The first constable to return was the one sent for my breakfast. He didn't have a sandwich but rather some nomad meal of charred bits of meat on skewers and some barley gruel. Some combination of Praxian and Sun County food, sort of a mixing of the two cuisines. Mixed cuisine? Whatever. I use the term cuisine loosely of course. Actually it wasn't that bad and Jorjar watched me eat hungrily having forgotten that he hadn't eaten either. The constable was soon set off on another food run and we sat down to wait for the other constables. Time crawled along and Jorjar and I sat there in an uncomfortable silence for the most part, waiting. Long after Jorjar got his breakfast the constable sent to find the shaman returned.
He had a broken down, drunken wreck of a Praxian in tow. Best we could expect in Badside on such short notice I suppose. The constable introduced us in trade talk. The shaman he introduced as Stone-Covers-Sand. "Greetings, grandfather," I said to him in my bad Praxian, "how are you this morning?" The Praxian looked blearily at me and replied in decent enough trade talk, "How are you my grandson? I don't recall lying with any Lunar bitches." So much for respect for your elders. "Listen you old wreck. I'll make sure you get enough firewater to finally finish you off if you do something for me." A dreadfully needy look came into his eyes, "Oh, you're the son of that one! Well, why didn't you say so? I'd be glad to help you." Sad what liquor can do to you. "I need you to check the aura of this building for me." "Which one?" "The one in front of you." "That butcher house?", he shook his head, "All those dead animals around here are guaranteed to create a bad aura." "Yes, well we'd like you to try anyway. Use your otherworld sight and tell us what you can see." He looked suspiciously at me. "How do you know so much about shamans?" "My aunt's one." He started and decided not to bother asking any more questions. He muttered something about needing to prepare himself and tottered over to sit against the wall meditating or something. I looked over and saw Jorjar staring at me with a disbelieving look on his face. "What? She is a shaman, honest." He shrugged disbelievingly. Bugger him, I thought she is so a shaman.
It didn't take very long for the shaman to prepare himself. Which I
doubt was a good sign. He got up, had us make a small fire for him,
tossed some herbs and coloured sand into the fire which made it pretty
and smelly. He then spent quite a while dancing around it and
chanting. Some of the locals gathered to watch the show, the Praxians
looking respectful, the locals perhaps a tad less so. I have to admit
that he looked more impressive during the dancing than he had before.
Almost respectable. Finally he finished and walked into the
building. We waited expectantly for him to finish. We heard more
chanting and the sound of a rattle, which I could have sworn he hadn't
been carrying before. Eventually he came out and shook his head.
"Lots of dead animals, hard feelings towards your fellow man and the
like but no real murderous thoughts. Hmm, so the old coot wasn't as
out of it as I'd thought. I bowed and said, "Well, thank you
grandfather." I got one of Jorjar's constables to write up a chit for
him for 200 hundred lunars claimable from the Lunar governor's office.
Jorjar frowned at the total but didn't interfere. I had the
constable read it out to the shaman. Stone-Covers-Sand didn't look
overly impressed. "I will help you get the money if you have trouble.
You have my word." He sighed, "You seem to be a good enough chap for
a Lunar so I will trust you. But if I don't get my money I would
invest in a good charm against curses if I were you." Straightening
up and mustering his dignity he turned and almost stalked away.
To be continued.
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