Saithorthepyro
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Chapter 12 - The Art of Street-fighting Urchins
🕑 Added 2024-05-27 16:00:07 +0000 UTCSilence reigned as those words left my lips. I looked at Voltar, but his expression still refused to shift.
The poison was called Angel’s Sorrow for a reason. It didn’t need to be an angel, but it required a divine creature to shed its tears. The concentrated sorrow of such an entity was powerful enough to hurt the living through exposure, to touch the mind much in the same way a visitation from a divine creature would.
For people or creatures originating from the profane like myself? A mere touch could be instantly fatal.
“I suppose that is another reason why I would not be the one brewing this poison,” I said, giving the assorted vials back to him. “One small slip-up and, in the best case, I’m invalid for oh, years, I would say. Assuming it doesn’t kill me or permanently damage my brain.”
“A risk,” Voltar said. “But in the interest of clearing your good name, you wouldn’t mind me looking at your lab, would you?”
Oh, I very much minded in the imminent couple of hours. But I could hardly explain that a stranger was locked up in the cupboard. I didn’t need more complications in my life.
“You are welcome to visit. I do have the only key outside of my landlord, so you’ll need to talk to him or me before you visit. Do you wish to go immediately?”
He shook his head slightly, a slightly amused expression still there. Whatever his plan, my having time to go through my lab wouldn’t interfere with it.
“Please let me know before you go in there, Mr. Voltar. I don’t deal with the most volatile or dangerous substances, but I would not recommend exploring any unfamiliar alchemist’s lab without one with you. Are there any more questions?”
He put his hat back on, already heading out the door.
“I don’t think so. Have a pleasant day, Ms. Falara.”
“And a pleasant day to you as well, Mr. Voltar,” I said with false cheer.
I shut the door carefully, doing my best not to slam it. I fished my key out of my pocket and locked it up again.
I hurried over to my sink, grabbed Voltar’s cup, and removed it. Inside it, the detective’s leftover coffee still sat. Alright, this would be simple enough. I’d have to go somewhere else to perform the diabolism, so its stain didn’t point anyone here, but I had the ingredients here. My blood and his saliva- I just needed my focus to help bridge the gap between materials and power, and a tracking spell would be easy enough to work.
I drew the blinds shut, then grabbing a candle from my cupboard, I lit it. Vertrul, they called the invisible creatures whose fat I'd made the candle out of. Its methods of not being detected went beyond disappearing from sight, so as long as the candle was lit, attempts to scry my apartment would be obscured, if not outright blocked.
Grabbing a chisel, I worked on the floor, tapping gently at the gaps between the floorboards. I cleared out the putty and other material I’d used to fill the gaps between them. After a while, it was all cleared out, giving me space to use my fingers.
I lifted up one of the floorboards, looking at the trio of small wooden boxes hidden under them. In addition to my tools for Biosculpting hidden in my lab, these three boxes contained all the other remnants of my life as Falara.
The one I wanted was separate from the other two, with symbols carved into it that pained my eyes to look at. The wood singed my fingers as I lifted the box out and opened it. Ignoring the pain, I opened it up, grabbing a small metal star, eight-sided and with an inverted crown in the center. Black-painted flames backed it, glistening in the morning light.
I should have burned this, removing the temptation entirely. Diabolism was still possible without it, even if it was harder to perform. But why not use it? Desperate times and all that.
I sat in one of my chairs, thumb going over the inverted crown. Using it would mean calling on Him, and that was never pleasant. Versalicci would know as well the moment I called on the focus. That didn’t matter too much. Golvar already confirmed he knew who Katheryn Falara really was.
The chair cracked underneath me. I looked down, seeing a spiderweb of cracks cutting their way through the already cheap wood. I got up, glaring at the focus. Probably not best to have this out till I had the ritual ready. I should have better control over it. Then again considering my teacher I was lucky to still be living.
Eager to be used again, are we? I thought, putting it back in it’s box. I quickly latched it shut, then considered the tips of my fingers. The burns were already fading. The seals on the box weren’t holding up that well after a year of neglect.
It meant I could carry it in cloth to whatever secluded, abandoned building I secured for the ritual. It wouldn’t be hard magic, just a little mixture to keep Volar tracked. I couldn’t track Dawes, but it would let me know what Voltar was doing.
Still, something felt off. I went to pick up the cup.
I looked at the coffee cup, a thumb going over the rim. Cracks in the surface formed irregularities as my thumb slowly went around it. In the center, the dregs of the coffee seemed to swirl. White specks mixed in with it, almost looking like the night sky.
I filled the cup with water and rinsed it out, watching it all vanish. The pipes here were crap, but they did the job. I then reached for the soap and started scrubbing the cup as if it was covered in a layer of shit.
How dumb did he think I was? The greatest detective in the world happens to leave his cup unwashed in an alchemist’s home? Even if I wasn’t a diabolist, using what he’d left in the cup for a mixture targeting him specifically would be simple enough.
I couldn’t figure out how, but it was a trick, a trap. I rinsed it twice more until the inside of the cup was bare.
Okay, this might be a touch too paranoid, but I would take any excuse not to attempt some diabolism. Besides, paranoia is needed now more than ever. Why did elements of my past choose now to trample all over the neat little life I’d arranged for myself?
I stared at the disappearing water. This had been a mistake. I wasn’t risking much; just a taste and a little nibble of diabolism would set everything right. He couldn’t have gone far. Use the remnants of human flesh still in my system, conjure forth an imp, and set it watch-
I rammed my head against the wall.
This time, the wooziness took over a minute to fade. I sat in a chair, head in hand, both eyes scrunched shut as I recited the list of elements from beginning to end.
Zindlium, Zinc, Zirconium, Zorinthium. I needed to stop letting my head get hammered like this. Too many more instances and I would concuss myself.
In my stomach, something knotted, twisting in my gut around and around. Thankfully, I hadn’t even considered breakfast yet. Something leaped, forcing me to gag. I tried to stop, stumbling as I got up from the chair.
It had been years since I’d used it. Why was it so damn powerful? It didn’t even seem to be coming back; I hadn’t spotted a single spirit since that one bite and shouldn’t as long as I didn’t draw on the power.
I retched into my sink, whatever was in my stomach coming up. Panting, I forced myself away from it. Was that blood in the sink? No, don’t focus on it. It wouldn’t, couldn’t kill me, and I wouldn’t feed it anymore. Actual Diabolism would just make its gluttony worse than the blood I’d accidentally fed it, and I didn’t have six months where I could disappear anymore.
Ignoring the pain twisting in my stomach, I put the boxes and the floorboard back, then replaced the putty. It would take a little time, but it would eventually look like all the repairs you did yourself to keep the cold air from reaching inside. The Biosculpting tools I'd need but those were for later. I'd need several hours to redo the cosmetic alterations maintaining my disguise, so best to save those for later in the evening.
When you forge a mask, and wear it, you must become it. Whether you want to be that mask or not. Anything less and it's no longer a mask, Malvia. And you'll need masks, being you. We all do, but the two of us most of all.
The remembered voice echoed in my mind as I looked back at the sink. Katheryn Falara did not use Diabolism. I could not be tempted again.
I grabbed a coat and left. I might not be able to do anything about Voltar, but that intruder to my lab could provide some answers to this.
***
Half an hour after concluding the events in my apartment, I and a recently collected Tolman were walking the path to my lab. It was still early morning, so the roads were merely somewhat crowded instead of fully packed with foot traffic.
My stomach was calm now, although a worrying knot still sat at the bottom of it. Whether anxiety or the Diabolism making its displeasure known, it gnawed away at me.
Tolman filled the early morning with a cheery banter that I didn’t share with him.
“You know, one night, you’re worried about me and Arsene being on the outs because of me working with you. The next morning, you’re dragging me out to work with you again without letting me say a word in protest. You are the mistress of the mixed message, Falara.”
I’d just visited his house, a ramshackle place a few streets from mine, and pleasantly not had a run-in with Tolman’s husband.
“If I’d known Arsene sleeps so later in the day, I’d visit more often. I’m shocked he’s the one who was bone tired and not you, considering how late you were out.”
Tolman grinned. “I wore him out plenty when I got home. Besides, even if he’d been up, I’m sure I could convince him to let me go with you. People prying into your past could find stuff on us we also want to be buried.”
I nervously glanced at the other Infernals nearby, but the closest one, maybe a few paces behind us, didn’t even react. This early in the morning, people were more focused on reaching their destination than listening in on our conversation. You woke up this early to beat the crush of foot traffic and the times when carts and wagons would travel the streets.
Still, that didn’t mean he should be so cavalier in what he said.
“And that includes your mystery intruder. You said you think he’s one of Lord Montague’s?”
I’d told Tolman an abbreviated version of the events since I’d left him at Carnly’s last night, along with a few suspicions on my part.
“Him or Lady Kersin,” I answered. “Although I suspect his lordship more between the two.”
“Why, because you like Lady Kersin?”
“No, although I’ll admit I have a personal animosity with Lord Montague. But Lady Kersin’s heir is free of the poison’s effects. He’s had the antidote. She doesn’t need more doses, but Montague does and did not like the price we negotiated.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Sending someone to your lab the day you both met feels like a bit too fast for him to arrange. He decided to doublecross you immediately?”
“Good point,” I conceded. Lord Montague was a racist, arrogant man, but willing to risk his son’s life on a single person finding the antidotes? Maybe not. “I suppose we’ll find out from the person themselves today.”
“Right, I wanted to ask. You left them in your closet overnight?”
I sighed. “Yes, I did. Tolman, I have had the unique displeasure of getting all of….three, maybe four hours of sleep. I was in an even worse state last night.”
“So, did you beat him up while cussing him out like you did Three-toed Williams?”
“Katheryn Falara shouldn’t even know who Three-toed Williams is,” I hissed, glaring at Tolman.
We were in public! I already had to deal with my act slipping after just one encounter with one of the still loyal Old Crew, now Tolman was joking about past life things with me?
We weren’t alone in some deserted corner of the quarter, the streets were filling rapidly. Just within a dozen feet were a dozen people, including a trio of urchins, which I mentally noted as probably getting ready for a pickpocket attempt.
“Peace. Calm down. Most people here don’t know who he is, either. You’re bringing more attention to us by making a deal out of it.”
A reply was on the tip of my tongue, but he was right. I took some breaths and forced myself to calm. “Apologies, Tolman. Yesterday was simply a very trying time. It threw me off balance, but it will not happen again.”
“It probably will. I do understand what’s going on, but you can’t let it all get inside your head, Falara. The world is not out to get you.”
I felt a small hand slip inside my pocket. My tail wrapped around the arm attached to it, yanking the street urchin forward so I could grab him.
I glared at the urchin, my hand clamped onto his wrist. He immediately started screaming bloody murder, which very few paid more than a few moments of attention to. Everyone knew he was a pickpocket, and no one seemed inclined to believe the rather inventive list of things he was yelling I’d done to him.
“That last one sounds anatomically impossible, but if you’ve seen it personally, I would be interested in hearing the details,” I said. “Now, are you going to be reasonable about this?”
The urchin tried pawing at my clothes, either in an attempt at leverage or to strip me. Those couple of inch-long talons he sported could certainly manage the latter.
It was a bit of a scramble that saw most of the surrounding traffic move away from us to avoid it. The urchin’s two friends tried to close in, only to back off as Tolman gave them a look that invited them to try something. Eventually, I got both my arms underneath his shoulders and linked them around the back of his head.
It was awkward, but I managed it well. Not quite the same kind of scrambling brawl I’d done when I was younger. I got him into it with no difficulties or foul behavior on my part.
“What do you think?” I asked Tolman. “A perfect little orphan to bring home to your husband as a gift for leaving without saying goodbye. You mentioned him wanting to add to your brood a while back.”
“What are you doing to him?” He asked. “Also he’s blackened your eye. That why you tried to gouge his out?”
I frowned. “Look, you weren’t supposed to see the eye- never mind that. I’ve seen you use this in the fighting pits. To subdue your opponents.”
“That’s supposed to be a full nelson? Sloppy.”
The urchin, seemingly out of ideas, was still pawing at my blouse, my coat, anything as I kept the hold applied. He better not rip the fabric, this was my second-best outfit.
“I would disagree with your assessment of it being sloppy,” I said. “I think I’m doing it rather well-”
“Let go of me!” The pickpocket shrieked, turning into a flurry of motion. A foot kicked my knee, an elbow rammed into my ribs, and then teeth bit into my wrist. I quickly released the little imp, just in time for the back of his head to ram my nose.
My tail reached out to grab him, only for him to claw it. I most definitely did not squeal in pain as I pulled my bleeding tail back to me.
“Let this be a warning to you!” I yelled at the retreating child after a few gasping breaths for more air. My ribs throbbed. Little shit was stronger than he looked. My words were more nasally than usual. “Just because it looks like a good mark doesn’t make it a good mark. Use your eyes for more than a few glances at a time!”
“Yeah, I think I’ll pass on him as a gift for Arsene,” Tolman said, keeping an eye on the other two. They kept a healthy distance, clearly having reconsidered their odds. “Seems a bit high-maintenance for a gift.”
“Did he break my nose?” I asked. It felt like it.
He considered it for a second. “No. Just a bit swollen. You didn’t do the hold hard enough. Gave him too much room to work with. Doesn’t help you’ve decided to drop quite a bit of height and muscle. Also, you know, your tail.”
I glared at him. “Pardon me for trying to do a disguise as far removed from my previous self as I could get. And I never had that much muscle.”
We could talk a little more openly. People were giving us a wider berth. Violence was not unusual for anyone, but staying away from the aftermath was a good idea.
“To the alleyway? The Watch may have decided to keep a heavier presence here since yesterday,” Tolman said.
I nodded, and off we went to the relative privacy of the alleyway. The few residents of the alley kept their distance. Not managing to break into an abandoned house to live in instead meant they were all lower on the societal pecking order than Zarrow. Very low.
I probed my nose, and winced as my fingers set off fresh bursts of pain. It went back to a slow, dull ache. Now that I knew it wasn’t broken, there was something else to check.
My tail bled from where the urchin’s claws had cut through my skin, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought. From all the blood, I thought he’d almost severed it. Instead, a quick bandage staunched most of the bleeding, although it hurt like hell.
A few scattered pieces of fabric on the ground caught my attention. Three pieces, dull colors, and seemingly having appeared out of nowhere. Oh, hell.
The little urchin had pawed all over my blouse instead of trying to escape and had seemed far too deliberate about it. And I doubted he’d wasted an attempt to pick my pockets to try and grope me. I checked my blouse and found a scrap of different fabric that had sewn itself into my blouse.
“Tolman, one second. The urchin tagged me with a self-sewing tracer.”
Quick as a flash, said urchin’s two compatriots fled into the alleyway.
“Well, that’s not good,” Tolman said. “Self-sewing tracer? You mean just a tracer?”
“No,” I said, examining the patch of crimson fabric. It was maybe a few centimeters in length, which helped it stand out less on the brown of my blouse. I drew a knife snd started trying to cut it off. “It started melding with the fabric of my blouse the moment the kid slapped it on.”
“Is that as easy to make as a normal tracer?”
“No. It would be much more difficult,” I said. Concerning. A tracer would already be a pretty expensive investment of magic to trust to a street kid. A self-sewing one? Who would trust an urchin with one of those? Even the Watch mostly sewed them into the clothes themselves.
A name came to mind. Versalicci would trust urchins with this. He used to trust me with this back when I was just a street rat. It had been just regular ones back then. These were new to his arsenal. How many more of these had been put on me?
Signing, I took my coat off, looking along the inside and outside for any more tracers.
“People are watching,” Tolman told. It was true, a few people in the surrounding houses looking down at use most of them would probably be leaving for the morning commute soon enough.
“Let them. They will be very disappointed if they expect to see more than my coat off.” I groaned as I counted the number of tracers. Three, no, wait four, as I found one that is the exact same shade as my coat. I’d only found it because my thumb had rubbed over the slight bump made by it. “How many are on my blouse?”
Tolman circled me. “Three on the blouse, two on your skirt. Someone wants you tracked bad.”
I sighed. My entire wardrobe would be ruined at this rate. With Tolman pointing them out, I cut each of them free, trying to spare as much of the fabric as possible.
“This was my second nicest set of clothes,” I said to no one in particular. “My best was already ruined after yesterday. If that urchin shows up again Tolman, I will shoot him.”
“I thought he was going to be my adoptive child? You aren’t going to be considered his aunt now.”
We set off for the lab again, and I covered up much more with the coat than before. I wasn’t indecent underneath, but removing the tracers took away more fabric than I would have preferred.
“Versalicci is the one who ordered this. It's another issue to be solved on top of all the others,” I said.
“Talk to him.”
“Talk to him? I might as well serve myself to him like a turkey at the solstice. I’d be dead before I could even meet him.”
Tolman chuckled. “He likes you, Falara. He won’t kill you. I’d be surprised if he does anything more than keep track of you and drop some suggestions you should drop by to see him.”
“Katheryn Falara might associate with criminals, but she does not associate with the Black Flame.”
“Well, first, Katheryn Falara is probably notable for not dealing with Flames at this point, and second, she might not have a choice in the matter.”
I shivered. “Tolman….you know what he’s like. I can’t go back.”
“Not saying you should. Arsene and I left for a reason as well. But you can’t pretend he doesn’t exist, and you might as well leverage what you can. He’s not willing to jab you in the face. Set him up for an uppercut. Find out what he wants and why he’s so desperate to tag you. Maybe get someone else to box him instead.”
“I hate it when you use those kinds of metaphors. But thank you. We should save the rest of the discussion for after we finish this.”
We’d reached the building my lab was at, and shock of shocks, my Landlord still was not here. Neither were any of the other tenants. Not a surprise. None of them operated labs, they just used these apartments as storage. And trusted in their preparations and foul reputations to keep others out.
This building had no security provided. You supposedly paid for some in the rent, but it never materialized. You only rented here if choices were slim or you were confident you could protect it yourself. In another building, that might mean hired muscle, watchers, maybe the backing of a gang or two. For this one it was magical defenses, prepared by the people who rented it.
In my case, a rather simple spell I’d paid to be installed where if you entered without a key, you would end up asleep. Simple and merciful, yes, but I couldn’t handle the alternative. My neighbor had, and I hadn’t know which was worse, seeing the liquified remnants of the would-be thief, knowing they’d slowly melted, unable to do anything about it, or listening to the psychopath complain about the smell afterward.
I opened up the door to my lab and passed the key to Tolman so he could cross the threshold.
Inside you could see where I’d fought the intruder. Luckily, not too much had been smashed, and most of the cupboards were still closed. I hadn’t started any new potions, and it took longer than a day to brew since finishing the cures a couple of weeks ago. I’d have to make sure nothing was missing from the storage. Then again, if the intruder took anything, it would be on them. Nothing they could have stolen would help them escape, at least not with the testing cabinet remaining intact.
The testing cabinet lay at the back, the door still shut.
“Do you want to stay quiet?” he whispered.
I shook my head. “They probably heard the door open. You can hear us, can’t you?”
No response from the closet.
“Get ready. Don’t hurt him unless he makes it necessary.”
Tolman rolled his eyes at the unnecessary instruction. I reached for the testing closet key. The pain in my stomach was gone, replaced with what was definitely anxiety now. Finally, some answers were within reach as I fit the key into the lock.
I opened the door. Inside my testing closet lay a small pile of clothes, a piece of paper, and no sign of the intruder from last night.
Comments
gostsamo
> these three boxes contained all the other remnants of my life as Falara. the name is the wrong one, I think.
