by S T Branton
If the goblin and his friends woke up, I’d simply kick their asses again.
Chapter Six
There were plenty of places within The Deep I had never visited. But my working knowledge of the prison’s layout meant I had a chance. It was a chance Solon knew he didn’t have.
No one had ever escaped The Deep. Not even a prisoner as powerful as my teacher could do that. That fact was drilled into my head countless times over the years. But no Nearsider had ever been there, either, which gave me an advantage.
Like the assholes bleeding in my cell, every Farsider underestimated us humans. I was the first human ever sent here, so I figured I might as well be the first to break out. It would save them having to make two honorary plaques someday.
I hadn't gone far down the next hallway when a guard came around the corner. He was easily recognizable as one of the Philosophers—he looked like a run-of-the-mill human, except for the pointy ears. The uppercrust among The Farsiders, these wizards reigned over the prison. While the goons and ghouls did the dirty work, these bastards kept their hands clean and the place in order. I’d been told they also walked on Earth, mixing in among the sapiens.
Solon was one of the most powerful to ever live. Then he became a prisoner.
I weighed my options and decided to duck into a shadowy corner. The Philosophers were powerful, but they weren’t all-knowing. It meant they didn’t know I escaped yet. That gave me some wiggle room.
I pulled out my switchblade just in case and wiped the goblin’s blood off on my rags as the Philosopher walked by.
It looked like the wizard wouldn’t be the wiser. Then I remembered the unlocked door at the end of the hall. Shit. As soon as he saw that, all hell would break loose. I was going to have to go for a more proactive approach.
Without giving myself time to hesitate, I ran toward the guard. He turned and opened his mouth, but whatever spell he planned on frying me with died on his lips as I plunged the blade into his chest. His entire body shuddered before collapsing to the floor.
I turned and ran while going over the map in my mind. I needed to go up several floors and to the center of the building to reach my first goal. But trying to do that through the corridors would take too long. I needed an alternative route.
My eyes scanned the walls and the ceiling until I found the edge of a tiny access door. I used the switchblade to pry it open and slipped inside. Closing the door cast me into utter darkness, but I pulled the locket out from under my shirt and allowed its subtle glow to guide me.
“Welcome to the body chute,” I whispered to Splinter.
The Deep was a murderous hellhole, filled with the worst creatures imaginable and built with no regard for their safety or even survival. The weak didn’t last long. Hell, the strong rarely lasted long. Inordinately long sentences were more for the drama and mental torture of it than any actual thought the prisoner would see it through.
To manage this swift turnover of residents, the designers of this lovely place provided the guards with an easy way of disposing of bodies. The prisoners knew it only as the body chute. There was really no reason to call it anything else.
For someone as small as me, it doubled as an excellent escape route, despite the fact that it smelled exactly like what it was.
My hand slipped in something I chose not to identify. It was wet and sticky and smelled like old cheese. Splinter wriggled out of my pocket and went ahead of me. I didn't know if he was trying to be helpful, or if he wanted to get through the disgusting passage as fast as he could.
We passed through two floors and I scrambled over something I told myself was a pile of discarded clothes that happened to have a few sticks and some pudding shoved inside. I decided it was time to take my chances out of the chute. The glow of the locket was slowly fading, which meant its power faded with it.
It would recharge, with time. But if I didn’t make it out of here before it quit, I would be dead long before it regained full power.
I found a door and kicked it open, then dropped through it before looking out. Not my smartest move. As soon as I hit the ground, something scooped me up and dangled me in the air.
A familiar face leered up at me.
"Look who it is." He shook me. “The Nearsider.”
Chapter Seven
The gross, gooey candy spider-creature stared up at me. I now knew this was a baalarach, one of a clan of particularly nasty monsters that hid out in old forests and ate unsuspecting hikers. This particular spider was missing half his face and seemed to be down one leg since the first night I saw him.
“Well, if it isn’t Itsy Bitsy,” I replied. “Long time, no see. But as much as I'd love to hang out and catch up, I really need to go. I have appointments and important meetings to attend. You understand.”
"Oh, I understand.” Its face contorted into what I could only assume was a smile. “I understand that your wizard friend is dead. So sorry to hear that. Did you know he gave me these lovely scars? The night you first arrived, after our fun was interrupted. He showed up in my cell, murdered my compatriots, and left me half-blind. Guess it was to serve as a warning to the others.”
In fact, I didn’t know this, but it didn’t surprise me. Solon had skills I could scarcely imagine, and he wielded them ruthlessly to keep me safe.
“That’s a shame. You were such a looker before.”
“No matter,” it hissed. “With him gone, we can pick up right where we left off. I’ve been craving my snack.”
“After ten years, you’re still obsessing about eating me? That seems unhealthy. You should consider a chat with Dr. Phil.”
Taking a page from Splinter's book, I chomped down on the leg holding me. It tasted like hot garbage, and it was all I could do not to throw up on the spot.
The dig of my teeth wasn't enough to make the spider drop me, but it pissed him off enough to bring me closer to his mouth. I took the opportunity to kick him in the face at the same moment I slashed his leg with my switchblade.
It wasn’t graceful. Something about this thing brought out the flail in me. Still, it worked.
I hit the ground and ran, not bothering to glance back. The spider creature was one of the more privileged prisoners, which meant the body chute had dumped me out into what passed as a recreational room but was really a larger version of the cells.
There were no doors in these rooms. Prisoners allowed to use them were transported in. But that didn't mean they were completely secure. A jagged crack along one wall looked like the perfect opportunity. My only opportunity, really, but I was going for optimism. I ran toward the crack and wriggled my body through it.
I was twenty-five, but the less-than-exemplary prison diet meant I had maintained my teenage weight.
Bonus.
I popped out the other side as I heard the baalarach slam into the wall. It reached its spindly legs toward me, but its massive body prevented it from making the journey.
“Send my regards to the rest of the gang,” I yelled and ran down the hallway, the baalarach’s screams echoing behind me.
One more jaunt through the body chute brought me to an empty corridor. The walls looked solid, but I knew not to be taken in by the deception. I had made it to my destination.
Now it was up to my newest rune.
Taking the thin bundle of hair and magic from my pocket, I held it to my face. The goblin eyeball let me see through it like a looking glass, revealing hidden details that existed throughout The Deep, but had always been concealed from me.
I slowly turned and found the door.
The Warden's private quarters.
Runecraft is a tricky form of magic. It requires intense focus, a powerful will, and two kinds of ingredients. Something from The Near, and something from The Far. While this hell of a dimension was crawling with Farstuff, no human had ever been sent here. Which meant that Nearstuff was in short supply.
A problem I solved by unjustly getting locked in this place. A problem Solon turned into an a
dvantage.
I stepped up to the hidden door and placed the delicate rune on the handle. This was it. The whole plan hinged on this one moment. I skipped knocking and smashed the rune with my switchblade, sending a force louder than a cannon blast echoing through The Deep.
And blowing the door wide open.
A small fire illuminated the room. Plush carpeting welcomed my feet. I had to fight the urge to lie down on it and roll around. Compared to the rest of The Deep, this place was a paradise, but I had no time to enjoy it.
Warden Beccaria sat up groggily, trying to make sense of the sound. He jostled awake quickly enough when I grabbed him by the front of his nightshirt and yanked him out of his covers. The end of his pointed nightcap fell over his face like Rip Van Winkle, and he thrashed around at the end of the bed.
"Knock it off." I gave him a hard shake.
His eyes opened, and he pushed the cap away so he could see.
"Nearscum?" he muttered, his sleep-induced fog almost making the word sound like a term of endearment.
I pressed my switchblade to his throat.
"Give it to me."
I didn't have to specify what I was demanding. He already knew.
"No. No way." He shook his head adamantly.
I pushed my blade deeper as I yanked him closer.
"Now," I growled. “Even a powerful Philosopher like you can bleed.”
Relenting, Beccaria reached under his shirt and pulled out a chain. Dangling from the end was the ornate key that had been seared into my memory for ten years. I snatched it from his hand and stuck it forward into the air in front of me like I remembered those men doing the night they ruined my life. The door in reality opened with a click, and I smiled, my chest nearly bursting.
The Warden laughed. "You won’t escape for long, not with the entire Guild hunting you down. There’s no place for you to hide. By now your friends and family have forgotten you, but every Farsider knows of your crimes and they all despise you for it. Your name fills every one of my kind with righteous anger. They’ll give you no quarter, no mercy. You won't last the hour, Sara Slick."
I turned back to him with a wider grin stretching across my face.
"Funny. You said that to me ten years ago. Care to see how long you last among your prisoners?"
I dragged him toward his bedroom door and threw him into the hallway. He looked up at me in horror as I slammed his door shut and overturned an ornate desk in front of it. That should keep him occupied.
Opening my pocket, I glanced in at Splinter. "Time to go, boy."
I took a breath and leapt into the portal. There was a moment of darkness followed by a feeling somewhere between being torn apart and crushed. After an eternity of the universe playing accordion with my body, it finally spit me out. I hit solid ground.
Something cool touched my face, and I realized it was air. Fresh, sweet air without even a hint of goblin piss or body chute. My lungs sucked it in faster than I could exhale, and I felt a touch woozy when a loud sound startled me to my feet.
It was a car whipping past. A car illuminated by the glow of an electric streetlight.
I had made it back.
Chapter Eight
I jumped to my feet and looked around with almost giddy anticipation, ready to take in the familiar, beloved surroundings again. I had dreamed of this moment for ten years.
Hoping I hadn’t landed too far from my mark, I rushed to the edge of the nearby street to get a better idea of where the hell I was. A truck cut me off, and I laughed. Even the exhaust fumes smelled good. I’d take just about anything outside the walls of the magical prison that had stolen the last decade of my life.
After what I had to do to survive the three thousand, six hundred sixty-four days and nights tallied in hash marks on my cell floor, a lungful of soot was heaven. I’d taken my freedom with me when I jumped through that portal. Now that I had it, I was savoring each second of being back on Earth.
Back in The Near.
It stretched out around me, ready for me to soak up every bit of experience possible. It felt like being in the middle of Wonka’s factory, and I wanted to lick every wall.
But the grumbling in my stomach and the wind whipping around the rags of my prison uniform told me the wall-licking would have to wait for at least a little while. My head still spun from the interdimensional trip, and nothing looked even close to familiar. I needed to get my ass off the street. I needed to lay low until I could figure out where I was and what my next steps were.
Before he died, Burne had let slip that his friends on the outside were planning a deal tonight. Something that threatened Charleston and maybe the entire Pax Philosophia. I got the general location out of him, but that did nothing for me if I couldn’t get there from here, wherever here was.
The key hung heavy in my hand. Solon had told me it would bring me anywhere I wanted to go. But this was the first time I’d ever used it. Maybe I’d done it wrong. Either way, it was a one-time deal. Beccaria wasn’t bluffing. The whole Guild would be out to get me, and once they knew I stole the key, they’d be able to trace its use. Opening another door with it would be like firing a flare into a crowded room. This key was a Pan-Relic and contained a precious material only the Philosophers Guild was authorized to use.
As soon as they realized I was missing, I was screwed. Agents of the Guild would immediately start hunting me down, which meant I had to stay a step ahead of them. Several steps, if at all possible.
Especially if I wanted to save the world.
I slipped the chain over my head and hid the key. I needed somewhere to rest and something to eat, but my first priority was finding something to wear. The less attention I drew to myself the better. I was fairly certain it wasn’t Halloween, so I couldn’t get away with the Les Misérables look I had going on. Splinter made a few chittering noises at me from my pocket.
“We’ll find a snack, buddy. Don’t worry.”
Light and muffled music from a bar a short distance down the sidewalk lured me. If I was going to gather the intel I needed, a bar full of people seemed like a fantastic place to start.
Puddles lingering on the pavement from some past storm reflected the neon light that splashed from the door as it swung open. The bar spit out a man who stumbled a few feet down the sidewalk. I watched to make sure he’d rebound rather than end up as one of the puddles.
“Get out of my way, asshole,” he mumbled. I stepped aside, and he reached out for a light post. I thought he was bracing himself to hurl, but instead, he swung around the pole like a kid on a playground. To his credit, he let out a cheerful weeee as he twirled.
I grabbed his sleeve and let him take another spin around the post so he unraveled from his black leather jacket like a mummy. A cab pulled up to the sidewalk, and I slipped into the jacket as the drunk found his feet and stumbled his way toward the car. I turned back to the bar. Another patron was walking out with a much higher degree of control, and I reached forward to catch the door as he walked past me.
Now that my rags were somewhat covered, I felt slightly more at ease in the human world. The swagger was short-lived. As soon as the smell of fried food washed over me, Splinter gave me an encouraging bite on my thigh. My leg shook a little to dislodge him, and I noticed eyes on me. I could have kept walking.
Instead, I tried to blend in.
There were so many ways I could have blended. So many ways to insert myself back into reality. I chose to dance. My hands dropped to my knees as my hips wiggled.
“This song’s my jam,” I said with a somewhat unhinged gesture toward the speaker.
It took another ten seconds of blank stares for the music blasting from the speakers to sink in and let me know I had been booty dancing to a truly gut-wrenching country song. My ass had twerked to a stolen pickup truck, at least three ex-girlfriends, and a lost dog.
Perfect.
That had gone smoothly. Fortunately, the looks eventually turned away from me and I scanned the surprising
ly dense crowd in the bar.
Tables and stools scattered around the room hosted clusters of people laughing and dancing. They tipped back drinks ranging in shade from the pale brown of straightforward chugging beer to vibrant rainbow hues of cocktails that very well could be nothing more than melted ice pops.
None of them instantly struck me as a masquerading Farsider who might ID me—or give me the intel I needed. Not that I expected to walk into the bar and find a cluster of them hunkering in the corner growling at people or wearing convenient self-declaration t-shirts. I would have to get more creative in needling out the details I needed.
I could do that. But first, there was something important I needed to do, something that had haunted me every one of those three thousand, six hundred sixty-four days I spent in prison.
Chapter Nine
The bartender lifted his eyes to me as I dropped onto the one empty stool in front of him. His dirty rag swiped absently back and forth across the prep station in front of him like he didn’t know how to function without it. He leaned close to hear me shout over the increasingly rowdy crowd.
A single nod said he got my message as he turned away. A few seconds later, he came back and slid a yellowed piece of paper across the scarred surface of the bar. My hand flattened over it and I pulled it protectively close, my eyes darting across the words on it as fast as they could move.
This couldn’t be true.
I read it again, forcing myself to slow down to ensure I didn’t miss anything. My head spun. It was all I’d wanted, all I’d longed for when I was in prison, what I’d promised myself if I ever escaped into freedom. And this slip of paper tore it away from me.
My eyes snapped up to the bartender.
