Once I had accepted the end of my time as leader, I made the mistake of going into Jenny’s room. I just wanted to say goodbye to what could have been. I’m human, I have regrets. Even though I never really got to be with her, except in medical terms, I would still miss her.
And also, who knew what I might find lying about?
What I found was a very neat and tidy room, bed perfectly made and even some flowers in a vase. And an envelope on the bedside cabinet. With my name on it.
I opened it, of course. Mistake right there.
Kizwat. Hammer and Tong Hostel.
There was no other message, no explanation. She wanted me to know how to find Kizwat, if I had reason to. And as it happened…
The Hammer and Tong was a lot nicer than our inn. A small fountain in the courtyard; rose covered trestles against the walls; a guy playing flute as the guests picked from an extensive breakfast buffet.
Since Kizwat was staying here I couldn’t imagine it was very expensive, but the guests all gave off a similar vibe. From their clothes and their general demeanour I guessed they were all tradesmen or travelling merchants. People who knew how to find good deal.
I bumped into Kizwat by the sweet dumplings and told him what I wanted to do, he agreed immediately. So, a little while later, we pitched up at the Sheaf, prepared for the difficult task ahead of us. And by prepared, I mean totally unprepared. And by difficult, I mean suicidal.
“Yes, how can I help?” The same oily man as before sat behind his desk in the foyer. The smarmy look on his face fell away as he recognised me and Kizwat. “Oh… it’s you.”
“Yes, it is,” I said aggressively, although it’s hard to be threatening when you’re agreeing with someone. “I’d like to see the Guildmaster for the Blacksmith’s Guild.”
“Alright, let me just…” He bent down to get out the appropriate appointment book.
“No,” I said, “I don’t want to make an appointment. I want to see him now. All you have to do is tell me if he’s here. And if he isn’t, who’s next in charge?”
“Ah, well, I’m afraid that isn’t how—”
I took out a dagger and delicately picked at my fingernails, which was both awkward and slightly painful. But it did give the receptionist pause for thought.
“Is he in or not? A simple yes or no will do.”
The receptionist blinked rapidly, paying close attention to the dagger. “Yes. Yes, I believe he is.”
“You believe he is or he is? You weren’t too reliable last time we met, so you’ll understand why I’d like you to be specific.” I placed the tip of the dagger on his desk, where it immediately sank half-an-inch into the previously unblemished surface. “I killed a Mouse King once, you know. He wasn’t half as slippery as you.”
Yes, I was bigging myself up. Throwing my weight around. Giving it large. All the things I usually went out of my way to avoid. Today, I wanted to attract attention. Why not? You should try everything once, except for incest and morris dancing.
“That, ah, that was a misunderstanding, sir. No offence meant.” His smile had turned into a fixed grimace. The blinking-rate shot up. “The Guildmaster came in earlier. I signed-him in myself.”
It was quite liberating to act the bully and watch people cower before me. I could see the appeal—as long as they didn’t call my bluff.
“No problem,” I said, like I was letting him off the hook. “Now, inform them that I’m here and waiting. My name’s Colin. You never know, the Guildmaster might actually want to see me. All you need to do is your job. Properly.”
“Ah, yes. Of course.” He hit the bell on his desk and before it finished dinging, a boy appeared at his elbow. The receptionist handed over a quickly scrawled note and sent him running off. “We should have a reply in a few moments. You can wait over—”
“I’m fine here, thanks.” I remained standing right in front of him. What a dick. Bully Boy Colin, gimme your lunch money.
It took about five minutes for us to get a response, and it wasn’t in written form. Patrick Swayze and the Road House crew came up the stairs, all swagger and sleeveless shirts. Their magnificently coiffured leader stood in front of me with his arms crossed.
“You’re not going to start nagging me again, are you?” I said.
“I. Do. Not. Nag.” He was very emphatic on this point.
I looked past him at his men. They all made sure to avoid any head movements. “If you say so. We’re here to see your Guildmaster.”
“Yes. He wants to see you, also. Alone.” He glared at Kizwat.
KIzwat glared back. “Don’t think you can push me around, Ajay. I’m no longer unable to fight back.” He made a fist with his right hand and punched his left palm. The testosterone in the air increased exponentially. My fake hard man act looked pretty puny by comparison.
The sight of Kizwat rehabilitated arm shocked the men, who most likely had been involved in crippling him in the first place.
“Your arm… how?” Lion-O, whose name was Ajay, leaned forward, staring intensely at the arm.
“Where I come from,” I said, “we’re good at fixing things. And breaking them, too. Hold out your hand and I’ll demonstrate.” I did my best to keep my voice casual and nonchalant, even though my natural inclination was to look for the first gap in the wall of muscle in front of me, and make a run for it.
Ajay, my bouffanted friend, uncrossed his arms and put his hands behind his back. The miraculous transformation of Kizwat’s arm seemed to have a profound effect on how he viewed me.
“I suppose he can come with you,” said Ajay. “He won’t be able to go in with you to see the Guildmaster, though.”
“Yes, well, we’ll see about that when we get there. Lead the way.”
We could have made our own way to the guild office—Kizwat had been there many times and knew where to go—but I had no interest in sneaking around and turning up unannounced. Fine if we were doing a stealth mission, but this was more of a direct assault. Riskier, but less tedious.
To be honest, I’ve always disliked those games where you have to hide behind desks and peek around corners, waiting for the security guard to look the other way so you can creep to the next hiding spot. Thrilling.
This plan was all about fronting. Why would anyone be so brazen if they didn’t have something up their sleeve? And every time someone questioned one of my ridiculous claims, the only play was to double-down and make an even more ridiculous one.
You’re probably thinking the chances of this working weren’t good. But you never know, maybe I did have something up my sleeve.
Of course, one punch to the face and it’d all be over.
We went down six floors. It was early, so there weren’t that many people about. Some were neatly dressed, carrying files. Others, like our escorts, looked like enforcers for the Mafia. With so many guilds in one place, there was bound to be some argy-bargy. I wondered if there were any rival guilds I could get on my side if things went south and the blacksmiths refused to play ball.
Tunnels led away in all direction. Unlike the ones made by trolls, these had smooth walls and polished floors. The Blacksmith’s Guild offices were behind a large door at the end of a corridor.
A sign on the wall said:
Dargot Blacksmith’s Guild