Startup 35: Horizontal Management

At the bottom of the Port Peril harbor, wading through a haze of muck and trash, a man trudged through a layer of silt. He clicked occasionally, getting a snapshot of the world around him through all the blasted dirty water. He wore a few layers of waxed fabric, which kept him relatively clean, though it could only do so much. His mouth would taste like very literal shit until he washed it out down at the pub.

Boffer was a professional. There were lads who took on jobs to sabotage ships because they thought it would be easy, or wanted to get onto a crew, or thought to make a quick buck. Most of them got out of the game quick, voluntarily or otherwise. Most didn’t finish a single job before noticing that submerging themselves in the collective waste of Port Peril was a damn terrible way to spend an evening. Others learned the hard way that the great and mighty Kerdak Bonefist disapproved of wreckers, at least enough to hire a few upstanding lads to patrol the harbor.

That wouldn’t be a problem. Boffer had already greased the right palms, handing over almost half his payment from Lady Bekyar to the captain of the Harbor Guard. Expensive, but he could pay a few debts and live like a king for a week or two before going back to the thankless task of trying to clear trash out of this very same harbor. Fifty gold was a damn lot of money.

He kicked off the floor of the water, regretting that as an undine he hadn’t been blessed with some damn fins, and swam up to the Enterprise. He didn’t know anything about the ship but its name, and frankly didn’t want to. Poking around could draw attention, and Boffer didn’t much like answering questions about either of his professions.

Once he was leaned against the hull, he released one last series of clicks to check his surroundings. There was a young woman swimming along the surface nearby for some godsforsaken reason; probably not a threat, but he swam down to the other side of the ship just in case. Once there, he sent out another click.

Before fully processing what he saw, he kicked off of the ship and started swimming towards the dock he tended to use to bug out. The woman was gone, but a large, meaty figure was swimming towards him from the surface. He didn’t get fine detail with his sonar, but he knew a guard when he saw one. He dropped the payload; he could make another without much difficulty, and it would be inert in an hour or so, but guards always went for the bomb. They needed to make sure it didn’t go off.

He clicked again, and got a far better view of the creature as he did. It was behind him, with its wedge shaped head reaching forward with a mouth full of sharp teeth. Perfect for tearing.

Boffer didn’t have fins; he didn’t actually swim any better than a human. He glanced back and saw it: a human-shark hybrid with layers of fat and muscle was gaining on him. It was hairless, with dark brown scales accented with red.

“Oi!” He shouted. “Let’s be- Argh!”

His words were cut off as the beast clamped down on his foot with its jaws and hauled him back. He was pulled into a cloud of his own blood, and heard a bubbling peal of laughter through the water. He tried to get away, kicking at his captor, but it held him in place, laughing as it rammed a knee into his torso.

“Lubo!” He heard as the darkness encroached upon his vision. “Stop! We will need to question him!”

It was a Chelish voice, one of them fancy ladies by the tone. The shark thing ignored her, though. Boffer lost track after that. When he blacked out, he just hoped he would wake up again this side of eternity.

••••••••••

“Look kid, it’s not working.” Conchobar Sr. said, packing his bag. “It’s been what, a week? I’ve never seen bleaching happen this quick.”

“Come on, there has to be something else we can try!” Junior pled, clasping his hands in front of him. “You can’t just toss me out on my ear.”

“I know what works for me, kid. It isn’t working for you.” He placed a fatherly hand on his son’s shoulder. “I don't think it was ever really a good fit, it was just all you knew.”

Gnomes were a jolly and enthusiastic people, but it was a lifestyle born of desperation. In theory, gnomes were an exceptionally long lived species born of the fey, but they needed strong emotion to sustain themselves outside of the fey world. A gnome who fell to ennui faced a dreadful fate: the Bleaching. The first signs of which were the white hairs that had recently appeared upon Conchobar’s head.

Only a few hours after that conversation, Conchobar Shortstone Junior stood on the street outside the inn. He wasn’t destitute; his dad had given him enough gold to survive for a few months if he was frugal. The next step was obvious; where else could he go if what he needed was excitement?

••••••••••

“In short, she didn’t technically break any laws, she pays her taxes, and she brings business to Peril. Go cry to Fairwind if you’re so sure you’ve been hard done by.”

The brief note was, in Syl’s recent experience, quite polite by the standards of Port Peril officials. That is to say, the man who wrote it thought that the first mate of an unknown ship deserved a response at all. Lady Du Bekyar was, it seemed, not going to be dealt with via a civil suit.

That last bit might be the best advice he could give, if we actually had any kind of relationship with Fairwind beyond a debt to repay.

They had of course sent a letter to the pirate lord in question on Captain M’Dair’s orders. One of many, sent to people all over the Shackles. Anyone who knew anyone that might chip in for the final tally. Cog had written quite a flurry, and even Rosie had sent one to her family on Bag Island. They’d had precious little else to do while sitting in port, waiting for a message.

Syl was interrupted from her reverie when her door was slammed open. The towering figure of Sosima, soaked cotton dress clinging to her frankly unfair curves, hauled a moaning body inside. He wasn’t on the crew, and Sosima practically dropped him on the ground next to Emrys’s desk.

“This man was trying to do something to our ship.” Sosima said, “Lubo stopped him. You’d best stabilize him before he bleeds out.”

A part of Syl wanted to demand an explanation, leaving the man to suffer while Syl held Sosima in place for a proper debriefing. Her hand idly toyed with the hilt of her blade as she knelt down. Luckily, she always kept at least one alchemical salve; that would stop the bleeding. Syl didn’t really care if he walked again, but she certainly wanted to know his motives.

Someone on this ship needs to take things seriously.

“Explain what happened when she’s done.” Sosima said dismissively, leaving the room. “Hopefully I’ll be able to salvage this dress.”

Lubo lurked in the door as ordered, her dress ripped and blood dripping down her face. Her eyes were faraway, not quite present. Syl wasn’t expecting a clear or simple explanation from the woman, so she went through the man’s bag first. It cleared things up nicely, containing a small block of alchemical paste and a timed detonator. Probably about enough to breach a heavy door, or punch a noticable hole in the hull.

Syl sighed. That would have been a disaster; they would have either needed to pay the exorbitant docking fees, or scramble to a bit of open shore where they could do repairs without paying fines to Port Peril. Of course, even that option would be incredibly risky with less than half the crew aboard and Sandara off at the bottom of a mug of ale.

“What happened?” She asked Lubo.

The woman shook her head and turned to Syl. She smiled.

“I was communing with the sea, and I felt a disturbance.” She said dreamily. “I heard something, and I thought I should investigate. I saw a strange man doing something to the ship, and thought it best to stop him.”

“Yes…” Syl said, hoping for more. “How did you know he was hostile?”

“I couldn’t think of a good reason for someone to be on our hull that I wouldn’t know about.” She said, shrugging. “May I go?”

“So you nearly severed his femoral artery with your teeth?” Syl demanded, “What if he hadn’t been hostile? You can’t just do that in a civilized town!”

“Yes you can.” Lubo smiled, wide but mirthless, “Nobody saw, and nobody important will be likely to care except his employer. Do you intend to release him?”

Syl did, in fact, intend to release the man if he cooperated. She guessed he was just some hireling. Not the sort who would come after them if he got loose. For now, though, he was ****.

“Just get out, Lubo.” Syl said, sighing. “Go clean yourself up.”

“She will kill one of your underlings, you know. If not you.”

Syl’s head whipped around to the source of the voice, a small creature looking at her from the shadowed corner of the room. Huge compound eyes looked at her from a pallid face. Its mandibles twitched, out of time with its shrill voice.

“I come as an envoy of a drow.” It chittered.

Syl’s blood ran cold. She’d only recently made peace with the idea of unnatural creatures serving the role of weapons. Alone in the room with a creature like this, one which radiated malice? She didn’t feel at all self conscious resting her hand on a dagger.

“Prove it.” She demanded.

“Medicate Jakes.” It replied, and Syl’s heart rate slowed very slightly. “He has found a place where he can summon on the ship unobserved, and thus far sees no signs of antimagic. The ship will arrive in two days, and he sees no major dangers as the enemy is bound by convention. I will serve as his messenger from now on.”

“Emrys said you can give him an image, yes?” Syl asked, starting to write a shorthand report. “Use that to prove we spoke. We leave tonight. Can you serve as a spy for us while you are still here, and report to him on what you see?”

“Of course.” The disturbing little creature agreed. “I will share with him everything caught within my most excellent memory.”

“Alright.” Syl said, then raised her voice. “Oi! Jape. Go get Crimson.”

We need to get out of here, now, and no one else on this damn crew listens when I tell them something.

••••••••••

“Pearlteeth!” Rowe leaped off the table, ramming directly into Conchobar seconds after he entered the tavern.

She’d been running a fairly brisk business for the last few days, fixing small clockwork items and cleaning firearms. It was boring, but slightly less boring than sitting around on the ship. But now Pearlteeth was here… assuming he was actually back, not just visiting a tavern. Rowe bounced to her feet and glared down at him, the manic smile vanishing like a dwarf’s first mead for the night. She was still straddling him, of course, to assert dominance.

“Hi Rowe.” He said, eyes wide. “We should maybe get out of the door?”

“Right, right.” Rowe agreed, hauling the gnome to his feet.

He was heavier than normal, thanks to the big bag he was carrying. She wasn’t sure what to say then. Maybe she could try that small talk thing Rosie did?

“Did robbery go well?” She asked, nodding at his burden. “What did you get?”

“Huh?” He asked, “Oh. No. These are my own things. My clothes and flute and such.”

“Oh! You robbed father!” She cried, hugging him around the waist, flicking back to joy. “Knew you didn’t leave!”

“No, I didn’t rob him!” Pearlteeth sighed, “he threw me out.”

Joy to anger.

“Threw you out?” Rowe cried, indignantly pulling out her gun. “Where? We teach him lesson!”

“No, it was for my own good!” He insisted, pushing her rifle down to the table. “You are not going to hurt my father.”

The assertiveness was attractive, but he wasn’t making any sense.

“Then why sad?” She asked, “Come in looking at floor, big frown. Dad smart, I think. Pearlteeth on Enterprise is best.”

“I… I guess you’re right.” Pearlteeth said after a long few moments looking her in the eye. “I guess it was always meant to be.”

“SHE’S MINE!” Cried a shill voice, descending from the rafters.

A goblin wearing a tricorn hat landed on the table, directly onto Rowe’s gun, and kicked Pearlteeth in the face. While Rowe struggled to lift her gun, firing it off in a random direction, the goblin spiked a pellet at the table, releasing a blinding flash of light.

Conchobar, blinded twice over with pain and light, grabbed hold of the goblin’s leg and hauled him off the table. He wasn’t particularly strong, even for a gnome, but the stringy goblin was thirty pounds at most. All Conchobar had to do was grab at the ankle and let himself fall back off the bench.

As the spots cleared from his eyes, he was deafened with a boom. He looked to his left and saw that less than half of the goblin’s head was left intact.

“Quick! Get purse!” Rowe said, pulling a hood up over her head and drawing it closed, leaving only a small slit to see. “Third this week, not even Sea Shanty Clan. Running out of taverns.”

Rowe’s chameleon cloak, a new invention she’d cooked up after her rescue, shifted until she appeared completely transparent. She was still clearly visible to anyone who knew where to look, but she blended in marvelously.

Conchobar yanked the male goblin’s coin purse off his belt and fled the tavern immediately. He didn’t notice till much later that a few of his grey hairs were already darkening to blue.

••••••••••

“She has thus far served adequately, proving herself quite talented in the binding arts, particularly of the Beast constellation. However, she has received multiple citations for insubordination and arrogance.”

Sosima sighed in despair at that line. Looking over Minelda’s record of three male captains, she suspected she knew how her niece had proven arrogant and what orders she’d refused to follow. It wasn’t a hard conclusion to jump to, when presented with a portrait of the poor girl. She was a classic chelish beauty, just like her grandmother and aunt before her.

https://postimg.cc/mccpR7Vh

The stack of papers at Sosima’s side lay neglected, having already been skimmed for notable information. Cadmus, her brother, was Archbaron in all but name but mother still clung to the title like a hound with a favored toy. Umberto, her nephew, was fending off enthusiastic young ladies in the hope that he would find one of substance. She intended to read them all, but none caught her eye like the niece who had chosen to follow in her footsteps.

“She seems like a **** to be reckoned with.” Varossa said, “It’s a shame her captains can’t see her value.”

Sosima frowned at Lady Thrune. They had been spending most evenings together, especially after Emrys left. They may have been of different generations, but the two women had both been raised in a similar enough environment, then plunged into the Shackles. It gave them much to discuss.

“You read the reports as well?” Sosima asked. “You implied they were for my eyes alone.”

“Well obviously.” Varossa answered, checking the lacquer she had been applying to her nails. “Just because I’m allowed to know whatever I want doesn’t mean I can share state secrets freely. That, and my primary self should be done with her formal schooling soon. She is going to be able to hand pick her crew, and I’ve been keeping an eye out for underappreciated officers I can pluck without much fuss. Gnomes, girls with closed legs, Tieflings… that kind of thing.”

That would be an incredible leap. Hand picked by a member of the imperial family… Abadar’s Grace, she could do whatever she liked after a good tour of duty on a flagship.

“Well, if you please, I’d like a bit of privacy.” Sosima said, “It’s nearly midnight.”

“Could I stay and watch?” Varossa asked, “I’m still drying.”

She held up her freshly painted nails, which glistened in the light of an oil lamp.

“You should have considered that before now.” Sosima said acidly. “Just because you don’t sleep, it doesn’t mean I’m obligated to entertain you all night.”

“Doesn’t it?” Varossa whispered conspiratorially. “One could argue it is your duty.”

“I’m helping you to maintain your cover.” Sosima answered, deadpan. “Get out of my room.”

Once she was alone, Sosima consulted her tome of spirits. Though it managed to make the subject of extraplanar quasideities somehow dry and uninteresting, Plugg’s library did contain all the core information needed to contact most spirits of any importance.

“So, if Minnie supposedly resonates with the Beast constellation...” She said, reading through the tome for instructions. “No, not this one. I don’t have a reed flute available.”

The next Beast spirit she found had a rather easy ritual, only requiring that she drink a small quantity of sea water mixed with a few drops of blood. Of course, then she remembered the state of the water in the harbor and blanched at the thought. Thankfully, she was able to find one that was doable with the materials she had on hand.

“So, Varossa,” She mused to herself, chalking out the grid so that she could play hopscotch, “what is your angle? Is there something missing here?”

She took the document in hand, ready to present it to the Nieces for review. They only needed to tell her if it was accurate or not.

••••••••••

The Zebub nestled into the corner of Sinkitah Du Bekyar’s office, rendered invisible by its own magic. She was meeting with a pair of small green mortal, speaking of things that the Zebub had no particular interest in but was obligated to listen in on. He recorded his observations dutifully, as commanded.

Human. Dark brown skin. Long black hair. Conventionally attractive as determined by species. Favors layered white and blue clothing.

“Gobron is listening, esteemed longshanks.” The larger of the two goblins said, “You have Gobron’s attention.”

Goblin. Dense muscle mass. Brown leather pants. Red doublet. Black wolf-tail hair cut. Conventionally attractive as determined by species. Short stilts integrated into boots for additional height. Companion is obviously smaller and weaker.

“I am glad. Let us speak frankly.” Sinkitah said, steepling her fingers. “I need good men and I hear yours are fairly skilled. I am operating on a budget, however. I wasn’t expecting anyone of your caliber to apply.”

Small goblin smiles, attempts to speak. Large goblin signals for silence.

“If you are to be honest, Gobron shall also speak with plain words.” Gobron proclaimed. “Gobron does not care for your honeyed words or even your coin. Gobron will smite your enemies because it is what Gobron wished to do regardless.”

“Oh?” Sinkitah asked. “I was unaware that you had prior dealings with Captain M’Dair.”

The big goblin laughs, an unusually deep belly laugh. Quite unlike the shrill giggle of his companion.

“The pointy ears Longshanks means nothing to Gobron.” Gobron said, before falling to one knee and raising a hand to the sky. “Gobron fights for love!”

Sinkitah leaned forward craned her head to see the small man over the lip of her desk.

“Love?”

“Indeed. I saw her in a tavern, the most radiant woman of all goblinkind.” Gobron confirmed, “The first time she discharged a firearm directly into a suitor’s head, Gobron knew she was the one. The first woman who might possibly provide Gobron with pups nearly as good as Gobron. Even her name is beautiful: Crow.”

“Actually, Gobron, it was Rowe.” His lackey chimed in nervously. “Remember? The Sea Shanty clan has that strange naming convention with the naval terms.”

“Really? Rowe?” Gobron asked, “Terrible name. She will need to change it once she is chained in the hold. Regardless! Gobron will have the jewel of the Sea Shanty clan, and will take your money to perform an additional errand in the process.”

“I will be most cross with you if you forget that I hired you, Captain.” Sinkitah reminded him. “It’s a favor for a friend.”

“Worry not.” Gobron assured her. “Gobron has his pride. Gobron has a perfect record, and will not tolerate a blemish upon it. Gobron shall bring back Captain M’Dair and she shall rue the day she crossed you.”

“Captain M’Dair is a man.” Sinkitah said, sighing.

“You’re sure?” Gobron asked, checking the small sketch again. “Look at the hair.”

“I have verified it personally.” Sinkitah said. “If that is all? You’re not the only one who wishes to ask about the bounty.”

They exchanged a few more minor pleasantries, and Gobron left. When he did, Sinkitah rested her forehead upon the heel of one hand.

“Damn it, Nendra.” She ranted to herself. “I told you that your budget was too small. Now I have to meet with five more no-names and in all likelihood that one will actually be the best of the bunch.”

••••••••••

Sandara stumbled out of the tavern, slipping into the crowd. As she did, she released a pulse of positive energy. Fresh welts and swelling faded, and the cleric took a deep breath once doing so didn’t hurt. She intended to do as she had been doing for the last few days: wander about until she sobered up, restore herself, go find somewhere else with decent drinks, get drunk, and start a brawl. It sure as hell beat laying about on the Enterprise.

“Sandara.”

Ah, fuck. Almost out of magic. I’ll actually need to sleep off this next hangover.

“Sandara!”

Maybe the Linnorm again? Her throat was a bit sore; listening in on someone else telling stories sounded like just the thing. Maybe get some water. Well, that or find somewhere to sleep. Maybe the temple? Seemed like a waste to get on a boat out to the ship just to come back out immediately.

“SANDARA!”

“What do you want, Cog?” She growled. “I heard you the first time.”

“We’re leaving.” He told her, “Captain sent us a message, and someone’s coming after us.”

“Oh?” Sandara said, lighting up. “Finally! Are we going to fuck someone up on the way out?”

“No.” Cog groaned. “We are going to follow the damn plan. Come on; do you know where Ratts got to? We’ve got a deadline.”