Poisonous Fox

The next day I awoke late-morning, nearing the lunch bell.

I laid in bed listening, half expecting to hear some form of interruption. But this morning, no interruptions arrived. Blissfully, peacefully, I awoke on my own. Though I still felt groggy from the night before. Using my Guise to switch forms took a substantial amount of effort, though this time was not nearly so debilitating as the last.

However, not only did I feel groggy, but my stomach was growling. I had a craving to satisfy.

Thus, I quickly readied myself for the day, slipping on my pants, chest-wrap, tunic, then leather jacket, though my jacket had seen better days and showed several stitches where I had sewn it back together. Personally, I enjoyed its look, though I understood it might not fit entirely well with the wealthy residents of Blossom Hill.

Once cleaned, emptied, and dressed, I headed down to the kitchen, ignoring everything and everyone until I found Cook and Little Anne already busy dicing, grilling, stewing, and possibly reducing, though I was hardly a chef to judge their actions appropriately. However, even under my Guise, my nose still felt overwhelmed by the medley of scents that overpowered me as I entered the uncomfortably warm kitchen. The clamor of their work left my ears twitching, or trying to at least.

Cook spared me a glance, her sharp eyes running from nose to ears to eyes before she returned to her work while she spoke.

“Hunger takes the kitten?” She asked in the Kaiva tongue.

“Pardon?” I answered, feigning ignorance, though I did recognize what she had said, for I had learned the Kaiva tongue during my brief tenure as a captive with Issen, Larissen, and Kissen.

I suspected that Cook knew I was falsifying my incomprehension, as the corner her lips curled, revealing several sharp teeth.

“Perhaps this one was mistaken,” she said, this time in Imperial. “The girl wishes for a meal, then? Perhaps a dish of steamed vegetables?”

The thought nearly left me gagging.

“Surely you jest!” I protested.

“Perhaps,” Cook said thoughtfully. “Has any progress been made towards this one’s request?”

I assumed she referred to locating her former employer, the albino Kaiva I had seen in the slums while running an errand for her.

“No, not yet,” I said. “Though I have been keeping my eyes open.”

She huffed. “More than open eyes will be required,” she said sternly, giving a dire gaze.

At least, her gaze felt dire, as she was threatening my continued access to one of the most satisfying meals I had ever enjoyed in the city. So beneath her gaze, I withered.

Fortunately, Little Anne chose that moment to intervene.

“Just give the deviant what she wants,” Anne said. “You know she’s here for the… meat,” she finished speaking with a tone of disgust which left me with mixed feelings. On one hand, Little Anne helped; but on the other, she insulted. While I pondered how I would address Anne, or even if I should, Cook answered.

“And this one shall,” Cook said. “This is merely a reminder before my simple request is forgotten which would force consequences. But those consequences must not be suffered this day. For your meal, would the kit prefer it raw, seared and spiced, or covered in sauce?”

I appreciated the warning for what it was. I also appreciated that she asked my preferences, but with the empty pit forming in my stomach, I felt more immediacy and less particularity towards the meat’s preparation.

“Whichever is fastest,” I answered, glossing over my continued efforts, or lack thereof, to locate Cook’s former employer.

“Raw then,” Cook said, setting aside the tongs she had been using and heading to the ice chest where she kept the best, and only, cuts of succulent, gorgeous, wonderful meat. She retrieved a tan paper wrapped package no bigger than my fist. “Enjoy yourself,” she said, handing me the meat.

My mouth watered and my nostrils flared. Even with my reduced senses, even surrounded by the clamoring and chaotic kitchen, I still caught the coppery scent which left my mind feeling fogged over and my stomach eager and my mouth watering.

“Run along,” Cook said, dismissing me and turning back to resume twisting vegetables over an open flame. “This one is busy.”

Little Anne sneered at my package as I turned to leave, but I paid her no mind.

Instead, I thanked Cook over my shoulder and I fled with my prize, heading towards the common room of the tavern to find a table and a plate. Just because I would eat the meal raw was no reason to eat as a savage. And besides, much could be learned from eavesdropping on the gossip. And it would not be amiss to see Marianne Frostwraith. I had missed her when I retired the night previous, and she had been up for hours by the time I arose. Not that seeing her was any sort of incentive. She just reminded me of someone I missed.

The tavern was abuzz when I entered through the service door. Marianne was hurrying from table to table, taking orders and dropping off drinks. It was a bit early for the lunch rush, and fortunately there were still tables aplenty in the back. Though, had the restaurant been full, there was still a small booth in the hallway with the kitchen. Fortunately though, I found a spot in the main room where Marianne could visit.

Marianne caught my eye and smiled, making her way over.

“Good morning, Jackie! You’re up and about earlier than I thought you’d be. You don’t happen to have a Mark of Wakefulness?”

I tilted my head slightly, “Is that a thing?”

She shrugged, “I’m not sure, but it seems like it might be?” She motioned towards the package in my hand. “You want a plate and silverware?”

“And a table?” I asked,

She paused for a second. “Is there something off with our servant’s booth? Anne didn’t leave a mess again, did she?”

I shook my head, allowing a small and wry smile to show. “No, but I was hoping to listen in on some gossip while I ate.”

“I’m not sure if you should be admitting that,” she said, her face a mixture between pursed lips and amusement. “But if you’re after gossip, I can fill you in while you eat.”

“Shouldn’t you be working though?”

“It’s not that busy yet,” she laughed. “After I get everyone settled with their drinks I should have a few moments. I just need to keep an ear out for new guests… or surly ones.”

She frowned, seeming to remember an unpleasant experience.

“So, the table?” I said, interrupting her train of thought.

“Right, just pick the far back one. Mostly outta sight from the rest. I’ll get you your accouterments after I settle my guests.”

I thanked her as I went to the table in question, nearest the service door, and with a tall partition shielding one of the seats from sight. I settled in to that one, figuring that the regulars would likely find my meal of choice disgusting.

It turned out that Marianne settling her guests took nearly ten minutes. That was ten minutes I spent salivating and regarding the package of succulent flesh. I nearly tore into it with hands and teeth, barely resisting the urge to act with such savagery. The longer I waited, the worse the urge became, until finally Marianne arrived with a plate, knife, and fork, along with a tankard of ale. She sat opposite of me and slid the ale over.

“You bought me a drink?” I asked her. She flushed slightly, and I grinned, “Thank you for that. Though not requried, and I appreciate it.” Even though it was still morning. However, thanks to my Alchemical Resistance, it took a substantial amount of alcohol to have any effect. The only concern I had was the calories, and even then, with how little I consumed on the regular, I likely had nothing to worry there either.

“I thought it might go well with washing–” she nodded towards the package “-down. Go ahead and dig in while I fill you in.”

I ended up doing just that, delicately unfolding my meal from its wrapping, and then gracefully licking the leftover blood from the waxy paper before setting it down. Marianne watched on in fascination, her blue eyes shining bright. Unlike most Imperials, she showed no signs of disgust or judgment. Instead, she continued speaking.

“Well you picked a good morning to take an interest. The whole tavern is focusing on the latest scandal. Wouldn’t surprise me if that’s what brought most of ‘em in.”

I made noises to imply interest as I sliced ribbons from the well marbled and fatty chunk of what might have been pork-belly. Though I had yet to see swine to confirm that.

“Turns out, a couple upscale shops were robbed sometime after midnight,” she said, pausing.

I kept my face from revealing any sort of recognition, though I did pose a question. “That’s considered a scandal?”

“Of course it is, Jackie!” Marianne said, scandalized. “If it was down in the districts, then it might not be. But the baron’s own men are charged with keeping that sorta thing from happening! From what I hear, they were even contracted specifically to prevent that from happening to one of the stores!”

I scoffed. “The peacekeepers certainly dropped the ball keeping us safe up here,” I said, referring to an event where several gang-members had jumped a client leaving Ma’Ritz. “I see no reason why their incompetence is only now coming to light.”

“Shush, Jackie!” Marianne exclaimed, frantically looking about to ensure nobody else had heard. “You can’t just say that!”

“Oh?” I said, perhaps too boldly. “Is it not true?”

“Well, maybe it is, maybe it’s not, but saying that kinda thing brings trouble!”

I reluctantly conceded the point to her. Inviting further trouble was perhaps unwise. “So what’s this robbery mean, now that it’s happened to someone else?”

“Not just someone else. But the Artificer’s Union! That’s a big deal, Jackie.”

“Why?”

“For one, they’re rich. For two, they’re wealthy. For three, they hold a monopoly on most of the artificed goods manufactured in the city. And did I mention they have more Chargers than anyone else but the baron?”

I looked up from my meal, pausing to consider what she had just said. I had not realized that the union was that powerful. I snorted, “That might explain why they were robbed.”

“It’s not a joking matter!” Marianne insisted. “You don’t want anyone hearing that sorta talk. Influential people are angry, the peacekeepers lost face, and people are talking…”

I motioned for her to continue as I took a draught of ale.

She glanced about again. “Well, you didn’t hear this from me, but I might have overheard that the union might push to have Princess Mars’ little social club take a more upfront role in the city.”

From the way she had hushed her voice, I suspected that this was more impactful than it at first seemed. I just was unsure as to why.

She rolled her eyes at my confusion. “Jackie, sometimes you’re hopeless! The baron and the princess have been butting heads over who controls the city for a while. Anything that lessens his influence and increases hers is gonna come with ramifications. Wouldn’t surprise me if some baron loyalists are up in arms at the thought of it.”

It occurred to me that Marianne might be more invested in this particular issue as she likely wanted to prevent any alienation that might occur with the customers.

“Anyways, drink up, Jackie.” Marianne rose to leave, her eyes on one of her tables. “Will I see you later today?”

“I’ll wave when I leave,” I said. “But otherwise? I’m not sure. I’ll be here tonight though. Stick your head out like usual when you get off.”

She flashed me a dimpled smile. “Of course, Jackie.”

And she was off, leaving me to my half empty tankard of ale and my nearly finished suspect pork-belly.

As soon as I finished and waved at Marianne, I began making my way South, using the side streets rather than the major boulevard. I had a rough idea of where I was going, though I tried my best not to consider how I did, because every time I began to question the knowledge, I suffered a sudden headache, one that would persist and grow into a full-fledged migraine, at least if I persisted with the train of thought.

And so, I took the knowledge for granted. It potentially offered what I needed, and if I had just heard about it from criminal chatter, then I likely would have checked the place out anyways. So, this knowledge being implanted–

I winced as my temples began pounding with every heartbeat.

Regardless of how I found out about Laverna’s Cup, precautions would be taken. For one, I had nothing of value on me, except for my knowledge of where my stash was. And for two, my false-arm was always willing to defend me. Even as I thought of the parasitic arm, its tendrils tightened about my collarbone, almost tickling me as though to comfort me or to confirm my assertions.

My descent continued as I thought. The side-streets oft times involved switchback staircases that traveled down very steep retaining walls. Other than the boulevard that ramped up the Hill towards the baron’s estate, the rest of the Hill was terraced. Which meant stairs. And lots of them. But the steepness of the terrain also had another effect on the Southern fringe of the Hill. And that was that the South side was largely cast in a shadow for most of the day.

Between the shade, the lack of greenery, and the fact that the Chasm abutted the Hill, it left this side of the Hill less desirable, less wealthy, and almost the equivalent of middle-class suburbs. This part of the city was still far nicer than most of the districts, and night and day better than the slums. But comparatively to the rest of Blossom Hill, this section felt impoverished, crowded, cold, and barren of vegetation.

As I reached the bottom ring, where only one layer of buildings and one final promenade separated me from the Chasm, I found a bar called Laverna’s Cup wedged between a grocer’s and an artisan cobbler.

The building was made with slate foundations and wooden everything else. It fit the common trend with it having two stories, and likely a basement as well. The wooden rafters above gave additional shadows to what might have been an opening near the top, perfect for a lookout. Other than a woman and child briskly walking down the sidewalk while pushing a handcart, the street was largely empty. I was undecided on if that was suspicious or not.

Regardless, knowing that I needed Chargers, and information, and to figure out how–

Regardless, I crossed the street and boldly strode through the door of Larverna’s Cup.

When I entered, I expected a seedy and rundown tavern with a few long term wastrels drinking themselves to death. What I found was near the exact opposite. The interior felt warm and clean, with tasteful stone tiles serving for the floor and a masonry facade over the walls. The ceiling had been lined with artificed lamps providing far more illumination than a typical tavern would.

The second the door closed behind me, I was greeted by a well groomed Imperial who wore a smile with welcoming eyes.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” he said, coming around from the inside of the bar and approaching. Despite his demeanor, I kept my guard up. He must have seen me tense slightly as he came around because he halted his approach and held his arms out wide. “So what can I do for ya? Were you after a pint?”

I glanced around the barroom floor. Empty. It was solely me and the barkeep. Which meant there would be no witnesses to foul play, if that was what the barkeep intended. But then again, he gave off anything but those sorts of vibes. But then again… I realized I was spinning in circles. My false-arm firmly gripped my ribs, clavicle, and spine. I felt its tendrils tensing beneath my skin, perhaps responding to my stress. I needed to calm down before the parasite took actions into its own hands.

I took a deep breath and released, letting go of most of my fears. Whatever happened here, I would survive. And if things went well, then I would be significantly closer to my goal.

I smirked at him, catching him off-guard with my turn-about.

“A pint might be good,” I said. “Depending on if what you have on tap is any good.”

“Well,” he said, tilting his head. “We carry quality drinks, of course. But that you said you might have a drink, leaves me wondering why you came in. After all, people enter bars for drinks. Unless you came for the salted peanuts or pickles?”

Some taverns carried pub-food. Most of them did, from my experience. The fact that this place did not was interesting, and might explain the empty feeling it carried… which might have been intentional.

“You lack a kitchen?” I asked.

“Can’t lack what you don’t need,” he said, cheerfully. “So, what can I do for ya?”

I hesitated just a second, attempting to find the words to allude to what I wanted without incriminating myself. “This might sound strange, but I was looking for a recommendation, actually.”

“Oh? Now you’ve got me curious. A recommendation for what?”

“...A merchant.”

“Just any type? There’re tons of merchants about. Have to be more specific than that.”

“One that’s willing to buy some slightly used gear,” I said. “I’m not sure what type that would be.”

“Hmm…” he said, tapping his chin. “Interesting that you just happened to come here looking for that. But before I answer that to the best of my ability, maybe I could learn a bit more about you?”

Again, I tensed, and I wondered if this was some elaborate sting operation, or worse, a long-con.

“For one, what is it you do for a living, or do you have one? I assume you do, though you look quite young.”

“I’m in security,” I said. “Nights up on the Hill.”

“Interesting, interesting.” He stroked his chin. “Would you have been involved in any of that business that went down last night?”

“That was the peacekeepers guarding the market square,” I said. “At least, from what I heard. I work up at Ma’Ritz.” Which was a risk to admit, but I had a feeling it would have been easy for anyone to track me down, if they really wanted to. Purple hair and pale skin stood out, and I worked in a fairly public establishment.

“So, a girl, a kid really, who works nights as security at a brothel of some renown… I think I might have heard of ya.”

“Really?” I asked, curious.

“Yep! So why don’t you grab a seat and I’ll pour you a drink.”

Were it not for my Alchemical Immunity, I would have been worried he might spike the drink with any sort of detrimental effect. But as it was, I took advantage of that Glyph and slid onto a stool as he went back around the corner, to where clay tankards hung and a keg was tapped.

“No artificed system to keep the ale cold and fresh?” I asked as he poured a frothy glass, with some of the foam spilling over.

“Well, it’s somewhat of a secondary concern here, and not all of us Hill-dwellers can afford it.”

“If that’s secondary, and you don’t have a kitchen… I’m beginning to see why it’s so empty in here. Can I ask what your primary concern is then?”

He smiled to himself, laughing at a joke only he heard. “You can ask. But only if I can ask you a question first.”

I shrugged. “Sounds fair enough.”

“What did you think of Belobog?”

I froze.

Emotions washed over me. A veil was lifted from my mind. I remembered the headache I felt after I had encountered Belobog for the first time. A scowl came over me, a feeling of violation, anger, then fury. So that was how I had learned of Laverna’s Cup. It had been planted in my head. By a mothersworn mind violator.

“Woah hey!” the bartender called my attention back to him. “I recognize that face, and I get it. It sucks, it really does.”

“Are you in league with Belobog?” I asked him, to find out just how far his culpability went in the matter. Had he been stalling me while an ambush gathered? I had to wonder.

“Look,” he said. “You’re wanting a fence, yeah? For the job last night that I’m guessing was you?”

He suspected that I was the one that robbed the artifice shop, or was he guessing? Was he just stalling? Either way, I was considering if I really had the luxury of leaving the man alive. If he cast aspersions towards me, and if the peacekeepers were looking for a scapegoat to take the pressure off them… then things could go very poorly very quickly for me.

“And now you’re thinking of offing me, yeah?” He winced, and backed away slightly so that his back touched the wall. His hands remained lifted and in plain sight. “But before you decide that, maybe hear a man out? Call it a last request.”

I strained my ears to see if I could find any signs of incoming footsteps or hushed whispers. But there was nothing. No vibrations in the ground from running footsteps. No scent of unwashed bodies that usually accompanied criminals and mercenaries. From all I could tell, there was nothing coming my way. But from all I could tell, a sniper already had a bead on me, ready to strike me down should I make any wrong move. Which might explain why the man had yet to act rashly, despite the implicit threat.

“Talk, then.”

“You’re looking for a fence. We can give that. You’re angry about Belobog checking you out. Understandable. I wish she would find a better way to tell people about the place. But it’s risky. The wrong person finds out about us? The law would be kicking down the door and ruining a good thing we’ve got going here. If you think about it, we’re the ones taking the risk here. Letting random potential recruits know about us in the case they’ve got hot items to unload. But I get it. You feel violated, rightly so. And you can bring it up with her later, if you want. But I can guarantee you that she didn’t do more than poke around, check you out, and drop a suggestion in case you ever found yourself in this particular position. So here we are.”

He took a moment to regather himself as I considered what he was saying. The problem I was having was my emotions. They were all over the place, and would likely see me dead or worse, at least if I were to follow them blindly. That failed to mean that my emotions held no value, because in many situations they did serve as a primal motivator. It was just in this particular situation that they appeared more of a detriment. Because, logically, I gathered that this organization to which the bartender and Belobog alluded to already knew of me, and they could likely infer my activities. Additionally, should I leave them vulnerable, they could very easily remove me as a loose end. I could think of several ways they could achieve that now, before I ever left the place. There were several other ways they could extort or blackmail me as well. The fact that they were attempting a friendly approach was actually a good sign, an olive branch towards a cooperative and mutually beneficial relationship.

I knew all of that. But still… I was angry. I tried repressing it the best I could. Vengeance could always come later, at a more opportune time.

“And consider this,” he said. “Belobog can manipulate minds, yeah?”

I nodded, feeling more and more unease about this organization that apparently employed a psychic. I had not even realized that there were Marks for that sort of thing.

“She left instructions to seek us out if you ever had hot goods to unload. You feel angry about it, yeah? Angry enough to do something stupid?”

I nodded, this time more slowly than the last. “Were I to let my emotional state drive my decisions, then yes. I am quite upset.”

“So here’s the thing. If Belobog were as bad as she could be, would she have left you the capability to feel angry about her? Or would she just… you know… convince you to be eating out of the palm of her hand?”

Horror. Horrified, I gasped, before I could master my facial expressions. “Can she… can she do that?” I asked, fearing the answer, and far too terrified of the potential to even consider the fact that the barkeeper could be bluffing or lying.

He shrugged, “Don’t know. Nobody does, since she’s never done anything of the sort, to the best of my knowledge.”

“But… how do you know she hasn’t… you know… ?”

“You’re wondering if she might have messed my mind around to think the way it does about her?” he asked, sounding amused. “Trust me, I’ve spent some nights wondering that myself.”

“And you want to recruit me into this organization?!”

“Potentially…”

“Why would I ever consent to be around… this… Belobog?”

“Well, consider this,” he said, before pausing to smirk. “She already knows where you work and live. Even if you changed addresses, she could probably find you anywhere in Southbridge. Does it really matter if you join or not? When she could do whatever it is you fear she would do?”

“Maybe, but I don’t have to make it easy for her.”

“True. But…” he held up a finger. “Would you give her a reason to by doing that? Now think about it. You know about her. You know potentially a way to find her. Do you think she might want you to forget that?”

I winced. “Either I join or have the sanctity of my mind violated?”

“No, I would never lay that out like that. Just a consideration, is all. Besides, we haven’t even offered you the position yet.”

I deflated with a heavy sigh, realizing just how precarious my situation was. Truly, some Marks were terrifying. Seeing the tankard before me, I picked it up and tilted it back, throwing as much of it down as fast as possible, until ale dribbled down my chin. When it was empty, I set it back down on the bartop.

“Another?” he asked.

I nodded wearily.

He poured me another, though he reused the same tankard. Still though, it was something to distract. I pounded that one down as well. He offered a third, but I declined.

“So,” he said after I finished. “You’re looking for a fence?”

I nodded, too tired to care any more. Emotional exhaustion had set in.

“I can help. Just discreetly bring the goods here, and I’ll give you the fairest price they’re worth. Drugs, elixirs, and artificed goods, yeah?”

I nodded again.

“Should be easy enough to move. You chose well for what you hit. One of the reasons we’d consider you. Well that and your ability.”

“How do I know I can trust you to bring my goods here?” I asked, more for the ingrained principal than because I thought I had a better choice. Though I supposed I could make life more difficult for everyone concerned, if I chose to be stubborn.

“Well, there are other fences, but none that have a vested interest in ya. But here, tell you what. How ‘bout I give you some collateral. That way, even if I do rob you, which I won’t, but even if I did, you’d still walk away with something.”

“Unless you take that too.”

He shrugged, “Just make sure you hide it. In fact, I got just the thing. One sec.” He headed to a backroom, and I heard him heading up the stairs and walking around on the second floor. A minute later, he came back down holding a small jewelry box made of polished dark wood.

He slid it over. “Take a look.”

I shrugged and lifted the lid, revealing a glowing golden mineral shaped vaguely like pyrite, but crystalline.

“This is?”

“Blackjack,” he said. “Hard to get without knowing the right person. Useful in Marks too, if you’re considering getting one for that Academy of yours.”

The hair on the back of my neck rose up. “You even know about that?”

“Well yeah,” he said. “Of course we do background checks. We don’t bother with just any recruit. We’re running a finely honed criminal enterprise here,” he finished with a grin, though I thought he was only partially joking.

“And you’ll let me take this?” I asked.

He shrugged, “yeah. Consider it a down payment, I guess. Just bring your goods down, we’ll trade you Cee at a fair… fair-ish… value, and then we can see what else you can do.”

“A down payment… Are you attempting to recruit me or not?”

“Well, suppose that depends on how well your trial run goes.”

“My what?” I asked.

Unfortunately, while I remained until I finished my second drink, I could derive no further details on this mysterious future trial. Soon, I departed with the blackjack, with a promise to soon return with the goods to sell.