The Tour, Continued:
Verad's body, prone on the ground, seemed to elicit a reaction from Faye and her Miqo'te bodyguard, Palmer noted. Faye seemed to stiffen, and her bodyguard certainly seemed to recognize the man. They were not looks of confusion.Â
Apparently unconcerned, Agid pulled a small firesand stick out of his belt. "I found this man trying to detonate firesand in the tunnels, collapsing some old shafts. You say there's a riot? I can't imagine why."Â
Pointing his knife at Covington and Val, he continued. "And for things to go so bad? On a day that big investors are scheduled to tour? Somebody is trying to ruin you." He smirked. "Nothing the Syndicate likes more than saboteurs. Except when they get caught. I think the two of you'd better stay. The Blades will want to hear of this."
"F'ya ask me," said Val, unimpressed, "Looks like someone already ruined ya. Y'should prolly get that taken care of."
Faye's eyes narrowed on the man, and Palmer saw fit to step aside, unclear on what to do. This was wrong, too wrong for her to correct, nothing she could say to smooth over. She edged back towards the copper shipment as if she could use it as a shield.
"Yes," said Faye. "Call the Blades indeed. I'm sure the Immortal Flames would like an explanation as to how one of my men ended up in your employ and wounded by your hand as much as I would." She spoke between gritted teeth. "It's a clever business, you know . . . pretending to buy someone's debts only to force them to work for free labor. Unwitting slavery. Very clever of Mister Resu . . . and very foolish of your company not to continue his practice, am I right?"
Palmer looked shocked, but there was no chance to correct the woman, nor would the words come out. That wasn't it, she thought. That wasn't it at all! "Of course," continued Faye, "eventually people will begin to notice, won't they? But when that happens, I imagine it's awfully easy to blame it all on your trader and pretend you were blissfully unaware."
"No, no," said Palmer, trying to step forward, an edge of desperation in her voice. "That's not - "
"Quiet, Miss Palmer," said Agid before she could go on. "Just be quiet. You don't say anything to saboteurs. Corporate espionage is pretty serious business, and they'll twist what you say, and you know it." He sniffed, running his thumb under his nose. "You've done a good run trying to ruin me. Raiding my camp, snooping around, I'll give you that. But we'll be calling the Blades for your sake, to tell them how you resisted when we tried to detain you on site."
He turned to the guard, who had regained his breath. "Tell the men below to terminate the worker's contracts. Use the back tunnels." The man saluted in a sloppy imitation of the Blades' own, and bolted for the mine shaft. Agid grinned, and stepped forward, brandishing his knife in one hand and firesand in the other. "You just leave this to me, Miss Palmer. I apologize if it looks like I'm enjoying it."
Val took an immediate step towards Agid. "Ya ain' gonna lay a single damned finger on th'woman. Now f'ya value yer life, I suggest y'take yer big ass back into that house'f yers an' fill out paperwork 'r rub one out 'r whatever it was y'were doin'. Ya nasty fuck."
Agid did not have time to respond to the insult, Palmer noted with the serene calm of somebody who has watched matters spiral so thoroughly out of her control that regaining it was impossible. As Val had finished speaking, Burning returned to the mine entrance. Compared to the muted reaction of the two guests, Burning's seemed overstated: At the sight of Verad's body on the ground, Palmer caught a glimpse of rage in her face before she rushed towards Agid, her macahuitl raised high to strike Agid down.
Her reward for this was to see Agid spinning aside and give Burning a similar wound, cutting open a broad gash along her midriff and stepping aside as if she were hardly worth considering, though a cut on his cheek indicated her strike had not gone entirely without impact.Â
Palmer clutched at her face, her hair, with both hands, watching as the scene spiraled down further. She saw Faye dragging the body of the worker - why Bellveil? Why the elezen? Why had he warned her if this was going to happen? - aside, saw her lay hands on the man to try to heal him, saw Burning and Val face off against Agid. He was a skilled fighter, she knew but hard-pressed against two combatants of what seemed equal power. To the east, she knew the riot continued, and that either workers or guards or both were going to die.
She clawed down the sides of her face, her nails too short to leave scratches. What was happening? How was this all going so, so wrong?
Verad had been sure there would be help. He'd been sure of it, but the men were starting to waver. He couldn't blame them. They were weak, tired from bad food and overwork, and the bravado and outrage that had fueled their initial charge was knocked back by better trained and equipped men. They held steady, keeping their broken chair legs and other assorted clubs held up defensively, but nobody was making a move forward, and with good reason - at least a half-dozen men were laying on the ground, bleeding from various gashes along arms, midsections, and scalps.Â
The guards had been using the flats of their blades, as far as he could see, but when and how that would change, he didn't know. Nor did the workers, and he could see that uncertainty in their postures. He could see the single thought, electric and crackling between them: If we put down our chairs now, then perhaps this will all pass. Who needs beer, anyway?
Uncertainty lasted for only a few seconds as a guard rushed out of the worker's entrance, shouting to the men at the barricade. "Chief's orders! Kill the contracts!"
The workers hesitated, uncertain of the orders, until one too close to the barricade was cut down, a deep gash in his shoulder erupting blood. The guard drew back his blade, and, with more discipline than Wahlbert had expected, they marched into the camp with grim intent and weapons ready.
Twelve, he thought. They trained for this. How easy would it have been, he realized, to claim a worker riot got out of hand, and required lethal force, to eliminate people and prevent them from alerting the Blades? And here, he'd allowed it to happen, been eager for it to happen, all because of an idiot Duskwight.
Taking a sip from his flask to brace himself, he found the container empty, and so tightened his grip on his club.
Verad's body, prone on the ground, seemed to elicit a reaction from Faye and her Miqo'te bodyguard, Palmer noted. Faye seemed to stiffen, and her bodyguard certainly seemed to recognize the man. They were not looks of confusion.Â
Apparently unconcerned, Agid pulled a small firesand stick out of his belt. "I found this man trying to detonate firesand in the tunnels, collapsing some old shafts. You say there's a riot? I can't imagine why."Â
Pointing his knife at Covington and Val, he continued. "And for things to go so bad? On a day that big investors are scheduled to tour? Somebody is trying to ruin you." He smirked. "Nothing the Syndicate likes more than saboteurs. Except when they get caught. I think the two of you'd better stay. The Blades will want to hear of this."
"F'ya ask me," said Val, unimpressed, "Looks like someone already ruined ya. Y'should prolly get that taken care of."
Faye's eyes narrowed on the man, and Palmer saw fit to step aside, unclear on what to do. This was wrong, too wrong for her to correct, nothing she could say to smooth over. She edged back towards the copper shipment as if she could use it as a shield.
"Yes," said Faye. "Call the Blades indeed. I'm sure the Immortal Flames would like an explanation as to how one of my men ended up in your employ and wounded by your hand as much as I would." She spoke between gritted teeth. "It's a clever business, you know . . . pretending to buy someone's debts only to force them to work for free labor. Unwitting slavery. Very clever of Mister Resu . . . and very foolish of your company not to continue his practice, am I right?"
Palmer looked shocked, but there was no chance to correct the woman, nor would the words come out. That wasn't it, she thought. That wasn't it at all! "Of course," continued Faye, "eventually people will begin to notice, won't they? But when that happens, I imagine it's awfully easy to blame it all on your trader and pretend you were blissfully unaware."
"No, no," said Palmer, trying to step forward, an edge of desperation in her voice. "That's not - "
"Quiet, Miss Palmer," said Agid before she could go on. "Just be quiet. You don't say anything to saboteurs. Corporate espionage is pretty serious business, and they'll twist what you say, and you know it." He sniffed, running his thumb under his nose. "You've done a good run trying to ruin me. Raiding my camp, snooping around, I'll give you that. But we'll be calling the Blades for your sake, to tell them how you resisted when we tried to detain you on site."
He turned to the guard, who had regained his breath. "Tell the men below to terminate the worker's contracts. Use the back tunnels." The man saluted in a sloppy imitation of the Blades' own, and bolted for the mine shaft. Agid grinned, and stepped forward, brandishing his knife in one hand and firesand in the other. "You just leave this to me, Miss Palmer. I apologize if it looks like I'm enjoying it."
Val took an immediate step towards Agid. "Ya ain' gonna lay a single damned finger on th'woman. Now f'ya value yer life, I suggest y'take yer big ass back into that house'f yers an' fill out paperwork 'r rub one out 'r whatever it was y'were doin'. Ya nasty fuck."
Agid did not have time to respond to the insult, Palmer noted with the serene calm of somebody who has watched matters spiral so thoroughly out of her control that regaining it was impossible. As Val had finished speaking, Burning returned to the mine entrance. Compared to the muted reaction of the two guests, Burning's seemed overstated: At the sight of Verad's body on the ground, Palmer caught a glimpse of rage in her face before she rushed towards Agid, her macahuitl raised high to strike Agid down.
Her reward for this was to see Agid spinning aside and give Burning a similar wound, cutting open a broad gash along her midriff and stepping aside as if she were hardly worth considering, though a cut on his cheek indicated her strike had not gone entirely without impact.Â
Palmer clutched at her face, her hair, with both hands, watching as the scene spiraled down further. She saw Faye dragging the body of the worker - why Bellveil? Why the elezen? Why had he warned her if this was going to happen? - aside, saw her lay hands on the man to try to heal him, saw Burning and Val face off against Agid. He was a skilled fighter, she knew but hard-pressed against two combatants of what seemed equal power. To the east, she knew the riot continued, and that either workers or guards or both were going to die.
She clawed down the sides of her face, her nails too short to leave scratches. What was happening? How was this all going so, so wrong?
---
Wahlbert watched as another man fell back under the blades of the guards. It had been a risk, and he'd known it. More of the company's security team had come to reinforce the barricade until there were now eight of them, holding the gates and the various weak points the workers had tried to rush. Verad had been sure there would be help. He'd been sure of it, but the men were starting to waver. He couldn't blame them. They were weak, tired from bad food and overwork, and the bravado and outrage that had fueled their initial charge was knocked back by better trained and equipped men. They held steady, keeping their broken chair legs and other assorted clubs held up defensively, but nobody was making a move forward, and with good reason - at least a half-dozen men were laying on the ground, bleeding from various gashes along arms, midsections, and scalps.Â
The guards had been using the flats of their blades, as far as he could see, but when and how that would change, he didn't know. Nor did the workers, and he could see that uncertainty in their postures. He could see the single thought, electric and crackling between them: If we put down our chairs now, then perhaps this will all pass. Who needs beer, anyway?
Uncertainty lasted for only a few seconds as a guard rushed out of the worker's entrance, shouting to the men at the barricade. "Chief's orders! Kill the contracts!"
The workers hesitated, uncertain of the orders, until one too close to the barricade was cut down, a deep gash in his shoulder erupting blood. The guard drew back his blade, and, with more discipline than Wahlbert had expected, they marched into the camp with grim intent and weapons ready.
Twelve, he thought. They trained for this. How easy would it have been, he realized, to claim a worker riot got out of hand, and required lethal force, to eliminate people and prevent them from alerting the Blades? And here, he'd allowed it to happen, been eager for it to happen, all because of an idiot Duskwight.
Taking a sip from his flask to brace himself, he found the container empty, and so tightened his grip on his club.
---
The oil was almost gone. Bone had kept a careful eye on the lantern once Agid had left with Verad, lighting it once he was certain the Highlander hadn't doubled back around to see if anyone else remained. Whatever Verad had done, he had ensured that Bone had gone unnoticed, and for the past bell the lantern had glittered in the dark, Bone waiting nearby with the detonator in a safe location.
It hadn't been easy; on at least a half-dozen instances, he had been sure that a rattling on the rock or the echo of a cough had been the signs of a guard or a curious worker making their way down the tunnel, and he had been halfway to blowing out the light entirely. But then he would lose track of time, the precious moments spent waiting for the perceived threat to pass meaning that once the lantern was lit again, that the time for Bone to push the lever would pass well before the oil was spent. The opportunity Verad had spoken of would be lost.
For some reason he couldn't allow himself to do that. It wasn't that he had faith in the plan, exactly. Here, in the dark, he didn't even know what the plan was. For all he knew it would fail disastrously and that would be the end of Gliding Bone, never to see his wife and child again.
"I will get you home."
And yet, there was that. The Duskwight believed it would work, whatever it was. He was sure of it, had guaranteed it with the same certainty that Bone had seen him use to tell customers that the item in their hands had no value whatsoever with a bright, broad smile. And money and products inevitably changed hands, despite or because of that warning.
The lantern started to flicker and gutter. He could leave now, of course. Make his way back down the tunnels, creep out into the camp, take an extra week's punishment for shirking his shift without permission or a visit to the infirmary. The thought was tempting, and he rubbed his hand against his temple, still bandaged after so many days, in careful consideration.
It wouldn't be the first time. Verad had left that strongbox out so often that Bone had joked to him at one point that anybody could steal it, so there must have been nothing valuable in it at all. "On the contrary," Verad had replied, grinning. "There are many valuables within! But who would be so cruel as to steal the only valuable things belonging to a man with nothing else to his name?" It had sounded like a jest, but Twelve above, the man had said it with conviction, as if Nymeia herself had decreed it must be so.
He had said it with such conviction that Bone took him at his word and, when Verad was away in La Noscea, tested his theory. He had been right; there were promissory notes for large sums of gil, research notes on a half-dozen insane projects, a few portraits. Valuable enough for Bone, certainly, and so he had, happily in the moment, betrayed the man's trust. It would be simple to do it again.
The lantered flickered and dimmed, and left Bone in the dark, his hand on the detonator. He tensed for a moment, and then placed the other on the detonator's plunger. "Sorry, dear," he said, placing the image of his wife in his mind before pressing downwards with both palms.
The explosion was short and sharp, and Bone's position was secure, away from the blast. The rocks flew apart or shattered, the boards behind them cracked and splintered, leaving a ragged opening in the tunnel where a dead-end had existed before.
Unwilling to stick around the site of the explosion, Bone picked himself up and, after confirming he was no worse for wear, ran towards the active sections of the mine. In his haste, he missed the sound of scuttling behind him.
A Few Days Back:
"So what happened to them? I never see them around, and yet all the logos would give one the impression they're everywhere. Did they leave?"
"Hm? Oh, the coblyns?" Wahlbert chuckled. "New workers learned to trap them, eventually. You open a seam, drop some ore down a dead-end, and lead them to it, then collapse the passage behind 'em. Of course, the way they lay eggs, they're probably still lurking in the old tunnels even now."
The Tour Again:
((Best read to Ride of the Valkyries. Or just imagine it, you probably know the song.))
The sound was what came first, crawling up out of the tunnels in the form of a soft, subtle whispering. They didn't have armored legs in any fashion, and so it was not the sound of their steps but the echoing of their steps, the rattle of rocks being pushed aside in rapid fashion, clattering against the walls of the mine again and again as a great mass of creatures pushed it aside.
Nobody noticed it at first. At the offices, Palmer watched, horrified, as Agid fought Burning and Val to a standstill, each advantage the pair managed to make against the man neutralized by fast reflexes and a sturdy defense. Nor could Agid strike another blow against them, doing so exposing him to the others. Faye was distracted by trying to heal Verad, the severity of his wound enough that she could rouse him to the faintest state of consciousness without closing it.
At the camp, Wahlbert and the workers were busy fighting a defensive battle against the marching line of guards, who scattered and broke apart to slash at workers who drew too close, while Ziuz'a and Lan, the two Miqo'te guards, rushed to provide aid. Everyone's attention was, therefore, preoccupied, save Verad's, who, through pain and through noise, heard the sounds, and mustered enough strength to give half a pleased grin.
It came as some surprise, then, when the first of the coblyns poured out of the mine tunnels. A few, and then more, and then more, dozens of them skittering forward on thin, stalk-like legs, a sea of beady eyestalks poking up three feet above the ground, their crystalline carapaces shining in the mid-day sun brightly enough to blind mid-day onlookers. As one they surged forth, a tide of pest animals ignoring the weak and fleshy participants of mortal affairs to seek their only real purpose in existence - copper, metal, and the rapid consumption thereof.Â
The work camp was thrown into chaos, laborers pulled forward on surging coblyns and scattering the guards. In the same moments, Ziuz'a reached the barricade, and began tearing it apart with bare hands, punching and opening a hole and shouting for the workers to aid him. Some noticed the opening he gave amidst the chaos and, with the guards preoccupied, rushed to aid him in dismantling wood and metal, ripping the wall apart until it was enough to let a man through, then two, then three, and then another surge happened, this one not of beasts but of workers pouring through the opening and breaking free into the desert. They ran, and did not stop, heedless of exhaustion, water, and heat, running south, the spires of Ul'dah in the faint distance.
The guards recovered their composure and sought to cut down the escapees, to find that Lan was among them, striking down one of their number with a spear to the back before they could recover. As one the group turned on the white-haired Miqo'te, but trained though they were, they could not withstand his assault. He kicked dirt into one's face to distract him, spearing another, tripping a third on the backswing, and eliminating the distracted man all in one fell swoop. The survivors were quick to surrender, dropping swords and shields to the ground, though they did not stay there long, snatched up in the gaping maws of stampeding coblyns eager for metal.
To the west, Agid found the coblyns skittering past made him lose his footing, there being few places he could reach without needing assistance. Burning was the first to take advantage of the opening, grabbing a coblyn by its legs to bash its crystalline shell against Agid''s back, a high squeaking noise issuing forth every time the carapace hit flesh. Val followed suit, tripping Agid up by sending a coblyn between his legs, flipping above him to stab him in the shoulders while the man was off balance.
While he howled in pain, Palmer was only half-aware of the man. More pressing were the numbers of coblyns surrounding her, drawing closer and closer to the shipment and the overpowering sent of copper coming from each cart and crate. Beady eyes wavered and jaws slavered in anticipation. "No . . . " murmured Palmer, holding out a hand as if to stave them off. "No, no!" They skittered and scuttled towards her, over her, and past her, and for a moment she was submerged beneath blue quartz until they had reached the shipment itself, tearing apart wood and toppling carts in their haste to devour a lode's worth of copper.
Blood flowing down from his shoulders, Agid tossed his weapons aside, drawing out the loose firesand stick he had revealed upon his exit from the mine. In the other, he drew a piece of flint and a striker. "Nobody fucking move," he hissed, doing his best to step past the stragglers as the coblyn horde began to thin, conglomerating around the shipment before scattering into the desert. "Do what you want with Palmer. I don't care. Ruin her. But I walk," he went on, waving the explosive. "Or this gets thrown right under demolition storage!"
Val froze on the spot, eyeing Agid as he drew the weapons. He was not impressed. "Go right ahead, cupcake. Throw that shit all y'want. Ain' like I give a damn."
It was the wrong thing to say at the right time. "Fools." Snarling, Agid struck the flint, lighting the firesand's fuse with the sparks. He swung his arm back to throw, lobbing the stick in an overhead arc. It left his hand in time for Burning to shout "Fetch, girl!" Agid disappeared beneath the weight of a full-grown couerl as Chooga bounded forward, pouncing over the remaining coblyns and bringing the man down with both front paws. The details of his devouring are gory, unnecessary, and can reasonably be excised.
The firesand, however, was still in midair, arcing over the group towards the demolitions shed. Val was the only one able to react, racing towards it to leap up and swat it away from its arc. Sparks struck his palm as he diverted its path, rebounding it towards the mine itself. Being only a small measure of firesand, the explosion was small and concentrated, notable for a loud boom that frightened the remaining coblyns and caused them to scatter from the now empty shipment, and little else.
Watching all of this from Verad's side, Faye shook her head and tried to shoo away a few coblyns that had seen fit to perch atop his prone body, waving her hand at them to get them to scurry away. "Awful lot of trouble your rug led to, you know," she remarked in an off-hand fashion.
Verad tried to chuckle, but only managed a wince. "Just a little bit," he said, his voice hoarse. "But still one of my better plans, I think." Â
Verad Bellveil's Profile | The Case of the Ransacked Rug | Verad's Fate Sheet
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
