Marianne chewed her lip in indecision.

“Is it dangerous?” she asked.

“No?” I asked, unsure of why she would think that. “At least, I assume not.”

“Then what is it, and why does it glow?”

That gave me pause, as those were valid questions. Rocks back home never glowed, unless they were harmless glow-rocks or perhaps something else entirely. While I had never studied physics, I had seen plenty of popular media displaying radioactive substances. How realistic that truly was, I was unsure, but in my mind, I saw a potential lump of radioactive uranium. Naturally, I kept these fantastical fears to myself.

Marianne required no additional worries, especially not as I intended her to perform a favor for me.

For after I had returned to Ma’Ritz to both gather my haul and deposit my down-payment, the chunk of Blackjack, I encountered a slight difficulty. My shared room with Marianne was hardly secure. While I did borrow a trunk there, it would be foolish of me to trust it to keep anything valuable. The door and window lacked locks and the hallway might as well be public with all the traffic through it.

Of course, there were alternatives. I could have hid the gem. But the problem with that, was that I had no means to verify that I had not been followed, or that I was not currently under observation. For a covert and criminal organization, trailing me and discovering my chosen hiding spot should have been trivial. Thus, this option was risky.

Were I truly foolhardy, I could simply keep the gem on my person at the same time I returned to Laverna’s Cup with my haul. Then a simple trap or ambush or doublecross would be much more worthwhile for any potential aggressors. Foolish.

I had considered these issues as I had originally returned to Ma’Ritz, and I came across a possible solution.

This was why I had pulled Marianne away from her shift to the service hallway, verified we were alone, and then quickly showed her the gem before promptly hiding it once more, which was when she voiced her concerns. This was why I requested a simple favor from her.

“I am unsure of how or why the stone glows,” I admitted, before adding a caveat, “But as this is a regent for Sacred Artists to create a Mark, I doubt its properties are inherently dangerous.

Unfortunately, rather than calming Marianne by negating the deleterious effects, she grew more worried. Marianne’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened just slightly, before she shut it and glanced about nervously.

“It’s a Living Gem?!” she whisper-shouted. “Where–How–Why?!” she demanded.

I revisited several of my assumptions, and I was glad that I had been correct in assuming the Blackjack held value. In truth, the assumption was not overly far-fetched. The gem itself was shaped similar to a thumbs worth of pyrite, though the material was partially clear and it glowed.

“It is. Blackjack. And I would like you to hold on to it for the time being.”

“It should be in a safe! Under lock and key! Where’d you even find it?” Marianne protested. “It’s way, way too valuable just to be wandering around with. Did you…” she almost trembled. “Did you steal it?”

The other issue with suddenly owning an incredibly high value item when I had previously demonstrated monetary challenges. Fortunately, I had a ploy, though I found it both uncomfortable and distasteful.

“No!” I hurried in a hushed and hurried voice. “It’s… do you need to know?”

“Tell me the knights aren’t about to bust down my door, Jackie.” Marianne’s face softened, though still she sounded worried.

“They have no reason to,” I said. “It was paid for… services… rendered.” I left the content vague and emphasized, allowing Marianne to draw her own conclusions. Considering the nature of where we worked and her previously stated opinions, I found it easy to guess where her mind would head.

“No!” Marianne protested, covering her mouth. “Jackie… you didn’t.”

“I…” I released a breath and a shudder. “I do not wish to speak of this further. Will you hold on to this for me? Please?”

She sighed, “Fine, Jackie. Hand it over. I’ll keep it safe. Least I can do, really… though I wish you had told me you were considering something so drastic.”

“Thanks Marianne,” I said, handing her the stone, which she slipped into a hidden pocket lining the interior of her bodice. “But I had to find something to give me an edge at the Academy.”

Her frown of disappointment softened further. “Don’t I know it. I suppose some sacrifices are necessary. It’s just… ugh.” She finished in a groan, before shaking herself and plastering on a false smile. “I need to get back. If you’re going back out, stay safe, alright?”

“I will,” I told her, before thanking her again.

She returned to the tavern floor, and I exited through the back-door, swinging around a sidestreet before scurrying up a wall to collect my haul. I would need to find a new hiding spot in the future, now that this location was potentially burned. A problem for later.

As I returned to Laverna’s Cup, I swore I could feel eyes upon me.

I was carrying a satchel full of valuable and incriminating goods. Were I to be stopped and searched by a random patrol, my current identity would be burned. Very likely, I would need to escape to the slums. If I could escape at all.

During this time of day, I could expect to see passerby, civilians and peacekeepers both. I kept my pace neutral, neither hurried nor irreverent. I kept my gaze up and forward, meeting the gaze of all that I passed, curling my lips just slightly in a calculated move to neither appear overly familiar nor overly disinterested. It was a subtle mask that I had developed with practice. Likely, most who saw my mask would not have even realized I had smiled at all. At least not consciously. Well practiced.

Likely, my fears were unfounded. Never had I been robbed or searched on the HIll. It would be unlikely for this to be the first time such an event occurred.

And the Hill lacked the more competent Low Knights, with the baron’s men owning a monopoly here. I ought to have been safe. I knew that. But still… my luck tended towards sour more often than not.

It was in response to this anxiety that I began considering less subtle maneuvers.

I can always take to the roofs, I thought.

But it was daylight, and everyone further up the hill looking down would see me. They might not catch up, but they would have a description, and they might search the area that they had seen me last.

In the end, I continued with my original plan, hiding in plain sight.

When I reached the bottom of the Hill, near the Chasm, I had yet to be accosted. My fortune had held, though I kept my guard up even until I saw Laverna’s Cup. Though, it was not as if I let it down once I entered.

“You came back!” The Tavern Keeper called out as the door shut behind me.

I paused, unsure. Why had the fence called attention to the fact that I was returning, I wondered. But what was done, was done. I decided to play it off.

“Did you have any doubts?” I asked, glancing about the clean barroom. Unlike before, one of the booths was occupied; a massive figure draped in heavy cloth. I thought I saw the hint of horns below their hood. They were focused upon their ale, paying far too much attention to the tankard.

“Well, one never knows…” the Tavern Keeper said. His eyes drifted to the full satchel hanging from my side. “Need a drink?”

I had not come to drink, but with a possible third party in the tavern I was hesitant to reveal anything. I chose to bide my time, and I sat upon a stool and nodded.

“Same as before?” he asked, though he was already pouring the warm beer into a warmer tankard. He slid the tankard over.

I thanked him and made a show of taking a draught, though the head of foam made a mess of my lips. The flavor was just as foul. But it was not the ale that had drawn me here. It was the fence.

And with the fence, I made idle chat for perhaps a quarter of an hour.

The Tavern Keeper, a man named Joe, had apparently immigrated to Southbridge from the capital city Kwin. He was listed as the manager of the tavern, though the owner lived elsewhere and rarely visited. The man must have been a masterful liar, as I would have struggled to discern any indicators that Laverna’s Cup might have been a front for a criminal enterprise.

As we chatted, Joe filled a bowl with warm water, and began wiping down the bar near where I sat.

I frowned at the bowl. From as far as I could tell, it was merely water. No suds or surfactant or caustic solution.

Joe was in the middle of telling a story when his rag caught the bowl just wrong and sent a substantial amount sloshing over the side, onto the bartop and onto my lap.

I scooted away from the bartop a second later, but my tunic and pants had already been soaked. I leapt to my feet, eyes narrowed at Joe. This ploy had been unnecessary, I felt certain.

“Sorry!” he said, sounding genuine and profuse, even to my ears. “I don’t know how that happened… but it’s completely my fault. Can I help you get cleaned up? And the drink’s on me, least I can do.”

“That depends,” I said, feeling as though I was repeating myself. “Do you have a clean set of clothing available?”

“Ah… well, maybe not your exact size. But we’ve got some space in back with a heater, maybe you can dry out there? I’ll bring you your drink, of course!”

I grumbled and sighed, letting my irritation show, made a theater of it. But finally, I relented.

“Very well,” I said. “But this better not take too long. I have other items on my agenda today.”

“Of course! Just right this way,” he gestured for me to follow along as he stepped out from behind the bar and headed towards a reinforced door. “You’ll have the place to yourself,” he said, pushing the door open and stepping in, turning on the lights. “Don’t mind the mess… Wasn’t expecting guests…”

I followed in and the door shut. I noticed it had been muffled with padding from this side. We were in a room that looked like a cross between a central heating unit, office, and pantry, all in one. The moment the door sealed shut, he dropped the act.

“Did you have no other way to bring us back here?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“Mayhaps,” he said with a grin. “Now, feel free to make it all worth it.” He gestured at the clean and empty wooden desktop. “Lay it out, unless you feel the need to return that stone.”

He was referring to the Blackjack which he had given me as a guarantee of goodwill. Otherwise, I would have been reluctant to bring both myself and my ill-gotten gains. However, what he said did not completely match with the impression he had given earlier. I called him on it, hoping to shake intel loose.

“Was the gem not a down payment for a future job?” I asked, watching her face carefully. “An advance, I believe I recall you mentioning.”

“Did I say that?” he pondered. “I may have said something like that,” he said, rather cheerfully. “Pay me no heed then! But lay out the goods if you want me to buy ‘em. I can’t stay back here long…” he began a mock whisper, cupping his mouth. “Else people might suspect something’s afoot.”

“Hopefully your clientele is the sort to avoid asking questions?” I knew the question was a naive one. However, I still asked. It would not overly harm me if I were underestimated. Though I doubted Belobog would fall for any simple act.

“Well, maybe not,” the barkeep muttered, rubbing his jaw. “But they see a man and a woman enter a back office for a questionable amount of time, and assumptions are made.” Once again, he grinned.

I sneered, disgusted by the behavior. “Fine,” I said, beginning to empty my satchel onto the desk for examination. Rather than dumping all the items down at once, I drew it out, placing each item while watching the fence’s face for any minute twitches that might betray interest or value.

The vials from the apothecary went down first. I started with all but the special three which had been behind a locked cabinet. As I set them down, the fence began sorting them by type. He shook them, held them up to the light to check for sediment, and he examined the handwritten labels attached to most of them.

By the time I had emptied my satchel of all but the three special vials, I paused, waiting to see what he would value them as.

“Not… terrible,” he led off, eyeing the satchel that still hung heavy, “though I certainly hope you brought more than this. Otherwise, I might end up second guessing Belobog’s judgment.”

While he maintained a friendly tone, there was an underlying threat to what he said. That if I failed to deliver enough of an initial value, then he would challenge the foundation of our entire relationship. And considering he had already invested an expensive gem, he might attempt to recoup the cost. However, all of this was merely implied, and weakly at that. I would not be intimidated at this juncture.

“That depends on what you offer for this,” I said firmly, refusing to be cowed.

The corner of his lips turned up and his eyes crinkled. He had far too many smile lines for a barkeep. More likely, the man was a swindler incarnate. His cheer left me suspicious of his true nature. Happy men never existed in his line of work.

“Very well,” he said. He pointed at the first and largest stack of vials. “These are mixed grade healing tonics. Nothing above decent in grade. Retail would cost twenty Cee each. You’ve got thirty-two of ‘em. As you know, the house must make a profit, so I’ll give you three hundred Chargers for the lot.”

I quickly ran the math and scoffed at his trick. “Not off to a great start for a fair deal,” I said. “That would be less than half of the reported retail value, if I can even trust you on that front at all.”

He shrugged, “I’m not sure who you’ve done business with in the past, but merchants take up to three-quarters of the whole. Especially for… improperly documented wares.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I had rarely dealt with fences directly. What he said might have been reasonable. But there were multiple confounding factors in this instance.

“Distinctive goods that can be traced back to their original owners carry a degree of risk,” I said. “For which the premium is charged to cover as insurance, or to relocate the goods to a time and place where they are not so well remembered.”

He nodded, agreeing with me and twirling his hand for me to continue. Likely, he knew already where I was heading with this, but I would see it through to the end, regardless, for the off chance he was bluffing.

“Potions, tonics, elixirs, or any other consumable item,” I said, “Are not distinctive, are difficult to trace, and are easily distributed. Especially for healing tonics, I would imagine. Fifty percent of the cut is too severe in this case.”

“That’s true,” he said. “But you’re forgetting a fairly important detail here,” he said.

A part of me tensed, expecting a betrayal. My false-arm quivered in anticipation.

“Oh?” I said, maintaining a neutral expression.

But despite my expectations, no attack came. Unless verbal rebuttals counted.

“You don’t have many other options to sell,” he said. “And I happen to believe that some of the items you plan on selling today are on the distinctive and memorable side.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” I said, revealing nothing, despite the truth to his leverage. “Unfortunately though, I already have relations with you and your organization. And as your organization has already discovered my identity and workplace, it would not be difficult for you to extort me. This is not conducive to repeat business with reliable contractors.”

“Well I wouldn’t go so far as to say that–” he began protesting the allegations of possible extortion, but I continued, ignoring his protests.

“And lastly, you have already bought me–my loyalty, I mean–with the expensive gem you offered as an advance. With these three factors in consideration, it is clear that you mean to keep me in an ambiguous yet disfavorable position for this negotiation. While that may work for this transaction, lest you prove my assertions incorrect, then I will likely relocate and take my future business elsewhere.”

He winced, “I don’t think you’re supposed to admit it like that,” he said. “But you do have a bit of a point.”

“However, there is a factor to consider in my favor. As you have already invested in me, I assume that my services are desired. In which case, it would behoove us both to maintain my motivation to conduct future business or services. As I said earlier: repeat business, is the name of our game. Or should be.”

“That’s where you’re going with this?”

“Then do you refute?” I asked.

He shrugged, “Nah, not really. But there’s a limit here. I’ll see what I can do, but even if I bend over backwards, there’s only so much I can give. We’re runnin’ a business here after all.”

“So long as it appears fair,” I said. “Assuming it does, then let us continue under the assumption that a mutually beneficial price can be met. Please evaluate the other potions with candor.”

He took a moment to re-examine the vials I had laid before him. He began his appraisal, this time hopefully more accurately stating the good’s value.

“These are various aesthetics,” he said, pointing at the grouping of vials with the most variety in terms of size, color, and consistency. “Variable worth and more difficult to move than health tonics. While even the cheapest is more expensive than the health tonic, I would give about the same for each.”

“Explain what you mean by aesthetic,” I said.

He rolled his eyes. “Dyes, scents for noble ladies, hair serums, skin softeners… the list goes on. You didn’t know what you were grabbing, then?”

“They had a decent value to volume ratio,” I explained. “Even if I was unsure of their particulars.”

“Not a terrible strategy,” he agreed. “But then we come to the third grouping,” he pointed at a series of small and uniform vials with clear fluid and an overall phallic shape to the glass. “Male enhancements. These… sell surprisingly well. I’ll pay double for them compared to health tonics.”

Internally, I scoffed. Of course, men would pay more to address erectile dysfunction than a generic health concern. In this case, though, it worked in my favor.

“Now will you please reveal the rest of your haul?” he said, almost in an exasperated plea.

I obliged, next placing the three high value alchemical mixtures on the desk.

He whistled, picking them up gingerly and checking the labels, then the wax sealing the corks, and then finally the bottom of the vial, where the glass had been stamped. “Mid quality and elixirs of enhancement. No registration required to purchase them either… at least not anymore. These are a great find. You found them along with everything else?”

“In a locked cabinet, but yes.”

“You sure you want to sell them?” he asked, surprising me.

“Why would I not?”

“It’s not easy to find decent elixirs, especially ones free from the Crown’s oversight. Figured you might want to use one.”

“Not all three?” I asked, considering the opportunity. From what I had learned, elixirs could enhance Mind, Body, or Spirit in a one off change. Some raised several, some raised a single one, and the extent depended on the quality of the elixir. There were many variables involved, though I suspected there were even more useful elixirs in existence, such as ones that permanently provided enhanced vision or hearing.

“All three?” he guffawed. “They might be stamped, but I still wouldn’t take that risk,” he grinned.

“I need fluid currency more at the moment,” I answered his earlier question. “I’ll sell all three.”

“If you’re sure…” he led off.

“I am. But it is appreciated that you checked.”

It almost left me feeling warm inside. Except, I could not be certain that the question had been false to begin with. If he already was aware of my circumstances, then he could have easily modeled my behavior, in which case, asking that question and confirmation would serve as a means to build a false level of rapport. This possibility caused me to quash any warmth I might have felt.

Instead, I began piling the artificed goods on the desk next. All of them, this time, instead of seeking each evaluation independently.

He went through them quickly, muttering over each device. “Communication devices are always nice, easily portable observation devices sell well with the right clientele, gadgets for someone with more Cee than sense, another gadget… gadget…” He turned back to me. “All of these are valuable, but only two will be easy to move. The rest will be a challenge, even for me.”

I nodded, agreeing with the likelihood that some of the artificed goods would be difficult to move for a reasonable price and effort without using a storefront.

Rather than contest a valid concern, I decided to finish this.

“With these, the alchemicals, and the elixirs, what is the total you offer?”

He did some internal math, though I was unsure of how much was for show.

“Would two thousand Cee be about right?”

It may have been a fair assessment. But I remembered what Kate had claimed for the Sacred Artist. I would likely need a few thousand Chargers to guarantee a Mark of sufficient quality. Two thousand might be enough, but it also might not. I decided to push for more.

“Three hundred for the health tonics, another three hundred for the aesthetics, six hundred for each elixir… that’s already over two thousand, and that fails to include the artificed items. Are you certain this is a fair deal?” I asked. “It seems that this might not be an offer made in good faith.”

“I don’t remember quoting that price for an elixir,” he mused.

“Should it be higher?” I asked.

He shrugged and grinned. “Maybe… I could go as high as three thou,” he said.

“You mean that the two artificed devices that will greatly enhance organized criminal activities are worth less than several hundred Chargers?” I asked in mock disbelief. “The communication devices that would enable a team to navigate obstacles or provide security?”

“Other options are available for that sort of thing,” he said, before admitting, “but the devices are nice.”

“And the glasses with thermal and night vision?”

“I can’t go higher than thirty-five hundred,” he said plainly.

That would likely serve well enough. I was about to agree, when he held up his hand to stop me.

“Not that I will even go that high,” he said.

I tilted my head, bemused.

“Or did you forget the down payment already, that served as a guarantor and security for your peace of mind?”

“You’re taking the gem out of the proceeds then?” I asked.

“It would make sense,” he said.

It would, if I ignored that the gem had also served as an incentive to serve his organization, and as a downpayment for a trial job.

Oh.

I realized what this was about.

“Thirty-five hundred,” I said. He opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. “And you tell me about this job you need done.”

He smirked while making a show of rubbing his chin. “That may work… but I can’t tell you too much just yet. Except that it’s gonna be difficult and dangerous.. Lots of skill required to pull it off. It’ll be on the Hill as well, in case you were afraid it was outta town.”

“It will need to wait until a later time,” I told him, before he sprang any further vague details upon me. “I am a bit preoccupied this week.”

“Prepping for the Academy then?” he asked.

“...yes. Is there any action I can take in the meantime to prepare?”

“Maybe… Just start scouting the esteemed baron’s residence for now. We’ll let you know when it’s time for the job.”

“The baron…?”

This did indeed sound both difficult and dangerous.

That night I had planned to begin scouting further up the Hill, towards where the wealthiest lived in a neighborhood of manors surrounding the baron’s estate. I had yet to travel there, as the peacekeepers kept their garrison there, and entering that section was not so trivial as the rest of the Hill. However, I would find a way, and I needed to, at least were I to accomplish whatever this task would end up being.

Yet, despite my plans, my duties that night carried me in a different direction.

“Jackie!” Marianne called from our window, her head popping out and craning towards the rooftops where I waited. Her shift must have just ended. “You better come down here quick, before Ma thinks you’re slacking.”

Confusion swept through me. “What do you mean?” I asked. “I am keeping watch, as I have been directed to do.”

“Yeah, but have you not seen Tiff trying to get your attention?”

I paused. I had not noticed anything of that sort. I had been periodically navigating around Ma’Ritz, and it might have been a matter of poor timing, but I would expect that if Tiffany truly was seeking me out, that I would have noticed by now.

“Why would she? Is something wrong?”

Marianne groaned, “Just get down here before Tiff starts complaining that you’re sleeping on the job.”

I scowled, but swung through the window, landing in a crouch beside Marianne. “I was not, and I doubt that Tiffany truly tried to gain my attention.”

“Well, we can explain it once we get downstairs. They had something they need doing tonight.”

“Who is this ‘they?’” I asked.

“Ma herself.”

I refrained from issuing forth an indelicate groan. Though it was a near affair.

Not long after that, I was once more on the main floor of Ma’Ritz, in the atrium between the tavern and the brothel. Ma stood with her arms crossed and a stern expression as she listened to Tiffany. If Marianne was correct, and if my assumptions regarding Tiffany were correct, she was likely casting aspersions upon my character.

Ma’s eyes latched onto me as I entered the hallway, and she held up her hand to silence Tiffany mid word. “Thank you, Tiffany. Why don’t you head back to your clients while I take it from here?”

Tiffany’s brows flinched, which considering how her bun pulled tight against her forehead, was the equivalent of a scowl.

“I don’t mind sticking around,” she said.

Ma sighed. “No clients tonight?”

“... No,” Tiffany sounded surly. “My regulars find themselves otherwise occupied tonight.”

“There is wisdom in branching out,” Ma said, but somewhat unbothered by Tiffany’s lack of business. “Regardless, Jackie is here, and she is who I have a task for. Unless you wish to help?”

Tiffany scowled again and glared my way. “No. About time she shows up though. I’ve been searching for her for a bit.”

“Yes…” Ma said. “So you told me. Now off you get.”

Tiffany stomped away, heading back towards the brothel’s waiting area.

“The girl won’t pick up a caller with that attitude,” Ma spoke to herself, before turning her attention upon me.

“It has been quiet tonight,” I said, offering multiple possible meanings, depending on the turgid woman’s mind. “Am I not required on watch tonight?”

Her lips pressed together, “No. It seems the baron’s men are performing their jobs for once. Having another pair of eyes would be a waste. Though, I do wonder how effective those eyes are, as Tiffany was unable to gain your attention.”

“I was wondering the same as soon as I heard she was looking for me, from Marianne,” I added. “I was watching from the roofs.”

“Right,” she said, frowning. “Not what I imagined when assigning you the job, but I suppose it works.”

“Though it appears I am not keeping watch tonight?” I asked, as she had pulled me from the shift. “Though, I wonder why the recent change, and if it will last.”

Ma shrugged. “Unclear. But those foolish men will return the pits they normally settle in soon enough. Something about water flowing downhill,” she finished, shrugging. “Or so the saying goes. But tonight, I have a different task for you.”

“So I have heard. What is my task for tonight?”

Her lips stretched out into an almost grin. “It’s been a month since the grease-traps were cleaned last. I need you to head down and push the muck through.”

This time, I did groan.

Fifteen minutes later, I had changed into old and stained clothing, grabbed my battle-ribbon, though I intended on using it more as a club than anything else, and I opened the kitchen’s hatch door and descended into the rank cellar.

This time, I had a better idea of what I was doing.

This time, I made no efforts to conceal my false-arm.

I attached a lamp to a lanyard about my neck, and I made my way towards where the channel exited the cellar and entered the sewers.

The chittering and scurrying about the corners of the cellar were just barely audible.

I tensed my false-arm, or rather, I sent the tendrils the signal to tense, which in this case communicated a sense of readiness. Its tendrils tensed along my thoracic cavity, a wave of featherlight pressure that almost tickled.

“Excited?” I asked it in a hushed tone, amused. As I was alone, I could allow myself some folly regarding my false arm.

The false-arm, whether it understood me or not, continued twitching. I would have liked to imagine that was an affirmation. The alternative would be worse, I was sure.

Within moments I had reached the grating that opened into the sewer.

Sludge had piled against it, forming a dam. How that sludge had ever moved to begin with, I was unsure. I used the handle of my battle-ribbon to leverage the grating to the side.

The chittering came near. Circling. Enclosing.

These rats were far too aggressive to be natural creatures.

The grating finished shrieking against itself and stuck open. I found the same plank I had used last time and began shepherding the stagnant chunks of grease along the channel, into the sewer. I tried keeping away from the opening as much as possible. Not because of fear, but because of the breeze coming up and out of it. The air felt slimy and gross and the smell could have been worse, but I was unsure of how.

Just glancing down the dark hole in the wall, I wondered what else could be down there. The rats were already borderline intelligent; mutants, most likely. What other creatures lived down there. From what I had seen, the sewers were large enough for a child to crawl through, and that was only the offshoot of it that was collected from Ma’Ritz. I did not doubt that the sewers grew in size the closer to the mainline they went.

It was a fascinating system, and I wondered if Belobog’s friends made use of the sewer network. I sincerely hoped that they had no intentions of having me climb through them. I shuddered in revulsion, just as the first rat made its move.

It jumped down from a shelf, a trajectory towards my face.

My false arm unwound and a tendril snapped upwards, whipping and coiling around the rat. It managed a furious squeak before its spines and ribs crunched, before the tendril tore through its flesh, pinching the rat into halves.

Some gore finished the trajectory, splattering my face.

It was disgusting. Silently, I reprimanded my false-arm. I knew it could do better. Or at least, I hoped so.

To my surprise, the false arm appeared to react to my castigation. It responded as though to make the mess it made less offensive. One of its tendrils pressed against my face and neck, absorbing the droplets of gore.

Unfortunately, this did not make it better.

I grimaced.

Another rat rushed from my right. Rather than risking the false-arm making a more disgusting mess, I swept my battle-ribbon down, still spooled, and clubbed the vermin, killing it and sending it flying beyond my false-arm’s reach.

The false-arm’s tendrils twisted in my guts, expressing its displeasure.

“Serves you right for being a messy eater,” I said.

The next rat, tendrils grabbed before it had the chance to attack. This time, it was crushed far enough away that the resulting blood-burst failed to reach me.

An improvement, I noted.

After the fourth rat, the creatures made a retreat, returning to their corners and cubby-holes. I finished pushing the gunk down the channels then closed the grating, once more locking the sewer and all that might live within out.

While the work was disgusting, I felt some pride as I left the cellar. I had improved my coordination with my tools and assets.

The false-arm seemed to agree with my assessment, it somehow burbled contentedly as it digested the material it had claimed.

When all was said and done, dawn had yet to break, and the communal baths were free. I took a long soak, dried myself, dressed in a clean nightshirt, then tumbled into bed to grab far more rest than I normally did.

I figured I could scout the top of the Hill the next night.