Once my business with the Gearshift Daily was complete, I spent the remaining hours of daylight attending to some of the chores I had thus far neglected. A portion of time was spent purchasing more food for the pantry; another amount of time was taken up by the cleaning and securing my apartment. I took a trip down to the door of my landlord to leave a note explaining the situation of my finances, as well as a promise to make good on my commitment to him in the near future. I could only hope that the man’s hunger for a secure and generous tenant would tide him over until the business with the academy and Lord Pevensley was over.
Then I decided that as my plans required time and patience for their success, I had the opportunity to relax for a moment. I brought out a well-worn copy of a novel by one of my favorite authors, one of the few precious items I had brought with me from my childhood home, and began to read.
I thus spent a pair of hours in relative peace and security. It was a rarity so lacking in my career that it was a true luxury to enjoy it even in these troubled times of hardship. Alone with my own thoughts and a good story, the time passed swiftly, and it was only when a sound interrupted my reverie that I recognized that night had descended over the city.
The interloping sound was not, as one might have expected, the knock of a late-night caller or the scrabbling of some hidden vermin. It was something far more ominous and of greater concern; the barely audible ring of a bell concealed within the wall by my bedside. I listened for a moment, hoping against all reason that the sound would fade away or be revealed as a figment of my imagination. To my dismay, a second sound, that of a sudden discharge of electricity, followed by muffled cursing, confirmed my suspicions.
I had been involved in enough visits of questionable desirability that I knew the locks on my front door were far from impenetrable. Anyone with sufficient training and tools could bypass such precautions easily. For that reason, I had taken the liberty to reinforce them with a system of alarms and traps to ensnare the unwary. The locks were connected to bells within the walls of my office and bedroom; when each was disengaged, they would alert me to the fact. Each lock was of a different design as well, forcing the would-be-intruder to utilize a variety of equipment and techniques. Finally, to complete the difficulty, any of a list of common errors in picking the locks would trigger small electric traps, such as the one my unfortunate guest had just triggered.
Unfortunately, I could not count on a simple shock to discourage my foes. With a sigh, I set my book aside, careful to mark the place for when I could return to it at some later, quieter date. Then I set about preparing myself for the likely unwelcome guests I was about to entertain. Knowing there to be no purpose in withholding any effort, I helped myself to the contents of the chest in my room. There was a flicker of regret as I opened it and withdrew the items hidden within. It was always a cause of shame to resort to more brutal methods, but in the interest of self-defense, even a gentleman must surrender dignity to necessity. While the value of my life was a matter of considerable debate in some circles, I had no uncertain feelings about how much I would make someone pay for trying to take it from me.
With those thoughts in mind, I quickly gathered my arsenal. First was a bullet shield, manufactured from a series of thin steel plates disguised to take the shape of an umbrella. I had a Wilker’s and Hasterling pistol concealed within as well, which had been a gift from Patricia. She had personally modified it for me after an incident when the brass knuckles had been too short ranged. The gun had less power behind it, but the knuckles’ potency was something I reserved for the most pernicious threats in any case. A series of specialized grenades and a Stenhouse Filter Mask completed my array of weaponry, along with my cane of course. I had just finished gathering the weapons when the second bell rang, signaling that the intruders were very near ready to breach my security.
I slid the mask over my face, opened my door and stole downstairs. In one hand I carried my pistol; in the other, I held the first of my customized grenades. The sounds of the intruder fiddling with the last lock were clear in the silence, and I knew I had mere moments before the portal would open. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I slid a shutter over the nearest of the lanterns in an attempt to obscure their vision. Then, as the door slid open, I backed into the stairwell and waited.
The door thumped against the table on the opposite side, and I heard the whisper of cloth along with the first muffled thumps of footsteps. Obviously there was more than one guest to entertain this evening. My back to the wall of the stairway, I waited until the entire group had entered the apartment before I made my first move. As they closed the door behind them with a small click, I held my breath and removed the safety on the grenade.
Then I pivoted around the corner and hurled the weapon at the ground in the exact center of the intruders.
The customized grenade bounced once and exploded. Rather than the fire and metal a regular bomb would have produced, the scent of spices filled the air. I had a vested interest in not killing them, after all. Those who were merely incapacitated could identify their masters, and a spice bomb would do much of my work for me.
The momentary flash of the grenade had revealed five figures crouched within my apartment. Two were werewolves, both fully transformed and wearing some kind of protective equipment adapted to their changed forms. I could only imagine what kind of patience and perversity it would take for someone to fit that uniform to a pair of creatures with split personalities, but for the moment, they were relatively harmless.
The other three intruders were a different matter altogether. One was an undine, a Changling affiliated with water. The ever shifting pattern of water across her skin made that much obvious. A single undine could easily cause chaos with plumbing across an entire borough, if they were determined enough. Another was clearly an elf, judging by the hooked nose, slender fingers, and beady eyes. Elves were known for their capricious behavior, and normally would not have been too terrible an inconvenience, but this particular representative of the type was armed with several dangerous-looking devices that promised to make my evening much more interesting.
The last intruder was the largest problem by far. He towered over the others by at least a foot, which meant he was nearly seven-and-a-half feet tall. His height was complimented by a nearly equal amount of bulk, giving the man the appearance of a human-shaped wall. Every movement, even the startled reaction to the grenade, seemed to be slow, deliberate, as if he was fighting to move his limbs though thick mud. His Change was as obvious as it was terrifying.
He was a golem, a Changling as strong as a troll and nearly twice as durable. Bullets would make no impression on him, and his single punch could knock a fist-sized hole in my chest. Golems were as slow as they were sturdy, but that would hardly matter to the Changling in such close quarters as my apartment would offer him.
Fortunately, the cloud of spices had covered all but one of the intruders. Howls of pain, some more distinctly canine than human, filled the once-quiet air of the apartment, and one of the werewolves staggered for the door, his oversensitive nose overwhelmed with the scent. Even the golem and the undine were hampered by the cloud; they wheezed and coughed, lashing out in random directions while the elf retreated. The other werewolf, however, had been closer to me and had avoided the damage of the spices. It charged toward me with a vengeful growl.
I filled my free hand with the hilt of my bullet shield and swung the device into line with the werewolf’s body. It thunked off a forearm with a metallic sound, deflecting a paw full of decidedly lethal claws at a critical juncture. The Changling reared back and prepared for a second leap, but I triggered the shield just as he propelled himself forward. The umbrella-styled shield hissed into place, and the Distillation-powered mechanism provided more than enough force to deflect the werewolf a second time. Stunned, it staggered backward, and before it could recover, I shot it cleanly through the leg with the pistol.
The werewolf howled in agony, and half collapsed. Even with its pained thrashings, I could see that the bullet had burst clear through the werewolf’s leg and buried itself in the floor. Blood spurted from the wound, leaving stains on the carpet, but the Changling was obviously unable to continue the attack. Such a result was worth the damage to the apartment, though I was not sure the landlord would agree.
Though the recoil from the pistol had set my hand aching, I turned to face the remaining three intruders. I could hardly conceal a smile of triumph; with two of their party down, the criminals would likely flee rather than continue their assault. Then I felt a rush of humidity dampen my clothing and watched as the remnants of the spices in the air were swept away by a wave of water. Fluid jetted from the undine’s hand and cascaded down over the three Changlings like a fountain, clearing away the stinging remains of my initial attack.
Then the undine’s gaze fell on me, and she raised her other hand. I instinctively took cover behind my bullet shield. The reaction was justified a moment later when a jet of water, strong enough to nearly seem like a pistol shot in itself, struck the metal plates. More jets forced me back a step, and then she swept the shield from my hands with a well-placed stream. As the handle was twisted from my grasp, I braced the pistol in both hands and fired a barrage of shots in her direction.
She wisely ducked behind the golem, who spread his arms out as if he were welcoming the bullets. Powerful as the pistol was, it barely scratched the Changling; three bullets struck him in the chest, and he merely shrugged them off. Then the pistol ran short of ammunition, and I struggled to reload. A smile formed on the golem’s lips, and he spoke. “Sammy, now.”
The elf, who had also remained behind the golem, now stepped out and hurled something in my direction. Halfway through its arc, the object exploded into a burst of light. Brilliance struck my eyes almost as if it were a physical blow, and I staggered backward. Patricia’s pistol tumbled from my hands, and before the intruders could introduce me to another of their surprises, I stumbled around the edge of the wall and concealed myself in the stairway.
As I crouched in my dubious cover, my eyesight fought to return to normal. The object which had blinded me now lay on the floor, its light fading. It had started a small, guttering fire on the carpet, but that would be the least of my problems if I did not find a way to drive out my unexpected guests. I heard the golem speak in the front room, his voice gravelly and low. “Sammy, after him, quickly.” Quick footsteps approached the stairwell, and I hefted my cane in preparation.
Poor Sammy rounded the corner, obviously expecting me to have retreated further up the stairs. He held a wicked-looking device in his arms. To my inexperienced eyes it seemed to be some sort of rifle; whether the shots would be lethal or merely some sort of shock round was irrelevant to me. I swung my cane and connected with his face; his long nose gave way with a crunch. As the elf staggered back, I pointed the end of my cane at his midsection and triggered the mechanism. The sheath hit him hard enough to drive the air from his lungs in a single, painful whine, and he crumpled to the floor, his weapon clattering beside him.
My blade at the ready and a second grenade close at hand, I charged out of the stairwell, hoping to catch the undine by surprise. To my dismay, I found that the golem was nearly upon me instead. He strode forward, his arm swinging around with the force of a hammer. I ducked beneath the blow and heard the wall splinter behind me. Desperate, I slashed at his midsection. The blade struck sparks from his skin, but aside from some minor damage to his shirt and waistcoat, there was little other harm to the Changling.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
In response, he pivoted on one foot while raising the other. I slid to the side in panic as the foot shot down. His boot drove itself through the floorboards of the platform at the bottom of the stairs. The sound of the blow was a sharp crunch, and it sickened my stomach to think what a similar blow would do to my rib cage. While he pulled his foot free from the ruin he had made of that platform, I ran for the office, where I had left Patricia’s brass knuckles earlier. While the pistol had failed, the customized knuckles would surely provide me a chance to succeed against the Changlings I faced.
The golem must have sensed my intentions, for he swung a broad, backhanded blow that would have removed my head. I ducked beneath it and tossed a second grenade at him. The bomb went off at close range, covering both Changling and myself in concealing smoke. He coughed and choked on the fumes, but the mask I wore meant my own lungs were protected, and the cover the haze granted me was invaluable. A jet of water punched a small hole in the wall as I fled, but I slipped through the doorway and reached my desk before the undine could adjust her aim. There I collected the knuckles and turned to face the door, ready for their next charge.
Fortunately for my suffering apartment, the intruders had other plans. I heard a voice dry as dust and rough as gravel grind out commands. “Meribeth, get Riley out of here and try to stop the bleeding. I’ll get Sammy and we’ll call it a night.” I heard them stalk toward the door, with the werewolf still whimpering pitifully. “Mr. Kingsley. Your interference in things that do not concern you will be your undoing. Mind your own business, or we will be back. You will not get so lucky a second time.”
Those words fell upon my ears with the solemnity and certainty of a tombstone, but I made no response. I had heard threats before, often more descriptive and passionate than this one, but I rarely felt the need to answer them. Either I would succeed or they would, but it seemed pointless to discuss the matter when neither side was willing to compromise.
Nevertheless, I felt a certain amount of worry creep into my heart. The golem did not sound like some street tough hired to rough up an unsavory sort such as myself. This man was no Mr. Thorpe, and his employer was unlikely to be as ill suited to the life of a criminal as Mr. Pastee had been. He sounded almost as a soldier or a bodyguard would, though the stink of Marseille stained his words, and with the way he moved I could easily have imagined him as a prize fighter in a ring. Only a truly influential person or well-connected crime den could have afforded to send such a representative to intimidate a mere investigator.
The others gave me yet more cause to worry. Werewolves were territorial in addition to their difficult temperament. The canine half simply does not abide the presence of another werewolf in close proximity, not without the occasional scuffle for dominance. The fact that two had come so willingly to do another’s bidding, and had allowed themselves to be attired and ordered about in such a manner, implied much all on its own. Someone had been able to establish leadership over them so effectively that obeying their employer was more important than their usual instincts. The unusual equipment the elf had carried and the mere presence of an undine among them hinted at the breadth of the organization’s reach, and their willingness to expend such resources meant they considered me a significant worry. Such worries tended to be squashed rather quickly when they could be.
My concerns along that line of thought were only worsened since I did not know who had sent them, but it appeared I would have no one to interrogate for answers this time. Therefore, I waited patiently while the golem and his wounded comrades withdrew. The front door shut with a definite slam, and their heavy footsteps retreated along with the groans and whines of the wounded into the night. Then I came out from my office to investigate what had been left behind.
The damage to the apartment was obvious even in the dim light. A squashed hole in the stairway would not be easily fixed, and the Changling’s fist had crushed a portion of the wall as well. My carpet where the flare had landed still smoked and sputtered, and I was obliged to stomp out the fire threatening to consume the spot. From the scorch marks and soot stains surrounding the dead flare, the undine’s previous spray of water in clearing the spice had prevented a larger blaze from starting. Unfortunately, the resulting slurry of blood, water, and spice had ruined a fair portion of the floor. Small rips where the werewolves had torn the carpet were also apparent, and small holes dotted the wall where jets of water or bullets had punched through the wood. I groaned at the reaction my landlord would have, especially considering the financial situation in which I found myself.
However, destruction and property damage were not the only things my visitors had left behind. Lying on the floor where the elf had been knocked down was the gleam of brass and iron. I bent over to find my sheath half buried in the shattered wood of the stair. Close to it was the curious weapon the elf had carried with him. I lifted it gingerly. If I studied the device, I might be able to find where the intruders had come from and return the favor.
My pistol was also present among the wreckage, though the grip had been caught under the golem’s boot and damaged. I picked it up carefully and found that the mechanism would need to be remounted on a new grip, and I winced at what such a repair would cost. Briefly, I wondered if I could convince Daniel to work on it for me. The image of an outraged Patricia caught at my heart far more than my soon-to-be unhappy landlord, but there was little I could do about that other than depend on the charity of the young professor the next morning.
Thus furnished with the consequences and opportunities of the night’s encounter, I walked to the door and made sure it was secure. Then I returned up the stairs, gathering my remaining weapons as I went. My bedroom door I unlocked carefully, and spent a moment laying aside the weapons I had used. Then, my business for the night completed, I picked up the book and resumed the story. It was nice to relax after a busy evening.
The next day found my door once again abused by some impatient visitor. At least they remained outside instead of rudely intruding as my attackers had the previous night, but it was at best a small improvement. What made me truly happy was the fact that I had not been woken from a sound sleep simply to answer their impertinent pounding. I had been awake for nearly two hours, the great majority of which had been spent studying the device the elf had left behind.
As interesting as the investigation was, however, I gladly placed it aside to open the door. I smiled. “Ms. Anderson, you are exactly the person I was hoping to see.”
Patricia froze in place. The expression of confusion on her face was marvelous. Then she smiled in return. “Really? I only came because I heard you had some trouble here last night.”
I stepped aside to afford her a better view of the interior of my apartment. “I dare say you were correct, Ms. Anderson. I had some difficulty entertaining some rather interesting visitors.” Her eyes widened as she saw the absolute wreckage of my apartment. It is sufficient to say that the damage had not grown less terrible with time.
“It looks like a war area in here! What happened?”
My smile grew at the surprised tone in her voice. “As I said, there were some difficulties, but I handled them. In fact, my efforts as a host convinced my uninvited friends to leave me a present. Would you do me the honor of examining it with me?”
Her eyebrows lowered, and her gaze suddenly grew more suspicious. “A gift? What are you talking about?”
I opened the door to my office and gestured for her to enter. “Right this way, Ms. Anderson. I assure you that in this case, it will be a much swifter resolution of your concerns if you are introduced directly to the object in question.”
Patricia followed me, her eyebrows still lowered in annoyance. It was gratifying to see them rise again in disbelief as her gaze fell upon the item the elf had left behind. “A Tetherton Immobilizer? Where did you find this?”
I had hoped she would be able to identify the weapon; my other method would have involved shooting it at a target and hoping that the back blast would not harm anything of value in the vicinity. With a careful nod, I motioned to the device. “So you are familiar with this type of armament, then?”
The bounty hunter shook her head. “Not personally, no. This type of thing is a bit too unsavory for my tastes.” My estimation of the moral quality of last evening’s guests fell still lower as she continued. “These things typically shoot a stream of poison or gas. The jet can eat a hole in someone or knock them unconscious, but even the nonlethal types can make a mess of someone in a hurry.” Patricia cracked a smile and hefted her carbine. “I prefer more direct tools, to be honest. Much simpler that way.”
Again I nodded. Patricia’s techniques, though blunt, had never seemed cruel or sadistic. Obviously the thugs did not share such high standards in their own work. “Might you be able to identify where it came from?”
Patricia hesitated. Then she shook her head. “No. These things have a bad-enough reputation that no artisans I know would craft one, or at least, not openly. You’re probably looking for someone who does custom jobs, with access to industrial facilities. A lot of these parts look pretty standard, so someone who knew what they were doing could have modified the machinery to pump these out instead for a while.”
“Industrial sites.” My mind immediately pictured the area around the academy. The coincidence was too great to overlook. “I do believe we know an area where such facilities might be found, Ms. Anderson. Do any of the factories around the academy possess the capability to manufacture parts such as these?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes. They do.”
“Then I believe we know where these intruders originated from.” I laid a cautious hand on the immobilizer. “I wonder if they were sent to capture or to kill? It seems unlikely that they would come so heavily armed just to warn me.”
Patricia stepped closer. “Well, there’s one quick way to find out. Excuse me, Hector.” She drew out a worn pair of leather gloves from a pocket on her coat. Once she had put them on and I had stepped out of her way, she carefully began to work. Her fingers opened the central casing of the device, prying it open as some would force open a clam shell. With the innards thus exposed, she continued to work for a few moments more. Clicks and pops resonated from within the mechanism as she moved.
Some of those noises troubled me. I pictured a caustic wash of fluid eating away at her hands and my desk, and nervously cleared my throat. “Ms. Anderson, perhaps it would be better to leave this question to an expert?”
She gave me a challenging stare. “You know anyone more qualified than me to work with a dangerous weapon, Hector? If you do, just say so.” I found myself unable to reply, and she snorted. “Well then, don’t distract me.”
Patricia set to work once more, and a short time later she extracted a canister the length of a child’s forearm and twice as thick. The slosh of liquid within accompanied each movement she made. A triumphant look ran across her features as she held it up. “See? Here’s the ammunition for the thing. If you want to know what they were after, maybe we can have a look at this!”
I cautiously took the canister from her. Given her description of the unpleasant nature of the weapon, I would hardly be surprised if it had been filled with some sort of caustic fluid. With the appropriate amount of care, I removed a cloth from one of my pockets. With a few quick movements, I unscrewed the cap for the canister and slowly tilted it over the cloth which I held.
From the moment the liquid appeared within its container, some sort of chemical fume assaulted my senses. The smell grew stronger as the fluid touched the edge of the cloth. I shook my head to clear it of the interference of the stench, but it grew only more overwhelming and bitter as the cloth soaked up the curious mixture. As it grew ever more intense, I found my arms drooping downward of their own accord. With no small amount of horror, I realized that the edges of my sight had grown dim, as if the light was receding from my eyes.
Suddenly alert, I brought the vial away from the cloth to prevent more fluid from leaking. The cloth continued to give off the overpowering scent of chemicals, but it slowly began to lessen as I screwed the canister closed once more. I spoke, noting the thickness of my tongue as I struggled to form the words. “A sedative mixture, then. My guests were likely attempting to take me alive.”
A short distance away, Patricia shook her head as if to clear it. Her eyelids had slid partway shut, and she leaned back against the wood of the office wall. “That’s right. I guess we should be glad of it, eh, Hector? Otherwise, they might have just shot you last night and saved themselves a lot of trouble.” The thickness of the sedative lay upon her tongue as well, and her brow furrowed as she realized it. For a moment she lowered her head and closed her eyes, obviously concentrating. She snorted softly and shook her head a second time.
When she opened her eyes, I found her green stare clear and free of the pernicious influence of the immobilizer’s drugs. “You are planning on causing some trouble, right? I’d hate to think that a little event like this one would scare you off.” I raised an eyebrow at her tone. Of all my associates, only Patricia could question me so and make it seem a challenge.
“Ms. Anderson, I am surprised at you. Above all, you should know that my goal is to provide only the best of service to my clients and avoid any unnecessary complications. Indulging in petty revenge would result in a less optimal resolution to the issues we face.” A hint of anger and stubborn resentment built in Patricia’s expression. A moment more, a heartbeat, and she would have growled out some hostile rebuke to my passive stance, but I held up a hand before she could start. She settled back, her face a restrained storm cloud, and I favored her with a smile I hoped was reassuring. “Fortunately, the most optimal solution involves throwing these people in the nearest jail, where they can rot for the next four decades.” I felt my smile grow predatory, and Patricia’s own expression mirrored it. “Let us focus on that, and then decide if more thorough measures are required. Do you agree, Ms. Anderson?”