Monsters of Lake Gravendon

By Anita Seabright

Chaos doesn’t follow her around. It doesn’t have to. She finds it on her own.

She steals from the wrong man, lands the new liege lord in jail then goes off on a quest to slay a monster.

She’s rash and too curious for her own good. it’s a miracle the little thief, with her overdeveloped sense of right and wrong and her urge to save other people’s lives instead of her own, survived for 15 years – give-or-take a few, because no one counted in the orphanage.

Is it really a miracle? Do the gods guard her steps? Or does she have a secret?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anita Seabright
• Release date: Apr 11, 2021

Book preview

Monsters of Lake Gravendon

Copyright © 2019 by Anita Szeitz

All humans, monsters, and gods in this story are imaginary or used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, places or beings is coincidental.

www.anitaseabright.com

Contents

A Suitable Grandfather

Thieves

Shadow

Lord Virion

Tranquil Weekdays

The Assignment

The Golden Goose

Report

Pear Tree and Lake Gravendon

Locked up

Shadows of the Past

Assassination Attempt

Boots, Ham, Cutlery

Balls and Prayers

Secrets

Black Bull

Ghost Story

Invitation

Hunting accident

The Monster’s True Face

Preconceptions

Fountain of Sighs

Meeting

Preparations

Trip

Fight on the Clearing

Monsters of Lake Gravendon

Between Life and Death

Life

Home

A Suitable Grandfather

I’m sitting on the wide branch of a tree, enjoying the autumn afternoon, lazily watching the sunlight glinting off the helmets of the city watch looking for me below. The timing of a crime is important if you want to be comfortable while being chased. Climbing a tree to avoid your pursuers can be risky because if they find you, you have nowhere to run, but I bet the guards won’t look up. For some reason, people seldom do, when they search for others. I had bet against worse odds, anyway. I smile as I remember the time when Tim stole, I mean liberated, the old cockerel waiting for slaughter at the kitchen of the orphanage and entered it in the cockfights. I bet both my coppers on that stupid bird half the size of its opponent because Tim somehow convinced me that betting against your friends was not cool.

My smile fades when the less pleasant memories surface in my mind. I don’t want to think about that godforsaken night. It’s enough to say that after Tim’s death I had no intention of staying in the orphanage, as I don’t want to stay in this stupid tree anymore. How long does it take for the guards to give up on finding me, anyway? I did nothing wrong, I just sold a horse. How was I to know it was the captain’s horse? It’s totally his fault for not wearing his uniform.

It’s time to move on if I want to reach the next city before nightfall. The helmets are glinting a little ways away and I’m pretty sure I can outrun any guard since they wear heavy armor. I cautiously climb down the tree and head east. My good mood returns after a while. The money I got for the captain’s horse will buy me dinner.

Nice dinners are served in nice taverns. Unfortunately, wandering orphans are not welcomed in nice taverns, and proper ladies don’t travel alone, while the ladies of disputable reputation are expected to sell their bodies. I, however, did not work so hard on becoming a good thief, to then lay with drunks. I could dress up as a man. With my thin figure and young face – I think I’m around fifteen years old, but no one counted at the orphanage – I can pass for a baby-faced man.

I’m lucky because my oh-so-common brown eyes and brown hair are combined with a forgettable face, which comes in handy when you spend the better part of your life being chased.

The main problem with dressing up as a man is that a young lad dining alone will be bullied, beaten and robbed if he can’t defend himself.

The obvious solution would be to have a grandfather.

Luckily, the cities are full of suitable grandfathers, I just need to find the right one. I look at the beggars on the stairs of the temples and find a promising candidate in front of the Chapel of Smiths. He has both his hands, both his legs and most of his teeth. If he combs his unruly gray hair and washes his face, he could look like an acceptable traveler. I sit beside him, offer him one of my recently bought apples and test how well he understands subtle hints.

Hi grandpa, I brought you an apple. If you had your rest we can continue on our way to the tavern. He looks baffled, but I don’t let him get a word in edgeways. I’m pretty sure no one pays any attention to us and it’s totally unnecessary to be so circumspect, but I enjoy the game and the flabbergasted look on the old man’s face. You know I’d be happy to go ahead and order dinner by the time you arrive, but the innkeepers in these parts are so backward they wouldn’t serve a girl, no matter how I swore my grandpa was on his way.

A slow grin spreads across his face as he understands what I’m getting at and the twinkle of the coming fun lights up his blue eyes.

Of course, I’m rested. Even Trion the Strong doesn’t remember how long I’ve been sitting on the steps of his chapel, he grumbles. Tell me you didn’t spend all your money on those apples, he inquires politely about my financial situation.

Don’t worry, gramps, I still have almost all I’ve got for the horse.

He scrutinizes my face. I think he’s trying to determine if I’m serious. I reassure him with a tiny nod and he looks at me with respect. He doesn’t ask stupid questions, like whose horse it was or why am I wasting my money. I smile, relieved. I knew he was cool.

Dinner sounds good. I can’t remember the last time I had a decent roast and I could do with some wine too. His tone is kind of questioning, unsure. It makes me feel in control. I’m beginning to really like this guy.

I could drink some wine, I answer as a last test and he does look mildly surprised but I see no judgment on his wrinkled face. He treats me like a person and I like that a lot. Most people take one look at me, notice my age and act as though I’m an invalid.

He slowly gets to his feet and I give him a helping hand up.

Which tavern were we going? he asks.

You know, that fancy one we haven’t visited for a long time, I answer.

We smile at each other because we’re on the same page and we go on our way.

He chooses the tavern because he knows where he’s least likely to be recognized. I select our traveling clothes from some well-situated cloth-lines. We wash up at the well of an abandoned house and I even grab us luggage off an arriving stage-coach. The lofty merchant getting out doesn’t see a thing and he has so much stuff I wouldn’t be surprised if he never realized something went missing. Thus geared up we arrive at the tavern as tired travelers. Grandpa sits down at a table while I order a room, the roast and drinks. My money barely covers the costs but it is worth it, and tomorrow is so far away, why should I worry about it now?

The old man is totally cool, we have fun talking, and after dinner he vanishes into the night. I unobtrusively move into my room and fall asleep instantly under the soft covers.

Thieves

I wake up early and decide to look through the luggage before I leave, in case it contains something worth keeping. There are lots of papers, most with scribbles. Useless, since I can neither read nor write. There’s a fancy gilded dagger I can sell for a good price. There’s also a bunch of male underwear, five sizes too big. I’m about to discard the bag when my fingers touch something hard at its side. With a little effort, I find a hidden enclosure and open it. It contains vials of smelly potions wrapped up in pieces of clothes, some lock-picks, and four different signet-rings. Ooooops. These aren’t an ordinary merchant’s undergarments.

I hesitate for a heartbeat then I take the dagger, the lock-picks, and the rings, after all, what are the odds of him finding me in such a big city? I will sell these two towns over and everything will be fine.

The window of my room overlooks a secluded alleyway. I make sure no one’s looking then throw the bag as far as I can. Since I’m not in the mood to explain to the innkeeper why I’m leaving alone, I choose to exit through the window as well. I’m just about to turn the corner when I see four black-clad swordsmen barge into the tavern.

The innkeeper tells them which room is mine after very short persuasion and I don’t stick around to find out what they want, but run away as fast as I can. I run until I realize if they’ve found me they will certainly find the old beggar as well.

I could leave. I don’t owe him anything. He had the better end of the deal yesterday. I paid for everything with my hard-earned money. Anyway, he’s old, so he can obviously take care of himself, otherwise, he’d be dead already. … On the other hand… I really don’t want him to die now, and certainly not because of me. I change directions and keep on running, a little more carefully and with a lot more purpose.

The good news is, the grim swordsmen don’t find me. The bad news is, I’m late. When I arrive at the Chapel of Smiths two armed thugs are already dragging the old man away. I am well aware this is the situation where one might need a good plan and backup, but unfortunately, I’m not about to get any of those things, so I just follow the conspicuous trio. It is easy at first. A black uniform is ideal for hiding in the dark, but in the colorful swirl of the waking city it stands out. However, as we leave the marketplace and get to secluded alleyways I’m the one becoming more and more noticeable. Moreover, I start to suspect there will be guards as we get closer to our goal. When they stop to put a sack over the old man’s head I step out of the shadows and say politely but firmly that I want to speak with their boss and insist on getting a hood. I’m hoping if they bother to hide our destination they haven’t decided to kill us yet. We might even survive. At least the old man could. If I'm lucky and I didn't bring everything that was important to them in that bag I have something to bargain with.

They search me and take the dagger but leave the rings. They are obviously only looking for weapons for now. I get the coveted hood and we continue on our way. We zig-zag for a few minutes and get turned around a couple of times. I try to memorize the route. We walk sixty steps on a smooth dirt road then turn left and I feel the stench of urine which slowly gives way to the smell of rotten cabbages. After a right turn, we walk twenty steps on flagstones then turn right again to another dirt road. In the end, though, we turn so many times I can’t keep it in mind. I give up long before we stop. I hear the click of a lock, we step into musty smelling coolness and they take off the hood.

We find ourselves in a room exactly as bleak as I expected. Four gray walls, dirt floor, almost no furniture. I try not to think about how the lack of furniture must make it easier to clean up the blood.

There’s an armchair near one of the walls. A thirty-something guy, clad in the now-familiar black clothes, is sitting in it. There are two grim bodyguards on either side. Now would be a good time for a plan, which I still don’t have, so I just start talking and hope for the best.

Thank you for meeting us at this early hour. I have good news. I’ve found your friend's bag. I'd love to show you where it is. The old man doesn’t know anything, so you might as well take him back to his favorite temple or wherever he wants to go.

The boss raises an eyebrow. Just the one. So cool! I’ve always wanted to be able to do that. I even practiced it looking at my reflection in the pond for half an hour one summer. I expect the swordsman would not appreciate me asking how long he had practiced. I wisely keep my mouth shut, but the thought helps chase the dread back a tiny bit.

The old beggar looks at me in disbelief.

This was your plan? Are you quite mad? You had a chance to get away and you chose to come back?

And now you might have a chance to get away. What is wrong with this plan? The old man just gapes at me, speechless, which finally gives the boss the opportunity to speak.

So you are the brain behind the operation, he says to me. Curious. Why did you take the bag?

I needed it for disguise, I say matter-of-factly.

He raises that one eyebrow again, questioningly. I decide it would be best to tell the truth, that it was all an unfortunate misunderstanding. I tell them how I set out to find a grandfather and the garments. I don’t mention where I got the money from and what I did with the bag. Of course, he asks about the latter, glancing meaningfully at the dagger.

I see you searched the bag. What did you do with it afterward?

Oh, yeah, I brought the dagger to prove I have the information I answer improvising but I’d like to save the details for later, after we part from the old man.

Face darkening, the boss menacingly gets up off his chair, stalks around me in a slow circle, then looks down into my eyes. My heart stops a little bit.

I think we, he says encompassing his bodyguards and the other henchmen with a leisurely gesture could convince you to tell us what we want to know.

Sure. No questions there. However, the old man really doesn’t know anything. You lose nothing by letting him go and it would be much better for everyone if I led you to the bag voluntarily. You wouldn’t have to clean my blood off the walls, for one thing. And you know I could lie during the beating, I try to sound nonchalant and I don’t know how many staving teenage girls you torture routinely but what if I die before I tell you what you want to know?

I can assure you, my men are very skillful, he says menacingly, but afterward he generously adds but honoring our treaty with the beggars’ guild, we can take your grandfather back to the temple.

Having heard this, the old man finally finds his tongue and tries to help me out of the hole I’ve been systematically digging myself into for the past half hour.

If I may suggest most respectfully, the girl might be more useful alive than dead in the long run as well, for she did manage to borrow your friend’s bag without being noticed and also got away from your esteemed colleagues. They might never have found her if she hadn't come back voluntarily.

Our grim captor looks at the beggar icily.

If I need your advice, I know where to find you.

I swear his controlled rage is more frightening than it would be if he simply hit the old man. I’d never have imagined brown eyes could be this cold.

Enough of this, let’s get the bag, he says and starts for the door.

I don’t demand assurances they won’t kill the old man after I give them what they want. I wouldn’t get any. This is the best deal I can make. From now on I need to concentrate on my own predicament. I have to convince the boss what an obedient and useful

Reviews for Monsters of Lake Gravendon

[Puppet Fix · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Funny and sweet fantasy book. I couldn't put it down.