The sun rose again, fiercely warmer than yesterday. A sign of an incoming wave of heat which would undoubtedly be rapidly cooled down before the end of the week. And as the landscape uncovered itself under the radiant light of the day, the underworld kept its intimacy and own story hidden from the surface.

Without the sun’s presence, anyone would fail once or twice trying to guess if it was morning or evening or even midnight, as solely trusting their internal clock quickly proved to be too much of a subjective guess to give a valid answer. Instead, residents of the underworld tended to frequently update their clock through their personal pocket watch, the mechanical wonder holding more value than a passer-by’s guess on the matter.

Thanks to this little gadget, John was made aware that he missed the morning call by a few hours. It was already almost time for a midday meal, which was way later than the time at which the usual part-time worker would wake up to. However, the reason John wasn’t flustered by this situation was because it occurred way too often, and also because his line of work required some discretion one could only find under the discreet air of dusk. In short, it was too early for him to wake up now.

He wondered if he slept badly because of the bed, from the sweet company still slumbering next to him or the smell of this rotten place, but quickly recovered his senses when the scene from yesterday resurfaced in his mind.

“Oh right. The harpy. Need to find the Broker…”

Getting out of bed wasn’t the biggest issue, but one always had to go through its inventory to check if anything has gone missing while he slept like a log. Despite the apparent safety of the inn, anyone here was plenty aware of the ineffectiveness of a lock, even more when one resided in this unlawful place.

Fortunately, John wasn’t weighted with many personal belongings on himself: the bare minimum to travel from one civilized place to another less educated, a sufficient and almost weightless purse freshly emptied after a midnight stroll in the underworld to buy a couple of wine and woman. It only took a few hours for John to drown in drunkenness and the satisfaction of a female’s flesh, and also for his little amount of money to vanish. Left with only his eyes to cry, he made a mental note to withdraw a handful of coins before he would have to leave for the city.

Wearing his jacket, he left the room without forgetting anything behind and went downstairs. There, he found the place not as crowded as yesterday, only a few small groups of ruffians drinking and eating their share, filling themselves with some fuel to properly commit some wrongdoings on the surface later. The air didn’t seem too aggressive to John’s nose, perhaps the waitress recently cleaned the floor, and that would explain the lack of disorder through the tables and chairs.

Then, a door was suddenly opened in the back of the area, letting a pale frail man appear from the wooden frame. His stature seemed bizarre and his steps uncertain, his bald scalp was severely wrinkled from the many years he managed to survive. The long ages distorted his body to this pitiful state, drawing a tingle of compassion from the empathic onlookers, the ones unaware of the painful feeling tearing you from inside whenever this man stared at you with his fiery gaze. John, spotting the figure for afar, rapidly attempted to hide his presence from the senior.

“Well well… If it isn’t my favourite customer, John the Digger.”

As the attempt seemingly failed, John answered the old man with a smile as sincere as feasible.

“Heyyyy~, Smatch! You look as lively as ever!”

“Keep your fuckin’ flattery to yourself.”

Despite its appearance, Smatch displayed more vitality than what anyone could have expected. Grabbing a chair for himself, he sat at one of the table with the dignity of a contrabandist then snapped his fingers, it was a habit he ingrained inside the innkeeper’s beaten head to serve him a cup of water. Both the recipient and the drink were meagre, however the old man always preferred a cool and refreshing drink rather than those fancy alcohol which always dulled his focus in the end.

Under normal circumstances, John would have left the place as quickly as possible just like the others who were actually running away from here, however escaping was not a choice when Smatch started a chat with you, for the old man obviously had something to say and he highly despised people who ignored him.

“Say me, John. How long have you been ‘ere again?”

Whatever the subject was, it was in John’s best interest to answer truthfully. Searching through his memories spent in the underworld, he quickly summarized his time invested in his work here around a dozen of year maybe.

“Almost twelve years, or already twelve years?

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Well if you’ve been ‘ere for so long, you most certainly know one of the fundamental rule here.”

After downing his drink in one gulp, Smatch delicately put the cup on the table like he was holding a fragile work of glass. Then, he looked at him. With fire in his eyes, he gazed directly into John’s soul, piercing his skull with the malevolent strength of a thousand men.

“You all owe me this damned place. You, him, everyone here. You all can come and go and sell and buy your shits in this fuckin’ place because I’m here.

Without me, you’re nothing. Just a lump of dead meat squeaking around like idiots in the dark, until they come and gnaw your bones.

You hear me John? You all owe me this fuckin’ place! So pay me your fuckin’ due, will ya?!”

His back bending under the pressure, John helplessly covered his shivering body behind two frail arms, a meaningless barricade against the intense brazier emanating from the old man’s aura. This alarming feeling threatened him to let go of his legs, useless pieces of his still breathing corpse that held no value in front of the overwhelming. This sensation wasn’t new, yet it wasn’t one you could easily get used to.

Feeling the adrenaline rush in the heat of the moment was something, repeatedly facing death because of your job was merely a part of said job, something you have to get used to unless you want to eventually break. Feeling suspicious of the ruffians here was normal because anyone here could feel like knifing you out of envy. There was also the monsters outside, lurking in the darkness of the night and watching you from behind the trees. Those were recurrent occurrences that helped steel yourself to brave those dangerous days.

But this, no matter how many times he was confronted to this, John always… Failed -for a lack of a better term- to not crumble under those eyes. Those flames hidden inside the old man’s gaze were charring his usual confidence, reminding John he was only human against the ex-foe of monsters. Forget the monsters, who would sanely trust this man while fully knowing his supernatural abilities?

Many rumours orbited around Smatch, and most of them depicted him as a valiant, almost-suicidal fighter who eagerly battled on the frontlines whenever there was a monster who appeared asking for a beating. Alas, those compliments were only a way to describe him as a gruesome butcher depending on who he was siding with.

What could a moth accomplish, stuck between the famished creatures of darkness and the only fire who deigned pay attention to them?

Bask in its warmth, and pray it doesn’t start feeding on you.

“S-sure, I do! Of course. I… Luckily, I just got my hands on something which… I’m sure it’ll sell it for a lot, trust me on this!”

“It better fuckin’ do, because I won’t ask again for my coins. Next time I see you, you either bring me my coins, or I’ll push you myself down a demon’s throat. Understood?”

“Yes! I… I should go now. You know, to sell my things and…”

“You do that. Now scram.”

Finally freed from the discussion, John ran away with his tail between his legs, trying to disappear from Smatch’s sight as soon as possible.

Once outside the inn, John was back in the underworld. He must have appeared dumb or something from the looks of the many passer-by, someone might even be tempted to come closer and steal from him after a little bit of pressure, however, no one dared to act rashly as they more or less understood the reason why his face was so pale. It wasn’t because he drank too much, but because he honestly feared for his life. Connecting its strange behaviour to the guessable presence of the keeper of the underworld, they all went their way as if they saw nothing, while the one who did tried their best to erase this view from their head.

But taking a short rest here was out of question for he was still too close to him to allow any sort of peace of mind. Sprinting as if his life depended on the next few hours, John moved toward the cave’s entrance, which also served as an exit depending on the direction one came from. Once in front of the door, he quickly pulled on the handle and dashed inside, startling the sentry still attending his post.

“What the hell, dude?”

Despite the distance he put between him and Smatch, John still felt this unpleasant grip on his stomach. The feeling of fear, the dread of facing something which cannot be defeated. His back against the closed door, he did his best to convince himself that he was safe, for now. As long as he could get a few coins he would be fine.

Right, just a couple of coins, like the small stock he kept hidden in the city for example. Right, he could just go back, grab one small pouch and fill it with those dear coins before coming back and handing them to Smatch. That would definitely save him.

Now kind of regretting his overreaction, John could finally breathe without any mental constraint put on his ribcage.

“I said “what the hell”, so tell me what the hell happened.”

Now that everything was fine, John took one more breath before letting go of the door and answered the sentry with a voice still half-clinging to his throat.

“I met Smatch. He was angry.”

“Angry for what? He knew about the harpy?”

John shook his head.

“No, I don’t think he knows. He was only asking about my debt.”

“Well that’s because I told my colleagues who certainly told him about your usual habit to forget those kind of things.”

“The fuck you spread rumours about me?”

“Just pay your fuckin’ share before entering the underworld and everybody will be happy, dammit!”

From John’s perspective, he didn’t remember being late in his payment. It may had happen once or twice that he forgot to give his share, a couple of coins to allow him access in the underworld in short. Perhaps he forgot again and that would explain his situation, an unlucky coincidence where the sentry badmouthing him from behind certainly did not play in his favour.

Soundly grumbling, he went and grabbed a chair to sit at the table next to the man. It was a way to both appear calm and to catch his breath after the long run. Maybe out of compassion, he was served a cup of fresh water from the sentry. He grimaced while staring at the goblet, the recipient reminding him of the one Smatch was drinking from. Making the image vanish from his head, he drank a few gulps, silently thanking his mate without a word.

“So, what now? You’re good to go?”

“Right, I need to find that Broker… Any name or hint you can give me before I leave?”

“It’s not complicated, you just have to…”