Nemesis Jones has been given a lot of bad advice over the course of his nineteen years, but perhaps the worst advice he’s ever been given is to keep his mouth shut. It’s a sobering thought, what his life could have been if only he had spoken up more often, made his presence more known. If he’d disrupted things.
And yet here he is, thirteen hours later, sitting at the table in Beaumort’s as though nothing had happened.
He nervously drums his fingers on the table. Across from him, Callie looks unsettled. Theory looks vexed.
It’s the next day, but the newspapers have nothing to say about the murder that has taken place at the Theatre Obscura. Nemesis hadn’t expected them to – the papers that Fitzroy doesn’t own are far too scared to report anything incriminating to him. The Obscura Actors’ Guild is one of the more powerful forces at work in Omen, after all.
And it isn’t as though he and Percy had sounded any sort of alarm. They’d simply left. Despite that, knowing the city, they’re not the only ones to find out. Somewhere out there, people know. What they’ll do with their knowledge is another matter entirely.
He flips idly through his copy of this morning’s edition of the Electric Sun. Even though the Sun often remains above the influence of most societies and reports on things no one else dares to, to go against Tobias Fitzroy is a very deeply irresponsible idea.
He pauses his idle flipping on the crossword puzzle. These sorts of things aren’t challenging, so he doesn’t normally bother with them, but they can be decent time-wasters in a pinch. Something to think about, other than the murder. He scans the list of clues – all so tragically obvious – but one catches his eye.
HORIZONTAL
6: An agent of sure downfall.
Seven letters. He half-grins. What are the chances? It doesn’t matter. This isn’t a coincidence. With confident strokes, he writes: NEMESIS.
His hand moves down the list of words. It doesn’t take him long to finish the crossword. It doesn’t take a private eye to tell that something is very clearly up – the words ‘murder’ and ‘death’ are present, as is ‘obscure’. The strangest word, by far, is 9 Across: “A variation on a traditional shift cipher, using an alphabet key for more secure encoding.” Nemesis, of course, knows that’s a Keyed Caesar, but he has no idea how any member of the general populace would be expected to know that.
Perhaps they aren’t.
Theory peers over his shoulder. “Solving crosswords with a pen to show off, Jones?” she asks, dry as usual.
He chuckles. “Something like that, sure.”
“No idea what that’s supposed to mean. Please tell me you’re not up to mystery bullshit.”
He half-grins. “Oh, I am absolutely up to mystery bullshit.”
“When are you not up to mystery bullshit?”
“Never. My middle name might as well be ‘mystery bullshit’.”
“Nemesis Mystery Bullshit Jones?” Callie pipes up.
“Precisely!”
Theory leans over his shoulder. “Alright, tell me about the mystery bullshit.”
He points to the top left corner of the crossword, and says, “Well, first off. ‘Keyed Caesar’?”
Callie nods, leaning eagerly across the table. “So you think that means something?”
“Yeah. I think someone’s trying to leave me a message, and I know who it is.” He points his pen at the name of the author. “Peter Sacha Cliv. What sort of name is that?”
“I don’t know, what sort of name is it?” Theory asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sounds normal to me.”
“Oh, I think I know,” Callie says. “I’m going to wait for him to solve it, though.”
“How… kind of you.” He grabs a piece of paper, clenching his teeth and politely refraining from snapping at her. And with a smirk – perhaps a half-hearted one – he scribbles rapidly.
PETER SACHA CLIV
PTRSCHCLV EEAAI
PRCVL CHS
Percival Chase
He grins at Theory. Well, if he’s being accused of showing off, he might as well act the part. “Simple, really.”
She rolls her eyes. “Right, what next? Said there’s a keyed Caesar?
“That’s a type of cipher, right?” Callie asks.
“I dunno. Why don’t you ask the genius?” He motions sharply towards Theory, who sighs, exhausted.
“... No need to be rude.” Callie crosses her arms and hmphs.
“Well,” he mutters, scanning the page for any sign of encoded text, “you are both more than welcome to leave, you know. I’ll solve this case on my own. If anything, I’ll solve it faster without you two holding me back.”
The funny thing is, Nemesis Jones actually believes it, and that makes him want to burst out laughing, right here, in front of the both of them.
Theory frowns, glancing away. “... Call me if you actually need me. I doubt you will, but. Just in case. You’re lucky I don’t have feelings.” And with that utterly baffling final statement, she turns to leave.
Callie frowns. “Are you mad? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
He tries to keep himself from scowling. “No, no, no. I’m fine, I’m fine.I like to consider myself competent once in a blue moon is all, but I assure you I will get over it in due time...a-ha.”
“Huh? You figured something out?”
Talking about the mystery, Nemesis supposes, is probably easier for Callie than talking about his feelings. He doesn’t blame her.
“Sort of,” he says. “See, the only thing we were provided was the crossword. No outside sources. That means all the information we need has to be in the crossword.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Then I think I know what words to focus on. There’s twenty-six, but I think we only need five of them.”
He turns over the scrap paper he had used for the anagram and carefully writes on it:
KEYED CAESAR
THIRTEEN
FIRST
TRAGEDY/ZEITGEIST
“I…” Callie leans over his shoulder. “Don’t… get it.”
“That’s fine. That’s what I’m here for. It’s simple – the keyed Caesar is the type of cipher this is encoded in. Thirteen is the shift – that’s fairly obvious. ‘First’ is a clue as to what the code itself is; I have a few ideas as to what it could mean. And anything could be the key, but ‘zeitgeist’ and ‘tragedy’ are isolated up in the top corner, with ‘keyed Caesar’. It doesn’t have to mean anything for sure, but they’d be my first two guesses for the key.”
He flips to the first page of the newspaper. The headline there is simple: ‘Tribute To Late Baron Draws Crowds’. The author is… one ‘Emphilia C. Eustuffe’, which he can say with decent confidence is not an anagram of ‘T. Percival Chase’, though it is a spectacularly strange name in its own right.
Probably not that, then. He flips back. “... Alright. I’ve got a hunch. If this is wrong, I’ve no idea what to do from here, so let’s hope against hope it is, hmm?”
Carefully, he begins to scribble again.
Tragedy, Obscure, Zealot, Obvious, Death, Unpredictable, Dedication, Murder, Kaleidoscope, Xenolith, Xenophobia, Zeitgeist, Or
First, Oration, Thirteen, Overcoat, Obstruct, Nemesis, Yearning, Reporter, Ytterbium, Keyed Caesar, xenon, Widdershins, Absinthe, Mystery
T O Z O D U D M K X X Z O F O T O O N Y R Y K X W A M
Callie leans over his shoulder and nods. “And then… you think you can decrypt that?”
“Definitely. Keyed Caesars are easy.” He brings out a second piece of scrap paper. “I can do them in my head, but I prefer to at least have paper to work with. I can explain it to you this way, at least. In a keyed Caesar, the alphabet is modified before decrypting. In this case, the letters from the keyword are removed, and written at the start of the alphabet, like so –”
Z E I T G S A B C D F H J K L M N O P Q R U V W X Y
T R A G E D Y B C F H I J K L M N O P Q S U V W X Z
“I see.” She raises her eyebrow. “I don’t know much about codes. Art liked them but he told me I shouldn’t worry about learning any.”
“I can teach you,” he assures her. “From here, you solve it as you would a normal Caesarian shift. That is to say –” he fishes around in his bag before pulling out a cylinder, with two dials, each corresponding to the letters of the alphabet. He carefully presses a switch, and one of the dials expels the letters on it into his hands, allowing him to rearrange it into the ZEITGEIST alphabet and twist the dials so that Z is lined up with A.
“This device is one-of-a-kind, but a lot of similar models exist out there. It was given to me by the person who made it.” He smiles ruefully as he keeps writing. “Since we know the shift, we can simply use this to solve it. If we stumble across a shift cipher we don’t know the shift to, I can show you how to crack them, that’s fun.”
“You know how to do that?” She asks. “Well, actually, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
He winks. “I can do it in my head. Anyhow, this is… utter gibberish.”
Q E N E W I W C A L L N E X E Q E E D M H M A L K T C
She frowns. “Then we went wrong somewhere…? Were we using the wrong code?”
“Nah, I dunno. Gotta give ‘tragedy’ a shot before giving up, don’t we?” He re-configures the dials again, and carefully, with a steady hand, writes out his results.
N E M E S I S C A L L M E W E N E E D T O T A L K P C
NEMESIS CALL ME WE NEED TO TALK PC
He sighs. “I suppose that means we’re calling him, then.”
----------------------------------------
Of course, Nemesis still has Percy’s number from the night before. Percy picks up on the second ring, sounding in decent spirits, all things considered.
“This is the office of T. Percival Chase, how may I help you?”
“It’s me, Chase.” Nemesis rolls his eyes, even knowing the reporter can’t see him doing it over the phone. “What was the point of all of that, exactly…? I mean, it was a nice puzzle and all, gave me a split second worth of pause, but I don’t see the point when you could have just tracked me down or something.”
“Tracking you down would have taken centuries! I figured you’d be getting in touch with me regardless but I wanted to make damn sure. Crosswords are hard to make, you know! I had to do that in twenty minutes!” A scoff comes through the speaker. “At least you managed to solve it. Like I knew you would.”
Nemesis rolls his eyes again for good measure. “Right, right. It was a good effort. I assume I know what you’re calling me about.”
“I must say, I’m quite amazed you could figure all of that out so quickly. That paper was only delivered around two hours ago.”
“I’m impressed I figured it out too, considering how little I had to work with. For the record, ‘initial’ would have been far clearer as a clue than ‘first’.”
“Well, you should have told me that four hours ago. But yes, yes. The murder. I know a way we can get in to investigate. Apparently, since neither of us thought to call the constables, the Fitzroys are continuing like nothing happened. And the corpse is still in there, somewhere.”
Nemesis blinks to himself. “Are you proposing we steal a corpse?”
“That is exactly what I am proposing. Quite glad you’re catching on.”
“I ‘unno. I’ll have to ask Callie if she’s up for it.”
“I’d like to help steal a corpse,” Callie says without missing a beat.
“I guess it’s settled then.” He’s never stolen a corpse before, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything. Anyway, what better time to start? “You got experience with stealing corpses, Chase?”
“Okay, okay. Upon revision, we are not stealing a corpse. Ideally, we’d drop it in the street and have an Automaton Lex stumble across it. The constables aren’t about to investigate seriously into Fitzroy, so we can step in, and they’ll think we’re just nosy. We’ll at least have an excuse to ask some of the actors and crew what happened once they’re aware a murder happened – because if Evie’s anything to go off of, they’re not.”
“That’s…” A surprisingly good plan, one that he now wishes he’d thought of first. “... fair. We can snoop around while we’re there, right? Because I doubt Fitzroy will let us once his secret is out there.”
“Absolutely. Meet me in the corner store down the street from the theatre. You know the one?”
“I think I can probably figure it out. Should I bring a disguise or something? You’ve got an excuse to be there, but not so much me.”
“Sounds like it’d be a fair idea. Callie can probably sneak in and look normal enough if she just hides her hair under a hat or something, but you… You’ve got a reputation.”
“Alright, we’ll figure something out. We’ll meet you in an hour or so, if that works?”
“Right,” Percy responds. “I’ll be waiting eagerly.”
He hangs up.
Nemesis sighs, turning to his assistant. “Alright. We’d best find… disguises. Wouldn’t want to be recognized and identified, if news of this gets out. And you need to find a way to hide that braid of yours. It’s a rather distinguishing feature.”
She frowns, playing with the end of it. “I might as well just cut it off, right?”
“Huh? No, not unless you want to.”
She frowns deeper. “I think… I think maybe I do.”
Nemesis feels a soft panic overcome him. “Wh-why? I don’t want to pressure you into anything. I think it looks fine like this –”
“You’re right.” She sighs. “I stick out like this. And it’s heavy. And… I only grew it long because that’s what Art wanted. Now that he’s not around… you’re all right. It’s inconvenient.”
He tries his best to keep himself looking as neutral as possible, despite most of him struggling against that decision. “If you’re sure. It’s a big decision.”
“Not really. It’s just hair. It grows back, doesn’t it?” She runs a hand through it. “You can help me cut it, right? I don’t think that I would be very good at doing it myself.”
“Sure.” He sighs . “Sure. Reckon I could do, if you’re okay with me having a knife near your neck.”
“I’ll just have to live with that risk.”
She sits down, letting her hair fall over the back of the chair. Nemesis pulls his pocket-knife out and flips it open. With another sigh, he undoes her braid and combs his fingers through her hair. It’s a bit more tangled and frizzy than he would like, but time is limited, and with its absurd length washing it will likely take more time than he can afford.
Actually, now that he thinks about it, he can’t imagine how she washes it to begin with.
“How short would you like it, then…?”
She shrugs. “… Shuai’s hair is pretty. Maybe… something like that?”
He thinks back to Shuai’s hair. A short, blunt bob. “I could do something like that, yeah. Don’t move.”
And carefully, he begins to cut off her hair in a careful motion, sawing through it. He’s focused, making sure not a single stroke is out of place, keeping the knife, jokes aside, well away from her neck. When he’s finally done, he has a massive length of hair held in one fist. He estimates that it’s a good half as long as Callie is tall. From where he holds it, the tips just barely brush against the floor. He glances down at it. “… Do you want to keep this, or…?”
“No. Why would I? I can just grow more whenever I want.”
“Can’t argue with that,” he chuckles as he tosses it into the trash. “Okay. Would you mind standing over the sink? Potentially getting your hair wet? I’m not a professional, it would help.”
“Okay.” She goes to do that, running a hand through her hair – currently choppy, uneven, and approximately shoulder length. “It already feels lighter.”
“It probably does. Never had knee-length hair. Wouldn’t know.” He offers her a towel. “Best to wrap this around your shoulders. Your hair is going to be shedding for days, by the way. Unfortunate side effect. Unavoidable, but gets worse when you’re cutting off this much.”
She obeys, wrapping it around her shoulders. “I see. Is it really awful?”
“Nah, not terrible. Just annoying. Bit itchy.” Now that her hair is wet and flat, Nemesis can actually do something decent with it. Not great, admittedly, since he’s an untrained non-professional working with kitchen scissors and a switchblade, but, he thinks to himself, he truly isn’t that bad at this. Perhaps it can be a backup career option if he ever decides the private investigator life is no longer for him. Probably not, but it’s a strangely nice thought.
She allows him to cut in silence, but finally murmurs, “You’re good at this. Or… I can’t really tell, since I’ve never cut my hair before, but you seem like you know what you’re doing.”
He responds with a wistful sigh. “... Sort of. Chopped most of my hair off when I left Citrea Viridia. Shame, that. I’d been wearing it long out of spite for a while. Guardians wanted it to be more professional, I wanted to make them angry. It hurt, cutting all of that off.”
“Then why did you do it?”
He shrugs. “Complex reasons. Doesn’t matter, now that it’s done. I like this style better, anyway. And I know it would make them just as angry.”
He fumbles around in his bag for a mirror and passes it over to her. “Tell me what you think.”
Not quite the same as Shuai’s, Callie’s hair is cropped a decent bit below the chin, but above the shoulders. Her hair doesn’t quite have Shuai’s blunt quality; instead, it looks somewhat soft. He’s left enough of the hair in the front intact to frame her face, so she isn’t quite unrecognizable. All things considered, he thinks it suits her, even if it doesn’t look quite so professionally done.
She smiles to herself, and Nemesis can’t help but smile himself, seeing it. “It’s nice. Thank you.”
“Of course. Anytime. Or, well, maybe not soon, because I’ve never tried to work with short short hair. But, you know.”
That project being done, he ducks his head into Theory’s room. “Hayes, I figure you’re still mad at me, but would you mind doing me a solid?”
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She glances up from the book in her hands. When she speaks, she sounds perfectly calm. Pleasant, even. “... I’m not mad at you. What do you need?”
“I was wondering if I could borrow a pair of your glasses. For… mystery reasons.”
She sighs, shutting her book. “Don’t see why not, I suppose. Do you have a favorite glasses shape? Most of mine are just… round.”
He prefers rectangular glasses, but that’s neither here nor there. “Anything will do.”
She shrugs and hands him a rather gaudy pair of tortoiseshell half-moons. He’s never seen her wearing it, so this is probably the pair she’s the most okay with getting damaged. It’ll suit his needs just fine. Theory follows him out of her bedroom, watching him search through his own things before he finally finds what he’s looking for: a wig, shoulder-length and dark brown – perfectly unremarkable. He reluctantly removes his cap and glances down at his outfit.
Far too colorful.
“You got an, er… sweater I could borrow, maybe?”
----------------------------------------
As it turns out, all of Theory’s sweaters are far too small for him. He probably should have seen that coming.
Instead, he’s wearing a simple white shirt, black tie, and black jacket. The only strange thing about him is his bag – which, obviously, he can’t just leave at home. Callie follows behind him, periodically running a hand through her newly shortened hair, trying to get herself used to the sensation.
He locates the shop Percy’s designated as their meeting spot fairly quickly. Percy is standing in the back, grinning when he sees them enter.
“Wow, barely recognized you two. I must say, I think chopping your hair off was a bit excessive, but it looks nice. As for you, Nemesis…” He looks him over. “... You look like a tired secretary.”
“Might as well be.” He gives a shrug in response. “Since when are you into codes?”
“Oh, a while. A journalist has to be qualified to write about anything. And with all these societies communicating on the down-low, I need to be able to intercept it if I need to.”
“Intercept, yes. But a crossword…”
Percy grins lightly. “Maybe I’m out to start a society or something, Jones. Indulge me for a moment. I found it thrilling.”
“Good for you, I guess.” Nemesis raises an eyebrow; Percy being a generally pleasant person aside, the desire to start a society is as red a flag as they come. “... I don’t wanna be tied down to any sort of vague, shadowy goals, mind. I value my status as a neutral party in this city.”
“Not interested in weird malicious espionage, either. But a society of people who figure out other people’s malicious espionage…”
“I’m in,” Callie says. No hesitation.
He scowls. “I’ll think about it. We have more important things to figure out right now. Like what we’re going to do about this whole… situation.”
“I’m getting to that.” Percy smiles and motions for them to follow him into what appears to be a broom closet, shutting the door behind them with a hideous creaking noise. With the utmost delicacy, he reaches towards the back of the far shelf, where a paintbrush sits in a half-empty can of paint. He winks at Nemesis, then grabs the paintbrush, pulling on it lightly.
And Nemesis can hear gears whirr as the back wall of the room slides open, revealing a set of double-doors locked with a combination padlock. He looks at Percy. Percy looks back at him, grin widening.
“I don’t actually know the code, but I’ve known about it for a while. Pretty sure I know where the exit is, too. Figure you’re probably in a better position to intuit out codes than me?” He pats Nemesis on the shoulder. “Good luck, detective.”
Nemesis sighs. “... Private investigator,” he corrects him, kneeling down by the padlock. So this is why Percy has brought him on this excursion – because he couldn’t figure out how to crack a padlock.
“Unfortunately, I’m not a miracle worker. There’s nothing here that would give me any clues as to what the code is,” he says up at Percy, a hint of irritation present in his voice.
Percy frowns. “... So you don’t think you can get us in?”
“Didn’t say that.” With care, Nemesis sets the dial to zero and yanks down on the lock, turning the dial counter-clockwise. His movements are ginger, calculated, and incredibly precise. “Callie, get a piece of paper and a pencil. I’m going to need you to take some notes for me.”
She rushes to do just that.
He feels the dial stop. “... 1,” he mutters to her. He hears scratching behind him, and continues to turn the dial, pausing each time it stops.
Eventually, he finishes, having made a full revolution. “Pass me that list, now.” Callie obeys, and he surveys his findings.
1. 4.5. 7. 11. 14.5. 17.5. 21. 25.5. 29.5. 31. 37.5.
He reads them over carefully. Eliminate the fractions, and what’s left: 1, 7, 11, 21, 31.
Find the odd one out; that means the third number is seven. That’s the easy part down, then.
He reaches for a pencil, which she hands to him, and begins to write. Divide the third number by four, take the remainder, add four, do it again, until you reach the highest possible number.
7/4 = 1r3
3, 7, 11, 15, 19, 23, 27, 31, 35, 39
And there are his possibilities for the first number. If he remembers correctly, the remainder being three means he starts at one this time. All things considered, this would be a rather bad time for his knowledge to fail him, but he has no choice but to work with what he has and hope to the stars it’s correct.
1, 5, 9, 13, 17, 21, 25, 29, 33, 37
With that, all of his cards are on the table. He frowns, clearing the lock. “Alright. This is going to take a bit.”
Callie and Percy eagerly watch over his shoulder as he begins trying combinations, beginning with (1, 3, 7). It takes, according to his pocket-watch, around five or six minutes, but finally, he enters (27, 13, 7), and the lock satisfyingly clicks open.
Percy smiles lightly. “I knew there was a reason I wanted you on my side. Where in the world did you learn something like that, though?”
“Same place I learned to pick locks.” Nemesis declines to elaborate beyond that, opening the door. Conveniently, he’d remembered to bring his folding lantern - he takes it out now, holding it aloft. Its faint sickly yellow light illuminates what little of the corridor it can.
The passageway is dark, carpeted in velvet and decorated with garish gold-and red-wallpaper. Sconces line the walls – he can safely assume they’re meant to be lit artificially, which means that as far as he knows the three of them are fresh out of luck in that regard. The decorations are luxurious, and the corridor is extraordinarily roomy.
Typical. Even their secret corridors are dripping with needless luxury.
“Careful,” he cautions, shining his light at the floor. “Pretty sure that’s a trip-wire.”
Callie looks around him, holding onto his arm to steady herself. “Can you disable it…?”
“Not without activating it, I wouldn’t think. Just step over it. It’s probably only there as a failsafe.” He delicately steps over it, motioning for them to follow him. Once Percy is in, he closes the door behind him. Darkness surrounds the three.
The corridor is lengthy. The carpet on the floor is worn, and there’s a distinct absence of cobwebs. Clearly it’s been in use, and recently too. Save for the weak, flickering light of Nemesis’ lantern, the tunnel is pitch black - whatever lies in the distance is impossible to discern. Each footstep is audible on the ground, faintly echoing in the dead silence.
He leads the way, carefully searching for traps as he goes – he finds another tripwire and what looks like it might be a trap-door, all of which he avoids. Finally, after what seems like years alone in the silent dark, the end is within reach. Nemesis opens the door, steps over a final wire, and the three spill out, relieved, into a very familiar closet.
Percy grins. “I knew it. Thanks, Jones. That was amazing.”
Callie looks at Nemesis in awe. “That was cool…”
Nemesis runs a hand through his hair, grinning in a manner he’s sure is charming, ignoring the fact that just yesterday he had been in this closet with Elias Malik Fitzroy. “Well, of course. It’s all in the job description.”
“And since I was right about where the tunnel would end, that means…” Percy opens the door carefully, and the three are met with a smiling Evelyn, who carefully steps into the room and shuts it again behind her.
“Took you three ages,” she says, not seeming particularly upset about it. “Thought you’d been eaten by wolves. Did he guess the code?”
“Cracked it, actually.” Nemesis interjects. “You couldn’t’ve just told us?”
She shakes her head. “It’s something they only tell the higher-ups. I don’t think I was even meant to be aware of it. I stumbled across it one day, and that was it. As far as I can tell, it’s probably Fitzroy’s personal tunnel.”
“... Yeah, lines up. Place looks like a damn castle.”
Callie looks at him slowly. “Wait… why would you assume she would know the code?”
“I mean, she’s a member of the Actors’ Guild. Obviously.”
“...that’s not very obvious,” she mutters under her breath.
“It’s pretty much impossible to get a role at the Obscura without being a member. That sounds like a rumor, but more often than not rumors like that tend to be true”
Evie nods. “It’s true. Well, actually – I’m just an initiate. The initiation process is needlessly long, and being in a performance is one step of it. Before you ask me what’s next, I don’t know. It’s all very secretive.
He thinks to himself that screening out traitors like her is precisely why the length is anything but needless. Though he despises everything about the Guild, this, at least, they’ve been doing right.
Percy smiles softly at Evie. “... Thanks for doing this, again.”
Having said that, he turns to Nemesis. “Full disclosure, Evie’s doing this because I suggested it. I’m trying to do a proper exposé on the societies tearing this city apart, one at a time. The Guild seemed the most present threat, and then this murder just happened to happen, like the city handed me the opportunity for the story of a lifetime.”
Nemesis frowns. In his pocket, his hand tightens around the handle of his gun. With his other hand, he pulls out his compass. “And you expect me to think you’re not doing this for another society? Let me guess – the Correspondents, we all know they own the Sun. It’s all the bloody same with you types, acting like you’ve some larger, kinder purpose, but all any of you are after is power, strange, nebulous power that I don’t think you’re actually fully equipped to handle. Dunno why in the world I thought you’d be different.”
Callie nervously slides behind him, and Percy stares him down before… smiling.
“You won’t find me disagreeing with that. Any of it. I mean. I’m of the same opinion. And you’re right, partially. I knew you were gonna be good at your job.” He doesn’t seem too bothered by being found out, which Nemesis finds endlessly infuriating. “... Now, everything I’m saying is suspicious, obviously. For the record, so is everything you’re saying. You could be an agent of any group on the planet, cleverly veiled as an impartial detective. But I’ll be forthright – I might be a member of the Correspondents, but I don’t know what their goals are. And I don’t care.”
“Then why are you doing all of this…?” Callie asks quietly.
“Because he cares,” Evelyn cuts in. “He’s intending to expose the societies, so that society – the larger society, not a secret one – so that society can get less dangerous. Because he’s always been like this, after the truth of any situation even when it’s dangerous and probably not even going to fix things, because he’s –”
“Because I’m a ‘nosy little bastard’, is the traditional way it’s put.” He’s remaining calm, a friendly smile dancing over his face. “It’s a descriptor that’s been applied to you as well, historically, I’m sure.”
Perhaps it’s usually a little ruder than that, but Nemesis can’t disagree.
“And that’s why I want you on my side. You and me… we’re the same.” His smile softens. “So I want you to help me expose all the corruption in this city. You, me, Evie, Callie… We’re like the anti-society. Exposing the truth. We can call ourselves… the Chase Commission.”
Nemesis raises an eyebrow. “We cannot call ourselves that. Much as you’re acting pretty dodgy right now, I get it. Thankfully for you…” He holds up his compass. There are needles trained on himself, Callie, and several other objects in the room, each glowing varying shades of their own color, but the area where Percy stands is absent of any needle. “My compass says you’re telling the truth. And in all honesty, I’d join a society for my own purposes too, if given the opportunity. So I’ll offer my help – but I am not paying membership fees, and we are not having a catchy name.”
“We can negotiate later.” Percy leans over Nemesis’ shoulder, looking closer at the compass and chuckling. “No idea where you’d get something like that. You’re not an artificer, are you?”
“Couldn’t be if I wanted. Don’t have the knack.”
“I didn’t think so, which is why I was curious.” He squints at it. “So this detects lies, huh?”
“Broader than that. The needles detect hidden things; anything intentionally obscured. There’s some nuance and skill involved in reading it, but as a general rule: when people tell an outright falsehood, it starts glowing brightly. Usually, it detects everyone, because everyone’s hiding something about themself. None of us present our true nature to the public, exactly. It picks up some people stronger than others, because some people are more authentic, but it doesn’t pick you up just about at all.”
“And what does that mean…?” Percy ventures.
“Means you wear your nature pretty much on your sleeve. Nothing insincere or hidden. Pretty impressive, all considered.” Nemesis knows his voice must be tinged with annoyance. There’s something so frustrating about someone so open and honest.
He grins, poking at it with a single finger. “That’s… amazing. Really, where did you get it?”
“Story for another time, Chase.” Nemesis closes and pockets it, shrugging. “Anyhow. That’s why I’m willing to hear you out. People lie – all the time – but artifice just is.”
“Well, I’m grateful this exists, then. It would be a real shame if we had to be enemies. I really prefer people like you to be on my side, whenever possible.” Percy pops the closet door open. “Right. Getting off track, though. I do tend to think in tangents, so I’ll sort of take responsibility for that, even if you were accusing me of lying to you and colluding with secretive powers for nefarious purposes. The past is the past, even if it was around fifteen seconds ago. We have a ‘prop’ to track down, for the time being.”
Nemesis follows him out, though he isn’t happy about any of this, and is sincerely hoping his posture conveys that. “Hope you don’t expect me to find it. I don’t bloody know where I’m going.”
Evie carefully helps Callie out of the closet. She closes the door carefully, making sure not to slam it behind her.
“No, I don’t expect you to know your way around here. That’s what I’m here for, and all.”
----------------------------------------
Evie does know her way around quite well. If anything, she’s almost frustratingly difficult to keep up with – though Percy and, to Nemesis’ great irritation, Callie, seem to be having no trouble in the least.
She leads them through the tall, dark corridors of the theatre, finally emerging into a room full of various potential props. Scattered over the floor are fake swords and bows with fake-tipped arrows and replica pistols. The walls are lined with racks upon racks of clothing, varying from subdued to showy to downright strange. Various convincing fakes of every object from frying pans to radio sets are placed in inconvenient locations, and the four have to struggle not to trip over any of them as she points up at a shelf near the ceiling, out of normal human reach. On it, a white shrouded figure lies.
Percy squints. “Ten crowns says it’s up that high so no one can look too close at it.”
“I won’t bet against you on that,” Nemesis agrees.
“How are we going to get up there?” Evie asks.
Callie points at the wall. “I can get you that ladder?”
He nods. “You mean the stepladder? That would be lovely, thank you.”
She rushes to get it, and Evie glances at him. “I didn’t know there was a difference between a stepladder and a ladder.”
“I don’t think there is. He’s just being pedantic,” Percy says, absent of malice.
“There most certainly is.” Nemesis crosses his arms. “A step-ladder is self-supporting, as it folds open, while ladder is more of a blanket term –”
“So it’s like squares and rectangles, then?” she asks.
“Which means he’s just being pedantic, because the word ‘ladder’ would apply here as well.” Percy smiles. “Sorry, Jones.”
Nemesis feels as though he might punch something. Thankfully, the feeling isn’t quite pervasive enough to bother him, merely simmering harmlessly below the surface. He says nothing as he sets up the ladder, seething quietly. By the time he’s had climbed up to the top shelf, he’s mostly over it, though a small part of him continues to scream for his own blood.
The white-shrouded figure certainly looks humanoid. Gently, he lifts the veil off her face. It’s the same woman, just as dead, though her skin feels strange and elastic. She has yet to begin to decompose, even though she’s been dead at least a day, likely longer. It creates the unsettling feeling that, perhaps, she might still be alive, but when he touches her throat he can’t feel her heartbeat.
He supposes, for this situation, he’ll need to take a desperate measure. Carefully, he removes his glove, and feels for a heartbeat again.
Her skin is cool, clammy, and unsettlingly smooth. There is no heartbeat, nor any other sign of life. His hand passes over what feels like a small hole in her neck, and he pauses, looking closer. He can see nothing but the prints of the rope around her neck, deep and purple.
Her veins are visible through her skin, unsettling and deep blue.
Carefully, he takes out his compass. As usual, plenty of the room is picked up weakly, but, predictably, an incredibly stiff and determined needle points directly at the corpse. Another points across the room, at a rack of clothing. A third points directly at Nemesis himself, as always.
He glances down Percy-wards. “Alright, corpse located. Where do we go from here?”
Percy looks over at Evie, who meets his gaze and nods. “Stand back.”
“Okay…” Callie mutters. Clearly terrified, she steps behind Percy, who grins.
Evie steps forward, placing her hands against the cleanest wall in the room – below the shelf on which Nemesis is perched. The blue on the corpse’s face seems to glow as she concentrates, and the walls melt away like a candle burning down, replaced with a large section of empty air between the inside of the room and the air above the expertly maintained front lawn outside the theatre.
He isn’t an expert, but it’s an impressive feat of artifice. He’s shocked she’s so much as on her feet, but she looks almost unbothered.
“Toss me the corpse,” she says. “Quick! Before someone sees.”
He dutifully passes down the corpse (a feat far more difficult than it appears, though he manages to perform it successfully), which she holds briefly, as it glows with a soft blue outline. Then, she unceremoniously tosses it out of the newly created hole in the wall.
The four watch as it floats gently down to the lawn, like a late-autumn leaf falling from a tree. Then, Evie exhales, touches the corner of the wall again, and the melted plaster fuses back together, as though nothing had happened.
Callie gives a polite round of applause.
Nemesis looks down at Evie, frowning to himself. “... Might sound rude, but there’s something I need to ask.”
“Why I have the knack, right?” She laughs. Now that he looks closer, she does seem tired. Most artificers probably would have passed out from the strain, so it’s impressive that she merely seems winded, as though she’s run up ten or so flights of stairs, and she’s handling it quite well. “I get that a lot. Simply put, it skips the men in our family. Father eventually left the country because he didn’t have it, and that prevented him from interacting with most of the technology there, but there was still the genetic potential for it. Mom had it and all. Didn’t get Percy, but it got me, even though we’re identical.”
“That’s why you look so different from each other, right?” Callie speaks up. “Your manifestation isn’t like anything I’ve read about before, but I assume it means you’re pretty powerful. I read that sometimes powerful artificers can change the appearance of their bodies, just through sheer force of will.”
Nemesis chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, they can. Elias’ hair was always perfect. It always looked like he wanted it to. One time, he got it tangled, and he chopped that section off. It grew back in less than a week. It was bonkers.”
Evie nods. “Everyone in Kude Lee has these sorts of manifestations. The knack there is more powerful, in general. That was pretty good for me, it turned out.”
Nemesis leaps down from his shelf, landing on his feet with a slight wince but managing not to stumble. “Right, that’s done. Now time for the daring escape, is it?”
“I guess so. Just back the way we came, right?” Callie asks.
“Maybe. Just one thing, first.” He follows his compass to the rack of clothing, carefully looking at the clothing piece by piece. This particular rack seems to be occupied by the more outlandish outfits; things useful in highly specific situations but worthless otherwise – likely put together for a specific production, then placed here to fester upon completion. A sorry fate.
He swipes through a suit jacket ostensibly made for a giant, three flare dresses in garish polka-dot colors, what appears to be a donkey suit, an endearing spherical mask, a rather spectacular clown costume, and a somewhat out-of-place looking low-cut black lace dress. The final object is the one which seems to draw the needle’s attention.
Carefully, Nemesis yanks on the clothes hanger.
The entire rack depresses with it, and with a familiar whirring noise, the wall opens. This time, there are no doors – simply a passageway leading onwards into inky blackness. He shines his lantern into it, and it cuts through the pitch-black entrance, revealing… more darkness.
He scans the ground. No tripwires in sight, though who can say what the future holds? He chuckles quietly. “What have we here…?”
“This is probably a bad idea,” Evie proposes. “You have no idea who or what is on the other side. You don’t even know what the other side is.”
“Somehow,” Callie mutters, “I don’t think that’s even remotely going to stop him.”
“Nor me.” Percy hugs Evie, and she hugs back, tense after a moment of hesitation. “Evie, stay here and make sure no one follows us, okay? I promise we’ll be careful.”
“I know you well enough to know that you absolutely can’t promise that,” she nods, solemnly. “... But I can’t stop you. Just know that I’ll be extremely worried the entire time.”
“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” He assures her. “But I need to find out where this goes. I can’t rest until I do.”
“I know. I know.” She backs away with a sigh. “... Be safe.”
“I will.” He glances down at the entrance. Despite his words, there’s trepidation visible on his face. “... Think you should probably go first, Nemesis. I’m not used to things like this.”
Nemesis scoffs, entering. “Y’think I am, then?”
“You aren’t?” Callie asks, following him in.
“Not especially.”
Percy enters last, and the door shuts behind them. Aside from Nemesis’ lantern, they’re in pitch darkness again – though this somehow feels blacker than the previous time. This corridor is far thinner than the last, and the darkness far more oppressive. Perhaps, he thinks, this truly is a bad idea. Though he doesn’t see any traps, he can’t shake the deep feeling of foreboding that threatens to force him to stop in his tracks. And yet, he reaches the other side without an issue, motioning for the other two to follow him as he steps out, back into the light.
The room they emerge into is pentagonal and mostly empty. Each wall has a single bookshelf on it, with slight space on either end – Nemesis can see why, as the bookshelf at their wall has slid to the side to accommodate their exit. It’s a little bit squished, but they manage to make it out, and the door slides neatly closed behind them.
In the center of the room, a velvet armchair sits by a desk, books and papers scattered over it. Percy immediately reaches forward, snatching a book off of the desk.
“Hey, Jones, you know what language this is in?” He holds up the book. It’s covered in strange runes that Nemesis can swear he’s seen before, but can’t for the life of him recognize.
“No…” He shakes his head, and picks up a paper which had been next to the book. It appears to be Tobias Fitzroy’s to-do list, including such fascinating subjects as ‘purchase toothpaste’ and ‘look over lights setup’.
Of course, that still means they’re in Tobias Fitzroy’s study. Nemesis feels a rush of alarm. “Can’t believe I of all people am saying this, but let’s go. I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Alright,” Percy mutters. “If you say so. But you’re going to have to find the way out.”
Nemesis frowns and turns back around to face the bookshelf they’d come through. It’s featureless, and the books on it seem to be in every language he’s ever heard of, and then some. Carefully, he runs his hand over the spines of the books, frowning. They all seem mostly the same to him, but he pulls on the top of each one, one by one.
Finally, one of the books he tries freezes in its dislodged position, and he hears a soft click as the door opens. He gestures to the other two, who follow him in.
Not a moment too soon, because before they’re too far down the tunnel, they hear the sound of footsteps. Nemesis turns around, pressing his ear against the wood of the bookshelf.
Inside, he hears movement.
“It’s not here – where did I put that book?” That’s Fitzroy, almost certainly. Nemesis hears him cross the room. “I can’t have misplaced it too far from here. I remember it being on the desk.”
“Maybe it’s in your study proper?” He feels a small jolt of surprise – because that voice is unmistakably that of Lusitania Renwick.
“Perhaps, darling.” To Nemesis, he doesn’t sound especially convinced. “I’ll have to look for it later, I suppose. This is all so inconvenient… Truly, it’s as if I’m being tested.”
“I’m sorry. But I’m sure you’ll be able to fix all of this. You’re the most powerful man in this city.”
“Yes. Yes, I know.” He hears Fitzroy sigh. “It’s just a massive inconvenience, really. And everything was going so well, too, before Frederick died… Well, nothing to be done about it, except punish those responsible.”
“I suspect it’s that horrid one that Elias insists on keeping around for some reason.” Lusitania’s voice is dripping with disdain. Nemesis, despite his low opinion of Jing, feels a spike of anger. “It would be just like that...that annoyance to do something like this simply to ruin you.”
“Hmm, perhaps. I can’t discount the possibility, but I can’t be hasty. If I simply get rid of them, that would draw attention – unfortunately, Elias would most certainly notice. How irritating...” Fitzroy sighs. “I doubt it was either of the Chases. They haven’t the resolve. They may be agents, but they’re incompetent ones – if they can’t even hide their true allegiances, they can’t possibly have found their way in here. As it stands, any member of our staff could be an infiltrator.” He hears a rustling, then a sigh. “We should get going, then, and sort this out. Keep a closer eye on everyone, will you?”
“Of course… That includes Elias, right? I get to keep a closer eye on him, too?”
He chuckles. “I don’t believe I need to tell you to do that, dear. I trust you’ll make me proud.”
Nemesis feels his stomach twist.
He and Percy rush, as quietly as possible, back to the theatre proper.