5
unexpected occurrences
The people of the Arcane Basin paid much attention to the rucksack dangling from Vox’s grip, mumbling amongst one another as he passed, perhaps thinking of ways they could knock him down and make off with that sweet, sweet loot without so much as a second thought, but they didn’t. It might have been competitive out here, but people weren’t stupid. Not to that extent, at least.
The trail through the guildtown’s compact steel-grated bridgeways, stairs, and on occasion, elevator units, was more difficult than anticipated, because it was around that time when most factions ceased meetings and began making their way into the city. Raven got some dirty looks, ones that told her to watch herself or else the next thing that would be heading her way wouldn’t be an enchanted arrow but instead a rusty pipe taken from the Basin’s failing infrastructure. It was unnerving, especially considering she was in no position to put up a fight.
Heather had recommended her to visit an apothecary first so that a doctor could have a thorough examination of her injury, but Raven insisted she stay. After all, with what money would she pay the potion master if not the laundered? If Nautilus didn’t give them at least some compensation for her hard-fought effort, then it would be a complete waste of time.
Even if he handed over some of the gold, she would be back for the rest. Vox, Heather, or anyone else in the same situation would do the same.
She knew, however, if she was not quick enough her condition might worsen. After everything that happened with that possibly unauthorised frisking, she was lucky to move her arm still. The pulsing pain never left but instead spread below her lat. Something else had torn; she was sure of it.
When they reached the diverging stairway and the Dreamweavers sign swung gently on its copper hinges, Heather rubbed her bracelet stone, making Nautilus aware of their presence. The door opened and, just like a million times before, they were hit with the foul odour of must and wooden decay. Raven thought they would only have to deal with this for a little longer, because if everything worked out, they would have someplace greater to stay, and with someone not as irrelevant and stingy as Nautilus. A leader with more awareness about a wide variety of kingdoms rather than one. A guild that offered growth, opportunity, power. Perhaps not to the extent of the Enchantment Syndicate but at least something better than this two-roomed dump.
Though she would hate to join another guild without her cousin. Without Heather even. She had grown a liking to her. A professional liking, that was. But change was important. Change was good. Change was necessary.
Nautilus was sitting at the circular table in the meeting room when they arrived, his fingers steepled. He half-grinned. It was the first time Raven had seen him like that. It was a look of pride, and she shared some of that feeling.
“I had a hunch you’d get the job done,” Nautilus said. “We’re claiming what’s rightfully ours. Sooner or later the kingdoms will realise they can’t stop us from doing that.”
Heather was the first to take a seat. She pulled her hood down and Vox handed her a box of matches. Raven sat next to her, and Vox drew the strings of the rucksack apart until the exit hole fell loose. She thought he would leave the sack at the centre of the table, where the glowing blue orb could shine down on it, but instead he shook the contents out, as if he were dumping garbage in a bonfire.
Nautilus scowled at the junk. “What is this?”
Heather pulled a cigar from a small casing inside her cardigan pocket. “Why don’t you answer us first?” She lit a matchstick and burned the cigar’s tip while it was stuck between her teeth. She blew a ring of amber-smelling smoke and leaned forward, pulling an ashtray from the heap and dipping the cinders inside. “Why were we searched? Why were we slammed against the tax table and violated under a new law?”
In a somewhat placating tone, Nautilus said, “A new law?”
“… Fine, don’t answer then. I suppose we’ll keep the stone for ourselves.”
Why was she so hostile? This was the man handling her gold. She should know better. Unless… did Heather know that he knew something? Did he know about that awful, Herculean guard?
Nautilus sighed and then—as if guessing what Raven was thinking—said, “Braum doesn’t care about the council’s procedures. Well, partly so. He follows orders but also dishes out his own, and from time to time, he tries to make orders into laws. And sometimes the council listen. I knew it was only a matter of time before his procedure would be put into probation.”
For a moment, Raven wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “Probation?”
He nodded and wiped his face. “Yes, and there are whole lot more in it, too. The council is catching on to a lot of foul play within these walls—this city, I should say. The smuggling, the dishonesty, the theft from the state. Braum was the one to introduce the use of ‘greater force’ as part of the council’s security procedures. But that’s just what I heard.”
Vox plopped himself down on the seat. Raven flinched, her heart skipping a beat. For someone so large, he sure knew how to blend in with his surroundings, and to not draw much attention to himself. It was frankly alarming sometimes.
“You heard from who?” Vox reached into his jacket pocket, and Raven thought he would finally reveal the Meedan’s Gemstone, but instead he took out the box of smokes with a single cigarette rattling inside.
“Well,” said Nautilus, thoughtful, “I don’t know them directly, only that they’re a member of the Syndicate.”
Vox didn’t need a match to light his cigarette; he lit the tip with his index finger, the purple aura around his body pulsing dimly. He drew the zip across his mask, revealing his pitch-black lips, and smoked the light. “Sounds like these people have the money and the inside scoop.” He sounded clearer, which was to be expected.
“A real scoop of shit, I think,” said Heather. “The council probably knows nothing about his practices. He probably says these things to cover his own ass.”
Nautilus grinned and massaged his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Whatever the case, you’re back, and I’m wholly excited for what you have in store. The big question is… do you have it?” He leaned forward, though Raven was sure he already knew the answer.
Vox reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the large, orange stone. Its pulse was still vibrant despite its inactivity.
Nautilus made an ‘O’ with his mouth and tittered with childlike interest. “It’s beautiful.” Vox handed it to him. “It’s… perfect.”
Raven felt another surge of pain shoot through her shoulder and lat. She did her best to stifle the groan but was unsuccessful.
Heather placed a comforting hand on her back. “She needs a doctor. Make with the coin, Nautilus. We don’t have all day.”
He glanced at Raven’s scarf seeping with blood. He hummed. “I should have known this haul wouldn’t come without a bruise.”
“A bruise?” Raven gritted her teeth, unminding his ignorance. “I need money. Please. Just a little bit so I can pay off the potion master and get healed before sunrise.”
Nautilus dipped his head with a sardonic smile. “I’ll see to it that you’re paid. Only—”
“Damn it, Nautilus! Now!” said Raven, hunching over. She placed her hand on the wound. When she looked at it again, she saw blood all over her fingers and palm.
“Are you—” Heather started to say and then stopped herself. She stood up. “The bleeding: it’s worse.”
“The ash won’t last forever,” said Vox, toneless.
Nautilus extended a hand towards her. “Perhaps I can—”
“You can cough up the coin,” replied Heather. “I’m tired and sweaty and Raven is worse for wear. Give us our goddamn money. Now!”
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Look, I—” he started.
Heather’s eyes lit up with a fiery yellow, mimicking the colour of her now-luminating stone. It was as though she were about to unleash an attack, when in actuality Raven had seen this before, and only when she was truly at a loss for words. “You better fucking pay us or so help the Great Five.”
Nautilus waved his hand. “You’ll get your bloody gold! Alright? I just can’t transfer you all of your earnings right away, both for the fact that I haven’t actually sold anything here yet, and that it would be dangerous for you to walk out of here carrying too much coin at once. You could be—”
“We can handle ourselves,” said Heather.
“—attacked and robbed by anyone, people who don’t care about what happens to them in the long run, or possibly sneakier internal thieves, the sort you might not expect to be listening in on you. Do you think undercover guildmembers are only there to sniff out goods aboveground?”
Raven took a deep breath, blinking rapidly. “You’re saying there are people who know about this?” she said between pained breaths. “About the stone?”
Nautilus nodded, his spade-shaped chin touching the top of his chest. “Most definitely, which is why we need to be cautious.” In response to Heather’s dismissive look, he said, “Of course I’m paying you. A healthy amount, too. I’m not a monster, I assure you that.” He stood up, opened one of the drawers beneath the blackboard, and retrieved a set of keys dangling from a metal ring. He thumbed through them, possibly looking for any distinguishing marks—they were all quite similar—and then got down on one knee.
Raven and Heather made their way around the table, watching with starving eyes, not saying a word.
Once it seemed he had the correct fit, he pulled out a jewel-crested, golden chest from under the desk. He stuck the key inside the lockplate and twisted it. The hasps popped open but there was still an extra step. Raven remembered it from the first time she had been paid. Nautilus placed his hand on the chest, then on the glowing message crystal, and he enunciated: “Unlock.”
A simple spell, but it would only work with his voice, so he had told.
As expected, the chest popped open, and inside lay several linen pouches of what Raven could only assume was two hundred gold coins. It didn’t matter, not right now, because it was more than enough for a regenerative potion. More than enough to get the flock out of here.
Nautilus grabbed the bags and tossed them onto the messy meeting table one by one. Heather snatched two, dropped one in Raven’s bloody hand, and crushed her cigar in the fancy ashtray. It was a toughness Raven hadn’t quite anticipated from her, but she supposed that in this life, you had to be serious about your money or else you’d be taken for granted. Walked over like a dirty bathroom rug.
“We’ll be back,” said Heather sternly. “Forgive me for being harsh, Nautilus. But we’ve waited damn long enough to get something in return.” At that, she made her way out the door, and Raven followed. Vox, however, stayed. Why, he didn’t even pick up the pouch of coin.
“Are you coming, cousin?” Raven said.
Vox didn’t turn. Instead, he dropped the cigarette into the ashtray and placed his index finger inside. Soon the ashtray lit up with a vibrant purple flame, and the glowing blue orb above the table changed to match its colour. He zipped his mask shut and grabbed his pouch of gold. “Thank you.” His voice returned to its muffled undertone.
Nautilus got to his feet and stared at him. “You have a good day now.”
* * *
Heather and Raven were quiet as they returned to the city and made their way to the other side of town. There, the Elixirdale Emporium stood with its rusty iron holding, glass-and-stone walls, and vibrant greenish-yellow backlights. Wizards and witches swarmed all around and past, hundreds, though only a few entered. It wasn’t uncommon for the apothecary to be quiet during the afternoons. Many had work and even more didn’t have to deal with the effects of the outside world to the degree that hunters did. Plus, many witches liked to brew their own potions—Raven’s mother Soroya being a fine example of such—and didn’t see the need to rely on another alchemist to supply medicine for them, especially for three times the price of crafting it themselves. But medicinal alchemy was one of those areas where things could go either terribly wrong or terribly right, and Raven, having little to no knowledge of the craft—and not wanting to risk her life on her youth-obsessed mother’s brewing skills—trusted these professionals for both their prowess and knowledge.
It wasn’t often Raven had to come here, but this had been her greatest injury, and she had to admit, it was quite frightening.
The wind chimes on the door canopy jingled soothingly with nature’s cold exhale. Raven followed Heather through, minding the sign which hung by two pieces of rope and swayed back and forth. There was a strong aroma, or perhaps odour, of acetone and bleach. The potion master must have gotten some fresh ingredients since she last came here.
The sound of piano music played softly across the shop, a song Raven didn’t like so well—a song that sounded dry and automatic, as if it were played by stiff fingers. She looked in the direction of the music near the counter and saw that she was almost right; the piano was playing itself, each key being pushed by the poorly cast spell that brought it to life.
Behind the vacant counter, shelves brimmed with swirling liquids, ceramic pots, and leather-clad sporrans. The shelves along the aisles housed dried herbs, vibrant even in desiccation, jars of breathing roots, and flasks containing silver mists that moved on their own accord.
The chandelier hanging from the midnight-dark ceiling shone with green candles, each socket connected to one another via a chain of marvellous crested jewels.
In the centre of the room stood a heavy oak table worn from decades of use, and on it lay a mortar and pestle, alongside a collection of alchemy tools: bronze tweezers, silver spatulas, and golden funnels. A large tomb, its pages yellowed with age, was spread open on a small altar next to a black pot with a ladle. The Book of Creation, thought Raven, remembering its contents from her school library many years ago, not to mention the dark-green binding, which often signified the sort of alchemy inside. Biological, magical, supernatural… so forth. She didn’t trust the latter two, because there wasn’t much research done on the supernatural, and magic…. Well, it was unpredictable.
Someone stood in front of the vacant counter while others looked around at the shelves. The person was cloaked and drumming their fingers next to the golden bell, leaning forward. The cloaked person slapped the bell loudly and yelled:
“Can I get some service here?”
It was a man, though his voice was slightly high. Raven tried to focus her aura-reading senses on him, thinking that she might be able to figure out why he was so impatient, but no aura appeared. She was simply too weak, and her power had diminished. Heather took a step forward, approaching the man. So did Raven, but, to her horror, her legs jellified. She shifted her weight as much as she could onto her right side, only to crash into the aisle and knock several root jars off their shelves.
Heather caught her, helping her keep balance. She asked her if she was okay, and Raven merely nodded, looking up from the bloodwood floorboard. She had expected the jars to hit the ground, but thankfully, a powerful magic held them in the air, and then carefully each jar wound back into its resting place, as if nothing had happened, as if Raven hadn’t stumbled at all.
The man at the counter was looking back at her. He had an eyepatch and a strikingly feminine appearance: a soft but curvy jawline, no facial hair, thin cheekbones, and crystal-clear skin. Had he not spoken beforehand, Raven might have mistaken him for a woman. Hell, she wasn’t quite convinced this wasn’t one.
Other people around the shop came forward, offering help, but Raven staved them off, saying she was fine.
Before the mysterious man could say anything himself—if he even intended to—a voice came from behind the counter.
“Cominnnnng!”
The potion master. She’s here.
It was hard to forget that lady’s sweet, angelic voice. She was like Soroya in many aspects, but her youth potions kept her looking no older than twenty-five. Her skin was perfect and had none of that flabby skin, her platinum-blonde hair was pulled back into a luxurious bun that threatened to burst from the bobby pins, and her teeth shone with a whiteness so magnificent that they almost sparkled. It was thrilling to think what powerful, expensive alchemy could do for the human body. Fascinating, even.
“I’ve been waiting ten minutes.” The man slammed a pouch of gold on the counter. “I could have been dead by now. A bit of speed, Lyrielle?”
Dr. Lyrielle Dewphial held a large, round vial filled to the neck with burbling purple slush. The label across the glass read in black marker LASHMEND. “Twenty-five, please.”
“Twenty-five?” said the man, reaching into his bag of gold but not bringing himself off the counter. He sucked pain through his teeth, and then Raven saw it: the blood dripping from the bottom of his left pantleg. He wasn’t leaning because he was upset or impatient; he was leaning because he had no choice.
“I’m afraid so,” said Lyrielle. “The price of goods has gone up since—”
“Don’t tell me about the council’s inflation.” The man reached into the bag and pulled out five king’s coins, each worth five gold.
Lyrielle snatched them in her palm and popped them into a drawer.
“This better give me the strongest leg in the cave.” He popped the cork off the bottle and was about to drink it when Lyrielle whipped her hand forward, causing the cork to snap back into the bottle on its own accord.
“What are you—?”
“No potions inside. Read the rules.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of a sign which lay tautly bolted by the back-office doorway. It read, in bright red characters NO POTIONS IN STORE.
“Whatever,” the man grumbled, and he began making his way out of the store, one wobbly step at the time, using the aisles for support. Raven and Heather stepped out of the way so he could reach the exit. He didn’t give so much as a thank-you.
Unable to wait any longer, Raven trudged as quickly as she could to the counter, leaning on Heather for support even though she was sure she didn’t need it. Now that she was here, finally, she had gotten a sudden burst of energy. It must have been the adrenaline trying to maintain her consciousness. She wasn’t sure, but she hoped so. She didn’t want to black out and possibly hit her head off the floorboard.
“Arm injury, is it?” Lyrielle took a step back and pre-emptively reached for one of the potions on the shelf.
“It’s her shoulder,” said Heather.
“And my back.” Raven’s eyelids grew heavy.
“Fifteen gold.” Lyrielle grabbed a long, heart-shaped vial from the shelf; it was glowing with pink gelatinous ooze. “Rub this on your injury and it should purify the blood and seal the wound permanently. Apply it twice daily, every six hours, and preferably after eating. The extra nutrients help—”
Raven reached for her coin bag and found that she couldn’t quite figure out where the drawstrings were. In fact, she couldn’t quite figure out where her hand was. It was a peculiar sensation, like she had lost track of how she’d positioned herself. Her sight became blurred and her skin tingled as if a spike had pierced her back, sending a surge of electricity coursing through her body.
“What…?” An intense sleepiness overcame her; she struggled to keep her eyes open. The energy she had felt only moments ago faded, and soon everything grew hazy, and finally, dark.