“You said you're a Runemage?” The guy glancing back as we went up the stone staircase. Already regretting telling him that. “Not too many of those, but we have one of the most senior in the entire city. If anyone knows where to look, it'll be her.”
“What's her name?”
“Doria Matheson.”
Matheson? Presumably that Matheson, from the first expedition. Been here since the start with Shaker and the rest. She should be very adept, even if she only halfway applied herself. Going to need to be careful, not sure what Runemages can even do.
“I look forward to meeting her.”
Up ahead the stone staircase changing, turning into a spindly wooden structure that kept going upward. A hole in the ceiling giving way to an entirely open atrium and the outside walls completely see though on this side. From the outside they looked like solid stone. The second story of the Mage Tower: a cafeteria and kitchen on one side, and on the other an open area with chairs and couches and tables. The floor and ceiling looking like light colored wooden slats. Members of House Mink lounging, or reading, or eating, or chatting with each other throughout the entire area.
Continuing further upward into the third story and the scenery changing. The wooden floorboards on the stairs now covered in dark red carpet, muffling our footsteps. The spindly wooden handrail also changing to a reddish hue and becoming more solid. The walls surrounding us red brick. A doorway appearing, but continuing past, climbing upward. The fourth story floor a soft moss, the handrails knotted tree roots, the walls hedges. Another door. Another door passed by. Continuing to climb. The fifth story back to carpet, covered in designs and patterns and swirls. The handrail smooth metal, the walls oak. Another door.
“This should be it,” he says.
The corridor filled with that same swirling carpet and lit by soft, yellow light. A series of metal placards on the wall with a name printed on each one. Individual mailboxes. My guide looking at the placards and putting a finger to one. Matheson.
“Here she is. Sorry about the climb. I'm used to it because I'm one of the low men on the totem pole. They put me on door duty once every few cycles.”
“You've been great, couldn't have gotten here without you.” Smiling at him.
This place would be extremely difficult to hit. Getting in the door itself is a challenge, and then seemingly only one way up and down. Even if Matheson doesn't know anything this tour's been instructive enough.
“She should be right down here,” he says, beckoning with his hand, “c'mon.”
Walking down the hallway past several doors in what seemed like a circular pattern. Getting to one, no markings or indications of any kind. My guide rapping on the door. Pausing. And again. Waiting a bit.
A lock opening and then the door. A middle aged woman's face poking out.
“Oh, hello.” Looking at him, and then at me, in curiosity. “Is there something you need?”
“Hi, Ms. Matheson. I'm sorry to bother you, but this girl, um...” Probably wants to know my name. Lucilia. Too formal.
“Lucy.”
“Yes. Lucy just got in and she says that she's a Runemage.”
“Is she?” After a few moments of studying me, Matheson's eyes warming. “Come in.” The door opening the entire way. “Thank you. I'll send her back down. You don't need to wait around.”
Her living room messy, haphazardly filled with books. Some stacked in piles, some open on tables and couches, some strewn in corners. A cat skittering across the floor, two more perched on a couch and another peering at me from across the way. A familiar sweetish smell, not fresh but deeply ingrained, permeating the room.
“I'm sorry about the mess,” Matheson says, “but it's fortunate you came along. In here.”
Her parlor, by contrast, immaculate. Two other middle aged women sitting at a table, drinking tea and eating finger foods. One of them familiar, Avery, a Wizard, also from the first expedition and in the leadership of House Mink. The other, unknown name, unknown class, but probably also from the first expedition.
One wrong move and they'll flay me alive.
“I've found a replacement,” Matheson announcing, the two women turning in their chairs to see who.
“What did you find?” Avery letting loose a peel of boisterous laughter at first sight of me. “Welcome, I love your sense of style.”
The other woman giving a polite hello.
“As you can see,” says Matheson, then momentarily pausing, “what was your name again, dear?”
“Lucy.”
At the name, the other woman sort of cocking her head a bit.
“Lucy here just arrived in town,” says Matheson, “and since Heather couldn't make it, she's more than happy to take her spot. So, please, take a seat. Here's some tea. There we go. And some food.”
Haven't eaten since breakfast, these things are great. The tea's not bad, either. Politely declining the sugar and milk.
Avery offering me her hand, “I'm Melissa. Best reception you've had in months, right?” Nodding affirmatively, still mainly focusing on devouring the food.
The other woman doing the same, “Paula. Welcome.” Nodding again.
Matheson starting to deal out a deck of cards onto the table.
“So what are we doing today,” says Avery, “Bridge again?”
“Maybe too complicated,” says Paula. “How about Hearts?
“Hearts'll be fine,” says Avery, then to me. “You know how to play?”
“I love Hearts, I'm an expert.”
“Big talk.” Avery laughing.
First game. Avery:3, Me:4, Paula:4, Matheson:15
“So what are you doing hanging out with a bunch of old ladies?” says Avery.
“It's a rumor, but I heard Doria was the best Runemage in the city. I came seeking her advice.”
“That is probably true,” says Paula.
Matheson blushing, but making no comment.
Second game. Paula:5, Me:13, Avery:16, Matheson:18
“A Runemage, huh?” says Avery, “Definitely not common, especially with what they send out here now. You want Doria to give you some pointers?”
“I wouldn't want to impose. I was just wondering if she knew where her master went, if he's still here in town. Do you know?”
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“Of course,” says Matheson, “I visit him every few cycles to chat. He's a sweet man.”
Third game. Paula:8, Me:14, Matheson:24, Avery:32
“This is what I was talking about before it happened,” says Avery. “This girl is the perfect example of things we didn't think about sliding through the cracks.”
“I'll speak to Harold,” says Paula, “You may have been right. It mostly turned out okay, but clearly there are some things that still need to be tweaked. It's still fixable.”
“What, exactly, were you all of you hoping to accomplish doing it in the first place?”
Fourth game. Paula:10, Me:17, Avery:33, Matheson:44
“...at least, that was the intention,” says Avery. “And, as far as it goes, more people have been coming together since then. Here, at Mink, and everywhere. House Koln, for instance, is a great example. They were new, and located outside the city, so they were having quite a bit of difficulty recruiting. They're in a much better situation now.”
“Was House Koln pushing for it, as well?”
“Oh my, yes. They were very vocal about it.”
Fifth game. Paula:12, Me:30, Avery:39, Matheson:49.
“You seem like you've got good head on your shoulders,” says Paula. “It's nice to see people like that are still coming here. You remind me of someone, what's your last name?”
Fuck. Lie or not? Ninety nine percent chance she's not an Augur. Or, more accurately, closer to ninety seven percent chance. Still, not worth the risk.
“Macarthy.”
“Macarthy?” Avery bursting out laughing. “Got to be a coincidence, nice girl like you. You're not related to him, right?”
That's the trouble with being a household name.
“Who?”
“Oh, that's great.” Avery still laughing.
Sixth game. Paula:15, Avery: 39, Me:43, Matheson:59
“The man's a thug,” says Paula, “Doria, don't you have that story about what he did to you?”
“Yes,” says Matheson, “so a couple years back...”
Seventh game. Paula:28, Avery:40, Me:45, Matheson:69
“...so, anyway, I found what I was looking for and I start heading back to the city,” says Matheson, “and this thing that shouldn't have been in that area shows up and starts chasing me. So I'm running away, and I'm yelling for help, but it's catching up and I don't know what to do. So then this guy comes out of nowhere and stops it. My savior, I thought. But then I see i'ts Macarthy. He turns around and sticks his bloody knife in my face and demands everything I've got. Robs me right there.”
Can't hold back my laughter and the rest of the table joining in. That happened on a few occasions but didn't realize she'd been one of them.
“Sounds like he saved you, what's so bad about this guy?”
Eighth game. Could have it, going to try. Me:45, Paula:54, Avery:66, Matheson:95
“Definitely an expert at this,” says Avery. “Anyway, so part of the reason you had to come over here to talk to Doria is because of Macarthy, at least indirectly.”
Always suspected, lets hear you admit it. “Why do you say that?”
“Well,” she says, “he was also a factor in doing what we chose to do. Not a major part of it, by himself, but definitely a factor. He was near the top in one of the guilds, an entire organization of thieves and hooligans. A particularly rotten piece of refuse in a larger pile. Happily, we used the opportunity to get them all cleaned up. A number of them have since been pointed in more productive directions.”
Ninth game: Paula:54, Me:58, Avery:68, Matheson:106.
“So the problem with Macarthy,” says Avery, “I mean, aside from everything else, is that now the guy's completely flipped his lid. He's nuts. Rather than reforming like a bunch of his confederates did, a couple months back he murdered a bunch of people right here in town. You know Penny, over at Haven? She saw the aftermath of it. Carnage. It's a good thing he's locked away right now.”
Paula looking at Avery and opening her mouth, but then not saying anything.
“Think he'll learn his lesson in jail?”
“Him? Nah, he's probably stewing and plotting,” says Avery. “Leopard can't change its spots.”
***
The walk back from House Mink a blur. Avery's confession igniting my blood with a burning venom. Leaving Matheson's apartment. Down the hallway and then around and around on the spiral staircase, going from flowing designs to greens to reds, the open room filled with squatters and then down to the dungeon. My guide saying something to me, smiling a friendly smile, but whatever it is irrelevant, unimportant. Completely and utterly insignificant. Blowing by and then out the door.
They had planned it. They'd planned it all from the start. Years of effort stolen away in a single night. Purposefully, deliberately. Not some quirk of fate or simple bad luck. All my worst paranoid fears confirmed. Looking down at my small, feminine hands. Was this also part of their plan? Couldn't contain me, so neutralize me. Try and steal me away entirely. Try to, at least.
Getting back to the town square and attempting to tamp down my spiraling emotions. Buying some food from a vendor and choking it down while crossing the square. Reentering the town hall and giving the woman the response.
“Okay,” she says. “Looks good. Take this stub to that counter over there to get your payment.”
Walking over to the counter and submitting the piece of paper. The clerk looking at the stub and placing a single silver coin on the counter.
“What's this?”
“Your payment,” says the payment counter clerk, a nondescript bureaucrat drawn directly out the ether which spawned bureaucrats, functionaries and all other manner of ugly things.
“Where's the rest? It was supposed to be fifteen silver.”
“The remainder has been applied to your debt,” he says. “I've been authorized to give out ten percent of the payment, but the rest has been applied to what you owe.”
My debt. Feelings of panic starting overwhelm. “What debt, how much do I owe?”
The clerk giving me glare, but then starting to thumb through a ledger sitting on his desk. “After your payment of fourteen silver,” he says, “your current debt stands at three thousand nine hundred eighty six silver.”
Leaning against the counter in shock. Three thousand nine hundred, no, four thousand. How? “I'm sorry, but you have me at a loss. How did, I mean, what could possibly have, I mean, surely there's some sort of mistake.”
“No mistake, it's all right here,” he says. “You've never, not once, paid your yearly citizenship fee since you first arrived. Five hundred a year. You're beyond delinquent.”
The yearly fee? Four thousand. Eight years. That shouldn't be possible. No way. This is an inactive character. Inactive. What was that supposed to mean, but what else could it have meant? Eight years. That simply shouldn't be possible. Eight years means this girl had been on the Bonneville. My seething anger taking a sickly turn, threatening to expel the tea and food. My vision starting to get blurry. Grave robber. Worse. Clenching the girl's suddenly clammy hands. Is there even a word to describe someone who'd done something so awful? Parading this poor girl's corpse around, without a thought, without a care. Monster. Oh God.
Tears running down my cheeks and bringing a hand up to try and stop the flow.
The clerk completely surprised, baffled, then getting a guilty look. “I'm sorry,” he says. “I'm sorry, don't cry.” Opening up the drawer and getting some coins. “Here, you can have the rest, I won't apply them to the debt.” Putting them in my hand.
Wiping my face and trying to regain some semblance of control. Have to know. Know already. Have to know for sure. Walking blindly through the town hall and the woman at the reception startling, watching me walk out the door. Heading south to the park, tromping around and checking. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Sitting on a bench and putting my head in my hands.
“I can't. I thought I knew how things were around here but I don't know anything, do I? This has been a really fucked up day. Been trying to push though but it's really fucked up.”
Looking around the small park. Green grass, flowers, shaded paths.
“You were here, eight years ago, weren't you? You were, what, twelve years old? Playing here in this park.”
Looking down at my form.
“I should go to Shaker right now. Damn the consequences.” Digging my hands into the planks of the wooden bench, trying to work up the nerve to stand up, to march into the noble district and over to Shaker's cottage and demand that he boot me out. Squeezing with all my might and holding my breath. Six days in darkness. My hands going slack. Releasing my grip.
“I can't. I'm so selfish and weak. I can't do it. I can't take being in the darkness. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” Becoming hard to speak and then an uncontrollable bout of sobbing taking hold for a few breaths.
“Lucilia, I'm sorry I don't know your last name, but I'm going to try and do right by you. I'm going to try. I'm probably not going to succeed but I'm going to try.” Finally letting it all out, bawling uncontrollably, releasing all the frustration and anger and uncertainty and fear. Gradually the tears stopping their flow.
“Because if you came here, if you came here to this park, that means you made it here. The Bonneville made it. And, if that's the case, then I don't really know anything at all. I swear to you I'm going to find out what happened and I'm going to make them pay for everything they've done.”
My pronouncement, my oath, extending outward, filling the area. Being swallowed up by the ground and the trees and the sky. A slight breeze coming through, giving the branches a small shake, rustling the leaves, and the flowers and the grass. Scrubbing my face dry and watching some butterflies aimlessly fluttering, blissfully unaware.