Transcripts

V: Hello Thomas. I hardly noticed it was you, save for

the hand, of course.
V: You came alone? Or am I missing some of your
companions in the dark? I don’t bite, I promise.
T: I wasn’t aware we were inviting guests.
V: I’m deeply saddened. I was hoping to meet some of
your associates. But I suppose you’re here, and that’s
what matters.
T: Aceman kin?
V: Bastards, brothers, cousins. You understand.
T: All necessary for a street parley.
V: They rarely end well, but seem to have been engraved
into the code of these things. It’s always useful to have
good muscle around just in case. I must concede,
Thomas, I find it strange you brought none of your own.
Perhaps they’re hiding somewhere?
T: I’m not sure if your father ever taught you this, Vykra,
but you should come to own conclusions before you
speak. If you ask yourself the same questions you
would’ve asked me, you’ll emerge a much wiser man
than when you walked here today. Of course, your father
died so young, so I’ll forgive you as a slow learner.
Perhaps if he’d lived, things would’ve been different.
V: You talk finely, for a street rat. Such a way with words
could’ve been put to better use than smuggling carrots
and pigs shit in and out of the city.
T: If a street rat can outwit you in conversation, I wonder
what that says for the Aceman family.
V: You forget yourself. Be careful how you speak of my
family. We are not known for our forgiveness.
T: There’s a lot of things your family isn’t known for.
V: Are you done belittling me?
T: You tell me. You arranged for a parley. It was your
choice to come here by night, to deny me a reason, or
details, or the company you would keep. You refused to
acknowledge why Vykra Aceman would send me a
messenger, not your mother, or in fact, Gloria. Or
Gabriel, for that matter. You’re both respective heirs to
your family, and he’s the smarter of the two of you, after
all.
V: And yet you revel in soiling my family name, rather
than asking me for the reason of our meeting.
T: Remember what I said about questions, Vykra? I
answered them myself, before I left the comfort of my
tavern.
V: And what conclusions did you come to?
T: Questions, again. What do you think I thought, when I
am invited, not to the Aceman household, not to some
neutral territory, but to a street corner, some far-flung
part of the city long forgotten and desolate by night, for
fear of thieves or rapers or worse? And what am I
expected to think, when night just so happens to be the
time of our requested meeting?”
V: Do you fear a trap, Centican? Do you think I asked to
meet you here just to slit your throat in the streets?”
T: I think that’s exactly why you asked me here.
V: Your conviction wounds me. Why would I wish you
dead? And why would I ask for a parley, instead of
seeking you out in your squalor tavern, if I truly was the
monster you think I am?
T: A number of reasons. You are the heir to your family.
You and Gabriel both, but that is a matter for another
time, and honestly, Vykra, an affair that concerns me
little, and interests me less. You feel the need prove
yourself, and what better way to do that than eliminating
a rival? I do not deny my nature. I am a smuggler. I lost a
hand for it. Smuggling is not good for business. I’m sure
your father taught you that lesson, at least. And if not,
surely you figured it out on your own. Smuggled goods
can be sold for cheaper, and suddenly the expensive
wares the Aceman family brings into the city and sells to
the good people of Lysis aren’t so desirable. Especially
when there’s a cheaper, more abundant source readily
available.
V: So my family made a deal with you. This is well
known.
T: Yes. To keep the Aceman family profitable, and to
prevent any conflict between our respective businesses.
Smuggling is bad for profit, but war is even more so.
That deal has been stalwart thus far. Until you decided it
was your place to decide these things for your family.
Perhaps it was some jape of Gabriel’s that urged you to
find some way to prove you were a more deserving heir
than he. Or maybe you thought it was about time the
family by handled by a male, as is tradition for you
noble houses. Perhaps you believed your mother was no
longer suited to be head of the family, or her sister,
depending on how you look at it. Gloria, Victoria, the
semantics are irrelevant. Something provoked you to
break our deal, and here you are. Without your mother’s
consent, I assume. I doubt she would give you her
blessing for a task like this. If she had, she would have
raised more men than this, and would’ve marched them
to my tavern, rather than slitting my throat in secret.
What do you think her reaction will be, when she finds
you took this action without her leave?
V: Then why would you come here? If you suspected ill
intentions, the wiser action would’ve been to stay in your
tavern, or report the parley to my mother.
T: This will be the last time I remind you, Vykra. Use
your wits, what little you father left. Victoria would not
have believed me. Why would she? You left no letter for
proof, only the words delivered by a messenger, whose
name was unknown, and existence questionable at best.
If would need proof if she were to believe it. And do you
think she will be merciful to those who attempted to
break our truce without her knowledge? You said so
yourself, Vykra, your family is not one for forgiveness.
Perhaps your men could plead ignorance. They may
claim you had them believe you had your mother’s
blessing, but tell me true, Vykra, would she really care?
Would it make any difference? It matters to you not, I’m
sure. You’re Victoria’s son. You are likely to receive little
more than a stern talking to, or a slap on the cheek. Your
bastards, brothers and cousins, on the other hand, will
not be let off so easily.
V: “You’re sure of yourself, aren’t you Centican?
T: I’m sure of many things. I’m sure your pride won’t let
you go home without some kind of victory. So I’m afraid
to tell you that you won’t be going home at all. Not
today, at least.
V: Are you threatening me, Centican?
T: Not at all. You’re free to leave this place at any time.
But you won’t. You see me, unarmed, alone, impetuous,
disrespecting your lineage when you had thought I was
so cleverly stuck in your trap. You’re angry, prideful,
maybe a little ashamed you didn’t see this coming. It
would feel so good, to strike at me, wouldn’t it? You can
do it, Vykra, take your axe and hack me to pieces. You’d
be doing both of us a favour.
V: You tell me this to make me rash. You want me to
strike out, to violate the terms of our parley.
T: Ah, and there is our final reveal for the night. A slither
of your mother’s wit amongst all that shit from your
father. What a truly wicked thing he was, to drown that
hopeful spark in so much squalor.
[break in action]
T: [to Acemen kin] Do you think that was the only one?
Do you think I don’t have another half dozen
crossbowmen, waiting for my signal to burry quarrels in
your throats? You made easy enough targets, carrying
that lantern around. You thought it was your lifelines, but
its anything but. I can’t kill him. Victoria would have my
head, no matter who crossed who in this sham of a
parley, and no matter who called it. But I’m certain she
doesn’t give a damn for any of you. You think you will
be avenged just because your name is Aceman, but in the
absence of her son, her mother will forget you even
existed. Go home. If you’re lucky, Victoria will forget to
have you beaten and lashed. You mean nothing to either
of us.