City Hobgoblins by Traynor Andrew

Author:Traynor, Andrew
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-09-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

i.​Relcceca's rooms

Church bells run rampant in the Cities. Each has its own unique timbre, and a local can discover his location as well as the time from their peals. The bells are supplied by the Church of Garrath, God of Swank, who wouldn't dream of constructing one of their gilded, multi-altared eyesores without putting a great clanging thing on top of it. The vast church on Royal Hill in Yaleth beats the hours with sonorous claps which cut the air in two and are audible for miles around. The altar in Vellers Square, as noted, makes a sound as gentle as a man falling downstairs wearing plate armour. And the chimes of the less celebrated church in Forest Way, south Forgar, rattles the bones. Though not especially loud, the bells sound at a pitch which shakes loose furniture nearby and enters the brain via the stomach. They were normally ideal for gently pulling Relcceca Depford out of sleep at eight o'clock each morning for work. They did work again this morning, but only just. The noise tugged her into a doze but was then incorporated into the quasi-dreams of that stage, an abstract noise with no real relevance. Finally, however, one part of her brain properly registered the sound, forced open her eyes and sternly resisted her initial urge, which was to instantly shut them again.

She stared at the ceiling as her tidy mind assembled its usual waking catalogue. It's morning, I'm in my room, I've got to go to work, my mouth is bone dry, my back hurts and - and there's someone else in my bed! After a second of panicking, memories of the previous night returned, though seeming as hazy as her dreams. She remembered, yes, there's supposed to be someone in your bed; or more accurately, he's there by your invite. Relcceca sat up and looked at the man beside her. He was lying on his side and snoring loudly, his large, bulky body naked and twisted up in the sheets. A wave of nausea passed through her which, to be fair, might have had other causes. A name wandered in, Tomas Kenner, and then its full significance dawned. Tomas Kenner, my quarry of the last fortnight, and I've just slept with him! She gave an involuntary snort of laughter; a second later, a headache played its signature tune.

Moving at a careful half speed, she pulled herself off the bed and began to dress. She stepped distastefully over the pile of clothes tangled up on the floor and staggered out of the bedroom. She rented one averagely small room which had been partitioned into three ridiculously small ones. They were shared with another girl who Relcceca strongly suspected was a prostitute, but one with the decency not to bring her clients home. The minuscule living room which lay between their two bedrooms was vulgarly cheerful, with bright red and yellow walls lined with shelves containing various tiny statues, pots, pans, bits of food, parchments, books and just general clutter.

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