Dantes walked down a wide street, possibly the widest he’d ever been down in his life. The buildings to either side of him seemed to rise up and touch the sky and the water running into the gutter seemed so broad and deep that he could mistake it for a river. There were shadows walking around him that seemed completely oblivious to his presence as they moved. Some of them jostled him unknowingly, and others nearly stepped on him as they moved through streets that were like valleys between buildings that seemed as large as mountains.
Dantes couldn’t recall how he got there, or remember what it was he was doing. He didn’t sense Jacopo, nor could he call on any of the other connections he had monitoring things in the city for him. With nothing else to go off of, he just continued walking forward until the impossibly wide street widened even further into a plaza. Within the plaza was a statue of the mother, beautiful and impossibly large. It was overgrown with vines, flowers, and weeds, and on its shoulders were the silhouettes of thousands of birds.
The birds all dove down at once toward Dantes, and the wind from their thousands of wingbeats knocked him to the ground and forced him to shelter his face with his arms. When the gust cleared, he removed his arm and in front of him stood a massive pigeon, equal or greater to the shadows that had been knocking him over only moments ago.
The pigeon was a beautiful shade of purple and iridescent green. Its beak and eyes were pure black, and on its head was a crown that seemed to be made of iron. It spread its wings and placed one under its chest as it tipped its head in an approximation of a formal bow.
Dantes pushed himself back to his feet. Remembering that the last thing that had happened was him falling asleep, and realizing that this was a dream. A meeting with the pigeon god.
“Dantes.” It said with a high and bubbling voice. “Welcome.”
Dantes returned the bow, making his own even lower, which wasn’t hard given the size discrepancy between them. “Pigeon god. It’s an honor.”
The god puffed up and cooed with pleasure. “Polite, that’s always a pleasant surprise. Do you know why I’ve called you here?”
“I hope it’s to honor me with a blessing and a mark.”
“That is correct. It is rare for one of your kind to ask for such a thing from me. There was a time when I was far more beloved. By both Druids and by the races of the mortal plane in general.”
“I don’t think I’d be much of a druid if I didn’t ask for the blessing of one with so many children within my locus.”
“This is true, but many don’t see our value anymore. Less than a few centuries ago my children were among the most honored of animals. We were used to send messages, kept for our meat, or even bred for our beauty. We were brought to every city and town as prizes, always considered partners to those who cared for us. Even today, my kind flourish where all parts of your bloodline thrive. My children are much less beloved, but we still cherish your people for bringing us with you.”
Dantes listened to the speech in silence. Pigeons had been a part of his day to day for most of his life. Some of his earliest memories consisted of seeing them with their wobbly gait moving up and down the sidewalk in pursuit of scraps of food. He’d eaten more than one pigeon pie, and had even made a habit of helping fledglings back to their nests when they fell.
The pigeon god cocked his head, as if reading his thoughts, and wrapped his wings around him. Dantes braced himself for the same pain he was used to experiencing when he received a mark, but instead he felt only a gentle warmth spreading throughout him, then slowly consolidating on a spot halfway up his right arm. It wasn’t even enough to wake him up, and he enjoyed a dreamless black sleep for the rest of the night.
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…
Dantes awoke in the late morning, several hours later than was typical for him. He felt refreshed and rested, which was also atypical of what he was used to, and he pushed himself to sit up in his bedroll. He looked at his arm, and saw a mark of a pigeon's foot, divided into four sections, one for the main body of it, and three for each of the toes. The largest one was half filled with gold.
He looked over to the small chunk of roof on top of which a number of pigeons roosted, and sent his will toward it. A small pigeon of mottled brown and white fluttered down and started pacing left and right. Dantes stroked its head a bit, and released it to let it return to its nest.
“Two-legs call both bats and pigeons rats with wings. Why is that?” asked Jacopo as he crawled along the mossy layer that covered the garden toward Dantes.
Dantes shrugged. “Probably a compliment… for pigeons and bats that is. Some people assign rat-like qualities to them since rats, obviously, set the standard.”
Jacopo nodded. That made perfect sense to him.
Dantes stood and went through his morning routine. He washed as best he could with a water basin and some soap, shared some breakfast with Jacopo, then he started to tend to his garden. They’d all begun to grow to the point that they would be noticeable and endangered, so Clay had suggested the planting of thick thorn and berry bushes at the outskirts. Dantes took the seeds he’d been given, and started planting them that morning, taking the time to water them when he was done. Clay had not considered it, but the bushes would also provide excellent natural cover for a number of the vermin that he’d managed to earn the trust and blessings of. From his main garden, he went on to all of the others, occasionally burying a seed in a random patch of dirt when his instincts and the seeds agreed that they’d like to be planted there.
As he walked and worked, Dantes began moving through his daily tally of damage he’d done to Mondego. The warehouse and all of its goods had been destroyed, and he’d been forced to try and diversify where his goods were held, slowing his shipments and angering his clients and men. A number of those under his protections, from gamblers to dealers, to whores, had been arrested or had their goods seized by Pacha and the guard. He’d done a lot of damage, and was doing more everyday between Pacha and his own ventures, but he needed to put more pressure on. Mondego knew who he was and what powers he had. There was no more reason for him to hold back and stay secretive as he had been. It was time to take more direct approaches. To show off what he could really do. He flexed his wooden hand, smiling as he did so.
If he was going to go after things himself, he may as well make it so that Mondego’s attentions were divided in as many other directions as possible. Dantes made it back to his main garden and pulled out the high stack of parchment that he’d purchased. He wrote down the descriptions for five separate enterprises of Mondego’s, and when they were at their busiest. Two stash-houses, a whorehouse full of dust, another gambling den, and the location of an unlicensed enchanter. He saved the juiciest targets for himself at the docks, but made sure that they were far from the border with midtown to make sure that they wouldn’t cross paths, nor would Mondego be able to react easily to his actions. Once he was done with the note he tied it to a rat’s foot, and sent it to place the note on Pacha’s desk.
He then wrote another letter in the style of Danglar’s mother, this time promising him that she’d found him the most enchanting match in hell. He then added a description that made it very clear that the match was in fact, a very large stake upon which he would be skewered.
Finally, he wrote a number of letters in Danglar’s hand, to various people he had worked with, calling them the foulest and most horrible names he could imagine, then adding Danglar’s seal to them. He then wrote several genuine proposals for actual legal and committee work, and sent those to different associates of Danglars, also with his seal.
Once he was done, Dantes had a number of rats and pigeons deliver the message while he stood and gathered his things. He loaded a pistol, filled his bag with hammers that break the vermin enchantment, and slipped on his jacket before holding a hand out to Jacopo so that he could crawl up onto his shoulder.
“Ready to do a bit of your second favorite F?”
“Feeding? Yes.”
“Make that third favorite.”
“Fighting? Also, yes.”