Chapter Text
“This is it?” Tav asked, looking at the narrow shopfront squished into a corner right beside the old Heap Gate. “The Devil’s fee? A bit on the nose.”
“It is the right address,” Astarion confirmed. “I’m sure Raphael finds this quite amusing.”
Tav chuckled. “I swear all villains are stereotypes.”
She pushed through the door into the shop. The interior was exactly what you’d expect from the outside: a devilish curiosa shop filled with all manner of Infernal trinkets - trinkets Tav would’ve expected to be excellent replicas, definitely not authentic, if she hadn’t known the other business the place also provided.
A bell tinkled as the door closed behind them, but no one appeared at the desk in the back just yet. Tav carefully made her way through the space between the displays.
“Do you think any of this is legal?” she whispered back to Astarion.
Astarion snorted in response. “The only reason any of this is sold legally, is probably that there’s barely anyone who can tell if these items are replicas or real. Either that, or Raphael paid someone off.”
“I don’t even know what half of this stuff is, ” Tav said, squinting at a collection of dream catchers dangling down from the ceiling.
“Allow me to enlighten you, then, dearest.”
Tav spun towards the desk. A woman had appeared behind it, dressed in dramatic robes and donning a circlet, an outfit that had been selected to match the store’s decor for sure. If she’d overheard their conversation pondering the legality of the curio on display, she didn’t seem fazed by it.
“Actually, we have an appointment,” Astarion said. He gently placed his hand on Tav’s lower back and led her to the registry. “House of Hope?”
“Ah, but of course,” the woman said, and she turned to yell over her shoulder. “Korilla! It’s for you!”
After a moment of stumbling down the stairs, another woman appeared. “Ah, yes, Tav’ará and Astarion, correct? Follow me, please.”
They followed Korilla up the stairs into a hallway that was much longer than the building appeared to have room for from the outside. On each side there was a row of numbered doors.
“What is this place?” Tav asked curiously.
“This is the true business of the Devil’s Fee,” Korilla replied. “Helsik rents out doors to anyone who might require easy travelling between the Hells and the Material plane. Anyone who can afford her services, that is.”
She stopped in front of door 61, and opened it. Through it, Tav saw a giant entry hall with marble floors, pillars on either side, ornamented with gold filigree. A soft shimmer covered the entire image.
“After you,” Korilla said.
Tav took a deep breath and stepped through the portal. It took only a fraction of a second, but the plane shift seemed to resonate through her entire body for a moment longer as her feet landed on the marble floor. Whereas Astrazalian drifted gently between the Material plane and the Feywild, stepping into the Hells felt like a shock to the senses.
“Welcome, dear friends, to my House of Hope,” Raphael said, walking up to them. “It’s a pleasure to see you. I have to admit I wasn’t certain whether you would be capable of fulfilling your end of our bargain, but you did so quite elegantly. Such a beautiful talent you keep buried, Tav’ará.”
“We’re here to collect, Raphael,” Tav said stiffly.
“Of course, of course,” Raphael said. “It’s quite the tale, I must say. Please follow me so we can have a seat.”
They sat down at a grand table in the next room and Tav had to suppress another chuckle as she noticed the giant portrait of Raphael himself on the wall behind him.
“Would you like a drink while I tell you this delightful story?”
“No, thanks,” Tav replied, eying the bottle suspiciously.
Raphael laughed. “This is not the Feywild, dear Tav’ará, having a drink will not trap you here for an eternity.”
“I’d rather not take my chances,” Tav said, leaning back in her chair.
“And yet you took quite the chance sending Yurgir here the way you did,” Raphael said. “You must be quite sure of your abilities to send him through the city like that, with no way of knowing whether your Charm would last long enough for him to make his way to me.”
Tav folded her arms over her chest. “I had a thorough education.”
“We delivered the devil,” Astarion interjected. “Now I want what I’m owed - we had a deal.”
“Indeed we did,” Raphael agreed. “I discovered all there is to know about those scars of yours. It is a rather grim tale, even for my tastes. Brace yourself, Astarion, we’re about to unveil your destiny. Carved into that ivory skin of yours is one part of an Infernal contract between archdevil Mephistopheles, your master, Cazador Szarr, and a third party I think our dear Tav’ará might also be interested in hearing about. Whether it is coincidence or fate, I will leave up to you to decide. I am sure you remember a man by the name of Nicholas Walker?”
Hearing that name was like a punch in the gut. Tav felt her body curl up involuntarily, as if just hearing the name could physically manifest his presence.
“I thought you might,” Raphael said. “Allow me to tell you a story, then.”
200 years ago, give or take
Cazador Szarr rarely left his Palace since he had been turned two decades prior. No, if people wished the honour of his esteemed company, they were to come to him. But as most rules do, this one, too, came with an exception. As his carriage rattled over the cobblestone streets of the Upper City, Cazador could almost taste the anticipation in the air, the thrill of knowing his plans were about to fall into place nearly enough to stir his lifeless heart.
Cazador glanced between the curtains and was pleased to find the street naught but empty, the dreary weather so shortly before midwinter keeping the masses cooped up inside their homes. This meant it was all the more easy for him and his associates to keep themselves concealed from curious eyes.
Another few moments later, the carriage came to a halt.
“We’ve arrived, my lord,” Jackson called from the perch.
Cazador looked to his left, where his companion for the evening sat slumped back against the pillows. He’d fainted not five minutes into their ride. A shame, really. The boy had been pretty as well as clever, but Cazador needed someone made of stronger stuff for the particular job he needed done. He let out an irritated sigh - he so hated being disappointed - and stepped out of the carriage.
The Black Dragon was a gentlemen’s club a few streets off the Wide - a club that was held in quite high regard by anyone in Baldur’s Gate who actually mattered. On the rare occasions Cazador did venture out, his endeavors usually led him here.
It had been an old townhouse belonging to one of the younger Caldwell brothers, who had opted to turn the house into a more profitable endeavor. As it turned out, Varsy Caldwell was as proper a businessman as he was a husband, so as it stood at present, both his business and his marriage were about to collapse. Not that this was known by the good people of Baldur’s Gate yet, of course. No, the series of unfortunate circ*mstances that had privately led to the well-nigh collapse of the entire Caldwell name and fortune, had yet to be revealed to the public.
Whether Cazador himself had had anything to do with this particular conundrum, well, that would of course be too ridiculous an implication to even consider.
As it stood, the Black Dragon was still up and running, and Cazador had no trouble whatsoever going in. He greeted a few noblemen whose names had long since slipped his mind, before excusing himself to one of the back rooms.
Cazador preferred being the first person present at any event. It gave him time to assess his surroundings, go over whatever it was he had planned. Alas, as he walked through the door, it seemed one of his soon-to-be business partners was already present.
“Lord Szarr,” he said, standing from his seat, a grin on his face as he bowed his head mockingly.
Cazador rolled his eyes and closed the door behind him. “You know I do not enjoy your jests, Nicholas.”
“You are the one who is always so concerned with keeping up appearances, are you not?” Nicholas asked, sitting down. “I’m merely doing what you’ve asked of me.”
“We should keep up the appearance of being friends , Nicholas.”
Nicholas laughed. “Are we not, then? Friends, I mean? We are here on business, yes, but we could only be here because our ambitions align, and our shared knowledge and collaboration has been a necessity to get to this point. In the meantime we have learned much about each other, much more than I would wager most people know about a mere acquaintance. Does that not make us friends, Caz?”
Cazador hissed at the nickname, but before he could reply, the door opened again, and a third person joined them in the room.
The man walking in looked so breathtakingly beautiful that even Cazador had to consciously decide not to allow his mouth to drop open in sheer admiration. The shock of beauty that robbed both him and Nicholas from their breath only lasted a second though: as soon as the door closed again, the man let go of the illusionary disguise he’d placed upon his visage, and suddenly his form shifted dramatically.
In a moment’s notice the man was a man no more, and before them stood a devil instead. Not just any devil, of course. Though Cazador was known to enjoy Infernal company on occasion, he would certainly not have left his abode to meet with any cambion who could draw up a contract. Cazador and Nicholas wanted the best the Hells had to offer, and would settle for nothing less.
So it was that they found themselves joined at their table by none other than the archdevil Mephistopheles on this cold December night.
“Gentlemen,” the devil said. “I must say, your proposition is most intriguing. It truly seems there are no bounds to either of your ambitions.”
“So you will do it?” Nicholas asked.
Mephistopheles chuckled. “Not quite so fast. I estimate this endeavor will cost you both a significant amount of time. And while the payment for my time is sufficient, looking over a contract for an estimated two centuries before it comes to fruition would be, frankly, boring. But never fear, I have come up with a solution. We shall make it a competition.”
“A competition?” Cazador asked, his eyes shifting to Nicholas, whose face had lit up with glee. The man did love a challenge.
“Whichever one of you manages to get me seven thousand souls first, gets their wish fulfilled,” the devil said, smiling. “A race of sorts, with but one boon at the finish line. The Rite of Profane Ascension, or the Liturgy of Irreverent Perpetuity. That should keep us all entertained for the years to come, I believe.”
Nicholas took a sip of his whiskey and frowned. “And what of the person who fails to be first?”
“The loser, you mean?” Mephistopheles said. “They lose , of course. For this to be a fair competition, you are not to interfere in each other’s business. Otherwise, there are no rules. Be clever, be quick. Be first. Do we have an accord, gentlemen? A hunt for seven thousand souls, and for the winner, a life free from the restrictions of their current respective immortalities.”
Cazador looked at Nicholas again. He was intelligent, that was for certain, and powerful, too. But he was young, and rash, and stubborn, and had effectively gotten himself into this mess all by himself.
“Deal,” Cazador said, turning his eyes back to the archdevil.
“Deal,” Nicholas agreed, immediately.
Mephistopheles clicked his clawed fingers and a scroll appeared out of thin air on the table between the three of them, as well as a quill and ink. And just like that, Cazador Szarr and Nicholas Walker bound themselves in a contract with the Lord of Hellfire himself.
Cazador and Nicholas sat in silence, nursing their drinks, for quite a while after Mephistopheles had returned to the Hells.
“Well, I for one think this was quite a productive evening,” Nicholas said eventually, putting his empty glass down on the table.
“Indeed,” Cazador agreed. “Not quite what we had planned for it to be, but I suppose the outcome remains desirable enough.”
“You’re not scared, are you, Caz?” Nicholas asked, grinning. “Of little old me?”
“Not in the slightest,” Cazador said. “You are quite a distinguished partner, I will admit, but as an opponent you have yet to prove your worth.”
“So have you,” Nicholas said. “Not friends, then, after all, but rivals instead. I think we might both be better suited for it.”
“Indeed,” Cazador said again, and he took the final sip of his wine.
Nicholas reached his hand out over the table. “To a good game, then.”
Cazador shook his hand firmly. “May the best player win.”
“If Cazador wins this race, the archdevil will allow him to perform the Rite of Profane Ascension,” Raphael continued. “An incredibly ancient ritual, so vile it has never been performed. Seven thousand souls sacrificed, and Cazador will become the Vampire Ascendent. A vampire with all the power he already holds and more, free from the restrictions he currently faces. He could walk in the sun, cross any threshold. If my estimates are correct - and they usually are - Cazador has almost completed his list of sacrifices. He will likely be able to perform the ritual before the end of the year. A ritual in which you, Astarion, and your siblings, are key players.”
As Raphael concluded his story, it was all Tav could do to keep herself from freaking out. What Cazador was planning was beyond diabolical, for sure, but all she could think about right here, right now, was the other player on the field.
“What about Walker?” Tav asked quietly, when it was clear from his silence that Astarion didn’t have any further questions.
Raphael smiled. “Nicholas Walker, who I think you know much better as the Collector, is currently halfway through serving a twenty year jail sentence. He lost this race ten years ago because of your interference, miss Naldarai. Now the question that remains is whether you will manage that once more.”
“What?” Astarion asked, finally looking at Tav.
“I think you two have some catching up to do,” Raphael said. “There is a small café across the road from the Devil’s Fee. I will meet you there in one hour, Astarion. I wouldn’t want your master thinking I didn’t enjoy your visit by sending you back by yourself.”
“Of course,” Astarion agreed curtly.
“Thank you,” Tav said to Raphael, frowning.
“You’re very welcome, dear Tav’ará,” Raphael replied. “I’m quite curious to see this play out.”
Tav nodded and followed Astarion, who was already halfway back to the hallway. They entered the Material plane again in silence, made their way down the stairs back to the Devil’s Fee, out the door and across the street.
Tav’s racing thoughts were slowly starting to calm a little and become less of a mess. It didn’t matter right now that the Collector had been involved. He was locked up. Cazador was the one they had to deal with right now.
Astarion sat down at a table in the back of the surprisingly busy pub, and Tav joined him, shrugging her coat off her shoulders.
“Well?” she asked.
Astarion hummed indecisively.
“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Tav asked, studying his face.
“It’s a lot to take in,” he replied. “It turns out Cazador does not plan for my life to be an eternity of misery, but rather cut it short quite soon. It’s quite a shift in perspective. I… don’t know what to do.”
Tav smiled. “Well, that’s what I’m here for. We’re going to stop him, Astarion, I promise.”
“Ever the confident one,” Astarion said.
“Didn’t you hear? I have done this before,” Tav said. “I wasn’t aware of the seriousness of that whole situation at the time, but hey, I did do it, that counts for something I think.”
“Yes, actually, what is that about?” Astarion asked. “Who is this Nicholas Walker?”
Tav shrugged. “Someone from Neverwinter. Someone bad. About ten years ago, he tried to kidnap my mother and I. We got out, he went to jail for twenty years - which, considering finding out he’s immortal somehow seems like a bit of a light punishment, but we can worry about that in another decade, I suppose.”
“That sounds like a very abbreviated version of that story,” Astarion said.
“I’ll tell you the long one another time,” Tav sighed. “For now, he’s not part of this equation, Cazador is. And we have a deadline now. We need a plan, and we need help.”
“Any ideas?”
Tav shook her head. “Nothing concrete. To get actual help, as in, the police or something, we’d need evidence. The list from his office at the very least, but honestly I doubt that would even be enough to get them to look into it. They’re more likely to write me up for breaking and entering than to investigate Cazador with just that to go off. A witness would be great.”
“You know I can’t talk,” Astarion said with a frown.
“I know,” Tav said. “And neither can any of your siblings, I’m sure, let alone whether they’d want to. No, I need to find someone. Lia, Jessamine, Safira, those are the most recent names.”
“Darling, I can quite honestly tell you I haven’t even got the slightest idea where they are,” Astarion said. “If they are kept at the Palace, and that is a big if, then Cazador is keeping them in an area that we aren’t privy to, let alone the normal personnel.”
Tav shrugged. “I never said it would be easy. But we need something, Astarion, it’s not like we can just waltz into his office and kill the man, as much as we might like to.”
Astarion chuckled. “If only we could.”
“I’ll give it some more thought tonight, maybe call Wyll, and I’ll let you know tomorrow, alright?” Tav said.
Astarion nodded, a shadow passing over his face as he glanced towards the door. “I have to go back soon,” he said. “Strange, isn’t it, that tasting freedom for the first time in two centuries only makes me feel more trapped now?”
Tav laid her hand on the table, palm facing up as she locked her eyes with Astarion. “You will be free. I’ll be honest, I hope that freedom might bring you back to some tiny attic in the Lower City at some point, but your freedom is the most important to me.”
Astarion traced his fingertips over the palm of Tav’s hand. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m pretty sure my feet will carry me right back to your doorstep the second they can move of their own volition. For now I’m grateful the devil got me out for a little while anyway.”
“About that,” Tav said. “ How did he get you out?”
Astarion sighed. “Part of my ‘job’, as Cazador would say, is entertaining his closest friends.”
It was like a bolt of ice shot up Tav’s spine, the cold spreading through her body as the words fell into place. They made sense. So much sense that Tav wanted to smack herself for not realising it sooner.
“I’m sorry,” Tav said after a moment. “I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t tell you.”
“I should’ve known.”
“That’s not really how that works.”
“I don’t care, I should have - ”
“Tav,” Astarion said sternly, grabbing her hand. “It’s alright. I mean - you not knowing is alright. What Cazador does, not so much. But that’s not your fault.”
Tav nodded slowly and took a deep breath.
“I believe that’s my ride,” Astarion said, glancing over to the window.
Tav followed his gaze and noticed Korilla waiting out front. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work, I guess?”
Astarion got up and pulled his coat back on. “Can’t wait, darling. Oh, before I forget, could you thank Shadowheart for me?”
“For what?”
“Her… unique hospitality,” Astarion said, grinning. “I’m sure she’ll explain.”
He leaned over Tav and shortly pressed his lips to hers.
“Until tomorrow, darling,” he said.
“Yeah,” Tav said, “I mean, yes, see you tomorrow, Astarion.”
She watched him step through the door into the dark streets and walk away with Korilla, to join Raphael in his car no doubt. After he’d disappeared, Tav ordered a cider and pulled her notebook out of her bag. She needed to adjust her plan. She had a deadline now, which meant she had to focus. She flipped through the pages of her notebook, scanning the notes that currently made up her plan called “Catch Cazador Szarr”.
Tav looked at the title for a moment and crossed out the first word, before replacing it with another. It strangely made her feel a bit better, as if putting the words on paper already meant some sort of justice was being served. Tav nodded to herself, before turning to an empty page to start a new list of steps. A new list for a new plan, with a new title.
“Kill Cazador Szarr”
