The Chase Is On Part II (2/2)

“And that's not counting the larger nations beyond them,” Chase said, sampling a biscuit and rolling her eyes in pleasure. Poppyseed, she thought, with some kind of fruit flavoring. It was very distinctive, and she took two more for later consumption.

“Oh yes. Word will spread,” said the Lady. “There's no way it hasn't already. And here's the thing; legal necromancy is a faux pas, but forgivable with enough incentive and pragmatism. Monsters are not.”

As she spoke, she lifted a long strand of the meat between her fingers, and tilted her head back, sliding it down her gullet, eye gazing down at Chase with all of the emotion of a shark on the hunt.

It took every bit of Chase's self-control to keep from flinching. She'd seen that meat before. She knew what it was now. She knew it had been part of a person, once.

And she knew if she let that register even the slightest bit in her expression, in her body language, in any part of her mind for too long, that she'd fail this monster's test.

Fortunately, she was very, very good at what she did.

WILL+1

“You are absolutely correct!” Chase said, nodding as the lady ate her grisly repast. “When you get down to it, necromancy's a tool, like any magic. You can set laws on how to use it, and punish those who break them. But monsters are another thing entirely. Especially undead. If they rule you, who's to say they won't rule you forever? The dwarves have the right of it, there.”

And instantly she knew she'd made a mistake. The lady's bloody fingers tightened, and she put her teacup down with a 'clack', as she looked down her nose at Chase.

“The dwarves are the reason we're in this mess to begin with,” Lady Marks-Runcible hissed. “If they'd simply backed down after Taylor's Delve we would have had an end to the wars early! Now we've got simpering little dolls who don't even...” the Lady grimaced and looked away. “We would have had it wrapped up five years earlier. We had gathered the resources to dispose of the daemons. The Mad King would have followed shortly. We could have fixed it if those idiot little bearded busybodies had played ALONG.”

Chase backed up, not bothering to hide her fear. This was bad, and the next few words would be crucial, and it was so hard to concentrate through her instincts which told her to run, run from the monster.

Any sane halven would have.

But...

Chase was an anomaly, she knew that. She, alone in her village, had desired adventure. And now here she was.

This was what she had wished for. This was what she had risked everything to gain.

And this was neither the first, nor the worst monster she'd ever been stuck dealing with.

Chase forced herself to move closer again. The Lady watched her come, her black pupils wide and dilated, so deep that Chase almost fancied she would fall into them. Bloody fingers twitched, stretched out as if to palm Chase's face, and tear it off...

...and Chase reached out, took a string of meat, and ate it before she could lose her nerve.

Congratulations! By knowingly devouring the flesh of a sentient being, you have unlocked the Actual Cannibal job!

You cannot become an Actual Cannibal at this time, all adventuring job slots are full!

Seek out your guild to forget an existing job!

The lady's mouth fell open into an 'O' of surprise.

“The past is the past, and we can't undo it,” Chase said, after she'd swallowed the last mouthful and prayed she could keep it down. “But Mister Ruddimore sent us here to talk about the future. We want you to be a part of that, with us.”

The Lady's smile was genuine, and as bloody as her fingers. “You're partially right.”

“Oh?” Chase got ready to run for her life.

“I believe that Clarence sent you to talk about the future. But this young man here has more of an air of a gift.” She turned her lazy gaze on Branson, hooding her eyes, and licking her lips. “Perhaps we could... split him?”

Branson swallowed hard, and a dumbstruck smile started to grow on his face.

Oh you damned idiot she's not talking about THAT, Chase thought, and dared to step forward and take the lady's hand in her own.

“I'm afraid not. I need him. Like I said, we have several stops to make today, and we are expected...”

The negotiations took some time, convincing her not to murder and eat Branson took even longer, and all through it Chase was fighting not only to keep the idiot farm boy alive, but also her own stomach.

Only when they were done and safely several blocks distant did she pull away from Branson and let her stomach go. The taste in her mouth was horrible, but getting that particular morsel of whoever it was out of her was worth the discomfort.

“Are you okay?” Branson asked, in that way that humans had that aggravated most other species of folk. If you'd just watched someone in distress, then clearly they WEREN'T okay!

It had taken Chase time and work to learn that the question they meant to ask in most occasions was something like “Are you going to be fine, or do I have to do something to help you here?”

So she said “I'll be all right once we get back to headquarters. Don't worry about me.”

Headquarters was a polite term for it. Headquarters in this case was the basement under a haberdashery in a mostly-empty part of Cylvania City. Once it had had streets full of shops with luxury goods to serve the nearby estates of the rich courtiers, but the move from a monarchy to a Republic had changed the dynamic so that most of the courtiers had moved on with their lives, and away from the district.

It did mean that there would be no help from the city guard or anyone else, really, at this hour of night. A fact which never escaped Chase every time she made her way down into the basement, descending those wobbly wooden steps to the repurposed storage space that now held a table, half a dozen chairs, and thankfully, a platter of breads, cheeses, and stew. To the side, a shop mannequin stood, silent and wooden, wearing loose clothes and a fancy hat. It was new, but hardly surprising. The store did do some business now and again.

At the bottom of the stairs two burly men sat on crates nearby, playing cards, their swords out of their scabbards and leaning against the wall. But they weren't the people to be concerned about at the moment. No, those two were front and center.

Mister Ruddimore— Baron Clarence Ruddimore, sat at the end of the table. He was clinking his spoon in his bowl of stew, taking slow, deliberate bites before lifting his icy blue gaze to consider Chase.

Across the table from him, Greta ate slowly and methodically. Only when the Baron looked past her, did she turn and give Chase a nod, and a flickering series of winks in the code that they'd set before this whole con started. Chase acknowledged the motions, decoded them to get the gist that nothing major had happened, and returned her full attention to the man whom she'd just found out was a Baron.

“She sends her regards... milord,” Chase curtseyed.

The guards glanced over, and Ruddimore waved a gloved hand. “Mister Ruddimore will do. May I assume that you were able to come to an agreement?”

“I did.” Chase turned to look at the guards. But Ruddimore shook his head, and gestured at the farm boy.

“Branson. Good work. Go check in with your mam.”

“Thank you sah. Been a pleasure,” Branson muttered, bowed about five times, and fled for his life. Ruddimore intimidated him, and Chase didn't blame him one bit.

“She'll support us with funding to begin with, and more vocal support once we get going,” Chase said, once Branson was gone. “She did ask for some strange things in return, I wasn't sure what to make of them but figured they weren't dealbreakers.”

“Such as?”

Chase took a seat next to Greta, and a glass full of water to kill the bile taste in her mouth before she started in on dinner. “She's heard rumors of a monster queen to the north, way to the north. She wants us to fund an expedition to find her once you're in charge. I wrote down the details, but it's a kind of horror I've never heard of before. A weredingo? Wardedghost? Gah, what's that word...”

“Wendigo,” said the shop mannequin, turning to gaze at her with glass eyes.

Chase froze.

Next to her she heard Greta's spoon clatter to the floor. She turned to look at her sister, then both stared at the wooden man.

“Ah yes,” said Mister Ruddimore. “Meet Daffodil Copperfield. He's from another group. We're coordinating for bigger and better efforts.”

“I... see...” said Chase, looking him over from head to toe. It was a well-made body, with a flexible, smiling face and many joints visible in the hands, and the other uncovered parts of his wooden frame.

“Yes, I'm a doll haunter. I hope that doesn't bother you?” His teeth were white agains his oaken “skin.”

Chase took a breath. “I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little unnerved.”

And she was, but not because he bothered her. She was put off because he'd surprised her.

“He's loyal to the cause. And smart enough to know that he'll never hold power here,” Ruddimore smiled. “He knows his place. You may trust him.”

Chase let her skepticism show in her body language, just a bit, and marked how Daffodil's glass eyes shifted in the light as she revealed a few tells. “A pleasure to meet you,” she finally said.

“The bit with the wendigo queen won't be a problem,” Daffodil said, glancing to Ruddimore. “My friends in the east know exactly who she is and we've got a rough idea of where she can be found. If your budding cannibal wants to up her game, that's something we can follow through on in a year or so. If you want to hand her more power.”

“We'll make that decision after we've won, I think,” Ruddimore said, then smiled at Chase. “You've done well, and passed both tests.”

“Both tests? I figured you'd sent me in with bad information once the platter of human flesh came out,” Chase said, frowning. “So coming back with an agreement was one...”

“And you came back with Branson.” Ruddimore smiled.

“You knew she'd assume he was a gift.”

“And you talked the monster out of accepting it,” Ruddimore's smile grew.

Chase paused. “You were willing to sacrifice Branson.”

“A necessary one, I fear, if it came to it. He pledged his life to the cause, until our effort is done. And the riches that you have teased forth from Wendolyn have proven well worth the risk!”

“I see.” Chase looked to Greta, who stared back, face solid. But to Chase, there were obvious signs of unease.

She was right to be disturbed. Greta had spent the day with a far deadlier monster than Chase.

Chase dug into the food, trying to banish the aftertaste of the unknown meat she'd consumed. And Ruddimore let her, merely pulling aside a chair for Copperfield, so the wooden man could sit down.

“I'll leave you to him for now,” the Baron said, as Chase looked up, startled. “He's asked for you to move to his group. We've discussed matters, and I believe you could do more good with his people.”

“I... see. I thought I was doing some good for you and your team...” Chase prevaricated, sneaking glances at the wooden man.

“You have been, but with the manner of our operations from this point on, I believe your sister's assistance should be sufficient.”

Chase froze.

She shot a look at Greta, and got a worried look back.

“This wasn't part of the deal,” she said. “I don't want to leave my sister alone in a strange land.”

“And you won't,” Daffodil said, drumming his fingers on the table, clacking them against the wood. “You'll be able to visit her every other day or so. This is just temporary.”

“How temporary?” Chase said, putting down her spoon and squinting at him.

“Weeks,” Daffodil said. “We're almost ready to move. Can you stand to be away from her for a few days out of those, if it comes down to it?”

This was it.

The wooden man, whoever he was, was clearly higher up than Ruddimore, and Ruddimore was pretty well placed.

This was too good an opportunity to pass up...

...but at the cost of letting them essentially hold her sister hostage in case she turned, and vice-versa.

“A few weeks,” Chase whispered, chewing her upper lip. “I don't like it, but this is it, right? All we have to do is help you win, then we're done?”

“You'll have the gratitude of the rightful King,” said Ruddimore. “We'll send you back home with cartloads of riches, and a trade agreement for the lord or lady of your choice back there. What do you say?”

What could she say? Ruddimore's offer told her that they'd bought the story she'd been quietly reinforcing since her infiltration here. That she wasn't actually in this for idealism, or out of goodwill, but that she was a fortune seeker, trying to get rich quickly.

So Chase smiled, and smiled big. “What's a few weeks? Alright sir, you have yourself a deal.”

And she shook the wooden man's hand, but she couldn't shake a feeling of foreboding that grew as she stared into those unblinking glass eyes.

Though things were playing out more or less as she'd hoped, she didn't feel at all in control of the situation...