Chapter Three

Jerome

Entering the Slums, Jerome gagged at the stench. Noticing his reaction Francine turned to look at him.

“Yeah, it’s terrible,” she said, passing him a small, inscribed stone. “That’s a purifying stone; I always carry a few spares; some idiot always forgets to bring one. A few years after that damn dam went up, the old sewer outflows started backing up. Instead of fixing the problem, the city council just installed some magic tools to keep the smell in the Slums and The Wet. The checkpoint is to keep those with any sicknesses confined to the Slums. I swear the council is hoping a plague will rage thru the Slums to kill off most of the indigent.” She turned to the rest of the Magisters, “Tomas, stay with the General and me. The rest of you spread out and make your way toward The Wet. Stay in contact with each other. If you forgot your communication device, see me before heading off, I have spares.” When no one came forward to get one, she bellowed, “HEAD OUT!”

Jerome checked his beacon again and waved his hand down the street they were on.

“It appears that our target is ahead of us. Should we head out or wait for the others to get in position?” he asked.

“Might as well head out. Hopefully, the Awakened knows what’s happening to them and are waiting for help. The sooner we find them, the sooner we can get out of here,” Francine replied, motioning for Tomas to take the lead.

Checking their beacons regularly, they headed down the street in a slow, methodical fashion. Jerome was appalled at the conditions he saw. Most of the buildings were in need of rebuilding. Rotten shutters hung from some of the buildings. Those were the lucky ones, as most had none. All the buildings he could see needed new shingles or thatching. He saw gaunt faces poking out the windows and holes in a few buildings that were in such disrepair that he thought they were abandoned. The few stalls he saw selling food almost made him vomit at their offerings. The ‘merchants’ were selling rotten vegetables and meat at prices higher than fresh would go for back home. That people were paying the exorbitant prices without complaint said much about the state of affairs in the area.

A few clergymen from the Goddess of Life and God of Charity were passing out good food and clothing here and there, and he had to admit that the apparent thugs that surrounded them seemed to be keeping even worse people away and not to rob them or those coming for the handouts.

“Where are the Guards or Paladins that should be accompanying the clergy?” he asked Francine, pointing to the nearest group of clergy.

“HHHMMM? Oh, the Guards charge for that service in the slums; to prevent ‘incidents’ after the Order of Fluffy broke up a child prostitution ring run by a powerful underworld boss that was paying off a Guard Captain. Hard to bury that sort of thing with a bunch of Fluffy Inquisitors marching around with the heads of two Guard Captains, a Baron, and two Viscounts on pikes. Officially the Council praised them, and in private, they quietly banned the Order from the Slums. They now require an equal number of Guards and Paladins for operations by the other Orders in the Slums. The Orders found it easier to let the remaining gangs know that they had to keep the clergy safe, or they would send the Bailiffs and Justiciars in to clean up the Slums permanently,” she replied. “It has kept the clergy safe, for now. However, fewer and fewer are willing to come here as things worsen. It’s hard to keep coming somewhere when every time you come, there are sicker and more malnourished people, fewer Guard’s, and more dead lying unburied in the streets. It’s obvious to people who pay attention to such things that the Council just want the Slums and The Wet to disappear.”

“This is not good. It sounds as if the council is trying to start a rebellion,” Jerome said.

With a shrug, Francine replied, “They probably are. When that damn dam went up, the council wanted this land for a waterfront residential area. They were going to raze what is now The Wet and put in an artificial beach. The king told them that in order to do that, they would have to put up tenements in a different part of town and not raise rents on the new buildings from what people were paying then. In protest, they didn’t raze the old warehouse district, just declared it an Outlaw area and abandoned it,” Francine responded. “It’s a mess. From rumors I’ve heard, the religious orders and Kingsguard are on the verge of ousting the council in a permanent manner,” she made a throat-slitting gesture with that statement and continued, “But the Temple of Law is holding them back due to a lack of evidence. According to them, they have not broken the letter of the law, just the spirit. The Justiciars are chomping at the bit to break out the executioner’s ax. All the Barristers need is a piece of solid evidence that the council is knowingly fomenting unrest or a plague and chop-chop, new council,” she said, making a chopping motion with her hand and grinning. “Can’t happen too soon to those noble bastards if you ask me.”

If the city council was still mostly the same group as when Jerome was here five years ago, bastard was an accurate description of most of the council, he thought. This is what you get when you let a council rule a city instead of a lord. Easier to have a vassal in charge; if he or she screws up this badly, you don’t need all this legal wrangling to execute them; oh look, you violated your oath by mismanaging your lands horribly, chop-chop, next lords turn.

“Sounds like a mess. Just remember, if things get too bad here, Francine, there is always a place for you and your husband in Halrond. The Guild would love to have a Magister of your experience at their academy. If you want to retire, I have plenty of estates laying about empty; you can have your pick,” Jerome said while shaking his head.

“I’ve got six months before I get my pension, and then you bet I’ll be knocking on your door. You still owe me for Cinder. Give us an apartment in a far corner of that monstrosity you call a ‘castle,’ and we’ll be happy,” Francine shot back.

“Will you ever drop Cinder? I was twenty-two and fresh out of the academy,” Jerome moaned.

“Never,” she replied with a grin, “Even with you being a duke, I don’t know how your career survived.”

Laughing at youthful indiscretions, they continued walking into the Slums. They came to a large square with a fountain in it, checked their beacons, and noticed the beams seemed to be converging on a fountain in the center. Francine checked with the other teams to see where their beacons were pointing; all confirmed that they were pointing to the square. When they started towards the fountain, Jerome noticed that while most of the people there looked like thieves and cutthroats, there was one child that looked even more ragged than everyone else. She seemed to be staring right at him. She looked far too nervous at their approach for someone her age. Others soon noticed their approach, and at some unspoken signal, everyone, including the young girl, bolted in the direction of The Wet.

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“All the Gods damn it!” cursed Francine, stomping her foot. “WE’RE MAGISTERS WE CAN’T ARREST YOU! WE’RE JUST LOOKING FOR A NEWLY AWAKENED! WE’RE HERE TO HELP!” She yelled at the fleeing crowd. Of course, no one stopped.

Jerome stared at her and asked, “Isn’t that a bit of an overreaction? All we need to do is keep chasing after the mark.”

“They’re all heading to The Wet. Guild policy is not to chase into The Wet. This Awakened is going to get away. Our beacons can only sense the awaking for two days; I doubt anyone that scared of us will come out there soon. You and Hector might have better luck with your more advanced gear. I just hope this Gift isn’t like that kid in Dalt,” she answered. She stomped around the square letting out curses Jerome hadn’t heard since the last campaign he had served incognito in. He walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You may not be able to search The Wet, but I can. Call Hector and that other guy, and space your Magisters around the edge of The Wet. I will go in and use your beacons to guide me. My beacon has a trace function, so once I get close enough, I can lock on to the Awakened and wear them down. It could take a day or a month; as long as I keep its charge topped up, I can keep up the chase.”

Francine looked thoughtful for a minute. She then shook her head in negation.

“Nope, not going to happen. Helga would kill me if I let you go in there, and I wouldn’t stop her. You do know that The Wet is all the plagues waiting for some fool to wander in?” she said.

“I know; I have protections against plagues. Plus, it’s not your choice; I’m not part of the Capital Guild, I’m a Magister General, and we can’t risk another Dalt. If these readings are right and this person has a destructive talent, we could lose the city. Just have a few good Life and Death Mages around when I come out,” Jerome said. He then looked down at his clothes, shook his head, and added, “and a change of clothes. Helga is going to murder me.”

“You know this makes Cinder look like a genius move, don’t you?” she asked. At his blank stare, she continued, “Fine, I have one condition; we will help you get a lock if you agree. You do know when not if, you get in trouble; you are on your own.”

Nodding in understanding, Jerome asked, “How is this worse than Cinder?”

“In Cinder, your life was only forfeit only if you got caught; here it’s almost guaranteed you'll die horribly,” Francine answered with a blank expression.

“Fine, fine, The Wet is a horrible place,” Jerome said while tossing up his hands, surrendering the argument, “What’s your condition?”

“When you tell Helga what you’re up to, leave my name out of it; I don’t want to lose my shot at that apartment,” she said.

****

Five minutes after crossing into The Wet, Jerome was sure that Francine hadn’t been messing with him. When he told Hector his plans, he had laughed and asked if he could have the townhouse when Jerome died in a pool of his own vomit and shit. Helga had not been pleased when he told her what he was doing. The words idiot, bastard, and couch had been repeated a lot. He would find some way to make up for the worry he was causing her.

Whatever it was, he was slogging thru was already eating thru his boots despite the waterproofing runes. The scent barrier had turned itself off, and nothing he could do would turn it back on. The smell was worse than any battlefield or cesspit he had ever been in. The darn thing had plenty of power left; it just refused to work. His plague barrier was currently crying, which, while impressive, it wasn’t supposed to be able to do. He would have to talk to his artificer about that—stupid magic tools thinking for themselves.

Holding the plague barrier up, he whispered, “Stop crying, or I’ll leave you here. I need to be as quiet as possible.” Apparently, threats worked on it as the crying stopped. Worried that it had turned itself off, he checked the telltale. Good still on.

He checked his beacon, took a corner, and continued his disgusting slog. Whomever he was after seemed to be standing still for now. Hopefully, he could get close enough to toss up a barrier to trap them. Failing that, he should be able to get a lock soon, so at least he could let Francine and Hector get home. He felt terrible about leaning on his friendships like this. It was one thing to play loose with the rules and their lives when they were young, but they had families to take care of now. They may joke about living off his wealth, and he would take care of them, but charity grated one’s soul after a while. Neither of them would be happy sitting around in one of his castles or working a job he gave them for very long. They, like him, needed to feel that they earned their position and authority.

Rechecking his beacon, he saw that his target had moved. Dang it, more slogging. What was going on that the King let his city fall into such disrepair? You can never get rid of all the poor in a city, but poor was a relative term. The slums in any given city in his duchy were palaces compared to what he had seen here. His poorest subject, excluding addicts and the lazy, had no trouble feeding themselves. They may not eat as well as the merchants, but they at least had food. The various religious Orders also had plenty of food pantries and regular soup kitchens in the poor parts of the cities. They also often had leftovers due to a lack of patronage. The slop the food merchants had been selling was worse than the Order of MacDonald would allow to be fed to swine, declaring it barely fit for compost.

Here, in the capital, which should be a shining beacon for the rest of the country, the poor were confined to a plague-ridden hellhole. The religious orders were kept from their duty because they had embarrassed the city council. They had to threaten gangs or pay a shakedown to the Guards for protection that their Paladins should be providing. This was almost as bad as what he had seen in the Delthan Empire on that diplomatic mission he went on years ago. His cousin had a lot of explaining to do. He knew well enough that he needed to start planning his words now, or hackles would be raised, and nothing would be solved.

He was close enough now that he could get a lock with his beacon now, so he did that. At least his beacon wasn’t talking or crying; The Wet didn’t seem to affect it. If his target would stay still for a few minutes, dang it, they are off again. Not wanting to scare off his target, he decided to slog after the target instead of running, not wanting to scare the poor wretch more than they already were.

Picking up his communication device, he called Hector, Francine, and whatever the other guy’s name was to both check-in and release them to their other duties, “I have a lock; they took off again, so the chase continues. Go ahead and head home; I’ll check in regularly until I catch them or my plague barrier quits. By the way, did you know those things can cry?”

Hector answered in a worried tone, “Your Grace are you sure you haven’t caught a hallucination disease? Magic tools don’t cry.”

Jerome answered with a chuckle, “Well, this one does. My scent blocker turned itself off as well.”

“I think you need to come out, sir. That does not sound good,” the nameless magister said.

Before their concerns could change his mind, he cut the conversation short, saying, “I’m fine; gotta go, target is on the move and all that. I’ll check in in two hours.”

Disconnecting, Jerome started on his slog again. Hopefully, his target would tire soon. As he continued the chase, his thoughts returned to the little girl at the fountain. He didn’t have any fantasies about coming in like a gallant knight to take her away from all this, but no child should have to live like that. If the CPS were allowed to do their job, she would have been taken to an orphanage years ago. He had been to plenty of Fluffies Orphanages, and there was always plenty to eat. The children were taught to read, write, and do math; when they got older, apprenticeships were arranged with reputable masters in a trade that the child was interested in. While not as good as growing up with a family, it was a good start in life. He hoped he would run across her so he could get her to the CPS or an Inquisitor. In the meantime, slog on it was. The plague barrier started crying again.