Chapter 23: Nightfall and Consequences

Chapter 23: Nightfall and Consequences

As I walked down the cobblestone street, the once lively city began to settle into a tranquil hum. The golden hues of the setting sun painted the walls of tightly packed buildings, while shadows stretched long across the ground. The bustling daytime activity gave way to a quieter rhythm, though the distant murmur of evening revelry hinted at the city's dual nature. The faint scent of spices, roasted meats, and wet stone began to mix with the cooler night air.

The massive wall loomed ahead, its pristine, bright bricks reflecting the last light of day. A towering gate punctuated the structure, flanked by guards standing rigidly at their posts. Their polished armor gleamed in the fading sunlight, a stark reminder that this city wasn't all charm and merriment.

I hesitated, glancing both ways. Was it left or right from here? Best not to risk wandering aimlessly in the dark.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," I said, approaching the guards. My voice was polite, almost unnaturally so, and even I was surprised by how formal I sounded. "Could you direct me to the Ashbourne estate?"

One of the guards turned his helmeted head toward me. Though his face was hidden, I felt the weight of his scrutinizing gaze.

"Left," he said curtly, his voice gravelly.

Before I could ask for clarification, he moved swiftly to intercept a passing wagon.

"Left it is," I muttered to myself, turning down the indicated path.

The city's character changed as I walked. The orderly, polished streets near the gate gave way to narrower roads lined with eclectic buildings. The glow of lamps flickered to life, their warm light contrasting with the creeping darkness. Laughter and cheerful chatter echoed through the streets, growing louder with every step. The night had come alive, but I had no time for its distractions. The rhythmic sound of street vendors packing up, the occasional clink of a distant instrument, and the scent of burning wood filled the air.

The estate came into view, and as the receptionist had promised, it was impossible to miss. A grand mansion rose before me, its imposing black walls and tinted windows exuding an air of authority. A wrought iron fence enclosed the property, its spikes glinting menacingly under the moonlight.

My footsteps slowed as I approached the gate. An inexplicable sense of unease washed over me. Who were these Ashbournes? What kind of people lived behind such walls?

I rapped on the gate, the sound echoing in the still night. A moment later, an elderly man appeared, seemingly materializing from the shadows. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit, his silver hair neatly combed, and his majestic mustache curling at the ends.

"How may I assist you?" he asked, his voice deep and weathered, yet laced with unwavering professionalism.

The sheer presence of the man caught me off guard. Words stuck in my throat, and for a moment, I struggled to find my words. "Uh... I'm here about a quest," I finally managed.

The old man's piercing gaze seemed to weigh my very soul. Despite his age, there was a palpable strength in his demeanor, a quiet power that made me instinctively wary.

"Apologies," he said, his tone polite but firm. "My master is presently occupied. Please return tomorrow at noon."

"Alright," I replied, the words slipping out before I could think to press further.

As I turned away from the estate, unease lingered in my chest. Why would someone so formidable be working as a butler? What kind of family was I dealing with?

Shaking off my thoughts, I made my way back toward the city's heart. The festivities of the night called to me like a siren's song. When was the last time I had done something for pure enjoyment? I couldn't even remember.

The crude wooden sign of a bar caught my eye: The Copper Keg. Its name wasn't what drew me in, it was the strong, nostalgic scent of alcohol wafting from within.

I stepped inside, the atmosphere enveloping me immediately. Warm light from hanging lanterns illuminated a bustling crowd of flushed faces, raised tankards, and jubilant laughter. The smell of spirits, sweat, and smoke mingled in the air.

Walking up to the bar, I slammed my pouch of shillings onto the counter. "Something strong," I said, mimicking the gruff tone of a man beside me.

"Coming right up!" the bartender replied cheerfully. He was wiry, his weathered face lined with wrinkles. With practiced ease, he grabbed a keg and poured a dark liquid into a large mug, sliding it across the counter to me.

I found an empty stool and took a seat, observing the lively patrons around me. Their joy was infectious. Despite myself, I couldn't help but wonder: what had these people so carefree? Were they running from something? Or was this their way of savoring fleeting moments?

I raised the mug to my lips and took a tentative sip. The liquid burned as it slid down my throat, but I didn't flinch. No point in wasting money, right? I downed the rest in one go, eliciting cheers from a nearby group.

"Cheers to a true drinker!" one man slurred, throwing an arm around my shoulder. His breath reeked of alcohol, and his steps were unsteady.

"Another round for my friend and me!" he hollered, his voice drowning in the crowd's roar of approval.

Before I knew it, more drinks appeared, and my head grew fuzzier with each sip. Words became slurred, laughter came easier, and the weight of the world seemed to lift, if only for a moment.

Music filled the air, a man with a guitar began to play, his tune lively and raucous. Without thinking, I joined the others on the dance floor, stumbling and swaying to the rhythm. The moment felt like a blur of blissful camaraderie.

But when I awoke, the world was harsh and unforgiving.

The cobblestones beneath me were cold and hard, the stench of vomit pungent in the air. Groaning, I sat up, my head pounding. A quick glance around revealed others passed out in similar states. My pouch of shillings, gone.

Panic set in as I noticed the sun high in the sky. I was supposed to be at the Ashbourne estate by now.

Frantically, I looked around, only to realize I had no idea where I was. Spotting a man walking nearby, I called out, "Hey!"

He turned, his expression one of disdain. "Lost, are we? Country fool."

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused and irritated.

"Exactly what I said," he sneered. "You're clearly not from—"

My patience snapped. Without thinking, I swung my fist, connecting with his jaw. The man crumpled, blood spurting from his nose and mouth as his teeth scattered across the ground.

"Oh, shit," I muttered, panic rising in my chest.

"Stop right there!" a voice boomed. I turned to see guards rushing toward me.

I bolted, weaving through the streets, but my escape was cut short by a hooded figure. With a flick of their wrist, the cobblestones rose and struck me square in the chest, sending me sprawling.

The guards closed in, binding me in chains.

When I came to, I was inside a damp, dimly lit cell. Thick iron bars separated me from the hallway beyond. A stone slab served as a bed, and a crude loo sat in the corner.

I buried my face in my hands.

How did I mess up this badly?