The Mercenaries’ Tale – 2.02 Galmanoc

The man returned at Gratin’s request and formally introduced himself as Gunner Manford. Gunner Manford then proceeded to run some tests on Doug, checking his blood pressure, reflexes, how responsive his pupils were and so on. Doug allowed himself to be poked and prodded, having been used to routine medical exams from his PSF days. The experience mostly felt nostalgic once he ignored the various aching muscles vying for his attention. Doug did his best to ignore the discomfort and instead focused on something far more important; getting up to speed.

“So it’s really been two weeks? I wasn’t just dreaming that?”

“Yes. We ran into some old associates of Mistress Blaise who were kind enough to help us find lodgings and medical aid,” Gratin confirmed, having taken to sitting on a chair in the corner of the small room. Doug nodded, peering around their lodgings and taking in every detail. A blanket was draped across Gratin’s chair along with a pillow, indicating that someone had been sleeping in it. Blaise’s gun cleaning kit was sitting on the dresser beside the chair, indicating she had been the one sharing this room. Also on the dresser was various scraps of paper with notes scrawled across them; shopping lists, addresses and information regarding the troubles at the power plant written across them in Blaise’s scribble of a handwriting style.

“Right… you said something about her having friends. I’m struggling to picture what they’d be like; Red’s hardly a social butterfly…”

“I am finding it hard to assess their characters. The Mistress has not been very enthused about us socialising with them. I have gotten the impression more than once that she wanted to keep them away from the two of us, although that may have something to do with her worrying about my pursuers…” Doug had to stop and think for a second to work out what Gratin was talking about.

“…You mean that terrifying whack-job with the fucked up face?”

“Hmph, Abaddon, yes.”

“The hell was up with that? There we were enjoying a nice relaxing cruise, then suddenly everything was on fire, people were shooting magic fireballs at us and that fucker tried to electrocute me!”

“I wasn’t aware being tied up by mafiosos and being assaulted with fish was considered relaxing. I shall take a note never to perform any recreational activites with you,”

“You know what I meant, mate. We’re used to me pissing people off to the point where they want us dead. Not very often we get people angry at you tryin’ to do us in. I have to say, the people that don’t like you are way scarier than the ones who don’t like me!”

Gratin had to concede that Doug had a point. He sighed and considered where to start.

“Abaddon is an agent of the Galactic Finders of the Tserulian Monastery, a secretive organisation linked to the monastery. Officially they were disbanded at the end of the first galactic war¹, roughly a thousand years ago. Unofficially, they’re bounty hunters and mercenaries, performing specialised tasks for society’s elite.”

“What do they want with you then?” Doug asked, curious.

“…I was at one point one of their members,” Gratin admitted. “I was not happy with the amount of freedoms I had so I left. Unfortunately, enrolment in the Galactic Finders is for life, and those who try to leave become a target themselves. They’ll only stop pursuing me once I am dead.”

“Not happy with you skimping out on your membership fees? Seems a little harsh. You sure there wasn’t more to it than that?” Gratin went quiet, considering Doug’s question. He wasn’t being entirely honest, his thoughts casting back to the first time he was able to sneak away from the others soon after arriving in Galmanoc…

⁎ ⁎ ⁎

Gratin was lurking on a roof overlooking Galmanoc’s mage quarter. It had been years since he had last set foot in an Elementist settlement. He had only ever visited the City of Light’s Mage Town²¹ once, that area having been a typical suburban block that had been re-purposed by the magically-inclined citizens to suit their needs. Galmanoc’s Magic Quarter in contrast had been designed specifically with mages in mind. Quaint shop fronts lined a verge of green, market stalls were set up on the grass and decorations left over from the recent harvest festival hung from the lampposts, which utilised oil rather than electrical power. There were no supermarkets or modern trappings, the Magic Quarter being a small slice of a simpler time. Gratin felt like he was home.

The roof he was currently stood on lay opposite a pub called ‘The Dragon’s Talon’ which Abaddon had frequently used as a meeting point to parley with clients back when he and Gratin worked together. Gratin was certain that if Abaddon was going to meet with his clients anywhere, it would be here. Gratin floated casually down from the roof and entered the pub.

At the time the Talon had been experiencing a busy lunch hour; this was good as it meant no one paid attention to Gratin as he entered, but he had been worried that he wouldn’t be able to find what he was looking for amidst the crowd. He scanned the throng, looking for anyone that seemed out of place amongst the colourful inhabitants.

There, sat at a table in the centre of the bar, had been three men who neglected to follow the mage fashion trends³ of colourful silken attire, having instead settled on plain white shirts, ties and bomber jackets. Given the fact that they blended in with the crowd about as well as a luminescent banana at a watermelon convention, it seemed reasonable that these gentlemen represented Abaddon’s current clients. Gratin had found a space at the bar close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation without being noticed.

“Where the bloody hell has that mage gotten to?” one grumbled.

“Quit your whining, he said it’ll take at least another hour for them to get back to Galmanoc. They can’t be far off,” the second in the group urged the first, who grunted in annoyance.

“Why’d we have to deal with these bloomin’ mages anyway? They’re all flash.”

“Didn’t you hear how much damage our boy did the last time he was in the facility? The observation wing was closed off for a month,” the third chimed in, “no, I’d rather leave the mages to it than get in their way.”

“Yeah. Even so, we can’t wait around here forever. It’s a long way back to Polaris and the Sisters don’t like it when you go off schedule,” the first complained.

Gratin had frowned at this. He knew of Polaris – it was a collection of towns situated around the southern pole. Its main commodity was research facilities, many high profile companies setting up establishments there in order to test their more controversial products away from interference, with the surrounding small towns housing their staff. There was nothing else of note about the place besides a spaceport, the terrain surrounding the settlement being barren, frozen wasteland.

One of the men’s digibooks began to ring, the shrill electronic tones of whatever pop song was making the rounds on the charts ending the conversation like a jack-hammer to the ear. Its owner fished it out of his pocket and answered but Gratin missed what was said, the barmaid having chosen that moment to try and serve him. Gratin quickly ordered a drink and a pasty to go and turned back to the group only to catch sight of them leaving. He guessed that they must have received word of Abaddon’s defeat, their superiors ordering them back now that there was no one to collect. He had then waited for his food, paid, and left, deciding it was best he reunited with his friends before Blaise cast suspicion over his disappearance. In the end, he had learnt very little…

⁎ ⁎ ⁎

Gratin shook himself out of his reverie to find that Doug had moved his attentions elsewhere, having become accustom to Gratin becoming unresponsive due to being lost in thought. Gunner was currently grilling Doug to check for brain damage.

“Do you know what month it is?”

“Lupos⁴, unless you’re saying I slept through that too,”

“No, you got that one right. It’s Lupos. What was your mother’s maiden name?“

“McCracken,”

“That’s your last name, I want your Mum’s original last name,”

“Yeah, ’cus my Mum never got married, did she? She was a single mum! I was born a McCracken and I’m gonna die a McCracken, okay? I’m a bastard in every sense of the term,” Doug grinned at Gunner, who merely shrugged.

“If you insist, mate. As far as I can see, your noggin’s working fine. You just need to exercise a little to ease off the stiffness,”

“No worries on that front. I foresee myself being very active in the future,” Doug winked at the man, “what do I owe you?”

“S’been taken care of. Your boss has everything sorted out,”

“My what? I don’t have any boss…” Gunner paused, then pointed at Gratin.

“Who’s the chick that one keeps sayin’ is the mistress?” Doug shook his head.

“Blaise ain’t anyone’s mistress, Archie there just has a weird habit of calling her that,”

“Hey, I’m not judging. I don’t know what kinda freaky deal you three’s got going on. I ain’t about to pry into that!”

“No, really, it’s not what you’re thinkin’-”

“Seriously, I don’t wanna know. Now, unless you guys have another medical emergency for me to look into, I’ll be off. Hopefully you won’t be needin’ my services again but I know a magnet for trouble when I see one so do us a favour and make the next injury less severe, right? See you lot around,” Gunner gave a little mock salute, grabbed his things and left. Doug managed all of five seconds before he burst out laughing, slapping his thigh for emphasis. Gratin sighed.

“I see nothing wrong with calling her mistress. It’s a mark of respect,”

“S-sure, haha, if you insist, Archie! Doesn’t give the wrong impression at all! Haha!”

“Hmm,” was all Gratin could manage in retort. Doug regained his composure and shakily got to his feet, taking a few test steps before making his way to the en suite bathroom, hesitating as he caught himself in the mirror.

“Aw hell. You couldn’t find time to give me a shave while you were looking after me?” he complained as he examined the state of his chin. Thick hair covered the bottom half of his face like a moss. He ran his hand through it experimentally. He could feel Gratin’s stare boring into the back of his head.

“It was bad enough that we were expected to keep you clean. We weren’t about to go to the trouble of catering to your vanity,” Gratin scolded.

“What are you saying, that you had to give me a sponge bath?”

“Not if you paid me. I assume Mistress Blaise took care of that but she wouldn’t speak to me of it,”

“Huh,” the soldier gave his hairy chin a thoughtful scratch for a moment, “where has she gotten to, anyway?”

“She is napping in the next room. She has not been sleeping well of late. I insisted she rest,” explained the mage, causing Doug to grin.

“Aw, she hasn’t been losing sleep over little ol’ me, has she? How sweet!” Gratin remained silent, unmoved by Doug’s amusement. The soldier smoothed down his hair as best he could, gave an armpit an experimental sniff in order to check that he wasn’t smelling too funky, then made his way to the door.

“Best we put her at ease, I’ll just go let her know I’m alright,” he crossed the threshold into the room beyond. The building they were staying in was a rented villa, the walls an earthy hue. This room was a living room, bookshelves and a TV dominating one wall with a sofa sat in front of it. Blaise was curled up on the sofa, asleep. Doug, still smiling, approached his slumbering companion and knelt down beside of her, gently nudging her shoulder.

“Red…Hey Red…I got something to show ya…” she grunted in her sleep, murmuring to whatever dream she was having.

“…Not the barn, Dad…can’t get outta the barn…”

“C’mon, Blaise, wake up!” her eyes finally fluttered open and focused on Doug.

“…Doug?”

“Yeah, it’s me Love. Surprise!”

“Doug!” before Doug could react, Blaise had shot up and had embraced him in a hug, holding him tightly. Doug was momentarily stunned, bewildered.

“Faust, I thought you’d never wake up! It’s been weeks!” she was babbling, dismayed. Doug couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you get all worked up about me!” he said, clearly amused. Blaise pulled back, her expression more angry now.

“Don’t you ever do this to me again! What were you thinking, rushing a mage that powerful head on?!”

“Hey, I didn’t know he could shoot lightning or still stand up after getting stabbed. Thought I was being smart,” he beamed earnestly at her. Blaise’s expression softened.

“Doug… what am I ever going to do with you…”

“Hugging seems nice. I wouldn’t complain if there was more of this in the future,” he japed. Blaise glanced down at her own arms and seemed shocked to find them currently resting around Doug’s shoulders. She pulled them back so quickly, it could be thought that she was expecting Doug to explode. Face reddening, Blaise desperately tried to find some words to explain away her behaviour.

“I…um…err…that was…” this only caused Doug to burst out laughing, Blaise silencing herself.

“Don’t sweat it, I missed you too,” Blaise frowned at his statement.

“You were unconscious…”

“It doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you. Who else is gonna laugh at my crap jokes?” the grin was back. Blaise rolled her eyes and shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Typical McCracken…” she muttered, relaxing for a moment before growing serious, “But you are feeling ok, right? You’ve been out for a while-” she moved to rest a hand on his forehead to check for a temperature, Doug raising a brow in surprise.

“I know, Archie filled me in. And that Gunner bloke’s already poked, prodded and questioned me already. I’ve got the all clear!”

“He said you needed exercise,” was Gratin’s contribution as he crossed the threshold behind the soldier.

“Right, so I figure I’d go for a stroll and sort out some stuff. Make sure all my kit’s working and what not,” he winked but this didn’t ease Blaise’s nerves.

“I don’t know, Doug. You should probably take it easy for a while. I can grab anything you need from town,”

“C’mon Red, I’m not an invalid! Archie’ll back me up; I’m all good to go, ain’t I?” he turned towards the mage, Gratin now floating cross-legged above an armchair, attempting to meditate. It took him a moment to realise he had been dragged into the conversation, looking between his compatriots awkwardly.

“…The meatbag seems perfectly healthy to me-” he began only for Doug to cut him off before he could have a chance to develop this opinion.

“See! I’m in the clear. I’m just gonna clean up and I’ll be off!” he wandered back into the bedroom before Blaise could argue, the red head only able to shoot her floating friend a dirty look.

“Why’d you have to go and say that for?”

“Mr Gunner did indeed give him a clean bill of health. Besides, fresh air will do him good and his chipper mood is an obstacle for meditation that I do not need right now. Do enjoy your trip,” and with that, he sunk back into a trance leaving Blaise to sigh in futility at the men in her life.

Doug continued to insist that they leave the comfort of the hotel and go out into the world, despite his condition. He’d thrown on his clothes and went for his bionic arm only to find it unresponsive. Throwing it into a duffel bag he’d found in the cupboard of the bedroom he’d been sleeping in for the past week, he hefted it on to his back and strolled outside into the fresh air and sunlight, with Blaise hot on his heels. Gratin, much to Doug’s renewed appreciation given the unfamiliar molly-coddling that Blaise was suddenly smothering him with, had remained behind indifferent in meditation.

“Now if you get dizzy at all, it’s straight back to bed with you,” stated Blaise with a frown.

“Faustus Christ, give it a rest,” groaned Doug, “I’m not some injured bird you’ve found in the back garden, I’m a grown man with needs.”

Blaise rolled her eyes and followed, only hoping that the ‘needs’ Doug was currently craving weren’t related to his trouser department.

Galmanoc was warm, a humid climate. The city was built into a sizable overhang of rock emerging from the desert like an earthen wart hewn from the sand of the desert. The streets were winding, narrow and cobbled. Doug felt strangely at home as he pushed through the crowds jostling through the thin streets, like the lifeblood in the arteries of Galmanoc. It reminded him of Undercit, the same atmosphere of commerce and vice only with a more solid footing; the buildings were all built from stone and were a lot more permanent than the ramshackle houses of Undercit. He could smell exotic spices, warm fresh cooking, the tinny scent of metal baking under sunlight, the hum of people. After a week of inactivity, it was a buffet for the senses.

Most of this was completely lost on Blaise, who found the crowds a nuisance, the smells pungent and on the side of aggravating her nostrils, and the streets a confusing mess. Everything looked the same, and it actually made her appreciate Undercit all the more⁵.

As it turned out, Doug’s needs were for a quarter pounder cheeseburger with all the trimmings. They parked themselves at a table with bench seats outside one of the many food stands, and Doug tucked in. Blaise allowed herself a hotdog with mustard – energy food, she reasoned.

“So,” Doug slurped through a greasy mouthful of burger, “while I was laid up did you get any quacks to look at me?”

Blaise coughed through her mouthful of hotdog and dabbed the paper napkin on her lips.

“We did find a guy,” she said, “but he wasn’t exactly a qualified doctor.”

“Fair enough. Some sort of back alley stitch ‘em and ditch ‘em kinda bloke?”

“He was a veterinarian, actually. Horse racing is quite a popular form of entertainment out here, and you’d be surprised how many qualified horse vets have turned to ‘unofficial’ lines of work.”

“Huh. At least he didn’t recommend me for the glue factory. Take me out back and one between the eyes,” scoffed Doug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Blaise grinned.

“Oh no, that’s exactly what he recommended. We just insisted that you had a few years left in you yet and that we couldn’t bring ourselves to put you down. He bandaged you up and stuck some horse meds in you, said that the burns would need some time to heal and that you should take it steady.”

“Oh great,” said Doug, rubbing his chest, “I thought I felt a little horse. How much did you pony up to the doc?”

“Not a lot, it was all out of your wallet anyway,” sighed Blaise, ignoring Doug’s horrible puns.

“Oh neigh, neigh I say! You never help yourself to another man’s wallet!”

The two chuckled. Blaise found it charming that most people would immediately pull out their wallet and check the damage after being told some money was taken, but Doug didn’t seem the least bit interested, carrying on with the important task of demolishing his burger using his teeth.

“I’ve gotta ask,” said Doug, around guzzling the meal’s complimentary soda, “I was out for a week, and I don’t once remember getting up to use the toilet…?”

He expected Blaise to go red in the cheeks and, through an embarrassed chuckle, explain that she’d done the manly thing by helping with his needs. Instead she just grinned slyly and waved the straw of her drink at him.

“It’s funny, that. Despite being completely out of it, you’d suddenly yell ‘need toilet’ like a five year old and would be very cooperative in being led to and from it.”

“Ah, but you must have had to…you know…disrobe me?” said Doug, grinning from ear to ear. Blaise just beamed.

“Nope. Gratin was on toilet duty.”

Doug’s mouth dropped and he screwed his face up in disgust.

“Awww naaaah,” he whined with exaggeration, “no wonder the bastard didn’t want to talk to me! I’ll never live it down!”

The two laughed loudly, Doug’s stopping abruptly through a sudden spasm of pain as he clutched his chest.

“That fuckin’ mage Abaddon, he got me right in the funnybone.”

“You had burns all across your chest,” explained Blaise with an edge of concern to her voice. “The doctor managed to source some Comburetillon⁶ to saturate most of the wound and save the skin.”

“So that’s why I smelled like the bottom of a petrol can full of Deep Heat.”

“Most of the burns were superficial, but some went a little deeper. You really should be in bed still.”

“Aw, give it a rest, Red,” whined Doug. “It’s just a little bit sore. Feels like a pulled muscle more than it does a burn.”

Finishing their snack, the pair waded back into the throng of people. Their next goal was to stock up – Blaise required ammunition, Doug required his arm to be repaired and a new gun, having lost his back on the ship.

“I still don’t get why you had my gun back on the ship,” said Doug over the bustle of the market around them.

“You were so pissed, you dropped it going back to your room,” replied Blaise, her voice equally raised.

“I’ve been that drunk before and never lost my gun,” replied Doug. “Must’ve been a really heavy session for me to just drop it!”

“Something like that,” lied Blaise. “You were liable to shoot yourself in the state you were in,” she added, a half-truth that was a bit too true for Blaise’s liking. Doug just grinned.

“Yeah, probably. Shame it got left back in your room on the ship though.”

“It was a piece of shit, Doug. I did you a favour!” joked Blaise. She knew it wouldn’t stop him from picking out a new gun that was equally, if not worse than his last one. Doug tended to buy guns based on how big and rugged they were. He tended to lean towards the hefty plasma handcannons; they compensated for his disastrous lack of marksmanship and also doubled as a melee weapon should he burn through the battery too quickly, as he often did.

“Sure, Red. Each to their own,” he began only to quickly realise she was no longer paying attention to him, Doug nearly walking into the back of her due to her having come to an abrupt halt. Blaise was peering around her as if on the hunt for something.

Nothing seemed out of place to Doug; people milled about around them dressed in whatever they thought would attract the least heat. Thin cottons and silks in an array of whites and creams were the fashion of choice here with lots of people completing the look with wide brimmed hats ranging from fedoras to sombreros. No one was paying attention to them, most people more interested in the various shopfronts and market stalls that lined the street rather than a random couple wearing coats and leathers in a very humid climate. And yet Blaise was agitated, like a lioness that had sensed some odd movement in the brush. Doug was going to question her about this odd behaviour when she suddenly grabbed his hand and led him down a nearby alley.

It wasn’t a particularly interesting alley, the walls consisting of bland brickwork and the occasional piece of graffiti that would make an art critic weep due to how mundane and uninspired it was. The only notable thing to be found here was other people’s rubbish; a couple of skips and a collection of bins lining the walls.

“Err, Red? Everything o-”

“Shh!” Blaise cut him off and dragged him over to an alcove in one of the walls that was obscured from the mouth of the alley by a skip. Prodding at his back, Blaise urged him to take up position inside the alcove and swiftly joined him, pressing up next to him. Doug coughed awkwardly.

“Look love, if you wanted to get cosy, all you had to do was ask!” he japed only to be shushed again. Blaise’s eyes were on the alley’s only entrance, Blaise tentatively peering around the corner whilst hoping the over flowing skip would obscure her enough that she wouldn’t be instantly spotted by whatever she was attempting to hide from.

A moment passed and a familiar face stepped into view, her impish features cast into a confused frown as she peered into the seemingly empty alley.

“That’s the chick that spoke to us at the meet, isn’t it?” Doug whispered, having joined his partner in crime in spying round the corner.

“Harper, yes,” Blaise nodded, not taking her gaze off of the other woman. Jess Harper continued her inspection of the alley from her position at the entrance, rubbed the lower half of her face in thought, grunted and then finally wandered off and out of sight. Blaise silently counted to 20 under her breath before breaking cover, still watching the spot she had last seen Harper. Doug casually followed suit, eyeing up his friend.

“What was that about?” he wondered aloud.

“She keeps turning up. Been following us around…”

“What, you and Gratin?” Doug began to busy himself with lighting up a fresh cigarette, Blaise finally shifting her attention back onto him.

“Hmm,” was all she offered on the subject.

“What you do? Piss her off or something?” it was an innocent enough question but not one Blaise felt she could adequately answer.

“Things… got complicated these past two weeks…” she hazarded, choosing her words carefully.

“Oh? In what way?” Blaise hesitated, not sure where to begin or what to say. She was given a reprieve by way of the door the alcove housed opening and a shop keeper bearing rubbish bags stepping out. He was clearly confused by the sight of a random couple hanging out with the bins, staring at them curiously as he went about the business of adding to the already overflowing skip. Blaise sighed and indicated with a nod of her head for Doug to follow her.

They sneaked past the shop keeper, through the door and continued through the shop, ignoring the confused looks of the staff as they made their way through the staff only section and onto the shop floor. Pausing at the building’s main entrance, Blaise double checked that Harper wasn’t still hanging around the entrance to the alley, waiting for them. The red head was eager to avoid the scouse.

“You haven’t really said much about what you guys have been up to while I was in that coma,” Doug casually observed, clearly having been reflecting on his and Blaise’s conversations since he woke up during the journey back to the crowded street, “or even who that Gunner bloke was and why he was hanging around our safe house come to think of it…”

“Mmm… Coast is clear, she’s gone,” murmured Blaise The two mercenaries stepped out onto the street – Blaise quickly double checking for signs of Harper – and resumed their stroll through the market, Doug trailing behind the red head.

“You ever plan on filling me in or are we just gonna act like all that was normal and ignore it?” Doug continued his questioning, a note of frustration in his voice. Blaise sighed again and glanced over her shoulder at him.

“I ran into some old… acquaintances soon after we arrived and they helped us get set up. Gunner…works with them…”

“Uh-huh, doing what?”

“This and that. Gunner is good at getting what people need and we were in need of lodgings and medical treatment for you…”

“Just ‘this and that’? That’s weirdly vague coming from you, Love,” Doug observed, his face a mask of thoughtfulness.

“Is it?”

“Well, yeah. Normally if someone does something illegal for a living, you come out and say what it is they do rather than beating about the bush like this. Sounds like you’re dancing around the subject to me,” Blaise came to a halt, turning to look Doug in the eye.

“Like I said, things got complicated. I can’t really say much more than that right now so please just trust me for a bit? Things will go a lot smoother if we just stay focused on what we came to Galmanoc to do in the first place, okay?”

“Are we in trouble again? What happened?”

“Doug, please. We need to get rearmed. We’re going to be very busy soon but I’ll explain after our business here is over with…” she pointed towards a nearby market stall. A scaly gentlemen wearing jodhpurs and a deerstalker was manning it, standing amongst a vast array of robotic parts and equipment next to a sign that read ‘Surplus Bionics, Repairs While U Wait’. Doug puffed on his cigarette pensively for a moment before shrugging.

“Fine, I’ll drop it for now but you gotta fill me in at some point, Red,” he informed her before readjusting the bag strapped to his back and slinking off towards the stall. Blaise watched him go, only turning to leave once he entered conversation with the stall owner.

“Not if I can help it…” she muttered to herself. The less Doug knew, the better. For now, she had people to meet, and they would be only a few streets over from here. He didn’t even need to know.

---

Post by Sean Patrick Payne | January 29, 2014 at 7:39 pm | The Mercenaries' Tale | No comment

Tags: 'Mad Dog' Delgado, Allan Parkinson, Annie Stone, Blaise, Doug McCracken, Flashback, Galmanoc, Gratin, Jessie Harper, magic and mages, Max the Gentleman, rogue traders, the Mercs, the Monkey's Jewel, Tupper

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