Only Villains Do That

“Yeah, I can do it,” said Harold, turning the crossbow over in his hands and holding it up to peer critically at its cocking mechanism from up close. “Just need the materials…and proper tools. It’d help if I could take it apart…”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” I said. “Not to question your skills, but just in case.” It had been a surprise to learn that Harold and Kasser had been apprentice craftsmen before they’d left their village for unspecified reasons and ended up here, but definitely a stroke of luck—one which got me wondering just how long Virya had been prepping this fortress for my arrival. Everything was just a little too perfect, right down to the thuggish bandit boss whom I’d made a good first impression by disposing of. Or having Aster do it, technically, but the power on display had definitely been mine. Harold worked with akornin, the tough and slightly flexible animal shell substance Ephemerans mostly used in place of metal, making him the equivalent of a blacksmith. Kasser was a specialist in akorshil—so basically a carpenter. “What tools and materials, specifically?”

“If you ask your merchant friend for a basic sets of akornin and akorshil shaping tools, he’ll be able to get what you need,” Kasser answered. Unless I was imagining it, he seemed less terse with me now that the opportunity to practice his actual trade was on the table. “For materials… Hum, it’ll depend. Harold, I think we’d better write up a list of types and grades to give Lord Seiji.”

“Uh, yeah,” Harold agreed, giving me a shy smile. “No offense, Lord Seiji, it’s just…those details don’t tend to stick in the mind for people who aren’t trained in it.”

“None taken, you’re dead right. Take your time looking that over and laying plans, and get me a list before my next Gwyllthean visit tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, my lord! And it shouldn’t be a problem, doing it without dismantling the crossbow. Some of these components are pretty finicky-looking, but I think I can figure out the necessary shapes by examining it.”

“Ah, if I may?” All of us looked up at Sakin, who was hovering off to one side of the table where we were bent over the crossbow. “What you’ve got there is a townie special, Lord Seiji. See the hinged bits there on the front? That’s to fold up its arms so you can hang it from your belt under a long coat and hide it. All that absolutely guts the power of the weapon, and also adds hugely to the complexity. If you get rid of that, it’s basically just a shortbow fixed sideways to a stick, and the lever mechanism for cocking it should be a lot simpler for Harold to reproduce. And if he just makes it with a smooth arc of akornin instead of folding arms it’ll be a lot more durable and powerful.”

“Hey, he’s right!” Harold exclaimed. “Yeah, this folding mechanism is really complicated compared to the lever—and I can see how it’s secured when it locks open, but still, that obviously weakens the bow part considerably. If you drew it too hard the whole thing’d break.”

“I’d think about making several variations,” Sakin suggested. “This is smaller than a military crossbow, for one. Perfect if you want someone not very strong to carry it around and shoot people from fairly close up—city fighting, in essence. The ones the army uses are bigger, made to punch through armor at range. I’ve also seen little hand-sized stinger versions; no range or stopping power to speak of, but they’re meant to deliver alchemy.”

“Mm,” I mused, “I can see the potential in that, especially now that we’ve hopefully got an alchemy supplier locked down. Dunk your bolts in poison for a guaranteed kill, or sleeping potion to neutralize non-lethally. That’s perfect. Harold, Kasser?”

“Since we’re planning to modify ‘em from the original version anyway, it sounds like good sense to test out various models,” Kasser agreed. “The biggest problem I can see is that the string looks thicker than a normal bowstring. If that’s a specialty component, it’ll be hard to get more without revealing to the supplier what we’re making. And I’ve got no idea how you turn raw animal sinew into bowstrings.”

“It’s thicker than hunting bows like you’d normally use, sure,” Sakin agreed. “Should be able to jury-rig it with strings for longbows—just cut them down and re-wrap the ends. I’m no fletcher, but I bet any of us can figure out how to do that much. Longbows are military hardware, but not controlled nearly as carefully as crossbows. Takes a lot of muscle and training to use one. I bet you can get the strings without too much trouble.”

“I’ll sound Auldmaer out,” I said. “Discreetly. All right, gentlemen, sounds like we’ve got a plan.”

Just like that, I found myself…settled in.

It was in that short span of days that the last of my initial burst of big events and changes occurred, marking a transition to a period of slower and steadier progress. My plans continued to advance, evenly and with neither setbacks nor great leaps forward, for the next few weeks. And weeks were the dividing units of that period, marking roughly the intervals at which I visited Gwyllthean. Even varying the exact timing to avoid being predictable, I made one weekly visit as Lord Seiji and one as the Healer.

The field grasses surrounding the roads and filling the khora plantations began to turn golden, as the apparently native Ephemera vines which decorated the upper tiers of Gwyllthean shifted to purple and blue hues, but it didn’t get much colder. Dount had a cool climate but saw relatively little variation; according to Aster and the others, autumns tended to be mild, characterized more by the increased rainfall we started to get than by cold. There was usually plentiful snow in the winter, but everyone claimed it didn’t get too cold, just enough that the precipitation stayed frozen. Given all the peppers these people ate, I wasn’t about to take their word on the subject of what was hot or the opposite. I bought some warmer clothes.

Things went smoothly once I got the alchemy situation squared away, which itself went down surprisingly painlessly, especially given what I’d been led to expect by my previous dealings with the goblins. It seemed that after my confrontation with Gizmit, though, Sneppit was abruptly done playing games with me. She sent the revised contract the very next day as I had demanded, this time in the custody of Zui, who was still standoffish but more polite now. It contained the stipulations I’d asked for, phrased in terms that seemed to accommodate both Sneppit’s needs and mine in good faith. After that, an exchange of slimes for potions and powders became one of my weekly milestones, overseen by Youda, whose company I rather enjoyed. He was cheerful and always glad to talk shop, which was exactly the source of ideas and insight into new methods I had wanted.

I did not see Gizmit or Zui again after that, which suited me perfectly. Zui was just kind of unpleasant, and I had a feeling Gizmit was a security risk just for existing in my fortress. Maid, my ass.

After my earlier experiences with Sneppit’s crew, the whole thing left me constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I tolja, boss, goblins are Viryan,” Biribo explained when I mentioned this later. “They’re not gonna enter a relationship without testing your strength first. Honestly, whether it was intentional or not, you handled it pretty much perfectly. You called Sneppit out on her bullshit and pushed back, but also let her get one over on you. So now she knows you’re worthy of respect, but she can still profit off you. And she’s got reassurance you’re not gonna get violent if tested; that had to’ve been a big concern for her. Goblin/human relations tend to end up that way as soon as the human half of the equation is even slightly disappointed.”

“Hmph. The whole thing sounds like a giant pain in the ass.”

“I suggest you get used to it, boss,” he said, flicking out his tongue at me. “Viryans are all about challenging each other, testing everybody’s strength. Just wait till you gotta recruit orcs. You do that by personally beating the shit outta their strongest champions in single combat.”

Oh, goody. Something to look forward to.

But with the goblins handled, a lot of other things fell into place. Our ability to deal with trade caravans increased; the combination of Youda’s advice and Auldmaer’s connections opened a lot of possibilities. The goblins’ concoctions could create wind, darkness, or fog, and induce sleep, panic, lethargy, blindness, paralysis… We had all kinds of exciting new means of robbing people without killing anybody, or even having to fight. The gentler methods I tested on Auldmaer’s long-suffering employees, while trying more aggressive tricks on those of his rivals who were hauling stock that was useful to me. These tests didn’t always go smoothly, sometimes requiring us to lob multiple powder bombs before taking effect, and once Goose had to choke a guy out manually. We were learning and practicing, though, and getting more adept.

It wouldn’t be long before the stealthy bandits using exotic munitions gained enough notoriety to provoke a reaction. The nail that sticks up gets hammered down, no matter what world you’re on. I did everything I could to be prepared for that inevitability, but in the end we would just have to see how it went.

Among my other dealings with Auldmaer, I gave him a blue halo to pass on to Larinet as compensation for keeping her mouth firmly shut. Now that the Healer had been seen using Immolate, I wanted any other appearances of that spell kept under wraps. The tools we needed I bought from a contact to whom Auldmaer directed me; shipments of raw akornin and akorshil we lifted from rival trade companies who were cutting into his profit margins. It ended up being Maugro, not Auldmaer, who got us the right caliber of bowstrings. It seemed goblins had access to khora products from their underground root systems which could be used to create all kinds of useful things, including bowstrings that worked just as well as the sinew variety and were also less vulnerable to temperature and moisture.

The first few crossbow attempts didn’t work particularly well, but that too was a process. Kasser and Harold learned with every iteration, and by the end of the week had built a reliable reproduction of the one I’d taken from the Gwyllthean thug, minus the unnecessary folding mechanism. Based on our tests with straw dummies we cobbled together, the new one packed more of a punch. Really, the only issue was reproducing the lever mechanism that cocked the weapon, the thing which made them usable by people who didn’t have the arm strength to fully draw a bow. Ammunition wasn’t as much of a problem as I’d expected, either; Harold could easily craft arrowheads and Kasser could make shafts from the raw materials we stole, and goose feathers could be bought in bulk (we didn’t happen to find a caravan carrying them). Fletching was its own art, so our improvised quarrels probably weren’t as effective as professional ones, but they didn’t need to fly as far as arrows, so Kasser’s efforts sufficed.

Soon there was a crossbow for every member of the gang, and I made them practice regularly until they could shoot reliably. We even saw some success with smaller models, the ones Sakin called “stingers,” taking out caravan guards with makeshift sleeping darts that were little but splinters of akorshil dipped in Youda’s potions. And still, I kept Harold and Kasser at work making more. I would need enough of them to supply a much bigger force soon.

Hopefully.

Though things progressed by steady increments over the following weeks rather than abrupt leaps, there were still some interesting moments amid the relative quiet.

Gilder kept me updated on the progress of Gray and Olumnach’s feud during my visits to Gwyllthean wearing my real face openly, as well as other interesting rumors in the Gutters, including the expanding reputation of the Healer.

Apparently bandit gangs had begun setting fire to some of the abandoned outlying structures around Gwyllthean’s outskirts, which I thought sounded like the most pointless thing anyone could possibly do. Not only was nobody even using those, the damage caused to them was minor. Akorshil and akorthist structures didn’t burn; at best you could splash asauthec on the walls and set a spark, resulting in scorch marks, some heat-cracking of the planks, and maybe a nearby grass fire.

According to Gilder, the point was symbolic: they were coming into territory Lady Gray considered her own and starting shit just to show they could. Every fire cost her face, which given the nature of her business had a material cost in terms of power and profit. After two weeks of that, she started having her men patrol the outskirts, beating the shit out of whoever they found. Thus, regular people began to avoid the perimeter of the city, especially after dark; members of the two factions had multiple violent clashes resulting in fatalities; and both started losing strength as spending their time and personnel doing that cut into their actual criminal activities. Gray’s businesses inside the city started to suffer from neglect, and bandit attacks on caravans diminished to the point that I cut back on my own to avoid becoming an obvious target of attention.

This didn’t bode well for my plans. They were stalemated and both hemorrhaging strength, which put pressure on them to make peace, the last thing I wanted. Right now it was mostly pride keeping them going, and that surely couldn’t last too much longer.

Also odd was the lack of official reprisal. Clan Olumnach’s symbolic harassment of Gwyllthean was an equally symbolic slap in the face of Clan Aelthwyn; just because they didn’t openly control the bandits did not mean the Archlord didn’t know damn well who was behind it. And yet, he did nothing to increase Kingsguard patrols. Gilder had heard dozens of theories as to why, the most plausible being that, like me, Clan Aelthwyn liked the idea of both criminal factions wearing each other down without them having to lift a finger, but I felt that didn’t cover it. The longer this went on, the weaker it made the Archlord’s government look. Ultimately, no rumors which reached the ears of Gilder and the Gutter Rats came from the mouths of anybody in a position to know, so I remained in the dark about the upper tiers of Clan politics.

Meanwhile, my own information network within Lady Gray’s was growing. Slowly and carefully, just the way I liked it. Over the next month, Gilder recruited two additions to my side, which wasn’t much but I felt was about the appropriate pace; first he and then I needed to vet them carefully before they could be entrusted with anything.

Benit was a serious and solemn girl a year younger than Gilder, with big watchful eyes that always looked somewhat haunted. I didn’t inquire after her full backstory; the fact that she was a Gutter Rat pretty much covered the depressing basics. I could see why she’d tend to get overlooked in a culture like Fflyr Dlemathlys, especially its violent underbelly, but her quiet watchfulness was exactly what you wanted in a spy, and if Uncle Gently and the Rats didn’t appreciate her, I was glad to take advantage.

A week after Benit, Gilder brought me Radon, a boy who didn’t know how old he was, but to my eyes couldn’t have been more than seven. Like Gilder and Benit he was way too serious for his age; I didn’t really want to know the kind of shit he must have seen. Where Gilder was ambitious and Benit shy, Radon was mad. Not angry in the lashing-out way you’d expect of a child, but carrying a deeply rooted, simmering resentment of the sheer injustice of everything. I found I related the most to this kid, even as I had to acknowledge he was probably more entitled to his anger than I was to mine.

The knowledge these kids provided of what was brewing in the Gutters was more than worth the time and money I invested in them. As they brought me more reports of clashes between Lady Gray’s forces and the bandits answering to Clan Olumnach, I began to accumulate a sense of how much both could bring to bear—a limited and likely not very accurate one, but it was better than nothing. It sounded like there were a lot more bandits outside the city than in it, but Olumnach’s numbers didn’t mean much since if he tried to exercise them he’d be fighting her on her home turf. Plus, no matter what backstage fuckery Clan Aelthwyn was up to, a full invasion of bandits would bring out the Kingsguard in force and be followed by an island-wide purge, likely including intervention by the King’s forces from the mainland. There was also the issue that Olumnach couldn’t order his people as effectively, as he was managing the various bandit gangs through a system of incentives and threats, while Gray just had to give orders and be obeyed. Whether or not Lord Olumnach knew it, I spotted the reality that if he got too heavy-handed with the gangs under his nominal control, he risked them banding together against him.

That little tidbit I definitely factored into my future plans.

I also learned from my orphans that the crossbowman whose weapon I’d confiscated had done right by the Healer’s instructions in the end. Gilder related the rumors with relish, an enthusiasm I found myself sharing as they continued to pile up. Apparently the full nature of Immolate, a spell which caused total incineration from within followed by a healing effect which reversed all the damage, was a bit too complex for the medium of rumor to fully convey. Instead, accounts included the spell causing people to explode, or just their heads to explode; burning people to a crisp in a single flash of light; creating a blast that threw someone half a dhil (ugh) where they landed in charred pieces… There was also a whole set of variants on these themes which claimed that assaulting the Healer resulted in immediate retribution from Sanora herself, in one of the above forms.

I made a mental note to ask the goddess what she thought about that little irony. If there was time, of course, right before I murdered her stupid omnipotent face.

The downside of all this was that Uncle Gently was made aware of Lord Seiji’s existence and interaction with a few of his charges. Gilder considered this unavoidable, and upon hearing his explanation I had to agree: the Rats watched each other as well as interesting people, and there would be no concealing the fact that these three kept meeting with me. Trying to conceal it would’ve looked suspicious and invited more dedicated snooping. Instead, their cover story was that Lord Seiji was interested in keeping on top of rumor and especially the movements of trade caravans and merchants in the Gutters for business purposes. This was common enough, as was the phenomenon of middle-caste Fflyr cultivating relationships with specific Rats with whom they built trust. If anybody thought to tail me further, they’d notice me making weekly visits to the Auldmaer Company’s offices, so hopefully that story would hold water and deflect deeper suspicion. Apparently lower nobles up to shenanigans like this were a dime a dozen; Uncle Gently would want to know that Lord Seiji was a financially-minded fellow with an eye for trade, but if that was it, hopefully he’d look no closer.

It did not escape me that the longer this went on, the more threads would be drawn between my various personas, in a way that eventually someone would put together. When my gambit in Cat Alley reached its conclusion, it would no longer matter. I just had to make that happen on my terms, before one of the other players caught up with me.

Honestly, the inherent risks of this troubled me less than my relationship with the Rats. I could tell myself that I was doing the best for them that I practically could under the circumstances, and that might even be the literal truth, but that didn’t change the ultimate reality that I was recruiting and using desperate orphans in my schemes while not doing nearly enough to care for them. Even more than the dismal sights I encountered in Cat Alley, this was what most often kept me from sleeping.

The constant kicker was that I couldn’t give them anything that would matter unless it was something they could eat right in front of me. So I made damn sure the kids were well-fed on the days when I visited, but anything else I let them take home would just be confiscated, likely with the addition of a beating. I did end up handing over some coin to them, but all of it went right into Uncle Gently’s pockets. This was necessary for the sake of our cover story, as he’d just order them to ditch a contact which wasn’t bringing him money, but it still rankled. Insult upon injury.

Somehow, when I was in a stronger position, I intended to settle up with that guy personally, and find a better way to help the Gutter Rats as a whole. Even if just to appease my own conscience. It was worth doing, regardless…but realistically, I wasn’t in a position to make that move yet.

Ultimately, it was my efforts to find other ways to reward my little accomplices which led to one of the surprising encounters that livened up that otherwise quiet span of weeks.

In a stroke of inspiration, I took the kids inside the walls to the middle ring, where they could see the cleaner environs, get some better food into them than was available in the Gutters, and have some time to enjoy one of the parks—which were things that did not exist outside the walls, of course. It was an offhanded idea, but the Rats were absolutely ecstatic, and to judge by how excited they were over everything, you’d think I’d brought them to Disneyland.

It almost hurt to watch.

Naturally, scruffy Gutter orphans were decidedly not allowed through the gates, even in the company of a well-dressed lord, but that ended up not mattering. The gate guards knew me by now; in fact, their eyes lit up when I approached with anything that wasn’t supposed to pass. I think I could’ve marched an army of orcs into the city, so long as the orcs brought some pocket change for the guards.

It was funny how annoyed I was by the disgraceful state of law enforcement in Gwyllthean when I was constantly benefiting from it. There was a principle involved.

Regardless, the Gwyllthean trip was a success. On that afternoon, three weeks after finalizing my deal with the goblins and just a few days after adding Radon to my crew, late afternoon found us in one of the parks, watching Gilder and Radon chase each other around on the well-kept grass. Benit, already tuckered out, sat on a bench with Aster, asleep and half in her lap.

“Ah, Lord Seiji.”

Standing at the edge of the park, watching the orphans enjoy what was probably the only day of fun they’d ever had, I was not expecting to be greeted by anyone I’d not brought with me. And who the hell knew my name?

I turned my scowl upon the interloper, and was immediately amazed by the fact that he’d managed to approach me unheard, wearing all that armor. It was the Goblin Slayer guy from the King’s Guild, still clad head to toe in gleaming metal, and his steps were eerily quiet. The magic on that armor had to be some serious shit.

“Oh, it’s…ah, sorry…”

“Rhydion,” he supplied.

“Right, Rhydion. Forgive me, I am still having trouble with Fflyr names. I can’t even pronounce half of them.”

“Not at all. I rarely have the opportunity to meet foreigners anymore; it must be quite disorienting, to be so immersed in another culture. It seems you are managing admirably, however. How are you finding your stay in Fflyr Dlemathlys?”

“This is the worst place I have ever been,” I informed him. “I am constantly in amazement that a nation’s government can be this perfect storm of corrupt and incompetent at every level and still exist. Even knowing nothing about the surrounding international politics, I can tell that Fflyr Dlemathys has no hostile or ambitious or merely excitable neighbors, just from the fact nobody has bothered to conquer it yet. A girls’ choir armed with hand fans and insults could take the whole thing in a week and the Clans would be too busy sneering at each other and molesting their citizens to notice. Honestly, what amazes me the most is how many people I hear invoking Sanora’s name; if the goddess bothered to be aware of half the shit that goes on here she would blast the whole island off the face of Ephemera just on general principles.”

There was only inscrutable darkness behind the slits of Rhydion’s visor; I had no clue what he was thinking for the several seconds in which he regarded me after my little therapeutic venting session. He turned his head to watch the kids playing before answering me.

“One of my favorite things about the adventuring life is how many interesting people I get to know. You are particularly fascinating, Lord Seiji. I have never met someone so constantly angry at everything who yet keeps taking opportunities to be kind to those he encounters.”

“I’m not constantly angry,” I said defensively. Rhydion’s helmet shifted slightly to point toward the bench, where Aster was gently stroking the sleeping Benit’s hair while dividing her attention between us and the boys. “Yeah, well… The kids were helpful to me, when I first landed here. I try to give a little back. There’s not really a lot I can do for ‘em, aside from getting them fed and the odd trip into town.”

“I suppose it is true that not everyone is of the right character to be responsible for children full-time.”

“It’s not that,” I said in annoyance. “There’s this… Ugh. The Gutters doesn’t have a proper orphanage, apparently. Just some asshole who takes in the kids and uses them for all kinds of less than savory purposes. And it seems he answers to the gangsters who run all the crime in this town, so. Remove orphans from the Gutters and you’re cutting into the business of dangerous people who’ll make their opinions of that known. You’re an adventurer, I’m sure you’re more aware of all this crap than I am.”

The helmet shifted slightly as he shook his head. “I actively try not to be aware of business in which I would feel an ethical need to intervene.”

“Do you, now.”

“It was a lesson hard learned. I believe a man has a responsibility to right what wrongs he can, where he is. Yet, if a man tries to right every wrong in the world, the result will be exhaustion and countless tasks left half-done, in their best-case scenarios. Many will be actively exacerbated by the offhanded meddling of someone who does not understand the full depth of the situation. The effective practice of virtue, I have come to think, requires a kind of tunnel vision. Find an objective against which your abilities can do good, and dedicate yourself to it until it is done. We must have faith that the Goddess will send those of similar inclination to attend to other evils. No one can be everywhere.”

I watched Gilder and Radon chase each other around a fountain, laughing shrilly, and said nothing while I digested that.

“Perhaps you disagree,” Rhydion suggested after at least a full minute of silence.

“Perhaps I do,” I said. “In fact, I’ll go ahead and declare that’s the most mealy-mouthed justification of moral laziness and intellectual cowardice I’ve ever heard.”

Aster jerked her head around to stare at me in wide-eyed horror. Ah yes, I remembered, Rhydion was some kind of local celebrity superhero.

“I will not argue,” he said, inclining his head slightly toward me. “I harbor such doubts myself. Nor are the methods I have developed any kind of ideal practice, but merely compromises experience has forced me to make with my own mortal frailty. If there is any value in my soul at all, I shall continue improving myself so long as I live.”

“Well, I can respect that part, at least.”

“If you have a similar interest in advancing yourself, both in virtue and material standing, you might consider the offer I made you before.”

“Offer? Remind me.”

“To join the King’s Guild. Healing magic is rare and valuable, Lord Seiji; even if your medical spells are as humble as you claimed, they would ensure you a place of great prestige within the Guild.”

Oh. Right. That. “Ah…I think the adventuring life is not for me.”

“I understand. If you are not interested in adventuring as a career, I wonder if you might deign to sell your services for a shorter duration.”

I blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“I am on Dount in response to a growing threat of necromantic events and possible Void activity. This has been a slow process, involving much careful investigation; we are not to the point of taking physical action yet, but before the time comes, I would like to retain the services of a healer.”

“Ahah!” I couldn’t quite restrain the incredulous bark of laughter which escaped me, not that I tried very hard. “No, I don’t think so. But good luck with it, sincerely. Sounds like a worthwhile endeavor. Goddess favor you and all that.”

“I hope you might reconsider before we reach the critical juncture, Lord Seiji. To face the Void without healing magic at one’s side is deeply perilous.”

“Come on, I can’t possibly be the only healer on Dount. I’m definitely not the best.” Actually, I probably was the best, but he was the last person who needed to know that.

“It is vanishingly rare to meet a healer who is not fully committed for the foreseeable future. The truth is, you may well be the best available. The options are you, and a rumored madman who goes around the Gutters healing prostitutes.”

“Heh. Prostitutes, hm? Well, there you go; you should ask that guy. He sounds a lot more charitable than I am.”

“I am not so sure.” He looked again at the playing children.

“Even so, I can’t believe I’m your best option.”

“Let me put it this way, Lord Seiji. I’m sure you have some idea how…pleasant you are to talk to. I am asking you anyway.”

For one second, I was fully occupied being offended. But then, in spite of myself, I had to burst out laughing.