The Prosperos Sea, Chapter 8

[Sofa King Fancy]

Daris had only seen a fraction of what had gone on. Usually he didn't tend to the deck, because there was enough work in the brig for him. While Prosperos was far from a criminal nation, there were those that thought being nautical merchants meant they were pirates. He tended to thieves, pickpockets, and scalpers in the same manner. They spent some time down here getting some 'preferential' treatment before they were released back into Prosperos. What about repeating offenders, one might ask? Well they got to see what the bottom of the sea looked like without the gear.

This was not a beloved job, but it was his and that made it all the more special. He tended to the brig like one tends to their own home. Everything was neat and tidy, even the blood stained torture devices. Daris couldn't remember the last time that he had used them, but they had been used—by his hand no less. There were many 'domiciles' here. The brig didn't contain 'cells,' because that implied far too much work for him and his fellow jailers. Cleaning shit, filth, and other disgusting byproducts of his prisoners would take more time than he cared to devote to them. So, they were all given small--very small-- replications of their homes, minus the polite amenities. Of course there were those that made a mess of his kindness, and they spent their time in tighter quarters. Prosperos did have a few 'hangman boxes.' They were about as large as a latrine stall with a hole cut into the bottom, for excrement or the occasional deathly plunge. They hung from the side of the massive city, and were the victims of sea winds. All prisoners that ended up in there he never saw again. Maybe they were quaintly rehabilitated by the nature of their situation, or maybe they fell through hole into the choppy sea below. He didn't much care, because they were out of his hair.

Daris looked at his current prisoner. The other jailers hung around like vultures over carrion. They didn't dare strike when the larger predator was about, but they didn't want to miss their chance. The man before Daris was not the usual sort he got down here. According to K'Larr, this one had created quite the mess topside.
The man before him was part anima. Daris could tell that from his horns, rolled ears, and furry caprine legs. The anthro was handsome, possibly. Daris rarely ever took stock in the looks of others. He got a surprising amount of 'attractive' folk down there that had a personalities as ugly as fish guts. The prisoner pressed his gray eyes against Daris, and ran them up and down his form. The Warden Jailer was no prize himself, thirty years past his prime. He was a tall, muscular man with a shaved head and voluminous beard. Many of his fellow jailers had likened him to some sort of nautical bear. Daris rather enjoyed that comparison.
The prisoner was tied to a chair. His arms were bound behind him and each of his legs bound to the legs of the chair. His aux and dagger sat on the ground to the side of him, but beyond that he remained unruffled. The part anima was dressed in nice clothing with muted colors. Daris could tell by the make and cut of them, that he was a foreigner. Usually the people of Prosperos favored billowy and open clothing. The man before him was covered from neck to knee.

K'Larr had ordered him to get answers, and so Daris started with question foremost in his mind.
"What do you think you were doing?" he asked.
"An experiment," the prisoner responded with a shrug. "I had located a containment apparatus and—"
Daris cut him off. "And so you decided to take matters into your own hands? Your stupidity led to the death of over twelve crewman, and endangered the ship."
"I never intended—"
"If you never intended for this to happen then why were you so reckless?"
The prisoner before him glared rather furiously at Daris. "I didn't know that the Tear could do that."
Daris scoffed. "Anyone that has ever come in contact with it has died. That should have been enough of a warning for you not to mess with it."
"Look, I was doing it for the betterment of Prosperos. If Molly hadn't cut his hand open, then none of this would have happened. I took the appropriate precautions. It was not my—"
"It was your fault," he said, leering over his prisoner. "And the fact that you don't even know the name of the man that died by your hand is not helping me endear myself to you." K'Larr had told him the pertinent details. The entire situation sickened him, and it sickened him even more that the man before him seemed flippant in taking responsibility.
"Very well," the prisoner said, angling his head up and staring Daris in the eyes. "Why are you even questioning me if you are so very much assured that I am at fault and there is no way to redeem my sad carcass?"

Daris scowled. Those sets of questions weren't working. Not that he wanted to hear him babble on about how he was sorry for what he had done, but he had expected some acknowledgement to his guilt. So the warden just cut straight to the heart of it all. "Your guilt is inadmissible, but maybe you can still be of some use to us. First, what is your name?"
"Taggart Blacklaw," he said. "Though most people just call me—"
"I don't care what people call you, we aren't becoming friends here." Daris crossed his arms over his chest. "Where do you come from? You look a little pale to be from Prosperos."
Taggart shifted in his seat. "Pegulis."
That brought Daris's brow up. "We are a long way from there."
"I needed to be a long way away," Taggart said, shrugging.
"What was your occupation in Pegulis?" Daris asked. He was curious as to the reason of Taggart's exile, but he needed to make sure basic questions were answered.
"This may surprise you," Taggart said, grinning. "But I was a scholar."
Daris let an annoyed snort out of his nose. Wasn't that the only thing Pegulis was good for? Making scholars and problems? "And you have the correct papers to be aboard, Taggart?" This was a standard question, but usually spoke volumes about the person due to how they answered it.
"Yes," Taggart said. "I paid quite handsomely for them. They are in my home if you want to go rummage around there. Good luck, though, it is a bit of a mess."
Daris was unamused. "And I'll do exactly that, don't worry. Of course, if things end up a bit messier than they started out… you only have yourself to blame."
Taggart gritted his teeth, but his aggravation seemed to be more at the mess that may be made due to Daris's intervention than the actual search for the papers.

"One last question," Daris said. "Why did you leave Pegulis?"
Taggart sighed. "For reasons quite similar to the ones that led me to your presence right now." He smiled.
Daris rubbed his smooth head. "Ah, so you've always been a nuisance."
"I like to call it being a 'visionary,' but I can't deny that I usually make larger messes than I care to clean up."
That surprised a laugh out of Daris's mouth. It wasn't abundantly jovial though. "You can sit down here a while. I'm going to go have a chat with a few people, and decide what to do with you."
"Hopefully it involves me being among the living, and not being thrown into the sea."
Daris laughed again as Taggart's words gave him quite the idea. "Actually, I already know your punishment."
Taggart looked at him intently.
"You are to go down with the next dive team," Daris said. "I don't much care to waste the resources and time to fetch a hangman box for you, and I think spending some time undersea will be helpful to your sense of guilt."
Taggart grumbled underneath his breath and looked away from Daris. The warden couldn't tell what the man was thinking or saying, but he could tell that he had struck a chord with that.
"And one more thing," Daris said. He drew back his arm and punched Taggart square in the nose. The force of that sent Taggart crashing backwards and into the ground. He was still tied to the chair and it landed awkwardly on his hands. A yelp of pain exited his mouth, before he let out some soft swear words.
Daris smiled as he walked away. That had felt good.
"Well, there goes my good looks," Taggart wheezed out.

 

[unanun]

PROSPEROS
THUNDER FALLS​

As the next shift of divers dropped into the water, the previous ones were pulled out. Buckets and buckets of garbage emptied into gigantic hoppers, their contents jangling into a dark sorting room deep in the ship's hold. The suits were constantly corroding. Something in the deepest parts of the sea, something that wasn't in the water, etched the welds that held the bronze and iron plates together.

"And the Ghoul Sage?" In Zolvalias' presence K'Larr allowed himself to be anxious. His facade of supreme manipulator crumbled to reveal a nervous twitch, a draken seduced by a glimpse of the past and playing with things he did not truly understand.

"He will be no problem." The hideous, grey skinned Nocturne clicked his black nails in delight. K'Larr sometimes entertained the thought that he had exclusive access to a piece of the old gods, the tablet that held the language he could command titans with. But this Nocturne, bloated and bubbly, with large, luminescent yellow eyes lighting up a face with no nostrils and all teeth, brought his own tricks to the table. Prism doors. A way to calm the Ghoul Sage, a vindictive ghast who traveled Sunne obliterating those who sought the Divine. Zolvalias was fully half of the entire Prosperos enterprise ...

And perhaps some more.

"Good." K'Larr pushed open the doors to the council room.

He sat at the round table with various merchant Lords. It was something of an informal gathering. Of the many city-ships that comprised the Prosperos Guild, one had been completely consumed by infighting. Its scuttled remains were still floating to the bottom of the sea when K'Larr requested parlay.

"Lords ... I know the frustration that you have faced. It is true that Zolvalias and I, and your colleagues and partners, convinced you to take to the seas from Hosia and Avarath. First, I must remind you that we did it to escape the tyranny of our lords."

No disagreement there. Tattersal's edicts were still raw on their accounting sheets, and the Czar didn't care one way or another.

"Second, we know about the goods you have in the holds. After all, if we can't sell or trade, we can't call ourselves merchants."

"It is surprisingly hard," came the deep intonations from a Lord of Steel, an elephant-anima with plates of iron jangling all over his body, "to mine metal, spark forges, and process iron, on water."

"Of course, of course! To that end, I am more than pleased to report that our diving expeditions-"

"And what will your treasure hunting do for us?" A Lord of Fish spoke, a merman draped in a multitude of water skins that slowly dripped water on his skin. "We cannot fish or whale, your divers drive them away. Nor can we forage for crop or herb."

The draken waved the complaints away. "Among the other things that the old gods left at the bottom of the sea, the materials are rich, unspoiled metals of the finest quality. We will have no need for timber, iron, or clay from now on."

"And once we raise a second titan from the surface ..."

"We can negotiate with Tattersal's drug minister." K'Larr smirked. "Hakim and I are old friends."

A red flash erupted from the Chersonese and washed over the Prosperos, bathing the entire room. Chairs screeched as the merchant Lords scrambled - half to the door, and half to the portholes.

"What is that? What is that? Ilium's grace! Patron saint! What in the world?"

"Volcano? Explosion? Dorgrad gas blow?"

"That is no volcano!" K'Larr's interlaced claws squirmed with a mixture of anticipation and awe. He could not hide the fright, his wrinkled features highlighted in the thunderous red of the firestorm, but he also pressed his face to the glass, his tongue nervously flickering around his lips, tasting the ash of burning bodies.

"That ... is opportunity."​