12 – Nothing Ventured
Ward looked down the long stretch of marble stairs, past the rows of tiered stone benches, into the bowl of an outdoor amphitheater where the entrance to the Tarnish catacombs sat. He found it hard to believe that he could just walk into some old ruins with some other folks and come out with treasures that might be the key to finding a way to fix whatever Grace did to him. He had a hard time swallowing anything he’d heard from his unwelcome passenger, especially since she’d disappeared all night, refusing to show her face to answer more questions when he’d finally returned to his hotel room.
The day before, he’d gotten directions to the mayor’s office, where he’d purchased his ticket for fifty glories. They’d been just about to close up for the evening, like most of the other shops around the city, so he’d counted himself lucky to walk out with the piece of fancy cardstock. After that, he’d spent some time sitting in the common room of the Hen’s Nest, drinking too much warm ale and getting to know some of the regulars.
It was all a little bit of a blur, if he were being honest, and his head wasn’t thanking him for his behavior. Fan tried to talk him out of going into the catacombs that morning, suggesting he stay in town until the next opening to prepare better. The urgency of his “condition” was weighing heavily on him, however, and though he’d enjoyed his short time at the inn, he’d declined.
Not that Ward hadn’t thought about waiting. Over breakfast, he’d debated with himself, exploring the merits of “finding his footing” in Tarnish for half a year, maybe finding a cheaper, long-term rental, and exploring his options when it came to tinkerers and alchemists—the types of folks who might be able to replicate his bullets. As he’d sat, watching people walk by on the street with all manner of weapons, from spears to swords to blunderbusses, he’d conceded to himself that it had been a while since he fought anyone with something other than a gun.
He’d mentioned it to Fan, and she’d suggested he might do himself a favor by visiting the martial guilds in town. Still, Ward felt like pressing for the early initiative where the catacombs were concerned—striking the anvil while it’s hot, so to speak. He liked to debate with himself, but he also knew he felt like going for it.
After only a couple of nights in this world, he felt like his life back in Seattle was a million miles and a thousand years away. It was almost unsettling how quickly he was adapting to the idea that he’d been yanked out of his old life and thrust into this wild new reality. He wondered if that was normal and if he was coping somehow. He also wondered if it was some effect of the mana or his strange, devilish passenger—if he even still had one. Grace had certainly done a good job of making herself scarce.
Whatever the case, he felt good—excited even—which was something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. The truth was, he couldn’t remember the last time he'd been excited about anything. He hadn’t even felt this kind of anticipation when he’d married his ex-wife. It was almost like deploying with the Marines without the dread and existential guilt.
Adding to Ward’s general good vibes, the atmosphere around the amphitheater was festive. People were crowding the tiered seating, vendors were selling sweet treats, and in opposite corners of the open space below, musicians played, vying for the attention of the crowds. He figured it would have been nice if Grace weren’t hiding. It would be nice to have someone to ask questions of, like what the hell kind of musical instruments those were or what exactly he was supposed to be looking for in the “catacombs” when they let him in.
Fayella was there, though, guiding him down the steps, her body moving with the beats of the drums. She wore slender black leggings made of something soft and close-fitting, and a blue crop-topped blouse exposed her lean, muscular lower back. When she paused near the bottom, still gyrating slightly to the beat, Ward grinned at her. “You’re in a good mood.”
“No work!”
“Yeah, I noticed your change of attire.”
“Oh, this? Yeah, I don’t get much occasion to wear nice things. Sorry, you’ll miss all the partying tonight and tomorrow!”
“I will?” Ward frowned.
“Sure, the opening is at noon, then the town celebrates. Don’t worry, I’ll light a candle for you.”
“A candle?”
“Oh, Ward! How do you know so little? I know, I know,” she held up a hand, “you’re new to Vainglory. Anyway, the townsfolk light a candle and place it before the gates for their friends and loved ones, hoping it helps them to find their way out again.” She looked at him with her head cocked to the side. “Do you have loved ones somewhere?”
“Not many.” Ward looked past her to the strange structure at the amphitheater's center. It consisted of seven long pillars of white marble that tapered to points and came together above an oval curved wall, the center of which was occupied by a big set of tarnished copper gates. They were probably ten feet high, and if they were open, he could picture twenty people walking through shoulder-to-shoulder. Whoever had crafted the pillars and smooth, curved wall was a talented marble sculptor. They seemed to meld with the white stone of the amphitheater floor seamlessly.
Fay looked at him strangely for a moment, perhaps waiting for him to elaborate, but when he didn’t say anything more, she turned back to the bottom of the stairs and advanced to the last step. “Quite a crowd today. I don’t think you’ll be going in alone.”
“No, the lady at the mayor’s office said more than twenty signed up.”
She looked up at him, the morning sun making her squint. “Sorry you had to pay a registration fee.”
“Nothing new. Government loves to earn money for shit they didn’t do.” The truth was, Ward had expected it to cost more; it seemed these challenges were pretty popular and sought after. It made sense that the people controlling the territory would try to profit from them. When he’d taken a couple of steps away from the stairs, he realized Fay wasn’t leading the way anymore, so he turned, looking for her. She still stood at the bottom step. “You coming?”
“I think I’ll part ways with you here. I don’t want to get mixed up with the crowd at the center, and you can see where to go.” She pointed. “Just go to the gate.”
Ward took another step toward her, frowned, and then said the first thing to come to his mind, despite how morbid it sounded, “Well, this might be the last time I see you.”
“Ward! I didn’t want to think of it like that! I have confidence in you, anyway. I’m sure I’ll see you when you come out.” She frowned. “It’s not always the same amount of time when people emerge. You’ll come by the inn?”
“Yeah, of course. I already promised your aunt.” He sighed, taking his turn to squint as he looked into her face. “Right. Well, see you later, then, Fay.” He lifted his hand to wave, but she hurried forward and grasped him in a quick hug.
“Good luck, Ward!” Then she turned and was gone, hurrying up the steps.
Ward moved his hands to his sides, pressing where the young woman had hugged him. It felt like sparks were dancing around under his skin. If he could have, he would have prolonged that embrace—she’d been so warm and her touch so gentle . . . He shook his head. “Snap out of it, old man, as Grace would say.” He chuckled and turned, walking toward the huge, slanted marble pillars and the copper door in the curved wall.
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He wore his long-sleeved, white, collared shirt tucked into his navy blue trousers. On his feet were his sturdy leather work shoes, no longer shiny, but then he rarely shined them for work, anyway. He wore his pistol under his arm and carried his backpack with the rest of his belongings. After he’d gone to the mayor’s office the previous day, he’d wanted to do some shopping for supplies to bring into the catacombs—he didn’t know what to expect but figured some better boots or some backup weapons would be nice.
The city was larger than it seemed, though, and it had rapidly gotten dark. Most of the shops between the inn and the mayor’s office had been closed, and Ward had decided not to push his luck by wandering around a strange city on foot in the dark. Back at the inn, he’d talked a guy at the bar into selling him a big knife, though—much nicer than the ones he’d taken from the scavs. It was a real grizzly killer of a hand-made, bowie-style blade. Ward loved it, and it currently hung from his belt in its hand-stitched leather sheath.
When he approached the copper gates, he saw that the crowd was restrained by a thick red ribbon strung between copper stanchions. On the other side stood an officious-looking man and woman. The man wore a silky, frilly, gold and lavender suit, and the woman wore a close-fitting maroon dress that flared out like an upside-down tulip at the bottom. They were both in their middle years, the man a bit plump and the woman very slim. Ward could see they were talking but couldn’t make out their words in the din of the crowd.
“What’s the story?” he asked a short, portly man standing near the barrier.
“Just waiting for the mayor to start the ceremony. Shouldn’t be too long now.”
“Thanks.” Ward folded his arms over his chest, getting ready to settle down and wait, but then he felt a nudge on his elbow and looked to see Grace standing beside him. She beckoned for him to follow. Ward frowned at her, irritated that he wasn’t surprised to see her. She beckoned again, more emphatically, and, with a sigh, he followed her. She led him away from the bulk of the crowd toward a big wagon that looked to belong to a nearby food merchant. She continued to the back of the wagon, nodded, and said, “I didn’t want to come out around so many people, but I thought we should talk a little before you go in.”
“Now we should talk? Why the sudden urge to chat?”
“Well, I didn’t realize how big an event this was. There are going to be a lot of people going in with you, and I didn’t know if you’d thought about what that means.”
“As in?”
“As in competition! People will try to make teams, others might be outright violent, and you’ve got to be wary of double dealings!”
“Double dealings? What is this a Sherlock Holmes story? What do you mean? Like people tricking me? I’ve been around the block a time or two, Grace.”
“Could’ve fooled me by how you acted last night!”
“Are you seriously trying to turn this around on me? You screwed me over, Grace. You think I should feel bad about being upset? Let’s talk about what really happened: you confessed, I got angry, and then you sulked, hiding all night and refusing to answer any more questions. Let’s not forget that you’re the only one who made any threats!”
“Ward, we don’t have time for this. They’re going to open the—”
“We never have time! Whenever I start to get some answers from you, something comes up! The scavs, me falling asleep, you needing to hide anywhere I go in this city—every damn time!” By then, Ward’s voice was quite strident, and he was leaning closer and closer to Grace, his face getting red with annoyance. All that said, he shouldn’t have been surprised when a woman cleared her throat behind him noisily. He straightened up and spun around to see an older lady carrying an armful of empty burlap sacks to the rear of the wagon.
“Do you need some help, good sir?” She looked at him with wide eyes, and her posture seemed torn between continuing to the wagon or turning to flee the madman she stumbled upon.
“I’m fine.” Ward straightened up and glanced at Grace, only to find she’d conveniently disappeared. “Perfect.” He sighed. He looked back at the lady. “Look, I have a bit of a habit of arguing with myself. It started with my ex-wife. You see, I’d often debate topics with myself from her point of view just to see how much trouble I’d gotten myself into.”
“Interesting. Mmhmm. Well, now. I’d appreciate it if you took your ‘arguing’ away from my wagon.”
“Yeah, sure; I was just leaving.” Ward smoothed the front of his shirt, nodded to her, and then walked around the wagon and back toward the gathering crowd in front of the gates. When he arrived, he slowly worked his way through the crowd toward the red ribbon. He’d just gotten close when the stocky man in the fancy suit cleared his throat and blew a long, surprisingly loud whistle through his fingers.
The crowd quieted, and he cleared his throat. “Good people of Tarnish! We’ll have quite the send-off celebration tonight! Twenty-three challengers go into the catacombs this fine, sunny day!” He paused as the crowd erupted with cheers. “Twenty-three challengers and two from our very own streets! Haley and Fost, come up here!” Ward watched as two young people ducked under the ribbon and approached the mayor.
They both looked to be in their late teens or maybe early twenties. They were very fit, wearing similar suits of close-fitting leather vests and pants. The woman was smaller, with short black hair, and the young man—currently strutting around in front of the mayor, lifting his arms up and down to elicit more cheers—had curly blond hair and sported a crossbow strapped on his back. Looking at their matching clothes, Ward muttered, “Must be siblings or something.”
“That they are!” a jovial man with a hawkish nose said as he enthusiastically smashed his hands together.
Again, the mayor whistled for silence. “What a proud pair we have here, eh, Tarnish? I’m sure they’ll be out in record time. Now, let’s get the rest of the challengers in here. Be sure to present your ticket!” With that, he backed up toward the gate and watched as a man in a red and black uniform untied the ribbon between the central stanchions. The crowd shifted and surged, making room for people pressing their way up to the opening, Ward among them. He fished out the shiny red ticket and held it out to the uniformed man as he passed through.
He lined up with all sorts of people: the two kids, older men and women—some who even looked old enough to make him feel young—stocky, rough types, and smaller, frail-looking folks. He counted seventeen men and six women. It made him wonder if these catacombs were known for being a more physical challenge. Shouldn’t women be just as interested in the prizes as men? Maybe it didn’t mean anything and was just a random occurrence. He didn’t know but figured if he was successful, he might find out as he attempted more challenges.
“Good people, challengers! You can see by the founder’s clock,” he gestured to a tall clock tower on the far side of the amphitheater, “that the gates will be opening momentarily! We, the citizens of this fine town, wish you all the best and will cheerfully await your return. That said, if you have any final words or instructions, you may purchase post-challenge services from the town secretary, Mrs. Holadash.” He gestured to the woman in the tulip dress. “We can carry out messages, last rites, and even distribute your wealth. If you haven’t spoken to her yet, make haste! The gates will only remain open a short while.”
Ward watched with interest as one of the older-looking challengers approached the secretary. He was a stocky, short man and one of the few who looked like he’d been in a scrap before. He had a notched ear, several scars on his thinly-haired scalp, a wide-bladed hatchet on his belt, and carried a massive backpack decked with everything from an iron frying pan to a handheld whisk broom.
Ward wondered what sort of post-challenge service he was ordering. It seemed somewhat fatalistic, but he supposed if he had anyone he cared about in town, he might want to leave a note for them in case he never came out.
He was just about to try to strike up a conversation with a tall, oval-faced woman wearing a layered green robe when the gates began to rumble open. He’d been drawn to the woman by her glimmering green eyes, and when they opened wide, looking toward the gate, he realized why—they had a faint luminescence behind them. She was a mage or wizard or something. Ward reluctantly looked away from her toward the opening and saw that, beyond the tarnished metal gates, a steeply descending set of white marble steps led into darkness.
A bald man with a big backpack and a sledgehammer in his hand strode through the opening. Some others started forward, and Ward shrugged, hooking his thumbs under his pack straps. “Nothing Ventured,” he muttered, stomping through the gate, wondering what awaited them in the depths.