3

Not so Good Mornings

‘Morning, Ludgar!’ Kathiya yelled, barging her way into the room. She always knew when he had been drinking. She made sure he knew by being as intrusive and noisy as possible. For a thief, she was pretty fucking loud.

‘Nggggh,’ he struggled to answer back.

She threw open the drapes, letting the piercing light of the clear autumn morning enter as politely as a bull does in a pottery store when attacked by an army of wasps.

He dragged the sheets over his head, wrapped in the comfortable darkness, ignoring Kathiya as best he could and praying she would go away. She didn’t and instead made things worse by sitting on the side of the bed.

He kept ignoring her. It went well till a cold wet patch emerged at his head.

‘Gah!’ He threw the sheet aside to see her precariously dangling and water jug above his head. There was no winning here. She was having far more fun than he was and it required far less effort. He gave in and rolled over so his head dangled over the edge of the bed.

‘If we’re going to look for better work, we need you with the image and decorum that people come to expect from a band of famous and well-trained mercenaries.’

Ludgar coughed and threw up on the floor a little. He tried to sit up and was bombarded by the dull thud of his own brain trying to kill itself.

More than anything, he wanted to crawl back into bed and hide away like those strange Saunich monks and their caves that they would sit in for years on end. If the world just suddenly died and he was left with his bed, that would be fine. ‘We’re neither well trained nor are we famous,’ he let out in a low grumble.

‘You are.’

‘Well trained, maybe, but famous? Only among other mercs, maybe. No one else gives a shit. As for us? A thief, a barbarian, some kid with an axe, and something I hazard to call a wizard? Again, neither well trained nor famous.’

‘Maybe not yet, but we have to try to make it look that way. Best way we can do that is heading west.’

She was completely right, and he did want the riches and glory, but any idea seems shit and a waste of time if you’re hungover. It seems like the only good idea is bed and darkness.

‘Here.’ She handed him the jug, and he drank deep. Just water. Cold, flat, boring water, and entirely welcome. He felt better; better enough that he attempted standing. Then he realized that was a mistake and fell back on the bed.

‘What the hell were you drinking last night?’

‘Just some ale. Nothing fancy.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Well, there may have been an Esterheath whisky involved.’

‘... And?’

‘... Some Mismyer spirits.’

‘That explains it.’

He was feeling a lot better. He could finally stand. Kathiya needed to guide him sometimes and stop him walking into walls, but aside from the occasional stop to dry heave and the feeling of nails behind his eyes, he was basically back to normal.

Then he came to the stairs and actually thought he was going to die. Never before has a descending series of steps been such an impassable obstacle, aside from the last time he was hungover. It was a careful descent which took three times longer than it would take for a smart person who doesn’t drink heavily the day before a journey. He made it to the final step and began to feel pleased with himself, before his left leg had enough of this and gave up, making sure his face hit the floor.

‘Good night, boss?’ Caspar sounded to be in a good mood. He felt that was the case for everyone aside from himself.

He looked up to find the rets of his team coalescing around some decrepit table within the musky innards of the cheapest inn he could find. Spauldi’s Spectacular was its name, and it was far from spectacular. But it had beds (sort of) and a roof (mostly) so it was a step above sleeping on the street.

Caspar helped him to his feet where he found Ves'sa looking sharp as a razor, and Sethel who was sitting crossed legged on a chair for some reason.

‘What’s next?’ Ves'sa said, barely.

‘If there’s anything unfinished you need to do, I suggest doing it soon.’

‘So, no war then?’ Kathiya said, helping herself to the stale bread left on the table from breakfast.

‘No. Turns out our gracious king was happy in the company of women, but not so much as to actually get a wife. He’s got a secret heir.’

‘Uncanny! Just like something you’d hear out of the old fables!’ It was easy to get Caspar excited when the nobility was involved. ‘Poets will write stories about him for years.’

‘Propaganda, I assure you.’ Sethel’s eyes opened and stared straight ahead. ‘They knew exactly where this heir was. They just waited for the perfect opportunity to reveal him. Everyone rejoices, bards sing songs, and the chancellors have their perfect little puppet.’

’You’re so negative about everything, Sethel.’

‘I don’t consider myself negative. Just realistic.’

‘Regardless,’ said Ludgar, ‘there’s not going to be a civil war.’

‘I guess that leaves us with only one option then,’ said Kathiya, pulling her hood over her head, hiding that strange mix of black, ginger and white fur.

‘West it is!’ Caspar sounded pleased. It made sense, few people like war in their own kingdom. Although he would have relished the chance to prove himself to some noble lord. ‘I’ve always wanted to go beyond The Broken Sea.’

‘And I’ve heard Versia is a land of such diverse culture,’ Sethel wanted to add.

‘Alright then.’ Ludgar sat down and tried eating breakfast, praying it would stay down. ‘Get your affairs in order. We leave for Versia tomorrow at first light.’

‘Great! Just have to… wait.’ Kathiya turned to Ludgar, dropping a piece of bread which hit the table with a wooden thud. ‘Tomorrow? I thought we had enough money for the week.’

‘Guilds aren’t paying as much. Apparently, we’re an “obsolete business.”’

‘Damn guilds. But there still should at least be enough for a few days. How much did you spend on booze?’

‘Uhh… Gotta go. Many important things to get in order.’ He hurried out the door, suddenly sobering right up. It wasn’t an outright lie, just a bit of truth stretching. He did need to find a caravan that was heading west that could use some guards; if he was going to be travelling, he’d rather not do it on foot.

He looked around at the tall, slanted towers of Orrick, their twisted shells looming in front of the typical grey sky.

He would miss this city. But in truth, he was rather excited. It didn’t need him, so he didn’t need it.

It wasn’t the perfect choice, but it was better than nothing. Maybe things would turn around for them. The land would change. Maybe their luck would as well.

Even so, something rang in the back of his mind. The last thing Brenn and Marsa said to him before they parted ways. They gave him a hug goodbye, and Marsa said, ‘Please be careful, Ludgar. We’ve heard rumours. Something’s wrong, deep in the west. There are tales of lands where avians dare not fly.’

He remembered Brenn stumbling up behind, putting a hand on her shoulder, and saying, ‘Ha! Just rumours. A few birds can’t be fucked flying over all that nothing. The world’s goin’ soft, I tell ya.’

While the provinces deep into Versia were distant enough for this to be of little concern, it did give Ludgar an idea.

He began formulating a plan.