Infernal Investigations

I eyed the garbage scow as best I could.

The pouring rain didn’t help with that, nor did having to stay collapsed onto the dock’s surface, thanks to the drenched Pure Blood standing guard outside it. The man’s weathered and battered top hat provided no protection from the onslaught, but he was keeping a steady gaze on my seemingly prone form.

It was fine. In a few minutes, I’d rise from my “drunken” stupor and stumble back to the safety of solid ground. I just needed to get the lay of the land first.

The scow was one of those giant ones they’d built a couple of decades past, converted from a shallow draft river barge for bulk trading. Probably eighty feet long from end to end, and it must have some kind of metal plating on the bottom.

Otherwise, the Nover would have eaten through it.

They’d built housing on it, two different ones with a half-dozen feet in between them. Ramshackle buildings that had been built up over time but still looked like they’d fall over the moment the scow left the docks. Going out onto the Nover would probably be a last resort if it came under attack.

A shallow draft meant there couldn’t be too many people on-board, not unless they packed them in like sardines. Definitely a more suitable headquarters for when the Purebloods were just another street gang. Only one gangplank connected it to the pier, that and a half-dozen mooring lines.

Of course, clearing the distance to the scow from the pier wasn’t an issue. The agitated Nover’s current was pushing it against the pier, which was slightly tilting under the weight. I kept a grip on the planks as I pretended to be passed out drunk as they tilted ever so slightly.

The issue was getting on board without getting noticed. A little harder to do. But I’d seen enough. It was time to leave and prepare to make my way onto the scow.

The lone guard would be suspicious of a random Infernal who fell onto the pier and lay there for a good ten minutes before suddenly darting off. So I headed six piers upstream from theirs and waited. I’d begin my infiltration in an hour, for now just huddled between two buildings while the rain continued.

I looked at where the scow was tied to the docks, barely visible in the downpour. I could tell something was there, but any other details were obscured by the rain. It gave a general direction to aim for, as I walked onto a different pier.

No one was on this one, the few boats and ships tied up here buttoned up. Good.

There was one good way to infiltrate the boat. I’d bet on their security on the side facing away from the pier being less than stringent than that on the pier itself. After all, trying to sneak on board the ship from that side would either mean a boat or swimming the Nover.

There was flying as well, but I doubted the Pure Bloods ever thought themselves big enough fish to need to worry about that. A boat would easily be spottable, and they probably figured anyone swimming the Nover would probably expire halfway to the scow.

They were probably right. I’d only looked into the Astral once around the Nover and never again after. When you dumped this much garbage and crap into a river, the spirits inside reflected that. And those were the benign ones, the ones who didn’t harbor feelings of revenge over their treatment.

Those latter ones were supposedly kept out of the river after they’d begun attacking river traffic. Patrolling the river to keep spirits under tread was somehow considered the cheaper option compared to handling the pollution.

That left walking the water.

I hadn’t brought much with me. A revolver borrowed from Voltar and Dawes, a saber, some knives, a few other tools and tricks, and a couple of alchemical solutions I’d brewed in the short time I’d been given.

Another reason to dislike Voltar, giving me so little time to prepare for these. Alchemy and Biosculpting took time, and shortening that pushed me more and more to rely on my other talents. Was that the aim? To test how much I’d rely on Diabolism if repeatedly pushed into a corner?

Hells, he wanted to make me his apprentice as well. That was a particularly horrifying prospect.

The one key alchemical substance I made would allow me to get onboard this ship if the Nover was cooperative. Looking at the river as it flowed by, that was doubtful. Currently, it hissed as the rainstorm exposed it to actual water for the first time in a while.

There were potions for walking on water. You simply drank them and found that your body was repellent to water for the next hour or so. The more complex ones even projected the field a little beyond your skin so your clothes would also be protected.

What they didn’t do was give you the familiar sensation of walking on land. Trying to keep your balance on a liquid being actively repelled by your feet as you move was a learning experience.

I’d learned how to do it, as had everyone in the Black Flame. As disposable as Versalicci may consider you, even he didn’t want you to end up submerged in the Nover. If you were going to die, it would be for a purpose.

Of course, potions for water-walking were relatively expensive and time-consuming to make.

In the name of efficiency and definitely not cheapness, I had not made one of those. I pulled out a small tin from my pocket, opened it, and looked down at the dark blue paste inside.

This would act similarly, only specifically on whatever surfaces I smeared it on. I had about enough for the bottoms of my hooves.

I looked at the Nover, swollen, fat, and probably carrying enough pollutants to strip me to the bone before I reached the bottom of it.

Perhaps the torrential rain would dilute the Nover to a livable degree?

It wasn’t that bad. After all, some studies I read suggested regular exposure only took a single decade off of your expected lifespan instead of two. Assuming you didn’t catch any diseases from the Nover of course.

Stop worrying, I told myself. People go swimming in the Nover. Admittedly, after a whole battery of protections laid on top of them, but they still swim in it without losing layers of skin.

I rubbed the paste into my hooves, taking note I should groom these and maybe grind them down at some point. Even with all the walking I’d done lately, they were getting a mite too large.

Finishing that up, I eyed the roiling water uncertainly. Had a dam burst upstream? Even raining, the Nover was not normally this wild. Hopefully, it would mean those on the ship wouldn’t be paying attention to the water.

It would also make this more difficult. The one good thing about the Nover being this swollen, what would be a ten-foot drop was now three.

I stepped off the edge and fell.

My hooves hit the water’s surface, and I stumbled as the moving surface tried its best to tip me into the drink.

It was a tough walk, lashed by wind and rain and with the surface of the water moving underneath, but somehow I made it to just one pier away from the one the scow was moored to.

That was also not as restful as it should have been, holding onto a wooden leg of the pier as the flow of the Nover tried to push me further. Being under the pier meant being crouched over and bent in on myself to a ludicrous degree.

After a half minute to catch my breath with the pier above sheltering me from the rain, I stepped out.

The Nover chose that exact moment to swell, a half-foot wave surging underhoof as I stepped.

My eyes burned, and I shut them, but I got a glimpse of inky darkness as I forced myself not to breathe. No flailing either; that would only unbalance me even further.

Don’t panic, I told myself.

Yes, I was upside down in the Nover, only being kept near the surface by the water repellant on my hooves. And yes, there was in fact a slight burning sensation across me that was growing.

I opened my eyes, only to immediately close them as they burned. I had seen little in the clouded murk of the Nover, but something large was closing. I tried to make for the surface, struggling against both my clothes and my hooves. Not before I breathed in a lungful of that shite sewer water first before I burst out of the surface.

Lungs burning, I managed it just before my head rammed into the scow. I grasped the edge of the scow, pulling myself up as coughs racked through my body.

I hacked up water onto the deck, coughing as I moved to the nearest wall. Attempting to keep it quiet didn’t mix well with an overwhelming urge to force it out. I hacked and sputtered for a few seconds, forcing as much of it out as I could till I could finally breathe.

My lungs still felt like they’d been kicked, and it didn’t feel like I’d gotten it all out. I was going to need to spend a lot on inoculating myself on whatever that little dip in the Nover had infected me with. Maybe I could consider exorcising my lungs? It only had a high probability of killing me?

I slumped against the side of the wall, not trusting myself to stand up. Not just because I felt like it, but because the soaked deck would not interact well with my still water-repelling hooves.

At least this ship didn’t reek. Enough rain could scrub even a garbage scow of its stench.

I scraped it off a few moments later, then considered how I wanted to do this. The rain still came down in sheets and the shivers were coming on, but I couldn’t try sneaking inside. Looking over this side of the boat, there wasn’t even an entrance on this side. Clambering onto the roof wasn’t an option either, too much chance of someone overhearing me.

There was a small hole in one of them, not even large enough to peer through, but large enough to hear through.

Well, it was sit here and risk one of them walking out here in the thunderstorm, or go to one of the two structures and hope it was unoccupied. Not really a choice. Pulling my cloak up both to cover me from the rain and muffle the sound, I put my ear up against the hole just in time to catch the sound of a door opening and an angry sounding yell of protest.

“Harry, what the hell are you doing back inside? You’re supposed to be standing watch!”

“Fuck off Jasper. It’s fit to drown a fish out there, and the only thing I saw was some half-drowned foulhorn rat probably drunk out of their mind wandering up and down the docks.

"They left, and it was another half hour of pure misery. You want the docks watched so bad? You go out there and try looking more than a few feet in front of your own nose.”

The argument continued, although it didn’t sound like it would escalate into violence as I settled down against the wall, chilled to the bone.

The continuing rain would not help with that, but anywhere else ran too much risk of being caught. I would not let that ordeal I’d just gone through be wasted.

I had a few hours to think, waiting for the night to arrive. That would be the time to go on the prowl when the members here either went to sleep or went out to do a night’s worth of dishonest work. Till then, I could just wait in my little nook, eavesdropping on the conversation going on below.

Not that insightful. Gang members complained about having to stay on the scow while others went to the underground. They didn’t mention any clues where it was, and from what it sounded like, none of those here were too high on the ladder. Either new recruits or old members who sounded too incompetent. The only one here who was up the totem pole was Jasper, and it sounded like he was just here to receive a message from a courier. Besides him there were twins who didn’t sound old enough to drink, the lazy guard Harry, and a pair of older ones who went by Miller and Gawes.

Just staying here sounded like the best course of action: wait here for the message to be delivered, then trail either the courier or Jasper and get the message from them, as well as someone to interrogate. Trailing would be a bit of an issue as the rain continued to fall.

It finally lessened in intensity, to where I could see more than a dozen feet away from me, but still not enough for people to be out and about.

Of course, staying here was miserable. I felt chilled, far too much to be comfortable, and my insides felt miserable. The rain and a dip in the Nover weren’t doing me any favors. First thing I’d do when I got back was find the largest, fluffiest set of blankets Voltar owned and make a nest out of them till I could actually feel my fingers again.

What little light passed through the barrier of the clouds above was fading when the door opening jolted me out of my stupor.

“Where is Harris? I specified that what I had to say was for his ears only.”

The voice was instantly recognizable to me. Why, I’d heard it only yesterday myself. Lord Bartholemew Montague.

“Boss is still stuck trying to secure the underground,” Jasper replied, voice reverent. “Apologies, your lordship, but it’s been difficult keeping the patrols up like you wanted. Not only are the Delver’s guilds still a problem, but those foulhorns are fucking up our boys every chance they get, apologizing for my language, your lordship.”

“Apology accepted. No, that makes sense. I’d go see him myself, but leaving the estate is becoming more difficult.”

My eyes narrowed. No. Even if Lord Montague were in on this, there would be no condition in which he entered a group of Pure Blood’s hideout with none of his guards. Already coming here was risking it, but without any guards at all?

No, I’d wager this was a shape-changer. Which meant trailing him would be too much of a risk. Too easy to lose in a crowd and too difficult to keep under control.

“Things are even worse than they were before,” Lord Montague ranted underneath me. “Voltar came to my house today with another Foulhorn in tow. Another member of the Black Flame. Clearly, there is collusion going on between the two groups.”

Point one against the imposter’s disguise, not that the Pure Bloods would know it. Anyone with even an inkling of Versalicci and Voltar’s matching of wits over the last decade would know that was impossible. A general agreement to stay out of each other’s way, like what was occurring right now? Maybe. Outright collusion? Definitely not.

“On a further note, I have something I must share with you, closer to all of you.”

There was silence below, and I waited—one breath, two breaths—before rolling to the side.

Bullets ripped through the wall where I’d waited, and half a dozen holes blasted through the ceiling.

Damnations. How had he known I was here? Not that his ‘come closer’ act had been very good, except to tip me off.

Summon the hellfire granted upon you and let us burn this barge to the ground! The Imp crowed in my mind.

“Shut up,” I muttered as I ran, rounding the corner and heading to the pier.

Even if Dawes or Voltar weren’t actually testing if I was reaching for Diabolism too easily under pressure, the truth is I was. Power was power, and its sirens’ song of temptation sung easily when I was given a foe to strike.

Ahead of me a door opened, and Harry rushed out with pistol and knife in hand.

I pointed the revolver at him, grinning maliciously as I pulled back the hammer.

Cursing, he turned around and rushed back inside, someone falling over as he likely rammed whoever was next in line to get out.

I leaped onto the pier. There were other exits for them to take, and one of them would realize that my revolver was wet. It wasn’t even the revolver that was the issue, but I knew how poorly sealed civilian rounds were.

I ran down the pier, ignoring the yelling behind me. As long as I could avoid being shot, I’d be fine. The storm was letting up, sure, but not enough to give them a clear shot.

It was a simple escape until a figure came walking towards me from the city.

“Foul interloper!”

Striding down the pier, Josiah Hawkens pointed his rapier at me.

“You will answer for your assault on my allies with your life!”

I considered the shape-changer, then laughed in his face. Dropping the revolver, I drew saber and dagger.

No diabolism? Fine.