Diaries of an Ooze Witch (Entry 3.6) (Patreon)

(Sorry this took longer than expected to push out)

3.6

It had taken me a few days to arrange a meeting with this Gabrin fellow. I had never had much dealings with the criminal element, so my etiquette in such matters was sorely lacking, forcing me to lean hard on Jeru’s expertise. Much to my surprise, he took to the task like a fish to water. He had entered the “Broken Horseshoe” as a scout and expertly managed to not only find and arrange a meeting with this Black Marketeer, but also did so in only a few days. The alacrity that he operated with was both impressive if not somewhat worrying.

Regardless, armed with only my wits and charm, I entered the tavern with one goal in mind: Find out what happened to my Brother. Pushing through the threshold of the door, the scent of alcohol and blood permeated the establishment as sweaty patrons littered every nook and cranny. Sauntering to the dark corner of the tavern, I quickly found the man called Gabrin. He was a thin man with ash blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, revealing his receding hair line. He wore a black tunic and tattered leggings, contrasting with his pale, almost albino features. Curiously, he seemed to nurse his right hand, hiding it behind his tankard of ale like he was ashamed of it. Trying not to scare him off, I approached him cordially, greeting him warmly as I took my seat in front of him, careful to avoid shaking his hand as that would force him to reveal whatever was wrong with his hand. It appears the gesture was appreciated as I noticed he seemed to breathe a little easier and grew more amicable to me as a result. The stench of his desperation was palpable, like a thick cologne dabbed around the neck. It was an unbecoming trait for a man, much less an agent of the Black Market.

Using his skittish nature against him, I projected confidence and sold him on the product, providing an ingot of our purest iron. He studied it, testing its integrity. Satisfied with its quality, Gabrin asked what my price was. It was at this point that I decided to make the big ask. In negotiations, it’s usually prudent to make an outlandish request of the other party to put them on the back foot. Being of sound mind, they would normally reject the request and try to bargain down from the offer to a far more reasonable deal. However, by doing so, they’re already negotiating from a position of weakness, making one’s next offer more enticing and likelier to succeed because of the leverage garnered.

So imagine my surprise when I asked for 150 Milan per ingot of iron and wound up having that offer accepted outright. I had known the man to be desperate, but I had clearly underestimated his need to make a deal. He must have known that the iron market in Placedo had cratered in recent times, so why was he so eager to accept? It didn’t make sense to me in the moment, but surely something else had to have been afoot.

It was then that Gabrin, in closing the deal, offered his right hand to shake on it. Perhaps he was forgetting his earlier candidness, maybe he felt more comfortable with me to reveal it, or even the gesture came out like an instinct. Regardless, I found myself clasping his hand with my own. That’s when I felt it. The smallness of his hand, gnarled and calloused as it was, something was missing about it. And that’s when I noticed: Where once he had a ring finger, a stump remained, close to the knuckle. In my momentary glance, it appears that the wound was still rather fresh. I tried my best to hide my shock, but Gabrin seemed to have picked up on that. He pulled his hand away ashamedly, a faint grimace lay upon his face. All he could offer up was a forced smile before muttering under his breath, “A reminder that the city always remembers your debts.”

I nodded to him tentatively, unsure if that was done as a warning or a threat. Sensing my reluctance, he leaned back in his chair and pulled something out from his pocket. What he produced alarmed me as he tossed it onto the table in front of me: my family crest, stained with grime and dirt. My eyes crawled up to meet his eyes, a scrutinizing gaze that told me the balance of power in our relationship had shifted yet again. He knew exactly what I was after and how to hold it over me.

“I take it you’re the younger brother.” Gabrin stated to me, not asked, “Will was a great asset to this city… And I hope that you can be too.”

I did not answer him, only staring at the soiled family crest that lay on the table. With our arrangement set, Gabrin parted my company as he left me to contemplate the gravity of the situation. My resources in the city were secured, that much was certain. However, the lingering dread of this Gabrin holding information on my Brother over me all but assured that he had his hooks in me. I am less than pleased to rely on the Black Market to achieve a stable income for myself, but even more disgusted at how easily Gabrin was able to play me. Was he in fact desperate for the iron my family could provide, or had that been a farce? The market of Placedo was already flooded with iron products, what more could mine do, even if it was of superior stock? Perhaps that was point and quality was in higher demand for him. And what of Gabrin’s disfigurement? Was that a coincidence or the result of answering to far more cutthroat benefactors who would not look kindly at his failures? If the quality was important, what was our iron to be used for?

These questions circled in my head until I became dizzy with indecision. The most important question remained unanswered: What does Gabrin know about my Brother? I go to bed still reeling from my questions. Something was amiss in this city, something lay beneath the pale, layered with deceit and enigmas. It was time someone started pulling them back.