The Death Lady's Domain

At night, Jorgen lay on his bed, his arms pillowed behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Without a clear goal, investigating Booty Bay at night was foolish behavior. The black waves slapped against the cliffs, throwing the remnants of shattered water drops into every dark, dirty, yet ecstatic corner of Booty Bay.

There was a knock at the door, a rhythm Jorgen knew well. He got up and opened the door. A thin figure slipped into the room and immediately closed the door.

"Why did you have to break his finger? He'll take it out on me." The person said.

"Just because he's like you now?"

"This is not funny at all. Mr. Jorgen, you should consider my situation more."

"Don't worry, Banjay. You are safe."

"I wish it were so. In this place, even you are not safe."

The other person was Banjay, one of the little thugs who followed during the day. Like most of the informants Jorgen had dealt with, his tense shoulders and suspicious eyes made him look out of place in any environment. They were people who could not grasp their own future.

"Let me see your fingers."

Jorgen grabbed Banjay's right hand and examined his thumb. Although close to the skin color, it was clearly a fake finger.

"The joints are all scorched. What happened?"

"I accidentally burned it at 'dinner' ."

Jorgen stared at him for a while. "Put your hands in your pockets next time before using that thing."

"Can I sit down?"

"Have a seat."

Banjay slowly sat down in the chair and exhaled. His eye sockets were deeply sunken, the capillaries around his temples were very prominent, and his skin looked very thin. A typical "dinner" addict.

Among all the ways to control informants and trade with them, "dinner" was Jorgen's least favorite. This gray-green granular substance, made from specially cultivated ghost mushroom powder, graveyard moss stems, and a very small amount of wolfsbane, produces smoke that causes intense hallucinations and pleasure when baked. Due to the side effect of temporary blindness for a few minutes, addicts always enjoy it at night to avoid trouble, hence the name "dinner". Generally speaking, Military Intelligence 7 may forcibly get prisoners addicted to this stuff to extort confessions, but is reluctant to use this method on informants - they need relatively sane minds. However, Banjay was already an addict long before contacting Military Intelligence 7.

"Mr. Jorgen, how is my mother? Have you been to see her recently?"

"You ask too many questions, Banjay. You are very unstable today. Did you come to give me information or to bother me?"

"I was just asking. Last time you promised to bring her some medicine..."

"Don't worry, we hired a nurse for her. Don't doubt me, Banjay, you can't afford the consequences. After this is over, I'll have someone escort you back to Stormwind, and you'll know I never lied to you."

Banjay's mother, who had long been disappointed in her son, lived alone in Stormwind. Five years ago, when Banjay insisted on taking the last few pieces of jewelry from the house, she cut off his thumb in anger and despair. For Jorgen's work, this mother, who the remorseful son cared about, was just double insurance to control the informant.

"Alright, let's get down to business. Any findings in the casino?"

"It's a mess, a mess. All because the gladiatorial finals are about to start. Huge amounts of gambling money pour in every day, including cash and collateral. The current odds are about even, but Brego's supporters are growing faster..."

"I'm not interested in the odds. I'm looking for the 500 gold coins Idoli stole from Stormwind."

"This is too difficult for me, Mr. Jorgen. To be honest, 500 gold coins in such a gamble are just that." Banjay picked at the nail of his little finger. "You don't know how crazy those goblin tycoons are. And Idoli could use aliases and split the bet into 100 parts at the same time. Not to mention he may have already won the last bet and money makes money."

"He won't have the time."

"Maybe not, but I was just giving an example. I've been in the casino for a few years and have never seen such a chaotic, frightening gamble, and...some gladiators are even betting on themselves under aliases, both to win and lose. The people upstairs in the casino don't care about these things, as long as they can extract fees from the bets." I can't investigate further into this, Mr. Jorgen, I don't have the ability. I've said so much just to tell you that finding 500 gold coins belonging to one person in such a gamble is simply impossible. "

Jorgen knew it was unlikely to find a breakthrough in an underground casino. He just guessed that the impulsive Idoli would gamble like this to have enough money to ensure his freedom.

"You still have to keep an eye out for me. Also, when I followed Idoli yesterday, I saw him walk into a small white house at the entrance to Night Herring Lane and come out again very quickly. Do you know what that place is?"

Banjay thought for a moment. "Is it the white house next to the little apothecary?"

"That's right."

"Didn't you go in and take a look?"

"I know how to act safely."

"That's the domain of the 'Death Lady'. Don't you know that?"

"'Death Lady'? Sounds like pretentious nonsense."

"I don't know much about it either, I just know that's her nickname. I've never been in there. Night Herring Lane is at the bottom of Booty Bay, I don't usually go there... If you want to go into that house, be careful. "

"I intend to go right now. And you're coming with me."

"Why?" Banjay sat up.

"To prove you're not talking nonsense."

"If you insist, I have no choice, but if someone sees me acting with you..."

"We'll keep some distance, you just have to take me to the door of that house. Then you can do whatever you want."

"But..."

"Banjay," Jorgen took out a small brown cloth bag from his pocket, only half the size of a fist. "You have too many unnecessary questions today. Don't you want this thing anymore?"

Banjay's throat pulsated, and the blood vessels around his temples became more prominent. Whenever this happened, Jorgen would have some illusion about his identity. After working for Military Intelligence 7 for so many years, he had never lost his direction. But in the past two years, busy as he was, he was beginning to grow weary of what he was doing. Hurting and manipulating others was commonplace, but when did I start to feel guilty?

He couldn't think too much, he told himself. A moment later, he and Banjay left the inn.

Booty Bay was like a huge birdcage hanging outside the sea cliff, and it was still expanding. The Sailor's Rest Inn in the middle layer was bustling day and night; but chaos and alienation were gradually seeping into the lower layers of the birdcage. The further down you went, the shabbier the houses became, and the less secure the boards under your feet felt. Remnants of various fish could be seen everywhere, dropped during transport, staining every plank with an odor that would never fade. In the narrow passages, if you stepped casually, you were likely to kick a vagrant or drunk. Most residents used inferior fish oil lamps, and from the sea it looked like an unnamed sea beast with thousands of pale eyes clinging to the sea cliff. The bottom layers were mostly inhabited by fishermen of various races, who sent fresh catches of fish to the middle and upper layers for revelers to feast on all night, or to ships. Jorgen felt that even mobilizing the entire military force of Stormwind would not be able to manage Booty Bay. It was almost pure disorder, operating outside any written law.

Banjay walked about ten meters ahead of Jorgen, cautiously looking around all the way. Finally, they reached their destination, the blue house at the entrance to Night Herring Lane - at the bottom, not much moonlight shone through, and at night it turned ink blue. Banjay suddenly turned around and walked straight up to Jorgen without caring if anyone saw him.

"Mr. Jorgen, um..."

Jorgen took out the small brown cloth bag again, opened it, and it was divided into two small bags inside. He handed one of the bags to Banjay, who held it with both hands. When putting the remaining bag back, Banjay stared at Jorgen's fingers.

"I'll be around for a while, and I'll find you again soon. You have to work harder to get the other half." Jorgen said.

Banjay nodded hurriedly, then turned and walked away quickly. "Remember not to burn your fingers again," Jorgen said,but he wasn't sure if Banjay heard his warning.

He looked up at the house in front of him. No doorplate, no sign, just a small door, slightly ajar. He pushed open the door and went in, his right hand on the knife ready to be drawn at any time. This was not a safe approach, but he had no choice. There was no backup for missions in Booty Bay.

Inside was a corridor first. Jorgen figured out that the structure inside was similar to a cheap inn, with narrow corridors and some rooms on both sides. Some rooms emitted dim light, illuminating part of the corridor.

Jorgen walked in a little way and saw three people squatting against the wall. Their eyes were closed, their eyeballs rolling under their eyelids, their necks so limp they could barely lift their heads, their hands folded on their chests trembling, and their mouths chanting something unknown. They had just had "dinner" and were in a state of blindness, Jorgen thought. The three people looked almost indistinguishable, like deformed triplets, or three stunted sculptures protruding from the wall, or three stiff ghosts. Walking past them, Jorgen felt their eyes peering at him through tightly closed eyelids. He had no desire to understand what hallucinations "dinner" could produce.

As he approached the first room emitting a faint light, Jorgen smelled the scent of disinfectant. He looked in, the room with three small beds held eight people. The child in the middle bed, sandwiched between his parents, was slightly raised, looking at Jorgen. His head was bandaged, stained with blood. Jorgen turned away and continued to the next room.

The next few rooms were the same. People of various races were resting in rooms that smelled strongly of disinfectant. Judging from their clothes, they could only be residents of the lowest layers of Booty Bay, without a doubt. Most of them did not react at all when they saw Jorgen.

Jorgen thought this was a clinic or shelter, but he wasn't sure, because next he smelled the stench of corpses.