Chapter 9 - A Token of Worth
Lucien wiped the blood from his blade; it seemed that Mehrunes Razor still worked here, wherever here was, as he had felt the familiar tingle when Mehrunes Dagon claimed another soul.
Stepping over the corpse of the unfortunate man Shaila was supposed to marry (though upon meeting him, Lucien could fully understand her desperation – the man positively reeked), the assassin strode from the council building under cover of an invisibility spell. Slipping silently between the two guards posted at the entrance to the building, he vanished into the winding streets, making his way back to his hideout.
He was just passing a small and lively looking tavern, when he saw what was unmistakeably an artist's rendition of his face, staring back at him from a sheet of paper on the ground. The picture was surrounded by text, leaving Lucien in little doubt that this was a newspaper article of some kind. Blinking incredulously, he read the headline:
Mystery Foreigner The New Queen of Kush?
He cursed. Now every client he met would recognise him as their new queen! To say that this would be bad for business would be a pitiful understatement. How was he supposed to appear menacing when people were visualising him in a crown and a dress?
Grabbing the paper from the floor, he cursed again as this action dispelled his invisibility. A couple of drunks gasped, and began to point. Renewing his invisibility, he stormed off; the rational part of his mind wondering if people would be able to follow the noise made by the grinding of his teeth.
Contacts! He seethed. I need contacts. How am I supposed to function here completely bereft of information?
He was halfway to his underground lair, when he turned about suddenly, and made instead for the home of the pawnbroker he had duped into buying a bogus scroll. The man himself was not the kind of person Lucien was interested in; someone like that would never be able to keep his mouth shut. But surely he would know someone who could?
xox
"A chip dip, my lady?" droned Haskill.
"No, no, no." said Loria. "Well, yes, maybe. But we'll need something else as well. Something impressive. Oooh, roast Daedroth?"
"I believe the meat can be somewhat rubbery, my lady."
"Winged Twilight a l'orange?"
"Might that not offend Azura?"
"Fillet of Ogrim, then," Loria decided.
"But Malacath – "
"Oh, who cares what Malacath thinks?" Loria cut short Haskill's objection.
"Very well, Lady Sheogorath. Ogrim it is."
Loria twirled a lock of blue black hair around her finger absently. "Haskill?"
"Yes, my lady?"
"Nothing."
Haskill narrowed his eyes. A protracted pause, and then –
"Haskill?" she said again.
With a long suffering sigh, Haskill said again "Yes, Lady Sheogorath?"
"Do you think the other Daedra Lords are planning something nasty?"
"Yes, Sheogorath." Came Haskill's bored reply. "Especially Molag Bal. And Sanguine. Malacath won't like the Ogrim, but as you so eloquently said: 'who cares what Malacath thinks?' Oh don't pout, my lady."
Loria scowled.
xox
"Aye, I know the one you need," wheezed the pawnbroker, eyeing Lucien curiously as they stood again in his meeting room. A glass of dark liquor stood untouched in front of the assassin. "Lady named Chaiya, lives up on the north side o' town. Watch out for drunks. And crazy folks," the broker took a swig from his own glass, then began to trace a crude map in the putrefaction coating the table top.
"Excellent," smiled Lucien, his gloved hand placing a small bag of coins on the filthy countertop. "I must take my leave."
He turned swiftly to go, but was held back by a bony hand with thick, long, yellow nails. Perhaps the pawnbroker noticed the dangerous twitch of Lucien's mouth, because he let go immediately.
"You'll be needing this," he held up a tarnished silver coin, embossed with a strange symbol. "So she knows you're a friend." Lucien took the coin without a word and swept out of the decaying house.
Standing on the corner of the street, Lucien pondered his next move. A plan had begun to form itself in his mind regarding his predicament with his unwanted fame, and he was eager to pursue it, but he forced himself to turn north instead, towards his new contact. He had been acting without intel for far too long, it was time to regain control.
He marched swiftly through the streets, following the directions given to him by the pawnbroker. Gradually the tidy stone houses gave way to more run down buildings, rubbish was strewn in the streets, and mangy old dogs lingered on street corners. The strange stars shone bright in the sky, and Lucien had just raised his head to observe them, hoping to find some familiar pattern, when something flew over his head and smashed against the wall to his left.
Instinctively, Lucien looked left to see what had smashed – it was a bottle – and paid for it by receiving another in the back. Pulling out the Razor, Lucien turned to his attacker – a drunken man sporting a ludicrous cape, but was shoved viciously from behind, and tumbled to the floor. Somewhat dazed, he heard sounds that could only be described as a demented chicken. Picking himself up, he turned to face whatever had shoved him, but caught two hands in the chest and was knocked over backwards, Mehrunes Razor flying out of his hand. He got a good look at this second foe; a twisted, half-starved lunatic.
Fuming with rage and indignity, whilst the retard advanced on him yet again, Lucien cast a strong chameleon spell, leapt up and retrieved the Razor. Itching as he was to finish off the fools stupid enough to attack him, he decided that more publicity was not what he needed right now, so slipped away, the pawnbroker's words echoing in his head: watch out for drunks and crazy folks.
No one in Tamriel, not even drunks and crazy people, would have assaulted a man armed to the teeth and cloaked in black, prowling the streets in the dead of night. They were all too afraid of the Dark Brotherhood. These people were just not afraid. But they will be, thought Lucien, his frustrated snarl twisting into an evil grin. They will be.
xox
"Streamers, balloons, party poppers," Loria counted them off on her fingers, "glow sticks, bubble machine, Vodka jelly…" she frowned in concentration.
"Fireworks, my lady?" suggested Haskill.
"Absolutely!" she beamed. "Glitter spray, sparklers, confetti, chocolate fountain, champagne pyramid…"
"The bouncy castle is here, my lady," interrupted Haskill.
"Set it up outside!" she said. "Have the lighting mages arrived yet?" Haskill shook his head. "Tell them I want UV inside, and Technicolor outside. Make sure the magnification spells are in place, so the bards will be heard all over the palace. Is so-and-so back with my outfit yet?"
"Not yet, my lady Sheogorath," said Haskill. "You know, I'm not sure fancy dress is quite the thing –"
"You're just jealous that you didn't think of it!" she yelled, as a pair of scissors snipped happily around the chandelier.
xox
"I'm here to see Chaiya," said Lucien, black hood drawn low over his face. As the wind blew, he caught another whiff of the alcohol that had soaked his robes when he had been hit with the bottle. Apparently the guards he was talking to smelled it as well, as they crinkled their noses. Lucien flashed the coin the pawnbroker had given him clearly in front of their eyes, and with a flick of the wrist stowed away it again.
The guards, who had seemed about to protest, merely nodded and stepped aside at the sight of the token. Chaiya's abode appeared to be a dilapidated old warehouse, mildew coating the walls, which were crumbling in places. Preparing himself for another assault on his senses, he stepped through the rotting old front door.
Into an elegant and immaculate hallway. The floor was laid with large tiles made of a stone which resembled alabaster; the walls were a pale cream, and flawless. A butler approached Lucien as he entered.
"I desire an audience with Chaiya," he said in his most authoritative tone. The Butler bowed slightly, and gestured for Lucien to follow.
"Right this way, sir," he said. Apparently the token the pawnbroker had given to him was worth something after all. He was lead into a room dominated by a marble fountain, the water from which threw a dancing pattern on the ceiling. Lucien noted with surprise that there was a small channel running from the fountain basin out through a hole in the far wall.
"Chaiya will be with you shortly," he said.
Lucien chose a likely looking shadow to wait in, and went over in his mind what he was here to find out, his thoughts periodically punctured by curiosity about his newest contact.
A/N: The drunks and retards depicted in this chapter are borrowed from the game Assassin's Creed, by Ubisoft; they're marvellously enraging. Apologies to anyone offended by the use of the word 'retard', but there really aren't that many politically correct terms for 'crazy person' – no offence was intended.