Chapter 9 Slipping #3
He read the letter a second and then a third time, and felt more anger rising inside of him.
Before he could read the note a fourth time and shove it down the smugly grinning mouth of the orderkeeper in front of him, he put it down on his desk, deliberately pressing it down with his right hand until the wood creaked.
With his left arm barely usable and his right hand occupied, the chances of Roderic walking out with an unbroken nose seemed best.
“That’s not fair! I have done nothing wrong! I paid my fee, if this is still about the healer thing!”
His protest sounded weak and child-like to his own ears, and the official in front of him seemed unfazed as well.
“You call possession of illegal alchemical substances nothing?”
He pulled out a familiar-looking vial with dark stains at the bottom.
“Don’t deny it. I even found the empty vessel right up there, in a corner of the clockwork room where you had used it.
Which, by the way, you were not allowed to enter anyway, but let’s not be petty.
If you ask me, Mrs. Quenning was more than generous to just throw you out of the guild.
I had suggested a more serious punishment. But alas…”
This was getting scary. Roderic not only knew the contents of the note, he also appeared to possess extensive knowledge of Kraghtol’s doings.
“Oh, fey’s breath! Why?! Can you at least tell me what you have against me? Why are you so eager to destroy my life? Or is it just because you’re an asshole?”
He really shouldn’t have said the last thing, but it took every last ounce of self-control not to put the supposed blood-concealing properties of the orderkeepers’ coats to the test. At least, the grin on the other man’s face faded.
“This is your first and final warning, Mr. Wulfspar. Any further insult against a Fist of the Guilds and you will wish you had never left your precious Mistpine. To answer your question, however, I don’t have anything against you, not in particular.
I protect the law and the legitimate interests of the guilds and society. Protect them from people like you.”
“Like me? Are you implying I’m some kind of criminal? A danger to ‘society’?” Kraghtol spat.
Roderic didn’t even blink.
“Yes, of course,” he said in a dry and dangerous voice.
“I don’t need to imply. You are a criminal, and apparently you can’t help but break the law again and again.
I know your type. Troublemaker. It’s only a matter of time until you make the next mistake.
And then, I’ll be there to rip you out like a rotten tooth.
You should leave Winterstone and go back to your fringe village.
Perhaps you can behave better there, although I doubt even that.
If you ask me, you would have been better off seeking a servitude contract to pay for your fines.
Perhaps your owner would have been able to keep you under control. ”
He was provoking him. Kraghtol knew that, rationally.
Still, every word made his blood boil more and his fists clench harder.
He watched Roderic’s lips twitch at the corner of his mouth.
The orderkeeper was just waiting for him to lose his temper, to explode, and much of the half-orc wanted nothing more than to do exactly that.
Still, the rational part still held on. He wouldn’t give him this satisfaction, not now.
“Thank you for your… opinion, orderkeeper,” Kraghtol said way more coldly than he felt inside. “If that would be all?”
A moment of charged silence passed before the human in the red coat nodded, with an almost disappointed look on his face.
“I will be watching you.”
Only when the orderkeeper was gone did Kraghtol exhale, as if doing so before had posed the risk of igniting the fire within him.
He looked around his room, desperate for anything to destroy, to let out the bottled-up rage that threatened to burn him from the inside, but he couldn’t.
It was not Mrs. Brott’s fault, and he couldn’t demolish her furniture for something she had no part in.
Throwing over his cloak, he fled his room, passing the confused tailor, and ran as soon as he had reached the muddy gray of the street.
It was just starting to rain and, judging by the low-hanging clouds, he would get drenched, but Kraghtol could hardly care less.
His feet carried him to the Park District, just next to the Silver Spires.
Before he had the chance to stop himself, his uninjured right fist flew against a massive oak.
It hurt a lot when his hand connected with the bark, but he didn’t even slow down.
Again and again, he struck the tree, as if he were trying to punch a hole through it.
The rain was pouring now, soaking through the cloak and his clothes, but Kraghtol didn’t care.
Finally, when his fingers were aching, and the rain running down his green fist was reddened with blood, he stopped, slumping down into the mud against the tree.
He wanted to think, wanted to find a way out of this situation, but his mind was empty.
Kraghtol didn’t know how long he sat there and listened to the raindrops hitting his head before he finally got up and returned to his room.
The clock tower told him it was afternoon when he arrived at the street, and when he approached the tailor shop, he wanted to turn around right on the spot and return to his oak.
In front of the building stood a finely clothed figure, holding an expensive-looking umbrella made of blackened goatskin.
He had forgotten about Valir. The noble raised an eyebrow as Kraghtol marched past him and into the building without saying a word, but followed him inside, nonetheless.
Seeing that he had no chance to avoid the encounter, Kraghtol nodded at the stairs going up and went ahead.
“I see you’re treating my cloak with the utmost care,” Valir remarked dryly. “No, keep it for the moment.”
Kraghtol understood too late that Valir had meant to make a joke and had already half-removed the borrowed cloth stained with mud and blood to give it back. The water dripping onto the floor formed a small puddle under him.
“I apologize, Mr. el Greylune,” Kraghtol said flatly, remembering yesterday’s lesson in politeness. That only earned him another eyebrow.
“That formality doesn’t really suit you, Kragh. And I believe there is no reason to start now, after offending me for half a year. Truth be told, I always found it rather refreshing.”
“Fine. Valir then. I suppose you’re here to talk about the loan?”
“Not at all.”
Valir had taken the opportunity to look around Kraghtol’s room, which proved to be a quick endeavor.
“I was hoping to continue the conversation we had back at my house. And, given that I have not seen you for weeks, I wanted to see how you are doing, but that question apparently is moot.”
Kraghtol just nodded, dripping more rainwater onto the ground in the process. Valir sighed.
“I see that talking to you seems to be difficult like this. Alright. I’ll listen instead. What trouble did you get yourself into this time? Mundane money problems again?”
The noble sat down on the only chair in the room and looked at Kraghtol expectantly. The easiest way to get him to leave seemed the truth, so Kraghtol summarized the events of the last days with a hollow voice.
“Curious,” Valir commented after he was finished.
“Curious?! My life is falling apart and the best you can say is ‘curious’?”
Kraghtol was being unfair, and he knew it. There were many people — mainly himself — who could be made responsible for his current situation, but so far, the noble objectively had been nothing but help. That didn’t change the fact that the other man’s calmness infuriated him.
“Yes, curious. Who do you suppose tipped off the orderkeepers?”
Kraghtol blinked, and when he didn’t answer, Valir continued patiently.
“You said he knew a lot about you. Where could he have heard that?”
Kraghtol’s mood dropped a bit more.
“Troll knows. Probably his mother told him. Mrs. Hawke. She found me in the student laboratory last night, and even though she promised — no, wait. I didn’t tell her my name and all that. He could have remembered my name from when we first met, but not…”
Kraghtol’s curiosity was kindled. How did Roderic Hawke get all that knowledge? Suddenly, he got a bad feeling and went to his desk, almost shoving Valir out of the way. He opened the drawer and snorted.
“That bastard! He broke into my room! I wrote letters to my father and kept them here, and now they’re gone. I knew I hadn’t forgotten to close the door yesterday!”
“You’re not very good at keeping secrets, are you?”
Valir’s velvet voice was filled with slight, amused mockery.
“But at least now you know Mrs. Hawke didn’t sell you out.”
Kraghtol found himself agreeing.
“…because by the time she knew, Roderic was already here to steal my letters. And went to the dean first thing in the morning. That asshole.”
Valir nodded noncommittally.
“In any case, and for what it’s worth, I am truly sorry you got expelled. You told me what being an alchemist means to you, that it was your dream. I… I would help you if I could. But I don’t think I can.”
That seemed to be a common theme lately, but the sentiment coming from Valir still surprised Kraghtol. This time, he looked directly at the noble, who seemed to blush from his own sudden display of compassion and continued quickly to bridge the silence.
“You asked me what it was that I wanted to do instead of this education. It’s silly, but I thought a lot about the encounter that evening, and I’ve come to a surprising realization. If anyone I know would understand, it’s you. And yes, that really says a lot about my friends.”
“You don’t know me,” said Kraghtol. “You don’t even know my face. Nobody in this fey-cursed city does. Well, knew. Now you do.”
“Perhaps. Believe it or not, most of my acquaintances are even more superficial than that. What I have seen until now intrigues me, however. As for your face… I think it suits you. It’s exotic.
And perhaps a good way to get to know you better is a bit of honesty on my side.
After all, I feel that, even though involuntarily, you bared a rather big secret to me, and I have not reciprocated. ”
“You don’t need to. You’re not in my debt. It’s the other way around,” Kraghtol said. His mind readily continued, ‘which, by the way, I now can never pay off.’ He didn’t say that out loud.
“Be that as it may. I want to.”
He took a deep breath.
“So if I were free to choose my destiny, I would decide on being a bard. You may now commence mocking me for it.”
“A bard? You mean like a singer?” Kraghtol didn’t really know how to react. But the sudden revelation did at the very least distract him from his own problems for a moment.
“I can see that. You’ve got the voice for it,” he admitted. “And I think you’d be an excellent performer, too. But being a bard is not exactly a prestigious profession, is it?”
“No, it’s not. And that’s why it’s a silly dream.
Oh, sure, I could write poetry, or I could sing as a hobby, but it’s not the real thing.
To perform risqué songs in front of two dozen drunk tavern patrons?
Absolutely unthinkable for someone of my status.
My father would have none of that. And yet, yes, that’s my dream. ”
It came unexpectedly, but Kraghtol felt pity for the noble.
“I… understand,” he whispered. “Listen, I’m pretty sure you are romanticizing the matter considerably, but with all the trollshit that happened to me in the last weeks… I can relate.”
And then, suddenly, there was a fire inside him. Not the red-hot flames of rage he was so familiar with, but a different spark. A determination he had never experienced like that before, and he raised his voice.
“Why do we let them do that to us? It’s always someone else deciding for us, keeping us from being who we really want to be.
Your father, that bloodjacket… It’s all the same.
I don’t know about you, but I…” he took a breath.
“I’m tired of being kept from my dream like this.
It just seems unfair. I don’t think… No, I refuse to think that it has to be that way.
Right now, I just want to be free, and myself. ”
Coldfire silence filled the room, and Kraghtol realized he had perhaps spoken just a little too loudly. But he had meant every word he had said.
“And what are you going to do about it? I mean, you can hardly fight all the orderkeepers at once.”
Valir’s voice was cautious yet curious. Kraghtol shrugged and immediately regretted the movement.
“I don’t know. Nothing violent. Believe it or not, I’m tired of all the violence. But I know what I will not do. I am not giving up on my dreams, just because one red-coated asshole wants me to. I will find a way. No one can stop me from becoming an alchemist. What about you?”
Valir squirmed.
“I… I find that admirable. I really do. You don’t cease to amaze me, Kragh. Perhaps Mrs. Hawke has an idea that could help you?”
That sentence confused Kraghtol until he remembered! The dinner invitation! To be on time, he would have to hurry. He noticed Valir had dodged his question, but didn’t press on. He was hardly in a position to hand out life advice.
“Right!” He had half put on the cloak again when he stopped.
“Thank you, Valir. I don’t know what you did, but thank you, nevertheless.”
He hesitated but gave in to the impulse.
“Perhaps you would like to come with me. I’m sure Mrs. Hawke won’t mind.”