Grak: Private Instigator (Orc PI Book 1)

by Joseph J. Bailey

  How I was ever deemed worthy is a question beyond me.

  Sure, I’ve helped the Citizens of Alyon on numerous occasions, from fighting off extradimensional usurpers to resolving minor disputes and cases. But why anyone would consider me worthy of anything other than a beatdown baffles my orcish sensibilities.

  Don’t get me wrong; I’m a great guy, for an orcanda.

  I’m not at all bloodthirsty, mostly just thirsty, especially for selected spirits. I’m not prone to violence, at least compared to others of my kind, though I will smash faces when a face-smashing is due. I am perhaps overly intelligent, at least for an orc, which would probably make me about as smart as a chicken genius dropped on its head three times too many. I treat people kindly and fairly, so long as they treat me in kind. And I am generous with what little I have, except my alcohol.

  Okay, even my alcohol.

  I often think my selection was some kind of glitch in the system.

  But, considering the complexity and acumen of the Construct, I would represent a significant glitch.

  So I consider myself lucky to have managed to escape the endless wars of my people and found my way to a place where people have bafflingly decided to take me in as one of their own.

  I am still waiting for the catch—perhaps, for example, I have secretly been designated Alyon’s representative bag in the macroversal punching bag championships—but I will gladly take what I can get while I can get it.

  That said, I needed to answer Fluxcoil’s question. By now, he was probably starting to think that I might have left my brain outside on the docks, if I had ever had one.

  Chicken geniuses, after all, are not exactly known for their conversation or cognition.

  I cleared my throat, as if the intervening thirty or so seconds it had taken me to think through why I had been granted Alyon Citizenship could be covered by a simple grunt.

  To his credit, Fluxcoil seemed unperturbed by the delay.

  He had probably been entertaining himself by watching the revolution of spiral galaxies in his shoes.

  Perhaps I had not taken thirty seconds.

  However long it had been, I had taken long enough.

  I decided that the best thing to do was to fully explain my situation, though Fluxcoil had probably been briefed, and then make my request. “I am presently working on a case for Orthanq, the proprietor of the King’s Crown. I have been asked to investigate where the monstrous mutations are coming from, and, if possible, to neutralize that threat. If not, I have been asked to help others do so.

  “I decided to trace the potential risks to their source. I went to the warehouse district to see if goods could be tampered with while they are moving through the city’s transport system. After…”

  I paused. How could I describe the absolute insanity of Arcwhistle’s warehouse?

  “…An enlightening investigation of Arcwhistle Tangleknot’s warehouse, I decided that the outbreak could not be coming from the transport system.”

  Such an effort would put the terrorists at more risk than the outbreak they were trying to create.

  Also, I did not think the criminals behind the outbreak could count on getting their terrorizing agent out if they were insane enough to put it in and lucky enough to get back out alive.

  I had barely managed to get out, and I had only gone to visit.

  And I’d had the benefit of an expert guide.

  “After that…adventure, I came here to see if the outbreak could somehow be coming from outside the city. If not, then I will begin looking within the city itself for leads.

  “So, here I am, asking for your help. Have you detected anything that may be the source of the trouble or a component used to create it?

  “Have you managed to find anything that counters the agent’s monstrous effects?”

  I took a deep breath, inhaling fully. All that talking had drained what little thought I had left bouncing forlorn and lonely around within the vast emptiness of my skull.

  Fluxcoil smiled warmly, a gesture I found disconcerting because it revealed teeth as blindingly bright as his luminous eyebrows.

  “First, let me say that we truly appreciate your efforts, Grak, and will help you in every way possible.”

  I ignored the fact that this could imply he knew more about my efforts than I did, because it was probably true. If the Construct deemed it worthwhile, he could know everything about me.

  “Your concerns are ours.”

  Once again, he gestured with his gnomish wonder stick, and the air coalesced into a projection of the docks with thousands of ships flitting about Alyon’s periphery or anchored regularly in place.

  “We scan every single ship, every ship’s occupants, and every item in every ship every time it arrives.”

  I was impressed. That was a lot of everys.

  “Further, we sterilize, quarantine, or neutralize every threat we detect moving within or approaching our borders.

  “In a macroverse filled with entities doing everything they can to survive, you can imagine how complex and important this task is.

  “This is the fundamental reason for the Construct: keeping us safe. Or keeping us as safe as we can be kept.

  “The monstrous outbreaks from the transmutagen are but one example of our many failings.”

  Given what I knew of the wider universe and what I had seen of Alyon and her associated districts, I would say we were far from failing, but I was not going to argue the point when it might interfere with my efforts to earn a lifetime supply of free beer.

  “We have yet to detect the transmutagenic agent on any ship or entity entering our sphere of influence. Further, we have yet to detect the components for the agent on any vessel entering our docks.

  “We have performed detailed compositional analysis on samples from various outbreak locations to determine the transmutagen’s constituents.

  “We can say with a high degree of certainty that these constituents are not coming through the docks.”

  I sighed. I had known this was not going to be easy.

  Most anything worth doing never is.

  Like getting unlimited free drinks.

  “To answer your second question, we have indeed managed to find a counter to the agent. Several, in fact. However, we have also found that the transmutagen itself is changing and is being actively changed.

  “What may cure it today may not cure it tomorrow.

  “This is due to two primary factors. First, the transmutagen actively adapts to our efforts to destroy it. And, second, new strains are being introduced with each outbreak.

  “This leaves us in a difficult position. To this point, the Construct has been able to counter the transmutagen’s effects before they spread too far.”

  I burst out in surprise, seeing my chance for a lifetime of free drinks diminishing, “It spreads and adapts? Like a disease? And you have been actively countering it?”

  “Of course! Without our intervention, the entire city would be like a nightmarishly uncivilized version of the Undercity, with berserk monsters running rampant everywhere.

  “We have been circulating counters as they are developed in the air and water supply.

  “Even so, we encourage Citizens to remain at home and summon their own food to avoid new outbreaks before they have been neutralized.”

  Here, he smiled at me. “There are some, however, who refuse to stay home.”

  He was right. Home is where the heart is, and my heart was at the King’s Crown.

  “Is there anything I can do to help, then?”

  “You can help us locate the source of the outbreak. If you can do so, we would be forever in your debt.”

  Now, I smiled.

  Debts, I do not like.

  Repayment for debts, I do.

  I tried not to be disappointed.

  I supposed I had had something of a hero’s complex in coming up here, expecting to get to the bottom of the whole mystery with a few random visits, some poor questions,
and some inept poking around.

  I should have known that the Home Guard and the Paratechnologists, working alongside the Construct, would have matters much closer to returning to normalcy and being understood than I could by asking a few enquiries.

  I did have something that they lacked, however. I could attract trouble like a singularity sucking in everything that gets caught in its path.

  If I kept throwing myself at this problem, the more literally the better, then the fools behind these outbreaks were bound to get pissed off at me enough to make a move.

  I might not be in the macroversal punching bag championships as the bag of choice, but I could take a few shots for the team.

  “Is there any other way we may be of service, Grak?”

  I shook my head, ending my ruminations. There were thousands of ways the city and its Paratechnologists could be helpful, but I wasn’t asking.

  When I needed something, I would ask. Until then, I wouldn’t.

  “If you change your mind, let me know.”

  I nodded, thinking of what I should do next.

  Fluxcoil rose and waved his disco wand. The shield ensuring our privacy dropped.

  I stood with him, towering over the much smaller gnome.

  “If you find anything out or need our help...”

  “I know,” I interrupted. “I’ll let you know.”

  He smiled in reply.

  I gave him a brief nod. “Thanks for the help, Flux. I hope I don’t need any more.”

  If I needed his help, that would mean I was in over my head.

  I hate being in over my head.

  Mostly because it seems like I always am.

  Maybe I needed some platform shoes like his. Then it’d take at least a few more inches until I was in too deep.

  And if those shoes had constellations built in, I might never get in over my head again.

  “This way, Grak.” Fluxcoil indicated for me to follow him out. As bright as he was, it was almost like following a second sun to the entry.

  The door to the docks opened like a hole in the sky, a window to the outside world. If Fluxcoil had not walked me there, I might never have figured the way out.

  Which was why he had done it.

  As he ushered me back outside, Fluxcoil said, “On the city’s behalf, thank you for your efforts, Grak.”

  I shrugged. “Just doin’ my job.”

  Work is its own reward.

  Unless the actual reward is beer.

  Walking out of the Customs House, I resisted the urge to explore Alyon proper. The city above was magical. Literally and figuratively. But I meant figuratively.

  It was so nice, I felt guilty going there. When I was there, I felt out of place, like a blemish on an otherwise perfect face.

  I know the Paratechnologists would say I belonged as much as anyone else.

  But some things had to be earned, and I had not earned that…yet.

  Maybe after some faces had been smashed, I’d feel differently.

  Or maybe not.

  13

  I hid beside the wavering column of air that was the outward manifestation of the transport tube to Alyon, unsure when, where, or how Cretus might strike.

  And by strike, I mean waylay me, dragging me back kicking and screaming to the Undercity.

  Whether I was ready or not.

  I scanned the heavens surreptitiously, my fearful imagination seeing demonic, goblin-shaped clouds filling the sky but no signs of Cretus. Nor was he to be found hiding amongst the casual strollers in the park or along the trails, waiting in ambush to pounce.

  With a great sigh of relief, I took stock of what I did, but mostly did not, know.

  First, confirming once again that Paratechnologists are crazier than a goblin addled by fumes of distilled Chaos. Although I could trust what they said, trusting them was about as difficult as understanding them. Being around the gnomish technowizards made me want to return to the comfort and safety of my cave without Cretus’s help. In fact, Cretus and the Paratechnologists could be trusted about equally. Trusting either one seemed always to result in a disastrous outcome.

  Despite their lack of trustworthiness regarding material safety, I did believe what I observed and was told. If the Paratechnologists and their wild, careening creations could keep a city as wondrous and complex as Alyon running smoothly, they were probably correct in saying that the monstrous blight was not passing through their systems. This meant that the chances of the attacks originating from a central source linked to Alyon’s point of entry and infrastructure was low.

  This did not mean that the attacks did not stem from a central source, however.

  I just needed to find that source.

  And neutralize it.

  That settled, I dusted myself off and stood up from where I had hunched down to minimize my profile. A rare, bright smile lit my face, revealing fearsome, flesh-rending canines.

  I might not know much, but I had eliminated more.

  Glad with my progress thus far, I began the journey home, my step light, and eager for a drink at Orthanq’s.

  All feelings of joy and hope abandoned me like the illusions they were as I heard a shrill, trilling cry from above.

  Cretus had found me.

  I had nowhere to hide.

  “Come on, Cretus!” I screamed in dismay tinged with embarrassment as the goblin’s self-collapsing and retracting net crushed down over me and cinched in tight. “Don’t you have any other clients?”

  “Not when ye’re about, Grak!” Cretus hollered solicitously from atop his perch.

  “From now on, you have my permission to get some,” I barked.

  “Unless I say otherwise,” I amended.

  Having a ‘just in case’ just in case was not a bad idea, either.

  I settled into the net, trying to get comfortable.

  I had been too slow.

  I was losing my edge.

  I could not let distractions interfere with my duty to survive.

  And avoid Cretus.

  I also needed to carry an edged weapon.

  Seriously.

  ‘Dumb’ and ‘dumber’ were the operative words for the day.

  We were already so high up that gnawing through the ropes with my teeth would do more harm than good.

  At least for me.

  I supposed that the gawkers watching me being carried unceremoniously through the sky, trussed up like some kind of ungainly prize, might get some added enjoyment from seeing me plummet ungracefully to the earth, but I wasn’t charging admission. They’d gotten enough of a show already.

  “Where to, boss?”

  “Home,” I muttered defeatedly through the coarse magical rope.

  It’s surprising how much thinking you can get done tied up like a prisoner in somebody’s net. While it was far less than comfortable, the pendulous ride home did give me a chance to assess my options, such as they were, and decide on some next steps.

  First on the list was throttling Cretus. The joy that filled me as I envisioned wrapping my callused hands around his scrawny, chicken-like neck was indescribable.

  I now knew what having a religious experience was like.

  Second on the list was finding a suitable place to scope out to see if there was any unusual activity that might be related to the spate of monster transformations.

  In a world where I employed logic in my decision-making, this probably would have been step one overall, before the steps I had already taken today. But logic and sound reasoning often have little to do with my decision-making.

  I was generally fine with that. Things usually worked out for the best.

  Maybe not for me, but for whatever I was working on or whomever I was working with.

  I was typically the necessary sacrifice to make success possible.

  So be it.

  Third on my list was getting a drink.

  I hoped to knock out items two and three at Orthanq’s.

  If that wasn’t possible, I c
ould hang around his bar until it was.

  I did most of the time anyway.

  No need to change now when everything was lining up according to plan.

  Of course, seeing how my plans ended up, I might be better off not planning at all.

  Cretus would always be lurking, ready to make a bad situation worse.

  14

  “We’re home, boss!”

  As the unhewn rock wall of the mountain sheltering our home loomed ever closer, this much was obvious.

  What was less obvious was why Cretus was not slowing down.

  “Cretus, we’re here!”

  “Just about, boss!” Cretus’s fauxhawk whipped like a sapling caught in a hurricane as he clung to the back of his skeletal bat.

  Suspended from a rope in a net hanging precariously beneath the giant bat’s wicked claws, I lashed through the air like a blade of grass inside a tornado in a hurricane.

  “Stop, Cretus!” I yelled, the roar of my voice loud enough to be heard over the tumult of the wind swirling past my ears.

  If I had had hair, I was certain it would have blown off my head.

  “Just about, boss!”

  Dangling in the sky, spinning wildly out of control, I realized I was the boss of nothing, most especially Cretus.

  With an abrupt opening of its wings, the bat adjusted its headlong flight toward the sheer rock face of the mountain. As the undead bat banked its trajectory and began flying parallel to the mountain’s slope, the net slung forward, directly toward the peak’s rocky surface.

  It was only then that I realized that Cretus’s magical net had released its hold on me.

  “Cretus!” I screamed.

  Those were the last words I spoke before I was engulfed in blackness.

  Most any other mortal would have created a nice splatter across the granitic face of the mountain.

  A casual passerby might mistake such a random smear for a piece of nonrepresentational art.

  I was not, however, most mortals.

  Instead of spraying across the rocks like some giant blood-filled balloon, I collided with the rocks at a velocity that I calculated was almost sufficient to launch me into orbit.