Startup 42: Rent Seeking

Arodus 31

“You look absolutely marvelous.” Yael said, adjusting my collar, “Except for the eyes; it really is a shame to lose such a beautiful splash of color. Black is fine, I suppose, but you could have at least had blue eyes.”

“Sorry, the magic doesn’t really give me much fine control.” I said, “This is just what I’d look like as a fetchling. Speaking of which, you’re sure there isn’t a bigger mask available?”

As I asked, I gestured at the domino mask covering roughly ten percent of my currently pale grey face.

“Not if you want to look authentic.” Yael said, “Really, Emrys, what kind of Shae would dress her servants in noble masks?”

“I guess I’d just prefer something that covered more than just my cheekbones.” I said, “I don’t want anyone noticing that I look like myself.”

When I left the room for the first time since renting it, the last thing I wanted to look like was myself. Perhaps I went a little bit overboard with my disguise, but a visiting Shae from the Plane of Shadows was just the right combination of plausible and completely unrelated to what people knew about Emrys to work. Naturally, Yael needed a fetchling interpreter to speak Undercommon on her behalf, and with my new spell and an outfit borrowed from one of her actual servants, that could be me.

A drow interpreter would also be plausible, but keeping up the magical disguise seemed safer to start with, since fetchlings had cold resistance. I could touch Yael in this form, which seemed useful for a servant.

I’d made a disguise check, but my menu absolutely refused to tell me the results of the check until it was under serious scrutiny. The white suit Yael had provided felt just a little bit too similar to my red suit for my tastes, but perhaps I was just feeling paranoid. No one but the high house of D’Lann had seen me in that, and none of them did their own shopping.

At least I have black hair and eyes. That’s different.

The innkeeper had been shocked to discover that the room he’d rented out during a block of lost time was occupied by foreign nobility, but he certainly wasn’t upset. He bowed and scraped at the sight of the towering shadow woman, which was after all the way people did things in Heslandaena.

Yael’s hands were light and gentle upon my arm, faintly cool to the touch even through her alabaster gloves. She was taller than me, though not by much, so she had to lean down to whisper in my ear whenever she wanted something. Her lips, when they brushed against my ear, left a pleasant tingling sensation under the cold.

We had a few primary objectives while we were out. First off, I needed to buy enough supplies to finish enchanting that halberd so she could show it to her father. Second, I was planning on heading over to a certain company that worked under House N’Quinn for a price check. I had forgotten, however, that underneath the warrior culture and the otherworldly countenance Yael was effectively a woman in her 20s, and I was taking her out shopping.

“The smells from this shop intrigue me.” She said, stopping at the third stall selling spices from the mainland, “The markup to import such goods is exorbitant. Ezra, inquire as to the price.”

I was not even allowed the refuge of stepping back and watching her haggle; she really didn’t speak Undercommon, so I was obliged to intermediate any transaction. Yael bought the whole string of dried peppers she was eyeing for only a few silver, which was expensive but still less than a tenth of what her family would pay for them in Shethalliahaya.

I held out the peppers, and a hand reached up from my shadow to take them into my inventory. There they would join two brightly colored spidersilk dresses, an ornate dagger, and a box I recognized as being full of ginger roots.

The street food she purchased, in contrast, was eaten on the spot with gusto. I watched her savor the meat wrap with detached amusement, stewing on my problem.

Shit, could I pay off the debt just by helping Yael undercut spice merchants? Eh… probably not in the time frame I have. I’d need to set up a whole supply chain, and she can only return to her world with about 50 pounds of stuff. Not even as profitable as Schir slaughter. Still worth doing as a favor for a friend, of course, but later.

My own purchases were much less fun, focused on anything with an anti-undead resonance. A few uncut diamonds, for example, which could be used to power certain divine magic if ground into dust. Of course, after we were done shopping I needed to get back to work. I couldn’t leave yet, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t work.

With my disguise spell wearing off soon and no level 3 spell slots to renew it, I wanted to get out of the public eye. Yael had been seen running around the market buying magical reagents and spices, both of which were perfectly reasonable for an extraplanar noble to want. It was also perfectly reasonable for her to want to establish a business relationship.

••••••••••

The House N’Quin trade office was small and cramped, and we needed to wait a solid ten minutes before someone spoke to us. That was actually pretty good, honestly, as it’s not as though we had any kind of appointment.

The receptionist was a curly haired half-elven woman in a practical peach colored dress that popped against her powder blue skin. I kept my eyes open, and noted that the whole office seemed to be operated by half-elven women in flattering clothes. Specifically, half drow.

Not a ton of skin showing, but they aren’t full drow and I can see her knees. Either they are high ranking for half elves in this city, or they aren’t following conventions.

Honestly, it reminded me of the accounting firm I’d interned with.

Of course, I might have been a little distracted if everyone at Bandoff and Associates were hotties with pastel skin colors. Especially since Maddie and I were on the rocks at the time.

Another harried half-drow woman in a slightly shorter dress escorted us into an office, where we met with the most confident drow man I’d seen other than Kiyon. He was shirtless despite not really having the physique to pull it off, a full blooded drow with long flowing hair and a very thin mustache. I’d seen his type before. It wasn’t his looks that allowed him to pull women, but nobody had the balls to tell him.

“This is the woman who came to speak with you, my lord.” The woman said, bobbing in a curtsy.

The man nodded at her briefly before switching his focus, and she stepped back into the corner of the room.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mistress,” he said to Yael, taking her white gloved hand and kissing it. “I am Mordin N’Quin, at your service.”

Yael looked at me, and I relayed the message to her in common. I’d have used a more obscure language if I could, but Common was already her third language and I spoke neither Shae nor Aklo.

Maybe next level. I picked up Goblin from Rowe, after all.

“Tell him it is a pleasure to meet him as well.” Yael said, “Then my name and purpose.”

Mordin’s eyes unfocused slightly as Yael spoke. I believed he was using a technique that would allow him to view something out of the corner of his eye while seeming to look at Yael. (Secret Sense Motive)

Sure, buddy, we’ll keep our guard up.

I awakened Ve’Ra, allowing her to split off from my shadow. In the dimly lit room, she was nearly invisible. She would tell me if Valra’s notes contained anything concerning.

“My mistress, Yael of house Ankari, is pleased with your greeting.” I said, “She has chosen this city to serve as a potential outpost for her people to trade with the Bright World. From her preliminary research, she believes you to be the safest option in the immediate area.”

“I’d be honored to discuss such a possibility.” He said, “Might I ask what you mean by safest?”

I relayed the question to Yael, and she nodded, giving me leave to answer on her behalf. She was mostly along for the ride in any case.

“House D’Lann, the other traders in this city, have close ties to House M’Dair, do they not?” I said. “We could not deal comfortably with a house that might summon and bind anyone foolish enough to hear our true names.”

Yael is enough to call her specifically, but only because she’s willing. I don’t know if she’ll ever trust me with her full true name; that’s probably fine.

“I assure you, House N’Quin would never do such a thing to an esteemed ally, even if we had the resources to do so.” He said, clasping his perfectly manicured hands, “Is there anything I might bring you during our meeting? Drinks, food, a chair for you, and perhaps one for your manservant?”

“No need,” I relayed Yael’s response, “My mistress ate on the way here.”

Good call. If he kept us standing then we’d be the inferior, but since he offered it’s a power move to turn him down.

“Then we may as well get down to business, if you have no objection?” He said, “Valra will take notes, but I warn you that this is only a preliminary discussion. We won’t hold you to anything before we know what we can do for one another.”

“My Mistress would like to hire you for an unrelated matter as well,” I said, “but that should wait until she has the measure of you.”

We dove into a rather long and involved back and forth, where I inquired about a great many things Shethalliahaya had need of. Yael had spoken with one of her civics tutors to acquire a list, which he’d been altogether thrilled to provide her. She had very little interest in such things as an abstract concept, and he’d been trying to drill this exact list into her mind for years.

As we spoke, I analyzed the discussion for later.

Almost a shame that this is a scam. Sounds like she could really use the trading partner. Spices are easy, but wood? That’s in high demand in the Shackles anyway. Weapons grade silver? I didn’t even know there was such a thing.

I can’t send those in the kind of volume she’s asking for, personally. Put a pin in this one. Seems like a steady source of income later. More than enough to keep the crew fed, even if I only load up one pack with spices and silver per day and take a pretty small cut of the profits.

I was on a different form of autopilot, one that was all me, crafted in the last 24 hours with study and a ton of knowledge checks. Mordin was playing softball, trying to butter Yael up, or more **** than I thought, because his offers tended to be more generous than my most optimistic estimates. His demeanor didn’t give me any hints, either, as he seemed perfectly relaxed.

Yael sat perfectly still as she listened to us speak, clearly finding it harder and harder to come up with good answers. I’d noticed a while back that she tended to be very animated when she was actually invested in the conversation, so out of mercy I steered the conversation towards our real goal.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the mongrel woman, Valra, signing rapidly at Mordin. She stilled her hand and went back to writing the moment she saw me turn around, but I caught “shadow better than abyssal, formless but stable” before she went back to scribbling notes. She, at least, didn’t care about the trade half so much as the contact with an extraplanar ally. A red eyed shadow on the wall gave me a thumbs up before blending back into Valra’s shadow. (Sense Motive 20+11=31 Critical Success)

“My mistress is enthusiastic to hear your offers, they are most generous.” I said after a quick exchange with Yael, “She has deemed you worthy of a task to prove your value.”

“Oh? A test, is it?” Mordin asked, “I’m certain it will be quite manageable.”

“We have other contacts within the city.” I relayed, “Ones who have used more esoteric and unreliable methods to request a pact. My mistress has little need for them, but they were the ones who brought your port to her attention. She would have you bring them to a place upon the surface, where they might meet with another contact of ours.”

“That may be difficult.” Mordin said, tensing. “We only have a few methods to interact with the surface, you see. All indirect.”

At a word from me, Yael and I turned in unison, and I retrieved her jacket from the wall. (Opposed Bluff 12+13+5 (Silver Tongue) +5 (Seductive Bangles)=35)

“A shame, really.” I said wistfully, “I hoped we had finally found a trading partner, but if you’re going to balk at the first difficulty…”

“No, no, difficult but not impossible.” Mordin said, standing himself, “I’m sure we can manage, depending on the pay, and the destination.”

“A mortal city known as Port Peril.” I said, “My Mistress knows of a tavern there called the Raging Linnorm. I will bring three or four individuals to you here or at a rendezvous of your choosing, and you will deliver them to this tavern. For this trifling task, you will be paid sixty gold pieces.”

“Oh? That is slightly under our normal rates…” he said, though he was looking past Yael at Valra, “For a new partner, though, exceptions can be made.”

Hopefully Svartur accepts Devilgrams containing money and requests for help. All I need him to do is set the mutants up with rooms for a while; he seems like a good guy. He’ll do it.

I felt like a dick sending them via human traffickers that had already tried to kill me once, but it still felt better than letting them take the heat when “I” vanished in a few days.

••••••••••

When Mistress Nendra’s shadow requested that Jan’nai attend him in his office for the rest of the day, she had been earnestly surprised that the Mistress would allow such a thing. Jan’Nai had been directly told that she was to be her pet, only loaned to the Shadow. She had assumed she knew what a male would do with a helpless girl, in generalities if not specific details.

She had been wrong.

“I certainly hope you know how to handle all these numbers,” he said directly into her mind, “I’m obligated to be here, but I don’t actually have to do the job. It helps if it gets done, regardless.”

What? You can speak into my mind? Why even bother with the hand signals earlier?

The shadow offered to support Jan’nai with his arm, which she accepted. The walk to his office wasn’t far; even with a team of hulking brutes shadowing her every step they arrived in only two minutes.

“Trade secret.” He thought, flashing her a smile, “I don’t use telepathy unless I’m speaking to a known ally, but even so I’m not telling you everything.”

Jan’nai wasn’t a particularly skilled accountant, Ma’ra had done that for their little band, but she knew her numbers and letters well enough to play the role. As she did, she listened to the Daughter’s Shadow chatter, both silently and aloud. When she responded, it was in whispers, worried that the guards would hear.

“I’ll be gone in a few days, you see.” He explained, “Feel free to report that to curry favor, if you’d like to risk it. Nendra won’t believe you over me, not in her current state, and there’s no way she’ll be able to stop me.”

The blasé way he said it made Jan’nai think it was some kind of test of loyalty. She earnestly didn’t know from who, however. As she thought about it, she couldn’t help but feel tremors throughout her body.

Tell Nendra, she will know if you don’t. She’ll punish you, she’s only been relieving stress up to now. What would she do if angered?

The Daughter’s Shadow gently stroked Jan’Nai’s hair with his long, delicate fingers. It was strangely soothing; possessive, yet safe. She wanted to bat away his hands, the hands that killed Ma’ra, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so.

It was no longer her place to fight back. She needed to wait for a proper moment to strike.

“I’m sorry about what happened to your friends and your magic. I truly am.” The Daughter’s Shadow whispered into her mind, “I can, however, offer you another path if you wish it. It won’t be an easy road, the first step would be to stop shaking so much.”

What? What do you want from me?

“The real question is what you want.” The Shadow continued, its voice modulating into a feminine purr, “Your friend is dead, and you’re expected to serve the one responsible. Your magic has been taken, and your Mistress commands that you thank her for not killing you outright. You were sold a dream, and lost everything. I’d be angry. Aren’t you?”

No. No, I’m happy to accept Mistress Nendra’s mercy. It’s better than I could have possibly hoped for.

Jan’nai could have told that lie quite confidently out loud; she’d had plenty of practice over the last day. In the stillness of her mind, however, it was obvious.

“Perhaps it is.” The Shadow said, continuing to stroke her hair comfortingly. “My true mistress prefers when I take what I want, rather than hoping it is given to me. I think you could serve her as well; she’s far less cruel to those who serve her than Nendra, and she can give you power instead of taking it away.”

Jan’nai froze at that. She looked at her hands, which were shaking.

You can give me my sorcery back?

“Not easily. As I said, it’s another path. The path of anger, of vengeance against those who wronged you. Perhaps even against me, if you are unsatisfied with my mercy.”

••••••••••

Rova 1

Mih’Tzi hummed to herself, carefully checking her servants’ work. The kobolds were all competent, so she didn’t need to do much. They made minor errors, things that she could gently remind them to fix. A bit of dry substrate here, temperature a few degrees off there. Easily fixed.

Of course, her kobolds were competent because the incompetent ones didn’t last long in her service. Those foolish enough to block proper ventilation, or allow insects to live among the substrate, or any number of other completely idiotic acts, would be summarily removed from service.

Mih’Tzi wasn’t dramatic like her cousin, nor was she sentimental. She didn’t kill the failures, or **** them, or any number of other potentially cathartic acts of cruelty. That kind of behavior would invite scrutiny and discontent, and she hardly needed either. She hadn’t set out to have an all-kobold team of assistants; it had just worked out that way. They were the best for this work, partly because the adorable little newts checked each other’s work. They let non-kobolds sink or swim on their own.

The only problem was that, now that things were perfectly in order, there wasn’t much for her to do. Perhaps that was why she’d decided to indulge the thing calling itself Curtis. Seeing Nendra squirm would be delightful, after all.

Curtis seemed like he might be something derived from the First World, based on the fact that he had at least one Fey servitor. A servitor that was, even now, pestering her.

“I just don’t see why you are so dismissive of the idea!” The pixie said, sulking, “You’d be a tremendous aid to Captain M’Dair if you went with him.”

“Yes, of course, but I’d also be risking my life and reputation.” Mih’Tzi said, “I’m doing that enough by speaking to you. Was there anything else he wanted?”

“Just one thing.” Dierdre grumbled, “he wants to retrieve his mutant guards.”

“Why?” Mih’Tzi asked.

She still wasn’t sure if she had a good grasp of this new Emrys. Her best guess was economic. After all, if the four escaped then Dovnu would likely put out a reward for their capture. Nowhere near the same amount that Emrys needed to gather, but desperation bred innovation and it would be a substantial number regardless.

She’d be disappointed if it was pure spite, taking something that belonged to Dovnu because he could. He seemed to be as clever as the old Emrys, and Mih’Tzi knew firsthand how badly spite could mislead a person.

“He considers them to be his friends.” Dierdre said, “I believe he also wishes to use them as a personal guard on his ship.”

Ahh. Recruitment. Dreadfully overconfident to assume he will still have a ship to guard at the end of this, but I can respect the long term thinking.

“I can not help with that.” She said, “You also shouldn’t tell me anything more. I’m under contract.”

“Contract?” The pixie asked, “As in, an infernal one?”

“Yes.” Mih’Tzi said, “I can not knowingly make any attempt to act substantially counter to Dovnu’s interests. Vexing my cousin is one thing, even playing along with my uncle’s game involving your master, but outright robbing Dovnu of several thousand gold worth of assets? No.”

“I… see.” Dierdre said, then pulled her bow out.

Mih’Tzi woke a few minutes later, and was filled in on what she’d missed by a small mass of mushrooms she’d breathed life into before the meeting. The spirit within had recognized what its fellow fey had been doing, and made the call to simply undo the pixie’s work with a quick report. Likely cowardice had also played into the decision, since a mere fungus leshy had little chance in a fair battle with a pixie.

Mih’Tzi wasn’t sure if she should be amused or furious. On the one hand, it had been a grave insult and an attack on her own person, not to mention entirely pointless. On the other, the mental image of the violent little woman emptying her entire quiver while tendrils of fungus attempted to restrain her would bring a smile to Mih’Tzi’s face for days to come. Besides, she was in a far better position if Curtis thought she was ignorant to his plans. She didn’t have any intention of countering him, but she had a use for secrets.

Mih’Tzi returned to her sanctum early that day, to luxuriate among her own personal garden. She noted the yellow mushrooms, dried to create bachelor’s snuff, deciding it was about time to make room for something else. If she didn’t need them to keep Emrys dosed, she really would prefer something nicer. Maybe something red.

She removed her clothes, and lay on a bed of springy, resilient mushrooms she’d cultivated over the course of years to support her weight. She meditated for a time, clearing her mind before her devotions to the Green Mother.

As she began to touch herself, she pulled a slim book out of an old fungus covered box and read. The story itself was not her favorite, but she liked to think that her patron archfey would appreciate the tale of a mortal dragged away to the First World. Mih’Tzi flipped to a favored scene of passion and let herself be lost in the tale for a time. Her fingers were adequate, thankfully, and she achieved release within a few minutes.

She was allowed to bring a partner to assist her, but the last part of the ritual devotion was delicate enough that she usually didn’t bother. While still laying, luxuriating in the release, she brought her wrist to her mouth. She’d tattooed the Green Mother’s holy symbol there long ago, back when she was hiding her devotion from Mother, before she’d been cast out of House J’Tar. It was a thin tracery of faint lines, stylized to the point of unrecognizability, that she knew to represent a pair of lips wrapped in thorns.

“An entity named Curtis Hansen has all but replaced Emrys M’Dair.” She whispered to the Green Mother.

It was a powerful secret, one which only one other person knew. Most of Mih’Tzi’s offerings were little more than gossip. The Green Mother, one of the queens of the First World, was unsure what to do with this information, but decided it was worthy of a reward in turn. A secret known to even fewer people. The lips opened, and spoke.

“Mih’Tzi J’Tar is bearing the granddaughter of Carys M’Dair beneath her heart.”