Eden

Eden was out of breath when she reached the bookstore. Had it gotten busier in the city? She felt like dodging the carriages was some sort of professional sport that she should have been aware of. Looking around at her group, she saw that none of the other members were panting. In fact, none of them looked even remotely bothered, Even Bran in his brand-new grey jacket didn’t look overly warm. Perhaps this was something that one simply grew accustomed to? Whatever the case, she was quite sure her breathing exercises would make it easier on her. Not that she was going to mention it to Ichabod.

She eyed Bran’s jacket for a minute. The red buttons he had gotten sewn onto the jacket were bright, and, surprisingly uniform. If she hadn’t been told that the panic button was the third one down, she would have never known.

She finally stood up straight and looked up at the hole-in-the-wall shop they had stopped at. A faded sign hung just above the door frame, reading “Plot Tryst”. Bran took a look around and pulled the thick wooden door open, leading the party inside. Briefly, Eden thought she had been led into a library. Upon closer inspection, she found that it was a bookstore–a fantastically large bookstore, but a bookstore nonetheless.

Eden had been in bookstores before, mainly to learn how to read in the common language most of the continent shared, and she had come to expect dust and faded, brown or tan leather. In Almaz, at least, books had been a practical commodity, not a luxury, unless one was a scholar, so, unless one was some sort of scholar, books of varying colors and sizes were few and far between. Here, on the other hand, was a brightly-arrayed and widely-varied selection of tomes, journals, and scrolls that were beyond anything Eden had come to expect from this world, all neatly organized on towering bookcases that scraped the ceiling. There was also a smell in the air. It smelled… sharp? Murky? She couldn’t really decide if it smelled good or not.

Sailing past a nearby bookcase on a ladder that had wheels was a middle-aged human woman with a shock of long red hair and eyes as green as Vorol’s; she wore a red dress with a low-cut bust and the sleeves ended halfway down her forearm.. The ladder came to a stop at the end of the bookcase, the woman hopped off, and made her way to the entrance to address the group.

“Bran, as I live and breathe!” She reached out to hug him and he instead grabbed her forearms, gripping her just behind her elbows and forcibly kept her a forearms’ distance from him. She gave him a playful smile and said, “Spoilsport. I take it Megan is still in the picture, then. Pity. Who are your friends?” Bran let go of the woman and stepped around her, in line with the woman and turned to face the rest of the group, gesturing to them.

“This is Sariel, Vorol, and Eden. They’re my partners.”

“Are they, now?”

“We’re on an errand to benefit the city.” Bran clarified. The woman looked visibly disappointed. “Guys, this is Trysten. She owns and runs this bookstore.

“Delighted to meet you all!” She exclaimed enthusiastically, stepping forward towards the group. “Would any of you care for any coffee? I’ll bring out a hand-press just for the occasion!” Behind her back, Bran vigorously motioned for them to decline her offer, which they did, but Eden was sure to compliment Trysten’s dress, just in case Trysten was another fae. It was unlikely, as Trysten had made an advance on Bran that could be interpreted as rude, but still, it didn’t hurt to be careful. Trysten must have caught Bran’s gestures in the reflection of the door’s foggy windows, for she smiled playfully again, turned around, and said, “Come, now, Bran, I’ve never poisoned anyone. I was just trying to be hospitable. Now, what brings your fine ass into my shop?”

“Is there anyone else in the shop?” Trysen shook her head. “We’re trying to take down the thieves’ guild.” Just like that, the cat was out of the bag. Bran had to really trust Trysten to just come out with it like that. Tristen didn’t bat an eye–well, not any that she wasn’t already batting at Bran.

“Oh, that sounds fun. You’ve come to me for information, then.”

“Well, I didn’t come for your,” he looked at her chest, “wares.”

“Damn. Well, information costs quite a bit.”

“Our demand might not be particularly high. A moment to converse here with my partners is also valuable to us.”

“That is on the house. You’re welcome company anytime.” She looked over at the rest of the party and said, “The rest of you are, as well, of course. Feel free to browse the books you find here, plus there’s a newspaper nook in the corner; today’s headline mentions that the little town of Centurion’s Spire to the far northeast has successfully made the world’s first flying ship–”

“Trysten, focus.” Bran interrupted. Trysten smiled a sickly-sweet smile, nodded, and gestured for him to continue. “So we’ll tell you our request and you’ll tell us the price?”

“Naturally.” she purred, brushing her hair off her shoulder.

“We’re looking to find Renaugh Joyautombe, or at least his location. It’s a rescue mission. Our other objective might be out of our price range.”

“I’m afraid this one might be as well.”

“I would still hear how much that might run me.”

“Fifteen thousand ounces and twenty-four hours” Trysten said without so much as a flicker in her smile. Eden’s eyes practically bugged out of her head.

“Bullshit.” Bran stated, disbelievingly. Eden was inclined to agree with his sentiment.

“I’m quite serious. Finding that out would take quite a bit more work on my part than I usually agree to.” Bran hung his head.

“Alright. Give us a bit of space–we need to talk for a moment.”

“Of course.” she said, giving Bran another once-over with her eyes before turning and heading to the desk. The group huddled and spoke in low voices.

“Holy calamity, Bran.” Eden exclaimed. “Does Megan know Trysten is like that to you?”

“Yeah, I’ve told her. Megan’s not worried.” There was a small crash behind them that sounded like a stack of books falling from the front desk. “Ignore that.” Bran said, resolutely. Eden raised an eyebrow at him. There was another crash.

“So,” Sariel spoke, “Where do we go from here?”

“No, no,” Eden interjected, “I want to know about the rat problem.”

“Right.” Bran said, snapping his fingers. “The reason we have to be so quiet when discussing these things is that a good number of the thieves guild are arourathropes.”

“Uh-row-ra-thropes? People who change into petty fights under the light of the full moon?” Eden asked jokingly.

“No, people who change into rats under the light of the full moon. And I’m not talking about giant rats that look like a threat. I mean small rodents that might weigh a pound, on the heavy side.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound… the worst.” Eden said, trying to figure out why this was such a problem.

“I’ll leave the explanation to our martialist.” Bran replied, deferring to Vorrol.

“Aside from the fact that they can shift whenever they want—the full moon being a mandatory shifting time for them—the issue is twofold.” the forest elf said. “First, and most importantly, they are tiny, and can sneak into all the places normal rats can and eavesdrop. Many robberies in this city have been preceded by rat sightings, as they’ll case a place in rat form, observing any sort of flaws in security or safe routes away from a scene.”

“That is problematic.” Eden said thoughtfully.

“Very. Now what do you know about lycanthropes?”

“Werewolves? Just that they’re hard to kill if you don’t have the right herbs or silver.”

“Exactly. Unless you have wolfsbane, a medley of other obscure herbs, or silver, the godsdamned things just don’t go down. I knocked one off of a two-hundred-foot tower a couple years ago–the impact it hit the ground with didn’t even knock the breath out of him. Now, for the wererats, even though they’re tiny when in rat form, the same methods are necessary to harm them.”

“Does magic work?”

“Hm? Yes, quite well. Fire is encouraged, because most were-creatures are furry. But barring that, if you see a rat, kill it with a silvered weapon on sight.”

“The city,” Bran said, “actually has a deal struck with the thieves’ guild.” He paused. “I say deal, but it’s more of an unavoidable ultimatum. About five years ago, they issued an indefinite moratorium on all guild rat-work, publicly stating that the guild is to refrain from using rats in their activities. The guild, in response, started using wererats to sneak into places where senators frequent, stole from them, and even assassinated one, though it’s widely believed that was an accident. In response, the city passed out silver forks for everyone to have with the instructions to kill all rats on sight. Shortly after, the city saw a sharp decline in local rat populations.”

“So, why do we have to look out for them?” Eden asked.

“Because they’re thieves. As soon as they think the heat is off of them, they send a few wererats out for important tasks. If the public gets worked up again, they pull their wererats back for a while. We believe they’re still trying to replenish the numbers of wererats on retainer.”

“That makes sense.”

“Which brings us back to the big question at hand.” Sariel said as if he was holding his breath. “Where do we start looking for Lord Joyautombe?”

“The obvious destinations are the bars along the docks. Those were the last places he was seen. We need some other likely places if those locations come up dry.”

“The bars in the sections adjacent to the port section are a given, of course,” Vorol intoned, “but do you realize how many bars those are? I say we head to the port and choose bars as one throws a dart at a map.”

“Poorly?” Eden asked. Vorol shot her a smile.

“Basically. I think we’ll be so tied up with the port bars and taverns that if we come up dry–”

“Heh, punny.” Eden interjected.

“--we won’t have time to get to the pubs adjacent to the port area. Not today, anyway.”

“Vorol makes a good point.” Bran said. “Any better ideas?”

“We could ask the person who reported Lord Joyautombe missing.” Sariel suggested. “He’d know the location of the bar the lord was dragged from.”

“Wouldn’t that just mean we’d be hunting down an additional person?” Eden asked. The group fell quiet for a second, then Bran said,

“Okay, let’s go to the port, pick a tavern, and canvas from there. Just be wary. Asking questions about missing persons in multiple areas is going to get the attention of the thieves’ guild. Keep your weapons loose.”

The party turned to leave the bookstore and Trysten encouraged them, particularly Bran, to return whenever they could.

***

The group stopped at a meat shop to grab a snack. The goblin who was running the shop was sawing on what appeared to be an ox's haunch with a hacksaw that he was having to lean his entire body weight into.

"Maltheo's Meats, home of the Mean Mignon!" The goblin called, his oversized bat-like ears perking up at the door's bell-jingle. He looked up and gave a sharp-toothed smile. "What sort of cuts are you looking for?"

"Do you have any small links of sausage?" Bran asked. "We're just looking for something to tide us over until our next meal." The short, green fellow nodded and replied,

"I do, but lamb is all I have at prepared in links at the moment. Will that do?" Bran glanced at the rest of his group, who all nodded vigorously.

"Yeah, that'll be fine. eight links, if they're small, four if they're not so small." The goblin moved to the opposite side of the counter, stepping off of his step stool and disappearing behind said counter for a few moments due to his height (or lack thereof) before reappearing on another step stool that led up to neatly-hung links of delicious-looking links of sausage.

Eden looked at the shop name displayed above the counter and commented to her group,

"That's a lot of 'M's in the name."

"Ah, yeah, that," the goblin chimed in, "was so I could poke fun at hobgoblins, since they always get stuck on their 'M's. My younger brother is a hob and I can't count the number of times I convinced him to load his sentences full of words with that sound in them just to annoy my parents. He's an adult, now, and less prone to such things, but since I get a lot of goblin business, here, the hobs have to stumble through the name whenever they want to buy from me. Call it justice, since I didn't get the ancestral gift that my brother did. Two silver, all told."

Bran handed over the silver and the group went on their way.

***

After a couple hours of walking, the group made their way to the port area. Almost upon entry to that section of town, which was cordoned by a series of covered bridges the party walked under as the ground sloped noticeably downward, Eden could smell the salt in the air much more strongly than before she crossed under the bridge. The sky was empty and blue; the sun beat down on the group as they trekked down the side of the road, avoiding carriages and covered wagons.

The first tavern the group came across was a small and fairly clean one run by a plump man wearing a tan button-down and a black apron, relaxing behind the bar with his legs propped up on the counter. The patrons were few and everyone kept to themselves, save for the group. Sariel sat at an empty table; Vorol leaned against the wall to the right of the doorway, Bran against the left. Eden walked up to the bar and spoke to the bartender.

“Excuse me, kind sir–”

“What do you want?” the man interrupted her, obviously peeved that Eden was disturbing him from his state of relaxation.

“Well, to start off with, your name, if you’d be so kind.” The man dropped his legs from their resting place and leaned forward from his chair.

“My name is ‘Order–Something. And–Get. The–Fuck–Out.” Hm. So he was rude. She flushed to summer and looked around to see who he thought he was talking to.

“That must be quite the signature, mister TheFuckOut. But perhaps you could–”

“Leave the man be.” Eden heard Bran say firmly. She turned and locked eyes with him and saw his frown. What was up with him? She looked at Vorol, whose gaze was fixed on something on the far wall, off to her right. There must be someone over there that was causing them to reconsider this bar. Still, the man was rude to her, and she was going to aggravate him a little bit more at the least. She produced two gold coins, slammed them down on the counter, and demanded,

“A bottle of vodka.” The man looked down at the coins and scowled. It was obvious he didn’t actually want to serve her. “What? You told me to order. Is my coin good, or is it not?” The man swiped the coins from the counter, snatched an unopened bottle of vodka and tossed it to her. Eden caught it with a huff and strode out of the bar with the rest of the group following closely behind. Eden turned a corner and chanced a look back at the bar; no one was following them from it. Once they had gotten sufficient cover, she asked,

“What did you guys see?”

“Three rats,” Vorol said, flatly, “peering out from the bottle-racks on the back wall. They were pretty well-hidden.”

“Wererats?”

“From the way they were watching? Almost certainly.”

“The barkeep did his job well.” Sariel said lightly. Bran spoke next.

“Since the bar is so close to the bridge we crossed under to get to the port area, it’s likely that bar is a guild hub. Stolen merchandise can be dropped off the side of a bridge during a chase with law enforcement, where it will be taken into the bar to be processed or held until it can be moved. I’d wager that the bar has sewer access, too, so the merchandise can simply disappear and be smuggled to another part of the city.”

“Why doesn’t the city just ban unauthorized personnel in the sewers and have the guards swarm down every once and a while and arrest everybody down there?” Eden asked.

“Because that exact thing is a reality. It’s illegal to wander the sewers unauthorized. And for an incursion into the maze of passages down there, our force of knights are called, as the city watch are mostly peacekeepers; the issue that’s run into, more often than not, is that the entirety of the guild’s operations are completely mobile. By the time the knights have made plans to storm a section of the sewers, that arm of the guild has been withdrawn and placed elsewhere into the city.”

“So… even the guild vault is mobile?”

“That’s a matter of some debate. The working theory that we have is that it’s protected by illusions, so that even if you do come across it, you don’t realize it’s there.”

“Right. Well, onto the next bar.”

“Hold up!” Vorol practically commanded Eden as she started to turn. He reached out before she could react and snatched the bottle of vodka from her hand. “No.” was all he said as he stowed the bottle in his rucksack.

***

The group walked down the street until they reached another tavern. This one was a little dingy. A scrawny man scrubbed the bar while keeping an eye on a sizable and rowdy crowd. Bran and Vorol got into their positions, Sariel had a seat at the bar, and Eden, also at the bar, addressed the barkeep.

Honored mister,” she called. The barkeep stopped scrubbing and gave her his full attention. “I’ll have a bottle of… ummm… that!” She pointed to a bottle of topaz liquid sitting on the shelf.”

“You want a whole bottle of brandy?” The barkeep asked with a hint of incredulity in his voice.

“It’s not entirely for me!” Eden protested, feigning offense. She produced two gold coins and put them on the counter.

“I’m sorry to tell you, miss, but that stuff is Firefruit Brandy, made in a distillery owned by House Watanabe. It’ll cost you another ounce.” Eden handed over another gold coin and the barkeep politely handed over the bottle. “You wanna glass with that?”

“Nah. But, hey, I’m looking for someone who may have passed through here a couple nights past. Would you tell me if you’ve seen him?” The man shrugged.

“Depends on who it is. If it’s a senator, don’t bother, I value their presence enough to not give any information out on their drinking habits. You’re not with a tabloid are you?”

Eden shook her head, turning to spring. “I’m not with any media, I promise.”

“Then shoot.”

“I’m not sure what he’s wearing, but he probably looked like he came from big money. He might be snooty.” The man furrowed his brow, obviously not placing the description. “I think he was accompanied by an orc.”

“Right! Him!” Long black hair and ice-blue eyes. Both of ‘em were mostly wasted when they stepped in, but they kept the coin flowing and put away more drink than I thought they should have. I cut them off and I think they headed over to the Fountain, just across the street.” Great. Now they had to inspect a fountain.

“I hate to ask,” Eden prompted, “as it’s somewhat indelicate, but were they both… well… still dressed when they came in?”

“Oh, man, they ended up in their skivvies?”

“Less than, from what I hear. But they didn’t start undressing here?”

“Not that I know of.” The man said, rubbing his chin.

“Okay, so the human still had on his overcoat and scarf? He’s always cold, even out of season.” The man looked shocked.

“Well, no, I guess he must have lost a layer or two on the way here. He had on some boots, tight black pants tucked into the boots, plus a loose white shirt with frills on the collar and sleeves.” Eden put her hand to her mouth in feigned shock. “The orc was dressed in athletic attire; sleeveless shirt, competition kilt.”

“Oh, no, Raenaugh! He must embarrass his friends, of course!” The man nodded sheepishly.

“Of–of course.”

“Was his hair still styled?”

“No, it was hanging loose around his waist.”

“Great. Well thank you for the information. I’ve got a naked man to find.”

“Best of luck!” the barkeep called. A man at a nearby table made a crack to Eden as she passed about being willing for her to find him naked. Eden ignored it and Bran and Vorol stepped defensively around Eden, obscuring the line of sight to the man. Sariel joined them a few moments later.

“Did you find out anything?” Bran asked, eagerly.

“Guys, you should have heard her!” Serial exclaimed. “She really worked the man for info!”

“So what do we know, as of this moment?” Vorol asked.

Eden grinned, proud of herself. “We know he’s got waist-length black hair, ice-blue eyes, he’s wearing boots, black pants, and a poet blouse. Also, did we miss a fountain outside? The attendant said that Joyautombe went to the fountain, and I don’t remember seeing one.”

“I was right to bring you along.” Bran declared giddily. Then he became serious again. “The fountain he’s referring to is Franklin’s Fountain of Fun.” Eden gaped at Bran. “Hey, I didn’t come up with the name. But yeah, that’s our next bar to hit.”

“Oh, speaking of which!” Eden said as she passed the bottle to Bran. “Here you go, Brandy.”

“Har-har. Are you going to buy a bottle of alcohol from every establishment we stop at? Because I don’t think we will be able to carry that much booze.”

“Oh, no, just two more bottles. One for Sariel, one for myself.”

***

The group went to seven more taverns, all with the same story: Joyautombe came in drunk and drank until we cut him off–he went that-a-way. At the eighth tavern, (and six purchased bottles of various spirits later) Bran insisted they stop and eat lunch before continuing their trek across the port area. As Eden sat in a booth at the most recent tavern, Danford’s Draft, with the group, de-shelled her shrimp, and chowed down, she looked out of the window to her left and watched the ships sail in and out. The water was a steely-grey contrasted by a stark blue, cloudless sky.

“Joyautombe really got around.” Sariel commented, twirling his noodles with his fork absentmindedly.

“No kidding.” Vorol replied emphatically. “It took Eden, here, tiny as she is, two unshared bottles of vodka to get plastered. That’s pretty substantial.”

“Why, thank you!” Eden interjected, beaming.

“It wasn’t a compliment. Joyautombe, on the other hand, must have the constitution of the gods to be able to drink like he did. The orc, I understand, because they can be upward of three-hundred pounds of pure, alcohol-resistant muscle. But a human? Amazing.”

“I honestly wonder if the man was even conscious for his kidnapping,” Bran mused, “or if he was already asleep and napped the whole time.” Eden wiped her hands and said to Vorol, who was sitting next to her,

“Vorol, pull up a chair at the end of the table, I need some room.” Vorol obliged, Eden grabbed her lute and sat in the chair at the end of the booth. Still staring out the window, she plucked softly on the lute, trying to find the right notes to encompass the scene she was watching.

“So, I never got it straight.” Vorol resumed the conversation. “The person who reported the kidnapping–the flamboyant one our mutual friend spoke about–he’d have to have reported it immediately. How did he know Joyautombe didn’t just get mugged?”

“Simple.” Bran replied. “The man panicked, reported it, and the fact that it was a noble made sure the information reached our mutual friend, our mutual friend called the meeting, and was prepared to cancel the meeting, should he turn up, alive or dead. A simple mugging? He would have turned up the next day. A murder? His body would have turned up; the guild doesn’t bring dead bodies down to the sewers. The third day with no peep makes kidnapping the most likely solution. Also, I think our mutual friend was chomping at the bit to get us started anyway, so it works out.”

“Next question.” Sariel spoke. “Why are my muscles feeling all tingly? I’m not allergic to shellfish.” Bran gave him a concerned look and said,

“You, too? I thought it was just me.” Next, Vorol added,

“No, guys, listen.” They did, and realized that the tingling sensation was pulsing with each string Eden plucked, though she didn’t seem to be paying attention.

“Eden!” Bran snapped his fingers. With a jump, Eden stopped playing and looked at him. “What are you doing?”

“...playing?”

“Yeah, but what are you doing to us?”

“Doing to you…?” She started to shift from spring to winter.

“Yeah, our muscles are all tingly.” Vorol chimed in. Eden shifted to fall immediately.

“Wait, yours, too? I was trying to make a new song, and my muscles started feeling tingly, but I thought it was just me.”

“It’s still persisting, whatever it is.” Sariel commented, poking his bicep. “It’s just not twanging with the music anymore.”

“Guys, I don’t know.” Eden admitted. “I wasn’t trying to do anything in particular. I didn’t even have to access my pool of magic for this.”

“You visualize your magic as a pool, or resource?” Sariel asked Eden.

“Yeah, what’s accessing yours like?”

“Like using muscles. If I overexert myself, I become useless, like a tired muscle after heavy lifting.”

“Inherent magic?” Eden asked, remembering that Ichabod had mentioned that to her.

“As far as I can tell.”

“So I suppose we don’t know how long our muscles are going to be like this?” Vorol asked.

“I guess not.” Eden replied, a bit abashed.

“Well, no harm, yet.” Bran said, encouragingly. Vorol jerked his head to the window and asked,

“What’s out there that was interesting to compose a song about?”

“The scenery is fantastic. That, and there’s a neat ship entering the harbor that is shiny on the front. It’s not really anything I’ve seen before”

“Wait… What?” Bran asked, sounding alarmed. Before Eden could reply, Bran leapt up and over the table, suddenly standing on the back of the seat Eden was sitting in, peering out of the window. “Guys, we need to get to the docks, now.” Bran dropped some gold onto the table, leapt off the chair, and dashed out the door. The rest of the group sat, stunned, for a moment and then followed.

It was difficult to catch up with Bran, as he had something of a head start, but the entire party noticed that they were running much faster than they normally could. The increase in speed was enough that they all noticed. It seemed this was the effect Eden’s earlier playing had on the group.

They zoomed down the sides of the road, crossing through carriages with ease, going farther and farther downhill until they caught up with Bran, who was crouched behind some barrels, watching the ship approach the docks.

It was a fabulously huge ship with grey sails, reddish wood, and what appeared to be a formed-metal plating on the prow of the ship that was folded into a sharp edge that ran vertically along the prow itself. The plating extended to cover a third of the bow.

The group, not even winded, joined Bran, crouching behind the barrels and peered over.

“What’s going on, Brandy?” Eden asked. Bran’s face was twisted into a scowl.

“Things just got a lot more complicated. That’s the Headsman’s Joy.”