“I'm here to see Sam.”
The bouncer taking in my dirty, travel stained gear.
“You're going to have to leave your things here, weapons and armor, too.”
Handing him my cloak, removing my weapons and armor piece by piece and getting a claim ticket in return. Rolling up my sleeves a bit while following him up the stairs to Sam's office. A knock at the door but no one answering.
“It's still a bit early,” he says, “Mr. Phelps is probably still upstairs, but he should be down within a half hour. You can wait in the lounge or, if you prefer, you can go to the tables. Or you can come back later.”
“I'll get a drink in the lounge.”
“When he gets in I'll send someone to get you.”
Back down the stairs and into an area bathed in muted lighting that slowly changes colors. Booths around the edge of the room, mostly empty at this hour, but two occupied right next to each other. One with a group of men drinking and talking, the other with four men sitting quietly and playing cards. The most boisterous of the bunch, Bruce Chambers, an executive at the Four Corners Merchant Company, and a member of the first expedition. A wealthy man with an appetite for the younger sort - a minor deviance, as it were - and likely one of his lesser. At my entrance the four men playing cards giving me a cursory glance before returning to their game.
Heading over to the empty bar and reuniting with the friend that makes all things slightly more tolerable, a pint. Taking a few sips. The double doors to the side of the bar opening and a waitress emerging in the attire expected of one of Sam's girls: high heels, stockings, a very short skirt and a clinging, low cut top. A light green demon draped across her shoulders. My fellow Pact member, Julie.
The girl glancing in my direction while continuing to ferry the tray of food over to its destination. Being subjected to some minimal handsiness and then walking back with the empty tray, deliberately trying not to look over this time.
“Miss,” raising my hand but not my voice, “I was wondering if I could place an order.” Trying to keep my face neutral as a scowl flashes across hers.
“I'll be right with you,” she says, before heading back through the double doors. Returning to my pint. Julie coming out with another tray and heading to the quieter table with the bodyguards, then coming back to me.
“Yes?”
“You got a moment? I need to talk to you.”
“I'm on duty.”
“How about we go some place a little more intimate.” Her face scrunching up at my produced gold coin. Unmistakable disgust. “I just want to talk. Fifteen minutes.”
Staring at the coin, conflicted, then glancing over at the bartender. “I need a break.” The bartender nodding.
Chugging down the rest of my pint and the two of us walking out of the lounge. Ignoring Chamber's purposefully too loud comment about cleaning a carpet. Down a hallway and into one of the first doors. A small room with a large bed and mood lighting. Locking the door after Julie had come in and took a seat on the bed. The demon on her shoulder letting out a hiss.
“Sassafras, it's okay.” Bringing her hand up to comfort it and the demon scampering down to sit on her other side.
Trying to come up with some tactful way to start, but simply blurting out, “What the fuck are you doing working here?”
“I need the money,” she says, defensively. “And it's not like I do,” gesturing with her hand at our surroundings, “this.”
“Yet.”
“Fuck you. What are you even doing here?”
“I'm working for Sam.”
“Then who are you to talk?”
“Not like that. And not doing what you're doing, either. What you're doing is pretty low, if you ask me.”
“Nobody asked you. You really think serving drinks was what I wanted to do during my supposed time off? Did you bring me in here to rub it in my face? You know what? Fuck you. Keep your money. I don't want it.” Julie standing up and heading toward the door. Dammit, this whole thing went wrong, and there's no way to salvage it nicely. Grabbing her by the shoulders with the shield, the sudden burst of sound and light causing her demon to enter a frenzy of hissing and growling. “Let go of me,” she snarls, followed by another word in that spindly, crawling language that sends shivers up my spine.
“You shut that thing up or I'll crush the life out of it.” Getting a slight headache and blinking away the sudden wetness in my right eye. Wiping with a finger. A small streak of red.
“Sassafras. Enough.” The demon stopping its noise, but its coat still standing on end. “Let go of me.”
“I still need to talk to you.”
“Fine. Let go of me.” Releasing her and receiving a hateful glare, but Julie sitting back down on the bed. “What is it that you want?” In a tightly controlled, clipped voice.
“This whole conversation got fucked up. Kate asked me to apologize to you for what I did at the gala.”
“At the-?” Totally floored. “Why even bother?”
“Because the two of us are, you know, but really only because she wanted me to.”
“She did? Back at the Academy...” Julie shakes her head. “I never would've imagined. She's genuinely considerate, isn't she?”
“I try my best to look out for her.”
Julie opening her mouth to say something, but clearly thinking better of it. “Must be nice,” she says, instead.
“It's a lot of unnecessary work, is what it is. But, yeah, I guess.” Handing over the coin. “That's all I wanted to bother you with. And I'm sorry about this, I'm not good at these things. I'll let you get back to work.”
***
“Ms. Macarthy,” says the woman, my Pact member from Tasnanca. “Mr. Phelps is available to see you now.”
Did she really have to say my name so loudly? Conversations in the room all changing direction and becoming, yet again, the center of attention.
The lounge had filled up a bit more, two of the tables in the middle had a group, along with another one of the booths, as well as two people sitting near me at the bar. The tables with Chambers and their bodyguards had finished their meals but were still hanging around some, drinking.
Standing up and everyone's eyes on me. Looks ranging from smug to questioning to distrustful to leering. Chambers the one with the latter sort, but his bodyguards more prudent. Seems like a number of people are in the know.
“You're Macarthy, huh?” says one of the men at a table in the middle, sporting a grin. “Hard to believe, tiny thing like you.”
Ignoring him. Walking by.
“Macarthy?” says Chambers, significantly too loud, again. “I think I remember hearing something about Macarthy. Had an ego problem. Head got too big, but then got brought back down to join the rest of us. Hey, darling, it may not be your preferred taste, right now, but if you've interested in work, I've got something that'll be right up your alley.”
Ignoring his vulgar motion. Continuing to walk to the exit.
“Stop her.” Casual. The man placing an order for some after dinner refreshment, and two of the bodyguards leaping into action. They're very brave here in town.
“Mr. Chambers,” says the woman. “I'm going to have to ask you to please refrain from this sort of behavior with other guests.”
“Go take a walk.” Chambers flicking a coin at her.
“If you persist, I'm going to have to ask you to leave,” she says. “Mr. Phelps expects the best from all of his guests.”
Chambers momentarily losing his cool, but the man quickly mellowing out after the woman doesn't back down. “I was only exchanging a greeting with an old acquaintance,” he says to her. “I certainly didn't mean anything untoward.” His eyes flicking to me. “Have yourself a good evening, miss. I'll make sure to catch up with you, later.” The bodyguards returning to their seats and everyone at both tables seeming very satisfied. Glancing back at the rest of the room. More grins and smirks. Julie, across the way, holding a tray of drinks, completely mystified by the entire confrontation.
“Ms. Macarthy,” says the woman, “this way.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Following the woman back up the stairs and into Sam's office.
“Lucy,” Sam says, at my entrance, “how nice to see you. Please make yourself comfortable.” Gesturing at one of the chairs in front of his desk and then addressing the woman. “Could we get some privacy for a moment?” She leaves the room. Clearing his throat. “I have to say I'm disappointed you're not wearing something nicer for this visit.”
“Just came in from the road.”
“Yes, well,” his smile failing him, “I'd like to ask you about how things have been going.”
“Very well. The recommendations that boy, Nico, came in with were well deserved. We've hit several different areas and he's proven himself more than capable in each. I'm grateful you put me in contact with him.”
“Splendid,” he says, somewhat belatedly. His new attempt at a smile still not reaching his eyes. Sitting in silence for a few moments more.
“What's the problem?”
“Not so much a problem, but I was wondering if, perhaps, since you're getting along so well with him-”
“It sounds like there's a problem.”
“I'm trying to put this as delicately as possible, uh, Lucy, but our current arrangement isn't going to be able to last. More accurately, it's essentially already ended.”
“How's that?”
“I'm not going to be able to keep you under my protection any longer.”
“I see.”
“I believe you ran into someone not too long ago, a senior member of House Koln.”
“Barnes.”
“Whoever it was, it stirred up a bit of discussion, which has since moved beyond him. Or her. Last cycle I had a visit from, well, I don't want to spoil any of your potential future relationships, but nor will I take the blame. I had a visit from the representative of a House and I was presented with an offer.” Classic. Nico asking me to join, the carrot, and here, the stick. “With the Director no longer an issue,” Sam continues to say, “I think you'll find that you'll be happier formally joining an organization that's more in line with your particular talents.”
“The organization most in line with my talents was erased out of existence.” Sam's jaw clenching. “What if I don't particularly want to join, is there anything I could do to stay under your wing?”
“Potentially.” The word hanging. “The main concern seems to be making sure your activities are accounted for, and that your energies are directed in productive directions. They want something a little more structured. If you wanted to work in my establishment, for instance, I'm certain they could be reasoned with. For the record, I think you'd look very good in one of my hostess outfits.” Holding up his hands. “Absolutely no insult intended.”
Taking a deep breath and letting out my anger. “I will take that as a compliment, but I don't think it'd work. I'd probably end up killing someone the first hour of my first shift.”
“Maybe,” the man briefly considering the possibility, “but that may end up bringing in more customers in the long run. No interest? Are you sure? That's truly a pity.” My anger coming right back. “I've kept in contact with Ms. Inkathius, and you've certainly been putting in the work, but the reality is you can sell those stones to her whether or not we continue our relationship. So I want you to know that you have nothing to worry about on that front. I'm not attempting to deny you an income stream.”
No, you're just cutting me loose and letting someone else do it, but there is a zero percent chance entertaining that kind of notion. Then again, maybe it'd be smarter go along with it. Think of it like another stage of planning, a halfway house, of sorts. But is there really any benefit to doing that? Having some loser like Chambers laughing at me, to my face, nonetheless, really drives home the need to start asserting myself. Sam probably could've kept me on, but either the offer was too good, or he saw absolutely no reason to keep backing me - going to be selling the stones to him either way. That's the problem with a guy like him, no loyalty. Probably how he made it as far as he did. Meanwhile, here's me over on this side, the sucker, the dupe, attempting to keep up my end of the bargain and being screwed left, right and center because of it.
Becoming aware of the foreboding silence pressing down on the room. Sam's face had taken on a nervous cast.
“Sam,” my light and airy tone causing him to shift in his seat, “I don't blame you. Matter of fact, I appreciate all you did to help me when I needed it, but please tell Stormhawk that, after careful consideration, I intend to reject their offer. I'd rather they heard it sooner, from you, in order to avoid any potential confusion on their part.”
“I thought as much.” Getting a cagey look on his face. “You can be very difficult, you know that?” Shrugging at him. “In that case, and please know that this is not coming from me, this is entirely at their request if you were less than amenable.” Grabbing a folder from his desk with a decent amount of paper inside and opening it up.
“Evelyn Riley,” he says. “Junior administrator. Employment number ten one fifty five. Cleric. And, let's see, her patron is...” Pausing. “Nyx. That does explain your insistence on getting into the graveyard.” The man flipping through some pages. “A number of differing opinions about her, both from her classmates at the Academy - generally more negative - as well as from people she's interacted with here- generally more positive. And a number of anecdotes, a whole stack, as well as food preferences to- why is this even in here?” The man clearing his throat and shuffling around some paper. “It seems they were quite thorough when collecting information. Near universal agreement that she's attractive - given her measurements, that assessment seems accurate. After reading some of the anecdotes I'd imagine she's earned a good bit of sniping and jealously because of it. Dating a Mr. Johnathan Everton, a member of the Stormhawk House, and they've been in a relationship since junior year of college. She currently resides at- oh, that is a nice area.”
Do they want a war? Maybe they do. Maybe they're bored. No, maybe not, try to think about it from their perspective. They don't know about the Pact, so maybe they're being over the top in order to force a quick surrender? That almost makes sense, but Davos should know better. Maybe he, alone, is bored with day to day life at Stormhawk. Slightly more plausible. Only slightly. Regardless, if they want a war, they'll get it.
“Is that simply an attempt blackmail, or is it actually a threat?”
“I advised them against it.” Putting the folder down and getting the next one. Much less paper inside. “Grace Upton. Mining crew. Employment number eight four thirty one. Thief. Currently a member of House Ishtar and a former member of the Thieves' guild. Codename: Magpie. In a relationship with, well, nobody firm, but there's a list. She had been dating an Adrian Beale, but since then she's been slutting around. I suppose that goes with being a member of Ishtar. A couple incidents involving assault at the Heaven's Gate nightclub, and some involving sticky fingers. Given her background, that's certainly not a surprise.”
Somewhat outdated. From what Magpie's been saying she and Hugh have been going steady since the trip. Probably much easier to get information on Evie, she sort of attracts attention.
“Who wrote those?”
“If you have any disagreements I can put your objections in the margins.” Sam grabbing the next folder. Very thin. “Kate Wolfe.” Briefly scanning the lone sheet of paper. Appearing a bit perturbed. “Empath.” Not adding anything else.
“Sam.” His eye twitching. “Please tell those truly wonderful people at Stormhawk that I will give their offer all due consideration.” Sam nodding very slightly. “I'll see you 'round, Sam.” Getting up and letting myself out.
Bottom of the steps and heading back into the lounge. The bodyguards, the Four Corners people and Chambers no longer in. A shame, had been all prepared to simply walk over and slit his throat. Julie serving drinks at one of the middle tables, her eyes immediately going to me.
“Hey, Macarthy's back,” says the same man from earlier. Drunker.
“Julie, I can't let you work here anymore.”
“Unfortunately, you don't get to make that decision.”
“I want to recruit you. You'll make more money and you'll deal with less bullshit. And you'll really be doing me a favor.”
“What's the pay?”
“At least five gold a cycle.” The girl looking up, now giving me her full attention. “More than that, likely. One day a cycle. Maybe eight hours.”
“That's a bit expensive,” the guy jokes, “but probably worth it for an hour or two.”
“What's the catch?” she says.
“The catch is you're going to be dealing with all of Macarthy's bad luck.” The man laughs, and some of other people at his table now laughing with him.
“He's not entirely wrong. The catch is you'll be siding with me.”
“Why are you asking me?”
“Because I know I can trust you, and because I can't let you work here anymore. The very idea of it has become completely and utterly revolting. What're your days?”
“Trust?” the guy says. “That psycho Macarthy is talking about trust. What a joke.” More laughter.
“Julie, hold on a second.” Turning to the man. Blot on him. Rune Trap. “If you interrupt me again I'm going to gouge one of your eyes out, right here and right now.” The laughter from the table subsiding at my threat, some of them looking a little more sober than moments before. Looking back at Julie. “Do you know how much doing that's going to cost me?” Shaking her head. “Six gold. A bargain. What are your days?”
“Two, four and five.”
“Yeah, you definitely need help, Macarthy. You deserve everything th-”
Activating the Rune Trap to halt him mid sentence.
“I'll be with you in a second.” His eyes moving around in their sockets and his friends not really sure what had happened. Turning back to Julie. “Two, four and five? That's great. How about day two, we'll get a late start, out at eleven, back by like seven or eight. We'll meet at the West Gate.”
“That's fine,” she says, her eyes locked on him. “What'd you do?”
“Nothing yet. You might not want to watch, its going to be pretty bad.”
“Don't mind me.” The girl looking more curious than anything. Ah, that's right, Blood Mage.
Turning back to him. “Hey, now, listen-” says one of his friends. Taking a couple very quick steps forward and jamming my thumb, index and middle fingers into his eye. The paralyzed man making an attempt at a scream, but the inability to move his chest making it not very loud. Panic hitting the rest of his table, and the other members starting to get to their feet. Firming up my grip and pulling. Yanking it out. Blood pouring from the socket and tears from the one still left. Holding up my gory trophy and taking a couple steps back. Starting to laugh in all their faces. Those are some much better looks.
“You crazy...” one says, but he makes no move. They're all hesitating.
Macarthy, he'd called me. Like he knew, and they had laughed with him, but now look at how surprised and upset they are. Maybe Stormhawk doesn't want a war, maybe they're like these people. They think they know what's going on, but they don't actually believe it, and because of that they don't understand what it all means and where it's all going to end up. Well, here's a squishy bit of proof. Maybe now, at least, these ones will believe.
Dropping the eye and slowly wiping my hand on my shirt, daring them to make a move. Still not pressing their luck, only standing protectively around their still frozen friend.
“Julie, I'll see you on day two?” Quick glance at her, then back to them.
“I'll think about it.”
“I'll see you there.”
Taking a quick scan of the room. Everyone's attention on me, but only watchful eyes and thoughtful expressions. Turning sideways and moving toward the entrance. The buzz of conversation starting up at my exit. Giving the bouncer my claim ticket.
“Could you do me a favor? Please tell Sam that what just happened had nothing to do with him and that I consider us to be on amicable terms. I'd sincerely like to avoid any further misunderstandings.”