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Post by J.O.N ((Dragonwing)) on Jan 12, 2013 3:30:58 GMT -5
Entry One Faster.
The monstrous noise behind him was getting louder, which meant it was getting closer, and oh fuck, he couldn't keep this up, not this long, oh fuck, oh fuck...
Faster.
He had to keep going. He would rest later, when he was still alive and far, far away from danger. He just had to keep going...
Faster.
He took a right in the dark tunnels, and then a left. Another turn left, however, and he was facing something much more dreadful than the thing behind him.
“No, not here, not now.” Please, please, please no. “No, no, no, you're gone! You're -dead-!”
The smile that met these words chilled him to the bone.
They found his body in the subway tunnel the next day, covered in grime, bite marks, and what could only be described as liquid rot. Another thing, which was even more peculiar, was the large amount of frost on the body despite the humid temperature down in the tunnels. Another member of the Muerta Libre street gang, killed in these tunnels. The weirdest part was that Muerta Libre’s territory was on the opposite side of the city, far, far away from these tunnels. With Marco Buenavista’s death, that made him the sixth member of the gang found dead in these tunnels in as many weeks. All of them had last been spotted in the midst of their gang’s territory, at some party or another, and the next day had been found dead in the tunnels underneath the city. After a “spelunker” had found the first body, as well as the second, they’d been sending down the occasional officer to see if it would continue to happen. The only clue aside from their common gang affiliation was the putrescence. It was on all of the bodies, regardless of how desiccated they’d become.
The first and second had looked like they had been mauled by some large creature, something that the coroner’s office couldn’t identify. The third had simply been hewn in half, as if dragged along some kind of mechanical saw blade. The fourth and fifth had simply been run down by some kind of motor vehicle, despite being found in a part of the tunnels only foot traffic could access. This one though…he’d been completely torn apart. By what, he couldn’t tell, but by the way some of the wounds looked, it had to have been a large creature of some kind with the same dexterous capacity as a human’s, what with…the clue that was on the wall this time.
“MURDERERS DO NOT GET TO SLEEP SOUNDLY. THEIR BLOOD I DEVOUR UNBOUNDEDLY. THEY CROSSED THE FINAL BOUNDARY. DOES THE BODY LIE UNDER THE FOUNDRY? “
Where was I? Oh right. Who the hell am I? That’s quite a question to ask, so I might as well answer. The name’s Mohammed Smithson. Most of my friends call me Moe though, not many in the force call me anything different. Course, there’s still the occasional backwards bigot who calls me “Bomber in Training” but I do my best to ignore those guys. I was assigned to this case after the last detective was called on a more “important assignment”, namely desk duty when he beat a possible witness for not giving information for the case. In the meantime, it took me about a week and a half to get up to date with the investigation, in which time another gang member wound up dead. Who was doing this, what was doing this? Those were the questions I had to answer.
At least, those were the only questions that needed to be solved in this case before the killer left us the clue. Well, it was more of a poorly written blood scrawl on a tunnel’s wall, but it was still kind of a poem. When it came to clues written by delusional madmen, or whatever this murderer was, but in the time it took to make sure the blood was the victim’s, I went to my mosque, the Mosque on First. Yeah, it didn’t exactly have the flashiest name, but the Imam there, Ibrahim Noor, never really had a reason to be flashy, especially after 9/11. Ibrahim Noor was one of the few people growing up who didn’t look down on me because my father was English. He taught me the Qur’an, as well as mathematics when I needed help with my homework.
Ibrahim was also who I tended to turn to for any kind of riddle that seemed way out of my reach. He always had ideas for me, and I work better when I have a foil of sorts to help me out. After I left the scene of the crime, I washed up and went to see him, having not seen him all week as a result of my current case. We had dinner for the first time in what seemed like forever, he made some pasta for us to eat, smothered in what I could only describe as some kind of weird variety of pesto. He had that grin on his face that he always did, almost like he was having dinner with one of his children. In a way, he was, as my father had always been away with business, and my mother…well she had died at childbirth. The Imam was my guardian during those times. We talked about the recent case, he was always tight-lipped when it came to what I told him, and I described to him as much as possible without going overboard on the gorier of the details.
The first part of the poem, which we tackled first, seemed to have a couple of possible meanings. Technically none of the gang members who had died had committed any murders as far as the police knew, but it was certainly possible that they had been nonetheless. Another possibility could be the killer himself; maybe he had a sleep disorder that stopped him from being able to sleep without nightmares. Either seemed a viable option, but Ibrahim stopped me after the second one.
“My child,” Ibrahim began, “There is no need to go further for now. I believe you shall find your answer in those two possibilities, rather than any others”
I cocked an eyebrow up at that, not exactly sure why he was saying that, “Any particular reason, Uncle?”
The Imam chuckled at the usage of that particular personal term, “Yes, of course. I would say that you should keep with what seems the most likely before you elaborate further, the more decentralized your mind gets, the further from the truth within you become.”
He was right, as usual. Still, the rest of the clues in the short, barely legible poem seemed to jump out at me…
“MURDERERS DO NOT GET TO SLEEP SOUNDLY. THEIR BLOOD I DEVOUR UNBOUNDEDLY. THEY CROSSED THE FINAL BOUNDARY. DOES THE BODY LIE UNDER THE FOUNDRY? “
What did it mean, devouring their blood? That was the one clue that made no sense. The gang members hadn’t all been drained of blood. There was still a lot of it at the scene, so their blood being devoured seemed to mean absolutely nothing. Ibrahim couldn’t make heads or tails of it either. The Final Boundary, we agreed, was probably a reference to death, although Ibrahim did bring up a point about the gang’s name possibly being connected. The last clue, the Foundry, seemed to mean a place where things were created. What kind of place would that be, there were many places like that in the city. Those questions still remained as I headed back to station, to my office, so I could think.
I wish that there was more evidence at the scene, but wishful thinking never got me anywhere. Not, at least, when action was to be had. I used the computer database to see if there were any foundries in town near the tunnels or, at the very least, inside Muerta Libre territory. My results were disappointing, not a single one. What could be meant by foundry then? It felt like the investigation was going nowhere fast.
Then we finally got a break on the case. The son of the most recent victim, Juan Buenavista, came to the station. Finally, something to go on that wasn’t just a rumor. The conversation was brief, but it gave me some leads.
“My papi told me something the day he disappeared, officer, something that might be important,” he began, “He mentioned something was worrying him. Algo secreto. He kept looking over his shoulder; he nearly shanked me when I came home late one night. He wasn’t normally so jumpy, so the night before he disappeared, I asked what was wrong.” He began to choke up after this last part, something that was very telling of him telling the truth.
As soon as the boy had started talking, I got out my notepad, as this was obviously going to be something a little more important than a few key details I could memorize. I nodded at him to continue when he was able, handing him a napkin. I didn’t have tissues in my office.
“Well, sir, my papi told me, in a hushed tone, that he thought he knew why a couple of his friends were being targeted. He told me something about…I’m not sure how to talk about this”
“Kid” I assured, “There’s nothing to worry about while you are in my office. If you need to stop at any time, that’s fine. Just take your time and try to get out anything you can about what your father said.”
The young man hurriedly nodded, and continued, “He…He told me that they had killed someone who was dangerous a while back. They buried him in one of their….nueva vida buildings. One of those places that if you lit a match, it would explode. Boom. They did something special to him too, but papi wouldn’t tell me what. Something…horripilate. All I know is that it made him never want to speak about it. The next day, he disappeared.”
That was interesting, to say the least. Something creepy, buried under a meth lab, just what the doctor ordered. This case was only getting stranger from here, and god did he hope that this didn’t go somewhere he couldn’t look back from. I thanked the boy, gave him some coffee for his trouble, and paid for a taxi right home. The least of his worries should be getting home in this cold.
What now? I guess I have to ask the crime guys about any meth labs in the Muerta Libre territory. For now though…perhaps it was best for sleep.
هل تعتقد أنك يمكن أن تجد لي بهذه السهولة يا ولد؟
وقد وجدت وقتا أطول بكثير من نحن يمكنك فهم ذلك.
لا ينبغي لك أن تهتم لهؤلاء المجرمين.
هم .... الألغام
Waking up with a start, I woke up from my dream…no, It had been a nightmare. The fuck was that? Whatever that had been, it was starting to get to me. I broke out in a cold sweat, trying to remember what exactly I had heard. Was that Arabic? I didn’t understand Arabic very well; Ibrahim had always done his sermons, so to speak, in English. The Qur’ans at the Mosque had transliterated words in it, so I had never tried to learn Arabic. Why then, did I have a dream in Arabic?
Why did I feel so unnerved? As I got up out of bed to wash my face, I could have sworn I saw something move behind me. Turning around fast, I didn’t see a thing. Maybe my dream made me paranoid… I shook my head and went back to bed. The rest of my sleep that night was uneventful.
The next day I went to see the Muerta Libre gang experts. There were only two or three of them and they had been less busy lately, so they all had time for me. We went over all current suspected Meth Labs, trying to see if any of them had a connection to the tunnels. Negative. Not a single one that was currently active had any basement levels that led into the tunnels beneath the city. Damn. I had hoped that at least a few could so I could kick in a few doors, hadn’t done that in a while, but it seemed I was out of luck.
Since we struck out on that route, we decided to see murders suspected to have been orchestrated by the gang. There were many, but only a few stood out. A kid had been seemingly ritualistically slaughtered; his body spray painted with Muerta Libre symbols. It didn’t make sense for it to be one of them though, even though a few of the gang had pleaded guilty. The gang members seemed to have been scared of something or someone, it didn’t make sense that they’d killed the boy. This was especially true when it seemed all of them otherwise had strict alibies. Not a single one had been reported near the neighborhood where the kid had been killed, yet they took the rap for it. This intrigued me more than any of the other clues so far, so I began to look further back. It seemed up until the kid’s murder, something similar had happened quite a few times in Muerta Libre territory, although the manner of death was much different from person to person.
The time period these deaths took place was even weirder. They were during the time of the reign of one gang member in particular, a Javier M. Riley. Those weirder kinds of murders stopped just after the last trial, where the member of the gang pleaded guilty. Javier’s reign didn’t last much longer, having disappeared a week or so later. The gang’s leadership shifted to some sort of council of sorts afterwards, but no one knew outside of the gang who was on the council. Javier M. Riley…did he have something to do with these murders?
Theories began to spring from my mind about this; perhaps this was revenge for unseating him? If so, that would imply the dead gang members were part of the ruling council of Muerta Libre…hmm. That still didn’t explain the poem, the manners of death, or how the tunnels had anything to do with this. I had to find more, even if it took me all day. I continued to work with the experts until midnight, trying to find any more similarities between the deaths aside from location or the black ichor.
Nothing. Nothing at all.
It was only when I put the deaths on a grid did I see anything weird about the places they had died. After I arranged them, they seemed to be in some weird circle. Trying out a theory, I placed lines between each sequential murder. After I finished, the four of us studied it and were perturbed, as well is intrigued. It formed some sort of star, a six pointed one. Looking back at the meth lab records, I looked again to see if any of the meth labs were, say, in the middle of the star. None of them seemed to be.
An epiphany hit me shortly after that. Perhaps it was at a former meth lab, one that had exploded. It would have had to have been shortly after or around the same time as Javier’s disappearance to make any sense at all. The youngest of the three experts helping me, a man named David Breslowe, found the record that I needed. The day before Javier M. Riley had vanished, a meth lab had exploded. It was in the dead center of the star. On top of that, the blue prints of the structure, an old warehouse, showed a sewer system that led downwards to the tunnels. We had made our breakthrough.
However…it was getting late. Fuck, it was already late. It was one PM by the time we had finally gotten what we needed. I went home, exhausted from my day as usual, and just passed out onto the bed, letting my thoughts fade while I got some rest.
حتى لقد كنت أحسب من ذلك؟
هذا يهمني
ربما كان الأب الحق
ربما كان هو لا
تأتي وحدها، وسوف تجد دعوتكم
أنا أتطلع قدما إلى ذلك
My rest wasn’t that disturbed by my dream this time. The hell was that about? It took me a while to shake off the feeling I was being watched, it seemed that whatever I was trying to find was somehow talking to me in my dreams. It wanted me to come alone? Like hell I would be doing that. It was then that I realized that despite not understanding Arabic in the slightest, I had understood the dream flawlessly this time.
I felt…compelled. I didn’t know why. I got on my Kevlar vest, grabbed my gun, and drove over to the ruin that was the meth lab. The whole in the ground was still there, practically undisturbed. Sure, I had to bypass a few newer buildings, but I felt I didn’t have a choice. Something was drawing me here.
I walked down the steps to the underground area, not really sure what I would find. The place was crawling with rats, that much was something I was surprised by. Wouldn’t all of the residue cause them to hate this place?
I.
Don’t.
What?
Sorry about that. I don’t know what happened as I went deeper into the underground, something just…took hold of me, I guess. After I recovered my wits, I found myself in an odd place, a temple of some sort. There were bones all over the place, human bones. I don’t know what creeped me out more, the bodies or the fact that I had been stupid enough to follow my dream’s advice. What had been talking to me, I wondered aloud, and why did I listen to it? How did I listen to it? These questions distracted me from my surroundings briefly as I continued to walk through the decrepit halls.
I did say it was a temple, didn’t I? Looking back, there didn’t seem to be a reason to think it was a temple. There weren’t any obvious signs of worship at all. Not only that, but the bones weren’t just laid out in any manner, they just lay along the walls. I continued to descend for a while, finding myself more and more unnerved. Why hadn’t I gone for back up? I didn’t know why I hadn’t done that. I mean, it wasn’t like the rest of my colleagues knew where this didn’t know place was. They’d assuredly be here sometime today, especially when I didn’t show up to work.
It was then that I found THE ROOM. It was in the center of the complex, I was sure of that, and there was just a body. A skeleton would be a more appropriate description, but there was still quite a lot of flesh attached. Perhaps I should just call it a cadaver. The cadaver was upright, not moving in the slightest. I took out a picture I had taken from Javier M. Riley’s file and compared it to the corpse. It was a perfect match. There didn’t seem to be all that much in the form of burn marks, so perhaps he had died in something other than a fire.
THE ROOM continued on for a while further, but I decided not to go any further than this. I turned around and, well, after that I blacked out. I saw…something. I’m not sure what, exactly, my mind won’t let me recall. All I know is that afterwards, I woke up and some man was being taken away in cuffs. The other officers, I’m told, found me on the ground, weeping, at the other end of THE ROOM. To this day I don’t remember what happened, but that was my last day as a police officer. From then on out, I decided to be a Private Investigator, and for the life of me I have no idea why. I still don't.
Why am I telling you all of this?
That’s quite simple really.
That’s because you were there too.
You were there with me.
You just don’t remember all of the details.
Isn’t that right, Javier?
وهذا هو الصحيح، أخي… |
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Post by J.O.N ((Dragonwing)) on Jan 12, 2013 3:32:06 GMT -5
Entry two Faster.
The monstrous noise behind him was getting louder, which meant it was getting closer, and oh fuck, he couldn't keep this up, not this long, oh fuck, oh fuck...
Faster.
He had to keep going. He would rest later, when he was still alive and far, far away from danger. He just had to keep going...
Faster.
He took a right in the dark tunnels, and then a left. Another turn left, however, and he was facing something much more dreadful than the thing behind him.
“No, not here, not now.” Please, please, please no. “No, no, no, you're gone! You're -dead-!”
The smile that met these words chilled him to the bone.
*****
Seriam frowned at the man’s body.
The victim was lying face down next to a puddle, one arm draped across it. The pants were of fine make, but dirty and drenched with the rain even now pouring down the city streets. Dark shoes were splattered with filth and scuffed on the heels. The man’s hair was similarly wet, matted like a nest of tangled vines, but not from blood. He was dead, but there were no visible explanations for it.
Which was, he supposed, one of the reasons why they had sent for him.
Seriam sighed as he waited for the doctor to finish examining the body, huddling in his longcoat and pining for an umbrella. A few men and women stared from under nearby awnings. Others kept to themselves, avoiding what they could of the rain by dashing from shelter to shelter.
Days like these were common in the city of Sarthan, where clouds often blocked any sunlight for weeks at a time. Mist regularly twisted through the streets whenever the rain decided to level off for a few hours—such had been the case last night when the man had died.
And that means what witnesses there were to the crime would be next to useless, he thought with a quick scan of the area. A few local constables glared at the passerby while another talked to the person who had first found the body. If this was even where it happened.
It was entirely possible that the event had taken place in the sewers. They ran like warrens beneath the city and the underground element had a vested interest in keeping the tunnels as free from official investigation as possible. Bodies were bad for business—the city guard would take any excuse for another rampage through the sewers if one of their patrols found something worthwhile.
It wouldn’t surprise Seriam if some gang member had happened along the victim’s corpse and decided to surreptitiously transfer it to a safer location.
“Investigator Codly, sir?”
The doctor’s voice drew Seriam out of his thoughts. He stared down at the bespectacled man, who was still kneeling beside the body. “Find something?”
“Nothing but skinned knuckles,” the man said with a shake of his head. “It’s as the constables thought. No evidence of what killed the victim on the body, though he probably fought sometime before his death. His name’s Clark, according to his wallet. High-level investor.”
Seriam nodded absently, attempting to recall the man’s name. Pierre? Pirian? No, Peris. That’s it, he remembered. They had been introduced in one of the cases he’d handled earlier that year.
“Any guesses, Doctor Peris?”
The man started, as if surprised by the recognition. “I would point to poison as the most likely culprit. Though...” He paused.
“Though?” Seriam asked blandly. He wanted the confirmation of the other possibility from the man, which was why he’d used the doctor’s name. Familiarity made it easier for those questioned to entertain ideas they might otherwise be biased against.
Doctor Peris frowned at the body. “Magic. It could be magic. Definitely not a Manipular or Flame, but a Conjure, maybe.”
Seriam closed his eyes and gave a quiet sigh. Another reason he had asked was to rule out the possibility of magic. Dealing with poison would have been simpler. But now that the doctor had confirmed it, he had no choice but to investigate the murder with both possibilities in mind. His list would make that easier, but it was still a pain.
“Wonderful,” he replied.
The other man grunted. “I don’t have much experience with deaths caused by it, but I can’t dismiss it—much as I want to. Once I bring him back to the morgue, I can perform a more thorough investigation.”
“Let’s hope for poison, then, eh?”
The two men turned toward the voice.
Its owner was nearly the opposite of Seriam. While Seriam was tall and broad-shouldered, the newcomer was slim and short, with cropped blonde hair mostly hidden by a wide-brimmed hat. A brown coat hung across his shoulders and shielded him from the rain. His thin mustache drew up as he smiled cheerily, a sharp contrast to their dreary surroundings.
“You’re here early,” Seriam said, eyeing his partner.
Challan shrugged and came to rest beside him, one hand resting on the thin rapier he carried at his side. “Banner said it was important and we haven’t had a case in awhile, Fish. Thought I’d like to see the body before it gets to the slab.”
Once, Seriam would have gritted his teeth at the nickname.
Instead, he grunted. “New outfit?”
His partner nodded and cocked his head at the body. “...Yeah, found the duster at the station. Might have been a criminal’s effects. Mine now, though. Needed a new jacket.”
“And the boots?”
“Traded them for a piece of bread,” Challan continued without skipping a beat. “Thieves these days, willing to part with anything for a bite to eat. Poor kid.”
Seriam raised an eyebrow, but dropped the subject. “What do you think?”
“I think kids should be smart enough to realize that trading the boots to a fence would net them enough money for more than one loaf of bread,” Challan declared, abruptly swiveling around and walking away.
“We’ll see you back at the morgue in an hour, Doctor,” Seriam said, following his partner, who had pulled a slim, black cane from nowhere and began to twirl it around.
Doctor Peris snorted. “Best of luck in the Drab, Codly.”
Seriam nodded, more to himself than the doctor. The Drab was a name that often caused his skin to crawl. Being underground was something he’d never become accustomed to, no matter how long he lived in this city. It didn’t help matters that some of the sewer tunnels were known to collapse under both age and as a result of the turf wars.
Naturally, those same tunnels were his destination.
Challan was already lowering himself into one of the many entrances to the Drab, boots clunking against the old metal. To Seriam, it sounded like nails being driven into a coffin. He frowned, stopping at the hole, and waited for the other to finish his climb.
The only bright side to entering the Drab was the recent addition of strings of electric lights. They were a recent invention, not even installed in most homes aboveground. But with how often the tunnels were used by both lawmen and those avoiding the law, the lights had been strung up swiftly.
A splash echoed in the brightly lit tunnel as he climbed off the ladder. The semi-circle shape of the tunnel was large enough to stack two men high and four men wide. It still wasn’t enough room, in Seriam’s opinion.
He fought the urge to glance back up at the closed manhole. The thought of all that weight above him was bad enough—paying it any more attention than he had to would just increase his anxiety.
“Do you know what I think?” Challan asked, both hands on his cane as he leaned forward on it.
“I’m quite sure I never will,” Seriam replied, glad for the distraction.
“I think that man up there was moved from where he was killed.”
“The idea had occurred to me.” Seriam stalked forward through the shallow water.
Challan nodded happily and fell into step beside him. “Scuffed heels?”
“The filth on them and the pants, too.”
Challan tapped the cane against the wall. “Could have run through a dirty alley outside.”
“The scuffed heels, then. Had to have been dragged,” Seriam said, eyeing a dim light with a frown. “Not many people would commit murder above-ground anyway. Too conspicuous.”
“Could always have been dragged away from the murder site aboveground.”
“I like to check the most likely places first. Josi might know a thing or two.”
Challan grimaced at that. “You know she doesn’t like me.”
Seriam nodded. “That’s why I like her. Come on, I told the coroner we’d be back in an hour.”
They picked up the pace, both of the men falling silent. Only the splash of their boots in the shallow water filled their ears. Seriam hated it. Even though the lights were somewhat new, a few of them had been busted or gone dark. It made the tunnels even more depressive.
To take his mind off of it, Seriam thought about his next move. Finding Josi would take some time. There were several places he could find her and all of them were near the Commons, which were filled with people of all sorts.
The Commons were where the groundwork for the railways had started. The populace of the city often ducked into the tunnels to avoid the rain, walking from one entrance to another. It was much swifter than walking aboveground, as there were no buildings to deal with in the Drab. So the city officials had decided to build a railway underground to speed the process.
Unfortunately, they hadn’t expected the beggars, prostitutes and criminals from establishing a another, seedier district in the warren of tunnels surrounding the large railways. They stayed out of the way, though, which was why the constables left them alone. For now.
The first sign that they were nearing the Commons was the whispers. Seriam knew they were echoes, but that didn’t stop him from glancing around nervously whenever they started. Eventually, they grew louder, along with the monstrous sound of steam-powered machines that laid the rails.
“I do wish they would stop that racket at least for a few hours,” Challan said. “How many rails do they really need to lay? I was just fine with walking, you know.”
Seriam smirked. “Most people are lazier than you, Chal’. They’d prefer riding to sweating.”
“Sweating? Down here? How could anyone sweat in such a wonderfully dank tunnel? I think they just want to annoy me. Besides, it brought so many more people! Ugh, it’s terrible, all the smells and the stuffy attitudes. I could be crushed, you know. Not a concern for tall folk like you, Fish, no, no, but one high in my mind, I assure you! And if you ask me, more people means more heat means more sweating! So now they’ll be riding and sweating.”
They turned a corner and a wave of sound washed over them. The area they were walking into was more of a hub of connecting tunnels. As a result, the ceiling and walls were a lot further apart than the small one they had been walking through. It was much better maintained, as well. All of the lights functioned and the floor was at least dry.
But the most jarring difference in the Commons were the people, to be sure. Hundreds walked through the crowd. They streamed to and from side passages, which local merchants had turned into miniature markets. Stalls sponsored by the city took the best places, transforming the already busy thoroughfare into a maze of items to be bought and traded.
Challan sighed at the display. “Let’s get this over with.”
Seriam patted his partner on the back. Challan’s reticence with the Commons was understandable and one he didn’t attempt to make light of. Crowds often terrified Challan the same way the underground affected Seriam.
But they had to make do, because that’s what the job required.
“Just stick near me. We’ll be out of here within the hour,” Seriam said as he joined the press of bodies.
Though Seriam was more comfortable in the distraction of crowds, he did agree that the mass of people smelled. He wrinkled his nose against the sour odor, which always managed to seem new and disgusting with each visit to the Commons. Of course, it wasn’t just the crowd, but some of the tunnels leading to less civilized areas of the Drab.
His eyes scanned the array of bobbling hats and hair. One advantage of his stature was the ability to see over the heads of a crowd. Seriam didn’t envy his partner, who was clutching his cloak in an iron grip. He vaguely heard Challan muttering over the din.
“Wouldn’t you like to ask me about how I’m doing, Fish? Of course not, Challan, that would be silly. Now, look at this, a break in the crowd? No, just a stall. Maybe we should stop and grab a paper. Just for a breather, you understand.”
Despite Seriam’s hurry, he couldn’t see Josi at her usual spots inside the main Commons tunnel. “Fine. She’s not here anyway.”
Challan’s grip turned into a pull. “Right this way, then, Fish. Nice stack of papers over there.”
Seriam let himself be pulled toward the kiosk, still scanning for Josi while he thought on where she would be. While the woman normally stationed herself in the Commons, as an information broker, she would also sometimes place herself near the seedier tunnels.
“Hum, would you look at this? Railway nearly completed, eh?” Challan muttered to the rustle of paper. “Means more people. Wonderful. How about the obituaries? They always cheer me right up.”
“Which railway? Foster or Tarson?” Seriam asked absently.
“Well why don’t you look at your own paper? I am not your servant, Fish.”
Seriam glanced over and held out his hand to humor the man.
Challan’s eyes narrowed. He slapped the paper into Seriam’s hand with a huff.
“Thank you.” Seriam’s eyes were immediately drawn to the headline, though he passed over an ad for guns and the obituary for Devin Powderman, one of the local statesmen. Seriam frowned at the last. The statesmen had seemed a good man. For a politician.
“‘Foster is proud to announce that their line is nearly ready for its first railcar,” he read aloud. “Due to the sudden donation of a client who prefers to remain anonymous and the hard work of our sterling rail-men and -machines, we have the honor of gracing the city with the first working railway from the Commons all the way to the new Foster Station in the Second Quadrant.’”
“All the way to the Second Quadrant?” Challan gasped, raising his hands to the ceiling. “Why, that’s fifteen whole minutes away! What a wonder this railway will be! Miraculous! Who would possibly want to walk that far?”
Seriam grinned at the man. “You do have certain advantages most don’t, Chal’.”
His partner’s face twisted into a frown and he poked Seriam with his cane. “Be that as it may, a good walk never hurt anyone. Mark my words, these rails will make everyone as fat as they are lazy.”
“Should make it easier to catch the people we’re after then, eh?” Seriam said.
“Any respectable murderer would distance himself from these machines as a matter of course, Fish!” His shoulders slumped and he sighed theatrically. “Sometimes I wonder if I was assigned to you as a punishment from on high.”
Seriam snorted. “Speaking of, let’s get back to it.”
*****
It took them nearly twenty minutes to find Josi.
To Challan’s relief, however, their time in the crowds drew to an end swiftly. With their informant likely outside of the Commons, they were able to travel to the less populated tunnels that led off in various directions.
These tunnels were smaller, of course, but there was only a trickle of traffic. Dirty, torn posters were stuck to the wall, often painted over by vandals. The lights here were dim and water puddled on the floor, dripping from the ceiling. Challan knew Seriam hated these types of places.
He glanced at the taller man, wondering again at their differences. Seriam had darker skin than Challan, a tan he had started to lose over the last year. While Challan had spent most of his life in the city, Seriam was from towns further afield, places where the sun shined more often than the clouds covered it.
Despite that, they had gotten along remarkably well. Seriam’s dour personality had been a bit of a chore to break through at first, but Challan was confident the time spent was well worth it. His partner had a sense of humor he found refreshing in a city where the rain was a synonym for the emotions of the populace.
All in all, there are worse individuals to be partnered with, he thought with a swing of his cane.
Seriam hesitated when they came to a sharp turn in the tunnel. The sudden change in pace nearly took him by surprise, but Challan’s reflexes were still sharp despite his thirty years. They stopped at the corner. Challan held his cane along his leg so that the tip rested on his shoe, waiting patiently for an investigation. He had long since trusted Seriam’s instincts to guide them true.
“Voices, up ahead,” Seriam said, his voice barely a whisper.
Challan glanced sidelong at the man and raised a brow. Voices weren’t especially strange in the tunnels, even if the passage they had been walking along had been free of passerby. Still, he nodded and attempted to listen.
“I think I want more than information,” a man said.
“And I think you’d better back away before I leave your teeth on the floor, boy.” Challan grinned. That was Josi.
There was a pause and then a scuffle that ended with an exclamation of pain from a man.
“Like I said. Hands off. If you want a whore, go look in the Commons. Plenty of city-bred escorts looking for a few pigs to drape themselves over,” Josi said caustically.
A slap echoed in the tunnel.
“You bitch! Grab her!”
Challan glanced at Seriam, who had a dangerous look in his eye. Challan nodded toward the corner with a questioning glance. The other man nodded.
They rounded the corner.
“Howdy boys,” Seriam called out.
Five heads turned toward them. Four of them were male and the last one was Josi’s. All of them were surprised, though Challan could already see Josi’s expression twist into a snarl at the sight of him. He waved cheekily at her, plastering a large smile over his face.
“What do you want?” The one holding Josi against the wall snarled. He was a big one.
Seriam raised his eyebrows and glanced side to side as if the answer were obvious. “Heard a little scuffle with the lady, there. There a problem?”
One of the others was on the ground, holding a hand overflowing with blood to his nose. His voice came out nasally. “None of yer damn business, mate.”
The other two men, one with a nice bowler hat on his head, formed a wall. Seriam continued forward until he was face to face with them. Even he had to look up at them, though the difference was slight.
“Lads hurting ladies are always my business,” Seriam said blandly, looking bored. “You want to move aside?”
“Don’t need your damn help, Seri,” Josi yelled around the wall of muscle.
“You heard the lady. Shove off,” Bowler-hat growled, his massive hand moving toward Seriam’s chest.
Before it got there, Challan’s cane intercepted it.
Non-Bowler looked confused for a moment. “Wha-”
Challan smiled amiably at them. “Just a moment, gents. You almost touched my friend here. Can’t have that. Now why don’t we just talk this out?”
He pressed Bowler’s hand away in a quick motion and leaned forward until his cane touched the floor to emphasize his point.
“Sure as shit don’t want yours either, Challan,” Josi piped up again.
Unfortunately by then, the situation was out of his hands.
Bowler, his face a beet red, began to swing.
Challan sighed. “It’s because I’m short, isn’t it?”
Adrenaline was a strange thing to Challan. Time seemed to stop. He processed the scene in front of him with a dispassionate quickness, threats and judgements whisking through his mind at lightning speed. The flame of power pulsed inside his chest. He often wondered if others experienced even a fraction of what he did just before battle.
He wondered because he wasn’t like other people.
Time snapped back into place.
Challan darted forward, faster than anyone would normally be able to. The man’s fist swung through the air, filling the space Challan’s head had occupied a moment before. He felt the wind of its passing tousle his hat, which he steadied with one hand. With the other, he snapped the cane up to catch the man in the elbow.
It hit with a meaty thunk, knocking the man off balance. Bowler stumbled forward, leaving him open for a counter attack.
Challan obliged.
He kicked, shoving against the side of the man’s chest to send him into the wall. Bowler roared as he impacted head first, the hat doing little to cushion the blow.
Non-Bowler still managed to look confused, which bothered Challan. Normally thugs were smarter than this, even when facing him. This fellow, however, still couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around the fact that his very large friend had been soundly trounced by a man shorter than most women.
It’s almost not even fair, he thought with a hint of regret.
He stabbed forward with his cane and drew on his flame, injecting a bit less strength into the blow than would probably be necessary. Non-Bowler needed to have at least a chance.
It hit him in the jaw, knocking the man to the side. To his credit, the thug managed to recover spectacularly, turning completely around and staring at Challan with wide eyes. Anger appeared in Non-Bowler’s face then, along with an already purpling bruise on the side of his face.
Well, finally, Challan thought gleefully.
Non-Bowler swung and Challan dodged to the side again. Before he could attempt the same trick he’d pulled on the thug’s friend, Non-Bowler pulled his arm back. Challan’s cane swung through empty air.
Another punch followed, nearly catching him by surprise. Challan drew back, slapping the meaty fist with his cane. Even so, that only deflected its path into his shoulder. He grunted against the blow, but drew on a bit of his flame to deaden the pain. He could agonize later. Right now, he had to fight.
Non-Bowler didn’t pause in his attack and by now the other two had reacted. While Challan fell against the wall from another hammering fist, Bloody Nose stood up and retreated into a side passage, pulling a pistol as he did so. Snarler followed his friend, throwing Josi to the ground behind an old stall with his own weapon already drawn.
Shots began to ring out on the other side of the hallway, close enough to make Non-Bowler flinch away. Challan rushed forward to take advantage of the opening, hoping the thugs wouldn’t feel that collateral damage was acceptable if it meant taking out their enemies.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Seriam taking cover behind a stack of steel rods. Bullets pinged off the metal, sending up brief flashes of sparks. Unfortunately, the metal wasn’t solid, so some shots managed to streak through the openings. He heard Seriam curse as one bullet came particularly close.
No time to worry about him now, Challan thought grimly, smashing his fist into Non-Bowler’s stomach.
The man doubled over, his breath whooshing out in a rush. Challan brought his knee up into his opponent’s face, snapping the man’s head back and ending the threat. Non-Bowler’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell limply to the ground.
With that threat taken care of, and Bowler already down from a few well-placed bullets by Seriam, Challan turned toward the two men down the hallway.
They were leaning around the passageway, guns pointed at Seriam. As soon as he had taken care of Non-Bowler, however, they swiveled toward him.
Challan ducked and dove forward underneath the first round of bullets. He jumped to the side as soon as he finished a roll, narrowly avoiding the next slug ricocheting against the floor and taking out a nearby light.
“God dammit, Challan, this is why I hate you!” Josi roared over the din, careful to keep her head down. “Everytime I see you, bullets get themselves involved! Just die already!”
He grinned at her before focusing his attention on the pistols ahead. One of them pulled back for a reload. That was his chance. Seriam obligingly stopped firing as well.
Challan put on a burst of speed with a flare of power. He sped down the hallway and darted to the side again to avoid Bloody Nose’s next round. He wasn’t quick enough.
The bullet grazed his arm, pain shooting through the limb with the spray of blood. He grunted, flaring again to numb himself. It slowed him down as he diverted power, but it was worth the trade off.
Despite his deceleration, he made it to the passageway before the other gun reloaded. Snarler looked up as he slid to a stop, the man’s hands clumsily attempting to load rounds in the chambers.
Bloody Nose was under no such handicap. He shifted his gun to point at Challan.
Too slow, Challan thought with a mental shake of his head.
His cane impacted the pistol, smacking it out of Bloody Nose’s hand. The man yelped and drew back his injured hand, but by then Challan was already there. He snapped an elbow into the man’s already bleeding nose. The blow prompted an agonized scream.
Challan shoved his shoulder into Terribly Bloody Nose’s chest. He flared, sending strength to his legs, then his arms in a quick burst. The trick sent the man flying toward Challan’s other target.
Snarler dropped his gun and attempted to catch the dead weight hurtling toward him. He fell over as they impacted, slamming against the floor hard enough to make both of them groan.
“Give up now?” Challan asked with a pleasant smile, standing over the two men.
Snarler looked up at him with frightened eyes. “Y-yes.”
Challan frowned. “Too bad. You shot me.”
He snapped his cane against the side of Snarler’s head, knocking him unconscious. After turning around and whistling his way into the hallway, it occurred to him that Snarler hadn’t been the one to shoot him.
Oh, well. Challan shrugged. I’m sure he deserved it.
*****
Seriam offered a hand.
Josi smacked it away with a glare. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Looking for information,” Seriam said smoothly.
The brown-haired woman stood up and wiped the dust off of her leathers. She was dressed all in black, this time, an outfit she wore only when she didn’t want to be found.
Obviously it didn’t work this time, Seriam thought. He holstered his pistol and nodded over to Challan, who was whistling a tuneless melody.
“Well, I guess you damn well deserve it for saving my skin, then,” Josi replied with a scowl, pointedly ignoring Challan. “What do you want to know?”
“Just looking for a body, dear woman,” Challan said.
Josi shifted her glare to him. “Give me your cane and I’ll make one.”
“A man, finely dressed. Dark hair, expensive shoes, scuffed. Dirty, like he was walking through the Drab. Murdered last night, might have been carried by a gang member eager to keep it upstairs,” Seriam listed before the two came to blows.
She squinted at him and ran a hand through her short hair. “Last night?”
“Probably midnight. Murderers like that point in time, I’ve noticed,” Challan said cheerily.
“Could be I seen him. One of the Blood Stream were carrying a body last night.” Josi spit near Challan’s shoe. “Could ask them.”
Seriam frowned. “Blood Stream, huh? Awful far from their base of operations.”
“Heard they got hired for a job last night, too. Something to do with the railway machines.” She shrugged. “Maybe they’re helping Foster. Buncha damn sellouts.”
“Maybe,” Seriam repeated, thinking. Blood Stream might be the culprit, especially if it had been poison. “Anything else of interest I should know?”
Josi crossed her arms. “Gave you two tidbits for getting Chal’ injured. Consider yourself informed.”
Challan pouted. “I love it when you hate me.”
Seriam sighed and gave Josi a nod. “Alright. Give me an hour before you let people know I asked you anything?”
Her face softened into a smirk. “You know I’ll tell if I’m asked, Seri. Makes me useful. That’s how I stay alive. Well, that and the help of two buffoons like you.”
“I am quite far from a buffoon, madam. I’ll have you know I’m quite graceful.”
“Shut up, Chal’,” Seriam and Josi said together, though the woman’s was filled with more scorn.
*****
Seriam led the way out of the Drab. He popped the manhole cover up and let the rain pour in. It pattered against his hat and coat, white noise to him. He was more concerned with the clouds above him, finally.
Hate the Drab, he thought. It was almost a mantra, something he said each time he left the sewers alive.
He reached down and helped Challan out of the hole. The man had tied a bandage around his wound. He seemed back to his cheerful self.
Which was just as well, considering their destination.
“Lead the way, Chal’,” Seriam said, bowing with mock servitude.
Challan nodded imperiously and marched down the street.
They jogged across the street. Horses and carriages ran back and forth, acting as obstacles the two easily avoided. There was even one of the new horseless carriages puttering its way down the cobblestone. Men, women and children stopped to stare at its passing, mesmerized by its novelty.
Seriam ignored it. While he wasn’t one to shy away from new inventions, the horseless carriage had nothing to do with his mission. He hunched his shoulders against the rain and followed Challan down an alleyway.
He had time to think while they headed toward the restaurant Challan said the Blood Stream leader frequented. The pieces of a possibility were coming together nicely, but Seriam felt there was more going on than he imagined. The fact that a Blood Stream member had taken the body and worked on the railways was more than a coincidence, but he didn’t understand why the man needed to die.
What would they kill an investor for?
The gangs were powerful, sure, with some sway in the city, but the Blood Stream was a mid-level gang at best.
Could be a bid for power, Seriam guessed. He crossed another street after Challan and nodded to a passing coachman.
Still, that didn’t seem likely. Working for Foster might give them a few more contracts and a couple of favors in the railway’s sponsors, but killing a man wouldn’t do anything but bring them bad press, and the attention of the law.
“We’re here,” Challan said.
Seriam looked up.
The restaurant was more of a pub, though there were tables outside underneath a tastefully dark green awning. A metal fence wound its way around the area, turning at ninety degrees to connect with the building. A sign hung on the building proper. Variente’s. He recognized the name.
“Expensive,” Seriam offered.
Challan nodded and they moved under the awning. “People like spending money if they have it, I’ve noticed.”
“You sure he’s here?”
“Right over there. The fat one.” He pointed his cane.
Seriam followed the cane to a particularly corpulent man.
He wore sensible clothing, though he looked out of place among the rest of the diners. A waitress came by and the leader of the Blood Stream seemed to delight in making her uncomfortable. He winked at her and gestured to the stack of empty plates in front of him as she put down another in front of him.
“Thank you, my dear. You may leave.”
Seriam walked toward his quarry and whispered out of the side of his mouth. “Name?”
“Faren. Call him Mister Faren, though. He’s one of those people.” Challan emphasized his point with a slight raise of his brow.
Seriam did know those people. Ones that felt the need to act superior against everyone they met. He’d dealt with them all his life. His boss sprang to mind most easily.
“Mister Faren!” Seriam said with what he hoped was sincere enthusiasm.
Faren glanced up at him as if judging a piece of meat. “What do you want, Investigator?”
Seriam opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He frowned. “How did you—”
“It’s in your bearing,” the fat man gestured at him with a fork. “Your walk. Your pistols are shined, taken care of. You’re a distinctive man besides all that. I know who you are, Codly. Now what do you want?”
Seriam felt a sense of unease, but fought to hide it. Did the man really know who, what, he was? “I’m looking for some information, Mister Faren.”
Faren tucked back into his food. “Proceed. And sit. Impolite not to talk with a man when not at eye level.”
“You moved a body, Mister Faren,” Seriam sprang right into why he was here as he sat down. Challan stood to his right. “Why?”
“Bad for business. You know how it is, Codly.”
He frowned again, off put by the use of his name. But that was probably the point. Seriam reevaluated the man. He obviously hadn’t taken lead of a gang like the Blood Stream by being lucky.
“Free with that kind of information, aren’t you?”
Faren choked on his food for a moment before recovering. “I know the man who did it. You can arrest him, if you like. Lad doesn’t know anything, though. Dumb as a rock, he is. Didn’t even tell me about the body until after he dumped it, of course.”
Seriam felt the last was a lie, but he let it slide. “Don’t suppose you know why he died?”
“Probably pissed off the wrong people, I don’t know,” Faren spit a bone into one of the empty plates. “Look, I’m busy having lunch. I’ve got nothing else to talk to you about, so please leave. But if you do find whoever you’re looking for, be sure to send him to me if you can. Might be useful.”
“Him, eh?” Challan said with a grin.
Faren’s eyes darted to the short man and glittered dangerously. “Figure of speech, of course. Could be a woman, for all I know. Now leave, please, or I’ll register a complaint with the constables.”
“Thank you for your time, Mister Faren,” Seriam said and stood up. “Enjoy your meal.”
“Threatening tone of voice there, Codly,” Faren said darkly. “Could get you in trouble if you’re not careful. Just a bit of advice, you understand, one man to another.”
Seriam fought the urge to draw his pistol. “Of course.”
*****
“Well that was a waste of time,” Challan finally burst out. He’d been quiet for long enough, since he normally wasn’t very helpful when Seriam talked to suspects.
“No, he gave us something. You noticed it,” Seriam said, serious as ever, though the flush on his neck was evidence he wasn’t at ease.
Challan cleared his throat. “I meant your insult. It was a waste of time, Fish. Men like him don’t respond well to things like that.”
Seriam paused. “I was angry.”
“You were stupid,” Challan pointed out, rapping his cane against the other man’s legs. “Where are we going?”
Seriam didn’t seem put off by the sudden change of subject. He never was anymore. No fun, Challan thought.
“Back to the morgue,” Seriam said. “Hopefully Doctor Peris has something for us.”
*****
Challan was right, of course. He had been stupid. Men like Faren often remembered slights like the one he’d made. Seriam wouldn’t be in the man’s good graces the next time he needed something from the leader.
Just gotta make sure I’m never in that position, he thought.
They reached the morgue just ten minutes over the hour Seriam had promised to see the Doctor. The fight had been unexpected, but he was happy he’d managed to arrive before midday. It helped that Variente’s was located in the same quadrant as the morgue.
Challan was the first up the steps to the building. Water dripped down the sides of the stone building, the last remnants of the lessening rain. The break wouldn’t last long, but Seriam was glad for the occasional glimpse of sunshine through the clouds above. It reminded him of home.
“Doctor Peris?” Seriam called out as Challan held the door open for him.
No one answered, though that wasn’t unexpected. The doctor could have been in one of the other rooms in the back. The inside of the building was little more than a hallway with several doors on each side. From what he could remember, the area where the doctor examined the bodies was the second one on the left.
“Come on,” Seriam said.
“I always love coming here,” Challan replied. “Makes me wish these buildings were bigger. Hold more of all the useless people in this city.”
Seriam opened the door to the morgue. Inside was a sterile tiled room with a drain on the floor and a metal table directly over it. A body lay on top of the gurney with a sheet over it. “If I didn’t know better, you’d sound like a murderer yourself.”
“If you knew better, you’d know I’m far more impressive than a simple murderer.”
Seriam smiled. “Yes, well, I suppose Flames are impressive sometimes.”
“‘Sometimes’,” Challan mocked. “You Mani—”
“Doctor Peris?” Seriam called out. There was a room connecting to the one they had walked into. Maybe he was in there. “Go check the body, see what you can find. I’ll see what the doctor’s up to.”
With Challan whistling tunelessly behind him, Seriam walked across the tile floor. His boots echoed strangely in the room. The smell of antiseptic filled his nose. He was grateful for his jacket, because the room send goosebumps along his exposed skin.
“Doctor?” He poked his head in the room. A row of cabinets took up the left side, while a couple of sinks filled the right. The door at the other end of the room softly clicked against the lock, open just a crack.
Seriam walked in with a frown. Where was the doctor? And why was the door open? He sighed and clumped his way to the door. A sneeze came over him as he reached for the door and he paused to wipe his nose.
Before he could reach for the handle, Challan’s voice came from the other room. “Seriam, come here.”
Seriam frowned at the use of his real name, leaving the door alone and walking back to the room. He leaned his hands against the threshold and looked toward Challan. His partner was standing over the body with a look of shock on his face. He was confused until he looked at the corpse.
“Doctor Per...” he trailed off, jaw slackened.
Adrenaline pounded in his veins and Seriam twisted back to the door, his pistol drawn out in one smooth movement.
Nothing but the clicking door greeted him.
“Chal, what the hell’s going on?”
Challan cursed. “I wish I knew. Dammit. Dammit!”
Seriam walked backwards until he was at the table, his gun trained on the back door. He glanced down at the corpse.
Definitely Peris. Damn.
“How?”
Challan tapped his cane agitatedly against the floor. “Same as the guy this morning. No marks on him. I checked, thinking it was the investor.”
Seriam glanced back at the doctor’s face. Peris’ mouth hung just slightly open, a hint of yellow peeking through.
“Challan, look in his mouth.”
“What?”
“His mouth,” Seriam gestured. “There’s something in there. I’ll cover the doors.”
He heard Challan reach into the man’s mouth with a soft slick, but his attention was on the clicking back door. Something was wrong with it. Why would it be open? The attacker could have left in a hurry. But no, if it was the same person, they wouldn’t have been so sloppy. He gritted his teeth as another thought occurred to him.
“Where’s the other body?” Seriam whispered.
“It’s a note, Fish,” Challan said. “Says ‘CNJR’. That code for some— oh.”
“Conjure,” Seriam confirmed. “Doctor must have figured that much out and managed to get a note in his mouth before they killed him. Smart man.”
Challan cursed again. “Damn shame to lose him.”
“Watch the door. I’m checking the back,” Seriam said. He cautiously walked to the door he’d almost closed and crouched down beside it. He furrowed his brows and glanced at the bottom.
There, just barely visible, was a wire. A chill shot down his spine.
Tripwire.
Connected to what? he thought. He followed the line, but it vanished from view behind the door. He’d have to investigate it from the outside.
“Challan, let’s get out of here and go around the back. There’s a tripwire. Don’t want someone else walking in here and getting themselves killed.”
“Tripwire?” Challan was incredulous. “For what?”
Seriam grunted and walked to the hallway door, peering cautiously out. “Us, probably. Someone doesn’t want this investigation to happen. If they killed Doctor Peris and took the body, I doubt they’d blink at murdering a pair of investigators.”
They walked outside, weapons drawn, but there was no one about. Not many people wanted to walk past a morgue. It was considered bad luck.
Seriam and Challan walked around the back. They found the tripwire easily enough. Attached to it was a small bomb. Seriam drew in a deep breath and disabled it.
“This is bigger than just a gang, Fish.” Challan said solemnly.
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Seriam sniffed. “And I smell smoke.”
*****
The fire was Variente’s.
Challan knew it would be. After leaving the morgue, the two had raced to the source of the fire. It hadn’t taken them long to retrace their steps.
A fire brigade was already bringing the flames to a manageable level. Clusters of people watched or were questioned by the constables. Challan moved close enough to one of the officers to hear.
“One dead, looks like. Lucky no one else was hurt.” one of the constables grumbled.
“Who was it?” another asked.
The first officer shrugged. “F- something. The man’s wallet was burned, but we got that much from it.”
“Faren,” Seriam whispered.
Challan nodded slowly. Someone was killing the people who knew about the murder.
Apparently Seriam reached the same conclusion, because he suddenly started running toward the nearest manhole several streets away. “Josi’s next.”
Challan frowned at the thought. Josi was a good fighter, but she was also just one woman. While he had no doubt she could have taken the four thugs they’d beat up earlier, the fact that three men were dead who knew about the murder was more than enough to make him nervous.
“Dammit, Josi, learn to keep your mouth shut,” he muttered under his breath, racing with Seriam to reach the Drab. And hopefully keep the murder from adding another tally to his list.
*****
They followed the sound of gunfire.
Seriam was running for all he was worth down the passageways. Those who braved the smaller tunnels like the one they were in darted out of his way. The pistol in his hand probably had something to do with that.
Challan kept pace beside him and the two men soon found themselves at the area they’d dispatched the four thugs. Josi was no longer there, but the shots were closer.
Seriam stood in the middle of a three way intersection, wondering which path to take. It sounded like the shots were coming from the right, but with the way the acoustics worked down here, it was entirely possible he was wrong.
“Dammit,” he muttered. “Challan. Pick one.”
“Right,” the other man said and ran down the tunnel. Seriam followed, trusting the shorter man’s instinct.
Their small tunnel eventually opened up into a larger one. It was similar to the one they had just exited, aside from the pair of rails in the middle of the passageway. Seriam thought it was the Foster railway, but he couldn’t be sure. It didn’t really matter, though.
The huge tunnel gradually curved as they ran, following the increasing volume of the battle ahead. It sounded like there were more people than just Josi involved. Of course, if he could hear the battle going on, the local constables could to.
His suspicion was confirmed when the tunnel straightened out and the battle unfolded ahead of him. Bodies littered the ground like fallen bags of corn and. Most of them wore the uniform of city officials. The living constables were huddled behind a railway machine, its massive bulk taking up two thirds of the tunnel’s height. Why they were built that big, Seriam didn’t know, but right then he was glad for it.
Josi wasn’t with the constables, though. Instead, she was huddled between two support pillars on the stairs leading to a wide passageway further up the wall. She was holding off the men trying to break onto the balcony the stairs were connected to. That was where the men were firing from.
Seriam grimaced and motioned for Challan to pass him.
The shorter man nodded and dashed forward, prodded on by his power as a Flame. They could temporarily increase their speed and strength for short bursts. Perfect for hunting Manipulars, who relied on physical objects to use magic. Having to use objects was more powerful, but it was slower than a Conjure, which allowed a Flame to get in close and take them out with usual ease.
Seriam pointed his pistol as he ran and manipulated the speed and density of the first round just before it exited his barrel.
It shot forward faster than he could blink, impacting one of the men firing on Josi and the constable’s position. The man fell, his metal breastplate pierced by the high-velocity slug. Seriam nodded grimly. He wasn’t going to manipulate his bullets into stun rounds like he had for the thugs.
A pair of constables glanced back at the sound of the shot, almost turning their guns on Challan as the Flame jumped on top of the railway machine and then leaped to the balcony in a graceful movement. A flash of steel shined in the tunnel lights as Challan drew his sword.
Thankfully he didn’t rush into the wide tunnel like Seriam thought he was going to. Instead, the man looked down to something on the other side of the railway machine and leaped there.
“What are you doing, Chal’?” Seriam whispered, then turned his attention to the constables. “Investigator Codly. I’m here to help.”
“Codly?” the constable who seemed to be in charge asked, his hair a salty grey with a thick mustache. “Yer a Manipular, aren’t ye?”
He nodded.
“Maybe we’ll get out of this alive, then,” the constable said, spitting on the ground. “Name’s Major Vale.”
Seriam nodded distractedly and tried to get a good look at the people attacking Josi. Blood Stream, of course, but under new management, it seemed. “Sir, you need to get your men out of here. My associate and I can handle the situation.”
The Major stared at him. “You’re telling us to leave, son?”
“There’s a Conjure on the gang’s side, sir. They do nasty things to men like yourself.”
“Hell,” Major Vale replied. “Well, I didn’t live this long by taking stupid chances. We’ll go secure the other end of the line and ask for our own Conjures. Try not to die.”
Seriam wondered at how easy that had been. Most men wouldn’t leave a fight until it was won or lost. It seemed that this Major Vale knew what a Conjure could do, though. They were rare, but deadly.
Kind of like me, he thought and sent another manipulated bullet into the hallway. It ricocheted, keeping its shape and slamming into another armored man. Unfortunately, it hadn’t killed him. The thought occurred that armor was a strange thing to see these days, especially on gang members. They were obviously well funded to be equipped like that.
“Just what the hell is going on?” he asked. He covered the officer’s retreat with a couple more rounds of his pistol. Still, someone braved his fire and cut down a fleeing officer. The others didn’t even stop to help.
“You’re going to pay for that,” Seriam said as he reloaded.
His next three bullets found their targets and put them down for good.
*****
Was the entire Blood Stream gang here?
The thought flew through Challan’s thoughts as he whirled around wildly, slicing through limbs with his sword and cracking bones with a snap of his cane. Men had fallen around him like moths to the flame, unprepared for his assault. People like him were dangerous for exactly that reason, feared by many. Maybe that’s why he hated being in crowds. He was flammable.
But now the men were starting to regroup.
Challan cursed and darted behind a stack of steel bars. Just like the ones Seriam had hidden behind in the other tunnel earlier, these had gaps that bullets shot through easily. Still, it offered him enough cover to think up his next move.
He could hear Seriam firing on the other side of the railway machine, so he was obviously busy with his own troubles. Josi, on the other hand, was pinned. But the bullets just made her curse that much more.
“Goddamn you fucking assholes! Stop fucking shooting! I’ve got a bullet to shove down your damn craniums!”
Challan smirked at her insults. They were unimaginative for her, which meant she was focusing more on staying alive than coming up with ways to harass those around her.
Always a good thing, Challan thought as a bullet that passed through his cover sliced into the edge of his wide-brimmed hat. What to do, what to do... ah, nothing for it, then.
“Seriam! Little help here?” he yelled.
*****
“Give me a second!” Seriam shouted as he ascended the ladder to the top of the railway machine, clutching his bleeding side where a bullet had entered. He ducked behind the control panel, its cover enough to shield him from the hail of bullets and attempted to bandage it while he glanced around.
The gauges and levers used to drive the thing unfamiliar to him. He had thought about using it himself to clear the way for Challan, but he wouldn’t even know how to start it. Not that there seemed to be much fuel left in the tank anyway, judging by one of the gauges he knew how to read. The thing probably wouldn’t even start.
“How’s that second going for you, Fish?”
Seriam fired another couple of rounds and managed to nail one of the bastards. “It’s turning into a minute. Just hang on, alright?”
There were three left in the hallway, not to mention the five pinning Challan and Josi. He had ten bullets left.
Lovely odds. Gotta make these shots count, he thought grimly.
Even if he did take the others out, though, there was still the matter of the Conjure. He hadn’t shown up yet, but Seriam had a feeling he was around, watching the battle unfold. That worried him, because Challan and Josi would be in big trouble facing a Conjure. Only Manipulars could fight them in relative safety.
Seriam popped up again, manipulating the next round into a magnet and upped the density again. While he could only manipulate something twice before it disintegrated, the modification he’d made this time would home in on one of the metal chestplates and hopefully punch through. Its exit velocity was enough to take it away from his gun without homing in on that.
Unfortunately, he’d forgotten the giant, metal beast he was sitting on. The bullet dropped as it attempted to magnetize to the railway machine. As a result, it thudded harmlessly into the hallway’s cement.
Nine bullets left and one wasted right out the gate. Good work, Fish, Seriam could hear Challan’s voice berating him in his mind for the mistake. He never stopped to wonder why it was his friend’s voice he heard whenever he did something wrong.
His next two rounds were used to full effect, one slicing through a man’s neck while the other buried itself in a woman’s head. They both fell, leaving one left alive. The survivor ran away before Seriam could fire another shot.
“Gangs and the Watch aren’t so different after all,” Seriam muttered darkly. He turned his attention to the last five, noticing there were actually four when he counted them. The fifth was laying across a stack of boxes, shot through the head.
Josi. He smiled.
*****
Four. He could take four. Maybe.
Josi had shot one, which meant she had saved his life, bringing her tally closer to his. That was why she hated him—she owed him her life. That was a big deal to her, but one he held over her head because he enjoyed making people mad.
It’s what he was good at.
What he was also good at was killing. He saw his opportunity when two of the four remaining gunmen and women ducked down to reload. Challan dashed forward, trusting Seriam to cover him. After all, he couldn’t hear anymore shooting from the hallway near Josi, so that had to mean he was ready to finally help.
A shot rang out, throwing one of the women back. Blood sprayed across the rails and the boxes the Blood Stream were using for cover. Three left. Better odds. Another shot echoed in the tunnel, but it missed its target and embedded itself in the wooden box. Challan grinned when Seriam cursed the miss.
The two who had taken cover to reload popped back up, but by then he was already there. He leaped above the boxes, his cane knocking one gun away while his sword sliced through the other man’s fingers. Both weapons dropped and the two gang members fell back beneath his onslaught.
He made short work of them, cracking the skull of one with his cane and stabbing the other through the eye. He hadn’t even needed to flare his flame to take them out. Too easy.
One left.
Before he could turn all the way around, three bullets flew through the air. One came from Seriam, who missed spectacularly. Another came from Josi, who managed to score a direct hit on the last gunman’s chest.
The last one slammed into Challan’s back.
*****
Seriam watched his friend fall with wide eyes.
Blood flew, spraying across the ground.
Challen hit the ground, limp hands no longer clutching cane a sword.
Time seemed to stop.
It sped up again as the body hit the ground.
“NO!” The cry was torn from his throat.
“Isn’t that a shame,” someone said from his left.
Seriam turned toward the voice, his pistol already drawn up. He nearly pulled the trigger when he saw him, but shock made him hesitate.
Devin Powderman was standing in front of him.
The gun was jerked from his hand by invisible strings. Seriam cursed, grabbing for it.
“Now, now, we can’t have that. Manipulars are dangerous with guns,” Devin said as he pulled the gun into his hand.
Devin Powderman was supposed to be dead. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be a Conjure. Seriam had a list of all Conjures, Flames and Manipular in the city. Devin’s name was not on that list.
“Wha—”
He was suddenly jerked up from his cover and thrown over the railway machine. The ground hit hard and he felt something crack. His breath fell away and he rolled so his eyes were staring at the ceiling. It seemed like it was getting closer. Panic filled him.
No, I don’t want to die here. Not here. Not underground.
“Well, at least I didn’t have to go looking for you,” Devin said from the top of the railway machine, hands in his pockets. “That wouldn’t have been fun.”
Challen’s dead. Josi’s next. I’m going to die underground.
“Unfortunately for you, Manipulars won’t die as easy as the others. Josi here will live for awhile, since someone like her is useful,” Devin continued.
Josi shot the rest of her clip at the man. “Fuck you!”
The Conjure just raised an eyebrow as the shots were deflected away. “Perhaps a bit of punishment would be in order, though.”
He raised a hand toward her. Lightning shot from his fingers, engulfing her. She screamed.
Seriam fought down his panic as the ceiling grew closer. It wasn’t possible. It was a trick. A Conjur messed with minds.
His heart continued to beat like a drum and his brain wouldn’t listen to his logic.
Devin’s face looked down on him and frowned. “The Blood Stream wasn’t very useful, was it? Of course, if it distracted you long enough for me to finish everything else, I guess it was worth the loss. Too bad you didn’t die back at the morgue. I thought you’d try and close the door.”
“Why?”
He chuckled. “As if I’d tell you. Trust me, it’s for the betterment of the city. You were just in the way.”
Seriam turned and tried to ignore the walls shambling toward him in a grim march. Movement in the corner of his eye barely registered.
“Well, I guess it’s time for me to go. I’ve got a new railway to build with Foster done. Just need to kill another couple of investors and... oh, I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” Devin laughed again. “I’ve always had a gloating problem.”
Seriam grabbed the rail. If he could manipulate it—
Pain wracked his arm as electricity ripped through it. He felt himself scream.
“Smart of you,” Devin said, his back to the boxes. “But it wouldn’t have helped anyway.”
Despite the agony, Seriam grinned.
The Conjure frowned. “What are you—”
He paused, glancing down at the sword piercing his chest.
“Oh. I thought he was dead.”
Challan coughed up some blood and pushed the body off his sword. “Everyone always underestimates the short guy.”
*****
“He murdered the investor because he needed the man’s money,” Seriam explained. “He faked his death in order to work more securely with the gangs. I’m sure there was a life insurance policy on himself, as well, but I can only guess.”
His boss, King Lemire of Sarthan, grunted. “And the reason for all of this?”
Seriam paused. “I believe he wanted to finish the railways and own them from shadows. He could have even planned to turn the city against you, but I can only guess at his intentions.”
The King nodded, waving him away. “Good work, Investigator Codly. You may leave.”
He bowed, turned on his heel and left through the King’s door. Guards stood at attention on either side of the doorway, while several others crowded the hallway. They were gathered around Challan, of course.
“And then Seriam missed again, leaving me to take a bullet in the back. Can you believe the nerve of this guy?”
Seriam’s eyes narrowed as the constables all laughed.
“So then—oh, hey, Fish. Finish the report already?” Challan looked up innocently at him, his chest bandaged and his arm in a sling.
Seriam gritted his teeth. “Yes, but we’ve still got work to do. Come on.”
Challan grinned. “You got it, Fish.”
The Flame fell in beside the Manipular and they walked through the crowd, back into the rain-strewn streets. |
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