by Mike Truk
I cracked it open, peered inside, and saw a small boudoir, all diaphanous veils hung at cross angles so that they were layered upon each other, glowing pale white with the light of hidden candles. The walls were hidden by more pale drapes, and the carpet lush with ivory carpets and thick sheepskins.
A bed dominated the center of the room, square and without covers, a lampetrawoman lying across it and gazing at me with her hideous fish head. She wore not a stitch, and made no effort to cover herself as I stepped inside, cheeks burning as I glanced at her perfect body. Long, muscled thighs, wide hips that narrowed to a slender waist, full breasts, her toned arms, her skin a pale gray, flawless and yet with a strange, almost rubbery sheen.
“Hello,” she said, voice little more than a whisper, and I flinched as I gazed at her conical head, the briefly visible shelf of upper teeth, that broad upper lip of cartilage. “It is to be a party, I see.”
I stepped forward, giving room to the other three women to enter the doorway. “I - no, not exactly. Not of that kind, at any rate.”
She inclined her head quizzically to one side, yet still made no move to cover her nudity. “What kind, then?”
“We, ah, have an offer for you. Something unrelated to your work here at the Fever Dream.” I didn’t know where to look, so stared studiously at the drapes above her head. “We need to dive down into the bay to retrieve something of great value to us. We were told you might be able to cast water-breathing magic upon us.”
Now she sat, limbs sliding smoothly over each other, to wrap her arms around her knees. “I can, yes. But why not ask my kind down at the bay? That is their domain now, not mine.” Her voice was smooth and cultured and calm.
Cerys gave a half step forward. “We’ve already asked. They refused. Said the ship we wish to reach lies in dangerous waters, and they’ll not risk stirring up the creature or creatures that reside there.”
“Then why do you think I would help you when they won’t?” Curiosity, not anger. “I may be cast out of my society, but I still hold to their values and mores.”
“Because, well. I’m not sure.” I linked my hands behind my back. “We were hoping we could offer you something, an inducement perhaps, that you in your current situation would be more willing to accept in exchange for helping us.” My cheeks burned. Was I being crude? I was probably being crude. “Maybe there’s something we can do to help you return to your people’s good graces?”
She laughed, a wet, glottal sound. “That is contradictory, is it not? To offer to help me even as you ask me to go against my people’s judgement.”
“Yes,” said Cerys. “But perhaps there is something specific we could assist you with. Anything. You will find us a very capable group of individuals.”
“I see.” She canted her head to the other side, and again I wondered how she perceived us. Did she smell us with those dozens of small holes arrayed in a pattern upon her head? “Alas, Master Kzzgt will not allow me to venture forth until I’ve paid off my debts. Perhaps the first step would involve your paying that sum of gold for me.”
Netherys drew forth the helm once more and rapped her knuckles upon its side. “I have it on good authority that Master Kzzgt won’t object to your taking a leave of absence.”
“Oh,” said the lampetrawoman. Then again, with a sharper intake of breath, “Oh. I see. Then - that does change things. There is something you could help me with. Something I could never dream of doing alone. But if you are as capable as you say, then perhaps…”
She rose, her movement as fluid as Netherys but with a touch of Yashara’s athletic power, and drew forth a red silk gown which she slid over her shoulders and belted at her waist. I felt a tangible sense of relief as her feminine assets were hidden from view. Next she drew forth a hat made of woven rushes. “My name is Anacoana. It would be best if we discussed this outside the Dream. If Faverash learns of what’s happened…”
“Faverash is also indisposed,” I said, “as is Plashasvart. Is there anyone else we should worry about?”
She simply stood still, as if coming to terms with this revelation. “There are other svartens awaiting in side rooms, but unless someone calls for them, we should be safe. No. For now, there is nobody else we need concern ourselves with.”
“Then let us begone,” said Netherys, turning to step back into the hallway.
We followed her out into the main parlor, where a new group of arrivals now crowded the far side of the room. They gave us pause, for there was something in their manner which spelled trouble. It wasn’t just that they were clearly inebriated, but more in the subtle way they inhabited the space around them, owning it, loud and laughing, spreading out as they took off hats and pulled off gloves, shouted for more drinks and eyed the establishment with a mixture of hilarity and contempt.
“Ho, Bartos! Bring us bottles of liquor already, we’ve been here entire seconds!” This from their leader, a handsome youth wearing the lamb chops and mustache of an older man, his clothing sumptuous in its finery, handing his hat and cane to one of his fellows. He turned his glittering eyes upon us as we came to a stop on the far side of the parlor, and I saw a cruel hunger flicker across his features.
“Ah, the entertainment’s here.” His voice was loud, brazen, and if he believed everything he had to say was of interest to everyone. “And what fare is being served on tonight’s buffet?”
The bouncer in his waist coat leaped to his feet and bowed low, face pale. “Master Gremond, sir, please -”
“Silence,” said the young man, voice going from faux jovial to lethal as a razor slitting flesh. But then his smile returned. “I declare myself intrigued! We’ve a boyish young lass with ever-popular red hair, and oh, look how she glares. She’d be fun to break in, wouldn’t she boys? See how long it takes to turn that glower into a begging simper. And - not quite sure what to make of the pale one in black over there - a maid? And, of course, there’s the fish bitch. Hello Anacoana. I brought you some coral, I did. And who’s this? My my.”
Netherys moved forward, slipping between the furniture like oil being poured between fingers, to move right up to this Master Gremond. That name. Where had I heard it before? The six or seven other men behind him leered and muttered comments which all stilled when Netherys leaned in to whisper something in Gremond’s ear.
The young man paled, shook violently, staggered back, and then faster than I could follow backhanded Netherys across the face.
I know she could have ducked, but she made no move to avoid the blow. Allowed it to knock her hood off, and then slowly turned back to smile at the young man, tongue emerging to lick at the drop of blood that he’d drawn from the corner of her lips.
“A fucking dark elf,” said one of the companions.
“Not even Kzzgt would dare -”
Gremond drew a thin, short blade and pointed it at her. “You bitch. How dare you? I don’t care what you are. You’re in Port Lusander now, and this is my city. Lads, cut this whore down.”
I raised both hands and stepped forward. “Actually, that would be a spectacularly bad idea.”
Gremond took a pace back, taking me into account, but keeping his blade pointed at Netherys. Before he could insult me or give me anatomically improbable suggestions, I carried on.
“You lads have stepped into a very delicate situation, one that’s already resulted in the death of several people tonight and which could easily expand to include your own.” I felt that now familiar rising excitement in my core, that sense of energy, of mastery. Like bubbles of fire rising up within my chest. “You’ve just come here for a good time, haven’t you, lads? Spend some coin, have a drink, fuck some young ladies who’ll pretend to enjoy your teeny tiny cocks. I understand. But what have you found instead?”
I kept approaching, hands still raised, and now all of them were staring at me with a horrible fascination. “You’ve stumbled into a right old mess. Master Kzzgt is dead. Faverash is dead. Plashasvart is dead. Barto -?” I glanced to Netherys.
>
“Dead,” she confirmed.
“Dead. The Hanged God dances amongst us tonight, and here you are, out of your depth, waving your needle and running your mouth. Because you see, our dark elf, dangerous and wicked as she might be, is the least of your troubles. No. What you need to worry about is Plashasvart.”
“What?” Gremond’s voice shook. “What are you going on about? You said he was dead?”
“Oh, but he is,” I replied with a pitying smile. “But though his soul may have wound its way down to the Ashen Garden, or Ashen Pond, or wherever it is the svartens end up - he’s still here with us. Iris?”
The drapes covering the entrance to the administration hallway bulged and then parted obscenely around Plashasvart’s toad-like head as it pushed through, followed by the rest of its body which immediately began to expand as it emerged into the parlor.
One of Gremond’s boys let out a high-pitched scream and ran back up the stairs. Another moaned and began to shake his head. The others clutched at each other, while one, the red-haired lad who seemed to be both the youngest and shortest, stepped forward, face pale, a wicked-looking razor held out before him in a trembling hand.
“The White Sun will hear about this,” said Gremond, his slender blade now shaking so hard it seemed he was weaving a pattern with its tip. “The White Sun and my father. Whomever you are.”
“Really,” I said, “is it wise to make threats? Now, of all times? No. I don’t think so. So why don’t you put that sword away and step aside? Keep things simple for everybody, yes?”
Gremond had enough presence of mind to slide his blade back into its scabbard. “Back up,” he said roughly to his fellows. They complied, bunching against the far wall.
Plashasvart made no move. Just stood there, entrails gleaming, eyes already filmed over in death.
“Very good,” I said, crossing the room to the base of the stairs. “Well done.”
“My father will hear about this,” said Gremond, face now growing mottled with red patches. “Laugh now. Nobody threatens my life and gets away with it, you hear? Nobody. Soon enough I’ll have you laughing to a different tune.”
“Laughing to a different tune,” I said. “Not sure that makes sense. I see what you’re getting at, though.”
The young man just glowered at me.
I turned back to my companions. “Ladies? Shall we?” And led them up the stairs, up and up and into the manor, through the front door and out into the garden. We hurried out the iron gate, onto the cobbled street, and then took to the closest alley and moved quickly in the direction of the harbor. I kept us going for a good few minutes till I felt confident of being safe, and then leaned up against the wall of a small courtyard and heaved out a breath of relief.
The others gathered around me and for a moment we simply stood in a rough circle in the darkness, catching our breath and eyeing each other.
Anacoana had placed her wicker cage hat on, obfuscating her hideous visage behind its spindly geometries. “You do not do things by half measure, do you? First, you destroy the Fever Dream, ensuring the wrath of the companies, and then you insult and threaten Naveric Gremond, son of the most powerful man in Port Lusander. I hope your business is brief. It would be best if you sailed away come dawn.”
I rubbed my palms together and slid down the wall into a crouch. “That… that wasn’t quite as well executed as I’d hoped.”
Cerys snorted. “Really? That’s a relief. If that met your expectations I’d find any boat heading out at dawn and be gone.”
“Come,” said Netherys, “we accomplished our goal, did we not? So there was a little excitement along the way. We’re not here to make friends. We simply proceed with our plans.”
“Excitement,” said Cerys. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Cerys, enough.” I raked my fingers vigorously through my hair. “What’s done is done. We’re pressed for time. Not everything is going to go as smoothly as the operation at Jessie’s. The situation at the Dream proved to be more complex than we’d anticipated, so we went from using a nail file to pick the lock to a sledgehammer to break it open. Netherys is right. We accomplished our goal. Anacoana is here with us now, and we’re going to see what we can do to help her with her problem.”
“Speaking of which,” said Netherys smoothly, “what is your problem, my dear?”
The lampetrawoman crossed her arms. She looked incongruous in the gloom, clad as she was in her silken gown that only reached mid-thigh, barefoot and with her bizarre hat - or was it really a mask?
“As I said, one that is beyond my ability to fix. A year ago the Nautilus company approached my people with an offer. If we allowed them to build an outflow pipe into the harbor, they would tie their navigation fees proportionally to the amount of waste they poured out. As leader of the varsept I negotiated the deal, and they agreed to filter their outflow so as to cause minimal pollution of the harbor waters. All was agreed upon and signed. The outflow pipe was built, but the volume and toxicity of their waste proved far beyond what they had estimated. As per the contract, they agreed to pay extra, but my people grew increasingly displeased; since they could not break the contract, as Nautilus was upholding their side of the bargain, they punished me instead by casting me out.”
“Wait,” I said. “You negotiated this in good faith with your people’s blessing. And they still punished you for it?”
“Yes,” said Anacoana.
“That’s… not very fair,” I said.
“It was not a question of fairness,” said the lampetrawoman. “It was a question of venting communal displeasure on a focal point for the greater good.”
“Sounds like mob rule to me,” said Cerys darkly.
“Mob rule?” Anacoana said the word as if testing it. “Perhaps. But we lampetra are very much guided by our emotions. We feel the world around us. Like an infected wound, dark emotions can grow and cause ever bigger problems. It is best to direct such emotions at a specific target and by doing so improve the health of the whole community. I understand, and do not resent their decision. I would, however, like a way to return to my people. My task then is this: find a way to remove the outflow pipe so that it no longer discharges into the harbor, and I shall help you.”
“That… sounds complicated,” I said. “This outflow pipe. Can you tell us more about it? Where does it come from? What exactly is being dumped through it?”
“Yes. The eastern fringes of Port Lusander, beyond the five hills, gives way to a swamp. There the Nautilus, Rams, and Griffin companies have their compounds, and there they treat the xanthan vines in great vats. The alchemical runoff was dumped by all into the swamps outside the city; this apparently, has grown problematic of late. Nautilus, having begun expanding rapidly these past few years, sought a new means to dispense their waste. Hence, the outflow pipe.”
“Not good,” said Cerys, sinking into a crouch as well. “We can’t simply destroy the pipe. With such a large organization behind it, it’d simply be rebuilt in short order.”
“If we destroyed it enough times, they might eventually give up on it,” I said. “But that would take time and involve staying in Port Lusander far longer than we’d planned to. And they’d no doubt set ever more guards.”
“Right,” said Cerys, tapping her chin. “This would require an institutional change on Nautilus’ part. We’d have to convince their leadership to return to their old ways.”
“Which, given how much gold they’re happy to pay the lampetra people, would take some convincing.”
“We could threaten them,” said Iris, voice soft. “If given enough access to raw materials, I could raise enough dead that I could overwhelm their compound. We could then tell their leadership that if they didn’t stop using this pipe, we’d return and kill them all.”
“Oh, I do love having her around,” said Netherys. “She’s so refreshingly direct.”
“Yes, that would probably work. But.” I tried to put my discomfort into words. “
First of all, I’m not sure we have enough, ah, raw material on hand. If Nautilus is the biggest company, they’ll be well defended. Second, that would involve killing most of their guards.”
“Which would give me more material to work with,” said Iris.
“True. True. That’s a valid point. But, I’d rather explore plans that don’t involve killing scores if not hundreds of local guards. Also… how to put this. Overrunning a compound with an army of the dead feels like bringing Pony in to resolve a fight between children. Do you know what I mean?”
Iris stared at me with narrowed eyes. “No.”
“What he means,” cut in Cerys, “is that killing hundreds and alarming all of Port Lusander to stop the usage of an outflow pipe is an unwarranted use of force. We’d end up causing more problems than we solve.”
Iris shrugged. “If you say so. It’s all the same to me.”
“I know, Iris,” I said, “and thank you. For your offer. We’ll keep it in reserve.”
I couldn’t tell if Anacoana was staring at Iris, but her wicker-frame mask very slowly turned away from her. “I would agree,” she said. “That would cause more problems than they solved.”
“Perhaps we should return to the Bonegwayne,” I said, “and see if Yashara and Pogo and the others can’t help us think this one through.”
“Would that be all right with you, Anacoana?” asked Cerys. “You’d be our guest and free to leave at any time.”
“Seeing as I don’t have much to return to, that would be amenable,” said the lampetrawoman. “That and your company is stimulating. I’ve spent untold nights by myself in my room. I didn’t know what boredom was before I began working there.”
“It can’t have been all boring,” I said, then winced. Why the fuck had I just said that?
“No,” said Anacoana. “Clients would break the monotony. Though it’s strange. Their lust would usually turn to violence once they had ejaculated inside me. Were I not so strong compared to humans, I would probably have died by now.”
Her words chilled me to the bone. “I’m - I’m so sorry to hear that.”