Gearspire: Advent

by Jeremiah Reinmiller

  Ryle’s heart squeezed to a stop, and he waited for the inevitable as the champion turned in his direction. Then Lastrahn’s eyes were burning down upon him like twin suns.

  “I wonder what shit for brains did that,” he said. “I’d sure hate to be him.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Tillence’s claim, situated between two much taller towers wasn’t much to look at, but look they did. Clustered together in a wreck across the street from the claim, Lastrahn, Drailey, Tillence, the redhead named Ogger, and Ryle, peered hard through the last few strands of mist between the buildings.

  Compared to many of the other skeletal towers, the squat, four story structure sat modest and unassuming on a small street a quarter league from Tillence’s office. A mishmash of crossing iron bars and chunks of stone composed what had once been the top floor. The rest of the building appeared mostly intact. Most notably the steel doors fronting the building. The very solid, very locked doors.

  A pair of Tillence’s workers hunched nervously at the fence’s gate.

  Ryle ran his eyes over the scene again, looking for anything but bad news.

  “Two lookouts. Second story windows on either corner,” Ogger said.

  “Three,” Ryle said, trying to prove himself of some worth to Lastrahn.

  The redhead looked skeptical.

  Ryle pointed up. “On the roof. Southwest corner behind that hunk of beam.”

  Ogger looked at Lastrahn, who said nothing.

  “Wait for the sun,” Ryle said.

  A moment later he got lucky and morning light broke through the mists, briefly illuminating a thin figure. A bit of their cloak flapped in the wind.

  Ogger’s eyes widened. “How the hell did a guard get up there?”

  Ryle didn’t envy whoever had scrambled up there, it would’ve been a hex of a feat in the dark. More importantly it was a bad sign. This was the sort of smart vantage point the veteran Hepa would’ve taken for his father. It meant the guards had planned this out and were serious about defending what they’d taken.

  “He’ll have a bow, as will the others,” Ryle said.

  Ogger and Tillence’s faces darkened in unison. Her men, her building, and her weapons. It was a hex of a thing.

  “I need a way to open that door,” Lastrahn told Drailey.

  The young woman didn’t look happy about the idea, but she ran her fingers through her hair as if considering it. Ryle wasn’t any more enthusiastic. He knew who Lastrahn would send in first.

  The approach would be plow sucking difficult. Tillence’s workers had removed everything substantial from the lot; fifteen paces of open ground stretched between the fence and the door. Arrows would rain until the door was breached. From the look of it, that door could handle most battering rams without complaint.

  “I have the keys,” Tillence offered.

  Ryle shook his head before Lastrahn spoke. “They would’ve planned for that and barred the door.”

  “Door like that, you’d want Osiva,” Drailey said. “She’d know a proper way through. Anything I try will be kludgy at best.”

  “I just want it open,” Lastrahn said.

  Drailey’s lips twisted. “It’ll be slow.”

  While the guards played pincushion with our skulls.

  Ryle waited to hear what she had in mind, but she didn’t elaborate. A minute passed. Sweat broke out along his ribs as the cool morning faded. He breathed in scents of rust and dirt.

  “You said they are in the basement,” Lastrahn said.

  “Yeah. Most of the claim is below ground. Your . . .” Ogger glanced at Tillence then continued. “Your item is in the vault in sub-basement two.”

  “They could’ve left,” Drailey suggested.

  “No one’s come out,” Tillence said. “Besides, they’re after what’s in the vault, and I have the only key.” She pulled a ring of slim keys from inside her shirt. “They can’t smash through that lock.”

  Lastrahn considered this.

  Ryle rolled his neck, ignoring the heavy lack of sleep on his shoulders. How would he get in? More importantly, how would his mother have done it? At least this time when he thought of her, the twinge of pain was small and manageable.

  A frontal assault in broad daylight was idiotic, but Lastrahn’s face made it clear he wouldn’t wait until night. Tillence didn’t own the claims to either side and Ryle couldn’t see one of those owners providing her a favor.

  He wished Noffa’s men had seized the gate instead. They could’ve attempted a bribe, or snatched one of them. Noffa might’ve refused Tillence’s payment, but hoods on the bottom were often more open to the idea. Especially in a ramshackle bunch like this.

  Ryle bet Tillence would happily spend the coins too. It might not be the noblest idea, but from all the activity he’d seen, hundreds if not thousands of coins must flow from these properties every day.

  “Any other ideas?” Tillence asked.

  “Does Noffa have family in town?” Ryle said before he realized he’d asked the question aloud.

  “Don’t think so. Why?” Ogger asked.

  “We could use them for lev—” With dismay Ryle caught himself. Good job. Real heroic. Ryle’s collar burned, and he swallowed. “To get information. Maybe find out about Noffa’s plan.” He hoped he’d recovered okay.

  The sideways looks everyone shot him said he’d not been successful. He smiled and it felt tight. “What about a backdoor?”

  Lastrahn’s glare had lost none of its intensity. “Right. Because there’s always a backdoor in the damn stories.”

  Ryle flushed at his tone more than the comment. Many secure locations had backdoors for one reason or another. Hex knew he and his mother had snuck through enough of them.

  When Tillence and Ogger shook their heads, Ryle hunched his shoulders and let the idea drop. Way to go. That’ll help your cause.

  Lastrahn looked back to the street.

  “Actually,” Drailey broke in, “there should be a backdoor.”

  Everyone looked at her at once.

  “Unless I’m wrong, that’s a class M building. And when am I wrong?” She paused, no one laughed. Blasted university students. She rolled her eyes and continued. “Class M’s contained dangerous materials. That’s why the place is so damn fortified. Mandates required all work occur below ground, where accidents could be sealed off. The same mandates required a secondary exit shaft for workers. So, there you go.”

  “How the hell do you know that?” Ogger asked.

  “I read. A lot,” she said with a grin.

  Who the hex was she again?

  Tillence wrung her hands. Lastrahn saw this and turned on her. Most people glared daggers when angered. Lastrahn’s glare was like twin siege engines going off at point blank range.

  “Take us to it!” he growled.

  She winced and glanced over her shoulder. Ogger looked surprised at this revelation.

  Lastrahn’s face was unpleasant as he brushed past her and stalked deeper into the wreckage in the direction Tillence had looked. Drailey followed and Ryle went after them. The others trailed behind.

  It didn’t take Drailey long. A sweeping back and forth with her eyes down, a little kicking aside of debris, and then, on the third stomp, the ground rang hollow beneath her boot. She smirked and dragged debris from atop the steel plate she’d found. After some delay, Ogger helped her.

  Ancient dust filled the air, sparkling in stray beams of sunlight. Ryle coughed into his sleeve.

  “I want an explanation,” Lastrahn snapped as Tillence joined them.

  Her face had lost its earlier flush. Her pale lips pinched together.

  “This entrance is off claim,” Drailey said, clearing the remaining dirt and bits of stone from the plate. When it was obvious Tillence wasn’t going to explain, Drailey continued. “Claims aren’t technically official. There’s no real ownership for specific sites. They’re just chunks of land someone’s fenced off and defended. Squatters rights, basically. Been that way si
nce the beginning. This usually works because the towers extend up and it’s clear who claims what. This wreck we’re standing in isn’t within any claim. We’re in a buffer zone between buildings. That’s why it’s not fenced off. Everyone’s agreed these zones are worthless so there’s never a dispute.” She looked at the pace-wide rusty plate at her feet. A heavy lock secured a loop in the metal. “This is an entrance in a free area. Down there, who’s to say who owns what? Hard to see fences below ground.” She smiled and looked up. No other smiles greeted her. “Books, people. Read them.” She rolled her eyes.

  Ryle ground his teeth.

  Lastrahn turned on Tillence. “Keys.”

  She hesitated. “Lastrahn, listen—”

  “Keys!”

  She winced but kept talking. “This is my livelihood! I can’t have word of this getting out. It will jeopardize my claim.”

  The sympathy Ryle had felt for Tillence back in her office fell away. If Drailey hadn’t said anything, he had no doubt she would’ve let them charge headlong into the claim. Not only had she risked Lastrahn’s deal, but their lives in the process.

  Lastrahn didn’t so much as blink. “Keys, now. Or you’ll have more to worry about than your damn livelihood.”

  Ryle remained silent, and even Drailey stayed well back from the pair. Lastrahn’s eyes burned. The champion must have a dire need for whatever the hex lay below.

  Tillence wilted, pulled the chain containing the ring of keys over her head, and pressed it into Lastrahn’s waiting hand. She didn’t let go. “Lastrahn, I need these back. Please.”

  He jerked the keys free and tossed them to Drailey, who went to work on the lock.

  Ryle did his best to keep his face hard as he joined Drailey and the champion.

  The lock snapped open. Drailey stepped back from the plate and tossed the keys and lock to Lastrahn, who pocketed both. Tillence glowered.

  Without further delay, Lastrahn seized the lip of the plate and heaved it up with one arm. Ryle’s eyes widened. It must’ve weighed five hundred pounds.

  Cold, stale, metallic tainted air rushed up and over them. Ryle glanced up to see Drailey standing well back, holding her breath and waiting to see what effect the air within had on the rest of them.

  Ryle cursed and forced himself to breathe normally. Too late now. A half later a minute the others joined him and Lastrahn at the opening.

  Metal rungs coated in peeling yellow paint descended a few paces, everything else was hidden in darkness.

  “Estimate a four pace descent,” Drailey said. “A concrete corridor will lead into the facility. It’ll be shaped something like this.” She sketched a wide, shallow ‘V’ in the air with one finger. “A downslope to protect against rising fumes, and a rising one against spillage. Most likely a grated drainage at the bottom and a couple vents up top.”

  “Give him a light,” Lastrahn said, pointing to Ryle.

  Ryle’s stomach clenched. His empty hip felt light. A squire’s master was responsible for them, including their gear and weapons. He’d hoped to find a sword waiting for him that morning. But then again, he wasn’t yet Lastrahn’s squire. And after his screw-ups, he doubted that would be changing anytime soon.

  Drailey produced a tiny hand-sized lantern from her satchel, lit it, and handed it over. Ryle gave himself time for one deep breath. Time for Lastrahn to intrude with ‘And take this sword with you.’ But he didn’t say a word. So, Ryle climbed down before he considered too hard who or what might lie below.

  Ryle’s boots crunched as he stepped down off the ladder, and white-gray puffs leapt up around his feet. A dry earthy smell joined the metallic tang in the air. As he lowered the lantern, it illuminated a carpeting of small bones. Lovely. He squinted into the darkness. No movement met his eyes, as far as he could see, but a passage descended into the dark toward Tillence’s claim. Thick wires strung between what looked like glass balls hanging from the ceiling led away from him. After a minute’s observation he called back up the ladder. “Clear.”

  Indistinct voices ensued above, followed by Drailey’s descent. As she reached the bottom, Lastrahn said something sharp and then the champion’s bulk blocked out the light from the surface.

  By the time Lastrahn stepped off the ladder, Drailey was smiling wryly. Ryle figured out why when no one else descended.

  Three on twenty for your first day. Well, one on twenty if he was honest. He was hamstrung until he got his hands on a sword, and he didn’t figure Drailey counted for much. She might’ve read every book west of Cartere, but he didn’t see the young “expert” doing much good once steel was pulled.

  “Wait here,” Lastrahn said to Drailey.

  Ryle expected agreement. Instead Drailey’s bottom lip jutted out. “What? And miss a rousing good time?”

  Lastrahn remained unamused, but when Drailey showed no signs of changing her mind, the champion flicked a finger for Ryle to lead on.

  Between the fatigue and his drum tight nerves, he was only mildly surprised when he found the kenten eluding his call. The Professor would curse him soundly if he saw such a thing, but he figured it was his last chance before Lastrahn cut him loose at the next convenient gutter. He started out anyway.

  As Drailey predicted, the tunnel sloped downward for twenty paces. More bones lay along the walls, but they were as ancient and powdery as the rest. Ryle hoped they wouldn’t be adding some new bones to the collection. The passage remained a couple paces wide, but just tall enough to walk through. If Noffa’s men had discovered this entrance and waited ahead with bows it would turn into an ugly affair.

  He kept his ears strained, trying to pick out any sounds beyond the edge of the lantern light, but he heard nothing aside from their footsteps. Their sole accompaniments remained flickering shadows, and the smells of strange substances upon the air.

  At the bottom of the slope they crossed a grating over the aforementioned drainage. Here, Drailey took the lantern and shielded its light with ventilated metal slats she swung up from the lantern’s base. Ryle had never seen their like, but they worked well and cut the light to thin strips along the ground. She passed the lantern back, and they crept up the adjoining tunnel.

  For all the tension he felt, for all his nerves, nothing happened. Another twenty paces and the passage ended at a solid metal door. A closed door, without a handle. Lastrahn cursed, and stopped short of slamming a fist against it.

  Drailey nodded as if she’d expected nothing less. “Yep, this is it.” She pointed to faded diagonal stripes of yellow and black along the door frame. They reminded Ryle of the holiday banners decorating the town. Hex that felt like ages ago.

  “These mean warning, danger, keep out. Just what we’re looking for,” she said, grinning again.

  How comforting.

  “I don’t see a way in,” Lastrahn said.

  Drailey smiled and pointed up. Ryle raised the lantern and a small louvered vent came into view on the ceiling.

  “They needed a way to suck all those caustic fumes back into the facility while people rushed for their lives.”

  The vent was small, half a pace wide, if that. Most of the louvers hung loose and bent. Dark gaped beyond.

  “That might just lead to some holding tank,” Lastrahn said.

  Ryle suppressed a shiver. He hadn’t considered that wonderful possibility.

  “Doubtful. Too much paperwork for another controlled area when there’s a wonderful sealed location right here.” She tapped the door with her hand.

  She was basing their entry on hypothetical paperwork in some long forgotten time? Ryle questioned the usefulness of a university education again.

  Lastrahn looked from the door to the vent.

  Ryle had hoped that once he joined Reckoning, his days of sneaking into places were over. He’d trained hard to escape all of that, so he nearly laughed when he saw the look on Lastrahn’s face. Life was too blasted poetic.

  Before Lastrahn could look at him, he handed Drailey the lantern and started u
nbuttoning his jacket. Who the hex else was going to climb up there?

  He stripped off his jacket, then after another look at the vent, he unbuckled his useless but still comforting sword belt and handed it to her. She offered to hand back his dagger. He tried to hide his flinch away from it by waving her off. She shrugged and took up a position against the wall.

  A glaring Lastrahn waited with a hand lowered to give him the boost he’d need. Ryle raised his foot, then paused. “What if Tillence sealed this door with another lock?”

  Drailey’s face said the idea had merit, but Lastrahn wasn’t pleased. Ryle knew why. If he took the only set of keys and got lost, stuck, or worse, captured, he’d hand the guards access to what Lastrahn sought. Ryle dared not think of what would happen then.

  “Drailey should have something else you can use,” Lastrahn said.

  The young woman shook her head. “I wouldn’t go screwing around in there unless you know what you’re doing. Not unless you want to see what happens when random ancient substances undergo rapid state changes.”

  Ryle and Lastrahn both looked at her.

  She flicked fingers upward like an explosion.

  Lastrahn growled and thrust the keys against Ryle’s chest. “Be quick!”

  Ryle slipped the chain around his neck and tucked them inside his shirt before accepting the boost Lastrahn offered. The champion threw Ryle toward the ceiling.

  He somehow avoided being skewered on the sharp bits of metal, and scrambled up inside. The fit was as tight as he’d feared. His shoulders only made it through with a bunch of wiggling while Lastrahn shoved relentlessly from below.

  Finally, after a rough few seconds, including a panicked moment where he thought he’d really gotten stuck between the louvers, he scraped his way inside. He did his best to ignore the tearing sounds from his shirt, the burning on his back and how rusty the metal had looked as he climbed past.

  Once he’d found a way to brace himself inside the slightly larger shaft, Lastrahn passed up the lantern. Some other light source, probably another of Drailey’s lanterns, remained below, silhouetting the champion and their strange new friend.

  Ryle gasped in a few dusty breaths, peered upward, and froze. At least he managed not to scream.