Put It on Credit
Chris wore a smile so soft it looked ready to melt clean off his face.
"Let's put it on credit."
Abas's face went dead serious.
"Credit does not exist in our dictionary."
"Do you have any idea how much I've spent in your auction house? You're being awfully stingy."
"Pay with the necklace."
"No."
A Chukhwan was supposedly on his trail. With a defensive artifact more precious now than ever, he couldn't hand the necklace over. If he was going to sell something that would actually fetch coin, the magic vault came first.
Chris shoved the ominous feeling aside and forced himself toward optimism. A little thin, maybe, but I've strung the links together. I can still run.
He studied the old man carefully.
"You don't look like a simple doorkeeper."
Abas shrugged and offered no reply. Just then someone sucked in a sharp breath, and a shout shook the dining hall.
"You! Thief!"
Every guest in the hall turned toward the source. Franco was jabbing a finger at Chris. The stares that had landed on Franco's face traveled down that finger and came to rest, at last, on Chris.
Abas muttered, an odd look on his face.
"So it wasn't only the Senpo Trading Company's haulers. You've fleeced other mages too. A mage who robs people this professionally... first I've seen in my life."
Chris cut him off.
"No. You've got it wrong."
Mahal laid a hand on Franco's shoulder.
"That the bastard who cleaned you out?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'll give you this one for free," Doltan said. "That man is Mahal."
Chris looked at the fat man. So the fat man from the auction is Mahal.
The skinny one was beside him as well. Chris pointed.
"And that gentleman would be Wilmer?"
Doltan nodded.
"So the one who stole my things was right here," Wilmer said. "You're him, aren't you?"
"Him?"
"That bastard from the auction house. Take the mask off and you thought I wouldn't know you?"
Chris sighed.
"You can't call it theft when I won the bid in a fair contest."
He wagged a finger from side to side.
"Mages really are a rotten lot."
Mahal strode closer.
"Hand over the necklace and the magic vault, and I'll let you leave in one piece."
"One of the two, you offer up to me," Wilmer said.
The pair haggled as if the goods were already in their hands.
"I'll choose first."
"No. That won't do."
"He's the one who robbed my junior. First claim on the split is mine."
"Fine. I'll be generous and take the necklace."
"How is that generosity? You take the magic vault."
"You're the one who kept bullying your junior and insisting there was something tremendously valuable in that vault. So you take the vault."
"I was only talking."
While the two bickered, Chris was whispering to Doltan and the old man.
"Which of you ranks higher?"
From the air of the thing, it seemed to be the old man.
"You?"
Abas gave him neither yes nor no.
"I'll take that as a yes. This ship is run by the Black Hand Guild, correct?"
"And if it is?"
"Set beside the captain, who ranks higher?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Once you're aboard, the principle is that the captain answers for the passengers' safety. I want to know whether I'm allowed to dispose of a passenger."
A glint came into Abas's eyes.
"Confident you can win?"
"Look at me. Do I look frightened?"
"Robbery seems to have tempered your nerve."
"I told you, I'm not a robber."
Chris snapped, then smoothed his expression.
"If the ship takes a little damage while I deal with these thugs, is that acceptable?"
"It is not."
"Then put in a good word with the captain."
"To be honest, I outrank the captain. But this is inside a ship. Remember: aboard a ship, the captain is king."
"Isn't the owner above the captain?"
"We're on the water. You have to allow for the circumstances."
"I'll do my best not to break the ship."
Chris picked up the plate in front of him and threw it—a plate hurled with everything a Grand Master had. It flew at a terrifying speed and bore down on Mahal. He didn't even check the result before he threw a second.
Bang. Bang.
They sounded like bombs going off, yet neither man was hurt. Chris groaned inwardly. Both of them have defensive artifacts.
He'd assumed they had none, the way they'd flown off the handle at the auction, but they'd had them all along. If anyone asked Chris to name the greatest enemy of his life, he wouldn't hesitate for a second. Defensive artifacts.
He gave the two no room to catch their breath. Snatching up the old man's plate and Doltan's, he kept throwing. Mahal and Wilmer hastily raised barriers.
Whump. Whump.
The barriers heaved. They looked ready to burst at any moment.
"A mage, fighting dirty!"
"A mage, attacking with plates!"
Chris waved a hand.
"If you want magic, I'll show you magic."
The dining table rose lightly into the air and sailed at the two of them. Passengers who had been eating in peace, only to be caught in a fight out of nowhere, screamed and fled the hall. The braver among them stayed to watch mages fight. The voyage had been dull, and a spectacle had turned up; they seemed to be enjoying it.
Abas and Doltan watched with interested eyes as well. Wary of getting caught in the mess, they shifted their seats toward the wall.
Mahal formed a fist of air, struck the table aside, and sneered.
"You call this magic?"
Wilmer sneered too.
"A staffless drifter, and you dare raise a hand against mages of a magic tower? You must be dying to die."
He swung his staff. A porthole burst, and seawater poured in through the hole. Watching it shape itself into a spear, Chris spoke to the old man and Doltan.
"The one who broke the ship is the skinny one. Make sure the captain hears that."
Then he formed a lion of fire and had it swat the spear of seawater with a forepaw. At the sight of the beast rampaging, wrinkles gathered on Mahal's brow. He had realized this was no easy mark.
"That bastard's no ordinary mage."
"I told you!" Franco shouted. "I said he was dangerous!"
"Shut your mouth!"
"You treat your junior awfully harshly," Chris said.
He winked at Franco.
"I'll straighten out that mannerless senior of yours."
Dozens of wind blades formed, set on shredding Mahal and Wilmer. The two blocked them with fists of air and a shield of water.
Pap-pap-pap-pap.
The wind blades failed to pierce either defense and buried themselves inside.
"Our turn now."
Mahal scattered mana bullets like rain. Chris raised a barrier and stopped them cold.
"Aaagh!"
Two of the spectators screamed. One clutched his leg; the other clutched his belly. They had taken the collateral from the mana bullets. The man with the hole in his leg didn't look to be in mortal danger. The one whose belly had been punched through was already breathing his last.
Chris looked at the old man.
"You saw what they're doing? They're spraying magic without a care for whether anyone else gets hurt. Lawless bastards."
Mahal ground his teeth. How dare he look away in front of me!
He charged, meaning to collect payment for the bluff, and as he did he drew his staff back a little. Flame rose from it.
Whoosh.
The flame came forward and took the shape of a sword.
"Fire Sword!" Doltan shouted.
Chris turned his head at the cry. A blazing sword was closing in. He had guessed, since the man worked mainly with air, that Mahal carried a wind-attribute seed—but the Fire Sword poured out a presence that was anything but ordinary, so it seemed he held a fire-attribute seed instead. A trump card, of a sort.
Mahal cried out, triumphant.
"Too late!"
The sword knifed in at Chris's flank. It looked ready to enter there, shear through his waist, and burst out the other side.
In that instant his soles shoved off the floor. Swallow's Dance was swift and elegant both. His body moved fast enough to leave an afterimage. As the Fire Sword cut uselessly through that afterimage, Chris was already leaping into Mahal's guard.
Thud.
His fist punched through Mahal's solar plexus.
"So you only had the one defensive artifact."
With the feeling of ripping a Klpandi clean out of him, Chris stirred the man's insides.
"Khurk!"
Mahal sprayed blood. Chris left a great hole in his chest and cut his throat with the edge of his hand.
Thump.
Mahal's head hit the floor and rolled.
"Aaagh!"
Franco screamed, as if he had never imagined his senior could be taken down. Wilmer didn't scream. He realized too late that his opponent was the stronger and tried to flee. That was the mistake. Even at a disadvantage, he should have stayed on the attack.
Tables, chairs, and the rest of the clutter kept him from moving quickly. In a place packed with obstacles, no mage could beat Chris for speed. Even an upper-rank Chukhwan could not have surpassed him at moving fast in a tight space.
Wilmer had the threshold almost under his nose when he grasped the despairing fact that his enemy was far faster. He clenched his teeth, spun, and threw his staff. The staff poured out mana and exploded.
Boom.
Chris layered his barriers and blocked the rampaging mana. Then, for the first time in his life, he formed a mana bomb and threw it.
Boom.
Finely shattered mana raked Wilmer from head to foot. He collapsed, his body turned into a honeycomb.
Chris regretted it for a moment.
"The robe's a rag now."
The staff was ruined, and the robe with it, so the loot had shrunk. He drew a spatial pouch from inside what was left of the robe. Two holes had been punched through it, but the contents, fortunately, were intact.
He cut off Wilmer's head, then went to Mahal, stripped the robe, and collected the staff. He took the spatial pouch as well, but a security lock was on it.
"Come here."
He beckoned to Franco. Franco was so startled he drooled.
"M-me... me... me... you mean me?"
"Yes. You."
Franco dropped to his knees.
"I was wrong. I'm sorry. Please, just spare me."
He begged through a spray of tears.
"All right. I'll spare you."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
Franco crept closer, still hesitant. His eyes were full of tears; he didn't seem to believe a word of it.
"You're from the same magic tower as Mahal, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Close?"
Franco shook his head and waved his hands.
"No! We're absolutely not close!"
"If you're not close, why were you together?"
"Mahal dragged me around so he could dump the annoying work on me."
Chris held out the spatial pouch.
"Can you unlock the security?"
"Yes."
Franco took the pouch and released the lock. Chris watched him do it. Seen from the vantage of someone who had reached the realm of Chukhwan, it didn't look all that difficult.
He rummaged through both mages' spatial pouches. They must have spent most of their mana stones at the auction; few remained. He wasn't disappointed in the least. The things the two had won at auction were inside.
He looked at the special Explosion Orb he'd pulled from a pouch and licked his lips. Died without even getting to use something this expensive.
"Hoarded it until it turned to shit."
"Mahal must have thought he was going to win," Doltan said.
Chris set the mana stones and the Explosion Orb aside and held out to Doltan the goods Mahal and Wilmer had won at the auction. He also set the robes, the staff, and both spatial pouches on the table. One of the pouches was full of holes, and its value had crashed.
"Convert them to mana stones."
"Certainly."
Appraising the items one by one, Doltan said, "You're far stronger than I expected. As I thought, you have what it takes to own the treasure."
After seeing Chris fight, his manner had grown considerably more respectful. The same was true of the old man seated beside him.
"Let us introduce ourselves properly. I am Abas, of the Black Hand Guild."
Chris waved him off.
"A little late for introductions."
He rose as he went on.
"Bring the mana stones to my cabin. And no one enters until I allow it."
"I'll see to it," Doltan answered.