Humble Beginnings (2)
Idwild and I turned to each other at the same time. Hildeva, her eyes wide open, looked at me and then back toward the stairs.
"Wha—! Don't grab him!"
"Do you even know what city this is? I'm sick of getting turned away by snot-nosed kids like you in every damn town we pass through!"
"Gahhh!"
A crash of something breaking and tumbling echoed out. Urgent footsteps pounded from multiple directions all at once.
"Block him! Block the stairs! Don't let him get to the administrator!"
"Agh! Let go of me!"
An official came flying up from the lower stairs, slamming hard into the floor of this level. He spotted Hildeva and scrambled to his feet in a panic.
"Administrator! Some lunatic—! Gahk!"
A second official flew in and tangled with him. Shouts erupted from below.
"He's coming up the stairs! Grab him!"
I stepped in front of Hildeva. Heavy, stomping footsteps climbed the stairs with fury.
"Out of my way!"
The figure who appeared was shockingly a little kid... no, wait, what the hell? A dwarf, barely reaching an adult man's waist, with shoulders like a brick wall, kicked aside the rolling officials and stormed onto our floor. His single braid of orange hair swung as his irritated face twisted into a sneer, baring his teeth. The hammer on his belt was particularly striking—thick and blunt handle, head as big and heavy-looking as a blacksmith's anvil.
Why the hell is one of those stubborn mountain mine hicks showing up here?
Dwarves were almost as insular as elves. These shorties made their living mining ore, researching, and building machines in their mine cities, and they rarely ever left them in their lifetimes. They were entirely self-sufficient inside their mines, trading only essentials through middlemen. Overflowing with artisan pride and arrogance, they looked down on other races with their bullheaded attitudes that'd make your tongue hang out in disbelief. So yeah, of course he'd hurl humans blocking his path without a second thought when demanding to see the administrator. Hell, he deserved credit for not just hammering them.
The dwarf, heaving with shoulder breaths, spat at me.
"You the administrator, punk?!"
Now I could get a good look at his face. For a dwarf, he was surprisingly neat and tidy. No soot or coal dust on his face, and though his hair was long, it wasn't singed or curled at the ends from furnace heat. He looked nothing like the stereotypical grimy, dust-covered dwarf. His nearly wrinkle-free skin and hands without much callusing suggested he was a young one, probably not even fifty. Dwarves lived about two hundred years on average, so fifty was still a kid to them.
"If you have business at city hall, follow procedure. What's the point of barging in like this?"
"What?!"
At my words, the dwarf twitched toward his hammer. I raised a finger and pointed down the stairs.
"Go back down. Register at the counter and wait."
"Hey, you cocky little shit! Do you know how many administrators have rejected me so far...?"
"That's why they reject you. What's that on your head? A helmet rack?"
There's a joke that if you want to cook without a stove, insult a dwarf like crazy and plop a pot on his head. These hot-blooded, aggressive bastards wouldn't stand for that kind of insult right to their face.
"What kinda furnace-fucked moron sticks his head in and dies?!"
In the end, the dwarf yanked out his hammer and charged with his stubby legs pounding the floor.
These simple-minded little shits.
I waited until the dwarf was right in my face, then lifted my foot to his head height and slammed my sole into his mug. He flipped backward.
"Graaah!"
Having suffered unimaginable humiliation, the dwarf howled and swung his hammer wildly as he got up. I casually shifted my raised foot to kick his wrist. The hammer flew, smashing the floorboards.
Heavier than it looks. No wonder—swinging that one-handed. Gotta give these runts credit for raw strength.
"You fucker!"
Missing his hammer, the dwarf lunged bare-handed. Too lazy to bend over, I swept my leg low and hooked his ankle. His compact, muscled body launched into the air; I grabbed his nape and hoisted him up to eye level. Rage boiled in his eyes as he flailed punches at me. Surprisingly, a faint soap scent wafted with each move.
These mine-dwellers who never bathed... what the hell is with this guy?
"Behave."
A gut punch made him go limp with a gag. The officials who'd rushed up froze in shock at me holding the dwarf single-handed.
"Phew... Bertrand, you okay? Hurt anywhere?"
I tossed the dwarf down; Hildeva fretted over my arm.
"Like I'd get hurt by that? Though the floor's wrecked now."
The dwarf's hammer had splintered the boards and half-embedded itself. A few officials tried lifting it but struggled. Even two together couldn't budge it, so I shoved them aside and yanked it free.
"Whoaaa...!"
Admiring gasps rose from the officials. The hammer was insanely sturdy and heavy—probably forged from some mineral humans couldn't handle. Dwarves toyed with that stuff like it was nothing.
"Um... sir? Could you help with this too...?"
Now four officials grunted around the sprawled dwarf. Short but muscle-packed, these dwarves weighed a ton. Not easy to move without serious strength. I held the hammer in one hand, grabbed his belt with the other, and lifted.
"Gasp... Your strength is unreal, sir."
"Should I toss this in the warehouse out front for now?"
"That'd be a huge help."
Carrying the dwarf and hammer, I headed outside and chucked them under the public warehouse awning next door. The dwarf hit the ground with a thud, rolled a few times, and sprawled limp.
Serves you right for charging in blind, asshole.
Back inside city hall, things were chaotic from the dwarf's rampage. Even Hildeva looked flustered.
Not the time for a long chat.
"Administrator, I'll come back later."
"Please do. Sorry... What the hell even is this mess...?"
She gathered officials and headed to the "dead" dwarf. One ran off to fetch a saintess from the temple; I stopped him and said she was at the inn. He bolted there first; I followed leisurely.
Glancing back, Hildeva crouched, slapping the dwarf's cheek. Her short skirt flashed thigh and black panties between.
Nice view...
On the way back, I ran into Celereja heading to city hall with the official. She gave me a shy smile; I grinned back, and she covered her face, nearly tripping. Grabbing the official's hair to steady herself, the blushing saintess stormed past.
No trace of last night's clingy psycho. Guess getting it out of her system brought her back to normal.
At the inn, no staff in sight. Up on the third floor, doors open, everyone crashed out. Marim snored loud. Late-night drinking and a hell-horse ride in the morning sun— no wonder they were wiped.
Sleep hit me too. I flopped onto bed, door open. Asenaris's chill wafted in, cooling the room nicely.
Sleep first... Prep for tomorrow's business... Think about the lot...
Evening, Francois fed us first. Celereja joined fresh from the temple. She loved her cooking. Getting home in time for dinner nearly brought tears to her eyes.
After prep, we lounged in the hall reminiscing about Grace Bay. They were genuinely thrilled—Pelle stuck around till the end.
For most except Francois, traveling just to have fun was a first. Della, Idi, Marim, Pelle, Celereja—all had rough pasts, no room for vacations in their grueling lives.
Della especially—we'd slaved together since before Rosens had a soul around, building the inn. Always smiling, kind, gentle. Without her, we wouldn't be here.
She blushed and ducked her head at my affectionate gaze.
Cute...
Not too late, we headed upstairs. "Goodnight" greetings, into rooms. Celereja hesitated in the hall, saw open doors, and slunk to hers disappointed. No soundproofing meant even she couldn't boldly initiate night fun.
Next morning, I headed to the back lot. Pacing, I pondered yesterday's ideas. Money? Marquis intro letter covers it. Guild bank'll lend plenty—not chump change for a marquis.
Construction? Hire laborers. Might not match my vision perfectly, but find skilled ones.
Killing time till breakfast ended, I entered via kitchen to the hall. Voices from basement stairs—staff minus delivery Marim struggled with a beer-filled oak keg.
"What're you doing?"
Della perked up. "Boss! Help quick—we gotta move this."
"Whole keg...? Why?"
"For a guest."
"A guest...? The keg...?"
Just pour into mugs—why haul the whole thing? Dragon guest or what?
I glanced to the hall.
And realized why they were hauling the keg.