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Higslaff removed his wool felt top hat, careful not to jar the jeweler’s double eye loupe as he placed it on his desk. It reminded him of his barber friend, Josiah. His hat and its gear, along with his “Victorian leathers” gave a “steampunk vibe,” according to Josiah. Whatever steampunk was. The recently acquired set of goggles strapped to the hat, Josiah described them as reinforcing his “steampunk look.” He’d always dressed in that fashion. Procured his first hat at the age of thirteen. Beyond that, the enchanted goggles and jeweler’s loupe allowed him to detect magical enchantments and accurately assess gems and their value.
The pawnshop owner scratched his balding head and rubbed his eyes. He was sure dark circles framed them.
Sighing, Higslaff snatched his hat and returned it to its usual perch upon his scalp.
After staring another moment at the leather-bound ledger, he shoved it to the corner of his pinewood desk. There was no good news. The Fireblast attack on his pawn shop had destroyed inventory worth thousands of gold. Add to that the cost of donating to the coffers of the Church of Apollo to have his two loyal employees Revived from the Dead.
“Arrogant bastards,” he muttered to himself. He rarely had anything good to say about the priests of Apollo. His voice was barely a whisper. The words had no chance of being heard beyond his second-floor office, except maybe by the feline familiar in the showroom below. That meant its master, Coleen Sammae, an enchantress who worked for him, could’ve heard, too. But the familiar was young, and newly acquired. The Fireblast attack left its predecessor little more than scattered ash and bones. The enchantress would approve of his opinion—the “arrogant bastards.” But, without context, she couldn’t give the words meaning.
Higslaff thought cats were decent familiars, but not as versatile as a bird. A venomous snake would offer definite advantages as well. Fortunately, he had something that combined both avian and venomous reptile features. And, unlike Coleen Sammae’s former familiar, his creature had been on the third floor, in his apartment, during the attack on his shop.
Immediately after the attack, he’d torn out charred timbers and directed the showroom’s rebuilding. But business was down. The damn guild war against the thieves of Riven Rock, working to expand into Three Hills City, his guild’s base territory, was straight on to blame.
It wasn’t his guild, except in the sense that the pawnshop owner was a longstanding member who’d slowly climbed the ladder. Middle management. Higslaff held some influence, and protection. Influence or no, when the Guild Master tasked, he completed the assignment.
He stared at the pile of ash next to the burning candle on his desk. He’d read his orders, written in red ink. The words appeared to have been scribed with blood. But the ink didn’t affix itself to the parchment like true blood would. He knew that, and knew that Black Venom wouldn’t waste blood in such a mundane manner.
That was his second load of bad news. There was a job he had to see to getting done, and his skilled list of people to handle it was short. Damn guild war. In the last month one shy of a dozen had turned up dead, or missing. Those people he couldn’t account for, he’d paid good coin to the witch down the street, to be sure their souls had moved on. One of his people wasn’t dead. He paid the witch for a Greater Sending Spell. Even if the lad possessed little knowledge, and nothing beyond Higslaff’s cell of the guild, the rival guild having a prisoner wouldn’t do. That meant the boy’s death. Tendrils of a dark creature of mist, Higslaff imagined, were worse than through the slow ministrations of an experienced torturer. But not by much.
The aging pawnshop owner winced and licked his teeth at the notion. Business was business. And his men did their own killin’ and capturing right back. And he’d given payback directly in Riven Rock for the attack on his shop.
He sat up straight as a thought performed a tantalizing dance in his head. Hiring adventurers held risks, but this party had done well for him on a mission. Managed to improvise and succeed where most others of their skill level and talent would’ve failed.
They were an odd group, but that was the way of those types. He lifted his hat to scratch his head. This adventuring group was well to the far side of the ledger in oddity. And they didn’t like him all that much.
He’d need to call in a favor.