The sun had at last sunk by the time Borba had gathered her compatriots. They were all together now, lounging around her living room sipping ale or beer. One of me, five of them, all eyeing me with suspicion.
I wrestled down my fear. Now, of all times, I had to focus.
"You said we had to talk." Dulfish spoke first, his gravelly voice punching through the silence. "So talk, girl."
I sucked in a deep breath through my nares, jaw clenched so tight it hurt to move when I spoke. "… I've thought it over, and realized I have no choice but to – to acquiesce to your orders."
"Mauloch's sake," Borba rolled her eyes as beside her another Orc woman smirked. "Speak plainly. I understand, but I don't know the rest of these lugheads will."
"I do," growled Magub. I had to bite my tongue not to flinch when he spoke – he was the one who'd come into my home, threatened me. He hadn't forgotten our little encounter either, from the snarl on his lips. "After you try to sick your hellhound – thing on me, you decide to play nice?"
"I've decided it's in my best interests, yes." Keep it formal, keep it businesslike. He gave a little grunt of disgust, but I plowed forward. "I was angry, but you're right. I was threatened, blackmailed into working for the Tong, and I want out. If I've put two and two together correctly, you want to cut them off, too."
Bazur seemed surprised, blinking dully at my conclusion. Magub scowled. Dulfish, however, looked interested. He arched a heavy brow, head tilted. "How d'you figure that?"
"They were supplying your skooma, yes? But you know why they got me to – to poison Voranil. They're planning on cutting you off, now that they've found a Dunmeri distributer. I heard them say as much."
"Fucking smoke-skins…"
"We've been holding our breath waiting for that. Typical knife-eared bullshit."
"I know." I smiled thinly, giving the impression that I'd experienced the Tong's bigotry firsthand, myself. Focus, focus. "And you've been waiting, because the minute you could set up with a moonsugar supplier, you're saving drakes. You just needed someone to refine it, and the Tong handed you me on a silver platter."
"So what do you get out of this?"
"My shop intact, for one." I shot a glare at Magub. That wasn't part of the act, but neither would it hurt it. "… I don't want to go to prison. Even if I did what I did under – duress, I'd hang. And I don't want to be a murderer. The Tong will point me at other targets, sooner or later. Probably at one of you. Making skooma is one thing, but I never want to take a life again."
"Aw, soft-hearted little Breton," mocked Bazur. The other woman elbowed him, interjecting.
"And what, you think you should get a cut? That what this is about?"
"No, of course not. I know you've got me over a barrel, I'm in no place to negotiate. I'm just letting you know where I stand, so I don't wake up in the embers of my shop."
"Smart girlie." I bit down my vitriol at Magub's purr. Dulfish spoke next.
"We're not Dunmer. You do good work, you'll keep your shop and get a little more, besides. I don't care how pink you are, long as you do as you're gods damned told." He leaned further forward. "And if you ever think of betraying us…"
I spoke softer now. "Magub made that message very clear."
"Good. So you can make it?"
"Any half-decent alchemist could. It's not especially hard – if some back-alley moonshine brewers can manage, I can." Again, not hard, but dangerous. I was counting on that.
"We've got what you'll need. How soon can we drop it off?"
"Not at my shop," I countered quickly. "That's too obvious. We've hardly spoken a word before, and suddenly you're showing up at my shop regularly?"
Silence. I could hardly feel my feet, hands tingling, light-headed with nerves but dammit, I couldn't stumble, not here, not now. "So here it is. Borba – you have a warehouse for the store, yes?" She sold far more product than I, and far larger – housewares, furniture, lumber.
"Course I do."
"And that's where you kept the product before, until you could move it?"
Her jaw shifted. "Magub and Bazur help move crates, sometimes. No one questions them in and out to lug things for me. You're a little too smart for your own good, you know that?"
"Just educated guesses." And a little luck. "Set me up in there, for the evenings. I'll meet Magub the nights he drops off the sugar. That way you don't have to move anything place to place more than necessary, and to any passerby it'll look like a – a tryst, at worst."
"A tryst!" Borba chortled, Magub eyeing me with a salacious grin. "You think anyone'll believe that, precious little thing like you?"
I affected a shrug, doing everything I could to keep the humiliation out of my voice. "My most famous product is an aphrodisiac. I've already been called a harlot. It won't be anything new."
"Then I guess we've got a deal, don't we?" The seat groaned as Dulfish's heavy weight rose, ambling to loom over me. "We'll have it ready night after th'next, after midnight. Be there, or we'll find you."
Yes, yes, yes. I clasped his hand, mine tiny in comparison. All according to plan – where they had brute strength and intimidation, I had my wits. I could only pray I wasn't fooling myself. "I understand. The sooner we get it moving, the less risk it gets found. What are you going to do about the Tong?"
"That depends." His eyes narrowed as he released my hand, leaning back with lip curled. "Last time they were in contact with ya?"
"Shortly after – after Voranil. Then a week or so after that, telling me to be ready for more 'work' in the future. Nothing since then."
"Surprised they didn't try to pull somethin' sooner. 'Bidin their time, aren't they?"
"I wouldn't know." It wasn't so hard to feign ignorance about something I truly didn't know. It wasn't hard to lie about something they already believed, to play along. Antoinetta was wrong – I couldn't lie to people I cared for, but I wasn't a bad liar. Not when it counted. Not with people like them. "All I know is I want out, and if that means working for you instead of them, well." I feigned a bitter smile. "Better making poison people choose to take."
A rumble from their leader, head tilting in thought. He scratched his grizzled jaw, nares flaring. "And what do they have on you, huh?"
I pursed my lips tight. Yet another thread of a lie in this web – the real difficulty was to keep them all from tangling or breaking. "… I borrowed enough to pay bail and a fine for stealing a horse. The treasury turned me down, but they didn't. I just never expected that sort of cost."
"Heard about that mess." I hid my relief at his toothy grin. It was working, it was working – the truth gave validity to the lies I'd woven them into. Many heard a rumour that the local alchemist had stolen a horse – none knew of the deal I'd cut with Lord Farwil to escape prison. It was all I could do not to flinch at the clap of a meaty hand on my shoulder. "Suppose that settles it, then. Welcome aboard."
"… So, no one is going to burn down my shop?"
"No, no. Long as you do as you're told, no need." Magub cooed, making me bristle and fight down a glare. "Unless y'want the locals to take us for quarrelling lovers?"
Laughter all around, sharp and jeering as my cheeks burned. "Aw, you're embarrassing her!"
"You got better taste than that, Magub. She's too skinny."
"I'd invite you to stay for a drink…" Borba stood, moving past me to the front door with a lopsided smirk. "But I don't give a shit about manners. Get out. And you heard what Dulfish said – night after tomorrow. Don't make us come find you."
"I won't." I couldn't manage more than that, a whisper drenched in resentment and humiliation.
"Good. Out."
The cool night air was a welcome relief on my cheeks, soothing as I made my way home. My heart, thudding and panicked against my ribs, at last began to slow.
I did it.
Even through the anger, the fear, the embarrassment, I felt myself grin. I did it. They'd swallowed every word, because it was all what they wanted to hear.
I could handle this. I could fix this myself – no Brotherhood, no death. Just a little creativity. The hardest part was over – what they might have done if they hadn't bought my story…
Well. Best not to think on that too hard.
Luke nosed my hand, whimpering the second I stepped in the door, but I didn't have time for ear scratches just yet. The first phase of the plan was in action – now, I had only a day to enact the rest, only two before Antoinetta would tell Ocheeva, or force me to do it myself. Sleep could wait – running high on adrenaline, I'd make the very best of my time.
Down to the laboratory, searching through my cupboards of ingredients and specimens. One gift had given me the idea of the lie – the other would bring it to completion. Pickled slaughterfish eyes, troll fat, frost salts –
There. I picked up the jar reverently, a faint heat warming the sides of the glass. Inside was the little present Sheogorath had given me, the strange, blistering fruit laying aglow like a firefly.
Thank you, Madgod. The thought came warm, too, warm and sweet with the taste of triumph close at hand. Thank you.
What was it the priests always said? The Gods help those who help themselves. Sheogorath had given me the tools to get me out of this – I wasn't strong or particularly bold, but dammit all, I could think, I could twist and trick and create. And with this harmless looking little plant…
Refining skooma involves a host of chemicals, both toxic and flammable. A lecture from one of my many classes, so long ago. In particular, the pure ethanol needed for the final stages of refining can fill the laboratories of drug runners who don't pay mind, and a spark in the wrong place is enough to set it all ablaze. Many times, hives of these would-be 'alchemists' are found simply because their base of operation goes up in flames.
As would this one, if all went the way I envisioned.
Fire salts were too fickle, too temperamental to risk. Imp gall was the opposite – too much risk that the flame wouldn't take. But this perfect little stalk, from the juices I'd tested, burned hot and steady, but slow.
Hardly alchemy at all. A candle, tallow and pulp melted together. A wick, the base soaked in the juices. A tiny, guttering flame left behind after I'd finish my 'work', the slow burn giving me time to get away…
And the smugglers would be out of business, for good.
I could picture it all now, even as I slid on my gloves and set to work. They'd let me in and set me to work. I'd refine their poison, slowly filling the warehouse with fumes, letting the candle begin to burn down. I'd be well clear by the time it would flare and the place would go up in flames, decimating their business. If I was lucky, it would go just as my professor had said – they'd be found out and arrested based on the fire, the evidence of their laboratory left in the rubble. If not…
Well. If not, my three days would be up, and I'd have no choice but to tell Ocheeva and face whatever they decided on. But for now, it was in my hands. I just had to keep it that way.
A thousand worries as I melted down the wax. What if they told the guards about Voranil when they were arrested? But, no – no, no one would believe them. The skooma ring bared, their guilt would be obvious, any accusations desperate denial. What if the fire spread? No flame salts – it would spark, it would burn, but it wouldn't burn quickly. So long as the guards controlled it fast, no one would be hurt. What if they contacted the Tong, realized they were being played? But surely, they didn't meet often – surely, I had time…
I bit my tongue hard, stopping my fears in their tracks. Enough. I had to focus on what I could control, what I knew for certain.
And this? Shaving the stalk down and squeezing out the juices, mulching the pulp, separating and calculating…
This, I knew. I'd done it so many times before.
