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[Slowing the Wheels of Justice One - Merchant, Marine Part One]
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(Several of the characters referred to here, originally appeared in the story: One Late Summer Limsan Afternoon)
Theme Music
Aya closed her eyes against the damp, chill wind. Â It was just what one should have expected on an early winter evening by the Lominsan wharves - not that she had expected it. Â She pulled the cloak tighter around her form, swirling winds whirling around uncovered legs while the wet frigidness of the air cut through every layer of clothing she did wear, biting the skin beneath. Â
Lominsan sailors and their land-bound longshoreman cousins are a hearty breed. Â Bound in leathers and coated canvas better suited to the atmosphere in which they made their living, they went about their business around-the-clock. Â At the moment an exchange of shifts was underway, and Aya watched carefully as one crew exchanged with the next. Â She noted each on its way, eyes carefully inspecting each male Roegadyn who passed her by. Â
Beginning to doubt her purpose, she at least spied the visage she had sought. Â It had seared its way into childhood memories, under the name of 'Masters'. Â Her eyes followed him as he walked with a small group of co-workers focused, no doubt, on their quest for after-work refreshment. Â It wasn't long before they spotted her too, and she became subject to a long second-look, but one of appreciation rather than recognition on the part of the Roegadyn she had once known as a foe.
"Wonder what she's doin' all th' way dun here?" Asked one. Â "Why don't you ask her how much she charges?" Â Joked another to a hearty laugh.
The information was good. Â Here was Masters, once a teenage gang-leader, now a common dock worker. Â She wouldn't have believed it had she not seen it for her own eyes.
...
"He couldn't cut it. Â It was one thing stealin' food and bullyin' kids. Â When it came to the real work he just wasn't cut fer it. Â Washed out, never initiat'd, not even the north siders were take'n him"
...
She let out a huff, before pulling the cloak tighter about her figure. Â A futile effort to stave off the cold, while her mind became distracted by thoughts of warm fire.
The dark room wasn't quite an open fire, but it was indoors, and it would do. Â Why was it those in the information trade always seemed to like to work in the dark? Â She'd have a thing or two to say about the benefits of working in the wide open of the Quick Sand...
But, her mind was focused on the task at-hand. Â This was no normal meeting. Â The Miqo'te who stood before her was both stranger, and something far closer. Â His figure was contorted, powerful legs bent and mis-shapen, leaning to the left where he maintained his balance with a simple carved stick of sturdy Shroud dark-wood. Â The left side of his face was scarred to an unrecognizable degree, barely human, his mouth twisted into a permanent half-grimace. Â An eyepatch covered the eye, while the other, still-good, offered a penetrating gaze that seemed to ever hover somewhere between insight and malice. Â
"You found 'im, I'm presumin'." The voice, soft and calm, belied his appearance. Â
This wasn't how she remembered him. Â The sprightly kid Miqo'te who could climb a sheer storefront with an easy scamper. Â He was as always as quick-witted as he was fleet-footed, with a cheerful sense of mischief that saw him leap into danger time-after-time if it meant a little excitement, and the chance to help friends out of a jam.
She'd wished what she'd heard hadn't been true. Â That he had kept up, just like always, as he grew up. Â An urchin--son of the streets--he'd known nothing else. Â Just as he'd helped keep kids out of trouble, soon he was coming to the rescue of his gang and their cohorts. Â He was always their "ace-in-the-hole".
She nodded. Â "I did." Â The good half of his face smiled. Â When joined with the scarred grimace, the effect was unsettling.
His luck finally ran out. Â He made fools of one-too-many, and a trap was laid. Â This time there would be no fanciful story-book escape. Â No hijinks or witty retorts tossed over a fleeing shoulder. Â Only pain and suffering. Â He was hobbled, and maimed under intense torture. Â His tail amputated at the base, and hung as a grizzly trophy by the rival gang leader. Â He was left hobbled; legs broken were not allowed to set properly. Â Muscles rent by imprecise blade-work never healed correctly. Â They plucked an eye, and branded the side of his head, scorching his face with a sadistic glee. Â
This was not what he had deserved, a young man so full of life and cheer. Â He had done his own lot of ill in life, and perhaps no story book ending was ever in his cards, but he'd done nothing deserving what he got.
"That," he said coolly, the smile becoming a smirk of satisfaction, "Was a favor fer an old friend. Â Now, though, you had somethin' else you wished to discuss?"
In the end they dropped him off with the Yellow Jackets. Â He was still a wanted criminal, and they'd let the law handle the rest. Â Maiming was one thing, but killing altogether different under the gangland code of Limsa. Â No need for a streetwar, just a little sweet retribution.
"There are two sailors accused of mutiny awaiting judgement by the Board. Â I am sure you already know I helped the last so-accused to defend himself, and now he is acclaimed as a hero of the Maelstom."
The disfigured Miqo'te nodded. Â "Funny tha'. Â Aya. Â Funny tha'," he rasped. "Wherever you go they seem to be make'n 'eroes of somebody."
She canted her head gently, the dim light betraying a smirk escaping beneath her hood.
In, the end, there was one more lesson to be learned: a clever Miqo'te with a photographic memory is no man to trifle with. Â Dole, for that was his name, settled his business with the Jackets by providing evidence against every single member of the gang that had tortured him. Â Each one faced their own judgement, round up and dealt with according to their crimes. Â Save one, whom the wily cat preserved as evidence of his power over them.
"I want their hearing delayed," she answered matter-of-factually. Â "And the street is against them, calling for their hanging. Â I want to change that, and I think you're just the man to help me."
The Miqo'te drew his free hand to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully. Â "Well, you've made 'ero of one mutineer already. Â It is not too much of a stretch to claim these men may be as well." Â
She nodded. Â "The Captains have little precedent to guide them in there matters. Â They will be guided by the street."
He concurred, "True 'nuff. Â Though it won't be enough. Â The Captains all 'ave their own agendas."
"I know." She answered shortly, leaving the rest unspoken.
Crippled, and having made a good return on his incarceration, the Jackets quickly released their sympathetic prisoner. Â The days of adventure were over. Â There would be no more escapades. Â But the man, now simply know as 'Ace', made the decision to go into work for himself: a trader of information.
"Who are you friends?" he asked perceptively, the gaze of his good eye waxing penatrative. Â
"What do you mean?" She asked with weakly feigned surprise.
"The Jewel of the Desert does not just come to Limsa Lominsa to save the lives of mutineers." Â He observed, signaling that the game was on.
"There must be someone interested in it. Â Interested 'nuff to engage you." Â He paused for effect, drawing his cane before him, and leaning against it with both hands.
"And, Thanalan's Ishgardian Belle does not trade in information for gil. Â Pose for posters, aye. Â Serve swill, aye. Â Dance fer all ta see it all, aye. Â But exchange information, nay. Â That she won't do, 'cept fer cause."
She feigned surprise at the man's insight, all accurate as far as it goes. Â
"Theretofore," he stated with a little triumph, "she is actin' on behalf of friends." He purred with a tenor made all the more disturbing by the scarred grimace. Â "Now, she is an old friend. Â And I am willin' to do what she asks. Â All I ask in return is to know on whose behalf she acts, so that I can know who I am workin' for." Â His eyes narrowed, his price set, every piece carefully maneuvered to pin his target down.
She listened, the feigned surprise fading from her features as he named his price. Â She held his one-eyed gaze for a moment that stretched beyond suspense. Â Her eyes slowly narrowed, revealing a look of confidence and mischief that the Miqo'te couldn't help but recognize from their childhood days.
At last she reached carefully into her bodice, sliding out a folded parchment which she duly offered to him.
Surprise was now his to offer as he suspiciously accepted the parchment. Â It was warm to the touch, and smelled of her fragrance as he unfolded it. Â
It was an official letter to one "Aya Foxheart, Quicksand, Ul'dah" bearing the letter head of "Escrow and Sons, Limsa Lominsa".
Ace knotted his brow. Â "What's the meaning of this?"
"If you read, you'll see they are offering thanks to a loyal customer." Â It was her turn to pause for effect, her lips drawing back into a pursed-lip grin.
"I understand that you have been in a little... mmm... difficulty with them, owing to your previous life. Â And that this has made certain desired transactions fraught with difficulty, even through your subsidiaries."
He folded the paper carefully. Â The slow methodical motion gave him an opportunity to hide the surprise that emerged only partly upon his voice, "How did..."
He sighed, steadying himself. Â "And you, I s'pose. Â Could make these acquisitions for me, without the least suspicion."
Her lips pouted, her entire body shifting its expression, "Suspect me?" Â She asked plaintively above suspicion, "What could you suspect me of?"
He grinned, nearly laughing at the girl's game. Â He slipped the paper away. Â "Very well then. Â A favor from one old friend to another."
She smiled and added a slight nod. Â "From one old friend to another."
As Ace slipped back into the shaded corridor he was joined by his Hyur assistant. Â "Well, boss, seems she wasn't goin' ta give up 'er friends."
"No... that she's not. Â She not only passed, but she's proven even more wily than expected. Â I should 'ave know not to underestimate her."
"Passed?" asked the Hyur, "Was that a test?"
The Miqo'te turned to him with seriousness, "Is it really a test if you know someone is going to pass? Â I want you to draw up a list of everything we might want from Escrow and Sons. Â We may not get another opportunity this good."
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