Chapter 21: Busted

“Hey, little girl, your name sounds a lot like the Demon Lord Kima’s,” the old boatman laughed, blissfully unaware of the danger he was in.

Gima’s tail, which had been wagging happily just moments before, went completely limp with fear. She still managed a smile that showed her small, sharp canines. “What a remarkable coincidence.”

George didn’t speak, his expression completely hidden by his ridiculous, and thankfully opaque, bucket-helm.

Gima was genuinely nervous for a good while, half-expecting George to draw his sword, chop her into two neat halves, and toss her into the filthy river. When he didn’t, she secretly breathed a sigh of relief. She then resentfully memorized the boatman’s face and added a new, very detailed entry to her little black book.

The boatman poled the boat, and before long, they reached the main canal, a chaotic, floating highway.

The wide main canal was packed with boats. Small sheds were built on their decks, and under them were all sorts of goods on display. These were the ubiquitous small cargo boats, forming a massive, sprawling, and very smelly floating market. Customers in their own boats navigated the crowded waterways, picking and choosing from the floating stalls.

“Oranges! Fresh, juicy oranges! Alchemically grown oranges, picked from the tree just this morning!”

A cargo boat filled to the brim with glass bottles of all shapes and sizes pulled up alongside them. The owner, a greasy-looking man, held up a glass bottle filled with an unknown, oily liquid and called out to George with a salesman's grin:

“Genuine Demon Hunter’s Oil! A single drop on your sword will kill a man on contact! And if you take it internally, it’ll break your bed!”

Gima shot the owner a fierce, murderous glare. The owner just laughed loudly. Only after George waved his hand dismissively did the owner’s boat pull away.

No sooner had one boat left than another arrived.

“A treasure map to the great Demon Lord Kima’s vault! I got it from his lover herself! She told me everything! Hey there, strong warrior, wouldn’t you like a copy? Only ten silver!” a dark-skinned woman with a booming voice called out enthusiastically.

Lies! All lies! I never said anything, and I don’t have any lovers! They were all just whores! Paid for with my hard-earned gold!

“My master is not interested,” Gima said coldly, her voice dripping with contempt.

The dark-skinned woman ignored her, only leaving after George waved his hand again.

Before Gima could enjoy even half a minute of peace, another tall, bald vendor held up a large glass jar containing a long, suspicious-looking, and vaguely familiar-shaped object preserved in alcohol. He shouted at the top of his lungs:

“An alchemical wine made with the secret, and very potent, ingredient of the Demon Lord Gima’s schlong! One drop, just one single drop, will make you a king in the bedroom for a whole night! A single cup can solve all your lifelong manly problems! Get it while it’s hot!”

Several boats immediately headed towards him, their owners clamoring for a bottle.

Gima couldn’t help but grit her teeth, her jaw aching. She secretly, carefully memorized the bald vendor’s face for future reference.

“Gima seems very interested,” George suddenly said, his voice cold and deadpan from inside his helmet.

“Of course,” she snapped back. “I am… you know.”

Gima almost tried to hint that she was, in fact, the Demon Lord Kima. But George, the dense hero, naturally misunderstood, thinking she was referring to the fact that she was Kima’s former slave.

“Should we go take a look?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

“Huh?” Gima looked at him in surprise, her gaze drifting down to the center of George’s armored kilt. A look of sudden, dawning understanding crossed her face. She quickly waved at the bald vendor and shouted, “Hey! My master wants it all! And hurry up, before someone else buys it! I’ll give you a three-copper-coin tip!”

“You got it!” the vendor yelled back happily.

Clonk.

George’s finger knocked hard on Gima’s head.

“Ouch, that hurts~~” Her eyes welled up with tears as she looked at George pitifully.

“Don’t shout such nonsense.”

“That’s not what I…”

People in the neighboring boats cast curious glances at George, wondering what was going on.

“No,” George held up two fingers. “Twenty more pages of…”

Gima quickly interrupted, cutting him off. “Hey, hey! Never mind! Go back! My master doesn’t need it! Here’s a copper for you!”

“Thanks a lot!”

The old boatman poled the boat, turning it around and heading in the other direction with a knowing chuckle.

They passed through the bustling boat market and headed for the exit.

“Are there always so many boats in Salem City?” Gima asked, trying to change the subject.

“No, today is market day, and it’s also time for our city’s ‘Rainbow Festival’,” the old boatman sighed. “You’ve come at just the right time. A few days ago, it wasn’t nearly this lively.”

“What a coincidence.”

Gima loved the last, and most important, day of the Rainbow Festival. For fifteen years, she had always arrived on time for the grand finale. Because on this day, Salem City would auction off the best slaves, naturally including the most beautiful and finest female slaves, known as the legendary Flowers of Salem.

Gima’s “garden” had contained many of the most beautiful flowers from Salem City. When they were past their prime and no longer fresh and vibrant, she would come here to buy new ones.

“This festival might not be around for much longer,” the old boatman said with another sad sigh.

“Why?”

“Ever since that Demon Lord Kima died, the big customers are all afraid of being murdered by the Holy Sanctuary. I also heard that Salem City was under Lord Kima’s protection. Now that he’s dead, do you think Salem City will have it easy?” The old boatman sighed again. “Anyway, for the past six months, there have been fewer and fewer visitors to Salem City, and it’s gotten more and more chaotic. Did you see the pile of people by the city gate? Those are all the bodies of rioting slaves.”

“Heh,” George sneered coldly.

“It’s not all bad,” Gima said, feeling it was a great pity. Salem City had a wonderful geographical environment, with well-developed waterways and a unique, and very profitable, slave industry. It also had a natural, renewable source of slaves: the nomadic tribes of the great grasslands would sell the slaves they captured in their raids here.

“Salem City relies entirely on the slave industry to compete with Deepwater City on the opposite shore. Those little bastards hire pirates to exclusively rob Salem City’s ships. Anyway, life is getting worse by the day.” 

The old boatman continued, his voice full of a strange civic pride, “Our Great Good Master, in order to revive the industry, announced early on that this year’s Flower of Salem is the most beautiful flower in history. Only in Salem City can you buy the best, most exquisite slaves.”

When he said the last sentence, there was a definite hint of pride in the old boatman’s tone.

“Disgusting,” George commented flatly.

The old boatman, for the sake of the massive two-handed greatsword George’s squire was carrying, wisely chose not to argue with him.

“The most beautiful?” Gima remembered that she had bought at least eight of the so-called “most beautiful” flowers over the years. “Does anyone actually believe that? The guy over there is still selling the Demon Lord Kima’s dick in a jar.”

“When the Great Good Master made the announcement, those sissy nobles of Deepwater City said they didn’t believe him on the spot,” the old boatman said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And guess what? The Great Good Master invited them to a private room. Inside was a cage made of solid gold and inlaid with priceless rubies, covered with a fine silk cloth.”

“He pulled the cloth off, and the person inside stuck out a single, small leg. I don’t know how beautiful that leg was, but everyone who came out of that room believed him. Some said it was an elven princess from the deep forest. Some said it was a fallen queen in distress. And some even said it was a little mermaid princess from the bottom of the sea.”

George snorted coldly. “He wouldn’t dare sell any of them, not in a hundred years.”

“Who knows?” the old boatman said with a shrug. “Whatever she is, as long as it keeps Salem City’s economy going, that’s all that matters.”

“This city will be destroyed sooner or later,” George said with the finality of a prophet.

“As long as there are no meddling heroes, we’ll live very well, thank you very much,” the boatman said.

Gima deeply, and wholeheartedly, agreed.

Fifteen minutes later, the boat entered a narrow, gloomy canal. The streets on both sides were crowded with blackened, soot-stained buildings. Countless small workshops were located here. Gima saw a tanner by the river, stretching a piece of leather. He threw the fur into a large vat of pigeon droppings, and the smell was truly indescribable.

“There was a plague here once,” the boatman explained. “The Great Good Master ordered the army to quarantine the area. Later, a fire broke out and burned down all the houses inside. Fortunately, the Great Good Master had taken precautions beforehand and had dug a wide canal to isolate it, so the fire didn’t spread to the whole city.”

As the old boatman spoke, the small boat stopped in front of a weathered wave barrier.

“Out-of-towners, we’re here. Remember to watch your wallets. There are a lot of thieves in this district. Every day, they contribute a fresh row of hanged men to the wharf!”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Gima held George’s sword, and together they climbed the upward-sloping stone staircase. The stairs were very narrow, and a shallow, open drainage channel next to them flowed with a stream of filthy, brackish sewage. Stepping onto the street, even though it was daytime, the blackened walls gave one the eerie feeling of being in the dead of night.

Illegal structures, built one on top of the other, greatly reduced the width of the street; the road could only accommodate four people walking side by side. Sewage flowed freely on the street. Gima tried her best to ignore the wet, slimy filth on the ground and to carefully avoid the piles of animal droppings. The smell in the air was even more unbearable. The acrid smell of coal ash wafted from the left, and the nauseating smell of feces-water for soaking leather wafted from the right, all mixed together with the pungent, eye-watering stench of stale urine.

Gima felt sick all over. She wished she could grow a pair of bigger wings and fly out of the filthy, disgusting Tinder District.

Originally, she had hoped this mission would not go smoothly, because she needed time to become stronger. If the contract were to be broken too early, she would probably be taken back to the Holy Sanctuary to rot in a dark, boring cell.

Now, she just hoped to find the general store as smoothly and as quickly as possible, get out of this hellhole, find a high-end, clean inn, and give herself a good, long, hot bath.

After walking for twenty minutes, during which time they encountered four attempted thefts, the two of them came to a main road that extended from the wharf district. They then ducked into a small, dark alley off the main road.

George suddenly stopped.

“Are we lost?” Gima couldn’t help but ask, a hint of panic in her voice.

“No, we’re here.”

Gima’s gaze swept over the signs of the blackened red-brick buildings. She didn’t find a general store. The only thing that stood out was a red-painted sign that was half-faded and peeling.

“That’s it,” George said.

“Finally! Hurry up, hurry up!” Gima trotted towards the dark storefront. “I’m about to be permanently pickled into a salted fish by this stench.”

Inside the general store, a long wooden counter served as both a cash register and a barrier. All the goods were behind the counter. The interior was dim, and several figures were bent over inside, seemingly moving something heavy.

The wooden counter was too high for Gima to see over. She stood on her tiptoes and knocked on the counter. “Anyone here?”

A tall, broad-shouldered man suddenly stood up from behind the counter. He was wearing a worn leather hat and armor made of stitched leather with riveted iron plates, which was exquisitely crafted despite its age. A frightening white scar ran down his cheek. His small, snake-like eyes shot out a cold, sharp gaze, sizing them up.

“Someone’s here,” he replied, his voice a low growl.

Gima recognized him at a glance. He was one of the Great Good Master’s personal lackeys, a member of the official city guard.

She remained expressionless. “Do you sell yarn?”

The man with the white scar didn’t answer. His gaze moved up and down Gima and then to George, who had just walked in. He turned his head and shouted, “Come on out.”

“What’s going on?” someone from the back room of the store poked their head out.

“Get our brothers out here,” the man with the white scar had just finished speaking when ten able-bodied guards poured out of the back room, vaulting over the counter with practiced ease. They were all wearing the same uniform armor and carrying longswords and crossbows. One of the swords was stained with fresh blood. Clearly, the informant’s fate had not been a good one.

“What are you trying to do?”

Gima smelled the faint, metallic scent of blood in the air. George immediately drew the massive two-handed greatsword from Gima’s arms.

“Be smart, drop your weapons. Don’t think I’m a fool,” the man with the white scar said, his longsword pointing menacingly at Gima. “Two suspicious out-of-towners, coming all the way to an inconspicuous little spy nest in the middle of the Tinder District. Who were you trying to see, I wonder? Why don’t you come with us down to the station for a little chat, a little search. If you’re clean, we’ll let you go.”

Gima’s backpack contained a full set of her incriminating “homework.” And George’s backpack had a scroll with their “mission details,” a holy symbol of the Dawn God, and an extra-dimensional bag containing a statue of his god. Once they were found, even a blind person would recognize their close, and very unfriendly, ties to the Holy Sanctuary.

Unless, of course, they were complete and utter idiots.