Chapter 14: The night is young, walk on cat

With the morning well past him, Dantes put his boots on solid land for the first time in several weeks. It was a bit unnerving, as though the land still pitched and rolled under him, but the feeling had soon faded, and he was just left with the contentment of the afternoon sun on his back, and a loss of what to do with the three or so days the ship would take to get repaired. Supposedly it usually took longer, but the captain knew the local shipwrights, and so got priority.

The first thing, would of course be to find some halfway decent food, maybe a local tavern would fit the bill, but he’d left his money with… “Now that I think of it, I haven’t been paid yet.”

Quickly remedying the situation with the captain, he struck out along the long waterfront, looking for a place where hungry sailors and dockworkers gathered. With his limited experience interacting with humans, he’d found the sailors and labourers to be most agreeable. Not that the merchants were awful, but when your business lays in manipulating the best deal out of people, it made it difficult for him to trust them. That’s not to say sailors wouldn’t cheat you given the chance, but he found some sort of camaraderie among them that appealed to him.

He broke from his thoughts as he noted a somewhat weather-beaten wooden building with a great big fish hung over the front entrance. Above it read “The Salty Pontoon” in big black characters painted stylishly on a strip of Beachwood.

Inside was mostly cleared out, just a couple sailors nursing pints, and one large fellow with tattoos passed out in the close corner. It reeked of stale vomit and cheap beer, though that didn’t deter him from striding up to the bartender, who was sitting behind the bar, feet up on the counter. In his defense, the counter looked about as clean as his shoes, so it didn’t really matter.

“Whad’ya want?” the filthy bartender groaned. He obviously wasn’t that interested in serving patrons. Probably just a warm body to mind the bar while the real owner slept or took care of business elsewhere. He didn’t look reliable enough to fill a mug with piss, let alone tend a bar properly. Not that Dantes had much of an idea of what that entailed.

“Something to eat. No drink” he grunted out. He’d tried beer before but found it didn’t really suit him all that much, and he appeared to be mostly immune to its other effects. He felt a vein throb over his eye as the lazy bartender leaned back in his chair and shouted his order back to the kitchen. He stopped himself halfway from throwing a nearby empty mug at the stout man. His mood had been rapidly fouling since earlier in the morning, though nothing stood out as the cause. In fact, the day had been near perfection as best he could remember. Probably just hungry.

He waited for a couple minutes, trying to spin the mug on its rim while the bartender happily ignored him, reading something under the counter. He caught the sight of bare skin and lost interest.

While he was waiting, a man came to sit next to him by the counter and they chatted as they waited for their food. He wore simple black robes with a long solid walking stick slung around a sash around his waist. Dantes recognized the garb as that of a mage, but the stick was atypical, from what he’d seen at least.

Turns out Sam was a recently apprenticed mage, but his master unexpectedly died before teaching him much at all, and all he’d inherited (stolen, Dantes suspected) was this sturdy walking stick. Eager to find his fortune, Sam had set out from his home in the west for Esthar, where he was headed now in search of fortune. Or so he told the story.

As their meal arrived, he dug in eagerly, looking to fill the void growing in him since this morning. Ever since that steak that she cooked him back in Esthar, a whole new world had opened to him… Who? Surely someone had… Delphi? It seemed wrong, but he saw no alternative, and he remembered the day as though it were unfolding now. He brought his mind back to the conversation at hand, where Sam was explaining the many uses of brimstone in magic.

“…and so that’s how we convinced the island natives that we were their gods, and that they shouldn’t eat us. Except Steve. We let them have Steve. I mean, he was kinda being a dick about the whole ‘exploring an uninhabited island for treasure is a bad idea’ thing and was really being all around too insufferable after the whole situation went south. Anyway, that’s why you should always carry brimstone on you.”

Finally, the food arrived. Heaving a sigh of relief, Dantes took a bite… and felt nothing. It wasn’t even badly prepared, no, in fact it was quite appetizing. Apparently, the kitchen had higher standards than the bar out front. But something was missing, and in that moment, Dantes knew that no amount of food would fill that emptiness he felt growing inside him.

“Not to your taste?” Sam questioned, as Dantes pushed the plate aside. He got a grunt in response. “Don’t blame ya. Well, I’ll just take that then, if ya don’t mind” and soon enough, two empty plates sat in front of them, though Dantes had barely taken a bite.

“Look, I won’t pry, but obviously you’ve got a lot on your mind right now. Care for a drink?”

Dantes was offered a small white stone flask the size of his fist. He refused at first, but Sam insisted.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Here, we’ll make a game of it. If you can match me, shot for shot, you can have my stick” Sam winked at him slyly. He’d probably mistaken his thousand-yard stare as interest in the walking stick he wore at his waist. “And if I win… how about that flask of yours?”

Dantes noticed, for the first time, a flask tucked into his own sash. He certainly didn’t remember having put it there, but in retrospect, it’d been with him since morning at least… Someone had given him it in the morning, he felt.

He wavered for a moment. Something in him really didn’t want to stake the flask, but he knew he could outdrink this brat, and he felt like putting him in his place, so he gestured the young man pour.

The young man pulled out two small glasses, barely thimbles, from within his cloak, pouring out two shots, barely the volume of his thumb. Sam’s cheery “Bottoms up!” was the last thing Dantes remembered before it all… faded… to black…

***

It was shortly after dusk that she slipped into the inn unseen. The horizon would have had a warm red glow that she might have enjoyed were she free to do so, but her business was urgent, and she hadn’t the time to climb to the top of the stone jungle to appreciate it. She was here to meet with someone. Who, she had no idea, but she would know him when she saw him, for he would be wearing a cloak akin to hers, in a way.

She drew up her hood as she took a table in an empty corner, watching the entrances, quickly nabbing a mug from a nearby table on her way.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

There she sat, for the span of several minutes, slowly sipping her drink. Though she was not particularly affected by it, it was something to do. An intent observer might’ve noticed the suspicious woman sipping a mug of ale in this more respectable part of town where the dubious activities that take place on the island’s outskirts are less welcomed.

But no one noticed. Not even the barmaid.

As she set her empty mug down and contemplated getting another, a broad, but not tall man pushed through the door, looking all around, his gaze sliding over where she sat, before snapping back to her an instant later. He wore a cloak of mottled green that seemed to shift and waver, like the undergrowth of an old forest swaying in the breeze.

She waited while he made his way through the crowd, briefly stopping a barmaid on the way for a word.

“You have the box?” she questioned as he approached.

He inclined his head slightly, the candlelight playing across his bronze skin. “It’s on a cart out front, Amira. Did you have a plan for getting it in? I passed by on the way here, and you might have trouble getting something that big inside unseen. And out. With all due respect, miss…?”

She hesitated a fraction of a second before responding. “Call me Shadow. And yes, I have a plan. Wait here, I’ll go prepare the cart.” She quickly made her way through the back, swiping a chef’s hat off a hook on the way. This will make an excellent addition to my plan, which I have definitely planned out and am not making up as I go along.

Finding the cart where he’d said, she directed some workers she’d paid earlier to load up some barrels before swinging back in, finding the man finishing some rather standard looking fare.

“We can leave soon as you’re ready, guy” she said, striding up to reclaim her space in the corner.

“Ah, how rude of me, I did not introduce myself. Call me Falkner, if you please. And yes, let us be off.” He got up, leaving some coins on the table and made his way out the door.

“You’re contracted too I take it?” She asked, nimbly swiping the coins into her purse on her way out.

“I am. We’ve different tasks though, as I understand it. You just need to do this one job right?” Shadow hummed in affirmation. “I’m on retainer for some time to come. Until the next solar eclipse.”

“Care to share?”

Falkner opened his mouth to respond then paused to consider. “No. Just know that our interests are aligned. For now.” He flicked the reins, and the one horse started a lazy pace down the street. Now that they were on the move, they were in no rush.

“So, do you know how this whole name thing works? I’m assuming Falkner isn’t your real name. My real name is Shadow… I mean Shadow.” She snarled. “I know my name is Shadow not Shadow, but I can’t say it out loud.”

Falkner gave her a sidelong glance before responding. “No one remembers you or who you were. You can meet them again, but they will not recognize you. Any memories associated to you were carved out of all minds, like you never existed. Only you remain unaffected. You can still forge new bonds though.” He shuddered, exhaling a shaky breath. “It is not a fate I would wish upon anyone save my worst enemy. I hope tonight goes well for your sake, Shadow. Or at least that your trade was worth it.”

“A cool cloak in return for something I would have done for free? Of course it was worth it. Look, it even has pockets on the inside.” She opened her cloak a bit, revealing a few vials of spice she kept on hand.

Falkner snorted. “Inside pockets too? We cannot all be as lucky as you it seems.” They continued in silence for some time, making their way towards the center of the tangled nest of a city. Falkner broke the silence. “What brings you here, Shadow? You certainly aren’t from anywhere south of Windcrown from what I can tell.”

“…I’m travelling the world with a… friend. Of sorts, I suppose. We’re looking for new foods and flavours” Shadow answered eventually. “And you? A mercenary from Esthar perhaps? You don’t seem like the trader type.”

Falkner gave her a faint smile. “Something like that. I’m looking for someone. A crew actually: pirates. They stole something important from my… employer. One reason I took the cloak, actually. Searching for a crew of pirates with a high tier Weather Mage is like… well, it’s like chasing the wind, I guess. And I figured this deal would buy me some time to figure it out… look, we’re here.”

They’d been leading the carriage into progressively fancier and less cramped neighbourhoods. They stopped a few hundred meters away from the largest estate they’d seen yet. The structure, like most others on the island, seemed to be carved from a single stone, but where most used a weather beaten dull grey stone, this one shone blue in the moonlight with veins of white running through the stone. It had a yard with cropped green grass, something she’d not noticed was absent from the other houses she’d seen until now. In Esthar too. It wasn’t the biggest structure she’d seen, but on the island there was nothing else that approached it, save the needle-like spire looming over the city.

“OK, here’s the plan. How much do you know about food, Falkner? Also, I really need something shorter to call you, that’s too many syllables. Falkner like a falcon? Which are basically hawks. Hmmm.”

“Not much, miss Shadow. I’m just here to help move that, and handle any problems that come your way” he said, nudging the long box with his foot. “Also hawks and falc-””

“Okay, just follow my lead, Hawk”. She heard him mutter something under his breath in response to that, but he said nothing further.

As they rolled up to the gate, a pair of guards stopped them. One of them stepped up to the cart.

“What’s yer purpose here at this hour?” he drawled tiredly.

“Just back with some ingredients for the event tomorrow” she responded. What event, she had no idea, so she figured neither would the guard.

The guard peered into their cart, uncovering a box filled with potatoes.

“What happened to the regular guy? He’s usually here later.”

“Special delivery, we gotta get started on the birthday cake early or it won’t be ready for supper.”

Even in the dim light, she could see the guards eyes narrow in the flickering torch light and a small frown stretched across his face.

“Never heard of that before, must be fancy.” He glanced to the chef’s hat sitting on the bench on her right and hesitated. “Alright, I’ll get Edward over there to help you unload. Edward, get over here you usele-“ the guard hissed, before suddenly remembering the company. “Help them unload in the kitchen” and in a whispered voice she barely picked up “an’ keep an eye on them. I don’t trust em’ but mayor Dumal will skin us alive if they’re tellin’ the truth an’ we don’ let em’ in… no I din’t ask for papers, but ‘less you grew a brain last I checked, neither of us c’n read… yeah fine… alright, hurry up.”

The guard withdrew a key and unlocked the gate, and the other guard, Edward presumably, guided them around the back of the mansion where he unlocked a smaller door inside a small courtyard garden.

“A’right then, just leave tha cart ere’ and ye can git to unloadin’”. Despite the instructions of his fellow guardsman, the man made no move to help them as they made to unload a barrel from the back of the cart.

Shadow whispered to the newly renamed Hawk a hasty plan. “I’ll distract him, you knock him out.” Hawk nodded and started rolling the barrel inside.

“Oh, mister guardsman, sir? Could you help me get this big box down? I need someone big and strong to help me out if you don’t mind? My companion has useless matchstick arms and is of no help…”

“Err, not at all amira, just slide it out and I’ll grab it for you” the guard stammered.

She watched as the guard lowered the crate slowly to the ground before crumpling noiselessly to the ground beside it after a blow from Hawk hit him from behind.

She grunted “smart timing. Saved us having to unload it ourselves.”

She got no answer in response as she strode through the open door to the kitchen, which was nice enough, though not too different from the one on the Spitfire, just bigger. She took a deep sniff. Her prize lay in the next room.

She opened the door and couldn’t help but grin as she beheld a large room filled to the top with barrels. Cured meats and drying herbs lay strung up from the ceiling creating a fragrant miasma that spilled out of the doorway to greet her as she entered. She sniffed the air. Fresh too. She knew a kitchen like this would be properly enchanted, and she saw traces of white inscriptions below some barrels. What really caught her attention was a large wooden cabinet made of a sturdy greenish wood with a thick lock across the doors, and the smell of exotic spices wafting from it.

There’s lots to do… but I have time to sample what’s on offer. She rubbed he paws together, a greedy glint in her eyes. And the night is young.