“A human? Gain audience with the Avatar? HAH!” He slammed the mug down. “If I wasn’t an outcast, I’d have to slap you with claws for such an arrogant, blasphemous statement. But I am an outcast, so sanyelak mra’ah.”
I had a quiet sip of whiskey. It was surprisingly good: sharp, caramelly, with a warm smokey finish. “I don’t speak your language, yet, but I’ll take it as a wish for luck.”
The other Meewfolk at the table laughed uproariously, rocking in their seats as they toasted each other.
“Oh yes, that is what it means. Wishing luck for an audience with the Avatar, hah!” The Captain shook his head. “How do you plan to do this thing?”
“We have knowledge we can return to your people,” I said. “I was hoping the Avatar might be interested. If you have any good ideas on how to arrange a meeting, we might add a garnish to your berth fee.”
“A garnish, hmm? Smart man. Rogues like me do not give advice for free.” Samboon picked up a piece of his own fish and fed it to the critter on his shoulder. “You will need to go through the Priest-Queen of Ru Waat to have a chance at gaining an audience with the Avatar. Do you know much about our fair nation?”
“Not a whole lot, no,” I said.
“Prrupt’meew is a country of city-states,” Samboon said, gesturing grandly with his fish. “Each one ruled by a Priest-Queen, a sacred mother of our people who administers the city and the lands of the city’s territory. All Priest-Queens are duty-bound to protect the Avatar and the Temple of Ancestors, in which they reside. However, in practice, it is the Priest-Queen of Ru Waat, our largest city, who controls access to the Avatar and serves as their greatest defender.”
“Are Meewfolk a feudal society?” I asked. “Any rules and rituals we need to know?”
“We do not have kings and queens and lords and ladies like Vlachia.” Samboon motioned derisively toward the city beyond the door. “Succession by birth breeds weakness. Any woman may become Priest-Queen, if she is strong enough. Girls train from youth to become braves, then temple guard, then priestesses, and then they may challenge the ruler of their city. It is a position of merit. The Priest-Queen of Ru Waat is the greatest warrior of the land.”
“Only women, huh?” I glanced at Suri.
“Women live in cities. Men live outside the walls,” Samboon said. “Unlike here, where all of my people are crammed into this noisome filth together. It is unnatural for men and women to live so close to one another, if you ask me. But enough of this. I have berth for six passengers on our next journey to the motherland: eight hundred olbia per head, non-negotiable. I normally charge a thousand, but Red tells me that there are four of you and one ghora who must travel, and I owe her a personal favor.”
Eight hundred per person was steep, but I’d figured we’d have to pay a smuggler’s tax. “Works for me. When do you leave?”
“Next month. The sixteenth of Boseg Kavi,” the captain replied, examining his claws.
“That’s two fuckin’ weeks away,” Suri blurted the same words on my own mind, more or less.
“Ah, the tin can speaks. Yes, my lady, it is two weeks from today,” Samboon said, flicking one of his ears to the side. “The Azure Passage is dangerous this time of year. It is the monsoon season in those latitudes. Typhoons and worse. If the storms do not get you, the Cloud Emperors will.”
“Cloud Emperors?” I asked.
“They rule the skies between the mainland and Meewhome, and they spawn during the monsoons.” He gestured vaguely toward the south. “It is toward the end of their breeding season, but one can never be too careful. Come with us in two weeks, and they will be out to sea and far away. But now? No, you won’t find anyone with an Avatar’s Blessing willing to go south until the storms have cleared.”
“What about for a thousand a head?” I asked, straightening as I saw the gambler turn in his chair to watch and listen to us.
Samboon scoffed. “No. And not for any fare, no matter how much you wish to go on this fool’s gambit. My ship is worth more than the lives of some imprudent humans.”
The gambler stood up, set his hat on his head, and slouched over to us. I glanced back, letting him know I’d seen him, and he stopped a respectful distance away. Samboon’s gaze slid to him, past my shoulder.
“Might be I’m able to help you.” The newcomer had a rough, gravelly voice, drawling heavily on every other word. “I got a ship, and I’ve made plenty of runs from here to Ru Waat. If the weather ‘cross the Azure Passage is as bad as you say... well, that sounds like an adventure to me.”
“Sure does,” I said. “We’d delay the journey if we could, but we can’t. Ilia won’t give us two weeks to play footsies in Taltos.”
He squinted at me. “Ilia? You mixed up in all that mess?”
“Sure am. On the side of sanity, or the side of Vlachia, whichever you prefer.” I twisted around, stretching out a hand. “Hector.”
He came close enough to give it a stiff shake. “Gar.”
“This is Suri and Karalti.” I gave Captain Taksin a sidewards glance. His ears were flat to his skull, eyes narrowed. “Do you know what the captain here is talking about?”
“Sure I do. Cloud Emperors choking up the Azure Passage.” Gar said. “But I wouldn’t be a goddamned smuggler if I wanted the easy life, now would I? Pussy cat here can cool his damn heels in Taltos for as long as he pleases. If you three are willing to insure my ship in case it wrecks, I’ll take you wherever you damn well want.”
“Pussy cat?” Samboon repeated, planting his hands down on the table. “Say that again if you dare, you shaved monkey.”
“C’mon now, no need to get all fluffed up about it.” Gar arched his eyebrows and tossed his head. “I can make it up to you. "I can make it up to you. A nice saucer of milk, a couple of sardines… How about I find a nice fat-bottomed peasant woman who scratches you just right on that spot right over your tail?"”
The Captain’s crewmates flattened their ears and hissed. Samboon got to his feet, looming head and shoulders over all of us. I calmly, but efficiently vacated my seat.
“Put your dicks away, gentlemen. We’ve got shit to do,” Suri snapped. “Gar, if you’ve got a ship and you’re willin’ to fly it, I’d say we can work something out.”
Gar looked sharply at Suri, brows furrowing. “Suri, was it? Where’s that accent from?”
“It’s from Nunya-Damn-Business,” Suri replied easily. “Nice little resort town on the coast of Bugger Off.”
Karalti watched us like someone following a tennis match, methodically stuffing pieces of fried fish into her face.
“Hah. Good answer.” A brief sloping smirk passed over Gar’s rugged face. “Anyway: How ‘bout you three come walk and talk with me to the docks? You want to leave tonight or tomorrow, right?”
“Tomorrow, early as possible,” I said. “I’ll walk with you—to make sure you actually have an airship and aren’t just jerking us around.”
“Oh, you better believe I have an airship. The fastest ship in port, and she has a ten-thousand mile range on her. Better than anything Whiskers here can fly,” Gar said.
“She’ll be a wreck in the bottom of the Passage by the time you’re halfway to Meewhome.” Captain Taksin rolled his shoulders. “Anyway, Starborn: I believe our business is concluded.”
“We didn’t have any business, so you still owe Red that favor.” I got to my feet. “Pleasure meeting you, anyway.”
The Meewfolk sneered. “Sampat khung lood’nam mao nah.”
“Ouch, that sounds rude.” Karalti popped the last piece of fish into her mouth, and after a moment of consideration, picked up the bowl of tartar sauce and chugged it, to the astonishment and concern of the other Meewfolk at the table.
“It’s amazing how ‘go suck a dick’ sounds roughly the same in any language.” I got to my feet, yawned, and stretched. “Alright, Gar. Let’s go see this ship of yours.”
“My pleasure,” Gar drawled. “Now—ladies and gentleman, if you’ll f
ollow me, it will be my pleasure to introduce you to the Strelitzia, the finest ship in the Port of Taltos.”
Chapter 35
The three of us were on high alert as Gar led the way to the Dock Ward. It was the roughest area of the city besides the International District, full of factories, workshops, rooming houses, pubs and brothels. Sailors strolled the streets at all hours, enjoying their shore leave by gambling away their wages, collecting tattoos, and experiencing new and exotic STDs from the rowdiest hookers Taltos had to offer. Salt spray hung in the air, and the ground continuously shuddered under our feet, vibrating from the power of the hundred-foot waves thundering against Vlachia’s coastal cliffs.
“So, Gar: how does a player end up as a smuggler?” I asked, walking by Cutthroat’s right-hand flank. Suri and Karalti rode, with Karalti perched side-saddle on the back of the saddle, Suri astride at the front.
“Why wouldn’t I be a smuggler?” Gar drawled. “Get to see all kinds of nice places, play cards when I feel like it, brawl with assholes like Puss in Boots back there. What more could a red-blooded man want out of this excuse of an afterlife?”
“You don’t sound like you worked for Ryuko,” I said. “You don’t have that sweaty sheen of corporate plastic.”
“Hah!” He cackled. “Hell no. I wouldn’t ever work for no goddamn corp.”
“How d'you get in, then?”
“Same way nearly everyone did: good old-fashioned nepotism. If you’re here, you’re either from the military, related to someone who made the game, or you paid someone in Ryuko to get in,” Gar replied. “That’s as much as I’m willing to say on the matter. Let the sins of the past lie in the past to make way for the sins of the future, I say.”
“Only way it might bother me is if your past screws up our quest,” I said. “There’s a lot riding on this.”
“Something about that Emperor Hyland guy. Feh.” Gar hawked and spat into the gutter. “Sounds to me like he’s just spinning his wheels. All of us are here to run down the clock until the machinery that keeps this place running screws up, and then we’re all just as dead as each other.”
Ten uncomfortable minutes later, Gar led us out along a wharf—and there, hanging over the churning black ocean five hundred feet below, was a battered-looking airship that reminded me strongly of the Highwind, the airship that had played a huge role in the old classic, Final Fantasy VII. Unlike the Highwind, it didn’t have a zeppelin component, just a pair of huge mana-driven engines. It also had two large silver hoops that hovered around the back of it, one rotating clockwise, the other anti-clockwise. STRELITZIA was painted in big black letters along the streamlined keel, which ended in a bomber-style glass bridge. At the very front was what I was pretty sure was one of the Avatar totems: a golden lotus flower as big as my torso, mounted under the bowsprit and glowing softly with pulsing lines of mana.
“You’ve gotta be joking,” Suri said, reining Cutthroat up before the hookwing compulsively climbed the gangplank. “This piece of shit is able to get us to Meewhome?”
“This ‘piece of shit’ is a custom job that can and does make trans-continental runs between Artana and Daun,” Gar retorted, jamming his hands in his pockets. “Machined half the parts myself. None of those damn silverskin wonks can make anything like it.”
“I think he means, ‘wouldn’t be caught dead making anything like it’.” Karalti giggled into her hand.
“Anyway. I wanna see proof of ten grand in reserve to insure her against any damage, plus your berth fee. If everything goes well, you don’t pay nothin’ but the fee. If things fuck up and you don’t pony up the insurance money, I’ll make some calls and we’ll visit you and collect,” Gar said. “I’ll cut you a deal on the fee as a gesture of good faith. Six hundred a head, including the hookwing. Even throw in some meals. What do you say?”
“How many berths you got?” Suri asked. “We have another head coming with us.”
“Four,” he replied. “Two of you will have to cozy up. Hope you enjoy snuggling.”
Karalti perked up, and looked at me with big, pleading eyes.
“Guess we’re in luck.” I surveyed the ship dubiously. Compared to the Royal Vlachian airships I was used to, this one looked kind of like a flying murder van. “Let me think about it for a minute.”
“Think all you like.” Gar shrugged, pulled a tin of cigarettes from his coat, bumped one to the top, and lit up.
My HUD purred and chirped: a PM from Suri. “What do you think?”
“I think Gar here is a good ol’ boy who thinks his life is a country music song, but I’m not getting anything weirder than that,” I replied. “Karalti?”
“He seems okay.” Karalti yawned, briefly flashing her fangs. “He doesn’t smell like he’s lying. He’s just lonely, I think.”
I flashed her an odd look. “I didn’t know loneliness had a smell.”
“Yeah, it does. Like hand lotion and old cheese.” She nodded. “This ship definitely smells like loneliness.”
Gar looked over at us, raising one eyebrow expectantly.
“Well, my dragon says you check out,” I said. “If anything we run into fucks up the airship, we’ll cover it. If you’ve got a clunky gear or need refueling or something, that’s on you.”
“Suits me,” Gar said. “As long as you’ve actually got the money.”
“We do,” Suri said.
“So if I meet you here at five in the morning tomorrow, you’ll be here with your suitcases and three thousand olbia, plus a screenshot showin’ me you’ve got the rest?” He turned his face and blew a cloud of smoke toward the water.
“We’ll briefly have you join our party, and I’ll transfer it digitally. You’ll be able to see the reserve, read-only. We won’t be carrying any physical gold,” I said. “No offense, but we haven’t exactly always had a great experience with other Starborn since landing in Archemi.”
“Neither have I. A transfer’s fine with me.” Gar jammed his cigarette in the corner of his mouth and held out his hand. “Shake on it.”
I slapped my palm into his. Suri did the same. When he offered to shake with Karalti, she offered her fingers to him like she had with Ignas. A look of confusion passed over his face as he took her hand, frowned at it, then cleared his throat and shook it once before stepped back.
“Dragon, huh?” Gar looked between us. “That some kind of character Path-Class thing?”
“No. Karalti here is an actual dragon.” I unconsciously lay a hand on Karalti’s shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze. She leaned into it, her eyes half-closing at the attention.
“Bit small, ain’t she?” Gar grunted, looking her up and down. “No wings or scales.”
“Not yet.” I winked. “Zero five hundred, on the dot. See you at quarter to the hour.”
“Sure. Y’all get home safe, now.” Gar shrugged, then trudged up the gangplank to his ship—which was apparently also his house.
“Cheerful bugger, isn’t he?” Suri said, once the hatch had closed.
“Sure is.” I shook my head and started on my way back. “But as long as he can fly us to Meewhome, then as far as I’m concerned, he’s my new best friend.”
***
By the next morning, we were all kitted out and looking sharp. Suri had her new sword over her back and a fresh haircut. Rin had filled up on mana and had a new spellglove and a nice leather satchel, all ready for field work. She’d bought three Skill Tomes for the Meewfolk language out of her own money. She and Suri were able to use them just fine. I held mine in my hands and tried to psych myself to open the cover.
“Seriously, you should let me try it,” Karalti urged, pacing anxiously. “What if you have a stroke or a heart-attack or something?”
“I don’t think you can use skill tomes, Tidbit,” I replied. “And because you’re an NPC, you have to learn languages the hard way.”
“Yeah. Unfortunately.” Rin winced. “It’s okay, though! We’ve got medicine. We can resuscitate him, probably.”
“I know how to give mouth to mouth.” Suri had her arms crossed, a bemused smile playing over her lips.
Karalti scowled. “I’ll fight you.”
“Well, just… stand by, okay?” I drew a deep breath, braced myself for agony and-or unconsciousness, and opened the cover to view the Skill sigils. I didn’t have to read them—the bright lines of magic writhed, imprinting on my corneas like a flash of sunlight. My head throbbed painlessly, and the world darkened for a moment… then cleared, leaving me on my feet, the book still in hand.
Rin, Suri, and Karalti waited breathlessly for me to keel over.
“I’m fine.” I closed the book, blinked until my eyes cleared, then lifted my head to look at them. “Barely even felt the upload. Try speaking to me in Meew?”
“Can you understand me?” Rin asked, in that language.
“Yeah. Sure can.” I replied in the same tongue. It was fun to speak: Mau, as humans called it, was a tonal language like Chinese or Thai. “I didn’t feel a thing.”
“I wonder why the fuck you collapsed when you learned Dakhari from me?” Suri scratched her head, ignoring Cutthroat as the hookwing chirped and bumped at her other hand. “That language fuckin’ knocked you out.”
“One of the many mysteries of Archemi.” I stared down at the Skill Tome. “Anyway, I’m good. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Twenty minutes later, the group of us strolled up the pier where the Strelitzia was warming her engines. Gar was hanging out at the base of the gangplank, smoking in the company of one of the most unusual Mercurions I’d ever seen. He was short and well-muscled, with pearly golden skin, a yellow mohawk of crystal spikes, and six gem-like eyes in a circle around his face. He was a juchi, a variant Mercurion, and a guaranteed outcast from his own people.
“Ha! That’s some nice-looking gear.” Gar gave us a flippant two-fingered salute as we clomped over to him. “And that spear of yours is pretty impressive. What is it? Some kinda artifact?”
“Yup. ‘The Spear of Destiny’. It’s soul-bound.” I emphasized the last slightly. “I’m stuck with it, and it gets stuck in a whole lot of people.”
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