Two of Knaves Chpt 93 thru 95

Here are the next 3 chapters for Two of Knaves! I apologize for letting the update slip my mind, but we're back up to the 4 advanced chapters on Patreon.

Chapter 93 - Daggertongue

With dawn approaching, I donned my robe and cravat and headed for the upper city. I passed Annalisa, slumped asleep at the bar atop a pool of frozen spittle, in which her cup, a handful of copper clips, as well as her face, were firmly lodged. The precipice flickered between her horns, sputtering like a dying candle—no doubt a result of her loss in confidence in me. Or perhaps a reflection of my indecision. I hefted the sailcloth bag and ducked out.

The rain hadn’t let up, and I tucked the elven book beneath my arm and pulled my hood against the summer storm. Even treated against the weather, the driving patter would soak me to the bone.

Unless…

I drew the two of towers from my deck and charged it with my will. Rain began to slough off my outer layers. I wouldn’t be able to hold the enchantment all the way to the upper city, so I just had to hope the storm broke before then. These summer squalls rarely lasted longer than an hour or two. I splashed my way uphill toward the middle city, and then on to the estate district where the address Threadripper had supplied me was located.

I made good time. The streets were less crowded than usual, with people finding amble reason to be inside and out of the weather. Whatever Daggertongue wanted with the book, it better be worth it. And somehow, I doubted he was calling me up to spill a thousand cunnings out of his purse like Lady Pelladine had done. The two probably couldn’t be more dissimilar.

I was right that I couldn’t hold the stoneskin for a full hour, let alone the extra half of one it took me to reach the upper city. Unfortunately, I was also wrong about the storm’s duration. The end result is that I made it to the upper city in record time, soaked to the bone, and drenched in clammy sweat from the uphill trudge, to boot.

Since I had a few minutes, I popped into a public house near my destination to see if there was an opportunity to dry out by a fire. It was one I hadn’t seen before, tall and dark with wrought-iron workings and dark glass windows. Stone steps led up to a door beneath a hanging sign. Literally, the sign had a man etched, hanging by his ankle. The name beneath read The Last Request. Cheery.

 I dripped my way over to the hearth and tossed my dripping robe up onto the mantle. Only then, did I notice I wasn’t alone. An elf sat in a high-backed chair near the hearth, glass of wine in his hand, muddy boots crossed on his ottoman. He watched me, eyes narrowed, in a way that left me feeling quite exposed, if I’m being honest.

The barmaid came by with a dry cloth and took my order (tea and stew) and my coin in advance before returning to the kitchen. This was an upper city haunt, and it was clear I was someone who ought show coin upon ordering. I mopped off my face, hair, and chest with the cloth while I stood by the fire. The sailcloth bag with the book in it, fortunately, had maintained its integrity. I lifted the flap and checked that the linen underneath was dry—on the off-chance Daggertongue actually offered me as much as the noblewoman from the repository.

I saw the elf’s eyes following the satchel as I replaced the flap. But he still hadn’t said anything, and I wasn’t much in the mood for conversation, so I put the cloth down on the chair furthest from my silent observer and took a seat by the hearth. Before I knew it, a steaming mug had been set in front of me, and I took a sip.

The fire in the hearth flared from a gust, sending long shadows sprawling and reaching. I held my hand against the sudden brightness and the blowing ash. What’s more, I felt a tinge of magic in the air. Those grasping shadows weren’t illusions. And the stranger was suddenly in the chair next to mine. There was a Deck of Wills in his one hand, and the Prince of Demons in the other.

I shot to my feet, hand going to my pocket where my own deck lay.

“Your tea is getting cold, seeker,” the elf admonished.

I looked around. No one else seemed to have noticed—not that the house was packed. A few early morning risers and some who would soon be seeking their beds. I kept my hand near my deck and returned to my chair. Just my luck I’d bumbled into another Soul Seeker. I sat, and the elf picked up his wine. He idly shuffled his deck with the other hand. Despite his trick with the demons, it was a dragon that burned above his head. Scratch that, it was the dragon, Alkazarian. So solid I felt as though I could reach out and pluck it form his brow.

“We find a queer thing, this chance meeting,” said the elf. “You see, if there’s one thing more detestable than a man who makes an appointment tardy, it’s one who arrives prematurely. I don’t enjoy… people, I should say. Especially before they’re welcome. Tell me, why did you come in this establishment?”

“I’m part moth,” I said.

The elf quirked his head.

“The light was on.”

The elf’s eyes narrowed further, becoming slits so tight you’d swear he was asleep if you couldn’t feel the weight of his disdain crushing down. His hand stilled on his deck and he had the stillness of a predator as he watched me. In all the adventures in the undercity and fights with guild enforcers and adventurers and sharks, I never felt closer to danger than I did at that very moment.

“Have you ever seen a moth fly too close to the flame?” he asked.

I stared at the elf, because something deep in the primal part of my brain felt that if I took my eyes off him for a moment, it would be my last moment. Those creeping shadows that had escaped from the hearth began to slide across the floor, pooling underneath my glowering companion.

Without averting my eyes, I slipped the linen-wrapped book from the sailcloth bag. “Did you want to look at this or not?”

The shadows and the sense of doom withdrew, and the elf was suddenly sipping his wine. His deck was  nowhere in sight. I felt like I needed that cloth I was sitting on, because I was sweatier now than I had been when I’d walked in.

Daggertongue held his hand out, and I put the books in it. I sensed I’d passed some sort of test—being that I was still alive. He set the volumes on his lap and peeled back the linen to reveal the green leather of the book within. He casually flipped open the cover and looked down at the first few pages. No gloves, no circle of protection.

“This is all that remains, then,” he said. “The rest of it is choking the middle city. Tell me, did you burn it all?”

How did he know? “It was that or lose it to Mother Mayaz. We beat her there by hours, at most.”

Daggertongue nodded. “Good,” he said. And then he tossed the books into the hearth.

I shot to my feet and stared at the crisping pages. I reached for it, but the dry tome was as good as any tinder. The fire roared and snapped, sending off purple flames from the strange inks and elven paper.

“Look closely, little moth, how I must finish your job once again.”

Chapter 94 - Proper Instruction

Daggertongue watched my shock and horror with undisguised amusement. I reached for the poker to try and fish the volume from the coals, but the elven work was gone.

I turned and scowled at Daggertongue. He merely swilled his wine and tapped his forehead. “If I wanted that knowledge outside of here and in the world at large I’d have liberated it myself. Or reproduced it. As a fact I’ve taken pains to ensure that very thing doesn’t happen, and here I find my own lackey out trying to sell these secrets to anyone with a handful of coins. There’s value in being the only one to know a thing, Darcent of Stitch Alley.”

My blood ran cold. “How do you know who I am?”

He leaned forward. “That’s not all I know. Tell me, boy, what is it you see burning above my brow?”

Alkazarian.

“Nothing.”

A cruel smile crept across the elf’s face. “A poor liar. I know who and what you are.”

Name yourself.

“And it’s not the chosen one,” said Daggertongue. I sputtered. Daggertongue pouted out his lower lip. “Or did Margot Bethane’s visit put you in a mind that you were someone who mattered? I told her as much. That it was pointless. That you were not useful—not yet, anyway. Not without proper instruction. What’s the matter, child, devil got your tongue?”

I said nothing. But Daggertongue didn’t need my words. He had a deck full of demons, and he fanned his cards for a quick reading, before nodding.

“Come with me. We have an appointment.”

He got up, and I noticed the staff was quick to stay out of his way as he made his exit from the pub. I scrambled to grab my robe and fall in step behind him. Dawn had almost crested the rise to the east, and the wane dragons were beginning to fade into the morning light. Mages would be getting their full suite of powers back for the day, and Daggertongue strode with purpose.

“What are the downs?” he asked Dragonmaw.

“A festering pile of violence, disease, and carrion.”

“And is that what you wish for? To be a king of carrion?”

I considered. “No.”

“You want more. It’s natural.” He pointed up the hill. “What’s up there?”

“The estates of the highlords of Dragonmaw. The Kestus Sisters, the Tarbot family, the Masked Lady of the Deep Delve Consortium,” I eyed the elf, “and Lord Gillis Guifoyle, among others.”

“Among others,” Daggertongue nodded. “About a dozen others, in fact.”

I thought I had a pretty good idea which one Daggertongue was. He continued, “Your greed and your ambition could put you among them. You have the potential. You have power, you have the will, and you’re not afraid to seize what you believe should be yours—the essence of being dragon-courted.”

“The guild saw being dragon-courted as a curse,” I said.

We arrived—not at once of the estates, but at a non-descript office. The guard on duty, a truesilver-ranked adventurer, straightened at our approach. He nodded to Daggertongue and let us pass. Inside, the office was lavishly furnished in dark ochre wood from south of the Strait of Kings. The main room split off, and I smelled breakfast cooking somewhere down the hall, while two tamed zephyrs dusted the shelves holding all manner of curios. Daggertongue led me to a staircase, and I inwardly groaned as we climbed up three flights after I’d already climbed to the upper city.

He held out his hand toward a door at the end of the hall, and I felt a twinge of good, old-fashioned sorcery. There was a heavy, mechanical click, and the double-door split down the middle to reveal a high-roofed office with tight corners, lots of shadows, and a fire already stoked in the hearth.

“The Seeker’s Guild turns dragon-courted into a curse,” said Daggertongue. He strode to his desk and uncorked a bottle of wine that waited in a chilled decanter. “Stifling, stilted, rigid institution. It has its uses, to be sure. But sorcery isn’t like letters. It has never been a one-size-fits-all affair. You can’t industrialize it,” he shook his head. “No matter how many times I must re-teach myself that lesson over the centuries. Least of all those that require adversity to achieve breakthroughs. The entire point of a structured education is to remove the very concept of adversity.”

He moved to a well-worn chair and settled into it, gesturing to a much less comfortable chair opposite it. “Unless you have a different view of the Soul Seeker Academy?”

“It turned out that almost everything the Guild told me about my suits was wrong,” I admitted. “I feel like my true education didn’t begin until I left the academy.”

Daggertongue shook his head, tutting to himself. “Three years, wasted. Three years lost—despite my best efforts, I couldn’t touch you.”

I considered. “Wait, if I’m not some chosen one like Margot Bethane said, why do you even care?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Besides the fact you have the potential to become a skilled sorcerer? Perhaps then that the fel witch went into your home and you somehow emerged alive. Should that not be enough? I knew her. Powerful does not begin to describe her. She was a force of nature, a storm whose like I haven’t seen in hundreds of years.”

“Is that why you followed her?” I asked.

“Does that allegiance bother you?” asked Daggertongue.

“No,” I lied.

“Liar. But I digress. The subject of prophecy is not the only role to play. We need not speak of that now. What you want, is to know about my relationship to Bethane.”

Daggertongue got up, moved over to the balcony, and looked out at the city. He sighed. “Elves live in cycles. I was born among rags and rats. The Golds had waged war on Azurenon for four decades and left the city little more than ruin and disease. There I wallowed for five-hundred years before coming into my talent. A gift for seerage and sorcery made rich for one thousand years, then poor for a thousand years more as the world changed around me and those who could read the Wills were cursed and spit upon. I scraped together enough silver for a ship to Dragonmaw, where my sole ambition was to spit on the bones of the Golds—only to find the city had been remade twice since the orcs marched down from the Cauldron. And so, I scraped and scratched, amassing a meager fortune—using an old elven investment trick, which I traded to a lich. But it was never enough. Not until the Fel Witch came.

“Bethane was a means to an end—a plow unyielding, from behind which I could take my due without recompense. I could use whatever means I wished, no matter the cruelty or legality. I did not mind her wanton destruction because I was not in her path but instead at her side, picking up pieces to re-arrange them according to my design. When I’d collected all that I wanted, I found that too much of the world was mine to let her continue destroying it. I betrayed her, slaughtered her lieutenants, and left her to her fate.”

He huffed, thinking to himself, for a moment. “I dare say I killed more of her inner circle than all the adventurers in Dragonmaw combined. Yes… I think that is so.”

“The Adventurer’s guild ought issue you a badge,” I said, in part to distract myself from the fact this man had stood toe-to-toe with some of the most dangerous people ever to live in the city, and to a man had put each of them in the ground. Or, at least, splattered them across it.

Daggertongue barked a laugh. “Yes, I’m a regular hero, aren’t i? And thanks to the amnesty, I kept most of what I took for myself. I expect I shall be flush for another millennia, if I manage to survive it. Bethane’s plans live on, you see. As do her most persistent followers.”

I leaned forward. “Why didn’t you finish the job?”

Daggertongue shrugged. “To what end? They were scattered, broken. What she sought to hasten, in truth is still inevitable.” He turned, the Alkazarian card still burning on his brow. “But now voices once quiet have discovered your involvement—despite my best attempts to keep you shielded. If I had any doubts, they were shattered when you accessed a library blocked by more than simple stone. But I’ve worked too hard, gained too much. And I’ll be damned if I let that moldy old bitch take what’s mine from within the ground where she rots. No… it simply won’t do. And I can’t simply leave you to your own devices when it comes to your training. I’ll be taking a direct approach, from now on.”

He came back inside and traversed behind his desk. A curved bookshelf—apparently on rails, as he slid a section to the side to reveal a second collection behind—dominated the entire east wall of the circular room. He tapped his cheek and hemmed for a moment before drawing forth a volume. He handed it to me. “Here. Begin by reading this. Return to me once you’ve done so.”

“You’re assigning me homework?” I asked.

“More a continuation of your independent studies,” he said. “I did so endeavor to begin undoing the damage the Seeker’s Guild had wrought.”

If I had any doubt in my mind that Daggertongue had a hand in my life before I’d ever heard the name, the book in my hand dispelled it. I looked down at the title.

Lancaster’s Manual of Wills: Vol 2

Chapter 95 - Annalisa’s Gift

Very like a highborn to call me up to the upper city just to hand me a book in a twenty-minute meeting before leaving me to trudge back down. Though, if the story was to be believed, he wasn’t born of noble blood. I suppose no one is, really. It’s all about how many people you can convince at the tip of a spear or the business end of a contract. In the end, I managed to keep my trap shut about his daughter. Partly because I’d barely gotten a word in edgewise. Still, the fact that my school bully’s father was my shadowy boss had come as a bit of a shock. You might think I’d have found it something of a relief to discover that the shadowy figure of Daggertongue was, in fact, the father of my academy bully. If anything, I was now even more leery.

On paper, Highlord Guifoyle, Seat on the Shared Court, was a prominent public figure. Shrewd in business, but generous to the city, he’d set up programs to manage sewage, created an endowment to the Mender’s Guild, built a prominent upper city arena at his own expense, and made regular generous donations to the Lamplighters Guild to keep the city streets if not safe, then at least illuminated enough that you could see threats coming.

He was also a prominent servant of the Margot Bethane. He was a Soul Seeker, a demonologist, and had spent two thousand years living in spite. He dominated his legitimate business interests by applying judicious use of criminal elements under his demesne to leverage his goals. I should know, I was one of them. Not only that, but he’d been grooming me for years—if he was to be believed, since before my fateful encounter with the Fel Witch. It was some small consolation that I’d managed to inadvertently thwart his plans and intentions multiple times, because I had little love lost for the man.

Regardless of whatever he claimed about parting from her motives, he’d walked in the witch’s footsteps. Even after she’d died, what reason had I to believe he’d departed from their path? Regardless of what he insinuated, that I had the drive to be counted among the highlords, what reason had he to see me as anything but another rival should I climb to such great heights? Unfortunately, There was nothing I could do about him. Yet. Even discounting the near-limitless resources at his disposal, Daggertongue himself was a powerful and ruthless mage, and a prominent senior member of the Soul Seekers Guild.

The one thing I had on my side was Annalisa. And I’d almost screwed that up.

The sun had risen during our meeting. It glared down at my left side as I headed down hill. The clouds had finally broken, but all the rain and the backed up sewage turned to steam on the streets in the oppressive heat. This was a dog day if ever I’d  felt one, and I had a pressing need to be back at the Mop with a cold beer in my hand alongside breakfast. I circled Cradledown, where the worst of both the smoke and sewage rot rose, trapped in the district by the levies of its neighbors.

My blue devilborn partner was clearly worse for wear when I made my way back to the Mop. She had her head cradled in her hands at the bar—and for once, she had a steaming mug of tea in front of her, instead of her usual lager. Her low moan sounded a bit like an old house settling after sunset. I sat down next to her and sniffed at the aromatic cup, before tossing a side-eye at Jacco.

“The first time I wanted tea, you brought me hot water with a flower in it,” I said.

Jacco shrugged.

“Stop talking so loud!” said Annalisa. Dragons above. The prodigious rate this woman consumed alcohol should have caused a shortage, but I’d rarely seen her hungover. She either had a really great time at the pits, or a really foul time.

Jacco reached under the bar, and I half-expected him to pull out another tepid water with a wilted flower bud, but a small package came out, instead.

“Dwarf girl dropped this off for you ‘bout a hour ago,” he whispered.

I took the small package and saw the mark of the whitesmith I’d engaged the day before. “Ah, perfect. Jacco, give us a minute, yeah?”

The barkeeper made himself scarce, probably grateful to be away from the miserable devilborn.

“I’m never drinking again...” Annalisa crooned.

I barked a laugh, which made my partner wince and moan even harder. I sighed and pulled out my deck. I charged the three of dragons and pressed it to her shoulder. The look of relief on her face was instant. Her eyes cleared, her spine straightened, and she looked around the bar as if seeing it—and me—for the first time.

“Gods Darcent! That’s amazing! You should sell that, you’d make so much money!”

I withdrew my will, and she hunched over again, her face turning more green than blue.

“Asshole!”

I rolled my eyes and gave it back. I needed her lucid. She shot me a glare as I regarded her.

“I met with Daggertongue this morning.”

Annalisa stiffened. It was a subtle thing. Even though she didn’t move, her fists tightened and the muscles in her shoulders tensed. She looked at me, eyes narrowed. “Did you...you know?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, Anna, you were right. Daggertongue is... well, truth told, I knew he was bad. But he’s worse than I expected. The amount of blood on his hands...” I shook my head. “We need him. There’s no way around that. What’s more, we can’t afford him as an enemy. But you’re right that we don’t have to be just as bad. We can’t be. I want it all. But fear and cruelty isn’t how I want to get it.”

Annalisa grinned and slugged me in the shoulder. “I knew I picked right!” she said. And then, after a moment, “I’m glad I don’t have to beat you up after all. I like you a lot, Darcent.”

I opened up the little wooden box and withdrew the silver ring with the knave signet on it.

Annalisa’s eyes widened and some of that green came back, despite the ‘dragon juice’, as she called it. She held up her palms, as though to stop me. “Not like that! That's not what I meant! I know we’re lovers and all but that’s like a metaphor! You know what metaphors are, right?”

“What?” I asked, initially confused. My face reddened when I realized. “Anna, it’s not that kind of ring!” I pulled out the other. “Look, I’ve got one too. It’s a signet of access authority for the bank. You can take it and withdraw your half from the undercity loot.”

“Oooooh,” said Annalisa. She considered and wrinkled her nose. “Why did you put it in a bank?”

I lowered my voice. Despite the nearly deserted common room, there were still ears about and discretion is a key part of our operation, as well as one of the best ways to stay secure. “Because I didn’t want to walk through the lower city with sixty flourishes.”

“SIXTY FLOURISHES?!” Screamed Annalisa. I winced. Her eyes took on a far-away look. “And half of it is mine?”

I nodded. “I already gave a chunk of it to Mithra for operating expenses. But thirty of it is yours and thirty of it is mine.”

“That’s good, because I owe fifty cunnings to the Lucitans,” said Annalisa.

I closed my eyes and took a breath. Of course she did. I might have to have a word with the high priestess. “Just make sure you take me with you before buying any magic items so I can make sure you’re not getting ripped off.”

Annalisa saluted and held her hand up to the light. “Thirty flourishes each, and we didn’t even have to haul any scat topside. What are you going to spend yours on?”

I considered. “I need to figure out what my biggest weakness is that can be shored up with a magic item. I’m also debating non-controlling stakes in a few trade ships for reliable long-term passive income. And maybe a store or two on the waterfront. More legitimate holdings gives us an advantageous position within the downs, and a fall back if we need to retreat and consolidate.”

Annalisa nodded along sagely, which was a great indication that she had stopped listening already. I sighed. “What are you planning on doing with your half?”

Annalisa grinned. “Well there’s these boots I saw in the middle city that I think would go great with that dress I got—”

“Boots with a dress?”

My devilborn partner rolled her eyes. “Boys don’t know anything about fashion. We’ve established this. Then after that I’ll probably get some polish for my horns because your’e all out and you should really keep better stocked. I’ll probably go out to a really fancy dinner and the Adventurer’s guild has some older assessment golems that you can buy and they’re really good to train against because they put themselves back together and you don’t even have to be a guild member to get them. Maybe I’ll get two. And some new quills and a pen knife, and maybe some ink so I can stop having to borrow yours—I mean...”

“You take my ink?” I asked.

Annalisa flashed me a guilty smile.

I stood up. “You’ve been adding alcohol to the well so I wouldn’t notice! My journal lines have been getting fainter for weeks. I thought I was going mad!”

“It can be both things,” said Annalisa.

“Not. Helping.” I ground out. I couldn’t complain too much, since I’d stolen the ink in the first place. But it was the principle of the thing!

Annalisa laughed.