The cart trundled onward, each bounce on the cobbles below eliciting a fresh stab of pain in Ivan's abdomen. Breathing was getting harder, but he could not yet risk another dose. The goat hadn't been able to take much more than a vial's worth in 8 hours before keeling over. It would be prudent to spend more time testing the half life and recommended dosage when, if he got back.

In any case, the morphine crates were now in the posession of Silas' unwitting men at the dock, and the hundred kilos of opium were tucked away in Ivan's docking crate, ready to be loaded on the container ship into Vienda when he left. If he left.

Loading them had been a total pain. Tristaan proved useless as a hired hand, and the lifting opened Ivan's wound occasionally and forced him to stop frequently as the level of pain creeped back up.

The dockmen who took the morphine crates were shockingly simple, and looked fairly young. It was possible they'd been recently replaced. Whatever it was, they hadn't looked inside, didn't bat an eye at their physical condition, and didn't even seem to know how many crates they were expecting. The money for the handoff had obviously been counted up beforehand, because they simply tossed Ivan a large sack of birds for his cargo.

If Silas knew how his money was being handled, heads would roll.

This was the last tricky part. Getting the squares from Cilius. At this point Tristaan had everything to gain and nothing to lose. He could easily turn on Ivan for great gains if he felt like it, which worried him. Yet, somehow Ivan didn't believe Tristaan would. He'd not shot him in the alley, after all.

"This is it, Greymoor. Once we got the squares we can piss off back to civilisation."

Tristaan smirked. Meeting Cilius again was not quite the part of this whole misadventure he was looking forward to, considering the circumstance. It was only slightly worse with the realization that neither of them were in any condition to effectively defend themselves should things turn sour. Well, mostly.

"Dze, you can have all th'civilization you want. I know where I'm off too as long as this doesn't get any worse, and it ent anywhere near th'city." The passive grunted, attempting to replace his anxiety with humor. There wasn't much else, really. He wasn't one to hold a grudge, even if it was seemingly worthwhile.

"Let's go 'fore I change my mind." Tristaan managed a wry grin, "But you've best got a better plan than last time."

"Heh, you can do as you please once we get those squares."



Ivan slung the bag of birds over his shoulder so that the bulk of the metal coins covered his chest, making for possibly the most expensive breastplate in history.

"Oh yes, I have a much better idea. We tried subtlety, and it didn't do us any favours. I'm thinking this time we try a more direct approach."

Ivan cocked the two double barrelled pistols with a pair of satisfying clicks.

"Shall we?"

Ivan stood infront of Cilius' door, ready to kick it down as soon as Tristaan was ready to back him up.

Tristaan chuckled, perhaps with a hint of intimidation instead of simply humor. He reached behind him and rest his hand on his own pistol, aware of his current uselessness as a swordsman one-handed.

He grinned a little, drawing his weapon, "Go on. I ent got all day."

Ivan nodded firmly, then yelled,
"Cilius you old villain! I hear you've been looking for me!"

Then with as much force as he could muster, he kicked the front door in.

As the door burst open, it revealed a rather unimpressed Cilius sitting at his groaning dinner table, full of food and drink. Even at 6oc, he was eating. Infact, it appeared that he'd been up for a while...waiting. He finished the wine he'd been sipping and picked up a pork rib, dripping with sauce.

"Ahh, Bad Mother, I wondered when you would be coming for a visit. Apparently, your not quite as stealthy as you believe. My ears have been burning with descriptions of you since your friend departed my house." He chewed on the rib without so much of a glance up at them.

"Yes, I've known the passive has been following you around. Whether he knew who you were or not doesn't really matter." Dropping the now clean bone, he picked up another, finally looking up at the doctor.

"Do come in gentlemen, the twins are not in the best of moods tonight. Frauje has been up all night following you two. Haven't you dear?" Behind Tristaan, a knife pressed against his back. From the door of the kitchen, the other blonde walked out, a crossbow held steadily at Ivan's head.

Motherfuckingshit!



"Well that's good to hear. I was worried for a bit there you'd all forgotten about me. I've not been gone that long, you know."



"Oh you should have said something, we'd have come by in the morning! I hate to cause your pretty slaves disomfort. Long time no see Famke!"

He nodded to the girl with the bow. He had one pistol aimed back at her and another pointing vaguely at some part of Cilius.

"We're not here to steal, we're here to trade. I got a lot of birds need turning square, and I know you have the means. Everyone's a winner."

Tristaan wasn't sure what part of this entire situation he disliked most - the fact that they had been followed, that Cilius knew he was a passive, or that he had a knife in his back with only one arm to work with should things turn sour. All of them compounded into a clocking mess that forced him to weigh his options in a most uncomfortable sort of manner.

Even a well-placed stab wound wasn't necessarily fatal if he could manage an advantage in his movements. He couldn't help but grin at Ivan's humorous nonchalance; regardless of the doctor's curious complications, he did have wit going for him. At the moment, that may have been the only thing the both of them had; Tristaan was admittedly clueless as to what kind of professional relationship Ivan and Cilius had enjoyed in some previous life. Or not enjoyed.


The passive shifted his stance, only slightly concerned about the weapon near his spine, hand still at the ready on his own pistol, currently hanging loosely at his side, grey eyes watching the large, disturbing moneychanger carefully, feigning a look of crushed friendship across his aristocratic features.

"Dze, an' I thought we were just workin' on a decent friendship."

Tristaan smirked, turning a little against the sharp object behind him, taunting the silent twin behind him, "Don't worry, we're still friends. I ent ever had a stalker before."

"There's always a first time."

The lazy drawl came from a darkened corner of the tiny hut. There was a scratching noise, and a small flame flickered into being and died; the soft glow of a cigar blossomed in the darkness, and the hut began to smell like something foreign and spicy.

As their eyes adjusted to the light, the brim of Silas Hawke's black hat became visible, sporting a purple feather this time. He raised his head, and they caught a glimmer of yellow eyes and a catlike smirk.

"Well well well," he said in a pleasant voice. He brought the tips of his fingers together. "This is delightful. Here I was wondering if you'd even show up, and not only do you pleasantly surprise me, you bring me a nice fat bag of money. You always were such a pip, Ivan."

A sort of calm came over Ivan. Whatever happened now, wether they were killed or let go, it wasn't in their hands any longer. He could finally relax.



"Silas! How've you been? You're looking thin! Then again, you're sitting next to Cilius, so I don't know."

Ivan dropped his guns and unset the hammers. He lifted Silas' gift weapon and showed the inscripted side to him.

"I have to thank you again for this, I tell you, it really works."

He turned his head to Tristaan.

"Ah yes, introductions. Silas, this is Tristaan, Tristaan, this is the King of the underworld."

Tristaan might have tightened the grip on his pistol in surprise, but he managed to maintain his crooked smile. The deep, sharp ache in his arm kept him rooted in the moment, and he knew who he was looking at without any need for introductions.


The passive arched a slim eyebrow, straightening despite the blond behind him. His grin broadened into something almost casual and friendly, pulse quickening in his ears at the calmness that seemed to have suddenly washed over the doctor. He in no way felt compelled to relax.

"Junta." Tristaan nodded his head in greeting, disarming his pistol and making the obvious move to return it to the holster behind his back and under his half-cloak with lingering reluctance, making sure the twin could see his motion was non-threatening.

Surely, they were clocking screwed.

"Tis an unexpected pleasure t'finally meet th'man behind th'name."

Silas smirked at Tristaan's comment as though some personal joke made it particularly amusing.

"I won't insult my intelligence by asking why you're here, Ivan," he said casually, taking a puff of his cigar. "My, you're even more enterprising than I thought! What is this marvelous concoction of yours?"

From his silk-lined breast pocket Hawke pulled a thin ampule of clear liquid. He passed it over and under his fingers with delicate little movements, playing with it. "Ah, my dockboys. Not the brightest starflies on the pond, but loyal to a fault...a fault you never had, I must give you credit for that. Brought the poor boy to his knees. He looked quite content for a while. It must be strong, whatever it is. I was ever so glad it didn't kill him."

The light from the lamp caught the liquid in the glass cylinder and refracted off onto the wall.

"With this little invention, I'm surprised you haven't hit up my friend Aurelius, in Dutaim. Dreadfully clever little fellow. He could sell water to a drowning man."

"It easily could have. That much killed one of my goats! Yes, this has been a side project of mine for a while. I call it morphine, or "fiend" for short. And it's no toy, I can tell you that. Essentially it's refined and concentrated opium, without the smoking. Releases faster, hits harder, gets you higher. I'm rather proud of it.
And it's not just for fun."

Ivan lifted his shirt to reveal the bulletwound and burned flesh.

"I took a vial after one of the grunts gave me this. She had a lot of spirit, the bitch. I've yet to encounter a more effective painkiller that didn't also sedate."



"You know that's not my style, Silas. Don't get me wrong, Aurelius would do wonders with this product, but given your current, ahem, predicament, I wouldn't want to look like I was playing for the competition. Don't know who you can trust these days, eh?
I'm seeing a lot of new faces too. What happened to the old crew? Been cleaning house?"

"Put that away, Ivan, you haven't even bought me dinner yet," said Hawke disapprovingly, tossing his head and rolling his eyes.



The King of the Underworld smiled, his mouth set at a thin angle.

"Perceptive as always," he said, getting up out of his chair and ruffling Ivan's dreadlocks fondly. He stepped over to the window, which looked out on the moonlit dock. Glancing back over his shoulder, he snickered. "Our turnaround has increased, you could say that, yes. Apart from losing several good men at sea, we've expanded our operation. It's caused a thinning and a refining of the ranks."

His lip curled. "You seem to have run into a few of my men," he added. "I expect they told you all about my so-called..." His laugh was like a bark. "Arch-nemesis?"

Ivan really didn't like people doing that. He considered a witty retort about buying dinner, but the morphine had softened his wit, and instead he tried to look unphased.



"Well if you don't mind me saying, from a medical standpoint, you might start suffering from symptoms associated with anaemia. Far be it for me to criticise your management strategy of course - after all, you are the King - but what you've got to work with at the moment isn't what it was."



"Yes, well, I don't know much about him, but I do know which dens and corners he pedals his dope in. I compiled a map while I was in the area, I'm assuming it's something you'd like to take a peek at?"

Tristaan took in the strange, suddenly quaint exchange between Ivan and Silas wordlessly, waiting for Cilius to clap his hands and call for tea. It was surreal, the slightly sarcastic, perhaps subtly careful, conversation about what could only be described as ... business. Surely, there was something dangerous going on, but the passive found it almost hard to believe.

While confusion didn't register on the passive's face, he couldn't hide his wary amusement. This entire misadventure had never gone as planned, so why should it start now? Hooking his thumb in his belt and wishing he had something important to contribute to the situation, Tristaan hovered where he was and observed quietly.

It was hard to tell where this was going, but it was bound to be good, wherever it went.

Cilius hadn't even paused from his meal as Hawke revealed himself. He continued to inhale food, pausing only to sip from his chalice. The fat man had even begun to hum very quietly to himself. Looking around the table, he spied a great plate of red jelly and brought it to himself as Ivan and Hawke talked. It seemed civil, but the coinchanger knew it could turn ugly at any moment. He had the utmost trust in the Twins.

"Ubo, ubo...pom, pom, pom. Frauje, why don't we have our young friend come and join the party. He must be feeling a trifle lonely out there." Tristaan felt the knife dig a little deeper into his back and a small hand snaked over his shoulder. The blonde leant against his back and encouraged him to enter the room.

Silas' eyes were keenly trained on Ivan's face, seemingly searching for something. He studied the crags and wrinkles of a decade of drug abuse like a cartographer poring over a maze of rivers on an atlas.

"Oh, Ivan, Ivan, Ivaaaan," he sighed, smiling widely. "You were expecting to run into me, weren't you? Why, it's like Maltalaan in Bethas! You put together a map! Oh, I wish I had you in pocket size."

He delicately picked up a grape and popped it into his mouth.

"What are you doing in Vienda, anyway?" he asked cordially. "Your talents must be tragically wasted."

Tristaan twisted a little against the twin's blade and at her touch, expression turning coy despite his discomfort, "Y'know, chip, there's much easier ways'o'lettin' a kov know you're interested. Most of 'em don't involve sharp objects, either ... dze."

He chuckled and shook his head, reaching up to remove his hat before deciding to find himself a chair, figuring it wasn't worth the trouble to ask permission. The passive unceremoniously flopped into the closest over-stuffed chair, setting his hat on his knee and appearing to get comfortable.

If this was going to take a while, he'd might as well take a load off.

Tristaan certainly didn't feel like he had anything to contribute to the conversation, and he found the situation almost as entertaining as it was disturbing.

"If you hadn't caught me, I'd know you'd gone soft. I'm pleased to see it isn't the case. Means we can do business. Plus, I find it's a much more fun way of making an appointment."



"Oh you'd be surprised! Just the other week we had a riot, my surgery was literally bursting with dying people. Plus, my passive friend here is known to occasionally kill the odd punter if he gets upset enough. So as far as medical duties go, I am keeping rather busy. Say, that reminds me, how is that, uhh, beefy guy, you know? He still around? Still getting shot and stabbed every week?"

Tristaan laughed, looking pointedly at Ivan before grinning slyly at Hawke. So, the doctor was going to play the dangerous, exploding "passive in my pocket" card. Whatever. It wasn't the first time he'd been a threatening sort of asset instead of a burden or a curse. While he still struggled with his own inherent danger, he was more than willing to play along now that he knew what he was capable of.

He coughed, arching a slim eyebrow to accompany his grin, one hand straying to thumb his nose idly with an air of subtle confidence. Briefly, he wondered if this whole situation had wiped his chances of employment off the board entirely or not.

Silas ignored much of what Ivan had said; he had a habit of being single-minded, latching onto a single phrase and discarding the rest.

"Business it is, then," he said, tipping his wide-brimmed hat at Ivan. "I am sorry to hear you're doing so well in Vienda. I would have offered you a job. But don't fret, my dear Ivan - you'll walk out of here safe and healthy. Wouldn't want my friend Jon to have nowhere to go every time he breaks that nose of his."

He smiled thinly. "I am willing to sell your delightful liquor for you, Ivan. I think we both know I have the means to take it, but I'd so hate to do that to a friend. We manufacture, negotiate, sell and ship, and we cut you in on a percentage of the profits. It's simple; we have the means to produce this worldwide, and unless you have a secret chemist factory hidden in the attic of your surgery, you do not. On this large a scale, this could very well be your retirement. And of course, my friend Cilius here would see to it that you're paid in golly coin, won't you, my dear man?"

Hawke didn't feel he needed to mention to Ivan that this new product could well be the final blow to the Drain; once they had secured the morphine market, the Drain could never hope to catch up.

Ivan stuck out his bottom lip and nodded sagely as Silas reeled off his terms. Not a bad deal, not a bad deal at all.

"Silas, you're a wonderful human being. What shall we say, twelve percent for solving all your problems?"

Ivan wondered if he could have saved a lot of effort by just going through Serro, seeing as he seemed to be on first name terms with the crime lord and all. Still, the bulletwound and the morphine had bought him a much better deal than Jon ever could. Assuming he survived the gunshot, Ivan would be laughing all the way to the bank.

"And I don't suppose we could call the cargo I got and those squares for these birds a downpayment? You'd be surprised how much a hole in your chest will take it out of you. I don't think I could face unloading those fuckers tonight."

Ivan dropped the satchel of coins on the floor with a sigh of relief.

"You know, it's nice being back. That sea air, the old faces. I wonder, what job did you have in mind? Also my friend here will be looking for work as soon as he's blown his half of the loot. I could give him an excellent reference."

Cilius breathed in the last of his jelly with a schlloop! Looking up at Hawke, he hesitated but a moment, before turning to Ivan.

"What the King asks, the King gets." He said simply, before sipping his wine and picking up a bowl of grapes.



The twins gaze went straight to the coin, and something akin to hunger registered on their faces. Cilius was their master, but money was their God. Famke gave Ivan a slowly broadening smile, it bordered between attractive and predatory.

Silas eyed the sack of coins, toeing it with his boot. It clinked.

"That will do nicely to repay your debt," he said warmly, meeting Ivan's gaze. His voice suggested quite pleasantly that Ivan would be efficiently dispatched if he dared disagree. "I'll arrange a lovely little voyage back home for you. You may have your twelve percent, of course, anything for my darling Ivan." His smile was laconic. "See? No haggling amongst friends. I can have this moving by tomorrow, and in a week's time your name will be on the lips of every trader on the Austan Ocean and beyond."