1 Soul Bound
1.2 Taking Control
1.2.4 An Artful Carnivale
1.2.4.5 People can be like gems - worth looking after even when flawed
6:00 am, Thursday June 8th, 2045
6 bells of the forenoon watch
Lunday full, 8th day of the month of KrevinBelember, A2F1600
They met up with a pleased looking Alderney and a thoughtful Bulgaria outside the building, then carried on along Wall Street while they passed on what they’d discovered.
Alderney: “So Scaramouche can use mind magic? That explains how he manages to sell such trash. I had a chat with some of his apprentices. It turns out his own sword is actually very effective - it is weightless, and uses an electric charge to stun people, a bit like a taser.”
Tomsk gave a low whistle. “And that would work through the opponent’s weapon or metal armour. Nasty. He probably did win lots of duels.”
Alderney: “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the armour I’m crafting for you will be insulated. But that isn’t all. He used to have a wicked triangle-bladed estoc, that killed in a single hit when used upon a stunned target. The apprentices said it smelled of sulphur.”
Bungo: “Used to?”
Alderney grinned. “Apparently the Ragged Man stole it from him, and replaced it with a turnip.”
Bulgaria: “What I noticed is that he has one questing spirit apprentice from each region. He sets them to boring repetitive work and charges them for tools and materials, but feeds them beer during breaks, and relieves the monotony by chatting with them about how their friends are doing in far off lands.”
Wellington: “He’s getting information faster than the markets realise, the same way we did? This is serious. In a week or two, no matter what we do, the secret is going to get out and the markets will panic. What were the game devs thinking of?”
Bulgaria: “And Scaramouche is ideally placed to take advantage; if anything goes wrong it will be his pet stockbroker who takes the fall. I confess, he fooled me. I’d heard a rumour he was part of the Sons, but I fell for his ‘small time grifter’ act. He must be the leader, or very near the top.”
Kafana: “So on the surface he’s a talented warrior, a decorated captain and war hero, nobly passing on his skills to others. Under that he’s a bumbling braggart, too conceited to realise how obvious his lies are. However look deeper still and he’s a cold hearted bastard, highly skilled at long term manipulation? No wonder he charmed the pants off Signora.”
Alderney: “Literally?”
Kafana: “I don’t know. Get me something personal that will have his DNA on it, and I’ll find out. The one I feel sorry for is Ciotto. He’s lost everything. Do you think we should set him up with a shop in the Basso Renewal Project?”
Tomsk: “You could never trust him. He may have learned some lessons and want to do better, but he was foolish: greedy and impatient for success. Has he changed, or will he bend again the next time someone bullies him?”
Wellington: “You can afford to give Master Ciotto a second chance in life, but money is a finite resource. Every criminal has a tragic past, and you can’t afford to do the same for all of them. Is he more deserving of your aid than the people he was complicit in defrauding?”
Kafana: “You make a fair point, but ignoring him feels wrong. Is there a third option?”
Bungo: “Instead of fronting him money for a new store, how about the Adventurers Guild hire him to give lectures on evaluation and how to avoid being ripped off when selling your loot? Tell him in advance that he will be regularly questioned under a truth spell to ensure he never gets tempted to scam them.”
They were now passing through a crowded shopping area, not unlike Mercato, except instead of selling clothes and jewelry, there were cartographers, rope chandlers, provisioners and the offices of consortiums - everything a prosperous ship’s captain might need.
Bungo wanted to stop for a bite to eat and a look around the stalls, but Alderney hustled him on.
Alderney: “This is the Low Market. It’s one of the safest parts of the Arsenal and an easy walk from the Sanctum. You can come back anytime you want. We’re going to stop in the square near Captain’s guild, down by the grand junction, and I’ll give you the lay of the land before we catch a gondola and take the scenic route to the tavern where we’ll be having lunch.”
The grand junction turned out to be a large lake, teeming with galleys, cargo barges and gondolas, that had wide canals leading into it from every direction. It looked chaotic. Alderney gave their eyes a minute to adjust before carrying on.
Alderney: “There’s a strict one-way system, policed by the Rats. You can tell their official vessels because the hull is black, while the sails and uppers are sky blue. Break Ruffo’s Rules and they fine you on the spot. Piss them off, and you’ll be swarmed in under a minute then dealt summary justice. Mostly, people know better than to annoy ‘em.”
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Alderney pointed south, where a 200 meter wide canal stretched many kilometers in a dead straight line, reaching nearly to the Stadia at the southern end of Basso. A few high arches, wide enough to take three carts, spanned the canal starting at roof level, 8 stories high, and reaching 40 meters in the center. Some buildings had grand facades with a dock where visitors could gently alight. Most had rings for cargo barges to moor beneath winches leading to storerooms high above. A few just had dark cavernous water entrances leading who knows where.
Alderney: “That’s the Canalasso, the true heart of Torello. Forget the plazas of Centrale. Torello is a maritime nation, and cargo is the blood that flows through it. Cargo flows in the Rio Tributo to our east, and flows out the Rio Foce to our north if it is heading up river; west along the Rio Principe if it is going to be unloaded and sent by land, or south towards the main docks where convoys of galleys are assembled for ports up and down the coast.”
Tomsk: “Why cram all the traffic through a single entrance? Seems inefficient.”
Alderney: “Taxation. If you look carefully, you’ll see incoming vessels lowering sealed bags of coins on ropes, down to Rat officials in their black and blue gondolas, and some of them being diverted to the customs docks diagonally across from us, for closer inspection. Of course, this isn’t all the traffic. The boats of fish town have their own rules, the big carracks and galleons get individually inspected down at Punto Reale before they even arrive, and then there are also high wharves run by the nobles over at Alto.”
Bulgaria: “Power here comes from ships and information. Just to our west, on the north side of the Rio Tributo, are the dry docks where repairs and new ship construction is carried out. A lot of skilled woodworkers and other craftsmen there. Further north is the Rat’s Nest, where Ruffo has his Palazzo and his administrative offices. At the very tip, where the Rio Foce meets the river mouth and an arch joins the Arsenal to the end of Wall Street, there’s the Sostanza - the commodities exchange. If you want the best price for a thousand tons of marble or enough grain to feed an army, that’s the place to go.
Kafana: “Ok, I’m surprised. From all the descriptions I was expecting a wretched hive of scum and villainy. Isn’t this place run by the Thieves Guild or something?”
Bulgaria: “For generations, House Ruffo has been in an economic war against House Trinci over whether Torello gets a cut of the money changing hands there. By and large, the trading houses support Ruffo in keeping the charges as low as possible, but they don’t trust Ruffo to keep things safe for them without the balance of the other great houses, so Ruffo’s Rules are principally designed to keep things in the Arsenal safe for traders, and they’re rigorously enforced.”
Alderney: “There are thieves in the Arsenal, but that’s because the Arsenal is where the stealable things are. They’re like parasites, living off the blood of a water buffalo. They go where it goes, because that’s their food.”
Bulgaria: “There are plenty of things to steal in Alto, but they keep desperately poor people from even entering. There are plenty of desperately poor people in Basso, but there’s little to steal, and your neighbours will notice. In the Arsenal you have desperately poor people crammed cheek by jowl next to bounteous wealth, and the architecture seems practically designed to ensure everybody minds their own business and avoids any sense of community.”
Bungo: “Are we going to be safe? Except for Wellington, we’re not traders, and Kafana sticks out like a sore thumb, what with that glowing skin. No offence, Kafana.”
Alderney grinned.
Alderney: “I’ve taken precautions. Nobody will touch Kafana today, and I’d bet on Tomsk even in a den of lions. You, on the other hand, should keep your shield over your head at all times.”
Kafana noticed the hurt expression on Bungo’s face. After her long talk with him yesterday, she felt she understood him better. She frowned at Alderney.
Kafana: “Alderney, you keep picking on Bungo, but I don’t think he’s taking it as harmless joking. It is really hurting him. Is that what you intend?”
Alderney: “I noticed a long time ago that, unless Bungo is regularly smacked down, his head grows too big. I do it as a public service, to stop him from becoming unbearable.”
Tomsk: “Alderney, my little sister. You are a wonderful positive person, but sometimes you are a little slow to notice when people have changed. Kafana, thank you; it’s something I should have mentioned days ago. Bungo has changed, and this should be rewarded. Celebrated! Bungo, what would you say to going on a tavern-crawl with me tomorrow, while the ladies are off playing with robots? We’ll hit every establishment we can find and drain a flagon of their best, at each one.”
Bungo’s expression changed, like the sun appearing from behind a cloud.
Bungo: “You’d do that? For me? I’ve been trying so, so hard. I didn’t think anyone would ever notice.”
His voice sounded choked up. Alderney’s face grew stricken.
Tomsk swept Bungo into a hug, his strong arms providing Bungo with solidity. “Tovarish, you have become a man, and a worthy one. Be proud.”
Bulgaria took Alderney aside and had a few words with her, while Kafana joined in giving Bungo a hug, and even Wellington managed to give a tentative thumbs-up sign, probably after carefully calculating that this was a socially acceptable way of joining in.
A few minutes later, Bulgaria led Alderney over to Bungo. For once, she wasn’t bouncing. She nearly tottered.
Alderney: “Bungo I’m sorry. You must despise me. I’ve been bullying you, and I didn’t even realise, which isn’t an excuse - it makes it worse. But I am going to break myself of this habit, I swear it. I’ve told Tink to give me a shock any time I start to do it again. I won’t ask you to forgive me, but is there anything I can do to make amends?”
Bungo took her tiny hands in his massive ones.
Bungo: “There’s nothing to forgive. I didn’t like the old version of me, either.”
Alderney: “But…”
Bungo: “Hush. I don’t even mind being teased. Just, if you could, don’t make that the only way you interact with me. Give me a hug or something, from time to time, so I feel reassured that under the teasing you don’t hate the new me. I really have changed, you know. I’ve been using a Ni! for years, now. If you ever need advice on using Tink that way, just ask - there are more effective approaches than shock therapy.”
His tone of voice was straightforward and sincere, without even a hint of whinging or begging. It was a response the old Bungo would never have made, could never have made. Kafana gently drew the two together, and they held each other in forgiveness, faces blank while they exchanged words in private chat.