The cawing of seagulls and the shouting of the dock workers loading and unloading crates from the mighty trading ships was a familiar site to Timur. The main trading port of the company, Visby City, was well known throughout the northern continent as a trading haven. Merchants would arrive to buy and sell exotic goods such as the Cocoa fruit found in the southern Atlantan colonies, or the tinkling Rus flowers found on the very edge of the northern continent.
With a quick heave, Timur jumped across the thin gap between the boardwalk and the deck of the "Elegant Victoria" and quickly made his way to the underlayer where the engine room resided. The Visby Trading Company did not suffer delays and he would get a hefty deduction in his weekly pay if the "Elegant Victoria" was forced to wait more than a minute than promised.
With the Visby Trading Company being the sole owners of Visby's City famous shipyard, ships which sailed under the Trading Company's banner were able to dock with free maintenance from the so called "operarios", the Visby Trading Company's contracted men, which Timur joined at the young age of 8. Today's job was a routine engine maintenance check, which consisted of several hours of meticulous cleaning and purging of the Mana engines, the backbone of the standard Carrack class trading ship used across the Oceans of Oath.
Timur enjoyed working inside the engine rooms, the rise and fall of the ship as the ocean waves passed underneath alongside the faint pulsating chugging of the engines lent themselves to a relaxing environment where Timur could work in solitude without the constant yapping or complaining of the other operarios.
The maintenance of the outer cylinders was mostly muscle memory but special attention was required closer to the core of the engine where the Mana stone resided. With too much exposure, it was common for dock workers to receive Mana poisoning, a phenomenon often causing worker's limbs to freeze, casting such people to a week off work, no compensation of course.
Once the outer cylinders were checked, Timur reached into the small chamber holding the Mana stone, plucking the small blue pulsating object and throwing it into a briefcase cushioned with pink velvet. With a small thump, the case closed; sealing the Mana stone inside. The case would then be handed off to the artisans who work closer to the heart of the city. It will be checked for flaws and damages before being repaired and returned to the shipowner. The Mana stone is the lifeblood of any naval ship and if damaged will leave any ship at the mercy of the Oceans.
With case in hand, Timur headed up to the deck to pass the stone to his boss, finishing his work for the day. As Timur emerged onto the deck, he heard a gruff hoarse voice, the deepness that a voice takes on when the owner has smoked tabac for much of their life.
"About time lad, I don't have all day to wait for you. The artisans at the Jewellery District need to get their hands on that stone as soon as possible. Every second costs ducats".
The man in question was his immediate superior: Alexandr Kostov. He was well known among the dock workers as a strict but fair manager.
He was a veteran of the 30 years war, serving as a Captain in the Steppes of the Golden Horde, fighting off the bloodthirsty armies well known for their terrifying troops who fought till their dying moments. This led Kostov to walk through life with an authority that few could muster, and a temper so fierce that most men would tremble underneath his ire.
Timur wordlessly passed over the briefcase to Kostov, a slight tingle rising up through his arm as he let go. Mana stones were not something to stay in persistent contact with, even when they were contained inside the Mana-insulated briefcases provided by the company.
“Good work kid, go see the Old Man for your wage. Keep this up and we might get you a promotion with your own team soon.”
“Aye, aye”, Timur saluted
With no further remarks, Kostov stepped off the “Elegant Victoria” and lumbered into the crowded dockyard. “Promotion soon huh?”, Timur thought to himself. Timur has been with the company since he was initially sold to the company as an apprentice when his family tried to pay off their debts. Or so he’s been told; he has no recollection of that at all.
He has since tried searching for his family members in and out of Visby City, but trying to comb through Visby City without remembering any detail of who his parents were made the search an impossible endeavour.
That being said, the company has treated him well. He earns enough ducats to put a roof over his head and food on the table. However, that has never been enough for Timur; growing up seeing countless marine ships come and go has left him with a yearning to explore the world outside Visby City. He has heard countless stories of the Western Anaphalian Empire: sprawling cities with countless adventurers hoping to make a name for themselves, magical institutions where they develop cutting edge Mana technology, and the political intrigue between the powerful merchants and politicians.
Timur hopped onto the boardwalk and with a nod to a worker standing by the ship, made his way to the centre of Visby City, through the opulent Jewellery quarter and arrived at the main square where the central office of the Trading Company resided.
The office was originally a grand mansion owned by a noble family of Visby City. However, during the 30 Years War, the noble family and much of the aristocracy fled or were executed after the invasion of Western Anaphalia. This led to the rise of the Visby City Trading Company and the Visby Merchant Republic, a vassal of Western Anaphalia, which Timur has called home since.
Timur walked underneath the grand marble columns and through the imposing oak door into the reception, the decadent appearance reflecting the hedonistic and luxurious lifestyle lead by the Visby Trading Company oligarchs. Naturally, most of these people did not stop to consider that every polished brick in the building was built off the labour of exploited dock workers. Much like the rest of the Visby Trading Company.
Timur hurriedly made his way past the reception and into the office where the Old Man, officially Visby’s Trading Company accountant, resided.
Inside the room, an elderly man with white hair and a vibrant white moustache was pouring boiling water into a small, elegant teacup containing a handful of green cha leaves, a favourite of the Old Mans’. Although Timur had no inclination to drinking green cha, the slight bitter smell was familiar to him. Green cha was a vital component in the rations for soldiers’ during the 30 Years war. It was a cheap and mass producible consumable to decrease nerves on the frontlines and therefore, a substantial portion of the senior dockworkers drank it continuously.
Without acknowledging the intruder, the Old Man sat down on his chair behind a worn mahogany desk, teacup in hand, with a sigh.
After a long sip, he finally seemed to acknowledge Timur standing in the doorway.“Come in, come in. You don’t need to stand there like a fool. Make sure that you close the door on the way in.”
As the door shut, Timur walked onto the plush rugs which made up much of the floor. The rugs, he surmised, seemed to have been imported from Kuranshar which despite being readily available since the end of the 30 Year War and the Treaty of Maston, fetched a high price on the market. Few Merchants in Western Anaphalia were able to receive licences from the Kuranshar administration to freely trade such goods along the Silver Crescent.
“I would like my pay for the week”, Timur demanded.
“Ah, naturally, I have heard good things from Kostov. Keep going like you are, and you might be able to buy out your contract soon”
“As if you would ever let me do that”, Timur thought to himself. His buy-out price was 200 ducats and with a salary of 10 pfennings a week, half of which goes back to the Trading Company for rent and food. It would take him over 20 years to buy himself out.
The Old Man opened a drawer underneath his desk and counted out five small bronze coins showing a double headed-eagle holding sceptres on both sides, the main coat of arms for Western Anaphalia. Timur could see a few documents contained inside the drawer, some of which did not seem quite solid, as if they were woven from spider silk. Timur felt a touch of yearning, wondering whether one of those pieces of paper was his contract and if he would ever be able to one day tear that contract apart.
“That’s 10 pfennings, and 5 deducted for your food and bed, come next week for your next payment.”
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With a knock on the desk and a turn of the head to indicate Timur’s dismissal, the Old Man picked up his teacup in one hand, and a stack of papers in another.
Timur deftly pocketed the coins and made his way to the exit.
“I’ve got a job for you, I think you will like it”
Timur briefly froze at the doorway and then turned around, shutting the door behind him again.
“I thought you would never ask, old man. What have you got for me?” Timur said as he walked back onto the luxurious carpet and sat himself down on the plush ottoman on the opposite side of the room.
The Old Man took another long sip of his tea, and with a frown placed down his steaming cup, as if he had suddenly tasted something bitter.
“One of the boys spotted a foreign merchant ship “Regia's Pride” which seems to be smuggling flintlocks and powder in and out of Visby City. They are flying under the banner of the Gozlem and seem to be hiding their merchandise under crates of salt. Their dock paperwork states that they are planning to head over to the capital. Additionally, the captain is staying overnight in Visby City, most likely trying to setup a meeting with one of the gangs in the Copper Quarter”.
“Gozlem? Never heard of them”, Timur inquired.
“They seem to be a noble family from Kuranshar. They have produced a fair few princes and so have a bit of weight to throw around with the rest of the nobles and royal family in Kuranshar”. The Old Man leaned back in his chair and pulled out a long cigar out of his breast pocket and lit it with a Mana induced lighter.
After a long puff, and a relaxed sigh, he continued, “I know a few people who would be very interested in that sort of merchandise. Now, I know you have the skills, so I want you to sneak onto the ship and plant this little gem in the area where they store the cargo.”
While he was talking, a small box appeared in the Old Man’s hands which was leisurely placed down onto the desk and pushed over to Timur.
Timur reached over to open the box. As he lifted the lid, a bright pink shining light filled the room and inside the cushioned velvet, he saw a smooth pink Mana stone in the shape of a diamond. Every few seconds, pink electricity arced out with a ferocious buzzing sound, a sight which gave Timur the feeling that the stone was a coiled snake, ready to strike at any moment. With a gentle push, Timur shut the box and gave the Old Man a knowing look.
“Is this what I think this is? How did you get your hands on one of these?”, Timur asked in astonishment.
The Old Man smiled cryptically.
“That’s not something you need to worry about, just get into the cargo and open the box. We’ll have someone watching the sister stone, and as soon as we get the signal, we’ll transport you along with the cargo out of the ship.”
“So as soon as I open the box, you’ll know that I’m ready?”, Timur followed up.
The Old Man nodded affirmatively and brought out a small mechanical glove which pulsated with a slow, regular beat.
“With your Mana capacity, I know that this would come in very useful, so you can borrow this. I expect you will understand what will happen if this is lost or damaged.”
The glove, known as a Mana Regulated Adapter, was a familiar sight to Timur. The glove allowed its wearer to phase through solid objects for up to 6 hours with a maximum of 3 uses. Much to Timur’s benefit, he found that he was able to push the Adapter up to 6 uses, which had saved him in more than a few close occasions. As with all mystical objects, the glove was powered using microscopic Mana stones embedded within the mechanical glove, the Old Man would lend it out to Timur on jobs which contained a higher risk, or a high payout.
“What’s in it for me?” Timur knew that this was the most critical part of the conversation. The Old Man would not hesitate to short-change Timur if he thought that he could get away with it.
With another puff of the cigar, the Old Man replied, “4 mark, I don’t know how long it will take me to offload the cargo and I have to take a significant risk storing it”.
Timur knew that the Old Man was bullshitting him. He estimated a few crates of modern flintlocks can easily sell at several ducats per box, with a 50/50 cut for the superiors to keep them looking the other way. That would leave a hefty profit for the Old Man. If Timur was going to take on the risky job, he was going to make sure he extracted his money’s worth.
“1 ducat and I get a few hours with the Adapter.”
“6 mark, I’ll give you a day with the Adapter, and I’ll throw in the globe as well”, the Old Man riposted.
That was a seductive offer for Timur. If he was not so dead set on escaping Visby City, he would have long applied to have become an artisan to get the opportunity to work with the mechanical and magical wonders of the Mana stones.
“Deal, half up front and I get to choose any day to play with the Adapter and the globe”. Timur stood up and grabbed the items from the table and snatched the three marks from the Old Man’s outstretched hand.
Stuffing the coins and gadgets into his inner jacket pockets, Timur headed out of the office and back to his home. He would need to stash away the money and head straight to the dock to find the Regia’s Pride and scope out the security on the boat. The Adapter is not all powerful, and sufficient planning was important to make sure that the job would go as smoothly as possible.
After half an hour, Timur stood in front of the building of his small room. The shoddy front painted a miserable picture, the bricks which made up the building were crumbling, and the roof seemed to have caved in once again. Timur would have to complain to the Trading Company to fix that. The shop on the ground floor was an old Antique’s shop which sold cheap trinkets in disrepair; the owner was a widow who lost her husband and sons to the 30 Year War and continued the business in their stead.
Timur entered the small corridor and walked up the rickety wooden steps. Half of the wood had rotted away, which means that a foot on the wrong part of a step would fall straight through and into the shop below. He walked to the end of the cramped corridor and opened the door to his room. It would be more apt to call it a wardrobe, with enough space for a small bed and a lamp.
Timur gripped a small gap in the rotten floorboards underneath his bed, revealing a small pointed dagger along with a lock-picking kit. Despite having the Adapter, Timur preferred using his kit when he had the time to, that way he could save the Adapter for emergencies.
Aside from Timur’s “work” equipment, a small brooch in the shape of a four leaf clover glinted underneath the floorboards. This was his only remaining keepsake from his family, and he often brought it with him for good luck during such jobs. If he was going to be caught, he would have no need for the brooch anyway.
Gently placing the floorboard back underneath so as not to disturb his neighbours, Timur silently stepped out of his room, through the thin corridor and onto the street below.
A small drizzle had started, and the light begun to disappear,, soon giving way to the all-consuming night and the thugs, thieves and miscreants which came with it. With a huff, Timur put his cape on top of his head and walked in the direction of the docks.
Small puddles had started forming on the cobbled streets, an occasional splash heard as the stray dogs and foxes ran into street alleys to hunt for rubbish and scraps. A few lights could be seen glowering through the dirty windows of the houses in the Copper Quarter. Most tenants were not willing to spend precious coin on wax and instead chose to spend the winter evenings in the gloom.
After a short walk, Timur eventually left the Copper Quarter and found himself standing at the docks. The sun had not quite set, which left Timur a bit of time to scout out the ship and sniff out the security. Smugglers often do not hire out muscle to protect their contraband, that is akin to painting a target on your back.
With the Adapter equipped, Timur checked that the pink Mana stone, brooch and dagger were all in the correct pockets and tightly bound.
Timur quickly spotted the “Regia’s pride”, a sleek ship which basked in rays of the setting sun. The ship was a small frigate with an estimated crew capacity of thirty to forty people, an unusual choice for a smuggler, however Timur was no smuggler himself and did not have the expertise to criticise a smuggler’s operations, especially with the fact that he was planning on robbing one.
The deck seemed unusually empty at this time. Most ships were currently busy unloading or loading the last few crates before the work day ended and all the dockworkers headed home. Even if the small galley was not moving any goods, a few people would be expected to be performing menial tasks such as furling the ship’s sails or swabbing down the deck. Something felt slightly off about this ship.
With an hour or two left till sunset, Timur resigned to observing the ship for any more life. Unless something completely unexpected appeared, he planned to climb from outside the ship and, using the Adapter, phase right into the cargo hold.
A few hours after the sun had set, Timur scanned his surroundings for any patrolling guards or sailors but did not spot any movement around him. He briskly walked towards the frigate and made his way to the stern, near the captain’s office, where he could hopefully make his way to the hold underneath.
Timur took a deep breath to calm his deep nerves and increasing heart rate. By now, he thought that such jobs would be routine, but those dreadful few seconds before he activated the Adapter always seemed to be his most anxious.
“No time to lose”
Timur clenched the hand holding the Adapter and willed himself to appear inside the captain’s cabin.
Timur’s vision turned entirely blue, and he heard suppressed murmuring, the words he could never quite catch. A few seconds passed, and Timur found himself inside a brightly lit room with a rickety old table and a chair which quite literally was on its last legs.
Blinking his eyes to get the last of the blue tints from his vision, Timur stood up to look at the documents on the table. Most of it was in Hasaitic, the main language in Kuranshar, and Timur could not make heads nor tails of it.
Before Timur could approach the door, he heard the squeak of the floorboards as one, …, two people walked through the corridor towards the office.
Timur frantically looked around for an escape route, the Adapter could only be used every 60 seconds and Timur needed to hide for at least half a minute before he could safely use it again.
A deep voice echoed out from the corridor, as if the owner had smoked too much tabac. “Now, I don’t want anyone else knowing about this. Not a single of your crew.”
Timur recognized that voice. That voice belonged to Alexandr Kostov!