Chapter 39 #2
There were meandering footpaths through the garden.
People strolled down those or lounged on the grass, having pleasant conversations.
There were birds flying around in here, probably glad to escape the winter outside.
Some chirped and sang. The entire place had an aura of calm and contemplation about it.
My home had been nothing at all like this, and it still managed to feel like home.
It didn’t seem like something that would attract filth like Gerzog the Marauder, but I could still sense the bullet nearby, so I picked a path that went in that direction and set out.
I hoped to spot him and follow him to someplace that wasn’t crawling with paladins. I didn’t know much about their attitudes, but they’d been well armed, and surely wouldn’t care for anyone disturbing the peace here.
There were statues scattered throughout the garden, standing on plinths.
The statues were of various races and species, dressed in many different ways.
Some wore next to nothing, while others were in suits of armor or big flowing robes.
I was a little surprised when I saw one statue move and begin speaking like a real person, until I realized that was simply some manner of magical animation.
People would gather around a statue, then it’d come to life and begin telling them a story.
When the stories were over, they would leave some small offering at the base: small coins, scraps of food, crafts, and even a dead mouse.
That one had been left by one of the strange frog race at the foot of a statue of a lizardman, but it had been done so respectfully that surely it hadn’t been meant as an insult.
I wondered if these statues were what those saints had really looked and sounded like before they’d been uplifted to immortality.
There were thousands of saints, but this place only had dozens of statues, so I doubted mine would be represented.
Which was unfortunate, as it would’ve been a treat to see an image of Ketekunan better than a wood carving stuck on a barge hull.
I rounded a corner, and there was a statue shorter than the others.
It looked very similar to the halfling grandmother who’d shoved me in here, and when I checked, sure enough, the brass plaque at the base declared this to be Gwyneth, Saint of Prudence.
No wonder this was her favorite; they could have been sisters.
Wait… Could I have been guided here by a saint, disguised as a mortal? There were stories about that sort of thing happening. Then I laughed at myself, because that was downright silly.
“I was told to say hello… Hello.” The statue didn’t come to life and regale me with tales, so I didn’t really know what else to do.
I knew prudence had something to do with having good judgment and discipline—which I could certainly use—and my saint wasn’t around to ask for help, so she would have to do.
“While I’m here, I could use some help. I’m looking to put things right.
I’ve got good folks counting on me, but I owe favors to evil men.
I’ve made promises which I tried to keep, but I got betrayed by someone I thought to be a friend and wronged by a thieving orc.
If I can’t keep those promises, then decent people—who I’m responsible for—are going to suffer.
The lucky ones will be homeless, and the rest of us will be dead.
As is poor Rufus already, may he rest in peace.
” I had a dark thought that made me chuckle.
“He sure could have used some prudence coming down those stairs! The poor guy… Forgive me, that was probably inappropriate.”
I didn’t know what to leave for an offering and began patting myself down.
I had almost no money left, and the only other things of value on me were rounds of ammunition, element, or enchantments, and it wouldn’t be prudent to give those up, especially while looking for a fight.
Then I found something that might be appropriate.
“I hope this is acceptable,” I told the statue as I placed a single blue and green kwetzel feather on the ground before it.
The statue remained unanimated, but the saint seemed to have a happy expression on her rotund face.
“Good. Then I shall carry on. Please, give my regards to Saint Persistence should you see him in the heavens.”
After I’d wandered for a half an hour, I found myself in the very back corner of the Habitation.
For whatever reason, this part was far less crowded than the rest. The bushes were overgrown.
If they’d been carved into animals before, they were now animal-shaped blobs.
Everywhere else, the grass was carefully cropped to an even length, while in this one part, it was wild and had patches of dirt where nothing grew.
The trees drooped with moss. No birds sang here.
And somehow, it even seemed just a bit colder.
I heard a familiar voice coming from the other side of the bushes.
It was Dathka Walker, and she was talking to somebody.
Crossing the grass, I crept up closer. Strangely enough, she didn’t sound angry or defiant, nor was she begging for mercy. She didn’t sound like a prisoner at all. Her tone was the same as when I’d been talking to Saint Prudence. Dathka was praying to a saint.
I snuck around the corner, one hand on my pistol, the other on my bag of Red, to find her all by herself, sitting at the foot of a statue, alone, unbound, and totally free, with her captor nowhere in sight.
“Well, some fucking rescue this is turning out to be!”