The Jinx set down the box he was carrying. He was not carrying souls today. He did that sometimes, but he found it distasteful.
He found the room unremarkable in all regards except for its location – a quiet back room of the Festhall of Falling Coins. As his patron had bidden him to do, Perik had tossed a cursed, runed copper coin into the fountain that gave the place its name. The plane-touched did this every time he visited.
Sometimes he wondered what it was for. Probably for some grand metaphysical purpose, at least in his own head. To this day, he still wasn’t entirely used to the eccentricity of his master. Maybe it was his patron’s way of wishing misfortune unto his enemies.
Perik knew he was pretty eccentric himself.
Several generations up his family tree, a gnome and some fiend had done something they shouldn’t have. Results included coal-red eyes, a brimstone scent about his person, excessive hairiness, and an allergy to holy water. Perik could only guess about his exact bloodline, but he figured – for no particular reason – it was probably something Abyssal.
The Lower Planes felt like home to him, but he didn’t feel especially pulled toward either side of the Blood War. Which was just as well; he knew his way around the Arcane, and could be pretty mean with a knife, but pitched battle between fiends was something he’d rather avoid.
Finally his client came in, shutting the door behind him. He looked like a totally nondescript human, but Perik knew better.
“Welcome.” The plane-touched gestured to the chair across from the table. “Hope you had a nice trip, and that you didn’t run into anything nasty along the way. Torch can be a rough place.”
The ‘human’ smiled at the understatement as he took a seat. “Nothing I wasn’t able to take care of, thank you.”
“The place is warded against scrying, and I checked on a few things myself. No one will be listening in, so you can take off your ears now.”
His client laughed aloud. Tugging carefully, he removed one round-eared prosthetic and set it down on the table. He did the same with the other ear, then rubbed at his face, removing similar pieces that hardened the line of his jaw and gave him facial hair.
The new arrival was, after all, a thespian. Zandaray was, in fact, a very famous actor and playwright, quite popular with the crowd in Sigil these days. Fame was a fleeting thing, Perik thought, but for right now, the half-elf was positively basking in it.
He knew that, when not disguised, the half-elf had very noticeable orange-red hair, but a thorough dye job had turned it brown.
What Zandaray was doing here was not, technically, illegal under existing Guvner regulations, though it certainly qualified as immoral. Rather, the Jinx thought, the thespian didn’t want to be in the public eye when about his own private business. That was just fine with him.
The plane-touched took a seat across from his client. “I hope that that new play of yours is coming along well.”
Zandaray smiled widely. “Splendidly, thank you. Assuming all goes well,” he glanced briefly at the box, “I expect it will be a truly memorable production.”
The Jinx sensed that the smile wasn’t entirely sincere – but I’m betting they’re never totally sincere. He’s an actor, he can’t help himself.
Perik rested his hand over the box. “I’m sad to say that the life memories of Justinian Black-Heart just aren’t available. That could be because they became so dissipated by the Styx over time that even the best can’t reassemble them. It could even be because he got eaten by a sphere of annihilation, got imprisoned in an obscure demi-plane, or something like that. Believe me, if my patron can’t find out what happened to him, or to his memories, no one can.
“I have a little something to alleviate the pain, though. My employer was able to locate the largely intact memories of one of his associates – Bandarlos, his long-time companion and ally.”
The Jinx smiled widely as the playwright’s expression brightened. “You know the name, then. My patron took the time to go over these memories thoroughly. The Cager cant of the period, daily life, the political situation leading right up to the Great Upheaval… it’s all there.”
“If it is true, it’s a miracle,” the half-elf exclaimed.
“I’ll make certain not to relay your choice of words to my patron.”
The half-elf gestured toward the box. “How does this work, exactly?”
Perik grinned and began working at the lock. Specifically, he pulled out a slender, rune-engraved metal rod. Together with its handle, it made an L-shape. He inserted the rod into a slot on the box and began cranking.
“It looks like a kind of weaving or tapestry, actually – though memories can be locked into gems, too. In order to get the memories, all you’d have to do is touch the tapestry and study it for a while. The longer you contemplate it, the more you get from it.” Perik smirked. “Helps if you put it under your pillow at night, too.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember that.”
The box clicked softly. The Jinx removed the rod and gently opened the box. With care, he turned it so that the half-elf could see the neatly folded, silvery-metallic cloth.
“Oh, and one more thing –“ He picked a single, silvery thread out of the box and handed it to the playwright. “A sample. Just wrap your fist around it and think of what you know about Bandarlos.”
The half-elf blinked several times, starting the moment he touched the thread. Holding it in his palm, he glanced at the plane-touched, then closed his eyes.
After a while – over a minute, actually – he opened them again. “Oh, my, that was vivid!”
Perik grinned again. “Yes, quite. You’ll be wanting the tapestry, I take it?”
“Definitely!”
He quoted a sum. It was a large sum, but it had been negotiated before this meeting. Zandaray nodded; the stage had made him a surprisingly rich half-elf.
“Then there’s the second part.” The fees that Perik’s employer charged were never completely temporal. He was very consistent about that. “One of your works – something that has never seen the stage. The subject matter isn’t important, only that the piece matters to you -- that you find it meaningful.” The Jinx shrugged his shoulders. “You must destroy any other copies, and never attempt to reconstruct the same play from memory. I have to warn you not to try cheating my patron in either regard. If you do, he will know. And he won’t be happy.”
The thespian nodded, more than a little anxiety on his features now. “I understand. It’s all genuine, and there are no other copies anywhere.”
“I see. Are you ready to conduct the exchange?”
“I am.” The half-elf withdrew two objects secreted on his person: a locked wooden box, and a scroll case. He set the box down and unlocked it, revealing a mix of cut gemstones.
The plane-touched gnome picked up and examined several. After looking over one in particular for several moments, he removed a small metal file from his pocket and rubbed it against one of the edges of the gem. He noted the scratch now engraved into the file, rubbed a bit of metallic dust off the gemstone, and set the latter back into the box.
The Jinx nodded and put the file back into his pocket. “Now for the scroll.”
He noted that the playwright handled the scroll case with more concern and delicacy than a box containing precious stones. Truly my master was right, Perik thought with admiration. This man cares more for ideas than food.
The tiefling sat back in his chair and spent a good bit of time examining the first few pages. Hah – a Blood War piece! In his limited experience with the theatre, such treatments were common, but serious ones, good ones, were rare. A serious historical coverage of some Blood War event was a risky thing for a playwright. Many of the participants were probably still alive, and might protest how they were treated in the play. In dangerous and violent ways.
Additionally, even if the playwright didn’t anger any fiends, there were plenty of ageless or long-lived beings on the planes – fiends, celestials, and much more – who might have actually been there and who could point out any and all historical inaccuracies in the work.
He couldn’t decide, on a casual reading, whether the half-elf had decided to shelve this play due to the possible dangers, or simply because the Blood War could be so difficult to research at that level of detail. The Blood War was also simply overdone in the artistic community.
Or you mean to show off to my patron. Artists are prideful sods.
From what Perik could tell – he was no artist – the technical quality of the piece was good. Very good. He reacted to it.
The half-elf was watching him, a different kind of anxiety in his eyes. So proud of your work, and so insecure about it, Perik thought.
“The payment is acceptable,” he said, sealing up the scroll case again. “I dare say, very acceptable.” The playwright smiled at that.
The Jinx nodded at the box he himself had brought to this meeting. “Should you need it, more might be available where that came from. Let us know what your specific needs are, and we’ll see what can be done. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, and I hope we do more of it in the future.”
If the half-elf had any negative reaction to shaking hands with a plane-touched, he hid it very well. Doubtless he noticed how Perik’s skin felt a good bit warmer than would be normal for a gnome.
“Thank you so much; really good information on that period – firsthand information -- can be so terribly hard to find.”
Damnably hard to find, Perik thought, but did not say aloud.
Once the half-elf had redone his disguise and left, the tiefling looked down at the scroll case thoughtfully. A fetter to bind you with, he finally decided. The principle of sacrifice was widely understood, across all the Lower Planes. Blood and death were the usual currencies, but he supposed a stage play might do, in some cases.
Then there was the old line: An artist puts his soul into his work. An essential part of himself.
So, it’s not a heart and a liver on some altar at midnight. It’s hopes and fears and dreams instead. How much sweeter, I wonder…