The Fog District was a quiet area, a welcome relief for some and an unnerving aspect for others. Metaphorically, as most knew better than to loiter on the streets after dark; but literally too. The noises of the city, such as the huff of the tram-lines or the hum of the private airships used by the very wealthy to transport themselves around, were muffled by the thick waves of fog that rolled through the streets. The early evening rain had abated, leaving slick cobblestones and half melted posters advertising the unveiling of the city council’s current project: an enormous rail system that would allow exploration into the thick wilderness on either side of the river. Dates on the posters had been crossed out and scribbled back in, reflecting months of delays. The project was still brand new, still unreleased even, yet most city residents were already tired of hearing about it.
As they walked, all three read the file Wellington had left them in full. There wasn’t much to read: it included the engineers’ job titles, a physical description, and where they had disappeared from: Douglas Scapper from his apartment, Viola Crest after work. Besides that, nothing. No mention of the folder Viola was carrying, no suspects, no clues.
It was as if they’d both vanished into the fog.
Jeremiah wore his holsters on his belt, and had switched coats to a specialised one with holes for his wings cut in the back, in case he needed to use them. Bill’s mechanical arm was a formidable weapon in and of itself, but he knew the pugilist kept a handgun on his person somewhere and likely a knife or two too. Gliridae carried nothing but his saxophone case on his back, as far as Jeremiah could tell- and he’d been eyeing him for hidden holsters most of the walk over. Perhaps, like some kind of noir fiction, he’d swapped the instrument for a gun.
“Jeremiah,” said Bill, his voice low. “Don’t look now, but we have company.”
“I take it from your tone that they’re… not good company.”
“Thugs. From the Props. Guys I used to know: what they lack in brains they make up in meanness.” Jeremiah frowned, glancing around. He could see figures lurking on the street, three each side, keeping a steady, even pace with them. Gliridae’s pace remained unchanged, but his stance shifted- he had clearly seen them too.
“What the hell are Props guys doing in the Fog District?” hissed Jeremiah.
“Beats me, but it can’t be anything but trouble.”
They continued until the end of the street, but as they moved to turn the corner the figures stepped forward into the dulled glow of one of the oil lamps.
“Well, well,” said the man at the front, his mouth twisted into an ugly smile. “If it isn’t Big. Bad. Bill. The fuck is you doing out this way?”
“I could ask the same of you, Lee Rickardson, but I won’t. Our business is our own, and yours is yours, and neither of us is much for small talk,” Bill rumbled in reply. Muttering broke out amongst the other thugs, but Lee’s smile just tightened.
“Now, Bill, is that any way to treat your old friends? Your old brothers?” The group stepped closer. Jeremiah reached into his coat, ready to draw his pistols if need be. Bill just glared.
“You were never a friend of mine. I’d forget you in a heartbeat, if nature would be so kind.”
“And what about Mr Vandemeer?” asked Lee. “Would you forget about him? About the debt you owe?”
Jeremiah could hear the blood pounding through his ears. It had been a long while since he’d felt adrenaline like this- felt danger like this. A small, obstinate part of him that had always seemed determined to go against his better judgement was exalting in it now.
He’d missed the thrill of it all.
“I haven’t forgotten. I couldn’t forget if I were dead. I’m just in no position right now to repay him. When I can, I will- and you can tell that to Mr Vandemeer next time you see him. Now, we have business to be attending to… unless there’s anything else you wanted to discuss?”
Lee Rickardson pretended to think it over, then shrugged.
“Nothing for now. But don’t stay out too late. Word on the street is, things in the Fog District are set to get… dicey, later tonight.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” growled Bill. They made their way past the group, Jeremiah ready to react at any moment if things went south. But the Props members let them go.
A street down, Gliridae looked over, one bushy eyebrow raised.
“Anything I should know about?”
“No,” snapped Bill, voice rough. Gliridae shrugged.
“Sure, because that’s certainly not the sort of thing that’ll come back to haunt us,” the smaller man muttered to himself. Jeremiah shot him a warning look, and the musician rolled his eyes but didn’t press it.
They were silent the rest of the walk, but Bill’s shoulders were drawn together tightly. Jeremiah could only imagine the memories that were being dredged; as far as he knew, the larger man hadn’t spoken to any of the Props since the night he was first arrested. A lot had changed since then- most importantly, Bill himself.
Unfortunately, they probably wouldn’t accept that. Jeremiah hoped that this hadn’t rekindled any thoughts in the minds of the gang members. He had the sinking feeling that Gliridae was right, and that this wouldn’t be the last of it.
Cantankerous was similar to the Boiler Room, in that it was situated in a basement with a flight of stairs leading down. The sign above the door was wrought iron and copper, however, and it was well lit inside and out with the warm glow of oil lanterns. Bill looked over.
“You got a plan, Jeremiah?”
“Yeah; let’s just- go in and ask them what they know. That’ll be fine, right?” Bill just shrugged in response, and they headed down. It wasn’t until after the door swung shut behind them that Jeremiah realised Gliridae had hung back.
The interior of the bar was far nicer than the Boiler Plate, with plush chairs, booths along the wall, and a large candle chandelier hanging from the centre of the room. It was also far quieter: there was no one there besides the bartender, a woman at the bar, and a man at the table next to her. The woman looked to be perhaps in her early 30s, and the man was possibly the only person Jeremiah had ever seen close to Bill in size. He had wilding in him, and very pronounced too, with all the proportions and muscles of a gorilla stuffed into an expensive looking suit. He sized Bill up and glared. The woman glanced over.
“That’s Julie Matthes,” muttered Bill, voice low. Jeremiah tried not to let his surprise show: he had imagined the leader of the most feared gang in Boravica- save, perhaps, the Props- to be… well, probably a fat, middle aged man with an equally fat cigar and too much jewellery. Not a slim blonde with a low ponytail and a cream button down.
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He approached nervously.
“Evening. Mind if we come to sit with you?” The gorilla man made a move as though to stand up, but settled when she sent him a tiny shake of her head.
“I don’t mind, but I’m not so certain the barstools can manage the weight of your friend. Perhaps if we relocated to a table…”
“It’s fine,” said Bill, grabbing a chair between them and the other man, whose glare deepened. “I’m not planning on talking much anyway. You two go ahead.” Julie Matthes shrugged, and gestured for Jeremiah to take a seat. As he did so, he noticed Gliridae slip in and beckon over the barkeeper.
“So, to what do I owe this… pleasure?” Asked Julie Matthes, stealing his attention back.
“I was wondering if you knew of a Miss Viola Crest?” he said, shifting on the uncomfortable barstool. Julie Matthes raised an eyebrow.
“Viola is one of my dearest friends. She also hasn’t been here for, well, at least a week, nor has she been answering my notes. Is something going on?” Her accent was Midtown, but strange, slipping in Hightown clips and some Lowtown lilts on seemingly random words.
“She went missing eight days ago- vanished after work. She told her co-workers that she was coming here,” said Jeremiah. Julie nodded.
“Yes, we were planning to have drinks together, only she never arrived. I would have gone to find her myself, only I don’t know where she lives- just that she works at the Foundry.”
“Did she have any problems with anyone, that you know of?” asked Jeremiah, and Julie frowned.
“Are you Silvers or something? Because Viola’s a little rough around the edges, sure, but she’s a good woman and she never had issue with anyone.” Jeremiah raised his hands, trying to appease her.
“No, no, we’re not Silvers- we were hired by her employer, Braum Wellington, to look into her disappearance. He didn’t feel like the Silvers were doing enough, so he brought us in to help.” He paused and Julie gestured for him to keep talking, though her frown remained. Jeremiah nervously continued. “She was carrying a work file with her, when she went missing. It had sensitive information in it- did she mention anyone who might have been after this?”
“No, no; we don’t discuss work in here. She worked at the Foundry, it’s all work for the city; nothing she’d want to bring home.”
“Any idea why you got boys from the Props hanging around outside?” Bill cut in, voice a low growl. Julie swivelled to face him, frown deepening into a glare.
“Because the Props are always looking to cause trouble, and seem to exist wherever they are wanted least. But-“ she paused, eyeing the enormous man. “I’d say you’ve probably had experience enough with that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There aren’t that many rhino men running around, you know; a distinctive gentleman such as yourself can’t expect to go unnoticed.” She turned back to Jeremiah. “So, what’s the real reason you’re here?”
“I told you the real reason,” said Jeremiah, alarmed. Julie looked back to him disdainfully.
“Forgive me for not trusting a pair of former Props. Mr Morrow?” The gorilla man got to his feet, but so did Bill.
“We’re not finished here yet,” he rumbled. Mr Morrow stepped forward, but so did Bill. The two men sized each other up, Bill’s mechanical arm whirring as it braced for a fight.
“You’re finished when Miss Matthes says you’re finished, and she say it’s time for you to leave.” Mr Morrow wasn’t phased by the arm- if anything, he looked excited.
Jeremiah bit back a groan. Why was everyone always trying to pick a fight with Bill?
“You’re going to make us, are you?” rumbled Bill. The two men began to circle one another. Jeremiah cursed Bill’s temper, and how easy he was to goad into these altercations. The situation was rapidly devolving, and in a last attempt to save it he turned back to the lady at the bar.
“Miss Matthes, I swear, we’re not with the Props and we’re not with the Silvers. We’re just trying to find out what happened to Viola and her colleague.”
“And when you find it out, I’d appreciate it very much if you could come tell me. But I can’t help you, and I want you gone before you and your Props friends outside cause any more trouble.” She fixed Jeremiah with an icy glare.
Mr Morris and Bill were leant towards each other, both waiting for the other to give them an excuse.
“Bill,” the former Silver murmured, catching his friend’s attention. “Leave it, let’s go.” He paused and looked around- Gliridae was nowhere to be seen, nor was the barkeeper. He could feel Mr Morrow’s gaze driving deep into their backs as they left, and the door had barely closed behind them when Bill let out a stream of curses strong enough to make a sailor blush.
“Easy there,” chirped a voice, making them both jump and look up. Gliridae was leaned against the railing, holding a bottle of ginger ale and looking more than a little pleased with himself. Bill glared, and even Jeremiah had to fight the urge to roll his eyes- he was a patient guy, but Gliridae had a way of testing that.
“Where were you in there? You completely vanished on us,” said Jeremiah.
Gliridae hopped up as they climbed the stairs and walked along the railing as they made their way down the street. Despite it being slick from the earlier rains, he never wobbled nor seemed as though he would fall. He grinned a toothy smile and offered the ginger ale to Jeremiah, who declined.
“I was making progress, which going by the pro-fa-ni-tee I just heard, is more than can be said for the two of yeh. Yeh notice the bartender?”
“Kind of?” said Jeremiah. “Not really.”
“No, of course yeh didn’t. People don’t notice the little guys.”
“That bartender was at least six feet tall,” cut in Bill. Gliridae smiled again, but this one seemed forced- like he’d accidentally bitten into a lemon. Perched on the railing as he was, he could look clear over Jeremiah’s head to the Wilding beside him.
“Compared to Julie Matthes and what appeared to be a gorilla on steroids, yeah, the bartender was a little guy. I asked him if they had any musician gigs going- said I was out of work, and that my cousin Viola had recommended the place to me. He said sorry, no, and so I asked him if he could recommend me anywhere. That’s when the four of yeh started getting noisy- I made out that I was horrified to learn Viola was missing, and when it looked like it would come to blows we both went to hide back in the kitchen.”
Bill rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath that Jeremiah didn’t catch but could certainly guess at. Personally, he was impressed- it was well handled, there was no arguing that. Still, he didn’t love the smaller man taking matters into his own hands: it went against all Jeremiah’s instincts, as well as his former training.
“I wish you would have told us that was your plan,” he told Gliridae, who frowned.
“And I wish yeh would have warned me that yehr plan was to just go up and ask Julie Matthes about a missing person. She literally runs a gang, odds were good that she was the one who up and made Viola disappear.”
“She definitely lied to us,” mused Jeremiah. “Viola was headed to the bar when she vanished, the Silvers probably asked her the same round of questions days ago. I reckon she’s feigning ignorance- she knew we weren’t Silvers from the outset, and she wanted to see what we knew... Unless the Silvers really haven’t been doing their job with this, but even if all they want is the file I’m sure they were there.”
Bill nodded his agreement, then paused, swivelling to face Gliridae.
“Odds ‘were’ good that she made Viola disappear?” he asked the smaller man.
“Yeah, well, after we went to hide in the kitchen, I offered the barman a dram of my whiskey and got a bit teary-eyed about ‘my cousin’ being missing. Asked if he had any idea what could have happened to her- promised I wouldn’t tell anyone if he told me.”
It was Jeremiah’s turn to frown.
“So you lied to him?”
“I lied through my teeth the entire time,” Gliridae laughed. “This is where yeh take issue?”
“You weren’t making promises before then,” countered Jeremiah. “Promises you had no intention of keeping. What’s the difference between us and the barman- how do we know you aren’t lying to us now?”
“The barman wasn’t paying me,” said Gliridae flatly. Then he shrugged, and hopped down from the railing. “And it would be no benefit to me to lie to yeh now- I found some stuff out, but the job is far from done. But,” he drew out the word, “if yeh would rather not know what I learnt…”
“Just spit it out, damnit,” snapped Bill. Gliridae looked to Jeremiah, who gestured to him to continue.
“Miss Viola Crest was double crossing her employers at the Foundry: she was working on some top-secret project and has apparently been feeding information to the Mattheses for months. That file she was carrying when she went missing was destined for Julie Matthes- except she never showed up. Props have been hanging around the area since then, but no one’s seen hide nor hair of Miss Crest herself. The project was something to do with the city’s new rail system, but Eddie didn’t know anything more than that.”
Once again, Jeremiah couldn’t help but be impressed in spite of his misgivings. He gave a low whistle.
“You got all that out of him in the time that we were out front?”
Gliridae shrugged, but grinned- he was clearly pleased with himself.
“As I’m sure our kitty-cat friend at Cantankerous told you, I have a very specific set of skills. They’re more… nuanced” this was said with a sideways glance at Bill, who pretended not to notice it, “than others’ in the trade, but they serve me just as well.” The mouselike man hesitated. “Speaking of the trade…”
Jeremiah looked ahead, and his heart sank. Emerging from the fog at the end of the street, Lee Rickardson met his gaze and gave a wolf-like smile.