Private Tales The Lesser Key of Telemachus, Part IV

[Telemachus]

THE COLLEGE OF ELBION
FIRST ORDER MAGE OFFICES

Today was a slow day. No supplicants had found their way into the confines of Telemachus' aged and miserable office. It was looking quite sparse these days, despite the wealth he had accumulated from his practice. Shelves were empty, and the vague outlines of books were visible within the dust. Likewise, those areas previously crowded by strange instruments and glassware were similarly empty.

Telemachus sat in his office, empty perch by his side as usual. Rather than the haggling and questioning that usually filled comprise the chief source of noise in the space, there was only the sound of a quill scratching against parchment.

Councilor Gomer,

I appreciate your correspondence, though I am less appreciative of the manner in which it has been written. I will, nonetheless, address your concerns. To clarify, my operations are perfectly within the realm of both Elbionese law and college policy. Ample consideration has been given to both and, on the advice of legal scholars and College associates of mine, determined to be perfectly legitimate.

If there is any further complaint regarding my business practices, I suggest you address them to the relevant Fifth Order Mages. Of course, I suspect they will tell you much the same - even if you did refrain from utilizing the inflammatory, threatening, and discriminatory language present in your letter.

Due to outstanding obligations - mostly pertaining to my independent and wholly legal enterprise - I am unable to report your misconduct to the Merchant Council. However,

Telemachus paused, quill poised above the space where he would compose his next work. His blank eyes lifted from the parchment and fixed themselves on the door. The same wilted, moldering thing that had always been there. "Enter," he issued, before Gal even had an opportunity to knock.

Not that she would have.

 

[Gal]

No, she wouldn’t have.

Her hand hitched above the handle for a moment as the low voice echoed from inside. Her brow furrowed. The real deal, then – Brandar hadn’t been talking out of his ass for once.

That was new.

She schooled her face flat and strode into the musty room. Compared to the sharp sting of the ocean breeze, the city was a mire of stench for the first few hours. Gal had learned to simply grin and bear it.

Her black eyes swept over the furnishing and furniture before they fixed on the man in the middle of it all. Telemahus. What a funny name. Even funnier on an elf.

“Hi,” she drawled, her accent apparent enough even on that short word. She slithered into the empty chair like something scaled and liquid, lids drooping just enough to close her gaze off to his perusal.

For the services he offered, surely he had to see well in the dark.

A smile tugged at her lips, but not far enough to reveal those sharp teeth. Not yet.

“So. A’ hear ye got a bit of bisnis goin’ wit da spirits.” Gal hooked one leg carelessly over the arm of the chair, lazily shifting her weight to the left. “An ah got da request for ye.”

She leaned forward and slid a long curved dagger from her boot. The blade oozed energy. To anyone even half-sensitive to such things, it would feel like the opposite of the Amol-Kalit sun.

“Meyk a call fo’ me ta’ da greyter spirits. Da one wha’ offers da best deal…” she twirled the dagger in her hand, mouth finally slipping into a grin, “gets all dese souls.”

 

[Telemachus]

Spirits. Wonderful. Telemachus did not frequently get customers who spoke in primitive terms, but they invariably became some of the more interesting specimens he dealt with. She made herself quite at home, reclining in the chair as effortlessly as if she had been at home. Or judging from the thick stench of saltwater, the lower decks of her ship.

"You have heard correctly," said Telemachus, in his usual dreary manner.

Another pirate? Maybe a merchant. Telemachus returned his quill to its place and filed his incomplete letter away, watching as Gal retrieved a sinister dagger from her boot and began toying with it.

Definitely a pirate.

And one in good standing. That was no ordinary dagger. Telemachus leaned back in his chair and studied Gal carefully. He held a hand out as if to gesture a servant over, but seemed to have stopped just short of completing the movement. "You are aware of the price - both immaterial and material - such deals carry?"

 

[Gal]

A gentle wave swept over her brows.

“Ah’m guessin’ yer used to peyin’ da different prays’n me.” She made a careless cutting motion with the dagger above her wrist. Below the sheathed blade the elf could see a myriad thin lines criss-crossing her forearm in meandering, senseless patterns.

“An’ besayds…” she flipped the dagger over in her hand again, “dis ‘ere is ta’ be da peyment.”

Her grin becamething something sharper as she fixed him with her black gaze. “Gold ne be da problem, majiqer.”

 

[Telemachus]

Telemachus raised an eyebrow, not understanding anything she had said. Well, mostly anything. He'd been able to parse that gold wouldn't be a problem, and that was good enough for him. "Very well," Telemachus droned, and snapped his fingers. "Barkas, the ledger."

An unsightly red blur leaped down from the tops of the bookshelves, a large ledger clutched to its chest. Leathery wings spread to slow its descent. It landed with surprising grace on the perch beside Telemachus, a large and storied ledger clutched to its chest. It had a humanoid physique. A long tail curled behind it, ending in a stinger not unlike a scorpion's. A stubby pair of horns curved away from its head, and neat rows of razor sharp teeth crowded its mouth.

It was an imp, in all its glory. Terrible pets, but serviceable familiars. It handed the ledger off to Telemachus and folded its hands demurely against its chest, staring at Gal with beady eyes the color of stoked flame all the while.

The ledger was locked with some mechanism, but it opened immediately at Telemachus' touch. He peeled open the book, retrieving a specialized quill from a pocket on the inside, and began turning the pages.

Questioning began immediately.

"Have you or a family member (to your knowledge) consulted with extraplanar entities in the past?"

 

[Gal]

Her eyes were the only thing to flinch as the shadows shifted above the bookshelves. They narrowed to cat-like slits as she examined the winged creature with unveiled curiosity. Her mother had talked once of tribes who would chain spirits to the material plane – bind them to flesh and task.

It was, like many other practices besides, forbidden on Iwi Lua.

Not that it had stopped Gal before.

She flicked her gaze back to the gray elf and pursed her lips.

“Yes. Ta’ both.”

 

[Telemachus]

Interesting. Or, more importantly, understandable. Not many gave an answer in the affirmative for either, much less both. This could cause problems, depending, but if Gal wanted to increase her portfolio of entities she had dealings with, Telemachus would not stop her.

Not unless she was coming up short on money.

He found an open page and smoothed it out. Dipping the quill in ink, he continued. "Please describe the nature of these previous consultations, and the nature of any pacts you and your family may have entered into as a result."

 

[Gal]

A little furrow marred her brow at that. She cocked her head to the side and measured the elf with a long, inscrutable look.

“Wha’s dat matter? Ah’m offerin’ da souls o’ others, ne me own.”

 

[Telemachus]

Telemachus looked up from the ledger and stared back at her, the corner of his mouth twitched irritably. Oh. Of course. Gal had no idea what she was doing after all. It happened often enough as to not be unusual, but Telemachus would always prefer people to reveal their ignorance of the particulars before he got the ledger out. More's the pity.

"Your own soul is offered as collateral when entering into the compact," Telemachus replied, as a similarly monotonous schoolteacher might explain something to a difficult pupil. "It is insurance on the part of the Divinity you reach an agreement with. If you fail in your obligations, they will collect your soul to make up for their wasted time. If you fulfill your obligations, your soul will be left untouched."

Stellar Divinities were rarely interested in accepting souls from random mortals they had no dealings with. One might obtain some middling benefits as a token of gratitude depending on the Divinity in question, but the rewards one could reap from a compact were far greater. This was the domain of petty cultists, minor priests.

The people who sought out Telemachus wanted something more.

And as had been the case with Brandar the Burned, Stellar Divinities were often very reluctant to enter into compacts with a person whose soul was already pledged elsewhere. Telemachus did not fully know why. There was no telling what compacts and accords existed between the Gods-from-Stars. Not that it ever dissuaded the more 'renegade' ones, like the Furtive Coral.

"Now, your answer...?"

The quill was poised to strike the page once more.

 

[Gal]

She returned the stare just as flatly, unimpressed by his prickled demeanor.

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Gal straightened in her chair. Hard leather heels clicked against the floor as she leaned forward.

“Ah see ye got trouble wit listenin’. Das ne uncommon fo’ yer type, so ah’ll tell ye againn.”

Her grin now had nothing to do with mirth. She spoke slowly, as if addressing a child. “Ah’m ne here fo’ obligazione, Mistah Telemahus. Dis is ta’ be jus’ da one taym exchenj – jus’ bisnis, yes?”

 

[Telemachus]

Oh.

Petty cultist it was, then.

This was a matter better handled by amateurs and dabblers. Telemachus had dealt with arrangements in his earlier days, before rising to his current position. It was a small matter now, even if made difficult by horrendous impediments of speech.

"I see," Telemachus replied. "And how many souls will you be offering?"