Chrysalis Ch9: King of the Market (pt2) (Patreon)

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Lloyd and Ian trail down the stairwell after the king, eerie lights playing over their faces as they descend into the Market proper. With each step the city air fades… replaced with something deeper,  damp and earthy.  An updraft catches Lloyd by surprise, and his skin prickles.

Every step of the way Lloyd keeps an eye on the alcoves, the little shadowy corners and alleyways, all the places he knows someone could be lurking.

Despite his wariness, the market lacks the edge of his first visit.  The lighting is brighter, whiter, and more diffuse.  The streets are relatively absent of occupants.  The people are busy with chores, not shopping;  sweeping and organizing, arranging goods, tending to the sea of stalls.   

Other vendors.

As Lloyd steps aside to avoid a cross looking troll, his elbow bumps against a wooden counter and knocks some sticks of incense askew. The shopkeeper behind it stirs, a long, claw-tipped hand lashing towards him.

Before it reaches him the king drops suddenly between them. The vendor recoils, and she mutters some indistinguishable apology. The king takes no notice and merely continues on her way.

The king is in her element.  She trots ahead of them, her head and her tail high. Her path is winding - slinking under barrows, sauntering along table ledges, making sudden stops and arbitrary turns. She pauses to favor the occasional vendor, offering them a slow blink or a thoughtful scent mark.   The gestures are returned with gracious nods or words of thanks.

Regardless of how underfoot she gets, no one bars her way.  Vendors slow their pace to let her walk ahead of them.  No one panics at her arrival.  Most people tip a friendly greeting.

By contrast Lloyd is doing everything he can to remain small and unnoticed, head down, hood up, clasping the jar tightly to his chest. The worm circles within, occasionally leering up at him, but Lloyd is too on guard against the market to notice.

The king's being polite now, but he can't get those skulls out of his head. It's hard to keep the weight of the circumstances from overwhelming him, now that he’s got a moment to sit with it. Was this really the refuge Lyra had promised?  What had she been thinking?

What had he been thinking, trusting her...?

If any of this bothers Ian, he doesn’t show it,  he looks as excitable as a child on holiday. Taking in the otherworldly stalls and vendors and produce,   he cranes his neck to follow some will-o-wisps soaring overhead. He dances to avoid stumbling into a train of dwarves.  He’s so distracted by a semi-transparent geist emerging from a solid stone wall that he nearly walks into one himself.

The king takes a leisurely right and ducks under a cloth awning before making her stop.

“We have arrived, gentlemen.
Welcome to The Glade.”

Lloyd finally looks up, his antennae flicking forward with cautious interest.  Unlike the rest of the market, The Glade is a permanent stone structure gilded with copper pipes.  Steam billows out of various vents, condensating with sea green quartz and mosses.  A sign of twisted branches and quartz is affixed over a pair of heavy cherry wood doors; the crystals in the sign glow in unison with the condensate, a single slow rhythmic pulse.  Lloyd can’t help but think of the building having a heartbeat.

Who knows…
knowing the market, maybe it does.

“Bloody hell.” Ian mutters, rubbing at his chin. “Cute, innit? What do you call this lot?”

Lloyd looks over to Ian, then bristles with alarm.  Ian is inspecting a collection of wicker cages stacked along the side of the Glade. Each one holds a small, rabbit-like creature with soft fur and glittering, observant eyes.

He’d only seen them for a second before, but they’re unmistakably the same creatures he ran into just before...
"Wait, those - "

"Madeline?” The king calls, cutting him off.

A girl in a green apron pokes her head around the door, sapphire hair trailing behind her.  A pair of rabbit ears peek out of either side of her head kerchief, and resting at the center of her forehead is a blood red gemstone.

If the king is expecting any kind of verbal acknowledgement from Madeline, she doesn’t get any.  Instead, the King settles and tucks her tail around herself.

“We are here to speak with Hedrick.   Is he inside?" She asks in an inquiring meow.

The girl hefts a straw broom over her shoulder.  Looking from the king to the two boys, she pauses on Lloyd long enough to make him uncomfortable, before she steps aside and gestures toward the door.

The king makes an approving chirrup and saunters over the threshold.
"And what sort of mood is our good proprietor in today?"

Madeline tilts her head, finger to chin in thought.
After a moment she holds out her hand and wavers it back and forth.

The king chuckles, stepping carefully past her.
"This ought to be a treat."

Lloyd looks nervously at Madeline.
Frostily she returns his gaze.

He turns away, tucking close to Ian and gives her a wide berth.
"Y-you have a very clean threshold, ma'am." He offers hurriedly, speeding to keep pace with the king.

Viciously Madeline’s broom cracks across the door barring his entry.  Confused, he looks from the oak broom to the girl’s face.

Her fur bristles, her eyes thin and tight,
In the corners of her lids tears shimmer.
she’s furious.

"It’s quite alright." The king says, a bemused half-smile on her face.   "They are here in part to make reparations."

Madeline looks to the king, then back to Lloyd, before breathing out an irritated huff and lowering the broom.

Lloyd eases past, flinching apologetically.
"I'm sorry for any trouble before..."

She doesn’t answer, puts her back to him and goes about aggressively sweeping the cobbles. Lloyd hesitates.  Should he say something more?  But Ian tugs at his sleeve and jerks his head towards the door.

“C’mon mate.
Let’s meet this Hedrick.”

One problem at a time Lloyd decides, and follows Ian in.

The Glade begins in a small, pleasant entrance lobby of carved woods and red, moss flooring. A pair elevators line the wall on the left, and a robust gate of twisting oak opens into a spacious amphitheatre.

Lloyd closes his eyes, letting his antennae taste the air:  soft and cool, lapping in gentle waves like a summer’s rain.  Then other things… polished copper and english ivy.  Vibrations from footfalls, muted to a cozy drumbeat.

Opening his eyes, Lloyd walks slowly to the ledge of the landing as if in a trance.  A banistered stairwell spirals down toward the mist-shrouded lower story, crabs scurrying along the pipes and every crack and crevice.  Leaning over the burnished railing, he looks down to the floor below. Tables and booths lit by soft constellations of lanterns, arranged around a circular stage and a  long, polished bar.

The light… he loves the light, so comforting he could bathe in it.
not the  eerie multicolor tones of the rest of the Market,
or the brilliant blaze of Astraea's magic,
but a warm buttery yellow, like embers in a winter hearth.

"What is this place?" He asks softly, running his hand along the railing as he starts down the stairs. Ian follows, gazing in awe at their surroundings. The king darts ahead of them, never quite underfoot, but close enough.

"The Market Glade."   She says, batting a snail to the side.  "We suppose you could consider it a sort of...oasis. Is that the correct word? It’s a popular establishment for our vendors as well as our guests. We understand it is particularly frequented by our human visitors."

The mists swirl, parting for an instant. Lloyd can see a corner of the space has been given over to a sunken pool, shimmering and glittering in a similar way to the one upstairs, the one Astraea had recovered in.

The king continues, hopping to the floor from the last step.
"Madeline takes care of most of the upkeep. Being a brownie...our apologies. Are you familiar with what a brownie is?"

"Pastry, innit?” Ian chimes in.

Lloyd pokes Ian ruefully in the arm.
“ A brownie is a household fae.  Keep Dwellings tidy. Help with household chores, that sort of thing.  Remember the one dad was joking about?“

He winces, thinking back to Madeline.
"Most stories say that they don't handle rudeness very well."

"Well, at least one of you has some knowledge."   The king observes, as she passes the bars and the tables. She’s making for a table in the corner of the room, where a few huddled people are sorting through papers and counting out stacks of money.

No.  Not a group of people.
One person.  A single small person with beastly features and six flurrious arms sprouting out of his shoulders.

Whoever he is, he’s hurriedly organizing a seemingly endless jumble of documents, coins, and paper notes. Some of them are ordinary pounds, but others are completely alien, money that Lloyd doesn’t recognize or coins that seem centuries old.  The six-armed man is clad in a rich, shimmeringly crimson vest struck through with gold thread. Leathery bat ears heavy with gold rings move to track the king as she hops up on the table, but he doesn’t look up from his task. The king tilts her head, turning her own ears.

"Hedrick."  She says, satisfaction in her voice. The figure grunts, flashing a mouth full of jagged fangs.

"What is it, king? You know we don't open for another three hours."

His voice is thick and biting, with deliberate pronunciation.   He slides a pile of gold coins into one of his hands, slipping them into a purse as he counts out paper pounds with another, marking tallies on a ledger with the third. Lloyd watches him work with fascination, tracking the deft, precise movements of his multitude of hands. As soon as it’s filled, Hedrick slams the purse to the ground beside his chair, reaching for more loose coins.

"Isn’t enough staff for a VIP asking for early access either, so don’t even ask."

"Are we interrupting?" Lloyd whispers to the king. "Should we come back later?"

The king ignores Lloyd, instead padding around the table.  She circles the ledger, purring, then sits on the open pages.

"Hedrick...?"

It takes him a moment to react before he finally looks up. Grumbling, Hedrick drops everything he’s holding and folds all six arms across his chest.

"You make one hell of a window, king." He growls. The king’s purring only grows louder.

"Ever the blunt instrument. You’ll like this."   She says, hopping back down and circling Lloyd.    "We brought you something to make amends for your recent loss. Introduce yourself, L-"

"Yer the wankah that got Selkie tossed!"   Hedrick roars, slamming his hand on the table.   The coins jump, and so does Lloyd who nearly drops his jar, fumbling, the worm coiling excitedly within.  He catches hold of it and makes a point to set it on the ground. The last thing he needs is that breaking.

"The fuck you bringin’ this sorry sod in ‘ere wh-"   Hedrick starts, then clears his throat, adjusting his vest.
".... what, the bloody hell, are you doing in my establishment?"

"Well...?"   The king asks, looking back at Lloyd.   "Answer the goblin."

Lloyd seems totally caught unawares that he would be expected to explain the situation, and suitably stumbles for words.
"Sorry! S-sorry, I - "  He starts, then starts again
"I’m… sorry about what happened sir.   ...I...didn't hurt anyone. A-and I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. But I'm still sorry it happened."

Lloyd looks askance at the king, hoping for some kind of reassurance.
Her inscrutable cat smile does nothing of the sort.

"The king thinks” Lloyd continues,  “Or… we think that… to help make amends for what happened or… to balance things, maybe I … or we… could… “

Lloyd's voice goes thin. He looks miserably down at his feet. How is he supposed to convince Hedrick to take him on if this is the foot they're starting off on?

"...you said you were short-staffed?"  He asks miserably.

Hedrick slaps the table again, harder this time.
"No.  No no nonononono. NO. KING. NO.   The answer is NO."

"Hedrick."   The cat starts, blinking slowly up at him.   "Reparations need to be made.”

“What kind of reparations is giving Selkie’s old job to one of the instigators what got her killed?”

“We find it rather poetic, in its way.” The king purrs.

“I’m not interested in poetry King, I’m interested in damages.  Currency!  Balancin scales.  Not givin out opportunities.”

“We think you misunderstand, Hedrick.  This IS currency.  We aren’t asking you to give him a job.  We are offering him to you as payment.”

“Payment?”  Hedrick says, still furious.  Then as if realizing what’s been said   sits back, uncrossing one of his arms and stroking his chin.  A glint of greed twinkles in his eye.  “Payment you say?  As in… ownership?”

“Of course my dear Goblin.  Lloyd has offered to serve as a permanent retainer of the market, and we are offering him to you indefinitely as compensation. A life for a life.  Isn’t that right Lloyd?”

“Y-yes your majesty.  That’s the arrangement.”

Hedrick leans forward and squints at Lloyd, looking him over.  Lloyd wants nothing more than to hide, but determined to present himself as best he’s able.

Hedrick scoffs.
"Lloyd? He..?”
“King, are you taking the piss here?
That there is a girl."

The king shrugs. "’That there’ is what we have to offer you."

"Well… well my clientele want SELKIE, and Selkie was a girl, yeah?"  Hedrick says, his anger returning.   "No deal.  I'll go without. You want to fix this, fix it some other way."

"So you're saying you aren’t interested?"   The king asks, her tail flicking.  “We know you have always wanted… the prestige of ownership.   The most expensive currency.   We thought you would be enticed.”

The goblin seems to hesitate a moment, then grumbling turns his head to the side.

“I’m not interested in owning someone what isn’t of value.  This nymph over here has trouble written all over them.  Reeks of bad business.”

“We see.”  The king says, her eyes growing slightly larger.  Lloyd can see a few additional eyes glittering at him from the shadows.
"That will be… unfortunate. But we can find other arrangements.

"She was stacking those cages by the door, wasn't she?”  Lloyd interjects, desperation creeping into his voice. “I-I can do that! I've got experience. Give me a chance and I'll prove it!"

"Ha.   Some half-human thinks she can play brownie."   Hedrick huffs, waving him off.    "What d’ye ..."  He clears his throat.  "What are you going to do? We dont need anyone playing fetch-and-carry, we need SELKIE!  And Selkie is…”

“Er... Selkie was..."

"She was talent.”
“We’ve only got a need for talent."

"Lloyd's got plenty of talent!"   Ian barks out, stepping forward. The king’s head turns as she regards him. Hedrick scowls, tapping several sets of fingers on the desk.  "He... he knows loads about all kinds of things.   Fae stuff and...bug stuff, right? He’s smart! Yer a right bloody tosser if you think he ain't got nothin to offer-"

Hedrick’s scowl deepens, and he pushes himself up to interject when Lloyd asks

"What did Selkie do?"

Hedrick and the others turn to look at him, Hedrick’s eyes narrowing. Lloyd can feel the binder quivering under his coat.

"Tell me what Selkie did, and I'll tell you if I can do it.  And…." He stiffens, a small lump forming in his throat.  "...and… if you thought I was a girl… I guess your customers would, too. S-so why does that matter?"

Lloyd coughs and looks away, breathing a little harder. Hedrick sighs and hops down, shaking his head.

"Ahh, fuck it."

Now that he isn’t seated, it becomes clear that he’s a good foot shorter than Lloyd.   That doesn’t stop him from marching up to Lloyd, grabbing him by the collar, and dragging him down to look him square in the eye.

Lloyd squeaks, suddenly confronted with a mouthful of jagged teeth.

"Arright, look here.” Hedrick barks. “Ye would need ta draw a crowd, yeah?   Hold their attention fer the night. Get ‘em back the next. Make sure higher clientele feel special, give ‘em the royal treatment. We still got some a’ Selkie's old costumes and ye better be comfortable wearin’ ‘em, I ain't got the bloody time to argue."

"Get ‘em in the door. Give ‘em a main event. And tend ter the whales. That’s the job, really Think yer up to all that?"

Now that he’s closer, Hedrick’s fiery little pug eyes dart over Lloyd’s features and that slight hesitation returns.  "Ye got a pretty face."  Hedrick says, one of his hands rising up to poke at Lloyd’s cheek. "But ye can buy those for a song anywhere ye like in the apothecary district.”

Hedrick’s expression hardens.  “There’s gotta be something else, right? Selkie could dance. Can ye do that?
Lloyd?”

Hedrick pushes Lloyd away, folding his arms one after the other.
"Sell me on yerself. Right now, or I bloody walk."

"I...I..."

Lloyd stammers wildly as Ian catches his arm, helping him right himself.. He's lightheaded, his thoughts cluttered with images of himself stumbling over his own feet. What does Hedrick mean, dance? On the stage? He'd be lucky not to trip and fall over his-

"Did Selkie have wings?"  Lloyd asks.

Hedrick snorts.
"Naw.  Thought ye were supposed to be smart? She was a selkie. Had a sealskin.”

"So you just called her Selkie? Why not her na - “
Lloyd starts, but Hedrick cuts him off with a growl.

"Wots yer game, nymph? Gonna fly in little circles?"

"I could. Th-that sounds interesting, right? I could be good at that."

Hedrick laughs evilly and turns away, waving his hands dismissively.
"Yeah. Alright. Out. Gotta balance the books, take stock, do a dozen other things in less time than… well less time than I got."

Lloyd twists his hands in front of him, breathing harder. Dark spots dance in front of his eyes.

"Wait, please, I can - "

"See yerself out?” Hedrick interrupts, already starting to pull out tally sheets again. “Thanks, that’d be great- “

"His voice!"  Ian cuts in, panic flashing in his eyes. “He’s…”
He trails off, looking nervously around.
"Lloyd has a nice voice!"

The spots grow wider in Lloyd’s vision. The rushing in his ears gets louder. He can feel his legs starting to quiver. Ian's voice sounds like it's coming from a long way away.

"Yes. What about singing?"

It doesn't even feel like he said the words, but they float out anyway. Each syllable a crisp and crystal note.

Hedrick looks from Ian to Lloyd, saying nothing for a long moment. He lets out a long, slow sigh, then sits back in his chair, gesturing to the stage.

"I got work ta do. Give it a go, for the king's sake. Then get lost, for mine."

He opens his ledger pointedly, scribbling loudly on the neat white pages. Lloyd looks uncertainly at him, then takes a few wobbly steps forward.

This is insane. His legs shake as he half-stumbles up to the stage, numb and awkward, his heart thundering in his ears. He doesn't sing. He doesn't know how to sing. The mists above the floor crawl just over the surface of the platform.  He’s never sung before in his life.   He needs this, he needs this to survive.  His voice may be different now, but that's not going to carry him through this.  What’s he going to-


                                                                                                                               L̶͚̣̻̳͇͓͉̽͋̔͐̾͠e̵͎̠̲̿t̶̩̅͝ ̸̳̑͗͌̕̚ṃ̷̛̭̻͐͗͊̾͋͠e̵̼͉̯͖̲͊̍̎̈́͠

what?

An overwhelming dizziness snaps the world sideways, followed by a wave of nausea.  Lloyd struggles just to remain upright.

                                                     what was that?

His vision comes back to focus enough to see Hedrick isn't even looking at him. His wavering vision picks out the king, lounging by the table. She seems much larger, half-hidden among the dancing spots. Something seems to surround her like a malevolent fog, huge and old, contented and cruel. He looks away quickly, the spots in his vision surging again to swallow up the world around him.

What is he going t-

L̷̟͑̈́̽͐̇͜E̷̗͆́̿̃͘͘͠Ṯ̴̨̻̓͝.̷̥̝͇̙̳̜̯̒̔̍̀̅ͅ ̶̙͋̑̓̆̆̀͑͠ ̴̧̟̦̬̀M̸̧͓͖̽́̂͗Ḛ̷͎̣̒̎̏͘.̶̰̠̫̊͘



A distant, cold stillness overcomes him.
Like going numb.
The last thing he can see is Ian, watching him. Alert. Attentive.
And then-


o…okay…

Lloyd opens his mouth.
And then.

Nothing.








"How was that?"


It’s a voice.  His voice, but he doesn’t remember saying the words.
The world slowly returning like a tide drawing away.

His head is splitting.   Muffled.

Lloyd puts a hand out, leaning against the wall. He presses his other hand against his temple. Something behind his eyes has started to ache.

Ian is staring at him, dumb struck, his hands slack at his side.   Even the king appears startled, her tail up and ears forward.   Whatever just happened… it’s had an impact.   He can tell that he did something, but he can’t quite-

Hedrick sits hunched over his ledger, his hand stopped in mid-line. He sits up, straightening his back, still looking down at the page.

"... I... haven't heard a song like that in twenty-some years."  He says, his voice very nearly fond.  Nostalgic, even.

He stands, carefully moving his stool back, then turns and walks over to the front of the stage. His gaze is searching, now. Scrutinizing as he looks Lloyd up and down.

"What was it you said yer name was?"

Twenty-some...?

"Lloyd."
Some of the spots shrink, quivering. Lloyd straightens up.
"My name is Lloyd."

Hedrick squints at him for a long while, then shakes his head.
"There. " He points to the bar.  "Trys. Talk to Trys. He'll make the proper arrangements.”

Lloyd squints at the bar, the spots swelling again.
"Trys? Right. Trys.  Talk to Trys. Wait."

His voice is fading out in his own ears, overwhelmed by the rushing sound. Lloyd can barely hear himself over it.

"Does that mean I'm hire - "

The spots grow, swelling until they swallow the world. Lloyd's legs crumple.
And he collapses to the stage.


continue reading ->

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Thanks for reading along!   
Be sure to check in Friday January 7th to read  the first part of
Ch10: Fae Hospitality

In which Trystan formally introduces himself.  Ian makes a drinking buddy!     Lloyd continues being a walking disaster.