Cleanup. Basement. Attic. Betty’s return. Tower entrance. Market thoughts. Confusion Street. All different kinds of murder.

At first, Sal wasn’t sure why he was waiting for Betty to come back. For one thing, he couldn’t trust her. For another, what help could the tiny mouse give him? Then he realized that she had valuable information about the new world he found himself in. If nothing else, she was his guide, and so he would wait for her to come back.

In the meantime, he busied himself by fixing the board. Then he removed the bodies from the bottom floor. He considered tossing the weapons, robes, and armor, but there was a chance they might be more than what they first seemed. None of the items seemed magical, not that he could tell, since he himself wasn’t magical, not anymore. What was on his Diagraff? Something about Porridge Peasant? That was rather insulting.

In the end, he threw some very plain metal rings into a bowl with the rest. He might be able to polish the stuff up and sell it if his plan to get money didn’t come to fruition.

In the end, he piled the bones in the back alley. The lane narrowed on either side to allow a single man to pass if her were very, very slender. It wasn’t any kind of thoroughfare.

As for all the gear, he chanced going down into the cellar. All he found there was a dirt floor, some old, empty barrels and walls of shelves. Most were empty, but some held old crockery and a few grimy pots. He could use them to get water from the church well. There were spiders, of the usual size, but no ghouls or anything of that nature. He did find a trapdoor in the corner leading to a subbasement, and the thought kind of unnerved him. How far down did it go?

That would be work for another day.

He packed the shelves with the weapons and armor.

There was one treasure in the cellar—a spindly old broom with some dubious-looking bristles. He took it up the steps and started sweeping.

For being a one-time Dark Lord, he surprised himself by enjoying the sweeping. There was something satisfying about the cleaning and seeing the immediate results of one’s labor. There was shuffling upstairs, but he was growing accustomed to the ghostly noise.

He wasn’t going to be sleeping on a bench, not when there was a bed upstairs. He took the mattress out into the sun and to beat the dust out of the sheets and blankets. The one hard pillow needed some attention as well.

He was surprised at the lack of foot traffic—a times, he thought the city was deserted. Then he would hear the market on the other side of the tower, the shouts, the people, the chatter, shouts and laughter. The normal city’s noises set him on edge. If anyone discovered his true identity, they would come with torches and pitchforks and swords, so many swords. He’d have to do a tremendous amount of lying to keep himself safe.

Such lying would kill him thanks to his Karmic Gauge.

He set the bedding on the empty fountain and returned to the café, and there he found Betty leaning against her bowl. “Someone has been busy! Hey, pal, I feel bad about not bringing you back food, but really, I only got a few crumbs from some literal garbage. You hungry enough to eat garbage yet?”

“I pray I am never that famished,” Sal returned.

“Did the café try and kill you again?”

Sal thought for a moment. “I do not believe so, but alas, there was a poisoned needle in one of the trunks upstairs. Yet I still live. Now, how about a little jaunt about town?”

“You ready for that, chief?”

Sal shrugged. “Perhaps not. However, my belly is more than ready. I fear it may become a master I cannot disobey.”

The mouse fell quiet, gazing at him.

“What?”

Betty shrugged. “Trying to figure out what you just said. About your belly and stuff. Oh, I get it. You’re getting hungry. Okay. Yeah. Let me show you the sights.”

“I know the sights,” he returned, somewhat indignantly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, sights from a thousand years ago. The world, and this city in particular, has changed a whole bunch.”

“Why does this section of the city seem so deserted?” Sal asked.

Betty motioned around the café. “Super cursed and off the beaten track. You’ll see. Let’s go!”

Sal scooped up the mouse and set her in the pocket on the breast of his shirt, like he’d done oh so long ago. “Verily, my situation is rather simple. Currently, I need money for food, and if I find enough treasure, we can forgo the tavern work. I know, I know, it shan’t be a tavern nor an inn, but a diner in your modern parlance, also known as a café. Call it what you will, yet, the work would be the same. Grueling labor for ingrates and gluttons.”

“Oh, buddy, don’t be so negative. It’s not a good look. Let’s go!”

Sal closed the door and set up the chain and lock so at least it looked locked.

He then walked down another narrow street, which led to people, a ton of people, of all sizes, shapes, colors, and races. There were few elderly Primogeny, wearing informal robes. Their pointed ears had grown, and there was a surprising amount of ear hair in both the women and the men. There were Hajawan milling about—Filinar, the cat heads, Canus, the dog heads, Eagalis, the bird heads, and even some Torta, the turtle heads, with their thick shells covering their backs. A group of Gimm, the Stoneskins, hustled past, chattering away in their hard language. Their skin looked like rock, hence the name. They had a great deal of hair, however, growing out of their stony scalps.

The mouse provided color commentary. “So the Primogeny are elves now, the Stonekins are called dwarves now, though they’re taller than the storybook gnomes, which yeah, don’t really exist.”

“And the Hajawan?” Sal asked.

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“Still called the Hajawan. So ya got that goin’ for ya.”

Sal saw human warriors in full armor, with any number of weapons sheathed, and a fair number of sorcerers in robes, carrying staves. Those had to be the Tower Climbers, though there were other commoners there as well of all ages, races, and sizes—fair-haired northerners with pale skin and darker skinned southerners.

He found himself on a grand avenue. To the left was the church but the street continued, all the way down to the harbor. To the right, was a striking sight—the grand entrance to the tower, with wooden arches, hanging plants, and guards in purple and gold livery. The soldiers had swords on their belts and large, silver halberds in their hands.

Sal didn’t want anyone seeing him gawking, and so he found a good place to stand off to the side, with his back to a building. “Purple and gold, those are the colors of the Menold.”

Betty squeaked laughter. “There aren’t any Menold no more. Those are Yanir soldiers. Long story short, Torment Island is just one more republic of the Yanir Republics. Those guards are for show. See that thin, gangly women back there? She’s the real threat.”

It took a moment, but Sal eventually saw the person that Betty was referring to. She was an older woman with silver hair, and yes, as gaunt as Sal felt. A big, hooked nose dominated her wrinkled face. She wore a fabulous ensemble of robes and scarves, mostly purple, with some gold accents that matched her jewelry. She was currently talking to a motley group of adventurers, who wanted access to the tower.

Betty squeaked more. “Oh, boy, they don’t have the right paperwork. You have to fill out all kinds of forms to do a tower climb, and those climbers don’t have it. Gail isn’t going to let them pass.”

“Gail?”

“Gail Questor, that’s the name, though it sounds made up, if you ask me. You didn’t ask me, though.”

“Why is Gail the real threat?” Sal asked.

“She’s a big spellcaster, or that’s the word on the street. The Yanir of your times were warriors, but now they’re wizards, because of the wars with the Scallia Capra. That’s a long story that I don’t know how to shorten, chief.”

Sal threaded his way through the crowds marching by the tower entrance, and soon, he found the real marketplace of the city, packed with vendors and buyers—more Hajawan animal heads, and a variety of humans. The clothes people were wearing weren’t what he expected. He saw very few tunics and togas, Mostly, the various people wore boots, pants, and blouses. A few of the women wore dresses.

Farther down, several restaurants seemed to be doing very well—they had packed chairs around tables under umbrellas out on the street. A few of the places had colorful awnings shading their patrons.

Sal found himself musing. “We possess enough space outside of our restaurant to set up similar dining accommodations.”

“Thought you didn’t want to do the diner thing.”

Sal didn’t respond for several long moments—until a response wasn’t necessary.

Instead of turning down the market streets of Destiny Square, he made his way toward the governor’s mansion, which was far lusher and more decorated than the church. Back in his day, the palace had been Kenny’s home, the traditional home of the Dark Lord’s general dating back all the way to Sal’s grandfather. In front was a happy fountain splashing water with several statues of people Sal didn’t recognize. He hardly recognized his city at all. There were more Yanir soldiers there, guarding the gated entrance.

“I do not enjoy the idea of the Yanir ruling my island,” Sal groused.

“Not your island anymore. Being a part of the Yanir Republics is a pain in the tookus, friendo, but better than the Scallia Capra. Or maybe not. I don’t know. Lots of changes. Where are we headed, chief?”

Sal nodded at a side street leading to his left. “Currently, whether you know or it, we are on a little treasure hunt. Shall we continue?”

“It’s your second life, boss,” the mouse replied. “But I have to warn you—down that way is Confusion Street, which is actually a buncha streets, and let me tell ya, it isn’t the best part of town. And you can’t get into a fight. If we run into bandits, I can run, but you’ll be stuck on the wrong end of a sword. Why are you carrying that pigsticker anyway? It’s not like you can use it.”

Sal had the short sword thrust through his belt. “I am painfully aware of the restrictions, yet it is best to keep up appearances. Let us simply hope for the best.”

Sal strode down the cobblestone road, and it wasn’t long before the stink started. The gutters held filth, but the main stench came from butcher shops and tanneries and other industrial concerns to the south and to the west, which seemed to clustered around a tall citadel. That seemed to be the source of the unbearable fragrance, made worse by the heat of the day.

The buildings were all clustered together in a tangle of narrow alleyways. This section of city had housed his Gorbin army, back in the day, but new buildings had been constructed along with tents, shanties, and every type of shelter, which filled whole alleys.

Here there were taverns and inns as well, though they didn’t have the posh appearances of the eateries back in Destiny Square. Dirty-faced women eyed him, along with scruffy men, fingering knives. Half-naked children ran here and there.

The Dark Lord knew how to handle such places. He fixed an expressionless look on his face, walked with purpose, as if he knew where he was going and was late for a very important appointment.

In the end, he looked as scruffy as many of the men—that should probably keep him safe, since he probably appeared like he had nothing to steal. That was the truth after all. Leaving the dangerous part of town with bags of gold coins, or pockets stuffed with treasure, would be more difficult, but he’d have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

He couldn’t show any fear or worry, ever. Grandfather Mood might’ve been wrong about some things, but he wasn’t wrong about showing your vulnerabilities to the world. Oftentimes, that meant either a dagger in the back or kick in the teeth.

He finally found what he was looking for—the statue of Yeshu of the Book, in front of a little chapel that seemed so small next to a large structure packed with people. Laundry fluttered on any number of crumbling balconies.

From inside, babies cried, mothers shouted, and all the noise seemed to make the day even hotter.

Sal sought shade next to the statue of bad Alikor’s good son, Yeshu, who supposedly had written the first book. In some stories, he wrote it. In others, he bought it, with his very own Deux Coin.

Betty seemed happy, and yet, at the same time, a bit unsettled. “I always liked that Yeshu. There’s a god who did some good in this world. Not like his dad. So this is supposedly where the treasure is, ace?”

“In the crypts below.” Sal glanced around. “But it’s all so new.”

“That big hunk of stone, wood, and plaster is the Rat’s Den. Take like fifty rooms and pack in a thousand people. It’s to house all the folks who work at all the jobs that the God Spear brought in. Glad we’re not going up there. Crying human babies are kinda annoying. Mouse babies, though, are too cute not to cuddle.”

Behind the statue of Yeshu was the main door, and thank the Creator, it was half-open.

Sal moved to go in.

Betty wiggled in his pocket, stopping him. “Hold up, pal. What’s our story going in there? You can’t just say you’re the former Dark Lord, looking to rob the place. And there’s something I want to emphasize.”

Sal felt his heart drop. “What is the topic of your emphasis?”

“Just wanna drive home the fact, big guy, that there’s a lot of ways to murder in this world. In the end, a lie murders the truth. Lie and you become a murderer. Stealing is just murder on a smaller scale. You’re killing people’s faith in the world and other people. To sound like you, chief, you must walk the virtuous road.”

He thought of the Karmic Gauge section of his Diagraff. He’d lied, and he’d felt the consequences, dropping from 2% to 1%. He still remembered the icy pain in chest.

The mouse continued. “So, what’re are you going to say if we run into the Ponti?”

“Do you mean the priest?” Sal asked.

“Not a lot of people use that word anymore. It’s Ponti, as in Pontifex, but we don’t use that word anymore either. So, we go in there, and the Ponti comes out, what are you going to say?”

Sal felt himself smile. “I am very confident I might talk to the Ponti without uttering a single falsehood.”

Why wasn’t he finding his Benefactor’s restrictions more vexing?

Put simply, he found the challenge intriguing, and, dare he say it, fun.

The fun wouldn’t last long, if he got too hungry. He couldn’t let that happen.

So inside the chapel he went.