In Milverton's underground base, the air felt stifling and I breathed in the heavy scent of hard-earned victory. Alpha Team and Beta Team stood before me, their faces hidden behind masks, yet their postures made it clear they felt equal parts relief and exhaustion after the operation against House Droct. On the table, the Mirror of Ulthar lay still, its silver surface absorbing the lamplight, looking calm and harmless at a glance.
"First, let me thank you for a job well done," I said, my voice flat and emotionless.
I pushed a heavy leather pouch across the table. The sound of gold coins clinking together broke the silence. "Inside are one hundred and fifty gryn in gold. Just as we agreed. Count it yourself if you don't trust me."
The Alpha Team leader, a former member of the Todesseuche mercenary guild whose loyalty I knew belonged only to money, picked up the pouch and weighed it in his hand. "Perfectly fair, Mister 'W'," he said with a respectful nod.
"Good. Now leave. Erase every trace of yourselves. Forget tonight ever happened," I ordered. They bowed and disappeared into the dark corridor, leaving me alone with Milverton.
"Second," I said, turning to Milverton who still wore his black clown mask. "We're leaving for the Sovereign's Gambit soon. Do you have someone to handle this market while we're away?"
"No, not yet," he answered. "Aubert can manage the administration but he's not a field operator. This market needs a wolf, not a loyal guard dog."
I had expected this. Leaving a freshly built underground network without a competent leader was a risk I could not take. "Then we find one. Tonight."
"Find who? The best people in the underworld already work for one of the Five Great Houses or the trade syndicates. They won't work for us."
"We're not looking for the best," I said. "We're looking for the forgotten ones. Those who still have skill but no affiliation. Someone smart enough to understand our game but desperate enough to play it."
I walked to the whiteboard and wrote a single name: Nikolovski.
The eyes behind Milverton's mask widened slightly. "Nikolovski the 'Pharmacist'? Are you serious, James? That man's a legend. He once controlled the entire trade of illegal potions and narcotics in Clockthon before the Consortium crushed his organization five years ago. No one's ever seen his face. No one knows where he lives. Many say he's dead."
"People like him don't die," I replied. "They just shed their skin, staying nomadic, never sleeping in the same place twice. That's what makes him hard to find. But everyone, no matter how careful, always has habits, patterns. And I've studied his."
Over the past week, I had deployed the entire Magpie network to trace Nikolovski's faint trail. I wasn't looking for his presence directly. I was searching for his absence. I looked for places where rare potions suddenly appeared and disappeared. I listened for rumors of odd transactions conducted by an invisible broker.
"Every Tuesday night," I said, pointing at a map of the Undercroft on the wall, "a supplier from the south delivers a crate of 'Nightshade Pollen' to a pawnshop in Sector Four. Every Wednesday morning, that crate is gone and the pawnbroker suddenly has enough cash to pay off his gambling debts for the week. It turns out Nikolovski is no longer a major kingpin. Now, I've identified him as a shadow broker, connecting suppliers and buyers without ever touching the goods directly."
"So, we'll wait for him at the pawnshop?" Milverton asked.
"No. That's too obvious. He'll sense it," I said. "We won't wait for him. Instead, we'll create a need only he can fulfill and let him come to us."
My plan was simple but complex in its execution.
I would use the Motley persona. Tonight, I would put on the biggest street performance the Entertainment District had ever seen. Beyond money or fame, the real objective was to send a message.
I explained the plan to Milverton. He listened in silence then let out a small laugh. "You really never do anything the normal way, do you?"
"Normal is boring," I replied.
That night, I returned to the Entertainment District, not as the menacing 'W' but once more as Motley the entertainer. I didn't choose an ordinary street corner. I picked the main plaza right in front of the Royal Opera House where nobles and the wealthiest people in Clockthon gathered.
I began my performance. I didn't use small tricks. I unleashed everything I had as the Motley Fool and immediately used Shadow Sculpting to conjure an epic battle between a shadow dragon and a shadow knight on the opera house's wall, complete with silent roars and realistic flashes of clashing blades.
As a follow-up, I used Masquerade Step to dance among the fountains at the plaza's center, my body gliding across the water without touching it.
And for the finale, I cast Laughter Curse on a massive scale. I spread its effect through the entire crowd, creating a wave of infectious, hysterical laughter. For nearly a minute, the whole plaza echoed with the sound of laughter.
My show was an emotional masterpiece and no one would even know it. As I bowed, gold coins rained into my hat. Motley the Jester's reputation had reached its peak.
And I knew somewhere in this city, Nikolovski had heard of it. A street performer with abilities so unique and powerful would become the talk of every tavern and opium den in the underworld. His curiosity as a kingpin always searching for new assets would be piqued.
I had set the bait.
For the next few hours, I did nothing. I waited. I spent my time in the loft reading 'The Tales of a Dwarf,' trying to unravel more mysteries about the Primeval Forger.
At midnight, the message came. A small unsigned note slipped under my office door by one of Milverton's agents.
"Sculptor's Garden. Midnight. Bring a sample of your skill."
I smiled.
The Sculptor's Garden was a forgotten park in the Craftsmen's District, filled with half-finished statues abandoned by bankrupt sculptors.
I went as Motley but without the makeup. I wore my patchwork suit and my porcelain mask.
I found him standing before a headless griffin statue. He was a thin man with a slight hunch. He wore a dark alchemist's robe and a hood that covered most of his face. He didn't radiate strong Essence but his presence was sharp enough.
"You're Motley?" he asked, his voice hoarse and low.
"Some people call me that," I replied. "And you must be Nikolovski."
He wasn't surprised that I knew his name. "You wanted to meet me. Why?"
"I have a business proposal," I said. "I want to recruit you."
He let out a dry, quiet laugh. "Recruit me? For what? To be part of your circus?"
"For something much bigger," I said. "I'm building an organization. You know what I mean, a network that will control the flow of information in Clockthon's underworld. I already have field operators and analysts. I need a pharmacist."
"An interesting offer," he said. "But I'm retired from that game. Too many headaches."
"You didn't retire because you wanted to," I shot back. "You retired because the Consortium crushed you. I'm offering you a chance to return to the game but this time with far stronger backing."
He fell silent, weighing my words. "Show me your 'sample skill,'" he finally said. "Prove you're not just a clown with some clever tricks."
I nodded. I raised my hand. From the griffin statue's shadow, I pulled out a shadow duplicate of myself, a Mocking Reflection.
The illusion stared at Nikolovski then began mimicking his movements perfectly but in a mocking way. When Nikolovski frowned, the illusion frowned too but with an exaggerated, dramatic expression.
Nikolovski seemed a bit irritated. "Just an illusion?"
"Not just an illusion," I said. I snapped my fingers. The illusion suddenly spoke in Nikolovski's own voice.
"I'm retired from that game," the illusion said, perfectly mimicking his tone in a mocking echo. "Too many headaches."
Nikolovski's eyes behind the hood widened.
"Enough," he said. "I'm impressed. But I'm still not convinced. Working with you sounds complicated."
"Anything worthwhile is complicated," I said. "Think about my offer, Pharmacist. When you're ready to stop hiding and start rebuilding your kingdom, you know where to find me."
I turned and walked away, leaving Nikolovski alone with his thoughts. I had planted the seed. I wouldn't force him.
When I returned to Milverton's base, he greeted me with a glass of wine.
"How did it go?" he asked.
"He'll join," I said. "Give him time."
We sat in silence for a moment, savoring our small victory.
"James," Milverton said suddenly. "One more thing."
"What is it?"
"Tomorrow. I mean, later this morning, Aprilis second."
I looked at him, confused. "And?"
"It's your nineteenth birthday, you fool," he said with a crooked smile.
I froze. I had completely forgotten. In the midst of all these plans and intrigues, I had forgotten something so simple.
Milverton placed a small box on the table. "This isn't from the Consortium. It's from me."
I opened it. Inside was a slice of plain cheesecake from one of the best bakeries in the Trade District, with a single tiny candle on top.
I looked at the cake, then at Vashtun. For years, no one had ever celebrated my birthday. After my mother died in my old world, I had never once felt something like this again.
"Thank you," I said, my voice a little hoarse.
"Don't get sentimental," he said. "I just don't want my business partner to get too depressed and make stupid decisions. Now blow out the candle and make a wish."
I stared at the small flicker of flame. A wish. What did I want? Power? Knowledge? Freedom?
No. Tonight, in the depths of the underworld, in front of a simple cheesecake, my wish was just one thing.
I blew out the candle.
Whoosh
I wished, for a moment, that I could be an ordinary human again.
Of course, I knew it was the most impossible wish of all.