Thirteen || Conversations

Mint needed information.

Specifically, what she needed was to get that cube back. In the interim between speaking with the witch and returning to town, she had realized a few dreadful possibilities and knew she had to act as quickly as possible to head them off.

If Mel had not been lying – and Mint had no reason to think she was – then Mint had to get the cube back. The kind of raw power Mel had talked about was somehow more than Mint had ever dared to dream; she had aspirations of conquest and vengeance and righting all the injustices in the world (at least those that had been done to her), but the idea of being able to control the universe – to make things just the way they should have always been – was almost dizzying.

Which meant two things: Rue's innocuous request to use the Relic first was in even greater contention than it had been, and Mel was sitting on the key to retrieving the Relic. The former, Mint could handle in due time, but the latter was far more worrying. Mel seemed to have an idea of what to do to open the box. What if she wanted the Relic? What if she had been waiting for some sap to dive down into Elroy's atelier and bring it to the surface for her?

Mint shuddered at the possibility.

So what she needed was a means of getting it back.

She could sneak out to the atelier again, try to scope out the area, look for any hiding places Mel might have stashed the cube, but chances were she was keeping it in her house and that would be much harder to case without being seen. She needed a plan. She needed to know more about Mel.

So she was headed to the pub.

She had done a little exploring of Carona the previous night and found an alley between some of the buildings, a narrow stretch of street clearly not intended for tourists, so of course she had to investigate. On the opposite side was a strip of street clearly not intended for public use; its location squeezed it between the buildings and the wall, keeping it perpetually in shadow, and it seemed to be home to the mechanical equipment that pumped water into town. There was ample room to move – no doubt for when the device had first been built, and when repairs needed to be done – and the street itself was much longer than it needed to be just to house that kind of equipment. It was clear that the area had not been built for buildings, but a couple of folks had gotten the clever idea to set up shop all the way in the back.

There was an actual shop, or what seemed to be an actual shop, although when Mint had approached it had been closed and now that she was back again it was closed again. Probably just too late in the day, though; she had only found this little treasure just before nightfall the prior day, and most of the main town markets were already closed up around that time, too.

More importantly, however, there was a pub. It nestled in the far corner, well away from the pump equipment, warm light and muffled conversation pouring out of its windows. She hadn't bothered to go in the previous night – no point to it – but for her travels she found that bars and pubs tended to have a lot of information for not a lot of effort.

Even so, it was Plan B for her. She had figured the children in town would know more about Mel than most of the adults, if Klaus' reaction was anything to go by, but by the time they had made it back it seemed to be too late. They were all headed home by evening, and even Elena had disappeared.

Thus, the pub.

She headed inside.

The exterior of the building was nothing out of the ordinary for the town, and the interior was much the same. It was well-lit and inviting, the tables large, the chairs plentiful. It wasn't particularly full – early in the evening, never mind that the town wasn't exactly huge – but she had an idea for the dynamics pretty quickly; most of its patrons were gathered, if loosely, around one area, chatting animatedly amongst themselves. There was definite familiarity among them, and she recognized most of the faces from around town, although she didn't know any of the names.

Except one.

He was sitting at the end of a table, his chair leaned back to touch the wall. Most of the gathering was clustered around him, and those that weren't were generally turned to face him. In front of him was an empty set of plates; in his hand, a half-finished mug of brown ale. His hat was tipped slightly over his eyes, but she didn't need to get a good look at his face; the long and vibrantly red hair was a dead giveaway. That, and his was still refusing to wear a shirt.

"So he comes back in a month," Rod was saying, "literally comes ridin' into town, trying to look taller than everybody up on this horse, and I know this isn't gonna end well because he didn't bother with the horse when I he saw me before. But I get the sword ready, make sure she's polished, sheath her and go out to talk to the guy. I give him his sword and he gives it a few swings, and he's got this look on his face, you know?"

"Not at all!" one of the patrons – older fellow, scruffy and grizzled and still tough-looking for his age – shouted out. "What, you screw up his sword?"

Rod laughed. "Who do you think I am!" he cried, but he was all good humor and broad smile. "It's perfect, and the guy knows it, but he's tryin' real hard not to look impressed by it. So he swings it around a few times and I can see that he's trying not to admit anything, and finally he stops and says, 'I suppose this is adequate'." He tilted his head and assumed a low, snooty voice to make his point. "So he tosses me the money and it's hardly half of what we agreed to."

The crowd is immediately spurred to reaction; a chorus of voices rises up, indignation and laughter alike, but no sense of surprise. Either this is an old story, or they can all guess where it's going.

"Well, I remind him what our arrangement was, since it clearly slipped his mind..."

"Clearly!" another voice calls up, a smooth-faced gentleman dressed in well-to-do travel attire.

"...but he isn't listening, he's already rounded the horse and he's getting ready to just make a dash for it, probably figured he'd be able to get away before I'd counted the coins. 'Course, I figure what he's planning, so I'm already reaching for one of my weapons. Turns out the guy was fast, though, probably pulled the same scam before, and he's already charging halfway out the gate before I can do anything."

Another chorus, another round of muttering, and Mint stepped fully onto the floor, sidling up next to the first person she happened to see– a young man, no older than his early twenties, quite well-dressed for the occasion and slowly sipping at a brightly-colored cocktail.

"What's going on?" Mint asked.

"He's talking about the time a four-fingered man tried to swindle him," he said. "Guy wanted a sword that was very specially made, what with him missing a finger. He's told this before, but it's always fun."

"That's not what I–"

"Shh!"

"I'm thinking, damn, he's gonna get away, but outta nowhere–"

And the congregation called out, as one, "Lucine!"

Uproarious laughter, and a solid wham as Rod slammed the mug against the table. "Lucine! Drives a piece of wood between the horse's legs, trips him up, and down goes the horse and the guy. Then she's yanking the weapon back from him before he even knows what's what and– well, let's just say that she gave the guy a nice little talk and he saw the error of his ways. Even threw in a nice little bonus."

At that, somebody rose from his seat: an elderly man, gone gray and sporting an impressive beard, who had been sitting only a couple of seats down from Rod. He raised his glass, closed his eyes sagely, and nodded. "And that," he said, "was the last time anybody tried to swindle the Blade Star!"

"Hear, hear!" they cheered, and the gathering raised their glasses in toast and downed their drinks. When they were done, they dissolved into laughter and chatter again, although Mint had stopped paying attention to that. She looked at the man she had been speaking to. He had raised his glass in polite acknowledgment, but wasn't quite so ebullient about downing the rest of his drink.

"Okay," Mint said. "So what's going on here?"

"Ah, you mean... I see." He set his glass down. "That's Rod the Blade Star. Every some-odd months he comes into town with a new set of weapons to sell and a new batch of stories to trade."

"Trade."

"Food. Drinks." The man gave her a half-smile. "I hear he hasn't had to pay his tab in years."

"Hmm." Then, after another moment. "Who're you?"

"Name's Neil," he said, and offered his hand. She shook it. "I'm an antique dealer. Come to Carona every few months myself to see if Klaus has found anything new." He leaned on the counter and gave Mint a sideways glance. "Yourself? I haven't seen you around town before."

"Mint," she said. "I have some dealings with Klaus, myself."

Neil suddenly perked up. "Oh! You're one of the folks helping him on his Relic hunt, aren't you?"

She frowned. "How d'you know about that?"

"I was doing business with him earlier. We got to talking." He shrugged. "You and your friend already helped him out a ton, huh?"

"I guess you could say that." She saw an opportunity and leaned on the counter, nonchalantly as possible. "But we've hit a bit of a snag."

Neil took a sip from his drink. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You know anything about Fancy Mel?"

He shook his head. "Not a lot, not personally. But I don't live here." He pointed into the crowd. "Hobbs would know, I bet– he's the old-timer there. The one who proposed the toast. He owns the little shop across the way, sells some interesting magical goods. A bit rich for my blood, but Mel sometimes does business with him."

"Thanks."

"Hey, let me buy you a drink," he said. "Klaus is an old friend of mine. You guys helping him out is fantastic."

"Thanks, but maybe later," Mint said.

Neil smiled and nodded. "Catch me when you want to cash in," he said genially. "Maybe bring along the other guy– Rue? Him too. I'll treat you both."

"Yeah, maybe." Although her heart wasn't in it. Her gaze was slicing through the small gathering, focusing on the old man as he sat back down in his chair, taking another long draw out of his mug. Slowly, she began working her way into the crowd.

"Oi, Mint!" Rod called, waving broadly in her direction. She stood up tall, peering over the crowd, and half-heartedly waved back. "Told you they had a nice bar!"

Slowly, attention turned to her.

"Haven't seen you around," Hobbs said. "You new to town?"

"One of Klaus' assistants, I think."

"Oh yeah! I heard they fought a dragon!"

"You mean Wylaf? No way!"

"Hah! I heard that, too. Something down in the mines."

Rod leaned forward, his chair clattering back into place, and grinned in Mint's direction. "Getting into trouble already, huh?"

"You've met?" one of the gathering asked.

"I brought her into town," Rod said lazily. "It's all my fault she's tearing the place up." A ripple of chuckling passed over the crowd. Clearly they had all been drinking for at least a bit before Mint had arrived. Rod motioned for her to come forward. "Have a seat! Sounds like you've got some stories to tell."

She thought about it. "Yeah, I think so," she said. She yanked a chair out from another table and shoved it up next to the one the group was gathered around and settled right in. "First of all–"

"First of all," said the man in fine traveling gear, "I think we're ready for a refill. Annette! Another round, on me!"

A tall, blond woman leaned around the corner from the kitchen doors. "On it!" she called, and immediately vanished again.

Hobbs laughed and gave him a nod. "Good call, Marcum."

"You've been busy," Rod said, addressing Mint. "What've you been up to?"

Mint settled into her seat again, fully relaxed now. It had been a while since she had been the center of attention like this, and even though she had come in here with a plain goal, she had to bask in the glow. Besides, if she played it up right...

"Well."

And she wove them a story. She left out some of the finer details – the fact that a Relic was involved being foremost, she decided it wouldn't be smart to mention that to a room full of people – but she wove them a tale of her exploits on the island. There were some interruptions, some questions, and some back and forth conversation. The most interesting came from a man she eventually learned was the harbor-master, Davis, who interjected when she approached the story about fighting the skeletal dragon.

"My granddad told me stories about that," he said. "Said Elroy used some kind of bone dragon to drive out the nobility of Carona so he could rule the island himself. All who opposed him were slaughtered by the skull beast." He grinned at her, visibly impressed. "And you guys survived?"

Mint grinned right back. "I hope so, or you should be a lot more worried about where this is going."

"Touché!"

It wasn't long after that, of course, that she came upon their encounter with Mel. She had to do some finagling with the story, but she managed to settle on something that was close enough to the truth.

"So we bring her this thing, right? This stupid gold box, and she tells us 'Oh, no, you shouldn't have that, it's far too dangerous!' and just swipes the thing right outta my hand and sends us off!"

There are nods of sympathy, but the crowd isn't quite backing her. "That's terrible," Marcum said, "but she was probably right."

Davis folded his arms. "Hate to agree, but it's true. Elroy was a tyrant, and they say he worked with demons. Anything of his you dig up is probably riddled with all sorts of dark magic."

"Doesn't give Mel any reason to hoard it," Hobbs grumbled. "Sounds like the little lady can take of herself just fine."

"And if the box exploded into demons right on the island?" Marcum asked. It was a serious question, but he couldn't keep a straight face when he asked it.

Hobbs scratched at his beard. "Well, that might be kind of annoying."

She latched on to the conversation. "I doubt it's demons," she said. "It didn't feel all... demon... y."

"I take it you didn't get the box back?" Neil asked, projecting his voice from where he was still seated at the counter.

"Not yet," Mint said. "We only just got back from Mel's, actually." She looked around the table, although her gaze lingered a bit on Hobbs. "I was hoping maybe somebody here might have an idea for how to get it back."

There was a bit of grumbling.

"That's probably not a good idea," Davis said. "I'm sure Mel had a reason for taking the box."

"She shouldn't be able to just do that." The voice this time belonged to the gruff-looking man she had heard earlier; Mint had picked up that he was an old cartographer named Graham. "They found the thing fair n' square, they should be able to decide what to do with it."

"Not if it's evil," Davis countered.

"Doubt that," Hobbs said. "Mel would've just destroyed it if that was the case. If she's warning against power, that's exactly what she means. She's got this... this thing, where she doesn't trust people to go gallivanting around with that kind of power in their palms."

"Can't blame her," Marcum said. "Power isn't evil, but a lot of people with bad intentions come into it. There's been a lot of tyrants who wouldn't have been if somebody had taken away their toys."

"I'm not blaming her," Hobbs said. He looked up to Mint. "You want that box back for yourself?" he asked. "You're going to need to prove to her that you deserve it. You can show her you're not trying to take over the world or something, I'm sure she'll hand it right back over."

"I... see," Mint said slowly.

"Heck, you might as well just go talk to her in the morning," Hobbs added. "After you've both had a good night's sleep on it. She might figure she's being irrational." He chuckled. "Or you can think of a better story."

"Are you really set on getting it back?" Davis asked. "What's so important about the cube?"

Mint already knew how to answer that. "I didn't almost get myself killed by Elroy's world-conquering skeleton dragon just to have the prize taken away."

"Hear, hear!" Graham called, raising his glass.

"If I may," Marcum interjected, "why did you decide to come to Carona?" He smiled wanly. "The most exciting to happen in months is us gathering around to listen to Rod."

She froze for a second. Chasing Relics was still a bad idea, and she's already made it clear she hadn't come explicitly to help Klaus. But after a few seconds, she finally settled on the truth. Or something close enough.

"Treasure hunting," she said. "I didn't really plan on sticking around, but after I got to talking to Klaus things just... fell into place."

"And you're not done yet," Marcum said.

"Not if we can get that cube back."

Graham laughed. "A final round! For the good fortune of yourself, and that other guy, and for Klaus and his ridiculous research!"

Voices raised as one. "Hear, hear!"

"Annette, my dear?" Graham said, much more quietly, looking away from the table. At some point Annette had taken a position alongside Neil, out of the swell of the crowd but still listening, leaning on the counter. At the announcement she was already pushing herself upright, nodding to the group and bustling into the back. Before she had disappeared entirely, Graham added, "Put it on Rod's tab!"

They all laughter, they shouted agreement, even Mint got caught up in the energy and grabbed somebody else's discarded glass to make a toast. Maybe not a lot of information tonight, but she couldn't argue that it hadn't at least been fun.

Even Rod raised his mug and joined in the refrain. "Hear, hear!" he shouted, and finished his drink.

Then he stopped and lowered the mug. "Wait, what?"

. .

They sat in front of a broad window overlooking the palace courtyard, bathed in the clear light of morning. A table stood between them; on it, a chess board and a small hourglass, rapidly counting away the seconds. Playing the white side was a young girl, no older than fourteen, cloaked in the whites and blues of the royal family. Across from her, playing red, a man in his thirties, dressed in dark. It was a striking dichotomy, although not at all strange; the morning chess game had become a tradition.

The girl bit her lip, wind-red eyes swept across the chess board, taking in the tableau again and again. She swept strawberry-blond hair out of her eyes, looked back and forth quickly, searched for patterns.

Across from her, her opponent spoke: "There is a time limit, Princess."

"I am– well aware, Doll Master," she said tightly. "But one should not rush decisions."

"No," Doll Master said. "But indecision and inaction is just as damning." He looked over to the hourglass set up next to the board. "And you are about to–"

She reached out, snapped up her bishop, and slid it across the board just as the last of the sands ran through. Doll Master stopped speaking. She looked up, somewhat indignant, and he met her gaze. His expression was always hard to read; his hazel-brown eyes were hidden in the shadow of the mask he always wore, an abstract design of red and black and white. Although in that moment his expression was a bit easier to read; a faint smirk was tugging at the edge of his mouth.

She reached over wordlessly and flipped the hourglass. Without hesitation he moved, sliding his rook up the board to strike the bishop, which he immediately set down on his side of the board.

"Of course," he added, "decisions made under duress can be even worse than taking no action at all."

Her shoulders fell. "That's check," she said.

"Ah, sorry." He cleared his throat. "Check."

She sighed. She had been playing a losing game – anybody could see as much, just looking at how overwhelmed her white pieces were by his red – but she had been hoping to put up a somewhat better fight. Experimentally, she shifted the king to a different square, but saw out of the corner of her eye that Doll Master was shaking his head. She tried again – no good – and again, and realized that she had mostly boxed herself in. She gave up on the king and looked across the rest of the board, but the only move she could make, blocking out the rook, would just prolong the inevitable.

"Checkmate," she murmured.

"You still have a move."

She made her point by flicking the top of her king and sending it tumbling. "Alas," she said, "he has died of an undiagnosed heart condition."

Doll Master smiled, softly this time, and nodded. "I accept your forfeit," he said, and went to work re-setting the board.

"Not another game," she murmured, rubbing her palm against her forehead. "You are an impossible opponent."

"We don't need to play again," he responded. "But I hate to leave a board in such disarray. Perhaps assist?"

She did so, although grudgingly, returning the red pieces she had taken and scooping up the white, setting them back in position.

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Princess," he said. "I do have a few years of experience on you, and you've improved dramatically."

"That is true," she said. "Thank you."

"Excuse me, sir."

Doll Master turned his attention away from the board. Standing at the door to the room was another member of the royal court, dressed impeccably and poised perfectly. He bowed, and on rising he clasped his hands behind his back again, tilting his head toward Doll Master. "I apologize for the intrusion, sir."

"Nonsense, Psycho Master," he said. "We were just concluding our game."

"What fortuitous timing, then," Psycho Master said. "There is a matter I wish to discuss with you."

"Of course."

"A matter of personal nature." He nodded to the girl. "Princess Maya, I'm afraid I must ask for privacy."

Maya blinked, somewhat caught off guard. "For– oh! Yes, of course." She rose from her chair and pushed the seat back into place. "I should be departing, anyway. My tutors don't approve of this exercise."

"Nonsense," Doll Master said. "Games of strategy are integral to the health of a nation's ruler. Don't you agree, Psycho Master?"

"As you say, my lord."

"Regardless," Maya said, "I take my leave. You'll be attending the council meeting this evening, Doll Master?"

"Such is my obligation."

"Then we'll meet again there." She nodded to him, then to Psycho Master, and then turned and made her way out the door. As it shut behind her, Doll Master held up his hand and concentrated, and the energy around the room constricted. Errant magic threads wove together into tight bindings, making the room feel somehow far smaller than it was. Their voices had a faint echo to them as they rebounded off the silent veil.

"Come, sit," Doll Master said, absently waving at Maya's vacated chair.

"There's little point, sir," Psycho Master said. "My report is brief."

"But personal."

"Yes. I have received interesting news from Carona."

Doll Master leaned forward on the table, replacing the chess pieces on the board. "Carona?" he repeated. "I wasn't expecting to hear that name." He looked down at the board for a moment, absently making a few adjustments. "I take it this is to do with Valen's Relic?"

"Yes, sir. Another player has joined in the game."

"Of course," he murmured. "What is it this time? Bandits, mercenaries? Another mage?" He sighed through his teeth. "I tire of mages."

"A mage," Psycho Master said, "of sorts. Do you recall our wayward princess?"

Doll Master stopped what he was doing, his hand hovering over a slightly misaligned knight, and slowly looked up to Psycho Master, his expression slowly melting in a grin. "No," he said, disbelieving. "She's there?"

"There, and aware of its significance," Psycho Master said. "She's appropriated a cohort and managed to retrieve something from the Grand Magician's tomb. It may be the key Elroy fashioned."

Doll Master leaned back in the chair, pressing his hands together. "I see," he murmured. "And the nature of this cohort?"

"A Relic researcher lives on the island," Psycho Master said. "I would imagine she's working with him."

"Hm." He looked out the window, giving himself a few seconds to sort out his thoughts, then looked back to Psycho Master. "I trust you've made the necessary preparations?"

"He's been dispatched to Carona, sir," he said. "He should arrive sometime tomorrow."

"Perfect." Doll Master stood. "The princess would not have been my first choice, but she is a terribly stubborn girl. She might be the one to break the seal." He nodded to Psycho Master. "Monitor the situation closely. Keep me abreast of any further developments."

"Of course, sir."

"And I hardly need to tell you to communicate only to me. Keep the royal family in the dark on this matter."

"Naturally, sir."

"Good." Doll Master flicked his wrist, and with that action cast away the magic net, opening the room and allowing their conversation to be heard once more. "You are dismissed."

Psycho Master bowed and drifted out of the room. Doll Master watched him go, and when the door shut he turned and leaned on the window sill, looking down at the courtyard gardens.

He certainly had not anticipated this.