Chapter 40 – Monkeys and Circuses

“I’m telling you I heard something!” Palmira snapped around her breakfast, gnawing furiously on a charred hunk of bread. “It was like… a woman’s voice, I think? And it was talking like Morte was! In my head!”

“And I’m not saying you didn’t,” Lorenzo raised his hands placatingly, her friend’s leafy eyebrows furrowed in concern. The tree-man was, as always, annoyingly handsome, with his razor-sharp teeth and oaken complexion. “But all I’m saying is that there a simple explanation here. It’s almost All Saint’s Day, after all. The line between the living and the dead is growing thin and, well, from what you’ve told me you’re more in tune with that line than most. You probably just heard a ghost or something. You said he was a half-elf, right? Perhaps his mother is watching over him.”

Palmira grumbled mulishly at that, hating the fact he was being logical. She didn’t need logic. She needed answers! She didn’t spend all night coming up with increasingly implausible scenarios just for him to wave this off as some dumb ghost.

Having run out of bread to toast, she snatched the singular orange off her plate. Plunging her fingers into its flesh she began to cook it slowly, the pleasing scent of burnt orange helping calm her down. Lorenzo watched as she did so, looking faintly ill.

“I don’t see why you’re so bothered by this,” Chiara—her other friend currently sitting with them—scoffed. The half-elven woman was lounging arrogantly in her chair, rolling her crystal-clear eyes at her. “He’s just some weirdo you met on the streets. You’re never going to meet him again, just put him out of your mind and move on.”

“That’s the problem! He was in my mind!” she growled at them, shoving a slice of cooked orange into her mouth. “Just like Morte! Except for some reason he didn’t hear anything!”

“That is a big issue,” her staff agreed, sounding mildly bemused. “I didn’t hear anything. If they were broadcasting loud enough for the girl here to hear them, I should have easily been able to as well.”

“So you admit I heard something!”

“I’m saying that if you did, you likely weren’t meant to hear it,” he corrected her. “Rather, it’s more like you accidentally tuned into the same wavelength as some other entity. What, though, I have no idea.”

Chiara raised an eyebrow, suddenly appearing much more interested. “Another entity? Are you saying that she could’ve been hearing something like you?”

“I should hope not! I’m a horrific crime against nature, forged of blasphemous necromancy! Imagine what horrors could occur if there were two of me!”

Palmira paused, considering. She imagined herself with two staffs, quadrupling her firepower. Then she imagined having two Mortes constantly blabbering in her head.

She shuddered.

“You’re right,” she nodded firmly. “The world’s better off with only one of you in it.”

“…You know, my apprentice, sometimes you can be ever so cruel.”

“I learned from the best,” she gave him a cheerful smile. Eating the last slice of her orange she crumbled its still smoking peel into a ball, tossing it out into the courtyard. A half-dozen colorful flowers intercepted it, snarling and biting as they tore its remains between them.

The blue lily-looking flower ended up winning the tug of war, grabbing the largest chunk and swallowing it with a sizzle of acid. A wave of cheers and groans rolled throughout the room, as coins begrudgingly changed hands. Bettina the Bartender scratched a tally mark on a wooden scoreboard, giving her a subtle wink that promised another orange as she collected her own winnings.

Palmira’s smile grew more genuine as she let herself calm down. It had taken a while, but once they’d returned from Iscrimo she started feeling much more comfortable in the guild. After weeks of living here she found that walking the halls had become second nature, and the experienced adventurers who had once seemed so daunting now seemed more open and friendly. Few people even called her ‘newbie’ anymore, instead picking from a variety of new nicknames like ‘Creepy Girl’ or ‘Three Dukes.’

And to think she used to hate being called ‘Firebrand.’

Still, for all that she didn’t like them, they were her nicknames. They showed she was no longer considered a generic newbie, but a full-fledged member of the guild.

It made her feel a bit warm inside when she realized that. A bit warm on the outside, too.

“Hey,” Lorenzo’s voice snapped her out of her musings. “Chiara, is that your brother over there?”

Palmira blinked, following his gaze over to the bar. Indeed, there was Chiara’s half-brother, the guildmaster Dante di Firozzi, alongside the guild’s secretary Ósma and its economist Asu Rana.

“Huh, so it is,” she squinted across the room at him. “Goddess, is he going to make another speech? It is way too early to have to listen to him yapping.”

Well, if he was then he picked the perfect time for it. Currently, the guild’s dining hall was—for the first time since she’d gotten back from Iscrimo—packed, everyone back from their recent jobs. Not quite full, not since the last group quit, but full enough that she could barely hear what Chiara and Lorenzo were saying, and they were right in front of her.

That also meant that whatever the guildmaster was trying to say was currently being swallowed up by the shouting of rowdy adventurers.

After a few minutes of trying to get everyone to quiet down and growing increasingly frustrated at being ignored, the man looked one step away from snapping and firing all of them like he threatened to every other week.

But before he could do so Ósma decided to have mercy on everyone. Placing a giant hand on Dante’s shoulder he stepped forward. Taking a deep breath, he roared, “EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

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The sheer volume of his voice quieted the guild so fast they were able to hear it echo down the hall. In an instant the two dozen or so adventurers stopped talking, turning to look at the massive orc with only a little fear in their eyes.

“Thank you, Ósma,” the guildmaster sighed, his frustration wiped away as he turned to them. His brow was set and his back was straight, making him the very picture of a noble. It kind of made her want to punch him in the face, but she pushed that thought down. If he was this serious then it must be important. Probably. “And thank all of you, for actually showing up for once! I’m aware these past few weeks have been trying, but through our collective hard work and dedication we’re steadily pulling ourselves out of the red!”

A smattering of cheers followed his words, which Palmira halfheartedly joined in. Chiara of course only rolled her eyes, while Lorenzo joined a half second after her to stop it from feeling awkward.

“And, as I’m sure you’re all aware, All Saint’s Day is coming up! And you all know what that means, right?”

“Spirits!” Anima the water mage raised a bottle.

“Beer!” Johanna the ice-elf followed up gleefully.

“I just said that!”

“No, you said spirits!”

“That’s alcohol, moron!”

“I thought spirits were ghosts?”

“They can be both!”

The guildmaster sighed, a feeling Palmira sympathized with. Dealing with Johanna was trying at the best of times. Though she was wondering what he was getting at, bringing up the holidays like this.

All Saint’s Day was a celebration of the dead. Despite the name it lasted a week, each day honoring a different type of spirit, such as saints or heroes or family members. The first half of the week tended towards the drunk festivities type of holiday, while the second half tended towards a more personal affair.

“Yes, I know, another excuse to be drunk on the job,” the guildmaster rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “But there’s more to it than that. On the second day of the week the Rodina Guild hosts a tournament in order to honor fallen heroes. More importantly to us, this tournament is something which all adventurer guilds in the city are invited to attend. And we will attend! That’s why I’ve pulled the majority of you back to focus on personal training over taking jobs, as this will now be our top priority.”

“Wait,” Teresa called out from her spot next to Anima. The blonde Crusader was giving the guildmaster an incredulous look. “Are you telling us we’re focusing on training for some stupid tournament over making money on jobs? Or is this your way of telling us we’re no longer dead broke!?”

Murmurs broke out, most of the guild seeming to agree with her. But then Asu Rana stepped forward, her mandibles twitching into a calming smile.

“I understand your reservations, but this tournament is very important,” she replied, instantly soothing the worries of the others in a way that made Ósma and the guildmaster look envious. “Aristocrats, merchants, and many other potential clients from across Firozzi and its allies will be attending. If we manage to stand out, especially above the Ambrosi and Capparelli sponsored guilds, we might be able to break back into the local market. Not only will that allow us to make more money, but we’ll also no longer have to range as far for work either.”

That calmed everyone down, though most still looked unconvinced. From what Palmira knew, basic economics tended to go over the average adventurer’s head. Long-term planning wasn’t her fellows’ strong suit.

The guildmaster saw this and sighed, rolling his eyes. “There will also be a prize—enough that each of you will get the equivalent of one gold Florin if we win.”

“Well why didn’t you just lead with that!?” Johanna shouted, joined by the roar of a dozen other gleeful adventurers. “Hells, that’s enough to pay off my gambling debt!”

The guildmaster sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as everyone already started boasting about what they were going to spend the prize on. “Whatever works,” he muttered quietly enough that Palmira was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to have heard.

“I’ll be meeting with each of you individually to plan out our future training programs and strategies,” Ósma spoke up, his booming voice loud enough to be heard over the din. “And if any of you are late I’m banning you from the bar for a week!”

That cut through the premature celebration as a wave of complaints were instantly levied at the old orc’s unsympathetic frame. The other two guild leaders just shook their heads and left, while Johanna made a righteous attempt to fistfight the orc—only to be instantly put in a headlock and dragged off to his office. She left a trail of snowmen behind her, each trying and failing to help her escape her fate.

Palmira watched them go before turning back to her friends. “So what’s this tournament like? I’ve seen the stuff around it, but I’ve never actually been allowed inside the arena before.”

“It’s just your standard tourney,” Chiara rolled her eyes, going back to picking at her food. “The only difference is that sometimes your ancestors start showing up in the middle of the fight to either cheer you on or complain about how bad you’re doing.”

“She’s just embarrassed because last year her great grandmother appeared and tried to fight her opponent for her,” Lorenzo stage whispered to her. There was a dull ‘thump’ as Chiara kicked him under the table. “But it’s not quite standard. Most tournaments use a bracket system, but that takes too long for something that’s only supposed to last a day.”

“Huh,” Palmira nodded thoughtfully, having no idea what a ‘bracket system’ was. “So what do they do instead?”

“It’s more like an endurance test. There’s only one arena, and two people from different guilds fight in it. After one person is defeated, a different member of their guild shows up to take their place. Once the guild runs out of members they can no longer fight, but that doesn’t mean they’ve lost. The guild with the most knockouts at the end of the tournament wins the grand prize, with smaller prizes going to the runner-ups.”

“I see,” she nodded, understanding the gist of it. Then she frowned as she realized something. “Wait. Wouldn’t that give larger guilds an advantage?”

“Yup,” Chiara scoffed, rolling her eyes in annoyance. “That’s why the Rodina Guild has won every year since they were founded. They’ve got as many members as the rest of the city’s guilds combined. ‘Course, nobody can complain since they’re also the ones paying for everything.”

“Quantity’s not everything. Quality can still make up for numbers,” Lorenzo countered. “Last year they almost lost, remember?”

“Sure, but do you think these dumbasses,” she gestured to the surrounding adventurers, most of whom were already day drinking, placing bets, and engaging in general tomfoolery, “are high quality enough to defeat the Rodina Guild?”

“I do, actually,” Lorenzo smiled confidently. “They may not be the smartest bunch, but we have a rare quality to our guildmembers that most others lack.”

It was at that point Johanna returned to the dining hall, listlessly stumbling in with a thousand-yard stare.

“Oi, Christina Cringle, what’s got yer panties in a twist?” Matthias the dwarf slurred around a beer larger than his head. “Did that old orc finally get sick o’ yah and fire yah?”

Johanna stumbled to a stop, a look of horror frozen on her face as she slumped against his table. “I…” she barely managed to choke out, frozen tears twinkling at the corners of her eyes. “…I’ve been promoted!”

It was like time itself stopped as every single conversation in the guild instantly ground to a halt.

Then—

“Oh Goddess, Johanna!?”

“What in the world was Ósma thinking!?”

“We’re all gonna die we’re all gonna die we’re all gonna die—”

“Are you telling me I have to take orders from that idiot!?”

“We can get promoted!?”

Johanna sobbed at the guild exploded into chaos around her. A frozen lake pooled on the table as Matthias patted her back in sympathy, offering her his own mug in consolation. It immediately froze over, which just made her cry harder.

Chiara turned back to Lorenzo and raised an eyebrow. “A rare quality, huh?”

“The rarest,” his smile was strained, but still stubbornly clinging on. “Hell if I know what it is, but I believe in us.”

Palmira didn’t, but she supposed it was a good thing that someone was rooting for them. As it was, the chaos of the announcement was almost enough for her to forget about the voice she’d heard yesterday.

Almost.