Daughter of Azeroth

57 | THE WOMAN IN BLACK

She peered down the stone stairs into their shadowy, torchlit depths. Old cobwebs clung to the edges of the opening, drifting lazily in the draught. The stairs looked like they hadn't been cleaned in years; burnt-out butts of cigars and empty tankards littered the way, while other unnameable things lurked in the corners.

Voices drifted up, reminding her of the background hum of The Pig and Whistle. Fausty, stagnant air wafted past her, laced with the smells of roast meat, wood smoke, and stale ale. She wrinkled her nose as the stink of urine found its way to her through the miasma. Curious, she followed the stairs, hoping she wasn't about to walk into a place filled with men like Papa. The stairs ended, giving way to a long stone walkway. Ahead, the light brightened, and the smell of roasting meat grew stronger, overwhelming another new stench, of dampness and rot. The voices grew louder. The clank of crockery. The thud of tankards against tables. She turned a corner and found herself staring face to face with the very goblin who had taken all the things from VanCleef's house, still wearing that ridiculous top hat. Before she could stop herself, she slapped his face, hard.

'What in the Light!?' the goblin erupted. He rubbed his gold-encrusted fingers against his jaw, eyeing her, cautious. 'What did I ever do to you?'

'You! You fiend! You took my clothes, and my books,' Idira hollered. His sudden, unexpected presence triggered a rage she hadn't known she still harboured, her anger so fierce, it felt as if it she were once more a little girl, watching her things being loaded into a wagon as he stood by, rubbing his hands together in glee. She raised her hand to hit him again. 'You took everything we had, and for a pittance, too. You left us with nothing!'

Someone caught her, holding her wrist in a viselike grip. She spun around, furious.

'Easy, there,' a woman said, quiet, from behind the concealing depths of a dark hood. 'You don't want to be attracting the wrong kind of attention in this place. Come on, let's get you a drink.'

Still holding Idira by the wrist, the woman fished in her leather tunic and tossed a gold piece at the offended goblin. 'This ends here, Kuzzik,' she said, cold. 'I know what you're like, you probably had that coming.'

'Huh,' Kuzzik scoffed, eyeing the woman narrowly. He bit the coin, then tucked it into his brocade waistcoat. 'Fine, I'll let it go,' he huffed, 'but if it happens again.' He narrowed his eyes at Idira, menacing.

The woman walked past him. 'Yeah, yeah, big man. Whatever.'

Kuzzik spluttered, outraged. The woman beside Idira chuckled as she wended her way into the bar area of a ramshackle wooden tavern, all crooked angles and edges, her hand still holding Idira fast against her. 'He hates to be called that,' she said as she nodded at the blond-haired barkeep, leaning against the wall behind the bar, his muscled arms crossed over his red-shirted chest. 'Two ales, Baxter, and clean tankards this time, eh?'

'Clean ones cost extra,' muttered Baxter. He pushed away from the wall, surly.

Another gold coin appeared from the woman's tunic. She slid it across the top of the bar. He eyed it, then scooped it up, pocketing it. 'I'll bring 'em to ya,' he muttered, 'gonna have ta boil up some water first ta wash 'em, so hope ya ain't in no hurry.'

The woman shrugged as though she didn't care and led Idira further into the tavern, where the light was thinner and the air lay blue and ripe, blanketed in greasy, curling trails of old cigar smoke. Her hooded companion ducked into a shadowed alcove and settled onto a stool. Dragging another stool over with her heel, she put her feet up, crossing them at the ankles. She leaned against the wall, her arms folded over her chest, and nodded at the empty stools surrounding the table, indicating Idira should choose one and take a seat. Not knowing what else to do, Idira sat down onto the stool nearest to the door—gingerly, hoping she wasn't sitting on anything that would stain her dress. Eyeing the table's surface layered in sticky ale rings and grease stains, she decided to keep her hands in her lap.