The first thing I noticed was that the other person was surprisingly human—not entirely human of course, with a face that looked more like a frog. Broad flabby face with no visible neck, wide and thick lips, bulging eyes, one staring off to the side while the other was fixed on me. A long, thick tongue hanging half out their mouth. Besides that he looked human though. A very bulky human who looked almost as wide as he was tall, taking up almost the entire door.

That wasn’t what I should be focusing on. My eyes flicked down to what was in his right hand—a cleaver—broad, thick at the back but with a definite edge on the front, and streaked with dried green fluid. Something’s blood, I was sure.

Their other hand held a sack from which a two-headed fish seemed to peer at me over the top.

Silence stretched out until he released the sack. It fell against the wooden floor with a heavy thud. The plank shuddered, cracking as it splintered under the weight. How many fish were in there?

He continued to eye me, but didn’t say anything. It looked like it was up to me to start this conversation.

“Hello—” Then I rushed them

My knife was at the ready, to give this stranger tetanus if nothing else. If I could I’d make a break outside but not until he was handled. I didn’t want to kill them, but I also didn’t favor my chances of getting past them and out the door. At least not without a cleaver buried in my back.

Not that this is safer, I thought. The cleaver moved quickly, already on a collision course with my head.

I halted, pulling back just before the cleaver passed through the air. A half second later and it would have been through my head—much quicker than I thought he could move.

He was moving towards me now. I backed up, putting the table between the two of us. It wasn’t much of a barrier, but it would have to work for now. He kept to the side towards the door. No slipping past and making it there.

The table’s effectiveness as a barrier wasn’t much. It was only a few feet long. The stranger lunged forward, cleaver slicing once again. I backed up and hit the wall, and once again the cleaver barely missed me. The lack of room in here was favoring them, not me.

The stranger pushed against the table, the legs scraping against the floor as he tried once again. Same angle, same arc, which meant an opportunity. I grabbed their wrist with one hand, just to slow their arm down enough. I drove the knife into the inside of their elbow, the rusty blade piercing through cloth and into the skin beneath.

The knife wasn’t long but it was enough, and I could feel the blood spurting out. He roared in pain, but to my dismay did not drop the cleaver. He pulled their arm back. I let go of their wrist and pulled the knife out—it was either that or being pulled along with it.

He stared at me with hatred in their eyes. All I’d achieved was pissing them off. Great.

I needed to do something to change the situation. As things stood, I doubted my little knife would act as much of a deterrent if he just charged me. I’d have to do something to change that.

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to let me pass?” I ventured. I was mostly hoping to keep them distracted while I tried to think of something else. He had the reach, the better weapon, the room was tiny, what did I have?

“You stabbed me,” the stranger growled. I couldn’t tell if he had an accent or if it was just the way he was saying the words, but it sounded off. Also, despite the guttural nature, it was pretty even in terms of pitch.

“And I woke up tied to a table, which I’m pretty sure I’m not into. Both of us have hurt the other, some more than others, so back to letting me pass...” I said. I wasn’t entirely sure but I was leaning towards no. Both of them let me pass and my inclinations.

“Not going to happen. And I wasn’t the one who tied you to the table to begin with. Now, put the knife down. I have no wish to get tetanus restraining you.” Their eyes remained locked on my hand with the knife, to my annoyance. I tried to reach for the table only for their gaze to dart there instead. He wasn't that easily distracted.

“Put the cleaver down first, and then maybe I’ll put the knife down,” I eyed the cleaver, then the door behind them. Okay, it would be painful, but could I take a blow in return for getting out? I’d taken quite a few blows getting here. What would be one more?

Then again, I doubted I’d get as far. And I’d been little more than a cripple when I hit that water.

“That’s fine. I’m quite confident that even with us both disarmed, I can handle you. No eye-gouging though, it’s a pain to get fixed.”

I…was pretty sure it wasn’t that easy to fix a gouged eye. I didn’t ask why, questions like that would be for less tense situations.

I dropped the knife. I was already regretting that, and the cleaver did not in fact drop. The stranger gave me a grin showing off rows of needle-like teeth, but then he set their own blade down on a stool.

“Well, we are both now relatively less dangerous. I don’t suppose I can get you back on the table?”

“Not likely,” I replied. “I can think of a lot of different reasons you might have me tied up in a table. None of them are good.”

The grin on their face turned a touch nervous. “Truth be told, Sofi said you once threatened to flay whoever down here screwed up your laundry a couple of weeks back.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

What. Great, not only was I someone who killed people then stuck the bodies in suitcases, apparently I also threatened people over laundry.

“I…okay, did not expect to hear that,” I muttered. “Uh, how to put this, I woke up, maybe twenty four hours or so ago, I couldn’t keep track, with no memories.”

The stranger mulled that over for a bit before giving me an incredulous look. “Is that some kind of joke?”

“If it’s a joke, it’s a joke being pulled on me.” I said “I swear to g-“

“Do not say that!” he interjected.

My mouth shut reflexively at the harsh, desperate tone. The stranger had their gaze turned skyward, hand halfway to the cleaver.

“Do you want to bring her attention down on us? What are you, stupid?” he hissed.

“I have no memories to tell what is stupid or not. All I have are vague memories of Earth, most of them popping in at random times,” I shot back angrily.

It made some kind of mistake but I was getting a little tired of all the unearned hostility. Unearned by me at least. This Suitcase Killer seemed excellent at collecting it.

“Earth? You’re not from Earth. You’re from a House, a low one admittedly, but still a damn House.” he said.

“That. Means. Nothing. To me,” I angrily snarled, then resisted the urge to add an insult to the end. I wanted to de-escalate this but was only making it worse. I needed to control my tongue.

“You were born in the City. Which is not on Earth. Most people here haven’t even heard of Earth, but when I was working as a shadowfisher, one of my coworkers came from there. She’s dead now. Well, as dead as you can get.”

Again with the words that meant nothing to me. Shadowfisher? As dead as you can get?

“Look, I am being completely honest. I don’t know this place, I don’t know who I am. My earliest memory is waking up in a bathtub filled with ice, fully clothed, and everything since then has been miserable experience to miserable experience, culminating in me waking up on that table and deciding not to wait around to be cashed in for free rent.”

He frowned “That was not the plan. We wouldn’t get anything from turning you in anyway.”

“You…you’re not turning me into the Night Manager?”

“No. As far as I know, Sofi wants to talk with you, then we decide what to do. And making our erstwhile boss’ life easier is very far down on that list.”

I didn’t respond immediately, thinking. The fact that I wasn’t being turned in to the Night Manager didn’t automatically make this person my friend. But it didn’t make them my enemies either.

“I’m… sorry about attacking you earlier,” I said sheepishly. “I just woke up tied up and panicked. When you came in, I thought it was you or me.”

“Can’t really blame you, but this is going to be a pain to get fixed up,” The stranger examined their elbow before shaking their head. “But we can let bygones be bygones. Make things easier for all involved, if it means you’ll come along willingly.”

I didn’t really have much of a choice beforehand, but it was nice to be offered one at least.

“First things first,” I paused as a song decided to insert itself into my head at that. For fucks sake, what was wrong with me? Even worse it was an irritating ear worm as well. And who was Iggy Azalea?

“Are you having a stroke?”

That jolted me out of what was hopefully a quickly forgotten song. “Sorry. What should I call you?”

“I go by Ildat. I am guessing you don’t want to be called the Suitcase Killer?”

“Indigo will work for now.” I relaxed a smidge. Not much. But more than I had so far in this place.

***

We both stepped out of the wooden hut and right into mud. Cursing, I pulled my boot-clad foot out of the mud as rain fell down from above, turning the ground in front of us into a mire.

“Yeah, wastewater is being dumped,” Ildat said, carefully stepping onto a wooden plank.

Looking around, I could see that there were shacks all around made of wood, sheet metal, or other materials. A small track of wooden planks and dirt meandered in between them. With the downpour it was swiftly becoming a small stream bridged by wooden planks. Brilliant.

I looked up, blinked a few times as fat drops of rain splattered across my face. I knew this had to be a cavern, I had fallen from the top of it, but all I could see was the darkness at the edge of the light.

It was moving against the light. Because of course it was.

“What is going on with the darkness?” I asked Ildat, who looked up at it then back to me.

“You are joking, right?”

“No memories,” I repeated. “You know what, let’s save it for after I meet with Sofi. Who is she anyway?”

“Top of the hill,” he pointed up. It was hard to tell, shacks and other, taller structures in the way, but the path was clearly slanted. It was a slight angle at first, growing steeper the further it went. Looking the other way gave a view of more shacks continuing down below.

There was a waterline, I could see warehouses down there, ships, docks. We were on the side of a hill it looked like. I could see people moving about even in this weather, raincoats moving down below. Hundreds, easily, and those were just those I could see down by the waterline, moving among the docked vessels. Others moved in and out of the warehouses, carrying bundles of something.

A ship pulled in, a strange monstrosity of iron and wood. I called it a ship but it looked more like a shellfish pulling into the docks. Hatches opened on the side as raincoat-wearing crew rushed out carrying more bundles. It was just one ship of easily a dozen pulling into the docks.

This place was massive, there must be hundreds living and operating here easily. A small town and port, just to service the hotel?

Intercoms crackled to life from somewhere above us around us and I tensed, but the voice that came out wasn’t the Night Manager’s. It was a woman, younger than the Night Manager and with more life to it.

“Good evening employees. Unfortunately, we appear to be falling behind on quota’s once again and pay has been suspended till they are made up. Food will still be made available but all other services are suspended till current deficits in fish and salt are made up by the respective departments. In addition, floors 84 through 97 are still lacking laundry from five days ago. Prioritize that over floors 100 through 112, they are currently undergoing refurbishment. I’ll see about getting services back on regardless. Consider our current rain issue a reminder from on high about how they can make things worse. Keep up the good work.”

The intercoms turned off, leaving nothing but the sound of rain, then the sound of clattering wood. People in raincoats were navigating across the planks a little ways down, coming up carrying a coffin of some kind. Ildat pulled at me lightly and I went back inside the shack.

“Let them pass first,” he said reverently.

“Someone who actually is dead?” I asked.

“Maybe. The lake gives up the newborn sometimes. Travelers and spawn alike.” Ildat replied.

“I’m going to get a straight answer somewhere here, I swear,” I muttered.

Ildat chuckled. “We should get walking once they’ve passed then. You’ve heard of the Night Manager. Now it’s time to meet the Underneath Manager.”