Infernal Investigations

Constable whistles sounded again, and I flicked the blood off my saber.

What an unfortunate spot of bother. Typically, patrols in the Infernal Quarter, while heavier than they’d been for years, weren’t regular enough to worry about, but those sounded both close and numerous.

Near the cathedral as well? Something stank. The only issue was of what in particular. In league with this human gang? Simply on Golvar’s trail? Something entirely unrelated?

Actually, that didn’t matter much. What did matter was that I needed to make sure I’d be kept alive, which meant getting all of my weapons off of me for right now. Hopefully I could get at least some of them back.

I dropped my saber, and it landed next to the package Golvar had been carrying. Ah, that's another issue.

I considered the package at my feet. Now, the question arose, should I hide it or leave it out for the constables to find? It was undoubtedly illegal.

I didn’t have time to debate this. I scooped it up and moved to the rubble of the chapel. The sound of whistles neared as I buried it under some rubble. Not good enough. The coppers would be scouring this place.

Then again, what did I care? I’d done the minimum that Versalicci couldn’t claim I’d handed it off to the Watch. Let him recover his package. There was the curiosity to open it up, but that would mean getting involved, and I had enough to deal with. I would not jeopardize my reputation for my past.

The whistles were getting closer. No one else had returned, and the inhabitants were probably hiding deep inside their homes. The fighting and now the Watch were keeping them away.

I put on my best smile. So what if my clothes were covered in blood, I was the only survivor of this little skirmish, and the one person I’d been fighting alongside was a prominent member of a notorious gang? I could certainly talk my way out of this and be back home with a wink, a smile, and a few well-placed words.

Seeing the first green-clad watchmen come within sight, I put my hands up.

“Officer, thank goodness you’ve come!”

***

I stared at the ceiling of my cell, looking at the uneven pattern of brickwork.

The pattern of lines and crumbling mortar weren’t particularly interesting, but there wasn’t anything else to look at. Three walls of the same surrounded me and beyond the bars of my cell? The view beyond was of more brickwork.

From my left, my neighbor in the next cell started up again with a list of crude suggestions he’d been making since I’d been brought in. It was nothing I’d never heard before, although the sheer volume was a little frightening. I didn’t want to guess what crimes he was in here for.

He was currently enumerating the various things he’d do to my stomach with a rolling pin and potato peeler.

To my right, there was silence. Someone was in there. I’d seen her when I entered. A dwarf who looked like she lived on the street. Ragged clothes, a youthful scarred face. Probably in here for stealing or something of the like. She definitely did not deserve to be in the same wing as the psycho to my left and a licensed alchemist.

A story there, I’d bet. The need to know itched at the back of my brain, a slight little urge to pursue anything to break up the monotony.

I shoved that thought down. I wouldn’t break that easily. Just wait until they drag you out for your interrogation Mal-Falara. Hells and Heavens, this place is as mind-numbingly boring as it’s ever been.

The Coffin hadn’t changed much over the years. I’d been in at multiple points, both as Malvia and Falara. Falara had only been brought in for questioning a few times, nothing that could be proven. Minor things, missing goods, suspicious deals. Not worth keeping. Not in a prison already overcrowded.

It was supposed to be overcrowded anyway. I was used to sharing my cell with up to nine other people, so being on my own was worrying in its uniqueness. Unless they’d somehow fixed their overcrowding issue?

I snorted. I doubted it would ever be free of that issue. Most of the criminals willing to take service in the army in return for a reduced sentence had already signed up. Pretty soon the Watch would either find some construction project in need of prisoners or the Queen would decide to start making service in the military compulsory.

She’d pursued harder punishments for lesser faults in her citizenry.

Malvia had been imprisoned here three times before and made it out each time. Malvia had a cell reserved here, right next to the one being kept for her boss and one time biggest target of the Watch, Averini Versalicci. Malvia would probably be due another trip to whatever Questioners might still be employed in the bowels of this place.

Today’s watch might be a kinder, more gentler watch, or so they said. There would still be Questioners. And if there weren’t questioners there would be the Grey Hats, ready to make sure no prisoner could do magic.

They supposedly had switched to temporary tattoos or blockers in the building itself. I hoped so. I still remembered the searing pain of the potions needed to regrow my fingers and tongue.

Next to me, the blabber from the one in the cell grew louder. Did he even pause to take a breath? The only relief from it was the squeaking of vermin, most prominently the rat I shared a cell with.

“Tommy, would you be quiet?” a voice said from my left. It was not loud, but it still cut through the torrent of nonsense coming from the next cell.

Ah, my neighbor on the other side had spoken.

“I would appreciate it if he would as well. It’s not the kind of language to be speaking next to two fine ladies.”

The tirade turned to the topic of exactly what he considered our chances of being two fine ladies. I sighed. The next person who insinuates I trade sex for money is getting kicked at a minimum.

“No, I don’t think either of us are. Excuse me, Miss-?” I asked

“Amna. Don’t call me Miss, it feels weird. Ignore Tommy, he won’t be quiet, and after a while, you can tune him out.” The dwarf in my neighboring cell replied.

A smile crept onto my face even if my conversation partner couldn’t see it.

“I’ll do my best, but I’m afraid that it is a rather loud stream of…. verbiage. And not calling you Miss is also something I can’t quite do. Does he always sound like this? Or does he restrain himself?”

“Not really. Ma told me he’s usually like this, but he’s got some friends you don’t want to cross. He doesn’t actually do anything, so people just ignore him. Mind you, it keeps getting him beat up.”

“Oh, so you know him from outside this jail? I thought you two only became acquainted inside here. What quarter are you from?”

“Bismuth. Not one of the fancy parts, lower quarters.”

Huh. Of course, I’d been to Bismuth a few times, one of the old hearts of alchemical practice in Avernon. It had been supplanted since then by Varmouth, Ironworks, or even North Bellings as time passed on and the rise of both biosculpting and clockwork. And it had never been a place of old magic like Silver Road, Sarbridge, or the Shadowed Quarter.

It was still an excellent place to visit, negotiate for ingredients, and catch up with the craft. I’d sometimes entertained the idea of moving there, but it was an idle dream. My forged license wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny in an entire quarter of alchemists, not to mention all the other barriers in my way. The fake license was only one of a few significant issues.

“One of the lower quarters? So the docks section, where it borders the Nover?”

The Nover was the great river that split Avernon into three distinct parts, splitting into Greater and Lesser branches.

“Yeah. I've been working as a dockworker lately. It's not as much work as the proper docks, of course, but alchemists will still pay a pretty penny to have their materials delivered as soon as possible.”

That made sense. The potency of many alchemical ingredients depended on their freshness before being added to the mixture. Wait too long to add them, and the effects of your creation will be reduced or even ruined.

“So, where are you from?”

I giggled, managing to keep my amusement from reaching full laughs. “Do you even need to ask?”

There was a lull in the conversation filled only by Thomas' increasingly deranged ranting.

“I mean, I know Infernals are living outside the Quarter. I’ve met a few of them. And hells, would you assume I was from the underground just because I’m a dwarf?”

“No. I've been to the underground frequently, and someone wanting to move out of there makes perfect sense. But for us, there's only a few Infernals outside the quarter. Even if one can legally move out, it’s not so easy to do. I’ve looked into moving a few times, and even moving into the Chalkhills, the Vale, or even Billsburrow would end with me in a place much worse than I already am. I’m in the Infernal Quarter, where my money is worth something regarding real estate.”

The conversation paused again. I hadn’t meant to intimidate Amna into silence, but eventually, she replied.

“So you’re fairly well off?”

“Decently. Amusingly, alchemy is my trade. Although fairly well off is something of an exaggeration. Keeping wealth is something beyond me at the moment.”

“Fancy dresses or betting on horses?”

“Fighting pits, actually.” A bald-faced lie, but I would hardly admit the true nature of my expenses to a stranger.

“You’re joking, right? You hardly look the type.”

“You live as long as I have, you learn that looks are the most deceiving things of all Miss Amna.”

“You look like you’re three years older than me at the most.”

“It’s not a lesson that takes long to learn.”

“I suppose so. Is there someone else with you, by the way? They brought something alive into your cell, didn’t they? I heard something struggling when they shoved it into your cell.”

Ah, right. I suppose I wasn’t actually the only occupant of the cell. The wardens hadn’t brought food yet. When I asked, one of them had dropped off a rat in a trap. Their idea of a joke.

I looked at the rodent, struggling in futility against the ropes they’d used to bind it. It squeaked in a mixture of terror and frustration. Hunger gnawed at the bottom of my stomach.

I ignored it. I wasn’t that desperate. Yet.

Besides, eating it would probably just worsen the Diabolism trying to escape my veins.

“It’s a rodent. A rat, to be precise. I asked for something to eat, and they replied by giving me this. I’m quite sure they expect me to eat it.”

“Are you going to?”

“It depends on how long the Watch plans to keep me here. If this is the only food they serve, I will have to make do, although the least they could do is cook it.”

The rat’s struggles and squeaking grew even louder as its head whipped around. I raised an eyebrow. They hadn’t put a Shifter forced into the form of a rat in here, had they? Some kind of cruel punishment for both them and me? I could only hope not.

“It’s been mostly some terrible gruel for us. The Wardens kept us fed at least. I am curious about one other thing. What could a lady like you have done to end up next to us?” Amna asked.

“Oh, nothing illegal. I just happened to fall in with a rather unfortunate sort, tried to help him, and got involved in a fight. All a little bit out of my comfort zone, but I think I acquitted myself well.”

“Seriously? You helped defend someone, and you turned yourself in? That can’t be all, can it.”

I frowned. “I don’t follow your implications, Miss Amna.”

“I'm just asking you to be honest. You wouldn’t be thrown in here if you were just defending yourself. You know, there isn’t anyone around listening. It’s not like I’m going to squeal.”

My expression remained the same, but my attitude did not. That stank. Why would someone be so curious about the reasons for a stranger's imprisonment?

Then again, I was restraining myself earlier. She might just be as bored as I am. Besides, this is too obvious. If she is an undercover watchwoman trying to get information out of me, why be so forward?

Unless they couldn’t hold me for long. If they didn’t have anything concrete, it might not be long for me to be back on the streets. The jails were too full to justify throwing me in for what they couldn’t prove was anything but self-defense. A need to find some kind of crime I’d committed before they’d be forced to let me go?

I knew my activities as Falara weren’t entirely above the board, but not enough to require this amount of effort. It must be the Versalicci connection.

“Alright, I’ll whisper it to you. Get to the corner of your cell.”

I leaned my head against the bars as close as I could get to Amna’s cell. In the other one, Tommy had gone quiet, tapering off his latest tirade. Coincidence, or making sure he didn’t obscure what I was about to say.

“The man I fell in with was part of an old Infernal Gang, the Black Flame. Still powerful. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a favor. Or at least at a bare minimum, not give them a reason to stab me.”

With that little snippet of information tossed either to an undercover copper or an innocent street girl, I pulled back from the bars.

Amna remained quiet for several moments. Her silence was only made more obvious by Tommy’s lack of ranting about ‘taking you red-skinned devil with a full set of cutlery to help ease me into it’.

If he wasn’t already part of the watch, he certainly had the mindset they looked for.

“That’s your big secret? You didn’t want to get stabbed by his mates?”

“I guess it’s not too exciting. But it is all I have.”

From there, the conversation turned to idle chit-chat. She was from a family who permanently lived on the surface now, immigrants from Azraden, driven here by the latest round of underground wars. Her parents were masons, which was of constant use in Dramelsen. The city always grew these days, never shrinking.

It continued till a pair of watch members came by, going into Amna’s cell. The time had come for her interrogation, or her debriefing.

“Stay strong, Amna!” I said.

She gave me a firm little nod. Was she a plant? I couldn’t tell. Were the coppers better at disguising themselves, or had Falara actually made me weak?

The two officers marched her off, leaving me along with Tommy. He immediately launched into another tirade of slurs, profanity, and lewd suggestions.

As time passed, Tommy’s ranting actually began to fade in my mind. It helped that he ran out of material after a certain point, and the repeated material had less effect. My mind was occupied by other things. Such as how I hadn’t asked how long Amna had been in here.

Depending on how long I was stuck in here, it could become an issue.

I’d done up my form-changing sculpting just before meeting Lady Karsin nearing two weeks ago. They’d hold for maybe another day before I’d need to redo them. Hopefully, I’d be out by then, and there’d be no risk of reverting back to a thought-dead member of Versalicci’s criminal empire while inside the Watch’s jail.

I should just make the ones to become Falara’s baseline form permanent instead of temporary ones I needed to redo every few weeks. Finally bite that bullet. I shouldn’t need nor want to be Malvia again.

Ah, the sound of boots on stone came once again, stomping ever closer. I used a claw to slit the rat’s bindings, watching it scurry into the darkness.

The Watch officers went past Thomas, stopping at my cell. “Come on, Foulhorn. We need you to answer some questions for us.”