Curselock

Chapter 34: Smugglers Guild

Chapter 34: Smugglers Guild

Through the sea water rusted door, the group came eye to eye with the mountain of a man who opened it for them. The man was dirty with grease and sweat, long dark streaks crossed his stubble where his working hands scratched himself. His fingernails told the story of years of manual labor, constant abuse to unload or load the city’s many ships.

The man didn’t look twice at the group nor did he care that three young men, kids really, had entered. In fact, the man didn’t seem to care about anything other than the small pipe he clutched dearly. Faded burnt blue residue sat dormant in the pipe as the man hastily tried to light a match. Eventually he did, and the sweet taste of his pleasure found his lungs.

As the man blew out blue smoke, Leland recognized the drug. Once they were past the guard and into the connected tunnel, he spoke up.

“Mana Dust. I’ve never seen it before.”

Boor didn’t look back, too busy navigating through the slimy undercity, but he did speak up, “Street name for it is Lucky Blue, although you sure aren’t lucky when it digs its talons into you.”

“Why do they call it that then?” Jude asked.

“Because you are lucky enough to be smoking Mana Dust.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Doesn’t have to.”

They stopped at an intersection, one path leading off further into the darkness, the other towards what sounded like the ocean.

“Just what is this place?” Glenny asked when they began towards the dark.

“Shoutwell used to be owned by pirates. This is the main stronghold,” Boor answered, feeling around the walls as they walked.

“Does this connect to the sewers?” Leland asked.

“In a few spots, but most have been sealed up for when city inspectors make sure the concrete isn’t cracking.”

“So, the odds are low that the Sightless will be down here?”

“I’d say so, but who knows. If they want to remain hidden, they could most definitely keep their anonymity here.”

Jude subconsciously scrunched his hand, like gripping his axe. “And where exactly is here?”

Boor didn’t answer right away, his focus on a small rope covered in sludge and damp sea moss. He cautiously pulled the line, like any force above the bare minimum would snap it. When he did, a small cut out in the wall twisted before pulling in on itself.

The butler then smiled. “Boys, are you ready for an experience you’ll never forget?”

He received various unenthusiastic head nods.

“Well,” Boor said, sticking his hand into the cut out and pulling. “I welcome you to the real Smuggler’s Guild.”

As the wall slowly creaked open, like a door, Leland asked, “Really?”

Glenny crouched before a small table manned by a wrinkled old woman. She waved her hand over three cups, moving them with frighteningly fast speed. When Glenny couldn’t pick the correct cup, Boor stepped in and told the woman off.

“Keep your wits about you,” Boor then said. “Everyone here is looking to score. You are too green not to take advantage of.”

Glenny nodded with understanding, venturing to the next booth that caught his fancy. In the end, he bartered his two steel daggers and some gold for a pair with a bit longer reach. It was then he remembered the parasitic cloak he left in the mansion. He wondered just how much money they could get if they sold it.

Then he realized it didn’t really matter. Nothing he had seen so far had even come close to the level of uniqueness the cloak held. It was then and there that he decided he would keep it, just like Leland and Jude wanted.

Eventually the group congregated on Leland who was actively arguing with a heavily warted shopkeeper. When Boor loomed over the conversation, the man quickly apologized, packed his things, and left.

“Coward,” the butler spit. “Let’s get moving.”

They left the market street, heading towards another wide bridge. As they did so, Leland and the others grew confused. They had pushed through a mass of people, but now the crowd had mostly dissipated.

“They are watching you, Boor,” Glenny then said, his eyes having turned into lizard like slits.

“I know, I didn't think they’d recognize me this quickly.”

Jude recoiled at that. “Because you are House Onryo’s butler?”

Boor chuckled at that. “No, because I used to run things here. Old wounds, you know?”

The man’s demeanor then completely changed. From quiet proper manners to a sinister smirk thirsting for battle, Boor kept his chin high and drew his weapon. It flared to life from his hand tattoo, a long rapier made of polished silver steel. He then held it to his cheek, the sharp edge grazing his short stubble while the tip threatened an alleyway.

“Come on out, I’ve already smelled you,” Boor said, causing the shadows to morph into people.

From out of the darkness, nine battle ready thugs stepped. Each held various weapons or their legacies while also carrying the same branding tattoo. It marked across their faces regardless of scars or acne, in the form of a large black “W.”

“Witches,” Jude seethed.

One of the thugs bellowed, “Ahh, is that Boor leading more children into the belly of the beast? I guess one death on your hands isn’t enough to call the wrath of the Lords! It was for me, but then again, I slit his throat while you fed yours Lucky Blue!”

Boor didn’t respond.

The man snapped and pointed. “I remember now! Not much of a talker, you. Always the silent type hiding in the shadows looking to take out the competition. Not any more, I guess. Traitor, you are. Well guess what! The Icewillows aren’t around to protect you anymore, and you know what that mea—”

The man’s sentence was abruptly cut off as Boor flickered across the street rubble. The thug then fell, lifeless and bleeding from a singular puncture wound in the middle of his forehead.

“I remember you as well,” Boor spat. “Too much of a talker, you were.”

The butler then readied his weapon again, turning to the other Witches.