45 – Quincy
The street performer was gone from his previous spot, but his belting still echoed through the streets as she walked them, approaching the inn.
It wasn’t all legible, the lines she could pick out were just as charged as those of the previous song.
“We could have never won this!” the singer’s sonorous voice thundered from afar.
“So hate us and see if we mind!” he challenged.
Zel decided to give the man a couple coins once she wrung her payment out of Quincy, if he even had that money on-hand. If he didn’t, she’d just have to extract payment some other way, whether by way of law or otherwise.
At last she had reached the inn, and she stepped in through the front door. The inn was relatively empty, but there were still perhaps a dozen patrons, all of whom immediately turned their gazes to her when she entered. She couldn’t blame them. There he was, behind the bar, smiling and cleaning a glass as he spoke to one of the patrons.
Quincy followed that very patron’s head turn, and at the very moment his eyes fell upon her, he briefly shrank back at the sight. Still, he didn’t seem particularly fearful or guilty.
“Oh dear, messy hunt?” he asked her as she approached. “I take it you want your payment.”
A simple nod. He returned it, gesturing for her to follow him to the backroom.
The very moment they sat down, he began questioning, trying to figure out just how much she knew. He had no reason to suspect her, but she didn’t exactly try to hide that something was amiss.
“So how’d it go? I take it not as well as it could’ve, considering the ah… The wounds. And all the blood. And the stench.”
Zelsys wasn’t in the mood to play this social game.
“Don’t try to blow Fog up my ass, Quincy,” she growled. “I had a nice talk with your maneater friend before he begged me to end him. You’re paying me three hundred plus hazard pay or I let the governor know you sent beast-hunters to be eaten.”
Quincy grew quiet at that, his smile fading. She had expected him to try weaseling his way out of it, or to get angry, but… He didn’t. He just shrank in his seat, and where he had once exuded unparalleled positivity, he now radiated an equally intense aura of grief and remorse.
He gave a slow nod, tears welling up in his eyes, “I understand. Did… How much did he tell you?”
A sigh of resignation escaped her mouth.
“He said to tell you he’s sorry. He died quickly, if that helps at all.”
Quincy wiped his tears and put on a smile, but it was crooked and pitiful.
“Of course he did. Don’t show me his Azoth, I don’t want to see it. How’s five hundred gelt and you forget about all this?”
Zel reached out with a bloodied hand.
Quincy shook it without hesitation.
He stood from his seat and gestured for her to follow, leading her into the storeroom, and from there into the basement. Underneath the inn, in this quiet place, the fingerless barkeep seemed to live, and were it not for the lack of windows, the room wouldn’t be distinguishable from a very nice bedroom and office combination.
There was a large solid steel vault next to the bed that apparently pulled double duty as a nightstand, though it lacked any sort of dial. Quincy uttered an incomprehensible word, pressed his hand against the metal, and it clicked open. From within he retrieved two pouches - one bulging and one nearly empty - which he pressed into her hands.
“One’s got four hundred gelt in Cold-iron Sovereigns, the other’s got a hundred gelt in silvers,” he sighed, having already composed himself. If she hadn’t seen him on the verge of breaking down only moments prior, she wouldn’t have been able to notice the subtle sadness in his smiling face. Even still, he met her eyes with a steely gaze of his own, adding on “The room’s yours until sundown. A moment longer and it’s another eight gelt.”
Something felt off here. He didn’t seem angry or even upset that he’d been found out, but rather a mixture of relief and grief. Like he simultaneously wanted the beast to be slain, but had had a fondness for its human personality.
“One more question. Did you truly send people to be eaten by the beast, or was that…”
“Something I told him so he wouldn’t try to run away, yes,” Quincy admitted. “I only sent beast-slayers I truly believed could put him down, all others I either denied altogether or set on a wild goose chase. The fact their failures served to stave off his hunting sprees was an unintended benefit.”
He wasn’t lying, or if he was, she couldn’t tell. Zel opened the emptier pouch, retrieved two of the coins contained therein, and held them out in offer, “Two-hundred for the contract, two-hundred as hazard pay.”
The coins were heavy and ice-cold in her hand, but she knew better than to betray her ignorance of their nature by looking at them in curiosity.
Quincy looked at them, then back at her. A shake of his head.
“I don’t back out of a deal once I agree to it.” he said. “If you want to give it back, spend it. I’ll return the favor, though - I’ll let you know that the governor came looking for you while you were gone.”
“The governor? What would the governor have to do with me?” she raised an eyebrow, stowing the coins back into their pouch. The memory of what she heard the gate guards say when she left flashed through her mind just as Quincy confirmed it.
“You did challenge his son to an honor duel and proceed to beat his teeth in. You’re not Ikesian, so I wager you’ll be fine. Now, if you don’t mind...”
Zel was more than satisfied with the outcome.