Book 3, Chapter 40 - Wealth Equals Profligacy (1/2)

Cloudhakw carried Barb back to their room. There, he gave her some medicine and told Autumn to look after her.

It was the way of the world that women sometimes were synonymous with trouble. ‘They make the highs higher and the lows more frequent.’ [1] First Autumn got herself bit by a snake, which resulted in Cloudhawk have a swollen mouth for most of the day. Then Barb got into a fight with a famous bandit which almost turned the whole hotel against them. Luckily it didn’t end up causing too much trouble.

It wasn’t all bad, though. Both of his companions had a new respect for Cloudhawk.

“Where his Excellency go?”

“Off to be sociable, of course.”

“Be sociable? What?!”

Autumn had to wonder if Cloudhawk was insane. A few hours ago the men in this hotel had tried to kill him. Now he was off to try and win them over?

Cloudhawk left the girls and went down to the cantina. At present there were about thirty wastelanders sitting in groups, many of them participants in the fight against him. Those that hadn’t knew all about the scuffle by now. When Cloudhawk walked in there was no lack of animosity in their glares.

But they also saw what the demonhunter could do. It had been enough to convince them that bothering Cloudhawk further wasn’t a good idea.

Bonobo was also there, separate from the others, quietly keeping his own counsel. And the drunkard? He didn’t miss a beat and walked right up to Cloudhawk when he walked inside, expecting wine.

The old fuck sure knew how to play the wolf in sheep’s clothing. Cloudhawk was sure he hadn’t gotten close to using his full strength today, but even the little he revealed was enough. The rest of the hotel guests probably would still be ignorant of the fact if they hadn’t seen it with their own eyes. They’d have died before they knew what hit them on their way to Fishmonger’s Borough.

No one could tell whose side the cripple was on, but it seemed like he was getting closer to the demonhunters. If they joined forces then no one would be stupid enough to try and fight them.

Outside the hotel’s walls, more than a dozen corpses had been buried. Bold men, keeping the devil company in hell, now.

“Hey, barkeep! A bottle of wine for everyone!” Cloudhawk flippantly chucked a cube of eboncrys. “Whatever y’all want to eat. It’s on me.”

Bonobo caught the cube, gave it a cautious look, then tucked it into his clothing. He gave a wave to a dazed subordinate and a few moments later, the wine flowed. Whole barrels were brought up from the cellar and tapped before everyone’s fixed gaze.

What was this all about? One bottle was a hundred silver coins! One gold!

So how much was a barrel? Bonobo was known for his stingy character and he wasn’t about to give Cloudhawk more than he paid for. What did the young demonhunter give him, anyway? Cloudhawk tapped one and the enticing scent of the wine filled the cantina. Regardless of their misgivings, the brigands came over with glasses in hand, and began pouring.

“Drink!”

“Good lad!”

“Good shit! Don’t mind if I help myself…”

All of a sudden hard stares turned to beaming smiles as the men got their drinks. Life in the wastelands was cruel, any opportunity to drink a little and forget was welcome. Before long the cantina was alive with laughter and rough voices sharing stories. It was like nothing happened.

“A toast to you, on behalf of my brother!”

Locust approached wrapped in bandages, blood still seeping from their borders. He hobbled over, glass raised, and gave Cloudhawk a loud toast while his dimwitted brother stool beaming a few steps behind. The wound in his chest had already healed nicely.

“I never met a man who could beat Little Rock, especially not in one hit. You’re tough shit, kid. You got us convinced.”

“You’re quite the pair yourselves. I won by the skin of my teeth.”

“Keep the booze comin’!”

No one would suspect, looking at them now, that most of the people in this room had tried to put Cloudhawk in the ground.

This was the wastelands. It was a dark and twisted place, but it was honest. Happy enmity was a thing out here. Your arch-nemesis in one moment could become your closest drinking buddy in the next. Then, when the hangover’s passed, you went back to trying to murder one another. The wastelands were a place where you lived in the moment. No one cared what tomorrow brought.

“Everyone listen up for a second.” When Cloudhawk figured everyone was good and liquored up, he climbed on top of a table and gathered their attention. “I know everyone wants to get into Fishmonger’s Borough. I know it’s about money. But as important as wealth is, it isn’t worth your lives. I’m willing to give two thousand gold pieces if all of you decide to give up the journey. Payment for your losses.”

Two thousand gold pieces! To any blood-of-the-earth wastelander this was a fortune! And the demonhunter was right, the only reason they were out here was for money.

Costs in the hotel were tantamount to highway robbery, so no one was going to give up the trek easily after spending so much. Now they were being offered the choice of either getting paid a hefty sum for the mere act of going home, or fighting a demonhunter and that crazy old man. Fishmonger’s Borough wasn’t going anywhere, they could always come back for another try. As long as they made money from this trip, it was all worth it.

Cloudhawk was employing the crudest – yet most effective – means of solving problems. Throw money at it.

Two thousand gold was no small number, but luckily Cloudhawk had a sack of eboncrys at his disposal. He would make sure Autumn reimbursed him after the fact.

“Do all elysians demonhunters have pockets deep as yours?” A familiar man with a shaved head but for a pair of braids, a pair of axes on the table before him, shouted a response with genuine surprise in his voice. “Son of a bitch, if I had that much money, what fuckin’ point would there be goin’ to Fishmonger’s Borough? You need people for your crew? I – Black Whirlwind – would be happy to ditch my outfit and roll with you!”

“No doubt!”