Of Unity: From the Compendium of Dusk Chapter 2

thegarbageman (59)in #writing • 5 years ago

Ignoring the expletive laden conversation infesting the air around him, something of note, he was sure, was happening directly ahead.

For the entirety of this morning, not a soul had passed into or out of the murk obscuring the Grand Court in the centre of Unity. None, except him. Fry's eyes followed the wasteman's rickety cart pass between the guards like a wodge escaping a set of quite rosy cheeks.

While the comparison was quaint enough to elicit a smirk, another thought occurred that soured the growing mirth. Consistency was good in theory, however, when every day varied very little, when the layout of East and West Unity were mirror images of each other, when every day was pleasant and without incident, something like this stood out. A break in "ordinary" elicited something else; the unfamiliar and unease. This was rich, of course, given his current coterie. Ignore them as he might their incessant trade of barbs always drew the attention in no time at all from just about everyone and everything. 'Attention' came in many colorful forms.

"You probably came from a woman."

"Yeah, you."

"You, yeah."

Resisting the urge to eye what was before him he watched the wasteman's cart disappear from view through the milling crowd, the sweaty and bald head at helm slowly shrinking into the horizon, but something was indeed of note. Barrels, must be a dozen. And is that giblets seeping from that one's bung? What could-

The clearing of a throat made Fry spin on heel only to be staring down at a squat figure with one foot in and one foot out of the alley behind him, an expected visitor who greeted him. Expected company, an unexpected route of entry, and at an unexpected moment.

"Acquaintance Fry, an agreeably weathered day, sir-" Spoke the small figure, its voice trailing as their gaze lowered to the cages between Fry and the street, "are those-?"

"Yes, it would be prudent to not address them directly," holding out an index finger into the Outlander's field of view and slowly drawing the finger towards his own face. With it the attention and gaze of the small beast before him, Fry continued, "they love attention. Assuredly, this is not something you would gain from."

While it was unfair to call the Outlander a 'beast', he was unsure exactly how to classify it. It was the only one the necromancer Fry had ever met. They had first chanced upon each other a handful of seasons past, the awkward archivist Outlander had rifled through his wares searching for "Waxvane Ichor", a fluid from a beast that had not been seen in several hundred years, and then only in a remote area many leagues from Unity. Ironically near a place he had much knowledge of.

Initially he was wary, over time they had spoken at length, and while the necromancer was not one to waste time, such distractions were welcome. He found Horas to be amiable and non-invasive, unlike the prying eyes and hands of his own species.

A chorus of ethereal barks and howls pierced the air from behind him, the voices mocking. The Outlander didn't shrink back but did step forward to stand at the side of Fry, peering into the cages ahead which rattled. The Outlander's presence had provoked excitement it seemed.

Tilting his head back, closing his eyes tight, inhaling and exhaling sharply, he addressed the small canine-like creature without turning or opening his eyes. "Presumably you are here for the Rallian Salt, the shipment was delayed, alas. You have my apologies."

In kind, without looking up at the tall and slim man, the archivist waved a hand and said, "no, not that, acquaintance. No, I will be absent for a period of time on business, I have a request to ask of you. It should be no-" A raucous noise cut him off.

Fry's eyes snapped open, and in fearing the worst he turned to find two of the legs in the cages were kicking at each other with their excessively long toe nails. The small Outlander stepped back as Fry thrust his hands into the offending cage in an attempt to separate the two.

"Eat shit!"

"You do?!"

"You, yeah!"

"Yeah, you!"

Just as Fry scooped up the leftmost leg, the right kick forward. In seeing this, he jerked back but was not quick enough. Thick and yellow toe nails buried into the top of his right hand. Yelping he dropped the leg he was attempting to save only to be mocked with more idiotic banter.

"Plop yourself!"

"Bet he does!"

"Imagine having an poo hole!"

"What an kent!"

A chorus of spectral laughter filled the air, onlookers from the crowd stopped to also share a laugh, while others had faces filled with disgust, and others still made to hastily be anywhere else.

Glowering, he drew up his hand and examined the small puncture wound. Superficial at most, and while it stung, he knew the chance of any meaningful infection was low. He really did have the cleanest Legoustines.

They had gained their name from the populace in times past. The rich and poor alike came to see them, now and again to buy them. Like all things the novelty quickly wore away and many were consigned to the subterranean network of tunnels that ran beneath East and West Unity. Imbued by the tide of Chaos, they should only live for half a dozen years he had wagered. Yet years later, stories of them emerged of persevering and living in belligerent clusters in the tunnels closest to the wall which divided East and West, their screeching and carrying on waking residents in the night. Over time, he had heard from some wasteman that Legoustines gain scaly skin, hence the name.

Such oddities were seen as a novelty and not too inconvenient or in poor taste by authorities of the East and West. Complaints about them were rare, and so few were capable of creating them. There was a time he had lived within the city limits, he had first experimented with hands, a mistake it turned out. It wasn't the belligerent nature of them that was the problem, they would get together in pairs and clap together at inconvenient moments of the night, upon separating them they would hurl abuse at him and begin clicking with index fingers and thumb. Legs were far easier to work with, especially since he had made them less top heavy by shearing them away at the knee before reanimating them.

The price the people paid for them was worth the hassle of no longer living within the city limits, but then solitude was mostly no hassle at all. It was just the interlopers now and again. Still, a market existed amongst the rich for such novelties on occasion. While predominantly they were bought for children and mistresses as companions, it was not beyond reason to believe the stories of such things being bought and pitted against beasts where the outcome was wagered upon. Anything was indeed possible.

Stepping closer to the cages Fry reached out a hand and slammed the cage lid shut. The laughter had quietened and the Legoustines had returned to their infernal and ceaseless bantering amongst themselves.

"You were saying, archivist?" The necromancer asked, half turning, his eyes now back upon the peerless smog across the street in the court yon.

"Of course, yes, I am departing for some time, I have needs of you to keep secure something for me."

"You have coins, you could easily pay the local Hold."

"Very true, yet too much risk would be involved."

Peeling his eyes away from the sight across the street, he regarded the small creature. "Risk? I don't believe I need to tell you exactly how secure the Holds are in East and West."

"Presumptuous, this is no trinket."

"Explain."

"This evening at your shack, if it suits you."

"Now. Our paths may not cross again for some time."

"As you wish then, into the alley, if you please. Just a step or two."

Far more pushy than normal, in the past the Outlander had been more meek. This was a change, very unfamiliar. And slightly secretive, usually the archivist was transparent to a fault, tactless most of the time. This made him feel uneasy. It was the day for it, afterall.

Grimacing, he said, "I am here on business, it would not do to lose my livelihood due to opportunists in the crowd."

"In this city, unlikely." The Outlander's ears levelled with his scalp slowly and he cocked his head to the side, as if weighing a decision he did not voice. The Outlander's amber eyes locked on Fry and seemed to shimmer. Drawing into them, the necromancer could not bring himself to look away. After an indeterminate period of time the creature's ears shot forward and the grey canine-like figure nodded, seemingly satisfied with something. The necromancer blinked, something was out of place. The Legoustines were silent for once.

From within it's dark robes the small archivist produced a heart sized pouch and thrust it towards the necromancer. "Do not open it. Upon my return you will be handsomely remunerated."

Fry reached out a hand and accepted what was offered. It felt like a smooth ball. Odd, he thought. Equally as odd was it was radiating coldness, enough to make him shiver. The pouch itself was etched in what looked like obscure symbols at a glance and, in his privacy later, he intended to more closely examine it. An unfamiliar curiosity indeed.

"Handsomely remunerated, you say? The pleasure is ever mine, archivist."

"By your leave, then, acquaintance."

The small creature turned and headed into the alley without a second glance. Fry watched him disappear into the shadows before turning his attention to the pouch in his hand. For a moment he thought he could feel it throb before realizing he was squeezing the object so hard his knuckles had turned white. Probably all it is. Forcing himself to loosen his grip with a considerable effort, he put the object in a chest to his right where he kept his days takings. The Outlander was a lot of things, he knew, one of them was consistent in payment. Business was business, and business was good. He smiled, for the first time today content.

"I bet you'll tickle a bum pickle."

"Yeah, you."

"You, yeah."

"Fuck my life."