Chapter 19: The Wizard of Tulisang (1/2)
There was no blockade of the harbor when I cautiously surfaced in the early morning, and the townspeople went about their business in the way you’d expect – completely oblivious to me.
I made my way to Smitty’s before the sun had even decided to show its face. Again, I remarked how this felt like a different part of town. I spotted a group of thugs wearing matching armbands. Were they militia? A gang? Were they finishing up a night patrol or getting ready for a day one?
I avoided all these questions – and them – by taking a detour.
When I entered Smitty’s, a few divers were already there, snacking on fruit or mixing tea. It looked like they turned the front of the shop into a regular café when they gathered. I saw the man who’d wanted to dress me down for drawing on Sid glaring at me. I ignored him. Manny looked up at my entrance and a broad grin split his face. There are some people who have such a knack for being friendly that you’d swear it was a skill they had. Manny seemed to be one of those.
“Hey, Dom! Good to see you here so early! We couldn’t find you last night to let you know when we were leaving.”
“Glad I ran into you, then. When are we leaving?”
“About that … the boss actually wants to have a chat with you. He’s in the back with Sid.”
I sighed, figuring it was going to be about the near incident yesterday. “Fine, but don’t start carving my casket unless I start screaming.” He didn’t seem to appreciate my sense of humor.
I made my way to Smitty’s office – a greater challenge than yesterday, as much of what was brought up from the most recent job had somehow found its way in here. There I found Sid leaning in the corner, his arms folded, nursing a mug of something steaming. Smitty was leaning back in his versatile little chair. I’d obviously interrupted.
“Pardon me, but the word was you wanted to talk?”
“And he has an adventurer’s bag too.” Smitty said with a heavy tone as he seemed to settle further into his chair.
I felt the heat tinge the tips of my ears. They thought I was an adventurer playing at being a diver? Someone who’d jump at the chance to kill a shark, hadn’t he? Well I had my jumpiness earned through a week of dodging and acquiring enemies, and I took the title of ‘adventurer’ as an insult and said as much.
“We don’t care whether you are or not,” Smitty said. “I just wonder why you didn’t have it yesterday.”
“Was getting it repaired,” I growled.
Smitty shrugged. “So, you have an adventurer’s bag and can breathe underwater, and you didn’t mention either of these things?”
My eyes shot to Sid, taking a lazy sip of his drink. So he’d either wised to it himself or someone had told him about my ‘potion of water breathing’ and he’d twigged to the fact that no potion had the duration of the time I’d worked.
I could have denied it all, except I’d looked straight at Sid like a man who’d found a snitch and still hadn’t thought of a better lie.
“How I breathe underwater is my business.”
Smitty raised his hands in the air. “I could care less! Hidden item, family heirloom, you could have stolen whatever you’re using from that prepubescent twat we call a king and I wouldn’t turn you in! What I care about is now I’m wasting money!”
I couldn’t follow his logic, and voiced my confusion as eloquently as I always did in such scenarios: “what?”
“Boy; your bag, your ability … heck, even the fact that you were willing to draw a freaking sword on a great white make you the perfect person to send after the hardest places.”
“Just to clarify: you’re not pissed I almost dismembered your operations guy?” I turned the question to Sid. “You’re not pissed I almost dismembered you?”
Sid sipped his drink again. “Not dead. Besides the complaining about it from the crew I don’t see what the big deal is.”
Well, that was one outlook.
“So now you want to send me to hard to reach places your normal crew can’t go.”
“It’s not a matter of reaching it, I’ve got lots of employees who can reach these places. The trouble is trying to get the cargo back! One man goes down, then has to swim the chest of coins back to the surface? Right, uh-huh. By the time we have a barge show up to winch things back up, you’re running into more problems and before you know it, you’re selling the cargo to break even!”
“But you’re happy about me because …”
“Because you have a spatial bag!” He said, pointing. “You know how rare it is for me to get an adventurer down here?”
“I’m not a …”
“Do you think that a single one of those adventurers had the ability and the willingness to do what you’ve shown yourself willing to do?”
“There’s no way it’s that hard for you to get another bag!” I said. “You’re a huge business! Surely you can afford it?”
“It’s not a question of affording it, the adventurer’s guild locks the production of their bags down tight. They’ve got the government approval to do so; I can’t even make a good bribe to them without jeopardizing my business. Black market is no place for bags, since the owner’s spirit locks strangers out. It all makes me very curious how you got yours.”
“Scavenged it from the bottom,” I said honestly. No need to mention where.
“Lucky you. Most people with those bags had to join the adventurer’s guild and do a lot of favors before paying a lot of money to get one.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all. I got lucky. Everybody gets lucky a couple times in their life, don’t they?”
“Don’t count on it too much, when it’s nearly your lowest stat.”
“You were saying something about wanting me to work for you?” I arched an eyebrow at him, trying to convey that I’d prefer he’d pander than berate.
“Here’s my deal: I send you to the spots I haven’t been able to get a team to. They’re mostly places with a handful of items of high value – I know you couldn’t fit a ships’ cargo into your bag.”
Not even close to it. If it had been possible, there’s no way shipping industries wouldn’t have found a way to break the adventurer’s monopoly on spatial bags. Why commission galleons when you could fill a sloop with filled spatial bags?
“You fill your bag with what you can, and I’ll give you 30% of the item’s value. I seem to recall you’d wanted to work on commission?”
I wanted to haggle for a better price, but honestly that sounded really good and I couldn’t come up with a better offer. I did stipulate two terms:
“Alright, but I get to work on my own time, not running myself ragged to knock out all your projects. I also get to look over your charts and pick which jobs I take.”
He seemed confused by the stipulations but agreed after he’d thought it over. Just by that, I gathered at least some of the information he had on his charts could be found elsewhere, otherwise he wouldn’t trust someone as new as me with it. He wasn’t worried about me taking the information to his competition – but then, if I’d gathered information correctly, what competition?
“Very well, I’ll write up the contract now.”
I stuck around and watched as he wrote up the terms. Either he was normally succinct or my reading over his shoulder made him think twice about filling the document with legalese. I tried to find any ways he could rope me into something else, but the contract’s purpose seemed to protect Smitty from me just running off with the goods. It wasn’t designed to hold my service. I could leave his employment at any time so long as I satisfied I wasn’t absconding with any goods.
Are you sure you wish to enter into a contract with Smitty?
That was interesting. Not every contract was accompanied by a prompt. It was probably caused by my service to Jones – I had to be careful now who else I entered agreements with, as Jones could demand I break all others.
The possibilities of what Jones might demand were starting to fester in my mind. Sure, it appeared that I had freedom, but I felt a type of chain that I’d never submitted myself to before.
I agreed to work with Smitty and signed my name on the contract.
“Very good,” Smitty said. “Come over here and we can discuss your first assignment.”
Smitty wanted me to pick a random ship and he’d fill me in on the details. That didn’t work for me. I wanted the details on every ship. The type of cargo was secondary. I’d get it for him, but I really wanted to know my options for experimentation. After lightly reminding him this was now a term of my contract, he became more helpful.
The first ship he pointed out was a pleasure craft for a rich nobleman a few days travel up the coast. The nobleman and his crew had made it off the ship but had to leave some valuable heirlooms behind. Smitty wanted me to get them, and I gathered that it was more about the political capitol he’d gain from appeasing the nobleman than any true monetary value. I’d keep it in mind if I had any reason to improve Smitty’s mood, but it wasn’t what I was really going for.
When Smitty picked up on my primary desire to know ship types, depths, and days from Tulisang, he began to accommodate me faster than I could keep up. Barque; water depth approximately 110 fathoms, five days sailing. Brig; water depth approximately 150 fathoms, two days sailing. Naval clipper; water depth approximately 130 fathoms, four days sailing. Caravel, carrack, brig, barque …
After he pointed out the ones in a reasonable radius, I asked if I could use a pen and paper. The frugal miser dug out a piece of paper he’d crumpled in the waste bin and the stub of a pencil. I marked down the positions of the ships on the chart along with what type, then had him tell me what I was to retrieve from each. I’d probably forget if I got caught up in playing with my profession, and I could just imagine how that conversation would go. ‘Oh yes, Mr. Smitty, I found the ship! What? Salvaged goods? Uh, yeah, that part slipped my mind …’