Chapter 45 - Maps, Meds, and Meals

“So, we’ve got mates squared,” I said. Annalisa nodded her agreement. “But do we want more? One of Jeedle’s fighters, maybe?”

“Jeedle’s got them training for fights,” said Annalisa. “I don’t want to pull them away from the pits just to help me.”

I rubbed my chin. “As those fights are our primary source of income, I’m inclined to agree. So, we’re on to maps.”

“Covered,” said Annalisa without hesitation. I raised an eyebrow at her. She beamed back, as proud as I’ve seen her. “My father is in the Cartographer Guild!”

“Convenient, if we were planning a trek overland,” I said. We moved out of the way as a lamplighter came down the street with his guards in tow. “But we’ll need specialized charts for the undercity. Potions, too.”

“My brother Votay is an alchemist,” she said.

We resumed our path, ascending up a set of switchback steps toward the middle city.

“You’re joking,” I said. “I don’t suppose one of them is a weapon smith that could make us magic items on the cheap?”

Annalisa narrowed her brows and tapped her chin. “Blane is a smith, but he’s in Saltforge. That’s weeks away, though.”

“And an even worse idea than buying them here,” I said. “Saltforge has the Adventurers Guild headquarters. Magic items are more expensive there than anywhere.”

“At least provisions are easy,” Annalisa pointed out. “The cannery puts out tinned rations for sailors and delvers.”

We spent the rest of the walk to Brokier’s delver contact debating the virtues of various rations. I’m sure the people we passed would have mistaken us quite easily for adventurers, had I not been wearing my seeker robes and had Annalisa’s badge not said Champion of Dragonmaw in little, red letters.

It took me a few moments after leaving the downs to wonder what the difference itching at me was. I discounted the wider streets, the cleaner buildings, the nicer clothes, the—look, I discounted a lot of little differences. What I think really naggled me was the lack of something. Because while the downs lack for many things, the smell associated with slums was in no short supply. Fresher air in the middle city was becoming foreign enough to put me on edge. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

The address Brokier had provided us turned out to be a small town flat just a mile north of the middle city arena where Storm-laden had his recent fight. The front row had a small herb garden and a sign hanging from the door in elvish. I didn’t read much elvish, but a quick tap of the four of knaves informed me that it said something along the lines of Knock, stranger, and wait. I tapped on the door knocker and did just that. And was surprised—just as surprised as the occupant—to see a familiar face opposite the threshold.

The elf recovered first, smiling friendly, if apprehensively. “The seeker from Nailbottom and Dour Street,” he said. “Darcent, yes?”

“Yes,” I said, wracking my memory. The elf now sported a sling around his left arm and a line of sutures along his scalp, but I still recognized him. “Alondalis, right?”

“Shouldn’t you know? It’s you who knocked on my door.”

I dropped my hood back. “I suppose it’s a bad look for a seeker to not know who he’s meeting.”

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Alondalis looked past me at Annalisa. “We’re all entitled to surprises, now and then. Please, come in. Tea?”

“Gods, yes, thank you,” I said. Finally, someone civilized. The inside of the elf’s flat was somewhat cramped, but no more than most houses in the middle city. He had lots of shelves with curios common to any mage. He also had a collection of books on classic arcanism that I scrutinized enviously as Alondalis put the kettle on. The hearth was cold, but Alondalis made a quick gesture with his good hand and a small flame kindled just below the kettle. Annalisa flopped into the comfiest looking chair in the main room and wrapped her tail around her legs.

“This must be the infamous Annalisa of Dunnemarsh,” he said, turning from the fire and offering his hand with a slight bow. Of course, Annalisa hadn’t been educated in the finer points of courtesy. Rather than daintily taking his proffered hand, she grabbed him by the wrist and shook it until I thought the elf’s teeth might rattle loose.

“Nice to meetcha!” she said, likely ecstatic that her reputation proceeded her.

Alondalis extricated his hand and worked some blood back into his fingers. “Yes, well. Imagine my surprise at learning what the penny-seeker I’d consulted had been up to while I was on a delve.”

“Speaking of,” I said, “I take it things did not go well?”

“About as well as you predicted,” said the elf, easing into the chair opposite Annalisa. “For someone who claims to not see the future, your divinations were remarkably accurate.” I remained standing, perusing the titles. Many concerned the undercity, but several were more general books on magical philosophies. One caught my eye, in part because the towers in my deck buzzed when my eyes slid over it, and I pulled it down from the shelf.

“Have an interest in wards, do you?”

“Yes,” I said, thumbing through the pages of very complex spell forms I had no idea how to interpret but made the towers very excited. “But that’s only tertiary to my visit.” I snapped the book shut and replaced it on the shelf. “To be frank, my friend and I are in need of magic items to shore up our operations—but lack the coin to buy them outright. We were told you were a quite knowledgeable fellow where delves are concerned.”

“Hardly,” he scoffed, shrugging his bad shoulder and wincing. “And not again for some time, should I have anything to say about it. More often, I make tools for delvers. Nothing permanent, mind. Limited use wands, smokeless lanterns, herbal potions.

The kettle began to whistle, and Alondalis moved to rise. I held out a hand. “Allow me,” I said, and pulled the kettle off the hearth. I spied a tea set and spooned a measure of ground leaf into the infuser, before pouring the boiling water into the pot to steep. I took a moment to sniff the fragrant blue grounds appreciatively.

“That’s an Azurenon blend,” said Alondalis. “Good stuff.”

Alondalis was very down-to-earth for an elf, who typically act their age. Maybe he was only slightly older than he looked. Fifties, perhaps. Young, for an elf. His house didn’t scream generational wealth, but the imported tea meant he did well enough for himself. He was too young to have true mastery over his tradecraft. Elves learn much slower than humans, needing many more iterations and repetitions to improve. But they eventually reach a much higher level of mastery. Once I poured the tea, he settled back once more. Anna took hers, sniffed at it, and wrinkled her nose.

“So,” said Alondalis, “You’re prepping for a delve.” It wasn’t a question because the elf was no fool. He looked between the two of us. “How well do you trust each other?” he asked.

“We’ve been in multiple scrapes that neither of us would have seen the sunrise without the other.”

“Good,” said the elf. “Because the undercity is not the place to attempt to forge such bonds. It only tests them. And everyone from here to the public entrances has one goal: to separate you from your coin. Most of what you’ll find offered to adventurers is cheap imitation at best, and pure fakes at worst. That includes most scrolls, potions, maps, and mercenaries.”

“That bad?” asked Annalisa.

“If anything, he’s being too kind,” I said. “Cheating adventurers is practically city tradition in Dragonmaw. Dissatisfied customers tend not to come back.”

“Well of course not,” she said.

“From the undercity, Anna.”

“Oh…”

Part of me wondered if she still didn’t grasp the danger inherent in our exercise. Even a short delve carried risk. I sipped my tea and turned back to the elf. “You come recommended. What do you have that’s worth the silver?”

“Tea first,” said Alondalis, raising his cup. “Then business. I do so relish meeting humans. You live but a century, and in that time you become a completely new person ten times.”

Elves and their pleasantries. Master Hedwin had been the same way, the first night I’d come to the guild academy. Fourteen years old, ripped from my home and stained with blood of both victim and villain, and the old elf had asked if I took sugar or honey.

The tea took on a flavor almost as bitter as the memory. I drank it down anyway. We do as we must.