Two of Knaves Chpt 86 thru 90

Hello, Knaves! Here's chapters up through 89 of Two of Knaves.

Chapter 86 - High Priestess Problems

I followed the high priestess up to the third floor where she kept a private office with a small shrine to Lucita. She lit a set of votive candles while her paladins took position outside the room. I waited for her to complete her ritual and then take her time settling into one of the sedans. Serpentine tails make most chairs and couches awkward for drakkyn. It’s difficult to judge drakkyn ages, as well, but I put her at about forty summers.

“These are strange times to be welcoming a seeker into a temple of our Lady of Wagers,” said the high priestess.

I shrugged. “It’s always odd times in Drawgonmaw, priestess.”

“Alas, true enough.”

At a knock on the door, the paladin opened it to reveal an attendant with two cups of something. The high priestess gestured to the squat table between us, and took one of the steaming cups almost as soon as they were set down. She sniffed at it. “Tea from my home province. Quite unpronounceable for you, unfortunately. And perhaps just as unpalatable. But it is tradition to offer it when offering names.”

I took the cup and took a tentative sip. It was bitter, tasting of pollen and a slight spicy aftertaste that made me incredibly thirsty. I did my best not to cough, but one small sputter slipped out. “That’s a bit rough on the back end,” I said. The high priestess chuckled.

“My own name, I’m afraid, you would find equally unpronounceable,” said the priestess. She said something sounding akin to the word problems, with sibilants somehow inserted after the p, b, and, as best I can describe, underneath the e.

“High priestess Problems,” I said.

“Close enough,” she laughed, hissing. “Apt, as I have no shortage of them, these days.”

I took another sip of the tea and immediately regretted it. “Such as the Mayaz moving in where they’re not welcome.”  

Priestess Problems shook her head. “I don’t understand it. Hollowdown’s abyssal cults have never had more than a passing enmity for us. Despite our similar trades, little crossover persists in our clientele. Their sudden aggression caught us off guard. We’re a faith; of influence by coin, not strength of arms. Wars ill-suit us.”

“So you don’t know why they attacked?”

Problems shook her head.

I pulled my deck from under my robe and unsealed it. I didn’t even know a reptile woman could purse her lips, but the high priestess managed it at the Deck of Wills in my hand. I nodded to the alter. “With her permission?”

Problems closed her eyes for a moment, and then nodded.

I leaned forward, curious. “She speaks to you?”

“Not exactly,” said Problems. “Her voice is like a peculiar weight to the dice, to lean a decision one way or the other.” she spread her hands. “To leave this to fate is to invoke Her will.”

“I don’t understand theology,” I admitted, shuffling and cutting the deck. I noticed Problems shift slightly as I sent my will into the cards. The Wills were strong and certain as I skimmed the top three cards and flipped them. The lovers arcana, the four of streams, and the five of storms.

I studied the cards, chin couched in my elbow. The high priestess sipped her tea and watched with interest. “This,” I said, tapping the lovers, “represents a new partnership. With Them? With us? I couldn’t say. The middle one, the narrows, represents an acceleration of sorts. And the swell of storms? A growing power.” I hmmed. “Mother Mayaz is a seeker as well. If she foresaw an alliance and wanted to stop any potential partnership between us. Ironic that such a thing might have been galvanized by her interference. Self-fulfilling prophecy. Though, in truth, she might have other reasons. Perhaps I’m missing a variable.”

“Not so much an exact science, is it?” asked the priestess.

“If that’s not the pot calling the kettle black…” I muttered, sweeping my deck back together.

Problems giggled, nodding in commiseration. “Priests and fortune tellers. We who interpret the whims of those above our mortal ken must make do with what such base creatures as us can perceive.” At another knock on the door, she set her cup on the tray and gestured for her paladin to open it before continuing. “Still, I hold hope this matter with Mother Mayaz might be resolved peaceably.”

I stacked and squared my cards. Just as I started to relax my control over them, they pushed back and a fourth card shot out into the air. I snatched it from the air. Both Problems and her paladin stared at it. I laid it down. The four of demons, inverted. Failure of intelligence, Enemies at the threshold.

“Your attendant,” I said, standing, “Had a very different knock this time,”. I drew the four of knaves and sent a quick deviltongue ping to Annalisa, and, after a moment’s consideration, to Mithra, as well.

The paladin let go of the knob and slipped on his holy knuckle dusters.

I moved to the side of the door opposite the paladin as the knock came again. I slid my dagger from its sheathe beneath my robe and held up three fingers to the paladin. Then two.

Before I could get to one, a loud crash of glass and a splat shook the walls. The paladin looked at me and jerked the door open. The Mayazian on the other side staggered, hand to his head. Beer soaked his front, and several shards of glass stood out from his flesh.

“I was WINNING!” screamed Annalisa, who hurled a second glass at one of the other two knifemen in the hall.

I had to duck back so it didn’t hit me. It crashed against the wall at the far end, but then I was out in a flash, driving my knife into the chest of the dazed shark before. The paladin was out the door after me, and I saw his knuckles light up with holy power. He swung at the next Mayazian. I watched from behind, eager to see the smite in action. Unfortunately, there’s a problem with serving a goddess of chance. His attack fizzled on contact, leaving the Mayazian free to sweep his thin knife across the stunned paladin’s front. The man fell back, hands grasping at the wound as he gurgled his last breaths.

I scowled, cursing the worthless bastard—or rather, his lack of luck, and fanned out my deck. The other paladin lay sprawled on the carpet near the priestess’ previous attendant. Her throat had been bitten out, and the third Mayazian had the red-stained, eel-like jaws to mark him as her murderer. I think he might have been part drakkyn, but the abyssal cult of Mother Mayaz had warped him. Annalisa sailed past me with a wild haymaker that the knifeman had managed to block, though it set him off balance. He took a step, but a frost portal opened up below his foot, and he fell to the side, right into Annalisa’s rising knee, which sunk into his gut. I’m surprised he didn’t pass out then and there, but he somehow manage to get his arms around my partner and toss her to the ground,

The eel spun his daggers and hissed, charging me, but hesitated, looking down at my hand. The eye on the hilt of my blade was open, and it was fixed on the eel. I looked up at the Mayazian, grinned, and opened my grip. He flinched back as the knife shot from my palm—straight towards him. He managed to deflect it, where it wedged in the wall and fought to get free. But I was already feeding my will into the two of knaves, which I threw at him. The eel was quick, managing not to get skewered by the spinning card. But it still tore a hole through the side of his coat, which he twisted his sinuous neck to look at. He quickly reversed his grip on one of his knives and threw it at me. About that time, my own knife worked itself free of the wall and sunk into the eel’s calf.

Momentarily distracted, I charged my cards with the three of dragons and whipped the heated deck at the pair of Mayazians. A bright welt appeared across the eel’s face where it struck him, but I couldn’t get a good angle on the other with Annalisa tangled up the way she was.

“What is that?”

I hadn’t even heard the high priestess come out of the room, but I glanced back to see her staring at the ceiling, which had the leg of a Mayazian thug coming out of it, courtesy of Annalisa. I wrapped the chair of cards around it and yanked down, pulling him further through the portal. He panicked at the sudden pain, allowing Annalisa to get the upper hand.

The eel-looking one flipped one of his own knives and hurled it at the high priestess. With a quick burst of the two of towers I bolstered her resilience, but the blade still left a red line across the side of her neck and she dropped with a cry. The eel grinned, but missed the demon dagger pulling itself free and slamming into his side. He gasped and screamed, clutching at the hilt, but it wriggled deeper. He had the double jaws of a predator eel.

“Good knife,” I muttered, closing in. He saw me coming and tried to raise his own blade. I charged my entire deck with the three of knaves, and it turned into a storm of phantoms, disguising my own actions. I reached down and slipped the iron knuckles off one of the paladins, putting them on my own fist and taking a page from Annalisa’s manuscript. I came through my own cloud of cards with my fist raised.

He ducked my punch and his jaws snapped out, grazing the sleeve of my robe with needle-like teeth. I grabbed his wrist with my other hand before he could bring the knife up.

“Darcent!” shouted Annalisa, somewhere behind me. A blast of cold hit my cheek, and her foot appeared from below, ramming up into the chin of the Mayazian. Stunned, it let go of my sleeve. I wound up and and drove the knuckles home right on the eel’s forhead. His eyes rolled up and his lights went out.

I shook off my hand, I didn’t realize how much using false knuckles could hurt. How the hell did Annalisa do this with bare hands?

I bent double, gasping, and turned to my partner. She’d somehow gotten around to the other shark’s back and currently had him in a complicated-looking choke hold. I stumbled over and repeated the punch that had put the other Mayazian out. By now, more of the paladins had responded to the scuffle. It had lasted only a few moments, from start to finish. They took in the dead and dying, Annalisa and myself, and their high priestess on the ground. Their knuckles started to glow.

I raised a hand. “Easy, lads,”

One of them advanced eyes glowing with celestial power. A hand shot up from the floor, wrapping around his ankle. He looked down at the high priestess.

“Priestess?”

“Don’t,” she ordered. “They’ve just saved my life.”

The budding smite dimmed and winked out, and the paladin knelt beside the head of the shrine and propped her up. He turned to his companions. “Make sure there aren’t any more,” he ordered.

I slumped to my haunches as the other Lucitian paladins moved by me to check on the others and secure the floor. I looked across at Problems. “Still think you can settle this peaceably with Mother Mayaz?”

“Fuck no,” she rasped. “We’re going to war.”

Chapter 87 - More Allies

Lucitians don’t believe in debts—at least, not to people other than the church. But saving someone’s life does have a way of ingratiating them to you. Annalisa was easy enough to please, of course. All she wanted was free drinks for the rest of the night and a handful of chips for the Stakes table. My own desires were a bit more esoteric, and wouldn’t be bought quite so easily.

“Another inch to the left and you’d have been dead. Towers or no towers,” I said to Problems.

She made the hand gesture of her temple, which looks a bit like flipping an invisible coin. “As our Lady of Odds whims.”

“At the risk of sounding blasphemous, Lucita seems to be a fickle bitch. The least she could do is protect her own followers. What makes her so worthy of devotion?”

Problems smiled and looked down. “I was a powder mixer before I came to the Bastard. And that is a very exact—and exacting—science. The blasting soot for our pistols and rifles follows precise formulae—and don’t ask, because I won’t reveal it—to remain stable enough to propel an iron bullet on command and at the velocity required to pierce a breastplate. Fourteen years ago, after working three double-shifts, I strayed from that formula. By chance, I mixed the ratios of two ingredients—one of which is an accelerant, the other of which is a stabilizer.”

“So you made the boom twice as potent with half the stability?”

“Yes. Only, the oxidizer—“

“The what?”

“The boom-enhancer,” she pulled the cloth away from her neck, wincing and checking the red smudge, “turned out to itself be improperly mixed with a compound that formed a neutralizing chemical bond with the stabilizer in an endotherm—a heat-producing reaction. So, the more stabilizer….”

“The more heat,” I finished. “How did that happen?” I asked.

“It turned out to be provided to our supplier by a rival mixer, along with a substantial purse of silver. I alone, out of eight other masters survived the fire. Because, by chance, I had introduced only half the typical stabilizer, and so it did not get hot enough to reach combustion.”

I sat back and looked at the two new paladins in the room. “I don’t follow.”

“Before that night, I had always prayed to Ma’halrak. A drakkyn storm god, if you’re unfamiliar. But he didn’t keep me safe. A simple mistake did. A fluke of chance. Our Lady of Wagers makes no promises, grants no boons, demands no tribute. But neither does she strike out of spite, become jealous, or grant favor contingent on deeds in Her name. She is a Goddess who will walk beside you, You can curse her name, sing her praises, and it will phase her not one bit—for her blessings are truly random. There is fairness in her unfairness. And that is laudable.”

She examined her cloth again, before switching it for a clean one. The wound wasn’t deep. At least, not enough to need sutures. The priestess sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand, Master Knave.”

“That’s a relief,” I said. “Because you lost me at neutralizing chemical bond.”

High Priestess Problems laughed, and then turned to look at the door. “To think, while I spoke of truce, people in that hall were being gutted. Still, I don’t understand, why now?”

I leaned forward. “I might have kicked over the hornet’s nest. Mother Mayaz is trying to follow the fel witch’s footsteps. But I don’t know why they lead to your door.”

I didn’t know it was possible for a drakkyn to purse their lips, but Problems managed it. “Perhaps the variable is yet before our eyes. Tell me, do you know why the abyssal cults followed Margot Bethane?”

I shook my head, suddenly wary.

“Bethane wielded prophecy like a blade—including those central to many religions—in pursuit of her goals. The abyssals that found root in Hollowdown following the fall of the fel witch were one such sect.”

“What does that have to do with Lucita?” I asked.

She spread her hands. “Lucita promises only cold chance. She is antithetical to architects of prophecy looking to quicken signs before their time. She stunts the artificial haste of things foretold, but yet to come. She forestalls them coming before chance would will them naturally.”

Name thyself. I shivered, hoping the priestess wouldn’t notice. Had Lucita been on my side that night when Margot paid me a visit?

“This actually solves a bit of the puzzle,” I said. “The Mayazians have been mad for prophecy lately. I had opportunity to deny them a treasure trove of prophetic writings recently. This aggression could be a response.” I scratched my chin. “What is this prophecy they’re trying to hasten, anyway?”

“I’m afraid that for that answer, you’d have to ask Mother Mayaz. But seeing as how readily the abyss threw in for the fel witch, I can safely say nothing good.”

And somehow, I played a pivotal role. Gods, why did it have to be me? All I’d been doing was cowering in a basement. Clearly I had some magical prowess, but it shouldn’t have been enough to attract the attention of Margot Bethane and now Mother Mayaz. I considered. The sooner I learned about those books from the Golden Elf college, the better. They must have some answers, even if they aren’t necessarily the ones I wanted. The Wills had led me to those three books in particular, out of the thousands—perhaps tens of thousands in the Soul Seeker library.

“There’s still the matter of fortifying your shrine. Mayaz aggression won’t stop just because they got a whiff of us here.” I looked at the paladins in the room—second string smiters, at best. One even had a pig-iron adventurer’s badge. Not so long ago, he’d have flattened me. Now, I didn’t even consider him a threat. Not to me, and certainly not to some of the Mayazian bruisers. Darza would have carved through us like Winter Eve pheasants.

“Yes, I’m quite certain they will not,” agreed Problems. She ran a claw around the rim of her teacup. “So, what do you suggest?”

I leaned back. “You need muscle.”

“We’re hardly hurting for coin. We can contract with the guild…”

I shook my head. “Muscle you can trust. Mother Mayaz doesn’t have to buy out every badge you hire. Just enough. Let my man manage the security. We have a few guild regulars we trust. You’ll need new warding, too. Mother Mayaz can divine blind spots. I have someone expertly acquainted with wards that I think would be willing to help.”

“And since you’re not adherents of the church, I’m sure this isn’t being offered out of devotion to Lucita,” said Problems.

“No, but since it’s in our interest to throw a spanner in the Mayazian rudderworks, I’m not going to charge you the bone king’s cache. It will be expensive, but I’ll make sure it’s worth it. I do have one other request.”

Problems leveled her eyes at me. “I’m listening.”

“Your arena,” I said. “On the second level. I want Annalisa to fight there.”

The high priestess hissed. “Billings at the shrine pit rival those in the upper city, and for good reason. They’re guaranteed honest. They’re not like your cheat-filled downs pits with weighted odds. I’d rather pay full price for your muscle.”

I shook my head. “The fight is non-negotiable. We need to start moving into fights beyond the downs. I’m sure there are plenty of adventurers who would be willing to take a swing at my partner. I—” I stopped. “How do you know the fights are all honest?” I ventured.

Problems smiled. “One of Lucita’s rare blessings. Nothing inside the ring can be affected by those outside the ring. A divine barrier prevents it. If you want to ply your cards on your partner, you’ll have to be in the ring beside her to do it.”

I grimaced. Annalisa and I fought well together—much better than either of us did alone. But many of the fighting teams out there drilled for years in the pit to become effective partners. But few of them had the lovers arcana burning above their heads. And Annalisa still bore the precipice. Caution ill-fit the Barrow Knave and the Lady Blue. “Fine,” I said. “A doubles fight.”

“Very well. When can I expect the first of your fighters?” she asked.

“Tonight,” I said, standing. “Thank you for the tea. It was… interesting.”

Problems laughed. “Just say bad, Barrow Knave.”

One of the paladins opened the door for me.

“Food for thought, Knave,” said the high priestess. “Not all those chasing prophecy are seeking to evoke it. It can just as easily be prevented—by ensuring those associated are dealt with before they can play their part.”

The door shut behind me. I stood in the hall and watched acolytes scrub at the carpet with bristle brushes for a few moments before heading back to the lounge. I sat alone at the bar for a time, not interested in watching the lutist who had replaced Mithra underneath the limelight.

Two drinks in, I got to thinking about something else that was mentioned in my conversation with the high priestess: a variable we were missing. I thought back to my first encounter with Mother Mayaz’ gang—when she’d attacked the Mop and Bucket.

It hadn’t been a random attack. And it hadn’t been me she was after. In the aftermath, I hadn’t really been concerned with what her original goal was. I was too busy with the heap of shit Kridick left for me to step in after throwing us to the sharks.

I slipped out my deck and did a quick reading to confirm my suspicions. Then, I got up from the bar, collected my partner, and left the shrine.

Chapter 88 - A Divine Blockage

Back at the Mop and Bucket, I waited for Mithra in her room. I didn’t want anyone else to hear our conversation. She arrived slightly after dawn and startled when she saw me using her cosmetics table as a makeshift desk to carve a few more Wills into black fjord pine blanks.

Of course her first instinct was to try to unbalance me with a seductive grin and a quick quip.

“I’m off shift, but I suppose I could make an exception if you want me to take a turn being the boss.”

“Why is Mother Mayaz targeting Lenise?” I asked.

She froze, fake smile dropping away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I pulled the Deck of Wills from my robe and drew the cards, letting them spin idly in the air. “There’s an interesting quirk when it comes to the Wills. When multiple seekers attempt to read the same subject, the results become muddled and inconsistent—because observing a thing changes a thing. Now, there are ways to work around it, but the fact that it’s happening means that either three or more seekers are trying to track her,” I counted off on my fingers, “That would be at least myself, Daggertongue, and Mother Mayaz. Or,” I put my hands down. “She’s hiding somewhere with exceptionally advanced anti-divination wards. Like a shrine of Lucita.”

Mithra took off her coat and dropped it on the floor before slumping down on her bed amongst a dozen or so cushions. Perfume wafted up from the sheets. Ordinarily a bastion of confidence, I’d invaded her sanctum and taken away her control specifically to make her feel exposed. It was a calculated play lauded by the towers in my deck—though the knaves wanted me to swoop in and take a different sort of advantage of the plane-touched woman.

She took a deep breath before answering. “I don’t know,” she said.

“Not good enough,” I said.

“I don’t!” protested Mithra. “I’ve spent the last year trying to keep her away from Daggertongue. This thing with Mother Mayaz? I don’t know where it’s come from.”

“Look where you’re keeping her, Mithra. It’s bad luck! Hells, it’s probably divine intervention.” I called the cards into my hand and rifled through them. “Alright. So, let’s start with why Daggertongue wants her.”

Mithra’s face cycled through several expressions as she weighed what to tell me. I sent my will into the four of dragons, which I knew would give my eyes a sinister glow in the gloom of the bedchamber. It also showed me that Mithra had a valuable ring, and a dagger concealed in her bodice lining.

“She’s his bastard daughter,” said Mithra. “Beget by a whore and kept like a slave. It’s something to do with some prophecy. He’s been grooming her to play some part since she was a child.”

It all came back to prophecy. Something I wanted nothing to do with and no part of, but somehow found myself in the middle of. Mayazian prophecy, elven prophecy. I hated it. Soul Seekers are all about the truth of the moment, not what could or might happen based on the shrum-addled ravings of some scruffy old prophet a thousand years back.

Mithra looked across at me. “How did you figure it out?”

I shrugged. “The high priestess wasn’t the target of that attack, tonight. Her attendant was—but not the one they got. Priestess Problems was a target of opportunity. And seeing as you were moonlighting there, I figured there had to be a good reason. You made sure Lenise wasn’t working during the second attack.”

“Seekers,” said Mithra, tossing one of her cushions across the room. She stared up at the ceiling. “Why try to keep secrets at all?”

I stood, and Mithra flinched back. But I only paced the room, chin couched in my hand as I considered how the new information affected my planning. “The priestess doesn’t know. She believes Mother Mayaz quarrel is with her alone, which puts us in an advantageous position. Ironically, we never would have had an in with the shrine if you hadn’t inadvertently lured the sharks there in the first place.”

Mithra raised an eyebrow at me. “You don’t sound as pissed as I thought you would.”

I cast her a look, and she looked away. “There’s still other considerations. You can’t keep her hidden. There’s Daggertongue to consider, whose pocket we’re in, I might remind you. He terrified Kridick. And speaking of the old crown, he’ll be looking for a way back into the old man’s good graces and that’s a straight ticket, isn’t it?”

I sighed. “Not to mention what Daggertongue himself will do if he finds out I’ve had his daughter under my nose this whole time.” I shot a look at Mithra. “Though you’d know better than I, I imagine.”

“Nothing good,” she admitted. “Are you going to tell him?”

“I’m considering it,” I said, honestly. “She’s a liability to everything we’re building here.”

“She’s an innocent woman, Darcent!” Mithra pleaded.

I thought back to a night in stitch alley, feeling the blood of an innocent woman splash onto my face—followed shortly by the blood of a powerful witch. I felt a sickness crawl up my stomach. “This city swallows the innocent and the guilty alike, Mithra.”

I looked over. Mithra’s mask had dropped entirely, and she had her nails dug into her cheeks hard enough to draw blood. Her golden eyes welled with tears. I couldn’t hold that gaze.

“It’s not a decision I can make alone,” I said. “Annalisa has to have a say as well.”

“Thank you,” said Mithra.

I scowled. It was a partial abdication of responsibility, to be sure. The smartest thing to do—both for myself and the organization—would be to march right up to Threadripper and tell him where Daggertongue ought look for his daughter. But there was truth in what Mithra said, as well.

                          *

Two days of fortifying the Lucitian Shrine later, I still hadn’t decided what to do. But I had gotten word from Hawkley that he had a buyer lined up for the first of my books. So, Annalisa in tow, fresh and fired up from training in the pits for her next fight, I headed for the upper city.

Our route took us further west than if we’d been going to Hawkleys, which meant passing through Cradledown and then by the middle city makers guild. There are very few artisan items you can’t find in Dragonmaw, and since we weren’t in a hurry, I decided to slow-roll things and stop in at some of the stores so Annalisa and I could pretend we weren’t dirt poor for a while.

Though, feeling the change in my purse, I wasn’t sure we were, anymore. The operation had stopped hemorrhaging silver just to keep things afloat. With the take coming in from the wolves in Kindledown, proceeds from fights in both districts, and the influx of coin from Lucita, things weren’t in such dire straights where the downs were concerned. We’d finally established ourselves as a credible presence in the downs and brought most of the minor gangs in Barrowdown and the matchbox to heel. The Barrow Knave and the Lady Blue were whispered less often in jest and more in respect. I’d even started detecting some probes from further west, from crews on the other side of Kindledown. But, we were still from the lower city, and in the eyes of everyone uphill, that made us lesser.

Flush in coppers, poor in standing, perhaps. I patted the sail-cloth satchel that held several more copied pages from one of the elven manuscripts. Well, we had to start somewhere. And the last place I’d expected to be heading was the Royal Arcanists Repository. I just hoped I didn’t end up setting this one on fire, too.

Of particular interest to Annalisa was a dress-maker with several elegant gowns in the window. We let ourselves in to the shop and dropped our face-coverings. With how hot and humid the summer days in Dragonmaw were, it felt like instant relief. Most of the population in the western half of the city had adopted face coverings when outdoors due to the smoke drifting up from the undercity. But wearing them during the day was just awful.

I’d never seen Annalisa in a dress, but she flitted about, looking at the various cuts and commenting on what was in and out of fashion in the upper city. I had no idea such things even interested the career fighter. It just goes to show that you can never truly know a person. While initially wary of the over-excited devilborn bouncing through their shop, the staff eventually caught her infectious enthusiasm and brought out more bolts of cloth in colors they claimed would better suit her unique complexion. She ate it all up, and I was content to watch, and occasionally critique some of the craftsmanship they tried to convince her was top notch.

“Where did you learn so much about dresses?” Annalisa asked after I turned down the third one with inferior stitching.

“My mother was a seamstress,” I said. I looked at a corset and idly considered buying it for Mithra. “In another life, if… what happened, hadn’t happened,” I said, tossing a glance at the proprietors who were listening quite closely, “I might have become a tailor. I was always deft with the needle and shears. How do you know so much about dresses?”

“Because I think they’re beautiful,” said Annalisa. She ran a thumb under the lapels of her vest, which she wore over a stiff-collared work-shirt above practical trousers. “I never get to wear them much, though. What with my training and guarding you and all. You can’t really fight in a gown, and the snow from my tunnels would ruin the fabric.” she held a dark purple dress up against herself, looking in a body-length mirror and twisting about. It had more layers than Dragonmaw and I didn’t know how any person could wear it and not trip over themselves. But, true enough, her blue and black-veined skin looked quite striking against the material. “I would look amazing in this,” she said, sighing.”

I thought back to the invitation to the masquerade theater. To the Barrow Knave and the Lady Blue. Surely, it had been an invitation to a trap. But it could also be an opportunity. I looked at the proprietor. “Throw in a pair of masks and we’ll take it.”

Annalisa squealed.

Chapter 89 - Try Not to Burn This One Down, Darcent

Leaving the dress shop and heading north to our appointment, I’d rarely seen Annalisa in such a good mood. While it’s true that the devilborn girl flitted from fits of excitement to deep melancholy and back as quick as the breeze could change, I’d rarely seen her simply content and focused on something.

“You just wait, I’ll be the most amazing at wearing dresses! Did you know they have competitions where ladies line up in corsets and get scores? I bet I’d win easily—maybe unless Mithra were there—but how long do you think it will take them to make the alterations? I don’t want to rush them, but I really want that dress. Why did you ask about masks? I don’t think we should do any fighting or stealing in that, it would be too difficult to move fast or fight or keep it clean but oh my stars, did you see the lace pattern?”

I only half listened. The conversation didn’t seem to require a second participant, except as a target. I imagined this was probably how her training dummies felt when she went to work with her jabs. My mind was still elsewhere, unsure how to broach the subject of Lenise and Daggertongue to my partner. After another few minutes of hearing about the dress, I decided the best approach was the direct one.

“Anna,” I said, cutting her off.

She stilled, immediately on guard.

I told her what I’d learned about Lenise and Daggertongue. And laid out what I believed to be the merits of both secrecy and disclosure.

Annalisa believed only one of our choices had merit. And I certainly wasn’t prepared for the immediacy and no uncertain terms of her position.

A flash of pain erupted from my cheek, and I found the cobbles spinning up at me dangerously quickly. I sprawled across the street, barely able to move for the pain in my face. The world stopped making sense for a bit, and when I rolled over on my back and gasped up at the evening sky, Annalisa appeared over me. She was so angry she vibrated. The blue-black veins bulged on her forearms as she squeezed her fists. Her polished horns suddenly looked incredibly threatening.

She hadn’t even punched me. It had been an open-handed slap. And as soon as I pushed up to my knees, she dealt me one on the other cheek that sent me sprawling to the cobbles again.

“Anna, what the hells?” I shouted. We were almost to the cusp of the upper city, and people were staring. This wasn’t the downs, you can’t just assault people and get into fights near the upper city. Adventurers patrolled up here—strong ones. And we had bounties.

“How could you even consider,” hissed Annalisa.

I scrambled back onto my feet before my devilborn partner could lay me flat again. “I have to consider everything, Annalisa. I’m trying to run this organization, and that means looking out for the people in it. Daggertongue isn’t someone we want as an enemy. Trust me, I’ve looked into him. He could squeeze us out of the downs in a heartbeat.”

“And that makes it ok to backstab your friends?” she shook her finger in my face. “I already told you. If you start to become the monster—if you go down that path… well, even leaning down it is probably bad. What about Mithra, did you think of her? Everything she’s done for you—that she’s still doing—to keep Lenise safe? And you’d ruin everything just to buy yourself off? She’d kill you! And I don’t know if I’d want to stop her.”

She shook her head and turned away. “I thought you were better than that. Better than the rest of them.”

“The rest of who, Anna?”

She didn’t answer. She stalked off, back down the hill. “Let me know when you come to your senses,” she shouted back. “Until then, guard your own damn self. Try not to burn this one down, Darcent.”

Unsure whether she meant the library or our friendship, I watched the polished glare of her horns disappear back into the crowd. So, that was where she stood. This certainly made a bugbear’s furry cock of things.

I hefted my satchel, both cheeks stinging. Ignoring the stares, I pressed on toward the upper city—alone, this time. And perhaps feeling more alone than I had since the night my mother… well, you know the story.

The hill climbed as the sun dropped. Dragonmaw is, as ever, a city of the night. The first stars began to wink and I’m sure the astrologists were breaking their fasts at the Stargazers Guild. Beneath the waking light of the wane dragons, I made my way to the Royal Arcanists Repository, the biggest library in the upper city (though Madam Peaks’ had a larger and likely more enthusiastic clientele).

You might wonder why it’s called the Royal Arcanists Repository when there aren’t any royals to be had in Dragonmaw. To be candid, so was I. Maybe I’d ask.

The repository was near the university district, west of the noble quarter, but east of most of the mainstream religious temples. From the courtyard I could see all the way down to the sea, as well as both sides of the Sungate where the last beams of pink light beyond the horizon painted the base of the clouds over the water. I watched the light fade along with the stinging in my cheeks before approaching the library.

The doorman gave me the exact sort of look you’d expect a snobby upper city servant to give a lower city dregg: one that ran the entire length of his prodigious nose and jumped from the top of his curled lip down to where his opinion of me lay. I didn’t like him much, either, but I had business here.

“Are you lost, young man?” he asked.

I wished I could have hit him square in the eggs like I had the rude Lucitian doorman, but I’d already spotted four guards before I’d even hit the main entrance. Not pushover paladins, either. These had polished armor and pole axes. Books are valuable, and the collected works at the Royal Arcanists actually belonged mostly to the city’s upper-crust—on loan or lease to the society.

“I’m supposed to meet with the Lady Pelladine of Marks Hill,” I said, drawing a scrawled missive from my pack.

The doorman’s scowl deepened. “The Lady is a very busy woman whose time is not to be wasted,” he said.

I straightened the note and cleared my throat. “I’m also meant to to tell you, “Rory, stop being such a trullen sod and let them inside forthwith. I haven’t got all night, have I?” I lowered the note. “Are you Rory, then?

The man’s reddening face sunk into the stiff neck of his collar as he looked away.

“Welcome to the repository,” he mumbled. I stepped past him and through the threshold.

Chapter 90 - The Royal Arcanists Repository

I couldn’t help but stop and stare. A year ago, I’d thought the Seeker’s Guild had the grandest collection of books anywhere in the world. Then I’d thought the Golden Elf college in the undercity was surely unparalleled.

Standing in the entry way of the Royal Arcanists Book Repository, I had to wonder why they needed me at all. They must already own nearly every book that ever existed—and those were just the ones I could see.

If this place was a castle, written works were its fortifications. The foyer spread out to a tiled motif of the Royal Arcanists Society sigil of a book, quill, and wand on the floor where dozens of clerks crossed from unknown origins to unknown destinations. Behind an information desk, a twin set of steps led up to a gallery of shelves that held thousands of books. Such was my gawking that a new arrival simply shoved me from behind to make way, and I stumbled off to the side to gawk at my leisure. And I didn’t even like books. I paced along the tiled floor, watching the comings and goings and trying to make sense of what looked like disorder—but the storms in my deck assured me was a perfectly controlled chaos.

Eventually, I made my way up to the information desk past a myriad of signs warning against smoke and open flames in the library. My dragons were unimpressed, but I ignored them. The spectacled clerk behind the counter peered down at me with curiosity, as though he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. But it wasn’t the open hostility of the doorman, so I handed up my note. He briefly glanced at the writing and pulled over a scrap of parchment.

“You’ll want the lost and restored works department in the east wing. Follow these directions and keep to the main path.”

On a whim, I asked: “Do you have any works by a Seeker Lancaster, here?”

The clerk tilted his head. “Possibly in the divinations and arcane philosophy department. If you’re wanting a writ to borrow from the collection, there is a ten flourish per month membership with a minimum of six months commitment, and a twenty flourish initiation fee to support the restoration endowment and acquisitions initiative. I shall require your letter of credit prior to processing.

I gulped. Flourishes haven’t been mentioned much, because, well I hadn’t got any. They were gold marks, worth eleven cunnings each at current conversion. And I would need thirty of them just to check out a book. Dragons above, what was I doing in this place?

Belonging, the knaves whispered.

That was true. A knave should wear his surroundings like a comfortable cloak, whatever they may be. So I didn’t have the generational wealth to throw away on books, but they’d asked me here. All the books in all the world, and I had the one the repository wanted. “Perhaps next time,” I said, taking the instructions. “I didn’t think to stop by the bank.”

“Of course, sir,” said the clerk.

I left him and headed to the eastern wing where the restored works department lay. It took me through a hall of maps from around the world, far-off continents, islands, and expeditions into the frozen north plotted behind elven glass panes with barely any defects or clouding. I didn’t know much geography. Having spent my entire life in Dragonmaw with no pressing reason to ever leave it, I had long-since decided that the Crooked Spine Bastard Vomiting was plenty big enough. Exploring his crooks and crannies was the job of intrepid and suicidal adventurers. Exploring beyond? Pure lunacy. Several of those loons peered down at sea charts, making copies or twisting a compass to and fro over trade routes and sea lanes.

Another section of the library held works by dwarves, and the tables in the wing stood at half-height, evenly crewed with the little devils. The shelves here were all metal and bellows sucked the air straight up, because to try and get a dwarf to extinguish his pipe while he’s working is to go down to the docks and try to drink the sea through a reed. All the warnings in this wing were on the doors leading out. Mostly it contained treatises on trade, engineering, and construction. for such fat-fingered little ruffians, they were amazingly keen with their hands.

I wondered if this was what the Golden Elf library had looked like in its heyday. With more golden-haired elves and fewer, well, anyone else, really. Not much for making friends, were the elves. Big on making corpses and society-ending mistakes, though.

The restored and recovered works department was a bit past that, up two sets of stairs, down a narrow hall, and tucked into a claustrophobic wing where I saw scribes painstakingly copying manuscripts over via quill, ink, and much cursing. Others carefully glued ancient pages within new bindings. Some just dozed at their tables; their unending work momentarily halted by bodily demands. Most of them had beards long enough to trip over, stained with splotches of ink and hands like Master Hedwin that, while having the appearance of withered willow twigs, were deft and precise. These were career clerks.

Having copied only fifteen to twenty pages in my life to give to Hawkley, I couldn’t imagine a more sinister depth of hell in which to wallow. My hands cramped just thinking about sitting here day in, day out, hunched over an inkwell and blotter.

“Excuse me, young man, may I help you find something?”

I turned at the voice, which was much younger than I’d expected, but whose owner was still much older than the furtive tone would suggest. It belonged to a woman of Annalisa’s height, but with a great tangle of brown curls framing a mousy face and a pair of large half-moon spectacles. Her face was youthful in expression but had the worry lines at her eyes and mouth that suggested forty summers of fretting. It sounded instantly familiar, in the same way that everyone feels as though they recognize my face.

“Are you Lady Pelladine?” I asked.

She smiled, pushing her glasses up her nose. “That honor is indeed mine.” she wrung her hands as her eyes slid down to the satchel at my side. Her toes started to tap with “Do you have it?”

I unclasped my satchel and withdrew a the sailcloth-wrapped book. Lady Pelladine didn’t quite manage to hide her sharp inhale at the sight of it. I pulled the other copied pages out, as well. “I have two other volumes that might interest you,”

Lady Pelladine waved that idea off, her eyes never leaving the book in my hand. “I’m afraid I’ve no interest in matters of the Wills, any longer. Perhaps the academy library. Please, may I?”

I handed the book over, expecting her to open it on the spot. Instead, she turned and began to make her way down the narrow aisles while I struggled to keep up. The recovered works department was like a maze of twisting corridors and stacks of books, but Lady Pelladine navigated unerringly to a small bench where she retrieved a set of gloves, a small mask, and a small box of what looked like jewelers tools. Again, she tottered on to a small side room with a strong smokeless lantern spotted directly down on a work bench, where she donned the gloves and carefully unwrapped the book.

As she put on the mask, I began to wonder if I ought have taken better care of these books than shoving them unceremoniously into an adventurer’s stolen bag. Then she did something somewhat worrying, and took a lump of chalk from her kit and etched a spell circle onto the surface of the bench. I felt traces of magic stir as she drew.

“You’re a mage?” I asked.

“Mmm, yes,” she said as she worked. She glanced back. “And unless I miss my mark, which I rarely do, you are as well.”

“Not enough of one to recognize what you’re making.”

She peeled back the last layer of canvas from the cracked, black leather binding on the book before grabbing a pair of calipers and using them to gently lift open the cover. She allowed herself a sharp intake of breath. Inside, a rough illustration of a many-tentacled beast led me to believe this was some sort of elven bestiary, though why the Wills thought it important, I couldn’t say. I had painstakingly copied the next five pages and a few of the diagrams.

“It’s a circle of protection,” she explained. She ran a gloved finger over the tight lines of text.

“To keep the book from being damaged?” I asked.

Her eyes scanned back and forth over the first page. “What state was this book in when you found it? How was it being kept?”

“I found it in a locked display case with the glass smashed in,” I said. I neglected to mention that I had been the one to smash the glass. I have a feeling from her raised eyebrow that I hadn’t needed to.

“If you’ve any formal training at all, you should be able to spot that this circle points in. It’s a good thing you cannot read Gilder. Most books can be read safely. Some will read you right back.”

I shivered. Yes, definitely should have taken better care of the book. “Why would you even want something like that?”

“Call it a preoccupation.” She turned another page. “The Golds made extensive study of the cults of the abyssal depths and the Bronze Wastes—or rather, the entities they worshiped. They well knew that to transcribe knowledge of a trans-dimensional thing was to transcribe part of the thing itself.” she tapped the page. “These creatures are the ultimate wayfinders, able to cross worlds as you or I might cross from one room into another. They are capable of things our minds cannot even conceive. Tell me, were there others in this case?”

“They’d all rotted away,” I said.

Her eyes fell. “Of course. That you found this at all is astounding. Pristine works of the Golds are rare enough. That you should find work of this subject in particular? Those in my circles have sought works like this for years, lad. Years.”

“Your circles?” I asked, wary.

“Dedicated collectors of lost lore. I’ve hired scouts and delvers on occasion, myself. But many of these works were lost, and even more were intentionally destroyed. History was destroyed! When I saw those pages you transcribed, I could scarce believe my eyes.”

“So, then, you want it? What’s the going rate for priceless elven works?”

She didn’t answer as she continued looking. I took that silence as a resounding yes. I waited for her to finish poring over the book and close it.

“I can write you a chit for fifty to take to the Kelier & Thorne branch bank on Cobble and Toplet.”

The dragons in my deck wanted more. The towers just wanted… gone, for some reason. The book, the library, and the librarian all put them on edge for some reason.

“Sixty, and I want a copy of the translation.”

Lady Pelladine looked as though she’d sucked on a lemon. Her eyes darted back and forth. “This is knowledge I don’t want leaving the repository, young master. The Golds kept it under glass and key for good reason. No copies.”

I noticed she didn’t mention the price. I edged my hand toward the book. “Then don’t let me walk out with this.” I made to take it, and she gasped and reached out. I stopped, having gotten my point across. “I’m sure there are other parties who are more amicable.”

“I don’t see why you’d want it anyway. Mmm…” she chewed on one of her nails, debating. “Perhaps… no. Mmm. You can view the translation, here, under supervision—strict supervision—once I’ve finished it. But I insist that you burn any additional pages you’ve copied. I don’t want this getting out.”

I took a chance. “Is that because this book has something to do with Margot Bethane?”

Lady Pelladine’s eyes nearly broke through her spectacles with how widely they bulged. She hissed. “I don’t want that name spoken in these halls!” she hissed. She looked about, as though someone might hear, and began to chew her fingernails again. She reached into her pocket, but drew it out empty, which seemed to agitate her even more. Strange woman. But she definitely knew this book wasn’t on the level. We weren’t so far removed from the fel witch’s reign of destruction that her name didn’t carry a power all its own. Not all of her underlings had taken the amnesty, after all, and most mages lived in at least a little fear of having a finger pointed at them. I imagine Lady Pelladine lived in a lot of fear, pretty much all the time. I felt a bit bad about swinging that fear like a cudgel at a fussy, but ultimately harmless, librarian. But not as bad as I’d feel missing out on those extra ten cunnings.

“Mum’s the word,” I said. I patted the book cover and pulled out the extra transcribed pages. “And I won’t tell anyone about this, either. I was never here, yeah?”

The royal arcanist began to calm down and nodded to herself. “Yes. That’s how these things often go. I shall contact you through the dwarf, once the translation is finished.”

“Or if you need me to acquire other rare finds,” I said. “I’ve a bit of a knack. And it seems there’s good coin in books.”

Pelladine smiled in a way she probably thought was conspiratorial—though it was better described as barely contained obsession. “Perhaps I could use you. There are one or two other volumes on my list that require a… softer touch.” She scribbled out a chit of withdrawal for her accounts—rich people never seem to carry money themselves. They never need it. Credit is enough. Watch me try to buy something on credit. I’d be introduced to the window, heels above head. Lady Pelladine spoke a soft word and her signet ring began to glow. She pressed it to the parchment, adding her credit to the chit.

I stuffed it into a pocket and offered a slight bow. “Ma’am,”

But out of eyesight, out of mind. The lady already had her nose buried in her notes in a manner not unlike myself. I shrugged and let myself out.