Hear the tolling of the bell,
Hear it sound the death knell.
It must be answered, that bell;
It must be silenced, that knell.
-- Song of the Doomed

Chapter Nineteen

Edward had slept for hours, woken to eat, and then slept again. He was tired, irritated, and not a little sore from his many misadventures. However, now that it was midday on the day after his rendezvous with the Dark Brotherhood, he was growing very apprehensive. He was expected, after all, at 5:00 that afternoon at the castle, and he had no idea how to get out of the predicament. He couldn't see himself as an effective exterminator, yet he couldn't skip town, either. After all, his Dark Brotherhood hideout was here in town, and he would be expected to return here often; if he became an outlaw in Cheydinhal, that would be impossible.

He had thought about consulting his valet, but could not reconcile himself with the idea of seeking assistance from his paid subordinate. Even when his mind had argued that, so far at least, he had not actually paid the man anything, his pride still balked at the idea. No, this was something he would have to face by himself, come what may, he determined. With this determination set in a deep sense of depression, and Edward, feeling sure that his doom was near at hand and that he was likely to spend the remainder of his life in prison after his deceit was uncovered, moped about town.

He had no real or clear idea of where he was going or why in mind, so he walked about aimlessly, growing sorrier and sorrier for himself with every passing minute. After traveling in what must have been circles for what must have been hours, he paused to figure out where he was. There were buildings all around that seemed strangely familiar, but, though he sensed he had been there before, he had no idea when or how he'd got there.

At the same time, he heard the sonorous tolling of a bell.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

"Please, please, please stop!" he pleaded with the bell.

Five, it chimed, oblivious to his supplications.

Edward took to his heels, knowing that he was already late. It didn't matter to him what direction he was he going -- he didn't know anyway -- so long as he was going. He ran to the end of the street, rounded a corner, and came to a sudden, sharp stop as he impacted with what at first he assumed was a giant moving rock, as it didn't budge an inch at the encounter, and seemed solid as stone. Careening backwards, and landing painfully and heavily on his behind, Edward glanced up. The rock was nothing of the sort, but the same armored guard he had met the day before.

"Oh," he said, wincing in pain. "It's you."

"Yes," the guard answered. "And why aren't you at the castle??"

"I'm on my way," Edward replied.

The guard frowned. "You're late."

"So are you," Edward pointed out.

The guard's frown deepened. "Just get a move on it."

"Right," Edward answered, picking himself up with much difficulty. He ached all over, all over again. Glancing around him, he remembered that he had no idea which road would lead to the castle. "Umm...which way are we going?"

"To the castle!" the guard returned, irritably.

"Right, but...well, which way is the castle?"

The guard stared at him, eyebrows raised, and then pointed. "See the giant stone building on the hill? The one with all the walls and towers? With the big gate? That's where we're going."

Edward frowned at the condescending tone, but rightly thought it better not to further irritate the guard. And, beside, he did feel a little silly. "After all," he thought, "the gate should have given away which building it was. Nobody gets to have a gate like that, unless it's on a castle."

The pair walked in silence, each pondering his own thoughts, until at last they reached the castle. "This way," the guard said, taking the lead. Edward followed until they reached the dungeon. He felt the skin on his neck crawl as he glanced around, anticipating the sight of rats. But, much to his surprise -- and relief -- there were none to be seen. "I thought you said you wanted me to kill rats," he said.

"Quite so," the guard answered. "I don't know how you go about this, but I imagine that, if you sit still for a few minutes, and I put out this light..." With this, he paused to douse a torch, and throw the entire dungeon into an eerie dimness. "...well, they should come out in no time. I'll shut the door behind me -- you just knock when you're done, and I'll let you out."

Edward gulped loudly, a thousand fears flooding him; but, before he could collect his thoughts into an even mildly coherent mass, the guard was gone. He heard the door scrape shut, and then the lock grate. Chill dread stole over his entire body, and he slumped backwards against the door, too frightened to speak or move, except to whimper and shake. He, Edward, was alone in a dungeon with prisoners and rats. And, in his state of depression, he'd forgotten to bring any weapons with him. He shook more violently at the thought. He, Edward, was alone and unarmed in a dungeon full of prisoners and rats.

Now make one of the Rats crawl up the Bwiddish Bode of the udder RAT...



:thumbsup:

Cowardice will never pay,
At least, that's what they say
But see you Edward's tale
And wonder, will the coward fail?
-- Tribute to Edward, author unknown

Chapter Twenty

Edward stirred ever so slightly. He wasn't sure where he was, what time it was, or why he was where ever it was that he was, but he was aware of a vague apprehension. This apprehension, however, was a secondary sensation; the primary sensation he felt was a tickling of his nose. "Almost like cat whiskers, except from a very big cat," he thought absently, still struggling to consciousness. "Or a dog...or a ra..." He was suddenly wide awake, on his feet, and screaming wildly. The room was very dim, but he could make out the shape of the very thing he had feared to find: a giant rat.


He remembered now what had happened; he had collapsed in fear against the door, and somehow, in his terror, lost consciousness. Now the rats had come out, and he was surrounded by them. Edward did not think or reason at this realization. He just screamed and flailed blindly.


He felt teeth bite into his leg, hard, and his mad flailing intensified. He screamed and trashed and cursed and ran and smashed into everything around him. One moment his shoulder was in contact with the wall, the next he felt the cold iron bars of the nearest cell on his face, then the floor underneath him; in an instant, screaming, kicking, punching out wildly, he was on his feet again, and the cycle continued.


"Oh gods," he screamed, "they're gonna eat me! Save me! Save me!"


Almost in answer to his plea, another voice sounded. But this was not the voice of a god, but rather an annoyed inmate. "Will you please stop screaming?!" it asked. "I'm trying to get some sleep! I'm going to the gallows tomorrow, and I want to look my best!"


This other human voice reinstated at least a measure of reason to Edward, and he stopped screaming. "I have to do something," he thought. "I can't be eaten by rats! I can't go that way! How undignified!"


"What are you whining about, anyway?" the annoyed prisoner continued to speak. "It's just a dead rat!"


"It's trying to eat me!" Edward screamed, his control slipping quickly. "What do you mean, 'it's just a dead rat'?? Dead rats can...wait, did you say dead? As in, dead?" His senses seemed to regain a measure of control, and he peered into the darkness. Squinting hard, he was able to make out the slumped form of a giant rat. His eyes grew wide in amazement. "But...it was alive!" he said. "It bit me! It sniffed my face!"


"Yes, and then you kicked it to death," the prisoner added. "So, it was alive, but only until you killed it. You see how this works?"


Edward frowned. Not only did he not like the tone of this man's voice, but he couldn't believe what he was saying. How could he have killed the rat? All he had done was attempt to flee it. In fact, though he was loath to admit it, he had simply panicked. He could vaguely remember flailing about, and kicking and punching wildly, but nothing that would have been effective.


He straightened up in surprise. "Ha!" he said aloud. "It was me! I kicked it to death!!" He started laughing triumphantly. "Guard!" he shouted. "Guard! It's done! Your rat problem is finished!"


All was silent for several moments, except for Edward's gleeful laughter, and then the bolts of the dungeon door slowly scraped open.


The guard peeked his head in, almost suspiciously, blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, and then said in a tone of surprise, "You killed it!"


"Of course!" Edward snapped, none too pleased by the other man's tone.


"But...but how? It sounded like the rat was killing you!" Edward frowned. "I mean, you were screaming bloody murder in here!"


Edward's frown deepened, and he answered in a very condescending tone, "Well, you clearly do not understand the finer points of psychological warfare, so I will not bother to waste my time in an attempt to enlighten and reform your primitive mindset. Suffice it to say, what you heard was all part of the tricks of the trade -- and, as you can see, very effective tricks at that."


The guard took turns between frowning, glaring, and then frowning again. "Alright, alright," he said at last, "I admit, you did a good job."


"Of course," Edward said. "Now, since it is done, let me out of this dungeon."


Now the guard hesitated. "Well..." he said slowly, "I don't know about that...it's a handy thing to have an exterminator on hand."


Edward's anger boiled at this point. It wasn't enough that this guard had threatened him into coming and left him to what was nearly a terrible death of being eaten by a rat, but now he meant to keep him here?! "Listen you," Edward stated, his eyes flaming, "I suggest you take a good look at that rat, because my speciality isn't limited to rats of the animal variety!"


Now, an observer might have thought that Edward was being extraordinarily brazen and betting that his calculated risk would pay off by winning him his freedom; the truth of the matter was simpler and less grand. Edward was furious, and he was doing what he was best at when angered: very sincerely threatening his opponent, without giving any thought to the fact that he was in no way prepared to back up that threat.


Luck, or the gods, or what have you, were on Edward's side that day, however, because the guard blinked at the verbal onslaught, and then declared hesitantly, "Well, I could just lock the door, couldn't I? You couldn't do anything then, could you?"


"Why don't you just see?" Edward demanded menacingly. "I dare you to try, you lily-livered, tin-suited sack of crap!" This last bit of Edward's bluff -- if a bluff it could be called, because, in the heat of the moment,


Edward meant every word he said -- had the beneficial effect of completely demoralizing the guard, who threw open the door and retreated.


"Now, come on," he said as he stood aside, "I was just joking. You know that."


Edward, still furious, considered staying in place and demanding that the coward of a guard return and try, just try, to keep him a prisoner; but then that shred of common sense that managed to save him from situations like this kicked in. Subsequently, Edward made haste to leave the dungeon, leave the castle, and, gathering his belongings and his valet, leave Cheydinhal.

Wow, Edward has shown some real cunning...and has made it without his valet through two really tough spots!!!! I would be impressed if it weren't for his 5-way conversation with himself!!! ROFL !!!!! Very funny, and some things I didn't remember about the beginning of his story in here!

“Edward the Exterminator- to catch a rat, you have to think like a rat.”



And Edward begins his tour of the prisons of Tamriel- (soon to be a new series on House and Garden Television).

"



And now I remember why I became one of your legion of adoring fans.

Hi all, and thanks for the comments! Sorry I haven't posted more this week...it's been crazy at work...(working until midnight on Tuesday on a server more ... and that was the good day. After that, one of the apps I "inherited" [not a drop of documentation of course] died, again...so it was a race to figure out how the app worked and then, piece by piece, (band-aid) fix all the problems with the dang thing ... missing stored procedures on one of the four sql servers, connection strings to the primary and secondary sql servers pointing to only the primary sql server (???), wrong password for the website account on one box, etc., etc., etc. ... to say nothing of the error handling that doesn't even tell you that something is wrong [you just figure it out because the data you get is not correct...and this is a production system, in use now])...lol, it's a nightmare... and that's not the half of it...at least now we've got the band-aid fixes in place until we can redesign the system. No wonder that programmer left, LOL...he's just lucky he did before any one took too close a look at what he'd been doing! ) But enough of my griping, LOL...on to the story.

I made one minor change here...this letter was a little too polite for who I originally had writing it, so I changed the author...I doubt anyone remembers the original, but, if you do, you'll know why it was too polite.



Dear Brother Clarence:
Blessings and the mercy of the square root of eighty-one upon you. I write to you in distress, brother. Since the grievous news of our beloved emperor's death, I have heard nothing from the chosen messenger. Baurus -- our brother, who was the last living Blade to see the Emperor -- writes to tell me that His Majesty chose a man, an escaped prisoner, to deliver the amulet to me. He did not say so directly, but his tone made clear his apprehension. I do begin to fear that our Emperor made a most grievous mistake in his last moment of desperation, in entrusting so precious an amulet to an unknown. Pray, good brother, that the 10 minus 1 remember us in these troubled times!
Yours,
Brother Piner
-- Letter from Brother Piner to a fellow Blade

Chapter Twenty-One

Edward sighed, thinking despondently that, whatever city he came to, he always seemed to end up in the dungeons. "Well," he thought, "at least so far I've been able to get out each time!" Nonetheless, he was none too keen on the idea of returning to the Imperial City . He still remembered the cell he'd been in, and he had no desire to return; and, after all, his mission was that of an assassin -- even if a justified assassin -- and so he was, technically, on the wrong side of the law. Not that, truth to be told, he was ever technically on the right side of the law. After all, even if his prison break had been pseudo-legal, he had fled the scene of the accident with Simplicia, he had struck and robbed Snak gra-Bura, he had illegally killed the murderer Rufio, and he had joined a brotherhood of assassins! "Hard to get less legal than that," he thought, "unless I joined the Thieves Guild too, or something like that."


This idea, that he was not behaving as illegally as he potentially could, and consequently, if caught, would not face as much trouble as he might otherwise, cheered him somewhat, so he continued with a lighter heart.


He and his valet rode in continued silence for several minutes, until, passing through the city gates, the latter spoke. "Sir," he said, "not meaning to put too fine a point on it or anything, but...well, I read the Black Horse Courier, and I did happen to read something about a theft here in the Imperial City ...a theft of a horse..."


"Oh?" Edward asked, a sense of trepidation swarming him. "Really?"


"Yes sir," the other man continued, clearly hesitantly. "Well, sir, the thing that really stood out was that this was the theft of a very old and stubborn horse."


"Really?" Edward repeated.


"Yes sir. A horse like yours, sir."


Edward blinked. "Really?"


"Yes sir. And I think, sir, it might be advisable, seeing as how like your horse this horse was, that you do not ride your horse in the city. Otherwise, people might -- preposterously, of course -- assume that you were...well, the thief."


Edward blinked again. The valet's words, as insincere as they had been regarding the other man's belief in his innocence, made sense. "Damn it, man!" he cursed, glancing about him, "Why not mention this before we enter the city? Now how am I supposed to get rid of this stupid horse, in the middle of the city, without attracting too much attention?"


"I have a plan, sir," the valet replied.


Edward rolled his eyes, so thoroughly annoyed that the fact that his valet's plans were almost always good ones made no nevermind to him.


"I will take your horse," the other man said, ignoring the show of displeasure, "and you will take mine. I will bring your horse to the Imperial Watch, and say that I found it abandoned in the woods and, hearing about the theft, assumed that this was probably the stolen horse."


"Well, why don't I just do that? Why switch horses?" Edward asked.


"Because, sir, they might bring me to see Snak gra-Bura."


"Oh, right," Edward said. "But...well, of course, I'm not the thief."


"No sir, of course not. Still, better to let me...take care of the dirty work."


"Yes," Edward agreed, more enthusiastically this time. "No sense me wasting my time on trivial things like that. You can take care of it."


"Yes sir."


"That's what I pay you for!" Edward finished.


The valet coughed. "Oh, about that, sir," he started.


Edward flinched. As of yet, he still hadn't paid his valet any wages. "Later, man, later! We have important business that needs attending to."


"Yes sir."

He whose name is forgotten,
We had something to say about him,
But we're not quite sure what it was,
Because it seems we've forgotten.
-- Tribute to the Gray Fox




Chapter Twenty-Two

In the end, Edward's valet had taken both horses. It turns out that there was a city ordinance that you could not ride a horse inside the city gates. "Stupid ordinances," Edward thought. "They should make sure people know things like that!"

While Edward, now on foot, set off to find the Marie Elena, his valet set off to stable his own horse, and to return Snak gra-Bura's horse. Neither noticed the cowled figure that had observed their entire conversation, and then took off after Edward's valet.

So it was that Edward, who seemed to lack any sense of direction, headed into the city and, after much exploring, many wrong turns, and infinite retracing of his steps, eventually made his way to the water front. "Ahh," he thought, "the sea! I love the sea!" Breathing deeply -- so deeply, in fact, that he broke into a violent coughing fit -- he walked toward the docks. He smiled as he neared them.

"Pirates, cutthroats, murderers, smugglers, thieves, villains of the worst sort!" he thought admiringly. "I could have ended up working here...how in Oblivion did I end up on the other side?!" He frowned, but remembering his earlier reflections, took solace. "At least," he thought, "I'm still on the wrong side of the law, even if I am working for justice and the greater good or whatever."

With this cheering thought, he focused on finding the Marie Elena. There were two vessels docked in the harbor, and so, having no way to distinguish between them, Edward headed to the ship on his left. "Hmm," he thought as he neared it, "I wonder how you tell what a ship is named?"

At that moment, an ecstatic voice interrupted him from his reverie. "Sir! Sir!"

He turned to see his valet running toward him. Staring in frank surprise at the other man, he asked, "What's the matter with you? Can't you see that I'm busy?"

"Yes sir," the valet replied, coming to a stop and panting heavily. "But -- you'll never believe this, sir! -- but the Grey Fox himself has invited me to join the Thieves Guild!!"

Edward just blinked at first, the words making little impression. "You? The Grey Fox? Why?"

"He heard our conversation, sir, and he said that my loyalty to my friend -- you -- impressed him, and that he needs thieves with honor to join his ranks!"

Edward frowned. "Honor? But why? They're thieves!"

"Oh, yes sir, but good thieves. You see, the Grey Fox is a thief who robs from the rich to give to the poor. The beggars and the unemployed, they're all dependent on him!"

Edward's frown intensified. "What sort of criminal..." he began, but was interrupted.

"Oh, it's very simple, sir. He lives among the poor; he knows what they suffer! He's a Robber from the Hood, so to speak, who robs the rich stuffed shirts to feed the poor and downtrodden."

Edward's frown continued to intensify. "And he asked you, and not me?"

"Yes sir," the valet said, adding quickly, "but I'm sure that's only because he knew you were already busy!"

"Well," Edward shot back, "you're busy too! You work for me!"

"Yes sir," the other man said a bit hesitantly, "but, well, you don't always have need of my services!"

"Yes, but I don't employ you so that you won't be available when I do need you!"

"No sir," the valet agreed. He seemed to hesitate, and then brighten immediately, as if a flash of inspiration hit him. "But one of the perks of being a member of the thieves guild is that I get to sell stolen goods to various fences, since no one else buys them. That means that I can be your door to the fences! I can resell any goods that you come across!"

Edward stared at him, feigning shock. "What do you take me for?!" he demanded. "Do you really assume that I would stoop to robbing people, and reselling their property through you?! And, anyway, you'd probably charge an outrageous fee for the service..."

"No sir!" the valet exclaimed. "Not a penny! It would be my show of appreciation to you for allowing me to take this second job."

Edward frowned, but didn't dismiss the idea outright. After all, it would be good to have an outlet to sell his stolen property. Plus, it would be good if his valet was actually earning Septims; so far, Edward hadn't made a whole bunch of money, and he seemed to lose more than he earned, anyway -- it was hard to forget the loss of all his swindled gold after his accident with Simplicia. Not only would it be impossible to pay his valet's wages at this rate, but he might not be able to afford basic supplies with a similar stroke of bad luck. "Well," he answered slowly, "I don't want to hamper your prospects...if I was sure that you would be around when I needed you..."

"Oh, yes sir, absolutely sir!" the valet responded.

"Alright," Edward agreed. "You may as well."

In a flurry of profuse thanks, the valet disappeared. Edward sighed. "Damn Gray Fox," he thought. "How dare he ask my servant, and not me? And what is it with these criminals now, anyway?! The assassins go around killing murderers, the thieves go around feeding the poor, and the real bad guys are a disgusting, pathetic lot that no self respecting criminal would want to associate with!" He sighed again. "Criminals these days just aren't what they're cracked up to be..." he thought despondently.

When in trouble, when in doubt,
Run in circles, scream and shout.
-- Edward's motto, borrowed from a popular rhyme

Chapter Twenty-Three

After realizing that he had in fact chosen the wrong ship, and was at the Bloated Float Inn rather than the Marie Elena, Edward sat down to think. It seemed reasonable to him that he take a moment to think through what, exactly, he was going to do. He considered that, so far, he had been fairly successful. He had located the Marie Elena, which is more than he had done fifteen minutes earlier. From there, his next step was simple enough: get inside and locate Gaston. It was at this juncture, however, that things began to grow foggy. What did he do when found Captain Tussaud? Should he say something to him? He smiled at the idea. Something witty, something to show off the brilliance of his masterful mind -- that would be good. "Unfortunately," he thought, "the only one to hear it will be the stupid pirate -- and just before I kill him." Somehow, the idea lost some of its appeal, and he found himself wishing he could have an invisible audience to admire his eloquence and wit.

"Of course," he thought, "I had better think of what I'm going to say...hmm...how about 'Alright, Pirate dog! Time to go to the pound!'...hmm...yes, I like it!" He smiled at his own genius. "Gad, but I am brilliant," he congratulated himself.

At that moment, he heard hinges creek and felt a heavy wooden object impact sharply with his back and behind. He found himself flying forward, and landing face first on the dock in front of him.

He heard someone gasp, and then footsteps run toward him. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry," someone said. "But I didn't see you from inside the inn! You must have been sitting in front of the door!"

"Ash a matter of facsht," Edward replied as he struggled to rise, his lower lip already having swollen to the point that he was finding it difficult to articulate his thoughts, "I wasch."

"That's a dangerous spot to be sitting!" the speaker, who extended his hand to assist him up, said. "You can't be seen from inside, so someone can open the door and smack you with it."

"Oh, really?" Edward asked, grimacing in agony as he finally was able to raise himself to his feet. "You don't shay..."

He saw his inadvertent assailant and eager assistant for the first time now. He was an orc, with large teeth, green skin and not a lot of hair. "I'm Graman gro-Marad," he introduced himself.

"I would shay pleashed to meet you," Edward said, spitting blood out of his mouth, "but shum pleashures go a long way..."

Graman shifted his weight, seeming very apologetic. "Look here, I'm terribly sorry," he repeated. His expression brightened. "Say, maybe I can make it up to you!"

"I doubt it," Edward replied, trying to determine what hurt more -- his swollen and swelling face, his battered and aching back, or his wounded and stinging pride. "Very musch..."

"Well, I work at the inn here, and I'm sure I could get you a room, so that you can rest up for a bit," Graman told him. "And of course we can get you whatever food or drink you need, too."

Edward scowled -- at least, as best as he could when his face was inflated and stiff -- at the eager orc. Nonetheless, though he hated to lessen Graman's guilt, the offer seemed like a good one. "Alright," he said. "Schince I'm nearly dead, I schuppose I have no choisch..."

The orc flinched at his words, but gently led him into the inn. If Edward had ached any less, he would have pretended to be more injured and sore than he already was; as it was, however, he hurt so badly that he could not imagine feigning further injury.

Graman got the door for him, led him inside, spoke a few hurried words to the publican, an Altmer named Ormil, and then led him to a room off to the left. On the way, Edward noted that the inn had a fair selection of foods, and a goodly supply of alchol.

"Now," Graman said as he opened the door and stepped aside to let Edward into the room, "is there anything that I can get you?"

"Schomething to dull this pain," Edward moaned. "Do you have any liquor?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Graman answered. "I'll get it right away."

"And!" Edward exclaimed, stopping the orc in his tracks. "And schome food...lotsh of food."

"Food?" the orc asked. "Are you sure you'll be able to eat?"

"Of coursh!" Edward snapped. "I have to eat to...to regain my shtrength!"

"Oh, yes," Graman replied. "I see."

"And bring lotsh of alcohol," Edward called after the orc. "I'm in scho much pain!"

No worries about the delay- we will always be ready for more of our favorite bounder.

On the letter, I am guessing (without going back and looking) that the original was penned by Jauffre?








And of course there are Edward's confused (does he do any other kind?) musings on criminality- his own and the generally disappointing nature of criminal enterprise in Tamriel at the end of the 3E....

ARGH !!! Treydog quoted my fave lines already !!!!!!! I had to go back and re-read Edward's experience with the door of the sanctuary - that is almost one of my fave chapters in his DB experiences, lol.

Quite right, treydog...it was none other than the good Grandmaster himself. I thought, upon reflection, it seemed a little...tame for a missive penned by Friar Jauffre.

Those were some of my favorite lines, too, treydog...I always imagine Edward's views of the criminal classes being somewhat like our romanticized view of medieval knights (except focusing on the evil instead of good )...totally skewed by fond memory/imagination, and not really remotely accurate, but hard to shake. Of course, in Edward's case, he imagines a sort of anti-knight, lol, but that's Edward.

mALX: lol, I love the door too...I try to keep cultural references out, lol, but sometimes they creep in...especially LotR ones.



The gods help them whose servants help them.

-- Scripture of the Square Root of Eighty-One, translation funded by the Coalition of the Noble Born


Chapter Twenty-Four



Edward stirred groggily. The unpleasant sensation of rocking, back and forth, back and forth, was interrupting his dream -- and it was too beautiful a dream to be interrupted!

There he was, atop a glorious mountain of gold, reaching forward, forward, forward, just about to seize the largest diamond he had ever seen; and then he would rock backwards, just out of reach. Barely catching his balance before he tumbled down the mountainside -- which seemed to grow steeper with every rocking movement -- he would just steady himself before tumbling forward, just past the diamond. Again, he would be just out of reach of the gem, and would have only enough time to steady himself before he'd plunge backwards.

Finally, unwillingly, angrily, he opened one eye, and then another. As the shadows of dreamland fled, brilliant sunlight assailed his eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying to remember where he was. The last thing he could remember was imbibing an unbelievable amount of really bad wine and beer, and eating more than a little food, before deciding to lay down for just a moment to rest. It had been late in the afternoon then, with dusk settling in on the land.

"Land!" he thought. "That's right -- I'm not on land, I'm on that ship, the Floated Bloat...Boated Foat...Bloated..." His mind froze, mid-thought. The rocking -- it wasn't just in his dream! He really was rocking back and forth; or, rather, he wasn't rocking, but the boat was rocking!

He blinked in amazement. There must be a terrible storm outside, for the boat to be rocking that hard in port!

He frowned. No, it couldn't be storming out -- there was far too much sunlight streaming into his window for there to be a storm. He knit his eyebrows in concentration. If the boat was rocking, and it wasn't because of a storm, what did that mean?

He yelped in fear as the answer struck him. "Ye gods! We've set sail! Nobody told me?! Where are we headed? Will I ever get back? What's going on?" Then, a more terrible thought struck him. "What if...they deliberately didn't tell me? What if they're slavers, and they plan on selling me for a fortune on some distant shore? Is that why they offered me a room, and so much alcohol? To intoxicate me, so that they could get me away silently?" His face grew pallid. "Slavers can probably sum people up easily...they probably realized that they had a goldmine in me...after all, my skills and brilliance would be perfectly suited for anything...scholar, warrior, inventor, gladiator, anything." His train of thought shifted. "Or...or they could be taking me to some far away, exotic land, where they'll sell me to an empress or sultaness, who has been looking for a man like me for years!" His mind filled with images of his marriage to a rich and powerful -- not to mention insanely beautiful -- woman, who had searched the entire globe before finding someone good enough to marry, and make the emperor or sultan of her kingdom -- that someone being him, of course. "Well," he thought, "this might not be too bad after all...I could deal with ruling an empire or a sultanate...is that a word? Well, whatever...and, of course, it wouldn't hurt to have a gorgeous, brilliant woman absolutely, madly in love with me...particularly when she's deliciously rich...and powerful..." He smiled at the idea. He was a sort of Joseph, he decided, except that he wasn't stupid enough to refuse a beautiful woman, her powerful empire, and a life of ease and luxury. Yes, he had certainly been in worse predicaments, he concluded.

A loud, brusque thumping on the passage near his door roused him from his reverie. Starting, he crept to his door, wincing as he did so -- he still smarted from his run in with the inn door the day before. He listened for a moment and, hearing nothing, opened the door a sliver. Peering outside, he recoiled in fright as a man outside his door started in surprise. Here was a man he had never seen before!

In unison, both men asked, "Who are you?!"

"I'm Edward," Edward answered, "and I'm sleeping at the inn!"

"I'm Lynch," the other man replied, "and I'm going to lynch you!"

While the Nord laughed at his own joke, Edward thought fast, and slammed his door shut, jamming the bolt in place. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!" he cursed. "They're going to kill me, not sell me to a gorgeous Sultaness to become a rich, powerful and adored Sultan!"

Lynch, meanwhile, was banging at the door, demanding, "Come out, you coward! Come out and get what's coming to you!"

"Why do you want to kill me?!" Edward shouted back. "I don't even know you! I have no idea how we even got afloat! I'm innocent!"

"We're afloat because we set the ship afloat -- and by we, I mean me and the other Blackwater Brigands. And innocence is no excuse -- you're a dead man! And after I finish you, I'm going to finish the stupid orc we locked up!" With this, the Nord renewed his assault on the door.

Edward flinched as every blow landed. The door was strong, but not that strong. It would break soon, and then he -- slightly hung over and completely unarmed -- would have to fight a fully armed brigand. Then, an idea hit him.

Creeping toward the door, cringing every time the wood shivered with a new blow, he seized the handle and the bolt; then, in one fluid movement, he pulled the bolt back and turned the handle just as a new kick was sent forward. Lynch, not meeting with the resistance that he had anticipated, tumbled forward and into the room.

At the same time, Edward sprung forward, and pulled the door closed behind him. Now, holding the handle firmly and bracing himself with his feet against the door jam, he waited for the Nord to attempt to leave the room. He didn't wait long; in an instant, he felt a strong pull from inside. But Edward was ready, and using his legs as much as his arms, he managed to put up a good fight for several minutes.

However, the Nord was considerably stronger than he was, and, even though Edward was fighting for his life, eventually his strength succumbed. His hands slipped from the handle, the door went flying backwards, and he careened into the floor with a horrifically painful crash. Expecting his opponent to rush out and murder him at any moment, Edward lay in place, his eyes closed, grimacing and praying to all the gods he didn't believe in for some sort of miraculous intervention. He promised everything he could think of, from eternal servitude to the sacrifice of his first born children if only they would spare him.

As he lay there, inwardly groveling and praying, it seemed that an eternity of time passed. He had always heard that time stood still when you knew you were about to die, but he honestly never expected it to take this long. In fact, laying in place, aching from his fall, his eyes pressed tightly shut, Edward almost began to wish that his killer would hurry up and finish the job, rather than leaving him in this uncomfortable limbo.

The thump of a heavy footfall overhead, sounding very much in real time, startled Edward, and he opened his eyes. Amazed that there was no sword wielding murderer directly over him, Edward blinked. Surely, this hadn't been a dream, had it? Was he still in his bed, where he had laid down the night before?

He looked around. No, he wasn't in his bed, and, no, this hadn't been a dream. He was lying on his back in a hallway, staring up at the ceiling above, and the door to his room lay in front of him. Cautiously, fearfully, he raised himself upward, looking for his would-be murderer.

Not seeing him immediately, he drew himself up further still. Then, he saw the man. He was lying in a heap opposite him, blood pouring from his head. Over his body, there was a telling patch of red on the corner of the window frame.

Edward stood now, and walked carefully toward the body. "Are you dead?" he asked, not entirely expecting an answer. When none came, he kicked the body, just to make sure. It didn't move. Edward smiled. "Yup." With this, he set about looting the corpse. After all, he needed a weapon; plus, this guy's clothes were pretty nice, so he likely had some money on him, he reasoned.

News flash from the Imperial Docks!
In a shocking bit of news, the well known inn, the Floating Bloat, has vanished from harbor! As of this writing, the cause of this disappearance is unknown, although speculation has reached this correspondent that an unknown man was seen sitting on the stoop outside the inn door the evening of the vanishing, behaving in a sullen, peculiar manner. Whether this man is involved in the disappearance or not is purely a matter of speculation, but the City Watch has circulated a description of him in hopes of locating him for questioning. He is described as being sulky, with baby-like features, and a deviant air. If you see this man, please alert the nearest officer.
-- Black Horse Courier, Special News Bulletin

Chapter Twenty-Five

After thoroughly looting Lynch's corpse -- which was not a particularly challenging job, since he only had a sword, a key and a few gold on him -- Edward had managed, with much difficulty, to shove his body underneath the bed. "Good thing he's dead," he thought, surveying his handiwork, "because I heard things snapping as I was doing that..." Standing, he felt pain shoot through his body. "Oh gods," he groaned. "It was me that was snapping??"

Slowly, painfully, straightening out, Edward felt anger surge through him. This was ridiculous! The only reason that he was even in this damned floating inn was because of that stupid orc smashing a door into him; now he faced death at the hands of a band of murderous brigands, for gods know what! He paused as these thoughts ran through his mind "That stupid orc!" he repeated. "That's right! He's onboard, and alive! Lynch said he was going to kill him after he killed me, so he can't be dead yet!" Edward smiled. "All I have to do is let that idiot out, and he can take care of the rest of these pirates, and I can go home!" His smile had turned into a broad grin, and he turned for the door eager to find and free the orc. But he stopped short.

"Wait a minute," he thought. "I might as well see if there's anything worth stealing, since I'm here...now that my valet is a member of the thieves guild, he can sell it for me...and, anyway, after all I've suffered, I'm entitled to a little restitution, aren't I?" With this justification in mind, Edward began to search the room for valuables.

In a few moments, he stopped disgustedly. The room was quite bare, with only a few pieces of well worn furniture -- all too large to lift, much less carry -- and an old clay pot. "Well," he thought hesitantly, surveying the pot, "I suppose it might be worth something, especially if I cleaned it up." It seemed an injustice to leave the room without at least taking something, so he at last decided on taking the pot.

Lifting it, he observed that there was something inside it. Peering into the pot, he saw a small bag of rough cloth. "Hmm..." he thought, taking out the bag and opening it. His eyes bulged as he did so, and he laughed with glee. There, inside that shabby bag, was a handful of beautiful, sparkling gems!

Pocketing the jewels, and still determined not to let his pot go, Edward surveyed the room for some means of carrying his pot -- and anything else that he might pick up along the way. At first, he found nothing, but eventually his eyes lit upon the worn pillow and its case. His gleeful smile returning, Edward ripped the pillow out of the case and then, reverently, placed his first stolen item -- an old, shabby pot -- inside the case. He then tied the pillow case to his belt, exited his room, and shut the door behind him.

Not knowing how many other brigands there might be on the level that he was on -- but imagining that it was unlikely that there were any more, as no one had come to aid Lynch despite the ruckus he'd made -- he explored carefully, keeping a constant eye out for loot, but finding little that even he could justify lugging about with him.

At last, however, he found the orc's prison.

"It's you!" Graman shouted, exuberantly. "We're saved!"

Despite all the aggravation he had felt at this orc, Graman's tone managed to placate him somewhat. "Well," he said, "these brigands are mad if they think they can take me down without a fight!"

Graman nodded vigorously. "Quite right!"

"Now," Edward declared grandly, "I suppose we'd better get you out of this cage!"
The orc nodded again, saying, "Yes, the guard, Lynch he calls himself, has the key."
Edward frowned, feeling rather disappointed by the revelation; he had hoped that the key he'd found would open some amazing treasure, not just the key to the cage where the dumb orc was being held. Sighing, he said, "Not anymore."
"You mean, you already took him out?" Graman asked, clearly impressed.
"Of course," Edward returned haughtily.

Yup, that’s Edward. I’d know him anywhere.

Until mALX pointed out, I had forgotten Edward's issue with doors- The DB hideout, the Floating Bloatery (twice!)- and there will probably be more. Of course, he has issues with practically all inanimate (as well as animate) objects- so it really isn't a surprise.

And his enslavement fantasy had me giggling- again.

And then Edward's obsession with his first stolen item.

LOL, and what a "tragic" end it comes to, too. Glad you're enjoying the story again!!


Pirates roam the high seas,
Bandits haunt the lonely paths,
Assassins traverse the quiet halls,
And fools infest the forsaken empire.
-- Lament of the Ninth, decrying the desolation of the empire after his demise

Chapter Twenty-Six

Edward crept along, cringing every time his already heavy loot bag impacted with a wall, or a crate, or the floor. Despite the fact that he only had managed to find a few items, they were all large, and mostly heavy pottery -- and they made a fair amount of noise when bumped.

"Damn that orc!" he thought to himself. "He should be the one doing this, not me!" His happy plan of Graman slaying the remainder of the pirates whilst he hid safely in the background had vanished after he freed the orc, and saw that his ally had been badly wounded in the original scuffle with the brigands. So badly wounded, in fact, that he could not fight them a second time.

"I'll be able to bring the ship back to harbor," he'd said, "but I'm afraid I won't be able to help you take care of them."

"Damn him!" Edward cursed again. "If only they killed the honoured user the first time!" Then, he checked himself. "Except that I need him to get home...that is, if I survive this...which I probably won't anyway." He frowned darkly. "If they do kill me, I hope they get that damned orc afterwards!"

Creeping up a ladder, Edward stopped as one of the pots in his pillowcase hit particularly loudly against the rungs. Sighing, he pulled himself up carefully, hid behind a crate, and sifted through his bag. He would have to get rid of that pot, he determined sadly, or else he would certainly get caught. Seeing the offending piece of pottery, he pulled it out. And then froze.

Footsteps were coming his way. He didn't dare to move, except to hunker down lower, so that he would be completely hidden behind the crates. A head came into view, and then a body. Edward grew still, not even daring to breathe now. Still the figure approached, stopping only when it was nearly on top of him, directly on the other side of the pile of crates. Edward was still holding his breath.

The figure turned, but stood still to survey the passage. Edward tried to concentrate on the blood coursing through his veins, and not his ever more desperate need of fresh oxygen. Still the figure did not budge.

Finally, his vision blurring and his lungs readying to explode, Edward did the only thing he could think of. He jumped upwards, his grip tightening on the pot he held, and brought said pottery into sharp contact with the brigand's skull; then he collapsed downwards, inhaling and exhaling deeply several times.

He had been so desperate for air that he had not noticed the pirate collapse, and he was only vaguely aware of the fact that he was not already dead at the hands of a furious killer. Only when he had entirely regained his breath did he become aware of the fact that his plan had, in fact succeeded, and that his foe was felled.

Then, he groaned despondently. "My pot!" he murmured. "It's completely shattered!"

Edward spent several minutes pouring over the shards of pottery, wracking his brain for various means of putting them back together, but he eventually abandoned the scheme. There were too many pieces, he decided, and, even if he could glue them back together, there was no way he could conceal the breakage, not even by painting over it. "No," he thought dejectedly, "I'll just have to call it a loss."

With this mournful resolution made, Edward continued on his way to the upper deck. Once there, he looked around. Everything was surprisingly quiet. Too quiet, considering that they were at sea. "Ye gods!" he exclaimed out loud. "Who is manning this darn ship?!"

As if in answer to his question, a sound issued forth from the captain's cabin. The next moment, the door opened and a woman stepped out. Edward stared, enchanted. Despite the fact that she was clad in full body armor, Edward was immediately impressed by her beauty. "Hello gorgeous!" was all he could think of to say, and, judging by the fact that she was drawing her sword and approaching in a very menacing manner, it hardly seemed appropriate.

I happen to be familiar with your posting tendencies, so I waited to make sure you were done posting before commenting on the latest group of installments.

The whole Floated Boat thing was hilarious. Even more so considering this forum's tendency to replace a certain 'A' word with boat had me substituting everywhere! Especially in these passages:



I really enjoyed how he took down each of the brigands - not much different from my PC the first time I played that quest!

It is obvious that hautee has been infected by the Foxy disease.

The sad loss of Edward's first "trophy." (Sniffle). But it was in a worthy cause, seeing as that useless, wounded Orc decided to sit out this adventure and leave all the "work" to Edward.



I just hate it when that happens... Wait, never mind.

Now to wait and see if Edward can get his floating, bloated- um -boat back to the Imperial City. Of course, the ship seems to be- ah, "unmanned" at the moment, seeing as the only occupants are an Orc, a woman- and Edward.

Trey!

Are you casting doubt on the masculityy of....the ORC????

If he's wearing a russet felt outfit, heck YES!

Sorry it took so long Rachel, RL has run me ragged for two days, lol. OMG, Lynch !!! SPEW !!!!!!

Hi all, thanks for the comments.

@treydog: " The sad loss of Edward's first "trophy." (Sniffle). But it was in a worthy cause, seeing as that useless, wounded Orc decided to sit out this adventure and leave all the "work" to Edward."

LOL, quite right -- poor Edward, having to pick up the slack for the no-good blackguard.

@DFoxy: LOL.

@mALX: No worries -- hope all is going well.

@haute ecole rider: LOL! Oh dear, sometimes the auto censors create more trouble than they solve.



Dear Armand,

I'm writing to caution you in regards to the latest addition to our guild, a brilliant, loyal young man who you will meet shortly. My reason for cautioning you, however, is that he is currently employed as a valet for a pompous, ridiculous fool. Our new initiate's sense of loyalty to his wastrel of an employer may prevent him from seeing this, but I see it plainly. Please keep this in mind, should our new guild mate make any recommendations about his employer.

Yours in stealth,

The Gray Fox

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Edward wasn't quite sure what to do. Here was a woman -- a beautiful woman, who his first thought had been to ask out! -- charging at him, ready to kill. What did he do? He hadn't so much as opened his mouth to speak to her yet, and she already wanted to kill him! What should he do? How should he respond?

Now, to be fair, his hesitancy wasn't borne of a misplaced sense of chivalry -- or chivalry at all; rather, his hesitancy came of a paralyzing fear. His attacker's cold, unruffled air seemed to freeze his marrow, and he was fixed to the spot where he stood, unable to move to defend himself or even escape the onslaught.

Most opportunely, however, a voice called out, "Hold, you there!"

It was the brigand's turn to freeze, and just before her blade met with Edward's body.

Edward was so dazed that he hardly heard the thumping behind him or noticed the orc come hobbling up, armored and wielding a heavy sword; likewise, Ormil's entrance mostly passed him by. He was too busy staring at the sword mere inches from his face to notice much else.

"You didn't think those bonds would hold me, did you?" Ormil demanded.

"Or those wounds slow me down?" Graman asked.

"My band!" the brigand exclaimed. "Where are they?!"

"Dead!" Edward declared, finding his voice -- and also his legs, for he stepped back, out of reach of her blade, very quickly. "I killed them!"

The brigand's eyes bulged, and she shot angry glances around her. Sensing that she was hopelessly outnumbered, however, she said, "Are you going to kill me?"

Edward, furious at her and her band's treatment of him, was about to scream, "Yes!" But, before he was able to speak, Ormil replied. "Not if you cooperate...hand over your sword, and we'll deliver you to the Imperial Watch."

The woman scoffed, but did as she was told. Ormil led her to the same cell in which Graman had been imprisoned, while Edward turned to the orc. "Who the heck are these people? And why did they hijack our ship?"

Graman sighed. "Well," he said, "business was not going so well for our inn...so Ormil made up a story about having a fantastic treasure on board to attract patrons...these fools decided to hijack the ship in order to search it without interruption."

Edward's eyes gleamed. "Fantastic treasure?" he repeated.

"Yes," Graman nodded. "It was a stupid story, but, apparently, some people are dumb enough to fall for anything."

Edward smiled inwardly, but changed the topic. "Well, to be perfectly frank with you, when I saw that the ship was afloat, I figured that you and Ormil must be some sort of slavers, who had lured me on board so that you could sell me at some foreign port."

The orc stared at him.

Edward shrugged, somewhat abashed; he thought it best to leave out the bit of his reverie dealing with being sold to an sultaness, becoming a sultan, and all that. "Well, you never know..." Then, clearing his throat, he said, "Aren't you supposed to be manning this stupid ship? I don't want to spend the rest of my life on a Floated Bloat!"

Graman stared at him for a moment, and then nodded. "Right you are," he said.

Edward, meanwhile smiled inwardly. "That orc can say what he likes," he thought, "but he can't pull the wool over my eyes...there's treasure on this ship, and a lot of it! And I'm going to be the one to find it!"

Have the gods succumbed to senility,
To promote and protect such inability?
Have the planets strayed from their orbits,
To favor and empower such a king of nitwits?
-- Ode to Edward, II


Chapter Twenty-Eight

By time the Bloated Float pulled into harbor, Edward was exhausted and not a little cranky. His search efforts had been futile, of course, because, as Graman had said, the treasure for which he searched didn't exist. Rather than admitting this to himself, however, Edward concluded that the pirates must have already found it, and found a way to get it off ship.


Armil offered to let him spend another evening in the inn, but he quickly refused. There was no way that he wanted to spend an evening in the room where someone had been killed, nor did he want to risk waking up and finding that he was afloat again. "Henceforth," he determined, "I sleep on land, and land only!"
So, exhausted, ornery, unprepared, and lugging around a pillow case containing a few old pieces of pottery, two skeins of yarn, a pair of shears and some torches, Edward set forth for the Marie Elena.
When he arrived at the ship, it was dark. There were a few torches lighting the main deck, which was patrolled by a gang of none-too-friendly looking pirates.


Edward found a barrel on a pier opposite the ship, and sat down to rest and think. How was he going to get onto this ship? The main entrance didn't look like a very good one...if the brigand gal he'd run into earlier had been mean, these charmers put her to shame; hard, grizzled men and a fearsome chieftain, these seemed like the last people Edward wanted to run into. There was, interestingly enough, a stack of crates near the gangway that Edward suspected were meant to be loaded into the ship. It wouldn't be too difficult, he mused, to sneak over there, pry open a crate, and jump inside. That way, he could stowaway onto the ship, and then take the Captain by surprise.

"No, they'd probably expect something like that," Edward decided, dismissing the idea. "I have to do something bold, something unexpected, something glorious and worthy of me!" He paused his mental monologue, and then added, "And something that won't get me killed."


His brow creased in thought as he surveyed the ship again. He had already dismissed the only two means of entrance...so how on earth was he going to get in?! Then his eyes lit up. On the opposite side of the ship was a balcony -- with a door that had to lead to the Captain's cabin; and it looked like it was within jumping distance.

His eyes aglow with excitement, Edward headed to the nearest point of the pier opposite the captain's quarters. Mounting the ledge, he shifted his pillow case of worthless treasures to one side, inhaled deeply, exhaled, inhaled again, and then leaped forward.


No sooner than had he left solid ground did he regret his action; all at once the brilliance of his strategy was replaced in his mind with a surety that he would miss the balcony and end up in the harbor below, dragged down, down, down by the weight of his weaponry, armor and loot bag.

Even as visions of drowning flooded his senses, Edward felt his right knee impact sharply with the ship's stern, and his left elbow smash into the balcony. "Gods damn it!" he cursed, clasping onto the balcony for dear life with his right arm. "Why the Oblivion do they call it the 'funny bone'?!"

Wheezing in agony, he managed to make some use of his left arm, and swing it over the balcony. With both arms thus straddling the ship, he was, with difficulty, able to pull himself over the side of the rail and onto the ship. He promptly sat down to recover from his success.


Fifteen minutes later, still sore but somewhat more collected, he tried the door to the captain's cabin. It was locked. By now, his temper was flaring, and he loosed a torrent of cuss words at his intended victim, finishing with, "Why can't the no-good SOB just get what's coming to him, without making it so damned difficult for me?"

Kicking at nothing in particular in frustration, Edward lurched forward as his foot caught on the "Unwelcome" mat outside the captain's door. He careened into the door, barely having time to shield his face with his hands and thereby prevent a face-to-portal collision. Straightening himself up, he kicked again, but this time with a definite target in mind. "Stupid mat!" he cursed, flinging the mat into the balcony railing.

All at once he paused, glancing from the mat to the planks at his feet. He had noted a glint, very faint in the torch light, but a glint nonetheless. "Did someone drop a coin?" he thought greedily as he bent down to find the source of his observation.

He frowned, his hand coming in contact with a long, skinny metal object. "A key?" he thought disgustedly, lifting the object to examine it. Sure enough, it was a key. Edward sighed a long, unhappy sigh. Of all the luck...not only was he stuck outside with no chance to get inside, but even his hope at a meager conciliatory coin had proved vain. He lifted the key, intending to chuck it into the water, but froze. "Wait a minute!" he thought. "What if this is the key to the captain's door?"


With hands so eager that they trembled, he tried to insert the key; it bounced off the lock, it was so large.

"Damn!" he thought. "That's not it either." Again, he readied to chuck the key into the sea, and again stopped. "Oh...I had it backwards," he realized, flushing a little as he did so. "No wonder it couldn't even go in..." He sighed, flipped the key around, and tried again.

This time, much to his relief, it fit perfectly. Turning the key, he heard the door unlock.

Wreaking havoc where he goes,
Leaving destruction in his wake,
Making trouble for those he knows,
How much more can the empire take?
-- Musings of the Ninth

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Edward was inside the captain's quarters, and the captain was nowhere to be seen. Truth to be told, Edward was strangely relieved. He still wasn't sure how he was going to kill the dreaded pirate, and he explained away his relief at not finding him around by saying that the pirate's absence gave him an opportunity to plan his attack.

These ideas were soon pushed from Edward's mind, however, as he looked around the cabin he'd entered. His eyes sparkled as he saw the finely laid out table, and its ornate silverware. "Ye gods!" he thought, "I'm rich!"

Hastening to the table, he proceeded to scoop all the silverware and fine plates he saw into his pillow case. Then he proceeded to loot the foods throughout the cabin, noting with particular glee two fine bottles of wine. He also noted a book, "The Fall of the Snow Prince"; he considered taking this, but decided against it. "Books are worthless anyway."

Then he stopped, his eyes resting on a small but charming plant, that he'd heard called Nirnroot. "Sooooo pretty," he thought, heading toward it. "Soooooo...pretty!" He reached forward to touch its leaves; they were very soft. He smiled, drawing closer. A delicious aroma, indefinable but something like all the foods that he most liked, assailed his nostrils, and his eyes widened in surprise. Was that smell from that beautiful little plant?

It was! That delightful aroma, reminiscent of all manner of fine delicacies, was emanating from that little Nirnroot! All at once, Edward was moved by an impulse to eat the plant he admired so much.

Without even thinking about it, he seized the stem, uprooted the plant, and proceeded to chew it up and swallow it.

It tasted every bit as good as it looked, and all of a sudden Edward felt very lightheaded. Blinking, he felt himself staggering forward, looking for a seat. He felt strangely weak and tired and sick, but somehow good all the same -- right up until the moment that he collapsed.

Half an hour later, Edward was able to collect himself. The plant, he realized, must have been some sort of poison; Nirnroot, apparently, wasn't very good for you. He sighed.

At that moment, he heard the creak of a bolt on the other side of the room. His heart froze. "It must be the pirate," he thought. "He must be coming back!" Then another thought assailed him. "And he's bound to notice that everything's missing!"

Edward made an instantaneous and desperate decision: he would hide under the pirate's bed. "He'll never think to look there," he thought, scrambling for the bed. Unfortunately, he was too late.
The door opened, and Captain Tussaud entered and spotted him immediately. "Hello!" he cried. "Who in the name of Davy Jones is this?!"

Edward, who was half underneath the bed, pulled his head and shoulders out, stood up sneezing -- Gaston Tussaud apparently was no fan of cleaning under his bed, as there was years worth of dust underneath his -- and stared at the pirate. Then, his courage returned. "Alright Pound, time to meet the Dog!" he declared as threateningly as he could muster. Then he paused. "Wait," he said, "that's wrong...I meant, 'Alright dog, time to meet the pound!'"

Captain Tussaud stared at him blankly for a few moments, and then burst into uproarious laughter.
Edward frowned and flushed. Alright, so he had made a tiny mistake; it wasn't very nice of this stinking pirate to mock him like that...

As if in response to Edward's expression, the pirate laughed even more uproariously, and without ceasing.

"Cut it out already!" Edward demanded after a few minutes of non-stop laughter. "Prepare to meet your doom, pirate scum!"

Although Edward had hardly thought it possible, the pirate's laughter grew in intensity. His dancing eyes were almost buried underneath his cheeks, and his mouth was one gigantic grin.

Just as he had almost lost patience, and was about to attack the other man, Edward started. The pirate's face had gone from ruddy mirth to pallid shock; his hand clutched at his heart, and he stood frozen like a stone for several moments. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell forward with a tremendous thud.

Edward blinked, not quite sure what had happened. Then, slowly, timidly, he approached the pirate, and prodded him with a kick to the shoulders. The mass did not budge, but remained quite still.

"Dear me!" Edward thought. "He's dead! But how?!" Then he remembered how the other man had clutched his heart. "A heart attack?" he wondered, frowning.

At that moment, a colossal banging at the door roused him from his reflections with a start. A gruff voice demanded, "Cap'n? You alright, sir?" Silence followed, and Edward was not sure what to do. Then,

"We're coming in, sir!"

Edward didn't need a second warning. He took to his heels, toppling everything that lay in his path, including the captain's writing table and lit candles, and made his way to the balcony. Shifting his now extraordinarily heavy pillowcase behind him, he made a running leap for the pier.

He landed on the stone with a smash and a rush of agony in his elbows and knees that replaced any memory of the pain he'd felt in leaping onto the ship.

He lay utterly dazed and in a state of semi-consciousness for several minutes. Then, groaning and only vaguely aware of shouts and a peculiar cackling noise behind him, he drew himself up. "It must be almost morning," he observed, noting that the pier was illuminated in a reddish glow. Turning toward the Marie Elena, he was frozen in place as he saw that the entire vessel was engulfed in flames.

Of fools and thieves we sings,
Who come and take our things,
Robbing from the beggars and poor,
Always wanting more and more.
-- Imperial City beggars' song, after a recent rash of robberies against the homeless

Chapter Thirty

Edward and his valet had remained in the Imperial City for a few weeks. Ostensibly, this delay was a show of Edward's kindness to his faithful retainer, so that the latter could pursue his thieving missions, but realistically it was a chance for the former to recover from his various injuries.

Which isn't to say, of course, that Edward sat about lazily doing nothing the entire time they were in the city; no indeed! He only spent most of it lazing about; but the few hours a day every couple of days that he felt an urge of ambition (or the pang of jealousy, in comparing his servant's extremely successful endeavors to his own less notable ones), he would try his hand at thieving. So it was that there was not a beggar in the city who had not noticed something missing when he returned to his bedroll; so it was that there was not a church or chapel nearby without a story of something vanishing; so it was that the story of a strange pilgrim who carried a heavy, worn bag and traveled throughout the city leaving a trail of gems and cheap silverware behind him was born.

Near the end of their stay, Edward had learnt that his valet's fence was not in the Imperial City , but in Bruma. This had angered Edward, who had no desire to travel to a hub of barbarians, as he termed the Nord city. This in turn prompted his valet to volunteer to take the goods himself and return in a week's time with their payment.

Edward had approved this solution, and so relinquished his treasure horde -- only after meticulously listing out every item, and preparing a copy of the list for himself and his valet, along with space for his valet to record how much each item had sold for. Then, having only one horse between them, they had had to rent another horse to transport Edward's sizable stash. Edward had grumbled, but eventually forked over the 40 gold necessary for the rental.

Now, six and a half days later, Edward waited eagerly for his valet to return. The minutes seemed to drag by like hours as he awaited the arrival of his horde of gold, but, finally, he saw his valet from his hotel window. Racing down the stairs, two steps at a time, he rushed out to meet the other man.

"You're back!" he shouted exuberantly.

"Yes sir," the valet replied, smiling.

"Excellent, excellent! And how was your journey?" he asked, thinking it best not to appear too terribly eager, despite the fact that he was, in truth, that eager.

"Oh, very good sir. The mountains were a bit of rough going, particularly for the horses...yours especially seemed hardly to be able to move under all your stuff, but he made it eventually. And then we did have a run-in with wolves as we neared the Jerall mountains, but that wasn't as exciting as our run-in with the bandits. You'll never believe what happened, but -"

"Yes, yes," Edward interrupted, unable to contain himself any longer. "I don't care about any of that. I just want to know about my loot!"

The valet cleared his throat, looked rather uncomfortable, and declared, "We'd better go in before discussing that, sir."

Edward protested, but the other man was unmovable, so at last he assented, complaining all the while. Once seated in their quarters at the inn, Edward repeated his query. "So, what about my loot? How much did I make?"

"Well, sir, I'm afraid that didn't turn out so well," the valet returned.

"Didn't turn out so well??" Edward demanded, his eyes coloring in suspicion. "What do you mean?"

"Well, sir, your haul didn't sell for as much as...well, as much as we might hope."

Edward's suspicion was now full blown; he was sure that his valet had either been gypped by a conniving fence, or was attempting to gyp him of his well deserved profits. "How much is 'not as much'?"

"Well, sir," the valet replied, shifting very uncomfortably in his seat, "35 gold."

Edward's eyes nearly bulged out of his head, and he began gesticulating wildly, finding it very difficult to put his fury to words.

"I have the complete rundown of everything," his valet hastened to add, "just like you said." Reaching into a leather bag at his side, he pulled out the piece of paper. "You see, most of the things you had, sir, no fence will buy...yarn...shears...things like that. So I had to find alternate buyers. I found a clothes maker for your yarn, and, after a lot of finagling, convinced her to buy it. Turns out that people either make their own yarn or trade it for goods," he explained.

Edward blinked stupidly, trying to understand, but having difficulty. He had collected such a glorious collection of yarn, of so many shades and colors, so many weights and materials, how could someone not buy it? "How much?" he managed to articulate. "How much did you get for it?"

The valet cleared his throat, shifted uncomfortably again, and replied, "Well sir, I was able to convince her to give me 5 gold for it."

Edward grasped at his heart, certain that such news would stop its beating. "Five gold?!" he breathed. "Five gold, for my lovely horde?!"

"Yes sir, I'm afraid so," the valet answered.

"What about my pottery? And my shears? What about all the parchment? The silverware? The dinner sets?"

The valet shifted again. "Well, as I say, sir, it's all meticulously recorded, as you requested. But, regarding the particulars, the story was the same with the shears. No one is interested in buying them. I eventually found a metal worker who agreed to purchase the lot to melt down, but there was no one else interested."

"And how much?" Edward asked, afraid to know the answer.

The valet sighed. "Five gold, sir."

Edward's eyes bulged again. He had sweated, slaved, persevered lugging around pound upon pound of metal shears, day after day, for a mere measly five gold??

"And," the valet hurried on, "the pottery you had was in...well, very poor condition, sir, and nobody was really interested, except..." Here he trailed off, and seemed almost afraid to continue.

"Except?" Edward demanded. "Except who??"

"Well, sir, a health inspector happened to be passing by one day as I was trying to make a sale, and he noticed one of your pots...it was particularly dirty and unpleasant. He insisted on performing a test on it, and turns out it was covered in some rather disgusting decay. So he...well, he confiscated the whole collection of pottery, and charged a 15 gold fee for the cost of proper disposal."

This news was too much for Edward, who sagged back into his chair despairingly.

"But don't worry sir," the valet interjected, "I paid for it out of my own profits."

Edward glared at him. "Profits?!" he demanded. "You said I made 35 gold -- that's less than it cost me to rent a horse to get the stuff there! -- and you made profits?!"

The valet cleared his throat. "Well, a little, sir."

"How much is a little?" Edward demanded, his eyes blazing.

The valet shifted. "Well, sir, I can't remember exactly..."

Edward rose, inarticulate but furious, gesturing wildly and demanding, in broken, rather profane, language, to be answered.

"Well, a little over a thousand gold," the valet finally confessed.

Edward fell backwards into his seat, stunned. This man, his servant -- his lowly servant! -- had made almost thirty times as much as him! "But you had so little!" Edward protested. "My horse was loaded down, and yours just had a small bag on it!"

"Yes sir, but I found some very valuable items."

Edward glared at him. "Where is my list?!" he demanded. "Give it to me!"

His valet hastened to comply. Edward scanned the list.

Yarn (20 lbs) - 5 gold
Shears (150 lbs) - 5 gold
Pottery (20 pieces) - (-15 gold, paid by me)
Parchment (5000 sheets) - 2 gold
Paintbrushes (150) - 1 gold
Dinnerware (100 pieces) - 20 gold
Artwork (5 pieces) - 2 gold

Total 35 gold (not counting fine)

Edward started to cry.

The letter from the Gray Fox was huge! But one of my fave of all chapters - Edward and the Pirate Captain - I can never get enough of that chapter !!! ROFL !!!

Edward's irresistible "anti-charisma" strikes again! The pirate wench must have been unusally susceptible; it usually takes at least a few words from Edward to send women into a homicical rage...



"Bold, unexpected, glorious, worthy of me." This is one of those analogy tests, right? "One of these things is not like the others?"



I can just see him standing there with his pillowcase trailing on the floor and his mouth hanging open- without the shadow of a coherent thought anywhere in his head.

But the absolute crown jewel was the list of his "loot," along with the prices his valet managed to obtain- a feat of mercantile negotiation never before seen.

One of my favorite parts of the entire story is when the valet sells Edward's stuff for him.

Gaston Tussaud's fate is just as likely for some of us readers!

And of course the varlet/valet is a better thief than our hapless hero, as well as a better haggler!

These chapters truly highlight the vapidity that so characterizes our beloved (!) Edward.

Thanks for the comments all!

@mALX: Thanks...I love that chapter too...I remember wondering how I was going to kill Tussaud off...and it seemed such a fitting way for Edward to do it, and just in line with his glorious career of killing-by-stupidity.

@treydog: re: anti-charisma...LOL. Good observation. As for the Nirnroot...as someone who accidentally "sampled" more than a few harmful ingredients when I started playing, I just * had * to have Edward do that.

@sford: Thanks...I almost killed myself with laughter while writing that...glad to see others enjoyed it too.

@haute ecole reader: LOL. re: Tussaud's fate...I hope not! Although it's almost been my fate, too, once or twice, dreaming up wacky things for Edward to do.


@All...just to let you know, I may not be posting much more this week...I have training for the babies (the pups...lol...getting Care Bear ready for her first obedience trial...fingers crossed!) tomorrow, a department-wide potluck at work the next day that I just know I'm going to get roped into helping with, and then I'm on call this weekend as we move a bunch of servers...and that while relatives are coming over (although, depending on who shows up, getting called into work on the weekend won't be such a bad thing. But you didn't hear that from me ) ... so...if I'm not around for awhile, it's probably one of those things...or catching my breath in between, lol.



Their busy days and a hundred ways,
Watch the world continue on its course
Though the promise looms of darker days
But, oh, things will get so much worse...
-- Mehrunes Dagon, contemplating the future

Chapter Thirty-One

Edward had sulked for the rest of the day, refusing to acknowledge his valet's existence. He had tried to convince himself that his servant had cheated him, but, this failing, he had determined to simply ignore the man. When the valet tactfully absented himself, rather than feeling relieved, Edward felt even angrier. Not only had the man most unfairly outdone him, but now he removed himself so as to avoid the well-deserved wrath he should be showered in.

When Edward at last settled in to sleep, he found that sleep eluded him. He was angry, sulky and unsure of how to avenge himself on his servant -- and the latter tormented his mind for many hours. At last, however, he settled on a plan.

He rose early the next morning, paid his tab, packed his bags without waking his valet, and exited the inn. For a minute, he considered stealing his servant's horse, but decided against it; not that he would have objected to robbing the valet, to be sure, but he couldn't stand the idea of depending on anything belonging to "that man".

Therefore, bright and early, Edward set out on his own, heading for Cheydinhal. After all, he had successfully completed his assignment, and he had a payment to collect. "I have my own stuff to do," he thought, "and I've already wasted enough time pandering to the needs of that ridiculous servant of mine...ex-servant!"

With a grim smile, he decided that his disappearance would be the best possible punishment for the wayward valet. "And," he couldn't help admitting to himself with a sense of guilty pleasure, "he'll never see a penny's worth of pay from me!" Although this tended to tarnish the otherwise stainless revenge he'd planned, his practical side won out over the idealistic side; which is to say that his quest for pure vengeance, at least as he defined it, was second to his miserliness.

The beauty of the cruel deprivation of his company waned, however, as he trudged along his way. The morning was warm, and promised to grow hotter, and he was not terribly fond of exercise as it was, much less so such a long trudge as he was now embarked on. Huffing, puffing, sighing, sweating and feeling terribly sorry for himself, Edward walked in solitude for two hours. It was then that he heard the sounds of rapid hoofbeats on the road behind him. His first instinct was to pull off the road immediately. "But then," he thought despairingly, "perhaps I would be better to stay here...to end it all by being dashed to pieces under a horse's hooves, rather than continue in this futile, painful, degrading existence." The mental image, however, of actually being dashed to pieces under a horse's hooves quickly decided him, and he hurried off the path to wait for the rider to pass.

As the hooves neared, he divined that there were two horses at least. "Too much noise for one," he thought.

Sure enough, in a few moments, two horses appeared over the hilltop. Edward started. There were two horses, but only one rider -- and that rider was his valet!

The other man reined his horse to a halt near Edward. "Sir!" he exclaimed, dismounting. "I figured you had started on your way."

Edward felt elated that he was no longer alone, particularly when he saw that the other man had brought an extra horse. But his pride refused to acknowledge the sentiment, so, instead, he glared at the valet. "What are you doing here?"

"Following you, sir."

Edward's glare turned to a frown. He couldn't understand this...in all truth, he had been rude and discourteous -- and, to top it off, remiss in actually paying the man's wages. Why, in the name of heaven, would he follow him here? "Why?" he asked at last.

"Well, it's my job sir!" the valet answered, in a tone that seemed to indicate that the answer was self-evident.

Edward's frown deepened. "Well, how did you get another horse?" he asked and last. "And what for?"

"For you, of course, sir," the valet replied. "And I bought it."

Edward stared at the other man, attempting to ascertain if he was sincere. Seeing that he was, he then wondered if his servant was mad. Not only did he put up with his master's temperamental, even -- though he was loath to admit it -- absurd, antics, and all without pay, but now he was spending his own money to buy a horse for said annoying master?

"Well, come on, sir," the valet said. "Aren't you going to mount? It's much faster riding to Cheydinal than walking."

Edward shook his head, not quite sure of what to say, but took the reins from his valet's outstretched hand. The man was mad, he concluded, but at least he was loyal. Plus, though he hated to admit it, he seemed to be a pretty good thief, which just might come in handy some day.

Oh, I just had a flash of Edwards list of people to kill - and his valet was like at the top of the list! SPEW! Slowly the nameless valet will train Edward, ROFL! A great chapter, and good luck with the obedience trials !!

Thanks, mALX...I've got a little while before the trial yet, but this is the class that gets her ready for it... As for "the list"...good grief, I think just about everyone Edward meets would wind up on it, lol



An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Unless you're talking the emperor's death, in which case no prevention is worth a nice shiny amulet...

-- Musings of Edward

Chapter Thirty-Two

After his misadventure upon discovering the hideout, Edward was able to navigate his way from memory, without mishap. Even the door didn't give him a problem, as he remembered the password.
Remembering that Antionetta Marie might be around, he drew himself up tall, puffed out his chest, and sauntered coolly inside, as nonchalant as can be. Nonchalant, that is, with the exception of his eyes, which roamed quickly around the room, back and forth, attempting to locate the girl. Exhaling, and slipping into his comfortable if not impressive stance, he sighed. Not only was Antionetta not around, no one was around!

Then, all at once, a side door grated open. Edward spun around, and, seeing Vicente and Antionetta emerge, planned to return to his previous stance. But he abandoned this idea as their eyes had already located him. Instead, he smiled as coolly as possible, which was not very coolly. Somehow, he wasn't sure how, this girl always managed to surprise him, and leave him feeling goofy and awkward rather than charming and impressive.

"Edmund!" Vicente greeted.

"Edward," Edward corrected.

"Right," Vicente agreed. "But you're back!"

"Ummm, yeah," Edward agreed weakly. He wanted to say something funny, something witty to impress Antionetta, who was approaching with Vicente, but couldn't think of anything.

"And no cobwebs this time!" Antionetta observed.

Edward flushed.

"So," Vicente declared, ignoring his companion's remark, "I heard about your venture." He frowned. "Was it really necessary to burn him to death?"

Edward blinked. "What?" Then he remembered the ship going up in flames, no doubt from the candle that he had knocked over during his hasty retreat. "Oh, no, he was already dead," he hastened to explain.

"Really?" Vicente asked, clearly relieved. "You killed him before setting the ship alight?"

This was a puzzler, because, though the man was in truth dead before the fire, it wasn't at Edward's hand. But he decided to reply in the affirmative, as the pirate had died laughing at him, so he had in some way contributed to his death. "Yes, quite," he answered.

"Oh, good," Vicente said. "You understand, despite the fact that the people we deal with are often cruel and terrible killers, we are not in the business of cruelty; we're in the business of justice and retribution."

Edward shifted. He always felt thoroughly nervous and ill at ease when people started talking about justice. "Yes, quite," he repeated. "I, umm, just thought that that would, umm, add a deeper, err, psychological impact on his fellow pirates by, uhh, burning the ship down after killing him."

"Interesting theory," Vicente smiled. "But, I guess you're ready for your reward."

Now Edward smiled too, as the other man handed him a bag of gold. Something like a hiss of disgust passed from Antionetta's lips. He glanced up at her, but her expression was unchanged.

"And, what's more," Vicente said, passing him a ring, "as a reward for such a good job, you might find this useful. It's an enchanted ring that provides armor and security enhancements, and resistance to magic."

Edward smiled broadly, putting the ring on.

"So, are you ready for a new assignment?" Vicente asked.

"Of course!"

"Good. Our next one's a tricky one. We're going to 'arrange an accident' for an old man who previously 'arranged an accident' for his brother, thereby leaving the dispossessed son of the murdered brother to come into his rightful inheritance."

Edward frowned. "You mean...somebody killed his brother to rob him, and now we're going to kill the murderous brother so that the son of the murdered brother can inherit what the murdering brother stole from the murdered brother?"

Vicente blinked, as if absorbing the convoluted statement, and then nodded.

"Oh...well, it's simple when you put it my way."

"Anyway," Vicente continued, "the target is a wood elf named Baenlin. Now -- and this is very important -- he has an innocent manservant working for him, a man called Gromm. Gromm is absolutely devoted to his employer, so he will kill you if he sees you trying to harm him; he is innocent, though, and has no idea of Baelin's true nature. So be very careful that no harm comes to him."

Edward sighed. "Very well." These rules really were crazy, he thought, but as long as he got paid...

"Now, Baelin lives in Bruma," Vicente continued.

"Ugh!" Edward exclaimed. "Bruma?"

Vicente blinked in the face of his outrage. "Yes, Bruma."

"You mean...I have to sully my hands killing someone in that fortress of barbarity, that realm of savages?" Edward asked, recoiling in disgust.

Cold as the frozen tundra
Treacherous and icy indeed
Beware he who'd make a false step
Of this vengeful heart of mine.
-- Praise of Edward, written by Edward





Chapter Thirty-Three

A very huffy Edward had made the arduous journey, accompanied by his faithful retainer, to Bruma. While Edward was positively disgusted that he had to venture to a city of primitives, as he thought of Bruma, his valet was exuberant. Apparently, he had had some very good fortune thieving while Edward was meeting up with fellow assassins; so good, in fact, that the Cheydinhal castle was under redoubled security from that day forward.

Though he had mostly gotten over the stark difference between his valet's success and his failure as a thief, the other man's eagerness, and the clear reason for it, still served to aggravate him.

Furthermore, being a midlander, Edward was unaccustomed to the frigid temperatures of the Jerall mountains; and, being a snob, he had never ventured to the "barbarous northern regions", so was completely unprepared for the frigidity that awaited him. His valet, thankfully, had prepared ahead, and brought several cloaks and blankets, all of which he surrendered to Edward. Regardless, Edward's teeth still chattered nonstop throughout the journey, and he shook at times so hard that he almost fell off his horse. Finally, when the gates of Bruma came into sight, he was so relieved at the prospect of a warm bed and a lit fireplace that he almost forgot his revulsion at the thought of sojourning amongst such barbarians.

Surrendering their horses outside the gates of the city, Edward and his valet headed inside. Edward was nearly frozen stiff by time they reached the Jerall View Inn. "This is a very nice place, sir," his valet told him. "It's a little bit more expensive than Olav's Tap and Tack, but the beds are much nicer and it's much warmer."

Edward nodded his head, which just caused his teeth to chatter more. He stood aside as his valet took care of the business -- in actuality, he abandoned the other man and ran as fast as his shaking legs would take him to the lit fireplace -- and then, very reluctantly, headed toward his room as the valet returned.

"Well sir," the valet said, "the good news is that we've got a very nice room with a beautiful fire."

Edward nodded, barely aware of the man's words as he was led to the room.

The valet opened the door, stood aside to let Edward in, and then followed. "The bad news," he continued, "is that there were no other rooms available in the inn."

Edward managed to rouse himself from his stupor of cold, and glance up at his servant. "So?" he asked, teeth chattering. "You said there was another inn in town. You can go there."

"Well sir," the valet said, "actually, there are no rooms available at Olav's Tap and Tack, either."

Edward frowned at him. "How do you know?"

"Because, sir...the guy in front of me was grumbling about paying more for his room here, and saying that there were no rooms available anywhere because of the mage's conference here in town. And then the proprietor said that this was his last room, too."

Edward's frown deepened. "Well, surely..." he protested, looking about. Even if he would endure the indignity of sharing a room with his servant, he certainly would not endure the humiliation of sharing the same bed -- even if it was a large double bed, like this one. "I suppose you could always sleep outside somewhere..." he mused aloud. "There's got to be some shelter somewhere, where it's mostly out of the wind or something...I mean, I suppose they have homeless people and beggars here, and that must be what they do..."

His valet cleared his throat significantly. "Well, sir, not to put too fine a point on it, but...the room is rented in my name, and I paid for it myself."

Edward stared at him blankly, still shivering as he stood by the fireplace. "Yes?" he asked.

"Well, sir, I think I will be sleeping inside tonight. I would be glad to share my room with you, if you like -- after all, I would hate to see you out there looking for shelter, particularly when it doesn't sound like there's any to be had in Bruma this evening."

Edward stared at him with a mixture of exhaustion-induced apathy and pride-induced anger. "Of all the insolence!" he managed to say at length.

The valet nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Fire at the Harbor!

In yet another astonishing revelation, coming close on the heels of so many other shocking occurrences in our city, we report a disastrous night for the Marie Elena, the frequent visitor of our illustrious harbor. As our reader may recall, the Marie Elena was long purported -- but never proved -- to be a pirate vessel. In yet unexplained circumstances, the ship spontaneously erupted into flame and burnt into wreckage that promptly sank to the bottom of the bay. The cause of this incident is as yet unknown, although some witnesses did report seeing a darkly clad figure skulk away from the wreckage. The veracity of these stories, however, is called into question by the inebriation of the tellers. As a result, the conflagration and ensuing disaster is officially listed as "Fire and sinking, under suspicious circumstances." A reward is being offered for any further information relating to this incident.

--Black Horse Courier, Special news Bulletin



Chapter Thirty-Four

Edward tossed again. He was wrapped in about ten blankets, which he'd had a very difficult time securing from the none-too-accommodating proprietor, and he still felt thoroughly chilled. Furthermore, he couldn't get over his aggravation at having to sleep beside a servant -- much less a servant who had no difficulty getting to sleep wrapped in a single blanket, while he struggled to sleep even under a mountain of them. And, to make it even worse, every once in a while his valet would snore.

Now, his occasional snore was not terribly offensive or terribly loud; it wasn't that that annoyed Edward. No, it was the mere fact that he, Edward, should have to sleep beside a snoring servant that boiled his blood. "Disgusting," he thought again and again, poking his valet hard with every soft snore while declaring loudly, "Stop snoring! You're keeping me awake!"

After the third time, the valet muttered something inaudible, gathered his pillow and blanket, and lay down to sleep on the bench at the far end of the room. Edward congratulated himself heartily at this, thinking that, finally, his efforts had paid off -- though he was still sharing a room with his servant, at least he didn't have to suffer the humiliation of sharing a bed with his hired help.

Then he started shivering, and was all at once cursing his wayward servant anew. Instead of generating heat at his side, when the other man had gone, he'd left Edward exposed to the cold night air -- as exposed as one can be fully dressed in heavy clothes and under ten blankets, at least.

His teeth began chattering again, and he hunkered down under his coverings, certain that he would freeze to death before morning. "Then, at least, this will all be over," he consoled himself. "Damn this barbarian outpost and its frigid nights and full inns and stupid mages' conferences and insolent servants and...”

Lulling himself to sleep with a barrage of people and things that he'd like to damn, Edward dozed at last. He slept relatively peacefully, having only the occasional dream of dying a slow death on a frozen tundra with a barbarian outpost just ahead, just beyond where the last reaches of his strength could push him.

He woke the next morning feeling quite stiff, as though he had, in fact, partially frozen, and quite cold, as if evidence of the first supposition. His first instinct upon waking in such discomfort was to berate his servant, though for what he wasn't quite sure.

"Hogging the bed?" he wondered. No, that was a dangerous one to bring up, particularly in light of the fact that Edward had pushed him practically off the edge of the bed, and then had later forced him out by hitting or poking him whenever he snored. "Ahh!" he thought, "that's it! The snoring!" Yes, that would be perfect.

Already imagining the tale of lost sleep and discomfort with which he'd assault his valet, he stopped short as he glanced at the bench on the opposite side of the room. There was the man's pillow, and a blanket folded up very neatly, but where was he?

Edward frowned deeply. His servant's blanket had been an extremely thin one, and it aggravated him intensely that the other man was able to survive the cold with so little protection while it bothered him so substantially. "honoured user," he thought. "And where in Oblivion is he?" Edward was feeling very peevish that morning, and it annoyed him more than he could coherently express that his paid subordinate...alright, his pay-deferred subordinate would just up and leave without asking permission. Not that, of course, Edward would have wanted to be woken to be asked something like that; but he conveniently ignored such facts when it suited him to do so, and it suited him now. "Well," he thought, "I've half a mind to fire that man! Just who does he think he is?"

At that moment, the door opened, and the valet and one of the inn's servants entered, carrying breakfast food. "I'm not sure if he's awake yet," the valet was saying, "so bring in some strong coffee please. He's got a long day ahead of him."

"Yes sir," the third man agreed.

Edward frowned as a host of delicious aromas assailed his nostrils. Somebody, at least, in this town of savages could cook.

"Ahh!" the valet greeted. "You're awake, sir!"

Edward nodded warily. He was suspicious of his valet's motives in acting as though nothing was amiss when he felt a nagging sense (was it the pangs of conscience?) that things were not well.

The valet, however, deftly set down his tray on the stand near Edward's bed, and then directed that the other tray be set on his bench. He watched as the third man left the room and shut the door, and then turned to Edward.

"I'm glad you were awake, sir," he said, "because I came across some intelligence that might prove very helpful to you on your mission."

I remembered this chapter, the second I heard he was going to Bruma I couldn't wait to read the next one! I love this part:



LOVE that part !!!!!!

Hilarious as aslways
That's good cause Edward is lacking any form of said intelligence

I cracked up at the comparison of heat/cold tolerance between Edward and his valet.

How many married couples and college dorm roommates can appreciate this??

Best wishes for all endeavors, especially with the pups. No worries about light posting- we are all addicts and will wait doggedly (if not patiently) for our Edward fix.

As usual, Edward’s concept of “revenge” had me snortling- “I know. I’ll run away from home! That’ll show him!”

Only to have his tasty vengeance (and plan to avoid paying wages) turned sour by the valet’s unfathomable loyalty.





We have the Buffy Doctrine and the Julian Credo- this might be the first draft of the “Edwardian Philosophy.”



In this, at least, Edward shows himself to be rather representative of human males.



That is such an absolute gem- it caused me spasms of laughter the first time and still does.





The image of Jeeves instantly popped into my head when I read that one.



Other people count sheep- Edward counts enemies- which list (as you noted) includes practically everyone he meets.

@haute- Just the other day I told mrs. treydog that the reason Princess Juneipurr sleeps all the time is as a means of conserving body heat, due to the chilly AC setting.

@all, thanks for the comments, and thanks much for your patience! The weekend ended up turning out to be less hectic than it might have been...so I actually have a little time to post some more!!



He bemoans the ignorance and stupidity of his courier

Yet t'was he who chose the fool, was it not?

We cannot say whether it's the messenger or the worrier

Who is the greater of fools, for we know not.

-- The Eight Divines, speaking of the Ninth


Chapter Thirty-Five

Edward sat down, munching on a piece of toast as the inn's servant poured two cups of coffee. After he was gone, Edward took one, and offered the other to his valet. A little bit of civility, he thought, wouldn't hurt, particularly when his valet apparently had information that might make his job easier. "The easier the job, the sooner I'll be able to leave; and the sooner I leave, the sooner I'll be home, in a civilized climate amongst civilized people," he thought.

"Well, sir," the valet said, pausing to sip his coffee, "I was paying an early morning visit to my fence, and I happened to run into Gromm -- you know, the fellow who works for Baenlin."

Edward nodded, munching loudly on his toast.

"Well, he was out early too, and he was also visiting my fence."

Edward blinked. "He'sh a thief?" he asked, his mouth full of food.

"No," the valet returned. "Not a thief...it's just that my fence conducts business at all hours, unlike most shopkeepers."

Edward frowned. "Well, what short of bushinesh did he have to do?" He still wasn't convinced that Gromm wasn't a thief, as the business of a fence was dealing with thieves and buying and selling stolen goods.

"Well sir, he was looking for a new length of sturdy rope."

Edward's frown intensified, and he was sure now that Gromm was some sort of criminal. "Rope? What for?"

"Well," the valet answered, "this is where things get really interesting...you see, he was saying that his master has a giant trophy head over his chair, and that he -- Gromm -- had recently noticed that the rope fastening it to the wall had started to fray. His master hadn't been terribly concerned, but it bothered Gromm so much that he decided to go get some rope before Baenlin got up, and his daily duties began."

"Yesh?" Edward asked as he took another bite, having abandoned both his idea that Gromm was a criminal ("just a sap," he thought), as well as his interest in pursuing the matter any further.

"My fence didn't have any rope!" the valet answered excitedly.

This didn't interest him at all, as he could see no point to his servant's eagerness, so Edward sighed wearily. Unfortunately, with a mouth full of toast, his sigh turned into a coughing and wheezing fit as the rush of exhaled air pushed toast crumbs up into and out of his nostrils.

After several minutes of coughing and his eyes tearing up while his concerned valet did everything he could to assist -- which, admittedly, wasn't much, once he ascertained what the difficulty was -- Edward regained himself. "Well," he snapped, his eyes still glistening with tears, "what in Oblivion does any of this have to do with me?!"

"Don't you see, sir?" the valet asked. "Since none of the other shops were open, and he had to get back before his master woke, the problem hasn't been fixed!"

Edward closed his eyes, his nasal passages still flaming, and his temper not far behind. "Yes, I'm not stupid, I get that!" he exclaimed, his efforts at a calm response failing miserably. "But so what? How does that help me?!"

The valet blinked, as if the answer seemed crystal clear, but then, in a very civil tone, explained, "Well sir, your job is to arrange an accident, correct? What more perfect than this? Gromm has already identified the problem, his master has dismissed it, and he hasn't had time to address it. If you were to manage to drop the head on Baenlin while he was sitting underneath, I'm sure you'd kill him -- as Gromm fears. Then, it would indeed look like an accident!"

Edward's impatience waned only slightly. "I still don't see how that's of much use to me," he complained. "I mean, how am I supposed to drop the head on him without Gromm seeing me?"

The valet blinked. "Well, sir, I have no idea...but, seeing as how this is your province, I figured you'd be able to figure something out."

Edward blinked at him in return, somewhat rebuffed by the statement. He wanted to snap back a smart comment, but held his peace; his valet had a point, didn't he? He was supposed to be the expert at this sort of thing, after all. "But," he said slowly, not quite sure what else to say, "that's not really my style, you see?"

"Oh," the valet returned, clearly disappointed.

"But," Edward ventured, "I'll be sure to keep it in my mind while I, umm, draw up my strategy...tactics...plans...all that."

The rivers turn to ice,
And the mountains shiver and frown
But the people are nice,
In this faraway and foreign little town.
-- Ode to Bruma

Chapter Thirty-Six

As stupid as his valet's suggestion had seemed to him at first, the more Edward thought about it, the more it sounded like the only logical way to go about the matter. After all, Vicente had practically forbade him to kill Gromm; and, by all accounts, Gromm was hardly someone Edward would want to -- indeed, could -- fight. Furthermore, Baenlin was a murderer, and a cruel and callous one at that. He had killed his own brother, hadn't he, to steal his property -- and rob his own nephew in the process? He might be old, but that didn't necessarily mean he couldn't fight. "After all," Edward thought, "this is a land of barbarians...these primitives are killing each other before they crawl...they probably don't age like normal, civilized people, either...they probably don't grow into nice, mildly annoying, partially deaf people who cut in front of you in line after you've been waiting for forty-five minutes just to buy one stinking roll, then take the last roll in the whole damn bakery, and then can't even hear you when you cuss them out!" Edward broke off from that train of thoughts, realizing that his teeth were clenched and his hands were instinctively clutching out and throttling the thin air in front of him. He blinked, straightened his ruffled outfit -- his clothes had been mussed in his murder of the phantom elderly man he'd imagined -- and resumed his original line of thought. "Anyway, in this primitive place, the old men are probably a bunch of hardened warriors who would as soon slice you in two as look at you." He sighed. "The only possible thing for me to do is kill 'im without him suspecting...and that minotaur head sounds as good as anything else." He frowned. "But how oh how am I going to loose it without him knowing??"

Edward's frown intensified. "Well," he mused, "I suppose I should do a little reconnaissance. If I could just get into the house under some innocent pretext..."

Then Edward's face lit up as an idea struck him. He would go to Baenlin's house, pretend to be a repairman, gain access to the trophy, and drop it then. Smiling at his own brilliance, Edward donned his coat and headed out of the inn. No sooner had he done this than he regretted the action; a cold, wintery blast of air greeted him in the traditional Bruma way. "What kind of savages could live here?" he wondered, shaking immediately. "And what is it with naming inns for things that they're not near and can't be seen from? Jerall View Inn my foot! You can't see the mountains from here!" Shaking his head in distaste at the stupidity of these foreign primitives, he set out for Baenlin's house.

"If I built an inn," he thought as he trudged along, "I would call it something interesting, something important...like the Prince Edward Inn ...or the Royal Family Suites...something that makes sense, not something like 'Jerall View Inn' when you can't see the darned mountains from the stupid inn!"

He had trudged about for several minutes, shivering all the while, when he stopped, realizing that he had no idea where he was going. "Where is this Baenlin, anyway?" he wondered, frowning. There were houses all around him, and nothing to denote who lived where.

He reached a shaking hand into his pocket to retrieve a map, which he unrolled. He had marked the spot of Baenlin's house with an x, but it didn't help him much as he didn't know where he was in relation to anything else on the map.

"Excuse me sir," a voice interrupted his thoughts. Edward started, glancing up at the passing guard who was addressing him. "But can I help you?"

"Well, umm, yes, actually," Edward said, swallowing his fear of discovery. "You see, I was hired by, umm..." He froze, his mind blanking for an instant. "Gromm! Yes, Gromm -- you know, Master Baenlin's hired man -- to repair something ..."

"Oh!" the guard exclaimed. "You must be talking about the minotaur head trophy!"

Edward blinked. "Yes, that's right."

"Yes," the guard nodded. "Old Gromm's been quite upset about it...so he finally got someone to take a look at the thing, eh?"

Edward nodded weakly. If this was such a well known problem that a random guard knew about it, maybe dropping the head on Baenlin wasn't the wisest choice.

"Good, good," the guard continued, even as Edward continued to shiver violently. "He was telling old Ognar about it this morning, and Ognar happened to run into Arnora, and she happened to run into my missus, and, well..." Here he paused to laugh. "The rest is history."

"Yes, well, erm, that's very interesting," Edward managed.

"But, seeing as how you're looking at that map, you must be trying to find Baenlin's place?"

Edward nodded meekly. He had been hoping to find an excuse to slip away quietly, but that was impossible now.

The guard laughed uproariously at this. "You must be a foreigner, right?" He looked Edward up and down, "Yup, 'course you are...you've got that persnickety air and prissy fine skin, unused to the rigorous mountain winds and cold. No offense intended, of course."

Edward only chattered his teeth in response.

"Well, anyhow, you're standing in front of old Baenlin's place."

Wicked deceiver, constant liar,
Of your silly tricks you never tire
Little do you in your foolishness know
You tread the path the gods have you go.
-- Unattributed Song to Edward

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Luckily for Edward, the guard had introduced him to Gromm only as someone who had "come to take care of your minotaur problem." Edward had then been able, once the guard had left, to say that his valet had mentioned the issue to him, and that he had come to see if there was anything that he could do.

"Oh...well, that's very nice of you," Gromm answered. "But...are you qualified?"

Edward frowned at him. "My dear man," he said, "I'll have you know you are talking to the -- the! -- official decorator of the Imperial palace!"

"Oh!" Gromm declared, clearly impressed. "Well, what are you doing in Bruma?"

"I, umm, wanted a little vacation," Edward lied. "After the Emperor's tragic death and all that."

"Oh, I see," Gromm replied, adding a bit disbelievingly, "So you came to Bruma? For vacation?"

Too late, Edward realized the absurdity of his claim; but, now that it was made, he had to do the best he could. "Well, yes," he said, "you see, it was so depressing being in the warm, comfortable, flowery, beautiful midlands..."

Gromm stared at him quizzically. "Why?"

"Well," Edward hesitated, "because...well, because the Emperor died!"

Gromm's face softened. "Oh, I understand!" he said. "You were his servant!"

"Yes," Edward agreed. He wasn't quite sure where Gromm was going with this, but it had clearly and favorably altered the man's disposition, so he was willing to run with it.

"I quite understand," Gromm said, nodding his head solemnly. "A servant's job is a sacred one...and, when he loses his master, it's as if he loses his calling in life...his very reason for living!"

Edward nodded hastily, wondering at the same time what the man had been drinking. "Hell," he thought, "I'd probably be laughing that the fat honoured user met his maker before I did, even after all his years of living in ease and comfort while I slaved away to make him easy and comfortable!"

"Well then," Gromm declared, "I appreciate your kindly assistance. And you know where I'm coming from!"

"Oh, yes," Edward felt it necessary to say. "Indeed!"

"You see that head?" Gromm asked, pointing up at a giant minotaur head mounted on the wall. "And you see the seat under it, near the fireplace?"

"Yes."

"Well, my master likes to sit there and drink his wine after supper. And I've noticed that the rope that holds the head up is fraying. I'm just afraid that..." He broke off, his face ashen, as if afraid to say the words.

"I quite understand," Edward said, thinking that this servant must be extraordinarily superstitious, or else just plain old mad. "Well, leave it to me. I'll survey the situation, and then...umm, decide what needs to be done."

"Excellent," Gromm declared. "Although..." Here he hesitated. Lowering his voice confidentially, he whispered, "Please take care not to alert my master...you see, although he doesn't speak much of it to me, I gather that there are some evil men who would like to do him harm, and he is very suspicious as a result...he wouldn’t be happy with me if he knew that I let someone in to work on that."

Edward nodded knowingly. "I understand completely...you can never be too careful!"

"Yes," Gromm nodded. "And, of course, I'd forgotten that you'd know exactly what I mean, what with working for the Emperor and all."

"Exactly so," Edward smiled. "Just leave it to me."

The empire lays on the brink of chaos,
Mehrunes Dagon goes about his merry way
Meanwhile is the amulet bearer at a loss
To understand what he risks with such delay?
-- Musings of Friar Jauffre





Chapter Thirty-Eight

Edward sighed. He was crouched in a stuffy crawlspace, staring at old, fraying rope. What, exactly, he wondered, did that idiot Gromm expect him to do? This would be a two or three man job at least, to lower this head to the ground, replace the rope, and rehang it.

"Oh well," he thought, "it should be easy enough to drop it, at least...it looks like the darn thing might fall at any moment." With this, an idea came to him. "Hmm...suppose I just toy with the ropes a little bit, so that, by this evening -- when Baenlin sits down to drink his wine -- this'll all come crashing down." He smiled devilishly. "And I can just tell that pathetic, groveling servant of his that I'm going to get some fresh rope, and I'll be back later in the evening, once Baenlin is gone to bed." His smile widened, and he moved closer to the ropes.

"Hmm," he mused, seizing it and wiggling it back and forth -- at least, attempting to wiggle it, but not being able to budge the taut rope. At the same time, he heard a suspicious creaking sound, and felt the floor beneath him shift in a decidedly unpleasant fashion. Edward's eyes bulged. "Great gods!" he exclaimed. "Forget the rope...this crawlspace is about to collapse!"

Pulling backwards in order to expeditiously exit the wobbly structure, Edward gasped. His fingers were stuck in the rope. "No!" he thought, pulling violently to be free. The rope would not budge, but the wall to which it was attached shivered. Edward, feeling panic rising in him, began to flail and struggle like a wild animal in a trap. He was kicking and pulling and screaming to be loosed when, all at once, a tremendous groan issued from the wall; the next thing Edward knew, he was being hauled forward and downward, dragged by his fingers, which were caught in the rope – the rope that was attached to the wall, which was pulled downward by the minotaur head.

Certain beyond any hope that he was a dead man, Edward just closed his eyes, and waited for the worst. The worst did not come, however; instead, Edward landed with a crash on top of the wall remnants, which splintered fully on the minotaur head. Aside from decidedly unlucky contact between his head and a board, he was unscathed. That said, it was half an hour before Edward regained consciousness.

When he woke, he found himself in a cold stone cell, with a rough sleeping roll underneath him; he was only vaguely aware of these things as he groaned in agony and attempted to roll onto his side.

"Well," a voice greeted his agonized groaning, "you really did yourself in for some trouble."

Edward attempted a question, just as he attempted to look at the speaker, but he was in too much pain to do either.

"You needn't bother with the sympathy routine," the other speaker informed him matter-of-factly. "Trust me, I've tried it...they don't care here. We're the prisoners -- as far as they're concerned, if we're not suffering, they're not doing their job."

Edward tried to ask, "Whose 'they'?" Instead, he managed to gurgle something that sounded like a cat throwing up.

"'They'," the voice answered, "are the guards. And 'we' are the prisoners."

Edward's contorted face contorted further. Somehow, he knew he would end up in prison, even though he didn't know how or why. It was his luck, or lack thereof.

"I'm in here for theft...but you..." The other prisoner clucked his tongue. "Impersonating the royal decorator? Pulling down half of old Baenlin's house?" He clucked again.

"He's not dead then?" Edward managed to gasp.

"Dead? Well, what else, when a foot longer splinter pierces your head? A piece of your debris went flying into the poor man, and killed him instantly. Gromm would have killed you on the spot, if the guards hadn't heard the noise and come running." The other prisoner laughed. "To think, you're actually safer in here than you would be free." He laughed again.

Edward frowned, but did not dare to move enough to look at the other man; his pain was at a manageable level now, and he did not want to risk exacerbating his problems. "I don't understand; I was only trying to help."

This declaration was met with laughter. "Bah! You were up to thieving!"

Edward groaned again, not from pain this time, but at the realization that he'd missed a golden opportunity to loot Baenlin's home.

"And, sadly for you -- and old Baenlin," the prisoner continued, laughing at his own wit, "you accidentally knocked the old attic down." He repeated his mocking clucking. "Old Baenlin should have taken better care of that place, than to let it rot like that. And you should have been smarter than to try such a lame scheme to infiltrate the house."

At that moment, the outer door to the dungeon scraped open, and light flooded the dark cells and hallway. A gruff voice called out, "Alright, get up...you're free to go."

"Me?!" the excited voice of Edward's cellmate asked.

"No, not you!" came the response. "You've still got six months to go!"

"But...but...this man is in here for murder!" the other prisoner gasped. "How come he goes free, and I stay here?"

"None of your nevermind, that's why!" the guard answered. "And you!" -- this to an unknown newcomer, standing silhouetted in the doorway -- "You collect this lunatic, and get him out of Bruma! Gromm's been pretty forgiving, but you never know, especially if he starts drinking...better to keep the loon out of here for a few months, until things cool down."

"Cool down?" Edward wondered aloud. He had been following the conversation as well as he was able, but the sudden flood of light had sent his senses swimming, and he hadn't been able to make much of anything that had been said since. "You mean, it actually gets colder here than it already is?"

The guard cleared his throat, shook his head, and unlocked Edward's cell. The other, unidentified man, came in, knelt beside Edward, and said in a very low tone, "Come with me, sir -- and please, don't say anything! I got them to let you out, but I had to give a cover story. Don't speak, please!"

Edward blinked in surprise. It was his valet, although, at least to his eyes, the man seemed surrounded by swirls of color...no, that was the entire room. "It's you!" he said. "You should have seen me! I was flying on a giant moose!" He blinked again. Everything was moving so oddly, like when you just wake up in the morning and open your eyes. He smiled. "No, this is a dream, isn't it? I'm not really in prison?"

"Come with me, sir," his valet said, lifting him to his feet. This last bit of movement sent a shock wave of pain through Edward's head, and he lost consciousness.

Our latest news bulletin comes all the way from Bruma, that remote and exotic Nordish town. Word came to us only today that a maniac, posing as the Royal Decorator, infiltrated a resident of the town, one Baelin's, home and, in a wildly improbable -- yet independently verified -- series of deceptions and bunglings, unwittingly managed to knock half of the poor man's home down. Unfortunately, Baenlin was killed in the accident. His killer survived and was taken to jail, but subsequently released -- before his name could be ascertained by our correspondent -- due to his madness. The infiltration, it would seem, was but a bout of insanity with which the poor lunatic has been plagued his entire life. He was released into the custody of his trusty manservant, and the pair shortly thereafter vacated their room at the Jerall View Inn. No more is known of the lunatic, but our sympathies in this tragedy go out to both he and Master Baenlin.

-- Black Horse Courier, Special News Bulletin

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Edward had not been dreaming; he had, in fact, been sent to prison for attempted theft resulting in accidental murder -- an oxymoronic term that Edward was able to make neither heads nor tails of. It was only when his valet had approached the guards, and told a peculiar, but, after Edward's antics, plausible, cover story that he had been released.

It had taken Edward several days to rest up to the point where he was well enough to consider embarking on their trip home, and he had not learnt the details of his surprising rescue until then. His valet, it turned out, had spun the none-too-flattering tale that he, Edward, was a mad nobleman, in the charge of his trusty caretaker. Edward, the valet had said, would imagine himself as all sorts of things. When the guards had been suspicious, and recounted Edward's story to Gromm, the valet had just shook his head. "Dear me," he'd said, "so now it's the royal decorator, is it?" He'd sighed, and added, "Before we came up here, he was the high priest of the temple of Julianos ." He'd shaken his head when he said this. "And before that, he was the ghost of the recently deceased arch mage...you've no idea what a job it is to convince an old lady that the madman running around in the cemetery, carrying the hearts of dead animals for his 'spells', and dressed in a long white gown declaring that he'll get revenge isn't actually a threat." One more sigh, and the valet had sealed the deal, even with Gromm, who was able to forgive a madman what he would not forgive a sane man. The guards were sympathetic, but happy to have the lunatic out of their prison. Edward, as a result of his injuries, was not in his right senses for a while, and so fit their idea of a madman perfectly. So it was that Edward and his valet were able to make an escape from Bruma.

Despite the fact that his life had been saved, Edward was not entirely pleased with his valet's explanation; but he decided it was best not to quarrel with the man who had rescued him in his hour of dire need. So, they made their way back to the midlands, and back to Cheydinhal.

There was little conversation as they traveled, as both men were lost in thought. Edward's mind had returned to the almost forgotten amulet that hung about his neck. "I've made a little bit hunting killers and causing accidents," he thought, "but I've also got the ever-loving-poo kicked out of myself in the process. Maybe I should just throw in the towel, pawn that sucker off, and live in comfort for the rest of my life." The idea appealed to him, and yet something made him hesitate. Through all his adventures and misadventures, it had always comforted him to know that he had something to fall back on, even if he met with failure in his other ventures. Was he ready to dispose of that security?

At that moment, his valet spoke. "Sir?" he said.

"Yes?" Edward asked.

"Sir, I've been thinking..." Here he trailed off, his brow furrowing in thought.

"Well, umm, good for you," Edward ventured sarcastically after a moment.

This comment drew the other man's attention, and he frowned at Edward. "What I mean, sir," he said, "is that I've been thinking about the Emperor's death."

It was Edward's turn to frown now. "Well, umm, what about it?" he asked, feigning nonchalance.

"Well, I've heard rumors, sir...rumors that the Amulet of Kings has disappeared."

"The what?" Edward asked, frowning.

"The Amulet of Kings," his valet answered. "It's rumored to be a powerful magical item, that every emperor has to wear, or else the empire will plunge into darkness and despair! The emperor must have been wearing it when he died -- no emperor goes anywhere without it!"

Edward's frown intensified. "Damn it!" he thought. "No wonder that swine emperor was wearing the amulet I found out in the open like that...to conceal the Amulet of Kings! Oh, if only I had found that one...forget puny gold and rubies; I'd take an Amulet of Kings any day -- that even sounds cool! And I'll bet I could sell that baby for a fortune...heck, I could start bidding wars over it, between all the rich people who wanted to be king...they'd have no choice: pay what I asked, or lose the empire and watch it plunge into ruin and despair..." He paused from his reverie, a better idea coming to him. "Or," he thought excitedly, "I could keep it myself, and I could become emperor! I could rule the empire! And it's only a short step from ruling an empire to the world! I, Edward, could rule the world!!"

"Sir?!" a very astonished and concerned voice interrupted his thoughts.

Edward started, turned to his horrified valet, and then realized that he was instinctively, greedily licking his lips. He cleared his throat. "Oh, umm, my lips are, umm, chapped...you know, what with the bright sunlight and all that."

His valet nodded, but a hint of suspicion still lingered in his eye.

The only surprise in Chapter 35 was that the valet did not have to draw Edward a diagram. Which Edmund would, of course, have left lying about.



I absolutely plan on being one of those people when I get just a little older.

Your scene with the brilliantly verbose guard, describing how gossip travels and then finally saying- “Oh, you’re standing in front of Baenlin’s house.”

"

And then Edward’s epic musing on what he could do if he only had the Amulet of Kings, instead of the “cheap trinket” the Emperor gave him.

It is these chapters that show your wonderful talent to great advantage- by showing Edward's idiocy in all its glory.

GAAAAH !!! I couldn't read them all tonight, my eyes are burning - but "I'll be back" (said in terrible Arnold voice)

Edward is the bestest anti-hero EVER You can't really hate him but it's hard to like him too.
Love to hate him
Hate to love him.

ROFL !!! "You're in here for impersonating a Royal Decorator !!!!! " ROFL !!!! - I love Edward's time in the DB, but my fave of all the chapters - it would be a spoiler to put it here, but I will hoot like a maniac when you post them !!!!! I will say this, I didn't know about it till you wrote about it - then looked it up and went nuts !!!!!

It's all so good!!!! Edward is definitely going on my list of fan fics I check on every week, along with Buffy, Teresa, Interregnum, and the other awesome stories on here.

@Linara: Glad to see you here, sharing Edward's misadventures with us!

@mALX: Hmm...I'm guessing it has something to do with a decorator of a different sort?

@Remko: "Love to hate him, hate to love him" -- lol, that's exactly how it is writing about him. I feel sorry everytime I have something awful happen to him, but ... he deserves it, LOL

@treydog: Thanks, those are some of my favorite tidbits too!

@All: Thanks for the comments!! For those who followed this on Bethesda, you may recognize that the next chapters for a bit are brand new. It's a quest I had meant to have Edward embark upon, and never got around to doing...and I thought "why not". Hope you enjoy.

A moonless night,
A dark beach and blood-stained tide
Too late for right
When the devil begins his ride.
-- Excerpt from The Bandit on Horseback

Chapter Forty

Edward sighed, shifting uncomfortably on his bedroll. Getting a job had never been his top priority in life; nor, for that matter, one of his top ten...or top hundred...indeed, it had never actually featured in his plans at all. Since, however, Fate had capriciously dictated that he must indeed get one, a job with a lot of traveling had seemed a fair prospect. It had quickly proved, however, not to be the bed of roses he'd assumed. For one thing, traveling for his job meant leaving the Imperial city to go to remote, uncivilized reaches of the world. And traveling in general unfortunately meant camping whenever more dignified means of resting were unavailable. Most nights, it seemed, this was the case, for there were few inns, even along the major highways on which he traversed. "There's more damned bandits out here," Edward grumbled to himself, "than inns!"

The fact that his valet and he had only once or twice come across the tracks -- or remains -- of bandits in all their travels seemed of little import, even when contrasted with the many inns they'd come across. The fact of the matter was that Edward was annoyed at having to sleep on the ground. “Like an animal,” he thought, equally untruly, for animals did not recline upon bedrolls any more than they rested under a mountain of blankets. But, being annoyed, the Imperial was even more unreasonable than he was generally wont to be. So, to his mind at that moment, he had been lowered to the level of the most primitive of animals, and the empire had descended into a veritable lawless wasteland bereft of decent shelter.

It was, therefore, with a yelp of fright that Edward heard a rustling sound behind him. Leaping from his bedroll, he spun around, only to see the startled face of his valet. “Sir?” the other man asked.

Edward glared at him, feeling very foolish indeed. “You...you should have told me you were getting up,” he answered feebly.

“Sorry, sir,” the other man apologized. “I didn't mean to startle you. I was just going to look for some more wood for the campfire...our stack is getting a little low.”

Edward flushed. This was, though he was loath to admit it, his fault, for he had insisted on feeding the fire until it was a great, roaring, flaming titan, in order to cure himself of the “lingering frigidity” that his stay in Bruma had wrought; and, predictably, the sizable stash of wood his valet had gathered had decreased just as the fire had increased. Saying nothing, as he had no desire to draw the man's attention to his culpability in their sudden shortage of firewood, lest he be expected to play some part in remedying the situation, Edward began to pick his blankets off the ground.

When this task was finished, Edward settled back onto his bedroll with a huff. With a shiver, he realized that his valet was nowhere to be seen, having disappeared into the blackness of the forest. It was damned annoying and even more unflattering, but he had come to depend on the other man's presence; and, when he was gone, he didn't feel...safe.

The Imperial frowned deeply into the night. It wasn't right. His valet was merely a servant, a lackey, a subordinate...whereas he was the master, the adventurer, the deadly assassin...but, alas, he was also afraid of the dark. “Oh Oblivion...” he cursed. It was altogether too undignified.

Deciding to close his eyes against the night, Edward sighed again. “Edward the Imperial,” he decided, “does not depend on anyone. Nor is he afraid of the dark. In fact, he isn't afraid of anyone or anything.”

Having just arrived at this self-satisfied milestone in his thoughts, the Imperial was abruptly torn from his reverie by the sound of an altogether unknown voice.

A life lived in shadow and darkness
The crash of the tide against the shore
Drifted away in an unforeseen instant
His final words masked forevermore
-- Excerpt from The Bandit on Horseback

Chapter Forty-One

Trying to ignore the stench of urine that assailed his nostrils after his fright, Edward glared at the newcomer. Who he was, the Imperial was not sure. How he had come to his campsite, he was likewise ignorant. All he did know, however, was that – though his air did not seem threatening – the man had not had the decency to give him fair warning of his approach, and had instead startled him so badly that he'd wet himself. And that was enough to warrant Edward's just wrath. “Who are you?!” he demanded. “And what are you doing here? Don't you know it's dangerous to trespass in someone's camp in the middle of the night? I might have taken you for a bandit and killed you, you fool!”

The other man moved nearer the fire now, and his appearance became clearer. He was an older Nord, bald on top with a little bit of graying hair on the sides of his head. “Excuse me, sir,” he spoke. “I did not mean to offend you.”

The Imperial didn't like to admit it, but he seemed to have a very dignified and yet, at the same time, humble air about him, with impeccable manners and speech. “He has to be a servant,”, Edward thought. Surely, there could be no other explanation for one of the newcomer's kind – a Nord – to be so refined. Glaring, Edward said nothing so that the other man could continue.

“I have come to speak with the gentleman who recently sold...well, before I get ahead of myself...I believe you have just now left Bruma?”

Edward gulped. Of course...a polite, mannerly barbarian wondering if he had just come from Bruma...could there be any other possibility? Surely, Gromm – the Nord servant – had regretted letting him go, and had sent an assassin. And who better than another barbarian servant? After all, the man had been an obsessive sycophant about his master; probably, that was common among these Nord servants. “It must be their fanatical, primitive natures...just like how they become such drunks, and such ruthless killers...probably when they bend their wills to another, they become obsessed with serving.”

Edward gulped in fright. He was too terrified to deny being there, and too terrified to try to escape or fight. Instead, he managed, “Why?”

The Nord smiled, reading the confirmation in his eyes. “Ahh, sir, my pleasure to meet you. My name is Jollring. I work for Lord Umbacano. My master is – as you may have heard – a collector of Aleyid artifacts.”

Edward was still lying on his bedroll, frozen with fear; the terror in his eyes however was slowly ebbing away, and sense was returning.

“During your stay in Bruma, I believe you sold such an artifact to a merchant there, an Ognar the World-Weary?”

Edward merely blinked at the other man, who proceeded talking as if this response was an invitation to do so.

“My master heard of this, of course, because he has his eye out for just the sort of artifacts you sold; and he sent me to find you.” Jollring smiled charmingly. “I can assure you beyond a shadow of a doubt that my master would pay far more than the Bruma merchant...and he, like Ognar, would not be concerned with any...shall we say, complications regarding the origins of the items.”

“What...are you talking about?” Edward managed at last.

Jollring smiled. “Quite right, sir, of course...there's no need to worry on that score with any items you'd procure. Nonetheless, it's a point worth noting.” His smile returned. “As I was saying, though, sir, my master is very much interested in meeting with you.”

“Why?”

“He, as I say, admires your...abilities. And he has a business proposition for you, sir.”

Edward raised an eyebrow. The hesitance with which Jollring had used the word 'abilities', coupled with the smirk when he'd mentioned a 'business proposition', suddenly filled the Imperial with fear of a very different fate than murder. “I'm...err...I don't think that...”

“I'm sure you'll be satisfied with what he'll offer you, sir,” the Nord smiled.

Edward shivered at that smile. “What is it with these old, creepy men and their over used lines?!” Aloud, however, he answered with a snort of disgust, “I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be. My standards are considerably higher than your master can meet...” The Nord looked confused, and Edward wondered at his stupidity. “Do I really have to spell it out for the old sicko that I'm not interested? Do I really have to tell him to tell his master...” Edward shivered. “Ye gods...I don't even want to know what the significance of his use of that word is...”

“Believe me, sir, my master pays well,” the Nord objected.

Edward cringed again. How dare this filthy barbarian insinuate that he was a prostitute?! “No amount of money would interest me!” he snapped. He flinched as he said the words “no amount of money” because, even though it was true, it was probably the first time in his life he'd ever said them. “My...services...are not for sale to your...'master'...”

The Nord bowed stiffly, apparently affronted by the Imperial's condescending tone. “Very well, sir. If you change your mind, you know where my master lives.” Edward glared at him. “I will say goodnight, then, sir. And farewell.”

The Imperial breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the other man return to his horse, and realized that he did not mean to stay the night. The last thing he wanted was this pervert, this creature who tried to buy him for his master, hanging about while he slept.

Before MaLX gets in...


ROFL ROFL ROFL ROFL!!!!

but I really think, Rachel, that there was a HUGE amount on comic potential left "unmilked" in that hilarious comedy of errors...

Now if I were writing that scene -

Dang. On second thought, I'd be hurled out of this forum faster than Edward can run from a buggerer and to a bawd.