The route she'd devised to get to the upper floor is straightforward. There were two staircases, one to the northeast, the other to the northwest. Using her finger on the floor she had pointed out the quickest paths, but either staircase could be reached simply by heading invariably in either a northeast or northwest direction.
It was the upper floor itself that should prove to be the problem. The vault located in the middle-ish, but closer to the northeast staircase. Unfortunately, the cages the monsters had been stored in were also on that side. That also turned out to be the side we'd been heading toward before running into the hounds and that other thing.
The northwest staircase had its own issues. Shaker's people had secured the area and members of House Stormhawk had begun arriving in dribs and drabs. They were likely going to be initiating forays to the eastern side soon to start the extermination.
That's the choice. Go northeast, sneak past the monsters, get to the target quickly, and then get out. Downside is no real intel on what specifically is waiting up there, and possibility of meeting Shaker's forces in the middle, though they'll be distracted.
Alternately, go northwest, let Shaker's people and Stormhawk start to clear, swoop in from behind, and then get out. Downside is that it's slower, and more Stormhawk, or even others, are going to be arriving in the meantime.
Prudence winning out, between a known quantity and an unknown, choose the known. Besides, can always try reasoning with Stormhawk. Not so much with something that's just interested in filling its gut.
Gliding through the hallway at quick pace, turning a corner and finding a single Night Hound. The beast sensing something, but only managing the beginnings of a growl before my knife finding its eye, entering the brain to kill it instantly. Preferred method, Night Hound pelts and teeth, chiefly the canines, have value. The less damage done the better they'd sell. Wiping off the knife and continuing further in.
Arriving at the northwestern staircase. Slowing my breathing, trying to settle my heartbeat. Performing a final check. Leftover handaxe from the Stormhawk armory, the white dagger, the plain steel one with the red glow, and the one just used to kill the hound. Tools all in order.
Pulling out the woven band of grass Holly had made, and then had insisted on giving to me. A beacon, she had said. For communication, and to help her keep an eye on me, as well as to find me here, or in Ossen, or maybe even as far as the Capital. Seems sturdier than it looks. No bandanna, had left it back at the storeroom. Pulling up the hood of my cloak, readying the dagger and then creeping silently up the staircase.
The upper level unfortunately much better lit than the lower. Rather than pockets of light with great gaps of darkness, only little patches of shadow in between huge swathes of light. Keeping an ear and an eye out, moving from place to place. A group of Shaker's men running by, their eyes sliding over and missing me.
“...they said they'd find their way back up.” Owens' voice, carrying down the hallway. Moving closer and peeking around the corner. Owens and Karson talking to Davos – up already? – and two others.
“I don't like it, don't trust 'em.” says Davos.
“You shouldn't hold a grudge. You should be glad,” Karson laughing, clapping him on the shoulder. “Barnes can fight. The only way to get better is fights like that.”
“That's just it,” says Davos, “I saw him earlier in the tournament and he didn't fight anything like that.”
“Yes,” Karson nodding, sagely, “but you made him very angry. The tournament fights aren't real fights he said. There may be great wisdom in that.”
Praise from a simpleton. Is that truly praise? Then again, Karson knows what he wants and he pursues it. Simpleton may be too strong a word. Unencumbered. Can't outsmart himself, not capable. Maybe there's some sort of wisdom to that.
“Yeah, yeah,” Davos clearly unconvinced and his eyes wandering over, looking in my direction, squinting, then looking back at Owens. “I say we get going now and start clearing the place.”
Karson nodding in agreement.
“Fine. Let's get this over with.” says Owens. He'd developed an exhausted expression from listening to them talk. “Karson, you're up front.”
Their group starting to move out. Following at a decent distance. Engaging something, putting it down. Continuing to move. Following behind. Getting closer. Patience. Another encounter. And they're moving on. A group of Shaker's men coming from behind, passing by me, oblivious. Fifteen minutes, twenty. Moving forward. There, that hallway there. Move.
The door leading to the vault in the center of a long, brightly lit corridor. No cover, no juts or jags, nothing. Fortunately, despite the light sources being magical, they could be smashed to pieces by using brute force. The problem with doing that was the horrible, awful sound they made when they broke; occasionally, they'd also detonate. That had been an interesting discovery. Also, totally removing the light would make seeing the mechanism impossible. So destroying or removing them entirely not even a choice.
The solution, simple. Bits of fabric or other coverings that didn't snuff out the light entirely. Get some breathing room while still allowing some light. There's one, and the next, and the next, and here, and here, done. Anyone coming? No. Sounds like they're moving further east.
Okay, let's see, the mechanism. Very complex, but in good condition. First, any surprises? No. That can't be right. What are you hiding, what are you hiding. Nothing. Going to get my face burned off. Here goes, need a different pick, there, got a few tumblers looks like. Makes the one earlier look like a practice lock. Okay, okay, okay.
Footsteps coming, breaking my concentration. Holding my breath. Then passing.
Start over, start over. Okay, okay, got it, almost there. And, didn't miss the trap didn't miss the trap didn't miss the trap. Turn it. *click* The lock opening and the door swinging inward easily on greased hinges. Yes!
Into the vault. Dark. Leave the door open or light a torch? Torch stand right there, put something in the jamb so it doesn't lock me in. Lighting the torch. Well, this is something.
The walls in the small room were covered with weapons, and on the table a small chest had been left open, filled with gold coins. And there, on the back wall, a large chest. Has to be in there. Let's see what kind of traps you, oh man, look at that one. Vicious.
Inside the mechanism a vial filled with some kind of liquid and next to it a small metallic rod with a ball on the end. Turning the lock without disarming it would cause the vial to break. Could be any number of things. Explosion. In this location with all this nice stuff here, not likely. Acid melting the locking mechanism to seal the chest. Much more probable. Poison gas. Certainly a possibility.
Let's fix you real quick. Forceps, bending the little rod. Should be okay. Let's take another look. Should be good. Wait, what are those little scratches? Not a random pattern, some kind of arcane script. Not exactly my forte, but need to disrupt whatever it is. Add a little scratch there. One there. Connect that line. Finding traps makes me less nervous than not finding them. What a world.
Alright, get to business. Less complex than the door. Calm down, not there yet. Steady hands. One-two-three means doe-ray-me means mo-on-ney. *click* The locking mechanism opening. Not dead. Not even burned. Opening the lid. Jackpot.
The chest full of gold coins, gemstones, some pieces of of jewelry and a thick tube of rolled vellum.
Need to be economical, can only carry so much, carrying all these coins they'll hear me jingling and jangling all the way down the hallway. First things first, what would a one-of-a-kind item look like? A ring with a large ruby insert. Maybe. Oh, how about this chain, mithril. Could be. An extremely flashy, overly gaudy bracelet. Possibly, no accounting for taste. A petrified finger. Hmm, probably worth something to the right buyer but seems like bad luck, gonna pass.
Now the gemstones. Here you go, your new home inside this pouch. And you, and you, and you, and you. And you. Sifting a little more, gold coins, gold coins. What's this? A wand. They'll pay good money for you. Looks like that's it. Grab the scrolls, at least ten here, and then restock some weaponry. That one, and that one. Solid replacements.
Grabbing the torch from the stand and giving one last pass. Looks... that is nice. A giant 2-handed sword on the wall. Putting my hand near it, not even touching it, can feel the enchantment. Probably worth a fortune but really unwieldy. Fine, fine. Strap it to my back. Got everything? Good. Leaning against the vault door and peeking outside. The lamps are still covered and no one in sight. Closing the door behind me and gliding down the hallway.
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Twenty steps away from the vault, a sound starting to come from my pack. Starting low, like a buzzing, but growing louder and louder. By the time it had been found, as loud as a person screaming and still growing louder. The petrified finger. Hurling it down the hall behind me, the howl bouncing away. And then back in my hand. The sound deafening, maddening.
Dropping it again, covering my ears and running back in the direction of the staircase to the lower level. Shaker's people and others in the hallways, trying to see what was going on, but keeping their distance, driven away by the sound. Someone shooting a web into the hallway in front of me, blanketing everything in a sticky substance. Turning around and running the other way. Being blocked off again, and going down another corridor, losing all sense of which way was which.
The sound had either gotten slightly quieter, or the ringing in my ears signaled my oncoming deafness. Blocked off that way, blocked off behind. Let's try this door, maybe get through, out another exit.
A bathroom. One entrance. Trapped. Starting to laugh but can't even hear it. Blood coming out my ears. Pulling off my glove, the hand with the gold ring. They're gonna hate me coming in with this banshee wail. Preparing myself for the inevitable nausea caused by teleportation. Pulling the ring off and then putting it back on. Nothing.
Hah. Laughing so hard, crying. Crying so hard, laughing. Warded. The location has been entirely warded. Of course it is. Lock the door. Fuck it, make 'em work for it. Standing there waiting and a strange calmness descending. Guess it wasn't meant to be. Getting one of the pressed leaves from my front pouch and chewing it to dull some of the pain.
Looking around the small room. Sink, couple stalls, urinal. Crazy person in the mirror. Toilet. Hah. You may have me now but its my win. Opening the pack, and getting the pouch with the ring, bracelet and chain. Hold up a second, maybe one of these can do something. Putting on the ring, waving my hand around. Nothing. Same with the bracelet and chain. No clue what these do or how to activate them. Fiddling around with them for a few minutes with my eye on the door. Nothing working.
No choic,e then. Getting Holly's beacon, her loop of grass, stuffing it, the jewelry and my gold ring back inside the pouch and adding a few of the gems. Should be small enough to get through the pipes. Holly, sorry, its for a good cause. Putting it in the toilet and flushing. Flush goddamn it.
Sitting on the floor, closing my eyes. Everything ringing. Wait or not? No point, likely notified them by now. No real harm in waiting, nothing to be gained by not.
Took them another ten minutes to get in. Finding me on the ground, my face feeling like it was going to split. Saying something. Laughing in his face. Hitting me with a web, totally encasing me with only my head free. Getting picked up and put onto a cart, a makeshift gurney. Rolling through the halls, someone at my head. Healing me. Guess its going to be time for the interrogation soon. Laughing maniacally. Can't help it. Someone slugging me. Can't stop laughing. Taking some more hits and my laughter trailing off into a groan.
Rolling into somewhere, an office. Fireplace, nice desk. Posh. Being left alone, webbed. Flexing my muscles, trying to break free. Hearing was coming back, slightly, but quickly getting better. Teach them not to underestimate me. Thrashing around on the gurney, falling off, landing on my side. Fireplace. Trying to inch over but sticking to everything. Not even making it halfway. Footsteps coming into the room, several sets. Walking around me and one to the desk.
“Please pick him up off the floor.” Know that voice, sounds like-
Two sets of hands lifting me up and putting me onto a chair. Sticking me to it. The man who had spoken now sitting at the desk. Shaker. He looks old, older than he should, only early fifties, but his face drawn and taut, his hands with tendons sticking out like wires, clothing a size too big. But his eyes still clear and his gaze still sharp. Not saying anything, just looking at me, his fingers giving little taps on the desk.
“William,” he says, “you've been here a long time, haven't you?” Seven years. Shaking waiting for a response but not getting it. “I realize in that time we have never exactly been friendly, but I do expect that we can at least have a cordial relationship with each other, as colleagues, if nothing else.”
“Sir.”
“So it troubles me greatly,” Shaker says, “the way that you've been comporting yourself these past several months. What you did at House Haven and what you're doing here tonight.”
“Haven? Sir, I hardly-”
“You killed fourteen people, William," shaking his head in disappointment. "All of them murdered by your own hand.”
“Sir, its not like they actually-”
“Its supposed to be a safe area, William. Not everyone is as adventurous as you.”
“A safe area? Coming out here we all know there's no such thing as safety. Used to, at any rate. I came out here with both eyes open.” Shaker not responding. “Last year I had a kid come in, fresh off the boat, his first cycle in. Real impressed with all this but a little shell shocked. Thought he just had bad luck of the draw for rooms and got stuck in a little tube. What the hell are they even telling these kids at that Academy? Even though everything went bad tonight I'm kind of glad I'm finally getting the opportunity to talk to you. Maybe you can do something about it.”
“I'm sorry,” says Shaker, “that's a decision they've made. One which we get to clean up after the fact. Like so much else. Your group worked out pretty well, but there weren't that many. So they've decided to leave certain aspects of what life is like out here out of the advertisements and curriculum.”
“Well, it's cruel what they're doing and, in my opinion, its potentially endangering the mission. Let them know that. And what you all did, eight months ago, that didn't help, either. Not with stability and not with integration.”
“I'll take the first under advisement for my next report. As for the second, there were always going to be growing pains.” Shaker frowning thoughtfully. “You've said your piece?”
“Yes, sir. Please do take it seriously. Regardless of how I spend my off time I remain dedicated to the mission.”
“Noted. Not that that will earn you any clemency, but noted.”
“Sir.”
“Now,” Shaker sighing, “the question remains, what exactly are we going to do with you?” The man standing up and walking slowly back and forth behind the desk. “You never served out your sentence for what you did at Haven and if we put you back in jail you're just going to break out again. Am I wrong in that assessment?”
“Maybe give the guards a little more leeway this time?” Make the escape more interesting, at least.
“No,” says Shaker. “Totally out of the question. For a host of reasons.”
One of Shaker's men coming into the room, walking behind the desk and saying something to him quietly. Shaker nodding. Glancing at me and dismissing his subordinate.
“Also,” says Shaker, “we've looked through your belongings and some of the items that you tried to steal are unaccounted for. Do you have any idea where they may have ended up?”
“That was an awful trap, that finger. That thing went off and I was running this way and that. Got totally lost myself. Bound to be somewhere around here.”
“Right,” Shaker pulling a long face. “So the problem is, we need a punishment to fit the crime, and we also need something that will actually motivate you to reform. Releasing those monsters and derailing the tournament, all so you could get your hands on some money. That is quite the offense.”
Trying to pin that on me? “I didn't do that.”
“You didn't what?” says Shaker, incredulous. “You certainly seem to be sitting here. And all of tonight's entertainment certainly seems to be roaming around these halls, uncaged.”
“I didn't let them out.”
“Okay, let's say I believe you. I don't. Let's be perfectly clear about that. But, as a thought experiment, who did, then? Be precise.”
Like talking to a...
“I don't know, believe it or not. But for me, in order to hit a place like this, it doesn't make any sense. Completely unnecessary, too many loose ends. Totally amateur hour.”
“So you claim,” Shaker taking a seat again, putting his elbows on the desk and resting his chin on his palm. “So here's where we're at.” Counting on his thumb.
“First, you've already demonstrated a lack of respect for the safety and welfare of everyone here from what you did at Haven. Getting in a bar fight and killing someone. Happens. Killing a dozen people back to back. Not so much.” Putting out his index finger.
“Second, we find you here, just broken into the vault and all the monsters for tonight's games let out. You claim you didn't do it. Too amateur, you say. I guess not your style. But the problem is you've demonstrated a complete and utter lack of respect for your fellow man, not just from Haven, going back years now, so its certainly something you could have done. Maybe your goal wasn't just robbing the place. Maybe you wanted to stop the tournament for some other reason.” Adding his middle finger.
“Third, you could be telling the truth. But if you're telling the truth that's a problem. Because that means someone else let them all out and I don't get to wrap everything up nice and neat right now. We're going to have to try investigate what exactly happened.” Adding the ring finger.
“Fourth, you might be lying, and this story you're telling me is just some misdirection. Either you're hoping for a lighter punishment or you're doing it out of spite. Wasting my time chasing ghosts.”
“William,” the man sighing, “ I've already decided what I'm going to do with you. So, as a favor to me, to help me sleep better at night, tell me the truth. Were you responsible for opening those cages and letting those things out?”
“No, I'm sorry to say. I didn't have anything to do with that.”
“That's disappointing,” says Shaker. “William Macarthy, your access is suspended until further notice.”
And then the world falls in on itself.