Chapter Thirty-Three:

Taking Care of Business

It was a great comfort to Card, sitting on the floor and listening to the new, quite clean and more conventionally pretty Chupali child. There was a tirelessness in her face that he almost envied. She sat in his lap and made the entire world sound like a wonderful thing that deserved constant attention, care, and appreciation. Baths were wonderful. Babies were wonderful. Daddy and Mommy were the most wonderful of all.

He listened with imperfect attention, his thoughts inevitably tumbling painfully back to that name. Gareth ought not to have known it. Card had forbidden himself to say it aloud, which had worked, along with the years of banishment to dull his memories of the sweet, unassumingly lovely woman that he had risked everything for and lost. Her face was a blue-tinted blank to him now, nothing when set beside the very real and present worried face of the Human soldier. Sitting on the bed and looking like a thwarted dog. He encouraged Iogoem's excited conversation, compensating for Card's silence.

There was no longer in the need to demand a clear explanation, he felt. That name, and what had been said before Iogoem's returned to their temporary residence, were all that Card needed to bring the story together and stitch the details into whole cloth. Fairy spirits were potent forces in a world that lent their living far too much power, as though in apology or recompense for some ancient wrong. He stroked Iogoem's hair absentmindedly.

The dead had to be treated with so much care. An ailing or very old Fairy was forever being asked to forgive or even to settle up a debt, to ensure that no strong and negative feelings were carried to the Afterplane, to fester and destroyed the Fairy's soul. Nayeli had been sorely abused in that respect, and it was all he could do and not to curse or cry out.

It even explain the sudden cessation of nervous a bloodthirsty activity from the axe. A dead Fairy's designs and wishes superseded that of any living. It was a sickening parody of justice, and it drove them mad, that tie into the living.

"Daddy, you're falling asleep." The chiding voice acted like a bucket of cold water. Iogoem had turned round, more or less vacating his lap, to kneel on the floor and tilting his face in her direction.

Gareth cleared his throat and joined them awkwardly on the floor. "Leave him be," he said gently, though apparently nervous. "Daddy has been… ill."

The nod felt like a betrayal of many, but Card didn't let himself name them. He patted Iogoem's head and began the still-laborious process of standing upright. On the way, Garrett reached to help him. A man of frightening loyalty, no question. He had been wrested from his place in the universe, as violently as anyone ever had, been forced along a dangerous journey with a danger, and been the quite unwilling pawn of a mad ghost.

And yet he stood there, one warm hand on Card's arm, the other confused and hanging at the end of the arm around his own waist. "You should rest," he whispered, alluding to an intimacy that was easily mistaken. His actions before… Card looked down at the floor, shaking his head. They had been…her. Not him. He was not like that, he did not think like that. It was far too easy to come to an attractive conclusion. Weak minds did it, and Card was not in possession of a weak mind.

He looked back up at the Human's kind, friendly face. There was no sign of the fire from his earlier contact. Card broke free of the support, demanding that it be unnecessary. "No, thank you. I only…require a bit of air. I shall return presently."

As much as he felt a swift exit was called for, he could not even make for the door without being held back by a small hand with far too much strength. Iogoem tugged at him, worry suddenly quite evident on her face. "Daddy…it's time to rest. Listen to Mommy, he knows."

And for a moment, it was tempting. Pawn or not, manipulated or not, Gareth was still there. His face was open, concerned. Unguarded and painfully honest. That had to count for something. It was so far removed from the way he had looked in the beginning. There wasn't even a trace of fear in his eyes anymore. Card shook his head, backing away. "Not, I—I really must... I won't be away long."

With that, he twisted free of the little girl's loosened grip and hurried out into the hallway. It was mercifully empty of people, although it felt strangely cluttered by things. Every candle, every little decorative end tables seem to take up the space of three people. Card stepped gingerly passed them, then rushed down the stairs, almost at a run. The large door that led out onto the street didn't look as inviting as he'd expected, but he refused to look back over his shoulder, and turning round was unthinkable. If Gareth was behind him… the man was not to be encouraged.

The Fairy walked past the front desk slightly more sedate than he felt, not quite gnawing his bottom lip. He had dragged them all to Tadrea for a reason, hadn't he? It seemed so long ago now. So far away. But he remembered the clarity of the decision. It had been his only plausible course of action. Then there had been all the delays, the detours, and unexpected concerns.

He pushed his way out the door, ignoring the indifferent cry over richly dressed, chubby Dæmon. A rare diplomat, most likely, but he wasn't there to place importance on Dæmon strangers. He'd gone to look for an alchemist. The mystic had sent into this particular Brother City to search for one, and then everything had happened. For some reason, everything that happened after his meeting with Bergharda seemed more…pertinent. He side-stepped are running youth and gazed up at the slightly splintering with signs that hung over so many doors. There were many apothecaries, but also scent merchants' shops, supplies for arcane practitioners, and little apartments bearing the signs for ateliers. The arrogance of that lifted and stabilized his mood somewhat.

The streets were full of hurrying people, most of whom wore robes of office or profession. None of the women looked his way for more than a few brief seconds, while the men avoided even glancing at him enough to avoid collision. Although they still managed it. The few children in the area stared at him in the sort of open-mouthed fascination that he felt always seemed to suggest that he had something on his face. Some of them whispered as he passed, but when he strained his ears to overhear the exact details of these asides, he was rather relieved to know that they were merely speculating on his race. That was practically a comfort.

A magic-heavy yanking sensation jerked him back several steps, in the direction of the inn. He swore under his breath and thought of the axe. Whenever madness had taken Nayeli after her death, it couldn't be possible that she would hurt a child. Card was already walking back to the inn, nearly jogging after the first few hurried steps, even as he told himself all the reasons he ought not worry. He wasn't there, and whenever she wanted, it would have to do more directly with him, and besides that, Gareth the broken free of her control before, when Iogoem spoken.

These comforting thoughts barely slowed him down as he hurried up the stairs, as quickly as he had previously descended them. He stopped at the door and briefly organized himself. He would take the axe, explain that he needed to find an alchemist, and take his leave before either of his companions could tried to make him rest.

Iogoem was lying on the floor, engrossed in some scraps of parchment and a few sticks of charcoal. She didn't look up when Card entered and he didn't disturb her. Gareth left out of the chair and crossed the floor in swift strides, then took Card by the arm. "You're back," he whispered, looking relieved. "Please tell me you've come to your senses and you're going to rest…"

Card shook his head, inwardly afraid that he was pouting stubbornly. "I came here for a reason," he said quietly.

"Here? Th-the inn?"

He shook his head, feeling the frustration of sleepy cobwebs crowding his thoughts. "The city," he hissed, "do try to keep up."

Gareth went from frowning in worry to grimacing in confusion. It cleared before Card could speak up again. "Are you talking about getting rid of your curse?"

"Give the man a doll," Card huffed, brushing past to approach the axe. If an object could chortle, the axe would have been doing so in a rough, mad voice. He strapped it to his back without testing his control of its weight first, and nearly fell over.

To his consternation, Gareth caught him, careful of the blade. He steadied Card, then glanced down at Iogoem. She smiled up at them both, giggled into her charcoal-smeared hand, then turned back to her drawing. Gareth's, already pinkish face grew darker, meshing with his complexion to form a sort of purple. "Let us go with you, at least. W-we ought to go together."

The pleading tone of his voice worked a great deal of mischief on Card's knees, but the Fairy growled a soft curse and attempted to stand on his own. "Don't be foolish. Take a child into an alchemist's laboratory? She'd take ill faster than you could ask an odd question."

He felt better as the purpleness faded into a comparatively pale expression of anger. Gareth opened his mouth to continue the argument, but Card turned on his heel and left the room again, hardly wobbling. With the axe well from them, he could feel his mind and blood running smoothly again, and nearly collapsed from relief.

Outside again, he cast a more discerning eye along the clusters of alchemical notices. The apothecaries all seemed to be at street level, some with glass windows, all of them obvious only skilled in the usual needs of the local public. Mentioning that local public to himself made him realize that the migrating crowds' reactions to him were changing already.

He walked at a brisk, irritated pace, glaring down everything he did not want to see. He did not want to see dignified ladies flutter coy eyelashes and eye his weapon as though it were a sharp aphrodisiac, and he certainly did not want to see children gazing at him with open mouths, wondering to each other rather loudly if he was an elephant. Worst of all were the garish signs of alchemists who were obviously not competent enough to be able to find their own bums with a team of explorer's and a leather-bound atlas. These received a glare and a squint as well.

At last, there appeared a promising sight. It looked like an ordinary set of rooms at first glance, but with the sign declaring an alchemist in residence. However, it was written in plain language, along with two names, Aluicious and Yuliana Mortimer. The door was the only ostentatious thing about the place. It was made of fine wood, provided by a tree that did not likely grow in the area. A sigil of welcome was carved into the center, lower than Card's eye level. There was no bell-pull, so he raised his hand and knocked.

"Yes, I'm coming. I shall be there momentarily!" The shout, or perhaps it was a 'halloo', was muffled by the thick door and possibly a bit of distance. It seemed, even through all of that, to belong to the sort of person who had practically been born wearing spectacles.

When the door was flung open, Card looked down on a surprisingly small Human man—who did indeed sport a pair of spectacles—wearing ink-stained grey robes and a floppy hat. In the wind of the door's opening, the floppy hat had been blown back a little, exposing a prematurely receding hairline. His robes did not fit.

He tugged the floppy hat back into place and coughed. "My, my, you're quite tall for an Imp," he said. His voice was pitched rather higher than Gareth's, but more like that of a child than a woman. "What can I do for you—oh my word, what a ferocious axe you are carrying."

Feeling somewhat dubious, Card held a brief internal battle, then decided it couldn't hurt to just ask. "I'm looking for a very specific and probably very powerful counter-curse. Can you…are you familiar with counter-curses?" He had to bite his tongue to prevent himself adding, 'are you familiar with anything at all useful?'

The little man, who was hopefully not Yuliana, blinked myopically at some point between the Fairy's head and the sky. Then he took off his glasses and pinched a fold of his robe over each lens, blinking absentmindedly. "I do specialize in those," he admitted, as though imparting that information was difficult or thought-provoking. "Come inside, sir, do."

Card had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the door frame as he entered the suite of rooms. He wondered if this man was some sort of Halfling. He was some certainly near enough to the right size. "Where am I meant to stop?" Card asked, looking around the room. There were books and all manner of bric-a-brac scattered over every flat surface in sight. If there was any place to sit aside from the floor, it was in another room.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir! It's…everything has entered a state of cleaning…today. You see." The little man pointed down a short corridor that ended at an open door. "Oh yes, my name is Aluicious. Although I suppose you've guessed. What shall I call you?"

"Card." There was a nervous energy about Aluicious Mortimer that made Card want a nap. It was like watching a lightning bolt, except with a little more conversation. He followed the little man into the indicated room and almost immediately held his breath.

The only smell he recognized was sulfur. Nearly all of the others were acrid and biting, climbing into his mouth through his nose and making him gag. "Charming," he croaked, inwardly sending an unenthusiastic ha in the mental direction of Gareth and the man's uninformed suggestion. Iogoem would not have been able to withstand the noxious air in this confined space.

Aluicious hovered over, his steps so swift and light he might well have been descended from birds. He was smiling now, which pinched his owlish eyes. "What is the nature of your curse?"

"Exile and slow transformation, but… also regenerative immortality and binding with an object." Card drew the axe and sat on a clear bit of table. "Cast by—by a high-ranking Fairy."

"Oh, what a nasty piece of work." Aluicious piped up, sounding like a nobelwoman forced to look at a poor thief. He ran a hand several inches over the length of the axepole, occasionally pushing his belongings aside so that they did not touch the pole. "You've been fighting it, have you?"

Card nodded. "Moreso recently. It has a malevolent sentience."

"No, it's just bloody-minded. Which is worse, of course." Aluicious's grin belied his disheartening words. "Sentient objects, malevolent or benign, can be made to see reason. Your axe merely has a purpose."

"Can you get rid of it?"

The alchemist's face wrinkled in deep thought. He looked at the axe, then hid his hands his back and grinned up at Card. "It shared a purpose with you?"

Card growled and cast his glance around the room, blaming all of the alchemist's paraphernalia for his mood. "I suppose you might say that," he said quietly, grudgingly.

"And now?"

"How did you know any of this without your chemicals and little explorations?" Card snapped.

Aluicious Mortimer shrugged. "You may have noticed that my shop does not hear the sign of any guild. This is because they will not allow me to join any." He pushed his over-hanging hat back, still looking up. "They all think it is 'blasphemy' to mix magic with science."

Filing this away to make accepting the explanation possible, if eventual, Card scowled at the man. "Blasphemy? I thought alchemists eschewed religion."

"Really, they've just made their own, sir. No one likes to see someone cheekily track the mud of uncertainty and newness all over their nice clean precepts." He started gathering up strangely-shaped vessels and ill-smelling bottles. "If you're prepared to undergo a bit of invasiveness, we can get started punching through your curse. It sounds like it's just layered on, to me."

Just. "As simple as that?"

"Oh yes. Success may not be simple, but trying to get there is easy."