Mortimer, page 9
part #6 of Everybody Loves Large Chests Series
“What an asshole,” she grumbled while pouting.
“C’mon, Lyra, don’t be like that,” he said in an understanding tone. “You know he’s just going to tease you even more if you keep reacting to him.”
“I can’t help it, Jack!” she responded while glaring at Question. “He’s just so infuriating. I don’t care how good he is at his job, he needs to manage his interpersonal relationships better! It’s like he wants us to hate him! I swear, one of these days he’s going to wake up with a few less testicles and a few extra tonsils.”
“Yeesh, remind me never to get on your bad side.”
The man recoiled a bit at that mental image, then took a swig of his mithril-plated hip flask.
“Keep using my birth name, and you just might,” she shot back with a piercing glare.
“Hahaha! Sorry, sorry, my bad. Old habits die hard, y’know. Besides, you used mine too, so let’s call it even, okay?”
Jack’s designation within the group was Bandit, and his official post was that of requisitions officer and quartermaster to the Gilded Hand. It was a nice way of saying he was a conman, thief, smuggler, and, on several occasions, human trafficker. Whenever Edward or his inner circle needed to get their hands on something ‘off the books,’ he made it happen. In fact, over half of the questionable substances his boss knocked over earlier were procured through Bandit’s network. He was also the only Monster Tamer in the world to have as many as six griffins under his command. Admittedly, it wasn’t because he was an exceptional individual. Griffins were created and bred to be surprisingly docile and fiercely loyal towards the individual they were imprinted on at birth. A person needn’t strictly be a Monster Tamer to raise and train one of the colossal flying beasts, but the Job definitely made it easier.
However, even though it was technically possible for a commoner to rear a griffin, the law did not allow just anyone to do so. The massive creatures were an important strategic asset, a fearsome addition to any army, and, most importantly, a symbol of power and authority. It was no coincidence that the Empire’s blue-and-white flag had been emblazoned with the image of a griffin for as long as anyone could remember. Thus, for partly military and mostly political reasons, the only ones legally allowed to raise and own the majestic beasts were members of the Imperial Court. Even then, the law limited ownership to only one or two per noble house.
Except that Bandit, much like his codename implied and similarly to the rest of the Gilded Hand’s top brass, didn’t pay too much heed to bothersome things like laws. Which, coincidentally, was the main reason they found themselves in their current predicament.
“For real though, how does the monster that escaped factor into this?” asked Edge. “I thought the whole reason Her Truthiness sent out that divine revelation yesterday was a result of her Hero’s death.”
“Well, Question over there explains that was also that mimic’s doing,” said Bandit. “Gods are not omnipotent, you know. If she found out about what really happened with the Calamity, then someone must’ve told her. And since none of us are in the habit of going to church, the only one left is the culprit.”
“That’s idiotic. Since when are monsters religious? Even if they were, I seriously see no way some idiotic chest would pray to the Goddess of Truth and Justice.”
“Maybe not, but that doesn’t account for anyone else it might have told. A secret that is shared by more than one person is no longer a secret, you know.”
“Yeah, I guess. What’s going to happen to us, though?”
“Dunno,” said the dashing swindler with a shrug. “That sort of stuff is well beyond my pay grade. The boss’ll have to say how we handle this.”
“I don’t mean ‘us’ as in the Gilded Hand,” Edge lowered her voice. “I mean ‘us’ as in ‘me and you,’ uncle.”
Jack was her father’s brother. It was only natural she was more concerned for her sole remaining family member than the shady organization they both belonged to. A half-bred elf like her wouldn’t even be here if he hadn’t vouched for her many times over. Her loyalty was to him first, and she only listened to Edward because her uncle trusted him for reasons unknown to her.
“… Dunno,” he answered after a brief pause. “Whatever happens, I’ll make sure you get out safe. You can count on that.”
“Me?! But what about-”
“Already speaking of dissention, are we?”
The crass voice interrupting the young assassin’s objection was loud enough to grip the entire room. Zone, Question, Hook, Edge, and Bandit all turned towards the laboratory’s entrance where the sixth and final member of Edward’s inner circle stood. He was a tall, wrinkled old man that looked like a desiccated bag of skin and bones. He had a hooked nose, a pointed chin, a bald head, and a pair of tired-looking gray eyes that made him look as if he hadn’t slept in years. A single glance at his frail body and the way he leaned heavily against his staff as if it were a walking stick gave some weight to the rumors that he was well over a hundred and thirty years old. It was quite an impressive feat considering he had yet to Rank Up even once.
However, meeting the man in person made it immediately apparent that the source of his longevity was quite the opposite of a ‘miracle,’ for he positively reeked of Taboo. While nobody in the room was a saint by any stretch of the imagination, he was the only one who allowed himself to openly violate the will of the gods. As such, it was only natural that his very presence made their skin crawl, but they were more or less used to the unpleasant sensation at this point.
The positively ancient sinner’s codename was Mist. He was one of the greatest magic users within the Empire and arguably the entire civilized world. Even though his vitality suffered greatly at the hands of his old age, his mind remained a literal library of knowledge, and his expertise spanned every known field of magic. This included the practices of both Necromancy and Hexcraft, which was why he was branded with the gods’ stigma in the first place.
“I see you got your eyes and ears all over the place as usual, ya old fart,” replied Edge with a sneer.
“Of course,” he limped closer to her. “This is my house, after all.”
Mist’s real identity was still that of Wyndam Clinton, former High Magus of the organization known as the Arcaneum and ex-Hero to Lunar, the Goddess of Magic and Learning. While he no longer held either title, his past glories afforded him an enormous amount of influence and control over the government-sanctioned guild. He practically owned the tower he and the rest of the Gilded Hand members were currently holed up. This place truly was ‘his house,’ in every sense of the phrase.
“So, what’s all this I been hearing about His Majesty’s ire?” he glanced towards Edward.
The Spymaster quietly seethed ever since his earlier outburst, pacing around the room in small circles and pondering his predicament. He didn’t even try to hide his irritation as he snapped back at the old man.
“Have you been living under a rock?!”
“Yes, actually,” responded Mist. “This place is literally under a mountain. You should know that.”
“… Right. Sorry for barging in on you like this, by the way. Question will fill you in on the details later. Bottom line is an Inquisition is coming down on the Emperor’s head, and he won’t hesitate to sell me out to save his own hide.”
“Ah, I see. He caught onto your ‘white lie,’ did he? You know, I did-”
“Don’t you dare fucking say ‘I told you so!’ I’m not in the mood!” growled Edward.
“I wouldn’t need to say it if you actually listened, you stupid boy!” Mist hissed in response.
Indeed, even though he was technically the Spymaster’s subordinate, the former High Magus was still one of his mentors. While his wisdom may not have helped Edward much in the world of international espionage, the walking fossil had guided him through the political clusterfuck that was the Imperial royal court. Plus, he repeatedly warned him of the Gods’ fickleness, a topic he was something of an expert on.
“Whatever the case, the current Gilded Hand’s days are numbered,” butted in Question. “It’s only a matter of time before the public finds out we tricked the Emperor and he throws us to the wolves. Which, I might add, is entirely Edward’s fault.”
Edge and Hook rolled their eyes as the blond man again went out of his way to blame an unfortunate event on their boss. Half of his twenty-page report might as well have been its own scientific paper entitled ‘Why Edward Allen Is Responsible For All The Bad Things In Life.’ It was why his colleagues couldn’t stand reading the entire piece. Even if it seemed full of factually and logically sound deductive reasoning, anyone who personally knew the author couldn’t help but see the bias in his words.
While those two dismissed the accusations as yet another incident of Question’s animosity towards his boss, Mist and Bandit seemed to silently agree with him. The smuggler committed the analyst’s findings to memory and could not argue any of the points he raised, particularly regarding the handling of Boxxy’s imprisonment. Edward severely underestimated the monster’s will to survive and paid dearly for it. Mist, on the other hand, had no idea there was an actual report to read. Even then, he didn’t need some whipper-snapper’s imagination to confirm something his wealth of experience foresaw months ago.
Zone took no sides in the petty squabble. She was off in her own world as per usual, her attention focused on filling out a requisition form to replace the damaged alchemical reagents. Practicing the Scribe Job was widely considered a dull and mind-numbingly repetitive undertaking, but she never saw it as such. She didn’t find it particularly fun and entertaining either. To her, filling out forms, writing letters, and balancing budgets was little more than a form of dynamic meditation. She performed the activity to center herself and maintain the serene state of mind that Monks required to achieve peak performance.
“I hate to admit it, but Question is right,” said Edward in a moment of clarity. “About everything.”
“I… I am?”
“You are. I’m about to be branded an outlaw by my own country, and it was my own rashness and lack of foresight that led to this outcome.”
Edward stood with his back straight and arms behind his waist as he openly admitted his own faults.
“I’m not going to belittle Edge and Bandit for making plans to secure their lives. I’d expect nothing less of them. Or from any of you, for that matter. In the end, we’re all nothing but a bunch of backstabbing brigands who put their own lives first. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this organization to begin with.”
A humorless smile spread on his lips, eliciting bemused looks and dry chuckles from everyone in the room except Zone.
“Which is why I’m asking all of you to make a choice, right here and right now. Will you stay behind and condemn my actions to save your own skin? Or will you follow me once more into the unknown? I won’t fault you, no matter your decision.”
Bandit slapped the table with both hands as he stood up. He walked with wide, deliberate steps until he stood directly in front of Edward, then saluted.
“You’ve always had my back, old friend, and I wouldn’t be able to call myself a man if I didn’t have yours. So long as it's profitable, of course.”
Edge followed suit and stood right by her kin.
“I go where my uncle goes. I don’t care where my journey takes me, just so long as I can be by his side.”
Hook lined up next to Edge and similarly paid respects to his commanding officer.
“You gave me purpose, direction, and the means to exact my revenge. I may have fucked it up last time, but I have faith I will get another shot at that bitch Imyril as long as I have your support.”
Next up was Question, who went with the flow and saluted Edward. It was the first genuine gesture of respect he’d shown the Spymaster in years.
“Even though I say and do the things I do, you’re still the best damn leader I’ve ever had. This institution was- is the ideal place for someone like me to hone my skills, and no other officer has ever put up with my shit for this long. I look forward not only to the day when that choice comes back to bite you in the ass, but also the chance to study the insightful ways in which it did.”
Zone stood from her seat, lined up next to Question, and quietly yet firmly said her piece.
“Because I want to get stronger.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t join the theatrics,” said Mist from the side, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not behind you. Though I don’t know how much life I have left in these old bones, I still want to bear witness to the heights your ambition will take you.”
The show of loyalty satisfied Edward as a leader. These men and women openly stating their respective convictions was so reassuring he felt he didn’t need his Ultimate Skill to believe in their words. Even Zone’s rather selfish motive was strangely comforting, for those were the same words she spoke when he recruited her in the first place. Admittedly, all of their convictions could change at a moment’s notice further down the line, but their current motivations were good enough.
“Very good,” declared the soon-to-be-former Spymaster. “Mist – I want you, your disciples, and those dungeon cores ready to move out by morning. You’ll continue your research at a blacksite outside the Empire. I don’t care if you have to break a few eggs, I want results!”
“Heeeh, heeeh, heeeh,” he chuckled in a dry, sinister manner. “I was hoping you’d say that! Though I suspect we might need a few extra… samples.”
“Don’t you worry, Bandit will provide any equipment or materials you require.”
“Same shit, different day, I suppose,” said the smuggler with a smile and a shrug. “But are you sure my people can do something like steal dungeon cores? They’re not exactly the sharpest knives in the drawer.”
“It’s, uh, easier than you might think,” Edward revealed.
“Is it, now?”
“Just need to hit it really hard,” said Zone with one of her extremely rare smiles.
Mist dismissively shook his head at her crude, brutish attitude towards those incredibly complex magical tools and limped off towards the exit. The Monk heard the unflattering complaints he let out under his breath, which immediately ruined her mood and made her smile disappear. True, her approach might not have been the fanciest, but it got the job done, didn’t it? So how come that old fart kept belittling her all the time? She would’ve honestly punched his head clean off his shoulders by now if not for her monumental restraint. Zone’s main Job was a Monk, a religious vocation that made her knuckles itch something awful whenever that Taboo-branded fossil was in the room. The divine laws he violated had nothing to do with her God, so she was able to look past the old man’s sins and work with him whenever necessary. Unfortunately, the man himself was an absolute ass, which didn’t make it easier for Zone to restrain herself.
“… Riiiight,” said Bandit after a moment of awkward silence. “I’ll just go prepare my pets for the trip, shall I?”
“Guess I’ll go pack up my knives,” offered Edge as she chased after her uncle.
“We going back to the southern continent, boss?” Hook asked with a somewhat hopeful voice.
Edward gave him a probing look. The hooded baldie probably wanted to visit his old Psionic Mentor to get some pointers after the embarrassing defeat at New Whitehall. While the Spymaster wasn’t opposed to his enforcers becoming more capable combatants, he didn’t feel it was worthwhile derailing the entire organization, especially not at such a crucial time. That said, fleeing to another continent was an excellent way to put some distance between himself and all this trouble should things go especially bad.
“Maybe,” he answered. “I’ll need to see what sort of support I can drum up elsewhere before I make a final decision. Whatever the case, the rest of you should get ready to travel around a whole lot. We’re about to get very busy.”
The others immediately dispersed to see to their own affairs while Edward continued scheming. He needed to keep both the Emperor and this Inquisition off his back long enough to move as many assets as possible across the border. Or at the very least, out of the capital. This required a manifesto of his personal holdings, as well as any and all items, equipment, and properties currently in possession of the Gilded Hand. Luckily, he knew just the person for the job.
“Zone, I want you to-!”
*KA-KRUNK*
Edward took a small step forward as he was informing his de-facto secretary of her duties, but was rudely interrupted by the loud noise his left foot made when he tried to lift it. Apparently, one of the vials he knocked over earlier contained a batch of extra-strength adhesive made with slime mucus as its base. He stepped in it without realizing, and it hardened while he was delivering his little speech. So, when he tried to move his foot with his absurd leg strength, something had to give way. It was neither the dried blob of slime-snot-glue nor his dragonhide boots, but the mortar binding the floor tiles together. As a result, the Spymaster was left with a block of stone stuck to his heel.
“Hahahaha! Way to start your revolution, old man!”
Hook stifled a laugh while Question let his own joy flow out freely. Zone merely stared at Edward with her trademark blank expression, though the corners of her mouth momentarily twitched. Surprisingly, even though it took Edward’s superhuman sight to see it, Zone’s miniscule reaction somehow hurt his pride the most.
“That fucking box!” he bellowed. “I swear, I will never know peace until I squeeze the life out of its putrid corpse!”
Indeed, if it wasn’t for one Boxxy T. Morningwood’s actions there was no way he would’ve found himself with a piece of pavement glued to his foot. If anyone was to blame for the embarrassing event, it was surely that fucking thing.
“Uhm, heh, Edward?” Question piped up mid-giggles. “You do realize this is entirely your own fault, right?”
