Day One of Week Thirty-Three - Part One

Oblissa. A port slapped onto a Truestone Fort, not long after the Third Round began, only to grow and overflow. My last visit, about two years ago for a local extraction, mostly dealt with the greater minority, the noble merchants, bunch of witless fad-followers. I hardly had to spout any spiel about Dragon Piss’s more esoteric qualities before three barrels had disappeared, along with the first sizeable chunk of my debt. A quick, painless visit with not a single bother from the more troublesome segments, namely the lesser, uglier sort of merchants, nor the Thinkers, sequestered away in their Truestone Fort. Today, however, we tripped face first into both.

Mostly industrialized, Oblissa remains somewhat idyllic to most folk despite its size, especially from a distance as we came down through the Bridge-Mountains. Madeline mentioned something about visiting a relative. Pritchard named an inn that served divine chilled wine to the sound of violins and renowned soprano singers. Two miserable options for a day spent, something I shared with Raufa. She grunted, as she does. All the same the charm did not fail to make its mark on me, and I looked forward to enhancing this seaports’ beauty and splendor with a rumour-stirring visit from yours truly. But the best was yet to come.

Pritchard and Raufa accompanied me on this outing, the former for negotiation and logistics purposes, the second for a lack of backtalk. Having left the others behind, I steered the horses lazily through the various crops and noisome grazing fields towards the town, accompanied by a healthy mix of sun and meandering clouds. It was then that I noticed, and appreciated something as if I’d never seen it before. No walls!

“Ah, what a loathsome criminal am I! An absolute scoundrel!” I said to Raufa as the thought settled mirthfully in my mind. “Plotting escape routes, seeking out shadowy contacts, trafficking contraband. Thrilling! No?”

“No.”

“What, no sense of adventure at all? This is new for both of us my girl, and I’m feeling it, like new life in my veins. You really don’t feel a thing?”

“No.”

I paused a minute, caught a ripe whiff of the surrounding animals which distracted briefly from dissecting exactly what her latest grunting negation meant. Her face, lively as a corpse and fixed forward as if bolted that way, gave no hint. I decided it didn’t matter.

“Raufa, sometimes I wonder if you’ve not let things go properly.” I licked my lips, glanced at the approaching town, the field-attending folk, the piss-load splashing behind. Not the greatest chance to deal with the issue, but it couldn’t hurt bringing it up. “It’s been years, don’t you know? We’ve moved on. New life, new adventure! But all this grunting and ‘no’ing, it’s something of a concern. A few years ago I could understand it, but to carry it on so far! And honestly, how much can one person exercise? It cannot be healthy! You’re a different person now. Time to sort yourself out, and enjoy life!”

Occasionally one might forget just who Raufa is. Or, no that’s not quite true. I suppose that, after all the years, I take for granted that so far she hasn’t crushed my chest inwards. I quickly reassessed my gratefulness in light of the look she twisted to me with. I’m not much of a writer. I can’t do it justice. Like the night sky itself opened its enormous eyes and glared down at me. Or not even that. Whatever. It was scary!

“We both have trauma.” Unblinking, low-browed eyes fixed on me. “I leave you to yours. Leave me to mine. Look out.”

All said in the same flat, imposing ton. The final part perplexed me for a good half second before I rode straight into someone, elucidating the matter.

Wahh! Shit! Look out! Horse sounds! So forth. Our unattended horses had failed to stop rear-ending the rider ahead of us.

I yanked and twisted the reins, veering between the oncoming traffic and trampling safely into the nearby wheatfield, the meager fence easily yielding beneath frightened hooves. The wagon pulled to a stop, I hurried in quickly remembered courtesy down to the affected riders.

“Oayh! Wo’ yoo doon?” he yelled. I won’t bother with the accent this whole time, but just to make clear the calibre of individual I’d upset, there it is. The man, who’d been atop the horse and perhaps fortunately remained unharmed, leapt over his wriggling mount towards us. Like most young men he seemed convinced that touching chests together and giving me a penthouse view up his nostrils would intimidate. “You better watch out or I’ll wallop you good!”

I tilted back my hat to avoid it hitting the brim of his nose.

“Well alright, if looking out is all it takes to sort out this mess, easily done. ” I took a step back, opening enough space to offer a hand.

“Eh? Think you’re clever you—" I couldn’t understand what he said here. Planker? “I don’t gotta stand here and…” A hefty thud from behind. He straightened and frowned. “You what?” A familiar tingle of intuition tickled the back of my neck, and I ducked. A fist flew, knocking my hat off the process, and planting him firmly on his arse a second time.

“Appreciated, Raufa,” I said.

“Yep.”

Mouth and chin already sopping with blood, the ruffian shielded himself pitifully matting his broken nose with dust and grit. He spat out the mix a few times and ascended to his knees. The field attendants wisely gathered their tools and backed off, despite their broken fence.

“Now that we’ve all cooled down, I’ll gladly handle damages for all this business my boy.” I approached and offered him a hand. “Being friendly, noble businessmen and all. Yes?”

Black, once intimidating cloak ruined, face bloodied, well dusted and forever scarred, the good lad scowled nastily up at me, at the offered hand.

“Ho-Hoiya!” It’s what he said. He took my hand (giving me a nice coating of his blood) and stood. “Nice wallop! Tight little bit o’ power maneuvering! What?”

“Oh, well,” I retrieved my hand from his suddenly enthusiastic grip, covertly wiped it on a few heads of wheat. “It’s all in the business, don’t you know. Simple work ethic. Nothing, really.”

“Oh, aye?” Nose open to the streaming blood he gaped at me, leaned in. I took another step back. “What’s that then? What you do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, bashfully brushing off my waistcoat. “I shouldn’t talk about it, but I’ll just say it’s quite the golden opportunity.” Always a classic.

“Oh aye? Well I was just off to—”

“It’s really been a pleasure to meet you my man, I truly mean it, but we’re a busy group and you’re about to bleed out on me so how’s about we call this even and leave off like men?”

“Oh, yeah, great! Shit my nose hurts.” He pointed to Raufa, pumped his fist. “Nice one!”

“Yeah.”

“Alright…” He gave his face a futile wipe with his sleeve, glanced around through pained eyes and located his steed. “C’mere you.” Off he wondered into the fields, nourishing the crops with snot and blood and he sputtered. All in all, a nice consequence free interaction, so I thought.

“Ahem.” I nodded to myself, checked that no other interested parties remained, and returned to my wagon. “Don’t distract me like that Raufa. That stare of yours, honestly.”

She plopped herself down next to me, said nothing, and back off we went.

“Oskar, you know who that was?” Pritchard, who I’d entirely forgotten in the excitement, finally said.

“No, do you?”

“No, but he looked awful rough. Dangerous sort. That’s going to come back to us somehow, I bet.”

Wait. Does that mean that Pritchard heard? Oh well.

“Of course he looks rough. He’s a ruffian! Roughs people up, looks rough, sometimes gets roughed up. Probably off to some brothel to tell the story and rough himself to sleep. If anything, I bet our little accident here has enhanced our reputation before we’ve even arrived! Stroke of luck, I’ll say.”

“I disagree. And that stupid joke. ‘Golden Opportunity.’ You really think its smart to hint like that?”

“I… Shut up.”

I forged onwards The fields dwindled and the houses and subsequent warehouses sprung up around me. Always a pleasant thing, to get out of the open.

“It’s a great joke and it’s called branding. He’ll tell that little story far and wide and two weeks from now when we’re long gone someone’ll get it, have a great laugh, and we’ll have a repeat customer! Honestly, Pritchard, let me do what I’m good at and you stick to what you’re good at. Numbers and being quiet.”

“You should be nicer to me,” Pritchard said, with at least something approaching a backbone in his voice. “I’ve half a mind to turn you in, speaking to me like that.”

I tweaked an eyebrow. Unexpected. I’d been going to say something but Raufa stretched an arm over the seat-back in turning. She looked at him. That was that.

Alexandria, Stefan had supposed to me, ought to be residing in and presiding over the Truestone fort up the west side of town. Walls there, I noted, so no easy escape should it come to that. Not that it ought to! A short, polite stop for information and not a second more spent in those splatter patterned halls. Real pretty, despite the killing and such went on inside. These pleasant thoughts occupied my mind as, in the quiet from Pritchard's prattling I steered the wagon through the cobble streets, white daubed buildings steadily gaining a second coating of mud and other earthly splashings. Rustic, and a hint of the true underbelly we’d come for.

With no wares to sell as yet and no bad business around, what with no one knowing who we were, the tooth-rattling ride left my mind at ease. The folk too few and far between on our route to even slow us down. Erupting from the foreground roof tiles to our right, masts peered up in, twos and threes, furled up and a-swaying in the bay. The bustle would be by the water. I wondered what the swaying of ships would do to the delicate nature of Dragon Piss. Worth a try, if I found a gullible captain or two.

The housing got a little better around the Truestone keep – Rich folk tend to stick together - but remained positively tawdry compared to the thing itself. Greenish-Grey with scratchings of iron-red and speckles of white-something, supposedly to make it stronger. It grew like the landscape itself straight from the rock, pre-made before our arrival on Mama’s back, to huddle inside while the Twenty hunted us down. Real nice of her. The five original piers, too, were Truestone. It’s said Myria described her ideas for boats to the first of us. More likely the Moketta made boats originally and she decided to steal the idea.

Anyway, the fort. It’s pretty boring. Never seen the attraction. No closed gates, so I settled myself nicely in the dull courtyard, waited for one of the few idling folk to approach me. Scholar types, a couple soldiers. Not much going on, it seemed, though looks can be deceiving with these buggers. I reminded the others to keep their minds sharp, and not let any funny business go on. Pritchard raised some doubts.

“Can we help you?” The scholar type tried first, a youthful woman in that comfy looking, pale layered robe they wore.

“Oh, hello there my friend,” I said, tipping my hat to her. “Or good afternoon, I should say. I’m here to see an old pal, a Miss Alexandria. I’m told she’s running this place now-a-days.” I smacked my lips, leaned in close. “Oh, yes, I remember fondly. Those were the good old days, those old days. Good, they were. Wanting to reminisce and such, you know? She around?”

Something of a tight-eyed, tilted brow type this one was. She glanced at the three of us in turn, not without sparing a few glances at the barrels behind. Poor gal, probably just some apprentice, little more than a maid. Not wanting to overwhelm her, I gave her time to let my words sink into her poor, addled mind.

“Yes, I think she’ll speak with you,” she said. “You can leave your wagon here. Raufa can stay with it, as you please.”

“Glad we’re at an understanding!” I hopped off. “Come come, Pritchard. Let’s go see Ally!”

The girl clicked her fingers. Or, she must have anyway, since two of the soldier sorts came trundling over all obedient-like, probably eager to help out the poor gal.

“These men will escort you to Alexandria. I hope you enjoy your stay here, Oskar.”

“Oh, I’m only stopping by for a moment, you see?” I said as the friendly guards led us by the arm into the building. “Lovely place, well kept! Mother’s a darling, isn’t she?”

“Oskar are you okay?” Pritchard said, struggling to keep up with his escorter’s gentle yanking. “I’m not feeling my best today. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Oh, shush Pritchard.” The darkened halls – windowless, as all Truestone places tend to be – were a little unsettling, but I was positive nothing was amiss. “Anxiety like that is why you’re just an accountant. We’re adventurers now! Piss Merchants on the run, flighty across the face of Myria, hunted by all, wanted by more! Grow some spine, Pritchard.”

“Should you be...” Pritchard’s voice dwindled away. I attempted a glare but my escort gave a helpful, encouraging yank forward.

“Should I what?”

“Oh, nevermind. I don’t remember.” Typical.

The drab halls had at least been carpeted, not like the last one I’ve visited, with the occasional drape and plentiful torch sconces and braziers to distract from this things purpose as a death-box. More extravagant was the large inner chamber the guards showed us into with a hearty shove and a dramatic slamming of the doors, which would have added to the grandeur of our entrance if I hadn’t tripped and fallen. Within, dressed in similar but finer draperies as the girl outside were four or five Thinkers idling about a broad table, papers all splayed across. Chain-hung braziers splattered light from all angles, splaying shadow columns of each attendee across the pages. They hardly noticed our entrance save for the odd glance. I dusted myself off, shrugged away the embarrassment and stepped forward.

“Ah, here we are then Pritchard. Just on time for our appointment. We’re here to speak to a Lady Alexandria. We're a couple of fine reputable fellows, sent by an old friend!”

I heard a laugh from somewhere, though no-one particularly opened their mouth. Probably Pritchard letting out an anxious giggle in a womanly soprano.

They did talk amongst each other, though, voices low and murmuring in the tall hall. Mostly uninteresting gossip about – well I don’t really remember, honestly I zoned out a bit. After a while these Thinker types shuffled past us, heading out. I removed my hat graciously and gave each a solemn nod in passing, though honestly I can’t remember a damn thing about them. The last woman gestured for us to join her.

“And you’ll be the reputable Alexandria Oskato, shall I presume?” Hat to my heart I tilted my head in well practiced deference.

“That I am,” she said, wearing indifference like I wear a suit. “Pleasure to meet you, Mister Sleeman, Mister Howe. You say you’ve come as friends."

"Oh, no, that was just a ploy to get in here. We're here to sell to you, but also I was rather hoping to blackmail you a little."

She circumvented the table to stand next to us, looking down at the papers while, I could tell, listening eagerly to our words. I glanced down at the words myself, but frankly whatever it was bored me so much I can't remember a single thing.

"Is that right?" She asked.

"Yes indeed. See we're wanted fugitives and-"

"Stefan Petal." Her demeanor changed in some way. "He's here?"

"Oh sure," I agreed easily. Very interesting conversational partner, I found myself enjoying the banter very much. "Outside town, with the rest of my crew. We’re hoping to secure some of that clever mental camouflage you lot are so good at, though frankly I’m not sure I believe there is such a thing! Messing with someones mind like that - absurd!"

"Gosh, my head is killing me.” Pritchard raised his wrist to his forehead, like some fainting dandy.

"You always have a damned headache, or some other complaint, you whining little cretin. I only keep you on because you make me feel more masculine and well adjusted in comparison, and you do all the boring work.”

“I’m only here because I’m scared to move on,” Pritchard said with a shrug. “Also, I care deeply for Miss Madeline though I wholeheartedly swear to myself that I would never ever declare such a thing. I’m not worthy of anyone’s love, let alone hers.” He clicked his fingers and rubbed his chin. “Incidentally, Oskar, I haven’t noticed anything weird going on have you?”

“I have not,” I said, nodding. “These thinkers aren’t as scary or tricky as they seem.”

The chatty Miss Alexandria grabbed me by the collar in a friendly sort of way, not too suddenly, her face a bright, loving red. Her brows were furrowed, as though in deep thought, her teeth bared, almost like a smile. A rather tall woman, gorgeous for her age, towering over me.

“Please, Miss Alexandria, I’m not in the mood right now…”

“Tell Stefan that I understand well enough his intent. Suffice it to say I will give you nothing for I need not. You are watched, we all have known where you were for days now, but the powers that be have a stalemate on what to do with you. None can move on you - for now. As for this… plan of yours. Your man is Me – that’s his actual name, yes. Ask for him around The Pinching Tender. Now I don’t want to hear any more about this – or that other business. Other than this message, forget that we had anything more than a pleasant conversation.”

“Yes, that was a pleasant conversation, wasn’t it?” I said. “We should do this more often.”

“You will never come back here again.” She turned away.

“Once was enough actually,” I said. Descending the steps I patted my companion on the shoulders. “Come Pritchard, let’s leave and never return. We’ve escaped scot free from this thinkers den. Outwitted them, I should think!”

“I don’t think you did,” Pritchard said. “Did you bribe her? Weren’t we going to ask her why Dragon Piss is outlawed? I mean, that seemed like far too pleasant a conversation for bribes to be concerned.”

Taken up once again by our equally pleasant escorts, we shuffled to keep up with their eager ministrations in guiding our way out.

“That was a very pleasant conversation, wasn’t it? I probably did bribe her, which counts as outwitting”

Anyway, after that pleasant talk which, in reflection, I think was quite pleasant, the guards gathered us up onto the wagon once more and even helped us get moving with a broad-side slap on the horse’s arse with their swords. Pritchard and I recounted our pleasant discussion with Alexandria, and let her know that we had a lead on sales. Raufa listened rather intently to it all, not once gazing away in utter indifference.

“You almost look concerned, Raufa. I promise you we had a very pleasant time,” yoI u said, patting her shoulder.

“Yes, quite pleasant,” Pritchard said.

“Indeed. Let’s never go back there.”

“Yes, never.”

“Stop talking,” Raufa said. That usual rumble was almost a growl. Perhaps she was jealous of the time we’d had which, if I had to, I would describe as pleasant.

“Alright dear. Moving on. The fellow’s name is ‘Me’, apparently.” As we careened down the road towards the docks. “Do you think he named himself that so he could say – ‘If you want.. Blah blah blah… You’ll have to go through Me’?”

Pritchard scoffed. “If he did, that’s pathetic. What a worthless joke.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’d be funnier in the moment, if we hadn’t thought of it until he said it.”

“Maybe. The joke’s ruined now, though.”

“Raufa, head down to The Pinching Tender and see if we can’t find us a Me.”

“We’re going back,” she said.

“Whatever for?” I asked.

“Something’s wrong. With you.” Her path continued us on towards the gates. Anyone else and I’d have just snatched the reins away.

I scoffed. “Yes, yes. I’m traumatized, and so forth. Honestly, you folk. Can we not deal with this later? We’re short on time, you know. Dragon Piss doesn’t stay fresh forever!”

“How long does it stay fresh for?” Pritchard inserted from behind.

“About three days,” I said with a shrug.

“It’s been almost a week!”

“And as long as you don’t shout it, they’ll never find out, will they?” With a wave I returned him to his hiding spot in the back of the wagon. “Raufa, seriously dear, what is wrong with you today? All huffing and puffing, I’m concerned about you. Maybe we should find a doctor.”

“I’m not sick.”

“Well then jolly-O!” I chopped in the direction of the waterfront, and again for good measure. “There lies our path, then, since you’re up for it. Pritchard and I certainly are. Shut up Pritchard!” The weasel slinked back into his crevice, complaint unspoken. “Honestly, what is there to worry about? We’re just going to lie to some local criminal and sell him some faulty, highly dangerous monster urine, lunch at one. A splendid start to our new lives!”

Neck-crushing hands yanked the reins taut, our bodies hurled forward as it stopped. Raufa’s eyed me. Really, it’s what she’s good at. That and throttling. Despite the terror her gaze instills there remains a definite intelligence, which frankly only makes things worse. I’ve written too much about Raufa’s stare but good lord it is unsettling every damn time.

“I said we’re going back.”

Due to the aforementioned murder-stare I decided not to argue, or even chastise Pritchard’s sigh of relief. With mighty flicks and yanks she piloted our way back over the course of a silent hour, rolled us into the camp and parked the wagon right infront of Stefan’s trailer. She hopped off, slammed her fist into the woodwork once, and folded her arms in wait.

Stefan’s door opened and he stepped out, fully obfuscated, adjusting his mask as he stopped beside Raufa, his eyes drifting up to me.

“Ah, you’ve returned. Feeling well?”

The girls hand slapped down atop his skull, digits gripping harshly, all to turn that gaze towards her.

“Explain.”

“So you’ve noticed. Have they?”

“No. Explain.”

“Of course we haven’t noticed anything, because nothing strange happened,” Pritchard said.

“Indeed,” I added. “We merely had a pleasant-“

Raufa raised her hand, and I stopped, raising my own in deference. Aside from briefly closed eyes her expression barely changed.

“Explain.”

“Of course,” Stefan said, as May and Henrique were approaching.

Then Stefan clacked his teeth together for a while. Likely some ‘Wah wah solar contest, wah wah, freedom, wah wah I can’t urinate’ malarky. Even Pritchard visibly dazed off from the nauseating monologuing, picking at his nails all the while. The rest seemed utterly entranced, the sheep that they can be sometimes, but I'd stopped registering the words right off and whiled away the, well, however long it was, by laying back into the wagon seat and staring at the clouds.

“They’re perfectly fine,” he finished. “Just don’t mention any of it to them again.”

“See!” I shot upright. “Even Stefan agrees we’re fine! Wasted time over nothing, when we’ve business to conduct.”

“Hey, Oskar,” Henrique said with a bit of a grin. He then shouted something. Some incoherent drivel.

“That’s nice, boy. Raufa, there’s still sunlight. Let’s go meet our new client!”

“Whoa,” Henrique said, turning to his sister. “He really just doesn’t care. This is kickass! Think of the-“

May slapped her hand over her brother’s mouth. “Yeah, great, shut up. I’m coming too.”

“Yeah, me too,” Henrique said after pushing away her arm.

“You’re not coming Henrique,” I said. “Not until you stop being boring. Now come along May, Raufa.” Raufa turned to Stefan in hesitation. “Don’t look at him, he isn’t your boss or your friend, girl. Come along now!”

“I swear on my mentor’s life,” Stefan said, hand over the dusty gap where a heart ought to be, “there will be no side effects for any of you, other than maybe some headaches. You’re fine to go on. Besides, Oskar is right. Draconic Essence doesn’t stay fresh forever.”

“Maybe not, but Dragon Piss does!” I said, taking the reins. “At least that’s what we’ll tell the client. Seriously, am I your boss here or not? Get a move on up, or get a move on out of my employment.”

As the girls clambered on, I twitched an eye up towards Grandfather. Somewhere past lunchtime, no rush at all. Could even stop for a bit of kip on the way back, I decided, with the money we were about to make.

“Can I stay?” Pritchard asked. “I want to stay.”

“And I also want you to stay,” I said. “But I’ve no head for numbers or percentages or remembering things. That’s your job, and we’ll need to hash out good terms if we’re to make a new partner in this Mr. Me.”

I handed the reins to Raufa, who hesitated a moment before taking them, and resettled in my seat. May leaned against the wagon’s sides across from Pritchard, legs stretched out where his were crossed, and, for the second time that day, we were off.

“What the hell is a Mistermee?” May asked.

“This gentleman, surname of ‘Me’ is our new client,” Pritchard said, sighing and wiping at his eyes. “We think it’s meant to be a pun. I hope not.”

“Damn, your day has been really weird so far,” May said, sharing a look with Raufa. “I hope things get better from now on.”

“Actually I think it’s all been pretty pleasant so far,” I said, already seeing the walls coming into view once again.

“Pleasant, m’yes,” Pritchard agreed.

“Fuck’s sake,” May muttered.