Startup 21: New Market

Arodus 9

“Land ho!” Ratts called from his position in the crow’s nest.

“That should be Turpin's Dagger, right?” Syl asked, squinting to the south. “Only a few days to Port Peril, then.”

“Indeed.” Varossa agreed, looking up from her book. “We could turn north here, if you’d like. I don’t actually need to go to Peril.”

“Then you should have said something earlier.” I said testily. “We will be continuing regardless, but if I didn’t have things to do in Port Peril we could have stopped in Cho’Tzu for supplies.”

Varossa and I had agreed to maintain an illusion for her lackeys, pretending that she’d held that information back. They didn’t know the full itinerary, and were comforted by the fact that no one did. It let them feel important.

Bit of a shit way to control your people, but such is life.

Most of the day after the storm had been a long, tedious process of repairs. Suddenly flash freezing a sodden deck did a lot of thankfully superficial damage, not to mention things like the railing that Varossa was thrown into. I could have done the work myself using Mending, but didn’t think it would be good for my image.

Can’t have the crew see Captain M’Dair on his knees fixing cracks that he caused himself. Much better to hire a contractor.

“Captain, can you ask the men to move away from where I’m working?” The foot tall beetle man asked plaintively. “That's the third time one of them almost stepped on me.”

“Sorry!” Narwhal called. “I really needed to use the head.”

“No excuse.” I answered. “You’re drinking water tonight; no grog ration.”

The dwarf looked at me as if I’d sentenced him to the hot box, but only for a moment. He sighed and went back to work.

“Anyway, that railing is gonna be trouble.” The fey beetle continued. “I’ll need to carve a bit of wood and fit it into place. I’m willing, but I’m more of a clockwork kind of fellow. If you’re near port you may want to have a real carpenter handle it.”

“A patch job will do till then.” I said. “Safer to have something, rather than a hole. When you’re done, come back here and I’ll give you your pay.”

I flashed a small brass pocket watch, formerly owned by an artificer in Goatshead with a poor sense of business ethics. Bulabar were a type of minor fey that loved tinkering; disassembling and reassembling the watch would no doubt be hours of fun for the whole family. Easily worth one day’s work.

I stood on the deck, looking out over the sea to mask my real intention: staring at my mission log. There had indeed been consequences for killing our assailants.

The Rage of the Waves

You have slain a Xocothian, a child of the Wind and Waves. In doing so you have cemented Gozreh’s ire. You must be absolved by the high priest of a deity with the Oceans domain, or any further infraction against Gozreh will be met with instant retribution.

Reward: Peace with the gods, 2 exp, Sandara Advancement

It seemed to be piggybacking off of Advance Pay, as an extension of the random encounter. I couldn’t dismiss it in any event. With that said, it seemed to be in its own separate box. I had three missions as normal in addition to Gozreh’s Wrath. Meet a member of the High Council and have a threesome where I indulge in two women’s kinks, both of which I’d already seen, and a new one.

Without directly addressing it, convince Syl Lonegan to explicitly indulge in her greatest unexamined kink.

Reward: 1 Exp, 1 sexual reward.

Huh. I never did use Detect Sexuality on Syl. She was already sleeping with me, after all. Now I’m curious.

I looked over at Syl, who was turning the hourglass, and focused my magic on her. The fact that she was attracted to men did not shock me at all. She was turned off by controlling, disrespectful men. All very predictable.

She relishes in the sense of control that comes from deciding who her lover sleeps with. In particular, she subconsciously enjoys the idea of essentially pimping a man out for some benefit.

Yeah… that checks out.

••••••••••

After dinner, I came out on deck for a little bit of alone time. I was planning on meeting with the girls after midnight to play cards; Sosima had even managed to convince Varossa to come along. Until then, I intended to relax with my piano on the poop deck.

“I know the information you seek.” Cave Mother whispered, “It is more dangerous knowledge than you may have thought.”

I almost dropped my piano. It was easy to forget Cave Mother when I came up on deck to play at night. She didn’t speak unless spoken to as a general rule, and seemed to prefer her solitary position as a watcher. Occasionally someone would come to her for advice, and she’d give it. Generally the advice was good, or at least honest, but she had absolutely no interest in preserving anyone’s feelings. I overheard her speaking to several members of the crew over those two weeks, and noted some of them.

To Conchobar? “If you hate the sea, then why remain here? If you can answer that question, then why do you need to speak to me? If you can not, then get off at the next port or try thinking.”

To Ratts? “I commend you for recognizing the woman might reject you. I would also reject a man without enough fortitude to speak plainly of his desires. Go to her. Face her answer. Doing so will not break you, and it will free you to seek another.”

To Naomi? “Why would you ask me? I know little of taverns and I care even less. Consider the steps you must take to open one of your own. Your path will open before you, or show itself to be overgrown with thorns. If you can not bring yourself to even look at a map, then you are no traveler.”

“What information?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

If she waited to tell me when I was alone, it’s probably best to keep this private.

“Lanteri’s Patron.” Cave mother said, her voice emanating from the bust. “He is of my constellation, though of a higher order. He only bestows his full power upon those he favors.”

“I trust you’ve thought about this a lot.” I said, “but how do you know?”

“Too many traits align too perfectly.” Cave Mother stated. “Her nail file was not covered with water, but ectoplasm. The same substance her blood sublimated into when her body was pierced. She claims to be inept at magic, which she would be. Her kind can perform no magic at all.”

“So what do I need to know?” I asked. “I assume you know what is going on with her?”

“Omlan Atlan allows those who bind him to duplicate themselves.” Cave Mother said, “for most it is a brief, transient copy. Little more than a puppet, crumbling to ectoplasm and dissolving within a minute. Those he favors may infuse it with a shard of their soul, splintered off so that it might persist, learn, and act independently. Such copies may not call upon spirits, as there is too little of their self present to house even the weakest among us.”

I winced at the thought. As someone who had changed bodies once, soul mutilation seemed a lot more concrete to me now.

“That can not be healthy.” I said.

“Perhaps not. Despite that, my kind do it with incalculable frequency.” Cave Mother told me. “The splinters wish to return; if they are not bound or destroyed, Varossa’s memories will return to her true self when she dies.”

“Her true self…” I mused, “someone in Cheliax, halfway across the world? She’d just get half a decade of memories all at once?”

“Memories and all they carry.” Cave mother agreed dreamily, “Pains, passions, and joys as well. It is quite the experience. I will mourn him when he is gone, but I will have half a lifetime from Aaron by then. Even the grief will be exquisite.”

“Yeah, but I assume she’s not some kind of ancient void ghost.” I pointed out. “What is her angle?”

“Captain M’Dair, I believe that is obvious.” Cave Mother answered, irritation clear in her voice.

“Enlighten me.” I asked, “I’m still processing the whole idea.”

“What, oh what, might a young Chelish woman, clearly a prodigy in the art of binding, want?” Cave mother said acidly. “Assemble that list, then ask what matches Varossa’s actions.”

I quietly considered what Sosima had told me about life in Cheliax. The nobles seemed like they controlled their kids quite a lot, dictating their every move and grooming them for one job or another. Most of them didn’t give two shits about anyone beyond their borders. The answer slowly dawned on me, my jaw dropping.

She left home and went to a hard meritocracy. She slept around, probably killed a man to get a ship for herself, got to fight monsters, and now she’s hunting for treasure. She gets to do it all without risking a damn thing. She’s larping.

“There won’t be real consequences for her if everything goes tits up, will there?” I asked, dazed, “She’ll just keep living her life, even if all of us die.”

“Potentially.” Cave Mother agreed. “Most of her family prefer to send their first shards off to war, to gain glory and experience. More often they get themselves killed doing something heroic. That lets them get a good reputation, without costing them much. As you said, **** means they may return home.”

“Her family?” I said, perking up, “do you know who she really is?”

“Not exactly. Most pretty young girls don’t want to bind an old woman that prematurely ages them. I’ve never shared her soul directly.” Cave Mother told me, “But her surname is likely Thrune. Since the first Abrogail, the Dread House of Thrune has been blessed by Omlan Atlan. It is key to their influence; no non-binder of their line has ever held the throne for long.”

You called it, Sandara. Princess it is.

••••••••••

I decided that not all information needed flaunting. With that in mind, I kept quiet while we played poker that night. Much better to make small talk.

“So, you all met… what, two months ago?” Varossa asked, “You do not move slowly, do you?”

“Oh?” I countered, “From what I hear, you had a whirlwind romance with a man twice your age. None of us have even discussed marriage.”

That prompted a chorus of agreement; Sandara snorted at the very thought.

Ouch.

“What can I say, I like vigorous older men.” Varossa said, winking at me with a smirk.

Huh? Oh right. I’m an elf.

“Is that why you came to the Shackles?” Syl asked, keeping her eyes on her cards, “Lots of unmarried older men? I can’t imagine you’d have much trouble catching one’s eye.”

“Yup.” Sandara agreed pointedly, “Lots of captains would be happy to take a pretty young thing under their wing. Tends to be bad for the heart though; too much excitement.”

“I assure you, she didn’t need to leave home for that.” Sosima said with a sigh. “I imagine you’ll find men like that anywhere.”

“Perhaps, but in the Shackles they tend to be far more interesting.” Varossa said with a smirk. “My mother wanted me to find a rich man, but merchants are so dull and ministers are far worse. A pirate captain, though? He has stories, treasure, connections… plenty of things to ensure you aren’t just waiting for him to die the whole time.”

“Hard to hold onto without him.” Syl said, deadpan. “Quite a lot of people want to be in the will of a rich old man.”

“One of the drawbacks of the Shackles, that.” Varossa agreed sourly. “No one respects a man’s last will and testament.”

“No one respects the mistress.” Sosima said solemnly, “Even if she marries. I am glad I learned that by watching. It did seem like a viable strategy for a time. Instead I was strung along by a man who likely never married.”

“Who?” Varossa asked, “Had to be someone important.”

We all looked at Sosima, who blushed purple.

“Lyserius Thrune.” She said, looking down.

“Well, you certainly didn’t aim low.” Sandara said with a chuckle. “Trying for royalty? Really?”

“Eh, it’s more plausible than you might think.” Varossa said with a wicked smile. “If she hadn’t been going for one of the most notorious rakes in Cheliax she might have had a chance. She’s got a pretty face and a respectable name. He’s fairly low in the line of succession, but even the fact she’s a tiefling wouldn’t have meant much to a member of the Dread House, save that she’d still look like that when he’s almost sixty.”

Varossa gestured vaguely at Sosima, who could have been anywhere from twenty to thirty judging by her looks.

“There’s a saying among my people about men like that.” I said, “Show me the most beautiful woman in the world and I’ll show you a man who is tired of sleeping with her. I’d say you dodged a bullet, there.”

“Oh did I?” Sosima asked coldly, arching an eyebrow. “So, how should I consider my future relationships with men of questionable fidelity, since my life has been so much better than one alongside Lyserius? I have recently become involved with a married man, actually.”

“An excellent question, Captain M’Dair.” Syl asked dryly. “I believe it is relevant to everyone in this room.”

I put down my cards and raised my hands, palms forward.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.” I said, “I just meant that a pretty face isn’t enough to build a relationship on. We work together, I think we are on the same page, and I trust all of you. Honestly? That is more important than sex. I’ve been with enough pretty girls that if that’s all someone brings to the table, it doesn’t impress me much anymore. Okay?”

The girls looked at me, then at one another.

“What do you think?” Sandara asked, “Good enough?”

“I think it was an excellent answer.” Varossa chimed in. “Very diplomatic.”

“I’ll accept the apology.” Sosima said, smiling faintly. “The rest is under review.”

“Oh come on!” I said. “I’m being honest here, you guys are great!”

“Of course we are.” Syl said. “But then, you’d say that even if you were just stringing us along.”

I groaned.

“This is why wise men keep to one girl.” I said solemnly. “I’m surrounded now!”

••••••••••

The trip through Jeopardy Bay wasn’t difficult. The waters were supposedly treacherous, but the safe route had been marked for merchants. With the flags of Tessa Fairwind and Besmara both snapping in the wind, we were waved in and directed to a small island less than a mile off the coast.

When we passed through a narrow channel overlooked by a huge gun emplacement, a man appeared on our ship near the stern. He was about four feet tall and three feet wide, so I assumed he was a dwarf. He was wearing a black robe with silver trim, his scalp was shaved clean, and he held a clipboard and a severe expression.

“Identify yourselves.” He said gruffly. “I’m here to get an inventory before you dock. Resist and your ship and all its contents, crew and passengers included, are forfeit to the Hurricane King.”

Varossa stepped forward; she’d been lingering on the deck all morning. She handed the dwarf a small tankard. He glanced into it, relaxed, and started quickly scrawling on his clipboard.

“Hello, I am Varossa.” She said. “This is Captain Emrys M’Dair, my current employee, flying the flag of Quent. We will be in Port Peril on personal business for a few days at most, and carry no cargo of notable value. Wouldn’t you prefer a friendly drink over a long, drawn out inspection?”

He poured a few dozen gold pieces out of the tankard and into his belt pouch. I stood back, relief and annoyance mingling in my mind.

On the one hand, she supplied the bribe herself. On the other hand, she didn’t even talk to me first. I do have things I intend to sell, and I don’t know if she paid enough to cover that.

I went for an air of impassive delegation, gesturing vaguely at Sandara when the dwarf directed us to dock number 37. He lounged near the wheel, trusting our baseline competence at docking.

“Docking fees are only five gold per day, five silver if you sit in the harbor instead. If you’re sitting, you’d better keep the ship manned with a skeleton crew. Tied to a dock, you have security and the aegis of Bonefist. In the harbor, we only care if blood is spilled. Savvy?”

“How common is theft?” I asked casually as Sandara handled docking.

“Eh, not very.” He said, “Ships are not very faithful brides, however. Leave them unattended and they may run off with any man who comes along, and Port Peril is stuffed full of men who dream of their own ship.”

My eyes flicked from ship to ship, looking for the distinctive gray sails of Mistress Dovnu’s vessel. I didn’t see it; perhaps she had left early this month. (Secret Perception check)

Either way, we have shit to do. We can just handle it quickly, right?

••••••••••

The raven circled the Enterprise, intrigued. The lost boy stood upon the deck, clad in dark red fabric. The disobedient son was working for a new mistress, one who had not paid for him. Master would want to know of this; he always wanted the boy to serve with distinction. This would not do.

The raven flew away, to where the Master’s ship was docked on the other side of the island.