Rexi and Talon

By Onyx Tao

Jack: Rexi and Talon by Onyx Tao is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://onyx-tao.sofurry.com.

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12. 'Zackton'

The half-orc stopped at a landing, and turned to Talon. "Do you think you know the way back to our room?"

"Yes, Master," Talon said, and Zack listened closely to the faint hesitation in his tone. Talon's attention was still, Zack thought, on the room they'd left; on the mysteries of the trick chains and the secret passages and the hidden compartments. Well and good; Talon was still young enough to find such things diverting. Probably best if he didn't think too hard or long about it, not yet. Time to provide a diversion from the diversion. In some sense it was like watching a kitten chase its own tail, Zack thought merrily. Remarkably cute, and undoubtedly enjoyable for the kitten as well.

"Then lead the way," Zack said grandly, and Talon stepped ahead of him down the stairs, and Zack could watch him walk--stretch his legs, down and down ... pleasant, the half-orc thought, watching him. More than pleasant. Desirable, and the half-orc desired Talon muchly. It was just his own ... what? Pride? Determination? Curiousity? that kept Talon ... just out of reach. Zack decided for the fourth or fifth time--in the last few minutes--not to drag him over to his bed and fuck Talon until the sweet little thing passed out. No. Not yet. Not just yet. He took a breath, and then another. No. Patience. The half-orc currently calling himself Zackton Silvercane knew he had no lack of patience, and as much self-control as he'd ever needed. Uusally sufficient self-control, he corrected himself.

And with that thought he carefully considered if there was anything, anything at all, that might be testing that control beyond his desire for Talon.

Fury at the interference of the Scourge boiled up. He had expected that. He tested it, considered how much more they might meddle in his affairs. He was certain the Scourge was behind the sudden confusion in the title documents of the Peacock Theater, and undoubtedly they were seeking other means of leverage over him as well. That, of course, meant they were prying into his background and history ... _ intolerable. _ And dangerous. He had something else to show them, though, that should provide the right distraction. This was, he thought, under control. Under control. And if he was lucky, he might even turn ...

It wasn't much.

It wasn't even audible; it was silent, a mere tickle at the back of his mind.

But unmistakeable.

Someone had entered the wine cellar from the shrine. Zack nearly howled with frustration. How! Nobody knew about that damnable shrine ... Except, of course, that someone did. Against that possibility, he'd alarmed the exit. Someone might--might--have found and disabled the alarm on the entrance. There was no way to avoid triggering the alarm on the exit.

Every night brought a new, irritating distraction, Zack thought. Hellknights. Nomos and his mirror. And now, somebody was rummaging around what Zack had imagined--hoped--was the forgotten and abandoned shrine to the Reaper of Reputation. Hoped.

Well, not merely hoped. He had, after all, put an alarm there for himself, and perhaps he could catch the person coming up from the wine cellar ... "Talon, go back to my bedchambers."

The half-elf looked puzzled, but simply said, "Yes, Master."

"Go, Talon," Zack said. "Go."

***

Zack ghosted down the stairs, quietly, sliding from step to step, keeping to the shadow. Whoever had triggered that alarm would take several minutes to work his--or her--way around the boxes and crate and rubble that had been left in front of the door. Deliberately left so, of course. It hadn't seemed likely to him that he'd be close enough to the great hall to find out who'd triggered it, but giving himself an extra minute or two had seemed worthwhile regardless.

It was nice that this particular unexpected complication had at least broken in his favor. Zack reached the base of the steps, and went around them, settling himself deeper into the shadows to watch the basement door. At some point ... whoever went into the cellar would have to come back out. Zack pondered for a moment, reached down into his pouch, and retrieved a tiny alabaster box carved with Osirian hieroglyphs, twisted the lid open, and took the smallest possible dab of blue-black unguent onto his finger.

He cautiously smeared the dab into his lower left eye, and blinked, spreading the goo across his eye, and blinked. The stuff stung, and he tried to blink it away, but that just caused more tears to form. That was the disadvantage of this stuff, but it would, at least, let him see anything that would otherwise be invisible.

He hadn't been there more than a few minutes before the basement twitched open an inch. Another long minute passed before it continued wider. Zack just waited, occasionally dabbing at his cheek.

A head peeked out.

A halfling looked up and down the hall, and apparently decided it was empty. Zack suppressed a growl as he realized exactly what had happened. He'd brought a cell of the cult with the rest of them. Which halfling? He didn't know them all by name yet ...

Harald. Zack closed his left eye, and since he could still see Harald, reached up with a handkerchief and cleared the ointment out of his eye. That left a number of questions open, or at least semi-open. The most probable way that Harald had found the shrine was that the God had shown him, so ... he wasn't dealing with a preexisting group using the shrine. But Norgorbor had a number of other aspects. Murder. Secrets. Poison. Greed. The old shrine, when Zack had last known it, was devoted to the Reaper of Reputation, Norgorber's spymaster aspect.

I could work with the Reaper's cult, Zack thought. It was the other aspects that concerned him. Norgorber as the Gray Master oversaw thieves, and halflings, the half-orc thought ruefully, made excellent burglars. As Blackfingers, the God patronized assassins, and Zack had had far too much experience with that to want Blackfinger's worshippers anywhere near him. Even worse, as Father Skinsaw the God oversaw murders--random, secret, constant murders. Any of those would draw the one thing Zack wanted least: attention from the authorities and Hellknights ...

Except that he already had, Zack thought. Perhaps they weren't interested in him, but his purchase, instead? He reviewed the conversations quickly; he hadn't been thinking about the halflings ... and they really hadn't asked about them. Probably not, he decided. Zack would have turned Harald over to the Scourge without regret if he thought it would get rid of the Hellknights. But it wouldn't, of course, they'd just keep digging deeper and deeper into the house and the shrine would send them scurrying to figure out who'd put it in, and that would lead them ... into the past.

Peel off the veneer of eight decades, and it wouldn't be a leap for them to connect a half-orc called Zackton Silvercane to a half-orc called Task. The half-orc who answered to the first and had answered to the second could not allow that.

Harald would have to be ... dealt with. Zack added yet another item to his list of irritating irrelevant distractions, and just as quietly, just as cautiously, went back upstairs to his room. He showed Talon how to operate the secret door from this side, and that there was a ladder concealed outside the window of the hidden room that would take one up to the roof. "I'll go over the entire escape route with you," he promised, trying to hide his amusement at Talon's unease. But ... that attitude simply had to go. The world was a dangerous and unpredictable place, and nowhere was more dangerous than the corruption that was pleased to call itself civilized. Here, plots coiled around schemes, and mated with an uncountable number of agenda to produce, here in this land that defiantly declared itself to the so-called Prince of Law, a fog of uncertain motivations hiding a chaotic foam of hidden causes.

"Get dressed; here," Zack said, tossing a couple of smaller tunics and trousers on the bed. "I know, it won't fit, but make the best of what's there." As convenient as it might have been to have a well-dressed and subservient half-elf trailing in his wake, Talon simply needed more training in managing subservient, and quite a bit of clothing before he could be called well-dressed. Initially, Zack had thought to let his halflings deal with the clothing, but ... Nomos' auction was simply too soon. He needed to find an agent, ensure that person's reliability, and get him in-place with funds in ... what, seven days now?

If only he dared to go to Egorian himself ...

Out of the question. Although he was relative certain he could avoid detection even in the stronghold of House Thrune, he was equally certain that there just wasn't a backdoor for him. No; it was an all-or-nothing trip for a half-orc who had so recently been called Warmaster Jack and led a destructive horde of orcs deep into Cheliax. It hardly mattered that they'd been defeated; they had, along the way, inflicted tremendous hurt to House Thrune and Cheliax, and House Thrune was not known for letting such things pass. By now, they must have realized that Warmaster Jack had eluded them in that last battle. A smile drifted across his face as he permitted himself to imagine the faces, tight with frustration, as that realization sunk home. Giving them an opportunity to correct that situation was ... too dangerous, at the moment. Maybe after the Crown changed hands once or twice, the Thrunes would have moved on to current worries and forgotten old injuries.

No. He'd have to send someone else ... or else disappoint Nomos. His hand curled reflexively around the amulet on his chest--the amulet that the Shadow had promised would prevent anyone from finding him; Apparently Nomos isn't anyone. Darz had taught him the secrets of imbuing magic into and through objects, and he'd spent hours and days on shipboard trying to understand the complex protection given physical shape as the glass-and-adamant pendant that shielded his soul and mind, both as a way to pass the time at sea, to improve his own occult skills, and because, somewhere far in the back of his mind, he still had trouble believing the Shadow had simply gifted him with such a potency--such a set of potencies, if he included the gauntlet. Still, the gauntlet seemed to have a will of it own, and Zack had long since concluded that the Shadow had turned the gauntlet to his own use simply by gifting it to Zack--and then employing the half-orc. Not that he hadn't earned both of them, in the years following; earned and more than earned. But the amulet had been a gift at first, or a payment-in-promise, and the half-orc had suspected it carried some flaw or blemish that would allow the Shadow to bypass it. But if there were such a flaw, Zack's best efforts had failed to discern it.

The question of how Nomos had found him would have to wait, Zack decided. Nomos' abilities could be acquired only by first knowing him, and then secondly having something he wanted--and couldn't get for himself. Very little fell into those categories. Such as the hand-mirror of a Duchess' daughter, interestingly enough. He'd probably never know why Nomos wanted--coveted--it so badly, but then, that was also one of the reasons Nomos trusted him enough to hire him.

Which meant ... he'd planned to make a few staged, targeted appearances with Talon this evening, just to stir the talk in theatrical circles. To hint that a new, wealthy patron might be available, to see whose bigotry was inviolable, to see whose bigotry could be overcome with gold, and perhaps even to see if there were any who could overcome their bigotry in the face of reality. But he couldn't have Talon along for the other places he needed to go.

Clothes, the half-orc decided, looking askance at the baggy clothing draped over the half-elf. Those might be too small for him, but they made poor Talon look like he'd wrapped himself in a stage curtain. That wouldn't work. He'd been planning to keep Talon nearly naked, but ... given how Talon seemed to react, that might not work well, either, given how sensitive he seemed.

"Uh ..."

"A bit large," Zack said, nodding.

"Yes," Talon said. "Master."

"Huge, really."

"I ... would agree, Master."

"Gargantuan, actually."

"Colossal," agreed Talon, folding up the trouser legs. "But ..."

"We'll fix it," said Zack. "Do you know anything about a tailoring shop called the Thread & Spool?"

"A little," Talon said cautiously. "It's run by Jeorin Threadmaker and Emma Drumspooler. I only know them by reputation--they make good clothing. Why?"

"It's about ten minutes from here," Zack said, "and I think they're about to come into possession of a fair amount of what I once thought of as my gold."

The matter of the gold was essentially irrelevant to Zack, but he could hardly admit that. The tailor, who had apparently dropped the maker in Threadmaker, introduced himself as Master Jeorin Thread. A few minutes of discussion revealed that although Master Thread might well have a good fashion sense, he also had an unfortunate lack of color sense, first wanting to dress Talon in Asmodean red and black, and then bright greens which failed to flatter Talon's pale skin even as they emphasized the gray in his. "No," Zack said finally. "Master Thread, is there another master or senior journeyman here?"

"My cousin ... but she's a dressmaker."

"Fetch her."

"You want a dress?"

"Fetch. Her."

"Yes, goodsir ..."

Calcinea Drumspooler--who introduced herself simply as Mistress Spool--Â was older human woman, and the huge rose-colored cabbages embroidered over her exceedingly well-endowed bust--which seemed to stretch from neck to knees--did nothing to reassure Zack, but ... "Mistress Spool. How very good of you to come."

A quick bob. "Yes, goodsir. M'cousin says you need a dress?"

Zack fought down the amusing image of himself in a low v-necked dress with a split skirt. "Not a dress, but ... rather an opinion. Which of these fabrics"--and Zack gestured at the various disappointing cloth folded around them--"do you think would best suit my slave, here, given that he'll be attending me."

"Ah ..." she said, looking around. "And ... will you be wearin' that brown?"

"This brown, deep blue, a green-based black, and pale violet."

She looked at the colors arrayed on the table. "Perhaps ... well, goodsir, I'd recommend something, ah, darker than any of these."

"Such as?"

She bobbed again, and produced a small chain with several inches of cloth scraps. She fumbled through them, and then pulled out a deep indigo, and put it up to Talon, and then to Zack himself. "This, trimmed with ivory lace, goodsir, would probably match anything you described reasonably, although of course I'd like to see ..."

"Yes," said Zack. "I think that would do. I know I've no talent for matching patterns, but I do think I know what won't, and ..."

"No, goodsir, none of these are, ah, the best choice for you."

"Well," said Zack. "I'm willing to take a chance on the two of you. Mistress Spool, I'd like you to pick out the fabrics and colors. Master Thread, I'd like ... well, I want ten outfits for Talon here, but let's start with two, and see how that goes. How does this sound: you two take all the measurements you need to get started, and then Talon can take Mistress Spool back to the house and see what I want the outfits to harmonize with. Acceptable?"

She bobbed again, and looked a little worriedly at her cousin who looked back at her blankly.

"Here," said Zack, pulling a coin purse from his tunic. He spilled a handful of gleaming platinum Chelish crowns out, and handed eight over to her. "Sufficient thereof?"

She peered at them, and nodded. "Indeed, goodsir, very much so."

"Delight me," Zack said, "and I'll order eight more." He paused. "And ... perhaps my wardrobe could use an update as well, if the fabrics and colors are right."

"I'll ... see what I can put together, goodsir, but ... usually m'cousin is more the expert ..."

"I would certainly defer to his judgement as to what," Zack said, "but our tastes appear to diverge in color and fabric. Your eye seems ... better inclined to what I want to wear, and I rather look forward to your suggestions."

"Thank you, goodsir," the woman bobbed again.

"Don't thank me quite yet," Zack said dryly. "I would like the first outfit for Talon completed by tomorrow sunset."

"That's ..." started Jeorin.

"A challenge," Zack finished. "Yes, I know. Are you up to that challenge?

"I ... we will try, goodsir, and if we can't, it won't be because we didn't make the effort," the tailor said.

"Carry on, then, Master Thread, Mistress Spool--I look forward to seeing the result of your efforts. Oh, can you find Talon, perhaps, some plainer clothes that fit a bit better than ... what he's wearing now?"

"I think we can, goodsir," Master Thread said. "And we can take that from your deposit."

Zack just nodded. "Talon, you understand my expectations?"

"Uh ... yes, Master."

"Then they are?" Zack prompted.

"Get fitted, and show Mistress Spool your wardrobe."

"And after that?"

"Uh ... wait for you?"

Zack shrugged. "I have no specific duties for you. You might want to familiarize yourself with the house and grounds."

"At ..." and then Talon seemed to think better of what he was about to say. "Yes, Master."

Good.

That dealt with, Zack left the tailor's, and paused for a moment on the street, trying to spot the man who'd been trailing him since they left the house, but Zack wasn't willing to do more than a casual glance over the street. He was there, Zack was certain, and the half-orc would spot him again, after a block or three. Instead, he was being shadowed by a ... a small humanoid. Probably a halfling, possibly a gnome, but the shadow was good enough that even Zack couldn't tell. Surprisingly persistent, too, as Zack tried to shake the tail, and found he couldn't--because there were three of them, trading off position.

Whatever was going on? The first one had seemed straightforward enough; the Scourge had a clear interest in him and Zack was certain they'd prefer to blackmail him than to pay. But somehow the Scourge's tail had vanished, and now ... was some halfling ...

Halflings? Zack's eyes betrayed nothing; his face betrayed nothing, but there might, just might, have been the barest twitch of a muscle by his jaw as a number of possibilities fell into place. What if ... Harald wasn't the only Norgorberite. He'd bought a family, after all, and then ...

Zack swore at himself. He'd bought a family of Norgorberite thieves, hadn't he. And then he'd turned around and given the patriarch access to ... well, not unlimited funds, but a, and he used the term carefully, here in Cheliax--a Hell of a lot of cash. Oh, yes, you're soooo clever. You've got them all outsmarted, the House of Thrune, the Mantis, the Poisoner's Guild, the White Hand, the Court of Geb, the Aspis Consortium ... and you are taken and and tricked by ... _ Norgorberite halflings _ .

Zack had to stop, right there, in the middle of the street, and laugh for nearly a full minute before he could continue. It was, after all, the funniest thing he'd heard since ... since ... well, since Bors, really. He let the laughter come to a halt, and set off, in perhaps the best humor he'd been in in years, to the Scourge's headquarters.

His good mood proved effective armor even against the minor functionary who informed him with an aggrieved air of disdain that "the Master is unavailable."

"How unfortunate," Zack said, moving forward and pitching his voice low, and lower, hiding his own amusement as the human cowered back. "I had hoped to conclude our business tonight, but never mind. Inform your Master that I have spent the last twenty-four hours on his request. If he wishes this meeting, then he must send an emissary, fully empowered to negotiate, to my home, between the ninth and tenth chimes." Zack paused. "Your Master informed me this was of great urgency, and I took him at his word."

"The ..."

"No," Zack cut him off. "I have made arrangements on that basis. If I cannot conclude them quickly, then the deal will fall apart, and he will have to seek some other path, because my contact will have none of it."

"I'll, I'll, I'll let him know," the man stuttered.

Zack simply nodded, and left.

When he was halfway to the coffee-house, he caught site of his shadow again, and couldn't stop chuckling until he'd had his first cup of the bitter brew.

Halflings!