Chapter Two
With all the new building and repairs, Fallon almost didn't recognise the streets and feared she had forgotten how to find the Guildhall. She'd accidentally walked all the way down to the waterfront and realised she'd missed the turnoff through the alley. She looked around at the fishermen preparing their boats for the day and people milling about under the broken gazebo– the waterfront area had suffered the worst damage and had yet to be repaired. She retraced her steps and walked down a street that she thought was the way to the Guildhall. Then she realised why it was so unfamiliar– an entire building was missing, presumably destroyed. They've probably moved their base, or maybe it completely caved in and they're all dead? Just as the thought occurred to her, she saw a young boy– a teenager– milling about on the corner on the other side of the rubble. His eyes darted between her and an opening in a wall behind him. Ah, there it is. She approached the opening and was struck by the memory of finding the Guildhall. It looked different now without the shade of the other building. No longer an eerie alleyway, but drowning in open sunlight.
"Oi, get lost. This area ain't for you," she detected a hint of hesitation in his voice. The boy milling on the corner– a lookout. Back when she'd first found this place, there were far tougher, scarier cutthroats guarding. He was barely an adult, and wore his dagger on the front of his belt, as if to flaunt it. A real cutthroat would want the element of surprise. They're struggling with recruitment. Fallon thought
"Astral Toad." She said nonchalantly.
"Wh-what?"
"Astral Toad," she repeated, looking him in the eyes with a deadpan expression. His face soured.
"Don't fuck with me lady!" he unslipped the dagger. Fallon made a show of rolling her eyes.
"By the Hells, did they not tell you the passcode boy? What kind of operation are you people running here? Amateurs."
"Nice try, but there ain't no passcode here." Fallon crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him.
"Then why in the fuck did Nine Fingers give me a passcode. Are you saying she's forgotten to tell you, or did you forget?" Fallon gambled everything on Nine Fingers still being alive and still being in charge. Fallon guessed her gamble paid off by the way his eyes widened when she mentioned her name.
"Oh, right, the passcode. Yeah go on in." He waved her by. Fallon headed towards the door.
"Oi lady, don't uh– don't mention this to Nine Fingers. She ain't need to know about this." Fallon looked away and headed inside.
She had been struck by the familiarity of the smell. The salty, dewey odour invaded the senses. Torchlight scattered shadows around the dark cavern and voices echoed off the cave walls. As she walked past the muddy pit, she tried recognising some of the people working, but none of them struck her memory. She didn't spend much time around the Guild four years ago but she figured she'd at least recognise a face or two. As she approached the stairs to Nine Fingers' office, a familiar voice echoed from above. Ascending them, the voice became clearer– they were arguing with another person.
"When I say 'Don't touch anything but the tome, I really mean 'Don't touch fucking anything except the fucking tome!'"
"You didn't tell me the place was fookin' boobytrapped. My skin is scorched, I don't have enough healing potions for this!"
"Well if you had listened to my gods-damned instructions, you wouldn't have been burnt, you moron."
Fallon reached the top of the stairs that opened to a dingy bar lit by a few torches. Even in the candlelight she recognised her immediately– although she looked far more grown.
"Mol?" the rouge skinned Tiefling's eyes shot up.
"What!" she narrowed her burning eyes at Fallon. With her face lit up by the torchlight Fallon could see just how much the young Teifling had grown. Taller, more mature features but still the same red-hot eyes. She wasn't comely, but that was her own doing thanks to how ratty she kept her hair and the old leather armour she wore.
"Molerat, don't tell me you've already forgotten about me," a quizzical look melted her rough features at the mention of her teasing nickname.
"Fart Face?" Fallon chuckled. The memory of meeting with Mol for the very first time in the Druid's Cove flashed behind her eyes.
"Fallon? What kind of name is Fallon? Sounds stupid"
"It's the name my parents gave me, you should take it up with them."
"Well it's a stupid name."
"Well, the people at the camp have started calling me Tracker, so you can use that if you'd prefer."
"That's stupid too. I'll just call you Fart Face, sounds like Fallon but funnier… and you look like a Fart Face."
That felt like another lifetime.
"We all thought you were dead?" Mol brought her back to the present time, she walked up to Fallon, completely ignoring the other Tiefling she had just been chiding, "Although I am happy to see that you are very much alive," Mol slapped her arm, "You just made me a hundred squids."
"Have I now?" Fallon smirked. Of course this kid is still hustling.
"Nine Fingers made a bet that you were dead, I said you were alive. Was starting to think she was right. But here you are, in the flesh. Good thing too, I haven't got that many squids."
"Making a bet you can't possibly pay, with a criminal overlord, what could possibly go wrong?" seeing Mol's second healthy eye was further reminder of the Teilfling's insistence to make debts she couldn't possibly pay. She wondered if Mol ever did pay off Raphael or if the Devil would be coming to collect any day now.
"I reckon she forgot all about it honestly, but now that you're here we better go remind her of it," Mol winked.
"Speaking of Her Excellency, is your boss around." Mol nodded to the door on her right.
"Sitting on her throne as we speak. Come on." Fallon followed behind her, wary not to step on her swishing tail. As she opened the door she loudly yelled out.
"You owe me a fat purse."
Nine Fingers didn't look up, quill in one hand and papers scattered on the table.
"And you owe me a very expensive, important tome. I hope you're making progress on that."
"The dumb-dumbs are going back tonight, now that Sidney blew up all the damn traps, but you owe me a hundred still. Look who dragged their corpse down to visit us." Mol stepped aside and Fallon entered the study. Nine Fingers looked up, if she had been surprised, she hid it well.
"Well well, either you're a zombie, a doppelganger, or I really do owe this brat a hundred gold."
"You better cough it up or you'll be No Fingers soon," Mol put her palm out to the stone-faced crime lord. Nine Fingers nodded to the door and Mol poked out her tongue but left the two women alone.
"You've really rubbed off on her." Fallon noted. Nine Fingers stood up and organised the papers on her desk into a neat stack– she clearly didn't want prying eyes to see what she was working on.
"She's got guts. Too much in fact. But these days I'm in short supply of that kind of pluckiness," she walked onto the other side of the desk and leaned against it, putting a barrier between Fallon and the paperwork, "but you're not here to discuss the little She-Devil, you're here because you need something so out with it." Fallon felt relieved, she appreciated not having to give a whole story about leaving, travelling and returning. Nine Fingers was always a straight to the point, business first kind of woman. No need for pleasantries. Despite the relief, her curtness did catch her off guard, that for a brief moment Fallon forgot what the Hells she did come here for. Her mind worried and fretting about how to tell the story of why she ran away she wasn't prepared for the next part. The letter, the damned letter.
"Did you really think I was dead?" Nine Fingers cocked her head and studied Fallon, assessing her, measuring her.
"Not dead, just gone. The bet I made with Mol was theatrics. It's better for business if you're dead. Or people think you're dead"
"How so?"
"You were edging dangerously close to mythical. The stories about you were beginning to sound almost unbelievable. If I hadn't personally met you myself and seen you in action I might have believed you truly were a mythical legend. You took on The Dead gods-damned Three and won."
"Well the stories are exaggerated but I get your point, but how is that bad for business?"
"Because it makes people lazy and idle. They think they can rely on someone else to clean up the mess. The whole damn city was destroyed and I had the means to make a lot of coin off that fact– but I needed people to take matters into their own hands and not sit around waiting for the fucking myth to show up and guide them to a better life."
"The Stone Masters, that's your business. You hired the Tieflings?"
"Yes, a lot of coin to be made in rebuilding destroyed cities. People want it done quickly and are willing to pay the price for it," she gave a lazy smirk, "and it's completely legal. I wanted cheap labour, the Teiflings wanted a new life. Win-win."
"Did you know where I was?"
"I knew you were in the High Moors for a while, lost your scent after that. Figured you were hiding for one reason or another." She sounded almost bored.
"So you didn't send me a letter?" She arched an eyebrow– a very subtle sign that her interest was piqued.
"Letters get intercepted, if I wanted to talk to you, I would have sent an agent." Fallon considered her words for a moment. The vagueness of the letter seemed like Guild business and the fact that whoever sent it knew exactly where she was. Although what the Guild could have possibly wanted with her was a mystery. Hearing that it wasn't Nine Fingers wasn't a complete surprise, but her list of suspects was embarrassingly short.
Nine Fingers held out her hand.
"Let me see it, maybe I'll recognise the handwriting." Fallon didn't hesitate. The Guild had a lot of resources and contacts in the city. She didn't want to wait around for this person to find her, she needed to be two steps ahead– always. Nine Fingers eyes scanned the letter several times.
"No signature, no instructions, no information. Just 'come to the city or you might die'," she flipped it over in her hands, as though looking for secret markings, "and you actually fucking came. Why?"
"I guess I was just waiting for an excuse to come back. Had been thinking about it for a while." I was scared for fucking life and didn't want to be alone. The way Nine Fingers narrowed her eyes made Fallon think she saw straight through her lie. She would have thought she'd heard her thoughts with a Detect Thoughts but Fallon knew the crime lord didn't even need magic to spot a lie.
"You should go to Lorroakan's Tower. Ask to speak to him about a tiara," she handed the letter back, "he's probably the next clue in your puzzle." Fallon furrowed her brows.
"Lorroakan? He's dead. I watched Dame Aylin cut his head off like it was her divine duty." Nine Fingers went back around the desk, sat done and dabbed her quill in ink.
"Go to Lorroakan's Tower, ask to speak to him," she shook the excess ink from the quill, "about a tiara." Fallon understood the message, meeting over.
"Thanks for the help," she said as she left the room. Nine Fingers mumbled and waved her out. She passed her personal guards and found Mol at the bar.
"That was short."
"We got straight down to business." Mol yawned and hopped off the bar stool.
"I'll show you out."
Passing back through the cavern, Mol monologued about her criminal career. She started out selling crap to the other Guild members then moved up to cut purse, then burglary and now was the boss of a small team that ran errands for Nine Fingers, nothing too special or important, but Mol was certain that Nine Fingers was grooming her for something better in the future.
"How old are you Mol?" Fallon asked as they reached the entrance.
"Fifteen, or sixteen, I dunno," she shrugged.
"You've got your whole life ahead of you still, you don't have to be a criminal. You're talented and resourceful. You could be anything you wanted."
Mol crossed her arms and glared at Fallon.
"I don't want to work for some other twat, begging for scraps. I'm good at this. I'm not here because I'm desperate, I'm here because this is what I want to do." She opened the door, Fallon squinted against the intrusive sunlight.
"All I'm saying–"
"Well don't say it. Because I don't want to bloody hear it." Fallon walked past her. Mol yelled out to her once she was outside.
"Why the change of heart? You used to tell me that joining the Guild was a smart idea, now you're bloody lecturing me?"
"Back then I just wanted you to be safe and the guild was as safe as you'd ever be. Crime for survival isn't a bad idea, but now you can actually make choices." Mol snorted.
"You're so motherly now, I liked it when you were killing folk. See you later, Fart Face."
"Stay safe Molerat."
"Pfft, you stay safe, you're the one that pissed off three crazy Gods." she winked and closed the door. Yeah thanks for reminding me.
By the time she reached Lorroaken's Tower, the sun had reached its zenith. The heat of day dimmed the crowd as people sought shade and refreshment. Sorcerous Sundries was quiet, with a bored looking half-orc at the counter. Fallon approached her, feeling stupid already for what she had to ask.
"Is… Lorroaken in today?" the image of Fallon grabbing Lorroaken from the ground as he begged and cried and shoving him towards the demi-god who swiftly swung her sword and made the cleanest beheading that Fallon had ever seen flashed in her mind.
The half-orc pointed to the stairs.
"Thanks." She headed up the staircase that wrapped around the central counter. As she approached an illusion of Lorroaken and his smug smile appeared.
"Welcome to Lorroaken's Tower, please state your business. Only business of the utmost importance will be granted an audience." the illusion pointed at his right eye and winked. Fallon cocked her head. Lorroaken was not a charming nor performative person. The wink was strange.
"I'm here to talk about a–" she rolled her eyes, "a tiara." The illusion smiled and a portal opened up beside it.
"Most excellent, please step through the portal." Fallon studied the illusion one last time– he seemed likeable, Lorroaken was not someone that strove to be liked by people– in her little experience of the wizard. She stepped through the portal, like she had done once before, and appeared at the top of the tower. Behind her was a window showing the dizzying height of the building. She forced herself not to look out of it. Ahead she could see a figure walking about Lorroaken's library. There was a large map of the entire city hanging on the wall, with places of interest noted, though none of it meant anything to her. She approached the man walking between the bookshelves- an open tome in one hand, the other skimming the spines of the books. He wore an elegant green robe with golden trimming. When he appeared from between the shelves, Fallon immediately recognised the beard and the curly brown hair.
"Gale?"