The cool ale compliments the ebony smoke far too well. I’m fairly sure I’m addicted to the burning wood already, which is ridiculously annoying when I consider how I started smoking to relieve the itching. My curse now forces me to continue a constant flow of spirit and therefore the empowerment dew from Honey, which I am also getting a taste of.

Oh fuck it, what’s one more vice.

I drain the drink and wave for another round. Folkston’s wife, Penelope, gives me a smile from behind the bar and reaches for more mugs.

“What the muk is an auction.” Says Suzie.

We hold court in the tavern while discussing the plan. Suzie’s keen to involve her bastards as thanks for the few lessons I’ve provided. Also, Penelope has been showing them how to cook and look after themselves.

A strange symbiotic relationship has formed since the older kids in the troop are happy to babysit while the merchants do business. Coincidentally, pickpocketing and petty vandalism in the tavern has dropped significantly.

“It’s essentially a sale. Customers shout out how much they are willing to pay, and the highest bidder wins.” Russ explains.

It’s nice having him around, even after our rocky start. Though his relentless enquiries about the screaming in Thaddeus's green room are getting obnoxious.

“So according to this fake Jesus fella. The Blackroots are holding a private auction for the tribe and it's happening in Blacktree, their base on Topside.” Suzie repeats trying to wrap her head around it all.

“Exactly.”

Russ shakes his head in confusion. “I thought they’d all been sold, the Satyr I mean. Didn’t you say the House’s lows were celebrating in here the day you arrived?”

“Yeah, they were literally throwing coin around. But I’m sure Thaddius was telling the truth, as far as he knew it anyway.”

“Well, we got three days before it goes down to find out the truth.” She slams down her empty mug of warm coco. “What’s the plan?”

“Save the tribe and leave this city.” I nod heroically.

“A true Napoleon in the making.” Russ slaps me on the back with a laugh.

Suzie rolls her eyes at me, her determination makes her a little impatient at times.

I go into my inventory space and remove the black metal key.

“I took it from one of them ages ago. I’m not sure which doors it’ll unlock though.”

Suzie snatches with excited eyes. “It’s gotta be something important ta have such a fancy key for.”

“What about the front door?” I ask the obvious.

Russ and Suzie both roll their eyes at me.

“What?”

“How did going through the bastard's front door work out for you? Almost drowned in muk.”

“That’s… true. But I thought your front door was that child-sized tunnel those kids squeezed through.”

“Aye, that’s one of our rabbit holes. We have them all over the city, including into the Blackroots basement.”

Russ tuts loudly “I thought they sealed up all the basements. My jobs have certainly gotten harder in the last week.”

Suzie sees my lost gaze and explains. “Basements are what they call the bottom floors of a house, the real estate of Undercity. Most of those rich pricks want to float with the cream. So boarded theres up and filled in the stairways. Don’t want any rats creeping up in the night for a taste of the fat.” She finishes with a wicked grin.

“I’m guessing your rabbit hole is still good?”

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“You know it, kid.” She gives me a cheeky wink.

“Aha, I like this girl.” Russ slaps her on the shoulder as Penelope brings our drinks.

“I’m a Queen you Ganesh wannabe.”

I spit my ale out at Russ’s shocked expression and throw my hands up in denial. “I didn’t tell her to say that.”

He shakes his and chuckles. “Okay, so we got a way in. But that hole will need to be adult-sized.”

“Hippo.” I add. “We might need the backup.”

“Fine hippo sized and we have a Blackroot key. So three days to organise ourselves and dig that hole.” Russ concludes.

The tavern door bangs open and a very proud child stands in the door with his sleeves rolled up.

“Ruts sake, Sam! I gave you money to clean that ink. Not get another one.” I yell.

He leaps onto a table to Penelope's dismay and starts flexing a raw tattoo of a squiggly hippo roaring.

Russ goes after the lad before he gets kicked out of the tavern.

Suzie's smile fades as she picks up the key again.

“You all good with the plan? I’d give you more time but the auctions soon.” I ask not wanting to pressure the young Queen.

“Aye, easy enough. Just gotta be mindful of that bloody Son sniffing around.”

“Who?”

“The one hunting you.”

“Tarak-Son, that wench is riddled with disease. Must you touch her so?” The lowly Blackroot squirms from my inspection.

I pull back a flap of torn flesh. “Tell me what you see?”

“Sinners blood.”

To have such a simple mind, that sees only the basics and obvious. My lessons are generally thwarted on these peons the family sends me to assist with my work. They think all can work the riddles of the world as I since my humble beginnings match so many of our warriors.

Ridiculous.

Alas, I shall try.

“The skin is torn and shredded. If you can recall the calves and ankles of the other victims. Their wounds, though a tattered mess, share similarities. Patterns are forming in this festering swamp they dare to call a Chapel.” I say while observing my assistants' fidgeting.

He wipes his hands on his pants and then pulls his collar around his mouth before realising I am still waiting.

“Ahem, a pattern. Well, all the victims are… dead.”

I restrain my self from belittling him, a waste of energy. “Correct.” He smiles and stands a bit straighter. I can see him bragging to the boys back at Blackroot, proud and glory hunting.

“Acute work, take some rest from the investigation.”

“Thank you, sir. When shall you require my assistance again?”

“Never.” I turn and regard the wounds on the Smiler’s drug dealer.

The man stands there for a moment, then scowls at the watchers in the archway. As if his idiocracy was their fault. He leaves with his shoulders slumped.

The silence is short lived as the Smiler’s begin to chuckle.

For Order’s sake, won’t these mongrels stop distracting me? “Your presence is not required, leave.” I snap.

“Sorry my lord, we have spotted another party following the murders.”

“Yorks.”

“Independent it seems. A thumb of a man and his bitch are sniffing around.”

“It’s considered efficient to gather information up close, not merely watching them from your dens like sloths.”

“Aye, sir. A stoneclad follows in tow with hell in her eyes.” They say with certainty.

Now what would a brute of such high regard find so interesting about these deaths? More variables to digest, the information is ripe and ready for me to feast upon.

“Make contact at once, but be polite. Arrange a meeting in a neutral location, away from prying Yorks, understood?”

“Yes sir.”

I dismiss them to finally revel in the silence. Focus on the details at hand.

Four Smilers and three common criminals. All with leg wounds used to maim and disable. Executed with precise incisions across the throat or puncturing the vital organs.

Valuables were taken, though this could have happened anytime post-death due to the district’s inhabitants. Conclusion, targeted killings. Focusing on thugs and gangsters. Repeated methods point towards an individual. Vigilantism is a higher probability than gang warfare.

The Smilers are stepping up manpower, the atmosphere amongst them is tense with volatile aggression threatening to boil over. Hiding their fear of violence is a common tactic in such tribal groups.

I will have to make a note to the house to encourage this behaviour, let the Yorks deal with them. Our association is hidden in this Undercity they built. Whether this ripper in the shadows is my man from the tavern, I am yet to confirm.

The removal of Blackroots from Undercity was a preemptive decision, ensuring no personal vendettas catch innocent bystanders in the crossfire. But also to allow further deaths of our numbers to sully this moment of victory in our noble family history.

More evidence is required. No doubt this killer will provide shortly.

Also, the stoneclad may offer more.

A scuffing of boots announces the approach of several obsidian cloaked warriors.

“Tarak-Son. News from Topside.” The messenger says.

I nod to continue.

“Thaddius has been torn apart, Sir. You should see the remains.”