Chapter 34: Ch. 33 – The Nam’Dal Terror

A/N: After a day's break, we're back! Book 1, Act 2: The Fall of Nam'Dal Begins!

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Momo arrived in Nam’Dal at dawn. The rickety carriage had carried her through the night, but Momo hadn’t slept a wink of it. Her head bumped the top of the wagon an uncountable number of times, several red welts now emerging on the top of her skull. All in all, it was still slightly better than public transportation in California.

Sunlight drew a pretty outline of the city emerging in front of her. As Valerica had suggested, it was a true city, not a village or a town. Behind its giant gates, forts with tall, red spires dotted the horizon. A large arch marked the entrance, a bell hanging from its center. The words, Nam’Dal, City of The Setting Sun, were engraved into the arch.

“Feels like an odd choice to pigeonhole your city into one time of day,” Momo murmured to herself as the carriage crawled to a final stop, “why not City of All Day Long?”

Her head rammed into the ceiling one final time as they parked themselves on the dirt road.

“Here ye are,” the carriage driver announced.

“Huh? Already?” Momo’s eyes widened.

A deep valley sat between the carriage and the city gates. Support pillars emerged from the valley like the hands of giants, reaching up to form a long bridge connecting the two pieces of land. The bridge could be walked or driven across, with a long line of traffic splayed across it.

Momo’s carriage was still quite a distance to the bridge, and even farther from the gates. It looked like a horror to walk across, with the sidewalks even more congested than the streets. Momo was already allergic to human interaction, but this was pushing it. She never entered a situation where she knew in advance that her personal bubble would be continually disrespected.

“Can you take me up to the gate? I can pay more,” Momo said quickly.

“Sorry lass, I don’t go more than half-ways to the gate.”

“Why?” Momo frowned, “I see other carriages going over it.”

“Ye, naive carriages riding to their deaths. I’ve already been burglarized at least five times this month on my way to Nam’Dal. You’ll be my last passenger ‘ere, I swear I’m retiring when I get back home.”

“...Burglarized?” Momo said, feeling sick, “you mean there are thieves around?”

He laughed, “around? This city isn’t built of bricks, it’s built of rogues! If you got any coin on you, might as well give it to me, or throw it in a river, because it’s not making it over that bridge.”

Momo began to sweat, looking into her purse where thousands of her precious coins and stolen baubles sat. They were her life’s savings—the only connection between her and a real, certified cabbage, or other food with non-toilet-brush nutrients.

She had no intention of being burglarized today. Perhaps on a full stomach, but not now.

“I don’t want my things stolen,” she mumbled sadly, “how do I avoid the thieves?”

“You don’t,” he laughed, “you either scare ‘em off and send them scrambling, or you give up your possessions. There’s only two ways about it.”

Momo processed the information. She wasn’t about to give up her hard-earned cash, so scaring them off was the only option. The problem was, she was still very much herself. Five foot four, thinly framed, and with a voice that was often described as “mouse-like in delivery.”

But, she reminded herself, she wasn’t just Momo anymore. She was Momo the Ripper. She raised her shoulders, steeling herself. Momo the Ripper wouldn’t let some thief take her baubles. She’d stuff a bauble down their thieving throat first.

She raised her eyebrows. Where had that thought come from? The inner roleplay was getting a bit much. If only she had the foresight to die holding something useful, like a year’s supply of her ADHD medication, instead of a stupid sketchbook.

After a few more minutes of internal bickering, the driver coughed.

“Sorry lass, but yer kind of holding me hostage from the nap I’m plannin’ on taking.”

“Ah, sorry!” she said, blushing. “Thank you for the heads up about inevitably being mugged. It’s nice to know about those kind of things in advance.”

“Aye, no worries. And there’s still time to turn back, if you want,” he offered with a shrug. “It don’t feel right letting a wee girl walk the Nam’Dal Terror by herself.”

Momo frowned. The Nam’Dal Terror. That was an inspiring nickname.

“I’ll be fine,” she stuttered, studying the bridge’s inhabitants. Beggars lined the sidewalks, cloaked figures patrolled it in tight patterns. It looked like a whole criminal operation operating on one thin strip of concrete.

It warmed her heart with nostalgia. It was just like her fondest memories of San Francisco.

“Alright,” he said with a defeated sigh, and then saluted her, “my advice, take all your belongings, leave ‘em in a bush somewhere outside town, and come back for them later. That way, when they turn you upside down and nothing falls out of your pockets, they’ll let you go on yer way.”

With that, he climbed back into his carriage, and gave Momo a final, pitying wave before heading off.

So, Momo thought, sitting in the dirt. This sucked.

She closed her eyes, attempting to focus herself towards a plan. Maybe she could hide the coin somehow? She unbuckled her knapsack and stuffed it under her shirt. With her robes covering it, she looked like she had a huge beer-belly, but it was convincing enough. Sure, most women didn’t carry their weight in a giant, overgrown tumor of a stomach, but she could pull it off.

She was Momo the Ripper, after all. Courageous. Powerful. Temporarily overweight.

She looked over at the bridge just in time for her to watch someone get flung right over the side, their screams echoing all the way down into the chasm below.

Oh, God. Who was she kidding? She was terrified. Her legs wobbled, shaking like a nervous chihuahua. Why did Valerica think she was ready for this? One Momo versus one vampire was one thing, but one Momo versus an entire crime syndicate all living on one bridge?

Unable to hold on through her tremors, the knapsack slid out in an instant, baubles pooling at her feet.

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“Great,” she groaned, moving to pick them up.

“That was quite the speedy weight loss journey.”

Momo’s whole body snapped, reacting like a gun. She put her hands out in a kung-fu pose, mimicking a bootleg Jacky Chan impersonator. Her victim? A… reptile. A male reptile, maybe, judging by the voice. He looked like a miniature version of Salazar, with red scales and beady eyes. He looked almost cuddly, and certainly not dangerous, but Momo wasn’t ready to relax the combat pose.

“Back away from the baubles,” she said weakly, pushing a tiny golden elephant behind her with her foot.

“Baubles?” he said, incredulous, “you mean those… things, by your feet?”

“Yes, exactly those,” she narrowed her eyes, “keep your cute little hands off of them.”

“What, you think I would steal those?” he laughed, “I’d probably be paying other people to get those [Overpriced] charms off my hands. I’m more of a heist man myself. Millionaire money. Not a thrift shop burglar.”

Momo’s eyes widened, “how did you know they were [Overpriced]?”

“[Counterfeit Detector]. It’s a skill most merchants in the city will have, so I’d advise you to drop the bauble selling operation,” he grinned, “join up with the Con Artist’s Guild instead.”

Momo wanted to act appalled at the proposition, but quickly realized she owned the skill of the same name. One more shady act, and she’d probably pick up [Con Artist] as her secondary class. She frowned. So much for her supposed moral compass.

“I’m good,” she said, holding the knapsack to her chest protectively, “please go on with your day, Mr. Grifter.”

“Your loss,” he shrugged, “but out of curiosity, how do you intend to get over the Terror? Stuffing your shirt with gold pieces was certainly inventive, but I can promise you the bridge thieves will not be shy about investigating.”

“Of course that wasn’t my plan,” she insisted, failing to think of any other one, “I.. um… I’m going to…”

Run across the tops of the carriages like a medieval version of Temple Run? Drug the gerbil running her heart and give herself momentary superpowers? Summon a giant bird to fly her into town?

The third idea wasn’t bad, but the whole “big bird” solution never seemed to go the way she wanted it to. She didn’t doubt that the creature would find a way to fly straight into the gate bell, and the entire city would be alerted to Momo’s ineptitude. A ringing embarrassment. She would also probably fall to her death, but the bell part was worse.

“I’m going to sit here and think about it,” Momo said decisively, “and then think of a really good plan. A plan you would have never thought to think of.”

“Those surely are words,” he laughed, his scales shining under the morning light, “look, I’m feeling generous. Why don’t you give me two hundred coins, and in return, I’ll show you how to get across the bridge with no one bothering you?”

The phrase ‘with no one bothering you’ was practically crack to Momo’s brain, but she stopped herself. Remain skeptical, she ordered her brain. Do not immediately accept deal.

It was a mantra she taught herself after clicking on too many ‘you’ve just won a shitload of money!’ web browser pop ups. She never did receive any of those promised checks, but she did successfully brick about three college-issued laptops. She had begun to earn the equivalent of frequent flyer miles at her university’s IT department.

“Aren’t you a member of the Con Artist's Guild?” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“Yes,” he said, smiling broadly, “but I don’t think you have any other choice. Plus, I’m headed the same way. Either you get robbed by the lizard you know, or robbed by the one you don't. Your choice.”

Momo had seen enough Shark Tank to know a flimsy deal when she saw it. She pretended momentarily that she had been born with generational wealth, and straightened her shoulders. She thought rich people thoughts: Money. Investments. Retirement. Savings.

She deepened her voice, puffing out her chest.

“You can collect your pay when we’re inside the gates. If you have rendered the services requested, I will even include a small tip.”

He looked at her quizzically.

“Render the services requested? You are a strange girl,” he murmured, “but you’ve come to the right place. Nam’Dal is a city of strange people.”

Her chest deflated, and she frowned, “I’m not strange–”

“Anyway, I accept your deal,” he said, reaching out with a red-scaled hand, “I’m Radu. Radu the Red Riptide. And you are?”

She shook his hand weakly. To her surprise, she liked the texture of it. It felt like rubbing her hand on an exfoliating brush, the scales providing a pleasant bristle.

“Are you going to introduce yourself? Or just keep doing whatever it is you’re doing?”

“Oh, um,” she blushed, “I’m Momo… Momo The Ripper.”

He grinned. “Strange girl. Strange name. Even stranger title. What is it you rip, if I am brave enough to ask?”

She frowned weakly, attempting to look scary.

“Er, people?”

“I absolutely don’t believe you,” he laughed, shaking her hand heartily.

Momo grimaced. She'd have to work on her delivery.

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