8th Saun, 716
It was late in the afternoon. The markets had closed, twilight was pending, and the twin suns casted their last golden rays over the rooftops of Andaris. The air had cooled somewhat, and large parts of the city relaxed in the shade.
Dressed in a breezy, cream-colored, silken shirt, Rafael sauntered through Mid-town, his mind wandering as usual. He’d gotten into the habit of traversing the streets during the early mornings and late afternoons, when the warmth was somewhat bearable at least.
Hands stuffed deeply inside his pockets, he searched the streets for a particular shop. Over time, his sword had started to dull and he was in need of a new whetstone. With war creeping ever close to the city, they had gotten quite hard to come by.
On his way to the smithy, Rafael came across a familiar sight. Tucked away between two ornate houses was a grim looking shop. Blood red curtains lined the large windows like malevolent eyes. Unlike the stone houses that surrounded it, the front of Kash’deel Funerary Services was made entirely out of a dark wood. An air of incense seemed to come from within. Caught in the brooding twilight, the building sent a shiver down Rafael’s spine.
His pace slowed. Would Faith still be in there? He could imagine no worse fate than to be surrounded by the dead. Especially since she had no say in her occupation. In some perverted way, she too was dead.
He halted. The undertaker’s shop gazed back at him with cold indifference.
He had to know.
Swallowing, he stepped up to the door, grasped the brass knocker and-
-The door swung open from inside. The vulture that owned the shop had sensed business the moment it had come sauntering into his street.
Rafael was greeted by a glum face. Harsh features, framed by a salt-and-pepper beard. The glumness lasted only for a trill, as long as Jamal needed to realize he had nobility on his doorstep.
“Young Lordling,” he spoke in a sweet voice. “We meet again. How may I be of service?”
“May I come in? I’d prefer to speak privately.”
Smelling business, Jamal opened the door further and graciously motioned for his young visitor to enter.
“Please be seated. Some wine? Water?”
Rafael raised his hand in declination before sitting down on a velvet couch in the corner. “No thanks.”
Jamal, like a proper host, poured himself some blood-red wine from a carafe on the table. Rafael almost missed the clue. Almost.
“Is Faith no longer around?” he inquired innocently.
A flash of annoyance crossed Jamal’s face before he shook his head. “I’ve sold her to master Tristan Venora. Now, shall we get to business?”
Venora? The mere mention of that name made his heart drop. Poor Faith, to be sold to a house as vain and spoiled Venora. Perhaps she would've been better of with the dead than to be surrounded by those pompous heel-lickers. He wished he would have acquired her himself instead. Of course, funds had not been permitting. Besides, he didn't want a slave. If anything, he wanted Faith to be free.
Nobility was such a curse at times. Politeness forced him to remain seated, even though Rafael had gotten to know almost everything he’d been after. It would be easy to resort to lying. To pretend he required Jamal’s service for some deceased, far-away cousin. But instead he remembered the debt that was owed to him. The fifteen gold nels he had paid to keep Faith out of trouble.
“When I returned Faith to you, many trials ago, I mentioned that there had been trouble. As it so happens, the affair with Faith cost me more than a dozen gold nels. Some low-life thugs were after her skin. I had to bribe them to ensure a peaceful ending, and the wellbeing of your property.”
Jamal’s mask of politeness was starting to crack. It was becoming increasingly clear that the undertaker didn’t wish to be reminded of his pitiful slave. “I remember,” the terse answer came.
“I am sure that you would be happy to cover my expenditure-“
Jamal didn’t look at all happy.
“-but I propose a different solution instead. I was rather fond off Faith, for the short while that I’ve known her, and if you could tell me her whereabouts, I will consider your debt repayed.”
A silence as dark and heavy as the night lingered between them. Rafael hoped dearly he hadn’t pushed the stern looking undertaker too far.
“Very well,” Jamal said in a grave tone. “But I would hope that we can speak of Faith no more after this, and that all your…future visits to my shop will pertain to the services we provide here.”
“Agreed,” Rafael replied promptly.
~~~~~~~
Day had already started turning into night by the time Rafael arrived at the designated address. His stomach was growling, but now that he’d found out Faith’s whereabouts, he simply had to see her. All the way to the Venoran’s home, he’d wondered what sight would greet him. Would he be meeting the same disheveled Faith? On the verge of starvation? Or would she have gotten lucky and found a better master?
He knocked on the door to Tristan Venora’s house and took a polite step back as he awaited an answer.
Dressed in a breezy, cream-colored, silken shirt, Rafael sauntered through Mid-town, his mind wandering as usual. He’d gotten into the habit of traversing the streets during the early mornings and late afternoons, when the warmth was somewhat bearable at least.
Hands stuffed deeply inside his pockets, he searched the streets for a particular shop. Over time, his sword had started to dull and he was in need of a new whetstone. With war creeping ever close to the city, they had gotten quite hard to come by.
On his way to the smithy, Rafael came across a familiar sight. Tucked away between two ornate houses was a grim looking shop. Blood red curtains lined the large windows like malevolent eyes. Unlike the stone houses that surrounded it, the front of Kash’deel Funerary Services was made entirely out of a dark wood. An air of incense seemed to come from within. Caught in the brooding twilight, the building sent a shiver down Rafael’s spine.
His pace slowed. Would Faith still be in there? He could imagine no worse fate than to be surrounded by the dead. Especially since she had no say in her occupation. In some perverted way, she too was dead.
He halted. The undertaker’s shop gazed back at him with cold indifference.
He had to know.
Swallowing, he stepped up to the door, grasped the brass knocker and-
-The door swung open from inside. The vulture that owned the shop had sensed business the moment it had come sauntering into his street.
Rafael was greeted by a glum face. Harsh features, framed by a salt-and-pepper beard. The glumness lasted only for a trill, as long as Jamal needed to realize he had nobility on his doorstep.
“Young Lordling,” he spoke in a sweet voice. “We meet again. How may I be of service?”
“May I come in? I’d prefer to speak privately.”
Smelling business, Jamal opened the door further and graciously motioned for his young visitor to enter.
“Please be seated. Some wine? Water?”
Rafael raised his hand in declination before sitting down on a velvet couch in the corner. “No thanks.”
Jamal, like a proper host, poured himself some blood-red wine from a carafe on the table. Rafael almost missed the clue. Almost.
“Is Faith no longer around?” he inquired innocently.
A flash of annoyance crossed Jamal’s face before he shook his head. “I’ve sold her to master Tristan Venora. Now, shall we get to business?”
Venora? The mere mention of that name made his heart drop. Poor Faith, to be sold to a house as vain and spoiled Venora. Perhaps she would've been better of with the dead than to be surrounded by those pompous heel-lickers. He wished he would have acquired her himself instead. Of course, funds had not been permitting. Besides, he didn't want a slave. If anything, he wanted Faith to be free.
Nobility was such a curse at times. Politeness forced him to remain seated, even though Rafael had gotten to know almost everything he’d been after. It would be easy to resort to lying. To pretend he required Jamal’s service for some deceased, far-away cousin. But instead he remembered the debt that was owed to him. The fifteen gold nels he had paid to keep Faith out of trouble.
“When I returned Faith to you, many trials ago, I mentioned that there had been trouble. As it so happens, the affair with Faith cost me more than a dozen gold nels. Some low-life thugs were after her skin. I had to bribe them to ensure a peaceful ending, and the wellbeing of your property.”
Jamal’s mask of politeness was starting to crack. It was becoming increasingly clear that the undertaker didn’t wish to be reminded of his pitiful slave. “I remember,” the terse answer came.
“I am sure that you would be happy to cover my expenditure-“
Jamal didn’t look at all happy.
“-but I propose a different solution instead. I was rather fond off Faith, for the short while that I’ve known her, and if you could tell me her whereabouts, I will consider your debt repayed.”
A silence as dark and heavy as the night lingered between them. Rafael hoped dearly he hadn’t pushed the stern looking undertaker too far.
“Very well,” Jamal said in a grave tone. “But I would hope that we can speak of Faith no more after this, and that all your…future visits to my shop will pertain to the services we provide here.”
“Agreed,” Rafael replied promptly.
~~~~~~~
Day had already started turning into night by the time Rafael arrived at the designated address. His stomach was growling, but now that he’d found out Faith’s whereabouts, he simply had to see her. All the way to the Venoran’s home, he’d wondered what sight would greet him. Would he be meeting the same disheveled Faith? On the verge of starvation? Or would she have gotten lucky and found a better master?
He knocked on the door to Tristan Venora’s house and took a polite step back as he awaited an answer.
