Steamforged Sorcery - Chapter 5 (Patreon)

Angel nearly choked on his saliva. He coughed into his elbow, then squinted at the woman. He flicked his head to the side and the eyepiece dropped down. Dalliah frowned but stood still as he scanned her.

Race: Human

Name: Dalliah Withermore

Status: Healthy

Information accuracy: 93%

Strength: 28

Intelligence: 89

Nimbleness: 180

Toughness: 52

Rating: Extremely Dangerous

Weak point(s): Heart, Neck (6/100)

Element(s): Nonmagical creature

Error: Unable to analyze further. Information incomplete

Two pinpoints of light formed on Dalliah’s neck and heart. Angel’s eyebrows rose and he flicked the glass away. He tried to keep his gaze steady as he found himself thankful for the artifact at his ear. Those numbers dwarfed anything he’d ever seen, even in the catacombs that he’d turned around and walked out of. Even so, the artifact hadn’t led him astray yet. If this woman wasn’t the Magistrate, he didn’t even want to know who she was.

“The Magistrate?” Angel asked, half expecting the woman to burst into laughter and tell him it was a joke. “There are Seekers that work directly for the city. With all due respect, why do you need me?”

Dalliah ignored Angel’s question. She walked up to the wall beside his desk and peered at one of the disassembled artifacts.

“If you sold half the relics you destroyed, you’d be a very wealthy man,” she observed.

“Not everything is about money.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m here,” Dalliah replied. She took the artifact – a small sphere with a bundle of wires hanging loosely from a hole – and turned it over in her hand. Angel winced but said nothing.

“I don’t follow.”

“You aren’t motivated by money. In a job that revolves around making as much money as possible to retire before you die in the catacombs, that’s a rare trait.”

Angel took the artifact from her as delicately as he could and hung it back on the wall. Dalliah just cocked an eyebrow.

“What do you need, then?” Angel asked. “I might not be driven by money, but I don’t work for free.”

“I could order you to,” Dalliah said.

“You wouldn’t have come to a no-name Seeker if you had better options,” Angel said, sitting down in his wooden chair. “I have no clue why, but you need me for something.”

Dalliah eyed him for a moment. Then she sighed and massaged her forehead. “I suppose I should be glad that you’re clever. Better chances of succeeding that way.”

“I’ve yet to agree to do anything.”

“Fine. I’d like you to escort someone through the Barren.”

“That’s it?” Angel asked, frowning. “Crossing the desert is hardly a difficult task for a Seeker. Why do you need me for it?”

Dalliah pressed her lips together. “That’s not necessary. I simply need you to escort someone to Molten Cliffs.”

Angel choked for the second time that day. “Ah. You’re trying to kill me for some reason. It’s one thing to travel to a nearby city, but you’re asking me to cross the entire desert. That’s… more than a week of travel at the least. I’m a Seeker, not a Hunter.”

“You’ve done it before,” Dalliah pointed out, crossing her arms and looming over him.

“You’ve done your research,” Angel said. “But not all of it, Miss. That was with my Master, who was a Hunter. And that was ten years ago.”

“Seekers have fantastic memory,” Dalliah replied. “You could do it.”

“Even if I could, I’m not keen on the journey. Traversing the Barren is hard enough on my own, and I’m not sure I could do it. Add on another person….” Angel shrugged. “Why don’t you get a blimp or hire someone with a vehicle?”

“Not an option,” Dalliah said curtly. “I can pay you more than adequately for the journey.”

“I’m not interested in dying for a bit of coin.”

“Who said anything about coin?” Dalliah asked, reaching into her pouch and pulling out a small red box. Golden designs ran across its surface, forming intricate pictures on every single side.

Angel’s eyes bulged and he had to keep himself for lunging at Dalliah.

“A relic,” he breathed.

“An untouched one. I don’t even know what it does,” Dalliah said with a smug grin. “It’s yours if you take the job.”

Angel swallowed. His fingers twitched at his side and his brain yelled at him to refuse, but both he and Dalliah knew that he’d already lost their verbal fight.

“I’ve got three conditions,” Angel said, finally getting control of himself again.

“Speak, then.”

“Tell me who I’m escorting. You’re clearly trying to hide their identity, but I’m not going to travel the Barren with someone I don’t know. I know how to be discrete, but I won’t budge on that.”

Dalliah didn’t respond immediately, which told Angel he’d made the right move. After nearly a minute, the woman clenched her hands and gave him a single nod.

“Next, I want payment upfront,” Angel said. “I mean no offense, but I’ve been scammed one too many times to assume that you’ll pay me for such a secretive mission.”

Surprisingly, Dalliah nodded immediately after he finished speaking. “I expected as much.”

“Finally, I want more than just the relic. I’m going to need around ten Vei.”

“I thought you didn’t care for money,” Dalliah said, curling her lip in distaste. “Ten Vei is enough to buy passage on an airship.”

“Which you would have done already if it was an option.”

“The relic is worth easily ten times that,” Dalliah said. “Sell it if you’re so desperate for money.”

“The money isn’t for me,” Angel said. “It’s to hire a Hunter. There’s no way I can cross the desert on my own with a dead weight. Your charge and I will both die. Don’t worry – I’ll make sure they’re discreet.”

Dalliah let out a slow breath. She examined Angel’s face for a few moments, then let out a sigh. “Fine.”

She extended her hand. Angel shook it with his mechanical limb. She tossed him the relic. He grabbed the palm-sized box from the air, cradling it like a child.

“If you fail, make sure you disappear thoroughly,” Dalliah said, her eyes cold. “Because if I find you, you’ll be breathing blood for the rest of your very short life.”

“Relax with the threats,” Angel replied. “I’m good for my word. You already know that, or we wouldn’t be talking. So, who’s my new duckling? A political prisoner? Some refugee?”

“My daughter.”

“Oh,” Angel said. “Shit.”