Chapter 18

“Cynn!” I heard a disgruntled woman bark at me once I entered my small hostel room.

“It’s your fault, don’t blame me,” I quickly backed out of the door before Theresa could pounce.

“What the hell is this with me sleeping with you?” she demanded in the middle of the hall of the third floor of the hostel.

“Place, Theresa,” I reminded her.

Grabbing me by the collar, she dragged me into my room and slammed the door. The four times I tried to interrupt her harangue, she prevented me. Thus, everyone within a dozen feet of us heard every word she said. The paper-thin walls of the hostel weren’t much of a barrier.

“Done?” I asked.

She wasn’t but ran out of things to complain about.

“My turn now. First and foremost, wasn’t it you who said. ‘Cynn, your bed is too small’ while we were leaving the public baths?

“No response? How about this: wasn’t it you who said less than a minute later, that ‘Shouldn’t we get a house?’ “ That might have not been exactly what she said but it was close enough.

“So, to anyone standing within hearing distance, would it not sound like you didn’t like the size of my bed and wanted more privacy that a house could ensure?”

“Bitch.”

A very rare monosyllabic reply from her unless she used my name as a warning.

“I agreed with both. But there is one more thing I do agree with, Theresa Bloodbane.”

“What?”

I reached behind her head and pulled her to me. As a first kiss, she was stiff.

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea.” I kissed her again. She was still stiff but didn’t fight me either time.

“We need a bigger bed, you are a cover hog.”

“You shred your covers,” she retorted.

“So we get some larger sheets that don’t tear easily. And a bigger bed. And a decent sized house that the whole world can’t hear you when you yell at me. Like here.”

She paused, trying to remember what she had just said.

I pushed her to the bed’s edge and ‘forced’ her to sit. Kneeling over her lap, I kissed Theresa again. This time she cooperated.

“Better,” I grinned sometime later while leaning over the relaxed woman who was laying across of my bed. “Since the ‘whole world’ already knows, what harm is in it?”

“Cynn.”

“Hmm?”

“You talk too much.”

I grinned.

...

“Mari’s mad at you,” Theresa said while spooning me hours later.

“She probably has a ton of good reasons. Which one in particular?”

“You let Sir Belle get hurt.”

I snorted. “That was just as much your fault as mine.”

“She needed to learn that even as good as Belle is, adventurers get injured all the time in dungeons.”

“And die.” I paused, “Therese, what is the real reason that you want me to wear the chain armor?”

“Your pretty leathers don’t offer any protection; they’re just for decoration. You even admitted it to me earlier that you have no extra defenses unless you attack. The dungeon does get harder in a few levels. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m not wearing that ugly brown scale mail.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Besides its too bulky and cumbersome.”

“I said I’m not asking you to.”

“Belle’s advice helped a lot. Are you going to make me wear mithril? If Richard sees me in ... Fuck.” Richard, who so wanted to equip me in his best armor, no longer remembered me. Just like everyone else in Belfast.

Placing her hand on my waist, Theresa comforted me, “Once you get comfortable wearing it, I’ll find something good for you.”

“Thanks,” I breathed out. I missed Richard and Deana. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to lie here with you and rest before sleeping.” I attempted a smile, “So, try not to hog all the covers.” The two of us barely fit in the too narrow bed. But we managed.

House hunting was a definite must tomorrow.

The bitch was snoring in five minutes.

My smile returned.

...

“We aren’t going to find anything that doesn’t cost a fortune,” Theresa warned me.

“You’re the one who knows the city the best and I’m broke. It seems that someone forgot to divvy the spoils from the boss,” I accused her.

“The earring needs to be identified first. Otherwise, a fair distribution can’t happen.”

That sounded too reasonable for me to argue.

Danbury housing came in two varieties, those well over two hundred gold and those between fifty and two hundred. What most adventurers and decently well-off merchants chose, instead of spending everything they own on a small plot of land with a narrow house built three stories up, was either rent at obscene prices per month or week, or rent a decent sized apartment.

Housing taxes weren’t light either for the owners. Same with apartment landlords and the townhouse row owners. Taxes were assigned by the lot. A tax number that had not changed in years, and when it did, the number only went up and never down.

Same with businesses. Someone very intelligent hundreds of years ago devised a system to charge taxes by the land value and not the size or placement. Apartments and row housing such as townhouses were charged a price based on occupancy in addition to land value.

Just like governments back in my old world, they convinced their landlords that they were giving discounts by taxing only thirty percent of the developed land’s value, not the whole thing. Yet the amount was still considerable.

‘Look, you are getting a discount, but you still owe ‘X’ amount each year.’

Plus, there was a sales tax which the merchants were solely responsible for. Naturally, they bundled that tax into their goods and services and passed it along to their customers.

Once added up, the taxes made Duchess Laine a very wealthy woman. Even after giving the king his cut and spending a considerable amount keeping the city clean, safe, and as happy as she could, her treasury had to have been enormous.

But that made housing prices out of my reach. Theresa was non-committal, especially since we had planned on leaving in a year. With the breakout suspected to arrive before then, she decided to rent a more expensive apartment instead. The hand signal of a flattened building gave me enough reasons not to argue.

Instead of leading me to the high-end rent district of the Adventurers’ Quarter, as I expected, Theresa instead escorted me mid-city to where all of the mid-level merchants lived and operated their businesses. The locals called them row houses, I called them townhouses.

By law, no house was to be constructed over three stories above ground and not more than one story underground. The underground square footage was limited to one-quarter of the first floor’s.

That law had a few caveats. One was each floor above the third was allowed if the owners paid twice the land tax. Another was that a tunnel connecting two residents’ ‘basements’ could be constructed, as long as the plans were registered with the Ducal Assayer’s office. For an additional one-time fee. For each of them. And only if the proposed tunnel was far enough away from any underground piping.

The main reason that the basements were regulated, was that this city had an underground sewer and water system. Which only worked because of the cooperation of the Mages Guild.

We spent hours talking to landlords and viewing row houses, all of which seemed insanely expensive. But the one we ended up choosing was not her first choice but one that made the most sense for us (for me).

It was only two blocks away from the baths.

The rental came with the basic furniture, but no linens or pillows, making the all wood chairs and benches damn uncomfortable. Even if Theresa had been forced out of the city a half dozen years ago, she still knew where the decent merchants were located and where to get what.

Everything, from a maid arriving at our door, courtesy of Marigold, to ale and a fresh water barrel, was on our shopping list. One that we spent several 10-days fulfilling. Most I had to leave with her since I had a day job of Priestess at the Temple.

But Theresa didn’t seem to mind at all. Her hidden girl side of SHOPPING! came to the fore and all I could do was sit back and grin.

When we were almost completely settled, we received a very strange caller.

“Father Paul, what brings you here?” I asked after opening the door to see the old high Priest of Bane standing there in all white.

“Greetings Cynthia, may I enter?”

“Please do,” I stepped aside while racking my brain over what he possibly could want from me. “Theresa and I were just sorting gear for our next dungeon run.” I escorted our guest to the rear to the first level great room while Theresa was a level up.

“I did not mean to interrupt. I knew that the two of you were busy so held off my visit. Cynthia, I brought over the money I promised for your school and wanted to check on how it was progressing.”

“Please have a seat, Father. Can I get you a glass of wine or ale?”

“You need not trouble yourself, I neither eat nor drink much these days.”

I reported what I knew of Norton’s progression, including Tactician Clara’s, the High Priestess of War’s, donation of land to house the school, the mages Guild sending teachers along with a few temples and Clans. All of whom came to teach what they knew on a seemingly voluntary basis.

Of students there was no lack. Land, equipment, instructors, and money were the bottlenecks this early after it opened. Even with Clara’s extremely generous gift of land, there was never enough.

Even I recognized that the school needed some limits and school ground size was one of them. The last three times I checked on the school, there were nearly a thousand children of all ages in the yard following the instructions of their instructors. The small building located on Clara’s gift was overfilled with students learning to read and write on chalk and slate.

“Good. Are you sure of this Norton? What if he makes off with the coin you entrusted him with?” Father Paul asked.

“I’ll rip out his spine through his heart.” I replied with a discordant smile. One that Amethyst fully agreed with. Eagerly.

“Good.” Father Paul approved of my methods. “I take it that Adventurer Norton knows of your animosity towards him?”

My fake smile fell, “Yes, Father. We had a chat.”

“Would you mind if I were to visit your school?”

“Not at all, Father, I’m sure that the students would learn much from you if you chose to share any of your knowledge or experience. Or even give them a new experience of their own.” That I did grin at.

“Good. I will then.” What he would do was completely left open. I just hoped that he didn’t go too far. “I also have a request. We have a young priestess who I believe is in need of dungeon experience. Could you consider allowing her to join your next adventure into the Elemental Palace and, if she proves herself capable, allowing her to remain with your team?”

“That is more Theresa’s call than mine. She knows the people here and the dungeon better than I probably ever will. I don’t mind letting her join us but remaining will depend on her abilities, judgment, and personality. I firmly believe that adventurers need to enjoy themselves or they should find a different profession.”

“Not all teams or Clans follow your thoughts on the matter, Cynthia. Does Theresa agree to your conditions?”

Not really. “We’re still hashing out the finer points.”

He smiled. A kindly old man smile, which raised my hackles. “Good. Her name is Wix. Ask Theresa Bloodbane to come meet her if she would.”

“I shall, Father.”

“Good. Thank you for listening, Cynthia. Good luck. I watch your exploits with interest.” He slowly stood and I showed the High Priest of Bane out. Not ‘will watch’, he meant he was currently watching everything I did.

“What did Father Paul want?” Theresa asked once I descended the stairs.

After relaying the conversation, she instantly agreed to visit Bane’s temple the next day and meet with Wix.

I wasn’t so sure if adding a Priestess of the God of Death to our adventuring party was such a good idea.

...

Theresa, on the other hand, spent a half of a day with her and was satisfied. I groaned.

Wix was a serious and focused woman in her early twenties. Short but built like Theresa or a professional gymnast with short black hair and explosive reflexes. She was trained as an assassin-Priestess.

“How will Marigold take it when you tell her that you added a death-Priestess-assassin to the team?”

“Mari is getting married and has to return to Rosewood,” Theresa softly replied.

“And let me guess, she doesn’t get a say in who.” Assholes!

“The Royal family lost too many heirs this year,” Theresa explained.

“And Marigold is at the older age of being a mother. I’m surprised she lasted this long.” Thirty was ancient for a noble woman to get married for a first time. Baron Vestor, back in Belfast, was married at seventeen, and Duchess Laine at fifteen to her cousin who was only two years older than she. From what I understood from Theresa, noble women were to be married before the age of eighteen and produced heirs before they were twenty.

Or else!

Theresa never said how her friend escaped the marriage trap.

What was worse was that the King brokered Marigold’s marriage to Duke Kerna without even asking her opinion. His pregnant wife was one of the casualties of the God’s Punishment. Marigold was to be his third wife. His first wife died during an unexpected early childbirth of their third child, taking both mother and fetus.

Duke Kerna’s first two children were born healthy, but dumb as rocks. And like rocks they neither survived their early teens and were buried somewhere, unable to navigate the dangers that all nobility faces while growing up in a very hostile world.

Plus, Duke Kerna was in his late fifties. Theresa wasn’t sure his exact age, but it was closer to sixty than fifty. The women he could marry in case of accident, assassination, or illness were few. That position was too important to leave to chance or an unknown.

Hence Marigold was conscripted to fill the slot of his next wife. And while the Duke was officially still mourning his previous wife.

Ain’t politics grand?

But before she left. Marigold felt an urge to spread the misery. She had convinced Laine that a Grand Ball was needed and that Theresa and I ‘Must Attend’.

“So, does that mean that Theresa and I have to wear a dress?” I asked Marigold faux-innocently.

“You Must wear a Gown at a Grand Ball, Cynthia.”

We both looked at the shrinking Violet named Theresa and grinned.

“Bright gowns with flamboyant colors and lots of layers?”

“Of course.”

“Gowns with tight bodices that show off our figures?” I grinned.

“Of course. We women must do our best to entice when we can,” Marigold replied.

“Marigold, Theresa and I will not miss your ball for all the tea in the world.”

Theresa suffered through an impromptu dressmaker summons and a long afternoon of torture disguised as dress fitting, while Marigold and I tested out colors and fabrics to see which went best with her complexion.

Marigold knew better than I of Theresa’s weakness to dresses. Not that she loved dresses or anything, but that she hated wearing them. The dressier the dress, the more agonizing it was to her.

I didn’t care. I was stuck in a girl’s body and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. After Alura’s gowns, I lost most of the fun aspect in dressing as a girl. Now clothes were clothes. Except on the odd days that I felt like teasing. And this certainly qualified.

Worse yet, while wearing a dress, Theresa’s signature sword had to be stored and not worn at her waist as it had been since at the age of seven and for the last twenty-five-years of her life.

The material that Theresa was forced into by us was a rich cream with stark blue flowers and pale red ones. Neither of which I identified. But I wasn’t a botanist or a girl.

When it became my turn, I removed everything other than my silk panties from Marcene and stepped on the foot-tall box with heel supports so that the seamstresses could correctly gauge lengths.

And the room went silent.

Don’t you just hate that...

“Cynthia, please turn around,” Marigold asked and I had a sinking suspicion as to why.

Yet I obliged anyway with arms out.

“Not a single scar or blemish.”

“I told you,” Theresa added after she redressed in her leather armor in near micro-seconds. Glad to get out of the spotlight.

“Cynthia, your hair color is natural, is it not?”

The deep violet that no one else had. “Yes, Marigold. It is.”

“Don’t let my cousin ever see you.” she sighed. “Or maybe I should arrange a meeting. Princess Ann is about as empty as my tea cup.” There were whispers that the king married a pretty face with excellent linage but dumber than the Duke’s deceased children. So far, she had given birth to one daughter. Rumor was that he was being pressed to take two more wives. And soon! Legitimate heirs to the throne were few in number and most weren’t qualified to ascend the highest throne in the continent.