Chương 50: A Job to Meet Up With Job

Lio waited until the spore light outside dimmed toward its artificial night, the fog rolling in, until the settlement's nighttime bell rang from somewhere in the southern part of Trestfall. Then he stood up, slid into his coat, and opened his door. Walking out, he found the main room of the lodge dimly lit only by a single lamp. The elderly man who ran the place was absent, having retired for the night, leaving the lobby empty. Well, almost empty.

Lio raised an eyebrow as he noticed Ophila sitting in one of the lobby chairs, a ceramic cup balanced on her knee, the air scented with the smell of mint. She was wearing the same plain shirt and shorts she'd changed into at the medical post, with a thin blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders to ward off the chill. She looked exhausted, her lips pursed as she stared off into the distance. Hearing the sound of Lio walking down the stairs, she looked up. The smile she gave him was thin and tired.

"Hi."

"Hi." She stretched, raising both arms high above her head. Then she dropped them and looked at him.

"Where are you going?" Lio shrugged.

"Just going to get some fresh air."

"In that case, could you bring me back some bean soup?" she asked. Lio cocked his head.

"Bean soup?" He certainly hadn't been expecting that request. Ophila nodded.

"My mom used to make it for me a lot." She looked back down at her cup.

"I guess I'm feeling a little bit homesick." Lio frowned.

"I can, but I don't know where I can find it."

"There's a bar somewhere near the eastern market," she answered, turning the cup slowly in her hands.

"I saw it yesterday. The sign said they're open until midnight." She took a small sip.

"I also saw bean soup on the board outside."

"Alright," Lio said. She nodded, not looking at him as she stared down at her cup. Lio swept past her, crossing the lobby and pushing through the front door, stepping out into the night. ◈◈◈◈ Outside, the fog was thicker than usual, swallowing and strangling the spore-light overhead until almost nothing of it remained. The settlement was entirely quiet around him, the only sound being the occasional flicker of a lamp in a window. Lio found the bar Ophila had mentioned without much difficulty.

It was a squat building, with a single window that shed warm light, and the muffled voices of people coming from inside. He pushed through the door, ordered the bean soup without bothering to look at the menu, paid for it, and waited while it was ladled into a covered clay pot that the bartender sealed with a cork stopper and wrapped in a cloth to keep the heat in. Then he stepped back out into the fog and turned towards the Amberpulp fields.

The walk itself took perhaps twelve minutes, the cultivated plots of the heavy-hanging fruit soon appearing on either side of him as he left the last buildings behind. He found that the furthest left plot was separated from its neighbor by a narrow drainage channel. The vines here were the thickest in the field, the result of decades of growth, their fruit clusters so large and dense that they were basically a wall of vegetation. Lio leaned against the wall, and waited.

For thirty seconds, nothing happened, as Lio watched the fog curl and twist upwards. Then, from somewhere inside the wall of vines, a voice spoke up.

"You're earlier than I expected."

"And you're later than you should have been," Lio retorted. Not necessarily true, as Job's note hadn't implied exactly when they should've met. But who was going to get into the specifics? There was a healthy pause, then the vines rustled, moving aside to let a figure walk out. Job seemed to have the body build of an adult male, though it was rather hard to tell due to the thick cloak that wrapped around his frame.

His face was covered by a simple masquerade mask, and his hair was swept straight back, also mostly hidden by the hood that came with the clock. If not for his gravelly voice distinct to a male, one would have trouble discerning what his gender even was. He studied Lio for a long time. Then he glanced at the covered clay pot in Lio's hand.

"Is that soup?" he asked.

"It's not for you," Lio said coldly. Job looked at the clay pot for a moment longer, then looked back at Lio.

"How amusing." Lio raised an eyebrow.

"What is?" Job folded his arms across his chest.

"You left me a message through Kingmaker, which means you know who I am. And then you even knew to say that phrase." Lio shrugged.

"So I did." Job chuckled, a deep, dry sound coming from within his chest.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"How long have you been in Trestfall?"

"About two days." Job shook his head, sighing. Then he cocked his head.

"Who's telling you to say those things?" This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Lio frowned.

"What?" Job strode forward, leaning in close, until he was right in front of Lio.

"I'm not stupid. There's no way that you know what that term is supposed to mean. So who's the real person behind this? My competitor? Someone from another organization?" Lio looked down at his hands, inspecting his fingernails.

"Nobody." Job's forehead creased, clearly unimpressed.

"If you tell me, I'll personally assure that you won't receive any backlash or consequences. I'll even pay you multiple of what that person may be paying you." Lio looked back up, flashing a pleasant, easy grin.

"Consequences from who? Payment from who? Like I said, nobody is behind this." He took a step closer to Job.

"Only me." Job rolled his eyes.

"You really expect me to believe that?" Lio nodded.

"Yes." Job looked at him for another long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

"Alright," he said, sounding charmed. He spread his hands outwards as a gesture of concession.

"Alright. Fine, nobody told you." He readjusted his mask.

"Then let's say I accept that and move on, as you suggest. What exactly do you want from me?"

"Information about the murders," Lio said.

"Everything about it." Job raised an eyebrow, visible even through the mask.

"That's a significant ask."

"I know," Lio said.

"Which is why what I'm giving you in return is also significant."

"And what are you giving me?" Lio smiled sweetly.

"The name of the killer," he said. Job stilled for just a moment. Then he coughed.

"You know who it is?" Job asked.

"Yes," Lio said.

"And you're offering to tell me?"

"In exchange for what I asked for," Lio said.

"Yes." Job coughed again.

"How about you say the name first," he said quietly.

"Before we discuss terms. I want to know if you actually know, or if you're guessing."

"Fine." Lio pressed even closer, until he could meet Job's eyes from behind the mask.

"Lamb," he said. Job's eyes widened, just barely, and he unconsciously took a half-step back. Then he laughed, trying to play it off, but the nervousness underlying it was unmistakable.

"So… you really did know what that term meant." Lio flicked a piece of lint off his coat.

"Now that we've established that," he said, "let's end this tiresome game." His eyes sharpened.

"Why is your pet behaving so out of control?" Job stilled once again. This time, he was silent for a long time. Then he let out a long breath, crouching and sitting down on the edge of the drainage channel. He rested his elbows on his knees and looked at the ground between his feet, an air of tiredness enveloping him.

"He hasn't been following orders since four days ago." Lio studied him, then also sat on the edge of the channel, right besides him.

"What happened four days ago?"

"He went off script," Job said, snapping his fingers.

"Just like that." He picked up a loose stone from the ground beside him and turned it over in his fingers.

"He was supposed to be on Floor 5. But then he just..." He shook his head.

"Came up."

"But why Trestfall specifically?"

"I don't know." Job threw the stone, watching as it arced into a neighboring Amberpulp field. Lio said nothing, watching the fog curl between the vine rows. This was the reason why he had called this man out as soon as he'd seen the murders occur. Job, on the surface, was a senior information broker, one of the most connected and dangerous minds operating in the underground networks of Kingmaker. But what most people didn't know, what even most of Kingmaker didn't know, was what Job did with the money that he made.

See, Job had had a theory, one he'd developed early in his career, that the most reliable weapon was someone who had nothing to lose. Adults were too complicated. But children… Especially orphans and street kids who had already lost everything, those were different. With just the right pressure and teachings at the right age, one could transform them into something greater. A weapon. And with that theory, Job had created—along with countless others—Lamb. The serial killer that was currently going on a rampage.

"How much more do you know?" Job asked, turning to glare at Lio. The former air of weakness and exhaustion was suddenly gone, replaced by a strict voice that spoke only of business.

"I know enough," Lio said.

"Tell me the rest." Job looked at him for a long moment.

"Why should I?" Lio raised an eyebrow.

"You really have to ask? It's because you have nothing more to lose."

"What do you mean?"

"Do I really have to spell it out?" Lio rolled his eyes.

"Lamb is already loose, there were two murders in a single day, and now the Mayor himself is personally involved." He tilted his head.

"How long before someone traces it back to you? A week? Less?" Job said nothing.

"And even if they don't," Lio continued, "Kingmaker will. So either the guards find you, or Kingmaker does. Either way, you're finished." The fog moved slowly between them.

"I'm offering to help," Lio said.

"I can find Lamb and I can stop him before this goes any further."

"And what do you want in return?" Job asked, his voice flat.

"What I already asked for. Everything you know about the murders. Everything you know about Lamb." Lio shrugged.

"And anything else you know that might be useful to me down there." Job studied him, his expression unreadable behind the mask. Then he let out a short, humorless laugh.

"You're right," he said quietly.

"I have nothing to lose." He picked up another small rock and chucked it across at the neighboring field.

"The plan I had for Lamb was simple," Job began explaining.

"He would murder Delvers on the lower Floors, starting from 5, and slowly going up, in order to get the attention of the Mayor and the guard captain. Then, while that attention is occupied, my other pets move in, getting their hands on something that I need from the Mayor."

"What?" Job shook his head.

"I can't tell you that. But the point is," he continued, "that the plan required specific timing and staging." He laced his fingers together.

"The murder of that flower girl wasn't part of my plan."

"No," Lio agreed.

"She wasn't a Delver."

"She was not," Job said.

"As was the second victim."

"The tavern woman," Lio said.

"Yes." Lio sighed.

"But why? What's his motive?" And at that, Job did something Lio hadn't been expecting. He raised a single finger, then pointed it directly at Lio's chest in an accusatory manner.

"That," he said, "is your fault."

"How?" Lio frowned.

"The girl in your party," Job said, in an exasperated tone.

"He's interested in her." He shook his head.

"I don't know what it is specifically. But he himself told me that he found the girl interesting." Lio blinked. Then he closed his eyes briefly, admonishing himself. Of course! Why hadn't he noticed? He had known, from loops long past, that the Lamb liked to play with his victims. He especially liked to slowly circle in on his victims, all the while wiping out any people that might've even had a brief interaction with the target. And the tavern woman had certainly interacted with Ophial.

She had pointed them to a table and had brought them their food herself. She had been in close proximity to Ophila. Lio opened his eyes again.

"How many people in her immediate orbit do you think he's identified?" he asked, keeping his voice level. Job shook his head.

"Everyone your group has interacted with since arriving." Lio pinched the bridge of his nose. Shit. Senna. Erygn. The practitioners at the medical post. The elderly man at the lodge. The vendors from the market. Lio glared at Job.

"Call him off," he said.

"I've been trying," Job said wearily.

"But as I said, he hasn't been particularly receptive to that."

"Then what do you need," Lio said, "to bring him back in line." Job was quiet, looking out at the fog coiling around the vine rows like snakes.

"And that," he said, "is what I was hoping to discuss with you."