Chapter 16: Issac

“Bigger crowd than last night, eh?” Sven said.

Khukri’s eyes swept across the growing crowd from beneath her abyssal scale hood. At a glance, it was hard to tell, but the little weasel was right. The gathering had grown every day since Master sacrificed their relaxing time before bed, choosing instead to sell the products of their hard-earned labour for next to nothing in the hopes that it would somehow bait Issac down from his tower. As with every step of Master’s plan, it was stupid. Issac was one of the most influential men in the entire outpost. The idea he’d wade through hundreds of workers to save a few florins on night-time drinks was absurd, and no amount of secret sorcery was going to change that. If Master hadn’t been lording it over her for weeks about how wrong she’d been to question his farming, she might have warned him. Instead, she’d be supportive, wait for the day his house of cards came crashing down, and desperately beg for salvation only the world’s greatest hunter could provide.

Since that first day, the worker’s rest area had steadily transformed to accommodate the increased interest. They’d carved out an area in the centre, stacking shipping crates into chest-high walls and forming a square with a single empty space as both entrance and exit. For a while, patrons set up tables close to their square, but after Master summoned her to break up several fights, he talked a few into forming a queue and keeping makeshift tables in organized lines. He’d even used their meagre profits to set up lanterns, allowing men with weak night eyes to stay and drink well past dark.

Khukri’s gaze settled on the man in the square with her. Sven was some species she’d never seen before, with a face like a dog and a bizarrely long flexible body that left his navy uniform loosely hanging from his shoulders. A ferret, he called himself. Sven’s face always bore a wide, innocent grin, buried in platinum blonde fur. It helped sell the constant stream of lies he told about his past. No wonder he and Master got on so well. “There’s more girls out there,” she grumbled. “Armed ones.”

“It’s fine!” Sven insisted, weaving around the stack of barrels to come close. Unlike the other workers, Sven never seemed afraid of her, and if he was faking it, he did it better than Master. “I make the trip between here and the docks a couple times a day, so I get plenty of time to talk to the girls on guard duty. They get paid a bit more, but they’re still just working stiffs like us... well, not us, us; me and the other workers, us. It’s not just boys who appreciate a cheap drink.”

Khukri grunted, returning her gaze to the women as she leaned on the barrels. “I still say we should’ve chosen a more defensive position. We’re surrounded.”

“Relax.” Khukri’s ears perked up at Master’s words, and she hurried to the square’s entrance to greet him as he narrowly squeezed the cart through. While Sven got to work undoing the ropes, Khukri lowered her head, letting Master perform his customary greeting of running a hand beneath her hood and playing with her ears. “Aw, calm down girl, I was only gone a minute. And don’t mind the girls. Their job isn’t to give us a hard time, it’s to keep the peace. Let’s just focus on having another good night.”

Khukri let out a disappointed growl as he patted the side of her neck and pulled away. They had very different definitions of a ‘good night.’ Master claimed this farce advanced his plans, but they’d been ruinous for hers. He’d become so comfortable touching her that he didn’t hesitate to crawl into bed anymore, but his male constitution left him so exhausted from the work that she couldn’t entice him to enforce his claim over her. Of course, this was the end of the sixth week, and with half the hunting season behind her, it was possible Khukri might avoid going feral, even without being forcibly reminded of her place. Well, so long as her idiot Master lived long enough to return her.

Return her. A strange feeling seeped into her chest as Master and Sven unloaded the new barrels, but she grit her teeth and forced the feeling to die. That was the other side of it; that strange feeling was getting worse and coming more often around him. Khukri expected going feral would be that competitive feeling she always needed her packmates to silence growing louder and louder until she couldn’t contain it, but this new feeling was different. Every time Master wasted farm space to grow new taste-plants to mix with her food, or skipped a trip between warehouses to swim with her, it came back. Whenever he sacrificed something to make her happy, Khukri practically smelled his weakness, and it urged her to disobey. Not to kill him, but to protect him, violently. Six weeks Khukri, just keep that feeling dead for six weeks, then Maya can fix you.

“Oh!” Master turned back as the last barrel settled on the stack. “Did Sven show you what he made?”

Khukri turned a curious eye on the ferret, whose whole body curled away in embarrassment. “No.”

“Check this out,” Master ordered, digging through the money bag he’d set up behind the barricade and producing a sheet of paper. “You remember Sven telling us how he learned to draw from that monk in the mountains, over in the Tsu Empire?”

She suppressed a sigh, rolling her eyes behind Master’s back as she approached. “Sven tells us a lot of things.” Khukri draped herself over his shoulders, rubbing her face against his as her eyes fell on the picture. As much as she didn’t believe a word that came out of Sven’s mouth, his skills as an artist weren’t a bluff. The detailed visage of the port, sketched in charcoal, brought her back three years to the day she’d sailed in. Faceless workers milled about the dock, tying lines to a cargo ship with the complicated boxy patterns of the Dusk Empire. “That’s... that’s actually really impressive, Sven. What’re those letters on the hull?”

Sven let out a nervous laugh. “Thanks... That’s the name of the ship, ‘Ambition.’ It’s been a bit since someone commissioned my art, but Ruari said if I saw it in port he’d pay for a sketch.”

Khukri’s head turned, laying flat on Master’s shoulder while she glared at Sven. “And how much was this commission?”

Master laughed, rolling the drawing back up. “Hey, shut up. When I get home, I really wanted to show my sister her ship was the same name as Via’s.”

Ice ran through Khukri’s veins as she instinctively pulled Master tight against her chest. This entire time, they’d taken precautions everywhere they went; six weeks of constantly looking over their shoulder for a potential threat without any proof Master was followed. This was proof, in black and white. They were right to be paranoid, and this makeshift bar was far too open for her liking.

“Thanks for everything Sven, not just the picture, but for pitching in to help out.” Master squeezed Khukri’s wrist, signalling her to let go.

Sven shrugged, still offering a sheepish smile. “It’s nothing. After all that’s happened, it’s a refreshing change of pace to just serve drinks and drive a wagon without it spiralling into a crazy adventure.”

Khukri sighed again, reluctantly releasing Master and giving their recent companion a flat look. “Come on, mighty hero, it’s almost showtime.”

“I’ll kick us off.” Master leaped onto the table, raising his arms while conversations evaporated like the sun chasing off the morning mist. “Gentlemen! In support of the Union of Northern Isles, I’d like to welcome you all to the sixteenth night of the ‘fuck you, make the UNI a supplier’ celebration!” The crowd cheered and clapped, eagerly edging towards the bar. “In case we have any new faces, the rules are as follows! Only people who wait in line will be served! Everything is two florins! And don’t make Khukri come over there!” At that last line, she stepped behind him, crossing her arms and glaring at the crowd for effect. “The bar is now open!” Master hopped backward, hurrying to his side as patrons poured in.

While Sven and Master had the difficult task of distributing items and collecting money, Khukri maintained watch over a series of smaller tasks. Once darkness fell, both men were too night-blind to see the descending mist, so she needed to ensure they had enough time to return leftover products to the warehouse. Defending Master was her top priority, as always, but she also protected the money and cycled out kegs for full ones whenever they ran dry.

Hours into the night, Khukri sat on an empty barrel, surveying the massive crowd enjoying themselves in a haze of gaslit smoke. The scattered performances of workers who'd brought old guitars cut through the cooling night air, helping her relax as the occasional customer added a few coins to their bulging money sack. Then, the impossible happened. Khukri stared in disbelief as Issac, flanked by fourteen spear-wielding hunters, strode into the area.

Before she’d even thought it, Khukri was at Master’s side. “He’s here.”

“I’ll handle it,” Master said, meeting Issac’s gaze and wandering to the centre of the bar.

Guitars petered out and eyes turned their way. Hushed whispers followed Issac across the field, scattering workers as he strode directly to Master’s bar.

“Issac?” Master asked, unphased by the retinue of hunters. “What brings you by?”

“Don’t even,” Issac said through grit teeth. “What the hell do you want from me?”

Master blinked. “I haven’t seen you in over a month, man. I’ve done everything I can to stay far away from you. Whatever you think I’ve done-”

“Don’t!” Issac growled. “You think I can’t see through your bullshit? I don’t know who’s bankrolling this scheme, but you’ve been planning to ruin my vacation since the first day we met. You think I’d believe you can turn a profit shipping ale all the way from Tythic while undercutting Othelan breweries? It’s. Not. Possible.”

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That shit-eating grin Khukri’d become accustomed to spread over Master’s face as he raised his hands in surrender. “Bet you two florins I can.”

Issac’s mouth hung open in silence for a few moments. “You think this is a fucking joke?”

“Yes!” Master said, stifling a giggle. “I thought the girls back at the palace were full of themselves, but you’ve turned narcissism into an art!”

Fury passed Issac’s eyes, curling his lips back to bare his teeth as he leaned over the crate. Khukri saw the threat before Issac spoke, drawing a blade as she yanked Master back. “Bitch, who do you think I am? I’ll destroy you!”

Issac was roughly pulled back by four girls moments after Khukri got Master away. Four of Issac’s hunters jumped onto the bar, angling their spears down while Khukri braced her weapon in defiance, shielding Master with her body.

Both sides snarled, edging their owners away from the conflict. Outside the immediate area, men scrambled away while several guardswomen pushed to the front, yelling at everyone to stop, sabres drawn. Master grabbed Khukri’s shoulder, but she pressed an arm to his chest, not daring to look away.

Her arm roughly turned aside before Master shoved his face close to hers and let out a horrible raspy bark. Khukri jerked away, not out of fear, but sharing everyone’s stunned confusion of Master suddenly barking at her like a fucking psychopath. He pressed in, grabbing her collar and pulling her close to issue another braying half-bark half-scream inches from her face.

“What?” she asked, moments before his hand clamped over her muzzle. Master pushed her to a kneel, staring into her eyes with a warning growl. He’d absolutely lost his mind, but Khukri allowed him to guide her to her knees anyway. When her eyes flitted to the confused girls holding spears, his growl intensified and he squeezed harder, pressing her teeth together painfully until she finally sat on the ground, whimpering and granting Master her full attention.

“Shush,” Master said, releasing her collar and loosening his grip on her muzzle. “There’s a good girl, he didn’t mean it. He’s just being an asshole.” Master released her, returning to the bar as spears retracted an inch from his face. “Issac!” Master called. “You’re usually so... elegant, what’s your problem?”

The spears parted, revealing Issac eyeing the cluster of guardswomen flanking the conflict. Finally, he let out a slow breath and walked back to the bar, signalling his girls to withdraw. “You bought a wolf? Are you insane? Don’t you know-”

“They’ll go feral? I’ve heard.” Master rolled his eyes and lay a possessive hand on Khukri’s head. “I can handle her. We brought a wolf tamer to the palace from Sibir, a bear named Augustin. I’ve been training with him for months.”

“You can handle her? She just-!”

“Don’t put that on her!” Master glowered at Issac. “You came out of nowhere with armed guards and started making death threats. She’s trained to fight wild beasts, not deal with assholes picking barfights like the town drunk.” When Master turned back to her, Issac’s mouth clenched, then slowly loosened as he looked around at the sea of workers watching his outburst. Master folded his hands under her neck, kneading fur between his palms as he smiled encouragingly. “Shhh, come on. Put that away and get up, he didn’t mean it, did you Issac?”

Khukri’s face flushed as she stood, sheathing her blade while everyone watched Master shamelessly debase her for his audience.

“Uh...” Issac’s anger leeched away as he gawked, gently signalling his girls to lower their spears. “No. I just… lost my temper.”

“See?” Master said, stroking her face gently before turning back. “Now, what’s going on? How is me selling my cargo somehow about you?”

Issac kept two girls at his side, warily watching Khukri while the rest diffused the situation with the guardswomen. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve flooded the market. Sales in every bar and tavern are falling off a cliff. The owners and suppliers are valuable members of the Direwood Syndicate and they’re sending letters to my mother demanding to know why I’m doing this.”

“You?” Master asked, looking around. “If the UNI’s products increase the market’s supply, the price of their own products goes down. So, the current suppliers are incentivized to fight the UNI’s application. I’m a foreigner. I don’t have friends here the way they do, so I’m making not accepting my application the worse option. What part of that has anything to do with you?”

Issac’s mouth dropped in disbelief. “By selling your entire supply at a loss?”

Master shrugged. “Hey, the UNI wants into this market. I just own the ships.”

The pink artwork on Issac’s face twitched as he sorted through Master’s words before shaking them off. “I talked to Mistress H. You come into my company’s building every day to play doctor with my girls, as in literal medical care! Everyone’s convinced you work for me, and my denying it just makes them think I’m up to something!”

Khukri’s eyes widened as they slowly swivelled to Master. This couldn’t all be part of it, could it? Surely, he didn’t spend the last six weeks visiting the kennels just to mess with Issac.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into all this,” Master said. “We’ll reverse the contract. Just pay me back for the-”

“Reverse the contract?” Issac yelled, making the guardswomen jump. Instantly, Issac turned about, letting out a slow breath as he held up his hands, assuring the guards everything was fine. When he turned back he sighed, struggling to speak in an even tone. “I’m an executive representative, I don’t have any money. The company pays for all my expenses. How am I supposed to justify giving someone seventy thousand florins to stop providing medical care for my hunters?”

“How is that my fault?” Master demanded, throwing up his arms in frustration. “You’re the one who insisted on giving my gift to the company!”

Issac’s glare faltered, slowly breaking as he leaned on the bar. “I... Well, if you really wanted to join the syndicate, why haven’t you talked to anyone in the last two weeks?”

“What?” Master scoffed. “What do you mean I haven’t talked to anyone in six weeks? I talked to lots of people!”

Issac narrowed his eyes. “Name one.”

“Sven.”

The dog’s eye twitched in irritation. “Sven? Who the hell is Sven?”

Master looked around, then pointed to Khukri and snapped his fingers. She nodded, then grabbed the ferret from where he’d burrowed into the supplies, pulling him free by the scruff of his neck and holding him up for display.

“No! I can’t go through this again!” Sven twisted in her grip, but Khukri only held tighter. “Not again! No crazy adventures! I’m not involved in this!”

“Sven was a part-time bartender for a year at a travelling circus,” Master said, theatrically holding up his hands. “It all changed when he found out three performers were assassins, hired to kill the Duke of Ogdensburg...but which ones?”

Dumbfounded, Issac stared, open-mouthed, at Master’s diatribe. “I don’t actually care who Sven is!”

With a sigh, Master signalled Khukri to drop Sven, who hit the ground, praised Deianira, and scurried behind the supplies. “You’re a hard man to impress aren’t you? Ok, what about Bill? Bill! Introduce yourself!”

From a nearby table, Bill, the only man who hadn’t moved through this entire ordeal, lay face-down, his head little more than a floppy grey mass of fur. Upon hearing his name, he jerked upright, smiling absently at Issac through bloodshot eyes. “I’m Bill! I make sausage!” Having successfully finished his task, Bill rewarded himself with another deep drag on his pipe before smacking his face back into the table, leaking smoke from the folds of his fur as he went still.

“Ruari!” Issac pleaded. “For goddess’s sake, please focus!”

Master turned back, breaking into a smile. “Hey! That’s the first time you’ve actually used my name!”

Issac visibly restrained himself, throwing a worried look at the confused onlookers. “I meant the people you’re supposed to talk to so you can become a supplier. Members of the Direwood Syndicate with influence. Go talk to them.”

“I tried,” Master said. “First, I went to Cliona since she invited me-”

“Not how that happened.”

“She threatened to kill me, then two days later I went to see you, and you threatened to kill me.” Master threw up his hands. “I noticed a pattern. You know how many times Sven’s threatened to kill me?”

“Please stop making me a part of this!” Sven begged from his spot, curled-up under the crates.

Issac sighed, slumping forward. “What do you expect when you roll into the outpost out of nowhere, pretending you’re Lord Ruari, governor of the Northern Isles?”

“He’s royalty?” Sven squeaked.

“No!”

“Yes.” Master exchanged a tired glance with Issac, then set an ale on the bar. “On the house.”

Issac picked up the tin cup, looking it over like he’d found it in the mud.

“So, everyone up here is kind of paranoid, huh?” Master asked, pouring himself a drink. “I mean, I thought it was weird you started calling me a con artist before I’d asked for your help, but it’s starting to seem like this is an everyone thing.”

It took Master swallowing his drink before Issac followed suit, grimacing as it went down. “Look, Ruari. I put up with this job all year so I can have three months to relax and be myself. I need this, please. If it’ll make it stop, I’ll make you a substandard supplier through the proper channels. Just meet me at the lodge tomorrow... no death threats.”

“Deal.” Master extended a hand, which Issac reluctantly shook before gathering up his girls and heading out.

Master turned, grinning at Khukri. This time she smiled back, never having given him the satisfaction of voicing her doubts. Before either spoke, Sven crawled from the boxes, clutching Master’s robe as he prostrated before him. “Please, your Highness...”

“I’m not the queen,” Master protested, though Sven didn’t seem to notice.

“Please, please don’t drag me into this. I can’t handle another adventure. Please...”

Khukri and Master shared a look before he knelt, putting a hand on the poor guy’s shoulder. “Sven, this has nothing to do with you. This is our thing.”

“Really?” Sven’s eyes swelled up, hope bleeding through every syllable. “No ancient cults, or pirate treasure, or booby-trapped tombs?”

“...No. Just the bartending thing.”

“Thank you,” Sven said, stumbling to his feet and brushing the dirt away with trembling fingers. “Thank you! Thank you!” Sven turned, bounding over the bar and scurrying into the street.

“Weird guy,” Khukri pointed out, watching him go. “He didn’t even take his cut.”