Cassius Lange
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Midnight Bounties 4 - Chapter 7
🕑 Added 2025-05-23 12:00:06 +0000 UTCThe chuggadig’s head atop the entrance door of my club stared down on me with a judging sneer. Or at least that’s how it looked like from where I stood.
“One year,” I muttered with my cigar in my mouth.
I licked my teeth, trying to remember how many I had lost in the various Mok’feras I had taken part in. Seven? Eight?
It had been a whole year since I found Fey and Spif in that mine. One year since I took over the club and left my bounty hunting days behind me. Back then it was only the three of us and of course Korvan and Ragul.
“A simpler time, Frank boss. Wasn’t it?” Spif said eating an apple.
I glanced down at the satyr and back up at the trophy.
“Simpler my ass,” I said. “We had to fight off half the city just to keep the place open and even then we were broke most of the time.”
“Ahh, yes, truly the tranquil days,” the little hairball said then waddled off, whistling some tune I hadn’t heard before.
“Tranquil days,” I said under my breath. “When did I ever have tranquil—”
The door swung open and almost bashed me in the face.
“Make room for Lady Pearl!” a black-bearded dwarf yelled as he pushed through the door.
It was Warkins, one of Pearl’s three bodyguards. He was easily distinguishable by the pearl earring in his left ear, and the dwarf was dressed in black leather and mail with two shinny axes sitting at his hips.
“Master Frank,” he said, bowing respectfully as he held the door open for his boss.
Pearl walked in like a noble. She was dressed in tight black leather with golden lacing on the shoulders and belt. A long, expensive-looking cloak fell down her back. Golden necklaces, bracer, rings, and earrings added to her already lavish style. Pearl was living the life. Behind her, two more bodyguards came through, both clad in black and they were armed.
“And to think only a year ago you were a barefoot urchin trying to rob me midday,” I said, extending a hand.
Pearl smiled, took my hand, and turned to her retinue.
“I’m safe here, so you can relax. Get something to drink.”
“Fuckin’ aye!” Warkin said then quickly cleared his throat. “I mean, uhm…very gracious of ye, me lady.”
“Hezak, show Pearl’s men to the lounge. They eat and drink on the house.”
“Now that’s proper,” Lathmar, the red-bearded tall dwarf said. Well, as tall as a dwarf can be.
“Pearl!” Fey yelled form the other end of the club then dashed toward her with such speed that Pearl’s cloak flapped as if stirred by a strong wind. The two hugged, waking Korvan who was sitting on his favorite talking chair.
The ogre mumbled something about hearing loss and mobbing, then fell asleep again.
“You never come to visit anymore, you rich asshole!” Fey said jokingly and Pearl shrugged in apology.
“I know but blame Frank. Since I took over the Wailing Sister’s it’s been one thing after the other. I don’t even have time to take a piss without someone asking for me.”
“At least you had time to pick plenty of new trinkets,” Fey said, flicking one of her earrings.
“Those? Oh, you know how it is. I had to make up for a lifetime of being broke. Priorities, sister. Priorities. Besides, I heard you made time for our boss here, if you know what I mean?”
“How the Hell do you know already?” Fey asked as I slowly removed myself from their conversation, taking small subtle steps toward the bar.
“How? The entire Ashpit was alight with you two getting down to it. Even the fucking vultures know. Frank, what the Hell, man? Ever heard of discretion?”
I was already back at Ragul’s bar where he and Opius were mixing drinks, and asked for my whisky. I raised a glass at the two and winked, for which I got a couple of expected frowns.
Pearl and Fey continued their conversation as they sat down at the three long tables we put together for the coming evening. Garfor had laid out some snacks already. Classics like cricket crackers and gnoll tripe, but also some new inventions like bowls of ratfish eyes and bits of raw river eel wrapped in that green shit that floated around the dock.
I had tasted none of it. The very sight of the river eel oozing out of the green stuff made my stomach churn, but I had to hand it to Garfor, he was a true scientist. Every other day a new abomination graced our menu and most of the patrons seemed to love it all.
Fusha was already sitting next to me and puffing on her bonepipe looking content when Hezak joined us.
“The tables are set, Ragul,” the hobgoblin said exhausted, “Everything is ready. Who are we waiting for?”
“Well done, Hezak,” Ragul said dryly.
“Well done,” I snickered.
I couldn’t remember the last time I heard Ragul say that to Fey, if ever.
Matis came walking down the stairs, holding his head in his hands and mumbling something. At the same time, Rot came waddling his way up from the basement in the same pose.
“If it isn’t the Bull of Sankta Varath and…Rot,” I said.
“Don’t yell,” Matis groaned, dropping on the chair next to me with his face in his hands.
“I wasn’t yelling.”
“Opius—” he began and the old druid slid a red colored drink his way as Rot took his place at the far end of the bar.
He got one too.
They booth emptied the hangover cocktail with varied degrees of difficulty. Matis smacked his lips and breathed out long and hard.
“What a fucking night. Frank, those goblins almost tore me from the stage and had their way with me. You should really hire more security around this place.”
I laughed at that. Matis was very popular with the ladies. On the nights he danced, the entire second floor would be packed out with women of all species. Ladies Night was a big hit, so much so I made Tyfus and Pearl have it in their clubs once a week, too. With different dancers, obviously, but nobody was as popular as Matis, the Bull of Sankta Varath.
“You make good money, Matis, and besides, your dancing days will be over soon anyway.”
“What? Why would you say that?”
“You haven’t told him yet, sir?” Ragul asked with some concern in his voice.
“Told me what?”
“I’ll tell you when everyone’s here. Now, did you overhear anything about Drowtomb? What’s the situation out there?”
“You’ll tell me—fine, I’m not one to rush things and Drowtomb?” Matis said, pulling out a small mirror and fixing his hair. He picked something from his teeth and faced me.
“Yes. Did I stutter?”
“No, you did not, but now that you mention, I did overhear something last night.” He looked over his shoulder more as a tick than to really check for eavesdroppers. “The King called in Garet and the Sons.”
“You’re shitting me? The Sons are out with the Third Army?”
“My head…ugh, Opius, another one.”
“Stay with me, man. Garret? What?”
“They be takin’ the farmers as fodder for te frontline, I ‘ear,” Rot said, picking pieces of gods knew what from his beard. “The Sons and half the carpenters and smiths in the city. I ‘eard a mate of me sayin’ they dragged good dwarven folk out Slag Street in the middle of the night, can ye imagine it? Good thing they don’t be messin’ with ye, Frank, or yer very own handyman ‘ere,” he said, slapping his belly. “Would be now makin’ catapults out there, gods forbid. Opius, please, another one, and an ale to wash it down, lad.”
The King was truly going all out this time. This wouldn’t go down well with the city folk, though. He was making a lot of Sankta Varathians angry.
Matis spoke my mind,
“He’s not making himself popular, our King. Orcs and farmers are one thing, but skilled dwarves from Slag Street? I don’t know. I don’t think the Steelhands will like that.”
“Aye. But what can you do?”
“Nothing,” Opius snapped, as if it was a threat or a warning. “You do nothing if you’re smart. You know how many wars I’ve seen, son?”
We glanced at each other, but nobody wanted to guess.
“I don’t know either. That’s the point. They come and go and come and go. What are simple folk to do, eh? Find a corner to hide in and wait it out. Forget about glory and honor.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Rot said, raising his mug. “Fuck glory and honor.”
“Words of weakness,” Fusha said, calmly puffing out a ring of smoke. “War always finds you. Always.”
“There’s some truth to that,” Matis said and raised a glass.
“It always true. You must brace for war. Accept it and await it so when drums of war thunder, you fight like an orc! Heart big, muscles big! Not cover and hide!”
“The orc way!” Garfor roared from the kitchen.
Opius snorted but said nothing. He was way too old and wise to get into an argument about the merits of war with orcs.
About half an hour later, I called us all to the table. I took head surrounded by Fey and Ragul. They both wore their best outfits. Fey was in a pretty long green dress embroidered with silver depictions of forest imagery and Ragul, well he wore what he wore every day, his black suit, vest, and tie.
Spif, Wort, Matis, Fusha, Drogna, and Pearl sat to my left and Opius, Korvan, the island sisters, and Derek to my right. Derek was wearing suspiciously heavy armor for some reason. A mail tunic, sabatons, and leather shoulderguards. My runner poured every coin he earned into new gear. Platebreaker hung off the strap of its sheath on the corner of the chair.
Hezak was serving drinks while we waited for our last two members. After about another few minutes of relaxed chatter, I finally called on Garfor to start dinner.
“Can’t wait for them forever, I’m hungry,” I said and as the others agreed, the entrance door swung open, but nobody came in. Well, not at first.
A large round shape appeared, filling the frame of the double door. Greyface Jerry took one careful step before the other. He was sweating profusely and panting like a dog in heat.
“Frank,” he said through troubled breaths. “I’m here. I walked…I walked all the way from the brewery, Frank. All…all by myself.”
“Move lardball,” Tyfus barked, pushing in past him.
“Don’t…call…me that, you little…you little—”
“Yeah, yeah, we get it,” Tyfus said, walking over to the table and grabbed the chair at the opposite side of me.
“Sorry we’re late, pie-boy here had to stop five times to catch his breath. At one point, I thought he’ll just ooze out into a manhole.”
Jerry slowly lowered himself onto one of the poor chairs to Tyfus’ right. It squealed miserably and for a moment we all thought it would give in. But it survived. No wonder, after all, they were my handiwork.
Chatter broke out as Garfor and Hezak served the first course. A greenish soup with vegetables and unidentifiable pieces of meat. It was hot and smelled delicious and just as the Midnighters were about to dig in, I stood, ready to give the speech I was pouring over in my head for the last day and night.
“May I have your attention,” I said, wrapping my knuckles against the table.
“Can I eat while you talk, Frank? I’m famished,” Jerry said, already swallowing a mouthful.
“No, I mean…whatever, just listen up—”
“It taste like mogul fish, is this mogul fish, Garfor?” Korvan asked.
“No, it’s—” Garfor began. And looked at me.
“These are jar prawns, you idiot. Does this look like fish?” Tyfus snapped.
“Hey,” I yelled. “Listen up, I have something to say.”
“Then say it already,” Pearl said rolling her eyes.
“Always a pleasure to have you all here,” I said with a sigh.
“A toast, to the man who brought us together!” Fey cheered, raising a glass.
“To Frank!” they all said in unison, some with more enthusiasm, some with less, and Tyfus with none.
“Thank you,” I said, “Truly. Now, as you all know, I’m going on a journey tomorrow morning. It might be some time until I return. Maybe a week, maybe a month. I’m not entirely sure. That’s why I called you all here so we can have one big dinner together before I depart.” I cleared my throat. “Well, that and because I want to address some of the things that need addressing.”
“Frank,” Jerry began. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving for good, Frank. Oh, this soup, Garfor. This soup has healing properties.”
“He’s going to Hell, fat man,” Agata, the white island sister said. “There’s no halavee where he goes.”
“Hell?” Jerry sputtered, almost choking on a piece of jar prawn.
“Well, I guess. Sort of. I don’t know yet and that’s why I’m going south first to meet with Snowdog, one of the Three of Steel. If there is any way to avoid my trip to Hell, I have to try and find it.”
“Off to Hell our hero goes, his muscles strong and fiiiiirm! Off to Hell—”
“Not now, Spif,” I said. “Thank you,” I had to add not to make the little horndog cry. “With that, there’ll be some changes. Tyfus is coming with me so I need someone I can count on to take care of the Lusty Lion. That someone will be Matis.”
“Me?” the swashbuckler said and jumped off his chair. “The Lusty Lion? What about my dancing, what about all the women—”
“I’m sure you’ll find plenty of willing ladies as the manager of the Lusty Lion, Matis.”
“But…but that’s so much responsibility. My friend, I’m not cut out for such serious work. You know me, I like to keep things light.”
I sighed, knowing that something of the sort would come as a complaint. Tyfus was rubbing his forehead, and I knew exactly what went through that fiery head of his.
“I’m sure all the gold you’ll make will make up for it.”
“What do you mean?” the gnome snapped finally. “I’m not going to lose my cut, will I? You know I’m willing to go with you, but if I’m going to lose money—”
“You’ll keep your cut, Tyfus,” I said through clenched teeth. “Everyone will be compensated for everything they do.”
“Drogna and I need better pay too, Frank boss,” Fusha said.
“You’ll get it and the Agata and Rivian too.”
“Ol’ Rot—” Rot began
“Is going to get his cut as well. I’m increasing everyone’s pay by 20% and that’s on top of the increases in the last few months you ungrateful—”
“Lord of the Ashpit, everyone!” the gnome said, raising his glass. “You rich fucking bastard. I knew you made a killing but—”
“Spare me,” I said. “Matis will take care of the Lusty Lion together with Derek.”
“Me?” Derek said. “What? You’re promoting me?”
“Yes, I’m promoting you. You’ll be head of security.” I looked him over, “Since you’re already dressed for it. And, as already announced, Fey will be taking care of the Midnight Bounties.”
A couple of heads turned but nobody was too surprised with that.
“Now then, in case problems come up while we’re gone,” I said and sat down then looked all of them over. “I don’t want any heroics, alright? I want you to report everything to Hezak here. And Hezak, well, you know what to do next then, right?”
The hobgoblin was at the bar, filling up another round of drinks. He nodded simply.
There were several very capable people in my family. Pearl and her bodyguards were nothing to scoff at, not to speak of Matis and Wortimus. The two were formidable fighters, and if worse came to worst, there were always Ragul and Opius, but if I could at all avoid outing the two, I would. Word spread quickly, and I didn’t want any adventurers at the doors of my club trying to grab a vampire trophy.
“Is that it?” Tyfus said. “Can we drink and eat?”
“That’s it,” I said with a nod, and everyone sighed in relief as if I had been speaking for hours and not minutes.
Fair enough, I didn’t like listening to speeches either.
We dug into the soup after which Garfor brought platters of warm appetizers, most of which went cold because nobody could stomach looking at them. Well, nobody except for Jerry and Korvan, who gulped down what others couldn’t. Surprisingly enough, the main course was a delicious smelling large roasted bird of unknown origin filled to the brim with stuffing that tasted even better than it smelled. When I asked what it was, Garfor waved me off and I took that as a good enough answer.
“You know, my mother used to make a hell of a bird back in the day,” Tyfus began.
“I don’t believe that,” Rot quipped for some reason.
Tyfus raised an expectant eyebrow. With a fork in his hand, Rot pointed at the mage.
“Gnomes don’t have mothers, gnomes pop out donkey’s assholes when they’re stressed.”
I almost choked on the meat hearing that proclamation.
“You’d like a fireball for dessert, duergar?” Tyfus snapped half-serious.
The white-bearded duergar continued.
“It’s true, I tell ye. Put a donkey between two stacks of hay and he’ll shit out a gnome before he chooses which one to eat.”
“Poor donkey,” Matis snorted through a laugh.
“Who were your parents, anyway, Tyfus?” I said as the commotion died down a bit. The gnome snickered then dug back into his bird and continued with a mouthful.
“Good folk from Tower Street, they were. My mother was a saint, duergar. A saint. Worked all her life as a weaver and my father supplied the markets with whatever came his way. Working people, mind you.”
“Then why are you so demented?” Fusha said to everyone’s surprise. She wasn’t one to usually make quips at the gnome.
“I’m not demented, orc. I’m educated, but I understand why ignoramuses like you people would confuse the two.”
“Orcs smart!” Fusha said, thumping her chest.
“Maybe some are, but I didn’t mean orcs. I meant you people here. Look at our boss. It takes him a year to finish a single book on carpenting.”
“He isn’t even close to being done with it!” Fey chuckled.
“I’m almost—there’s no point in finishing it because my skill went up and I—I don’t need to justify myself to you people. What’s the last thing any of you read?”
“Bella told me story of worker revolt,” Korvan suddenly chimed in. “It says Frank exploit us all. We work and he eats the fruit of our labor. Just like King. He make the poor work and the nobles sow what we plant.”
A round of silence washed over the table.
“Who the fuck is Bella?” Matis asked.
“His damned talking chair. It’s been educating Korvan on his rights,” I said through a sigh.
“Bella is always right,” Korvan mumbled.
“Yeah, the King and the nobles are rich and the rest of us are fucked. Do you really need a magical chair to gain that insight, ogre?” Tyfus explained. “It’s the fucking order of things. It goes: the wretched, that being us. The nobles, the King, and the Gods above all of us. If you have a problem with that, you should start at the top.” He looked my way, “Like Frank here. He’ll be going straight to Hell to find Morgefah. Maybe you could go with him, Korvan, huh?”
The ogre glanced at me and back at Tyfus then shrugged.
“I have work,” he said. “Is good enough for me.”
“So speaks the revolutionary,” Tyfus finished. “You know the Shan’tar in the south tried something like that a century ago. They beheaded their King and burnt most of their nobles.”
“They did?” I asked.
“Yes, boss. I know your carpenting books don’t really touch on those topics, but it’s true. It worked for a while. Well, worked might be a strong word. Eventually mages took over and created the Council of Wisemen, but that didn’t really last, either.”
“But they have a King now as far as I know,” I said.
“Yeah, the First of the Arcane. Mages don’t really work great together, you see. The Council fell apart as soon as the first mage realized he could turn the others into rocks. Which he did.”
“Shit, is that why they call their seat of power the Stoneworks?”
“Ah, he connects the dots, our boss. That’s exactly why. Yuri Fryergale the First of the Arcane named himself king in all but name after that. His successor Quin Fryergale—”
“Is the current ruler,” Tyfus said and snapped his fingers, pointing a half-eaten drumstick at me.
“Well, that just goes to show that you don’t fuck with your boss,” I said, facing Korvan who was leaning into his chair and dozing off.
The evening was almost perfect. We ate, we drank, we talked, threw jabs at Derek, made Ragul uncomfortable, and pissed off Tyfus as much as we could without him bursting into flames. Spif sang and played his lyre, Drogna and Fusha climbed the table and danced showing off the magical tricks the island sisters taught them.
Fey’s hand landed on my knee several times, sending shivers up my leg and into my chest. It felt warm, calming, and most of all, good. But there was something missing. However perfect the scene felt, it missed that special touch, that Midnight Bounties feel. I tried to swipe the thought away, but it kept returning.
Somehow, as if reading my mind, the door to the club opened and in came Targa, large, brooding, and angry-looking.
“There it is,” I muttered to myself.
“Frank boss!” he roared, slamming his chest. “You leave and not say goodbye to Targa and the Loco Bruego? How come so much disrespect?” he yelled, slamming his fat fist into the wall. His retinue streamed in around him. Some dozen or so large orcs, each looking more pissed off than the next. I raised an eyebrow but didn’t get up, and just stared at him.
“So what say you, Frank boss?”
“What say I? I say you come and drink with us,” I yelled back, slamming my fist against the table and rattling the silverware.
“No,” Targa said puffin up his chest, “Not enough.”
I really didn’t want to depart on a bad note, especially not with the orcs and the Loco Bruego Clan. After all, they were not only my most important customers, they were my main pipeline to Nergat and they would also protect the family with their lives.
“I say Mok’fera!”
“Mok’fera!” his retinue yelled.
I looked to the rest of the Midnighters who shrugged almost in unison. I wanted to ask who died, but I thought it might be better to play along. Besides, I had grown used to the ritual. It helped blow off some steam.
“Fuck it, sure. Mok’fera!”
