Chapter 35 – Operational Deficiencies

We took our time heading back to the Mop. I browsed a few more curios, though the proprietor was a good deal less friendly this time since I’d taken advantage of his good will after he took advantage of my coin purse. Then we headed to a guild mender so that I could get a numbing salve for my new bruises. They’d grandfathered Kridick’s deal to fix up his gang and his fighters as-needed, so the pain relief was on credit. That included a stinging one across my face from the wild-kin’s tail slapping me. Annalisa teased me mercilessly while I winced every time the old, nearsighted, foul-mouthed mender daubed his sticky compound on my face.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a good scrap. Not whatever that disaster at Brokier’s had been. It was the first time I’d used the two of storms in a scuffle, and it hadn’t gone quite how I expected it. When I realized I’d bonded with the card, I dug into the stolen book from Master Hedwin’s office for insight. Lancaster’s Manual of Wills had some interesting things to say about the storms suit that ran counter to, well, every respected soul seeker ever.

The thing is, I was no longer aiming to be a respectable soul seeker.

Chiefly, everyone else thought storms were all about chaos and friction and lightning. Lancaster believed just the opposite. That a storm was an effort to move chaos and imbalance toward balance and order, through violent means. It was a suit of control. Just like he felt towers was a suit of denial instead of protection. I had to admit, I was coming around to his way of thinking. It had gotten me from barely able to fend off a feral mutated cat to jumping into dangerous dens of armed gangs and neutralizing battle wands mid-blast.

We turned down the alley by the canal that would take us back to the Mop. A lamplighter moved past us with his hooded pilot flame at the end of an iron rod and tank of oil. Anna and I backed away from his two armed guards and pressed ourselves to the back of the building. The guards gave us surly looks as they passed. If there’s one constant in the downs, it’s this: You don’t mess with the lamp-lighters guild.

On a whim, I activated the dragon’s gaze. Several pieces of armor across the guards lit up with the impression of enchantment. One of their heads snapped around and locked eyes with me.

“Sorry!” I said, dropping the evocation. I wasn’t sure if he sensed the card itself or the scrying, but either spoke to impressive passive defenses. He looked me up and down, fingers tightening on the iron haft of a spiked rod. After a tense moment, he turned and caught up with the rest of his party.

Still, the fact the most feared guild in Dragonmaw was steeped in magic items, and that even that wild-kin bookie had such a thing as a battle wand to hand reminded me where our own operation was lacking. I fingered my new (old) cravat. “We need more magic items,” I said to Annalisa.

She rubbed the solitary ring on her finger. I’d taken two off the tough, but the other had been a ring of clear sinuses. Apparently, the adventurer had an issue with summer allergies. “Can’t you just make some?” she asked?

I shook my head. “You need a powerful arcanist and an expert craftsman to make a permanently enchanted item that will recharge itself instead of fading over time or going feral. I’m neither.

“I think you could do it,” said Annalisa. “You made those cards, and they’re all sorts of magic.”

“That’s different,” I said. “The cards are conceptual iconography that evoke predetermined metaphysical conduits when power is…” Annalisa’s eyes had already started to glaze over. I huffed. “It’s just different. But, thanks for the vote of confidence.

“Can we buy some?” asked Annalisa. “How much could they cost?”

“Any cost at all is a bit outside our budget, unfortunately,” I said, pressing my fingertips against a significantly lightened purse. “That ring you’re wearing? Two hundred cunnings, easy.”

Annalisa’s jaw dropped. She stared at the little brass ring of alacrity, as if trying to peer into its true value. For a moment I thought she might suggest selling it. But we both knew that tiny edge of increased speed had gotten us through the fight with the deep-sea lamia at Mother Mayaz’ hideout. Her cheeks took on a bit of rose color. “Planes, I’ve never even seen a hundred cunnings.”

“Me either,” I said. In Stitch Alley, silver had been practically mythical. The debt collectors would have smelled a cunning from a half-mile off. My mother had once received three full cunnings as a tip for mending a particularly tricky dress. She had promised me a whole sweet cake to celebrate. But after being accosted three times on the road to the bakery with friendly reminders of overdue debts, we barely had enough left for the crumbs.

The memory left a sour taste in my mouth. I hadn’t really known what was going on at the time, only gotten angry that she’d broke her promise. Recalling it now, it was obvious. Spirits fucking below, I was such a little shit. I guess looking back and being embarrassed by your younger self is a sign that you at least learned something. But I would never get the chance to apologize.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Our arrival to the Mop n’ Bucket was heralded by the tack of hammers and the rasp of saws. Mother Mayaz’ pet mage had done a number on the exterior as well as the interior. But at least the old cat house was open for business again. I pushed past the construction on the façade and held the door open for Annalisa.

My plane-touched partner went straight for the bar. She didn’t concern herself with the operational side of the business as long as the girls stayed safe and she eventually got to throw a punch at someone stronger than herself. I took a moment to look around the interior and spotted a familiar quartet at one of the tables in the back tossing cards and coin. I approached them and pulled up a chair. They watched me as the legs scraped across the floorboards. The big one in the deep coat made to stand and say something about it, but the woman in the silk vest held a hand on his arm.

“Easy, Jack.” She looked at me. “Don’t expect us to deal you in, kit.”

I waited for the big man to take his seat again. “Nice of you to show up after the trouble.”

The one with the queer lute licked his finger and drew a pair of cards off the deck. “You want us to fight your battles for you, baby boy?”

“I don’t need you to fight mine,” I said. That got a laugh, which I brushed off. “But I do need to know if you’ll fight Kridick’s.”

The big one, Jack, barked a raw, phlegmy laugh. “He wants to know if we’re in the ol’ crown's pocket. How’s that for a lark?” He stared me down and his voice turned into its deep, gravely growl. “I look like one of his fighters, to you?”

The brute was no stranger to a fight with his scars and crooked nose. And he had the easy economy of motion unique to especially dangerous men. “Kinda, yeah.”

“We’re in lots of pockets,” said the fourth figure at the table, winking at me. He was shorter than Jack, and almost as wide, with a square chin and an old-fashioned haircut that ran in a bowl around his chin. There was a pendant of a mountain around his throat. “But not Kridick’s. Right?”

“The beer is good here,” said Jack. He took as a swig as if to illustrate. “And the company were, ‘til about a minute prior to now.”

I took the hint, standing. “Fine,” I said. I gave a little mock bow. “Enjoy the establishment,”

“Piss off, already!”

I left them to their cards. I wanted nothing more than a drink and my bed for a few hours until sunset. But Miss Trundi approached me at the bar.

“There’s an upper-city type waiting for you upstairs,” she said.

“Miss Trundi, I’m not one of your charges,” I said. She’d done a fine job keeping the bordello side of the Mop n’ Bucket running smooth as silk in the upheaval. It seemed no matter where you went, the oldest profession was a sure thing. That silver was the only thing keeping the place afloat, and in repairs.

“Nay, boy. This one made even Kridick fret. You’ll not want to keep him waiting.”

I pursed my lips, looking at the fresh-poured lager. I passed it over to Annalisa and pushed to my feet with a sigh. Anna took it gladly and raised it. “Cheers, lightweight!”

“Enjoy,” I said. But I needn’t have bothered. The stein was already half-drained. My mind was already upstairs. With Kridick gone, I had expected a visit of this nature at some point in the future. After all, Kridick had run from someone. And he was one scary fuck. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be in bed with the sort that could scare him. But it was time to meet the devil.

I made it half-way up the stairs before Mithra caught me coming the other way. She had street clothes on, and she would be on her way to make the rounds. It turns out, she had a natural affinity for intelligence gathering, and it seemed like half the whores in Dragonmaw owed her favors. Luckily, she owed me a big one, and was happy to pass on relevant news. She’d slipped into the role of my unofficial spymaster just as well as she slipped into those tight corsets and trousers she favored on nights she worked the Mop’s main floor.

“Any luck?” I asked.

“There’s a pair of drakkyn brothers pushing some new smoking tar from the south. They’re selling it out of a dock warehouse on the edge of the downs. Supposed to make you feel like you’re falling into a cloud.”

“Hmm. I’ll have to pay them a visit,” I said. It’s not that I was against narcotics, or their sale. In theory. As long as we got our cut. But the mind-addled tend to only crave one thing, and I didn’t want coin going to those two brothers that we desperately needed. Not to mention, an addiction could spread through a slum as fast as an open flame through Kindledown. There were plenty of legitimate businesses that would be affected. The smoother businesses ran, the easier protection was to provide—and collect. “What about the sharks?”

“Probing from the east. Jeedle’s got his boys over there when they’re not at the pits. After tonight’s fight, he thinks they may back off.”

“If we win,” I said. I was going to be at that fight. The Mayazians were said to have tried to buy off the sniffer, but they proved to be incorruptible. Convenient for us, since we didn't have deep enough pockets to dole out bribes. Still, I knew the Mayazians would try to cheat somehow. I had to be there to try to counter it. Sniffers couldn’t sense my interference. No doubt there were others that had a light enough touch to sneak past. “Thanks, Mithra,” I said.

“My pleasure, boss,” she said. And then stopped, pursed her lips, and then thought better of it.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Just…” she wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s strange. Kridick kept a hold on this place, kept it safe. But he took it out of the girls when he pleased. And he wasn’t gentle.”

“I thought he didn’t like girls,” I said.

“Well, the boys were on the menu, too. Kridick was an orc of cruel appetites. I guess I was just worried you’d end up more of the same. New boss, same as the old boss, you know? But I’m starting to see that you’re not him.”

“I just don’t want to end up with a knife in my back while my trousers are around my ankles,” I said. “I’m so worried about death creeping up on me, mastering the deck, keeping Barrowdown on lock, and fixing the roof over our heads. It’s hard to think about things like that—not that I have the silver to spare, in any case.”

“All work and no play,” she pouted. She walked past me, and I felt the whip-crack of her tail against my back-side. I hate to admit it, but I yelped, and looked back down the stairs at her. She winked up.

“Nice limp, killer. You know, there’s plenty I can help you with that doesn’t involve your little wand flapping in the wind.”

“Later,” I said. “It’s a poor host that keeps his guest waiting.”