I thought I should fill you in on our latest adventure.
First off that fucking Redcullin split without paying rent. He probably fell in the river and touching water killed him. I guess I did get his share of the loot so I shouldn’t complain, but it still pisses me off. The worst thing is that he left some of his ghosts behind and they’re up all night rattling chains and stirring dust. None of the local girls will spend the night anymore. If it didn’t have such a nice view I’d be out of here.
We followed Burns up to Old Korvosa to pawn our loot.to “Honest Johannas.” I know what you’re thinking, but what Burns don’t know won’t kill cousin Jonny. He was easier on us because I was there, I think.
Anyway, one of Burns’s contacts (Tom the Knife) gave us a clue about Amprei the vamprei. Seems like the King of Spiders is blackmailing him over some Heights ginch. He dropped by the King's web to pick up the evidence but left in a huff. Either the price was too high or he’s just stupid. In any case it was still there so we eased on over to the Eel’s End to see if we could bribe, or trick, Kingy into giving it to us.
The smell brought the old memories back—a mixture of perfume and fish slurry, with a little Svirfneblin opium thrown in. Finarfin spied the whorehouse right off and his little head led him there, leaving the rest of us to twiddle our thumbs so Burns and I decided to try running some games at the casino but got caught (again) and tossed overboard.
Try, try again, as gramma used to say. Burns shaved his sideburns and we rolled a couple of sailors for their suits and snuck back dockside. We met up with PJ, Bardar, and Longbottom—who has promised to buttfuck me if I don’t start getting his name right. Finarfin claimed to have “put the wood,” as he called it, to your old den mother, Hellvara! She must have performed a Category 3 Hurricanrana on him because he was floating about a foot off the ground and gibbering some nonsense about the greatest sex he’d ever had. I kind of felt sorry for the old halfling, preening like a purple elf on Calistria’s Day. I’m sure it was far better than anything he’s had so far but Aunt Hellvara isn’t going to give much for a measly 250g. She has a way of holding a man’s penis between her thighs where he thinks he’s getting his end in but it ain’t nothing but friction. (You’re pretty good at that yourself, come to think of it.) Finarfin must be half-penis as it is, so it did him some good and he was a lot easier to get along with after. He even paid us back for using our 250 to pay her. (I tried to get interest but the cheap bastard wouldn’t cop to it.)
So they finally let us in to see the King of Spiders, who is as twisted as they say. The room was crawling with arachnids like the quim of a ten-copper whore. Nothing looked too deadly, though, including his stooges across the room. Most interesting, he had a purple pseudodragon in a cage, which meant it wasn’t cooperating with him, the dumbass. I hate people who don’t know the value of things.
Speaking of dumb, I let myself get talked into playing a round of knifesies with some west-side popsicle to get the information Kroft was so hot on. I can hear you laughing now. We were both so bad at it that it went on forever. I finally got the drop on the guy, no fault of my own. At least everyone got a good laugh out of it and PJ got to fix me again. The King was in such a good mood afterward that he honored our deal, then showed us the door. Burns dropped his guy like a breakfast ham, by the way.
Back at the ranch Kroft read the letters. I don’t know why we didn’t before we gave them up, I wasn’t carrying them. The cover they gave us was that Amprei was banging “the wife of some high official,” which to me spells Q-U-E-E-N, but don’t tell anybody I said so. Then she gave us a bonus and some time off.
Burns was making eyes at Kroft, who does look like she’d be good in the sack, if she can find the time. (Burns also keeps making lewd comments about you, which shouldn’t bother me but it does a little. I keep trying to tell him you’re way above his pay scale but he doesn’t get it. He probably doesn’t believe that a guy like me could know a gal like you, but then again he’s probably never met a gal like you.) Then we pawned some of the magic items, getting ripped off again, before going our own ways.
I hung out with the ghosts until I got bored, then tried my hand at some honest thievery but got caught again. Bought some snakeskin boots. You’d like them. I wanted to drop by and see you. I know you’ve told me not to but I wanted to show you my new concealing cloak and the boots. I’ve improved my technique a lot, and with the cloak I’m sure I can get in and out without anyone seeing.
Fortunately, me and the boys finally decided on a little caper to go free the psudodragon. You know how useful those things are when you keep them happy. Finarfin whipped up a tasty diversion and Burns and I popped the locks. They were the easiest I’ve seen since you and I broke into the Academy that time. The pseudodragon—who calls himself Majenko—attached to the first guy to open its cage—Burns, of course—and obligated itself to him for a year, which was just as well as I’ve got enough going on at my place with the ghosts and all.
Majenko’s a goofy little cuss but had a pretty interesting tale to tell. Seems like the Spider King has something nasty locked up in his hold that we’re probably going to have to liberate someday.
Anyway, I met with the boys every day after that and one day Finarfin decided we’d waited long enough so we trooped over to Kroft who had another job for us. Seems the Queen had found a fall guy for the King’s death, the artist Trinia Sabor. Ha! I don’t even know who she is and can tell that’s bullshit. I guess a mob doesn't care who they hang.
So we hustled over to Midtown, the student warren, the Shingles. Above the Fraudulent Elf Coffee Shoppe (where they make those mint frappés you like) we jimmied the door's pathetic lock but she heard us coming and lammed out the back window and over the shingles. To make a long story short, I almost busted my ass about a dozen times chasing that broad, who ran like a slippery gazelle. Meanwhile, PJ was trying to get her to stop by using his magic sweetalking voice, and Burns was having as much luck as me keeping his balance on the shingle rooftops. I don’t know what happened with Finarfin—crawled up his own longbottom, I guess. Thank god for Majenko, who slowed her down long enough for us to collar.
We’re going to hide her out for a little while until she spills the beans then take her over to Kroft. I’m starting to get a bad feeling about all this. I wonder what the best way is out of town is—maybe the ghosts know.
Bardar is still a cipher. Even though he claims to be goody-goody, I keep telling myself not to take him lightly. That’s when the asp stings, as ma used to say.
And PJ . . . you know the poor gimph is like every other reformed junky we’ve known, holding on as hard as he can to keep from slipping back to the stuff. Thank Desna I’ve kept myself clear of some vices. I’ll save that for my old age, ha, ha.
Evans is trying to be a good guy, but underneath it all he’s a killer and knows it. Worse, he enjoys it, like Ralphie the Push. Sometimes he gets a glint in his eye, or makes an offhand comment, and you realize that violence, like beauty, is skin deep. I’m glad he’s on my side.
Hugs,
Cordobles
PS—I borrowed some paintings from Miss Sabor. Thought you’d like this one.
Finarfin's Fourth Report
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