Chapter 476: The Origins Of Doom (4)

Standing upon a wooden crate in the middle of the market district, a town crier’s apprentice was enthusiastically waving copies of The Reitzlake Times. His energetic voice diligently fought against the clamour of the busy crowd, which fought against the hawking of the merchants, which fought against the groans of the drunkards, which fought against the consternation of the guards. 

All of them lost out to the gulls, who above all else suffered no rivals. 

As the sun rose high overhead, so too did they, circling the tallest rooftops, towers and ships while terrorising those directly underneath. 

Although it might be thought that those in the royal capital were more acutely concerned with the threats of war upon the border, famine in the lowlands or disease from the sewers, a Reitzlake citizen’s foremost concern would always be with the troublemakers in the sky.

With one exception.

“[Barrier].”

As Mirabelle watched an unsuspecting man loudly curse before waving his fist uselessly towards the clouds, she raised a glowing finger.

It wasn’t herself she fretted over, but the parchment bag pressed to her chest, filled to the brim with a colourful assortment of bread, marmalade, cheeses and more.

Although her financial situation wasn’t dire, she needed to be resourceful in order to ensure she could continue earning her keep. 

Her parents would balk at the suggestion her presence was anything but welcome, of course, but Mirabelle was old enough now that she could help in what ways she could. 

As a result, her daily morning ritual consisted of a visit to her favourite stalls to collect everything needed for breakfast, with the only recent difference being that her bag was just a little bit bigger than normal.

After all, it wasn’t only her parents she was feeding. 

It was also a hungry orange cat.

Having now been officially kidnapped, Pudding would need to remain imprisoned in his new home furnished with stuffed toys, pillows, scratching posts and a window he could leave and return through whenever he wished. 

Even so, while it was sufficient, it still wasn’t The Cozy Whisker.

But with a bit of luck, that would change very shortly.

Several days had passed since news of a break-in at the Clairvaux Estate. And no corner of Reitzlake had spared the rumours that had since spread. 

Gossip of the Clairvaux family’s dealings with the Thieves Guild and their purchasing of stolen wine had joined the litany of other daily scandals, ensuring that if anybody wished to trouble a quiet cat shelter on Portside Road, they were now far too busy to do so.

Mirabelle was highly impressed.

The Adventurer’s Guild worked quickly. 

It was certainly far more than what she could have achieved on her own. Her plan had been to deliver any evidence she could find to the guards, but that carried its own risks. By taking the information public, the Adventurer’s Guild ensured that there was little room for House Clairvaux to escape scrutiny.

And so it was with an appreciative smile that Mirabelle left the market district behind, weaving past the busy crowds, the stalls and all the things her modest kitchen didn’t need.

Before long, she was welcomed by the familiar zig-zag of side streets and alleyways in the old town district, where the optimism of merchants was absent and only the cries of the gulls remained. 

… Or so was usually the case.

Clutching her bag of breakfast things, Mirabelle came to a stop.

Before her in a narrow sidestreet, a small group of men slowly came around the corner.

She recognised them at once. 

Although their faces were largely hidden in the dim light of the estate, the manner in which they held themselves was the same. Moreover, even from a distance, the pungency of wine and something else was an odour no maiden was likely to forget.

Sensing footsteps behind her, Mirabelle glanced past her shoulder.

A similarly sized group made their appearance, their matching uniform of mud and crinkled linen highlighted even in the shade … and yet nothing was more prominent than the weapons by their sides.

The hilts of knives and anything that could be easily hidden glinted with a purposeful menace. 

Mirabelle returned her gaze to the larger group before her. 

However, it wasn’t the crude weapons which demanded her attention, nor the expressions ranging between boredom, bemusement and barely held anticipation.

It was Lady Odette, with her knitted brows and flowing golden hair.

This time, there was no hint of a parchment fan. 

It simply wasn’t needed. 

She had no smile she wished to hide.

“You,” she said, her colourful dress clashing with everything around her as she stepped between her hired hands. “You have made me very upset.”

4, 5 and 1.

Mirabelle counted the numbers around her, including a presence so strong that even without a warrior’s intuition, she could feel it.

She chose not to count Lady Odette.

“Good morning,” said Mirabelle with a polite smile. “I’m not certain if I misheard, but I sincerely hope I didn’t accidentally upset you. If I’ve said anything untowards, then I meant no disrespect. I’m not familiar with how to speak to nobility.” 

“No. But you seem to be familiar with how to burgle them. Tell me, did you enjoy your little stint through my home? Was the decoration to your liking?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not aware of what you’re referring to.”

“I’m referring to the ledger you stole. And all the endless levels of the hells you’ve now caused me to experience. It’s been three days since you left a hole in my window, and aside from the mess that made, you’ve now ensured my name is in the gutters. Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?”

“I have no idea what I’ve done,” said Mirabelle, having truly no knowledge of how the Adventurer’s Guild chose to disseminate their information.

Lady Odette stepped forwards.

None of her hired hands went with her.

“You have ruined everything. It has taken my family years to build up what we had. A little empire in this city of rats. And you set upon me the only ones bored enough to chase after each and every one.”

She clicked her tongue, then wore a look of disgust.

“The Adventurer’s Guild,” she said, her voice sharp even as it fell into a hiss. “Those relentlessly bored meddlers. I was to become a receptionist and ensure they never looked our way until that old fraud finally kicked the bucket. To think that you’d send them to us instead.”

“I didn’t discuss your winery in my interview, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“I don’t suggest anything. I know what you did. And you will pay for it. Our winery business was a shining star for all who dared to rise from the slums of the market district. Now there are inspectors from the Royal Treasury helping to clean up the window shards. And I stand to lose everything.”

“If you’re speaking about the rumours, then I’ve no part in them … I do believe, however, that any formal investigation is understandable. To directly fund the Thieves Guild is no harmless affair. They are the heart of criminal enterprising in Reitzlake, including violent robbery and extortion.”

“They are the heart of criminal enterprising everywhere. The Thieves Guild are the wealthiest company in the kingdom, even if they call themselves thieves. We can profit with them or sink into the mire. And your input to decide which wasn’t required.”

“Then I can only apologise for the misunderstanding. I was not involved in the burglary of your home, nor the spreading of any rumours.”

Lady Odette wrinkled her nose.  

“Someone who lies infrequently cannot lie to someone who does it often. It’s no coincidence that the stupid cat went missing, nor the fact you were seen skulking around the corners of my home. Or did you honestly believe that a hat and a coat was enough to hide your identity?”

Mirabelle was shocked.

She thought her disguise was very good. It wasn’t as though she carried her own unique aura that made her instantly recognisable. 

“As I said, I was not–

“I don’t care what you have to say. Only what I can get for you. It’ll take every crown we have to wash these rumours away. And I’m certain your former headmaster won’t want to see his favourite pet student go to waste. I’m told he has more riches in his vault than even the Contzens.”

Mirabelle didn’t know what to say to that.

After all, the truth was that Headmaster Alberic Terschel generally valued his least expensive artifacts over his most prized students, but she really didn’t want people to know that.

Regardless, Lady Odette snapped her fingers.

She had to snap it again before those around her understood what she wanted. They approached with little concern, led by an unsmiling man who resembled every brawler who’d ever graced a tavern.

“Right,” he said with a crack of his neck. “Sorry ‘bout this and all, little lady. Just business. But no need to worry. My lads are good at this. Or at least some of them are. We’ll have you locked up in a tidy cage and good to go in only a moment.”

Mirabelle gave a slight frown as a round of laughter sounded. 

She lowered her bag of purchases to the ground.

“Please do not approach any further.”

“Oh?”

“Based on my judgement, it appears you intend on illegally detaining me. Under common law, I am thus legally permitted to defend myself. If you attempt to cross the boundary I have set or conduct yourselves in a manner which suggests imminent danger to my person, I will be forced to employ non-lethal magic.”

The leader of the men paused. The rest took a step back.

“Oi,” he said, turning to his employer. “She says she can use magic. You didn’t tell us this.”

“She’s barely more than a student. She has no idea how to defend herself.”

“That’s not the point. We thought you just wanted help carrying one of your little friends away. If she’s a mage, that’s worse than if she had a sword. You want our help, you need to pay the mage prices.”

Lady Odette grimaced. 

Her barely contained bristling at the insubordination was far worse than any fury she’d directed towards Mirabelle. 

“You can have half the price,” she snapped. “She’s already given away her gambit. She will only use non-lethal magic. There’s nothing to fear.”

“Yeah? And what’s non-lethal magic?”

“She put a guard to sleep the other night. That is all she can do.”

The leader raised an eyebrow, then wore a hint of a smirk as he turned to his victim.

“Well, half the price it is, then,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry, little lady, but that’s a good amount of crowns to enjoy a nap. If you can help with my insomnia, maybe I’ll even cut you a little–”

“Understood.” Mirabelle raised a palm. “[Arcane Fist].”

Pwoooomph.

All of a sudden, a giant fist of magical energy slammed directly into the man’s face.

He was immediately sent hurtling backwards, his cry barely heard before crashing into the opposing wall to a plume of dust and falling rubble.

A moment of silence filled the air, broken only by a rolling brick.

And then–

“M-My gods … she just took out the Boss!”

“Rextros?! Rextros?!”

“Boss?! Can you hear me?! Are you okay?!”

“He’s … He’s bleeding all over! That’s a huge cut on his face! We need a sister!” 

Mirabelle took a step forward. 

“[Ethereal Armaments].”

Everyone around her froze. Particularly as they witnessed a host of pure white weapons of every shape, size and pointiness but the exact same deadliness appearing around her.

“If you attempt to approach, I will be forced to employ more non-lethal magic.”

“Woman, that is not non-lethal magic!”

Mirabelle raised her palm. The gathered assortment of conjured swords, spears, hammers, axes and maces circled around her, each aimed unerringly towards a different target.

The hired hands ran faster than any magic could possibly reach them.

Even so, they somehow hoisted away their leader even as they fled, efficiently dashing away with the sound of regret echoing within the surrounding alleys–the majority of it from their employer.

“S-Stop! Stop at once! You … You foul knaves! I paid you in advance!”

Scrunching her fists, Lady Odette practically spat as her subordinates made their retreat.

None of them looked back.

The noblewoman let out an incensed huff as she returned her attention to Mirabelle. She clicked her tongue once again, her expression darkening with the look of someone not yet defeated.

“... Fine,” she said, her eyes hardening. “You’re hired.”

Mirabelle’s puzzlement lasted only a moment.

She noticed the shadow only when it stared back.

A masked man, clad head-to-toe in blackened leather, dropped beside Lady Odette from the rooftops without a sound. Twin elven daggers flashed in his hands, each glinting with the telltale signs of powerful enchantments.

Mirabelle raised both palms at once.

A professional.

This was no tavern brawler, but a lightfooted elven warrior with the eyes of an assassin and no words to betray his thoughts. 

With a single step, he launched himself forwards, the daggers glinting even in the shade.  

“Urghghh?!”

… Only for his weapons to crash to the ground along with the rest of him.

Mirabelle blinked at the fallen figure, then at the 18 … no, 19 … maybe 20 tiny knives embedded at the various joints and muscles of his back and legs, utterly immobilising him. 

A moment later, the sound of a walking stick echoed throughout the narrow sidestreet.

Appearing around the corner, Timon Quinsley lackadaisically made his way forwards, his stooped back and limp on full display. 

Even so, his presence was enough.

The sound of spluttering came from both the assassin on the ground, as well as a noblewoman stood rooted to the spot. 

She watched with clear apprehension and utter bewilderment as the guildmaster of the Reitzlake Adventurer’s Guild hobbled past, and yet despite clearly attempting to move her legs, they remained fixed as though buried in sand.

Timon Quinsley paused, nudged his walking stick into the waist of the assassin, then paused before an equally stunned Mirabelle. 

“Ah, if it isn’t the woman of the hour!” said Mr. Quinsley, his smile whisking away his wrinkles. “What a coincidence! I was just hoping to run into you.”

Mirabelle stared.

She only realised then that her conjured weapons had withdrawn with every step the guildmaster had approached, despite the fact she hadn’t commanded them to.

“Really?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“Really. I was going to have a letter drafted, but, well, why waste ink, eh? Headquarters demands I pay for every blot these days. I’m happy to inform you that the recruitment process has concluded. I’m delighted to offer you the position as my newest receptionist. What do you say?”

Mirabelle peeked at the man lying on the ground. She then did the same for a highly distraught looking Lady Odette.

After a moment, she hummed in thought.

“... Can I decide what goes into the communal cauldron?”

“You can, yes.”

She offered a professional smile.

And so everything began.

“Thank you. I wish to accept.”