"You..." he hissed. A dejected sigh. The gun went down. He waved her into his flat, and she followed. As he closed the door behind her, he continued muttering: "Of course you'd show up. It was only a matter of time. I'll have to disappoint you, I don't know shit about the incident. Just that my cousin's dead and the Hashems probably did it."
Krahe was more than familiar with people she knew personally meeting unfortunate ends. Even without the hazard factor of associating with her, abrupt and unceremonious death was a part of life in Megacity Gamma. But... Such an incident struck a bit differently without the relative amelioration of a world where it was the norm. It was a familiar feeling. A numb pressure in her chest, spreading like a parasite unfurling its tendrils, burning and seething, gripping her stomach. A faint shiver went down her back and murder flared behind her eyes.
Before she could say anything, Garvesh noticed her brief dissociative stare into the middle-distance, realizing the truth.
“Hol’ on, you didn’t know? Why’re you here, then?”
“I…” she started, then took a moment to collect herself, blinking a few times and sighing. “I need these.”
She handed over a paper listing several reagents and materials for the Rite of Dho-Hna.
“Occultism, huh? Some of these are a bit out there, stuff from the Beyond Frontier, but I can source that. There’s just one problem, I’m a bit shook up what with the incident…”
“You don’t have to leverage me. I was already planning on finding out whoever is behind this… And then who is behind them.”
“You’d better. I won’t blame you for anything, but it couldn’t be more obvious that this whole mess is some brainfuck with too much influence trying to take revenge for what you and Casus did at Slaughterhouse Nine. I gotta wonder though, why’d you decide to do it of your own volition? Y’liked Imraal’s street food that much?”
“I’ll tell you. Mind if I take a seat?”
“Sure. Want… Well, I’d offer you coffee, but I don’t have any. You ever have homemade Machine Crab Juice?”
“I’ve had it a few times, but only from a street cart,” she said, curiously looking around as she made her way to sit down.
“Yeah, I know that guy. Mine’s better, at least I’d like to think so!” the lizard returned, having already disappeared to his kitchen. Krahe heard pouring, and mixing, and chopping and grinding.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
A few minutes later, Garvesh returned with two bulbous glasses that at first looked like ornamental, coloured, glass, but Krahe felt a faint magical aura from them, and they felt heavier than they should’ve been. This version of the drink was purplish rather than blue, and tasted of banana and ekarone, though it was a different kind of banana than she was used to. Overall, she found it to be sweeter and somewhat stronger than the alternative, and undeniably better, but better in the way that something made by hand on the spot was better than something bought for cheap from a street cart.
After drinking one-third of her glass, Krahe explained herself: “Imraal wasn’t the only one they came after. I almost got turned into mincemeat, myself. Someone shot a thaumshot through the warded, solid thaumstone window of a church safehouse. If I remember correctly, it was… A bladestorm-type. It came from a rooftop around two-hundred meters away. So… If you’ve got any leads, I would appreciate those, and if you want to pay me for this in some way, feel free. For starters, besides those ingredients, I’m looking for a very special kind of voidkey.”
“Even more special than the Twin Serpents?” Garvesh smirked. The expression vanished nearly instantly.
“C’mon. It’s a Third-order key. It’s not that special. But that’s not what I mean. A Fourth-order key would be nice, but what I want is a Gulf Key.”
“So instead of something hard to get due to restrictions and hoarding you’re looking for something that’s hard to get for those same reasons… Plus sheer obscurity.”
“More or less.”
“I’ll look into it. No promises. As for the occultism supplies, I’ll have them within a week. I’ll even throw in some Red Reapers and a howdah pistol for when you get your eidolons, just something to get you started. No charge, so long as you promise to get even for Imraal. His place is on lockdown, you won’t get in there on the down-low, but… I knew what had happened the moment it did, so I was able to take a look around before the lawmen arrived. He had a Bloody Reaper that I’d given him, so I knew he was in deep shit the moment it went off and burned out one of my eidolons.”
He took out a yellow talisman paper, curled inward and charred at the edges.
“Here. There was a shell of these things there in the shape of half a man, I’ll bet a horn that it was some kinda protective artifact. It grieves me knowing that the filthy rat probably crawled away to live another day, but hopefully the tail he left behind will lead the cat to his burrow. Wait here for a touch, I’ll bring the gun and bullets.”
With that, he stomped off.
She finished another third of her drink in the time he was gone. The pistol was a chunky, crude thing with two triggers and barrels twice the diameter of her Pattner.
“Finish the drink and leave. I wish to be alone. And close the door on the way out,” he said, taking his glass and leaving to another room.
----------------------------------------
For the next two weeks and four days, Krahe balanced obsessive study against obsessive investigation. Like a lascivious rumour, she made her way all across the city, from reputable markets to small agencies and seedy bars and everywhere in-between, and much like a rumour, she took a different form each time. A different hairstyle, a different coat, a jacket or other top, different trousers and footwear, skirts and heels on a few occasions. On two occasions, she even used a wig. None of this was cheap by any means, but that wasn’t a problem; a small wardrobe of disguises didn’t make too much of a dent in the funds she received for the Slaughterhouse 9 incident.