Tales & Treasure Chapter 16

Vatis - Yimser

Start from the beginning - Tales & Treasure Table of Contents

Blurry clay tiles came into focus as Vatis winced on blistered feet. Tall, steeply pitched roofs poked over the top of a wooden wall that could barely be considered a fence. Beyond the wall at the center of the city, a black spire towered above the other buildings, shimmering beneath a crescent moon. Chimney smoke created dark clouds that hung ominously below the tower’s peak. The Church of Eternal Darkness, Vatis thought, absently humming as a distraction. He had forgotten how popular the religion was in Yimser. 

A putrid, sulfuric scent drifted on the cool evening breeze. “What is that smell?” Vatis scrunched his nose. 

Vidmar laughed. “That’s Yimser. There’s a tar pit northwest of the city. They say you get used to it.”

“It’s not that bad,” Kamet said. 

“That’s because you’ve been smelling yourself for 30 years. Nothing smells bad compared to that,” Vidmar said. 

I should have known about the tar pit, Vatis thought, ignoring the banter between his companions. He couldn’t concentrate. His mind drifted like the foul-smelling wind, elevating everything unpleasant: the Kokor Forest, the shadow creature, his aching feet, and his always-present self-doubt. We’re too early.

They walked along a road that transitioned from dirt to gravel to unmaintained cobblestones. Weeds grew through the cracks, breaking the once-perfect symmetry. Tall, wooden lamp posts lined the remainder of the road. The flame in the lanterns somehow burnt with a faint green light. Vatis paused to examine the lantern to his left; however, movement beyond the post distracted him. He looked closer. Two hooded corpses swung rigidly from a lone oak tree as crows pecked at their decaying skin. A sign hung around one of their necks. Vatis squinted but couldn’t read it in the dim light.

“Vatis,” Vidmar called. 

Vatis spun backward. “I’m coming,” he said, rubbing his eyes. They were close now. The smell from the tar pit intensified. Yimser was a new town. Vatis needed to get in character, but he quit acting a while ago. Vidmar would notice a change in his demeanor. Still, I need to be Vatis-of-the-Road, he thought, trilling his lips and gently slapping his cheek, seeking the familiar comfort of his favorite character. 

“What are you doing?” Kamet asked. 

Shit. “I’m exhausted. I’m trying to make it to an inn without collapsing,” Vatis lied, bouncing on his toes and shaking his head. Kamet furrowed his eyebrows and whispered something to Vidmar. 

What are you saying? Vatis watched Vidmar and Kamet laugh as they walked. It was a joke at my expense, I’m sure. Fine, keep it to yourselves. They walked a few more paces before approaching a red-painted shack with a tiled roof. One of the tiles near the edge looked like it was about to fall off, but it hung on with a desperation that Vatis admired.

“What in the everlasting darkness do you want?” a guard said, stepping out of the roadside shack.

“Hello, we’d like to enter the city,” Vidmar answered in an unusually cheery tone. Kamet nodded, and Vatis decided an enthusiastic wave was the best greeting he could muster. 

“What’s with him?” the guard said, pointing at Vatis. Vatis pulled his arm down with his opposite hand and stopped waving.

Vidmar smiled. “It’s been a long journey. We could all use some rest.”

Kamet nodded again. This time, Vatis followed the mercenary’s lead. 

“What brings you to Yimser?” the guard asked, returning his gaze to Vidmar. “And darkness, what happened to you?”

“My friend wants to participate in the tourney,” Vidmar explained. 

The guard laughed. “He looks like a bard, but Feya always wins the tourney.” 

“Well, they haven’t heard Vatis-of-the-Road yet. And this,” Vidmar said, holding up his hands. The bandages were filthy. “Wolves attacked us on the road. I wouldn’t be here if not for the bravery of my friends.”

Vatis knew Vidmar was lying to the guard, but sincere appreciation glimmered in his eyes when he looked back at them. 

“I see,” the guard said, squinting. “We don’t hear of many wolf attacks north of the forest.”

“It happened near Vicus,” Vidmar answered quickly. 

“Then, you have traveled a long way to get to Yimser. You seem like honorable men, a word of caution; most of us aren’t fond of foreigners, especially foreign bards. A local almost always wins the tourney,” the guard said, nodding to the executed corpses. 

“Do the losers hang?” Vatis asked, following the guard's eyes to the hanged men. His stomach twisted into a tight knot.

“No,” the guard said without emotion. “Not unless they are criminals.”

“Well, we are no criminals, and as I said, they haven’t heard Vatis yet. The man could make the King weep. Are there rooms available at Geoff’s?”

“I believe so but don’t take my word on it. Lots of people in town for the tourney,” the guard said, strangely lingering on the word people as if it were a threat. 

“Thank you. May your feet find the road,” Vidmar said.

“And yours,” the guard said, returning to his shack. He poked his head out of a narrow window as they passed. “Stay out of trouble.”

Vidmar spun, bowed, and held a hand to his heart. “On my honor.”

“Like you have any,” Kamet whispered.

Vidmar laughed. “More than you.”

They walked through the gate and down a well-lit street. The lanterns inside the walls glowed with normal yellow-orange light, casting shadows on multiple-level homes painted in various colors. The buildings were constructed so close they left no space for allies or side streets. It was difficult to see all the shades in the dark, but the homes seemed to range from yellow to red to blue to white. Vatis wondered if the paint had any significance. Members of different guilds, perhaps. He looked at a large, rectangular stained-glass window next to a golden door. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell what image the window depicted.

Vatis continued to admire the architecture as they walked when a shop on his right caught his eye. At least a dozen baskets with vibrant, cascading flowers hung from hooks beneath a balcony. A man with a hunched back perched precariously on a stool watered the plants with a bowl. He grumbled and went inside as fast as his elderly body allowed. That’s odd, Vatis thought as the old man slammed a blue door shut. Petals fell from the two hanging plants closest to the door. He had been too enamored with the buildings and didn’t realize that hardly anyone was on the street. It isn’t that late. There should be more people out. 

A woman carrying a basket with bread and cheese scowled as she passed them a few moments later. Of the ten or so people Vatis saw, only two didn’t act like he carried a plague, but even those two didn’t offer any greeting. They really don’t like outsiders, Vatis thought as the street turned north. The buildings curved with the road; one’s face bowed to match the street. Its black window frames stood out against a red-painted wall. A bright blue building distracted Vatis, and he stumbled over a protruding cobblestone, hopping to regain his balance. A bearded man sitting in a chair outside the home huffed at the display. Vatis tried to ignore the people, but they only made him more nervous. 

The sound of running water and a fragrant, inviting aroma prevailed over the inhabitants' annoyance and the smell of tar. The sweet, spicy scent of cinnamon and nutmeg warmed Vatis’s nostrils and rumbled his stomach. “Are those sweet rolls?” he said, sniffing the air like a dog.

“I think they call them mammoth ears,” Vidmar replied. “They are huge discs of fried bread with a sweet, sugary topping. I haven’t had one in years.” Vidmar cleared his throat. “I’m drooling already.”

Kamet licked his lips. “I haven’t eaten anything except dried meat and fish for a week. I would kill for one of those right now.” 

Vidmar slapped Kamet on the shoulder. “We’ll get some tomorrow. But, first, let’s get to Geoff’s.”

Soon, the road widened and split into two separate paths. One path led to a bridge where the buildings seemed to become even more elaborate than they had been. The other went east down an eerie path with fewer lampposts and unnerving shadows. “This way,” Vidmar said, turning right down the dark path toward a decaying building. He walked slower, staring at each shadow. “Why is no one on the street?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” Kamet said, pulling out his mace.

Why are we going this way? “Maybe everyone is at the inn?” Vatis said, looking at a building that appeared to be a mild storm away from collapsing. 

“Maybe,” Vidmar said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

They continued their deliberate path toward Geoff’s; Vidmar checked each shadow thoroughly while Kamet stayed close to Vatis with his mace in hand. The smell of tar and sulfur reemerged and overtook the pleasant cinnamon fragrance. I hope the inn is near, Vatis thought, watching a rat scurry out of the street with an apple core in its mouth. He dried his sweaty palms on his shirt and thought he saw eyes watching him from a window, but when he looked closer, the window was filthy, if not entirely ordinary.

Vidmar scouted a few paces ahead, moving from lamppost to lamppost and waving them forward when all was clear. Is this necessary? Vatis thought, then reconsidered when a cat darted into their path from the shadows. He jumped and crashed into Kamet. “Sorry,” he said, patting Kamet on the back. The giant mercenary scowled and mumbled something under his breath. A few scares later, they approached the first building with any sign of life; it had a rickety, unkempt porch, and the mummer of conversation and drinking escaped from glowing windows. 

“Is that the inn?” Vatis asked. It looks more like a barn.

“That’s Geoff’s,” Vidmar answered. “There are more inns and taverns on the other side of the city, but they are crowded. Besides, these are my people. Maybe we can find a game of dice, Kamet.” 

“As long as we get off this street, and it has ale, it’s fine by me,” Kamet said, stepping onto a creaky stair. “A woman wouldn’t hurt either.”

Vatis stretched, hummed a merry tune, and followed Vidmar and Kamet into the inn. Whatever it takes to get off this street, he thought, before his mind drifted to an improvised song. Once, there was a teeny, tiny, crooked goose. He sang internally as Vatis-of-the-Road came to life. He felt better every time he entered an inn, even one so run down as Geoff’s. Each contained a new audience, another chance to tell a story.

Geoff’s was two stories tall. A balcony outlined the sides of the square inn. The railing looked like it was one wobbly drunk away from toppling over onto the tables below, but somehow, three men leaned over it, smoking pipes and calling to waitresses. In the center of the room was a firepit. The stones were caked in black soot, and the remnants of old fires poured over the edge. Four small birds roasted on an iron spit. A middle-aged woman brushed something over each bird's crisp, brown skin. She wore a ratty apron, and sweat dripped from her wild, curly gray hair. She grimaced as they approached. 

“What do you strangers want?” she said, basting the birds. Those aren’t chickens, Vatis thought. Maybe pheasants, maybe pigeons. Vatis stepped forward to speak, but Vidmar nudged him backward. 

“Any rooms available?” Vidmar asked.

“Aye,” she said, never diverting her attention from the birds. 

Vidmar looked at Vatis, played with his bandages, and slightly changed his tone as he spoke. “Two rooms, three chickens, and six ales.” Vidmar’s ability to match the cook's demeanor surprised Vatis; it looked like it shocked the cook too. The wrinkles on her forehead multiplied as she furrowed her brow. She examined each man slowly before letting an exasperated sigh escape. She rubbed her twisted nose with one hand and counted on her fingers with the other. “Twenty and two,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.

Vidmar patted his hip. When he couldn’t find what he was looking for, he turned to Vatis, pointed to the coin purse on his belt, and held out his hand. 

Vatis smiled and untied the pouch from his belt, remaining silent as he followed Vidmar’s lead. He counted twenty-five Kan and slid the coins into Vidmar’s hands. Some coins fell onto the floor as Vidmar tried to pass them to the cook. The men leaning over the railing looked as they heard the metallic click of coins colliding with the wood floor. A long, tense silence filled the room as Vatis helped Vidmar retrieve the coins. 

“Fuck,” Vidmar whispered so only Vatis could hear. “I just put a target on our backs.” 

Vidmar struggled to pick up the coins. He cursed each time the Kan clung to the floor instead of his fingers. Vatis gathered most of the money and waited for Vidmar to pick up the last coin. “Damnit,” he hissed as it fell back onto the floor.

Vatis looked up. A group of tattered-looking men shifted in their seats. The waitresses stopped clearing tables and watched Vidmar closely. The cook’s uninterested gaze turned terrifyingly sour. Finally, Vidmar picked up the coin, gathered the others from Vatis, and gave the money to the cook, who gobbled it up ravenously. Vidmar scowled as he stood up. It was a look that would have petrified the tavern in Haran, but the occupants of Geoff’s saw it as the frustration of a crippled man. The men to their left stood up; however, they sank back into their seats when Kamet stepped forward with his hand on top of his mace. Thank you, Kamet, Vatis thought. 

The cook stiffened as she placed the coins in her pocket. “Rooms are upstairs,” she said, gazing between Vidmar and Kamet but avoiding eye contact. “Margaret, make sure they don’t get lost,” she called to one of the waitresses, who walked over slowly. Margaret looked only a few years younger than the cook. She wore a frayed green dress with a dirty rag slung over one shoulder. Her bloodshot, green eyes hid beneath wavy red bangs. “Three and four,” the cook said, handing the waitress two keys. 

Margaret grabbed the keys. Her fingernails were painted green to match her dress, but most of the paint had chipped away. “Come, I don’t have all night,” she said, her curvy hips swaying as she walked toward the stairs.

“Thank you, you are most kind,” Vatis said, mustering as much courtesy as his weariness allowed. The waitress gave him a sidelong look, rolled her eyes, and continued up the stairs. I hope the audience at the tourney is more friendly, Vatis thought as they walked up the unstable steps. Nails protruded like spikes along the edges of dark wood boards. Vatis tried to put as little weight on his feet as possible. He tiptoed to the top and exhaled. 

“The last two on the right,” Margaret said, pointing to the other side of the balcony. “Here.” She handed Vatis two iron keys. 

“Thank you, Margaret. If the rest of the women in Yimser are as lovely as you, I might have to make this my home,” Vatis said, kissing one of her hands as he bowed. The waitress bit her lip flirtatiously but pulled her hand away quickly when the cook called from below. 

“What was that?” Vidmar chuckled as they walked around the balcony. 

“What? A little chivalry can go a long way,” Vatis said, winking as he slipped a key into the first room’s lock. It clicked as he struggled to turn the mechanism open. He tried the second key, the lock slid, and the door swung into a dark room. The room was ordinary. In the left corner, two narrow beds lay adjacent to a rickety nightstand with one drawer. Three candles of varying heights oozed white wax onto the splintered surface. An iron chamber pot sat next to a three-legged stool in the right corner. The only other object in the room was an oil lantern hanging on the left wall inside the door. The flame burned low and blue and did little to light the room. 

“I'll take this one,” Kamet said, pushing into the first room.

“Very generous of you,” Vidmar said. “Come on, Vatis. I guess you're with me.”

Vatis followed him into the next room. It was nearly identical to Kamet’s except for a few more candles and a broken window. It was clear that the beds had been made quickly, and whatever had been spilled in the center of the room left a dark stain and an even darker smell. Vidmar's pack thudded to the floor before Vatis closed the door. “Shit,” Vidmar said, collapsing onto one of the beds. “The floor might be more comfortable.” He wriggled around the bed, arching his back like an exhausted cat.  

Vatis sat down on the other bed and set his pack on the floor at his feet. “It’s better than the beach,” he said, opening the drawer to the nightstand. A cockroach scurried out, vanishing between a narrow gap in the floorboards. Vatis jumped and slammed the drawer shut before pulling a fresh shirt and journal out of his pack. 

Vidmar sat up and examined his bandages. “Would you help me change these before we go downstairs?”

Vatis nodded, unwrapping Vidmar's hands slowly. The bandages stuck to the partially scabbed skin. Vidmar grimaced as Vatis tugged the wrapping and scabs free. Vidmar’s left hand was in decent shape. He lost the tip of his left index finger and nothing more. The finger had a healthy-looking red scab. Vatis guessed he would have normal function back in a few weeks. His right hand was a different story. His missing index and middle finger were now puss-filled stumps; the smell was worse than the room.

“Shit,” Vidmar said. His hand trembled as Vatis examined it. 

“Do you have any alcohol?” Vatis asked.

Vidmar laughed. “I wish.”

The treasure hunter winced as Vatis touched his warm skin. “It’s infected,” Vatis said, looking up at Vidmar’s right arm to see if the infection had spread. Fortunately, the rest of the arm looked healthy - for now. 

“Just cut the whole thing off. It’s useless anyway.”

“Then your arm would be infected in a week.”

“Then take my arm. Repeat the process until I’m just a head and a torso. Kamet can carry me around everywhere, and you’ll have quite the story to tell,” Vidmar said as his tone wavered dangerously close to serious. “Just wrap it. I’m starving. Kamet has probably eaten our food by now.”

Vatis fumbled around his bag, looking for a small vial. “Here we are,” he said, pulling out a glass tube containing a clear liquid. Vatis popped the cork off with his thumb and smelled the contents. “This is pure alcohol. I use it for cleaning my writing supplies,” he said, eyes watering. “It will help, but it’s going to be painful.” I can’t have you dying halfway through your story. 

“Thank you, Vatis,” Vidmar said, looking away. His knees shook.  

You’re getting too close, a voice inside his head whispered. Vatis tried to ignore it. “Don’t thank me yet,” he said, holding the vial over Vidmar’s hand. “Ready?” 

Vidmar nodded. Vatis returned the gesture and poured the alcohol on Vidmar’s wounds. The treasure hunter scrunched his face, but the only sound that escaped was a dog-like growl. The alcohol bubbled on Vidmar’s swollen, red skin. Vatis rewrapped the wounds in silence - he didn’t know what to say. It was clear that Vidmar was struggling to deal with his injury. Stubborn oaf, he thought as he finished wrapping Vidmar’s hands. “Buy the strongest spirit they have when you’re down there and put some in this vial. We will have to do this a few times a day until the infection clears,” Vatis said, retrieving the cork from the floor. Vatis gave the empty vial to Vidmar. 

“You’re not coming down?” Vidmar asked, looking at the vial. 

“No, I’m tired and must prepare for the tourney.”

“You’ll have time to prepare. You could test a story out on those degenerates,” Vidmar said, pointing down. “Besides, you need to eat something.”

“Bring me the leftovers. I don’t mind if it's cold. I’m sorry, Vidmar. I need some time alone.”

“Alright, if you hear trouble, stay put. We can handle ourselves.”

“Are you planning to start trouble?” 

“I never plan to start anything,” Vidmar smiled. “But when Kamet and I drink, well, you never know what could happen.”

“Then don’t drink.”

Vidmar snorted. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Vatis watched Vidmar leave. He noticed that Vidmar had moved Acer’s knife to his right hip instead of his left. Don’t get into trouble. Vatis took off his dirt-covered green shirt; a strand of thread escaped the careful weave on the frayed bottom. His shoulders ached as he stretched his arms over his head. His bottom ribs were now visible through his slender frame. Even the top of his hip bones stuck out like they were trying to poke through his skin. The joints in his neck popped. He slipped into his only other shirt, a simple, short-sleeved off-white garment. He grabbed a quill and a nearly empty ink vial from a pocket in his bag. He flipped to the next blank page of his journal, dipped his quill into the ink, inhaled, and wrote two lines.

The voice is back.
I’m so tired.