Ch. 258: The Designated Commission

"Huh? A chimera?!"

"I heard rumors during my rounds. Someone's bringing one in to sell tonight." Victor tugged at his coat. "Didn't you say you wanted to wipe out the Chimera Society? We might pick up their trail."

Mo Fei looked at the papers covering the table. I'm supposed to hand these to the Young Lady tomorrow. If I go to the Black Market now, can I even finish tonight?

Victor was already at the door. He looked back at him.

But this is a chance to get at the Chimera Society directly...

Mo Fei sighed, set down his pen, and stood up.

"Let's go."

---

Near the entrance to the Black Market, Victor stopped in a deserted alley, pulled a mask from inside his coat, and put it on.

"You need that just to see patients? What exactly are you treating?"

The mask turned to look at him, turned back, and kept walking.

Down the stone steps, the Black Market under its vaulted ceiling was as cold and empty as ever, with plenty of stalls standing vacant. They had barely gone a few paces when a man leaned out from behind his stall.

"Doc! Back again tonight?" He slapped his own leg. "The one you stitched up last time—I can run on it now!"

A few other vendors nodded at the mask. Victor only raised a hand and didn't slow down.

Mo Fei's mouth hung open. "You're this famous here?"

"I've been coming here a lot lately to treat patients."

I thought "a lot of patients lately" was just a brush-off...

Partway along, Victor stopped. "It hasn't started yet. Wait here."

Mo Fei noticed the stall beside them piled high with scrap, and his feet drifted over on their own.

Lately every trip to the Black Market has gone the same way: straight to Jimmy's stall, drop off the herbs, leave. Maybe I should give this a try...

He had barely crouched and pushed aside a rusty plate when the vendor's eyes went round.

"G-Grandmaster of the Lucky Find! The Master is going through my goods!"

Only a scattering of customers were around, but they pounced just as fast as ever.
The pile of scrap was snatched up in no time; even the rusty plate in his hand was pulled away.

Mo Fei stayed crouched, his hand still frozen in the pose of holding something.

I haven't even seen the composition yet.

Several pairs of eyes were nailed to him.

Victor drifted over behind him, and a line floated out from inside the mask: "You're this famous here?"

Jimmy squeezed his way through the crowd in that new coat.

"Gentlemen, please conduct yourselves with some decorum."

Those eyes stayed fixed on Mo Fei and didn't so much as flick toward Jimmy.

Jimmy cleared his throat and then bellowed:
"Shoo, shoo! Are you all blind?! The Master is here tonight for a designated commission, not to pick through junk!"

"A designated commission? Tonight? Isn't that the deal in there...?"

Jimmy leaned in to Mo Fei's ear. "Boss, I knew that deal couldn't slip past you." His eyes caught the figure behind Mo Fei, and he paused. "You even got the Masked Rogue Doctor to come along?"

"He just tagged along."

A speculator nearby pricked up his ears and immediately turned to tell his companion.
"Did you hear that? That famous doctor is only fit to be the Master's lackey!"

A muffled voice came from the mask behind him: "...Lackey?"

Mo Fei pretended not to hear.

"This way, Master." Jimmy waved toward the interior.

Mo Fei hurried after him.

The stalls ended deep in the Black Market. A few Ether lamps ringed an open space under the vault, with several buyers standing around the outer edge.

In the middle of the open space stood a masked figure, and beside him crouched an absurdly large dog.

"The seller," Jimmy whispered.

The figure turned toward them. His voice was muffled behind the mask, yet it carried to everyone present: "Master, you're just in time. Please take a look at this merchandise for everyone."

The eyes of the crowd nudged Mo Fei forward a few steps, and only then did he see that it wasn't a dog.

The side of an unnaturally wide torso had been joined to the chest and belly of another dog, a row of thick black thread stitched all along the seam. The four legs were all different thicknesses, their coats all different colors. Only a single head was attached at the front of the torso: a bulldog's.

[Stitched Chimera]
[Composition: bulldog head, mastiff torso, hound legs...]
[Note: Doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, doesn't fear pain, and isn't really alive.]

The seller patted its back, and it toppled over stiff as a board, exposing a zipper sewn into its belly. He pinched the pull and yanked, and the whole belly gaped open. Inside it was hollowed out, with only a pouch sewn in, and a rank, rotten stench that had been trapped for ages drifted out.

"A smuggler dog. Pack the cargo into the bag, and it walks the back roads on its own, no need to send anyone to follow. If it's stopped halfway, all they've stopped is a dog, and nothing leads back to anyone. When there's no cargo, it can stay on as a guard dog." He zipped it shut again. "With a look like this, nobody wants to touch it any more than they have to. What does the Master think?"

Mo Fei didn't answer.

His gaze had stopped on one of the legs. The fur on that leg was yellowish, and where the thread bit in, there was a bald ring.

He thought of the yellow dog in the cage, scratching at the door again and again.

The thick black thread was right before his eyes. He had seen thread like this looped through a kitten's neck, stitch after stitch, the loose ends still seeping blood.
He drew a breath, his nose full of that stench, and in his ears that thin, hoarse cry sounded again.

Mo Fei shoved his hands into his pockets.

"A bag won't keep that smell in. Whatever you're delivering, it'll arrive stinking." He tipped his chin toward the rear of its belly. "And that pull just now tore the needle holes wider. A zipper sewn straight onto dead skin won't hold up past a few pulls. The belly opens before the cargo arrives. Isn't that just dropping goods all along the road?"

One of the buyers at the outer edge took a step back, then a second.

"If the Master says it won't do, who'd dare buy it?"
"Goods dropped along the road—whose loss is that?"
"Forget it, forget it. Let's look around some more..."

The seller's mask tilted toward them, then turned back, and his voice dropped lower. "Then what does the Master want?"

Jimmy whirled around and shouted at the crowd: "The Master is here to discuss an order. Is that any of your business? Clear out, you bystanders! If the Master gets unhappy and cuts off this whole district's luck, which one of you is going to pay for that?!"

He turned back and winked at Mo Fei, wearing a look that said I understand everything.

The onlookers dispersed, disappointed.

Victor leaned in from behind and asked, his voice muffled by the mask: "...How exactly does one cut off luck?"

"You get used to it."

Mo Fei stepped closer and lowered his voice.

"The bag has to seal in the smell. The zipper shouldn't be sewn straight onto the skin—put a layer underneath. And the legs... pick legs of the same length so it walks steady. How many can you supply? How long from order to delivery?"

The hand in his pocket was clenched until it ached.

The seller was silent for a moment.

"Goods are never a problem." He held out his hand. "If the Master is serious, put down a deposit of 100 gold first. We'll work out the rest once the quantity is set."

Mo Fei's fingers brushed a few coins in his pocket.

Jimmy had already pulled out his purse and counted out 100 gold and handed it over.
"Such a trifle—how could I trouble the Master to lift a finger?"

He leaned in to Mo Fei's ear again. "Boss, you didn't even take your hand out. You're having me pay so they can't trace it back to you, right? That's the Boss for you."

No. I just didn't bring any money.

"I'll pay you back tomorrow."

The seller weighed the gold coins in his hand and tucked them into his coat. "Specs and quantity aren't mine to decide. I'll have to take this back." The mask turned toward Jimmy. "As for how the delivery will go, word will be sent to this gentleman later."

He turned and walked into the dark, and the stitched chimera rose to follow. Its four legs couldn't keep step, and it wobbled crookedly all the way until the darkness swallowed it.

"You've seen what you came for," Victor said behind him. "I have patients."

With that, he headed deeper into the Black Market without looking back.

Mo Fei's gaze followed him. The lamplight barely reached a narrow alley branching off, and the wall at its end was covered in thick vines.

He remembered how, for a jar of Heavy Loam, he had once dug up Mandrake Root for the ill-tempered old man back there.

So... your patients are at Knotwood's?