Saithorthepyro
patreon
Chapter 35 - An Emptied Bag
🕑 Added 2024-07-19 16:00:21 +0000 UTCMoving into the house didn’t take long.
The house I was currently in, not the one down the street which was also there’s but served as a way to keep attention off of themselves. There was a tunnel linking the two, which meant dedicated observers had puzzled something out by now.
Then again, not everyone would think to hire a mage of the earth.
Most of what I still owned had either been picked up by Voltar and Dawes when they took me to the nobles or was still in that warehouse with my old stash, covered up once again. I’d head there tomorrow to collect it, assuming I was still alive.
For now though, this meant going through the two bags of evidence I’d collected from that warehouse in Garretsville, laid out across a long table in the attic where I was going to room for now.
“Voltar’s already looked at most of it, but decided it was inconclusive, and that they are all free of trackers,” Dawes told me. “We have made a list out of these to try with the Watch and see if anyone used them recently or in the historical records.”
‘These’ were the sheets of paper I’d grabbed, all of them being licenses, certificates, and other bits and pieces associated with identities. All of them were fake, and after that encounter in the warehouse, it wasn’t hard to tell why.
“I’d have to imagine that’ll be limited in its use,” I mused. “They’re shape-changers, so you’d imagine they could just change identities if they realized several of them have been burned.”
“Voltar believed it was not likely to lead anywhere. If they were for identities in use, they wouldn’t be in a secret room under a warehouse.”
I nodded as I shifted through some of them. “True. Some of these are pretty old as well. They might be for ones they’ve abandoned. Maybe nostalgia? Sometimes it can be hard letting go of an old identity when you’ve invested enough into it.”
“Speaking from experience?”
Not discussing that. “If he thinks these aren’t in use, why contact the Watch about them? It sounds like they aren’t on the best terms with you two of these days.”
“It depends on what part of the Watch. Some parts have never enjoyed working with Voltar. But Voltar wants to see if he can establish a pattern of behavior for some of these shape-changers,”
“He thinks they have set personalities?” I asked. “I would think the opposite, given how much they change form.”
“Possibly, but if one’s mind was malleable enough to change whenever it wanted to, one would imagine they would get lost in the role. Some personality traits across all their identities to keep their sense of self.”
I frowned. That was a fair point. And had sent another question into my mind.
“How much do you know about Shapechangers Dawes?”
“Not much,” he confessed. “Voltar doesn’t either. They haven’t been a concern for a while.”
“That seems odd,” I said. “You would think a race of people who could completely change shape at a while would be more of a concern. Enough that information on them would be more widely spread. Can I ask a favor?”
“You want me to see if I can find a book on them, don’t you?”
I nodded, a little embarrassed. “I realize asking you to run errands is a little-“
“Don’t bother, Voltar already asked me to do the same. And it’s not like you’ll have time later.”
I grimaced at the reminder of what would be happening this afternoon. “Moving past these to the next object.”
The next objects were the vials of clear liquid.
“Voltar had them tested. Angel’s Sorrow.”
I picked one up, looked it over, and then decided it wasn’t worth burning the tip of my finger again.
“I don’t know whether or not this makes the case against Versalicci weaker,” I said. “I could see him keeping them stored in a far-off place so as not to be linked with him, but Garretsville seems a bit too far out of his comfort zone. Unless the shapeshifters are proxies but….it feels like trying to force a puzzle.”
“I don’t pretend to know how his mind works and will defer to you and Voltar on that,” Dawes said.
I laughed. “I don’t think even his paramour ever knew how his mind worked. The tomes are alchemical, and while I want to read through some of them in more detail later, I don’t think we’ll find any secrets in them. Which leaves these.”
I gestured to the pile of rocks that I had swiped from the underground room.
“I’m at a bit of a loss why you put rocks in here,” Dawes confessed.
“It didn’t seem like they’d have tracers on them,” I said. “And I figured if they were important enough to hide away, they had to mean something. But now, yes, I see your point.”
“You haven’t checked if they are magic rocks?” Dawes said. “Peered into the arcane?”
I glared at him. “No, and until I get my other eye back, I won’t try. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to rebuild one, and I do not want to make it two.”
Dawes hesitantly looked from the rocks to me and back again. “I was under the impression that peering into the arcane is not usually that dangerous?”
I sighed and forced myself to relax. “No, it’s not. Sorry, just…nerves. It should be fine, but best not to risk it. I’m just reminded because…first time I lost one, Versalicci was trying to get the true name out of a devil he’d summoned. Typically, you try to trick the devil, do research, and things like that. He didn’t want to wait, so he decided to ferret out the true name by flaying the creature down to its bones and having me look over them while it was still screaming. I found the true name, which proceeded to leap into my eye and start trying to devour my soul through my pupil.”
Dawes remained quiet throughout that, a look of disgust slowly crawling across his face.
“Ah. I can see why you are…”
“So reluctant to head back there?” I shuddered. “Yes. But since Voltar apparently think I’ll have the best chance of survival…enough on that. Speaking of the diabolic arts, what are the limits on that?”
Dawes frowned, idly drumming his fingers on one of the rocks.
“You should be able to practice Diabolism. Government watched and restricted Diabolism, and if you live longer than a month, they’ll expect you to be trained to their standards, but for right now they’ll trust our judgment on it.”
“You’ve got to be decently high up in Imperial government to sign off on this,” I said, looking at Dawes over the bags.
He sighed, then considered the ceiling for a bit before answering.
“I suppose I technically am, but probably much less than you think. You’re thinking this started with someone from Her Majesty’s Government assigned to Voltar to watch over him, but it’s the other way around.”
I flipped the statement around in my head and frowned. “Voltar assigned you to be part of Her Majesty’s Government?”
“No! They approached me after the first dozen or so cases. With the implication that if I didn’t agree, they’d assign someone themselves, but they respected his work and they respected my record.”
“Still coercive,” I noted. “Act as a monitor and handler for your friend under us or we’ll do it for you. Why?”
He frowned. “Why assign me as a handler? I don’t know. I wish I did know, because I’m not good at this, and I’m not enthusiastic about Voltar expanding my responsibility.”
“No, although that’s a good question as well. Why monitor Voltar? Especially if it’s early on in his career. You two didn’t earn much notoriety until the case of the Silver Slipper, which was a year after you two met.”
“Perhaps they simply saw the potential of what could come of a brilliant and inquisitive mind and how it needed guidance."
A thought struck me. “He is human isn’t he?”
Being a non-human entity would be a reason to be monitored, depending on what he was.
Dawes frowned. “He’s human.”
“Very convincing. He’s not some kind of fey, is he?”
“No, he’s not some kind of fey,” Dawes responded wearily. “Back to the topic at hand. Base rules, Diabolism usage has to be approved by me. Voltar can have input, but you are not to use it at his direction alone.”
“More than fair,” I answered. “Except for the first time when we end up separated, or in a fight, and I can’t check with you what is and isn’t safe to use in that moment.”
Dawes chewed on that for a few moments while I put my teapot on the table. Battered, bent, but not broken.
“It’s not that I can’t see your point, but any allowance of Diabolism where I’m not there to monitor it…..this will already be a hard sell to the people who made themselves my superiors. Telling them there are conditions that would let you off the proverbial leash would not help with that.”
That was fair. Hells, if there was another Diabolist near me, I’d want full control of what they could cast near me as well. That went for about a dozen schools of magic total since any number of spells could have damaged far beyond the caster’s intent. Diabolism was the easiest for that to happen, though.
“Perhaps with some very hard limits in place? I’m not allowed to kill anyone with Diabolism, perhaps no permanent harm?”
“Like you did at Lady Karsin’s estate? Explaining away a temporary portal to the Hells that a Duke peered through and started laughing in public is going to be the brunt of my work. Do you know the panic you caused when that thing opened up?”
I winced. I…I hadn’t thought of that.
“I didn’t intend it. Backlash mixed with Infernal magic reaching for…familial connection,” I said.
“Yes, that we know about. Voltar wants to sit you down when this is all done and see if he can fully sketch out that side of the family tree.”
That shouldn’t surprise me with everything else they knew. “Well, I’m not the person to ask about that.”
“You could ask the one who is that person,” Dawes noted.
“If it comes up, sure,” I said. “Otherwise, I’m not bothering. There’s enough on my plate already, and little to show for it.”
“You are alive.”
I grinned. “I suppose I am. Shows how far I’ve come, hasn’t it? If you’d talked to me about eight years ago, I’d have said being alive was one of the most treasured things I had. These days, it’s just an assumption. Not that it might last much longer.”
“I am curious what happened to the demon? The one he forced you to see the true name of?”
What escaped my throat couldn’t be called a chuckle, more a strangled laugh. “I think he uses it to smoke.”
***
I’d insisted on regrowing my fingers before I left, so it was mid-afternoon by the time I reached the underground.
Did I necessarily need them? No. Did I want the torn-out strips of flesh replaced and the two fingers that had been shot off back? Yes, and the lack of pain was a bonus.
Although truth be told, some of it had been time-wasting. Just like I was again by not sending out a signal.
I eyed the tattoo on my hand, black ink in the shape of a rising fire extending from my wrist to my knuckles. All I needed to do was press it, but one thing held me back.
There was a possibility, no matter how much I’d argued, he was too smart to try a scheme like this, that Versalicci was behind this. It made little sense why he would do this, but it didn’t make sense why the Shapechangers would do this either. If this was some scheme of his, I was about to venture right into the monster’s den, throat bared and ready to be torn open.
Then again, if Versalicci was employing Shapechangers, I didn’t stand a chance either.
I touched the tattoo, pressing the three tips of the flame. They glowed a dull orange, the new coloration spreading down the flame until the entirety of it glowed crimson and orange.
And so you drag me to the master’s progeny once again, The Imp whined, probably more upset at being dragged to the man who held it’s contract. A fourth cow, student.
That would get Versalicci’s attention, and he’d dispatch people to come fetch me. Unfortunately, these were all personalized, so he’d know who’d sent a metaphorical beacon ablaze.
I settled down and waited, just sitting in the middle of the tunnel. Trying to hide would just give off an impression I didn’t want.
Would it be time to change masks? It might make it easier to get back into the mindset of Malvia Harrow even a year before leaving. It also wasn’t a pleasant mask to get into the habit of wearing.
Dawes had remarked about Shapechangers potentially having a few parts of themselves that they kept consistent between identities so they could keep themselves with a sense of identity.
I did not want to think about what traits of Malvia Harrow were core to my identity.
No. I’d not put that mask on just for this.
Ten minutes passed before six other Infernals walked down the tunnels towards me.
They hadn’t bothered with lanterns of their own, and I was once again left cursing my lack of good night vision. Trying to sculpt my eyes to be capable of it had resulted in one of those other times I’d needed to rebuild an eye from scratch.
They stopped just at the edge of my lantern’s light, close enough that I could tell the one in the middle was the same woman who’d tried to fetch me once for Versalicci and then delivered his vague warning against visiting my mother.
I raised a hand in greeting, the back facing them so they could clearly see the tattoo across it.
“Harrow reporting in,” I said. “I have information the boss will want to hear, relating to Voltar and Angel’s Sorrow.”
“I know who you are,” the leader hissed, eyes glaring at me with more than diabolically inherited fire. “Are you saying you forgot about me already? Too insignificant to notice?”
Oh joy, she had a grudge against me. Why did she have a grudge against me?
“No, I remember who you are, even if we never traded names,” I answered. “I don’t suppose I can get an answer on why you want the proverbial strip torn out of my flank?”
“For the proverbial strip torn out of mine, for failing in my tasks twice and now being relegated to this,” she said, her and her crew moving closer.
I remained sitting. Trying to scramble to my feet wouldn’t accomplish anything and showing weakness like that might just provoke one of them.
None of the other five with her seemed too inclined to in my side on this. Three of them looked like they’d been outside my lab when I and Tolman had left, and all three bore fresh scars from the fight after with the Pure Bloods.
Also, it was not my fault, but it was pretty clear where they thought the blame lay for that.
“You realize that if I know something important and you make me incapable of telling Versalicci that, it’ll be more than the proverbial strip torn out?”
She grinned. “You don’t need to be standing to talk.”
Very hostile, and with the notion that beating me would not result in anything bad happening to her. Either standards had gone lax, or someone had seeded that idea in her head.
Oh, damnations. This was Giovanni doing a test. Again. Only now, I was on the opposite side of the test, and from her expression, I would not be as good as Golvar was at talking the testee out of it.
I looked among her companions, and I didn’t find a sympathetic one among them. Ah, well. At least they weren’t from the real old days, because those lot might go to knives immediately for my disappearance.
“If we must do this, let’s just make it quick then,” I said, enjoying the extra fire it ignited in her eyes.
She’d be paying for that one way or another soon.
The smug in me died when the first boot tip rammed my nose.
***
Had I fallen asleep? My entire body ached, and gods, what had I been doing the night before? Everything was fuzzy, then it hurt when I tried to move like a thousand needles being driven in. People were talking near me, although I could only make so much of it out.
“-did you have to smash her face in this much? We’re going to be lucky if the boss can make out what she’s saying!”
“Who cares? They can patch her up if they want to. Kanes and Malachti both told me this little bitch is a traitor, that she deserves far worse, and that little act of civility Versalicci tells us to put on if his way of seeing how much any of us can stand her before smashing her face in. Now help me drag her in.”
Hands reached for me, pulling me across the wooden floor. I didn’t have the effort to resist, didn’t have the effort to open my eyes. I could hear talking around me, scraps of voices familiar to me. We came to a halt, and then someone splashed something wet in my face.
I coughed and sputtered, awareness returning as water ran down my face. That little-
My thought was cut off as two of the patrol from the tunnel grabbed me and dragged me through a door onto a woven wool rug, my face falling into patterns of red and black. Blood trickled from a half-dozen places, adding to the red.
I knew this carpet. Oh, nine fucking hells.
I looked up, taking in the wood paneling, the well-stocked bar, the grand piano that was the source of the music, the large table set up in the middle with a young infernal woman, pink-skinned and in a crimson dress sat, looking at the interruption in a mixture of scandalized shock and horror.
Laurata? No, her face was sharper, eyes not as hard. Laurata’s replacement.
At the piano, the figure stopped playing, getting up and bowing to the pink-skinned woman across the room, who didn’t seem sure whether to politely clap or pay attention to me bleeding all over the floor.
He bowed to her, then turned his attention to me, his expression that of a member of a family greeting one warmly after a long time separated. In his mind, that might even be the case.
Giovanni Versalicci was a green-skinned Infernal with a goatee and curling thick horns, giving the impression of a ram which contrasted against the suit he wore, silver threads reflecting the light of the indoor lamps.
Metal-threaded clothes. Swiftly joining top hats as the bane of my existence.
He hadn’t aged a day since I first met him. Hells he might even be younger. Depending on if he’d gotten his hands on someone’s soul recently, he may have reversed the ravages of time.
“Melissa,” he said, addressing my tormentor. “I see you’ve found your quarry in record time this time. Excellent, although for next time, not in here, please. The rug, blood, they don’t mix well.”
Like he hadn’t sacrificed people on this rug.
“You were right on who set off the network, boss,” Melissa said as her two goons dragged me the rest of the way inside. “Harrow here claims she has information related to Voltar she wants to relay.”
“I think I may know what that is,” he said, putting his shoe under my chin and using it to tilt my head back till I could see him staring down at me. “You doing alright, Malvia?”
“Doing alright,” I said, or at least tried to. Instead, I dribbled blood all over his carpet and boot while something resembling words passed through my beat-up face. Versalicci’s partner looked down in disgust, backing away as more blood dripped onto the carpet.
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Versalicci said, as if he could actually hear me. “It is honestly nice to see you again. You should have come on over sooner. You might have avoided something like this happening. Melissa, which one of the sentries decided it was a good idea to beat up my little sister?”
Comments
gostsamo
By the end of the book, the price of beef in the local London will skyrocket due to the shortage caused by Malvia's imp.
