Salty Old Men

Palmira tapped Morte's staff against the ground absently, staring out at the bustling markets of the Piazza del Drago as it filled with the morning rush of people. Merchants bartered with mothers, tables in front of diners filled with people stopping for brunch, and street performers danced for laughing crowds.

And she stood off to the side. Watching.

Palmira could normally deal with boredom pretty well, she thought. But this was a special kind of hell for her, surrounded by so much activity but not being able to join in or leave was causing her more issues than she knew how to deal with.

It was day two of guard duty, and she was already regretting taking this job.

She wasn't even allowed to play with her fire to distract herself—since that would also distract her from anyone trying to break in—so she was forced to just chat quietly with Morte and hope none of the others noticed.

The monotony of guard duty wouldn't be broken until Cherven stopped by about an hour later. He grabbed Svani and a couple other higher-ranking guards before practically bolting back into one of the nearby villas.

She stared after them in mild confusion, before shrugging and turning back towards the piazza.

It wasn't any of her business anyway.

A couple minutes later, some rich kid about her age made his way out the front gate. Or he tried to, at least.

"Signor Juliano?" one of the other guards stopped him, blocking his exit. She glanced over, curious despite herself. "Are you sure you should be leaving without a guard? Especially after what happened last time…"

The now named Juliano sneered, glaring at the guard. "Do not bring that up to me, peasant. I am an Ambrosi—I go where I please! Now step aside, lest I tell grandfather about this."

The guard stepped aside, and the arrogant rich kid disappeared back into the piazza.

Her curiosity sated, Palmira turned back to the conversation she'd been having with Morte. He'd been explaining how to make socks out of leaves, and despite likely never needing such a skill she was bored enough to be curious.

Like she said before, whatever was going on was not her problem.

Unfortunately, it was only a couple minutes later that her standing around doing nothing was interrupted again, this time by something that was her problem.

A woman in green and blue silks stepped into the piazza, flanked on all sides by a contingent of guards dressed in the same colors. They marched through the piazza like they owned the place, and people reluctantly stepped aside as they passed, giving the entourage annoyed looks as they did. The woman didn't show any sign of noticing the scowls aimed at her back, but her guards certainly did, glaring with their hands on their weapons at anyone who spent too long looking at them.

Still, it was clear these people didn't belong, and everyone in the piazza knew it.

Palmira herself felt a scowl grow on her own face when she saw that the entourage was heading their way. Of course they would be, why wouldn't they? Fucking Gennarelli always showed up where they weren't wanted, why would today be any different?

Ester—the most senior guard still at the gate—let out a sigh, stepping forward to meet with the woman.

"You there, guard," the Gennarelli stopped just in front of the gate, glaring down her nose at him. "Are you the one in charge?"

The Gennarelli were a new Famiglia in the city. Originally from Palunera, they'd branched out into their city a few years ago and started butting their faces into everyone's business. They'd become disturbingly powerful in that short about of time, even getting some say in the Signora.

Palmira didn't like them. Nobody she knew did, either. Like, sure, she may not have been the biggest fan of the Ambrosi, but at least they cared about the city, unlike those damn foreign opportunists that didn't do anything but buy out local businesses and replace them with more fucking banks. Fucking money launderers, the lot of them!

So really, it was a good thing she wasn't the one in charge when they arrived, otherwise she probably would have just told them to fuck off.

"I suppose I am, for now," Ester replied like a man who'd really rather be anywhere else. "What can I do for you, signora?"

"We are looking for a traitor," the Gennarelli told them. "And we have cause to believe you may be hiding him. Let us past, guard, so we might begin our search."

"…Okay," Ester blinked slowly. "First off, I don't have the authority to do that. And the only people who do are in an important meeting right now. Second off, a traitor to who? Because if this is just about some employee of yours that's jumped ship, I'm afraid you'll have to take it up with the courts over with the Tre Maggiori."

The Gennarelli sniffed haughtily. "I wouldn't expect a mere gatekeeper to understand the importance of what's at stake here. We are not here for such petty disputes—we are here to bring to justice a traitor to all mankind! So let us through, gatekeeper, lest the Lady Pontiff herself excommunicate you!"

Ester grimaced, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that, ma'am. Unless you can bring us some proof that whoever this traitor is is here, I'll have to ask you to wait until one of the Ambrosi are available to speak with you."

The woman glared at him. "Then, I suppose I have no other choice but to—"

"Oi!" Svani marched out from behind the gate, stepping up beside a relieved looking Ester. "What's going on here?"

The Gennarelli turned her look of distaste onto the dwarf. "Svani. I should have expected to see you here."

"And I never thought I'd see you darken my doorstep again, but here you are," Svani scoffed, glaring at her. "You have yet to answer my question though. What are you doing here?"

The woman looked like she'd swallowed a lemon. "We—that is, the Gennarelli—have reason to believe the Ambrosi are harboring a traitor in their ranks. And not just any traitor, but someone who has thrown their lot in with the demons themselves. We would see him turned into the church for his crimes."

"And who is this traitor?" the dwarf raised an incredulous eyebrow. "I've just gotten out of a meeting with half the damn Famiglia, and not a one said anything about someone like that."

"He is a Drowned-Man. A rather famous one, in fact. Famous enough that I would prefer not to say his name out in the open, lest some… unpleasant connections are made."

Svani scowled, before closing his eyes and sighing. "You should know we can't just let you in with that flimsy logic. I'll send your worries up the chain, and I'm sure my superiors would be willing to work with you to find such a traitor. Why don't you come back tomorrow, and I can set up a meeting between you and the Ambrosi then?"

"You expect us to wait patiently while you Ambrosi hide away all your dirty secrets? If I wait until tomorrow, he'll be long gone!"

"Would you let our soldiers in your home if the situation was reversed?"

The Gennarelli huffed. "…Fine, we will return tomorrow. Not that I expect him to still be here by then."

"It's the best I can give you," Svani waved her off. "Be grateful you're getting this much. Had I been anyone else, I would have just turned you away here, if I didn't simply call the rest of the House Guard on you. After all, you do realize you're trespassing, right?"

"I'm aware of that, though I hope you realize you are damning your own soul by refusing to let us in."

The woman met his unimpressed look with another scowl, before turning and nodding to her guards. They formed up around her and marched her back out the way they came. As they left, the tense air that had fallen over the piazza faded, as people relaxed seeing there wouldn't be blood on the streets tonight.

Svani sighed, staring after them. "Damn the Gennarelli. Can't ever leave well enough alone, those people."

"…I'm surprised you got her to go away," Ester sighed, slumping. "I thought for sure she'd try and force her way in."

"I knew her, a while ago," Svani shrugged. "We both worked for the Gesbuchi, back before the family was wiped out. I ended up coming here to work for the Ambrosi, while she headed off to Palunera and married into the Gennarelli. I suppose it's just poor luck we ended up in opposing Famiglias after all these years, but what can you do?"

"I hear ya," Ester nodded, grimacing. "Hey, what'd the head want with you and the boss, anyway? They drilling us again? More of those stupid 'team-bonding' exercises?"

Svani's face turned grim. "You'll probably learn of this later tonight," he told them, his voice so quiet Palmira had to take a few steps closer to hear. The dwarf gave her a look, but didn't stop her. "But don't go spreading this around just in case. About two hours ago while breaking his fast, Cesare Ambrosi died."

"What!?" Ester hissed, his eyes going wide. "How!?"

"Foul murder," Svani sighed, rubbing his chin. "He was salted."

Ester gasped in horror, and even Morte swore heavily in her mind.

Palmira, who did not know what was going on but was suitably freaked out regardless, asked, "Wait! Who is Cesare, and what do you mean he got 'salted!?'"

"He was the brother of Ottone Ambrosi, the current head of the Famiglia," Svani told her, gesturing for her to keep her voice down. Her eyes widened, as she realized how serious a crime that was. "And being salted is… what do you know of the Salt Wastes?"

"They're what's left of the Sidunim Empire, right? After the Volans destroyed them?"

It was an old story, from back when the Volans had first begun climbing out of the Dark Ages. The Volans had claimed the mantle of Imperium Hominum, or 'Empire of Mankind.' However, they were not the only ones to claim such a title, and their greatest rivals became the Sidunim Empire across the sea. And so the two people's only recourse was to go to war, and reunite the few surviving remnants of humanity after the fall of Babel.

They fought for three hundred and thirty-three years. The war had been so long and bloody that it was etched into the holy book, for even the Goddess was said to look upon it in disgust. No side could ever win a decisive victory, and while she didn't know any of the specifics, everyone knew that the Sidunim were the only equals of early Vola. It wouldn't be until the last year of the conflict that the acting Consul declared summa belli, and gathered countless mages from across the empire to cast a spell that would destroy the Sidunim once and for all.

And destroy them it did—as when the spell was cast it is said that a second sun burned above the capital of the Sidunim, and in an instant the whole of the kingdom was turned to salt. People, animals, buildings—none of it was spared, the whole empire turned to macabre statues of salt. And so the Salt Wastes became the crowning jewel of the Volans, simultaneously a warning to all who opposed them, and a monument to their greatest victory.

"Aye, they're all that's left," Svani nodded. "Endless wastes of cursed salt, most know that much. But what's much less well known is the effect of eating that salt—swallow even a single grain, and you instantly turn to salt, just as the ancient Sidunimians did. They're often used as an assassination tool against the nobility, and unfortunately we were victim to that today."

Palmira's eyes went wide as she took that in. "Wait, so any salt you eat could kill you!? Just like that!?"

"Calm down," Svani placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's not that bad. Any salt that gets imported from down south is thoroughly tested by the guilds before it's allowed to be sold, and despite what you might think there isn't a whole lot of money in selling cursed salt when anyone could just take a boat over and grab some themselves. It's so much of a non-factor that we're actually more surprised that this was how he died, rather than traditional poison."

"…Oh," Palmira placed a hand over her heart, using some of the breathing techniques Morte had taught her to calm down. "…Sorry. Did you catch whoever did it?"

"Unfortunately not," Svani shook his head. "We've detained all the cooks for questioning, but we expect that to be a dead end. It's unlikely the assassin would be so obvious."

"Are you sure they won't just pick someone to scapegoat and move on?"

Svani snorted. "Maybe if it had been one of us, but not when it's an Ambrosi's life at stake. No, every single person in this damn complex is gonna be interrogated until they find the one who did it, trust me on that."

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Oh, joy. One more thing to worry about.

"Look, don't worry too much on it," Svani sighed, patting her shoulder. "You have probably the most airtight alibi out of all of us, so just do whatever they tell you to and grab your paycheck at the end. Leave the worrying to us people in charge, you just keep doing your job."

Palmira wasn't sure she felt comfortable doing that, but she also knew she'd be even worse off getting entangled in whatever Famiglia politics was going on behind closed doors, so she just nodded and quietly returned to her post.

She just hoped that whatever came next, that this would be the worst of it.

--

The end of her shift couldn't come quickly enough. She needed to get away and clear her head, but it became hard to do that when she was forced to spend all her time right next to the very thing she was trying to ignore.

So once she was free to go she booked it across the piazza, a swarm of hungry drakelings fluttering behind her, keeping the Ambrosi behind her as she prepared for what she was beginning to realize would be a daily thing.

And as Palmira sat down on the steps in front of a nearby church, swarmed by dozens of drakelings squawking for crumbs, she realized something.

She wasn't allowed to return to the guild today. Ósma had told her in no uncertain terms to stay away until after the sun had set, and then probably wait a bit longer just to be sure.

It meant that she had the whole afternoon to herself, but that brought with it some new problems she wasn't sure how to deal with.

"I have no idea what I'm supposed to do."

She swore Morte was giving her a funny look, despite not having a face. "…Well, what did you normally do before you joined the guild?"

"I'd beg on street corners," she replied. "Or I'd sit in alleyways and talk to my fellows."

"Then why don't you just do that?"

A green drakeling jumped up in her face, and she had to take a moment to pry it off and hold it against the ground. That rude little lizard would be getting his bread last. "I mean, I could? But I'm… it's stupid, but…"

"You don't want to do things that remind you of that life?"

"…Kinda," she sighed. "And I know I'm not in that much better of a position, but I have a job now! And I get free food and a warm bed and it just feels like—like I'm not homeless or starving anymore, and I feel like if I tried to talk to them I'd just be rubbing my good fortune in their faces."

"Personally, I doubt they'd feel the same, but I can see where you're coming from. That said, I don't think it's something you should avoid. Not just for them, but for yourself. Nobody should let themselves forget where they came from."

She grimaced. "…Maybe you're right. But I don't—I'll visit them some other time. Just not today."

With that said she turned her attention back to the drakelings, only to see that most of them had been fed already. Blinking, she turned to the green one who she'd been holding down and met his wide, sorrowful eyes.

"Oh," she winced. "Sorry about that. Uh—here."

Placing the last lump of bread she had before the green drakeling, she slowly stood, cracking her back as she did.

"…I'm going to wander around the city," she told Morte. "And I'm sure I'll find something to do out there."

--

Palmira hadn't found anything to do.

It wasn't for lack of opportunity, really. But most things in the city required coin, much of it worth far more than the few piccoli she had in her pocket. So she begrudgingly passed by restaurants and shops as she aimlessly wandered the streets of Firozzi, searching for anything to take her mind off the day's events.

Finally she came to a stop in a small, out of the way piazza. Maybe only thrice as wide as the street she'd just come off of, its only defining feature was the fountain which sat at the center, topped by a surprisingly familiar-looking statue.

"…Huh," Palmira mused, staring up at it. "You know, I didn't actually believe that Sinbad guy when he said there was a statue of him in this city."

"…Why is he surrounded by statues of babies pissing into the fountain?"

"What do you—? Oh, come on!" she huffed angrily, stomping up to the fountain. Waving Morte's staff at the marble cherubs on top of it, she started shouting at them, "Hey! Get, get! Come on, shoo! Stop pissing in the damn fountain, people drink out of that!"

The marble cherubs fluttered up into the air, blowing raspberries and making rude gestures. She made those same gestures back, lighting Morte's staff on fire for good measure when some of them hesitated to leave. Once she could finally no longer see their shiny white bums she let herself relax, dropping onto edge of the fountain with a huff.

"What the hell—oh, gargoyles. I forgot those existed. Holy hell, I thought I was hallucinating for a minute there."

"Honestly," she grumbled to herself. "This is why every fountain in this damn city needs to be covered. 'Oh but they look so beautiful—' shut up! The damn cherubs have probably pissed in all of them by now! I don't care that it's not toxic, it's still piss! In the water we drink!"

"Eh? But they're so cute!"

Palmira blinked, realizing she had an audience. Looking to the side, she realized that in her righteous fury at the damn cherubs she'd missed a small… child? Short adult? A small person also sitting at the edge of the fountain. They were incredibly pink, with pink skin, pink clothes, and even pink goggles covering her eyes. The only other color on her was the white, floofy hair which spilled down her back.

"…Cute?" Palmira repeated incredulously. "Cute!? They're a damn menace, is what they are!"

"I bet you're only saying that because you drank cherub piss once and are mad about it!"

"These fountains are the only places in the city that give out free, clean water! The last thing I want is to have to drink cherub piss just to survive!"

"Okay, fine, but you don't have to be so mean about it! Just admit they're cute!"

"They are not."

"Are too!"

"Are not!"

"It's gonna be one of these days, huh?"

"Why do you even care?" Palmira huffed, tasting smoke on her tongue. "Why do I even care? I don't even know who you are!"

"I'm Tintinnia!" the pink girl greeted her cheerfully. "Now admit they're cute!"

"I'm Palmira! And never!"

This went on for a while.

"It's the wings," Tintinnia told her, slamming her hands on the table between them. "They're so tiny! How can you not find them cute?"

It had started raining after a bit, so they'd moved themselves into one of the small hole in the walls that were always crammed into these piazzas. The one they'd found was halfway underground with barely enough space for an oven and the single table they'd grabbed for themselves. They didn't even order, as there'd only been one thing on the menu; some type of heavy pasta, meat, and soup combo that the owner had dropped before them in two massive bowls.

Normally Palmira wouldn't have gotten anything, but Tintinnia offered to pay and Palmira never turned down free food.

"They're covered in feathers," Palmira scoffed, and then yelped and dove for Morte as he slipped off where he was leaning against the table again. Sitting back up, she coughed before continuing her point. "Feathers aren't cute. They're… they're… they're inefficient! Besides, scaled wings are so much cooler!"

"Pfft," Tintinnia blew a raspberry at her, by consequence getting some of her soup all over the table. Seriously, that girl had some of the worst table manners she'd ever seen. "Scaled wings are lame! They're like, the least interesting part of a dragon, you know? Now, if dragons had feathers, then we'd be in business!"

"You take that back!"

"You know in your heart that it's true~"

Palmira angrily took a bite of her soup-pasta-weird combo. Seriously, this girl had no taste!

Then the pink girl started vibrating, shaking the whole table (and knocking Morte over again in the process).

"…Are you okay?"

Tintinnia pouted. "No. That was my boss. Ugh, he's always so needy! 'Don't go out on your own,' 'stay where I can see you,' 'get that out of your mouth,' blah blah blah! And then he just uses the worst ways to get in contact with me, y'know?"

"…Sounds rough."

"Yeah," Tintinnia sighed, before leaping down from the table. "Uh, here," she dumped a bunch of random coins on the table. "That should be enough to pay for it, yeah? I've got to head out before—" she vibrated again "—that gets any worse."

"…Right. Well, it was nice meeting you, I guess?" Palmira

"Cherubs are still cute, but I agree~" the pink girl waved as she bounced out of the restaurant, leaving the half-eaten bowl behind.

Palmria stared after her, before turning to finish off her own bowl.

Somehow, despite that being one of the longest and weirdest arguments she'd ever had in her life, the restaurant now felt lonely without the bouncy pink girl there to talk with. The rain only made it worse, the pitter patter of—wait.

What happened to the rain?

Palmira craned her neck, glancing outside. It had stopped raining. When had it stopped raining? "…How long did we spend arguing?"

"Well, if you really wanted to, I'd say you could head back to the guild now!"

Palmira sighed, rubbing her forehead. "…At least I totally won that argument."

"Keep telling yourself that, maybe one day it'll become true."

--

Tintinnia hummed, skipping her way down the streets of Firozzi. Or at least she wanted to, but she was constantly stopped by sudden vibrations that threw her flat on her face.

"Sinbad!" she groaned as she finally reached the one-eyed paladin, flopping down at his feet. "Turn it off already!"

The lousy old man glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, before turning back to the reports from his fancy spy network or whatever it was called. He also didn't turn it off.

"Sinbad~"

"Very well," he sighed, waving his hand. "Don't make me regret this."

She groaned in relief as the vibrations faded away, before jumping to her feet. "You know I hate it when you do that!"

"And you shouldn't be wandering off on your own!" Sinbad scowled at her, giving her his full attention. "Not after what happened last time!"

"I didn't do anything wrong!"

"You killed eight people!"

"But they were such great material! And I meant this time, anyway!" she crossed her arms, giving him a superior smirk. "In fact, I even made a friend!"

"…What?"

"Yup!" she smiled, rocking back on her heels. "She had the most beautiful hair—it even started burning when she got mad!"

Sinbad gave her one of his signature tired looks. "Please tell me you didn't kill her."

"Don't worry, I remembered your advice!" she smiled, pleased with herself. "No dismantling materials where there are witnesses. I think her staff would have called the city watch on me."

"…Goddess, why is this woman starting to sound familiar…"

"Hey, do you think I could invite her over?" Tintinnia asked, giving him her adorable puppy-dog eyes. It hadn't worked before, but a girl could hope! "I think I could braid her hair into a beautiful whip. Or maybe I could use her heart as the core for a warhammer… And if she brought her staff…"

"Hold on," Sinbad raised a hand. "Before you start coming up with ideas, is she someone who would be missed? Was she apart of any Famiglias? Can she just disappear without somebody knowing?"

"…Well, she did have the Ambrosi's rose on her armor…"

"…Tintinnia, you are hereby banned from harming her. The last thing we need is the damn Ambrosi investigating us."

"Aw, come on!" she pouted. "Nobody'll notice! I can be subtle!"

"You are the least subtle person I've ever met."

She huffed, pouting as Sinbad collected his gear. "Besides," he told her, "we have bigger fish to fry."

Her eyes went wide, her new friend completely forgotten. "You mean you found him?"

"I'm meeting with the Gennarelli tonight to learn more, but supposedly, yes. If we're lucky, then we might even catch him tonight."

Tintinnia squealed as she followed him out of their little hideaway. Ah, so soon, so soon!

So soon, she'd finally take her first step towards surpassing even the Ancients themselves!