Startup 87: Affirmative Action

Lamashan 12

Laurent clapped her hands and a young half elf woman, who looked about sixteen to me, jumped to pull out a table and assemble it right in front of us. She moved quickly and smoothly, in the way only someone who has drilled a task endlessly can. By the time Laurent pulled a bottle of wine and three glasses out of her cabinet, the table was up and Sosima was sitting gracefully in the first of three chairs.

“Thanks Alice, you can go after you set up. So, names?” Laurent asked, “You’re not on my crew, so I’d prefer you call me Matilde.”

“You may call me Sylvia Dubois,” Sosima said, “and this is Jean DuPont. I’m afraid we can’t tell you more than that, Matilde. The Winter Council must operate in secret these days.”

The names were obviously fake, plucked straight from the Kyonin opera scene by Sosima, but Laurent nodded. The Winter Council, to the best of Autopilot’s knowledge, was a network of elves dedicated to the suppression and destruction of all drow, especially on the surface. That sounds harsh but reasonable given how bad many drow are, until you remember that drow who live on the surface long enough become visually indistinguishable from surface elves, and surface elves who decided to live underground would slowly develop a dark grey or blue complexion to help them blend into the underground stones. Physically speaking, the only difference between elves and drow was where they tended to live and the drows’ innate demonic magic. Even that was fairly minor until you got to drow nobles.

The Winter Council had started as a bunch of extremists, and gotten worse as the paranoia set in. Eventually they started black bagging any elf that seemed suspicious, or who pissed off the wrong people, on suspicion of being drow infiltrators. Sometimes they were even right, which reinforced their belief that their cause and methods were just. They’d been disbanded a while ago by the current Queen of elves, but the true believers had just nodded politely and quietly continued operations with the help of private donors.

“I see. How big of a threat is M’Dair?” Laurent asked, “I can probably pull together a few lads to raid whatever hole they are staying in if you tell me where it is.”

“No.” Sosima said. “I’m sure you’d be marvelous, but this is part of something larger than one clan. We are keeping them under observation so that we can track the rest of their network of settlements. Revealing that we know their location could ruin decades of work.”

“Alright, but Besmara doesn’t work for free.” Laurent said, “I’m perfectly happy to ruin the shroomlickers’ day, but if I’m not getting a new port to raid, I don’t see why I should help you instead of securing it myself.”

Sosima and I exchanged a glance at one another, and I took in the violet glow of Dierdre’s magic. I gave a tiny nod. Sosima was buffed to the gills with charisma boosting magic.

“Maybe we could tell her about one of their allies.” I said, “The ones we recently received orders to interfere with?”

I was referring to the Bekyar Trading Consortium. I couldn’t imagine a better use of Captain Laurent’s time than hunting down **** ships, and it was hardly even a lie. Sinkitah was sufficiently in Nendra’s pocket to engage in lawfare against me, so she was definitely affiliated with drow.

“Ah, yes.” Sosima agreed. “An exchange, then? I’ll provide you with a list of ships. We have the legal right under Shackles Law to give you permission to collect from them. A far better use of your time than hunting down a treasure that’s only valuable as part of a set.”

Laurent snorted, probably at the idea of legalized piracy, but she rubbed her pink pearl ring with her thumb and looked thoughtfully at the corner of the room.

“I could be persuaded," she said, looking at me and smiling, “if you can think of anything else to make it worth my while.”

“I would be rather happy to persuade you in person,” Sosima said, leaning forward and pushing a strand of hair behind Laurent’s ear seductively. “You will find I’m quite skilled in that area.”

Laurent gave Sosima a bemused smirk as she sat back.

“Sorry, but yer not-“

Dierdre’s magic flashed, and Laurent seamlessly shifted her eyes to me. Her face shifted from clear rejection to mild interest.

“the only demand on my time. I’ve got to patrol the town. When would you care to meet for some… persuasion?”

“It would need to be some time today or tonight.” I said, “I’ve got duties to attend starting tomorrow.”

“Return here before dusk,” Laurent said, “I’ll need to mind the drunkards when it gets dark.”

I swept my hand forward and kissed her knuckle.

“Then I’m looking forward to it.”

“As am I.” She said, “In my experience, it’s nearly impossible to keep a lover on my crew without him getting ideas. A handsome stranger is just what I needed.”

Dierdre had a few useful spells related to social interaction, with the big two in this conversation being Glibness and Deflect Blame. Sosima had led the conversation both because I was assigning her to manage Laurent while we were in town, and because she had Glibness boosting her charisma.

Deflect Blame was intended to be used as an emergency button. It tweaked a target’s memories of the last few moments so that a different person had done something Dierdre or Sosima had done. For example, a failed seduction attempt that would have made working together slightly awkward. I’d been willing to take the bullet of getting shot down, but if Laurent was up for it then I figured I could work with it.

Glibness was a massively boosted version of my Silver Tongue ability, adding a ridiculous +20 to bluff checks to lie. It made the roll nearly irrelevant, with one major caveat. Sosima could convince someone of her sincerity, but not that her claims were true. If Sosima claimed to be an incarnation of Besmara, then she had a pretty good chance of succeeding the roll. The fact that she was a tall, muscular, busty woman with black hair and a nautical background would certainly help.

That wouldn’t stop someone capable of sensing divine auras, noticing that she had the wrong eye color, or even just being cynical from assuming Sosima was a crazy person who merely believed herself to be Besmara. We had a lot of leeway, but not infinite. We also couldn’t convince Laurent that drow were actually fine, for similar reasons. That would just make her think we were communist hippies or whatever equivalent stereotype avowed racists called people in Golarion.

People don’t trust communist hippies, so I can’t have that.

••••••••••

The blank page glared up at Cog, silently demanding to be filled. Unfortunately, nothing sprang to mind to write. What was worth mentioning to Linu and, by extension, his mother?

The storm? Hardly. That would just upset them. They both worried too much as it was.

Rawna’s subpar brothel? They’d probably want to start asking questions, and he wasn’t quite sure yet if Rawna was bad enough to justify punishment.

The horns? No real developments there.

Filli? She was mostly reading books, sketching, and standing by in case something happened that required her. Rowe had joined her, but the two seemed perfectly still to stand watch together. May the gods have mercy on anyone who tried to attack the ship.

How was someone supposed to send a letter every week? Not all that much happened! He needed to, though. Filli’s second set of primers was being held hostage behind his first letter home, so he harrumphed and started working on an overview of her progress to slip somewhere into the middle of the letter.

“Cog,” Naomi called, knocking on the door to his cabin. “I’d like to speak with you.”

Thank you, Pharasma.

“Come in.” He said, “Door isn’t locked.”

Naomi didn’t bother with pleasantries. She walked in, closed the door, and locked eyes with the still-seated Cog.

“You made one of the girls feel uncomfortable.” She said, “Care to guess who?”

Cog sighed. He wasn’t certain, but there was only one girl he’d broken a rule with. They weren’t formal rules or anything, just tendencies he’d noticed with sex workers he knew. Lines they built around clients to keep everything professional.

Rule 2. Fake personal connections, but avoid real intimacy or talk about your life.

“Probably Tuya.” He said, “She seemed calm while I spoke to her, so I thought it would be fine.”

“Cog, I’m not sure if she’s capable of facial expressions.” Naomi said, “What, were you expecting a woman paid to be nice to you to directly tell you to fuck off?”

I’ve known women who would. Then again, this isn’t a proper temple. I doubt Rawna would accept that kind of behavior.

“I’ll apologize to her later.” Cog said, “It’s not every day you meet someone who’s probably met your god, though.”

Naomi didn’t seem impressed.

“She didn’t say anything about that to me.” She said, “Why the hell do you think she’s met a goddess?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s a Shabti.” Cog said. “She might be an aasimar, but they tend to show up on ground consecrated by benevolent gods as children. She appeared on Besmaran holy ground as an adult. Big difference.”

Naomi stared at him, got a distant look in her eyes, then groaned.

“Ok, I’ll just ask then,” she grumbled. “What is a shabti?”

“Living heresies against Pharasma,” Cog said, “but that’s not their fault. Basically, a long time ago someone figured out how to make an enchantment that makes a newborn soul look mostly like a given person, then send them to the Boneyard as a petitioner.”

“…why though?” Naomi asked, totally mystified. “That sounds complicated.”

“It’s not for anything good.” Cog said. “Usually it’s done by people hoping to avoid the afterlives they earned. People don’t try to avoid going to Elysium or the Heavens. It’s likely that Tuya’s first conscious moments were her waiting in line or standing trial before Pharasma for a stack of crimes she didn’t commit, with no idea who she was. She could talk and had all the right mannerisms, but she was essentially a newborn. If she really can’t remember anything, she probably wasn’t noticed immediately and they suppressed her memories of whatever she was incorrectly put through.”

“So you deduced that she’s had a hard life and your very first thought was to pester her about it?” Naomi demanded, “Leave her alone, Cog. If you’re very lucky she’ll decide to come with us on the Enterprise and she can tell you when she’s ready.”

“Fine, fine.” Cog said, “I just wonder if she even knows what she is.”

“She’s not going to find out from you unless she decides to ask, understood?” Naomi said, “I’ll let her know the basics; she can ask or not later. Now leave her alone.”

Cog chuckled.

“Yes ma’am.” He said. “You know, you’d be a good Madame.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Naomi asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Yes, Naomi.” Cog said, rolling his eyes. “It would be a very strange insult coming from me.”

••••••••••

“Yeah, I managed it.” Riptide said, “It was a very rough day, I’ll tell you that for free.”

The octopus man was casually seated at the bar, his tentacles wrapped around the stool beneath him. He had a whole bottle of rum next to him, which a quick glance at the top shelf identified as one of this bar’s more deluxe offerings. He sat like a tiger, content to watch but confident in his power. Syl sat in Sandara’s shadow, mostly here to make sure that the reckless cleric wouldn’t get jumped.

“So, if that’s free, what would it cost for you to tell the rest?” Sandara asked, signaling the bartender to bring down another bottle of rum.

Two gold on a friendly gesture? Ridiculous.

“Depends on what you’re offering,” Riptide said, “but it’s probably more than you can afford if you want the whole story.”

“Oh, come on!” Sandara said, uncorking the bottle. “You can tell me.”

“Oh I certainly can.” Riptide said, laughing.

Syl recognized that technically true answer, and knew there would be no follow up. Sandara was fond of that trick. She could not imagine a more agonizing way to spend an hour than listening to these two dance around each other, probably without extracting a single word of value.

“You Besmarans all seem very fond of telling tales of your exploits.” Syl cut in. “There must be some rule or custom, yes? What are the rules? What will you tell us, and what is your price? I’m sure that in a town dedicated to Besmara, there will be a few retirees wandering around carrying a glowing symbol of their wild youth.”

“You’d be wrong there, actually.” Riptide said, “The devout of Besmara never settle on land. You won’t find many who earned their pearls here. Easier for Besmara’s chosen people, o’ course. I only visit land for this anyway.”

He gestured broadly at the tavern, baring his shark like teeth as if that would intimidate them. Syl wondered for a moment if his arteries were differently placed than was normal for a human. Probably not; his neck was structured identically, and his brain would need oxygen.

“Aye? So since it’s so easy for ye’ I suppose you’ve got a great story to tell.” Sandara pressed. “Besmara expects us to share tales of our exploits, ye know. At least when we can’t con someone out of coin or drink.”

Riptide snorted.

“So even the heretic knows about the ritual of obedience?” He said, “What about that ritual makes you so happy to accept it when you spit on the Voyage?”

Obedience? So the Besmaran equivalent of Cog’s bone thing is going to the pub? No wonder Sandara follows her.

“Besmara pays up front with a blessing of protection for that,” Sandara said, shrugging, “and it’s fun. Telling tales and getting people to pay for it in coin and booze? I like it, so I do it. Besmara hasn’t ever given me orders to do the Voyage in any case, so I’m trying to decide if it’s worth the trouble. I might do it; I might not.”

“Why did you do it?” Syl asked, “I didn’t see any of your underlings with pearls. I doubt you’re the only Besmaran among them.”

“The weak serve the strong,” Riptide said, “and treasure demonstrates my might.”

He gestured at his necklace, displaying the pearl. Sandara rolled her eyes. Syl leaned in slightly, wondering what his pearl did. She doubted that it turned into a weapon; that would be very unfair to clerics like Sandara who rarely got their hands dirty.

“Mate, did you actually just quote the pirate code?” Sandara asked, “You know it was only written all formal like because people a few hundred years ago talked funny. I’ve got a friend who spent twenty years marooned and even she talks funny sometimes.”

Riptide looked at her, stricken, then luckily he laughed.

“I just think they phrased it nicely.” He said, a touch defensively, “Several people in my shoal have tried the Voyage, but most of them backed off right quick. So long as I’m the only one with a pearl, nobody is likely to make a serious bid to unseat me. With that in mind, I prefer to keep what I learned quiet.”

“No trick is beneath you?” Sandara asked.

“I will never forgo an advantage in the name of fairness.” Riptide said, in a tone implying agreement. “So you can quote scripture after all.”

“The code is only about one broadsheet, mate,” Sandara said, “and people expect it from a cleric. Why wouldn’t I put in that much effort?”

“Then you already know everything you need to complete the Voyage.” Riptide said, “If you know Besmara’s will half as much as you think you do, nothing about the trials will confuse you.”

“Could a whole crew do the Voyage at once?” Syl asked, “Say a dozen clerics all worked together? Would they all get a pearl?”

“I wouldn’t suggest that.” Riptide said, “Only the leader of the crew would get the pearl, and the trial will compensate for whatever you bring. I’ve heard of people losing their whole crew, and their ship besides, even when they survive.”

Sandara shook her head, her face screwing up in disgust.

“What kind of damn fool would bring their whole crew along if Besmara just makes it harder when ye do?” Sandara asked, “Bad enough to risk your own life for a damn pearl.”

“You’re only likely to lose it all if you push harder than your crew can take.” Riptide said, nodding. “I’ll give you this much for free: The fourth edict is honored for all who have Besmara’s grace, once and once only. I’ve even heard of mutinies just to turn back.”

“And the fourth edict would be?” Syl asked, looking at Sandara.

“Know when to scarper off.” Sandara said.

“I prefer ‘Pride does not shackle me, I retreat if I must,’ personally.” Riptide said, “Makes it sound noble and calculated.”

“Sure, sure.” Sandara said, smirking at him, “So how about I buy you your next bottle if you tell me one thing I couldn’t guess from the code, then we’ll leave you alone in your cups.”

Riptide thought about it for a few moments, then shrugged.

“There are three things in there that you don’t want to fight, and you’ll know them if you know your lore.” He said, “One on the surface, one in the sky, and one in the depths. They’ll all hunt you if they see you in their domain. I’d suggest you have a plan to change your approach if you encounter any of them. Savvy?”

“It’s a start.” Sandara said. “Now then, let’s get you that bottle, eh?”

••••••••••

Matilde Laurent didn’t strike me as the flowers and chocolates type, honestly, so I didn’t worry too much about romance. She wanted a good lay, and I had every intention of providing her with that. I bought a reasonably nice bottle of wine so that she’d at least know I was putting in some basic effort, which she accepted with a smile before taking my hand and leading me back to her cabin.

Her crew members scanned me with varying levels of curiosity, approval, envy, and lechery as I brazenly walked through the ship to her chambers, accompanied by that same quiet young half elf, Alice. I noted that she seemed a fair bit more muscular than I would expect from a servant, even if her job description included rapid furniture assembly. She even had a ring on that seemed faintly magical.

“So, girl, what exactly is your position here?” I asked casually, “You don’t seem to be involved in the sailing part, which seems a bit odd for a besmaran ship.”

“I am Captain Laurent’s personal aide, Mister DuPont,” she said, “I tend to her grooming, clothing, and other such trivialities efficiently, that she might focus on her work. She tends to grow distracted easily.”

“I hope it pays well.” I said, moving on. “I know I could use someone like that. My quartermaster’s personal aide just got promoted, so if you find yourself needing employment, let me know.”

“I am quite content in my current position, sir.” Alice said severely, and I shrugged.

Not that big a deal, I’m just always on the lookout for new talent. I can’t imagine she’s the most pleasant person to work for.

Laurent lounged upon a bed in her room, freshly assembled for my visit. She wore a sheer dress that clung to her slim curves, and smiled at the sight of me. Her pearl ring remained on her finger, but she wore precious little else.

“Oh, hello Jean.” She said. “I’ve just had a long day. Care to help me relax?”

“How could I say no?” I asked, stepping forward to put one knee on the bed and lean in for a kiss.

She craned her neck up to meet my approach, and we locked lips for several long seconds as I crawled into the bed with her. My arms snaked around her waist, pulling her close to me and down onto the bed. The first time we came up for air, she smiled.

“Not bad,” she said, “I’ve certainly had worse.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” I replied, smirking, and rolled her over onto her back.

There, I straddled her, pressed my lips against hers. I reached my hand up to run my fingers through her hair. Once she was breathless once more, I vomited golden slime down her gullet. She immediately tried to push me off, but I already had her pinned, and she couldn’t even pull her head away with my hand firmly wrapped around the back of her skull.

The very second that she realized I wasn’t letting go, Laurent flicked her wrist and called her pearl blade to her hand. It crackled with electricity, which danced across the side of my body as she jabbed her blade into my side. The blade glanced off of flesh far tougher than it should be, leaving a shallow scratch that leaked golden slime the consistency of raw honey.

She dropped her pearl cutlass, only to replace it in a flash with a new sword that plunged right through where my spine should have been. By that point, however, Laurent was already struggling to maintain her grip on the blade. She couldn’t cry out. She couldn’t push her assailant off. She couldn’t even land a killing blow.

Captain Matilde Laurent went limp, and the man who had locked lips with her placed her gently back on the bed and looked down at her. He seemed to melt, turning into golden slime just long enough to reshape himself into a perfect replica of Laurent, including both shift and pink pearl ring.

From the corner of the room, I watched uncomfortably as Shishe carried out my orders. She’d only been necessary because I didn’t have enough spell slots to be Jean DuPont all night long, but by this point I knew what I was doing when I Called a handmaiden of Callistria. Both times I’d Called her before, she’d gone above and beyond for better and for worse. She was damn good at her job, but watching someone who looked exactly like me pin down a woman and fill her mouth with paralytic venom did not make me feel like I was the good guy in this situation.

Does the fact that she’s a racist jerk make me feel better? Eh… maybe a little, but not much.

Shishe cracked her neck and looked around, wearing Matilde’s face. Her mind reached out to touch mine.

It is done. So, Emrys, what to do now? Also, kindly heal me. That hurt.