The Slime Farmer - 18 The Lowpool Invasion 5 of 6

Defi leaned around the corner. Seeing no one on the street, he slid through the hidden gap in the fence.

He stopped. The sight that met his eyes had been repeated several times in the last half-day, but it did not stop being terrifying.

Aire caught sight of him and smiled brightly. “Defi, welcome back! We caught a lot this time!”

The children around her waved in welcome, laughing, widely grinning.

Had she been talking about fish or fireflies or butterflies, it would have been a charming picture of summer. But without doubt, the mound of defeated enemies they all proudly stood over was some truly questionable ‘fish’.

Rather, it looked like the lower half of an Ontrean traditional painting: the image of an evil spirit cheerfully corrupting the children of mortals to evil paths.

Falie clicked her tongue from behind him. “Why are you so happy about it, you hag? Don’t teach the children strange things.”

Defi moved aside so she could enter. Unexpectedly, Falie played the part of the upper half – the divine spirit shining benevolence and wisdom onto the mortal world.

Considering that Falie was the one who suggested they turn the orphanage building into a massive trap maze and planned most of the brutally effective distractions…ah, these mortal children were doomed.

They were not in the orphanage, but the pretense of the building being occupied was diligently kept up by the children using string and an uncomfortable amount of large puppets that had been left by Aire’s brother. Apparently the man was part of a traveling entertainment troupe.

Defi put the bag of food on the ground. The town was gripped in fear, shops were closed and doors refused to open to strangers. It was a good thing Falie was with him or he’d have had a more difficult time convincing them he wasn’t with the enemy. They were smugglers, if the rumors were true.

Falie’s trap maze had been appallingly successful.

Because of it, Defi knew they could not stay here forever. The trap maze plan had only been suggested to distract the children, while Sarel and Lergen searched for information.

The fact that so many smugglers had been caught suggested that the children were more important to the smugglers’ plans than Defi had earlier thought. Or perhaps, the smugglers’ plans had changed enough that the children’s participation grew more important. All the more reason to keep them out of enemy hands.

“This was all the shopkeepers had to spare,” Falie lowered her own sack. “The smugglers were rounding up food and cooks. They dug up the rose garden for a firepit, can you believe it? Why didn’t they just set up stoves in the square?”

“They’re not leaving? Haven’t they plundered most of the town by now?” Aire sobered.

“I don’t think they plan to leave.” Falie crossed her arms.

It was obvious that the man was planning a take-over. The last they heard, the smuggler leader was collecting the town’s most important people. The mayor and nine of the twelve councilors were detained in the central square, along with the heads of the guilds and wealthy families.

Their families would have emptied their coffers by now if the reason for abducting the town leaders was ransom.

Moreover, the smugglers were obsessively pursuing the remaining free councilors. It would be more reasonable to pillage the councilors’ houses for wealth than hunt them. Surprisingly, the townspeople were stubbornly managing to keep the last three councilors and their families hidden from the eyes of criminals who were supposed to be good at subterfuge.

A coup had to happen quickly, before opposition had the chance to take root. It had to overwhelm, that the people conquered would be swept along in the momentum. It had to be total and devastating.

But three councilors were still free. That alone broke the smugglers’ momentum. In addition, they were running against time.

It was nearing sundown. If the Lowpool were as large as a nation, it would not matter if a coup took days. But this was a small town. To conquer it totally should have only taken hours.

If the councilors were savvy enough to stay hidden until the next morning, then the smuggler leader must do something drastic to keep momentum, to keep power. If not, he would lose even this seemingly firm grip on the town.

Defi did not want said drastic action to involve the orphanage. But the world did not cater to the wants of people. To attain what one wanted, it must be ripped forcefully from the hands of Fate.

“Aire,” he started. “this sleep-inducing oil we’ve been using, can it be modified?”

“In many ways,” answered a voice that was not Aire.

Defi jumped, then shot a dark look at the suddenly appearing speaker. “Lemat.”

“Lemat! How are the others?”

“They are well and there is plotting afoot, plotting everywhere! Is this not the Lowpool? Truly shadows grow in the quietest places,” the man lamented before he looked at Defi innocently, earnest and inquiring. “What modification do you require?”

The man took some getting used to; it was difficult to pin down his true personality. Defi felt somewhat nostalgic. He shook off the ache and turned his mind to the problem at hand.

“Can it be made airborne?”

*

*

The central square divided the town into the dockside in the north and the hillside in the south. The dockside had the reputation of being the poor side, due to the scent driving away those who could afford to move. It wasn’t precisely true. But undeniably, more people bought land on the north side of town which meant that the houses were closer together and the streets narrower.

It was a good thing. That is, it was easier to filter a small group of people through the alleys of the north side than the wide streets of the south side.

They had worked all into the night, and the paper-wrapped balls of sticky paste that Defi was now distributing along the boundaries of the central square were the successful results of Aire and Lemat’s alchemy. It was not called alchemy here, the creation of power-infused salves and unguents, drinks and oils – it was just another function of an apothecary. Most of Ascharon’s ‘alchemical’ efforts went into mystic cooking and the results were not as advanced as the alchemists of Ontrea.

“Defi.” Mureil was the oldest of the orphanage’s current roster, at thirteen.

He followed her gaze. In the half-light before true dawn, a group of smugglers was returning. Falie’s section was in their path. No. This was no time to give thought to worry.

“Why are they doing this?”

The smugglers dumped another load of precious items and weapons on the large pile already in the square. Were the farmers and fishers of Ascharon really allowed that many blades?

“It’s a show of power,” Defi answered. “Their plans did not succeed completely yesterday. Having the leaders of the town sit out here all night, having the prisoners kneel, openly plundering wealth, accepting challenges, arranging all this to look like their leader is a lord conducting court – all of it diminishes the power of the townspeople while growing their own.”

“That’s not what she asked, idiot.”

Defi looked back from where he was concealing a paper-wrapped explosive.

Mureil was contemplating his words, like she usually contemplated the words of any who answered her questions. With her cautious thinking, she’d have done well as a priestess in Ontrea.

Erlaen was looking at him like he was an idiot. The orphanage group had met the librarian running from smugglers looking for her cousin last night. She’d been so mad she agreed to work with Defi as long as she got retribution.

Oh. It had been a more general question then. He turned back to their assigned task, mulling over his answer.

“Power is something people seek – power over one’s choices, power over oneself, power over others. It is a natural thing, to find advantage, to seek power. Power is addictive after all; one taste and a person will crave it forever. Greed for power is treacherous – the fastest way to gain power is to use power, to show power, and the fastest way to lose power is to use and show power. What is happening here is happening because the most crude and direct way to show power is to make others suffer.”

“What in Chelua’s name are you teaching the child?” hissed Erlaen.

“Mureil has submitted her name for military training,” Defi responded. “An army is a structure in which displays of power are common, and often more subtle than people expect. It is better that she learns these things.”

“How would you know?”

Defi contemplated not answering as they moved, alert and quiet, to the next location. He had revealed parts of his background to more people than he liked at this point. He was just lucky they were Sarel’s friends. They hid behind a wall as a smuggler passed by, yawning. Once the man was gone, he shrugged. “I was raised in a place where displays of power were common.”

He didn’t lie, but his statement didn’t give much away.

“Can you have power and not use it on others?” Mureil asked.

“In a military hierarchy, that is unlikely to –”

“Can we spare the lecture for later, when we are not ten steps away from people who want to capture us and most likely torture us for information?” Erlaen looked jittery as more and more smugglers entered the square.

She had a point.

“You may ask me questions at any time,” Defi assured Mureil. He had been missing the philosophical discussions of the learning halls, had been looking forward to restarting them after the assurance that his presence was welcomed into the company of his former teachers. He quashed the homesickness.

A commotion drew their attention. Orain and Sarel were pushed none too gently into the square. Erlaen made a wordless, snarling noise.

“We knew something like this would happen,” Defi quickly said to her. “All we can do now is complete our part.”

Erlaen glared at him, but said nothing.

Defi glanced at the square. The leader was sending his people out to hunt.

That was not ideal. The sleep bombs had a limited area of effectiveness. More smugglers within the square when they went off meant less smugglers for the rest of their ragtag resistance forces to deal with.

He turned away. As he told Erlaen, they had a job to do.

They had planted most of their sleep bombs when the smugglers spotted them.

“You there,” called a suspicious voice. “What are you doing?”

Without a word, they ran.

“Hey, they’re here! Lark, they’re heading your way!”

Defi and Erlaen glanced at each other. Erlaen indicated the small window coming up. Thankfully it was open. They slowed and grabbed Mureil.

“Wha-?!”

“Quiet,” snapped Erlaen.

They boosted her up to the window. Mureil was not a fool. She scrambled to enter. “But!”

“I said be quiet.”

“No time.” Defi turned, just as smugglers burst from the two sides of the street.

They were cornered.

**

Chapter End

**