Saithorthepyro
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Chapter 73 - Archive III
🕑 Added 2024-10-16 16:31:52 +0000 UTCFor once, I shared a carriage with a Montague who wasn’t Gregory.
Elise Montague was very much like her brother, mainly in the sense I’d had to remind myself thrice now that staring into someone else’s eyes could be considered rude at best, creepy at worst, and….who knows what when the person in question had seen you chewing your way through a cow’s stomach.
Please let her not ask any strange questions like that idiotic pack of noble brats from the party. Or anything related to said cows.
“So,” Elise finally said, breaking the silence. “You and my brother seem...close.”
You know, suddenly, idiotic questions about my race seemed much more palatable. Or even the cows.
“I suppose we are close,” I said. “He’s been of great help with the investigation, and since I’m part of that, it only makes sense that we’ve been working together.”
“Working together includes going off in a corner to….have quiet private conversations?” Elise Montague asked me.
“I…well, it started as a private, quiet conversation,” I muttered. “I noticed your band was definitely not full-time servants, and I was right to bring attention to it. For all that, it helped in the end.”
“I have to ask, are you normally this bashful?” Elise said. “I could understand it over some things, but just the idea of being kissed sends you into conniptions makes you seem so innocent.”
I twitched, something rising to the surface as if responding to the challenge of those words.
“My last relationship ended about six years ago,” I told her. “And no, I wasn’t that bashful over it, outside of the times we had to hide the bite marks we left on each other.”
Elise seemed a little lost for words at that. “Biting?”
“Yes, biting. We probably did more of that than kissing, now that I think about it.”
Skall had never lacked passion. That ended up being the issue. Passion and diabolism did not mix well. Elise stammered a bit, suddenly looking less confident than she had just a few seconds ago.
“Do you mean like on the dance room floor when the Infernal-I mean the ruffians invaded?”
“You can call them Infernals,” I said, with a bit of fatigue in my voice. “And no, not like that. I’m not a praying mantis. I don’t eat people I’m laying with.”
I hoped that inclination to chomp into someone’s throat had just been the Imp, making its appetites known.
She at least seemed willing to move to a different topic of conversation.
“I’m a little surprised you were willing to help out with this,” I said. “Your brother has the reputation as the black sheep, was my understanding. Or have I fallen in with an entire flock with black wool?”
“Varying levels of gray,” she said, smirking. “Some darker than others. Greg is just a little more indiscreet with his defiance than the rest of us. Although with Father...he’s taken a foul turn recently. Fouler with everyone that he used to be. Before this, it was just messing with father, little acts of rebellion. I’m sure you’ve had similar feelings.”
My lips quirked. “I didn’t know my father. I still don’t, not really.”
My interactions with the creature involved in my birth could best be described as mostly relaying messages to the child he actually cared about.
“Oh,” she said, cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stir up any unpleasant memories. Is he dead?”
“Not dead, just not very involved,” I said, not wanting to tell the truth that he was a devil, or worse, a damn noble among the Hells. “He’s far away and doesn’t really visit or communicate much. So, the urge to disobey never happened to me. It would need to involve someone who gave me orders to obey.”
“Ah, I see,” she said. “Sadly, I cannot relate. Since the moment I could talk, Father’s been busy trying to plan out my life for me. So, every little chance at a minor bit of rebellion seemed tantalizing. I suppose this is a fair bit bigger than minor, though.”
“A fair bit,” I echoed. “If you get caught in this-”
“Don’t try to talk me out of it,” she interrupted. “I’ve already decided to commit to this little adventure, so don’t try to sway me away. Besides, it’s a little late for that.”
It was not, and her considering this an adventure was a little warning sign I had not needed.
“There’s a few places we could stop this before now,” I said. “But point taken. Gregory being the most indiscreet though. Could you expand on that some, perhaps?”
“Miss Harrow,” Elise said. “Are you trying to ask me about my brother’s sordid past? What would your next question be? What specifically does he like to eat?”
I froze, then ventured out a cautious “Yes?”
“I suppose I have some things I could share regarding both those questions,” she said. “First, there are the orgies-”
“He already mentioned those,” I said automatically. “Mentioned he didn’t much care for them?”
An awkward silence filled the carriage as I realized what I’d said and tried not to throw myself out of the carriage. Then Elise burst out laughing.
“Yes, yes, he does not,” she said. “I won’t talk about the circumstances in which I found that out, but yes. We can talk about it more, but two things first.”
“Yes?”
“First, I want more of your measure before I decide if I want to help. It would hardly do for me to set you up only to discover you eating him like you do your beef.”
Oh, Hells.
“I..that….” my voice trailed off. “There’s more to that than what may have been apparent.”
“Diabolical rituals, no doubt,” Elise said. “A lot more gruesome and involving a lot less nudity than rumor would have you believe.”
Thankfully so, I could not begin to imagine what would have happened if I’d been in anything less than clothing from neck to hoof when that had happened.
“But more importantly, we are at our destination.”
The building outside the carriage was taller than even Lord Montague’s estate, pillars towering overhead, merely for decoration on the outside of the building. Made out of marble, the royal crest was carved into the center, a tiger’s roaring head over crossed swords.
“It’s underneath the Central Bank of Anglea?” I asked incredulously. “You built it underneath the biggest bank in the city?”
“More like they built their bank on top of our Archives,” Elise said. “According to Father, at least. I wouldn’t put it past him to make that up. Anything to fluff the family name and his own ego. Come on in.”
The inside of the bank was just as grand as the outside. The central chamber was massive, with a vaulted roof over a hundred feet above our heads. Finely dressed people milled about, some of them waiting in the lobby while others were in animated discussions with the tellers.
The bank was one of the remaining legacies of Her Most Profane Majesty. They’d done their best to scrub any traces of her influence over it, jokes about keeping the demonic engines attuned to Greed active in its underground chambers aside. No matter how much of it had been redone, though, everyone knew who’d established it to help fund her wars with..well, most everyone towards the end there.
Whatever else she had been, ambitious was definitely one of those things.
“Follow me,” Elise muttered, heading to one of the tellers who was not dealing with a bank patron.
“Ah, Lady Montague,” he said, looking over, eyes dismissing me to focus on Elise as he bowed. “Here on business with the bank today?”
“I can’t think of another reason why I would be here, Mr. Crowley,” she replied smiling. “I’d like to make a withdrawal from my account under the Queen’s Fifth Navy Bond Account?”
His smile seemed to fade just a little. “Ah, but of course. You know that all transactions from that account must be handled by the managers. One moment. Aleister! Please guide Lady Montague and her guest to the vault for the Fifth Bond Navy Account.”
A band guard nodded, coming around and leading us through a set of hallways and offices. Initially, they were packed with people, but those rapidly thinned out till we were headed down a narrow flight of stairs. A guard waited at a plain wooden door, looking curiously at us both.
“Lady Montague and a stranger,” he said. “Who might your guest be, Lady Montague, that you wish to take them into the Archives?”
“This is Petroula Xides from Illtaea,” Elise said. “She reached out to me a few weeks back about research into the expedition into deeper Illtaea? The one that recovered the Aedolian steps, among other artifacts, and brought them here for safekeeping? One of her ancestors was one of the local guides hired for the expedition, and I promised her I’d let her take a look at the accounts.”
“She’s not here to try and get them back, is she?” One of the guards asked in an irritated tone.
I gave him a blank, bland smile, trying to appear dull as he looked me over.
“The accounts or the artifacts?” Elise replied. “She’s not here to steal either, Johnathan. Just looking into her family history.”
“Where did you meet her?” He asked. “And before you say anything mi’lady, you know these questions are required for all visitors. Please just answer the questions.”
A few minutes passed as the cover identity I’d crafted and then shared with Elise Montague got tested to its limits. Where we’d met? I got in at a social event hosted by a friend of Elise’s because I was a servant of another friend.
From what the Montagues had told me, the first layer of the archives was filled with books available publicly, records, and other such papers not really protected by any secrecy. Petroula was being brought here as a favor to Elise’s friend so that she didn’t need to check every single library in the city to find it. It took less time than I expected before we were told to enter.
I walked through the doorway, tensing as I made my way through. The chances of it picking up on the Diabolism in my leg past the layers of skin, flesh, and bone were negligible, but they did exist.
I made it through with nothing occurring. One hurdle overcome.
“Your leg alright?” The guard asked me. “Looked like you didn’t want to put much weight on it on your way through.”
He could tell that? Damnations.
“Just these old joints, I’m afraid,” I replied. “Never been the same after I turned forty, and it’s been raining too much recently. Moisture makes them even harder to bend.”
It seemed to satisfy his curiosity, and well, that didn’t need to last longer than a day.
We emerged into a maze. Bookshelves were on either side, the passage between barely wide enough for the two of us to fit side-by-side.
“This is one of the side entrances, not the main one,” Elise said as we moved in, our escort from the bank following closely behind. “I figured a more private entrance would work better. I know you don’t like crowds.”
To be accurate, I didn’t like showing off my disguise to a slew of people in case they encountered me in a place I shouldn’t have been. Unfamiliarity was a valuable shield in those situations.
“It’s much appreciated,” I responded as we walked through the maze of bookshelves. Lanterns lit us up overhead, thirty feet tall and just above the bookshelves crammed with literature. Clearly, there was some kind of organizational system, but we didn’t slow down enough for me to even guess what it might be.
Eventually we emerged into a larger room, several table there with people reading, many of them in red clothing. Elise went to one, and began talking to them.
Elise requested a private room for us to go over the records. Some finagling was needed to get a specific one, an argument that because of my joints, we’d prefer one that was closer to the entrance. She argued for one she was familiar with and got it fast. We were soon in a small room with a series of chairs, reading desks, and a single small table we both settled down at, along with several records we’d collected. We’d managed to shed the bank’s escort coming
We settled into pouring over those old records and other books. The occasional spot of tea while doing this led to a good discussion, during which I learned that Elise definitely did not share her brother’s peculiarities with tea.
An hour into our stay, a staff member opened the door and asked if we needed anything else. Elise made it clear we didn’t, and after some polite conversation, the archivist left.
As soon as they left, Elise was practically bursting with energy. She began to rise for her seat, only for me to look sternly at her until she sat back down. I passed over a piece of paper.
Not yet. They might hang around. Five minutes.
Mind you, five minutes was hardly the time I would have waited. I figured any more would be too long to wait for the overexcited Montague. She seemed far too excited to be involved in matters like this. If I’d known she’d be like this, I would have maybe asked for Henry instead. I doubted someone who’d seen a battlefield would be this excited or blasé.
After five minutes passed, Montague rose from her seat and at least restricted herself to hand signals. She gestured towards one of the bookshelves, and I got up and followed.
A few mimed instructions later, we carefully moved the bookshelf away from the wall, making small movements to minimize the noise since we could lift it entirely from the floor. We’d moved all the books off it into carefully piled stacks, ready to be put back on when needed.
It took time, but as it moved further back, I could see more of what lay behind—specifically, a square hole in the wall neatly carved out.
“How have you kept the staff from finding out?” I asked in a whisper as we moved the bookshelf further away from the entrance. It looked like it was about waist high, which would have been difficult for my leg, but it was not impossible.
“Oh, they know it’s here,” Elise said. “It’s how they sneak in things past the guards. Or arrange rendezvous. Well, it used to be. It’s been sealed since it was discovered about four years ago.”
I sighed. “I don’t know what’s worse, that you wanted to send me through a secret passage the staff already knew about or that it's blocked off. Pray tell, how am I supposed to get past it?”
“Oh, we reopened it a while back, Gregory, Henry, William, myself, and a couple of our sisters you haven’t met yet,” Elise said. “We put a false facade up front in order to keep it from being discovered, but it’s easy enough to remove. Come on, in you go.”
I stared at the opened-up crawlspace with no small amount of hesitation. “You are certain no one else will be here besides you while I’m gone?”
I’d already had my doubts about this. The staff knowing about an entrance that lead further inside the archives? Even if they thought it sealed off, that was a little too risky for my blood.
“Oh, I’m certain,” Elise said. “They already checked an hour ago, remember? They don’t check that often, especially with how many people visit these parts of the archives. It’s not like this part is a secret, except from the public.”
An interesting way of phrasing that, but I let it pass as I considered the tunnel. Dark. I wish someone had mentioned that when we’d planned this out.
“I’m going to need to see in there,” I muttered. “Do you have a lamp?”
Elise blinked. “I….you’re an Infernal? Can’t you see in the dark?”
I should have guessed. “I cannot. And we’ll also have to deal with my clothes. They’ll be dirty going through this once, let alone twice. Another issue to solve. Can you check outside for any kind of lantern?”
A missing lantern might be noticed, but that struck me as better than crawling through the darkness. Especially if opening the far side requires more than just pushing.
Eventually, she came back with a small, tiny little thing that wasn’t much bigger than her hand. I eyed it skeptically.
“It was on a table,” she said. “I think the Archivists use it at night?”
The archivists must not require much light at all, if this little thing was sufficient. Sighing, I grabbed it, and leg already aching in anticipation of what was to come, bent down to crawl into the tunnel.
***
I would spend a few hours outside the moment we were out of here. Not doing anything. Just...enjoying the light. And the sky. And not feeling like a fish crammed into a tin like they packaged them up at the docks. Sometimes, they didn’t kill the catch before they did that; they just took living fish and shoved them in, sealed it shut, and let the poor creature die in utter darkness, squirming against a dozen of its fellows.
Peering into the Arcane helped some with the dark as I pushed through. The tiny lantern helped a little more. I still couldn’t see more than five feet in front of my face. Worse, I could hear things moving outside, the trotting of boots on the floor. Sometimes loud enough, I could swear they must be right outside this little tunnel.
How long was this damn thing? I felt like I’d been in here for half an hour. In truth, probably much less. I was far, far out of practice at this as I eyed the ceiling. Lingering doubts of it collapsing on me had haunted me since I’d entered this tunnel.
Every inch felt like a mile as the still air smothered me. It felt tighter than it had been when I’d entered. Had it gotten tighter? I felt like I was being shoved into a shrinking hole, even though there was space for two of me side-by-side.
I paused, catching a glimmer of light where none should be. I focused on where I’d spotted it, and then it repeated itself. Like a reflection of light on a spider’s thread, red and green arcane energy woven very finely.
A trap.
They’d gone cheap with this trap, having it run only on a single axis. A wire of magic running from top to bottom. It would break at the lightest touch, but if I could avoid it, I should be fine.
A very big if, I thought to myself. Bum leg, and I’d made myself wider to account for extra mass when I’d shortened myself. I pressed up against a wall on my side, eye on the thread. Make sure my good leg was the one on the floor. I kept the lantern ahead of me, then began moving. Bend my knees a little, use it to push forward an inch.
I repeated that motion, eyes focused on the thread. There was so much to balance: pain in my leg, weight threatening to tip me forward, and the feeling of dust irritating my nose and trying to tempt a sneeze out of me.
Eventually, I made it through, the bottom of my bio-sculpted foot and the prosthetic on my hoof clearing past. I kept on my side, getting at least three feet of distance. Then, I went back onto my hands and knees and continued to crawl.
Eventually, the tunnel ended in the smooth wooden back of a walnut bookshelf.
I pushed against the back. It should just be a facade. Perhaps it swung open, or maybe it was just hollow? Or a cut-out section?
I shouldn’t hope after that alarm
The bookshelf refused to move. It refused to even budge, and it felt like pushing against a wagon loaded with stone. Sideways. Cursing, I pulled the lantern forward, looking over the seams where the tunnel met the bookshelf.
There was something sticking out along the upper one, and my fingers gripped it. It was a folded up piece of paper, and I gingerly pulled it out, unfurling it and bringing it to the lamplight.
My Children,
William took it upon himself, out of guilt, to explain exactly how you have been violating the security of our family’s greatest charge. He has told me about how all of you pressured him into doing this, and encouraged me to enact a most terrible punishment. However, I am feeling generous today, so instead, your climbing back through this cramped little space will be punishment enough. For an immediate punishment at least. Once one of you has triggered the alarm I have placed in there, I will decide on a proper punishment for your entire group. Meanwhile, this way has been sealed, and I will note that the head archivist is also not likely to look upon you fondly for the books you have apparently taken as part of this scheme.
Your Father,
Protector of the Imperial Archives
Lord Bartholomew Alvoneas Montague the Fifth.
Oh. Brilliant. Well, at least I’d handled that stupid alarm.
“Imp?” I whispered, keeping my voice low. The chances of being heard on the other side of this bookshelf was low, but no need to risk it.
Yes? The Imp replied, sounding sleepy for some reason.
“Those methods you mentioned for practicing Diabolism without the effects being detected? Can you teach them to me?”
Now? It replied.
“I do not have many options,” I muttered. “So, anything that can be taught in, say, the next five minutes?”
To move this? The Imp replied. Rot would do the trick. A slight amount, just to weaken the wood and let you push through it.
“A trickle to make dying wood decay faster,” I whispered. “A negligible amount would be below their ability to sense you think?”
Unless they wanted any creature with even a trace of magic in their blood triggering their sensors by walking inside. The only issue is the Hell’s influence leaking out, which would be picked up. There is a fix for that, although I suspect you won’t like it.
“Filling me with confidence, teacher,” I muttered. “What is this ‘fix’?”
Internalize the influence.
“That sounds horrifically risky.”
Oh, it won’t be that bad. With the energy you’ll output, negligible even. Besides, you are made of the Hells partially. What is the most significant risk?
“I looked over those ritual patterns when Thomias and Beth decided on that fool path together. Do you think I forgot about the process of making someone more of a devil?”
Consider that, again, we are talking about a negligible amount of energy and that you have used magic to suppress your nature. The most likely result? Your disguise will be shed.
I sighed. It was not a good outcome since it would mean having to be more on my guard once inside, but it was not the worst. One thing that was said did stick in my mind, though.
“Most likely?”
The Influence of the Hells is chaotic. Something else might happen. But what I described is the most likely result by far.
Not the most reassuring of words, but I lacked alternatives. Besides just giving up and heading back.
That would be the safe option. I was here on a hunch that Lord Montague was hiding something important, but had I misread things? Was this worth it? If I was wrong and I was found out...well I couldn’t imagine anyone would really stick their necks out for me. And why was I still pursuing this even? As far as I could tell, my involvement was mostly done. The Changers had no reason to keep chasing me, so I could end it here if I wanted.
Why keep going? Personal slights? The Montagues? Trying to look good for these Imperial intelligence agents I’d entered into some still barely defined pact with? Or did I just want to know?
I put my hand on the bookshelf’s back. “Tell me how.”
Comments
Neil Stevens
Fixed!
gostsamo
> “You can call them Internals,” I said, she can, but they are infernals > I repeated that motion repeatedly, in a repetitive manner, no doubt > Eventually, I made it past, the bottom of my bio-sculpted foot and the prosthetic on my hoof clearing past. too many pasts > Eventually, the tunnel ended in the smooth wooden back of a walnut bookshelf. I pushed against the back of the bookshelf. bookshelf twice > and I will not the head archivist is also not likely to look upon you fondly for the books you have apparently taken as part of this scheme this one is missing something
Neil Stevens
Apologies over the belated release, accidentally scheduled this one for 9 pm instead of 9 am
