Successfully contacting an underworld figure is merely the prelude. The transaction itself – be it exchanging goods, coin, or information – is fraught with peril. Assume your counterparty is considering betrayal at every step. Assume their counterparty is also considering betrayal. It's turtles betraying turtles all the way down.
Navigating the Exchange:
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Neutral Ground (If Possible): Aim for meetings in locations offering visibility, multiple escape routes, and preferably, some level of passive observation (e.g., a busy but not too attentive tavern corner, a specific stall during market hours). Avoid secluded alleys or private back rooms for initial major transactions unless absolutely necessary and you have leverage or backup (unlikely for newcomers).
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Clarity of Terms: Define the exchange explicitly beforehand if possible. What information/item is being traded for what price/service? Ambiguity invites exploitation.
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Verification Before Payment: If buying information, try to ascertain its veracity before handing over payment. Ask probing questions, look for inconsistencies, check against known facts (even limited ones). If buying goods, inspect them thoroughly. If selling, ensure payment is genuine (check coins for weight/markings if possible). This is often difficult and risky but crucial.
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Payment Methods: Coin is standard. Favors are dangerous IOUs that can be called in at the worst times. Information itself can be currency, but valuing it is subjective and prone to dispute. Avoid complex barter unless unavoidable. Silver pieces attract more attention than copper; handle accordingly.
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The Double-Cross: Always consider the possibility that the meeting is a setup. Does the broker have hidden muscle nearby? Is the information designed to lead you into a trap? Is the payment counterfeit? Maintain situational awareness throughout the transaction. Be prepared to abort and flee if things feel wrong. Trust your System prompts or gut feelings (Module 117 again).
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Post-Transaction Departure: Do not linger. Conclude the business and leave promptly via a different route than arrival. Assume you might be followed. Take measures to lose potential tails ([Urban Navigation], utilizing crowds, changing appearance slightly).
Trust in the underworld is earned slowly, through repeated reliable transactions, demonstrations of competence, and mutual benefit (or fear). As a newcomer, you have none of this. Operate under the assumption that everyone involved, including potentially the proprietor of the establishment where you meet, is self-serving and potentially hostile.
(Inkstained Prophet's Anecdote: I once observed a negotiation involving a 'guaranteed safe passage' map purchased from a notorious fixer. The map led directly into a well-camouflaged Gelatinous Cube digestion pit. The fixer claimed 'environmental changes' post-sale. Buyer beware, indeed. Especially of maps sold near suspicious slime trails.)
[Kevin's Story: Part 25 - The Broker's Bargain]
Finding 'Whispers' wasn't easy. The name itself suggested obscurity, and the sailors at the Gnawed Barrel hadn't provided a location, only the connection to 'Slip', a fence Kevin had no idea how to find either. He spent two frustrating days lurking in the grimiest corners of the dockside slums, straining his ears, watching the flow of shadows and illicit exchanges, trying to piece together the fragmented map of Port Azure's underworld.
His volatile luck (LUK: ???) offered little help, mostly manifesting as minor annoyances or bizarre near-misses. A pile of crates he leaned against shifted suddenly, nearly trapping his leg, only for a stray cat darting out from underneath to momentarily distract a passing Wharf Rat thug who might otherwise have noticed him skulking. He found a discarded waterskin that turned out to be full of cheap, vinegary wine instead of water. It felt less like probability flux and more like the universe was just messing with him.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
He focused his observation near establishments known for shady dealings – the Gnawed Barrel, a grimy gambling den called 'The Kraken's Kiss', and the area around a dilapidated pawn shop rumored to be Slip's front. He used the 'Lost Item' gambit described in the Guide (Section 101), cautiously asking low-level loiterers if they knew anyone good at "finding things people misplace," specifically mentioning a "small silver locket." Most ignored him or demanded coin upfront for vague promises.
It was near the pawn shop, late on the third night, that he finally got a tentative bite. A gaunt figure huddled in a doorway, known only as 'Ratchet' for his perpetual cough, listened to Kevin's quiet inquiry about the lost locket. Ratchet didn't promise anything, but after Kevin slipped him two precious coppers, he rasped, "Things get heard... whispers travel. Ask 'round the back of the Salty Siren after midnight tide turns. Mention... lost echoes."
The Salty Siren. Finn's old haunt. It felt dangerously symbolic. And 'lost echoes'? Sounded like the kind of coded nonsense the Guide warned about. But it was his only lead.
The following night, heart pounding a nervous rhythm against his ribs, Kevin made his way towards the Salty Siren. He approached from the rear, through the same network of alleys where Finn had likely met his end. The air felt heavy with bad memories. He found the spot Ratchet likely meant – a small, shadowed alcove formed by overflowing refuse bins and leaning walls, barely illuminated by the distant glow of dockside lamps.
He waited. The tide turned, marked by the distant clang of a ship's bell and the changing sounds of water against the nearby pilings. Minutes stretched into tense silence, broken only by the skittering of unseen things in the garbage. Just as he was about to give up, convinced Ratchet had simply taken his coppers, a figure detached itself from the deepest shadows.
Impossible to tell gender or age. They were wrapped in layers of dark, ragged cloth, face completely obscured by a deep cowl and shadows. Only their voice, a dry, sibilant whisper that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, gave any clue. "You seek… lost echoes?"
Kevin swallowed, his throat dry. "Yes. I heard… things get heard here."
"Information has a price," the whisper continued, emotionless. "What echo do you chase? And what weight do you offer?"
Kevin took a breath, remembering the Guide's advice: clarity of terms. "I need to know about Finn O'Malley's death. Who benefited? And who was searching the Old Temple ruins on the cliffs two nights ago?" He paused, then added, "My weight… is silver." He kept his hand near the reinforced pouch but didn't reveal the coin yet.
The shadowed figure remained utterly still for a long moment. The silence stretched, amplifying Kevin's heartbeat. Then, the whisper returned, sharp, probing. "Finn the informant. Dead three weeks now. Old news, unless you know something new. The Temple… curious place for dock rats to scurry. Why ask about both?"
They already knew Finn was an informant. They knew about the Temple incident. Whispers was living up to their reputation. "Finn owed debts," Kevin said carefully, offering a partial truth. "Maybe his death was related to who he owed. The Temple… I heard rumors. Armed men. Wondered if it was connected."
"Connections cost more," the whisper hissed. "Temple searchers… Sea Serpents, by their markings. Looking for something lost, perhaps. Or silencing a loose end. Finn… played both sides. Wharf Rats wanted his coin. Sea Serpents valued his… silence. Perhaps one achieved it before the other?"
Sea Serpents at the Temple. That confirmed his suspicion. They were likely looking for the cufflink, or whoever might have taken it (him). And Finn being silenced... it all pointed towards the Serpents.
"The silver," Kevin prompted, needing confirmation.
"One piece," the whisper confirmed. "For what you've heard. Names… details… cost more."
Kevin carefully extracted the single silver piece from the hidden compartment, keeping his eyes locked on the shadowed figure. He held it out. "Your information seems… plausible. Here."
As the shrouded figure reached out a pale, thin hand to take the coin, a sudden clatter erupted from the alley entrance. A stack of empty barrels, precariously balanced against a wall, chose that exact moment to tumble down with a deafening crash.
Ding!
[LUK ??? Effect Triggered: Environmental Hazard (Unstable Barrels) -> Result: Sudden Loud Noise, Potential Interruption/Distraction.]
Both Kevin and Whispers froze. Footsteps pounded nearby – City Guard patrol, alerted by the noise? Or maybe Wharf Rats investigating the disturbance in their territory?
"Payment received," Whispers hissed, snatching the silver and melting back into the absolute darkness of the alcove with unnatural speed. "Leave. Now. Wrong ears heard that."
Kevin didn't need telling twice. He scrambled away from the alcove, heart hammering, plunging deeper into the maze of alleys opposite the direction the footsteps seemed to be coming from. He had his information – dangerous confirmation that the Sea Serpents were active, likely responsible for Finn's death, and knew something was amiss at the temple. But the transaction, disrupted by his volatile luck, felt incomplete, dangerous. Had Whispers short-changed him on details? Had the commotion drawn unwanted attention directly to him?
He risked a glance back. The alley entrance was empty, the footsteps fading. False alarm? Or had they simply passed by? He couldn't be sure. He hurried on, seeking the relative anonymity of the Mud Flats, the single silver piece exchanged for knowledge that felt less like a solution and more like a confirmation of just how deep the trouble ran.