Page 2 - Harlea's Visitor

Harlea took a swig of his drink, closed his eyes for a few brief seconds before opening them to find that she was clearly cutting a direct path through the crowd towards him. Harlea quickly closed the distance to the gate, taking a deep breath.

Jorgia was a real piece of work. Thin as a whippet with a Cheshire grin when she knew she was being watched, Jorgia was a head or so taller than Harlea. Her usual vest or a coat was adorned with a collection of brooches. Her words were pretty but when she looked at you, her eyes shone with malice that was as plain as day. Composed, calculating, and someone that anyone who was anyone in the Outer Holds knew not to mess with.

To make matters worse, Jorgia was accompanied by a particularly large gentleman who walked on her right and, in his arms, was Harlea’s old friend, Arty.

Laying sprawled in the giant’s arms, Arty’s head bounced with each step the man took. His tiny body was soaked, with the all too familiar bloody stains marking his fur. No weapons and some of the better clothes that he had, Arty looked like he’d been out for the night before Jorgia had found him. She and Arty had unfinished business together but best as Harlea knew, she didn’t have anything against him.

When Jorgia noticed Harlea, she increased her pace and gave him a wave.

Harlea waved back and dry swallowed. Around him, there weren’t many objects around that would work effectively in a fight. If it did come to it, Harlea would bet his bottom dollar that Jorgia was carrying a weapon and the thug she brought with him seemed like a weapon in and of himself. The best Harlea had was his favourite mug but he had little desire for it to be used for anything but drinking.

Eyes searching the front of his garden Harlea noticed a little gnome sticking out on the far left. Poor Gnelly wasn’t the ideal weapon but she’d do in a pinch. After several steps forward, he gave a forlorn look at his garden shears.

“Good morning!” Jorgia called out as she closed the distance between them, her pleasantness giving him goosebumps all up his arm.

Trying as best as he could to seem non-chalant, Harlea carefully placed his mug on the ground and then steadied himself on the top rail of the gate. “Good God’s give me patience, Jorgia. You’re up early.”

“I was going to say the same to you,” Jorgia returned pleasantly. “I told Van that he would need to kicking down your door to get you waking up. But look at you, awake and sober. Prosperous even.”

“Prosperous is a bridge too far sadly. I’m a touch on the seedy side at the present moment.” Harlea replied, watching both of his visitors’ moves carefully.

“Well, I am sure you will recover quickly, oh Red Devil.” Jorgia replied with a sickly sweet smile, “And it's not just me hoping you do. Folk around town have been asking about you again. Important folk.”

Harlea didn’t react. She watched him like a hawk, no matter how innocent she seemed, she was reaching.

For Harlea, it was her whole schtick that annoyed him. She acted all pious, walking around town shaking hands and kissing babies, so to speak, but a shadow followed her every footstep.

She had told him once that her success was because she knew that all the town really wanted was sweet words and a heroic figure. She had admonished him for thinking so poorly of her, and then ordered two of her thugs to beat the living shit out of him for interfering in her business.

Jorgia didn’t speak again until only a few steps away; clearing her throat and abandoning the niceties, “I come with bad news.”

“Clearly.” Harlea watched Arty stir slightly at the sound of his voice. His fur was soaked through with patches of all too familiar crimson, with his breathing being laboured but steady at least. He’d certainly been in worse conditions before, Harlea concluded to himself.

Harlea reached out with open arms to take his friend from Van’s arms. “What happened?”

Van stopped several steps away from the gate and mumbled something that Harlea couldn’t quite hear.

Jorgia advanced instead of Van and stood face-to-face with Harlea. “Poor Billie took a bit of a tumble in the river. I had to jump in there to save him, at great personal danger, I might add.”

Jorgia tapped her finger on the gate post and looked over at his half-filled mug. She smirked and rested her hand on the stone wall.

“Well, saving him is very heroic.” Harlea commented dryly.

“Well, I couldn’t stand to watch him get taken off downstream now, could I?.” Jorgia feigned a look of shock, “Not with business unsettled as it is.”

Harlea shifted his weight slightly but kept his hand firmly on the gate. Letting her know that she was getting under his skin wouldn’t help, nor would trying to hurry her along. While there was no dagger hanging on her belt, her clothes contained a variety of pockets and Harlea couldn’t imagine her going anywhere without something sharp, just in case. Besides, picking a fight outside his house wasn’t what he wanted anyway.

Especially one he would lose. Her bodyguard kept the appropriate distance from her at all times, with a sizable warhammer hanging from his belt as his glare of disdain emanated from beneath his heavy brows. Interestingly, Van’s shirt did look wet but both his pants and all of Jorgia’s clothes seemed to be bone dry and incredibly clean.

Harlea sniffed, grimaced, and waited for her to cut to the chase. He was tired, sore, and wanted none of her nonsense.

Neither Van nor Jorgia went to fill in the vacuous gap in the conversation between them while Harlea waited. The sounds of the street around them rushed to fill in the dearth of whatever Jorgia needed to say.

With a slight toss, Van readjusted Arty in his arms while he waited and Jorgia shifted ever so slightly on her heels.

“So, we brought him to you. We thought we’d deliver him ourselves to make sure he got here safe and sound...” Jorgia trailed off.

“Thanks.” Harlea raised his hands again to take his suspiciously unconscious friend from Van, “I hope he’s learnt his lesson about the dangers of living on the edge this time.”

Once again, Van pulled back, keeping Arty just out of reach.

Harlea dropped his hands and sucked air through his teeth in frustration. “Very well. And how can I help you, Jorgia?”

Jorgia’s face lit up at the question, “I thought you’d never ask! For a while, we had been hoping to have a chat with dear Arthur about his unpaid debt. And now we have him, he seems like he needs some time to recuperate before we can have that chat.”

“I am also in need of some recuperation time.” Harlea countered pointlessly before he followed up with what Jorgia wanted to hear, “But what, specifically, can I do for you Jorgia?”

“Well, we want you to assist us… Monetarily.” Jorgia informed him confidently, “Given you’re his benefactor of sorts and he has become so overdrawn on his tab, we figured you’d be able to pay for him.”

“Mhmm. And how much does he owe you?” Harlea sighed, his headache returning as he felt his coin pouch begin to burn on the back of his leg.

“Good. Well, his bill has come to one hundred and thirty silver at this point. Well, one hundred and thirty with five copper but I will waive the copper because I am so moved by your generosity.”

“Daelos be damned.” Harlea felt a visceral pain shoot through his body at the idea of having to part with so much of his savings. “What in the hells have you been giving him? We’ve only been back a few months.”

“Some of it is from before you left. We’ve been more than patient, Harlea.” Jorgia spoke plainly for the first time that morning, “And I have a reputation to uphold. I can’t have him laughing about the money he owes me and get away scot-free, I’m sure you understand that?”

“Right,” Harlea drawled, now increasingly suspicious he was piecing together the story of how Arty had ended up in deep water, “How fortunate you were there to pull him in as he drifted down the Harbourkey River.”

“I’m thankful we were able to catch him in time.” Jorgia agreed with an air of faux geniality, her mask already firmly back in place.

“Hmm. Well, I can’t magic up that much coin today,” Harlea said. Suddenly the space between Jorgia and him grew tense, and her eyes tightened slightly. Reaching for his coin purse, “Easy now, I do have some coin on me now. I can give you some now and I can bring the rest by the Orchid later next week.”

Relief washed over Jorgia’s face as she smiled again. “That will be fine. I think, given our history, you understand the seriousness of the situation.”

He opened up the coin pouch, catching sight of a glimmer of gold and silver coins deep inside the pouch before he tightened it and dropped it on the top of the gate post. “I’ve got two gold and seventy five silver in there. I’ll pick up the pouch when I bring the other -”

“Thirty five silver.” Jorgia interrupted, doing the maths for him, “Good Gods, Harlea, why are you carrying so much on you?”

“I wasn’t planning on getting robbed.” Harlea answered back more confidently than he felt. He paused and double checked her maths before he responded again, “Yeah, thirty five by Friday week. I’ll be back out on contract tomorrow.”

Jorgia scooped up the pouch and placed it in a decent sized sling bag she produced from under her vest, “Sounds good to me. Pleasure doing business with you. Van.”

Content with Harlea’s money, she clicked her fingers sharply towards her friend.

Van stepped forward and Harlea opened up the gate for him. Harlea stepped back a few steps to let Van through but kept facing him just in case. Harlea pointed over his wicker rocking chair on the far side of the porch, “Over there, Van.”

Van looked at him blankly and then glanced at Jorgia. She inclined her head slightly and only then Van moved up to Harlea’s porch.

As Van passed, it became clear that he only carried the single weapon on him. Dressed in a simple singlet and linen pants, there wasn’t much space to hide much more than what the Good Gods gave him. The warhammer was a sinister piece of steel with a raven’s beak on its back, like the longer polearms of Breisachia, but there was no dagger for him to wield nor shield to defend himself. His stature wasn’t that impressive, being large but not overly muscled, and he held himself well as he carried Arty.

Plonking Harlea’s limp friend onto his weathered wicker rocking chair, Van quickly returned to join Jorgia before Arty could stop himself from rocking back and forth. Once he thought no one was still looking, Arty’s hoof slipped down to quietly grind his momentum to a stop.

Unknowing or uncaring, Van pushed past Harlea on his way out and made off down the street with Jorgia to his left. Jorgia waved happily back to him as she did her coat back up, pocketing his hard-earnt money as she left.

“Oh, Jorgia,” Harlea called back out loudly as he closed the gate, “Remember before you come knocking on my door, I’ve also got a reputation. Big man there won’t stop me from taking a pound of flesh if I hear you telling anyone what happened here.”

Jorgia flashed him a snide smile while Van stared at him stone-faced, wholly unimpressed.

“And I swear, if Arty doesn’t wake up, there is going to be all nine kinds of hell to pay!” Harlea continued in vain.

As Jorgia and Van disappeared into the crowd, Harlea happily let them go. Trudging back the long way round the promenade, he mentally prepared himself to deal with Arty and his bullshit.

Arty being hand delivered was a bad sign. It was ballsy of Jorgia to come to his home unannounced, but given the circumstances, not hugely surprising if Arty owed so much money.

And now the debt was his to settle. As Harlea returned to the verandah, he joined Arty as remained slumped in the chair. With a faint smile on his bruised and battered face, he curled up into the chair and did his best to move as little as possible. Both his clothes and fur were soaked and there was no way he could be comfortable in the cool morning air.

Harlea moved up the steps but went to the keg rather than his friend. He filled up his mug and then turned slowly to face his first problem of the day.

The floorboards creaked under Harlea’s feet and he noted how Arty’s ear flicked in the direction of the noise. Harlea clicked his tongue while he closed the distance between them, “Got to say, it would have been a hell of a fight if I did have to go toe-to-toe with Jorgia and that Van.”

From the side of his mouth, Arty mumbled back at him, “I am unconscious.”

“I don’t think you fooled any of us, you idiot.” Harlea kicked Arty’s outstretched leg but accidentally collected the tip of Arty’s hoof with his big toe, “Ah, fuck.”

Arty let out a braying laugh, “Serves you right, kicking me when I’m having such a tough day.”

“Serves me right?” Harlea gave Arty’s chair a little push to throw the silly git off balance, “I just paid eighty five silver for your ass. You’re having the best day of your flea-ridden life, goat.”

Arty scoffed as he slowed the rocking chair back down, “It is crazy that she got you to pay it. She cooks those numbers, you know?”

Harlea scowled at him and moved back over to the other side of the porch, “I trust her cheque book over yours, Arthur. And better this than ending up floating in the river.”

“True. Well take the funds out of the emergency supply,” Arty said easily as he righted himself in the chair, “And I’ll pay you back later.”

Harlea fumed. He was too angry to sit down so he paced on the porch. The walking helped. With a look at Arty, he realised he was also too angry to show his normal restraint, “You better, Arty. You bloody better. And, if I catch you indulging again before you do pay it off, I swear I will beat you so bad you’ll wish Van had finished the job this morning.”

Arty held up his hands in mock surrender, “Of course, yeah. I’ll jump on the contracts and you can have my cut. Or most of it, I still got to eat.”

“Food and ale, you understand me?” Harlea warned him, “You told me you were going to straighten out when you got back home.”

“I will. Starting now. I think this is my wake up call.” Arty yielded, “It was just a bit of fun, that’s all. But it stops now.”

Harlea didn’t trust his word for a second. When the both of them sobered up properly, Harlea would scold him again and maybe that time it would stick. Harlea sat down on the lounge and pulled at a splinter that jutted from its corner.

Arty being at his house didn’t change his morning plans but it sure did fuck up his afternoon. Many a morning, they’d sobered up together and Harlea was sure Arty could look after himself if Harlea did head out, but now Harlea didn’t have all his hard earnt coin. Now, his afternoon would be going to Nicolas to explain why his axes would have to wait because he was poor again. Nicolas would understand but the idea of telling the big man wasn’t particularly appealing.

In a single sweeping motion, Harlea pulled against the chair and let his head duck between his arms to give his back a nice long back stretch. His back tensed and fought the stretch in a way that was painful but oh so good.

He could stop by the Baths afterwards and perhaps even drop by the Hillside Training Ground if he was still on the up. He didn’t need to push himself hard, a little more stretching or some light sparring could be a laugh. Or even just to watch some of the sparring. With all the quality tournament fighters having arrived recently, the Hillside had become a hub of activity. So many of the north’s best brawlers had been passing through the Valleys on their way to Dark Hold that the Hillside had become noticeably busier with real arena fights.

The day before they’d left for their contracts, Harlea had had a wonderful bout with an expert grappler by the name of Toorin. By the end of their fight, they’d both resorted to wrestling around on the ground rather than wasting any time with their weapons. With any luck, the crazy bastard would still be hanging about Ol’Haran for another couple weeks, at least until the Autumn Tournament.

Harlea moved to the other side of the lounge. In one easy motion, he picked up the second cup from the floor and moved back to the keg for another healthy pour. First, he filled up his own mug and then the cup. Fate had a funny way of providing him what he needed and forcing him to do what was right. Arty was simply the most annoying of Fate’s tools.

“You’d better be paying me back.” Harlea said as he wandered back over to Arty and gave him the cup, “I was going to get my new axes today.”

Arty let out a pained groan in sympathy and happily took the cup, “And that was the money you gave her. That sucks.”

“It does suck. And your coin for the next few months is mine so I can get my axes.” Harlea grumbled.

Arty took a swig of the ale and his face grimaced then eased, “That is surprisingly good.”

“Right?” Harlea agreed as he pulled the heavy little keg back off the stool and dropped into his chair, “This was the keg from the travelling merchant a while back.”

“There you go. It was a magical little find.” Arty pandered shamelessly as he gingerly patted the red-stained fur surrounding his right horn.

Harlea mumbled back half a response and settled back into the large cushions on the lounge. He shifted over to get a good look at his shoddy friend, “Do I need to be worried about this morning?”

“Nah, this one is on me.” Arty shooed Harlea with his hand, “I was the one that went to the Orchid and I do remember talking some shit. Then, I got drenched because I jumped out of the window and into their pond.”

Harlea’s jaw clenched and the pain shot through his nose again, “Why on Coia did you decide to visit her House, Arty. You have a Good-ridden death wish.”

“I honestly thought she was going to do the deed when Van dragged me out of the pond. Kill me that is.” Arty laughed sluggishly, “Instead, he just gave me an old-school beating.”

“Idiot.”

“Yeah,’ Arty agreed as he shifted into a more comfortable position on the chair, “Not my brightest choices. But now it's nap-time.”

Harlea said nothing. There was nothing to be said. Arty had always been too damn cavalier. It didn’t change the fact that he was good with a bastard sword and he could mend if the need arose. When he was in a good headspace, he was a valuable member of the Damnables. Shame he was such a piece of shit when he was home. Hells-bent on acting up, he was a menace whenever they were in town and then an incessant whinge whenever they were on the road. Every month or so, he would tell Harlea he couldn’t be in the crew anymore, but then also refused to look for other work.

Harlea sipped his own drink and watched his friend looking miserable. With a bit more time, Arty might be able to right himself.

Harlea tilted his head back and closed his eyes, “You know, we have the spiders in Tuelton end of next month.”

“Already? Didn’t we just go there?” Arty replied, “I don’t know about doing all that again.”

“It’s been four months. So in five weeks, we’re due to head back.” Harlea explained, resenting how powerless he was in his own scheduling.

“Mmm, and what are the next few weeks looking like? Apparently, I am in need of coin again.” Arty asked.

Harlea opened his eyes and gave him a dirty look. Arty was waiting for it and smiled when he saw Harlea’s glare, “It’ll be a slower few weeks. We’ve got a silver contract but it’s a Wild Node so that is better for you to skip. Then, we have the Autumn Tournament in Dark Hold, so no nonsense until we get back from that.”

“Urgh, so much down time, what about helping our countryfolk?” Arty complained, rolling onto his side to hug the armrest and gently rocking himself to and fro.

Harlea rolled his eyes at Arty, “We’ve been on four contracts since your last one. The countryfolk are just going to need to stay out of trouble for a few weeks.”

Arty pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully, “Right. Four contracts… Did I miss much?”

“Nothing particularly interesting. A fist fight in a village and we killed some gnolls down a mine.” Harlea glazed over the details since he was confident Arty was barely listening anyway, “We could have used you though.”

“Ah, apologies, I was indisposed.” Arty’s eyes closed shut again and he started to drift off to sleep, “The next ones at least. Where are the Wild Lands for our next contract?”

“A town called Coalpass. You probably heard about it going Wild several years ago, it was a big deal. But I’m serious, you won’t be joining us.” Harlea stated firmly.

“You said you could use me though. How much are silver contracts these days?” Arty asked innocuously.

“It’s irrelevant, you aren’t invited. You can figure your shit out this week and then join for whatever we’re doing next month.” Harlea took a deep breath and felt the gentle embrace of sleep begin to take hold of him too, “You want to join me for some food later?”

Arty stopped rocking in his chair and leant over the armrest to get closer to Harlea, “Oh, I could eat. But I’m a little short on coin at the moment.”

“Me. Too.” Harlea reminded him crankily. Harlea waited for Arty to show even a hint of remorse.

Right on cue, Arty’s head lowered down onto his forearm and closed his eyes again.

Harlea’s anger swirled inside of him before eventually spluttering as it ran out of fuel. He was entirely too tired to be mad.

Harlea closed his eyes and bathed in the soft glow of the sun. He shuffled the cushions to make a head rest as he lifted his feet back up onto the stool for a proper lay down.

The sounds of the bustling street drifted in distantly and barely registered as Harlea sank deeper into the voluptuous cushions.

“Hey Harlea?”

“Yeah?” He replied sleepily as he began to drift off.

“Mind if I get a towel?”

Harlea cracked one eye open and looked across at Arty, “Around the back, there should be one hanging out there. Go through the side gate, not the house.”

Arty craned his neck to look over to the side of the house before he went back to laying awkwardly on his chair, “Maybe later. I might have a bit of a sleep on your couch. I’ve had a terrible nights’ sleep.”

“Mmm, and I wonder who would be to blame for that.” Harlea grumbled back as he closed his eyes and finally drifted off to sleep.