cassioferreira
patreon
AMBYSSUS | Ch. 6 - The Tavern
🕑 Added 2023-07-25 18:50:01 +0000 UTCJoey woke up. As he climbed out of bed, he ran his fingers through his hair. What a headache. He hardly remembered making it to bed yesterday. He only vaguely recalled his wife's disheveled and worried look as she saw him arriving sad, confused, and exhausted. He felt like he'd been run over by a train. He looked at the clock; it was 10 o'clock. He should get ready to go back to work.
The house was silent, which let him know that his daughter was not there, or if she was, she was asleep. There was never a quiet moment with Molly. He walked toward the kitchen, thirsty and starved. The snacks his wife prepared for him yesterday were depleted by mid-afternoon, and he refused to have anything to eat or drink that he wasn't sure was prepared by someone he trusted: himself or his wife.
When he arrived home, he was so tired that he only gulped down a few glasses of water and collapsed in bed. He found his wife sitting alone in the kitchen, holding the newspaper. She hadn't heard him come in, so he just stood there momentarily admiring his wife's beauty. There was this tranquility to her. Whenever he saw her, he felt like he was looking at a flowing river. The way the brown curls of her hair fell perfectly over her shoulders made him smile.
His eyes were then drawn to a cover on the table, covering what he guessed was his breakfast. He stepped forward, clearing his throat beforehand to let Marie know he was there. He didn't want to frighten her. She put down the newspaper and looked at him, worried. His arrival shattered the calm and tranquility he had admired moments ago.
"Good morning, Marie."
"Morning."
"Where is Molly?"
"I left her with Abigail. She was going to take her kids to the zoo, and I thought Molly could go along."
"I see." Joey felt terrible. His family had been looking forward to some family time, and once again, he'd failed them. Going to the zoo was supposed to be a family outing. "I'm sorry, Marie. I know you and Molly must be disappointed. Thank you for arranging that with Abigail. Letting her go to the zoo was a good way of softening the blow."
"She was pretty disappointed." Joey was pretty sure that Marie didn't mean she but we.
"I know. I know. Sorry. But no one could know that this would happen to the city."
"I can't stay mad at you even if I want to." She grabbed the newspaper again. "I was reading about what happened. You had to go." Putting down the newspaper, she eyed him squarely. "You know, you'll have to take your daughter to the zoo once this storm blows over. Right?
He nodded. She sighed.
"You scared me yesterday, Joey. The look on your face and the way you rushed out of here..."
"Yeah. It was a crazy day."
"Should I be worried about all this?" she said, pointing at the newspaper's front page.
"There's no need to panic, sweetheart. It's going to be OK. Things should go back to normal soon."
"Does anyone know why this happened?
"Not yet. They're still investigating."
"Everyone is talking about it. People wonder whether it will be like the Whale Wars all over again."
"No. No, honey. Of course not. This is not about the animals being extinct this time. It's just a localized catastrophe."
"Animals? That's right...Isn't there still a herd of dugongs in our estate? Shouldn't you go check on them?" Joey remained silent.
On the one hand, he couldn't bear parting with his father's herd. His father had cared for some of those dugongs who lived until now. On the other hand, he hated going to the place where his father had been killed.
"I know it's hard for you to go there, dear. Do you want me to go there?"
"No, it's OK. I'll make the time."
"OK, then."
"Guess who I ran into yesterday?" asked Joey. At the scent of gossip, his wife's attention was instantly captured.
"Who?"
"Geoffrey."
"Oh, my goodness. It's been forever since we spent time with him. How is he doing? Is he still single?" She regarded her husband and then looked back at the newspaper. "Oh... of course. He has a ranch now, doesn't he? The poor thing."
"I wouldn't worry about him. He's doing well. A little too well, actually."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, you know how Joey and I go way back."
"Of course. Your dad took him under his wing, didn't he?"
"Ever since I met Geoffrey that there was this purity in him. He had this light to him, kind of like dad used to have, you know? But yesterday, something was off about him. He looked like one of them."
"Like one of the other ranchers?"
Joey clenched his teeth. "Yeah, like one of those weasels."
Marie sighed audibly. How many times had they talked about this? The conversation was almost always the same. Joey would go on about how the most likely culprit to his father's murder was another rancher, and his wife would say that he couldn't be sure and that it was unfair for him to treat all ranchers poorly based on one very shaky theory. Today, however, she didn't say anything. He squeezed her hand, and she smiled.
"First, he came to ask me about my father's estate and whether the extraction facilities were working. I was a bit confused. It looked like he was almost enjoying the disaster!"
"Are you sure?"
"You should have seen it. It was a creepy smile." His wife rolled her eyes, causing Joey to feel annoyed, but he pressed on.
"Then, halfway through a meeting between the mayor and the ranchers, he reveals that his parlor is up and running, and he is willing to lease it to other producers if they give him a fifth of all their herds."
His wife looked at him, confused.
"What does that mean?"
"He's taking advantage of the situation! He's bleeding the other producers dry!"
"Are you sure that's what's happening, dear?"
"Yes! A fifth! 20% of the animals, Marie! That's a lot!"
"Did he explain why he was asking for that price."
"He sugarcoated his reasons, but there's something off about him. I don't like it."
"Honey, we've talked about this. You have to be careful not to look at your friends through the eyes of an investigator." Joey sighed. There had been multiple instances in which his wife's advice had proven wise. "You know what? Perhaps, it's just him standing his ground. You know how those ranchers are. He started running his ranch not long ago. Perhaps, they don't respect him, and this is his way of making a point."
"I don't know. It's true that he gave some oil he had to the city and said he was willing to help the other ranchers."
"You see? Give your friends the benefit of the doubt. Wasn't he the one who helped you when your dad died?"
Joey's mind went back to the day of his dad's funeral. The only person that had cried as much as Joey was Jeff. He hadn't left his side for a second. In a sense, when his father mentored Jeff, they'd become brothers. His wife was right.
"You're right. Perhaps I was just tired. He must be under a lot of stress too, and he does deserve the benefit of the doubt."
The kettle started trembling and hissing as if a volcano was about to erupt. "Your coffee's ready."
"I'll change, and you can drop me off at the city market."
Joey sat and uncovered the plate. There was some fruit and a few finger sandwiches. He put one in his mouth. Maple syrup and peanut butter. Delicious. He reached out to the newspaper to look at what was happening. He began reading the news as he sipped on the hot coffee and had apple slices. News of the flood had made the front page.
LISBON HERALD
The Flood That Dried the Market
On the night of the 16th, the tranquil waters of Lake Grassum surged, causing a one-meter rise in water levels, leading to potential economic and environmental consequences. The flood has inundated crucial facilities used to extract sirenian fat and produce fuel. Mayor Eagle is working in close proximity with the authorities to address the situation and alleviate the impacts on the economy.
The vacuum parlors utilized in the extraction of sirenian fat, are a vital component in sirenia production. They are extremely sensitive equipment that can take weeks or even months to repair. However, Mayor Eagle assures the public that recovery efforts are already underway, and there is a substantial reserve of fuel to sustain the markets during this trying period.
"Despite this unforeseen catastrophe, I want to assure our residents that we are fully prepared to handle the aftermath of this flood and restore normalcy as soon as possible," Mayor Eagle stated in a press conference. "Our fuel reserves are well-stocked, and we are able to continuously supply the demands of the oil market. I encourage everyone to remain calm as we navigate through this challenging situation."
Besides the economic implications, the flood's impact on the lake's ecosystem has raised environmental concerns. Sources report that the lake's water has experienced a noticeable decrease in salinity, which could have far-reaching effects on the local wildlife and the delicate balance of the lake's ecosystem.
"Wildlife experts and environmentalists are already closely monitoring the situation. We've already sent word to the Science Academy, and we're confident that one of their experts will arrive in the city soon to help us understand this phenomenon," assured the mayor's office.
Despite the mayor's assurances, the unprecedented natural disaster has already made the sirenian oil spike to historical highs. Before the authorities got to the market, it had already been swept clean, and the auction house has refused to divulge the buyer's identity.
Despite the city hall's assistance in providing barrels for the oil market, the prices have still skyrocketed. During the last oil market auction, Dugong oil was sold at 210 dollars a barrel."
It seemed that the mayor's office had handled the media impressively. Despite the overtones of doom and disaster, the article still managed to transmit some of the mayor's assurances to the public, and there was nothing on the paper about protests or looting.
His wife was humming as she got ready. He grabbed another sandwich as he searched the newspaper for any references to the police's raid of the Dark Sciences lab. He found only a small piece on the operation they'd completed two nights ago.
Successful Police Raid on Dark Sciences Lab
In a daring operation led by Constable Joseph Jones and Commissioner Fabius himself, the police achieved a significant breakthrough by raiding a clandestine Dark Sciences lab in the heart of the Western District.
"Today is a proud day for the force," commented Commisonier Fabius. "The operation led by Constable Joseph Jones is a resounding success. We'll not let these ecological terrorists pollute the clean waters of our rivers and lake and will keep doing whatever it takes to stop them from doing their illegal activities. They try to disguise immoral profit under the guise of advancement, but the police are determined to continue fighting against these illegal practices."
The targeted Dark Sciences lab was discovered after months of meticulous investigation by law enforcement agencies. The police uncovered a cache of forbidden items, including cows and coal.
"The arrest of cows may raise eyebrows, but this ban is rooted in a critical ecological concern," explained the commissioner. "Cows are prohibited from unrestricted sale and commerce."
The Herald asked one of the city's leading experts in Fossil Fuel history for some insight on the seriousness of unrestricted commerce of cows. "The Science Academy has produced a fascinating study. The study's findings indicated that uncontrolled breeding and commercialization of these animals could lead to an ecological apocalypse. The crux of the issue lies in cows' digestive systems, which produce copious amounts of methane gas.
"The environmental danger posed by the immense methane output of cows is too grave to overlook," explains Dr. Barry Brown. "Methane is a potent greenhouse gas; if left unchecked, it can significantly contribute to global warming and climate change. The Science Academy's report famously coined the phrase, 'Cow's farts can destroy planets,' for a reason."
The article went on to describe the dangers of using petroleum and coal. It then talked about all the apprehensions and listed the number of arrests. It was well-written and painted the force in a positive light. Too bad that it was drowned under the news of the flood. Munching on another finger sandwich, he leafed through the newspaper and found another interesting article. The reason why it caught Joey's eye was because it mentioned the Science Academy.
Science Academy versus Farmer
A man's life took an unexpected turn when the Science Academy, under the Environment Protection Act, appropriated a plot of land he owned. The sunflower oil harvester used the land for his crops. He contacted the Herald to express his dissatisfaction with the forceful transaction, "This land has been in my family for generations. This was my bread and butter. They had no right to take it from me."
The appropriation was due to the rediscovery of an insect presumed to be extinct, the weaverbee. "When I saw the hive in the tree of one of my properties, I thought the bees acted strangely and sent word to the local university. How was I repaid for fulfilling my duty as a contentious citizen? By being robbed of my land."
The man, preferring to remain anonymous, expressed his grievances, contending that the market value attributed to his land was grossly unfair. "No matter how frustrated I am about this, it's useless to go against the Science Academy."
When contacted by the Herald, one of the spokespersons for the Science Academy commented on this episode, "We are fully aware of the impact our actions can have on individuals, and we do our best to ensure a fair compensation process. However, valuing land for conservation is a complex task, and sometimes it may not align with the owner's expectations.
The Science Academy's ability to mobilize funds and resources for the cause of environmental conservation is unparalleled. This begs to question: are they too powerful?
The powers that the world had granted the academy were incredible. Not even the oil market dared to question any commands the academy gave. To think that he was the one who was going to chaperone their envoy made Joey shudder.
His wife appeared neatly dressed in a yellow dress.
"Ready, dear?"
"Ready."
*
The inn was empty. The room smelled like someone had halfheartedly tried to clean off the scent of sweat and beer of the previous day. The fire in the hearth was dying out, but the tavern keeper nonchalantly ignored it as he absentmindedly wiped the same glass again and again and again. Although the establishment seemed run down and worn out, all the glasses were pristinely cleaned. They all glittered in the sunlight that came in through the half-closed blinders.
There was something hypnotic and ritualistic about how this man cleaned the glasses. The glass was already spotless, so there was no practical reason for continuing to do it. Geoffrey wondered if the man was cleaning his mind now instead. Perhaps the rhythmic ritualistic cleansing of the glass opened the mind to some mental state where considerations or meditations could be made, thus allowing one to experience personal growth. Another possible explanation for it was that it was some sort of therapy or an object lesson on how even the simplest and most menial of jobs can grow to become a pleasant task.
Geoffrey resisted the urge to check his pocket watch. After all, he hadn’t brought it along. Today he wore a ragged jacket with so many patches that it would take an extensive study to ascertain the original fabric that made the garment. His shoes had holes, and his trousers had tears. He looked like a beggar or perhaps a destitute worker who hadn’t been able to find a job at the docks after many months.
Geoffrey would put his hand over the counter every other minute or so and perform a series of seemingly random taps with his fingers. Although seemingly random, it was always the same sequence. Thumb and pinky, thumb, and ring finger. Index and middle. Index and ring finger. Thumb and index finger. The sequence lasted a few seconds and would easily be dismissed as a nervous tic. Geoffrey had been waiting here for several hours but patiently performed the rhythmic tap while silently sipping his cider. He signaled that he wanted a refill, and a mug glided over the counter to arrive precisely at his location. It was an uncanny skill, this one of perfectly placing a glass from afar. Geoffrey took a flask from his pocket and poured some of its contents into the apple cider. It was lake water. Since he had a taste two days ago, he couldn’t stop drinking it.
He poured a bit of it into every beverage he consumed. Geoffrey despised addictions. Opium, tobacco, and overindulgence in alcohol were a waste of time and money for someone as frugal as himself. But this was just water. What harm could there be in drinking it? After sipping the liquid, Geoffrey found himself calmer, connected, and grounded. Plans and thoughts became clear, and remorse and guilt were washed away.
Another patron entered the room. Geoffrey’s back was vulnerably facing the door, but he didn’t move. The only hint of someone coming in had been the sound of the door opening and the breath of fresh air that had accompanied the newcomer. This was the hardest part of the process. Never look back. Some obscure part of his mind begged him to look over his shoulder just to take a quick peek, but he kept facing his glass and tried to sip his cider once again calmly. Once he drank it in, the lake water again soothed his nerves.
The newcomer took a seat somewhere behind Geoffrey. Geoffrey could only feel the distant presence. The air had become so thick and tense that Geoffrey felt that if a knife was sharp enough, it might be able to cut a slice off it. He had no idea how a simple rhythmic tap of his fingers on a counter of a forsaken tavern could summon this ruler of New Lisbon’s underworld.
“Geoffrey, Geoffrey,” the voice was hoarse as if it had a wheezing whistle hidden beneath its bass quality. “What brings you home?” Geoffrey gulped. He had not expected the voice to come not from his back but from the tavern keeper that had kept him company over the last couple of hours. Part of the rules he had been taught as a street urchin was to never speak to the tavern keeper except to order. If the tavern keeper spoke to you before the lord arrived, then the meeting wouldn’t happen. How had the glass cleaner known who he was or where he had come from? Geoffrey had even gone through the trouble of wearing a disguise.
Nevertheless, Geoffrey was now unafraid. The dangerous part of summoning a meeting with the pirate lord was over. The fact that they were speaking meant that he was safe, at least for now.
“Thank you for seeing me. How did you know who I was?” The question was asked out of pure curiosity, with no defiance or offense. The tavern keeper spared a look at his boss, requesting guidance as to whether he should explain the trick or not.
“The sign you used. We change the code every year, but remember all previous ones. We also teach different codes to different neighborhoods. This allows us to know where and when someone is from.”
That was impressive. The apparatus that the pirates had assembled in the slums was nothing to scoff at.
Silence. Geoffrey knew the pirate lord was waiting for him to go first and state his business. He tried to get a look at the man by looking at the reflections in the glasses and bottles lining up the counter. It was pointless. The glasses were so clean and transparent that one saw right through them without finding any reflection. All darker liquid bottles were tagged and faced him at such an angle that he couldn’t see anything behind them. He wondered if this was the reason behind the tavern keeper’s religious cleaning habit.
“I have three thousand casks of sirenia that I want discreetly sold without it being traced back to me.” Geoffrey knew he had the men’s attention. The slightest raising of the brow of the bald tavern keeper had been the most significant facial expression he had seen in the man after two hours.
Geoffrey had just revealed the piece of information that everyone was trying to uncover. Everyone wanted to know who had wiped the storehouses of the oil market clean before anyone else could get to it. The auction house's ironclad confidentiality policy had resisted every attack and attempt. Even the mayor hadn’t been able to get an iota of information on the mysterious buyer from the auctioneers. Word of the scarcity and inflation of oil prices buzzed in every corner of the city. The slums were no different. After all, if the wealthy blokes had no bread, they would have no crumbs to hunt for.
“That seems simple enough even to begin to require a pirate lord’s expertise.”
“Here is the tricky part. I want it all to be done legally.”
“Baffling. You came looking for a criminal mastermind to have him do something legal for you?”
“The best bandits get away with it, even if caught. You have channels, informants, lawyers, and connections I cannot imagine. I'll give you the addresses of the storehouses where the casks are and the respective passwords that will let you in. You just have to sell them for maximum profit.”
The tavern keeper awaited a signal from his employer. The pirate lord seemed interested because the tavern keeper went on to talk business.
“And what’s in it for the pirates?”
“Two percent.”
“Ten,” said the tavern keeper with a tone of finality after exchanging looks with the pirate lord.
“Three.”
“Eight.”
“Five, then?” said Geoffrey. “After all, I can still look for the black merchant in search of alternative sales channels.”
Silence. Geoffrey had grown up on the pirate lord’s turf and had known how to summon him. It was part of the code of the slums. All had the right to see the big boss who owned the place. Most never risked it, though. The lord had the reputation of getting rid of anyone who summoned him unnecessarily. He had no idea how to seek out the rumored black merchant, the auctioneer of New Lisbon’s black market. It was a bluff that he hoped the pirate lord wouldn’t call.
The business was tough for pirates. There were layers upon layers of security that doubled and tripled after oil became the most sought commodity on the planet following the great lake flood. He hoped the promise of easy profit would be enough to entice the pirate.
“Aye. You have a deal.”
Geoffrey heard the chair scratching the wooden floor behind him and felt the door open and then close again.
“Finish the cider. Pace yourself. Then you can go,” explained the tavern keeper.
Geoffrey went back to drinking. A foreign thought entertained his mind. He had liked this pirate lord’s style. He always remained in the shadow, only pulling the strings on his puppets and instructing his minions. Geoffrey couldn’t even be sure if he had just been in the presence of a pirate lieutenant and not the lord himself. Even the tavern keeper could have been the pirate lord. Ambyssus’ ambition... this was the best type of criminal. One that doesn’t break the law but sucks it dry. One that you can’t even be sure exists—someone who plays the game's rules from the shadows and still wins it every time. By Ambyssus’ eye, this was so much fun.
Geoffrey calmly finished his cider. He then left some money to cover his bill and left. Guests would soon start coming to his estate. He'd better prepare.
