Trade of Flesh and Sweet Things

My foot kicks out, shattering a rotten fence. A sharp pain is registered and ignored as I struggle to control my fury. They continue to beat the poor Satyr, endless blows to the young boy's meek frame. I can’t take it, cycling through my inventory to produce my Riptail. I'm going to cut them down.

“Did it rut ya wife lad?” A skeletal old croon waddles around the building's corner.

“Huh.” I say. A little startled, losing the concentration needed to withdraw my sword.

Her hunched back is almost bent at a 90० angle, her face parallel to the ground. She takes a lifetime to shimmy along to the splintered wood, picking up a piece and holding it out for me to see.

“My grandfather placed this post when I was a wee girl. My only memory of him before he went off to war. Why would you destroy something so precious to me? What did it do to you?” She creaks out of withered lips.

“I’m so sorry, I will place a new one, I promise.”

“No, you have shattered the memory like you shattered the wood. I will have to inform the guards of this crime.”

Mother please, this is exactly what I wanted to avoid. Any unwarranted attention from the town authorities or population.

“No please don’t. There’s no need. I’ll pay for a new one and…

She coughs out a wicked cackle. “If I had milk in my udders, you’d be suckling them right now.”

Flabbergasted, I stare at her speechless. Her neck bends slowly like a protesting root until she watches me with a sharp stare and smiles.

“Your generation, easy to tease and quick to cry. It twas a joke lad, lighten up before the Daemons recruit you.” She sardonically berates me.

“So the post and your grandfather isn’t true?”

“Oh it's true, but he was a wet blanket of a man. We cheered as he went with the troops. War chews on emotional sinew like him. You remember that boy before your outbursts get ya buried.”

“I will.”

“Now why ya upset? Lost your girl to the plague?” Her hard face doesn’t falter at the idea, her kind know lifelong trepidations and barely bat an eyelid at death.

“Yes, the Rot got her yesterday.”

“Ay, muk happens. He keeps things in Order for a reason.” She points to the sky. “Mind you, I got several granddaughters and great-granddaughters that are clogging my house. Do me a favour and free up some space. Truth of it, I hope you take a few of them.”

“HHHmmm, that’s a kind offer. I think I’ll wait a little before moving on.” This is an odd lady.

“Not too long I hope. They watch me, hoping I’ll trip. Always listening for my final breaths. I’ll outlive the lot of them. Useless girls, they should be enjoying youth. Not sat insides all day gossiping. I tell them every morning over breakfast, the wrinkles will form and skin will loosen, and they’ll regret the nights they didn’t hunt for some young man’s snake when it twas as easy as grabbing him at the pub and riding it in the back alley.”

“Ahem, I see your point.” My anger has bled away from the shock of this venting.

“Dat you should. So don’t go wasting your pennies on the Baron’s new stock. He’ll have them scrubbed after the fields and on display in the tower tonight. My daughter’s cost no more than a promise, ya hear.”

“Yep. Sorry, the Baron’s going to sell them already? The slaves I mean.”

I could buy their freedom, send them off to Mother’s haven in the mountains.

“Ay, the whole village will have a taste of their hairy flesh before the Day of lights. Why pay for that jungle fur? Why not have my handsome daughters? They might be slower than a broken cart but they’re just as wide. Take a few of them and you got a convoy to ride through the moonlight.” She beams at the crude idea and pulls a blackstick from her pockets, its stained surface burns as she puts a match to the end. The dark wood burns with a blue flame, aniseed smog lazily rolls from her nostrils like a sleeping dragon.

She sees me eyeing hers and pulls another out. “Ebony?”

“No thanks, trying to cut down.”

I turn away from the strange woman trying to sell off her daughters and look at the workers in the field. They’ll spend the rest of their miserable lives doing harsh labour like moving rotting bodies, only to be scrubbed up and sold for entertainment. This is the life they’ll all be living, including Piia and the others. I need to free these Satyrs and find out where the others are.

“Hey, Ms…

“Tessy. Short for Ecstasy.” She winks at me with parchment thin eyelids.

“I saw a group of men, warriors really. Who were heading towards the Tower only a few days ago. They may be interested in your daughters.”

“You’d think, I even propositioned them. But they only desire the taste of another’s horn. Wouldn’t even come look at me comely daughters.”

“I thought you said they were handsome?”

“Hhmmmm, did I? Bit forgetful in my age.”

“So you didn’t have any sons? With horns to offer?”

She coughs out a sharp cackle and slaps my arm. “Dirty boy. They only want the slaves Bukkehorn. Money men, like the Baron. After their dealings in the Tower, I saw them march off down the merchant's road.”

Bugger, they’re probably heading to a bigger town with a bigger market.

“I was hoping to buy a slave, you wouldn’t know which town?” I ask her.

“Rut knows. Those lot weren’t hanging around to catch da Rot.”

“And neither should I. Lovely to meet you, Tessy.”

“Wait lad, come have dinner at my house. Bring some friends, bring anyone.” She pleads desperately and grabs my arm.

“Very kind of you to offer but I already have plans.” I push her off gently and manage to get away from the pimping old croon.

“Well, when you get over ya dead girl come find me.” She sweetly offers with a wave of crooked fingers and the burning blue ebony wafting a haze around her.

I briskly walk across town, worried that she’ll follow me around in the shadows.

The round base of the Tower comes into view, the cluster of purple caped guardsman surround it like fleas. I should have asked Tessy how I could arrange a meeting with the Baron. The old bat freaked me out more than the Depth’s lizards. I look over my shoulder and find her staring at me from around a corner.

Holy muk. I instinctively start running down the street without looking and almost collide with the pack of guards.

They all step back warily as I immediately halt.

Rut it, I haven’t got time to mess around with procedures.

They leer at me as if I interrupted a party, all smoking ebonys like a gang of school bullies. I step into the licorice smog knowing these thugs all have abilities and powers to destroy me.

“I want to talk with the Baron.” I proclaim.

A tall woman with short hair and a gold trim to her cape flicks her smoke at my chest, the blue embers explode against the leather.

“I don’t give a toss what you want ya flaccid worm.” She snaps out.

“Business and coin. That’s all I’ve come to offer him.” I state.

A bang cracks the stone walls, startling only me. The guards don’t even look up, but a few sigh as their schoolyard antics are ruined.

“Coin!” A balding man with a wide face yells out a window three storeys up, the shutters still swinging wildly from his outburst. He peers out and inspects me before slamming the decimated wooden covers closed. Within a leaf fall the Tower door bursts open as the same man appears. Aubergine garments and gold jewellery hang off the man’s broad shoulders. His voluminous size barely fits through the door frame that he powers through and hardly slows down as the guards dash out of the way. I step back thinking he’ll plough me over, when he abruptly stops a few feet away, his offered outstretched hand drops away after a second thought. How in Mother’s bosom did he get down so fast?

“Well met my goodman, I am Merchant elect Devonport of The Watch house. If there’s coin and trade to discuss then I can help.” He rattles off his practised introduction with the smooth charisma of a Broadway actor on his final night. His easy demeanour releases the tension from me, until I notice all the loathing eyes of the Tower guards. Devonport catches also takes note.

“Begone you lazy sellswords. Loiter somewhere else.” They skulk away from their posts, the short haired woman flips off the merchant behind his back before following her subordinates. They slink away like kicked dogs, but not too far away in case their masters need them to bite.

“Cheap wannabe heroes. I’d have the whole garrison replaced with the decent sort if profits weren’t the aim. Alas our house's famous words, ‘Yields higher than the Tower’ ring truer today than ever before.” He beams proudly before seeing no recognition on my face.

“Come now man, you must have heard our famous motto in the merchant halls and tavern across the flat world.”

“I admit I haven’t, I have only seen the Tower for the first time this morning.”

“New to this area then. What trade brings you to our resourceful doors?”

“I hear you have recently bought some slaves, I was hoping to purchase them from you.”

Devonport glances over my dirty leathers before answering. “Our slaves aren’t for sale, The Watch House maintains and administers the town and this plague is terrible for our labour demands, hence the requirement of those costly slaves.”

“Fair enough, how about the slavers that sold them. Where could I find them now?”

“The Blackroot Guild have moved on, unfortunately, to where? I do not know. The Baron dealt with them directly. Is this all you came to discuss?” He asks with dulling interest, the creaking shutter above slowly closes.

“No, no. Thought an opportunity presented itself, a man of good coin such as yourself will know to look into all ventures. I have in fact discovered a new delicacy.”

“Is that so.” His attention renewed.

I reach into my inventory space, concentrating on the peripheral runes when a shadow passes over me. Hanging above my head is the bone white jaw of a great white shark, rows of teeth hang threatening to snap my head off.

“Tis considered rude to access an inventory space without warning.” The shorthaired guard barks in my ear, her arm raised into the air like a hailing Nazi. Tendons grow like long hairs to connect her with the terrifying jaws.

“My apologies. I have spent to many tree falls in the wilds.” I blurt out.

“All in good nature, the man is simply enthusiastic about commerce. Thank you Captain Tiff.” Says Devonport, dismissing the guard Captain once again. She watches me, considering my words with distaste.

“I hope his days at The Tower can be more Orderly from now on.” The bone jaw dissolves into the hairlike tendons that wither back into her skin. And I thought my Will was disgusting.

“This ‘delicacy’ then. You were going to provide a sample?” Devonport draws me back to the matter.

I withdraw it from my inventory, conscious of the watching guards and produce a single droplet of Honeydew nectar.

“Please try it.” I offer.

He looks a bit squeamish at my dirty outstretched hand, the constant idea of contracting diseases is refreshed with the blow of the smoky wind.

The merchant looks to be considering a polite decline, though curiosity is causing him to hesitate.

“This sweet nectar is produced from the famous Sana flower that Satyrs once traded with. It contains healing properties that I've personally seen reverse the Rot itself.”

A wicked lie that the merchant wants to hear, even if he knew the truth the man would still sell it to the dying for their last pennies.

His entire demeanour shifts at the idea, and his smile broadens as he leans in to inspect the nectar. The bright honeydew reflects like gold in his greedy eyes.

“It would be a sin to the Tower people, not to try this product.” He states before gulping the fist sized sugary treat down.

Devonport visibly relaxes, so much so that he releases a long monotone fart that gains him some dirty looks from passersby. The avaricious dealer stares off into the clouds, his fixated mind is lost in nostalgic memory.

“My Mother, she gave me sweets like this as a child.”

Explains the weight problem.

His joyous eyes turn to me and a large meaty hand sticks out of his purple shirt.

“You must meet with the Baron.”