124 (II)
Commis [I]
As soon as Shiv touched down on the ground once more, he found himself intercepted by Adam before he could speak to any of the orcs. The Gate Lord immediately pulled him aside and gestured at the basilisks. “What the hells is wrong with you?” Adam hissed.
“Food,” Shiv said.
Adam just stared at him and let out a low groan as one of his eyes twitched.
A large smirk grew on Shiv's face. “Are you going to tell me that you can't imagine this tasting good?”
“No. That’s not the problem. The problem is you blasting the ground apart—and racing with the orcs. What are they, your friends now? I thought they were terrifying monsters that killed without blinking.”
“Yeah, but… They challenged me to a race and shit. What was I supposed to do?”
Adam stared at Shiv like he was simple. “Tell them no?”
“Adam. I’m not going to let an orc beat me at anything.”
“You are practically a bloody orc, you giant idiot. And now…” Adam gestured at the basilisk. “Fine. Make them into food, I guess. But dammit, we just fixed the place.”
Shiv leaned in very close to Adam so that the orcs didn't hear him. Then he whispered, “Sorry. How about some pan-seared basilisk with abyssal mango and loomgrape glaze paired with cauliflower, mushrooms, and glass peppers? I promised to cook for you and your mom, right?”
Adam’s expression softened. “Yes. You did. So. How did it go?”
Shiv waved at the orcs, and they came forth immediately. “Watch them carefully. They like playing mind games.”
Adam nodded and narrowed his eyes.
A social battle was upon them. Frankly, every encounter with an orc was a struggle. And this one held its own hidden threats and rewards.
“You called for us, Insul,” Whisper said. Slowly, his eyes turned away from Shiv. The weight of his gaze fell upon Adam with the suddenness of a stabbing blade. “Ah, Gate Lord Arrow, we have heard of your father, the mighty Roland Arrow. Some of our brethren had experiences with him.”
“Experiences,” Adam said dryly. “What kind?”
“The kind where they ended on the right side of his arrows.”
“The right side?” Adam said, confused.
“Yes, the pointed ends. The ends that killed them. Very good shots. We hope that your archery honors his.”
Shiv let out a grunt of displeasure. “Hey, Whisper.”
“Yes, Insul?” Whisper asked.
“Knock that shit off. I know what you're doing. Stop throwing Adam off. Adam, this one here talked a vampire into surrendering. But not before he convinced the poor bastard to cut out one of his buddy's Lineage Cores.”
“Oh, but that's where you're wrong, Insul,” Whisper continued. He also kept using Shiv's title. Shiv suspected that was to influence him somehow.
Psychology 14 > 15
And when he leveled up from that suspicion, Shiv figured he was right. “They are not, as you say, buddies. They might be vampires, just like some of us...” Whisper eyed Mortar, and the automaton-wearing orc just sneered. “...orcs of a feather. But we are not, as you say, affable with each other. Biological symmetry and racial identities are one thing. But personal preference and beliefs are another matter. No, I simply facilitated his revenge. Retribution he never expected to fulfill. I saw it in his eyes, you see. I read it on his face. He wanted to hurt the other vampires. I gave him his freedom.”
“How?” Shiv asked. “I am curious about that. You killed everyone else you came across. Took their cores. He’s the only one you spared.”
Whisper smirked proudly. “Did you know that there is such an Awareness Skill Evolution that lets you read micro-expressions?” And despite everything, Shiv felt his curiosity provoked.
“There is,” Adam said, frowning as he confirmed Whisper’s statement. “But that's usually something that those with the Path of the Investigator develop. How do you have it?”
Whisper’s smile grew wider.
“Right,” Adam sneered. “Perceptive psychopath.”
“What an apt description,” Whisper replied with a grin, as if Adam was flattering him.
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“Bit ugly,” Mortar said. “I don't like thinkin' myself a psychopath.”
“What would you describe yourself as?” Shiv asked, genuinely curious.
“Just an orc who likes to have a bit of fun. Set things on fire. Blow things up. I’m a simple fellow.”
Shiv snorted because he knew better. “This ‘simple fellow’ likes to play stupid,” Shiv said, pointing at Mortar. “But, uh, you could probably talk strategy with him, can't you?”
Slowly, Mortar's exaggerated smile died down a bit. “Hmm, talk strategy.” He looked at Adam. “Can you?”
Adam straightened his shoulders. “I will have you know that I graduated top of my class at Phoenix Academy—”
“How many battles have you been in?” Mortar interrupted. He leaned down to meet Adam face to face, but he made sure not to breathe on the Gate Lord. Instead, he started sniffing through his nostrils. “How many battles?”
Adam sneered. “What about you? You ever kill a Dragon-Knight, orc?”
Mortar considered that. “Well, that depends. What do you mean by kill?”
“How can it depend?” Adam said, scowling. “Did you kill one or not? Because I have. I brought down a Lance. We brought down a Lance,” Adam said. Looking at Shiv.
“That's impressive,” Mortar said, nodding. “And I have to say that depends on because, well, after my bomb went off, a good few of my allies disintegrated too.” He let out a giggle. “Technically, I killed a few Dragon-Knights. I just wasn't supposed to. Real shame, really. They were nice blokes.”
Adam grimaced slightly as he took a half step back from Mortar. “Shiv, I'm not sure about this one. He seems very likely to—” And then his voice trailed off as he looked at Shiv. “Never mind, we're fine. I remembered that we’re already dealing with one destruction hazard.”
“Hey,” Shiv said. “I don't really—” And then Adam just stared. Shiv coughed. He had detonated his inertial sheath near Adam a few times. That aside, he was pretty destructive—indelicate when he moved around. “Shit,” Shiv muttered.
“Hm,” Adam replied. “You’re becoming self-aware.”
“Ah, problem with controlling the yield, eh?” Mortar replied, chuckling at Shiv. “That's all right. Every good artillerist learns their lesson. Of course, usually someone else pays the price.”
“What about these two?” Adam said, looking between Band and Tequila.
Adam eyed Tequila's two wands, in particular. And the orc had the audacity to wink at him. “You recognize these?”
“Dynamancy wands,” Adam said. “You use both of them at the same time?”
“Yes, it makes you kill twice as fast. And I like going fast,” Tequila replied. “Also like a few other things.” He clapped his hands together. “Like rice wine. You got any rice here?”
Adam considered that for a beat. “I'll have to ask one of our quartermasters.”
“You don't need to do that, I can ask myself,” Tequila said. “Just simply direct me.”
“No,” Shiv cut him off. “If you're going to do anything or talk to anyone, I or Adam better be with you.”
“You suspect us so much,” Tequila said, sounding offended. The orc almost pouted. But then he broke out in a smile and rolled his eyes. “Ah, I suppose I can't blame you. But can you blame me? I do like to socialize. I have to do it enough for the both of us here.” He briefly patted Band on the shoulder. Band nodded shyly. As shyly as an orc could, anyhow.
Band didn't speak very much, but he held on to that violin in a death grip at all times. Adam looked Band up and down. Slowly, he narrowed his eyes. His mouth opened and closed. And finally, a sense of certitude crawled over his features.
“What?” Shiv asked. “What's wrong?”
A moment passed as Adam eyed the orc and gave a small laugh. “You’re a Diviner!”
Band's eyes widened. Tequila drew in a breath.
“Yes, you are,” Adam continued. He pointed at the violin. “Not just a Diviner, your bloody Divination Skill’s mixed with your instrument. How did you do that?”
A loud, coughing laugh of incredulity came from Tequila. “Is that how you keep knowing what spells to use at what time? Is that how you keep knowing who to summon? You can tell what enemies are coming. You can listen in on the System strumming its threads using your violin. Band, you scoundrel. Why didn't you ever tell me?”
Band scowled slightly at Adam. Instead of saying anything, he briefly pulled his bow across his violin, and a horrible screeching noise followed.
“Ah!” Adam cried, clutching the sides of his head. “What the bloody hell was that for?” Adam's eyes came aglow with a violet hue. “Oh… Oh. How… That’s not… I didn’t know you could communicate with someone through Divination Music… But… You're a disciple of Vivalde? How? You’re an orc.”
“Who's Vivalde?” Shiv asked. “And did he just communicate with you?”
“Legendary Republic Diviner.” Adam's breath hitched. “He once trained my mother.”
Band pulled his violin once more, and Adam shook his head. “No, no, you can't.” Adam drew in a long breath as he reconsidered. “I'll talk to her later. Maybe, maybe it might do you both some good if you spoke, I think. I'll need to think about this,” Adam said, shaking his head. “I need to be present too.”
“What the hell's happening, Adam?”
“He's a Diviner. He used to train under the same master who taught my mother.” Adam eyed Shiv. There was something else he wasn't saying. Something about Rose and how she related to the matter. But Adam wasn't going to reveal it in front of the orcs right now. Probably wise.
“Anyhow,” Whisper said. “Not to rush you, Insul, but I do recall you boasting about your Cooking Skill.”
“Wasn't a boast,” Shiv said. “And you all promised to help me once we got back. I want to see how good you are at something that isn’t killing. We’ll be doing the cooking here.”
“What are we making?” Tequila asked with a glint in his eyes.
Shiv looked at one of the basilisks. “Remember our wager? Last basilisk to arrive gets eaten.”
Almost immediately, Band began playing a mournful tune, and Tequila placed one of his wands over his chest. “Ah, Gemstone.” He looked upon his basilisk, its eyes staring off in the distance, its massive, split tongue whipping at the air. “We will miss you. You served, and you rode free and happy. But this is a cruel world, ruled by cruel Pathbearers. Drift away upon that memory of your final, last, free, and jubilant ride.”
It annoyed Shiv that Tequila's pre-eulogy for his basilisk started to bother him. “All right, well, Gemstone is going to be donating some meat soon. But I want to know how good you guys are as Commis. You know what a Commis is?”
All four orcs looked at him and nodded. “Yes, Head Chef.”
Shiv's mouth slammed shut as he frowned. He was looking forward to explaining to the orcs what a Commis was, just like Georges did to him before. “Wait, just how much cooking experience do you all actually have?”
All the orcs stared at each other. And then they started smiling, showing rows of teeth. “Well, I wouldn't like to toot myself too much,” Mortar said. “But I did run a restaurant chain for a while.”
Suddenly, a clenching feeling of inadequacy overcame Shiv. “You what?”
“It wasn't very successful, and the lizardmen locals were extremely racist and hypercompetitive, but I still managed to endure for a year before they finally broke down my walls and set me on fire over my own grill before sending me back to the Tutorial.”
“I was an assistant for a fey Alchemist who also doubled as a gastrointestinal healer,” Whisper said. “Their food and soup mixtures were delectable. The alchemist tasted good boiled too.”
Tequila comparatively shrugged. “Well, my main experience comes with mixing wines and alcoholic beverages, but I did learn how to cook to a slight degree just to have an accompaniment with my libations.”
And just then, Band pulled something out from his chainmail suit jacket. It was a blade. A blade that Shiv recognized to be Moonsteel. It was practically the exact same make as the one George's had handed Shiv before he was thrown off of Blackedge. Shiv's eyes widened. “How did you get that?”
Band simply grinned. “From Chef.”
“What chef?” Shiv said.
Band shook his head. “Cook meal, then tell. Or maybe not, if meal bad. If meal shit.”
Shiv squinted at the orc. “Do you know Georges Archambault?”
Band just sneered. “Will tell. Only if good meal. Not raw and shit.”
Shiv's lip curled. “Alright, motherfucker, that's how you want to do it? Fine.”
“That is how I want,” Band said. “Motherfucker.”
Part of Shiv knew the orc was provoking him, but cooking was special. And Band was going to die of a food coma for this.
Just then, Uva manifested herself next to him. “Shiv, I—”
“Turn that one's mind off, Uva,” Shiv said, pointing at Gemstone. “I got something to prove.”
“What?” Uva said. “We need to process the prisoners. We need to—”
“We need to cook one of these basilisks. And they're going to help me,” Shiv said, glaring at the orcs. “They're going to help me, and they're going to be the first ones to taste the dish this time.”
And, as he said that, Whisper reached into his midnight robes and pulled out several orc-sized aprons. Shiv's disbelief only grew as Whisper produced sauces, salts, and other implements as well. “Chef,” Whisper said, “do you have condiments, or shall I provide the ones I have on me?”
“Challenger,” Shiv called out, “you planned this, you bastard. You blind-sided me with cooking orcs.”
“So, is that a yes or a no, Chef?” Whisper asked innocently.