A disturbing premonition

[grumbold99]

The sun shone warmly down upon Boldhome as Grumbold paced along the street as he returned to his shop after attending the ceremony. It had been an uplifting experience and his senses still thrummed. He was sure that it heralded the presence of the divine blessing their devotion, a rare and wonderous occurrence that had inspired him to join the faith in the first place and kept him striving to rise in the ranks of the priesthood. Who would not do so, if it meant feeling the presence of the divine more often, or with more certainty?

The shop was calm and peaceful today. The Feast was over and the frantic rush of customers with last minute adjustments had been replaced by a spent and satisfied silence. Everything had gone smoothly.

"Dorcan, please take the rest of the afternoon off. I can manage the shop alone, there's not much to do but tidy things away and check how badly our stocks have been depleted. Go, take a stroll and enjoy the sunshine."

Latching the door behind the departing clerk, Grumbold flipped the sign in the doorway to "please knock firmly if you require entry" and retired to the stockroom. The shelves filled the room from floor to ceiling, rolls of fabric in vibrant hues, ribbons and lace in many patterns and conspicuous gaps where many items had been exhausted. In the centre of the room the dummies stood, mostly empty now the clothes hung on them had been sold. One last dummy still stood proudly displaying a half complete jacket. There had been no need to toil over it late at night once it was certain that he would not himself be attending the Queen's Feast.

With delicate reverence he ran his fingers over the fabric, revelling in the quality. Suddenly there was a sharp, stabbing pain as a hidden dressmakers needle pierced the flesh of his middle finger. A large bead of blood welled up and soaked into the cloth. A sharp chill thrummed through his nerves, a wrenching sense of loss. It was not the ruination of the garment that caused it, he knew. It was far worse.

Issaries had spoken. Somewhere, on some distant battlefield, a cherished and valued customer had died.