After a few minutes, a proper island finally revealed itself as the stone towers thinned to nothing. This mature specimen of its fellows bore a large hump of grey rock in the middle. Ringed by trees, grasses, and sand, it was an odd display of geological youth. Such curiosity probably wasn't on the minds of the men as they beheld the five-story building on the islands peak.
The box had a red tiled roof resting on crème colored stone. Neat rows of wooden windows marked its floors from the outside, all seen from its perch atop the island's tallest, and really only, high point. Below it lay a meager collection of buildings, though these only showed their wood roofs as the three-story high wall surrounding the small settlement blocked the inner street view.
Near the pier were large, iron banded double doors in the walls. They were wide open to allow passage for the traffic pouring out of the ships docked at the various wooden fingers hugging the shore. Far more than even the trade route demanded, by Jeff's poor ability to estimate such things. As they pulled into one of the middle piers with their smaller companion taking one further off to the left, he felt more confident in his guess that most were staying on their ships despite the land they were roped to, judging by the foods being brought back in carts and men coming up planks despite the climbing sun.
"Luckily," Quinton said behind Jeff, making the mage jolt in place.
Jeff turned around with raised eyebrows. Quinton and Shane were standing in front of their four men, trying to not look amused. The perpetrator of the tease sniffed with his bulbous nose before turning his green eyes to the settlement.
"We're staying at the Top Hill. An arrangement born of your station." Quinton mused as a breeze flowed through his red hair and over leather armor, something he accentuated with a skyward stretch. "So, try to flaunt it a bit."
Jeff raised a grey eyebrow at the command.
"You know," Quinton continued, giving the lightning mage a playful smile. "Walk like you own every building you visit. Reduce a peasant or two to tears. Things like that."
"I'll work it into my schedule," Jeff answered dryly as he turned back to his tools.
The men nodded with suspicious levels of enthusiasm. A sentiment that noticeably dampened when they saw him moving towards the bucket.
"Hey," Shane said off to the left, faltering for only a moment. "Don't you want to….stretch your land legs and such?"
Jeff turned to him, feeling a prick of irritation as he did so.
"I have a few minutes left to test the hull's enchantments before midday sun bakes me, which I already feel behind on. To say nothing of any mast work."
"Right," Quinton agreed, coming in from the left rail. "But you'll be staying here a while. Perhaps you'd like to settle in properly."
Jeff's brown eyes met pleading green irises. Whatever was making them anxious to get off the ship, it wasn't something they were willing to convey verbally. And considering the constant buzz in every pore, they couldn't say it through a spirit connection. The element of peer pressure, feeling so many wanting him to take this course, was likewise strong.
"I suppose I'd better settle in before I cook in the streets."
The way six pairs of shoulders visibly relaxed was left without comment, but noted all the same. It took only a few minutes for sailors to get their luggage off the ship and several seconds for the owners of said boxes to vacate their home of several days. Quinton and Shane took up the front, while the four other guards acted as a meat shield in the rear, with the laborers following in a line.
Being in the middle of such a procession made Jeff feel like he was back home in the Coalition during his younger years. The son of the president was often found in a pile of guards whenever he went out, something that his time at the academy had stripped away for the most part. As they walked down the pier to a gusty wind of salty sea air, the lightning mage felt the well-worn mantle of high station smother him as it had in times past. Something he was grateful for as they left the pier and were let through the gate with little fuss by the stationed guards.
Directly ahead, leading straight up to the box on the hill, was a cobble road of plain grey brick. The bricks had the smoothness of magical summoning, as did their siblings in the walls, though they both were bound in rough mortar that told of mundane application. Aside from the single road, all other paths were dirt, thankfully dry for now.
The buildings on the sides were of wooden construction. Bearing the craftsmanship of 'good enough' and still showing sharp edges that told of fresh carpentry. The various denizens going in and out of said buildings were numerous enough that the owners were no doubt reaping a great reward, whatever shortcomings their domiciles may suffer.
Traffic proved a bit tight, requiring the occasional stop that not even his entourage could prevent. Not as bad as Rashton, as meager praise as that was. The traffic noticeably thinned as they approached the Top Hill building. Slopes of green stuck out against the grey stone and brown mud as Jeff felt his feet take an upward angle before proper stairs started.
"Whoa!"
The yell from behind was only emphasized by the distinctive rasp of a sword being drawn out for application. Jeff turned to see three men running out of the nearest alleyway towards them with swords drawn. They were lightly armored, but it was the two additions in the back with fully drawn crossbows that presented real danger. Academy training took over, telling Jeff to prepare several lightning spells as they would be quicker than wind or fire.
But he was supposed to be Harold, a wind mage.
A moment of consideration, longer than a blink but shorter than a second, passed. And with it came death. The crossbows were now properly raised. Jeff pulled his head down as Quinton and Shane tried to get their bodies between him and the coming bolts. Too slowly, by the lightning mage's estimation.
Then all five of the attackers froze.
Their eyes went wide before their bodies crumbled to the ground. Two fell face-first through their swords, painting steel in the red and grey of their skulls contents, while the other three grabbed their unopened heads. Mouths opened for full screams, yet all that came out were low growls. The crowd, having already pulled out of the way of the two groups, stood looking on in fascination. Whatever was being done to them, their minds persisted for only a second longer before giving out. Limp hands fell to the dirt as eyes went blank, the only sign of life being sporadic convulsions and twitches.
'Throw them into the sea,' A mountain boomed in Jeff's head.
Judging by the sudden jump in every man, woman, and child on the street, Jeff decided it wasn't a sign of frayed sanity on his part. Most looked around, trying to see where it had come from. The lightning mage, however, had his suspicions.
'Now!' The mountain roared, reaching such a volume that Jeff had a notion that his eardrums should have been destroyed despite their lack of use.
Two enterprising men near a stall, having previously been negotiating a stack of ropes, were the first to move towards the dead and not-yet-dead men. Only then did a dozen passersby move to help, leaving Jeff and his group to watch. A few walked past the morbid display, intent on their day's chores. All made a very obvious effort not to approach the dead men's prey. Their eyes, however, freely scoured them. From their reactions, Jeff got the feeling they had all just been made objects of local fascination, if his magical workings weren't enough.
A cough from Quinton finally got the group to start going again. Jeff moved into the center up the stairs, sparing one last look for the woman working a mop through blood and brains before turning back towards their destination. Climbing up the stairs, sailors bearing chests still in tow, Jeff did his best not to notice the people staring at them from the windows of their future home.
After a few seconds of climbing with an already racing heart and feeling the signs of strain threatening to accumulate in his thighs, the lightning mage finally came up to the sturdy red oak door. Quinton and Shane were the first ones through, taking cautious looks around as they went inside. Jeff tried to keep focused, as one who was nearly killed not a minute ago ought to, yet the wave of floral perfume that poured out of the door proved too strong to ignore.
Three steps brought him onto a thick, brown rug clearly meant to catch mud from visitors' shoes. Red paint and gold vines covered the right wall, interrupted only by a stairway of dark oak that matched the rest of the floor, contrasting with a white ceiling. The immediate left was an open doorway leading into a dining area replete with a bar and tables.
Of greater and worrying interest was the hallway straight ahead. It bore a red carpet leading to rooms on both sides that bore curtains for doors. Cloth proved insufficient to smother the womanly laughter and the sounds of loud slurping from within. The lustful looks men wore as they led women from wooden caves to the stairway, combined with the women's heavy makeup and low-cut dresses barely a hair above their nipples, made it clear he had unwittingly crossed ocean and courted death to visit a brothel.
"Hello?"
A woman's voice, one distinctly not in the throes of passion, drew Jeff's gaze to the reception kiosk between the dining area on the left and the hallway directly ahead. It was a thing of thick oak wrapping around the wall with a small opening on the right side for the elderly woman in a brown dress serving as the place's greeter to get through.
"Your best room, for our mage," Quinton announced as he approached the receptionist, clearly trying not to look as eager for coming events as his fellows.
The last word landed with its usual weight. Everyone, providers of pleasure and their buyers, stopped. Most looked at him skeptically, clearly noting his plain clothing and lack of haughty demeanor.
"Him?" The receptionist asked, brown eyes doubting as she sniffed with her sharp nose.
"Yes," Quinton announced with a boldness in both tone and placing of several silver coins on the lip of the oak kiosk.
Skeptical looks still surrounded the group. Feeling a bit of pressure to perform, and a desire to have a very thorough talk with Quinton, Jeff sucked in the mana ambling about. To onlookers, he was taking a deep breath. The similarity in actions stopped when a sudden gust blew through the room to a chorus of sharp pops.
His magical pedigree now established beyond doubt, the onlookers pulled back. Even those in the rooms peeped out to see what had happened.
"O-of course!" The old receptionist sputtered out, wrinkly hands desperately working drawers.
A second of fumbling finally produced the needed key.
"Top floor! Lodge two." She offered, slamming the key where the coins had been. Silver glinted as it fell to the wooden floor without notice, something never before seen in a brothel.
She kept her head down, leaving them to stare at her bun of grey hair as Quinton scooped up the fallen coins and placed them beside the key before taking the needed item and throwing it to Jeff, who promptly pocketed the piece of iron.
"We'll also need six rooms in the lower sections. Nothing too fancy." He offered in a mild tone that clashed with his smug smile.
The needed keys were quickly produced, leaving the group to walk up the stairs. None of those in their way dared to stand still. Most ducked to the left or right, with one pair of customer and provider taking five steps up to get totally out of the group's way. Jeff noted how every woman, both prostitute or cleaner, was pointedly sticking their chests out or licking their lips at his approach. All ignored, as well as a man in his late teens could.
Which was to say, not very well.
Whatever his love for Pache, young men had little defense against protruding feminine flesh and lustful gazes. They came up to the top onto the next floor, which had windows along the crème stone wall and red rugs on the wooden floor. Jeff paid it all little attention, instead trying not to take in the women wearing low-cut dresses who were shooting him heated looks. The next set of stairs was directly above the one below in a stack, yet the lightning mage felt they were miles away as he tried to hide his rising mast with his walk. Something made a bit easier on the second floor, where his station had not yet been advertised.
When they got up to the fourth floor, third from the top by Jeff's estimation, another group met them at the railing leading up to the next floor. Two men in leather with swords stood behind a mid-to-late thirties woman in a fine, dark red dress replete with puffy shoulder guards. The way the other women shrank back marked her as being of some importance.
She had long black hair with a tasteful silver streak coming out of the top. Blue eyes above a small nose took him in as thin, pink lips puckered, pulling at the mole on the left side of her lip. While her dress top wasn't nearly as low as the other women's working the place, it still displayed a generous vista no wife would want her husband to see. To say nothing of how hard it made polite conversation for a young man. The way she strode forward, blue eyes locked on Jeff, said the lightning mage was going to have to achieve the impossible.
"Hello, great guests. I saw the commotion outside. Would I be wrong to presume that it was the Thousand Screams Toads doing?" She mused, voice dripping with honey.
Quinton gave him a sideways glance, making it clear he was leaving the lightning mage to deal with her.
"I can only say it wasn't our doing." Jeff offered with a polite smile. "Though it did match the usual descriptions I've heard about those who have drawn the toad's ire. I imagine such things are commonplace in a town of sailors."
A dangerous glint passed through those blue eyes so quickly that Jeff could be convinced it was a trick of the sun if not for the slow lick of her lips that followed.
"In fact, it is not. That was the first time I have seen such a display, and I am one of the founding members of our port. There have been several attacks, disputes, and matters of rudeness, and not once has the toad moved to intervene. Which does suggest this one involved a party of special interest to the owner of these lands."
Pache had never told him she, or the faeries, had secured a deal with the Thousand Screams Toad. Of course, Jeff, having a fully intact brain, had since surmised as much the instant he had heard of the new trade route through its territory. The how of such a feat remained another mystery, as was how it was convinced to allow a settlement of humans in its territory.
"I can't properly say what our relationship is," Jeff answered honestly, shrugging slightly.
Considering the display that had just happened, and his work on the ships, he had no delusions of keeping his identity hidden.
"Though it probably has to do with my plying the ships with wind magic to allow them passage through the poison clouds."
Blue eyes went wide, as did the brown ones of her guards. Quinton and his men stayed still, yet small smiles still managed to work their way onto their faces.
"Ah!" The woman said, taking a step forward. Whatever perfume was filling the building with floral scent, it was liberally applied to her. The scent, however, didn't distract from the very prominent swing of her chest as she came within arm's reach. "The hero seeing us all through dark times."
Quinton and Shane, whatever their shortcomings, showed their heads on the top-half of their bodies were still working by imposing themselves between Jeff and her.
"I hope you understand our reluctance, dear lady, in allowing others so close to such an important figure. What with the attack not minutes ago." Quinton said respectfully.
"Of course," she rebutted with an amused smile while her blue eyes never left Jeff's form. "But if…."
"Harold." Jeff lied.
"Mage Harold has such concerns, I assure you, you need not worry. Any woman under my purview has a long history in the Fjord clan."
Blue eyes slid down to take a meaningful look between Jeff's legs.
"Or if I please you, perhaps I could even ply my own skills to your nights."
"Your skills are no doubt exquisite…." Jeff assured her with a thin smile.
"Hale. Lady Hale, if it pleases you." She said in a playful tone.
"Lady Hale. I am, however, sworn to another."
"Sworn?" Lady Hale asked softly with a slight raise of her right eyebrow.
"Sworn."
A puckered smile broke out below her small nose.
"Forgive my ignorance, but I was under the impression that male mages still lay seed even when married."
Jeff shrugged, trying not to concentrate on how cute her pouty lip was.
"Most male mages also don't spend their days in brothels, or are connected to the Thousand Screams Toad, so I suppose there are many unusual things about me."
She raised a black eyebrow at him, smile now coy, teasing.
"Well, male mages typically have the brothel come to them, do they not?"
A laugh forced itself out of his throat. It was true, judging by his brother's travels and his own experiences. Perhaps, more true than Lady Hale intended.
"In many ways. Since I have traveled to it this time, can I assume I will have good accommodations? Fluffy sheets, changed every morning? And the food. I saw a kitchen on the first floor. Will you vouch for its chef?"
She nodded, sending strands of black hair down her left side.
"The chef, I can personally attest to. Of course, that depends on what the ocean brings in and what the ships will part with. Even the royal kitchens could do but so much if all they had were hard crackers and beans.
As for the rest, we are only partially a purveyor of flesh. Given the limited space and urgent construction, we've had to combine inn and pleasure house. Both functions, I assure you, are the best that can be provided."
Hale then stood a bit straighter before giving a bow that would be considered proper if not for the way her chest was made to heave on the ascent.
"All serving at your pleasure." She purred before moving to the right towards the stairs they had just come up.
Taking a deep gulp, the lightning mage nodded towards the upper stairs. The way now clear, they made their way to the top of the building. Coming to the crest of the last set of stairs, Jeff looked through the windows to see a now toy-sized town and smaller wooden ships at its port, one of which was the crème colored one they had called home for days.
"That was some strong will you showed, mage."
Jeff turned to see that the words had come from one of the new additions to the guard. They were all standing in a half circle, small smiles about their faces. To the groups left lay the chests of luggage, now abandoned by the sailors who had been evidently dismissed.
Behind the guards was another hallway, this one with a red carpet leading from the stairs directly to a fine oak door ahead. Along the left were couches, chairs, and tables, all of a decent enough make. The floor's main purpose lay on the right, with four doors along the wooden wall, each indicating one of the promised lodges and none demanding his attention as much as the men giving him crude smiles.
"If it had been me," Shane expounded, shaking his head of black hair with a head bob, "I tell you, me and her would be testing a bed's strength by now. Magic must give men wills of steel."
A smile stole over Jeff's lips, though it was more playful than crude.
"We still have the usual weaknesses. My love of Pache and tales of certain….afflictions following places such as these help keep it in check. Even if I were willing to use all of my limbs here, I doubt your queen would let me leave alive. If she finds the time after she's finished with you lot."
Grimaces stole over their faces, with a few looking out the windows in embarrassment. Quinton, standing on the right, coughed into a leather glove before speaking up.
"If we said that we thought the inn and brothel were separate buildings, would you believe us?" He said, looking at the man a good decade his junior like an errant toddler.
Jeff only shrugged as he retrieved the key from his pocket.
"I don't think you'd ever be stupid enough to bring Pache's lover to a brothel. Will she have a similar estimation of your abilities? Probably not at first, but we can hope the thought occurs to her before she finishes preparing her skinning knife." The lightning mage said in a solemn tone before he started looking at the numbers above the door.
Nods greeted the notion, with a burly man on the left shaking his head hard enough to send his brown beard swerving.
"If the worst should happen, let's at least live before we die." He exclaimed with a pointed look of his green eyes down the stairs.
The round of agreeing grunts was cut short by Quinton moving to the front of the group with a snort from his bulbous nose.
"If the worst should happen, let's make sure Pache has reason to make it quick.
Vik.
Mat.
Go inspect his room, make sure there are no surprises waiting, then come back and get his chests of goods and clothes. We'll be drawing lots for night watches later. I want at least one body in front of the mage's room at all times. Even when he's not there."
"What if we went somewhere else?" One of the guards to the left asked. "Never bring up this little….Detour?"
"Nah," Shane rebuffed with a shake of his head. "We told her we were coming here, and it's where we agreed to meet up."
His pointed look at Quinton produced a nod of agreement.
"Right. So, get to it." Quinton commanded again.
Jeff handed over his key and spent a good minute staring out the windows at the small town below. There was something so fascinating about looking at people from such heights. Like watching an ant colony as a child, with the knowledge that he was one such ant.
When the guards finally vacated the room near the middle with a two above its door, they nodded to Quinton, who promptly gave Jeff a smile and a nod of his own. Now clear to visit his abode, Jeff moved past the one guard outside his door as three guards went downstairs. Their eager smiles told of plans best left unsaid in polite company.
The room had the dimensions of a box. It was done up with fine, dark oak floors, white cream walls, and a brown fur rug in the middle that rested at the foot of a plush bed. All quite fine, yet the overall design was more like a cell than a high-class abode. Windows on the far side of the room took up the left and right, displaying the ocean beyond the meager land behind the building, yet the middle of the wall was taken up by a door of light colored wood that contrasted with the darker floor.
Jeff walked up to it, hearing the smack of boots behind him. He turned to see the two men quickly set the chests beside the door, bowed, then left to join the festivities with their fellows, save the poor soul damned to stand watch. The interruption now gone, he turned back towards the door.
A few more steps and a pull on its handle revealed a latrine. It was of a fine make, complete with a white, porcelain top with no lid, a pot to the side sporting water and a sponge skewered by a stick, and a bar of soap in an alcove to the left. Morbid curiosity drove him to look down the hole that served as the latrine's main attraction.
Instead of the expected black void or nauseous-smelling bowl, he saw open air. It was a straight shot down to a stone trough where servants would presumably scoop up the end result of the day's meals. Above it was a field of flowers to help cover the smell. The arrangement was closer to Eli's machinations in such areas, at least in terms of comfort and ease of use, than any he had used before.
The setup would also help him deal with more immediate concerns. For all his love of Pache and future plans, he was still of flesh and blood. His dead lover Annie had shielded him from temptation, and the women at the Base were either goat-headed or green, neither to his taste. How Eli had kept his need in check as every woman in Diamond Academy and elsewhere threw their bodies at him was a matter of no little speculation among the male mages. Perhaps it was due to Salamede or his nature as an ultimate mage. Or those metal ships in the stars affected such attitudes.
Whatever it was, Jeff had it in only lesser portions and would need to cut temptation down before it sprouted.
After relieving himself in all aspects, Jeff left the latrine feeling both relieved and clear-headed. Certainly clear-headed enough to know what a terrible idea using the radio inside the toads' all-encompassing spirit connection would be. Given that, he decided to leave the room and check if the tavern portion of the building stood equal to its brothel side.
It did. Between bites of bread dipped in fish soup and swigs of light beer, he explained his workings on the ships to interested patrons or why he wasn't currently bending over one of the female inhabitants to the working women of the tavern, both prostitute and waitress. Being known as a mage naturally made him the center of attention in every room he ever visited, save the academy, where he shared the status with others or met with such elsewhere.
As the sun began to die, when the midday heat was just beginning to cool, Jeff decided to get back to work on the ship. Four of the guards were keeping their eyes out around him, when they weren't being pulled to an inviting woman's chest. The fifth member, Shane, had apparently snatched the lucky draw of the lot and had gotten the afternoon to prance among the brothel's denizens, leaving Quinton and three guards to chaperon the lightning mage as he braved the steps leading down into the town.
Save some red stains at the spot; nothing remained of the attackers. Something that Jeff noted with both grimness and satisfaction as they passed the spot. Word of his station and friendship with the Thousand Screams Toad had clearly spread. Despite lacking two of their members, the traffic parted around them like water, the cost being the long looks of those to the sides and worried faces from those who found themselves blocking the now famous mages path.
Arriving back far more quickly than they left, Jeff stepped back on the long ship of lightly-colored wood and resumed his work with nods from the crew. None had dared touch his tools, leaving them ready for his plying hands. Plying that went on for days.
The problem with ships that had longer hulls and fewer decks was that, relative to their storage capacity, a lot of the ship was touching water. This meant more spots where repairs were conducted and ocean temperatures could warp the wood. Problems that Jeff didn't have to contend with when he could only work the upper portions. Now that it was docked, he would have to start working on the windows and gaps in the lower sections.
Frustrating days of labor passed with a matching rise in the brothel's irritation. When it became clear that Jeff would not be providing his pulp to the women, they grew offended and began to hide acid in their smiles. Never, in their wildest dreams, would they dare breathe a word wrong in his direction, but their eyes were loudly declaring offense at his refusal to taste their offering.
The men seemed split between bewilderment and concern. More than one waxed poetry at the various positions they would put every woman inside the town were they gifted Jeff's position. Others whispered of hidden dangers. If the mage wasn't putting pups in bellies, it was clear he didn't think the new town would survive long enough for such fruit to ripen. Both discussions unwittingly conducted within earshot of their subject.
That it was Jeff's guard who were the least affected by the souring mood was a matter of no little irony. Silver was flowing into their purses for the important mission and never out for lodging, food, or drink. Such calculus left them enough to splurge on their greatest vices when they drew the favored lots of an afternoon's vacation. Fjord coin soon found its way into the brothel's sacred vaults, gambling tables boxes, and one very happy tailors pouch who had been commissioned for a red hat and vest of the highest quality. However free their coin, they kept the ale in strict portions and never divulged anything about 'Harold' and the legendary woman taking his seed.
On the fifth day, as Jeff was working some white paint over an enchantment just outside a window, one of the sailors coughed behind him in that way that was asking for attention.
"Hmm?" Jeff asked as he kept brown eyes on the white paint being applied over the soft enchantment lines only he could see.
"A frojan is here to see you, great mage. One of the ones whose been inspecting ships. No one knows exactly why, but orders are always to allow them. They've never asked for anyone specifically before."
'An envoy from the Screaming Toad?' Jeff mused to himself.
"Fine." The lightning mage said, dragging the brush across the magical lines one last time before putting it back in the bucket.
Getting back above deck with four guards in tow was easy, as most of the sailors were content to enjoy their late morning idling about as they were paid for their non-labor. As Jeff came through the double doors and took in a clear blue sky, he breathed in the fresh air, stretching his arms upward as he looked around for the visitor.
"Just a minute's discussion at most." A voice off to the right said, its source somewhere on the pier below.
It had the typical deep base of the frogmen. Jeff's stretch lasted for a moment longer before the hair on the back of his neck rose. Humans wouldn't distinguish the voices of frojan, their typical deep bases too similar to separate one from the other. At least, at first listen. Give enough time, some distinctions in tremor, aged hoarseness, and the tongue producing the 's' letter allowed discernment between them. Say that time was spent stuck in an airship with a group of them as they trekked over sea and onto a new continent, then building out an underground abode on an island with nothing but each other for company, certain nuances in the deep base voices would start to be picked up by even human ears.
Nuance Sawoon's voice was clearly displaying as it floated up from the pier.
Filled with trepidation and curiosity, he power walked over to the edge of the ship, held back from a full sprint only by his training in formative years. Looking out over the railing, he found the older, brown frogman in a green robe towering over the tanned captain. He held a spear in his right hand while he left lay limp at his side, though the man he was arguing with was far more animated in his arm swings.
Jeff was just thankful that the captain was distracting him, because the conversation that needed to happen was first in need of sorting through to get to the important bits. Why would Eli send Baloo's gang to be envoys to the Thousand Screams Toad? Did the beast figure out the wider plan, and this was his blackmail price? Was this entire thing, the trade route opening up and the deal between Pache, the faeries, and the monster all the quad mage's doing? To what possible end?
These questions swirled in the lightning mage's head long enough to settle, just in time for Sawoon to look up. Large amber disks went wide for a second before the older frojan schooled himself to passivity. This motion was still noticed by the man he had been talking to.
"Ah, Mage!" The captain exclaimed with a slight bow. "I was quite insistent that he wait to see you. Though it appears I argued in vain."
Jeff gave him a slight smile, giving him a nod as he did so.
"I appreciate it, captain. The time to prepare for the meeting was quite valuable. I'll be sure to mention your astute aid to my better."
The man's leather face practically beamed. Neither of the two other participants deigned to notice. Before the moment of silence could become an issue to outside observers, Jeff decided to give Sawoon his own moment of recovery.
"Greetings, my name is Harold." Jeff expounded as he moved to the gangplank, allowing two of the guards to go ahead before walking down himself. "I wanted to send my thanks to your master, the Thousand Screams Toad. He saved me from probable death some days ago. I would give my personal thanks, but I have been told suchcommunication is not advised. By spirit connection or personal visit."
Sawoon gave a low hum of agreement and nodded, now properly recovered from the surprise. The older frojan leaned back casually and rested his spear on his shoulder as two guards came between them. Jeff knew this was the frojan equivalent of lowering his shoulders, yet to human eyes untrained in their ways, it appeared the brown frog towering over the lightning mage was squatting in front of him.
"Wise, though he is not my master. And you really are the mage responsible for the wind enchantments? A great deed for all."
Jeff affected a soft smile, nodding as he tried to keep a growling demand down his throat. Fortunately, another, more genuine, question forced itself up.
"With compensation, of course. You are one of the frojan inspecting ships' cargo to go through the new trade route, correct?"
A nod of the frogman's large head answered the question.
"But, if the Thousand Screams Toad is not your leader, why does he allow you the inspections?"
Large amber eyes held his brown ones for a moment before a long breath left the Frojan's barrel chest.
"It is a matter between my actual leader and him. They have been quite interested to see who has made the trade routes viable, and I'm sure they will be….Very interested to conduct business in the future. That is as much as I feel comfortable saying." Sawoon politely rebuffed.
'Baloo would, huh?' Jeff mused to himself.
"I'm sure it would be a productive conversation to be had with him. Perhaps they would like to meet another time, then?"
"She would."
The world came to a grinding halt. Ice filled his veins as his teeth clenched. Revelation came and was immediately quashed. It never even occurred to him to be grateful that he was facing away from the ship of onlookers as he remembered who the 'she' of the frojan squad was.
'There's no way. There's no way the universe would fuck me that hard,' Jeff whispered inside his own mind, as if the words mentally spoken any louder would cause disaster. Panic overrode reason, making him reach for some other possible explanation.
"She? A female frojan is a rare sight. Though I may just not have the eye to distinguish."
Sawoon's amber eyes stared at him blankly for a second before the frogman released a long breath. Whatever irritation he had at Jeff's intentional ignorance, it was kept out of his voice.
"Perhaps you will meet sometime. She's quite eager to meet the most important figure of this new project. I would advise meeting somewhere with more greenery. She does love the color green." He said as he gracelessly forced the color of Gula's skin into the conversation. Something the two guards between them noted with raised eyebrows.
Thoroughly feeling the awkwardness of the conversation, Jeff decided he would simply scream his questions into the radio chest at the earliest opportunity.
"Another time. Sadly, work beckons for its slave." Jeff ended the conversation with a bow, which the frojan mirrored as well as his form would allow.
The way Sawoon immediately left the dock with the typical awkward gait of his kind's walking might be noted by experienced observers as the frojan equivalent of a sprint. No such expertise was to be found here, even if it were, Jeff's ascent back into the ship caught the eyes of all. The lightning mage was in no state to get back to work, and he knew it.
Going below deck, Jeff took an immediate left and into a sectioned off wood room that served as the ship's latrine, complete with a window in the back and a pot filled with seawater for easy disposal of the room's purpose in front of it. Sweat beaded down his face as he pulled the door shut and put his back to the right wall, feeling a discomfort he couldn't blame the southern heat on for the first time in ages. Brown eyes scoured the wood grain as he digested the implications of what had just occurred.
Pache was working with orcs.
Not just any orc, but Gula, Eli's wife and certain future mother to a line of green-skinned quad scions. With the possibility that Garren's work was so thorough that they took on their sire's mana-generating abilities. The worst possible one she could have gotten enmeshed with.
That wasn't stated outright. It wasn't even confirmed that Gula was involved with the trade route at all, but the instant Sawoon all but said her name, he knew. In the deepest crevices of his bones and the smallest contours of his soul, he knew. Pache seizing all the clan's finances, this secrecy about how exactly they were now allowed to traverse the Thousand Screams Toad's inner territory, and those promises of how he would hate her in the future, there were too many trails leading to the obvious conclusion. She had sent him to aid an endeavor enjoined by the orcs.
Jeff let loose a sigh of relief.
It was a horrific betrayal, one beyond forgiveness. One only an equally devastating betrayal could counterbalance. A smile crept over his face as the long-felt burden on his very being lessened. Finally, after agonizing about it for so long, some ointment for this most egregious of aches had been found.
Then he considered the time between final destruction and now. If this were revealed before that final day for the world of mages, would Eli save Pache?
'No,' a dark corner of his mind answered.
Panic started working up his spine. The quad mage wouldn't risk everything if his woman got her head put on a chopping block for the crime of associating with orcs. His stomach contracted, threatening to make him use the window for disposing of substances besides seawater and sewage. After a minute of bringing himself under control, Jeff decided he was just going to have to convince Eli that it was too dangerous and he should, at the very least, move his wife elsewhere.
Feeling steadier in both stomach and emotion, he came out of the latrine with a forced smile and leftward turn to finish his work. The paint lines had a little extra shake from that point on, but no one would notice or comment on the substandard artistry being displayed. None would notice how he struggled with concentrating on the magical shapes, but Jeff felt it all the same. By the time he started work the next day, his hands and mind were relatively steady again. At the conclusion of the day after that one, the labor ended with the standard of work resuming the usual standard as routine and boredom overwhelmed all other emotions.
As he was walking up the stairs towards the brothel with extra bits under an orange sky, he noticed at least two men looking inside from the sides of the front doors. Moving between them revealed the entrance section where the three paths inside the buildings lead elsewhere had a circle of onlookers at some spectacle in the center. Moving through the crowd produced scowls and glares that lasted only until they saw who they were directing them at. After a second, Jeff found the cause of the commotion.
Standing in the center was Lady Hale squaring off with an enraged Pache. Hale treated her to a demeaning look at the slight V in Pache's green dress. Whatever was previously said to the queen, it was clearly effective as red suffused Pache's ears sticking out of the black bowl cut of hair, and puckered lips promised a string of profanity soon arriving. Jeff only paid attention to the way her bum and chest tastefully pushed against the fabric.
Things he couldn't deny himself enjoying for a moment longer.
Both women turned to him as he breached the final layer of onlookers, Hale smug and wearing a wolfish smile while Pache looked both relieved and angry at his approach, the myriad of sources for such rage easily guessed.
"Lord mage," Lady Hale offered coyly as he kept walking, "This….woman is claiming-"
Her words stopped when Jeff came right up to Pache and unceremoniously shoved his tongue past her lips. Sweetness filled his mouth, and whatever anger she had in her face was pushed aside by surprise. Not that Jeff was finished. He pulled back with a loud pop, seizing her hips as he did so. Her chest heaved even as her lips trembled. The world didn't exist, as far as he and the lizard brain currently running his body were concerned.
"Finally," He growled with feral lust, perhaps a bit too theatrically. "Upstairs, woman."
"Oh?" Pache demanded with raised eyebrows, lips curled to prevent the smile clearly trying to work its way onto her face.
"Now!" Jeff commanded.
This time, he used the leverage of her hips to shove her towards the staircase to the right. She managed not to trip, despite keeping her green eyes on him the entire time.
"My loins have a great pressure, and you are going to give them release. Now!" He stated in a stern tone, emphasizing the last point with a swat on her butt.
Green eyes lit up as she moved beside him. The crowd naturally parted ways for the couple, especially at each swat on her bum when she fell behind. He suspected she was doing it intentionally on the second floor; he knew it by the third. When they got to the top floor, Pache had a red face and heavy breathing from both the journey and Jeff's various swats and squeezes on her bits. The guard kept by her door gave them a slight nod before moving away to keep an eye on the stairway.
Once they were inside, the far windows showed fading red light glistening on and over the ocean, a color which also suffused the room, the bed in particular. Pache moved in front of him and immediately turned around to confront him.
"Was that any way to treat a queen?!" She demanded with a pronounced snort through her crooked nose.
"You loved it." Jeff shot back, daring her to disagree.
The way she puckered her lips above the small chin and allowed amusement to bounce in her green eyes so freely said he hit the mark.
"Did you see their faces?!" She squealed in delight.
"I only saw the way you fit in that dress," Jeff answered honestly.
He emphasized the point by grabbing her by the bum and pulling her into him. She bit her thick lower lip, clearly wanting to take the gesture to its conclusion. Yet, some hesitance made her sober up with hard look into his brown eyes.
"Did you taste any of them?"
Jeff rolled his eyes, making sure to shake his head as he did so.
"No."
"Yet you smell of their perfume."
The accusation was delivered with more trepidation than conviction. Rather than meet the question head-on, he leaned forward and took a dramatic sniff of her lower-right neck. His sudden jerk back up sent a jolt of surprise through Pache. Jeff managed to mostly keep his smile down as he narrowed his eyes at her.
"You malevolent sow. Accuse me while you wreak of the whores yourself. Is that the game? Throw aspersions on me while you sample the goods. What was she actually talking about down there? Tried to get your fill then run before the coin came due, did you?"
Pache's cheeks ballooned as she fought to keep a laugh down. Her weak punches on his chest did nothing to hide the merriment in those green eyes.
"Bastard!" She finally spat out before laughing.
The last swing of her fist landed her entire front half squished against him, ending the fight with a slow kiss. After enjoying their reunion in that physical measure, they pulled back with a loud pop. Pache looked at him for a second before resting her head on his right shoulder.
"You're a dangerous predator, Harold. No man should know how to disarm a woman's anger so thoroughly. Perhaps I should cut you down to protect my kind."
"If you do, at least give Quinton and his men a sporting head start after you finish with me. For my memory."
"Hmm," Pache hummed, a dangerous glint in those green eyes. "I suppose so. It wouldn't do for them not to have straightened out their explanation for how they used my coin to put my man in a brothel."
"They told me they thought the Top Hill was comprised of separate buildings. Does that help?"
She puckered her lips, bobbing her head back and forth for a second before speaking.
"What helped was that display back in the reception area." Pache purred.
The queen ended the sentence by wrapping her arms around his head. A jubilant smile matched the pure joy in those green eyes.
"Spirits! That was something else. I…. Just walking in there and making me the most desired woman in the town is….I suppose the closest feeling is when men put their manhoods on the table and you find you have the biggest one."
Jeff smiled as he closed his eyes and shook his head.
"But you know what I mean? Right?!" Pache groaned, both happy and desperate for him to understand.
"I suppose." Jeff finally conceded as he opened his eyes to continue taking her in.
"This feels so….good. Good enough for a reward."
Her eyes did a pronounced swing to the bed.
That suggestion was far more agreeable to Jeff's sensibilities. However, when he moved to push her to the bed, she held firm.
"No," The queen put in as she moved to Jeff's side and pushed him forward. "I'm the queen of the Fjord clan and, for tonight, the queen of paid love. Those women down there need to see what a man who's received his coins due looks like. Limp and all. Just a fraction of how happy you've made me."
The last sentence was followed by another hard shove to the bed. Whatever screaming he was going to be doing in the radio chest later, or arguments he was going to have with that magical god in the north, tonight was for joy. Joy he intended to see survive what he was putting its source through. The last thought faded as they got to work performing a brothel's favored pastime.