Day Four of Week Thirty-Two

It’s been a horrible, exciting, depressing couple of days since the last entry. Haven’t had the a chance to breathe much let alone write. But all the same, let’s catch up.

With a ruined morale the band trundled back to Vo, camped in the usual spot a couple miles beyond the walls. May invited herself onto my trip into town, which I couldn’t much deny, though Henrique tried limping towards the cart as we loaded about a third of the refined Piss. I almost ordered Raufa to kick his delicates, but May asked politely if he could join. I said no twice, but she really did refrain wonderfully from insulting me, so Irelented.

The gentle rolling hills that dotted our path gave us a few more lifts and drops in the last stretch until Vo, the trees slowly easing to mills, farmlands and the occasional mill, then finally to the city itself. The Midday sun hit it from the side, giving a nice depth to the economic juggernaut. The place was man-made, which I appreciated, leaving it without silly remnants of the past like walls, motes or overly spacious housing. Clean, efficient lines split the streets, clay roofing and wooden brackets abounds, the bright colours of marketplace stalls all visible from even half a mile away. A titanic column of black cut a nice juxtaposition through the bright sky, the city’s industrial district planting its dominance on the nature around it. The byproducts drifted southeast on the coastal breeze, on towards the farmlands. Some waste, I knew, was pumped into the ocean. A marvel of construction and safe disposal. No-one harmed but a few farmers, animals and a field or two of cabbage.

The few token guards attempted their usual extortion racket, but recognizing my cart merely held out a hand. A bundle of pears, my last spare change, fell into their hands and they let us through, while the penniless onlookers decried our privilege. All was well in the world.

“Think we can stop by the scoreboards?” Henrique called from the back as we entered the city gates. The wagon wheels delightfully referred the bumpy cobble streets straight up through our spines as we jostled our way through the main thoroughfare.

“Here’s a hint,” May said, across from her brother, each resting between the jostling barrels of highly unstable exotic biological waste. “No one’s winning, thousands of humans and Moketta dead, the Twenty got a chipped tooth and the Primordial had to move a couple times. New match in six months. Yippie.”

“I suppose we can, it’s on the way,” I said, nodding to Raufa. She nodded back and twitched the reins. “But your sister is right. Standstill for five hundred years. Not much hope of winning for anyone. And better that way.”

“It’s just nice to cheer for your own team,” Henrique muttered. He seemed subdued that morning, probably due to his infected genitals. It was nice. “And if it’s not going anywhere, why doesn’t Grandfather just end it?”

“I’unno,” May muttered. “Hey Oskar, You like to pretend you know stuff. Why?”

I sniffed at the insinuation, and then cleared my throat and fully turned to my audience. It was the truth, after all.

“Like most good father figures, Grandpa Sun is absentee. After birthing the five planets, he demanded they ‘Contend,’ and washed his hands of any responsibility. Having quickly arrived at a stalemate (Relatively speaking, we think it might have been a couple tens of ten-thousand years), each planet made their own little species to fight in their stead. Dragons were too… smartly made, so we all teamed, killed their planet, came to another stand still, got bored again. Now it’s the bi-annual matches. Perhaps Gran-pappy is as bored with it as we are, as I’m sure mama Myria is, but where do you go from there my girl?” I smirked as I let the question stand, holding back the smirk.

Henrique shrugged. “I’unno,” his sister muttered.

“Commerce,” I finished “Aye, Raufa?”

“No.”

“Oh, like you’d know. No, seriously. What’s more exciting than the chase of commercial enterprise?”

“A boil on my ass,” Henrique said.

“Mold on genitals,” May said.

Henrique kicked at his sister. She kicked back, sticking her tongue out, a gesture which he repeated. Looking at the two of them, only good for making each other miserable, made me briefly glad I didn’t have any remaining family to bother me.

“Well, frankly, I bet Myria thinks otherwise. Why else would she give us such delightful fruits as coal, wood and such to burn, Iron to smelt? She could make all those things herself if she wanted, but instead she spread her power out amongst her children to do with as we wish. And we have crafted marvels like Vo, so that even Grandfather himself must smirk with pride!”

“You got mugged last time you were here,” Henrique said.

“Which only shows that ambition and ingenuity wins the day, thus proving my point.”

“It doesn’t, but whatever. There’s the leaderboard, Raufa.”

A grunt at my side and a yank at the horses brought the wagon through a main courtyard of Vo, between market stalls, every variety of tavern and women’s clubhouse I could want. At the north end stood the Leaderboard, a grandiose display of figures and dates, names and places, split into five slots for each planet and their inhabitant. Or rather, four and one blank space where the late Alaxia and its Dragons used to be. All of us, save Raufa who stared ahead at nothing, joined the dozens of folk examining the board.

Previous match had been a stalemate - no surprise there. Information for the next match was already up. Humanity had a solid One-Thousand-Five-Hundred-ish volunteers – mostly Druid and Lightbearers, though a few lesser communes had pitched in more than usual. The Moketta had seventy-thousand, which wasn’t so good for the little bug folks, but knowing them they had some new steam-powered trick up their sleeve. As always all of the Twenty were up. Those Jackal-headed, four armed grunters didn’t have much else to do. The Dragon slot had the usual ‘Eliminated’ plate. And the Primordials…

It They Not the first one, or the rest including the sixth. Hard to write that out.

“Whoa, this one’s gonna be hosted on Myria!” Henrique said. “But, uhhh… what…The Primordial… Which one is that?”

I glanced at the word again, and read it just fine, registering not a single letter. I blinked and performed the usual gymnastics required for the... that thing, struggling to keep it in mind.

“It’s, uhh, the other one,” I said. “You know? There’s tricks for it.”

“We didn’t go to school, Oskar,” May said. “So no, he didn’t learn the tricks. Henrique, it’s… There’s one more Primordial than you think. Uh, how does it go?”

“Count out the Primordials, Henrique.”

“Uh… The fire one, the Water one, the Air one, the Nature one, the Light one, the weird spacey one. Six.”

“So, if there’s one more, how many is that?” I asked.

“Uhhh…”

“Exactly. Can’t get a hold of it. Just think about Ze’al, the sixth, ‘weird spacey’ one, and remember that it’s not the last one.”

“So then how many are there?”

“What comes after six, Henrique?” May asked.

“Seven, May, I’m not stupid.”

“Ahuh. So how many Primordials would there be, if there were one more than six?”

Henrique’s eyes narrowed and burrowed into the wood before him, a look of intense focus blossoming on those fine features. Lips pursed, eyes bulged, nose crinkled, legs crossed in discomfort.

“I don’t know!”

“There, you got it.” She switched the horses, and they resumed their pacing. “This one time, it’s not just you that can’t keep something in their head. Just remember that the sixth isn’t the last one, works well enough. Beyond that, all I know is that Ankeesh got more and more creative as it was making its over-powered children, and so there’s one that’s… Shit I lost it.” I rubbed my temples. “Why couldn’t they just use the fire one? Nice and easy.”

“Used that last time,” May said.

“I don’t get it,” Henrique said, head in his hands. “My balls itch.”

“But did you see?” May said, giving Henrique’s arm a sisterly slap. “We only lost ninety-three-point-two percent of our guys that last match. That’s got to be a new record.”

“Six point eight survival rate?” I said, nodding. “That is impressive. I hope they’re not too disfigured.”

“I heard one guy came back alive, still had most of his face,” May said. “So lucky.”

“How ‘bout you, Raufa?” Henrique asked. “Think you’d ever enlist? Bet you’d be a beast with some Light-bearer contracts. Set your fists on fire and start smashing faces!”

“No.”

“But do you think you’d survive at least?” Henrique asked, something innocent and gleeful in his voice.

“I’d win.”

I slapped a hand on her shoulder. “Of course you would, Raufa. And I’d be there to monetize it.”

She guided the horses down the usual crowd-filled streets. Those round-bottomed dresses were coming well into style, each woman hauling a grand rotundity that, I must admit, certainly added a little something. Impractical though, and not the sort of thing I wanted to see my employees in any time soon. I did spot a rather suave hat I’d like to keep an eye out for, something that even set the trusty bowler cap to shame - a chimney sort of affair, black with a white band. Truly the ultimate in masculine compensation - a wise investment, whenever the occasion comes forth. These and more fashions blew by as we rolled towards our destination, the Alchemists Hall. The usual first stop for unloading the precious cargo. Armani, my contact there, had mentioned interest in a larger batch than usual, and I felt a light beating of the heart at the idea of giving that man all the piss he desired. And so when we arrived at the place, up in the towns higher echelons, I hopped off the cart, ledger in hand, eager to up the price for his eagerness.

“Holy fuck-shit,” May said.

I turned and frowned, then followed the staring eyes. Down back the way we’d come, all but sprinting up the main thoroughfare, came three of the Twenty, barging through the crowds. Twelve foot tall, grey, inky skin stretched over wiry limbs. Canine-ish feet and heads, something almost akin to human torso, and four arms of split, skull-crushing strength pumped as they loped upwards. The last one stopped as it passed, gazed briefly in our direction. All eight of the nostrils that dotted its skull flared, its ear flickered. It continued on. Although sure it had nothing to do with us, seeing those predatory monsters moving even perpendicular to us set my bowels ready and eager to loosen up any moment.

“That’s, uhh, quite the, uhh….” I smacked my lips a few times, trying my best to make light of the moment. “I’d love a sample of their piss.”

The others didn’t even take note of my words. Well, they could gawk. I had to relieve myrself of some urine, and I also wanted this business over so I could go pee.. I smartened down my jacket, checked my hat was in place and approached the Alchemist’s hall, knocking the knocker, as one does.

The grand door swung heavily open. A wild-eyed old man stepped forward. This was odd, both in that he had all his eyebrow hairs and no missing fingers, and because I usually had to wait several minutes before the air-headed Alchemists answered. Using my deductive – Reductive? Who cares – reasoning, I surmised that this was no alchemist and, furthermore, that something was wrong.

“Oskar?” the man said. “Goodness, this is not good.”

I squinted at the man’s face. Overly sharp nose, grey, overly kept hair that screamed unearned superiority. Politician for sure, or at least some bureaucrat with similar dreams. I can only assume I’d bribed him in the past – it’s how most people know me.

“Ah, yes, old friend,” I said, giving him a hearty clap on the shoulder. “How are you? What’s not good? How’s the family? Golf this weekend?”

“Oskar, how could you be so stupid as to show up here?” the man said, eyes wild as they searched the background. “How did you even make it this far into the city? If they catch you, you better not talk!”

“I bribed the guards at the gate, same way as everyone else. Why? Where’s Armani? He and I have business.”

“Under arrest, as you will be if you don’t get out of here! That… That stuff you sell is nothing but trouble, and the whole city – No, the whole system is bustling about it. Is…” His eyes lingered over my head, at the wagon, from which all three of my companions were now glaring back. Henrique gave the pair of us a little wave.

“Did you bring the Draconic Essence here?”

“The Dragon Piss? Yes of course. Got to move product, you know. Real fine stuff, regardless of whatever rumors you may have heard.” I peered behind the gentleman at the empty guild, feeling ill at ease. “So the entire system wants my piss? Well, there’s plenty to go around!”

“No, Oskar, you darling fool! Bustling with outrage! With fear! I don’t know the details, but they’re saying it breaks the rules of the Contest!”

I blinked twice.

“But I didn’t kill any Dragons,” I said. “That’s the only rule. ‘Do not kill disqualified combatants.’ Now you better speak plainly, friend, because it sounds like my piss is giving people a bad taste, and that’s something I simply cannot tolerate.”

“Oskar, Draconic Essence has been outlawed! I don’t know the details – the Thinkers are in charge of this, and they refuse to say what the problem is. They’re looking for you – that’s why I’m here, I’m supposed to report you when you show up!”

“Well, just go ahead and don’t do that and I’ll grease your palms just like before.”

The man flustered, wide-eyed and blushing. “Grease my… No, Oskar, don’t you remember? That night in the Soggy Bedbug? You bought me drinks, gave me your pitch, your attention, your…”

“Of course I did, obviously,” I said before he could continue. I frowned at the tall man before me. I really had no idea what he was talking about but hey, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose. “Unforgettable night, truly, though I’m stone sober now-a-days. Anyway, we’ll be off before I get you in trouble. I wish you luck my… friend. Raufa! Back to camp!”

“Alright, well good,” the man said, leaning against the door now, eyeing our retreat. I climbed aboard and nudged Raufa to get going. “Just…” He actually bit his lip. “Remember me if things work out alright!”

“Of course I will! Wait for me!” I shot a firm elbow into Raufa’s side. “Faster, dear. We’re Wanted, don’t you know?”

“You certainly are,” May whispered from behind. “I’m happy for you, Oskar.”

Now knowing the danger we were in, the city took on a ghastly new visage in my eyes as we piled into the wagon and marched back through its streets. Those bricks clogged with muck and feces, a sign of corruption and misery rather than simple, healthy occupation. The column of industrial smoke, once a sight which wrought confidence and awe at the human enterprise became now a looming obelisk, its shadow soon to overtake us. The well-off onlookers, once easy marks, now snobbish do-gooders, ready to turn us in at a moment’s notice. Glancing around every corner, I dreaded the fatal appearance of a guard, a merciless drone of an unassailable authority whose only purpose was to ruin everything I stand for. Sun’s balls, this must be how poor people see the world.

The numb terror as the streets rolled by thus changed grew in exponential tiers of dread and misery. Dragon Piss outlawed, I somehow indicated as a rule-breaker! I was merely fulfilling a niche, a simple, honest grifter! But I knew the way the world works – as soon as something is no longer necessary, or even just falls out of fashion, it is discarded. It only made sense, and I felt no personal insult at it, yet I was so close, so ready to join those in charge of such disposals. As life often does, I tasted its sweet fruits, only for it to go sour on the next bite. Oh, hey, I think I’m getting better at this writing thing.

Raufa’s chubby fingers cracked across my cheek, and I suddenly realized May had been shouting my name for the last few minutes.

“What?” I said, looking around. Though I’d drawn a few eyes with the shouting and slapping, no-one had bothered to raise a call over it. Thank goodness for moral negligence. “What do you want?”

“Stop dozing off, this is serious!” Face brought close, her voice a whispered shout right by my ear. “We have to do something! Shouldn’t we just turn ourselves in?” May asked, glancing between Rauf and I. “I mean, we didn’t do anything wrong, did we?”

“Done nothing wrong?” I asked as we rattled onwards through the packed streets, passing now between the markets. Despite my fear, I understood the situation all too soberly. “Are you insane? Technically we’re clear, but that doesn’t matter to these sorts of people! If what that fellow said is true, we’re in more trouble than anyone has been since… Since Giorgo Denviarnach! And that guy killed thousands! No amount of bribing will get us out of this. Besides that, your brother has how many black-market cantrips? Think they’ll let that slide?” A perplexed, troubled look descended on the both of them. “And Raufa? I mean… Just look at her!”

Raufa shrugged.

“I wanted to get another Cantrip today,” Henrique muttered, slumped now beside the barrels as he gazed, dejected, out the back of the wagon. His shoulders raised and dropped with a pedantic sigh. “And they’re not that illegal. Just a little. Anyway, this is your fault. Weren’t people complaining that Dragon Piss really mess with your health? Give you the shakes, make you vomit and stuff?”

“No, that’s Bull Shit,” I said. “A terrible alternative, doesn’t even make any sense as a competitor. Dragon Piss, on the other hand, is perfectly safe.”

May crawled up towards me to whisper something but stopped as her eyes drifted past me and up into the air. I turned too, and witnessed a bundle of dark clouds twisting through the sky, against the current of its brethren, coming directly towards the upper reaches of Vo, where the Thinkers and City Leaders resided.

“Wow, that’ll be… Un’Zo, the air Enkili,” I said, nodding. “He really did mean the whole system. Okay, you have to admit that’s pretty impressive.”

May’s voice rose to a harsh spit. “Shut up, Oskar! This isn’t okay! What does Dragon Piss do?” She held up a finger as I began to speak. “And I don’t want the pitch. Seriously, what does it do that’s got everyone so upset?”

“I don’t know what’s upset them!” I said, feeling my hysteria and dismay return. “It’s a stimulant to some, aphrodisiac to others, anti-coagulant to yet more, whatever that means. The Alchemists thought it was interesting, but never said why. The worst thing is, it’s explosive when it’s unpurified, then becomes extremely explosive when refined. And then it’s toxic if it’s let out under the sun. But that’s it! Entirely within regulations, of which there are none. I could name cheeses with as much risk!”

“Oskar.”

Raufa’s unconcerned baritone pushed through the atmosphere of frenzy. We all followed her gaze down the street. So close to the gates, I could now see the narrowed flow of traffic, the increased presence of guards. Not regular city bruisers, but proper peace-keepers, bearing the seal and blessing of the Communal Council. Grandfather Sun hammered from overhead, his heat constant and oppressive on my shoulders, the knowledge that Enkili, Twenty and humans alike met a mile or less behind us, discussing our doom. From all sides, the sense of being watched.

“They know we’re here, then,” Henrique said, almost ponderingly. “We’re fucked.”

“Have some hope, boy,” I said. “We’re Piss Merchants. We have capabilities unknown to the regular man.”

“Like what?” May asked. “I only have two contracts, and they’re for climbing and light.”

“See! Climbing! You can get over the wall! We’re half way there. Henrique, you must have something helpful?”

“Just cantrips, tiny Apple amounts. Grow plants a bit, static shock whenever I want…” A half smile split his lips, somewhere between embarrassed and proud. “Make smelly farts under people’s noses.”

“For fuck’s sake, Henrique,” May said, slapping her brothers arm. “You spent our money on that shit? On farts! What’s wrong with you?”

Henrique shrugged.

“That does explain a lot,” I said. “No, those are useless… Wait, static shock? Like a spark?” An idea blossomed in my mind. “You could set off an explosion?”

“No, because I’d have to be close, and I’d die,” Henrique said.

“You’d be well compensated?”

“No, because I’d be dead.”

May placed her hand on her chest. “I promise to use the funds well in your absence.”

Henrique cast a frown at his sister, which phased into a sort of inquisitive squint, the faintest flicker of smirks teasing his lips.. May frowned back, sniffed haughtily, gasped and gagged and waved at her face, crying out in disgust Henrique burst into laughter.

“You shithead!” She slapped his head. “You’re so pathetic! Laughing at fart jokes at a time like this? I should have strangled you with the umbilical cord!”

“Enough fooling around!” I glanced at Raufa, whose steady eyes met mine. I knew her capabilities, my own, well enough.. All legal and registered, which likely meant they’d have been revoked by now. Stefan had suggested less reputable contract dealers, but I’d insisted on being above-board, the righteous, moral fool that I’d been.

“Wait.” I clicked and pointed at Henrique. “Cantrips. You were going to get some. Where?”

His one eyebrow raised, his eyes brightening in an instant. “Oh, I have people,” he said, and all his confidence flushed back as if he’d never given himself scrot rot. “Why, you want a taste of the good stuff?”

“Nothing so weak,” I said. “I refuse to give up all my hard work. We will escape this city, and I think I know how. Take us there.”

“Let me drive, it’ll be quicker.”

“Great,” I said. “Raufa, give Henrique your spot.”

“No,” she said, her eyes never having left mine.

“What? Seriously? It’s just for a little while, you can get it back when we-“

“No.”

“Oh, for… Fine! Bunch of children.” Better to give up than try to out-argue a statue like her. I climbed over into the back as Henrique took my spot, and I took his across from May, who gave you a small, smug wave. Forcing their boss into the back of the wagon. If I ever get around to handing out raises, these three will not be getting one.

Raufa held out the reins to Henrique, maintaining her stiff, postured seat as she glared out at the world. With scared outstretched fingers Henrique took the leathers, shuffled as far away from the barbarian as he could and settled into his seat on the far side, stretched his neck, leaned forward, and flicked the reins with his wrist.

“Mush!”

This did nothing, as this was never part of how any horses had ever been taught.

“May, I must tell you, your brother is dumb as shit.”

“Yeah,” May said, shrugging. “Enthusiastic, though, and makes me look good.”

“Hmm,” I said, rubbing at my chin, re-examining this feminine form before me with new eyes. “Yes, you are a good looking girl, May, and we can use that.”

“Excuse me?”

“But first,” I said, bracing myself as the cobblestones prodded and jostled the wooden wheels. “You and I need to talk Contracts.”

“Well… Okay.” Whatever had soured May’s expression drifted off. She sighed, stretched out one leg and folded her arms. “You’re finally going to teach me something? Shitty timing, but I’ll take it.”

“Pardon me for the inconvenient timing, May, but difficult times call for difficult solutions. Just shut up and listen and maybe what you learn today will aid you in the years to come.” I breathed deep of the potent city air, and let the spirit of Capitalism and all of its lessons infuse you. “Contract negotiation is a forgotten art, as now-a-days most folk don’t need much Power for anything, or if they do they’ve inherited the Contract, or are merely allowed its use with a loaning clause. Nevertheless, now more than ever we of the entrepreneurial type require the ability to design and negotiate for unique abilities from licensed dealers.”

“But we aren’t going to any licensed dealer,” May said. “We’re going to a back-alley, black market Cantrip vendor. Guy probably won’t have much to sell, will he?”

I scratched at my cleanly shaven, well moisturized chin in thought, delicately plucking the right words from my vast lexicon to properly convey the desired meaning.

“No, he’s likely got cock-all worthwhile to sell,” I said at last. “More fart cantrips and bollocks like that. But I can only assume that his superiors have at least a few useful contracts for willing buyers. Nevertheless, the principles are the same, and it’s imperative that you learn them.”

“There are three major factors which contribute to the cost of a Contract. The Power amount, the duration of the contract, and the projected frequency of the Contract’s activator clause. The first two, I should hope, are obvious, but what I mean by the third is… Say I want a contract to activate every day. That’s a lot, and will regularly dig into the Contractor’s total, limited Power pool. But say I want something only during a full moon, or only when someone spits on me, or only when my son dies – these would be activator clauses that are increasingly unlikely to happen. His power pool will be less often accessed, and as such he can put a lower price onto the contract.”

“So it’s like insurance, but less well monetized,” May said. “Like that one you tried to get us to pay up for.”

“The one that paid me out when you died, yes. Precisely. Now, I don’t know about you, May, but I don’t have much cash on me. I was expecting to gain Oranges, not spend them, and so I don’t have much negotiating room when it comes to browsing Contracts that can get us out of this city, aye?” I sat up as the wagon bounced, axles creaking, into a darkened, tight-walled alley, feeling time trickling away . “Raufa doesn’t carry money, not unless I ask her to. You?”

“I mean, a little?”

“Hand it over then,” I said with a finger-wiggle. “Life or death, gimme.”

“Fucking hell.” May reached into some fold of her worker’s pants and tossed over a small pouch. “Just a bit. Oi, Hen.”

“Driving here!” Henrique said.

“Give me your money, shit-head.”

“I don’t have any,” Henrique said, eyes fixed worriedly on the road ahead. “Like Oskar said, we’re about to get paid. Why bring money to that?”

“You just told us you were going to buy another stupid fucking Cantrip.” May clambered over the wagon’s contents as Henrique popped his lips in the vague shape of denials, stopped only by May gripping his cheeks with one hand and the back of his neck with the other. “Give me your fart money or I’ll repeat our tenth birthday.”

I couldn’t quite see the expression on Henrique’s face, but he passed his own pouch up easily enough to his sister, who tossed it my way and returned to her seating. I counted out the money, my ears picking up the slow rising of chatter and bartering from deeper within this tunnel we’d entered unwittingly. Tossing the occasional fearful eye down at the upcoming light I saw bruisers shoulder-resting their truncheons, cowl and cloak wearing peddlers revealing their hidden merchandise like a king flashing his maids while children dashed in about in grinning gaggles, yanking the coins off the starving beggars whose lives depended on their collected coin. All the comforting signs of a thriving black market economy.

One-hundred and fifty-ish Oranges. Not much to go on, but we’d only needed something for an hour or so. With that, my trusty side-kicks and that lovely smile I’d spent years cultivating I had no doubt of our success. Henrique eased the wagon through the thrumming crowds and into the open space, some sort of collective back-yard of a city block, walled off and filled with podiums and peddlers. Capitalism always finds a way.

“Oskar,” May asked as I pocketed the cash. “Why can’t we just trade a couple barrels, get someone else to do the heavy lifting?”

“Oh, well that’s simple. The only trail this leaves is my name, which they already have. Leaving piss behind admits we were here, which is already too much. Better to do it ourselves and get out without leaving a trace. Besides, now as never before that piss is the thing that will save us.” I tapped Henrique’s shoulder and pointed to a spot nearby an empty pavilion. “Back the horses into the corner there, watch the barrels.”

May and I stood in the wagon as Henrique oriented the horses into the proper spot. I eyed the crowds, the peddlers, the beaters.

“So. kindly point the guy out, Henrique?” I said.

“Over there,” the twin said, pointing at a far-off corner towards the other end of the rectangular space. “But why can’t I come with you? This is my win. I’m the one that knows the guy.”

“You mean he’s the one that scammed you into buying a fart cantrip,” May muttered.

“No.” I raised my hand before the bickering could even begin. “This is business, and I demand professionalism from here on out. Henrique, you’re staying here because I said so. Raufa, if he tries to get off the wagon, dunk his face in a barrel.”

“Okay.”

“May.” I hopped off the wagon, into the crowds and began towards the indicated spot. As ought to be the case in such places, the sight of my clean clothes, shaved face and spiffy hat made an easy space before me, allowing easy passage through the unwashed masses of Vo’s slums.

“Okay, Oskar, so I get the plan,” May said at my shoulder. “But what do you want me to do?”

“Well mostly just as back-up,” I said, casting an eye over my shoulder at the girl. “Though could you please do your hair a bit better? And maybe strut a little more alluringly?”

“Excuse me?”

“You walk like a laborer, May.”

“Because you make us lift crates of piss, set camp and do your fucking laundry. I don’t have to look attractive for you or anyone else you sexist fuck.”

“Whoa, May!” I raised my hands defensively. “No need to get so upset. Let me make this clear. Me looking at you at all is a courtesy. I truly don’t care what you look like, and I never will. This, however, is business, and a good businessman has to use every asset he has, especially at a time like this. Now yes, you’re a little too well built for some men, but not overly so! You’ve got two, maybe even four assets that we need right now if we’re to survive this. We have to use everything we can, even underhanded tricks like having a distracting assistant. It’s only rational!”

“You’re pathetic,” May said. “And if you’re such the legendary businessman, why bother with shitty, underhanded tricks?”

The crowd closed in a bit with the two of us standing there, the unwashed bodies bringing their smells and at least a dozen diseases into our personal space. I shivered a bit, breathed through my teeth, my patience already fabric thin without the added worry of lice or syphilis hanging in the air. The anger that I’d been put in that position in the first place rustled my sensibilities enough, but to have this otherwise faithful employee berating me in the middle of the commoners was simply too much.

“May, I say with every bit of respect and appreciation I have for you, please shut up. We’re minutes away from being clapped in chains! You think you don’t like being exploited for your looks? I don’t like being thought of as a cheat, a fraud or a con-artist! But we’re in this mess and we must get out of it together. For our livelihoods. For our lives! Isn’t that worth setting aside your reservations for five minutes and working with me to get us through this alive?”

“I mean, yes, I suppose.”

“Thank you,” I said, and laid a hand on her shoulder, feeling for the first time in this unbelievable debacle some measure of relief and hope. “Now follow me, slut it up with everything you have, and you may just save us all.”

I turned and stepped beneath the stall’s tented overhand, giving a customer’s patient, expectant look to the man behind its desk. He was rather obviously doodling on a scrap bit of paper, wasting what looked to be a fine vial of ink, and took more than a moment to finish his final pointless swirl before putting away his quill, entangling his fingers before him and leaning up with a practiced smile.

“Hello, good sir,” he said. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” I said, clasping my hand together in a very friendly, businessman sort of way. “We-“

“Oh hello there…” May practically slithered up to the man’s side, leaning forward against the pole to glare eagerly at him. “…Guy.” Her limbs wriggled, as if they’d lost bone structure. She’d ripped an inch down her shirt and was with those languid, abominable gestures attempting to display the skin therein. “We do so desperately need your help, uh, my guy.”

Truly, I have work to do on this girl. Sales have brought me to more than a few disreputable places, where visual delights were the main dish, and this was not that. Right pitiful display it was, and frankly a waste of potential. Aphrodisiac is – or was – half my customer base after all, and an ammonia-ridden seductress would set sales soaring. I’m sure the underworld has exactly the same needs, and a half saleswoman half mascot combo would work wonders. This is getting off track but this is actually a brilliant idea and I must keep note of it. Who says business doesn’t have space for women?

Nevertheless in the moment I was not at all impressed at that pathetic display of womanly wiles, even if the man was quivering with rapture beholding it.

“Oh, ho, ho!” The contractor said as he examined at length the absurd spectacle before him. “What have we here? Well I can tell a ploy when I see one, but I’ll take it for the flattery it is.”

At being called out May half stopped her worm-like undulations and glanced at me . I glanced back, equally confused that this noisome scene was actually succeeding. I nodded and waved my hand, and the slow-motion seizure continued.

“Yes, well, I’m glad you like the show. But as it’s obvious that we can see eye-to-eye as businessmen, I’ve come to ask for a contract.”

“That’s as clear as day,” the man asked. His head bounced between perspectives to better observe May. “This won’t get you a discount, but you might get an extra tax if it stops. What can I offer you?”

“Well.” I cleared my throat and paused for a moment. With this one deal I would thus begin my descent into true criminality, justifying all the unjustified accusations apparently going around.. I said a brief farewell to my well earned reputation of honesty and trust-worthiness, and took the plunge.

“Have you heard, good man, of this Dragon-Piss business?”

For the first time the contractor looked my way briefly. May did too, between some sort of bird flaps.

“A little bit perhaps. Why? You want some?”

“Do I…” I shivered away the indignation, the urge to declare who we were. “No, of course not. Haven’t…” Well, I thought, that approach is shot almost immediately, and my reputation is already disintegrating. Might as well kick it while it’s still in reach. I clutched my hands, raised my voice a few irritating pitches and began the drama. “Haven’t you heard about how dangerous it is? Why do you think the Council is in such an uproar?” I leaned close, shot my brows up in worry and whispered. “It’s here, in the city even now!”

The fine contractor faced me properly now, the hook in his lip but not quite secured. “Oh, uh, well what’s it do?”

“Oh!” I shivered. “I daren’t speak it. No, listen, I simply wish to buy some insurance until my business is done. I’ve a delicate constitution, and I want to ensure that none of that stuff comes anywhere near me, you see! My…” I blinked up at May and considered my most plausible relationship. “My… Wife and I only have a day or so left, and we intend to never return until this Dragon-Piss business is done with!”

“Oh, Oh dear… Wife?” The man’s disbelieving look froze May’s dance. “Well, nevermind. I’d never heard it was such a danger.”

“Oh you haven’t the foggiest. I simply can’t go into it, but… Until this thing is over, or rather until we’re out of its hair I wanted a quick, simple contract. Something to defend ourselves, you know? In case anyone throws piss in our face.”

“In your face!?”

“Shh! Don’t say it so loud, or others will hear. This is extremely delicate information. And…and you’re scaring my wife!” All looked at May who paused to briefly clutch her hands at her breast, pout her lips and widen her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” the contractor said. “Please, keep dancing, it will make you feel better!”

“Alright, no.” May’s strained exterior dropped completely. “You’re both pathetic.”

“May!” I gripped her shoulder hard. “Dear, now is not the time!”

“This isn’t working. I’m not doing it. Find another angle, Oskar.”

“What is this?” The Contractor asked, voice and eyes low with disappointment.

“It was working, and beautifully! What’s wrong with you!”

She met my eyes and glared hard at me , as if I were the one misbehaving. A shrug disengaged my grip, the girl folding her arms to wait.

And such a good plan, working perfectly despite her reservations and inability to dance. I stared, half apologetic, half antagonistic at the bewildered man whose eyes flickering between the now angry woman and I, equally bewildered. I was miserable with frustration and indecision. Swindling wouldn’t work, lying had already failed. Was this it, then? That fabled time when even the most reasonable, rational and morally upstanding business man would finally resort to that untouchable, riskiest of all mercantile strategies – simple honesty?

Luckily, as always, a little sensible thought set that option aside as well. Nonsense and fairytales. Only small town hicks who honestly don’t know any better and couldn’t understand the truth to begin with could ever fall for such subtle ploys. This was a black-market, back alley Contract salesman, the dirtiest of the lot. Two things got these sorts to listen. Money, and force. And I was rather strapped for money.

I glanced at May, set my face like hers, and sent it right back at the gentleman.

“Listen here, you… What’s your name?”

“Stanley.”

“Listen here Stanley.” Over the table and over the man I came a-leaning. “I and my wife here-“

“I’m not his wife,” May muttered, though she’d somehow spawned a knife, and was cleaning her nails with it.

“Me and my associate here just had you, hook, line and the other thing. She was nice enough to spoil it on your behalf so I’ve only one recourse…” Brow furrowed, face snarled, oppressive lean, all were employed for emphasis. “To tell you exactly what I want, and hope you’ll give me it.”

Worry and concern, disbelief and confusion, a dash of moral dismay and a heaping sprinkle of sexual frustration raced through Stanley’s face before me.

“I am very confused,” he said. “What do you want?”

“Confused, yes. A weakened state of mind, muddled and at our mercy! Submit now. We want a twenty-four hour contract that stipulates that in case any of that horrid Dragon Piss be spilt on me, it will… Well, what do you have?”

“Uh, I, Uh…” he flipped through the papers before him. “A bit of, uh, Thought, a little uh Druid, mostly Lightbearer, to be honest. One pre-written cantrip from a small enclave, doesn’t do much. I’m sorry. but, is she going to keep dancing?”

“No.” The snap of May’s voice elicited a flinch. She softened as she asked me, “What do you think, Oskar? Druid and Lightbearer...”

I pondered. He hadn’t said any of those powers had already been restricted to certain manifestations, only the types, which meant they were free to design as I wished. Already I was seeing the appeal of this sort of place, against the pre-written, committee agreed manifestations of the Council. Immediately the ‘mostly Lightbearer’ bit struck me , and after only a few minutes of making the poor, overwhelmed man wait and squirm, I had it.

“Blindness,” I said. “Blinding shouldn’t take many Apples. Blind everyone in ten feet. Fifteen!”

“Was…” The contractor rallied a bit, frowning then squinting up at me . “Was all this just to get a better deal? Was that it?”

“Of course!” I said. “But not just that, we’re going to give you an excellent deal! Isn’t that nice of us!”

“That wasn’t at all necessary, but okay, fine.” Stanley’s dull fingers rifled through the papers on the desk. Careful, probing, anxious, in that sort of daze one enters when reality is no longer certain, he took up a sheet and laid it out. “Write out your name, desired effect and duration in the appropriate areas while I figure out a cost. Where, uh.” He turned to May, face aflush. “Where did you learn to dance?”

“I... didn’t?” May responded. I took up the quill, filling out the appropriate areas, leaving the power amount blank.

“Oh,” Stanley said. “You were very good.”

“Great. Price?” May asked.

“Uhm.” He snatched the paper from under my last few lines, frowned at the scrawled variables. “Twenty four hours, blinding for… Ten or fifteen Apples would do it…” He made a note in the relevant place. “Activation clause, contact with Dragon Piss? You really think…?”

“No, not at all,” I said, rushing to seize the opportunity. “Very unlikely, essentially impossible, barely worth worrying about really. Incidentally, boils and plague, I hear people say it causes. Yes.”

“Wouldn’t you rather a contract… for it to just not touch you?”

A necessary pause as I digested the suggestion. An obvious rebuttal was not forthcoming, worsened by the embarrassment of having such a glaring flaw in my plan.

“We… worry about our fellow man as well?” May put in, her every word toned as a question. “We’d want to bring the fiends to justice?”

“And we wouldn’t want to waste the paper re-writing it,” I said with a gesture.

“I know you’re lying to me,” he said. May’s posture displayed the same heart-hanging dread I myself felt in that moment. The weary-eyed man continued. “I’m not an idiot, and I don’t appreciate your trying to swindle me, but honestly I’m more confused than upset. I really don’t care what you’re doing, and I wouldn’t have asked in the first place. I sell illegal contracts. Asking questions isn’t my business. Fifty Oranges.”

“Fifty?!” I slammed my hand down on the table, upsetting more than a few beggars and vagabonds about me. “That’s absurd! The likelihood of this contracts activation in such a minor time-span is-“

“Is absolutely certain, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“But that’s outrageous, that’s near all the money I have on me!”

“Then you’ll be glad I’m not asking for more,” Stanley said.

I glared into this man’s eyes, knew I’d met my match. Caught off guard and made to resort to unseemly measures, May’s fumbled sealed were the nails in the coffin that was this rip-off of a deal. I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out the small bribe-pouch I kept on hand and set it on the table.

“Sign it,” I said.

“Gladly.”

He scribbled some illegible mark on one side of the page’s bottom. Just to ensure some sort of victory, took the time to delicately trace out my graceful signature. I’m sure the man understood my superiority upon seeing its graceful lines, and felt suitably ashamed.

“Before Myria I agree to this contract as written,” I intoned.

“Before Myria, I agree as well,” Stanley replied, snatching the coin purse from my side. “Good. You don’t need a copy, I assume?”

“No, I don’t.” I huffed out a breath of tampered anger. “May, we’re done here.”

“Not yet,” May said, and I halted my retreat. “Did you sell a young man named Henrique a contract to make farts?”

Stanley blinked up at his former muse. “It rings a bell.”

“Then you’re a fat fuckhead ponce and I take back all the dancing.”

“But you can’t just-!”

“I just did!” May declared, folding her arms and sneering down that angled nose at the deflated little pup. “You’re not welcome to remember me fondly at all, and I hope you feel ashamed of yourself. Goodbye.”

She stepped away in a hurry. I quickly hurried to catch up to her..

“May that was very mean. Good job. I was worried we wouldn’t get the last laugh.”

“You’re welcome, I guess,” May said, with the first inkling of a smile I’d seen all day on her. “Oskar, I have to ask…”

“Yes?”

“And maybe you won’t be able to appreciate what I’m saying here, but…”

“Yes?”

“For such a... ‘legendary’ businessman – scam artist - that was fucking pathetic.”

I let out a long sigh as I pushed through the last clustered crowds between us and the wagon.

Having taken the reins, cut the chatter and mentally prepared myself for the coming chase, I eased the wagon between the unsettled masses that were gathering to leave the city. Angled somewhat downhill towards the guarded opening, even gravity seemed to press us onward to flee through yonder portcullis, an encouragement I was all to eager to take. Beside me, stoic Raufa remained stoic, while May and Henrique huddled in the back, prepared to hug down the barrels as the escape began. The potent, now catalytic Dragon Piss lay in my flask, tucked beneath my armpit and ready to deploy at a moments notice. I almost wished I could drink some and pass out for a day and a half like the last time I tried it, just to escape the anxiety of this moment. Wouldn’t want to set off the Blinding too early, though.

“What do we do when we get out of here?” Henrique asked.

“We’ll worry about that when we get out of here,” I said. “Remember to cover your eyes when I reach for my flask.”

“Yes we know. Seriously though. Where can we even go? Doesn’t the Council or whatever control everything now a days?”

“Excellent questions,” I said, lying. “A sharp mind like yours, be sure to let me know what you come up with.”

Already thoughts were stirring, concerns about my chosen employees. Like most children lacking sufficient beatings, good times had made them soft, and now that things were cracking, so were they. If the twins, and I expected, the equally soft Madeline and Pritchard, were to get through this, I’d have to tighten the bolts on them even harder, put some hair on their chests, like a swig of certain merchandise has been known to do, especially in children.

Nevertheless, as such valorous, responsibility laden thoughts crowded my mind I shoved them off for later, and focused on the task ahead, as May kindly took the burden of Henrique’s endlessly divided attention from me .

“The Council isn’t everything, it just has a say in most of it,” May said. “At least I think that’s right. They can’t really tell people what to do, just what not to do.”

“But like most idiots in charge, they think it’s the same thing,” I muttered as I rolled up to the controlled portcullis through the city walls. Eight in line, even in this minor entryway. I frowned at the length of the shadows and glanced up, cursing that the day had already grown so late. “Unfortunately some folks can’t tell the difference either. You’re not really in charge until there’s money involved, and the Council don’t pay anyone but themselves. Something of an inspiration of mine, really.”

“So you’re saying there are other places we can lie low?” Henrique asked.

“Lie low, certainly. Survive? Perhaps. Prosper? Like fuck.” I grunted as I nudged the horses forward. “We’re back to square one folks, thanks to those line-drawing, nose-raising sports-organizing pricks up there. Like to douse them all in the good stuff and light a tasty cigar on the flames that take ‘em! Now everyone shut up and calm down, we’re next.”

The guard to the right side of the gate waved through his most recent charge and waved an arm.

“NEXT!”

Back straight, face a sea of calm, gentle waters, I gave but a flick of the wrist and the tame beasts clopped their hooves over to the kind guard, stopping us right next to him. I leaned forward, flourished my hat and spoke in something approaching a bumpkin’s accent:

“Good day good sah, good day. Weh fixin’ to leave this heah fine city, good sah. Yes, mhm, ah.”

“Ahuh.” The guard puffed his cheeks as he glanced over the lot of us. “Hauling?”

“Only what remains of ahh goats milk, four barrels or so, you see. Not a good day in the market, but weh’v-ah sold enough to get by, so it is.”

“Ahuh.” One step on a wagon spoke brought him to peak over the edge, at the barrels, and the huddled twins. “And these two?”

“Workers, ah-course,” I leaned back over the wagon, easy as can be and nodded to the pair. “Can’chu see their sun-earned tans, the strength of their arms, sah? Couple a’ twin-types too. Good luck, mah grand-maw says, so she does-ah.”

“Ahuh.” Hopping down, the good kind man placed hands on hips, peaking over each inch of the wagon before finally fixing on Raufa. “And her? What’s her issue?”

Easy and relaxed as my expression was, Raufa’s stood as it always had – a firm, lifeless dam nevertheless on the verge of breaking. Those dead eyes peered back at the man, her lips ever so slightly pressed, her outer brows never once lowering to match the inner edges.

“Ah.” I smacked my lips. “Touch a’ the trots, she got. Righteously strugglin’ with the urge to burst.” I said, before leaving off with an almost mournful: “Mhm-ah.”

“A…huh…”

Like most facets of language, body language holds within it a depth of meaning and nuance very few people ever care to unearth. For instance, the hands on hips. As any child knows, a perfectly calm and reasonable mother becomes an unsightly beast the moment her digits grasp her love handles. At that moment he knows the promise she is making. To remove her shoe and beat the child senseless unless they comply. Such a versatile, varied gesture of myriad uses and implications, delightful to employ during a negotiation. That instinctual, subconscious fear of a shoe-beating has flipped the tables on many of my deals. No-one is immune to its charms.

The guard had already adopted said posture a couple of times, but in that disinterested, half-hearted sort of way - a different breed entirely. Following his declaration of disbelief, the dreaded pose returned, and with but a different glint in his eye and a different placing of the feet, the shadow of the shoe loomed over us. This man did not believe us. He was ready to force compliance into us disobedient children and the threat was received loud and clear. And thank goodness for it.

“Yes,” I said, forcing through that adopted dialect. I’d always been awful at it, which was why I chose it. I glanced about and saw the other guards alert and watching, having detected that primal warning sign in their fellow before us. “Think she might have drank somethin’ fowl, ya see.”

Lips licked, head tilted to the side, leg kicked outward – all the accoutrements an enraged mother needs to display her growing displeasure – the guard gestured to his fellows, who began to surround the wagon.

“And… what might that be?”

“Oh, just something we picked up in town,” I said, returning to my natural cadence. I slowly slid out the flask as the forces approached and the citizens retreated. “Some of that legendary, infamous…” Popped the lid. Closed my eyes. “DRAGON PISS!” Poured.

The cold liquid connected, the contract activated, and all about us people cried out in pain. I opened my eyes, flipped shut the flask and all but whipped the horses into action with a yell.

“MUSH!”

The noise and disturbance along with the potent, patented reek of Dragon Piss must have spooked the beasts, for they bolted forward, dashing away the guards that stumbled in their path. The guards manning the portcullis’ mechanisms must have been blinded to, as by the time it even shuddered an inch downwards we were well on our way, yellow droplets spitting behind as the wind grew, the worn dirt path an easy guide for the spirited horses as I clung to my seat.

“Hah! Thank Stanley for that, you – Oh, UGH! Fuck!” A few drops of the piss, sputtering in the wind from my hand, flew into my mouth as I’d hollered. The potent, fiery, acrid taste of concentrated draconic urea overwhelmed my senses. I tossed the reins to Raufa, clung to the side and spat, coughed and cried for the remainder of our gallant escape. Truly awful stuff.

There is not much more to say about that day. Somewhat taken out of sorts by the preceding events, and the unwanted dose, we rattled into camp, weary and haggard, and I set with a few gestures and harsher than intended words as I splashed water in my face and rinsed my eyes. Pritchard came to bother me with demands for explanations but I shushed him away, picked a destination at random and set off.

I are scribing this entry the following night. In the following day I’ve been reflecting on the situation. To keep it short, it’s shit. The business is ruined, my reputation in tatters, and I can still barely taste anything. Raufa, at my request, has been suppressing questions with pointed glares until I can get my wherewithal and decide whether life without a thriving business is worth living at all.