A/N: Thanks to CampsMcCamper, Ozymandeos and OnnaMusha for your reviews on the last chapter. Llovesi and Julan may not yet know how to deal with what Mournhold and its inhabitants throw at them, but the cogs start turning a little faster in this chapter... As an aside this chapter is later today because it took me for ever to get DocManager to accept the changes. Curse my terrible internet!
Chapter 7: Freedom of the Press
The papers fluttered in the wind and flew into the air as if they were a newly released flock of butterflies, eager to find their freedom. Llovesi reached down and picked one up.
'The Common Tongue, Issue no. 3': the bold title was proudly emblazoned across the top of the yellowed parchment.
'A Terror Below the Surface?' it asked.
Llovesi glanced at Julan, and began to read out loud:
"I have a little secret. It is common knowledge.
"Knowledge is power. Knowledge is common to us all. And, every citizen in Mournhold knows about the secret dangers that lurk beneath our streets.
"But now 'The Common Tongue' has received reports that goblins have been sighted in Godsreach, on our streets. The goblins are becoming bolder, and if reports of the trained Durzogs they keep below the streets in Old Mournhold are to be believed, they are becoming cleverer.
"What could have caused such a change? Two names. Yarnar and Armion. These names are common knowledge. An Altmer drillmaster and an Altmer warrior, both members of King Helseth's entourage in Wayrest. But what has become of the pair since King Helseth's relocation to Mournhold? This is a little secret. But it is common knowledge that both Altmer were known for their innovative techniques in training animals for use in battle.
"'The Common Tongue' does not wish to suggest that King Helseth is raising a goblin army. There is absolutely no evidence to suggest an attempt to liaise or work with the goblins below the streets. And there is no evidence to suggest that the disappearance of the King's military strategists is in any way linked to a rise in goblin activity. Although our King is known for his ambition, there is nothing to suggest that these events are anything but a coincidence.
"Besides, it is common knowledge that the only dangers in Mournhold lurk below our streets."
Llovesi lowered the broadsheet again. "Well, they're really trying to scare people now."
Julan snorted. "A goblin army? I don't think I've ever heard something so ridiculous." But his voice was a little uncertain.
He reached to take the paper, but as his fingers brushed over the title, the ink smudged. He rubbed finger and thumb together thoughtfully, the black ink staining them.
"Ink's still a bit wet," he said. "These can't have been printed long ago."
Llovesi watched as the papers danced across the cobbles of the Great Bazaar, darting through the crowd, smacking into the pet scribs and pack rats being sold by a nearby street trader. He shook their leashes irritably, and the papers continued on their journey.
"There're so many of them," she said. "Whoever is printing them must have access to some sort of facility. I wonder... if I wanted to get something professionally printed in Mournhold, a book perhaps, or a newspaper for the public interest–where would I go?"
"I'd go to the Craftsmen's Hall." The unfamiliar voice piped up behind them, making them both jump. It was the Breton pet-seller. He gestured the leads at them, almost desperately. "Pets or meat–can I interest either of you in a fine scrib or rat today?"
"Er, no thank you," Llovesi said quickly. "What was that you were saying about the Craftsmen's Hall?"
The man looked slightly bashful. "I didn't mean to overhear, but if you're looking to get something printed, that's where I'd look. It's in the eastern parts of Godsreach, near all the museums, restaurants and taverns–it's where all the tradespeople work–enchanters, blacksmiths, tailors, and I bet publishers too. You're sure I can't interest you in–"
"Really quite sure," Llovesi said, folding the broadsheet and stowing it in her pocket.
The man slumped sadly. "It's all the same. All this work into training them, and no one wants to buy... Maybe it's the weather, there's some oppressive atmosphere around for sure. Still, Merchants' Festival in a few days, got to keep my hopes up..." He glanced up suddenly. "Say, you look awfully familiar–"
But Llovesi and Julan were long gone.
The Craftsmen's Hall was less a hall, more a large complex of the green-stone buildings surrounding a courtyard. Llovesi and Julan entered the main building: a din of shouts and footsteps, the sound of hammers on anvils, and a melting pot for the scents of tanning vats, coals, and the very sharp and particular scent of magic.
There were many doors leading away from the large main hall so, not knowing which way to turn, Llovesi approached the Dunmer clerk working behind the desk towards the back of the hall.
"Excuse me," she said. "I'm looking for your printing or publishing facilities?"
The clerk looked the pair of them up and down, and crossed his arms.
"Let me make this clear," he said. "There are no writers, publishers or printers to be found here, you understand? The amount of times I've had visitors like you recently... You're fooling no one. Ask me again, and I'll tell you the exact same thing. Good day."
He returned to the scroll he was reading, resolutely ignoring Llovesi's further attempts to ask questions. She turned to Julan and shrugged, and they both retreated down a nearby corridor.
"He knows something," Julan muttered. "He's about as good as lying as Crassius Curio is at subtlety."
"Because he doesn't need to lie well," Llovesi said. "You heard him–I bet after the first issue of 'The Common Tongue' appeared the guards came straight here to find out who was responsible. He was proud to defend the secret."
"Then it looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way," Julan said, and set off down the corridor. "It seems he doesn't mind us looking around, so, let's start looking."
They started their search, combing the corridors, checking every door. They wandered through alchemy labs, where the sound of bubbling alembics mixed with the pounding of pestles against mortars. They found tailors, hard at work stitching intricate designs onto rich cuts of fabric: crimsons, indigos and verdant greens. They found enchanters, examining and chipping away at soul gems, or infusing small blades and rings with a magical glow. The acrid spark of magic spiced the air.
But they found no writers.
The had just left the deafening blacksmith's, where it was hard to even think over the roaring forges and metal hitting metal, when Julan paused by a door and frowned.
"Look at this," he said, pointing out the door's plaque. It read: 'Craftsmen only. Everyone else: keep out!'
"That's strange," Llovesi said. "None of the other store rooms had that sign."
"And they didn't have such complex locks, either," Julan said, crouching down so that his eye was level with the door's keyhole. "But, still, I should be able... give me a minute."
He brushed his hair behind his ear and placed his palm against the door. Magicka glowed at his fingertips, and Llovesi could hear a soft clicking as he began to work.
Llovesi glanced both ways down the corridor, but there was no need. No one was coming, and Julan had the lock open.
"You know," she said, her voice full of admiration as he straightened up, "I never even asked you where you learnt to do that."
"Oh, me and Sha used to challenge each other, see what we could break into. She used her picks and I used my magicka. We never took anything of course!" he added hastily. "It was more just to show off to one another. Anyway..."
He pushed the door open.
It looked to be another storage room for the blacksmith's: hunks of ore and strips of leather sat in piles on the shelves. However, it differed in one key aspect: the large wooden trapdoor set into the stone floor.
Llovesi reached for the large iron ring, and lifted the trapdoor clear. What happened next was most unexpected.
There was a surprised cry from below, and as she peered into the room she heard, rather than saw, figures running, heard them drawing weapons. Her hand leapt to her own dagger, but too late, one of the figures was ascending the ladder and, before she could resist, he grabbed the front of her shirt and pulled her down into the room.
Suddenly, she was struggling with a burly, armoured Dunmer. He smashed her hand against the wall, forcing her to drop her dagger, then twisted it behind her back and pushed her face into the same wall. Under any other circumstances she might have been able to throw him off, but she was disorientated from her fall.
Julan hadn't been idle. As soon as she'd been pulled down, he'd drawn his own sword and leapt after her. But Llovesi's assailant spun her round and placed his mace to her throat. The spikes pressed uncomfortably against her chin.
"Ah, ah." He shook his head. "I've never slit someone's throat with a mace before. Shall we see if it can be done? Probably wouldn't be pretty but," he glanced at Llovesi's face, "can't get much worse, can it? Drop your weapon."
Julan dropped his sword furiously, and the other Dunmer man kicked it into a corner before taking Julan's wrists.
What could they do? Disarmed, their armour sitting uselessly in the tavern a few streets away, it was fair to say they hadn't been expecting this outcome. Mournhold was definitely testing her expectations, Llovesi thought as she tried to ignore the spikes biting into her neck.
"What should we do with them, Sendel?" the Dunmer holding Llovesi asked. "Take them to Varis?"
Varis... the name sparked some memory in Llovesi's mind. "Is Varis your leader?" she asked carefully, trying to draw her throat away from the mace. "I want to speak with him."
The other man looked furious. "Don't use our names, you s'wit! Yes, I suppose we'll have to take them to the boss now, before you tell them your own name and the names of all your family too!"
Family... but Llovesi and Julan were being half-pushed, half-pulled towards a wooden door.
It opened before they could reach it. Another Dunmer, his messy auburn hair falling past his shoulders, glared at them all in turn.
"Trels? I mean boss?" The man holding Llovesi started as the one named Sendel gave him an evil look. "We apprehended these intruders trying to break in."
"I see." Trels Varis stepped forward. He seemed an unassuming man in his plain clothes, but his eyes flickered across their faces as if he were reading a book.
"What are you two doing here?" he asked. "And may I suggest you make your answer very clear, because this office and what we do here is a well-kept secret. And we wish to keep it a secret, even if it means that you do not leave here alive."
The mace against Llovesi's throat was lowered, but only slightly.
"I–we're here to...," she coughed, and started again. "You will stop printing lies about King Helseth."
Trels raised an eyebrow. "I haven't printed lies about King Helseth in 'The Common Tongue'," he said. "I've only printed the truth. The straight truth. And I intend to keep on printing the truth in 'The Common Tongue'–unless you think you can stop me."
He left the challenge dangling tantalisingly in the air, but the increased pressure on Llovesi's arms told her to think carefully about her answer.
Family... Varis...
"I know where Granny and Gee-Pop are," she said, the words flying from her mouth almost as fast as she realised her plan. "They're being watched. Stop printing lies–or else."
The atmosphere in the room seemed to hang on a thread.
"I see," Trels said, after a moment. "Well, I must say you've done your research. You've located my parents. You know, the Palace's dogs have been sniffing round for ages, but you're the first to have dug out our secret office. But then, you and your husband are of a different breed, aren't you, Llovesi?"
He smiled, letting the reaction sink in.
"Come into my office."
The hold on Llovesi's arms disappeared, and she glanced at Julan. He seemed none the worse for wear, rubbing his wrists, a little shocked perhaps. Just like her.
Trels held the door open for them, and they stepped into the newspaper's main office. Large machines, as seemingly immovable as the building itself, were lined against the wall, being fed with paper by assistants who barely looked round as they walked in. With soft thuds, the machines pressed ink onto the papers, which were then collected into neat stacks and laid in piled upon the overflowing desks. Ready for distribution.
"I have to say I'm a little surprised at your reaction, Llovesi," Trels said, inviting them to sit in front of another desk, behind all the busy work. "You and Julan must realise how conspicuous the pair of you are, running around in Mournhold. I make it my business to know everything that goes on in this city, and beyond, and I recognised you as soon as I saw you. You're hard to miss frankly," he added, his eyes darting to her scars.
"But not as surprised as I was to learn of your growing association with the Palace. Reports of the famed Nerevarine, suddenly a lapdog court creature, dragging her Ashkhan husband all over the capital of Morrowind–why are you here, Llovesi?"
"I'll not tell you that," Llovesi said, gritting her teeth. "You'll just print it in that broadsheet of yours, and then we'll all be in even more trouble."
"So, you aren't here of your own free will. Interesting. And that fits much more with what I know of you. You know as well as I do that I write the truth. It also explains why three men who recently managed to get in touch with me have suddenly disappeared–but not died, it appears. You too are moving things in your own little way."
He tapped his chin thoughtfully.
"Perhaps we can help each other out."
"We have been told to get you to stop printing about King Helseth," Julan said, spitting the words out s if they were posion in his mouth. "And if you do not then more people will probably be hurt. There is more at stake here than the truth." His voice broke on the last word, and something like sympathy appeared on Trels's face.
"Yes, I had wondered about the rumours of what originally brought you both here... Very well, I am a man of my word. I believe there is no greater stake than the truth, but then again, up until now, my own family had not been threatened. If I tell you I will no longer discuss King Helseth, then I will not. I do not lie. In my paper or otherwise."
He gave them a tight-lipped smile.
"Perhaps there are other things I should turn my attention too. After all, Helseth is not the only source of problems in this city. Of course we will have to move office. And I think perhaps I should change my name–so that you can give the Palace mine."
"Thank you," Llovesi muttered. She hated this–it felt like a lump of stone had replaced her heart. Trels was right–in any other circumstances she would have been on his side, fighting to overthrow the power-hungry and dangerous officials. She had been wildly hoping that somehow, finding the office of 'The Common Tongue' would have been advantageous for her and Julan, but things had started to go wrong as soon as she'd tumbled through the trapdoor.
"You're right," she said, voicing her first thought. "There are things the people have a right to know. In another world I would have been glad to be your ally."
"You think there is no possibility of us allying?" Trels asked.
Julan balled his fists. "We have reason to believe Helseth has forged documents in our names. He's blackmailing us into doing his dirty work." he said.
Trels smiled. "In my business, we fight words with words."
Llovesi and Julan glanced at each other. Was he offering what they thought he was offering?
Llovesi cleared her throat. "Say us three had a talk. We could tell you what we're doing here, what we have been doing here. You would still have to uphold our bargain–and not distribute it unless necessary–no more discussing Helseth, and a move of office. In return I could give you information, and you could–"
Trels's smile only widened. "Write one more article on his subject? No comment."
A/N: I loved writing Trels Varis, can you tell? :p I'd appreciate feedback (as always) but especially on the newspaper article as I spent quite a lot of time making sure it matched the tone of the first, in-game article as well as giving it its own theme and message. It is at this point I should mention the content of the article is also for background context, because I've actually cut two quests that I didn't think would be relevant to this story: Goblin Army and The Shrine of the Dead. The latter's 'honorary mention' will come in the next chapter.