79. Pay Your Dues

  Palmr smacked his lips a few times, letting at least one speck of curried crayfish fly onto Serac’s face. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, while she reconsidered Zacko’s earlier suggestion for a more direct approach to diplomacy.

  After several moments passed in this friendly silence, it was Petter—the most timid of the gathered members—who braved the waters.

  “Um, Mr Palmr, sir? Miss Serac and Mr Zacarias have just returned from smiting a pack of Ulvknalls in the Hevnerskog, just like you asked. Pardon my impudence, sir, but I believe that means they’re entitled to compensation in the form of equitable credits.”

  It soon became clear that, as far as Palmr was concerned, Petter was air. The vendor kept his eyes pointed to the Wayfarers, giving zero indication he’d heard Petter or noticed his presence at all.

  “I’ll be frank and straight to the point, Wayfarers,” the catfish man said with the air of having started the conversation himself. Every time he spoke, parts of his thin, brush-like teeth showed, along with the food bits stuck in between. “I’m happy and grateful that you’ve dealt with the Ulvknalls. But, unfortunately, I’ve no way of rewarding you for your efforts.”

  “And why’s that?” Zacko asked, wearing a sneer to match his counterpart.

  “Two reasons. The first being you have no witness to verify your smites.”

  “What?” Serac cut in, no longer able to contain herself. “Just what do you mean by that? Petey’s our witness; he came with us and saw everything!”

  “Petey? Oh, you mean Mr Svensen here.” Palmr snorted, clearly amused by the notion. “With all due respect, I wouldn’t trust this feckless freeloader to verify a shit in the woods. No, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

  It took all of Serac’s willpower to A) stay seated, and B) stop herself from glancing at Petter. Even so, she saw from the corner of her eyes the mackerel man’s pale, stricken face.

  “First of all, you need to take back what you just said about Petey,” she said, voice trembling, “and second, don’t try to take us for fools. We agreed on Petey to be our witness, right before we set off.”

  “I agreed to no such thing.” Palmr’s demeanor showed no change in response to Serac’s obvious anger. “As far as I can recall, Mr Svensen volunteered himself for the job, and you took him on without so much as a vetting process. You’re Wayfarers, set in your Paths; who am I to stop you? And I believe there’s about a town square full of souls who’d be willing to corroborate my version of events.”

  “You piece of shit.”

  Zacko evidently lacked Serac’s self-restraint. The NINEFOLD master shot to his feet and brought Palmr with him, lifting the much larger man by the collar of his layered tunic.

  The jig was up, and it was time for Serac to back her partner-in-diplomacy. At this point, she was more than eager to give into her anger and distaste for the catfish man, and she reached for the holster at her belt to do just that.

  Suddenly, the corner of the room darkened. Or rather, two large figures emerged from the rear, throwing the whole gathering under their shadows. One figure hooked its trunk-like arm around Zacko’s neck, while the other caught Serac’s REVOLVER hand within its vise-grip.

  Serac looked up, only to be met by a sturgeon twin’s impassive glare—Lars, according to Pathsight. Hans, of course, was the one who had Zacko in a headlock, looking ready to snap the latter’s neck at any moment, all without straining a single muscle on his face.

  Power as a form of oppression. Palmr Jorgensen had plenty of it, not just from the townspeople’s absolute dependence on his products, but also thanks to a pair of Wayfarers ready and willing to do his dirty work.

  I just don’t get it, Serac thought bitterly, even as she relaxed her grip on REVOLVER. Everywhere I go, there are Wayfarers who’d rather serve than go their own way. What am I missing?

  Looking into the twins’ soulless eyes, however, the only apparent answer she could find was nothing.

  “Now, now, there’s no need to get heated,” Palmr said, looking none the worse for wear, “especially over a trifling matter such as this. You see, even if Mr Svensen were a valid witness, it wouldn’t have made a difference. I still haven’t told you about the second reason, which is that you two—Ms Edin and Mr Borges-Juventus—have been put under a moratorium. No vendor is allowed to trade with you until you’ve been authorized by Krongard. And that’s a direct order from Queen Loha herself. So, you see, as much as it pains me to say, my hands are tied.”

  Serac took a moment to process the nuggets of information contained in Palmr’s speech, explicit or otherwise.

  So, there’s a ‘queen’ giving out orders, too? I wonder why it’s not King Tyr himself. And this ‘moratorium’ thing… does it mean the people in charge of this Realm don’t trust me and Zacko? I mean, it shouldn’t really affect us, at least in terms of managing our [Hunger], when I could just [Harvest] our—

  “And in case you’re wondering, yes, the moratorium extends to your foraging rights as well. Both of you are hereby prohibited from the designated foraging grounds, which include all the forests and wetlands outside the town’s perimeter.”

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  Welp. There goes that. Can’t buy food, and can’t hunt for our own ingredients. What does this Queen Loha expect us to do then—just starve?

  “I’d ask how you intend on enforcing any of that, but I think I already know the answer,” Zacko said, giving Hans Tomasen a friendly tap on the arm as he did. “So, naturally, my next question would be about getting that pesky moratorium lifted. Any ideas on a timeline—or maybe even ways for us to help that process along?”

  At this, Palmr’s sneer widened some more. He looked up at his twin enforcers with a curt nod, looking for all the world like he owned these towering Wayfarers. And the twins themselves responded with prompt obedience, instantly and simultaneously letting go of their captives.

  As Zacko cracked and stretched his neck, and as Serac massaged the imprint of a sturgeon hand on her twig-like arm, the catfish across from them began another spiel.

  “Far be it for me to speculate on the goings-on in Krongard; the matter of your credibility is being investigated by the appropriate parties, as appointed by Queen Loha herself, and they’ll surely come to the appropriate decision in due course. In the meantime, however, I do have a suggestion with regards to your second point—that of expediting the process and perhaps even making a favorable case for yourselves along the way. I’m sure you’d hate to starve while waiting for the—”

  “Out with it, fatso,” this from (who else?) Zacko. “I’d sooner starve than spend another minute breathing in your stink.”

  For the first time since the conversation started, Palmr reacted in a way that hadn’t been prefabricated. His beady eyes widened enough to show their whites, and his lips nearly flattened into a thin line. But he composed himself just as quickly (all while the sturgeon twins did nothing).

  “Right,” Palmr said with a cough. “here’s the thing, Mr Borges-Juventus. Ulvknalls and other Aberrants of the ilk, we Stamgardians have a fairly good handle on. If the problems get bad enough, we can always petition for the Kronvakt to intervene. I’ve also got my boys here”—a perfunctory nod towards the twins, lacking utterly in warmth or affection—“to help in a pinch, and believe you me when I say they’re fairly handy in that regard. But there is one persistent problem that’s been a thorn in Stamgard’s—nay, the whole of Pretjord’s—side, long enough for the wound to fester.”

  Serac and Zacko exchanged a look. This was starting to sound like familiar territory again. And Serac even had an inkling as to where exactly this conversation was headed.

  “Froggy,” she volunteered a guess. “Lady Pink. Or… what did you guys call her?”

  “The Finless…”

  All eyes turned to the unexpected speaker. Petter the mackerel, on the other hand, looked like he’d only just realized he’d said anything at all. He immediately paled and shrank into himself, for lack of a better hiding place.

  “This Finless gal,” Zacko picked up the thread, while keeping a thoughtful gaze on Petter for a second longer, “what is she, like your boogeyman? What’s she done that’s got all your britches in a twist?”

  Palmr coughed again as he turned his attention back onto the outrealmers.

  “You’ll forgive my unfamiliarity with the term ‘boogeyman’, Mr Borges-Juventus. But if you’re asking why we Pretjordians all desperately await the day she’s brought to heel, the answer couldn’t be simpler. Theft, smuggling, extortion. You name a crime, she’s been guilty of it, and the list of her victims grows only longer. But even putting that aside, she’s wanted by Krongard for the most heinous, most unthinkable crime of them all: attempted regicide.”

  Zacko raised both of his eyebrows. Serac stared blankly.

  “Regicide?” she parroted. “She tried to kill the king? You mean King Tyr, right? But… why is that so bad?”

  Palmr looked at her like she’d grown a fin out of her back.

  “Did I hear you correctly, Ms Edin? Why is that so bad? The Finless made an attempt on King Tyr’s life! Our Realm Immortal!”

  “Well, yeah, but she’s a Wayfarer, isn’t she?” Until this moment, Serac hadn’t even thought of it, but the truth couldn’t be more self-evident. There’d definitely been some powerful magic behind the way she and Zacko had been yeeted out of the river. “As a Wayfarer, you ascend in one of two ways. Work with the Realm Immortal for brownie points, or you smite them instead. What’s so bad about a Wayfarer trying to, you know, Wayfare?”

  Loud murmurs went up from the hungry shoppers who were still queued up along the aisles. Palmr continued to gape in unadorned amazement. Meanwhile, Zacko threw his head back and burst into booming laughter.

  Did I say something so funny? None of my ‘real’ jokes ever got this big a reaction from Zacko…

  And through it all… absolutely nothing from the sturgeon twins. Eventually, the laughter died down, enough for a catfish man’s sanctimonious cough to be heard.

  “In tolerance of your naivety, Ms Edin, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Palmr had regained his composure. “The fact remains, however, that you and Mr Borges-Juventus are in deficit as far as your social capital in Pretjord is concerned. And I can’t think of a better way to torpedo your way out of the red and into the black… than to capture the worst criminal we’ve known during King Tyr’s reign.”

  “I hear you, fatso, but then riddle me this,” Zacko again, as he wiped a tear from his eye. “From the sound of it, all your Yaksha Wayfarers—including your boys here, I’d assume—have tried and failed to deal with this Finless problem of yours. What makes you think us poor little outrealmers, freshly ascended and with our Karmic Levels barely north of 30, could do any better?”

  A good question, the answer to which Serac herself was curious to learn. And for all the ways he repulsed her, at least on this count, Palmr Jorgensen seemed to know what he was talking about.

  “The problem with our Yaksha Wayfarers is that they’re known quantities—every last one, including my boys.” The catfish man’s beady eyes glinted anew with confident menace. “But you two will be going in with a fresh perspective, new ideas, and a whole slew of spells and techniques the Finless has never seen before. All the more reason to stop you from using them willy nilly, in case she’s watching from the shadows. And even putting all that aside, I daresay you don’t have a choice in the matter.”

  “Oh yeah?” Serac gave back as good as she got, letting her own eyes shine bright. “How’s that?”

  “Like I said, before you start laying down your Paths on our Realmtree, you first need to earn capital. In other words, pay your dues and show your worth. Make no mistake about it, Wayfarers. No one in this Realm eats for free.”

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