by M. Walsh
For those present, this confirmed what many already suspected: Vincent Dune and the Wraiths were gone. Acting on this, gamblers and thieves began looting. Murderers with grudges took the opportunity to settle their scores. Slaves saw their chance to revolt and turned on their masters.
And this was before the Goblins.
* * *
Deck Synclaire entered Seba through the western gate feeling uneasy. It was mid-afternoon, and the skies were a metallic shade of blue. The air was stifling, and even before the fighting broke out, he could sense a terrible disaster on the horizon.
Since his arrival, he’d been staking out the city to learn as much as he could before making any efforts to save Cassie. He focused most of his attention on the tower in Mannix Square. When he first saw it, he felt a familiar chill he associated with Bane’s Gauntlet. It housed an important figure in Seba, but Deck knew just by looking at it: evil dwelled within.
Solid information was difficult to find, as Seba was in a state of flux. From what he gathered, if Cassie was held anywhere in the city, it would be the tower. There was only one way in or out: a drawbridge over a moat. The moat itself was a green, viscous fluid Deck assumed was not meant to be swum in. He noted few guards visible from the outside, but that meant little—even with most recent developments.
Sometime the previous morning, Vincent Dune and Seba’s militia abandoned the city. Although that should’ve been good news for him, Deck knew it also gave him a time limit. With the lack of law enforcement, it wouldn’t be long before the city—which was already falling apart when he got there—was consumed in chaos.
With Dune and the guards gone, he thought, he should have an easier time getting into the tower and finding Cassie—assuming Dune didn’t take her with him. But as much as he wanted to find his sister, Deck didn’t want to be hasty, as his recklessness had gotten him in enough trouble. Even if the tower was unguarded, he wanted to have a plan before he acted.
He rode into Seba that afternoon, intent on staking out the place from a nearby tavern in the Square. If he thought he could pull it off, he would attempt infiltrating the tower that night.
That was his intention—until he passed Roller’s Place and smelled smoke in the air.
* * *
The first fires were in the Slums.
Having suffered the worst Goblin attacks, harassment from the Brute Squad, and ignored by everyone else, the people of the Slums were already on the verge of revolt. Their anger was fueled by rumors that Krutch Leeroy was going to lead an uprising to tear down the wealthy and powerful.
Once word the Wraiths were gone got out, the Slums were rioting before the Goblins even appeared.
* * *
The majority of entrances to the Goblin caverns were in the Tombs. Some were in the Slums, but no one knew a few tunnels were also in Roller’s Place and at least one was in Oasis Slope. It was there the Goblins first made their attack, and they were already spreading through the city when the violence started.
Then the Tombs burst.
* * *
After Gojhi left him, Krutch didn’t see or hear from anybody the rest of the day or night. The following morning, with his leg patched up and a decent meal in his belly, he felt better than he had in days. His attempts at sleeping were still plagued by nightmares, but at least he wasn’t bleeding out anymore.
He didn’t know what to think of Gojhi’s speech about the slaves and their escape. He found he was getting numb to the various ways people interpreted his actions due to his curse.
He sat in his cell another few hours—expecting another long and tedious day and night of imprisonment. The only difference was no one dropped in the obligatory plate of food for him to eat. Maybe Gojhi would return later, he wondered. Maybe the Graigman could set him free?
When Krutch’s cell door did open, it wasn’t Gojhi Olgorn who entered—it was Harrison Elliot. The Magistrate looked drained and exhausted. His normally well-groomed hair was disheveled, and he was missing his trademark monocle. He leaned against the doorframe, looking like a man at the end of his rope.
“Bad day, Magistrate?”
“You’re a funny man, Leeroy,” Elliot said with a joyless chuckle. “For all the things they say about you, no one mentions your sense of humor.”
“I have my moments,” he said.
“You should’ve taken the gold and left,” Elliot said, dragging his hand through his hair. “This all could’ve been avoided if you just took the money and gone.”
“If it’s any consolation,” he said. “I agree.”
“When you wouldn’t leave, I thought having you attacked after Clock’s game would send the message.” The Magistrate frowned and shook his head. “But no, quite the opposite. You still wouldn’t leave.”
Krutch said nothing.
“I knew you’d do something when I told you about Clock’s meeting in the Tombs,” he continued. “I had hoped you’d provoke someone into killing you and that would be the end of it. Instead …” He trailed off, and his lip trembled as if he was going to cry. “I told her you were trouble. I warned her not to get involved with you. But she didn’t listen. She latched onto you, and she died for it.”
“Who?”
“Evelyn!” he barked. “I told her, again and again, I would give her what she wanted! I told her to be patient! But then you came, and you wouldn’t leave! And now she’s dead because of you!”
Krutch frowned. He wanted to scream.
“Well,” Elliot said, drawing a sword. “I am going to restore order to this city, Mr. Leeroy. I don’t need Clock or Dune! I will bring this city to heel, and then I will be in charge of Seba!”
“Wonderful,” he said. “And how are you going to do that?”
“With a demonstration of strength,” said Elliot. “By publically executing you, the legendary Krutch Leeroy, in Mannix Square myself. Then … then the people will respect my authority!” He pointed his sword at Krutch and added, “So come along, Leeroy. Your time has come.”
Krutch pulled himself to his feet, his legs cramped from sitting so long and his thigh still hurt from the stab-wound. He looked at the grinning Magistrate and was too tired to feel any fear, worry, or dread. He noticed no guards with Elliot and guessed he could escape the little man, but even plans of survival were distant and dim.
His only thoughts were of this absurd drama he found himself in merely by coming to Seba. I should never have come to this damn city, he thought. Me and Arkady should’ve just found my crap-shack bungalow and stayed there.
“Come on, Leeroy!” Elliot said, motioning with the sword to come out. “The people await!”
Frowning, he limped out of the cell, not even bothering to put his hands up. With Elliot nudging his back with the tip of the sword, Krutch was led upstairs to the front hall. A part of his mind planned escape—wondering if his injured leg would slow him down—but he was emotionally exhausted.
There was a part of him that had reached its limit.
Krutch and Elliot stepped out the tower’s entrance, only to be greeted by a huge crowd of armed men surrounding a massive carriage. Krutch didn’t react to the scene, but he didn’t feel Elliot’s sword poking him in the back anymore.
“Magistrate Elliot!” Tetra Serk called, standing atop the carriage. “Master Jonathon Gash has come to claim this tower for himself! Stand aside!”
“Oh, good,” Krutch muttered. “Now this is happening.”
“N-no!” Elliot shouted back. “I am Magistrate of Seba! This is my city, and I’ll not hand it over!”
“How do you plan to back that up, Elliot?” Gash said, emerging from the carriage. “Clock’s dead. Dune’s gone. I have the Brute Squad and the numbers. Seba is my city now.” He paused, and Krutch saw his stretched, unnatural face turn into a hideous grin. “You can leave Leeroy to me.”
Krutch heard Elliot stammer behind him. He supposed he should be afraid, but he was still too drained to feel anything. He was wondering how the day could get
any worse, when he noticed the smell of fire in the air. He looked up to the sky and saw a faded stream of black smoke wafting from the north.
“That looks like it’s coming from the Tombs,” he said. “Oh, crumbs …”
* * *
Katrina was practicing with her sword when she noticed the smoke coming from Seba. She still ached all over, but the worst of her wounds had healed. Cuts and scrapes scabbed over and her bruises had faded to dull purple and yellow.
The only thing was her left hand. She kept it wrapped in bandages and spent much of her time clenching and releasing her hand—cringing in pain as her bones cracked like crumpled gravel. She was taught to be ambidextrous—especially with a sword—but she was better with her left hand. It would be some time before she was back to full strength, but she felt confident she could defend herself in a fight if need be.
The question was would she need to anytime soon.
Even though she was back on her feet and in reasonable fighting condition, she still didn’t know what she wanted to do with herself. A part of her urged to storm into Seba and, if nothing else, hunt down Jagger and cut his throat. Another part thought she should try to talk to him and hope she could get through. And yet another thought she should just cut her losses and leave.
“Those are fires,” said Scifer, coming out of the hut. “Could be wrong, but I think the fun’s started.”
Katrina looked at the city skyline and saw the smoke. She still didn’t know what to think about Scifer killing Sebastian Clock or the chaos he set in motion. As she was recovering, he would return to the city for updates, and it was just as Clock had predicted.
“How do you feel about that?” he asked.
“About what..?”
“What’s happening to Seba,” he said. “What’s going to happen.”
She looked to the city again, and thought about that question. She reflected on Daredin’s tower and Gain. She imagined the destruction that would befall Seba and its people. And even though she participated in the former and a part of her thought to let the city burn, she felt no satisfaction or catharsis.
“I would stop it if I could,” she said. “I would’ve … I wouldn’t have let you kill Sebastian Clock.”
She surprised herself saying that. Seba may be a scorpion’s pit of low-lives, and Clock may have been a bastard who deserved whatever Scifer did to him, but the cost was too high. Katrina wasn’t the Enforcer.
“You still care, don’t you?”
She looked at him and couldn’t read his face. “What..?”
“You pass yourself off as this closed-off wreck of a human being that doesn’t give a damn about anything,” he said. “But you still care. As much as you want to be shut-down and not feel anything, you can’t.”
She said nothing.
“It’s not for everyone, you know.”
“What isn’t?”
“Being dead inside,” he said. “Some people die inside over time. Sometimes it’s because of something that happened or something someone did to them. Some people do it to themselves. Some of us are just born this way. We have our hate, and we nurse it and keep it and wrap ourselves in it like a cloak.
“But it’s not for everyone. Some have the hate, but don’t know what to do with it. Some are afraid of it. Some just … can’t stop caring, no matter how much they want to.”
He paused to light a cigarette.
“I do know who you are,” he continued. “So you’re the Ghost Princess. The Vigorian Chosen One who watched her kingdom die. After everything you’ve gone through, after everything you’ve endured, no matter how much you drink, no matter how much you hate, no matter how much you just want to sit aside and let the world burn … you can’t. You try, but it doesn’t stick.”
He chuckled, but he wasn’t laughing at her.
“That’s why you go on a tear through Gain, then spend the following nights tossing and turning in your sleep. That’s why you have no problem ripping out Dean Carmine’s throat, but go out of your way to stop some Goblins from mugging a man. And that’s why, even now, after your boy beat the shit out of you and buried you alive … you still feel bad watching Seba burn to the ground. Am I wrong?”
She listened to him, but could think of nothing to say. He was right. Jagger called it an edge—Scifer, the hate—but whatever it was, she did indeed have it, and it kept her going through hard times. But it also left something ugly in her. Something that wanted to lash out and attack—to turn her back on the world and let it rot.
There was a part of her that wished to be dead inside, as Scifer called it, and she certainly tried. Her years wandering, closed off, and hiding under a phony name. But she wasn’t, and she didn’t think she ever could be. As much as she shut herself away and wallowed in her bitterness, every time she came close, she backed off.
Was that not the reason she sought out the remaining Vigorians? Was it not why she hoped to find Jagger? Isn’t it why she felt obligated to protect Lily?
“You’re right,” she said. She didn’t look at him, but she felt his gray eyes on her. “I try to be … I’ve been trying to be … but I can’t. I can’t be … like you. It hurts too much.”
He laughed again, but it wasn’t mocking. He seemed genuinely amused.
“Why is that funny?” she asked. “Didn’t you want me to … to hate..?”
“I keep telling you I don’t want anything from you. I don’t care what you do with yourself. I just find you interesting.”
“You mean … you don’t..?”
“What..? Want you like me?” He cackled and threw his cigarette into the dirt. “I don’t want more people like me. If you were, I’d probably have to kill you.”
Katrina wasn’t sure what to feel—or if she even should. Scifer didn’t join her or help her out of any affection. She was a curiosity to him, nothing more. He was a monster who killed for his own pleasure and ego—but only targeted people like him. It was difficult to form any emotional response to a man who felt none.
“What will you do?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Well,” he said. “This is where we part ways, I think.”
“What..?”
“I got what I came here for. My itch has been scratched, so I’ll be on my merry way. Find myself a comfy spot not far from here and watch the fire.” He grinned at her and tapped his forehead. “Be seeing you, Lamont.”
He turned and left her there. She tried to speak, but no words would come. What could she say? He’d made his stance on things clear. He all but told her directly: he didn’t care.
He was dead inside.
53
As fast as things deteriorated in Seba because of Sebastian Clock’s death, it was Vincent Dune and the militia abandoning the city that sealed its fate. Once the Tombs burst, it was bedlam.
The violence reached Mannix Square last—just as Jonathon Gash demanded Magistrate Elliot give up the tower. The smell of fire was first. Next, the sound of glass breaking and people shouting started to echo into the Square.
Gash’s men drew their weapons and circled around their master’s carriage. Gash himself looked uneasy being so close to the fighting and barked, “Elliot! Stand down now! The city is—”
He didn’t finish, as the riot didn’t just come from outside the Square. At that moment, Goblins erupted from the sewers like a swarm of insects.
In the middle of all this, standing wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the entrance of Clock’s tower, Krutch Leeroy could only watch. He watched as Gash’s men fought the rioters and Goblins. He heard Elliot stammering behind him. He saw Gash’s face contort into something akin to fear and duck inside his carriage.
He’d been mentally and physically exhausted from his ordeal, but seeing a horde of Goblins swarm from the sewers and all-out war erupt around him snapped him back to reality. If he was going to escape, the time was now.
He took two steps only to be stunned by an awful f
lare of pain in his thigh. He managed a quick grunt and curse before he tumbled down the stairs in front of the tower.
Oh, right, he thought. I was stabbed in the leg. That’s an issue.
Luckily, the fall didn’t inflict more injury. After regaining his bearings, he got to his feet and limped as fast as he could across the drawbridge. The fighting had spread throughout the Square, so he saw a chance he could slip away. Hopefully, he thought, he could hobble out of the city without anyone noticing.
“Leeroy!” Elliot bellowed behind him. “You’re not getting away from me!”
The Magistrate held his sword above his head and looked to cleave him in two. Krutch avoided the blade as it came down and crashed into the concrete, sending chips of stone into the air. Elliot stumbled, thrown off balance—the sword seemed too heavy for him. He was sweating and glared at him with rage.
“Really?!” Krutch shouted. “Killing me isn’t going to get you control of the city, Elliot! I think that ship has sailed!”
“I don’t care about that!” he snarled. “It’s too late for all of us! The least I can do is see you dead first!”
The Magistrate took another clumsy swing with the sword. It just missed taking Krutch’s head off, and Elliot nearly fell again. Krutch stumbled backwards, and his injured leg gave out. For anyone watching, the confrontation between Krutch Leeroy and Harrison Elliot was a clumsy and pathetic display.
“For Evelyn,” Elliot said, breathing heavy. He stood over the downed Krutch and raised his sword. “I love you, Evel—”
Krutch cringed, expecting the sword to run him through. But the Magistrate’s skin turned white and mouth hung open as a blade impaled him from behind. His sword hit the ground with a metallic crack, and he stared at his wound with a look of surprise and confusion.
“…lyn..?” he choked out before sinking to the ground.
Standing behind him, her sword covered with blood and a satisfied smile on her face, Audra Fay looked down at Krutch with the familiar spark in her green eyes.