Mark of the Fool

“Good eventide!” Ripp skidded to a halt on the cobblestones, stopping just in front of the bakery. “Late hours, you’re keeping.”

“Evening, Ripp.” Alex floated down in front of the swiftling, noting the glint of weapons strapped to the little man’s armour. “Sometimes night’s the best time to get things done, especially when it’s so busy in the daytime.”

“Aye, if I’ve just come back from a hunt and got paid, the day’s all taken up; on those kinda days there’s only time for leisure and other business when the night falls,” Ripp said pleasantly. “So, I got your message. Is it about another job?”

“You could say that,” Alex said, gesturing down the street. “Walk with me.”

The swiftling looked up at him, the light of intrigue in his eyes. “Aye, lead the way then.”

Together, the young man and the swiftling strolled down the street, their cloaks high and their voices hushed. To anyone peeking through a window from the shadows, the pair could have easily been taken for a couple of rogues scheming to burgle a house nearby.

The truth of it was that there was a burglary being planned, but for a place far, far from Generasi.

“So, you’re going to be needing another black ball?” Ripp asked, his eyes constantly searching the dark of alleyways they passed. He nodded to stray cats passing by, and scowled at a twitchy rat gnawing on a piece of dropped trash. “Need me to dive into another hill and fetch one from a monster den? By the way, you shaved! Good for you lad! You didn’t wear a beard right.”

Alex had…mixed feelings about that statement. “Actually, I only shaved for the job I want to talk to you about, which’ll be somewhere a little more…exotic than Thameland,” Alex said. The butt of his staff clicked against the ground as they walked. “Tell me, have you ever had a job anywhere off the material plane?”

“...Oh, well doesn’t this already sound curious?” Ripp’s eyes narrowed at the thought of intrigue. “Not often, I’ll admit. I was hired by a wizard to crack open a beastie in the elemental plane of earth once. It was supposed to be all diamonds on the inside, he’d been told.”

“Oh? That must have been quite the payday.”

Ripp made a face. “Unfortunately, nothing but quartz inside. My employer got himself killed for nothing.”

“Poor him.” Alex winced. “How’d you get back?”

“We got in through a natural portal, so I just needed to run fast. Very fast.” Ripp’s face turned dark. “So…what sort of plane are we talking about?”

“The endless hells,” Alex said grimly. “In the Outer Labyrinths.”

Eyebrows rose. “...Oh. Well that’s…something. Don’t bother with specifics about plane names and such, the only thing I’m going to understand is hells. Hoh, boy, and what’s the job?”

“We’re going to steal something from a greater demon.” Alex pointed to a richly decorated townhouse nearby. “He’ll be hosting a gala soon. The plan is for us to slip inside as part of the entertainment, and while we’re in there, burgle what we came for, then hopefully, get out without incident.”

“Aye…” Ripp nodded slowly. “Well, it’s not the maddest thing anyone’s ever said to me. But…it’s sure giving everything else a run for first place. What’re we stealing?”

Alex shrugged. “Don’t know exactly. It’s information, but it could be written down, it could be carved into a gem, some demon could know it. We’re going to find out during the party.”

“Well, shite, this keeps getting better.” Ripp’s laugh was shrill. “So we’re going right into the belly of the beast, on a demon’s plane, in their sanctum to steal something…and we got no idea what we’re stealing?”

“We’ve got some idea. Some.”

“...hoooh boy, you’re going to need a king’s ransom to hire me for this one, Alex.” The swiftling shook his head, his long ears wiggling beneath his hood. “And I’ll be honest: if you weren’t you—and we didn’t pull that job in Thameland together—I’d be laughing at you with every step I'd be taking down this street. My legs aren’t the longest, mate: so there’d be a lot of steps and a lot of laughing.”

“Right, if I didn’t know me I’d be laughing at me, too. And as for a king’s ransom?” Alex lifted the sack at his waist. “This is five thousand gold. I’ll give you this upfront, and you’ll get another five on our safe return.”

Alex almost missed it.

The fae’s movements were rapid and liquid, his tics and tells passing so swiftly, that the untrained eye would never have caught them. But Alex’s trained eye did, just barely: a slight stiffening when he heard the sum.

A point of shock.

And maybe hunger.

“Well,” Ripp tried to play it off casually. “That’s not bad…but extra hazards…”

“Name a price,” Alex said.

“...fourteen. Three quarters now. A quarter when we get back. We might die, and I’d like some spending time, in case we do.”

“Twelve thousand. Half now. Half when we get back. You can spend all you want when we get back alive. And we will. You’re going to help me make sure of that.”

Ripp paused. “Aye…is it just you and me?”

“Myself, you, my friend Thundar and…maybe two to three others, tops. Stealthy types. My golem will be back up.”

Ripp paused again, and Alex could almost see the calculations working through his brain. “Seven thousand now. Six thousand when we get back.”

“Six thousand and six thousand, take it or leave it.”

“...fine.” Ripp sighed. “I’ll come with you into the breach. Gods above, whatever you’re going to get must be priceless to be worth this much pay and danger.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “You have no idea.” He handed Ripp the sack. “We’ll go to my bank in the morning and get you the other thousand.”

“Thanks, I’ll need to do some quick spending in case I’m too dead to do it later.” He gave Alex a searching look. “And who’re the others you’re hiring? I could give you a list of hunters to avoid. And some good ones, if you don’t already have folks in mind.”

Alex shrugged. “Let’s say that I’ve got a connection. A place where only the very best mercenaries go.”

“Now the key thing to remember is that some of the potential minions you will encounter there are idiots,” Baelin said, leading Alex through an alley in Generasi’s business quarter. “Complete buffoons. The worst sort of scum.”

“Baelin…” Alex pinched the bridge of his nose, following the chancellor closely. “I literally just told a guy I hired yesterday that where we’re going will have only the very best mercenaries there.”

“In many ways, it does,” Baelin said. “But if you are looking for pre-sorted warriors who have only the cleanest morality and highest competence, then…well, unfortunately, such a place does not exist. This place will have some of the best hired arms you can buy, but it will also have others intermixed. I would suggest using your skill in reading others carefully.”

“Right,” Alex said. “So…where are we going? Specifically?”

“That, I cannot say,” Baelin said. “Both because where we are going tends to be…in multiple places at once. Honestly, it’s a metaphysical nightmare and I asked one of my cabal members—one far more fond of metageometry than I—to track it down. The other reason is that the owner would not appreciate it if I were to make the place too well known. And speaking of tacit agreements with the owner, there are some rules to follow.”

He gave Alex a very serious look. “First, you have brought gemstones, yes? You did remember that payment is strictly in the form of gemstones? No stamped coins?”

“I’ve got ‘em right here.” Alex rattled two bags, one great and one small.

“Good. Secondly, you are to purchase at least one drink from the barkeeper. To purchase none would be the height of rudeness.”

“Got it.”

“Thirdly, a number of various languages will be spoken. Most will be unfamiliar to you.”

“I don’t know Baelin, I’ve studied a lot of languages, I think I should at least have a passing knowledge of most of them.”

“Then your thinking is wrong,” the chancellor said, turning the corner in a narrow alley. “Do not give into arrogance. The material world is far larger than you might think.”

Alex was having trouble keeping track of their route. Were the alleys in Generasi always such a maze?

“...okay, then,” Alex said, intrigued. “Anything else I should know?”

“Do not draw a weapon, no matter what happens. Things would turn quite ugly if you do. And that’s about all. I would suggest communicating in a tongue of demons. That will help narrow your choices of potential minions.”

“Yeah, I was thinking of doing exactly that.” Alex tapped the pouch of gems on his belt. “So, when are you going to teleport us there?”

“We are already there.”

“Wait, what?” Alex paused, frowning at the goatman. “What are you talki—Oh. Oh.”

It was at this point that the young wizard knew they weren’t in Generasi anymore.

They were elsewhere.

Somewhere very cold.

At some point—without him even realising it—the two wizards had rounded a corner in Generasi’s alleyways and stepped into one in a completely different city. The surrounding buildings were ancient, their stones cyclopean, and their architecture a hodgepodge of time periods. It was as though people had been modifying structures belonging to their ancestors generation by generation, each leaving a lasting mark that the next generation would do their best to erase.

Streets away, Alex spotted lofty towers of carven stone, reaching up toward cloudy skies. There were no gondolas in those skies nor any sign of familiars, or any of the exotic beasts found throughout Generasi.

The mana in the air…was thin.

Not as thin as Thameland’s, but thin enough to let Alex know that mana vents were no common thing here.

The sounds of an alien city reached his ears: speech in languages he’d never heard before, in voices both human and not. The aromas of boiling meats and beets reached his nose, wafting along on the harsh scent of cheap perfumes and burning incense drifting from windows that were curtained with fur, and shuttered with slatted wood.

Ahead of the two wizards, stood a stone tavern in the centre of a crossroads of alleyways.

It matched the surrounding architecture but seemed, somehow…out of place.

He squinted, scrutinising it, trying to grasp the problem. Nothing obvious met his eyes, but he couldn’t dismiss the feeling that something about it was off…that it didn’t quite fit.

The doors were barred, and hanging above the entrance was a large sign with a whetstone engraved on it.

“Welcome to the Whetstone Tavern,” Baelin said fondly. “A crossroads for many and a home for few. Those that find this place are mostly the sort that you need…you just need to have the eye to recognise them.”

He switched to a tongue of demons. “ Come, then. Let us have ourselves a drink. I will meet a friend inside while you sort your business.”

“Got it,” Alex said, taking a deep breath and following Baelin to the door.

It creaked open, allowing a sliver of daylight into the dark, firelit, space.

Within, it seemed to be no more than any typical tavern, though it was somewhat barbaric in how it was outfitted. The floor was rough stone, covered in rugs of bearskin and the hides of both long, and shorthaired beasts. Trophies from various monster hunts—mostly bleached skulls—were displayed on the walls.

Lithe figures clad in gauzy garments danced around a massive fire pit, and the air was thick with the scent of smoke, roasting food, and the rise and fall of voices in a host of languages, mixing with a steady drum beat.

As daylight trickled in, eyes turned, falling on the door. Some were human. Many were not.

All sized up the two wizards.

“You hear for peace? Drinks? Or more?” A man asked from behind a bar of carved wood. He was tall, lean and had a piercing gaze beneath a wide brimmed hat.

Baelin looked down at Alex and barely nodded.

“Drinks, peace and possibly more,” the young wizard said, his voice filled with confidence. He couldn’t flinch before the patrons here. Most looked hard and dangerous.

“Then welcome, strangers.” The barman gave a nod of silent assent. “Treat this place as your home and it’ll treat you like you’re its master.”

“We will,” Alex said, closing the door behind them.

“Ahhh, there is my friend.” Baelin nodded to a tall, hooded figure in dark robes on the fire side of the tavern’s common room. In one of his four arms, he clutched a skull-headed staff. “I shall fetch a drink, and enjoy some conversation. Good hunting.”

“Yeah, thanks. Oh, and do me a favour, do these people know you?” Alex asked.

“Some know of me, more know of my friend.”

“Good.” Alex handed him the heavy sack of gems, keeping the small pouch. “Keep this on you, it’ll help me later. I’ll hold on to the small one.”

“Fascinating.” The chancellor took the sack. “I look forward to seeing what you have in mind.” He stepped away.

Alex’s eyes took in the room, assessing those who had returned to their drinks. Looking around, he was beginning to wonder why Baelin had brought him here: the place seemed like any other roadside tavern where one would find mercenaries.

Within a few heartbeats, though, he quickly understood how wrong he was.

His eyes shone in realisation.