From: Joerg Baumgartner (joe@toppoint.de)
Date: Wed 10 Jul 1996 - 07:56:00 EEST
(The following story sets off one night in Karse in late Fire Season 1595.)
I woke up with a start.
"Oh no, not some nightwork again!"
My head still was dizzy from last night's pleasures. As usual in my nights
off, I just had dropped out of the workshop's backdoor and entered the
neighbouring backdoor, traditionally reserved for those who come for
entertainment and education, or to fulfil their duties as craftspersons. As
far as I was concerned, whichever door I used, Margala's girls always were
adept at providing their services in exchange for mine.
Take that dirty grin off your face. No, keep it there, these things happened
once or twice, too... but that's a different story.
My services were, of course, those of my craft as a jeweller. The simple
fact that uncle Brin had not thrown me out in my four years of
apprenticehood should be sufficient proof that my skills as a jeweller were
good. I do have an eye for quality gems, a good hand at replicas, and a
light touch at modifying pieces of jewelry past easy recognition. This was
due in part to some natural talent I seem to share with my uncle, but also
his expert if a bit harsh lessons, and many hours of real work, to finance
my other nights off. Well, you can hardly spend your adolescence in Karse in
the house next to Margala's and not be drawn into its glamorous world.
Margala and her girls were good customers of mine (and of Brin's), anyway,
and it helped our business a lot to know just which trinket would be perfect
on which girl.
Now imagine a lad of thirteen, freshly arrived from his grandfather's house
outside of Seapolis, exposed to all these deliciously scanty-clad beauties
of Margala's Temple of Love. Naturally I was curious about them, and my
sleeping-pad below the roof offered me a good opportunity for some daring
glimpses on the proceedings next door. Up the loft ladder, upon the roof,
and down into Margala's loft soon became a known routine, for all its daring
on an ofttime slippery roof. I would have had proceeded further had I found
a notion to move the heavy lid upon the stairway leading up from Margala's
chambers of sweet promise. However, there were a few knotholes allowing me
to view small pieces of reality below me, and most attractive pieces they
were. So attractive that one night I failed to notice the arrival of Young
Hereward, at that time still a junior Mocker and frequent guest of one of
Margala's girls. He had come the Mockers' Highway, just as I had, though
over a longer distance, and now wanted to find out about the unlicensed
competition he suspected in me.
The Mockers, as our local ring of Lanbrili thieves and consorts are called,
are as tough a bunch of cutpurses and even cutthroats as you will find in
Kethaela. Being in constant competition with the Jaws of Krarsht who would
take over the trade at once given any chance they were careful to keep the
roofs clear from any intruders, lest they be foul chaos. Sometimes their
members became outright patriots, and on one occasion every lay brother (and
sister) had been alerted for a chaos hunt over roofs and through the sewer.
Most of the dead bodies drifting through the harbour next morning likely
were nothing worse than hired thugs ignorant that they were working for the
Hungry Maw, but one of their leaders escaped by teleporting away, likely a
Tongue or even a Mouth, and another we caught and interrogated definitely
was a Lip. Only three days ride from Larnste's Footprint there was an
endless supply of Krarshti to harrass Karse...
There I was on the roof, interrogated with a knife at my throat. I don't
want to reiterate the details, but I had a hard time convincing Hereward I
did not worship the devouring maw, that I would not enter his business,
sweating blood and more in the process. I think Hereward carried on the
interrogation long after he had been convinced, just for the fun of it. When
he was finished with me, he "promised" to keep an eye on me. As it turned
out, he did, drawing me into the activities of the Mockers.
I never was required to tip off customers of Brin. I did serve as a
letterbox for some time, receiving and passing on strange messages making no
sense to me, at least at first. I remember that when I had learned a bit of
the thieves' cant, I was disappointed at the banality of some of the
messages. Once or twice I was allowed to accompany Hereward, either as a
receiver (of cut purses), or simply as a watchout.
Naturally, when I jumped up from my precious restful sleep, I expected a
grinning Mocker or a lovely girl from Margala's to have knocked on my window
with some thrown pebble, bearing another urgent request for a rework.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I pushed open the shutters and peered out. I
couldn't have slept longer than an hour or two, yet the city was almost
alight as from bright stars. There wasn't anybody around that I knew, though.
Somewhere down the Baron's Court I saw a shadow within a stable entrance,
hardly discernible from its surroundings. There was, however, a hand on the
doorframe, stretching out the right number of fingers to make me collect my
tools and other gear, sling fasten the silken rope that Argan Argar trader
had charged me such an exorbitant sum to the beam protruding slightly from
the roof construction next to my window, and slide down. I had left my room
this way more often than I can recall, usually returning through Margala's
estate and the loft trapdoors. I could have left through Margala's, too, but
my friends from the Ring were too impatient to wait for the multiple
goodbyes I had to spread on that way. A pity... So I slung the scarf holding
a set of the tools of my trade around my waste, fastened the sword belt with
the twin pair of Rhigosite sabres over that, and grabbed a sea sack with
those implements too bulky to wear on my person. Heck, if they'd just give
me the pieces and let me work them over in a silent minute in the workshop,
the results would be better, but often enough the guys seemed to get burnt
fingers from their untreated treasures. For a finishing touch I added a
fancy hat and a foppish cloak, the kind currently en vogue in Nochet, and
relying on my work gloves I slid down the rope, then untwisted it and stowed
it away. Sliding aside a few steps, I left the shadow of Brin's workshop,
motioned as if to fasten my trews, and staggered merrily over from Margala's
to Jason's Arms. There still were a few sleepy retainers keeping company
with their masters' steeds in the open stable annex of Joshua's, but as
usual the saddle blankets hanging from the beams obscured my descent, and
after a short glance whether they had to leave with their master they nodded
off again.
------------------------------
End of Glorantha Digest V3 #25
******************************
RuneQuest is a trademark of Avalon Hill, and Glorantha is a trademark
of Chaosium. With the exception of previously copyrighted material,
unless specified otherwise all text in this digest is copyright by the
author or authors, with rights granted to copy for personal use, to
excerpt in reviews and replies, and to archive unchanged for
electronic retrieval.
Send electronic mail to Majordomo@hops.wharton.upenn.edu with "help"
in the body of the message for subscription information on this and
other mailing lists.
WWW material at http://hops.wharton.upenn.edu/~loren/rolegame.html
This archive was generated by hypermail 2.1.7 : Fri 13 Jun 2003 - 16:51:25 EEST