Infernal Investigations

[saithor]

Negotiating prices of solutions and tinctures always tended to bring out the worst in people. Often, it resulted in the raving lunatics who were my customers pressing the muzzle of a gun against my head.


Case in point: Lord Batholemew Alvoneas Montague V, whose revolver trembled only inches away from my forehead. His watery grey eyes were steel in their focus, and his thick black mustache vibrated in rage as the muzzle of his pistol shook inches in front of my face.


My expression frozen, I waited for his lordship to speak. An errant word from me could provoke him into firing the gun. Both my hands were already above the table, shaking a little bit. My tail twitched, and I forced it still as well. Reaching under the table for a weapon would result in that bullet as well.


We had been sitting in a private booth in the Hell's Own tavern, a place where my kind was expected. Lord Montague's kind did not publicly visit here. Lord Montague himself preferred not to come here at all, was what I'd gathered from our little chat. The idea of being in a place as seedy as this seemed almost as painful as dealing with an Infernal from his tone preceding the gun.


And that was just the nobles who chose to pay the fees to be brought through the tunnels connected to the cellar instead of walking in through the back door.


The private rooms were soundproofed and hidden from the eyes of the public. Thus, they made for an excellent place for the rich and famous to rub elbows with those whose services they may need but who publicly they could not be seen with. Such as a rather dashing young alchemist with a somewhat sketchy reputation and an evident touch of the Infernal in her ancestry bearing the name Falara Merotien.


Of course that same privacy made them the perfect place to commit a murder. Could a gunshot be heard from in here? Not something I wanted to test.


Finally, his lordship spoke.


"You cannot seriously expect me to even consider what you said," he snarled.


I sipped some water, the only drink I'd brought into the booth. The surface of the water shook as I tried to force my hand still. I could not betray that my instincts screamed to bite into his lordship's hand before he could pull the trigger.


"You don't agree with my price, mi'lord?" I asked.


"Agree with?" His pistol moved forward, the tip now pressing into my crimson skin between my horns. He practically roared his next sentence. "I come here asking for help saving my son's life, and you set a price that high? Lower it, you shameless creature!"


I set my drink down on the table, eyes fixed on his. Tone casual as much as I could force it, I replied.


"While I am open to negotiations, Lord Montague, I don't particularly enjoy it with a pistol pressed against my head. Furthermore, what will you do if you pull the trigger? I did not bring the elixir with me, and besides, violating the rules of this establishment is likely to land you in a world of trouble. It will take time to find my body, but how long 'til they find it? How much bribe money will that be to the owners to cover up my death? And do you think you can find a better price in the city? Mayhap the empire but that's a long distance to travel. Again, please lower your pistol."


A second passed by, then two, and then the tip of the pistol left my skin.


I resisted the urge to let out a breath. There was no need to let Lord Montague know how concerned I had actually been.


His shoulders slumped and his expression fell as he sat back down across from me. We were now at eye level once again. My current height was much shorter than his lordship's for now. Craning my neck back to look him in the eyes had begun to feel painful.


Not as painful as being shot would have been, of course.


I could, conceivably, survive a gunshot to the head. The odds were about the same as surviving being stabbed two dozen times. The chances were not good I'd live past the first ten minutes, and even then, it would be likely to leave damage that would take weeks to heal. But the threat was gone.


For now at least. The gun still remained in his hand, which trembled as little as my own had just moments ago.


Since he didn't seem interested in speaking yet, I filled the silence. "I do have shame, my lord, just not over this. You want an elixir for a particularly rare poison, and you want delivery in utmost secrecy. I can guarantee both and am charging what I consider a fair price for it. Do you know how rare this elixir's ingredients are? They are rare enough that me already possessing a dose is a rather fortunate coincidence for you."


I doubted he was that favored by the deities. The elixir he wanted was commissioned by another noble several weeks back. Word would have traveled in those circles, which is why he approached me.


Best not to mention this poison tended to ravage the mind even if cured. Not badly, but cases of changed personalities after fighting it off did happen often enough.


Resentment and resignation colored his lordship's face, joining an ever-present disgust that had been in his expression since he sat down. "There's no scenario in which you'll negotiate the price down?"


"I am willing to negotiate it down, although I will note I'm already not charging high above what this cost me. And threatening me with a gun will make me less inclined to negotiate."


I was lying about the price. I was charging about four times what it had cost. But he had the money to buy it easily, and considering he lived in the Gilded Quarter while I was scraping by in the bowels of the Infernal Quarter, I didn't feel much sympathy.


"You charged Lady Kasrin a quarter that price for the same mixture a month ago, you greedy little fork-tongued snake," he said in a resigned voice. "The only reason I didn't blow your brains out, is that even if I did how long till you end up with whatever succubus spawned you down in the hells, doing the same work alongside her?"


My saber rested in my coat, as well as pistols and poisoned daggers and flasks. I could have any of them in my hand in a second, and with this little worm's head opened up. I'd use his brain to concoct a poison to ram down his spawn's throat myse-


Calm yourself Malvia, I told myself. He wasn't a threat.


I resisted the urge to flick said forked tongue out at him while I stuffed the rest of my rage far down. I couldn't let the jab nettle me. If I felt irritation at everyone who slandered my heritage or my mother, I'd barely be able to take a step outside without my skin itching.


"You don't mean that, your lordship. You're frustrated, which is understandable, but from my point of view I am only charging a fair price. Also, my mother was a fine young woman of the mortal realms, and wherever her soul resides, I am assured mine will not join it," I said. "I will let the digs at my heritage pass without raising the price further. I'll even try not to be insulted at such slander. But let's leave our respective families out of this matter?"


Partially a lie, implying my mother was not alive still. My mother was alive, well, and as far removed from tonight's activities as I could make her. 1143 West Endings was as far from this quarter as you could get in terms of class.


"Slander?" His lordship's face was losing the signs of resignation. Unfortunately it was gaining the signs of anger instead as some fire returned to his voice. That and the ever-present disgust.


"Slander. I am descended of the hells, but it's no reason to cast aspersions on me. As for your increased price, Lady Karsin may have mentioned her monetary payments, but I doubt she informed you of additional payments she made in things other than gold itself."


If anything, the disgusted look on his face only got worse.


"I had no idea Lady Karsin had such proclivities."


This one had a filthy mind, apparently. "Not of that nature. Something else. Would you please put the pistol away?"


"Once you start talking sense on the price," he insisted.


"If you'll let me draw mine as well," I said. "I'd prefer no weapons on the table at all, but if you insist on holding onto it, well I might as well have something to secure my own safety. It only seems fair."


He considered the pistol, gave me a suspicious look. I gave him my best smile in response. No teeth showing, of course. Universally, most people didn't like people with fangs grinning at them.


He eventually put the pistol away, then quietly said "I might have stepped out of line. I sincerely hope that it hasn't given you the wrong impression of me."


That sounded more sincere than anything else he'd said so far. "Not at all, mi'lord," I said with a small grin. "If I refused to deal with any client who threatened me with physical violence, I would not have as many. I've just learned not to take it personally."


He sighed, considering the ceiling for a moment. "I can offer you a quarter of your asking price. What did Lady Karsin offer to you?"


"Alchemical ingredients, equipment, and a few other odds and ends of monetary value worth the difference between your two prices."


He seemed lost in thought for a moment before life came back to his eyes. "I'm not really in the alchemical trade, although I might have something just as useful. Respectability. I have a fourth son, Gregory, who is hale, polite, and a bachelor of some repute. I could arrange you two to court for a time. He's very good at impressing the ladies, and depending on adjustments on your part, there may even be a chance of a formal engagement."


I forced a smile. The Lord Montague, besides being incensed over my increased demands for payment, seemed to have his mind mainly focused on sex. I didn't particularly care for him keeping his mind there, especially in terms of negotiations.


The dating and potential marriage proposal was even more nauseating. This Gregory must not rank among his father's favorites if Lord Montague entertained the idea of him being seen in public with me. Altogether a different attitude than the eldest he was visiting me in secret to treat. And I had no doubts what the 'adjustments' he might be thinking of would be.


I'd already gone through enough of those simply to look more presentable to human eyes, and those were both expensive to maintain and temporary. I knew what kind he'd ask for and the direction they'd take.


And that was all ignoring the fact I didn't particularly want to go out with someone forced to go with me. It would be unlikely to end well, but was Lord Montague insinuating this was the only way I could have a date with a pure-blood human?


He'd already done enough to make my gut swirl. It was time to get him focused.


"I would have to decline that offer respectfully. I would always accept a favor instead," I said. "Would that be acceptable?"


I suspected it would not be. The brief paling of face before he recomposed himself confirmed that suspicion.


Figured. One so eager to believe the worst of my heritage would buy into all the rumors of what we did with such things as favors. He probably thought I'd make a tonic out of his intestine or rope him into summoning a demon into the city.


It was tempting. There wouldn't be a magical hold like he probably imagined, but I'd learned at a young age how much of a motivator fear could be. I was not very good at unlearning it.


He recomposed himself, thinking. "Not a favor. I could recommend you to others for similar situations? I know people far beyond the reach of Lady Karsin who are also interested in an alchemist with access to materials most can't get and who also knows to keep their mouth shut."


I frowned. "I prefer payment in material goods, Mi'lord. Much less ambiguity and lower chances of one or both parties feeling cheated. Exposure is…I am trusting your word on that. I have my limits on how much I trust people, especially after what you've said and done so far. My inclination is firmly no."


Exposure would not be much of an additional payment. Anyone much higher than Lord Montague in the ranks of nobility probably already had alchemists they either knew or retained for that purpose. I was lucky that Lord Montague had a son who was poisoned, and that his lordship wanted no one to know he had almost died.


And I wanted, no, needed to break into this rung of society. Despite my earlier thought, his idea might be more worthwhile than my gut reaction had thought. Exposure was a payment for fools, but if it was the limit of his resources, it might be all I could get. I couldn't say that out loud, of course. Pressuring him on this price might get something additional for my accounts. If I simply played aggressively with the negotiations-


My thoughts were broken by the sound of crying.


To my shock and mild disgust, while I'd been mulling over that in my head, Lord Montague had started weeping. Not the kind employed on the stage either, full-on sniffling and near-bawling.


"Please. I know I said unkind things, but he's my first son. I can't let him die. I just don't have the cash on hand to pay your asking price. Most of my funds are tied up, they take time to make liquid."


He seemed genuinely upset and desperate, or he was well-practiced enough to hide the insincerity of his attempt to tug on my heartstrings.


I hadn't had my ability to feel emotions replaced yet, as some actually did, but even so, it wasn't a particularly moving scene. The man in front of me made more in a day than I did most years. My recent fortune in clients didn't mean I was willing to be charitable with them yet. And the argument that he didn't have that much money on hand stank of someone who simply didn't want to pay.


I was running the risk of alienating him entirely. Lady Karsin's reach alone wouldn't be enough. Her and Lord Montague together would be a good stepping stone. I wanted repeat customers. Preferably ones less willing to call me slurs.


At a bare minimum, this would still pay for six months' worth of expenses for me.


"Fine. A quarter of what I suggested, in addition to your recommendation of my services." I proffered my hand. "I'd also like an advance of two hundred gold sovereigns."


He eyed my hand with a mixture of revulsion, fear, and hope. Eventually, he shook it.


As soon as he let go, I retrieved a trio of vials from my coat. Each contained purple liquid, a mixture of Frost Tips and the blood of Liondogs I'd found in the Underground.


"Take these. They'll halt any degeneration your heir may be suffering and give him some strength back. One each night as the sun sets, at most an hour after he's eaten. He should be able to speak normally and regain control of his body. That does not mean he should be doing anything physically strenuous. He should stay in bed, and don't let him convince you otherwise. If his condition worsens while on this, send for me immediately."


Lord Montague frowned, picking up one of the bottles. The only sign of his weeping was a slight puffiness around his eyes. "You can't give me the cure right away?"


"If he's as you described, I need him strong enough to survive the cure. Angel's Sorrow isn't a common poison, nor is it easy to cure. The cure's not a pleasant mixture, and if he's too far in the poison's grip, the war between it and the elixir will kill him. Don't feed him anything too rich. Plain foods, three times a day. Chicken, fish, or lizard for protein. Plenty of greens. Also water. It's going to go straight through at first, but his retention should improve as these take effect. No alcohol or any of those exotic drinks they've been marketing around."


He grimaced, uneasily looking at the preparations "He's had issues keeping his food down. That's why I need the cure so desperately, he hasn't eaten in three days."


"That might actually help, depending on how the poison got to him. If it's in his food, it might have lowered the overall dosage. That'll help some. Have someone you trust prepare his meals. Keep it to small meals, bland foods. Crackers, potatoes, toast with no butter. And keep him well-guarded. It's a very rare poison your son's been given. And a second case so soon after Lady Karsin's."


Lord Montague's face shifted, any emotion draining off of it. "We are both aware. And we are withholding that information from you. You are being hired for one purpose, and frankly only because you know to keep your mouth shut."


I smiled peaceably. "Hardly an issue. Just an observation. You should keep your guard up, though. This elixir isn't easy to obtain the ingredients for. I have three doses left, then it's either to another alchemist or hope that adventurers bring back more samples. One second."


Honestly, it was lucky that I did have these elixirs. I'd hardly expected a drake to die or for their corpse to be so poorly guarded. Whoever had been in charge of funeral preparations for the Honorable Millicent Ferguseous Valicent was probably getting a lashing. Or possibly getting eaten. Some draconic bloodlines still lived in centuries past.


Not that I cared too much. It barely scratched my conscience to extract her brain and carve it up. I'd done much worse in my time.


I looked through my bag, looking for the packet I'd put in here. It always paid to appear generous. I pulled it out, a small bag with perhaps three teaspoons of a dried grey powder.


"Consider this free of charge, your lordship. It'll react to the poison. Just sprinkle a little in to test food and water. It should be safe for your son's consumption."


Lord Montague frowned, eyeing the packet suspiciously. "Should be?"


"Unless he has divine blood in his veins, he should be."


He sat back, expression contemplative. "My great-grandfather claimed in the past we were descended from an angel, but no one could ever prove it."


"That far back would be too diluted for an effect to occur. I'll have the elixir ready at an address I will provide you in three days. Send someone with a message marked by your seal, with the full payment as well."


"Is the seal necessary?"


"It is." He was thinking of the risk of dealing with me being traced back to him. I was thinking of my first year of this when a client had sent someone to collect their order, then later claimed I had given it to a stranger and refused to pay me. Since then, I only handed off goods to people who could prove they worked for my customers.


Lord Montague grabbed the vials and packet, withdrawing a small box from within his coat. He secured them in the box.


He didn't seem entirely happy as he locked the box shut. "If he worsens before this preparation you've given me is complete…."


"Then send someone to my address," I said. "We can risk the cure if there is no time left. If he is unresponsive for more than eighteen hours, send for me. Until then, he should be fine."


That assuaged him a little, but his gaze focused on mine, suspicion gathering in his expression. "I am risking more than just my heir's life dealing with you, Infernal. If you are either tricking me or playing with me, I will make you pay. It won't matter what hole you crawl in, my servants will drag you out and make you beg for a bullet over the tortures I'll inflict on you. You are sure these will make him better?"


I smiled. "Not to worry, my lord. I can guarantee that they will work wonders, or my name is not Falara."


It wasn't, of course, but if I'd said my real name, I was quite sure Lord Montague would put a bullet between my eyes.

 

[saithor]

I walked out of the private booth with a spring in my step, and not the kind that was becoming popular to install in both legs.


I was in a small corridor, the doors to the private booths lining both sides of it. To my right, Lord Montague's bodyguard and a stone wall. To my left, the sound of a tavern in the middle of a busy afternoon. We must have been the only ones using a booth right now.


Despite the emptiness of the booths, given the noise of conversation and general raucousness, the Hells' Own was rather busy. Even for a time when most would be working, Hells' Own never failed to attract customers. An establishment that had been here when I was born and would probably be long after I died, and I went to serve some damned prince in the Hells.


The entire tavern's structure was stone, polished marble on most surfaces, and granite where you weren't likely to see it. It was a necessity after the previous four Hells' Owns burned to the ground. It was a testament to everyone's collective idiocy that it had taken that long to realize that even a partially wooden tavern was not the best idea around those descended from Hells' lines.


Behind me, Lord Montague's appearance had already been changed to a much different person. Stooped, grey-haired, and an extra hundred pounds on his frame, he bore a fair bit of resemblance to Lord Thierry. Lord Montague's pick of who to disguise himself as was as petty as I expected. Lord Thierry, if the rumor mill was accurate, still nursed a grudge against Lord Montague for the crime of having married his daughter. Not fleshshifting, Lord Montague must be using an illusion, either cracking open a one-use spell or a more permanent version latched onto an item. An effective defense against anyone trying to sneak a peek.


It was difficult to see inside the booths from the main tavern, but when you have a reputation on the line, it pays to be paranoid. I was just beginning to amass a positive one for myself.


"Pleasure doing business with you again, my lord," I said, curtsying.


The face drew itself up into a smile, but the eyes definitely did not match. Oh, if his Lordship possessed even an ounce of magical talent, I might very well be dead.


Such a pity all your wealth and class cannot purchase you that, Lord Montague.


The door hurriedly slid shut, leaving me facing an intricately carved series of woodcuts.


Lord Montague would not take the door, of course. There was a hatch in the booth that would lead to the tunnels underground, along with probably a much larger group of bodyguards than up here.


Drawing myself up from my curtsy, I turned my recovery into a spin on my hooves to face the Lord's bodyguard. "Should I move out of your way to get out, or are you capable of it on your own, my fine sir?"


The bodyguard outside the door gave me a scornful glare. Enhanced, probably through alchemy or sculpting, the human was taller and broader than most natural-born orcs. His arms were easily the size of most people's heads. A rifle resembling a small cannon and a saber the size of a greatsword tied to his flank.


Whoever had done his modifications was either an amateur or exploiting nobles with little idea of how sculpting worked. This much muscle mass and likely an expanded skeleton to keep it all able to function, with organs enlarged to match? Not only was there so much that could go wrong in the process, it was prohibitively expensive. It would be much easier to employ an orc, an ogre, or one of a dozen races and use them as the baseline.


Then again, given his master, not looking at all like a non-human was probably a perk.


He didn't bother to check on Lord Montague or even answer me, already heading for the exit. My scramble to escape ahead of him before I got crushed between his bulk and the wall might have seemed undignified to the untrained eye. I moved swiftly to the side as he continued past, not really caring who was in his way.


Likely a mental link to his master as well, to be kept outside the booth. A wide berth cleared in his path, a few jeers thrown his way from patrons far enough away not to worry about attracting his wrath. The disruption caused in his wake did not last long once he was heading out the door, leaving me alone to make my exit.


The common room was host to an assortment of infernal-blooded coming for relaxation, a drink, some time away from their troubles, or to meet with others. An occasional sprinkling of humans, gnomes, and others. Typically, those with business here in the quarter enjoying a moment in one of the safer places in the Infernal Quarter.


I weaved my way through packed-together tables on the one open floor, flowing through the seated crowd. More floors lay currently unused this early in the day up above, waiting to fill the establishment to capacity.


Someone tried to slap my rear, only for my tail to intercede on my behalf, wrapping around their wrist. Barely paying attention, I redirected the offending limb to slap its owner across the face. I spared barely a glance for the violet-skinner with four horns now being laughed at by her friends over the failed attempt. I was more focused on an actual potential threat.


Eight of them clustered around a table that never went unoccupied, overcoats covering what would surely be an arsenal. Most of them were deep in their cups already, only two alert. A flaming goat's head had been cut into each of their right arms. Local gang members would come to Hells' Own on occasion, but only Versalicci's stayed in the inn all hours of the day.


The two sentries glared at me as I walked past, but no other reaction. Good.


I'd considered leaving immediately, but on second thought, perhaps a few moments in here wouldn't be uncalled for. I might as well pay Tolman for keeping an eye on Lord Montague's bodyguard, visit Edwards at the bar, and get a drink as well. Tolman wouldn't mind waiting a few days for payment, but best to get it handled now.


I made my way to the bartender, past the same violet-skinned as before who kept her hands to herself this time. She did have the decency to look apologetic.


She had the green coat of the imperial regiments on, as did most of the tavern, which wasn't a shock. With the campaigns in Avenland winding down, regiments had been rotating out of the conflict back home.


Most others had at least restrained themselves to looks and a few whistles. I forced a smile as I walked past. It wasn't worth starting a fight over, I told myself. It was infuriating, but confronting them over it could just result in a fight with a whole squad of people trained in violence. I swallowed my pride and marked the table to be given a far berth on my way out of Hells' Own.


That was not the reaction I was looking for from anyone. I couldn't tell if it was just being one of the few nicely dressed people here or if I'd overdone it on the sculpting earlier.


I'd touched up my Falara disguise, just slight modifications to gain any edge I could. I couldn't stray too far from the form I'd established as Falara, or it would draw attention. I was still recognizably her, just with a few little tweaks. Toning down my fiendish traits had been the correct call with Lord Montague.


"Miss Falara," the bartender greeted me. "I presume your meeting went well?"


"Mr. Edwards," I replied. "You presume correctly. I thank you for letting me rent one of your private booths. Are there any issues underground?"


"None. I heard from my staff just a few seconds ago. Your client took his entourage and left. Seemed rather upset, but that's not unusual. Anything else I can do for you today?"


Edward Edwards. Either a fake name or very unimaginative parents. For the bartender and owner of a bar named for the hells and often serving those who could trace their lineage back to it, Edward didn't show any sign of the Infernal's touch. He was, I was quite sure, human.


Well, at a minimum, he wasn't Infernal. Bald head, big mustache, the kind of face you wanted to tell your life story to, and the ear to listen to it. I'd never seen any signs of them, but at times, I wondered if the good Mr. Edwards had more than a bit of biosculpting done.


One of the dangers of our craft, doing both biosculpting and alchemy, you wondered if someone's natural appearance was too good to be true.


"Another draft of my usual order, Mr. Edwards. Actually, perhaps a little stronger this time?"


"A little stronger will cost you a little extra."


I was well aware, and I usually wouldn't pay for Edward to water down his product slightly less. However, I needed something to take my mind off that latest meeting. I'd pursued a higher class of clientele to have weapons pointed at me less often, not more.


"I'll pay. Double the usual amount."


He was already filling a tankard partway full of mead. I fished through my coin purse for coinage. I wouldn't use Lord Montague's advance to pay anyone but Tolman today. There was no need to tip people off about my newfound wealth.


I had retrieved the correct amount by the time he moved the tankard to a series of pipes. He opened one up and let it fill the tankard the rest of the way up.


In seconds, I had a full tankard in front of me, and I enjoyed the aroma for a few moments before taking a drink. The honey tone of mead mixed to form a most delightful taste with the searing flavoring of sulfur added as an additive.


Sulfur hit stronger than most forms of alcohol and tasted like Heaven poured into a bottle. Ironic. No one was quite sure exactly why, like many of the questions that had seen Infernal-bloods cut open over the centuries to answer.


While I enjoyed my drink, Edwards started talking again.


"The bodyguard spent most of the time sitting outside your private booth looking bored. At the end there, he looked as uncomfortable as could be."


"I'd imagine so. Harsh words were traded, and the Lord made a not-very-subtle threat on my life. Either his lordship was loud enough for his bodyguard to hear, or they had some other form of communication."


"You sure that's something you should be saying to me? I doubt his lordship would appreciate others saying he's in the habit of threatening those he's dealing with."


"Oh, I always like to toss you a juicy piece of gossip as a little bit of extra payment, Edward. Besides, one time is hardly a habit."


It wasn't anything Edward didn't already know. I didn't doubt the soundproofing of the booths. Edward would swiftly be out of business if that ever came into doubt. But someone watching through a hidden viewing port to keep an eye on the occupants? Much more likely.


I took a few more swallows of the sulfured mead, then put the tankard and some more coins on the counter.


"Refill if you don't mind, Mr. Edwards. Your tip is in there as well."


He counted the coinage quickly. "One refill coming right up. You're a much better tipper than you used to be."


Ah. Not good. I instructed the nerves under my skin to keep the smile on my face there.


"Really? How so?"


"When you first came here a few years ago, you tipped poorly. It's increased the longer you've come, though."


I released my hold on the nerves and let the smile become natural instead. "I suppose I have. Well, good service over the years begets a better tip, and a wealthier clientele means more to tip with."


Edwards chuckled, and I left, perhaps a bit too eager to get away from the bartender. I forced my step to slow as I approached a table near the private booths.


At it, another Infernal-blooded appeared to be fast asleep. His face wasn't visible, obscured by long red hair and a heavy overcoat. Most of his clothing was baggy, hiding the high-grade augments under his skin. Unlike the mutilated mangler of a man Lord Montague employed, his augmentations didn't alter his frame to the point of unnaturalness. As expected, considering who'd sculpted them.


I sat beside him, putting the full tankard by his side. His hand snapped to the handle while I rooted through Lord Montague's coin purse.


"That your pay, or did you nab something else off of him?" he rasped, voice sounding like it had been shredded on its way through his throat. His face was now visible, an infernal teetering in that space between youth and middle age, and still having some rakish charm from the original face.


I'd have given him more when making the modifications, but what the customer wants, the customer gets.


"Don't make insinuations that you know likely aren't true," I replied. "I run a business, Tolman. Not a scam or a pickpocketing ring. I have your pay and a little treat for you besides."


Tolman had already drained a third of the tankard before I finished.


"Either Edward is watering this swill down more than before or you take this far lighter than you used to. Where's your sense of taste, Falara?"


"Floating downriver for a few weeks now. Accompanied by my first liver. There's only so much sulfur and brimstone one can mix with alcohol before the effect is rendered meaningless, Tolman."


He considered my words, then cocked his head to the side. "Nah. We talked enough about your poor taste in drinks. You got my coin for guarding you?"


"Well, he did threaten me in there, and I didn't see you entering, so I think a reduction in cost might be worth negotiating for."


He snorted, "Your words were, and I quote, 'Keep an eye on the large one with the sword and rifle. If the bodyguard starts heading into the booth, handle him. If not, enjoy the most peaceful morning of your week.' So I figure I'm owed my full payment."


"Yes, yes. Allow me my jokes, Tolman?" I counted out the precise amount, hiding it behind my coat. Trading this much coin openly in Hells' Own would invite attention I didn't want.


"This should cover us, in addition to a little extra. I want to attach a request to that bonus. Don't strain yourself too hard in the fighting pits, okay Tolman?"


"Worried I'll get injured?"


"Something like that. Also, I might have another job for you later this week."


I'd probably visit Lord Montague's to make sure the elixir was working correctly. It would be unwise to step inside that man's house without some form of protection.


"I'll do my best to keep myself in one piece. No guarantees. Big prize purse coming up this week. Ironhand Jack's come back and has been working his way through the fighting pits. Got half a mind to send him back down to the bottom."


"You think you can take him? Didn't he almost break your horn off last time you two brawled?"


It had taken the better part of a week to get that repaired and new growth to fill in the parts ripped open by that blow. Keratin could be so much more difficult to work with than flesh, speaking as someone who'd had their hooves stripped off more than once.


"I've gotten better since then. He hadn't fought in three years until he decided to get back into the fights. He's got rust."


I clasped his hand in mine, handing off the coins in the same notion. "Just promise to keep yourself safe?"


"If only you'd cared this much in the past. See you around, Falara."


I didn't flinch despite the urge. Although it had been light-hearted, that statement about Falara contained too much truth. Both about her and my past as Malvia. I made a quick exit from the tavern.


Above me, the fourth sun, Illvare, burned the same crimson edge around a black center it had since the Hells had been invaded, approaching two hundred years now. The further from the hells you traveled, the less of Ilvare was eaten by the Black. Here, which was the staging grounds for one of those invasions? The black center consumed nearly the entire sun.


No clouds today, so you could see the two lines cutting the sky into quarters. The Two Rings, the two planets. Eternally rotating around the center of our little patch of space. Not worth looking at unless you liked being reminded how tiny you were, along for the ride on the surface of one of them.


I checked to make sure the coin purse was securely hidden. It hurt to part with so many coins so soon after payment, but Tolman was worth every penny. When dealing with an unknown quantity, best to take every precaution. Still, every coin lost hurt.


Refreshing my defensive spells, consulting with a few experts I knew, paying for more information on Lord Montague, renting the booth from Edward, Tolman's advance pay, all told it had devoured a third of my payment from Lady Karsin. The rest had already disappeared into my expenses. It had gotten tight.


I'd been unwise with my finances, chasing after upper-class, more reputable customers. Less time for smaller customers had put a strain on finances.


I'd spent a few days eating things even Lord Montague wouldn't believe Infernals would eat. But no more. It had finally paid off. Nestled inside my coat, in a hidden pocket, the advance payment was a sign of that turning around.


I walked onto the streets of Avernon's Infernal Quarter and immediately nearly became crushed in the crowd. No carriage or automatons traveled these roads, but the sheer number of other Infernals packed the roads tight even then. Some of these roads hadn't been expanded since the Hells had invaded.


We were a year and a half from the two-hundredth anniversary. No one would celebrate that bicentennial.


Even two hundred years removed from it all, some wounds lay deep. First, the attempted colonization of the Hells, then the Hells colonizing back, the peace sealed by the Infernal Union, the rise of Her Most Profane Majesty, then her fall at the hands of her niece, the Shining Princess Alice.


Speaking of her imperial majesty, while the crowd's noise was overpowering, you could still hear bits of the criers yelling to sell their papers. Exaggerated as always, but I'd heard a few words I hadn't liked.


It took a while to get over to one and pay the young lad out of my regular coin purse, but soon I had the latest edition of the Globe to read.


Let's see, tensions increasing with Dreuvia, the possibility of war, and increased conscription in the Infernal Quarter. I was likely safe thanks to the fake alchemy license I'd bought, but I'd need to figure out a way to cover for Tolman. His husband as well. That would mean more money to be spent while the Infernal Quarters were picked for frontline troops.


We were still considered in many ways accountable for the Hells' takeover of the empire. A mixture of those events and our ancestors, or parents in many cases including mine, being willing to be an Infernal. These days deals with the devils were banned so natural births were the most common. I suppose no one could expect the royal family's attitude toward us to change. Not while Empress Alice, once the Shining Princess, still sat on the throne.


There wasn't much else in the paper I hadn't heard before. Rumors about a new case being taken up by Voltar and Dawes. I wished the worst of luck to those two. Articles on the new advances in clockworks. Those were becoming more common. A dragon sighting north of the city. That might be worth a trek to see if any materials could be scavenged. Even a dragon's castoffs could be powerful.


Sighing, I prepared for today's trek. My apartment wasn't far away, but I'd dressed up for this occasion. For the Infernal Quarter, this meant a dress and coat combination that might be good enough to sneak in as a servant at a Baronet's evening party. That meant taking out all the places where it was likely to get me stabbed, a half an hour trek at the shortest.


Still, money in the pocket made for a lighter step, and I'd already made it halfway down the street, sticking to the far sides. It put me closer to the alleys, always a danger, but I'd honed my reflexes myself earlier today. The probably drunk violet-skinned from before had shown they'd worked. Getting the jump on me was likely out of the reach of anyone who resorted to lurking in an alley.


A shadow passed overhead, getting astonished gasps from those in the streets, most children. I looked up and saw a scaled body flying up in the sky. A drake, a minor cousin to dragons. Not an unusual sight in the city, but not for the Infernal Quarter. Mildly concerning, but they were not flying for my lab, so had not found out about me harvesting the Honorable Millicent Ferguseous Valicent's brains for ingredients.


"Malvia," someone hissed at me from an alley.


My right hand immediately went to a knife hidden in my dress. My head snapped to the right.


A green Infernal was in the alley, breathing deeply. Blood streamed from a dozen places, staining his trousers, shirt, and vest. A thin, gaunt face, with brown eyes and scars cutting across both cheeks stared at me, eyes desperate. Some of those were fresh, still bleeding. Ears cut down from past fights, thin tapering horns, a nose with a ring right through the middle. A flaming goat's head had been carved into his right arm.


I knew this pale, sickly visage all too well. I'd made it. Golvar, a part of my past I'd thought left behind. I'd hoped it would never cross my paths again. I should have known better.


"Someone's chasing me, Malvia! I got a package for Versalicci, and they've been trying to knife me all morning for it. You have to help me."

 

[saithor]

"No," I answered.


I headed towards the main road, leaving the specter of my past cursing my name.


"You can't just leave me! I'm dying, Malvia!" he yelled.


To my annoyance, a few people in the street were noticing the noise. I could not be seen in Golvar's company. I could not have him calling me that name. Word would travel, and I'd spent too much time severing those links.


I didn't question how Golvar knew about my new appearance. Versalicci would know no matter what I did, and of course he'd tell Golvar.


I turned around, looking him over. He'd aged terribly in the past five years. Lines on his face had deepened. One eye had gone dim while the other still burned that same sickly green. His beard was going white, and he'd started shaving his head.


"No, you're not. Take five minutes to bandage your wounds. I don't see anything near a critical organ, and if you staunch the bleeding, you'll live. Then you can limp out of my life, Golvar."


"I'm being chased, you arrogant little angel. Is this any way to respect your old teacher?"


"If you taught me anything to be proud of, I would respect you." And that was avoiding the idea that this wasn't what it seemed. With Golvar and associates, trusting your eyes would always be a mistake. "You still working with Versalicci, I take it? It seems to have finally caught up with you. I thought you smart enough to leave him long ago."


"He made you what you are, Malvia. You want to cross the Lord of the Underground?"


My eye twitched. "Stop using that name, or I will make it so you can't utter it. I go by Falara now."


"You don't help me, everyone is going to know that name. You owe him, Malvia."


"I don't owe any allegiance to him, you, or anyone between you two," I said. "I left that life for a reason, and when he couldn't take hints, I left injured flunkies. He's been paid back for what I owe him. If he takes issue with the amount, maybe he should start reconsidering what he did."


"Either you get me somewhere safe, or I start screeching," Golvar said. "Everyone in a quarter mile is going to think you're here with me. People will take that to the watch. You think they won't seize on that?"


I considered just killing him. Take a few steps back, grasp the wounded man by the throat, and force-feed him a vial. A potent poison, it'd render him compliant for a time. Lead him to an isolated spot, wait for him to expire, then leave.


A horrible death, but I'd seen Golvar cut the throats of people for much, much less. Sometimes just to make a point to someone else in the Organization.


Even with all his wounds, the expression on Golvar's face was defiant as I got closer. And as I got closer, I realized I couldn't kill him. It wasn't any lingering affection. If I was the last person around him before his disappearance, the news would travel. Not to the watch, but definitely to Versalicci. My other options were even more public, running from spitting to running him through on the spot.


Another reason as well. Old advice I'd considered worth keeping despite its source. When you forge a mask, and wear it, you must become it. Whether you want to be that mask or not. Anything less and it's no longer a mask, Malvia.


Katheryn Falara didn't kill people in the street for nothing worse than verbal threats.


My hand shifted from one pocket to the other, pulling a small stoppered bottle out.


"Drink that. It'll hasten the clotting and give you some of your energy back. We'll get you back to my place first, then we can discuss what exactly you've dragged me into."


Golvar frowned, unstoppering the healing draught and sniffing at it suspiciously.


"This is the best you've got? I've seen you whip up things that cause wounds to stitch themselves up."


"When I'm aware I'll be needing them. Which is not usually on a business trip. You'll have to make do with the draught I've offered unless you think you can make it a few streets without bleeding out?"


I did have two more powerful potions hidden in my coat, but those were for my personal use or for people who deserved them. Golvar definitely did not count as the latter. They were difficult to make, considering they were essentially directionless magic that needed to sew wounds and repair organs. They were the only two I owned and was likely to own for the foreseeable future.


Golvar took a sip of the mixture and almost immediately began coughing.


"The entire thing, Golvar, unless you want its effects to be a half-measure. I'd ask you not to do anything strenuous, but I know that's not going to be the case. Follow me."


I'd already taken a half-dozen steps out of the alleyway before Golvar finished the potion and followed me out. By the time he caught up, his color had improved slightly. I hadn't focused on it before, but he'd scooped a large parcel off the ground and under his arms.


"That's Versalicci's package?"


"Thought you just said you didn't want to be involved? Don't ask questions if you want that to be the case."


"You've already gotten me involved in this, Golvar. I should at least know what I'm risking my life to protect."


"Your horns, teeth, tail, everything that used to be part of you. Not those dainty replacements you've used since you've remade yourself into a little human playing at an infernal," he spat at me in Cant.


"I have no idea what you could possibly be saying," I replied.


That was mainly for the benefit of anyone still in earshot. I'd attracted attention after leaving the Hells' Own, this well-dressed. I'd still eventually slipped into the crowd. Now? With a blood-streaked member of one of the Quarter's most notorious gangs by my side? Everyone's eyes were on me as people were sure to give me a wide berth.


"Cut your tongue out for being a liar, if you haven't done so already. What's your game now, being some rich human's fetish? Maybe you should see your dear-"


Golvar stilled. While he'd launched into his new tirade in Cant, I'd moved a hand to grab his wrist, covering the artery. The muscles in his face tensed, pushing at the skin.


Forcing this hurt in a way that made fire trace up my own veins as my magic sank deep into his body. Forcing a change on anyone hurt me and usually was near impossible if they weren't willing, but Golvar still wore the face I'd made for him. Something about it felt different, but the structure remained the same.


Blood began to leak out of the scars on his face, traveling down to his chin. The ring in his nose shifted as cartilage shifted. The light in his good eye dimmed.


"Golvar, you weren't about to finish that sentence, were you? At least not in the way I suspect you were considering. Because if you were, I might suddenly start experimenting with how far I can twist those muscles in your face. We can test how far until they start snapping apart, not to mention what I'll do to the skin. I'm going to let go now."


I pulled my hand back, and Golvar collapsed, hands on knees. A stream of something spilled out of his mouth.


"No more comments about me being soft or insinuating I'm sleeping with a human. In fact, no more insinuating I'm sleeping with anyone for money or status. Oh, and no mentions of my family from your mouth. In return, I won't ask about what's inside your box. Do we have an agreement?"


Golvar coughed something onto the ground. "Sure. Just please stop talking like you're some pampered rose off Bullon Street."


"No promises. Learned methods of speaking die hard. Come on. If people are after you, we probably just let them know we are here."


If people had been giving us a wide berth before, they were trying to find entirely different streets to be on now. No time for the long route; I'd just have to hope Versalicci's name still inspired enough fear to keep the other gangs in check. I strode forward, making for the next alleyway, Gavlor following behind as quickly as he could manage.


The alleyway cleared quickly, and the destitute moved out of our way as we passed. The place smelled of desperation, death, and refuse of many different kinds—literally since not every place in the Infernal Quarter was connected to a submerged sewer.


"Would you slow the fuck down?" Golvar yelled after me in Cant.


I sighed, slowing just a bit. Honestly, I needed to anyway. I was risking ripping the dress. It had been bought from a human and didn't work as well with digitigrade legs.


"You aren't getting another potion. The first was more than sufficient to keep you moving faster than that hobble."


"You tried to rip my damn face off. Give me a moment to breathe and feel normal? Half a minute, and I'll be running faster than any copper or thief catcher in the city."


"Fine, precisely half a minute for you to catch your breath."


Golvar took several rasping deep breaths, the bleeding from his old scars stopping as the residual effects of my potion closed them back up. His eye stared at me, still glowing that same sickly green. He probed all over his face with his hands, feeling for any damage.


"There better not be any permanent damage," he said, prodding right under the glaring green orb.


"There won't be. I know my craft. Everything fell back into place when I let go of you."


It had taken effort to arrange for that. Something had felt off as I'd forced parts of it to move, and I realized what it was. Another Sculptor's work.


"You've had someone else work on it, but you chose not to change it. I would have thought you'd do so just to avoid an arrest at some point, Golvar."


"Not too many people as talented as you, and that's not me blowing smoke up your arse. Versalicci had Mortav take over on Sculpting ever since you left."


A giggle escaped my lips. "I'm sorry, Mortav? That pyromancer kid who burned the warehouse on old Gibbon Street down trying to get a rat? He made him the new Sculptor?"


"Weren't a whole lot left after the raids on the underground. Others have gotten snatched up. He's half decent at it, I just don't want his and your work clashing in some way that makes me look like I dipped my face in the Vathes."


A fair enough concern on his part. Having a Sculptor who wasn't that skilled work on something already modified by another Sculptor had a high chance of resulting in the working being ruined in one way or another. Sometimes, even by the work tearing itself apart.


Editing permanent Sculptures was already tricky, and even if it was your own work, it was likely to backfire. That was why I relied on temporary ones. They were more expensive but less likely to be a problem if the same parts of me needed to be sculpted multiple times.


At least in terms of cosmetic Sculpts.


"Anyone else still alive from that far back?"


"Thought you wanted to leave those days behind you?"


"I…" Why was I asking this? I had left that life behind and had wounded those sent to try and draw me back into it. "Idle curiosity. The only ones I know of are the ones you sent after me."


"How about you come into the lair again, see who lived and who died," Golvar sneered. "Have a few pints, reminisce on how you fucking deserted after the raids and practically pissed on us."


How much would my veins burn to make his lips tear themselves to shreds? Probably too much.


"To business, then. You said you were pursued. I don't suppose you saw enough to identify them?"


"Humans aren't that common here, Malvia, you should know that. You still live here."


Ah. They knew where I currently lived. I had not been anywhere near careful enough in keeping hidden from Versalicci. At least I had more of my wits about me than Golvar, unless this was an attempt at intimidation.


"Indulge me. Full descriptions, if you could."


"Six of them, big ones. No work was done on them, not even cosmetic. Think they're part of some crappy gang from the docks that calls themselves the Pure-bloods. No gunk in their veins, no sorcery in their bodies, no tainted blood from any other race. Usual suspects are the big ones they hate. Us, the Orcs, dwarves, the Keltish, the Vertamie. You can't be a member if you have red hair. They think it's a sign you have Keltish blood in you. Bunch of crazy lunatics."


That was an interesting way of describing them from a member of what I would also call a bunch of crazy lunatics. Versalicci himself had never encouraged it, but I'd seen more than a few initiates given the boots for not looking sufficiently demonic. Tails too short, horns too small, hooves not big enough.


"And yet these six humans, without anything besides what they were born with, managed to get the drop on you? You couldn't even land a single blow in return?" I asked.


"Don't make it sound like that! I was at the surface level underground in the old sewer tunnels. No one goes there, you know that. Nothing worth killing, nothing worth guarding. I was taking this back, then they came out of nowhere and started stabbing me. One had a top hat, others had dockworking uniforms. Low-class thugs, the lot of them. I'd have torn their throats out if it had been in the open."


"Oh, most certainly," I replied sardonically. His scowl deepened but he said nothing more.


We'd made it out of one alley, across a street, and into another. Soon, we'd be nearing the old Halspus Cathedral ruins, an excellent place to lie low and perhaps put another potion into Golvar. The chances of people disturbing us were low. Humans didn't like venturing near where the Hell's invasion had started.


Infernals? We didn't like being near a place that set us on fire for stepping foot inside.


Golvar himself was showing signs of faltering. Despite that half-minute, his breathing was quick, sweat covered him, and blood began to leak from those old scars once again. We'd need to stop.


***


"They must have been some of the most unskilled assailants in the history of trying to kill people," I said.


I was examining Golvar's wounds among the cathedral ruins. A slight itching crawled across my skin this close, but still no sign of the divine about to smite me.


The chapel was mostly deserted, as per usual. A few people who lived in the surrounding tenants watched with no real excitement or curiosity. You only rented here if you were worn down enough to risk dying from holy fire.


The only lively people here were a group of teens across from the outskirts of the chapel we'd holed up in. Occupying much of the lower tenement, most of them watched us, playing at acting tough with the rusty knives they wielded. The occasional jeer or taunt was tossed our way from that direction.


Youths busy taking the first taste of what might be their future. A path I knew a bit too well. They kept a respectful distance after Golvar had displayed the insignia carved into his flesh. They didn't want to cross Versalicci.


"You got lucky. They successfully avoided hitting most of your organs. Did they give any signs of keeping you alive?"


Golvar shook his head, his color much improved. The second potion had been much more potent than the first, but it'd been necessary. Improving the clotting wouldn't have been enough. If I hadn't used the second, he'd have bled out well before any safe place to drop him off. Now I was using thread and needle to sew the worst of it up.


"Nah. Low-class thugs, Malvia. Like I said before, they wouldn't know how to keep me alive even if they wanted to. It's just luck at work for me."


I doubted he had that much luck. I was about to start on another stab wound when a shadow passed over me, followed by a gust of wind.


I looked up to see the same scaled creature as before passing ahead, wings beating as it flew by.


The wind blew my hair out, sending the dark brown locks I kept them in flying all over as the drake flew ahead. Each beat of their wings sent winds scattering into the Infernal Quarter, sending smaller items flying through the air. I pushed my skirt down as the gusts passed through. Golvar swore as he grasped his package, holding it to the ground.


As the drake banked left, I saw a distinct silhouette on their back. A rider? A drake and a rider was a rare sight.


I stared at the drake as they and their rider turned again, then flew out of the quarter. "How important is that package you are carrying?"


"Not that important. It's not related." Golvar said, putting it on some rocks behind him as the drake flew out of sight.


"It better not be. I'm sticking my neck out for you enough as is."


Golvar suddenly yelled, getting off the rubble he was sitting on. My needle lodged into his skin as he rammed into me, howling curses.


Rocks dug into me as I fell back. I lashed out, and my hoof barely missed his leg as he ran forward.


"Put that the fuck down, you little shit!"


One of the street youths ran back, fear in his eyes. Behind him, the package for Versalicci lay on the ground. Golvar had put it on the rubble before I started looking him over.


I got up off the rubble, feeling my back in spots where the rocks had dug in. The dress was probably cut as well.


"Reputation isn't all it used to be, I see." Enough for them to wait till we were busy to try and steal the package.


"Lousy little punk." Both hands wrapped around it, Golvar carried the package back towards the rubble. "It still is all it used to be. Some people just need to be taught a lesson."


I kept my expression neutral. His tone was one I knew well. Those teenagers better make themselves scarce by the end of today.


"I want my needle back. I'm going to have to redo that entire cut."


Golvar didn't respond. He was focused on what had just rounded the corner.


Six humans strutted towards the chapel. Their clothes were, for the most part, those you'd expect from lower-class laborers, with the exception of a gigantic top hat on the one leading. Ungroomed facial hair and eyes that looked around with evident contempt. They carried themselves like upper crust, thick, heavy canes tapping against the ground as they moved toward us.


It wasn't uncommon for humans to walk the Infernal Quarter, but this deep inside? Unless some crime lord had gotten very bold, they were here for another reason. They also had the dried blood on their sleeves, which hinted at the gang Golvar had mentioned.


Oh, and there were six of them as well. I didn't doubt who they were, but just in case I turned to Golvar.


"Them?" I whispered to Golvar.


He nodded nervously. His skin had gone as pale as it had been in the alley. Was he afraid of them? I hadn't thought the bravado from before false.


"You got beat up by canes? For shame, Golvar."


"Shut up. They're carrying knives. Don't be an idiot."


It was no use hiding. They were already heading our way. Now that they were closer, I could see they were all easily over six feet. That would make this harder. My body was currently only a few inches over five feet and didn't particularly look strong with all that displaced mass forced into denser forms.


Looks would be deceiving in that regard, but I didn't want them deceived, I wanted them intimidated.


"Gentlemen," I announced. "Seeing as you are approaching me with what I can only describe as hostile intent, I wish to inform you I am both an Alchemist and a Sculptor before anyone is tempted into any unpleasantness."


Their march towards us slowed but didn't stop. This might not need violence, but it didn't look good.


I kept one hand casually on my saber, the other inside my coat. There were pockets on the upper interior left. I just needed to open the alchemically treated flaps, and I had a vial in my hands. By then, the gang had caught up with us.


The one with the Top Hat lead was the first to speak.


"This ain't gotta result in too much violence, hellspawn," he said, an unfriendly grin splitting his face. "Even if you are what you say, I don't want you. I want the green-skinned devil. We finish this, you can head back to whatever you were doing."


All the other Infernals, including the street kids had disappeared. So much for racial solidarity.


"You betray me, they'll put a dagger in you before you've finished turning around," Golvar said in a whisper.


"That'd be the most merciful result," I replied. "Do you think I've got no clue in my head?"


His expression answered that much, and I sighed before facing the gang leaders, smiling my friendliest smile.


"Gentlemen, please, we don't have to do this. I'm sure whatever my friend here did to offend you, it's not worth risking anyone's life over-"


"Fuck negotiating with the hellspawn, Eric. Get her!" a thug with a red scarf yelled, and they came at us like a wave, Top Hat in the lead.

 

[saithor]

I hit the leader's left hand with a thrown vial of acid. As Top Hat screamed, I grasped for his other hand.


He stabbed at my hand, and I withdrew, yanking my saber's blade through him. The flesh gave quickly, my blade sliding out. I cut at him again.


Top Hat's dagger parried another slash from my saber. My hoof lashed out, kicking his shin. Daintier than usual, it still got a yelp out of the human.


A cane hit my wrist. I held onto the saber, turning to the new threat. A dagger cut my arm, carving a shallow cut. A heavyset human with a red scarf pushed toward me, trying to close and restrict my saber's movements.


I parried a dagger stab with my saber, then pulled back from Top Hat and his ally.


They both pulled back as well, regrouping with their other allies. One of them already had several deep cuts near his eyes. Knife bloody, Gavlor grinned as he moved near me, bloody blades in hand.


"Told you they weren't any match in the open against me," he bragged.


I didn't dignify that with a reply.


He didn't stop talking. "You're making shallow cuts with that saber. You lost your killing edge?"


"It's poisoned. If you don't be quiet and focus, I'll demonstrate it on you after we're done with these six."


The two with pistols yelled for their compatriots to move out of the way. I only had seconds.


By the time they'd cleared space among themselves to fire through, another of my vials flew through the air.


This one smashed into the face of a pistol wielder. Acid splattered across his face. He screamed, firing the flintlock and missing. The second one fired. Golvar grunted but did not go down.


I charged ahead. We couldn't give them time to reload and the only cover behind was the chapel.


I still had the reach advantage with my saber, even as short as I currently was. I slashed repeatedly at Top Hat and the one next to him, trying to buy a moment of isolation. Golvar followed behind, guarding my back as I moved forward.


Top Hat's blocks were weak, my saber ripping the cane from his hand. Through the remnants of his coat, I could see exposed muscle and burnt skin from my acid.


I used my saber to drive Top Hat away from the others, then switched with Golvar. He charged the isolated human, laughing, while I fended off cane strikes from the three others. Behind them, one of them writhed on the ground, gun dropped as he tried desperately to stop the acid from eating at his face.


One flintlock out of the fight. We were lucky the Pure-bloods were too cheap to have revolvers. It would take the last one time to reload the flintlock.


It didn't help too much. I parried multiple blows in quick succession, but the numbers were in their favor. A cane smashed into my shoulder, then a second to my ribs. I wrapped my tail around one, fighting its wielder for the weapon. A second cane hit it, the pain traveling up into my spine.


Golvar cackled behind me. I couldn't spare a glance as I stopped a cane from cracking over my head. Even with more layers of bone than a human had there, headshots were dangerous.


Golvar came from behind me, charging for the one on the left. I turned my attention to the other two, only for one of them to move toward Golvar.


My saber lashed into the opening, cutting through the coat into his side. But he continued past, and I left myself open.


A cane rammed into my side. Something cracked, and pain exploded across my side. I turned, saber raised to guard.


The last gang member, red scarf flapping around his neck, held his cane up. We traded blows back and forth for a few seconds. I tried to grab his cane with my tail; he tried to stab me with his dagger. Neither of us had much success.


Behind him, the one with the pistol nearly had it reloaded. I tried to put Red Scarf between us, but I also couldn't turn my back to the two fighting Golvar.


Over by Golvar, one of them was on the ground, blood streaming out of half a dozen wounds. But Golvar was grappling with the second. I tried to move toward him. The red scarf's knife stabbed, keeping me back.


The one by Golvar headbutted him, then drove a knife into Golvar's chest. At the same time, I heard the flintlock wielder yell something in a tongue I couldn't recognize.


I ducked. The flintlock fired with a roar that echoed in my ears. Ahead of me, the red-scarfed one shuddered, then collapsed. Blood streamed out of his now empty eye socket.


The flintlock wielder was aghast. That just let me get close. My saber cut towards their throat.


Hardwood met it, the one who'd stabbed Golvar interceding. He got between me and the flintlock wielder, both knife and cane ready.


I couldn't keep this up forever. Already, my limbs burned and ached. It'd been too long since I'd fought more than short practice bouts with Tolman. I needed to even the odds now. I unhinged my jaw as I aimed.


I didn't keep too many Sculpts on me besides one that adjusted my appearance. Of the three I did have, one was a secret container linked to my throat, about half a cup in volume. I had to ensure the lining was very durable for what it needed to store: acid from a wall-eating giant ant in the Underground.


He ducked just in time. The stream of acid flew over his face, hitting his remaining comrade in the face. The hissing black liquid splattered all over his eyes and nose, eating away at flesh.


I tried to bring the hilt of my saber down on the last one's head. Too late. He drove a knife into my knee, and I yowled as it drove into the joint.


He let go of the knife. A fist rammed into the underside of my chin, rocking my head. I reeled back.


He grabbed my coat by its lapels, pulling me back. His head rammed into mine. My entire world grew dim as pain burst across my forehead.


Something swam into focus. A fist rammed into my nose. I screamed as it cracked, breaking.


His knees lay on my wrists, grinding them into the dirt. A second blow rammed into my eye. I screamed, swore, spat curses as a third blow hit my jaw.


Their hand went for the knife, confident in me being pinned. It ripped out of my knee. They leaned in. The knife went for my throat.


I snapped forward, jaw latching around his throat.


Teeth sliced through his skin, blood flooding my mouth as my jaws closed. My teeth were smaller than they used to be. They were still just as sharp.


The human shuddered, and something jammed into my abdomen. Burning. The knife dug into my gut, twisting and turning. My scream was muffled by the man's blood and flesh. I bit harder.


Something gave. With a snap, my teeth met. I pulled back, reflexively spitting out the chunk of throat. A surge of energy rushed through me, a feeling of euphoria rising from my gut as something inside me awoke. It was unnatural and not welcome, but it would keep me going.


The gang member gurgled, eyes desperate as he clawed for me. Bloody hands grasped at the hem of my dress and the bottom of my coat as he collapsed.


I knelt down and used my saber to give him some mercy. Heart pounding, I stood triumphant over my foes, glee in my chest.


I collapsed on the ground a second later.


My side was on fire. Pain seared up and down it, centered on where the knife had stabbed repeatedly into my kidneys. Smaller patches where my knee had been stabbed, my arm cut, where canes had struck across my body.


That brief wave of energy from feeding my diabolism with flesh faded fast.


My hands grasped instinctively into my overcoat, trying to find the correct pouch. Please let it not be broken. So many vials were, but I felt the neck of the remaining healing draught.


I felt sluggish as I pulled it up to my lips. I popped the stopper out and quickly drank from it.


It felt like a warmth igniting in my chest. The pain across my body lessened. The draught worked swiftly. It had many ingredients, the most important being the blood of a particular onerous troll.


The regenerative effects already began to stitch my flesh and organs together. Cuts closed like they'd never been inflicted. I could still feel the pain, dramatically lessened but still there, and I'd need to be careful so they didn't reopen. I'd live, though, which was most important.


I clambered back to my hooves, legs unsteady. My vision swam, a pounding pain spawning behind my eyes. Blackness crept in on the edges of my vision for a moment.


I looked down at the corpse of the Pureblood. Blank eyes stared back at me, the ravaged throat still adding blood to a swiftly spreading pool. I puked next to him, my stomach rebelling at the sight.


Focus, Malvia, I told myself. You've been through worse. It's just like learning how to pick someone's pockets again.


There was a dramatic difference between picking someone's pockets and almost dying. Or killing someone. The blank eyes still stared at me. I did my best to ignore them and the others all around.


That had been harder than I remembered. These days I only really fought when I traveled underground scavenging ingredients. Even then, that was usually as part of a group. Strictly a support role, just there to collect whatever ingredients were left. It'd been a while since I'd gotten mixed up directly in fighting.


I'd forgotten how exhilarating it was. I spat a mixture of spit and blood that wasn't mine from my mouth as my pounding heart began to calm. Too easily did I get lost in the moment. It had been years since I'd bitten someone, and for good reason. Something stirred in excitement, mixing with the disgust at the dead and the feeling of dread over taking a life.


I did not like fighting. Or at least I told myself that to keep the thing inside me that did from growing any more aware. No matter how good the feeling of adrenaline coursing through my veins felt.


I buried that feeling as best I could. I was not letting those demonic influences grow any more substantial. Outside of it being a crime with the death penalty attached, diabolism would only make things worse. Another thing I could blame partially on Versalicci, mostly on myself being a foolish young girl taken in by the Underground Streets.


Everything seems like a good idea when you're fifteen years old. I instead turned my attention to the bodies, making sure that they all were dead. Having one of them spring back up and use the last of their life to cut my throat would be a rather dismal end to mine.


None of them stirred except one. To my shock, Golvar still moved, clawing his way across the ground.


"Stay still," I yelled at him and tried to run over. My unsteady hooves gave out, and I ate dirt. I got back up, taking things more slowly.


Blood streamed from over a dozen wounds. Most of it came from the one on his chest. The Pure-blood must have stabbed right between the ribs.


"Guess you didn't cut down on those teeth as much as I'd thought," Golvar choked out, words mangled as they came out. I could barely make out what he said. Blood was coming out as well, too much to be a broken tooth or bitten cheek.


"Don't talk. They probably punctured a lung." I had seconds at best and no potion left. I grabbed one of the humans' shirts, ripping it off their corpse and tearing strips out. I needed a tube and preferably an anesthetic. I had neither.


He tried to say something back. All I could make out was gurgling noises as blood sputtered from his throat.


"I said be quiet! Do you want to die?" I hissed. I focused on the other wounds instead, tying off bandages. I staunched the bleeding in as many places as I could. "Just focus on my voice, and do not fall asleep, Golvar. You'll be fine. It's a few blocks to my place. I have an elixir there that will fix you up right away."


I couldn't risk leaving him here. Moving him would possibly cause more damage, but leaving him with no one else around? An even worse idea.


"Okay, we're going to have to walk there. It's going to hurt worse than you ever- actually almost as bad as you've ever hurt in your life, but we can do it. Golvar?"


Golvar didn't move. His chest moved shallowly at best.


"Golvar?" I touched the side of his cheek. He did not react. I jostled his head, only to get the same. I was about to try dragging him when I noticed that even the slight movement of his chest had stopped.


He'd passed.


Something wet traveled across my cheek. I thought it might be blood, but my probing fingers came back with tears on their ends instead.


Why was I shedding tears over Golvar? The man had been a sadistic bully from the moment I'd known him. I'd thought him admirable once, but those days were long past, abandoned with most of my teenage years. Why was I crying?


Enough time debating why I'd shed tears over a monster's death. I needed to leave here swiftly and with as little evidence of my presence as possible.


I could handle the contract with Lord Montague and then lie low for a while. It would hurt to give up any potential customers during that time, but it would be better than getting embroiled in whatever this was.


It shouldn't be too difficult. I'd leave here, find an intermediary to hire to give Versalicci his package, and then retire to my life far removed from the Underground and its gangs.


Metaphorically, not literally. There were probably tunnels running under my apartment. But still, I could disappear again, maybe finally find a place outside of the Infernal Quarter to rent. The payments I'd be getting would be enough to justify my moving out of this literal hellhole.


Moving the lab would be more difficult. Maybe a third disguise to operate in here? I would be stretching my resources thin moving to even one of the poorer quarters, but I could-


A shrill whistle cut through my thoughts. Its shriek traveled across the air, echoing. A half second later, another dozen answered it.


I knew them. Every citizen did. Every criminal knew them and feared them sounding close. The city watch was on its way.


Ah. Well, I knew better than to think they weren't headed directly towards me. This complicated things.

 

[saithor]

Constable whistles sounded again, and I flicked the blood off my saber.


What an unfortunate spot of bother. Typically, patrols in the Infernal Quarter, while heavier than they'd been for years, weren't regular enough to worry about, but those sounded both close and numerous.


Near the cathedral as well? Something stank. The only issue was of what in particular. In league with this human gang? Simply on Golvar's trail? Something entirely unrelated?


Actually, that didn't matter much. What did matter was that I needed to make sure I'd be kept alive, which meant getting all of my weapons off of me for right now. Hopefully I could get at least some of them back.


I dropped my saber, and it landed next to the package Golvar had been carrying. Ah, that's another issue.


I considered the package at my feet. Now, the question arose, should I hide it or leave it out for the constables to find? It was undoubtedly illegal.


I didn't have time to debate this. I scooped it up and moved to the rubble of the chapel. The sound of whistles neared as I buried it under some rubble. Not good enough. The coppers would be scouring this place.


Then again, what did I care? I'd done the minimum that Versalicci couldn't claim I'd handed it off to the Watch. Let him recover his package. There was the curiosity to open it up, but that would mean getting involved, and I had enough to deal with. I would not jeopardize my reputation for my past.


The whistles were getting closer. No one else had returned, and the inhabitants were probably hiding deep inside their homes. The fighting and now the Watch were keeping them away.


I put on my best smile. So what if my clothes were covered in blood, I was the only survivor of this little skirmish, and the one person I'd been fighting alongside was a prominent member of a notorious gang? I could certainly talk my way out of this and be back home with a wink, a smile, and a few well-placed words.


Seeing the first green-clad watchmen come within sight, I put my hands up.


"Officer, thank goodness you've come!"


***


I stared at the ceiling of my cell, looking at the uneven pattern of brickwork.


The pattern of lines and crumbling mortar weren't particularly interesting, but there wasn't anything else to look at. Three walls of the same surrounded me and beyond the bars of my cell? The view beyond was of more brickwork.


From my left, my neighbor in the next cell started up again with a list of crude suggestions he'd been making since I'd been brought in. It was nothing I'd never heard before, although the sheer volume was a little frightening. I didn't want to guess what crimes he was in here for.


He was currently enumerating the various things he'd do to my stomach with a rolling pin and potato peeler.


To my right, there was silence. Someone was in there. I'd seen her when I entered. A dwarf who looked like she lived on the street. Ragged clothes, a youthful scarred face. Probably in here for stealing or something of the like. She definitely did not deserve to be in the same wing as the psycho to my left and a licensed alchemist.


A story there, I'd bet. The need to know itched at the back of my brain, a slight little urge to pursue anything to break up the monotony.


I shoved that thought down. I wouldn't break that easily. Just wait until they drag you out for your interrogation Mal-Falara. Hells and Heavens, this place is as mind-numbingly boring as it's ever been.


The Coffin hadn't changed much over the years. I'd been in at multiple points, both as Malvia and Falara. Falara had only been brought in for questioning a few times, nothing that could be proven. Minor things, missing goods, suspicious deals. Not worth keeping. Not in a prison already overcrowded.


It was supposed to be overcrowded anyway. I was used to sharing my cell with up to nine other people, so being on my own was worrying in its uniqueness. Unless they'd somehow fixed their overcrowding issue?


I snorted. I doubted it would ever be free of that issue. Most of the criminals willing to take service in the army in return for a reduced sentence had already signed up. Pretty soon the Watch would either find some construction project in need of prisoners or the Queen would decide to start making service in the military compulsory.


She'd pursued harder punishments for lesser faults in her citizenry.


Malvia had been imprisoned here three times before and made it out each time. Malvia had a cell reserved here, right next to the one being kept for her boss and one time biggest target of the Watch, Giovani Versalicci. Malvia would probably be due another trip to whatever Questioners might still be employed in the bowels of this place.


Today's watch might be a kinder, more gentler watch, or so they said. There would still be Questioners. And if there weren't Questioners there would be the Grey Hats, ready to make sure no prisoner could do magic.


They supposedly had switched to temporary tattoos or blockers in the building itself. I hoped so. I still remembered the searing pain of the potions needed to regrow my fingers and tongue.


Next to me, the blabber from the one in the cell grew louder. Did he even pause to take a breath? The only relief from it was the squeaking of vermin, most prominently the rat I shared a cell with.


"Tommy, would you be quiet?" a voice said from my left. It was not loud, but it still cut through the torrent of nonsense coming from the next cell.


Ah, my neighbor on the other side had spoken.


"I would appreciate it if he would as well. It's not the kind of language to be speaking next to two fine ladies."


The tirade turned to the topic of exactly what he considered our chances of being two fine ladies. I sighed. The next person who insinuates I trade sex for money is getting kicked at a minimum.


"No, I don't think either of us are. Excuse me, Miss-?" I asked


"Amna. Don't call me Miss, it feels weird. Ignore Tommy, he won't be quiet, and after a while, you can tune him out." The dwarf in my neighboring cell replied.


A smile crept onto my face even if my conversation partner couldn't see it.


"I'll do my best, but I'm afraid that it is a rather loud stream of…. verbiage. And not calling you Miss is also something I can't quite do. Does he always sound like this? Or does he restrain himself?"


"Not really. Ma told me he's usually like this, but he's got some friends you don't want to cross. He doesn't actually do anything, so people just ignore him. Mind you, it keeps getting him beat up."


"Oh, so you know him from outside this jail? I thought you two only became acquainted inside here. What quarter are you from?"


"Bismuth. Not one of the fancy parts, lower quarters."


Huh. Of course, I'd been to Bismuth a few times, one of the old hearts of alchemical practice in Avernon. It had been supplanted since then by Varmouth, Ironworks, or even North Bellings as time passed on and the rise of both biosculpting and clockwork. And it had never been a place of old magic like Silver Road, Sarbridge, or the Shadowed Quarter.


It was still an excellent place to visit, negotiate for ingredients, and catch up with the craft. I'd sometimes entertained the idea of moving there, but it was an idle dream. My forged license wouldn't hold up to scrutiny in an entire quarter of alchemists, not to mention all the other barriers in my way. The fake license was only one of a few significant issues.


"One of the lower quarters? So the docks section, where it borders the Nover?"


The Nover was the great river that split Avernon into three distinct parts, splitting into Greater and Lesser branches.


"Yeah. I've been working as a dockworker lately. It's not as much work as the proper docks, of course, but alchemists will still pay a pretty penny to have their materials delivered as soon as possible."


That made sense. The potency of many alchemical ingredients depended on their freshness before being added to the mixture. Wait too long to add them, and the effects of your creation will be reduced or even ruined.


"So, where are you from?"


I giggled, managing to keep my amusement from reaching full laughs. "Do you even need to ask?"


There was a lull in the conversation filled only by Thomas' increasingly deranged ranting.


"I mean, I know Infernals are living outside the Quarter. I've met a few of them. And hells, would you assume I was from the underground just because I'm a dwarf?"


"No. I've been to the underground frequently, and someone wanting to move out of there makes perfect sense. But for us, there's only a few Infernals outside the quarter. Even if one can legally move out, it's not so easy to do. I've looked into moving a few times, and even moving into the Chalkhills, the Vale, or even Billsburrow would end with me in a place much worse than I already am. I'm in the Infernal Quarter, where my money is worth something regarding real estate."


The conversation paused again. I hadn't meant to intimidate Amna into silence, but eventually, she replied.


"So you're fairly well off?"


"Decently. Amusingly, alchemy is my trade. Although fairly well off is something of an exaggeration. Keeping wealth is something beyond me at the moment."


"Fancy dresses or betting on horses?"


"Fighting pits, actually." A bald-faced lie, but I would hardly admit the true nature of my expenses to a stranger.


"You're joking, right? You hardly look the type."


"You live as long as I have, you learn that looks are the most deceiving things of all Miss Amna."


"You look like you're three years older than me at the most."


"It's not a lesson that takes long to learn."


"I suppose so. Is there someone else with you, by the way? They brought something alive into your cell, didn't they? I heard something struggling when they shoved it into your cell."


Ah, right. I suppose I wasn't actually the only occupant of the cell. The wardens hadn't brought food yet. When I asked, one of them had dropped off a rat in a trap. Their idea of a joke.


I looked at the rodent, struggling in futility against the ropes they'd used to bind it. It squeaked in a mixture of terror and frustration. Hunger gnawed at the bottom of my stomach.


I ignored it. I wasn't that desperate. Yet.


Besides, eating it would probably just worsen the Diabolism trying to escape my veins.


"It's a rodent. A rat, to be precise. I asked for something to eat, and they replied by giving me this. I'm quite sure they expect me to eat it."


"Are you going to?"


"It depends on how long the Watch plans to keep me here. If this is the only food they serve, I will have to make do, although the least they could do is cook it."


The rat's struggles and squeaking grew even louder as its head whipped around. I raised an eyebrow. They hadn't put a Shifter forced into the form of a rat in here, had they? Some kind of cruel punishment for both them and me? I could only hope not.


"It's been mostly some terrible gruel for us. The Wardens kept us fed at least. I am curious about one other thing. What could a lady like you have done to end up next to us?" Amna asked.


"Oh, nothing illegal. I just happened to fall in with a rather unfortunate sort, tried to help him, and got involved in a fight. All a little bit out of my comfort zone, but I think I acquitted myself well."


"Seriously? You helped defend someone, and you turned yourself in? That can't be all, can it."


I frowned. "I don't follow your implications, Miss Amna."


"I'm just asking you to be honest. You wouldn't be thrown in here if you were just defending yourself. You know, there isn't anyone around listening. It's not like I'm going to squeal."


My expression remained the same, but my attitude did not. That stank. Why would someone be so curious about the reasons for a stranger's imprisonment?


Then again, I was restraining myself earlier. She might just be as bored as I am. Besides, this is too obvious. If she is an undercover watchwoman trying to get information out of me, why be so forward?


Unless they couldn't hold me for long. If they didn't have anything concrete, it might not be long for me to be back on the streets. The jails were too full to justify throwing me in for what they couldn't prove was anything but self-defense. A need to find some kind of crime I'd committed before they'd be forced to let me go?


I knew my activities as Falara weren't entirely above the board, but not enough to require this amount of effort. It must be the Versalicci connection.


"Alright, I'll whisper it to you. Get to the corner of your cell."


I leaned my head against the bars as close as I could get to Amna's cell. In the other one, Tommy had gone quiet, tapering off his latest tirade. Coincidence, or making sure he didn't obscure what I was about to say.


"The man I fell in with was part of an old Infernal Gang, the Black Flame. Still powerful. I figured it wouldn't hurt to have a favor. Or at least at a bare minimum, not give them a reason to stab me."


With that little snippet of information tossed either to an undercover copper or an innocent street girl, I pulled back from the bars.


Amna remained quiet for several moments. Her silence was only made more obvious by Tommy's lack of ranting about 'taking you red-skinned devil with a full set of cutlery to help ease me into it'.


If he wasn't already part of the watch, he certainly had the mindset they looked for.


"That's your big secret? You didn't want to get stabbed by his mates?"


"I guess it's not too exciting. But it is all I have."


From there, the conversation turned to idle chit-chat. She was from a family who permanently lived on the surface now, immigrants from Azraden, driven here by the latest round of underground wars. Her parents were masons, which was of constant use in Dramelsen. The city always grew these days, never shrinking.


It continued till a pair of watch members came by, going into Amna's cell. The time had come for her interrogation, or her debriefing.


"Stay strong, Amna!" I said.


She gave me a firm little nod. Was she a plant? I couldn't tell. Were the coppers better at disguising themselves, or had Falara actually made me weak?


The two officers marched her off, leaving me along with Tommy. He immediately launched into another tirade of slurs, profanity, and lewd suggestions.


As time passed, Tommy's ranting actually began to fade in my mind. It helped that he ran out of material after a certain point, and the repeated material had less effect. My mind was occupied by other things. Such as how I hadn't asked how long Amna had been in here.


Depending on how long I was stuck in here, it could become an issue.


I'd done up my form-changing sculpting just before meeting Lady Karsin nearing two weeks ago. They'd hold for maybe another day before I'd need to redo them. Hopefully, I'd be out by then, and there'd be no risk of reverting back to a thought-dead member of Versalicci's criminal empire while inside the Watch's jail.


I should just make the ones to become Falara's baseline form permanent instead of temporary ones I needed to redo every few weeks. Finally bite that bullet. I shouldn't need nor want to be Malvia again.


Ah, the sound of boots on stone came once again, stomping ever closer. I used a claw to slit the rat's bindings, watching it scurry into the darkness.


The Watch officers went past Thomas, stopping at my cell. "Come on, Foulhorn. We need you to answer some questions for us."

 

[saithor]

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Me, a Watch interrogation room, and the law trying to pry the truth out of me in any way it could.


Thinner wrists chafed less in Watch restraints, which was a nice change. I also welcomed the lack of torturers. Although they might come out later.


Then again, maybe the stifling heat and lack of air were replacements for those torturers. That and the feeling of the table's edge pressing into my stomach. The interrogation room stretched maybe four feet by six, with the back of my chair set against the wall and the table between me and the interrogator taking up over half the room. Already, my stomach rebelled against the pressure. Empty as it was, it might expel both my breakfast and the mead from the Hells' Own if the table pressed in any further.


Across from me stood my interrogator, a middle-aged man in Watch coat and bowler hat, piercing eyes staring sullenly from underneath the brim. Papers clutched in his hands, he'd chosen to stand, pacing back and forth between shot-off questions trying to find a target. The documents in his hands were for theatrics. He hadn't taken his gaze off my face once in this interview.


The interrogation was standard. I'd done several as Falara and many more as Malvia, and nothing had changed in eight years. Different faces opposite me, a different topic, same questions, and style. Well, some differences.


I was a little insulted even. Only one interrogator? The standard back in my days as Malvia had been at least two.


"-furthermore, witnesses claim you were conversing with the other Infernal for quite sometime before the fight. You still claim you were only talking about the circumstances of his injury?"


"Healing people isn't an easy process, detective," I said. "I needed to make sure I was getting to each injury, sewing them up properly. We did discuss his pursuers, but that was because I wanted to be prepared if they showed up. Which they did."


"You didn't discuss why he'd been stabbed, the contents of the box he was carrying, any of that?"


"I broached the subject, but he didn't seem willing to answer. Considering the urgency of the situation, I didn't feel it necessary to confront over."


"Just feeling charitable that day then? Helping a stranger with no idea what you're getting into."


I shrugged as much as the restraints would allow. My arms had been tied back behind the chair, my ankles shackled to the chair. If I wasn't already familiar with the process, I'd suspect they knew of my arcane talents beyond Alchemy. This was just how they operated.


"I try to live by the ideal, but he also was rather insistent. Truth be told, I thought refusing would likely result in him attempting to stab me."


"You had multiple weapons on you, and you were afraid of a bleeding out criminal being a danger to you."


I dragged down my annoyance. I needed to be the epitome of politeness. Irritating the watchmen was a good way to end up here "on suspicion" of something. Being held while they conducted some sham investigation was not something I could afford.


"Yes, because just because I'm armed is not a guarantee, Detective. I may still end up dead."


Rotting away in some cell 'til I started changing colors and they realized who I really was? Not an option.


"So you decided to instead fight six other people?"


"I didn't have much of a choice then. Again, when he originally approached me he just wanted help in finding a safe place and healing for his wounds. He figured I either knew someone or was capable of it. Not too many dress this finely in the District."


I could hardly reach out to my patrons for help either. Lord Montague's reaction would probably be to immediately have my residence robbed to try and find the doses of elixir. That or hire another alchemist. If he weighed the knowledge of his son's poisoning being revealed to his rivals against it coming out he leaned on the Watch to free me, I may as well prepare for a life in the Coffin.


"Why didn't you take him to the Watch instead? You could have just brought him to us."


"Well, firstly time was of the essence. I wanted to bring him to a relatively empty place and heal his wounds as best I could. Otherwise, I don't think he would make it very far. Secondly detective, with no offense intended, the presence of the Watch in the district is a little light on the ground."


Lady Karsin would be more polite but her heir was cured. Short another successful poisoning attempt, her use for me was at an end for now. She might consider freeing me in the future if she needed me. That sentiment would last 'til my true face was revealed.


"Let's turn to something else," the Detective said, admitting defeat for now. We'd been over this same point a few different times. He kept trying different angles, but ultimately failed to find what he looked for.


I would be out of here by now if this were just handling the aftermath of a simple street fight. Sure, multiple murders were attached, but that was nothing new for the Infernal Quarter. The Watch being in the Infernal Quarter already was a departure from the norm. Golvar's box had to be the reason to keep trying to make me crack. But they hadn't asked about where it was now once.


"Inventory was done on your belongings. We have a few questions on them."


"Yes?" I asked, already knowing this would not be just be a few questions. Based on past experience, this would be an endurance test of questions over the potential legality or illegality of everything they considered of note on my possessions. They'd once questioned my choice of boots and asked about who made them.


That ended up being because they'd tried to slip magical tracers in my next pair at the store. It'd taken a week before I made the connection.


"We took a look at your license, and it appears to be legitimate, but even still some of the materials you were carrying seem quite peculiar to be walking around with."


Ah, that was good. I was hoping they wouldn't take a close look at it. It could stand up to anything but alchemical testing, the watermarks had been duplicated so well. There had been the risk they'd run it to an alchemist for tests. They had apparently decided it wasn't worth the money.


"I'm an alchemist officer," I said. "It's my job to walk around with things in my pockets people would find peculiar."


He ignored me and actually shuffled through the sheets of paper. They weren't entirely a prop, then.


"One saber, coated in blood, tinted with something that doesn't look very pleasant, does it?"


"Rat poison," I answered. "Hardly illegal."


"Indicative of a cruel mind, striking someone with something like this. You like people bleeding?"


"I prefer people not to attempt stabbing, shooting, or otherwise hurting me, constable, but I've learned over the years in the city that some people will not stop unless firmly given a message."


"Various acids, potions, elixirs, including three mixtures that could be explosive if mixed properly."


Strange. No question about the Box, which is what I anticipated next. "While true, so are the components of gunpowder, and those aren't considered illegal. And the combination of many different chemicals can produce explosives."


He grunted, deserted that line of questioning. He shouldn't have too many more items on the list.


"We looked through your coin purses, and found a rather large amount of pounds in one of them."


"I expect I'll be receiving it back much lighter then," I joked.


"An awful lot of coins to be carrying around on the street," the copper observed. The corners of his mouth hadn't even flickered at my joke. They'd carved this one out of stone.


They were going to question every single one of my belongings, weren't they? "I have recently come into a commission."


"Don't suppose you can name who it's with?"


If I wanted Montague after my neck, certainly. "I can't name who with, but you can talk to Edward Edwards, the bartender at the Hells' Own, or Tolman Greskatz, a fighter at the Holver arena. Both can confirm I was meeting with a client just before the attack."


"Scum naming scum. I know Edwards, and his word is trash. We'll see what this Tolman has to say."


"Is that all?" I asked, injecting just the right amount of weariness into it. Just enough to come off as tired but also unconcerned about whatever they may find.


"No, it is not," the Watch officer replied with a scowl in his face. He glared at the doorway. "It appears one of the department's consultants has taken an interest and requested some time to interview you, so you'll be in his hands for now."


"Now, Detective Mortray, no need to sound so glum. We'll only be borrowing your witness for a short amount of time."


Two gentlemen, both in well-appointed suits, both approaching their early forties. One of them was wide and short whereas the other was thin and tall. The short one's mutton-chopped visage was topped with a bowler, while his taller cleanshaven friend had a short mop of brown hair mixed with a nose like a hawk.


Voltar and Dawes. Dramalsen's premier detective and his faithful companion. Sworn rivals and enemies of Versalicci and all in his employ. Personal bedevillers of criminals everywhere, but specifically the Black Flame and all who were part of it. Including me. They were the consultants.


Oh. Fuck.


There'd be no room for error. I seized the nerves in my face and forced it into an expression of excitement.


"Mr. Voltar and Dawes! I'm such a fan of your stories, it's such an honor to meet the both of you in person!"


Good, good Malvia. I'd almost convinced myself I'd believed that. Beaming so much I could melt a hole in the wall, I desperately tried to pull a hand out of my restraints.


"I have a notebook, one of my alchemical field journals, in the Detective's possession. If it wouldn't bother either of you, I would greatly appreciate it if Mr. Dawes could sign it? Your work in forensics is an inspiration to us all! Oh, and your signature as well, Mr. Voltar, if that's not being too forward?"


I'd burn the journal immediately after-no wait I'd need to transcribe the contents first-actually scratch both of those thoughts and sell the signatures to someone who actually wanted them for some easy money. Although I wasn't entirely lying about Dawes. The man was fiendishly good at his craft, and some of the articles he'd penned were very illuminating.


They'd both fought me, both physically and in wits, many times in the past. I'd never won. Versalicci had, several times, and held it over my head each time.


Voltar looked at me, slightly grinning in slight amusement. Arrogant bastard. "Miss, I believe you are here for an interrogation? Although maybe we can discuss it after you're released from custody."


"Oh, my apologies, detectives. Of course."


I was going to find whatever pit of hell Golvar's soul had been consigned to, drag it back here, sculpt his face till his eyes were crushed and his tongue ripping itself to shreds. Then I'd repeat it till I was satisfied. That dumb asshole had dragged me right back into everything I'd spent five years of my life trying to escape.


And I'd cried over his death? I should have thrown his body into the chapel and let holy fire consume it.


"I'd be happy to help such an esteemed pair, especially since you are so polite, unlike some people."


If the detective was bothered by my barb, it didn't show. The Doctor frowned while the Detective's polite smile remained precisely the same.


"Well, if that's the case, we have been listening to your current interview. You don't mind some further questions?"


Interview. What a nice way to put it. I did notice the Watch officer's face glower at the admission others had been listening in. No love was lost there.


"Of course, not a problem."


"Your story starts in the Hells' Own tavern. You say you can't name the client you were meeting with?"


"A matter of confidentiality." That, and wanting my head to remain atop my neck. I possessed no illusions about what Lord Montague would do if I revealed who I'd been meeting.


Finding out I'd revealed it to the Constabulary and the Empire's most famed detective would probably just slow the process of removing my head.


"Understandable. I don't think it's of much importance to this case. The other infernal-blooded who was dead, do you know he is?"


I shrugged. "I think he said his name was Govlar? Gavlor? Golvar? Something along those lines. He accosted me in the alley. At first, I thought it was simply someone trying to mug me with a trick, but he was injured and asked for help. I did my best to patch up his wounds and was going to take him back to my apartment to stitch him up after stabilizing him. Then we were jumped along the way by the six others."


"How altruistic of you to so willingly take another into your home to heal them."


I gave him a sheepish grin. "I must admit altruism wasn't on my mind. He claimed to be from a rather wealthy group and a rather large payment in return for being healed. I figured at the worst, I could hand him off to the Watch after and see if there was some kind of bounty on him."


"You assumed he was a criminal?"


"People with knives practically spilling out of their pocket and a dozen holes in them don't tend to be your average, law-abiding citizen, Mr. Voltar. Also, the tattoo was something of a giveaway."


"Are you?"


"I'm sorry?"


"A law-abiding citizen. Would you consider yourself one of those?"


"As much as I can manage these days." I thanked the Hells, the Heavens, and every little speck in between in the cosmic circle I wasn't a moron like so many were and relied entirely on Sculpts or potions to do my acting and lying for me.


"A trying task for all in your environs, I'd imagine."


My smile lessened a little, and that wasn't just acting. "We do the best with what we are given, Mr. Voltar."


"I didn't mean to imply anything, Ms. Falara. Back to the matter of the dead Mr. Golvar, which is his name, did you know he is a member of the Versalicci gang?"


"I can't deny that I did. He had the flaming ram right on his arm. But that only meant I'd more likely get something from helping him."


"No issues with being paid by criminals?"


I did my best to look embarrassed. It wasn't that hard, considering I actually was embarrassed over being dragged into this.


"A girl does have to eat, Mr. Voltar. And also rent apartments, buy clothes, and occasionally, when she has time, does other things as well for personal enjoyment. Until the gang caught up with us, I thought I would just be ensuring he didn't succumb to his wounds."


"A reasonable assumption to make."


"Is this all, Mr. Voltar?" I asked. "Apologies, but I just have other errands I need to run today. I realize this is clearly a critical case to involve you, but I honestly can't think of anything else worth telling you."


It was a lie, but I wanted out of this and back home as quickly as I could manage. I did not care about Versalicci's schemes to bedevil his longtime adversary, and the same was true in reverse. I wanted to head home, collect my commissions, and avoid both of them.


That polite smile replaced the thoughtful frown as soon as I finished talking. "But of course, Ms. Falara. Just two more questions, and I think I'll have all the answers I need."


"Ask away then, and I'll again do my best to answer."


"Thank you. You have remarkably good aim with that acid. Did you craft those vials yourself?"


"No. It honestly wasn't that far a distance to throw them, Mr. Voltar. A dozen paces, maybe. I can get you in touch with the manufacturer if their design is somehow relevant?"


"No, it's fine. The second question, has a Biosculptor modified you?"


My blood froze. Voltar suspected something. That wasn't an idle question for no reason. The Watch hadn't examined yet, so he couldn't have known for sure. Yet he clearly did. And I couldn't say no. The Watch had the facilities to check for Sculpts; they just took long lengths of time, time I thought too precious to them to spend on me.


My struggles to think of an answer to dodge weren't leading anywhere.


Something roared in my veins, an urge building in my stomach. Bite the foolish human's face off before he discovers anything. Gnawing hunger built inside, waiting for flesh to fulfill it and let it free.


I'd frozen my nerves and hurriedly focused on the detective's face instead. Outwit him, don't bite him, and don't feed what was currently trying to make it's way out of my gut.


Diabolism. Reignited since I'd bitten into that human's front. I could not let it have a scrap of power. As bad as revealing my Sculpting would be, doing any diabolism would result in my head being taken off my shoulders.


"I've had a few sculpts done recently. Trying to look better for my clients, cosmetic ones, to well…look more human for them. I had a small additional stomach added, linked to an extra pipe in my throat. I spat its contents at one of the gang members earlier today."


"Those are all of them?" Voltar asked.


"The only ones currently installed in me, yes." The nerve controls were mainly used for cosmetic purposes, so it was not technically a lie. That would be my claim if they did do the testing process. Curse the fact Sculpts were detectable. The rare shapechangers could adjust their bodies without a sign of detection, but Sculpture always leaves a mark; you just need to look deep enough.


He nodded. "Then I believe our interview is done. You are free to go."


The Watchman sputtered as Voltar stood up. "What nonsense is this, Voltar? That is not your decision to make!"


Voltar had already left the room, and the Watchman followed after, leaving me alone in my room. Well, he certainly hadn't changed a bit.


There was an argument going on the other side of the door. Heated but too low for me to make out words. I could guess what was being argued over. The Watch detective wanted me examined now, especially to see what would happen if my cosmetic Sculpts were reverted. Voltar was apparently arguing against that for reasons I couldn't begin to guess.


I couldn't wait for that conversation to finish. It was too high of a risk. Escaping the Coffin would be…tricky but better than waiting for potential doom. I shifted in my chair and tried to figure if I could slip out of these by dislocating my hand. It would be a tight fit.


The watch officer came back with two other members of the watch. "You're free to go."


"Excuse me?" I asked.


His expression, already stormy, quickly resembled a typhoon. "I said you're free to leave. Haskell, Morris, free this one and get her out of here."


Being escorted out of the Coffin felt like being in a waking dream. I nodded politely to Mr. Dawes and continued following the two officers through a small maze of corridors and rooms. They hadn't adjusted the layout since I'd last been there. We collected my belongings along the way.


To my shock, they had not lifted a single pound. What strange malaise gripped the Watch these days?


"Miss Falara, please wait a moment?"


"Mr. Dawes?" I turned back to look at the anatomist.


"You wanted my signature?"


"Oh, yes. Thank you for reminding me. I forgot after the interview with Mr. Voltar."


"He does have that effect on people at times," Dawes remarked as I pulled out one of my field notebooks. He briefly read the first page. "You walk the Underground?"


"On occasion. The best ingredients require effort when coin is lacking."


Partly a truth. My effort found some of the best ingredients. Grave robbing made up a good chunk of the rest.


"Maybe we'll meet again, and you can tell me about it. I've only been briefly."


"Maybe."


Hopefully never. I'd had my fill of these two already. A swift exit to anywhere else might be in order.


The night sky greeted me outside. How long had I been inside, to lose this much time? No matter. What things I'd meant to get done today would keep 'til tomorrow.


"Do you want an escort home, Miss?"


"Hrrm?" One of my escorts had spoken up, orcish blood, much taller than my current body, very well-groomed. She also seemed quite earnest with that miss, so maybe the Watch was beginning to change. At the bare minimum, 'Foulspawn', 'Devil's Get', and a few other ones I didn't like even thinking seemed less frequent a word.


"Mr. Voltar said we were to escort you home by carriage if you wanted to, miss?" she asked.


"No, thank you. I'll walk. The night sky is rather enjoyable to me."


We both looked up at the layers of smog currently occupying the night sky and helping obscure the stars from sight.


"Well, on better nights, but I prefer to walk regardless."


"Alone, on the streets?" The other watchmen observed. "Foulspawn ain't likely to be seen kindly, and women on the street alone are never safe."


Ah, there was what I'd expected, although he hadn't seemed too vitriolic in tone. And bless her heart, his partner stared at him in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.


I spoke first before an argument could start. "I think I can handle myself, constable, although I do appreciate the concern. Do thank Mr. Voltar for his kindness if you could? It is much appreciated."


"It" was most likely to pinpoint precisely where my dwelling was. The Watch probably had snuck on me while I was inside. I'd have to check all my possessions for tracers. And my coat and dress, which by now were both filthy. Dried blood, stains of something I didn't want to identify. I'd take them to cleaners tomorrow but they were likely both ruined. I had bigger problems on my mind. Empire's-greatest-detective shaped problems.


I was unsure if he knew I was Malvia, but he suspected something. I bid my goodbyes to the two watch officers and set out into the street. It was late in the evening, and as I made my way to the end of it, not a soul stirred.


No one being on the street didn't change a thing; I was being followed.

 

[saithor]

I shivered as I walked down the empty street.


My clothes had a few new holes in them courtesy of the Pure-blood thugs. On top of that, they weren't designed for nightlife. My faithful coat was also barely hanging on.


It still provided some comfort from the chill of night and the bite of the wind. Small comforts. I should revel in them. I could remember a time when I didn't have this protection against wind and rain. My mind wandered down that road for a second, then recoiled. Best not to dwell on those who'd been there with me. The ones still alive could be counted on one hand.


I clopped down the street on my hooves, walking across cobblestones. You could tell which part of the city you were in. The most wealthy areas? Paved. Next rung down the ladder? Cobblestones. The rest was a transition through a whole range of pebbles, gravel, wood, and dirt in the poorest districts on the city's outskirts.


On a rainy day, knowing which roads were the latter was essential. In bad years, some people still died in the mud.


Up above me, the stars did their best to shine through the smog. Only a few factories had opened and were already doing their best to obscure the sky. Even the moons looked less clear, the edges of Vertiel and Maviel waxy and unclear.


The light they reflected down onto the streets at least was clear, adding to the glow of the lamps. This close to the Watch, none of them had been vandalized, and their glow illuminated the lack of people around me.


The nightlife of the city typically was more active. Drunks, ne'er-do-wells, pickpockets, revelers, and others would be packing most streets. Some streets were free of that. The reasons varied from each, typically some combination of "Rich", "Magic", or "Both in enough quantities to hire private guards to keep the riff-raff away from the houses."


In the case of Old Bell Road, being host to a Watch prison and headquarters kept all but the most respectable people off the street at night. No one wanted to fill some watchmen's quota.


I didn't know why it was called Old Bell Road. I'd heard over a dozen stories, some of which got mixed up in the dark and had mutant offspring carrying the traits of both. Sometimes, there'd be three or more parents for those children—the way of gossip about barely remembered history.


Most of the street held businesses and restaurants along the flanks, stretching down to its friendlier end. The Sapphire, at only five years of age, remained one of the city's newest attractions. It was an anchor from the other, darker end where I currently walked.


The centerpiece of this side, the Coffin, still loomed over me. It wouldn't be out of my sight for miles more. Dull-grey towers watched over the surrounding city, twelve in total forming the outer bounds of the prison. The only windows on the exterior walls were five stories up and filled with heavy iron bars. I could see the gleam of the occasional magical sigil underneath each, ready to go off if anything bigger than a hand passed through those bars. The Coffin had been built only a few decades ago as both headquarters and prison for the Watch, one of several to replace the old Central prison, which was now just a curiosity kept around because it was too damn big to demolish safely.


It had been a joke. I'd been inside to tour, never as a prisoner. Crumbling walls and flaking mortar, even during its so-called prime, those kept inside its walls practically walked out. The spells used to build it so tall had eaten most of its budget. That and being large enough at the time to hold a tenth of Dramelsen's population. Rebellion had been a big concern back then.


Those spells made it a danger to tear down safely. They were also going to run out eventually. Woe betide anyone walking by when Central finally collapsed.


Maybe it could do us all a favor and crush some people around it. Central was right in the middle of where the hobnobs, sorcerous heavyweights, guild leaders, and members of parliament lived and worked.


I'd been walking this entire time, entering and leaving darkness in between the streelights. The shadows seemed to move about as I passed by, just my mind playing tricks. Not every infernal received the same traits from their cursed blood, and I lacked the ability to see in the dark so many of my peers possessed.


One of the streetlamps was out, leaving an entire swathe of that street side dark. I gave it a wide berth. Was there someone leaning up against it? Tall, too tall to be that skinny.


The shadowed figure suddenly moved, falling towards me. I drew my saber, cutting at it as it plummeted towards me in the dark.


My saber drawn, I stared down at a fallen ladder. One stile now spotted a gash from where my saber had struck.


A nervous giggle escaped my throat as I rushed for the light of the next streetlamp. Just a ladder.


No one lurked nearby. It was probably some junior lamplighter who'd rushed their work and left their ladder and the streetlamp improperly lit. The lamplighters were long gone by now. There'd been talk of some replacement from the minds at the Ironworks, cheaper, more efficient, shining brighter light.


For now, the dim light made these patches of shadow the perfect places for ambush.


My hands shook a little in my coat pockets as I continued walking. I was probably safe. The Watch would have tails on me, and they'd intervene just to keep their lead alive.


Versalicci knew who I was, though. His influence was reduced, and he was nowhere near the titan he'd seemed so little time ago. But still, even a fallen titan cast a long shadow.


I heard boot leather clacking on stone behind me. I didn't turn around. That would give away I could hear them. I kept my pace, hand reaching for my saber's hilt. The pace of the clacks was growing faster and closer. They weren't even bothering to hide their approach.


I didn't wait for them to get within stabbing distance. Whirling around, I held my saber at the ready to stab my too-obvious stalker in the face.


He immediately fell to the ground, a controlled motion that put a leg within kicking distance of my knee and a pistol aimed at my chest. The moonlight illuminated the pistol in his hand, but more importantly, his face.


I breathed out, tension easing out of me. I offered a hand down to him.


"Tolman, what are you doing out here?" I asked.


Tolman took my hand, getting back to his feet. He eyed my saber as he adjusted his coat. His fingers whirled about, telling me a message while obscured in his jacket.


Safe to talk? He asked in the signs of our old gang.


No. Tails from the watch I signed back.


He didn't bother looking around. Even if we did spot them, there wasn't much we could do about them now.


"Trying to find you. Word going around the district was that there'd been a dust-up between one of Versalicci's thugs and some human gang inside the district. Pricked my curiosity, so I went to take a look. Got there by the late afternoon, place was swarming with the Watch. Talked to a few of them I knew, and they mentioned someone matching your description being carted off. So I started coming over here, see if I could get you out, protecting your hide. Then you almost stuck a hole in mine in return."


"Apologies, I was on edge," I said. "Thank you. Truly, thank you. That's no excuse, though. What excuse did you tell Arsene?"


Tolman's husband knew me from the real old days. It's why he'd forbidden his spouse from helping me out, for good reason.


"Eh, wanted to go drinking. It was his turn to take care of the children, I think he was just glad I wasn't going to the fighting ring. I think he'd prefer anything to that."


"If you believe that, maybe tell him who you spent your night with," I replied. "I don't know who he'd try to kill first, you or me."


"Considering he's married to me and told me once the only reason god let you walk on earth was to serve as an example of what not to do in life, I think you."


"Your husband always excelled in threat assessment. He'll find out that you are out here with me sooner or later, I imagine. What will you tell him then?"


"That we both owe you, and he'll learn to live with it. So, what happened to get you thrown in the Coffin?"


I paused, considering my words. Watch members tailing me would be certain, but would they be close enough to overhear us? Best not to risk that.


"A most exciting day. First, I got mixed up with this gang member, as you know. Then I get thrown in a prison cell and interrogated by a rather rude detective about my involvement. There was a bright spot, though: I met Mr. Voltar and Mr. Dawes in person. The esteemed detective and his trusty partner in the flesh. Can you even begin to guess how lucky I must have gotten Tolman?"


Tolman was currently trying not to look like he'd missed a step at me mentioning Voltar and Dawes. "Lucky, that's a way of putting it. Worth going to jail for it?"


"Oh, please. I wasn't in jail. I was merely being detained for questioning."


"Jail is jail. They ask you anything?"


"A few different questions. I was forced to admit my Sculpts, which might lead to some issues if others in the district find out I've been trying to look…well, less Infernal. And I don't want Scaligi getting in trouble."


There, a juicy bone tossed to whoever might be listening for why I'd hidden my Sculpts. It wouldn't hold up to much scrutiny. It might get them chasing Scaligi, which would be interesting to watch from the sidelines.


Scaligi had been dead for eighteen years now. It didn't stop people in the District from pretending he was alive to throw the Watch off. No one would ever find the body.


We'd reached far enough away from the Coffin that the city's nightlife was beginning to appear. We kept a fair distance from the most drunken of the night-time residents. We weren't in Infernal District territory yet. Anyone not an Infernal could be the worst kind of drunk to an Infernal. The ones where alcohol would help convince them that no one would care what you did to an Infernal.


Only a few races ranked lower than us on that totem pole. The Rats. The Moles. The Keltish, who, despite being human, apparently were considered even lesser than us just for being from a slightly smaller island.


I guessed foreigners from far-off lands were even lower. The newspapers certainly thought so.


"I think worrying about Scaligi should be low on your list of priorities. You're not worried about those two having their eye on you?"


"Of course not. I've hardly done anything wrong. I don't see any reason why this needs to be more than an abnormal incident to be put in the past."


Hopefully, that's all it would be. I didn't need any of this back in my life. Occasional trips to the jail for suspicion of crimes were fine, maybe even a stay of a year or two. Unwanted figures from my past resurfacing? I'd rather live permanently in the Underground and be concerned about giant ants eating through my walls.


You didn't have to worry about the ramifications of killing giant ants. You just killed them.


"Falara? Were you going to say anything else? Falara?"


That jerked me out of contemplation. "Sorry, I was lost in thought."


"As you do. What about?"


"Giant ants."


Tolman visibly struggled to respond to that one. His mouth worked silently for a few moments as his face worked its way through a platter of emotions before settling on incredulity.


I cut off whatever he was about to say. "Forget about the giant ants. Did you have any plans for tonight before coming to make sure I was okay?"


"Well, since you're alright, I might grab a pint, nurse that for a bit. Head home a few hours after."


"You and Arsene aren't on the outs, are you?"


"No. I just want a break. If you think you're opposed to me trying Ironhand Jack, you should have heard his argument with me over it."


"He's probably -"


"I don't want to discuss it. Are you going anywhere besides your house tonight? Definitely not the lab?"


"Definitely not the lab Tolman. I don't think I'd have time even if I wanted to. I need to be up by 6:30 tomorrow. Although," I considered the tails undoubtedly following us. "I may have a reason to stop in the tavern. Briefly. Not the Hells' Own, that would take me too far past my apartment. I don't want to cross the Infernal District's heart twice."


"The Palms, then?"


"Does the owner still insist on an all-vegetable platter?"


"Yes, but I thought you just wanted a drink."


"I haven't had the opportunity to eat since morning. Outside of the Watch trying to have me eat a rodent. A sandwich might be in order. Say about this big?"


As I brought my hands up to mime the size of my preferred meal, I quickly flashed a few signs at him.


Compensation needed coat.


Three words had been all I could manage to obscure. It received a raised eyebrow in response. "Can you even fit a sandwich of that size in you?"


"I'm starving. Carnly's?"


If Tolman's eyebrow had raised before, it threatened to separate from his head now. I'd named an old name from our time with Versalicci, and he knew why.


"I was just there last week," he said. "Old man's eyesight is fading, so don't be shocked if the order ends up wrong. Sure you're game for it? Their food is pretty spicy. And we already talked earlier about how you don't like stronger drinks. You want to make a meal out of both of those?"


"I'm going to have to. It's the closest place to my route home. After that, I'm collapsing in my bed after doing two things."


"And what might those be?"


"Cleaning and a good tonic to ease my sleep. I really do need to be up early."


That wasn't a lie. I needed to see Halmon, see what ingredients might have fallen off the back of the wagon or were in shallow grave and were now for sale. Failing that, finding who had given him that initial tip. The extract I'd made from the dead wyvern's brain seemed very fortunately timed.


I doubted the poisonings would stop. One was an isolated incident, two a coincidence. If a third occurred, it would be a pattern, one I intended to profit off of if it wouldn't kill me first.


Unfortunately, I had two matters to take care of before I could drift off unburdened to my dreams: the box and making sure my lab was undisturbed.


That meant losing my tail. The figurative one, not the literal one currently curled around my leg. Which meant going to Carnly's. I couldn't imagine the old man would recognize me, considering he couldn't recognize Tolman, but I'd avoided him till now like I did most of Versalicci's associates.


We'd be forced to meet again by necessity. There was no better way to lose a tail.

 

[saithor]

Carnly's was just ahead on the right, and I could already hear the raucous sounds of the night crowd. Two patrons stumbled out and almost immediately began losing their meals on the side of the street. Light drinkers.


"Do me a favor and order for me if you don't mind," I said to Tolman. "If you'll pardon me for being crude, I couldn't really relieve myself in the cell either. Could you order my sandwich and drink? Mead, lightly sulfured, and surprise me on the sandwich? I've not been here before, I'll trust in your experience with their menu."


Were any of my Watch tails magically inclined? How precise were these tracers?


I'd find out the answers to both very soon.


We entered Carnly's, walking through a haze of tobacco smoke. I barely spared a glance at the interior, just confirming it was a crowded night, and immediately headed to a doorway next to the bar. The clientele hadn't changed much since I'd first started coming here. You went to Carnly's because you were out of other options or for the different services he offered.


At least it was only tobacco smoke these days.


I spent as little time as possible in the public area of the tavern. Loyalty was cheap in Carnly's, and I wouldn't be hard to identify here. A somewhat decent dress or bloodstained clothes on their own wouldn't be remarkable here. Both? Everyone would remember that.


An employee lay slumped near the doorway, pretending to be asleep. Underneath a slanted hat, eyes would be watching me.


"I want to talk to the Old Man about losing some tails," I said. My eyes flicked back towards the entrance. How long would I have till the Watch came in?


The employee looked me over, then nodded. "Door's open. The Old Man will be able to talk to you in a bit."


I strode through quickly, closing the door most of the way. I left a crack to peer through, watching the tavern. Tolman had settled in at the bar, already ordering his own meal and a sandwich I would unfortunately never eat.


Three of the Watch walked in a half minute later. A pair of infernals presenting as male and female, and a gnome. They'd tried to dress down to fit the district, but there was no taking the Watchperson out of some people. One of the infernals immediately went towards the bathrooms, one went towards the side entrance, and the gnome sat down next to Tolman.


Within seconds, they were amiably chatting with each other.


Sighing, I considered what I was doing. This was not going to allay watch suspicions, but Katheryn Falara was already a person of interest to them for various dealings, so her trying to ditch a tail would be expected. Going to Carnley's might suggest a level of connection to the underworld greater than I wanted, but it wasn't out of character.


Of course, it would make them more suspicious of me in the short term, but I could live with that if it meant getting rid of whatever Versalicci's box was without anyone seeing. After that, nothing I would be doing should make any more suspicions arise and I could quietly wait things out.


Hearing the sound of a wheel on wood behind me, I turned around.


Carnly had traded his cane for a wheelchair but was still a cantankerous old geezer, staring at me with squinting eyes. His skin was more brittle, and the signs of age were more visible but still recognizably Carnly. My eyes glanced at the sawed-off stumps of his horns. You never got used to seeing them on the oldest among us. A relic of a time when they'd been banned along with any other physical trace of our infernal blood. There'd be a matching stump where his tail used to be.


"You're new," he said.


"Kathryn Falara. I'm with Tolman, but more importantly, I am willing to pay well for a good change of clothes."


Carnly frowned. "I don't like new customers bursting back here, especially with Watch on their tails. It stinks of something I'm not risking my neck for. Especially when I don't know if you're Watch yourself."


Maybe staying away from here for so long wasn't the best idea. Carnly had no frame of reference for me not being an undercover watch officer, and I could hardly call Tolman over. I knew other customers of his as Falara, but I hadn't seen any of them here.


"You can talk to Blind Marsel, Keevo, Dressa Varacts. They will attest I'm no member of the Watch."


I received an unenthused grunt in reply. I couldn't waste time negotiating for long. The Watch would have figured out I wasn't in the bathroom by now. Even assuming one was grilling Tolman, it wouldn't take long for the other two to search most of the tavern's floor space.


"Triple your usual rate."


He weighed the offer for a few seconds, and I became uncomfortably aware of raised voices behind me.


"Done. Dovel, open up!"


One of the large casks swung open, revealing itself as a fake. Easily large enough for someone to slip through, a door-shaped hole dominated the newly revealed surface. Another Infernal waited on the other side.


I wasted no time running for it, and it swiftly closed behind me.


I could still hear behind me, even if the words weren't clear. Muffled as they were, they were definitely audible, and for that reason, my own mouth remained firmly shut.


The conversation continued. I could guess the framework of it. Someone had seen me duck back here. The Watch, not bothering with disguises anymore, would have come back here. Carnly would claim he did not know me, and invite them to search back here. They'd keep that up for a little bit.


The barrel moved a little bit, the sound of a hammer. I could make out Carnly yelling about them wasting his good liquor. There was some alcohol stored in a small section in the front for demonstration purposes.


The trackers must not be very precise. They could only tell I was still in the building.


The other infernal watched me dispassionately. A hand on a flintlock was a decent warning. Do anything to give away this back room exists, you take a bullet in exchange.


I heard the conversation trail off, the sound of people moving away. The fading squeak of Carnly's wheelchair then the door closing.


Dovel immediately stowed his pistol away and led me inside. Wooden stalls lined one side of the room; on the other, a massive series of bins contained assortments of clothes.


Dovel shoved a piece of paper with a list of names into my hands. "You know how this operates?"


"Tolman's told me the basics." I'd done it myself several times before. Trade out your clothes for a new selection from whatever Carnly has. A beggar would be given the clothes a few hours after you left and would then head off, along with any trackers that might be in the clothing. Leave any other possessions and come back to grab them at a later time.


A simple but effective countermeasure once tracking sorcery had become more commonly used.


"Select a name on the list; a beggar will be told the clothes came from this person. Might want to pick a woman's name since you're ditching the dress."


The list was people either dead or thought dead. Ah, perfect.


"Malvia…Harrow? Is that really a last name?"


"One she ended up getting for lack of an actual one."


I did have a last name, but I could hardly argue the point. The street name had stuck more firmly.


"I'll go with that one. I would love to hear the story of how that name-"


"Doesn't matter. She's long dead and buried underground. I'll let whatever bum is willing to wear your clothes know. Take the first stall on the left and hang the clothing over the door to be collected. You have three minutes to get the clothes off, half an hour to pick out your new ones. I'll show you the way out when you're done. There'll be a bin in the stall, if nothing works, I'll have one of the girls wheel in another bin. Any weapons and other stuff we'll hold onto till you're ready to collect it."


I didn't waste any time. It was a pity to get rid of everything, but I did not want the Watch tracking me, especially to my destinations for tonight. Given a little more time, I would have seen how to find what tracers had been planted and salvaged the clothes.


Well, looking at the bloodied, torn-up nature of my dress salvage may be a bit too hopeful.


Sighing, I slid my saber under the stall door. It had served me well, and even if I had another at home, it felt wrong to get rid of this one so quickly.


"Stop getting so sentimental," I scolded myself. "You'll be collecting it tomorrow."


I quickly removed my clothes and everything else on my person but my coin purses and keyring. Was there a chance a tracker was among them? It was entirely possible. Would I trust Carnly with my money? Absolutely not. The same went for my keys.


I turned my attention to the clothes bin, picking through the options.


I could do a variation of my old standby, albeit with sizes that would fit my new frame. However, best not to give Carnly any indications of who I really was. In hindsight, picking my own name had probably been a mistake.


I settled for a dull grey greatcoat, a blouse, and trousers, both in dark blue. Not the most inspired choices, they were unlikely to draw comments on the street. They generally fit and were in decent enough condition. A rather large hat that definitely did not fit didn't help the ensemble but did help conceal my face.


My old clothes were already missing from the stall door. They were destined for some beggar in some mockery of charity.


One could only hope the Watch wasn't too rough with him, her, or them when the coppers realized they'd been had.


I opened the stall door and was greeted by both Carnly and Dovel. The old man grinned, threatening to split his face in half with its wideness.


"Before we let you go, gotta cough up your pay girl. Twenty pounds."


I reached for my purse. "I thought the rate is usually four pounds. We agreed on triple the normal rate."


"Well, tonight it's whatever a third of twenty is."


"Fourteen?"


"Twenty," Carnly insisted, and Dovel's hand went to his pistol. "Or the watch finds out you were in my storage room all along."


I sighed. There wasn't much negotiation. I didn't have enough to cover that in my usual coinpurse. I pulled out the advance from Lord Montague, and counted the coins out one at a time inside the bag. No reason to hint how many were actually in there.


From the look in Carnly's eye, he already had a pretty good guess. The entire district would know about my newfound wealth by tomorrow. Had he already known, or had he just gotten very lucky in trying to pressure me?


It didn't matter. I handed Carnly his coins and tried to resist the urge to cut into his face.


"Your Watch tails have already left, so you can leave whenever you want."


Probably best to leave now. Even if there were other ones lurking around keeping an eye out in case I showed up again, the sooner I got this done, the sooner I'd be able to sleep in my own bed.


My stomach grumbled. Maybe I should have just let the tails follow me and head home. My lab could wait till tomorrow, and I should be trying to avoid my other destination.


At the bare minimum, I should be grabbing a sandwich.


Sighing, I turned around, considering going back and rejoining Tolman at the bar. Order a sandwich, take it easy, and leave things till tomorrow. Get drunk, enjoy some time with a friend.


Maybe another night.


***


The ruins of Halspus cathedral glowed in the night air, pure white light suffusing the surfaces of toppled walls.


I eyed them nervously as I approached. Spilling blood must have triggered some of the magic still infused in the church or an entity bound to it. Either way, no one in the surrounding buildings had kept their lights on.


They probably barricaded their windows for all the good that would do if something unleashed a wave of divine magic here.


No one appeared to be keeping watch. Perhaps the Watch had given up on maintaining a presence this deep in the Infernal District. More likely, the assigned members had decided to partake in drinking, the most celebrated of the Watch's civil duties among its members. It used to be you'd find the Watch doing that more than their actual job.


It's less common these days, but removing all the old dregs from a barrel took time. Possibly forever.


Then again, they might just be hiding, lying in wait, and observing who came and went. At least they wouldn't be hearing my stomach give me away. I had lingered long enough to grab a sandwich and briefly talk to Tolman before leaving Carnly's.


Hidden away from the view of society from polite to rude on the unlit streets of the Infernal District, I'd devoured that sandwich in a way that would be declared profane if people had seen me. In my defense, it was a remarkably good sandwich. I should let Tolman order my food more often.


It was tempting to hand it off to Voltar and let him and Versalicci spar with each other while I slunk off into the distance. Delivering it to the City Watch would have the same effect and hopefully take some of their attention off of me. But that would mean antagonizing Versalicci instead.


I didn't have any affection for him, but he'd apparently known who I was and chosen to leave me alone. Delivering the box to his enemies could easily change that.


Enough debating myself. I needed to get this done quickly. I moved towards the ruins, trying to stick to the shadows. It was a bit difficult when half the ruins were glowing, but I did what I could.


The bodies were gone, although bloodstains and tiny puddles of foul-smelling dried acid dotted the ground. This close, their acrid stench burned my nostrils. No weapons, even the remnants of glass from my vials, were gone. They'd picked the scene clean.


The glowing chunks of rubble were entirely inside the old church's boundaries. That did not include where I'd stashed the box earlier today.


I approached nervously, half-expecting the glowing white light to reach out and zap me for the temerity of spilling blood near the cathedral. Rumors abounded there was still an angel bound to it. I doubted that having Infernals polluted with the bloodline of its sworn enemies living all around them made the celestial happy.


Still, I reached where I'd hidden the box without the divine smiting me. Perhaps the gods smiled at me?


Doubtful. I'd already been born in their bad books, and I doubted that much of what I'd done in the last few years had moved me out of them.


I reached through the crevice I had put the box and found nothing but rough stone in there.


I didn't feel around any further. I brought my arm back and quickly walked away, keeping an eye out for any surprise Watchmen.


None surfaced. Duty was indeed a dead concept to whoever was supposed to keep watch.


So, the box was gone. Someone had clearly taken it. That or it had phased through solid stone.


I suspected many things about Versalicci. His getting his claws around a phase-beast in a box was not high on the list.


My step was lighter, and my heart a bit less heavy as I walked through the alleys. I greeted a few drunks along the way with a customary greeting of polite disengagement and the occasional slap with a hand or tail if they tried grabbing me.


Whoever had taken the box was none of my concern. I could quietly slink back to my old life, thoroughly disentangled from my bloodline. It wouldn't mean moving myself and my mother, which was a relief.


Now I just needed to check the lab and this day would finally, finally be over.

 

[saithor]

The Infernal District lit up at night.

No oil streetlamps, of course. Even as old as those were, they'd only made it to the district's outskirts. Instead, assortments of lanterns and interior candles lit up the district. The city operated some of those, but most were not and would flicker off as their owners went to bed. No one wanted to use up fuel they didn't need.

Money was tight here. Some were born who didn't know the feeling of having to keep track of every half-penny. Those lucky few. I had not numbered among their ranks. I remembered scraping and clawing for anything I could grasp, not long after they'd kicked my mother into the district for birthing me.

Saying every Infernal was poor or a member of the District would be an outright lie, but for the majority, both those facts held true. Even to the other scum of the empire, devil blood marked you as scum, so the other slums were out. Anything higher than that was more polite in their methods, but the results were the same. Very few escaped the district.

Those who did typically tried it via the military, but most of them ended up slinking back here after their tours of duty. The guarantees were for them alone, not for families, although some were lobbying to change that. You either were a couple hoping both survived your tour, or you escaped to the Fields by yourself.

The other solution to leaving the district was a truly staggering amount of money. Or trying to leave the empire. That rarely ended well.

I wrinkled my nose, having just escaped the grasp of the district's lone tannery. Another indication of our disfavored status. Tanneries were kept on the outskirts of towns precisely because of this stench, but Infernals had to stay within working distance of the district. And Jasper Leatherworks was one of the most stable employers around.

Most people just pretended not to notice the smell, although I would have to bathe if I didn't want to stink of the leatherwork. It seemed a minor complaint but one that would be avoidable if we were just allowed to move from the district.

The situation wasn't much better elsewhere in the empire. Every city had its Infernal District, and rural towns and villages were much less tolerant of us than the cities.

In fairness, our forefathers and mothers were responsible in part for the Infernal Empire when the Prince Below married the Princess Above. It took time to pay off the crimes committed back then. The scars from those reigns still lay deep, healing slowly or not at all.

Some might call it unfair but given the choice between today and the historical suggestions of Duke Brixton? That the elimination of the Infernal Taint should not end at Her Most Profane Highness Inferna? I'd take this over our entire race being extinguished.

The night streets were bare enough that you could keep a dozen feet between yourself and anyone else the entire time.

It hadn't always been like this. Back when I ran with Voltar, the district had five times the Infernals it did now. The aftermath of his downfall, the riots, and heavy conscription since had reduced it to a more manageable size, leaving many buildings unoccupied.

They were filling back up, though. In some ways, comparing us to vermin did hold true.

"Alms for a war veteran, miss?"

An Infernal lay against the wall, rags drawn closely around them. Usually, you had about a hundred fake veterans along your path, begging for whatever coins they could get.

I gave this one a once-over and was inclined to believe he told the truth. Waxy, disfigured skin, with patches of it pale like the color had been drained out of it?

"You get back from the fight with the Avenlanders?" I asked.

He gave me a grin lacking half of its teeth. "Earlier campaign than that, miss. Claiming underground land from the dwarfs. Got sprayed by some fire-spitting thing of theirs. Got lucky."

"I have a few pounds I can spare, just a second."

Very lucky indeed to survive the alchemist's fire with only discolored skin, but I was inclined to believe him. It would be easier to disguise yourself as a veteran of Avenland.

"They say they're going to open up the Fields for us!" The beggar said.

Others on the street paused, trying to see what the noise was about. Me, I finished counting out three pounds in small coinage. I could afford to be generous today, despite the efforts of leeches like Carnly.

"Get yourself some good food. Maybe some better clothing. Even if you've found an abandoned building, it will get cold come winter."

Winter's bite always took lives, even with so many uninhabited buildings to break into and claim as your own. The quality of building here after the Infernal Empire had always been abysmal. And the sellers of oil and coal knew when people would be at their most desperate to buy fuel to keep their families warm.

My lab was one of those buildings that'd been cleared out as the population had been bled out of the district. Setting it up between two different apartments had been burdensome, especially until I'd taken a week to put a hole in the wall between them.

It took ten more minutes to reach there, sparing a quick check on one of the ground floor buildings. It seemed the landlord I rented these apartments from was out. If only the landlady for my actual apartment was gone as often as he was.

I walked inside the darkness, a little unnerved. Inside, there was barely any noise, only muffled sounds from outside seemingly coming out of the dark. Usually, I appreciate both. Tonight, it would have been a little reassuring knowing someone else was in here.

I could smell the chemicals, their scent leaking out the door. I'd sealed everything inside but some smells simply permeated. I hadn't opened a window in a while to air it out, and the apartments weren't well equipped for cycling air in and out.

I stifled a yawn as I put the key in the door's lock. I had a few tinctures to keep myself alert and awake. They were all smashed, courtesy of that tussle with the Pure-bloods.

Just as well. Every hour staved off was paid with another hour slept when it wore off, and I couldn't afford an entire day. Hopefully, I would be able to spare some time in the future. Right now, sleeping a full twelve hours sounded beautiful.

After opening up my door, the smell became much worse. Okay, something had broken. Likely, one of the other tenants had done an experiment that had rocked the building just enough to knock a jar off of its shelf. I took a few more tentative sniffs. Lionseed oil.

Some good news in that. At least it was a cheaper ingredient and one whose fumes weren't dangerous. Just annoying in how it stank. And would stink for at least a week.

Something had probably fallen over. I'd been still readjusting my lab, bringing in the equipment and ingredients Lady Kersin had given me as part of her payment.

Sighing, I reached for an oil lantern, only to find it missing. Strange. I'd left one on the counter by the door. Instead, my hands closed around a set of scales I used to weigh ingredients.

I turned towards the cupboards to put them back, wondering if I'd just forgotten moving any of this.

I knew I'd closed this one before leaving. I hadn't moved anyth-

I could hear someone behind me move, and I began to turn. Before I could two hands grasped me by the upper arm. I tensed, waiting for a blow, but nothing else came.

Had they just grabbed me around my biceps like that was supposed to stop me?

"Alright, you're going to tell me where your cures for Angel's Sorrow are right now-"

That's what this was about? Oh, Lord Montague was about to find my price much higher than agreed upon. Lifting my leg, I lashed backward with a hoof.

My hoof smashed into the intruder's shin, and they let me go with a cry of pain. I whirled around to face them.

"This is my lab! You'll tell me what you were doing here right now!"

The darkness obscured them, but I could see them hopping around in pain. Excellent, I could aim my next blow.

I kicked again, hoof impacting right where their legs intercepted. To my dismay, they did not immediately crumple on the spot but instead rushed me.

I moved out of the way, hoof lashing out again at their knee. I hadn't hit metal? Did they use Biosculpting to remove their genitals? Some did. Ah well, it didn't matter.

Growling, the intruder turned once again, reaching for something in their coat. They still moved fluidly despite the blows to the leg. Reinforced bone? They looked relatively slim to have had their skeleton reinforced. It wouldn't matter. I was going to dismantle this one thoroughly.

"I don't want to do this-" They started to say.

My hoof hit their nose, and I felt something give way underneath it. They collapsed to the floor, grasping at their nose.

I leaned down, staring at the intruder. I'd bite this one's throat out as a warning to any others who would think to try and rob me-Shut up!

The distraction from the diabolism cost me. The intruder sprang back to their feet and rammed their head forward directly into mine.

My vision grew fuzzy as my hands reflexively released theirs. My thought became disorganized as I reeled back. I…reducing my horn size had really made my forehead weaker, hadn't it?

The stranger was running for the door. Odds were they had a key.

They fumbled with the door handle as soon as they reached it. I ran at them, reaching for an empty flask on the table.

They rammed the door with their shoulder. I brought the flask down on their head. Glass shattered, and they groaned, trying to turn around.

My fist rammed into the side of their throat. A second blow to their stomach, and they went down.

Vision blurry and my head fuzzy, I grabbed the intruder's shirt shoulders. I dragged them along the floor, ignoring their groans of protest.

Dragging them to my testing closet, I shoved them inside and quickly checked the interior. Nothing besides a small table was there, so I quickly pulled it out.

They were twitching, almost regaining consciousness when I returned. They were human and probably male. Bit of a strange-looking one, hair growing haphazardly across their face, nose looking decidedly unsymmetrical. Oh, that might be from my kick. Who they were was a mystery for tomorrow. They'd just started to move as I shut the door and locked it.

The closet door shuddered as its new occupant tried to break it down.

"I wouldn't bother," I said. "It's a very thick door. If you couldn't knock me out, you're definitely not making it out of there. You're in my little testing place where I put chemicals to stew that might be a bit explosive."

The handle rattled in response, mixed with a desperate yell for help.

"Oh, calm down. I don't have anything in there at the moment. You should be quite safe for the night. I'll be back to see you in the morning."

The rattling only intensified, along with the screaming. I frowned. If they yelled loud enough, somebody outside may hear them.

"I wouldn't suggest keeping that up for very long either. It's already rather muffled; it'll be even lower outside the building itself, and frankly, no one who hears it will care. May as well save your voice."

That did not work either, as the yelling continued. Sighing, I looked around for something to put under the door to muffle the noise. Some rags I used for poultices would have to do.

Before I stuffed them into the gap, I decided to try one last time to end this tonight. "If you choose to answer some questions now, you can make it out of there even earlier. Otherwise, I'm coming back tomorrow with some friends, and we'll get some answers then. Where did you get a key from? The fact you're alive tells me you have one."

There was still no response besides continued screaming. I shrugged. They could have it their way. They weren't going to die from half a day without water or food, and if they ended up relieving themselves, I'd cleaned nastier from my lab.

Honestly, having another thing added to my schedule for tomorrow was just an annoyance.

I found a whale-oil lantern and lit it. Most of my cupboards were open, and somebody had scattered the store ingredients about. Most were unopened, with the exception of a few such as the Lionseed. The counters mainly had been cleared, although nearly everything had been put carefully on the ground. They must have planned to do this with as little indication of being here as possible.

I worked on resealing the ingredients, and by the time I was done, the intruder was still yelling for help.

Ignoring the screaming, I moved to one of the walls. The secret compartment hadn't been disturbed. Grabbing a chisel, I demolished the quick-drying cement I'd used to conceal the compartment. The rock box was brick-shaped and looked like one when slotted into the wall.

Putting it on the counter, I lit a candle. Eight bottles left. Two were reserved for Lord Montague's son, leaving another six for future clients. Assuming the poisonings kept happening.

It was an ill thing to wish for, but I needed the money.

I left, locking the door and leaving the intruder behind me. Head aching, I began the walk home and hopefully to a bed to sleep in.

 

[saithor]

The following day began with tea.


I stared at my small teapot, focusing on counting the seconds. It helped distract me from the pounding also on the inside of my head.


I'd come here after waiting outside my lab for half an hour. Making sure that the intruder didn't just have a key to all my locks, or the tools to pick it, or even just a weapon to work his way through eventually had taken out a chunk of my night.


They deserved their freedom if they'd been patient enough to either work at it for longer or wait that long before starting.


That had been my sleepy reasoning as I'd tiredly trodded my way home. Woken-up Falara was currently not very happy with sleepy Falara's decision-making.


Oh, enough time had passed! I poured the teapot's water out, put the leaves in, and poured in more hot water.


There were a few more minutes of waiting. I grabbed the milk while I waited, pouring some into my cup. I kept my movements slow and deliberate after my first attempt to get up had ended with my face smacking into the floor.


My body and mind were tired, and I needed something, anything, to prepare me for today. A quick rinse and scrub before I'd lain down to bed to erase the tannery stench had been my only path to sleep. I needed something else to serve for the morning. Tea would be my salvation. Oh, it should be done boiling.


I poured it into the cup, as close to the rim as I risked it. I needed to be alert today. So much would have to be done because I couldn't afford to have anything occur during tomorrow afternoon.


Sitting down on an uneven chair, I ignored its tottering as its shortened fourth leg made it shift underneath me. I focused instead on the cup.


A darker tea, since I couldn't afford any better, but any tea would be a salve for a tired body and mind. Grabbing the cup in both hands, I brought it to my lips and took a sip.


Bliss.


Someone hammered on my door, the noise like a gunshot right next to my ear.


I dropped the cup reflexively and then watched it shatter on my floor.


"Shit," I muttered tiredly, then immediately rebuked myself.


Katheryn Falara did not use vulgar terms like that. I'd broken character twice now, both in and out of my head. One of these days, I'd mess up with someone around, and they would know something was wrong.


Even small cracks in the mask could become greater if I let it. Become Katheryn Falara. I'd put too much effort into wanting to be here to let those cracks form now.


The pounding continued, and it felt like the knocking was hitting me right in the side of the head. Who had just broken my cup? It wasn't a particularly expensive cup but it was the principle of thing…the hammering on the door happened again, each blow mirroring the pounding in my head.


"Just a moment, please!" I said, trying to gather fragments of the cup off the floor. Be calm, be polite, be ruthless in negotiations but not in attitude. Be Katheryn Falara.


I was thankful I'd already dressed, a long ankle-length skirt and blouse covered in a coat. Even with my windows shut, the cold still seeped in.


The hammering happened, matched by my flinching every time. I hurriedly put what fragments I'd collected on my table.


Approaching the door, I could hear arguing between two familiar voices.


"-listen to me you vagrant, I was here first, and besides my matter is more pressing-"


"-fuck off you brightly colored peacock, I got my own thing I need to talk to the miss about, and you ain't going to stop me-"


My headache already intensified as I grabbed my door handle. I opened it, revealing two figures behind.


The first was well-dressed by the standards of the quarter, green skin flushed red, monocle on the verge of falling off his face. He argued with the second, whose clothes could best be described as tatters stretched over indigo skin, a ratty beard descending from his chin.


Kalaysp and Varrow were two people I knew but hadn't expected and didn't particularly want to see.


I knew Kalaysp professionally. We both plied the same trade, the shady alchemist with everything you could want in a bottle. Just ignore anything off about us and how we source our ingredients, and we won't ask anything about what you use our creations for. It was a rather profitable business in a city this large and lacking in the morals priests said we needed to keep to. Not that they were any better at it.


They tended to pay some of the highest prices away from their pulpits.


Kalaysp being here was abnormal. We rubbed elbows professionally, of course, but never privately. I'd never guessed he knew where I lived.


Varrow was a vagrant from the streets, and I knew exactly why he was here.


"Mr. Kalaysp, Mr. Varrow. I'd say it's a good morning, but so far for me it has not. What has brought both of you to my doorstep at such an early hour?"


It couldn't be more than five in the morning—six at the earliest. The rays of whichever sun had risen were barely visible.


Kalaysp spoke first. "Miss Falara, it's a pleasure to see you, but first might I ask if we can remove this vagrant as he has repeatedly offered me offense-"


"Take your fancy words and screw yourself with them, you little shit. I've got just as much right to see her as you do, and I ain't no vagrant either."


Their voices echoed inside my head, their volume like screws to my ears. I winced and tried to cut off their arguing.


"Gentlemen, please don't yell. My ears can only take so much."


"I wasn't yelling. Was I yelling, vagrant?" Kalaysp asked.


"Fuck off. Also, no he was not."


Oh gods I'd probably picked up some disease off the Pure-bloods, or that jail cell, or whoever that intruder stuck in the closet was. No matter.


"Gentlemen, I'm dealing with a few things, and I had a rather busy day yesterday, but I will take some time out of it to deal with whatever has brought you here. As long as you speak softly. Now, who was here first, and what do both of you want?"


"A business proposition. It should take only a few minutes of your time," Kalaysp said.


Varrow coughed, a wet hacking one that made Kalaysp put some room between them.


"I need some medicine again, miss. And I'm not waiting for this fancy-horn blowhard to talk with you while I'm here wasting away."


"You mean you want drugs to sell to someone for three times their normal cost," Kalaysp sneered.


Unfortunate as it may be, that was decently close to the truth. "Your last dose was not that long ago, Mr. Varrow, but if you'll wait just a moment?"


His expression screamed an argument coming, so I kept talking.


"It takes time to prepare. You'd have to wait, so please hold on for a few minutes. Mr. Kalaysp, please come inside?"


My apartment was a tight little affair: two rooms, a bathroom, and a closet. This first room was my kitchen, table, reading nook, and everything the bedroom could not serve. There was enough room for two people to sit down comfortably, which was the way I preferred it.


If things ever got too dangerous, I would just kick down the table, blocking off access to half the room for long enough for me to escape out the window without needing to jump through it. Cheap glass was not the safest surface to leap through.


The furniture might be second-hand and falling apart, the chimney might get clogged at times, and the walls might be made of chipped wood and be a bit too thin for winter, but it was enough for me. I did not want to receive guests, so I usually did my dealings at Hells' Own.


"Well, this is my home. A little modest but comfortable enough."


Kalasyp didn't reply. He had instead spotted my teapot, I realized to mounting horror.


"Oh, you brewed some tea?"


"I…yes." Please don't ask for a cup


"Do you mind if I have a cup? I had a long day yesterday."


He'd had a long day? Had he been in the Coffin for hours on end? Had he fought a pack of human racist gang members? Been interrogated by the never to be sufficiently damned Voltar? Fought an intruder in his own lab? Been extorted by that leech Carnly? Has his morning tea been interrupted and his cup shattered by someone pounding incessantly on his door?


Kalasyp seemed focused on a particular part of my face. Was my eye twitching? My eye was probably twitching.


"Of course, you can have a cup. Give me one second, and let me get some new cups and clean up my other one. Please sit down."


"Should we see if that vagrant outside wants some?"


You know, indulging in my diabolism-induced urges to consume sentient flesh was beginning to sound somewhat rational at this moment.


"Please don't insult Mr. Varrow. He's not a vagrant." He probably has some building he's currently squatting in. "Mr. Varrow, do you want a cup of tea?"


From my still-open door, Varrow poked his head in. "Tea? Can't stand the stuff. Got some coffee?"


I beamed at the joy of keeping at least one cup of the precious drink. "None brewed at this time. I can have some ready by the time I'm done with Mr. Kalaysp?"


"That sounds alright. I can wait." Varrow said.


"You could try some. It's a rather excellent drink with the right brand. I assume Falara is using a good brand. You are, aren't you?" Kalaysp said.


"We should respect Mr. Varrow's wishes," I said, maintaining a polite tone. "You wanted to discuss something, Mr. Kalasyp?"


"There's no reason he can't try both drinks."


There is a reason, my teapot only has three servings, and you two already ruined one!


"Not interested," Varrow said. "Tried the stuff a few times. Disagrees with me. Coffee's got more kick to it anyway."


Huzzah! I poured both cups, then restarted the process they so rudely interrupted.


"Hrrm. Black tea. Flavors are a bit strong. Admiral Givens I think? Not the worst, I suppose," Kalaysp said.


I ignored him, focused on my cup as the pounding in my head lessened to a low, distant ache.


Perhaps an exaggeration, but by the time I finished my cup, the world was infinitely more bearable than it had been a few moments ago.


"Is the business proposition you wanted to discuss something you want to be kept private?" I asked.


"Yes, but don't bother with the door. I imagine he'll just listen in through it."


Varrow gave Kalasyp a pointed look, then reached in and pulled my door closed.


These two must have had their paths crossed at some point before. Kalasyp knew Varrow too well. Either that or Kalasyp held prejudices against the lower class I had never encountered before.


That was probably not the case. He would despise ninety percent of the district if he hated the poor.


I grabbed a three-tiered drip pot from my cupboard. Battered, it still functioned well enough. I put in a few cups of beans, poured water in the bottom, and hung it above the fire.


Kalasyp seemed reluctant to speak, the words seemingly stuck in his throat till he forced them out. "I have a client, several actually, whom I want you to care for for a few days. You'll be paid fairly for the work."


I frowned. This was new. "Perhaps employ Meloment to do it? I'm rather busy with clients at this time."


Kalsyp shook his head. "Meloment is also busy. Terminally so. He apparently tried to cheat some people in the docks who didn't appreciate it. Drasseck is underground, Litchen is out of town. Everyone else is also busy."


I winced. That was unfortunate. I'd have to send my condolences to the widow. "Gallows, perhaps? He's never busy."


His face scrunched up like I'd suggested chopping his limb off. "He's never busy because his quality is terrible, and his mixtures are trash. I try to get Gallows to cover these clients, they'll leave. These are good clients, Falara. They actually pay in money and not favors."


"If they're good clients, you'd do more to keep them. Instead, you're trying to pass them off on to me while pursuing where you think the real money is."


He was pursuing the same strategy as me, except in a worse fashion. I'd be slowly trading off existing clients for new ones and making sure all my dues were paid and no ill feeling left behind. He meanwhile was trying to switch the entire lot.


All in all, it sounded like a quick scheme to get money with a lot of risk. Kalasyp and Varrow had more in common than either would appreciate me saying.


Kalasyp frowned. "I could let you in on this opportunity if it helps?"


"It doesn't. But I'll help you out anyway. In return for the pay and the story of what you're doing once you've finished. And within reason. What are the names and the orders?"


He had a list ready, handing it over before I'd finished asking. "I can't say anything about the offer. I was told that if I did, I would lose the opportunity, along with the usual threats to my well-being that are part and parcel of these deals. I'm allowed to bring new people in for them to consider, but that is all."


"Of course," I said.


I was more focused on the list. Half of these names were outside the district, probably people who wanted alchemy in secret, much like Lord Montague. I recognized two of these names, though. I put the list down and flipped over the drip pot.


"You have two associates of Versalicci on this list?"


"Yes. Is that a problem?"


It wouldn't usually be one for Katheryn Falara. It would always be one with Malvia Davies. But I'd have an excuse for why Katheryn Falara would want to avoid them.


"I have a particular reason for wanting to avoid these people in public. It is workable but requires a bit of extra effort on my part."


"Are you entangled with the Black Flame gangs? I wouldn't have guessed such a thing."


Oh, I was entangled. More than even some of Versalicci's closest lieutenants may have guessed.


"I was involved in an incident yesterday involving a member of the gang, some human gang members, the Watch, and others. The member of the gang died, although not by me, and I tried to keep him alive, but there might be misunderstandings."


"It would only be the one time. I'll pay extra for both of them," Kalaysp said.


"How much would the pay be?" I asked. His main benefit would be keeping steady customers, so he could afford to be generous.


"Half of what they pay me, three-quarters for the Black Flame clients."


"Make it the full payment for the Black Flame clients and you have a deal. I am putting myself at greater risk there, and you don't want to miss a delivery to Black Flame."


He looked like he'd eaten a prune, but he nodded. "A deal then. I'll handle the payments when I return."


That sounded like a good reason to ask each client how much they usually paid for his services when I met them. Having him be the source for how much seemed the perfect way to be cheated.


"I do need these all completed by tomorrow."


Ah, a new issue. "I couldn't get to all of these till the day after," I said.


He frowned. "These clients expect punctuality. All of them. Tomorrow is necessary."


"How about any I don't get to till the day after tomorrow you only pay me half on then? So, a quarter per client?" I asked.


"Not what I would prefer, but fine."


We said our goodbyes, and he gave me a spare key to his lab. Soon, Kalaysp departed from my apartment.


With Kalaysp handled, now I could deal with the second problem that had landed on my doorstep.


Varrow had already come inside, taking Kalasyp's leaving as an implicit invitation to come in.


"Lungs acting up again, Mr. Varrow?"


He coughed, wet and phlegmy, the single sputter quickly turning into a fit as I kept a wary distance. The disease he had wasn't infectious, but he could have picked something new off the streets.


"Ain't it always them, Miss Falara?"


"And as always, you don't have the money to pay me right now?"


He had the decency to look ashamed for once. "I'll have it soon. I have something new lined up that will move some real cash. Just need some time to put it all together."


"I don't suppose I get any details before giving you another elixir for free?"


"Sorry, miss. You know how it is. If you tell anyone the details of anything, you're begging for a one-way trip to the hells."


Figured. I went for the closet I kept for remedies and potions here at home while Varrow enjoyed a cup of coffee.


I opened the door to rack upon rack of not just my small home stockpile of foodstuffs but a small variety of preserved goods. I had enough to last a week, no more, maybe a little less depending on when I last had picked up food.


Varrow was another part of my past, although he was unaware of that. I preferred to keep it that way, too. When I'd first run into him, I'd been shocked to see him alive. He should be dead, if not from his lung's disease then from someone finally getting tired of his blatant cons and knifing him.


Instead, he stayed alive and continued to be in defiance of all the world thrown at him. The ultimate survivor. I'd let myself fall for some of his cons during my first year as Falara. It added to her realness. The District was packed with hundreds of Varrows, and falling for at least one of their wiles was a rite of passage.


Even after I allowed myself as Falara to wise up, he'd attached himself to me ever since. He wasn't a particularly egregious one in terms of limpets, so I just went along with it.


He spoke up while I went through the closet shelves, finding the one with disease remedies.


"If you're having problems with Versalicci, maybe I could put a good word in with him. Him and I, we go way back. He holds me in high regard."


"And how do you know I am having problems with Versalicci?"


"I was listening in. Peacock bugger was right. Don't tell him that, though."


"Perish the thought, Mr. Varrow. But do tell me how you have the ear of the crime boss of the Black Flame?"


"I used to run with them, the Black Flame," Varrow said. "Member of the gang, tattoo, the whole package."


"I rather doubt that. I've heard you don't have an option to retire from that gang." I know for a fact you were never a member. "If you were part of it, where is the tattoo?"


"It faded away after all the years I've piled on. All this wear and tear, it gets to you, makes you look battered, takes away all your features."


"I've seen the tattoo Varrow. It's carved in, and either was enchanted or someone worked some form of permanent dye into it." Actually, it was Devil's blood, but Falara wouldn't know or suspect that.


"Alright, maybe I exaggerate my standing a little. But I did help teach members of their gang. Before they became members, back when they ruled the street, used to have my own little gang I was the head of."


I smiled. "You as the head of anything I have great trouble picturing."


He grinned back at me. "Hey. That was uncalled for. I did for a while. We were a merry little band, living charmed lifestyles."


We scrabbled, ate boots, and scammed folks in the District for what little coin anyone here had back then. In a way, I suppose you could call that charming. "I don't think having taught some of his foot soldiers will endear you too much to him."


"I did more than that; I trained some of his best people! Malvia Harrow, Sardasat Stoker, Gavlor Vertain, Mitlau Stricker, all learned the art of crime under my tutelage!"


Half of those names were lies. Gavlor had never worked under him, and Mitlau was an immigrant from an entirely different country. Also, everyone was dead except me.


"Dead names, Varrow. I used Malvia Harrow myself yesterday off the list at Carnly's."


He frowned. "Didn't know you knew old man Carnly."


"Tolman told me about the place. I needed their services. An unfortunate necessity of yesterday's events."


"Watch on your tail?"


"Oh, them definitely. Maybe others. But that is my problem, Mr. Varrow, not yours. How about instead of trying to convince Versalicci I'm on his side, you instead do some work for me when you're free? With my usual rates applying."


That meant fifty percent to paying off his tab, and fifty percent to stay in his pocket.


Varrow looked like I'd just put a vial full of piss in his hands. "I'll consider it."


He despised making an honest living in any shape or form. Desperation would lead to his asking me later this week, but only after his latest con came crashing around his horns.


"Well, don't consider it too long. This work might not be offered later, depending on how things are going."


Where had I put that syringe? It cost me quite a pretty penny to purchase, so I had better not have lost it or left it in the lab. Ah, there.


As soon as he saw it, Varrow went pale as a sheet. It was an impressive feat with skin that was a deep purple.


"What is that? It's usually a vial."


"You'll get the vial as well. This is an…for lack of a better term, it's an experiment."


"I ain't going to grow a second head or something like that, am I? I ain't going to have to murder a copy of myself or become some kind of fleshbeast trying to consume people or something like that? Because I'd been reading those thriller novels, and they've been real instructive."


I'd ask where he'd gotten his hands on those, but it would be wasted effort. Trashy novels on the dangers of arcane advancement were everywhere these days. "Of course not, Mr. Varrow. Firstly, most of what you've described is biosculpting, not alchemy. Secondly, I would never inflict that on you. Besides, I don't think the world would be ready for two of you. This will go into your upper arm. Let me just get some alcohol so we can sterilize it, and then I'll just poke you with a needle.


Varrow grew even paler. That honestly was rather impressive. Maybe I could pay him for a skin sample and see if there was something different about his pigmentation from other Infernals.


"It's just a tiny little needle, Varrow. It won't hurt a bit."


His mouth opened and closed several times until finally, a noise resembling a high-pitched warble came out, driving a spike of pain through my ear.


"I believe he's reacting to me, Ms. Falara," a familiar voice said behind me.


Internally sighing, I turned around to face its owner.


"Mr. Voltar, what a pleasure to see you this morning. Would you please step inside?"