Octophobia
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Spire's Spite - Arc 3 - Chapter 36
🕑 Added 2025-05-11 03:00:03 +0000 UTCWhen Fritz woke, it was to the usual aches and pains, though not nearly as many as he had been dreading.
Blearily, he made his way across the room, it was dark. The sun had set some time before, likely some hours ago. After dressing deliberately and refilling his Treasures, he made a worrying discovery.
His stash of gold was running low.
At first, he thought that maybe someone had stolen from him, but as he remembered all his previous purchases and the obscene costs of keeping his Treasures full, he realised he had simply been spending it at too great a rate.
He took the last of the triads from his golden climb chest and, with only six gold left on his person, made his way to the vault, the door of which was, unsurprisingly, locked.
Currently, Lauren held the key, so he made his way to her room. The cracks between the door and the floor and frame were dark. He listened for a moment and, through the wood, could only just make out the soft, slow breathing of someone sound asleep.
Fritz considered slipping in silently and simply stealing the key, though he remembered she was quite the light sleeper and would doubtlessly wake when her door opened. That, and it wouldn't be proper to sneak into a young woman's room, even if it were for nothing nefarious.
Knock knock-knock. He tapped upon the wood.
There was a rustling of sheets, then the padding of light feet.
"Who's there?" Lauren asked, her voice muffled by the wood between them.
"It's Fritz," he replied, matching her quiet tone.
"Fritz?" She asked. Then, with a click of a lock, she opened the door, staring into the gloom. Her eyes glowed subtly with the gleam that indicated that she was using her Mana Sight.
Fritz blinked. Her hair was its usual brown, wavy self, though it was a tad untidy. She wore a thin, smooth nightgown that fell to her ankles. And although it covered her completely, the silvery fabric also hung from the curves of her chest and hips. Even in the dark, her exquisite silhouette enthralled entirely. It would entrap a lesser man, Fritz himself, gifted as he was with a genteel soul, could tear his eyes away to meet hers.
"What do you want?" She asked, facing him unerringly.
"Can you see me with that Trait of yours?" Fritz asked.
"I can. I see a hazy light, mostly where your Sanctum would be, but there's also a faint glow around you, so I can see your figure. Vaguely."
"That's useful," Fritz commented.
"Quite," she said tersely. Then she frowned, her eyes narrowing. "Just how well can you see me in this dark?"
"Perfectly," Fritz admitted. "The night hides nothing from my gaze."
Lauren clicked her tongue and her eyes flared with embers. Then she closed the door with a soft, sharp snap.
She returned in less than a minute, wrapped in a thick red robe and holding a lit lantern. The sight filled Fritz with both relief and mild regret. She really was beautiful and he couldn't say he was beyond appreciating it.
He smiled and she frowned.
"Did you actually want something, or did you just wake me to get a good look at me in my nightgown?" Lauren challenged.
She was annoyed, though not truly affronted, he could see it in the motes. He supposed her scant reaction was because he'd been honest and he hadn't been leering.
"I need the vault key," Fritz said.
"Why?"
"For gold and the raider's dagger," Fritz said.
"I can understand the gold. Though you aren't giving away more treasures, are you?" She asked, the frustration in her voice rising.
"In a sense, I am," Fritz allowed.
Lauren scowled and it looked like she wanted to slam the door in his face. Instead, she closed her eyes and exhaled.
"Why?"
"I need to bribe my 'mentor'," Fritz said.
"Sir Needle?"
"No, the other one, Cutter," Fritz said.
When she looked at him quizzically, he realised he hadn't explained much of his nightly activities. It left him feeling slightly guilty, even if it was for their own safety. Or so he told himself.
"It's a whole ordeal, I don't want to bother you with the details," Fritz said.
"You've already bothered me, might as well get the full story," she said.
Fritz nodded and was about to launch into his tale, but she cut him off with a short gesture and beckoned him to enter her room. He followed her direction, then peered around at the slightly messy room, standing in its centre and waiting. There was a dress draped over a chair that sat in front of a vanity cabinet, which was cluttered of all manner of ointments, lotions, powders and perfumes.
Lauren sat on her bed, set her lantern on a table, yawned, then waved for him to start talking. He did, telling her what he could. She followed along easily and her scowl lessened, becoming more thoughtful, bordering on considerate.
"Sid again." She sighed.
"Well, no. I need to trade the dagger to Cutter to fulfil my promise," Fritz said.
Lauren stared at him.
"Though, in essence, yes. Sid again," Fritz admitted.
Lauren nodded, then sighed again.
"So you've been out there suffering this Cutter's cruel training? And here I thought you were simply spending nights with Sid. Which would be understandable, pretty as she is."
"You've met her? When?" Fritz asked.
"No, I merely glanced her as she left last night."
"You didn't mistake her for a man? An intruder?"
Lauren scoffed at the notion. "No, I know a woman when I see one. Even if she hunches, hides her face, bundles up in that cloak and binds her chest."
"How?" Fritz asked.
Lauren smirked. "I have a certain eye for these things. It was in the way she walks. Her trudge has a certain motion, something in the hips and shoulders."
"Really?"
"Yes," Lauren said confidently. "You'll either see it or you won't."
"Huh," Fritz said. "I'll task you to spot all the secret women for me then."
Lauren's eyes glinted and she smiled politely. "No need to task me with any such thing. Though I'll do it for both our sakes."
Fritz chuckled.
The conversation fell into a lull, but remembering his urgency, Fritz spoke.
"The vault key?"
"Oh, very well," Lauren said, reaching for the fine chain of silver hanging around her neck.
She pulled the glittering necklace up and over her head, then offered it to him. What he had taken for a locket was in fact the key and he was now triply glad he hadn't snuck in to try and steal it. To have taken it from her sleeping person would have been more than simply improper. It would have been decidedly disgraceful.
"Go on, take it," she said.
"Right, of course." Fritz took the key.
"Bring it right back. I don't want to lose it if you get into trouble," Lauren said. "That would be a complete catastrophe."
"Yes, I can imagine. All those well-earned Treasures locked away with no way to reach them save the mercy of our landlord."
"That's part of it. Though there is more than just that."
"What do you mean?"
"What would we do without our Captain?" Lauren asked.
"I'm sure you'd find a way to flourish," Fritz assuaged.
"Maybe. However, I don't want to find out," Lauren stated sternly. "Keep yourself safe."
Fritz smiled wanly. "I'll do my very best to survive. You can count on that."
Lauren nodded, then shooed him with a wave. "Go, I'd like to get back to sleep soon. I have to rise early. Oh, and make sure you note in the ledger how much gold you're withdrawing."
Fritz nodded and left.
Soon, he was within the walls of the vault, opening the chests and steel cabinets, searching for what he needed. He quickly discovered the dagger stuck in its protective sheath. He hefted up the overly heavy blade and belted it to his waist. Then he reconsidered the position of the poisonous bittersteel and decided to place it in a sack and carry it over his shoulder.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a strip of dark, scarlet sirensilk, sanguine in its intensity. He took it up and inspected its length. Thankfully, it was just the right size to wrap his face and neck without being too bulky, not that the fabric could ever feel so, even if it were overlayed nine times. It would serve him far better than the cheap scrap of red linen he had begrudgingly borne, despite its itchiness.
After lining his purse with fifteen gold triads, he made a note of what he collected in a heavy, leather-bound ledger. A fine replacement to the much-abused sheaf of paper they had previously been using to catalogue their Treasures and wealth.
Then he left the vault, locking the door behind him before returning the key to Lauren. She took it with a word of goodluck and goodbye, slipping it around her neck again to rest against her smooth shoulders.
With that, Fritz found his way to the medical supplies and rifled through them for an antidote to the bittersteel's poison. There were none, but he didn't despair, he would simply have to be late, or late-er. He had already planned to be late and was prepared to suffer for it. He took a small restorative, something to help balance his humors and raise his stamina as he understood it. Not that he did.
Swiftly, Fritz gathered his weapons and the other small tools he knew he would need this night. Then he was out the front door, onto the roofs and heading down to the districts cloaked in dusk.
Half an hour later, he stood, panting, outside of Ame and Naomi's home and laboratory. Once he had rested a minute and he had his breath under control, he knocked out a soft rhythm. He absently wondered if he'd catch another lovely lady in her nightgown. Then shook his head at the thought. He was becoming as bad as Bert.
Fritz could hear worried whispering and fearful footsteps and knocked again. This time calling out, "Don't fear. It's just me."
"Who?" Naomi's voice rang out.
"Fritz."
"One moment."
Soon, he was met by the woman, bundled up warmly and wrapped in a thick blanket. Naomi held a familiar swirling glowstone and used its light to peer into his face. He leaned on the door frame and smiled his most charming smile. This seemed to irk her, tremendously, it turned out.
"When I said I'd be here if things didn't work between you and Sid. I didn't mean 'come banging on my door in the middle of the night'," she hissed. "I'm not some loose woman you can just jump on when sweet goes sour."
Fritz was thoroughly surprised at the outburst and the furious scowl on the woman's face. Momentarily, he was speechless, she took this as a telling silence and shut the door in his face.
He knocked again. She opened it again, teary and glaring.
"What!?"
"That's not why I'm here," Fritz explained. "I don't know how you reached such a conclusion."
"You're dressed darkly, with silk no less, and have a sack of what I can only assume are gifts," she said.
"Ah," Fritz said, pulling away the silk and stuffing it in a pocket, it fit surprisingly easily. "Well, regardless, I'm not here for you."
He winced internally as the rash, honestly rude, words landed.
The door slammed.
He ran a hand through his wet hair and chastised himself for speaking so carelessly. He had too many things on his mind, and the feelings of an admirer spurned were not among his greatest worries.
He knocked again. This time, he heard a muffled yell from the basement laboratory and another shout back. There was more yelling and then, after the creak of a hatch, there was rapid conversation.
In the quiet of the Upper Ring, maybe this would have woken the neighbourhood and caused some uproar, but down here in the desperate district, loud noises and fighting were something commonplace and barely got any attention.
Even a trio of drizzlers passed by without much more than a shout to, "Quiet down in there!"
After a few minutes, once the drizzlers were out of sight, Ame opened the door a crack, staring daggers at Fritz. She was wearing a leather apron, a new one, he noticed, and she reeked of bitter herbs, astringent reagents and burning oil.
"Apologise," she warned.
"I'm sorry," Fritz said.
"Not to me, to my sister," she said.
"Sorry, Naomi. My tongue ran faster than my mind. Forgive me," Fritz entreated.
There was a huff and a sound that might have been an acceptance of his apology. He couldn't tell, but Ame was mollified, so he took it as one.
"I am sorry," Fritz repeated, this time to Ame.
"You better be," she said.
He nodded solemnly and bowed to the both of them.
"So, if you're not here to 'court' my sister, then why are you here?" Ame asked.
"I need an antidote made," he said.
"Now? You don't look like you're dying," Ame observed.
"A shame," Naomi grumbled.
"I'm not, it's a preventative," he said.
"I have supplied you plenty of common antidotes," Ame said. "As per our agreement,"
Fritz pulsed his awareness. Nothing was amiss, no one was watching.
"I need a specific one... from the scrolls," he added in a whisper.
She frowned. "It may take a while, depending on the recipe."
"Look, I need it. Tonight," he insisted.
"Tonight? Why?"
"It's a long story," Fritz said, trying to sidestep an explanation.
She frowned further. Her pretty face was more adorable than intimidating, though he made sure not to smile as he keenly heeded the oft-spoken warnings about the perils of an alchemist with a grudge.
She waited for him to explain.
"Very well," Fritz said, then spun up the story for a second time that night.
"So you're looking out for Sid's territory," Ame summarised.
"They're calling it the Refuge," Fritz said.
He expected her to scoff, but she didn't, she nodded and pondered some plan.
"Do you think there would be a place, a basement or building, good enough for a laboratory there?" She asked.
"Perhaps. I can make inquiries," Fritz allowed.
She nodded, thought some more, then asked, "Which antidote do you need?"
"One that can halt or protect from the effects of bittersteel," Fritz said softly.
Ame grimaced, then motioned him inside so they could talk more easily. Then she led him down into the laboratory. The room of stone brick was more spacious than he had suspected. In the centre, there was one large table with all sorts of glassware, metal and clay bowls and other alchemical instruments besides. The walls were lined with shelves stacked with bundled herbs and jars of various shapes and makes.
It was mostly dry, due to the still-active waterproofing wards that were carved deeply in the roof and floor. The room even had a fireplace, and that too had some strange runes cut into it. Something to aid with bad air, if Fritz had to guess. The place was quite the find for any urchin, let alone a budding alchemist. He didn't know if those protections could be replicated in the Refuge, but he supposed that the wards weren't needed if they could find a more appropriate location.
Ame made her way to a shelf and pulled the raider's scaly scroll case from it. She twisted off the lid, then began to sort through the contents. She eventually found the recipe she was looking for, and after scanning the paper for a couple of minutes, she started to walk this way and that, picking out what she needed from the shelves and piling them on the table.
"Luckily, I can make it. It only needs a few substitute ingredients, but it will take half an hour," she said.
"Thank you," Fritz said, not sighing out the relief he felt in that moment.
"I do have to warn you, though."
"Warn me?"
"This tonic won't inoculate you from the toxins of bittersteel," Ame advised.
"What does that mean?"
"It won't protect you, it simply cleanses the buildup of the poison," she explained.
"I see, so use it after, not before, being poisoned," Fritz intuited.
"Correct, imbibe it after exposure," she directed.
Fritz nodded.
"How much can you make?" Fritz asked.
Ame returned her gaze to the recipe. "With what I have on hand, nine doses. I also need a gold triad to enrich the reagents, two if you want to be more careful."
"I suppose being more careful is what you'd suggest," Fritz said.
"Correct, again," Ame said, smiling and holding out a hand.
"Alright," Fritz said, producing the gold and placing the two triads in her palm.
"Good. Now shoo," she said. "Can't have you clogging up my laboratory like a skulg in a drain. Come back in half an hour."
Fritz did as she bade, and as he left, he heard the woman shout, "Naomi! Get down here and help!"
"I'm coming!" Naomi yelled back.
Fritz waved at her as he slipped out the door. She glowered, though she didn't look nearly as angry as she had before, she was more embarrassed than anything else. He couldn't blame her. Though he also considered it just recompense for jumping to conclusions as she had.
When he was outside in the heavy rain, he pulsed his Awareness, searching for a quiet place to enact the next part of his plan. He found one such abandoned house, and within it a room that he could make good use of. It was half flooded, but had a stone bench that would suit his purposes and was out of the way enough that no one could creep up on him. Not without him noticing.
He brought out his tools, a set of simple and sturdy rune-inscriber's and jeweller's instruments. He had bought them some days ago, in preparation for when he would have to alter and impair wards without the aid of shadow mana.
Then he pulled out the bittersteel dagger from the sack and inspected it and its sheath. The sheath was leather and seemingly lined with metal, like Quicksilver's scabbard was. He thought the metal resembled lead, though it was substantially tougher than that soft material should be. Fritz then looked for the wards and glyphs that held the poison of bittersteel at bay. There were none on the outside, so he supposed they lay within.
With a sigh, he pulled the blade free. It clicked as whatever wards that kept the dagger held fast in the sheath were foiled by a little force. As soon as that dark, leaden blade was exposed, Fritz felt discomfort. There was a perilous tingle in the air and the minute, almost unnoticeable, cold burning in the moonsilver lacing his bones.
He set down the near forearm-length knife and instead focused on the sheath, peering inside its dark depths. With the benefit of his Night Vision and high Perception as well as the nudging of his Awareness, he soon spotted the runes and glyphs that made up its protective wards. Quickly, he sketched out what he saw on a piece of paper, and was frustrated when the drawing was immediately soaked and the charcoal ran in dark streaks.
Still, what he had scribbled was largely legible and gave him a decent idea of how the wards worked. The grammar was strange and the slant of the glyphs was foreign. It was in a style that was enraged in its expression. Or that was his impression.
Studying the glyphs further, he made his guesses and came to his conclusions, then, with hands guided by strings made of Grace, he took up his tool and the sheath. The thin engraving rod glowed subtly as he slipped it into the dagger-width opening and began his alterations.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and his fingers strained to be as still as he needed them to be. Even with his puppeteer's Grace and Awareness to aid him, the etching and carving required great a deal of effort and a tremendous amount of focus. Especially considering the small space of the sheath he was working within.
Many long, unbelievably stressful minutes passed as he made a few small adjustments. He lengthened lines and corrupted circles, all while making sure it seemed unchanged, correct at both a glance and a deeper inspection. At least when examined by an amateur or a dabbler. He had no doubt a master of the craft would be able to notice his alterations, but he wasn't looking to fool a master.
Then, with one last errant dot, he was done and set down both his engraving rod and the sheath with a sigh. He wiped the perspiration from his face, then he returned the dark, toxic blade to its home. The tingle faded away, muted as it had been before, and for a moment, Fritz had thought his efforts had failed.
Then he grasped the hilt and felt the slight trickle of deadly danger. Slow and insidious. He took his hand away and grabbed it by the sheath, finding its protections just as they had been.
Safe.
So long as you don't hold the hilt.
Fritz smirked. It had gone just as he wished, though it had little right to. He wasn't an enchanter or a wardsmith and had no business messing with those glyphs. Yet he allowed himself some pride and entertained the notion that perhaps he had a gift for such professions. His Attributes certainly aided him immensely, especially Awareness, he suspected, though he knew not how deeply.
He stuffed the dagger in the sack, stashed his tools in a Stone Pit, and returned to the alchemists' house. There he received his tonics, drinking one down as soon as it was handed to him and asking Ame to hold onto the rest for now. Then, with a bow and a heartfelt thank you, he left to meet with his mentor and give him what he was due.
Fritz hoped the Cutter would like it and keep it close. Terribly close.
Comments
Octophobia
This is one of the things that slips Fritz's mind, he's got too many things going on and their past argument is putting him off. It's sort of a plot point for later. Thanks for the feedback. :)
Rui Lourenço
Just as a heads up, I think there's a bit of a chronology plot hole unless I missed something: There was supposed to be an off day where he should've met his brother which as far as I can tell coincides with this very day. So Adam showing up and the off day never happening doesn't make sense! Only realized after the most current chapter when I noticed we never got to see how his brother was supposedly a better swordsman.
Octophobia
Thanks for the feedback. Edited to: "He couldn't blame her. Though he also considered it just recompense for jumping to conclusions as she had."
Octophobia
Yeah. I hate that guy!
Octophobia
He has not. Maybe once he's not so busy. :)
Venno
Can’t wait cutter to get his comeuppance
Kaladin
Did Fritz ever get his loot back from that hidden room in the drowned district? I know he held off once because of shooting animals and the nightshark, but not sure if he every returned?
R D
The sentence "Who could blame her?" sticks out poorly here, its the only time I remember the narrator has spoken directly like that cutting it or tying it into Fritz's thoughts would read better in my opinion
