Chapter 4 4

As expected, the rise was very early. Taking my words for weakness and childish prank, the revived forge was not even going to wake up young Glaud, who was used to sleeping all his life until almost twelve. Although, with such a clatter and rumble, you can sleep at all, and, moreover, for so long, I can't imagine. Every step of these heavyweights Helga and Sigrid was clearly heard even on the street, not to mention the house.

Yesterday, before going to bed, I diligently cleared my room of garbage. There were also rotten apple cores in the corners, and withered pieces of bread under the bed, and, oh, a miracle, the corpses of mice that began to whine. They probably died in a fit of joy, faced with the most favorable atmosphere for them that reigned in this chicken coop.

Having brushed cobwebs from the closet, walls and ceiling, as well as a half-centimeter layer of dust, yesterday I left wet cleaning for this morning, because I knew that there would be nothing to do. While the younger Ylva and the older Sigrid were loading a hand cart before going to the market, I quickly created the appearance of active economic activity, along the way, stealing from my mother's workshop a piece of a broken sharp awl, a bent old knife, apparently awaiting repair, and some incomprehensible patches of skin that looked like shoelaces.

An awl in a boot, a knife under a belt. I could not allow myself to walk without a weapon, when we could be attacked again at any moment, I could not. Also, when the sisters got used to my early rising displeased physiognomy and stopped paying any attention to me, I managed to find a real treasure in the bowels of the littered first floor. Among the mountains of old rubbish, stored by the mother in a separate closet, there were two tattered leather gloves with no pockets for metal inserts and plates in those. Throwing those in my own bag, I added an elven spool to them as well. There will be time - we will think about how to connect and use all this, but for now ...

"Glaud, are you coming?" - Sigrid, who had finished all the preparations, called me, harnessing herself like a horse to the reins of a hefty manual cart.

- I'm running. - I grabbed some more bent piece of iron from my mother's bins, I responded, after which I ran out of the house, almost ran into a petty beggar who was processing the ears of the younger Ilva.

As soon as we left the street of artisans and turned onto the main stone-paved road leading to the market, another extremely curious situation caught my eye: a whole crowd gathered at a wooden makeshift platform, consisting of a barrel and a pole, where local heralds usually spoke, discussing things among themselves.

Not wanting to waste time asking questions, Sigrid sent me and the youngest to find out what was going on, and it would be better if we just passed by.

A severed dog's head was nailed to a wooden post with a huge rusty nail, with a leaf attached to the forehead, where the name "Ilva" was written in blood. Pale from what she saw, the little sister looked around nervously, lowered her hand to her sword. The crowd we were in now became potentially dangerous in an instant. Local guys, it turns out, were pretty good at intimidating. The head had no eyes and no tongue, and a piece of a vertebra shattered by several blows protruded from the very neck. Apparently, the butcher's weapon turned out to be too blunt, and he himself was extremely inexperienced: a lot of blurred blows, the line of dissection was sloppy, crooked. In the area of ​​​​the ridge, the completely unyielding dog skin was torn off along with broken bones, which, in turn, testified to, firstly, the same inexperience, and secondly, a bad and clearly unsharpened tool, the presence of which any self-respecting professional could not afford, and, thirdly, impulsiveness - the cuts on the head were too uneven. They beat me backhand, as if not wanting to touch the dead carcass.

Whose handiwork is this: Ilva, the same Guild or someone else? Whom did you cross the road to? - It was decided to leave the interrogation of the sister for later. I didn't want her to remember me asking about her enemies before they disappeared, and most of the questions that worried me I could get answers from completely different people.

Do you know who could have done this? – I asked the guard who was standing next to me, looking at her head with disgust.

- A warning from the Assassin's Guild. These yard bitches have completely lost their fear, since in such places they dare to leave their messages.

- Messages? - Making a fool of myself, I asked the woman clad in metal.

- Yes, they say, if you do not fulfill your obligations, then next time this pillar will not have a dog's head, but yours.

Thanking the guard, I pulled the frightened Ilva out of the crowd. Upon learning of what had happened, Sigrid did not say a word, just like the short younger one, who had become the shadow of a stronger sister. The situation was getting more complicated, problems were pouring down on us from all sides, and even I didn't really understand which one to grab on to in the first place. I have never in my life before this moment had so many potential victims.

Having passed a wide street leading to the castle of the burgamistria, we turned to an island located between two wide rivers, on both sides of which there were some analogues of wooden drawbridges with women in fancy dresses and hats on duty near them.

"Witches..." Sigrid shushed, and then added: "Don't stare at them, God forbid they will be interested in you." - Said the eldest, adding a step.

The one she called a witch seemed strange to me at first. It was rather cool spring weather outside, and the girl was dressed as if in the hot month of July: a short shirt, somewhat similar to a topic, flaunted the witch's toned tummy. A short, non-constricting skirt created maximum freedom and a comfortable environment for movement, while demonstrating to others the sophistication of the slender legs of its mistress. There was also a belt with a dagger and a lot of multi-colored cones attached to it, among which I noticed a familiar healing potion. A little lower - stockings, but I did not notice the weapon hidden in them. The shoes are also as simple as possible and without a heel, but its main decoration - a staff about two meters high, aroused genuine interest in me.

From the tales and stories of my world, magicians, witches and others were strong at distances. Creating all sorts of fireballs and throwing them from behind the backs of their comrades-in-arms, they were considered a formidable force. But here, in the conditions of narrow city streets and pavements, the presence of a dagger on the belt implied entry into close combat. Didn't this mean that such vulgar outfits should have been abandoned, preferring the same chain mail or leather armor? This question haunted me, and I turned to Sigrid.

- Men, what to take from you, do not rummage in martial art at all. - This statement was very offensive, as for me, but I did not show it. They don't really need armor. Every self-respecting witch knows the Steelskin spell or some other enhancement that makes it easier for her to move. Extra weight will only slow down these nimble ones. Spitting viciously, Sigrid broke off. It seems that she had already met the witches in battle, and judging by the displeased face, the outcome was not the most successful. "Besides, they have enchanted artifacts, all sorts of potions, and their personal armor hidden under their clothes."What can you hide under your clothes, armored bra, or what?" - Scratching my turnip, I thought again. If I mastered the methods of "deathing" ordinary people to perfection, then I had only just to get acquainted with these ladies.

- Well, daggers are used to fight against their own kind, in close combat. They have some magic there, and who the hell knows what. Sighing heavily, Sigrit threw the cart with a crash. - We've arrived!