When Frey walked out the doors of Dr. Niccolev's house, he felt a little sick of himself. The bag of gold that he clinked inside his backpack was like a badge of the bass that had fallen.
The dark hero shook his head and crossed the river docks. He looked down at the gray, misty murk of the river's waters and studied the barges that had come in from elsewhere with cargoes of wine, silk, and other trade items. They were at rest by the docks like whales that had come to the surface for a moment, bobbing in the current of the river. He saw the sweating sailors hauling the barrels out of the holds with grappling hooks, then rolling them down the gangplanks toward the warehouse. And he heard loud coughing and saw men putting handkerchiefs to their mouths.
The plague had claimed more than a hundred lives in the last few weeks.
It seemed that his and Elysia's efforts had only slowed the spread at best, and had been for naught at worst.
He wondered how it spread, and in his mind came the image of the rats that the High Priest of the Plague had plunged into the stinking cauldron. Somehow, he knew that those rats had something to do with it.
One of the men, older than the rest, raised a hand in greeting, and Frey waved back. He couldn't even remember the worker's name, surely he was a recurring visitor to the Stinky Pig tavern, but he felt shocked; for he knew that the man had worked for years. The sailor had left his youth in a single arduous job.
"There." Frey thought. "There is the difference between the nobility and the people that such nobility governs." That sailor would continue to work for the wages he was paid until he dropped dead. The nobles would remain lying in their palaces and collect the rents from their estates without ever raising their hands to do honest work in a lifetime. There were times when Frey agreed with the revolutionaries who preached rebellion.
He smiled wryly. "Fine words." he thought "for someone who has just accepted a generous amount of money after requesting additional resources from Keil. Well, I didn't make this world, I just have to live in it." He turned and started walking along the riverbank, soaking in the sounds, smells, and sights of the docks.
The fishy smell assaulted his nostrils and made him gag; to combat it, he put the ointment that Dr. Niccolev had given him to his nose. The scented scent was beginning to weaken, but it was still strong enough to perfume the stale air. He found that the smells of the street and other people seemed stronger to him after he had taken his first bath in weeks.
The roar of the huge transport wagons competed with the shouts of the sailors. An armed guard in the city's black tabard stopped to take a pear from a merchant's little cart. A lightning-quick pickpocket kid stole the bag from a shopkeeper who was too poor to afford personal guards. He continued on, heading for the most elegant part of the city.
He had the unsettling feeling that someone was following him, but he looked back several times and saw no one.
♦ ♦ ♦
Frey analyzed the image of him reflected in the mirror. "Very good." he thought he. He knew that he had a good figure. He was tall, athletic, muscular, and, in his opinion, exceedingly handsome; he had dressed to make the best of his appearance.
He took a deep breath, delighted by the luxurious scent of oak paneling and fine leather. That discreet tailor shop, which served only the highest category of nobles.
His new and expensive clothes gave her a strange feeling. The tall leather boots were too tight, the robe felt a bit stiff, and the quilted lining felt too soft. The white linen shirt smelled excessively clean. He realized to what extent he had become used to life on the roads, which forced him not to change his clothes for several months. The only thing left of his clothing that he normally had was his crimson cloak and his greatsword Lævateinn, which was housed in a fine sheath of smooth black leather.
"Will the lord want some adjustment made?" asked the aide in an obsequious tone.
Frey analyzed the subject, bald and with a bitter expression. Just an hour before, when Frey had entered the tailor shop, the assistant had looked at him as if he were a particularly large and repulsive cockroach.
To some extent, Frey couldn't hold it against him because in a way it was true. Of course, the man's attitude had changed seconds after seeing the bag of gold; flattering courtesy was part of the deal. Frey gave the man his best of condescending smiles.
"Nope. I want you to send me to my residence today several outfits just like this one; together with women's clothes in the same style, and that you pack up the armor for me and also send it to me immediately; that no piece of armor is missing, because in case it happens I will come to kill."
"Of course Mr. And where is his residence?"
"Under the sign for El Cerdo Apestoso, in the Barrio Nuevo. Have the garments delivered in the name of Frey.
Frey enjoyed seeing the man's face when he mentioned the address. It seemed that it had just swallowed that enormous and particularly repulsive cockroach.
"The Stinky Pig, sir? Isn't that one…?"
"Where I stay is my business, don't you think?"
"Of course Mr. It's just that for a moment he's taken me quite a bit by surprise. My apologies, sir."
"No matter. Just make sure they deliver the clothes and armor on time."
"I'll take care of it personally, sir."
Frey wondered if the man would have the courage to go to the New Quarter himself. May be; it was obvious that he was being paid enough to make it worth keeping Frey's favor.
"Will that be all, sir?"
"At the moment, yes."
♦ ♦ ♦
Frey came out of the tailor's shop and was enveloped in the late-afternoon gloom. He looked around him, but saw no one who might be following him. If he had been, he might have gotten bored of waiting while he was inside the establishment; at least, he hoped so.
He realized that he walked more upright and took more care of his posture dressed in those clothes. He moved in a different way from the weary tramp who had shown up at the Nicclev residence hours earlier. It was amazing how much a man could transform after a bath and a change of clothes.
A sense of growing anticipation had been building throughout the day. It wasn't fear, precisely, but rather a vague concern about what he would find inside the duke's palace. He was forced to admit that he prayed that he would not embarrass himself in front of the nobility.
He considered that thought for a moment, and forced a smile. He had good manners, and spoke and dressed well, so he had nothing to fear. However, he knew that this was not true. The nobility did not like adventurers with foul words and questionable fame and reputation.
At least they hadn't mentioned Elysia as well. He could perfectly imagine a confrontation between the nobles of the city and the rebellious cat girl. It would be a meeting doomed to end in disaster, he doubted the duke or his daughter would appreciate his independence of spirit.
Suddenly, a new problem presented itself to him, which he had not even bothered to consider until now. The streets were muddy and littered, the sewers overflowed, and crowds of filthy people were packed together like sardines in a can. He wouldn't make it to the palace without some of the reigning filth spilling over into his superb new outfits, and he knew he couldn't turn up looking anything less than immaculate. He looked around him hoping the solution would present itself.
He raised an arm to summon a palanquin whose curtains were drawn to indicate that he was unoccupied. The two burly porters approached him deferentially, and for a moment Frey was startled. Ordinarily, two thugs like these would have insulted him or exchanged rude taunts, but then his demeanor was one of attentive respect.
"Of course," he realized. "It's because of the clothes I'm wearing." They saw a wealthy nobleman and a potentially lucrative trip. Such impression did not diminish at all when he indicated his destination point to them.
"To the palace, and quickly."
He settled into the soft upholstered seat, and the bearers set off at a brisk pace. Frey drew back the curtains at the back of the palanquin to see if he was still being followed. Was it his imagination, or had someone just backed into the mouth of that alley?