He looked down. “I’m sorry. You have both been reported as criminals by a trusted agent of the Baroness. I cannot legally help you with this.” Then he looked up. “I can, however, insist that both you and your friend be treated with all respect prisoners are due under the law, while you are in our care.”
“Technically he’s in Inquisition jurisdiction,” the Camerlengo said, holding up the fox stole.
Then her eyes narrowed.
“Wait....”
Chase grinned through her tears.
CHA+1
“Scouter,” the Camerlengo declared, then her eyes narrowed. “This isn’t the golem!”
“No. No, he’s off on other business,” Chase smiled through her tears. “Lesser Healing,” she said, and her eyes stopped aching as the words told her she’d healed herself four points. “But now I know what kind of people you are, and what’s awaiting me if I work with you, so why the hell should I do anything to help you?”
“Insolent little chit!” The Camerlengo turned...
...but the Doge caught her hand, rising from his chair to do so. “Enough. Chase Berrymore, you and all your associates are under arrest.”
“Oh, gee, guess you better bring in the Jailers,” Chase said, snorting. “Better make it seven, I might resist.”
“No, you don’t get it,” the Doge said. “You are under ARREST. That means you are now in the custody of MY guard.”
“What? Hold on! You can’t do this!” Zenobia declared, dropping the stole and turning purple.
Chase got it a beat later. “So you’re responsible for what happens to me... to us?”
“While you’re in Arretzi or the environs thereof,” the Doge shrugged. “But I seem to have forgotten to bring handcuffs, and all my guards are busy, so please be patient and wait for a duly appointed agent to take you to a cell. In the meantime, do as you will, so long as you don’t harm my city.”
“She was mine! You agreed to Inquisition custody for this little hooligan!”
“You said she was your problem and I said you could handle her. But clearly, she’s now both our problems, so I’m handling her first, since you’re incapable of putting aside your vendetta!” the Doge barked.
The Camerlengo’s face was plum purple. “No! She’s mine! Per the agreement, I demand to take custody of this prisoner!”
“Then you can submit a written request that will be tended to by the arresting official at the earliest convenient opportunity!” the Doge snarled back. “Which isn’t now, so SIT DOWN.”
A long, tense moment passed. Zenobia removed her spectacles, holding them with shaking hands. “Hoonites,” she whispered. “Hoonites are chaos. Letting them run free, giving them agency, it leads to more chaos. You can’t fight evil with chaos. It breeds more evil.”
“Well, our plan is in ruins anyway. We’ve got nothing, Zenobia. This is our best chance to salvage it with minimal bloodshed. I... look. I respect your religion, and your zeal, but this is the most pragmatic course for my city.”
Chase fought to keep her face neutral, as Zenobia looked her over. The Inquisitor looked tired, just so tired. Then the look was gone, replaced by steel and stern wrath. “After this matter is done, know that I am your enemy, girl. I will hunt you. I will find you. And I will reform you away from the god whom you foolishly chose to trust with your fate.”
“You’re welcome to try,” Chase whispered back. “And I’ll be ready for you.”
There wasn’t much left to discuss, she felt, and the guards didn’t stop her, as she opened the door and found her way out of the dark study.
Nobody stopped her as she walked through the wide hall, feeling the cool air on her neck for the first time that evening. The stole was gone and thank goodness for it. Renny had followed Thomasi, and if he hadn’t then he’d be a hostage. Lucky, lucky little golem.
Chase was just glad that she’d brought an identical stole along in her props bag. It had gotten the Doge on her side... well, as much as he could be, anyway. In this matter. The man clearly cared about his own people first, and she was just a visitor here. That was fair.
I wonder how Cagna is going to take the fact that I’ve been arrested, she thought with a totally-not-hysterical giggle.
Her humor ended when Cagna’s voice whispered in her ear. “Get to the main hall, right now! We’ve got trouble!”
CHAPTER 22: GREEN AND WHITE AND RED ALL OVER
At first glance, the main hall didn’t look any different. The dancers were dancing, the musicians had switched to a faster-paced tune, and the Acrocats were flipping and diving with grace between the balconies.
Then Chase stopped and gazed down from the stairs and really looked at what was happening down there.
The servants were the first clue. There was a tension there, a concealed panic, a hidden urgency to the way they moved. And once she found that out, it was simple to watch them for a minute and track where they were putting their attention. She watched as heads turned, quick little glances, but every time they happened the servant in question seemed to grow more worried.
She followed their line of sight... and found herself looking at the front doors of the manor.
They were shut now, and Chase frowned to see it. She wasn’t an expert at matters of high society, but she knew that you always left the doors open in an autumn party. That part of protocol her mother had drummed into her at an early age. Unless the weather was absolutely hideous, the doors were to stand open so that the guests felt invited and didn’t feel pressured to stay while they were there.
But no, the front doors were shut, and a pair of servants stood in front of them. Just behind them, a man wearing a conical hat and a set of green robes peered over the sealed portal, poking at it with growing urgency.
And a few of the guests were starting to notice, Chase realized as she drew her gaze back to the crowd. The more inebriated and the less perceptive were gathering and looking around with eagerness, expecting an announcement or some surprise, or another spontaneous performance or spectacle.
The warier guests had gathered their servants to them and were slowly pulling in their friends and allies, ready for trouble.
Just like Cagna called ME here, Chase thought with a chuckle.
A chuckle that faded, as face after face lifted and turned to her.
Chase blinked, as the entirety of the crowd fell silent.
And in the silence, came a tap from behind her. A footfall of hard leather on stone.
Another tap. Another echoing footfall.
Coming from behind her, and she dare not turn. Whatever was happening, this was the culmination, and her weirdling luck had put her on the stairs with whoever... whatever... was here.
But halvens are resilient, and Chase had an audience now. And so she followed her instincts and half-turned and curtseyed, putting her head down and her eyes to the ground. Her turban, loosened by Zenobia’s slap or just by the wear and tear of casual movement, slipped and fell to the ground.
Someone above her chuckled, but it was muffled and quiet and went unnoticed as the next footfall echoed.
A boot came into her view. Leather, reinforced, and black as pitch. Golden buckles in the shape of skulls held the straps in place. Chase flicked her eyes up, tracing up the hose-clad leg until it vanished into a mass of green rags and black leather patches, a crazy quilt of fabric and hide. A massive green cloak billowed out behind it, and atop the costume sat a beaked leather mask with glass goggles, topped by a flat, round-brimmed hat.
In one hand a bronze winged scepter glittered.
In the other, a set of scales swayed and wobbled.
And before it, Chase knelt, keeping her curtsey, ignoring the turban that slowly rolled down the stairs as if the garment itself wanted to flee the scene.
The figure considered her for a second, and the rod swept down, tapping her lightly on one shoulder and then the next, and she rose, smiling, reaching up to take the figure’s elbow. It was the most natural thing in the world
to descend together, and the relieved laughter of the crowd below erupted and filled the atrium.
Surely this tension was nothing, the laughter seemed to say. Surely, this was just some guest or host making a noteworthy entrance, the laughter reassured the crowd.
But the servants were still on edge, and the door remained shut, no matter what the mage did to it.
“I saw that taro shazz you did earlier,” the beaked figure said, and Chase nodded. Even though she had no idea what taro or shazz might be. “That was wickin’ cool.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Your entrance was pretty, uh, wicky too.”
“Duelist’s got skills to pay the bills, yo,” the figure said, as they reached the bottom and swept into the crowd. “Keep your head down shorty. Don’t panic, okay? Everything’s sang.”
“Would you like your own fortune told?” Chase burst out. She was pretty sure who this was, but this was definitely not the place to meet him. Not with so many people around, not with... whatever he was doing.
“Naw. I’m working now. And the flashy shazz with the cards and stuff ain’t exactly conducive to tonight’s bidness.”
The two walked. The figure brushed aside the first wave of social engagement, ignoring or staring at anyone who tried to stop him. Chase hurried along in his wake, her hand jostled from his elbow by the pressure of the crowd.
Then she stopped.
Is by his side the best place to be?
No. And Cagna’s looking for me. But before I go...
“Size Up. Diagnose.” Chase said, staring at his back in the split-second before costumed figures closed in around him.
Green Masque
Charisma – Moderately Worse
Perception – Greatly Better
Willpower – Much Better
Wisdom – Moderately Worse
Influencing Conditions:
Green Masque
Conditions: Poison Immunity, Disease Immunity, Elemental Immunity - Fire
Debuffs: None
Weird, Chase thought. She was expecting a different spread. Maybe I’m wrong here, she thought as she moved through the crowd.
“Ah, there you are!” Bastien’s voice boomed, and the Muscle Wizaard beamed down at her. His feathery clothing was rumpled, and under his bird mask, his face gleamed with sweat.
“Had a good time, then?” Chase smiled.
“The best! Everything worked as you said it would,” he fell in next to her, and they wandered toward the edge of the hall.
Cagna was waiting by a nearly-empty canapes table there, her own dress mussed. No sweat for her, not with her fur. “We got things done,” the dog-woman said as soon as Chase got within earshot. “No problems, and no one bothered us.”
“It was fun!” Bastien said, grinning and patting the hollow spot in his costume. Now empty, it had once held three enchanted wolf skins.
It had been a fairly simple plan, really. At the first opportunity, once eyes were off them, Cagna and the Muscle Wizaard would slip away like a pair of lovers seeking privacy. There they’d change out of their perfumed costumes and use the Muscle Wizaard’s clean and press skill to alter their scents. Then it would be easy to don new, differently-scented servant’s clothing that Chase had purchased earlier today. They’d move from room to room as Chase dragged out her fortuna performance and find good places to put the skins.
Then it was back to their costumes, a little artistically applied salt-water to mimic sweat, and back to the ballroom. Just another tryst among dozens that would happen that night.
At least, that was how things would go normally, Chase expected.
“Pwner’s here,” she said, once she was next to Cagna. “He’s the one I walked into the hall.”
The dog-woman sucked in her breath. “Scouter,” Cagna said, studying him. “Sorry. You’re wrong. According to my skill, he’s some guy named Bruce Wayne.”
“That’s an odd name,” Bastien tugged on his beard.
“Scouter. What does the skill do, exactly?” Chase asked.
“It lets me see his status screen. Parts of it, anyway. He must have some pretty good willpower.” Cagna frowned. “I’ve got his name and attributes, and one of his jobs is Playboy, but that’s all I can see. Wow, that’s some good charisma.”
“Yeah,” Chase nodded. “My Size Up confirmed that he’s only moderately worse than me there.”
“What?” Cagna shot her an irritated glance. “No, that’s not right. You’re somewhere around one-hundred and sixty, right? That’s what you had last time I scouted you.”
“You scouted me?” Chase frowned. “And I’m up to one-eighty-four, thank you very much.”
“He’s got a charisma of two-hundred, according to my skill.” Cagna’s eyes narrowed in her mask’s eyeholes. “And you say you register him as moderately worse?”
“Yes...” Chase said. “How hard is it to fool the Scouter skill?”
“It’s... not impossible. My own Undercover Identity can do it. Or...” Her eyes widened. “Cazza. Fanculo cazza!”
Chase gasped at the vulgarity, but Cagna grabbed her elbow and the Muscle Wizaard’s and pulled them even further to the sides, away from the crowd. “Cultists,” the dog-woman said as they got clear of the crowd. “Cultists have a skill that lets them fool the Scouter.”
Oh, oh that was bad. Chase’s breath caught in her throat. Everything she knew about Cultists was bad, bad news. “Does Pwner... is he a Cultist?”
“He’s been seen in the company of djinn before. And some djinn can Teleport, too, now that I think of it. Gods, I should have remembered that.” Cagna’s tail drooped, where it stuck out of her dress.
“Wait. Djinn, as in genie?” Bastien asked, frowning. “What do they have to do with Cultists?”
“There are three types of Cultists,” Cagna said. “Daemonic, old ones worshippers, and djinn sealers. All of them let things from outside this world access and change Generica.” Cagna was watching ‘Bruce Wayne’ like a hawk, now. “Gods, if he’s a Cultist he’ll have a nasty bag of tricks to apply here.”
“He mentioned he was a Duelist, too,” Chase gnawed her lip. “I think he was bragging. I...” she thought it over. “I don’t think he knows we’re on opposite sides, here. This is my opportunity to talk with him! But I can’t do it here, and it needs to be private. How? How can I get him alone?”
“Leave that to me,” a nearby servant said.
“Tom!” Chase jumped and stared up at him. It really wasn’t much of a disguise. She wasn’t sure how she’d missed him... but then, that was one of his tricks, wasn’t it? She could do it too, just not as well.
“I’ll handle him,” Thomasi said, glaring at the masked figure. “You deal with the werewolves. There’s one heading your way now, and I expect they want to talk.”
“Wait! Bastien, Cagna, did you fill him in on the plan?”
“We did, but—”
“It’s a good plan,” the Ringmaster interrupted, “but I’m adding a bit to it. Be ready to improvise.”
“Improvise how?” Chase asked, but Thomasi hefted his serving tray, handed her a wine glass, and swept off into the crowd.
Then Cagna tapped her on the shoulder, and Chase turned.
It was a small werewolf, a tiny man in a furry suit far too big for him. It had obviously been adjusted and hacked up, much to the amusement of passer-by who made little barking sounds at him. “The Lady Tabita wants you,” he said, ignoring the dog-calls.
Chase grinned. “Tollen Wheadle! It’s good to see you again. By all means, lead on!”
He had been the key to the whole puzzle.
Tollen Wheadle, who she had last seen guarding a dwarven woman. A woman who she found out later was a player.
Then when she’d gotten back from the prison to Bothernot, there had been signs of violence, and both of them were missing. Obviously, the dwarf had turned Tollen into a werewolf and escaped with him, gone off to find her old mate and reclaim her skin.
Sheer luck th
at they’d come this way? Or had Thomasi known they would come this way? Many questions, and no chances to question the manipulative Ringmaster.
But once she’d realized who the small werewolf could be... had to be, really, she had realized that Tabita, the dwarven woman, was the player werewolf.
As she greeted him, Tollen flinched. “Hey there, Berrymore.”
Chase smiled and flapped a hand in a ‘lead on’ kind of wave.
“Right, right.” Tollen turned. Charisma had always been his weak point. Gods, this ballroom must be hell for him. And they’re laughing at him! They think he’s a joke!
Indeed, he seemed to walk easier once they were out of the main room. And as they passed doors ajar to darkened rooms filled with quiet conversation and quieter moans, he was walking with confidence again.
“Millie’s doing all right,” Chase broke the silence. “The last time I saw her, I mean. She survived the zombies.”
“What are you talking about?” Tollen shot her a look from under his wolf mask.
He was shaking, she saw. The eyes of his mask didn’t quite line up with his own, and every time he twitched, it broke his gaze. She couldn’t get a good read on his eyes... but she didn’t need it, really. His body language was telling her he was holding back something. Holding back anger? No, that wasn’t quite it.
“The zombies. One of the prison escapees raised a lot of zombies and tried to wipe Bothernot off the map. He tried to kill everyone, Tollen.”
Tollen made a sound deep in his throat. It didn’t sound like anything a halven should make. Chase took a step back—
—and he followed.
And it was about that point that Chase realized she was alone in the hallway with a monster.
How long has the full moon been up? How long has he been a werewolf? Not that long. He doesn’t have practice controlling it... I’m in danger, she realized.
“Did she send you to kill me, Tollen Wheadle? Were those her orders?”
“Not... her command.” Tollen shook his head, sweat running down into the jaws of the wolf mask, and dripping like drool. “Bring you...” he said, voice rumbling. “But... I’m hungry... so hungry...”
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