The Dark Ages II: Out of Elsweyr

by L'Ankou

Sigrid thought the Gods and other annoying entities would forget about her for a while. But she was wrong... And how to prevent the end of the world when you are heavily pregnant ? Rated M for Lucien, toads, squashed bananas and Rastajiits. Ch.16 up

13. The Joys of Economics

Chapter 12 – The Joys of Economics

Geeeez, it has been a while since I have connected on and uploaed something...O.o Inspiration fianlly came back. And now, I am off because I am sooo late in the reading of the fanfics I am following here...

Many, MANY thanks to Raven Studio for the awesome job she does as a Beta Reader. I really don't know how I could pay you back for that, girl !

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"The Moons, the Mane and the Moon Sugar formed an indivisible trinity on which most of the Khajiiti folklore and beliefs are based. One cannot hope to understand Khajiiti civilisation without having grasped the functioning of the Moons, ja'Kha'jay, without having realised the symbiotic relation between the Mane and his land, and without having tasted Moon Sugar.

… Especially without having tasted Moon Sugar…"

David Deadstone, "Out of Elsweyr".

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The Great Plaza before the kraal of Torval was packed with a colourful and noisy crowd of Khajiits.

Well, the Great Plaza was always packed with a colourful and noisy crowd of Khajiits, but given today was market day, it was twice as colourful and noisy as usual. In addition, the preparations of Incosi Sha'ka's coronation were in full swing, resulting in hordes of servants and craftcats rushing toward the kraal to start their tasks for the day.

But of course, in Elsweyr, things were never simple…

The gate of the kraal was not designed allow so many people to pass at once, and a huge queue had already formed at the entrance of the Palace. In addition, "queuing" was a completely unknown concept in Elsweyr, which explained why the guards of the kraal had so many difficulties in controlling the sudden flood of people wishing to get in – all at the same time, of course.

As a result, there were a lot of individuals shuffling about, arguments and – literally speaking – catfights.

Given the mess, no one paid particular attention to the strange duo composed of a Dunmer sitting on the ground and a young Altmer leaning nonchalantly against the wall of the great stairs, glaring at the show with very blasé looks on their faces.

"How come, wherever you are in this country, everything seems so bloody messy?" The Dunmer asked. Chewing nonchalantly a blade of grass, he kept scratching the big white bandage covering his nose.

"Bombassa says it is typical, given the Khajiit's customs and habits." replied his Altmer companion, shrugging.

"I mean, they are organising a coronation, right?" the Dark Elf, called Ralentu, continued ranting. "Back in Morrowind, this is very serious business and very well organised. You don't have people running everywhere like beheaded ducks and fighting…!" he added scornfully, as he watched two Khajiits trying to claw each other's eyes out, while guards tried with little success to separate them.

"I know. But you see, it is very likely that your awesome Dunmer organisation would seem very strange to any Khajiits. As Bombassa said, it is cultural." the Altmer repeated placidly, wincing as one of the tussling Khajiit evidently found someone else's claws. Claws sunk in deep, if the face the creature made was any indication.

"And the goats, they are cultural too?" Ralentu demanded sarcastically, pointing at the Palace gate, were a shepherd was trying to sneak in the palace with his herd, but was quickly betrayed by one of his animals when it wandered over and tried to chew on one of the guards' loincloth.

"Goats are very popular animals here in Elsweyr." Anirne explained as the guard started to screech at the shepherd, causing the goats to flee around in panic, causing more mayhem. She vaguely wondered if there was a way to sell tickets to this sort of spectacle, to rich foreigners. "They are the only farm animals able to feed on the very dried pastures of the country."

"And obviously, the marble flagstones of the Palace make a perfect pasture in terms of drought…"

"Don't be stupid, Ralentu." Anirne replied, sighing. "These goats are used to trim the lawn in the gardens."

The Dunmer pulled a face, disappointed not to have been able to corner the girl. "You always have an answer for everything, hey?" he asked, frowning.

"Yes." Anirne answered, still unruffled.

Ralentu did not reply, shooting the Altmer girl a sideways glance as he continued chewing his blade of grass. She was smiling into space and from time to time, she produced a burning aura around her head, making all the insects flying in the vicinity disappear in a little puff of ashes and a strong smell of burnt insect, which she seemed to enjoy.

Anirne had joined the group of mercenaries a few months ago and in a very short period of time had revealed to be quite an asset – such an asset that Bombassa, their Redguard leader, had quickly elevated her to one of his lieutenants, for several reasons past her apparent obliviousness to the suffering of insects.

First, Anirne was very clever, something rare enough in mercenary world. Second, she was extremely talented in magic. So far, nothing very unusual for an Altmer, except that Anirne was also barely fourteen and completely blind.

And that made Ralentu very nervous.

According to him, fourteen years-old blind girls were supposed to stay home with mummy and daddy, play dolls, and cuddle cute little puppies. They certainly did not hang around with a bunch of blood-thirsty mercenaries, fighting as if she was actually able to see, finding amusement in burning people's houses to the ground with the people still in them, using swear words which made the most hardened soldiers blush to the roots of their hair, and negotiating like a horse trader when it came to share out the loot.

"I don't like this country." The Dunmer finally muttered, spitting his blade of grass away and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I really don't. Everything always seems to get out of hand, and there are too many weird things happening around…"

"Are you referring to the strange phenomenon we saw last night?" Anirne asked.

"No, I was referring to the fantastic stew Bombassa cooked us for dinner. (1)" Ralentu commented caustically. "Of course I'm talking about that big green cloud we saw travelling through the savannah before it slammed into the kraal! What else?"

"No need to get angry! It is not my fault if it scared the shit out of you." Anirne responded.

Ralentu sniggered. "You didn't exactly pitch in to help, did you?"

"I had good reasons not to!" spat a rather vexed Anirne. "Anyone with a minimum of magical competence could have felt how powerful that thing was. But of course, it is not your case, Ralentu…" she added, recovering herself.

The Dunmer's face eloquently defined 'outrage'.

"After all, it's not my fault if you suck at magic." Anirne continued, sniggering.

"Well, one can't be a great mage and a genius of mechanics at the same time." Ralentu replied with a derisive sniff.

At the words, Anirne did her best not to roll her eyes.

Ralentu and his love for anything mechanical. The Dark Elf truly had the mind of an engineer, and all it took were two metallic shafts and a bolt for him to be both happy and occupied for days.

Even if she despised mechanics, Anirne had to admit Ralentu was good at what he did. There was no one like him to mend old Dwemer mechanical things, to create original and deadly devices or to get his kicks running over complicated specifications and bluepints for hours on end, praising the fantastic, innovative use the Dwemerfolk made of geothermic power.

Sadly, (though to Anirne's amusement) his oversized ego and delusions of grandeur often resulted in his creations ending in terrible explosions, which tended to slaughter enemies as well as allies – but never Ralentu himself. Despite his front-row seat – needed to operate the weaponry – he had some kind of incredible talent for always emerging from the wreckage alive, if smelling burnt, with little or no eyebrows left…

"Seriously Ralentu, I can't see anything brilliant in an activity which mainly consists in getting covered in dirty oil and almost killing us all, every time one of your great inventions inevitably explodes." Anirne said between gritted teeth.

"If you are thinking about the little issue with the Mantis of Doom, I reckon I made a slight mistake in the calculation in the rotation speed of the endless screw." Ralentu admitted. "Still, apart from that, it worked really well and…"

"Yeah, I was actually thinking about the 'little issue' with the Mantis of Doom," Anirne interrupted him, started to count on her fingers, "but also about the one with Millipede of Doom, the Ladybird of Doom, the Moth of Doom, the…"

"The Moth of Doom did its job perfectly well!" The Dunmer protested. "We managed to make a hole in the walls of the city, as planned!"

"What was initially planned consisted in making a hole in the walls big enough for our troops to get in – not to make the ramparts collapse on us when your darn automaton exploded!" Anirne retorted grimly.

"You're unfair!" Ralentu whined, shaking his head sadly. "Nobody ever understands me. I guess it is the lot of all geniuses…"

"Whatever…" Anirne sniggered.

"You'll see." the Dunmer said, his eyes suddenly gleaming with excitement and a bit of madness. "My next invention, the Spider of Doom, will be a great success!"

"Yeah, and I'm Queen Barenziah – and by Auri-El, stop scratching your nose or it will never heal!" Anirne snapped.

Ralentu suspended his movement, automatically opening his mouth, ready to ask Anirne how could she know he was scratching his bloody nose, blind as she was. But fortunately, the question died on his lips.

Quickly, the mercenaries of Bombassa's gang had learnt not to ask the girl this very question, and those who had not been quick enough to understand the Altmer was a bit touchy on the subject had all ended their lives as little piles of ashes.

"And why don't you mind your own business?" Ralentu growled.

"Because if you keep touching your bandage, you will only make things worst and I seriously have other things to do than listening to you squeaking in pain when I heal you!" Anirne snarled, her little lips curled up in anger.

Ralentu's eyes narrowed. He got up and put his face a few inches from the Altmer's, looking right into her eyes – which was kind of silly, given he had nothing to outstare.

"I don't squeak!" He spat. "And if by accident I did, it was because you really suck at restoration! I mean, come on! All I asked you was to heal my broken nose, but nooooooo! Miss I-am-so-talented-at-magic launched herself into a complicated and an incomprehensible speech about magical concentration and other blabla-bullshit to justify her incompetence!"

"It was not 'blabla-bullshit' and I am not incompetent!" Anirne yelled in her high pitched voice, making some of the Khajiits around turn to stare at her. "Your cartilage was broken in so many pieces it was impossible to heal it in one shot. The too high concentration of magic would have turned it into a…a…a potato or even something worse – but actually, now I think of it, it would have been an improvement…!"

"And what does that mean, by that?" Ralentu blared.

"Ooooh because in addition of being ugly, you're also dense!" snarled Anirne.

Now, most of the Khajiits around them had momentarily stopped to stare. Like everybody else around Nirn and the Multiverse, they enjoyed street entertainment, especially when it was free and could culminate in a bloodbath…

"Repeat that if you're a man!" Ralentu fumed, taking from around his waist his favourite weapon, a chain ending in a heavy metal ball, which he started to make swirling around him dexterously.

"I am a girl, you ass. And I still say, you are dense." Anirne replied, not impressed the slightest by Ralentu's show, but coming on guard nevertheless, a red aura appearing around both her hands.

Around them, the crowd of Khajiits started to cheer.

"Ten septims on the Altmer!" Exclaimed a seller of sausages from his market stall.

"Fifteen on the Ashborn!" Echoed the pancake vender.

While the bets were flying around in the crowd, the two mercenaries observed one another like cats eyeing unattended fish for a while. Then, at the very moment both were about to attack each other, an annoyed voice resounded on their right.

"Damn it! I can't leave you alone a minute without finding you two bickeri…!" The voice did not finish his sentence before shrieking in surprise as Anirne and Ralentu attacked together – in his direction.

"Oh. Ooops!" exclaimed Anirne.

The two mercenaries stopped, speechless. Ralentu's metal ball lay where it fell on the ground, by the enormous still-smoking hole Anirne's fire ball attack had left in the sand, now vitrified by the heat of the attack.

But there was no trace of the person to whom the voice belonged…

"I'm over here, you morons." the voice growled from behind their backs.

Anirne and Ralentu turned on their heels at once to find themselves facing an angry Bombassa. His shaved head reflected the light of the sun so much it was almost painful to look at him, and the ruby which replaced his lost eye shone with a malicious gleam.

"Er… Look Bombassa, we can explain…" Ralentu started, making an appeasing move with his hands.

"Don't even try…." the Redguard mercenary commander interrupted him, scratching nervously the bandage he was wearing over the nose – one which very bore a strong similarity to Ralentu's. "And don't start accusing each other of starting this mess…"

At the words, Anirne and Ralentu automatically pointed at each other.

"I said I didn't want to know who started it!" Bombassa yelled.

Both arms lowered in a perfect harmony. Bombassa turned around to face the crowd of Khajiits who were still enjoying the show, most of them chuckling and grinning widely.

But the chuckles and giggles died when they saw the crest on the Redguard's coat of mail – a shield with a green background and ornamented with what looked like a contorted silver mask – and the atmosphere grew heavier when the crowd realised that Ralentu and Anirne were sporting the same crest, even if less prominently.

"Don't you have better things to do?" Bombassa growled, making an obvious move with his hand toward the hilt of his sabre. "The show's over, all right?"

The crowd broke up quickly, the people suddenly looking like they wished to be somewhere else. A few shot one last fearful glance at the crest before going back to their business.

"Fine. That's that." Bombassa said in a cough to his two lieutenants. "Now, move your asses. Urzob is waiting for us inside the Palace – Ubasi Raksada is done with his meeting with Incosi Sha'ka and wants to see us immediately."

"Oh the joy…" Ralentu whispered darkly as he and Anirne followed close behind the Redguard. "Have you come up with something to explain our massive failure at getting Ashar and her companions?"

Bombassa winced at the memory.

"Er…No. But I made the necessary preparations, in case we need to find a new employer soon." Bombassa replied, shaking a newspaper under the Dunmer's nose.

Anirne listened as a glaring Ralentu read the advertisement. "The "Magnificent Four", Tamriel's most well-trained, most thorough and most awesome mercenaries, at your service. Very affordable prices (ten percent rebate on long term campaigns. For four razed villages, the fifth is offered free of charge).

"Let's hope you made enough of them to wipe up what will be left of us after we tell Raksada Ashar escaped again and massacred half of our troops." Anirne said with a nervous giggle.

"Aaah, he is not that bad…!" Bombassa replied with a dismissive move of the hand.

Bombassa ignored the meaningful, unconvinced silence passing between his henchmen, and strolled toward the Palace where, contrary to the rest of the Khajiits, he walked through the main doors without being stopped by the guards. Again, the sight of the crest on Bombassa's chest acted like a repellent to the Khajiits.

The trio continued to walk for a while in the corridors, which, to Ralentu's surprise, looked more than a battlefield than a corridor.

"Holy crap, what happened here?" Ralentu asked as he watched the builders who were working around, removing bits of masonry and trying to patch up holes in the walls. "Looks like a part of the Palace collapsed!"

"No one was really eager to explain me." Bombassa answered evasively. "But apparently, they had a little problem last night…"

"A little problem of a greenish and magical nature?" Anirne enquired, unerringly picking her way through the rubble, despite her useless eyes.

The Redguard did not reply. Instead, he waved toward a gigantic silhouette leaning against a wall still standing up. "Urzob!" Bombassa yelled. "We are heeeeere!"

The figure turned its head in the Redguard's direction and, slowly but surely, started to move toward the mercenaries. And when the silhouette started to move, it was like the whole palace started to shake.

Urzob, Bombassa's third lieutenant and the second female fighter of the quartet, blew all the cliché one could have on members of the weaker sex practising the art of fighting in a universe tainted with Heroic Fantasy.

To begin with, Urzob was an Orc, that is to say tall, strong and very green – hardly a hymn to femininity, one had to admit. Second, in addition of being naturally ferocious and built for fighting, she stubbornly refused to give into the fashion for female warriors around Tamriel which consisted of sexy and quite revealing chainmail bikinis, preferring to them her totally concealing ebony armour – much more convenient to prevent a blade driving into your flesh.

Globally, when Urzob moved around, her appearance and equipment gave the impression that a random iron wall was stretching its legs. But the visual effect was deceiving. Despite her imposing mass, the Orc could move extremely fast when needed and more than one opponent had discovered it to their expense – and too late – when Urzob's terrible double-headed axe cut them into two.

"Ah. Finally." Urzob grumbled as she stood right in front of Bombassa, her hands on her hips, dominating the Redguard by two good heads. "One has the time to die twice before you deigned to show up…"

"Sorry for that. We were…delayed." Bombassa replied, shooting a very dark glance at Ralentu and Anirne. "Where's Raksada?"

The Orc pointed at a door behind her with her thumb. "He just passed a moment ago and returned to his office." Her face darkened a bit. "Er, he looked quite pissed, if I may say." She added with a little cough. "I think his meeting with Incosi Sha'ka didn't go too well. I could hear Sha'ka screaming from the other side of the Palace…"

"Wonderful." Bombassa said between gritted teeth. If even Urzob was starting to fear the Dunmer, they were not out of the woods yet… "Well, let's go." he added with a clear lack of enthusiasm.

"Don't worry, Bombassa. We're right behind you." Anirne said encouragingly.

"Far behind you." Ralentu murmured. The mercenaries reluctantly moved toward the door and Bombassa knocked three times on it.

"Come in." said Raksada's voice.

With a little cough, Bombassa and his lieutenants complied at once and entered the office. Strangely, the room seemed to have been more spared than the rest of the Palace. The furniture was intact, as well as the columns and the walls.

In the middle of the room, Raksada was sitting on a sella curulis – the only concession to Imperial style the exclusively-Dunmer decoration of his office made – his right arm leaning on his knee, the back of his hand supporting his chin. On his left, a table was covered in the spoils taken from the travellers by Bombassa's mercenaries, which his men brought to the palace earlier in the morning.

But the most striking piece of decoration of the room was the huge crest consisting in green shield ornamented with a contorted silver mask which was glaring at the mercenaries from the wall behind Raksada – the same crest sported by the mercenaries.

"My respects, O ubasi." the Redguard greeted Raksada, bowing stiffly before him. "I have come to make my report on out last mission."

While bowing, Bombassa stole a glance at the sitting Dunmer. The sight made him wince. As Urzob had said, the Raksada looked very tired and edgy, and what the Redguard was about to announce him was certainly not going to improve his mood…

"You took your time." Raksada hissed for greetings. "You came back to town yesterday and it's only now you show up?"

"I… had good reasons." Bombassa replied hesitantly, not wishing to explain those good reasons mainly consisted in getting his nose patched up by Anirne after his disastrous confrontation with Ashar.

"We shall see." Raksada said, drumming impatient fingers on the arm of his chair. "Now report."

Clearing his throat, Bombassa started his account. The more the story went, the chillier the metaphorical atmosphere was getting. The mercenary could see anger slowly building up in Raksada's red eyes.

"… and we finally reached Torval." Bombassa concluded in a polar silence. The mood temperature had reached historical law, and the metaphorical penguins showed the tip of their beaks.

"Right." The corners of Raksada's mouth moved up in a parody of smile while his eyes shot daggers at the mercenaries. "Right. If I sum it up, you are basically telling me that a group of well trained, equipped and paid professional soldiers were routed by a teenager, an old codger, a pregnant woman, and…" at this point, Raksada's eyes narrowed dangerously "a toad?"

"A toad with very sharp teeth!" Bombassa protested, showing Raksada a finger on which a scar left by tiny jaws was visible. Behind him, the Redguard heard Anirne slapping her forehead with her hand.

The High Councillor did not exactly seem to sympathise either. "I wonder what's preventing me from simply cutting off your darn finger before chopping up the rest of you as well?" Raksada replied in a soft, yet extremely threatening voice. "I have the strong feeling I am wasting my money on you."

"But we were not completely unsuccessful, O ubasi! We brought back quite a lot of gold and valuable items from our expedition, as you can see!" Bombassa exclaimed, showing to the Dunmer with an expansive wave of his arm towards the spoils on the table.

Raksada's eyes moved sideway toward the table, without enthusiasm. He nevertheless got up from his chair and started examining the objects – money, jewellery, magical weapons – disdainfully.

Then, his face contorted with rage and, with an angry move of the arm, he swept the whole trove onto the ground before turning toward the mercenaries.

"I don't care about your stupid gold!" Raksada yelled, shaking a fist in anger. "You know what I want! So where are they?!"

Bombassa's mouth turned very dry as some coins from the loot rolled at his feet, clinking gently as they fell onto their sides. The Redguard shot a quick glance at his lieutenants, looking for support, but they were all now strangely absorbed in the contemplation of the laces of their sandals.

"I… don't know, O ubasi." Bombassa said breathlessly. "We lost track of them after the attack."

The Redguard would have preferred Raksada to yell. To go on a bad fit of anger. Or to even hit him. Anything actually but seeing the Dunmer's face going ash-pale with rage, and his red eyes lightening with that nasty and wholly insane gleam. The sight chilled Bombassa to the bones.

'He is completely mad… A total maniac…' the Redguard thought. Nothing totally unusual there as most of his previous employers were not all there, but now Bombassa was starting to realised Raksada beat them hollow, and easily.

"You lost track of them?" Raksada hissed, the eyelid under his left eye twitching dangerously.

"Yes, O ubasi." Bombassa said in a feeble voice. "The unexpected help our targets received left us totally…disorganised." Painfully disorganized, but Bombassa didn't feel the need to share this.

A horrendous smile materialised on Raksada's face at the words. "The unexpected help of a pregnant woman and a toad left you 'disorganised'? Seriously Bombassa, you have no idea how much you want to shut up right now!"

The mercenary gulped, and remaining carefully quiet as advised by the psychotic Dunmer, he watched the latter turning his back and walk back towards his chair. When he sat, Bombassa noticed that he still looked very angry, but that the gleam of instability in his eyes had disappeared.

"I am lacking the vocabulary to qualify your level of incompetence, Bombassa." Raksada growled, his nostrils still flaring with rage, but a saner rage, to Bombassa's relief. "And I hope you are conscious of this." The Dunmer paused, then sighed heavily. "However, given it would cost me too much time and money to hire new mercenaries and to put them in the picture, you will stay at my service. But shall you fail again, eternity won't be long enough for you to regret to have displeased me. Do you understand me?"

Bombassa felt his hands becoming very sweaty when he remembered the dismembered corpses hanging from Torval's city wall. They said Raksada loved pulling people's legs – as well as other limbs when he had them drawn and quartered by his Senches on the Great Plaza.

The heavy glances he could feel on the back of his neck told him his lieutenants were sharing his very thoughts at the moment.

"Yes I understand, O Ubasi." Bombassa squeaked. "Thank you, O Ubasi."

"And don't thank me, you moron!" Raksada barked, banging on the arm of his chair angrily. "I keep you because I don't have much choice! And I hope I don't have to make clear that the material damages your troops suffered during the assault will be your mess to clean up. You can be grateful I don't simply divide your wages by two – no, by four!" he added, shooting a nasty glance at the three lieutenants who cowered a bit. "I seriously hope you haven't spent too much of your cut."

Bombassa squeaked another "thank you" and Raksada rolled his eyes.

That would teach him to hire the cheapest mercenaries on the market! Such kind of "savings" never lead to anything good, he should know that after all this time…

Still, on paper the very unusual quartet the Four Magnificent formed sounded very interesting. First Urzob, the Orc who initially wanted to be a hairdresser but dropped her claims after realising cutting people's hair with an axe was not a good idea. Ralentu, the brilliant Dunmer mechanic who was so bad at magic his ashamed family banished him. Anirne, the young Altmer mage with pyromaniac tendencies who had "inadvertently" burnt down her home village. And of course, Bombassa the Redguard who was notoriously seasick – quite a handicap considering he belonged to a race whose main activity consisting in piracy…

A brief smile appeared on Raksada's face when he thought this bunch was unequalled in his Duchess' court, but the smile disappeared quickly when he remembered the situation he was engulfed in…

Obviously, his plans were delayed. Again.

Dear, it was becoming chronic – like the headaches, the terrible fits of anger of Incosi Sha'ka gave him. The Khajiit lord was growing impatient and had made clear during their last meeting he would not tolerate the remaining pockets of rebels defying him anymore, or assaulting his kraal with their twisted magics, like last night…

The trouble was that Raksada had better things to do at the moment than taking care of Sha'ka's problems – the Ultimate Resonator had to be finished on time. The device was, after all, the main objective of his Master's grand plan. In addition, when it would be operative, it would have the miraculous property to completely and definitely solve of the problems Raksada was faced with – including Sha'ka.

Raksada chuckled inwardly. To think the fool imagined the Resonator was going to be the instrument of his domination over all Tamriel…

So, there was no need to have several irons in the fire, even if some threats had to be eliminated quickly – Ashar and Hassildor, to name them. The rest could wait, but given Raksada still needed Sha'ka's help to provide the necessary workforce for the Resonator, he somehow had to keep playing the faithful councillor and servant and comply with his master's wishes.

Ah dear, what to do, what to do…?

Raksada scowled as he continued to glare in silence at the very unlikely lot of mercenaries, who were now looking very small and were carefully trying not to look at him.

"Bombassa?" the Dunmer finally asked, and the mercenary almost jumped at the mention of his name.

"Yes, O ubasi?" he asked timidly.

"Your troops will leave the city tomorrow to search for the fugitives. Within four days, you will come back to Torval. With their heads."

Bombassa's jaw dropped, and despite the fear the Dunmer inspired him, he could not help but protest. "Four days? With all due respect, Ubasi…"

"Four days." Raksada repeated, showing Bombassa a hand with four fingers raised.

"Yes, O ubasi." Bombassa whispered, trying to ignore the killing glance Urzob, Ralentu and Anirne where shooting him in his back.

"Good. In the meanwhile, I…"

The Dunmer abruptly stopped. His sandal bumped against something metallic, and his eyes almost immediately widened in shock and surprise.

"Er… Ubasi?" Bombassa ventured politely.

Raksada did not reply. He was still gazing, fascinated, at the little necklace which had landed on the ground after Raksada had scattered the loot from the table.

Bombassa beamed, delighted his employer finally found something of interest in the loot they brought. "Oh, you have noticed that one too, O ubasi?" The mercenary started enthusiastically. "A rather curious piece of jewellery if I may say… Anirne has identified the curious floral motives engraved on it as a Deadly Nightshade."

"No." Raksada said in a soft voice, picking up the necklace and bringing it before his attentive eyes. "No. This particular plant is not a mere Deadly Nightshade. It is called belladonna – or belladone in Breton."

"Another dangerous variety of the plant?"

"The most lethal one…" Raksada said in a whisper, finally managing to tear himself away from the contemplation of the necklace. He looked shaken and the realisation made Bombassa feel slightly ill at ease. Since when was Raksada shaken...?

"Where did you find it?" The Dunmer continued, his eyes riveted on the Redguard, whose uneasiness intensified.

"With the rest of the loot, that it to say around the camp we attacked, O Ubasi."

Raksada bit his lower lip, obviously preoccupied. "And from whom did you take it?"

"Hard to tell, actually. It was nighttime and…"

"To whom did this belong?!"

Without understanding what was happening to him, Bombassa found himself pinned against one of the walls, his feet dandling in the air and his throat in a stranglehold. He blinked. Raksada was suspending him at least twenty centimetres above the ground just with one arm, while his second hand was clutching the necklace nervously.

Darn… The Dark Elf was as thin as a rake but had the strength of ten men!

"You'd better remember quickly, Bombassa." Raksada chuckled in an evil way. "My patience is wearing thin." he added, accentuating the pressure of his fingers on the man's jugular.

"I… really… don't know…" the Redguard gargled. His throat was really starting to hurt and despite his efforts, he remained unable to remove the Dark Elf's grip on his throat.

Mad… Completely mad…

Behind the Dunmer, Bombassa could see Anirne, who had stuck her hands over her mouth in horror. As for Ralentu, he was goggling at the scene, obviously not knowing what to do. Only Urzob kept a semblance of calm as she walked toward duo.

"Er, I do apologise for the interruption, ubasi, but we have come to think it is the woman's necklace." the Orc said with a polite cough.

Raksada's gaze fall upon on Urzob, who did her best to continue to look totally serene.

"The woman? What woman?" the Dunmer snapped.

"The young, pregnant woman who fled with Ashar, ubasi. Anirne found the necklace where Bombassa and her fight." Urzob explained.

Raksada's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure she was young and pregnant?" the Dark Elf insisted, riveting his eyes to the Orc's.

"Yes, ubasi." Urzob confirmed. The Orc gave a little cough, shooting a meaningful look at Bombassa. The Dunmer followed her gaze. The chief of the mercenaries was gaping for air and his eyes were rolling upward.

Urzob's revelation made Raksada look thoughtful and he absently dropped the Redguard on the floor. Ralentu and Anirne ran toward Bombassa and helped him to get back on his feet.

"That woman…She was Breton, right?" Raksada asked Urzob, scratching his chin with his forefinger.

The Orc looked surprised, but was clever and prudent enough to keep her questions to herself. "I did not fight her, nor see her myself, but this is what Bombassa and Ralentu said."

"And was she travelling alone?"

"Well, if we don't count her cannibal toad, yes O ubasi."

The expression of incredulity on Raksada's face became gradually with one of calm resignation, the kind of "calm" Urzob had learned to fear…

"The calm before the storm." She thought as she carefully stepped back from the Dunmer, expecting another fit of anger.

But the latter did not explode in rage. He simply gave a heavy sigh and turned toward the Redguard mercenary who was still trying to get his breath back.

"Bombassa?" Raksada asked.

"Ubasi…?" The still shocked Redguard croaked, still held on his feet by Anirne and Ralentu.

"Change of plan. You and your men should get ready for an imminent departure to accompany me."

"Ac…company you… where…O ubasi?"

Raksada's eyes narrowed again as he looked at the necklace he was still holding in his hand and a thin smile materialised on his dark grey lips.

"I don't know yet, but I will find out very soon…"

7777777777777777

From her window, Princess Naandi watched the four silhouettes of the mercenaries hurrying down the Great Stairs before disappearing into the crowd packed in the Great Plaza. She tightened the grip of her hand on the curtain at the sight. The Magnificent Four's return did not bode well…

The female Khajiit turned around swiftly when she heard the door of her apartment open slowly to let a small, huddled figure in.

"So?" The princess asked M'thunzi, her personal servant, but also her spy within the kraal's walls.

"Raksada's mercenaries came back." the old female Khajiit replied, and Naandi uttered an impatient growl at the obvious statement.

"I know. I saw them." The Princess replied curtly. "So? Did you manage to listen to their conversation?"

M'thunzi chuckled. "I did, O Naandi – as did the rest of the kraal when our beloved Raksada voiced his anger at the Inefficient Four's newest failure."

Naandi sighed and collapsed gracefully on one of the big cushions on the floor, obviously relieved. "Thus, Ashar managed to get away from them – once again..."

"Once again, yes…Ashar is a very resourceful warrior. I trained her well." M'thunzi commented with an appreciative expression on her face. "Even if, this time, she received a little help during her last encounter with Bombassa and his gang of butchers."

The princess shot an inquisitive look at her informant to which the latter replied with a shrug. "I have not been able to determine who this person might be exactly. All I know is that she is a pregnant woman." M'thunzi stopped and chuckled again. "With a toad."

Naandi raised a surprised eyebrow. "A rather unexpected kind of help, if I may say."

"Better than nothing, I guess."

"Talking about unexpected help…" Naandi started, frowning slightly. "Have you finally managed to approach Count Hassildor and Master Vanin?"

M'thunzi winced and shook her head. "Not yet. Since the little incident overnight, Raksada has them watched most carefully by his minions. I believe our favourite Dunmer revealed more to them than he intended last night, and that now he fears to have lost the benefit of surprise."

"And is he right to fear so?" Naandi asked.

"One should not underestimate the men who played so great a part in Dagon's fall, and who defeated the King of Worms. Raksada may be mad, but he is no fool." M'thunzi felt it wise to remind the Princess of this fact.

"Fool or not, Raksada is a traitor." Naandi growled, her tail lashing angrily. "This repugnant manipulative creep will die at my hand for the trouble he has brought to Elsweyr."

"A rather bold statement, Princess." M'thunzi observed softly. "For Raksada seems immune against death..."

"Let me tear his heart out of his chest, and we will see!" Naandi responded proudly.

"I doubt Raksada has anything one could call a heart." the old Khajiit replied with an ironic smile. "Besides, if tons of rock falling on his head can't kill him, I think he would regard a missing organ as a rather minor inconvenience..."

"So what then?!" Naandi exclaimed impatiently as she got up from the cushion and started pacing angrily in the room. "We just stay here and watch him turning Khajiits into slaves for his pet-project?!"

"Obvioulsy not." M'thunzi replied in an appeasing voice. "But Raksada is a powerful magical foe, and thus we need magic to defeat him – something both of us can't achieve."

At the words, Naandi's eyes moved toward the Tenmar Forest, a move which did not go unnoticed by M'thunzi.

"Mama Sam's little show last night was certainly extremely impressive, I agree," the old Khajiit started as she joined Naandi by the window, "but she can't beat Raksada – and she knows it, or else she would have long ago come out of Tenmar to get rid of him."

A sour expression flashed on Naandi's face, indicating to M'thunzi the princess got her point, but it was quickly replaced by a victorious smile. "But Raksada has not gone to Tenmar to get rid of her either!" Naandi exclaimed victoriously. "So, he may fear her as well?"

"Maybe…" M'thunzi whispered. She remembered the expression of fear and loathing on the Dunmer's face the night before, when she went to his apartments to bring him lamps. Something was obviously disturbing Raksada in the Forest of Tenmar, but was it Mama Sam… or something else…?

"But whatever Raksada's reasons for avoiding Tenmar, Mama Sam would never agree to help us anyway." M'thunzi continued, putting her thoughts on the matter aside for the moment. "Not after what she went through when Mane Thenj'Iwe declared her practice of Foodoo taboo…"

"Well, she hates Raksada as much as we do, doesn't she?" Naandi asked, but not sounding very convinced.

The remark made M'thunzi roaring in laugher. "'Foes of my foes are my friends', is that what you are thinking? I doubt Mama Sam thinks that way." She sniggered and became serious again. "She hates Raksada indeed, but what make you think she doesn't hate useven more…?"

"What about the Clan Mothers, then? " Naandi ventured with a touch of hope in her voice, reporting once again her attention on the forest of Tenmar visible in the distance. "After all, like Those-Who-Watch in Corinthe, they are supposed to protect the people of Elsweyr…"

"And like Those-Who-Watch, they won't move a finger." M'thunzi replied, once again shattering Naandi's hopes into pieces. "Now you are grasping at straws. The Clan Mothers have always played a game of their own. What truly matters to them is their grip over the production of Moon Sugar. Neither Sha'ka nor Raksada is threatening them at all on that matter." Her eyes narrowed and a nasty smile appeared on her face. "I would even say they regard Raksada with a benevolent indifference I find rather disturbing…" Naandi sighed and walked back toward the centre of the room. "So, if I understand all this, it leaves us pretty much on our own…" She said, passing a weary hand over her face.

"If we can't make the Imperial emissaries our allies, yes. We are on our own." M'thunzi agreed thoughtfully. "Things would have been different if the Virgins of Dagomey were still alive."

Naandi smiled. "There are still two of them…"

"Yes, Ashar and I." M'thunzi replied in a cold voice. "You can't be counted as one as you turned your back to us when you decided to mate with Sha'ka and let him live afterwards. Don't you remember?"

Naandi snarled and shot a menacing look to M'thunzi, but the latter return the glare blankly, without batting an eye.

What else to expect from the Master Spy of the now almost extinct Virgins of Dagomey? M'thunzi had trained her sisters in the art of fighting for more than half century and, apart from Naandi and the rulers of their clan, no one had ever known the true nature of her activities.

"You despise me, don't you, M'thunzi?" Naandi said softly.

The old Virgin of Dagomey shot the princess a sly look not totally devoid of amusement. "Yes, I do. But given the circumstances, I am clever enough to try to make the best of a bad job," she purred. "Still, if it had not been for Mane Thenj'Iwe's interdiction to do you no harm, I would have killed you long ago. But now the Mane is gone and the fact remains, Naandi, that you betrayed Thenj'Iwe and your sisters. All for the love of male, who is ready to sacrifice your son on the altar of his ambitions. And there is a price to pay for that…" M'thunzi finished quietly.

The two Khajiits glared silently at one another during a long moment of profound, icy silence.

"I may not be the sharp and dangerous fighter I used to," Naandi said, breaking the silence but not the eye contact, "and you may not trust me. But I still have resources."

"And what kind of resources is left in you, now the Virgin and the woman in love are gone?" M'thunzi teased her.

The Princess' lips tightened, and, finally taking her eyes away from M'thuzi's grey ones, she looked at her Dagomey Razor hung on the wall. "A mother's." she breathed.

7777777777777777

The big creature circled slowly in the muddy water of the mouth of the Quin'rawl River in the Topal Sea, its senses alert. It was on the hunt and the other sea animals swimming around it knew it – which explained why they carefully tried to stay out of its way.

But exceptionally, they actually had nothing to fear from the great predator. It was definitely not interested in the small provender any of them could present, compared to what was about to come from above the surface.

The creature continued its progression slowly before it stopped. Then, it swam round lazily, waiting.

And then the signal came. Very softly first, then louder and louder.

Satisfied, the creature continued its concentric circles, but slowly began to rise, up toward the surface.

All it needed was a bit more patience. Interesting things were going to happen.

Above the surface, interesting things were already happening.

"All right… What he is doing there exactly?" Lucien Lachance asked Fog Marley as he watched one of the guards who, bending over a gigantic pool and blowing in a horn which nozzle ended in the water, was producing a lot of bubbles in the water. "Is that another barbaric and mysterious custom you Khajiits enjoy so much?"

Fog slowly took the nozzle of his portable narguile out of his mouth, shooting the Imperial a blank look. As usual, the sarcasm had drawn into the vapours of Skooma. "Naaaah, nothing weird, man. He's just calling them."

"Oh yes. Obviously. He is just calling them. Of course." Lucien repeated dully, glaring at the Rastajiit to make him elaborate on the subject. His well-practiced glare was in vain. Fog was already back into his own world full of Skooma and Rastajiit nonsense.

Shrugging in annoyance – and waking up Polly the parrot, who was once more dozing on his shoulder – Lucien turned toward J'Ghasta, but his Khajiiti friend seemed to have his mind elsewhere as well.

"Or rather, Elsweyr, ahahaha…" the Imperial thought, before realising he had just made one of the most hackneyed jokes in Nirn.(2) But joking apart, J'Ghasta's sudden silence revealed a lot on his current state of mind.

They had arrived at Ya'Tirrje's palace at dawn that morning, and the least that could be said was the reunion between the Gold Cat and J'Ghasta had not ended in a bloodbath.

Oh, Ya'Tirrje had been rather friendly first – or, Lucien corrected himself, he had not been openly hostile. But compared to Fog who had been genuinely happy to see his old friend again, Ya'Tirrje's attitude had soon become much more equivocal. Lucien could not say exactly how he achieved this, but every sentence from the Gold Cat seemed double-edged – and Lucien held no doubt that both those edges were extremely sharp.

In addition, and so far, Ya'Tirrje had not mentioned the 'deal' Fog Marley mentioned the day before, and this too was making Lucien feel ill-at-ease. It was already late in the morning, so why was the Gold Cat beating around the bush?

This feeling of dependency on other's people good – or bad – will was something totally new and extremely disturbing for Lucien Lachance, the manipulative Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood and great mastermind of many cunning plots. Normally, he was the puppeteer, not the puppet! He found the reversal...disturbing to say the least.

Lucien sighed inwardly and tried hard to find a semblance of internal serenity. More than the Khajiits and their strange customs, more than this country and its darn hot weather, it was finding himself tossed about by events rather than controlling those events which truly unnerved him. The whole process started the day Trencavel had kicked him in the groin, and it did not look like it was going to stop anytime soon. Convenience let him blame her for his current predicament, but it did little to ease his unease.

And now Ya'Tirrje and his retinue had brought them here, in the gardens, waiting for the Gods-know-what to happen.

"Er, J'Ghasta?" Lucien asked in cough, trying to attract the Khajiit's attention.

J'Ghasta blinked and finally left his daydreaming, turning toward his friend. "Sorry, you were saying…?"

"Would someone mind explaining me what the guard over there is doing?" Lucien asked between gritted teeth, pointing at the huge pool standing in the middle of the luxurious gardens of the Gold Cat's villa. "He's been blowing in that stuff for ten minutes now…"

"Oh, that." J'Ghasta replied nonchalantly. "He is just calling them – what? What did I say?" he added when Lucien rolled his eyes.

"Them what?" the Imperial barked, ignoring good grammar in order to drive the point home. "Sharks? Dolphins? Mermaids?"

"No. No dolphins live in the waters of the mouth of the Quin'rawl – nor even sharks, actually. It is far too dangerous even for them…" J'Ghasta announced dismissively.

Lucien made a blank face. "Ahah. Very funny."

"This is no joke, Lucien. There are no sharks here. The Unnameables would not tolerate another predator on their territory." J'Ghasta explained.

The Imperial frowned. "The Unnameables?"

His question was punctuated by a scream so piercing it even took Fog out of his Skooma-soaked reverie. The trio turned around to face the pool, just in time to see the spectators surge in disorder from the lake where, to Lucien's greatest horror, a huge tentacle emerged then splashed back in the water.

"By Si… the Nines, what is that?" the assassin demanded, starting to retreat behind J'Ghasta as a big translucent eye appeared above the surface before the muddy waters swallowed it up again.

"Them." Fog replied with a big grin, obviously very amused by Lucien's reaction.

"The Unnameables, if you prefer." J'Ghasta clarified in a casual tone as he watched several tentacles flying in the air. "No one knows where exactly they come from, as they're pretty unique. Some pretend they're mutant creatures brought here or maybe 'created' by the few Ayleid explorers who visited the region centuries ago…"

"Why on Nirn does everything the Ayleids touched turn into something ugly, lethal or all of the above?" Lucien whined as more tentacles appeared in the pool – the first Unnameable had been met by the rest of his little full-of-appendages family.

"Ayleid crackeeers!" Polly screamed happily.

"Don't know." J'Ghasta replied with a smile. "But funnily enough, they remind me a bit of that huge squid we met in that parallel universe..."

"I wish you hadn't mentioned that." Lucien grumbled. "And could you explain me why anyone would like to have such creatures as pets in an ornamental pond?"

J'Ghasta shrugged, but Fog came to the rescue. "Because they're useful." The Rastajiit intervened in between two puffs of his narguile.

Lucien blinked. "Are they?"

"Ayya, man. And it's time to feed them." Fog nodded, taking another puff. "Just watch."

At the words, Lucien's eyes moved onto a Khajiit who was standing nearby the pool, surrounded by several guards. Of all the people gathered in the gardens, he was the only one who looked rather gloomy. Probably because he was chained and had heavy weights tied to his feet…

"Don't tell me…" the assassin said, wincing when understanding struck him. "They're not planning on giving the Unnameables dried daphnias, hey?"

"Well spotted, man." Fog observed. "And Ya'Tirrje likes his Unnameables to be fed on a regular basis."

"How kind of him…"

Lucien's eyes moved from the prisoner soon-to-be snack of the Unnameables to the colossal silhouette sprawling – that annoying habit Khajiits had to always sprawl when resting – on a richly decorated litter full of silky cushions and surrounded by many gorgeous females.

Probably because Ya'Tirrje used to be a friend of J'Ghasta when the two were still kittens, Lucien had imagined the Gold Cat looked like another version of his friend, that is to say another tall, imposing and athletic Khajiit.

Well, even if Lucien was quite right on the imposing bit, their age and their amazing sense of business were certainly the only things J'Ghasta and Ya'Tirrje had in common…

"So, my dear S'Baad…" said Ya'Tirrje, the Gold Cat, the unofficial ruler of Senchal, the leader of the SyndiCat, the most powerful merchant and smuggler of the south of Elsweyr if not of the whole country...was also the fattest creature Lucien had even seen. Even his double chins had double chins. "It is time for us to part ways."

"Please, O Gold Cat, wait…!" the Khajiit named S'Baad whined.

A sorry sigh lifted Ya'Tirrje's huge chest covered in dozens of gold necklaces – the Khajiit was covered in golden jewellery, which certainly accounted for his nickname and also made him hard to look at in the sunlight.

But it did not matter how golden this particular cat was, he reminded Lucien strongly of that feline he knew as a child. The thing had grown so fat that, when it had been thrown by Big Tommy, its owner, over the ramparts in an attempt to see if it would fall back on its legs – a typical cruel experiment kids enjoyed – all was left of it on the ground was a large grease stain.

But if Big Tommy's cat had grown fat because its young master had no idea how dietetics worked, Ya'Tirrje obviously did not have a master and Lucien could only wonder how what certainly used to be a normal Khajiit turned into half a ton of lard tied up in a fur coat.

Too many copious business lunches perhaps…?

Lucien's eyes widened in horrified realization that the Black Hand now made a habit of such lunches, now J'Ghasta was in charge. He could not help but let his hands discreetly check around his waist and abs, searching for any disgraceful and unwanted folds.

"Oh, please S'Baad. Let's cut the hysterics, shall we?" Ya'Tirrje asked in a kind voice, unaware of the mini personal drama Lucien was living a few feet away. "Perhaps you have a last word, something for posterity...?"

The Khajiit prisoner looked down at the thick and brown waters of the pool shaken by the convulsions of the Unnameables' tentacles and gulped once more. "Mercy…?"

"Ah, I am sorry, but I am afraid this option is not available." Ya'Tirrje said cheerfully, lazily waving one of his fat paws. Two of his guards grabbed the prisoner by the elbows and dragged him with difficulty to the pool. S'Baad turned around and shot the Gold Cat a last imploring look.

"I strongly advise you to take a long and deep breath, S'Baad." Ya'Tirrje said with a large smile. "I think you will find it amazingly more useful than trying to make me change my mind."

The Gold Cat gave another flick of the paw, and the prisoner was thrown into the pool. The latter did not even had the time to scream before the muddy waters enveloped him.

First, there was nothing, apart from a few bubbles piercing the surface. And suddenly, the salty water started to foam and to spurt when the Unnameables swarmed over each other to get their prey.

"So, what do you think of our legal system, bwala?" the Gold Cat asked airily.

Lucien tore himself away from the gruesome yet fascinating show to realise that, too engrossed by it, he had not noticed that Ya'Tirrje's litter had moved and was now standing by his side.

"Very… expeditious." Lucien said softly as he looked back at the cloud of blood flourishing on the surface of the water. He was a murderer, and did not mind the sight of blood and death, but the show of the Khajiit being served to those repulsive creatures had made him somewhat sick.

That and the fact he was certain this little demonstration was hardly meaningless…

"We prefer to say efficient, bwala." Ya'Tirrje giggled softly. "It is with such measures Senchal has become the great city it currently is."

"Certainly." Lucien commented diplomatically.

The Gold Cat smiled, but his amber eyes circled with kohl observed Lucien carefully. The latter determined to show Ya'Tirrje he was not impressed, managed a rather bored look of apathy. Outstaring a cat was never an easy task, but Lucien had decades of training with J'Ghasta, so he did not flinch.

"Right. Now that little affair is solved," the Gold Cat said in a business-like voice and breaking off eye contact to Lucien's greatest pleasure, "I suggest we start tackling the reason for your presence here today, but before – would you like a larva? They're extremely tasty."

The obese feline clapped his hands in a concert of jangling bracelets and one of the numerous female Khajiits materialised as if by magic in front of Lucien, J'Ghasta and Fog with a dish full of white, wriggling things.

Lucien's mind suddenly flooded with memories of his nightmarish journey in the jungle and of the insect diet there as well. His stomach gave a flip. "Er… No thanks." He said with a forced smile. "I am… on a diet. But I could with peanuts. For the parrot."

"Peaaanuts!" The bird squawked hopefully as Lucien rubbed beneath its beak with a knuckle.

J'Ghasta shot his friend a quizzical look, obviously puzzled by the "diet" bit, but Lucien carefully ignored him.

"Well, you don't know what you are missing, bwala." Ya'Tirrje said with a sigh as he, J'Ghasta and Fog helped themselves to generous handfuls, while a second servant produced a bag full of peanuts, which she gave to Lucien. "And now, I would like to show you something. This way, please."

The Gold Cat snapped two fingers full of golden rings and four Khajiit servants rushed to each corner of the litter. Lucien felt a pinch of sympathy for the litter-bearers when they lifted the affair with grunts of effort.

Followed by the rest of Ya'Tirrje's retinue, the litter took a small path leading out of the luxurious gardens directly to the busy streets of Senchal, with its usual procession of goatherds, merchants, and pickpockets, all of which contributed to a smell unlike any other, which would have made a three-days dead donkey faint.

Despite the total anarchy which reigned in the streets, the people always moved apart when the cortege came in their direction, and all showed signed of deference to the Gold Cat, who seemed to appreciate these in a very self-satisfied manner.

Catlike, Lucien though grimly. House-catlike. Lucien was by now growing bored, beginning to wonder if the "deal" mentioned was real and if the whole show had not been designed to make an impression J'Ghasta and himself.

The Imperial changed his mind quickly.

As they continued, a troop of soldiers suddenly materialised at one street corner. Instead of drawing aside for the Gold Cat's retinue, the guards continued to walk right in the middle of the street, forcing Ya'Tirrje's people to retreat against the walls. And they did not hesitate to snub the Gold Cat's henchmen by shooting the latter jeering looks.

Lucien and J'Ghasta exchanged a surprised glance as the cortege started to move again, then looked at Fog. But the latter avoided their gaze so they kept their questions to themselves, waiting for Ya'Tirrje to give them an explanation. The explanation came as a question.

"Have you seen the guards?" the Gold Cat asked Lucien and J'Ghasta softly once the troop was behind them.

"Hard to miss them…" Lucien replied, looking backwards at the guards' back. He frowned, his keen mind already counting off the seconds it would take to put a dagger between the ribs of the last member of the troop – six – and that without the cover of darkness, with the element of surprise, this was not a good time to do anything about them. Assuming he wanted to, of course. Old habits die hard, and to an assassin, everything might be a target, but fewer are so unfortunate as to become a target. "Why don't they wear the same livery as the other guards of the SyndiCat?"

"Simply because they do not belong to the SyndiCat. They are guards sent here by the authorities of Torval to keep an eye on our activities – and to make sure we pay the newly imposed, ridiculously exorbitant taxes."

Ya'Tirrje's voice was almost perfectly composed – almost, because the tiny little trace of anger in it did not go unnoticed by Lucien.

"And why would the Mane do such a thing?" J'Ghasta wondered, scratching his chin. "I thought Mane Thenj'Iwe saw your politics in Senchal in a good lig…"

"There's no more Mane, J'Ghasta." the Gold Cat interrupted him bluntly. "The much revered Bhek'Iziwe Nowalzi Thenj'Iwe was toppled a few months ago," he continued, imperturbable as J'Ghasta's jaw dropped and Lucien frowned, "the Staff of Moons was destroyed and the identity of Mane's successor – if he's even still alive – remains a complete mystery."

The piece of news was met by a sceptical silence. Lucien's gaze moved back and forth from J'Ghasta to Ya'Tirrje. The later did not show any kind of emotions past a mild disregard for J'Ghasta's ignorance of his homeland's political situation, it was not a reaction shared by J'Ghasta, who suddenly looked like he had hit the jackpot.

"You just say that to please me, don't you, Ya'?" the Khajiit assassin asked with a fixed smile on his face.

"No, I don't." the Gold Cat whispered. "I thought you knew, despite the fact Ocato and the Council are trying to hold back that morsel information."

"They were rumours of 'things' happening in Elsweyr, but very little information actually lipped into Cyrodiil recently." Lucien confirmed as he felt his mood darkening a bit more. So, they were stuck in a country right in the middle of what looked like a tricky political situation. Things were getting better and better…

"And what do you mean exactly by 'no more Mane'? He got killed, did he?" A rather pleased looking J'Ghasta asked. His fixed smile had turned into one of total joy.

"This is the one million-septims question – because no one knows the answer to that." Ya'Tirrje replied with a shrug. "To be honest, the exact circumstances of the event remain unclear, even if we have been provided with an…official version."

The way the Gold Cat pronounced the word "official" was quiet revealing of the nature of his thoughts regarding the aforementioned version. He snapped his fingers, and a bowl full of larvas appeared in front of him. "From what has filtered from Torval," Ya'Tirrje continued while peeling an insect, "the Virgins of Dagomey, the Mane's personal guards, have turned against him for, apparently, not having respected a tradition of theirs. As a result, the regular troops had to step in to protect Thenj'Iwe. But sadly, they failed and Thenj'Iwe was declared dead – even if no one so far had been able to find the Mane's mortal remains…"

"Ah, bah! Who cares?" J'Ghasta exclaimed happily.

"I do." Ya'Tirrje replied curtly. "Like most of the faithful people of Elsweyr who, unlike you, respect the traditions." He added with a little smirk, earning a killing glance from J'Ghasta. "But whatever you may have thought of Thenj'Iwe, you will admit that this version is rather… unsatisfactory."

"And what about the satisfactory one then?" Lucien asked.

An amused smiled flashed across Ya'Tirrje's thick chops. "Straight to the point, hey, bwala? I like that." The Gold Cat replied, amused. "Well, the version which is accepted by ninety percent of the Khajiits in Elsweyr is that the Mane was betrayed by his closest advisors, who got rid of him and of all his supporters, Virgins of Dagomey included."

"Classical – even if no one had ever dared to play such a trick on the Mane and the Virgins before. Quite an achievement, really…" J'Ghasta said casually as the cortege re-entered the gardens of the Gold Cat's villa. "And who are those 'closest advisors' I would love to congratulate...?"

Ya'Tirrje winced. "I don't think you would actually."

"Why not?" J'Ghasta asked, surprised.

For the first time, the Gold Cat looked hesitant. "Well, because their leader is not one of your greatest friends."

"Which means…?"

The Gold cat let a pink tongue running along his teeth and finally took the plunge. "Sha'ka is the one behind the coup."

J'Ghasta froze and looked as if he had been punched in the stomach. His eyes widened in shock and he had to lean against a tree to stay up right.

"If I may say, Ya'," Fog intervened as he walked toward a shocked J'Ghasta and patted him gently on the shoulder, "I thought we both agreed we had to tackle this issue with care…"

Ya'Tirrje shrugged but did not otherwise reply.

Lucien was ready to bet the crime lord took pleasure in J'Ghasta's reaction. The Imperial did not know much about the interactions between the two Khajiits when they were younger, and would probably never find out, but he was ready to bet they were not devoid of rivalry.

"Who is Sha'ka exactly?" Lucien asked Ya'Tirrje.

"He is the leader of the Zuku Tribe and the self-proclaimed Incosi – or High King – of Elsweyr now the Mane is gone." the Gold Cat explained while rinsing his fingers delicately in a bowl. "Sha'ka was the most trusted and most talented of Mane Thenj'Iwe's generals and councillors for many years. Apparently, he got tired of being number two so…"

"Yeah, thanks to that rotten bastard of Rak…" Fog's tirade against Sha'ka was cut short by J'Ghasta.

"And no one opposed him?" he asked, sporting the gloomiest facial expression Lucien had seen on him in quite a while – a strange mix of loathing, anger and…was that envy? "They all let him take down the Mane, whom they'd all sworn to protect…?"

"You know better than most what can happen to those who defy Sha'ka. Unless your memory grows rusty." Ya'Tirrje said in a soft voice.

J'Ghasta opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out of his throat and his shoulder slumped in a vanquished position.

This posture was so unlike J'Ghasta it shocked Lucien, until the latter remembered the last time he saw this same stance. It was not so long ago, When J'Ghasta related the events during the ceremony of the Manecision.

"I had to fight and defeat the Champion of the Mane. If I lost, I was dishonoured, exiled for the rest of my life. If I won, I could stay in the country and be considered a 'full" Khajiit."Sha'ka must, Lucien thought, be the Champion of the Mane who defeated and humiliated J'Ghasta.

Lucien winced. Things were getting very personal around here. Never a good thing…

"But nevertheless, some did try to oppose him, indeed." Ya'Tirrje continued. "Ubasi Dro'ba in particular tried to federate Sha'ka's enemies into a coalition. He organised a secret meeting in a small village near Valley Guard, where he and his allies got betrayed and ambushed by Sha'ka's troops."

"So, Dro'ba and his men were defeated in Valley Guard?" J'Ghasta asked.

Ya'Tirrje's face painted with a sour expression. "Massacred would be more accurate." he hissed as his servant deposited his litter near the pool of the Unnameables. "Dro'ba, but also the old and wise Qarano, which was a great loss as he was the only of Those-Who-Watch who openly opposed Sha'ka…All were killed for having dared to defy Sha'ka's rule."

There was a pause during which nothing could be heard, except the lapping of the water on the sides of the pool, and the soft snoring of Polly, deeply asleep on Lucien's shoulder.

"Why do you tell us all this, Ya'Tirrje?" J'Ghasta finally asked. "This is not our business after all."

The Gold Cat's chops curled up in a smile. "Oh, it is, actually, as Sha'ka's accession to power is at the root of the deal I am about to propose to you… Something both of us are going to enjoy, I think…"

Ya'Tirrje was obviously taking great pleasure in taking his time and keeping his audience in suspense. Lucien hated himself when he realised he was actually holding his breath, and promptly released it.

"I want you to kill Sha'ka for me, J'Ghasta." The Gold Cat said out of the blue, and for the second time today, J'Ghasta's jaw dropped.

"But… But…!" He babbled.

"And why would he do such a thing for you?" Lucien asked warily, though less surprised than J'Ghasta. His worst fear confirmed when the smile on the Gold Cat's turned a bit nastier.

"Well, you see bwala, even if the disappearance of the Mane frees J'Ghasta of the dishonour of being branded igwala, the fact remains you two have broken Senchal's laws…"

The air got a little chillier as the audience read between the lines. "Ah. I now understand the demonstration with the Unnameables." Lucien said in a low voice.

"I am a merchant, bwala. It's economics. Doing things for free is against my principles." the Gold Cat replied in a sweet voice. "So, the deal is very simple, J'Ghasta. You help me get rid of Sha'ka and of his … tyrannical interventions in my business, and I will spare your and your friend's lives."

If it had not been for the fur, J'Ghasta would have turned pale with rage. "I knew there was something rotten around here!" he growled, his coat bristling along the backbone.

"I find this offer quite generous. If it were not for our friendship as kittens, you would be dead already." Ya'Tirrje observed calmly. "Beside, do I really need to underline the fact I also offer you the opportunity to get your revenge over Sha'ka? And in a very ritual manner, as you will have the opportunity to defy him on the day of his coronation."

There was another pause. J'Ghasta was glaring in front of him, lost in his thoughts, and Lucien realised with horror that Ya'Tirrje had a point.

Indeed, even if J'Ghasta refused to submit to the Gold Cat's blackmail, the latter had cleverly played on his desire for vengeance and the possibility to prove his countrymen he deserved to be one of them, despite his lack of conventional views. Now, Lucien was convinced J'Ghasta would refuse to leave Elsweyr until he had the opportunity to face Sha'ka, whatever the risk may be.

"Tell me one thing, Ya' – why me?" J'Ghasta finally asked with suspicion. "Certainly you don't lack the money to afford men to do that for you…?" he added, glaring at the bunch of heavily built henchmen standing behind Ya'Tirrje's litter.

"Because so far I have not found anyone who would dare, even for a considerable amount of money." Ya'Tirrje replied honestly. "And the reasons for such a lack of enthusiasm are simple. As you already know, Sha'ka is an awesome fighter, but, above all, he is supported by that despicable bastard Raksada." Ya'Tirrje pronounced the name with an obvious distaste.

"Raksada?" J'Ghasta asked.

"Despite his Khajiit sounding name, he is a Dunmer. He made his appearance a short time after you left Elsweyr. Soon after made himself essential to Sha'ka." Ya'Tirrje paused and his eyes narrowed. "Raksada is the person who does the dirty work. But some murmur it is actually the reverse – that it is Sha'ka who does the dirty work, and Raksada holding his strings."

"And people fear that Dunmer?" Lucien asked.

The Gold Cat had a sad smile. "They have good reasons too, bwala. Raksada is an extremely powerful mage. He is the one behind the butchery of Valley Guard." he added gloomily.

"Mages die like everybody else…" J'Ghasta replied with a smirk.

"Yes, but some say Raksada is more than a simple mage. Some says he is a…bokor." Ya'Tirrje said in a low voice, and Lucien surprised a gleam of fear in the Gold Cat's eyes, and more surprisingly, in J'Ghasta's. But concerning the latter, it got quickly replaced by a mocking one.

"Lion men…" J'Ghasta sniggered. "Don't tell me you believe in that Foodoo crap…!"

Ya'Tirrje looked indignant. "Crap?! Raksada called the Lion Men, J'Ghasta! It is the Taboo of the Taboos!"

The Lion Men…? Lucien frowned inwardly. Weren't the Khajiits supposed to be Lion Men? Very likely not, given the way Ya'Tirrje was talking of them… And what on Nirn was Foodoo?

"Oh really?" J'Ghasta replied, sarcastic. "And have you seen them, with your own eyes? Because, as far as I am concerned, your Raksada could have called the bogeyman as well…"

"Dro'ba, his allies and their army did not tear themselves to pieces!" Ya'Tirrje roared, slamming his fist on one of his cushions, for the first time openly angry. Realising he was losing control of himself, the Gold Cat gave a cough and tried to regain his calm. "The Lion Men are a reality, J'Ghasta, and not another legend used by Khajiit mothers to force their progeny to finish their meals. The decomposed bodies you and your friend found in the jungle, washed along by the river, were just a little taste of what really happened in Valley Guard." His eyes narrowed. "And last night magical phenomenon was very real true…"

J'Ghasta's eyes narrowed as well, but he remained silent, even if Lucien could he was curbing an obvious urge to snap back something at Ya'Tirrje.

The Gold cat gave a big sigh as he sunk back into his sea of silky cushions. "But this is not relevant now. We have more urgent matters to discuss, such as the little details of our deal."

At the words, some guards started to draw near to Lucien. The latter felt his muscles stiffen up and he tried to exchange a quick glance with J'Ghasta, but the latter was still glowering at Ya'Tirrje.

"I never said I accepted the deal!" he exclaimed.

"I never said you had a choice." Ya'Tirrje replied cheerfully. "You will go to Torval to defy Sha'ka, J'Ghasta, or else, you and your friend will fatten up my Unnameables."

J'Ghasta clenched his fists and growled duly, but there was nothing he could do.

"Obviously," Ya'Tirrje continued in a sweet voice, "to make sure you won't be tempted to give me the slip, some of my men will accompany you, and your friend will stay here as my...guest."

"Your hostage." J'Ghasta grunted.

"Don't argue semantics with me, J'Ghasta. You were never very good at it." The Gold Cat turned toward Lucien and beamed. As for the Imperial, he looked like he had swallowed something acidic.

The Gold Cat made a little clicking of tongue and two guards took a step forward Lucien, ready to grab him by the arms.

But the assassin was quicker.

Punching one of the Khajiits in the stomach, he threw his elbow in the muzzle of the second, and stole the short, broad sword he wore around the waist. He then jumped behind J'Ghasta, and wrapping an arm around his throat, pointed the tip of the blade against his friend's jugular.

"But what the fuck are you doing?!" J'Ghasta gagged, rolling his eyes and trying to free himself from Lucien's grip and to put as much distance as possible between his throat and the blade. "And get that stupid bird off of my head!" he added when Polly, awaken by the fight, landed on his head, chirping in anger.

"I am trying to get us out of this, so shut up and stay calm." Lucien whispered between gritted teeth.

Around them the guards had formed a circle and were pointing spears at them. Polly unfolded her wings, and holding out her neck, hissed menacingly in the direction of the soldiers.

"Would you mind explaining us what you are doing, bwala?" Ya'Tirrje asked. His voice was friendly but his eyes told another story.

"It's very simple, Gold Cat." Lucien said with a smirk. "I'm reminding you, you are not in a position to bargain."

"You should go and rest in the shade, bwala." the Gold Cat purred as his henchmen and the tips of their spears were drawing closer. "Apparently, you've gotten too much sun. I am the only one in a position to bargain."

"My head works perfectly well, thank you. Tell your minions to stay where they are, or else, I will kill J'Ghasta here and now." Lucien's face gave no indication of a bluff, his eyes fixed on the Gold Cat.

"What?!" J'Ghasta yelled, which earned him to be strangled a bit more by Lucien's grip.

"Shut up." Lucien grunted, still staring down the crime lord.

"Crackeeeeer!" Polly echoed.

"You too."

"Kill J'Ghasta, and you will follow him quickly." Ya'Tirrje observed, looking for signs the foreigner was bluffing, but finding none. There was something like a wall of dark ice behind the Imperial's eyes, something that both intrigued the Khajiit, and worried him. Rumours and various sources indicated the Imperial was something like J'Ghasta's jester, but perhaps this was not so. Interesting. "I don't really see what you would win by doing that, nor in what it would show me you hold the advantage…" The Gold Cat hadn't gotten the position by letting lesser men bluff him, so he continued cautiously. But with no outward appearance of that caution.

"Oh really?" Lucien asked silkily, with a slight chuckle. "Let me make youa deal. You need J'Ghasta simply because, as you said, one is willing to do the dirty work for you, even for a good amount of money."

"So? Everyone has a price, bwala. Perhaps I was simply thinking economically."

"And perhaps if I kill him, it will take you months to get another sod to do the dirty job for you." Lucien paused, pulling a mocking sad face. "Meanwhile, Sha'ka will continue to siphon off your revenues – until he gets bored with you and simply replaces you with one of his loyal minions. How's that for economics?" Lucien asked.

"I should kill you on the spot for your impertinence!" The Khajiit made a great effort to remain calm, but his fat body trembling with indignation translated his emotions in every wiggle and jiggle.

Lucien smiled like a wolf among sheep. He had played well by guessing Ya'Tirrje actually feared more for his life than his money.

"Go ahead." Lucien taunted softly. "Kill us. And then have fun keep providing Sha'ka with good reasons to keep you alive."

This time, Ya'Tirrje lost all his composure and his face contorted with rage. One of his nostrils started to twitch nervously. "What do you want?" He spat.

Lucien smirked inwardly. He knew he had the advantage and now, all he needed was to turn it into total victory. "Here is my deal, Gold Cat. You will put your huge network of informants at our service. You will also invest your colossal wealth towards finding the woman we are looking for. In exchange, J'Ghasta will meet Sha'ka…"

"… and defeat him or else…" Ya'Tirrje growled.

"…will meet Sha'ka and defy him." Lucien said, choosing his words carefully as he interrupted Ya'Tirrje. "The outcome of the fight will not be taken into consideration in our deal."

J'Ghasta opened his mouth to say something, but Lucien drove the blade a little further in his fur. The Khajiit winced in pain and closed his jaws. It was safer to let the other man work.

"How dare you…? What use are you to me if you don't vanquish him?!" Ya'Tirrje yelled.

"Oh, don't worry too much about that." Lucien replied in an appeasing voice – ruined by the note of smugness. "I am convinced J'Ghasta will put all his heart in the fight, given his pride would not suffer being beaten again."

J'Ghasta rolled his eyes but wisely kept quiet – the blade was really starting to dig in. Any further and Lucien would be leaving him a very permanent 'thanks for the memories of this disaster-trip'. As for Ya'Tirrje, he shot a killing look at the Imperial. But he also realised Lucien was not ready to give any ground easily, so he tried to bargain on another point.

"All right." the Gold Cat conceded. "The outcome of the fight will not determine whether or not I grant you my help. But you will go to Senchal escorted by a squad of my men, as well as Mudli and Fog. They are my most trusted men, and a bit of fresh air will do them some good – especially Fog…" he added, shooting a sideways glance at his associate standing by his litter and who, during the whole altercation, had tried his best to make himself forgotten.

"Er, with all due respect, Ya', I would appreciate to be kept out of all this…" Fog ventured timidly, raising a protesting finger. But the look Ya'Tirrje shot him silenced him.

"Fog can come – but not Mudli." Lucien replied curtly.

"Don't push my patience and your luck, bwala…" Ya'Tirrje hissed, his multiple double chins shivering with rage and indignation.

"All right. Fog and Mudli come with us." Lucien granted, but his tone indicated one wrong move and either he or Mudli would not be coming back. "It is a deal then?"

Ya'Tirrje hesitated a bit, making Lucien chuckle. Indeed, as soon as the Gold Cat gave his word in front of witnesses, even he could not go back on it.

"Come on." Lucien purred. "They say a great merchant has one word only. Prove it!"

For a second, Ya'Tirrje looked as if he was about to have fit. The people around the litter held their collective breath.

"Fine. Fine." Ya'Tirrje hissed. "It is a deal." And he angrily spat on the ground, in front of his litter.

Lucien beamed. "Excellent!" He imitated the Khajiit, spat on the same right spot and then released his grip on J'Ghasta. Polly still perched on its head, the Khajiit scrambled away from him, massing the little wound on his neck and shooting the Imperial a killing glance.

"Now, I don't wish to see you two again before the deed is done." Ya'Tirrje said in a low voice. A nasty smile then appeared on his face. "This, of course, meaning you've managed to vanquish Sha'ka, and safely come back here..."

And without waiting for an answer, the four servants lifted the litter again, and the Gold Cat and his retinue were gone.

"That was close." Lucien murmured with a smile as he watched Ya'Tirrje and his escort getting back to the villa, before turning toward J'Ghasta, beaming. "But we made it."

"Yeah, we did – as usual." his Khajiit friend replied, smiling as he extended his arm for Polly to perch on it. Then, the smile disappeared from his face. Before Lucien could react, the Khajiit grabbed him with his free hand by the front of his shirt.

"What the…?!" Lucien yelled just before he found himself hurled in the air, graciously falling toward the pool of the Unnameables.

There was a big splash when Lucien landed in the muddy waters, from which he emerged laboriously, spitting, swearing and squelching on the slippery banks. Polly took off from J'Ghasta's arm, flying in circles around Lucien's head.

"Wet crackeeeer! Wet crackeeeer!" she cried, distressed.

"Is it me, or has your parrot expanded her vocabulary since she joined us…?" J'Ghasta asked, laughing loudly at the pathetic sight of a soaked Lucien.

"Why have you done that?!" the Imperial shrieked, water trickling down his soaked clothes and hair.

"Don't you dare to use me as a hostage ever again." J'Ghasta said in a pleasant voice.

"I did that to save our necks, whereas you could have killed me!" Lucien shrieked. "The Unnameables are certainly still around!"

"I bet they are." J'Ghasta replied with a little smirk as he offered a hand to help Lucien to get up.

"You are a bastard and I hate you." Lucien muttered as he grabbed the Khajiit's hand and got back to his feet.

J'Ghasta beamed at him and passed an arm around his shoulder. "Yes, and you know what? You truly are a bastard too. What goes around…" The Khajiit's smile grew even wider and he passed an arm around the shoulders of his soaked and extremely annoyed friend. "And now, let's go and drink to the most awesome manipulative bastard I know."

77777777777777777777777

Back, in his villa, Ya'Tirrje furiously chewed pickled caterpillars while two of his female servant massaged his shoulders vigorously to help him to relax.

The Gold Cat could not believe it. How he, the greatest and the cleverest merchant of Elsweyr, got tricked by an Isihambi. By a stranger. By… an ape!

He could not let such an affront unpunished.

"Mudli!" he called out.

At the mention of the name, shadows in a corner of a room which looked like mere and innocent shadows turned into the mostly feared Mudli, Master Assassin of the Syndicate.

"Yes, O Gold Cat?" the Khajiit assassin bowed near the litter.

"Whatever the outcome of the fight with Sha'ka may be, make sure they never come back to Senchal alive." Ya'Tirrje hissed as he angrily bit off the head of a caterpillar.

Mudli's face painted with a satisfied smile. He was going to enjoy that mission greatly.

(1) Bombassa's stew was the only one in Nirn with which one could close gaps or, in the worst case, which tended to try to get out of the marmite to live its own life and discover the world.

(2) There a few others of suck (bad) jokes, like the ones about vampires having a "bat temper" and Argonians managing to lay many eggs because of sitting eggsamisations. Note : no need to say telling such kind of jokes to the populations concerned is not the best way to make friends and stay in one piece (that last remark is particularly true for vampires).