Chapter 29 - Know my Enemy

Trix had me follow the flow of traffic and make my way over to the other side of the street, a difficult feat if we were at all concerned about being run down by a cart full of grain or accosted by caravan guards. There was an art to it, where you would slide in next to something larger than yourself and use its wake to make your way to the next.

Eventually we made it to a point where we could break off from the main thoroughfare and turn onto a wide street where the pace was much more sedate. People stood and talked to each other here, some sitting on stoops or on the edges of plain stone fountains. The street ended in a cul de sac that encircled a squat structure of plain stone in the shape of a blocky pyramid. On each side was an arch with stairs that led down.

“Once we are in the undercity we will make better time,” Trix said in my ear. “The Plague Ward is to the southwest, and it is near another surface access that should take us where we need to go. There is an antique collector on the other side of the Observatory, and he is within a comfortable walking distance from multiple metal workers.”

Down the stairs we went, down multiple landings that connected to each other at strange angles. At times, we’d reach a landing that practically had us going straight on to the next set of stairs, and at the other extreme, sometimes the stairs would make a sharp turn and double back on themselves, thinning out until only one person could go down at a time. There were few enough people now that Trix felt comfortable walking again, taking the stairs in bounding, four-legged leaps that would take him down a flight in less than a second before he would stand up again and wait for me to come down. His long, low to the ground frame seemed built for this.

Once we’d gone down a few flights, the temperature dropped several degrees, and the humidity spiked. Cool, wet air ruffled my clothes and caressed my skin. More of those little light orbs hung from the walls of every landing, offering some dim illumination and pulsing in time like the city was breathing.

We went down fourteen flights of stairs before we leveled out. Then we were in a curved tunnel with a vaulted ceiling and intricate stonework featuring lots of strange angles and asymmetrical shapes that confused the eye and distorted the echoes of our footfalls.

Everything was made of dark stone fixed with mortar except, strangely, where the light orbs shone. Those appeared to be relatively new additions, with rougher hewn bricks spackled in to hold the light in place. Our tunnel was only wide enough to fit a few people side by side, and it wasn’t entirely level either. The floor would gently rise and fall over time, seemingly at random. Meanwhile the bricks fit together so neatly, the place must have been designed like this. Why not just build the floor level if you’re going to build one at all?

According to Trix, the undercity, its shape at least, was part of the Dark Lord’s original design. When I asked about some of the strange aspects of it, however, he just shrugged and said: “It’s mad, but the Dark Lord made it this way for a reason. Most people think it was part of the first dominion ritual, but we can only speculate. We’ve simply learned to live with it… or above it.”

Additional archways yawned at us from the sides, sometimes leading to another tunnel that traveled perpendicular to ours, other times terminating directly in a stairwell or what looked like a railed water well complete with buckets and pulleys.

Every once in a while, we’d enter a significant intersection, a stack of wooden signs hanging down from the ceiling with helpful labels and arrows pointing down side tunnels or telling us to watch our steps. They mostly held street names, but some of the bolder signs had things like “Library,” “University Ward,” or “Egress.” Those were always painted in bright yellow.

Trix was right about it being lighter on traffic down here. People were a rare sight, and even when we did see them no one was talking. The foot traffic, at its densest, was at a wagon wheel shaped intersection of eleven different tunnel systems in a big circular hall lit by dozens of those luminous fibers like the ones in Jassin’s carriage, high up in the ceiling, swaying like stalks of seaweed in an upside down ocean.

Clusters of people in black robes or flowing gray half-cloaks gathered and spoke in quiet, intimate tones as they loitered around a cluster of wooden stalls surrounded by tall tables and chairs. The stalls themselves were set up like a pub, with kegs and bottles lined up on the back wall while they served customers from a chest high bar with stools in front. A lively string and drum tune played over all of it, loud enough to be heard but quiet enough to still be able to converse.

The tunnels didn’t appear to be a straight shot anywhere. They curved and twisted at random times, and some arches had no signs and no lights to help you on your way. We deviated from our initial tunnel system at one of these unmarked intersections and pushed on until it was pitch black.

“Yik’i’Trix?” I asked, groping around and shuffling my feet.

“Yes, Brother?”

“I can’t see.”

“Oh, yes. Sorry. I hadn’t realized. Reach out with your right hand and feel along the wall. There is a rail there for you to hold. We’ll be through shortly.”

I put my hand out as he asked and found the wall first, cold and slick with moisture. So cold, it scraped my nerves raw.

“Is this… quellstone?” I asked.

“What? Oh. Yes, I suppose some people used to call it that. Your knowledge base is as old as the coins you brought. Most of the undercity is still the Dark Lord’s design,” Yik’i’Trix explained. “He used the quellstone for much of his city.”

“Why are there no lights?”

“Out of respect, Brother. This is a Returned neighborhood.”

I found the railing at about chest height, smooth and cool but not cold like the quellstone.

“And you can see?” I asked.

“Yes, Brother. We Volpa prefer the dark, in fact. It’s easier on the eyes.”

I walked forward cautiously, sliding my hand on the railing, trying not to trip.

“There is an intersection here. Just follow my voice, and we’ll get to the railing on the other s-,” he said just before there was a sort of thump followed by a tiny, pained yelp.

“Oh. I’m so sorry. I did not realize you were there,” Trix yipped apologetically to someone out there.

There was a pause followed by a slow, rasping intake of breath. It reminded me of a leaky bellows opening wide to draw in air.

“Is fine. Are you lost?” It was a woman’s voice, slurred and strangely hollow sounding. It wheezed with every vowel, like wind over hollow reeds.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“No. We’re not lost. We’re just passing through. I was so busy leading my friend through that I wasn’t watching where I was going. Again, I apologize, Miss.”

“No worry. Live people visit the Down, and is good.”

“If you are alright, then we’ll be on our way. Have a good day,” said Trix. I heard Trix’s front claws click on stone in preparation to get moving again.

“I know you?” the woman’s voice asked.

“Uh. I don’t think we’ve met, Miss,” replied Trix.

“No. Him. Do I know him?”

“I- I” Trix stuttered, probably pondering a way to answer without saying I was part of the Order of Dawn. “No, I don’t think so. My friend is new in town.”

“Someone knows him,” the unseen woman declared matter of factly.

“That… could be,” said Trix with some hesitation. “Everyone knows someone.”

“Someone knows him. I hear it. It hurts.” It was almost an accusation, her tone growing more sure, harsher like Trix had offended her somehow.

There was a pause. I imagined Trix blinking a couple times and rubbing his paws, thinking of something appropriate to say to that. “Yes. Well. We’ll be getting on our way,” was all he came up with.

“Wait. I do know him. I do,” she said, her voice breaking in the middle as if she was on the verge of tears.

“I really don’t think you do, Miss. You’re confused.”

For a handful of heartbeats, all I heard was my own breathing and Trix’s paws shuffling on stone. I wished I could see.

“Maybe,” she breathed, drawing the word out weakly. “I do get confused sometimes.”

Stealth(Gray Man) is now level 6.

Disguise is now level 2.

There it went again.

What? What am I hiding from? I don’t understand.

“So do we all, Miss. What is your name?” Asked Trix.

“Magtha.”

“Have a good day, Magtha.”

Then a little Volpa paw was in my hand, and I found myself being dragged swiftly along, nearly doubled over, until the ambient light in the tunnel started to show my companion in outline. By the time we were in the light, Trix was breathing hard, and I didn’t blame him. He was forced to use only half of his feet while he led me around like this.

“What was that about?” I puffed, slightly winded myself. Crouch-running wasn’t something meant to be done over that distance.

Trix shook his head. “I don’t know. She was acting strangely, more strangely than the Returned usually act at least, but they all have their eccentricities.”

“That was a Returned?”

“Yes, but she was… I don’t know. I felt like her attention was on something else as well. Strange. I hope she’s okay.”

If not for my cover, this was when I would have asked what a Returned was, but alas…

I guessed I’d figure it out soon anyway. My money was on zombies or swamp monsters.

“Come, Brother,” Trix called. “We’re almost there.”

Trix led me forward again. It was an easier trek this time. There was enough light to see here, but not because the wall lamps were back. Instead, we were catching ambient light from something bright up ahead.

We entered, through an arch, into a pentagonal room about the size of my old barn workshop back home, maybe a little bigger, big enough to fit a couple big haulers side by side.

Three metal clad figures stood vigil, two reedy women with bright blue skin and striking amber eyes next to one of the hairy, lion maned men like the dead one I’d seen on the road, though this one looked way bulkier, barrel chested and thick in the limbs.

They all stood in front of a set of heavy, wooden doors that took up the entirety of what I took for a grander version of the undercity’s regular archways, fifteen feet high and maybe eight across. A big, heavy beam had been set across the double doors and latched in place with metal braces that looked newer than the rest of the material. Several shields leaned against the wall next to the door, and a dirty pile of tarps lay several feet to the side.

This was the most well lit I’d seen the undercity so far. Several metal tripods were set up around the room with long telescoping necks ending in a metal cage that held bright, industrial versions of the light orbs I’d seen everywhere else. They cast the entire room in stark relief and did strange things to multiply everyone’s shadows.

The brickwork was tight here, as if it had been put together with such precision, it hadn’t shifted even slightly in the years since its construction. Every bit of it was the distinctive dark gray of quellstone.

Yik’i’Trix bounded up to the group and stood at his full height to get their attention. “Greetings, Brothers and Sisters. How goes the watch?”

“I know you, don’t I?” The taller of the scaled women asked, doing a bad job of snapping her gauntleted fingers as she tried to jog her memory. “You have duties at the church. The kitchens?”

“Yes. Yik’i’Trix,” the Volpa replied, making the little triangle sign on his head.

“Right! Yes. Well, I’m afraid we don’t need any of your services today, Brother,” said the blue woman sadly. “The door is sealed up for the day. We had an incident that ended badly, and we’re letting the infected calm down.”

“Oh? Well, I am not here to offer my services. I’m here to offer ours.” He gestured to me, and I took that as my cue to step forward.

“Is he like a doctor or something?” The other, darker blue woman asked with a tilt of her head. She was smaller than her compatriot, slighter in frame, but the way her face resembled the other, they could have been related. The way the light hit her skin was odd, and, if I squinted I could almost make out rounded, textured lines of shadow and gloss.

Scales.

“Take off the hat. Take off the hat,” Trix mumbled from the side of his mouth, just loud enough for me to hear.

I resisted the urge to say “Ta-da” when I flashed them my very important orange hat. It didn’t get the reaction I thought it would.

The taller armored woman’s expression flashed through a kaleidoscope of emotion, rotating through shock, fear, mild disgust, anger, and something like relief.

“Oh. I… see,” she said with some hesitation. “I hadn’t realized it had come to that.”

With a growl, the big hairy guardsman marched over to me, shoulders squared, chest out, and mane bristling. He towered over me, steely eyes sizing me up like a deli slicer sized up a ham. His hand reached out and clasped my own, his meaty paw practically swallowing mine. “It’s about time,” he said with a dutiful frown. “None of us like to talk about it, but there comes a time where we can no longer sit by. It’s gotten bad in there, and it’s only going to get worse unless we do something.”

I was feeling more uncomfortable by the second. Everyone just saw me and assumed I was here to kill plague victims… and they were just going to let it happen. This guy seemed entirely on board, at least.

Yik’i’trix spoke for me again, looking proud at how my presence, and by proximity, his, got their attention. “The Brother is not quite ready to commit to a plan of action yet. Today we are still gathering information. Is there anything you can tell us?”

“We’ve had to seal the south gate. They always try to get out there. The plague has them violent and unreasonable. We’re usually a team of four, but one of our number was injured earlier today when that one attacked us.” The guardsman gestured with his head to indicate the pile of tarps. Now that I was looking more closely, they did look like they were covering something vaguely human-shaped.

I nodded to them all, letting go of the big guy’s hand and ignoring how sore mine now was. This guy must have been born with Iron Grip. I gestured Trix over to the tarps with me. We crouched down together, and I got ready to see what I was dealing with.

Pulling the cloth back revealed a ragged, pale head with milky white eyes, clumps of stringy hair, and jagged, rotten teeth.

Well, Ryan, when you’re right you’re right. Zombies. Odd ones.

Suture marks criss crossed all over the creature’s skin, purple like a bruise, while the rest of the flesh there, although pale, was all different shades of pale. Black blood oozed out of its mismatched eyes, mangled nose, and mouth. It had no visible ears, but I assumed it could hear somehow.

On a hunch, I reached out experimentally, touching the corpse’s shoulder.

Loot Scourge-Touched Undead? Y/N

It was worse than I’d feared.

The scourge-touched weren’t coming for me. They were already here.