Late afternoon, arriving at Lumeer's West Gate covered in the dirt of four days on the road. Everyone still present and accounted for, and the caravan fully stocked with exotic goods from Tasnanca. As well as eighteen of them. Had hit level 14 on the way back.
Name: Lucilia Macarthy Profession: Runemage Level: 14 Sex: Female Experience: 86,212 (0) Age: 20 Until Next: 13,583 Health 85 Mana 81 Stamina 38 Spirit 8 Strength (STR) 57 (3) Constitution (CON) 64 (7) Dexterity (DEX) 69 (14) Agility (AGI) 87 (18) Discipline (DIS) 77 (13) Aura (AUR) 83 (16) Logic (LOG) 74 (17) Intuition (INT) 77 (18) Wisdom (WIS) 47 (-2) Influence (INF) 77 (13)
Name Trainings Bonus Armor Use 6 29 Physical Fitness 15 60 Simple Weapons 15 60 Arcane Symbols 20 70 Magic Item Use 15 60 Harness Power 15 60 Mana Control 15 60 Runemancy 15 60 Arance Lore, Decomposition 2 10 Arcane Lore, Shaping 15 60 Arcane Lore, Transference 5 25 Survival 15 60 Perception 15 60 Climbing 15 60 Swimming 10 45 First Aid 15 60 Trading 15 60 Stalking and Hiding 15 60
Currently in violation of one of the most principle rules. Always be earning. Couldn't be helped while on the road, but now, back in town, should get back to building up an experience buffer.
“When we get back to the House,” says Daniel, to the group, “be ready to head out in a couple hours. And dress nice, we're going somewhere fancy. My treat. Oh, and Lucy, we need to get your room situation figured out. There should be a few small ones still available.”
“Anything is better than nothing. Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be great.”
Guess building back up a buffer is going to have to wait.
Arriving at the House and nodding in greeting to the statue in the entrance. Following Daniel up the stairs and Magpie coming with.
“I'll see if Liz is in, say hello, and then we'll get you set up,” says Daniel. Following him through the House and to her office. The man knocking. “Come in,” the voice from inside says, and the three of us entering.
Elizabeth Collier is sitting behind the desk writing something, and there's another woman in the room looking at some papers. No Roy today. A wolf laying on the floor, scanning each of us.
“Daniel,” says Collier, with an undercurrent of worry, “did you just get in? How'd the trip back go?”
“Just now, Liz. It went fine. No issues and no surprises on the way back.”
“That is a huge weight off my shoulders,” she says, with evident relief. The woman looking at Magpie and racking her brain for a second, “Grace, could you do me a favor and get Roy? I need him for a quick debrief with Daniel.”
“Yes, ma'am.” Magpie turns and leaves.
“How about our new recruit here, how did she manage?”
“Lucy is truly an asset to the House. She has my full backing.”
“That's good to hear. After your report you've got the rest of the day off. And then do whatever you want this whole upcoming cycle. We'll get you back to your usual duties the next one.”
“I appreciate it, Liz. Thanks.”
A few moments later a knock at the door and Roy entering, Magpie and Roy's cat following from behind.
“Grace, Lucy, you're dismissed.”
“Yes, ma'am.” “Yes, ma'am,” says Magpie.
“Hey Magpie,” says Daniel, “can you do me a favor and show Lucy the unoccupied rooms so she can pick one?”
“Sure. C'mon, Mac.” Following Magpie out into the hall. “So none of what's available is big - and only the corner suites have private baths - but there are a couple communal ones on each floor.”
The first. Not big, rectangular, the window facing north. Currently being used as storage. The second, slightly larger, but with a jog, the window facing east. The view not managing to reach the ocean. The third, tiny. And the fourth, not much better. Heading back to the second one. The room containing a bed, a desk, a chair, a dresser, and a small closet. Entirely more than adequate.
“Where's your room?”
“A couple over from here.”
“This one's good.”
Putting my pack on the floor and draping my cloak on the chair. Definitely not as nice or as large as my former accommodations back at the guild, but having something permanent again is priceless. The window is also an added bonus.
“I'll give you the grand tour,” Magpie says, “Let's get something to drink from the kitchen and I'll introduce you around.”
Following her back down the stairs, into the common area and entering the dining area.
“Lucy,” Daniel's voice calling out behind. “Liz says she wants to do a quick debrief with you right now, to see how you managed.”
“Okay.”
Glancing at Magpie, and the girl shrugging. Heading back up to see Collier.
“I'll wait out here,” Magpie says.
Entering the office. Five sets of eyes on me. Trying to stay calm while sitting in the hot seat.
“Lucy, I thought you'd want to know,” says Collier. “A few days ago they finally managed to take care of William Macarthy. He's been terrorizing the town since you left. If I recall correctly, you had said you were killed by him at the gala.”
The three of them trying to look relaxed while simultaneously intently watching me. The wolf and Roy's cat not bothering with any pretense and simply staring.
“That's right.”
“Did you notice anything strange about him when you saw him at the gala,” says the other woman.
“...yes. It was one of them. A monster.”
The woman looking over at the other two and my mouth going dry.
“A couple days ago,” says Collier, “the Director called together a special session of the leadership to discuss what had happened.”
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Shaker, you fucking bastard. You couldn't just let it be, could you? This whole trip had ended up turning out pretty good. A nice, fresh new start.
“He made an incredible accusation. Regarding you, specifically. He claimed that you are, in fact, William Macarthy.”
“That's, that is,” trying to hold it together. “I don't even know how to respond to that. It sounds crazy.”
“I agree,” she says, after a long moment. “The accusation sounds insane. If we were back home, and if what he said was true, he'd probably be brought up on charges. Violation of autonomy, among others.”
Charges? The Director? Ha. That is not how things work. As if words on paper mean anything more or anything less than the violence required to enforce them. And we're nowhere near home. Nowhere even close. We're way, way out here.
Collier sighing. “Constance, what do you think?”
“I don't know,” the woman says. “That thing I helped hunt down definitely looked like Macarthy, but it was also definitely one of them. And, while it's certainly possible that this girl is Macarthy, just look at her. The way she's sitting. The way she walked in here. That gesture she made earlier. Those mannerisms are difficult, if not impossible, to learn. She has no awkwardness. If you shave a dog, dock its ears and tail, and then put it in a dress, it's still going to bark, and it's still going to drool. I don't see it.”
“Liz,” says Roy, “this is probably the whole House situation all over again. Another lie. We were supposed to be out of here and yet here we still are. And relatively weaker today than then. I don't think we should go along with it.”
“Go along with what?” Trying to breaking into their conversation.
“Well,” says Collier, “when the Director found out that you were a prospective member in our House he demanded that we revoke your offer of membership and expel you. You'll be persona non grata as far as the Houses are concerned. He put it to a vote and enough of the others went along with it. Probably out of spite for us.” She adds, bitterly.
“Wait, I'm blacklisted. All the Houses?” And all the House leadership in the know.
Collier shaking her head. “I'm sorry. If you can wait a bit we'll appeal the decision at the next scheduled meeting – it's only a couple months away – but, for the moment, we can't have you in our House. I'd understand if, when we get this all sorted out, you don't wish to return, but I'd be extremely humbled if you did. You have my utmost apologies.”
An appeal in several months. Ludicrous. And something like that will never be accepted.
“Liz,” says Roy, “I don't agree with this, at all. Especially after Daniel's report.”
“If she were a full member I'd tell the Director to pound sand. I'd tell all of them where to put their vote. But she isn't. Again, I'm truly sorry.”
Their voices being replaced by a low buzz. Talking to each other, back and forth. Couldn't leave well enough alone, could you Shaker?
“Liz, if this is some innocent girl then we're scum for doing this,” Roy says. “And if we take what the Director said at face value, if this really is some remorseless killer like William Macarthy, we'd be fools not to have him on our side. What'd they call him back when the Thieves Guild was running their protection rackets? Some scary name. There's no real reason we can't just keep her off the books for the time being.”
Maybe they'll be amenable. Maybe it's time for some honesty. Here goes. “Black Hand.”
At the sound of my name Roy stopping short, turning to look at me, and the two women as well. A pall descending on the room. No, that didn't go well.
“What did you say?” he says.
“Black Hand. That's the name I earned.” Standing up and the three of them suddenly looking extraordinarily unsure. “I sincerely appreciate your consideration and I'm truly sorry it didn't work out. As far as, as far as,” my voice catching, “as far as everyone else, I don't know, tell them something.”
“It won't leave this room.” Collier's voice a whisper.
“I had absolutely nothing to do with that thing killing everyone these past few cycles.”
No reaction, still very unsure. Considering if there was anything else and then dropping a turd.
“You need to know, I guess everyone needs to know, but the Bonneville made it. There was no accident en route. All those people died here.”
Collier's eye giving an involuntary twitch. Oh, you knew about that, did you? Seems there are more conspirators than only the first expedition. Forcing her to break eye contact. At least she has the decency to look embarrassed. Turning to leave.
“What the hell is going on?” Roy says.
Opening the door to find Magpie out in the hall. Haunted. She must've been listening in the whole time. Closing the door behind me, leaving us face to face.
“Mac,” she says, starting to tear up, “I didn't think, I didn't fully, I didn't-”
Burying her in a crushing hug, “Don't worry about it.” Tears starting to pour out.
“What are you going to do? What should I-”
“Magpie, you've got a good thing going. Don't fuck up your life on my account.”
“What? No... I mean, we're still friends, right?”
Totally unable to control it and just bawling on her shoulder. The girl hugging me back harder.
“Of course we're still friends, don't be stupid.”
Walking back with her to what turned out to be my very temporary room. Getting my cloak and pack.
“What are you going to do?”
Ossen maybe. Get on the boat in a few days and head out to the archipelago. Looking at her distraught face, and remembering Riley and Wolfe are still waiting for me. No. Not doing that. It's not going to be that easy, Shaker.
“I'm staying. They're not getting rid of me that easy. And you're still going to be coming out with me, at least one day a cycle.”
“You really want me to?”
“Of course. We're still friends, right?”
“Yeah, we are.” A smile finally breaking through.
“Great, I'll meet you in front of this dump in two days. Eight in the morning. We're going underground.”
“I'll definitely be there.”
Bidding farewell and then walking through the House, my bravado slipping away with each step. Entirely gone about halfway down the stairs. Have to start moving faster. Always been on a timer, but now everything's been pushed up. The mocking laughter coming from the thing in the entryway following me out the door.
Two steps out and noticing a figure coming toward the House. A figure from a lifetime ago. Holly. Not going to deal with you now, not after all that. Gonna keep walking. Her eyes seeing me, then passing over, focusing on the House. Almost breathing a sigh of relief, but then her gaze snapping back. Blocking my path. Much taller now, and still gorgeous, even when angry. Neither of us saying anything. Her, only glaring, and me, with nothing to say.
“You're Macarthy.” Not responding. “You didn't keep your promise.”
“I didn't-” Starting to respond, but cut off.
“You didn't even try. You went to this place, instead. I went looking for you and this was all I found.” Pulling out a pouch and waving it. Drawing my eyes. The bag that had been flushed. “Let me guess, this was all you ever cared about, wasn't it? Here, you can have what's yours.” Throwing it on the ground in front of me.
“Holly, I know I fucked up. A lot's happened. I'm back now.”
“You're back? Are you? Who are you, tell me your name.”
“William Mac-” Her look of disgust cutting me short and the lie dying on my lips.
“That's not your name. Even you don't believe it. Tell me, what's your name.”
“Lucy.”
“That's more like it.” Sneering. “Your promises never meant anything to begin with, and I don't remember promising anything to anyone who looked like you.”
“Holly-”
“If you had come I would've helped.” A guilty look crossing her face at her own words. “At least I would've tried.” The woman trying to offer an amendment, and then her features beginning to distort with fury. “You deserve worse than this.” Her mouth opening and a phrase of power pouring out, the same as during the meeting with Stormhawk.
“Holly, I'm sorry, please don't-”
Dropping into an inky blackness, pressed in on all sides. Trying to figure out what is going on but then realizing. Unable to breathe. That's what that is. In the clutches of the thing from deep in the depths, down in the ruins. That Which Lurks Below. Horrible, immense, looming, with jagged teeth and sharp spikes. Something Holly assuredly had never seen, let alone knew of its existence. It can't be real. The thing grabbing my arm, spikes piercing and crushing my bone. Pulling, yanking and then ripping my arm off. Mocking laughter drowning out my agonized scream of pain. Deserve worse deserve worse deserve worse playing like a reverb. The other arm being grabbed, pierced, crushed.
What's this, you dare try to renege? Far too late. The price was already paid. The malignant voice crawling into my head, writhing, full of seething and hate. Lost, unloved Lucilia, you never should have been seen or heard from again. You don't deserve happiness and you never did. Even misery is too good for a crime like you. You deserve much worse. How dare you try and crawl back? How dare you try and stand in the light of day? You already should've been erased.
My other arm being pulled off. Excruciating pain flooding my being but starting to disassociate. My left boot burning. It's not real it's not real it's not real. Focusing on my foot. My leg being grabbed, being pierced, being crushed. It's not real it's not real it's not real. Trying to let it be known, trying to convince myself. My vision clearing, back in the world, breaking out of the induced nightmare.
Holly taking a few faltering steps back, completely shocked at my recovery. Trying to steady myself, my limbs shaking and weak, and reaching for my knife. Holly speaking another phrase of power. Can't even take a step, gonna fall flat on my face, and that'll be it. A white fog billowing around her form, covering it completely, then blowing away. Gone. My strength failing. Falling to the ground. Gritting my teeth, but laying still, trying to muster the energy to get back up.
Pulling myself into a sitting position. Keeping my breathing steady and then scooting over to the bag she'd thrown on the ground. Inside, my gold ring. Holding it between two fingers. Far too large. A heavy man's ring, not even close to the correct size. Looking back to where Holly had been. You're going to pay dearly for that.
Getting to my feet, still unsteady but strength returning. Had been planning on going underground but having absolutely no remaining desire to do so. The sun going down. Heading over to the Rat Cellar, renting a room and getting out my pipe. Getting a good bit of the sweet resin. A lot this time, with no tobacco. Taking several hits and obliterating everything. All the bad thoughts evaporating, but no good thoughts there to fill the void. Laying on the bed and staring at the ceiling. Staring at nothing. Waking up hungry a few hours later. Checking the time, slightly past ten.
Finding some silver, getting on my boots and heading down the stairs and into the bar. No scar, beard or giant in tonight. Taking a seat on a barstool between two ruffians, my feet swinging above the floor. Ordering dinner and a pint, and looking around. Somehow ended up back here. Back at rock bottom. Back at this same old shit. Taking a drink, elbows on the bar, propping my head up with one and aimlessly tapping with the other. Staring blankly ahead while waiting for the food to come out.
The ruffian next to me glancing over, then putting his hand on mine.
“Hey sweetie, you look pretty down,” he says, “If you want I could help cheer you up.”
Looking at his hand, uncomprehending. Looking up at him. He doesn't see the old me anymore. He's forgotten completely. Otherwise he'd never do this. Respect would've kept him in line or, more likely, fear. Not William Macarthy anymore. But that isn't all there is to me. There's still my name, the one hard earned. Time to make them remember, to make them all remember.
Reaching for the knife on my torso and finding nothing. Glancing down. No sheath, no knife. Forgotten back in the room. Anger at myself dwarfing everything else and fury taking hold. Carve. The world getting soft under my fingers. The ruffian making a surprised sound, suddenly pulling his hand off, dripping blood. Taking a backhand swipe, through his soft arm, and in the middle something harder. Going right through. A spray of blood coming from his stump, coating the bar and everything nearby. The entire room stopping due to my commotion. My face beginning to hurt. Standing up and cutting through the wood on the bar with my other hand. Going to tear through them all.
“Ms. Macarthy, stop this at once!” the barkeeper yells behind me.
Turning and looking at him. Mustache quivering and arm outstretched. Fear in his eyes. Turning back and looking at the rest of the things in bar. They seem to be remembering now.
“You have to leave,” he says. “You're not welcome in this establishment. I'm going to call the watch if you don't.”
The watch? For some shitty dive by the docks. Probably kill everyone in here twice over before they even manage to show up, and he knows it, too. That's a nice look.
“My apologies,” gesturing with my bloody hand, grin wide. “If I'm not wanted, then I'll be getting on my way.”
Heading across the room and the way being cleared. My cuffs in tatters from bushing against my wrists. Opening the door with the shield and heading out into the night. Walking along the street and out toward the docks. A group of toughs, aiming rude comments, coming over to harass, but getting closer and seeing my hand, dripping, and my face, and thinking better of it.
Had played it pretty smart these past couple cycles. Head down and running like a rabbit. Before then, months spent in hibernation, with only one real disastrous foray out. That's all going to end. Taking a breath. Might be getting ahead of myself. Still need to keep playing it smart, but there's a huge difference between care and cowardice.
Walking along the docks and down an empty pier. Getting to the end and watching the water lap against the posts. Hands coming up to my neck. That'd be too easy. The world returning to it's normal state. Gotten soft. Averse. Died once in the last nine months, killed by myself. Staying here, pushing though, means dying, not once, or twice, but probably ten or even dozens of times. Can't win every fight. Bad circumstances. Retreat impossible. The real secret of success? Never staying down and always coming back. Looking out over the moonlit bay and then taking the plunge.
Slowly breathing out all the air in my lungs, getting pushed and pulled in and out with the tide. Sinking down. Panic starting. No. Endure. This is the price of stupid mistakes, of leaving my knife in the room. This is to cut away the excess fat. This is the price of failure. Lungs empty, burning. Needing air, none to be gotten. Holding to my limit as far as possible, then inhaling seawater, the burning multiplied a thousandfold. Twisting, contorting, fighting my instinct to try and swim to the surface. Losing strength, suffocating. Bit by bit. Now to the side of my body, emotion totally vacant. Pulling the trigger.
In the temple, laying on a hard surface. The emotional toll from the recent death hitting, but blunted. Had already experienced everything in those minutes spent drowning. Priestess Vivian coming over with a blanket. Turning my head weakly, no one else here tonight. The judgment from the surrounding statues less overt, the mockery less severe.
“Mac,” she says, “I know I said I wanted to see you again, but isn't this pretty soon?”
“I just couldn't stay away, Vivian, I had to see you. Do you mind if I stay here for the night?”
The priestess helping me to my feet, letting me lean against her, and walking me down to a room with some cots already laid out.
“Going to be gone tomorrow, but back in at midnight. Could you make sure no one moves the cot in the meantime? I hate it when that happens.”
“I will Mac,” she says, then pausing. “You look a lot better than the last time you came.”
“You may not believe it, but I feel much better.”
Vivian kneeling next to the cot, my head in her arms. Slowly being rocked to sleep. Getting a kiss on my forehead.
“Sweet dreams, Mac.”