Chapter 30: Seventh Princess

“The both of you have been acting weird lately.” Pontiff reduced the distance between them to a feet apart. “Well, weirder than usual.”

“So… can you tell us what’s going on?” Priscilla stood up and offered a hand to Morr. “We can help.”

Morr accepted her hand and said goodbye to the cleanliness of his skin. Reluctance swept his face, his eyes averted their faces as he patted any dirt off his body. The enemy this time was too overwhelming; asking for their help meant the uncertainty of their lives.

Priscilla noticed his distressed and brought her hand up to his face. She built up power, increasing the potential energy in her finger, and unleashed it all in one go!

Flick! Morr’s head launched back as he reflexively covered his nose with both hands. A barely noticeable stinging sensation accompanied by a pinkish color stood tall at the tip of his nose. The sudden attack left him in a state of bewilderment, and at the same time, cleared his mind of his worries, if only for a moment.

“Let us help.” Priscilla said.

Pontiff saw the crude, incomplete form that developed on Morr’s forearm. Under the light from the streetlight the dark lining stood out. It advanced from a small, curvy line to a shape that resembled a circle.

“Yeah…” Morr told them about the sudden ambush by the Priestess of Sgrios when they were searching for Gratt’s sword. After being rendered helpless, the Priestess of Sgrios imposed a task onto him that would spare his life. The task was to seek out the one who controls Mileth Crypt, and bring them to the 10th floor. He filled them in on the discussion he had with the man he converse with at the tavern.

Priscilla cheerfully shoved the two along. “Then there’s only one thing we need to do!”

***

A home estate surrounded by a wall of garden had a huge print of the word ‘Burgess’ at the top-center of the house. Spiky metal fences and a towering gate surrounded the perimeter of the Burgess’ estate to discourage intruders and mischievous minds. Two towers acted as wings of the house painted in a pristine white. Just outside the gate sat a large wooden board that read ‘Public forum open until sunset’ with a stationary attendant. Horses and carriages were parked outside of the front yard, just beneath a flight of stairs that led to the house’s large mahogany doors. Torches in hand, soldiers patrolled both inside and outside of the gate; mainly around a fountain of water near the horses and carriages, and as well as the perimeter of the garden.

The public forum’s meeting room in the Burgess’ estate had rows of seats filled with wealthy merchants, nobles with their own attendants and servants, and well-equipped adventurers whom had the essentials covered from head-to-toe. Although their armors were eye-catching, none held a weapon of any kind on their bodies due to the policy of the house owner. Any unable to find a seat were forced to be left standing. The rows of seats crowded the center, where a round table risen by a wooden square platform seated four Aislings with two seats empty. Many of the spectator’s chatter were kept to a background-noise level. Merchants discussed profitable cross-city trades. Nobles indulged in the current affairs of guilds, family, and political interest. Adventurers mingled in subjects such as different types of work, abilities, magic, and hunting grounds. People walked in and out freely as the four Aislings at the round-table remained silent. Soldiers who were on watch duty remained still with shifty eyes, near the exits of the room.

To the east chair sat Hegel with Guard Crol standing by his side. To the south chair sat the white-red-haired woman that represented Atlantis, and Nurdock standing to her side. To the north chair sat a man who wore his expense on his body, the Burgess. Wallet-crying jewelries adorned every finger, his neck, and his wrists. His pompadour and extravagant blue coat screamed of his special status. Four Mileth guards in their official green uniform secured his flank. Papers and pen had been prepared and laid out on the table for all seated members, present and absent.

None of them talked; their ears fell to the chatter from the spectators.

The Burgess examined the watch on his wrist: 2:09 past midnight. Eyes of impatience gaze at the two cold seats, waiting for their respective owners to warm them. He examined his watch again: 2:09 past midnight. The amount of people entering and leaving remained at large. Everyone seated in the room seemed content to stay, and anyone not here were on a time limit.

Guard Crol remained vigilant as ever. The more people in a setting like this, the more difficult it is to have a clear vision of any ill-intentions. Although they were all bodily checked and disarmed, Crol kept a solemn and vigilant composure. With five Mileth Guards on duty he shouldn’t be as tense as he was, but there’s no such thing as being too safe to him. Especially with the special treatment given to Hegel, he had to live up to his duty to prevent any foreseeable harm.

The crowd near the exit of the room became rowdy once more. They were in shock and awe of the presence walking towards the public forum’s room. They stared and gossiped, regardless of the tiny proximity between them. A man of plastic skin, permeating a mixed odor of alcohol and rubbery plastic, entered the room with a big casket on his back. With the large amount of bodily smell in the room not many people were bother by it. He pulled the west chair of the round table and sat down.

Nurdock slightly bended to whisper into the lady’s ears. “Mistress, that’s the Ranger of Temuair said to be in Mileth.”

His slightly lady nodded, her eyes remained close.

Crol rapidly excused himself from his position and stepped next to casket-man, a Ranger of Temuair.

“Did you find them?” Crol asked with a hint of urgency.

“I found one: the black cape person.” The casket-man replied. “I haven’t seen the other two, though. Sensory magic didn't prove to be of much use, in this case.”

Guard Crol nodded with a pained face. Finding one of the three was a start, but wishful thinking had him hoping for more. Nevertheless, the casket-man told him of the black-cape-person’s whereabouts, and Crol resumed his position next to Hegel.

Hegel watched Crol’s nervous movements as he came back. A thought that linked to Dr. Mav and Crol appeared, and he informally inquire about his activity. Crol reported that his activity isn’t essential to his job, and so kept a stance of confidentiality.

“You can’t hide them forever.” Hegel grinned. “I wasn’t the only one watching. Many people in the audience that day have been trying to track them. It is only a matter of time until whispers begin to fly and words get around.”

On a second thought, Crol wouldn’t mind if the man suddenly fell to an accident. He took out a pack of cigarettes with one hand, and a portable lighter with the other. With a single cigarette in his mouth, he excused himself for just a moment. The other guards and soldiers inside the room were given instruction to be on the lookout for anything.

***

Upon entering the law district the three noticed a long line that stretched passed many blocks of streets with compacted buildings. A simple question directed at the people in queue gave them the answers they seek. They waited in queue, and couldn’t help but feel out of place. Everyone in front or behind them were just so… fancy. Fashionable designs of various materials helped showed off their prestige. Furs and leathers of the highest quality made the three of them look rather homeless. Luxurious apparels were ubiquitous; those three stood out the most for dressing so poorly. There were even carriages with dressed-up coachmen in suits and ties that largely contributed to the length of the line.

The power of wealth had Priscilla in awe. Never before had she seen so much wealth in one sitting. Well-groomed hairs, glittering jewelries, bold and provocative dresses all screamed of money, money, and more money! Their exuberant attitudes had them complimenting each other on their aesthetics.

The voice of a stationary attendant screaming ‘Next’ grew louder as the line got shorter.

Finally, it was there turn.

The attendant stared at them with a tired scowl, as if waiting for something. The three of them stared back, unassured of the attendant’s intention. Priscilla finally spoke up, and the guard said “ID of citizenship, or proof of renown.” It was a simple request, and the three procured their IDs to have it verify. With a shake of her head, the attendant return their IDs and shouted ‘Next.’

A quarrel between the group of three and a stationary attendant rippled the quiet night. Each party remained adamant of their position; both struggling to gain ground in their agenda. One pushed for entry to the estate, and the other ruthlessly denied their entry. All the while ignoring a beautiful carriage embellished with the finest luxury royalty can offer. The coachman of the carriage who's second-in-line sighed at their misfortune to be in queue behind the three troublemakers.

Morr pointed to the sign that read ‘Public forum.’ “It’s public. PUUUUBLLLLIC! Denying us here doesn’t seem very public, does it?”

“Your IDs aren’t sufficient enough to get you through.” The stationary attendant repeated. “Only ranks silver or higher are permitted entry to this forum.”

“What?” Morr scoffed. “Why does rank matter here? You use your eyes, ears, and mouth in a public forum. Ranking has nothing to do with this.”

“No entry.” The attendant said. “If you have a problem, then take it up with the Burgess. Next!”

“Huh?!” Morr was at the verge of tearing the hairs out of his head. They’ve been arguing about this for the past minutes and have drawn eyes from wandering patrols. “Then let me through. I can’t speak to the Burgess if I can’t get pass the gate.”

“No entry.” The attendant said once more. “If that’s also a problem, then take your problems to the Burgess.”

“What!” Priscilla shouted at a higher volume. “What is this stupid logic? We’re trying to do that, but you won’t let us through!”

“No entry.” The attendant recited. “Your problem, not mine.”

The attendant indifferently looked at the two whom were at their wit’s end. Their heads were ready to burst at a moment’s notice, which she understood clearly. Their friend, whom had a compose face, seemed like he’d be reasonable.

“Can you tell your buddies that entry is not allowed?” The attendant asked Pontiff.

“Dumb-dumb, let us through.” Pontiff casually insulted the attendant and had the gall to point at her.

The stationary attendant looked at Pontiff and the two fuming with agitation, and then stared mindlessly at the space ahead. Humming an indistinct tune, the attendant’s loud whistles fought back against their combined complaint all the while avoiding eye-contact.

“Ignoring us?!” Priscilla waved her hand in front of the attendant face, like a kid seeking attention. “Don’t ignore us!”

Crol puffed a few smokes as he wandered the front yard. Loud commotions at the gate drew his attention. On a closer inspection of the gate, Crol immediately leaped from a leisure stroll to a brisk pace. Zooming past the horses, carriages, and fountain had patrollers mistakenly taken him for a suspicious person on the run.

The attendant repeated ‘No entry’ once more, but it fell onto deaf ears.

The gate opened, and the stationed attendant greeted Crol as he walked pass the gate, distressed.

“Is something the matter, sir?” The attendant asked.

Crol ignored the stationed attendant at the gate. The three of them high-fived; with the appearance of Crol their victory against this no-name obstacle was guaranteed. Morr, Priscilla, and Pontiff childishly stuck their tongues out at the attendant before striking a victory pose.

“What are the three of you doing here?” Crol hurriedly asked as he checked behind him. “No, there’s no time for that. You have to get--“

“We’re trying to get inside, but this buffoon won’t let us.” Priscilla held her head high and stuck her chin out with the pride of a winner. “Talk about rudeness.”

“No!” Crol's vehement denial plucked the wings off of their hopes, and it came crashing down. Taking a firmer stance than the attendant, Crol stood in front of the gate like an impenetrable fortress. “Absolutely not!”

The coachman waiting behind Morr’s group unmounted the carriage’s horse. He, too, launched a mouthful of complaints at their conduct. They formed an unspoken alliance, and the coachman badmouthed the attendant’s poor-handling skills. Everything took way too long, was the gist of his complaint. The line only grew longer, and with the sudden stoppage of its shortening, people became agitated at the traffic.

Crol found himself swallowed whole by a sudden eruption of the sea of angry emotions. The beast in front of him had him, the attendant, and the patrolling guards fearful of its growth. Many of the people in line had some influence one way or another, which demanded extreme cautiousness to not piss them off more than already. Gradually, the crowd’s chant evolved into ‘Kick them out, or let them in!’

Descending from the coachman’s carriage was an Aisling of dark, straight hair with wavy tips tied into a ponytail. Long, beautiful bangs teased hints of a set of vast, ocean-blue, aquatic eyes that embodied all the beauty of a calm, majestic sea. She marched forth; her swaying dark green jacket revealed her tight, white sleeveless top; green pants hugged her legs leaving zero chance to breathe. An insignia of Temuair -- a head of a dragon with the number seven between its scaly eyes -- was taken out of her pocket to show to Crol.

The area fell to a silence once more. The line cascaded into everyone showing their proper respect by bowing. Patrolmen from afar may not be able to perceive the reason why, but they too followed the actions of everyone else.

Crol suddenly bended his upper body, his eyes dared not to look into hers. “Seventh princess!”

She set her eyes on Priscilla, Pontiff, and Morr. No one knew how it happened. Their bodies acted before their mind could even parse the Aisling in front of them. Morr and Priscilla found themselves holding their breaths, reflexively. A presence of royalty; of lineage that deemed one unworthy to use their mouth unless permitted; to not breathe unless given the green light. However, her eyes weren’t those of haughtiness, or ones raised on a silver platter.

It was distant and lonely.

The coachman respectfully bowed before suggesting that she climb back into the carriage. However, he was defeated with a short, measly gaze. She grabbed Morr’s dark cape, rubbing it between her hands, before examining the party of three once more.

Crol quickly wrapped the three together and forced them to bow.

They had their eyes forcibly set onto the ground, not knowing what to do. Based on Crol’s reaction she was part of the royal family. But to properly act and engage with a royal member had them at a loss. They didn’t know how to treat someone who is supposedly on a higher plane than they are.

“Uh…” Priscilla couldn’t find the words to say in this development.

Crol hadn’t receive permission to look up, but a particular shoulder tap had him turning sideways. The coachman nodded as he caught Crol’s attention and implicitly suggested that it was fine to elevate their heads. He pointed in front of them, which naturally drew Crol, Priscilla, Pontiff, and Morr’s gazes.

The seventh princess had her dark green jacket and ponytail turned towards them. She stood still in front of the gate, without a spoken word. Their eyes fell on the epitome of patience; not a single fiber of muscle had a hint of urgency or nervous movements. A royal presence was at the gate, naturally waiting, as if the gate would automatically open in their presence.

“Open the gates!” Crol shouted at the attendant.