Fable - Ask A Drop for Diamonds

[Alicia Blackbolt]

The diamonds glittered in her palm. Alicia watched them, reluctant to proceed. How much could these fetch her? Ale and bread for a year? Brandy for a month? A small farmstead, well out of the city?

Even before it emerged, she could feel the cough travelling up her throat. Closing her gloved fist over the gems, she bent over herself, her body forcing her to heel. Her lungs rattled unwillingly, aggravated. First came the faint bile, then dry coughing took over. Her chest hurt and her eyes stung and watered. Alicia spat a glob of yellowish phlegm on the planks, wiping her mouth with the back of her leather-covered arm.

It seemed her little rattle-spell made the decision for her. It also woke up a nearby dog, barking like there was no tomorrow. The dog's protests caused a single shout and a light to appear in a window or two, but otherwise no one cared in the ass end of the Shallows. She pocketed the diamonds, then proceeded to the alchemist's ken. About high time to see the family man.

***

"Ahh, well if it isn't the Big Bolter herself, come in, come on in."

She did not step beyond the threshold. Smoke poured out of the open doorway. She could swear it had a purple tinge to it, and the sharply sweet smell it carried caused her to cringe her nose below her hood.

"You graspin' a drop of Lickshine tonight, Gnurlie?"

"Do I!" the old voice affirmed, hoarsened by years of ingesting questionable fumes. "A drop in the ocean for all the class licks and shines in here. Why don't you come in and take a look yourself?"

Alicia hesitated. This could be the day her shadow prince decided to drop her altogether. An investment too costly against the returns of keeping her alive. Old Gnurlie could well have poisoned the walls, or prepared toxic fumes for her to inhale. But if she left now, she might as well consign herself to her fate. Her own body would do the heavy lifting for him and finish her off. With that reasoning, she stepped in, pulling up her scarf to spare her throat from some of the fumes.

The rickety old house stood on stilts that dug into the swamp, but one wouldn't think it for all the clutter that filled it. Considering all the chests of gold, silverware, jewels, books and other precious artifacts, one would think Gnurlie's den should have sunk into the swamp long ago. He had his own unique choice of counter, which was simply an overturned bookshelf, stacking some of the goods that didn't fit on other shelves for all to see.

The sight of all these goods caused her thieving hand to tingle. But their protection took the form of a large, dark orc in the corner, fondly rubbing her twin axes like pets.

The ceiling was low, and almost on cue did Gnurlie bang his head against a beam, swearing colourfully and rubbing his head while waddling over to his bookshelf-counter. He was a tall man cursed with a low ceiling, wisps of gray hair trailing his head like thin spider's silk, his face almost as mottled as her own, but with crusty birthmarks and white, scaly patches. It could give a run for even her angry blisters, encirling her right eye and marring her cheek.

"So, what has our old angler fished today, eh? Some duke's faces, or perhaps some bloody rocks? Maybe some crust on an old ink-bleeder, yes? Hope the moon pigs didn't spell trouble for you. Wouldn't want you to get a hempen fever now - lords know you got diseases enough as it is, ha-ha!"

For someone from Western Alliria, this speech would have made about as much sense as a sermon on temperance delivered by a drunk. But to Alicia, born and bred in the Shallows, it all came through loud and clear.

"I bit some rocks and a few faces. Hoping you might take a gander. No dirt on any ink-bleeding puppets - they're all in balls and bright parties tonight, looks like. But at least that meant no piggy guards. And the only drop I'm looking to get ain't the one at the gallows, Gnurlie, just the one you got."

Gnurlie giggled and waved her over to a nearby round table. Alembics and boilers blubbered away on it, causing the smoke. Other instruments overcrowded the table, only a few of which Alicia could name - lenses, armiliary spheres, a scope, mortar and pestle and many others strange instruments. She offered him the diamonds and a few coins, pickpocketed from purses of the night, all glinting with the face of some new Iskander fellow.

"Well, let's see what you have here then . . . oh! Very good, very good, that's . . . hmm . . ." Gnurlie looked up, having subjected one diamond to the scrutiny of his scope. His eye enlarged enormously on the other side of it, looking worried. "That's not enough, I'm afraid, Alice."

Her stomach dropped.

"What? But there's worth here more than a hundred gold--"

Gnurlie waved his hand, not wanting to hear it.

"I know, I know. But old Velin Deal has upped the charges. It's now five-hundred per drop of Lickshine. And here's about . . . well, I'd say you have right around four-hundred and fifty-six's worth. And that's not even counting that guzzle payment you still have to make."

Alicia's shoulders fell, but quickly rose again with her temper. She pointed at his face.

"Listen, I've hauled in a king's ransom here. You know I'm good for it. I ain't some gull to accept this!"

Gnurlie wiped back his almost non-existent hair, exasperated.

"No, you're an old hand relying on a rare resource. Look, I don't make the rules. Velin does. You want them changed, you take it with him. I might be a bend for you occasion, but I can't alter this." The door rattled as another person entered. "Let's stable this for now. I'll just need to handle our next tea leaf here." Gnurlie turned his attention to the newcomer.

"Come in, come in! Don't mind the smoke. I'm simply cooking a bit of flash and pang . . ."

Alicia fumed, crossing her arms. She would skulk to the corner and wait for this next criminal or contact to sort their business. Perhaps she could think of a way of convincing Gnurlie in the meantime . . .