It was in fact two in the morning when I’d broken free of the straitjacket Alice had left me bound in.
Another half hour to get ready, collecting various tricks of the trade from my stocks. No Diabolism tonight if I could help it. With a Diabolic murderer on the loose, spreading that magic around would only draw the wrong kind of attention. I already tap-danced with a noose around my neck, no need to do it in the rain as well.
Holmsteader’s turf was close, a stretch of the outskirts of the Quarter once called The Hangman’s Place for some cursed corpse of a long-ago pretender to the throne swinging from a gibbet, right in the middle of three intersecting roads.
The corpse and gibbet were still there, the curses on both still holding strong and cursing anyone who tried to take down the gibbet to a slow, choking death of asphyxiation. But these days, they were just another thing for people to gawk at in the only safe place for outsiders in the Quarter, Glee Street.
I could hear the raucous racket already, drunken outsiders stumbling about. Those who had come for a late night in casinos, bars, or the more illicit places underneath. Nothing near as fancy as outside the Quarter, but little things offered the taboo thrill like pursuing your pleasures inside the lair of the dread Infernals.
I was staying well away from it. I’d never met Holmsteader, and from all I knew, she wouldn’t appreciate me setting a single hoof inside her little kingdom. Instead, I lurked on the outskirts, away from her demesne, idly walking the wrecked warehouses on the outside.
Holmsteader had risen up in the aftermath of Understreet, a low-level street gang leader untainted by the mess my brother had made of the Quarter. She was cut from a more cautious cloth than my half-brother, having to rise up immediately following the Imperial Army campaign to dig him out of the underground.
The fact he was permitted to be still alive after they’d detonated enough explosives to wreck an entire underground neighborhood trying to kill him was one of the least mystifying things about that whole affair, sadly. The Scar itself still was uninhabited, and would be til someone footed the bill to clean up the mess of an entire block collapsing into an exploding cavern poisoned by the fallout of a half-dozen types of magic, Diabolism chief among them.
Something launched into the air, exploding into a display of light and noise. More joined it, the noise deafening. I ignored them, outside of some irritation as the noise crowded out all the others I could hear. I put a little more distance between myself and Glee Street.
After, when no one knew if Versalicci was alive, there had been a score of attempts to fill in the void left by the Black Flame. All of them had been done far too early, back when the Imperial Army still occupied the quarter. Draconian would imply some level of mercy for any gang that caused them offense. More might have died in those months after the Black Flame’s defeat, simply strung up and left to rot as a warning to the rest.
The fact that most of Versalicci’s successors kept on trying to reuse his populist ideas and started out targeting the army might have had a hand in those responses.
Holmsteader had been smarter, waiting for the initial backlash to die down, for time to ease the wounds of dead comrades lost to Infernals. When she came it wasn’t to rob and steal. It was to bring services.
Soldiers liked their vices after all, and being billeted in the Quarter meant no easy access to them. They’d learned early on in their campaign to eliminate the Flame that even if the majority of people begging for money or food, or offering something in trade, were completely genuine, some would always be Flame with a knife or a bomb.
Once she’d gotten across that wasn’t going to happen, Holmsteader had made quite the fortune for herself servicing the army’s needs, illicit or not. And after? She just started serving those who ventured just a little bit into the Quarter for some fun and danger.
I paused in my walk, in a small alley between two abandoned warehouses. Both of them sounded abandoned, and nothing burned inside either. I could smell smoke, and that would mean a fire helping keep someone alive through the chill winter night. Required if you were going to live in one of these derelicts.
However, I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
Honestly coming here during the day might have been the better move, scoping out the lay of the land in preparation, but daytime would mean being noticed for certain. Holmsteader wouldn’t care about me no longer being part of the Flame. What she would care about is disruptions that could affect her business. People came for the thrill, seeking vice in the dangerous Infernal Quarter while knowing they wouldn’t actually come to any real harm on Glee Street and the surrounding neighborhoods.
Do anything that might imply actual danger to her customers, and that would mean a harm to Holmsteader’s bottom line. That she wouldn’t abide.
Not that her people wouldn’t be out at night, but with Glee Street’s nightlife they’d be busy fleecing tourists and making sure no one got too hurt during their adventures in the Quarter. Some would be on the rooftops, keeping an eye out for trouble venturing towards Glee Street, but as long as I kept my distance, I should be fine.
Getting to the top, my lack of dark vision meant that I couldn’t quite tell if that was a very stealthy sentry four more warehouses closer to Glee Street, or just a wider-than-normal chimney. I needed to sit down with each eye for a fortnight and work on improving their night vision. But I did spot what I needed.
A warehouse on the very edge of the territory had a small plume of smoke going up through a fallen-in section of the roof. A good place to start, far enough out from Glee Street that Holmsteader wouldn’t pay attention, while still inside so no one neighboring would pay too much attention.
Back down to the street, and down to the warehouse. It wasn’t in great shape, but better than many of its fellows. All four walls were still standing, and someone had installed an improvised, crooked door over the big hole in one of them.
I could hear a pair talking in there, an older man and woman. Currently wondering when the rest of their group will be getting back from work with any food.
I knocked thrice on that door, before calling out. “Evening, I’d like to have a chat with whoever lives inside here?”
Silence, then movement inside, boots on the ground.
“What about?” A harsh voice yelled from inside.
“Information,” I replied. “I’ve got coin in here to pay for it in return.”
More silence, and then the voice spoke up again.
“What’s my guarantee you ain’t trying to break in here to rob me?”
I eyed the shoddy door in from of me. It held the chill air back. That’s probably all it held back.
“That I’m not already breaking the door down?” I replied. “I could probably have this thing toppled just using my hoof.”
Another silence, then in an irate tone “Well, you don’t have to be so blunt about it. Ain’t no lock, come on in.”
I opened the door, stepping inside the ruined warehouse. A middle-aged tiefling woman with teal skin, wearing ragged clothing and a potato sack on her head, sat in the middle, tending to a fire. The wood being burnt was fresh and brand new, unlike the remnants of long destroyed crates scattered about, behind which someone was currently lurking.
I drew my revolver from within my coat, keeping it pointed down for now.
“While I appreciate that you feel safer with a little trump card up your sleeve while I’m in your abode,” I said, gesturing towards the crates. “I appreciate not having hidden ambushers in the same room as me, thank you.”
A ragged middle-aged Infernal grunted, straightening up from behind those half-destroyed crates. Someone had taken a hacksaw to his horns leaving uneven stumps on the front of his head.
“Alright,” the woman by the fire said irritably. “You’ve proven you can probably whip the both of us without issue. You gonna try taking what little we got, or leave us alone?”
“Neither,” I answered, keeping an eye on the man as he didn’t move closer to the fire, hand still gripping that sharp little dagger. “I just want to talk about a few things. Got word that people have been disappearing from along the outskirts of Glee Street, people that most wouldn’t think twice about.”
The two were silent for a bit, then the woman spoke up. “You don’t look the kind that would be thinking twice about it.”
“Someone’s leaning on me,” I admitted. “Disappearances have got people showing interest. They want it found out, and fast.”
The woman eyed me suspiciously. “You ain’t with Holmsteader, and there’s only one Infernal in the quarter that I’ve heard looking like you. I ain't being truck with no attempt by Versalicci to expand in here, Holmsteader will nail me up by my horns to my house.”
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This deserted warehouse being a house was a generous description. And I should have done some kind of disguise, but in all honesty, getting Holmsteader mad at Versalicci wasn’t an outcome I hated. And unfortunately, pretending to still be Black Flame would make these two more talkative than saying I worked with Voltar. Or worse, the Imperial government.
“If it’s an attempt to expand his turf, I’m unaware,” I said. “I do hear from him that people are disappearing and Holmsteader either can’t do anything or isn’t. But if his name makes you reluctant to talk, maybe I can do something to help with that.”
I reached inside my coat, pulled out a small coin purse, and started taking pounds from it, while inwardly cursing Versalicci. I’d get repayment for all of this, even if I had to rip it directly out of his hide. The pair maintained an air of disinterest till the amount of pounds I’d pulled out reached eight.
The two traded glances, and then the woman sighed. “Didn’t hear it from us, got it?”
“If Holmsteader ever asks, the wind told me,” I said, then as they glanced confusedly at each other I added “I won’t tell. So, people have been disappearing then?”
“Aye,” she said. “Though didn’t think much of it for a while. Glee Street means there’s always work, even if Holmsteader only trusts her folks with dealing with the outsiders. Still plenty of hauling and labor you can do for a day’s meal and some water that ain’t filthy. People drift in and out depending on their preference for work, but those have been drying up. And now the regulars are disappearing too.”
“You’re regulars?” I asked, settling in ten feet away, my back to the man, a move to put them at ease. Mind you, I was sure if he actually charged my back with a blade, I could disarm him and put the both of them down quickly.
She nodded. “Yep, been working here on and off for two years. Ain’t pretty, but it keeps our bellies full and they give us wood for the winter.”
Barely enough wood to last the night, it looked like. Holmsteader’s people made sure they had willing hands to do the grunt work, but not enough to make them comfortable.
“They didn’t look suspicious at the start,” the woman continued. “No signs of struggle, everything packed up neatly and taken with ‘em. Mostly the loners, those who don’t have so many friends. No families. Our group, no one from there. Fire usually has eight around it, but some of the others have night work they’re doing. Just the two of us tonight. Nobody’s going outside in groups smaller than six or so.”
Unfortunately, I could see this unfolding exactly as she’d just laid out. People wouldn’t trust the Watch, barely trusted Holmsteader and those who would be missed the least being targeted first ensured no one would notice for a while. And no one had.
“Used to be better back in the old days,” her companion said, speaking up for the first time. “Used to be this place was littered with our kind so heavily that if you tried to make off with one everyone would see you do it. Now we’re so spread out it’s easy to pick people off if you know what you’re doing.”
I snorted. Exaggerations. The district might not be as crowded since Her Majesty decided the solution to the Quarter’s problems were conscripting large chunks of it into the army, but it was still plenty tight. Might not be you had to maneuver around a sleeping body with every step when you went down an alley anymore, but there’d be at least a half dozen there. More importantly.
“No it wasn’t,” I said with forced calm. “Those days, someone tried to snatch someone else? You better hope you have someone willing to risk their hide for you nearby, because otherwise everyone would turn their backs and let you be grabbed. So do me a favor old-horn, and no nostalgia for worse days.”
Silence for a bit, his expression grim, before it broke into a grin.
“Fair enough. Speaking from experience?”
“Very personal experience,” I said. “I ended up lucky. Some people took a shine to me, and I did have family willing to cut throats to get me back.”
Literally, by the end there.
“Well,” he said. “What you thinking about doing with our little story?”
“Well, Mr.?”
“Don’t call me mister, make me feel ancient. I’m Jones, that’s Marat over there.”
“Well, for right now I’m going to take a look around and talk with some of your neighbors. See if I can find any additional details. Maybe see if there’s a more definite pattern in whose being nabbed.”
“Well,” Marat said. “Be careful around Glenn’s bunch, they’ve taken to threatening any strangers that come by, and that rusty old flintlock is going to go off one of these days.”
I nodded, although my attention was on something else.
People like Jones and Marat would be prime targets for whoever was picking off people. Even with their group's larger size, if they normally were split up like this? Easy prey.
There were some things I could do, but wait here all night every night for someone to try and kidnap them was not one of them, so I’d brought a few traps with me. Nothing special, just little mixtures that would react to the presence of diabolism. It would at least confirm that was being used, instead of a more mundane kidnapping ring.
I looked over the warehouse in the arcane, noting the occasional echo and spirit. Someone had been knifed here, not too long in the past from the bloodstains only in the arcane. Not much else, this place was dull to my eyes besides that.
Wait, The Imp interrupted me. Do you see that?
I frowned. See what?
Would you use your eyes? The Imp snapped.
“Maybe you could be more helpful and tell me exactly what I’m looking for,” I replied in a whisper. “Amazingly, just telling people to look again and not explain what’s there doesn’t….”
I trailed off as I looked closer at the ground, frowning.
You were saying? The Imp snidely asked.
“Quiet,” I muttered, focusing on where I could have sworn a tiny part of the ground had briefly turned dark. Just for a second, something had tried to wriggle free.
Now that I knew something was there, it was easier to see, although still only glimpses of it as it squirmed and moved about on the ground.
“Hey Jones?” I called out, and the two looked back towards me from the fire. “Can you do me a favor? Move to the entrance of the warehouse then back again?”
“What?” he asked incredulously. “Away from my fire? Why?”
“I think there’s something here,” I said. “Attached to you.”
He looked at me like I was insane. “I ain’t got nothing on me. What are you, cra-”
Marat had driven an elbow into his side, cutting him off as she hurriedly whispered something into his ears.
“Rumour on the street is she’s a bloody Hells caster, don’t call her crazy!”
Far too low for me to hear. If I hadn’t kept the enhancements in my ears.
“He don’t mean anything by it Miss,” she said louder. “But still it don’t hurt to be cautious you know?”
“I just want to check something,” I said. “A suspicion. Call it wager. Another pound if I end up being wrong.”
After a hurried whispered debate over whether or not to risk it and some very wrong assumptions about me trying to rot off specific parts of his anatomy, Jones finally moved to the doors. I kept my gaze firmly on the ground, and now I could see it.
Now I could see it as it dragged along the surface, changing to blend in almost instantaneously. Almost. If I hadn’t known to look for it, I would never have noticed, but I could see it for brief moments as the camouflage changed, matching the surface of the ground.
A long thin string of magic, and in those brief glimpses before it changed color back it was black.
“You can stop moving,” I called out, keeping an eye on where the string was. “Probably not safe to handle, is it?”
It’s just diabolism, The Imp noted. Not dangerous unless you are afraid of your own heritage. Very well camouflaged, which I will eventually teach you. We would be progressing faster if again, you weren’t so fearful of your heritage.
I snorted. Biosculpting had done little for the stains on my right hand, hence why I wore gloves more often than not these days. And even themost intensive sessions crafting a disguise, there was still just the faintest impression of new scales on my skin where they’d sprouted. Just enough to notice if you knew to look for them.
Handling it may alert its creator though, The Imp noted.
Moot point. The tools I had for directly interacting with the arcane were back at my shop, and I was not going to channel Diabolism at those threads.
Marat and Jones had come closer now, cautious. I was not going to live down these rumors anytime soon.
“What is it?” Jones whispered.
“Someone slapped a tracking spell on you,” I said, eyeing where the little tracking string had been. “A homemade one too. There’s methods that wouldn’t leave a trail, but I’m guessing whoever put it on you didn’t want a money trail left behind. Make your own, don’t have to worry about your supplier selling you out if pressured.”
“The Hells?” Jones looked down at where I was examining the warehouse floor, Marat coming to join us. “There’s nothing there!”
I hummed as I withdrew a vial from my pockets. “Nothing you can see, or I normally would be able. Perks of learning a little bit of magecraft and having someone force my senses open a little. Even then it’s very well hidden. Natural camouflage of sorts.”
Jones chuckled, but there was a hint of mania to it as I unstoppered the bottle. “You're just trying to get out of paying me a pound, aren’t you?”
I flipped him the coin, and he nearly fumbled the catch, the tension draining out of him.
Then I let a drop from the bottle fall on where the thread lay.
There were slugs in the deep that glowed in the presence of magic. This was just some liquidized remnants, but it’s amazing what dead cells could still do.
The line glowed on both the arcane and the material plane, blue luminescence all across the thread where I’d splattered the liquid. The tracking spell tried to compensate, but all it meant was that it turned blue as well.
Jones and Marat both stumbled back, and I watched as a second line glowed next to the first. So, both of them had been tracked.
“Get rid of it!” Jones snarled at me.
I paused, cocking my head. “Good question. Can I?”
“You mean you don’t know?!” Marat yelled, while the actual entity I’d addressed the question to answered.
You could, but with your current level of technqiue it would be messy and would alert its creator immediately. Most attempts to interfere with it would, actually. The caster would even know the precise area it was attacked at.
"Calm, please,” I told the other two. “No reason to let the entire neighborhood know about this.”
“You’re not the one with some magic tracking device on you,” Marat said.
“Spell,” I corrected. “Not tracking device. And there lies the problem. I could sever this connection, but it would alert whoever cast the spell, and also would tell them precisely where it was severed. In your house.”
The two paled at that, staring at where the spell had faded from sight.
“I…” Jones shuddered. “There’s got to be something we can do right?”
“Of course there is,” I replied. “It’s not a tracking device but to tether to you someone would need to touch you. Either that, or they are far more powerful than I would think possible.”
Not entirely wrong, The Imp commented. Hooking things onto souls requires touching the skin, or at least clothing. If they kept the pair in a ritual circle for a solid ten minutes that might do the trick, but I doubt even these two are dull enough to have missed that happening. Tethering at a glance would be power more akin to a devil’s work than a mortal caster. Having an item they touched tether it would work as well.
“It’s entirely possible they might have done it if either of you were inside a prepared ritual circle,” I continued seamlessly. “It would be disguised, so you wouldn’t notice. An item maybe you handled, but the general point is someone who touched you, brought you into their house, gave you an item to take care of, decided to hook you with a tracking spell, and have probably been waiting to collect on it.”
Probably another reason for that, is if they’d gotten these two close enough to track in the first place. Laying a tether in the soul with diabolism could lead to nasty results, especially if they had materials from said person on hand to also use.
“When you do work for Holmsteader, is there someone in particular who handles everything on her end?”
From the looks on their faces, I think I knew who to pay a visit to next.