Topic: Barons, Bastards and Backwater

Rohin MacKurn

Date: 2010-03-16 21:23 EST
They called the city Thebes.

Most of the people in the city, the residents and the comers-and-goers alike, didn't know about Earth's Thebes or that one was named for the other; no one seemed to know why it'd been named that way, if the city had been warm and sunny on the edge of a desert once upon a time, or if the founders had a wry sense of humor. Maybe they missed home enough to ignore the irony... but there was no denying that Thebes was very, very cold. Like Archangel or Hammerfest, one of the icy hellholes on the frozen edge of a continent that defied all reason by harboring life and profit.

But this winter had been hard on Thebes, and the waters all around her began to freeze. Spring had begun, the ice had split and broken, and ships were only just coming and going when the blizzard came back for an aftershock. Not enough supplies had come in, and stores had started to dwindle. For the first time in decades the men and women of this mind-bogglingly profitable and active port could see the back wall of their cellars, and while panic had not and likely would not set in... they were concerned.

But a rumor started somewhere in the chilly stone streets, coming down from the rocky coast with the lighthouse and the watchtowers into the bars and pubs where the sailors wasted coins they couldn't afford on bad ale and worse whiskey: the good stuff was gone, the bad stuff was vanishing, and they turned to whatever news and rumors they could glean for amusement, picking it apart more ways and more times than they were used to. Someone else had probably heard someone else say that the keeper had said that three big ships were on the horizon.

And they were splitting the ice before them.

"****in' cold," the gravel of her voice steamed out in angry little wisps of warmth. The sun burned white on the distant horizon, the dark-sketched silhouette of a port looking fragile against such a bleak backdrop.

Under the double-heavy weight of wool and an old black, leather jacket, the Collector swung a leg over the edge of the Crow's Nest and scaled down the rigging. Black boots hit the deck with a soft double-tap, her smile as brittle as the ice-flows crunching, creaking, cracking and popping as they made way for the ship. Even still, progress was slow.

"Sounds like Ol' Man Winter's bones."

The Baron himself was at the prow, teeth clenched around one of the many cigars currently stashed in the Red Jack's hold. In spite of her small size, they took the lithe and well-armed ship because the pirates on this route had grown so desperate lately... desperate enough that, once the ice thawed off the ship's side, the crew would be painting another kill on her, her eighth. His green-skinned Aurk bodyguard Jack looked on nervously as his charge perched precariously close to the edge, one arm wrapped up in the rigging as Thebes grew ever larger before them. He had on goggles for the cold wind and snow, currently dangling around his neck over a thick wool scarf. With those, his old brown duster and a pair of mean-looking revolvers on, he looked the part of an adventurer out of some old story.

They carried enough grain, flour, milk and the like for the city's poor, that were likely not faring so well as the rest: cheaply bought, and to be given away for free. The rest of their cargo? Silver Mark Black and Amber Lager, Evil Empire IPA, Baron's Batch Red Ale, Reveler's Red Rum, Icecrest's Own Vodka, Hardy Ja'ir Tobacco, Spiced Teobrec Cigarettes, and eleven hundred and ninety-four Montren Ebony Cigars.

The ship lurched dangerously as the reinforced arcane iron hull smashed through another icy barrier, and Alain grabbed the rigging tighter as Jack stirred restlessly. "Something like that." He squinted at the horizon, then peered over his shoulder at Mac. "What would bring you to a hellhole like this... besides cash?"

The geometric lines of Mac's crooked mouth skewed dangerously towards a smirk as her tongue ran across her top teeth. "Y'said I'd get to sail. See the world. Y'left out the part where it was on the other side of froze-over-hell, mate."

"I'd be a liar if I said I didn't know it'd be this bad." His teeth tightened over the strangely dark cigar, and he blew another puff of thick and pungent smoke into the wind that evaporated almost instantly. The ship bucked again as he worked his way back to her, past a visibly relieved bodyguard. "Besides... there's business in this city that just might be right up your alley." He offered her one of the cigars once he got close. Make that eleven hundred and ninety-three.

"Hm." Single eye narrowed from the horizon to the man, once Detective, now Baron, sometimes Bastard. Always friend. The tips of inked fingers pressed past the cut-off fingers of a pair of wool gloves and accepted the peace-offering. "Mos' my alleys are in warmer places," she bit off the end of the cigar and spat it on the deck, "Dick."

He grinned, the sort of hard-lined grin that only emphasized the fire in his gaze as he continued to stare at Thebes. "Don't worry, all that liquor will be open almost as soon as we make landfall. Then we'll be plenty warm."

He turned to her again, striking a match and shielding it expertly with his right hand, unafraid to singe the strange arcane nerves that worked beneath the old burn scars. As she lit her cigar, he continued, "The Grand Shik of Thebes is old and feeble, borderline senile... In his day he expanded the city, reinforced it, secured it against invasion with treaties that still last, but now his presumed eldest son is running the show in everything but name. Strengthening the police, trying to push through tarriffs and excise taxes and outlaw immigration, erecting a secret court to deal with smugglers -- all of it bad for business. And it's assumed that he's the eldest son, and therefore will succeed the Grand Shik once he dies."

The ship began to slow and turn, and a sizeable crowd was already gathering on the docks to greet them.

There had better be at least one bottle of decent tequila in that hold or the Aussie would be a mad as a cut snake. And just as pleasant. She held the heavy heat of the thick smoke in her lungs before finally setting it free in her reply.

"Can't wait t'meet th'bloke."

"Not everyone assumes he's the eldest. He's a bastard son... and there's other bastards" Alain ashed his cigar and watched the high stone cliffs that protected Thebes rise up before them; the great grey faces were frosted silver and white, some of them all the way from top to bottom for wide stretches. The mainland was useless, though, a vast frozen wasteland that had never produced anything, as far as anyone could remember. "We don't have many good informants here, but the last time we sent a spy on a visit, he figured out there's an eldest, and our man Lokshi isn't it. We think he's hunting for the Shik's other children, and even when he finds out they're younger... well."

Alain smiled grimly. "None of them's ever been proven a murder, but they turned up dead either way."

As the City drew itself large, the Collector took in the sight with an Auditor's eye; looking for the lies in the cracks, the invisible scent of paper trails. Under the jackets, ink stirred and her smile sharpened, cigar tucked into a crooked corner. "Well. Then mebbe I won't hate y'forever fer draggin' m'arse out past the black stump." Out past the back of Nowhere.

"I'll play up the stir we're making when we arrive... and it should last long enough to let you slip away unseen. There's an old lover of his at an inn called the Sea-Goat, said he'd slurred out his lineage a time or two while drunk; find him, secure him, sober him up, and we'll take care of the rest." Jack the bodyguard was listening to all of this, and he nodded suddenly, looking not at all nervous anymore, only very grim.

"With any luck, Lokshi won't attempt a military coup with three foreign gunships in his harbor."

"Sea-goat." She ground out the stub of her cigar on the cold planking beneath her boots. "Luck is not bein' born Capricorn."

And as the shipped docked, lines were thrown, gang-planks lowered, crowds shouted, and the poor cheered, No one noticed another well-bundled body in the masses as Mac cut a path towards the streets. But the Baron might notice the bite of cold around his neck and his missing scarf.


Rohin MacKurn

Date: 2010-04-03 12:10 EST
The Sea Goat was an empty, starving place set too far back from the sea and feeling the lean times even harder than its neighbors. It was tall and broad but sallow, with dark windows reaching too far back into the skull and few signs of life: the little brass tray on a small table outside the door was frozen to the surface and filled with snow instead of ash, though the reek of hasheesh had never quite left.

A snowy breeze picked up as a traveler approached; a whale-tailed goat carved into a sign knocked into a lamp-post with the wind, and knocked loose another white paint chip. This close to the Westwall, the great stone cliffs that hemmed the city in, the buildings had spread out instead of packing in. The bar stood alone, and gave no sign that it was open besides a modest plume from its chimney.

With her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket and the derby tugged low, the Collector trudged down the lane, her breath rising like writhing ghosts behind her. The hollow crack of the sign against the lamp seemed to cackle, the echoes brittle in the cold. A single eye of periwinkle roved upwards, taking in the hungry height of the place. It should have been a bastion of vitality and warmth, built solidly with stone and broad beams. But something in the dark wood only gave it a gaunt look.

Her chin ducked, the grim line of her crooked mouth dipping under the rise of her upturned collar, and her measured stride took the steps. The machete tick, tocked from a hip as she shouldered her way through the heavy door.

Everyone stared.

Now that wasn't so dramatic a thing, because "everyone" meant five people, though there was room for fifty and more. Two of the tables were taken, one by a pair playing cards, another by a lone man slumped forward over a malodorous tankard. He might have been sleeping, except he did open one eye to squint out the corner at Mac the Knife. Barmaid and bartender were gossiping, or at least the maid gossiped while the tender lacked the energy to stop her. His glasses were all spotless, the whole place was almost spotless, because he had little else to do but polish the glasses over and over just like he was doing now. He was balding, tired-looking, and gave Mac an exhausted if interested look.

Perhaps it was the cleanliness. Or the skeleton crew of patrons. But it is right then Mac understood something of the hunger of this place. It wasn't the acute stabbings of starvation, it was the bone-deep cry for nourishment. Nothing in this place held neglect. Rather this place had held out against the marathon winter. All the reserve rations were spent.

Desert-born, ocean-bred and City-fed, the Collector couldn't have burned more brightly of Foreign if she'd lit a flare.

"G'day," her Aussie drawl salt-dry as she struck for the bar, her easy stride still marked by the days at sea with a rolling gait. The machete swung silent at her side.

The people of Thebes were both dark and pale, black-haired but fair-skinned, and eyes of hazel and honey. Red hair wasn't common, and that on its own was already enough to mark her foreign. The accent didn't help; but the people were bored, and the otherwise prickly bartender was overcome by his curiosity.

"You come in on that man's ships?" He jerked his head towards the sea. The barmaid continued to stare, not quite friendly. The others returned to their business.

Well, I ain't walked, mate, her crooked smile edged between wry and sly. But aloud she replied, "I did."

Periwinkle ticked between maid and tender, and something of their local color was filed away in her mental inventory--all that dark in faces of pale frigidity, it was familiar.

The bartender huffed into a smile and shook his head a bit. "Thirsty?"

The barmaid muttered something foreign and finally tore her eyes away from the stranger; she thumped a paper bill onto the drunkard's table, loudly and pointedly and still barely enough to rouse him for moments, on her way to chores that really didn't need doing. The third time that stretch of floor had been swept that day: the poor broom was nearly naked now.

"Parched." Gaze followed the thump of a bill and the tisk, tisk, tisk of a broom. The machete snickered as she claimed a stool and she lifted her chin at the barman. "Whatcha got worth drinkin', mate."

At that he barked out a dusty laugh and pointed at a single keg behind him, marked with a very familiar silver seal... "That mad outland noble's the only reason we've a drop to offer. Only reason we've got a hopping crowd here at the Sea Goat."

The old men playing cards chuckled. The barmaid shook her head.

"Then gimme wha' tha' blue-blooded bastard broughtcha." To them her crooked smile might look rueful, and maybe it was. But there may be a Baron who would later rue the lack of tequila.

Luck was on her side; the keg was empty, and he slung a bottle bound in knotted rope onto the counter in anger, and pointed at the drunkard.

"Rela? I told you to stop feeding that son of a bitch! The last of our bloody ale's gone!" This sparked groans of protest from the old men, and the drunkard roused again, sleepily, to find himself being hit with a broom. "Get him out, get him out... just let us be done with him, until pity takes us again..."

The barkeeper sighed as the incoherently protested man was shoved and harried out the door, and gave Mac a sly look. "Never give a man free beer for his sorrow, or he'll keep coming for more, your kegs will run dry, and your customers will be stuck with," he huffed the last word as he knocked his knuckles into the tequila bottle, "liquor."

Empty as the bar was, if ever there was a sign the Baron wanted her to be there, it was the desert liquor.

Oh, how she smiled then, a sight both brutal and beautiful. Like a red sky at night. "I'll suffer without grief," her low-slung voice softly sang. Chin lifts towards the door and the evicted drunk beyond. "What's his story he gets pity in times like these."

"The young man there," the barmaid said rather shrilly, "has had a little bit of a fall."

"From grace," the bartender added, and decided to try a small glass of this 'tequila' stuff. "So he's said. He was a marine officer, demoted and forced into customs... Quit the customs and went into property, and the Grand Shik seized it and his second fiancee left him. Went back into the military, made captain, found himself on the wrong side of a general and lost the whole of his commission, in disgrace. I won't say he's homeless, but..." The 'keep squinted at the front door. "...never really sure how he gets by."

"Hm."

The barmaid chewed her lip. The bartender, still bored and curious, leaned on the counter and gestured with his glass towards his latest customer. "And, um... what about yourself? What's brought you to our lovely, lonely little city?"

Mac leaned on her elbow, propped against the bartop. "A man." Beat. "A bastard." She reached for the bottle of tequila, a glimpse of ink peeking past the gap between the wool, fingerless gloves and the leather jacket. "What's that poor bloke's name." Single eye settled on the sharp-tongued and eyed maid.

At that the bartender started, then began to chuckle and shake his head even more. The old men finished their card game and began to leave, and the barmaid leaned on her broom and stared at a stain on the floor that, in spite of their repetitive cleaning, would never ever come out. "He has no name, besides the first half, Elliam, because he's a bastard. Will he do?" He tittered again, pleased with himself.

The barmaid looked down suddenly, stung. She began to sweep again, and it was louder in the ever emptier, hungrier room.

"He suits," the One-Eyed-Jack replied with a languid smile, watching the maid's muscles bunch along her shoulders, as if the woman might purge her heart with a fury of futile cleaning that would scour neither the thoughts from her head nor the stain from the floor. Mac slid one of the barman's pristine glasses towards herself and poured her own glass of tequila since the man seemed neither inclined to do it himself, nor to stop her.

Neither and nor. It was as if Thebes existed between two negative poles, always pushing. "Like it." She lifted her glass with a nod towards his. The rise of a single, visible brow marked the question.

"We try it on three," he answered with an adventurous smile that did not suit his age, not knowing she loved tequila. Years ago, he was not a bartender, or not merely: clouds passed away from the sun, a little more light spilled into the dark bar, and a few of the rays splashed onto his skin and the faded scars there. Weapon scars.

He counted off, clinked glasses, and tipped his back.

One. She counted his scars. Two. She liked the cut of his smile. Three. And god, but she loved tequila. She let it burn in her mouth as she swallowed it slow with a saint's smile.

He coughed and hacked. "Oh Fiery-Footed Christ-Child... what is this...!" He coughed again: "I've gargled Icecrest vodka with marine deserters on a rogue frigate, but this... this is..." He shook his head at the bottle, and nudged it towards her. "Keep it."

Her laughter crackled like heat-lightning, bright teeth and strangely soft on the ears. "Thanks, mate." When she smiled then, it was as unreadable as tracks in the sand, always steps ahead of the eyes. The Collector drew the bottle closer, and refilled the tumbler, watching the worm whirl in the bottom. "Sheila's Rela. What's yer name, mate."

"Pegrin Elbin," he said, offering a hand to her; the other made a hapless pass over his thinning hair, as if anything could now be done about the first impression.

"Rohin MacKurn," she replied in trade as one calloused hand met another.

"You fight," he observed, leaning over the counter a little to eyeball her machete. The barmaid rolled her eyes and, now over whatever pain, made her way into the back.

"Only when I hafta." Hope hung from a hip. While the fighting man eyed the blade, Mac followed the maid with a look before sling-shotting back towards Elbin. "How long y'been bartendin'."

"Eight years," he replied, cradling the remainder of his tequila but not daring to drink another drop. "The Sea Goat's been quiet for... seven, or so."

"Hm." She paused. "Why."

He grunted, his expression soured at the thought but the mood not ruined, either. "Bad location... plus the introduction of licenses, then the unlicensed-liquor fees. You know your blue-blood," he added with a gesture, "he could make a lot of trouble. Liquor control is a large source of income for Lord Lokshmi... and all of you came in with ships full of it."

"Sounds like this place is overdue fer some trouble." The right kind of trouble was good for Business. She took a thoughtful drink of tequila.

"...That's what you're here for, aye." Elbin was perceptive. A decade or two of adventuring had done that, probably.

"Yes," she answered simply.

"If it gets..." He spent a few moments searching for a word. Bad? Troubling? Exciting? "...interesting... come by for a drink. Okay?"

"I'll do that." And with that she tips the last of the tequila from her glass and slides off the stool.