Octophobia
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Spire's Spite - Arc3 - Chapter 9
🕑 Added 2025-02-06 02:00:02 +0000 UTCThe gates to the Palace Ring were taller than those leading into the Sunken Ring. The portcullis was raised and its rainsteel spikes hung fifteen feet overhead like spears held ready, pointing down at the carriages and their noble passengers as they passed underneath the stone arch.
The gate was defended not only by the two squads of Storm Guard, but also by two of the looming figures of Scale Guard.
Fritz had to stop himself from nervously glancing at those elite warriors. Their very presence made him feel small. It wasn't that they were that much taller or more robust, but that the rigidity of their strong backs, the cold of their keen glares, and the display of their deadly Treasures set them apart. It made them appear to tower over the Storm Guard, who were arrayed with far less imposing armaments and were left to deal with the minutia of ensuring the sift flow of traffic, rather than the far more honourable task of protecting the gate.
"We don't have a carriage," Bert observed. "Will they let us in?"
"My signet ring should open the way," Fritz stated. "If not, then we climb the wall."
Bert eyed the smooth stone, that gleam of challenge lit within his amber irises.
Fritz strode forward, trailing behind a black carriage trimmed in silver.
It passed under the gate, Fritz and Bert were almost through when one of the scale guard shifted, then sped through the rain in a pale green blur. They arrived right in front of Fritz with a hand outstretched to halt his passage. It had happened in the blink of an eye, and although he felt nothing from his Danger Sense, he stepped back and grasped Quicksilver's grip.
"Declare thyself and thy purpose," the scarred man ordered.
"Lord Hightide. I seek the king's archive," Fritz responded, holding his hand up and presenting his signet ring.
The scale guard glared at Fritz's face for three seconds before his intense gaze steadily slid to the silver sigil.
"Hightide. We'll see about that," the man ground out. "Come with me."
Fritz tried to read the guard's face, it was a picture of grim competence that let nothing slip. Though when Fritz concentrated he could feel flickering sparks of annoyance and some trepidation spill from the man. Apparently, Fritz was interrupting the supremely important task of standing around, and he almost protested, before he saw the hard look in the man's eyes.
"Lead the way," Fritz allowed begrudgingly. He knew that attempting to flee, like his treacherous body was screaming for him to do, would only end in his capture anyway.
The guard turned and Fritz followed, Bert strode one step behind him, sensibly taking up the mannerisms of a bodyguard.
They were taken to a guard house close by and ordered to wait in a barely furnished room while the scale guard spoke to his superior in what looked to be an office beyond.
Fritz could hear nothing through the door, and a fearful weight settled on his shoulders. His mind raced with fearful notions. Did they know of his crimes? All that thievery and violence? Had the house of Hightide been sanctioned or dissolved with the absence of a head? Could it be his past catching up to him all at once? Would he pay the price here and now?
Fritz's leg bounced, he stifled the motion, then turned his gaze to the door out and considered fleeing, again. Yet somehow, even as the dread built in his chest, he remained in the solid wood chair.
They waited for three terrible minutes before the guard appeared again.
He produced a disc of dull metal the size of a saucer and set it down on the table, then he motioned at it.
Fritz didn't need to be told what to do, having guessed it from how the man's eye lingered on his signet ring. He reached across the table, hovering his hand over the metal. The disc lit up with faint lines and circles of white.
A flash of surprise ran over the onlooking guard, but it faded just as suddenly as the white light did when Fritz removed his hand from over the disc.
"Sorry for the delay, Lord Hightide," the guard apologised almost immediately, prostrating himself in a bow. "The veracity of your Lordship has been verified. The honourable Hightide name hasn't graced my ears in a long time. So I do hope you'll forgive my suspicions. You can never be too careful in these uncertain times."
Fritz was surprised. The change of demeanour was swift and sudden, the guard's face was no longer one of stony derision and his voice had its gravelly tones smoothed away. With his rough demeanour dropped it made him appear almost a decade younger, in his mid-thirties rather than forties.
Fritz nodded, holding his tongue. No matter how satisfying it would be, berating and belittling the guard would earn him no friends and would likely lend him a whole lot of grief in the future. Something he couldn't afford, no matter his new found wealth.
"This way if you will, milord," the man said, opening the door and leading them out.
While they walked back to the gate, Fritz endeavoured to ask the man some questions.
"You said these are uncertain times?" He began. "More than usual?"
"Yes, Lord. Impersonators and connivers have been abounding. And most perfidiously," the guard provided genially. "They seek to undermine The King and wrest Rain City from his rightful rule. Some say they are spies from the Empire, some say they work for the whispered Nightshark. Who is to say which, but I tell you true that they exist and they are plotting."
Fritz peered at the man, hiding some incredulity, he was rather free with his talk for one of the king's scale guard.
"Should you really be telling me such a thing?" Fritz asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"Of course. You are a Lord, and the nobility are to be made privy to all but the most secret of The King's commands. Should they ask," he stated. "And what I told you is no idle gossip, I assure you. All should be wary and watching for treason. The King declared as much to the court only three weeks ago."
He wanted to ask how the scale guard knew he wasn't one of these spies but knew it was a foolish question. One that would only bring down suspicion. It likely had something to do with the disc and its reaction to his ring.
"Ah, I must have missed that one," Fritz said blandly.
"It is understandable, you are not of the merfolk and were likely not summoned," the guard informed him bluntly. "And I'm sorry if it is impertinent to say, but I, as a truth-teller, will inform you that the House of Hightide has little favour. Though you would be well aware of that."
"I am," Fritz replied, finding the man strangely amiable. He could clearly tell the guard meant no offence yet he didn't have much of a sense of propriety. He wondered how such a fellow came to be one of the scale guard, so he asked.
"I'm a bastard you see," he said easily, smiling as if the fact bothered him not at all. "Many of us Scale Guard are. Though some of us are simply tough Climbers who rose through the Rain Spire and had something keeping them in Rain City."
"How does that work, the whole bastard thing?" Bert asked.
"We'll in our case, we get offered up by our esteemed noble sires at a young age, before we can truly embarrass them. Then we're trained. Then we Climb ourselves. And once the whole dangerous business of Climbing is done we serve The King in his scale guard."
"I see," Fritz said, finding the explanation unsatisfactory as to his obvious oddness. "What's your name guardsman?"
"Quin, er, Quin Cold, milord," he replied somewhat warily.
"Well, Quin, thank you for the tale, and the warning," Fritz said.
"It was my duty," he said seriously.
They walked.
"Ah, here we are. Sorry, again, for the delay, Lord Hightide," Quin said once they approached the gate. "Head on through. The archive is to the north, a big dome-roofed building, you can't miss it. I would guide you in apology, however, I am needed at my post."
The scale guard left.
"That was...an odd encounter. Though I can't say it went terribly," Fritz said.
"Think all the scale guard are like that?" Bert asked.
Fritz shrugged.
"No. I think we just met a weird one. Or perhaps it was as he mentioned, the peerage is entitled to many things. The deference and respect of the respective guards must be part of that," Fritz said, remembering the man's cold, stern presence from before he had been proven, somehow, to be a Lord.
Fritz looked at his ring, he knew it was heavier than it should be, but he didn't think it had any magic within it. He decided to have Lauren look at it further, he felt there was a secret hidden in that silver crest and that impression made his mind itch.
Striding, they passed through the gate unaccosted and walked the clean, stone streets of the palace district.
Tall walls and deep pools hid vast estates to either side of the wide roads. Bert gawked at the mansions whose floors and roofs rose above their walls, and Fritz wondered where his own manor, with the sapphire willow, lay. He supposed he should have memories of the palace ring, but it all appeared so different with his adult stature and enhanced eyes. That, and he didn't want to recall those sweet, easy days and the horrible, vicious night when it was all taken from him.
"Fritz, are you alright?" Bert asked. "Did you see your old house or something?"
"No, it's not around here," Fritz said, averting his gaze from any tall trees that he might mistake for his own. "This place brings it all back. It's like a knife that has been pointed at your chest sliding up to be held to your neck."
Bert nodded, but Fritz could tell he didn't understand. That was okay. He was here.
They strolled north, passing by parks and gardens, ponds and pillars, statues and stately arches. The roads were sparse, serene. Carriages rolled past the pair at gentle paces, carrying nobles where they may. Occasionally they'd see a guard in the pale green scale, they stood at crossroads or patrolled the pretty parks, never interfering yet always watching. They bowed when Fritz strode close.
It was eerie. It was quiet save the rain. Fritz shivered and not from the cold. Bert was getting restless like he wanted to start running and climbing the walls.
Fritz didn't blame him, as he was feeling the same, though he also had the irrational, indescribable desire to kick in those elegantly carved doors and shatter those pristine glass windows. Topple the pillars and drown these dwellings in blood, as his had been. Punish those who had stood by, hiding cruel smiles behind soft hands and whispering with glee, all while the Guides Guild pillaged his home.
"There's the dome," Bert said, pointing into the rain.
And so it was. A clean white dome braced with brass on top of a rectangular building. It had no windows and a singular large door in its front. There must have been side entrances, but Fritz couldn't see any from this angle. They picked up their pace, nearly jogging down the paved stone.
When they reached the great wooden doors, they found them wide open, letting in the grey light of day. There was an entrance hall, white, lined marble tiles lined the floor, and it was set with dark wooden stairs leading up to a second and a third floor. Across from them was a smaller door and wall of that same rich wood. It led into the archive itself and was guarded by a singular scale guard, whose only action was to give them a respectful nod as they peered into the hall.
Fritz took a strident step onto the patterned tiles, then felt a sudden warmth wash over him. What little water had soaked his clothes was banished in one breath. His eyes caught the glowing orange lines of runes set into the brass doorframe, then they faded away in merely a moment.
"Whoa," Bert said, his voice echoing in the hall.
"What was that?" he added in a whisper that still carried through the hall.
Fritz nearly winced, but instead smirked and said, "Enchantments. To keep out the water. Obviously. Now, speak no further."
Bert, playing the dutiful servant to Fritz's stern master, nodded as if he was well chastised.
They continued into the archives proper, finding the sight beyond the smaller door a strangely familiar one. It was reminiscent of the lower floors of the sinking library they had ascended in the Mer Spire, there were three floors and the walls were covered with bookcases. Though it wasn't all the same, this archive was not the chaotic mess of the Spire Floor. The books, scrolls and tomes were neatly arrayed on their respective, organised shelves. There were also many doors set into the walls, leading to what might be private studies or further repositories of knowledge.
The air was dusty, dry but not harshly so, and the papery scent calmed Fritz's too-ready nerves. Pale light spilled from a great crystal that hung from the roof, illuminating all above and below it with gentle white that rendered colour and contrast all the more vivid.
Empty balconies overlooked the archive's first floor, there was no one to be seen save a small gathering on the second floor. One of the group was a scale guard stood at attention, a grey-haired and grizzled veteran. The rest of were young merfolk ladies, three of them, their collars and cuffs decorated with plenty of lace and their necks adorned with glittering jewels. They sat reading under dutiful watch.
All three were beautiful.
One of the women stood out to Fritz, his attentions nearly pulling his feet forward. He'd been caught, again, by that raven hair and those shining silver eyes. The guard immediately noticed his stare, and Bert's drooling. He Activated some Treasure lantern on the table the women sat around, shrouding the balcony and its occupants in a dome of light fog that even Fritz's powerful eyes couldn't pierce.
"I see why you wanted to come to the archives. Good choice," Bert said, nudging him with an elbow.
Fritz wanted to chide the man but heard soft steps and the opening of a door to his right. He glimpsed the brass plaque that hung on the door's exterior, it identified the woman now striding up to the pair as: The Lady Joyous Greysail, Third Assistant Archivist.
She was wearing robes rather than a dress, had her blonde hair in a functional if elaborately braided bun. Her form was of a human disposition and she had a gold-rimmed lenses still perched on her nose, distorting the shape of her lime green eyes.
Fritz bowed gracefully at her approach and she curtsied in a proper, practised manner when she reached him.
After that pleasant greeting, they stared at each other. She waited for him to speak, her gaze only for Fritz, ignoring Bert entirely. He wondered what she was waiting for, then remembered his manners.
"Lord Hightide," Fritz introduced himself. "And my boon companion Albert Dale."
Fritz could feel Bert's annoyed glare stabbing straight into his back and he stifled a laugh.
The lady smiled politely, though she didn't acknowledge Bert at all. "And what brings the Lord to his majesty's archive, are you seeking something specific?"
"Just general information for now, whatever we can find on the Rain Spire, Attributes and any suitable Techniques," Fritz said as regally as he could manage. He could tell by the assistant archivist's faltering smile that he'd breached etiquette or revealed his ignorance to her through some rudeness in his speech or roughness to his tone.
"This is your first visit," she stated.
"Correct, I was recently made aware that the use of the king's archive was one of the privileges of my rank," Fritz said, slipping in the cool, subtle notes of Dusksong. She frowned, her eyes sliding to his chest, right where his Sanctum lay.
Her brow creased and she took a step forward, staring hard.
"Is there something on my shirt?" Fritz asked, looking down at himself.
"No," the woman said abruptly. She noticed how close she was standing and stepped back swiftly, then took off her lenses, cleaning them on the fabric of her robe's sleeve and not meeting Fritz's eyes. "There was a strange blur. It's gone now. Must have been a mote of dust," she added in way of an explanation.
"Excuse the closeness. I did not mean to offend."
"There is no offence to be taken," Fritz said magnanimously. "As you may have gathered, I am unfamiliar with the archive and its functions. Could you elucidate me?"
"Of course," she said primly.
From there she answered his questions and pointed him to where he could find some of the information he was searching for. It was more than he'd expected, though less than he'd hoped. He was entitled to peruse the first floor at his leisure or have one of his servants or the trusted custodians search for particular titles amongst it. Though he was unable to access the second and third floors or other more secure, or hidden, repositories within the archive's walls and vault.
When Fritz said he hadn't seen any custodians the Lady-assistant said they must be about in the bookcases, returning or fetching books as requested.
"If you light up one of the mana lanterns on the tables, one will come find you," she added.
"How can one gain permission to use the higher floors?" Fritz asked.
"That particular privilege is reserved by The King's decree," Joyous stated.
"No other ways?" he asked, disappointment mounting as he knew all the truly potent and useful books, and all the Techniques were just out of reach. Well, legally at least.
"None other than The King can grant permission for the third floor," she reiterated. "You may appeal to his majesty and if he finds your claim just he will allow you to view more of his accumulated knowledge. As for the second floor, the archivist may allow you access if you gift something significant to The King's collection."
"I see," Fritz said, gauging the height of the balconies and assessing if he could simply jump to the next floor. He dismissed the thought, it would be warded, likely some kind of alarm or worse.
The Lady went through the rules and he paid little attention to them. They were all obvious restrictions to protect the books or the silence. When she noticed he wasn't listening she sighed.
"The rules amount mostly to: No fire. No food. No fighting. And definitely no ff-rolicking," she said, her cheeks colouring.
"Damn, those are my favourite things," Bert said, though he was still being ignored. He bristled at the treatment, yet kept 'mostly' quiet.
"And the books, they must remain here?" Fritz asked.
"Correct, you can reserve them for your viewing or have a copy made for you by one of the scribes, but the books do not leave," she explained.
"A copy?" Fritz asked.
"Requires time and remuneration," she stated. "And Techniques as you know are near impossible to replicate."
Fritz nodded. A Technique would have to be made in the same medium, with the same or similar materials, and perfectly, painstakingly, copied. Even minor alterations or mistakes could cause the Technique's replication to fail, or produce an inferior, degraded or just plain false version.
"Is it always this... barren?" He asked, motioning to the tables and having no further questions on the operations of the archive.
"Unfortunately, yes," the woman admitted. "Many of the peerage have far too much pressing on their minds and time to read histories, theories or fictions all day."
"And most houses have their own personal libraries," she added with a hint of envy.
"Right," Fritz said. And with some curiosity, he asked, "Who's up there?"
She looked up to the foggy balcony he had waved to.
"No one," Lady Greysail said, shaking her head slightly while her pupils widened with some fear.
"Don't ask," she whispered.
"Very well," Fritz said, though the vehement denial of the groups presence had only stoked his desire to know.
"Now, if you will excuse me, I have an ancient tome to translate," she said.
With those parting words, she turned and returned to her office.
"What a skulg. Did you see the way she ignored me?" Bert asked. "Rude."
"I'm afraid that is typical of the nobility," Fritz said. "I think you should just be grateful she didn't have you thrown out."
"I won't be grateful," Bert said.
"That's fair," Fritz allowed. "However, we have a task at hand remember. And many books to read."
"Urgh," Bert complained. "I forgot."
---
The pair spent three hours at the archive, mostly getting acquainted with the ordering system in place. As Fritz suspected there were no Techniques or truly in-depth examinations of Advanced or Magical Attributes. The most interesting book he found, according to Bert at least, was a diet and guide to increasing one's musculature and therefore one's base strength.
There were similar manuals for all the Base Attributes: Stretches and balancing exercises for Agility; tricks and mental practices to help with Memory, Focus and Perception; multiple torturous activities to help with Endurance; each more exhausting than the last.
One such volume concentrated on extending the length one could hold their breath by nearly drowning themselves, while another purported that relentlessly running would increase stamina.
Fritz didn't know which of the manuals or treatises were the most effective or even if they were effective at all, however, he did what he could to retain what he read. Eventually, he had a headache and he felt restless. His eyes would pass over the written words and take not a single sentence in, then end up lingering on the sigil of his signet ring. After catching himself doing so for a third time, he called a stop to their study.
He massaged the back of his neck and sighed, turning on the mana lantern and asking the meek, middle-aged, custodian to reserve the books they had picked out for when they came back. The man obeyed obsequiously.
Fritz glanced up to the foggy balcony. The grey mist remained, swirling slowly, and not a sound could be heard issuing from it. He sighed again.
"Let's go, Bert," he said. "The books will be here tomorrow, and we'll have the advantage of an earlier start. I'll also get us some ink and paper to take notes."
"What do you mean 'us'?" Bert asked, standing and stretching with a yawn.
"What? Have you found this too boring?" Fritz asked.
"Far too boring. And there's not one book on beastmastery. I'll leave this archive stuff to you," Bert said.
"Giving up after only a couple of hours?" Fritz smirked.
"When it comes to books, yes," Bert agreed.
Fritz laughed which echoed loudly in the still and dry air. He stifled it quickly when the guard in the entrance hall peered in to see who was making all the noise.
The two left. More enlightened yet also more unsatisfied.
They strode through the rain and the Palace Ring streets, through the gates into the Upper Ring, heading home.
They were barely done drying their hair in the hallway when there was a loud knock on the door.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Each one rang with the weight of a sledgehammer.
They looked to each other warily. Fritz shrugged and opened the door, apprehension searing him as he suspected he knew who lay behind.
He wasn't surprised at the face, but he was at the smile. Jagged Nic smirked up at the pair of them, his scarred visage and shaven, notched head gleamed unevenly in the light of dusk.
"Nightshark wants to see ya."
