Born a Monster

In fiction, there would have been someone at the baths; some precocious child or threatening ninja in the rafters, some warrior come to avenge the perceived slight to honor to someone I’d bumped into in my travels, something like that.

I got to watch a small patrol boat, its sailors hard at work cleaning out their metal gourd weapons. I really needed to learn what to call those.

More than that, I wanted to see what they could do. I’d heard the tales, of course, that the Daurians refined the black blood of the Earth into a powder, and that with certain chemicals it became a powerful explosive.

If your world has them, they are guns and cannon, respectively. For those without, it hurls a pellet of lead with enough force to pierce flesh and crack bone. It relies on Agility rather than Might for damage, to place the bullet (yes, very like a metal bullet for a sling) in a critical area. The Daurians knew the weapons for their noise, inaccuracy, and slow load time.

Having done the math, a red critical (x8) of even twelve base points of damage was 96 points, enough to instantly kill someone with a mere 40 health points, such as myself. Even if I increased my Might by one, I’d only have 60 base health, and that would still smite me down like a thunderbolt from heaven.

Math is just like that; if you frame things properly, it always guides you to the same answer. That answer is usually that life is fragile, and that yes, that probably can kill you.

Math got kind of fuzzy when you dealt with real-world things, the uncertainties of combat, for example.

As a child... yes, yes, get that laughter out of your system, I’ll wait... As a child, I had fought off a bird of double my size and easily a point above my Might. I’d been losing, should have died, et cetera. But because the bird got scared when half its health was gone and I was still fighting, both of us survived that fight.

.....

And because I had scales, thick scales, yet flexible. The level two scales that only some creatures in nature, such as kobolds, had naturally. They had saved my life several times, but I had no illusions that they would save me from decapitation.

What I needed to survive HERE was social armor, and that probably meant Charisma. I had several prospective Traits that would improve my charisma rating, but I had recently spent all but eight of my development points into ghost-fighting abilities.

Oh, that and the fact that only the generic, system-wide development points could be counted on to apply to a given Trait. I was sure there was some logic to what cultivation methods applied to which Traits, but I hadn’t taken the time to fathom those links out.

And, my bath over, I wasn’t getting those solutions today, either. I dried myself, got into fresh undergarments, and put on the two layers of clothing that went above those.

By the time I got back to the mansion, the sun was low in the sky, casting the wall’s shadow over everything. They’d started without me, and the food was cold, and the company oddly quiet and neutral.

“Husband, I would like to tour a museum.” Madonna said.

“I find that unlikely.” I said. “What do you truly want?”

“I truly, deeply, want to visit a particular museum.”

“Oh, is it where a diamond of unusual size is on display?”

“Told you.” Kismet muttered. “Selfish.”

Madonna smiled. “Even better. The admiral before Kwan Lun, a man named Hoon Wei, loved his wife very much.”

I let my head tilt to the side. The vanity of Black Madonna by far eclipsed my own. Showing concern for others... She might as well have been speaking to me in tongues.

“Enough that when she died, he set apart a section of the admiralty’s trophy room in glass to display a great number of his wife’s effects.” She prompted.

“One of which,” Gamilla said, “is said to be a fur coat of exceptional make and craft.”

“Ah, so this is for your sense of fashion.” I said.

“Oh, there is a macabre sense to it as well.” Madonna admitted. “It is said that her remains are also enclosed in the glass case, and that on nights of the new moon, such as that coming up, she haunts the trophy room.”

I nibbled at piece of dumpling. “That must be terrifying for the guards.”

“Odd noises, curious sounds... I imagine it might be.” She said. “So, I can count on your support in this endeavor?”

“The admiral’s trophy room is probably not open to us, but I can definitely ask.”

“Oh, if you could arrange a tour for us, that would be excellent.”

“I can promise nothing but to make my best effort.”

“On the topic of best efforts,” Gamilla asked, “Have you spoken to the admiral about trade? Even if we have to perform our trading through the citadel, there is a surplus of quality lumber here, and a notable shortage of raw metals and food.”

“Every morning, I request an audience; every morning I have been told not to wait.”

She blinked at me. “And you just took them at their word?”

“Am I supposed to accuse our hosts of lying?”

“You are SUPPOSED to remember that while you might be a Truthspeaker, that is the exception rather than the rule. Most people will lie. I will wrap up a roll of silver coins for you. Tomorrow, thank them for their time and tell them that I arranged this to compensate them for their time and effort.”

“To offer or accept a bribe is a great shame, an insult to these people.”

“Which is why you absolutely cannot be offering them a bribe. You are... offering a gesture of thanks.”

“A gesture measured in coins.” I said.

“Which you, as a warrior, must not touch. I, as a merchant, can. You are just delivering a package while you are there.”

“Ugh.” Kismet said, “Give ME the coins, and I can deliver them. I’m sure the bureaucrats don’t care as long as they get hard metal.”

“And if we wanted you to meet with the admiral, that might work.”

“Wait,” Madonna said, “Instead of relying on my husband, I can just walk into the admiral’s court and hand over some money? I’d very much like a roll of coins of my own, please.”

Gamilla rolled her eyes. “As the person who has to arrange payment of these bills that you two nobles have been racking up, I assure you there is not enough money. I’m already selling goods to cover debts that we weren’t even supposed to have.”

I set down the two-tined fork used for bits of meat. “How much expense?”

“It is RUDE to discuss money at the table.” Kismet reminded us.

“Without discussing exact figures, of course.” I said.

“This entire trip is the financial equivalent of a kick to the stomach. We’ll live, but it will be a month or so before we’re even considering spa days.”

“No.” Kismet said. “I’ve only done what you two asked. You are NOT taking my spa days.”

“Perhaps,” Madonna said, “We two can step back on the expenses?”

“To a quarter of what you’ve been doing.” Gamilla said.

Kismet gnawed on the back of her wrist. “That... MIGHT be doable.”

“We just tell the shopkeepers that our closets are full.” Madonna said.

“And we could hand out sweets to the children, rather than coins.” Kismet said, “But it’s just...”

Gamilla snorted. “Those street urchins have been supporting whole families on the coins you two have given out. Oh, and stop signing these receipts until you can read them. The Daurians are robbing us blind.”

“And we do what, travel with out maido?” Madonna asked.

“Maido Imiji, is that an option? Can the maido travel with our women?”

“Oh, so sorry, monitor-sama. (The monitor is a lizard with a head shaped roughly like the one I used.) The mako and her maido are to remain at the household, taking care of things here. But if you wish, Mako Hajima could arrange for a Copper Girl, a merchant, to accompany them.”

“Something we should have done already.” Gamilla said. “And which we will know for next time.”

I let Maido Imiji know that yes, the women would very much like a Copper Girl for tomorrow.

“Is there anything else we must resolve before I go to bed early?” I asked.

“You COULD apologize.” Kismet said.

I spread my arms helplessly. “I am sorry for not telling you earlier how much being hit in the eye hurt, or how much...”

NOT ALL TRUTHS NEED TO BE SPOKEN.

“I am going to bed; my stomach hurts where I was kicked earlier.”

“Oh, no, sir. Surely you can listen as we chat...”

There was a woman in my bedroom, dressed entirely in black.

Without hesitation, she raised an open palm to her face and blew a puff of flames in my direction.