Startup 88: Copyright Infringement

Lamashan 12

Captain Laurent struggled to move, her limbs refusing to obey her commands. Her lips burnt with the sweet fire of the creature’s venom, so sweet that it made her head spin. She swallowed her terror; there was no room in this moment for it. All she could do that would be useful, and thus the only thing she would do, was watch and learn.

The vendenopterix that had taken her form smiled down upon her, almost tender as it pushed a few hairs out of her face. Matilde noted with a hint of hope that the bitch’s ring was obviously fake. The pearl caught the light very prettily, but it didn’t quite glow. Someone would probably notice soon enough. Relying on outsiders galled her, but that’s what she got for thinking she could trust a handsome stranger.

A voice echoed in her mind, in exactly the kind of sultry tone Matilde would expect from Callistria’s servants.

“Apologies, dear Captain,” it said, “The Winter Council deemed you to be of only modest utility in this operation. You will be compensated as promised, but the Council must be allowed to operate without outside interference. Even friendlies can overcomplicate things.”

I WILL GUT YOU, DAUGHTER OF THE QUEEN OF WHORES. YOUR BLOOD WILL STAIN THE BOARDS OF MY DECK AND I WILL CRAFT ARMOR FROM YOUR EXOSKELETON. YOU WILL RUE-

The mental connection flickered and died, and Matilde slowly let her rage fade away. There was no point in bluster that couldn’t be heard. At that point it was just petulant.

The imposter held out a hand, and a syringe, like the ones they used in Rahadoum, appeared in her hand. From the way it faded into being, Laurent suspected that it had been handed over by an invisible accomplice. Whatever was in that, Laurent wanted no part in it.

She didn’t have many spells she could cast in this environment, but she could still access her arsenal. With an agonizingly slow blink of her nearly unresponsive eyes, she called her armor. When her eyes slowly opened again, she was looking through a transparent visor of iridescent pearl. The comforting weight of interlocking pearl plates wrapped around the rest of her body, leaving not a single crack large enough to fit a needle through.

Matilde’s lips tugged at the corners, creating the ghost of a smile on her limp face. Whatever this creature had planned for her, she would make it as difficult as possible.

Suddenly, she felt the cool air against her skin as her armor exploded off of her. Even her shift was missing, leaving her entire body completely exposed. Rage and embarrassment flushed her cheeks in equal measure.

Matilde mustered up her reserve of strength, trying desperately to blink and call another set of armor. Before she could manage it, the Vendenopterix plunged the needle into her upper arm and injected the strange liquid. She managed to summon the set back onto her body, but by that point darkness was already flowing in from the edges of her vision.

••••••••••

I cast invisibility as quickly as I could after hitting Laurent with Disrobe. I was hemorrhaging spell slots, but this plan needed her knocked out. That meant injecting her with Syl’s alchemical sleep poison, so the armor needed to go and her underclothes with it.

Magically stripping a helpless woman so I can **** her into unconsciousness does not make me feel like any less of a creep, either. Fuck, I could have just not done any of this.

“Oh? But then I would have been denied your lovely company.” Shishe said into my mind, “You’re being quite considerate, in any event. She set herself against you. You genuinely could have simply challenged her to a duel to the ****. Most in the Shackles accept such personal matters as a captain’s due.”

“Just look around and pick your payment.” I shot back. “Besides, I probably wouldn’t have won a straight one on one with a bruiser. Not without at least this much fucking about to get an edge.”

I heard a haunting laugh in Shishe’s mental voice, which faded slowly as she severed the connection. She proceeded to poke around the captain’s cabin while making soft sex noises, quickly finding an overflowing jewelry box to pick through. Mostly unenchanted, but enough to cover her fee for helping me. I’d even come out ahead once I took my share.

Short term, however, I had a far more important job to do. If all this fell apart because of some random asshole kicking down Laurent’s door in the middle of funtime, I needed to walk away from this with more than half a box of mundane jewelry.

Laurent had stopped moving shortly after Shishe injected her with the potion. Supposedly Syl’s new recipe, meant to help if she ever found herself outnumbered again, was strong enough to make someone woozy in seconds if a bit got into an open wound. Direct injection into the bloodstream could even knock out someone like Laurent, whose whole body seemed to be reinforced with arcane magic. Even so, she’d stayed awake long enough to summon another set of pearl armor, or perhaps the same set; the first suit had vanished when she called the new one.

Don’t worry. I’ve already done almost everything I intended to do to you.

I took a deep breath, placed my hand upon the faceplate of her helmet, and breathed out the words of one of my newest spells. I heard a faint buzzing of wasps, and an amber light glowed from Laurent’s half lidded eyes.

“Where is the body of Rahil Harkalm, with as precise a set of landmarks as you can provide?” I asked.

“In the arch near the Karkinoi spawning grounds,” she mumbled, “Walked the plank.”

Matilde Laurent has made her Will Save vs Pillow Talk

She shuddered, and the golden light faded from her eyes. If she weren’t paralyzed, I imagine she would have sat up and probably tried to kill me. As it was, there was still enough of the sleeping poison in her system to knock her out again immediately.

I sighed. Pillow Talk was pretty handy, but as a spell targeting a living person it was still possible to resist. I could ask any sleeping person three questions, more at higher levels, and they’d answer truthfully. Unfortunately, each question also gave them a will save. They’d still answer, but if they made the will save they’d wake up and remember the question. Worse, I could only cast Pillow Talk on any given person once a week.

That first question was all I was getting, but that’s why I’d asked that first. Her answer was enough to narrow down my search parameters to Rahadoumi men in an arch near where a specific type of sea monster’s preferred place to give birth.

That’s narrow enough that my team can probably knock it out in a couple hours, tops, once we figure out where and what Karkinoi are. It would have been nice to ask where she kept her treasures other than these trinkets, but even odds she would have said a bank vault in Kepre Dua or something. This is fine.

I ransacked the room quietly, taking anything valuable whether Shishe wanted it or not and depositing it all in my shadow. I tried to take Laurent’s ring, but the moment I touched it I felt the world sway and heave beneath my feat. I staggered away, and the gently rocking boat stopped being an overwhelming **** on my senses. I couldn’t so much as touch the thing, let alone remove it, without nearly losing my lunch. Her enchanted revolver had no such protections, however.

My accomplice picked out the few magical rings in the jewelry box and put them on, so that whatever happened they would follow her when she was dismissed.

“I could always do as I did in Heslandaena,” Shishe offered, “she’d be perfectly biddable, and far easier to interrogate.”

“Yeah, no.” I thought back. “I’m working very hard to not kill any big name besmarans in the Besmaran holy city. This whole Winter Council con is to make sure she’s pissed at someone else more than she’s pissed at me.”

“Technically my kiss is not lethal.” Shishe said, smiling at me with Laurent’s pretty face.

“No, but it’s as hard and expensive to fix as what happened to Aaron. I’ll just kill her if I want her eliminated.”

I filled my inventory with well over 3000 gp in jewelry and trophies, and called up Ve’ra. One stolen identity later, Captain Laurent and Jean DuPont were carrying the **** body of a strange levitating elf to be questioned far away from the Hippocampus, with me following along invisibly.

••••••••••

Sandara sat at the end of the pier, looking into the water. It was disgustingly clean, completely wrong. She saw folks tossing their shit, literal and figurative, into the harbor like any civilized group does with the nearest body of water, and it refused to stay dirty. Even the bigger junk just drifted away with the tides. When Sandara pulled her boots off and brushed her toes across the surface, she could feel the pleasant tingle of holy water.

Sandara didn’t usually spend much time appreciating the ocean. She was fond of the sea, but in much the same way she was fond of the Enterprise. It was home; it would be a strange sort who spends their days marveling about how pretty their own home was. For some reason, she was finding just about everything she encountered worthy of note today.

Emrys had made a suggestion that morning, and it had been so painfully reasonable that Sandara wanted to strangle the man.

“You can probably cast Divination if you want to confirm whether or not Besmara wants you to do the Voyage.” He had said, since apparently his precious connection to who knew what let him know what spells she could cast better than she did. “That’s kinda like Sosima’s inquiry thing. You can just ask Besmara directly. Easy.”

He was right of course. That would be easy. She’d prayed for the spell Divination this morning with her morning prayers. All she needed to cast the spell was a sacrifice or a pool of holy water to act as a focus. She was pretty sure most people would use a bowl or something, but there was no reason. Not in this harbor. She could cast the spell at any time.

Sandara looked up at the cliffs encircling the city. It really was weird that nobody talked about the highlands of Besmara’s Throne much. The underwater caves were thriving, but the folks on the surface were past their prime. Sure the rains and monsters were supposedly bad up there, but what real pirate would let that bother them?

A pirate with nothing better to do than to try to build something in this dump. Maybe the Cecaelias really are her chosen people. They’re thriving, because they don’t need to build to be happy.

The waves lapped against Sandara’s feet, the tide nearing its highest point. It was getting close to time to turn in for the night. She really should cast that spell soon.

Cog and Naomi led the gents that were getting special treatment tonight down the dock, away from Sandara’s seat.

She wondered if Emrys’s hiring plan would pan out. Naomi was getting better, but she was still a bit shit about actually being a sailor. Not soft, but practically allergic to lifting heavy objects. A bunch of actual prostitutes seemed likely to be even more prissy. Then again, the Tengu might be good. It was probably a superstition, but she’d heard that Tengu could absorb bad luck on a ship.

If that’s true, Jape should cozy up to those girls right quick.

Syl split off from the group and approached Sandara, with the whole crowd waiting impatiently at the other end of the dock. What a shame. It was probably about something important. She didn’t have time to spend ten minutes casting the spell in a trance after all.

“So, what did she say?” Syl said instead, her white eyes boring into Sandara.

“I haven’t gotten around to it.” Sandara answered. “Taking in the night air.”

“Is there something about the magic that’s more effective at sunset?” Syl asked, “We can’t plan out details until we get a yes or no on this. Emrys just sent Dierdre back. The package is secure. Are we making the sales pitch to the girls tonight, or do we have another day or two to position?”

Of course everything’s all hooked together in a mess. That’s just like Emrys.

“I’m… not sure if so much should be riding on a question like this.” Sandara said, looking away, “There’s a decent chance she won’t answer. It’s just a spell to contact her for a few seconds. It’s not like I’m compelling anything.”

Syl rolled her eyes.

“Don’t get all religious on me now.” She said, “It doesn’t suit you.”

“You’re telling a cleric not to be religious.” Sandara said, “I don’t think I’d be half so useful if I weren’t.”

“The magic is good. Keep doing that.” Syl said dryly, “The irrationality? Don’t start. If Besmara doesn’t answer, then we will be in the same place we started. That’s fine.”

“Well what if I don’t want to ask a goddess how to live my life?” Sandara said, narrowing her eyes. “Ever consider that?”

Syl crossed her arms.

“Then say that.” She said bluntly. “Work it out between yourself and your goddess and make a decision. I don’t really care about Besmara. I care about you staying functional, and right now you’re waffling. I never took you for a coward.”

Sandara snorted, and poured out a bottle of cheap rum into the water. She followed it with a single gold coin, which the currents immediately pulled away towards the blessed isle. She wasn’t a coward. She could have cast the spell any time she wanted.

The smell of seawater and rum intensified in Sandara’s nostrils, and the dock seemed to move beneath her. The question thrummed in her heart, and in spite of herself it wasn’t the one Emrys wanted her to ask. It was deeper, and it slipped out faster than she could mouth the words.

What do you want from me?

The world seemed to fade away, and Sandara wasn’t on a dock. She was at sea, on a ship made of some kind of impossibly smooth white wood and crewed by the most beautiful men and women she had ever seen. The shortest were proportioned like dwarves, and even they were nearly six feet tall. They all rushed around the deck, preparing a broadside against some unknown enemy on a ship made of black crystal. The cannons roared, and the air distorted as they fired beams of light that made lightning seem drab.

The ship crashed down the side of a wave, and the substance that sprayed upon the surface wasn’t water. It burned cold against her skin, and tasted like the color yellow. Throughout the chaos, one woman stood out. Tall, though no taller than her crew, wearing black and red and wearing boots that shined like mirrors.

Sandara knew her. She’d always known her. She couldn’t take her eyes off the woman.

Besmara glanced at Sandara and rolled her eyes.

“Kid, don’t bother me about questions you know the answer to.” She said, “It’s your choice how you spend your leave, as long as you report for duty in better shape than you did last time.”

In the second Besmara’s eyes looked away to address Sandara, a giant serpent with a row of cackling human faces running down its stomach lunged out of the other ship and snatched one of Besmara’s crew into its jaws. The man, half crushed, drove a blade into the serpent’s jaw to little effect.

Besmara smirked, and a ring of water formed and constricted around the serpent’s neck. She drew a blade that shone like a bolt of lightning and leapt for the now-immobilized serpent’s head. The entire world dissolved around Sandara.

Syl had her hand on Sandara’s shoulder and was shaking her. She was saying something, but the sound of the divine battle was the last thing to fade. Every color in the world seemed drab and gray, as if the gods were more real than reality.

She took a deep breath, and returned fully to her own body. The brush with divinity had uncovered memories she’d assumed lost, of what happened when she’d died on the deck of the Wormwood.

She’d woken up in Besmara’s fleet, and the people around her hadn’t been the impossibly beautiful titans on the deck of Besmara’s flagship, the Seawraith. They’d been normal folks, most still bearing visible signs of the way they’d died. The dregs of the fleet, given one last chance to prove themselves on blockade duty. The captain had been one of the lads at the bar she’d told stories to as a kid, pleased to finally get his own ship regardless of the context. He’d clapped her on the shoulder and handed her a mop.

Nothing had happened in the days she was there, but word from the old salts was that if anything did attack about half of them would be destroyed by the end of the battle. Consciousness obliterated, and what was left would be used to repair the ship.

She wasn’t that weak anymore, but she still wasn’t strong enough to ever see the Seawraith again. She still didn’t care much about the Voyage, but if Emrys was right she’d get a bit stronger if the high priestess absolved him of his sins.

“Well, I think we can give the Voyage a try.” She said. “If we can leave whenever we wish, it seems like a shame not to make the attempt. Tell Fishy and Cog they have a few more days to work.”

••••••••••

Silk and Hekla weren’t a pair you’d normally assume to be best friends. Even looking right at them, they mostly just stood next to one another in matching sour expressions. The short half-drow, with her pastel purple skin, looked like a tiny doll next to the broad shouldered hobgoblin. Rawna, on the other hand, knew that they were inseparable and preferred to treat them as a unit when possible.

“I’m afraid I have concerning news, dears.” Rawna said, “I think that Captain is planning on dragging away the girls. I’ve spoken to Captain Laurent, but she refuses to act until he actually does something.”

In actual fact Laurent’s words would have likely been something more to the effect of “get away from me you mongrel slime,” assuming Rawna had been foolish enough to approach her. There was a reason that a poor half orc girl had to be hard to get by. The pink skins would never let her get a break. The girls would feel more comfortable if they thought they had legal backing, though.

Silk narrowed her eyes. The half-drow woman knew as well as anyone that men only thought with their nethers. She’d gotten very good at parting those men from their coin purses, whether it was with a smile or deft fingers. That jaundiced looking half orc she’d laid with last night had “lost” a small fortune already.

“Do I need to hit him?” Hekla asked, blunt as ever.

“Heavens no.” Rawna said, “A brute like that would surely take his anger out on the other girls. I just need you two to protect them. If anything overt happens, of course you should intervene, but for now it’s more important to make sure the other girls have their guards up if any silver tongued devils try to sweep them away. You know the type.”

The two women nodded, and Rawna felt a bit of the tension ease out of her shoulders. Her two most loyal girls would be a tremendous help. They’d keep the little lambs safe.

Kiko and Sora might be a lost cause already, the ungrateful rats. They’d get what they deserved when the world chewed them up. If they were very lucky, there’d be enough left of them to crawl back and beg Rawna’s forgiveness.

••••••••••

Lamashan 13

When Matilde Laurent woke up, she’d been dressed in a comfortable set of traveling clothes. Someone had dressed her. Perhaps, if she’d been calmer, she would have appreciated the consideration. In the moment, it was nothing but another violation. Through sheer **** of will, she commanded her eyelids to open, and was relieved at how much easier it was than in the moments before she lost consciousness. Still an active effort, but not a painful struggle.

Her arms felt like sticks inexpertly hooked to her torso, nearly every movement of the stiff muscles screaming as she inched her hand up to her face to push the hair out of her eyes. It took minutes, and she hadn’t even properly sat up yet. The process gave her plenty of time to look around and realize where she was.

She groaned, the voice muffled as it left unresponsive lips. She was in Ant Country, in one of the treehouses. Apparently the Winter Council wanted her out of the way for a while.

Queen Bes didn’t have a prison, exactly. Most crimes were punished with the lash or the noose. Every once in a while, however, it seemed prudent to keep someone isolated from his fellows until he could be dealt with properly. No one particularly wanted to guard the brig, so they’d convinced the local ants to do it.

The warring colonies of giant ants that dominated the highlands of Queen Bes were vicious, and saw most anything that they encountered as either food or a threat, so most of the common folk knew better than to leave a treehouse marked with the same pheromone markers that kept the bugs out of Queen Bes. It was some concentrated version of the scent giant ants release when killed violently. Back in the old days the town had created a barrier of that scent by hand, now a few alchemists just bottled it.

Laurent did not fear giant ants normally. Clad in her armor, she imagined she could fight anything short of the entire colony at once. Right now, however, she was having difficulty crawling over to the large bowl full of rainwater and the sealed box that usually contained enough hard tack to last a fellow a week or two. Her mouth tasted like shit, and she wanted to wash it out.

The fact that she was already feeling a bit better was a good sign; it meant she’d probably recover from the poison eventually. She slowly, painstakingly pulled one of the crackers out and put it on her chest for later. She didn’t want to go through this whole process when she was starving. Then, her reserves exhausted, she lay back and closed her eyes. She needed her rest, and a lot of it, if she was going to get back on her feet in time to gut those Council bastards.