12 Seleszeni 10.076 Z.C., Early Morning

“‘Ey Mav, where you been, man?” Jamal greeted as they approached the porter’s usual morning haunt. “We got a great gig last week, really missed ya. They let us off early n’ gave us half a crate of bumbat. Poured one out for ya.”

Mav nodded to Jamal, smiling a greeting. “Half a crate, that must’ve lasted ya’ll, what, mabbe a couple hours?” The other workers laughed, some nursing hangovers while others devoured breakfast after a redeye shift.

He missed this - although the job’s physical demands taxed even the most fit, Mav enjoyed the carefree freedom of the porter’s life. The camaraderie of the early morning meet-ups and extended evening drinking sessions grounded him in a circle of other strong, passionate men. Besides that, his knowledge of the Sixth’s back alleys and hazardous shortcuts kept him engaged in the challenge of spiriting goods across the city. Every job led him past an old memory, through the streets that raised him. Sure, the Boros felt like family too, but the rank-and-file structure of the Legion made every relationship regimented. On the streets of the Sixth, everyone spoke as equals.

“It didnae see the light a day, I can tell ya that much,” Jamal confirmed as the laughter died down. “But hey, ya still didnae say where ya been lately.”

“‘Jeks got ‘im,” Splatz piped up, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate Mav as he helped himself to a bottle of bumbat, hidden in an unsuspecting crate underneath a pile of tarps. This place hadn’t changed a bit - even in the months they’d been away at Sunhome, training with the Legion.

“Nah way, they gotcha again? What’d ya do this time?” Jamal crossed his arms and leaned against the shaded wall of the back alley breakroom, eager to hear a tall tale.

“They got me; in a sense,” Mav muttered, swiping the bottle from Splatz and taking a swig.

“Hey!” Splatz protested without guff, snatching the bumbat back as soon as Mav lowered it. “Life sentence. His uncle made him join up,” the goblin continued before going on to drain half the bottle.

“Raging Raktusks, Mav. You didn’t.”

Chagrined, Mav shrugged. Splatz’ explanation left plenty unsaid, but said enough. Without pressure from Brutus, he might not have ever enlisted. He’d been fighting fate for years, and almost started winning.

“Bummer. Here,” Jamal offered, retrieving another bumbat from the crate and tossing it to Mav. “You need this more than we do.”

“I’ll drink to that,” he admitted, accepting the gift and cracking it open. “Splatz enlisted too.”

“It’s not even sun-up yet,” Lilla muttered beside him. He shrugged, offering her the bottle. The porters’ attention turned to her and, after the briefest moment of hesitation, she took a sip of the bumbat and passed it back without another word.

“Wish we only stopped by for a chat, but I need a little street magic this morning,” Mav cut in before the guys could ask about Lilla. The nearby porters quieted, curious eyes fixed on the trio.

“We’re expecting an ore shipment up Tin Street from Old Rav soon,” he explained. “Regular, always comes this way early Matsday morning.” Mav paused again, and Jamal considered him with a sharp, discerning gaze. Of course he knows, Jamal’s no tenderfoot. Which is why I want his help...

“That’s Jakobsmann’s shipment,” the porter stated, pulling out a snuffbox and sniffing a pinch. Mav shrugged as if the name meant nothing, took another swig, and tried to play it cool. “Ya workin’ for Krenko?” Jamal prodded, voice low.

Splatz frowned at the mention of the infamous goblin mob boss of the Sixth.

“Nah,” Mav denied, his voice quiet but firm. “We don’t run with Krenko’s boys, and don’t plan to.”

Jamal considered them, bouncing a shrewd glance between Mav and Splatz. Even if he didn’t know Krenko’s boys already tried pressuring Splatz into joining the mob, it didn’t take a Simic scientist to figure out that might have something to do with the goblin’s sudden decision to enlist with the Legion.

“Dunno if that makes me like this any more,” Jamal expressed with a grimace. “Makin’ trouble with Jakobsmann ‘s still a rocbrained idea. Then again, ya always did like those damn birds.” Jamal considered Mav for several long, silent moments then sighed. “Ya know, I don’t wanna know what ya’re doin’, but I’m listenin’. What help do ya need with?”

“Just need the cart delayed for a few minutes, slow roll if not stopped.”

Jamal nodded. “A’ight. That we can do. Lug, want in on this one?”

The nearby half-ogre smiled. “Thought you no ask,” he replied.

Jamal turned back to Mav. “We’ll even give you the ‘family’ discount.”

He’d hoped they would. Without a word, he retrieved a coinpurse with what remained of last night’s winnings and his Legion wages, handing over the small bag. Jamal weighed the leather pouch in his hand, then pocketed it.

“Plen’y a blind spots behind Imp’s Menagerie if you wanna get in position.”

“Yeah, figured. Thanks brother,” Mav replied. He’d already decided the exotic animal shop would be a good option, and planned to suggest it if Jamal didn’t. He appreciated Jamal’s advice all the same. As they turned to leave, Mav raised his hand to salute. “Slow down there, hotshot,” Ace’s voice in his head cautioned him. He cursed himself as he turned the salute into an awkward half-wave, leaving the porters behind.

“Friends?” Lilla inquired with catty cheek once they stepped out of earshot. He kept his eyes ahead, but still noticed her stifle a yawn. She maintained an unusual calm so far this morning, almost vedalken-like.

“Yeah. Late night?” he asked in a reciprocal tone, gratified by her immediate glare and the darkening of her cheeks.

She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to retort when Splatz interrupted.

“Not really. I had a nice time with Nadine though. Walked her all the way to her block, she said she could make it the rest of the way by herself.” Mav exhaled through his nose, just short of a sigh.

Damnit Splatz, why do you have to care about her so much? It’d be different if she actually gave you a shot, but it’s obvious that stuck-up bitch can’t see herself with a goblin. He wanted to spare Splatz the heartache, but worried things would only backfire somehow if he involved himself. Plus, the last thing I need is Splatz thinking I’m trying to get her for myself.

“What about you, Mr. Boros Bachelor?” the goblin went on. “Where were you last night?”

He shrugged as he guided them to the wide service street behind Imp’s Menagerie. “Needed some supplies, did some shopping at the night markets.” They stopped behind the exotic pet boutique, the stench of dung filling the air. To Mav’s surprise, Lilla didn’t seem to mind the smell at all. Then again, he’d heard some colorful stories involving the Gruul and their bestial rituals.

“Get behind these crates,” he ordered.

Splatz and Lilla complied, and he joined them behind a rough pyramid of empty crates stacked up in the alleyway. From here they had a good vantage on the road, and settled in to wait.

After a few minutes of strained silence, Splatz glanced between Mav and Lilla.

“You said you met Yarik at the parade, right?” he whispered. Mav nodded. “Doesn’t he work for that senator guy?” Mav nodded again.

“He said he's Senator Orric’s bodyguard,” Lilla affirmed.

Splatz scratched an ear. “So does that make him part of the Azorius too? I thought he was in the Syndicate. Didn’t deny it anyways, and that bartender Tozinok wore an Orzhov locket.” Splatz paused, stroking his chin in rumination. “Can you be in two guilds at once?”

Lilla sneezed, wiping her nose before thinking out loud, “I think what you mean is, what’s a Syndicate thug doing working as an Azorius senator’s bodyguard?”

Mav exchanged a curious look with Lilla and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Uneasy, he felt a trap closing around him, and checked his blinds to allay his anxiety. He already knew all this, but Splatz’ simple inquiry shined new light on the information. From the look on her face, Lilla thought the same thing.

“That’s a good question,” Mav muttered.

“Maybe Senator Orric has more going on than meets the eye,” Lilla shared, her train of thought still running. “He disappeared about the same time Rocman appeared at the parade, and again at the party last Matsday.”

“So does this mean Orric is Rocman?” Splatz asked, curious. “What does that have to do with Yarik?”

“I don’t know, I’m not a wojek,” Lilla snapped.

Approaching down the street, Mav spotted their cart. “Shhhh,” he cautioned the others. Together, they watched in silence as the heavily-laden cart rumbled along the worn cobblestones. As it passed by, Mav heard Jamal’s clear voice ring out above the quiet dawn.

“Oy, watch where you’re going, you big oaf!” A loud crash resounded with the splintering of wood as a crate smashed on the street.

Lug mumbled something in response, stammering out an apology.

“‘Sorry’ are ye?!” Jamal demanded, “‘Sorry’ ain’t gonna fix these goods!”

The cart slowed to a stop just beyond their hiding place. Scattered pieces of the smashed crate choked the road, while the pair of spatting porters blocked the middle of the thoroughfare. Bystanders and shopkeepers crowded around, eager to gather the day’s gossip and protect their stalls in case a fight broke out between the large man and the half-ogre.

Mav risked a quick look over the edge of the crates. Even in the faint light, he could make out the cart driver and his companion - both watched the spectacle in the road with growing preoccupation, but it wouldn’t last long. An older voice further down the road called for legionnaires to come break up the imminent fight.

“Go,” he whispered, ducking down and tapping Splatz on the top of his head. Ready, the goblin rolled out from behind the crates, rushing across the road before leaping into the back of the ore cart. Mav watched from the shadows of the alleyway as Splatz scrambled under the tarp covering the load of ore. Neither driver looked back.

The familiar, telltale clinking of Legion armor echoed down Tin Street; Mav estimated the local soldiers would arrive in about ten seconds. They needed to move fast to make this work. He looked at Lilla.

“You go,” she hissed, waving him on. No time to think.

He darted out from cover and rolled across the street. Pausing for only a moment as he reached the back of the cart, he resisted the urge to glance at the driving team, keeping his eyes on the road to success. Conscious of his body weight shifting the cart, he slid under the tarp and eased himself onto the ore. Joining Splatz, he held his breath and listened for sounds of alarm before he dug himself an indent to hide in the rocks, covering his friend with the ore he displaced.

They waited in silence, taking shallow breaths, their mouths filled with a metallic tang. Outside the tarp, Mav heard the porters’ contrived conflict continue, until the legionnaires arrived on the scene. After they interceded, Lug made excuses to them while Jamal shouted about his broken crate. Many cart drivers now yelled loud complaints about the delay, until the soldiers dispersed the crowd and started directing traffic around the mess.

More heartbeats stretched by, with no sign of Lilla. Just as the cart rumbled forward again, she vaulted into the cart. Her knee caught him in the side as she dove under the tarp next to him. Did she catalog every bruise I got last night? he wondered, gritting his teeth against the pain and forcing himself to stay quiet.

She assessed the two of them, covered in dust and rubble, and curled her lip. Her fingers danced, tracing strands of magic to form an illusion of some kind, which settled over her as she lay atop the rocks.

Satisfied they slipped in undetected, Mav closed his eyes, listening for trouble and the sounds of certain street hawkers to track their progress along the route in his mental map. Beside him, Lilla shifted her weight from her shoulders to her hips and back again, finding no comfort on the hard ore. He willed her to lay still. She did not at first, but soon surrendered with a small sigh.

The light filtering through the tarp dimmed as the road under the wheels changed, signaling their arrival. Praise Aurelia. Of course riding in an ore cart would be no pleasure cruise, but he underestimated how sharp the rocks would feel as they bounced over each and every cobblestone and pothole in the Precinct.

The cart rolled over a smooth surface now, and Mav listened as workers bantered to each other over the roar of a furnace. He nudged Splatz and Lilla, and tensed to leap into action in case someone pulled the tarp off without warning. His body protested, aches and pains from last night’s fights intensified by the rough cart ride.

“Right, get ‘er on the scale, git movin’! Yer already late!” a harsh voice bellowed near the cart. Mav frowned; Yarik never mentioned the shipment being weighed.

The cart drivers apologized in meek voices, explaining the porter’s collision and cause for delay. The cart clunked over several ridges, then swayed to a halt. Voices murmured all around; Mav strained to pinpoint the locations of the speakers to determine the best way to get out of the cart.

“Late and the weight is off?! We didn’t order extra - we ain’t payin’ for it!” came the harsh voice from Mav’s left. A foreman, he assumed.

A moment of silence fell before the drivers protested, claiming they double checked weight before leaving the undercity.

“Hob! Donner! Inspect the shipment!” barked the foreman. Lilla’s panicked face offered Mav no assistance.

Damnit. We need to get out of this cart now!