X - Xerophyte
There is no good way to know when a plant will make you famous, or rich. There is actually no way to predict that when both happen, it will get you killed. Jaemen Greame certainly hadn’t predicted being the most famous person on Gioveda. He had hoped and secretly suspected the possibility, but prediction was perhaps a tiny bit too far. The obscure scientist from an abandoned office park in the nearly-deserted outskirts of Oshen couldn’t have planned how he would become the richest person on Gioveda. Even if he had assumed the first two, Jaemen would never have suspected that he would be bound to a chair in a basement wearing a dark, foul-smelling cloth sack over his head.
Death might not be so bad right about now, he thought.
A man stood back from Jaemen, speaking to him from a distance that sounded just far enough to avoid catching the wafts of stench from the sack. I know that smell. Those smells. What an odd combination.
“Tell me, mister Grimy, why did you do it?” The voice said with greasy efficiency and no small amount of disdain.
I’m not that easily manipulated.
“Hmm. Well, I’ve done a great many things, most of which you are surely uninterested in. I broke up with my first girlfriend because I was tired of the shape of her nose and wanted to ensure that any future child of mine never had to face a life with such a pointy, up-turned nose.” Jaemen smiled under the sack at his own mirth, though he was careful not to open his mouth too far and let any of whatever that odor was reach his tongue.
“I see. You would rather be coy, then. Fine. Let me introduce myself. We certainly don’t need to be antagonistic in this conversation.”
Lovely.
“Certainly. I see no reason whatsoever for us to be at odds, what with us sitting so casually in cushioned chairs sipping fine, salted cocktails in our smoking jackets. Please proceed.” Jaemen made special effort to inject as much absurdity as he could.
“This is a fair point. I should start with my name.” The voice moved closer as it slimed its way out of the man’s mouth. “My name is Tinskulp Harbrath. I’m an ambassador for Andikeran. We . . . the people of Gioveda need your help.”
“And they have it. You are very welcome.” Jaemen squirmed a little in the hard, flat-bottomed, steel chair.
The stench-soaked cloth lifted off his head, leaving streaks of slimy feeling on Jaemen’s cheeks and ears.
“Is this better? I apologize for all this. Honestly.” Tinskulp flipped the cloth to the corner and tossed aside the glove he was wearing to keep the filth from his fingers.
Jaemen’s eyes began to adjust, and he took a deep breath. The air was filled with a variety of interesting smells. “Quite a bit better. Much gratitude. I am curious though, what was that concoction of smells exactly?” I’ll get out of here without giving up a thing.
Tinskulp smiled. “You like those?”
“Not at all.” Jaemen smirked. “Nevermind, I’ll place it sooner or later.”
“Right. I wish they wouldn’t use such ridiculous and childish methods to make our guests uncomfortable. Honestly, I don’t know what they use. And I definitely do not want to know. We could be more civilized, though. Am I right?”
“Quite.” Now we are getting somewhere.
“As I said, mister Grimy, Giove . . .”
“It’s pronounced gray-plus-mmm. One syllable. Greame”
“Oh. I see. Well, that is embarrassing. Mister Greeemm, we need you to help us cure the people of the world. We need you to make the skyfe a thing of the past.”
“It’s just skyfe. No ‘the’ in the front. Adding that makes you sound like a hoodlum and besides that bestial hood you had on me, you do not appear to be a hoodlum.” Jaemen nodded toward his hands, which were tied with rough ropes to the arms of the chair. “I have an itch and using my hand would be much better for us both. Can you let one hand loose?”
“But how in the name of Arn would I defend myself from you if you were set free … ish?” Tinskulp chuckled.
“I swear to Arn herself that I will not harm you more than missing a dose of Abcis might.”
Tinskulp waived his hand and two figures stepped into the light in the middle of the room from behind Jaemen. They were both larger than average men with soft armor covering their torsos, and thick leather arm-bands covering their forearms. One stood by with his arms folded in a typical menacing fashion. The other untied Jaemen’s left hand. Immediately, Jaemen reached between his legs and scratched vigorously around his scrotum.
“I’m afraid I have not had the chance to bathe very recently. I’ve been a bit tied up, as you know.” Jaemen stared flat-eyed at the other man. “You’re an ambassador, so you know much more than you are sharing. What I need to know exactly is what you think I can do to ‘cure’ skyfe. This can’t be your idea. I’m guessing it is my old friend, Barnlee.”
“Barnlee? I know the man, though I’ll admit what I know about him is not very flattering.” Tinskulp leaned on a table a couple of meters away, with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Not flattering. Yes. That’s Barnlee.”
“When we spoke he was unlikeable, but sure you could solve this whole skyfe mess in a few weeks. Will you help us?”
Jaemen laughed out loud for entirely longer than was appropriate. “He said that? Now I know you are lying.”
“Actually, he did. Barnlee said you were a genius. He went on and on about how you came up with the name for Abcis as a play on the Abbas Cider plant . . .”
“Cicer. Abbas Cicer. It’s a xerophyte. The damned pea grows like a weed in the desert, so we’re stuck with it now.”
“Right. That was it. He said you disappeared with the formula, faked your death in an explosion of the lab, and six months later were producing crates of Abcis in Hatra.” Tinskulp’s tone was vaguely uninterested. “I can not make myself care about the details. Something about bedding up with the chancellor’s wife? Honestly, man.” What I need to get is results. That is what we are here for. For the benefit of everyone, after all.”
“He must have still had that vomit-inducing sack over his head when he said those things. He never cared for me, or my methods. I was, and still am, much more interested in results. I’m sure you understand that, mister Harm-breath.” Jaemen pressed his lips into a thin line of a sarcastic grin.
“I do.” Tinskulp stood and walked in a vaguely circular path around to Jaemen’s right side. The guards were back in their places on the wall in the fringe of the lighting of the room. “What I need to know from you, mister Grayem, is whether you will help me get things done. Help us move things forward. What do you say?”
“I am sitting here in this very comfortable chair with this fine and delicate aroma lingering on my fair cheeks wondering what is in it for me? I have a wonderful position as the only person with any treatment to the illness that everyone either has, or will have.” He craned his neck to keep Tinskulp in his peripheral vision. “What, precisely, is in it for me?”
“You get to be the true savior of Gioveda. You can live forever in stories as the hero who saved us all in our time of need.”
“Hero? Forever? I’m a scientist, and a pragmatic man. These hold no interest for me. You have tried to sell me the wrong idea.”
Tinskulp disappeared behind Jaemen, who spun his head the other direction to pick up the circling ambassador. When he caught sight of him, the man was standing nearly on top of him. Directly to his left.
“My dear Grayem. I tried only to offer you something less direct that what I think you know I have available to offer.”
Jaemen snorted. “Mister Harbrath, I know that you will not kill me, because we both know you cannot. There is no other who can do what you need me to do. Your threat is without merit, as is your offer. Release me and perhaps the Abcis will continue to flow to Andikeran. It would be a shame if the supply was . . . constricted.”
“Yes. It would be a shame.” Tinskulp pressed his right hand firmly on Jaemen’s shoulder. “This is why we have already made arrangements with your lover, the wife of Chancellor Thurnhish of Hatra. Yulna has been much more accommodating that you have, I’m afraid.” Jaemen squirmed and tried to push the hand off his shoulder, but the leverage wasn’t available to him.
Tinskulp drew a narrow dagger from behind his back and showed it to Jaemen. “Do you want to reconsider?”
“We certainly can be reasonable and civil people.” Jaemen’s voice was tensing, and his pitch was rising.
“I am very happy to hear that.” Tinskulp slid the dagger back into it’s sheath on the back of his belt, and released Jaemen’s shoulder. “So now how can we work together for the good of all Gioveda, instead of just our own?”
“This is a great question. I’m sure I can lend my lab to the cause. We certainly know a few things about the Father Peas now.” Jaemen’s breathing was shallow and voice still too high.
“What I need from you, Jaemen Greame, is total commitment to this cure. I’m certain that Chancellor Thurnhish will be cooperative. He has given me his word. Personally.”
“That skopper? His word isn’t as good as the smell of that . . .” Jaemen’s words failed him.
“That skopper what? Jaemen?” Tinskulp circled him again while the bound up man stared silently off into space.
“That’s it. I knew I knew it. Ambassador, my mind has unraveled the mystery of the stink-sack.” Jaemen smiled, and wiped some of the residue off his cheek and sniffed his palm. Long and slow.
“Well that is neat, and I’m happy for you, but results, mister Greame.” He continued his path around behind Jaemen. “Results are the key to our mutual success.”
With a low, nearly whispering tone, Jaemen spoke again. “The smell is sweet and salty, with an overtone of bitterness and something rotten. Two somethings, actually. That is bile from a skyfe-corpse combined with rotten fish guts. No. It’s shellfish. That is the base smell, and on top of it is the acrid, salty aroma of your mother’s undergarments three hours after I bedded her.” Jaemen’s eyes came back to focus and he realized that Tinskulp was not in front of him.
“Very humorous, mister Greame.” The voice came from behind Jaemen.
He never saw the ambassador’s motion but he felt the blade plunge up and into his skull directly below his left ear. Wait . . .!
* * *
#AtoZChallenge
