the narrow space between this building and its neighbor. He had to force himself into the gap.

“You may have driven me off but you haven’t got rid of me,” he murmured. Making use of the slits between the wooden boards he climbed up onto the roof, hoping to overhear their exchange from above.

He worked his way forward to a ventilation cover, which he managed to open and then slip quietly inside.

He landed in the dark on something soft that gave a bit under his weight. The smell and slight crunch told him it must be sacks of corn. The store was stuffed up to the roof with it, as if Mifurdania were planning for a famine or a siege.

Rodario wormed his way across and stopped where he could see a shimmer of light, pressing his face to the slight gap to see what was happening. He had missed the beginning of their conversation.

“And how much would that be, Deifrich?” the woman called Kea was asking, as she leaned against one of the roof posts.

The man pointed round the warehouse, which was bare except for a few loose grains of corn and some dirt. “One hundred sacks? Look around you, Kea. There’s hardly any grain in the whole town.”

She gave a false smile-gain Rodario felt he knew her from somewhere. “Only because you have bought it all up, Deifrich. To force the price up.”

“Me?” he said indignantly. Even a fool would have seen through the exaggeration.

Kea looked up, taking out her dagger and holding it point upwards. “Suppose I were to go up there, what do you think I would find?”

“Not much,” Deifrich lied with a grin, not attempting to look particularly convincing. “Let’s say ten Weyurn coins. For each sack.”

Kea gave an ugly laugh. “You despicable cut-throat,” she said with a threatening undertone, lifting her index finger. “I’ll give you one coin.”

Deifrich wiped his chin with his sleeve. “No, Kea. I know you have enough. So you will pay.” To be on the safe side he put his hand on the handle of the short sword that he carried at his back on a belt.

Perhaps this was an agreed signal. Rodario heard footsteps. Two men approached Deifrich from left and right wearing leather armor and carrying long swords. They had the air of mercenaries or at least former soldiers. Kea did not even look at them.

“All right. Let’s say nine coins per sack,” said Deifrich haughtily. “I can get you the grain by daybreak.” He held his hand out. “But only if I get the gold now. And I won’t mention the other things you buy from me.”

Kea put down her finger. “You have become greedy,” she said quietly. “You are abusing my trust.”

Deifrich shrugged his shoulders. “I am a trader. Where there is a business opportunity I take advantage of it. Nobody gives me anything for free.”

“I understand you all too well. You would never get anything from me, either, without paying for it.” She gave a cautious movement, so as not to give the soldiers cause to step in, fetching a small bag out from under her mantle. She opened the cord tie, put her hand in, fished around and pulled out a coin to give to Deifrich. “One of fifty gold pieces. I do not have any more on me.”

He took the bag, then the proffered coin. “So you will receive five… let’s say six sacks,” he said, biting on the gold to test its worth. A splintering noise was audible. Deifrich yelled out in surprise, spat and collapsed to the ground. He lay convulsed, throwing himself from one side to the other, then finally remained still.

One of his hired soldiers bent over him. “Nothing to be done,” he said calmly and regarded the imitation coin. It had a thin center of lead, surrounded by glass and covered in gold leaf. A clear liquid dripped out of the remains. At first glance it was no different from any real coin. “What sort of poison is that?”