Darkness and Hellfire

Chapter 19 Trap

Duncan Ebbenson was a hard working man. He spent what felt to him like every waking moment of his life working. He had been put to work at an early age to help pay for his father’s alcoholism. Working hard in the slums of Safeharbor meant something else than working hard in the fields of Clarestia or Rivenbor. For Duncan it meant pickpocketing with a bit of extra work in the mushroom fields that wrapped around the southside of the city.

Just outside the walls, downhill from the city itself, the mushroom fields had always been used to cultivate alchemical mushrooms and the ones everyone liked to use for tea. From the age of four until he had turned thirteen Duncan had worked both of these jobs. It changed one day when a wizard, an adventurer, had spotted him and told the young Duncan that he had the potential to be a wizard.

The wizard could feel the slight amount of increased mana capacity that the boy possessed. There was only one problem for the young Duncan; his father had drunk away every copper they had ever owned. This meant that Duncan wouldn’t be able to make a trip to the capital, or even Sapphirestone, for real wizard training. Upon hearing of Duncan’s plight the wizard had given him a spellbook. A small one but even so it was worth more than his family’s home. Duncan had guarded it with his life. He still didn’t know the name of the wizard or why he had given him such an incredible and expensive treasure. The wizard had asked Duncan to do only one thing for him in return. The wizard looked down at the young Duncan and said: “Take this kindness I have given you and pass it along. Good deeds, charity, and compassion are what makes our world worth living in.”

To this day Duncan strove to do what he could. He was aware that the slave trade that he participated in was frowned upon but he had his reasons for going along with it. For one, he chose who he would sell people to. For another, he kept them all in the best condition he reasonably could. And finally, he had even gone so far as to spread rumors that the slaves in his care were heavily mistreated to breed an even more intense fear of being sold into slavery. He had hoped that the rumors would help keep people from making so many bad decisions, specifically the ones that ended with them in his warehouse, but unfortunately it had done little to help.

Duncan sighed as he remembered everything that had led to the predicament he had found himself in. Everything from the time his father had tried to pawn off his spellbook, which ended with Duncan burying a dagger in the side of his father’s neck, to the crackdowns on his competition. He shook his head to clear it before he gulped down the glass, yes it was real crystal, of water on his desk. Most of those in similar positions to Duncan, those in power, tended to have alcohol nearby in their offices for days like the one he was having, but after watching his father destroy his family, Duncan wanted nothing to do with the stuff. Did that make him somewhat of a hypocrite for growing and selling psychedelic mushrooms? Probably, but it was worth it. The storage business was not one that turned a high profit by itself and he had a lot of men that needed money for themselves and their families.

Duncan ran his hands down his face wearily. His beard needed trimming again but it wasn’t so long as to be in the way, it was just a bit longer than he liked it. Duncan looked in the mirror and he had to admit that his age, and the stress of propping up a third of the slums by himself, had caught up to him. His salt and pepper beard matched his hair. More and more he was seeing white instead of dark brown. His dull green eyes betrayed his elvish ancestry, though it was back at least seven generations, and the bags under his eyes were so dark that he doubted even a week’s worth of sleep would fix them. He sighed again, only belatedly realizing that he had been doing that a lot lately, and left his office. Down the stairs and out of the building he went. He rounded the corner to take the alleyway to his house. Usually people of his position would have a guard with them for a walk from work to home but Duncan had made sure to purchase a house almost right behind his office.

It was late into the night, a few hours before the early risers would start to stir, so the city around him was deathly quiet. Something sent a shiver up his spine and he looked around. If he hadn’t been so exhausted he might’ve noticed what was wrong earlier. “Fog?” He whispered. A layer of fog had settled in the alleyway. He turned around and it was even more intense behind him. He turned back, he was only a hundred feet from his back door and the safety that the wards in his house would give him, but what he was met with made him take an involuntary step back.

A man stood with a pair of curved swords in his hands. Their blades were pointed outward as if he was purposefully opening himself up like someone greeting an old friend. His clothes were tattered but it was easy to spot the hard leather under the tattered clothes. His brown hair was a bit of a mess but none of those things were what really caught Duncan’s attention. No, it was the bone white mask with an exaggerated smile painted on it in black. Duncan reached into his pocket to get his wand. He had taught himself magic with the help of that spellbook from decades long past but, even if he was loath to admit it, he was bad at spellcasting. He did know a few spells though and, with the thirty feet between himself and the maniac in front of him, he was sure he could get a quick spell off. After all, he usually only needed one.

The man across from Duncan laughed exaggeratedly. He sounded young but old enough to know better than to try and challenge him unless he had a counter for Duncan’s magics. “I wouldn’t do that.” The masked man said. “Not unless you want them to find your corpse in the morning.” He continued with no small amount of pleasure and amusement in his voice.

Duncan, for his part, froze. He had no idea what the masked man had up his sleeves and for all he knew the man could teleport behind him and bury his blades in his back before he could withdraw his wand. Duncan wasn’t sure if he could cast Charm with enough stability and power behind it to actually affect the masked man without the wand so he decided to play along. If the man hadn’t attacked him yet then maybe he wasn’t planning to do so at all. Or maybe, maybe he was just playing with him. “You’re the Ghost then?” He asked. Duncan had heard a few of his men whispering about ghosts and at first he had played it off as someone taste testing the merchandise but now he wasn’t so sure.

The masked man visibly recoiled. “Yuck, ‘Ghost’?” He said with disgust. “Do you know what a Phantom is, Duncan Ebbenson?” He continued but he never let the older man speak. “A Phantom is a specter that haunts a lonely road. They are travelers who were murdered in the dark with no witnesses but the bugs and the moon.” He gestured around them.

“The ‘Phantom’ then?” Duncan played along.

The masked man tilted his chin up in what Duncan could tell was satisfaction with a healthy dose of manic glee. “Exactly. But who I am matters little.” The Phantom replied. “What matters is that there is a play going on and you must ensure that your men play the part.”

Duncan eyed the masked man even more wearily. The more the man spoke the more it sounded like there was a lot more to him than just some maniac in the night. “And what is my part?” Duncan asked.

“You are going to stop mortal trafficking after this next shipment, after all, we aren’t so cruel as to stiff you with the merchandise.” Phantom answered. “Your last chance to do so is sometime during the festival while the security around the gates is the lowest.”

“That sounds a lot like a trap to me.” Duncan replied simply.

Phantom laughed. “And why would I tell you about then?” He asked. “You are already making ready to ship out those pathetic slum-kin who overplayed their hands.” He tapped his chin with the flat of the tip of one of his blades. “Six wagons, by my count, but there are more slaves than that. Two slaves to a wagon?”

Duncan could feel his shirt clinging to his back from the sweat that continued to trickle down despite the cool air that never seemed to change in Safeharbor. “What makes you think that I was going to send all six?” He asked. Phantom started to casually stroll towards Duncan and the older man knew that he had to act immediately or not at all. Duncan’s hand flicked out of his pocket and he pointed his wand at Phantom. The Phantom continued his casual stroll and Duncan cast his spell. “You don’t want to come any closer.” Duncan whispered as his magic flared.