Back on the surface, Count Elgin had been a nobleman of Old Istani. However, on a foggy night while returning ho late, he and his coachman disappeared in an alley near the red-light district.
His "departure without a word" once caused trouble for the younger Elgin in inheriting the title of Count. It was many years before his family, the Knight Order, and Her Majesty the Queen herself accepted that the elder Elgin was truly gone.
And so, between the lands of Stormwind City above and the world below, there were now two n who held the title of Lord Count Elgin.
Rorschach’s group submitted to an inspection by the Count’s Personal Guard. Though called a Personal Guard, he was in fact just the unlucky coachman who had fallen into the Shadow City with the Count. Enduring his rheumatic knees and rotten teeth, he tremblingly shouldered the duties of chef, guard, and servant.
A bony hand patted down Rorschach’s body. The security check was about as thorough as a symbolic sweep with a taphysical tal detector. Aside from the Dwarf’s large hamr, which was taken for temporary storage, nothing else was confiscated.
"Please, follow ..." The old coachman shuffled, hunched over, toward the next train car. Its entrance was pretentiously fitted with a decorative wooden door and red velvet cloth.
’No more checks or guards?’ Rorschach’s experience in the Shadow Land told him this was no benevolent place. A genuine Count shouldn’t have such flimsy security. He couldn’t help but doubt if the man he was about to et would be of any help in their search.
"My lord, they have arrived," the old coachman announced. A lazy voice drifted from within. "Co in."
Serving as the Count’s mobile palace, this train car was quite "luxurious." The front half resembled a parlor, furnished with everything from coffee tables and chairs to a sofa and a fireplace. A kettle on the hearth sputtered as it ca to a boil. Peering past a display cabinet, Rorschach could see a curtained doorway. Behind it lay a dining table, and further in was another curtain, which he guessed partitioned off a "bedroom."
All these furnishings were of fine wood and craftsmanship, but they had been cobbled together from various sources and were poorly maintained. For example, the face in an oil portrait of so unknown figure was faded and smudged, its wooden fra cracked and riddled with wormholes. The rest of the furniture was in a similar state. Though undoubtedly selected with the Count’s aristocratic eye, they were, in essence, no different from the junk a Mouse Speaker might drag out of Garbage Mountain.
CLACKETY-CLACK... The train started moving.
"Lord Count, it’s wonderful to see you again! Have you missed my performances?" the Minstrel asked, bowing to the nobleman. His elaborate gesture made Rorschach, who remained standing, look like a country bumpkin.
Count Elgin’s attention was thus drawn to Rorschach. His gaze fell upon the young man, who simply nodded in greeting. "Hello."
"You’re a Mage."
"How perceptive of you! I’ve made friends with a Mage..." The Minstrel, Freddy, seed to have a penchant for playing the jester. But he clearly wasn’t doing it to win the Count’s favor; rather, it was as if he were putting every ounce of his being into mocking him.
Elgin remained half-sprawled in his comfortable-looking lounge chair. "Soone with no manners is either a fool or a Mage."
’That’s a bold thing to say,’ Rorschach thought, taking a step forward. "Lord Count, we’ve co to ask for your help."
"I never help people."
"Of course, we brought gifts! Your humble servant, Freddy, presents three pounds of white sugar and three bottles of dry red wine, and beseeches the Lord Count to see justice done for the people." Before Rorschach could even speak, Freddy had already pulled out the Dwarf’s bag, producing a paper-wrapped bundle and a few bottles of wine.
Rorschach thought he heard the Count mutter, "So there’s a Dwarf, too..."
In the past, the Count would have made a show of accepting Freddy’s "offering" before agreeing to help. The Minstrel was confident he had the Count’s temperant figured out; three pounds of sugar and three bottles of decent wine should have been enough.
But this ti, the Minstrel had miscalculated. The Count simply shook his head. "The price has gone up. This isn’t enough."
It turned out a ship loaded with white sugar, tea, and wine had previously fallen into the Shadow City, landing right in the Count’s domain—the Semi-subrged Area. What was once hard currency was now worthless in his eyes. "A pity. It would have been better if you’d brought tobacco."
"How about Gold Coins? Na your price." Rorschach was operating on the principle that he wasn’t short on cash; any problem that money could solve wasn’t a real problem.
But this was precisely a problem money couldn’t solve. The Count shook his head. "Are you new here? Don’t you know the most worthless thing in the Shadow City is money?"
"The Deep Diving Area and the Ancient Ruins Area are littered with tombs and treasure hoards. You can find everything from Old Empire Gold Coins to Istani gold pounds. It’s an Adventurer’s paradise, you could say. But the one problem Adventurers fear most also exists here—you can’t cash out. Most business is done by barter."
"The Marquis once organized beggars to take Gold Coins to the Upper Realm to exchange for supplies, but every attempt failed." The Count explained the situation in the Shadow City to Rorschach. "The Marquis, the supre ruler of this place, tried to have the beggars spend the coins bit by bit, giving them a commission, but without exception, none who left with the money ever ca back."
"If a beggar dared to walk the streets with Gold Coins, they were either robbed or reported and thrown in jail. In short, the coins vanished, and no supplies were ever traded."
’So there’s a Marquis.’ Rorschach committed this new piece of information to mory. So far, his strategy had been to listen much and ask much, gathering as much intelligence as he could.
He was quite interested in the "Deep Diving Area" and "Ancient Ruins Area." After all, this place was so bizarre; there had to be a source of power sustaining it. If he could figure that out, there might be sothing to be gained.
Since bartering was the norm here, Rorschach wondered if he could trade one favor for another.
CLUNK! The train arrived at another stop, nearly making the Mage and the Dwarf lose their footing. "Pardon for a mont. Help yourselves to the tea." With that, the Count slipped off the train, and the coachman hurried to the front car.
"He just left like that?" the Dwarf asked in disbelief. Now, only the three visitors remained in the car.
Rorschach voiced his idea. "What if we trade a favor for a favor? We need him to find soone for us, so we can ask if there’s sothing he needs us to do for him in return."
"It’s possible." Freddy nodded, then shook his head. "But it’s an extrely dangerous proposition. You must, under no circumstances, leave any loopholes in your promise to the Count. Otherwise, you might inadvertently be judged by the Shadow Land as one of his subjects."
The Minstrel gestured at the train car. "Do you know why the Count and his servant dare to leave us here alone? Why he can get by with no army, served only by a decrepit old man even older than himself, and still commandeer an entire train as his mobile palace?"
Rorschach didn’t have to think hard to arrive at the answer. "You said it yourself, this place has ’a damnable number of rules.’ Are the rules of the Shadow City backing him up?"
"Bingo! A Caster’s mind is a sharp one." Freddy poured tea for the other two as if the Count’s mobile palace were his own ho. "He is recognized as a Count by the Shadow City, and the Marquis has, in turn, enfeoffed the Semi-subrged Area to him. That ans, within the Semi-subrged Area, anyone who harms the Count or violates his property or residence will be punished by the Shadow Land. There are other benefits, too, which allow him to gather a following in the area, though they’re all just sewer rats."
The Minstrel’s final remark was, "Elgin is just a decrepit old man who never steps foot outside his territory, content to be a long-lived tur—"
"A long-lived what?"
"A long-lived Wise Man, my lord." The Minstrel covered his panic with an impromptu tune, welcoming the Count back to his lounge-chair throne.
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