by Ben Reeder
“Oh!” Shade said with a smile. “We talked about that in American History one day when we had a substitute teacher. It was one of the super-secret projects during the Cold War, some kind of bunker to keep the government going if the Russians ever attacked us.”
“Exactly so,” Brand said. “The Underground used to just be the far chamber, then the cowan government came down, built their little town, and left. The Conclave made sure they forgot where the put it a few months later.”
“How did you keep them from discovering you?” I asked. “Warding runes?”
“Damn big ones,” Brand said. He pointed toward a smooth spot halfway up the opening in the other wall. “See there, that bare patch? That is where we had to chisel the rock away to dispel the runes.” By that point, we were almost level with the top of the tallest buildings. Below us I could see the slightly elevated platform where, in theory, we would be stopping. A small kiosk was set next to it, with a small light glowing atop it. Brand moved the handle forward, and our descent slowed, then we came to a stop as the car came level with the platform.
“Welcome to the Underground,” the Dwarf said as he pulled the inner door open. The outer door slid to the side on its own, and we stepped out onto the platform.
“Great,” Shade muttered. “Now what?”
“An excellent question,” Gage said. “Surely you know where Bjernings is, yes?” He sounded far too satisfied with himself to me, and I resisted the urge to smack him.
“Of course I do,” I said as I headed for the board marked “Information” near the edge of the platform. “After all, it’s my first time here. I instantly know where everything is.”
“The Franklin Academy does not accept excuses for ignorance,” he said. The cadence of his voice was measured and precise, like something that had been drilled into him. “Your attitude is as much part of my evaluation as your…ignorance…” he trailed off as I pulled a map from one of the wooden holders.
“I wasn’t being that sarcastic,” I said as I unfolded the map. “Now I know where everything is.”
“Should I sing the map song?” Shade asked.
“The what?” I asked.
“From the kids’ show,” she explained.
“I think I know that one,” I said.
“What idiot wouldn’t get that reference?” Gage asked. I didn’t bother to answer him as I headed toward the narrowed end of the first chamber. According to the map, Bjerning Depository was in the next chamber and on the left. We headed for the edge of the open area furthest from the tracks. That put us on Scriveners’ Way, which looked like it was home to more than scribes. Granted, it had its share of book shops and stationery stores, but in a magickal town, quills and inks were specific enough to warrant separate specialty shops as well. Helvig’s Elder Tongues specialized in scribing and interpreting runic alphabets according to its sign, while Set In Stone seemed to be devoted the secrets of Babylonian and Persian cuneiform.
A mix of beings was on the street with us, some covered in baggy clothes, others barely covered at all. On this side of the Veil, fairies and pixies didn’t seem to bother to conceal themselves. A couple of sprites flew past as well, their dragonfly wings almost transparent. Fairies jeered at the larger fae as they passed by, but the sprites just kept their heads forward and flew on.
“What’s up with that?” Shade asked. “Those bigger ones looked like they could boot the fairies into next week.”
“A few decades ago, the sprites joined the Unseiligh Court in supporting Heidler’s Damonkrieg, what the cowan know as the Second World War,” Gage said. “After the war, they offered their freedom as a people as recompense for their crimes.”
“So they’re…”
“Slaves,” I said. “To pretty much anyone who wants them. If they’re not bound to someone, they have to go find someone to own them.”
“That’s bullshit,” she said. I nodded.
“The word in the Nine Hells was that they just accepted Unsealigh protection,” I added. “And that the dark fae offered them up as a scapegoat.”
“A likely enough story,” Gage sneered. “They’re bound to it until the war passes from living memory, either way.”
“That’s at least another decade or so,” Shade said, her voice rising. “And what if Chance is right? What if they were tricked or something?” Gage stopped and looked at her with narrowed eyes.
“That’s not for the likes of you to question,” he said with a hard tone. “The Council doesn’t allow that kind of mistake to be made.” He turned and stalked off a few paces, then gestured to me to join him. I put a hand on Shade’s arm and shook my head before I crossed the distance to him.
“Keep your woman in line, plebe,” he said once I got close. “I won’t warn you again.”
“Keep her in…,” I sputtered. “She’s well within her rights to rip your throat out right now. You don’t dress down an alpha unless you’ve earned that privilege. And even then, you never do it in public.”
“I don’t care if she’s the damn queen of all werewolves,” he hissed at me. “She will keep a civil tone in my presence, or in the presence of any mage. And she will not question the wisdom of the Council in public.”
“You want to keep her in line?” I asked. “You do it yourself. And then you go explain to the Council why you’ve got two pissed off packs at their door howling for your blood. Assuming you survive pissing her off in the first place.”
“I would have nothing to fear,” he said. I laughed in his face.
“I’ve got news for you, Winnie,” I said with a tight grin. “The Conclave isn’t as all powerful as they want you to think. How else do you think a demon was able to keep me as a slave for eight years?”
“Everyone knows you went willingly,” he said.
I shoved him hard enough to put him on his ass, then went and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.
“Go back,” I said, my voice harsh in my own throat. He looked up at me with wide eyes as he tried to scramble away from me. “Go get a hotel room and don’t come anywhere near me until you read my goddamn file.”
“You know Master Draeden will automatically put you in remedial courses if I do that,” he said.
“Then don’t speak,” I said. “Don’t talk to me, about me, or near me. Just observe, and do it from as far away as you can.”
“Master Draeden will hear about this,” he said.
“You can bet on it.” I took a lot more satisfaction in the wide eyed expression he gave me than I should have. Still, I’m not a complete asshole. Maybe ninety five percent there, but not so far that I was beyond pulling him to his feet. Besides, we were getting a little more attention than I would have liked. People were crowding at windows and doors of the nearby Quonset huts, and over the heads of the crowd, I could see a couple of silver ankh-topped paramiir staves bobbing our way. I gave Gage a sharp look as the Sentinels showed up. Naturally, they went to his side first, one facing him, the other keeping his eyes on Shade and me. Both of them wore the blue cloaks of their office, but were dressed in slacks and white button down shirts under that. Both had haircuts that would have cost them more than my mom made in a week, the one talking to Gage dark haired with a narrow face, and the one keeping an eye on me with brown locks and a jaw you could chisel granite from. They carried paintball guns in holsters that sat high on their right hip, with a black nylon pouch on the opposite side for other tools. Junkyard pressed against me as Shade took my hand.
“He’s telling them it was nothing, no big deal,” Shade whispered from beside me. I looked over at him to see him shaking his head and smiling. “No details, just a…slight misunderstanding. Heading to Bjernings to open an account…little bastard’s vouching for us.” After a moment, the Sentinel talking to Gage nodded to his partner, who came our way.
“What’s your business in the Underground today, Fortunato?” he demanded, his square chin thrust out at me like a weapon.
“I’m opening an account at
Bjerning’s Depository,” I said with a gesture toward the satchel. He held out his hand, and I handed the leather case over. When he opened the flap and looked inside, his eyes went wide for a moment and he looked at me.
“Where did you get all of this?” he asked.
“I have an account with Biladon Garnet, in the Hive. There’s a receipt for what’s in there minus about a hundred and fifty trade ounces or so that he had on hand.” I let out a sigh as he took a couple of steps away and summoned his partner over. Of course it looked odd for a sixteen year old kid to have bearer chits for more than six thousand trade credits on him. Even in the Underground, there were folks who didn’t see that much wealth in a life time. Add in a guy with my reputation, and things went from a little odd to downright shady looking. Having a receipt for the whole thing seemed to be helping about as much as a knife at a gunfight. It took another ten minutes before they decided I might not have just robbed someone. The other Sentinel took the satchel from his partner and came over to me. His expression was hard to read behind his mirrored sunglasses.
“This transaction took place in October,” he said. “Why did you wait eight months to open an account?”
“It’s been a busy year,” I said. His eyes narrowed at that. Anyone who knew anything about me knew I’d done quite a lot since I’d escaped from Dulka. In addition to killing a rogue werewolf and vampire with aspirations to demonhood, I’d also found the Maxilla Asini, a boss level weapon that could kill demons. Plus, I’d earned a reputation as the go-to guy for minor magickal problems among the fringes of cowan society that was aware of the Veil. They might not know what went on behind it, but they knew things existed on the other side, usually because they were the innocent bystanders who caught a spell from a dabbler or a stray hex. Most of the Sentinels didn’t like me because of that, even though they usually turned down cowans who asked them for help.
“I’m giving you an hour,” he said as he pressed the satchel against my chest. “After that, I expect you to be a long way from here.” He shoved me back a step as he finished. I took a slow breath to calm myself. As much as I wanted to smart off to him, I’d seen Sentinels lay waste to an army of vampires all too recently, and I really didn’t want to be on the wrong side of a paramiir in any of its three forms. I nodded instead and took a step back. Shade’s mouth was a tight line and her eyes were a dark green as she glared at the Sentinels. But she’d seen them fight, too, so she kept her distance and her silence. Gage came our way, but I turned my back on him and headed toward the narrowed end of the cave.
The cobbled walkway wound through more shops and eventually came out close to the wall, where the cobblestones ended and Missouri limestone took over again as it led to a wide tunnel in the rock. Inside the darker confines of the tunnel, a series of chambers had been hollowed out, most by nature but some by the denizens of the Underground. Most of them offered some sort of food, some of it already dead and cooked, the rest … not so much of either. A thousand smells hit my nose, from savory to the sickly sweet smell of decay as we walked through the tunnel. On our right, a trio of grunged-up fairies had hollowed out a smaller chamber just at eye level on most humanoids and were offering fae wines and cakes. Between their tattered wings and patched clothes, plus selling fae goods for sale, I figured them for outcast. Actually selling fae food was below most fairies. Junkyard held his nose high as we went, his head weaving left and right. Even Shade’s nostrils were flaring, and I wondered what Gage and I were missing.
Both Shade and Junkyard sneezed as we cleared the opening to the next chamber. “I know, right?” she said to him as they both shook their heads. He made a warbling noise that bordered on a whine, and she laughed.
“Am I going to have to worry about you two talking behind my back?” I asked her.
“I’m not that kind of bitch, baby,” she said before she kissed me. It was my turn to laugh.
Up ahead, Bjerning’s was easy to see. It towered over the other buildings, even though it was set into the wall to give it a flat front. Four thick columns ran across the front, and a pair of huge brass-colored doors stood open. Each column was in the shape of a Dwarven statue holding the upper level on its massive fists. We walked up the five broad steps to the doorway, passing dozens of people going about their business. A pair of bearded Dwarves stood at the doorway in heavy black tunics with broad black belts on their waists. On the left side, one had a heavy bladed ax with a short handle, while the other carried a thick-bladed short sword. But on the right side, both carried a massive revolver. In the broad, three-fingered hands of a Dwarf, it might look normal, but I doubted any mortal would be able to hold one steady, much less stay on their feet if they pulled the trigger. Judging by the length of their beards, I would have put them both at under a hundred, though the honor beads woven into their facial hair spoke of more than a couple of fights. And in spite of the hustle of beings going in and out of the building, I was pretty damn certain that they noticed everyone.
Inside, the place was a marvel of Dwarven bureaucracy. There were benches for customers, but I had never seen a Dwarf sit while he or she was working, so the desks were all a little taller than average, with a raised area in front of them for chairs. No one was sitting on the benches, and almost as soon as we stepped into the waiting area, a red-headed Dwarf in a dark green tunic waved us over to his desk. Dwarven bureaucracy was, like most things they did, actually efficient.
We stepped up onto the platform and I stopped to let Shade choose a seat first. She sank gracefully into the seat on the right, so I took the one in the middle, leaving Gage to the leftmost chair. Junkyard sank to his haunches on my right. The desk was neat, with a pair of metal pens in a holder on either side of a brass plate that read “M. Firebeard, Account Manager” in black, etched letters. His craggy features barely moved as his eyes flicked down to a card placed on his desk.
“Good afternoon,” he said woodenly. “How may I help you?” I didn’t stop my smile at his forced politeness. When I’d dealt with Dwarves before, our conversations usually started with “What do you want?” It wasn’t that they were rude, they just didn’t believe in wasting time on what they called useless social fripperies.
“I’d like to open an account,” I said as I lifted the satchel and set it on the desk. His gaze lingered on the satchel for a moment, then went back to the card on his desk.
“We’d be happy to assist you with an account,” he recited. “What is your name, sir?”
“Chance Fortunato,” I said. I waited for the usual reactions, but all I got was a tilt of the head.
“Heard of you,” he said after a beat. “Good work beating the Count.” I did a double take at that. A single compliment from a Dwarf would have been gushing fanboy squee from anyone else.
“Uh … Thank you,” I said after a few seconds. On my left, Gage squirmed, obviously wanting to say something. Firebeard was looking through the satchel and, after a moment, stood and left the desk.
“What’s he …?” Gage started to ask, but I held a hand up. Dwarves didn’t do anything without a good reason. A few seconds later, Firebeard came back with a human in a blue double-breasted suit with gold buttons. Without a word, the Dwarf took his seat again and pulled a form from one of his desk drawers.
“Good morning,” the man said as he came around the desk and offered his hand to Gage. “I’m Andrew Salvatore. I understand you wanted to open an account with us today.” Everything had been addressed to Gage, and Shade and I might as well not have been there. Gage sputtered for a moment while I stood up.
“I want to open an account,” I said. “Is there a problem?”
“No, of course not,” Salvatore said smoothly as he offered his hand to me. “Having a human liaison is just standard procedure for any account with a balance higher than two thousand ounces. Dwarves tend to lack the social skills our more affluent clients desire, if you take my meaning.” His smile had only faltered for a split second, but something about him just grated on my n
erves. Maybe it was the casual dismissal of the people he worked for, or maybe it was how I’d been invisible to him until he found out that I was his potential client.
“Actually, Mr. Firebeard’s social skills are just fine,” I said. “I think I prefer to work with him.” Salvatore’s smile faltered, while Firebeard kept his head down and his pen moving.
“Well, if you insist,” the man said, his tone a bit cooler. “Is everything in order for Mr. …” he stopped as he read the name. “Fortunato?” Firebeard nodded and kept writing. Salvatore reached down and picked up the receipt Biladon had written out for me. “If you’ll excuse me. Just a few formalities involved with an account this size. I’ll return shortly.” I watched him scuttle off with an uneasy feeling rising in my gut. Beside me, Junkyard tilted his head as he looked at me, like I was missing something.
“Sign here,” Firebeard said as he slid a form across his desk. I gave him a skeptical look and read over the form. Working for a demon had made me cautious about putting my name to anything I hadn’t read or didn’t understand. I’d wormed my way out of a few tight spots by getting other people to agree to things too quickly, too. But this was a standard agreement to hold my assets. I reached the end and signed it. Firebeard stamped it and slid it into a drawer, then excused himself stiffly and headed to the back.
“Where’s he going?” Shade muttered.
“Most likely to get a key for the sub-vault Fortunato is being issued,” Gage said. “Makes it so he can get access to funds at any of the Bjerning offices.”
A couple of minutes later, Salvatore hustled back up to the desk with another man in a dark green robe behind him. Gage leaned back in his chair with something that looked like a suppressed smile bending his mouth slightly. The green-robed man was older, with wisps of gray hair and a tuft of white clinging for dear life to his narrow chin, trying desperately to be a goatee.
“Elllsworth Chaffee,” the older man said, his thin beard wiggling with each clipped syllable. “Mr. Salvatore tells me that you have attempted to circumvent mandatory reporting procedures regarding your account.” Gage leaned forward, any amusement gone from his face.
