Book 3 - Chapter 41 (Patreon)

He waited for Neves to bring up the Kukubaru song, but the big man didn't start right away. He held up his cup and swirled the liquid around for a moment, looking somber.

Finally he said, "You have been too polite to comment on it, but you can't have helped but noticed that I am a baron, and not a count."

Brin honestly hadn't thought twice about that, so he just nodded.

"I was given governorship of this town as an assignment due to my accomplishments, and not by right of blood. That means I had to do more than simply dwell here, I had to make something of Oud's Bog, and by extension, myself. We aren't a trade hub between two countries and we aren't on the sea. No one comes here unless they mean to, so I had to find a way to draw people in. After a few false starts, I decided to try to turn Oud’s Bog into the City of Music. I lured away a few notable [Composers] with the promise of a hefty salary, and I hired many commoners to take up the instruments that would give them something to work with. You simply must take in a concert before you leave town, by the way, but I digress. I also planted a garden, and gave leave to [Bards] to perform there, with the strong suggestion that they practice an air of grace and refinement, so that even those who cannot afford a concert ticket can enjoy the sound of real music. This is where you come in."

"I kukubaru'd all over your garden," said Brin.

A passing maid chirped a laugh, and then coughed to try to cover it up and hustled away.

"Quite. Even now, I have heard that the [Bards] inspired by your antics have condescended to copying you, and that the [Bards'] Terrace rings with the sound of farces and frivolities. There is little sign that it won't continue on to tomorrow."

Brin shrugged. "Sorry about that. Maybe give them one day a week to be stupid. What is it, Tuesday? Tawdry Tuesday."

"It could work, father," said Iola.

He rubbed his chin. "It could, but it rather misses the point. When you were set upon by the guard, the whole matter would've been handled with an hour in the stockade, or perhaps in your case, a fine. If you had been caught. When you ran, they honestly should have just let you go. But they didn't, and you led them on a merry chase across the entire city, making a dramatic spectacle of yourselves. Everyone in the city must’ve heard of this by now. People will want to know what happened, and I think it prudent to make an announcement. And despite what a recent popular song insinuates, I really don't like to order my [Criers] to tell lies."

"Hm." Brin rubbed his chin in thought.

The Baron looked away. "Of course, if I told them that you are an heir of Lumina herself, I would need say no more..."

"I'd really rather you didn't," said Brin. It wasn't exactly a secret, but that was a level of fame he didn't quite want yet. He looked at Hogg, who just crooked an eyebrow and looked back. He was just going to let Brin handle this whole thing, huh? Fine then. "Ok. What if you tell them that you have the offending party in custody. And... that he's an extremely troubled young man, and that he's agreed to see a [Mind Healer]."

Hogg grunted in surprise, looking impressed.

Neves widened his eyes. "That could work. No, it could. I like it. I wouldn't be punishing you, so it’ll look like I’m subtly endorsing the song that’s telling the truth I can’t tell. At the same time, no one would say I let you off easy. I’ll keep your name anonymous throughout all of this, of course. No need to add public humiliation to the matter. But would you actually agree to see a [Mind Healer]? I shouldn't like to lie about that part."

Brin shrugged. "I don't see why not."

"No hesitation! Good man. Very mature outlook," said Neves.

"It really doesn't bother you?" asked Iola.

"Frankly, I saw a lot of things at Hammon's Bog, things that it’ll take a long time to get over. If anyone needs a [Mind Healer] it’s me. Maybe this is for the best."

After dinner, Iola led him to a music room with a beautiful skylight showing off the early evening sky and a wide array of musical instruments set up in every corner. The [Steward] met them there with a happy Marksi who had great fun tearing around the room and knocking trumpets off their cases and making cymbals crash when he jumped on them, to the [Steward's] good-humored laughter. Marksi looked to have a full belly and seemed content, so Brin figured there hadn't been a larger scheme involved in his abduction and that the Baron just didn't want pets at his dinner table, which was fair enough. Despite what Hogg said, not everyone had to like Marksi. As long as they were still nice to him.

The [Steward] stayed in the room as Iola made her way over to an old, ornate harpsichord. No doubt he would act as the chaperone, since Hogg and Neves hadn't followed them.

Iola opened and closed her hands a couple times before touching the keys, looking suddenly nervous. She played a couple warm up lines first, and then started in on a song. It was quick and sounded a bit complicated, but Brin knew this one. As long as you'd spent a lot of time practicing the scales, and Brin had, it wasn't difficult. 

He hadn't brought his half-lute, but he was pleased to find they had one. He picked it up, and played along.

They finished the song, and Iola moved into the next one. This was definitely a solo piece, so he stayed quiet while she played and applauded when she was done. The next piece he was able to join her in duet, and for the fourth song the [Steward] joined them with a french horn.

They played for at least an hour, going from song to song. Most of them were songs Brin didn't know, but he could join in on them by at least matching the key and playing on the rhythm.

Her music was mostly baroque-style, which was nails on chalkboard when Davi played it, but he didn't mind it here. The problem with Davi, and so many other [Bards], was that they were trying to be something they weren't. But Iola was earnest. She wasn't putting on airs. This was her home, these were her people, and this was her music.

He even played a few of his own songs, including the upbeat adventure music he was calling "Davi's Theme." He didn't know if she enjoyed it or not, but he could tell she found it all fascinating.

Eventually, the night had to end. The Baron called them back to the dining room for ice cream and cake, and gave Hogg a referral for a [Mind Healer], and then wished them on their way.

They didn't bother with a carriage on the way back. 

Walking home, Hogg put hands behind his head and looked up into the stars. "I gotta say. If I had that kind of charisma when I was your age, things would've been a lot different for me."

"Are you kidding right now? I can't tell if you're kidding."

"Not at all."

"You must be. The entire time I had my foot so far in my mouth they should call me Foot-baru. I spent ten minutes insulting her favorite instrument and then told them I need a [Mind Healer] for being so crazy."

"That's not what I saw. That poor girl has it for you bad." Hogg mimed holding someone's head close to his and kissing them. "Oh Iola, I love you. Mwa, mwa, mwa! Let's make sweet music together!"

"That's not how it happened, and Sancta Solia, Hogg! Is that what you think flirting looks like? You're hopeless."

"You think she's cute, though, right?"

"We've been over this. Not until--"

"Not until twenty, I know," said Hogg. He sighed. "He won't spread your name around, but he told me he's going to make a formal proposal to Lumina of marriage between you and Iola."

Brin stopped in his tracks. "No."

"Relax, you won't be forced into anything. Just thought you should know."

Brin shook his head, and started walking again. "I doubt she'd ever go for it."

"It was probably her idea."

Brin sighed. “Did I do something wrong back there? I don’t want to go around toying with people. I thought I was just being friendly.”

Hogg shook his head. “One date is not going to wreck her life. She’s not going to be pining away after you forever, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It was a date, though?”

“It’s probably as close as she’ll ever come to one.”

 For how busy it was during the day, the city was surprisingly peaceful at night. He could see the brightness of the lanterns of the Watch illuminating the taller buildings as they crossed by in their patrols. There were enough of them that you could tell they were around, but not so much as to feel oppressive. Just enough to remember that they were out of the forest. This was civilization, and they were safe.

Brin found himself reluctant to head back to their inn.

"You think I should see the [Mind Healer] tonight, or wait for tomorrow?"

"There’s no reason it couldn’t wait until tomorrow."

There really wasn’t, except for an odd feeling in Brin’s heart. Despite having a fun evening, with ice cream and music and the absolution from his crimes, he felt strange. Cold. It was a warm night, but he still felt a chill.

It was a familiar feeling. It reminded him of the night he’d met Cadwy last year, his zombie father. At the time, he’d called it a tugging sensation from the threads of fate. He’d known that something would happen that night, something irreversible.

"It's probably too late. There’s no reason the guy Neves referred me to would even be up," Brin said.

"I didn’t say that. Odd ducks keep odd hours. He'll be up," Hogg answered.

“Let’s go now,” said Brin.

Hogg shrugged, probably confused, but didn’t argue. They changed direction, moving towards the address.

The walk felt strangely quick, like with every step he was gathering momentum. If Oud’s Bog had ever been a real bog, then at one point it had been a flat, empty marsh. The flat part was still true; there were no hills to be found anywhere, but it still felt like Brin was running downhill. Every step had him moving faster and made it more impossible to stop or slow down.

Hogg didn’t even point out when the unmarked house was their destination, somehow Brin just knew. He knocked on the door.

A bald man in thick woolen clothes and half-moon spectacles opened the door, yawning.

The yawn snapped Brin out of his daydream. “Oh, shoot, I’m sorry. It’s late. I can come back tomorrow.”

“No, no, it’s quite alright. I’m always up at this hour. I just…” he yawned again. “I stood up too quickly, I think. Come in, please.”

[Inspect] called the man Harkin Bowers, a level thirty-five [Mind Healer]. Interesting that so many people seemed to be stuck on multiples of five with their Classes. He guessed that the experience difficulty went up with every 5 levels, which meant that that’s where people stuck in their routine would eventually stop leveling.

Brin stepped inside. The front room looked like the waiting room at a hospital, with a desk for a receptionist and a few couches, complete with a coffee table piled with a stack of newspapers.

“You must be Brin. I received a runner from the Baron only an hour ago. Your guardian can wait here, unless you’d rather he come with you for the first session?”

“No, it’s fine,” said Brin.

“Good. Then I am Bowers. Pleased to meet you Brin. I can already tell this session will be a memorable one.”

He led Brin into the next room, a smallish office. There was a desk, facing a black leather armchair on the other side. The type that was smooth and cool when you sat down, but grew increasingly uncomfortable over time.

Every part of the walls except the doors were covered with bookshelves, full of heavy leather tomes. Brin felt a sudden urge to stand up and rifle his way through some of them just to compare Bogworld psychology to what they taught in his old world, but resisted the urge.

The only other piece of furniture was what looked like a coffee maker, but it must be for tea based on the pungent odor in the room. Value Sense told Brin it was quite an expensive piece of work, but if you didn’t indulge in luxuries then why even have money?

Bowers gestured for Brin to sit in the black armchair, and then moved to the tea maker to pour two mugs. He placed one in Brin’s hands and then moved around to take a sip.

There wasn’t really a place to put his mug, so Brin simply held it in his hands, feeling the warmth seep through into his fingers. He took a sip, and it was fine. Maybe it was fantastic; he didn’t know. He appreciated the pick-me-up, though.

Bowers yawned again, and took a deep gulp from his own mug. He must have [Heat Resistance], too, because it was pretty hot. He blinked twice. “I can’t seem to wake up tonight. No matter. Tell me what brings you in.”

“I’ve been having strange dreams.”

All trace of sleepiness faded from Bowers face as he abruptly jolted upright, staring at Brin. He spilled his tea on the desk, but didn’t seem to notice.

He wiped his eyes with his palm, then stared at Brin again, growing more alarmed that whatever he was looking at didn’t seem to change.

Brin shifted uncomfortably. “Is it the scars, or…?”

“My apologies.” Bowers blinked as if trying to change what he was seeing. “Let me start from the beginning. Few people that walk through those doors need actual healing for mental damage. I’ve often asserted that for the most part, one doesn’t need a particular Class to do what I do. Through directed questions, I try to hold up a mental mirror for my patients, to help them understand themselves. I listen and guide the conversation, but I never contaminate this process with my own opinions. I especially never like to bring up the possibility of outside influence, such as ghosts, or parasites, or the work of enemy Skills upon the mind. Can you guess why?”

“Aside from that being terrifying? Do mind-altering parasites actually exist?”

“Let’s not get distracted.”

“Because you don’t want people to assume all their problems come from some external force? If they think that, they’ll never be able to address what they’re doing wrong.”

Bowers nodded deeply. So deeply that he sank to nearly touching the desk with his forehead. Brin cleared his throat and he bolted upright. 

“Sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “But yes, that’s exactly it. So you need to understand that I would never tell anyone what I’m about to tell you unless I was absolutely sure. I have Skills for diagnosing conditions and there is nothing wrong with your dreams. You are not crazy. You are not sick. You are under attack.”

The room suddenly seemed a lot smaller, like everything was shrinking in on him. “What? By who?” Brin asked, though the pieces immediately started falling into place.

“Is it possible you’ve run afoul of [Witches]?”

“No. I have a Wyrd-detection Skill.”

Bowers nodded while slapping his cheeks. “I can safely rule out ghosts and parasites with my diagnostic Skill.”

“Thank Solia,” Brin breathed.

“Do undead or beasts have access to where you sleep?”

“Absolutely not,” said Brin.

“Then assume enemy Skill. We can… there are wards…”

Bowers stood, but looked like he was about to collapse again. He really wasn’t looking well. He mumbled, “Not to say you couldn’t benefit from regular therapy. You look to be a troubled young man… but in this instance… interference. Attack…”

Brin watched the old therapist mumble to himself, growing more annoyed by the second. He just talked to himself, completely ignoring Brin and the conversation they were just having,  a conversation that Brin had felt was pretty important.

It wasn’t until Bowers stopped talking and apparently completely forgot there was anyone else in the room that Brin realized what was going on. “Hey, listen. One thing I remember about psychiatrists is an old stereotype. Like, they can dish it out but they can’t take it. You know what I mean? They know how to fix you, but they’re really bad at diagnosing themselves.”

“Is that so?” the [Mind Healer] said distractedly.

Brin stood and physically turned the man’s head to face him, though his eyes still wandered. “Bowers! Listen to me! Are you under attack as well?”

His eyes finally found Brin and he nodded, seeming oddly pleased. “Oh. Yes I am.” Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed to the ground.

Brin dropped to his knees to check on him and started shouting, but by the time Hogg helped roll him over and check his pulse, it was already too late.

Bowers was dead.

The End of Part 2