Chapter 7
The Tearoom
"What's the damage?" Maxwell heard the Lytton mumble. The business man had turned to his back wall and moved his logo. The decoration, as it turned out, was a dial.
With it, one of the bookcases moved to reveal a hidden room in Lytton's office. It was a small dim alcove, full of transponder snails. Sixteen little mollusks sat on a shelf with light beaming out of their eyes. With that light shining onto the wall, it showed 16 different pictures. 16 pictures that remarkably looked like images of his own company.
"Dammit," Lytton cursed. This was Lytton's observation room. His own little added bit of security, where he could watch the going ones of his company. And the images were disturbing to say the least.
Hallways were covered in blood. The pens were wrecked and animals were roaming free. And worse, there was a crowd gathering above the docks.
This was going to draw attention. Attention the Tarantula did not want!
"You have to leave," Lytton marched out of the backroom. He started collecting documents from around his office, "If the marines catch wind of the cult attacking my company, and you two were involved," the Tarantula was referring to Maxwell and Saga, "then I'm going to have a hard time convincing the marines of my innocence."
"Wait. I understand why Trevelyan might make things difficult, but why me?" Saga asked the Tarantula.
Lytton chuckled, "I have ears everywhere, my friend. And I've heard tales of your little friend Toma. Apparently, he's a rather thorough young man. Never leaving a stone unturned." Briefcase in hand, Lytton escorted them quickly through the building, "This way!"
There were splatters of blood all over the building, just like the snails showed! It sprayed like paint, marring the walls and soaking the floors. Yet there were no bodies.
That, concerned Maxwell the most.
He could think of nothing good with corpses not left where they were slain. And certainly not where cultists were involved. He even hoped some of the spatters were from blood mages, being facetious with their spellwork. But the imprints of people's feet and bodies in pools of blood invalidated that.
"…Of all the times you needed a Templar…!" Maxwell cursed under his breath. "I'd even take a Seeker right about now…!"
"Seeker?" Saga rose an eyebrow at the mage.
"…Powerful warriors, in my homeland," Maxwell briefly elaborated. "The kind you called down when everything magic went to shit."
"Hm. Must be strong," Saga commented.
"Definitely like Zoro," Maxwell thought.
"Through here!" Lytton led them to what looked like a laundry shoot. "You'll need to take this to get outside. There's a smuggler's tunnel hidden behind the building. You can take that to avoid the commotion."
"Oh, not this thing again…" said Schneider, looking into the hole. He remembered having to exit this way a few times over the years.
"Why do you have a laundry shoot?" asked Maxwell also looking in.
Lytton shrugged, "Eh. Came with the building." Maxwell didn't believe that for a second! "Anyways, Schneider. Are sure you want to go along with this?" Lytton asked his friend, eying the two youngsters. "The Children of Nightmare are no joke. You'll be walking straight into the lion's den if you continue."
Schneider grimaced, as reflecting over what he had seen in the last 24 hours. Cultists, spies, blood magic—none of it was remotely normal! Yet, the pirate grinned, "Hehehe! Worrying over me, Lytton? I really must be getting old!" He had experienced a miracle after all! "I think I'll stay with these two a little longer…!"
Lytton stared at his friend, but then sighed, "Fine. But you're going to need a lot more then what you're carrying, if you're going to survive!" He then held out his hand. "My payment?"
"…Oh! Right!" Schneider reached into his pocket and took out the Treasure Wars tablet they had collected. He smacked it into Lytton's hand, and the businessman jostled it around to feel its weight.
"A pleasure doing business with you, Captain," he stowed away the tablet. "I recommend visiting the Tearoom out on Baron Street. Tell them the Glutton sent you... Expenses there will have to be on your own dime, however. I'm not a charity worker after all!"
"Heh. Cheapskate." Schneider smirked. Then he presented his hand, "Thanks again, Lytton."
"Of course." Lytton shook it. Then he looked down at Buzz, "Keep care of this poor schmuk for me, will you?"
The dog barked and ran around in a circle as if understanding.
"Oi! That's OLD schmuk to you!" Schneider growled humorously.
Maxwell could help but huff out a laugh. Maker, that almost made him miss all the old-man jokes back on the Sunny…!
Still, he shook his head. They had to focus on the now! "Coming Schneider?" Maxwell already had one leg into the shaft.
"Just one second, young blood!" Then the old man bent over to pick up his dog, "Come on Buzz!" Taking his cue, Maxwell dropped into the shaft, his companions following down behind him.
O O O
Meanwhile, in the streets of Maruchi Castle Town, "Damn it! He got away!" our not-so-innocent shepherd had slowed to a stop, looking up at the roof tops.
The creature was more nimble than it appeared. They hadn't expected to meet such resistance from the creature… Nor that the Magister would be visiting Eight-Legged.
The plan had began simple enough. He summoned the cult to provide assistance, and picked the lock. That creature would have been the perfect sacrifice for the Joining. It's unusual blood, a testament for when the Nightmare arrives.
However, as soon as one of his compatriots drew a knife to euthanize the beast, the creature—Mobambi, Battler called it, woke up. It had immediately carved out the offender's throat and roared when it recognized the rest of them as a threat.
And he meant recognized, because the beast clearly had intelligence. Unlike the drug-ridden whites he'd seen earlier, the beast had golden slits that surely indicated a higher thought process. And they had widened in panic!
A mixture of primal instincts and fear had caused Mobambi to lash out. No animal liked to be locked up in a cage. It moved like a jungle cat, bouncing off the walls and slashing anything in swiping distance.
They chased it out of the hold, and would have pursued it out of the dock at full force if not for the sighting of Maxwell Trevelyan!
Two thirds of their number went up to deal with the enemy. The Magister was the priority. Lord Sleip had declared for his head a long time ago. However, there was something in him that wanted the beast. A magnetic draw that resonated with him.
Those that stayed had yet to receive the true blessing. But the circumstances were acceptable, even if that left the rest of them had to chase the creature and no Sleip Powder.
He wished he could say the chase was riveting, but that was a lie. Mobambi was fast and had them running in circles to try and catch him. He felt foolish.
Sometimes it pounced on them, picking off the stragglers that were trying to kill him, but it had enough.
One of his fellow men approached him, "What do we do now, Con—?" But before he could finish, they were interrupted.
"YOU—! Fheh… heh…!" It was Battler, wheezing. Apparently he had followed them! "Just what do you think… you're… doing! …Hoo…!"
Hotdog skidded out from behind a corner, "Do you have any idea what you've done!?"
Hebi was quick to draw his sword though. "Wait—I recognize these guys! They're cultists from that Children of Nightmare group!"
The shepherd looked back at them, "We were followed…?" He had assumed they had gone unnoticed in wake of the blood magus. Then he felt a throbbing in his wrist. The mark was acting up, a recall.
"Very well." Seeing he was pressed for time, his hand flew swiftly. From it, three needles had been thrown, piercing Battler and his luitenants.
"Gah!" It hadn't struck any major blood vessels, but they were certainly painful. "What the hell!" Battler pulled out his needle, "That's it! Now you're gonna—Grk!" Just as he was going for his weapon though, Battler felt his muscles slacken. His knee came out from under him, and his body went numb. He couldn't understand what was going on. Hotdog and Hebi also fell, similarly.
"Collect them," the shepherd pulled back his hair and wiped his face with his sleeve. His skin formally lush and fair was now deathly pale, revealing a long scar over his face. Wiping the makeup also revealed diamond like tattoo over his right eye.
"We can convert the other two, but leave Battler's mind as his own. He'll either be a sacrifice… or bait for our quarry."
"Yes, Convert Joker!"
O O O
The street was surprisingly sparse for this time of day. No one walking about, no carriages, or wagons, just the cobblestone and sidewalk between buildings.
"And… Here we go!" Then a manhole cover popped up. Schneider poked his head out of the sewer hole, grate held it above his head. The old pirate made sure the coast was clear before tossing it aside.
Schneider climbed out of the sewer drain, followed by Saga, who was carrying Buzz, then Maxwell who was slowly getting used to one hand. Just because his hand was gone, didn't mean that the arm was useless!
"Okay, this is Baron Street," said Schneider looking around. "And if I remember this place correctly the Tearoom should be… there!"
Schneider pointed towards a cafe that was on the corner of an intersection. The building was conjoined with others down the street, and thus the cafe was taller than it needed to be. A few tables stood outside on the sidewalk, with iron curved chairs. The entrance to the Tearoom itself was a small set of stairs, beneath a mounted overhang featuring their name.
"Not much of a tea shop…" Saga commented as they entered the cafe. It basic space with more tables, chairs, and a counter at the back. Shelves were against walls, featuring small bags, cups, and other appliances for tea.
However, it all looked kinda cheap. The colors were plain and white, with some metal thrown in the mix. It looked more like the front of a butcher's shop more than anything. The walls didn't even touch the ceiling!
"Welcome, come on in!" A few people yelled a greeting, but didn't pay attention. There was a skinny middle-aged man behind the counter reading the paper. A woman in a bandana and apron cleaning tables. And two kids pouring over a book at a table with some pencils and papers. A tray of cookies laid between them, partially eaten.
Maxwell turned to Schneider, "You sure were in the right place?"
"I think so…" Schneider didn't look certain. He didn't recognize the man at the back.
Still, they approach the counter and the man at looked up from his paper, "Afternoon, gentlemen! What can I get you?" His hair was brown and mousey, with a pair of tinted glasses. He wore something for akin for the beach than a tea shop. Red vest, green shorts, sandals, and a ring pendant hanging from his neck. The only professional thing about him was the name tag, reading: Ochanoma.
Schneider, Saga, and Maxwell look between each other, thinking how to start this off. So, Maxwell decides to take the lead, "We were wondering if we could get something stronger than a cup of tea…"
"'Stronger than a cup of tea?'" Ochanoma looks at them oddly. "Dude, look, if you're looking for a bit of moonshine or whatever, the inn up the—"
"The Glutton sent us."
"Oh."
…
…
…
"Well, in that case follow me."
All three of the kids had stopped and looked back at the counter, listening in to there conversation. "Finally!" "A customer!" Hilariously, the kids finished up what they were doing and ran into the back room ahead of them. They seemed excited to be breaking from the mundane.
They followed Ochanoma into the back room and up the stairs. The back room wasn't anything to write about. It was mostly a storage area, full of boxes of failed merchandise.
The second floor though was interesting.
A redbrick room chalked to the teeth with bullets, guns, swords, knives, machetes, armor, gauze, alcohol, powders, elixirs—damn near every black market item you could think of! Maxwell never thought he'd see so much contraband in one place! They were all neatly stacked and racked on shelves and peg hanger displays on the walls.
"So what can I get you?" said Ochanoma, sliding behind the smallest of the display cases holding an eco-tank of den-den mushi. The eldest son and daughter took up the other two counters, while his youngest sat beside him.
Maxwell was still looking around stunned, wondering how they got it all in here.
"We're on a job," Saga decided to speak up. "We have a high-value target in our sights. However, we have to be discreet in collecting them. Alive." He handed Ochanoma a note with their intended location.
"Bounty hunters huh?" Ochanoma scratched his chin, starting to look at the card. "Liam Avenue, 9–Wait, at the Second Docks Burlesque?"
"We're new here," Schneider answered. "Can you tell us a bit about it?"
"…Well, there goes my plans for tonight—"
"Daddy!" Daisy, his youngest daughter looked up at him in disapproval.
"Kidding, kidding, I wasn't planning on going, Daisy~" Ochanoma leans down to assure his daughter. Both the adults and the kids saw through that ballet lie though.
The merchant clears his throat, "Anyway, it's a high-end club known for their drinks, women, and stage performances. I even heard the girls of Gran Tesoro were performing tonight!" Maxwell recognized that look on his face as Ochanoma mentioned the women. It was that same look whenever the Templars off-duty were going to spend the night in Ostwick.
Meaning there was a brothel involved.
Maxwell deadpanned at the thought. Call him old fashioned, but Maxwell believed in the sanctity of the human body. He may appreciate the female form, may even desire it, but he believed that passion should be pair with love and devotion. Not just chasing skirts!
"You guys though…" Ochanoma looked at their clothing, "…might need to spruce up before you head in. Do you have any dress clothes that would blend in?"
"No, unfortunately," Maxwell looked between Schneider and Saga, nodded their affirment, "We only came here with the clothes on our backs." The mage had to admit, they didn't exactly look ravishing being covered in blood.
"Hm," Ochanoma twisted his lips in consideration. Then he looked to his eldest, "Fine you can use the shower then. Also, Rosa, get started on some outfits for these gentlemen."
"Don't worry, I already have a few ideas~" Rosa went into the backroom, where bolts of cloth and a sketching table stood.
"Just focus on the young'ns lass!" Schneider called after her, "I just need to be on the lookout!"
"Look out?" The merchant asked the pirate.
"Part of our… 'assignment,'" Schneider was being deliberately vague, having fun with it too. "—is also gathering information. They're meeting with a few people tonight, and we need to report what we hear." Their group was also assuming Helsing had contact with the Children of Nightmare. They needed to see if they could tag the cult while grabbing Helsing.
"We have something to record already," Maxwell jumped, in adding to the conversation. "But, we're going to need something to listen into." He was already looking down at the mini-biome of transponder snails below Ochanoma.
"Alright, clothes, den-den mushi…" The merchant took note of this. "What else? Weapons? Armor?" Both Saga and Schneider look back at Maxwell, staring directly at his left arm.
Maxwell rubs the back of his head bashfully, "Any chance you can improve this?" He takes off the fake arm and places it on the glass.
"Woah—Rick, get over here!" Ochanoma waves to his son, while looking at the prosthetic. He now realized how one of his patients was disabled.
Rick, the boy in glasses, came running over, eager to get a look at the hand-and-a-half. "Woah—cool! How'd you loose the arm?"
Maxwell felt his eye twitch despite smiling at the boy, "Giant broadaxe. I couldn't move fast enough."
"Narley." The boy picked up the prosthetic and moved over to the workshop area where there was an anvil and furnace. "Don't worry, I can come up with something far better than this!"
"Don't forget the measurements!" Ochanoma called after him. "Kids… Anyway, is there—"
*RUMBLE!*
Ochanoma was interrupted when they felt the whole shop shake. Bullets tinkled, shelves shook, the den-den mushi retreated into their shells! Maxwell grabbed onto a shelf to steady himself while Saga stumbled. Rick slammed his hand onto the workbench just to keep a few tools from falling off, while his father reached to catch some falling merchandise. Only Schneider and Daisy seemed unaffected.
Buzz just shook like a mixing jar on his paws as he felt the earthquake.
"…What was that?" Maxwell asked nervously when the shaking was over.
"BWAH! HAHAHA!" Schneider laughed outrageously while young Daisy restocked the shelves. "It looks like we're in for a special treat tonight! Creamy Mist just erupted."
"What does that mean?" Saga asked confusedly.
"It means watch your feet as you walk tonight," Rosa peaked out of the back room. She then gestured to Saga, "You first, handsome. I going to need your measurements." Saga rolled his eyes but walked into the design studio.
Maxwell meanwhile straightened himself away from the shelf. "You can ask Rosa if she can graft armor into your robes."
The mage blinked and looked down to see Daisy staring up at him. "Pardon me?"
"You're feeling out of place without your friends and without your hand," Daisy told him. "It's okay going back to basics. Even if that means wearing stuff you haven't worn in a while!"
Maxwell felt a churn in his stomach. What Daisy said wasn't untrue.
He did feel vulnerable without armor and missing a hand. When he joined Luffy, Maxwell thought he was making a fresh start. Throwing out his old clothes, even when he kept the Circle symbol belt. A part of him longed for the simpler days when he was studying in the tower. Robes were a part of that.
But he never voiced those thoughts before.
"Also, mister, why does it feel like you have four voices in your head? Most people only have one."
Maxwell blanched and he heard Salem croon.
"Oh dear…"
O O O
…Like Rosa said, Maxwell had to be careful where he stepped. Creamy Mist was about tonight.
It blanketed the streets like a layer of plush cotton. The fog churned and swirled as the night breeze flowed, but never did it rise above his shins. And there was a definite scent in the air, like a sweet cream you could almost taste.
That didn't detract from Maxwell's nerves though, as he looked around the corner of the alley they were hiding in.
He was looking at a nightclub. More specifically a gentleman's club. Something Maxwell was told to be some sort of cross between a tavern and a ballroom dance floor. The wafting fog though just made the red-light district even more seedy though. It looked more like some sort of fancy brothel to Maxwell… One that didn't seem to have any private rooms…
Pirates, commoners, and fancy-pants aristocrats were all entering the establishment, some were with their buddies, hooting an hollering. While others came in with dates on their arms ready to enjoy the night. And now Max and Saga were dressed up to join them.
Maxwell was now wearing a martial artist's manfu robe. Tailored black with gold hemming. A golden sash was wrapped around his waist to hold the robe in place. The mage also wore some baggy white pants, simple black shoes, with white socks, and he had been outfitted with a new prosthetic.
It was also surprisingly comfortable. On his request, Rosa had been able to line the fabric with some special weave material that helped stop bullets. However Maxwell had the feeling Rosa just wanted to show off her craftsmanship.
Rick had re-created his whole arm. This prosthetic had been much more lightweight and comfortable then then one he received at the palace. It was a cage design, with of some metal called titanium making up the frame. The hand was even adjustable. He got a glove to put over it, hiding the fact his hand was fake.
Schneider and Saga were more refurbished then restyled though. Saga's robe hand been laundered and hemmed, making him look like a proper swordsman rather than some vagabond. He flat out refused to let anyone touch his sword. Understandable considering what it could do. Schneider nearly got a new wardrobe, but it wasn't too different from before. His captain's coat was cleaned, re-dyed, and the epaulets were replaced. He even had received a new white shirt, black pants, and boots, making him look more like an old soldier—If he wore it straight.
Buzz just enjoyed the bath he got.
Maxwell turned back into the alley. "We have to go in there?" the mage asked, unsure about entering the club.
"Yep, and we're sending you two in with this little guy!" Schneider presented a baby den-den mushi to Maxwell. They had all agreed they needed something to spy on Helsing with. Thankfully, they were able to buy a twin set from the Tearoom.
Their hope was to get close and capture Helsing while she was meeting with the Children of Nightmare. However, they all understood they might not find the cult tonight. So, they needed a way to spy on her and tail her afterwards.
That's where the transponder snails came in. "All you need to do is get close, magic this little guy somewhere it can hear her, and I'll listen in on all their plans!"
"Yeah, but..." Their spy equipment was going to be a bit of relay. Schneider was going to listen in on the snail, while Mordred listened with them. Mordred would then relay what he heard to Maxwell, while Salem wrote it down for Saga's sake.
He had planned on lending Mineive's hilt for Schneider to listen in on, but the desire demon flat out refused.
"Ugh, you'll be fine," Saga told the mage. "Just put on the glasses."
Maxwell scowled and put on the giant spectacles. Not that he didn't mind the look, the glasses actually looked a bit like Coby's. With the glasses and Salem's grimoire on his hip, he was meant to look like a scholar or record keeper… Or as Schneider liked to call him, "a nerd!" He was more worried about what they were stepping into.
They had watched a few bouncers asking clients to surrender they weapons before entering. As they couldn't risk having their own weapons confiscated, they would have to stick with hidden weapons until the end. Saga had been reluctant to surrender the Shichiseiken, Schneider offering to hold onto it. It would have been too obvious to try and smuggle in, so he settled for having his tanto dagger stuck in his robes.
Maxwell kept Mineive's wand in the folds of his sash. She really didn't want to be left behind.
"And for good reason!" Mineive shouted in Maxwell's head. "I refuse to be a chew toy for that slobbering mongrel!"
"Ah yes. Because using the stick up your ass for the dog to play fetch with would be so unfortunate!" Mordred then sighed dramatically, "Whatever shall we do?"
"WHY YOU—!"
"Come on, let's get this over with," Saga grabbed Maxwell by the shoulder, knocking him out of his mental communication, and started walking out of the alley.
"Good luck fella's!" Schneider called after them.