「だめだめだめ、だめだって………！！」
必死に箱や小包でいっぱいの積み荷のバランスをとりながら、ハニシュは犬に向かって蹴りを入れた。その犬はグランバザールの雑踏の中で彼の行く手を阻み、にやりと笑いを浮かべていたのだ。白い大きな雑種犬はこの遊びに喜んで尻尾を振り、蹴りを軽やかにかわした。そして、再び飛び込んでくる。狙いは、ハニシュの腰に下がった、はちきれそうなバスケットからこぼれちるソーセージだった。
ハニシュは悪態をついたが、バスケットを直したり、犬を追い払う暇はなかった。既に遅刻していたし、客は決して忍耐強い人物ではなかった。チェストと棺の山の下で屈み込んでいるフタコブラクダの長い睫毛をたたえた眼と視線がかちあい、ハニシュは自分達の間に深い理解が生まれるのを感じた。自分達は、重荷を背負った二頭の獣だ。この都市の生命線に不可欠な重荷だというのに、永遠に評価されることはない。
彼らの周囲では、旗やのぼり、籐の棚、日焼けした埃っぽい天幕といったものが目がくらむほどにずらりと並び、その下では商人や買い手が交渉をしていた。キョーニンの森を山地とするドライフルーツや、うねりを帯びた形の紫色の種が吊り下げられたポールの横には、リノーム諸王領の広間から運ばれてきた分厚い白い毛皮、黄金おにょうにきらめくカディーラ製の真鍮の瓶、トゲがついたニダルのシャドウグラスの彫刻がテーブルの上に並んでいる。インクが塗られた巻物には、何世紀にもわたって同じ市場の出店をやってきた家業の宣伝が書かれていた。通りすがりの女性の肩には鉄の羽根を持つオウムがとまっており、「ウロコと歯だよ！ ウロコと歯だ！ 金属製の、スカイメタルのウロコと歯だ！ 星なきヌーメリアの荒野からお手元に！ この2日だけ！ ウロコと歯だ！」と叫んでいた。
右手では、人形遣いの一団が、浮かれ騒ぐ若者達やヤジを飛ばす酔っ払いを聴衆として「アイオーメディのグリフォン」を演じていた。皺だらけの衣装をまといながらも、精力的なパフォーマンスだった。ハニシュが通り過ぎようとしたちょうどそのとき、人形劇の幕が開き、唸り声と蒸気を噴き上げる仕掛けが現れた。恐らく、鉄のガーゴイル・セグレヒェンだろう。一座の音楽家がドラムを叩き、人形使い達がよく練習された失望の叫びをあげる。近くに居た荷馬車の馬が後ろ足で立ち上がり、パニックの声を上げた。がちゃん、がちゃんと音が鳴ることや、喧噪が恐ろしいのだろう。
ハニシュは馬の蹄を避けて飛び込み、自分の素早い回避力を讃えた。だがその後、「ゲリグの勇敢」をうたってチャンピオン達（ほぼ亡くなっている）の飲み物を喧伝するサンドイッチマンの少年につまずきそうになった。
「だめだめだめ、だめだって………！！」
ハニシュが通り抜けた後にスカーフやブドウ、リンゴといったものが飛び交う。体をゆらしながら風車のように腕をばたつかせ、ハニシュはなんとか貨物のバランスをとった。そしてついに、息を切らし、汗をかき、よろめきながらも直立して立ち止まることに成功した。近くにいた物乞いが短い拍手をした。
Scarves and grapes and apples flying in his wake, Hanish windmilled his arms in a panicked jig under the swinging balance of his load. Finally he stumbled to a stop, panting and sweating but basically upright. A nearby street beggar applauded briefly. Hanish sketched a bow, or as much of one as he dared, and hurried onward. That dog was, somehow, still at his heels.
A young man carrying far too many boxes, bags, sacks, and other packages runs through a crowded bazaar while a white dog nips at his heels
Illustration by Mirco Paganessi from Absalom, City of Lost Omens.
Hanish spotted a break in the crowds and hurried through to a storefront festooned with bits of punched metal hung from silken strings. The chimes sparkled and sang against his load of packages as he knocked on the glass-gemmed door.
“You’re late,” snapped the rotund half-orc who opened the door for him. Her tusks were painted with fanciful Osiriani hieroglyphs, and a jade Tien ornament hung from her earlobe, but her accent was as all Absalom. “I’ll wager you’ve stained and wrinkled my wares, too.”
Hanish tapped the glowing bauble on his wrist. The bobbing crystal still shone blue: he’d made the delivery window. “Not late, and your scarves are pristine, Mistress Verity.” Unlike poor Ghemel’s lunch, he almost added, but then decided not to badmouth his own services. It was hard enough prying tips out of Mistress Verity already.
The half-orc grunted, taking the heavy brown chest from Hanish’s aching arm and unlatching it with two quick flips. She ruffled through the fine embroidered silks and gossamer scarves, holding this one or that up to the light until she was satisfied that, indeed, Hanish had delivered the full load safely.
She hauled the chest inside and tossed Hanish a pair of copper pennies. “Commemorative,” she said, and slammed her door.
Hanish looked at the pitiful coins in his palm. They were commemorative, all right, but one celebrated the elevation of a new trademaster and the other was about some giant fish getting hauled out of the harbor, so neither was worth more than the copper it was stamped on. Mistress Verity’s generosity had struck again.
The bauble on his wrist was starting to pulse violet. Hanish grimaced, rebalanced his remaining packages, and ran.
He dropped the fruit and sausages at Ghemel’s — there was a decent tip, even though half the apples were bruised and the dog had managed to steal two sausages — and went on, faster now that the heaviest packages were gone. At Chivvi’s Apothecary, he dropped off a box of stonestalk eggs; the stiff-armored, distinctively shaped caterpillars had developed a predictable reputation as aphrodisiacs. At the Wandlin steam baths, he delivered frost teas and ice wines harvested from the Crown of the World and prized by heat-bathers in need of quick cooling.
The last stop on his route was the best: Felifer’s Bibliovary, where priceless texts were framed like gems on bronze and silver shelves, and the air carried a deep, calming perfume of ancient wood and yellowing paper. Walking into Felifer’s was like stepping into a timeless, never-hurried world of learning, and it always made Hanish wistful for the life he’d never lead. Maybe if his parents had been richer, if they’d been able to afford more schooling… well, it was no use dreaming about all that.
But for a few precious minutes, whenever he had a delivery at Felifer’s, he could breathe in that sepia-scented tranquility and pretend.
The door was already ajar when Hanish arrived. “Hello?”
There was no answer. Hanish stepped inside and set down his delivery box. The dog came with him, even though he’d already dropped off the sausages. The smell of blood was retch-thick in the shop, and the dog whined softly, lashing its tail.
“Hello?”
Nothing. Gulping, Hanish picked his way through the glowing bookshelves to Felifer’s back office. Shadows bobbed and spun away from him across the gleaming metal, teasing his eyes with premonitions of doom. The dog came with him, and though Hanish couldn’t help worrying that the old bookseller would scold him for bringing an animal into the shop, he was glad for its company. He didn’t want to be alone here.
The back office was empty. Quiet. Nothing out of place except a paper-wrapped parcel on Felifer’s desk, a note written in the bookseller’s crabbed blue pen, and the sigil-stamped luminous tag that meant Hanish was meant to take it for delivery.
Hanish bent closer to read the note. “To Pathfinder Agent Berovic, Skywatch. All speed.” That meant a breakneck run to deliver the parcel at any hour of the day or night, and triple pay if he made it within the hour. Right now, with the lull between Absalom’s daytime commerce and when the nightlife really lit up, the target should be easy to hit. Good money.
But maybe dangerous. The last two words of the message were shaky and dribbled downward, as if Felifer were losing the strength to write. Bloody fingerprints marred the paper wrapping, which bulged and sagged in its strings with uncharacteristic sloppiness.
The dog whined again. Hanish patted its head, then reached for the parcel. It was light and fragile-feeling, as though whatever was in there were dried, or hollow. Something rattled softly inside.
Already the luminous tag was starting to lose its pearly pallor. If Hanish made to Skywatch while the light was still blue, he’d get triple pay.
If he didn’t, he might land in something worse than he’d ever imagined.
Well, it wouldn’t be the first time his job had careened him into trouble, and if Desna smiled on him, it wouldn’t be the last. The City at the Center of the World never slept, never stopped, and held uncountable adventures. Hanish had taken this job because he wanted to grab his share of those adventures, and so far, he’d gotten all that he could handle.
Hanish tucked the parcel into his satchel, snapped its tag onto his bracelet, and ran.
One more delivery today.
About The Author
Liane Merciel is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novels Nightglass, Nightblade, and Hellknight, and a contributor to other books including Nidal: Land of Shadows, Faiths of Golarion, and the Lost Omens World Guide. She has also written for Dungeons & Dragons, Warhammer: Age of Sigmar, and Bioware’s Dragon Age franchise. She lives in Philadelphia with her husband, two dogs, and a small child who is extremely into baking projects.
About Tales of Lost Omens
The Tales of Lost Omens series of web-based flash fiction provides an exciting glimpse into Pathfinder’s Age of Lost Omens setting. Written by some of the most celebrated authors in tie-in gaming fiction and including Paizo’s Pathfinder Tales line of novels and short fiction, the Tales of Lost Omens series promises to explore the characters, deities, history, locations, and organizations of the Pathfinder setting with engaging stories to inspire Game Masters and players alike.
