The fireplace in room 4C of the Old Styd?n Inn crackles, a quiet ambiance keeping K?spar company as he reads. He had stopped at the Styd?n library on his way back to the inn, looking for a novella to keep him occupied during his stay; by recommendation of the librarian, he is reading “The Manor of Otreden [1]”—she said it was fitting for the season, and he agrees.

  There is a sharp knock at the door, pulling him out of the story and back into the stiff wooden chair. “Come in!”

  The door creaks open, and a woman enters.

  “Reading?” The woman says. “I’ve never had a customer so polite that he waits for me with a book.”

  K?spar closes the book, placing it on the table next to him. He looks to the woman; the first thing he notices is her slender waist, but there is no outline of a corset or stay from beneath her clothing; her hair is a stiff blonde, similar in texture to that of straw but not unclean; She is smaller than average in both height and build; her dress is well made and well kept, but still shows signs of obvious wear, its design was familiar to him, something he had seen in S?gsetun nearly a decade ago, very popular among middle-class women. “Take a seat on the bed.”

  The woman sits down; she’s rather fond of the peaceful start to this interaction.

  “Tell me about the city.” He leans back in the chair.

  The woman is taken aback, but based on his tone and body language, she can tell he is perfectly serious. “What do you want to know?”

  He thinks for a moment; he knows what he wants to be told, but he cannot ask it first. “Tell me about the high priestess.”

  “She’s a kind woman; everyone likes her.”

  “What’s her name? have you met her?”

  “Yes, twice; she’s only been there for about three years. High Priestess Ny??.”

  “What happened to the last one?”

  “She retired.”

  K?spar watches the woman fidget with her hands, covering the ear closest to him. He leans in. “What’s the most full-golds you’ve ever held?”

  “Two...”

  He reaches into his coin purse, removing four full-golds and placing them on top of the book. “This will be your tip; every time you lie to me, I take a half-gold. Try that again.”

  “She was run out.” She pauses. “By Mar?l Humel.”

  He raises his eyebrows, ushering her on.

  “He’s an advisor to Drewer; used to be the head of the city guard. He tried to buy her, but she refused; her temple started getting attacked and robbed, but the guards would do nothing. Things keep getting worse, attacks on her group, things like that. I heard that she was told it would stop if she left. So she did, and no one’s heard from her since.”

  “So High Priestess Ny??, what about her? did he try something similar?”

  “Yes, but she refused and told her brother about it; he told Mar?l he would be dead in the street by the next day if it happened again.”

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  He nods. “So do you know the High Priestess’s brother?”

  She begins to raise her hand again but stops. “Yes.”

  “Can you tell me about him?”

  “I think it’s best we don’t talk about him.”

  He nods; whoever the high priestess's brother is has some sort of control over what goes on among the city.

  The woman starts unbuttoning her blue blouse. “I think it’s time you get what you paid for, don’t you?” She looks at the clock on the mantel. “You only paid enough to have me for an hour.”

  “I’m paying for you, and what I want you to do is tell me about Styd?n.” He says firmly, drumming his nails against the table.

  “Why get someone like me to tell you about a city? I’m not some sort of guide.”

  “A guide won’t tell me what I want to know.”

  “You’re just trying to hide the fact that you’re so lonely you pay women to talk to you.”

  K?spar starts picking up the coins, letting them clink in his hand.

  “Fine, fine, fine.” She sighs.

  “What’s life like in Styd?n?”

  “It’s gotten worse; nothing’s getting done, not a damn thing. I’ve heard all the advisors do it—argue back and forth; some want this, some want that, one wants to become a barony, and one wants to expand. Then they need the approval of a child for all of it.” Her stomach growls audibly. “I just want to eat; we all just want to eat. After I pay my rent and my debts, I’ve got next to nothing.” She hasn’t had someone who actually wishes to listen to her since her sister died, but if he’s going to pay her to speak, she’s going to speak. “This used to be fine; there was a soup kitchen—was the bread stale? yes, was the beer piss-water? yes, would I like to know what was in the soup? gods no. Drewer’s dad used to have it maintained, old vegetables from his kitchen, bakers were required to donate the day-olds, and butchers the offcuts and things they couldn’t sell. Now the bakeries sell the day-olds to us, not even at a reasonable discount.” She pauses and looks K?spar in the eyes. “I’m glad it was you tonight; some of these bastards go crazy when they find out you’re starving. But you're just paying me to talk; it’s nice. I’m going to treat myself and some of the girls at some point, maybe move to a small village after. Back when I was little, I had a real sweet tooth. My dad, before my mother died, would take me at the end of each maiden to get a treat, nothing really special, just something other than stale bread and goat's milk; he would never get anything, I just thought he didn’t want anything; do you look back on what your parents did? you never thought anything of it until you were older and realized how the world works? My mother... when my sister was born...” She trails off; she starts to feel bad for telling a complete stranger to her whole life story. “Sorry.”

  “It’s alright, don’t worry. You’ve got a sweet tooth, you said. I do as well; where do you recommend?”

  “Where? hmm... My dad used to always take me to M?l’s because he always puts the most sugar; so M?l’s. He charges more than all the other places—king’s chef and all—but I don’t think that will be an issue for you, mer’big-tipper.” She chuckles.

  “I’ve heard great things about M?l.”

  “As a person?”

  “No, just as a baker.”

  “Yeah, I thought so.”

  “Is he not a good person?”

  “Well, he’s really competitive, really jealous, and runs his store with a death grip.”

  “As in how he acts within the bakers guild?”

  “Yes, I’ve been told he steals recipes and claims them for his own, and tries to steal customers for catering jobs, but the food is really good, and I’m not really effected by what he does so I’m not exactly against it.”

  K?spar nods. “Interesting, I never would have thought bakers of all trades would be that backhanded.”

  “They’re all the same; they all eat each other; everyone just wants to eat each other.”

  The topic moves towards the general state of the lower class of Styd?n, and the woman continues to lament the direction her life and the lives of the people around her have gone. She wants nothing more than stability.

  The clock on the mantel strikes 01:30, and she stands. “It was nice talking to you; it’s been a long time since I felt that someone actually understood me.”

  “You’re very welcome, thank for humoring my request.” He hands her the coins.

  She smiles and takes the coins and heads to the door.

  She pauses, hand on the knob. “You never asked me for my name and never told me yours.”

  “And if I did, neither of us would tell the truth.”

  Footnotes

  [1] A novella by H?ris Walden (0476EotG-0514EotG) centering on a young woman named Vellah, who, in an attempt to escape the father of her dead husband, stumbles upon centuries old mysteries hidden within his manor.