37. Meeting with the Solicitors

Bernt cut his lunch break short that day to make a stop at a tailor’s shop. If he was going to see the Solicitors, he needed to do everything he could to make the best possible impression. He guessed this was going to cost quite a bit of silver, but it would be worth it.

Besides, he had a debt to pay.

“You want a ‘toddler-sized gray robe’,” the elderly tailor repeated back to him, peering at him over the rim of his glasses and tapping on the counter. A folded paper sign that was propped up on the counter read “No Dwarves!!” in even, handwritten block letters with two large exclamation marks.

“And made to match yours? And you want it tonight? Do you think we just have that sort of thing lying around in the back?”

Bernt shuffled his shoulders uncomfortably. He knew it was a ridiculous request, but he’d hoped they might be able to throw something together. It wasn’t exactly a complicated garment.

“Ahem,” came a young woman’s voice from behind the old man. Bernt could barely see her as she peered over at them from around a corner. “Ehm. Pa? Wouldn’t one of those ritual robes for the temple of Aegin work? They were sized for seven-year old dwarves…”

The tailor scowled. “Don’t talk to me about those damned dwarves! But yes, I suppose. It’s not like they’re going to take them now. Inferior work my ass! They can make their own godsdamned garments!”

Bernt wasn’t interested in dwarven religion, but between the sign and the man’s attitude, he could guess what had happened there. Dwarves were notoriously picky customers, and taking a crafting contract from one without taking a generous up-front payment was generally considered a poor business decision. If this Aegin had anything to do with crafting, as most dwarven gods did, then taking a contract from his temple was, in gentle terms, foolish.

The old man must have really needed the business. But, it sounded like the tailor’s misfortune might work out well for him. Especially if he still needed money.

“Could you adjust it for a slimmer frame? I have measurements.” Bernt said, holding out a scrap of paper.

–------

As the sun was setting, Bernt examined the number prominently displayed next to a very expensive-looking door. It was located in a dingy alley that branched off of the main street, just in front of the Upper District. He’d walked by the building twice before he realized there was no entrance at the front.

Reaching up, he knocked twice and waited. As he did, Jori came up behind him, standing straight-backed at his shoulder. He thought she looked very professional in her new Underkeeper’s robes.

Maybe twenty seconds later, the door opened soundlessly to reveal a sharply dressed young human woman who regarded him with a stern expression, eyebrows raised.

“Can I help you?” She asked, just as her eyes flicked down, taking in Jori. “Ah. You’re the new warlock? Who referred you?”

Bernt blinked.

“Uh… hi. My name is Bernt, and this is Jori.” Bernt began, flustered. She was very pretty, and not at all what he’d been expecting. “Archmage Ed… uh, Thurdred sent me over. I’m here to report a rogue demon and probably a rogue warlock, in the city. A demon attacked us last night.”

“Ah.” She said in exactly the same tone as before, and turned on her heel. “Follow me, both of you.”

Bernt and Jori hurried after her, throwing glances left and right as they moved down the corridor. There were doors on both sides, some labeled and some not. Bernt noted a ritual room, a library, and several offices labeled with the names of people he assumed were solicitors. There had to be at least five of them – Bernt had no idea there were so many warlocks in the city.

The solicitor led them up a flight of stairs and through a set of double doors, barely stopping to knock on the door frame as she entered a large, brightly lit office dominated by a single massive desk.

“Solicitor Radast, Mage Bernard of the Underkeepers to see you about a rogue amateur, accompanied by the imp known as “Jori”.”

Bernt hadn’t heard someone use his given name out loud in years and it sounded strange. What unsettled him more was that they knew who he was. Ed had told him that these people would look into him almost immediately, but it was different to have confirmation like this.

Behind the desk sat a man in early middle age, wearing a black suit that contrasted dramatically with his light blonde hair and mustache. He looked up at the woman for a moment, then continued writing as he responded.

“Wonderful! Thank you Josie. Please let me know when you’ve got the language sorted out on that contract for the Teamsters’ Union.”

Nodding, the solicitor turned and left, not even sparing them a glance before she left him alone with what he assumed was the head solicitor in the city – the man who would be deciding Jori’s fate, and probably his.

The warlock had an unsettling air about him and it took Bernt a moment to figure out what exactly it was that made him so uncomfortable. When he did, he nearly backed up out of the room in horror.

The warlock’s shadow was moving, squirming from left to right independently of where the light was shining. Next to him, Jori shivered in fear. He could feel her revulsion through the bond, and it made him wonder what kind of demon that thing was.

“Easy, relax!” The man called out as he got up, smiling a little too widely. “It won’t bite – it’s contractually obligated to ask me first.” He leaned back against his desk casually. “So, what’s this about a rogue warlock? I thought you were our only unknown summoner in the city right now…”

Bernt held his tongue for a moment, considering his answer. The man held himself too casually and his smile was… insincere. All the while, his eyes bored into him with an unblinking intensity that made Bernt feel like he was in danger. Like, if he said the wrong thing right now, he would regret it.

“I’m not actually a warlock, technically.” Bernt said. “You see, I didn’t form a pact with Jori here – I don’t know how, for one, and I’m not looking to do so either, if you don’t mind me saying. We just came to a less formal arrangement and people drew their own conclusions when we broke a bunch of adventurers out of their cells in the dungeon. As far as the rogue warlock goes, it’s just an educated guess. We were attacked by something she called a blood fiend in the sewers last night, underneath the Crafters’ District.”

That wasn’t a lie, exactly.

The man stared at him for a moment, and Bernt could have sworn he heard the restless shadow whisper something, though he couldn’t understand it. Then he nodded, wearing a more professional, but equally fake smile now.

“I see. And you never summoned any demons before your companion there?.

Bernt swallowed. “No. I didn’t summon Jori. I found her in the sewers two years ago…”

“You… found a rogue demon, and then neither deported it, nor formed a pact with it?” Radast said with clear skepticism. “What were you thinking?”

“She was practically a baby!” Bern protested. He was making it sound like he’d taken in a rabid dog. Sure, Jori had been hunting rats and surviving on her own in the sewers, but she wasn’t dangerous. Not then, anyway. He almost winced when he realized that he’d said more than he meant to, but stopped himself.

He didn’t want to look like he was hiding something.

“And you’re certain that she didn’t have any pacts formed before you met? One that you don’t know about?” The warlock asked. “Are you even certain she’s not working for your rogue warlock? Did you check?”

“No…?” Bernt said, unsure what he meant. How could you possibly know whether a demon had an existing pact? Besides, the damned blood fiend had been after Jori!

“We will look into the matter of the mysterious rogue demon.” Radast said, rolling his eyes. “In the meantime, I’d like to see what your companion here has to say about this situation.”

He turned, addressing Jori. “If you’ll come over here for a moment. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take your friend at his word.”

Throwing a glance back at him over her shoulder, Jori followed the solicitor back to his desk. There, Radast picked up a small, straight knife – more of a sharpened letter-opener than anything else, and nicked the back of his arm lightly.

“Your arm, please.”

Jori hesitated, but then Radast’s shadow hissed something at her, and she reached out her hand toward him. Bernt could feel terror radiating off of her, completely incongruous with the situation as far as he could tell.

Gently, the solicitor pushed the tip of the knife into the back of her hand, causing just a spark of hellfire to light up where he pricked her.

The shadow whispered something unintelligible, but Radast nodded to himself.

“Dzhorianath, what a beautiful name.” He said, smiling his too-wide smile. Jori shrank back fearfully. Bernt didn’t know why he scared her so much, but he did know that there was no possible way that this man should have been able to know her full name. As far as he knew, he was the only one who’d ever heard it – and she’d communicated it to him through their familiar bond. He’d never actually said it out loud.

“This is unusual.” he went on. “No pact, and no trail of bodies. You’re an uncontracted demon who’s managed to assimilate to some degree, and a remarkably young and weak one at that. I doubt you would have managed to stay on the material plane so long without the support of Bernard over there. However, I’m afraid we can’t allow unbound demons to wander around like this.”

“I want to stay!” Jori said. “I made an agreement with the Great Mages, the large one and the woman with the Sight of Great K’Thanizar. I will not make trouble!”

“That sight of… oh, you mean Archmage Iriala, the diviner.” Radast said, clearly understanding something that escaped Bernt. He really needed to learn more about demons and the hells if he was going to have to interact with these people. If he could just get that demonology book back from Ed… but he didn’t know duergar. He doubted he could get access to the library here without signing on to their organization and becoming a warlock, but… well, he should probably ask, at least.

“She’s not a threat!” Bernt said. “She hasn’t hurt anyone outside the dungeon, and Archmage Thurdred said she’s not strong enough to devour a soul, so she can’t just grow out of control.”

“Not yet.” The man answered, but he paused, looking thoughtful. “You say two archmages are taking responsibility for your presence here? That’s even more unusual. Interesting, even.”

Bernt tried not to let his sudden hope show through his voice, but he couldn’t resist.

“Does that mean you’ll let her stay?”

Radast shrugged. “I don’t know why you’d want her to. Demons are extremely unreliable allies, and an extreme risk to keep around you without a bond to ensure their cooperation. For novices, we normally recommend making pacts that don’t involve keeping the demon on the material plane at all. Without a pact… well, a valid guarantor is required to be orders of magnitude more powerful than their sponsored demon. You don’t qualify. The archmages on the other hand, would. Valid guarantors for minor demons include archmages, high priests, adventurers over rank 10, and certified representatives of the crown.”

Bernt swallowed. “So, Archmage Iriala is responsible for her? Or Ed?”

Radast shook his head. “Not without a formal contract to that effect. The best and simplest way to guarantee a demon’s good behavior is always to form a pact. Specifically, you’ll want to use one that’s been vetted by us. A demonic pact is binding regardless of your personal power – both parties are bound by their own blood. It always works, making it even more secure than a guarantee of good conduct provided by someone like an archmage. Moreover, if Jori undergoes a metamorphosis of any kind or grows in power to a significant degree, she will be deported immediately. At that point, no one in the city could be considered a valid guarantor.”

Trying to keep his emotions off his face, Bernt shrugged.

“That’s a very… uh, big decision. Can I at least think about it? You’re not going to… deport her right now, right?”

Radast frowned at him coldly. “I know about the professional prejudices of mages, young man. You shouldn’t let something like that hold you back from true power. The petty opinions of ignorant fools shouldn’t concern the likes of us – and the same goes for the unwashed masses out there in the streets. Who are they in the face of achieving your dreams?”

Bernt grunted noncommittally. He wasn’t sure what dreams Radast had, but Bernt’s did not involve burning bridges with either mages or the general public. If he had to make a pact with Jori… well, he very much hoped it would never come to that.

Shaking his head at Bernt in disgust, the warlock turned back to Jori, holding out a small packet of papers to her. “Our organization is responsible for controlling all extraplanar presences in the realm. I’ll give you a contract to confer responsibility for your actions to a third party, which you’ll need to get signed with the mana signature of a valid guarantor. I’ll give you one week to return with either that signed contract or a guarantor willing to form a demonic pact with you. There’s also a full list of the terms we require in any demonic pact in accordance with the laws of the realm and the standards of the Solicitors. If you don’t return, we will enforce the deportation protocols to send you back to your home plane until such a time as you can be summoned again and properly pacted.”

Jori looked from the warlock to the squirming shadow, and then over to Bernt. He nodded to her encouragingly. This was much better than what he’d expected. He didn’t know how Ed would feel about taking actual, legal responsibility for Jori, but it was a real chance.

“Thank you, Great One.” Jori said, accepting the packet of papers.

Bernt breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Finally, a way out of this mess.

“We will look into the issue of the rogue warlock.” Radast said in a tone of clear dismissal. “Don’t leave the city, in case we… have questions for you.”