At Large

by Andrew Seiple

  “No, no I didn’t—”

  “Kff!”

  The noise came from behind her. Chase turned, staring. She saw no one. There were people back up the street at the main plaza, yes, but no one on this mostly-empty block.

  “Kff, Kff!” It was behind her again and now her pack was shaking, straps pulling on her back, and Chase realized what it was.

  Renny was sneezing.

  “What the hell?” Cagna barked.

  Chase cupped her face and went “Kff!” as best she could. “Kff kff!” she said louder, trying to mimic Renny’s tones.

  Cagna sounded confused. “Um.”

  Chase heard Cagna’s feet on the cobblestones and whirled around to put herself between the curious enforcer and the fox. She found Cagna squatting down on her haunches, stretching out a hand. “Are… you okay?”

  Chase sniffled, and rubbed her face, licking her hand across her palm so that her spit might be mistaken for snot. “Sorry. Give me a minute, please.”

  “I could loan you a scarf if you want. It smells like me, but it might cut the chemicals.”

  Chase felt her pack shake silently a few times. Renny had done something to kill the sound, but he was still sneezing. Cagna’s eyes drifted over Chase’s shoulder, and the halven girl hurriedly faked another sneezing fit. “Yes, please,” she finally wheezed, once the pack stopped shaking.

  Wordlessly, Cagna handed her a bright red scarf. It was more of a bandanna, really, square and with crease-marks where it had been repeatedly folded into a triangle. Thankfully, at some point while she was winding it around her face, Renny stopped sneezing.

  The scarf did help cut the stink a little. Chase looked up at Cagna once her nose was covered, thinking to thank her, but found the dog-woman gazing past her, eyes narrowed.

  “Do you see something?”

  “Someone, maybe. Perhaps nothing. Come on, the sooner we get this done, the better.”

  A sudden worry crossed Chase’s mind. “If there are werewolves here, could you smell them?”

  “Not over the chemicals,” Cagna said, standing and resuming her walk. “My nose isn’t that good.”

  Nervous and feeling a target on her back, Chase took a filtered breath and followed.

  Her unease waned a bit as they traveled. The twisty street opened up at various points, showing more of the district, and that helped as well. There were plenty of people in smaller plazas, enjoying different shows. None of them were as grand as the statue-traversing acrobats… acrocats? But they seemed entertaining in their own way.

  One plaza had a makeshift stage, with a commedia in full swing. Another held firespinners, doing tricks with a bunch of fiery, ball-like things with eyes that Chase assumed were elementals. Circus wagons of all shapes, sizes, and colors were always nearby.

  But as they went, the further they got from the main plaza, the more the odor grew, and the sketchier the performers looked. The quality of the act seemed to dictate one’s proximity to the best stages.

  The neighborhood got seedier and seedier as they went. It never quite matched up to the outskirts, but by the time Cagna finally held up a hand to stop Chase, they were at a nearly-deserted plaza, ringed by shops that had bars over their windows, instead of glass. Across the plaza a lone wagon stood, faded red and blue and gold next to a roped off area. The biggest and most well-muscled human Chase had ever seen lay in the middle of the ring, curled around a bottle and snoring. He was wearing a loincloth, and off to the side, a blue pointy hat sat emblazoned with gold stars. His wagon sign proclaimed him to be the MUSCLE WIZAARD. It also offered a purse of silver to anyone who could pin him in the ring. Chase wondered if that offer applied if he was drunk and unconscious at the time but decided probably not.

  Something about the wagon drew her eye, but before she could say anything Cagna grabbed her shoulder. “Focus, please. We’re here.”

  Chase let herself be led over to a well-worn door, under a pair of wooden gloves hanging from a sign. They creaked in the faint wind, and Chase coughed under her bandanna. Her throat was dry, and she was down quite a lot of stamina from the walk. She’d replaced her emergency rolls with tea cookies, but she didn’t want to eat them here. The tannery stink would ruin the taste.

  Regardless of her companion’s exhaustion, Cagna pounded on the door until it opened.

  A sallow, swarthy man about twice Cagna’s weight stared back at her. His clothes were worn and dirty, and his face unshaven.

  “We’re closed,” he said, blinking in the light… then freezing, as his eyes focused on Cagna’s muzzle. “What! What is this?” he roared, and hauled out a long, thin knife.

  Across the plaza, the drunken ‘Wizaard’s’ snores paused.

  “Stand Down,” Cagna told him, and the large man froze. He returned the knife to its sheath, then looked down at it in shock, as if his hand had moved on its own.

  Perhaps it had, Chase thought. That was a skill Cagna had used, there.

  “Go away,” the man said, and his voice wavered, hoarse and on the edge. “What do I have now? I have nothing. Go away. Leave me alone.”

  Cagna opened her mouth to say something, and Chase punched her leg. This would take a gentle touch. “Silent Activation, Silver Tongue,” Chase mouthed beneath her scarf.

  Your Silent Activation skill is now level 8!

  Then she pulled the garment down and spoke. “Signore? Signore, I am very sorry for your loss. I… I too have felt this loss. May we speak with you? I know it is painful, but I will lose more if we do not. I will lose someone very dear to me, and I do not want the monsters who did this to claim another because I failed.”

  Your Silver Tongue skill is now level 7!

  The man blinked, and he looked down, noticing her for the first time. His face was almost comical in its amazement. “I… who are you?”

  “My name is Chase. This is Cagna. May we come in? I promise we mean you no harm, and we will leave when you ask us to.”

  The man grunted and fished around in a pocket. Then he offered a single coin, that glinted silver in the midday sun. “Touch this first.” His other hand hovered near where he’d stowed the knife.

  Chase did so, and Cagna flicked it with one finger. When neither of them seemed hurt by that, the man nodded, returned the coin to its pouch, and pointed at Cagna. “She stays outside.” His finger traced down to Chase. “You can come in.”

  Cagna’s ears flattened. Chase punched her leg again. “It’s fine. I’ve got this. Please?”

  “It’s your hide.” Cagna shrugged, and walked toward an old stone bench, then sat on the least-stained part of it. “Scream if you need me.”

  But Chase wasn’t watching her. She kept her gaze on the man, watched him ease as the beastkin retreated. Once she was sitting, he gave Chase an almost-apologetic nod, and stepped back from the doorway.

  Steeling herself for the next part, Chase pushed down her unease and followed him back into the reeking darkness of his shop.

  CHAPTER 8: MAGIC BY ANY OTHER NAME

  Signore Castillo was a hard worker. It wasn’t his fault that the guilds undercut his prices, and he was being slowly forced out of business.

  Signore Castillo was a good husband It was definitely not his fault his wife couldn’t see that and fled with some idiot minstrel, leaving him to raise a young daughter alone.

  Signore Castillo was a good father. Why, he’d been in the middle of saving up to hire a matchmaker, to find her a good husband!

  Signore Castillo was a good boss. That his daughter stayed up late at night working while he slept, that was just her devotion to keeping the shop going. Nothing more.

  All this and more Chase heard from Signore Castillo as she sat in his shop, with the displays and racks pushed up against the wall.

  All this she heard, while both of them did their best to pretend the coffin didn’t exist.

  It sat there on a low table, lid open, showing white cloth within. Plain cloth, but well made... probably the best a small trades
man could afford. Even then it had to have cost a fair amount of silver.

  He loved his daughter, and that was enough now. And he seemed to take comfort into pouring his woes out on Chase, who had barely said more than “yes,” or “go on,” or “I agree,” since she’d gotten through the door.

  “I tried, you know? I tried. And this is what we get! What she... got...” Signore Castillo swallowed, hard. He moved to the clutter of junk surrounding the shop’s counter, rummaged around in it, and pulled out a bottle. But it was empty, and he groaned in disappointment. Daunted but determined, he dug further into the mess.

  Ah, this wouldn’t do. The room already stank of alcohol and sweat. Chase needed answers, and the more he drank the less useful those answers would be.

  Still, he was wild with grief. She had to tread carefully. Fortunately, her skillset lent itself to that. “Silent Activation, Foresight,” Chase whispered. Time slowed, her ghostly self tested the words she wanted to say, and she nodded to see that the reaction was good.

  Your Silent Activation skill is now level 9!

  Time resumed and she said, “Signore, I wish to pay my respects. Have they taken your daughter to church already?”

  That stopped him. He looked over to the casket, face crumpling. “No. No, they took her bod— they took her. They took my little Friatta.”

  “Who took her?”

  “The guards. Useless! Two days ago I tell them werewolves killed my daughter.” Signore Castillo threw his hands up and paced the room, letting his temper slip. But NOT at Chase, which was what she’d been worried about. He went on, moving into a full-blown rant. “They tell me there are no werewolves in Arretzi! They lie to my face! Then the very next day, Giuseppe Morrino calls upon the doge, and says werewolves slew his son!”

  “And then what did the guards do?” Chase persisted.

  “They took her, is what. They took my little girl.” He leaned against a wall. Then he punched it twice, thrice, hard enough that a red ‘3’ drifted up from his head as Chase winced. “They took her because they say her body might have clues. Bah! She is dead, it was werewolves, that is the end of it! She can’t rest. She can’t go to church until they’re done. She can’t...” The big man sagged. “I want my little girl back.”

  “What? Why? What could her body tell them?” Chase blinked. “Surely they wouldn’t use necromancy...”

  “What? No, no. No.” That seemed to shock him out of his angry sorrow. “They told me the Doge is entertaining a scholar at court. That he can look at wounds and figure out what made them. I say cazzate! She was killed by a werewolf! A werewolf broke in here and killed her! What more do they need to know?”

  “The how of it does seem pretty unimportant,” Chase agreed. She gnawed her lip. “I’m more curious about why a werewolf would go after her.”

  “What are you saying?” The man squinted and brushed his hands down his apron. “She didn’t do nothing wrong. It’s a werewolf, they don’t need a reason.”

  “I didn’t say she did anything wrong.” Chase held up her hands. “This happened at night, right? You said she worked late?”

  “Yeah.” The Signore sagged. “Lots of business. It’s the end of the fur season, all the hunters and woodsmen are coming in with their pelts. Gods damned Clothiers guild undercutting my prices, we gotta work bulk and work cheap to make up the difference. That and we ain’t far from the gate, so we get lots of work. The lights would be lit. Only lights lit around here at night, so it must have looked in the window, and...” he shuddered.

  Chase looked over at the windows. The bars over them seemed intact. “Did it come through the window? Did you have it fixed?”

  “No. The windows were shut. The door was shut. It must have used magic to get inside. That’s the only thing I can think of.” But his voice sounded uncertain.

  “What did the guards do, exactly? Besides taking her?” Chase rubbed her chin. This didn’t sound like a werewolf sort of killing.

  “They poked around. They looked at the... the mess. They cleaned it. They looked for clues, didn’t find anything. They took her and left. They said they’ll bring her back. I asked when, they said ‘when the scholar is done.’” Signore Castillo seemed to shrink into himself, voice going hoarse. He turned back to the pile of junk, searching through it again. With a grunt, he hauled out a bottle and this one was still corked. He opened it, sniffed, and took a pull.

  Oh damn it, Chase winced. The next part would be tricky, but she had to move quickly. Another silently activated Foresight confirmed that it would be worth the risk. “Signore, what if I told you I had a way to get in touch with your daughter? Without necromancy.”

  He didn’t sound offended, just sure of himself when he replied. “I’d say you were lying to me. Her body ain’t here, she ain’t haunting me, and there ain’t no soulst—” he coughed, abruptly. “Mf. Nevermind.”

  “He knows about soulstones,” Renny whispered in Chase’s ear, and she jumped a bit. She’d forgotten he was here! “That’s not usual in a place where necromancy’s illegal, right?” The fox continued, barely audible to her.

  “You know about soulstones?” Chase said, scrutinizing the leatherworker.

  Signore Castillo stirred a bit, then looked up at the wall. Chase followed his gaze to where taxidermied birds sat on perches. “I got some clients. Hunters who work for certain patrons. They bring in animal remains and black gems, and I have to put the gems inside the remains.” He took a slow pull of the bottle, scrutinizing her as he did so. “I don’t ask questions, you understand. But I hear things. And I ain’t stupid.”

  “You’re a wise man,” Chase agreed. “My magic is different. All it would take is help from a living relative.”

  “And then... what? What would it do?” The man seemed honestly curious, but she could tell by the way his face twitched, that he was trying to keep from being too optimistic.

  “It would call up a memory of her. The skill says that the longer it’s been, the weaker the memory will be. So...” Chase shrugged. “I don’t know what will come of it. But if you’re willing to try, I’ll do it for free.”

  The last part seemed to break through the merchant’s distracted, mildly-tipsy state of mind. He stared at her with new suspicion in his gaze. “Why? What do you get out of this?”

  “I told you, that a friend of mine is in danger because of this beast. Or these beasts, however many there are.” Technically true. Thomasi was in danger, but he had more to worry about from the Don than he did the werewolves. Still, the leatherworker didn’t need to know this particular distinction. “If she can help us find them, then that’s worth doing my work for free, here.”

  Signore Castillo searched her face, eyes narrow and suspicious. But after a minute they eased. He nodded and put the bottle down. “All right. What have I got to lose?”

  That’s some major charisma experience, there, Chase thought. If she hadn’t leveled just this morning she was sure it would have been a boost.

  “We’ll need... We’ll need this table, a few candles, and... do you have any of her hair? Or a portrait of her?”

  He pushed the curtain in the back of the shop aside and went up, coming back down after a minute with a hairbrush.

  They stood at opposite ends of the small table. Chase put the hairbrush in the center of it, arranging the candles in a loose circle and lighting them one by one. Then, after some prompting, the large man took her hands.

  Chase took a breath, closed her status screen, and whispered, “Seance. Friatta Castillo, we call to you. Friatta, your father calls to you from across the veil. Come to us, Friatta Castillo. Show us that you are here.”

  Somewhere a horn sounded, low and deep. Metal rattled around the room as everything shook, just for a second.

  Signore Castillo gasped, his eyes going wide. He tried to pull his hands away from Chase, but she held fast, held with all her might. Her recent adventures had granted her better strength, but it was probably the man’s surprise more than any
thing else that let her keep hold. “No!” she commanded. “It’s a fragile link! Friatta, come to us!”

  And then she was there.

  Her father choked a sob as a woman rose from the hairbrush, green and wavery and faint, caught in the act of combing her hair. She looked around, surprised... and then her face fell into sorrow, as she stared into her father’s eyes.

  “Are you Friatta Castillo?” Chase asked.

  One of the candles flickered, guttering out, and Friatta seemed to go a bit mistier. Chase blinked. So quickly? There were five candles left burning, and she had the feeling that once the last was out, Friatta would be gone. Silently she thanked her massive wisdom for the insight and focused her mind on the matter at hand. “Friatta, we have questions. Can you answer them?”

  Friatta turned and tried to speak.

  But her lips moved silently, and Chase shook her head. “I’m sorry. We can’t hear you.”

  “Friatta!” Her father could take no more and tried to embrace the spirit. To Chase’s horror, his hands passed right through her, and tore out wispy strands of goop. Friatta jerked back in shock and stared down at the holes in her form.

  Her father wept into his hands, as his daughter’s substance dripped off them, oozing into nothing. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry Fritta! I was drunk! I could have saved you! I was drunk and didn’t wake!”

  Another candle went out, and Chase shook her head. She was close, so CLOSE... “Stop that, sir! Friatta, was it a werewolf that killed you?”

  She had to repeat the question three times, but Friatta nodded her head vigorously when she finally looked up from her ectoplasmic wounds.

  “Of course it was a werewolf!” Signore Castillo roared.

  “Shush!” Chase commanded. “Friatta! Did you know the werewolf?”

  More nodding, and a puff of smoke, as a third candle puffed out. Three more to go.

  Chase made a grab for the leatherworker’s hands, but he wasn’t cooperating now. He was frozen in shock, and his hands were out of reach. Chase didn’t know if it would help anyway. She was trying to figure out how to salvage this and coming up with a fair amount of nothing.