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 . . .

 

[Szesh]

The Shallows had as foul a smell as they did a reputation. Though the water was still it reflected only half the moon's light, like the swamp itself was hungry for it.

Szesh's wide nostrils were drawn to slits as he traversed the creaking boardwalks, keeping out the ever-present odors of sulfur and rot. The wooden planks groaned in protest beneath his weight and sank low enough for the tepid water to rush over them. Had he been wearing boots, they would have been soaked through. Had he been wearing boots, the leeches would not have adhered themselves to his flesh. Though the draconian's scales were too tough for the parasites to penetrate, they were bothersome company all the same.

The water, and some of the leeches, feel to the floor of the alchemist's shack as Szesh bent low through the doorway. The torchlight bounced off his silver scales but was wholly absorbed by his inky black eyes, which were squinted against the acrid smoke. He could not stand fully within the building without his horns scraping the ceiling, so he remained uncomfortably bent as he made his way to Gnurlie with two long strides.

With one arm Szesh took the chest he had been hauling and hefted it heavily upon a low table. It was made of thick, dark wood and held together by rough iron, and it had a faint odor that defied description.

"Delivery. Ingredients." Szesh rasped in a thick, reptilian accent. "Witch parts. Ordered by Deal." Szesh reached into a leather satchel at his waist and produced a small rolled paper bearing Velin Deal's seal and a promise of payment for "select alchemical ingredients."

The specific ingredients had not been written down, given their extremely unlawful nature. Szesh, on principle, had not asked what the box contained, but the man who had been transporting them was all too eager to discuss them. He said they were the remains of a witch, freshly slaughtered. A hand, locks of hair, several teeth. Her heart, amongst other organs. He had offered Szesh a great deal of money to look the other way. A sum that Szesh remembered, after he killed the man.

Szesh sized up the orc in the corner, and the orc returned the assessment with a gruff snort. His eyes then moved invisibly to the small woman to the side. She was holding herself oddly. Injured, perhaps? She must be desperate to come here for medicine...

 

[Alicia Blackbolt]

Gnurlie positively clapped his hands with glee at the delivery. His strange reaction and the hulking draconian courier caused Alicia's brow to inch up. She had rarely seen him this ecstatic before. And she had never seen this scaly mug before either.

Upon the draconian's entrance, instinctively, she wanted to get out. Perhaps scramble to some dark corner and hide. The horns carving the ceiling and his monstrous, siege-engine frame all screamed danger.

But pride kept her in her place. She couldn't afford to look scared, scampering off at this sight. Soon enough, though, she would have more reason to linger.

"Delivery. Ingredients." Szesh rasped in a thick, reptilian accent. "Witch parts. Ordered by Deal." Szesh reached into a leather satchel at his waist and produced a small rolled paper bearing Velin Deal's seal and a promise of payment for "select alchemical ingredients."

The seal and the name were unmistakable. A special delivery for the grand pimper pamper. She winced to think what 'witch parts' might include, but the faint smell indicated something grotesque. Hardly surprising. Velin was a curious sort, but fear kept his underlings from so much as breathing a word of mockery towards his strange passions.

"Ahh, excellent! Precisely as requested, yes, let's see here . . ." Gnurlie fiddled with the pad of the chest and creaked it open, peeking inside before quickly closing it again. "Aye, aye, all here, it seems. Every bit of anatomist's reward. And it's even arrived on the ticker, for a change." Gnurlie sized up the hulking draconian with something ranging between amusement and admiration, stroking his wispy beard, before nodding to himself, reminded of something.

"Your bold faces, of course." Gnurlie extricated a veritable sack behind his counter, bulging with gold coin. It clanked harshly on the table between them, and Alicia's eye affixed on it, entranced. "Six hundred and fifty, to the piece. All yours to guzzle or slot, as you see fit!"

Had she heard that right? Six hundred and fifty, for body parts?

Perhaps she ought to change her profession from a footpad to a graverobber . . .

Szesh