Daisey in the Sunset District, Part 2

Hydlen Scrowl watched Daisey leave the premises from behind a pile of charcoal. He wasn’t hiding from her, he was just on the other side of it. “Nosy little bitch,” he muttered under his breath, as he watched her turn down the street and disappear into the crowds. Who is this woman? What does she want with me? he thought. I need to know.
He would have to find out. Before leaving the warehouse, he walked around, observing his workers. They seemed to be doing at least an adequate job; his discussion with Deevers apparently had them motivated to work hard enough. He nodded to himself, then strode off two blocks down the street to the building that housed the offices of the owner of the warehouse. He hoped his boss was in, and knew who this Dubrow person was.
Trader Jarro Dellen’s office was only a part of the building, but it was prominently located just off the room that functioned as the lobby. It comprised three rooms: a clerk’s office, file room, and Trader Dellen’s personal office. His business was comprised of several different types of businesses, one part of which included the warehouse called Vyrden and Sons, despite the fact that Vyrden’s sons had sold the warehouse to him a decade ago. Scrowl entered the clerk’s office, taking in the well-dressed goblin sitting behind the large wooden desk, the three chairs lined up along the wall for visitors, and the two doors, one of which led to the filing room, the other which led to Dellen’s office.
The Goblin secretary looked up from the papers he was reading. “Can I help you?” he asked. He spoke in a distinct Mekiitagi-influenced accented Imperial. It indicated that he wasn’t from around here, as it implied his home town was in a more Goblin-centric area. The dialect around the Port Karn area tended to be more influenced by Lurkash, the tongue of the Orcs, although the city was cosmopolitan enough to have almost blended it out.
Scrowl immediately felt a little intimidated. He was, after all, going to ask his employer for a favor, and it just hit him that Trader Dellen might not be appreciative of the interruption of his day. He took a deep breath and said, “I would like to talk to Trader Dellen. It’s about a visitor I had today.”
“Take a seat.” The clerk stood up, and knocked softly on the closed door to the trader’s office. He opened it, and popped his head in. Scrowl could hear him saying something, but it was too soft for him to make out.
The Ggoblin turned back to Scrowl, closing the door. “Wait here,” he told him, “take a seat.” He sat back down in his chair, picked up the paper he had been examining, and went back to what he had been doing before Scrowl interrupted him. Scrowl could see him occasionally scratching some notes on the page with his pen.
Scrowl sat quietly, waiting. It didn’t take too terribly long, perhaps a quarter hour. The door to the office opened, and Trader Dellen strode out. He saw Scrowl, and beckoned him inside, closing the door behind his visitor. “Sit,” he said, indicating a chair in front of an expansive desk. The desk was cleared of any work, and only a green leather blotter lay upon the table’s surface.
Trader Jarro Dellen was of medium height and build, human, with darkly tanned skin. A thin moustache and beard circled his mouth, although the rest of his face was shaved. He sat behind the desk, put his elbows on it, and laced his fingers. “What can I do for you, Mr….?”
“Scrowl, sir,” Scrowl said, “Hydlen Scrowl.” He paused, then added, “I am the supervisor at the Vyrden and Sons smithy warehouse.”
“Okay, Mr. Scrowl, what do you want with me?” Dellen replied, eyebrows raised. His expression was one of deliberate patience, and hid any annoyance he might have felt.
“I had a little run-in with a hobbit lady named Daisey Dubrow today. She was asking questions, and I wanted to know what you know about her, if anything.”
Dellen tilted his head to the side. “Questions? What kind of questions?”
“Questions about our workers, how they work, that kind of thing. Made me uncomfortable, and I chased her off.”
“I see.”
“Have you heard of her, sir?”
Dellen sat silent for a moment, thinking about the ramifications of his answer to Scrowl. “Mr. Scrowl, I am indeed aware of Ms. Dubrow.” Scrowl perked up upon hearing this. “She is a well-known…person in this town.”
“Sir,” Scrowl asked, “do you know what she might have wanted?”
“She is a…local hero…of a sort, here in the Sunset District. Some would call her a meddler, depending upon who they are. She calls herself a ‘community organizer’. Whatever that is.”
Scowl wasn’t sure what that really meant. The confusion showed on his face.
The trader noticed it, and added, “She could be a problem, if she thinks she found a problem with you. I think you had better tell me the details of your conversation with her.”
Hydlen Scrowl did his best to recount the entire encounter with Daisey Dubrow.
Twenty minutes later, Scrowl found himself walking back to the warehouse. The interview with Trader Dellen left him a little shaken. Dubrow was a mage, he had found out, and someone who goes around solving “problems”, and all indications showed that he was one of those problems, in her eyes. He was certain she would be back, and would thus start causing problems for him and Trader Dellen’s mercantile organization. He needed some protection, but not the criminal kind. He didn’t want to mess with that kind of person. Besides, she was a mage. He needed someone to protect him that was familiar with mages. And he wasn’t worried about the little hobbit hurting him, at least not physically. He hadn’t broken any laws, and if he had she would just sic the City Guard on him, and she wouldn’t have to do anything to him at all! But she could ruin his reputation, get him fired from his position, and generally make his life miserable.
He needed someone from a mage guild. And he at least had an idea where to start.
The Sentinel Group was a mage guild specializing in protection: not just protection spells, but body guards as well, trained to protect their clients from threats both physical and magical. They were expensive, but Scrowl could afford a few days worth of protection.
He walked into the warehouse, and called over Manny Reede, his senior workman. “Manny, I have some things I need to take care of. You’re in charge until I get back, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Manny replied. It wasn’t the first time he had to act as supervisor, but it wasn’t something that came along very often, either. He was looking forward to it. It was more work, and harder, in a way, but he enjoyed having the extra responsibility, and maybe, just maybe, if he did a good job, he could earn a bonus. “Any special orders, sir?”
“Business as usual, Mr. Reede. Business as usual.” With that, he gathered his short sword from the peg he hung it on, and buckled the belt and scabbard around his waist. For the most part, Port Karn was safe enough to not need it for short trips, but he was traveling across town, and anything could happen. He wanted to be ready, although he hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. He wasn’t the best swordsman in the world, but he also didn’t want to look like an easy mark. Especially since he was going to have to be carrying a large amount of money in order to pay for the bodyguard.
The Sentinel Group’s building was located in the Merchant’s Heath District, over by the citadel. Hydlen Scrowl didn’t know exactly where it was; he had never needed their services before, but he had wandered through the district on several occasions. So he figured he could ask someone once he got there, and find out where the guild house was located.
It was mid afternoon, the sun was out, and few, if any, clouds were in the sky to give any relief from the heat. The streets were crowded with people, horses, and wagons, bustling their way to wherever it was that they were going. He had to navigate around them quite often, and this made the three mile trip take over an hour. It also involved a lot of hills. By the time he got to the Merchant’s Heath District, he was ready for drink. He saw a tavern, the Crow’s Foot, but passed it by, realizing that getting to the guild before they closed for the day took priority.
It took asking four people before he got the directions to the guild house. It was an L-shaped building, most of the way up the south side of the hill that the citadel sat upon. It was three stories of pale green painted brick, with a red tile roof and white trim. A set of brick steps led up to the porch where the main doors were located. Two men lounged on the benches that were on either side of the porch. They looked like they could handle themselves, although neither had weapons drawn. Scrowl figured they were mages, and thus didn’t need weapons. The two men, a Human and a Dwarf, eyed the visitor as he tentatively walked up the steps to the porch.
Hydlen Scrowl looked at the two guards. At least, that is what he assumed they were. They looked it, at least, and that was enough for him. “Hello,” he said.
The two just looked at him, the Dwarf stroking his beard and twisting the hair around his fingers, making little ringlets. The Human pulled out a dagger, and started cleaning under his fingernails.
“Uh, I need to see someone in charge,” he stated, with a hint of a tremor in his voice. After a moment, he added, “To hire a guard.”
The Human looked at the Dwarf, and the Dwarf shrugged. The Human nodded his head toward the doors, and said nothing.
Scrowl hurried between them, opened the door, and went inside.
The room he entered was a lobby, with three sets of three chairs, around a low square coffee table. Along the fourth side of the table, and set back towards the back wall was a desk with a clerk. The name plate read “Schist Stoneweaver”. The red haired Dwarf looked up from a ledger, squinted a bit, and gruffly said, “What can I do for you?”
Scrowl walked over to the desk. It had a low partition along three sides, forming a short wall about chest height. “I need to see about hiring a bodyguard for a while. Who do I see to do that?” Scrowl felt a little uncomfortable around mages. He always had, even though mages were rare and he hadn’t seen very many. But he had heard plenty of stories about what they could do, and their ability to manipulate the forces of the universe in weird ways made him nervous. Unfortunately, he needed them.
Schist looked at him, his head cocked to one side. “That would be me, to start,” he said. “Who are you, and what seems to be your problem?”
He gave his name, then added, “There is a mage that is after me for some reason, and I need a mage that can make sure she doesn’t get to me.”
Schist seemed unimpressed. “This lady mage. What’s her name?”
“Daisey Dubrow, sir.”
The dwarf made notes on a piece of paper. “And she is trying to kill you?” he said, as he looked back up at Hydlen Scrowl.
“I…uh, I don’t know. What her intentions are, that is. She is some busybody who gets up in everyone’s business. She might try to kill me! I don’t know!” He became increasingly distraught as it sunk in that she might mean him harm.
The clerk wrote a few more notes down. “Your address? Where we can contact you.”
Scrowl gave it, and the address for the warehouse where he worked. The Dwarf wrote it all down. “Does this Dubrow person know where you live?”
“I don’t think so,” Scrowl replied. “I never told her!”
“Good. That’s good, Mr. Scrowl. You realize this is going to cost you. We don’t work cheap.”
“Yeah, I know. How much will it cost?”
“It’s 100 royals per day. Plus a fifty percent bonus if it becomes dangerous.”
Scrowl did the math. He could afford the protection for a full eightday, and maybe stretch it to ten if he was careful. And if there was no danger and thus no bonus. If things went sideways, he wouldn’t be able to pay for as long.
“I understand.”
“Excellent, Mr. Scrowl.” Schist opened a drawer, pulling out a piece of paper. A contract. “This is a retention contract, Mr. Scrowl. Read it, and sign it, and date it. It outlines what we will do for you and for what price.” He pushed it toward Scrowl, who took it.
He scanned the words, his hand shaking a little. He skimmed the text, written in a small, neat copperplate, then signed and dated the document with the pen that the clerk held out to him. He managed to put a wavering smile on his face as he passed both the document and the pen back to the clerk.
“Now, I would suggest you go back to your home, and stay there. We will be in contact with you. Expect a visitor in the morning.”
Hydlen Scrowl nodded, saying “Thank you, Mr. Stoneweaver,” turned, and left the building.
The clerk checked his ledger. It showed the schedules of all of the mages of the Sentinel Group. There were two that had openings, and could do the job. He stood, locked his desk, and walked over to the closed door on the left side of the lobby. Beyond that door were the offices, training rooms, meeting rooms, library, and labs of the guild.
His first stop was the office of the head mage of the guild, Baronet Ethil Deckard. The baronet had been born a commoner, the son of a wealthy trader. He had several ancestors who had been mages, and he was lucky enough to follow in their footsteps. In fact, he was one of the more powerful mages, talent-wise. But just being a wealthy mage wasn’t enough, so he purchased his rank in order to be a part of the elite nobility.
The baronet looked up from the book he was reading as Schist walked into his office. “Hi Schist, what’s up?” he asked, closing the book with an audible “thwap!”
“A job, sir. A warehouse supervisor wants protection for a while against some lady. I was going to give it to either Kyrnen or Lariiki. Got a preference?”
“Who is this threatening lady?” Deckard asked.
“Some busybody named,” he looked at his notes, “Daisey Dubrow.”
Baronet Ethil Deckard knew that name. Quite well, actually. She had been a thorn in his side for years. She had cost him quite a bit of money over that time, through her meddling in businesses that he had a hand in. There had been that time when she had stumbled upon that shipment of dreamdust, and turned it over to the City Watch. That had cost him 5000 royals. And the time she had shut down Jasper’s gambling den, which he had been getting a regular cut every week. That had cost him an income of 300 royals a week. And then there was the embarrassing scandal when his friend Malcolm had been caught with that young slave girl. The stink of that had forced him to renounce his friendship, and the business partnership that had gone with it. More money, gone. He had a lifestyle to pay for, gods damn it!
He let none of that show on his face. He leaned back, pretending to think. He knew who he wanted on the job. “Put Lariiki on it.” She was sneakier. He could use that. “And Schist? Keep me informed.”
“Aye, sir,” the clerk replied, as he turned and left the room. He closed the door as he left.
Baronet Ethil Deckard smiled. He might just find a way to take down her majesty the bitch. All the while keeping any hint of illegality or impropriety far from himself. He started to write some messages to people he knew. People who could help him do what he needed done.

Part 3