by Eric Ugland
I didn’t relax until I closed the door.
“Feeding the beast?” came a voice from a few stairs below me.
I looked down to see Lothar leaning against the wall with a large fish.
“Yeah,” I said. “That for him too?”
Lothar nodded. “I noticed that Nadya, and you, been a bit busy. Figured a fed monster is more likely to be a happy one.”
“Makes sense. Have you fed him before?”
“Not yet.”
“Want me to come with you?”
He opened his mouth a little, then looked to the side, and held out the fish.
“Might be, uh, best for you to just take it.”
So I did.
The fish looked like it might have been a pike, or a sturgeon, one of those huge river fish I used to see on those River Monster shows. I actually had trouble holding the mammoth thing. Which made my good buddy Lothar smile, since he’d treated it like a loaf of bread. Dude was strong. I was clearly nowhere near his ability.
The fish and I went into the room, and I left the door open behind me, making sure that Lothar could get a good look around me at the mimic.
Hellion was back up against the wall, looking like a chest once again. Even knowing he was a monster, knowing his true nature, it was nearly impossible to think it was anything more than a chest. It was so real. So, well, the opposite of lifelike, I suppose. And that made my brain tingle because I remembered that feeling of satisfaction I’d gotten from the mimic, and I wondered if there was some ability of the mimic to induce other things to make sure I visualized it as a chest. Maybe Hellion’s version of oak was slightly off, but he had just enough telepathic ability to influence me into believing it was perfect oak.
Nadya was right. This was a creature that needed more study. It was surprisingly complex.
“Hellion,” I said, “this is my friend, Lothar.”
I gestured over my shoulder, and Lothar leaned out to wave at the chest. Which, absent other information, would have been hilarious.
In this case, two eyes popped open on Hellion, and the large chest shifted just a little to left so he could see beyond me.
“He might also bring food to you from time to time,” I said. “Note that I said he’ll bring food. He is not food. Get that?”
No reaction.
“Lothar brought this fish,” I said, holding up the solid four feet of fish flesh for inspection.
All eight eyes popped open and the mouth parted ever so much, which, in this case, looked like someone hadn’t shut the chest lid all the way.
I threw the fish on the ground. It had barely thumped on the floor before the dark purple tongue went out, wrapped around said fish and pulled it back in.
“That’s very fast,” I heard Lothar mutter.
I just nodded.
“Hope you enjoyed lunch,” I said to Hellion. And then, like I had previous, backed out of the room, keeping my eyes on the mimic. Who, to be fair, kept his eyes on me.
I closed the door, then took the time to lock it.
“You think that’ll do anything?” he asked.
“Locking the door?” I replied. “Probably not, but it makes me feel a little better. And it means someone isn’t going to accidentally go inside and end up a mimic meal.”
“Good point.”
I gave the big man a nod, then tromped up the stairs to my apartment.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The fun with the fish made me feel weak. I didn’t like feeling weak. This was not a good world to be weak within. I thought back to my gymnastics days, the horrible and grueling workouts we did to build strength during the off-season. And after I had them in my head, I started going through the moves, making sure that this time, unlike when I’d been a kid, I was giving my utmost effort. I was going a hundred and ten percent, which is probably why I managed to tear a muscle in the first half hour. However, that was only a minor issue these days. A bit of pain, but then I stopped to heal myself and drink some water. And then it was back into the grind. Push the muscles, feel the burn, feed the pain. I worked out.
And did some more.
After I puked, twice, I knew I’d gotten a good workout in. At which point, I took a shower, got dressed in my boring starting threads and thought about going and getting new clothes that were more befitting the criminal mastermind I was. Or, you know, just getting some new clothes that didn’t look like I’d just fallen off one of the farmer’s wagons that rolleed through the city each morning,
I looked around my apartment. It was remarkably utilitarian. Boring, even. Uncomfortable. There had to be some Glatonese equivalent to an interior designer, someone who could help me make it more of a home, and less of a pseudo-detention center.
I realized I was just going around in circles, trying to find some reason to not go downstairs to the Heavy Purse and get my dinner. Because after a day of hoping I’d randomly run into Nadya, now I was in the position where she was most likely going to be present, and I wasn’t ready to talk to her. Or, more to the point, I was afraid of what she was going to say. And what that might mean for me.
Was she going to drop out of the group? Was she going to stop working with Matthew? Was she going to leave Hellion and her lab behind? Of everyone involved in this rigamarole on the way to becoming a shit-show, Nadya had the easiest trip out. I’m pretty sure quite a few people would wonder why the hell she was slumming it with us to begin with, because surely she could find a way to study monsters from within the comforts of the Imperial Palace.
My stomach rumbled. It had zero concerns about Nadya. It growled a bit louder, and I felt the pangs of hunger radiating out. For a moment, I considered trying to heal my hunger pangs, see what effect the magic might have upon that gnawing emptiness, but I knew enough to assume something bad was going to wind up being the result. Instead, I muscled up what courage I had, and punched myself in the face.
“Snap out of it,” I said. “Get your head out of your ass. Focus on what’s actually important.
I wiped a little blood off my face, and did a quick bit of magical healing.
Then I went downstairs, and into the Heavy Purse.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dinner was rowdy. The place was crowded, to the point where my ‘reserved’ stool was the singular open seat in the joint.
I took a quick look around, trying to find a familiar face who wasn’t working. No luck. So I just sat down at the bar, and waited.
“You’re the one that’s for?” the man at the stool next to me asked.
“Oddly,” I said, “I am.”
“Huh,” he said, almost grunted. He was older, unshaven, with the leathery skin of a man who’d spent more of his life outdoors than in. “Why?”
“I think it’s because I own the building, but I didn’t ask—“
“Oh, impressive.”
Then he turned his back to me.
I thought about calling him an asshole. But instead, I just took a breath and smiled.
After a few minutes, Titus strolled over, slid a plate of food in front of me, along with a mug of something that looked like very dark beer. But there was just enough carbonation that I got a whiff of sarsaparilla.
“How’s my favorite landlord?” Titus asked.
“Why is it I feel you’re about to ask me for something?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t think of something like that. Is that all you think of me?”
“You know I think the world of you, Titus.”
“Ah, how I appreciate flattery. Just warms my cold dead insides.”
“Might want to get that checked out.”
“Nah, I’d rather see what rotting from the inside is going to feel like.”
“Always a good thing to hear from the man serving your food.”
“That’s true — joke sort of went in a weird direction.”
“Yeah. It did.”
“Anyway, when you’ve finished your evening repast, Matthew’s in the sarsaparilla room waitin
g for a chat.”
“Cool, thanks,” I said.
He nodded, then resumed being a bartender.
I scarfed my food down, really riding that edge between civilized and not, then hopped off my stool and slipped through the crowd and back to the storage room.
No one was there.
I went down one floor to the basement.
I found Matthew sitting on a barrel, with his brother-in-law Godfrey leaning against the wall. Godfrey’s twin, Hamilton, was off to one side. They all had mugs of ale, or some ale-like beverage.
“Ah,” Matthew said, raising his mug to me as I entered, “our fearless leader!”
“Hi,” I said, looking around the group and wondering if I’d walked into an intervention.
“I know what you’re probably about to ask,” Matthew said, before I could say anything, “but there isn’t a good answer that you want to know.”
“So you can’t get us any information about the brothel?” I asked.
“Brothel?”
Godfrey barked out a laugh, while Hamilton choked on his beer.
“There’s a brothel I think might be connected to the Iron Silents,” I said. “The Gilded Garden. Nearish, I think—“
“I know it,” Matthew said. “Just didn’t, uh, think that’s where this conversation was headed.”
I frowned, looking over at the man. “And just where did you think it was going?”
He held his hands up. “I don’t know, no idea. I—“
“Does it rhyme with—“ I paused because I couldn’t think of anything that rhymed with Nadya. “Fuck it. We have more than a few problems to focus on, think we can focus on the biggest ones?”
“Yes. Probably. Yes. Alright. Let’s get down to it.”
“I need eyes on that brothel,” I said. “Better would be in it, but I’m not sure what that entails.”
“I’m still getting things together on the observation front, so I won’t have anyone available—“
“What about the kobolds?” Godfrey asked.
I pointed over at him.
“How much do we trust them?” Matthew asked.
“Haven’t done anything to erode my trust yet,” I said. “They’ve been a bit of a handful, but so have you.”
“Me? A handful?”
“I’d say that’s about right,” Godfrey added.
Matthew was definitely about to say something, but then he stopped, reconsidered, and nodded. “Maybe you’re right,” he finally said, “but I think I’m worth it.”
“Totally,” Godfrey said. “I mean, I had to leave the Legion because of you, but—“
“Hey now,” Matthew said, turning on his brother-in-law, “that’s neither fair nor true. You left the Legion because your sister asked you. I had nothing to do with it.”
“So you’re saying you don’t want me here?”
“That isn’t--“
Godfrey gave Matthew a big sloppy sort of a smile.
“You bastard,” Matthew said.
“Just a bit of gentle ribbing,” Godfrey said.
“Mind if we lay off the playground antics and get back to business?” I asked.
“Seconded,” Hamilton said.
“I went and did some checking,” I said, “and found a holding company that owns both the land where I was tortured, and the brothel. The name of this group, the Pittsburgh Stealers, is a reference to something from Earth. Which leads me to believe there has to be some sort of connection between the Iron Silents and the brothel. Looking at the remains of the secret lair, no one has been back there since I left, so I don’t think there’s any use watching that place. Which means the brothel, the Gilded Garden, is the only thing we have to go on at present. So, I would like us to observe it.”
“Got it,” Matthew said. “I’ll talk to the kobolds. Boris?”
“Boris is just the one who interacted with me first, and has stuck by me. I’m not sure he’s in charge.”
“Shae will know,” Godfrey said.
Matthew nodded. He pulled a small notebook from his shirt pocket and scribbled a few notes.
“Are they officially in the guild?” Matthew asked.
“I thought we talked about that.”
“I didn’t know we’d extended them that offer.”
“We have.”
“Have they said yes?”
“Yes,” I said, hoping I was right.
“Then I will begin with them. See what else I can bring into our fold as far as an informant network goes. Next up, Valamir. I still think he’s bad news.”
“I don’t,” I said.
“I know your feelings on the man.”
“I’m just saying I don’t think he’s as bad as people paint him. I think there’s more there.”
“That I’ll agree with. You think you can get in and poke around his office again?”
“Maybe. But I’d be surprised if he hasn’t upgraded security after my last two visits.”
“Two?”
“Same night. Had to warn him about Carchedon.”
“Are we going to do something about that?” Godfrey asked.
“You want to head south and swing a sword?” Matthew asked.
“It is my preferred means of employment, but, no. I was more wondering what we could do here, in the capital city.”
“Not much, really. But,” he made a note, “I’ll keep thinking on it. I have word that some of the big name nobles are coming into Glaton early this year. Likely that means candidates for the throne will be announcing themselves soon.”
“Coming early?” I asked. “Do they come here every year?”
All three men looked at me, then Godfrey shook his head. “We forget that you don’t know anything about this place. The high-born tend to congregate here for the high holidays.”
“Also when the Senate convenes for their yearly ‘we support the Emperor’ nonsense,” Hamilton added, “then they talk about how much power they actually hold.”
“That too,” Matthew said. “We need to stay on top of the candidates. Who is actually running, why they’re running, who’s behind whatever they’re doing. Which means you’ll be sneaking into a lot of noble homes, Clyde.”
“Can do,” I replied. “Provided I’m not too busy still trying to find a damn mentor for my magic.”
“Titus’ lead didn’t pan out?”
“Not directly, no,” I said. “In theory I’m going to be contacted by this Fayden character, but nothing yet.”
“I will keep that in mind,” Matthew said, once again writing something in his book. “Hamilton — horses and carriages?”
“Slow going,” Hamilton said. He was a quiet man, the kind of dude you assumed preferred hanging out with animals, and not having to deal with us filthy sapients. Which, to be fair, I understood. I wasn’t super keen on dealing with people either. It was just a whole lot of hassle. “There’s the one carriage that, uh, Leopold?”
“Leofing,” I corrected.
He nodded and pointed at me. “Right, Leofing. He took that one mostly apart. Which is fine because I wouldn’t know what we’d use something like that for anyway. And given the, well, bad vibes about the thing, Leofing mentioned that it might be better to just burn it instead of, uh, possibly having certain things manifest within it.”
“Certain things?” Matthew asked.
“Well, a lot of death and sadness happened in there. That can have an, uh, effect.”
“Zombies?” I asked.
“I didn’t press he paladin,” Hamilton said.
“Probably not zombies,” Godfrey said. “I think you need body parts for those. Ghouls maybe?”
“I could see ghouls,” Hamilton replied. “Or ghasts.”
“Oh, ghasts sounds more likely.”
“What’s the diff—“
“Enough,” Matthew barked. “What you’re telling me, or us, is that the wagon that we used to have, we no longer have.”
“We still have it,” Hamilton said. “It’s ju
st in pieces and probably best dealt with by being burned.”
“So let’s plan on burning it,” Matthew said, sighing. “Better to get a new wagon than figure out how to cleanse the old one. I’m going to have to do an audit of what we have, or what the Biscuit’s Union had before we took over. That should give us a better idea of what we do next. Godfrey — building security?”
“Coming along,” Godfrey said. “Course, it’s only been a day, Matthew.”
“This is just a check-in. I talked to Penelope. No progress on the bakery. And that’s about it.”
“I’ll work on getting into Valamir’s offices again,” I said. “Tomorrow or the following day.”
Matthew nodded, making a note.
“No big risks for this,” Matthew said. “We have time to play with here. Just not much.”
“Noted,” I said.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The four of us trudged back upstairs. I had a lot to do the following day, so I was thinking of making it an early night. But as soon as I stepped into the bar, I realized there wasn’t going to be much chance of that. A familiar face was sitting at a table far to the side chatting, quite animatedly with the beautiful Shae. And while Professor Dunt Pomeroy seemed merely happy to have someone to speak with, almost every other man in the bar was glaring at the poor unaware fool.
As soon as Shae saw me, she enthusiastically waved me down. And right on cue, all of the lecherous glares now shifted to me. It made me wonder if Shae was aware of the effect she had on men (and some women), because it didn’t seem possible. It had to be her playing that she didn’t know. That was the only way I could make it work.
I weaved through the bar, which wasn’t quite as crowded as it had been while I was there for my dinner, and sat down at their table.
“Ah, my dear boy,” Pomeroy said. “I didn’t realize Old Town was quite so exciting. Mind you, it’s been quite some time since I’ve ventured this far from the Academy, but in my younger days, Old Town was considered quite the mundane haunt. A place to find a quiet apartment or, as my more unruly classmates would say, the perfect spot to engage in a bout of exquisite boredom. But this place is magical, delightful. I run out of adjectives I’d like to use to describe it. And your friend Shae, here. She’s been talking to me about kobolds, and she knows more than anyone else I’ve ever encountered.”
