Chapter 13
Thirteen
The outer arena was packed, and everyone, gladiator and spectator both, was deferential to Joran. That respect was earned by years of winning here, and by his more recent promotion to the leadership of the dreaded Latrocinium.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Oz Carnavon.”
I didn’t like that he was using my real name here, but even if there were Skerret gang about, surely none of them would be suicidal enough to provoke a confrontation in Joran’s presence. “Good evening to you, Mr. Vanderhelst.”
He was sitting on Clotz’s table, and the usually sneering and snarling bookie was awfully quiet for once.
I’d never seen a goblin be respectful before.
For that alone, I didn’t hate Joran’s presence, but I also couldn’t collect my winnings as long as he was sitting there, and Clotz was too cowed to move.
“That was a good match. Lots of shooting and ranging about, both on the horizontal and vertical. The audience finds that sort of fight entertaining. That was never really my style. I was more of a stand there and slug it out sort of fighter, myself.”
“Like Rufus and the orc earlier.”
“I missed that one. I was outside buying myself a pudding. But from what my friends who watched told me, it was of a similar combative mindset to mine, though in my prime, I could have beaten both of them at the same time easily. Isn’t that so, Clotz?”
“Yes, Cutter,” the goblin sniveled. “You’re the best gladiator either Slump has ever seen.”
The post-rush lethargy had set in. My back hurt.
My chest hurt. And I’d thrown myself face first into a hole.
It was possible that my normal smooth-talking diplomacy might have failed me a bit right then.
“You don’t need to remind me how dangerous you are.
That message’s been received. We’re already doing as your boss has asked of us. The rent will get paid.”
“Can’t a man reminisce about his glory days in the arena?
I know we’ve secured the cooperation of your academy.
A wise choice on your part, that. But in all truthfulness, I was merely a spectator tonight, come to watch one of the Latrocinium’s new associates fight, and it is by pure happenstance that I saw your alias upon the betting board.
” Joran jerked one thumb toward the chalkboard behind him.
“And seeing that reminded me of something I should’ve cleared up after our first encounter. ”
There were a lot of people milling about us, coming and going to their seats, buying food and drink from the vendors, and a few adoring fools who were surely waiting to ask Joran for his autograph. “Is this the place to talk about it?”
“It’ll do, good as any. We won’t discuss the specifics of where you’re going or what you’re doing for us, yet the issue is that my master gives out tasks.
After doing so, he needs not worry himself about the pesky details of how those tasks get done.
That’s what he’s got me for. The detail which concerns me currently, should you not die by monster or get speared upon some ancient’s trap, is that you may actually find a bit of loot.
However, with no impartial witnesses present, you might lie about your haul, and present to Carcalla an uneven split. ”
“I wouldn’t do that.” I wasn’t lying either. That just wasn’t the sort of thing I’d be inclined to do.
“So you say, but greed makes men dumb. I would hate for you to be led into temptation… Especially with this being but the first adventure of many that Master Carcalla has planned for your crew… Monthly… Forever…”
I longed for the day Gaul Haddar returned, not just so we could finally have a proper teacher, but so that he could renegotiate by putting a sword in this bully’s guts.
Joran was a Null, though I suspected someone as notoriously violent as Haddar would know a way around that, and I’d love to watch him rip Joran’s throat out.
Except I just smiled as if I wasn’t imagining his horrific demise. “That’s our current arrangement.”
“Which is nice for us. Master Carcalla’s been contemplating dispatching adventurers on these endeavors for him for a long time, but he’s been too busy focusing on his paying businesses to waste the Latrocinium’s resources on frivolous treasure hunts.
Until your gang of expendable wizards came along, that is.
The problem with adventuring is often there’s no payoff at all, and lots of men die for no good reason. But sometimes, you hit the jackpot.”
“And on the off chance we do, since you’ve deemed my word about what we find to be insufficient, I’m betting you’ve already got a remedy in mind.”
“He’s betting.” Joran chuckled. “Let’s ask the betting expert. Hey, Clotz. What would you place the odds upon this board of yours that Cutter Joran already had a plan in mind for the Outcasts?”
“A hundred to one in your favor, sire, obviously.”
I think I liked the goblins more when they were being pricks than groveling ass-kissers. “Sounds like a sure thing, then.”
“A sure thing is what I thought I had when I bet against you tonight, but life is full of surprises. Like your opponent tonight. She’s mean as a manticore, sneaky as a kobold, and shows real promise as an assassin, but tonight taught her a valuable lesson about underestimating her victims.” He nodded at someone approaching behind me.
“And there’s my associate now. Dathka Walker, meet Oz Carnavon.
I was just telling the lad how my faith in you cost me twenty Obols tonight. ”
“She works for Carcalla too?” That at least explained why she was armed with an enchantment far beyond her rank to create.
“I’ve given my blood oath to serve the Latrocinium.” She sneered at me. “From what Joran’s said about you, that means nothing to you, oath breaker.”
She must be referring to me skipping out on my contract of indentured servitude. “That’s not the same. You picked yours. The Argents held my family’s contract long before I was ever born. I just took back what’s mine.”
“It’s amusing you think your life belongs to you.”
“Who owns it, then?”
“Every life belongs to whoever is strong enough to take it.” Covered in dirt, scratches, and with a cloak that was now charred to ash on the edges, she glared at me, then turned her scorn upon Clotz. “I’ve come for my winnings, goblin.”
“Me as well,” I added quickly.
Clotz looked to Joran for permission, and only after the gangster nodded did the goblin open the safe and begin counting coins.
Joran seemed amused by my meager stack of coins.
He’d lost ten times more betting on my fight than I’d made fighting it.
“Ah, I remember fondly those days, starting out, scraping by, beating rank ones to a pulp to buy my bread… But returning to the original subject. How do I ensure the Latrocinium gets a proper, honest accounting of any treasure found in those ruins? My solution is to send someone I trust to watch you.”
“Marvelous,” I muttered.
The instant Clotz finished counting out her coins, Dathka snatched them off the table. She tossed a single coin to Joran—who caught it—then she hurried and hid the rest in her pocket. I didn’t know what that payment was for, but she was clearly eager to get it over with.
“But who shall I send…” Joran mused as he studied the single Tetar in his hand, though from his tone, it was clear he already knew exactly what he was about to say. Clotz’s hundred to one odds that Joran had a plan for everything was sickeningly obsequious, but also probably accurate.
“I’d suggest someone who can defend themselves, because I hear that place is crawling with monsters, and me and my people will take no responsibility for the safety of yours.”
“On the contrary, Carnavon. Should my witness perish, a reasonable man would assume it was because you stabbed them in the back to disguise your treachery.” Joran’s eyes lingered on his new enforcer.
“Dathka’s loss brought shame to the Latros tonight.
She can make it up to me by accompanying you Outcasts on your adventure. ”
Dathka froze, body stiff as a board, expression unreadable, before slowly bowing her head. “As you wish, Cutter.”
Joran stood up and slapped me hard on my aching shoulder. “Take good care of my assassin.”
After he’d walked away, I told the irritated deadlander, “Welcome aboard, I guess.”