“Hello.”

They remained silent.

“I’m looking for a Germain Gail.” He explained, the name still not sounding right.

A chorus of ‘Jeri’ emanated from the group. The call bouncing back and forth as some began to point to a man near the centre of the Elementalist’s little slice of heaven.

Goodie watched the spectacle for a moment, then shook his head as began walking towards the man being pointed to.

Giving him the once over, he saw a man who was young, late twenties by his best guess. Dark brown, almost black hair, with equally dark brown eyes. With the guy’s skin and cheekbones, he could easily have been a model back on earth.

As he started to speak, the man raised his hand, stopping Goodie mid-sentence.

“Sit, sit.” He asked, waving at him.

He had a French accent, though, as to whether he was European or Canadian French, Goodie could not tell.

An earthen chair rose from the ground. Not entirely made of soil, it consisted of a motley array of browns mixed with reds, with tufts of grass covering its back.

Goodie sat himself down, to be surprised by how much comfort the chair offered him.

“Good evening, I was wondering if I might talk to about a few things?”

“Who are you?”

“Ah, my apologies. Please, call me Goodie.”

He was not particularly fond of shaking hands with people as he knew some of the things that they could have been doing with them. The rarity of soap in this world compounding his distaste for the activity. Still, he extended his arm, in the hope that Mr. Gail would, unlike Eric, offer him the possibility to dig himself out of his current predicament. He smiled as he did so. Hoping the man before him could not tell that it was fake, his actual feelings still masked by the numbness that befell him after his visit to the inn.

Mr. Gail just shook his head, “Who are you?”

The repeated question confused him, “I’m sorry, I do not understand.”

“You come here to ask questions of me. You want me to help you. And I would help if you were a friend, but you are a stranger.”, He pointed to himself, “I do not know you.”

He gestured to the people surrounding them.

“We do not know you.”

“I know him.” Someone said.

Jeri looked like his face was about to explode. He pointed his finger at the man who had spoken, saying something in French that did not sound polite. After turning back, he took a moment to adjust himself in his seat, once again asking…

“So, who are you?”

“Not you,” he continued, “uh…Goodie…or whatever you call yourself, not your name, but you?” he said pointing at Goodie, “WHO.ARE.YOU?”

“Ah…” was all Goodie could say. He was not prepared for this. Not many people had asked him about himself. Even the Old Man had only asked him for relevant information pertaining to his background. It was not that he did not want to tell the man about himself, the information about his life on Earth would have little value in this world, but with magic in the mixture, who knew what could be done with it.

He could never find anyone who could confirm or deny it, but names were supposed to have power, at least according to common lore. But that same lore also said you could kill zombies with a headshot, so he would probably have to take that with a grain of salt.

Any concern he would normally have had, went unfelt. He breathed in the began to tell the man who he was.

“My name is Thomas Goodwill…”

The rest of his sentence was drowned out as another chorus of “Jeri” bounced around the clearing.

Goodie turned to look at the source of the disturbance.

Across the mud pond, where he himself had come from, were two men. Locals judging by the words that they were yelling.

He sighed, “Now what’s this bullshit?”

He had a clue as to why they were here. But he avoided thinking of it in the hope that it would somehow avoid the inevitable.

As the crowd let loose with another round of “Jeri”, the two guards started making their way through the one-foot deep swamp. Even from where he sat, he could clearly hear their angered words over having to get their boots dirty while wading through the Elementalist’s mire.

He knew they were looking for him.

It was then that Jeri said, “I think they are here for Mr. Goodie”

“Yes.” Was all he could say.

As the men approached, he saw that they were dressed in the uniforms of the town’s guards. They did not ask questions of anyone, they just flanked him, each taking up an escort position, he did not resist as they led him away from the group of smoke-happy people.

It was half an hour before they reached the centre of the village. Bringing him to an ornate, stone building. Unlike the rest of the village, it was painted. Plain white, but as far as the locals were concerned, the height of opulence.

He was led inside. The place was not huge, but large enough that they had to travel through some winding corridors before they brought him to a room that some would have described as lavish. It was occupied by three people, two men and a woman.

The whole situation looked very serious. An angry man, the village’s chief or mayor, or whatever fancy title that he had given himself sitting behind his desk. His wooden desk, Goodie noted.

The odd one out was the woman. He could not peg the reason why she was here, a secretary perhaps? Sexist, he knew, but this place barely had the foundation for running water, let alone equal rights. And no matter how many women in history had attained high positions in life, when dealing with the might equals right mentality, the majority of the time they got screwed over. It would have surprised him if the menfolk of a quaint place such as this would tolerate a woman with an opinion, let alone let her have a position of importance.

He turned his attention back to the main players in the room.

Even with his social skills, Goodie could tell that the guy behind the desk was corrupt as hell. Although, that was not saying much. To be honest, he could not think of a single person with any amount of power who was not a little corrupt in some way. But this guy was definitely a scumbag.

The paint job on this building alone was more than this village could afford, let alone the wealth in this room. Genuine wooden furniture was something even the city’s council rarely enjoyed outside of the council chamber itself. And then there were all the accessories. The lamps, the picture, hell he would bet even the worn-down carpet was worth something. All these things had to have been paid for somehow, or taken from someone at least.

When compared to the rest of the village, especially when taking into account that they were merely a week away from the city and on a main travel route, the inhabitants had the absolute minimum quality of life and the infrastructure was literally medieval.

The mayor’s obvious character made this whole bullshit scenario all the more obvious. It was a scam. He had been brought here for a shakedown. He recognised the signs. Especially that look in their eyes. The look that said what they were staring at was not a person, but a thing. Something to be used and thrown away when it held no more value. He had seen it far too many times in his short life to miss it.

They had led him into their territory. A move meant to unbalance him and make him more susceptible to intimidation, more willing to pay whatever price that they asked for to make it all go away, or so he thought.

Goodie had never been familiar with society’s criminal element, but everyone knew of the Colby twins back home, they were almost like the town’s mascots, a brother and sister duo that would bilk gullible tourists out of their money every summer through various idiotic schemes that would surprisingly work more often than they failed. He felt like this was something similar.

He guessed that the idiots from earlier that tried robbing him were the first act. Cheating and stealing stupid foreigners of their valuables, and if they failed, this lot would come in, screaming bloody hellfire and demanding restitution.

The other man, rough in appearance, with a mop of brown hair and a beard to match, the stink that emanated from his cheap clothing, forcing Goodie to have to constantly resist the urge to jump out the window, must have been here to play the role of the victim, or at least their representative.

Calm at first, but by some unseen cue, he began ranting and raving. What was being yelled was mostly beyond Goodie’s understanding of their language, but he caught a number of common slurs and swear words, as well as the word ‘kill’ here and there. All an act. The man’s actions to…he could not really think of a word for it…too timed…too artificial, as if he were repeating lines and actions from a script. He may have been.

The mayor or whoever he was, held up a hand and the rough man stopped. Like a dog on a leash, Goodie thought. The mayor then said something in local that he could not understand. At first, he thought it was meant for the thug, but saw the mayor looking at him. There was a slim possibility that may have been directed towards the two guards that still flanked him, but unlikely. He was about to say that he could not understand them, but was interrupted as the woman began to speak in English.

Oh, she was a translator.

“To you who have come to our honoured Village on the Hill that Produces Corn. You have been said to have committed offence that is grave and unforgiving. Must you offer payment in seeking forgiveness if you are found to be guilty of this offence.”

A poor translator, apparently.

The mayor then took out a Gem of Truth, an item that could discern when one was lying. An item whose poorest grade would have left this village bankrupt three times over. Either it was fake or they had stolen it. They must have perfected their act to such an extent that such an item would not impede their little charade. The things were hardly infallible, as there was too much middle ground and technicality where truth was concerned.

No, they would have him hold the stone, put the burden of truth in his hands. He would be found guilty of course. When one of those fools from earlier had grabbed her, Her Majesty had bitten them, not being able to deny it, this lot would force him to pay up.

As if reading his mind, the guard retrieved the gem and placed it within his hand.

Before they could ask anything, he asked them a question.

“Why do you bother with this whole act when you already hold the authority of office in this village? You could just take what you want.

The woman translated.

The mayor seemed to ignore it and continued with what he had been about to say.

“Did you attack three young boys of this village within the time of today?” She asked.

“I defended myself.” He answered, the gem remaining unchanged.

Goodie noticed the mayor’s lip curl up, hinting at a smile, but disappeared as the man stiffened his face, clearing it of emotion. Had Goodie blinked, he would have missed it, further supporting what he thought was happening. Not that he doubted, it to begin with. It suggested that the man understood English, but he may have just been happy with Goodie’s answering of the question, the final act that would ensnare him within their trap.

As the woman finished translating, the ruffian responded to another unseen cue and began to scream again; spittle showering across the room as he did so.

Goodie watched him in silence. On a normal day, he would be shitting himself. More from stress than fear. And indeed, he would more than likely be doing so tomorrow when he was back to his normal self. But right now, he really could not give a shit.

The man stopped his slurred ranting; shaking his head, he began to wobble from side to side before collapsing, Her Majesty’s venom finally kicking in.

The guards reached for their weapons. Their hand slipping off the shadow stuff that covered the hilts of their swords.

Two more bites had them swaying within seconds. A moment later, the guard on his right joined the fool on the ground. The guard on his left, however, began vomiting. A rare result of the [DRUNK] effect, usually limited to those of higher constitution.

The mayor reached for something, his action interrupted as Her Majesty appeared before him, hissing. Less like a snake and more a cat, surprising Goodie as this was the first time he had heard her make any sound, let alone mimic that of others. Or maybe that was the natural hiss of one of this world’s snakes. He really should stop assuming things.

Goodie turned to leave.

“Where are you going” the mayor had barked out, dropping all pretences.

“We all need to sleep sometime.”

As he said it, he had Her Majesty appear in his hand. As she did so, he nuzzled her snout with his nose. An act of affection that was alien to the both of them, but necessary as he was putting on his own little play people within the room. At least the for the ones who were still conscious.

“Well, some of us do.”

Goodie left through the door. As he did so, Her Majesty wrapped round his neck, not completely as she normally would. Her head raised to stare over his shoulder. Through their link, he could see the mayor as the mayor, in turn, stared at her.

“Pleasant dreams Mr. Mayor.” He spoke out as he waved goodbye.