The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Sleep of Morr

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger

~ Behzaltag 30th Kaldezeit 2522 ~

So much for sleeping soundly in this comfortable bed. Over an hour ago I woke to the sounds of grinding stone against stone and voices. 

I was bleary eyed from being awake longer than anyone else while writing here. Stefan strode past me quickly with something about ‘Who dares defile those who rest?’ with his sword in hand.  A moment later I manage to get my heavy eyes open and focused. While pulling my boots on a loaded and heavy crossbow landed in my arms. “You’re with me Mouse. Just point that at whoever I'm shouting at and stay back." I had to dash to keep up with Grunnd.

Down at the mausoleum it all happened so quickly. The Baron was there with another man. I don’t even know who said what but it was quickly clear that they shouldn’t have been there. Grunnd stepped forward and after a short exchange, ordered the Baron to stand outside and for me to keep him in my line of sight of the crossbow. Then all within the same moment the other man made a move to presumably draw a weapon. Grunnd closed the distance between them in a blink and with complete devastation, brought his warhammer down on the mans skull to crush it into his chest. 

I have never seen anything so vile in all my life.

My stomach agreed and I vomited violently. My innards felt as though they were trying to  invert me. The smell of the man’s remains and my vomit made it all the more sickening. Time still moved quickly. Danielle and the cartboy were somehow there now as well, or were they there when Grunnd delivered that blow. I do not know. Danielle joined me in sickness and the cartboy heaved and dropped- passing out from the horror I think. 

I looked up to make sure I still had the Baron in front of me. There was no cause to worry for he looked like he had seen his own death. Still panting and retching, I wiped the filth from my mouth with my sleeve. My eyes ran and my mouth watered. 

“All right little mouse? Seen your first dead body, gets better here in.” Grunnd came forward and patted me on the back in a comforting way. Thoughtful, but little solace. He then moved into action. Whilst slapping the cartboy a few times to bring him round, he ordered Danielle off to find Verstohlen immediately.

I was vaguely aware of Stefan mumbling angrily about anyone else wanting to defile the sanctity of the dead with their stomach contents. No one answered. There were more important matters at stake than the half digested dinners of a few shocked individuals.

While Danielle ran away all in a trembling fluster, Grunnd demanded the Baron explain the meaning of all this. I don’t believe he got far enough because it wasn’t long before she returned with Pieter. The Witch Hunter looked grim. The dark mass of his tall buckled hat and dark coat made my stomach churn in warning. The flames reflected off the brass of his pistols. It looked like more than just anger that burned in his eyes, was it fervor? Possibly, when chaos is involved for these people I’d imagine it would be.

To cut it short, the Baron explained something about after his wife dying he was approached with the offer from a man that he could bring her back, and that all he would need would be some offerings- a few peasants. The Baron stupidly agreed in his grief, and the man returned with some cattle that he said the people could eat and that when they fell ill and died the bargain would be fulfilled. I do not know if anything else was said but no more will be given for Verstohlen blew the mans face off with a close range pistol shot.

Seeing his body collapse into another faceless mess on the floor didn’t seem to affect me the way the other did. Not that I could make out anything from the mess of gore in the half light of torches. I have seen the dead before, but not any taken in such violent circumstances. Corpses usually have a face.

Pieter turned on the cartboy and gave him almost the same ultimatum he gave me less than a week ago. Join us in silence or die. Luckily Hans, as I now know him to be, chose life. I can only imagine what he is going through. He said the Baron was almost a father to him. I guess we are now orphans together in the world, of a kind.

Stefan ordered a still shaking Danielle to fetch him a mop and a very large bucket, “I have Morr’s work to do.” Mundanity returns, how comforting. I could hear him talking to himself of all the mess; of all the blessings he would need to perform; that he’d get no more sleep this night; on how to perform a rite on a body without a head or face, where would he anoint the oil? He stopped at that thought and shouted after her to bring his book as well. “Much work of Morr.” he shook his head and tutted, rolling his sleeves up.

Still gathering my thoughts, I made a move to return to bed. I startled as the crossbow was snatched quickly out of my hands. Grunnd grinned widely up at me, a twinkle in his eye. “You get that in serious situations only." he looked a bit more serious "Now scat! Off to bed with ye.” he gestured with the bolt as he unarmed the weapon. 

I couldn’t really think when I got back to this chamber. I just sat and stared at one of the cracks that ran from the ceiling to the small window frame. It was something easy to focus on in the dim. Cracked plaster and crumbling brickwork. 

When Danielle came to bed she was still a bit shaky. I did my best to comfort her with a hug, which she accepted. As she curled up under her blankets I combed her hair with my fingers, shushing her mutterings of the horrors. I sang her one of the songs my mother used to sing to me when I was ill. I smoothed the hair from her forehead until her breathing lengthened into carefree sleep. 

I wish I was so lucky. My mind is thrumming with thoughts now that the shock has faded.

I have had a very real awakening to the situation I am in now. Chaos is a visceral threat to my life and those I am bound to who stand against it. This isn’t just a forced potato-boat trip by gun point to see the wonderful world we live in. People will die. It won’t be pretty. They may be evil or innocent but in the end they will die just the same. I am going to be one of them very soon unless I stand up and prepare myself. Pieter Verstohlen’s pistol may be the least of my concerns now.

I have decided I will not be a passive victim in all this. I ran away from my future as a merchant's wife, if I had got to the temple that is what I would be now, I could even have been with child by now. Who knows? Instead I didn’t think very far ahead and ended up being a thieving vagrant for a matter of weeks. Hardly impressive. Now, through a poor choice of target I am in the company of a Witch Hunter on a crusade against chaos along with his right hand dwarf and ourselves: a rag-taggle band. 

So, what can I do? 

I will take Grunnd’s advice and guise myself as a boy. I shall now be known as Andreas. I can think of no more fitting a name than my brother’s. After all it is his clothes I wear; his dagger he gifted me that I carry; and he was the one who taught me this trade. I do so miss him it pains my heart but at least now he will be with me. I will have to find myself some more boys clothing: very base items so as not to attract attention. After I cut my hair I think I should find myself a hat to wear to dissuade anyone from looking too closely. Maybe a pair of gloves too, it is cold and will only get colder, my hands are small and delicate even for a boys. 

As for surviving I will need to find myself better protection than the clothes I stand up in and my warm padded jerkin. Maybe I can find me a leather one to start with. I shall ask Grunnd what he thinks as he clearly seems to care for my well being and trusts me; he gave me his crossbow, for a time at least. I should like to learn to use it if he will teach me. A rapier would not go amiss either. I used to enjoy watching my brothers practice. Andreas would sometimes tutor me in private so I knew what to do. I miss our little adventures.

However, the past is gone now. I would like the future to go on for as long as possible if I can help it. If I am going to meet Morr I want to die fighting by my own choice. Not as a helpless bystander. 

Let us see what the morning brings.

~ A ~

[Previous entry - a pox on you]
[Next entry - chaos afoot]
[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] A Pox on You

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger 

~ Backertag 29th Kaldezeit 2522 ~

Not even a day has passed since I wrote here and already the danger of life outside of the city has come home to roost. I’m not sure which I would prefer: a shot to the head or death by plague? I'm sure my options here in the world are far more open than those two imminent ones, but they are the most likely at the moment.

It’s funny. The hardest decision I had not long ago was what dress to wear, or how I would like my hair braided. To wear a dress now would be a dangerous luxury, and caring for my hair will be easy once it is short. I will miss my long hair. It is repulsively filthy just now, almost brown from the grime, but when it is clean it shines like spun silk the colour of spring honey. It keeps my back warm in the winter chill. Like a dress, it is a luxury I cannot afford to have.

Grunnd took me by surprise today with a show of compassion. He advised me of the dangers a woman on the road has in these dark days. I had figured these on my own but it was nice for another to care enough to point them out, especially someone I had marked as one who could kill me when I am no longer useful or convenient. He suggested I take the guise of a boy; quite appropriate given my frame and soft female voice for I am certainly no man. He also handed me a dagger with the wish that he hoped I never need to use it, but I shall speak more of this later.

I have not long finished caring for my weapons under Grunnd’s watchful eye; another kindness. I asked him to show me what to do. Very efficiently he went through the steps, and gave a few words of wisdom about my weapons being what stands between me and Morr. I handed him back the dagger he had given me earlier, as I already have my own. Or, my father’s if you want to be correct about it. I guess it is mine now as I don’t know if I will ever see my father again. A few days ago I might have said that I would never wish to see him again, but now it seems like that possible wish has come true. I am not entirely sure I really meant what I said - the foolish words of an angry girl perhaps.

Let me see if I can quickly take note of what happened today, lest my memory fail me and I need this information in the future. 

Within seconds of closing the bindings of this journal earlier, we were rudely roused by a hammering fist and a commanding voice. My head wished there was neither, I had been looking forward to that quiet riverwalk. I thought Pieter had gone to fetch Grunnd from his drunken berth at the inn, but he had not yet departed as he was on deck with the captain and a somber looking guard when Danielle and I came out.

It seems this little town of Reiksbruck, as the captain calls it, is afflicted by plague. More specifically red pox as Stefan would later tell us. We are now not permitted to leave the town as we may be infected. Wouldn’t want the pestilence spreading any further now would we? Not sure I want to be trapped in a plague town.

Full of importance, Stefan quickly asked the guard to take him to the sick and left with his bag of items in tow; being the one with an idea on how to care for the ill, and with his natural morbid duties to possibly attend to. Pieter disappeared off to retrieve Grunnd from the inn. But before long they were all back with a new objective- to travel to the Baron of the town to inform him of Reikbruck’s predicament - a job which the initiate of Morr managed to accrue while at the sickhouse.

As the others were moving their belongings from the boat and packing them onto a farm cart that had been enlisted to take us to the Baron, a firm warm hand grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me to the side. “A moment little mouse.” It was Grunnd. I didn’t know what to say so obeyed.

~ Now that I have had time to mull it over I quite like this name he has given me. ~

Once out of the way he peered up at me from below the rim of his trusty tricorn. First the good eye and then the scarred one taking me in with an assessing look, his black mustache bristled and twitched for a moment. "The wench I cannot talk to. She belongs to the longshanks; she walks her own road. But the road we're on, the road you've been forced into, tis a dangerous one for a lass, specially a fair lass like you. If you would heed my council: cut that hair short; muddy your face; and find some stable boys britches to wear. Men who travel these roads want little from a stable boy, but there's more than coin to be taken from a pretty girl." Grunnd left the implied threat hanging and turned for the cart, paused briefly then looked back. He produced a wicked looking boot dagger, "Should that happen, bury this in their neck. Don't forget to twist the blade- they bleed more and die faster..."

At what the townsfolk termed the ‘big house’, not as grand as even my family home, we found a sad place indeed. This feeling wasn’t helped by the coming down of the dark. Short days these with winter riding in. Cold. 

The Baron is a somber man with a very deliberate, slow manner. His wife died just six months back with the last wave of plague that hit the area. The weight of his grief hangs around him like an oppressive deadweight. 

Within the conversation with the Baron I learned some interesting things from listening to Pieter. Firstly that his name is Pieter Verstohlen. Secondly that he is a Witch Hunter, this is not a necessarily good thing for me as they are not the kind of persons you wish to travel with.  Dangerous isn’t the word. I am surprised I am still alive if the tales in Marienburg are to be believed.

If I am honest, I have been too frightened to ask him anything of where we are going and certainly not what we or he were doing. Now I know that we are headed for Altdorf the Empire’s capital; somewhere I have never been but always wanted to visit. We also need to be on our way as time very much is of the essence- Grunnd has made this perfectly clear. There is evil afoot and if this quest that Pieter and Grunnd seem to be on, and ourselves of course, isn’t successful. Then the Empire and possibly further afield is in very grave danger. 

The Baron does not wish to let us go until he is sure we are safe to travel, despite the pointed protests from Grunnd. Verstohlen seems to agree with the Baron in some respects and does not wish to spread this pox for the harm it could do. This sparked the first disagreement I have seen between these two men, the forces of their wills are like forces of nature. Grunnd riled at Pieter's’ refusal to put their goals first, to understand the urgency, to brush all this plague aside in the usual manner of ‘burning the whole village, and it’s people, to let Morr sort them’. 

To burn the whole village? This was another reminder of the people I am with. They are dangerous and not the kind to grow comfortable with. Though they also mentioned something about the last burned out town being corrupted by chaos as well as plague.

Grunnd hit a sore point and accused Pieter Verstohlen of being feckless towards the situation. This outburst to such a man shocked me. He demanded that he show some passion. I haven’t seen such a powerful explosion of fiery anger. Verstohlen cowed Grunnd into his place as his agent, he roared of the pressure of the quest they are on and that somehow his family are involved. Grunnd backed down. I am not sure if he is afraid of Verstohlen, or if he was angry, by his reaction. My stomach lurched at all the fire and shouting in the air, eyes misty, I must have looked pale to see. I haven’t seen Pieter since he stormed out of the room. I am glad that I haven’t.

In the relative silence after the outburst, Stefan apologised to the Baron for having to witness such an outburst in his great hall considering he was providing us all with such kind hospitality. He apologised on his companions behalves and moved the subject, saying something about wishing to visit the mausoleum to care for those in sleep eternal, and to perform some blessings. I guess a man of Morr has no rest because there are always the dead. It is interesting. I was considering how unshakable Stefan is; so composed and reserved. I have come to the conclusion that once you have made your peace with Morr then I guess not much else disturbs you. Personally I do not fear Morr or death but it is the reaching them that bothers me. An eternal sleep is harmless. The many ways of reaching them are often agonising and slow if you are not lucky. I would hope to go in my sleep like mother did; to go from one dream to another, but I don’t think I shall be so blessed. 

It is my own time for sleep now. I can hear Danielle’s quiet peaceful breathing behind me. Stefan and the boy who brought us here are also soundly sleeping somewhere in this room. Grunnd isn’t quite so quiet. In the little light I have here by the candle, among the moving shadows, all I can see is a mound and his beloved hat. He even sleeps in it, or rather below it. Maybe my candle was disturbing him. 

Anyway, to bed. Goodness knows what will happen tomorrow, and when I shall sleep in a soft bed again, so I might as well make the most of it. 

~ A ~ 

[Previous entry - inn and ale]
[Next entry - sleep of Morr]
[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Inn and Ale

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger

~Backertag 29th Kaldezeit 2522~

Yesterday afternoon we finally pulled in at a town, Reiksbruck, to trade them potatoes and such like. What a release to visit an inn! To be in the busy warmth with other people! So much so that my head now throbs with the ‘release’. Danielle assured me I should drink some of the ‘finest’ ale- she can drink steins of the drink. I knew to at least order something to eat, a change from the gruel- the innkeeper provided stale bread, cheese and cold meat. Rich fair to what I eat nowadays. Just a quart of the ale and my head spun. I listened to the happy chatter of  Danielle, vaguely aware she was pleasantly drawing information from alcohol loosened lips, least alone my own. I gave up on the dark brew and ordered some of my customary watered wine. It wasn’t quite a quality Tilean variety but it was better than what I surrendered to my friend. Though we could have slept at the inn for a change in surroundings, Pieter and Stefan had other thoughts and we came back to the boat. Grunnd stayed the night. Probably asleep under the barrel of ale if what I hear of dwarves is to be believed. Pieter has gone to fetch the stormy short one. I think I’ll see about some fresh air and a walk along the bank before we cast off again today. 

~ A ~

[Previous Entry - steady passage]
[Next Entry - a pox on you]
[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Steady Passage

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger

~Aubentag 27th Kaldezeit 2522~

Time has passed as quickly as the countryside has. Withered reeds and dead brush passing us by, succeeded by frozen fields, clouded marsh, muddy villages and shadowy forrest. The cold water fog that lifts from the deep dark of the rippling Reik surface is like smoke. Crows croak at our slow steady passage. 

It’s liberating to see new things; to be out of the city. It’s been a long time since I was that little golden child sat in her fathers lap watching in wonder as we travelled on one of his trading ships. Those few adventures were over too quickly.

Pieter doesn’t reveal anything of himself. He is like a closed man cloaked in silence, even when he speaks. Danger like the charge before a storm surrounds him.

Stefan continues to present himself for a beating from Pieter every day. He's stoically stupid but there is hope for him yet. I guess I am being a little unfair. It's actually admirable that a man with no obvious weapon skills has taken a leap to learn on the run in front of strangers, in fact more remarkable that he came at all. He remains professional and ungrumbling as usual. I wonder what his weak spot is? Maybe when you make your peace with Morr little else phases you.

Grunnd is interesting. I'm not well acquainted with dwarven kind so to be in close quarters with one is an education. He is fastidious about his appearance and his equipment. Today I watched as he took a wickedly sharp dagger from his boot to shave his head and chin free of hair; odd as the few dwarves I have seen usually have a full beard and head of long hair. Every evening he carefully sharpens his blade; oils his warhammer and its grip; and checks his mail shirt before repairing any missing links. I can understand now why he is so insistent in teaching Stefan how to care for his weapon; I imagine he must have been horrified by the state of it!

Danielle is quickly growing to be like a sister to me. She honestly seems to like me, care for me dare I say? She seems to enjoy the companionship my company offers. She is also a great one for the things she reveals from the bags she packed for her and Stefan her master. I am very grateful for the treats that make eating gruel almost stomach-able. I still don’t know where we are going but hopefully we’ll dock soon. I would like to see what the towns are like here in the Wastelands. 

~ A~

[Previous Entry - fish out of water]
[Next Entry - inn and ale]

[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Fish Out of Water

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger

~Festag 25th Kaldezeit 2522~

It’s funny. Stefan, between bouts of dry retching, has challenged Pieter to teach him how to fight with some drift wood. Grunnd has already started tutoring him in how to care for his rather old and pitted sword he owns. To fight he put on armor that made him look as if he’d taken his fathers, it even fell clean off his shoulders at first fitting, all the while he  remained perfectly composed. He is impressively serious, phlegmatic. This one is what my maid Helga would have called a cold fish, or a fish out of water. At least I’m not the only one.

Pieter thrashed him up and down the deck of the ship with alarming regularity today and Stefan picked himself up, dusted himself off and presented his ‘weapon’ again for more practice. He is stoically receptive to the abuse. He amazes me.

~ A ~

[Previous Entry - Ranald's luck]
[Next Entry - steady passage]
[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Ranald's Luck

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger

~Angestag 24th Kaldezeit 2522~

I don’t know why I write my memoirs anymore. They seem a silly thing now. Though everything in my past seems silly and childish. The trappings of a sheltered fool of a girl who would not follow the gentle supplicant path of a lady of these times. I could not play the loving daughter who’d kiss the hand of her father, and marry the wondrous husband he had been able to convince to marry an unlucky aging bride as myself.

Luck: another joke of life, or Ranald, depending on how you think.

Speaking of life I almost died today. You could say that this is an occurrence that happens with alarming regularity in my city, but I think I am fooling myself if I believe the sun shines brighter beyond the Vloedmuur. It certainly doesn’t shine in this ‘city of gold’. City of Gold. The only thing golden about Marienburg is the fabrics we dress ourselves in as we stride through and over the muck. It’s a city of filth if you ask me. Rotten to the core with a shiny bright sweet skin like an apple (be careful not to bite) - can’t have your dinner and eat it.

By Morr’s breath I thought I was gone. I’ve been improving on my bumbled first attempts at picking pockets now I don’t have my old ‘brother in crime’. ~How I miss him.~ Passing through some of the hawkers and others on the street a man piqued my interest. Tall with a black buckled hat, long coat with big pockets and a shadowed face; I thought it wouldn’t hurt to try (certainly not on an obvious visitor). Might even cheer me up a bit to see what I could win from a fish. I pulled the old stumble trick and quickly found myself a side alley to check my winnings.

A scrap of parchment. Parchment! I risked a fumble for some parchment that talks about scrolls, and a name I’m not permitted to use on pain of a swift pistol to the head if I’m lucky, guts if I’m not.

Yes. Parchment. 

A few seconds later there’s a cold pistol cocked at the back of my head and I surrender up my hard won ‘prize’. The man pistol marches me some distance through the freezing shady back alleys. By this point I have seen him up close, far too close. He’s tall and armed like you would not believe. I won’t even try describe the look he gave me lest it make me cry. Foolish girl. The thoughts that ran through my head ranged from a quick shot to the head, to being sold into slavery, or stripped for the enjoyment of lesser men before being beaten to death. At that point I would have offered anything to Manann to take me back to the temple and my new husband; life with him might be better than death after-all.

We quickly came to the door of a townhouse and I was shoved inside. I was trying so hard to remain calm and composed. My teeth and hands wanted to betray me with the ice shakes, my eyes stung. 

In the warmth of the house I came face to face with three more strangers- a priest of Morr with his silver raven pendant, the house obviously his own from the items and belongings there; a moustachioed dwarf wearing a tricorne hat, he just as terrifying as the pistol pointer; and a very loud and talkative woman about age with myself. There was talk and the woman seemed to win me a visit to the less intimidating back room with it’s stove where she gave me my first hot meal of the day. She fussed over me like my old nurse maid. Though very common in her demeanor I found her to have a sharp mind and a likable nature. This one, Danielle, I believe she has a good heart. Like a sister from the other side of the city so to speak. It seems odd but she has a strangely calming influence with her confidence.

Very quickly the tall one with the pistol came back and dismissed the servant from the room. I wished he hadn’t. He took a chair at the small table and removed his wide hat to reveal an unshaven grizzled face with the serious humorless eyes I imagine my father would have if crossed in his dealings. The pit of my stomach dropped into nothing. He could ask me anything and I would answer. No guile here.

My heart stopped. I watched as he silently placed his cocked weapon lightly on the table, pointing it in my direction. I could smell the leather of his coat, the smell of unwashed clothing, gunpowder and streetmuck. Carried on the air of his close breath was the musk of man, intimidation, a whole other world from that of sweet boy. This was a man who would not be messed with. Thoughts raced. Oh how I wished I had kept my fingers to myself. Ranald was having his fun. This was far from reappropriating a ladies coin purse or taking my lunch from the busy market trader’s cart. This man would kill me.

I breathed out. My heart beat again, so fast I could barely hear anything else. My palms were clammy. Lightning in my veins. He asked me about what I had done. What I had understood. He told me why a piece of information that was essentially meaningless to me had the importance to bring the entire Empire to it’s knees. He presented his options to me, all with the continued unrelentless look of a man who was judging my very soul. I would either take a shot to the head and spend the rest of my earthly remains in the garden of Morr; or I would be taken against my will, with himself and his companions on their quest, to use my skills when required and be a loyal attendant, paid for my services, and never to breath a word of the parchment again. It was down to my decision. I chose life.

There was moment of a moment where my heart whispered what luck it was that I was being presented with an adventure beyond measure that would take me from the gilded cage of Marienburg to a future unknown. The next heartbeat faltered and brought me back to the grim reality of the presence before me. I naturally chose service. He removed his pistol from my line of sight and left coins on the table, with the closing warning of what would happen if I failed any of the clauses. I would not fail this man.

Danielle bustled back bringing the warmth and life back to a room where the shadow of death had passed through. She continued to chatter and coo over me. It was soothing.

Back in the first room the others discussed what they would and wouldn’t need to venture out on this quest. The young priest reminded me a little of my brother, except he was thinner, much much paler with ingrained inky fingers; I learned this is Stefan, initiate of Morr. The dwarf had the a similar aura to the other man, a being not to be messed with, possibly less charitable or reasonable than the other would be. He was a sight to behold with his wide black mustache lively and animated as it occupied the breadth of his serious face, marred by the deep crease of an scar over his left eye. This one is Grunnd, and gruff. Pieter is the one who could well end my days. At least my last will be brightened by the humour and warmth of Danielle, Stefan’s servant through her mother’s canny deathbed request. 

The talk was that we were to leave with the night and the turn of the tide. There wasn’t enough coinage to buy us all passage up river. Stefan was arguing over the selling of some of his belongings. I felt a little lighter, this was something I could manage. I stepped forward and offered my services to gain the finances needed. Stefan looked disgraced, offended at the idea of a spot of wealth liberation. I explained that I merely knew where to exchange his goods for a fine price. Danielle offered her expertise too as she had her contacts as well. It was with this we were grudgingly freed into the quickly dimming crisp afternoon air. Winter days are short and cold here in the North. 


For a moment I watched Danielle's back and considered my chances of escape and what I would do. This was swept away as she turned and smiled at me, I remembered my promise and the spark of excitement in the unknown future. I felt like I had been given a purpose, the first in a long time. I also now had a 'friend' to keep me company.

We quickly made our way with Danielle in the lead. She took us to the backdoor of one of the more up-town inns; she had a friend in the kitchen and knew the lady of the house. The land lord answered. With as much polishing of his ego, and selling of the benefits the fine silver cutlery and pewter wares could bring to his business, we in the end had to resort to the card of the woman- a heart felt story and tearful plea - to bring the price up to an acceptable standard. Yes. My poor grandmother was on her sickbed and closer to death each day, I needed the funds to reach her far-away-in-whatever-place-we-made-up before she dies. Luckily it worked. Men don’t like strange women crying in their presence. Sometimes.

On our way back we swung by the wharf to find a riverman heading up river. If we brought our own food and caused no fuss we could have passage for 25 shillings each, which was very good considering we had charmed a crowne and half from the innkeeper. We accepted and said we would be back before the tide turned. I gave the coinage to Danielle, not wanting to get close to the buckled hat again. Danielle cheerily talked about her life and derided her pale and wan master as much as possible. I think there may be affection there, somewhere.

We, all five of us, made it in time for the cast-off. The barge carried potatoes and other grown goods for the markets upstream. I made a point before leaving the ‘death house’ to change into the grubbiest of all my clothing and cover my hair, hands and face as much as possible. Travel at night is cold. Travel with more strange men is best not done when tempting Ranald more. I didn’t appear to attract any unwanted attention. Danielle has gained the familiar surreptitious looks and words that superstitious sailors give to women. Stefan tried to look, what I imagine he was trying to, dignified as he threw up not long after setting sail. The sailors quietly kept their amusement to themselves, that was good of them. The dwarf however showed his jovial side in his mockery of the poor creature’s shaky legs and grey skin, pale even the lamplight. I have avoided any more close contact with Pieter. I just want to observe these people, try to figure out what I’ve gotten myself into here and how to survive. I do not wish to anger any of them. Least alone Grunnd or Pieter.

My eyes are tired and my fingers are sore now from so much writing. I said I don’t know why I write my memoirs here in this journal anymore. Maybe because it’s the only familiar thing I have left from the frivolous life of a merchants daughter. The cage has opened and the bird has taken wing. I wonder where my little wings will take me? What hunters and hawks wait to tear me from the skies? 

Good night my silent friend. You may be the only one I have. 

~ A ~

[Next Entry - fish out of water]