Revolting Rose

Chapter 4/Part 1 - Exposé

When he roused from a truly dreadful rest, Pagne bumped his nose on the damp ceiling of the cellar, tumbled down the reason for his poor quality of sleep, then came to a halt at Saloonka's heels. He had been on top of a pile of every mirror, and from the size of it, likely every crown and jewel that the Academy had stashed within its walls.

Saloonka seemed to be too fixated on his own reflection to notice that Pagne was now awake and not in a good mood.

"You're still lingering like that smoke you breathe," he coughed up at the fiend, then, feeling a little peculiar around his loins, he looked at his legs.

His clothes had changed. His breeches had shrunk into a pair of short bloomers, his vest had been covered in frills and bows and his coat had been cleaned and restyled. Thankfully he had also been given a pair of brown, thigh-length, laced boots to cover most of his exposed legs. Saloonka must have dressed him while he was sleeping.

"Fire, Franz. I'm part dragon, therefore I have to breathe fire," the fiend said without peeling his eyes away from the mirror.

Pagne stood up and pushed a finger into Saloonka's sternum. "Just like you have to collect mirrors and other folk's money because you're the son of a pimp?" he sneered and gave him another stern jab. "Before you go thinking of yourself as royalty, know that your slimy father doesn't rule anything but this bordello, and even then it is only very loosely ruled!"

Saloonka reached over and absently stroked Pagne's head as he delivered his lecture. It gave him the feeling that the fellow was not listening, but that did not stop him from continuing.

"I've heard so many fantastic stories about the Wyverkiiri King, and I've hoped for as long as I remember that I might get to see him myself, but if he really is Vrye, then I know everything I've ever heard about him can't possibly be true. I feel like a thousand ogres have shat on my dreams!" he finished with an angry heave of his little lungs and kicked a jewel that had strayed from Saloonka's hoard.

The thing was heavier than he anticipated and did not move an inch after his assault. However, his toe was now taking his mind off the pain sleeping on a pile of trinkets had caused.

"Dad is brilliant, isn't he? I'm glad you like him," Saloonka chimed in spite of it all. "What's so bad about being a peasant?"

Pagne's mouth flapped open and shut a few times, until he finally uttered an uncertain hum. "They're...err...they're dirty..." he murmured.

He did not have as much of a problem with the lower classes as his father or Lord Kabech, and even wanted to do what he could to improve their lot, as long as he could do so out of range of the smell they were rumoured to have. As for what was precisely wrong with them, Pagne had no idea. They just were.

"This shiny junk isn't going to clean anyone. Baths and soap are better for dirt removal. Perfume doesn't do any good for real cleanliness either, you little stinker, you. So, I'll keep them safe here."

Pagne sniffed at his new clothes. He was beginning to smell of the Academy, Saloonka, and an overpowering bouquet of flowers all at once. It made him sneeze. Saloonka also sneezed, blowing his smoke-rat out of his nose.

"Can you put in some pillows next time, if you're going to insist on adding me to your collection?" Pagne asked. An ache in his back was starting to overpower the pain in his toe. "Also, if you don't put everything back, I will have to risk being eaten and take you back to the palace." He quickly glance around to see what could be used to defend him should the fiend take unkindly to his tone and settled on a handful of smaller jewels.

"You seem awfully touchy today, Franz. Did you wake up on the wrong side of my hoard?" Saloonka scoffed and flicked him in the forehead.

Pagne fumed, with anger and perfume.

"If I must," the fiend sighed and blew a long stream of smoke over him. "I'll put the glitzy stuff back. Just stop making that face at me."

"And the mirrors."

"I suppose I ought to listen to my marbles, but I'm keeping this one." Saloonka shook Vrye's hand mirror at him.

"You really are like your father," Pagne grumbled bitterly to himself. "Now, get to work."

Saloonka shovelled an armful of glittery nonsense onto him and patted a pocket of his frilled vest. "I catalogued every piece in the little black book, so you should be able to put everything back without any trouble," he said flippantly.

Pagne stifled the urge to smack the grin off Saloonka's face, not that he had a free hand for it. "Will you help at least?"

"I have some other business to attend to, Sugar Lump," the fiend said and disappeared behind the mound.

Pagne muttered some choice unpleasantries and marched out. It did not help any that the notebook contained only poor illustrations, without a single word to describe any of the places he was searching for, nor which jewels belonged to each picture.

As he wandered the halls searching for what some kind of potted plant under a picture of a reclining carrot, he heard a joyous uproar and barely managed to slip into a room unnoticed before a stampede of all the Wyverkiiri in the Academy passed by. They were all caterwauling about an expedition to the market, which was something Pagne never expected them to get so excited about given the loss of all their savings.

He shrugged it off and returned to his business.

His task would probably take him countless hours, even with the Academy vacated as it was. Most of that time being spent deciphering the little black book. The only scribble that made any sense, if only a little, was a picture of Vrye, tied to a spit, over a roaring fire, with some vegetables drawn beside him. Pagne flicked through the other pages, then sighed and trundled off in search of a writing implement instead.

Alas, all he could find without too much intrusion into private drawers was a golden quill by the entrance. He sneered at it, then tore a page from the notebook and made an apologetic note regarding the hoard in the basement and slipped it under the door of Vrye's bedroom.

It would have been nice to enjoy a little peace and quiet without the Wyverkiiri, but there was still the matter of the painting that Pagne had promised to replace. Now might be his only chance, so he moseyed off to gather some silver pieces from his luggage before venturing out into the city.