The Bad Guys Chronicles Box Set

by Eric Ugland

  “No offense, but some of the work we do doesn’t require that much in the way of brainpower.”

  “But one reason I like it. Continue.”

  “I would make sure I knew where Fancypants set up his display. Then, I would do a few walkthroughs, get to know the guard schedule.”

  “Would you worry about being noticed?”

  “Of course, but I would do my utmost to seem interested in something other than the orb.”

  “Eh.”

  “More?”

  “Find a young woman, or man, either, and try to impress them with your magical knowledge. When they are surely uninterested, find another, and do so again. Any guard who pays attention to you will do so to mock you.”

  “A little demeaning, but I guess it’d work.”

  “With your chosen profession, there is no room for shame. Once you have the orb.”

  “I make a break for it?”

  “Depends on the size, really. If you can hide it about your person, it would be better to wait. See when it is discovered, then wait for things to die down, and then go. Or even secret yourself about the mansion and leave tomorrow. But if it is bigger, you will have to improvise. Perhaps your Shadow thing would help.”

  “Yeah, I may have been using that a little more than I should have.”

  “You have seen the creatures?”

  “They’ve been getting a little handsy. And mouthy.”

  “Ah, crap.”

  “That’s bad, huh?”

  “Yes. The extent, no idea. I have to do a few things. We will meet at your tavern place tonight, speak to this guard, and then you will attend this party.”

  “How?”

  “I will get you in. You must do the rest. Which means you cannot look like a pit person, and you cannot smell like pit beast poop.”

  He pulled a small notebook from a pocket in his coat, and scribbled in it with a pencil, then ripped a page free. He passed it over to me.

  “Go here, speak to Creena Ballard, tell her I’m calling in a favor, and she can chew me out after she chews you out. Then tell her about shadow step, and don’t call her a witch.”

  “Is she a witch?”

  “Don’t call her one, okay?”

  “Okay, but—”

  “After that, bath and clothes and hair.”

  “My hair is—”

  “Do it,” he snapped. “And do it well. Look like you are a noble, or everything falls apart.”

  Chapter 62

  First stop, witch. Of all the things I needed to do before dinner, visiting a practitioner of the dark arts seemed the easiest.

  She had a tiny shop tucked into the basement of a large general store in a neighborhood near the Shade, the big graveyard. It was my first time seeing the Shade, and I realized why Etta had said stumbling in there by accident would be next to impossible. It was walled off, and to get in, you would have to go through a temple. Still, there were people trying to get in, folks wearing heavy armor and carrying weapons, waiting in a line outside of the temple. I watched as a robed acolyte came out, spoke to a few people, and then led them inside. I made a mental note to check it out soon, I was very curious to see what the process was, and what they were doing on the other side of the walls. Though the faint sound of something hammering on iron and the occasional screams gave me the feeling combat was happening somewhere nearby.

  The neighborhood I was going to was across the street from the Shade. It was a nice enough place, but there was definitely a real dark feeling to it. Dark leaves on the dark trees covering the streets and buildings in shade. The buildings were built out of dark brick, and despite the traffic moving on the main thoroughfare, almost no one was walking down the streets.

  I was.

  It was not very far along the block to the general store, and then just a quick jump down the staircase to my destination. It was a dark place, tons of weird crazy creepy stuff on the shelves, including a stuffed raven with glowing black eyes.

  I pushed the door open, and there was a soft bell ringing above me.

  There was a small woman sitting in a stuffed chair, with a cup of tea in her hand. She gestured to the chair opposite her, and the steaming mug of tea next to it.

  “Would you care to sit?” She said.

  “Were you waiting for me?” I asked.

  “Perhaps,” she said.

  “Are you Creena Ballard?” I asked, sitting down.

  “Who is asking?”

  “A friend of Matthew Gallifrey. Told me to tell you he’s calling in a favor.”

  “Is he?”

  “I guess, yeah.”

  “Ugh,” she said, standing up and waving her hand. All the crap in the windows disappeared, and curtains took their place. The black wall behind her vanished revealing a rather quaint wooden kitchen, though there were floor to ceiling shelves filled with all sorts of things, from leaves to bones to powders and everything else. She walked into the kitchen and tossed her tea in the sink.

  I started to get up.

  “Stay,” she said, then turned around and leaned against the sink. “What favor is he asking of me?”

  “Teaching me more about magic.”

  “You some noble’s kid, looking to find some spell to wow the other children at parties?”

  “Do I look like a noble’s kid?”

  “Why do you think I asked the question?”

  “I’m an elf.”

  “And elves aren’t nobles?”

  “Are they?”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Small town.”

  “Which small town?”

  “One far to the south, I’m sure you haven’t heard of it. It’s barely a hamlet.”

  “And the name of it?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Because there’s something off about you.”

  “You’re the one who put up an illusion of, uh, I don’t even know what it’s supposed to be.”

  “It’s the image some people expect when they come to someone branded a witch.”

  “Are you a witch?”

  “Do I look like I traffic in the undead?”

  “Why do you think I asked the question?” Truth, she did not. She looked like a pretty woman who was reaching middle age and hadn’t quite grown out of the cute stage.

  “Bah, you know nothing of the undead.”

  “There you’re right. I know nothing of the undead. But I want to know.”

  “Why?”

  I paused to actually think about the question. My immediate response was simply that I wanted to know everything. Of course I wanted to know about undead because it was a thing in the world. My second impulse was more nuanced, it was something I might face, and I wanted to know how to defeat it. And then, that burbling darkness, it was a weapon I could potentially use against my foe.

  As soon as I opened my mouth, she snapped her finger.

  “No lies, not here,” she said.

  “I don’t know,” I said, almost unbidden. “I’m curious. And I know I’ll wind up fighting them. And I want to know if I can control them.”

  “Interesting,” she replied quietly.

  “Hey!” I yelled. “You used magic on me.”

  “You came to a witch and expected her not to use magic?!”

  “You just said you weren’t a witch!”

  “Did I?”

  She hadn’t. She’d merely replied to my question with a question and never answered it.

  “Are you a witch?” I asked.

  “No,” she replied with a smile, “but that doesn’t change that you thought I was a witch now, does it?”

  “What are you?”

  “The more interesting question, what are you who doesn’t know nobles, can’t name a town, and think I might be a witch….?”

  I was starting to think the woman was dangerous, that she’d sniff out my secrets. Well, secret. I really only had the one, but it was an important one. That was definitely one of Etta’s first r
ules, never tell anyone I was from another world. I stood up.

  “Sit down,” she said with a flutter of her fingers.

  I dropped into the seat.

  Magic.

  This time, though, I’d been paying attention, thinking she might do something. I felt the magic swirl around my body and urge it to do her bidding. And, for the barest of moments, there was the hint I might say no.

  “Stop that,” I said.

  “Be still, foolish child,” she replied. “You came here to claim a favor, and a favor you shall have. If you are capable of casting magic, I shall teach you what I can. If not, you will leave and not remember this place.”

  “Is there going to be a test?”

  “Of course. What good teacher does not first judge her pupils?”

  “Nice ones?”

  “Witches are never nice.”

  “I thought you weren’t a witch.”

  “I’m not.”

  “But—”

  Her wry smiled disappeared: “I’m not nice either. Show me your magic. Now.”

  As much as I wanted to cast shadow step and slip up behind her to flick her ear, the whole reason I was here was because of shadow step and the problems it had brought about. Probably wouldn’t be such a bright idea to start with that.

  Instead, I pulled a key out of my key pouch and cast Zeddington’s Infinite Key.

  First time for the spell and I wasn’t exactly sure what was going to happen, I just knew it would work because I knew the spell. I held the key up in one hand, fingers splayed out. Glowing runes came out of my hand, swirled around the key, and disappeared inside it. A half-second later, and the key was humming and glowing softly.

  Careena held her hand out, like a toddler who saw something shiny.

  I passed the key over.

  She peered at it, held it this way and that way, then walked over to a shelf, pulled it off the wall to reveal a small iron door. She unlocked it. The key disappeared as soon as the tumblers in the lock tumbled.

  “Anything not from a book?” She said as she turned around, looking at me like I was dreck.

  “Yeah, just, I mean, it’s not very, uh, external.”

  “You think I need to see magic with my eyes? Cast your spell, child.”

  I closed my eyes, did a quick mana cycle, all through my head, then did the heal and stamina regens. I was at full on both, so it wasn’t really useful for me to do them. But, only spells I’d learned. And technically made up.

  As soon as I opened my eyes, I realized she was right in front of me, peering at me.

  She poked me.

  “You are either daring, stupid, or a genius,” she said. “I’m very intrigued.”

  “Good?”

  “Time will tell.”

  Faster than I could see, she was back in her chair.

  “You have good habits,” she said. “But who taught you to cycle your mana?”

  “Matthew.”

  “Fool had you go into your head?”

  “I kinda did that on my own.”

  “One point for stupid then. But also brave.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I am going to assume that your mysterious small town had little magic in it, and certainly no one willing to teach you.”

  “Good assumption.”

  She winked at me. “I know. Magic, by its nature, is hard to define. Impossible to understand. We can only see what has been done in the past, and even then, it is not the same for every person. It is one reason I find spellbooks so unpleasant. They teach the exact same spell to everyone, and each spell should be tailored to each person. How many spells have you gotten from books?”

  “Two basic identify spells,” I started, “summon familiar, shadow step, and Zeddington’s Infinite Key.”

  “I assume, given your willingness to push mana through your own brain that you have been toying in the shadow realm. Probably the reason Matthew sent you to me. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much have you done in the shadow realm— wait, let me guess. I enjoy guessing. And being right. More the being right. You’ve seen some of those who dwell in that realm, yes?”

  “Yeah. I have. And one tried to bite me.”

  In a blur, she was in front of me, like, right in front of me, and she had both her hands out while she chanted something under her breath. My body started to vibrate, and then there was an intense pulse of energy in my midsection, and I couldn’t move.

  And I was glowing. Bright.

  Careena let out a long breath I hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She walked back over to her chair and collapsed in it.

  A moment, or three, later, my glowing subsided, and I could move again.

  “What the hell was that?” I asked.

  “Had to make sure nothing hitched a ride back here on you.”

  “I’m clean?”

  “I would’ve been forced to destroy you otherwise.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “Yes.”

  “What, I mean, what are they?”

  “The things from the shadow realm? They are creatures from the shadow realm. They are myriad and poorly studied. Those who manage to cross into this realm have always been violent. Bloodthirsty beings who have enormous control over shadow and their own visibility. Very dangerous to more than just your own foolish self.”

  “Noted. No more shadow step.”

  “I did not say that, did I? I prefer to never take spells away from spell casters. There are options we can explore, but as your teacher of magic, I advise you to halt the use of that spell. Or any spells or activities which might bring you in contact with the shadow realm. You are being watched.”

  I nodded, “I figured that was the outcome.”

  “Another rule, you may not use spell books while under my tutelage. All spells you learn will be learned the hard way.”

  “By the hard way, do you mean I’ll have to think them up?”

  “That is the harder way. Have you done it yet?”

  “I have a stamina regeneration spell thing. I came up with it while I was working one day.”

  “Kudos to you, then. You will find that if you know a spell to pull peaches from the air, you can probably swing it to pull apricots as well. Magic has many connections in that regard. The hard way is me teaching you spells I know.”

  “What if there are spells I need to know that you don’t know?”

  “We will cross that bridge if and when we come to it.”

  “I have a spellbook, can I learn that spell before the rule comes into effect?”

  “Let me see it.”

  I hadn’t been planning to learn the spell, not for sure, but I also wasn’t keen on losing the opportunity. And, as much as I wanted to be a rebel, I didn’t want to risk losing access to her teachings, so I wasn’t about to be stupid and hold onto a spellbook for a spell I wasn't sure I even wanted.

  That said, I dug the spellbook for summon fiend out, and I passed it over to Careena.

  She took it, looked at the cover, the spine, and the back, and then she flipped through it.

  I was about to say something, point out that maybe she shouldn’t flip through it if she didn’t want to learn the spell and that it was my spellbook dammit, but even thinking that sounded a bit foolish, so I remained quiet.

  “Where did you get this?” She finally asked, setting the book on the counter behind her.

  “Dead guy.”

  “You killed someone for this?”

  “I killed someone because he was trying to kill someone else. Just so happened he had that on him.”

  “And you were thinking of learning it?”

  “I want to know every spell I can.”

  “Is your goal to be a Mancer?”

  “Uh, not like one of the guys who—”

  “No, I didn’t mean being one of those chain-dead fools. However, they have access to the imperial spell makers. Fools who sit around doing nothing but make spellbooks f
or the Mancers.”

  “The chain-dead. Good name.”

  “Apt. If you want to know every spell you can, that is the best way to do so.”

  “Why do you hate spell books, though?”

  “Magic is unique. For every person, the way they interact with magic is different. Subtly so. It is why spellbooks can work, but they never work as well as a spell learned the old fashioned way.”

  “The hard way.”

  “Yes. And spells learned from another are never quite as efficient as the spells discovered on one’s own. When you learn through a spellbook, you know how to cast the spell, but you do not understand the spell. You do not know why your body is doing what it does to cast it, how the mana is actually moving through your body to make the magic happen. It is the same as fools who are granted skill levels without earning them. They may have the means to do something, but it is rare they have the practical ability to put those new levels to use. Despite what some may think, hard work is paid off in this world.”

  “I’m not afraid of hard work.”

  “I would not have agreed to instruct you if you were. Having sussed out your own spell is no small feat. But we get away from the original question: why do you want to know this spell?”

  “I don’t. Not that spell specifically.”

  “This spell, specifically, is designed to get a spell caster in trouble. Note it does not specify a fiend, nor does it indicate whom might control the fiend. It is for the ignorant and foolish, so they cast the spell, and pull a larger fiend than they anticipate, and they are torn apart for their curiosity. I will trade this spellbook for another, and this will be the last spellbook you use while under my tutelage. Is that a fair trade?”

  “Sure.”

  She walked over to another shelf, waved her hand in front of it, and the jars of flours and other baking supplies shivered out of existence to reveal rows and rows of small books.

  “Are you following a similar field of work as Matthew?” she asked.

  “I suppose so, yes.”

  She nodded, and ran her fingers down the books, touching one, reading the title, muttering to herself, then putting it back, then repeating the process over and over again until she found the book she wanted. Then, she took it off the shelf, grabbed another book, then a third, and brought them over to me.