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Three Acts of Penance [01] Attrition: The First Act of Penance

Page 61

by S. G. Night


  “Not really,” she said, thinking of the bag full of gold coins Racath had brought back from Brahn’s meeting with Hikshaa earlier that day. “I’m flexible.”

  “Well then,” the tailor nodded. “Why don’t you take a seat right over by the mirror and I’ll see what I can find to start with.”

  She took the chair, crossing her legs. “Uh…Benson?” she hedged.

  The little man paused and looked back. “Yes, dear?”

  “Can you make sure it has gloves to match? Long gloves. Elbow length.”

  “Certainly, Miss!” Benson said, and he was on his way again.

  Soon enough he returned with armloads of unfitted dresses. They went through each, examining the cut and material against Nelle’s body. One was a bright blue that flared out at the end; another, deep purple velvet that left her back open; one was emerald green with no shoulders to speak of — each was more magnificent, lovely, and exotic than the last, and soon enough she had tried out the entire assortment.

  She didn’t like any of them. They were gaudy, over-embellished. Too stylized to really suit her. She told Benson so as gently as she could.

  “Hmm…you’re absolutely right,” Benson agreed. “These aren’t the right fit for you at all, if you’ll pardon the pun. You need something else…something that will flatter your figure, but nothing too showy or boastful….” He snapped his fingers and his eyes lit up. “You know, I think I’ve got just the thing.”

  He hurried off again and returned with a dress of fine red satin. “Try this on, dear. Here are the gloves. I think this’ll be the one.”

  Nelle took the dress and stepped behind the changing curtain again.

  “My, my, my!” Benson exclaimed when she emerged. “I was right, wasn’t I? It’s perfect!”

  It was. The dress was a deep, sanguine red, the satin smooth and shiny. Even before the customary adjustments that the tailor would make, it fit her snugly, hugging her curves and wrapping gracefully around her legs. It was exactly her kind of modest, but would still definitely catch and hold Monger’s attention. It was very…her.

  “How does it look?” Nelle asked bashfully.

  “A simple, beautiful dress for a simply beautiful young lady,” Benson smiled as he began to take her measurements. “Once I’ve got this fitted, it’ll suit you better than anything you’ve ever worn before. You’ll be the envy of the entire party, I promise.”

  Nelle blushed. “Thank you, Benson. I’ll take it. How much do you want for it?”

  Benson pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Well…for a dress as fine as this, plus the cost of the fitting…I’d typically charge one whole, maybe a little more.” He beamed at her again. “But for a lovely girl like you, I’d gladly go down to seven obul.”

  Nelle blinked in surprise. “That’s…incredibly generous of you…I couldn’t—”

  Benson shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not every day I get a lady in here who’s as polite as you. Most of my customers are all kicking and biting. But bullying doesn’t get you anywhere, does it?” He shook his head sagely. “No. I insist. I’ll take seven solid, and not a penny more.”

  His words were genuine, and so was her smile. “You’re too kind. When can will it be fitted and ready?”

  “When’s the party?” Benson asked in turn as he began to take her measurements.

  “The 15th.”

  “Then I will have it ready on the 13th at lunchtime,” Benson told her. “Is that enough time?”

  “More than enough. Thank you so much, Benson.”

  “You’re welcome, dear.”

  She couldn’t help but smile to herself as she got back into her clothes and bade Benson farewell. It was easy to forget, what with all the nobility lurking around, but there really were so many Humans in this country worth fighting for.

  FORTY-SIX

  Territh Umbra

  On the morning of the 11th, Racath and Notak escorted Brahn from the Warehouse. Down at the docks, they rented a small skiff from a pudgy man with bristly facial hair: four dyre for a day’s usage. Gratefully, the fifty scion they’d confiscated from Brahn would more than cover the mission’s expenses.

  Unfortunately, the means of acquiring the skiff necessitated that Notak and Racath leave most of their equipment behind, lest they draw too much attention. They wore matching dark tunics and their Stinger gauntlets — Notak masked his face with the usual illusion of pale skin and white-blond hair — but nothing more.

  Brahn directed them out into the Bay, navigating through the field of island estates that riddled the walled-in water. After an hour or so, he pointed to a great island a few hundred yards distant.

  “That,” he said, “is Territh Umbra.”

  Perhaps fifteen acres in all, the island sloped upward into a hill, atop which sat a mansion: five stories of grey stone encircled by a ring of stubby trees.

  “Notak,” Racath called. “Get us a little bit closer, then drop anchor. Bring us around so the island will be on our right side.”

  “Starboard,” Notak corrected dryly.

  “Whatever. With any luck, from this far out, we’ll just look like a common fishing boat.”

  “We’re technically in Baron Monger’s waters,” Brahn warned him. “And we don’t have a license to be here.”

  Racath frowned at the Human. “License?”

  Brahn returned the expression. “Yeah, you know, a fishing license. Without one, we’d technically be poaching.”

  Racath’s frown morphed disgustedly. “God, I hate bureaucracy.”

  They let the anchor down and held the boat in place. Racath found a spyglass in the crate of sailing supplies that had come with the sloop. “So, Brahn,” he said as he took a look through the glass. “You’ve been here before, correct?”

  Brahn nodded. “A few times, yeah.”

  “What can you tell me about this place?”

  Brahn pointed. “All Bay-traffic comes through one of two piers,” he said. “One on the north side of the island, one on the east. There are Arkûl checkpoints guarding each access point. There’s also a pair of guard towers — one on the eastern shore, one on the southern. The path up to the mansion snakes around the northern side of the island. Most of the rest of the land is just the yard, gardens, and so on.”

  Through the spyglass, Racath observed the stone path that Brahn spoke of, winding its way up and around the hill. Several dirt paths skirted around the island’s perimeter, and he spotted a trio of guards tramping along one nearer the shore. “Arkûl patrol the coastlines…” he murmured. “Moving in threes. Standard equipment.”

  “How large is the garrison?” Notak asked of Brahn.

  Brahn shrugged. “Including the patrols, the towers, and the guards inside the house…I’d say…forty?” He tilted his head, reconsidering. “Maybe forty-five. Plus several Human servants and slaves.”

  Racath shut the spyglass. “Any other fortifications we should be aware of?”

  Brahn indicated the piers. “Anyone with Monger’s approval can dock their boat at the western pier. Mostly fishermen and such, all of whom owe a sixty-percent tax of their catch to Monger. The northern pier, however, is where the visiting nobles dock their vessels.”

  “And?”

  “…And there are also three mid-sized warships docked on the northern side. Corvette class, Dominion Navy. Ready to launch on ten-minutes’ notice at all times.”

  “Ahh,” Racath lowered the spyglass. “Good to know.”

  “Any Demons?” Notak probed.

  “Other than Hikshaa and the Baron, no, I don’t think so,” Brahn said. “And Hikshaa spends most of his time running errands.”

  Racath pursed his lips and looked at Notak. “Who is the most trusted of Monger’s staff?”

  Brahn snorted. “Hikshaa. No question.”

  “And after him?”

  Brahn thought for a moment. “Rodgers. Yeah, definitely Rodgers. He’s the Baron’s manservant. Hikshaa takes care of the Baron’s interests elsewhere,
but Rodgers oversees the staff here on Territh Umbra.” The Human squinted out toward the island. “Actually, I think I see him.” He gestured for the spyglass and Racath handed it to him. “Yep, that’s him right there.” He pointed and returned the glass.

  Following Brahn’s finger, Racath saw a tall, thin man with graying hair and a narrow face scurrying along the perimeter of Territh Umbra. He shared the spyglass with Notak.

  “What is this man like?” Notak asked.

  Brahn rolled his eyes. “Spineless. Whipped. Kind of nervous. Always made me think of one of those ugly little dogs that the nobility carry around. The kind that yip a lot and piss themselves whenever you look at them.”

  Notak looked at Racath and nodded. “I can play that.” The Elf closed the spyglass and climbed up onto the railing of the deck.

  “Err…” Brahn said as Notak dove off the sloop and into the water. “What exactly is the plan here?”

  “He is going to scope out the premises,” said Racath, watching his fellow Scorpion swimming toward the island. “You and I are going to wait here.”

  “And how exactly is he going to get past the guards?”

  “He has his methods,” Racath responded as vaguely as possible.

  Brahn crossed his arms. “If you’re sending him in now, then why not just have him kill the Baron and be done with it?” He arched his eyebrows. “That is the goal here, isn’t it? To kill Monger?”

  Racath glowered at the Human. “Yes.”

  “Then why not just do it now?”

  “Because,” he answered. “I’d much rather have all my people alive in the end than have Monger dead right now.”

  ——

  Notak surfaced somewhere along the island’s south-eastern coast. Just his eyes at first — he kept the rest of his body beneath the water. Furtive, he checked the dirt path for Arkûl patrols. There were none.

  He climbed up out of the Bay, dried himself with magic, and crept into a nearby shed that sat at the edge of the water. There, he waited, watching the path through a crack in the shed. Eventually, his quarry appeared around the bend: the manservant, Rodgers, fussing with his ruffled clothes as he skittered along his way. Notak could hear the man muttering to himself.

  “Inspection day…inspection day…”

  Just as Rodgers passed by the shed, Notak flicked his hand at the man and whispered “Vet dye’ek taj varp.”

  The Human stopped in his tracks. He tilted his head, appearing perplexed. Then he shrugged, backtracked, and entered the shed, perfectly glamoured.

  As he opened the door, Rodgers failed to notice the Elf hiding behind the door. He barely felt the prick of a needle nip the back of his neck. Suddenly, he felt very drowsy. It wouldn’t hurt for him to sit down in here for a while and take a short —

  Alexis’s toxin kicked in. Rodgers slumped, and Notak caught him. He laid the unconscious manservant down gently on a nearby crate, and then studied the man’s face and clothes. Once he was sure he had a firm mental image, Notak recast his illusion, shaping himself into a perfect replica of Rodgers, clothes and all. Garbed in this new visage, Notak left the shed. Of course, he took the time to add a second layer of glamoury to the sleeping man’s mind, inserting vague whispers of fabricated memory to cover the space of time that he would be unconscious. Notak continued on the path that Rodgers had been following.

  It took the better part of half an hour for Notak to make a full circuit around the island. He counted the Arkûl patrols he passed (eight sets of three) and the servants bustling about their miscellaneous duties (twenty, just on the grounds). Occasionally someone would approach him with a question or a friendly greeting, at which point he would assume the persona of Rodgers, according to the specifications Brahn had described for him. He would give curt and dismissive replies or waves of his hand. He even initiated some of the encounters himself in order to make a more convincing show.

  Under the guise of Rodgers, he made a display of inspecting the guard towers, the pier, the docked Navy ships — to “make sure they were up to scratch”…and also so he could make a mental inventory of the weapons in the guard towers, note the strengths and weaknesses of the naval vessels, and count the Arkûl on the docks.

  Afterward, he followed the stone path up to the front doors of the manor house. The two Arkûl flanking the doors stood at attention as he approached; clearly, Rodgers held his own position of status here on Territh Umbra. He entered the mansion to discover the gargantuan antechamber, which I’ve previously described in all its revolting glory.

  Continuing his charade of “inspecting the facilities”, Notak found his way to kitchens and storeroom on the ground floor, as well as the Arkûl barracks, and the dingy slave quarters in the basement. All the while, he was drawing a floor-plan in his head, and keeping up a careful tally of the staff.

  Next, he proceeded to the second floor, where he located the banquet hall. On that same floor, he found a full-sized Mnogo chapel, complete with a shrine and the ornate idols of the Nineteen. Interesting, although nothing that required thorough investigation.

  The floor above was home to several smaller rooms: the servants’ quarters (including what Notak guessed to be Rodgers’ rooms, as well as the Demon Hikshaa’s), common rooms and dens (some for the servants, some for entertaining company, some for the Baron’s personal use), trophy rooms, and so on.

  Another level up was the ballroom — essentially, it was just a giant copy of the banquet hall, only without the tables. It occupied the entirety of the fourth floor. Notak paused to observe several servants preparing party decorations before he continued.

  A pair of Arkûl guards stood on the fifth-floor landing, both of whom saluted the false-Rodgers as he climbed the stairs. Notak add them to his tally. Beyond the guards was a short hallway, the floor of which was covered in a plush, red carpet. A single window allowed natural light into the space of the hall.

  At the end of the hallway, Notak saw an enormous door, carved from expensive wood. This had to be Monger’s chambers.

  Notak approached the door. He reached out to open it, but then stopped himself. His fingers, just inches from the knob, sensed something…a tingle, like electricity coming off the handle….

  The Elf checked over his shoulder to ensure that the Arkûl on the landing still faced away from him. Notak then made the Eye and probed the constitution of the door, much like I had during my visit to Territh Umbra. It took him only a brief moment to spot the source of the energy: a series of complicated wards laced into the door’s bolt, appearing to him as a web of golden lights. From a cursory inspection, it appeared that the ward was meant to be triggered if someone without the proper key attempted to open the door. The Magick would then lock the door’s deadbolt in place, and raise some sort of klaxon alarm.

  The magic was — Notak had to admit — fantastic. He could see no possible way to remove or circumvent the ward without tripping it. And, he assumed, only the Baron himself had the key.

  He was still debating how best to continue when the door flew open. Notak almost jumped in surprise.

  On the other side of the door stood a man. Seven feet tall. Bare-chested. Broad as a mountain. Muscles bulging like metal cords. Eyes red as burning coals, with flowing hair and a full beard of a matching color. His face was sculpted, strong-jawed, and fierce. And he carried the recognizable aura of Demons with him.

  The Baron Monger.

  “Ahh, Rodgers,” the Demon said in a booming voice thick with superciliousness. “How go the inspections? Are the preparations on schedule?”

  Notak’s mind raced to perform a hundred tasks at once. Primarily, he calmed himself enough to think, but still maintained the skittish appearance of the manservant. Second, he carved the Baron’s face into his memory, fixing it there in his mind for future reference — and in doing so, sifted through his knowledge of the Mnogo Pantheon, contemplating which god he might be. Next, he snatched glimpses of the room behind the Demon whenever he could, patching the brief image
s of the chamber into a layout in his head. And, distantly, he wondered which of the Demonic archetypes the Baron fit into. By his best guess, he had to be what Virgil Tarem referred to as an Incubus — a male humanoid Demon whose defining attributes were found in its physical aggression.

  Swallowing, Notak did his best to mimic the voice of the nervous manservant. “Oh! Um, yes, My Lord, of course.” My Lord was the proper form of address for a Baron, wasn’t it? “The guards are wound tight as clocks, as always. The kitchen is fully stocked and the staff is just making the final arrangements for the banquet. Right on schedule.”

  Monger raised an eyebrow at him, as if he were expecting something more.

  “Um…” Notak thought back, looking for anything during his inspections that Monger might be looking to here. “Oh! Yes and the guest list is ready for your approval downstairs. Also, the…uh…” Notak lowered his voice dramatically. “Special consumables you ordered from Brahn are in the cellar, as requested.”

  “Excellent,” Monger nodded. “On that note, Rodgers, there is one addition to be made to the guest list — Brahn himself will be attending the banquet, along with a guest. Also,” the Demon cast a glance at the Arkûl down the hall, and then whispered: “The Nineteen are gathering in council a week from now. I must be in attendance, regrettably. I need you to begin sorting out my travel arrangements and itinerary.”

  Notak almost blinked in surprise; apparently Rodgers rated high enough to be privy to the nature of the Mnogo Pantheon. Notak wondered what the other gods must have felt about that.

  “Of course, My Lord.” He bowed deeply.

  Monger nodded and closed the door again.

  Notak released a sigh of relief, then turned and headed for the stairs. As he went, he reviewed what he’d seen of the Monger’s chambers: immediately beyond the door, a sitting area and liquor cabinet; off to the left was a grandiose bed, a vanity, a dresser, several mirrors, and a changing curtain; off to the right, a few miscellaneous spaces — and a pair of glass doors, opening onto a balcony.

  He revisited the chapel. After checking to make sure the priests were absent, Notak hurried over to the row of idols at the shrine. Recalling his image of Monger’s face, he scoured the statues, searching…

 

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