The Abyss Stares Back - 10
The air smelled of bourbon and cigarette smoke within Sloan’s rented room at the Gold Dragon Inn. Bloodied bandages lay discarded in her trash bin from when she had spent a few hours nursing herself back to health after the day’s skirmishes. She sat on small wooden chair, her finger tapping on the glass in her hand as her eyes thoughtfully scanned a large map of the city she’d laid upon the floor. On it she had marked the sight of each recorded murder as well as the location of the apartment infestation.
Something wasn’t adding up and it bothered her to no end.
There was a knock at the door which brought Sloan out of her deep contemplation.
“Who is it?”
For a brief moment there was no answer before she heard a familiar voice manifest in her head.
“Are you going to let me in or do I have to stand out here where anyone can see me?”
Sloan snickered and replied in a like minded manner. “I don’t know. I’m not the one in hiding.”
When there was no answer Sloan sighed and got up. She quickly downed the rest of her bourbon and and unlocked the door, finding Ophelia standing on the other side.
“I don’t remember calling for entertainment.”
Ophelia rolled her eyes. “Are all blackguards as bereft of wit as you?”
Sloan shrugged and stepped aside, letting the arcanist slink through.
“You know they’re watching this place, right?” said the blackguard woman as she closed and locked the door.
“Yes I’m well aware. Just as I’m aware that you know we aren’t done here.”
Ophelia stopped momentarily to look at the map.
“Yeah, I know. I was just waiting for you.”
“How kind of you.”
“Did you learn anything? Did you stick around the inspection?”
Ophelia grabbed the chair and slid it cross the floor and up against the wall where she sat upon it.
“The building has been quarantined. It seems that some of the other occupants were showing signs of cognitive decline. Some of them even reported hearing whispers and seeing shadows. But only a couple were hostile.”
Sloan let out a long sigh. “Then most of them can be saved. If they receive the right treatment. The rest have to be taken care of.”
“Don’t you ever fear you may be wrong?” said Ophelia, not quite daring to meet Sloan’s dark gaze. “How many people have you put to death that could have been saved?”
“I don’t know.”
The arcanist turned to look at her, taken aback by the sudden vulnerability in her voice.
“I don’t know how many demons I’ve killed versus how many people I’ve killed. But that is the price we pay. We can’t leave any trace of infection untreated or we be threatened with another annihilation.”
Ophelia inhaled deeply, preparing herself for what she dreaded to say next.
“The Age of Demons was over seven-thousand years ago. Most of the surviving accounts from that time have their validity disputed in most academic circles. How can you know that what you are doing is right?”
Sloan nodded before turning her red eyes upon her companion. “Because I’ve seen it. Because while you’ve spent your whole life behind the safety of walled modern civilizations, I’ve spent most of my life guarding one of the few doorways to Pentaghast. And I’ve stepped through those doors twice to stand upon the hellscape that resides within. And let me tell you, the surviving accounts who’s validity you question don’t even capture half of the horrors within.”
“But you can see how those of us who have never seen it can’t quite take your word for it.”
Sloan smiled sadly. “I know. That is why we exist. To do the dirty work that you won’t do.”
“But that’s monstrous.”
“The world is monstrous. And we can’t abide monsters to roam and fester or else their infection will spread.” Sloan stood up to look down at her compatriot. “The only good monster is a dead monster.”
“But what about monsterfolk? Trolls, harpies, goblins? What about them?”
“It’s only your people who brand them as monsters. The rest of us just call them people. There is a difference between monsters and regular folk, strange, normal or otherwise.”
Ophelia shook her head in frustration. “This gets us nowhere.”
“Agreed.”
“So what do we do now?”
“I have a sneaking suspicion that the watchers are hiding something. Not maliciously. Maybe more out of sheer incompetence. I think they’ve been encountering demonic activity for a while now without really knowing it. But I can’t go into their records again. They’ll clock me immediately.”
“I could do it. I can mask myself.”
“I was hoping you’d volunteer.”
Ophelia stood up to get herself ready to leave. “What should I look for?”
“Reports of vicious murders. Reports of missing people. Reports of communal isolation, I suppose. We just witnessed an entire apartment floor going dark and there certainly were reports. So they might have something else they must have missed.”
“What about you? What will you do while I’m gone?”
“I think I’ll have a word with that Tillbone gang. Somehow they found themselves using a demonic rune. I wonder if they saw it somewhere without understanding what it was.”
“Is that going to be safe? The Tillbones are vicious from what I hear.”
Sloan chuckled. “Little gutter rats like that don’t spook a butcher like me. I’m more worried about you. Inspector Tiege was on the warpath last I saw him.”
“Yeah you have that effect on people.”
Sloan lurked within the darkened alley, shrouded by both shadows and rain. Her red eyes peered across the street at the corner pub that bore the name “Lucky Finn’s”. It looked rather nondescript and yet outside its front doors stood two surprisingly well dressed individuals with bowler hats and matching scowls. They looked like local hoodlums. This was definitely the place.
According to Inspector Tiege the gang’s leader, Luther Tillbone, never left this pub. And judging by the broken window outside and the semi recent carriage tracks, it was clear that the watchers had conducted their raid but left without anything, as she expected.
Sloan wondered if that was the best idea. Her body still ached after the extremely lethal fights she had only hours earlier. In fact, she still hadn’t healed up properly. Of course, exceptional individuals like her could recuperate much faster than regular folk, but even exceptional individuals had their limits. And Sloan was close to hers.
“Fuck it,” she whispered as she put on her best drunken act and stumbled out of the alley and wandered up the road, away from the pub. She then disappeared into an alley on the opposite side of the muddy road and began snaking her way towards the back of the pub. Surely there had be a back door for deliveries and the like.
It didn’t take her long to find the fenced off area behind the pub and indeed there she found an unassuming door which would be easy to pry open. However the pub seemed busy and the kitchen chimneys still emitted smoke, indicating the staff quarters of the pub were probably very occupied.
However, from this vantage point she could see a way to get up to the second floor via a drainage pipe that she could climb. If Mr Tillbone was hiding somewhere he would surely be hiding upstairs. Men who fancied themselves as important typically liked to lord over others by placing themselves above them, very literally.
Well, there was nothing to it, she thought.
Sloan gripped the fenced and jumped over it, feeling her muscles ache as she did. Her feet hit the wet mud on the other side, landing next to what looked like a firewood shed.
With a quick stride Sloan marched to the bricked back wall of the pub and wrapped her frigid fingers around the drainage pipe. But as she was about to begin hoisting herself up she heard a familiar sound. The rain was pouring down on her, muffling all noise, and yet she heard it clear as day.
It was the sound of a revolver’s hammer clicking into place.
“And who the fuck are you?!” a voice called out behind her.
Sloan turned around to find a hoodlum standing there with a firearm trained on her. And behind him she could now see that the firewood shed didn’t contain any firewood, but instead only held a single chair where this gentleman must have been sitting. A lookout.
“I said; who the fuck are you?”
“Safety inspector?” said Sloan with a grin.
Disguised as the imperial watcher Maeve Browlin, Ophelia Vandermeer casually walked back into the Kirkholm watchtower. This late there were only a few individuals left working. Most of whom only gave her a passing glance with a couple nodding towards her, seemingly remembering her from the past couple of days.
Ophelia wasted no time, ascending up the stairs to the archives where she was met with a locked door. She knew a spell that could open this lock easily, but it would notify everyone close by as it emitted a loud sound. However, a state arcanist like herself, knew how to get in and out of places without casting spells. Plus, she had no idea how long tonight was going to be and she had learned a long time ago that it was wise to conserve her aether in case of emergencies.
Pulling out a lockpick she quickly dismantled the lock and entered the archives.
She stalked through the cabinet rows until her eyes caught on a sight that froze her in place. One of the writing desks had a lit lamp on it. It was possible that someone had simply forgotten to turn it off, but the desk had papers still strewn about it.
Someone was still here.
Ophelia turned to look around, and to her horror immediately found someone. Inspector Eldon stood a few meters away by an open cabinet with files in his hands. And his eyes were trained on her.
“You’re not authorized to be her. How did you get in?” he asked as he closed the cabinet and began walking towards her.
Inspector Eldon was clearly a man who had seen military service and from her observations he seemed to be a sharp one. Making him both a physically and mentally imposing foe. She needed to tread carefully here.
“I-uh-I though I heard something in here. But I suppose it was just you.”
Eldon had now closed the distance and stood towering over her. His giant heritage making him somewhat resemble the mountains his people hailed from.
“That doesn’t answer my question. You’re just a watcher, right? How did you get in here? You shouldn’t have a key.”
Her mind raced through several different options. She could simply try to attack him but the archives weren’t entirely sealed and shared the same high ceilinged space as the downstairs office. The other watchers on duty would immediately hear the scuffle. And that was assuming he wouldn’t simply grab her and snap her neck if she tried to attack.
His steely gaze glanced down at her name tag.
“Watcher Browlin. Related to Watch Commander Browlin? In Kingston?”
Was that true? Kingston was a nearby settlement that she had only visited once or twice. She had no idea if there was in fact an officer there named Browlin. She had simply chosen the name because it was a somewhat common surname among the working folk. But then again, he might be bating her into a trap.
Ophelia nodded. “Name’s Maeve.”
Eldon’s cold gaze tensed up before suddenly softening.
“Trying to prove yourself, is that it?”
“I-uh…yeah.” She said, conjuring as much shame as she could.
Inspector Eldon sighed. “Well this is not the way to do it.”
“I’m sorry, inspector. It was just worried after the incident in Lindon today, I started wondering if there had indeed been reports of strange activity surrounding that apartment building before today and I thought…”
“You thought maybe you could find other such examples elsewhere around the city?”
Her fists tensed up and she nodded frantically.
“Well that makes two of us.”
She looked up to find a kind smile gracing the man’s face.
“If you want to prove yourself go find me incident reports regarding the Tollstock town house. The one on Dale Boulevard.”
“Yessir.” She said before running towards a nearby cabinet, opening it and flicking through the various files there.
This wasn’t what she had expected but it was a fortunate turn of events.
Sloan was pushed down to her knees with in the dimly lit office of the pub’s second floor. There, resting in a inclined leather chair behind a beautiful wooden desk, sat a half-elven man with a thick goatee, a nasty scar across his throat and one glass eye. He was well dressed though his clothing wasn’t the finest one could find. But she suspected that was intentional.
“Well, well, well.” Said Luther Tillbone as he sat up in his chair, conjuring up a dagger seemingly from nowhere. “And what do we have here? Not only were we graced by pigs today, blaming us for infernal murders, but now we get visited by the butcher herself. All of Kirkholm is been buzzing about you, Sloan.”
Her dark eyes met his and she smiled baring her fanged teeth.
“Luther Tillbone, I presume.”
“In the flesh.” He said with a sickening smile, his glass eye gleaming in the lantern light. “Now give me one reason why I shouldn’t flay yours off your boney frame!”
