The House of Smoke

“There is only one way we can do this,” Julius began with a determined tone. “The man I mentioned—the one who can help us secure weapons—runs a tea house in the city. Let me go in alone and seek his help sneaking all of you in.”

Julius, proposed.

Moving as a group posed even more danger. Left with no other choice, they agreed to his plan.

After securing entry with his Wellington pass, Julius rendezvoused with Flisk, a man as enigmatic as the city itself.

Flisk was a well-connected dealer whose flamboyant demeanor masked his deeper intentions. Upon seeing Julius, he greeted him with an exaggerated tone. His presence exuded an unsettling charm, a blend of calculated hospitality and veiled menace.

Julius quickly explained his situation to Flisk.

Under the cover of dusk, Flisk led Darius and the others through a concealed passageway into Stork City. As they entered, Flisk’s tea house came into view, a structure that stood out in the corner of the city. The building was an architectural anomaly, illuminated by soft, warm lanterns that seemed to guard its secrets.

Inside, the atmosphere was anything but ordinary. The air buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Diverse patrons mingled, playing games of chance, engaging in whispered conversations, and indulging in pleasures that Stork City’s strict moral codes ostensibly forbade. The scent of exotic spices, incense, and tea leaves mingled with the faint aroma of expensive liquors.

“You didn’t mention Mr. Flisk was one of them!” Peter hissed under his breath, eyeing Flisk warily.

“Peter!” Darius snapped, his voice low but firm.

Julius intervened with a sigh. “He’s different. Trust me—he’s a decent man… most of the time.”

Flisk, having overheard, smirked and responded smoothly, “Your suspicion is justified, young man. I’m not proud of what some of my people have done to yours. But rest assured, this is a sanctuary for those willing to pay the price.” With that, he gestured for them to follow.

The group moved deeper into the tea house, passing rooms filled with patrons engaged in activities that blurred the lines between leisure and debauchery.

“A tea house?” Hans muttered to his companions. “This looks more like a whorehouse to me.”

Flisk turned with a theatrical flourish and opened a door to a quieter room.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “refreshments are on the house.” They entered and sat down on plush cushions as a servant brought trays of aromatic tea and delicacies.

Their first time in their life to taste such melting food. However their comfort was quickly cut short.

“If my assumption is correct,” Flisk began, his tone shifting to one of measured caution, “you’re on the run from something. I am a business man. I can’t risk becoming an enemy of the crown by associating with troublemakers. To protect my house, I’ll have no choice but to ask you to leave.”

Julius raised a hand in reassurance. “We mean no harm. It’s just…We’ve been caught up in a bit of a mess here. But we’ll sort it out and leave you in peace soon.”

Flisk studied him with narrowed eyes. “I’ve known you for years, Mr. Jackman, so I’ll offer you shelter for a week—as long as you don’t bring any heat to my house. But heed my warning: if this arrangement brings even a whiff of danger to my doorstep, I’ll become the man you’ll be running from.”

“I understand.” Julius nodded. “Thank you for taking the risk for us.” He hesitated before continuing, “We need more than shelter, though. What I am about to tell you should stay between us. My companions and I contemplated much before arriving to this decision. We need weapons—around 100 machine guns, if possible. Help us secure that and we’ll pay you handsomely.”

“Weapons?” Flisk raised an eyebrow, his expression hardening. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking? I’ve seen enough fools try to rise against the empire, only to meet their deaths. You won’t win this fight—not by force. Take my advice and abandon this path.”

“We don’t have another choice. It’s too late to go back now. We have to fight.” Julius tried to convince Flisk,

“Mr. Flisk,” Peter interrupted. he began with measured urgency, “you deserve the truth. We’ve become adversaries of the Wellington household. Alongside us, there are hundreds of others who fled that estate. We need these weapons to protect them.”

“And you?” Flisk turned to Darius, his gaze sharp. “Darius King right? It’s been years, but I remember you. A lone survivor of the Crawford massacre.”

One mention of the Crawford name, and Darius’s mind went fogy. A dark cloud struck his mind.

“Once a voice for your people, now reduced to hiding like prey.” Flisk continued, “Surely you know better than to gamble on a lost cause?”

Darius began gasping for air, as if being suffocated.

Han’s quickly jumped to his side.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay!”

He looked at their faces and took a deep breath in.

Then he turned to Flisk. “I don’t want to fight. But I’ve learned that words alone can’t stop the torment our people endure daily. If there’s any hope of ending it, I’ll take the risk.”

Flisk’s laughter was cold and bitter. “A noble sentiment, but misguided. Stay here for a week if you wish, but forget your plans. That is as far as I can help you old friend. Enjoy life’s pleasures while you can—music, drinks, women. You’ll find that they offer much more solace than rebellion ever will.”

With that, Flisk left the room, leaving the group to contemplate his words.

Flisk’s refusal to help them, was a blow to their courage and hope.

As the laughter and music from the tea house echoed faintly through the walls, the group realized some truth in his words. Their adversaries were formidable, their plans perilous.

The road ahead was fraught with uncertainty, and their resolve would be tested like never before.