Halfway through his meal — which consisted of gravy on rice, and two sausages — a small commotion came from the streets outside. Shouts and yells echoed through the night as the sounds of soldiers marching in formation grew stronger and stronger, before coming to an abrupt halt.
Claud, who was busy shovelling food into his mouth, glanced up from his plate. His table was by the window, which afforded him a rather good view of the events outside. A company of soldiers, more than a hundred men strong, had occupied the town square. Orders he couldn't quite make out were being handed down, but he didn't need to know what orders they were to guess at their intent.
The innkeeper, who was also watching the events outside, shook his head and closed the inn doors, locking it up. The two flamboyantly-dressed diners sniffed miserably, but that was all.
"Best not to let those wolves into your home," the innkeeper explained to Claud, who was watching him. "They'll take anything they can lay their grubby hands on."
A cautious light entered the innkeeper's eye. "We can only hope for the Duke's eye to fall upon Pletsville someday."
"Sounds like you have past history with them," Claud replied, watching the other diners from the corner of his eyes. There were four of them, and all of them were regarding his conversation with the innkeeper with more than a passing interest.
"Who doesn't?" The old man shook his head. "The baron's troops are pillagers. Mercenaries that work only for coin. They're bandits given official titles."
"Any idea why they're here?"
"We'll find out tomorrow. Just wait for the town crier."
"So business as usual, then." Claud looked around at the half-empty inn, and then shook his head.
"That's right." The innkeeper followed his wry gaze, and then nodded. "Business as usual."
A few minutes later, the plate was clean of any food, save for some vegetables Claud didn't want to eat. Stretching his body, he got up from his seat and headed over to the counter, where the innkeeper was solving puzzles from a book in his hand.
"Need something else?"
"Room for a night," Claud replied.
The innkeeper didn't look up, his attention entirely on a page of his puzzle book. "One silver, or one silver and ten bronze if you want breakfast."
"I'll have the breakfast option," said Claud, dropping eleven coins onto the counter.
"Very good. Your room's Room 31." Filling up some blanks in his puzzle book, the innkeeper took a key and tossed it at him. Catching it with his left hand, Claud glanced at the key, which had some letters inscribed on it.
'Board and Lodging, Room 31...right?' Nodding his thanks, Claud headed to the staircase, where a small sign pasted there helpfully informed anyone reading it that Rooms 1 to 31 were on the second floor. Some of the other diners on the first floor looked at him as he went upstairs, but to his relief, no one called him out.
Once he was on the second floor, Claud heaved a sigh. Maintaining a poker face had been far harder than he liked it to be, especially when only the Moons knew how many people were the Duke's men. Of the four other diners in the inn, there were at least two dispatched by the Duke; their mannerisms reeked of men and women drunk on a false authority.
If they were completely drunk on the power the Duke gave them, it was possible that there would be a visit tonight, which would be an unpleasant experience.
Whether it would be unpleasant for him or his visitor was another question altogether, though. Smiling to himself, Claud headed over to Room 31 and entered it. Making sure to lock the door behind him, the smile on his face faded as the thief began to take out item after item from his cloak.
Most of them were tools of his trade. Discounting the artefact that had undergone a terminal malfunction earlier, he had three artefacts on him now; reusable items that used mana to replicate the effect of skills. The rest were items that a master thief like him always had on hand — smoke bombs, bolas, throwing knives, lockpicks, shaped charges, needles with various types of poisons and caltrops.
When mixed with other odds and ends, those tools could be turned into traps, and a master thief never slept in a room without setting up at least five traps. Fiddling with his throwing knives and three smoke bombs, Claud soon set up enough obstructions to delay three men for an entire minute.
Nodding in satisfaction, Claud turned his attention to the booby-trapped window, where the small company of troops had finally made their move. Like locusts, they stormed into the poorer districts, and smoke began to rise as hovel after hovel was torn down and burned. Screams split the night sky, only for them to end abruptly seconds later, and before long, a deathly silence fell upon the night.
Claud looked up at the three moons shining down on the town, before shaking his head. There wasn't anything he could do for the people of this town; a company of a hundred-plus soldiers had enough skills to butcher this town entirely and have some left to spare.
Only mana-users could pose a credible threat, but why would such a person — having already expended a good chunk of their longevity — want to intervene in matters that wouldn't muddy their boots? Besides, they also had a tendency to gravitate towards nobles, as burning mana circuits onto their bodies used one's lifespan as fuel. Only the nobles and the rulers of territories had a steady, guaranteed supply of lifestones, and it was with the offer of lifestones that they enticed mana-users into their ranks.
In other words, few mana-users ever played the folk hero if they weren't backed by a noble to begin with.
Making a mental note to plunder the military garrison three days later and share the spoils with the slum-dwellers here, Claud took off his boots. Removing his cloak, he unfastened the rapier hung on his inner shirt and laid down on the bed. Closing his eyes, he felt the urge to sleep batter at his head, and the thief didn't resist that pull. Without it, he would have to spend so much more time falling asleep, given the din outside.
His consciousness was about to wink out a moment later when a commotion stirred to life near him. Claud's eyes shot open, and on instinct, he retracted his legs and forced himself into a crouching position on the bed. Two knives had been withdrawn from his trousers, ready to be thrown at the nearest target.
"Oh." Claud glanced at the locked door blankly, and then left his stance. The commotion was taking place in the hallway outside, rather than in his room. A heated quarrel was going on, by the sounds of it, and Claud was about to return to his sleep when the sounds of weapons being drawn made his head hurt.
"You want to throw down, huh? Guess the Duke's name isn't much to you! Such impertinence! If his men want something from you, you should be on your knees and offering it up with two hands!"
"I'm afraid not. My establishment respects the privacy of our customers, dear sir. Of course, I also respect warriors, but you…you don't seem like one."
"Such impertinence!"
Claud narrowed his eyes. He could already guess at the cause behind the fight about to come, but he didn't like the fact that an old man was shielding him. Of course, the more important reason why Claud didn't mind acting was because the Duke's henchman was a normal person, like him. If something happened to such a person, no one would notice much; there were enough aspiring lapdogs for even minor nobles to fill entire streets up.
Such was the nature of the humans in Grandis.
Palming the two knives, Claud walked over to the door and unlocked it. The creak as the door opened couldn't be missed by anyone, and a man that looked like a peacock turned to regard him immediately.
"Stranger. Know you the Duke's reputation?"
"Of course," Claud replied. "His Grace is renowned for his benevolence and charity to those he deems worthy, like you."
"Like me…" The man, who was dressed in enough silk to look like a cocoon, savoured those words. "Well said. However, it pains me to tell a fellow admirer of the Duke that I must interrogate that person for a few minutes hence."
"Naturally, I shall comply." Claud glanced at the innkeeper, who had a stupefied expression on his face, one that was combined with mirth to form a rather intriguing expression. "Innkeeper, sir, he bears no ill will. However, I must thank you for your concern towards your patrons."
"I see." An amused expression appeared on his face. "I shall take my leave, then. May the Moons grant…you a good rest."
"A good rest it shall be." Repeating the standard courtesy reply, Claud watched the old man leave, and then with an exaggerated wave, motioned for the flamboyant man to enter his room.
For Claud, it was indeed going to be a good rest, but the Duke's henchman was going to have the rest of his life.
The creak as the door closed seemed to linger on unnaturally.