Leaving late. Saturday’s success. Dergle’s new task. The signage. Two guards. Not a spy. Sal’s new best friend.

Sal turned around to see the city far below. He’d climbed up Desolation Ridge, which was the mountain ridge that rose above the city. He was secretly glad that the mountains still had the same name.

Betty peeked out of his pocket. “That tower just keeps going on and on. Kinda pretty, don’t you think?”

It was later in the morning than he would’ve wanted. It was still another five hours of walking, down Desolation Ridge, to get to the Abuse Peaks. From what everyone said, that was where the underground cities of the Gorbin and the Gimm were.

He’d gotten a late start because it had taken some time to get the magical boots, cloak, and the shield ring from Kaixo, who came by, smelling of naptha incense. At some point, he was going to have to confront her about that. And maybe they could have some kind of friendship after they’d gotten glimpses into each other’s souls. Maybe they couldn’t.

Sal figured if her tower climb went well, she would feel better about herself and her options. He knew she hated that he was paying her rent. Not just that, he was also housing one of the members of her team. That surely was driving her crazy.

But Theo had been critical in helping Sal get his business going. After adding bacon and gnocchi to his menu, things were looking up.

Betty laughed suddenly, a tiny happy sound. “So, chief, is it me, or is bacon going to save your bacon? Funny, the idiom plays well. You’re a guy who enjoys a good idiom, am I right?”

“I do indeed.” He thought of the previous day’s event. He’d cooked up pounds and pounds of bacon, and the smell drifted from his café, so much so, the elderly templars working out at the fountain kept glancing over, obviously both hungry and a little mesmerized by the smell.

Sal made it worse for them. He had Dergle magic up a wind and had it blow down Champion Street all the way to Tower Road.

The former Dark Lord went out there, with the tray of dough rings, and when people drew close, and asked about that intoxicating odor, Sal promised them the breakfast of a lifetime. He had something nobody else had. A rare cut of smoked meat known as bacon.

It was enough to get a crowd of customers to follow him.

Then, when they had the bacon, the deal was sealed.

They were going to come back. Definitely.

In the afternoon, the magic of the bacon didn’t end there. The gnocchi was already boiled, but he fried the dumplings in bacon grease. Then, he added in either the simple crème fraiche and Asiago cheese, or the richer gorgonzola sauce, and that made people crow with praise.

The potato pasta was just as big of a hit as the bacon.

The gnocchi wasn’t easy to make, no, but he had a ghost who never tired. Sal was pretty sure his diner would’ve failed without her.

Now, out of his diner, Sal turned his face to the sun, enjoying the warmth. He was about to continue his journey when Dergle swirled around them, in his ash form, before settling into his corporeal body farther down the trail. “Come, master of every moment of every day of my entire life, we must hurry and finish this business you are on with the Gorbin. Then we can go back and eat more bacon.”

Sal had hoped to get away from the ash demon, at least for the day, but there was Dergle Driptongue, dogging his every step.

Betty let out a tiny sigh. “This guy and the bacon. He’s not gonna stop until he’s eaten us out of house and home. And yeah, I can see how you humans like bacon, but it’s not like it’s a chocolate-chip cookie. When am I going to get some cookies, and not just any cookies, but your father’s recipe?”

Sal then had a great idea. “Dergle, my most beloved and trustworthy minion, bacon is in your future, surely. However, I have another task for you. I need my father’s chocolate-chip cookie recipe. One that will satisfy even the great tastebuds of a Gwynar.”

Dergle lost his spitty grin. “Wait. I’m a beast of the Abyssmuck, a creature of torture and chaos, and you want me to find mouse treats for you?”

“Chocolate-chip cookies,” Sal said firmly. “My father’s chocolate-chip cookie recipe to be precise. The Dark Lord Mickey made them millennia ago in Caya Idle. There might be some sign of them in the bakeries and ovens of that little town. I needed a cookie fit for a mouse god.”

Betty shivered. “Aww, Sal, I didn’t know you cared. Am I a mouse god? Well, I’m basically immortal, smart as whip, and in service to the divine. So, yeah, buddy, mouse god here. Pleased to meetcha.”

The ash demon ignored all that.

Then Dergle roared in frustration. “Fine! I’ll do it for the bacon!”

And then he was gone.

Betty turned her head to look up at him. “Was that a good idea, chief? While I am not fan of Dergle, he’s not going to be around to help you just in case things with the Gorbin go south.”

“South will lead us back to the diner,” Sal said quietly. “The Abuse Peaks are to the north.”

“Not what I mean, pal,” Betty’s little face was pinched into a frown.

Sal could relate. He was frowning too. “My jest was ill formed. I have been putting off this journey, for I know, it will lead me down a road I might not be able to walk.”

“No, ace, you can walk all the roads. You got me, you got the Ponti, you even have that weird governor on your side. You might have to wear over-sized pantaloons on the road, but you’ll be able to walk it.”

Sal thought of the people who had helped, every step of the way, from Fabrizio to Kaixo to Theo to two of the five Braggadorios. Otto and Hamletti might be strange, but they seemed to be firmly on his side.

No, he could do this.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

At the same time, there was a good chance the Gorbin would learn his true identity, and if they did, they just might conspire to kill him. He might be walking to his own destruction. Oddly, he wasn’t worried about himself. He did wonder what would happen to Betty, Shivaun, and the rest of the denizens of the Champion Café. They were more important than the strange, second life he’d been given.

What a change. He’d only worried about himself for so long. Now, he was worrying about other people. That had to be worth a few Karma points. His Benefactor didn’t throw him any. That was probably for the best, since his Diagraff wouldn’t increase anyway. It was locked at 99%, Level 1, DevStep 1.

And yet, without magic, he’d opened his diner, and if Saturday traffic was any indication, his expanded menu was going to be a huge hit. And he hadn’t even gone down the boiled bread and smoked fish route just yet. Yes, the construction was a pain, but they had stayed open, and they would deal with it eventually.

The Pontra wasn’t going to stop him.

Hours of walking later, Sal and the mouse in his pocket had descended Desolation Ridge, walked through the Sad Valley alongside the Spittle River, until they had to start up the sharp incline up into the Abuse Peaks.

There, they found an ornate archway a hundred feet high in front of a wooden bridge spanning a chasm, cut by the Spittle River. It was unbearably hot, and Sal was missing the cool air of his café. He was sweating, and he kept having to adjust the leather satchel, which held The Chronicles of GuNakt. He hoped to use it as a way of gaining entry to the Gorbin city.

Crossing the sturdy bridge, Sal came to a sign standing at a T intersection. The sign was written in Gorbin and Gimm, both languages that Sal was familiar with, though he was far more fluent in the Skinless’s language than the Stoneskin’s. To the right was the Gimm city of Rocky Rockora. To the left was the way to the Gorbin city, called Bloodsoaked, in Yeshin. In Gorbin, it was called Crystal Water, though no one could probably read the city’s real name.

Ha, that was to frighten off the tourists and those who still believed that the Gorbin were basically demons.

Sal went to the left and climbed up stone stairs until his legs ached. The stairs should’ve been warning enough.

At the very top of the stairs, he found another archway, carved into the mountainside, with a thick forest around it. There, at the front of the gate, stood soldiers in white lacquer armor and white helmets with visors and the head coverings that protected their translucent skin from the sunlight. They gripped long spears in thick gauntlets the color of ivory.

Sal approached them. he held up a hand and said in fluent Gorbin. “Greetings to you. I am Sal Fang, from Tower City, and I have come to see your shaman about a book I have.”

“What’s the book?” one of them asked.

“The Chronicles of GuNakt.”

“Let’s see it.”

Sal wrestled around in his leather satchel and pulled out the tome.

The two conversed in hushed voices, and then one left.

The remaining guard held up a hand. “Wait here.”

“I shall. Verily.” Sal was rather proud of himself that he knew the word in Gorbin.

Betty sighed at him from the safety of his pocket. Sal took that moment to put the umbra cloak back on. If the guards didn’t let him in, he could probably wait until nightfall and then sneak in. The magic of the cloak would work on the Skinless, though they had excellent night vision, since they normally lived underground.

“How do you know Gorbin?” the guard asked.

“I love language,” Sal replied truthfully. “And I have spent most of my life around the Gorbin.” While that was true, it was rather depressing that he’d commanded armies of the Skinless without ever really knowing them, their secret magic, their complicated culture of lying to the outside world.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” the guard said. “We are a violent, untamed people. We are monsters. You might not leave Bloodsoaked alive.”

“I shall take my chances.”

The guard obviously wasn’t convinced. He lifted his visor. And Sal could see every muscle on the man’s face through his transparent skin, his gums, his teeth, which were both in excellent condition. The curve of his eyeballs was a bit unnerving as was his optical nerves. His hair was colorless as well, though not transparent. It was a faded out white color.

“Aren’t I horrifying to you?” he asked. “Answer honestly. I’ll know if you are lying.”

Sal grinned. “Oh, believe me, I cannot lie, even if I wanted to. Like I said, I’ve known many a Gorbin in my time. I understand what I am looking at. Your dental hygiene is exemplary. You must floss.”

The guard laughed. “Thank you. Girls like guys with good teeth. I take care to brush daily, and I stay away from sweets. You know, you’re only as healthy as your teeth. Bad gums might mean you have a bad heart.”

“I did not know that,” Sal said with real interest. It did make sense. Everything in one’s body was connected.

The second guard returned. He spoke in broken Yeshin, so different from his excellent Gorbin that he’d spoken in before. “Gurzak say no. Say Skinfolk lying. Say book is fake. He spy for governor.”

Ziggy had asked Sal to spy on the Gorbin, but only those who came into Tower City. At the moment, the former Dark Lord had only seen a few of the Skinless within the city limits, and he hadn’t reported them. It hadn’t cost him any Karma points, which made him think he was doing the right thing.

The first guard shook his head. “No, Ignash, this guy is the real deal. He speaks perfect Gorbin, and I showed him my face, and he didn’t run screaming. And we both saw the book. Go back and tell the shaman I think they should see him. If nothing else, out of simple curiosity. I’m even curious about him.”

“Thank you,” Sal said quietly.

Ignash sighed loudly from underneath his visor. He answered in Gorbin. “Fine, Rugar, but I’m going to tell the shaman you are vouching for this pinksmile. I don’t trust him. His story is too good. He’s totally a spy.”

“I’m not a spy,” Sal said. Then, just to be safe, “I will not tell anyone I came here. Please, I need the shaman’s help. My Magica Plexus is locked, and I need help unlocking it.”

Rugar pointed at Sal. “See, Ignash, he even knows about the Plexi, and no outsider, in the history of the world, knows about the Plexi.”

Ignash grumbled something under his breath. Then, in Yeshin, he said gruffly, “Maybe he know too much. Maybe we kill him. Maybe we strip the flesh from his bones for our soap. Grind his bones for our bread.”

“The Gorbin are unlikely cannibals,” Sal said softly. “According to GuNakt, there are many vegetarians among you, and I believe the shaman is one. Most are, are they not?”

Rugar kept on gesturing excitedly. “This is what I’m saying. Sally really knows his stuff. I trust him.”

Ignash threw up his hands. “But he talks like he’s a thousand years old. No one says half the stuff he says anymore. Like verily. What’s up with that? But fine, Ru, fine. I’ll call the shaman back.”

In the end, Ignash returned, but he refused to be the one to walk Sal to the shaman.

Rugar was happy to do it. He lad Sal through the archway, past a complicated series of Gimm gadgets on the wall. He walked down a sloping tunnel, the stone floor polished to a gleam as were the walls, which glittered with quartz. Alcoves for lanterns had been carved into the wall, and while the flickering light was kept dim, it did add a certain cozy light to the grand road that led down to an underground city clustered around a lake.

There were some houses on the water itself, but most of the buildings had been carved into the rock around it. The lake itself glowed with a strange light, which only added to the ambiance.

Sal found himself stunned by the beauty. It seemed like it had been for millennia, but no, it was only a few centuries old, and yet, it was such a sight.

Rugar gave him the option. To walk around the perimeter of the city or go straight across the lake in a skiff.

Sal chose the boat.

The water wasn’t all that deep, and it was crystal clear. Sal could see the bottom, where strange crystals glowed. Schools of shadowy fish darted here and there. Huge eels hunted them, but the eels didn’t seem to care at all about the boat, and they deftly avoided Rugar’s pole.

Crossing the lake was quiet, beautiful and strange.

After docking on the other side, Sal was taken down another tunnel—more polished stone, more lanterns, until they reached a rushing river, running over the glittering, glowing crystals that had been at the bottom of the lake. A metal bridge spanned the river, the iron rusting a bit. Mushrooms the size of trees grown on either bank.

Rugar led him over the bridge to the other side, though the guard stopped on the bridge. “Gurzak awaits you.” He pointed.

There, standing in a clearing among the mushroom forest, stood a figure in a white gown. When she turned, Sal saw that the shaman wasn’t a man, it was a woman.

It was the first of many surprises.