The Shattered City: Chapter Four

[DocBeard]

'Oh right', Tomas thought to himself, 'Solars are the gold ones. ...lovely.'

A wasted hundred gold pieces later, Tomas is doing his best to maintain the fiction that he is simply a big tipper. The warty man with the axe causes Eisenwald to raise an eyebrow, but otherwise things seem to be relatively in order.

"On your break, Bertram?" Tomas asks innocently enough, hoping one of the waterskins they brought was still full.

[lostboy]

Nicolas looks aghast, well if he was a doctors assistant he would anyway at this callous disregard of patient welfare, fortunately that masks his outrage at the slavers disregard for anything but a profit.

"I must protest Monsieur, the young lady needs urgent assistance. The good doctors work though professional is but a temporary poultice, her life hangs in the balance if we do not stem the infection. Hours count Monsieur, she needs a programme of treatment and she needs it now, disregard the advice and you may forfeit any profit at your auction."

"Unless of course there is some agreement amongst gentlemen we can reach, here and now." He says staring hard at the masked man, fighting the overpowering urge to relieve the world of his presence.

OOC: Diplomacy 34

[Cronax]

Agale did not quite know what to make of the direction in which things were progressing.

"Your courage is admirable Madamouseille. Though I wonder if we are perhaps being a bit hasty to risk yourself." He pinched the ridge of his brow. "I apologize if I did not quite follow the hierarchy you described. These 'Triarch' as you called them, are they individuals we might call upon or were they simply aspects of the late M. Chastel?"

[Nathan of the FoS]

"Yes," Mercator murmurs. "I am not perfectly informed as to the profit one might ordinarily expect to realize on such a transaction...but I would imagine that seven coronas of expenses would be at least a significant fraction of it. I am very able to provide you with a memorandum summarizing my diagnosis, but my reputation and your own compel a confession of the young woman's status which I would imagine must dampen the enthusiasm of a prospective buyer considerably."

He shrugs very slightly. "If you are willing to entertain the idea of a sale before auction, I would be willing to refund your deposit in its entirety as a part of the transaction."

Diplomacy 25 to Aid Another on Nicolas' check

[NeoTiamat]

1 Days, 22 Hours, 59 Minutes
Dior's Stand, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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"Unless of course there is some agreement amongst gentlemen we can reach, here and now." He says staring hard at the masked man, fighting the overpowering urge to relieve the world of his presence.

He shrugs very slightly. "If you are willing to entertain the idea of a sale before auction, I would be willing to refund your deposit in its entirety as a part of the transaction."

Armand Dior regarded the two 'physicians' before him in a new light. His was an appraising sort of look, head tilted back, golden hair falling behind him. He glanced at Perrine, who twitched at his gaze.

“Dr. Melanchthon, you're certainly right. We've reputations to keep up, and poor Perrine's condition would dampen enthusiasm, I think. And yet...” Monsieur Dior paused. “I'd hoped to receive twenty coronas from Perrine's new guardian at the auction, maybe even more if things went well. Of course, that was before she fell ill. Still... even if a full twenty seems unlikely, I can entertain hopes for twelve, maybe even fifteen with luck. So I must kindly decline your offer. You're free to visit the auction, of course...”

Dior stopped, glancing at Nicolas with more interest than before. It wasn't a refusal. Merely the first step in the haggling game.

1 Days, 22 Hours, 59 Minutes
Inky's Emporium, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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"If the danger should not be unstintingly mortal, it is my bound and solemn duty to brave it--for the sake of Council and Country, to say nothing of the Person concerned!"

Professor Petrik sniffed.

"There is a medical doctor in our contingent, is there not?" she said, rather archly. "We will go and get him first, girl. He will supervise this."

"And you can decide on your price, Huldra," Petrik added, sniffing again.

"I apologize if I did not quite follow the hierarchy you described. These 'Triarch' as you called them, are they individuals we might call upon or were they simply aspects of the late M. Chastel?"

"I am not sure I understand?" Inkeri replied, adorably biting her lip. "There are always three. When the Lady of Winter dies, the other two change, and a new Lady of Spring is reborn."

"Sounds like a pact of reincarnation between three fey lords," Professor Petrik stated.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia casts a searching look at the packages Cerise presents, but shakes her head. "I am off my game tonight, I think," she sighs. "All we got for our trouble was a nice, big garlic-bomb. Please be careful of your acquisitions until I can have a fresh look at them; this place is dangerous, and someone might have decided to stick you with a cursed item so as to free themselves.

Now. Where are Melancthon and the others?"

(OOC: I wager an Arcana check of 19 tells me very little.)

[Nerit]

The nun twisted her lips when Celeste volunteered, but did not protest.

Nerit blinked at Petrik and then exchanged a glance with Alice.
"If that were the case, Professor, where has Winter gone? And will she come back when there is no usurper left? Could reincarnation occur under the circumstances of violent death as well as the supposed natural cycle?" She finished by looking back to Inkeri with a tiny nod.

[The Whistler]

"There is a medical doctor in our contingent, is there not?" she said, rather archly. "We will go and get him first, girl. He will supervise this."

"Another surpassingly prudent suggestion, Madame Professor!" Celeste sounded as if she genuinely hadn't thought of that. "We shall fetch him during our approaching rendezvous at his place of business--safety must be our constant watchword, in this endeavor!"

Ah, irony.

[Cronax]

"A commendable precaution Professor Petrik." Agale said.

Ah yes, the price. Mr. Agale had a fair idea what would be asked. While he had reservations about what would happen afterward, the idea of the likely 'payment' itself was tantalizing.

"I see. Then might you direct us to the current Lady of Winter or Mother of Summer that we might consult?"

[Nathan of the FoS]

Mercator frowns slightly. "That is, if I may say so, a strikingly optimistic assessment of your prospective return on such a sale. It is my understanding that in the slave pits of Lekar only a person of truly extraordinary talents could possibly fetch the price you mention; two hundred pieces of gold, or even one hundred and fifty, would be regarded as a more ordinary price, which would make a sale at auction under the present circumstances difficult. If you would accept a note drawn on my bank in Levkarest, I could possibly pay...one hundred nightshades...and, of course, a full refund of your deposit."

[lostboy]

"A generous offer Doctor" Nicolas says nodding respectfully towards Mercator.

"And one it would certainly behove you to consider it M.Dior. Damaged goods with a short shelf life rarely fetch a premium regardless of the nature of the market" Inwardly Nicolas cringed at the coldness of his words, but let nothing show, "and let us assure you Monsieur, without proper care and convalescence, we are looking at a particularly short shelf life in this case."

There we go, lines drawn, initial offers on the table, the game begins, Nicolas mentally cracks his knuckles and waits for Dior's response.

[NeoTiamat]

1 Days, 22 Hours, 57 Minutes
Century Oak, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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"On your break, Bertram?" Tomas asks innocently enough, hoping one of the waterskins they brought was still full.

“For me to be on break makes the assumption that this is a job I can take a break from.” Bertram observed amiably. The lanky Renier sighed, then rolled off the branch to land nimbly on his feet. “Unfortunately, while Uncle Sebastian was long on subtle threats and snide remarks, he didn't actually mention paying us for this little outing.”

“That's because you're lazy, brother dearest, and not taking the chance to turn a profit.” Bertriz said, bidding the wart-covered man a fond farewell and examining the payment she had earned. It was a round stone about two inches across, with a hole in the middle, the whole thing polished to a satiny smoothness. “Brilliant, but lazy.”

“To think, if I applied myself, I could have all the rocks I ever wanted.” Bertram grinned. “I weep at what I'm missing, sister beloved.”

“You're making me reconsider the brilliant part.” Bertriz said absently, still examining the little round stone.

"Please be careful of your acquisitions until I can have a fresh look at them; this place is dangerous, and someone might have decided to stick you with a cursed item so as to free themselves. Now. Where are Melanchthon and the others?"

“Sure thing.” Cerise said agreeably. “I read the first few pages of the book though, is that alright? Oh, Bertie, where did you say Dr. Melanchthon went with M. de Castaigne and Katja?”

“To the slaver Dior.” Bertriz said casually, pocketing the little rock and stretching, linking her long arms above her head. “They should be back soon enough.”

1 Days, 22 Hours, 57 Minutes
Inky's Emporium, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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"If that were the case, Professor, where has Winter gone? And will she come back when there is no usurper left? Could reincarnation occur under the circumstances of violent death as well as the supposed natural cycle?" She finished by looking back to Inkeri with a tiny nod.

"She should have come back already!" Inkeri cried, holding her arms behind her back and looking as helpless as she could be. "Even before, when the Maiden of Spring was killed, and the victor took her place, the spirit of Dementlieu was maintained. There was no destruction like the night that the Lady of Winter died. But now, nothing has happened as it should have! The Mother has not aged to become the Lady of Winter, the Maiden has not matured to become the Mother of Summer. The spirit of Dementlieu has remained broken, without anything to fix it, and now there is this -- this replacement!"

Petrik sniffed, unimpressed. "Pacts can be broken. Even a fey lord can die." She pursed her lips, considering her explanation. "The fey are spirits of narrative. They represent things, either natural or societal. For all of their power, they are bound by mortal consciousness and belief. If a fey cannot adapt itself to the beliefs of the land it lives in, it will weaken and die."

She pressed the iron ring on her left hand to the corner of her mouth, thinking things over. "When a fey dies, it returns to the concept that spawned it. If this concept remains strong, it will spawn new fey. From what has been said here, the Lady of Winter has been killed. And what she represented has also been killed. That is what caused the chaos that night, and the strange behavior after that night. There can be no replacement until whatever is missing from Dementlieu has been replaced." She gave a sharp look at Celeste. "This boy is now reversing the process. He will replace the Lady of Death. And he will replace whatever she represented."

"He mustn't!" Inky protested.

"Whatever he represents seems objectionable to some of the fey," Professor Petrik said, impervious. She seemed to take this fact as an endorsement for his new position.

"I see. Then might you direct us to the current Lady of Winter or Mother of Summer that we might consult?"

"Oh dear... oh no... not without their permission," Inkeri replied, aghast and very apologetic. "Even in the best of times we would rarely deal with the triarchs, no more than a peasant would a king. And now... oh dear... They are very angry and worried, with the Lady of Winter dead. They could be next. They trust no one. No, I -- I mustn't."

1 Days, 22 Hours, 57 Minutes
Dior's Stand, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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"That is, if I may say so, a strikingly optimistic assessment of your prospective return on such a sale. It is my understanding that in the slave pits of Lekar only a person of truly extraordinary talents could possibly fetch the price you mention; two hundred pieces of gold, or even one hundred and fifty, would be regarded as a more ordinary price, which would make a sale at auction under the present circumstances difficult. If you would accept a note drawn on my bank in Levkarest, I could possibly pay...one hundred nightshades...and, of course, a full refund of your deposit."

“With all due respect, Dr. Melanchthon, I only work with the most extraordinary talents.” Dior said with a sudden grin. He knelt beside Perrine and ruffled her hair casually, causing the girl to cringe. The golden-haired man continued. “Little Perrine here doesn't look like much, but she's very good at what she does. And what she does, Doctor, is steal.”

“Perrine is the precocious girl who was one of the first teams which looted the Old Opera House. Brave slip of a thing, isn't she?” Dior said with a fond smile towards Perine, who looked at him in surprise. “No mean fixtures for her. She went straight for director's offices, helped herself to the paintings there.”

“Perrine is the girl who stole the Duc d'Eifort's wine. Quite a collection, six bottles, some of them over a century old.” The golden-haired man continued, even as Perrine grew pale. “And she's the girl who picked the pocket of the Carlyle Trading Company's Factor in Port-a-Lucine. That took skill, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. The late Mr. Watson was no one's fool.”

“Why, the last time Perrine tried her trickery, she had the gendarme prowling through the whole Quartier Ouvrier. In packs of ten, mind you, but still, they came.” M. Dior finished, ignoring Perrine's trembling face. He was very well informed, it seemed. The slaver ran a finger along Perrine's cheek. “So you see... Perrine is an extraordinary talent. One of the best thieves in Dementlieu, I wager.”

"And one it would certainly behove you to consider it M.Dior. Damaged goods with a short shelf life rarely fetch a premium regardless of the nature of the market" Inwardly Nicolas cringed at the coldness of his words, but let nothing show, "and let us assure you Monsieur, without proper care and convalescence, we are looking at a particularly short shelf life in this case."

“A point, though I hope Perrine's condition isn't so dire as that. Please, I'm no monster. I intend to take the very best of care for Perrine until tomorrow, after which point... well, her guardian would see her as an investment of the very best kind. Never fear, Doctor Melanchthon, M'sieur, Perrine will be in good hands.” Dior paused for a moment, then added. “Certain of her future patrons may not even see her ill health as being of much relevance, though admittedly only a small portion.”

“Still... waiting a day in her condition, even if anything else is impractical.” Dior mused. “Perhaps for thirteen-fifty solars, I could be persuaded to send her with you.”

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Seeing as your eyeballs have yet to melt out of the sockets, you should be fine," Lia says to Cerise. She smiles a bit when she says it, though. It might actually be a joke.

"Ancient stones with holes in them are reputed to be magical," she starts to say in an aside to the Reniers. "That little trinket might be much more than it appears to be --" And then the copper bit drops.

"They went where?" Lia asks, incredulous. "I was of a mind to see if there were any children there I might free from bondage, but... Why did they go...? Tomas, would you mind terribly if...?"

[DocBeard]

"Sebastian can be...prickly." Tomas concedes, after a moment, watching the boy leap down with a bit of a smile. "But there are worse people to listen to. Why if he hadn't given me that crash course in Terg curses a few years ago, I'd be dead! Well, eventually."

Tomas's jovial demeanor dries up like water on a summer sidewalk as the location of his colleagues is mentioned. He detaches his hand from Lia just in case he has to do any dramatic gesturing, and takes a step forward. "Young lady, I must not have heard you correctly. Where did you say they went?"

[lostboy]

Nicolas appears unphased by Dior's pitch.

"Forgive me Monsieur for the bluntness of my next words, I mean no offence. Cigarette?" He opens the case offering one to the slaver, then lighting one himself.

"Now you are a showman sir, one could not make a living at this particular venue being otherwise, and whilst I do appreciate the names and deeds that drop so casually from your lips, I am seeing no evidence of her value beyond mere words. Perhaps you could elaborate on some of the items her skill has separated from their owners, one would be displeased to part with more than the market value on an artificially inflated commodity. Pyrite is not known as fools gold for nothing." That might have been insulting if not delivered with quite such good grace and a trace of humour.

"And precisely how much thieving do you expect a bed-ridden girl to achieve? Regardless of the nature of your ...patrons I see little value in a tool that cannot deliver on its purpose. Particularly one with a serious case of infection and blood poisoning." And that was a subtle assessment of Nicolas' thoughts on Dior's idea of "good hands".

Smiling serenely he continues. "However I am prepared to match the Doctor's offer, here and now, providing you accept barter for equivalent value. The girl comes with us for treatment, you reap some return, and do not risk your reputation on spoiled goods."