Book 2 Chapter 21

Diya left Kartik’s store with a new card. Initially, they had agreed on a ten-ninety split on all sales. It was the same rate Kartik offered Baba. However, Red Charger’s card should’ve sold for one-hundred pounds at most. Thanks to Diya’s presence, Kartik had made an additional twenty-five pounds. The card Yuki had traded could’ve potentially earned him a lot more coin at another auction sale. He agreed to let Diya have it as his cut.

The carde’s silver sheen intrigued Diya. It reminded Diya of Eirkh’s card, and the size suggested it carried more power than Red Charger’s. It was a matter of supply and demand, though. Physical enhancement monster cards being in more demand often sold for a lot more than those with utilitarian keywords. Apparently, Evergaze, the gremlin’s card, hadn’t offered Yuki or Mei any favourable spells. They had found it on the ninth floor, and it had a big three in the top left corner.

The card featured three curious keywords: Bag of Tricks, Aether Resistance, and Commander of Tools. Diya doubted they’d give anything new to the journal. However, he looked forward to a plethora of new runes and keywords.

Apparently, Evergaze the gremlin had used telekinetically controlled weapons to attack the party and zipped around the battlefield at alarming speeds. Its tribe had made life harder by riding around on giant, horned deer while stabbing at them with spears. Diya guessed it was the battle that had killed Koki.

After a quick walkthrough, Climber’s Market and Noble’s Ring, Diya ventured into the market standing along the central canal. He carried on along it until he found the side street dominated by Bengali vendors. The sound of patrons and shopkeepers speaking one another in his mother tongue felt alien to Diya but comforted him at the same time. It reminded him of Baba and Neer chatting when it was just the two of them. Diya understood them, of course, but he’d never been comfortable communicating using it. Now, he regretted not taking the time to learn the language. He believed it would’ve helped connect to his family at a deeper level.

It didn’t take Diya long to find his destination: Jit’s Tea Shop. The narrow building stood in between an old bookstore and a small eatery. Diya knew the businesses well and knew the same man owned all three. While the latter two had eye-catching storefronts, the teashop had a simple wooden sign above the door. The pillar to his right said tea, and the one to his left had ‘cha’ written on it in Bengali. A man sat by the door in front of a stove pouring spiced milk tea from one jug to another. He moved them apart, high and low, creating steaming arches of the glorious liquid during the act. After repeating the action half-a-dozen times, he poured them into clay cups, showing a thick head of froth. Once done, he whistled, and a boy half-Diya’s age carried them into the shop for the patrons.

In typical Bengali fashion, men and women of all ages populated the shop, drinking and talking. Men in tattered vests and long, ironed, kurtas sat next to each other, coexisting despite their difference in station. Things would change outside the building, of course, but while in the tea sho,p all were equal. Baba claimed he had never witnessed such equality before, except in a Sikh Gurudwara. Diya had heard the French had similar practices after abolishing monarchical rule and the nobility but had never ventured into the French quarter.

“Can I help you, brother?” The serving boy approached him after emptying his tray. “Would you like a seat for tea, or are you looking for breakfast.” He waved at the eatery. “Today’s breakfast is hing kochuri, aloor dom, and we have fresh maachh bhaja too.”

The offerings sounded tempting, and when craning his neck to peek inside, Diya was surprised to see that it wasn’t just Indians dining within. He was tempted, but other matters needed sorting.

“I’m looking for someone, actually,” he said, lowering his voice. “Has an old man with a wooden leg been in? He has a trimmed beard, carries a talwar at his hip, and often wears black, rimmed spectacles.”

The boy looked Diya up and down before leaning forward. “Are you looking for Swordmaster Utpal Sen?”

“I am.”

The boy gestured for him to follow before heading into the tea shop. There was barely enough room to walk between the tables. The patrons smiled at Diya and made way for him. It was the tea shop etiquette Baba had taught him. He had never thought of it before, but now that he was distancing himself from the nobility, Diya wanted to know about his people. Bengali folk were stereotyped as the intellectuals of India. They enjoyed academics, argued with one another, and went on about civil liberties, often causing issues with British rule. Other Indian communities often joked a Bengali would happily eat fish and rice for every meal. Given one of the breakfast options—maachh bhaja being fried fish—Diya felt the stereotype was relatively accurate.

Diya heard Baba before spotting him. The old man’s deep laugh drowned out the surrounding chatter. He sat in one of the few booths at the tea shop’s rear. A pair of suited men and a woman in a bright blue sari sat surrounded him. They all appeared to be in the same age group as him and were locked in animated conversation. Diya had never witnessed Baba so relaxed around anyone except for with Lord Graham behind closed doors.

“I’ll take it from here,” Diya told the boy pressing a two-pence coin into his hand. The wide-eyed child thanked him before returning to his duties.

Baba looked between his friends as they talked, his eyes occasionally drifting over the shop. It was during one such scan he did a double-take. “Excuse me,” Baba said, pushing through his friends. He paused, looking around, the floor but then shook his head and stood up. When the old man stumbled towards Diya, he realised Baba’s cane was nowhere to be seen. So, he rushed forward to meet his father. Baba wrapped his arms around Diya as soon as he was within reach and hugged him tightly. “I was sure Edgar’s hitmen failed.”

“It’s a good thing he’s too cheap to hire them through the Bounty Hunter’s Guild,” Diya said, giving his father a good squeeze. “Did you get my letter?”

“No,” he replied, pulling away with an eyebrow raised. “When did you send it?”

“When I reached the seventh floor before Edgar’s incompetent hopefuls came for me. How long ago did you leave the Boleyns?”

Baba looked back at his friends. “I need to catch up with my son,” he told them. “Let’s continue our conversation tomorrow.”

They nodded and smiled at Diya before Baba led him into the shop’s rear and up a flight of stairs. Baba limped into the tiny apartment above it and took a seat on an armchair by the only window. “Victoria told me about what happened on the fifth floor,” he answered. “She told me the truth about Edgar’s abilities and how he was using them and urged me to leave. I was scared to death; you died and sent my spies out looking for you. Then when I found out about Edgar offered a pair of Climbers employment for your head, I couldn’t stick around any longer.”

“You should’ve left as soon as Victoria told you about Edgar’s powers. He could’ve used them on you.”

“We never had a reason to be around one another. Edgar asked for sword training a couple of times, but I always found excuses to postpone the lessons. It was suspicious enough given how much of a failure he was before. Victoria’s warnings cemented it.”

“He almost killed me on the fifth floor,” Diya said, looking down at the floor. “I’m not sure how his soul works, but he made himself invisible and disguised his spear into a staff.” Diya lifted his shirt, showing off the scar. “He got a sly shot in, and then the poison had me down for a week.”

Baba took Diya’s hand. “I was terrified for you, son,” he said. “Victoria didn’t tell me about the poison, but my spies told me about Gwyneth dragging you onto an unknown vessel. When I didn’t hear anything about you for a week, I expected the worst. Edgar setting hunters on you gave me some solace. It meant you were alive. By the time I got news of someone sighting you on the seventh floor, I was relieved. My affairs were sorted with the Boleyns by then, and Lord Graham had gotten distant too. I told him about Edgar’s actions and thanked him for employment before leaving.”

“How’s Lord Graham doing?”

Baba sighed, shaking his head. “He’s a husk of the man he used to be. I had witnessed a change in him after you left, and for the longest time, I thought it was the stress of Alexander’s condition. Then when Victoria told me about Edgar, everything fell into place.” Baba looked into Diya’s eyes sorrowfully. “Lord Graham called off the expedition party too. There’s still a healer and a stasis soul keeping Alexander alive, but things aren’t looking good. Edgar is pushing to have them removed from the house. Victoria is fighting against him, but I don’t know how long that will last.”

“I think I can save him, Baba,” Diya said.

“You need to move on, son—”

“I’m close, though!” Diya sat on the chair’s arm and lowered his voice. “Neer’s journal speaks of a facility like the one we found on the ground floor. It had the same plant creature and Omrito. Since he talked about the location too, the hardest part will be finding the ruin’s entrance!”

“After Neer passed, he’s the closest thing I’ve had to a brother or a friend for the longest time,” Diya told him. “I have to try. Gwyneth and I have found a new party member. Oss is our vanguard, and he’ll keep us safe.”

“I just don’t want to lose you, Diya,” Baba said. “If not for Gaia’s restrictions, I would’ve stormed into the sixth floor and turned it upside down looking for you.”

“That’s a Climber’s life, though. Gaia can take us whenever she pleases.”

“That’s reassuring.” Baba chuckled, shaking his head.

“I might have a solution, Baba. What if we leave New Calcutta and settle down in the tower?”

“Well, you’d need to reach the thirtieth floor for me to join you. I wouldn’t be able to rendezvous with you before then. Setting down roots also means stopping the climb. If you upgrade your soul past floor forty-one, the seventh interval will become inaccessible to you. Are you sure you and Gwyneth are willing to stop your climb?” Baba tapped his prosthetic leg. “I might still be effective in the seventh interval, but given my age and missing leg, I’m no good beyond it.”

“What if I told you that I have a solution for that too?”