The sun had set whilst the mercenaries had been drinking away their loan from Archimedes. The street outside had taken on a different appearance, but it was no less inviting. Oil lamps hung from most shopfronts, and candles were placed along windowsills, soaking the street in warm yellows and oranges.
Most places were still open. In fact, it was still relatively early. The mountains looming in the near distance tended to obscure the sun prematurely at this time of year; Gladstone, for example, would still be awash with daylight right now. The tradeoff was that the people of Jandrir had grown quite accustomed to the dark and the chill air of the mountain winds that dipped into valleys and streets, despite the density of the buildings - The celestial cycle was no king here. Trade and commerce pumped well into the night, and the hospitality and entertainment industries delayed their own closing times appropriately, to catch the workers at the end of their irregular shifts. It was a sleepless place, all said and done. Half the city was up early to load caravans or barges, and the other half was up late to sell and buy on the local markets. There was always somewhere to go, or somewhere to be, and always someone watching those comings and goings.
All of this goes some way to explaining why nobody was terribly surprised when, a little after twilight, a coterie of armed thugs, with cudgels and staves poking out from their weather-worn cloaks, brazenly, and in full view of a number of locals and traders, approached five mercenaries outside a novelty pub styled after a fairytale cottage.
“Oh, here we go,” Gabriel sighed.
“We should be careful,” Figo whispered, tugging on his friend’s sleeve, “Remember Dexy.”
Gabriel’s face scrunched like he’d eaten a lemon pickled in vinegar. He gave a subtle hand gesture to the affirmative.
The thugs approached them from a shadowy alley across the way and immediately fanned out to enclose them in a loose semi-circle. Their body language was that practiced form of menacing that isn’t overtly threatening, but still gets the message across; one man leant against the wall of ‘The Un-Gnome Quantity’, another man set about picking crud from beneath his nails with a vicious-looking dagger, a third stuffed a wad of leaves under his gum and spat an inky substance at Vish’s feet every time anyone finished a sentence – he was running out of saliva pretty quickly. There were six, all told. They were varying levels of threatening, but, given that the mercenaries were all swaying slightly from their evening’s tipple, they looked suitably in control of the situation.
“You’ve been asking about Screamer,” a grotty, twisted woman told them between colossal sniffs.
“And how exactly would you know that?”
“Screamer has people everywhere. Like rats or mosquitos, there’s no getting away from us,” the woman boasted through a stained-tooth grin.
“Really? That’s the comparison you’re going with?”
She frowned, “’Cos they’re everywhere.”
“Yes, well, so’s crotch rot, but I wouldn’t necessarily associate myself with that,” it came out as ‘myshelf’.
“We ain’t like bleedin’ crotch rot,” she said the words very slowly.
“It is everywhere though,” Vish said, with something that might have been regret.
“Why not go for something pleasant that’s everywhere,” Gabriel thought out loud, “like money! Money’s everywhere in Jandrir, right?”
“Not here,” Vish patted an empty coin pouch.
“Hmm, perhaps more common than money, but less common than crotch rot then?”
“Silence!” the dirty woman had a knife in hand now, “You wanted to see Screamer, and that’s what you’re going to do. You’re to come with us,” she fished a hood out of her cleavage with her free hand and shook some hair from it.
The mercenaries grimaced.
“Well,” Vish turned to Gabriel, “have fun, buddy!
“I am not going by myself to meet someone whose friends and colleagues know him as ‘Screamer’,” Gabriel said through gritted teeth.
“You’re all to come with us,” the woman seethed.
The other thugs produced hoods and started edging closer.
“Nah-uh, nope,” Lydia said this time, “Nobody is putting a hood over my head, end of story.”
The man nearest Lydia snarled at her.
“You’re welcome to try. I’ll feed you your dick before I let you touch me with that thing.”
The thug weighed up his chances, reconsidered, and then looked at the lead hoodlum beseechingly.
“I’ve never had such an uncooperative bunch of f-,” the ratty woman spat, “fine. The redhead and the brown man have to come, the others can stay.”
“The who now?” Vish asked.
“The redhead and the brown man?” Gabriel repeated.
“Dude.”
“That is oddly specific,” Gabriel scratched at what little facial hair was starting to develop on his chin, “You were after us before we mentioned Screamer in the pub. How long have you been following us?”
The woman chuckled an oddly breathless laugh, “Got some smarts, boy. Screamer will want to speak to you too, I wager. Just know that if you rub him up the wrong way then it’s me he’ll be tossing you to,” she winked, dislodging something crusty from her eyelash as she did.
Vish leaned close to Gabriel’s ear, “Crotch rot,” he whispered.
Gabriel shrugged off this useful input and tried to think through his alcohol buzz, “Okay, we’ll go with you, but no hoods. We’ll come of our own free will.”
“Nobody sees the way, that’s just how it goes.”
“We want to meet Screamer too. We’re here on business, not as a threat.”
“That’s for him to decide, not yous.”
There was a short stalemate, once again broken by Bling.
With a small giggle, Bling took the edge of her cloak and wrapped it over her own head, fashioning a crude hood.
This took the thugs aback.
“I really must address her survival instincts,” Gabriel frowned.
That said, Natasha had always had good intuition; it was something that had never really left her. She might not share her brother’s caution, but she was not without her defences. Back when Natasha was the one picking their jobs, there would always come a point when she let her gut make the final call. Gabriel could, and sometimes did, debate the efficacy of this, but he had to admit it was useful in pushing through those no-win situations, where he tended to be crippled by indecision. If she didn’t reckon them in danger (yet) then Gabriel was inclined to follow her feeling. Natasha still assessed situations, after all, only with the added mix of the curiosity and fear that came from her cling-on souls.
Besides, they were all a bit drunk.
After a little more ineffectual negotiating, Gabriel, Vish and Bling allowed themselves to be led away, while Figo and Lydia remained behind. The three were marched down the street with hoods over their heads, but without any additional restraints. They were flanked by four of the thugs, whilst the other two remained with Figo and Lydia.
“We should follow them,” Figo whispered, eyeing the bruisers who had been left to prevent them doing just that, “I think we stand a good chance of overpowering these two.”
Lydia watched thoughtfully as sixty percent of their unit disappeared into an alleyway, with Vish bouncing off the side of a building that nobody had warned him about. She took some root from her pouch and stuffed it into her cheek.
“Nah, they’ll be fine.”
Figo frowned after his friends as Lydia turned away and tried to score some beer money from her escort.
“I hope you’re right.”
It would be inaccurate to say that the journey to meet Screamer was uneventful; there were a number events, just none that the mercenaries could see. Gabriel tried at first to keep track of the turns they made, the incline in the road, anything that might hint at where they were going, but it became increasingly difficult as time wore on. Plus, he wasn’t actually sure what he would do with that information if he had it, which was the real clincher. Still, he kept the exercise up long enough to deduce that they had passed over at least two hills, and seemed to be moving away from the river. This revelation was not the result of diligence, but rather an attempt to distract himself from questions about where this particular hood had been before it was over his head, and whether or not that was a faint suggestion of blood he could smell beneath the aromas of recycled alcohol breath and soiled leather?
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Eventually they came to a halt, and some words were exchanged that were not so much muffled as they were entirely nonsensical - apparently Screamer didn’t take any chances with his passwords. A well-oiled door hissed open in front of them, barely perceptibly, and then they were led into a cold passageway, that seemed to slope downwards. Gabriel reflected that those associated with the Kaden Circle ‘underworld’ always seemed to take this moniker very literally.
The sounds of people chatting and laughing swelled around them, and then receded whenever they grew close to the source. Gabriel could feel eyes upon him. Some were staring, some gave them nothing more than a passing glance. The ripple of silence always faded once they were several paces from the speakers, perhaps suggesting Screamer often ‘invited’ guests in this manner, and that the hushing of voices as they passed was not so much an indication of them being a curiosity, as it was of there being a clear procedure in place.
Before long they reached another heavy door, which some guard or another rapped on delicately with a rod of sorts. This door was unlatched and opened from the inside, and the mercenaries were led through hurriedly. A sharp reduction in claustrophobia indicated that the majority of their entourage did not follow them into the room beyond. The woman had come, though. Gabriel could hear her slink away and whisper something in deferential tones to someone six or seven paces in front of them.
A few long breaths later, the mercenaries’ hoods were removed. They were face-to-face with Screamer.
“Aiiieeeee!”
The piercing sound echoed around the small room, bombarding Gabriel from all sides. It was a wretched sound, sub-human in nature. It made the blood curdle and the stomach turn. There was only one creature on the continent capable of making such a gods’ cursed sound, and Gabriel recognized it instantly.
When the ringing stopped, Gabriel turned to Vish, “By the aether, Vish! What’s wrong with you!”
“Look at him! Gods, I see why they call him Screamer; I couldn’t help myself. I mean, shit, look!”
Vish had a legitimate point. The man sat before them, on the other side of a beautifully carved, meticulously polished desk, had very little left by way of a face. True, most of what remained was bandaged, including his right eye, presumably either missing or of very little use to the man, but what ‘skin’ did remain was either burnt, puckered with scars, or else absent entirely. It was clear that his flesh had once been dark, darker even that Vish’s, but what was left was mostly pink or tan, and flaked or wept profusely.
The guards, flanking Screamer on his left and right, looked extremely torn. On the one hand, fear was good, and their jobs were often to make people cry out in fear and panic, maybe even beg for their lives from time to time. On the other hand…
“That’s… not why they call him Screamer,” the woman mumbled meekly.
There were awkward shuffles across the room.
“Gods, Vish,” Gabriel breathed resignedly.
“Come now, can you blame me? I really feel like the guy should come with some kind of warning.”
Gabriel stared at the mind-mapper incredulously, “The hoods and guards should be warning you about something, Vish.”
“Don’t look at me like that, he’s missing a top lip, for crying out loud. That man literally has no lip. And I’m pretty sure those teeth aren’t his,” he leant in to confirm his suspicions, “they don’t even match! If that’s not the freakiest shit I’ve ever seen, then I don’t know what is.”
Gabriel stared at Vish a little longer and then turned to address the man they had sought, “Sir, I will understand completely if you feel the need to murder this gentleman here, but please note that he does not speak for all of us. I for one think your look is very,” his mouth had done that out-racing-brain thing again, “unique!”
A little drool escaped Screamer’s perpetually open mouth.
The guards tightened their grips on their weapons.
An odd sound like a dog trying to heave up grass sounded from within Screamer’s throat. As it grew louder, the guards started to relax. He was laughing, Gabriel realised.
“You’re a peculiar bunch. Please, take a seat,” Screamer gestured at an empty spot in front of his desk and three chairs appeared there, as his guards raced to make his command possible, “Fret not, I am aware of my appearance, and the effect it can have,” ‘fret’ was accompanied by a lot of spitting, and there was so much of a lisp to it that Gabriel had to replay the word in his head four times before he was sure he had heard it right.
“That is very gracious of you,” Gabriel responded, carefully restraining himself from wiping Screamer’s spittle from his cheek.
“Still, there is business to attend to, so I hope you can look beyond such trivialities for the remainder of our meeting,” this time there was definitely a threat, or at least a caution.
“I believe we have gotten over our initial excitement,” Gabriel said, shooting Vish a sidelong glance, who responded with a ‘what did I do?’ look.
“Excellent. Nail-puller here,” the grubby, wretched woman grinned at the sound of her name, “tells me that you are quite the astute young man; you knew we were watching you,” it wasn’t a question, but it was an invitation to speak.
“Ms.,” Gabriel sucked in his cheeks, “Nail-puller, seemed to have a clear idea of who you would want to speak to.”
“Is that so?”
The woman’s smile dropped.
Gabriel cleared his throat, “I assumed that meant you had some idea of who we are.”
Gabriel opted not to mention that he was almost certain Screamer’s interest in them had started in Tindra. The fact that ‘the redhead’ had been asked for was a clear indication that they assumed Natasha had some serious clout in the group. Putting the pieces together, Screamer had either heard about their antics in Tindra, when Gabriel was Gling for one traumatic evening, or else knew of them from a time before Natasha’s incident, which was unlikely. Tindra it was then. It wasn’t all that surprising, really - Gabriel had hoped Goyun wouldn’t blab, but he knew he couldn’t bank on it.
“Some idea of who you are? Just so, Gabriel and Natasha Thurent,” Screamer tried to smile.
Gabriel involuntarily sucked in a breath, “How do you know that name?”
“Oh, I know a lot about you, Gabriel. You were previously registered with The White Fangs, under their then leader, Diomes. You and your sister defected along with several other members, not least of whom was one notorious, purportedly deranged, mind-mapper,” he interlaced what few digits he had and pointed one and a half index fingers at Vish.
Vish gasped, “He knows we’re estranged.”
“That was de- never mind,” Gabriel said.
Screamer returned his gaze back to Gabriel, “You have been operating out of Gladstone for the past few years.”
“Yes,” Gabriel whispered reflexively.
“You semi-permanently reside with your youngest member’s mother.”
“Gods.”
“You are husband to a murdered wife, father to a murdered son.”
There was silence.
“What?!” Vish asked, craning his neck at Gabriel so far that it looked on the verge of snapping.
“Um, no?” Gabriel said.
Screamer’s half-brow winced, “But, uh,” he looked down at his papers in confusion.
The guard on his left politely coughed and leant forward to separate the pages in front of Screamer, bringing the relevant report in full view of his one functioning eye.
“Oh,” his mutilated skin tried to blush, “sorry about that. Anyway, I think you get the gist.”
Gabriel nodded slowly a few times, as if to gently agitate his brain into activity, “You’re in the guilds. That’s the only possible explanation. All of that information would be obtainable from the guild registry.”
Screamer sat back in his chair, stroking its arms, “You are somewhat sharper than you look,” Screamer clicked his fingers and his guard poured them each wine from a pitcher on his table, “I have decided that we can do business,” he said, personally sliding the ornate silver goblets to his guests.
Gabriel looked at the goblet with distaste, not least because he was in the process of developing a waking hangover, but also because-
“Relax, it’s not poisoned,” Screamer said, taking a sip to demonstrate, “Where I come from, we drink to signify the birth of a successful working relationship. Actually, the origin of the practice is to prove that we have moved beyond underhanded tactics, such as spying and, indeed, poisoning, so your skepticism does not offend.”
Gabriel forced himself to take a sip, and found himself following that up with a gulp; poisoned or not, the stuff was delicious!
“When you say business…” Gabriel prodded gently.
Screamer folded his hands in his lap, “You took on work for his eminence, ‘The Duke of Gladstone’,” Screamer’s split tongue dripped with sarcasm, “I recently helped to relocate some items liberated from his estate,” he shrugged, “I’m assuming that’s why you’re here.”
Gabriel was taken aback by the candidness, “Well, yes, actually.”
“You wish to know to whom I sold the jewels.”
“If it’s not too much trouble?” Gabriel squeaked.
“It’s no trouble at all. I gave no guarantee that I would protect the identity of the buyer, and, as an added bonus, I also don’t like them very much. The information is yours.”
“Really?”
“For a price.”
“Oh.”
“I am still a businessman, Mr. Truchent, first and foremost, and information is one of my most valuable commodities.”
Gabriel winced, “Just, Gabriel, please. What do you ask in return?”
Screamer regarded the mercenary carefully, “As you wish,” Screamer took in a shaky breath, his lungs sounded as broken as the rest of him, “One of my moles has rather awkwardly got himself caught whilst reporting on one of my rivals. Such a tragedy would normally call for a blade or poison, discretely delivered to his cell, but this particular mole also happens to be a cousin of mine, and so protocol must be broken. That said, I have slighted the opposition once with this infiltration, and their pride may not stand to take a second blow. In short, I require an outside party to perform the extraction, and I believe you may have some assets at your disposal to assist in this matter,” he finished this sentence looking at Vish.
“We’re really more in the habit of extracting people from gutters after they got lost on the way home from the pub,” Gabriel said apologetically.
“These are my terms. It would be unwise to refuse them.”
Gabriel looked back at the other two, “What do you think?”
“I think it would be unwise to refuse them,” Vish confirmed.
“We accept.”
“Splendid. Nail-puller will furnish you with any additional details. They are to be given bronze status,” Screamer explained to the woman.
She reeled like she’d been slapped, “Bronze, sir?”
“I’m sorry, was I unclear,” the man was missing most of his face, he was constantly unclear, but Nail-puller seemed to spot the question within the question.
“No, sir. Bronze access.”
“Excellent. I expect results in two turns of the first wheel,” he rose and limply shook each of their hands whilst giving them a barely perceptible bow - this was seemingly some crossbreed between Kaden tradition and his own.
Gabriel tried his best to mimic Screamer’s body language. Vish very gingerly took the man’s hand and gave a look of revulsion instead of a bow. Bling went fully the other way, and bowed ninety degrees with her hand jutting out rigidly like a roof support.
“Sir,” she mimicked Nail-puller with a gleeful smile.
Screamer tried to get a read on Bling and utterly failed, “The strong, silent leader, I see,” he bowed deeper, “I respect that.”
Bling winked with both eyes.
Gabriel wondered if he’d ever updated that particular detail with the guild. Oh well.
“Ah, just one thing before we go, sir. If it’s not too much trouble, that is” Gabriel cut in, partially to draw the attention away from Natasha.
Screamer rolled his eye, “Yes, what is it.”
“We hit some snags on our way here and, well, long story short, we are rather low on supplies… and money. I just wondered if this job might come with any kind of, you know, payment.”
“The payment is information. Don’t push your luck.”
“Yes, yes, and a very generous payment it is,” Gabriel did a small dance like his bladder was making demands of him, “It’s just that we require a few items to be sure we successfully complete the mission, you see, such as armour, arrows… and beds.”
Screamer tapped the table in front of him.
Gabriel couldn’t help but notice that there was a fraction of steel showing on the guards’ swords.
“Nail-puller, take them through to the armoury before you escort them out. They may take what they need from there. Once you have collected their friends, you can show them to ‘The Blighted Pond’. Have Reina put them up there for two nights, and see there are no questions asked. Any expenses they occur are to be forwarded to accounts.”
Nail-puller nodded all the way into a curtsy, that was not in the least bit ladylike, “It will be done, sir.”
For good measure, Screamer added, looking pointedly at Gabriel “He may take and spend freely but, if he takes the piss, cut his bollocks off. I doubt they will be necessary for the task at hand.”
“It would be my pleasure,” she smiled.
Gabriel sensed that it really would be.
As they were led back out of the chamber and down a corridor to their left, this time without hoods, Gabriel heard Vish say, “You know, that guy’s kind of growing on me.”