Chapter 13: Corpses for Coin

“You make ‘em, someone buries ‘em, I dig ‘em up. Circle of life, right there.”

-Cudge the Graverobber, 176, U.E.

Grixis was less than sober.

A chorus of activity sounded around him. He paid attention with a half-lidded eye, sinking ever further into the soft comforts of the faux-leather couch. His face and chest were engulfed in a pleasant warmth, limbs numbed to the point where he felt like he was floating.

Several of his friends—maybe half a dozen—were seated around the spacious living room wherever they fit, in chair and recliners and even on the floor. A throng of women in various states of undress—many modified to surpass natural beauty—danced suggestively in the center of the room or writhed against the men.

Pontus sat in a high-backed chair, right leg tightly bandaged and stuck out straight. One of the whores, a half-durok thing, commanded his attention. One hand stroked his chest while the other went for a bag of powdered Rainbow on the armrest.

Pontus caught the woman’s wrist and glared at her from beneath the rim of his hat. “You know how this works,” he said. “If you want the good stuff, you’ve got to do me a favor, too.”

The whore sighed but eventually complied. She sank to her knees, unbuttoned Pontus’s pants, and began giving him fellatio, carefully avoiding his wounded leg.

Grixis slid lower with a sigh. Even through the Rainbow’s numbing haze, he was jealous. Why did Pontus always get all the nice things? He knew why, of course—he was the boss—but who said he had to be the boss? He wasn’t any smarter or stronger than the rest of them. Just some guy in a hat.

It wasn’t healthy to ask questions like that, though, so Grixis forced himself to let it go. He allowed the Rainbow to take hold and settled in for a nice, dreamless sleep.

Except it wasn’t dreamless. He was stirred by screams and blood and thundering weapons. Feeling himself rise from his short slumber, Grixis redoubled his efforts to fall asleep. It was useless. The sounds grew urgent. Overpowering, rattling his skull.

Wait… he thought. Is that…?

He opened his eyes.

Pontus lay face-first on the floor. The girls were running. Glancing to his right, Grixis found Dahl with a messy hole blown clean out the back of his skull. He stared sightlessly ahead.

They’d been friends for… for as long as Grixis could remember.

Unfamiliar men stormed into the room. Armed. Shooting. More of his friends fell away before they could defend themselves.

Was this real? Was it a dream? It didn’t matter. Grixis had to do something.

The adrenaline sobered him up quickly. He fumbled for the pistol stuck through his belt, hands clumsy and awkward.

The intruders stalked through the room, silent and stone-faced. They allowed the girls to flee through a back door, focusing on the brothel security. By the time Grixis got his weapon out, he already had two rifles pointed at him.

“Keep that one alive,” a man said. “Bring him and Pontus outside. I’d like a chat with them.”

Grixis felt a twinge of relief. He attempted to pick out his unlikely savior from the horde of invaders. A man in a crisp black suit stood among them, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He was bespectacled, lenses aglow in the magelight. Plain, aside from his refined look.

Two of his accomplices grabbed Pontus by the armpits and lifted him up. The boss cried out, a fresh bullet wound in his shoulder.

Grixis was similarly hoisted up, the gun wrenched from his hand. His throat was constricted, giving him no chance to protest. His legs bumped on the fresh corpses of his friends as he was dragged from the room. He was taken out the front door and into the darkened street, where he was thrown none-too-kindly onto the dusty cobbles next to his employer.

The attackers made a half-circle around them, the bespectacled man in front. The former still had their weapons trained on the two prisoners.

“Soon as there’s an opening, you’ll help me fight them,” Pontus whispered through gritted teeth. “You get me out of this, I’ll shower you with cash, booze, and women. Got it?”

Grixis didn’t get it. He didn’t understand how the two of them, unarmed, were supposed to stand up against something like ten heartless warriors.

“Here we are,” the bespectacled man said. “Couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, could you, Pontus?”

Pontus snorted up phlegm and spat. “Fuck you, faggot.”

“I gave you a chance to leave this mess behind with your life and pride intact,” he continued. “Instead, you attacked my friend. Damn near killed her. Have you got anything to say for yourself before I put you down?”

The man opened his suit jacket and pulled out a pistol. Slender, with a pearl grip. A fine piece.

“I do.” Pontus grinned. He rose, lunging, fingers splayed as he went for the gentleman’s throat. “I want you to—!”

The dark lit up briefly. Grixis jumped from the gunshot. The gentleman sidestepped, and Pontus hit the ground where he had just stood. The life went out of him with a final exhale. There was scattered laughter from the warriors.

Grixis couldn’t help but stare at his former boss, a hole torn through the back of his dirty suit right over the heart. Whether a lucky shot or a testament of true talent, Grixis couldn’t discern.

I don’t want to die, was all he could think. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. Please, gods, if you’re out there, spare my life.

The gentleman stepped up to Grixis, next. He bent down, scouring every inch of him with his attentive gaze. His glasses glowed unnaturally even in the murk of the darkened side street. Like a demon set to pounce. To devour his soul.

Grixis felt a warm trickle between his legs. Smelled the sour stench soon after. He’d pissed himself.

The gentleman glanced towards his crotch. He’d noticed, too, but didn’t mention it. “Were you among them?” he asked instead.

“W-What?” Grixis stammered, eager to appease his judge, jury, and executioner, but unsure what the man wanted to hear.

“Were you among the ones who attacked my friend? A woman. Pink-haired. Worked for Pontus until recently.”

Grixis recalled no such woman. “No! No, I didn’t! I mean, I wasn’t! I have no idea who you’re talking about!”

The gentleman regarded him in silence for a few moments, as if weighing his response. Grixis felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.

Finally, he nodded. “Good. I want you to carry a message.”

Grixis’s stomach fluttered with relief. He let out a sharp breath, slumping. “I’ll do it. What’s the message? Sir. What’s the message, sir?”

The gentleman gestured to himself. “My name is Stephan Lordling. Make sure the city knows not to hassle me or mine, or they’ll go the same way as Pontus and your unfortunate friends.”

“But… I’m just one person. How am I supposed to do that?”

Stephan Lordling shrugged. “That’s not my problem. But I know your face. If I find that your task hasn’t been carried out thoroughly, I’ll track you down so that we can have another chat. Less pleasant than the one we’re having now. Is that clear?”

Grixis nodded enthusiastically. “Clear as the heavens, sir.”

“Then go.” Lordling nodded down the street.

Grixis rose uncertainly on weak knees. He swallowed hard, glancing about at the warriors staring back at him.

When none intervened, he ran.

And ran.

And ran.

He didn’t look back.

*****

“That couldn’t have gone better, if I do say so myself,” Verdulion said. “Although, I’m sure my lads would have preferred more of a challenge.”

Stephan took a deep breath, swallowing his disgust, and stowed away his weapon. He faced the old pirate captain, who wore an oversized coat that might have been red many years ago, but had been worn to a pinkish grey. “I suppose you’ll want your payment now?”

Verdulion grinned at that notion, long-practiced shrewdness shining through his weather-beaten face. “Ah, I’ve longed for the sound of coinage.” He pulled out a sturdy bar of silver, a focus, from his coat.

“Twenty thousand glints, that’s what we agreed, yes?” Stephan asked. He took out a pair of softly glowing, purple cubes and held them up between his fingers. “I’ll give you leave to loot the place, too, as we discussed.”

The gang of pirates leaned closer at the sight of the myrio-glints. Verdulion held out his focus with a nod, and Stephan dropped them onto the bar. The cubes were immediately absorbed into the metal, light pulsing along the lines of the enchantments webbing its surface. Hardlight numbers on the surface of the device ticked up from almost nothing to a respectable amount.

Verdulion’s crew had fallen on hard times of late. Hiring them had been cheap, considering.

“Been a pleasure,” Verdulion said, the focus vanishing with one swift motion. “Don’t hesitate to call on us again if you need somebody killed. Now, if you don’t mind, we—”

“By all means,” Stephan said quickly. “Don’t let me hold you up. Happy looting, boys!”

The pirates roared. They surged towards the home of the now-dead pimp, two of them already rooting through Pontus’s corpse. Verdulion kicked one of them out of the way, barking that the right to loot the pimp was his, and sent them packing inside.

Stephan took his leave in the ensuing frenzy, hurrying away from that place. His shirt clung to his back with cold sweat. Meanwhile, heat rose to his face. He took into an alley once he was confident he was far enough away. Breath ragged, he folded his glasses into the breast pocket of his suit.

He slowly knelt.

And vomited.

Stephan spat, spluttered, and wiped his chin.

He had killed. Again. Nothing he hadn’t done before, of course. A few more lost souls to join him in his nightmares. But… He had given the orders this time. Whatever his reasons, there were no more excuses left to hide behind.

I wanted to live peacefully, Stephan thought. To settle down and raise my daughter. Why did this happen?

Because you enjoy this, an insidious voice whispered back. You’ll always find excuses to get your hands bloody. It’s what killers do.

“That’s not true…” Stephan murmured. “I…” He shook his head. “No. Pontus deserved what he got. I refuse to feel guilty over his death.”

And his men? Do you know their crimes? Did you even bother to learn them? For all you know, you just murdered innocents.

Stephan swallowed his guilt. He stood and put his glasses back on, working his breath back to normal. The rush of emotion was gone, and in its place he felt… cold.

“They should have chosen a better employer,” he said.

And that was the end of it.