The Chimney: The Merc Papers

by G. T. Spoor

  Shagra waved two of them forward. One was a thick, compact, square-jawed old man while the other was much younger and had a thick mass of unkempt blond hair. They stood silently in front of Shagra, awaiting their orders.

  “Lee, see to our little friend here,” Shagra said, directing the younger man toward Emily. He then led the older man a few steps away before engaging him in conversation.

  Emily wanted to hear what they were talking about but found it difficult with Lee trying to steer her away from them. Resigning herself to the fact that she wasn’t going to learn anything more from Shagra, she reluctantly followed the young man. When they were far enough away from the others, he removed a gray cloth satchel from around his neck and set it down on the floor.

  “Can you lift up your shirt?” he asked.

  It seemed like an odd request until she realized he was some kind of healer. The gray cloth satchel on the floor was filled with bandages and small jars of ointments. Emily had almost forgotten she was injured, but the red splotch of blood soaking into her shirt was a quick reminder. She carefully removed her jacket.

  The wound caused by Kraig’s memoria weapon wasn’t as bad as it looked. It was a six-inch gash above her hip. Peeling the shirt away reopened the wound and it started to bleed.

  “That looks pretty deep,” Lee remarked. He dug into the satchel and came out with a roll of cloth tape. “This should take care of it.” Tearing off a strip, he applied it to the wound. Much to Emily’s surprise, the pain subsided almost instantly. “Leave that on for two to three days. You should be able to remove it then with no trouble. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  She thought for a moment before flexing the fingers of her left hand. “My arm is still a little numb.”

  Lee gently took hold of her hand and proceeded to run his fingers up and down her arm. He had a delicate and skilled touch. It was only when he reached her shoulder did she pull back.

  “Sorry. Did that hurt?” he asked.

  “A bit.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be anything broken or out of place. How did you manage to injure it?”

  “I’m not really sure. Galbassi shot me with this metal tube like—”

  “A mana sling.”

  “A what?”

  Lee laughed. “Latest thing to come out of Mana-Tech. They’ve been trying to peddle it to the Mercs, although it seems as if everyone but the Mercs is getting their hands on them. It’s a real game changer.”

  “What are they?”

  “It’s basically a sling that throws mana. Some people call them techno-wands. Sort of an updated version of the wands mages used a long time ago. Seeing as you still have your arm, you must have been hit with the standard version.”

  “Standard version?”

  “Yeah, they’re not all that lethal, but they pack a punch. You get hit in the chest, you’re out for hours. You get hit in the head, you could be out for days, if not permanently.”

  Lee rummaged through his satchel and removed a thin vial. Flipping open the lid, he tipped two small pills into his hand.

  “If you take these with—”

  “I can’t,” Emily said, cutting him off. “I’m sorry, but it goes against my teachings.”

  “You follow the path?” he asked.

  “How did you—”

  “I’ve treated a few dowers in my time.” He dropped the pills back into the vial and the vial back into the satchel. “The feeling in your arm should return in time. I’m afraid I don’t have anything on me that will alleviate the discomfort.”

  “That’s okay. Thank you anyway.”

  “As I said, you’re lucky it was a standard-version mana sling.”

  Emily thought of the hole in Kraig’s chest.

  “There are other versions?” she asked.

  “Officially—no.”

  “But Shagra—”

  “Don’t even ask,” Lee said. He looked over to where Shagra was still talking to the square-jawed old man, then leaned in closer to Emily and wispered. “Let’s just say there are some… modified versions. Highly lethal and highly illegal. Technically, they don’t exist, but you can’t have a standard version without an upgraded version, if you get my meaning.”

  Lee packed up his satchel and slung it back over his shoulder.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  Emily thought of Sarah and wondered if the young man was married. She doubted her friend would say no to a healer.

  “Thank you. You’ve been great.”

  “Take care of yourself.” He smiled.

  She waited until he joined the rest of his team before making her way back to Shagra. Standing quietly behind him, she managed to catch the last few words of the old man’s report.

  “…as well as the other two, sir.”

  “Very good, West,” Shagra replied. “And what of Stefan?”

  “We have eyes on him.”

  “Do it.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  “Wait.” Emily stepped between them. “What’s going on? Who’s been dealt with, and what are you planning to do with Stefan?”

  Her sudden outburst startled West. The old man seemed unsure of how to respond to her and looked to Shagra for help. Shagra closed his eyes and sighed.

  “Go,” he said, waving West away. “If you start answering her questions, we’ll never get out of here.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  “See? They never end. Go now while you still can.”

  West barely managed to hide a smile as he turned to the other men and waved them out the door.

  “What’s happening? What are they going to do to Stefan?”

  “It no longer concerns you.”

  “Of course it does. This is my case.”

  “Your case?” Shagra looked at her sideways. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re not exactly a Merc.”

  “That’s a technicality. The fact is, I found Galbassi’s operation. I stopped… him.”

  “Yes, you did, and the Cabba will be pleased.”

  She wasn’t sure why she cared so much about Stefan. He was a predator who hunted the innocent for profit, although now it sounded as if he was the one being hunted. In the end, Shagra was right. She wasn’t a Merc. She had no authority in New Doral. It wasn’t as if she could punish Stefan for his part in Galbassi’s operation, but that didn’t mean Shagra’s way was better.

  Once outside the forge, even the stale air of the city was an improvement. Emily looked up at the underside of the layer above. She thought if she concentrated hard enough, she could sense where the sun was located, but it was no use. It would always be twilight in the Chimney.

  There were three currus parked in the courtyard as well as Galbassi’s lorry. There was no sign of the two men who drove it. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to see them again. It would seem Fat Foh was tying up all of her loose ends.

  As two of the currus pulled away, Shagra held open the door of the third.

  “The Cabba is waiting.”

  “Let him,” she mumbled before climbing into the back seat. She made herself comfortable as Shagra got behind the wheel and followed the rest of the vehicles through the old metal gates. Emily already knew she wasn’t going to get any answers from him. The man was as tight-lipped as ever, so she settled in for the long ride. Slipping her hand into the courier’s bag, she ran her fingers over the surface of the mask. She wanted so much to take it out and examine it. Make sure it was still okay, but she couldn’t. Not here. Not now. They would never understand. Instead she took out one of the tyng and thought it a one-foot length, then curved it into a hook before straightening it out again. It was that simple, and yet all she could think of was the terrified look on Galbassi’s face when he fell into the darkness. She never wanted that to happen… or maybe she did. It didn’t matter. Either way she looked at it, she’d violated the first tenet beyond redemption. It would be a long walk along the path before she could seek forg
iveness.

  ~~~***~~~

  “We’re here, Miss Doyle.”

  Opening her eyes, the first thing Emily saw was the large, but dry, two-tiered fountain outside the currus’s window. She was back at Fat Foh’s retreat. As the vehicle pulled up to the curb, the orc in a well-tailored gray suit opened the back door for her.

  “Thank you,” she said while climbing out.

  Shagra walked ahead of her into the main house. As they passed through the halls of curiosities, Emily stopped to look, once again, at the ritualistic masks. They were all very ornate, especially when compared to the one she carried.

  “The Cabba is waiting,” Shagra reminded her.

  Following the man farther into the manor, they stopped outside Fat Foh’s office. Shagra gently knocked on the door before opening it. He never set foot in the office and simply leaned in to announce her arrival.

  “She is here, Cabba.”

  “Fine. Fine. Send her in,” came the voice from within.

  Not much had changed since the last time Emily was in Iakob’s office, although she didn’t really expect it to. It was only a couple of days ago. The books were the same, the desk was the same. The only thing she took a moment longer to study were curiosities. They sat on their shelves in neat little rows, and after seeing Galbassi’s collection, she couldn’t help but wonder where the Cabba had acquired his artifacts.

  “It is good to see you again, Mrs. Doyle,” Iakob said as he leaned back in his chair. The creaking sounded louder this time around and she was sure the poor piece of furniture wasn’t long for this world.

  “So.” Emily started to pace the floor. “How much of this did you already know?”

  Iakob looked at her and frowned. “I do not think I understand.”

  “You knew Galbassi was behind this.”

  “Only after you spoke with Shagra.”

  “And the Henol? The poison that was used to abduct his victims. Did you know about that?”

  “He has used it before.”

  “Did you also know he was hiding in the dower forge?”

  “Ah. Now you give me too much credit.”

  “Then how did you know where to find me?”

  Iakob shifted his massive bulk in the chair, leaning to one side. “A mutual friend informed me you visited him in the goblin district,” he explained. “You may know him as Rip. I told him it would be in his best interest if he let me know if you were down there asking questions.”

  “You had me followed?”

  “No. I had Stefan followed. After I learned the name of Galbassi’s flesh hound, I had him watched.”

  “Then why didn’t you stop him yourself.”

  “Because I had to see if you were good enough.”

  “Good enough? Good enough for what?”

  Iakob leaned forward in his chair. A broad smiled crossed his face. “Good enough to come and work for me.”

  “That… I’m afraid… is out of the question,” she replied.

  “You are refusing?”

  “I have a feeling your path and mine aren’t exactly heading in the same direction.”

  “I can make it worth your while. Take some time and think about what I’m offering.”

  “I did. Thank you, but no thank you.”

  Iakob sank back in his chair and sighed. He wasn’t angry, but he did seem disappointed. “Very well,” he said. “I admire you, Mrs. Doyle. You have… okspata.”

  Emily wasn’t sure if she was insulted or complimented. Seeing as the man didn’t appear annoyed, she opted for the latter.

  “Um… thank you?”

  He laughed. “At least let me reward you from removing that howne-sized thorn from my side.”

  “I don’t know about that. I have a feeling such rewards come with very long strings attached.”

  “Perhaps they do.” He sighed. “You are a worthy opponent, Mrs. Doyle. You play the game well.”

  “I’m not much for playing games, Mr. Foh, but I guess if I’m staying, I’ll have to learn the rules.”

  “Then you are choosing to remain in the city?”

  “For a while, at least. I still have a few personal matters to see to.”

  “Then I wish you well.”

  Iakob reached under his desk and the office door opened.

  “You wish to see me, sir?” Shagra asked.

  “Will you take Mrs. Doyle to wherever she wishes to go?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Shagra stepped aside, allowing Emily to exit the office. Once in the hall, he closed the door and motioned for her to follow.

  “So. You turned the Cabba down,” he said without looking at her.

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  “You’re leaving—aren’t you?”

  He was a difficult man to read, but she had a feeling he approved of her decision.

  “You think I made the right choice?”

  Shagra stopped walking. He turned and looked back the way they came. Although he couldn’t see him, she knew he was looking at Iakob Foh. “I do,” he said after a while. “This is not the life for someone like you.”

  “Is it for someone like you?”

  The man smiled wistfully and slowly shook his head. “Some of us were never given that choice.”

  Emily had a feeling that was about as much personal information she was ever going to get from Shagra, but maybe it was enough. As they reached the front door, the orc in the gray tailored suit held it open for them. Once outside, Emily spotted a familiar vehicle parked in the driveway. Tar pushed himself away from the jitney and opened the passenger’s side door.

  “It would appear your ride is already here,” Shagra said. “I suppose this is goodbye.”

  “I suppose it is. Goodbye, Shagra. And thank you for… you know. Saving my ass back there.”

  He said nothing more and simply returned to the main house. Emily ran down the walk to where Tar was waiting.

  “Thought ya might need a ride,” the orc said.

  “And how did you find me this time?”

  “No big secret. I returned to the forge, but I saw Foh’s men picking you up.”

  “And you figured I’d need a ride home?”

  “Don’t ya always?”

  “What about Mark and the girls?”

  “Don’t worry about them,” Tar said as he got behind the wheel of the jitney. “They’re safe. I got them to the lift. I was going to take them all the way to the Yellow Snakes, but Alison insisted I go back for ya.”

  “You think they’ll be all right?”

  “As all right as anybody is in the Chimney. Come on. I’ll take you home unless ya plan on hunting more slavers.”

  “No. Home sounds great right about now.”

  As the jitney pulled away from the Foh manor, Emily leaned back in the passenger seat and looked out the window.

  “You know, you still haven’t answered my question,” she said.

  “Which question would that be?” Tar asked.

  “When we were in the forge, how did you know where they were keeping their prisoners?”

  “Oh. That.”

  “Yeah. That. How did you know?”

  Tar fell silent for a moment. He seemed reluctant to talk about it at first. “Do you remember what I told ya, earlier—about my family being descendants of the shaman?”

  “Are you saying you used some kind of magic?”

  “Char. No,” Tar answered quickly.

  “Then what?”

  “It’s as I told ya. The far-sight. Shamans have the gift of… visions. It’s not something I talk about or even practice. As ya know, magic isn’t very welcome in the Chimney. It’s as good a way as any to get ya-self thrown into the abyss.”

  “Do you have these… visions often?”

  “Not very, but when I do, I try ta listen to them.”

  “Well, I’m glad you did.”

  Chapter 18

  The Thatcher Method

  The trip back home was, thankfully, un
eventful. Tar drove her to her apartment, which, she was happy to find, was empty. It wasn’t that she didn’t wish to speak with Sarah, but she needed the time to reflect on the events of the day and realign herself with the path she had wandered away from. In other words, she needed to meditate.

  There was no doubt about it this time. She disobeyed the first tenet, but it went beyond that. She didn’t just cause harm, she took a life. She killed Alaric Galbassi. It may not have been what she set out to do, but it still didn’t negate the fact that it happened. The howne’s death was her fault.

  At first, she tried to justify it. She told herself that Galbassi was evil. He hurt people, stole from them, lied. If she measured him against the path, he came up short in nine out of eleven tenets, and she was pretty sure he didn’t care much for the other two. However, in the end, life is too precious.

  The paths had, once again, diverged, and once again she took the wrong one, only this time she followed it too far. Was this the path she was meant to walk? Was this what her father was afraid of?

  Was she Yastazie?

  She only heard the word used once before, and that was when her sister claimed to be Yastazie. It was during an argument she had with their father. Emily never knew what the argument was about. Her sister refused to tell her and her father simply said it was a misunderstanding, her father being the master of the understatement. After that day, the word simply slipped from her memory until Hardbrew brought it back. He believed she was Yastazie, and he wasn’t the only one. Rip held the same belief, as did Galbassi, but what exactly were the Yastazie? The howne feared them so much he ran blindly into the depth of the forge, only to take a wrong turn and trap himself on a platform.

  Emily couldn’t remember much about her life before the monastery—she was too young. Her earliest memory was that of her sister and her huddled together in a dark cave while it was raining. She wasn’t even sure if the memory was real. Supposedly, they were found in the wild and brought to the monastery, where Konoe took them in. He was the first to teach them how to walk the path. He was also the only father Emily ever knew.