Jackal Among Snakes

The ‘Hidden Tryst’ room was, as it turned out, a place with only one massive bed. It was large enough to accommodate ten people easily. The three of them had travelled together long enough that such a thing didn’t really cause a problem—the Low Way had dissolved all boundaries. Argrave set Garm up with a book, and the head used simple E-rank magic to turn pages. The room was well-cleaned, it smelled nice, and the bed was soft. A pleasant place, by all standards.

The room wasn’t why Argrave had difficulty sleeping. His mind twisted and turned every which way, thinking about both what was ahead and behind. Once he’d fallen asleep, he’d been disturbed by a nightmare. He had been crucified inside a hole, and the Guardians of the Low Way shoveled flesh-eating worms at him that burrowed into his flesh. By the time he’d woken up, his body looked like Swiss cheese. It had been impossible to go to sleep after that, so Argrave sat beside Garm, reading.

The bronze hand mirror rested facing upwards on the table to remind Argrave of his duty. Just beside it was another mirror, though it showed Argrave instead of the game’s status interface. It had been a while since he’d studied himself. His obsidian color hair was much longer, nearing the shoulders at this point, yet there was still nary a speck of facial hair. It was difficult to say if he looked more or less healthy—though his skin was more colorful, his eyes looked tired and his cheeks were as sunken as ever.

“Argrave,” Galamon called out quietly.

Argrave looked up. Galamon had his breastplate over his chest, but it wasn’t strapped properly. Galamon pointed to the strap and beckoned Argrave over. With a sigh, he placed a bookmark in his book and moved to help.

“Let me help milady with her dress,” Argrave said with half-hearted mockery.

“Sand is the scourge of steel,” Galamon said. “I have to be diligent with my maintenance.”

“There,” Argrave pulled the strap tight, then locked it in place. “Milady’s corset is tightened, and I tied the lace.”

Galamon turned his head back and stared at Argrave. A snicker drew both of their attention, but Garm quickly quieted down.

Anneliese woke up at that point, sprawled out across the bed beneath its blankets. She blinked for a few moments, taking things in. Deciding to commit to waking up, she stretched out, grunting. She sat up in the bed, her long white hair in disarray and her face slack.

Argrave found himself smiling. “She is risen. Rejoice.” He stepped up to the table, picking up his book and turning around. “We should get ready to go. But before we do… I’d like to check out the production district, get some updates on the revolt that’s happening.”

“What for?” Anneliese questioned, voice different in light of her recent awakening.

“Just bothering me, that’s all,” Argrave answered distantly. “Leave our stuff. If there’s one thing we can count on, it’s that no one will steal here in this place, especially not a Vessel. We saw the fate of those that do.”

“Am I ‘stuff?’” asked Garm.

“That’s up to you,” Argrave answered quickly. “We’ll get ready. Make your choice by then.”

“This is fine by me,” Anneliese rubbed her eyes. “I hope that man, Titus, did not get embroiled in this.”

Argrave looked at her, sharing her worry.

“Something tells me he did,” Anneliese sighed, crawling off the bed before rising to her feet.

#####

“You’re here. Good,” Zirun noted, garbed in vainglorious white clothing. “I had intended to have one of my girls inform you, but if you’re here, that saves me the trouble.”

Argrave stepped into the main room of the brothel, his companions with him. Garm had elected to come along, and so Galamon hauled his pack to give credence to the disguise. The air was strange. Neither guest nor prostitute seemed particularly focused on the other. That was an unusual thing, given the purpose of the place.

“What did you want to tell me?” questioned Argrave, stepping into the room.

“Nothing important. I’ll be out to deal with something the city deems necessary.”

“This necessity being…?” Argrave pressed.

Zirun’s workers removed the jewelry on his body diligently, fingers running across his face, arms, and a multitude of other places to free the gold. “My fellow Vessels have deemed that the revolt is necessary to suppress with force. I must obey Fellhorn’s will.”

“What changed?” Argrave stepped in front of Zirun.

The Vessel did not answer, for his workers removed some piercings on his face. “I am unsure. I know only that I was called.”

“Right,” Argrave nodded, mind elsewhere. He stepped aside.

At last, Zirun’s workers removed his clothes. Argrave kept his gaze upwards. The Vessel’s body began to shimmer like wind over a body of water. His flesh liquified, bursting out into water. Argrave crossed his arms while Anneliese and Galamon stepped back cautiously.

The blob of water moved about in front of them, formless yet with purpose. Floating in the middle of the water was a small orb of rapidly moving water. This orb contained a body—a baby, to be precise, and one that seemed to be straight out of the womb judging by size alone.

The water surged forth with ludicrous speed, leaving nothing behind. The baby in the orb stayed in the center, pulled along with the mass of water.

Anneliese stepped up the spot Zirun had left, pointing with mouth open wide in surprise. “Was that a… a baby?”

“I don’t think Zirun is especially infantile,” Argrave said drolly.

“You know what I—"

“Yes, that was the figure of a baby,” Argrave cut her off. “Titus told you that they choose Vessels at birth. That baby is their true body… and sole vulnerability in that immaterial state. I told you about their magic, didn’t I? I guess seeing is believing.”

“Troubling,” noted Galamon.

“I don’t get it either,” Argrave shook his head, staring at Zirun’s workers as they moved away carrying his jewelry and clothing. “The body we see when they’re walking about is what that baby would look like grown. When they’re physically manifested like that, they can be injured normally.” Argrave pointed where Zirun had exited. “They go like that when they intend on fighting. I’m told it’s taxing, so they don’t do it often.”

“Is Ebonice truly effective against them?” Galamon touched his axe.

“I told you it was,” Argrave said. “The water falls away like… well, water, upon contact. Wouldn’t use it to block attacks, though. Would probably break the axe. Regardless, we shouldn’t need to fight them,” he said pointedly, as though in reminder.

Anneliese took a deep breath and exhaled. “And your plan to head into the production district…”

“Unchanged,” Argrave stepped forward. “All the more reason now.”

#####

Malgeridum was quiet. The small buildings made it easy to see most of what was happening in the flat city. The constantly billowing smoke they’d been treated to yesterday has ceased. In the far distance at the production district, one could see the magic of the Vessels laid plainly. Unnatural tendrils of water danced about the air in ways liquid was not meant to move, unbound by gravity. The water imitated innumerable things—blades, animals, hammers, shields—yet most common was a simple geyser that tore apart walls, the street, people….

The harsh industrial scent persisted in the air, and Argrave drew a piece of cloth over his face, tying it quickly. He rose his duster’s hood over his head and then gestured to Anneliese and Galamon, urging them to follow. Garm perched on Galamon’s backpack, disguised by his helmet as per usual.

All of the people were idle as they watched this suppression happen, so it made traversing the streets difficult. Argrave’s party wove through the idle crowds while watching the distant event happening ahead. It was like some terrible mockery of a water show—less bright lights and beautiful fountains, much more screaming and mayhem.

After a long while of threading through the crowd, they made it to an encirclement of guards blocking the people from proceeding further. The guards said nothing to calm or move the crowd, merely stopping them from advancing with a braced posture and a large tower shield.

Argrave stepped up to their encirclement, and all the guards near paid special attention to their group. He placed a hand on the top of the shield, trying to look beyond at the writhing water.

“Remove your hand from the shield, foreigner,” the shield-bearer spoke.

“I was told the revolt wasn’t worth suppressing,” Argrave spoke. “What changed?”

The guardsmen looked up at Argrave, staying silent for a moment before spitting, “I don’t need to answer a northerner.”

“Hurtful,” Argrave removed his hand from the shield, covering his chest as though wounded. “Bandying the N word about like that… well, I’m the bigger man. Physically and metaphorically, come to think of it,” Argrave mused as he reached into his pockets.

“Hear me out. You might hate northerners…” Argrave pulled free some gold coins, having predicted he might need to do something like this. “But you won’t refuse a rich northerner, I hope.”

The guard’s attention was devoted solely to the coins in Argrave’s hand at once, though he didn’t reach to take it. Seeing the inaction, Argrave turned his head to the others nearby, who had doubtless heard the exchange. He waved the gold coins about, as though offering it to each.

“Alright,” the first guard said, freeing one hand from the shield and moving to take the gold. Argrave shut his hand, holding a finger out to urge him to speak first. The guard sighed, and explained, “It wasn’t a problem earlier, because the rebels had limited supply… but they got resupplied.” He shrugged. “That’s all I know.”

Argrave stared down at the masked guardsman for a moment in silence, then opened his hand wordlessly. The guard reached up and took the coins, then continued, saying, “Could the gentleman give us some space?”

With a quiet laugh at the change in politeness, Argrave stepped away. His mirth quickly turned into a frown. They walked a fair distance away, where the crowds were not so dense, and Argrave leaned against a wall.

“Well, the man might as well have said it,” Argrave scratched his chin.

Anneliese stepped up just in front of him. “You do think Titus had something to do with this.”

“I don’t know,” Argrave shook his head. “If he was… probably not deliberately. He didn’t seem the ‘conscientious objector’ type. I never saw the cargo he had. We didn’t see him load or unload.”

“When things settle… we should go there,” Anneliese said.

Argrave crossed his arms. “I didn’t realize we were the conscientious objectors,” Argrave said incredulously. “Listen, Titus was a nice one… but we can’t be his keepers. If this is his mess, we can’t get involved. Too much at stake. You want to draw the ire of the high-pressure waterjets with legs?”

“Hear hear,” spoke Garm from atop Galamon’s backpack. “Get out of this hole in the ground. No use getting your shoes wet for strangers.”

Anneliese took a deep breath and exhaled. “Both of you are right.” She stepped closer to Argrave. “…at the very least, can we discover what truly happened?”

Argrave stared at her amber eyes. He stayed silent for a while.

“This is a slippery slope, Anneliese, and I’m not talking about the wet roads,” he cautioned. “I won’t agree with doing anything more than a simple walkthrough of the streets after the chaos has ended.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, clasping her hands together. “I will request nothing more, nor act out of turn. But this… I need to know more,” she stepped away.

Argrave stayed leaning against the wall, introspecting. Hard to say ‘no’ to her. At least she’s not asking me to buy a puppy, or… Argrave shook his head. She’s not stupid. If she’s making a request, it has to be important. And truth be told… I want to know, too.