Seth asked with a hint of rasp in his voice, “So, what do I stand to lose?”
“Nothing at all, you can relax,” Murphy quipped with a smirk, gesturing slightly with his hand. “We're in a purely symbiotic alliance, though occasionally, we might require a teensy bit of accommodation from you.”
“And if I refuse?” Seth inquired, seemingly intrigued.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, sir. You're not the only side branch in the Reed family tree. I haven’t got the time or interest to retaliate against you just for scuppering our lofty goals,” Murphy drawled, doing his best impression of the Riddler.
Seth’s aged yet grave features sagged slightly as he studied the flickering candlelight before slowly acquiescing. “I… I agree.”
“Splendid, Mr. Seth. I look forward to a fruitful partnership,” Murphy chuckled lightly. “Now, the first task I need from you: someone might try troubling a merchant named Alaric soon – he’s one of our guys. You do what you think best, okay?”
“Yes,” Seth nodded, bowing his head.
The still room's candle flame snuffed out quietly, and when Seth relit it, the room was empty of the man in the skull mask.
---
In a basement somewhere in the City of Gath, a tense group huddled around a table – every member involved in hiring adventurers to go after Alaric was there.
"What do we do now?" one merchant quivered.
"How should we know? He had one accomplice, yet defeated our four top dogs. Absolutely terrifying," a voice answered in shock.
"Silence! Joel, your thoughts?" commanded the old merchant Ralf at the table’s head, instantly calming the room.
All eyes turned to Joel at the table’s side, the Guild President of Gath with a plastered smile, "Rest assured, Mr. Ralf, and everyone else. It’s all under control. Alaric thinks he's so clever, shorting me and trying to cut ties. I'll show Seth just how Alaric’s in bed with demons and have him hanged in the public square."
"Good, get to it," Ralf responded. "We may lose a smuggling profit, but snuffing out this issue isn’t a bad thing."
The murmurs of agreement echoed as the merchants prepared to scatter to their businesses.
Three nights later, while presenting tax reports to Seth, Guild President Joel sidled up to him and whispered, “Mr. Seth, I have an urgent matter to report.”
After the room cleared, Joel, all business, divulged, “Seth, the Guild’s noticed Alaric with shady riches, likely demonic smuggling. A serious breach of kingdom law. I’d consider it an obligation to report it to you, aligning with the earl’s fair judgment.”
Joel rattled off his rehearsed speech, only to be met by Seth’s baffling silence.
Glancing up, Joel was puzzled by Seth’s inscrutable expression, one that read, “Are you an idiot?” yet seemed content as if cradling a prized keepsake.
Regretting his oversight, Joel hastily added, “Of course, Mr. Seth, Alaric's questionable largesse should rightfully be managed by you, demonstrating the earl's unwavering support for kingdom law.”
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Seth's scornful snort followed, “Very well, you may leave. I'll handle it.”
With a bright smile and a bow, Joel scurried out, his light steps fading away.
After Joel's departure, Seth's façade crumbled into fury. Sweeping the heavy tax documents from the desk, he muttered, “Mr. Butler! Curse the bloody butler! Someday they’ll all see I'm not some damn butler.”
By evening, all attendees from the basement meeting learned of Joel's denunciation of Alaric.
Now they waited for the good news – of Alaric's ruination, hanging at Gath square, or perhaps a royal execution.
Three days passed with no word; the restless merchants were hushed by the seasoned Ralf.
Five days later, still nothing; and as some resolved to seek Joel's explanation, Ralf calmed them, reminding, patience begets victory.
On the seventh day, a spy spotted Alaric’s son training his swordsmanship.
The atmosphere among the merchants was stifling. Pressured, Ralf personally sought out Joel, who deflected responsibility onto the earl’s administrative inertia, pleading the merchants to wait on.
Day ten brought activity – but unwelcome.
“Count Reed's former Guild President Joel, colluding with demons, embezzling five hundred seventy gold coins, and commissioning murders has been convicted. Under direct order from Count Harry Reed, by holy Heracles' laws, for his pile of crimes, we are to hang Joel.”
With the pronouncement, Gath square housed an execution stage and Joel, the once self-assured President, now stood numb, bound at center stage as cries of "Yes!" and “Damn him to hang!” echoed from the onlookers.
Seven or eight meters from the stage, an agitated crowd of commonfolk and hawkers, admittedly clueless to the backstory, yet trusting the earldom guard, believed the corpulent man at the gallows was the source of their strain.
Especially after hearing of the colossal sum of five hundred seventy gold coins; such a fortune, they thought, the man surely deserved his fate.
Among the riled commons, cloak-and-dagger merchants and spies, all sweating coldly, feared the gallows weren’t just for Joel today.
With the executioner's command, Joel swiftly dropped, the rope tightened, a faint snap heard by those nearby, followed by the all-too-familiar scent of death, prompting the masses to part, creating chaotic scenes around the scaffold.
The spies and merchants wanted to flee but were trapped by the throng, one even copping a few hits in the crush.
After confirming Joel's demise, guards unceremoniously bagged the body, while carpenters dismantled the stage, and the audience dispersed - after all, spectacle doesn’t pay the bills.
A stern, upright elder ascended the center of the platform, clearing his throat with an air of austere dignity, “Good afternoon, citizens of the earl. The former Guild President stood guilty of grave crimes and has been duly executed. But the Guild, crucial for Gath's and the earldom’s flourishing, cannot lack a leader.”
“Recall the verdict? How Joel paid dearly to silence those refusing to collude?”
“This man, Mr. Alaric, runs a humble grocery in Gath. Unbeknownst to many, he withstood oppression, choosing instead to donate a share of his profits to City of Gath's charity.”
“After consensus among the Guild and the earl's ratification, I, Count Reed’s butler Seth officially appoint Alaric as the earldom’s new Guild President.”
A trimmed Alaric approached, exchanged a handshake with Seth, and donned the gilded Guild President's badge. As he addressed the gathered, the crowd returned, now engrossed in his inaugural speech moved by his narrative, while if Joel still lived, they’d eat him alive.
In stark contrast to the furious faces were the spectating merchants, puzzled over when they voted, yet unnerved at the prospect of folks recognizing them at any second.
“…I, Alaric, merely born a common merchant, entrusted by the respected earl, vow to dedicate my efforts to the Guild President's duties and not betray your trust!”
Upon the speech's end, the rattled merchants waited out Seth’s dismissal, then alongside citizens at dusk ebbed into the streets, vanishing like water into the earth.
Together, the merchants returned to Ralf’s basement, ghostly pale, recounting the square’s events.
“All’s lost, we should've never acted personally..." one merchant lamented, head buried in hands.
“Shut your yap, you bloody coward Sato, can’t stop harping on about the past...” another merchant burst, visibly irate.
Ralf, typically composed, couldn’t contain frustration, “Enough! Our priority is unity. Although Alaric dealt with Seth, the old dog, he’s only the new Guild President and without connections – we still have a chance.”
One merchant erupted, eyes wild, “What chance? The man has a protector; oppose him and it’s game over."
Ralf, unable to quell the group, laid out his plan with poised confidence, “Is trading a crime now? He wouldn’t dare harm merchants who are just doing business. Unite, strike, and we escalate this issue until Alaric’s back in his kennel!”