Prologue: A Curious Folk

Rolling green pastures and patches of red-soil nestled together under a clear robin’s egg sky. A swarm of yellow finches sang over each other, arguing over the best branches of an alder tree. A pair of snails, each the size of a small cat, trudged past the base of the large tree and squeezed into a convenient gopher hole. On the crest of the closest pasture, a kelick farmer, wearing a straw hat and wielding a rusty scythe, huffed and began slicing down the field of rye. Kelicks, sometimes called halflings, were a curious folk. Not in the sense that they themselves were particularly curious, but that others were curious about them. Kelicks couldn’t care less about what others thought of them. All they cared for was that their realm, Bramson, was fertile and peaceful. 

Usually no taller than a ten-year-old child, kelicks weren’t considered dangerous. Their ears were slightly pointed, an evolutionary trait that allowed them to hear twigs snap miles away. Kelicks used this mostly to eavesdrop on neighbours' shameless gossip, whose propagators evidently wanted the eavesdroppers to hear. Despite this rampant babble, kelicks got along with each other well and the few exceptions were solved with a night of rambunctious drinking.

Kelicks cared for the health of their realm above anything so none of the animals felt any need to flee upon hearing the farmer, including a small, one-eared brown rabbit hopping through a holly bush. It watched as the kelick farmer finished cutting down the row, stretched, and proceeded down the adjacent row in the opposite direction. The rabbit twitched at the sight of the large blade cleanly slicing through rye stalks like they were butter.

1

Wheeling and Dealing

Minka paused at a window of her hillside hovel to look out over her hometown of Belnork. At times, it could be quite beautiful, but nobody went there for the ocean views or rustic inns. They went to Belnork to buy and sell. Since its beginnings, Belnork’s denizens had focused solely on commerce. A perpetual cluster of nautical vehicles crowded Belnork’s ports. To an outsider, of which there were many, the ports would seem like utter madness, while in reality they were compulsively organised by a legion of well-paid and well-bribed port authorities.

Exports and imports ranged from anything and everything, foreign and domestic, alive and inanimate, edible and poisonous, magical and mundane, and so on. Belnork’s fame as a mercantile haven brought entrepreneurs from all parts of the continent. Even enemies of the state were tolerated if they came on business.

Minka put on her baggy trench coat, which helped hide her from aggressive suitors. More importantly, it held Minka’s livelihood. Grunge lay inside every inch of the lining and in a multitude of inner pockets. Grunge, or Bramsony, Shuttle-weed, Wolicky, whatever one wanted to call it, was a highly addictive leaf that most of the continent put in their pipes and smoked. Minka made a good living selling it on the streets of Belnork. Whenever her stash ran dry, she would visit her connection, Visilio, who would sell her piles. Minka had been doing this for the past three years and produced an impressionable revenue stream for Visilio’s budding grunge-ring. Visilio kept telling Minka to hire help, but she managed the surplus on her own just fine. 

Selling grunge wasn’t really that difficult, just dangerous, especially for a young woman like Minka. Stunningly gorgeous is often not a helpful trait for a drug-dealer. Minka made the words ‘stunningly gorgeous’ seem unimaginative. When she wasn’t covering herself from head to toe in rags, men and women would stare overtly in awe at her olive skin, full-bosomed figure, and cascading brown hair. It made sense, her parents both were quite cumly, and her mother theorised that her grandmother had slept with an elf.

Minka was clever enough to see that following in her family’s footsteps of fishing would lead nowhere, and she was too proud to marry a rich old nobleman. Two of her sisters had already done that and disappeared completely. Marrying a rich older man only worked if his friends didn’t know that you were the daughter of poor fisherfolk. Minka didn’t want to abandon her family, who ironically turned the cold shoulder on her when they discovered her new choice of career. Yet they still begrudgingly accepted the ‘anonymous’ donations that Minka dropped off regularly.

Minka donned a large straw hat and examined herself in the mirror. Perfect. A beggar. She set out from her tiny hovel and descended into Belnork’s tightly packed streets. 

On this dreary autumn day, provender merchants flooded the city centre, rushing around to get their share of a large influx of root vegetables from Northern Bramson, a universal delicacy. Minka moved quickly down a side street to avoid a strolling patrol of coppers. Grunge was illegal, punishable by many years in prison and, depending on the amount, sometimes a cut-off hand.

It seemed like half of Milakia, the country of which Belnork was the capital, was out on the streets today. Minka slunk through the crowd, careful to not draw any attention to herself. She spotted a fidgety, wiry man teetering on the steps of a tavern. Minka sidled up to him. 

Bramsony? Minka muttered, nonchalantly picking at her teeth. The man tried his best not to look at the owner of the pretty voice and nodded.

Thirty five for a dollop.

Two.

Minka produced a wooden cup which had ‘alms’ written on it. The man threw a stack of coins into the cup and two small paper-wrapped sacs dropped into his open hand. He quickly hid them, glancing around for coppers.

My ten back?

But Minka was already gone.

That night, farther inland, in the richest neighbourhood of Belnork, affluent aristocrats and wealthy merchants flocked in through the front gate of Mayor Wold's estate to pay homage to his wife, Jezebel, on her birthday.

Wold’s giant mansion protruded from a spacious property, full of gardens, pools, outdoor lounges, bars, gazebos, and caged animals. A towering wall usually shielded this slice of paradise from jealous neighbours, however tonight many of them were inside the walls, taking notes, chuckling fakely, and picking sparingly at decadent buffets. Waiters glided around, filling glasses with spiced mead and wine. A few mages wandered discreetly around making sure floating balls of light remained at the acceptable height and luminosity. 

Jezebel Wold, laden with crystals and satin, flitted around the party, desperately searching for her husband. It was almost time for the cake and she would be damned if her husband didn’t make a speech.

Have you seen my husband? she inquired impatiently to a group of elegantly dressed courtiers. They shook their heads. Jezebel pulled up her dress, exposing plump sun-starved ankles, as she heaved up the steps of a shadowy gazebo. Nobody.

Where is the bastard? growled the mayor’s wife to herself.

In the master bedroom of Mayor Wold’s house, Mayor Wold huffed in a lungful of shuttle-weed, melting into his king-sized bed. A pile of the brownish-red leaf lay at his feet. Lying close, Minka watched Mayor Wold’s pupils dilate as the grunge took effect. He passed the pipe to her. Minka inhaled twice as much as him and felt it half as much.

It really wouldn’t have been such a celebration without a visit from you, purred the Mayor as he twiddled with the shoulder strap of Minka’s form fitting silk dress. She smiled demurely and gently moved his hand away.

My money, James.

Is that all you ever think about? Wold said through another puff.

Most people do.

Please, stay, I absolutely abhor parties, especially ones for my wife.

Minka pushed herself off the bed and began collecting the pile of grunge back into a leather bag on the floor.

Wait, wait!

He reached into his night stand and produced a stack of bills, tossing it to Minka who deftly caught it. Now, will you stay?

Is it not the celebration of your wife’s day of birth?

That crow is going to make me give a speech…

Poor you.

James reached once more into his night stand and produced an equally-sized stack and tossed it to Minka. He grinned and pulled his trousers down.

I’m not a prostitute.

Everybody’s a prostitute. I’m a prostitute for the right amount.

Minka rolled her eyes, crossing her arms sternly. The mayor was actually quite handsome, despite being totally daft. Having a special friend in high places wasn’t the worst idea. Plus, Minka had a thing for bedding married men.

Triple.

The Mayor scrambled to get another stack. Before long the two were entangled in sweaty heaving. Then Jezebel burst in like a rouge firecracker.

I’m going to kill you! she screeched, lunging at the Mayor, on my birthday!? You're a dead man! 

James Wold