Chương 9: Part 1 : A Roof Overhead

The receptionist left the key on the counter, his index finger resting on the metal ring as though he feared Aldric might grab it before hearing the conditions. Behind him, a small screen cast a bluish glow across his face while a clock hanging on the wall ticked away the seconds in a silence broken only by the faint hum of a lamp. The hotel was nothing like the palaces Aldric had known. The ceiling was low, the wallpaper peeled away near the baseboards, and dark stains marked the carpet.

The smell of cleaning products mixed with the scent of dust. Yet the place had thick walls, a sturdy door, and a roof that kept out both the rain and the wind. After spending the previous night in a park, that alone was enough to make him feel as though he had stepped into a noble manor.

"I need to move some furniture from the third floor," the receptionist explained.

"The owner wants to clear out a room, but the guy who was supposed to help me never showed up. There's a wardrobe, a bed, and a dresser that need to go down to the basement. If you do that, you can stay here for the night." Aldric studied the man. He looked to be in his forties, but exhaustion had carved deep lines into his face. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing thin forearms. A small dark stain marked the collar of his shirt, and several stacks of papers lay behind the counter.

He looked neither like a merchant nor the owner of a prosperous inn. He simply looked like a man trying to accomplish a job that was too heavy for one person.

"You wish me to carry three pieces of furniture down to your basement in exchange for a room," Aldric summarized.

"That's right. But I should warn you, the staircase is narrow. The wardrobe is old and really heavy. We'll probably have to take it apart."

"That won't be necessary."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"All right. But if you break anything, the deal is off."

"I will treat your belongings with care." Aldric reached for the key, but the receptionist pulled it back.

"The furniture first."

"A reasonable precaution." The man walked around the counter and motioned for Aldric to follow him. A hallway stretched behind the reception desk, lined with several doors. The walls were covered in beige wallpaper patterned with intertwined leaves. A lamp shone from the ceiling without a candle or flame. As he passed beneath it, Aldric looked up, fascinated by the white light trapped behind a sheet of glass. It produced no smoke, no heat, and no smell of oil.

"How do you power these lamps?" he asked. The receptionist looked back at him.

"With electricity."

"Is that a form of mana?"

"A form of what?"

"Magical energy."

"No. It's electricity."

"What is the difference?" The man was silent for a few seconds.

"I'm not an electrician."

"I understand. You use this artifact without knowing how it works."

"Like almost everyone," he replied. The answer unsettled Aldric. In his world, a magical artifact could only be used by someone who understood at least how to activate it and the dangers associated with its energy. Here, people relied on machines whose exact workings they did not understand, placing absolute trust in them. Perhaps electricity was so stable that it posed no danger. Or perhaps the craftsmen responsible for maintaining it belonged to an order comparable to the Imperial Mages.

They reached a staircase covered with a red carpet. The steps were narrow and spiraled around a central shaft. Aldric rested a hand on the banister. The wood showed signs of wear, but it felt sturdy. As they climbed, the plates of his armor scraped lightly against the walls. The receptionist kept glancing back to make sure Aldric wasn't knocking any of the framed pictures off the walls as he passed.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Aldric of Valdor."

"I'm Samir."

"Thank you for your hospitality, Samir."

"You haven't earned the room yet."

"I will." They reached the third floor. The hallway smelled of damp wood. Stacks of folded sheets sat on a trolley alongside small bottles, rolls of paper, and neatly folded towels. A woman wearing a blue housekeeping uniform stepped out of one of the rooms with a black bag in her hand. She stopped when she saw Aldric.

"Who's that?" she asked.

"He's helping me with Room Thirty-Seven."

"Dressed like that?"

"Don't ask questions." The woman's eyes drifted to the black blood covering Aldric's breastplate. If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

"Wasn't planning to." Samir took a key from his pocket and unlocked a door at the end of the hallway. Dust rose into the air as soon as he stepped inside. Aldric followed him, discovering a room packed with furniture. A wardrobe covered an entire wall, its dark wooden frame rising almost to the ceiling. The bed leaned against the opposite wall, its frame already taken apart into several pieces. A dresser blocked access to the window, while cardboard boxes were piled in the corners.

"The owner wants to renovate the room," Samir explained.

"Everything made of wood has to go down to the basement. The boxes stay here." Aldric walked over to the wardrobe. Its doors were carved with floral patterns. He placed one hand against the side and gave it a gentle push. The wardrobe creaked but barely moved.

"Is it full?" he asked.

"No. The wood is just really heavy." Aldric opened the doors. Inside, several shelves were built into the frame. He removed them one by one and placed them on the bed.

"I was planning to take the doors off," Samir said.

"That would weaken the hinges."

"You know your way around furniture?"

"I've moved fortress gates heavier than this wardrobe." Samir stared at him for a moment, then ran a hand down his face.

"Right." Aldric stepped in front of the wardrobe, wrapped his arms around both sides, and bent his knees. His fingers pressed slightly into the wood. He took a breath, then lifted. The wardrobe rose off the floor.

"Wait!" Aldric adjusted his grip. The wardrobe towered well above his head, but its weight was only a minor burden compared to the stone blocks he had carried during the Siege of Caldris.

"Is the path clear?" he asked.

"You're really going to carry it downstairs in one piece?"

"Yes."

"You'll never make it through the staircase."

"We'll see." He walked out of the room with the wardrobe pressed against his chest. Samir followed in silence. The housekeeper was still standing beside her cart. When she saw the wardrobe moving down the hallway, she quickly stepped back against the wall.

"He's insane," she muttered.

"I think he's just incredibly strong," Samir replied. Aldric reached the staircase. He tilted the wardrobe, guiding its upper section over the banister. The first turn required greater precision. He stepped down one stair, pivoted his body, and lowered the wardrobe until one corner came within inches of the ceiling. Behind him, Samir held his breath.

"Left," he whispered.

"A little more. Watch the picture frame." Aldric turned. The wood passed just a few centimeters from the painting"Perfect," Samir murmured. They descended to the second floor, then the first. At every landing, doors opened. Guests emerged, drawn by the creaking wood and the heavy footsteps. A woman in a bathrobe watched Aldric carrying the wardrobe, then slowly closed her door without saying a word. A child burst into the hallway, his eyes shining with excitement.

"Mom! There's a knight!" A hand immediately grabbed the child's shoulder and pulled them back into the room. On the ground floor, Samir opened a door behind the reception desk. A staircase led down into a dark basement. Aldric came to a stop.

"The wardrobe won't fit through here," he admitted. Samir put his hands on his hips.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you." Aldric studied the opening. The ceiling was too low, and the wardrobe was too wide to angle through properly. He set it down in the hallway, then drew his sword. Samir took a step back.

"What are you doing?"

"Reducing its width."

"You promised you wouldn't break anything."

"I'm not going to break it." Aldric drew the blade a few inches. The runes shimmered across the metal with a faint golden glow. Samir stood perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the weapon.

"I'll separate the panels at the joints," Aldric explained.

"Not a single piece of wood will be damaged."

"You're going to take apart a wardrobe with a sword."

"Yes."

"Of course you are." Aldric placed the tip of the blade against the first wooden peg. One precise movement sliced through it without touching the panels. He repeated the process with the remaining pegs. The sides of the wardrobe gradually came apart, revealing the inner frame. He leaned each section carefully against the wall. Samir picked up one of the severed pegs.

"You cut straight through it without leaving a mark on the wood."

"This blade was forged to cut through demonic armor. A wooden peg offers no challenge."

"I think I'd rather not know." They carried the different sections down to the basement. The air smelled of damp stone, dust, and cleaning supplies. Shelves stacked with sheets, bottles, and tools lined the walls. Aldric arranged the panels in an empty corner before heading back upstairs for the bed and the dresser. The bed frame was carried down in just a few trips. The dresser, though heavy, didn't need to be taken apart. Aldric hoisted it onto one shoulder and walked down the stairs without slowing.

Samir followed behind with the drawers in his arms. When they were finished, Room Thirty-Seven contained nothing but the boxes and the shelves stacked on the floor. The evening light streamed through the window, revealing the marks the furniture had left on the wallpaper. Aldric wiped his hands against his armor.

"The task is complete." Samir looked around the empty room, then checked his watch.

"You did in twenty minutes what it would have taken two movers an hour to do."

"Perhaps they lack proper training."

"Or maybe they just can't carry a wardrobe by themselves." Aldric turned to him.

"May I have the key now?"

"You've earned it." They went back down to the reception desk. Samir picked up the key lying beside the computer screen and handed it to Aldric. A small metal tag was engraved with the number forty-two.

"Top floor, all the way at the end of the hall. The room is small, and I already warned you about the heating." Aldric took the key.

"Does it have a door?"

"Yes."

"A bed?"

"Yes."

"A roof?" Samir looked up at the ceiling.

"As far as I know."

"Then it will do." The receptionist pointed to another door near the staircase.

"The bathroom is inside the room. There's hot water, but let it run for a while before you get in. The towels are on the bed. And try not to get blood everywhere."

"I will do my best." Aldric started to walk away, but Samir called after him.

"Your sword." He turned around.

"You really sleep with it?"

"Always."

"All right. As long as it stays in its sheath."

"It will." Aldric climbed the stairs. The fatigue he had kept at bay while moving the furniture returned the moment he reached the first floor. His ribs protested beneath his armor, and pain shot through his side with every step. He slowed but did not stop. The hallways were quieter than when he had first arrived. Behind some of the doors came the sound of voices, mixed with music and the strange devices the locals called televisions. The scents of soap, food, and freshly washed fabric drifted through the air.

On the top floor, the ceiling followed the slope of the roof. The walls were narrower, and the carpet was marked by several old stains. A single lamp lit the hallway. Aldric reached Room Forty-Two and inserted the key into the lock. It resisted slightly before turning. The door swung open. The room was smaller than the cell he had once occupied in the Royal Guard barracks. A narrow bed stood against the wall beneath a gray blanket. A small table sat beside the window with a single chair.

A wooden cabinet supported a small black box, while another door led to an even smaller room. The wallpaper was pale and cracked in several places, and a pipe ran across part of the ceiling. Aldric remained standing in the doorway. No marble columns supported the roof. No embroidered carpets covered the floor. There was no fireplace, no servants, no armory. Yet the room possessed something no military camp had offered him in years. A door he could lock. He stepped inside and rested a hand on the door.

The wood swung shut, cutting off the sounds of the hallway. Aldric turned the key. A simple, clean click echoed through the room. For this one night, the room was his.