Bad to the Throne, page 31
part #15 of The Good Guys Series
“Just an emotional moment?”
“It was. We were in the spa, and I had been consuming wine. It was hot. She was resting. There was a knife nearby, something to slice the bread or the fruit — whichever — and I grabbed it. At which point, the elf was there. But I had made no motions toward my cousin, and I would like to believe I would have stopped on my own. Regardless, I have apologized, profusely, and I have done nothing more to harm her. And I would be just as elated were she to take the throne as myself.”
There it was: the sweet smell of bullshit.
And then I escorted her back into the crowd. She seamlessly inserted herself into conversation with some Senators, already back in the mix of wheeling and dealing, getting votes promised for the following day. It somewhat disturbed me that I couldn’t find Nadya doing the same. But I had to hope Valamir was cooking something up.
I felt a slight tug at my sleeve. I looked down to see a kobold standing at my feet. He held out a little note to me before I could say anything. As I took it, he gave me a slight nod and scurried underneath the table, and then just disappeared. I didn’t see him come back out.
The note simply said, “Your presence is requested at the underwatch with all due haste.”
I sighed and headed out.
80
A carriage was waiting for me outside of the mansion, emblazoned with Valamir’s crest and flying little blue flags. Inside was my magic bag, a sword, and a note.
“I saw you lacked proper weapons for a delve into the world below. I hope this sword, a family relic, will serve you well. Your social secretary suggested you might as well need this bag. Picus guide you.”
It was a little awkward getting the sword’s sheath onto my belt while sitting in the carriage. In retrospect, it would have made a lot more sense to have also taken the time to change out of my dress clothes, but I didn’t. Instead, once the sword was on, I stared out the window.
Taking the stairs down to Underwatch HQ sucked. I wondered if anyone had thought of putting in like a slide or a fire pole or something. But once I finally made it down, the other members of the Underwatch welcomed me, and introduced me to their newest member, one Clyde Hatchett.
Before long, it was just the two of us — everyone else had actual things to do.
“Took you long enough,” I said.
“We can’t all be as free with our schedules as certain dukes,” he replied. “How far into the city did you get?”
“The ruins? Ten minutes.”
“Similar. I think Bertrand has a set path he takes.”
“Seems like it. You have any idea where to look for what we’re looking for?”
“I have an idea of who to talk to to get a better idea of that.”
“That’s a really confusing way of saying whatever it is you’re trying to say.”
“I’m trying to say that I know someone down here.”
“In the ruins?”
He looked at me for a second. Like, really looked at me.
“Just, this way,” he finally said, and headed to the side of the facility with the map and the library and such.
He led me through the map room without stopping, and went into the next space, which had been blown off on my tour. But at the present moment, there was an older man in there, sitting at a very large table with materials spread out in front of him.
“Pomeroy,” Clyde said, “this is Montana. Montana, Dunt Pomeroy. Academic and researcher.”
“Oh, another one!” the man said, half rising out of his chair and extending his hand. “Quite a pleasure to see a new face here. It is rather uncommon.”
“You’re part of this group?” I asked, a little curious how such an old out-of-shape man was a member of this secret Legion.
“Indeed, though, perhaps not as, um, not quite in the voluntary sense.”
“He found out about the ruins, and then went asking about it–”
“And I was offered a choice between death and a lifetime working here.”
“Tough choice.”
“Yes, well, yes. But having access to all this information is rather mesmerizing. And I can spend my time researching the ruins, as I would probably be doing anyway. So it may, in some fashion, be working out in my favor.”
“No rent to pay.”
“Exactly.”
“Are you a prisoner here?”
“A bit.”
“Can you leave?”
“Not at the present time, no.”
“So you are a prisoner.”
“Only in part. I am a de facto member of the Legion now, so once I serve out my term, I will be able to leave and do what it is I want. Although, it would largely just be this.”
“But you can’t leave?”
“No, not yet.”
“Why?”
“They have doubts about my ability to keep a secret. And, to be honest, I have not pressed for it because I do secretly enjoy having all my needs met whilst I put all of my energy into my studies.”
“I guess that’s nice.”
“Oh, it really is. I feel like I have managed to get quite a lot of thought going into the ruins just in the short time I have been looking through things.”
“Short time? You’ve been down here a long damn time,” Clyde snapped. “I hired a detective to find you.”
“You did?’
“Yes.”
“Well, here I am.”
“I know, just–”
“Let’s get back to what you learned,” I said, not really interested in going deeper into the relationship the two men had. “What can you tell us about the ruins?”
“For one, it a fascinating place. I feel there was, at one time, more known about it than now.”
“Obviously. Like when people lived there.”
“They still do. Live there, I mean. Though I think you will find that it is hard to call them people any longer, being what it is they seem to have become—”
“Which is?”
“Troglodytes,” Clyde said.
“Tra-what now?”
“Troglodytes. Barbaric primal beings that are more monster than–-”
“That is a rather biased view of them, Clyde,” Pomeroy said. “I think it could be said that they have continued a culture of sorts despite the catastrophic event that resulted in the ruins being what they are today.”
“I think you’re being a bit too kind to them.”
“Has he seen them?” I asked, then realized how rude that was. “Have you seen them?”
“I have,” Pomeroy said. “They are terrifying. Also monstrous. I will be the first to admit that I am not anything nearing an expert when it comes to anything besides humanoids. But I also refuse to accept that there can be such backsliding from a point of civilization to base monsters.”
The older man looked at me, then at Clyde. Seeing that neither of us seemed ready to say anything to refute him, he gave us a nod.
Dunt moved around some of the books and papers in front of him, and surfaced a map.
“This,” Dunt said, “is a map of the ruins. Or as I have taken to calling it, the city. It is an imperfect compounding of the various maps and records I have found through my digging in the archives. It certainly seemed that past iterations of the Underwatch were more concerned with exploring the ruins and generating a greater understanding of what was there. Or should I say, what is there. More recent regimes have seen more fit to foster something of a hands-off approach, in which it was better to just keep what’s in in and what’s out out.”
“I take it you disagree with that,” Clyde said.
“Of course. I am always in support of knowing more. Even when it comes at cost. Now, there was some mapping done here and there, but nothing was added to the official map, because there seemed to be a measure of inconsistency amongst what was reported back. I suppose it would have been better had they had an official cartographer here, but that didn’t seem to be chief priority amongst the Underwatch. So what you see, from my best attempts at putting the various rough drawings with the after-action reports together, is that the city is very large, but not particularly centered underneath Glaton. It goes quite a stretch over to the west—”
“Under the river?” I asked.
“I believe it does. However, as I was about to say, more of the city is to the north, meaning that a good portion is under the cliffs and mountains, where it would be impossible to build now. Which begs the question, what occurred to allow the city to fall to the level it is now? And how long ago did the apocalyptic event take place?”
“What’s the layout of the city?” Clyde asked, clearly not interested in joining the aged professor in a trip to assumption junction.
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s pretend we,” Clyde pointed to me and him, “are looking for something within the city–”
“Such as?”
“A building. Like a government building, or a palace–”
“A treasury?”
“Not high on our list, but if that’s what you’d like to think about in this hypothetical example, do you think you could guide us to something along those lines?”
“Ah, well,” he smoothed the map out, stalling a little as he thought, “probably not quite to the level that would make it simple for you.”
“You have ideas, though.”
“Yes. But I would hesitate to give them out because—”
“I don’t care if they’re wrong,” I said. “I’d rather at least have some goal, instead of just wandering around the ruins in the hopes of stumbling on what we’re looking for.”
“So you are looking for something.”
“Of course.”
“What?”
“Something hypothetical that you don’t want to know about,” Clyde said sharply. “But that might be within the realm of either the government buildings or a temple-like structure. Is there some differentiation between what you’ve read about? Something that might indicate a type of neighborhood?”
“Not especially, no. But do understand — I am dealing with information from individual accounts and reports written upwards of over a hundred years ago.”
“If we got you some newer ‘information,’” I said, “do you think you could come up with something?”
“I hesitate to say yes or no–”
“What if I had a gu– I mean, knife to your head?”
“Why would you have a knife to my head?”
“To poke your brain?”
“Ah. It would seem more efficient to have it to my throat.”
“He’s got weird idioms,” Clyde said, shooting me a look. “But just, you know, if you had to say.”
“Obviously, with more information, I could bring forth different ideas. But I don’t know that I can give you what it is you seek. Or, rather, what might be useful to you. In addition, I would be remiss if I did not mention that from my readings, it would appear that while it has never been what I would term safe in the ruins, it seems to have gotten worse. The, uh, what did you call them, troglodytes?”
“Yeah.”
“The troglodytes, which are a thing, by the by, if you have yet to encounter them in your travels, which means you might want to think about a more unique name for these things–”
“Morlocks.”
“Morlocks?”
“Is that a thing here?”
“It rings no bells for me,” Pomeroy said, and then looked over at me. “You?”
“Nope.”
“Then we shall call them Morlocks for now. Based upon what has been written in the past, and what I have read of the after action reports from closer to today, it would seem as if there has been quite a measure of evolution happening, with new and horrible creatures making their presences known. Or, perhaps, there is some other reason for an increase in monster activity, and those creatures we have been assuming were morlock evolutions are, in fact, some other creature entirely.”
“Have there been regular attacks against the Underwatch?” I asked.
“No, no, not that I have seen. But, then again, if you want more recent figures and reports, I would speak to Bertrand. I am, as I would assume you are aware, a researcher and a new fixture amongst the Underwatch. Meaning I often lack the necessary access to all the information regarding current combat activities.”
“Okay, well–”
“What’s the worst you’ve read about?” Clyde asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Monster-wise. Or Morlock-wise. What’s the worst encounter? So we can, you know, prepare.”
“Are you planning on going in tonight?”
“Yep.”
“Ah. Well, it would be better if I had more time to pull resources — I was under the impression that you were most interested in the maps and whatnot of the area. But if we were to talk about bad moments, off the top of my head, I would posit that mostly it has been a matter of ambushes. Any time a member of the watch strays beyond what seems to be the accepted borders, venturing into what had previously been unknown territory. The morlocks seem to have gotten larger, so injuries have been more severe. Although, I suppose, it could be just as fair to say that, perhaps, the Legionnaires of the past were of a more martial mentality and were better fighters. It is difficult to say.”
“Deaths?”
“Not recently, no.”
“Let’s get back to the city,” I said, not particularly worried about the morlocks. Or the troglodytes. “Can you tell us more about the layout?”
“Well, I would certainly love to tell you more about it. Perhaps if you could tell me what it is you’re looking for, I could give a guess of where that might be.”
“If we knew what we were looking for, I don’t think we would have to ask you.”
“I don’t particularly want specifics, but you clearly are looking for something within the ruins.”
I glanced over at Clyde. Clyde was looking back at me.
“He’s your buddy,” I said. “You want to tell him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You gotta make that call.”
“I am standing right here,” Pomeroy said.
“Well aware,” I replied.
“We can’t really tell you what we’re looking for,” Clyde said.
“Say no more,” Dunt replied. “I have been there, and–”
“You are there.”
“Yes, well, yes. I have no wish to know anything beyond what you have offered.”
“Anyways,” I said, “what we’re looking for is a sense of where everything is, from a city planning standpoint. So if there’s a noble district of whatever, where do you think it might be?”
“I doubt I have enough information in regards to neighborhoods and the like. It’s more of a cultural question than anything else. Were I to try to tell you where anything is laid out, I would have to have significantly more information as to the culture of the people who built the thing that has now become the ruins.”
“You can’t even make a guess?”
“He hates doing that. Making guesses.”
“I’ve noticed. It’s annoying.”
“It is not annoying,” Pomeroy snapped. “It is a product of being an academic. I dislike assumptions. And, sadly, at the present, I lack–”
“We get it.”
“Which is really a shame, because I am fascinated by what was once there. Obviously. However, if you were to look through what the Underwatch has gathered, you will soon see that there is so little research about what was once that city—”
“They’re not a research group.”
“And yet. Imagine what has been lost to the ravages of time?”
“Maybe they have a reason,” I said.
“And what could that be?”
“Maybe whatever’s hidden in the ruins is better left that way.”
81
Just prior to going into the ruins, I dug armor out of the bag and tossed it on. I put the Underwatch tabard on top, and made sure Valamir’s sword was loose on my belt, ready for action if I needed it.
As the gate shut behind us, putting us more formally in the ruins, there was a sort of foreboding quiet. The Underwatch soldiers manning the wall were silent, just staring out. I wanted to believe that their eyes were the ones I felt on me, even though I knew that was a pleasing little lie.
“Which way?” I asked.
Clyde took a deep breath, peered one way, then the next. He pointed down a road to the right.
“I think that way,” he said. “Pretty sure that’s north.”
I ran quickly through all the twists and turns we’d made going from the Glaton surface streets to the ruins, thanking whatever stars had lined up for me to get labyrinthian recall.
“It’s north.”
“How confident are you?”
“Hundred percent.”
“You have some means of knowing the direction?”
“Something like that.”
“Want to share what it is?”
“Not sure that I can.”
“How ‘bout just the name?”
“Labyrinthian recall.”
“Good name.”
“Good ability.”
He nodded.
“North we go,” he said, setting off.
We were quiet at first. Not only because we were testing each other out, but also so we could pay attention to the sights, sounds, and smells of this undercity. There was something about it that was vastly different from the other places I’d been. Especially, say, as opposed to the city above. This place was oddly musty, despite air moving about. There was a bit of a breeze, nothing like you might find on the surface, but just enough to have a part of your face cooler than another.
Clyde moved well — quiet, lithe, good on his feet. There was a sword at his side, but it didn’t look particularly well used, and he touched it constantly, moving it and shifting it around as if he was trying to get used to it. His hands were big but spindly, a bit like a pianist. He didn’t have much in the way of armor, either leather or chain.
