"He's still coming after us!" Ramon shouts in panic, spurring the pony to run faster down the canal. I take a quick glance behind and us and confirm that yes, the Stabber is still chasing us through the downpour, his legs moving at a blur and throwing up splashes of water.

"How in the world is he doing it, Mac?" Ramon wails, one hand edging for the gun belts layered over his torso. I immediately prod Ramon to get him to concentrate on guiding the pony through the heavy rain.

"Sword masters can run as fast as a horse," I explain, "but only in short bursts. Concentrate on going as fast as you can. The Stabber will tire eventually."

"Alright. Alright." Ramon says, steadying his nerves, "Not as if my guns will do much good anyway. Just warn me if that psycho starts getting to close."

"Will do." I agree, but I can see that the moment of danger is already starting to pass. The Stabber is already starting to fall behind, his figure partially obscured by the rain. As long as Ramon's pony can keep up this pace, both of us should be home free.

Ramon's pony is not particularly strong or fast, but it is docile and obedient. The pony is the kind of hobby horse that is used by rich people to go for lazy, rambling weekends in the countryside. House Robeur uses these kinds of horses as well to train the apprentices in riding before they get to use the actual warhorses. While the pony would be far from my first choice as a means of escaping Deshawn City, it was nevertheless the most sensible selection for Ramon, someone who never extensively trained in riding and who was more comfortable behind a desk than roaming about in the wilderness.

Ramon begins to let to the pony steadily drift to the right, where a staircase leading back up to street level had been cut into the side of the canal. Most likely used by the maintenance workers whenever they needed to clear any blockages in the sewerage system. With a crack of the reins, Ramon urges his pony to climb the stairs. The animal makes a grunt of exertion, not used to the weight of two passengers on its back, but agreeably complies with the order regardless of its personal discomfort.

As the pony makes the climb, I use my teeth to pull out the cork on the bottle of healing potion. Spitting the cork into the muck of the canal, I proceed to chug the potion down neat and a comfortable, warming sensation begins to suffuse my entire body. I feel my brutalized shoulder begin to mend almost immediately, the bone and flesh miraculously reforming. There's an overwhelming sense of relief as most of the pain disappears, the same way you would feel better after taking a big shit when suffering from a case of eating stale game meat. But a deep throb in my shoulder still makes itself known and my sword arm remains as useless as ever.

Yeah. I read about this kind of thing happening. Healing potions can't entirely fix serious wounds by themselves. The wounds may close, but there's some kind of lingering damage left behind. You either need to give your body time to recuperate or shell out for a proper healer to take a look at the injury. I'm still in a better position than before, so no complaints about the potion at least.

The pony crests the staircase and Ramon sends it galloping down the warren of side streets which make up so much of Temple. Ramon clearly knows his way about, not missing a beat as the Pony makes a series of turns through dark streets and narrow alleyways. Evasive moves, meant to throw off the Stabber from pursuing us. Very skillfully done as well, since by now I had lost my bearings of where exactly we were in Temple. I nod approvingly while tossing the empty potion bottle into a mound of garbage that had been piled up in a street corner by one of the tenements.

"I think we're clear." I remark as the Stabber's presence disappears from my senses, "But we better keep moving, just to be safe."

"Yeah." Ramon sighs and as his shoulders sag in relief, all the tension escapes his body in a one go. He eases up on the pony's gallop, but nevertheless keeps a steady pace as we navigate the warrens.

"Why did you burgle my house, Mac?" Ramon suddenly asks as he scans the streets for anything untoward.

"I wasn't intending to." I wave the question off, "I got jumped by the gendarme and House Robeur the moment I entered Deshawn City. I visited your place hoping that you could help me get out of this jam."

"Then when you realized I wasn't in," Ramon presses good naturedly, "you decided to help yourself to my stuff?"

"I was desperate." I make a helpless gesture with my arms, not that Ramon can see it, "Couldn't afford to wait until you got back home."

"Relax. I understand. Things the last few days have been ... uh ... intense?" Ramon agrees, "For both of us."

"I'll say." I huff, ducking under an inn's signboard that had been hung just a bit too low, "I saw the wanted posters the gendarme pasted about Deshawn City. So its true then?"

"Its true." Ramon grows somber, "Guy's dead. I was accompanying him back to the railyard after you left my office. I was lucky enough to get away. Guy wasn't."

"How did you know I wasn't the murderer?" I quiz, "Both the Stabber and myself look almost exactly alike."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"Easy." Ramon breaks into a surprisingly amused laugh, "The Stabber wasn't wearing the dress I had loaned you."

"Oh." I remark, "That makes sense actually."

"By the way," Ramon notes with a smirk on his face, "I thought you protested a bit too much when putting the dress on. And here you are tonight ..."

"I already said things were desperate, OK?" I snap, awkwardly fidgeting with the badly mauled maid costume that I'm wearing, "Stop getting stupid ideas about me and concentrate on getting us out of here."

Ramon merely chuckles and guides the horse in silence. We emerge from the side streets, right at the border of the Temple district. Right in the way of a tired looking patrol of Order conscripts. With the road completely empty except for our small group, the patrol's attention is immediately focused completely on Ramon and I. You could hear a pin drop in the silence.

"Variety is the spice of life." Ramon declares to the Order patrol, winking at them suggestively. I immediately get the hint.

"Hello boys." I say in a falsetto to the patrol, flashing some leg at them while playing with the long hair of the wig.

The patrol quickly turns away, studiously ignoring Ramon and I. Ramon begins giggling to himself as we continue on our way.

"Stop that." I grumble, lightly slapping the back of Ramon's head, "Its not funny. At all. By the way, how did you know I visited your home?"

"Easy." Ramon grins, "The Stabber was after me after I escaped at the railyard. I couldn't go back home or to the office obviously, so I paid a couple of contacts to keep a watch on things while I was hiding out in the canal. You can guess how I felt when they told me that the Stabber broke into my house and was camping there."

"Huh." I grunt, "So you had people watching the fight between me and the Stabber as well?"

"Duh." Ramon gives a thumbs up, "When they told me that two Stabbers were going at each other, I realized that you were back in Deshawn City. It was also my chance to breakout of the canal, and so there you have it."

"Good thing you showed up too." I comment as we enter one of the better residential districts, the pony's hoofsteps echoing down the deserted street, "Though I can't imagine hiding out in the canal was very pleasant for you."

"It wasn't." my companion groans theatrically, face palming for effect, "Did you know there's an entire slum down in the canal? Its built in the lower areas, by the side of the feces river and next to the fungus farms."

"I did not know that." I say decisively, "You serious?"

"Completely." Ramon confirms, "Its an isolated community and I lived among them for the past few days. Hardly anyone enters or leaves, I mean, why would they? What do the canal people have to trade with Deshawn City other than junk? And why would anyone living up here want to go down there?"

"Sounds pretty sketchy." I remark, stretching and working out the kinks in my neck, "A secret society of underground people."

"Super sketchy." Ramon agrees, "Its the kind of place where everyone has a story and minds their own business. Weirdly safe though. Not many people can actually find the place and the gang there runs a tight ship."

"And you knew about this place how?" I insist. The more I think about it, the less Ramon's story makes sense. I had never heard about this canal town until tonight. And its impossible that the place would be so safe, not the way its being described by my legitimate businessman friend.

"The Order actually." Ramon explains, "One of my clients is an Order knight. Apparently the Order does know about the canal people and tried to offer their services to them. The Order was told politely and firmly to go away."

"They didn't force the issue?" I raise an eyebrow, "Seems oddly generous of them."

"I guess the Order felt that the canal people weren't worth the trouble." Ramon shrugs, "Those guys are poorer than dirt, Mac. You have not seen real poverty until you've been down there."

"I'll have to take your word for it then." I reluctantly accept this explanation. I'm still not convinced, but there are other more pressing problems we need to face right now.

"Hell, you know your boss, Robeur?" Ramon suddenly asks out of the blue.

"Former boss." I mutter, "I don't think I'll be welcome back at the keep anytime soon."

"Robeur went down there during his younger days." my companion continues, "It's something of a highlight in their local history. Robeur fought some kind of monster that had been roaming the sewers and saved the town. Or so the story goes."

"Never heard the story." I grunt distractedly, my senses suddenly tingling.

"Probably too small time for Robeur to remember." Ramon replies, "He's something of a celebrity underground though."

"Ramon, we need to move," I say urgently as my senses scream in warning, "The Stabber, he's close. Really close."

"What?" Ramon exclaims in disbelief, kicking the pony into a gallop once more, "No way he could have overtaken us."

"He didn't." I curse, "Its like one moment The Stabber wasn't here and the next, he just appeared. Its almost like he teleported."

"Can you guys teleport?" Ramon questions, tension overflowing in his voice.

"Not that I know of." I say, "Get going. We have to hurry."

But demons can teleport. This is just more proof that supports my pet theory. The Stabber is a demon from the Beyond sent here to impersonate me.

The pony gallops down the cobblestone road and soon the main drag is within sight. Once we're past the main drag, its a clear run out of the city. But the Stabber keeps drawing closer at a terrifying rate. We're guaranteed to be intercepted if this carries on. Ramon is no match for a demon. Considering my previous showing at the canal, I'm probably not either, even at full strength. And now I'm down to one arm and no weapon.

"Look!" Ramon cries out. And I realize how the Stabber has been catching up with us so quickly. He's leaping across the rooftops of the surrounding buildings.

But from the direction of the main drag.

And that's physically impossible. There's no way the Stabber could have cut us off, even with magically enhanced speed. If he could move that fast, Ramon and I would have been run down by the Stabber at the canal. This interception would be unnecessary.

Ramon's hand flashes toward his gun belt and a pistol is drawn without hesitation. The Stabber speeds up and begins running along the side of the row of buildings, making a beeline right for the two of us.

"Eat this!" Ramon roars angrily and pulls the trigger of his gun.

The pistol vomits out a single lead ball, sending the projectile hurtling out at the Stabber. The Stabber easily vaults over the incoming attack, and the slug smashes apart the windows of a house. Almost immediately, we hear a woman screaming in fear.

And shortly after that, the tolling of the bell.

Someone had triggered Deshawn City's alarm to summon the gendarme here. They would be swarming over us like ants in short order. Wonderful.

Out of the moat, into the mire.

.....

NOW LOADING ...

Hint: You can fast travel whenever you are not in combat.