Rumours of Zayan
That guy with the hat. It was perhaps, in hindsight, inevitable. Though you tried to pass it off as being a stranger from a strange land, those excuses only drew compliments at just how good you are at speaking the local language. Rin’s ability to attract the eyes of every man on the street just by walking past, even with her head covered by a shawl, does not help. So, that guy with the hat, and his pretty companion. Also with twins and a goblin slave.
Slaves. There were a lot of those here. Slavery had been a rarity back in the Seven Kingdoms, an endeavor reserved mainly for punishment of law-breakers. You had not seen any slaves in Erise either, but judging from Ontoglia, and from Runde’s story, they would be fairly common in the more urban regions. The slaves are mainly human, a good mix of locals and foreigners from the looks of it, while non-human slaves are in the minority. You had spotted a few goblins running little errands around the tiered streets of Ontoglia, but they kept their cowed heads down and did not even look at Runde. There was also a strange slave working at the smithy – a well-muscled man with a feral, toothy scowl, twitching animal ears and a great big bushy tail, plus a bit more fur than is normal about his arms: Runde tells you that he is a beastman, one of the more numerous non-human races.
You note that minus the tail, and should he be a bit more brutish looking and green, he could very well be an orc. There are similarities and differences, just like the goblins of this world and those of yours.
Interestingly, although the duties of the slaves mostly involve mundane housekeeping tasks, as well as general labour, the miners were all apparently free men. It seems to be a strange quirk borne of an ancient Methussian law – carelessly decreed by some well-meaning king, you hear – that has never been rescinded: simply put, in Ontoglia, each man owns what he can mine with his own two hands. Minus the assorted taxes, tributes, and other payments of a bureaucratic nature, of course. The law’s nature prohibits slaves from mining for themselves, as they are not to own anything, and they are unable to mine for their masters, as they must be able to own what they mine. Regardless of the law’s effect on slaves, it has not stopped various groups of miners from banding together, pooling their resources, sharing the profits and laying claim to vast stretches of tunnels… but all in all, any structure that exists appears to be highly informal.
And all of this will not last.
When you asked around about Zayan, there were a lot of rumours.
Zayan has created a flying machine and flown to the moon. Zayan has unlocked the secrets of eternal life. Zayan has created a new species of cat that can eat grass and shit gold. Zayan has, apparently, done a lot of things since constructing a gadget that burnt an invading Byarlantian fleet to cinders fifty years ago, ending a particularly nasty skirmish between the Gran Byarlant Empire and Dijeh.
But a lot of the more believable rumours focused overwhelmingly on why the inventor was here. Thirty years ago, Zayan constructed the large elevator at the base of Mount Asteronto. It had served as a basis for the smaller lifts that now line the sides of the great pit, increasing productivity by quite a bit. You had also learnt that those lifts were not owned by any of the miners, but by the governor, and by extension the kingdom. Apparently though the law guaranteed that each man owned what he mined, it did not promise that each man would be given all the help needed to carry out what he mined, free of charge.
Now Zayan is back, and the word on the street is that the old inventor has returned to display another strange machine. This time it would be a magnatite-powered mining machine, a moving contraption that would bore tunnels through the earth while sifting through it to extract ores. It would pose a significant challenge to the words of the old law: can a man operating such a machine be said to mine with his own hands? To say that the miners are incredibly uneasy about this would be an understatement, but it remained firmly a rumour: such a thing would have to be physically large to carry out its work, and not a single miner has seen even a simple cog from the rumoured machine even though they go through the tunnels every day. Yet the rumour persists, for some reason.
A haze of worry and uncertainty continues to hang over the miners, and it will likely remain until the rumours are either confirmed or dispelled, and Zayan has left town.
As you wonder if it all means anything, and whether it will help you find Zayan, you turn into an alleyway and go down some stairs. At the bottom, you find yourself standing in front of a disused tunnel. The place is deserted. You are alone here, except for the hooded person that had been following you ever since you left the bar. Best to have no witnesses if you need to dispose of some spooks.
“You have been asking a lot about Zayan, haven’t you? What is your interest in that person?”
The voice’s pitch is mellow, soft. Could be a woman. Could be a young boy.
“I like smart people. Can’t blame me for being interested in the one who has been hailed as the smartest person in the world.”
“That makes me very curious indeed. You bear the smell of an inhuman monster. That rules out Barzam. You could be the alleged angel working for Methuss, but I find it hard to believe a dreaded weapon of war would be fishing for rumours in a tavern. You might be Galbaldian, but I doubt it for a very important reason.”
“Oh? Why is that?” You turn around, looking at the person that has accosted you. It is a woman – probably, it is hard to make out under the dimming light, and you had been unfortunately fooled before – with messy brown hair underneath that hood, and a pair of round quartz lenses perched on her nose. The quartz is smoked and dark, rendering you unable to see her eyes. Still, she does not seem – again, you had been unfortunately fooled before – to look older than thirty.
“When you were talking to that miner at the bar. I heard you speak in fluent Dijehnese, while he responded normally in Methussian… as if he was hearing you speaking his language. That is very curious indeed.” A cat-like grin spreads across her face. “That effect is not from any existing spell that I am aware of, and Galbaldian muscle-head agents do not have that sort of mastery over magic. Now, of the major powers, that leaves Byarlant, but I am rather certain you are not with them. Their spies would be less obvious, though of course they would not escape my eyes all the same. Does this analysis satisfy you?” She finishes with a labored sigh, as if being forced to repeat the obvious to an ignorant child.
“You left out the part of the analysis where you explained what those men want with you.” Six rough looking men are standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at you like predators eyeing their prey. They do not seem to be here for a chat.
“It is a tragically shameful miscalculation on my part, but I have been cornered,” sighs the woman. “My name, if you have not guessed already, which I surely hope you have, is Zayan Matroube Reshia XIII, Zayan the Thirteenth. Those men are working for the governor, obviously. If they take me back, I will suffer a fate worse than death. Thank you for helping me, by the way.” She appears to have jumped to an unwarranted conclusion, but you let it pass.
“Hey, the man with that strange hat over there,” calls out one of the men. “That woman is a wanted criminal and con artist. Don’t trust anything she says. The guv’s just put out a bounty on her head.”
“It looks like I can walk out of this if I just hand you over,” you say to the woman who claims to be Zayan.
“They will probably silence you just to be sure. And I don’t mean monetarily.”
You glance at them. “Come now, guys, you heard what she said. Would you really do that?”
“O-Of course not! If you return her, you will be handsomely rewarded by the guv!” They don’t seem too convincing to you, but they might just be nervous in general.
“With that most ironic of traditional rewards, your own head on a platter,” she drawls.
“Woman! Stop spouting nonsense!”
***
A. You hand the woman over to the men. A lot less trouble that way. If she is truly Zayan, you will figure out a way to meet her again afterwards. There is too little information to act on at the moment.
B. You grab the woman and run. Killing people here would just create bodies that would be a bother to clean up. A few jumps and an invisibility spell will be enough to lose them.
C. They will remember your hat. They cannot leave this alley alive. You will bury them, then interrogate the woman afterwards.