Temple looked at the house that had just… screamed at him? It had felt strange, awful, terrifying, and familiar. And then Armstrong was there, taking advantage of his confusion, his big hand resting on Temple’s shoulder. Warm, threatening… he wasn’t sure.
With the Watchers staring at him, he forcefully shook the sensations off and scanned the house to have an excuse to look away. He became aware of five other obvious ways of gaining entry into the building, aside from the main door.
There were two large, shuttered windows on the ground floor. There was a small window on the upper floor that he could reach from a ledge on the nearby house. A shutter under the eaves of the roof indicated a small window there, reachable with a hook and rope from above. The other houses all had roof hatches to air out the attic space, so he felt safe assuming this house did too. And, finally, there was the option of entry from below.
The district of Urod Circle was the third to be built to expand Sonderport back in the time before the Upheaval, back when magic was legal and freely available. Back then, the newly planned city expansions were fully supplied with sewer tunnels, drilled by magic into the bedrock the city rested on. So, although houses had sometimes been rebuilt, the tunnels were there and accessible by those who knew the night side of Sonderport. Navigating the sewer-tunnels wasn’t his favourite means of transportation, but if it got the job done, so be it, and he had never yet encountered anyone lunatic enough to booby-trap their shitter.
“I will need to know what you know of the house, Gilbert, old friend. What have you been dealing with?” Temple asked, not expecting much.
“This is Tann Barlik’s house,” Armstrong said and then supplied no more information.
Temple didn’t know what to say, so he just stared at the man. He shouldn’t have done that, though, because it made him look at the uniform tabard, the protective leather shirt visible underneath, and one of Armstrong’s soft, white shirts under that, similar to the one in Temple’s bag. The soft material laid itself over the muscles of his arms as if it enjoyed touching him.
Temple had desperately wanted to sniff it, the shirt he’d borrowed. To take a deep breath and hope the Watcher’s smell was in it, but he had forced himself not to. It was too much. Too ridiculous. Too foreign to him. But now he stood looking at the man’s chest because he knew what he looked like stripped down to his undershorts, and his imagination wouldn’t shut up.
“Mags?”
“Gilbert?”
“What else do you need?”
“Who is Tann Barlik?” Temple immediately realised this was a bad question when he felt the weight of four Watchers’ gaze on him. He backed away. It was almost too much. He had lived the last twenty-five years in fear of being seen by anyone, and especially by Watchers, and here he was: having a chat with them.
Armstrong must have seen his apprehension because he put his arm around Temple’s shoulders, but not hard or threatening like before. It was a light, almost gentle touch. “You don’t get out much, huh?” he said with a small smile.
“No, I’ve been busy locksmithing, Gilbert,” Temple said and noticed the elder of the three Watchers sniggering softly under his bushy, grey moustache. At him or his captain, Temple couldn’t say. “So, who is Tann Barlik?”
“Alright, the short version,” Armstrong said. “He kidnapped and murdered seven women over a seven-day period and seems to have used their blood to write messages on the walls of the districts of Urod, Kaala, and Draggok. And then he turned himself in on the eighth day.”
“Right in our palisade and everything, and he emptied a bucket of blood over himself, cackling like a lunatic,” the youngest of the three supplied. “That’s why this is our palisade’s problem and not Urod, see. Even though they have fifteen more people employed.”
“Thank you, Sargent Sheridan. That sums it up,” Armstrong said. “Barlik’s awaiting trial next week and will for sure go to the drowning cages, but we need to know as much about him as possible to make sure there aren’t other victims or any accomplices. And so, we need to get into his house. Or rather, the house of a distant relative of his, which is why we didn’t connect it to him until earlier this evening. But one of my people was hit by a dart to the eye when he looked in the keyhole, and… well, you heard the thing that just happened yourself.”
“Alright, well, I suppose he would prepare primarily for access via the ground floor, so…” Temple reluctantly shrugged free of Armstrong’s grip and found a stone in the street. He took a few steps closer to the house to test if whatever it had done before was going to repeat itself, and then threw the stone, smashing the windowpane of the small window upstairs. He could have easily opened it with his tools, but he hadn’t brought them – and he couldn’t risk seeming too capable with four Watchers breathing down his neck.
Captain Armstrong cleared his throat pointedly, and Temple turned to hang his bag over the Watcher’s shoulder. “That cough still bothering you, Gilbert, old friend?” he asked.
Armstrong gave a fake smile, but with a genuine one lurking under it, and then shook his head in disbelief. “I hate it when random civilians vandalise citizens’ property,” he commented.
“Oh, right, yeah, that’s …terrible. Damn those random civilians,” Temple said with a shrug.
The old Watcher sniggered again, as Temple looked at the house and pointed to the ledge that would give him access to the Barlik house. “I can get in through there, but I will need a ladder or a lift. It’s far too high off the ground to reach,” he lied, feeling silly since it was just a running jump and easy to find perch when he hauled himself up. But it seemed to have been a good judgement call because none of the Watchers that surrounded him flinched.
“I’ll give you a hand,” Armstrong said, “Fendan, hand him the lamp.”
The old Watcher handed Temple the lantern nearby and stepped back. “Braver man than me,” the moustached Watcher just said and touched a finger to his helmet.
Temple felt Gilbert’s hand on his shoulder again, leading him towards the house. He took a position to help Temple up. The three other Watchers were standing at a safe distance.
“Please, Magpie,” Armstrong whispered. “Don’t disturb anything in there. I need the information.”
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“Why would I do that? I don’t have any interest in this, save that you now owe me a favour,” Temple whispered back.
“Not a big favour.”
“Depends on the number of traps, I would say. My time and expertise are usually paid for in diamonds.”
“Not voluntary diamonds,” Armstrong pointed out under his breath and held his folded hands out to lift Temple up.
“Swear that the amnesty still holds,” Temple demanded quietly.
“I swear on my dead wife’s name, I won’t turn you in, and I won’t willingly harm you,” he said.
Temple put a foot in his hands. “Give me a good lift so I don’t look too competent, Gilbert.”
The lift he received was more than adequate and certainly made him look neither competent nor elegant, he suspected. It was absolutely galling to his sense of professionalism. But those were the rules. …At least as long as he insisted on getting close to a Watcher who knew who he was.
Up on the ledge, Temple very slowly edged his way over to the broken window with the lantern, trying to make his knees seem wobbly, but not sure if he succeeded. Then he looked into the house of the murderer he hadn’t heard of.
The rock he had thrown was lying on the floor of the empty first-floor room and, though nothing was amiss, everything was amiss. There was something here, dormant, silent, observing like a snoozing cat with an eye half-open, and there was a thick smell that hung in the too-still air inside, waiting to envelop him.
He looked down at the Watcher. The man appeared almost hopeful, and Temple sighed inwardly. Then he carefully observed and tested the window frame for any traps before he gingerly reached in through the hole and unhooked the window latch. Then he slowly let the window swing up and crawled inside. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least now, he only had to worry about the house observing him.
He felt naked without his tools, his work-gear, but very carefully checked for traps and anyone alive on the upper floor. There were two rooms save the one he climbed into, all silent and empty of furniture. He made his way up the ladder to the attic where he had to crouch to go to the window hatch, and he opened it and saw the four Watchers observing the façade. He quickly made his way to the stairs down – and was glad he knew what he was doing.
The stairs were riddled with tripwires and loose boards that would injure someone stepping on them unawares. He purposefully disarmed the wires and stomped the boards to crack them, making his way along the bannister.
He kept disarming traps, nasty like the dart to the eye, but not fatal, until he had reached the narrow hallway with the two windows and the door to the outside. He lifted the lamp and the shadows seemed oily and reluctant to move in response to the light. From here, there was a curved doorway to the dining room. The smell – thick, organic and personal – had been continually crowding his senses and seemed to originate from there, but the shadows beyond the doorway seemed even more reluctant to leave, and he couldn’t glean anything inside from his careful perch at the stairs.
The door had been trapped, and he hoped it was mechanical so that the charge was spent and it could be handled quickly. If it was thaumaturgical in nature, it would take a bit longer to diffuse. Very slowly, keeping an eye on the dark doorway to the dining room, Temple edged toward the door to the outside, checking the windows, ceiling, and floor.
The windows had tripwires placed where anyone entering through there would step, which would clip a sammit-silk wire and earn them a falling rock to the head. Carefully, he triggered the trap and sidestepped, letting the rock fall with a thud.
Immediately, he heard Armstrong’s voice from outside, “What’s going on in there? Mags?”
“Give me a moment. You wanted to not get injured on entry, right? Or did I misinterpret?” Temple called back.
“Humour is really healthy in tense situations, Mags,” came the reply, seemingly from the other side of the window, and Temple smiled to himself. He imagined he could almost feel the man’s body heat through the boards and a pane of glass.
He shook his head and looked at the lock that had injured the Watcher. It was magical, the trap, for certain, because there was no mechanical anything attached to the lock. He sighed and waved the lantern in front of the lock to see if it reacted on both sides or only from the outside. Nothing happened, so he could safely go and disarm the rock trap on the other window.
“Nothing’s changed, right?” he asked in a loud voice, before tripping the trap. “You still don’t want injured Watchers?”
“Ehm, no. No, thank you. Carry on,” Armstrong called from outside.
Temple triggered the mechanism and the stone fell from its perch with a loud thud. “Remember those things I’m normally paid in?” he asked the Watcher on the other side of the wall.
“Some kind of rock, right? I’ll get you some rocks for your trouble, I’m sure the Kaala palisade can finance that.”
“You better at least paint them in some very pretty patterns first, Armstrong,” Temple commented, certain he had heard a small smile in the other man’s voice. “Now quiet please, I have to concentrate,” he said and froze.
He was working. And chatting at the same time? Angry and shocked, he quickly turned the wick down on the lamp and closed the storm lid, plunging himself into darkness where he stood with his back to the outside wall, staring into the shadowy dining room.
Gently, he gave in and let himself melt into the darkness. Normally, the sensation was safe, calming, knowing he could not be seen but could see pathways of magic and awareness woven through the world at sharp and strange angles.
But this time, the darkness looked back at him.
On the end wall of the dining room before him, the entire wall was painted with an enormous eye. The paint had dripped, making it seem like it was melting hideously, and instead of a pupil, there was a handprint with fingers that seemed to wiggle like worms as he looked at them.
Temple clenched his teeth to not say a word and tore his gaze away. He quickly scanned the door and saw a single strand of power reaching from the eye to the door. With a sense of disgust, he reached down and snapped the strand, which dissipated in his hands and forcefully evicted him from the darkness, as if he had been kicked.
Knees trembling, Temple fumbled for the lamp and tore open the storm lid, shedding the golden light around him. Now, the light easily penetrated the living room darkness.
The dining table was the only piece of furniture, and the eye with the hand for a pupil was painted at the end wall, but it was now stationary and devoid of awful life. There were buckets underneath it, everywhere under the table, and holes seemed to be drilled through the tabletop. There were leather straps attached to it, to keep someone tied down. The straps were caked with dried blood.
Temple stood still, trying to get himself under control. His hands were trembling and his heart pounded in his chest so fiercely, it almost felt like he had to fight it to stand still.
Ever since he was a child, the darkness had kept him safe, kept him unseen. Whenever he let himself slide into it, he had access to magic – could touch it and rearrange it, if not create it himself – and he remained unseen. Now, the darkness itself had noticed him.
He shuddered and clenched his hands. He felt betrayed by the darkness and didn’t know how to respond.
“Mags? Are you still there?” came Armstrong’s voice from the other side of the wall.
A thin laugh forced itself from Temple’s lips. “You don’t take orders well, do you, Watcher?” he asked, voice trembling a little. He was grateful the man had spoken; it focussed him and calmed his spiralling feelings.
“You’re not alright in there, are you?” Armstrong asked in a low voice. He sounded …worried?
“I’m fine! Fine!” Temple exclaimed and pulled a lockpick from the secret pocket in his belt. It took just a few moments to open the front door’s lock, but he didn’t like turning his back on the painted eye, however stationary it seemed now.
He drew a deep breath as he put the lockpick away and opened the door, shimmying outside quickly, and taking a deep breath of air not permeated with blood and foul intent.
Armstrong was immediately next to him and put a hand on his arm, startling him at the touch.
“Careful. I haven’t checked the dining room yet. It’s ugly in there,” Temple said.
“I can smell that.”
“You owe me, Watcher. You really owe me!”
“I can tell,” he said calmly, holding Temple’s gaze. “Thank you.” Then he gestured to the other Watchers to stay back for a while and pushed the door open all the way. “Any corpses?”
“I don’t think so. But let me check the dining room for traps before you go in,” Temple added tiredly.