Leverage, in Marcellus's world, was akin to a finely honed blade – a tool to be wielded with precision for achieving one's ends.
As Marcellus stood there, his mind weaving through the intricate tapestry of the current predicament, he discerned the subtle undercurrents of strategy and desire.
The woman, with the book firmly in her grasp, was playing a game of her own. She sought to use this tome, undoubtedly a treasure of great worth, as a bargaining chip, a means to tip the scales in her favour. Her reluctance to summon Mr Doan was a clear signal – she aimed to conduct their dealings away from prying eyes, a thread of secrecy that Marcellus could pull to unravel her intentions.
This was his leverage, a foothold in this slippery slope of power play.
Marcellus's instincts, honed in the unforgiving streets where every decision could be life or death, nudged him towards a path of cautious engagement. Here lay an opening, a crack in the armour of his current conundrum, through which he might manoeuvre to his advantage.
He was no stranger to risks, each step of his life a dance with danger. Yet, he found guidance in his unique way of assessing situations – comparing and contrasting his own reasoning with that of others.
In this woman, her every move was calculated, each word chosen with care. This was not the thoughtless cunning of a common thief, but the deliberate strategy of a player in the grander game of power and survival.
Acknowledging her intellect, Marcellus readied himself. Here was an adversary worthy of his mettle, ready to test his skills against hers.
"So, what now?" Marcellus inquired, a veneer of confidence cloaking his voice as he held the woman's gaze with a calculated steadiness.
"This is for selling, is it not? I believe I am owed something for my... discretion," she answered,
She extended the book towards him, her smile carrying the subtlety of a hidden dagger. "Consider it a price for my silence."
The lilt of her accent, decidedly Gaulish, wove an additional thread of mystery into their exchange.
Marcellus, steadfast in his stance, refuted her assumption. "No, it's not for selling. You seek coin, then?" His eyebrow arched inquisitively. "And pray tell, what price does your discretion command?"
Taking a seat on the bed, Marcellus braced himself for her response.
The woman's smile grew as she settled herself onto his lap. "I knew you were reasonable," she purred, her voice carrying a melodic quality. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she continued, "I could see it in your eyes."
Marcellus's heart sank as she pointed to his coin pouch, demanding, "Half." His mind raced, realizing the weight of the request. He had hoped to keep his silvers intact, but it seemed fate had other plans.
She laughed softly, her words caressed by her Gaulois accent. "Pleasure should be shared equally, non?" Her playful tone danced in the air. "It's the only way to avoid hurt feelings."
Marcellus's irritation flickered across his face as he responded, "Look, threatening a privateer is a terrible idea. There are countless ways it could go wrong."
However, her smile only widened, her eyes glinting mischievously. "Me? I can't help myself. I see an opportunity, I take it. It's a sickness, truly," she confessed.
"But you..." Marcellus pressed a note of desperation in his voice. "...You can still walk away."
"true," she acquiesced, her demeanour shifting slightly. Now, she pointed at the book, diverting the conversation away from the sensitive topic of silver. "Tell me, what is it?"
Marcellus shrugged, a hint of uncertainty in his response. "I don't know," he admitted, his eyes narrowing with curiosity and intrigue. The secrets contained within the book remained a mystery, even to him.
Marcellus refused to part with half of his coins, standing his ground.
She sensed he would not budge and suggested "If you will not Part with your coin you could simply buy from Mr Doan and we could go our separate ways, That's what I need the money for."
Marcellus was unwilling to take such an approach. He understood the implications of buying her from Mr Doan - the cost would likely be much higher than anticipated. Moreover, he didn't want the reputation.
The situation required careful consideration.
"What if we strike a different accord?" Marcellus proposed, his voice smooth as silk, weaving a vision as if selling a dream. "Rather than buying your freedom from Mr Doan, I propose taking you as my exclusive consort. In return for your silence, I'll pay him five silver coins monthly for your keep and to ward off other suitors."
The woman's eyes flickered with surprise, a spark of interest igniting within their depths. Marcellus's offer, unconventional as it was, piqued her curiosity, presenting a path she hadn't considered.
In the brothels of Mythralis, the notion of a personal consort was known, though usually a privilege of captains and other high-ranking pirates. For the women of the night, such a position was akin to a rare gem – a chance for a semblance of stability and comfort, a reprieve from the relentless competition for patrons. This exclusive arrangement not only ensured steady patronage but also afforded a degree of protection and exclusivity.
She pondered the offer, the gears of her mind turning. Though it meant continuing her life in the shadows of society, the allure of stability and a singular patron was tempting. It was a choice between the devil she knew and the unknown, between the precarious life of a common whore and the relative safety of being bound to one man.
"You play a cunning game, and a thrifty one at that," she said, a hint of respect in her tone. "I'll take your offer."
Marcel nodded, feeling a fleeting sense of relief. Yet, his resolve remained unshaken. His stay in Mythralis was but a transient chapter in his larger quest. The notion of committing to a monthly payment for her exclusivity was not in his long-term plans.
His heart was set on a grander vision - to carve his name in the annals of war, to rise above his station, and to secure a future for his mother, cousin, and niece. Attachments, emotional or otherwise, were mere distractions on his path to glory.
Thus, deceiving the woman, despite their newfound arrangement, was a mere footnote in his grand scheme.
Marcellus knew he needed to find a way to leave Mythralis and pursue his dreams. The warfront beckoned, promising opportunities and the path to the war that would provide him with the merit he sought.
The allure of being someone capable of taking care of his family fueled his resolve, propelling him forward even as he played the necessary games to survive in this treacherous world.
In his heart, Marcellus knew that sacrifices would have to be made, even if it meant leaving behind those who had become entwined in his life. She was just going to be one of those sacrifices, just like the cook on the ship.
"People call me Ginger, but my name is Ingrid," she said, interrupting Marcellus's thoughts.
Marcellus paused for a moment, contemplating the situation. If he was going to distance himself from the crew and maintain a certain level of anonymity, it was best not to reveal his real name. He had learned that lesson with Tommy Bones.
"Blackeye," he replied, offering a new moniker for himself.
Ingrid's eyes focused on Marcellus's face, her gaze lingering on the black eye that was now turning shades of blue. She couldn't help but burst into laughter as if she had just noticed it for the first time.