Naia's Tower:
Episode I: Doing Dealing, Part 1
It wasn't the eternal damnation that bothered him; it was the wait.
Sitting unattended in the unfamiliar room, wearing only socks and a pair of faded blue boxers, he scratched the hairy back of his leg with a toe and wondered how long it would take. It wasn't that he wasn't a patient man! He liked to think himself a good man, perhaps even righteous. When there was something to be done, he was the first to be at it – if he wanted to be, anyway. If he had a temper at times, he never let it escalate beyond words, not unless someone really deserved it. He enjoyed the occasional cigarette, but that was the worst of his vices. He hadn't even had a drink since two months after he'd left the armed service of the Consolidated Nations United - who could ask for anything better?
Of course, any truly virtuous soul wouldn't be sitting in a witch's waiting chamber, passing the time until he could be met for his Dealing.
It was just a formality, he'd been told: “You're a likable sort. She wouldn't turn you away.” Of course, he'd also been assured just a bit later, “Just wait here, it should only be a few minutes.”
Sighing noisily, he looked at the empty waiting room. Just a few minutes? Riiiiight. Good call, Mr. Dominic; so glad I've got someone like you to let me know the score.>I'd known that tonight was going to be the night....
Taking advantage in a lull in conversation, he said the magic words: “I want to Deal.”
The exchange was been one of several spaced out over the past few weeks, all in the backdrop of a grimy little bar called the Tricky Parlor.
Every meeting began the same: He arrived, sat at the table booth next to the corner, and ordered a house mix cocktail called a “broody”. The drink came – he'd tried guessing its ingredients once, and come to think that it was a shot of a red brandy, vodka, beef bouillon, and something else, with a shard of bone (a chicken legbone, he suspected) sticking out the dark liquid. He didn't touch it, but sat and waited. Somewhere between five and fifteen minutes later, a black-haired, clean-shaven, trimmed-nails man would arrive, down the glass in one toss, crunch the piece of bone between his teeth, then sit. There was to be no mention of the reason for their meeting while they were inside, was the rule. Once pleasantries had been exchanged, they'd step outside for a smoke break. That's where business would begin between him and the witch's agent.
The agent's name was Dominic. Dominic termed his trade, “magical promotions”, and he claimed that it was a thriving business - he'd been very upfront in explaining its history. Although traditionally, the men and women of magic-kind were known to be loners, changes in law had forced the intervention of agents like himself. Since the CNU's President Eternal discovered religion in his nineteenth consecutive term of office, those spell-working outside of the Order of the Angelical Compass were construed to be using illegal and fell magics; even to knowingly consort with one of these “Fell Ones” was a felony-class crime (proving once and for all that, while someone in the bureaucracy did indeed have a sense of humor, it wasn't a very good one). Which was where people like Dominic came in, making connections between the rogue witches and wizards of the countryside and the people that wanted their services.
Dominic didn't seem to hear him, so he tried again, louder - “Dominic, I want to make a Deal. When can I?”
The agent answered him after a thought-laden pause. “Cool your heels. I'll take you to her when I think you're ready, and not a moment before.”
“I'm ready! I've been ready, I'm more ready than even I can believe,” he insisted without hesitation.
Dominic snorted derisively. “This isn't kid's stuff,” the agent told him. The dark-haired man had just lit up a hand-rolled joint – the smell of the smoke was oddly pleasant. Spiced and rich, like a cooking roast. “You get caught, and you'll be dead before you even get to talk.”
“What? You're exaggerating,” he scoffed, determined not to get bullied. “The Angelicals wouldn't really go that far. Jail, sure, but--”
“They wouldn't. But I would.” Dominic flashed him a sanguine smile. “I've got my own interests to protect, and you being a dumbshit and helping along their Encompassing Decree won't get in the way of that.” The agent grew distant, staring off blankly at a wall.
He furrowed his brow, wondering over those words. “Encompassing Decree...?” he ventured, waving his box of cigarettes.
Dominic flicked his gaze back, then took a deep pull from his joint. “Purification of the land. Their mission statement. Look it up, kid, don't bother me about it,” Dominic sneered. For someone working promotions, the agent didn't care much for his customers.
Flipping open the lid of his cigarette pack, he surveyed its contents: half-empty. Pulling one from the pack, he looked in askance to his companion for a light. In response, Dominic stubbed his joint out against the wall, pocketed the remainder, and jerked his chin away from the bar. “All right. We're going now,” the suited man said, and began striding off.
“Now?” he echoed. Dominic didn't answer him, but just kept walking. Too stunned to move, he fumbled to replace the cigarette back in the pack, and the pack back in his pocket. “We're going now? To see her?”
“Thank you for reminding me – yes, that's what I just said,” the agent mocked. “Are you coming?”
Swallowing, he scurried to follow. “Don't we gotta, like, send a message ahead?” he asked nervously. “Let her know we're on our way, or something?”
“You're a likable sort,” Dominic smirked, speeding his pace. “She wouldn't turn you away.”
He managed to keep up, but found his vision blurring at the edges – whenever he would slow to try and clear his eyes though, Dominic would walk a little faster, and he'd have to work even harder to catch up. Pretty soon, though, he grew certain that there was something amiss, and quit walking altogether.
Now that he'd stopped, he could see clearly what he'd been unsure of before. At some point during their walk, the night-darkened city buildings had disappeared, replaced instead by dark and writhing shapes. Mouth agape, he turned and found that the alleyway had all but vanished. Only dim impressions in the shadows were left to remind him of where the path had once been, and even those were quickly fading.
“Uh, Domin-” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before trying again, “Dominic, what's going on?” Looking to his companion, he saw that black-haired man beginning to pull far ahead. It was odd how the squirming shadows peeled away from Dominic like a boat wake, etching out tall walls of empty space; it was in this arc that he was now standing, in fact.
“Don't fall behind,” Dominic called over his shoulder, “you really don't want to see what's back there.”
Something twisted in the shadows, blinking at him with a single golden iris. As he watched, the nebulous thing raised a questing tendril, gesturing in a manner that was either a friendly wave or an impending threat. Deciding that he really didn't need to figure out which, he hurried himself up, walking just a few nervous steps behind Dominic. I'm in the thick of it now, aren't I? he thought, finding himself more awestruck than afraid.
The road had disappeared from beneath them, blending invisibly with the rest of the darkness along their strange journey. It was unsettling to be walking on nothingness – but with Dominic leading the way with long, bold strides, he could only keep faith that his next step would find solid footing and continue on.
After only walking a few minutes more, Dominic stopped, relaxed, and sighed, “Here we are.”
They'd come to a circular clearing in the twisting abyss, about twelve feet in diameter. In the center was a bright silver mass, spherical and as wide across as a bench at a bus stop. Its surface rippled and hummed, seeming to react to the point of his gaze. Physically solid as it might seem, it acted fluid, like a globule of water floating in the darkness.
Fascinated, he moved forward to inspect the mass. Reaching a hand toward it, he paused and looked back to Dominic for approval. At the agent's half-hearted shrug, he went ahead and tapped on it – it was resilient as metal, and it rang out like shivering glass at his touch.
There was something about the sound that was intrinsically pleasing, and he laid his hand out on the mass, feeling it quiver under his palm. “What is it made of?” he asked aloud, wondering.
“Dunno. I just walk 'em here,” Dominic answered, reproducing the half-smoked joint from his pocket. Relighting its stubbed tip, he brought it up to his lips and took a long drag. “All right, then. Strip.”
Still absorbed in the formless mass, he balked to respond. When Dominic's meaning got through to him, he turned suddenly. “... What?”
“Take off your clothes,” the agent ordered.
“Why?”
“I don't have to explain why, just do it.” When he still hesitated, Dominic wrinkled his forehead. “There's no getting home from here,” the man said seriously. “So you'll do what I tell you, or you'll take a walk on your own. And if your modesty is that damn important to you, you deserve whatever you'll get out there.”
He swallowed hard – oh yeah, I'm really in the thick of it – and then did as he was told, pulling off his jacket and shoes, then more reluctantly, his shirt, undid his belt, and nearly tripped in removing his jeans. Standing in socks and boxers only, he shifted on his feet, feeling increasingly vulnerable.
“Watch,” Dominic told him.
“W, watch what...?”
“No, no,” the agent snapped irritably, “your watch. Take it off. Things like that aren't allowed at the Tower without being checked out.”
“... Oh. Oh! Of course...!” Feeling a bit silly (but a great deal more relieved), he did as he was told, stripping the fifty-dollar timepiece off his wrist. “Is that good, then?” he asked, acutely aware that he was being closely scrutinized.
Dominic smirked. “Yeah, it'll do.” Digging into the pocket of his suit jacket, he produced an ornate silver key, and with it, tapped the shapeless silver mass once. The tap rang out like song, sending a visible shiver through the twisting silver. Then the mass sprang suddenly into form and motion, reaching up with delicately-toned arms to touch fingers overhead, a bizarre steeple gesture; then this form spread and flattened out. Within seconds, the mass was formed into a door, standing without bearing in the darkness.
“... Whoa,” he breathed, edging in toward it.
“Ain't it?” The agent snickered, putting away the key.
The door had opened then, an abrupt and silent movement, and Dominic had all but shoved him ahead. “Just wait here,” the agent had grinned, “it should only be a few minutes!” The portal, now turned oaken and plain, had snapped shut behind him. He'd found himself a broad and circular room, windowless and met by two doors; a couch curved around the wall on one side, a few armchairs scattered around the other, and otherwise, it was barren.
So he'd paced around a bit, tested the doors (both were locked), then settled down to begin waiting.
Waiting, and waiting, and waiting. The least they could do is put a clock in here, he thought. Without even his watch, he hadn't the faintest clue how long it had been. An hour, at least; two at the mosts.
It was a lot of time for second thoughts. He couldn't help but wonder, what if he was making a mistake....
No. On this, he was resolute. If this all worked out... his reward would be worth it. He'd already sworn that he'd sell his soul to the first devil he came across if that was what it took – and if this didn't work, that would be his next stop. This Deal was his best chance; patience was the least he could pay for it.
Back to Naia's Tower