Book 3, Chapter 42 - Fat Mama (1/2)

Just as the old drunk had told them, Fishmonger’s Borough had a black market unlike anything they’d ever seen. So long as your stuff was good, it didn’t matter how hot the item, you could find a buyer. So long as you had the coin, anything was for sale. The black market of Fishmonger’s Borough was the largest draw for outsiders.

There were treasures beyond counting, a veritable path paved with gold. Everywhere one looked there were opportunities for riches and temptations abound. Cloudhawk followed guideposts from the lift, which led them to the heavily trafficked avenue. There was hardly any room to shuffle from stall to stall.

There were all manner of wastelanders in outlandish clothing or fancy threads. They had their wares in booths or out on blankets, and even Cloudhawk was taken aback by hat he saw.

An unassuming man of dark complexion sat before a blanket, with the barrels of all sorts of guns poking out from the bottom. A weapons wrack erected behind him had a number of other tools hung up for display; power tools, chainsaws, flamethrowers and so forth.

Across the street, a stout fellow squatted before a rug. He had all manner of hand grenades hung on his person, and the rug was overflowing with other explosives.

Cloudhawk randomly picked one of the caves that served as a storefront and stepped inside. He was greeted with a small warehouse of rusted metal robots at exorbitantly pumped-up prices.

Aside from these sorts of things, archaic technology of bygone ages was also relatively common; rocket launchers, particle blades, even laser rifles. Rare materials and artifact fragments were stacked together with other mysterious and unknown items. Cloudhawk took the chance to purchase things for himself, including firearms and ammunition, or relic fragments. Reselling back in the Sandbar, he figured, would net him quite a hefty profit.

Autumn was struggling to contain her irritation.

Was this asshole here to restock his own shop, or help her with her mission? He was snatching up guns and bullets, almost like he forgot completely about her! Worst of all, he was spending her money!

“Hey, don’t blame me.” Cloudhawk put his hands to the side of his head, vexed by the scale of things. “This place is fuckin’ huge. There’s almost no point. By the time you find it the sands will have swallowed this place up.”

Autumn kept a straight face and didn’t buy in to Cloudhawk’s nonsense. Instead, her delicate features were set in determination. “I need to find it. No matter what.”

“Son of a bitch, you’re stubborn. At least tell me what the fuck we’re looking for so we ask around. You expect us to just wander in to some random stall and find it?”

This gave Autumn pause. It’d been a monumental task just to get here, and if she wanted even half a chance to succeed in her mission she needed this scoundrel’s help. He was going to learn what it was anyway, sooner or later. She might as well tell him now. “I’m looking for a pan flute. It was stolen from my tribe five years ago by a renegade of our people named Brier.

“A flippin’ flute? How much could that be worth!”

“It’s not just a flute. It’s an artifact, bestowed upon us by our patron god!” Cloudhawk’s flippant response appeared to really anger her. This vulgar ruffian really had nothing but profit on his mind! How could gold measure the worth of a gift from the gods? “The flute is called the ‘Call of the Shepherd Goddess.’ You demonhunters would call it a relic.”

A relic, huh? No wonder.

Cloudhawk shook his head. “If that’s the case, let’s stop wasting time. Nothing around here matches what you’re looking for.”

Autumn scowled at him skeptically. “You haven’t even looked, how do you know?”

“I just know.”

This was Cloudhawk’s unique talent, but Autumn wouldn’t understand.

Cloudhawk traipsed a circuit around the market with her in tow. He sensed resonance from a few relic fragments, but nothing whole – and certainly nothing that would feel like it earned the name ‘Shepherd's Call.’ He also learned nothing about the Crimson One or his plans. Both travelers were at a loss.

Suddenly, Cloudhawk was struck by a flash of inspiration. He pulled Autumn after him.

The sector he led her to was different from the others. Living goods were sold here – slaves.

“Hey there friends, is that girl for sale?”

A slave trader stepped into his path and blocked his way. She was a rotund woman with a savage face. Cloudhawk had never seen a woman so large. She had a moon-shaped face with a large mouth. A set of beady eyes were set in rolls of fat, and on her head was teased hair with dozens of sloppy braids that made it look like a nest of snakes. One look at her face was enough to tell she wasn’t a good person. She looked at Autumn with hungry eyes. Years of experience selling people for a living told her this one would fetch a good price.

The mere concept threw Autumn into a fit. What the hell was this? Was this the scoundrel’s place? To pretend to help and then sell her into slavery?

Cloudhawk didn’t give her a chance to flip her lid. He smirked before she could open her mouth, and asked. “How much you offering?”

“Young man. The girl is prime goods, but you don’t have a merchant’s touch. You won’t get a good price, not like me. I’ve been doing this a long time. Ask a round, you won’t find a single person in this whole place who doesn’t know Mama Jade. I know a lot of folk in the market for a pretty slave. People who'll pay top price. I’m the one you want, ehm… handling your goods.”

In the wastelands women weren’t often given status. Merchant women especially. This slave trader, Mama Jade, was as fat and as ugly as they came. But the rich quality of her dress spoke volumes. The jeweled necklace nestled in her chins did, too. Each of her ten sausage-like fingers bore a bejeweled ring. Her face was painted in layers of ostentatious makeup. With every movement, the smell of her perfume invaded the nostrils as though she’d bathed in it. It didn’t matter, of course. A hog was a hog no matter how you trussed it up.

If there was one thing Cloudhawk knew about the wastelands, it was to never underestimate the fat ones. Mama Jade’s rolls of fat did just as much to show off her abilities as the rich clothes she wore.