Apocalypse: Fairy System

by Macronomicon

  “Seraine Grenore… Is she related to Garland Grenore?”

  “That’s his daughter,” Bree said from her desk.

  “The man owns half the town,” her keegan coworker said, slapping the bounty. “He can afford to pay more than five bulbs for his own daughter.”

  Jeb eyed the bounty for a while, pondering.

  The guy was a dick, but his daughter had done right by him. More than right, even. Maybe she hadn’t been able to stand up to her father in the moment, but it was damned kind of her to give Jeb that coin and open Zlesk to the idea that Jeb might be innocent.

  I wonder if I’d still be sitting in the cell if she hadn’t showed up.

  “…Can I take that bounty?” Jeb asked.

  “Do you wanna die?”

  “Most days, no.”

  Bree sighed and leaned on the desk, giving him a morose look. “We can’t stop you from trying, but keep in mind that there’s a very real chance you’d get the girl hurt too if you rush in there all willy-nilly. That’s on top of the fact that you’re more likely to get yourself killed than anything else.

  “Not to mention, if the sand-pirates don’t kill you, but she gets hurt, you’ll probably disappear.”

  “It’s just not worth your time. It’s not worth anybody’s time,” the keegan woman said, waving her hand dismissively.

  “I’ve got a good feeling about this one,” Jeb said, snatching one of the bounties before he marched out the door, chest puffed out.

  “Wai—oh, there he goes.”

  Jeb clomped out onto the street, his mind whirling as he tried to concoct a cohesive plan. He needed more information. He needed— “Ah, crap.”

  Jeb turned on his heel and went back into the office. “Do you happen to have the individual bounties on Svek Pederson and his crew?” Jeb asked, smiling sheepishly.

  Bree rolled her eyes and started separating out no less than eight bounties and handing the small stack to Jeb.

  “Those are Svek’s crew with their own bounties.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Now I just need to find someone to translate these who isn’t liable to sell me out…. Zlesk comes to mind. If Jeb asked a local to translate for him, he’d be more likely to wind up shot in the head a day’s journey from town, so despite being a less than ideal choice, Zlesk was at least proven to have law and order in mind.

  Even if he is an ass.

  “Maybe I can catch Zlesk in the office,” Jeb said, glancing at the waning sun. It had taken all day to forge the recommendation, after all. If he got back to the jail when Zlesk was wrapping up his day, he’d be pushing papers at his desk.

  “Smartass.”

  “Yep?” the fairy asked from where she was gnawing on a pixie stick. It was a small part of this month’s pound of sugar.

  “Can you spy on Garland Grenore for me?”

  “Why?”

  “I want you to get some intel. I wanna know why he’s nine thousand bulbs in debt, and hopefully you can find something sentimental to him. Something that could get me Myst?”

  “Besides his money?”

  Jeb chuckled. “Pretty much.”

  “I charge my standard spying rate,” Smartass said.

  “Which is?”

  “Standard rate. Just agree to it.”

  “Nope. How about five percent of whatever I get from Garland?”

  “Hmmm….” The fairy gave him an intense glare. “That could be nothing.”

  “It could be a lot if you get me good intel,” Jeb said.

  “Five percent of whatever payment you receive from Garland Grenore in exchange for the rescue of his daughter, and whatever bounties you claim in the process. This includes whatever you claim in penalty should he renege.”

  “I can do that?”

  “Did I not mention that?” Smartass asked.

  “Does it still give me Impact?” Jeb asked. “I can just…take something if they refuse to pay?”

  “Of course. If you can take something.”

  “Is that why fairies are always trying to take people’s firstborn?” Jeb asked. “So when they naturally renege, you can take whatever you want and get Impact that way?”

  “You’re a quick study.”

  “Hmm…” Jeb began sorting out his plan.

  1. Get info on pirates/Garland.

  2. Offer grandiose verbal agreement Garland is sure to renege on.

  3. Fulfill Jeb’s side of the bargain.

  4. Get double-crossed.

  5. Triple-cross in return.

  Just the broad strokes so far, Jeb thought, twisting the thick ring on his finger. I wish I knew what the hell this thing did. He was going to need every advantage he could get.

  “Alright. I will pay you five percent of whatever payment I receive from Garland Grenore in exchange for the rescue of his daughter, and five percent of whatever bounties I claim in the process, including whatever I might claim in penalty, in exchange for your assistance in the completion of the task, up to and including spying on our soon-to-be client.”

  “Hmm…” Smartass squinted at him.

  “You know you’d be tacitly obligated to help with a percentage anyway. This is just more explicit.”

  “And binding. Add a clause that frees me of the arrangement should Garland Grenore refuse to agree to any deal whatsoever.”

  “Done.”

  Jeb recited the entire bargain, and the two of them shook on it before the palm-sized fairy zipped off into the sky, presumably heading for the home of one of the richest men in the city.

  I really hope the guy doesn’t have fairy roach motels, Jeb thought idly as he headed to the jail.

  Jeb managed to catch Zlesk just before the harried sheriff left his desk, slapping the papers down in front of him with a grin.

  “Can you translate these?”

  “No,” Zlesk said, putting on his overcoat before grabbing Jeb’s arm, hauling him bodily toward the exit. Jeb desperately tried not to fall over, hopping and clacking across the room as he was half-dragged to the door.

  “You can’t claim a bounty when you’re blacklisted from the Hunter’s Association, so let it be,” Zlesk said, shoving him out the door before locking the station up.

  “But I’m not blacklisted,” Jeb said.

  “Huh?”

  “Bree seemed to be pretty impressed with the recommendation I gave her.”

  “The recommendation?” Zlesk asked. “Not my recommendation?”

  Jeb grinned nice and wide.

  The skull-faced sheriff’s eyes narrowed.

  “Now, will you translate these for me, or am I gonna have to ask around town? You know I’ll be killed if word of that gets back to the wrong people.”

  Zlesk snatched the bounties out of Jeb’s hands and scanned them, brows furrowed angrily.

  “These people will kill you,” he said, shaking the papers in Jeb’s face.

  “Then translate it for me so I can see for myself. If there’s no way I can beat them, I’ll back off. I’m not completely suicidal. C’mon, it’ll only take about five minutes. I’ll buy you a beer.”

  Jeb pulled out his second-to-last silver coin and wiggled his eyebrows.

  ***At the Bar***

  Svek Pederson

  Est. Level 31~35

  Class: Jury Rigger

  Ability: Keep It Together

  Est. Body 21~34

  Est. Myst 1~3

  Est. Nerve 8~15

  Wanted dead or alive for piracy, kidnapping, theft, arson, murder, resisting arrest, sedition, contraband, treason.

  Reward: 12 Gold Marks.

  Svek has proven difficult to capture, and is known for his improvised fighting style. Reportedly capitalizing on his powerful Body, he reinforces household objects with his Ability to use as weapons and armor, bulling through opposition to inflict lethal damage.

  Last seen in the oil deserts, his location has become unclear since the Stitching. His crew includes...

  Hmm, Jeb thought
to himself as he scanned through the description of each of the bounties, written in his own hand as Zlesk translated.

  Of course they would put level and stat information up for bounties. It also made sense that they would need to estimate, since an outlaw would be unlikely to give them precise numbers.

  It just felt weird reading about someone’s Class and level in an official document. It gave him a strange sense of dissonance. Like all the weird stuff had somehow blended in seamlessly with the normal.

  “So, you see how dangerous they are, right?” Zlesk asked over his second brew.

  “I do,” Jeb said, flipping through the sheets. The lowest-level guy was level fifteen, with enough Body to tear Jeb limb from limb. Thankfully none of them had very much skill with Myst or any supernatural abilities that would be an instant loss. He felt a plan slowly percolate in his mind.

  “So you’re going to stop this ridiculous course of action?” the sheriff asked, glancing at him askance. “I’m not above locking you in the jail until you cool off.”

  Jeb glanced up at the snazzily dressed lawman looming over him. Goddamn, keegan are tall.

  “For what? Being dumb?”

  “For whatever the Abyss I want. You’re not a Citizen. But if you must know, if I feel like you’re about to do something that might get someone else hurt, I’m well within my rights to lock you up.

  “In this case, I think you’re about to get a nice young lady killed. Because you’re being dumb.”

  Jeb didn’t bother to answer, checking for any possible surprises in the pirate crew’s Abilities. He lingered on one in particular: the melas with the bone jewelry who’d run into him the day before, known as Boney Pete.

  Not a creative bunch, Jeb thought to himself. He’d seen the guy in town the night before. He might be able to lead Jeb to their hideout.

  Maybe he was on a supply run? The chances of him still being in town the next day are slim. Jeb checked the man’s Abilities. It seemed like his Class Ability could shrink things. Definitely the supply runner.

  I think those bones in his hair were actually femurs, Jeb thought to himself.

  “Are you listening to me?” Zlesk demanded.

  “A little,” Jeb said.

  “Jeb! Jeb!” A tiny voice echoed off the walls of the little bar as Smartass came flying over to their isolated booth in the corner, a piece of paper bigger than she was fluttering in her hands.

  “Check this out,” she said, slapping the fluttering paper down on the table, posing triumphantly. “Filched this from his safe when he opened it. We got the good dirt on that prick now! You use this right, and we’ll be swimming in Myst.” Smartass cackled evilly, rubbing her hands together with glee.

  “Do you know I can’t read that?” Jeb asked. “Wait a second. You can read that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be able to?” Smartass asked, hopping up on his shoulder.

  “Goddamnit.” Jeb sighed, folding the paper up before Zlesk could get a chance to read it. Zlesk would likely not take kindly to blackmail.

  “Where did that letter come from?” Zlesk asked, before frowning, his eyes focusing slightly on Jeb’s shoulder.

  “And what’s that… You’ve got something on your shoulder.”

  “Fairy,” Jeb said, estimating Zlesk’s Myst to be somewhere between five and eight. Higher than Jeb’s, most likely. The only reason Jeb could see and hear the bug was because of the litany of Deals they’d made with each other.

  “Gah!” Zlesk backed away, leaping to his feet like he’d just seen a poisonous snake. He backed out of the booth, pointing a shaking finger at Jeb. “Get rid of it! They’re evil little creatures whose only joy is the suffering of others!”

  “That’s not completely accurate,” Jeb said.

  “Don’t be fooled by its honeyed words. They’re the bane of civilization! Send it back to the Death Wilds where it belongs!”

  “Wow, that's quite a response,” Jeb muttered, studying the sheriff’s animated gesticulations.

  “Where is it now?” he asked, brandishing his club. “I’ll squish it.”

  “It’s not there anymore,” Jeb said. Smartass had climbed into his collar to hide.

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  “Let me know if you see another one,” Zlesk said, glancing around shiftily. “They’re considered anathema by the pantheon.”

  “Yeah, I noticed the gods don’t react well to them,” Jeb said, thinking as he studied his enemy.

  “’Sup?” a deep voice growled from above and to the left, pulling him out of his thoughts.

  Jeb glanced up, meeting the gaze of Boney Pete.

  He glanced back down to the table, where the picture of Boney Pete was sitting on top of the pile, ugly face grinning back at him from the Wanted poster.

  This could be a problem.

  Chapter 4: Survival Skills

  “He’s the sheriff,” Jeb blurted, pointing at Zlesk.

  Boney Pete glanced over at the skinny keegan while reaching for the bones in his hair.

  Jeb took the opportunity to slip under the table.

  Whoosh!

  A monstrous femur longer than Jeb was tall swept through the back of his seat, treating the heavy wood like Styrofoam. Shrapnel clattered across the surface of the table above him, some of it sprinkling under the lip and peppering his clothes with sharp splinters of wood.

  Coulda been my head, Jeb thought, shoving himself out from under the table and rolling in the direction of the lawman. Zlesk would stop the next swing. If not because he wanted to save Jeb’s life, then just because the next swing was now going to be directed towards him.

  “Stop!” Zlesk shouted as Jeb crawled past him.

  Jeb got a good look at Zlesk wrestling Boney Pete above him for control of the club before he was back up on his foot and clomping towards the door.

  At this point, a stray punch or a careless shove might break Jeb’s spine, so SOP was to get the fuck out of Dodge while he still had his head attached to his body. He was about as well-equipped to handle this guy right now as a Tonka truck was equipped to haul freight.

  “Later!” Jeb shouted over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

  That was when he spotted Boney Pete mounted over the keegan. The orange-skinned criminal’s broad muscles were bulging as he forced a skewer of sharpened bone closer and closer to the skull-face’s eye.

  Keegan weren’t known for their physical strength, and when two people had similar Body, the one with more actual muscle would come out stronger. Jeb watched the sheriff’s skeletal arms descend a fraction of an inch closer to his face, trembling all the while.

  Everyone else in the room was either gawking or had already run off.

  “Goddamnit,” Jeb growled, desperately wishing for his gun, which he’d left in storage outside the city. A man’s skull might be stronger than a .44 slug nowadays, but his brain would certainly feel it.

  No such luck. Jeb’s gaze caught the empty space behind the bar, where the tender had the presence of mind to fuck off before things went down.

  Usually, a bartender in a place like this keeps a weapon under the bar in case things turn sour. Jeb leapt over the bar, and ducked down, looking for anything he could whack with or throw.

  The sleazy place didn’t disappoint. There was a solid iron rod about three feet long and sized a bit too big for Jeb’s fingers, resting in a holster that kept it secured to the bottom of the bar.

  Jeb dragged it free, grunting at the weight as he leapt back over the wooden bar, doing his best impersonation of an Olympic athlete as he cleared the hurdle.

  Unlike an Olympic athlete, Jeb’s wooden pegleg slipped from the sudden torque upon landing, sending him toppling to the ground, beatstick flailing out ahead of him.

  The edge of the iron rod still managed to skim Boney Pete’s ear, partially tearing it off.

  “Motherfucker!” Boney Pete shouted, clapping his hand to his ear and glaring at Jeb.

  Jeb scramb
led to his feet an instant before a sharpened bone hidden in Boney Pete’s clothing violently expanded outward in his direction, rebounding off Jeb’s beater and missing his liver by a couple inches.

  Jeb scrambled backwards, and before Boney Pete could try again, a pale fist caught him in the jaw, scrambling his eggs for a moment as the skinny sheriff slipped out from beneath him, grabbing the outlaw’s arm on the way and twisting it out of its socket.

  “Gah!”

  Zlesk grabbed Boney Pete’s wrist and slammed it down on the floor, his hands pulsing briefly with Myst as he did so.

  Jeb watched, intrigued as the sheriff rolled away from a retaliatory strike with another hidden bone splinter.

  Boney Pete tried to stand, but his wrist wouldn’t come away from the floor. His inhuman strength made the wood slats under their feet buck for an instant before the pain of the dislocated arm caught up with him, sending him howling back to his knees.

  “Club!” Zlesk said, holding his hand out. Jeb obliged, tossing the steel rod to the sheriff, who gave the outlaw one good blow to the head, deftly avoiding the man’s shiny black horns.

  Boney Pete’s eyes rolled back into his head, and a moment later he exploded with dozens of sharpened bones, jutting in every direction like a demon porcupine as his shrinking Ability lapsed.

  Jeb was far enough away, but Zlesk caught a couple of the spikes, soaking up the damage with his arms as he backed off.

  This seems like as good a time as any to get the fuck outta here, Jeb thought, hopping toward the exit as Zlesk caught his breath, staring at the unconscious outlaw while clutching his bleeding arm, obviously riding that post-battle high. Jeb scooped up his prosthetic on the way out the door.

  Jeb really didn’t have time to do the paperwork that would no doubt follow the brawl, and he was pretty sure Zlesk wasn’t going to give him the bounty anyway.

  No, what he needed to do was move faster than word of Boney Pete’s arrest. Rather than try and pry information out of the guy, it would be easier and faster to simply follow the messenger—whoever they kept on retainer in town to bring them word of important shit.

  Any organized group of outlaws had someone like that who was paid to feed them news, allowing them to dodge large manhunts and get out of town if an enforcer was dispatched. Their supply mule getting pinched was exactly the sort of thing they’d pay to know about.