Bernt sat in his room at the Minotaur’s Head and read the letter again – the pertinent part, not the introductory word salad. Someone had slid it under his door and he’d found it when he got up this morning. It was written on expensive parchment, adorned at the top with the elaborate crest of the Solicitors.
It was just as vague and unhelpful as the first time he’d read it.
“The threat posed by the rogue warlock in question has been neutralized. No further demonic threats to either yourself or the imp Dzhorianath are known.”
That was it. No details, nothing. He flipped it over. The back was still blank, just like the first time he’d checked. No clue why the rogue warlock was summoning demons in the first place or what even happened to him. Was he dead? Did the solicitors have him locked up somewhere?
Or... did they recruit him?
Bernt shivered at the thought. They wouldn’t. Probably.
Would they?
No. They wouldn’t. Jori’s summoner had, so far as he and Jori could tell, messed up multiple summonings. Worse, he’d apparently tried to cover up his failure by dumping Jori in a sewer. That suggested some kind of nefarious intent as well as incompetence.
If there was one thing Bernt had learned from working with Josie over the past several days, it was that solicitors hated dabblers and improvisers of all kinds, but most especially those who played fast and loose with demons and summoning. He knew because they considered him to be one, especially Josie. His only redeeming quality in their eyes was that he hadn’t actually done any summoning.
Their attitude was irritating, but he supposed it made sense – solicitors had to account for everything ahead of time for both their demonic pacts and more mundane contracts. It stood to reason that people drawn to that sort of work had a certain intolerance for people who tried to figure it out as they went along. They only put up with him because of Jori, who they wanted as part of some kind of public relations campaign to help reform their image. He hoped they had a proper plan for that. She was cute, mostly friendly and she didn’t hurt people for no reason. That was something, but it wasn’t a plan.
Still, he wanted to know the details. If he pushed Josie long enough, she would tell him something. Or maybe Jori could get it out of her. Whatever the case, he wasn’t just going to let this lie.
He put the letter down on top of a haphazard stack of notes and partial spell diagrams on his desk and got up. He needed to get moving.
Pulling his boots on with a little more force than was absolutely necessary, Bernt made his way out of the inn and headed to work. Jori was already gone, having darted out the window a few minutes earlier. She was going to get Gnugg and Trip from the orphanage. Trip and the little kobold had become practically inseparable, leading to more than a few outraged comments from gnomes who saw the two ancestral enemies walking around together.
When he first approached Ed about letting orphan volunteers check storm drains, Bernt had expected the archmage to decline. It had been Jori’s idea, and Farrin had reluctantly agreed only because Gnugg had insisted. Poorer children often worked in Halfbridge, but not for a mage order like the Underkeepers. But Ed had accepted. They were spread thin trying to clean up after the kobold invasion, and doing the street-level rounds in the safer parts of the city didn’t really require a mage. Or an adult, for that matter.
–----
When Bernt arrived, he found a crowd of people standing outside the Underkeepers’ Headquarters. There were thirty of them at least and they were all facing right at the building with the wary anticipation of people who weren’t quite sure what they were supposed to be doing.
These were the new recruits, Bernt realized a little belatedly. People had been stepping in and out of the office for several days, crowding the Underkeepers' main room at times, but most of them hadn’t looked like much. Bernt hadn’t realized just how many qualified applicants there were. At the front of the crowd stood Ed alongside Fiora, who was calling roll from a list.
Unsure of what he was supposed to do, he stopped to watch. It was a heterogenous crowd – humans, dwarves, goblins and a few gnomes. No elves, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. Most kinds of elves were uncomfortable in enclosed spaces. Every time a name was called, a new guard would go up to Fiora, sign her list, and receive a gray, cloth-wrapped bundle from Ed.
It was gear. Bernt’s heart leapt up into his throat. They were finally getting equipment!
“What in the hells is all this about?” came a familiar voice from behind him.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Bernt turned to find Josie standing there. A small part of him noted with some incredulity that her work clothes were, once again, completely spotless, as they’d been every morning since her first day. How did she do it?
But there were more important things to think about today.
“It's the new recruits. And it looks like we’re about to finally get some proper equipment!” Bernt said, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice or the smile off his face. “And I guess that means we’re moving into the new Undercity soon. Maybe today. We can't operate out of here with all these people. Where would they even put their stuff?”
“Ah,” Josie nodded, apparently not very intrigued by the idea. A moment later, though, her face broke into a smile, too. “Wait, does that mean no sewers today?”
–----
“You’ll be doing the sewer rounds in the crafter’s district this morning.” Ed said, several minutes later. The new Underkeeper Guards were being led down to the Undercity by Fiora for orientation. There, they would be put to work assisting Kustov and the city’s engineers as they expanded the space, set up defensive structures and guard stations and generally turned the former kobold warren into a habitable and reasonably comfortable space for surface dwellers.
Bernt accepted the checklist from Ed with an amused grunt as Josie groaned quietly with disappointment.
“What about the equipment?” Bernt asked, looking around the room. “I saw you outfitting the new recruits earlier. My boots haven’t been entirely waterproof since last year.”
Of course, he was hoping for something quite a bit better than new work boots. They couldn’t very well expect a new guard force to supply their own fighting equipment. Not that he expected the Count to spring for the good stuff. Still, he would take what he could get.
“Yes, don’t worry.” Ed said “We’ve updated our uniform to better reflect our new purpose. You'll be getting it before the end of the day. Just wear it to work tomorrow and bring your old robe back. I have to turn it back in to the Count’s quartermaster. Some kind of procedure or other.”
“It’s to prevent misappropriation of funds,” Josie helpfully provided. “Paragraph thirty-two of the Beseri code for the management of arms, armor, and wearable equipment.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Ed said, waving them off. “Get to it. I’ll meet you and the others two hours after noon at the main breach. The whole thing is being reinforced and converted to be the new entrance to the Undercity. We’re going to do an orientation for everyone who isn’t already familiar.”
–-----
The workday passed by with agonizing slowness. Working in the crafter’s district, they passed within sight of the breach twice. Bernt hadn’t seen it in about a week, and even what little they could see had already changed quite a bit. At least three of the houses across the street were simply gone, and he could see the top of a massive arch that had been built into the city wall somehow.
While there was thankfully little in the way of slimes or mutant rodents running around in the sewers that day, they still ran into detritus from the battle that had taken place nearly five weeks earlier, even though both the guards and the underkeepers had come through to clear the bodies and rubble.
Several hours later, they found a surprisingly large pile of gnawed, stinking bones, and bits of cloth and leather washed up in a corner. When they removed the stuff, Josie found something else buried in the mess – a silver ring that was too large for a finger and too small to be a bracelet – probably a kobold’s tailring.
She grinned, slipping it into a small pouch at her belt. According to unofficial Underkeeper custom, finders were keepers. Bernt dug through the rest of it carefully, hoping for maybe a gold coin or something, but he came up with nothing. Of course.
Oh well, next time.
“Do you think it’s time, yet?” Josie asked, looking up longingly as if she could will herself up and out of the sewer to the relatively fresh air of the streets above. Bernt could relate.
“No. But we haven’t had lunch yet,” he said and pointed. “If we take a right up there, we’ll come out of the access shaft right next to Marin’s Bakery. She won’t let us inside, but if we knock at the window we can get some of her bread-bowl soup. It’s a bit messy, but prices are pretty reasonable, and there’s a little fountain to wash our hands not too far from there.”
“Sounds good.” Josie said. “Anything but more street-cart cabbage rolls. Your eating habits are deranged.”
Bernt scoffed. “I’ll pretend that I didn’t hear that. Cal is a cabbage artist!”
“Not even the poorest farmers just eat cabbage every day, Bernt," Josie replied with a roll of her eyes.
Bernt shrugged. Cal was a friend, and there was nothing wrong with supporting his business. Besides, his cabbage rolls really were that good.
“Listen,” he said, changing the subject. “I got a response about that rogue warlock back from the Solicitors’ Office…”
Josie’s expression, which had almost been friendly before, turned sour. “What about it?”
“Well, they essentially just said ‘don’t worry about it’.” Bernt complained. “What am I supposed to do with that? This guy tried to kill Jori, and he was clearly out there just summoning demons. Who knows how many are still running around?”
“Ah,” she said, relaxing a little. “You’re worried that he might still be a threat to you if we didn’t kill him.”
“Yes?” Bernt said, exasperation leaking into his tone and demeanor. “I also just want to know what happened. I mean, who wouldn’t?”
“Hmm,” the warlock mused, cocking her head to the side a little. “Well, I mean... rogue warlocks are normally executed on sight. If we have reason to believe that they’re cultists, or that they’re being influenced by another power somehow, then we would keep them contained for a while, so we can try to use them to find the source of the problem.”
“Uh.” Bernt said eloquently. She'd actually said something useful! Sort of. “You mean he was part of a demonic cult of some kind?”
Josie shook her head disgustedly and sloshed off down the sewer. “I didn’t tell you anything, you dolt. Come on, I’m hungry.”