Mortimer, page 13
part #6 of Everybody Loves Large Chests Series
Rowana’s grandparents were retired and living in some villa well away from the hustle and bustle of the capital. Her uncle on her father’s side had a falling out with the rest of the family and was holed up somewhere on the Republic’s western coast. It turned out that Doris was the old Slyth bloodline’s biological descendant, and Samulus had married into the household and taken on the family name. No wonder she felt so comfortable throwing her weight around. Furthermore, she had been a formidable adventurer in her youth, which helped explain her… forceful tendencies. There was obviously a lot more family history, but Boxxy’s main takeaway was that Keira could not inherit the Slyth fortune without a lot of influential people dying off. They weren’t much use alive either since taking even the slightest advantage of their political influence would also be quite difficult given the father’s suspicions.
In other words, the usefulness of the Slyth household to Boxxy was now pretty much nil. If anything, the daughter was steadily becoming a hindrance to the monster’s operations, almost akin to a cancerous tumor that could speak. She would have been disposed of already if she weren’t integral to the monster’s Facade. Permanently replacing her with one of Reggie’s doppelgangers was another option, but then the old banker would have some measure of leverage over Boxxy. It wasn’t a tasty notion. Another alternative was to have Snack take Rowana’s place, which carried its own set of risks. The succubus had many talents when it came to social manipulation, but she had a terrible track record with long cons like this.
Ultimately, the shapeshifter decided to put up with Rowana’s continued existence, at least until its Doppelganger Job no longer needed her. Besides, no matter how much it complained, Boxxy felt a certain amount of gratification stringing the unwitting girl along. It was a playful-yet-sinister act very much like a cat playing with its prey before killing it.
Almost exactly like that, actually.
Part Four
Jones Alexis was a human male in his early fifties, skin permanently tanned and wrinkled from too much time in the sun. His brown hair was short and greasy, matching his I-am-too-busy-to-shave-more-than-once-a-month beard. His right eye held a dark brown hue, and his left had been claimed by whatever injury left that intimidating burn scar on his face. His lanky, significantly shorter than average figure hinted at a malnutrition-plagued childhood. That didn’t impede his fighting ability since he was a Wizard, estimated Level in the upper eighties. He had a thing for lightning magic not unlike Lady Imiryl and particularly liked using glyphs. These arcane symbols were used to imbue magic onto a flat surface such as walls, doors, and tables. The stored magic’s actual function varied wildly from elementally charging proximity traps to soundproofing a room. Mr. Alexis clearly preferred the former given the rather absurd amount of lightning-infused sigils he laid around the tiny house he was using as a hideout. Any would be intruder that tried to sneak into his little sanctuary would find themselves reduced to a singed corpse regardless of whether or not they were a shapeshifter.
Even then, the paranoid Wizard didn’t fully trust his surroundings. He randomly woke up every few hours throughout the night, screaming and waving his inscribed silver wand around at imagined intruders. He’d remain on high alert for fifteen to twenty minutes before cautiously drifting off again. This messed up sleep cycle made it so he didn’t get out of bed until noon, and today was no different. A few minutes of calm followed his latest manic awakening as he sat in bed, groaning and cursing at the chronic pain in his right shoulder. A fleeting glance at his undressed torso revealed the facial scarring extended down his neck and back all the way to his waist. According to Reggie’s information, the deep wound was a memento of the first and last time Jones Alexis allowed a doppelganger to get the better of him. The incident in question took place twenty-odd years ago and also claimed the lives of the man’s former adventuring companions. That started his one-man crusade to hunt down and expose the shapeshifter conspiracy that wormed its way into every government and authority.
That last part was a total delusion on behalf of Mr. Alexis. He blindly believed in this ‘shapeshifter conspiracy’ even though he had no hard evidence, just hunches and conjecture. Admittedly, Reggie’s syndicate was very much real, though its influence was not nearly as deep as the paranoid Wizard imagined. The organization lasted this long because it quite thoroughly covered its tracks. By all accounts, the interloper’s mad deductions about their existence were nothing but a massive coincidence. Either that or a frighteningly accurate intuition lied beneath his twitchy exterior. Regardless of the source of his convictions, he needed to be dealt with before bumbling into something that confirmed his suspicions.
Unfortunately, Mr. Alexis didn’t work alone. He had a mysterious benefactor that Reggie’s information network couldn’t identify. It wasn’t even known whether this was a singular individual or an entire organization. However, it was abundantly clear that this backer was both wealthy and influential. Mr. Alexis could always afford potions, reagents, and other expensive supplies even though his income was next to nil. Furthermore, the authorities turned a blind eye to his various indiscretions, even covering up a murder on at least one occasion.
This benefactor made it very difficult to dispose of Mr. Alexis. Having him killed would surely tip off whoever funded him, possibly leading to even bigger problems. It was impossible to mask his assassination as an accident, either. A Wizard of his ability would never die from something like falling down some steps or getting hit by a runaway carriage. People with that many Job Levels simply had too much HP to be fatally wounded by such mundane incidents. Mr. Alexis needed to be handled in a way that seemed natural and unrelated to his paranoid delusions, and Reggie’s troupe was incapable of making that happen.
This was where Boxxy came in. The enterprising shapeshifter may have been a newcomer to Azurvale – and life in general – but it had proved its resourcefulness during the war. While Reggie didn’t believe all the propaganda surrounding Keira Morgana, the redheaded ranger had some undeniably remarkable exploits under her belt, as did the ‘elusive’ and ‘terrifying’ Sandman. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that Boxxy was singularly responsible for ensuring the Republic’s victory. If the anomalous creature could do all that without getting exposed, then surely its devious mind could come up with a solution to this Alexis problem.
The targeted Wizard didn’t make its job easy, of course. It had been a week since the most monstrous doppelganger in existence started stalking him on the daily, yet he didn’t show a single exploitable weakness. He was, in some ways, at his most guarded while he slept, and his wariness didn’t subside throughout the day. After waking up, he immediately slipped back into his usual equipment. His gear consisted of a well-worn and thoroughly cracked set of leather armor magically fortified to resist stabbing attacks, especially in the back area. He threw on a long brown trench coat enchanted with a self-cleaning property that kept both his clothes and person fresh, eliminating the need for showers or laundry. Once fully dressed, he swallowed two Condensed Nutrition Pills for breakfast and started disarming the dense array of magical traps and wards surrounding his bed.
His path clear, the Wizard went to the front of his run-down abode, making sure to remove the few extra glyphs along the hallways. On the way, he grabbed an old backpack of supplies and triple-checked that it wasn’t tampered with. He paused at the door, overcome by a sudden coughing fit. The droplets of blood he sprayed onto his gloved hand made it clear this wasn’t caused by the overwhelming amount of dust in the air. He wiped the mess on his stain-repelling coat and exited the building without bothering to lock up.
“Master, the target has left the premises,” Drea reported telepathically. “He’s currently walking due south, the same route he took yesterday.”
“Is he behaving in some peculiar way?” Boxxy inquired.
“Not really. He keeps looking over his shoulder every now and then, same as before.”
“What, that’s it? No muttering or scanning over the crowd?”
“Er, no, not that I can see…”
“Not good enough!” it mentally shouted. “Watch him carefully. Forget everything we learned from Reggie and look for anything out of place, no matter how minute!”
“Understood.”
“Something bothering you, Master?” Xera chimed in.
“Yeah, he doesn’t seem right. He’s supposed to be a paranoid veteran that has single-handedly discovered and killed numerous doppelgangers, yet he’s far too careless.”
The wooden cot, more akin to a slightly oversized coffee table than an actual bed, suddenly began to creak and shake. The mattress – a linen bag stuffed with bedstraw – fell to the ground in a disorganized heap as the bed frame casually stood up while shrinking in size. Its short legs grew longer and bendier while its exterior transformed from dried-up timber to flesh. Scant seconds later, the resting place of Jones Alexis had transformed into a stocky, skin-headed thug of a human. It was a shape known to its owner as Slums Hoodlum C.
“He didn’t even think to check his own bed!” mind-shouted Boxxy in disbelief.
The creature opened its Storage and retrieved some filthy, ragged clothes to complete its disguise. It put them on quickly, then pulled the actual cot out of its pocket dimension. Boxxy placed the crappy almost-bed back in its spot and rearranged the room to erase any trace of an intruder’s presence. However, the monster began seriously doubting whether all this bother was actually necessary as it rummaged through the room’s scant drawers and cupboards.
“There are far too many things that don’t add up,” it complained to its familiars. “His injuries, for one thing. He could easily be cured of his complaints if he put in the time and effort to visit an apothecary. Yet he didn’t do such a thing, despite supposedly spending several years in the Honeydew capital of the world.”
Through Keira’s interactions with Rowana, Boxxy learned much of the medical applications of alchemy, including the shiny substance known as Honeydew. To most of the continent, it was a dangerous narcotic substance with addictive, hallucinogenic, and euphoric properties. Prolonged use of the drug lead to frequent and uncontrollable muscle spasms, outright seizures, rapid tooth decay, and crippling muscle degeneration. These were the same symptoms brought on by chronic potion poisoning, except they manifested themselves several times quicker and with increased severity. Honeydew withdrawal had some nasty side effects of its own, including insomnia and suicidal depression.
It was no surprise that the substance was outlawed in most nations, including the Lodrak Empire. However, its narcotic effects on elves in particular were far more subdued. Nyrie’s chosen could still achieve the same high as a dwarf or human, but they’d have to consume two jars instead of a single spoonful. This was primarily because Honeydew was made with hylt sap as its base and designed with elvish constitution in mind. As such, it negatively affected only a small fraction of the Ishigar Republic’s population. Its production, sale, and use within the nation was therefore perfectly legal but strictly regulated. The government maintained this state of affairs because Honeydew’s primary function wasn’t that of a narcotic, but a near-universal alchemical additive. Mixing the right amount of Honeydew into a potion or elixir during the brewing process granted the resulting concoction significantly extended shelf life and marginally improved its effects and flavor. Distilling it in such a way also nullified its more dangerous properties, rendering the resulting alchemical product completely harmless.
The most noteworthy of these products was the ultimate curative concoction – Rejuvenation Potions. Honeydew was an indispensable ingredient of the elixir, which meant that the Republic government basically had a monopoly on it. Other nations had to pay a jacked up premium to import Rejuvenation Potions, which made the precious pink liquid prohibitively expensive outside its country of origin. It was a luxury good by any means, and yet even those in abject poverty could get their hands on one due to the Republic’s universal health care benefits. Clinics like Rowana’s had the ability to provide Rejuvenation Potion treatments to crippled citizens free of charge by letting the government foot the bill on their behalf. There were certain restrictions, inspections, and vetting involved to prevent fraud, but someone with legitimate complaints like Jones Alexis would have easily gotten past all that. Alternatively, his financial backing would surely allow him to afford a one-time 750 GP expense to just buy a Rejuvenation Potion over the counter.
Yet he did none of this.
“He can permanently cure all of his lasting ailments yet blatantly chooses not to,” continued Boxxy. “That’s just weird.”
“Maybe he’s worried about someone giving him a poisoned bottle?” offered Drea.
Poisoning someone’s food or drink was a classic method of assassination. The stalker had done so on a few occasions on behalf of previous masters, so she had some experience. Admittedly, she knew little of alchemy and wasn’t certain if it was possible to poison a potion, but she was fairly confident it could. And if this were any other elixir, she would have been right.
“You can’t do that with Rejuvenation Potions,” Boxxy claimed. “They’re extremely delicate concoctions. Even the smallest added impurity would ruin it and make it lose its trademark pink color.”
The particular potion was notoriously unstable. It had to be brewed perfectly from start to finish using specific ingredients in precisely measured amounts while stirring just the right way. The tiniest mistake would result in a useless slop whose only observable effect was to cause stomach aches. The difficulty involved in actually making and bottling the stuff was so high that only Magichem Alchemists of a sufficient Level could consistently produce Rejuvenation Potions. Even after it was brewed, simply opening the vial and leaving it exposed to the air for a few minutes would make it start rapidly losing its potency.
“Someone could always make a vial of poison that looks like the potion, though,” Drea insisted.
“Perhaps,” Boxxy agreed, “but even then there are ways and means to test the potion before drinking it. Regardless, it’s a manageable risk well worth the payoff in this guy’s case. It’s only a matter of time before his cough accidentally ruins a covert operation or stakeout or something.”
The shapeshifter spoke from experience as its Chaotic Disposition’s unpredictable side effects nearly blew Keira’s cover several times in the past. Just yesterday, she was completely weightless for thirty whole seconds when she dropped by her guild on official business. If it wasn’t known she was the Hero of Chaos, then it surely would’ve raised quite a few questions. Plus, it would’ve been impossible to cover up since hundreds of people in the street bore witness to a flailing, red-haired catgirl floating away in the breeze.
“I think he’s using the discomfort to motivate himself, Master.”
“What do you mean, Snack?”
“I’ve seen his kind before. He’s the sort of brooding self-righteous asshole that utters stupidities like ‘the pain in my arm serves as a reminder of my dark past.’ He probably thinks he’d lose his edge if he erases his past failings or something, like he’d lose sight of why he’s doing the things he does.”
“That’s idiotic. How big of a moron do you have to be to accidentally forget anyone who wronged you?”
“Humans are weak-willed, fragile-minded creatures, Master. Not all of them can be as perfectly ruthless and ruthlessly perfect as yourself.”
“… I suppose. Even then, it doesn’t address the problem at hand – he’s too naive for a man in his supposed condition.”
The waking up at night, glyphs, and food pills certainly painted him as a twitchy paranoiac, but he was still far too careless. He didn’t secure his place of residence while he was gone, nor did he inspect it for tampering upon his return. This horrendous gap in security was how Boxxy was able to easily enter his hideout and masquerade as his furniture. Last but not least, he wasn’t nearly suspicious enough of people on the street. A bustling crowd was the perfect cover for someone to shank him in the lungs with a poisoned dagger before disappearing without a trace. Admittedly, the old armor made that approach difficult, but that was just a rudimentary example.
“Uhm, Master?” Drea piped up.
“What?”
“How come our target being an idiot is a problem? Shouldn’t it be a good thing that deceiving him is easier than expected.”
“It’s way too easy,” it replied. “If he could actually be fooled by this much, then Reggie’s lot would’ve handled him already.”
Boxxy gave up searching the hovel after failing to find any and all personal effects. No clothes, no money, no notes, no supplies, no weapons – nothing. It even searched with and without its Mana Locator Gland, but failed to find a single piece of evidence that a person actually lived here. It was possible Mr. Alexis stored his belongings in an Item Box, a lesser version of the Storage Skill available to a few enlightened Jobs. It made sense in some ways. That ability allowed the shapeshifter to bring most of its worldly possessions wherever it went.
However, Jones Alexis was a human, and humans had an inescapable habit of leaving garbage in their wake. This one was a paranoid looney, so it was possible he made sure not to leave behind anything compromising. But if that were truly the case, why did he come back to this house specifically? If he seriously feared for his life, he would feel it necessary to regularly change his resting place. Reggie’s dossier claimed the guy did indeed have several other hideouts across the city, but all of them were too run down and exposed to competently serve as a safe haven. The more Boxxy thought about it, the more this ‘paranoid investigator’ thing didn’t add up.
