The Butcher of Gadobhra

Chapter 320: Who stole my kobold?

Chapter 320: Who stole my kobold?

Ozzy raced out the door, trailing smoke and fire in his wake. Several people got large flagons of beer and followed behind his clearly marked trail. Something interesting was going to happen, and they were curious.

"Did you get a good look at those axes? I've seen Orc Warlords with smaller cleavers."

"I was more interested in the sudden expulsion of exotic mana into the room. I can detect stray bits of both Heat and Smoke. How many mages do we have in the order with two complex aspects? Any? And was that from a spell or simply part of his nature. I don't believe that man is completly human."

"That wasn't his only one. I used my orb's ability to detect his aspects. It drained my mana dry while doing the analysis. Besides those two, he also has Radiant, Fire, and Wood. Quite unheard of at Tier 3."

"Put the clues together, people. He's from Gadobhra, sells smoked meats, and is a Butcher. And not the kind that only cuts up chickens and pork chops. Only one Baron has a trade agreement with trading ships from the Plane of Smoke."

"Ah, now that does make sense. So either he learned to apply elemental forces from a tutor from the Smoke, or he is from that plane himself."

"No wonder he drank that shot of Pyromancer's Whiskey without batting an eye. I wonder what sort of alcohol they brew in the planes?"

The conversation continued as a dozen adventurers hurried through the streets, drinking down their flagons. Wisps of smoke, charred footsteps, and panicked people made it clear which way the Butcher had gone.

The culprits behind the theft were also becoming away that someone was chasing them, giving new meaning to the old term 'in hot pursuit.' "Dammit, Stavros. You didn't mention that guy we're stealing a wagon from had spells! You said this was an easy way to teach the country bumpkin a lesson."

"We just have to get to the Guild Hall. My warehouse is right next to it. We can stash the wagon there, and then there's not a damn thing he can do about it. He's not a guild member, so he shouldn't be selling in the city! And I told you he's already in trouble with the Legion. They took him and his wagon into custody late last night. They let him loose this morning with an empty wagon. It's obvious to anyone with a brain that they checked on his fake dispensation and fined him his entire cargo. We're just helping the wheels of justice turn quicker by confiscating his illegal wagon."

"I'd feel better if we can turn the wheels on this wagon faster! Even with eight of us, this thing is moving slower than he's running to catch up."

"We just have to beat him to the warehouse, not outrun him forever. We roll it inside, and I'll throw the bars and lock the place up tight. Then I'll sneak out the back. A couple of you get Master Abelard to put an official guild seal on the warehouse and confront this interloper. No one comes into my town and sells illegal sausage!"

The courtyard appeared at the end of the long, wide road. Like many city neighborhoods, this central courtyard had a large statue in the center. Frederick Viconis, a long-forgotten historical figure, scowled down from his perch on a stone pillar. His scowls can be excused. No one would be in a good mood after dealing with pigeon droppings for 700 years. Across from the statue was a large and impressive four-story building that was home to the Wolfsburg Butcher's Guild. Part butcher shop, and part administration, the Butcher's Guild oversaw butchers, meat packers, sausage grinders, and any other minor guild that had something to do with meat. The lower floor was one large butcher shop where apprentices were trained in the finer points of dismembering carcasses and slicing the prime cuts into smaller pieces.

Next to the guild, in a prime spot, was a small butcher shop run by an apprentice of Stavros, backed up by a huge warehouse where he employed a dozen other people to grind sausage and turn cattle from the stockyards into hanging carcasses. Stavros supplied a good amount of 'hanging meat' to the other five butchers who had shops in the square. Over time he'd come to think of himself as better than the others. Through hard work, he had achieved Level 8, and there was talk of making him assistant Guild Master. Most of that talk came from Stavros and his employees, but no one else disagreed with him. Old Abelard was getting on in years, and the Butcher's Guild liked a strong hand on the cleaver.

Three of the other buildings in the square were taverns. Butchering was a thirsty business and took a lot of beer at the end of the day. Vassily had the largest of the three bars. He was sitting outside, eating his breakfast, and enjoying a cup of tea when he saw Stavros go by, pulling a wagon with a familiar-looking awning. He shook his head sadly. The Butcher's guild played hard, and he'd half expected some retaliation. But like all good tavern owners, he stayed out of it. He sold beer to thirsty men and didn't get involved in guild problems. Looking down the street, he saw the out-of-town sausage seller running down the streets, a flaming cleaver in each hand and smoke trailing behind him. He shouted to his wife to wake the tavern wenches and get ready to serve beer. He didn't know what would happen, but he sold more beer anytime there was a fight.

Stavros and his crew managed to beat Ozzy to the courtyard, and he yelled at his employees inside the warehouse, and a door was opened. "Grab cleavers and goedendags and get out front. We need to teach someone a lesson. I'll lock up." Men in bloody aprons grabbed weapons and headed out front. Stavros slammed home the three metal reinforced oak beams that secured the door. The rest of the building was stone, with thick walls and no windows on the first floor. It had been used as a minor fortress three times in its history, during civil wars. With his crew deployed out front, he started to leave by the back but paused. What were the chances there was a loose board in that wagon with that interloper's ill-gotten gains? Pretty high. It's what he would have done. No one wants a lot of loose coin sitting out when the imperial taxman comes around. He'd take a minute to shift some barrels and take a look. It would be above the axles if it were there.

Shifting a barrel, he was delighted to find a bucket of copper and silver coins in the wagon's rear. He went to grab it and only then noticed the small arm wrapped around it—a small arm with red scales and sharp claws. Whatever creature the Butcher had left to defend his wagon woke and screamed at him. "My shinies! Hands off the shinies." She grabbed the bucket with both arms and pulled hard but couldn't pry it from Stavros's strong grasp. He recognized her now. This was the little kobold that had been grilling sausages. His anger increased; this was another thief that needed to be taught a lesson! A well-placed kick sent her sprawling in the back of the wagon and showed him the pile of coins she'd been using for a pillow.

"Better and better. I can see this day is paying off. Stay put, and I won't be forced to discipline you further. I'm confiscating this money in the name of the Butcher's Guild. He bent to scoop the coins into a bucket, keeping an eye on the creature. She crouched in the back of the wagon, nervously stuffing food into her mouth.

Outside, Ozzy slowed as he entered the courtyard and saw a dozen men in aprons with cleavers and spiked clubs. He took a deep breath and got most of his anger under control. Herd Sense told him that Myrna was inside that warehouse. They had spent enough time together lately that he'd started to be aware of her if he concentrated. He'd allowed that sense to show him where to go until he saw the stolen wagon ahead of him on the streets. Striding forward, he looked at the tiny men and realized he'd gotten bigger. Fine. This wasn't a time to be subtle. "Are you going to get out of my way and let me get my wagon? Or do I have to carve you into little pieces and toss you on the grill? Up to you. But I'll warn you, I didn't get to eat my last pie, and I'm still hungry."

A dozen butchers and apprentices tried to hold their ground but were already losing their nerve. No one had said a damn thing about fighting an angry giant. The man walking toward them was at least 8 feet tall. He carried two of the biggest cleavers that they'd ever seen. Waves of Intimidation rolled off his aura as he approached them. If anything, being butchers themselves made it worse. They could imagine how hard those cleavers would hit and how easily they could lose limbs or heads. Only the appearance of Master Abelard kept them from running.

"We'll have no fighting here unless I start it. You aren't a butcher of this guild and likely of no guild at all. You've come to the wrong part of town, monster. I've cut larger than you into nuggets."

Anyone listening revised their opinion of the old Guild Master. He was heavy in the waist, and what little hair he had left was pure white, but his mustache was still impressive, and there was no fear in him as he faced off against the giant.

Ozzy pointed a cleaver at the warehouse. "Someone stole my wagon. I want it back. I'm a registered Butcher from the Butcher's Guild in Gadobhra, and the Duchess personally gave me a dispensation to sell my wares in her town. You can take that up with her. But I'm getting my wagon back today, and I suggest you open that door before something bad happens.

Abelard looked at the nervous apprentices behind him and the square filling with people. Lots of witnesses made this a very public confrontation. "You have my word that I will personally look into this affair. But as you have not paid your affiliate guild fees, you have no standing with me, and I will side with my butchers against you today." Sweat poured down his face, partly from the heat rolling off the angry giant. He truly believed this monster was from Gadobhra. The ancient City of Butchers was a story you used to scare the apprentices. He'd scoffed at the rumors that anything still lived in ruins only recently discovered. He was going to have to revise that belief and do some investigations.

Surprisingly, the giant put his cleavers in his belt and crossed his arms. "Fine, what's the 'affiliate guild fee' then? I'll pay it now." That caused more confusion, but Abelard pulled out his book of Guild Regulations and found the sum.

"Firstly, there are the back dues from Gadobhra, unpaid for many years. I will do this fairly and use the minimum amount due since, while no dues were paid, no meat was being hacked. Then there is your personal fee. For this, I will use the maximum fee as it is obvious that you are of a high Tier. Finally, there are additional fees for immediate service, threatening another butcher, and threatening a Guild Master. It comes to quite a sum."

Ozzy stared at him. "And what's total?"

"453 gold, seven silver, and 19 copper." Abelard knew the man wouldn't pay, but he was doing this legally while buying time for the City Guard to arrive.

"Fine. I'm assuming you have an account with the Gnomish Bank. I just sent 454 gold to the Wolfsburg Butcher's Guild. Now give me my wagon!" The cleavers were back in his hands.

Master Abelard saw the notice from the bank and was astounded. Still, gold was gold. "Welcome to the Wolfsburg Butcher's Guild, visiting Butcher Ozzy." He turned to the apprentices and butchers behind him, noticing only eight were left, and at least one of those had soiled himself. "Get Stavros to open that door, and let's settle this." He turned to Ozzy. "Promise me that you will refrain from violence until I make my decision?"

What Ozzy would have said is unknown. There was a large explosion from inside the Warehouse. Windows on the third floor were blown out, and the wooden beams and shingles on the roof burst into flames. From inside came a human scream and the hunting cry of an angry kobold.