Dark Practices: Book Four of the Phantom Badgers

by RW Krpoun

  “Let me get this straight,” Tonya tapped her finger on the mustard pot. “The Evening Gate is a cult, in that it is an established system of Void-following, correct? Good, now, when you speak of a cult in Teasau, you are referring to a single grouping of the larger body, right?”

  “Yes, understand that the Evening Gate do not consider theirs to be a cult; the Gate is the path they follow, and the group in Teasau will be called the Circle or Spiral Something, whatever they have chosen to call themselves.”

  “So the Circle in Teasau will summon their own Sphere?”

  “Yes, each Circle or Spiral summons their own.”

  “Is the Sphere always around, and how do you destroy it?”

  “The Sphere exists only in the course of certain ceremonies, usually for a few minutes at most. To destroy the Sphere is simple in execution, and difficult in practice. To keep it simple, summoning a Sphere requires certain physical items, one of which, and perhaps the most important, is a crystal block or box or similar item, each is unique to the group; this crystal device is usually called the Orbheart by the cultists. Once a Sphere has been summoned and powers gained from it, the crystal is imbued with a trace of the Void, and is central to the summoning ceremony. Just as vital, it is the link between the Void and the augmented cultists, and acts as the ‘memory’ or ‘personality’ of the Sphere when in our world. Destroy the crystal and the Sphere is destroyed; destroy the crystal, and the thread that fuels the powers to augmented cultists is cut, inflicting terrible harm to those individuals.”

  “So we find the Orbheart and kill the cult,” the tall standard bearer nodded.

  “Actually, find where the cult conducts its ceremonies, and there you will find the Orbheart.” Arian made a chopping motion. “With the Orbheart, so goes the cult.”

  “Is this Orbheart difficult to destroy?” Maxmillian asked.

  “Yes and no, as usual; to put it simply, you require magic or clerical powers of some sort to affect it. Your hammer, being enchanted, would be perfect for the job; against it the Orbheart would be no more resilient than so much fine glass.”

  “Would there be any danger to the hammer-wielder while smashing the Orbheart?” The historian kept his voice casual.

  “Not really,” Arian’s left shoulder twitched and his face convulsed. “I’ve destroyed several myself.”

  “Very funny,” Maxmillian growled as the others smiled.

  “In truth, there’s no harm other than that every cultist within sight of you while you are attempting it will be trying to kill you; actually smashing the crystal is harmless. In laymen’s terms, the crystal has a bit of the Void trapped in it like a bottle full of water; smash the bottle, and the water falls to the ground and vanishes. In this case, the trapped bit of Void goes back to the Void.”

  “So we understand about the Sphere and the Orbheart,” Elonia moved the briefing along. “Tell us what to look for in terms of cultists.”

  “The Gate recruits amongst the restless, the self-absorbed, and the perverse. They guide a new member through different stages of depravity, revealing a bit more at each stage, testing and watching each new member until they are confident that the person is sufficiently compromised to receive the first hints about the cult’s real direction. Specifically, the new entrant or recruit is exposed to various excesses of alcohol, drugs, and sexual fetishes, each exposure deeper and more debasing. Naturally, they look for new members amongst the jaded and sensation-bent, but they also seek out the innocent as well.”

  Tonya’s distaste was mirrored on her face. “Where do the children fit into this?”

  “Sexual props and playthings at the deeper levels of indoctrination, and as fodder for the summoning ceremonies. The death of an innocent, that sort of thing.” The humor had fled Arian’s face, and he spoke tiredly, as if carrying a terrible burden.

  “And the older girls they were getting from Patch?”

  “The cult will require numerous supporting persons who in all likelihood are not aware that they are aiding a cult. They will believe that they are being hired or purchased by a wealthy group of friends for very specific and special parties, acting as supporting cast for whatever is going on. A few will be brought into the cult, but the rest will end up in a shallow grave somewhere, as the cult cannot risk one staying with them long enough to start putting things together.”

  “If they get an extended life span from the Sphere and all that, why do they recruit so much?” Philip asked. “Seems like their risk is much less if they just keep it within a handful of people.”

  “The Sphere draws from the cultists just as they draw from it,” Arian explained. “They need new blood to keep the Sphere healthy. and remember, it can take a year or two to bring a new recruit in from the stage where they believe they’ve found friends of similar tastes to the point where they realize that they are joining a cult. It isn’t just who they bring in, it is also how. Remember, I spent six weeks studying the Gate in order to get an idea of how it works, and that with an extensive background in the workings of both the Light and the Dark; there is a great deal of what I’m telling you that you will have to take on faith.”

  “How should we best approach suspected cultists?” Maxmillian asked.

  “Be yourselves; remember, the Gate contacts, it is never contacted. They will approach or not approach as they wish, and in any case infiltration beyond attending an entry-level gathering wouldn’t be necessary or wise. What you will need to watch for are the recruiters, the experienced, long-serving cultists whose job it is to measure up prospective recruits, gauge their usefulness, and plan the series of experiences that will break them down to the proper state of being. Once you’ve located one such recruiter, study them, and they’ll lead you to the rest.”

  “And to this Orbheart,” Tonya smiled wickedly. “Crunch.”

  “Going to go practice your mustard-pot dropping?” Philip asked Tonya as they left the castellan’s office.

  “Yes, Elonia said to use the small dining room.”

  “I’ll come along then and give it a go as well.” He glanced sidelong at the standard bearer. “You know, if we’re to pretend to be man and wife, we’d better get to know one another.”

  “True, we can talk while we’re practicing,” Tonya nodded. “Do you know much about leather-selling?”

  “My father was a leather-worker; I suspect that was a strong reason I was picked for this, amongst other reasons. How proficient are you with short-edged weapons?”

  “Dagger-work? All right, I suppose; I’m a hammer type, myself.”

  “You don’t see many wives of a dealer in leather art lugging around an armor-cracker,” Philip shook his head. “We’ll go over some basic moves, brush up a bit in case we muff this and end up facing a bunch of street-bravos like Arian and Janna did.”

  “I’ve a parasol with a wooden handle that comes apart, inside is a fourteen-inch steel blade, like a sword-cane,” Tonya volunteered. “I’ve never used it on anyone, but I’ve been practicing with it since Elonia told me I was going on this outing.”

  “That’s a handy thing, where did you find it?”

  “I saw a whore use one when I was in the Army, and had one made later on. You never know when it could come in handy, I figured.”

  “Truth indeed.” He grinned, his strong white teeth seeming to glow through his drooping inky mustache. “I imagine we’ll finding all sorts of odd methods and underhanded tricks come in handy before this is over. Messages in mustard-pots, of all things.”

  Chapter Seven

  “This is going to require deftness and care,” Elonia mused as Maxmillian rapped the polished brass knocker against the strike plate. “Not to mention a good deal of luck. We need to identify Erbert’s contact with the cult, if there is one, and all in the few minutes we’re likely to have.” The two were standing on the stoop of the Priller residence, a large two-story house on a street of similar houses in a prosperous neighborhood in Teasau. Since they arrived in the city tw
o days before the two ‘gem sellers’ had made very discreet inquiries about Erbert Priller, confirming that he had in fact committed suicide some weeks earlier, and obtaining other, more personal data.

  Maxmillian gave the assumed names they were operating under to the maid that answered the door. “We’re here to see Erbert Priller, if you would be so kind as to inform him.”

  The young girl nervously led them to the parlor and fled from the room. A few minutes later a short, husky man Maxmillian’s age entered the room, a frown upon his face. “You are here to see Erbert?”

  “Yes.” Maxmillian stood and offered his hand. “I am Maxim Dorfeller and this is my wife Ella, gem dealers by trade; we met Erbert at a coaching inn two months ago, I believe while he was returning home from buying timber. He invited us to call on him when we next came to Teasau, and mentioned some person he might introduce us to in regards to business. I hope we haven't missed him.”

  The man’s grip was hard and dry. “I’m Gunther, Erbert’s brother and partner; I’m afraid you missed him completely: Erbert is dead, and has been nearly a month, an accident. We only ended the mourning last week.”

  “Erbert dead,” Maxmillian shook his head. “I hope you will accept our deepest regrets for your loss; although we did not know your brother very long we both thought highly of him. I hope he did not suffer?”

  “It was quick,” Gunther sat and waved for Maxmillian to do likewise. “Did my brother talk much of...anything on his mind?”

  “We spoke of ivory cameos for the most part,” Elonia explained, hoping their research was accurate. “An interest he and I have, had, in common; beyond that, he said that there was a friend of his whom he would introduce us to who could put us in contact with persons interested in gems and unusual jewelry. I understood him to be unmarried but betrothed, although he spoke little on the subject.”

  “Yes, Erbert was a slow man to wed; it cost him two other...anyway, that is hardly something pertinent. I suppose the friend he mentioned would be the Duchess, Lyris Meurer; although she’s hardly in the market for stones herself, she does know a great number of people who throw money about with both hands.”

  “A real Duchess?” Maxmillian raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes, indeed, the fifty-sixth and last, she has no heir and good riddance.” Gunther flushed a bit, then calmed himself. “I don’t care much for the...lady, you understand, but my brother’s friends were of his choosing and concern, not mine. Erbert held up his end of the business and more, always was ready to handle the out-of-town trips so I could be with my family, and bothered no one.” He was silent for a moment. “Still, it was good of you to have come calling; Erbert needed more friends. If I can be of any assistance while you are in Teasau, please do not hesitate to call upon me.”

  “You’ve been very kind; again, our condolences for your loss.” The three stood and Gunther walked them to the door.

  Maxmillian waited until they were half a block away before speaking. “The Duchess Meurer, eh? I wonder if that’s any sort of lead.”

  “Gunther certainly didn’t like her, and a cult recruiter would have to be someone with extensive contacts within the city. This has always confused me, Maxmillian: how do these noble titles work in the Empire?”

  “There really are three kinds of nobility: back nearly a thousand years ago Heinrich Bestmarit led a uprising which created the Empire out of the Kingdom of Franklia. Now, members of the Imperial Family are termed Prince or Princess, unless they are in the Bond, the list of successors renewed each year; if you have ever been the first name on the Bond, you bear the title of Grand Prince for life, and if you are one of the other four you bear the title of Grand Duke for life.”

  “Unless you get to be Emperor,” Elonia observed.

  “True. Of course, you have to be from the Imperial family to be on the Bond. Next there is the Landgreave, the new nobility Besmarit created; if a common man distinguishes himself in the service of the Empire he is raised to the Landgreave. There is no real title involved, you just add ‘von’ for military merit or ‘van’ for civil merit; if you get both, you keep the first and add ‘der’ to indicate the other, such as von der Sheer. Membership in the Landgreave lasts for five generations.”

  “So I am sleeping with a nobleman,” Elonia teased him.

  “Yes, in a fashion I suppose. When my son has children, however, they will not be part of the Landgreave and will drop the ‘von’, unless he or I re-earns the right. The third nobility are the noble families of the old Kingdom now gone for ten centuries. Besmarit removed their rights and powers, but left them their titles and permanent inclusion in the Landgreave. There were Dukes, Barons, Counts, and Viscounts, as I recall, although I don’t remember which order they were arranged in. Of course, there was a King and princes, too, but none survived the uprising. As you might expect, there are precious few of the old noble titles left in the Empire. Back at the University they tracked all the old families through the ages.”

  “So when this Duchess dies, the title dies with her?”

  “Yes, and I don’t doubt she’s probably one of only a dozen title-holders left; there were hundreds of titled families back when the Empire was born. Should we do some digging into the Duchess’ background?”

  “No, I think not. If she’s affiliated with the Gate in any way they will be sensitive to anyone sniffing around, especially this soon after the troubles with Keela, Arian, and Janna. We’ll check the onions, change into something a bit more upscale, and see if she’s receiving guests.”

  “We certainly look the part, don’t we?” Maxmillian wore a simple green velvet coat and linen breeches; Elonia wore a sky blue knee-length dress cut in the current fashion, with deep blue stockings and a matching shawl. “Prosperous travelers.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  They were staying in a suite of rooms on the third floor of a quiet boarding house which catered to visiting upper-level merchants and artisans; two blocks to the east and one to the south Tonya and Philip had a room at the White Lion, a good-quality inn. Pug had his roofed cart positioned at a street corner nearly an equal distance between the two on a busy street which persons living at either location would naturally use.

  The Duchess lived in a sprawling old mansion enclosed by a ten-foot wall whose sun-yellowed plaster was crumbling away in fist-sized patches, exposing the brick central core. Shingles were missing on the various roofs of the multi-layer mansion on the other side of the wall, and those that remained were furred with moss. It was two hours past noon when the Badgers came to call, having changed their clothes, inquired as to the Duchess’ address, and discussed their approach over lunch.

  Maxmillian thumped the rusting knocker against the cracked and weather-beaten boards of the gate for the third time and waited. “Perhaps she’s not home.” He surveyed the wall and what could be seen of the mansion beyond. “I think Plan Two is the one to go with.”

  “So it would seem.” Elonia idly kicked the wall and dislodging a plate-sized chunk of plaster. “We’ll come back...” the sound of footsteps on cobblestones interrupted her, and a moment later they heard a bolt shoot back and the gate swung open, exposing a pretty young woman in a plain gray dress such as servants customarily wore. “Ah, someone heard us. Good afternoon, is the Duchess receiving callers today? Excellent, would you tell her that Maxim and Ella Dorfeller would like to speak with her if she has a moment, I believe we have an item which belongs to her.”

  The maid left them standing inside the gate while she trotted off to deliver their message, following the courtyard around the side of one sprawling wing instead of going back inside the house. The two Badgers examined the mansion, which appeared to be in no better repair than the encircling wall. Both the flanking wings to the building were obviously closed up, the latches on the shutters covering the windows having long since rusted fast, and the entire structure desperately needing minor repairs and gallons of paint.

  “Looks like hard times have befallen
the last Duchess of the Meurer line,” Maxmillian muttered to Elonia.

  “All the better for us,” the Seeress nodded.

  Moments later the young maid trotted back and escorted them around to the back of the house where they found a large and lovingly maintained garden which was easily as big as a market place, with two rows of three stately old oaks, a pair of gazebos, a huge old weeping willow and a rock garden all fitting in without crowding one another.

  Duchess Meurer was a thin woman of average height with henna-colored hair that was obviously dyed, unnaturally bright blue eyes peering at them from a face well-weathered by life rather than the elements; Elonia put her age at fifty-odd years of very hard living, hard living of the sort that one inflicts upon oneself, as opposed to a hard life as inflicted by outside forces. Although it was well past noon the Duchess wore a dressing gown of violent and clashing colors and had obviously quit her bed very recently. She was sitting at a wicker table for four beneath the ancient weeping willow with a young man of vaguely effeminate appearance dressed in a pale gray silk shirt open halfway down his hairy chest and tight green velvet breeches.

  “My girl said you had come to call?” The Duchess’ voice was high and reedy, and a bit unstable; a bottle of indifferent brandy stood on a glazed clay platter with two unused pewter cups in the center of the table, two more cups were in use by the worn noblewoman and her companion.

  “Yes, I am Maxim Dorfeller and this is my wife, Ella. I am very grateful for your indulgence in this matter, your grace; it is quite an honor to be received by a holder of such an ancient and honorable title.”

  He was good, Elonia had to say, but the flattery made no impression at all on the woman; obviously the title and linage meant little to her. The Seeress stood with her arms in front of her, hands clasped under her shawl, a common enough pose and one which allowed her to hold unseen a secondary crystal of the third affiliation, the stone normally riding in a pocket sewn into the sleeve of her dress; Elonia dearly missed her pouch-laden belt. She derived a reading from each of the two as she listened to Maxmillian, faint but detectable readings which could indicate that if they were cultists they were too low in the group to have been exposed to the ceremonies which blocked readings. The young man was bored and mildly irritated at the interruption of something planned; the Duchess was interested in her, but she could have told that from the way the bloodshot blue eyes slid down her dress.