Gilded Chaos

Villa Dump

Where the hell is Holber? I need to show him this tooth/talon thing. 

Yes. I feel no shame in admitting that my only friends are Mr Murphy and Holber. Even though Mr Murphy is walking a thin line between friend and damnable employer, I think with a scowl, scanning the shop for Holber. 

I'd make him forge the dagger for me with a smile and a penny. Damn whatever Mr Eric Terrignem says about the dagger being made by me alone. 

"Mr Murphy! Have you seen Holber? He should have been back from lunch two hours ago."

It seems that's what our conversations mainly consist of these days. The big oaf better not have gotten himself into worse trouble than usual. For a forty-year-old man, he sure is careless.

"Don't know, lass. Haven't seen 'im. I've got a bad feeling about this", Mr Murphy tells me. I ignore the word 'lass' as he mutters worriedly to himself.

Ah well. Guess I'll have to start on my own then.

I begin with formulating my own blue print. Mr Terrignem didn't specify a design. Those sorts usually take whatever's handed to them, as long as it's functional. However, considering the type of material I've been given, I actually put some effort into the design. I'd have to be as daft as Mr Murphy claims I am not to realize that this stuff is of great value.

***

Rolling up the piece of parchment on which I've drawn my final draft, I put the dagger's components back into the parcel, which I put into my satchel as I prepare to close up shop for the day- Mr Murphy having left a while ago. This duty normally falls upon me as I often work the latest.

The sickly-looking, waning rays of dusk cast me a few seconds of illumination as I trudge though the still-muddy streets and make my way home.

Passing the bar where Holber normally gets into brawls, there's no sign of him. I feel a gnawing worry in my gut.

Oh wait, that's my stomach.

Purchasing a tin of broth, all gnawing seems forgotten. Having reached the quieter residential part of the dregs, I get a creeping feeling at the back of my neck. Again.

Groaning aloud, I ignore it. It'll probably take more food to get rid of this one, as well, and I passed the food vendors a while back.

My wonderful abode finally comes into view. It's probably one of the worse off apartments in the area, which says a lot considering the rundown state of the entire area, but it's home. I'd started renting it three months after I got the job with Mr Murphy. Those months were something out of a nightmare.

A third story apartment with a view of the better part of the city and what we'd like to consider a river- we can never be certain, though. The first floor consists of a disreputable but honestly lovely bar, the second and third floors housing a cluster of tiny apartments.

I had to pay a hefty- to me- sum for the third-floor apartment, as far away from the rowdy drunks that often drift up from the bar as possible.

The nearer I get to the building, the more the feeling of someone watching me intensifies. I'll have to eat the entire can of broth. I simply have to.

Passing the threshold that's smelly enough to send any sensible person running, I grin in greeting to the bartender and landlady, Helga, who scowls and gets back to wiping counters.

She and Mr Murphy should exchange notes.

I ascend the rickety stairs I'd spent many a night cleaning, and make it to the third floor, surviving yet another day. 

Just as I round the last corner to my apartment, however, the creeping feeling travels along my spine as though its destination is the darkest compounds of my mind. Doesn't help that I'm picturing this as a deadly spider in my clothes.

I make a run for my apartment door, scrambling to get the keys out of my pockets. This is getting ridic-

Just as I'm about to insert the key into the lock, I'm yanked back with an arm around my waist and a hand on my mouth, garbling the- no, I did not scream- yelp of surprise that escapes my mouth.

After a few seconds of struggling I suddenly stop and slump in the arms of my captor, only to knock the back of my head with what feels like someone's inconveniently angular jaw.

My captor's grip momentarily loosened, I spin in place with a fist cocked back, ready to punch the daylights out of-

Mr Eric Terrignem?