Dark Merchant (2)
When I opened my eyes in the morning, birdsong drifted in at my ears.
Sunlight spilling through the office window already announced that the day had begun.
The daily routine of information broker Percival Smith was simple enough.
I woke on the fold-out cot jammed into a corner of the president's office, then washed my face in the shared bathroom on the second floor.
The bathroom was meant for the entire floor, but not a single other office had moved into a building this far out on the fringe. In the end, I had the second-floor facilities all to myself.
"…Nice and roomy. Can't complain."
After that, I sat down with Sinel—who arrived for work in the morning—and we drank our morning coffee while browsing a secondhand marketplace. That was the whole of the morning schedule.
The coffee, of course, came out of my pocket. Sinel had no money, and I preferred to file it under employee benefits.
"Boss."
"Mm. What is it?"
"There's something I've been curious about."
While I scrolled through listings for used furniture, Sinel—nursing her cherryade with careful thrift—looked up at me and asked the question.
Something Sinel would be curious about at this particular moment. Come to think of it, it was about time she asked. After what had happened yesterday, I had a fair idea of what she wanted to know.
"Curious about what, exactly?"
"How did you do that voice yesterday?"
During the chase with Dagers, I had used telepathy on Sinel. It was only natural she would wonder about it.
Even setting aside its use in a straight fight, telepathy was a thoroughly solid ability on the strategic side of things. With anyone else, keeping its existence secret would have been the right call. But when the other party was a colleague, there came a point where you needed to speak clearly about your own magic.
Telepathy's real usefulness showed itself most sharply when used on allies. One-way secret communication no one could intercept. The power to issue quiet orders to your subordinates without anyone else in the room catching so much as a whisper.
"Sinel."
"Yes."
I looked at her and set my mana circuits in motion. The faint mana of a 3rd Circle raced along fixed pathways and began to deceive the hearing of the woman sitting in front of me.
"Within a certain range—"
"—I can transmit my will remotely."
"Obviously, this fact stays a secret outside these walls."
Startled by the several voices arriving at once, Sinel blinked—then nodded and accepted my condition. Remembering the attitude she had shown yesterday, I decided the answer was trustworthy enough.
"Of course."
"This is something I only tell subordinates I can trust."
"Is that so?"
"I take care of my people. If a talented individual brings loyalty to the table, I intend to repay them with better benefits and more money."
"More money…"
Apparently the first half of that sentence had not registered. I let out a faint, deflated little laugh despite myself and rose from my seat. Sinel was still transparent as glass. Still, her honesty made her easy to handle—and that, I decided, counted as a virtue.
"Talk of money is fine by me. I like money myself."
"Boss, you already have plenty of money."
"It's not enough. This is an age where you invest in force to make money. Secondary Beat and the Knighttail Knights are the prime examples."
This city was a jungle thick with conspiracy and bloodshed. To survive, you had to gather more allies. And to gather more allies, what you needed—above all else—was even more money than you had now.
"I've heard of both of those companies at least once."
"Right. Famous outfits. Which also means they cost a fortune to hire."
With enough money, you could even pull people from corporations like those in a pinch. Money and force. Those alone were the truths of this city.
I took out my phone, swiped across the screen, and pulled up the Black Market's list of wanted targets. Today I meant to spend some of that precious money in an expensive place.
"Ice Sheet. Lenon Sirius. Let's go with this one."
To make more money.
The starting point would be the bounty target with the peculiar nickname of Ice Sheet.
The Cross Network had two famous information brokers.
One was Leman the Clairvoyant—unquestionably the best by any measure. The other was Jackson the Drunkard, forever stuck in second place in Leman's shadow.
Of course, the Cross Network housed far more information brokers than just those two, but the only ones the public at large actually recognized were this pair.
And today I had come to the Cross Network to buy information. My counterpart for the deal, same as last time, was Leman Cavarrant's side. Leman himself was always booked solid with appointments, so once again I would have to meet his assistant.
"It's been a while."
Reception Room B16. I tapped the keycard against a different door from last time and stepped inside. Across a table that looked considerably more expensive than the one in my own office sat the familiar face I had met before, exactly as I remembered him.
"…"
"Well. Hope you've been well."
The man stared at me with his eyes opened wide. Silence. A short stretch of quiet with no answer. Whether he had a lot to process or not, it took him a long while before he finally looked at me and asked,
"What the hell did you do…?"
This was the same man who had once handed me ten credits and sneered at a forged identity. Now he was reading my face and fretting. He had contributed more than a little to how smoothly the last deal had gone. I dragged over the chair opposite him, sat down, and regarded him with the most arrogant expression I could manage.
"Nothing special. I'm just a little better than most, that's all."
"I'm going insane. Seriously. And what's with this 'Dark Merchant' name?"
"…"
"If I'd known you were somebody big, I never would've sent you off like that."
Still an alias I could not get used to. I exhaled a light sigh and cleared my head. The heat rising in my face drained away at once, and my thoughts felt a touch cooler. Having cooled myself down quickly, I spoke to the Brian sitting in front of me.
"Running into each other like this is a kind of fate. Before we deal, let me ask you one thing."
"What do you want to know?"
"What's your name?"
I could not meet Leman often. Part of that was simply that Leman was a popular man; the other part was the risk that the more often you sat across from an information broker of his caliber, the more of your own information leaked out the other way. But the man in front of me seemed fine. A little rough around the edges, yet experienced enough—and he had handled information under Leman himself. He was a suitable contact for the small, frequent purchases of minor intel.
"…Brian. Brian Layle."
"Brian, is it. I hope we'll be seeing each other often."
"Here for information this time?"
"That's right. I'm here as a client."
At that, Brian shook his head. I had expected him to welcome the news—results on the books would hardly be bad for him—but the reaction was unexpected. Having signaled his refusal, Brian went straight on.
"Then you won't be seeing me often. This is the last time I'll be selling Leman's information."
"Retiring?"
"Not that. I'm going independent from the office."
So that was why he was turning me down—he was leaving Leman's firm.
"I see. Planning to set up shop inside the Cross Network, then?"
"No. I don't have the money to get into the Cross Network. I'll just open an office somewhere in a corner."
"Got a specialty?"
"I'm pretty sharp on the back-alley side of things. Grew up that way, for one."
"Then we'll be seeing each other often enough. I don't specifically need Leman's information, so I'll drop by sometime."
Brian looked a little surprised at that. Apparently he had not expected me to want to deal with him rather than Leman.
"You want to see me instead of Leman?"
"Pros like Leman have a habit of vacuuming up the other party's information without even thinking about it. With you, I figure I don't have to worry about that."
"O-of course not."
"Then that's settled. Let's talk about why I came here."
It was time to get to the deal. There was only one piece of information I meant to buy from the Cross Network today.
Ice Sheet. Lenon Sirius.
I intended to purchase everything they had on that 2nd-class bounty target right here.
"You said you came for information today. What kind are you after?"
"Lenon Sirius."
"Lenon Sirius. Looks like a wanted man. Let's see… goes by Ice Sheet."
Brian searched for something on the tablet he carried, then stopped. He seemed to have found what I wanted.
"How much?"
"Three thousand credits. Fair warning—no installments."
"Don't need them."
I pulled three bundles of cash from my coat and held them out to Brian. I had prepared five just in case, but it seemed I would not need all of them. Brian pocketed the money, worked the tablet, and asked,
"Oral or written—which do you prefer?"
"Just tell me. He's not that big a deal anyway."
"Fine by me. Lenon Sirius. Twenty-three years old. Orphanage kid out of District 8. A 3rd Circle mage, wanted by the security forces for robbery and assault, currently on the run."
"And?"
"And… this guy's magic is a little unusual."
Unusual magic. I asked again, expectation rising at Brian's answer.
"What does he use?"
"Grease."