Chapter 3: Job Hunting (Patreon)

“You wanna run that by me again?” Zlesk asked, twiddling his battered pen between his fingers.

“I said, do you have any dangerous jobs that you outsource to civilian contractors? This is like the wild west isn’t it? Where are the dead or alive posters?” Jeb asked, glancing around the alien’s office.

“If you don’t have anything relevant to say, I haven’t had breakfast yet and I’ve got shit to do, sooo…”

“So give me something to do…” Jeb thought for a moment. “Like that stacked lady who killed the blonde guy disappearing settlements out on the edge of the Stitch. I could do that. Hunt murderers for fun and profit.”

Zlesk let out a short bark of laughter. “Those are imperial enforcers, hand-picked and sworn to the throne, not mercenaries or bounty hunters. They are level one hundred at least, and they’re sent after the kind of monsters that you couldn’t imagine, not your typical bandit or sand-pirate. They have Myst, meaning they’re aristocrats, too. The idea of you asking for one of their jobs is as ludicrous as walking into baron Hortz’s office and taking a shit on his desk.”

“…So mercenaries and bounty hunters do exist,” Jeb said. As well as sand-pirates, which sound really fucking cool.

“Ugh,”  Zlesk facepalmed. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“I don’t see what you stand to lose by giving me something here. Either way I won’t be bothering you by begging on the corner anymore.”

Zlesk glared at him for a moment.

“I can’t in good conscious let a one-legged level six civilian perform assisted suicide. I’ll have no part in it.”

“You know I’m just going to ask someone else until someone gives me what I want,” Jeb said, leaning back in the seat.

Zlesk gave him a calculating look before he sighed. “Fine.” He drew out the cabinet and retrieved an official looking document.

“This is a recommendation for the Hunter’s association,” He spoke as he filled out the paper. “Their members handle things like bounty and monster hunting.”

“How about gathering herbs or killing rats in cellars?” Jeb asked.

Zlesk cocked an eyebrow. “No. That’s stupid.”

“Just checking.”

Zlesk filled out Jeb’s information and then wrote a short note at the bottom of the page.

“There. You have my official recommendation. You should have no problem joining the Hunter’s association with that. Go get yourself killed.”

“Much appreciated, I’ll make good use of it.” Jeb said, giving a keegan bow as he took the piece of paper and folded it into the breast pocket of his new clothes.

Jeb clomped his way out of the station, wincing at the early morning sun. He walked down onto the main street and waited until he was out of sight of the station.

Fool me once… Jeb thought, unfolding the paper. He snagged a keegan passing by.

“Excuse me, what’s this say?” Jeb asked, showing them the note on the bottom.

The keegan scanned the script, then gave Jeb a glance, letting out an amused snort before he continued walking.

Yeah, I thought so.

It took a couple more tries before someone actually read it aloud for him.

‘The man you see before you is a simpleton. Please blacklist him from the Hunter’s Association before he gets himself or others killed. – Zlesk Frantel, Sheriff of Kalfath.’

“Aw, he really does care about me.” Jeb said as he walked away from the laughing keegan, scanning the indecipherable scribbles. It wasn’t too hard to isolate the signature.

Gonna need a pen, Jeb thought, clinking his remaining stack of ten silver coins together.

After a little shopping around at the hunter’s guild and eight silver worth of bribes for inscription and translation, Jeb had an identical application paper with a glowing recommendation, minus the sheriff’s signature of course.

Jeb did that part himself, moving ink one iota at a time, stamping out a perfect duplicate of the man’s signature with his telekinesis.

Jeb Trapper is a resourceful former soldier whose accomplishments during the Tutorial more than qualify him for the most difficult jobs. Give him a task and let the results speak for themselves.

– Zlesk Frantel, Sheriff of Kalfath.

Text lies counted as well, of course, but none of it was a direct lie, and the only thing Jeb wrote himself was the sheriff’s name and title, oddly close to another statement that was totally true. There must have been enough layers of separation between him and outright lying, because Smartass gave him the go-ahead.

“You’re still good,” Smartass said, giving him a thumb’s up.

“Nice,” Jeb said, inspecting the two papers closely before burning the original.

“Thank you Zlesk.” Jeb said, folding the recommendation and slipping it into his new vest pocket.

The Hunter’s Association was more...mundane than Jeb expected. It smelled like a boxy office building in an abandoned mall. Must and faint cleaning agents.

The lighting was decent, owing to a bright bulb in the ceiling Jeb was fairly sure was magical, but the edges of the carpet were frayed.

From the fantasy novels Jeb had read in the past, he half expected it to be filled with rough and tumble types, drinking beers between missions…

But who the hell would give guys like that an excuse to clump up and start trouble? Let them go to the bar and cause trouble there. Nope, this place was designed to be somewhat inhospitable. There were a couple chairs next to a desk with a bunch of papers suspended in little wooden outcroppings…

That’s it! Jeb thought to himself, snapping his fingers. This place reminds me of the DMV, except less popular.

There was a bored looking Melas woman, somewhat overweight, with snaggleteeth and arms as thick as Jeb’s thighs. Her skin was a more sickly shade of orange than most of the horned folk.

“Bree! You’re still here!” Jeb said, clomping forward. Bree had helped him get a blank application earlier in the day. She was dour, but helpful.

“And you’re back,” she said, sourly. “Whaddya want?”

“Zlesk gave me his recommendation,” Jeb said, handing her the note and not bothering to mention that the one he was handing her was not Zlesk’s recommendation.

“This it?” She grunted, taking it out of his hand.

Shit!

“It’s got his name on it, doesn’t it?” Jeb asked, projecting as much innocence as possible.

Bree raised a brow and scanned the document before pulling out some more paperwork of her own, filling it out in triplicate and then smashing the papers with a giant stamp that rattled her thin-boarded desk.

Jeb was half worried she might punch a hole through it, but the rickety thing held up like a champ.

“You left your bank account information blank.” She said, pointing to it.

“Don’t have one,” Jeb said.

“Your funeral,” Bree muttered, making a note. “Half the stabbings on this block are when some fool walks out of this office with a juicy bounty that they had to receive in person.”

“Sounds like it’d be a good idea to get one,” Jeb said.

Bree grunted and nodded, continuing her work until she finally slid all the papers away under her desk and met his gaze.

“Alright. Paperwork’s done. If you come back with a bounty, we’re authorized to pay you now.”

“Nice.” Jeb said.

She stared at him.

He stared at her.

She stared at him.

“You gonna give me a bounty or something?” Jeb asked.

“What? Lorten’s dick, is that what you’re hanging around for?”

“Let’s just assume I don’t know anything about how the empire’s bounty system works,” Jeb said.

Bree heaved a rumbling sigh and opened the front of her desk, where it lifted up on a cleverly concealed hinge.

The melas woman outsized him by half a foot in height and two feet of width. “C’mere,”

“There’s the bounties.” She said, pointing to a rack full of stacks of paper with various pictures of people’s faces and drawings of monsters. “You can take one of each for reference, if I catch you emptying out a stack, or hiding one so no one else sees it, I will break you over my knee. When you finish the job bring back a piece of them and we’ll run it through Old Grindy. Something about the size of a finger should do. If you got the right guy we’ll pay you the price listed on the paper. If you killed the wrong guy…”

“Will you break me over your knee?”

“Punishment, somewhere between hard labor and execution, depending on whether the person you dropped was a citizen.”

“Are there normally this many bounties?” Jeb asked, flipping through the hand-drawn images for a monster, but they were few and far between. If Jeb could help it, he didn’t really want to walk up and murder some random guy for a paycheck. At least, not yet.

Most of the pictures were of Melas men, including the one who’d bumped into him the night before. Jeb could tell by the shape of the face and the little bones woven into his horns and hair.

Jeb briefly considered killing the guy for profit, but decided against it.

“Normally? No.” Bree said. “But public order dropped like a stone ever since the Stitching. The bonanza to the east made fortune hunters crawl out of the woodwork, and wherever fortune hunters go, they bring lawlessness with them. The Split mountains are practically honeycombed with outlaws.”

“The split mountains?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what they were called in your world, but when they got Stitched onto Pharos, they got cut apart and split up, leaving great  slices of bare rock hundreds of miles long, ore veins exposed to air like a wench with her skirt blown up and a tattoo showing where to stick it.”

“That’s descriptive,” Jeb said, frowning. He had been in Oregon so to the east was…

“Oh, I think they were called the rocky mountains.” Jeb said.

“That’s a stupid name. Like calling it the ‘dirty dirt.’”

“Not much worse than ‘Split mountains’, in my opinion.” Jeb fired back. “If there are so many bounties in those mountains, where are all the hunters?”

“Most of ‘em are dead or run off.”

“Umm…”

“The people in those mountains ain’t stupid. You show up on their doorstep, they know either you’re a rival prospector, an outlaw looking to rob their claim, or a bounty hunter looking to claim their head. Sometimes more than one of those things. In any case, the reception ain’t gonna be friendly. Some of ‘em will attack you on sight. Not like there’s any lawmen out there.”

“Oh… I could see how that could be a challenge,” Jeb said, flipping out one of the few monster bounties.

“How about this one?” Jeb said, pointing to the writhing monstrosity depicted on the paper.

“Ah, Sand-worm knot. Acting up because the split mountains disrupted its territory and now it’s moving its range further west, into populated towns.” Bree glanced over the paper and shrugged. “It’s not a particularly well-paying job, but somebody’s gotta do it. And you look like you could use a warm-up. Just try not to get eaten.”

“I’ll take i-“

“Bree!” A keegan woman, identifiable by the fanciful tassels on her shoulderpads, swept into the one-room office like a bouncy dynamo. “Bree, we’ve got a new posting!” the skull-faced girl said, shoving a piece of paper that smelled vaguely of ink.

There was no picture on the front, just more of those scribbles that Jeb couldn’t read.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Bree muttered to herself, scanning the bounty.

“What doesn’t?” Jeb asked.

“This!” Bree said, shoving the paper under his nose. “The reward listed here is criminally low! No one in their right mind would take this offer!”

“Maybe that’s the point?” The newcomer asked, peering around Bree’s meaty arms to read the script. “Maybe he doesn’t want her back?”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Bree responded, shaking her head. “It’s not as though he’s got any other heirs. Maybe he’s putting up a bounty so low in order to buy time to negotiate himself.”

“Or he doesn’t care and this is his way of showing everyone ‘he tried.’” The keegan woman said, making quotation marks in a rather human fashion.

I hate not being able to read, Jeb thought to himself.

“So umm… what’s the job?” Jeb asked.

Bree gave him a strange look. “This.” She pointed at the paper. This is the job. What do you not get?”

“What if I told you I can’t read?” Jeb asked.

“Oh, you poor thing! All the humans we’ve dealt with over the last four month have been able to read, so we just assumed – ” The keegan woman clicked her tongue and snatched the bounty out of Bree’s hand.

The melas woman grunted and went back to her desk as the newcomer began to read.

“On the eighth of Grent, Seraine Grenore was kidnapped by the outlaw Svek Pederson and company. The reward for the safe return of Seraine will be no less than five imperial gold marks.

“And that’s low?”

“Svek Pederson is a sand-pirate captain. Works with a crew of at least a dozen men. Like so many other animals, his territory got broken up by the Stitching, and he’s moving into new territory. Causes friction. The man’s at least level thirty, and his crew isn’t far behind. You’d need a half a dozen hunters with a level of oh, forty or higher to safely claim that bounty. And no level forty would do a job as delicate and unpredictable as a rescue mission for less than a single bulb.”

“I get it,” Jeb muttered, rubbing his chin.

“Seraine Grenore…is she related to Garland Grenore?”

“That’s his daughter,” Bree said from her desk.

“The man owns half the town,” her keegan coworker said, slapping the bounty. “He can afford to pay more than five bulbs for his own daughter.”

Jeb eyed the bounty for a while, pondering.

The guy was a dick, but his daughter had done right by him. More than right, even. Maybe she hadn’t been able to stand up to her father in the moment, but it was damned kind of her to give Jeb that coin and open Zlesk to the idea that Jeb might be innocent.

I wonder if I’d still be sitting in the cell if she hadn’t showed up.

“…Can I take that bounty?” Jeb asked.

“Do you wanna die?”

“Most days, no.”

Bree sighed and leaned on the desk, giving him a morose look. “We can’t stop you from trying, but keep in mind that there’s a very real chance you’d get the girl hurt too if you rush in there all willy-nilly. That’s on top of the fact that you’re more likely to get yourself killed than anything else.”

“Not to mention if the sand pirates don’t kill you, but she gets hurt, you’ll probably disappear.”

“It’s just not worth your time. It’s not worth anybody’s time,” the keegan woman said, waving her hand dismissively.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this one,” Jeb said, snatching one of the bounties before he marched out the door, chest puffed out.

“Wai – oh, there he goes.”

Jeb clomped out onto the street, his mind whirling as he tried to concoct a cohesive plan. He needed more information. He needed – “Ah, crap.”

Jeb turned on his heel and went back into the office. “Do you happen to have the individual bounties on Svek Pederson and his crew?” Jeb asked, smiling sheepishly.

Bree rolled her eyes and started separating out no less than eight bounties and handing the small stack to Jeb.

“Those are Svek’s crew with their own bounties.”

“Thank you ma’am.”

Now I just need to find someone to translate these who isn’t liable to sell me out…Zlesk comes to mind. If Jeb asked a local to translate for him, he’d be more likely to wind up shot in the head a day’s journey from town, so despite being a less than ideal choice, Zlesk was at least proven to have law and order in mind.

Even if he is an ass.

“Maybe I can catch Zlesk in the office,” Jeb said, glancing at the waning sun. It had taken all day to forge the recommendation, after all. If he got back to the low jail when Zlesk was wrapping up his day, he’d be pushing papers at his desk.

“Smartass.”

“Yep?” The fairy asked from where she was gnawing on a pixie stick. It was a small part of this month’s pound of sugar.

“Can you spy on Garland Green for me?”

“Why?”

“I need you to get some intel. I need to know why he’s nine thousand bulbs in debt, and hopefully you can find something sentimental to him. Something that could get me Myst?”

“Besides his money?”

Jeb chuckled. “Pretty much.”

“I charge my standard spying rate.” Smartass said.

“Which is?”

“Standard rate. Just agree to it.”

“Nope. How about five percent of whatever I get from Garland?”

“Hmmm….” The fairy gave him an intense glare. “That could be nothing.”

“It could be a lot if you get me good intel.” Jeb said.

“Five percent of whatever payment you receive from Garland Grenore in exchange for the rescue of his daughter, and whatever bounties you claim in the process. This includes whatever you claim in penalty should he renege.”

“I can do that?”

“Did I not mention that?” Smartass asked.

“Does it still give me Impact?” Jeb asked. “I can just…take something if they refuse to pay?”

“Of course. If you can take something.”

“Is that why fairies are always trying to take people’s firstborn?” Jeb asked. “So when they naturally renege, you can take whatever you want and get Impact that way?”

“You’re a quick study.”

“Hmm…” Jeb began sorting out his plan.

1.       Get info on pirates/Garland.

2.       Offer grandiose verbal agreement Garland is sure to renege on.

3.       Fulfill Jeb’s side of the bargain

4.       Get double crossed

5.       Triple cross in return.

Just the broad strokes so far, Jeb thought, twisting the thick ring on his finger. I wish I knew what the hell this thing did. He was going to need every advantage he could get.

“Alright. I will pay you five percent of whatever payment I receive from Garland Grenore in exchange for the rescue of his daughter, and whatever bounties I claim in the process, including whatever I might claim in penalty, in exchange for your assistance in the completion of the task, up to and including spying on our soon-to-be client.”

“Hmm…” Smartass squinted at him.

“You know you’d be tacitly obligated to help with a percentage anyway. This is just more explicit.”

“And binding. Add a clause that frees me of the arrangement should Garland Grenore refuse to agree to any deal whatsoever.”

“Done.”

Jeb recited the entire bargain, and the two of them shook on it before the palm-sized fairy zipped off into the sky, presumably heading for the home of one of the richest men in the city.

I really hope the guy doesn’t have fairy roach motels, Jeb thought idly as he headed to the jail.

Jeb managed to catch Zlesk just before the harried sheriff left his desk, slapping the papers down in front of him with a grin.

“Can you translate these?”

“No.” Zlesk said, putting on his overcoat before grabbing Jeb’s arm, hauling him bodily toward the exit. Jeb desperately tried not to fall over, hopping and clacking across the room as he was half-dragged to the door.

“You can’t claim a bounty when you’re blacklisted from the Hunter’s association, so let it be.” Zlesk said, shoving him out the door before locking the station up.

“But I’m not blacklisted.” Jeb said.

“Huh?”

“Bree seemed to be pretty impressed with the recommendation I gave her.”

“The recommendation?” Zlesk asked. “Not my recommendation?”

Jeb grinned nice and wide.

The skull-faced sheriff’s eyes narrowed.

“Now, will you translate these for me, or am I gonna have to ask around town? You know I’ll be killed if word of that gets back to the wrong people.”

Zlesk snatched the bounties out of Jeb’s hands and scanned them, brows furrowed angrily.

“These people will kill you.” He said, shaking the papers in Jeb’s face.

“Then translate it for me so I can see for myself. If there’s no way I can beat them I’ll back off. I’m not completely suicidal. C’mon, it’ll only take about five minutes. I’ll buy you a beer.”

Jeb pulled out his second to last silver coin and wiggled his eyebrows.

***

Svek Pederson

Est. Level 31~35

Class: Jury Rigger

Ability: Keep It Together

Est. Body 21~34

Est. Myst 1~3

Est. Nerve 8~15

Wanted dead or alive for piracy, kidnapping, theft, arson, murder, resisting arrest, sedition, Contraband, Treason.

Reward: 12 Gold Marks.

Svek has proven difficult to capture, and is known for his improvised fighting style, reportedly capitalizing on his powerful Body, he reinforces household objects with his Ability to use as weapons and armor, bulling through opposition to inflict lethal damage.

Last seen in the oil deserts, his location has become unclear since the Stitching. His crew includes –

Hmm, Jeb thought to himself as he scanned through the description of each of the bounties, written in his own hand as Zlesk translated.

Of course they would put level and stat information up for bounties. It also made sense that they would need to estimate, since an outlaw would be unlikely to give them precise numbers.

It just felt weird reading about someone’s class and level in an official document. It gave him a strange sense of dissonance. Like all the weird stuff had somehow blended in seamlessly with the normal.

“So, you see how dangerous they are, right?”

“I do.” Jeb said, flipping through the sheets. The lowest level guy was level fifteen, with enough Body to tear Jeb limb from limb. Thankfully none of them had very much skill with Myst or any supernatural abilities that would be an instant loss. He felt a plan slowly percolate in his mind.

“So you’re going to stop this ridiculous course of action?” The sheriff asked, glancing at him askance. “I’m not above locking you in the jail until you cool off.”

Jeb glanced up at the snazzily dressed lawman looming over him. Goddamn, keegan are tall.

“For what? Being dumb?”

“For whatever the Abyss I want. You’re not a Citizen. But if you must know, if I feel like you’re about to do something that might get someone else hurt, I’m well within my rights to lock you up.”

“In this case, I think you’re about to get a nice young lady killed. Because you’re being dumb.”

Jeb didn’t bother to answer, checking for any possible surprises in the pirate crew’s Abilities. He lingered on one in particular, the melas with the bone jewelry who’d run into him the day before, known as Boney Pete.

Not a creative bunch, Jeb thought to himself. He’d seen the guy in town the night before. he might be able to lead Jeb to their hideout.

Maybe he was on a supply run? The chances of him still being in town the next day are slim. Jeb checked the man’s Abilities. It seemed like his Class Ability could shrink things. Definitely the supply runner.

I think those bones in his hair were actually femurs, Jeb thought to himself.

“Are you listening to me?” Zlesk demanded.

“A little.” Jeb said.

“Jeb! Jeb!” A tiny voice echoed off the walls of the little bar as Smartass came flying over to their isolated booth in the corner, a piece of paper bigger than she was fluttering in her hands.

“Check this out,” She said, slapping the fluttering paper down on the table, posing triumphantly. “Filched this from his safe when he opened it. We got the good dirt on that prick now! You use this right, and we’ll be Swimming in Myst.” Smartass cackled evilly, rubbing her hands together with glee.

“Do you know I can’t read that?” Jeb asked. “Wait a second. You can read that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be able to?” Smartass asked, hopping up on his shoulder.

“Goddamnit.” Jeb sighed, folding the paper up before Zlesk could get a chance to read it. Zlesk would likely not take kindly to blackmail.

“Where did that letter come from?” Zlesk asked, before frowning, his eyes focusing slightly on Jeb’s shoulder.

“And what’s that…you’ve got something on your shoulder.”

“Fairy.” Jeb said, estimating Zlesk’s Myst to be somewhere between five and eight. Higher than Jeb’s most likely. The only reason Jeb could see and hear the bug was because of the litany of Deals they’d made with each other.

“Gah!” Zlesk backed away, standing up like he’d just seen a poisonous snake. He backed out of the booth, pointing a shaking finger at Jeb. “Get rid of it! They’re evil little creatures whose only joy is the suffering of others!”

“That’s not entirely accurate,” Jeb said.

“Don’t be fooled by its honeyed words. They’re the bane of civilization! Send it back to the death wilds where it belongs!”

“Wow, that's quite a response,” Jeb muttered, studying the sheriff’s animated gesticulations.

“Where is it now?” he asked, brandishing his club. “I’ll squish it.”

“It’s not there anymore.” Jeb said. Smartass had climbed into his collar to hide.

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

“Let me know if you see another one.” Zlesk said, glancing around shiftily. They’re considered anathema by the pantheon.”

“Yeah, I noticed the gods don’t react well to them.” Jeb said, thinking as he studied his enemy.

“’Sup?” A deep voice growled from above and to the left, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Jeb glanced up, meeting the gaze of Boney Pete.

He glanced back down to the table, where the picture of Boney Pete was sitting on top of the pile, ugly face grinning back at him from the Wanted poster.

This could be a problem.