This is a game of Finders Keepers set in the city of Marlinko. The dramatis personae are:
- Atiin Brigantia, a brilliant but lazy lunatic
- Edward "the Wild" Bleestocles, a leper disowned by his wealthy family
- Jacobin "Jackass" Valentin, a soulless bastard
- Tadzio Checker, an estranged son of a powerful mage
 |
| From Fever-Dreaming Marlinko |
Jarek's Tiger Pit, late afternoon
It is true what they say about the air in Marlinko: It carries a strange, impalpable lightness; one could swear it sometimes spreads some sort of glow around the buildings and even on the people walking on the streets. The air, it has a dreamlike quality about it. One just cannot be sure whether it is a good dream, or a bad one.
Jarek's Manse and Tiger Pit is one of Tadzio's favourite places in town. The rest of the gang usually bets on him, since he's proved himself time and time again to be unnaturally gifted (or lucky) when it comes to dealing with such beasts. And there he is right now, at the pit's very centre, wrestling a big cat; having started this one with the upper hand, Tadzio suddenly loses his footing for a second there; the tiger takes advantage of this brief opening and jumps on its prey. Yes, Tadz is starting to look rather weary; the tiger, as expected, tries to chew the poor guy's head off his neck. It's not so sure he's going to get away with his life this time.
From the middle of the rowdy crowd of some eighty or so drunkards, all apparently cheering the cat's imminent victory, Tadzio's friends watch with growing unease.
Edward is a once-handsome man of noble birth who earned his moniker "the Wild" by gambling away much of his family holdings in these very pits, until he was disowned and banished. With nothing left except a few odd trinkets and the strange disease he picked up from a woman-of-the-night slowly eating away at his flesh, Ed is seriously considering suicide-by-tiger to at least offer his friend Tadz a chance at life.
The man known as "Jackass" is a smiling bastard in a tricorne hat. He's conventionally handsome but personally odious, with a reckless attitude and a foul mouth. Until now he'd been drinking and schmoozing his way around the Pit, but now has paused to catch Tadzio's imminent demise. Seeing Edward, he approaches the gambler.
"Holy SHEEEYIT Eddie! Tadz is going out as kitty dinner! Huh. I wouldn't've seen that coming... Should we, like, do something?"
Somehow, Tadz has managed to pull himself out of the tiger's embrace and, more importantly, his head out of the animal's mouth. He's bloodied alright. He gasps and wheezes as the tiger's booming voice fills the pit.
"You son of a bitch!" the tiger growls, pointing his big paw at Tadz: "In this death trap of a circus you killed uncle Smokey, my cousin Theo, his cousin Lucky and my own pa! You're done. Let this be remembered as the day that Bandit has sent the Cat Killer to his demise!"
Still catching his breath and glancing at the audience, Tadzio mutters: "...I guess I'm more of a dog person, after all."
The sound carries, though, and the audience revels in response to the quip. Bandit, humiliated, dashes forward, roaring, and rakes Tadz over the chest, leaving bloody claw marks behind.
Edward sighs and tells Jack: "Eyo, I've got a gun and I'm thinking about causing a ruckus - see if we can get this all called off in the madness. You in?"
"I'm definitely in!" says Jack and gulps down the rest of his drink.
As they get up and approach the railing, they nearly trip over an individual sleeping on one of the lower benches, drooling slightly from his way too large jaw.
Jack looks down at the guy: "Wake up, Atiin! We're about to make a ruckus!" But Atiin only rolls over on the other side.
"He's got a gun!" Ed yells, shoots into the air and starts running towards the access gate to the Pit with Jack in tow, just as people all around are starting to get up, alarmed.
Something about the arena's acoustics definitely helps with the ruse, so that both the gunshot and Edward's voice sound like they've originated from over there - no, there, farther away, behind that corner, perhaps? Anyway, half of the attendees are attracted to the bang and start running towards its multiple presumed origin points with idle, dumb curiosity. The other half flees to the closest exit.
The portcullis closing off entrance to the arena proper is unmanned, with a note on the stool where a gatekeeper usually sits saying "BRB". Together, Ed and Jack manage to crank the gate open.
"Over here!" Jackass calls to Tadz, motioning for him to come to the open portcullis. His yelling distracts Bandit the vengeful tiger for an instant. He turns to Jack with an unreadable expression and Tadzio immediately grabs a random plank from the ground and hits the big cat on the back of the neck, then runs away.
This gives Edward a clear shot and he gleefully takes it. The tiger roars in pain and falls on the ground, stunned, but not dead. As Tadz sprints over the arena to the open gate and the tiger struggles to stand up, Ed carefully reloads his firelock, takes aim and blows the tiger's head off.
Tadz makes the rest of the way to the gate with a smirk on his face.
"Wheew! Close call! I thought that was it for me this time."
He seems to be about to say more, but then turns his focus to something behind Ed and Jack. From there comes a screeching cry of pure desperate rage, followed by: "YOU KILLED MY BAN-BAN! WHY?!"
***
Jarek's Tiger Pit, on the stands
Meanwhile, Attin has finally woken up when someone accidentally dropped their beer on him. He sit up and screams: "THE TIGERS ARE REVOLTING!!! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!"
Some people nearby disperse in a hurry, but most just stay there, dumbfounded. A big, tattooed guy without pants stares at Atiin intently. He says in a nasal voice: "Hell yeah, man. About damn time. About damn time." And off he goes.
"Right-o," Atiin says and grabs after a stuffed sack someone forgot on the bench right next to him in their hurry to run away.
However, so does a sneaky young lady with wild blonde hair, wearing a fancy dress. Her eyes meet Atiin's, startled for a moment, then quickly narrowing to slits full of mischief and determination. Atiin's fingers slip on the bag, but he plays it off as if he was giving it to the woman, with a wink.
"Divide and conquer or would you prefer to hold hands?" he says, fidgeting with his clothes a bit.
The lady chuckles in response, now casually holding the pouch. She opens it, takes a peek inside, glances back at Atiin.
"Well, I suppose I could pay you a drink or two at the Drunken Troll, if you promise me that this stays between us."
"I'm Atiin. Give me your name and I will meet you there later."
"You don't need to know my name just yet. Meet me there in, say, a couple of hours? Perfect. It's a date, then!" she says as she stands and quickly exits the upper gallery, leaving behind a soft scent of geranium.
***
Jarek's Tiger Pit, access tunnel
Behind Ed, Jack and Tadz stands Jarek the nagsman, tears pouring down his reddened eyes. He owns the Tiger Pit and most definitely just saw how they put down one of his feline employees.
"Who-what? Where am I? Grandpa, is that you? I'm coming towards the light!!!" Edward screams and then dramatically "faints".
Jack catches the falling Ed and addresses Jarek: "Excuse me, Sir, we'll let you mourn in peace, if you'd kindly step aside... Tadz, we really need to get Eddie some air! Grab his feet, we'll carry him out."
Jarek, however, is not amused: "You must be out of your minds if you think this charade is going to fly. I can see your friend's literal smoking gun right there! It is literally still letting out smoke!" He calls for the gatekeeper: "Georg, get in here!"
Jack glances at Tadzio and mutters: "Can't you just, y'know, buy him off?"
Tadzio steps forward: "Jarek, c'mon, man. I've killed a bunch of your tigers myself in previous fights and still you keep letting me do this every week. Can't you just let us off the hook on this one too?"
Jarek takes a deep breath: "You stupid rich boy! Only reason I let you do this is your dad, whose generosity has consistently compensated me for every single carnage you have thus far promoted on my pit. Is he gonna pay for your friend's as well? Excuse me if I have a hard time buying that."
Tadz turns back to Jack and shrugs: "Well, I tried, but he's got a point. Dad's not gonna pay to save your asses."
"Not to mention the sentimental value! Bandit was my best fighter!" Jarek's tears resume. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand. Georg the gatekeeper is glowering from behind him.
"Look," Jack says, "I understand you lost a valuable asset today, but I almost lost a friend today and, uh, isn't friendship the most, uh, something of all?" Then he drops Ed, tries to shove past Jarek and make a run for it, but immediately bounces off of Georg and falls flat on his butt.
Jarek sighs and motions for Georg: "Get him and that clown who's playing dead."
Tadzio asks in an annoyed tone: "This is bullshit. Can I at least be excused? I did nothing to your tiger this time."
"Like the Cold Hell you didn't," Jarek spits. "These are your clique. You stay the fuck where you are. Your dad and the Grandmaster of Hives are going to hear about it later today, as I've been personally invited to a Council meeting that will discuss the details of this year's Great Race." He looks pretty proud of himself as he mentions it.
From the stairs up to the stands comes Atiin and approaches Jarek: "Clearly you are in charge here. I wanted to personally thank you for catching these, eh... criminals that would, ummm... pervert the great and noble Tiger Pit." And he spits in the direction of his friends. "I humbly offer my, uhhh... assistance with their, umm... transport."
Caught off-guard and perplexed, Jarek offers only a long silence. But then he clears his throat and says: "Ah, thank you, my boy! See that, Georg? What a... fine... what's the word I'm looking for here? ...Hmmm... ...Hmmm... Citizen! Yeah! Citizen! A fine citizen, indeed. Reminds me of a very serviceable gentleman I once met at Lady Szara's manse, during the the annual Bathe in the Blood of Your Servants Charity Ball..." He sighs. "Very well, then. You take care of this one. Now follow me!" And Jack ends in Atiin's hands.
The whole group crosses the garden and heads to Jarek's big house, to which the already imposing domed building that houses the Pit is but an appendage, then continues along the ample stairway to the upper floor, as Ed's limp body goes bonk-bonk-bonk, still being dragged by Georg, and Atiin notices several painted portraits of Jarek next to minor local celebrities, all decadent aristocrats that look bored and annoyed as hell. On the second floor, Jarek leads everyone into a room; its walls only half painted. A couple of ladders and the contractor's tools are all the decor it has to show for now. He points to a long bench and the gatekeeper just drops Edward on the floor.
"So," Jarek begins as he walks from one side to the other, "the way I see it, you don't have a lot of options: I could send you to the Guild of Bloodletters, but that sounds to me like it'd be too mild a punishment. I could turn you to the Council and press them to charge you with Premeditated and Non-Licensed Murder, but that would result in either public execution or, best case scenario, you'd be repurposed as convict-jockeys at the Great Race. And I bet you all suck ass as riders, don't you?"
He lets a long rhetorical pause go by.
"So what I'd like to offer you here is the opportunity to pay me by being useful in another fashion. I'd like you to steal the Great Race trophy from the Golden Swine district Undercouncil. Thing is, it has to be soon. Ideally in two days, just before the opening ceremony to this year's Great Race."
"I don't know how I got here," Ed replies groggily, "but I'll do it or die trying!"
"Ummm," Atiin starts, "I will leave you to your business then, Sir. Uhhh..." Yet he awkwardly lingers.
Jarek spins and stares at Atiin, a formal grin stuck across his face. He keeps grinning, but his eyes start to dart around, clueless. Then it hits him.
"Ah, yes. Of course, my lad." And he shoves hands in his shirt pockets, all hidden under kilos of bling, probing for something. "Here it is!"
Jarek hands Atiin a piece of paper. There's an etching stamped on one side. It is a representation of Jarek sitting on a regal-looking chair. He has a tiger cub on his lap. It says: "Jarek the nagsman and Bandit wish you a prosperous new year". Dated from four years ago.
"Thank you for your services, kind citizen. And... err... Go Bees! Am I right?" he chuckles unconvincingly.
Atiin heads out the door, but quickly says: "I will treat this as an IOU, then." Unwilling to be seen reconvening with the others, he heads off to his date at the Drunken Troll Inn.
Jarek turns back to the other three: "Sleepyhead there is in, he says. What about you, fools?"
Tadz shrugs. "Sure, whatever."
Jackass sighs, but smiles: "What can I say? I've been looking for just such an opportunity to come my way for some time now! Count me in!"
And Jarek is rejoiced, shakes everyone's hands, and has Jack, Ed and Tadz escorted out of his mansion, this time in a slightly less rough manner.
Just before getting back inside, Georg says: "A messenger will come looking for you at your residential address within twelve or so hours. They will hand you the blueprint to the Golden Swine's Undercouncil building. Master Jarek advises you to study it as carefully as you can. The trophy room is heavily monitored. If you get caught, do not try and pin this on us. We will deny any involvement, and we will know where to find you."
He is halfway back to the manor when he suddenly returns to ask: "By the way, where do you live?"
Ed smiles wildly: "Currently slumming it up with a nice man with a box. You know, the Nice Man with a Box Inn. Only place I could afford, it's in the Mendacious Mercator."
Everybody else lives in a shared apartment in the Golden Swine neighbourhood where they are far behind on rent, but while they can put up with a lot, they couldn't put up with the ubiquitous scent of rotting meat and pungent medicines that accumulates in any room where Ed spends too much time. Thus he was booted a few weeks ago. Georg has to bear hearing all this before he is given the address, too.
He nods: "Very well. Seems like we will be sending two messengers, then." And he is gone.
"Anyone knows where Atiin disappeared to?" Jack ventures. With no answer to be had, he goes off, muttering under his breath.
Now that they have apparently dodged quite the bullet, Ed and Tadz are back to loitering about the Sullen Apiarian district. Tadz is bragging about how he would have resorted to punches if Jarek kept pressing them and insulting them like that and whatnot. His babbling kinda fades to the background, honestly, as they all walk past those once majestic, now decayed buildings in which the fancy-pants live.
It's nearly evening now, and they're not the only ones with nothing better to do on the streets. It just so happens that, around the Sullen Apiarian, people tend to dress nicer than Ed, even nicer than Tadzio who enjoys dressing below his station.
A bunch of such well-dressed guys now goes out of their way to pick on the duo: six young men in wigs and nice coats, cackling and drinking from bottles, singing out of tune - a stupid song about the Sullen Apiarian's inescapable victory in the upcoming Great Race. Lined up, taking up all of the sidewalk's space, they are headed right for the duo, probably up to no good and playing a game of chicken. They seem intent to see if they can force such sorry-ass hobos out of the sidewalk.
"What are we if not animals who enjoy fun," Edward mutters as he tears some of his clothing to reveal the nasty holes in his flesh left by his mysterious disease. "BACCKK! STAY BAACKKK, LEST THE GREAT PLAGUE STEAL YOUR BEAUTY AND YOUTH! FOR STATION IS OF NO CONSEQUENCE TO THE WINDS OF DISEASSEEEEE!! BAAACCCCKKK I SAYYYYYYYY!!!!"
He embellishes his sudden outburst with lots of coughing and rattling of his fists at the sky like a mad prophet.
"Awmuhgawd, he's got the Plague!" says one rake.
"J-j-just get going!" squeaks another one. "G-g-get outta here, ya destitute sod! We wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole if we had one, so don't worry!"
"He's got no damned Plague! It's just one of Lady Szara's guests, I'm positive." ponders a third one upon closer inspection.
"However d'you mean?" goes the first one.
"Y'know, like that scoundrel Kugel. He used to pay Szara a visit every other day. Now you don't even see 'im any more! And when you do, he's got that sick look about 'im, like the fellow's skipped 'is own funeral or sum'n."
"Oh, ghastly. Just the other day he- blah blah blah" and they are already away, headed to the Flaming Goat tavern by the western gate, most likely.
Tadz pats Ed on the shoulder: "Well played, Ed. We should have mugged them, ya know. Smug pricks. Next time, I guess."
"But we should be looking for ways of getting paid somehow," he goes on. "This Jarek business may keep you guys out of jail, but I'm not sure how long the landlord will refrain from pressuring us. Pretty sure he's kept to himself so far just because my dad. He'll build up the courage, eventually, though."
"Right... wasn't sure we could take that many. Anyway ...moneyyyy..." Edward ruminates on that for a bit.
***
The Tomb Plaza, evening
"Where could he have disappeared to," Jack mutters for himself as he's approached by a crazy-moustachioed man dressed like a fucking dandy.
"Hello! My name is Kytel. You and me. Single combat. Fifty gold. I bet that I can draw blood from you, fine gentleman, before you can even scratch my shirt," the man says.
"Kytel, ya old so-and-so!" Jack exclaims. "I'll duel ya, sure."
For a second, Kytel seems nonplussed, but then he smiles widely: "Ah, yes! Atta boy, that's what I'm talking about! En garde, then! Waitaminute, where's your rapier?"
"Does a rapier wit count?" Jackass asks, then wiggles his eyebrows playfully. "Besides, any true martial enthusiast knows swords are so overrated!"
He bangs on his shield. "Same bet - I'll make your pretty moustached face bleed with just this! Fifty gold AND the suit off your back!"
"What kind of barbaric animal are you?" Kytel looks truly offended, terrified even, at the mere thought of a duel that does not involve the complete set of rites and props he has dedicated his whole life to master. "I see now. You're no gentlemen... My mistake. Won't happen again."
"Aww, come on Kytel!" Jack calls out. "I just said that because you're cute when you get all huffy! Besides! Isn't it unsportsmanlike to renege on a challenge? Show me what skill a true swordsman has!"
"Fiiine," Kytel says, still pouting. "We will have our duel. However, I cannot allow you to engage me without a proper blade. Now come, if we hurry we might find the South Market still open." And he links arms with Jack, leading the way.
***
The Drunken Troll inn, evening
Atiin walks into the inn and upon quickly scanning the tables finds his lady. She sees him as well and nods discretely. She's sitting by herself at one of the tables at the eastern corner. Atiin joins her, ignoring the bartenders lopsided scowl.
"You showed up! I guess you really needed that drink, after all."
"Your company was irresistible," Atiin grins.
The lady has dark brown eyes and a piercing, disturbing gaze. Her body language sometimes appears to be a bit too on the mark, as if she's quite literally acting a part. Also, she's wearing a different dress, a deep green bodice with purple waistband and flounce. Still pretty fancy if one looks closely enough, but designed to look more like a commoner's than the one she was wearing earlier.
She smiles. Just smiles, confidently, no blushing. She instructs the innkeeper to bring a bowl of halušky, since "My friend here is looking famished."
The two engage in a vapid flirtation as the night settles. She's fun, Atiin's fun, everything's is going well.
Then, out of the blue, she drops the bomb: "Where would you draw the line on morally abject acts? Hypothetically speaking, of course."
"I'm very middling on the fence. As you could see from when we first met."
"What are your thoughts on assassination and kidnapping, in that order?" She leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on her hands.
"I don't often think of them. Guess it would depend on who was involved."
"That would be Littlest Pavol, Hurloj Kladivo's youngest son."
Kladivo, that much Atiin knows, is the master of the Guild of Accipitraries, Drovers and Ankle-Beater, and Littlest Pavol is a self-proclaimed poet who's actually never written a single verse.
"Is he supposed to be assassinated or kidnapped?" he asks.
"That depends on where you draw the line, love. I can work with either."
"Kidnapping, then," Atiin smiles and drinks deeply from his tankard. "And now that we're accomplices, what should I call you?"
"Eliška. Eliška Kladivo."
They discuss things further and enjoy the fine ale and each other's company for a while longer. Eventually, they retire to her room at the Drunken Troll.
***
Somewhere in the Golden Swine district backstreets, evening
"Are you... on a... quest... too...?" a hulking figure wearing a shirt, some sort of animal hide, boots and unfortunately nothing else asks Ed and Tadz.
"Oh, my fellow star-crossed-but-pantsless man," Ed replies, "how I wish I weren't! If only my luck and decision-making were even a tad more favourable my life would have been so much better. But yes. I, too, am on a quest, one that I shall either prevail or my life (or at least my kneecaps) will be taken from me forthwith."
The barbarian glares at the air around Ed as he speaks. "Your words are caramelling, man."
He seems like he's about to give Ed a hug, but something distracts him. "I hear you, quest-brother. We are on the same quest, that's what the Son of Mulmak always says. All quests will meet eventually, as all dungeons are but sub-sections and hallways leading to the great All."
Then he barfs, splattering the shabby-looking building just next to Edward and Tadz, and collapses. He starts to snore loudly.
Incidentally, though, there is a strange symbol carved by the door. Stylistically, the symbol is akin to the Sun Lord imagery, but something about it whiffs of heresy. Squinting his eyes, Ed can almost see a... map... of sorts? Nah!
"Tadz, you see this?" he says quietly. "Got a notebook or something? I wanna make an copy of this and then modify it some. My Da always said that drunken barbarians were tied to great treasure... although... now that I say it out loud it sounds a bit weird. I'm almost certain that's what he said, though. And surely he meant it literally..."
Tadz hands him a piece of paper. It's crumpled and already used on one side. There are names of tiger wrestlers and human wrestlers from Jarek's pit. Next to each, there's a list of pros and cons.
Ed copies the "map" and then starts defacing the carvings on the wall, just in case in really was a map to a massive treasure.
"Well done!"
"Yes, well done! That will show him, the heretic, with his mockery of the holy imagery!"
Two raggedy women appear behind Edward and clap their hands perhaps half-ironically, but most likely approvingly. Some like these could be seen preaching around the city for a while now. They are the nun-maenads, a group of fanatics associated with the Church of the Bleeding Lamb-God.
"Yes, indeed, here's one who gets things done!" they keep on, as if wooing Ed. "The Church could use someone like you, boy."
Edward nods appreciatively as he finishes: "Thanks, thank you, ahem- where would I go to find out more about joining?"
The nun-maenads huddle up and mutter stuff to each other for a few seconds, drowned out by the loud snoring of the barbarian. Then they decide.
"We can show you the way if you want. It's not far from here."
They look excited in a slightly scary way. Edward agrees wholeheartedly and thinks nothing about their group huddle and excitement.
The two raggedy women lead Ed and Tadz inside a narrow, unassuming, slum house. There is a single room, bare of any furniture. In its centre, a threadbare carpet is not enough to conceal an oversized trapdoor and a winching device. Four stubble-faced, intimidating altar boys guard the entrance.
"We're here," the nuns declare, motioning towards the trapdoor.
"You must be joking," says Tadz.
"No need to come if you're not feeling spiritual, Tadz, but I think these folks are rather intriguing," Ed retorts.
"I mean, dude, this whole joint looks off. Is this gonna end badly? For sure. Do I wanna leave right the fuck now? Hell yes. Will I abandon you as you walk into a death trap? Absolutely not."
Edward is touched, thanks Tadz graciously and then says: "Only one way to see if it's a death trap or not!"
And into the hole he goes.
***
The South Market, evening
Jack arrives to the South Market, arms linked with Kytel the Duellist. He tugs on Kytel's arm: "Ooh! Maybe ol' Fražie has a blade in his shop? A storied blade with a duelling history perhaps?"
He nudges Kytel with his hip to steer him towards Fraža's.
Fraža is a scrawny fellow wrapped in a puffy outfit, complete with a ruff and feathered bonnet. His emaciated face telegraphs weariness and indifference.
"I was about to close. Please be quick," he says in his horn-like tenor.
Jackass goes straight to business, stepping ahead of Kytel: "What do you have in the way of weaponry, my good man? And specifically swords?"
Fraža rolls his eyes as he sighs. Sighing, one could even argue, is somehow an integral part of this man's very essence.
"I could show you indeed a vast collection of exquisite weapons, made to be used in either melee or ranged contexts. I could entertain you with a detailed presentation of magic blades and firearms that provide all sorts of pluses to hit according to the revised Gaxx scale, indeed, and others still, which store magic charges of great power within them and allow themselves to be recharged by expert hands. Your low-born demeanour and dreadful garments prevent me, however, from doing so, unfortunately, as I believe you simply cannot afford such artifacts. In addition to that, you smell vaguely like the homeless man who, during my childhood, used to yell at me whenever we crossed paths by the Tomb of the City Gods, and that makes me highly distrustful of you. Hope you can understand, sir."
Fraža is widely known to bear the curse of veracity, but he's also just a prick.
"I don't smell that homeless," Jackass grumbles and mutters. "And I'm not even buying, mister! My friend here is one of the greatest duellists in the city, and he's buying me your finest blade so we can hack away at each other!"
Upon hearing that, Kytel gasps and coughs and wipes his sweating forehead with a scented handkerchief. "To be frank, my friend, I was hoping you'd be willing to sell, pawn or barter some of your own gear in exchange for a sword so we can get on with our appointment. I apologize if I expressed myself in a misleading fashion, I'm deeply embarrassed."
Fraža looks at them both, like, super bored. There's a long, awkward silence.
At last, the merchant addresses Jack: "Well, if you need money to purchase an item, I'm looking for mercenary work. An expedition to the Weird, to retrieve a valuable magical item. You strike me as the sort of man who would take on such a task. If you accept it I would still be distrustful of you as I honestly cannot shake off the mnemic association your bad hygiene evokes in me, but I would at least have evidence that you are not a cutthroat coveting my invaluable collection of curios and arcane artifacts for a quick profit, but merely one among the many poor, uneducated, ignorant and insolvent, but otherwise reliable sods that I often employ for just that sort of endeavour."
"See, you're getting all flustered again!" Jackass teases Kytel. "Okay Mr. Fražio, I'm game for any mercenary activities. What does said retrieval entail?"
"I have information, collected on good authority, regarding the whereabouts of the Abstruse Relic of Kuuk. I will pay you four thousand gold for retrieval of said relic whole, magically-functioning, and in no way altered, splintered, copied or otherwise adapted in form by you or a third party. It is well under the actual value of the item - especially when factored in with the extreme and likely fatal risk of obtaining the relic from the nearby Frog Demon Temple - but the slope of your skull offends my eye and I fear the enrichment and social advancement of people of your background. So four thousand gold is my one and final offer."
Jackass reasons that Fraža means it, and nods in agreement. Besides, it might be easier to renegotiate once the item has actually been recovered.
"Very well, I'll accept that offer! Now spill the details..."
And Fraža spills. The Frog Demon Temple sits on a marsh located about twelve miles west of Marlinko. Trouble with both supernatural entities and human cultists who worship said entities is to be expected. Unfortunately, Fraža confesses that the literature is fuzzy on the appearance of the relic, as scholars have had access only to second-hand descriptions of the artifact. Some argue that it looks like two pens attached to a hybrid variety of apple-pineapple on each end, while others insist that it is not two pens, but a single long pen sheathed into an apple-pineapple-like structure made entirely of alien materials. Others yet posit that there are no pineapples at all added to the composition. Anyway, the Old Pahr dialect lends itself to lots of divergent readings sometimes. Anyone's guess is as good as Fraža's, who's been studying the manuscripts for two years now.
"And what exactly does the Abstruse Relic of Kuuk actually do? Since, y'know, full functionality is part of the job parameters at all..."
Fraža blushes at Jack's question. "It makes you-" Mutters something unintelligible, eyes casts down and blushing even more.
Kytel jumps in: "Sorry, sir, I'm afraid I didn't catch that last part. It makes you what?"
"IT MAKES YOU A SUPREMELY FINE DANCER, OKAY? It's a modular artifact, that requires the user to disassemble it first, then reassemble it in the ritualistically correct order. If executed properly, the ritual will infuse the user with the dancing skills of all its previous users. And the sources say that it has only been used by the most skilled and talented dancers among the ancient Hyperboreans. Now go away, I'm already way past the closing time."
Jack and Kytel bid farewell to Fraža and walk side by side for a while.
"Hey, Kytel, would ya want to lend your sword skills to this cause? With the money we can buy the greatest, fanciest swords and battle each other to our heart's content. What say you, Kytel?"
"I thank you for the opportunity, sir, but I seek neither money nor the thrill of exploration, as do many in this city. In any case, I pray that you do come see me when you're finished with your quest. I can help you find the best blade that the Cantons have to offer."
He hands Jack his personal info on a card. It displays exquisite calligraphy and smells good, just like his handkerchief. He also volunteers (en passant) to be Jack's champion if he ever decides to challenge Fraža for the many insults he managed to squeeze into the short time they were speaking.
"That man is no gentleman. In fact, he is nothing but an entitled, backward-thinking, provincial bully," Kytel grumbles.
Jackass takes Kytel's card with surprised silence. Before walking away he turns back to the duellist: "So... you're not just a stuffed shirt and slick moustache, like those other so-called 'gentlemen' of the city. Guess you're the real deal, huh? Well, good to know. Thanks. I'll, uh, see ya when I see ya..."
***
The Bleeding Lamb-God catacombs, night
Edward and Tadz take a well-built ladder down to the bottom of the hole. Straight ahead there's a large-ish corridor with a bunch of alcoves at the end of it.
"Interesting - good craftsmanship," Ed mutters in awe about the ladder or corridor. He's not sure himself. "Well! I'm definitely all in. What's next?'
"Oh, we will inform our overseer of your arrival. In the meantime, you may wait in the mess hall. It's this way."
And the nun-maenads giggle and exchange creepy looks, but seem otherwise friendly enough.
They lead Ed and Tadz further into the facility. First through the corridor lined with alcoves - They are, in fact, burial nooks, each storing a surprisingly high number of humanoid skeletons. The skulls are decorated with a ritual blood smudge. - then they turn left and show both guys to a plain wooden door.
"See Tadz? They're real cordial," Ed grins.
"This place looks... new," Tadz points out. "Like it's just been built."
One of the raggedy women replies as she opens the door to what appears to be an animal pens: "It is new. We nuns dug most of these tunnels with our own hands. Been three years since the excavations started, and there's still a lot of work to do in the name of Him Who Bled for our Sins, blessed be."
"Blessed be," parrots the second raggedy woman.
Nine goats, six white lambs, a soft-eyed rabbit and a mangy badger are tethered in the pens. The room is adjacent to the mess hall, where Ed and Tadz are lead. Part open kitchen, part serving area with long, white pine tables. A cooking pit and chimney sit in the north-east corner, a rickety, empty bookshelf kinda leans against the eastern wall. There are four people here; three are eating, one's baking.
"We'll be right back. Treat yourselves to some halušky while you wait, and make yourselves comfortable," says a nun and both of them head out.
Obediently, even enthusiastically, Ed immediately helps himself to some halušky.
"What joy," begins one of the three people at the table - a middle-aged man with a comb over and an aggressively welcoming smile plastered across his face. "You must be here for the induction ceremony, to be held tomorrow morning, yes? Oh, welcome, brothers-in-the-Lamb!"
The others nod to each other, and to Edward and Tadz. Same damn angelic grin on all their faces.
Ed nods, too: "Yes, I suppose so. I'm Edward."
The man slides closer, shaking Ed's hand. "I'm Vilem, pleasure to meet you. These are Svetlana-" points to big lady with a round red face, "-and Casimir," points to twitchy young man with long hair. "Over there at the oven is... Hedvika, I guess." Gestures towards a nice old lady, whose eyes seem to be entirely covered by layer upon layer of wrinkled skin. "We're looking forward to meeting the most honourable Vatek, son of Vatek in person, right, guys?"
They all nod in response, still smiling.
Ed doesn't even try to hide his slight confusion: "Pleasure to meet you!"
Then he hears a faint sound coming from the next room, apparently. The four believers in this room do not seem to notice it, or be bothered by it. Vilem, however, catches some of the confusion at the mention of Vatek son of Vatek.
"How have you come to know about Vatek's teachings, if I may ask?"
"To be honest, I know little about the church and was here to learn more - some nice nun-maenads invited me here upon my inquiry after witnessing and applauding some defacing of heretical imagery."
Vilem nods more vigorously: "Oh, righteous man, you are! And with no previous knowledge of the doctrine, imagine that! Righteous and inspired by the Lamb, indeed. The nun-maeneds were guided by His hand so they could find you, my good boy, in the middle of this depraved town. Filthy, filthy town!"
He spits on the floor. The old lady stops what she's doing, grabs a rag and goes on to wipe it clean.
Edward can still hear that faint sound coming from the other room. It's clearer now: a child crying, as quietly as they can.
Agreement fades to confusion as Ed nods again and excuses himself to talk to Tadz at the side.
"Do you hear that?" he whispers.
"Yeah, man," Tadz whispers back. "Also, what the fuck?"
"I know! If they hate it here you'd think they'd just move. Anyway, we should probably check that out. I don't mind being the distraction or the scout... or I guess we can just demand to know what's in the room."
"Yeah, yeah. Go check it out, I'll entertain these clowns." Turning to Vilem, Tadzio asks: "Hmm, wow. I hear you, man. Quite the moral statement right there," he points to the spit stain on the floor. "Now, where do you guys keep the booze?"
The wrinkly old lady and twitchy long-haired lad quietly watch as Ed dramatically "sneaks" into the adjacent room while Tadz rambles on. Their eyes idly follow, but they do nothing.
It is a dormitory. There are a few bunk beds lined against the walls and personal belongings casually peppered all over. Yet another door connects this room with a third chamber on the room's far side. At its threshold, a little girl rubs the tears off her face. She sees Edward and flees out of view into that one dimly lit room.
"Hey, wait!" Ed calls quietly and follows.
The room seems to be packed with shelves, crates and sacks of various descriptions. A foul smell of feces and urine overwhelms the senses.
Somewhere in there, Ed can hear the girl's trembling voice: "Did they kill him yet? Did they kill Pan Jesev?"
"Ah, shit," Ed swears out of habit before adopting as much of a calming voice as he can. "I don't know, little one. Do you want to get out of here?"
"Mum likes it here. She says this is going to be our new home. But I think this is a bad place. They kill all the pets so they can pray better. It smells bad in here. I wanted to free Pan Jesev, but they wouldn't let me."
"Where-uh-where did they take Mr. Jesev?"
"He was with the other animals, tied to a leash. He was so thin. So was the bunny. I tried to sneak in there to give them food, but the nunnies wouldn't let me."
"Can you lead me there please? I want to set him free too and I think they'll let me."
She stays silent, but she's moving her head in response, either shaking it or nodding. "I... mum will be mad with me if she sees me leaving the bedroom. But if Pan Jesev is still alive he should be in the room with the sheep and the goats and the rabbit."
"Wait. Is Mr. Jesev a man, or a badger?"
She giggles: "He's not a man, silly! He's my pet! Badger, yes. I guess that's what he is."
"Oh-kay. What's your name, Miss?"
"I'm Matka, pleased to meet you, Sir."
Edward tries to cheer up Matka with a short story about pet badgers joining a nice truffle-filled forest heaven when they die, but only sends her right back to her previous mood. She resumes sobbing and wailing lightly as he hurries back to the mess hall, just in time to listen to Tadz finishing his story about how he earned the "Cat Killer" moniker. The believers look amused.
"I have learned that the badger's name is Pan Jesev, and that young Miss Matka is upset about his eventual passing," Ed announces.
"Oh, don't pay attention to my daughter," Svetlana, the red moon-faced lady, replies. "She does not understand the liturgy yet. But she will, eventually. Give her time."
Edward nods and tries to engage in listening to Tadz or the others present, happy to wait a while now that he's reasonably - and perhaps foolishly - assured that the worse that's going on here is some animal sacrifices. The nun-maenads soon return to inform the guys that they have been given permission to spend the night in the facility, if they'd like. The next morning, all inductees are to attend a mass. They will then take the vow and be baptized by Vatek son of Vatek himself. Following that, there's something they could take care of for the betterment of the church.
"Tell me more! I've liked everything I've seen so far," Ed insists.
"What would you like to know?"
"What task must I undertake? And what does my journey look like post-baptism?"
The nuns exchange looks, then lead Ed and Tadz to a corner, away from the lay believers. Once there, they invite them to one of their rather conspicuous group huddles.
"That would be more appropriately discussed in private," whispers one of them.
"Indeed. And after you've been baptized and fully incorporated as members of this congregation," says the other.
"However," resumes the first one, "since you've already demonstrated such guile back at the entrance to the home of that heretical pan-dungeonist who dubs himself Son of Mulmak, I believe we can let you in on a little secret."
They both giggle. Their rotten grins and high-pitched, barely muffled cackling send Tadz shivering in fear.
"We need to get rid of the false prophet. Pan-dungeonist heresy may be a fad, but its appeal is getting to the poor. The promise of Son of Mulmak's false doctrine is at odds with the truth of Vatek's teachings. As such, it puts people's souls in danger of damnation as few other heathen cults' belief systems could."
They stare at the boys expectantly, without breaking the huddle.
Edward nods: "Alright. You need him... silenced? Or gotten rid of? I'd imagine going about this wrongly might result in the backlash of martyrdom. Also, is that where he's located?"
They seem truly puzzled at the remark on martyrdom.
"We... hadn't considered that possibility, to be honest. But you make a... good point. We would need to bring his reputation to the gutter first," one ventures.
The other hag says: "Yes, that building on which the pan-dungeonist symbol is carved, the one that you have defaced, that is the enemy's abode."
"Right. Well, I can certainly try to besmirch his reputation, then."
"Excellent. Now, are you going to stay in the compound for the night, yes? Vatek's sermon is scheduled to take place at the Fane around five in the morning."
"Yep yep, we'll be staying!" Ed beams.
The believers retire early to their beds. The nun-maenads apparently have their quarters elsewhere in the facility. Once Ed and Tadzio are the only ones left in the mess hall, Tadz lets on a worried expression.
"So, what's the angle here, Ed?" he inquires.
"See what it's about," Ed whispers back. "Been feeling a bit drifty since catching this... stuff. Figured there's no harm in chasing the rabbit a bit. And if it's rubbish, well, we raid the coffers. Religious places always got gold plated knick knacks and tithing bowls you can sell for a penny."
Tadz chuckles: "Now we're talking. Yeah, that's good enough for me."
They scrape the pot of halušky clean before going to bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment