Chapter 22: Entanglements

Jace “Quickshot” Leál

Earlier that day…

GTQ Merchant Company. That was the name of Renn and Cornelius’s business; it stood for “Get There Quick”.

“It’s important for a brand to stand for something.” Renn had said when I asked. “We provide a valuable service: timely deliveries and the promise of reliable prices.” It was no surprise Renn was the mastermind behind that particular “marketing decision.” The problem was that we were four days behind schedule now, which threatened to affect the company’s reputation.

The morning Ayla decided to go wandering the city to watch people, I was roped into helping GTQ solve its “permit problem”. Apparently, the Permits and Licensing Office had requested to interview me before clearing us to exit the city.

Renn’s father Cornelius had been wrangling with the licensing office for several days now. An official had been sent to inspect his caravan’s cargo and paperwork—something the mustachioed merchant assured me was highly unusual. He also insisted that the “amendment requirement” to which the company was being beholden was a contrived fabrication, though he did not know why he was being subjected to it. When I suggested it could be a competitor, he rolled his eyes at me in a way quite like his daughter did. And that had been the end of that line of inquiry.

“Neil, do you have any idea why they need to speak to me? I’m not even your chief of security.” Cornelius and I hiked up the hill to City Hall, where the affable merchant fussed with his belt and the back of his pants the entire way.

Giving up on finding the proper tightness, he sighed exasperatedly and looked up at me. “I don’t quite know, friend. I just know you were asked for by name.”

That didn’t sit right with me. There were a limited number of people that knew my name in the city, and the only person I could think of who had shown any interest in me and had the power to involve me in any kind of bureaucracy was the mayor.

The question was, why?

Tempest’s civic center wasn’t far from the market district or the main square at the heart of the city. It featured a plaza adorned with statuettes and plaques within gardens honoring the purported heroes from the war. And in the center of the plaza, there were four reflecting pools surrounding an immense statue on a dais of Prospero himself, wearing a double breasted suit and looking into the distance with a sense of self importance that I found almost sickening.

Surrounding the plaza were the Tempest Cathedral of Valens, the constabulary, and several guild buildings—though, notably, the Adventurer's Guild was absent, being located in the industrial district.

Finally, on the north side of the plaza stood City Hall, an imposing building of stone and steel with columns along the entrance. It was a perfect reproduction of the Dwarven Guildhouse, an old building once situated in the capital of the Dominion. It was the seat of the dwarven people’s power once upon a time. All the Masters, as they were called, gathered there to promote the height of their people’s craftsmanship. Technomancers, weapon smiths, engineers—they had all been represented there.

On the one hand, it was a clear sign of Prospero’s influence in the development of the city. Even among a predominantly human city, the building was a tribute to his race, and in that way it was admirable. On the other hand, it was worrisome, given that the Dwarven Guild was primarily an organization dedicated to the advancement of the military machine.

The entrance hall was lined with more columns with intricate carvings along each one. From the ceiling hung the bones of a behemoth with enormous curled horns, its sharp toothed, open maw angled so that as we crossed the hall, it looked as if it might lower its head and devour us at a whim.

“Unsettling, isn’t it?” Cornelius asked, shivering slightly as he looked up at the massive bones, his orange mustache vibrating comically. “The office is on the second floor. We don’t want to be late for our appointment. Follow me.”

I followed him down the hall and up the stairs, until we reached a door with a bronze plaque reading “Permits and Licensing Office.”

I couldn’t help the sudden premonition that I was about to be entangled in something more than a bureaucratic hurdle, and it didn’t take long to be proven right.

The receptionist behind the mahogany desk spoke our names into a metal disk, then touched his ear to a pearl earring. Then they said “Yes, Inspector. Right away, sir.” And led us to a conference room with a long black table. The room smelled vaguely of disinfectant.

“Good morning, gentlemen. I am Inspector Birat. Please sit.” The inspector was a tall lanky man with immaculate black hair, a pressed blue button down shirt, and a pocket protector from which several writing utensils stuck out. Also, he wore pristine white linen gloves. “You’re early. Very good. The others will be with us shortly.”

“Others?” Cornelius took a seat and eyed the inspector warily. I took a chair next to him.

“Yes, but that will not preclude us from starting the meeting. In fact, it is convenient given that we shall waste less time.” Birat straightened a stack of papers which were already perfectly stacked. “Mr. Naranj, your compliance audit has come back satisfactory. Cargo, permits, itinerary, and security detail have all passed muster and are very clean. Congratulations.” The inspector took a paper from the top of the stack without so much as disturbing the others beneath it, and handed it to the merchant.

Cornelius—whose surname I was vaguely amused by—began to read, while I remained silent and waited for more. Birat just stared at us with an annoying perfunctory smile. For once, it was my turn to break the silence as my patience reached its limit.

I interrupted Cornelius before he could speak, leaning forward and addressing the inspector. “Quit wasting our time. Why were we summoned?”

The inspector’s smile widened, and yet it still did not touch his eyes. “Don’t you mean, why were you summoned?” I narrowed my eyes. The inspector chuckled, then he read from a sheet of paper in front of him. “Mr. Leál, you should be pleased to be held in such high regard by our illustrious mayor.”

There it was. Confirmation Prospero was involved in this mess.

I know what happens when I lose my temper: the intensity that follows, the pressure the magic in my soul expresses upon the world around me when I let it loose. I usually keep a tight lid on it. But at that moment, the tap slipped open for an instant.

“Explain.”

The inspector tugged once at his collar as if it was too tight, and droplets of sweat instantly started forming on his forehead. Otherwise, he was professional, his voice and eyes steady; his eyes unfaltering.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Mr. Naranj—” When addressed, Cornelius, who was staring at the document before him, looked up. He was not happy. “—should consider it an honor to have been so wise as to hire a gunslinger of your caliber. The mayor was quite impressed with your record. Both during the war, and your work in Valenheim. It is thanks to you that the GTQ company was selected for a special mission.”

So the mayor had made inquiries into my background. For a man like him, a few calls to key people in Valenheim would be all it took to get all the information he needed.

Cornelius cursed under his breath, then passed the document he’d been reading to me. “We’ve been doing business here for seven years, inspector, and never before has something like this been done. This is absurd.” He was more direct than I’d ever heard him. His usual bumbling affability was slipping, hinting at something harder beneath the layers of fluff.

“I’m afraid it is an urgent matter.” Birat’s smile twisted into an insincere commiserating frown.

I scanned the document in question. It listed the results of the inspection, confirming everything the inspector told us so far. The rest of it, however, read like a contract—with both Cornelius’s and my signature required at the bottom. It adjusted GTQ’s itinerary slightly, and required that we accept and protect a VIP passenger, whose safety would be my responsibility.

I had no idea how that would work, given that I wasn’t even the head of security of the GTQ company’s caravan. Not to mention that the document also said that he would have a pair of escorts of his own and his own wagon.

We were tasked with escorting this VIP to Fort Magnus, a northern bastion named—rather tastelessly—after the Technomancer General of the Western Dominion. He was one of the human architects behind the Shattering. The whole thing made no sense and left me uneasy.

Birat took out a white handkerchief and dabbed delicately at the sweat on his forehead and brow. “Consider this a favor for our illustrious mayor.” His tone implied it was anything but; rather, it said, “you don’t have a choice.”

As if on cue, the door to the conference opened and four people poured in, and I caught the tail end of their conversation; it was the thin, nasal voice of someone I did not recognize: “…and reliable. The long ears are desperate. If the plans hadn’t been leaked, then—“ The conversation was abruptly cut off when Mayor Prospero raised his hand to stop him.

The owner of the voice was a stocky fellow my own height, with sunken eyes and thick lips. He and the two men behind—taller men, with muscular builds, angular cheekbones and close cropped military haircuts—each wore matching green uniforms with rank insignias on their collars. The nasally-voiced man was a colonel, the men behind him sergeants, likely elites.

The mayor ran fingers through his blonde, perfectly oiled beard. Today he was not wearing his technomancer’s robes, rather a crisp double breasted blue suit—maybe even the same he’d worn when he posed for the statue in the civic center plaza. “I see they arrived early.” He sounded pleased. Looking to Birat for confirmation, the inspector answered that we had already been informed of our “mission.”

“Excellent.” The mayor clapped his hands together. “Colonel Fyoran, I’d like to introduce you to Mrs. Naranj and Leál. Merchant of the caravan you’ll be joining, and the Branded Soul.”

Of course. The reputation of the Branded. That was what they were after. Not that the sergeants were too happy about it. Their hot glares were full of disdain.

“Yes, that will do nicely.” The colonel smacked his lips. Then he studied me the same way one might study a mount to assess its value. With two fingers he made a “come hither” gesture. “Stand, so I can get a better look at you.”

I did not stir. I felt myself fuming. The tap opened more. The pressure in the room increased such that the air stirred like steam. The inspector leaned back in his chair, visibly grimacing.

Prospero was unfazed. The colonel and his men, however, took an unconscious step back.

Cornelius next to me cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Jace…”

I reigned my anger in and tightened the lid. “Sorry, Neil. I let it get away from me.” To Prospero and the others, I growled. “I am not your dog. I will not be ordered to do tricks for you. I will not be ordered at all.”

Colonel Fyoran looked uncertain for a moment. Prospero patted him on the arm—an awkward gesture that required him to reach up, given his shorter stature.

“Intimidating, isn’t he? Worry not, colonel. He may be unbroken, but he can be counted on. By all accounts, he is a man of his word. Isn’t that right, Mr. Leál?”

I almost cursed him out right then and there. Why should I take any of Prospero’s bullshit? But I was starting to understand the stakes. True, if I had to, I could find a way out of the city with Ayla and head out on our own. Though it might make some things more difficult, we didn’t exactly need to travel with the caravan, and I doubted Prospero would order his guards to try and stop us.

But Prospero knew I wouldn’t do that. He’d looked into me. Indeed, I wasn’t the sort to go back on my word without good reason. I’d already agreed to be part of GTQ’s security team. Based on what the inspector and Prospero had implied so far, should I refuse, GTQ’s permit wouldn’t be signed and they’d be unable to leave the city.

Cornelius must have known this too, but even so, he stood abruptly and growled. “I refuse to submit to extortion, mayor. Nor will I abide you accosting one of my contracted employees. Had you made a proper request, or given time for us to consider and discuss the matter—”

“It’s alright, Neil.” I said, standing up slowly as well. “You shouldn’t have to put your company at risk for my sake. I’m sorry you got dragged into something just for having me around, but the mayor’s right. I won’t go back on my word.”

I could see the tension in Cornelius’s shoulders relax just a fraction. He had not been insincere. He really was about to spit in the government officials’ faces and walk away, mostly for my sake. But since I was willing to agree, he wouldn’t be crushed because of his principles.

Prospero laughed heartily. “All the seriousness of a funeral marching band. You act as if you all won’t be compensated for your troubles. Fyoran, didn’t I tell you they would come around?”

“Yes.” Fyoran studied me once again, then nodded to himself. He adopted a smarmy grin. “I believe he will do nicely.”

Then the mayor, the colonel, and his men, all left us alone with the inspector, talking over details that I barely paid attention to. I was livid, and wanted to leave this place as soon as possible.

Inspector Birat plucked a pair of pens from his pocket protector and placed them in front of us. “Naturally, we’ll be needing your signatures here before I can stamp the approval.”

On the steps of City Hall, Cornelius and I took turns apologizing to each other, even though we both knew where our real frustrations ought to be directed.

Cornelius urged me to wrap up any loose ends. We would be setting out in the morning. “I’m going to go back and see what I can learn about why this is happening. Officers don’t just get dumped on someone like us.”

“I’ll hit the taverns. Might as well see if I can learn something too. There’s plenty of guards who like to drink like fish.”

Cornelius smiled. “Sounds good. We’ll see each other tonight. Oh, and…when Renn asks, just tell her that we got offered a good deal on taking on a passenger. I don’t want her worrying about…you know.”

“Understood.”

Later, when it was close to nightfall, I was in my room, reflecting on the events of the day, when Ayla popped in to let me know she’d gotten back. I kicked myself. I’d been so concerned with the mayor’s scheme that I hadn’t even realized she’d been out this late. Something seemed off about her, and I wondered if perhaps she’d had just as bad a day as me.

I tried asking her about it, but she wasn’t in the mood for talking. I decided I’d try again in the morning. Ayla always kept her composure, but tonight there was something different in her eyes—something conflicted. I decided to try again in the morning.

There was no way I could have guessed the bloody business she’d be involved in.

Only a few hours later, just as I was fading into sleep, my door burst open. Ayla stumbled in, red-eyed and covered in blood, carrying a dead child bundled in her cloak.

“Jace—help me!”