The 10th of Saun 718
“Where were you?!” the scowling man yelled, head not unlike a bright tomato, albeit a rather angry one. He was a pudgy man with at least three chins, wearing fine and expensive robes. A merchant of sorts, if the Mortalborn had to guess. The man was stamping his foot and pointing accusingly, which caused his considerable girth to sway to and fro. His rampaging chins stressed each anger-filled word.
“Where the hell were you! We had a deal!”
Did they? Oberan couldn’t remember, and absentmindedly scratched his left cheek. True, there was something about this man that struck him as familiar, but—
“You were supposed to show up the trial after! You said you’d be there!” He stabbed the Mortalborn with his finger, manicured nails not really inflicting any damage. Oberan simply took it with a frown on his brow. “But you weren’t! No note, no word, just poof--” he brought his hands together for a moment, before stretching all fingers at once while his hands parted once more “—gone! No one knew where you were. No-one had seen you! Not just one trial either, no! Almost an entire fucking arc! So I ask again, where the fuck have you been?!”
Oberan tapped his chin. An arc ago… that would be when he’d been in the city for a season at most. Had he met this man then? He couldn’t remember.
“Okay, so, ehm, listen…” There was an awkward pause when the Mortalborn couldn’t recall the man’s name, and the merchant himself just stood there with his eyebrows quirked, probably ready to call out any bullshit. “What was your name again?”
“Solomon!” the man seethed, going from red to purple. He fished a perfumed handkerchief out of a pocket and began aggressively dabbing the sweat from his forehead.
“Right, Solomon, listen.” That name did ring a bell. Still, no memories surfaced. “I am sorry I did not show up, but I had some urgent business to take care of in Foster’s--”
“Urgent business is no excuse to just fuck off while leaving your business partner in the dark!”
The thief gave a sigh. “Yeah, well, I am sorry, but it slipped my mind, and then I didn’t have the time to leave a message, and I’ve just gotten back so again, I’m sor--”
“Bullshit!” the merchant spat, “I have witnesses who’ve seen you perform during Ashan!”
“If you knew I was back then why did you tell me I was gone for an arc?”
“Don’t try to change the subject! Point is we had a deal, and you never showed up! I had invested quite a large sum of money in this as a project--”
The thief had hoped to be able to get rid of this guy by telling him he’d no longer held an interest in continuing their partnership and that the offered deal wasn’t as sweet as it had first seemed to be, but as soon as the talk of money came out of the merchant’s mouth, he wisely kept silent. He had a not so good feeling about this.
“—and since it is obvious I cannot trust you to do the jobs you agreed to, I have no way of earning it back. I expect you to cough up the money.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Oberan said with a laugh. “I’m not paying anything. Do you have proof of contract? Was there ever a clause stipulating that I would need to make up for any loss of funds? I think we both know the answer to either question is a resounding no.” At least, Oberan was fairly sure he hadn’t signed anything. Unless he’d been very drunk.
The merchant gave him a rather piglike smile as he conjured up the handkerchief again. There was so much perfume on it Oberan nearly had to gag. “I figured you’d say something along those lines. Which is why I brought some insurance.” He snapped his fingers, and a pair of mercenary folk stepped out from where they’d been hiding.
Shit.
“Give our dear friend some incentive to pay up, will you,” Solomon smirked, clasping his hands together. This didn’t look very good.
“Okay, okay.” Oberan raised his hands up in a gesture of surrender, the two mercs at his sides, ready to grab him and drag him away. “I’ll pay, so calm down, alright? How much?”
“One thousand five hundred gold nel.”
“What! That’s fucking stupid! You can’t have spent that much!”
“Interest rates, my boy. All those seasons of not having paid? It all adds up.”
“Well, I don’t have that much,” Oberan said, eyes narrowing.
He didn’t seem surprised. “Which is why I will let you pay me back one bit at a time. Do mind that the longer I have to wait the more you’ll have to pay.”
“Oh, ehm. I don’t know if you have noticed, but I have a pretty bad memory. I might… forget to pay.”
Solomon nodded, shrugging. “Not a problem. We’ll help you remember.”
The look on his face told Oberan that he wouldn’t be getting any friendly reminders.
“What if I don’t pay after your ‘reminders’?” he tried.
“Well, if they would prove ineffective… there’s people you’re close to, right?” He paused, and Oberan raised an eyebrow quizzically. It wasn’t the reaction Solomon had wanted to evoke, apparently. “For example,” he continued, “your girlfriend.”
Oberan blinked twice. “Excuse me?”
“That girl you’re close to, whom you visit every so often.”
The Mortalborn wondered if they were talking about one of the whores in the local brothel. Sure, he did have a favorite, but their relationship was professional. He did suppose he visited often. By his knowing they’d never walked around together or met outside of the brothel, so he had no idea what they were going on about.
“You know who I’m talking about! White hair, fair skin--”
Really? White hair? Oberan wasn’t a fan of blondes, to be honest. Brunettes or redheads, or raven-haired women… actually anything but blonde. He wasn’t sure who they’d hired to gather information on him, but they sure were incompetent.
“Ah! Fine! Thickheaded moron! That Naerikk girl you hang out with! That one!” He sounded pretty annoyed.
“Oh, her? What about her?” He thought for a few moments. “If you beat her up, will you leave me alone?”
“No.”
“Ah.” He clicked his tongue. “That’s too bad then.”
There was a pause which both parties used to figure out how to proceed. Solomon wiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief. Oberan thought it may be best to just leg it, maybe move to another city for a while. Maybe Rharne, where drinking was an event, and alcohol flowed like water. Or maybe Scalvoris. Go check up on Tio. Perhaps go see what their rum tasted like. It’d be easy for him to slip away from Solomon’s two goons, and if they did manage to stop him before he could run, he could always yell for the guard. He could see a Blackjack on the corner of the street.
“No use yelling,” Solomon said, apparently having followed Bran’s gaze. “They won’t respond.”
Bribed, huh. Running away then?
“And if you run, I will yell. ‘Hold the thief’, ‘help, I’ve been robbed’!”
“Even on your payroll, without any evidence--”
“Oh, but there is. See, when you ran away you dropped my coin pouch, fortunately for me.” He waved his hand and one of the goons showed an expensive leather wallet that clinked and clanked with all the gold it’d swallowed. “And if you escape, it’ll make your life that much harder, no? Will you even be able to leave the city if the whole guard is looking for you?”
Graeslin and her goons would then also be on his trail, no doubt. In a way, that could be fun. However, Oberan wasn’t feeling it to-trial. He clacked his tongue again.
“Sure, whatever. I’ll get you your damn money.”
“Good lad.” He clapped his fleshy hands together, and Oberan could see the man’s chins wriggle from the impact. “Now then, gentlemen, teach him a lesson in respect for a partner, will you?” He wiped some more sweat from his forehead with his heavily perfumed handkerchief. “I will be expecting your first payment soon.”
Then the two hired hands each grabbed one of Oberan’s arms, and led him into a nearby alleyway.
