Chapter 3 Welcome to Winterstone #4
“I hear that a lot,” Kraghtol said. “Is there a rule that prevents half-orcs from joining the school?”
As he had expected, this hit a nerve with Mrs. Urdson.
“Well, not technically, no. I do, however, have to admit I’m not quite sure how to proceed in this case. I would have to read the proper rules and ask around.”
Fascination filled Kraghtol. He had fully expected his green skin to be a problem here, but never that it would be for bureaucratic reasons.
“Well, um. I can wait here, no problem.”
Mrs. Urdson laughed a short laugh. It wasn’t completely insincere, but it conveyed well how ridiculous Kraghtol’s idea must have been.
“I’m afraid you underestimate how long it takes to deal with all the formalities. We are talking about hours, if not more.”
Every insecurity had vanished from Mrs. Urdson’s face. Now she was on familiar territory again.
“But worry not. I will record your name and address and send a letter with further proceedings once I have cleared that up. You can find scribes in almost every part of the city to read them to you, then.”
“Thanks, but I can read myself.”
This produced a raised eyebrow on the secretary’s side.
“Really. Oh, of course, you even mentioned your caretaker to be a healer. So, you’re probably his apprentice and got your dispense that way.”
She didn’t inquire any further, and Kraghtol could only nod.
Mrs. Urdson was smart. Or at least well-versed in the laws regulating literacy.
The Scribe’s guild did not allow just anyone to learn how to read and write, but only the few professions who needed it for their daily doing.
Besides scribes and scholars, this also encompassed healers and alchemists.
After describing his current address — which produced another raised eyebrow — it was clear that Kraghtol wouldn’t get any further answers right now.
Thanking the lady at the desk, he left the building with a warm, fluttery feeling in his chest. Now, all he needed to do was wait a bit for the formalities to clear up!
Even though he got back to Calder’s tavern with only minimal detours, Kraghtol was afraid of missing the guild’s messenger, although without reason.
The hours went by agonizingly slowly until the guests poured in later in the evening.
Perhaps the patrons noticed how on edge Kraghtol was, or perhaps they still hadn’t adjusted to the presence of the half-orc.
Whatever the reason, there was not a single incident that night other than Calder disappearing for lengthy amounts of time with some patrons into the back rooms, leaving it to Kraghtol to serve drinks to the remaining guests in the meantime.
When he asked him about it the next morning, Calder just shrugged and mumbled something uncommitted about ‘business talks’.
Nothing more, no details, no comment on Kraghtol running the bar, and the half-orc didn’t ask.
He was preoccupied with his own nervousness, which only grew stronger as the day progressed.
Mrs. Urdson had mentioned it could take hours until he heard from her or even longer, but she didn’t mention how long this ‘even longer’ would be.
When the sun set and the tavern opened, Kraghtol was little more than a nervous wreck. His job demanded little concentration, but it needed Calder to snap him out of his thoughts to notice that some patrons were getting loud and agitated.
He was on his feet in an instant, but when he arrived, the three drunks were already in a brawl. A fist barely missed Kraghtol’s face, and suddenly, he felt his mind clear.
This was familiar territory, and he was almost happy as the despised Orcish instincts took over.
“Hey!” he shouted.
“Stop right now, or you’re out.”
His words carried a growl in them, but nobody paid him any attention, so he grabbed the arm of one of the two men who had just tried to land a hit on his face.
“Did you hear what I said?”
The man, a large human who was a head smaller than Kraghtol, turned towards him and spat.
“Yeah. I heard you, green skin. Mind your own business.”
He slurred his words drunkenly, and the other two laughed.
Red fiery anger rose inside of the half-orc like a tidal wave, and for a moment, Kraghtol could do nothing but stand frozen and fight down the urge to break the drunkard’s bones while the spit ran down his cheek.
He could have easily killed the man with a single hit and, for a moment, he wanted nothing more than that.
To crush the life out of the disrespectful man, to hear his bones breaking, to see the fear in the dying eyes.
He took a deep breath. It was just a drunken man, a single word, a drop of spit. There was no reason for the burning rage inside him. That was not who he wanted to be. With a slow, deliberate gesture, he wiped his face and grabbed the man’s arms, pulling them back.
“I told you to stop. Now get out.”
The tavern patrons looked rough, but Kraghtol found he had little problems forcing the three drunken men out of the door into the cool night air.
He actually felt a sting of pity. They were probably too drunk to even get home safely, and the night was already rather chilly.
As he was just pondering what to do, he saw the faint glow of lantern light reflected in the icy fog near the clock tower.
One of the orderkeeper patrols that never went into the Oldport. Perfect.
“Come on, we’re getting you to the orderkeepers. They will get you home safely.”
Surprisingly enough, this led to a lot more objection from the three drunken men than he expected. But then again, when did drunkards ever make sense? Kraghtol had to use some more force to keep them moving in the right direction and not run away or start another fight.
The orderkeepers were surprised when he approached them with three unruly men in tow. They were a trio of young humans, and the man at their center with a carefully maintained brown mustache seemed to be their leader.
“Good evening, orderkeepers,” Kraghtol said in a carefully controlled, friendly voice.
It didn’t hurt to make a good impression on the city officials, although there was little to fear: The Guild of Peace only employed the most honorable characters as orderkeepers.
Brynna, the elderly orderkeeper of Mistpine, was a good example; even though Kraghtol certainly was what you would call trouble, she always tried to be fair and just.
“What’s going on here?” the leader asked, and Kraghtol smiled at him.
“I’m working at Calder’s tavern over there, and it appears these gentlemen had a bit too much to drink. Could you perhaps get them home safely?”
The drunkard, who had tried to hit him, squirmed in his grip and slurred a few curses, but Kraghtol was holding him too tightly to get free.
“Asshole! Ratting us out to the bloodjackets! You regret that, you —”
The orderkeeper in his official red coat ignored the interjection but looked somewhat interested. “Calder’s tavern? Interesting.”
He exchanged a knowing look with one of his colleagues and raised his lantern right into Kraghtol’s face.
“And you are…”
Kraghtol blinked and tried to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness.
“Kraghtol Wulfspar, healer’s apprentice, currently employed at Calder’s tavern.”
The scrutinizing gaze of the orderkeeper’s gray eyes felt cold, and Kraghtol didn’t like it.
“Well, thank you then, Mr.… Wulfspar. My name is Roderic Hawke. We’ll see that these gentlemen don’t cause any trouble. You may return to your… establishment.”
Kraghtol nodded and was happy to let the orderkeepers take over.
He briefly considered making sure they would really bring the troublemakers home after their cryptic answer, but what else would they do?
Still, as he walked back towards the tavern, he felt muscles relax he didn’t even realize he had tensed.
The rest of the evening went by rather uneventfully, but Kraghtol’s mind had a new thing to focus on besides the missing Guild answer.
Somehow, his encounter with the orderkeepers left him feeling uneasy, and he didn’t understand why.
The mustached man had been a bit rude, but not more than most people who encountered his unusual appearance.
Still, the way the drunkard had reacted had been way too dramatic for the situation.
After the last guests had left the tavern, he asked Calder about it.
“Hey, Calder. I had a weird encounter tonight.”
The other man grunted from his position behind the counter, where he was tidying up for the day.
“Three of the guests had a few too many beers, and I had to throw them out. Then, I brought them to some orderkeepers, but they really didn’t seem happy about it. What do you make of that?”
Calder’s movements stopped. “You did what?”
His voice sounded low and menacing, with a hint of concealed panic.
“I brought them to the orderkeepers. I thought they could help bring them home.”
“And you told them where they came from?”
“Well… yes, of course.”
Suddenly, he had the feeling of having made a terrible mistake, which puzzled him. The orderkeepers were the guardians of order and justice, and things like that were their jobs.
Calder took a deep breath, looking at the door.
“Fuck. You dense green idiot!”
Calder’s harsh words took Kraghtol completely off guard, and he felt the need to defend himself. He knew his employer was a coarse man, but he had never been that rude to Kraghtol.
“What’s wrong? They are drunk. And the orderkeepers will get them home safely. Isn’t that a good thing?”
Calder breathed heavily now, barely controlled anger simmering in his eyes.
“No! Fuck, how can you be so stupid?”
Kraghtol was getting agitated now, too.
“If you don’t tell me what I did wrong, you can’t expect me to do it better next time, and —”
Suddenly, Calder slammed the bottle in his hand onto the counter, and it shattered. Shards of glass flew everywhere, and Kraghtol saw some red drops on the counter where blood was running down from a few cuts in Calder’s hand. The tavern owner was shaking with anger now, and he spat,
“Next time? You really think I will keep you here after you ratted out my patrons to the orderkeepers? Patrons who will gladly tell them about everything they have heard and seen here? Get your shit and get out! Now!”
The words hit Kraghtol like a slap to the face. For a moment, he was speechless. Then his mind started racing.
“But… but… I… I didn’t know. And…”
“I don’t care. I really don’t. I have to clean up this whole mess now before the fucking bloodjackets decide to come knocking, and it’s all because of you.
What do you think the men you handed over to them are going to tell them?
Everything and anything about my business, if it gets their heads out of the gallows.
Or just out of pure spite. Get out already, and never come back! ”
The tavern owner gesticulated wildly with the broken bottle, and drops of blood as red as the orderkeepers’ coats flew everywhere.
It was hard for Kraghtol to think. His brain was still trying to process the situation and his surroundings. He just wanted to help and hadn’t wanted to make anyone’s life more difficult. He had just done what he thought was the right thing. And now…
One look into Calder’s face was enough to tell him he didn’t have a choice.
The other man was furious, and the half-orc didn’t want to make closer acquaintance with the broken bottle in his hand.
With his head hung low, he gathered the few belongings from his room and looked back at the tavern owner one last time before stepping out into the night.
“You should clean and bandage the cuts. It’s going to be nasty if they get infected.”
Calder just answered with a rude gesture, and Kraghtol stepped outside, closing the door behind him. He was surprised to feel tears swell in his eyes and fought them back down. He certainly had not expected to be back on the streets so quickly again. Where should he go now?
He ended up mostly wandering around the narrow and stinking streets of Oldport for hours, kept awake by the ever-turning wheel of his thoughts. Staying in the worst part of the city was risky, but at least here he didn’t have to worry about running into an orderkeeper patrol at night.
It was pure coincidence that he ran into the alchemist’s guild’s messenger on his way back into the central part of the city in the early morning, who handed him the letter penned on fine white paper; the answer of the guild.
As his eyes scanned the few lines, his heart sank to his stomach, heavy as a ball of lead.
It was a rejection without proper reason, coated in official-sounding words and signed by the local guild master.
There was no place at the alchemists’ school for him.