Startup 71: Corporate Espionage

Rova 27, Night

It was peak time at the House of Stolen Kisses, and the line stretched out the front door. Men of means including officers in Tessa’s fleet, local landowners, wealthy merchants, and foreign visitors all knew where to go to reach the heights of ecstasy in a safe, well regulated, and above all discrete environment. Many had made appointments in advance, but many more had come as a spur of the moment decision, or were willing to take whatever girl happened to have a spare moment. Those were the ones who had to wait, both in line and in their complementary lounge where competitively priced cigars and rum could be purchased.

Clarisse was an initiate who was proud to have landed her position at the front desk. It required quite a lot in the way of people skills, and paid far better than most jobs available to those of her rank that wished to save their intimate moments for personal time. She had to handle the trivial complaints and questions of hundreds of rich men and women every night, allowing her to learn exactly how stupid and irrational powerful people could be. Despite this, she was mildly caught off guard when her next client, a red haired woman who pulled off the classic Fairwind style quite well, listened to her recommendation and pulled out a set of dice. She immediately started rolling them, examining the results.

“Ah, miss,” Clarisse said, “May I ask what you are doing?”

The gentleman behind Miss Quinn was, for the moment, content to enjoy her decision to bend over at the waist to see her dice more closely. The people behind him, however, may be less sanguine.

“You may.” Miss Quinn said, examining the dice. They were mostly ones through threes, which apparently meant something since she shook her head lightly. “After you make your next recommendation. Morra isn’t the right pick for what I have in mind.”

Clarisse scanned her notes. She'd already considered everyone’s schedules so it didn’t take long. Miss Quinn was swaying her hips slightly in a way that was as blatant as it was effective, but she’d already held up the line for over a minute.

“Tonia.” Clarisse said. “She’s not available for a couple hours, but she’s quite a fire cracker.”

“Excellent.” Miss Quinn said, “she sounds fun.”

She started rolling the dice again.

“So…” Clarisse said.

“So what?” Sandara said, looking over the numbers carefully. Far more threes and fours in this batch.

“I believe I asked you a question.”

“Yep. You did.”

“May I have the answer?”

“You may,” she said, “after you make your next recommendation. Tonia isn’t right either.”

Clarisse blinked.

“Ma’am are you using divination to decide which girl to sleep with?” She asked, “That is a service we provide at desk 4.”

“Sort of. I’m not checking if she’ll be a good lay, and I’m not waiting in line again.” Quinn said, smiling brightly, “Next name? The longer you wait, the longer this takes.”

Clarisse sighed and jotted down a small list of names.

“Check these and wait until I’m between clients.” Clarisse said, sliding the paper over to Miss Quinn and nodding at the next man in line.

He was a far more reasonable sort and quickly agreed to take Morra’s next time slot. Quinn was still rolling dice, so Clarisse handled another client quickly. She glanced down at the dice when she saw that Quinn appeared done. Mostly fives and sixes.

“Janna.” Quinn said, “She’s the right one.”

After collecting a 2 gp deposit, Clarisse quickly wrote down Sandara Quinn’s name on a card and popped it into Janna’s next time slot at around midnight.

“Alright. Be here in three hours or Janna will be available to whoever is willing to pay the surcharge. You may wait in the lounge through that door, if you desire.”

“Thanks, love.” Quinn said, “I’ll be here.”

••••••••••

Sandara wasn’t impressed by the lounge. The booze was overpriced, the cigar smoke all mixed together, and the entertainment was only decent. The girl standing in the corner next to the piano was almost certainly picked based on how good she looked in the sparkly dress more than her skill as a singer. She was decent, but Fishy had her beat on both counts.

The first time an enterprising fellow customer approached her with a brilliant offer about how they could both save money was amusing. It made sense; he had every reason to believe she was there for a quick bit of fun with a professional, and he was offering his services in that area for free. She was a bit meaner the next few times, never quite saying yes or no to see how long he’d keep floundering and buying her drinks. She couldn’t help but laugh when the fifth was a woman, hiding the fact that her intentions were identical behind a veneer of camaraderie.

The woman was clearly one who disdained the male form, or else she wouldn’t have needed to pay for company, so Sandara decided to go with a different angle. With great pleasure and apparent obliviousness, she dragged the poor lady across the room to Jaundiced Jape, who was also waiting while nursing a glass of rum. She proceeded to see how hard she could try to set the two up together without giving the polite merchant girl the opportunity to directly say no without being rude.

Nearly two hours had passed before Fishy entered the lounge, quietly craning her neck to look around. The two women locked eyes, and Sandara perked up. Sosima hadn’t been planning on coming here, so she probably had an update. She approached where Sandara sat, making zero effort to reply to any of the gentlemen who tried to make her enticing offers.

“Ah. I’m glad to have found you.” Sosima said, “Enjoying yourself?”

“Not particularly, but I’ve had worse.” Sandara replied, “How do the tides look?”

Sosima ignored the question, glancing around with disinterest.

“Weren’t you planning on making contact with someone that knew more about Cog and the cat?” She asked, “I didn’t expect to find you sitting alone.”

“I consulted with Besmara about who to ask.” Sandara said, shrugging. “I’m not sure what makes Miss Janna a great choice, but the dice didn’t seem impressed with anyone else.”

Augury was what the fancy folk called that spell. It let someone ask their god if something was a good idea, and get a yes, no, or maybe. Sandara didn’t know whether Janna was a gossip, a romantic, or just an incredible lay, but with any luck she’d be able to give Sandara a better idea of what to do about Cog and Linu.

“Ah. When is your appointment?” Sosima asked.

She looked tired, maybe a little distracted.

“Midnight,” Sandara said, “and my deposit covers an hour of fun.”

“Unfortunate.” Sosima said. “The captain wishes us to transfer Lubo into Lady Fairwind’s custody at around that time.”

“I know the girl’s name now.” Sandara said. “I could always come back another day, or let Jape handle it. I think he’s in the back right now, so I’m sure he’d be happy to ask a few questions while he recovers for round two.”

“No, I don’t believe that will be necessary,” she said, “it’s better that you handle it. I don’t foresee any trouble, and we wouldn’t want you to lose your gold.”

She looked pensive as she spoke. Well, she looked pensive for Sosima. That woman’s face never gave anything away, but she was staring at a random oil lamp like it might come alive and attack.

“If you say so.” Sandara said. “Are you alright, Fishy? You barely glared at the gents who tried to chat you up.”

Sosima flicked her golden eyes to Sandara, lips twitching into a frown.

“You don’t miss anything, do you?” She said, “I suppose I’m feeling guilty. This is, from a certain point of view, entirely my fault. It’s a wonder Naomi doesn’t hate me.”

Sandara’s eyebrows shot up.

“Wasn’t expecting you to go soft, Fishy.” She said, “If it makes you feel better, this way she’s not going to get her head blown off. You really don’t owe her more than that.”

Sosima laughed, though there wasn’t a trace of humor. She stood up and smoothed out her skirts.

“Indeed not.” She said, “If you finish quickly, I’m having the crew congregate at the Brass Flagon so we can push through the rabble together.”

“Those goblins are still there?” Sandara asked, “Don’t they have anything better to do?”

“They’re mostly the wives of merchants and the servants thereof.” Sosima said with a snort, “Of course they don’t.”

••••••••••

The protest had officially reached the point where Syl felt affronted not by the fact that it was there, but the fact that it was so transparently a social event at this point. Most of the goblin ladies were gathered on picnic blankets having a grand old time, congregating around tall metal pylons that drew in and purified the smell of shit and the sea found in any port harbor.

They even brought along entertainment. Cornhole boards were set up, there was a knitting circle, and strangest of all was a portly shirtless human playing a set of hand drums for a swooning group of goblin women.

A few of the ladies drew themselves up to intercept Syl, but Syl drew her sickle. She didn’t hold it in a particularly threatening manner; she just let the silver blade flash in the moonlight. That was all the intimidation needed.

She hopped up onto the ship easily, the movement automatic after months aboard, and walked to the bow. Cog was gently, carefully arranging a spiral of bones. He placed each in a deliberate, practiced sequence, starting with the smallest bones near the center.

Syl cursed under her breath. She’d come to find him at the exact moment when he was least available. Cog did this ritual, some Pharasma mandated nonsense, every night at around this time. It had practical, direct benefits, making him dramatically harder to injure, so she couldn’t just demand that he stop. She knew enough about the ritual to know he was more than half done in any event. She sighed and leaned against the railing while Cog begged for his goddess’s favor.

She occupied herself by looking at the bones as a puzzle, identifying them as best she could. She’d primarily studied human and vishkanya bones in school, but she knew approximately where most of these came from. She’d watched him harvest a few in person. A humerus from a grindylow, the ulna from one of those flying serpents’ wings, a chicken leg from his own dinner one night. Syl wondered if there was logic to what bones he added to his bag, but not enough to ask. If it were important for her to know, Cog would probably tell her.

The last few minutes of the ritual left Cog at the center of the spiral, silently looking down at the tiny knucklebone that served as the innermost point of the spiral. He was meditating, obviously, though he was probably also praying. It occurred to Syl that the two might be more similar than she’d thought, if she couldn’t tell the difference at a glance.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, nodding.

“Hey.” He said in his deep rumble, “Did you need something? I hope I didn’t delay anything important.”

Her presence acknowledged, he knelt down and started gathering the bones, starting at the center of the spiral and working his way out. Syl wasn’t sure if that was a ritual too, or just a way to be sure he didn’t miss any of them.

“Not much.” She said, “I was hoping to get something done and be back here by midnight, but we don’t have a strict timetable. I need your advice on something related to the temple.”

A scowl started to form on his face until he crushed it, returning to a neutral mask.

“What is it?” He asked, “I don’t think I’ll be able to pull many strings at the moment, if that’s what you’re here for.”

“No, I just wanted a recommendation.” Syl said, “Is there anyone in particular I should go to for a dossier based on just a name? Preferably someone who isn’t too busy, isn't too expensive, and can be discreet.”

“Morra.” Cog said immediately, “At least if you’re ok with Linu knowing everything you asked. They’re friends and she’s a massive gossip when she can get away with it. It’ll never leave the temple, but everyone in her inner circle will know by the end of the day.”

That doesn’t sound discreet to me.

“Is she a friend of yours?” Syl asked, “I don’t really want this spreading around the temple.”

“Then don’t ask the House of Stolen Kisses.” Cog said with a chuckle. “They don’t advertise, but they never forget what anyone asks for. That’s leverage, or data. If you ask Morra, it’ll only be people I know. How sensitive is the information you’re asking about?”

Syl huffed out a breath.

“Not too terribly sensitive, I’ll admit. Emrys is trying to piece together where Redclaw’s treasure is.” She said, “He wants to know where a retired captain and an island tribe are. If everything goes well, it won’t be relevant to anyone else by the end of the year.”

Cog nodded.

“They can probably manage that.” He said. “I’ll write a note. Knock three times on the rear door, the black one. Like this.”

He demonstrated the sequence. Not complex, but deliberate.

“They’ll let you in, and you can make the request.” He said. “I don’t suspect this will cost more than twenty pieces for basic local information, unless the captain in question has paid for a hush order.”

It’ll have to do.

“Thanks.” She said. “Now, I need you to get the men ready. We are going to transfer Lubo tonight, after the streets are clear. Sosima is gathering everyone who is still awake; she’ll come pick Lubo up later. Have her ready.”

••••••••••

Dierdre picked up the trio’s trail again not long after sending Ratts to inform Emrys of her findings. They didn’t seem to be doing anything too terribly treacherous, just relaxing in the kind of pub that put up high walls around its tables.

They played cards, drank wine, and spoke of things that didn’t sound like secret codes. No, they were just finished with their business and spending their evening with leisure; it was all so incredibly commonplace that Dierdre had to try very hard not to wander off. That was one benefit of being an Orphne she missed as a pixie: the attention span. Idleness didn’t bore her while she was in that form.

She was so bored, in fact, that she lost track of time. She sat in the corner of the booth atop one of their seats, legs pulled up to her chest so she wouldn’t risk jostling either of the men. Several times she considered using her amulet to read their minds, but for some reason Emrys had emphatically commanded her not to. It might have been anywhere from ten minutes to an hour before an orcish woman with long, shaggy black hair slid into the booth, immediately returning Dierdre to the present moment.

She was wearing a veil that covered her lower face, but something about her feral yellow eyes seemed familiar. The orcish woman had a warrior’s build, though embellished with a fine dress and jewelry. Her aura sparked with a strong blue, the color of law, shot through with streaks of cruel ash gray: stains of evil, though faint ones. The newcomer wasted no time, immediately delivering a message in a voice pitched deliberately low.

“He knows about Snowfeather and Harkalm.”

Varossa nodded, unperturbed, and sipped her wine. She held it in her mouth for a moment, savoring the flavor.

“That was inevitable.” She said, “Do you know what he intends to do with that information?”

“He’s going to commission an investigation on Harkalm and a group called the Wavestrider Tribe.” The orc answered, “He hopes to assemble the Three Reasons without you.”

Varossa smiled wide.

“Oh, he knows about the Tribe?” She said, “Not bad; his plan might actually work. Anything else?”

“Not much else, no.” The orc said, “He’s convinced Fairwind to let him store that madwoman in one of her prisons for the rest of the year.”

“Oh dear.” Varossa said. “We can’t have that.”

She finished her wine and placed her glass on a tray at the end of the table.

“Creed, be a dear.” She said, and pointed directly at Dierdre.

Faster than Dierdre could react, Creed swept out one large arm and pinned her small frame against the wall. Once he knew where she was, he shifted his hand and tried to stifle her cry. He ended up shoving a finger into her mouth, which got the job done well enough. He winced when she bit down, but nothing more.

Dierdre cursed herself. She’d gotten sloppy in her boredom. She should have at least sat on top of the divider; she’d settled closer to listen in more easily, and because it was more comfortable. Now she was being dragged onto the table, struggling against a man who could have easily overpowered her if she’d been human sized. He patted her down and pulled away her bow and her pouch of pixie dust, both flickering into visibility as he did.

She lashed out with her magic, but without her equipment she had precious little to work with. There were no plants to animate, and her befuddling charm bounced off the alchemist’s mind like a thrown rock. Varossa unslung her mace, and Dierdre had the sinking certainty that she was about to die, beaten to **** on a pub table.

“Don’t.” The orc said, her voice raising to a higher pitch in panic. “She’s summoned. He’ll know immediately if you kill her.”

Dierdre continued to struggle invisibly as they discussed her fate.

“What exactly do you intend for me to do?” Varossa said. “She’s a risk; she knows too much. She’s even seen you.”

The orc didn’t seem to have an answer. Creed looked up for a second, and shoved Dierdre across the table towards Hinson with a grunt.

“I’ll take care of it if one of you all can manage this.” Creed growled. “Pixie dust has all sorts of effects. I can mix something up with it to make her black out.”

Dierdre almost escaped then, as she changed hands. She summoned an illusion of herself, nearly two feet tall and trailing sparkles, that darted away crying for help. She slipped out of the bard’s confused grip and moved to follow her doppelgängers’ lead.

It was not to be. Varossa’s mace, never returned to her belt, flashed out and slapped her back to the table. Face down this time, she was deposited into the orc’s calloused yet manicured hands. There she struggled as Varossa explained away the illusion as a tasteless joke by Hinson, and Creed mixed pixie dust into his wine in small, careful doses. When it was ready, she was dunked into the wine glass, and then she knew no more.