Octophobia
patreon
Spire's Spite - Arc 3 - Chapter 14
🕑 Added 2025-02-23 02:00:03 +0000 UTCBefore Fritz and his team began their search for the itinerant tutor, they drew their plans for the day. It was to be Lauren and Cal's first foray into the Thoroughfare Market with the express intent of selling their monster materials and most importantly their sirensilk.
Fritz wished them well and set about the tasks he had put upon himself for the day. Bert declined to join him this time as some of those tasks led to the King's Archive.
"And here I thought that you would be more adventurous," Bert bemoaned as he stood by the lounge's fire. "But no, it's still books books books with you."
"I'm plenty adventurous. But running from one deadly peril to another has been fraying my nerve, and some quiet and study would do me good. It will give me a chance to unwind," Fritz espoused while lazing in an armchair. "And I've never been all books books books and you know it."
Bert grinned. "Suit yourself, I'm visiting the duelling arena with Rosie and George and Dale. We're gonna watch some fancy fights. Aren't we, little one?"
Dale whistled and it sounded happy.
"Wonderful," Fritz said blandly. "I hope you all have fun."
"We will, " Rosie said.
"I hope Leon has a duel today," George mused. "I'd like to watch him in action."
"Is he a duellist?" Rosie asked.
"When the mood takes him," George said.
"Let's go. We'll leave the Lord to his studies," Bert said, leading his small group away.
Fritz sighed, enjoyed a pot of tea, and sat by the fire for another half an hour before becoming restless. Soon after that, he stood, then set out for the King's Archive where he spent much of the day.
The party of noble women wasn't there that day, so he was far less distracted as he copied out the contents of the manuals and diets that had caught his interest.
The third assistant archivist, Lady Greysail, frowned when she saw him doing so. Perhaps it was because he was writing his notes himself rather than employing a scribe to do so. He waved to her which she also took offence to. It was to be expected, such a wave was quite rude in high society and Fritz had forgotten his manners in his preoccupation with his task. He'd have to apologise to her in time, making an enemy of one of the archivists was likely to bring some banal, bureaucratic troubles of the kind he had little patience for.
Eventually, it was nearing dusk, so a dry-eyed Fritz stacked his notes and copied pages, then rolled them up. He slid them into a scroll case he had bought earlier with the paper, quill and inks. The rest of his writing kit was put away in a satchel he had procured when preparing for his trip to the Archive. It was the grey of manatee leather and he had been assured that not a drop of water would disturb the materials within.
He made to leave and stopped to give a low bow to the third archivist when he passed her. She sniffed and looked away, snubbing him. Fritz stifled a scowl and a spark of annoyance, he didn't really care about her approval, or the approval of any other noble, but her gesture still stung. It seemed his life had left him too rough for the nobility and too soft for the thugs, always between worlds.
Fritz left the Archive and then the Palace Ring, reconvening with his team at the Crimson Carp where they had agreed to meet earlier. From there, they began to search in two groups of three, Lauren leading one while Fritz led the other. They set out, heading in and out of taverns, asking the patrons or barkeeps if they had seen the man recently. Some said they hadn't seen him recently, and that was only when silver traded hands, but most said nothing at all and would take no triads for further leads.
It was in this manner they searched. After an hour they left the Circle of Revelry entirely and started striding down the darker, less-populous streets. Three hours later they eventually gave up and returned home, grumbling, grousing and cursing the tutors name.
Fritz slept poorly, he expected a visit from one of the Nightshark's minions and was on alert for their appearance, however, no such person appeared. He also had hoped that perhaps Sid would visit him, rapping on his window and seeking warm company. Alas, this also did not come to pass. While he turned fitfully in his bed, he considered slipping out of the house and searching for her. He discarded the desire, he knew better than to hunt her down, especially considering how she had left without a word.
The next day started, stretched and ended much as the previous one did. Fritz attended the Archives; Cal and Lauren sold more of their wares; and Bert, Rosie and George trained in the yard, referencing the notes Fritz had painstakingly written out for them.
Again, they gathered at dusk and, again, their search was fruitless. Fritz took to bed rife with agitation and apprehension. He slept poorly, though it was more the nightmares than any other influence.
Fritz awoke, and partook in another good, though not great, breakfast made by Cal. Once he was done and about to leave for the Archive there was rapping at the front door. He wondered who it could be. It was early, so he thought it wasn't of the Nightshark's enforcers.
When he answered the door he found himself opposite a pretty woman. She looked to be in her early thirties and in a common work dress. She had pale blonde hair, done up in a serviceable bun, and had warm, grey eyes. Behind her was another feminine figure, this one younger. She was similar in both attire and appearance. They were related, that much was clear.
He blinked as the two curtsied, then he bowed belatedly.
"This is the residence of Lord Hightide? We have been informed he was seeking some live-in help, is that correct?" The older of the two women asked politely.
"Yes, you are quite correct," Fritz said, plastering on a kind smile. "Come right on in. You can wait in the dining room, and I'll hold the interviews in the lounge. You first if you please Ms.?"
"Mrs. Netter," the woman said.
"Good, just this way," Fritz said leading the way and hiding the fact he had totally forgotten about the maids he had put a call out for.
"You're quite young to be head of the Lord's staff," the older of the pair endeavoured as he escorted them through the hall. "Is he a man who values youth over experience?"
"Hmm?" Fritz said.
"I've just never heard of this Lord Hightide before. He seemingly sprung up from nowhere, or rather the ashes of his house, and as such there is little of his reputation to be known," she continued.
Fritz immediately pegged the woman as a gossip, though he didn't begrudge her for it, much.
"Unfortunately, I am not one who can speak to the character of the illustrious Lord Hightide," Fritz said, smirking.
"Oh, and why is that? Have you not met him?" The woman asked, intrigued.
"Ah, it is because he is I," Fritz stated.
"Oh!" Mrs. Netter squeaked. "Please accept my humblest apologies for speaking to you so casually, milord."
She curtsied low, pulling on the sleeve and dragging down the other maid to do the same.
"There's no need for that, please sit," Fritz said kindly.
They obeyed quickly as though he had cracked a whip.
He was about to begin the interviews when Bert strolled into the dining room.
"What's this? Maids?" He asked.
"Correct," Fritz replied.
"Good, I'll leave it to your discerning tastes then," Bert said, slapping Fritz on the shoulder and leaving for Gods knew where.
The two women stared, seemingly startled by how little deference the man had for his Lord.
"That was Albert Dale," Fritz explained. "My boon companion and part of my Climbing team. What he lacks in manners he makes up with muscle."
"I could see that," Mrs. Netter commented under her breath.
"Now, let's get a move on. I do have important matters to attend to," Fritz said, though it was likely just to be another boring day at the Archives and a frustrating search after.
The younger of the pair looked worriedly to the older. Mrs. Netter gently grasped her hand under the table.
"About that, Lord," Mrs Netter said. "I was not looking for employment, I was merely here to accompany my daughter."
Fritz looked to the girl, she paled and Mrs. Netter squeezed her hand.
"Is that so?"
The girl nodded and produced a piece of thickly-waterproofed paper. She handed it to him, bowing low.
He took it and read the neat script. "Greetings, my name is Cassandra Netter. I am unable to speak. I am not feeble-minded nor deaf. However, I would be grateful if you constrained your questions to those that are simple to answer with an affirmative or negative. Thank you."
"Hmm," Fritz mused as he handed the paper back. He had asked for someone who was 'not one for talk', and although he hadn't meant it so literally he wasn't exactly displeased. In fact, it somewhat amused him and appealed to his sense of irony. That, and he could imagine Bert's face when he found out.
He pulled himself out of his thoughts to find the girl looking down dejectedly, obviously she had taken his pause as a bad sign for her prospects for employment.
"You're seeking a live-in maid position here?"
Cassandra nodded quickly.
"Age?" He asked.
She flashed ten fingers, then seven.
"Slower, Cass," her mother chided, before turning to Fritz. "Sorry, Lord. She's so used to signing to me that her hands often run too swiftly."
"Nonsense," Fritz said. "I'm a Scout. If I couldn't count quick I'd be dead by now."
Cassandra signed an apology that Fritz reflexively acknowledged with his own signal.
She smiled.
"If you say so, milord," Mrs Netter said.
"I do," Fritz said, then he resumed his inquiries.
The rest of the interview was of a more mundane bent, his questions were ones that aimed to judge good character or sift out spies. Fritz wasn't overly concerned with the latter. But it bore remembering that, although he was a relatively minor noble, he was a noble all the same and would have hidden foes. What better way to keep eyes and ears on him than insinuating an informant in his house before it even rose to prominence?
Or perhaps he was just being paranoid.
Cassandra, thankfully, didn't give any alarming answers and over fifteen minutes her quick and quiet manner charmed him. As far as he knew about hiring on help, which wasn't all that much truth be told, she seemed a good fit for their needs.
He soon concluded the interview and sent the two on their way with a, "Thank you for your interest. I'll consider your request."
When Fritz was in his room, packing his writing kit into its satchel, he heard a trio of clear professional knocks. Once he opened the front door and found another three women looking for work, he stifled a sigh.
He had hoped the task of selecting a maid would be a swift one. Unfortunately, he was wrong. Fritz spent all the late morning and the majority of noon holding one interview after another, occasionally interrupted by the comings and going of his team and their unhelpful comments and observations.
All the petitioners were pretty and their ages and experience varied, though none made quite the impression Cassandra had. There was also one charming, seductively witty woman he was sure was a spy, or someone who sold secrets at the very least. It aggrieved him not to hire her, but he couldn't countenance having any informants in his household. No matter how delightful their manner was.
When all was said and done, Fritz sent a runner boy with the message to hire on the young Ms. Netter. Then he left for the Archive to seek out some study before it was time to begin his search for the tutor again.
Striding through the rain, he sighed. Fritz felt he was being slowed down, like he was dragging heavy weights. Every moment out here in the city was one that could have been spent in a Spire, Climbing ever higher. He tried to ignore it, he knew he had sprinted far ahead in power compared to his cohorts. Two Spires in as many weeks was not a feat many could emulate. Not unless they were already strong. But still, he wished he was closer to Climbing the Rain Spire than he was.
His hours in the Archive held some interest, the Noble Ladies were present this time and he was able to hear something of what they were studying. They turned out to be researching the geographies, Spires and histories of the world beyond Rain City. While Fritz copied out some more notes, he caught the improper whisper and a scandalised giggle when they wondered about the masculine anatomy of some of the more exotic Strains abounding Epsa.
It took all of Fritz's Focus and Control not to stare up at the balcony where they shushed each other and suppressed more impolite chatter. If he did look up their guard would likely light that mist lantern again, and he didn't want that. Not when he could catch a glimpse of the silver-eyed beauty every now and then. He recriminated himself as he did so, of course. He held Sid close to his heart and his odd attraction to the mer-woman made little sense to him. Though he also told himself there was little harm in looking. Wasn't there?
Eventually, a soft bell chimed, signalling the hour and Fritz had to leave to meet up with his team. He resigned himself to another wasted night.
While we walked the pristine paths of the Palace District he asked himself, "Where are you Adam Needle?"
---
"Adam Needle?" The barkeep asked as he filled a mug of beer for Bert. "Sure, I heard of him."
"You have?" Fritz asked wearily, waiting for the man to ask for a bribe as the others had before.
"Yeah, he's sittin' just over there," the barkeep said, pointing to a corner. "Bit of an ornery arsehole if you ask me. But somehow there's always someone lookin' to bother him."
"Perhaps I should take him a drink then," Fritz said, trying to let his eagerness show.
"You should. But you'll be risking wearing it," the barkeep said.
"I'll take that risk," Fritz said. "What does he like?"
"Anything."
"One bottle of whisky then," Bert said, placing some silver on the bar.
Fritz, Bert and George approached the man sitting at the table, getting a good look at him as they did so. They had heard some tales of him, that he was a great duellist some decades ago, an excellent Climber and an even better tutor. They also said he was common born, possibly from one of the districts, though no particular one claimed him. He was noted to be strong, clever and driven, or at least he had been.
Those were all just stories though and they now looked upon the man himself.
He was huge, muscular beyond any man Fritz had ever seen. His neck was thick, his shoulders boulders and his arms were like tree trunks. He wore a loose green tunic with red trim that was so large it could have been a bed sheet. Even then he could see the slab of muscle that was his chest through the fabric.
With one heavily calloused hand, the man raised a clay mug to his mouth. The froth stuck to the moustache of his short beard. He had a head of hair to match that beard, shortly, if poorly, trimmed, greying brown and wiry.
"Adam Needle?" Fritz asked.
"Yeah. Who's asking?" The man grumbled staring up at Fritz. His voice was a rough bark, obviously he was used to yelling orders. When their gazes met, something like startled recognition, then bitter resentment flashed through his clear green eyes.
"Piss off," The man spat, his already lightly wrinkled face creasing further in a scowl.
"What?" Fritz asked. "I was just coming to offer you a glass of whisky. Or the whole bottle if you like."
"And why would you do that?"
"We're looking for a tutor, and we heard you're one of the best," Fritz flattered.
In one smooth movement, the man reached for the rapier hanging from his belt, drew it and levelled the long, shining steel at him from across the table. Fritz had matched the motion before even a moment had passed, grasping Quicksilver's grip and pulling his blade free. He held his own sword defensively, poised to parry should the man take a step towards him.
Which he did.
Adam slipped around the table between them and slid forward, his steps so graceful it looked like he was waltzing. The point of his gleaming blade came for Fritz's heart like a silver arrow. Quicksilver rose to meet the thrust, but the man's sword deftly danced around it. Fritz activated his barrier ring in panic. The nigh-invisible skin slowed the blade point for less than a second before dispersing with a hum.
Cold steel poked through his shirt and pricked the skin beneath. Fritz stared into the eyes of his would-be murderer and found them both full of contempt and contemplation. The blade hovered near Fritz's heart for a moment, then was swept away and back into its sheath with the soft whisper of metal on leather.
Bert looked poised to throw himself at the man and George's copperchange sword was in his hand, ready to strike. Fritz signed to stand down and they begrudgingly complied. The tavern was silent, but once it looked like no blood was to be spilled the patrons went back to their proclivities. Though many kept an eye on the table, just in case there was another fight.
"You're no good," the man said, turning his back on the three of them without worry and making his way back to his seat. "Your stance is shoddy, your reaction was too simple, and your footwork, quite frankly, disgusts me. I thought Tomas would have taught you better."
It didn't surprise him much that Adam had known his father, it had been another of the rumours that they'd been on the same Climbing team. It was said that they had been fast friends until a falling out before Fritz was born. He'd hoped the rumour had been false, as it would make this meeting all the more difficult to navigate. It was unfortunate then, that Fritz could see the deep ache of loss in the man's eyes.
"He would have. If he weren't dead," Fritz ground out. His pulse was still racing and the topic of conversation wasn't helping that any.
"Right," the man agreed morosely. "Almost forgot that."
"Almost forgot? Just how much of a drunk are you? Do you even know what year it is?" Fritz asked both angry and incredulous.
"I try not to," Adam replied. "Still, your dad being dead is no reason not to listen to your sword instructors. Even if their Techniques aren't as grand."
"I also haven't had the privilege of that luxury," Fritz said.
"Why not? Did your lazy, slut of a mother not find it 'prudent'?" Adam asked scathingly. Again, there was that note of familiarity, nostalgia and bitter grudges.
Fritz's felt his face contort with rage and he lost himself in blinding red.
Bert seized him before he could act, holding him tight with powerful arms. He struggled for some long seconds before he regained his faculties and pressed down on that insane, twisting fury. Eldritch flame roared beside his rage and for one mad moment, he was going to let it free and release that all-consuming fire, his own flesh be damned.
Exerting all of his will, Fritz closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly, suppressing the hurt. When he was calm again, he ventured to stare at the bastard before him. He almost broke, again, as he took in the man's smirk. But he'd faced The Nightshark, he'd faced the Raider, he'd faced the Hound. Fritz wouldn't let this man taunt him further.
"She was murdered, " Fritz said as stoically as he could. "Though I suppose a drunken, half-wit like you wouldn't know that."
Adam searched his face suspiciously. When he found only truth the man's smirk fell away.
"I'm sorry," he said, his face falling further. "I didn't know. What happened?"
Fritz's blood still beat in his ears and he might have continued to insult the man if not for the steady hand of Bert and George on each of his shoulders.
With a sigh, Fritz said, "I'll tell you, if you agree to hear us out in turn."
The man grimaced, but only for a second before he motioned for them to sit with him at his table.
They joined him and Bert set the bottle and some glasses before them. They each drank a glass in silence as Fritz prepared to recount that dark, bloody night. He had to drink three glasses before he could even attempt to speak.
His hands shook slightly, but he dug up the old, sharp memories and said, "It began with my Father's disappearance."
Adam nodded, he knew that part.
He swallowed down another drink, the smoky, sour liquid loosening his tongue.
"The Guides Guild came to take away any notes, books or journals he may have left behind. They claimed they were the property of the Guild, as they were made by or borrowed from one of their members. My mother protested, she stated that most were left for his heir, for me, and she would not part with them without a proper decree. From the King no less."
Adam watched and waited. Fritz took another bitter sip.
"They had no such decree. Or at least, my mother disputed its legality. They argued. I was hiding in a closet nearby. How I came to be there I can't recall. It was probably some stupid game. Through the crack in the door I couldn't catch all that was said, nor could I see much of what happened. Eventually, the clearer, restrained tones gave way to anger. The loud, overbearing order to seize everything and my mother's shouts of outrage rang through the room and then the halls."
Again Fritz stopped. His breath was coming too quickly. So he purposefully slowed his speech.
"The Guide enforcer reached for my mother and she repelled him. Air lashed the man, cutting his cheek and staggering him. His reply was brutal, and his bludgeon sent her to the floor. The House guard acted then, in defence of my mother, and the room descended into a melee. My mother lay there, blood leaked from her head, it stained the wood. Her eyes fluttered and she met my eye."
Adam frowned. His expression had been getting steadily darker as Fritz told his story.
"Go on," he prodded.
"She went mad. The whole room was wracked with screaming wind, knocking down men and ripping objects from their proper places and flinging them in a swirling storm. There was an oil lantern. It spilt its burning contents, fire and smoke only adding to the mayhem. The air pulled the door closed, and it locked. I tried to get out. I beat on the wood. Blood crept under the door. My feet were soaked. My hands were soaked. I was soaked. I screamed to be let out, but no one came."
Fritz stopped, he could smell the blood and oily smoke again. The room was spinning. He was weeping and trembling. He set his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands, berating himself for his breaking.
They sat in silence while he tried to get a hold of himself. It only took three minutes.
"I'm sorry," Fritz said. "That memory got the better of me."
"They can do that," The man said sympathetically, staring into his empty glass. "That was a harrowing tale. For all of your mother's many faults, she didn't deserve that. You didn't deserve that."
"Of course, we didn't," Fritz nearly spat. "Anyway, are you satisfied?"
"No, I'm far past that. I owe you a debt," Adam said, though he didn't elaborate. "You said you wanted a tutor?"
"Correct," Fritz said.
"I'll do it. If you're good enough."
Comments
Thomas V.
Jeez. I hope that man feels really, really bad about himself now. The fact that Fritz managed to get himself under control after an insult like that is incredibly impressive.
Aureus
Nope, not the issue, but great joke.
Show
You seem reluctant to countenance the usage of the word 'countenance' as a verb and broaden your vocabulary. What a shame..
Venno
Well, despite the fact that the author isn’t American, even American media use it in that context. The Merriam link the author provided has links to examples across the web. Some from as recent as a week or two ago.
Aureus
Definitely archaic, also not generally used in the news in America as most of it is written to about a 6-8th grade (12-14 year old) reading level, as that is about the average reading level of Americans as a whole.
Venno
It’s used quite a bit, especially in articles and the news. It’s fine.
Venno
Wowwww
Octophobia
What? It's a bit archaic but it's not exactly uncommon.
Aureus
You are the first person I have ever seen to use that word as such. I am hoping you are also the last. That definition is physically sickening to see, and feels absolutely wrong rolling off the tongue. I think that has to do with how English developed as a language and the etymology of the specific word.
Octophobia
https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/countenance https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/countenance has the verb usage.
Aureus
I'm sorry, but your misuse of the word countenance on many occasion has me baffled. Unless you have a dictionary that can show it as being a verb, please change it. I think what you have been meaning to say for almost, if not every use, is "count on," "rely on," or "depend on."
yohan gu
I wonder if a higher memory score will allow him to recall exactly what was said and recognize the guild enforcer. There may be something to dig there and a revenge to exact
Heraclitus
So his mom was an air user, just like Sid. What kismet.
