Like many others, Marc was convinced by On Galtans. Thankfully, he doesn't have a family to bring with him; he just wants two passenger spots, for him and his right-hand man, and a teleport wizard with a Bag of Holding. He hears you can cram slips into them and they'll probably come out alive on the other side. He had been hoping to ship out his hundred slaves on a ship to Katapesh, but the port is closed, and if the rumor is to be believed, won't be reopened while slavery is still legal. If he's going to start over in Merab, better to do so with some of his stock than none.

Albà laughs at him. "I can't get you a teleport out of the city for that, not today or tomorrow. Maybe next week."

Next week is too late! This fucker knows it's too late.

"Good luck finding someone. I'll buy whatever you're leaving behind, so keep me in mind."

Here’s a guy with some teleports prepared and nothing  better to do today. “Name, destination, cargo?”

"Marc Solari. Anywhere with a good slave market; Absalom if you can manage it, Merab if you can't." He knows a bit about teleport logistics, that some wizards can only reach some cities, but isn't an expert. "I have one attendant and as many halflings as you can bear; you have a Bag of Holding, I hope?"

“Two passengers and a full bag of holding to Absalom. Can do. I’m in a hurry, so if you’re ready before the hour is up I’ll take off the extra fees for making me use the bottle of air and for making me get the bag cleaned after.”

He wasn't going to pay the extra fees for the Bottle of Air, so good thing it's free.

An hour... he does some quick math. "Yes, that's doable." He hands over a small, pre-written card with his name and address on it. "This is my warehouse in the Rego Pena. I'll head there now and prepare everything; we'll be ready to leave as soon as you arrive. Can I pay you in dollars?"

Albà is listening in, and is staring at Lisandro more intently than the other merchants here.

“A moment, let me check the exchange rates.”

Does he really have a spell to detect the relative value of currencies? No, wizards haven’t figured out an arcane version of that one yet, it’s just for abadarans. Does he want an excuse to message the wizard staring at him? Yes. 

It’s clear he was trying the old strategy of ‘name a high price and wait until they realize it’s the only price’ but that comes with risks. Like someone else offering a better price. 

message: this one’s my passenger now, what do you want? 

Albà wanted to know who this wizard was, since you need to be at least 6th circle to make it to Absalom in one hop. He is an expert in teleport logistics.

reply: Just the brokerage commission. If you want more work, I'm at 51 Carrer de Castella next time you're around. And it's 100:13.

Factors and their commissions. Wants a piece of every deal he happens to be in the same room as, does he? Abadar declare a rate level increase. 

message: Double commission for this one, in gold, if you never saw me here. I usually have a reputation to uphold.

Commission? But he didn't arrange... ah, Albà gets it. He would have checked in on Solari. And he thinks he knows who this is, now. 

reply: Sure thing.

“I’ve got the rates. Here’s the price in dollars.”

Pretending he actually does have an exchange rate detecting spell is fun. Maybe he’ll give the broker a bit extra on top of the commission for letting him know. 

Here’s a price, outrageous but not that outrageous considering the circumstances. 

It is outrageous! But Marc has lived in Cheliax for many years, and knows in his bones to not rage at a powerful wizard, and can feel the room's interest in their deal. He needs to cinch it before someone else butts in with a better offer. He puts out his hand. "Done, let's shake on it."

“Deal.”

He has the location and time done with already. Handshake and then he vanishes into thin air. 

Reappearing on a nearby street corner. Time to find that office and pay off that broker. 

Marc spots Albà on his way out. "Can we walk and talk?" The bag will fit a bit less than 30 halflings, plus a passenger, but he thinks he knows which of his supply to keep and try to pawn off.

Sure, he'll buy 70 slaves, and the warehouse. He can't afford to pay full price upfront, but he has a bank account in Absalom and is guaranteed by a reputable mercantile house there. How about we write out a loan agreement, paid off in Absalom pounds over the next five years?

There's just enough haggling over details to obscure Albà's excitement; his poker face is good.

The interest rate is going to have to be generous, but it is. And "non-transferrable" in the agreement barely stands out to him--he's a trader of halflings in bondage, not bonds.

They sign, he hands over the deeds, and he and his overseer start corralling the cargo.

Albà stops by his office to drop off his new deeds and check for messages.

There’s a purse full of coin on the table, as promised.

The overseer's whip cracks a few times as they split them up. It's a weight limit, so he thinks it's better to include all the children. They knock out two legs to turn a table into a ramp; set the bag up beneath it, the halflings march up the table and fall into the bag, and within a minute they can all be in, Marc thinks. He spends his time collecting his papers and cash, opens his vault and starts sewing jewels into his sleeves. His personal slave packs their bags; he'll be the one holding hands in the teleport, Marc thinks.

Lisandro isn’t Chelish. He’s visibly a bit uncomfortable with this part. Just reading a pamphlet and avoiding eye contact with everyone. 

“You ready?”

"Yes." They hand a bottle of air to the first slave in line; that reduces the time pressure somewhat, but Marc is still worried that this will somehow go to shit and wants to get it done as quickly as possible. They open the bag, and then the overseer cracks his whip again, and they start marching in, eerily disappearing from view.

Then the overseer picks up the bag, itself as heavy as one of the halflings, takes Valet's hand in his, and Marc holds Valet's other hand, and reaches out to Lisandro.

Lisandro reaches out, and,

teleport

hey wait this isn’t Absalom

What-

"Oops, spell misfired. Right in the customs office too, ouch."

So we'll be searching that bag of holding now.

He knows how to handle rowdy slips. He doesn't know how to handle armed guards. He mutely hands over the bag.

He's complained about Andoran enough times to recognize the flag, even if he's never seen one in person before.

"You bastard!"

Valet has heard Marc complain about Andoran enough times to recognize the flag as well.

"Please, the bag," he says hurriedly. "Let them out."

"Bastard? I'll cop to Mad Foreign Wizard, but my parents are both from a nice village a few miles from here." Slipping back into his Andoran dialect, though by this point it feels less natural to him than the Absalom accent.

Right. This is a rescue. He's bantering and there's people just stuffed in his bag right now.

"There's air in there and the bag can invert safely. Make some space."

People clear out. A few guards stay looming very close. Don't no one get any ideas.

The official searching the bags turns it out and the room is suddenly quite crowded.

Marc is not good at getting ideas. He is good at deploying capital such that it increases, or at least, he was. He knew he was ruined, but not this ruined. He was going to start over...

Well, Hell is the destruction of hope. "Just kill me already," he says sullenly. He's not excited to learn about Andorani torture.

A halfling trusted enough to prepare your food unsupervised is generally a halfling trusted enough to carry a dagger to defend you with. He goes straight for the heart before the guard can do anything about it.

Not who I expected, but I'll take it.

He slumps to the ground.

Well then.

Good for him!

Oh no, the slaver got stabbed by one of his victims before we could have a trial. Oh no, there's so many halflings here we can't pick out which one had the dagger. How terrible.

Guess all that's left to do is drag the corpse outta here. Drag that overseer guy outta here too, we have questions for him.

One other thing left to do. This is always a bit awkward.

"So, hello all. Sorry about the bag. And, uh, welcome to Andoran, you're free men and women now."

The bag was a little traumatizing, but they vastly prefer this destination!

"Thank you," he says sincerely for the group. "What should we call you? Mad foreign wizard?"

"Mad Foreign Wizard, of course, and you all are most welcome." 

"l'll be out of here by midnight, but I can try to find out where you all can stay and how to get you all signed up as Citizens, first."

Mad knows where the jewels are in the sleeves, and manages to get the shirt and purse away from the guards before they find them. Split thirty ways, it might be enough to get them on their feet. The deeds and papers he'll hold onto until he can figure out what they're worth.

They don't have names, not real ones. If they're going to be citizens, they have to decide which nickname they want to stick with, or which name they think is prettiest. His choice is easy.

Good for them! Once they're situated, a couple errands to run before he goes.

1. Drop off his annual donation to the 'Eagle Knight Retirement, Rescue, & Ransom Fund'.

(On paper it's the Retirement Fund, in practice not a cent of it has gone to retirement.)

2. Spend some time in the sort of taverns where the sort of people who plan cod-related-industrial-sabotage hang out, offering a one-way midnight trip to Westcrown.

teleport