There was no way Caruso could face entering the shroom circles with Webber, no way he was subjecting himself to all that talking, no way he was putting himself at the mercy of the Vandelier brothers again.
What was Bozi thinking?
Explaining this all to Webber would be far too awkward, Caruso decided instead to just head to his room where he could finally rest in peace.
Content with his strategy, he started down the main promenade. He wondered what he would do for a new job, he needed to find something, life in Jamala wasn’t cheap and he was quickly running out of options. It was all too overwhelming. Caruso shook the thoughts away—enough stress for one day. All of his worries would be waiting for him tomorrow, he would deal with them then.
The main promenade was the jewel of Jamala; a wide cobbled mall stretching from the mushroom markets to the Zone 1 forest. It was lined with fancy restaurants and artisinal stores, and always kept weirdly clean. Caruso suspected people came out to scrub and polish the cobbles every night. And despite the row of manicured fruit trees down its centre, you’d be lucky to find a single leaf littering the ground—even though the odd leaf lying around would’ve made the place look a lot more natural and welcoming.
To get to his room, Caruso first had to cut through the redcap district. There were things he despised about this seedy district, but it wasn’t without its redeeming qualities. One being that it allowed him to see the girl of his dreams.
The redcap consisted of a grimy web of alleys that slithered through southern Jamala. It was where you went to relax in one of the many shroomeries or brothels. Caruso walked past the popular shroomery “The NightCap”. Inside, the patrons clapped along to a fiddler, while waitresses kept the customers plied with Zone 3 drugshrooms. Despite all the noise and chaos, some nights, Caruso enjoyed going inside. It was a good place to go to forget yourself. Their shroomidor was always stocked with the best poppyshrooms, metamine, and sidemind. Caruso’s favourite was poppyshroom—the bright red shrooms offered a welcome escape from his normal regime of anxiety. It was like being wrapped in a warm blanket of safety. The thought alone caused Caruso to veer towards the entrance. But a quick pat of his pockets reminded him he couldn’t afford a single cap.
Drugshrooms were expensive.
Caruso continued down the winding alleys, his thoughts leaping ahead towards his girl. Every now and then he passed through a haze of smoke from the street stalls roasting firetongues and honeyfungus. Deeper into the redcap, there were fewer shroomeries, and more brothels. Tall windows lined the lanes, behind which semi-naked girls lured customers inside. Most windows were blocked with an “occupied” curtain, some of these had a queue of men tailing outside.
It wasn’t just because of the girls rubbing themselves up against the windows that Caruso enjoyed walking through this section. He liked it because he felt invisible. With the girls dominating everyone’s attention, no one ever looked his way, no one paid him any mind.
He spotted The HushRooms up ahead—the brothel he always went out of his way to walk past. Jamalan brothel girls were of a high standard, the type of girl Caruso could never hope to talk to without paying. But there was one girl in particular; the girl who dominated his fantasies; the girl with short black hair and the pixie-face who worked in The HushRooms every night; ground floor window, second from the left.
Caruso’s palms were clammy and his heart thundered as he approached the brothel windows. Slipping out of the quicker foot traffic in the middle, he joined the slow trawl of men on the right so he could get a good view. With a jolt of excitement, he noticed her window lacked the “occupied” curtain.
He was still a few windows away, but at this angle he could see the press of her tits against the glass. A group of men had stopped outside her window to watch—she always drew a crowd. The men all cheered as she gave them a seductive wiggle. At two windows away, he noticed she wore her usual pink see-through shawl that she sleeked across her skin to tease and entice. At one window away, he could see her entire body. His breath caught as he traced his gaze up to her breasts, her neck, her mouth. She was perfect. One of the men loudly voiced exactly what he wanted to do with her.
Caruso didn’t mind. He was always thankful for her small crowd—it allowed him to slip through unnoticed.
He weaved further through the group of gawkers, closer, until he was directly outside her window. But he didn’t stop. He never stopped. While he longed to get more than a passing glance, Caruso couldn’t quite bring himself to blatantly stand there and stare.
As he walked past her window, he resumed his appreciation, making the most of the few seconds he had with her. He lingered on her delicate lips, painted purple with a thrilling hint of a smile.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
Her cheeks were freckled and blushed, her eyes a deep green and—
She was staring right back at him.
Fuck! Shit!
Caruso panicked, snapped his gaze away, felt his face flush hotter than the sun, and sped off down the busy lane. Only at a safe distance did he look back. Why am I such a loser? He watched the men outside her room; they were all having a great time, not embarrassed or ashamed. Why can’t I be more like them?
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
One man eventually tapped on her window and was hastily led inside. A curtain fell across the window, ending the show.
—
Caruso was tired. Not just physically; he was tired of everything. All he wanted was to wall himself away in his room. He took the direct route back to his building. Passing through a quieter section of the redcap district, a man leaning against the side of a narrow lane made eye contact with Caruso.
‘You want something?’ the man said. ‘Inkballs? Sidemind?’
At the mention of sidemind, Caruso knew him for a drugshroom dealer. He also knew not to deal with his sort. But it had been a rough day. A cheap poppyshroom would help to take the edge off. Caruso glanced around to ensure there were no Foresters nearby before asking, ‘What else you have?’
The man grinned knowingly. ‘Metamine, poppyshrooms, sidemind. Whatever you want. I got it. Nothing fresh though, all dried. Half the price of what you pay in the shroomeries.’
‘Can I see your poppy?’
As the man reached into his coat, Caruso tried not to get his hopes up. He reminded himself how unlikely it was that this man had any real poppyshrooms, that he was probably just another scammer. Nearly all drugshroom dealers were.
Only the Foresters could get at the drugshrooms that grew in Zone 3. While most people can acclimatize to the Zone 1 and even Zone 2 sporesickness. Zone 3 sporesickness was lethal. If anyone entered Zone 3 to pick drugshrooms, they would drop dead upon leaving the Zone.
No one knew how the Foresters bypassed the sporesickness—it wasn’t mentioned in any book or scroll in the library. But because they were able to, the Foresters were the only ones who could return from Zone 3, and therefore, monopolized the entire drugshroom trade. This made it very unlikely that the man standing before Caruso had anything that could make the rest of the day slip painlessly away.
Very unlikely, but not impossible. Caruso held on to that small thread of hope.
The man pulled out a black pouch. Keeping it close to his side, he loosened the drawstring, just wide enough for Caruso to glimpse inside.
‘It’s too dark in there,’ Caruso said. ‘I can’t see anything.’ The small thread of hope was fraying fast.
‘Don’t worry. They’re the real deal.’ Instead of allowing Caruso to actually see one, the man instead gave the pouch a jiggle, as if that proved their authenticity. ‘10gil each. How many were you after?’
Caruso had 10gil. But if they were real poppyshrooms, surely the man would’ve shown him. ‘I don’t want to buy a fake shroom,’ Caruso said.
‘Good to hear. Coz I don’t sell fake shrooms.’
‘Can I please see one, then?’
‘I’m not going to wave my poppy around for all the Foresters to see. Give me 10gil and you can see it.’
It sounded like a scam. Perhaps there was an off chance the man was being honest and extremely cautious, but Caruso would not gamble his last 10gil on such small odds. He sighed in disappointment and turned to leave.
The man grabbed his upper arm. ‘You think I’m one of those scammers? Is that what you think?’
Caruso backed away but the man kept his grip. He was suddenly aware of how empty the lane was, and how stupid he was for getting himself into this.
‘Let go of me.’
‘What are frightened for? I’m not trying to scam you. I just want to sell you some poppy. You’re the one who asked for it. So give me 10 gil.’
Caruso figured the easiest way out of this was just to pay the man 10gil. He rationilized that the man could still have poppyshrooms. But more than anything he just told himself this to make handing over the 10gil feel less pathetic.
‘Fine,’ Caruso said, reaching for his pocket. At the same moment, a group of young revellers turned into the lane, singing and laughing. They didn’t pay Caruso and the dealer any mind, but just their presence emboldened Caruso—it was always easier to find courage in a crowd. He changed tact. Instead of handing over the 10gil, Caruso said ‘I’ll give you 10gil when you show me a real poppyshroom.’
Eyeing the approaching group, the man briefly considered, then released Caruso’s arm. ‘Have it your way.’ The dealer pulled out a dried red shroom from his pouch, and pressed it confidently into Caruso’s palm. ‘There. See. I ‘aint no scammer. Only poppyshrooms can get that red. Now, that’ll be 10gil.’ He wore an expression that said “I told you so.”
Caruso had to admit, it was an impressive performance. The man would do well selling at the market. He was the type of man that wouldn’t let a customer get away with buying four shrooms with a bulk discount. But there was probably more money in scamming clueless people here in the redcap. Caruso could tell just from the feel of it in his palm that the shroom was not a poppyshroom. He handed the man back his dried redparasol and quickly slipped away with the group of revellers, back towards the safety of his room.
—
His neighborhood, the Stalks, was in the cheapest Jamalan district. The buildings were all stacked up four or five stories high and made from knobbly mycelium panels rather than the stone or timber walls common in wealthier districts. It was a relief to be away from the bustle of crowds. Being constantly around people all day left an annoying pressure in Caruso’s head that could only be relieved with solitude.
He sidestepped a middle aged couple arguing on the steps of his building, and began the climb to his 4th story room.
‘Caruso?’ A long haired boy around his age, chewing on a bakkostem approached him.
‘Uh-hello?’
‘Thought it was you. My uncle Bozi said I might have better luck finding you here. Name’s Webber.’
Caruso glanced at the stairwell, wondering what would happen if he made a dash for it.
‘I’m Caruso.’ He already knows your name you fucking idiot. Caruso shook his hand, only remembering half way through to make eye contact. Webber had a crooked nose, a scar slashing his right cheek, and a mischievous smile.
‘Bozi’s told me about you,’ Webber said. ‘Said you're a man of the forest, and could show me a few things.’
Caruso felt the safety of his room slipping further and further away. Just tell him you can’t go, and it will all be over.
‘You ready to go?' Webber asked. 'Or you need to visit your room first?’
Tell him now before it gets out of hand! ‘So I was thinking of not going?’ Why did I say that like a question?
‘Oh. You got other plans or something?’
Caruso thought of his comfortable room, where he could shut his door on the world. It had never seemed more of a haven than at this moment.
‘I’m just tired…’ Caruso said lamely. He considering throwing in a fake yawn but stopped himself. Webber clearly wasn’t buying it.
‘I can’t go alone,’ Webber said. ‘I need your help. Bozi gave me a list of shrooms, but I’ve never even heard of some of them. Bozi also said we could take his mares. The stableboy is fixing ‘em for us as we speak.’
While Caruso struggled to formulate a response, Webber stood there smiling, looking perfectly comfortable with the situation.
‘C’mon, man. Let’s do this,’ Webber said.
There was no easy way out of this now. Caruso weighed his options. But with Webber standing there watching him, he quickly decided on the path of least resistance.
‘OK I’ll go.'