Chapter 258: Opening

Chapter 258: Opening

“Sixth floor, please,” Mlem said cheerily to the attendant, negotiating the modest hand cart he’d purchased in the foreign market through the lift gate.

“We stop at every floor, outsider,” said the lift operator, stifling an enormous yawn.

“Seriously?” Mlem asked. Giving him a second look, he saw that the man wore a small pin on the breast of his uniform that glowed orange and gold. Lift guild, probably. This city had a guild for everything. “You can’t just...you know?”

“No,” said the attendant.

Mlem directed his attention to the wiry, unkempt man who’d entered the lift just ahead of him. “What floor are you going to?”

The man froze like he’d spotted a charging bear—not that there were bears in this part of the world. The reaction stood out, as did the notable lack of a guild insignia. In fact, there was no color anywhere on him.

Houseless? No, surely not. Likely a foreigner who’s had a particularly rough night. What is he doing here?

Looking away, the man mumbled an answer. “Sixth.”

“You see?” Mlem said to the attendant, moving past the oddity as he situated his cart against the wall. The jolt of impact sent an apple—the crate of them being another recent acquisition—tumbling. He snagged it smoothly out of mid-air, gesturing with it as he spoke before taking a bite. “No need to stop. Take us directly, my good man.”

“Someone else might want to get on,” said the attendant, heaving a long-suffering sigh.

“At this hour?” Mlem said after swallowing the succulent mouthful. “Please, I want to get set up before the rush.”

“Building rule, not mine,” said the man. “If you don’t like it, get off and go back to where you belong. Piece of advice? The price you get here for those and whatever else you’re selling won’t make the trip worth your time.”

“We shall see,” Mlem said, leaning against his cart. “Up we go then. At your pace, if you please.”

The attendant rolled his eyes and pressed his hand to the control stone. Runes flared to life at his touch, and the gate slid smoothly closed. There was the smallest of jerks, and the platform began to rise. Slowly, of course.

Mlem took another bite of his apple. Chewing, he adjusted his sword belt over his old orange robe, too baggy with all the weight he’d lost. His Ascension jacket was safely tucked away beneath the apple crate, along with what would have been quite the head-turning collection of oddments for the average traveling merchant.

Was such discretion necessary? Probably not. But then again, there was more than ten thousand Tel’s worth of goods in there. Most of the items were those he and Halgrave had brought with them, but some were bargains he’d picked up throughout the week while polishing his Zeelada and negotiating with the Entente through indirect correspondence.

“Second floor, residential,” said the attendant tiredly as the gate opened to an empty hallway.

Mlem wiggled his eyebrows at him, taking another big bite.

“Mock all you want,” the operator said, runes glowing again as the gate slid closed once more.

By the time they slowed for the final time—with no further riders, take note—Mlem was left with the decision of what to do with the fruit’s core. Rather than toss it aside, as he would have in any other city, he slipped it into a pocket to deal with later.

“Sixth floor,” the operator said, rubbing his eyes as the doors slid open. “Shops, restaurants, and roof if it weren’t closed.”

“After you,” the unkempt man said.

“Why thank you,” Mlem said, pushing himself up off the cart and grabbing its handle once more. He missed his journey cart, though it would not have fit his current disguise even if he had been able to convince Halgrave to carry it here. The goldplate was doing a circuit of the neighborhood and was supposed to join him any time now.

A few steps out onto the platform, Mlem’s finely tuned merchant’s senses sent him a warning. With barely a conscious thought, his hand shot out, catching the wiry man’s arm by the wrist before he realized that doing so might not be the best idea in a town where everyone was awakened.

“Ah!” the man cried, jerked to a stop from his seemingly casual stroll with his fingertips a hair’s breadth from the fruit crate.

“You could have just asked, you know?” Mlem said, swiftly selecting an apple and slapping it into the fellow’s open palm before releasing him.

So weak...

“Get off— What?” the man said, looking dumbly at the ripe fruit in his hand.

“One of my associates has a rule, one that I liked well enough to add to my own collection.” Mlem looked the fellow up and down again as the doors closed behind them, removing the uncaring lift operator from view. “Let’s see. In Zeelada, it would be... If you see someone stealing food, no, you did not.”

“I...what?” Said the man again, rubbing his wrist. “It was going to fall, and I just...shit. You’re not going to believe that.”

Mlem frowned, stroking his mustache. He was sure now.

He is houseless, isn’t he? Or he had a house and has one no more. My my. How unexpected.

“Please, forgive me, honorable master,” the man said, bowing his head. “I can pay.”

Making a decision, Mlem smiled and snapped his fingers. “It seems you need more than an apple. How about a job?”

The man stayed like that for a long moment, then looked up, fake groveling giving way to suspicion. “There’s a hook in this pie, isn’t there? No one would just give someone like me work. Not even a foreigner.”

“You will find I’m not an average foreigner,” Mlem said, grasping the handle of his cart and beginning to tow it down through the cavernous indoor market. “I don’t care that you’re not awakened.” He ignored the man’s sharp intake of breath. “Come along and eat up. We’ve got work to do, and you’ll need your strength.”

“For selling apples?” the man asked skeptically, not moving. “What is this job, exactly? And what does it pay?”

“I like you,” Mlem said with a laugh. “Let’s start with two silver for the day and go from there. Your name?”

“Steeve Paid-Up-Front Omonica,” the man said. His former apprehension seemingly under full control, he took a bite of the apple and spoke through it. “And I want three silver.”

“Yes,” Mlem lied, taking the crate of apples from the cart and walking after the orb across the now-sparkling stone to place it on the counter. That confirmed Rain had never revealed his anchors to the Entente. “Steeve, collect the orb and walk it through the other rooms.”

“But...”

“Oh, come now, it’s perfectly safe,” Mlem said, dragging the cart toward the counter. When he got there, he turned, and what he saw made him frown. Purify hadn’t quite gotten everything in the room after all. Steeve stood out like a grimy smear in the center of a pristine canvas. His worn clothes, while not especially dirty in the backdrop of the city at large, made quite the contrast.

Ah, right. He is not on the list.

Walking back to the cart, Mlem rummaged inside and removed a single stone from the set comprising the stone board. “Let me just tweak the targeting,” he said, carrying it over to the glass orb. Mindful of his body language, he touched stone and orb together. He wanted to make it seem that the stone was a control key, which, in a certain sense, it was. He then carried both objects over to Steeve, and to his credit, the man didn’t flinch away when Mlem touched the stone lightly to his chest.

Rain got the message. Purify flared more gently this time, leaving Steeve just as sparkling as the rest of the interior.

“There,” Mlem said, pocketing the stone and dropping the orb into Steeve’s hand.

“Impressive enchantment,” Estez said. “Some sort of paired controller? Rune logic? Configurable exclusion criteria?”

“The details are proprietary, I’m afraid,” Mlem said.

“What is this thing?” Steeve said, staring at the orb in his hands. “I have never in my life seen an item do... I had to use the bathroom, and now I don’t. And the apple core is just...gone. That was Janitors’ Guild magic. But it was so strong.”

“The spell is called Purify,” Mlem said, returning to the counter. “It removes filth, inside and out, and is strong because its original caster is strong. That is really all I can say. The orb is not something we mean to sell, but transactional services such as cleaning are—up to and including Tel extraction. Now, the rooms, if you please. The magic is not set to penetrate walls.”

“But how do I trigger it?”

“It should trigger itself,” Mlem said. “Simply place the orb in the center of the space to be cleaned. Go on now. Earn your pay.”

“...Fine,” Steeve said, gingerly carrying the glass orb out in front of him like it was both unspeakably fragile and devastatingly venomous.

Mlem smiled, returning to rummage in the cart. He removed his Ascension jacket and folded it across the counter before removing the bulky radio it had been covering. This he set on the counter with considerable care as the two Entente Defenders moved closer to watch with interest. Again, he was careful to control his every move. This show was not to be repeated.

Rain wanted the Entente to know they had long-distance communication capability, but not how it worked. The radio was to be used in front of them once, then tucked away, and the stone board was not to be displayed at all. The true working of Rain’s anchors would come out eventually—they were too potent a tool to hide away completely—but there was no need to hasten the process.

“This is not for sale either,” Mlem said, working hard to suppress his inner showman as he extended the telescoping antenna. “It is a communication device similar to a speaking stone, but fragile and bulky. We use them because the range is considerably greater. Again, that is all I can say.”

The faintest electrical whine filled the air as Mlem flipped the power toggle, then subsided as the indicator lamp glowed to life from the charge stored in the heavy internal battery. Depressing the transmit button, he cleared his throat, then spoke into the microphone in common. “This is Mlem, one-two-five. I have taken custody of the property. Communication is not private. Beside me, listening, are Estez and Henton of the Entente. They are known to the captain, and they say hello. Also in earshot is my newly hired helper, Steeve. Confirm receipt of message.”

“I receive, one-five-four,” crackled Lyn’s voice from the speaker almost immediately, making everyone except Mlem jump. “Pause for relay.”

“What was that crackling?” Henton asked. “And how much greater is the range over a speaking stone, exactly?”

“I cannot reveal that,” Mlem said, rummaging again in the cart, this time for potions. He began lining them up on the counter.

The radio buzzed back to life. “Mlem, I have the captain. He says to say hello back and wants you to repeat that last name. Did you say it was ‘Steeve’?”

“Yes,” Mlem said, pausing to adjust the antenna, which was already quite hot. Even with atantum and valis worked into the radio’s circuits and rykir in place of lead in the battery, they were really testing the limits of the design. “Is your connection as poor as mine?”

“It’s not great,” Lyn said. “Please confirm for me one last time. ’Steeve’ as in ‘Dysteeve’?”

“Why is that thing saying my name?” Steeve called from the hallway, staring back into the main room. “What else is it saying? I don’t speak common.”

“The captain seems to have taken an interest in you,” Mlem replied. “Is ‘Steeve’ your full name, or is it short for something?” He glanced aside at Estez and Henton. “Rain says hello.”

“Dysteevian,” Steeve said, walking back into the main room. “Nobody calls me that. Who are you talking to?”

“Indirectly, the captain of Ascension, who I—and by extension, now you—work for,” Mlem said. “I have a pamphlet here somewhere that you can read. Did you finish with the rooms?”

“No, and I won’t until you tell me what’s going on. What is that thing? Who are you?”

“This is a radio, and I am Mlemlek Ko-Latti. I believe I said that before. Ah, here is the pamphlet.”

“Sorry, Mlem, the captain’s really hung up on this,” Lyn’s voice crackled. “He wants to know if the words ‘Irwin’, ‘Buscemi’, or ‘Jobs’ mean anything to your new friend. They sure don’t mean anything to me.”

Mlem turned to Steeve, offering him the pamphlet. “Do ‘Irwin’, ‘Buscemi’, or ‘Jobs’ mean anything to you?”

“What?” Steeve demanded, though he accepted the paper. “I said I don’t speak that.”

Mlem pressed the button. “He says he doesn’t speak that, and yes, ‘Steeve’, I said, short for ‘Dysteevian’. Second name, O—”

“What the hells is going on in here?” said a new voice, and Mlem looked up to see Halgrave duck through the doorway. He wore his heavy armor, shining resplendent blue beneath his Ascension jacket. His golden Guild plate was also in full view, resting against his chest. Much more mundane was the steaming mug of something he held in one gauntleted hand.

“You took your time,” Mlem said. “Stopped for tea, did you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Halgrave said. “Building is secure. The hooligans we saw next door cleared out the moment they saw me coming.”

“Oh, come on!” Steeve shouted, having taken that long to get over his shock. He pointed at Halgrave. “A goldplate? You work with a goldplate!?”

Noticing his new hire was in grave danger of toppling over, Mlem snapped his fingers and pointed toward the ceiling. “Chairs. I need to buy chairs.”