“Why are we here?” Damaia grumbled, looking around at the somewhat ostentatious private room. There was a bowl of fresh fruit, several tankards of ale, and a fresh loaf of bread laid out on the table in front of them, but between stress and the frankly absurd amount of gold gilding everything from the furniture to the frames of the wall mounted paintings, the engineer found she had no appetite.
“Because this is where the man who can actually solve your problem is apparently staying.” Lucas looked around at the ostentatious decor with an expression just a hair shy of a sneer. “The Golden Goat may look … excessive, but I've been assured that all this is just a sort of elaborate joke the owner likes to pull on his clients.”
The felblood paused. “The owner?”
“Yep. I did a little poking around while you were consoling your mother, and as luck may have it, an old friend of mine knows the man! This Belycus fellow is apparently a genius when it comes to all things mercantile, the owner of several establishments both here and across Fortissia, and, most importantly, reliable.”
“How exactly will a - what is he, a bartender? A merchant? - whatever his job it seems ill suited to helping find missing people.”
“Don’t underestimate bartenders,” Vivi replied, almost reflexively defending her oldest friend’s profession. "Besides, between people skills and creative lying, there's an astonishing degree of overlap between the skills of merchants and spies."
“Indeed!” the owner of the Golden goat said, emerging from a hidden door in the wall behind her. “Though ye don’t need to pass that around, ye know! I've a reputation to uphold.” The pale, thin, middle aged man slipped past them to take his seat - a cushioned maroon chair that had more in common with a throne than the armchairs the rest of them were sitting in - with an easy smile on his face. "Yer an angry, angsty bunch, eh? Not ta worry, lads and lasses, just tell ol’ Belycus what troubles ye.”
“So it’d seem,” the man said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. The belt around his waist unfurled itself and reached into one of his pockets, pulling out a pen while he pulled out a small notebook from within his jacket using his hands. The belt - or rather, the man’s whiplike tail - wrapped itself around a pen and began to scribble furiously within the book for a moment as he held it open.
“This is quiiiiiiiite the ask. Ye can’t expect me ta just drop everything and dart of to play hero…” he leaned forwards, his nose twitching as he broke into a wide grin.
“At least, not for free.”
Lucas straightened in his seat. Now was no time to be stingy. “How much to get her mother to safety?”
“To Twinwater, in Fortissia,” Damaia specified firmly. “Aiden and Andrew can keep her safe. Assuming Boblin hasn’t blown Aiden’s entire shop up.”
“Aiden?” Belycus said, raising an eyebrow. “Me cousin’s boy’s named Aiden, don’tcha know! What’re the odds?”
“Given that you have an almost identical accent, probably pretty high,” the felblood said with a shrug. The businessman laughed. “Well ain't ye just a charmer?” he chuckled. “Tell ye what - I’ll handle that one for a discount. Say… 50 gold.”
Lucas was very proud of the way he hid his wince. Even with the ludicrous amounts of money he’d started to make as an adventurer, he had yet to truly adapt himself to the kind of coin that merchants and nobles tossed around like nothing. 50 gold would’ve fed his family for a full year when he was a child - and on fresh meat at that!
Jubel, on the other hand, seemed unphased. “25,” he countered cooly.
Damaia opened her mouth, clearly willing to pay whatever it took, but Belycus was already responding.
“Ye’ll drive me outta business, boyo!” he said, clutching his hands dramatically over his heart. “Honest, with Domas as me witness, I can’t drop it lower than 40.”
“I’d feel bad for you - if I didn’t know you were a merchant. You’ve either got shipments headed that direction anyway, or you’re about to break into a new market! 35, and you guard Mrs Rita like she’s worth twice her weight in gold. We’ll even provide the wagon!”
Belycus gasped as if offended, then smirked. “Ye’ve got yerself a deal,” he said gleefully.
Jubel shook the man’s hand with a smirk of his own. “Now for the big one - we need to find where her father’s been taken.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
The felblood - for he was a felblood, Damaia was sure of it by now - smiled so wide that she was sure his jaw would split. “Oh, that? Well, lads and lasses, I think I might just be able to track him down if ye give me a day or two, but it’ll be pricey.”
He drummed his fingers dramatically against the table for a moment before naming his price.
“Ten thousand gold, all upfront.”
Damaia’s blood boiled. He was going to price gouge them? Didn’t he understand that there were lives at stake?!
But that was just it, wasn’t it? The flames of fury in the engineer’s gut were suddenly doused as the pieces fell into place.
There were lives at stake - her father’s, to be sure, but also hers, her mother’s, her teammates’ - but not his. Not yet. As soon as he decided to help him, though, that might change. Would whoever took her father target the merchant’s family? His employees? Old friends? How was he supposed to justify that kind of a risk?
She opened her mouth, but Jubel had already leaned in.
“Have a heart! We’re trying to save an old man’s life!” He managed to sound legitimately offended - until he offered a counterprice. “1000 gold, half now and half when you get the info.”
Belycus’ eyes flashed, and his grin changed to a look of horror. “Would ye impoverish me heirs when this daft mission gets me killed?! 8000 gold, and not a copper less!”
And so the game began again. Damaia listened as the pair argued back and forth, leveling outlandish claims at each other and accusing one another of highway robbery so frequently that the younger felblood quickly lost track of what was even happening. She desperately wanted to say something but… what could she say? She knew the group was down to only 3400 gold across them - she’d kept track of their finances since the dungeon, since the others weren’t half as good at math as she was - but if Jubel wasn’t be able to negotiate a price that low, there’s no way she could, right?
Then it hit her. As Belycus dropped his price to 5000, she stood and leaned over the table towards him, smirking.
“3000 gold, all up front - and 60% of whatever we loot along the way.”
This wasn’t like a dungeon, where wealth and glory was the whole point. They were on a rescue mission.
They were, however, still adventurers. Taking everything that wasn’t magically sealed to the floor was part of the job description! Besides, by the time she was through with her father’s kidnappers, she suspected they wouldn’t have much use for material belongings.
Jubel laughed as the entrepreneur blinked, dumbfounded. He seemed to consider for a moment, scribbling in his notebook once again as if trying to calculate something.
“I could never take such a risky deal... for less than 80%.”
“Deal,” Valorous said in unison.
“S’always a pleasure to meet folks that know how the game is played,” he said as he shook hands with each of them. Leaning in as he reached Jubel, he grinned. “That goes double for you, boyo. Did ye have a tutor, by chance?”
The half elf shook the offered hand with a crooked grin. “Yeah - though my uncle probably didn’t realize he was teaching me anything. You learn a lot when you listen more than you speak.”
“Ain’t that the truth? Pity so few folks know it these days. Well then, let’s get all this in writin' and get to work!”
Damaia paused. “Is that what you’ve been doing with that notebook? Writing up a contract?”
Belycus nearly doubled over with laughter, shaking his head. When she shot him a questioning glance, the merchant simply spun his notebook to face her.
A mess of haphazard, pointless scribbles covered the page.
“Kept ye guessin’, didn’t it?”
The engineer was very proud of herself for resisting the urge to break his jaw.
----------------------------------------
When disaster strikes, there are few things more difficult to do than nothing at all. It’s in the nature of most living beings to take action to protect themselves and their family whenever the opportunity arises - at least, as far as Damaia knew - so it was only natural that being in a situation where she couldn’t even form a proper plan would drive her utterly mad with anxiety.
For the first couple of days, she buried herself in busywork. She polished, refurbished and adjusted not only her own armor, but every piece of equipment the team had to their names. She was about to run out to the local luthier for advice on the proper wax to use on Vivi’s violin on the morning of the third day when the team politely but firmly put their collective feet down.
She was only making herself more anxious, they said. She needed to take time to breath, to relax, to clear her mind… things which were, of course, utterly impossible while her father was still missing. Where the hell was that merchant?!
Still, she tried. She sat with her mother, drank tea, and reminisced, thinking back to better times. Simpler times. Times with Mama, Papa - and Garett.
How long had it been since she thought of her brother? What would he do, if he knew about all this? Probably go beat the people responsible senseless. He was a bit of a brute, sometimes.
Three sharp knocks shook drew her attention back to the present. She darted to the door, not even needing to fake the frantic desperation her eyes as she revealed -
Belycus.
“Sorry fer the delay, lass,” he said in his typical brogue. “Didn’t mean ta frighten ye, don’t ye know. I just thought ye might be eager for a bit o’ news, and ‘round the same time I had that thought, I happen to come across a bit o’ useful info for ye!” He gave her a devilish smile as he brought out a familiar notebook from inside his jacket, tapping the cover with one finger. “We should probably see to gettin’ yer ma outta town right quick, don’t ye know, cause I think I’ve found just what yer looking for.”