((At last, the triumphant return of the Gilded Knuckle!))
Goerthe - not his real name, naturally, but the one by which he was most well-known here - never refused a request to visit the Gilded Knuckle, even at three bells past midnight, his manservant shaking him awake to deliver the familiar engraved invitation. Each of the invites to the ultra-exclusive playground of Ul'dah's notorious elite brought him information, and Goerthe was information broker to a very limited clientele. He dressed quickly in his finest, choosing for a mask tonight a maned lion that left his mouth and neck bare, long mustaches gray with age drooping down. Those that knew him would know those. Few suspected they were fake. Such was Ul'dah. Such was the Knuckle.
He was whisked away by a waiting attendant through the streets, into the depths of the city, where no light could enter - nor would the gamblers, businessmen, merchant-princes and the ever present servants ever comment. The Knuckle ostensibly was a gambling club and bar of the highest luxury and quality, and every surface gleamed with polished wood, marble, or gild; to Goerthe, it was a treacherous jungle that he had long grown accustomed to traveling. His superiors had left him in Ul'dah since just after their so-called Calamity. Cycles long to abide, by his profession's standard, but he had a certain understanding of the smallfolk here and their customs. And he suspected some of them had a certain understanding of him, too. Not the sultana, of course. Nor the Flame General, also of course. But those who were not adverse to making mutually profitable arrangements without the need for official entanglements.
Goerthe was led to a private table, secluded even from the wait staff, his drink of choice already waiting for him. Some siad the bloodsands were the most dangerous place in Ul'dah; others, Fesca's Wash, home of the Grindstone. Some even said the Quicksand, where unwashed adventurers mingled and squabbled and rutted. Taking a swallow of the brown liquor in his glass, Goerthe gazed around the Knuckle and knew better. With its masked patrons, its fortunes won and lost and exchanged with all of the casualness of a kiss, its access to exclusive information that ruined lives and wealth at a single word - the Knuckle was easily the most dangerous place, not only in Ul'dah but in Eorzea. Goerthe only knew of one more dangerous place in the entire world.
He shifted a bit restlessly in his seat as a Miqo'te serving lass guided a figure across the empty expanse of the floor to their secluded table. The serving lass herself was in Thavarian silks that probably cost more than one of the Ala Mhigan refugees beyond the walls would make in a year of hard labor. "Took you long enough," Goerthe growled as the other masked figure took a seat across from him and the serving girl withdrew. He recognized them - another regular. No doubt their drink would materialize later as if aetherically. The servers here knew not to dare be seen anywhere near conversations between patrons without being first summoned. Those who breached protocol at the Knuckle were not fired, but disappeared utterly. "I'm a busy man, even at this bell." Lies, of course. He was never too busy to refuse a summons to the Knuckle.
Especially from this creature, now that he knew who had summoned him. Diamond was how most referred to them, a Lalafell from their height and body shape - but that was all anyone had ever been able to discover. They wore a thick leather bodysuit and a full head mask with an abstract diamond shape panted over the face; their voice was distorted, deliberately low and husky and androgynous whenever it floated forth from the mask, which was rarely. Rumors among the Knuckle's rarefied clientele were plentiful and cheap, but it was said when Diamond made an appearance at the Knuckle, the Syndicates enemies died under mysterious circumstances soon after. Goerthe did not believe in coincidences, especially when the Knuckle was involved. Or the Syndicate.
"I have information for sale."
Goerthe's eyes brightened. Of course, Diamond didn't ask if he was interested in such; nor did he ask how they knew. He kept his voice curt, even dismissive in return. "I don't trade in rumors. If you brought me something accurate, verifiable, well-sourced - "
Diamond placed a file onto the table, thick with documents. "I am sure you know of the good Captain Rosewater, head of the internal security service." Goerthe nodded shortly. "Rosewater gave this targeting package to an assassin for a hit on this man." One gloved finger tapped another document. "His rival in the Sultansworn. I've included a few of his signed and sealed documents for comparison - you can see it is his own hand on the targeting and assessment data."
Goerthe leaned over the table, flipping quickly through the documents. A chill sweat ran unseen down his spine beneath his black tunic. The documents certainly appeared entirely legitimate. If so, the possibilities were incredible. Of course, it could be a dangle, a false lead, originated by this Rosewater, who had proven a wily and capable foe in the times Goerthe or his people had crossed paths with him. "How much?"
"Three million gil."
Goerthe's mouth twisted. "A princely sum for one man."
"For an intelligence official, with his access?" Diamond said coldly. "Don't patronize me, Goerthe. I know what you kind does with information like this, to men like Rosewater. You will have invaluable information in return for your investment, information that you can leverage for that which is even more precious to you. This could greatly impact your operations in Ul'dah."
Goerthe considered it. Of course, Diamond was entirely right, which likely indicated the mysterious Lalafell was a player in Ul'dah's robust intelligence arena, or had been given insight by their Syndicate masters. All anyone knew about Diamond was their attachment not just to the Syndicate, but to Ul'dah's ruling class in general. They were rarely seen even in the Knuckle, and at unusual times, in unusual places, but afforded nearly as much respect as those who had cash to burn. So perhaps Rosewater was being fed to Goerthe as one of the Syndicate's notoriously opaque power plays. Goerthe had heard of vast sums of money spent to marry one child off to another by one member of the Syndicate, while another spent equally vast sums to prevent the union; the wars over commodity prices alone were legend, and some of the strangest events were tied to Syndicate power games, like annual festivals and popular competitions. This Rosewater could have angered the wrong person, and now the wrath of the rules of Ul'dah was coming down on him - not via arrest, but from his darkest secrets being peddled at Ul'dah's most dangerous market.
And clearly Diamond was at least partially aware of his affiliations. There was a danger in that as well - unless he was paying for the privilege of being their cat's paw. Which, given the benefit he was likely to receive from it, was not entirely untoward. Either way, he could not afford to throw away this chance to remove a player from the game like Rosewater.
"Alright," he said finally. "Three million." He gestured to one of the distant, lurking serving girls, who apparated to his side as if by magic. She offered him a wax tablet and a stylus; Goerthe marked the amount, three million gil, without any other terms recorded as per the Knuckle's policy, and pressed his signet ring into the soft wax. Diamond "signed' with a small diamond shape identical to the stylization on their mask. The Gilded Knuckle guaranteed all deals struck on its premises and would provide the discreet and anonymous transfer of funds; its appeal was its complete security and secrecy. Goerthe accepted the file, continuing to look through the papers.
"I'll give you this tidbit as an extra service, Goerthe," Diamond noted, standing. "He wants this Sultansworn dead in the next sun. He may have plans to cover his tracks after that." With a curt nod, Diamond vanished off into the Knuckle.
Goerthe pondered the packet of damning information. So the operational schedule was tight, tight indeed... No time to contact the capital for instructions. A more simple, more direct use of this information would be best. It had been some time since their last blackmail operation - but Goerthe found he enjoyed those best of all, especially when it lead to an eventual defection. His Imperial Majesty would be most pleased if they could secure the loyalty - however obtained - of the head of Ul'dah's internal security service. But the blackmail would be less effective if Rosewater's assassin achieved their goal before Goerthe's men got to him.
Goerthe also had much work to do. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts as he left the Knuckle that he didn't notice Diamond watching him leave from the shadows, then move to follow.
Goerthe - not his real name, naturally, but the one by which he was most well-known here - never refused a request to visit the Gilded Knuckle, even at three bells past midnight, his manservant shaking him awake to deliver the familiar engraved invitation. Each of the invites to the ultra-exclusive playground of Ul'dah's notorious elite brought him information, and Goerthe was information broker to a very limited clientele. He dressed quickly in his finest, choosing for a mask tonight a maned lion that left his mouth and neck bare, long mustaches gray with age drooping down. Those that knew him would know those. Few suspected they were fake. Such was Ul'dah. Such was the Knuckle.
He was whisked away by a waiting attendant through the streets, into the depths of the city, where no light could enter - nor would the gamblers, businessmen, merchant-princes and the ever present servants ever comment. The Knuckle ostensibly was a gambling club and bar of the highest luxury and quality, and every surface gleamed with polished wood, marble, or gild; to Goerthe, it was a treacherous jungle that he had long grown accustomed to traveling. His superiors had left him in Ul'dah since just after their so-called Calamity. Cycles long to abide, by his profession's standard, but he had a certain understanding of the smallfolk here and their customs. And he suspected some of them had a certain understanding of him, too. Not the sultana, of course. Nor the Flame General, also of course. But those who were not adverse to making mutually profitable arrangements without the need for official entanglements.
Goerthe was led to a private table, secluded even from the wait staff, his drink of choice already waiting for him. Some siad the bloodsands were the most dangerous place in Ul'dah; others, Fesca's Wash, home of the Grindstone. Some even said the Quicksand, where unwashed adventurers mingled and squabbled and rutted. Taking a swallow of the brown liquor in his glass, Goerthe gazed around the Knuckle and knew better. With its masked patrons, its fortunes won and lost and exchanged with all of the casualness of a kiss, its access to exclusive information that ruined lives and wealth at a single word - the Knuckle was easily the most dangerous place, not only in Ul'dah but in Eorzea. Goerthe only knew of one more dangerous place in the entire world.
He shifted a bit restlessly in his seat as a Miqo'te serving lass guided a figure across the empty expanse of the floor to their secluded table. The serving lass herself was in Thavarian silks that probably cost more than one of the Ala Mhigan refugees beyond the walls would make in a year of hard labor. "Took you long enough," Goerthe growled as the other masked figure took a seat across from him and the serving girl withdrew. He recognized them - another regular. No doubt their drink would materialize later as if aetherically. The servers here knew not to dare be seen anywhere near conversations between patrons without being first summoned. Those who breached protocol at the Knuckle were not fired, but disappeared utterly. "I'm a busy man, even at this bell." Lies, of course. He was never too busy to refuse a summons to the Knuckle.
Especially from this creature, now that he knew who had summoned him. Diamond was how most referred to them, a Lalafell from their height and body shape - but that was all anyone had ever been able to discover. They wore a thick leather bodysuit and a full head mask with an abstract diamond shape panted over the face; their voice was distorted, deliberately low and husky and androgynous whenever it floated forth from the mask, which was rarely. Rumors among the Knuckle's rarefied clientele were plentiful and cheap, but it was said when Diamond made an appearance at the Knuckle, the Syndicates enemies died under mysterious circumstances soon after. Goerthe did not believe in coincidences, especially when the Knuckle was involved. Or the Syndicate.
"I have information for sale."
Goerthe's eyes brightened. Of course, Diamond didn't ask if he was interested in such; nor did he ask how they knew. He kept his voice curt, even dismissive in return. "I don't trade in rumors. If you brought me something accurate, verifiable, well-sourced - "
Diamond placed a file onto the table, thick with documents. "I am sure you know of the good Captain Rosewater, head of the internal security service." Goerthe nodded shortly. "Rosewater gave this targeting package to an assassin for a hit on this man." One gloved finger tapped another document. "His rival in the Sultansworn. I've included a few of his signed and sealed documents for comparison - you can see it is his own hand on the targeting and assessment data."
Goerthe leaned over the table, flipping quickly through the documents. A chill sweat ran unseen down his spine beneath his black tunic. The documents certainly appeared entirely legitimate. If so, the possibilities were incredible. Of course, it could be a dangle, a false lead, originated by this Rosewater, who had proven a wily and capable foe in the times Goerthe or his people had crossed paths with him. "How much?"
"Three million gil."
Goerthe's mouth twisted. "A princely sum for one man."
"For an intelligence official, with his access?" Diamond said coldly. "Don't patronize me, Goerthe. I know what you kind does with information like this, to men like Rosewater. You will have invaluable information in return for your investment, information that you can leverage for that which is even more precious to you. This could greatly impact your operations in Ul'dah."
Goerthe considered it. Of course, Diamond was entirely right, which likely indicated the mysterious Lalafell was a player in Ul'dah's robust intelligence arena, or had been given insight by their Syndicate masters. All anyone knew about Diamond was their attachment not just to the Syndicate, but to Ul'dah's ruling class in general. They were rarely seen even in the Knuckle, and at unusual times, in unusual places, but afforded nearly as much respect as those who had cash to burn. So perhaps Rosewater was being fed to Goerthe as one of the Syndicate's notoriously opaque power plays. Goerthe had heard of vast sums of money spent to marry one child off to another by one member of the Syndicate, while another spent equally vast sums to prevent the union; the wars over commodity prices alone were legend, and some of the strangest events were tied to Syndicate power games, like annual festivals and popular competitions. This Rosewater could have angered the wrong person, and now the wrath of the rules of Ul'dah was coming down on him - not via arrest, but from his darkest secrets being peddled at Ul'dah's most dangerous market.
And clearly Diamond was at least partially aware of his affiliations. There was a danger in that as well - unless he was paying for the privilege of being their cat's paw. Which, given the benefit he was likely to receive from it, was not entirely untoward. Either way, he could not afford to throw away this chance to remove a player from the game like Rosewater.
"Alright," he said finally. "Three million." He gestured to one of the distant, lurking serving girls, who apparated to his side as if by magic. She offered him a wax tablet and a stylus; Goerthe marked the amount, three million gil, without any other terms recorded as per the Knuckle's policy, and pressed his signet ring into the soft wax. Diamond "signed' with a small diamond shape identical to the stylization on their mask. The Gilded Knuckle guaranteed all deals struck on its premises and would provide the discreet and anonymous transfer of funds; its appeal was its complete security and secrecy. Goerthe accepted the file, continuing to look through the papers.
"I'll give you this tidbit as an extra service, Goerthe," Diamond noted, standing. "He wants this Sultansworn dead in the next sun. He may have plans to cover his tracks after that." With a curt nod, Diamond vanished off into the Knuckle.
Goerthe pondered the packet of damning information. So the operational schedule was tight, tight indeed... No time to contact the capital for instructions. A more simple, more direct use of this information would be best. It had been some time since their last blackmail operation - but Goerthe found he enjoyed those best of all, especially when it lead to an eventual defection. His Imperial Majesty would be most pleased if they could secure the loyalty - however obtained - of the head of Ul'dah's internal security service. But the blackmail would be less effective if Rosewater's assassin achieved their goal before Goerthe's men got to him.
Goerthe also had much work to do. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts as he left the Knuckle that he didn't notice Diamond watching him leave from the shadows, then move to follow.
People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.
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