Startup 77b: Meanwhile II

“I don’t know if it was ransacked already or if it just never had anything in the first place, but the entire trip was mostly a waste.” Pepper explained, “We were able to recoup our losses by gathering up some alchemical equipment and materials, barely, but it was quite a lot of danger for very little benefit.”

I could have told you that, Pepper. The free captains are like locusts.

Cabbie poured her sister another cup of tea. She didn’t interrupt; Pepper knew her opinions about a life on the high seas. It just didn’t seem sensible unless you wanted glory, and if you wanted glory it seemed more reasonable to join a fleet and fight other captains directly with backup and structure for ransoming. If she said anything of the sort, however, Pepper would feel the need to explain her plans.

No sane person asked Pepper about her plans, not unless they were trying to court her and wanted an excuse to keep her around for an extended period. Even so, it was nice to have family over.

“I even fought an undead dragon and he was guarding a single magic staff!” Pepper fumed. “It was called the city of gold! I expected quite a bit more in the way of precious metals, but it turns out the whole place was gilded with magic. Peel it away and it all turned into ash.”

“I imagine that anything of particular value was taken by whatever gentleman decided to sell you that map.” Cabby said diplomatically, “It’s good that you managed to acquire a staff; those can be terribly powerful. What does it do?”

Cabby didn’t really care all that much, but she was at least slightly curious. Staves were like scrolls in that they could be used to cast an embedded spell, but unlike scrolls they could be refilled with energy and reused a theoretically infinite number of times. They were also incredibly difficult to make, so most people who bothered to invest that kind of time and effort would embed extremely powerful spells.

“It transmutes matter into gold.” Pepper said, “Only temporarily, of course. Winsome and I have mostly been using it to make the Kestral impossible to steal when we beach her.”

It was certainly impressive, especially if it could affect an entire small ship, but not quite as impressive as one might hope. Plenty of craftsmen in town would turn items into wood or ice to make it easier to carve and shape, then let the spell wear off. The result was the original cast in the shape it had been carved into while softened. It was certainly useful magic, but other than the fact that the result was gold the staff was quite mundane in its effects, magically speaking.

“Enough about me, though.” Pepper said, shocking Cabbie, “I want to hear about this shop, and your new employees. They are quite mysterious.”

She craned her head to look out towards the front of house, where Bartok was guarding the front door. He was wearing a rather bombastic outfit, which Cabbie had made a priority upon hiring the three mutants.

A veil covered his face, usually with the help of a hood. His shirt was white and had ruffled sleeves that disguised his lopsided limbs, and he had a colorful kilt that went down to his ankles. It was partially inspired by outfits worn by hill giants. Well, the kilt was. Most giants wore haphazardly stitched animal skins on their torso if they even bothered.

The three still certainly drew the eye and Cabby imagined the getup was very hot, no matter how hard she’d tried to select fabrics that would breathe. However, it was important. When in uniform they were converted from terrifying grotesques to be gawked at to a clear indication that the Dancing Needle was an establishment that valued its security.

They could come and go as they pleased and hadn’t caused a riot yet. Tam even went out to the market almost every day; the two hobgoblins had quite a lot more difficulty with that, unfortunately. Goblins didn’t have a written language, and they absolutely refused to learn one due to some strange superstition. It wasn’t as if they had a terribly large amount of money in any event; Cabbie’s budget was very tight.

“That drow you told me about sent them to Dad for help.” Cabbie said, “I gather they are slaves from the drow city. Owned by your friend Nendra’s mother.”

Pepper let out a disgusted sigh.

“I told her she needed to sue for peace.” Pepper said, “What kind of slaves? Debt or captives?”

“Captives.” Cabby said, rolling her eyes. “What, were you going to send them back if they’d been enslaved because they forgot to pay their bar tab?”

Pepper flattened her ears.

“No, of course not!” She said, slightly defensive, “If Nendra wanted them back, that would be her concern. If they escaped, good for them.”

Having any friends in the upper crust of Port Peril required a nuanced view on slavery. Generally speaking, that meant that a **** who sold themselves deserved no pity; they knew what they were getting into. It was really their own fault. Those who were **** into it tended to get quite a bit more sympathy; there weren’t many islands in the Shackles where the law respected involuntary indenture. With that said, there were just as few that actually punished it. To most, if you didn’t like being a **** then you should just kill your owner or run away.

If you have a problem, do something about it.

“Look at him!” Cabby said, pointing, “Bartok was born a hobgoblin! They ripped out their tongues!”

It wasn’t fair, really, to browbeat Pepper like this. Cabby hadn’t given slavery any real thought until the last few weeks. She didn’t own any slaves, and she looked down on those who mistreated theirs, but that’s where the line of logic had ended. She was fairly sure that her new employees were an **** case, but even so. She wasn’t about to start donating half her meager profits to the Raffles Emancipation fund, but the fact that mistreatment like this was a genuine possibility had never even occurred to her.

“I’ll need to ask Nendra about that.” Pepper said, placating. “I didn’t know. No one from House D’Lann was willing to tell me where Heslandaena was; how could I possibly have known about these fellows? It’s not as if discussion of one’s slaves is polite conversation over tea. You know Sinkitah and I have had our differences over this sort of thing, when she started talking about slaves as if they were any other cargo to be crammed together?”

“I know, I know.” Cabbie said, “I don’t mean to attack you. It’s just… I have a lot of time to think when I’m working. Having someone to talk to helps.”

She gestured at the front window of the shop where three dresses and a coat sat on stands. Threads and needles of **** danced around them, making small adjustments under Cabby’s oversight. She’d been surprised at how much buzz her work caused; there was almost always at least a small crowd gathered to watch. That’s why she’d changed the name from Cabbie’s Cabinet to the Dancing Needle, after all.

It didn’t directly translate to a large number of customers wanting to buy her more ambitious pieces, but word spread about her quickly enough that her less expensive work flew off the shelves. She could feed herself and her employees reliably enough.

She heard a shrill, high pitched shriek from across the table. In the few moments she’d looked away, Pepper had grabbed a tiny monstrosity by the throat. The creature, a hideous cross between a plump baby and a giant horsefly, struggled in Pepper’s grip and vomited out a swarm of big black flies that flowed out and up Pepper’s arm.

Bartok was halfway into the backroom before Cabbie even realized what was going on. He stared at the brawl, probably not sure how to proceed. After all, both of them were guests that he recognized.

Oh no no no no no no no.

“Pepper, let it go!” She shouted, “It isn’t hostile!”

In all likelihood the little devil, a messenger from Emrys, had popped in on the table with the intention of scaring Cabby again. Pepper saw a potential threat intruding unannounced. Cabby felt the rumble coming from Pepper’s throat more than she heard it, and the flies all fell dead around her. Her arm was already covered in a hundred tiny red welts.

She did let the devil go, however, and it flitted towards Cabbie with a folded piece of parchment clutched in its fat fingers. Cabbie took the paper and read it, inching away from the unnerving devil. It refused to be parted from her, moving so that she’d be between it and Pepper.

“Dear Cabbie Black, as well as Tam Llova, Bartok, and Wetosa,

I would like to warn you that I should be leaving Quent within a few days. My ability to contact you will be substantially diminished when that happens, requiring substantially more effort on my part to send messages and requiring quite a bit more trust in the devil to receive them in turn. If you have any completed masterwork items as we have discussed in our last letter, please send them along. I will enchant them and arrange to have them sold through my agent in this city. Your name will of course remain attached to them, and we shall share the spoils evenly.

You are not the first to express displeasure at my choice of messenger. Unfortunately, as things stand I can not replace the little blight easily. It could cost me hundreds of gold pieces in opportunity cost alone to find a more trustworthy messenger. The next time I am in Port Peril, I intend to establish a more pleasant line of communication.

Filli sends her regards, and this part of the letter is for her companions in particular. She is currently considering training as a Sentinel of Callistria, and is relieved to know that you are in good health and secure employment. She would like to visit when given the opportunity, and reiterates her hope that you will consider some of the methods she has found to ameliorate your unfortunate condition.”

The rest of the letter, written in elvish so that Tam could read it to the others in their knocking and hand language, explained a few rather **** methods by which Cabby’s employees could trade their uniquely impressive physiques for more generally marketable appearances and the ability to speak.

Cabbie didn’t feel particularly upset at the prospect, though she hoped they would stay on even if they became something else. Three confident warriors was quite enough security even if they weren’t all seven feet tall and nigh invulnerable. It would be nice to see them happy, though the prices described were quite exorbitant for a trio that needed to eat as much as they did.

“Pepper, I know you were planning on cooking dinner.” Cabbie said, “This is a little bit time sensitive. I must thank you, by the way. Even if he doesn’t actually end up enchanting them it can only be good to have my work sold in Quent.”

“Oh?” Pepper said, “How is he doing? I haven’t been in contact with him for quite a while. Oh! By the way, if you two are working together I have something for you.”

Pepper fished in her bags. She plucked out a sack that clinked with the gold inside.

“I set this aside from my personal funds after Sargava.” She said, “Emrys asked for a loan. I’d like you to take care of this for me and pass it along if he still needs it. If you need to dip into it for anything, feel free.”

Cabbie pursed her lips. She wasn’t sure if she felt comfortable with that idea. Emrys, from the sound of things, was actually in quite a lot of need. He seemed to throw around a lot of money, but Cabbie knew how captains could be. They took risks constantly, professionally. Pepper and Cabbie had grown up surrounded by boasting officers. The same stories that filled Pepper’s eyes with stars convinced Cabbie she wanted to stay on dry land.

She decided to set it aside. His deadline was a month away; if he was anywhere close to the amount of money he needed when the time came, she could help him make up the difference. If she just gave it to him now he’d probably use it all on some kind of insane scheme. Or worse, keep it in the hold of a ship where it could be lost.

Cabbie got to work, picking out anything that was too expensive for her current clientele. Most of it wasn’t masterwork, but only a skilled artificer would be able to tell. She prioritized sending over the dresses that were armored, like he’d asked, but she had plenty of normal designs she’d just never found a buyer for. Once they were in Quent, he could sort through them however he liked. If he was half as good at selling things as he seemed to think, he should be able to find buyers.

Besides, she needed to clear out her backlog of art projects. Storage space was limited.

••••••••••

Annalise clung to Jerry when he tried to stand up. It was surprisingly difficult to disentangle himself from her these days; the body she’d chosen for herself was certainly lovely, but it was also really quite strong and borderline insatiable. It was probably because she was younger and in better shape than him now, and if he finished before she was satisfied she had both the ability and inclination to fill his body with energy so he could keep up. He’d been getting up in the morning later and later, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Drink more coffee to compensate? Yes, but certainly not complain.

He kept a cart next to his front door these days; it made it much easier to roll the corpses in. He started immediately upon seeing the pile Emrys had delivered to him, so as to avoid the wrath of his neighbors. Even in Goatshead, it was uncommon for someone to tolerate the presence of a corpse pile. He didn’t bother waking up his love; the kettle would do that when it whistled and she’d be in a much better mood if she woke up with everything she needed to make tea. Besides, she wouldn’t be much help with the physical job. Despite being objectively stronger than him, Annalise refused to touch fresh corpses unless they’d been cleaned first.

It was probably for the best; she knew precisely how to maintain a body to the physical standards demanded by Ragsmauda and maintained her old routines rigorously, but the ancient Lich had never cared much about physical strength in her spare bodies. It was incredibly unlikely Annalise would be able to maintain the hard, corded muscle of the drow monk. Her being able to lift a corpse one handed was an extremely temporary circumstance.

He read the note daintily placed on top and brought in the dwarf first. It was in terrible condition, but Jerry was pretty sure Annalise would be able to manage the reconstruction work and he could sense Narwhal’s soul still tethered to his mortal shell. Most of the rest were humans or human-like, which tended to go over well. None of them were going to turn heads with their beauty, but people liked humans. They blended in.

The last of the bodies was a desiccated human male, almost certainly killed with a spell. Controlled negative energy, or perhaps something to drain away the water in the body. It wouldn’t sell for much, in all likelihood. He knelt down to pick the body up and it groaned.

“Help me,” the body whispered, “She said you could help me.”

The man’s entire front was scraped and covered in blood and dirt from, it seemed, dragging himself to Jerry’s door.

Damnation.

“Alright, who in nine hells are you?” He asked, “I’m not a charity.”

“She said you owe her.” The half dead man rambled, “She said to ask if she was invited to the wedding, since she introduced you two.”

Jerry’s heart froze in his chest.

No. No, not now. Just when things were looking up.

Jerry dropped the man onto the lawn and ran inside, cart abandoned. He shouted for Annalise to wake, all thoughts of letting her rouse naturally gone. There wasn’t a single step that he hadn’t practiced a thousand times, and most of what he could take was already gathered upon a single round rug in the back of his lab. Most of his savings, the majority of his tools, a week’s worth of dried food, and clothes including a few of Annalise’s favorite dresses.

He snatched his few magical items from around the house and a few of the higher quality bodies at his disposal. He’d need to start over without a stockpile, but hopefully he’d be able to get in contact with Emrys. That man was distressingly good at providing Jerry with bodies and curiosities. That meant keeping the dwarf; he’d be a good messenger, presumably.

“Jerry?” Annalise called to him, sitting up in bed and blinking the sleep from her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Grab the dwarf.” Jerry said, pointing at the broken corpse while he shoved anything remotely useful into his bag of holding. “Bring him to the launch point. She’s in town.”

Annalise stared at him in shock for only a moment before scrambling out of the bed, as naked as the day of her birth, and did as he asked. They arrived at the rug at almost the same time, and Jerry pulled his one scroll of Teleport from its case. He’d bought it early; it was only powerful enough to reach a warehouse he’d purchased in Ngozu, one island over from Goatshead.

As he began the incantation with Annalise clinging to him, a dome of light formed around him in the exact dimensions of the rug. He’d chosen the rug for that, so it would be easy to keep track. Everything was going off without a hitch, and then the north wall of his lab parted like a curtain.

A curvy woman stepped through, smiling at him as she always did. He didn’t know her face; she’d no doubt consumed two or three women like Annalise since last they’d spoken. Even her clothes were quite unlike the fashions she’d favored when he’d been her apprentice. She’d been a redhead and gone for the Fairwind look at that time, at the height of its fashionability, but now she was favoring a long, tight black dress that hugged her curves and probably restricted her mobility quite a lot.

Even so, Jerry had no doubt about who it was that so brazenly stepped into his lab.

She stopped inches short of the part of his lab he’d desecrated in the name of Urgathoa. The Pallid Princess, goddess of undeath and excess, had turned her hand against Ragsmauda after Jerry’s former Mistress had rejected the offer to become a herald. Ragsmauda had taken the offer of subjugation as an absurd joke, apparently.

That thin line of protection, spitefully bestowed by a goddess Jerry held in as much contempt as any sane necromancer, held Ragsmauda back for just a moment, long enough to finish his spell. She smiled at him as he vanished, the same way she’d smiled at him the first time he’d bound a soul into a gemstone. Proud and amused in equal measure.

Jerry, Annalise, and eventually Narwhal would spend about a week in the warehouse. That’s what the rations were for. Narwhal was kind enough to act as their agent afterwards, booking them passage on a merchantman without mentioning any names. He didn’t see any of Ragsmauda’s spies, but Narwhal likely wouldn’t know what they even looked like.

His remaining possessions, assuming Ragsmauda didn’t destroy them, would be packed up by the Sea Shanty Clan per an old agreement. They’d be sent to the continent, where they’d be loaded onto riverboats and sent to another warehouse he had partial ownership of. This one in Nex, a thousand miles away overland. The Arclords would probably be willing to hire a competent independent necromancer if he presented himself.

All one giant red herring. If Ragsmauda found him here, she could track him there. He needed a clean break, and anything he couldn’t carry wasn’t worth the risk of being tracked.

Emrys was in Quent, and he’d given it a good review. It was as good a place to start over as any, especially if he could convince Fairwind he was worth keeping around in secret. He had a decent nest egg. Hopefully he’d be able to get by with just private clients for a while.