Chương 9: 8 Armory of Allocation

I pulled my sailor's knit cap low to my eyes as I checked over my shoulder. Despite the late morning light, shadows dominated the street. A pair of goblins and a dwarf drank at a crooked table outside a slummy taproom. Without making it obvious, they watched me. I felt their eyes as I passed. A pair of human kids glanced at me from an alley, clutching something tight, as they eyed me with suspicion. I set my jaw and strode past a filthy warehouse. The Terrows, the dark mole that scarred the beauty of Rafael's Cove.

Not quite a slum, the Terrows attracted a particular patron. At times, I wondered why Granduncle allowed the Terrows to decay as they had, but part of me realized it must have been on purpose. By segregating an area for thieves and cutthroats, the Family always knew where they were. Perhaps in every civil society, places like the Terrows formed naturally. Why not put them somewhere you could monitor them? I pulled my hat even lower as I slipped into an apothecary.

A bell jingled as the door opened, and the musk of herbs, chemicals, and the stink of rot assailed me all at once. The air rushed out of me in a huff, and I held my hand to my nose.

"Brine," I cursed.

"Igor," I hissed, stepping around a leaking barrel.

"Igor, are you here?" Drying herbs brushed my hat as I forced my way to the counter. Something shifted in the back, and Igor peeked out. Nose twitching and a burn scar marring his snout, the Ratkin grinned. The "physician," if one could rightly call him that, spread his clawed hands wide.

"Tony!" he rasped, wiping his nose on the back of his hand and stepping to the counter.

"Here I was, thinking you'd stop visiting after you graduated." His rat eyes gleamed.

"You did graduate, didn't you?"

"Course I graduated," I grumbled, glancing back out the filthy storefront windows to make sure no one I knew had followed me.

"Not exactly in uniform," he said, leaning on an elbow. His worm-like tail swished back and forth behind him.

"You think I don't get days off?" I demanded, pulling my vest tighter, as if the motion might keep me safe from the store's grime.

"Well then," he said, "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Igor grinned, exposing a single flat rodent incisor. The other one had split diagonally, ending in a point.

"What do you think?" I mumbled, hoping to get this over with. I slapped the treasury notes on the table. Igor clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"Tony, I told you. Need to keep that temper checked."

"Do you have it or not?" I asked. His smile answered for me.

"Let's see." My jaw tightened, but reluctantly, I pulled my sailing cap off, dropping it on the counter. My sleeves were next; I rolled them back, exposing the discolored, flaky skin.

"Same formula should do," he said academically. His hand slid across the counter, metal grating on splintered wood. He paused, smile gleaming, and he lifted his hand. Three small metal vials rested before me. I snatched one. The lid was half screwed off by the time I rebuked myself for my eagerness. I stopped.

"What'd you use in them?" He shrugged innocently.

"Non-essentials. You know, hair, nails—" his sea rat drawl dragged.

"Skin."

"Skin?" I echoed, tightening the lid again.

"Igor, skin isn't a non-essential. Black Waves, rat, it's pretty tex important." Igor shrugged innocently.

"You want Mutagens, I need material to work with."

"Where'd you source the skin?" I demanded, slapping my hand back down on the notes.

"Don't worry, Tony," Igor sneered.

"I didn't rob a grave, if that's what you're afraid of. I had a client with sunburn. It was peeling off anyway." I sniffed and held his gaze.

"Barely any in there. Just enough to do its job." I lingered three more heartbeats for no other reason than to keep him waiting. My hand lifted, and he swept up the bills.

"As always, a pleasure doing business, friend." This time, I unstopped the lid all the way.

"You still don't have something permanent?" I asked."'Fraid not," he said.

"Even if I did, would I want to cure a paying customer?" I held my breath and tipped the vial. The ectoplasm medium hit first, and had I not shot it back, I probably would have spat it out. A burned tinge chased the bitter taste. Dropping the vial, I recoiled as if I had just taken a bite out of a lemon. I made sure not to breathe through my nose, hoping the aftertaste would fade. I held my arm before my eyes, and Igor leaned in, watching.

The skin on my cheeks itched first, then the patches on my arms drew in, leaving normal, human skin in their place. I exhaled in relief.

"So," Igor said casually.

"What news from the Security Council?" I took the other two vials and slipped them into pouches on my belt.

"I didn't know you had become a Cousin," I said.

"I didn't," he said.

"Oh," I feigned surprise, "then you don't have a need to know."

"C'mon, Tony," he pressed.

"Have the giants joined the Wake? Are we going to war?"

"Good day, Igor," I said, stepping back.

"Wait!" he flowed around the counter and slipped past me to block my path.

"What about the crack in the sky? What's that about?" I stopped, frowning down at the rodent.

"You know I can't disclose those details." Who was I kidding? I barely knew anything more than he did.

"Black waves, kid. Haven't I done enough for you? Help a mutagenist out?" I stopped, a thought occurring.

"You know, perhaps you can consult me in case?" He leaned back, tail flicking excitedly.

"Official advisor to a quest? Perhaps I should become a Cousin."

"Yeah, don't press it," I said. Then I plopped my hat back on my head.

"I ran into some alleged Ripjaws on the dock. But they displayed odd mutations. Limbs and modifications that indicated crossbreeding with other forms of sea life."

"Hmm," he stroked his chin.

"With the Deep Folk, mutation isn't uncommon. But specific traits from other fish?" He shook his head.

"Any examples?"

"Lobster claw, tentacle, tuna tails."

"Fusions," Igor said, crossing his arms.

"If the Ripjaws are modifying themselves, they have a powerful sponsor."

"Any names come to mind?" I asked.

"Could be in league with the Wake," he said thoughtfully.

"Enough dragon sorcery to beef up some fish muts."

"Great," I said.

"It's not like the dragons were already strong enough. And now they have psionics as well." Igor's gaze snapped up.

"What?" I paused. Was I revealing too much?

"They had a psionic leading them."

"Yes," Igor scratched his hairy chin.

"Then it all makes sense."

"It does?" I asked.

"Hmm, hmm." He snapped his fingers.

"They probably weren't Ripjaws. Sounds like Black Trench to me."

"Never heard of them," I said.

"Smaller tribe, off the coast of Prime Rock. They have a deity, a psionic god. It, they say, is a master of mutation."

"Does it have a name?" I asked.

"Does." His voice dropped, taking on an edge of caution.

"But they say it's an entity so evil, even speaking it out loud might drive a man to madness." He wiggled his rat fingers dramatically.

"Okay," I said, not impressed.

"So, what's its name?" He shrugged, dropping the dramatic flair.

"Dathurul or something." I folded my arms.

"Why would Black Trench Deep Folk be all the way over here?"

"No clue," he said.

"If you end up investigating, get your hands on any Black Trench mutagen equipment you can."

"No way," I snorted.

"I don't know if I'd be more scared of Black Trench abominations, or whatever you cook up."

"So you say," he said, scratching his curled ear, "But what if they have the means to keep your less ideal aspects suppressed?" I stiffened.

"What?" Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

"Not promising anything," he said hurriedly.

"Odds are Black Trench mutations are all the slimy, creepy variety, but if this Dathurul exists, he knows a lot more about flesh fusions than I do." I placed a hand on Igor's shoulder, then firmly nudged him aside.

"Thanks, Igor. Hopefully, I won't be seeing you anytime soon." He snickered.

"I'll have your next batch ready by next week." Glared before sweeping out. The shop bell rang as I passed beneath it. That the Terrows streets smelled better than his shop spoke volumes about the mad physician's cleanliness.

"Oh, Tony!" Igor called, sticking his head out.

"Yeah?" I asked, tugging my hat low, burying my irritation at him using my name out here.

"Careful in the Terrows. Folks have been disappearing."

"Thanks," my hand closed around my cutlass handle.

"But I'll be fine." He flashed a grin, showcasing his chipped tooth.

"Cousin's swagger. I could use some of that confidence."

"Goodbye, Igor," I said, and I started away. As I struck out through the narrow streets, my mind worked double time. Why should Black Trench Deep Folk be raiding Paradise Rock? Why did they wear Ripjaw war paint? I had no idea, best to find someone who did. I hurried out of Pinch Purse Lane, and the sun finally washed the buildings, almost as if the light cleansed away the grime as I headed to Dockside. What about Puppetmaster? Was the High Family finally going to take him down? Why now?

I stepped into Barker's Road and into the sun. Being an idiot, I looked up. The crack hung in the air as it always did. My hand raised, and I pinched the gap between my fingers. It had lengthened about an eighth of an inch. I shuddered as I dropped my hand. My <<Open Terminal>> button hung in the air. What the tex? Why not give it a try?

"Open terminal." My HUD flashed before me. I stopped to study the input. My feats arrayed themselves in a list. On the other side, I had an inventory with six greyed-out slots. A woman walked past, holding a child's hand.

<<Name: Lucia Santos>> <<Race: Human>> <<Class: None>> <<Rank: Civilian in Paradise>> <<Lvl: None>> <<Total: Not synced to Ourabora>> <<Stats: >> Might (STR) — 3 Will (WIS) — 5 Focus (INT) — 5 Resilience (CON) — 6 Grace (DEX) — 4 Cunning (CHA) — 4 I blinked at that and shifted my gaze to a Foul Kin halberdier patrolling the street.

<<Name: Donivin Honeyfeather>> <<Class: None>> <<Rank: Guard>> <<Lvl: None>> <<Total: Not synced to Ourabora>> <<Equivalent Level: Martial-3>> <<Stats: >> Might (STR) — 5 Will (WIS) — 4 Focus (INT) — 5 Resilience (CON) — 5 Grace (DEX) — 5 Cunning (CHA) — 6 I smiled and resumed walking, practicing walking without getting distracted by the display. My foot struck a stone, and I stumbled. Close terminal, I thought. It winked away. So I didn't need to speak to interact with it. Interesting.

Before too long, I arrived at my destination. The Armory of Allocation. Built to reflect the Sanctum's architecture, musketeers and halberdiers stood at attention between its pillars. Bianca waited outside, nose buried in another tome. I jogged over.

"Hey," I said. She glanced up.

"You slipped away quickly last night," I said.

"Ingred's clan had a party." She shrugged, tucking a lock of honey brown hair behind her ear.

"It's fine. I was busy."

"With your lobster claw?" I asked, unsure how to navigate a conversation with her.

"What'd you do with it?"

"Dissected it," she said, opening her book. Several sketches of the claw marked the pages; the first depicted the exterior, then the muscle structure and nerves.

"Woah," I said, genuinely impressed.

"I didn't know you could draw."

"The more I understand something, the easier it is to copy it," she said, holding up her hand. Her skin shifted, ridges hardening. My stomach churned as the fingers fused, and the thumb lengthened. The shift stopped at a hybrid point between hand and claw, then morphed back into slender fingers.

"I wish I had found another one," she said.

"Don't have it quite yet, but we're getting there."

"That's really cool!" I said, momentarily wondering if I had made a mistake classing into Martial. If I had taken levels as a Physic, maybe I wouldn't need to rely so much on Igor's mutagens. She sighed and stood. Her book vanished.

"What was that?" I asked, eyes bulging.

"Inventory," she said casually.

"How'd you do it? I haven't figured it out yet."

"I don't know… Just will it in. You need to be touching it, and can't be contested." I drew my pistol. It vanished, and I yelped. I opened my terminal. My mana counter had ticked down from thirty to twenty-nine. I could feel the pistols, slotted somewhere within the negative space.

"I've been experimenting with it," Bianca said.

"Tried stowing a handful of coins, and only one vanished. A pouch of coins, and it all goes. Things like potion belts or bags will be a better investment than individual things."

"Good to know," I said, summoning my pistol. It blinked into my hand. My mana ticked to twenty-eight.

"Unless it's a weapon," I said.

"Fastest quick draw imaginable. Wouldn't want to dig through a sack to find it."

"Fair," she said.

"Also, if you put in anything too long or much bigger than a bag, it'll take up more slots." My head tilted to the side as I realized she had pointed canines, like little fangs.

"Nice teeth," I said. She flushed, and they flattened.

"Sorry," she said, tugging at her choker.

"Gotta practice." I glanced around.

"Is our fearless leader late?"

"No," Bianca said casually.

"You are. The others are inside."

"What?" I yelped as I grasped for my pocket watch. Five after. I'd gotten stalled at Igor's for too long.

"Let's go!" We pushed past the heavy brass gate into the lobby, where the others waited. Neat rows of equipment lined the vast chamber, behind locked cages. Blue light flickered intermittently along the walls. A tall feykin woman waited behind the desk next to a portly dwarven fellow. Naomi turned.

"Tony," she looked me up and down.

"Why are you out of uniform?"

"I uh…" Thinking fast, I held my hands out to the sides.

"I wanted to get your thoughts. Is this a good smuggler's get-up?" Her lips twitched downward as she studied me. Perfect, asking for her opinion had been the right move. She'd give her opinion whether I asked or not.

"An eyepatch," she said at last.

"I'm a smuggler, not a pirate."

"Different breeds of the same rat," she said. I shrugged, hurrying to the desk. The dwarf set down a small vessel with a needle rising from the center. His leather apron bulged over his belly.

"Welcome to the Armory of Allocation," he grumbled.

"Please verify your identity," he nodded at the needle. I pricked my thumb, and the torches flickered in unison.

"Confirmed," the Feykin woman said.

"Welcome, Antonio Moretti."

"It's just Tony," I said sheepishly. Behind me, the steel gate swung shut on its own, clanging as locks slid into place. Next, the outer doors sealed. <<Aura cast: Dispel Illusion>> <<Aura cast: Anti Scrying Bubble>> <<Aura cast: Blurred Lips>> <<Aura cast: Silent Sphere>>"Welcome to the Armory of Allocation," she said.

"My name is Lira Windwhisperer, Gear Specialist and Liaison."

"I'm Kael," the dwarf huffed, polishing a work hammer.

"Yes, Kael is the quartermaster," Lira explained, brushing silver hair out of her face. She very likely had some Aero-Primord blood, as evidenced by the faint blue tinge to her skin.

"As you can see, proper lockdown procedures are complete. While Kael and I aren't cleared to know the exact details of your quest, we're authorized to discuss the type of problems you might encounter. This is to help us best equip you." Kael picked up a paper and scanned it briefly.

"Based on my records, you're each allotted two expendable lesser items and a regular item. Your party can collectively check out one greater artifact. We expect everything non-expendable back at the end of your quest."

"Well, Lira, Kael, we're going to make this easy on you," Naomi said, stepping forward.

"Two lesser healing potions each, please. And a Ring of Fire Resistance."

"Scorched Rock, eh?" Kael surmised, rubbing his hammer with his thumb. The tool gleamed with a polished sheen.

"Only have two Rings of Fire Resistance in stock," Lira said.

"Perhaps a Bracer of Fire Resistance and an amulet?"

"So long as they keep us from cooking, I don't care," Naomi said.

"Bad news about the healing potions," Kael said.

"A whole group of senior Cousins cleaned us out not three hours ago." I forced myself to relax. No doubt that group was the spotters looking for Puppetmaster. I unclenched my hand. It was fine. I was on an official quest. Honestly, one that was possibly over my level. I was happy about that… right?

"I can give you five," Kael said.

"Stamina potions?" Naomi asked.

"Same story," Lira said.

"I can get you two lesser and two minor potions."

"Acceptable," Naomi said, overtly pompous. I rolled my eyes. Bianca caught the motion and smirked. I had no idea why, but that made me blush.

"Very well, and would you like to peruse our catalog for your greater item?"" Thermos of Ice Island," Ingred cut in. Naomi shot her a look that silently demanded an explanation.

"I'm more than likely going to be the one manning the arcane deck," Ingred said.

"If we get into trouble out on the water, trust me, we'll want it." Naomi held her gaze for a moment, not quite long enough to be a challenge. No doubt she had her own plans for using that requisition. She chewed her tongue a second longer.

"Yes, we'll take the thermos." Lira bowed deeply and drifted back to gather the requisitioned items. As we waited, I caught Ingred's attention.

"Ready for this?" I asked.

"So ready," she said dryly, "I love fire." Kael whispered something to his hammer, and we both shifted to him.

"Is that—a sentient object?" I asked. Ingred popped up onto her toes to get a better look.

"That it is. Giant Splitter," he said, swinging the ball-peen hammer, which was tiny in his meaty fist.

"What's it saying?" Ingred asked, creeping closer. Kael motioned her closer and dropped his voice. I leaned in before I realized it.

"He says—" Kael cast a conspiratorial glance around the warehouse.

"That he has a pounding headache." Silence fell. Bianca snorted before dissolving into a mess of giggles. Ingred and I turned in unison, not even aware she had been listening. The edge of my mouth twitched up as Bianca's laugh swelled into a childish cackle. Lira returned, setting items on the desk. We crowded the counter, Bianca wiping her eyes as she caught her breath. I grabbed a bracer, a red stone set in the center. It slid onto my arm as if made to fit.

<<System Notice: Fire Resistance +1>> I rolled the brass cuff to stare into the rock; volcanic black and orange seemed to reflect flames within. I swallowed. Great, headed to a place where I would cook just for breathing the air without additional protection—definitely going to be a stroll on the beach. <<System Notice: Time to Seal Collapse: 04: 03: 01: 17: 40: 15>>