chapter 13
previous chapter
It was much later. The Watchmen had arrived, questioned the dazed butler, and then left, baffled.
"His name was Cain Fortune," explained Seraph to Cantrip. "And he offered me an insane sum of $50,000 if I could bring you here in one piece. I would have to be crazy to pass up such a job, of course, but you proved to be surprisingly tricky to track down, until I found you lying in that alley." Seraph paused. "I've always thought that 'Fortune' was an obnoxious name, though."
According to the butler, Mr Fortune was a man with many strange habits, and spent most of his time in the dark. He had never been in good health as far as the butler could remember, and was usually ill with one ailment or another. He was also fabulously wealthy, owning several fleets of airships and various holdings and businesses throughout the City. He did not socialise much, and had no known hobbies besides sitting alone in a dark, quiet room. The butler was well paid, and so did not see any reason to ask difficult questions regarding his master's quirks. Besides, Mr Fortune's eccentricities were considered abnormally normal by the standards of the City's rich and famous.
"I heard he had a weird obsession with fish," said Penelope, the world expert on marine wildlife. "Apparently, every airship in his fleet is expected to have dolphin painted on the bottom."
"But dolphins aren't fish, they're..." began Cantrip, but he was interrupted before he could finish.
"Ah crap! I've brought the kid all the way here, and SOMEONE had better pay me my money! It was FIFTY FREAKING THOUSAND DOLLARS!" shouted Seraph angrily. "Damn it, why can't the old man kick the bucket AFTER I get the money, hey?"
"At least that means I probably won't be killed after all, right? Hurrah!" cheered Cantrip optimistically. Seraph glared at him, and Cantrip wisely decided to keep quiet.
Penelope stared at the mysterious parchment. "Hey... you guys wouldn't happen to have any idea what he meant by 'others', would you? Perhaps he has a secret collection of little boys with tattoos on their bodies stashed away some place? You never know, rich people are really weird sometimes," she added darkly.
"And what the hell is that drawing supposed to be?" wailed Seraph, pointing accusingly at the crude stickman-in-a-box. "Damn weird thing to draw when you're dying!"
Cantrip thought for a moment. "Hm, didn't the metal creature turn into ashes too?" he asked.
Silence descended across the room like an invisible falling apple as Penelope and Seraph thought about this. Silence bounced, and then descended a second time as they thought some more. No matter how Seraph was twisting and turning the thoughts in his head, everything just didn't seem to fit. People don't turn into ashes just like that... once was weird enough, but twice is plain disturbing. You never know when it might happen again, once things happen a second time.
"Well.. yea," replied Seraph weakly, breaking the silence. "And it's not natural at all! But more importantly..." (and here Seraph's puzzled brain happily switched to a topic it was more familiar with) "...he did not write 'FIND OTHERS AT $50,000 EACH', so there's no reason for me to find out what the crackpot was after."
There was another long stretch of silence as they considered the situation. Now that he wasn't actually worth a large sum of money anymore, Cantrip was almost certain that he was free to walk away. On the other hand, if everything that happened was somehow connected to him, then there was no place safer than around Seraph and Penelope. They were psychotic hunter killers, but that's okay because, significantly, they only hunt and kill other people.
Seraph was still angry over the lost $50,000, which meant that the impossible task of collecting $250,000 to get Penelope out of trouble had just become $50,000 more impossible than before. He could probably scavenge that sum eventually, but by then Penelope would probably be dead. The Merchant's Guild survived on sheer cunning and guile, and if they find out Seraph had gone rogue on them, well... they could easily arrange for more expensive and specialised employees to see that things got done. Painful things, done with sharp instruments. Probably more a question of 'when' rather than 'if', too, thought Seraph bitterly.
* * * * *
Contrary to popular belief, bounty hunting was not, in general, an occupation where people can become rich enough to opt for early retirement, because:
a) There was a lot of overhead in the industry. Looking as good as a bounty hunter is expected to is an expensive affair, and there's wear and tear on the equipment to be considered. Factor in the costs of travelling, the generous bribery to obtain important information, the sunk costs of chasing false leads... everything adds up, and makes a big dent in the bounty hunter's money pouch.
b) Most bounty hunters don't live long enough to retire. Age is like a very persistent tax collector, because no matter how far you run, age will still catch up with you eventually and take its toll. And when your occupation involves chasing down people who don't want to be found, some of the survivors will, sooner or later, decide to hunt down the person who put them through so much misery. Old bounty hunters are crafty as foxes and have absolutely no trust in other people, but even the best make mistakes one day.
But on the bright side, bounty hunters get a lot of glamour. They aren't called bounty hunters for nothing: the title is quite a literal one, because they earn an honest living by hunting people with a bounty on their heads. There is a certain amount of respect reserved for people who live their lives on the cutting edge of danger.
Some bounty hunters pass into legend for achieving impossible feats, far beyond the abilities of other mere mortals. There were whispers of one such hunter, who was reputedly the best hunter the world had ever seen. He is said to exude style, and executed his contracts quickly and ruthlessly. Legend has it that he took on an entire squad of well-trained Watchmen and killed every single one... using only his left hand. Nobody knew his real identity, what he looked like, or where he was now. In fact, it could very well be a she, and nobody could tell the difference. Presumably he (or she) was lying low somewhere, hidden from the world and shielded from the fate of all the other bounty hunters.
* * * * *
Mr Porpoise was livid with anger. The bounty hunter had not come. He slammed his clenched fists into the table.
"NO! He must have taken the Key for himself!" he roared in anger, sweeping away the contents of his desk furiously. "That snake... He must have found out what it was for!"
Mr Porpoise bit his lip and calmed himself down slightly. Things were looking really bad now. He did not have the Key, and the Ancients were already in the City. If they found it first, his meticulously laid plans would be utterly ruined. Anger leads to mistakes.. and he could not afford a single mistake now, so late in the game.
He donned the travelling cloak. There were a few visits to be paid, and then the treacherous bounty hunter will regret crossing Mr Porpoise. Oh yes, thought Mr Porpoise grimly, he will be given a lot of time to regret what he has done. And then, he will die a long, slow death.
next chapter
It was much later. The Watchmen had arrived, questioned the dazed butler, and then left, baffled.
"His name was Cain Fortune," explained Seraph to Cantrip. "And he offered me an insane sum of $50,000 if I could bring you here in one piece. I would have to be crazy to pass up such a job, of course, but you proved to be surprisingly tricky to track down, until I found you lying in that alley." Seraph paused. "I've always thought that 'Fortune' was an obnoxious name, though."
According to the butler, Mr Fortune was a man with many strange habits, and spent most of his time in the dark. He had never been in good health as far as the butler could remember, and was usually ill with one ailment or another. He was also fabulously wealthy, owning several fleets of airships and various holdings and businesses throughout the City. He did not socialise much, and had no known hobbies besides sitting alone in a dark, quiet room. The butler was well paid, and so did not see any reason to ask difficult questions regarding his master's quirks. Besides, Mr Fortune's eccentricities were considered abnormally normal by the standards of the City's rich and famous.
"I heard he had a weird obsession with fish," said Penelope, the world expert on marine wildlife. "Apparently, every airship in his fleet is expected to have dolphin painted on the bottom."
"But dolphins aren't fish, they're..." began Cantrip, but he was interrupted before he could finish.
"Ah crap! I've brought the kid all the way here, and SOMEONE had better pay me my money! It was FIFTY FREAKING THOUSAND DOLLARS!" shouted Seraph angrily. "Damn it, why can't the old man kick the bucket AFTER I get the money, hey?"
"At least that means I probably won't be killed after all, right? Hurrah!" cheered Cantrip optimistically. Seraph glared at him, and Cantrip wisely decided to keep quiet.
Penelope stared at the mysterious parchment. "Hey... you guys wouldn't happen to have any idea what he meant by 'others', would you? Perhaps he has a secret collection of little boys with tattoos on their bodies stashed away some place? You never know, rich people are really weird sometimes," she added darkly.
"And what the hell is that drawing supposed to be?" wailed Seraph, pointing accusingly at the crude stickman-in-a-box. "Damn weird thing to draw when you're dying!"
Cantrip thought for a moment. "Hm, didn't the metal creature turn into ashes too?" he asked.
Silence descended across the room like an invisible falling apple as Penelope and Seraph thought about this. Silence bounced, and then descended a second time as they thought some more. No matter how Seraph was twisting and turning the thoughts in his head, everything just didn't seem to fit. People don't turn into ashes just like that... once was weird enough, but twice is plain disturbing. You never know when it might happen again, once things happen a second time.
"Well.. yea," replied Seraph weakly, breaking the silence. "And it's not natural at all! But more importantly..." (and here Seraph's puzzled brain happily switched to a topic it was more familiar with) "...he did not write 'FIND OTHERS AT $50,000 EACH', so there's no reason for me to find out what the crackpot was after."
There was another long stretch of silence as they considered the situation. Now that he wasn't actually worth a large sum of money anymore, Cantrip was almost certain that he was free to walk away. On the other hand, if everything that happened was somehow connected to him, then there was no place safer than around Seraph and Penelope. They were psychotic hunter killers, but that's okay because, significantly, they only hunt and kill other people.
Seraph was still angry over the lost $50,000, which meant that the impossible task of collecting $250,000 to get Penelope out of trouble had just become $50,000 more impossible than before. He could probably scavenge that sum eventually, but by then Penelope would probably be dead. The Merchant's Guild survived on sheer cunning and guile, and if they find out Seraph had gone rogue on them, well... they could easily arrange for more expensive and specialised employees to see that things got done. Painful things, done with sharp instruments. Probably more a question of 'when' rather than 'if', too, thought Seraph bitterly.
* * * * *
Contrary to popular belief, bounty hunting was not, in general, an occupation where people can become rich enough to opt for early retirement, because:
a) There was a lot of overhead in the industry. Looking as good as a bounty hunter is expected to is an expensive affair, and there's wear and tear on the equipment to be considered. Factor in the costs of travelling, the generous bribery to obtain important information, the sunk costs of chasing false leads... everything adds up, and makes a big dent in the bounty hunter's money pouch.
b) Most bounty hunters don't live long enough to retire. Age is like a very persistent tax collector, because no matter how far you run, age will still catch up with you eventually and take its toll. And when your occupation involves chasing down people who don't want to be found, some of the survivors will, sooner or later, decide to hunt down the person who put them through so much misery. Old bounty hunters are crafty as foxes and have absolutely no trust in other people, but even the best make mistakes one day.
But on the bright side, bounty hunters get a lot of glamour. They aren't called bounty hunters for nothing: the title is quite a literal one, because they earn an honest living by hunting people with a bounty on their heads. There is a certain amount of respect reserved for people who live their lives on the cutting edge of danger.
Some bounty hunters pass into legend for achieving impossible feats, far beyond the abilities of other mere mortals. There were whispers of one such hunter, who was reputedly the best hunter the world had ever seen. He is said to exude style, and executed his contracts quickly and ruthlessly. Legend has it that he took on an entire squad of well-trained Watchmen and killed every single one... using only his left hand. Nobody knew his real identity, what he looked like, or where he was now. In fact, it could very well be a she, and nobody could tell the difference. Presumably he (or she) was lying low somewhere, hidden from the world and shielded from the fate of all the other bounty hunters.
* * * * *
Mr Porpoise was livid with anger. The bounty hunter had not come. He slammed his clenched fists into the table.
"NO! He must have taken the Key for himself!" he roared in anger, sweeping away the contents of his desk furiously. "That snake... He must have found out what it was for!"
Mr Porpoise bit his lip and calmed himself down slightly. Things were looking really bad now. He did not have the Key, and the Ancients were already in the City. If they found it first, his meticulously laid plans would be utterly ruined. Anger leads to mistakes.. and he could not afford a single mistake now, so late in the game.
He donned the travelling cloak. There were a few visits to be paid, and then the treacherous bounty hunter will regret crossing Mr Porpoise. Oh yes, thought Mr Porpoise grimly, he will be given a lot of time to regret what he has done. And then, he will die a long, slow death.
next chapter
posted by nerdook at 6:24 PM
2 Comments:
there's a mistake in the link at the bottom..
it's supposed to say.. next chapter.. no??
oh yea.... damn. okie easy fix. thanks dude.
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