Chapter 13
Rats and Deals
4E 187
The first thing that Decimus noticed was the smell of course - there was no better tell that Riften was close now. The smell of fish thrown into the mix of piss and shit was making a rather strong stew, assailing Decimus’ nostrils. He grimaced and shook his head. The best way to drown that stench is with your face in a tankard of something potent. Mead could do this time maybe.
As he drew near the city he climbed down from his horse and patted the mare on the side of her neck, walking beside her now. The stables were right ahead of him and he frowned when he noticed they were literally full. There were scores of horses under the roof and even outside it, with tents being raised to house all the horses.
“What the fuck is this?” he murmured to himself as he walked towards the stables. He noticed a Nord with blonde hair moving in between the horses, followed by almost a dozen of stable boys and apparently even the street kids that had been hired to help out. Decimus raised his hand and waved, getting the Nord’s attention.
“Gods, even you?” the stablemaster groaned.
Decimus raised his eyebrows. “Even me? Well, fuck. Glad to see you too, Hofgrir.”
“Yeah, likewise,” the stablemaster murmured and looked around. “Just give me a moment, have to figure out where to stable her,” he added as the took the reins from Decimus.
“Never seen Riften’s stables so crowded. You stabling the horses even in your house? If you do, this stubborn bitch would love to lie in your bed,” he chuckled, patting the saddle of his mare.
“It might come to that. So you’re here for the job too?”
“Job?” Decimus rubbed his beard. “What job?”
“Where have you been, Dec? Maven’s hiring sellswords, big time.”
“Well, sorry, I’ve been wiping my arse with needles in the wilderness for some time,” the Imperial snorted. “Only been talking with fucking squirrels and let me tell you they’re not so chatty as to tell me about fucking Maven hiring mercenaries. So no, I haven’t heard shit.”
“Then you haven’t missed much. The story is we got some dead bodies in the Hold, Maven is taking point with a hired army,” Hofgrir grimaced, while checking the mare’s hooves. “But not a damn word about who they’re going to fight.”
“Bandits maybe? They’ve been getting brave lately. The guards aren’t really up to the job. Well, thanks for the news, Hofgrir,” the Imperial sighed and looked at the Riften’s gate. “Just keep her warm and dry, would you?” he tossed the stablemaster a septim and winked. “More on the way after I collect her.”
“And how long are you going to stay?” Hofgrir called after him when he began walking towards the gate.
Decimus shrugged without turning around and passed the guards by the gate. They glanced at him, recognized him, and then looked away, leaving him alone. Good for them. Being more or less a regular in the city left him some slack with the crooks that called themselves guards. And even if they hadn’t recognized him, they probably wouldn’t stop a person looking like a mercenary right when Maven was hiring big time.
The Imperial entered the Riften and took a deep breath through his nose, taking in that awful smell of fish and piss. “Whew. Good morning, ladies,” he murmured and narrowed his eyes. The streets were crowded with people going after their business and he noticed several groups of armed fellows standing around, slacking. Those would be the mercenaries. Amateurs mostly, by the looks. What’s Maven cooking this time? he wondered. Hiring mercenaries was one thing, but hiring an army of mercenaries...well, that smelled of trouble. And politics.
Fucking hate politics.
It took him some time to reach the Bee and Barb and as soon as he entered he was assaulted by the loud ruckus of people. The tavern was literally full, heads on heads, and Decimus’ senses were being overwhelmed by the voices, the clinking of bottles and tankards, the shouts and laughter.
Right away he recognized few faces in the crowd. Fellow mercenaries. Young Marcurio was there, Stenvar, Yenassa, and few of the bands he had the pleasure or displeasure working with or against throughout his time in Skyrim. There were the Red Claws - bunch of cut-throats specializing in hunting down and torturing larger groups of bandits -, Silver Maws - treasure hunters and grave diggers - and few more others with stupid names he didn’t even remember.
Someone walked towards him and he narrowed his eyes. “Tharini?” he murmured in surprise.
A Bosmer woman approached him with a cheeky grin on her face, a bottle in her hand. “O-ho! Our illustrious Goldpact leader everyone!” she shouted and then laughed as several people turned their heads towards him, making him grimace. She stepped closer to him and immediately planted a wet kiss on his lips, which quickly washed away his unease for being singled out. He returned the kiss. It was sweet but also bitter, tasting of mead, but before he could get lost in the kiss her lips left his and she leaned back, a smirk on her face.
Decimus snorted, shaking his head, but a grin was playing on his face. “Yeah, good to see you too, lass. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“And where else would I be? Maven’s paying well and the Goldpact needs money. Green’s mossy arse, Dec, that fort of yours needs a new roof. It’s damn cold there in winter.”
“That’s why you keep crawling into my bed?” he chuckled and took her bottle, taking a sip. Blackbriar. Not bad. “And who are you going to fight?”
She shrugged. “Not a word yet, mostly rumors. Bunch of dead hunters in the Hold, so people say we’re after either bandits or something else. Some say monsters, some say Dunmer slavers, some say Orcs. It doesn’t really matter in the end.”
The Imperial frowned. Too many unknowns. This really smells bad. Usually, when someone was hiring a bunch of sellswords they said what they were going up against, but Maven was always a tricky bitch. This literally reeks of fucking trouble. “Anyone else from the Goldpact here, besides you?”
“Not yet, but maybe they’ll show up later.”
Decimus was silent, his grimace returning.
“Don’t approve?” she raised her eyebrows.
“Heh. Who gives a shit if I do or not, lass? It’s your business, you’re free to take any job that tickles your fanny, just as the rest of them. For me, personally, it smells of politics so I’m staying out of this. Though I can say I’m glad I ran into you,” he added with a wink.
“Feeling horny again, you old goat?” she laughed. “Fine, drop by later and I might ‘tickle your fanny,’” she echoed Decimus’ choice of words. “If I’m not too drunk for that by then, that is.”
“Hey, I won’t mind either way,” he raised his hands with a grin.
She punched his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, as long as it has a hole, eh? So what you up to, Dec? I mean, if you’re not here on Maven’s call...”
“Personal matter. Of sorts.”
“Oooo. Mysterious,” she smirked and took a proper swig from the bottle. Decimus smiled. That’s why he always liked the lass. She knew how to handle her drink. And other things, eh, Dec?
“Heh. Looking for an Orc. Ugly as your mother, big, green, with tusks.” Ha paused when she gave him a look and he rolled his eyes. “Alright, that’s not the best description but it’s all I got. Also black leather armor and goes by the name Lorbulg. Got a tip Mallory might know something.”
“Well, never seen him but heard ‘bout him few times. Some kind of ‘exterminator’ from what I recall,” she shrugged. “So try the Flagon if you’re looking for Delvin. But if you do, make sure you wash away that smell before you come for a shag.”
“Hah. You don’t smell of violets either, love.”
She hit his shoulder again, frowning. “Continue with those compliments and you won’t get any tonight, ‘love.’”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mockingly saluted, laughing. “Thanks for the advice, Tharini. I’ll see you later.”
“Or maybe not.”
“Or maybe not,” he nodded with a smile as he turned on his heels, walking out of the tavern.
Decimus carefully planted his feet on the stone floor covered with mould and other nasty substances he prefered not to think about much. The stench was more than enough for him to know exactly what he was stepping into.
These are fucking sewers after all, he snorted for himself and immediately stopped for a second as the sound echoed through the tunnels. He gripped the baskethilt sword in his hand harder, the leather wrapped around the handle creaking. Only when he was certain there was no response to the sound did he continue forward.
In his left hand was a torch that illuminated the path ahead of him, which certainly wasn’t very inconspicious but he would be damned if he tried to navigate the blasted maze in darkness. Plus, with every step his armor clinked and creaked, so what was the point of hiding anyway?
In any case it seemed the Ratway was more or less empty these days. Empty? It was more probable that its residents decided to hide even deeper in the foul smelling tunnels. Decimus encountered several corpses - looted and stripped of anything valuable - when he followed the main ‘road’ to Flagon and if he had to take a guess… Someone cleared the path towards the Flagon.
He could hear whispers and shuffling of feet in the tunnels around him then and now, but no one dared to approach and it either had to do with him being armed to the teeth or with that fact someone had been exterminating the vermin already.
The answer became more than clear as soon as he entered the cistern locals called the Ragged Flagon.
The cistern was crowded with people and Decimus grimaced at the sight. They were all armed and armoured and he recognized several faces. He spat on the ground when he saw mercenary bands like the Black Cutters or the Nightclaimers.
The fucking worst of the worst. Of course they would be down here. Fucking butchers…
Where else would they be? The taverns in the city were full, crowded with the more ‘respectable’ sellswords and so the lowest of the lowest went even lower and decided to spend their money and cause some trouble in Riften’s underground.
The Riften’s Guild of ‘Honorable Merchants and Concerned Citizens’ surely isn’t happy about that. But that’s what you get for being such idiots. Also the fact that Flagon’s location is the worst kept secret in the world doesn’t help you either, morons.
He circled his shoulders and headed around the cistern, walking towards the wooden planks of the Ragged Flagon. He was passing alcoves covered by blankets hanging from the ceiling and judging from the sounds coming from the shadows it seemed someone had turned the Flagon into a bloody brothel.
Well, that’s one way to let them blow off some steam. Better than letting them break this poor ass excuse for a tavern into splinters, eh?
All this only confirmed the rumours of the Guild falling on hard times. When a bunch of thieves actually stooped to providing cheap whores to a bunch of mercenaries just to keep them in check, it didn’t really speak well about their profits. Decimus remembered times when no one would walk into Flagon uninvited, especially not a damn crowd of mercenaries.
Well, times change. Apparently…
There used to be bouncers when he had been here the last time, but not this time so one stopped him when he strolled into the crowd of mercenaries hanging around the counter and the tables. Most of them were taken by the mercenaries, but he noticed one table that was held by the locals as if it was their stronghold and he couldn’t help but grin.
He could see Vex, the young Imperial thief who’d apparently finally gotten her seat at the big boys table, and definitely not because of her charms. There was dark-skinned Tonilia and to her left was a tall Altmer with piercings in his ears and nose, dark beard covering his lower face and black dreadlocks hanging by the sides of his head. Arnithor. Anithir. Arni-something. Or was it Ger-something? Fucking Old Mary names… He was in charge of the so-called ‘protection’ and Decimus had a good guess how that was going these days. Bet nobody likes an Old Mary collecting protection money. If Ronnie was here he would mop the fucking floor with you and wipe that smirk of your face, thug, he resisted the urge to spit in the Altmer’s direction.
And then sitting next to each other and busy in conversation were the Mallory brothers. Glover and Delvin. Delvin chuckled at something and Glover patted him on his back, which only earned them a look from Vex, closely followed by a snort.
They were all sitting around the table, sipping their drinks, their eyes scanning the surroundings as if they were expecting trouble, clearly out of their element. The situation with sellswords in their precious cistern had probably gotten out of their hands and they were trying to salvage as much as they could.
By sitting around a table. Good job, all. Good job…
He knew all this was just a front for the real Guild somewhere deeper in the Ratway, but this was where the ‘almost official’ business was done and while he wasn’t proud of it, he had visited this place more than a few times in his years in Skyrim. Sometimes one had to lower himself to gain valuable information, and even if things were going downhill for the Guild, they still had their eyes and ears in most Holds. If one wanted to take bounty hunting seriously, disputable connections were required. They came in handy. Sometimes…
He started towards the table, picking his way through the crowd when someone bumped into him and he focused on the person.
Young Nord, dressed in leather armor with at least six duelling daggers on his waist. Oh, here we go, Decimus mentally sighed.
The Nord frowned at him. “Hey. Do I know you from somewhere?”
Decimus resisted the urge to snort. What a terrible way to start a fight. I mean, I’ve heard much better lines than this. “Alright, lad. Give me your best shot,” he said with a smile and raised eyebrows. No matter where you go, it’s always the same. Some idiot wants to pick up a fight. Hah, just remember when you tried to pick up a fight with Ronnie. But damn, couldn’t they be at least clever about it?
“Yes, now I remember,” the young Nord grinned. “I think I fucked your mother.”
Ohhh. Mother insults. Very original. Decimus scratched the back of his neck, trying to suppress the smirk clawing on his face. “Well, I wouldn’t really brag about that, lad. They called her Trollface for a reason.” He tossed the Nord a septim and patted him on his shoulder. “But good try anyway. Maybe next time. Have a round on me and come back after that, maybe you’ll have something more clever.”
“I…” the Nord stammered and then he looked over his shoulder, taking courage from his friends standing behind him, chuckling with tankards in their hands. He looked back at Decimus, his face growing red as he began to get angry. But not angry enough, because as soon as he was red it was alright. It was when people went pale that they were prepared to go violent. And this dog only barks. The young Nord opened his mouth, preparing to say something snarky, and Decimus sighed.
Before the mercenary could speak, Decimus took a step closer as if he wanted to hear better what the Nord was about to say, but as he did so he also grabbed the lad’s testicles and squeezed. That always did wonders to shut someone up. It was almost like closing the floodgates of a dam. Well, if your brain is the same size as your junk then no wonder… The Nord’s eyes nearly popped out and Decimus leaned closer, a casual smile on his face as he looked behind the Nord, at his friends.
“Now listen if you want to keep your family jewels intact and spawn more idiots like yourself. I’m just going to say very loud that I’m sorry I bumped into you and you will throw some insult at me - and for the love of Scamp’s arsehole, lad, be profound - and then you’ll just let it go. That should be enough to prove your friends you’re a big boy. Sounds good?”
“Yes,” the Nord gritted through his teeth and nodded and Decimus let him go, raising his hands.
“I’m sorry, I don’t want any trouble,” he said loudly, lowering his head and looking away. “It was my mistake. Here, have a round on me,” he handed the Nord another septim even though his inner self groaned at such wastage of money.
The mercenary straightened and looked back at his friends and then back at Decimus. “Just get out of my sight, before I poke your eyes out.”
That’s what you call profound? This world is getting dumber and dumber every day. He mumbled another sorry and shuffled away, heading towards the table he was heading to before. He shook his head and took a deep breath. All the fucking same no matter where you go. What’s up with people having the need to stroke their ego by picking fights in taverns? They could be smart about it at least, but no, they see a guy like you, Dec, armed to the teeth and with scars to back up your experience, and they still try to pick a fight. Fucking morons…
He stopped by the table and all the thieves there looked up, quickly recognizing him.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Look who’s honored us with his golden presence,” Vex snorted.
“Didn’t take you for this kind of merc, Merotim,” Delvin smirked. Decimus smirked right back at him.
“Can I have a word with you, Mallory?” he said, glancing at everyone but Delvin. “That is if this sorry ass fortress can spare a stalwart defender like yourself for a moment?”
“Smartass,” Tonilia chuckled and Delvin exchanged looks with Glover, who nodded. Delvin got up and motioned with his head towards a corner near the counter. Decimus followed him, grimacing. There always was something that put him on edge when he was around that Breton. Something shady and slippery, but what could he expect from a high ranking member of the Thieves Guild?
But it wasn’t just that. The Breton was said to have much deeper and darker connections than Skyrim’s underworld and if that was true, it spoke volumes about Delvin’s morality.
Delvin stopped right under the torch on the wall and grinned. “Step into my office, O honorable Goldpact Knight.”
Decimus handed him a pouch and Delvin narrowed his eyes, weighing it. His eyebrows raised in surprise at the sum inside and he tilted his head. “What’s that for?”
“Information.”
“Then you must clearly value this information a lot. This much money… either you’re after a very big fish or you’re not getting paid, Merotim.”
“Well, this much money has clearly written on it: ‘Not your fucking business, Mallory.’”
Delvin chuckled at that, clearly amused. “So you’re not getting paid. I can see how it’s ripping your soul apart, saying farewell to these lovely clinking coins. Has it ever occured to you that we’re not so different, Merotim?”
“Really?” Decimus raised his eyebrows. “Pray tell.”
“I mean...we both love gold-”
The Imperial snorted, shaking his head. “Good start, but that’s where the similarities end, asshole. I trade services for gold. You just take the fucking gold, so maybe, just maybe, that’s why I’m the mercenary and you’re the fucking thief.” He then flashed a provocative grin at Delvin. “Labels, right?”
“Someone’s in a mood today,” the master thief rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to squeeze my balls like you did to that idiot, are you?”
“You know you’d love it, Mallory.” Yeah, fucking weasel. Sees everything even when he’s not looking. Just take away the edge, Dec, don’t give him anything he could use against you later. “Just tell me what I want to know so that I could get out of this dump.” Yeah, good job at toning it down…
“And what do you want to know?” Delvin leaned against the wall, his posture relaxing as if didn’t give a damn, as if he was getting bored. Yeah, keep doing that, asshole.
“Looking for an Orc. Goes by the name Lorbulg.”
Delvin suddenly tensed and straightened, his eyes involuntarily darting around the Flagon, as if he was expecting a crossbow bolt flying out of the shadows. Then he surprised Decimus when he began handing the pouch of gold back towards the Imperial. “Never heard of him. Seems like you wasted your time.”
“You sure?” Decimus sneered. “Seems like you soiled your underpants when I dropped the name.”
“Can’t help you,” Delvin growled and started walking away when Decimus grabbed him by his arm and shoved him back to the wall.
“Mallory,” he growled. “Spill your beans.”
The Breton grimaced and looked at Decimus’ hand on his arm. The Goldpact Knight released his grip and let the hand fall to his side. “Listen, I really can’t help you. I don’t know where he is and even if I did, I wouldn’t fucking tell you for all the money in the world. If I ‘spill my beans’”, he imitated Decimus’ intonation, “it would be damn clear it was me who sold him out. And I quite value my life, so no thank you.”
“You’re pissed behind your ears, Mallory,” the Imperial observed with narrowed eyes, surprised. If there was someone who made even Delvin piss his pants it meant for certain that someone must’ve had ties with the darker side of the underworld. So a killer for hire. Maybe even a remnant of Dark Brotherhood? Well, fuck me. What did I get myself into this time?
“Yeah, can’t blame me for that. Even though this life might be worth shit it’s still my life and I’d prefer to keep it.”
“So don’t sell the guy out, but give me at least something. An associate, places he frequents-”
“Well, look around, you idiot. What kind of places could he frequent?”
“The Flagon?” Decimus looked around, frowning. “How often?”
“Varies. But recently he drops by more often. That enough for you, Merotim?”
Decimus rubbed his nose with a thumb and forefinger, sighing. “It’ll have to be, apparently.” The Breton then quickly walked away, heading back to the table he was sitting at before and Decimus scratched his beard.
Well, that asshole chieftain of Largashbur didn’t say how fast I was supposed to bring this Lorbulg - and since he also left the stronghold to fuck knows where - this could be my best shot.
Sometimes if you can’t catch the prey, let it come to you.
So he had to wait. Well, at least that gave him some time to spend with Tharini. He was actually starting to look forward to that.
But he needed a bath first, to get that blasted stench off his skin.
Fucking sewers…
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