Octophobia
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Spire's Spite - Arc 3 - Chapter 48
🕑 Added 2025-06-22 03:00:03 +0000 UTCGruelling days passed, followed by sleepless nights. Fritz's rough training and his watching of the Refuge claimed most of his waking hours. Only with his use of the Amulet of Repose and the remedies provided by the alchemist sisters, was he able to keep up his vigour and the constant vigilance his current life required of him.
It was exhausting, but every day he trained he saw some minute improvement, be it in his skill, stamina or strength. And every night spent at the Refuge and in the drowning district, stalking and spying, had broadened the extent of his knowledge regarding the gangs.
These passing days weren't just practice and observation, his plans for breaking the siege also slowly moved forward. He'd ambushed a couple of thugs here and there, preventing predation whereever it appeared. He tried not to leave the great amount of death and blood as the Scarlet Storm had, sparing those that he could justifiably let go. However, the gutters were cruel and there was still a glut of truly evil villains. A district free of such monsters, that he envisioned, had no place for them.
Fritz had also begun to ambush the thugs carrying the triads stolen and extorted from the residents of the Refuge. He didn't kill, instead relying on his Lethargy curse or Illusory Shadow to sow enough confusion to pickpocket or simply snatch their ill-gotten gains. These acts hadn't gone unnoticed. Already, he could tell that the besiegers were on edge, their grumbles and grousing growing more bitter while their demeanours had become decidedly more paranoid.
That wasn't a particularly welcome outcome, as they treated the Refuge's people with more fear and anger than was right, but the effect was one that suited Fritz's own schemes.
There was also progress on his noble troubles, his appeal had returned and received its second seal from Count Tallmast, though he still waited on the response from Count Wavereach. Honestly, he worried he'd never hear from the nobleman, what with the grudge he must have against his House.
Fritz was left to worry for a week before he, eventually, got word. He was just returning from a night stalking the streets, an unpleasant one where he had to remind a thug he had previously let go that there was to be no accosting anyone within the district. Not under his watch.
They hadn't quarrelled long. In fact, they hadn't quarrelled at all, it was horribly hard to do so with a dagger in one's heart after all. Fritz had thought they'd learn quicker. But he'd been wrong. It was apparent that these cruel cutthroats had become all too accustomed to being unopposed in their savage desires and would need a lot of correction. At the point of a blade.
Fritz, shook out his hair and dried himself in the hall, then made his way to his room where he spotted a thick envelope, sealed with a wax circle, on his desk. It must have arrived the previous day, while he slept at the Refuge.
Tentatively, he lifted the letter and opened it. Fritz held his breath as he read the shaky glyphs and wavering lines. What he found was beyond his expectations and he exhaled slowly. The Count wrote an invitation to visit his estate and named the few times he'd be available in the coming month. One such date was close by, maybe too close as it was that very afternoon.
Fritz was of two minds, he wanted to settle this affair quickly, both to aid the Refuge and to see where the Count stood. But he also had a desire and a duty to be properly prepared for the audience. He was only split for a minute. Fritz was free that afternoon, and it was better to act now rather than wait for an uncertain future. One where he might be injured or otherwise indisposed.
It was set to be a long day, so Fritz caught a few hours of sleep before waking for breakfast. The dining table was as lively as usual and the mana-dense food was plentiful, tasty and wonderfully filling. Cal had always been a decent cook, even when he had little to work with, but now, with all the practice and varied produce he had to work with, he had reached new heights. He'd even taken to baking.
Fritz bit into a hot pie, filled with thick, savoury gravy and chunks of only slightly stringy meat. It was as good as any he'd ever had from a street vendor.
After breakfast it was training, they had the hall this morning and they weren't ones to waste it. Unlike, the lordling Mathew who only sporadically turned up for practice. It was likely for the best that he didn't join them every day. He wore on the team's nerves, both his arrogance and the way he disdained to interact with those below his station. Save Lauren of course, who he hounded with overly sweet praise and insipid witticisms.
Even Fritz, who was ostensibly within the peerage, was shown little respect. He hadn't even deigned to duel him and seemed content to merely watch him and George practice under Adams's stern tutelage. Sneering from the sidelines as if they were completely beneath him and would never amount to even a sliver of his skill.
Perhaps he was right, none of the team were able to hold their own against the lord in their recent spars no matter what weapons they used.
They had moved on from the baton and had been drilling with spears and shields. Unfamiliar as they were with the new pairing, the pompous prick was able to defeat them and deftly so. It was infuriating, but they couldn't compete with the lordling's advantages. Like Fritz, before the fall of his House, Mathew was prepared from a young age to Climb and had been trained his entire early life.
Still, each day they fared better, each day they grew stronger. Fritz wondered how long it would take before they finally surpassed the lord's lead.
Luckily, today was one of the days the esteemed Mathew Tallmast passed over practice, and Fritz was grateful for another chance to train without his irritating presence.
The session went well enough, and despite the ever-increasing pace and pressure Adam put the team under, they completed their laps and lifts in record time. After that was sparring, and after that was swordsmanship.
His tutor was forcing him to focus on each type of strike in isolation, the thrust, the cut, the parry and the feint. He wanted them to be perfect, or as close to perfect as Fritz could manage. It was difficult, bordering on impossible, to meet Adam's lofty standards. Especially because his tutor demanded he restrain his Grace during his personal lessons.
Adam decried the use of Advanced Attributes when not directly practising with them. He said that his training was all to polish the Base that the Attributes build upon, and that relying too heavily on those Advanced Attributes and Abilities would hinder the team's potential and lead to bad habits.
After their time in the hall was up, it was a run back home and a quick, much-needed, shower.
Fritz prepared for a meeting with the Count, sending a runner with a note expressing his acceptance of the gracious offer and gratitude for the opportunity to meet so soon. It was written overly obsequiously, but it always paid to be polite.
Fritz put on his best clothes, including his sirensilk shirt, self-repairing socks, magical boots and fancy coat, and taking up his umbrella, he left home. He planned to dally in the thoroughfare markets for some time, while also keeping an eye out for a gift suitable for the Count. Maybe a bottle of wine, or some book or bauble.
As he left, and passed by his gate he spotted a familiar figure loitering down at the end of the street. It was the drizzler sergeant, leaning against a wall and pretending, as she usually did, that she wasn't watching him leave. She had taken to doing so recently and he had taken to nodding as he passed, then ignoring her as she tailed him.
Sometimes he would lead her on a merry chase before disappearing with the help of some cunning manoeuvring and his Cloak of Dusk. Other times he would simply go about his normal, boring, business, displaying his obvious lack of nefarious intentions. It could be a fun distraction any other time, but today he decided to confront the woman.
"Sergeant, you have been staring. Is there some way I can aid the guard?" Fritz asked after striding up to her. "Is there some reason I'm being surveilled?"
"No, Lord," she said, not meeting his eye. "This is just where I've been posted."
"I see. You claim coincidence then?" Fritz challenged. "If I spoke to your Captain would he say similar?"
"My Captain would tell you as much, yes," she lied.
"I highly doubt that. What is your quarrel with me? And don't hide behind your 'duties'," Fritz warned.
"No quarrel, Lord," Louisa said stiffly.
"Then what?" Fritz demanded, pouring Dusksong into his tone. "Tell me why you follow me."
"Follow?" She asked, looking up and meeting his cold gaze. She paled, but her eyes were full of wonder. "I... I... wanted to... know... you." Louisa shook her head violently and glared. "What was that?"
Fritz glanced away, quieting the dull ringing of his Dusksong. "You want to know me?" He scoffed ignoring her blurted question and accusatory stare. "How impudent. You're a mere guardsman. A drizzler. Common and plain."
Shame roiled around her. Shame and fury. She held it tight as her face flushed and she bore her teeth savagely. For a moment, Fritz thought she was going to strike him, but she remembered herself and her position, and turned her face away.
"I won't trouble you any longer. Good day, Lord Hightide," she spoke loudly, then strode past, fists clenched.
Fritz sighed and a pang of guilt assailed him. He pushed it down. She deserved some reprimanding and more for her shadowing this week. But he hadn't intended to wound her as he had done. He'd just been surprised at her reason and acting the noble, as he was, had abruptly reacted in a way that would suit that mask. He had meant to drive her away, not plant the seed of a bitter grudge.
"At least I got her off my back," Fritz said, then he sighed. "For now."
Fritz made his way to the markets, not followed by the drizzler, but still watched over by a stormhawk that he'd seen periodically the past days. Not one moment of peace. He had expected a summons by the Nightshark, but she hadn't sent for him yet, not even a note. The constant pressure of that eventuality bore down on him as surely as the rain.
He put that thought out for his mind as he searched the stalls, then upon seeing a Jastili trade tent, he made his way through the crowd and under the shadow of tall, shining cloth pavillion. He passed by two tough Jastil guards flanking the entrance, adorned in vivid colours and wielding weird weapons of deadly design not seen in Rain City.
Within the huge tent were long rows of tables, covered with brightly patterned cloth and stacked with goods from many far shores. There were bolts of silk and wool, jars of strange spices, bottles of odd liquors and other beverages. So many varied and valuable things, herbs, monster leather, horns and talons. All being hawked by the Jastil in their vibrant, extravagant and not wholly cohesive clothing.
None of the goods were Treasures, those would be held on their ships and would need to be negotiated with the Merchant Captain aboard it.
Fritz had only a little experience with the Jastil, they were ruthless hagglers, but were mostly fair and would also buy goods of dubious origin, even from a ragged urchin. As he had once been when he had sold a collection of silk underclothes to one, long ago. Of course, the merchant had paid far less than he would for earnestly gained goods, but that's just the price you had to pay if you wanted to be rid of incriminating items.
Fritz smiled, both bitterly and fondly at the memory. The Jastil had been kind, even if he was dealing with a thief. He looked around the crowded tent, searching the foreign faces of the merchants to see if the one he remembered was there.
Most Jastil, woman, man, neither or both, bore little resemblance to one another unless they had close blood. It was Fritz's understanding that they weren't from any one place, but were rather nomads, travellers and traders from all walks of the world. All bound to their ships on the sea and caravans on land. And as such, their foreign features, magnanimous manner and curious customs reflected this.
Fritz didn't see the man he was searching for, so he instead returned to finding a suitable gift for Count Wavereach. To aid in his quest, he held his Awareness in his mind and lightly exerted it, letting it guide him through the tables. At first, it led him around in circles but, steadily, surely he was led to an assorted array of bottles. Wines and spirits from across the ocean.
There amongst the collection was a thin, black bottle, sealed at the top with red wax. His hand snaked out and seized it almost on reflex. As soon as he held it, his Awareness faintly flared. The faded label declared its origin as one Harlow Distillery.
He wondered why his Awareness had led him to this particular bottle, but he knew better than to question the strange sensation. All he could tell that somehow it was connected to the Count, like there was a thin string of ghostly gossamer that led out, through the tent's walls and out into the distance. And then the feeling was gone.
"How much for this?" Fritz asked the Jastil merchant across from him.
"A good eye, Sir. Six golden triads," she provided genially.
"Six triads!?" Fritz blurted boisterously, engaging in the dance of haggling. "It's not even magical."
"While you're right about its mundane nature. That is a blackcurrant and barb-berry liquor from a village on the slopes of the bleak hills. It has travelled nearly the whole world and there's not another bottle like it in the city. "
"Bleak hills? Isn't that close to the deadlands, just north of Tenebria," Fritz said.
"You are very knowledgeable, Sir. You are quite correct, just the sheer distance and rarity prevent me from selling it than anything less than six triads."
"Aren't goods from Tenebria considered cursed? I'll give you three triads for this ill-fated item," Fritz countered.
The woman conceded his point but demanded at least five gold and six silver. From there the haggling continued until they settled on the price of four gold and seven silver. Fritz had attempted to leverage his Dusksong, but it seemingly had no effect on the merchant. He could only guess she had a Trait, Passive or Treasure that inured her from its enthralling tones.
Nothing else piqued his interest, save a letter opener of brass and silver, which he purchased on a whim and left him with only six silver in his purse. He slid its well-balanced weight into his Slim Pocket where it joined a cleansing tonic, a general antidote and the very first stamina potion Ame and Naomi had brewed from the Raider's recipes. It was a snug fit and the glass vials clinked, but he was able to button it closed without any trouble.
After that he merely wandered, taking in the sights, sounds and smells, before leaving and returning home for lunch. He would have liked to sample some of the food available in the Upper Ring, but he couldn't afford to miss the meal made of monster meat that Cal would be cooking.
When he entered the dining room, it was to the sight of diligent study. Cal, George and Rosie were each quietly scratching out glyphs on wax tablets under the keen, kind tutelage of Jess. Fritz didn't bother them and instead retreated to his room to recuperate and prepare himself mentally for his meeting with the Count.
Lunch was called an hour or two later, it was running a little later than usual, but Fritz still had plenty of time to eat his fill, then leave for the Count's estate. He passed through the Upper ring and arrived at the Palace Ring gates, where he was allowed through by a jovial Quin Cold. The Scale Guard's chipper attitude eased Fritz's nerves, and he was able to ask for an accurate set of directions.
After a fifteen-minute stroll through the pristine roads of the Palace Ring, Fritz found himself before the gates, behind which was the Count's Manor. The Wavereach's heraldry, a blue hand over a white circle, was emblazoned above the iron gate, and his Awareness was gently suggesting that something or someone within the walls was important.
Fritz stood at the gate for a short time, wondering and waiting to be noticed. Absently he patted his chest, feeling the reassuring solidity of the liqueur that was within his coat's inner pocket. He tried the gate, seeing if it would open and it creaked, giving way to his touch. He pushed it open and slipped in, before closing it behind himself.
He wiped an itchy hand on his coat and strode forward, scanning the entrance garden beyond the estate's walls. The first thing he noticed was the slight signs of neglect, an improperly trimmed bush here and there and flowers that looked on the edge of sickly, lightly wilting as they were. The manor itself wasn't much better. Stone brick was stained with moss that hadn't been scraped away and the glass windows were foggy.
Fritz made his way to the double doors of the manor, and seizing upon a brass doorknocker drummed out a rhythmic thump-thump... thump.
Eventually, a butler opened the doors and received him with a bow and a question. "Lord Hightide, I presume?"
"You presume correctly," Fritz stated.
"Right this way," the butler said, straightening with a restrained grunt.
Fritz followed the well-kept man, noticing his concealed limp.
They entered into a dim hall with a large staircase, then turned to the left, finding their way to a finely furnished sitting room.
"The Count will call on you shortly," the butler announced, motioning for him to sit and wait.
Fritz did precisely that.
"Would the Lord like some refreshments? We have a good stock of tea."
Fritz nodded and the butler left.
He sat waiting for some time, tapping one restless foot. Before an old, matronly maid bustled in with a sliver tray and poured him some of the promised tea along with some hard, bland biscuits. She smiled at him politely when she thought he was looking, however, he caught her scowling while he pretended to enjoy the steaming hot, bitter tea.
That expression was full of suspicion and wary anger, as if he were here to burgle or otherwise harm the Count.
Fritz feigned not to notice this, as well as the other small details he had observed.
The old maid left and he was alone again. With nothing to do, he peered at the paintings on the wall and wondered what had once sat on a now bare plinth of wood. With just these small details a picture was taking form in his mind. The Count could be in some dire straits, wealth-wise. The theory matched the mostly bare walls, the old, dull rugs and a missing grand chandelier in the entrance hall.
After twelve minutes of attempting to enjoy the tea, the butler reappeared and announced that the Count would now see him.
Fritz nearly leapt from his seat, but instead smoothed his motions with Grace and stood.
He was led into the hall again when the butler stopped and turned.
"For the safety of the Count I must insist that you leave any armaments or offensive Treasures, with our Guard," He said, motioning to a grizzled man in a breastplate of rainsteel.
Fritz hesitated for a moment, but knowing that this was a common precaution, especially when meeting an unknown and potentially perilous petitioner, he removed Quicksilver and Mortal Edge from his belt. They were only the most obvious of his weapons and their absence would soothe most worries. He handed them to the House Guard, who nodded professionally and took them respectfully before setting them by the wall.
The butler sighed almost imperceptibly, seemingly thankful that Fritz hadn't flown into some rage.
Truthfully, Fritz was frustrated and felt somewhat naked without his blades. It also seemed foolish, to his mind, to simply disarm a Climber. There were countless Abilities that were just as deadly with or without a weapon. He supposed it was more the gesture of surrendering your arms rather than the truth of their deadliness that mattered more. Still, he didn't sense any ill intent so he left his blades behind for now.
The butler led him up the stairs this time and soon they were before an ornately carved wooden door. He knocked, opened the door and announced, "Count, the young Lord Hightide is here."
"Good, send him in."
Comments
Strangward
These passing days weren't just practice and observation, his plans for braking (breaking) the siege also slowly moved forward.
Octophobia
Thanks! Fixed it. :)
Scarhand
In the paragraph with the maid I think you reversed the expressions of when she thought he was looking and not. Otherwise an excellent chapter as always
Pierre-jean Samaran
Thanks for the chapter !
Javier Alan
Thanks for the chapter!
