by JM Guillen
I was glad I hadn’t bet. To cries of outrage and jubilation, Greene dropped like an iron anchor and did not move.
Of course, the crowd was absolutely rabid. A few fights started to break out on the floor as people with money to win crowed at those who were busy crying foul.
In a nonce, it was chaos.
In the midst of it all, I only had eyes for Greene. He lay in the middle of it all, silent as stone.
“Lost gods.” I breathed the oath quietly, possibly the only person on the floor who wasn’t screaming like a maniac.
It looked as if I might not be speaking with Greene after all. It was possible that I had come all this way only to miss my one chance at answers.
One step forward, one step back.
3
It took several minutes for three large men to get the crowd quiet again, with two of them having to “escort” some of the more rowdy onlookers out of the building. I was fairly certain that more than one of those onlookers weren’t quite conscious at the time of their escort; one was bleeding quite badly.
That was something that should draw the attention of any judicar. Unfortunately, I was not a judicar, not at this moment anyway.
“I hope Wil handles that,” I muttered as I watched the unconscious men carted out like little more than sacks of wheat. In the back of my mind, I wondered how often unconscious revelers were dumped in the alleyway behind the Coilwerks.
But that was not my true concern just now.
There was a docieren on scene, of course. I was fairly certain that the Twilight Blades paid him enough to do little more than work for the guild. Just now, the wizened man was on the wooden platform, leaning over Cutter Greene. Cutter, for his part, was still as stone.
“Get back now,” the man in the tallhat was keeping the onlookers away. “Let Docieren Taggart do his work.”
“Thank you, Riley.” The docieren nodded at the portly man, not even looking up. He had lit a small candle near Cutter’s head, keeping malefic humours at bay. “Could you have someone get my bag? I need my vitrified ethers.”
Then, as Docieren Taggart was prying open one of Cutter’s eyes and leaning close to see if the man was breathing, Cutter gasped a great wet inhalation, one of his arms flailing out to the side.
“Get over here!” The man who was apparently Riley cried out to some of the men who were helping escort out the unconscious revelers. One of the unconscious revelers was dropped in place, as two strong men rushed to the stage to help lift Cutter to his feet.
“Come on now. You’re fine, Cutter.” Riley seemed intent upon talking Cutter into being healthy, which would be a neat trick. As it happened, it seemed as if Cutter could not walk on his own accord, and the two men draped his arms around their shoulders before lifting.
His face was a mess, a complete ruin. There was so much blood that he looked nothing like the man who had been having a casual conversation with me only a nonce before. His mouth hung open, and I could see that he was missing several teeth.
It was impossible not to wonder how much a purse was worth in these fights, with everything that a man risked …
“Get him to the back.” Riley waved his hands in a general direction that was far to my left. I watched as the men carried him through the crowd and quickly lost sight of all my answers.
“Not today, cully,” I muttered quietly. I pulled my hat low over my brow and wended my way through the floor. Already, the young Kabian boy was back up on the stage.
“Match four!” He held up four fingers, his other hand cupped around his mouth so the crowd would hear him. “Geary ’gainst O’Rourke! Match four!”
I didn’t care to see anymore. Instead, I slipped through the crowd.
After only a few steps, I saw Blythe again, leaning up against the wall with all the confidence I assumed one had as a high-ranking Twilight Blade. Just seeing the man made me grind my teeth.
Smug little cocker. I wanted to shake his jacket and see the look on his scut-eating little face. Why had he been talking with Sefra? What was going on?
This moment, however, he was having what looked to be an intense conversation with a lovely young Sindrian girl. He traced his fingers along her face, down her chin and neck, and lower than was proper.
She didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she gave him a smile that most men would pay for. For a nonce, I wondered if he had.
No. I furrowed my brow. As much as I wanted to know what he was all about, I knew where I needed to be. I bit my lip and kept going through the crowd, hoping to find where they had taken Cutter Greene.
There. A door.
It was old, probably from the original construction. It was the color of gunmetal and set in the far wall beneath a stairwell that led up to the gambling pits and bar. I might not have seen it if it hadn’t hung slightly ajar. I spotted the yellow light on the other side.
“Is that where they took you?” I muttered to myself as I walked forward.
I wished Wil was down here, but there was nothing for it. No raven, no sarcastic best friend, it seemed like I was in this by myself.
Turning, I strode toward the door, trying to keep my eye open for anyone who might be trying to stop me. I was quite inconspicuous about it, using my judicar training to glance about with all the subtlety of a nervous whore.
Okay, simple. I focused on the door in front of me, trying for all the world to pretend that I was a person who was right where he belonged. I walked with confidence, as if I didn’t have a concern in the world. Get to the door. Quickly get inside. That was the plan. The longer that people like Blythe had to note me fiddling about, the more likely someone would try to stop me.
I took one last look about when I got to the door, but no one was paying me any heed. Smiling, I opened the door.
A hallway. There was a guttering lantern on a small shelf to the left, next to another doorway. Ahead of me, the passageway extended into darkness.
Two ways forward. My ears pricked up when I heard voices.
Someone was talking behind the door.
In the moment, everything seemed obvious. Of course no one would simply stride into that darkness with an unconscious fighter, and obviously, the docieren required a small office, close to the fights.
That was where I would find my gentleman.
With this thought in mind, I turned to the door, without listening at it first, or having any thought that I could possibly be wrong. I reached for the latch and pushed it open.
And looked into the face of Killian Gould.
He was sitting in a small room with a passage behind him. There were papers scattered on the small desk he sat at, and he was talking with a man who was crowned with a shock of red hair.
For a moment, I froze in place, holding the door wide open. I was so stunned at Killian’s appearance that I could do nothing but stare, overcome with amazement.
The man looked as if he had aged ten years.
As I had told the man at Killian’s shop, the Coin and I were acquainted. Now, however, his eyes were red, bloodshot as if he were on a three-month bender. As I looked at him, I realized it was more than that. His eyes were crusty with a yellowed humour, dried and flaking on his face. I could see the blue tracings of veins through his paper-thin skin, and his hair had been frosted with traces of white.
Killian looked up at me. There was a placid acceptance on his face.
“Um, hello.” My eloquence, as always, served me well.
“It’s the judicar.” He did not seem at all surprised to see me, as if he had expected me all along. “Thom.”
“Well,” Jakob the Fox looked up from the papers, meeting me with eyes that were bloodshot, wide and crazed. “So it is.”
“I—” I looked back and forth between the two of them, completely stunned by this turn. “I was looking for someone else. Definitely not—” I looked back and forth between the two of them.
What were they doing here? Why did they both look so strange? So… ill?
“Oh,
I’ll wager that to be true.” Jakob kept his eyes squarely on me, slowly crouching. Even though he was mostly behind the desk, he was enough to the side that I could see as he pulled a knife from his boot. “Thing is, you found us.”
I took a step backward, my mind reeling. I think if I had stumbled upon Rebeka herself in the small room, I would have been less stunned.
Then, Jakob leapt at me.
I would love to claim that it was judicar training or some superior reflexes that saved me, but it was actually pure animal terror. I grabbed the door, slamming it shut as hard as I could. The knife embedded in the old wood, and I heard Jakob’s cry of pain as he struck the door, head first, and went down.
Just to make certain, I opened the door again, giving the side of his head my boot. Jakob grunted, falling still.
“I expected you, Judicar,” Killian’s voice was quiet, almost haunting. “I saw you would come.” He was standing now, off to one side of the room. Slowly, as a wide grin drifted across his face, he reached for a small chain, hanging from the ceiling.
He pulled it, never taking his eyes from mine. In the outside room, the arena, there was the shrill scream of a steam whistle. It was so loud that I couldn’t help but wince.
Then, Killian released the chain, and the whistle silenced. I could hear men yelling, voices that were getting closer.
“This is where you run, Thom.” His voice was raspy and sounded old, so old.
Keeping my eyes on him, I backed out the door. I could hear the men clearer now and knew that any moment they would hurl open the gunmetal door. Then, I would face an unknown number of Blades, with no stave or raven.
It seemed that Killian was right. This was where I ran.
I turned toward the inky darkness at the far side of the hallway and pounded boots down the passage. The floor changed from stone to a metal grating, and there was a stairwell that I almost tumbled down.
Then, I heard the door slam open and the yelling of men.
That was when the chase truly began.
Artificery and Thunder
Riddling, Third Bell Eventide
I spent about a quarter-bell slipping through the inky darkness, avoiding the men with lanterns. However, it hadn’t taken me nearly that long to get completely lost.
I really hadn’t an idea of the immense size of the structure.
Stumbling in the dark had led me to two more staircases, all constructed of that same grated metal. Occasionally, there was one of those barred windows that let in filtered light from some street-level gaslight high above, but those were rare. Fortunately, the men seeking me all had the good sense to carry lanterns of their own, so I could see them coming from a league away.
The deeper I went, the more the low roar of the Er’meander River sung against the buildings’ moorings. I had known part of the structure was beneath the river, but hearing it was another thing, a visceral sound that was terrifying and exciting all at once.
“’E ducked down this way, didn’ ’e?” That was the Terrier. Not that I knew the blasted man’s name, but he was the only one of the lot that seemed to be even remotely capable of following me down here.
Therefore, I had decided he must have one hell of a nose.
The thing about it was, he was right. We were dancing around what seemed to be an innumerable amount of cylindrical vats, all bronze or inoxydable steel. Every few feet there was a row of steamwork engines, constructed mostly of iron cogs and flywheels.
It made for quite the labyrinth, especially considering that some of the vats were toppled on their side. I assumed that had happened when whatever liquid reagent they held had been dumped out, but some of the tanks were still upright, and sounded full when gently rapped upon.
Quietly as I could, I sprinted ahead, dodging the light from a second group. I had to keep the running to a minimum, of course. Not only did it increase my chances of tripping myself up, but my lungs really couldn’t handle long runs. Therefore, it was a balance.
I had no misconceptions about what was on the line here; after all, the Blades had already tried to kill me three times. Now that I was in one of their holdings, with no one around to see, the choice was clear.
If they caught me, it would be too easy.
“Marcus!” One of the men called from what sounded like quite far back in the room. “I’m turnin’ the crank. Blythe’s word on it!”
I had no idea what that meant, beside the idea that Blythe knew I was here. After a few moments, there was a crackling sound, punctuated with several loud pops from overhead. Startled, I crept to the side of the room, pressing myself against the wall, next to some dilapidated machinery.
That was when I heard the soft, murmuring hum.
It seemed to come from all around me at first, a quiet vibration that sang in the metal at my feel. Slowly, inexorably, an odd blue-violet light dawned on the far end of the corridor.
They wouldn’t dare. The thought was wild in my mind, rambling and mad. Still, it seemed as if no matter what I thought of the idea, the Blades, in fact, did dare.
They were firing the Coilwerks artificery.
As I watched the glow with fascinated horror creeping across my skin, there was a low rumble that growled through some of the nearby machinery. It gurgled, as if pumping stagnant sludge through its workings, but then began to chug slowly along.
The entire construct looked to be iron and inoxydable steel, with a flywheel in the far side. There was a small container at the bottom—something the size of a jelly jar—holding a thick, bluish liquid.
As I watched, the liquid began to boil all in moments. Its steam was funneled back into the device.
A scent akin to spoiled milk began to fill the air.
On top of the device, there were four glass constructs, each of a different shape and size. One of them was cracked open, but the others were whole, and were filling with a light blue gas. As I watched, the three pristine glass containers sparkled within, tiny fireflies floating, setting the gas alight. They began to emit a spectral, cool light.
They weren’t the only ones either. I could see several more of the machines, scattered across the room, whirring to life and emitting the ghostly blue glow.
Soon, there would be nowhere to hide.
I crept behind the machinery, hoping to find some shadows there, when I found a small access panel. Hope sparked at the sight. Maybe if I could jiggle the thing open, I could gum up the machinery. If this one was dark, I might have a shadowed place.
“No luck.” I cursed softly as I saw the fastenings on the panel. I needed at least two sizes of wockl wrench to get the thing open. I peered closer. Perhaps I could pry at—
“Couldn’t get past us, could he? Only the one way out.” The voice was remarkably close, and I froze, not wanting to turn around.
“We can be patient.” There was a soft, satisfied chuckle. “More of us, after all. I don’t think that our judicar guest is going to see the light of day.”
Slowly, I turned, trying not to draw any attention to myself. I was wedged behind the machine quite far, if either of them turned my way, I truly had nowhere to run.
Two of them. They weren’t far away, but they were facing away from me, looking down one of the other passageways between the large canisters. The light they were carrying seemed quite bright, far brighter than the lanterns that they were using previously. One of them turned to continue walking to my right, and I got a glimpse of what he was carrying.
I had never seen anything like it.
It was a thick wooden rod, something a little shorter than the length of a man’s arm, with clockwork gears embedded along one side. There was a metallic cap and three tines on the top. They were not arranged like a trident, instead having an almost pyramidal structure to them.
The device was whirring, one of the tines spinning and vibrating in place. Between the three of them was a spark of that violet fire, quivering like a candle in the wind.
“What do you think he did?” One of th
e men, the one bearing the rod, took two steps closer to me, still not looking in my direction. He held the rod close to the machine I was hiding behind, positioning his spark close to one of the glowing shapes. As if in an echo, the glow on the end of the rod that he held grew brighter as it got close. Then, the two pulsed, and a spark leapt from the machinery to the rod that the man carried.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” The other voice sounded weary. “Blythe wants him. Alive. That’s all that concerns me.”
“We won’t find him standing around yapping.” The first man, the one with the rod, pulled it back. It faded a touch as it moved away from the machinery, but I thought it was brighter than it had been before. “Let’s get this done. I got me a lady waiting upstairs, and I don’t know how patient she’ll be.”
“She’ll be as patient as you pay her to be,” I could hear the chuckle in the other man’s voice. “But I agree, let’s get this done.”
The first man nodded, making a somewhat stabbing motion with the rod as they walked away.
I had no doubt that no matter what the effects were of being touched by that violet luminescence, I wanted no part of them.
In older times, the artificers of Teredon discovered and toyed with several different kinds of plasm that were lost to us today. The stories of some of their effects were chilling, and I was quite surprised to see the members of some second-tier guild wielding that technology like it was nothing more than a torch.
Ely would have said they were idiots.
I waited until I couldn’t hear them anymore and then I slipped out from behind the machinery. They had strolled to my right, therefore I took one long glance in that direction, making certain they were still walking away before turning and darting to the left.
I wouldn’t be able to hide much longer. I either needed to find the stairwell back up or find a place to make my stand.
Passing several of the small engines that held glowing lights atop them and the keening sound continued in the near distance. The lights seemed to grow brighter in concert, connected by artificery I did not grasp.