Dare Deep End

The streets were busy and crowded with celebrants as the legion came through the streets. Back from some conquest or other. Not that Moina particularly cared. The redhaired knitter hung in the back of the crowd, her hood up covering the vibrant color. They were just more evidence of the rot that had taken over the Empire. Rot that she hadn't seen or noticed until it was too late. Her eyes watched the spear tips of the legion over the heads of the crowd, like a forest of trees as they walked. Her fingers itched to call on the shroud, to rip tendon from bones. Not here, not now. As the end of the column moved passed, she pushed through the crowd heading toward the docks. She needed to catch the next ship from the Capital and back up to the free-states.

The crowds thinned out the closer she got to the port. Fisherman yelled from the sides of the street trying to sell their catches from the day. A few women and men leaned out of windows, shouting down at the sailors trying to entice them into a brothel with promises of a good time. Music filtered through the doorway of another establishment as alcohol flowed freely. And yet, the lingering evidence of the Empire was noticeable even here were crews of the world lay anchor to trade and spend coin. A pair of soldiers patrolling the streets, spears held ready in hand or the banners that flapped in the breeze. All glory of the Empire, all propaganda. She'd become used to the controlled chaos of Crorefell and the feeling of freedom that it afforded.

Moina made it to the docks proper and after some searching managed to find a Kharsagan ship that was headed up the coast and would make a stop at a port where she could disembark and finish her journey back to the City of Fools. The ship wouldn't leave for two days, which meant Moina had to find some place to stay. Down by the docks was as good a place as any, under less scrutiny with the large comings and goings of vessels. The Empire more concerned about the taxes applied to the goods being brought in than the people.

Heading back to the inn filled with music and loud laughter, the knitter paid for a room for two nights before entering into the large common room where a man with a fiddle was playing a quick tune while sailors and patrons sang along. Paying for a mug of something strong, she found an empty seat toward the back of the room. Lowering her hood, she sipped at her drink keen eyes watching the crowd as she tried to figure out how she might spend the next two days waiting for the ship to leave.

“The Sure Thing?” He blinked at the sailor slowly. “Are you being funny with me?!” But he just exhaled. Of course it was a sure thing! He raised his hands in apology and stepped away before the sailor tried to rearrange his teeth and ruined both their days. It wasn’t the man’s fault. She always liked cracking quips on his account. Suppose he deserved it. Still stung.

It didn’t take long to find a sailor he hadn’t offended to point him towards the ship. Even before he climbed aboard, he knew he was looking for a man in blue. Because blue felt lucky. Felt correct. Today.

“A word, captain.” It wasn’t a question. But he also didn’t want the whole ship to hear the conversation. The man humored him for a moment, visibly annoyed. He couldn’t quite figure out if the captain was tan by birth or circumstance. Perhaps if he could recognize his origin, he’d fare better in conversation?

“We’re busy, boy!” They were the same age or thereabouts. And the sneer? Quite unnecessary.

“Privately.”

Tsk.

He hated that sound. But still the other man still motioned for them to step forward to the bow. He never asked what Trevor wanted, just waved a hand in that get-on-with-it sort of way. Leaned down, arms resting on the wood.

“I would like to book passage to the City of Fools” the captain spat below before he fully finished.

“What is it with you people today?” he sounded like he wanted to argue, but there was no money in that. “Got the ten coins for passage?”

“Not a one.” And he didn’t for the moment. He’d allowed himself to get robbed earlier to avoid killing the fuckers. Still wasn’t sure their death wasn’t around the next corner. Maybe he should’ve just made it quick instead. But he’d spent years fighting that impulse. Thought cut short as the captain grabbed his hand to look at it. “These aren’t rope hands. And you don’t have your sealegs about you.” The same move that meant go on now meant go away. Trevor was good with languages like that. He sighed thinking about shrinking down and going to beg or steal the coin before coming back. Thought for a second. Decided against it. The guy was rude enough.

“I have steered The Beggar’s Bounty through the Death Fog” Trevor had never sailed a day in his life. That wasn’t what this story was about. But he was on that ship. That day. Seven years ago. It wasn’t even the tenth most impressive thing he did in service, but he felt like that would be the one a sailor would value most. And he was right. The captain froze for a second. He turned around at the noise only to see another older man scrambling from the rigging. Doing all he possibly could not to touch Trevor. Rushed past, picked up a couple of things and sped off down the dock. They would never see him again.

Demeanor wholly changed, the guy would look him up and down. Too long. This wasn’t fear, this was recognition. He should’ve used a different tale. And then the fucker bowed. Trevor recoiled from it as if the guy was trying to bite him.

“Get up!” There was no longer any need for courtesy. He obeyed.

“I..um..Sir?” the sailor changed a couple shades as he tried to find a new way of speaking.

“None of that!” He cut the voice with the wave of his hand. “When do you sail?”

“Two days…” It sounded like he was going to add some honorific to it and Trevor was ready to smack him for it. They both stopped short. Good. They understood each other.

“I need a place on board and food. And on my honor this vessel won’t sink.” Really it was a bargain.

“It’s done…” the man was still ending his sentences with a word missing, but they were getting better.

“And I’ll need some money for food and a place to stay in the meantime” He held up an opened palm and watched the captain unstring his purse and take out a coin. Then two. Then three.

He struggled against himself not to let him get to ten. They were paying him for passage in a way. Would’ve been appropriate. Would’ve been greedy too. Six was enough.

And with that he was heading back to the city to get a bed. Maybe some food. Definitely a drink.


*


The best taverns in the Empire were always at the edges. Refugees and sailors and travelers made places vibrant. The state’s idea of fun was double rations on weekends. He always hated working for them. In the first year or two he constantly worried that someone from an opposing side might recognize him and then chaos would follow. But in reality, he was a short ginger who really should eat more. He was fine.

Coin exchanged for drink and bed. He’d forgotten food again. As he normally did. Never could forget a drink. But all men had incurable faults. He’d seen many. This was one of the better ones.

“She’s in a mood tonight.” The words barely left his mouth before the crowd forcefully shuffled him around. Each bump a threat to his untasted drink. He knew it was something horrible and strong. Still didn’t mean he’d let the floor have it. Getting clear of the crowd seemed easy until another slammed a table, drink and all. Luck hated sore losers. He angled past missing the flying drink, the fists and the sharp words exchanged. The conflict was quickly swallowed by cheer. Tasted his drink and it made his nose hairs die a little. The barkeep hadn’t watered it down too much. There was good luck in that.

He tried sitting down multiple times. But each time someone else was faster than him. A seat taken. A drink spilled. He simply made way to the back of the room and sat down at the first empty seat he could find.

Fiddler wasn’t half bad. As out of tune as it got. Still made it sound like a fiddle. Still got the crowd riled up. That instrument always sounded sad to him.

“To good men. May they stay lucky enough to stay boring.” A toast to make the drink mean something. Because the next three probably wouldn’t.

He shook his head and drunk.

Enough thinking for one day.

A body sank down into the chair at her table. She merely glanced his way from under the fabric of her hood, the shadows hiding her features. She doubted anyone would recognize her face, especially in a place like this, but she was still in the Capital city after all. She'd once lived here, when her father had held a seat in the Senate, elected by the people. That had been a long time ago. A long time back when life was simpler, back when all she worried about was the next exam at the Magisterium. All such ridiculously small things now that she looked back. Now that she stood on the other side of the line, a traitor to the Empire. Or so they said.

The newcomer raised his drink spewing some kind of toast. Something about luck. She raised her own mug toward him, even as she felt luck was just a concept pushed by those who needed something to believe in when things went wrong. "To good men." She replied taking a drink from her mug. A silence fell between the pair as the music continued at it's upbeat tempo in the background. It wasn't awkward, just two stranger sharing a space and a drink.

A couple of minutes later, she flagged down a barmaid to order the evenings meal. Feeling a bit more social after she looked at her tablemate. "Are you a local or a traveler?" She asked as she pushed her hood back. The bar was full of drunks and everyone was paying attention to the entertainment, she doubted that she'd be spotted back here in the dark corner and it was just rude to keep her hood up with someone sitting here at the table. Her mother had worked hard to engrain in her some manners as a child and Moina didn't want to feel her disappointment from the grave.

To good men, she said. He drank anyway. If he ever allowed melancholy to stop a drink then that would be the moment the Bitch had won. Realizing he was the sore loser; one corner of his mouth pulled up in a smile. The other was too tired.

“Haven’t seen many of those around.” And he’d lean in as if his joke was a secret. It wasn’t, it was horrible. But it did allow him a better look. “Hear they come very tall, broad shoulders, good teeth and the like.” And dying in wars they didn’t start. The last bit he kept to himself. No need to spit in everyone’s drink.

“Traveler.” The mug made an awkward sound when put down. It always sounded like something would spill. It was a bad omen. “Hard to tell these days tho. Plenty of locals running from something.” There really wasn’t much to it. In the Empire you were either somebody big, or on your way. Those of the third kind didn’t have much to look forward to. Except more of the same. That was no way to live.

“Trevor” he’d announce extending his hand. “And you miss? Where’s the road taking you?” He couldn’t quite place her accent. It sounded like many things at once. Perhaps she’d seen the world too.

The chair creaked as he shifted. Never could hold his place. Staying still only led to temptation. Which then led to correction. And that always meant consequences.

"It's the good teeth that disqualify many." She said, feeling her own lips curling up in response slightly. She sipped at her drink. Nodding at the answer to her question. He wasn't wrong. Now that she been away from the Capital, the Brahman Magisterium, all the politics and the legions, it was more noticeable. The fraying of the edges. How the Empire was neglecting those things that weren't of immediate concern of the senate. How much more would it take before things ignited. Until what was left burned away. Perhaps what was left would serve the people better.

She couldn't help the flinch at the mention of locals running. It's what she'd done, what she was still doing in some ways, but she was ever a survivalist. She reached up taking the offered hand. "Moina." She offered back her name before releasing his hand. "Back toward the City of Fools." She answered ensuring that her voice didn't carry. The Empire and the City-States weren't exactly on the best of terms.

Most of the City-States, Crorefell included had once been a part of the Empire, but had broken away at some point. And as a Boneknitter, well they in particular had humiliated the Empire. Not that it stopped them from employing the unique company of mercenaries when they needed something. Moina only would ever take personal contracts within the Empire, nothing military related and even then it had to be worth it. This time, however, she was here on personal business otherwise she wouldn't have risked being in the Capital.

"And you? To where do you travel?" She asked returning the question to Trevor.

He smiled. A real one for a change. “Glad that landed” Glad to have an excuse to raise up his mug again. “Too many folks too stuck up these days. Scared too.” He was offering a toast, but he was drinking either way.

He didn’t blame them. Strange time. Strange places. And the Empire? Well. One strange fucking land. Her name caught. Moina. That was imperial. It was also none of his business. He was glad he knew himself well enough not to flinch at the realization.

Someone, up there, was snickering.

“We’re in the same boat, it seems.” And he’d take it. The coincidence. If there were such things. He kept his voice quiet too. Doubt anyone would care this close the port. But it’d been some time since he’d been here. Perhaps she had reason enough to be afraid.

“Know this place well?” He glanced to the door. It had been years, but it was hard to be unaware of the exits. “Been a while since I passed through. Not sure if anything I remember is still standing. I have two days and coin to spend as I wait for my ship to leave.” He wondered if the captain would sail early, just to avoid the hassle of dealing with him. Seemed unlikely.

"Seems we have more in common than just our destination. The ship I've purchased a berth in also leaves in two days." Certainly a wait that she wish she didn't have to keep, but wasn't something that there was really a lot of control over. Or at least she didn't have the kind of money that would be needed in order to encourage the lifting of the anchor early.

"This particular tavern? Not so well. It's been a while since I was last in the Capital. Some things stay the same, but many have changed." She couldn't exactly go to the places that she used to frequent. It would be too easy for someone to notice her there. "There was a time long ago when I used to frequent the Capital. Lived here for a time when I was much younger." Before everything fell to shit.

Perhaps not the best direction for the conversation to go. She didn't want to delve too deeply into her past. Not with a stranger. She certainly wasn't drunk enough for that. "Do you have business in the City of Fools?" She asked. There were only really two reasons people went to Crorefell, first to join with a mercenary company and earn coin. The second to hire a mercenary company. She was curious as to which Trevor represented or if there was something more there for him.

“Must be the place to be these days”

Gave her side eye as the mug went up again. Didn’t press her on the mention of her past. Years of living in Vapna. He’d known enough people with ‘used to’ lives. It was never small talk. It was dust. Let it lie.

“Suppose I fall somewhere between hiring and being hired.” Said a whole lot of words without saying anything. “Nearing the end of a very long thread, nearly untangled now.” He wouldn’t offer more. They could bond about their hair, or the weather, or how this drink could bleach the stone cobbles. Anything to not look back. Another swig and it was nearly up. Not enough to forget, but enough for his leg to stop jumping. For his back to stop shifting. Enough to still, if only for a moment.

“Two days, then” he looked into his mug thinking about another. “Lucky us.” He didn’t say good or bad.

“What’s waiting for you in Crorefell?” He wondered if he could keep himself drunk enough not to think for two days straight without puking his guts out. Wasn’t sure it was possible. Still felt tempting.

Between hiring and being hired. Another bit of familiarity, even if this trip had been more personal than business. As a mercenary, she was often in the state of waiting for the next contract. Though as she built up a reputation among those in Crorefell, the time between the wait would decrease. For the moment, the contracts offered came through the guild and she was still working on proving her abilities as a mender within the ranks of the Boneknitters. She fit somewhere in the middle, for now at least.

"Work." She said simple. "It's home now as well." Perhaps a bit too much information. It would be easy enough to piece together work and home into her being one of the mercenaries who called the city-state home.

She took a sip from her mug, the drink burning it's way down her throat. The warmth rolling through her stomach in a way that her heart didn't feel being in the capital. Everything was much too familiar and yet painful.

"Where do you call home?" He didn't give off the look of the type that stayed in one place for long. So there might not not be a place that was home. She knew there was those types. The ones that carried home in a pack on their back. And while she might be out on a contract more often than not, there was something about her that preferred the thought of her having a place to go back to. A home to return to.

Home and work in the same place was never a good thing. He knew this firsthand. But some lessons needed to be individual to be appreciated. So he didn’t throw in a witty barb as she spoke, and simply smiled instead.

Her next question threatened to turn him into a mean drunk.
But no – She would never abide such creatures.
“Nowhere.” Shrugged like it made sense. To people like them, it did. “Depends on the drink and the weather.”
Another sip. Another slip.
“Used to think home was a place, but it’s not. It’s people, and I… need another drink.”
Fuck’s sake man, get yourself together!
Only thing worse than a mean drunk was a sob story.
Allowed himself to remember Barrow and how it burned. A shroudfiend attack they said, but he knew better.

“Crorefell ain’t half bad.” Trying to change the subject without making it obvious.
“Saw a man fight a parrot once. Bird won.” Saw a lot worse than that, but it wasn’t table talk.

“Didn’t get the bird drunk first. That’s what did him in.”