21. Escalation

The people in the street scattered as soon as they saw Hulda. If there was anything that screamed ‘Hero’, it was her.

At this rate, they weren’t going to find anything. No one would talk to them, not even the children.

Everyone the Hero tried to interrogate either ran away as quickly as their legs would carry, or simply refused to talk.

“This isn’t coming off to a great start,” Lace said. “What do we do, master?”

She had spent most of her life avoiding the Slog, so she had little clue on what to do to get them talking. They might as well be speaking a different language.

“Don’t fret,” Hulda said, reaching into a hidden pocket sewn into the inside of her dress. She walked towards a beggar at the mouth of an alleyway with long, confident strides.

He made to stand up when they got close, struggling with a bum leg. He glanced up at them with a cross between terror and hatred in his eyes.

Hulda flipped a silver coin into the dirt. She waited patiently as the beggar stared at it.

It was a lot of money. Lace fought the urge to reach down and grab it.

The beggar snatched the coin with a thin hand and rubbed it feverishly on the edge of his tattered shirt.

“I trust that’s enough to get your attention?” Hulda said. “You’ll get another if you tell me something I want to know.”

The beggar sucked on his rotten teeth. “Ain’t no snitch.”

“You can be anything you want with two silvers.” She held up another silver coin, stamped with Paragon’s visage. “Or I could take you in for loitering. Perhaps spending some time in a cell would loosen your lips.”

The beggar held up shaky, wrinkled hands. “A-Alright, she-Hero, I’ll blab. What are ye wanting me to tell ye?”

“I’m looking for a man. Short hair. Stocky. A large scar over his face that pulls his lip into a sneer.”

“I don’t know all them fancy words, but that sounds an awful lot like Mug. Trades in stolen goods. Sells potion ‘n’ weapons too. Him’s usually at Xander’s Curiosities.”

“Which is?”

“A bar. Everyone knows it.”

“Where?”

The beggar grinned, showing half-a-dozen brown teeth. “That’ll be extra.”

Metal flashed in a wide arc. Hulda’s spear stopped a centimeter or two from the man’s face. A silver coin balanced on its edge.

“One for your time, one for your information. No more. Remember who you are speaking to.”

“Y-Y-Yes, y’ladyship,” the beggar spluttered. He pointed down the street, to the southwest. “That way! You won’t miss it!”

Hulda nodded. The spear tilted along its axis and the coin dropped into the man’s lap.

She walked away. Lace hurried after.

The spear flew up behind Hulda and reset itself on her back.

“You could have been nicer to that man,” Lace said.

“You heard him,” Hulda said. “He was looking to swindle me just as soon as the opportunity presented itself. So is the rest of the world.” She glanced back. “Never let it. Take control. Bend the world to your will, or it will bend you backward.”

Lace looked away, frowning.

Take control.

Might be something to that.

*****

They entered the bar known as Xander’s Curiosities, although ‘rat’s nest’ might have been a better description.

Every pair of eyes in the worn-down establishment stuck to them. Dirty vagrants and scarred fighters sized them up, all looking like they wanted to take a piece.

The place was small compared to The Golden Lion. It was cramped and smoky, with a dirt floor was covered in patchy layers of straw. The sour stench of sweat and dubiously distilled liquor made Lace’s eyes tear up and her throat burn with bile. Quite the feat, considering she had spent several days sleeping in a stable.

Hulda headed confidently for the bar at the far end of the room.

“Woah, hey!” a female voice called.

A stout woman appeared, placing herself between Hulda and the bar. She had bright, fiery hair and wore a tight, low-cut dress that pulled in her waist and showed off her large, round bosoms.

The woman crossed her arms, frowning up at Hulda.

“And what are you supposed to be? Only respectable folk in here.”

Hulda choked back a laugh, badly. “Respectable?” She glanced around the common room. “Is that what you wish to call it? I am here on Heroes’ Guild business. I will speak to the bar owner and perhaps some of the patrons.”

“Hero, eh? I thought you were the Queen’s ugly twin.” The woman turned her head towards the bar. “Hear that, Ratfoot? A Hero! That’s a first!”

“If you won’t let me conduct my business in peace, I will use force.” Hulda’s voice was calm, but the undercurrent of violence in her tone was unmistakable.

The clientele didn’t seem to like that. Over half a dozen swords and daggers were drawn and placed on tables.

The ginger-haired woman looked back, smiling vaguely. “Try it, grandma. See how far you get.”

“Tryss, let her through!” called a voice from behind the bar. “Heroes have money.”

The woman, Tryss, harrumphed and stepped aside with slow reluctance.

Hulda strode over to the bar. Lace followed, keeping an eye on the patrons. They followed her with their eyes like hungry wolves, some fingering their weapons.

I wish Kiren was here. He’d know what to do.

Why’d Excelerate have to send me off on my own?

She walked up to the bar and found that there was a little man standing behind it, hair slicked back and both front teeth missing. Presumably, this was Ratfoot.

“What can I help you with, Hero?” he asked, fogging up a stained glass with his breath before wiping it down with a rag just as dirty as the glass. “Always eager to help the Queen’s men, of course. For a price.”

Hulda slid a silver across the bar. Ratfoot snatched it.

“There’s a man. Mug. He has an ugly scar across his face. Do you know of him?”

Ratfoot went stiff, rag hovering above the glass. He glanced off to the side.

“Hard to miss, that man,” he said. “He comes around here sometimes. Can’t say I’ve spoken to him much.”

Hulda slid another silver to him. “I see. The truth, this time.”

The small man blinked rapidly. “Certainly, I just… need to fetch something. Hold on a moment.” He stooped below the bar.

Lace heard a loud scrape behind them, then a distinctly female grunt.

She turned around just in time to see Tryss pick up a table and hurl it right at her and Hulda like it was a dinner plate.

Time seemed to distort, moving like molasses as Lace tried to scramble out of the way.

She wasn’t fast enough.

Hulda stepped in front of her.

Her spear zipped into the air. It spun into the table and split it clean in half. The pieces flew off to either side and broke against the bar.

Tryss was already reaching for a chair to throw on the other side of the room.

“It’s a Power user!” Lace called.

The Hero sighed and turned around, taking the spear out of the air.

“Let us finish this quickly. Girl, stay behind. Keep an eye out for more.”

Tryss kept throwing furniture and Hulda swatted it all out of the air with ease. A few of the patrons fled out the front door, but most stayed to fight. Eight of them. All armed with steel.

They closed in around the Hero. Tryss gave up hurling projectiles and took the lead, holding a thick chair leg as an improvised weapon.

Hulda went on the offensive, dashing with surprising nimbleness despite her stiff dress. The spear whirled in her hands. She used the butt of the spear to conk a pair of the ruffians over their heads before they could even block. They fell like puppets with their strings cut.

The others charged her. A man slashed with a notched dagger. She hit him over the wrist with the spear shaft, knocking the weapon from his hand.

She retaliated by flicking the spear up, hitting him under the chin. The man went spinning like an inebriated dancer, collapsing against a table.

He tried to get back up, groaning weakly.

Lace approached the man and gave him a wind-powered punch to the back of the head. He fell back against the table, motionless.

She watched from the sidelines as Hulda went through the patrons one by one using controlled, precise movements, never extending herself more than what was necessary.

Tryss swung her table leg wildly, letting out a loud cry.

Hulda swept the attack aside with the base of the spear, an amused smirk playing across her lips. The table leg struck one of Tryss’s comrades in the face instead, and he went down with a handful of his teeth scattering across the floor.

Hulda was in complete control.

Or so it seemed.

Ratfoot dove across the bar. He stalked towards the Hero in her blind spot, holding a short knife in a reverse grip.

Lace swept her left hand horizontally, creating a whip of air that cracked across the small man’s legs and knocked him onto his stomach.

She approached him as he rolled onto his back, attempting to get up. He swiped with his knife, a hands-breadth from her chest, and she jumped back.

He’s too dangerous with that weapon. I should keep my distance.

She dug in her feet in a wide stance and put her hands together. She compressed the air around her into the gap between her fingers and took aim.

Ratfoot got up on wobbly feet and flipped the knife around, holding the tip of the blade between thumb and forefinger. He wound up to throw the blade at her.

Lace let loose her aero-shot.

The invisible air bullet tore across the room with a screeching howl and ripped the knife from Ratfoot’s hand, spinning him around in the process.

She dove onto him and knocked him to the ground. He wriggled underneath her, but she was larger than him, and her strength training had paid off. She was able to keep him in place.

Take control.

Pinning his arms with her legs, she held her hands over his face. She pulled the air away from his mouth, causing his eyes to go wide as he was unable to catch a breath. He gulped for air but received less and less as she dragged it out of his lungs.

He struggled for a while, but it was not long before he faded, eyes flickering shut, body becoming limp. Lace stood with a satisfied grin.

Suck it, Excelerate. I’m not as weak as you think.

Hulda had finished up on her end. The ruffians lay on the ground, groaning and whimpering as they clutched bruised body parts. The hovering silver spear drove itself through the front of Tryss’s dress and hauled her onto her feet. The red-haired woman had bruised lips and a cut above her eyebrow that flowed into her eyeball and stained it red.

“Good work, girl,” Hulda said, glancing back at Lace. “I expected far worse from one of Excelerate’s, but it turns out he stumbled across someone with a modicum of talent this time.”

Lace’s chest fluttered with pride. She held herself a little higher.

Hulda returned her attention to Tryss.

“Now, then. Are you ready to answer my questions?”

“Do your worst, bitch,” Tryss spat back.

“Easily arranged.”

Lace cleared her throat. “You won’t… kill them, will you?”

“Of course not,” Hulda said. “I’ll just leverage what thieves value highest. Their possessions. Help me get them outside.”

Lace did as she was asked. She helped Hulda—her spear, that was—carry everyone outside, putting them down in the mud. Hulda herself stayed inside, getting bottles of strong liquor from behind the bar and dousing the whole place with it—counter, walls, tables, everything. By the time she came back outside, Tryss was looking pale.

“You wouldn’t,” she hissed, getting onto her knees.

The spear pushed her back to the ground.

“I absolutely would,” Hulda said, pouring a trail of alcohol out through the door. “Unless you tell me what I want to know, that is. What’ll it be? Do you want to see this thieves’ den go up in flames?”

“Okay! Shit, lady! You wanted to know about Mug, didn’t you? He used to come around here, but he was arrested a day ago. By you freaks, if I’m not mistaken. So you’ll know better than I what he’s up to.”

Hulda smiled sweetly, walking closer to Tryss.

“Mug was in possession of a certain book. A rare book, one-of-a-kind. I’m certain a criminal like you would have noticed such a thing.”

“I never saw it, but I overheard him talking about a book. Wouldn’t shut up about it. Something about a… switch-up?”

“Go on.”

“He said that he’d created some sort of fake book in case his buyer didn’t deliver and that he passed on the real one to a friend of his.”

“I need a name,” Hulda said blithely.

Tryss looked up in the sky, searching her memories. “I… I can’t remember. A lot happens in a night. I can’t recall everything that goes on in the bar. I just overheard it in passing.”

“I can still set your bar alight. I suggest you find a way to remember. Quickly.”

The spear flew over to the building. The blade made a flicking motion and scraped against the stone foundation, creating bright sparks that flew near the line of alcohol.

“Okay! Let me think! Uh, he talked about a… Jarn? Wait, no… Jarl! Jarl, that was his name. He said he had a friend named Jarl, and he was going to leave the book with him.”

“Where is this Jarl located?”

“I have no clue, I swear! I don’t know the guy! Only what I just told you!”

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” Lace asked.

“Yes I do,” Hulda said. “I don’t think there’s anything else she can tell us. We have a lead.”

“Will you let us go?” Tryss asked, sitting up. “I’ve done all you asked. We have a whole bar to clean, thanks to you.”

Hulda held up a finger. “Not just yet.”

“Are we going to look up this Jarl, then?” Lace asked.

“Not yet. I have to do some damage control, I’m afraid. I trust you know how sensitive the Guild can be with matters like these. You should go notify the guard post in Small Miracle to pick up this rabble. I will stay and make sure they don’t flee.”

“Yes, master.”

“Hey, what?” Tryss spluttered. “You’re going to detain us? There’s nothing else we can say! I—”

The spear zoomed over, stopping just between Tryss’s eyes.

“Please, be quiet,” Hulda said. “Your voice is giving me a headache.”

The Hero faced Lace and took her hand in both her own. “You did admirably. Almost makes me rethink not having an apprentice of my own.”

Lace blushed. “I hardly did anything…”

“You’re right. ‘Hardly anything’ compared to an A Rank is quite impressive. Speaking of A Ranks, it would mean a lot to me if you didn’t mention anything about Jarl to Excelerate. He has a tendency to complicate even the simplest investigation.”

“I… have to tell him about everything that happened today,” Lace said, pulling her hand back. “I’m sorry. Those are my orders.”

Hulda pursed her lips. She regarded Lace for a moment, then shrugged.

“Of course. Orders are orders. You must make your own choice.”

Lace looked down. “I… should probably head to that guard post.”

Hulda nodded. Her lips were traced with the faintest shadow of a smile. “Do so.”