Chapter 61 - The Humble Life of a Skill Trainer (Patreon)

It was odd to look back on my thinking and realize I was compromised. Strange, since I felt fully lucid at the time, and everyone generally thought I seemed fine if a bit distracted. An example of this obvious distraction was my decision to brew so many high-end health potions. It was vital to my survival, but it wasn’t a reasoned decision. At the time, my thinking was that those ingredients would go expire, so I should brew them to gain some use out of them. Then, I dug into my brewing, and almost no real thought passed through my mind that entire night, except what was right in front of me. My full focus was directed at the brewing process. Objectively, the logical choice would have been to brew a plethora of different potions and then selling the remaining ingredients. It was pure luck that I had those potions and that they were vitally needed.  It would have been smarter to have options, including some left over coins.

The most egregious example of my impulsive behavior was fiddling with [Alchemy] instead of a different, and less critical, Skill. Again, the results were useful. I doubt another Skill would have provided as much information as the explosion of [Alchemy]. But it also wouldn’t have exploded, nearly killed me, and cost me a Skill that was hard-earned and useful. I was still profoundly annoyed by the loss of [Alchemy] even if I doubted I would ever be able to slip back into the role of an apprentice. No, I had thoroughly hitched my wagon to Snowy and her father. If they succeeded, I would be one of the only openly practicing Skill Trainers in the Kingdom. If they failed, I doubted I would live much longer than they would. Everything else stemmed from that one, nearly impulsive decision, to work with the Baron instead of using my well-prepared escape plan.

Which was why I was moving through the cities slum near the outer wall. Snowy, Abby, and I had left together for the trade district, but I had quickly slipped away from the girls (and our watchers) so that I could meet a contact of the Skill Trainers. As proof of how badly my thinking had been compromised, it wasn’t until the Skill Trainers delivered a letter that I even thought of an escape route. Planning to survive failure was basic spy-craft. Always have an extraction method. Now that my brains weren’t acting like a puddle of mud, I could prepare for the long term, and an escape route was first on the list. A few carefully exchanged letters later, and I had what I needed for my underworld contact. The Skill Trainers also had a copy of all the information I learned, which might be partly why I so quickly received further assistance.

Slipping down the dark alley, I checked to be sure the curb brick that named the streets had the words’ Ivy / Steel’ etched clearly. The Kingdom had given up using signs at the slum’s cross-roads, they were quickly stolen and burned for warmth. Engraved bricks might not be as easy to see from a wagon, but they had the benefit of not disappearing. It was a tad cliche to use a location that references such dark tones. Still, it did make it easy to remember the area. Counting the narrow houses, I stopped when I reached the fifth doorway and knocked twice. Stepping to the side opposite the hinge, I waited. A gentle thump and whisper of movement passed through the door from inside, quickly silenced, then the sound of wood sliding on wood. I didn’t see a peek hole on the door, but it was dark enough that I might have missed it.

Tapping my side, I signaled that I was offering a transaction in hand-cant.

This time the thump was louder and was followed by the squeal of unlocking metal. The brute handling the door when it swung open was huge, gigantic, in fact. The man might even be part giant for all I could tell given his size, slanting forehead, and mismatched teeth that showed as he grinned and gestured me through the door. I refused to pause, knowing that any trouble I had would result in retaliation by the Skill Trainers. Reticence would likely cost me with higher prices or worse service. I didn’t look the part of a hard-bitten thug, but I could at least act like I dealt with them regularly. It wasn’t much, but it might help.

The inside was surprisingly clean, unexpectedly so for the slums. A polished, well maintained, and oversized chair sat to the right side of the door, a leather bound book resting on the seat. Seeing the direction of my eyes, the giant man’s smile grew, and he gave me a wink, then let his face slip slack-jawed as if he was simple minded, then his smile returned. The action was so sudden and odd for the situation that I almost giggled. Giggled! This giant of a man had completely unbalanced me with just a knowing look and a silly grin. For a second, I relaxed. Then tensed as my [Acting] and [Meditation] both poked me, informing me that something was messing with my mind and ruining my performance.

The giant palmed his book and straightened his tunic with a gentle tug. Then the large man gestured me down the hall ahead of him with another friendly smile, one I returned with [Acting] blazing away at full tilt. This man was dangerous, and not just due to his size. He knew that I had caught that he wasn’t just a large stupid man, so he then tried to mess with my head using a Skill while pretending to be a goofy, friendly giant. A trope that was well known in the bardic tales, but one I had no interest believing. I didn’t know if this was an effort just for me or his usual way of handling things. Either way, I could feel an itch between my shoulder-blades as I walked down the dimly lit hallway.

“Here,” the man said when we reached an open door. Stepping in, I smiled at the decent light entering through a glass skylight, the sight making it clear that someone with money lived here despite the neighborhood. The room was a study, remarkably similar in style to the Baron’s, though smaller. Closely packed with an unlit fireplace, two comfortable chairs, and a thick wooden desk housed in the corner. Besides the size, the room was also far less geared to comfort than the noble’s. It was a room for business and work, not warmed with mead and rugs, tapestries, and sconces.

The large man passed me silently despite his bulk, then gently lowered himself into one of the chairs, his body straining the expanse of the large seat. Even relaxed, his large frame seemed to fill the room. Again, my [Meditation] Skill hinted at some kind of mental manipulation being applied, and [Acting] poked at me for losing the thread of the persona I was portraying.

This was no mere thug, no door watcher. This man was fundamentally dangerous in both body and Skill.

“You didn’t fall for my dumb brute act, good for you. I like you better already. I’m Jorge,” he began with a giant friendly smile, one that triggered my Skills yet again.

I had the sudden urge to let him know exactly how far I had seen through his act. Wiping the smile from his face would have been deeply satisfying. I wanted to prove to this black market trader that he wasn’t the smartest man in the room.

Giving the large man a friendly smile, I sat across from him next to the fireplace. Letting my body clearly show how comfortable I was with him.

“Thank you. The Skill Trainer’s recommended you for my needs. We only work with experts, so I’m glad to have access to your services,” I said, worrying that I had put on my friendly and impressed act a tad thick, but he seemed to accept my words at face value. Or, at least to my eye, he appeared to fall for it.

“So, what do you need? My contact wasn’t clear about your specific needs, only that they would be unique.”

That was still more information than I wanted this man to have. I had hoped to keep the smuggler in the dark, but a bare amount of information was probably required to earn this man’s services. New customers would be the easiest way to infiltrate his network, so each would be a risk. Leaning forward, I passed Jorge my folded list of glassware and a few alchemy supplies. I selected cheap components, but these were required for more complex potions. I was hoping to test if I could re-earn my [Alchemy] Skill. If that worked, I would sacrifice it again and attempt to reform it while trying to modify the Skill as it grew. This seemed like a slow but safe way to test this new technique. My hope was that I could shift parts of my developing Skill and focus on powerful active effects - spells by any other name.

Leaning back, the man scanned over my list, then tapped the arm of his chair as he stared at me.

“It looks like you are training someone in [Alchemy],” Jorge said, his smiling mask slipping a bit as the keen mind showed through.

I simply nodded at his statement, silently not commenting on his unspoken question. Obviously, he was fishing for more information. If he had any sources at all, he had to assume I was training someone else. After all, it was well known that I had [Alchemy]. It would be worrying if he knew that I was trying to recover my Skill, which only a few people should know. I shifted, letting my discomfort with this man shine through, hopefully helping him come to the wrong conclusion.

“Very well, I can get these ingredients. None are proscribed, though it’s going to cost you extra, you understand. Especially for the glasswork,” Jorge said, to which I just nodded. The Baron had agreed to pay for this expense. The deciding factor was the disinformation that my training an [Alchemist] would cause. Having me train an alchemist for the Baron implied that the Baron would not have access to my Skills. This suggested a fissure between us, and more importantly, Snowy and I. It was not the best bit of distraction, but the Baron also sent a missive to his seneschal to empty my shop, pack up the supplies, and store them in his fortress. I could imagine how that would play havoc with the noble’s spymasters.

Gently rubbing at my chin, I considered Jorge. Despite my discomfort with the man, he also seemed competent. Whoever I enlisted to help me would also be a risk. The Skill Trainers are interested in my research into magic and its potential to break the Mages stranglehold on the Guilds and, in turn, the economy. I thought that I could trust them in this and, by extension, Jorge. Though, I would still look for alternative solutions as well. More escape plans could only be beneficial.

“I’ll also need a safe house and a way out of the city for up to four people if things go badly,” I said.

I prepared myself for a session of haggling but was surprised when Jorge pulled a letter free from his leather-bound book and passed it over to me.

Quickly, I absorbed the contents with [Reading] and [Memorization]. With a chuckle, I handed the letter back, watching it disappear into his large hands.

“Well. If the Skill Trainers plan to pay for my needs, my needs just expanded,” I said.

With a glint of avarice in his eye, he rubbed his hands together and said, “I thought that was how you would see it as well.”

We argued over different plans and expenses for another two hours. We covered further fall back plans that depended on what costs the Skill Trainers would cover. It was a blank letter of credit, but I was still sure that they had limits. Eventually, the wish list was complete, and I waved Jorge goodbye as I left. The large man had managed to disarm my worry during our discussion, which only furthered my concerns over the danger he represented. 

While slipping free of the alley, my attention was drawn to a crowd standing around a corpse wagon and driver. From the door of a broken-down building, a man clad in thick armor dropped the body of a vagrant with a split skull. The corpse collector hopped down from his seat and quickly lobbed the corpse into the back of his wagon, the move well-practiced.

While the crowd watched in terrified silence, four more bodies were removed. The guards were the corpse squad, responsible for handling reanimation outbreaks - predominantly in the slums. For the most part, reanimations were stupid, unable to even open doors. Cleansing them was no more complicated than merely bashing their skulls in and stacking them like cordwood. When a reanimation resulted in a rare aberrant dead, things went badly, and these men really earned their pay. The Baron’s city was small enough that his guards could handle any rare reanimation. The capital, though, had a dedicated guard force that dealt with the infrequent outbreaks.

Shaking my head at the horror of the undead, I pushed past the watching fearful crowd and continued on my way back to the Baron’s mansion.