Startup 59: Backroom Deals

Rova 13, late afternoon

“Look, Ve’ra, I’d love to.” I said, “I really would. You’re just an extremely expensive date.”

“Expensive?” She asked, “I’m practically throwing myself at cha!”

“She has a point, Emrys.” Syl said. “You have already proven that you can finish a girl off in five minutes sometimes.”

I turned and looked at her, and resisted the urge to reference Roman history. “Et tu, Brute” wouldn’t mean anything to these girls.

“Yeah, if I speed through it. If I want to enjoy myself, and really even if you do, I’ll need to extend the clock multiple times. Keeping you in a physical body for twenty minutes effectively costs five hundred gold!” I explained. “More, in ideal circumstances. I need to keep the logistics in mind. I genuinely don’t know what’ll happen to you if I can’t pay up.”

“What a load of bull.” Ve’ra said, “You told me you didn’t have a buyer for all those axe things. You don’t need all of those, not by half.”

“I have a plan!” I explained, “I think I can make them work, assuming everything goes according to plan today. Tell you what, if I have left over spells tonight I promise we can fool around. We probably won’t get a better day for it any time soon.”

“You really know how to make a girl swoon, don’t yeh?” Ve’ra said, deadpan. “If I had a heart, it’d be flutterin’.”

Syl shrugged, conceding the point, and walked forward a few more steps. Ve’ra wandered off at that point, since she didn’t really want to stand around all day when she could go sight seeing.

I was honestly surprised at the sheer number of people waiting in line for the right to make offerings to Aashaq. Most of them were kobolds, lizard people smaller than halflings with brightly colored scales. A few humans and elves were sprinkled in here and there, as well, but they seemed much less enthusiastic. The majority held bundles that radiated intense auras under my arcane sight, especially the non-kobolds.

Each would walk into the large tent erected a few hours after my arrival, then exit several minutes later. The kobolds would either weep openly, sometimes falling to the ground and needing to be nudged out of the way, or run off with a spring in their steps.

“I wonder what he asked for?” I said, watching one of the cheerful ones streak past, “Presumably he got it.”

Each person was allowed to make a single request after making their offering. Ours was nothing special, so I had no intention of asking for anything but a moment of her time. I only hoped that she wouldn’t consider that too much to ask.

“A pat on the head, as likely as not.” Syl said, pursing her lips with distaste. “Kobolds worship dragons, and I’m honestly not sure if there are any dragons stronger than Aashaq on Golarion. Besides, didn’t you see his uniform? He works in Aashaq’s Horde.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that she has a whole network of pawn shops. They bought some halberds that one time.” I said, “Are those franchised or something?”

We’d been standing around for a while and Syl had already told me about her latest book. Some historical fiction about a dashing rogue fighting an oppressive regime. It was fun, but the conversation petered out after a short while. Between the last few hours of item crafting and the fact that we didn’t want to discuss anything sensitive in public, we were out of topics of conversation. I realized that we didn’t really talk about much outside of work.

“Not exactly.” She said, “Legally, every single one of the locations is just a warehouse for keeping her possessions.”

“Why make trades then?” I asked, “Wouldn’t that piss her off?”

“Not as long as they come out ahead on every trade.” Syl said, shrugging. “From what I hear, she genuinely doesn’t care about gold coins anymore. They’re filler to her at best. She wants an entire horde of nothing but powerful and unique magic items.”

I looked around at the kobolds in uniforms, each clutching objects that glowed with intense magic through the wrappings. The weakest among them were similar to my boots or necklace in power; strong enough that I’d have trouble getting a remotely fair price for them. I’d checked.

It's not like she could collect beanie babies. All the other dragons would make fun of her. Then she’d be obliged to kill them.

“So they try to trade up until they can get their hands on something really good?” I guessed, “Then bring it here like some kind of pilgrimage.”

Another kobold burst from the tent in tears, wailing and running directly into a fence as he attempted to flee the scene of his shame.

“Exactly. Faith is weird like that.” Syl said. “I’d guess she didn’t like his offering much. Not enough to put it in her personal horde, anyway.”

We stepped up again, as the line crept forward. Most of the kobolds had been camped out for days, like they were waiting for a new release.

“You know, I think I feel underdressed.” I whispered, jerking my head at my pack. “Looking at everyone else I worry we might be insulting her.”

“It’ll be fine.” Syl said, “If you’re really worried, try charming her.”

She considered her phrasing and thought better of it.

“The normal way, obviously.” She added. “If she’s anything like Kelizar, she might be fond of pretty young men.”

“She’s more than three times my grandmother’s age.” I said, sighing. “My grandmother. I don’t think she is going to be interested.”

“And you’re more than four times my age. What’s your point?” Syl said, smirking, “I’m sure Sandara could make hay with a story like that. She’s not exactly nice, but she’s probably the richest woman in the Shackles. Most powerful too; only Ragsmauda comes close. If you can get her to think well of us with a roll in the hay, do it.”

I blinked, my mind careening away from the conversation.

Ragsmauda is some kind of ancient dragon level badass? Exactly how fucked is Jerry? Am I in danger for working with him?

We shuffled forward to the sound of another kobold’s lamentations.

••••••••••

Cog wandered from stall to stall, doing his level best to look like an interested shopper. There just weren’t enough people his height for him to disappear into the crowd, so he needed to blend in based on activities instead of obscurity. That meant examining scarves, at the moment.

Huh. That one does match Linu’s eyes. Might as well; it’ll add credibility.

Down the dragon-sized road, Cog could see Varossa walking alone. She was doing some shopping of her own, and based on how little she’d bought he imagined her expedition to the market was at least as farcical as his. He kept flicking his eyes to check on her.

Of course, she almost certainly knew he was following her. Tailing was never his forte, and he was more visible in this specific crowd than anyone on the crew except Filli. He’d asked to borrow a pixie, but Dierdre wanted to feel out her new body and Emrys wasn’t sure if they could trust the average pixie to stay on task.

Eventually she gave him the slip, vanishing while he took his eyes off of her for a few moments. He grit his teeth and searched for her for half an hour, knowing that if she wasn’t simply hiding behind something then his chances of finding her dwindled by the moment.

Eventually he gave up and stalked back to a tavern on the edge of the market, sized for humans. He ordered an overpriced bottle of rum and poured two glasses, raising one towards Sandara, who was busily charming locals. She was having some luck; after all, who wouldn’t want to leave an island ruled by giant lizards who were legally allowed to eat you?

He was halfway through his glass when Ratts hopped up on the stool next to him. He slid one shot towards the halfling, and laid out a few silver.

“So, did it work?” Cog asked, draining his glass.

“Sort of? I don’t think she saw me.” Ratts said. “She met with another woman near the cattle auction and they exchanged letters. They didn’t talk much; the other lady just said something about someplace called Chimera Cove?”

“What did the other woman look like?” Cog asked, “Did you catch a name?”

“About the same height as Varossa, kinda similar face. Might have been cousins or something.” Ratts said, “She was blonde, though.”

“Eyebrows?” Cog asked.

“Huh?”

“Were the other woman’s eyebrows blonde?” Cog asked, “It’s possible she was wearing a wig, or bleached her hair. A lot of people don’t bother with the eyebrows though.”

“Oh, yeah!” Ratts said. “They were black.”

Cog pumped the little man for information, which he wrote down on a small pad. Length of meeting, call signs, whether they swept for watchers before speaking, more details about her clothes and possessions. Everything he’d need for a formal report, though he knew damn well that half of Ratts answers would probably be false memories and guesswork. It took a surprising amount of training to reliably remember things exactly as they happened.

“Think you could recognize her if you saw her again?” Cog asked, “Also, did she leave immediately, or is it possible she’s still in the area?”

He’d share it with Emrys, of course, as well as HQ. He didn’t properly know what a princess of Cheliax wanted with the Shackles, but doubted it was altruistic. Even if she really was just here to get her kicks, the two nations were technically still at war. He’d never heard of Chimera Cove, but if Varossa thought it was worth discussing then it seemed safe to assume it was important.

••••••••••

“Really?” Dierdre said with a sneer, “fifteen gold for this old bag? She’s missing an arm.”

“If you can’t afford em, don’t waste my time!” The slavemonger said, “you asked for cheap slaves. This is what a cheap **** looks like.”

An older woman sat staring at them, her jaw set in a frown. She was covered in scars and had only one working hand, but Naomi hoped they would buy this one. She had more fire in her eyes than most.

“No, no,” Sosima said, “he is right. We did ask for cheap options. What of those slips over there?”

Sosima pointed at a few defeated looking halflings chained together.

“Hmm? Oh, well you could try but they’re up for auction.” He said, “Them Bag Island folks always drive up the prices on halflings.”

“I see.” Sosima said, continuing to look over the wares with a studiously bored expression. “Any who are young? Or at least elders who are whole?”

She fished in her belt pouch and pulled out fifteen gold pieces, which the slavemonger measured on his scales while he answered. Dierdre’s nose wrinkled at the selection on offer, like she was examining a cart full of half spoiled vegetables.

“I don’t really manage kids often.” He said. “Too much effort for too little profit, unless you’re planning on raising them with a trade. Besides, Hanji pays good money for kids. If you just need warm bodies, I know a guy trying to offload a cage full of goblin pups.”

While the two noblewomen continued to haggle, Naomi untied the rope bindings on the elderly woman. She had fairly terrible rope burn, but otherwise seemed healthy enough. She glared at Naomi, though the simmering anger melted into confusion when a small pile of papers were thrust into her hands.

“Our captain doesn’t keep slaves long.” Naomi said, “You’ll be free after one trip. If you don’t believe me, you’re allowed to walk off right here.”

That’s not a real option, of course. She’d be snatched up and taken again in an hour, assuming anyone cared enough to do so. Emrys is a clever one; if every option but the one he wants is bad, he can look magnanimous.

“Why?” The old woman rasped, “He’s not just being nice. No one’s that rich.”

“He needs more hands.” Naomi said, “That’s all. If there’s a trick, I haven’t seen it. There is someone you need to watch out for. My mother will try to make you promises. Don’t listen to them. If you do, you’ll be worse than a ****.”

“Your own mother?” The elder asked, “What’s the story there?”

“She’s not herself.” Naomi said, “Officer Ivey is better if you want a full explanation, but trust me. Think of the deals she offers like they were coming from a devil and you’ll probably be close enough.”

Naomi offered the same advice to the next lot of recruits: a cage full of unruly goblin children. They were apparently only a few months away from the point where most goblin communities would let them out, but were such a handful that the merchant in question just wanted to be rid of them.

Naomi had no idea why Emrys wanted so many random untrained people on his ship, but at least these six would probably not be any danger from her mother. Their eyes flitted around randomly, and one of them tried to bite Sosima’s hand when she ventured too close. They didn’t seem likely to have much interest in binding, and would likely end up on a different ship unless Rosie actually managed to find a buyer.

Naomi warned them anyway. She wasn’t sure if they even heard anything past her first few words, but she tried.

••••••••••

Night

Filli heard quiet whimpering in the old basement, rented for a few coppers, as she entered. She perched on the balls of her feet so her toenails wouldn't scratch the stairs. That also meant that she’d be relatively quiet, so she could listen. She looked in from the bottom of the stairs, watching in silence, sitting perfectly still.

Lubo had ordered all of them to try to find new disciples without making too much of a stink. Ostensibly that included Filli, but no one thought she’d be able to do much with any subtlety. That seemed rude, but much easier to swallow when it meant nobody tried to rope her into anything too horrible. Instead, the two lesser gillmen had let her sit nearby while they’d planned, and tag along as a kind of bodyguard when they went through the more unpleasant parts of town.

Stanley, the current resident of the basement, had taken the direct approach. He’d found someone who seemed smart, a middle aged clerk, and broken his leg when he left work in the evening. He’d shoved a wad of cloth in the man’s mouth to muffle his screams, and dragged him to the basement. He wasn’t a dragon or in the personal service of one, just a half orc that copied documents by hand, so no one really cared enough to intervene.

“Please,” Stanley said, practically in tears, “Just make the deal. You’ll be fine. A little inconvenienced, a few headaches, but as long as you pass it on you’ll even get a few more decades of life out of it. It’s a great deal.”

The clerk was nearly incoherent with pain and rage. He struggled against the rope typing his limbs together, tearing at his wrists and aggravating the injury to his leg. He masked his fear with rage, and Filli suspected that he’d pass out from exhaustion long before he agreed to eat a ritually prepared fish to summon Vishgurv into his soul.

Stanley seemed to have given up. From what Cave Mother said, it wasn’t likely that Vishgurv would punish him for an honest attempt. He’d hover over his victim for a while, then probably dispose of the body if he couldn’t **** his will on the man. It wasn’t a complicated plan, even Filli could follow it.

She listened to him, waiting for him to start talking to his captive again.

“I’ll have you know this magic saved my life once already.” He said, his tone wheedling, “Fixed up a few old injuries too. I don’t know how long it’ll be before you can walk on that leg again; come on, just give it a shot.”

Filli used his words to mask her movements, padding up behind Stanley and grabbing him by the neck. His spine fit snugly between thumb and finger, allowing her to hold him with one hand. He lifted him by the neck, denying him leverage. The only thing that might have saved him, his shark form, was expended while he hunted his prey.

She didn’t allow him to turn, since she didn’t want the thing sharing his eyes to see her. She didn’t make a noise as she squeezed, shifting her grip until she could properly squeeze the artery in his neck. It was in a slightly different place than in a human or elf thanks to the gills, but she found it with a bit of trial and error.

Only when he stopped struggling did she cut his throat with her claw, figuring that he’d be too delirious to send any relevant information back. She stomped his head with her heel, trying to render him unidentifiable. That wasn’t a perfect process, but it would benefit the plan if Captain Emrys looked confused or worried when Stanley didn’t return.

He obviously didn’t want to risk a mutiny by killing them himself. That seemed reasonable. Vishgurv’s disciples couldn’t help but be popular among the men. Filli could handle it. No one would suspect her.

They all thought she coveted the power, the gifts, the glamor. As if she’d want to look more like an elf after what she’d been through. No, Vishgurv didn’t hold more than a passing appeal to Filli. After all, she was keenly aware of the kind of person that gave you power by turning you into a monster. She wanted no part in such a thing.

She knelt down to examine the corpse, realizing belatedly that she should have planned for this part. The part after the killing had never been her problem before. Panic started to set in; she couldn’t just leave now. Emrys would certainly look for a member of his crew, even a cultist of Vishgurv.

Should I eat it? Wait, no, I’d need to leave the head and spine out. Those are dangerous, right? Hiding a caved in, decapitated head isn’t much easier.

She heard a pained moan from the corner. She peered through the darkness, and saw the pale face of the gagged clerk looking around in confusion and terror as he strained weakly against his bindings. His darkvision let him see what else was in the room with him: a hulking and apparently murderous monster.

Right. The victim. Do I kill him? No. No, he didn’t do anything except get unlucky. I could just leave him… but Emrys wouldn’t like that.

She met the half orc’s gaze, then checked his leg. It was broken badly; the kind of injury that would leave him with a permanent limp if he couldn’t afford magical healing. He certainly couldn’t walk off, even if he wasn’t tied up. He shied away from her, thrashing and probably aggravating the leg further.

Cave Mother! She could help! She told me her ritual! I could heal him, and burn the body to ash! It’s a perfect solution!

Filled with clarity of purpose and manic energy, Filli bustled around the basement, finding all the ingredients she needed. Rock shavings, dirt, small plants, and a fireplace.

She wasn’t good at starting fires, but she knew enough to strike a piece of flint with iron. She drew a vague approximation of Cave Mother’s seal in the black ash at the back of the fireplace, while the flames were still growing.

She mashed the other ingredients together, wetting them with her saliva, then ate the disgusting result. She idly wondered how anyone had ever managed to figure out this ritual in the first place.

In any event, she sat on her haunches and looked into the smoke above the flames, trying to meditate and focus. That was important, Cave Mother said.

The smoke started to form shapes: ratfolk. As her mind drifted, the simple shapes implied so much more, and it was as if she were there. That first shape had been her mother, she knew it like she knew that the ground was down. Water started to pool at the edges of her eyes as her mind reached backwards in time to the dawn of magic.

The vision of her mother caring for pups, back in the good times before their warren was raided, vanished in seconds. She reached out with her giant freakish hand and disrupted a tableau of her grandmother training giant rats as hunting beasts. In turn, that was replaced by her great grandmother grieving a lost spouse. Each generation was a shorter flash. Moments of life and normalcy, of pain and triumph. They were simple moments, moments every ratfolk might experience in one form or another.

They were moments Filli had never had, and likely never would. Moments for a sweet young girl, not for a monster that killed without remorse. Not for a freak. She felt hollow, and ashamed. She was intruding. She ripped her eyes away, tears streaming into her fur, and when she looked back the smoke was only smoke.

She buried the corpse in a pile of trash nearby, where no doubt it would be found once it started to smell. The clerk was left upon the steps of a nearby temple of Dahak. He’d be healed, hopefully. Filli didn’t spare him another thought; she had more work to do before dawn. She might not be able to eliminate Lubo, but she could remove her most ardent disciples. It’s all she was good for.