Gorbin sermon. To tea or not to tea? Finding magic. Finding suppliers. The Feather Pharaoh’s Secret Obsession. The Diagraff.

Sal was very much impressed with the Gorbin essay, though he could tell that Fabrizio didn’t get the translation right in certain places. He knew enough about the Skinless to know that probably wouldn’t use certain words, and yet, he had to correct himself. Most of his knowledge was based on faulty information, since the former soldiers in his grand army of darkness hadn’t been forthcoming when it came to their magic and skills.

To think, the Gorbin had kept so much hidden and for so long. It was sobering in all sorts of ways.

After the dishes were done, Sal found himself with Betty in his pocket in the Ponti’s chambers, sitting with three very large books on the table.

Fabrizio seemed embarrassed. “I don’t mean to come across as an expert or anything, not a bit, and you know so much more than me. Oh boy, this is nerve-wracking. Do you want tea? We should have some tea. Very soothing tea. I’m so nervous.”

Sal sat back at the table. “Why the nervousness? Remember, you are the mighty priest who won over a terrifying ghost. I have complete faith in you.”

“It’s just that…” Fabrizio walked over to the table, considered the tea, and then walked back, to his little stove. “It’s still so hot in here, even with the evening breeze. Boiling water is probably not a good idea.” He then paced back to Sal. “It’s just that this is so odd.”

“What is odd is that a ghost of unknown origins keeps giving me peaches. And you keep giving me dinner. It does not exactly motivate me to open my restaurant. Besides, I do not have the money to buy the actual ingredients of anything I could cook.”

“But you can cook, can’t you?” the Ponti asked, still obviously debating the tea. He finally sat down. “I know you can cook. You’ve helped me with the lentils.”

“Where do you get the lentils?”

“The Viscount of Grains.” Fabrizio opened one of the big books and then closed it. “He gives me a discount, I think, just to mess with the Pork Poet. They hate each other. But all of the Braggadorios hate each other.”

Sal had to smile. “The Viscount gives you a discount. Would you call it the Viscount discount deal?”

The Ponti laughed politely.

The former Dark Lord was very appreciative of that fact. He then told Fabrizio about his encounter with the governor and about Tony Belly.

The priest brushed a hand through his dark hair. “I thought Tony Belly was some old legend, like something to justify all of the Braggadorio families. He owned that diner?”

“And I wonder if Tony Belly liked peaches or not. He was and is real. And I now own the strangest piece of real estate in Tower City, if not on Torment Island. Let us remain focused on the topic at hand. What are those charts and graphs?”

“The Gorbin don’t call it the Diagraff Vitalis, and oh, by the way, I got a huge number of Experience Points for dealing with your ghost. Thanks for that. Anyway, they called their Diagraff Vitalis the Magica Plexus. And they have a lot of theories on Prana, the mystical energy giving everyone and everything life. Thank the Sacred Family that the grammar is so logical because the vocabulary isn’t.”

“So Prana is like Mana,” Sal said softly. “Mana powers magic.”

“That’s what the Yanir sorcerers use,” Fabrizio agreed.

It was also what Sal had used, when he’d been a sorcerer himself, and thanks to the Deux Coin as well as other magic, he had possessed an almost unending supply. His SoulWork Modifier increased his natural Mana which grew as he leveled. Most wouldn’t even reach a 100% increase in their lifetimes but at the height of his power, he’d been able to get over 300% more Mana added to his Maximum Modified Mana.

Sal couldn’t remember what his current SoulWork Modifier was, and so he pulled up his Diagraff.

<<< ۝ >>>

Salvanguish Abner Ordinal

Diagraff Vitalis (Locked)

Karmic Gauge: 53% Dark Green but congratulations!

Race: Resurrected Human-Alive and Kicking

Vitalis Type: Still can’t really say, but probably Commoner, though it’s pretty clear you’re not common.

Vitalis Path: Sticking with Porridge Peasant for now…

Initial Mana Potential: Let’s say 10. Remember how you used to have an Initial Mana Potential of 10,000? No anymore.

Maximum Modified Mana: 11 because you get a ten percent increase. Isn’t math fun?

Current Level/DevStep: Level 1, DevStep 1

Experience Point Monitoring: Not Applicable

BodyWork Modifier: 10%

SoulWork Modifier: 10 %

Proficiencies: (All Locked)

* Youngin Reflexes

<<< ۝ >>>

A SoulWork Modifier of 10%? Sal hadn’t been that weak since he’d been a child. And to think, his body was more powerful than his soul, which was also strange. He was just glad he had that one proficiency. He’d never get back to his old strength, ever.

But all of this talk was dangerous. There wasn’t a half-truth big enough to cover the truth—that for whatever reason, Sal had the strangest Diagraff possible, with that Karmic Gauge, that was slowly creeping up. He’d been given another percentage point for doing dishes. He was at 51%, and so, he’d reached green. At this point, about two months of dishes would get him to purple and beyond.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

What would be beyond purple? There was no way to know.

The Ponti wasn’t looking any less uncomfortable. “Sal, you don’t have to tell me about your past. I know you’re a good person, and I want to help you in any way I can.”

Was Sal a good person? He thought of Shivaun and doubted she’d think so. However, with all those bodies in the café, maybe she wasn’t a good person either.

Sal found himself wanting to tell Fabrizio everything. He couldn’t. But he could ride the edge of the truth. “I was a sorcerer, before I arrived here, in this city, now. I lost my power. I never dreamed I would be able to embrace the magic I once wielded, and yet it seems, to some extent, I can. Now that I would ever want to hurt anyone.” He didn’t want to hurt anyone because he couldn’t hurt anyone. It was a subtle distinction.

“How did you lose your power?” Fabrizio asked.

Sal swallowed hard, giving himself over to the truth. “I died a kind of death and was gone from the world for a long, long while. Awakening, I was powerless, penniless, and wondering how I can open up a rather cursed café without funds.”

The priest grinned, his dimples showing. “You might not have funds, but you do have friends.”

“I am learning there are many kinds of treasures,” Sal admitted.

Fabrizio tapped the book in front of him. “A former sorcerer who knows the Gorbin language? That should make me wonder about you. But no, you’re okay, Sal. What do you need to open your restaurant?”

“Eggs,” Sal said. “My father ran a restaurant, and I helped in the sullen way adolescents aid their parents. There are several mistakes I will not make. I shall not have a large menu. I shall keep it simple. And I shall not try and serve all the meals all day long. There lies madness. Breakfast and lunch, but mostly breakfasts. Open at 6 a.m., close at 2 p.m., which is a long enough day. I shall have to wake up early for the baking, if I cannot get Shivaun to accomplish the task. We shall see how much skill our ghost has.”

The Ponti chuckled. “Oh boy. Here we are, talking about forbidden Gorbin magic one minute, and then about eggs the next. You seem torn between your diner and your sorcery, but you talk about both a lot. I dunno. I don’t think you’re this power-hungry guy. Am I wrong?”

Sal thought about that, riches and power, commanding armies, vain attempts to conquer the world, to be on top. To rule. To inspire adoration and fear. The climb was exhausting. The view from the top? Unsatisfying in some strange way. Because there was no real summit that could feed the soul. There was always another vista to conquer. If anything, it was the climb that was the important thing. Wasn’t there a song about that?

Fabrizio winced. “Did I say something wrong? I did, didn’t I? Gosh, I didn’t mean to. We can try and get you magic, Sal.”

“I do not want magic,” he said finally. “I want eggs. I need to make an appointment with the Feather Pharaoh and see about an arrangement. He supplies the city with both eggs and chicken, does he not?”

“That’s right. You’re not exactly in his part of town, but close enough. The chicken ranches are down in the flatlands.”

Sal knew, at some point, he’d have to map out the town and understand the sections better, and who ruled them. It was his understanding that the governor did still control the center of the city, and that included the God Spear Tower, Destiny Square, and The Champion Plaza. It was probably a good thing that Sal had made such a favorable impression on Ziggy, maybe. There was a lot of moving parts to his life and his situation, and it all felt precarious.

He did know something about the flatlands. Before, they’d been marshland, with a great house staring down at the muck. It was the home of a rich merchant that had built himself a palace that overlooked the sludge of the Weeping River. Was it still there? It had been called Riverglitter Manor, and even back then, it had been an ironic name because the Weeping River was anything but glittering.

Sal took a chance on asking Fabrizio about the mansion.

“That’s a new one on me. But you have to be careful, Sal. The Braggadorio families are strange, erratic and dangerous. And if you get to be friends with the Feather Pharaoh, that might be a problem with your other suppliers.”

“What do other restaurants do?” Sal asked.

“They pay, a lot, to all the families, and they have to play it carefully. It’s what I do to keep the Mind & Body Tables open. You’ll have to do the same.” The Ponti sighed. “The Viscount of Grains and the Butter King all get their quote unquote taxes. They’re still a bit religious, so that helps them not gouge me too much.”

“And here I am, in the middle of the city, in Tony Belly’s old place, in the middle of a haunted plaza. Will that hurt me or help me?” Sal smiled. “Most likely, it will be a little bit of both. I might need some magic after all.”

“You might,” the Ponti agreed.

“So let us set aside my plans for the diner for now. My own Diagraff is locked and strange. Who can help me?”

Fabrizio shrugged. “You probably don’t want to talk with the Gorbin out in the mountains, since they don’t like strangers much. If I were you, I’d talk with a Yanir sorcerer.”

“How about a sorceress? I met one a fortnight ago, Kaixo Allakarra. She ate at the Mind & Body Tables. I have not seen her since. Any idea of where I could find her?”

“Oh, right, the Yanir Sorceress. She was a Climber, I think. She’d know more about this magic stuff than I do. I just pray to Yeshu and hope for the best, and he blesses me with Experience Points. And I read a lot. That’s a kind of magic. Lots of different kinds of treasures. Lots of different kinds of magic.”

“That is very true,” Sal agreed. “She was part of the Astounders, a party of Climbers. They failed to fill out their paperwork properly, and so, they did not get a chance to do any climbing. Her plans, when I talked with her, were still filled with uncertainty.”

Fabrizio thought about it. “There are Climber inns if you keep going east on Confusion Street, and that’s probably where she is. Unless she did get into the Tower, then, um, she might be dead. That’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s the truth. Maybe they got some treasure, and she’s in the inns over at Destiny Square. She’d be close to you.”

Sal saw it as another project, and he was torn. “Do I pursue this magic? Or do I try and open up my restaurant? Or do I simply continue my simple life and do literally nothing with my days?”

The Ponti quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t need to say a word.

The Dark Lord sighed. “My oath. Yes, my oath. It looks like I will be journeying down to the Weeping River, where I shall get my boots dirty. Once there, I shall suffer through the stench of far too many chickens. I assume there will be a great many chickens.”

“Tons of chickens. Oh boy do they stink! But hey, one thing you should know, the Feather Pharaoh is, um, very light on his feet.”

“What does that mean exactly?” Sal asked.

“He likes to dance. Like, it’s his obsession. Do you dance?”

Rhythmically gyrating to rhythms was not high on a Dark Lord’s list of activities. Very little of world domination rested on the ability to dance in any meaningful way.

Sal only grinned. “Since coming to Torment Island, I have done a great deal of dancing, in all sorts of ways. Is there a trick to dancing I should know of?”

The Ponti’s eyes widened. “Don’t ask me! In its long history, the church has run hot and cold on the whole dancing issue. Sometimes it was illegal, and sometimes was okay, and we had liturgical dancers for a while. Those were strange times. Lots of flowers in the inner sanctum.”

“Didn’t Mendica the Penniless dance for coins in one of the stories?” Sal asked.

Fabrizio nodded. “That was how she got a Deux Coin for a while, but that sort of thing is kinda frowned upon. Uh, Mendica isn’t anyone’s favorite god.”

Sal took a deep breath. “I might be the exception. More and more, I feel exactly like Mendica, a penniless beggar without a Deux Coin.”

That made the Ponti laugh. “You and I both.” He gestured at the books. “I’ll continue to study the Magica Plexus and Prana stuff. Say hello to Shivaun for me. I think she’ll be very happy you’re going to see the Feather Pharaoh. But like I said, be careful.”

Sal nodded. At some point, Betty said he was walking a narrow path, but it felt more like a ledge. Any misstep might plunge him into the abyss, or in his case, the Abyssmuck.

Torment Island might be a difficult place to live, but it was a lot less difficult than being tortured for all eternity.