Infernal Investigations

I was back in a Watch holding cell for the second time this week. At least I still had my fingers, which made this my second-ever visit to the Watch where I’d retained my digits. For now.

They’d even healed my wounds, which was very disconcerting. Sure, they’d need me alive to interrogate. But diseases? They didn’t need to do that.

Had it been the Watch who’d abducted me?

Pondering that was a welcome distraction from the ranting of the person in the next cell over, who was making me miss Tommy.

“-When I get out of here, I’m slicing your horns off and using them to mutilate you in ways that’ll make your parents hurl!”

Jasper of the Pure Bloods had ranted about all the horrible things he would do to me the moment we’d been tossed into adjoining cells. Since no Watch officer had stayed behind to watch us after ensuring they’d sealed my diabolism, no one was here to tell him to shut up.

“Yes, keep telling the Diabolist how you intend to gruesomely torture her when the both of you are out of prison,” I said. “I’m sure that will end well for you. Tell me, Jasper, have you ever had your extremities rotted off before?”

Finally, blissful silence as he chewed on that for a few moments.

“What are extremities? My fingers?”

“Yes, although in this particular case, I meant what is between your legs. I presume. It wouldn’t shock me if you pro-human extremists embraced eunuchism. The rest of your beliefs are extreme enough.”

That set him off again.

I sighed and leaned back. I had cuffs around my hands and leg irons around my hooves, inscribed with magic-suppressing runes, as was the metal belt they’d strapped around my waist. At least they’d left my mouth open. They would have sewn it shut in the past. Trying to butter me up, perhaps?

The sound of the door opening interrupted Jasper’s tirade and drew my attention, but from the sounds of a cell door opening and Jasper’s rant turning into a buttery appeal to the Watch officers, he was getting dragged to interrogation first.

I laid down and tried to get some sleep on the thin mattress they’d given me. Better than worrying about anything that may happen next.

There were no windows, so it might already be night. Time had a way of creeping past you with no way to see the sun or moon, and no clock in sight.

I drifted off till the sound of metal scraping woke me up. Amna and Tommy, along with three other watch officers. Was it just a coincidence these two had been sent to collect me, or did they know I was also Katheryn Falara?

What a complicated life to keep track of that.

“Up and at ‘em, prisoner,” Amna said. “Captain Malstein wants a word with you.”

***

Captain Malstein’s office was a barebone, utilitarian affair. A single barred window let light in, illuminating the only desk and the pair of chairs that decorated the room. I hoped for his sake he didn’t live in here, but the single cot off to the side was a bad sign for that.

“Sit down,” the orc said, gesturing towards the chair across the desk from him. The desk itself was covered in papers and letters, but all of them were neatly sorted.

I moved on over, Amna and Tommy flanking me as I settled into the chair. They left soon after, leaving me alone with Malstein.

“I just got done interrogating the man you fished out of the Nover, and he had a very interesting story to tell. I’m interested in how much your account matches up with his.”

What to say first? Starting this off by provoking the Watch officer was unlikely to end well.

“Well, it depends on where we want to start from. My involvement in the business on the docks or my involvement with Voltar? Or this business as a whole?”

Or I could shoot my mouth off instead. I’d gotten too used to not watching my words.

“Apologies about that. I’m a little disconcerted by my treatment.”

Malstein raised an eyebrow. “You have a complaint about it?”

“The opposite. You’ve surpassed my expectations,” I said. “I get to step foot inside the coffin and keep my tongue and all ten of my fingers? Your hospitality has grown exponentially.”

Malstein grimaced. “Ah, right. Colonel Colgraves. He’s….not as unrestrained as he might have been a few years ago.”

“A fact I’m sure is celebrated by prisoners everywhere,” I replied.

Malstein grunted. He didn’t seem too inclined to humor. Or maybe he just didn’t like jokes about the Watch’s premier interrogator and prison warden.

“I’m shocked you have all of yours intact, if you’ve been here before.”

“Multiple times,” I confirmed. “It takes time to learn, but I can attest that maneuvering a lock pick with your teeth is a very handy skill to pick up.”

A bald-faced lie. The only ways I’d made it out of the Coffin had always been with outside help.

“What got old Crippler Colgraves forced to put the torture kit away?” I asked.

Malstein considered me for a few seconds, then answered. “It turned out a thief robbing from the noble estates was the heir of one of the robbed families, cosplaying as some kind of gentleman thief. When he told the colonel that, the colonel didn’t believe him, and it required a very expensive operation to make sure he could perform his duties as heir again.”

“Ah,” I said mildly. Of course, harming a noble would be the only thing to convince them to lessen how much the Crippler and his disciples did to the Watch’s prisoners.

“Colonel Colgraves no longer has sole authority over interrogations,” Malstein continued. “I imagine as a member of the Black Flame you encountered him?”

“Every time I ended up in here,” I answered. “He once tried skinning my hand to see if he could strip the tattoo off. He hit bone and still couldn’t remove it.”

Malstein grimaced at that and changed the subject.

“Speaking of that, do you mind?” he asked, pointing at my hand. “I’ve never seen one in person.”

“Not a problem,” I said, setting my hand on the table with the Black Flame tattoo facing up. “Although I’m surprised. It’s not like the Quarter lacks of the Black Flame, if you know where to look.”

“And yet they always seem to be missing when I visit,” he mused, looking down at the tattoo. “There’s magic in this, but only signaling and tracking magic. And you’ve disabled the latter. I thought there’d be more in return for the cost of having all the members of the gang easily identifiable?”

Captain Malstein had gotten both of the spells emblazoned inside the tattoo. Definitely not guesses on his part, he could ferret it out somehow, especially if he saw my tinkering with the tracking magic.

“You might not be approaching it from the right perspective,” I said. “For Versalicci, the usefulness is a few things. First, whether good or ill, people know when his people do something. Second, he gets to keep track of where of all his little minions are at any time he wants. That reason probably trumps any other.”

“He doesn’t trust any of you?” Malstein asked.

“You don’t trust me either,” I said. “But that’s to be expected. Groups….once you get outside of what you consider your group, trust comes a lot harder than for those inside. Black Flame, most members, I’d say, generally trust each other to a greater extent than they do strangers. Versalicci trusts people inside the Black Flame more than he does those outside it. But it’s a brittle trust that breaks easily, and mostly forged out of making sure they only think what he tells them.”

“Not exactly breaking new ground with that,” Malstein told me. “Bit of philosophy swell your head a little?”

“It needs to be deflated now and then,” I replied. “I’ve done it a few times in the past few days with the beatings I’ve been getting. But the tattoo is ultimately about control. There are members without the tattoo, although of course only Versalicci knows. This means there could be a second Black Flame whose numbers match or surpass the tattooed members. Or none, and it’s all a bluff.”

Malstein nodded.

“As interesting as this is, I think we are drifting off track. You asked where I wanted you to start from? Let me explain where this started from for me. This started with being asked by a rather important family to look into a recently deceased member of theirs being robbed in their grave.”

I blinked. Grave-robbing?

“Oh Hells, you got involved in this because of the Drake?”

“Initially. Imagine my surprise when my investigation into Katheryn Falara ended up involving the Black Flame and poisoned nobles. And now apparently Shape-changers.”

“This feels like a thirty-carriage pile-up on an intersection,” I said. “It feels like half of everyone involved in this got here by random chance.”

“I know you’re Katheryn Falara as well,” he said, while tapping the letter on his desk. “Go ahead and read it.”

I grabbed it and started. Addressed to him, from Imperial Intelligence, and it didn’t take long to tell it was about my identity and association with Voltar. And my history.

“So, in less than a week, you’ve caused two major diabolic incidents. Three if we count the warehouse, which at least wasn’t in front of witnesses, or ended up leaking that much into this world.” Malstein leaned back in his chair, considering me like one would a rat that they couldn’t tell was going to bite or not. “Imperial Intelligence has diabolists, but they usually understand the meaning of restraint. Do you?”

I grimaced. He had a definite point. I’d gone five years keeping myself from using Diabolism, and then the moment I started using it again.

“Let me have a few weeks where I’m not being ambushed by forces beyond my power, and I’ll answer you. Truth be told…”

My continuing answer died in my throat as I continued reading. There was more in this letter than I expected. My relation to the Xangs. The details of my time in the Black Flame. The damn imp lodged in my body.

“They don’t understand the meaning of privacy, do they?” I muttered as I put the letter back down.

“They aren’t called Imperial Intelligence for nothing,” Malstein replied. “Normally, I’d be upset over having one of my investigations interfered with, but in the spirit of cooperation, I think a little inter-departmental collaboration might benefit everyone involved.”

“I don’t even know what my position in all of this is,” I confessed. “Just a vague sense that if I crossed the wrong line, I’d be on the wrong side of whoever Dawes worked for. Do you?”

His smile grew even larger, which only made me more wary.

“No, and the letter doesn’t make that clear. If I had to wager a guess, you’re in one of those grey areas that Intelligence loves to operate in. Which happens to be to my benefit.”

“Ominous,” I said. “Am I to spy on Voltar for you?”

“Not quite. I have no squabble with the good detective, unlike many of my superiors. Who are currently working to get me as far away from this as possible?”

“Politics? Or do you think maybe the changers going after the nobility are just their latest target after the Watch?”

Malstein snorted derisively. “It’s politics. My superiors want the credit themselves or think that we should crack down on the Infernal Quarter, because you always find culprits in the Quarter. Things have been kept out of the public eye, but the incident at Lady Karsin’s estate and the pier will put Diabolism in the minds of everyone in the city.”

My mind was struck by a very unpleasant thought.

“Are you alright? You just looked like someone stabbed you in the gut.”

“Just having a very uncomfortable idea strike me. At the same time as there are massive marches being organized into the Quarter, shape-changers associated with a pro-Human gang have provoked incidents of Diabolism twice.”

Malstein mused on that for a few seconds. “Not likely to be relevant. I don’t see that being a goal in all of this.”

“True.”

“How would we tell if they were shape-changers?”

“Pardon?” The sudden change in topic caught me off-guard.

“If my superiors were changers. How would you tell?”

“I wouldn’t. Last I checked, Voltar and Dawes were planning to look into any histories of shape-changers they could find, and see if there’s any known method. The best I have is if any of them have shown any sudden shifts in personality. The current theory is that they have a base personality they can’t avoid expressing, even when disguised. One of them certainly seems inclined towards the flamboyant.”

“You have nothing else?” Malstein asked.

I gave him an ashamed little smile. “Captain, most of the last couple of days I’ve been running around running errands for Voltar, then before that, trying to figure out what was going on.”

“Then let’s start with that. And after that is done, we can discuss what I really want.”

Not much of a choice for me. I went into the story starting from the beginning. I didn’t editorialize too much. As much as I could around what the letter had already told him. That wasn’t very much.

***

It was late evening by the time I made it back to Voltar’s house. I’d had a watch carriage most of the way, dropped off only a street away before making my way to the tunnel.

When I emerged, both were still up, looking rather pleased with themselves and sharing some cups of tea. Their evening engagements must have gone well.

“Miss Harrow!” Voltar greeted me, raising a cup in greeting.

“It’s been a long time. We were just beginning to worry about you,” Dawes said.

“He was worried about you,” Voltar added. “I had the utmost confidence in you. So what happened?”

Oh, this was sure to go well.

“Well, firstly Captain Malstein of the Watch is now involved, or he arrests me for turning a pier into a demonically mutated monstrosity,” I said. “The Shape-changers have been pretending to be Lord Montague to contact the Pure Bloods. I fought both of them, hence the demonically mutated pier. Oh, and we have a member of the Pure Bloods in custody who I think knows where their underground hideaway is. You’ll need to talk to Captain Malstein first, though.”

Voltar looked like I’d just stabbed him in the gut. Dawes started laughing.