B.T.V. -- Session 17 Interlude: A Sick Man's Comeuppance

The blood in the silver bowl was muddy -- sixteen types of blood being combined meant that the resulting concoction was forced to be. All was in order, however. Duble the Jhegaala soothsayer added the last, seventeenth and rarest type. Phoenix blood was so rare that owning it in this time was a crime. All Phoenix blood was meant to be held by the Royal Physicker. The ‘sayer added seventeen drops of this rarest of his distillations to the bowl’s contents.


The concoction trembled at the surface. It foamed where the silver of the bowl met its surface. Then the liquid became mirror-like. The ‘sayer smiled. He called to the mistresses that the quicksilver scrye was made. When they appeared, his smile broadened.


“Begin the decanting whenever you wish ladies. I have served you for the third and final time.”


“It is done. You may depart.”


“I am grateful to have been of use. Will you allow me further opportunities?”


“NO. Your life is your further opportunity. Go now.”


The ‘sayer left hurriedly. He had not expected such threats. It was strange behaviour. He didn’t mind the implication that he was unworthy to be in their presence but still... There would have been a cost in the old days. When his family had been united and alive. They had fallen to internal acrimony and accusations. The soothsayer had caused most of this. He had only himself to blame for having little recourse these days. The solutions he was capable of making were mostly like that. More harm done than good. More strife than aid. More finality than continuation. Duble was alone in Adrilankha. Alone with his thoughts of what might be.



He crossed through the streets of Six Towers not bothering to look about and not bothering to be furtive. There weren’t many draegerans nor any Jhereg in the district. No targets worth aiming at. The few that braved Six Tower’s roads were either too poor or too odd to expect much in the way of pickings. The ‘sayer made his way to the only inn in the district, The Blessing of Light. This was far from an excellent establishment. There was only a single thing to recommend it -- it existed. For the Six Towers folk, that was all it needed to have going for it. Duble clapped loudly, just the once, and entered. Inside the rafters were hung with a crowd of charms and trinkets, thought to ward those within from the horrors without. Duble knew too much to think that these charms were of any use other than perhaps taking the sting from some of the things on offer to ingest here.



He looked about. He needed to find only one fellow. The easterner had paid him more than he should have. It was no concern of Duble’s. If the easterner was mad enough to pay ransom for small things so be it. Duble never looked sideways at easy money.


There he is, the fool! Look at him sucking at that ale like a babe at the teat. He’d be wiser to keep his lips away from the rim of the mug.


The ales of the Blessing would be notorious, if they were spoken of at all, in the rest of Adrilankha. As they weren’t, the qualities of the Blessing’s ales to cause the runs and even severe boils, went unadvertised. If there was no choice, then the Blessing’s offerings could be appreciated for what they were, even if stomaching them was more problematic. Duble believed, because it had been several years since his last 'Blessing’s Battle', that it was the grit the tankards were scrubbed with that caused most of these issues. That was why he always rubbed the tankards he drank from with chraeling skin, fresh from the Lost Finger River.


It paid to be educated in the secrets of healthy living. Now to soak this wretched fellow for whatever I can get.





“Night’s Skies to you, friend.” Duble offered.


“Yes, Night’s Skies, as you say.”


“I welcome seeing you again.”


“I too am glad for a friendly face.”


Stupid veitch! Friendly, ha!


“The district has few that have the capacity to make friends of others. It’s too hard a place for the friendly. I am among that small cadre.”


“I appreciate talking to someone so ‘elite’. It is my preference to talk without choosing my words carefully. I dislike having to censor my speech for words too grand to be understood in conversation.”


“Never fear. I am well-read you see? While my childhood was without the learning that is usual, my time in Ironhook did not go to waste. So it is that I have some words and more wisdoms to my credit.”



“It’s clear that I was lucky to happen to meet up with you, when it could have been one of these creatures instead.”



“Those of the Six Towers can be somewhat... unsalubrious?”



“Oh! That is a good word for this place!”



“Reading is a gift, I can’t argue the point. Being a criminal – that's to mean, being charged with crimes I didn’t commit – didn't harm me in the end. My learning to read while imprisoned was luck itself. That isn’t to say that I wish to return, nor do I recommend a stay there. Much more wholesome to stay here at the Blessings, su?”



“Aye, it must be said I’ve rarely had more memorable accommodation. I cannot help feel my ague returning but I have no doubt that this inn means it has been held at bay this long.”



“You said you were well travelled? I think you’ve told me a cracked rib?”



“Cracked rib? Is this a phrase used only in the district? I don’t understand this.”



“A fib, a small lie hiding the truth behind a somewhat broken sentence.”



“I see... No not a fractured bone of any kind. Nor is it a lie I tell you. The Blessing of Light’s hospitality remains without equal in all my trekking about. I can confidently attest to the truth of my feelings on the matter.”


Duble understood.

He’s trying to say the place is a shithole. I have to agree. But his way of saying it! He talks like a Dragon or Issola at a trial. Where is this fellow from? Not Karrion, that’s for sure. The easterners there were far from elite. Usefully violent and simply put together. My kind of veitches the lot of them. This fellow was different. Stay on him. He may trip himself up and then it will be me that has all to gain.



“I’ll tell the owner of your high praise. He won’t believe your kind words... Tell me, did you give more thought to the matter of the purchase?”



“It is in point of fact, why I have been sitting here, drinking this remarkable brew. I have decided your advice is both sound and to my immediate advantage. The man I represent will profit by it as well.”



“Your employer?”




“Let’s call him a companion. He hasn’t paid me in so long that I can’t allow for myself to be considered working for the man.”



“How despicable of him. Here you are, looking after his interests and he not forthcoming with back wages. It’s a tapestry of epic proportions.”



“He’s woven me into a pretty picture, it can be said.”



What is he blithering about? Woven a picture? Why is mentioning weaving anything? Perhaps he means to turn the property he buys into a cloth making business. That wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
“Your interests are commercial? Textiles? I could see you in a merchant’s frock coat. You’d look most sharp, sir east.”



“No, did I say I was interested in this? Let’s keep to the matter, eh?”




Damn him to the gates and back! Veitch eastern sca. Wait until he’s signed off. There will be other payment to take then.






 Duble looked across to where his three hireling Orca sat. They made a good pretence of playing seven splinters with each other. Duble gave them his signal.

“Forgive me, the matter?”



“You wish me to sign? Come Duble, You’ve been pestering me and now you don’t recall?”



“Su, I do better than remember, I have the papers here.”



“Prepared always, eh?”



“No profit in not being.”



“Let me have a look at them.”



Duble handed over the tatty, crumpled documents of writ. Ownership of property was important enough that even such bedraggled examples would be honoured in the highest of Adrilankhan courts.



“You need sign here, and here, and once on the other side, and there, and that’s all and done.”



Duble’s interest was not in providing a purchase of a property but in learning the easterner’s name and that of his associate. The purchase would be denied but long after Duble had made off with the retaining fee and down-payments on the property. No sale of property would ever allow an easterner to own a place in the city. Only a newcomer, greener than leviathan-bloodied waters would assume otherwise.



I will be wealthy! He’s signing... Stay calm. Act reserved. There will be time for celebration. A meal at the White Lantern? Why not Valabar’s? Wealth! It is my time! But calm...



“I wave it so, to dry the ink. My quill? Unless you wish to keep it? No? Then I thank you. I will take this directly to the Property Stallation. Get your purchase approved, most quick. Then it will be yours, lickspittle fast.”



“Are you calling me a lickspittle?”



“What? No. I meant it will be done double quick.”


“Very well...”



Dammit! Careful. Use words the fellow will not get offended by. So close!

“I take my leave of you hastily. Once you have, ahem, given me the funds?”



“How simple of me. Please.” The easterner picked up a long cape that had draped over the chair beside him. Duble saw the triple locked chest and knew it for what it was. An imperial strongbox. Better still! Fools that believe in the unbreakable lock. If it was so unbreakable, they wouldn’t need three of them!
“Thrice protected is thrice saved, they say. I often remind those bedding down with Six Tower’s doxie-girls that, hah!”




“A dose of the region is next door to the nation of lesion, eh?”



“As you say, as you say.”
He loves to hear himself spout. Idiot wretch. He’ll be in the Lost Finger, facedown and pouring in minutes. I can even afford to actually pay the Orca for the work! Better still!



"I will just take this with me. The Stallation has the requisite keys to open all such locks. All above board and merische.”



Gods, the chest is heavy. Laden full of coin and all for me!
Duble made a peculiar bow. It said ‘Farewell’ to the man and ‘Get on with it’ to the Orca ruffians.





Duble stopped only when he was far enough away that he could not be seen or heard. His feet shuffled excitedly without him realizing it. This was beyond a dream to the soothsayer of Six Towers. He looked for a brick to smash the case locks from the chest. He found one.

Smashed off the first lock in one. The second took three blows. A decent brick this! Look about. Someone might be coming. Watch...



The writ, which in his excitement had dropped on the back lane’s stones, lay nearby...

What was the fellow’s name? Might as well look. You can remember him to the Gods and speak highly of him when you buy rounds of drinks for your new friends. How sweet it will be!


Duble read the name but it didn’t mean much to him. Eastern names meant little to any draegeran. It was an odd name for an easterner though. It looked very draegeran and that was so wrong on so many levels. This was something that struck him an hour or two later. He didn’t think on it before that as it took him that long to calm down. His worry and agitation were consumed by the other name on the document. The name of the man’s associate.


A Dragon? How could the easterner be working with a Dragon? Not a Dragon.-- The Dragonlord el’Niboné. Now what is there to do? You’ve broken two of the locks! How will you explain that? He's entitled to buy the tower, the absolute veitch. I can’t go back to Ironhook. I won’t. Curse the Dragonlord and curse my luck!


Duble saved his strongest curses for the easterner. He cursed the strangely inappropriately named Huillam d'Averc repeatedly, stopping only when he realised he'd arranged for the three Orca to put the easterner in the river. That could be a problem too.