"They were after us, right?" Elysia said as she looked around her worriedly. She gently touched the blood she had on her face and looked at her fingers in disgust. She wasn't surprised to discover that the ratfolks' blood was black.
"Don't be silly, Elysia. Why would they go for us?"
Elysia was beginning to get irritated by the fact that everyone told her not to be stupid.
"Well, don't you think it's weird that we managed to go two weeks without meeting anyone down here, and then, barely two days after we killed that ratfolk, we're ambushed? And now that I think about it: it's only been a day since I saw Fritz Helstaff; maybe he recognized me."
Frey shook the sword, and black blood splattered on the ledge, where a few drops remained.
"Elysia, he can't have recognized you. In the sewer you were behind the flashlight that Gant shined on him... The only thing he could have made out is your silhouette, in case he saw something. Most likely, he was too busy running."
Slowly, she absorbed what Frey had just said, or rather, what he hadn't said. She hadn't questioned the fact that Elysia had seen Fritz Helstaff.
The other guards returned after inspecting the corpses.
"You have done a good job, both of you," Hef declared. "It is clear that you know how to fight. Your fame as a Platinum rank group is well deserved."
"Though you could have left us some, right? I thought there were more coming from behind, but it seems they stopped when you launched your attack."
"They probably got scared and ran away."
"Well, let's take a corpse and show it to the captain of the guard. Maybe this time they will believe us."
"Well said, young Elysia. Are you going to take it?"
Elysia kept her mouth shut as she bent to pick up the stinking furry corpse. Even amid the stench of the sewers, that of the ratfolk was offensive. Elysia was quite pleased when she, halfway back to the exit leading to the guard post, Hef offered to carry the load.
♦ ♦ ♦
"I told your predecessor never to come here," Fritz Helstaff protested as he regarded the ratfolk with barely concealed disgust. He hated it when anyone but himself walked into his file room. "The servants might see you."
The ratman looked him square in the eye. There was something about him that made Fritz nervous. Maybe it was his gray fur, or maybe it was the strange, totally black eyes; but there was something different about this ratfolk, something almost frightening.
"I am not like the other, human. I am a Spellcaster. The Black Magician in the service of the Rat King Gritch. Committed to the cause of the clan. It is important that he sees you. Things went wrong with the sewer guys. Many brothers are dead."
"But my servants…"
"Don't worry, stupid human… They sleep and snore. A simple spell."
Helstaff put down the file, marked where he was with a dry pen, and closed it gently. He dropped his hand near the hilt of his sword, and that contact calmed him a little. He met the ratfolk's eyes and dared him to look away.
"I'm not used to being called stupid. Don't do it again."
The ratfolk smiled, and his smile was not reassuring. For a moment, the magistrate had the feeling that he might jump on top of him and bite him, so he kept his hand on the weapon. With an almost imperceptible shake of its head, the ratfolk stopped smiling, then flicked its tail.
"Of course. I am sorry. Many apologies from me. I'm just sorry for the loss of family members. It will cost a lot of parenting time to replace them.
"I accept your apology." Helstaff felt calmer. It was darkly pleasing that even creatures as seemingly monstrous as wererats felt a sense of loss at the death of their kin. However, he realized that he longed for the day when he would no longer have to deal with the ratfolks and could have them destroyed. He picked up the file and returned it to his right place in the filing cabinet.
"The human-things below are dangerous to our association. They know what you look like and can identify you among other humans. They must not be allowed to threaten you or us.
"It's true." The thought was worrisome. Helstaff's enemies were legion, and the slightest trace of scandal would be used against him. The treacherous sewer wardens would sell the information to the highest bidder they could find; of that, he was sure. They deserved to die. And to think that he had come to regret their fate... "They must die."
"Yes-yes, and you must tell us where to find them."
"That's very easy. Today I met with the captain of the guard." He opened another filing cabinet and pulled out a fine file from within. "Here is the information I have on them. Two of them are adventurers, they belong to the Ragnarök Platinum rank group."
"Well well. Soon they will all die-die."
♦ ♦ ♦
Once safely back inside the sewers, Black Magician Dhalthar cursed to himself. He was sick of dealing with jerks like Tzarkal and the human Fritz Helstaff. He would have preferred to be at home, in the warm den, surrounded in the harem with his breeders and a few human captives scampering through his maze. He missed the beautiful rotting scent of the swamps, and he worried about the intrigues that might be brewing against him in his absence, Vault was the most dangerous, he was with King Gritch in another human settlement, surely he was filling the King's mind with vulgarities against Dhalthar. He hated having to work with idiots like Tzarkal, who couldn't even effectively execute the simple murder of five human-things.
The sight of the hostmaster making shrill excuses made Dhalthar want to bite his own tail with fury. By the great rat, that was true the saying! If you wanted a bone cleaned properly, you had to clean it yourself. There was no point entrusting vital tasks to those who were like the useless host leader.
However, the council had assigned him to the clan of Tzarkal, and his order's oaths bound him to implement and execute that clan's plans. And this one was sensible. He redounded to the good name of Clan Arkan. He realized that Helstaff, stupid as he was, was a valuable agent to have in a city. Of all the humans he had met, the spymaster thought almost like a ratfolk, a very stupid ratfolk; he had to admit it, but ratfolk nonetheless. It was easy to manipulate him because of his jealousy and attraction to the human female Emilia, which predisposed him to believe anything about her as long as it was related to her. Imagine he thought the ratfolks used the city rats as spies, you idiot human!
Nonetheless, Helstaff had proved useful in removing those who might pose a threat to the clan's long-term plans, and he was a skilled and efficient collector of manastone, so necessary for the constant research plans that it took place in the depths of the clan.
Yes, he would be wise to resist the temptation to murder the human. He was of more use alive than dead, at least until the Great Day came and humanity was crushed under the clutches of the ratfolks.
Dhalthar easily deciphered the strange markings that humans called writing. He had prepared his entire life to be able to do it. The study of humanity and the arts of it were his particular strong point. Helstaff, farsighted, had attached maps showing the nearest sewers to the victims' dwellings. That human was not entirely incompetent. How appropriate! Two of the humans dwelt together in an easily accessible place. He would start with them. The female and the male were also together, they would be next.
"Come-come, Bone-breaker. I have a job for you tonight," Dhalthar screeched.
The rat-troll grunted its assent from the shadows, huge claws softly ejecting from paw pods at the prospect of food.
♦ ♦ ♦
Hef was staggering along the muddy sidewalk when he heard sounds of fighting coming from the shack he shared with Gilda and her brother. She knew that she shouldn't have stayed in the tavern to drink that last pint with Frey. If big Jax and his men had gone looking for revenge while he was away, he would never forgive them.
The curved knife felt cool and reassuring in his hand. He wished he was more sober, but that could no longer be changed. He broke into a trot and almost immediately tripped over a pile of rubbish in his path. At night, without lighting, the Barrio Nuevo was a death trap.
He got up and moved more carefully down the street. As he remembered, there was an open sewer access near there, and it was better not to fall through it. He heard Gilda scream, and all thought of caution vanished as the scream ended in a groan of pain. He scrambled over the rubbish and knocked over a pile of manure. He knew that no one except him would respond to a cry for help on Cheap Street. It was that kind of place.
From the top of the hut flames began to rise. Someone must have knocked over a lamp during the fight. He heard a feral growl from inside the cabin. Maybe Jax had brought his trained war dogs with him, as he threatened to do. Hef covered the cleared ground near the entrance with a final run. In the light of the flames from within, he saw that the door had been ripped from its hinges.
Something was moving inside. His sister met him at the door. Spider opened her mouth and tried to speak, but blood spurted out of it. Hef caught him as he fell forward, and as his arms locked on his brother's back, he felt the hole and the great soft mass of lungs inflating and deflating through it. that. Spider groaned and went still.
That was a nightmare. He had returned to his home and found his house on fire. His brother had died. No, it couldn't be. He and Spider had been inseparable since they could walk. They had worked on the same fishing boat, they had stolen the same money, they had run away together to the same city, they had lived with the same girl. They both had the same life. If Spider was dead, then…
Hef stood there, completely still; Tears streamed down his face as the monstrous figure emerged from the burning shack and towered over him. The last thing he heard was screeching behind him.