Month 12, Day 3, 12:00PM
Frank Poe
Frank reckoned that was a productive morning.
But. He regretted offering the moth.
Frigg correctly rejected it. As with many choices that would cause unintended effects, offering the moth had seemed good at the time. Upon reflection, it was a poor choice to represent a young boy, even if he was cursed.
Her reaction was unusually violent, but given how bad the offering was, she was probably just scolding him.
Moreover, the moth may have seemed a little like an offering of food. Frigg was no pigeon, begging for scraps. She might consent to some offering of food outside the ritual … but to offer food during it? Frank felt lucky her reaction was not more violent.
He didn’t mention it to Marie, but when knocking over the bowl, the raven had slashed at his hand, and scraped it painfully. He rubbed the scratch on his hand.
Frigg’s reaction surprised Poe so much that he hadn’t even introduced Marie properly.
He was lucky that the introduction had gone as well as it had.
But, he wasn’t his most in tune with the world right now. There could be other reasons for Frigg’s reaction. He’d have to keep an open mind.
Stealing the cloak pin was another matter.
This shocked Frank. The Raven never stole from him. Their meetings were exchanges; he offered, and Frigg either accepted (or not). But. Marie had not offered it. The theft suggested that the Raven had some specific use for the cloak pin. That she’d taken something was usually her approval.
‘Now what?’ Frank wondered. He wouldn’t see the boy for at least a day or two. Will strain cut him off from magic, and he’d completely forgotten to ask Frigg about the Stags. They were, at least for now, the most likely source for information. And, he didn’t know nearly enough to know whether contacting the Stags would would be sailing too close to the wind.
They climbed down the roof, and Frank found his headache reminded him of its presence. Healing potions could only go so far. His tea had also helped, but it’s slightly soporific effect had already worn off.
When they reached the office, Frank retrieved a small blank volume out of his component chest to give Marie. It would serve to start a student’s grimoire, and finally returned his heirloom conduit to the chest with the beast core. He had a thaumaturge-created diamond rated at just over a thousand thaums that he kept tucked in a pocket. If he needed to bring out the family heirloom for an ordinary investigative work, something would have gone so wrong that magic wouldn’t get him out of it. Besides, it was just unnecessary temptation.
Frank retrieved his glasses, and put them on. The world always looked a little better through the amber glass, but it never became any better.
Preparing to leave, and standing in the outer office next to Marie’s table, Poe found himself wondering if he should invite Marie, or leave her behind for safety sake. But, it was the middle of the day; hardly the time of day when hardened gang members prowled the streets. Bringing her ought to be safe enough.
The curse was an ever-present problem. He couldn’t count on Lord Stag to be immune.
“How do you feel about the Verdant Stag?” He asked.
Marie shrugged. “They are dangerous. Mama doesn’t like them. They took some territory from the Morrows, and that didn’t go over well with some of the bosses.” Marie looked pensive for a moment; she was always reluctant to tell Frank too much about the Morrows. “The employees working at the massage tables don’t like it that the Stags are running the Silk Door; it’s a classy place, and a sort-of competitor.”
“I am familiar with it.” Poe nodded. Marie cocked her head at him. Then Poe felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment. “From a job! not … I would never …”
“Yeah ok.” Marie rolled her eyes and gave a little tut of exasperation. “But, anyway, the pay is a little better over there. I know some of the fellas working there because they were independent and switched over. Some people thought we lost customers. Madame didn’t seem too worried though, and our books were fine.”
Poe tried to ignore that topic. Marie had learned to read and write from the proprietor of the parlor, and had even been taught enough to be a sort of greeter. Marie was more prepared for this sort of thing than he was.
Frank Poe could admit to himself that he was thoroughly naive when it came to the non-magical underworld.
“Will there be an issue if we visit the Verdant Stag together?”
“No. I’ll just leave my cloak. I don’t think I’ll be made for a member of the Morrows or anything. But, I’d like a cloak pin for it. I can twist and tie it and things, but it’s better with a pin. Do you have one I can borrow?”
“I can buy you one just around the corner. There’s second-hand shop.”
Frank strode out into the street with Marie following. A few years ago, Frank would have made the pin with a bit of transmutation. Now, even without will strain, he wouldn’t do that anymore. Building an untested spell array for such a frivolous task may have expanded his will, but he couldn’t justify the risk of untested arrays in his current condition.
This close to the mires, there wasn’t much in the way a jewelers. But, around the corner was a junk shop that should have at least a penannular cloak pin. The shop had a pair of green antlers carefully painted in the corner of a window, but otherwise seemed to be what one would expect: a run-down secondhand shop, buying low from whoever brought in a trinket to sell, and selling high to whatever member of the browsing public it could attract.
They ducked into it; literally, in Frank’s case, because the doorway was unusually short. They paused for a moment to allow their eyes to adjust to the low light. Frank didn’t remove his glasses, even if they did make the room a bit more dim than it actually was.
The shop had racks of second-hand clothes, trays of junk, and dusty second-hand household goods. Marie wandered into the racks. Frank stepped to the counter to see if he could get service.
Frank frowned. The pair of shopkeepers at the counter seemed to resemble vultures. Their eyes were taking in those that were weaker, and perhaps more desperate to buy. When they saw Frank, he had the impression of circling a dead animal. He just knew that he was going to be overcharged.
“Feel free to browse, my Lord.” The greyer, and more senior of the two, said with an entirely too obsequious bow.
“Not a Lord. Show me to your cloak pins.”
“Yes of course, sir.”
And then Frank had the opportunity to see a tray of bejeweled cloak pins that were both ugly and fake. It was intolerable. Except, Frank had to admit he wasn’t the young member of a crown family any more. What offense should he take, really? No proper Lord ought to be caught anywhere near this establishment.
“Hmm.” Frank gazed over the selection. Marie had been browsing the clothes, and she came over to view the tray with him.
“Ah sir! Is this your … lady?” The salesman struggled to discern the relationship, and failed.
“No.” Frank and Marie responded simultaneously.
“Which one would you pick, if you wanted one?” Frank asked her. Marie looked at him quizically.
‘Right.’ He thought, ‘she’ll want something black.’
“Do you have anything in black?” Frank asked the shopkeeper. Marie nodded to him.
“Yes, sir. Of course.” And he returned with a tray of more normal cloak pins and broaches, with several black pieces mixed in with silver and brass. Frank could tell instantly which one Marie would pick: a jet black penannular cloak pin, but that had two black stones mounted at either end of the broken circle.
“Which one do you like?” Frank asked.
Marie pointed to the one he’d suspected.
“Now, what price for this?” Frank asked the vulturine salesman, lifting the pin from the tray.
“A very fine choice, sir. A very fine mounting in pure silver, with two black wizard-garnets set in it.” The fellow cooed. Frank very much doubted the pin was silver, or mounted with garnets. A garnet that dark practically was indistinguishable from a many lesser stones. The metal, moreover, was almost completely black. If it was silver, it seemed like it had been specially treated to make it black. “With such fine stones, only two gold.”
“One gold.”
“Oh sir, you wound me. Such a low price, it cuts me to the bone.”
“Really? Fine.” Frank dropped the pin, and gestured for Marie to join him as he strode out. Marie reluctantly followed. They stopped just out of view of the shop windows.
“Marie. Don’t sulk.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Here’s a crown coin. Go back inside and negotiate a better price. You can keep the change.”
Marie reentered with a determined look. Frank lurked by the shop door, hoping to catch snatches of the conversation.
“How can I help you?” This time, the same salesman gave no bow. Frank put that down to his flamboyant clothes. Only someone very rich or vain, or perhaps both, would dress as he did. Either way, Frank always looked like a payday for some retail salesman. The clothes never seemed to work to make him memorable, but he had bought them, so he reckoned that he should keep wearing them.
“Just browsing for a pin.” Marie made a show of looking at the trays the man had left on the counter.
“Of course.” The man paused, and looked at her. “Do you know, you look a little like the Raven Queen?” Frank couldn’t see her expression, but he imagined it was less friendly than when she met with clients at the Agency.
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“If I was the Raven Queen, do you think I would be in a junk shop?”
The man stiffened. “My shop has only the finest second-hand goods.”
“Of course.” Marie said scathingly. “Look at these cloak pins.” Marie pointed at one in the tray. “Bent. Made of pot metal and gilded to look better.” She selected another one. “This one’s gems are just colored glass.” Then she picked up her target, the black cloak pin. “Ugh. With such poor selection, I’ll just make do with this one. It’s got to be the cheapest of the lot, with how ugly it is.”
“Can I say though, it matches your hair?”
“It’s black, duh. I’ll pay three pennies for it.”
“No, I couldn’t sell it for so little.”
“How much then?”
“It really is a fine piece; very sturdy. It will last you a lifetime. Worth at least 100 times that; those are garnets you know.”
“Black river-stones more like.”
“I assure you, they are quite genuine. Wizard-made. I couldn’t part with it for less than a half crown.”
Marie moved to put it down, giving the impression of reluctance. Frank was impressed that she’d give up the negotiation; she had enough money for it. Perhaps she’d shift to a different pin. He was wrong.
“These are all so terrible. I guess I’ll have to walk up to Knute’s and buy a proper cloak pin …” She weighed the black pin in her hand for a moment. “Quarter crown? Just so I don’t have to bother with the walk?”
The vulture smiled. He thought he had her. “Well, perhaps if you were to buy a cloak to go with it?”
“Hmm. Perhaps a shawl. Do you have anything in black?”
It turned out that he did.
Frank watched with astonishment as, for less than a third of the shop’s offer to him for a single pin, she returned with a paper wrapped package with both a dress, a shawl, and the dubious cloak pin. Marie, ever sharp to his expressions, cocked her head at him.
“What?” Marie asked.
“Didn’t think you’d do so well.” Frank replied.
“Hmm. Do you think they are actual black garnets?” She asked.
“Not likely. That fellow is no jeweler.” Poe replied. “I can check them later.”
“You know, he seemed to have no memory of me at all.”
“You didn’t say anything to him while in my presence. There was nothing concrete for him to remember.”
“But he saw me?”
“If I entirely understood how the curse worked, I’d have gotten rid of it by now.”
Frank had Marie return to the Agency to leave her new clothes behind. Frank moved back to the corner as Marie strolled back.
While he waited, Frank’s headache finally got the better of him. He filled his sky-kraken pipe with more of the soothing kinninnik, and lit it with one of his small enchanted fire-lighters. It was a clever little metal stick that, when withdrawn from it’s brass and nickel case, would be red hot for a few moments. Holding the pipe in his right hand, first finger extended to support it, he touched the hot end to the kinninnick, then he drew the smoke into his mouth, and blew it out in stream.
The smoke slowed the pounding in his head, eased the tension in his shoulders, and helped is arms relax. Taking another draw, he entertained himself by blowing a few white smoke rings, and watched them slowly swirl and dissipate.
Marie returned, with her cloak pinned in place, the black pin glittering. Maybe they were gems after all.
If she objected to the smoke, she didn’t say anything.
WIth the new cloak pin sorted, they walked to the heart of the Stag’s territory, the Verdant Stag.
The Verdant Stag gathered folk from all over the city, at all times of the day. To call it an inn would be a disservice to its sophistication: entertainments and music at night, a varied and liberal bar service, affordable public and private rooms for travelers, and reasonably priced food that attracted workers from both the lower-income and the nicer parts of the city. Most of all, the common room was clean and the kitchen honest: no mystery pie or watered wine.
Frank Poe suspected that as the center of criminal organization, the Verdant Stag had a rare reputation: scrupulous honestly for its patrons. You knew what the bargain was, and they would enforce it.
On the other hand, if you took out a loan that was beyond your means and someone stopped by to collect with a certain amount of prejudice, well … that was hardly the Verdant’s Stag’s fault, was it? If they served lunch in a private room where a local business would buy the trinkets and baubles that came into the possession of disreputable characters, who could say that the seller wasn’t the true owner? If the Stag had to bribe an official, collect interest, procure special goods, or steal some information, wouldn’t that just be getting their fair due for running a business under the oppressive and unreasonable Crowns?
Frank knew the Verdant Stags. When Frank first opened the August Agency, a clean shaven, steely-eyed man, bearing the mark of the green antlers on his shirt, had stopped by. The man encouraged Frank to visit the Verdant Stag, seeing as how independent businesses such Frank’s would be able to make important contacts with local interests.
Frank declined. Later visits were less polite.
Eventually, after a few pointed conversations with the antler-festooned youth that hung about his door and discouraged the Agency’s potential customers, Frank made a deal. The Stags could either move along, or they could visit the healer regularly for the oozing foot sores that got worse every day that they stood within view of the August Agency. Frank’s curse made these conversations more difficult than it should have been, but the sores lasted, so the cause eventually stuck in the teenager’s minds.
This then, was Frank’s first visit to the Verdant Stag’s heart. But, he knew who to ask for: Lord Stag.
Frank and Marie stepped through the front doors of the sprawling inn, past the sign of the green stylized antlers, and sat at one of the communal tables.
Poe didn’t stop smoking; one of the interesting features of the Stag was that they paid for an air-clearing enchantment. It kept his smoke from settling around him. Thus, the air at the Verdant Stag was always sweet and clear.
Marie sat beside Frank at the long table, and near some other patrons who were tucking into a noon dinner. A waiter stopped by and wrote down their food order. After an awkward moment where Marie was, again, accused of being the Raven Queen, Frank made his request—communicated through Marie—to speak to Lord Stag, if he was available.
Frank sat and soaked in the rumor and gossip of the patrons. It was similar to the Morrows’ gossip. Would the Stags retaliate? No one was sure. Why did the Raven Queen make an appearance? Some sort of bargain. But the stories were also very interesting for other reasons.
The Raven Queen developed implausible powers: She was able to change shape into a raven and fly. If that was too slow, she could also step through the shadows and appear anywhere she desired. She had access to the mythological plane of darkness, and had summoned a familiar from there. The familiar itself could invade the mind and cause madness. Or perhaps she was a creature from the plane of darkness herself; trapped away from her home. She was made of shadows, and the light hurt her.
The Raven Queen performed implausible feats: Her theft from the University vaults, traveling to and from her destination through shadows, was just the beginning. For example, Lord Stag joined her in a flight through the shadows to appear in the tower during the fight at the warehouse. When she teleported to the top of the tower, she cast powerful radiant magic and sent bolts of brittle light at their enemies. After defeating the villains who attacked the innocent workers, she treated and healed the wounded with blood magic. But her services weren’t free: she had demanded their blood in recompense for saving them.
Then, when corrupt and evil Coppers arrived, she summoned the shadows to help the workers escape, and set summoned shadow ravens and her bird-like demon on the Coppers. Of course, the heroic figure of Lord Stag intervened and kept her from taking the souls of all that she saved, and he kept her from killing all that attacked her, which also spared the corrupt Coppers.
None of these stories were coherent. If she was a creature of darkness, why did she summon bolts of radiant energy? What was she doing with these souls? Maybe none of it mattered, or all of it. After listening for a long time, Marie finally seemed to have decided on a question for Frank.
“Who, or maybe what, is the Raven Queen, do you think?”
“She’s definitely receiving a great deal of interest, isn’t she? Rumors are rarely truth; people like a good story, and the facts tend to sap the life out of a really good story. But, a couple of aspects of the Raven Queen’s story do seem plausible.” Frank thought for a moment and then leaned close to Marie to speak in whisper. “There’s some truths that are hidden in these rumors: One, she’s likely either an employee or and independent contractor with Stags. Two, she has demonstrated flexibility and variety in her magic that is unpredictable to established sorcerers and investigators. Three, the Coppers can’t find her, even after putting a pretty substantial reward. So, what obvious conclusions might we draw?”
“She’s powerful and useful enough to work with the Stags, and she’s creative enough to surprise smart people, and … I’ve lived here my whole life, and while the city is big, someone must know her.” Marie answered. “She has help?”
“Right. Where, for example, does she buy food? Food stalls are anonymous, but not that anonymous; there is a poster of Siobhan Naught next to all the public gathering places. Where does she sleep? Even the homeless know each other. I can’t see a thaumaturge of any kind sleeping under bridges and wearing the tattered clothing of a beggar. Assuming, of course,” Frank said with a laugh, “she is not an eldritch being of darkness who subsists on the light of the moon, sleeps in the dreams of evil men, and bargains with the dead for succor!”
A waitress approached the table, and dropped off the two bowls of food. “Are you talking about the Raven Queen?” She asked them.
“Of course,” Frank replied, “what else is there to talk about?” He set his pipe aside and picked up a spoon for the food.
“I heard she cursed all the Morrows so that if they see green antlers they’ll be paralyzed in fear.”
“Oh?” Frank felt pulled away from his food, curious about what this waitress might have to say. She did work at the center of one of the possible protectors of the Raven Queen after all.
“And, Lord Stag had to promise to find more of her kind to get her help.”
“More of her kind?”
“Creatures of the Fey, obviously. She’s also a special kind of darkness creature, obviously.”
“Obviously.” Frank replied.
“You know that she summoned a monster that threw a squad of Coppers in a canal?”
“Really?” Marie asked.
“Oh yes, I heard all about it from a customer that saw it happen. She raised her hand and her monster jumped out and bowled the whole lot of them off a bridge and into the water.”
“What did her monster look like?”
“It was all red-eyed and black, like ink. And it was blowy-like, you know, like the wind?”
“You can’t see the wind.” Marie replied. Frank approved; that sort of clear thinking was one of the reasons he thought Marie would do well as a sorcerer. The waitress, however, was oblivious.
“You know, you look a little …”
“No, I do not.” Marie replied.
“Anyway,” the waitress continued, “you can see a cloud. It was like a black cloud-thing.”
“So, if you wanted to meet her, how would you go about it?” Frank finally asked.
“Meet her? No no, I wouldn’t want to meet her …” In the midst of the woman’s reply, another customer called to her. “Oh, I need to go. Enjoy your food!” She swirled across the room to a table that had been trying to get her attention for awhile.
“Poe. Can magic do those things?”
“Magic can do almost anything, with enough study, imagination, time, power, and will. For example, esoteric magic to travel through the earth does exist. But, I doubt we are getting a clear picture … Do you know, the blond apprentice that stopped by the Agency might have been fighting for the Morrows?”
“What?” Marie asked. “Why do you think that?”
“She was injured. No student at the University would stay injured for long, unless they were trying to hide their injury from the school’s healers, or someone else.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Had you seen her in Morrow territory before?”
“No, I’d never seen her before.”
Frank considered. If Marie didn’t know her …
“Would you recognize all the sorcerers working for the Morrows?”
“Well, maybe not all of them. But, a lot of important Morrows stop by Hands, Hearts, and Palms; it’s a perk. Most of the higher ups visit for actual massage or a face cleansing or something; not everyone wants the sex stuff. The parlor doesn’t give out discounts to the street toughs or anything, but a sorcerer would be important enough to be invited to stop by. They’d want us to know who was important and who could get discounts.”
Frank nodded. That confirmed some of his suspicions.
He looked at the complex bean and lamb stew he’d ordered, and tried not to think too much about how meals like this reminded him of family. Frank would have preferred some plain rice with some steamed chrysanthemum. He tucked into it, mechanically eating while keeping his mind elsewhere.
While he and Marie ate, Frank realized that some pieces were coming together; the more he thought about it, the more certain he felt that the the blond apprentice had been in the fight at the warehouse, and probably cut by the Raven Queen’s glass-throwing spell. If so, there was only one reasonable conclusion: Lord Morrow had help from the University.
In contrast, Frank considered Lord Stag’s base of operations, the Verdant Stag: clean staff uniforms, enforcers at the door, expensive smoke clearing wards inside the building, foreign guests, reasonable food, entertainment every night. And, there were other signs that Lord Stag was behaving like a real Lord, with the emergency pulls on the street corners and running businesses to benefit his territories. This included the junk shop, and whatever business he hoped to start in that warehouse.
Of course, crime may pay, but did it pay so well when the Verdant Stag started, not all that long ago? It occurred to Frank that this fine establishment was supported by a Crown family, a wealthy patron, or … a foreign government. No Crown family would have started a criminal enterprise in the Mires, and there were few wealthy patrons that would be outside the control of the Crowns.
Frank reckoned Osham would appreciate the information Gilbratha’s crime world could generate for them. ‘Best I keep those sorts of deductions to myself.’ Frank thought.
A scarred and dark complexioned man approached the table.
“Sir, if you would follow me, the manager is willing to meet with you.”
Frank picked up his pipe and gestured for Marie to join him.