I’m sorry this letter has been delayed, I had to shoo that annoying Clippy fellow away before I could begin as he was hovering around saying, “Writing a letter?” over and over again. I invited him to “Get bent!” and he sulked off.
Last time I left you we were about to go see why so many stiffs were showing up in Racker’s Alley. We stopped by Crazy Bombur’s on the way so that the boys could load up on magic potions but I was short of cash and demurred.
The Alley was as bad as you might expect. Some honest traders were obviously taking a shortcut when it came to disposing of the plague victims. It stunk balls nasty, too, and I almost lost my expensive lunch. I’m sad to report that I saw Little Rudy and Ozo in the pile. Together to the end.
Then we realized that some of the victims had been done in by vampires so we decided this is what Kroft sent us to investigate and broke into a building by the alley. I know what you’re thinking—Vampires suck. I’ve never trusted one since they turned Aunt Greta and I remember the time you were nipped by that young one during a game of spin the bottle. Fortunately I was paying attention and smacked him in the cojones before he bit too deeply, although you did have to spend a week with the shaman. Isn’t he the one who got your cherry?
Stacked vampire coffins
Anyway, we went in through a ratty little toy store and found four of the bastards in the back. Our original plan was to trap them while they slept and burn them out front but PJ inexplicably woke them and we had to do it the hard way. I gave two-handed fighting a try but can’t say I impressed anyone, certainly not the vampires who put me and Burns under a spell. I’ve avoided magic all my life because it gives me the willies but if I keep butting heads with this spook shit I may have to forgo my scruples. PJ redeemed himself by canceling the spell although I had a headache for hours afterward.
We looted the store while were at it—Bardar and PJ are remarkable sanguine about pilfering for holy guys—discovering a key to a box at the Temple of Abadar—and headed up there to loot that, too. We found more gold and I got boots of springing and striding, which don’t look as cool as my snakeskins but are a sight more practical.
Back at the alley we found the culprits who were dumping the bodies, a pathetic mob of scumbags as predicted. We grabbed the head honcho—one of the Running Brains Street crew—and hauled his ass back to Kroft. She paid us and then gave us another job. Finarfin was grumbling about all the work but I imagine he just needed his fix.
She sent us to your turf to roust Vendra, a grifter from Oldtown, who has set up her racket in the Heights. All in all it was a weird experience. Finarfin always gets his nose out of joint but it’s nothing a good pair of platform boots wouldn’t cure although I suppose the platforms would have to be three feet high.
When we got there we discovered we couldn’t get in without a rumble so we limited ourselves to some investigative work at the Rusty Bucket while Majenko followed some flunkies to the bay where they were dipping Vendra’s cure from the bilgewater there. I remembered what you said about how they cut the beer with horsepiss at the Bucket so I limited my drinking to Spindlehorn schnapps but Finarfin didn’t seem to mind the taste. We decided to finish the job in the morning so I went out on the town, but the plague has put the kibosh on a lot of activity so I ended up going home and playing cards with the ghosts, although I think they were cheating.
At the shop the next day PJ got an authority boner and started tossing Kroft’s name around. I kind of pretended to be with someone else while they argued. Finarfin was so perturbed he bugged out. Out in back he discovered Vendra’s crib and decided to get in by breaking down the door with is head. Of course everybody ran out to see what was going on—I mean he couldn’t have come back in and asked me or Burns to pick the lock for him? What a maroon.
Everybody started shouting at once until PJ came back with the cavalry and they hustled Vendra off to her just reward. I then showed Finarfin how an artist enters a locked door and we looted her pad. I got some more dough and some wasp poison, although I don’t know what in the hell I’ll do with it. Then Finarfin really lost it.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he says to PJ in his angry, reedy voice. “You’re saying we represent the city and then you’re stealing everything you can get ahold of!”
I’m just amazed that he has the gongles to say that. I mean, we’re hired to abduct people, take things from them by force of arms, and kill anyone who gets in our way. We’re not nice guys. If we liberate a few things, well, that’s the price of doing business. If Kroft has a problem with that she can tell us herself and, as long as she makes it worth our while, we’ll do what she asks. Fucking Finarfin wants to kill some poor working gal who pissed him off but I’m supposed to feel bad about ripping off a quack healer who’s been selling piss and vinegar to plague victims as medicine. If he didn’t spit acid and fart glue I’d probably pop the two-handed riz-raz on his bony ass and see how he likes watching his own red, red kroovy flow. . . .
I’m sorry, my dear Sneffles, I forget how much you detest low emotion. Finarfin wears his insecurity like an angry cloud and I guess some of it has rubbed off on me, like smegma from an orc’s behind. I remember how you used to calm me back in our crib after some ho-boy or grik had ruffled my crown. I know I never could have lived this long without your sweet love.
Of course, after commending us, Kroft gave us yet another little job, introducing us to a wererat named Eries Yellow Eyes. He was worried that his associate, Grizzig Razor Claws, was about to unleash his wrath on the unwary and wanted us to chill the critter out.
So we headed out for the sewers to convince this Grizzig to talk with us. It was all as nasty as you might expect. Rats are bad enough but smart rats with weapons? We left a gory trail and I got chewed on a little until Finarfin’s wand of charm changed Grizzig’s attitude. While they had their backs turned we looted the joint and I made off with a silver dagger! Of course, I really could have used it earlier.
Tonight I’ll celebrate with a good roll in the hay with . . . damn this plague! I guess it’s another evening in with the ghosts.
Your favorite man,
Cordobles
Finarfin's Seventh Report
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