The true nature of the Underworld remained a mystery to this very day. Some theorized that it was a network of natural underground tunnels, located far beneath the city. Others claimed it was an alternate dimension, and that's why it could only be reached by the Katabasii. A third group postulated that it was an imaginary space, formed by the wishes and needs of the villains. A surprising number of people were certain that it was Damnation itself, reaching into the city to test the faithful and claim the souls of sinners.

In the end, it didn't truly matter. What made the Underworld special was not its origins or location, but rather the ability to shroud itself and its denizens from any paranatural senses – something utterly indispensable when faced with precognitives and clairvoyants of the increasingly hero-dominated law enforcement. It was here that King gathered the worst of the villains and the best of the heroes for the first and only Nadir in Dreadward's history. It was here that the foundations of the Great Game were set, outlining the unwritten rules of engagement between the capes of above and the cloaks of below.

It was here that the villains turned from a criminal underclass into a nation of their own.

***

As we emerged from the Katabasis, Blythe took a look back and did a double take.

“A coffin,” he said flatly, looking at the door shape. “Seriously?”

I smirked.

“Did you think the folks above were the only ones making jokes about Underworld being the afterlife? Believe me, the locals have their own sense of humor.”

“I'm not sure I want to know,” he murmured.

“Your loss,” I shrugged.

Duat was the third largest of Underworld's cthons. Though not the most powerful or the most populous, Duat was generally considered the best one for conducting business, as it was both reasonably stable and open to people from all walks of life – as long as they had the money to pay, at least.

Katabasis' exit point was situated on the 8th sublevel of the Grand Pyramid. The level was a transitional one. Though lacking in places of leisure and entertainment, it possessed a variety of passageways to both upper and lower levels, as well as ones to the other, smaller pyramids that composed the entirety of the Duat cthon. Unlike the pyramids of ancient Egypt, which reached toward the sun with their peaks, the structures of Duat faced downwards, as though seeking to escape its light. The uppermost seven floors were the ones open to the public, filled with restaurants, theatres, gambling halls and a multitude of other ways for the rich to pass their time. It was where all the business actually happened.

I turned downwards.

“So, now that we are here, do I get to know who our mysterious buyer is?” Blythe questioned, finally resigned to his fate. “Or do you intend on persisting with those tiresome cloak and dagger games?”

“Being a cloak myself,” I grinned, “can I truly do any less?”

There was actually a degree of distinction between the term 'cloak' and a more informal 'villain', but I belonged to both categories, and most people never knew the difference anyway.

Blythe rolled his eyes.

“That joke was old in my time,” he said dryly.

I snorted.

“Marchioness Ma'at,” I replied, growing serious. “Wife to Marquis of the same name – and the one most likely to succeed the current Duke.”

Doctor Blythe blinked.

“Marchioness? Duke? I thought the Underworld was ruled by King?”

“It's... a bit more complicated than that,” I turned my head and ended up stumbling into a passerby.

He glared at me. I raised my hands, backing off.

Connection established.

“If King tells you to do something, you do it, and everybody follows his rules, but otherwise he's pretty laissez-faire. The number of times he'd interfered in local politics can probably be counted on one hand, and I doubt even a tenth of the Underworld's villains have actually met him. No, the actual power is held by a group of cowled that call themselves Dukes, following King's lead. They control the nineteen cthons of the Underworld. Well,” I amended, “as much as you can control anything in this semi-anarchistic Wild West of murder cloaks.”

We descended down the stairs, and I noticed one of the servants – young, female and pretty, as was the norm for such places – struggle with her load. Sharing a shoulder bump and a small smile, I picked up several boxes and helped her carry them to her destination a few rooms down the corridor.

Connection established.

“The Underworld is a big place, though,” I continued, “and controlling a cthon is no small task. Dukes needed a small circle of trusted allies – rich, powerful or influential – to do so, and those people eventually came to be known as Marquises. Each of them is formidable enough to attract the attention of one of the Underworld's rulers, and they can call in a number of similarly capable allies, so it goes without saying that you should be polite, respectful and courteous when we meet the Marchioness.”

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“Noted,” Blythe muttered.

“Oh, and I suppose I should also mention the Barons,” I added absent-mindedly, brushing by a mechanic tinkering with a vat of construction nanites.

Connection established.

“This title is reserved exclusively for the cowled, and only the ones that do not serve any of the Dukes or Marquises. They're dangerous enough to deserve a distinct ranking and powerful enough to rebuff any attempts to recruit them. Fortunately, most are also content to be left alone, so you can avoid them entirely, if you're careful. In short, you see a Duke or a Marquis, bow and run out of the way. See a Baron? Run out of the way and keep running. Got it?”

Blythe nodded, a little pale.

“Got it. Anything else I need to know?”

I let out an amused exhale.

“Too much to speak of right now,” I turned around the corner and strode into a small eatery, hidden behind a narrow, unmarked tunnel. I smiled at the barista and passed her the receipt.

“Are we meeting the Marchioness here?” Blythe asked, looking around uncertainly. Though the cafe was clean and tastefully decorated, it was also small and fairly cheap. Hardly the place to meet with nobility.

I shook my head, and accepted the pre-ordered set of two large coffees and a pack of raspberry scones, smiling at the barista. We parted without a single word.

“No. It's not for her.”

We descended another level down, where I paused and looked at my Rig's watch, counting down the seconds. Fifteen... Ten... Five... Three, two, one...

I rushed down the staircase, bumping into the two men that just emerged from the elevator.

“Hey, watch where you're... Carnival?”

“Roman! Charlie!” I gestured with my arms. “What a coincidence!”

Charlie was a big man, tall and broad, and his penchant for frowning often made him seem angrier than he really was. Roman was thinner and shorter, but he compensated for that by always carrying somewhere between three and five knives on his person, ones he was all too willing to whip out when faced with a fight. Both wore the usual green and white uniform of Grand Pyramid Security, complete with spiked maces and silver masks on their belts.

“Uh-uh,” Roman drawled out in disbelief. “Coincidence. That's why you're carrying two untouched cups of coffee and a bag of something teeth-rottingly sugary. You're trying to bribe us, again, aren't you?”

I fell to one knee, clasping my free arm to my chest.

“You wound me, good sir! Truly! I have only the most honorable of intentions.”

Charlie snorted, looking somewhat like a bull faced with a red cloth. Had I known him any less, I would have presumed him to be enraged rather than amused.

“Begone, demon!” he growled. “Your temptations hold no sway over me!”

I partly opened the pack of scones and waved it through the air.

“Are you sure? Smell the temptation... Feel it eroding your will, as water erodes the mighty mountain... You can almost feel the sweet taste of surrender...”

All three of us burst into laughter together.

The fall of Steele's regime left something of a vacuum at the top of the power chain, one the Big Eight were all too happy to take advantage of – especially since the heroes tended to focus on more blue-collar crime. Left with little to no oversight, the corporations grew almost hilariously corrupt, and bribing the bureaucrats was seen as an expected and borderline legal course of action. Many newcomers, upon first descending into the Underworld, expected it to function under the same rules. Their faces were always good for a laugh whenever I was feeling down.

After all, the temptation of taking bribes lessened significantly, when you knew that your boss can and will string you up by your toes over an alligator pit if he finds out.

“Here,” I stood up, holding out the treats. “I know how much the night shift sucks without some caffeine.”

Both guards grabbed them without a second thought.

Connections established.

“You still up for this Sunday?” Charlie grunted.

“Beer, fish and chips with the guys? How could I possibly miss out on that?” I laughed. “Say hello to the missus!”

We exchanged friendly farewells, and I turned back, moving toward the upper floors.

“Is this really the time to catch up with your friends?” Blythe asked disapprovingly. “We don't want to keep the Marchioness waiting.”

“We won't,” I replied easily. “She always arrives on the dot, and we still have fifteen minutes until the designated time. Besides, keeping in contact with the boots on the ground is never a waste of time.”

“Did you really try to bribe them?” he asked after a moment's pause.

I laughed again.

“No, no. I don't believe in bribery. It's risky, inefficient and gives the bribed a false sense of power over you. No, I don't bribe people. I position myself as one of the guys. I reach out to the individuals behind the uniform, eat lunch together, swap funny stories and trade advice, get to know the family. Occasionally grant a minor favor to make them feel indebted. A little effort goes a long way.”

Blythe's face was unreadable.

“You're a terrifying man, Carnival.”

“Really?” I shrugged. “I've always considered myself rather... affable.”

***

In the end, my calculations were correct. We arrived at the Pool of Thoth exactly five minutes before the appointment.

It was a posh, if understated restaurant built over a subterranean lake. Decorated with green and blue lanterns, warm wooden furniture and accompanied by soft flute music, it was a quiet, dignified place, more fit for romantic rendezvous or relaxed contemplation of the universe than cutthroat business dealings.

I've actually had the time to order some light appetizers before I heard the tap-tap of my associate's distinct footwear. I checked the clock.

Eleven pm, to the second.

“Marchioness,” I stood up to kiss her hand. “Punctual as always.”

The stage was set.