Warsinger James Baldwin (read this if TXT) 📖

looming behind us, snerked tinnily inside of her helmet. “Still feeling hormonal, are we?”

“Still made of meat, are you?” Karalti replied sweetly.

I watched as two burly porters heaved the gangplank into place. “Guys, cut it out. We're up.”

Karalti nodded, and put on her best bouncer face. Vash made a sound of delight as a fat bottlefly landed in his cupped hands and began to cootchie-cootchie-coo at it.

The porters idled by while a snotty-looking bureaucrat stepped forward. Like all the Dakhari in the port, he wore loose, brightly colored clothing, and - in the case of the men - a head scarf that swaddled his head, scooped under his chin, and could be pulled up over his mouth if needed. He spent a while messing with a clipboard and a magic-detecting wand, and when he was ready, a yellow objective beacon appeared around his feet. The porters moved forward, opened the fence along the gangplank, and we dutifully shuffled forward.

“Name?” The [Customs Official] asked, not looking up from his list.

“Jurchen Lurou of Myszno.” I held my papers forward. “And entourage.”

The man didn't look at them, searching his list for our names. When he found them, he grunted and crossed them off. “Welcome to Dalim, the Flower of the Desert and the seat of his Eminence Yazid Khememmu the Fifth, glory be his name. What’s your reason for visiting Dakhdir today?”

“Trade.”

“And how long will you be staying?”

“Three nights.”

He grunted again, roughly sweeping a fly away from his face. I felt Vash tense. “If you are staying only three nights before returning to Vlachia aboard the Tellak, then you must leave your Artifact on the ship. Artifacts must be registered for thirty days.”

“Uhh... what?” I nearly dropped the act for a moment. “Dude, no. I can't leave it behind.”

“And why not, exactly?” The man glanced at us. “It is a machine, yes? Park it in cargo and take a claim ticket from the captain.”

I gestured sharply back to Suri. “She's the mining tool we came to show the Iron Merchants. Seven feet tall! Made of the finest Mercurion steel! This bad boy can dual wield pickaxes and dig through a meter of rock in ten minutes! We can't leave it aboard, or do you expect us to bring the Guildmaster of the Iron Merchants here?”

Suri loomed.

[Bluff successful!]

The Customs Official blinked owlishly. He flicked a fly buzzing close to his face, and Vash's eye twitched. “Fine, fine... let me check it over. You will pay me a tariff after the reading, you understand?”

The way he said it - and the fact that we were paying it here, rather than at the exit booth into the city - implied he was about to ask for a bribe. I grimaced and jogged from foot to foot, as if impatient. “Fine. Get it over with.”

The official thumbed his glowstick on, and it hummed to life. I watched nervously as he waved it over Suri. It flared bright green.

“Humph. This is a very fine machine to be running off cheap greencrystal.” He sounded disappointed.

“Do I look like I'm made of money?” I replied. “What's the tariff?”

He thought about it. As he did, he absently reached up and slapped a fly that had landed on his shoulder. Before anyone could react, least of all the porters, Vash punched him so hard that he spun over the gangplank rail and nearly fell over the side.

“There! See how you like it, you bureaucratic schlochdav!” he shouted. “ How do you like being slapped to death? Ey?!”

“Hahaha, well, have a great day, gentlemen.” I hooked my arm through Vash's elbow and pulled him past the two burly men as they desperately pulled the semi-conscious man back onto the gangplank, where he slumped and retched. “Come on, kids, time to go!”

“You eat more shit than that fly ever did!” Vash shook his fist, lunging against my arm toward them.

“Wait! Where you think you going!?” one of the porters shouted after us.

Suri stopped, turned, and leaned over him. “Wherever we fuckin' want, you silly cunt.”

Everyone behind us was so grateful to move forward in line without having to go through Bribey McBribeface that not a single person snitched on us as we vanished into the crowd and did our best to blend in. Getting through the gate was much easier than clearing the gangplank. The official behind the counter was efficient, pleasant, and not obviously corrupt. All he wanted to do was see our papers and send us on our way.

“Vash, sweetie, I'm really going to need you not to try and murder everyone you see who squishes a bug around here,” I said though gritted teeth once we were on the road. It was crowded and lively: vendors hawked fried snacks and plates of fried durian, curry, bread and doughnuts, incense and flowers and fruit. A number of idling NPCs had yellow rings with question marks around them, indicating they had quests to give. Children ran through the narrow alleys in ragged gangs, shrieking with laughter. Somewhere not too far away, we could hear bells and singing.

“Well, now that you asked me so nicely...” Vash was examining his surrounds with obvious interest, watching as lean, slow-eyed nomad traders guided their lumbering saurian herd animals - creatures something like a cross between an elephant, a stegosaurus, and a camel - down the main street. “My apologies. Some people just have a face like a magnet, eh?”

“Your new arm doesn’t have any iron in it,” I said sourly.

Suri cleared her throat. “Look, if you blokes are done yakking, can we get moving and out of the sun? In case you forgot, I'm wearing about fifty pounds of fuckin' black steel plate, and I'm about to fry my tits off.”

“Food! Nice smells! Flowers!” Karalti zipped over to the nearest food stand, pointed at the round stuffed breads at the front, and held up five fingers. Vash joined her, so Suri and I retreated to the shade.

“We need to orientate. You know how to get to the