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Before the Storm: Act 11, Chapter 04
🕑 Added 2025-04-19 08:57:35 +0000 UTC“What do you think, boss?”
“A bit old, isn’t it?”
“It’s the best we could find without leavin’ the March. Not like anyone’ll have any better, yeah?”
A sour expression crossed Olin’s face as the river barge drifted towards its moorings on the waterfront of Re-Blumrushr’s growing pleasure quarter. The vessel was a recreational craft built by one of the local Counts, but it had clearly seen better days. At some point in the past, the former owner had been wealthy enough to crew and maintain the vessel, which was built wider than the average river barge to accommodate its passengers in relative luxury. After two or three generations of neglect, however, the once-gaudy vessel was littered with rotting furniture and its disintegrating curtains had faded to a dusty grey.
“Is there anything wrong with the ship itself?” Olin asked, “As in, will it sink once we start using it to entertain guests?”
“Won’t have to worry about that, at least,” the harbourmaster answered. “Stupid Count was dumb enough to keep the hull maintained even when he couldn’t afford the rest.”
Olin let out a derisive snort. It was a common enough story. Nobles had more pride than sense and often clung to their heirlooms and traditions even as everything else fell apart around them.
“Get this thing cleaned up,” Olin said. “I want it refurbished and crewed by the end of the month. All of those well-padded Nobles overwintering in the capital will be back come planting season.”
“Where should we get the stuff from, boss?”
“Grab the best pieces being made for the new palace,” Olin gestured vaguely in the direction of the pleasure quarter’s core. “As for people, we’ve got an endless supply of them squatting all over the common districts.”
That wasn’t strictly true, but it was close enough that it didn’t matter. In the time since House Blumrush initiated its ‘reorganisation’ of the city, tens of thousands of people had succumbed to exposure and starvation. With the local temples being overwhelmed by the needy, the spread of disease had grown to epidemic proportions. Yet, for every citizen who died, more arrived to replace them: refugees fleeing in the face of the famine ravaging the north.
Of course, the plight of the cityfolk mattered little to House Blumrush. No–it was more accurate to say that it was welcomed. Discontent and desperation were only threats when one had the means to do something about it. Violent revolt would earn them nothing but death, as the city only contained a day or two of provisions at best and every supply line and depot was well-guarded by a mix of armed retinues and Mercenary forces.
All the people could do was prioritise their individual survival by submitting to the will of those who controlled the flow of food and other supplies coming into the city. Death was no obstacle: rather than that, it was considered a convenient culling of the excess, unwanted population.
The situation was a boon for Olin, as well. With the special privileges he had won from House Blumrush, his development of the new pleasure quarter was proceeding rapidly. By calling in the debts accrued by many of the Nobles in the area, he was able to obtain everything that he needed without needing to make the same massive expenditures in security.
After settling a few small details with the pleasure quarter’s harbourmaster, Olin stepped back onto a high-seated carriage that had been obtained in a similar manner to the moored barge.
“Where to, boss?” The driver asked.
“Let’s do a circuit of the quarter,” Olin answered. “I want to see how things are going today.”
He leaned back into his cushioned seat as the carriage got underway, the dozen hand-picked warriors of his escort falling into step around it much like a Noble’s footmen. The incessant winter rain had diminished to a drizzle, giving him a good chance to scrutinise the week’s progress.
Early in the development of the quarter, clusters of tents forming makeshift gambling dens and brothels lay on the fringes of the construction work. They were still present, but were rapidly being overshadowed by proper buildings housing establishments of the same nature. Olin considered getting rid of the former, but Marla kept going on about creating a ‘hierarchy’ for the quarter to help with business. He wasn’t sure about the hierarchy part, but allowing the tents to remain certainly helped to relieve the region’s burgeoning population of armsmen and Mercenaries of their coin.
It was a scenario that the other Eight Fingers directors – who struggled to even open underground casinos – could only dream of. He wasn’t sure if they were aware of what he was doing yet, but he would be firmly entrenched in his new base of power long before they could muster a significant response.
And if I play things right, the Sorcerous Kingdom will back me and not them…
The pure evil of his monstrous minions aside, the Sorcerer King’s machinations in Re-Estize appeared to be rooted in understandable motives. Of most relevance to Olin was the fact that the Sorcerous Kingdom expressed great interest in drawing wealth into its coffers. Indeed, Lady Albedo’s first set of orders to the Eight Fingers revolved around economic activity, tapping into the syndicate’s network of Merchant contacts to secure resource contracts and import all manner of commodities in exchange for its cheap and plentiful grain. The effort achieved a dubious degree of success due to the kingdom of darkness’ evil reputation, and the lack of meaningful results left the directors responsible beside themselves with dread.
Logically speaking, however, he could use a portion of the pleasure quarter’s profits to offer the same thing. It was fundamentally no different from currying favour with anyone in power and Olin was well accustomed to playing games of that nature. After years of thankless work in procurement, he would finally get his due.
A frown crossed his lips as the carriage slowed to a halt. He leaned in his seat to see if something was blocking their way, and then a knock sounded on the door. Olin scowled at the armed escort awaiting him on the street as he unlatched the window.
“What is it?” Olin asked.
“A broker’s come to see you,” the escort said. “Said something about the Marquis sending someone from the capital.”
“Could you be any less vague?” Olin said, “Where is he?”
In response, the armoured man gestured to a nondescript fellow standing just outside Olin’s ring of escorts. The information broker’s face was familiar, but his name wasn’t worth remembering. Olin scanned his surroundings before impatiently beckoning for the man to come forward.
“What do you have for me, old man?”
The broker licked his lips nervously before eyeing the inside of Olin’s carriage. Olin let out a sigh before shifting in his seat to open the door.
“This had better be worth it,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” the broker bobbed his hooded head as he stepped inside. “Thank you kindly, sir. Old Skip’s got a big bit of news.”
“Drop the act,” Olin snapped.
Old Skip reacted with a nervous grin that tempted Olin to knock out what few teeth he had left. The old man fidgeted in his seat, nearly reaching the limit of Olin’s patience before speaking again.
“A coach showed up at the west gate. Two Knights came with it. One of Blumrush’s sons was inside.”
“From the capital? Which son was it?”
“Yes, sir. From the capital. Son of the second mistress, I think? A-Anyway, they came in all urgent, so Old Skip got curious. Turns out they’re checking some kind of old seal.”
“A seal?” Olin furrowed his brow, “How do you know that? What did it look like?”
“Old Skip has his ways,” the broker said as he failed to put on an aura of mystique. “Er, didn’t get to see the thing, but some of the footmen were chatty enough. Important thing’s what the seal came on. Looks like there’s been some trouble with the Sorcerous Kingdom.”
The old broker looked this way and that, as if the mere mention of Re-Estize’s new neighbour might summon a Skeleton from under their seats.
“And what is the nature of this ‘trouble’, precisely?” Olin asked.
“Don’t know,” Old Skip answered. “Coach entered the Noble’s Quarter before they yapped about that part, but every one of them looked none too happy.”
Olin fished a few silver coins out of his purse to rid himself of the broker and opened the carriage’s windows to air out the stench that the man left behind. The people who came with the group from the capital weren’t important, but what they carried with them was. What was the ‘trouble’? The fact that a seal was involved implied some sort of official document. As for when the trouble happened, it took about a week-and-a-half for a coach to arrive from the capital in the best of weather. With winter being what it was, two weeks was probably the best one could hope for.
“What do we do now, boss?” One of his escorts asked through the open window.
“Let’s head back to the office,” Olin answered.
While any event involving the Sorcerous Kingdom merited his attention, he felt a distinct lack of urgency based on what he had learned so far. If Re-Estize had done something particularly egregious, Olin didn’t doubt that the entire country would have been butchered before Blumrush’s envoy could arrive on their errand.
Another one of those incompetent heirs probably did something stupid again. But what about the seal? The document they’re bearing could damn well be anything…
If he was going to talk with House Blumrush about what was going on, it would be best to find out what he could about the new arrivals. The Eight Fingers didn’t have anyone working on the inside – those who were had all followed the Marquis to the capital – but House Blumrush had no shortage of subordinates susceptible to bribes.
The carriage continued on its way for barely a minute before it stopped again. Once again, Olin frowned as he inspected his surroundings. The pleasure quarter wasn’t very large, but the carriage still had a ways to go before arriving at the office.
“It’s one of our boys, boss. A guy from House Beaumont came lookin’ for you.”
An exasperated sigh escaped Olin’s lips. Why did everything have to happen all at once?
“What did he want?” Olin asked, “I’m not getting involved in that brat’s political games, if that’s what it is.”
“He said the Countess is entertaining an important guest. She wants to see you before she leaves.”
“And who is this ‘important guest’?”
“That’s, uh…”
Olin’s annoyance grew as the man hesitated to reply. He poked his head out of the window, searching for the messenger. Anxiety supplanted his ire as the man silently mouthed the origin of Countess Beaumont’s guest.
The Sorcerous Kingdom? Why here? Why now? Why me?
Considering the arrival of Blumrush’s envoy, was the ‘trouble’ hinted at by the broker centred on this territory? In any case, it wasn’t wise to make the visitor from the Sorcerous Kingdom wait for too long.
“Let them know I’ll be there shortly,” Olin said. “Did they mention anything other than that?”
The messenger shook his head. Olin waved him away and retreated to the interior of his carriage, his mind clouded by formless worries. It was impossible to think that the visitor had simply dropped by as a courtesy, but he couldn’t think of any specific reason as to why he had been called upon. With nothing to prepare against, all he could do was appear as useful as possible.
Upon arriving at the syndicate’s new main office, which was a part of the pleasure quarter’s central complex, he set about doing just that.
“Find some men in good with House Blumrush,” Olin said as he stepped out of his carriage. “Ones who can freely get in and out of the upper city. Have them report to me upstairs.”
He went through an all-too-short mental checklist as he climbed the stairs to the third floor of the building. In truth, there was little he could do to impress the Sorcerous Kingdom on such short notice beyond maintaining the image of competence and offering what small amount of tribute could be afforded from the pleasure quarter’s profits so far. Hopefully, it would be enough to keep him out of harm’s way in the event that the visitor had come to air some grievance.
“Marla,” Olin said as he turned the latch on the office door, “has this week’s–”
Olin released his hold on the door and stepped back into the corridor with a curse. The guard posted outside the room rushed forward to inspect the woman lying on the floor.
“She’s dead,” the man said, “but the body’s still warm. I-I don’t get it. I was here the whole time; the door never even opened!”
“Scour the area!” Olin shouted, “Lock up anyone suspicious.”
“Uh, what counts as suspicious, boss?”
The man standing over Marla’s body gingerly rolled the corpse over with the toe of his boot, but Olin already knew what they would find. While Marla might have been the most prominent member of the local syndicate hierarchy to meet such a fate, she wasn’t the first. There were no visible wounds on her body or any signs of being poisoned. The room showed no evidence of a violent struggle.
“The same as last time,” Olin replied. “This has to be the work of a magic caster.”
“What if…what if it’s the curse?”
“Curses are cast by magic casters, you nitwit! Now move!”
Heavy footfalls sounded over the wooden floor as the men around him scattered to carry out his orders. In all honesty, he couldn’t hope for much. A magic caster didn’t require any specific weapons or armour to do their dirty work, meaning that they could appear as anyone. Since they were obviously dealing with a professional, it was even possible that they could appear as someone other than themselves.
“What should we do with the body?” The guard in the room asked.
“Toss it in the sewer,” Olin answered. “The Slimes will take care of it in no time.”
Not that anyone would care about another dead body with the city as it was. Well, that wasn’t precisely true, as the Temples couldn’t keep up with disposal in their overburdened state. That, however, only meant that it wasn’t uncommon to see corpses piled in alleys or dumped into the ditches outside the city wall.
Once Marla’s body was dragged out of the office, Olin carefully made his way in. He wasn’t an expert on magic, but his time in the Eight Fingers had taught him a few things. Spells that targeted individuals – attack spells, in particular – required a clear line of sight between the caster and their target. As such, he stayed well out of the way of the window that was probably the way through which Marla had been killed. There was no sign that anyone had physically entered through that window, so he could reasonably assume that no nasty surprises had been planted for other people using the office.
Still, he had no desire to linger. He crept his way over to the back of the room, where a handful of safes were slotted into their stone mountings. After disarming the traps protecting the largest one, he withdrew several bags of gold coins and transferred their contents into a lacquered wooden casket. It was a respectable sum that could purchase a sizable shipment of the iron ore that the Sorcerous Kingdom so often exported from the mines in the area.
“You called for us, boss?”
Olin snapped the lid of the casket shut, turning around to find a handful of men standing outside the door frame. Each was dressed as an individual one would expect to have frequent personal dealings with the nobility. A sense of morbid curiosity compelled him to wave the men in. Much to his disappointment, none of them keeled over dead when they crossed the open window.
“An envoy representing Marquis Blumrush arrived from the capital today,” he told them. “I want to know what they’re doing here and all of the plans that are set in motion surrounding whatever it is they’re here for.”
More than one of the men allowed their confusion to show upon hearing his words. When it became evident that nothing more would be forthcoming, however, they all silently filtered out of the room.
Why am I always surrounded by incompetents?
He already knew the answer to that. Any promising individuals who appeared were swiftly poached and transferred to other divisions to work in the more lucrative parts of the Kingdom. That, too, was something he would change now that he was in control.
After changing into attire appropriate for visiting with Nobles in the upper city, Olin returned to his carriage. He paid little attention to the vehicle’s progress as he mentally prepared an overview of his activities should he be called upon to present one. Too quickly for his liking, the carriage rolled into the gate of Countess Beaumont’s manor.
He took an inventory of the manor grounds as he was guided inside by one of Reed’s men. There were no additional vehicles aside from his and Countess Beaumont’s carriage, and there was no sign of any foreign entourage. Whoever had come from the Sorcerous Kingdom had likely arrived unnoticed by the city. That still didn’t give any hints as to who the visitor was, however, as the Sorcerer King’s minions used various means of travel and there seemed to be no preferences between them.
His guide stopped at the entrance of the manor’s drawing room and bid him to wait in the corridor while he went in to announce his arrival. The man appeared a moment later and gestured for Olin to enter. Olin took three steps forward before freezing in the doorframe.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!
Olin’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the casket cradled in his hands. Lounging on a long couch in the centre of the room was the Sorcerous Kingdom’s demonic Prime Minister, Albedo. Sitting across a table set with afternoon tea was Countess Beaumont, with Liam standing behind her shoulder.
He didn’t know how long it took for him to shake off his paralysis, but no one said a word since his entrance. The only sound that punctuated the silence was the occasional rustle of paper as Albedo scrutinised the pile of pages in her gloved hand. Not knowing what to do with himself and not stupid enough to ask, Olin lingered near the door for a minute before mustering the courage to step closer.
Flip.
Flip.
Flip.
Albedo paid his presence no mind, though Olin was sure she would lash out at him if he tried to figure out what she was reading. Was it information gathered about the city and its circumstances? Or was it simply the Countess’ household accounts? He couldn’t imagine a Demon taking any interest in the latter.
“Tsk.”
Olin flinched as if he had been struck by a whip.
“Just what in the world has Yuri been teaching you?” Albedo muttered.
Who is that?
Neither Countess Beaumont nor Liam reacted to Albedo’s words, but Olin doubted the up-until-recently-confined young noblewoman was their target. Did that mean Albedo was reading a report from Liam? Perhaps this ‘Yuri’ was the kid’s handler.
Albedo leaned forward to place the papers on the table between them. Olin wouldn’t have been a man if his gaze hadn’t been drawn to the womanly curves that strained against the fabric of her pale dress as she did so.
“Is this everything you have to report?” Albedo asked as she leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs.
“It’s what I could gather considering the scope of my assignment, Your Excellency,” Liam answered. “Well, assignments. Aside from the problems related to this year’s famine, things have been pretty plain.”
“I-If I may, Lady Albedo…”
The world-class beauty’s amber gaze turned up to regard Olin. Rather than the coquettish glance that men would desire from such a woman, however, the look she bestowed upon him was akin to how one might regard fresh horse manure on the street. Olin swallowed and forced himself to continue speaking.
“An envoy from House Blumrush arrived from the capital today bearing a document related to the Sorcerous Kingdom. My intelligence network is already positioning itself to observe how the major players in the city react to it.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Countess Beaumont said. “What document might this be?”
Olin hid his disdain for the young upstart. Whether it was her trying to lead her clique of inexperienced Nobles or obsessing over Liam, she had bitten off far more than she could chew and didn’t know where to stop. He sent a meaningful look at Albedo, as if deferring the answer to a potentially confidential matter to her.
“Nothing overly noteworthy,” Albedo replied with a bored look. “The document simply expresses our intent to prosecute a war against Re-Estize.”
Countess Beaumont’s jaw dropped open. Olin’s nearly did the same. The Sorcerous Kingdom was going to be at war with Re-Estize again? It went against all of the subversive moves that Albedo had instructed the Eight Fingers and their associates to undertake so far. What was the point of all of his hard work if everything was going to be destroyed?
“Your Excellency,” Countess Beaumont said, “may we know what grievance is being addressed in the coming war?”
“One of our caravans bearing humanitarian aid for the Holy Kingdom was robbed,” Albedo replied.
The Countess breathed a sigh of relief.
“I see,” she said. “What sort of reparations will you exact from the Kingdom? Do you believe a full levy will be raised to contest them?”
“Reparations?” The Demon arched an eyebrow, “Why, the only ‘reparation’ we will accept is the complete and utter destruction of Re-Estize.”
This idiot girl.
Why anyone would expect anything less from a war involving a country ruled by the Undead and Demons was beyond him. Re-Estize was merely lucky the first time around because the Sorcerer King decided to join the Empire’s war instead of initiating his own.
“But…but…if Re-Estize is to be destroyed, then what is to become of us? What of everything that the Sorcerous Kingdom has invested so much into here?”
A brief flash of annoyance crossed Albedo’s expression. It appeared that her losses in Re-Estize were significant enough to become emotional over. The syndicate’s leadership would no doubt be infuriated over them as well, though none would dare voice their discontent to their new masters.
“What can be salvaged, will be,” Albedo said. “As for your part, Countess Beaumont, there is an additional task to complete.”
“What would you have me do, Your Excellency?”
“The Royal Army desires a disruption of communications between the Azerlisian Marches and the Kingdom’s heartlands for the upcoming war,” the Demon smiled slightly. “At the same time, they wish to experiment with the use of local collaborators, so you have been chosen to facilitate this.”
Albedo’s imperious tone drove in the fact that the Countess was little more than a test subject. She was being regarded no differently than the samples of ore and other goods from across Re-Estize that the Sorcerous Kingdom ordered the Eight Fingers to deliver to them.
“How should I accomplish this, Your Excellency?” Countess Beaumont asked.
“What methods you employ are for you to devise,” Albedo answered. “Personally, I recommend killing anyone who poses a threat to your success.”
“Killing…” The young noblewoman swallowed, “But if I kill any messengers performing official duties…that would be considered rebellion.”
The Demon’s cold smile widened, her glowing amber eyes hardening with a vicious glint.
“Rebellion or oblivion,” she said. “That, too, is your choice to make.”
Comments
Arthur Rebello
People forget our ancestors lived in a much bigger world than we live in today. Human distance perception is not really measured in meters but in cost to travel, including time.
ovrsurge
Completely unrelated but I've been looking at the map of Rolengorek and its smaller than I expected. Only about 1800-2000 km wide accounting for the seasonal variation along the Jorgulan frontier. Add another 400 or so km for the territory they took in the draconic kingdom up until the deadmarch. But they lost that later. Its about the distance from the westernmost point of France to the border of Ukraine and Slovakia in a straight line. the country is also quite short in terms of height. The closest comparison to a real world location I could come up with is the DRC but with the northern third chopped off. About the size of Iran. I don't know why I expected more. But it was being called huge and I guess when your sense of scale is based on a duchy it must feel like Russia by comparison.
Gopard
Thanks for the chapter!
