A broken chime sounded as Sorin entered Arbor’s Dispensary, an old folk-medicine shop tucked away in a corner of Olympia’s slums. The place smelled of stale herbs and was littered with poorly crafted good luck charms. The owner was a scoundrel, a middleman who could get his hands on just about anything if the price was right.”
“You sure picked a good time to come in,” grumbled the owner. The man was on the older side and had green eyes and had lightly curled shoulder-length hair. His clothes were well-worn, and the grace with which he flipped the OPEN sign on the shop’s only window to the CLOSED side and dimmed the lights made it obvious that he was used to Sorin’s kind of business.
“It’s customary to come at a less busy time in broad daylight,” the man continued. “I had no clients all afternoon; they avoid the place in case some important clients come by. I also had a lull after the evening rush that you could have easily taken advantage of.
“But no, you had to come when I was about to shut the place down and go to bed.”
Sorin did not apologize. Doing so would only project weakness.
The man might be old and physically ill, but that just made it all the more impressive that he was still able to keep afloat given his choice of occupation.
He led Sorin past a couple of dusty bookshelves and several piles of good luck charms, some new and freshly crafted, and others still undergoing the necessary treatments to artificially age them to pass them off as precious heirlooms.
A small sniff confirmed that the of mixed powders on the counter was only slightly poisonous. Just enough to invigorate whoever drank them mixed with hot water but not enough to leave them drained for hours thereafter.
“It’s a nice place you have here,” said Sorin hiding his disgust. “Though I wonder if I’ve really come to the right place. Our mutual friend, ‘A’, insists on your reputation, but no matter how I look, I can’t sense anything in this shop stronger than the two-star level.”
The old smirked. “You must be new to the business. Either that, or you’re faking to put me off guard.” Sorin was impressed, as this was exactly the case, but he didn’t let it show. “Either way, I don’t care.” The man said with a wave. He ran his fingers across a row of worn-out books and pulled on a book with a lot more wear and tear than the rest.
The bookcase slid open to reveal a dimly lit room and slid closed behind them.
“You brought the payment?” asked the old man, leading the way in. The man made no move to retrieve the goods, leaving Sorin no choice but to toss a bag on the table. It contained the payment he’d received for the first batch of Expanse Tinctures delivered to Elder Adrian.
“Fifteen divine crystals, purified and certified by the Temple of Hope, as agreed to,” said Sorin. He watched the man as emotions flashed across his face. He saw uncertainty and greed flickering about the man, only to back away as it was replaced with cautious optimism.
“Well, the price just changed,” said the old man as he fished a small black box from a tall shelf. The box had spiritual isolation properties, and if Sorin hadn’t experienced his Spiritual Expansion, he would not have been able to sense it. “The trouble I had to go through to get these crystals was excessive, given how closely the government is watching the black market.”
He opened the case to reveal eight crystals, two for each type of corruption Sorin was nurturing, Strife excluded. “It’ll be twenty divine crystals now. Take it or leave it.”
This time, it was Sorin who smirked. Hundreds of tiny serpents expanded behind him as he looked the shopkeeper in the eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this, Allan Vandervich?”
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The man’s eyes narrowed. “I’m surprised someone remembers the name. I haven’t used it in decades.”
Sorin grinned. “I know more than just your name, Allan. I know where you live. Where you once lived. Where your entire family currently lives.”
The man snorted. “Of course ‘A’ sent me a complete psychopath. That’s just like him. Fine, I wasn’t serious bout the price in crease. You can’t blame a man for trying, though.”
“Of course not,” said Sorin, inspecting the case and slamming it shut. “I’m keeping the box.” To which the man said nothing. It became clear that the man had gotten to where he was due to his knack for sensing danger and his ability to adapt to dangerous situations.
“You’ll have to forgive me while I inspect the box itself,” said Sorin. His vision shifted to reveal the box’s karmic connections and followed them back to their point of origin.
This gave Sorin three potential leads. The first was to pressure Allan into introducing him to some of his less savory acquaintances, but he quickly discounted that option. The man was clearly disposable.
The second was to pay a visit to the local crime lord. The man operated a racket in the nearest ten city blocks that government officials turned a blind eye to. His connection to the box indicated that the crime lord was more than meets the eye.
The third string, however, gave Sorin pause. “What a small world this is, Mr. Vandervich. It was nice doing business. Do try to avoid going to casinos in the future; your heart could use a few months rest.” With that, Sorin stepped through the bookcase, burning a hole in reality to land outside the sad excuse for a medicine shop.
“Did you complete purchase?” asked a voice on the wind.
“Naturally,” Sorin replied to Gareth. “I even have two new leads. Would you and Lawrence kindly check up on a man called Avery Finch? He’s the source of the crystals, or at least an intermediary. There’s a good chance he’s hiding some
Having said this, Sorin swept his hand across his face and down his body. His appearance transformed as Jealousy worked its magic.
He then used Strife to track down the weak karmic connection he’d detected and took a step using Dance of the Tail Biter. Sorin’s surroundings shifted. Moments later, he looked up to find that he’d arrived at a popular gentlemen’s club called Requiem.
“Of course it’s a Hyde Clan establishment. It’s always a Hyde Clan establishment,” muttered Sorin as he noted the dark bident hanging over the entrance. While he had confidence in escaping Ratten Hyde if push came to shove, he’d rather not get caught up in a fight until his business here was finished.
A small bribe of a hundred gold coins and a nudge of corruption were all it took to convince the bouncers to let him into the invitation-only club. Music blared as he entered the smoke-filled den filled with old businessmen, looming thugs, and fawning ladies.
Sorin smiled widely when he found his mark at a small table at the back. He was a thin man who wore a gray tweed suit and was currently taking notes in an old-fashioned notebook. A small pile of empty glasses on the opposite side of the table and the passionate dancing of a nearby dancer indicated that the man was not in a good mood. The man was obviously burning money away, and the waitresses in skimpy dresses and the dancers were only too happy to take advantage of him.
The man barely looked up as Sorin took a seat. “Can I help you?” he said in a biting voice. “I believe I made it quite clear that I didn’t want to be bothered.”
“John Salinger, private investigator, at your service,” said Sorin, holding out his hand. The skeletal man only briefly looked up before returning to his task. “I took me a while to get in here given the tight security, but I have my ways. Let me guess, cheating wife’s got you scrambling to get you affairs in order?”
The man sniffed. “Don’t bother, Mr. Salinger. I know your kind. You’re a conman looking for an easy mark.
“So, let’s save us both some time, yes? No, I’m not interested in doing business with you. No, I won’t be giving you a deposit for work in advance. And no, I don’t want to think about it. Now get out of here before I call security.”
“All right, all right,” said Sorin. “A tough nut to crack. I can appreciate that. But I’m not one to give up so easily, not when I sense such a pure connection between us. You’re like the brother I never had. Have we met before?”
The man rolled his eyes. “I think I’d remember being associated with such a distasteful individual.”
“No, no, I remember it distinctly,” said Sorin. “I was investigating a case a while back. The name is on the tip of my tongue. Alvin. Albert…. Ah, I’ve got it. Arthus! Arthus Holsted!”
The man stiffened as he finally looked up and really looked at Sorin. Then he rose from his seat and put on his suit coat. “I think I’ve had enough of your antics, Mr. Salinger. I’ll be heading to the washroom, if you don’t mind. When I come back, I expect that you’ll be gone.”
“You can run, but you can’t hide,” Sorin muttered with a chuckle as the man made his way to the gentlemen’s room. “Not anymore, at least.”