Content Warning!
[Previous]
[Next]
[Previous]
“What brings such auspicious adventurers to these parts,” Clint asks.
“We’re headed to Hope’s End,” Pannych says. Clint gives her a quizzical look, and she continues, “Word has it that Nathanael Thorn is running an unregistered tournament. We’re going to cancel it.”
“And him,” Phyr adds.
“I see,” Clint says gravely. “I must say, I don’t envy you. Thorn is a deadly enemy, and anyone who would attend a secret tournament bearing his imprimatur must be both powerful and desperate. You have a hard road ahead of you, to boot: our city’s guides are indisposed for the foreseeable future, our major resources have been commandeered for the war effort, and to make matters worse, there appears to be a necromancer making mischief in our midst.”
“A necromancer, you say,” Vector asks, stroking his chin. “We’ve dealt with one of those in our travels - can you tell us more?”
“I can tell you what I know,” Clint says, slumping slightly with a heavy sigh. “Several restricted volumes on the forbidden art have gone missing from the guild library. And since then, townsfolk have been intermittently vanishing. This is, unfortunately, all we know at present.”
“If we were to resolve this issue,” Vector says, “Could you arrange a special dispensation for our transport?”
Clint considers this seriously for a moment, then says, “I can’t say for certain, but you would have our city’s gratitude and the Council’s favor. How far that might go…” He trails off with a dubious shrug.
“We’ll do what we can to help,” Pannych says. “How long has this been going on?”
“Several weeks - perhaps two months.”
She nods and says, “As a citizen of Salinas, do you think local law enforcement would be inclined to work with us, if we offered our services? Or should we pursue an… independent investigation?”
Clint screws up his face in thought before answering, “Talk to Detective Heller. He’s a good man, all told, but also willing to consider alternative solutions in trying situations.”
“Thank you,” Vector says. “Last question - where would you recommend we get a bite to eat?”
“The Cactus Blossom,” Clint says easily. “Tell them I sent you, and you’ll be given a fair price.” The adventurers thank him and head into town after having Clint mark both the tavern and the constabulary on Phyr’s map.
The city seems almost deserted in the midday heat, save for the rare unhurried pedestrian, or the occasional guard posted atop a sturdy wooden tower. Such towers are sprinkled modestly throughout the heart of the city, rising high above the yurts and mudbrick buildings. They cannot see the coast through the crowd of residences and businesses, but they can hear the waves beating against the shore much more clearly now that they are out of the guildhouse courtyard.
They walk in silence, taking in the city and saving their breath from the oppressive heat. Phyr leads, and the others follow behind. The Cactus Blossom turns out to be a two-story mudbrick, with a basement mostly buried below the dry, packed earth. The dark windows are forbidding, but they and the wooden door are both wide open. A few steps lead up to a large outside eating area before the entrance. Inside, the cross-breeze has mostly carried away any unique scent, except for a lingering memory of roasted meat and baking bread. The tables all sit empty, places unset, candles unlit - all but one one, right of the entrance, where a lone man leans back in a chair tilted against the wall, a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face, feet propped up on the table.
The adventurers pause on spotting him, having just crossed the threshold. They regard each other for a moment, unsure of whether to wake him. Then the brim of his hat rises, and grey eyes peer at them from a green-brown face. “Afternoon,” he says sleepily.
“H’lo,” Vector replies. “Are you guys open?”
“As the door.”
Vector looks around at the empty tavern and asks, “Slow day, then?”
“Not any more.” The man rises to his feet and doffs his hat to fan himself with it. He has the elongated ears of an elf, but the hard features of an orc. “What can I get for you gentlemen?” He spots Pannych and brightens, adding, “And lady.”
“Clint said we could come here for a fair price,” she says with a warm smile.
“That you can. So what’ll it be? I’m afraid you’ll have to pay for water, but so does everyone right now.”
“Right now,” Vector asks.
The man sighs and says, “It’s this damn war - High Priestess Morrigan has commandeered the lion’s share of our mana product, and it’s thrown a spanner in our works. Can’t run our stills, we’ve been reduced to boil & coil. Ten times the wait and work.”
“Yikes,” Phyr says. “You know, I’m a technomancer - I’d be happy to take a look at ‘em for ya.”
The elocuen eyes him skeptically. “I mean - you’re welcome to head down to the beach and talk to the stillers. I’m no expert, but I doubt there’s much you can do.”
“Eh, we’ll see,” Phyr says affably.
Vector says, “Say, you wouldn’t have any news on the necromancer around these parts, would you?”
“Aw, Hell - don’t get me started. People disappearing from all parts of town, just up and gone. Millie down the block got taken just a couple weeks ago, just didn’t come home from her watch one night. Now her wife’s gotta raise their kids all on her own. Damn shame.”
“Wait,” Phyr says, “A town guard got taken?”
“No, she was taking an extra watch on the beach to tend the fires. No good deed, as they say.”
“Jesus.” Phyr exhales sharply and runs a hand through his hair.
“Look, I’m happy to share the local scuttlebutt, but are you folks gonna buy something?”
“Sure,” Pannych says, “We’re in need of dinner, but we’ve got a few stops to make. Got anything that travels well?”
“Got some wraps here - pork with barley and veggies in cabbage leaves, with a palm frond shell. Long as you don’t drop it, you’ll be fine.”
“That’ll do.”
Money changes hands, and the adventurers leave.
They walk deeper into the city, eating their wraps as Phyr leads them to the constabulary. As the Sun begins to set, people trickle out of the buildings and the city begins to come alive. They get the occasional odd look, but most people are friendly and greet them in the gradually cooling air. There is, however, a general air of despondency about the citizens - they speak in a resigned and habitual manner, rather than that of new acquaintances.
The constabulary is a three-tiered mudbrick building, taller than any except for the magic guild chapterhouse - but unlike the chapterhouse, this one is visibly reinforced with steel bars in the walls and crossing the windows. The door is closed, but they find it unlocked, and enter between a pair of guards who nod formally and incuriously.
A guard sits behind the desk inside, unarmored but otherwise uniformed. “How can I help you,” he asks.
“We were sent to speak with Detective Heller,” Vector says in an official tone. “Is he available?”
The guard lifts a speaking stone and says, “Heller, come in.”
“This is Heller.”
“I got some out-of-towners here to see you, they asked by name. What’s your 20?”
“I’m way out West, at Julie Cooper’s. Tell ‘em to swing by at first light, I can see ‘em then.”
“Ten-four.”
“Got it,” said Vector. “We’ll be back in the morning, thanks for your help.”
“Sure thing,” the desk sergeant says, flicking his hand at the wrist in a half-wave-half-salute as the adventurers turn and leave.
“Well, that was a bust,” Pannych says outside, glancing up at the sunset sky.
“Not entirely,” Vector says. “We just gotta head back in the morning.”
“Yeah, and we’ll probably get the runaround then, too,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“I dunno,” Phyr says, “I can be pretty insistent.”
“That is not the approach we want to take,” she cautions him.
“Look, where are we going next,” Vector says. “I mean, we can have this conversation and everything, I just don’t think this is the place to have it, is all.”
“How about the beach,” Phyr suggests. “I wanna see what they’re up to with those stills.”
The others have no better ideas, and so they make for the coast.
They wander vaguely Northward, jogging back and forth as the winding streets require. The temperature drops appreciably as the Sun keeps setting and they near the shore. Soon, they can see the ocean between the yurts and mudbrick buildings, and then the beach opens up before them. Countless large cast-iron cauldrons boil away on the sand, each with some copper apparatus above it. Vector asks, “Is that the, uh, ‘boil & coil,’ then?”
Pannych says, “I don’t know what else to call it, but yeah - you boil seawater to get freshwater, which condenses up in that copper thing, and then scrape the sea salt out of the kettle to sell it.”
Vector says, “Gotcha,” then points to a bunch of tall, cylindrical machines sitting idle in the sun, each just a few feet from a cauldron. “So those would be the stills, then.”
Phyr says, “Yeah, must do the same thing with magic.” As they watch, they spot a few people walking from fire to fire, carrying split logs bundled up in thick canvas strips a foot or two wide. Each fire-tender stops and inspects the fire, then decides whether to add a log or two before moving on to the next.
“Jesus, that looks tedious,” Vector says.
“It ain’t exciting,” Pannych says. “I read this book about some village that did this, more or less. Except they also used the fires to lure ships too close to the coast, and then they’d slaughter the crew and steal the cargo.”
“Yikes,” Phyr says, “Nasty work.”
Pannych shrugs and says, “Desperate times, and all that.”
They sit down on the sand and watch the sunset over the dunes to the West, resting and drinking from their canteens. Phyr catches the eye of a fire-tender, and waves to her. She nods tiredly, and carries on about her work - he rises to his feet, brushes off the sand, and jogs over to her.
“Hey,” he says as he draws up short. “How’s it?” She looks at him skeptically, then shrugs and carries on with her work. He steps up beside her as she travels and says, “Hey, do you mind if I ask you a couple questions while I walk with you?” She places a log in a fire and straightens up to brush back her red hair, and shrugs again as she sets off for the next one. “OK, uh, thanks. So, my friends and I are heading from town to town, we’re kind of do-gooding adventurers, I guess. And I see that you have those nice stills, but you’re using these cauldrons instead. I just wanted to ask, how much mana does one of those take for a charge, and how long does it last?”
“Don’t know,” she says. “Not a techie. I’m just here ‘cuz we all have to do our part while the power’s out.”
“All right, then do you know who I could talk to that would be able to tell me?”
“Don’t really do this often. Just signed up for a shift I could make and now I carry my bundle.”
“Fair.” Phyr thinks as they near the next fire and the woman inspects it, apparently finding it satisfactory. “Well, I happen to be a technomancer, though I haven’t worked with these machines before. If I wanted to help, who should I talk to?”
“If you’ve got mana to spare,” she says, “Then we’d be better served by topping up our hospitals’ batteries. Solar panels are barely able to keep up, cords are only so long and we can only put so many in a spot.”
“Wow,” Phyr says, “I hadn’t considered that, thanks. Now, you have mana condensers in this city, is that right?” She nods. “But I hear almost all your resources have been commandeered for the war.” Another nod. “Any idea who I could talk to if I wanted to give a hand with that? I’m sure some upgraded condensers could go a long way.” She shrugs. “I see. So, what do you normally do, then?”
“What’re you, takin’ a census?”
“No, no,” he says, raising a hand in apology. “Just makin’ conversation.”
“Well, make it somewhere else,” she says, adjusting the bag with a hoist. “This fucker’s heavy, and I’ve a long way to go.”
“Ah. Sorry to bother you.” He waves goodbye and heads back to the group. “Turns out, heavy lifters are tight-lipped,” he says on returning.
“Shall we head back to the Cactus Blossom,” Vector asks.
“Sounds good,” Pannych says.
They make their way back to the tavern in the central area of the city. After dark, there is warm candlelight spilling out from the Cactus Blossom’s open windows, and smells that remind them of Mediterranean cooking are picked up by the steady breeze. Vector pays for water to refill their canteens, and the others split the cost of their room. Because the door and windows need to be wide open on account of the heat, and it’s fairly early in the evening, they decide to sleep in shifts.
Pannych wakes the boys up as the pre-dawn glow creeps over the Eastern sky. “Let’s get to the station and talk to Heller,” she says as the others rouse themselves with yawns and some light stretching.
“Jesus, we stink,” Vector says.
“Yeah, that’ll happen when you walk around in the hot sun for a while and then don’t shower.”
“Hey,” Phyr says, “I wanna see if my purification ray does anything about that.” He retrieves it, and waves the wide beam over each of them in turn. Vector does a pit check, and approves of the results.
“I’m still a little sticky, but I don’t reek any more,” he says.
“Body odor’s caused by bacteria,” Phyr says with satisfaction, “So you’re still all sweaty, but at least you’re mostly clean.”
“Huh,” Pannych says. “Insightful, inventive, and practical - I’m impressed!”
“And I’m only mildly insulted,” he says dryly.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she backpedals. “Like, I was wondering what to do about that myself. That’s actually a brilliant solution, I’m not condescending to you.”
“I know, but being able to mess with you again is fun.”
“Huh? What ‘again’?”
“You get a lot more socially aware in your twenties,” Vector says. “And then you’re able to mess back, but you kinda overdo it a little at first. Really takes the fun out of it.”
“Oh,” Pannych says, blinking. “Sorry?”
“It’s cool,” Phyr says as he puts away his ray. “Turnabout’s fair play, and we kinda had it coming.”
They buy a large breakfast from the tavern keeper, whose name they have still managed not to learn, as well as a light lunch for the road. They reach the constabulary just as the Sun itself is peeking over the buildings to the East. Inside, a female desk sergeant is on duty, and directs them to have a seat while she raises Detective Heller on the speaking stone.
Shortly, an unarmored man wearing a white linen shirt and gray chambray trousers arrives in the lobby. “Gentlemen,” he says by way of greeting, adjusting his spectacles as he nods at them. Pannych does not bother to correct him. “What can I do for you?”
“Master Clint sent us to speak with you,” Vector says. “It’s something of a sensitive matter.”
“Of course,” Heller says nonchalantly. He leads them beyond the lobby to an office-like area, and from there down a hall to a room with one door and no windows. He uses a silver-plated lighter from his pocket to light a pair of candles on the table.
Phyr and Vector follow Heller into the room, but Pannych pauses. “You comin’, buddy,” Phyr asks.
“This is an interrogation room,” Pannych says flatly.
“For privacy,” Heller says. “You’re not being interrogated. You came to me.” She narrows her eyes, but enters, leaving the door just slightly ajar before taking a seat. “So what’s this about?”
“We hear you have a necromancer problem,” Vector says.
“Your ears work,” Heller says with a brusque nod.
“Yeah, we want to help,” Phyr says curtly.
The detective looks him over, peering over his spectacles to do so. “Your demeanor says you know a thing or two about adventuring, but your jaunty garb says you haven’t been at it long. Novice adventurers tend to bite off more than they can chew, and just get in the way.”
“We’ve killed a necromancer before,” Pannych says flatly. This piques Heller’s interest, and he raises an eyebrow while pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.
“That’s how I got this here pearl,” Phyr says, pointing at the shiny black sphere on his breastplate. “And I’ll have you know that my ‘jaunty garb’ is for drawing attention away from my drab companions, who are a sniper and a ninja - you didn’t say anything about their clothes.”
Heller considers this, and says, “Touché. All right, I’m not opposed to a little extra-legal assistance. You have my attention. Who are you guys, anyway?”
“I am Pannych, lesser goddess of fear and anxiety.”
“And I am Phyr, lord of destruction and chaos, whose wrath makes the very heavens tremble with reverence to my otherworldly might.”
“I am Vector, a humble mortal who travels with these demigods as their ambassador and facilitator.”
“Sand and salt, why didn’t you say so earlier?! I would’ve had you come out to Julie Cooper’s last night!”
“We were trying to keep it on the down-low,” Phyr says. “I don’t think you wanted your secretary saying, ‘Hey, there’s a couple demigods here to vigilante your necromancer in the face’.”
“Desk sergeant,” Heller corrects him.
“What?”
“He was the desk sergeant on duty, not a secretary. But I take your point, you did the right thing. Sit tight, I’m gonna grab the file.”
[Next]
No comments:
Post a Comment