Last time in our riveting story, Bert, Lem, and Nelhoepher explored the seedier side of Susselfen. Meanwhile, Jarthen got to know the felintarks a little better before developing an immediately and powerful crush on Leila, the Inalan guide's daughter.
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The act of waking up in the morning had not been something that Bertronius Worthis held strong feelings about until the day after his initiation into the world of Susselfen’s fabled brothels and drug dens. This morning, however, the young russet-headed lad found that the combination of large amounts of ale and cheap elvish pipeweed had instilled in him a newfound loathing for the transition between sleep and consciousness so deep that he had to restrain himself quite severely from hitting McNab as he roused him and his companions from their drowsy stupor.
“Come on ye lazy gits,” the spymaster cajoled jokingly as he opened the curtains, allowing the blinding light of the morning sun to pour through the windows of their room in the inn, “I’m not entirely sure that I want to know what the lot ye were up to last night, but we’ve got a spy meetin’ to get to afore too long!”
“But gran, I don’t wanna go to school today!” Lem moaned, apparently transported via the mysteries of sleep back to the Fethil under the watchful eye of his matronly grandmother.
“Aww, but Lemmie, I’ve made yer favorite fer breakfast! Now don’t ye want to get up fer gran, then?” McNab cooed in a startlingly good impersonation of an elderly woman.
“Really, you’ve made cracklin’ mushbread1?” Lem responded, his eyes still shut.
“No! Now get yer arse out o’ bed afore I tan it!” the spymaster responded with more humor than threat, shaking the boy until he rejoined his comrades in the here and now.
“Honestly, I canna see how ye can see what’s in front o’ ye let alone ta future in the midst of this confounded murk!” Jellihondor remarked rubbing his running nose and watery eyes with a handkerchief, referring to the heavy perfume of smoldering gruit that shrouded the small domed structure in which he, Glothnafar, and the fabled Inalan seer, Shalini, sat.
“Yair must bear in mind, Jellihondor, that not all of urse are so blessed with a magical connection to air world as yair kind, and thus require assistance in wading into the river ov time,” Shalini remarked as she breathed the odd, slightly tangy aroma of the burning plant material. She grabbed another handful of woody-stemmed perennials festooned with small pink flowers, known as gruit, and tossed them into the fire. Unlike Elvish seers who require no smoke and pungent aromas, gruit has been hailed since time immemorial by human and centaur seers to facilitate their communion with the forces that grant them insight into the future.
Shalini shrouded in gruit smoke (which is apparently not hypoallergenic)“Aye, I suppose yer right, but…achoo!…I don’t think tha’ I’ll ever get used ta this stink! I don’t know how ye stand it, Glothie,” he replied, patting his half-horse companion. Glothnafar, who had lowered himself to the ground – an act which centaurs consider demeaning unless absolutely necessary – did not respond at first. His eyes, which usually burned with as much intensity as a hot branch of gruit, were strangely placid, and seemed to be focused on some faraway, unseen object.
“Hush,” the seemingly timeless Inalan woman said firmly to the elf as she added another branch to the smoking cauldron, “he has entered.....the stream.”
Jellihondor turned to look at the centaur and saw that his friend had certainly left the present. Though his eyes remained open and would twitch every so often it was clear that the centaur was not looking at anything in the small, smoky hut. “Egad! I can’t imagine what’d happen ta him if he tried a bit o’ pipeherb,” Jellihondor whispered jokingly to Shalini. The Inalan prophet, however, did not respond to his whisper, and one glance showed that she too had entered the same dreamlike state that Glothnafar now inhabited.
Unaffected by the mysterious powers of the gruit save for a wicked case of hay fever – Jellihondor typically received his insights into the future in the form of esoteric dreams that he would then interpret with the assistance of Glothnafar – the old elf took another look at his companions, shrugged his shoulders, and pulled out his pipe to pass the time until they rejoined him in the land of the present.
Though there was no cracklin’ mushbread to be had that day, the three young spies and their commander still managed to make it out the door in a sufficiently punctual manner to ensure that they would not be tardy.
“So, what time does this meeting actually start?” Bertronius asked, his inherent curiosity was returning slightly now that he had had something (albeit not cracklin’ mushbread) to quell the unrest in his digestive track. “What are we going to cover? Are we going to get specific assignments, or are things going to be flexible?” he added before McNab had a chance to answer his first query.
“Well, it doesn’t actually start for another hour, but I wanted to get there early so as you lot would have a chance to meet Sir Atelon Scrudton – he’s in charge of intelligence operations in Susselfen and the surrounding area,” he responded, before pausing to mull over Bertronius’s other questions. “The meeting will probably be mostly reports from the agents, and updates on the war effort in general. I’ll probably have some more responsibilities for you, Bert, but I’m not quite sure what we’re going to do with these two,” he said winking as he nodded his head to Lem and Nelhoepher.
“Ah, here it is,” McNab said as the four spies reached the threshold of a very shabby looking building in an especially seedy section of Susselfen. The building was not marked by any sort of sign, and its windows were blocked out with wood from the inside giving it an altogether abandoned look, but McNab’s knock on the door was promptly answered.
“What ever ye’re selling we ain’t interested,” a gruff voice grunted as the door opened a crack.
“Ahh shut it, Pearson, ye know perfectly well ye’d let the entire rebel army in here if they were sellin’ mushcakes” McNab responded jokingly.
“Alrigh’, alrigh’, I was just tryin’ to have one over on ye, McNab! Why are ye here so early anyways – the meetin’ doesn’t start fer another hour,” said Pearson, a thin, narrow, mustachioed man dressed in street clothes with a sinister looking club fastened to his belt, as he opened the door for the spies.
“I’m here to introduce these’uns to Sir Atelon, I think he should be expectin’ us…” McNab spoke as he his cohort entered the building, but he was cutoff by a figure who emerged stealthily from his hiding place behind a curtain that unnecessarily garnished the blocked off window.
“You think correctly, McNab. I knew that you would be coming,” said a tall, willowy man of about 60. He had a brisk, clipped manner of speaking that complimented his quick, birdlike movements. “You must be our new recruits! I’ve been greatly looking forward to meeting you, I am Sir Atelon Rufinius Magden Scrudton, but you must call me Sir Atelon. And what, pray tell, are your names?”
“Well hello Sir Atelon, it’s pleasure to meet you, and well my name is Lemonius,” Lem began addressed the avian spy, until Nelhoepher, stepping in front of his earnest comrade, interjected, “and I am Nelhoepher Spluck, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir Atelon, and we’re ready to hit streets.” Nelhoepher flashed a pearly white smile, while the older spy commander shook the outstretched hand with a look paternal of condescension.
Once Sir Atelon had extracted his hand form Nelhoepher’s enthusiastic grip, Bertronius introduced himself, which prompted the spy to exclaim, “oh my, a vassal! It is not too often that we encounter someone of such lofty heritage – apart from daffy ol’ Iloskin. Of course an impeccable pedigree does not necessarily a good spy make, but,” he paused to cast the young vassal a knowing look and lowered his voice to a stage whisper, “it doesn’t hurt. Now come along, lads,” he continued, now addressing the group as a whole, “we have a meeting to get to, and I don’t care to be late!”
the singularly impressive Atelon Scrudton
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