Narratives

     My first time in Rel Mord, grandest city of Nyrond, and I am enslaved by Jack Tenglebad, extravagant trader and embezzler. He said it was 'indenture' until I paid him off for savin' me, but I learned quickly enough the gray line between that and slavery. Besides, I couldn't leave while he still had my family pendant, something I've kept with me since my grandfather died.
     We arrived at dusk. Rel Mord shone in the twilight on the eastern bank of the river, golden highlights reflecting off the royal palace perched on a hill in the city. We poled Jack's water soaked flat half laden with stolen goods away from the eastern city which stood as the golden heart of Nyrond. Instead we slowly made our way towards the western city which hunkered in the shadows of the great fortress.
     A large Rhenee barge cut across our path, causing a range of curses to spew forth from Jack as he guided our flat over the waves. As the barge drifted past an old woman on the back shook her hand at us while casting an evil gaze upon Jack. He spit into the water and guided us down a narrow canal while muttering under his breath, ". . . Damned Rhenee don' know when they'n not bein wanted. . . taken good profits from those us honest traders"
     The docks on the western shore of the Duntide seemed right enough, but as we cut down a side canal things changed immediately. Everything seemed darker, heavier... as if decaying and eating on itself. The buildings were old, ramshackle, leaning over the canal and streets. I think, if they were not leaning and supporting each other, the entire mass would just fall into the river. The water was also sicker in this area, an oily stale scum covered the surface and unnameable debris floated just out of sight.
     We passed a building where some shouts emitted. A man was wandering the streets with a glazed look on his face. He bumped into people, carts, stepped on a starved cat and then just walked off the edge of the road. He didn't even realize he was falling, because his feet continued to walk even as he dropped into the water. He splashed around for a minute, gasping for air as Jack poled the flat closer, chuckling.
     As we reached him, the poor fellow could be seen a few feet below the surface as a faint unmoving outline through the green water. He apparently was wearing something heavy and it was holding him down. Jack poled the body, "Cursed flyin idiots higher than knowin how they doin, shoulda stayed in the hole."
     After a few moments of work with no results and with a small crowd forming on the streetside, Jack cursed again. I believe he was more upset at not being able to loot the poor fellow than anything else. He slapped some cargo on the boat in anger, then turned and glared at me. But his glare slowly changed to a strange smile, one that made my insides twist with fear, reminding me of when he first found me half dead in the Duntide.
     Leering at me he snarled, "damnit why couldn' ya hold da cursed flat steady, now we'ya just add'n that coin ta' the debt ye be owen me."
     He stabbed the pole deep into the river muck and began pushing us up the canal again. Turning yet another corner in the increasing maze of the western city canals we drifted down a small dead end way. Bits of garbage and human refuse floated on top of the stagnant water, creating an oppressive reek that hugged the surface.
     We bumped against the wall, and Jack racked his pole on the side of the flat. He lumbered to a rotten ladder on the wall, tested it with his weight and awkwardly crawled up to the street in a manner more like an overweight dung beetle trying to crawl up a thread. At the top he rested for a moment, panting, and then yelled back at me, "Rope 'er up damnit before she be driftin off! An you be stayin' ere cause a cute leetle prick likes 'o you wouldn' last longer en'a cats ass in a beeg city likes thise one", he winks at me, "withoot the help o yer good fren Jack."
     He bellowed a noxious laugh to himself all the way across the street.
     After looping the rope around some pegs on the pier I found a soft place to lay down, resting my beaten and aching body. I hoped he would never come back.
     My nose had finally adjusted to the smell of the river and I was enjoying counting the stars as they slowly appeared through the evening sky, when I felt something hard bounce off my stomach and splash into the water. Jack bellowed again from the street above and when I opened my eyes I saw a stale bit of bread floating on the greasy surface of the river.
     "Hell Spawned Prick!" he yelled, "I work'd hard for that yon' bit an you jes toss et away. Well you's gon have to werk even harder fer the next piece," he chuckled to himself while working his girth back down the ladder.
     I didn't move, I just sat staring at the bread as it slowly absorbed the putrid water, and my hungry, cramping stomach actually considered eating it.
     The flat bounced from the weight of Jack, and dirty water sloshed through the moss growing on the edge. His heavy boots clomped across the deck. Even knowing what he would do (he is fairly predictable) I ignored him and stared at the lights from the street side buildings as it reflected on the greasy surface.
     As Jack arrived I dropped to the side of my perch, just in time to avoid his foot trying to kick me into the water. Pent up rage, hatred, shame and frustration boiled out from weeks of abuse and I spun on him. My grandfather had taught me the arts of fighting without weapons, and I envisioned many ways of hurting him, badly. But I stopped. He held my pendant over the water, dangling from its silvery chain.
     He cocked a furry eyebrow, "Nae'ow you you wouldn' be thinkn' o' hurten yer frien jack," he looked at my pendant, as if he just saw it there now, "Wee' look! Peraps' if yer good enough today you jes might be able to pay me back," he scowled, "nows take dis Pale cursed cargo's up to Missies Smilin wench! It has de red sign, i'case you be to dum to read!"
     Without the help of Jack, I managed to get everything up to the street level. In the meantime, Jack ate a rotten apple, relieved himself into the water, checked everything on the flat for problems--if he found any, he tried to remember to fix them later--and generally did nothing, other than staying out of my way.
     The inside of Missies Smiling Wench was blanketed in smoke, so dense I could only make out dim forms of people sitting but a few feet away. As I passed through the stinking fog to the back room, people called out, inviting me to some of the pleasures Jack so loved.
     Entering the kitchen I was accosted by a short thin wrinkled and painted old woman. She had a smile too large for her face and held a smokestick wedged between two brown stained fingers, ''hey, you are a cute one.''
     Uncertain what to say I shifted the package in my arms, ''uhh, yes lady. . .''
     Her face crinkled into a grin, ''oooh, now I'm not a lady by any means, I just make ends meet anyway. Keepin the patrons happy, thats what its about. Course I can't do that much anymore, but my girls, they can, yes they can.'' She gave me a critical look, then wrapped a skeletal hand around my arm, ''oh, a strong one too. You know, my girls might enjoy a little package like you, could be good for morale.''
     At first I wasn't sure what she was getting at, but in a moment realization struck and despite my best efforts my face heated up. Not knowing how to respond, I quickly pushed my way around her and beat a retreat. She laughed in a low cackle and returned to the main room.
     As I was carrying the last sack, Jack followed me in, weaving through the smoke and yelling to people he knew. He waddled across the kitchen and threw open a door. Beyond was a closet which had recently been cleared of everything but the outlines of dust showing where boxes and barrels had stood. A rotten and stained sleeping mat lay crumpled in one corner.
     Jack grabbed my shirt in a meaty fist, causing my heart to race. Oil ran down his face and through the pock marks on his chubby cheeks, "heres where you be stayin fer a wile. Rih' now a'm meetin some o' Missies fine lasses..." he chuckled and adjusted his pants in anticipation, "bettern' the like o'you."
     He shoved me into the room and followed it up with a thrown moldy chunk of bread. A moment after the door closed there was the audible click of a lock. Once he left I sighed, unaware that I had been holding my breath, either in fear or anger that he may stay around.
     "And thats how I ended up here. I know its a pretty bad story, but hell, I guess I'm still alive . . . When I was really young my parents were killed during the wars by the armies of Iuz, my Grandfather managed to sneak the two of us south from Tenh. We stayed around the County of Urnst for a while after the wars, but when he died I started south again. I ended up fleeing some guards in the Pale and ended up in Nyrond. I cut across land and eventually reached the top of the Duntide, but some nasty beasts attacked me. I'm normally pretty good with animals like you, but these things just were not right. They got Megelbee--she was my horse--and I barely managed to swim out into the river. I think I was hoping to make it to the other side. Jack did save me in at least one way, I don't know if I would have lived or not when he found me sputtering half drown in the middle of the river."
     I broke off another piece of stale bread and held it out in my hand. The ferret nuzzled his way out of my tunic where he had been exploring and gobbled it. He appeared soon after Jack left, somehow managing to squeeze under the door. I've always been good with animals, and this guy claims his whole family keeps the building free of Rats, even though the smoking lady doesn't feed them much.
     He likes to be called Fillip.
     Sounds good to me.