Soulweaver 56: Guard Greg’s Gambit (Patreon)

The neighborhoods of Basecrest’s outermost ring were not a place anyone would venture into willingly—let alone multiple times. Yet as Aerion stole down familiar roads and alleys, pushing deeper into the seediest part of the city, she did so with far more confidence than her previous foray.

Yes, her recent advancements helped. As did all the enchanted gear she wore and wielded. But this time, she wasn’t alone. Passersby might mistake her for being alone, but this time, Greg watched over her, following a few dozen paces behind. Far enough to avoid attracting any attention to himself, while close enough to respond should something happen to her.

Of course, Greg couldn’t follow her into Tarquin’s compound—he’d have to wait outside—but all the same, it felt nice having someone watch her back like that. That was certainly a first. She might even get used to it.

But good things never lasted forever, did they? The dreaded moment finally arrived, and with her heart pumping in her chest, she knocked on the unassuming wooden door that led to Tarquin’s lair.

Once again, an attendant led her down a hall, and into a waiting room. The minutes dragged by, and just when she thought she’d been forgotten about, the door to his room swung open and a guard beckoned for her to enter.

She did, ensuring her back was straight and her head level. She couldn’t allow Tarquin to look down on her.

Even if this was all a farce—no, especially because it was a carefully prepared act—Aerion had to ensure she put on a perfect performance. She couldn’t give the slumlord a single reason to doubt her.

“Well, well, look who showed up!” Tarquin said in an easygoing, welcoming voice. “Can I get you some tea?”

Looking at him, nobody would guess the ruthless criminal mastermind that lurked under his pleasant face. Had Aerion passed him by on a street, she might even have taken him for lower-class nobility with the rich azure and emeralds of his fine-woven clothes. He even wore jewelry—rings on his fingers and a pendant…

Aerion’s eyes locked onto the glistening silver necklace he wore. No, not silver. Mythril.

“How dare you,” she seethed, forgetting all about her act. “How dare you wear that!”

Before she knew it, her shortsword was in her hand, her eyes burning with cold fury.

Tarquin’s two burly guards stepped in. Aerion knew one was an Emergence Rank Blessed like her, but unlike her he had honed his Blessing to its maximum potential. The other was a high ranking Boonworthy, but Aerion didn’t care.

All she saw in that moment was the mythril soul pendant. Her pendant. Her family’s heirloom, passed down for dozens of generations. And now, with Emma gone…

How dare he!

“Easy… Easy now,” Tarquin said, motioning for his guards to back down. “Come now, there’s no need for this. What safer place for your collateral than around my neck?”

“Take it off. Now.” 

Tarquin regarded her with a calm, composed expression. “No, I don’t think I will, Aerion. I’m afraid you are not in a position to make demands here.”

Aerion seriously contemplated activating [Reave] at that moment, consequences be damned. So what if they were strong? She could take them. And Tarquin himself had no powers at all. She could force him to hand it over. 

And then, just as she was about to give in to temptation, she heard a voice in her head. One that told her she’d regret this. That even if she somehow managed to kill Tarquin’s guards, she would never make it out on her own. The voice said she’d die here.

It was a familiar voice—the voice of reason. Just—why did it have to be Greg’s?

“Now, why don’t you put away your weapon, and then we talk? You’re here to accept my offer, aren’t you? Just in time, too. The window almost expired.”

“How did you know?” Aerion asked, eyes glancing between the two guards who stood in front of Tarquin.

“Why else would you take the risk in coming here?” Tarquin said, sitting down in his leather chair.

With a sigh, he took off the pendant, dangling it for a moment before he pocketed it. “See? Now you have no reason to be upset.”

Aerion hesitated for a long moment before finally sheathing her sword. The guards backed off and relaxed.

“I meant what I said, Aerion. This is quite the treasure. I do not wish for my subordinates to get any ideas, so I keep it on my person for safekeeping.”

“Just don’t wear it.”

Tarquin shrugged. “You know I’ll just ignore any promises I make, so why bother asking?”

It was true. Tarquin was the type who could lie about his own mother’s death with a straight face.

“The document. Hand it over,” she said, putting her arm out, palm open. “I’ll do it.” 

Tarquin kicked his legs up on his table and brought his fingers together, eyeing Aerion inquisitively.

“I’m ecstatic, but I must ask. Why the change of heart?” Tarquin asked with a raised eyebrow. His fingers were pressed against each other, and though he stared up at Aerion, there was no question who controlled the flow of this conversation.

“It was either break into your den and steal it from you, or do this. I decided this was easier,” Aerion said flatly.

The slumlord barked a short, harsh laugh. “Well said! At least you’re honest.”

He reached into a drawer and retrieved a white envelope before throwing it onto the table. There was no seal.

“Am I meant to open this?” Aerion asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

“By all means! It wouldn’t mean anything to you. Or to most people, for that matter. Deliver the contents to the offices on the second floor of the Stampery. Place it near the top of a stack of papers—anywhere will do, so long as it is easily seen. It must be placed there tomorrow, and tomorrow only.”

“How will you know if I’ve done it?” Aerion asked, slowly reaching over to pick it up.

“Oh, I’ll know,” Tarquin said. “Come see me in a few days for your collateral.”

Aerion frowned, staring at the man’s coat pocket. “You’ll honor our bargain. Right? I do this, and you return my pendant.”

Tarquin grinned, though something about his smile bothered her. It was almost… predatory. 

“Of course!”

Aerion clutched the letter, turned, and walked out.

— — 

Overwatch. Bodyguard. Protection detail. There were a lot of words for keeping an eye on someone from a distance, but they all boiled down to a lot of sitting and waiting. Or standing, in my case. Standing and agonizing over Aerion’s fate. I felt absolutely useless.

There shouldn’t have been any problems—Aerion was accepting Tarquin’s contract, after all. He’d have to be a Grade A moron to pull anything on her before she completed her mission.

I knew that, and yet I worried. Sweat built up constantly on my forehead, and it was only partly thanks to all the layers I was wearing. 

I couldn’t see into the walls of that building, and I couldn’t turn invisible and infiltrate it, either. So I idled a good distance away, moving every now and then, and only looking at the nondescript door Aerion had disappeared into from the corner of my eye.

Problem was, there was only so long you could hang around like that before people took notice. And decked out in my armor as I was, I couldn’t pass off as a beggar or invalid. Even with it all hidden under a robe, it wasn’t really possible to conceal you were wearing armor. Let alone armor as bulky as mine, with as many layers as I wore.

There weren’t any guards in front of Tarquin’s place, but I wasn’t stupid enough to think he had no sentries out. I needed a distraction. Something to justify my presence there.

As it so happened, there were some workers offloading boxes from a carriage that had pulled up. I walked up to them and offered to help, citing they looked shorthanded.

The looks of gratitude they gave me made my day, and I was soon moving into a nearby alley. The route took me right in front of Tarquin’s place, so it was perfect.

Well, if you ignore the sweat that streamed down my face. I was seriously overheating.

It was great for my stats, though.

Congratulations! Dominion has increased to 24.

Congratulations! Dominion has increased to 25.

I suspected my Vigor would’ve gone up as well, but it was already at my current limit.

I’d just unloaded the last of the boxes and bid the extremely grateful crew farewell when Aerion walked out, clutching something in her hand.

Excellent.

I waited for her to pass, then started tailing after I’d caught my breath. I wasn’t faking it, either—I was utterly winded.

We walked separately back to the nicer area of town, where I broke off, following a different route back to the inn. It wasn’t the end of the world if Tarquin knew we were working together, but there was no need to risk it in case the crime boss had sent a tail after her. 

There was nothing I could do if he had her monitored 24/7, but I doubted he did. For one, we’d both been on the lookout for tails, and often used empty alleys that made it exceedingly difficult for anyone to follow.

Plus, to Tarquin, Aerion was expendable. He had better places to use his limited manpower.

“Why do you look like you’ve just run a race around the city?” Aerion asked, eyeing me with an amused expression from her position on her bed.

“Because I’ve been hauling a bunch of crates to avoid suspicion,” I said with a shrug. “What can I say? It was a good cover, and I got a few stats from it, too. Now, fill me in. Leave nothing out.”

— — 

“Huh,” I said, staring at the letter Tarquin had given her. 

I’d had her read it aloud, because of course, Cosmo’s translation gizmo did nothing to let me read and write this world’s language. I guess the gods decided Champions don’t need to be literate.

It was… puzzling, to say the least. The paper was just a ledger. A list of blacksmithing supplies, their quantities, and arrival and departure dates.

‘Charcoal. One hundred fifty pounds. Friday.’

‘Iron ore. Two hundred pounds. Monday.’

Well, Friday and Monday were what the translator gave me. They had different names for the days here, obviously.

At a glance, there was nothing incriminating there. Nothing that seemed like it’d be used as part of some sinister plot. Except Tarquin would never write off Aerion’s debt unless her contribution was of extreme value.

“We don’t know enough,” I said at last. “We need more info.”

“Agreed,” Aerion said. “I may know someone who can help.”

“Oh?” I asked. I wasn’t under the impression that Aerion had a lot of friends in this city. “An information broker?”

“Of a sort,” she said. “You saw that woman I spoke to the other day, yes?”

“Ah yeah. big, muscled woman. You looked like you were having an argument.” I’d been wondering if Aerion would ever tell me about her. I was glad she was starting to open up more.

“She’s one of the few people I trust in this city. She helped me out when I first arrived. I think we can trust her, to a degree. For a price, of course.”

“Of course,” I said, thinking it over. There were some risks, but I figured a good information broker wouldn’t sell us out so easily. Especially not if we kept our cards close to our chest. 

And with the Basecrest government having shut down all the forges in town while the criminal investigation was underway, I was free for the next little while. I never thought I’d see Rogar spooked, but even he seemed to have the good sense not to defy the government. Not when Dominion was involved.

“Arrange the meeting.”

— — 

The meeting was that night at an upscale restaurant, of all things. I left the tower shield and poleax under my bed, opting to carry my uninitialized mace to the place to avoid suspicion. As it was, I passed off as Aerion’s very solidly protected bodyguard—someone who wouldn’t look too out of place when escorting a noble to a formal dinner.

“This way, sirs,” the restaurant greeter said, showing no surprise at either of our attire. Aerion wore nicer clothes than normal, but was still dressed as a boy, and her nicest boy clothes were only passable in a place like this.

The location was the informant’s choice. The timing, however, was by necessity. We only had a day to figure out what was going on and report it to the authorities. If we could bust Tarquin, the city guard would raid the place, and Aerion would get her pendant back, all without us having to risk anything. We’d even be on the government’s good side, which couldn’t be a  bad thing.

Which was why I hoped beyond all hope that this meeting would go well. In an episode of unfortunate timing, I was due to start at Rogar’s place tomorrow at noon. Which meant we had to have this wrapped up by then.

Our information broker was already there when our guide led us to the room, looking nothing like the armored warrior I’d seen the other day. She wore a simple yet form-fitting one-piece brown dress that, while covering all of her body, showed off her chiseled form.

“Aerion,” she said, rising gracefully. “I am glad you could make it. Please, be seated.”

Aerion took a seat while I respectfully remained standing in a military parade rest behind her. This was Aerion’s game now, and considering how the results of this conversation might change Basecrest’s future, I sure hoped she was up for it.