The Shopping Expedition, iii.
Posted: Thu Dec 16, 2021 8:56 pm
The Past
"We talk now," Ava said. "This is as private as I can afford." She sat on one of Phergus' white chairs, her chin resting on crossed forearms, waiting.
"What about?" Oren asked, suspicious even in the magically warded room.
"What we're doing."
"What are we doing?"
"Working for Galeas."
"And you're saying this isn't for his benefit?"
"I am. I know what you've been up to since your fall from grace, kid. And I've seen what else was on his shopping list. Once. You ever work with the dead?"
"Other than making people dead? No." The present tense of her question made him anxious.
"You know that Decimo's dead?"
Oren nodded. "Bad heart, I heard."
"You'll be working with his ghost." She smiled. "Taught you the ropes, didn't he? Him and Lejewski. I know Lejewski, by the way. Real asshole."
"Somebody has Decimo's ghost...? Who?" Now Oren sat at the table, resting his elbows in front of him. "I can't see it. He wouldn't have any unfinished business. No regrets... Had it tattooed across his chest, but spelled it wrong." He laughed, the first honest thing in a long time from him. "Dumb ass."
"Somebody does," she replied mysteriously. "Knew he was dying; offered him a way out. Little necromantic bauble full of Decimo now. Or what's left of him."
"Lejewski dead too?"
"No such luck. He's in Atinaw. He doesn't come into this."
"Well, if we've got a piece of Decimo, we're golden. He was the best. Died three times, so I guess I'll believe it when I see it..."
"Look, Oren, I've been trying to suss out who it is backing Galeas since I signed on. But it doesn't feel like a noble, a government, or a syndicate. He gets orders. Like something tells him to go back to Cathena City, pick up a burnout, spend serious money getting him fixed up. We could've bought twenty world-class assholes for what the market was ready to pay for those operations. You were good, but not that good..." She scratched the side of her nose.
"Obviously makes sense to somebody," he said finally, seeing things no more clearly than she did. "Somebody big."
"Don't let me hurt your feelings, Oren." She grinned. "We're going to be pulling a hardcore con, kid, just to get the soul gem thing. They have it locked up in a vault in the expensive part of town. Tighter than a river eel's asshole, Oren. Now, they have all sorts of new cash and prizes for the fall season locked in there. Steal that and we'd be richer than queens, but now, we've got to get a trinket and nothing else. Weird."
"It's all weird, Ava. You're weird, this hole's weird, and who's the weird little gopher outside in the hall?" He still didn't know what city they were in now, the trinket only giving him guaranteed lucidity for periods of time.
"Phergus is an old connection of mine. He fences mostly, but this privacy thing... I guess he fenced something good for a powerful warder. But I got Galeas to hire him for the local stuff, so when he shows up later, you never saw him. Got it?"
"So what's Galeas got dissolving inside you?"
"I'm easy," she said, snickering. "Anybody any good at what they do, that's what they are, right? You've gotta con, I just came here to fight."
He stared at her. "So tell me what you know about Galeas." It was clear he was more complicated than the crime boss Oren had grown up with.
"For starters, nobody named Galeas shows up in any records I've seen of the war. But that doesn't mean much. He doesn't look like any pictures, match any descriptions." She shrugged, frustration drumming out in the click of her nails against the back of the chair. "Big deal, and starters are all I've got. But you," she continued, smiling sweet as poison, "you're a bit of an investigator. Perhaps you could have a little look around."
"He'd kill me."
"Maybe. Maybe not. I think he needs you for some reason, and really bad. There's some paternal pride twisted up in there somewhere, but all mistakes aside, you're a clever devil and I'm sure you can trick him."
"What else is on that list you mentioned?"
"Toys. Mostly for you. And one madman by the name of Len'Ambas."
"Where's he?"
"Dunno, but he's one sick fuck. No lie. I saw Galeas' file on him." She made a face. If he turned her stomach, Oren didn't know if he wanted to know. She stood up and stretched like a cat. "So, have we got an axis going, boy? Are we together in this? Partners?"
Oren looked at her. "I've got a lot of choices, don't I?"
She laughed. "You've got it, boy."
The Present
"...ninety-nine, one hundred." The last ones hurt, and he dropped from the pull-up bar he had installed in Torin's basement, landing catlike on his feet, then crouching down to hold a plank position for as long as he could. Normally, he would do these calisthenics at home, but he had been spending a lot of nights with Torin. At first, it had been to spend time after the runesmith had gone on his working holiday into the mountains. Then, to protect him from ghosts. It had already become a sort of habit so hardly anything changed when Yshvold took over his own cottage, though now the boy could afford his own working for Aurin and Portions for Foxes.
The keiretsu was growing and he was proud of that, but sometimes he wished he had something to show for it as Torin did: a forge, a house, an apprentice, a life, and a home. Aurin moved from place to place, mask to mask, and sometimes he wondered which one was even true. Perhaps they all were, or none of them. Arry talked a lot about the theory of acting; he sounded a touch pretentious at times, but Aurin was indulgent of his boys. And surely there was truth to some of it. Even Aurin was occasionally awed by a performance at the Golden Peacock Theater, and a small, secret part of him was proud that his labor helped keep the place running smoothly.
But he did feel at home here, wherever Torin was. There was an animal comfort to sleeping skin-to-skin.
Eventually, his arms were quaking too hard and he knew he could power through it a bit longer, but it might not be worth the strain. So he eased himself down, rolled onto his back, and panted, staring at the ceiling. Up above, the house was empty except for its itinerant ghost. He was glad Torin had others to handle that particular challenge.
Torin was likely at his forge, Timon at the front desk. All was right in this little world.
Hazel eyes swept from wall to wall, imagining the place as a safehouse, a storage facility, and whatever else he needed it to be. He and Torin had already spoken about it and would likely speak more about it. Once the doors were secure, perhaps he would start stockpiling weapons, non-perishable foods, cash, and whatever else needed to be kept a secret.
He wondered if he knew anyone who knew anyone who was a creditable warder, either to ward the place from outside eyes, ears, magic, and intrusion, or to cooperate with Torin in order to make this place truly safe. One never knew when there would be political unrest, war with Zaichaer, or a case of the Dread Mists.
"Fucking Phergus," he muttered, but here he was years later wishing he had what that shit kicker had had—a creditable side gig.
Heaving a sigh, he rocked back, pulling his knees up to his chest as he planted his hands on the ground behind him and did a kip-up. Once standing, he grabbed his shirt and bit it so he could use his hands on the rope to climb back out into the yard. He hoisted the rope up, coiling it neatly around his palm and elbow, then setting it aside before securing the cellar doors.
Then he ambled over to dry off by the dry heat of the forge. Winter had come, but the heart of this property was made of fire. He wasn't expected at the theater today, so he might just spend a few hours watching Torin work. It was special, getting to observe him while he was lost in his craft. Aurin didn't know if anything captured his attention like that. But they were different people and that was a good thing. They complemented each other.
"Hey, boy?"