Vol.4, Ch.4, P.3
The bloodied ballhall was put behind me. There I resumed in haste through the estate.
“…More maze than manor, this…” I grumbled under my breath. A gauntlet’s worth of guards had further harried me all along the way, and while none had posed any threat, I much hated having to humour them. The captives Ina and Carola; Frieda, who had infiltrated ahead of Sig and I—uncertain as to their safety as I was, more precious than gold did seem every grain of the thinning hour-sand.
Turning a corner, I hurried on down another hall. Sig—he ought not be far off by now. Likely we’d meet soon were I to keep onwards. Best we should, perhaps?
—Ga-tump.
I stopped.
Knocking me out of my thoughts: a muffled thumping, barely audible. Pricking my ears, I scanned up and down the passageway. From that door? Or there? Nay… this.
Sidling up to it, I heard the noise grow subtly. I pressed an ear to the door, and then perceived a rustle stirring from within. A servant rifling for trinkets in the chaos, maybe? Or, going by the guards’ bawdy banter out in the garden…
At once, I set hand to handle, but found it budging not one bit. Stepping back, I clenched the soot-steel, and readying a kick, blasted the door open. Beyond the booming air was blackness: a storeroom, from the look of it. Shelves anear seemed lined with daily necessities, with sheeted furniture brooding about. But as my eyes further attuned themselves to the dark, I discerned, laying upon the floor in a far corner, a figure of a woman—bound at the hands and feet, and naked from head to heel.
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“Took you long ’nough. Well… thanks again.”
Having undone her bindings, I wrested from near at hand a linen sheet and shrouded it about the woman’s shoulders, who returned a familiar smile.
“Anytime, Frieda,” I said to her. My overcoat was like to trail after her feet were she to wear it; an errant cloth had to do.
Turning, I went to survey outside the doorway, in which while Frieda rustled about. Seeing no guards in pursuit, I turned back to the freelance, and found that the white sheet was now wound about her body, her shoulders bare and the lower hem folded high above her knees. Chastity ought be a far second to ease of motion, Frieda likely thought, now with rescue and escape next on our agenda.
“Silly, innit,” she uttered.
I blinked. “What is?”
Frieda smiled again, albeit wryly. “Arse-naked then, arse-naked now.”
“Silly, indeed.”
“Lost a mite o’ my allure, I bet.”
“If… you say so.”
The freelance then gave me a look of wonder. “Haven’t you got summat slicker to say?” she asked. “…’Ny thoughts? Feelinses on Frieda the free-skin?”
Thoughts and feelings.
…A tricky one, this. When last I let slip my thoughts, I had a bloody nose to pay for it. And just a while ago had I failed to scry one foe’s feelings for another. The price for that was business left unfinished. All told, I was not particularly confident about answering Frieda’s question.
“…Not especially, no,” I said, scratching my head.
Frieda smirked. “Slick ‘nough, I s’pose.”
Thus did I survive another day. Inly, I sighed with relief; of late, I felt myself fumbling one time too many when it came to dealings with women. But “slick” was right: opining upon the body of a damsel, detained and disrobed, is to twist the dagger in her dignity—a pitfall I thankfully avoided here. Would that so many were not wantonly dug at my feet, however, if even in jest.
With the hourglass still emptying against us, we quickly set out from the storeroom. As Frieda led the way, we spoke to each other softly, that echoes might not carry down the corridors.
“…Frieda. You’ve slipped in alone, haven’t you?” I said. “But all went awry, as I see. What’s happened?”
“‘Alone’ is right,” Frieda began. “‘Twas yesternight when I welcomed myself in.”
An easy feat, by her words, and seeing her so lithe and light-footed, I hardly needed any convincing. But as she next revealed, an immediate rescue of Ina and Carola was off the table, lest suspecting eyes be turned to the Roland Concern. Thus had Frieda focused instead on a bit of reconnaissance: ascertaining the safety and whereabouts of the two captives, determining the lord’s routine, assessing the manor’s security—precious intelligence to avail tonight’s operation.
“Though, were they in a bad spot o’ bother, I was to see to the lasses’ rescue at the soonest,” Frieda added. “A last resort—and the guildmaster’s idea.”
Torry: head of the Roland Concern, and from the sound of it, a father with profound care for his daughter, Ina—more so after finding out what’d befallen her at the Albecks’, I’m sure. As Frieda then explained, Torry had sought out the freelance’s services, keen on putting to good use again her heroics back at the Albeck manor. And as well, begged the freelance to save the damsels should any harm be imminent upon them… even at risk of earning Roland the lord’s wrath.
“They be safe an’ sound, thankfully ’nough. But only for this while,” Frieda confirmed, before a grave look passed over her eyes. “Ina, Carola—the viscount’s made bargainin’ chips o’ them, Rolf. An’ when the deal’s all set an’ seal’d, I reckon the lord’ll not ’old back ’is ’orses ’ny longer, if you get the meanin’.”
“Not to worry,” I assured her. “This night’ll be his last.”
Graveness turned to gratitude. “Rolf. I’m right glad you’ve come,” Frieda said sincerely. “Not that I thought you wouldn’t, but… ‘twas a tall request, I must admit. Beck’nin’ ya behind en’my lines an’ all—fishy-like, I know. But, you’ve seen what’s become o’ me. Had you not shown up when you did—oh, I shudder to think…”
“There’s nothing for it,” I said. “With guards here in spades, you had your work cut out for you. But knights were thrown into the mix, badly enough… I doubt even an eagle-eyed crook could’ve seen that coming—much less escape unscathed.”
“I s’pose not,” conceded Frieda, “though, I’ve managed to filch a fine ‘gem’ ’fore they roped me up.” Her eyes glinted. “The lord’s bedchamber—I’ve found out where ’tis.”
Frieda then pointed ahead. The end was in sight at last. Indeed, if all had gone smoothly with him, we ought run into Sig soon enough, as well.
“What of the Concern?” I asked Frieda as we pressed further along. “They’ve not put two and two together when they questioned you, I trust?”
“Oh, they tried puttin’ together summat, all right. But I’m ’appy to report, I’ve kept my cover till the end,” she answered proudly. “But, fact is, the viscount—he can’t be arsed ’bout that business, even if the scum ’ad it in ’im. No; all ’e wants is women, Rolf. But with no handshake as yet, he’s ’ad to keep his off o’ Ina an’ Carola. An’ that’s when ’e thought to make do—with me.”
Dragged to a bedchamber, tossed upon the sheets, torn from every strand of cloth—all whilst bound by rope. Thereafter did the lord have his way with her, as Frieda recounted.
Only, there was a twist.
“Barked up the wrong tree, has he?” I guessed.
“Aye, as ’ny dog would,” Frieda nodded. “Leant in right close with ’is bawdy face, he did. So, I leant in close myself—an’ took a gashin’ bite right out o’ his gob.” There, Frieda flashed a toothy grin. “Squeal’d an’ squirm’d like the swine ’e is. But after a while, he got up, real wroth-like, an’ smack’d me ’cross the room. Had ’is fill o’ feistiness, I reckon, ’cos after that, he lock’d me right back up—an’ that’s where ya found me.”
“I see. Had it rough, haven’t you?” I quietly noted.
“Rough?” Frieda echoed, raising a brow before wagging a hand dismissively. “Takes more than ‘rough’ to ruffle me.”
Ever a marvel of resolve, Frieda, and as selfless as they come besides, for it was clear to me that she worried much for Ina and Carola, scarred as they were. But in truth, Frieda herself shared those very same scars. Yet here she was, setting her troubles aside and risking life and limb to save her companions.
“You’re a dauntless one, Frieda,” I remarked, “and not one who pretends it, at that. Still, if ever you need a helping hand, just say the word. I’ll happily offer mine.”
“My thanks. But just your coming is ’elp ’nough,” Frieda returned, smiling with such warmth that one could rightfully mistake her for a maiden than a mercenary. “What ’bout you, Rolf?” she asked. “Had a rough time yourself, lookin’ at ya.”
“Rough enough,” I answered, sensing her glance upon the red graze at my shoulder. “Ran into an old ‘friend’—a spellweaver, along with her band of bolstered knights. Gave me the slip, she did, but she’ll not be a nuisance again, if I have to guess. Not tonight, at any rate.”
“‘She’?” Frieda said.
I nodded. “Aye; what of it?”
Looking to her, I found Frieda’s face wide with new wonder—and in her eyes, a kindled glint, like an intrepid miner nearing a mother lode.
“A lass my height, I hope? With ’air dark as night?” enquired Frieda. “An’ teats big, an’ brains tiny?”
“Endowment does such a thing to a woman…?” I doubted under my breath. “Can’t very well speak to that, but your description sorts square enough—Sheila’s her name.”
“An’ never again a ‘nuisance’?” Frieda asked on. “Tell me: what’s fallen ’pon this ‘Sheila’?”
“My blade is what,” I confirmed. “‘Disarmed’ her, you could say. But she’s fled, though whether with her life or no, I can guess little.”
With that, full and mischievous mirth shone upon Frieda’s face, and there she slapped my shoulder in glee.
“Fweh heheheh!” she cackled, like a witch over a cauldron. “Serves ’er right! Aye, I knew ya had it in ya, Rolf!”
It would seem some foul flame had been sparked between the two—and that Frieda had counted on me to settle the score. She revealed to me an expression then, as one would give to a fellow most trusted. Even to a man as few-friended as I, such feelings were clear to see.
And how glad it made me to.
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Thanks for the chapter.
Nice to see Frieda meet up with Rolf again, and it is amusing to see one of the very few funny moments in the story, with the repeated meetings au natural.