The Day of the Tour
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With sensible business coat and trousers (not to her taste, but wearing a skirt of any length for business in the deserts of Ul'dah was a surefire way to dirty it) impeccably in place, Millith Palmer paused to adjust her bun of auburn hair in a mirror kept in her office desk. Today was a crucial one, and she would let nothing she could control make her plans go awry.
Six months! Six months of struggling with investors and forcing them to see that the Mining Company could still produce what it had in its heyday. She had scraped and saved and wrung as much profit out of the copper and cut her expenses as closely to dangerous as she could. She had partnered with Resu when he'd approached her with a scheme to save her money and earn him the same. She had even hired the Security Chief he'd suggested to help maintain order around the offices, though if she were honest, she could not fault that choice - despite his name, Hatemonger seemed good at keeping the workers docile.
Docile. Not a thing she liked to think of when it came to miners. Papa had been the sort to laugh the longest and loudest in any crowd. But it was necessary. All of it was necessary. It was the only way to keep the company alive when so many people would see her father's work broken apart and sold. They had to suffer to see the good days again, and she regretted that.
But she would not regret the outcome, for that would all change, she thought as she double-checked the papers and contracts, ensuring that nothing was out of place and all was ready to be signed. Madam Covington's interest had been polite but enthusiastic, and she was sure that once she saw the mine's output, and the potential for future investment, not to mention the plans for improving worker quality of life with her funds and the new seam it would allow them exploit, that she wouldn't hesitate to sign up for the enterprise.
She tapped and checked and shuffled everything, and placed it back on the desk. Nerves, she told herself, and cleared her throat before regaining her composure. Halfway through putting on the mask of a professional, however, she cracked open a drawer in her desk, taking out a small portrait. It was a simple one, but she'd always found it vibrant - Lennard Palmer in the prime of his youth, shaggy brown hair, gap-toothed grin and all, leaning his pick on a rock and posing as if he'd just slain a dragon, looking up at her where she sat on his shoulders and kept her hands on his forehead, doing her best to match his smile.
Stopping herself from tearing up, she tapped the image with her index finger before setting it back in its place. It would be better soon. All of it.
Finally composed, she stepped out of the Coblyn's Fancy's main office to see the carts and crates she'd arranged at the edge of the mine's rails, each stacked high with copper ore, ready for processing and transport. The output represented what was likely the last of the lode here, but it would be more than enough. Impressive to see and impressive to sell, that was it.
She waited near the front entrance of the company, watching a figure approach in the distance, and smoothed out her coat. The tour wasn't the only meeting she was having today; with things falling into place, the other part of her plans meant jettisoning her contracts with Jeresu Resu. She had put feelers out in the past few days, and a reliable name kept turning up. She had arranged a meeting to coincide, in order to show Covington the best possible face of the debt-trading movement. And who knew? Perhaps she would be the sort to react well to celebrity, former or otherwise.
For this, she had to thank Bellveil, she thought as she watched the figure approach, the whiskers and paws of a tamed couerl becoming visible through the haze of Thanalan's heat at high noon. His comments had, however inadvertently, spared her from disaster.Â
The woman who dismounted from the couerl once she reached the Fancy's main gates was recognizable in large part because she'd kept the looks and physique she'd had when she retired from the gladiatorial arenas ten years ago. Palmer only knew this by reputation, never having followed gladiators with much interest, but she could certainly see why people said that. The Hellsguard woman cut a striking figure with a heavily-muscled physique, an apparent interest in flaunting it with a midriff-baring shirt, and the mass of fiery hair that was part of her namesake.
Admittedly, the macahuitl she'd brought along was a little strange, but perhaps it suggested security. A metaphor, certainly. Everyone projected an image, after all. Millith put her worry aside and offered a polite bow.
"Ms. Burning Edge! Welcome. Please, come in. I think we have business to discuss." Â
---
The firewater was weak today, or at least Wahlbert thought so after another long swallow. Perhaps his throat had gone numb from too much of the stuff, and he was finally losing his ability to taste it. Not so serious a problem - firewater tasted awful - but it meant he might drink too much, and either lose his nerve and fail, or get too much of it and start matters too early.
That wasn't on him, though, he thought, looking around the commissary office, good leg tapping out a rapid rhythm on the dirt with each clatter of boot to ground. That was on the workers. Verad had been vague about his plans, excepting what he'd asked Wahlbert about explosives, tunnels and so forth. He'd been clear about one point. Today, there was supposed to be a tour of some potential investors. Good people, he'd said. Impeccable characters. If they were to see trouble - real trouble, the kind that couldn't be cleared up with paperwork - he was sure they'd intervene.
How that trouble was supposed to happen, Bellveil hadn't said. He hadn't even said he was leaving it to Wahlbert's discretion, but instead gone on about how exciting it'd be to infiltrate the mine. Like it were an adventure, the fool. But Wahlbert had assumed he had discretion, and so he'd taken steps.
The thing that most of the workers did - the thing that kept most of their contracts growing and growing by days and hours - was drink. And he couldn't fault them that. It was one of his favorite activities. But it also meant that there was one surefire way to raise their ire. He was just waiting for it to happen, seated patiently at his desk. The morning shift had come off their hours, and so it was bound to occur.
A minute passed. Then another. He was halfway to taking a second sip from his flask out of boredom when the first one burst into the door, looking mad enough to tear down the mountain with his bare hands, starvation be damned. Through the open door behind him, Wahlbert could see another mass of workers outside, looking just as irate.
"What the hell, Wahlbert?" said the man before him, slamming his hands down on the desk. Even expecting it, the movement made Wahlbert jump in his seat. "What the hell?! A month for beer?""
Wahlbert was very practiced at hiding a grin behind a noncommittal shrug and a lifting of his flask. "Ask management. Those are the rules now. You want a drink, it's an extra month. Or go without."
From there, things began.
---
Negotiations took much longer than Palmer had expected. She had been willing to pay a great deal for Burning's services, and she knew her urgency in acquiring the woman as a supplier of labor was obvious. But every time they seemed to come to an agreement, Burning raised the stakes, and so it had gone for two hours.
"And you're willing to pay the chirurgeon fees should I come to violent resistance?" she asked, looking surprised and amused with both eyebrows raised. "On top of the repairs, the lodging, the private stable for Chooga - " She nodded towards her couerl, which had kept out of the way once Burning had dismounted, "And shares?"
Palmer nodded externally and winced internally. It was a painful contract, but one she could afford with Covington's assistance. And the sooner she cut herself loose of Resu, the better. "Yes, certainly," she said. "Profits have been up for the past few months, so we can certainly afford to spend more on a trader of your reputation, Miss Edge." Looking pleased, Palmer stuck her hand out as if to shake, and, out of the corner of her eye, noticed another group approaching the gates.
Like Burning Edge, Faye Covington was easy to notice, with her penchant for all-white clothing. A daring choice in the dust of Thanalan, Palmer felt, but that was neither here nor there. She seemed to have brought three others with her, all Miqo'te, and all apparently armed in some fashion, or, by the stance of one, able to take care of themselves without armaments. Strange; very different from the bespectacled fellow she'd brought last time, but perhaps after last time she felt she needed her own security detail. Fair enough. "Ah," she said, "And even better! Here's one of our interested investors. She was very concerned about the nature of the debt-laborers, so your presence would be a tremendous comfort during her tour."
Burning did not take Palmer's hand, nor did she give much of a response, merely uttering a "Hrm," and giving a lazy nod in the direction of the group. Out of earshot, Palmer saw them speaking among themselves, apparently organizing the detail. When Covington stepped forward, it was with only one of the Miqo'te men, a shockingly handsome man with golden blond hair, whose features did not detract from the spear at his back.Â
Palmer tried not to flinch as Covington bobbed in a polite curtsy. "Good day, Miss Palmer. It's a pleasure to see you again."
Grinning, Palmer looked immensely relieved, radiant with the prospect of an imminently successful business deal. "Madam Covington," she replied. "Likewise a pleasure." She returned the curtsy with a bow. "You've come at a very opportune time. Our copper is ready to be shipped south to Ul'dah for processing and smelting. An excellent time for inspection. Ah, and - " She gestured towards Burning. "I know you were concerned about debt-trading in the past. I've been speaking with Burning Edge here about a new series of contracts. I think you'll find her reputation in the business to be impeccable."
At this, Burning actually stuck out her hand to shake. Palmer did her best to ignore the snub. "I haven't signed the contract yet, Palmer," she chided. "A pleasure, Miss."
"Oh?" Covington coiled one corner of her lips into a grin. "What impeccable timing indeed! I'm glad this seems to be such a profitable investment." She turned towards Burning and curtsied again. "Miss Edge, was it? It's a pleasure to meet you. Lady Faye Covington, Support Saint of Harbingers of Dawn, at your service."Â
The two shook, and exchanged pleasantries. Meanwhile, Palmer tried to edge her neck past the Miqo'te guard standing behind Palmer, to see what the other two men were up to. She could see another figure approaching, though much smaller, and very determined. Surely it could't be - Â Faye's voice brought her back to attention. SheÂ
"Ah," Faye said, gesturing to the Miqo'te and bringing Palmer back to her attention. "This is my bodyguard, Val. Please pay him little mind. A precaution, you know? Mines aren't always the safest place." She spoke into her linkpearl - personal business, Palmer assumed.
"Oh, I completely understand, madam. Our accident record is cause for concern, of course, but I think with the right distribution of funds that it need be a concern no longer." She gestured with one arm towards the steps leading to the mine's entrance. "Shall we?" If it was who she thought it was, then she wanted nothing to do with the man. Perhaps her security would keep him out after all.
---
Jeresu Resu was doing his level-best to keep a cool head as he made his way to the Coblyn Fancy's main gates, but his rage was evident in the trembling of his fingers and the clenching and unclenching of his hands.
"That bitch," he grumbled to himself. "That backstabbing Midlander bitch." The debt-trader market was a small one in Ul'dah, and word had gotten around that the head of the Fancy was interviewing Burning Edge - Burning Edge, of all people - as a possible new source of labor. Cutting him out. Him!
The very thought of it made his eyebrow twitch. Who had kept her company from collapsing? Who had made it possible for her to keep her costs low and her gates open? None other than he! Certainly they had both profited, but he didn't need her the way she needed his services, his forged contracts. And to think that after all this time she was going to terminate his services! Why, if she thought she could get away with that, then -Â
In his rage, he almost tripped, and in tripping, realized he was being spoken to. "Of all the things to need maintaining," he groused, stamping his foot in frustration on the short stair leading up to the main gates. Squinting upwards, he noticed two Miqo'te in front of him, both armed. "Are you new security? I hadn't realized Ser Hatemonger was hiring again. No matter. I am Jeresu Resu, and I must speak to Miss Palmer at once. May I pass?"
One of them, a white-haired Miqo'te with a spear on his back, looked a little uncertain. "Ahh, well, actually there is a tour of the mines going on right now Mr. Resu." He squinted towards the east, where the worker's camp was located. "Say, what is going on down at the camp? Those workers are kinda rowdy." The other, darker-haired, said nothing, merely staring down at Jeresu. He hated that look - it always made him feel like he was being treated like a doll.
"A tour?" he said, ignoring the question. But it really is very impo - " He craned his head to the left and right, and froze at the sight of Burning next to Palmer, unmistakable with her height and build. "So that's how it is!" Never before had so much rage been compacted into so tiny a body, and Jeresu stamped and shouted and spat. "Palmer! Palmer, you'll regret this!" he shouted, trying to attract her attention.
The white-haired Miqo'te tried not to look perturbed as he intervened. "Hold on there a second. What is going on between you and that lady?"Â
The other nodded, sounding annoyed. "They're doing a tour right now, and you can't go in; you've got no special privileges here . . . But perhaps you should voice your troubles to us."
Resu looked as if he were about to speak in his irritation, but hesitated. There was no sense in incriminating himself simply out of anger. "F-forgive my agitation," he said, waving a hand. "It's a private matter between she and - "
"What in the hells is going on down there?" The white-haired Miqo'te attracted Resu's attention, which veered to the east, towards the camp at last, and he paled visibly at the sight. "Oh, Twelve."
---
Palmer was doing her best to ignore the shouting. Jeresu showing up was a set-back, certainly, but she had to do her best to keep the tour going, keep the investors interested, and that meant smoothing over any complications.
"My apologies," she said as she lead Faye, Val, and Burning up the steps. "We've been having a rather tough time with the former trader. I was apparently - well, I was quite mistaken about his reputation, and that's something I fully intend to correct." There was no use denying the state of the workers now, she felt. In the circumstances, plausible deniability was her best defense.
Faye gave Palmer's expression a close look as they walked, but paused at the sound of shouting in the distance. "Ah, mistakes do happen. That's the Mister Resu you mentioned last time, I take it?"
"It is, yes,"said Palmer, nodding. "I really shouldn't be telling you this, but as it turns out, he's been double-dealing." Her voice turned conspiratorial once the group was up the steps. "He's been shorting the worker's creditors on their payments. They would have ended their contracts to find they still owed debts! Quite unsavory."
"How shameful. Unsavory, indeed." Faye clicked the tip of her tongue against the back of her front teeth. "I'm glad you cut ties with him. I trust Burning is a more suitable candidate?"
Palmer was only a moment away from completing her reassurances when Burning seemed to notice Resu in earnest. "You had that little shit working with you before?!" She broke from the group without waiting for a response, shouting back to the man. "Resu, you little shit - I swear to the Twelve!" She broke away from the tour group and bolted towards the gates.Â
Nald'thal, thought Palmer, grant me mercy. "She's, ah, coarse," she said, trying to hide a stammer. "But still of a far better reputation, I assure you."
Faye cleared her throat, not entirely subtly, as Burning stomped off. "Coarse, yes . . . I take it those two aren't fond of each other? I suppose it's only to be expected of business rivals."
"Yes, very expected," she said, eager and relieved that Faye had accepted the explanation. "Well, you've seen the head offices already, and to your right is where we keep our demolitions storage," she gestured to one building, and then another, "And in that other building is the offices of Security Chief Agid Hatemonger. He runs a very right ship, I assure you, to avoid having people renege on their contracts."
Something about the name made Val's eyes widen and give the office a closer examination, but Palmer paid it no mind. The tour proceeded, for a brief moment, a little more smoothly. Faye asked for more details about how workers could terminate their contracts or buy their way out of them, and Palmer was happy to explain that their situation was the best of a bad option as they made their way to the copper shipment.
"Mm, well, there are options, but this is really the best of them," said Palmer, stepping towards the mine's output. "There's certainly debt forgiveness, if someone had the resources to buy their contract out from both the trader and all partes consented. They could legally terminate of their own will, but that would leave them exposed to their original creditors - and with creditors like the Syndicate, that may not be the best option."
Something struck her, and she smiled as she reached out to pick up a loose hunk of copper ore. "You know," she said, "It was my father's company originally? Lennard Palmer. Genius at finding a productive seam." I'm proud to keep up the family trad - "
Her speech was interrupted by an out-of-breath guard, dashing up from within the tunnels. "Miss P-Palmer - " he breathed, doubling over, hands on his knees. "The - the workers - they're rising up. It's a riot, Miss!"
---
In the camp below, Wahlbert was lifting his flask as if it were a banner. He had been right - no beer was the final straw. All it had taken was some apathetic remarks, at least at first, to incense the workers. Then he had to express some growing sympathy, grudgingly acknowledging their state. And when one of them expressed dismay at the prospect of another day in the camp, he had growled, and slammed his flask on his table.
"Then don't spend another day in this camp. You, was your contract legal?" The man sheepishly shook his head. "What about you? Or you?" He watched as the workers assembled in his office became a chorus of horizontal head-shaking. "It's like that for all of you, hm? You all get knocked on the head and told you signed a piece of paper and so here you stay, because it's better'n being in debt to the Syndicate, is that right?"
This time they nodded. To be expected, Wahlbert supposed. "I've been here long enough to see good workers here, real workers. Hired proper, or bought on good contracts, better'n yours. And I don't know about you, but I'm sick of it. He forced himself out of his chair, wobbling as he stood on his bad leg. "Sick of feeding you slop and giving you blankets thin as paper and making you work an extra day for a mug of beer and acting like I'm doing you a favor."
There were grumbles and nods of assent. "Well, I'm not doing you a favor. I'm keeping you trapped in here, same as those guards and that barricade outside. And I'm sick of it. Just damn sick of it." The grumbles grew louder, as men started to pump their fists in assent. "So now I am gonna do you a favor. I'm gonna help you bring that wall down, and get you home."
Here there was silence, and Wahlbert couldn't tell whether he had their interest or their fear. Bellveil, at least, could hold a crowd's attention. He hobbled past them, however, one limping step at a time, and marched out of the office to reach the furniture they used for resting out doors.
With his flask in one hand to take a drink, he picked up a wooden leg from a stool the Elezen had broken a few days before; nobody had bothered to discard it. "You wanna stay here, that's your business. They might let you out in a year or so with all the garbage they add to your debt. But me?" He thumped the leg against his chest, and knew he had the interest of the guards, watching him from the barricade with intent expressions, hands no doubt drifting to their swords. "I'm getting out of here, now, today, and anybody wants to come with me, grab a chair and come along."
He started marching towards the barricade in slow, halting steps. In some respects, he was thankful for his bad leg - too fast and he would have been cut down, he was sure, before people had a chance to make up their minds. But after a moment or two he heard chairs snapping and breaking apart, and grunts of assent.
"Yeah!" "Too long!" "Tear it down, tear the whole thing down!"
Wahlbert was soon joined by workers, soon overtaken by more given his slow pace, until the several-dozen off-shift miners had gathered in front of the barricades - heavy things, sturdily constructed of wood and metal, the only opening therein held by four guards, all drawing swords and lifting their shields.
"Wahlbert," said one, calling out over the crowd. "You back there? If you're in this, you'll want to step back. Agid's not gonna like hearing about this."Â
"Yeah," he snarled in response. "It is gonna sound bad, he finds out you four got beat and all of us are free." He wasn't the best speechmaker, and he knew it, but he didn't need a speech when anger would suffice. "Get 'em!"
They charged.
  ---
Jeresu watched the violence below and to the east with increasing horror. The workers had the numbers, but the guards had a stronger position, training, and proper weapons. It was fortunate that their interests were only in holding the barricade, as the men trying to storm the opening were knocked back, some collapsing to the ground and falling still, some stumbling back into the mass.
The dark-haired Miqo'te's interest had been piqued by the fracas, and he had left the entrance to go spy on the battle out of sight. The white-haired one spoke to him through a linkpearl. "Try to stay out of it Ziuz'a . . . just keep me up to date."
Then Jeresu heard Burning curse, saw the tower of Hellsguard charging the entrance with fists clenched, and he squeaked, putting the white-haired Miqo'te between himself and the woman. The Miqo'te seemed impressed by her somehow.
"You have been stealing my work, you little whoreson - "
"The Burning Blade's Edge? It's great to meet you. I saw you fight a few times myself."
" - Hello, yes, that's me, always nice to see a former fan - " she said, much more politely and without skipping a beat or changing her enraged expression before continuing her tirade. "I swear to the gods I will rip your little legs off, you thieving money-grubbing two-timing little buzzard-fucker!"
Jeresu tried to disappear behind the Miqo'te's knees. "Now just, just calm down, you don't want to get involved with this woman! She'll use you, same as me, mark my words!"
"I'll - You - Fff - "She pointed, huffed, puffed, grunted, and grumbled unfinished words as they all melded together with the power of hate. Finally, she could get out a complete sentence. "You're going to tell me why she wants you gone so bad, or I will sell you stuffed with cotton as a children's toy."
"Actually," said the Miqo'te, "I am curious about that myself Mr. Resu. What did you do that has you, Miss Palmer, and Miss Edge so worked up?"
Jeresu was happy to acquiesce. Plausible deniability seemed to be the best defense here. "Oh, yes, I'll tell you, definitely," he said, casting a hateful glare past Burning to the top of the stairs. "She's been threatening me, she has. Forcing me to forge contracts for laborers to help her cut costs, and using her Highlander goon as insurance to make sure I don't complain. Even had the beast kidnap my sister not a few weeks ago as a warning!"
"I know," said the Miqo'te in response to something on his pearl. "Just stand by. And are you saying this woman goes back on her word? Miss Edge, she may try to betray you as well to keep her profits high."
Grinding her teeth hard enough to make a terrible crunching noise, Burning hissed out a quick "We're going to have words later, Resu," she said, before taking off for the rest of the tour group again.
Quivering, Jeresu looked for the nearest exit. "Words" probably meant "A cliff high enough for me to kick you off of it," and he wanted nothing to do with that.
---
Hairs were starting to poke out of her bun. Palmer could always tell when she was getting stressed this way; her hair seemed to have a mind of its own when it came to expressing her dismay, and to have a worker riot in the middle of the tour suggested a great many hairs would come undone.
She took a deep breath before replying to the guard. "That - please contact Chief Hatemonger to immediately to restore order. This is unconscionable." She smiled, a resigned and polite gesture, at Faye. "My apologies, but I'm going to have to cut this short. This is, I assure you, not a typical workday, but there are occasional agitators for the Royalists in the ranks of the laborers. May we reschedule this for another time?"
Faye's Miqo'te bodyguard finally spoke at this time, the first she'd heard him do so. "So what 'xactly is a typical workday? How's this Hatemonger guy plan on quellin' these riots and what're these fuckers riotin' fer in th'first place? F'they were happy, ya'd think they wouldn't give two shits 'bout what was goin' on. Ya tellin' us th'truth or ya just talkin' shit t'our faces?"
Taken aback, Palmer did not respond immediately, giving Faye the opportunity to silence Val with a wave of one gloved hand. She smiled at Faye, but it was sinister like a shark that had smelled blood. "Another time? Oh, I assure you, I don't think rescheduling will be necessary. I'm sure you have much to attend to now, but Val and I can finish the tour on our own - we will not think you rude for leaving us without an escort. I believe this is a prime opportunity to see what this facility is truly like."
She could feel another hair breaking out of her bun. This was going wrong, wrong, horribly wrong. What was happening? Why were they out of control today? Why was Resu causing so much trouble, and where was Agid anyway? "I, well," she said, stammering, losing her composure. "We've had instances with agitators, and - "
"Espionage."
Interrupted by a sharp voice calling out from within the mine shaft, loud enough to be audible while still understated, Palmer turned her head to see Agid coming out of the dark of the mine as if summoned from the void. He looked the part of such a creature, his dark braids hanging over his face and obscuring the burn on his cheek he'd received a few weeks ago. He was carrying a body over his shoulder and a knife, the blood on it dried, in one hand.Â
"It's corporate espionage, Miss Palmer," he went on, stepping out of the mine's entrance and dumping the body on the ground beside him. Verad's bright white beard and grey skin were unmistakable, as was the stab wound in his stomach. He did not move.
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
