Startup 85: Gray Market Entry

Lamashan 11

It took seconds for the Cecaelia guards to fling themselves onto the deck of the enterprise. Half a dozen of them breached the surface like a pod of dolphins and latched onto railings, the deck, or even the side of the ship itself with long, suction cup lined tentacles. We were surrounded, and most of them weren’t even out of the water yet.

If Sosima hadn’t warned us they were coming only seconds before they did, things could have gotten messy. I don’t, as a general rule, shoot first and ask questions later. I’m pretty sure my problem is too many questions and not enough shooting, to be honest. Even so, they seemed to be actively trying to spook my team with their dynamic entry, leaning forward and leering at my crew, even if they kept their long knives sheathed.

Their apparent leader, a jacked guy with a glowing pink necklace, smiled when Filli moved to intercept him. He was about eye level with me, but only because the tentacles spread out instead of lifting him up; he was effectively crouching at all times.

“Welcome to Besmara’s Throne, honored guests.” He said, baring his shark-like teeth and pointing at me, “So, I think you’re the captain. Where’s the cleric?”

He swept his eyes across the deck. Whatever information he was going off of, it apparently didn’t include a description of Sandara. His eyes lingered on her, but no more than they did on Naomi. Sandara shrugged and stepped forward.

“That’s me. Thought I’d step in to visit.” She said, “Is that alright?”

“Of course!” He said, focusing on her, “I wish you luck in the Voyage, but I’d suggest enjoying the sights for a few months. It’s no joke during hurricane season, even for us.”

He gestured at his necklace, and while I was a bit far away to make out the details, the pink pearl’s glow had started to shift towards green once it got into range of my magic vision.

Abjuration; something defensive?

“Eh, maybe I’ll do it.” Sandara said with a smirk, “If I can find time in my schedule.”

The man, who later introduced himself as Riptide, laughed. I took the time to test his capabilities with What a Man Can Do. As I read his aura, I picked up a broad idea of exactly what he was capable of and his relative strength. He was around level 6 total, and a cleric, but the clerical magic didn’t seem to be where most of his power came from. The six Cecaelias (knowledge nature success) that were hanging off my ship wouldn’t be enough to fight my whole crew, but I had a creeping suspicion they were just the greeting committee.

“So, Captain, I’ll be showing you the rest of the way to the port.” Riptide said, bringing me back to the moment at hand, “Your scout is perfectly lovely, but she seems to be a bit of an amateur. I’d suggest updating your charts as we go. It’s embarrassing for a Voyager’s ship to go down on their way out.”

••••••••••

Syl took notes constantly while we followed the guardians, as she had all day. We’d have a solid path in and out in the future, as long as we always approached from the direction of Quent and left the same way. It’d be slow every time, unfortunately; lots of tiny adjustments. I could definitely see why this place wasn’t the capital anymore, and that impression just grew and grew as we passed through the area known as The Queen’s Procession.

At least hundreds, possibly thousands, of corpses hung from the cliffs that rose to either side of us. Most hung by their necks, but some were tied to sticks or hung by the ankles. Strangest of all, the bodies were in excellent shape. They looked like a skilled doctor could still save most of them, as far as I could tell, but their clothes told a story of months or years left out in the sun and rain and sea spray. Each and every one of them glowed with a faint indigo aura of necromancy.

Many wore tattered old Chelish naval uniforms, but not all. Most of the rest were in the kind of flashy but practical wear I’d expect from a pirate. There were a few that stuck out though, wearing finery that I hoped meant they’d been hung in their Sunday best, not that they were civilians. I distracted myself from the implications of the wall by considering what they’d be worth to Jerry.

That brought my thoughts back to my friend, who I still hadn’t heard from. I checked my menu again, and Narwhal was fine. If Narwhal was alive, that meant Jerry was probably alive, or at least I’d find out what happened eventually.

I was very happy when we arrived at our destination, not least because the waters continued past Queen Bes. Only a mile or two downstream, I could see a wall of dark clouds and flashing lightning that ran all the way to the top of the tall cliffs surrounding us. I did not want to go in there. Even the water itself glowed with faint transmutation magic.

Queen Bes was the smallest port I’d seen since I left Goatshead. Nearly every building I saw looked like either a shack made out of driftwood or a repurposed shipwreck. Some of them looked relatively nice with coral ornamentation and some kind of waterproof paste filling in cracks, but they capped out at “overpriced beach house you rent because it’s close to the water.” The roads were made up of gravel, the same type of gravel I’d seen advertised in other ports as cheap filler to keep a ship heavy enough to sail safely.

The whole place was nestled in a large stone cave. It was the one large flat area of relatively dry land I’d seen since arriving at Besmara’s Throne that wouldn’t require scaling a cliff, and they made full use of every inch of it. They even had buildings built into the walls of the cave, reminding me of Heslandaena. I felt a shot of nostalgia at the sight.

It was the first time I hadn’t had to wait or negotiate for a dock. Not only were docking fees waived for clerics of Besmara, there were quite a few old, unused docks with very reasonable rates. The old man who helped us dock was so happy to have a customer I gave him an extra gold piece just on principle.

I wonder; could the drow make an underground road here? I bet they could make a killing if they leveraged drow cave engineering. This is a natural cavern, not like the one Heslandaena is in. I bet someone like Dovnu could come in here and literally create real estate from scratch. Give it a few decades and she’d own half the town, no dragon war needed. It's honestly weird none of the locals have done something like that already. Do they lack the infrastructure, the will, or am I missing something?

“So, Cap’n,” Sandara said to me, “The plan is to find out where Harkalm is, do whatever it is with him we need to do, and get out. Right?”

“Sure, but you can do that voyage thing if you’d like as well. It sounds like it’s a big deal.” I said, then reconsidered. “Assuming it’s not likely to take more than a day or two. I’ve got a mission to get absolution from the high priestess of a god of the Oceans, and I think Besmara counts. Helping you out with some big rite could probably help with that.”

Sandara snorted.

“I’m not doing the bloody Voyage.” She said, as if I’d suggested self immolation, “It’s a dangerous bit o’ dinner theatre and Besmara’s never said anything about it to me. Just clerics who already did it themselves and think it makes ‘em special. You get a nice little trinket for your trouble but I’m pretty sure you could make something nicer in a few days if we had the coin to spare. Maybe in the dry season, if you’re still cursed by Gozreh then.”

Ah shit. Hopefully we can sidestep this, then. I’m not all that married to the mission, after all. If I get some kind of random encounter mission pushing me into this, then sure. Yeah, right. Maybe I’ll start to believe it if I keep telling myself that.

“I hope you’re right.” I said out loud. “I gather you haven’t been here before? How’d you become a cleric, anyway?”

“I blasphemed until she gave me magic to get me to shut up.” Sandara said with a shrug. “She’d have looked bad if she didn’t. I didn’t get any formal training, if that’s what you’re asking. Being a cleric is a lot easier than you might think. You just have to be good at guessing what the god wants and it’ll usually work out.”

I rolled my eyes. I was pretty sure there was a dreg of truth somewhere in her words, but with Sandara I was never sure what was a half truth and what was complete fabrication.

“Of course.” I said, “That’s why there are so many clerics as strong as you running around.”

“Nah, I figure that’s your fault.” Sandara said, “I’m nothing special, but you are.”

She said it breezily, as if it didn’t matter at all.

“You were already more of a cleric than anyone else I know when we first met.” I said. “I think you’re selling yourself short.”

“Not by much, but it doesn’t matter.” She said, giving me a wicked grin, “I can do real miracles now, and that’s all I need. Makes you worth keeping around. That and a couple other reasons.”

“Happy to help?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes you are.” She said, her grin widening, “That’s another reason. You keep things interesting, mostly by being far too helpful. I’ll never be bored when you’re around.”

She leaned with her elbows against the side rail, bent at the waist with straight legs and arched back. For any other woman, I’d have assumed an innocent motive out of politeness rather than conviction. Sandara, however, got a quick swat from my hand that did interesting things to her tightly bound posterior. Her smile didn’t waver.

“I’m so glad my struggles amuse you.” I said, “I suppose that’s fine. I’m using you too. You’re a good healer, and a good lay.”

“Everyone wins.” Sandara said, “So, any clue how to find out about this old captain? I’d really rather not sit around for your little friend to get involved more than he needs to.”

“It used to be the capital,” I said, “If there isn’t a Callistria endorsed brothel here, I’ll eat my boots. Seems better than going straight to the Besmara priesthood, especially if you’re not planning on shirking something that they seem to take seriously here.”

••••••••••

Thankfully my boots went uneaten, but it was a near miss. There actually wasn’t a temple of Callistria, but there was a brothel that had a small shrine to the patron goddess of prostitutes. There I found a bald, broad shouldered half-orc woman who was perfectly willing to trade gossip despite not actually being part of the network.

Rawna didn’t have any magic to speak of when I read her aura, and at a glance her girls were a lot less cleaned up and professional than anyone at the House of Stolen Kisses. Most of them that I saw up close had an uncanny, glassy eyed expression that I’d mostly only seen at parties in my old life.

Not a cleric, just a pimp that happens to be a lady. Hell, she might even keep the shrine up just to make **** girls feel more comfortable. Then again, maybe I’m being a suspicious asshole. This might be the best job available here.

“Nothing happens here, you know?” Madame Rawna said, “I’ll send along a letter if anything big comes along, but Quent isn’t willing to pay me for anything fancy so I just keep track of what people are saying. I’d be surprised if the High Priestess remembered my name.”

“You might be lucky if she doesn’t.” I said, smiling, “I’m willing to pay a few gold pieces if you can tell me about a man named Harkalm. Rahil Harkalm, if I remember correctly. I think he has something I need.”

Rawna pursed her lips.

“That’s a Rahadoumi name, isn’t it?” She asked, “You don’t get many of that type around these parts. Can’t tell the difference between a proper god and someone like Asmodeus. I can ask around, see if anyone remembers the name. If he did anything noteworthy I might have written him down somewhere.”

A plan clicked into place.

“How much does it cost to hire all of your girls to visit my ship?” I asked, “My men had a pretty rough week. They’d probably enjoy a party, and I can justify paying you a lot more for a service than for a bit of gossip I might find on my own.”

If these girls are getting any respectable pay it’ll be too rich for my blood, but looking at this dump I doubt it.

“Oh, I don’t usually rent them out like that.” She said, “Many a captain sees my girls as just another treasure to steal. I do have a large room and some comfortable beds here, though. I ask for one gold per night for large parties, and an extra two silver for each girl you want attending. I’ve got twelve girls, if you’d like to look at them?”

So you’re asking, for a full night per girl, about what the House of Stolen Kisses offers as take home pay for an hour of work from the girls. These girls are either exploited or you are being crushed by the market. Or both.

“How much variety? Any lads?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral, “I’ve got a pretty even gender split in my crew, and several different races. A few goblins, for example.”

“No to the gentlemen.” She said, “No men. I’ve found that they can get a bit handsy and aggressive, and it makes the girls uncomfortable. Not enough demand anyway. I’m afraid I don’t have any goblin girls either; same problem about lack of demand. I’ve got a hobgoblin, though?”

I nodded placidly.

“I can manage three gold per night for as long as I’m here.” I said, “I want my crew to be free to come and go, and I promise good conduct. That should cover the room, the girls, and your own efforts while I finish my work, no? I’ll just give you twenty now, and we can settle up later. I certainly don’t intend to be here for a full week.”

If any of them are the kind to beat the shit out of a prostitute, I’d kinda like to know now so I can filter them out anyway. I’ll put Cog and Sima in charge of keeping them in line.

Rawna’s eyes widened at the number, and I was pretty sure that in her view I was overpaying. That was fine. I expected to get my money’s worth. A smoky black arm reached up from my shadow holding a handful of gold, which I counted out one by one and placed on the table between us.

Twenty gold isn’t so bad. I can make that back in an hour with the right setup. Shame that the people around here aren’t any more likely to be in the market for halberds than Quent.

“So, Rawna,” I said, “Care to tell me the best places to ask around? I’ll pay you regardless, so we might as well figure out how to make this easier on all of us.”

••••••••••

In all my hopes about avoiding the drama of Sandara not wanting to do her religious obligations, I’d made a single assumption. I’d assumed that Sandara would be cooperative. She and I both wanted to get in, get out, and get back to work, so naturally she’d keep her head down and make noncommittal answers if anyone asked her questions.

In retrospect, I feel embarrassed. Making that assumption was like expecting trigger discipline from Rowe.

Sandara, Syl, and I were trawling the taverns looking for rumors and new hires, and she mentioned in passing that she was a cleric of Besmara. Two guys at a table lit up.

“Oh definitely!” An older guy with a receding hairline said, “If you’re here to do the voyage at a time like this, I bet you’re really something.”

“Can I see your pearl when you get back?” His buddy asked. “I hear Besmara blesses the ones who take on the harder challenges more.”

I was ready to write them off and move on, but Sandara groaned. She could still walk steady, but a few glasses of rum could still loosen her tongue right up.

“No, only someone completely daft or too powerful for it to matter would do the Voyage at a time like this.” She said, “Besmara isn’t watching. She’s too busy sailing among the stars to care all that much about us kids playin in the water.”

Syl snorted.

“Thats probably for the best, honestly.” She said, “I can’t imagine anything worse than having a goddess looming over my shoulder at all times.”

“Yeah, the voyage is just a bunch of people tugging on mama’s skirts and hoping she looks at them.” Sandara whispered, leaning in towards Syl but not half as quiet as she should have been, “You only really need to catch a god’s eye once. Emrys here pissed off a god and all he did was send a couple servants. We killed em and Gozreh hasn’t done anything since. The gods don’t care, but it’s handy to convince people they do.”

Syl nodded thoughtfully, but I figured that was quite enough blasphemy for one day. From the offended expressions on the two guys faces, I desperately wished that I’d brought along Dierdre in pixie form to wipe away the memory.

It’s not even about the faith, not entirely. This whole town only matters because of that damn ritual. You don’t go into a bar and shit talk the local sports team.

“Alright, girls. I don’t think we’re gonna find anything more about Harkalm here.” I turned to the two men, “Don’t mind her, she’s just saying that to get a rise out of you. She likes picking fights when she’s drunk.” (Opposed Bluff 4+13+5+5=27)

Oof. A bit low, but it should be enough to convince random guys at the bar.

I looked around, however, and sighed. Sandara’s stage whisper had carried to a few others, and they were talking about it. They’d heard my explanation too, and they didn’t seem angry exactly. Just bored enough that an out of town cleric blaspheming at the pub qualified as a topic of conversation.

Well that’s probably going to bite us in the ass.

••••••••••

“You want me to go to a whorehouse and recruit the girls.” Naomi said, “I’ve got a lot of questions and a lot of them are ‘Why?’”

She took a drag on her cigar. She mostly only smoked them when she was binding Milo, but she seemed to prefer him. She’d swap back to him any time she didn’t have another spirit she needed more.

“Do you want the version I think is true or do you want me to dirty it up so you’ll believe me?” I asked.

A faint smile flickered across her face. We were standing close to one another in an alleyway near the brothel, speaking quietly enough that we wouldn’t be overheard.

“Either one works.” She said. “I can read between the lines.”

“I need recruits.” I said, “Anyone works. Those girls seem like they aren’t in a good place. Underpaid and I’m pretty sure the ones I saw were on ****. I think the Enterprise is a better place, if they want on. Hell, even if they want to keep doing **** I pay enough so they can just buy more ****.”

“People run screaming from the Enterprise.” Naomi said, “What makes you think these girls will stay?”

Now that’s a bit harsh, but not completely wrong I guess. They mostly only flee when something happens. Then again something happens at nearly every port…

“Power.” I said, “People who work for me grow quickly, and I think they might grow based on what they are doing or what skills they already have. If I have them study those books Filli has on their first week here or have them start studying under Cave Mother, they might even get magic. If not, they’ll be capable deckhands no matter what they look like.”

Naomi nodded thoughtfully, then shrugged.

“Maybe.” She said. “Why should I do this for you though? It’s still just you taking advantage of them.”

“Unlike you, they don’t have an **** man tying them to me.” I said, rolling my eyes. “There are worse places than here in the Shackles, but also better. Next time we go to Quent they can just leave. Run off and become a barmaid or even just work at a better brothel. More importantly, only the ones who really want to come will be coming with us.”

Naomi raised an eyebrow and let out a puff of smoke.

“You see,” I said, “I’m sending a recruiter who is going to be both honest and do everything she can to sabotage retention. There is no way that anyone who isn’t pretty sure of their decision is going to commit to the Enterprise after hearing a sales pitch from you.”

She paused, seeming to listen to something, then narrowed her eyes.

“Fine.” She said, “I’ll do it.”

We stepped towards the brothel, but a hard eyed woman intercepted me. An elf with cold blue eyes and a glowing pink pearl embedded in a ring on her hand. Her face fell into a distasteful scowl when she saw my face.

“Are you Captain M’Dair of the Enterprise?” She asked.

“Why yes I am.” I said, “You have me at a disadvantage.”

“I was told you were an elf, but of course you’re not.” She said sourly. “So, explain to me what a shroomlicker noble in the company of a heretic is doing asking about a long dead heretic?”