by Eric Ugland
I didn’t see anything that would be considered contraband. Then I lifted the mattress. First book found: Demons and You: A commonplace primer for summoners. I snatched it up and shoved it in my belt. Under the bed was a chamber pot, which I was about to make a stink over, considering where the bathroom was. But something seemed off, so I snatched the pot and took a look. It was a cast iron bowl of sorts filled with stinky yellow rocks. Sulphur. Bit stereotypical.
I pulled the bowl out and took it into the main living room, setting in on the table before heading into the bathroom. In the bathroom, I learned a few things. Notably, I was spoiled by my shower. Also, Pomeroy was a disgusting guy. He clearly hadn’t cleaned in a while. His sink was clogged with hair, both of the face and head variety, and likely elsewhere. There was something akin to a shower, but it was more primitive. It was just a spot where water came out and you sat on a stool and rinsed yourself off. There was no way to luxuriate under flowing water. And there was only one tap, so I figured there was no hot water.
The toilet was closer to the Old World designs from, say, Victorian times. I appreciated the fact that toilets had developed in Glaton and had spread, at least for the most part, through the city. A quick check through his toiletries revealed a host of potions and tonics, most of which seemed of dubious quality, but I doubted they were illegal. Still, what did I know? I scooped them all up, and took them out in the other room.
I stood in the living room for a moment, and the enormity of the task came over me. The perfect place to hide illegal reading materials was, naturally, in the extensive library of reading materials. Sure, I could burn everything. Setting the place on fire seemed like a perfectly reasonable response to the problem, and being that the powers that be knew full well that Pomeroy was currently in his office, there was no way they could blame him for the it. Plus, stone walls. So it probably wouldn’t spread to another room. Probably. But it also wouldn’t look great for Pomeroy’s apartment to burn up. At any time really, but especially when it was about to be raided for contraband.
“Think,” I said to myself. “Think.”
The book I’d found reminded me of the crap the Iron Silents had. That, naturally, made me suspect this might have the taint of the Iron Silents. Ew. If that was the case, I had to be sure not to overthink things, because the Iron Silents consistently displayed their inability to ever do the smart thing. But it was more likely the Iron Silents were only suppliers to Pomeroy’s pernicious opponent, and that the rival professor had been the one to do the hiding of the illicit goods. In that case, I would need to actually think because the mystery asshole would want to make it look like Pomeroy really was hiding things. In which case, the bookshelf would not be the place to look.
Pomeroy said he’d cleaned his desk multiple times.
Just for giggles while I was thinking, I pulled a pen off the desk, tied it to a piece of string, and cast detect secret door. The pen swung in a lazy circle for a second. Nothing.
But it did give me a second to just look around the room, idly following where the pen was spinning. And I noticed a little something amiss. The place was such a mess that seeing something amiss should be difficult. But because there was a bit of the mess missing, it became clear. Some of the dust and detritus at the edge of the carpet had been cleaned away. It was the corner that went under the desk. I knelt down, and pulled the carpet back.
“Aha,” I said, and shook my head. When had I become the type of person who said ‘aha’ when I found things? All of a sudden I worried that I’d been going through incremental personality changes since I died. Was that possible?
Focus.
Someone had made a semi-secret hidey-hole. Someone who was not very good with tools. Or hidey-holes. The wood didn’t really match back up, the cuts weren’t straight, and there was no easy way to get into the damn thing. I had to bust my dagger out and pry the stupid boards out of the way. But there was the prize. Or, in this case, the anti-prize: A set of things that Professor Pomeroy should certainly not possess. Several spell books, which I could tell because of the hint of magic coming from them, as well as their rather svelte shape. Since you didn’t actually need to read the books, they were never that large. At the bottom of the little stack were two thick books with especially gross bindings. It looked a bit like someone had chosen to tan the skin off of something’s face, because there were still teeth and eyes embedded in the leather.
From the hallway, I could hear the jangle of armor and the thud of heavy boots.
Time was up.
I darted into the bedroom, scooped up Pomeroy’s gross grey floppy pillow, and slid back to the hidey hole. Everything up and into the pillow case. Then for good measure, I scooped everything from the top of the desk into the pillowcase.
A key was inserted into the lock.
“Shit,” I whispered.
Whoever was on the other side was waffling with it though.
“Silly to have so many different locks,” came an old wheezy voice. “Gotta try the next one.”
I darted to the window, stepped out onto the ledge, and very carefully slid the window back closed. I took a step to the side, and paused.
Climbing up to the roof and going around was probably still a good plan. However, there was definitely one major problem. Whomever was inside Pomeroy’s apartment, likely the evil professor asshole dude after Pomeroy, would know where Pomeroy’s office was, and more than likely, said asshole would want to look out the window and watch Pomeroy witness his own destruction. If that happened, they’d see me trying to climb back down to the office. I could climb down the outside of the building, but once I got to street level, it’d be so busy that I’d inevitably be noticed. And likely arrested for climbing a government building. Which was the same reason I couldn’t exactly scamper down into the courtyard.
One option.
Back in.
Not into Pomeroy’s apartment, of course, but one of the other ones.
Chapter 186
I didn’t go far.
I found the next bedroom two windows down. It was actually quite nicely appointed. Still the same size as Pomeroy’s and with the same general furniture, but the occupant actually cared about having a nice space to sleep in. The blanket had some color to it and wasn’t threadbare, the pillow was fresh and plump, and there was a small vase with a single flower in it that gave the little room a delightful fragrance. I felt bad stepping on the bed as I came in through the window.
Not bad enough to not do it, but still. I felt a little twinge.
I went through the main room, which actually had a couch and a little dining table in it, and paused at the door.
I peeked through the keyhole, and I saw two guards standing with a slight male human right between them. A rat-faced man who held his hands in a weird position, and it was clear he needed to clean his nails. And his scraggly beard.
“Where should we be looking, Lambeau?” came a call from Pomeroy’s apartment.
“Near the desk,” Rat-Face called back, his voice oddly calming. If there was ever a man more in dire need for a job in radio, I couldn’t imagine it.
But it did give me an idea.
I opened the door, and looked at the guards and Lambeau.
The guards looked over at me, but immediately dismissed me. Lambeau was a little more invested, but he seemed more confused than concerned.
I gave a weak smile and nod, then walked down the hall away from them, doing my best to keep the pillowcase out of view of the guards. As soon as I turned the corner, I stopped, and I looked down the new hall.
Empty.
I set the pillowcase down, then slipped the very basic demon book out of my belt.
It was time to do something risky. I cast shadowstep.
As always, going into the shadowrealm was disconcerting. The vague darkness, the mists that appeared out of nowhere and surrounded everything. And the feeling of being unwelcome. There were certainly things out there, things that didn't want me there, and, w
ell, some that did, but not at all for a good reason. I didn't see any of the shadow creatures as I stood there in the hallway, but I could feel them. Or, you know, I was just being paranoid because Careena had drilled it in me that they'd be there.
Slipping around the corner, I saw the real world moving at a snail's pace. Less than a snail's pace, really. I sprinted down the hallway at full speed and stopped right in front of Lambeau. Then I leaned the book between his back and the wall. And then I sprinted back down the hall, popping back into reality as soon as I was out of view.
Immediately, I heard the sound of the book falling against the floor followed by the sound of one of the guards being surprised.
I couldn't help myself, so I peeked around the corner.
"What's that?" Guard One asked.
Lambeau looked down at the book on the floor.
"It's a book," Guard Two said.
He bent down to pick that up.
"It's not mine," Lambeau said.
"It fell from you," Guard One said.
"No it didn't," Lambeau countered.
"What is it?" Guard One asked.
"Can't read," Guard Two said, and held it out to Guard One.
Guard One carefully looked over it, having to sound a little bit out to himself, and then his face went red.
"Arrest him," Guard One said.
Guard Two grabbed Lambeau.
"Wait—“ Lambeau started to say, but Guard One backhanded Lambeau.
"There are two options here, scum," One said. "Either this is yours and you're guilty of having demonic materials, or this is something you were going to try and plant in there. Either way, you've got problems."
Guard One stomped into the room, and I slipped back around the corner, walking quietly down the hall and not at all hiding the smug smile spreading across my face.
Chapter 187
Walking through the residence hall of the building was simple enough. No one had the slightest regard for a poor-looking person wandering along with a pillowcase. Which was a relief since I had a decent amount of ground to cover — down a set of stairs, through a guarded door, and then back up the stairs — to get to Pomeroy's office.
I knocked, and then waited.
The door opened up about two inches, and a wide-eye peeked out at me.
"It's you," Pomeroy said. "Did you, was it—“
"How about you let me inside first?” I asked.
“Of course,” he replied, and he moved so I could get in. As soon as I'd gotten past him, he leaned out the door and looked both ways before shutting the door again.
I sat down in the chair opposite his desk.
"What happened?" the professor asked. He came around to his side of the desk, but neglected to take his seat. He was almost vibrating he was so excited.
I held out the pillowcase, and set it on his desk.
"That's my pillow," he said, genuinely confused.
I grabbed the pillowcase and dumped its contents on his desk.
Everything came tumbling out, the sulphur sputtering off the desk and onto the floor, leaving a trail of yellow dust behind. The cast iron not-a-chamber-pot also left a sizable dent in the wooden desk.
Congratulations! You’ve completed a QUEST!
Rebuild the Guild IX - Lothar Kuthbrook I and II
You foiled the efforts of the Ethics Committee to find any illegal materials within the living quarters of Professor Pomeroy, so Professor Pomeroy will now retain Sven Kuthbrook as his pupil.
Reward for Success: Lothar Kuthbrook will join your guild.
"This is a lot of things," Pomeroy said. "Where was it?"
"Hidden compartment next to the desk."
"How did you manage to find that?"
"Trade secret," I said. “Bonus points because I had an opportunity to make Lambeau look pretty guilty. Hopefully that mitigates your problems with him somewhat.”
“Really? You framed Lambeau?”
“Not sure I’d call it framed, but yeah, He’s in a sticky situation at the moment.”
“That is wonderful. Truly, you have saved my life. I can’t thank you enough.”
“It was nothing — happy to do it. But maybe, in addition to the kid getting into the Academy, you could agree to do some research for me from time to time. Or explain things to me. I’m curious about a lot of things. Even basic things.”
“A service I would be happy to do for you, Mister, uh—”
“Hatchett. Master Hatchet.”
“Right. Yes," he said. “Now, your other reward, let me get that squared away.”
Pomeroy finally sat down at his desk. He pulled open a drawer, whipped out a sheet of parchment, and shuffled things around to make enough space to actually write on it. His handwriting was a beautiful flowing script, a bit like cursive but with a host of bonus flourishes. And of course he finished with a lovely, but awfully large, signature at the bottom. Pomeroy read it over once, then presented it to me.
"You put the young boy's name here," he said, pointing to a blank space on the document, "and then return it to me. Or have someone return it to me. Probably the father or the mother. Or both. Good to meet them and the son, discuss, a bit, what they are hoping to achieve.”
"And what about tuition?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"How much will it cost?”
“Nothing. It is funded by the Empire."
“Wow.”
"Where exactly is the town you hail from?"
"Tiny place. Very remote."
"I feel they might need a new schoolmaster there."
"Very likely," I said with a smile. "This, uh, stuff. Do you want me to get rid of it for you?"
"Would you mind?"
"Not in the slightest. Though, maybe you'd like to keep your pillowcase?”
Chapter 188
He gave me a small satchel that carried the books and whatnot very well. It made me feel a bit more refined.
About twenty yards from the entrance to the Ministry of the Interior building, I noticed an older man in a robe walking alongside me.
When I looked over at him, he was glaring back at me.
"Clyde Hatchett," he said.
"Maybe," I replied.
"We need to have a chat, you and I," he said. "Follow me."
"You know, normally I don't just go along with strangers. Unless, you know, they've got candy."
He harrumphed lightly, but didn’t say anything. He didn't even look back at me. I think he knew my curiosity would get the better of me, and I would be along shortly.
And of course, he was right. I hated that he was right, but what choice did I have? You can’t just not follow some random dude in robes who tells you to follow them. That's a waste of completely perfect opportunity for adventure.
We took a short walk around two blocks and down a small alley, and then came to a small iron door set in a brick wall. The door was a bit on the short side and a bit on thin side. The robed man fished a bright key from his pocket, and unlocked the door. A beautiful garden was inside.
"After you," he said.
"You realize how suspicious this is," I said.
He rolled his eyes, and walked through the hole in the wall. And then came back out. And then went in. And kept walking in the garden.
“Close the door, and take the key please," he called out.
I took my time getting to the hole in the wall, and really studied it. I don't know what I was expecting to find — it was just a hole in a wall that had a door hung on it. On the other side of the wall, there was a beautiful garden. It reminded me of Gramercy Park, a private bit of green space for anyone in the neighborhood.
I did as he requested, and headed into the garden.
There was a fantastically sweet smell to the place, a freshness that reminded me how immune I had become to the malodorous conditions of the day to day reality of Glaton. Gone were the wafts of poop from a cornucopia of species. Nor could I smell pee. Or trash. Instead, it was flowers. Rich loam.
And as nice as the place smelled, it looked even nicer. The trees all looked perfect, without a single dead branch or errant leaf. The grass was almost unrealistically soft, like I was walking on memory foam.
It wasn't a huge park, less than an acre I’d guess. There were a few groundskeepers working, all wearing light-colored robes, all deeply engaged in whatever they were doing with the plants and trees. The man I'd been following was sitting on a bench, looking into a pond.
I sat down next to him.
We were looking into a koi pond. Surprisingly deep, with lots of fish. One end had a small stand of thin trees, something that looked a lot like bamboo, but was more flowery.
"It would seem, Clyde Hatchett," the man said, "that we are fated to keep meeting."
"Have we met before?" I asked. I tried hard to place the man, but failed.
"We have not," he said, "I was more using the organizational we."
"I didn't realize that was a thing."
"I'm tired," he said. "I didn't get much sleep last night as I was busy trying to quell an international incident."
"I don't know who you are, but you sound important. Is there some manner in which I'm involved with said incident?"
"Oh yes. Very much so. And let us do away with those foolish ideas of truth and lies. Let us just talk as two individuals who can be honest for this one conversation, and we can return to the rules of society once we step outside this garden."
"Refreshing. I like it."
"I am Walter Scrogs," he said, "current shadow minister of the mancers."
"Shadow minister?"
"It means I get to deal with all of this nonsense while the real minister goes to parties and presses the flesh."
"Seems a bit unfair."
"I know. I pity how many fancy robes he needs. But I am not at all suited for politicking. Gives me colic. I prefer what I do."
