Octophobia
patreon
Spire's Spite - Arc 3 - Chapter 37
🕑 Added 2025-05-15 03:00:04 +0000 UTC"You're late. Again," Craig growled.
The thug scowled and stabbed his daggers back into their sheaths with more than his usual aggression.
"My apologies," Fritz lied. Then he spotted an oddity.
Craig's rough face, already spattered with the thin white lines of scars, had accrued a new addition to those pale, craggy crevices. It was a long pink line, perfectly cut into his cheek and was seemingly the first of any such injuries. He had been punished by the Nightshark. For what, Fritz could only guess, because he wasn't about to ask.
"Save it for someone who cares," Craig said. "Maybe your friend here."
"We're not friends," Toby argued as he looked over from where he was sweating and panting.
Cuts covered his forearm, and he wielded only one dagger as his left arm was strapped securely to his chest with bandages. He put his blade away as Craig had, with too much force, and glowered. He obviously blamed Fritz for his miserable condition, and it was hard not to see why.
He'd suffered that injury in the battle and could be considered Fritz's fault.
"This lateness is becoming a pattern, and I don't like it. Not one bit," Craig said.
"I had things to attend," Fritz said. "And I needed to acquire that knife you wanted."
Craig's eyes lit with greed, his gaze fervently searched him before landing on the bittersteel dagger Fritz had belted to his waist.
Due to its poisonous presence, he was loath to let it lie so close to his loins, but he knew he had to front a complete confidence in the sheath's shielding lest his subtle sabotages be suspected.
"That's it then?" Craig asked, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
"That's right," Fritz said, unfastening the sheath, then tossing it to Craig.
The cut-throat snatched it from the air swifter than a snake, his hand moving so fast it left an afterimage. It was the first time Fritz had seen him use so much Speed, and his eyes could barely keep up with the motion.
The Cutter drew the blade, the small click of the ward disengaging rang out in the quiet of the warehouse.
"Oh, ho, ho," he chuckled with dark delight. "Is this what I think it is?"
"If your keen eye and wit have come to the conclusion that it's a bittersteel blade. Then yes, it is that," Fritz flattered.
"Fearsome!" Craig grinned. It wasn't at all pleasant. "Very nice!"
He looked down the dark grey edge of the dagger with great appreciation and chuckled again.
"Bittersteel?" Toby asked.
"It's a kind of toxic metal," Crag explained, seemingly eager to expound on this subject. "Its venom is terrible and hard to cure. I heard it causes a slow, painful death. But I've never seen it myself."
He smirked evilly. "Not yet."
A thought occurred to the man, and he turned one suspicious eye on Fritz.
"And just being close to it is supposed to poison you slowly. Are you trying to kill me?" Craig accused.
"No, no more than you're trying to kill me," Fritz said, trying to sound offended.
"And what if I cut myself?" He retorted. "Gonna grin on as I die?
"With your skill, that won't be a problem, would it, Cutter?" Fritz assuaged, lacing his voice with the sweeter tones of Dusksong
When the words elicited a scowl, Fritz dug through his pockets and offered a cleansing tonic to the thug.
"Here, it came with the dagger. In case you cut something you care about," he said.
"Came with the dagger?" Craig asked sceptically, sheathing the blade and taking the vial.
Fritz nodded. "I found three on the owner. Drank one to cure a wound I took defending myself."
"Where's the other?"
"What?"
"You said you found three."
"Did I?" Fritz asked, pretending he'd said too much and regretted it.
"You did. You drank one, here's one, so where's the other?" Craig demanded, shaking the small vial to emphasise his point.
Fritz glared at the man.
"Tell me or I won't do this deal," Craig threatened.
"I have the last one. Just in case," Fritz said.
"Just in case I stab you?" Craig guessed.
"That's right," Fritz admitted.
"Not such an idiot then, are you?"
"I never claimed to be."
"And how can I be sure this is what you say it is? And not another poison?" Craig argued.
"Take it to an alchemist," Fritz said, adding a shrug. "Or you can just trust me."
Craig stared at him, mulling it over. An evil light entered his eyes, and Fritz nearly sighed at the cutthroat's predictability.
Fritz leapt back, but hadn't accounted for Craig's sheer speed. His Danger Sense stung, and with a slash too swift to follow, the thug attempted to slice him. Suppressing Umbral Phase, Fritz let the cut split the skin of his bared forearm, gritting his teeth and twisting his features with fear.
"What did you do that for?" He hissed, not hiding the pain.
Craig smirked as if he thought he were the slyest man in the world and was not merely a sadistic, stupid squidfiddler.
"If it's a real antidote, you should take it. If it's a poison, you're in for a tough time," Craig gloated.
Fritz followed through with his plan, pulling out the antidote from a pocket. He was about to uncork the small vial when it was snatched from his hand.
"Stop! Give that back!" Fritz demanded.
"Nah, but you can have the one you gave to me," Craig said, throwing that same vial to Fritz.
In a flurry, he caught it and, with slightly shaking hands, he drank down the cleansing tonic.
Craig watched intently.
Fritz sighed and stopped his trembling. Then he glared at the thug. He worried for a moment that he was laying it on too thick, but it seemed the cutthroat was taken aback that he had indeed given him the real antidote.
"Huh, not poison," Craig said, scratching at his stubbled, scarred chin.
"What?" Fritz said.
"I just had you pegged as the sneaky, scheming type," Craig said.
Fritz bristled, though was interrupted before he could defend his reputation.
"He is, but he keeps his word," Toby ventured.
"Is that so?"
Toby nodded.
"A trustworthy thief?" Craig mused. "Can't say I believe it."
"You don't have to," Fritz said. "I wanted to make a deal. It's in my best interest to do right by our agreement."
Craig stared and Fritz tried not to sweat. After a few seconds, the thug came to some conclusion, sheathing the blade and pocketing the remaining tonic.
Internally, Fritz relaxed, the peril had passed with Craig's acceptance of the gift.
Fritz had planned for this outcome, of course. In fact, he had more or less orchestrated it. He would offer the knife and the tonic, Craig would cut him, and he would pretend to be surprised, aghast and in awe of the Cutter's cunning as he shook and struggled then drank down the spare cleansing cure.
His hope was that this ploy would drown any suspicion before it could fester, unlike the latent deadly toxin leaking from the dagger's hilt.
The only regretful result of this scheme was that Fritz would have to hide the pain of the burning wound, relying on his moonsilvered bones to keep the poison at bay for now. Because both the tonics were fake. A concoction of vinegar and various herbs Ame had hastily splashed together for him.
"So we have a deal? We can take our nightly training to the Refuge?"
"The Refuge?" Craig spat.
"It's what they're calling Sid's territory," Toby explained.
"Stupid name," Cutter said.
Fritz didn't argue.
"A stupid name for a stupid place," Craig repeated, attempting to goad him.
Fritz shrugged.
The thug pretended to think, rubbing his chin, seemingly trying to draw out the suspense and stress. He pulled his new dagger free, spinning it in his palm.
"Hmm," he hummed.
Annoyance bubbled and frustration boiled, Fritz wanted to yell at the man to cut out the act, but held his tongue. If he wanted his way, he'd have to play along.
"It's a great get for my collection," Craig said. "You've got a deal."
He sheathed the dagger and spat into his palm, then held out a hand. Fritz copied the gesture, clasping the man's hand and shaking it.
"Let's move. We'll get your cuts in tomorrow," he stated. "It's time for some skulking. We can use those idiots around the 'refuge' as marks."
"I can barely contain my excitement," Fritz said blandly.
"Shut up, Fritz," Toby said. He turned to Craig and asked, "Why does he get to skip the knife fighting?
"'Cause he's my new favourite," Craig said drily.
"Really?" Fritz asked.
"No, not really," Craig spat. "I just got a new knife. And I want to test it."
"Are you allowed to do that?"
"I can do what I want," Cutter said. "So long as it doesn't piss 'her' off."
"And here I was told there are rules down here," Fritz said.
"There are, I'm special. Got a whole lot of favour with the boss, same as that prick Nic," Craig explained. "And I guess you and that Sid would too. Even if you two are young and stupid, and haven't even done a drop of hard work for 'her'. Such is the unfairness of life. The gutters sure are cruel."
Fritz wanted to tell the cutthroat that he was one of the reasons the gutters were cruel, but let him lament his lot in life. It would do no good to argue with him, not while he was on his good side.
Toby also grumbled something about unfair treatment and Fritz ignored it. Craig, however, scowled.
"You shouldn't be complainin', you left Larry's whole team to die. I heard the only reason you're still alive is cause your women begged, and threatened to drown herself if you were killed," Craig groused. "And the boss couldn't have that. Oh, no. They've got to have their cowardly little healer."
"Don't speak about Jane like that," Toby snarled, his good hand going to his dagger hilt.
Craig's face twitched and it looked like he wanted to test the new knife early. A roiling haze of jealousy and anger rose from the thug, but he clenched his fists, mastered himself and spat to the side.
"No more talk. Let's go," he growled. "Lead the way, lordling."
And so Fritz did. They met no trouble on their way there and it wasn't until they approached the edges of the Refuge's borders that Craig stopped them. With a few quick signs, he beckoned them to come closer. They crept to where he stood in the shadow of a cold, smokeless chimney.
"Right, here's close enough," he said.
"Close enough for what?" Toby asked.
"A trial," Craig stated unhelpfully.
"What do you want us to do?" Fritz asked.
"First of all, what do you know of the gangs surrounding this territory?" Craig questioned.
"Not much," Fritz said, truthfully. "I heard there are four separate gangs working together. Apparently, Sid slighted them and their bosses by offering a place of safety for the working girls and children."
"That and a half," Craig agreed. "Pissed off a lot of the gangs. And it'll only get worse as more whores flee here. It'll be cutting into their earnings, and they don't like that."
Fritz narrowed his eyes, wondering why the thug was bothering to explain such things.
"Why do you care?" He asked.
"I don't care. I'm just makin' sure you know what you've stepped into," Craig said, adding a shrug.
"Well, if you've heard that much, you've also heard that they were beaten back last night. Bloodily," Fritz said.
"Right, by some mysterious Scarlet Shade," Craig stated. "That's gone and made the bosses pay real attention. They've already gone to the big boss. She's not impressed, but she also lets the bosses run their own affairs, so long as they're useful to her."
Again, Fritz wondered where the cutthroat was going with his explanation and why he was even giving it. He asked as much.
"Why are you telling us this?"
Craig grimaced.
"After the dagger, I've taken a liking to you," the thug lied. Fritz could see the falsehood plain as day and could see a dark shine of resentment hover over this brow.
The obvious conclusion is that Craig had been ordered to warn them and tell them the rules as they currently stood. He had likely been remiss in his duty to inform them earlier, and that was likely the source of the new scar on his face.
"Of course, I'm gladdened to hear it," Fritz flattered. "I wouldn't want the Cutter as my foe," he added far more truthfully.
"Hah, no one does," Craig chuckled.
"Anyway, you were saying something about the bosses," Fritz said.
"That's right. Anyway, that slaughter has got tempers hot. They called for your head, and they might have got it if not for their own flaunting of the rules. Taking territory is meant to be quick and quiet, bodies stripped and tossed into the gutter before they're cold. That's the way of things. A bloodbath like last night gets folk talking, and even the deafest of drizzlers will hear what happened. Even if they've been paid not to. It's not good. Not good at all."
"If it's not good, why doesn't she just come up here and deal with it?" Fritz asked.
Craig rubbed at the raw pink line on his face.
"While it's not beneath her notice, it is a waste of her time. And she's already 'punished' boss Claymore. It was mostly his Browncoats you killed. And she don't take kindly to bosses wasting the Browncoats. A few dead here and there from scuffles and sickness is all well and good. Most of them meet that sort of end. The gutters are deadly, even to the bastards that survive the... you know."
Fritz did know. The Sunken Spire. He nodded.
"Anyway, the bosses have been ordered to keep the dispute quiet," Craig continued. "And that order has come down for you, too. No more open battles."
Fritz frowned. "Then how do I keep the people of the Refuge safe?"
"You do it sneaky, like they will," Craig said as a matter of fact. "Jump them, steal from them, a bit of arson won't go amiss."
"And I suppose that's what this skulking will be about?" Toby interjected.
"Right," Craig agreed. "But not just that. We'll be doing some lookout work too. It'll help you be a better Scout when you're called upon to do so. Which could be soon, considering how many Browncoats you've taken from her."
Fritz nodded.
"When do we get our own Browncoats?" Toby asked.
Craig scratched his chin. "Once you're good enough. End of the month. Or when I say you're ready to wear one."
"How am I not good enough yet?" Fritz asked petulantly, acting as though he craved the power and respect the horrible coats conveyed. "I killed three Browncoats myself last night. Surely I'm deadly enough to wear one."
Craig scowled. "You'll get one when I say you can," he growled. "No sooner."
"Doesn't that mean we won't have 'her' protection?" Toby asked.
"That's right," Craig admitted reluctantly.
"So we're fair game to attack and the others aren't, unless they attack us first," Fritz asked.
"Right," Craig agreed.
"Doesn't seem fair," Fritz complained.
That earned a cruel chuckle from the thug. "Ain't nothin' fair in life, boy."
"I agree with Fritz. We're both deadlier than most brown coats I've seen," Toby said.
Craig grumbled about them having to prove themselves further and that a few lucky stabs didn't make them deadly. That, and that most bosses were at least their equals in levels, if they weren't even higher from several floors in the Rain Spire. While that tidbit was useful to know, the warning rang hollow. He could tell that Craig was exaggerating the power of the bosses and he didn't consider them his own or Nic's equals.
Fritz quickly came to the conclusion that the thug was denying them the coats in order to keep them vulnerable and potentially have them marked for death if they slipped up on the vagaries of the rules. Another scheme to have them murdered indirectly. He could tell that the cutthroat hated all the circuitous nature of these attempts to kill them, that he would rather plant a dagger in their hearts without all the fuss, but that he was also held back by his fear of retribution.
A good thing, then, that Fritz had revealed his Door Sense to the Nightshark. He would be dead six times over without doing so. Though if he was valuable enough for Craig to be commanded not to kill him, Fritz pondered why that order hadn't been given to all the Browncoats.
He theorised that perhaps it was to not draw attention to the potential Guide. But could that be all it was? Or was it truly a trial, just as Craig had implied? At the moment, it didn't matter, he would just have to survive.
"What do we need to do for this 'trial'?" Fritz asked.
"Finally, to the point," Craig said.
"Right, yes. Now, if you could get to it," Fritz interrupted.
"Since you want to keep this place safe, we'll make that the trail," Craig said smugly. "Break this 'siege' without brute force."
"How?" Toby asked.
"That's up to you," Craig said.
"Are the bosses fair game?" Fritz asked.
"Not unless you can prove they were betraying our boss," Craig said. "Or going against her orders."
"That's rather vague," Fritz said.
"And that's all you get," Craig said. "Now let's get to it."
Fritz nodded and the Cutter set to teaching them his more subtle ways.
They lurked on the roofs, staying out of sight.
"First, we look for lookouts," Craig said. "Always make sure you haven't been seen. Once you're made it's all over. Even if you could fight your way in, then out, it wouldn't be an assassination but an assault. And we don't want that."
From there, he pointed out the windows and roofs he thought were most likely to have watchers. He was correct on all but one account. They charted a course that would take them through the lookouts' blind spots, and with little effort, they were able to sneak into the Refuge without being seen.
Fritz, of course, didn't need this training and neither did Toby. They had learnt all this the hard way and long ago, but they didn't speak this to Craig. Instead, they let him blather on bout the intricacies of assassination, though really it mostly amounted to 'sneak up behind your foe and stab them'.
A lot of what he said and pointed out was simple. It soon became boring, it wasn't the rigorous exercise of roof running or knife fighting and nor was it the difficult task of shaping one's mana into 'shadow gloves'. No, it was a slow lesson on how to wait and watch. Small tricks to keep focused on one mark, following or lying in wait without giving oneself away. None of which were new to the two thieves.
There was, however, an odd 'trick' that Craig called his mind map. Continuing his aggressively bad instruction, he tried to explain how he did it and what it did. He failed to impart the skill, though he claimed it let him remember all the roads and streets in the Sunken Ring and some in the Upper Ring, even if he didn't visit there often.
"Too many drizzlers. And the whores up there are too both too prissy and too pricey," Craig said in way of explanation. "Won't do even half of what I want," he added, chuckling.
Fritz often felt disgusted by the thug and this was another of those times, though he soon found that his coarse conversation was the least of his vulgarities. Craig took keen pleasure in describing the ways he would kill a man or boast about butchering one. Some of his victims had been little more than beggars, and worse, some had been women.
Over the hours. Fritz grew to hate the vile beast more than he thought he could hate anyone before. He was the same kind of monster as the raider, a viciously cruel cretin. He delighted in suffering and seemed to find joy in death. The only thing that stopped Fritz from planting a blade in Craig's back was a good deal of effort and the knowledge that the slow trickle of the bittersteel dagger's poison would seep into him, delivering a creeping, agonising death.
Fritz just hoped it wouldn't take too long. Then again, he wished it would take as long as the Cutter deserved.
A long, long time.
Comments
Octophobia
Thank you. :)
Octophobia
Thanks. :)
GregSandpaper
“The gutters deadly, even to the bastards that survive the... you know." Missing apostrophe? Or should it be “the gutter is”?
Malcolm Haynes
Grammar: “And the whores up there are too both too prissy and pricey," Suggested: “And the whores up there are both too prissy and too pricey,"
Venno
Great chapter. Die Craig
