Chapter 23: Hands of the Artisan IV

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[THE SILVER SEAT - Vandamme’s House of Blades]

Nameen’s eyes opened, before they closed once more in bliss.

The sheets were so comfortable... When was the last time he had been bundled up in something like this? He searched his memories for the feeling. The sound of his father in his office, his mother in the kitchen making breakfast. It was so warm, so nice... He’d wake up in another five...

He bolted upright.

No. No! NO!

He wasn’t in the old world anymore! He was in a new one!

Nameen had been on the run!

Where was he?!

He looked around frantically, it was an old, shoddy room. He was on a bed - he looked frantically, he wasn’t chained up - a window with no bars installed. Few decorations and a desk. Nothing of interest, no instruments to hurt him with. No catalysts for pain spells.

He didn’t dare make a sound. If he had been captured, he needed to look for another opening to run. The window - why was the window unbarred? Was it a trick of some kind? Maybe he’d pretend to be asleep and wait for somebody to come in - get a read on the situation.

His mind was racing a mile a minute, until he finally remembered.

The old dwarf.

Nameen felt his body relax at once.

It was the old man who had brought him food every day. Yesterday, he had come by with more food, the same as usual. They ate in silence.

When he had left, he had warned Nameen of the weather. It was going to be cold and rainy once night fell, the old dwarf had said, and he was going to keep his store unlocked. That had been it, and the old dwarf had left the same way he always did.

Nameen didn’t know he had done it. He was right, it had been cold and rainy.

He thought he could bear it but...

Underneath the bridge, as the droplets soaked into his hair, skin, and bones, it had just been too much. He was too tired. His brain had been worn out by anxiety and his body was exhausted from the constant spikes of adrenaline.

In some way, he had accepted the idea of being caught. Maybe he had accepted it even before he had escaped from the Night Market.

Nameen had followed the path to the old dwarf’s store the way he always did when he returned the dishes, in the darkness. His bare feet felt even colder that night, as he stepped into puddles and even tripped over some rocks.

Then he saw the light shining from the window of the store. The old man was still up, even though he had never been up this late before.

Standing on those steps, Nameen had felt as if he had been on a threshold, with the damp blue city behind him, and the warm orange glow within. It was warm, even standing on those steps. But he was still afraid.

Warmth wasn’t always a good thing. It sometimes meant fire and pain, his heart had reminded him. Trusting was a fool’s game. Trusting meant one could be betrayed.

He could’ve turned around, and left. Physically, he was still fine. He didn’t need to eat, and he didn’t need to sleep. He could survive in the darkness, alone and unbothered, as long as he could simply get through his weak mentality. A mere comfort, not a necessity.

Why take the risk?

It was a question he couldn’t answer, as he opened the door.

There, in the back of the store was the old dwarf. He was reading a book on the counter. He looked up at Nameen. It wasn’t a sudden motion, rather slow and gentle. Nameen liked that about him.

Then he nodded.

“Up the stairs on your right. There’s some food and hot soup,” said the dwarf matter-of-factly. “A change of clothes as well, if you want. The bed’s all yours.”

The old dwarf didn’t make a move to approach, and Nameen had kept his eyes on him until he had completely vanished up the staircase. He found the room exactly as Vandamme described it, and as he ate the warmth returned to his body.

The soup was especially good.

He had thrown off his rags and changed into the clothes that Vandamme had provided. They were old and a little large for him, but they were clean and comfortable. He had slipped into bed, looking up at the ceiling.

Nameen was certain his fear would not let him sleep, but that wasn’t the case. He had nodded off instantly, the moment his head heeded the gentle touch of the pillow.

And now he was awake again, and the sun was out. For the first time in... years, it must’ve been, Nameen felt as if he didn’t have to look over his shoulder.

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[THE SILVER SEAT - The Night Market]

The Manslayer had shed his garb - walking around the streets with it on was much more conspicuous than with it off, and he had an unassuming enough appearance. It was always easy enough to pay somebody to change it even if he were discovered.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

This was a difficult task... Difficult indeed.

The Night Market was a popular destination for locals and tourists both, and the moment the sun went down was a storm of movement as people entered and left the premises. Having to track just one out of the however many individuals that came into these grounds... Well, it would’ve been out of the question for most.

But he was not most, he was the Manslayer. A professional.

The market was empty in the light of day, some of the stalls were still up but nobody manned the stations. Others had been taken down, ready to be put up again once the proprietor finished their day jobs and were ready to begin a second shift.

This was where the guards had said they had lost the boy, he noted. A patch of disturbed dirt was underneath him. Visually, it wasn’t helpful - another hundred pairs of feet had already disturbed the area since that event.

He closed his eyes, and the world lit up.

Traces of essence flowed around like liquid silver, each unique to an individual and lingering long after both scents and sights. He would follow each one individually, no matter how long it would take for him to come across the right one.

The Manslayer was nothing if not patient.

Even if it took days or weeks, he would find the child. Months and years were not out of the running either, if Lesalia Romera was willing to continue to pay.

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[THE SILVER SEAT - White Hand Precinct No. 7]

They were back in the office now, after lunch. They were situated once more around the table, although each of them had far brighter glints in their eyes than before.

“So, from the info that the boys came back with,” said Alonzo. “We got a few criminal organizations of note ta’ look into. First, we got the Westcoast Mariners. Buncha pirates from elsewhere, looks like they’re just here temporarily. Folks seem to think they’re just here to fence some cargo they can’t get ridda back home. Not here to cause trouble, seems unlikely.”

Muse nodded, and continued.

“The second we’ve heard of are the Poachers,” said Muse. “It looks like somebody in the House of Many Pelts ran into some interpersonal issues within the gang, took their subordinates, and left to form their own. From what we’ve heard, the House is still trying to figure out how to deal with them.”

“Right,” agreed Alonzo. “They need to have an eye kept on ‘em, since they’ve got beef with each other. That said, it happened too recently for them to have tried anything already. That’s an upcoming conflict, not the one we’re dealin’ with right now.”

Cain nodded, and looked at the reports he had in his hands. He took a sheaf of paper out, and dropped it onto the table in front of them.

“Thirdly, it’s the... Laughing Kings,” said Cain.

Alonzo groaned at the mention of their name, causing Cain and Muse to look at him. He shook his hand, waving them off. Cain nodded, and returned to pouring over the document.

“They’re a branch organization of another criminal organization from south of the border. From the reports, they showed up in the Silver Seat only a few months ago, and have started to make some small waves.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with ‘em,” growled Alonzo. “They’re bad news. Slavers.”

Cain shook his head in disgust, while Muse rose from her seat in shock.

“Slavers? In the Silver Seat?”

“Yeah. That’s how you know they’re not from ‘round these parts.”

Cain perked up at that. What did that mean?

Muse saw his confusion.

“Owning a slave... is a high crime,” she explained. To be honest, it wasn’t easy explaining a feeling, but she knew Cain was from elsewhere and didn’t understand their cultural values. “Tantamount to treason or murder, and incredibly ugly socially. It’s not something that Goethians take lightly.”

Alonzo looked at them oddly. Muse sighed.

“Oh, uh. He’s not from around here,” said Muse.

Alonzo looked at Cain sharply.

“They own slaves where you come from?” he asked, a dangerous glint in his eye.

Cain blinked. The tone that he was taking - this wasn’t idle curiosity. It bordered on sacreligious, as if the very thought of it was offensive to him. He was judging Cain with his eyes, and was looking for a specific answer.

“No, no,” said Cain, holding his hands up in a peace offering. “Slavery’s mostly abolished where I come from. Nobody owns anybody anymore, although some prisoners are forced to work. Well, mostly anyway. It’s... complicated. At the very least, most of us consider slavery a really bad thing.”

The dangerous look in Alonzo’s eyes faded.

“Good, good,” said the beastman, blowing cigar smoke out the window. “Better than some of the nations ‘round here. Down south some of them still consider us beastmen chattel. S’messed up is what it is. But Goethia ain’t like that.”

He smiled, before bringing the cigar back to his mouth.

“Our nation was started by a freed slave, Solomon I. We don’t go for things like that here.”

There was pride in his voice as he talked of his nation. Then the dangerous glint in his eyes returned.

“At least, not the good upstandin’ folks. If slavers are here, that means folks are buyin’,” said Alonzo. “You can bet we’re just as interested in them as we are in the Kings.”

Then the dangerous glint faded once more, and the expression on Alonzo’s face was replaced with one of weariness and stress.

“We know they’re doin’ it, but that don’t mean we can convict or arrest without evidence. The Laughing Kings are slippery ’n they know the charges they’ll get once caught. Figure it’s only a matter of time ‘til we nail ‘em, but I’d prefer sooner rather than later.”

He growled.

“That said, we’re all in agreement, right? They’re the ones to look at.”

Cain and Muse both nodded.

It wasn’t as if they had evidence, but considering all the things they had slowly started piecing together, they agreed that the chances of the Laughing Kings being involved were much higher than the other two.

But at the very least they had a lead now. Something better than a blank page to work with.

Alonzo slumped back in his seat, letting the cigar ashes fall to the floor as he growled in frustration. To be honest, knowing that the Laughing Kings were worth taking a deeper look at didn’t really make things any easier.

White Hand Precinct Seven was not a particularly large precinct, and all the other precincts had their own things to deal with. The assault and killings had taken place on their beat, but it really did look as if things were getting bigger and bigger; beyond their britches, so to say.

“If only we had more resources. Somebody skilled at gettin’ info that we law n’ order types can’t get our hands on...”

Muse thought about it, before she realized something. Her large red eyes widened, and she almost hopped out of her seat with manic energy. She turned to the black-eyed man, who looked back at her with interest.

“Cain...” said Muse, her eyes large. “Cain! I think we may have missed something important.”