by Rich Wulf
He followed her eyes to the clay man. “Oh it’s a homunculus,” he said. It looked up at Seren briefly and returned to waving away the smoke. “A construct. It helps me in my work.”
“Like Omax?” she asked.
“No,” Tristam said uncomfortably. “Well, sort of. They’re based on the same principles, but a homunculus isn’t like a warforged. It’s not alive.”
“How can you tell Omax is alive and the homunculus isn’t?” she asked.
He looked at her silently for a moment. “How can you tell that you’re alive?” he said, shrugging. “Listen, Seren, is there anything else? I really am sort of busy.”
Seren nodded and turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. “Tristam, why were you so angry when you learned we were going to Black Pit?” she said.
“Because Black Pit is dangerous,” he said, not looking up from his book. “I don’t think we should risk Karia Naille in a place like that.”
“You were angry about Zed Arthen becoming involved,” she said.
“You don’t know Arthen,” he said. “We don’t need him.”
“Is he untrustworthy?” she asked.
“It’s not that,” Tristam answered evasively. “He’s good in a crisis. The rest of the time he’s only as reliable as he chooses to be.”
“Then is it because the lens is the first real clue you’ve found, and Dalan doesn’t trust you with it?”
Tristam’s eyes widened. “I don’t need your analysis, Seren,” he said. “Why don’t you go find something to steal?”
Seren glared at Tristam. A dozen scathing replies came to mind, but it wasn’t worth the trouble. She stalked out of the room toward her cabin.
“Seren, wait,” Tristam said.
She slammed the door of his room, leaving him alone with his homunculus and the smoke.
Zed Arthen was not what you might traditionally consider an imposing figure. Short and stocky with bland features, he had a face that did not stand out in memory. Overall, he didn’t mind much. Anonymity was a useful tool. Only fools became an inquisitive to be famous.
Arthen walked at an unhurried pace through the dank streets of Black Pit, his cane heavily stumping the cobbles beside him. The village was crowded this late afternoon, as crowded as Black Pit ever got. Most intelligent citizens knew to conclude what business they could before the sun went down. That was simple practicality. In a place like this, you avoided the shadows. The streets were slick with fouled water. A constant stream of sickly gasses roiled up out of Khyber, mixing with the clouds above and producing a chunky, oily black rain that stank like rotting meat. The puddles lingered for days without evaporating, much longer than normal water should. It was disgusting, but relatively harmless.
The people here claimed that you’d get used to the slime after a while, just like they claimed you got used to the shrieks that reverberated from the depths of the pit. It wasn’t true. Nobody could ever really get used to this place, not if they were sane. All but the boldest citizens sought shelter when the clouds gathered and said a brief prayer to whatever gods they still believed in when the shrieking began. After all this time, even Zed gave the puddles a wide berth and felt a sense of nausea whenever he heard thunder approaching.
The flow of the crowd parted around a member of the Cleaners Guild. The solitary man knelt near an alleyway, shoveling some of the more offensive leavings of yesterday’s storm into a large pail. He wore his guild’s traditional apron, mask, and thick leather gloves. The cleaners wore the masks both to protect them from the stench of the rains and to hide their identities, for few citizens would willingly associate with someone who shoveled Khyber’s offal for a living. Despite the cleaners’ reviled status, there were brass bells on every street corner to summon them. Nobody really knew what the garbage that seeped out of the Black Pit really was, but someone had to deal with it.
Zed did not step aside as the others did, but strode directly toward the man, nodding in respect and dropping a few silver coins on the street. The cleaner looked up with surprise, probably more shocked by Zed’s acknowledgment than his donation. The inquisitive couldn’t help but respect the cleaners. Living in a forsaken village populated by deserters, murderers, smugglers, and opportunists, they spent their lives trying to make things better. In a few days, the rains would come again and undo all their work, and the cleaners would start over.
In a way, Zed considered them kindred spirits.
Zed turned down a side street, away from the flow of the crowd. He had entered a court lined with small shops. Some bore small signs, advertising themselves as herbalists or apothecaries. Most bore no signs at all, offering wares better left unadvertised. Zed stopped in the shadows of a doorway and propped his cane against the wall. He drew a long pipe, tobacco pouch, and small box of matches from his coat as he studied the streets and windows. Cupping his hand around the pipe to block the wind, he struck a match and inhaled deeply, wincing at the bitter aftertaste. Confident that he was not followed or watched, Zed limped across the court and entered Ein’s Apothecary Shop, leaving a thin trail of smoke in his wake. The pungent smell of dried herbs drove away the stink of the rain. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with neatly labeled glass vials or paper packets filled with herbal remedies. A scrawny, nervous-looking little man sat behind a counter, crushing blue flowers with a mortar and pestle. He looked up at Zed suspiciously.
“Arthen,” he said. “It has been some time.” He looked curiously at Zed’s cane.
“It was a strange trip, Neril,” Zed said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” the apothecary asked.
Zed set a small clay bottle on the counter with a clack. The apothecary looked mildly confused when he saw the label.
“I hired you to remove our problems, not increase them,” Neril whispered in a low voice.
“Koathil sap,” Zed said in a loud, clear voice. “I understand that your boss is interested in purchasing this?”
“Of course, of course,” Neril said with a sigh. The apothecary glanced behind him nervously and reached for the bottle. “Just let me collect this, and I will obtain your payment from Master Ein immediately.”
Zed cupped his hand over the bottle and gave a tight smile. “I’d rather deliver it myself,” he said. “Just to be sure.”
“You’ll have your payment, Arthen,” Neril said, a hint of anger in his voice. “Master Ein is a man who repays his debts.”
“I’ve heard differently,” Zed said, tapping his pipe out on the floor and tucking it back into his coat. “Indulge me, or I take my business elsewhere.” He picked up the small bottle, cupping it in one hand.
The apothecary looked at Zed with a disappointed frown. He sadly shook his head at the inquisitive. “Very well,” he said. “This way.”
The apothecary led Zed through the back room of the shop and up a narrow flight of stairs. The second floor was a narrow hall lined with doors. Zed had the distinct feeling as he followed Neril down the hall that he was being watched from behind more than one door. A large man in black leather armor stood before the door at the end of the hall. He glanced at Neril dismissively, then gave Zed a stern, appraising look.
“Zed Arthen,” Neril said. “He has business with …”
“We know,” the guard said. He gestured impatiently, signaling for Zed to raise his arms. Zed leaned his cane against the wall and complied. The guard patted Zed down thoroughly, pausing to inspect his pipe before returning it to his coat. The guard snatched up the cane with a suspicious frown, inspecting it for any hidden weapons. Satisfied Zed bore none, he handed back the cane and nodded toward the door. Neril shot Zed a final, betrayed scowl and returned to the stairs.
Within was a large office, dominated by a rich mahogany desk. The man who sat behind it might have been handsome once, but his face was pale and slick with sweat. Dark rings hung below his eyes. He looked up from his ledgers with an irritated scowl. Behind him, another guard placed one hand c
asually on his sword. A pretty young girl sat on an overstuffed chair in the corner, glancing up from the book she was reading with a coy smile.
“Zed Arthen to see you, boss,” the first guard said.
Master Ein sneered and snapped his ledger closed. “Sir Arthen,” he said.
“Master Arthen,” Zed corrected him.
“Of course,” Ein said. “Normally I would be quite upset as such an unreasonable demand on my time. My subordinates exist for a reason, to shelter me from annoying distractions. However, if you truly offer what you claim to offer, I am eager to do business.”
Zed walked to the edge of the desk, leaning his cane against the side. He set the clay bottle between himself and Ein. He saw the girl look up intently, setting her book aside. Ein reached for the bottle, but Zed nonchalantly plucked it up again.
“Before we trade, let’s talk price,” Zed said. “Koathil sap is hard to come by.”
“Five dragons a bottle. That is my price.”
“The tree grows in the Watching Wood, in the heart of Droaam,” Zed said. “That’s a long walk, Ein, and Droaam makes this place look safer than a lover’s arms. Five platinum won’t even cover my travel expenses.”
“Six.”
“It isn’t as if this stuff is particularly difficult to sell, either,” Zed said, ignoring the offer. “It’s in high demand. House Jorasco uses it in anesthetics. A proper assassin’s guild would value it as well, I imagine.”
“Seven.”
“That’s not even to speak of its addictive qualities, which I hear are quite considerable if used irresponsibly,” Zed said. He began to juggle the bottle between his hands. The girl half-jumped from her seat and approached the table, standing at Ein’s side. Ein’s eyes widened.
“Eight platinum, no more. And be careful with that!”
“I could get more in Wynarn,” Zed said, cupping the bottle in his palm. “The wizards are very eager to get their hands on this stuff.”
“Wizards?” Ein asked.
Zed opened the bottle. The tiny cap tumbled between his fingers and rolled across the desk toward the girl’s hand. “Khyber,” he swore, smiling at her. “Could you get that for me?”
She bent and reached for the cap with one hand, then drew back. “Get it yourself,” she said, eyes narrowing.
Zed felt something brush over his awareness, like a feather across his mind. He ignored it, looking at the girl evenly. Fear flickered in her eyes.
Ein snatched up the metal cap with a muttered curse and tossed it back to Zed, who caught it in midair. He had missed the exchange between Arthen and the girl.
“Anyway, as I was saying. Wizards,” Zed said. “Koathil sap has been discovered to be a powerful naturally occurring conduit for enchantment. It weakens the will, leaves the user open to magical suggestion. It’s a relatively recent discovery, but I still have a few friends at the University.”
Ein’s frown deepened. He glared at Zed with thinly veiled hate. The girl now stood close by Ein’s side, eyeing the bottle warily. She placed one hand on Ein’s shoulder. “Wizards are of no concern to me,” he said, his voice an angry hiss. “I will pay you ten platinum for each bottle.”
Zed stopped tossing the bottle. He took the cork out and sniffed its contents curiously. “Now that’s a very attractive offer. If I ever actually have any real koathil sap, I’ll keep it in mind. In the meantime, how much would you pay for holy water?”
With that, Zed flicked the bottle at the girl standing beside Master Ein, spraying the contents in her face. She shrieked and doubled over in pain. Ein ducked under his desk quickly just as his two guards drew their swords and charged. Zed held his cane with both hands, blocking the first man’s sword even as he dodged the second man’s blow. He delivered a knee to the first man’s groin, followed by a sharp blow to the jaw that left him senseless. He turned and fell back just as the other guard’s sword tore through his flowing coat. The guard lifted his blade for another blow, then stopped, jaw dropping open in horror.
The girl who had hovered near Ein had risen to her feet again, but not as she was. Her eyes now shone with an infernal yellow light, and her long fingers curled into claws. A pair of tattered bat wings erupted from her back, and a long tail curled around one long leg. She radiated a bizarre, exquisite sensuality despite her inhuman appearance. She blinked painfully and rubbed at her eyes, still blinded by the holy water.
“What in Khyber is that?” the guard said fearfully.
“A demon,” Zed said, recovering the unconscious man’s sword. “Now help me kill it.”
The guard nodded and charged toward the demon. His sword struck her across the chest. She staggered backward from the force of the blow but took no real injury.
“You don’t want to do this, Arthen,” she said in a sweet voice. “You want to help me get out of here.”
Zed felt a buzzing sensation at the back of his mind, but that was all. Her catlike eyes narrowed when she realized nothing had happened. She turned to the guard instead, who was still staring at his sword in disbelief.
“Kill Zed Arthen,” she said.
The guard turned, facing Zed with a dull, confused expression. Zed rammed a heavy shoulder into the guard, knocking him on the floor. He charged past at full speed, keeping his eyes averted from the demon’s. He swung the guard’s sword, but she caught it in one hand, fingers clenching around the blade.
“Holy water,” she sneered, wrenching the sword from his hand. “With a cold iron cap on the bottle. Edgeroot smoke to buffer your will against mine. You came well prepared, Arthen, but it was not enough. I am stronger than you, and you have no weapons.”
“You didn’t take a good look at the cane,” he said. He struck the demon hard across the jaw. Her head snapped back, blood streaming from between her lips. She staggered against the wall, looking up at Zed with a suddenly fearful expression. The cane fell heavily a second time. She shrieked in agony and vanished with a flash of light, leaving behind a smoking plume of brimstone.
“What was that?” Master Ein said in a terrified voice. He peered out from under his desk.
“A succubus,” Zed said. “Sometimes they crawl out of the Pit, sometimes they just get drawn here.”
“Is it dead?” Ein demanded.
“Unlikely,” Zed answered. “They’re damned hard to kill. No pun intended. She probably won’t be back for a while, though. They usually sulk for a bit when they get caught.”
The remaining conscious guard helped Ein to his feet. He looked away from Zed with an embarrassed expression. “Seven months!” Ein shouted. “For seven months Narisa has been beside me! I trusted her with every aspect of my business, all of my secrets!”
“That’s what they do,” Zed said.
“There’s no telling how much damage she’s done,” Ein said, tearing at his hair with one hand. “How much of what I’ve done has been really me and how much was that … thing?” He gestured vaguely at the smoking floor.
“Hard to say,” Zed said. “At the very least, she was the one who made you start drinking koathil. It made it easier for her to control you. My best advice is to get a good night’s sleep. And keep a cold iron weapon close at hand; succubi are big on revenge. I’ll check in from time to time.” He offered his cane to Master Ein, who accepted it with a grateful if harried smile. The inquisitive walked toward the door, no longer moving with a limp.
“Sir Arthen,” Ein said. Zed glowered over his shoulder. “Master Arthen,” he corrected. “I would appreciate your discretion. If my competitors were to learn about this …”
“My discretion for yours,” Zed said. “Tell your thugs to stop dealing dreamlily in my city.”
“Master Arthen,” Ein retorted, feigning insult. “I would not participate in the sale of an illegal substance.”
Zed looked back at Master Ein. Zed’s face was no longer the bland, easily forgotten face of a random traveler. His eyes were filled with steel. He flipped his sword in one hand, its point directed at E
in’s gaze. Master Ein blanched, his former outrage replaced with frightened shame. “Count your blessings, Master Ein,” Zed said. “You’ve won back your soul today. All I want is this favor. Weigh it.”
“Of course, of course,” Ein said with a deflated sigh. “Whatever you wish. I am in your debt.”
“Like I said,” Zed said, planting the sword in the wooden floor. “I’ll check in from time to time.”
The inquisitive made his way out of the tiny shop, pausing to take the small pouch of gold that Neril had left at the edge of the counter. The old apothecary hadn’t known what was plaguing his master, but it had twisted what passed for an honest business in Black Pit into something even more reviled. Nobody really knew what the garbage that seeped out of the Black Pit was, but everyone agreed someone had to deal with it. Zed Arthen was one of those people.
“Thank you, Sir Arthen,” Neril said, looking up from his work from a grateful smile.
“Master Arthen,” he corrected, stepping back out into the streets.
A chill wind blew through the streets of Black Pit. Zed shifted his shoulders, huddling into his coat. His hand found the rip in the fabric left behind by the guard’s sword, and he mumbled a quiet curse. This was his favorite coat. He’d have to see about getting it fixed tomorrow. The sun was setting now. That Zed understood the dangers of the Pit better than most only made him more eager to avoid them. The distant shrieks of Khyber grew louder. This was no night to be out unarmed. No doubt all manner of peculiar things would happen tonight, mysteries he’d be called upon to investigate.
Tomorrow would be an interesting day.
Zed walked briskly toward his office. He heard the creak of a shutter as he passed the building next door to his. That was Old Merkin, local spy and information peddler. Arthen pretended not to notice him. So many of the dangers of this world were much less threatening when they thought they weren’t noticed.
As he reached the door, Arthen’s head cocked suddenly. A strange sound met his ears. Not that Black Pit wasn’t a place for strange sounds, but this one was different, a humming counterpoint to the sounds of the Pit. It was familiar. Zed looked to the southern sky and saw a streak of blue moving toward the city. It was the fire of an elemental airship. He recognized the hue of the flame and timbre of the elemental ring at once.