Before the Storm: Act 09, Chapter 04

“Well, look who finally decided to show u–”

Olin seized the wiry man by the neck and scraped his impudent expression off on the nearest wall, leaving him dead at the end of a crimson smear that curved to the wooden floor.

“Anyone else need a lesson in respect?” Olin asked.

The groups of thugs gathered nearby looked away. Olin shook his head as he walked past them. After the loss of the Six Arms, far too many of the Eight Fingers’ members – particularly the ones who were confident in their strength – started testing their boundaries. The Death Knights that the Sorcerous Kingdom loaned to the leadership put most challenges to rest, but one could hardly set one loose in the middle of a city.

He made his way deeper into the alley where the local branch of the syndicate had made a temporary base out of one of the few unburnt apartments. A broad, middle-aged woman in commoner’s garb crossed her arms as he approached the entrance.

“You better have an explanation for this,” she said.

She’s angry? At me?

A slight frown tugged at the corner of his lip. Upon entering the city, the hostility directed against their caravan was tangible, but he figured it was the usual resentment against the nobility being amplified by the fire. No one was stupid enough to offer even the slightest provocation to the Eight Fingers, after all.

“Someone had better start making sense soon,” Olin growled.

The woman – the local officer for the Gambling Division’s – jerked her head, motioning for Olin to follow her inside. She led him up a narrow, creaky staircase to the apartment’s third floor. Unmarked crates filled its sole room, framing a tiny desk with a handful of papers scattered over its surface.

“This is your doing,” the woman said.

“Mine? How could it possibly be my fault when I haven’t been anywhere near the city for over a month? You were even there to see me off, Marla.”

“You weren’t here, but Louis was.”

“…what did he do?”

Marla snorted.

“What didn’t he do? The same night he got here, he gathered all the men that he could and started a damn war inside the city walls! That blonde-haired brat from the Sorcerous Kingdom told you guys to do this, right? I’d like to give him a piece of my mind…”

“Are you crazy?” Olin grabbed Marla by the shoulders and gave her a shake, “The farther you stay away from him, the better. He might not look it, but he’s every bit the monster that his masters are.”

“Th-Then what do we do?”

Why is she asking that?

Olin could sense the fear behind the woman’s angry posturing. She was hiding something.

“First,” he said, “tell me everything that happened after Louis got here.”

“I said it already, didn’t I?” Marla moaned, “Louis came in last week and gathered all the fighting men. Said he had orders to get rid of the Theocracy’s spies. People didn’t think they could beat ‘em, but Louis said he’d already offed the whole lot over the pass.”

Up until they reached the city, he hadn’t observed any signs of collateral damage from Louis’ efforts so it was a reasonable claim. The fact that he had sent Louis to silence any Theocracy operatives shortly after initially meeting with Liam had entirely slipped Olin’s mind. Still, he didn’t think the plan had any downsides even if the boy proved himself to be a real agent from the Sorcerous Kingdom.

“What did they do after that?” Olin asked.

“They went around killing Windflower agents,” Marla answered. “The ones we knew about – you know, those local guys that just sit around listening and not much else. It was as easy as Louis said it would be. They never even expected it. After that, they went after the people they thought might be Theocracy agents. Louis also sent a bunch of men out of the city to clear out all the places he hadn’t been to at the same time.”

“You make it sound like he was successful in his task,” Olin said. “How did it go from that to burning down half the city?”

“He…he wasn’t satisfied with the result,” Marla replied. “Figured there had to be more in a city like Re-Blumrushur, but he couldn’t find what he was looking for. Finally, he figured they’d have to retaliate if he set their chapel on fire.”

“Hah?”

That was the source of the fire that had consumed the lower city? It was no wonder that the citizens were sending them murderous looks. Threatening individuals and small groups of people was a good way of maintaining a reign of terror over the populace, but becoming a threat to everyone unified people against their oppressors.

“Where’s that idiot Louis now?” Olin asked, “Don’t tell me he’s gone on to wreak havoc on the next city…”

“He’s dead,” Marla told him.

“Dead? How? Did he get lynched by a mob?”

“I don’t know how he died.”

“Then call for someone who does,” Olin said.

Marla took a deep, shuddering breath.

“What I meant was that no one knows how he died. One moment, he was standing there grinning over his handiwork. The next, he fell to the street, dead.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s what happened!” Panic rose in the woman’s voice, “Everyone around him saw it happen. No one attacked him. There weren’t any visible wounds. Not that anyone would touch him. People are saying that the gods struck him down for what he did.”

“Preposterous,” Olin spat. “Where’s his corpse?”

“Where it fell. Like I said, no one wanted to touch him.”

These people are useless.

Olin stormed out of the apartment in disgust. An officer in the gambling division should have known how empty people’s superstitions were.

“Olin!” Marla called out after him, “What are you going to do?”

“What everyone else is afraid to,” Olin replied.

He made his way across the lower city to the temple district. It didn’t take him long to find the burnt-out shell of the Chapel of the Six amongst the shrines and chapels of the other minor faiths. As Marla described, Louis’ corpse lay on the street in front of the building. While the city folk didn’t dare to disturb the body out of fear of being cursed or struck down in turn, the other denizens of the Re-Blumrushur held no such qualms. Olin kicked away a pair of rats before kneeling to inspect the former bandit leader.

Are these people idiots? Even his purse is untouched.

Olin scanned his surroundings, but didn’t spot any potential observers. Everything that might be considered valuable remained on the dead man’s person. Normally, he would have been stripped within minutes. After checking for traps, Olin took Louis’ coins plus everything that linked him to the Eight Fingers. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find any hint of what killed the man.

No bruises or lacerations; no burns or anything pointing at magic. Was he poisoned?

Louis was one of the toughest people he knew, so the chance of that was slim to nonexistent in those circumstances. Needless to say, the robust frontiersman was heartier than an Ox, so a fatal health condition was also out of the question.

With nothing more to gain from his investigation, Olin casually strolled away from the site of the unsolved mystery, mulling over his next move. Had the fire quelled any thought of further retaliation against the Eight Fingers? The Windflower Scripture, as a rule, didn’t butt heads with local authorities unless something forced their hand. House Blumrush’s forces were making a show of force in the streets if not much more than that.

If that was the case, he had some time to push his own plans forward. For better or worse, Liam was busy with his assignments, which left Olin as little more than a local guide. This was something he was more than happy to leverage. The mere fact that he was in the company of an agent from the Sorcerous Kingdom implied that he had their new master’s blessing…at least when he framed things that way. As a result, it was far easier to collect funds and recruit new underlings than it usually was.

Speaking of which, our operations look like they’re in tatters after that fire. There should be plenty of talented fellows looking for new opportunities.

If he played his cards right, he could reorganise the local Eight Fingers branches to his benefit. From there, he would have the resources of an entire city and its territories at his disposal. The fools who thought they could direct things from the comfort of the capital would be clueless that their power was being gradually undermined.

Indeed, if he looked at things in that light, recent events came together to create a blessing that uniquely benefitted him. His mood greatly improved, Olin returned to Marla’s makeshift base of operations. This time, no one rose to challenge him or make mocking remarks. 

“You’re back,” Marla said as he once again entered her cramped little office.

“Have our members been attacked since the fire?” Olin asked.

“No,” the woman answered. “I doubt anyone wants to give House Blumrush an excuse to sic their Mercenaries on them. If you ask me, it’ll stay that way until the city’s rebuilt.”

It was a sensible prediction. An inoperable city didn’t generate revenue, so House Blumrush would make sure that they could get back to charging rents and taxes as soon as possible. That same period of reconstruction and reinstatement of business was also the prime window of opportunity for the Eight Fingers to tighten its grip on Re-Blumrushur.

“Have you already come up with a plan for that?” Olin asked.

“I’ve been working on it,” Marla answered, “but, honestly, it’s tough. House Blumrush is trying to gain complete control over every aspect of the city, minus the Temples. Even if our warehouses didn’t burn down, Lord Reginald is sourcing his materials exclusively from his vassals.”

“I heard about that,” Olin said. “Did Procurement’s ledgers survive?”

Marla gestured loosely at the crates stacked up along the office’s walls.

“We didn’t have any time to be nice and neat about it,” she said, “but whatever’s survived of them should be in these crates. I’m already too busy with my own work, so don’t expect any help.”

“Do you have a new casino site lined up?” Olin asked as he took the nearest crate and started sorting through its contents, “All these men deployed in the city will be plenty bored.”

“Of that, I’m well aware,” Marla sighed. “The problem’s that this isn’t exactly a routine situation. Normally, we could at least find a warehouse and convert it into one of our establishments, but House Blumrush has taken control of any still standing. I was thinking of muscling in on a few inns to turn them into gambling dens and brothels, but, well, we don’t have any muscle.”

“You don’t?” Olin furrowed his brow, “What happened to all the locals that Louis recruited?”

“Fled the city,” Marla replied, “they didn’t want any of what Louis got. Fools should’ve thought about that before they decided to desecrate a temple.”

Despite what should have been bad news, Olin’s mood further improved.

“I have the men,” Olin said.

“Excellent,” Marla smiled, “you can start by–”

“Hold onto that thought,” Olin told her. “Before we go around shaking things up, I’m going to speak with Lord Reginald. If we can gain his cooperation, things will go all the better for us.”

“I thought I just said that Lord Reginald was doing everything he could to exert complete control over the city. That includes purging it of our influence, Olin.”

Olin smirked at the woman’s naïveté. She may have been a syndicate officer, but the way that she seemed to believe that rules meant anything suggested that she had risen to the position because of her administrative skills. Whoever promoted her had done so because she was useful and mostly harmless, and Olin would take full advantage of that.

“That doesn’t sound like House Blumrush to me,” he told her. “Wait here while I visit the castle. We’ll see how upright our dear Lord Reginald has become. Oh, while I’m away, find those ledgers I asked about.”

Marla watched him silently as he made his way back outside. Not that she could do anything. Might made right – especially in the Azerlisian Marches – and the woman had little of note in that regard. Olin on the other hand, could station security at every gambling den, brothel, and warehouse that they occupied, giving him de facto control over the Eight Fingers’ operations in the Azerlisian Marches.

Olin made a few rounds of the lower city, committing the new state of Re-Blumrushur to memory. Between the incessant rain and the destroyed buildings, it was much cleaner than when he had visited last. 

House Blumrush’s regiments were doing their part to keep it that way. Olin stopped at one of the blocks near the gate to the upper city, where dozens of men in Blumrush livery were clearing the place of citizens so a Priest of Earth and his acolytes could conduct their purification rites. Even in the wake of a disaster that wiped out half of the city, the clergy looked as sanctimonious as ever.

The Undead popping up in the middle of their cleanup would be a riot worth watching. A profitable one.

As Olin made his way to Countess Beaumont’s manor in the upper city, he entertained the thought of asking Liam to lend a hand with that. The appearance of the Undead – nothing major, just a handful of Skeletons and Zombies – would make House Blumrush much more amenable to any offers to expedite the reconstruction process.

“Olin,” one of his men greeted him as he entered the manor grounds, “what’s the word?”

“Everything’s fucked,” Olin replied, “but I can work with that. Where are the men?”

“They’ve settled in the gardens behind the manor as you’ve ordered. It’s disappointing that the city’s in this state, but it’s better than mucking it out in the woods.”

“Things may start looking up sooner than you think,” Olin said. “Where’s Liam?”

“Last I saw, he went into the manor. Probably fooling around with his women.”

Olin sneered at the thought of the past few weeks. At first, he figured that Lady Beaumont would have Liam wrapped around her little finger in short order, but it turned out that he had seduced her instead. Whatever else he might think of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s agent, he was forced to admit he had been trained well.

“Should I send someone to find him?”

“No, that’s fine,” Olin said. “I have a few more things to take care of. Tell the men that they’ll have something to do soon.”

“Will do, boss.”

After changing out of his nondescript garb into something more suited to meeting with a High Noble, Olin made his way up the winding cobblestone streets of the upper city to the entrance of Castle Blumrush. Several bowmen levelled their weapons as an armsman walked out to intercept him well before he reached the gatehouse.

“Stop right there,” he ordered.

Olin stood in place, desiring nothing more than to slit the armsman’s throat as he deliberately paced around him.

“You do not represent any of my lord’s vassals,” the armsman said, “nor do you have the look of an aristocrat. Did you think you could gain access to the castle simply by dressing yourself up?”

“I was making myself presentable for an audience with Lord Reginald, if you must know,” Olin replied.

“Lord Reginald has no interest in entertaining any Merchants.”

“I’m no Merchant. Let Lord Reginald know that Olin’s here to see him.”

The armsman frowned slightly at his insistence. He was probably used to shooing away desperate petitioners in the wake of the fire. The man walked back to the gate, exchanging words with several of his fellows before ducking under the portcullis and vanishing from view. Ten minutes later, he reappeared.

“Lord Reginald will see you in the great hall,” the armsman said in an entirely unapologetic tone. “This way.”

Four more armsmen fell in behind Olin as he followed his guide through the gate. Stockpiles of construction materials filled the castle yard, sheltered from the rain by little more than tied-down canvasses. The steady rhythm of hammers on anvils and saws on timber competed with the sound of the pelting rain. Olin’s gaze lingered on the handful of artisans at work as they made their way to the castle keep. They were probably a part of the castle staff rather than members of the workshops in the lower city.

“Are you trying to do all of the work here?” He asked.

“Lord Reginald is still negotiating with the Guilds,” his escort told him. “They are being most unreasonable, considering the circumstances. We will rebuild the city ourselves if need be…and if that happens, you can rest assured that we’ll be renegotiating the rents.”

In other words, House Blumrush didn’t want to pay guild rates. It also explained why they were funnelling imports directly to the castle. If the Guilds didn’t work for them, then they wouldn’t be allowed to work for anyone.

Olin stomped the mud free from his boots before entering the shadowed confines of the castle keep. He was led directly to the great hall on the main floor, wherein Lord Reginald was seated at the torchlit table at its head. Six Knights and a dozen armsmen were stationed evenly around the room.

“Olin,” Lord Reginald greeted him as he walked up the rich blue carpet leading to the base of the head table’s dais. “Your appearance at this time must surely be a coincidence.”

“It is, Lord Reginald,” Olin offered a respectful bow. “I was shocked to find the city ablaze when I crossed over the southern pass.”

“Truly?” The nobleman raised an eyebrow, “By all accounts, the fire was caused by a gang intentionally setting one of the older buildings in the temple district alight. During the days leading to the fire, there have been reports of periodic violence, also conducted by gangs in the lower city. You truly know nothing about this?”

“I do not,” Olin said. “It’s been at least a month since I last visited your city, and my time away has been out on the frontier.”

Lord Reginald levelled a piercing gaze upon him. He very much took after his father, down to the thin moustache that matched his slender frame.

“Yet it is still your responsibility,” he said. “That was the agreement, yes? You keep the gangs under control, and we make certain allowances regarding your business in the city. Considering your catastrophic failure to uphold your end of the deal, I can only recommend to my lord father that we strongly rethink our arrangement.”

Why does he have to pin his grievance on me specifically?

Normally, the blame for the incident would have gone to the Six Arms, but those idiots had gone and gotten themselves killed. After that, everyone wanted to take control of the security division, but no one wanted to put in the work. The reason why wasn’t a mystery: the security division was a division held together by sheer ruthlessness and that ‘leadership style’ went all the way down to the smallest gang. They could use Death Knights to force the issue on a case-by-case basis, but maintaining control of the division was a feat that required the brutal charisma possessed by individuals like Zero.

That being said, it was no longer an issue in Re-Blumrushur. House Blumrush cared nothing for what happened in other cities, so Olin would be able to satisfy him so long as he was the sole provider of muscle for the local branches.

“I deeply regret you’ve come to that conclusion, Lord Reginald,” Olin said. “In my defence, I can only say that this disaster was beyond my control. But dwelling on the past profits us little. How about we address the more pressing matters facing us presently? There’s been a disastrous harvest in the north and labour shortages elsewhere have put the entire Kingdom at risk of famine. There’s no easy replacement for the food Re-Blumrushur’s lost to the fire.”

“On the contrary,” Lord Reginald told him, “the threat of famine is not an issue. Rather than that, it is something to be taken advantage of. Those ever-greedy Guilds refuse to relent on their exorbitant rates. Their members will come to their senses once their families begin to starve.”

“What about the unskilled labourers?” Olin asked.

“The fate of vagrants is not my concern,” Lord Reginald answered. “They are not contracted tenants of House Blumrush and we thus have no obligation to ensure their wellbeing. It would be convenient if your organisation has some designs on them that will help clear the streets.”

“It just so happens that we do,” Olin smiled. “On an unrelated note, I’ve noticed that you have some untapped revenues in the form of bored Mercenaries with bulging purses. We can help House Blumrush recapture some of its expenditures.”

“I suppose that you could,” Lord Reginald said. “What’s the catch?”

“I want the northern harbour block.”

“What!”

Lord Reginald slammed his palms on the table as he rose to his feet. The ring of steel sounded as his men drew their sidearms.

“You push the limits of my magnanimity, Olin,” the nobleman growled.

“On the contrary,” Olin replied, unbothered, “the net area our establishments occupied before the fire was at least that much and what I’ve asked for is the least valuable piece of riverfront. By consolidating our former holdings into a single complex, we’ll be better able to serve the city’s needs. If things go well, you may even be proud to consider it an attraction.”

The lordling reseated himself and his men resheathed their weapons. He unrolled what Olin could only assume was a map of Re-Blumrushur, putting on a show of careful contemplation.

“What of the harbour itself?” Lord Reginald asked, “Surely you don’t need so much infrastructure for whatever you’re planning.”

“You are correct, my lord,” Olin said. “Two berths reserved for the exclusive use of our pleasure craft should be sufficient.”

Several moments of silence passed before the lordling slowly nodded his head.

“Very well, the southern harbour block is yours to do with as you wish. In return, I expect some happy Mercenaries and a fifth of this new establishment’s revenues.”

“A fifth?” Olin frowned, “I believe our old arrangement was one-tenth.”

“One-quarter, then. Also, you’re on your own when it comes to materials and labour for construction.”

“One-quarter,” Olin reluctantly agreed. “Expect my organisation to hold House Blumrush to its word, Lord Reginald.”

With their business concluded, Olin was unceremoniously rushed back out of the castle. It was only after he entered the lower city that he allowed himself an ambitious smile.

He was getting away with far more than he expected. Whether Lord Reginald had been more desperate than anticipated or simply looking to negotiate a more lucrative agreement for his house didn’t matter. Now that he had House Blumrush’s permission to redevelop the southern harbour block, the syndicate members in the city would defer to him as the path of least resistance. Losing a quarter of his revenues initially felt like a painful sacrifice to make, but he suspected that the new complex would bring in far more than the fragmented operations of Re-Blumrushur’s past.

Marla was still in her office when he returned to her base. He almost laughed at the look of resentment she sent his way as she knelt amidst the clutter generated by her task.

“It turns out that our dear Lord Reginald wasn’t anywhere near as much of a saint as you believed,” he told her.

“I never claimed he was a saint,” Marla grumbled. “I take it that the meeting went well?”

“You could say that,” Olin replied. “I secured the southern harbour block.”

Sheets of paper drifted over the floor as Marla abruptly rose, mouth ajar.

“The southern harbour block? H-How–”

“Does it matter?” Olin shrugged, “The point is that we’re clear to build our…hospitality complex. Inns; brothels; eating establishments – different levels of quality for different levels of clientèle. The same will apply to the casino on the inside. No more makeshift betting houses or gambling dens: this will be big enough to put our operations in the capital to shame.”

“Which is too big,” Marla said with a calculating look. “We don’t have the manpower to do this.”

Olin raised his hands to indicate the city surrounding them.

“There’s plenty of labour to be had. They’ll be trying to break down your doors once they figure out that working for us will be one of the only ways they’ll be able to feed themselves this winter.”

“That’ll work for common labourers,” Marla said, “but what about skilled artisans? The Guilds will be stubborn about working for us and they’d rather turn to House Blumrush if food becomes a problem.”

“I’ll send a few dozen men to help you sort things out. Break as many fingers as you need to get what we need. Oh, and be sure to gather all the best-looking girls and boys before they start getting sick and malnourished.

“Me?” Marla raised an eyebrow, “That’s a job for the Prostitution Division. I’m in Gambling. We’ll have to wait until they send a new guy from the capi–”

Marla fell silent as Olin raised a finger in the air between them.

“Or,” he said, “you can be in charge of both Gambling and Prostitution. Everyone’s so busy these days as it is.”

A gleam of greed lit the woman’s eyes as she licked her lips.

“Of course, boss,” Marla said. “I’ll get right to work.”