Startup 45c: Jerry

Three naked corpses lay just outside the front door, splayed on top of one another. Their glassy eyes were all open, turned towards the door with an accusing gaze. Something had burnt two infernal runes into the small patch of weeds that passed for a lawn here. All of this had been placed just outside the bounds of Jerry’s defensive wards. Worst of all, the boy he paid to bring the paper had clearly gotten spooked by the macabre sight.

Jerry sighed and put down his coffee, muttering under his breath as he changed into one of his work shirts. He didn’t want to risk getting blood on his good robe. While he laced up his pants, he called his girlfriend out of her reliquary.

“Annalise, can you read those runes?” Jerry said, “Someone left us a gift and I’d appreciate it if you took a look before I touch them.”

A jet of steam poured out of her old jewelry box, forming into a faceless specter with a distinctly feminine shape. She cocked her head and placed one fist upon her hip.

“Yes, I know, but what if it’s trapped?” Jerry said. “We haven’t actually identified who it is from yet, but I don’t know many people who prefer Infernal for communication.”

Her hand sparkled with light.

“Just because you can heal me doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous!” Jerry snapped. “If you’re banished, you’ll be fine in a day. If I die, we are both shit out of luck.”

She crossed her arms and turned. She passed through the crack under the front door with a dignified air. Jerry hadn’t even finished putting on his jacket when she returned, picked up a bit of chalk, and wrote upon her slate.

“That elf, Emrys. He intends to send more in future. Preserved, not cursed.”

She clapped her hands twice and pointed out the front door. Jerry rolled his eyes and went out to retrieve the bodies. He carried in the slim half elf as a warm up, then the two well muscled hobgoblins. He shot a glare at Miss Applebaum, who as always peered from behind the curtains of her second floor window.

You don’t ask questions about my work, and I won’t ask questions about the pesh cartels.

The words “You need a servant” were written on the slate when he brought in the last body. He went out to scuff out the runic writing before answering.

“Servants cost money.” He said, “I’ve told you a million times.”

He was poised to start in on the old argument while inspecting the bodies, but Annalise didn’t react. She was bent over the woman’s body, holding its head in place and looking into its eyes. Jerry joined her, trying to figure out what she meant. Annalise didn’t like it when he **** her to explain herself in writing, since it took so long, so he made a concerted effort to ask that of her as rarely as possible.

Looks like frostbite up the side of the body combined with blood loss from multiple bullet wounds, but nothing that damaged any major internal organs. It’ll need some reconstruction, blood replacement, but nothing too severe.

Extremely pale skin with a hint of blue-grey. Pale tan eyes with well formed eyelashes. I’d better close the eyes so they don’t dry out any more than they already have; that can cause eye problems. Looks like red painted lips; I should clean that off. Black hair to mid back. Slightly pointed ears; half elf? Fairly pretty, definitely a premium body with a muscled physique like this. Shame whoever gets it is probably not going to put in the necessary work to maintain it.

It was certainly a pretty corpse, and Jerry was sure that someone would pay top dollar for the chance to live in it. Even more, it was a half elf, so it would age gracefully and last much longer than a human. He marked off 200 gold for it in Emrys’s account, to be set aside the next time he made a sale.

Alas, he couldn’t tell what had Annalise so excited about this body in particular. He finally broke down and just asked.

“I want her.” Annalise wrote.

“Huh? Wait, you want this as your body?” Jerry asked, looking down at it. “Why this one?”

He certainly wouldn’t complain about having Annalise in a body like this, but he’d been fairly sure she was going to go without until they moved away from Goatshead entirely.

“CONTRAST.” Annalise wrote, then underlined it for emphasis. She pointed at the red painted lips excitedly. Jerry wasn’t really sure why she was so worked up about it, but if it would make her happy he was thrilled for several reasons.

“Alright.” He said, “Good choice, dear, I’m sure you’ll look amazing in it.”

Annalise flipped her ghostly hair, and he could almost see her old, smug smile. She’d once told him that style was far more important than any face; she claimed that with the right accessories and posture she could take first place at the Skeleton Ball in the body of an ogre. Of course, once she’d found herself in the market she’d proceeded to turn down every body presented to her for a decade, so she wasn’t quite as indifferent as she’d claimed.

“Well, I suppose I should set aside a berth for it.” Jerry said, “I’d hate for it to be ruined by poor storage.”

Annalise grabbed his wrist in an icy grip. She shook her head, and pointed at the body.

“You want it now?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Didn’t you want to wait until we had a place to go? You seemed terribly worried about aging and dying in this dump.”

She shrugged and pointed at the ears; this body would last a while. Then she leaned in and walked her fingers up his arm. The points where she touched him tingled uncomfortably with negative energy, but the message was clear.

“You make a compelling argument.” He said, smirking at her. “Alright. Stop distracting me while I process the other two, and we can see about getting you set up.”

••••••••••

Teach. Spread. Grow. Show. ****.

Rum wasn’t doing a particularly good job anymore. It used to be that Sosima could muffle the voices with a few glasses. They’d still be there, of course, but easier to ignore. It had worked for around a week, and she’d gotten cocky. Now she’d wake up each morning with a pounding in her head and shrieking in her ears.

Varossa said she was being silly, that she should have bought another **** or two in Port Peril. She wouldn’t. Lubo scared her, just a little, and she didn’t want any more like her. The pretty little thing she had become wasn’t truly possessed, but she was the next best thing. Compliant.

Where Sosima repaid a debt for her new body, Lubo was quite enthusiastic to do as her patron commanded. No one on the crew had escaped her offers of tutoring and had either accepted or repeatedly rejected her, thus cutting off Sosima’s best source of relief. She supposed she might be able to talk Cog into learning as a favor, but only if she begged him. Lady Aulamaxa still had her pride; she wasn’t ready for that.

She woke from her meditative stupor when a small fist battered her door. It was joined by a normally pleasant tenor voice, tinged with fear.

“Lady Aulamaxa!” Conchobar yelled, his words like nails through her temples, “We are under attack!”

Sosima shook her head, taking a few steadying breaths. Lady Aulamaxa had her pride. No one could know. Bad enough to see Sandara’s mocking smile without the rest knowing she was an invalid.

“I will join you as quickly as I can.” She said, “Naomi, attend me.”

The young woman had replaced her mother in Sosima’s cabin, for their mutual protection. More than anyone else on the ship, Lubo considered it her right to induct Naomi into her new faith. No one else was quite so aware of why she objected as Sosima. They could not properly discuss the situation, but they’d managed an understanding regardless.

Naomi nodded nervously and began the process of armoring Sosima. First came the padding, thick enough to be armor itself, covering her arms and legs. Next was a reinforced corset, designed up north for ladies of action, that could provide an additional level of protection while immobilizing her bosom.

Naomi had far more of a role with the outer layer of thick chitinous plates. Sosima could, in theory, reach and secure each strap unaided, but doing so was immensely slow and awkward. Far better to have a well trained squire handle such things. Barring that, Naomi would do.

Sosima used her hands to tie her hair up into a bun while Naomi secured her boots, and donned the rather fierce black helmet made from the Ankheg’s head. She examined the simple seal newly etched into her blade, confirming that it was intact, before Naomi needed to strap on her gauntlets. Three minutes was fairly quick in terms of Naval engagements; with more drilling they could perhaps get that down to one.

Steeling herself to conceal any signs of weakness, Sosima swept up onto the deck. She found that a battle had already commenced and concluded without her. The men were still recovering from what she gathered to be many minor injuries, based on the state of their dress. Their flesh was, of course, whole and unmarked thanks to Sandara.

“Pleasure to see you, Fishy.” Sandara said with a scowl. “As you can see, we are dead in the water.”

Sosima glanced up at the sails.

“We have two replacements for each sail.” She yelled over the wind and rain, “Repairs will be no great concern.”

“Sure, but we aren’t alone.” Cog said, gesturing at another ship through the rain. “If we use our replacements and they destroy those too, we’ll be drifting at random or rowing.”

“Might be worth the risk, if we can manage another broadside.” Ivey said, “At the moment, neither of us can maneuver.”

“I see.” Sosima said, peering across the water. “What is the nature of the enemy?”

“Stupid muscle goblin with dumb wig,” Rowe said, “with clan that never tell him no.”

Sosima glanced at the little goblin briefly. As lovely as it was to know that this was likely Rowe’s fault, Sosima had been hoping for a tactical assessment, rather than one of their enemy’s character and upbringing. She didn’t bother responding.

“They’ve got a teleporter.” Syl said, “We aren't sure exactly how far, but they tried to board us with six goblins. They fought for a few moments, then retreated.”

“Their leader, at least, had some kind of magical armor that broke when it absorbed enough punishment.” Cog added, “He also spat some kind of acidic goo.”

Cog gestured at his shoulder, where both shirt and body hair had been eaten away by acid, leaving smooth and well muscled flesh.

“Skill at expectorating aside, it sounds like they may be employing the Imp’s Gambit.” Sosima said, raising her eyebrows. “Assuming of course that our foe is not an absolute ignoramus.”

Everyone, save Aaron Ivey, looked at her in clear confusion, silently reminding Sosima that not everyone was fortunate enough to be given an education. She hadn’t even done well in her Infernal Tactics class. Ivey at least seemed appropriately concerned.

“What the bloody hell is The Imp-“ Rosie started, but she was rudely interrupted.

A soft pop, felt more than heard over the sound of the rain, heralded a barrage of gunfire. Syl, as if on instinct, dove to the side. She avoided multiple potentially fatal injuries by doing so, as the deck just behind her exploded into splinters. Sandara, who had been standing less than a foot away, fell to the deck immediately. Four goblins holstered their spent shotguns and drew short, brass blades. Their leader, who indeed looked like quite the braggart, added both insult and injury by spitting upon Syl when she was already down. She screamed and writhed, the acidic liquid entering her wounds.

Trusting the crew to handle that, Sosima rushed forward to repel the invaders. The seal of darkness upon her cutlass hummed to life, drinking in heat, light, and hope in equal measure. The void in which all bound spirits reside was ever-hungry, and even easier to weaponize than its residents. The goblins faded back, allowing their champion to step forward and face Sosima. That didn’t do them much good, as Rowe lobbed a fire bomb into their midst.

Did she simply have that in hand? Why would she use it on our ship?

The ceramic sphere splashed burning liquid upon the screaming goblins, though it was repelled by their leader’s shield. The soaked deck hissed and popped as the water within turned instantly to steam. The captain met her blade with his axe in a competent block, allowing Cog to dart in and slice at his side. The shield failed, but blunted the blow regardless.

Just like that, perhaps fifteen seconds after they’d arrived, the goblins vanished. Through the rain, Sosima could just barely see the flaring light of four burning goblins appearing upon the other deck. The crew smothered the flames in a flurry of activity, allowing Sosima time to gather her thoughts. Syl pulled a healing potion from her belt and **** fed it to Sandara, who completed the process of her rejuvenation once she returned to her senses.

“The Imp’s Gambit. Requirements, a form of mobility that can not be matched or countered, such as teleportation or invisible flight, as well as a swift form of recovery.” Sosima said, affecting her instructor, “Strike with a small ****, retreat, and return quickly. Best used to target high value, **** targets. Though any given strike is unlikely to result in total victory, this harrying tactic will bleed your foes of their resources and weaken them for an eventual ****.”

“Then we strike back in turn!” Lubo said, grinning madly. “My students can swim that distance. If you lead us in an ****-“

“Too many will die.” Sosima said forcefully.

Which is exactly what you want, isn’t it? To drag more of these people irreversibly into your madness.

“Come now,” Lubo said, arms outstretched, “It’s not so bad as that! We can do just as they are. Strike while they are recovering from their own ****, and return to be healed by Miss Quinn.”

Sosima’s main objection died in her throat. It wasn’t a terrible plan, at least compared to letting themselves be bled dry. She couldn’t paint Vishgurv in a negative light regardless. She tried, however, to shoot down the plan anyway.

“Possibly to no effect, if you suggest simply charging in and flailing wildly. That is a warship nearly the size of the Enterprise, manned by smallfolk.” Sosima said, “Do not mistake their small strike **** for an indication of their numbers. Rattsberger, how many would you estimate they have on board?”

The Halfling man was peering through a spyglass at the other ship, valiantly trying to monitor their movements despite the terrible visibility.

“Uh, I don’t know.” He said unhelpfully. “Definitely more than forty on deck, though.”

“So likely two to three times our total number.” Sosima said. “Based on the quality of troops we have seen thus far, I believe we would have a chance in a large scale **** due to our superior officers. Splitting our forces, however, would play into their hands.”

“Sandara, get inside. That’s not negotiable; you’re too **** out here,” Syl said, turning to Sosima. “Then how do you suggest we close the distance for this glorious charge you have in mind? We have around five minutes to discuss, I imagine.”

Sosima bit her lower lip and looked up at the shredded sail. She didn’t have an answer.