Wicked Ways: An Iron Kingdoms Chronicles Anthology

by Douglas Seacat

  Takal folded her arms and said with a toothy smile, “You talk big for someone who almost fell off the wall.”

  “Er, yes,” the dwarf sputtered, reddening. “There would be risks, of course. We have faced them before, Takal and I.”

  Grimes shook his head grimly. “I can’t believe you’re even considering this. This is the kind of thing where we should alert a few Illuminated Ones. Let them handle it, and then we can pick up the pieces after.”

  Abigail made a dismissive sound. “Do you really want to call in the Order of Illumination? They’re almost as bad as the old Inquisition. They’ll round everyone up, start questioning them, looking under every rock. You know what they think of the Workshop, Grimes. They aren’t exactly fond of our work. They might even hold us responsible. Even if they don’t, it’ll cause a stir. That’s just the sort of thing we’re being paid to avoid.”

  Elliot let out a small gasp. He had been lost in his own thoughts, but when they looked sharply at him, he focused on their attention. “I know what those whispers were. I kept hearing voices moaning, chattering, crying, even when the thing was speaking through me. Those must have been the sounds of souls—the ones the infernal has taken. They’re suffering. Morrow help them.” He made the sunburst gesture with his trembling right hand. He then looked Grimes in the eyes. “We have to find a way to release them, get them to Urcaen where they belong.”

  “You don’t think the Church of Morrow would be better at handling that?” Even as Grimes asked the question, he knew he couldn’t muster any great conviction. As a youth, he had spent more time avoiding church than attending it. And his time with the Strangelight hadn’t changed that habit. Still, if there was one thing he was willing to let the church handle, it was infernals.

  “Perhaps,” Elliot said. “though everything I’ve heard about the Order of Illumination from the rest of you tells me they’re more interested in killing the guilty than saving the innocent. If we can banish this creature and free any trapped souls it has in the process, we can send for a regular priest after we’re done.”

  “It’s clear I’m outvoted,” Grimes said, looking over the rest of their faces.

  “This isn’t a town hall meeting,” Abigail said, her eyes flashing.

  Grimes held up a hand. “Fine. Let’s put it in front of Midwinter, at least. It’s his call ultimately.”

  • • •

  THEY DIDN’T HAVE LONG TO WAIT before Midwinter summoned them to a private chamber higher up in the castle to listen to their report. The castle staff brought trays of food for them while they conversed. While several of the others looked hungry, Grimes’ own appetite had vanished. In fact, the smell of food made him feel nauseated.

  Midwinter showed growing alarm at their descriptions. He was taken aback at the notion of such a creature in Castle Raelthorne. “Under no circumstances can anyone else become aware that there might be an infernal on castle grounds. This would bring the worst sort of attention.”

  When the Order of Illumination was mentioned, he shook his head, denying the possibility outright. Once pressed by Grimes, he conceded he might alert them eventually, but only if there were no other choice. “The faith of the people in their king is fickle. Something like this becoming known would inspire rumors with disastrous consequences. It could affect the morale of our soldiers who are already in harm’s way, as well as our ability to negotiate with foreign powers. We have enough enemies.”

  “Understood, Arcane Administrator,” Abigail said. “We feel confident the Workshop can find and implement a solution.” She shared a look with Lestingway, who nodded. Most of the others didn’t look as convinced, but they held their tongues.

  Midwinter made a steeple with his fingers. “I have had to confront such forces in the past, and I will aid you here. I expect you have already concluded that there cannot be an infernal without an infernalist? I have never heard anything to suggest otherwise.”

  Lestingway said, “Yes. There must be a mortal agency. Infernals don’t come to Caen on their own.”

  “How do you explain the unusual manifestations we have seen up until now?” Midwinter asked. “Such pranks seem beneath the infernals. That was one reason I thought it was a haunting.”

  “We are still looking into the matter,” Abigail said. “I won’t claim to have definitive answers, but we do have a solid hypothesis. We believe the infernal has been trying to gain entry to the castle but failed due to the significant barriers and wards in place to protect this building. It has been looking for a weakness, soft spots. While frightening, the manifestations seen by King Julius and the princess were akin to someone pulling on a door handle to see if it’s locked. I believe the battlements where the casualties occurred must have been a place where the wards were soft. Tampering weakened them further.”

  Midwinter asked, “Tampering? How?”

  “There were small but deep holes bored in the battlement walkway. I believe those were done to damage the rune-inlaid metal conduits in the mortar. There may have been other tampering we didn’t find. I’d be willing to bet we could find mystical inscriptions nearby if we conducted a more thorough search.”

  “I dislike this very much,” Midwinter said, sighing heavily. He looked at Lestingway as if he were the one in charge, despite the fact that Abigail was talking to him. “You’re suggesting the attack on the guards was a test? The notion of someone undermining castle defenses is alarming, to put it mildly.”

  “Agreed.” Lestingway said, his tone oddly chipper. “This must mean the infernalist or those working with him are here, within Castle Raelthorne, and already at work paving the way for their infernal masters. Presumably the royals are their targets.” The way he spoke made it sound as though he were explaining the clever plot of a play rather than a tangible otherworldly threat.

  Midwinter looked appalled. Abigail quickly interjected. “The fact that a regular person must facilitate the infernal manifestations gives us a course of action, a foe we can root out and confront. We have the beginnings of a plan.”

  “It had damned well better be a good one,” Midwinter said with a sour expression. “Do not underestimate such practitioners. They are exceedingly dangerous.”

  “We just need to catch him unaware.” She sounded more confident than Grimes felt. “We’ll need your help to determine the best places where our perpetrator might try to get to the royals. Places they could be but that are still accessible to many of the palace staff. Also, any place where someone could make alterations without being noticed. Dungot suggested such efforts would be difficult and take time. If we can find evidence of such work, we can lay a trap to catch those responsible in the act.”

  Midwinter tilted his head back. “I can think of a few likely places. It also brings to mind an avenue of inquiry I can pursue while you are about yours. The tampering you suggested on the battlements would require access or permissions. Someone has to know something. There may also be mystical tools I can bring to bear to help find the perpetrator.”

  “Oh?” Dungot asked with evident interest. “What did you have in mind, if I might ask? I’ve been racking my brain for ideas. Then again, I’ve never been skilled at augury.”

  The arcane administrator looked between their faces, perhaps gauging whether it was wise to give them details. Grimes kept his skepticism from his face. Strangelight engagement doctrine taught that using arcane means to confront the supernatural was usually a bad idea. Still, he knew he was out of his depth. It had been sheer luck and not skill that let him survive his last encounter with infernals. They were just starting to hit their stride again, and he was scared of anything happening before they learned proper caution. Both Abigail and Elliot in particular were painfully young and naïve.

  Midwinter said, “When I was an inquisitor, I tracked down many alleged and several true practitioners of witchcraft. Necromancy was the more common transgression, but infernalism has been a peril since humanity first learned magic. Those who forge such dark alliances
are dangerous, but I have fought them before.”

  Mel said, “I thought most inquisitors kept busy kidnapping enemies of King Vinter for interrogation before dumping them in the river.” There was no hostility in her tone, but Grimes expected she was poking at their client on purpose, well aware of his sordid past. Abigail and Lestingway shot her stern looks. She looked back with innocent confusion. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

  “You are not wrong,” Midwinter said, with a heavy sigh. “That was not my work. The Inquisition also battled black magic. That was ever my goal.”

  “I see,” Mel said with a smile and a wave of her hand. “Carry on, then.”

  He cleared his throat. “There is a lingering mystical link between an infernal and the one who summons it. This can be detected and traced, though not easily or reliably. When we apprehend our suspect, I will lend my assistance. In the meanwhile, I have a tool which might be of use.” He looked to Elliot, and said, “You are the one the umbral infernal tried to possess?”

  The pale youth turned a bit red. “Yes. It spoke through me.”

  “Your role in the Workshop is what you refer to as a ‘caller,’ is that correct? The one most sensitive to supernatural manifestations?” At their assent, Midwinter extended a hand to offer Elliot a sizable and thick silver disk, larger than any regular coin. Its surface was inscribed with runic symbols atop a pattern of intersecting lines.

  “What’s this?” Elliot asked, turning it over in his hand.

  “A special conduit that reacts to unusual energies. It has other uses, but it might respond to the link between an infernal and summoner. If you happen to encounter a manifested infernal, hold the coin tightly in your palm. I can’t guarantee it’ll work, but if it picks up on those energies, it will pull toward the one who brought the creature here. It would work even better if it touched the infernal, though for obvious reasons I don’t recommend trying. Holding it might also provide some small measure of protection from its mental influence.”

  “Handy.” Elliot flipped it in midair and caught it. Grimes frowned and stared at the coin dubiously. It did seem a useful tool—if it worked. He just hoped the promise of protection wasn’t false. There were dozens of merchants in the market squares selling similar baubles, none of them worth a damn, the baubles or the merchants.

  • • •

  MUCH TO GRIMES’ AGITATION, given what they had encountered so far, they were required to stow their weapons before proceeding to investigate the chambers inside the castle proper. After talking about how perceptive the Royal Guard was, Kincaid reluctantly handed over his even holdout pistol. Mel undertook a bit of creative interpretation and secured the weapons inside one of the smaller crates they brought with them. This was not, strictly speaking, in compliance with their instructions from Midwinter, but Grimes wasn’t about to object. No way he was going to keep the team defenseless while confronting infernalists.

  The first place suggested for their inspection was the “small private library” located adjacent to the royal suites. Despite Midwinter’s description, it proved to be rather more impressive than they were led to believe. The semi-circular chamber was spacious with tall shelves on two levels, packed with enough books and tomes to put many dedicated libraries to shame. Midwinter had told them the Llaelese princess was known to spend her free time here. The chamber was also a favorite of the bookish former king, who had expanded it considerably during his reign. Julius used it less, though on occasion he met members of his staff here when he wanted a less imposing room than his audience hall.

  The two investigators led the search for evidence of tampering while the other team members were to assist but also keep ready in case of a problem. Mostly they were supposed to stay out of the way and avoid a ruckus. Other than Takal, who drew attention simply by being eight feet tall and an ogrun, Grimes was the most unusual looking person of the group, given his unusual armor. To mitigate this, he had kept his suit deflated and wore a greatcoat to partially obscure its machinery and hoses. He still looked lumpy and odd.

  Along with Takal, Dungot, and Mel, he went up to the second level of the library, where it was easier to stay out of sight. This was facilitated by ample nooks and crannies amid spaces between shelves. He could look down from the railing and observe the investigators below as they checked under carpets, behind chairs, and on the underside of shelves for strange writing or other signs of occult vandalism. Sergeant Webster and Elliot were on watch just outside the double doors.

  All the places Midwinter had given them as potential sites for infernalist tampering were in relatively well trafficked areas, as well as being places the royals used regularly. This meant the possibility of running into other inconveniently important people, so they opted against setting up Strangelight projectors in particular. Abigail insisted on bringing her portable lumitype in case she needed to document a manifestation for her reports back to HQ. She took these reports very seriously.

  Before being summoned by Midwinter, Abigail and Mel had developed the spectragraph exposures from their first encounter. Grimes couldn’t resist looking at them, though they chilled his blood. Most had been blurred and indistinct, but one had shown the infernal clearly enough to give him nightmares.

  The floating figure revealed by the Strangelight had been a slender, pale, and genderless thing, only superficially resembling a man surrounded by an aura of darkness. Its form showed stark contrasts, with bone-white skin clothed in what looked like liquid shadow. Its eyes were pits of darkness with gleaming white centers that conveyed hateful malice. Colorful splotches and distortions representing supernatural energies were present, but none touched the umbral reaver itself. Its posture had been unsettling in a way Grimes couldn’t define, as though it wore its body like ill-fitting clothes. Its back was wrong, its arms were wrong, the shape of its face was wrong. Dungot had explained that many infernals took on more bizarre and monstrous forms, but the human guise made them more instead of less unsettling.

  He shook the thought off and watched as Abigail studied the glass-enclosed lamps set at regular intervals. She briefly inserted a thin slip of paper into each before withdrawing it to check the color. These were coated with a substance designed to react to unusual elements in the gas. The castle’s lighting system had played a role in both of the witnessed supernatural events before the team’s arrival. It was unclear if this was significant or—as Dungot suggested—just a byproduct of how umbrals manipulated light and shadow.

  As Dungot put it, “Infernals enjoy theatrical drama.” That description made them all share an unsettled look, thinking back to the incident at the Majestic.

  Abigail glanced up at him and shook her head. No oddities with the gas lights.

  Then the illumination in the room dimmed as the flames suddenly dipped low all at once. Just as quickly, they returned to normal, but Grimes felt goosebumps rise on his neck. There was a loud coughing noise from Elliot outside—the signal that others approached. Grimes gestured sharply at the others on the second level, and they pulled back from the balcony rail and into the darker recesses. Grimes had an angle where he thought he could watch without being seen, so long as whoever entered didn’t look up at him directly. He heard the doors open, and soon two illustrious figures came into view.

  Both were well past middle age. The younger of the two was recognizable as Leto Raelthorne, the former king of Cygnar. He was attired in a formal many-layered suit that included golden leather epaulettes with tassels on his shoulders. Around his neck was a chain bearing a medallion with a highly ornamented Cygnus, the symbol of his new office of lord high chancellor. Grimes didn’t know many details, but he had heard the king stepped down at the end of the civil war. Most of that conflict hadn’t touched Ceryl.

  The older man with the former king had unkempt white hair, along with a thick moustache. He was dressed in an ornately formal Cygnaran Army uniform. Even without wearing his warcaster armor, this particular gentleman was also famous. Grimes had never seen h
im before but felt certain this was Sebastian Nemo, the inventor behind the nation’s storm-powered arsenal. There were several pieces of Strangelight gear that utilized aspects of this man’s inventions, though Nemo had never been consulted, as far as Grimes was aware.

  The warcaster was saying hotly, “It’s a mistake to adapt that hardware! Not without extensive testing, no matter what Polk says. He’s just wrong. And you know I don’t shy from taking risks.”

  They were clearly in the midst of an ongoing discussion. They stopped abruptly upon finding the room occupied. After hearing Elliot’s warning cough, Lestingway had seized a random book from the nearest shelf and had moved to stand next to Abigail. The two pretended to be interested in something on its open pages. Kincaid had taken a book of his own and sat down in one of the large and comfortable chairs nearer the middle of the room.

  When Abigail looked up from the book at the new arrivals, her face fell. She made a strange high-pitched noise in the back of her throat. Her consternation was magnified when Artis came from behind one of the shelves, trotted over to the lord high chancellor, and began rubbing on his leg.

  Leto Raelthorne reached down to scratch the cat’s head and gave Abigail a polite smile, even as she had managed to collect her wits. He said, “My apologies, madam, I did not know the library was in use. We won’t disturb you.” He looked to the general. Should we find somewhere else to talk?”

  “Why should we leave? This is your library.” Below his white bushy eyebrows, Nemo’s bright blue eyes assessed the individuals in front of them. “Who are these people? I know you, don’t I?” He said this to Lestingway, who had gone pale.

  The investigator said, “I don’t think so, General. Your Majesty.” He made a deep half-bow to Leto, keeping his eyes averted. Abigail offered a curtsey. Kincaid belatedly stood and gave a very awkward bow. There was a pause. No doubt the arrivals expected introductions, but Lestingway held out and offered nothing. It looked as if he were holding his breath.