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Nineteen: The Living Underworld

(I barely spoke to the Grandmasters since they told me how what came to be the land of Tamashi Kadorikyo. I was too focused on my studies, being in their classes. I was so enthralled with what I wanted to keep track of that I forgot what kind of celebration was coming up. On the table next to my bed, I kept notes from the lectures of what makes their warriors. I had been telling myself many times each day, "Be like this".

(Only on the kind of day that it was, when there were no classes, and yet I was at the temple, I told myself, "I cannot do this." I was weary, and I started to lose track. So, I gave up on the composure. I lay on the side and started crying.

(The one to find me like that was none other than Kana. She knew that I would be there even when the classes were not on the schedule. "What is wrong?" she asked me, looking with worry at me laying on the floor.

(I slowly sat up, and then wrapped my arms around her. I sobbed, "I cannot do it... I cannot be what they need."

(Somehow, she understood what I went through. She pulled away, to look at me. "Namonaki", she said. "You have pushed yourself too hard. You have only been working too hard. That is why we have holidays." That was it. That day was the first day of winter. For two weeks, starting that day, training was not on schedules. She assured me, "If you wish to do something, I can teach you about our festival here."

(I was quick to convince, for I could not think straight. However, I would have loved to do anything with Kana. She helped me up to my feet, and began showing me the grounds.

(Snow was slowly falling when we exited the small temple, but it was not too cold for us to be outside in only our tunics, thin pants, and robes. Where Kana showed me first, in the place for the tea ceremonies, other wolves were busy with hanging banners that expressed festivity. Even when the clan had only one temple, they knew that they would need a holiday. No one seemed to pay us any heed, probably because of Kana's reputation.

(The same was said when in the training temple. Other wolves were busy with painting or inking canvas to show what the winter festival meant to them. Everyone ignored Kana and me when they weren't making something. They likely _mentally_complained that we were present, or tried their hardest not to say whatever nasty things came to mind. I was no stranger to others talking about me behind my back. I had heard a lion make fun of me to his friends when I was fourteen, to my irritation.

(Even the dining temple was busy, for that was what already had the most decorations. The walls had leafy garlands along with stars and flames. Only one banner, which had a blue dragon, was being raised and hung when we were there. Kana led me to a group of cubs, who greeted us both. The cubs were cheerful about this event. There was something that they looked forward to, and they spoke too fast for me to understand. Whatever the subject, it was dismissed quickly when one cub asked Kana something, to which she answered, "Of course I can help." They did not mean the decorations that were on the table in front of us.

(As I listened to Kana talk to these cubs, I found myself holding her hand.)

It is the day after I have been given the key that I need. There was another duty that I had to fulfil. I gave the judge my word of it. The murdering badger was easy to find and as easy to kill. He now lays by the oak in the centre of the graveyard where he has lurked, cut in half. My friend had a good fill of the meat offered. Probably a meal for several other ravens as well.

Two hours after having eaten breakfast, I stand in front of Crowsridge Cathedral. It might as well be a castle. Where I face is its front door. It expands into two wings, looking the same. The grey is from more than the stone and cement; the walls are clouded with dust. Yet the sand surrounding the stone path like water of a moat is as grey as dust. Even the front door is ominous, for a distinct pattern of skulls to cover them. There is no way in, bar the front door, which is locked. The large and simple lock has a thick chain bound together. I pull out my pins--

When I hear a deep voice say, "No need fer that." It is one of the two armoured grizzlies from the City Hall. He pushes me aside, for I heed him not, and he pulls out a key that looks like only one hand of his could hold it. I scowl as I watch him insert and turn the key, opening the lock. He lifts the door from the wide knobs.

I inquire, "Is that all the High Counsellor ordered of you?"

He answers, "He wanted me to give you this." He presents a page, which I unfold, showing a small schematic of the dungeon. "He also wanted me to make certain that only I followed you. Surely, you 'erd me shotgun and the slashing seconds before you arrived 'ere." I only assumed that it was some gang war.

I state bitterly, "I still 'ave yet to see if yer boss lives up to 'is bargains."

He replies, "He is a mogul; everyone knows that. However, he does whot he can, even if 'tis only to secure 'is position." He bends forward, to meet my eyes more closely, and then continues, "You should go in whilst you can."

I turn left, to face my raven friend, perched on my shoulder. I tell him, "The air is stale down there. If there are, in fact, corpses, you will find rotting flesh, if any at oll. I promise you: modotte kimasu. In the meantime, genkide." He caws twice, and then lifts from my shoulder, flapping his wings. I wonder if he will thrive on the gang wars during our time apart.

I scowl at the bear once more, before I enter the tall gate of the tall construct of stone, complete with spires and gargoyles.

Even the inside looks worse for wear. This place has been closed since long before even the time of my grandparents. There is minimal light to enter the entry chamber. There were once floorboards, for the floor is only dirt of the earth. I stride to the grand hall, which looks a little better, due simply to the artistry that still stands in the design of the walls. This chamber is where every mass and every sermon were held during its days. Due to the grime and dust clinging to stained-glass windows, the light is as minimal, and it is a very dim orange, as if perpetually on the line between dusk and night.

I walk along the stone floor of the grand hall, taking in the look of what it is now. It still has its pews, but none of them are undamaged. Every one of them has at least a scratch. Some are split in half, and some are missing a support leg. A few have holes in them. I understand the fighting in this place, but cannot believe that none of the windows are broken. I approach the altar, which is ridden with chips and cracks. The organ that is still here is broken beyond repair, its pipes scattered, splinters of wood lost in the dust.

I never planned to use any of Jack's bombs. It would only complicate things for me. I pass the altar, to the door leading the two opposite wings. The wing to my left has the confession booths. The wing to my right has the chamber that was for classes. I know just where to go.

I tread the floor of dirt, to where the confession booths are. That is the wing that stinks of decay. This is it. I run my hands along the stone floor, and I am quick to find it. This is not what requires the curious disk, but the opening to the start of the route. I stand up, so I can stamp the floor. I have to do so repeatedly, and the slab budges further and further--

Until it is suspended by only hinges on one edge, which seem rusty. The screws were already weak from the multiple uses. A slightly stronger odour of decay comes from the opening. I climb down from it. The fall from the hole is short. The tunnel is very dark, but I can see, given the nature of us wolves. Some of us can see clear as day, in a shroud of only darkness. Into the abyss I go. I walk along another stone wall, along a narrow corridor that would barely fit an ursine. For about a minute, I walk along the corridor before I find another door, this one made of wood. Even the knob is as horrendously grimy as the wood. I open it--

And the odour of decay fills my nostrils, driving me to cough. The fumes are abrasive enough even for me to close my eyes. And I thought the borough of Grauk stunk of rotting corpses. When I open my eyes, I look around, to find myself in the first underground chamber of the vast dungeon. The walls are metal plates fastened together with rivets. The ground is plain stone. I am not alone; the individuals that wander are of various species, and yet they act as if they cannot see, hear, feel, or smell each other. I am a disciplined she-wolf, but the odours are testing my patience. I cannot be slow here. I head to the centre of the room. The footsteps get the attention of the rest, but they seem to pay me little heed. Three other stone doors, leading to other halls and chambers. The first chamber is the start of the test. I look back, and no one seems to notice that I have left the door open.

There is indeed an easy route, but it still means difficulty. Let us test whether Willoughby has double-crossed me. Before I could begin, however, a rat clings to my leg as if to a tree and afraid of falling. I kick the air, to no avail. So, I bend forward and grasp him by the neck with one hand. He lets go as if his neck is fragile and I cause him too much pain with the single feat. I stand straight and hold the rat, aligning my gaze with his horrified visage. With my other hand, I hold his crown, and then twist his head. I can hear his bones crunch as I do so. I casually toss him aside, his open mouth and eyes wide now in perpetual horror. That seems to trigger the others, prompting most to approach me, whereas others consider doing something with the rat corpse. I need only quick glances at them to determine how frail they are. If they want me as their next meal, so be it.

I draw both of my Khopeshes, prepared for anything. However, I want to test first. A badger--which at first convinces me that he's a stoat--is the first to pull at my garments, and that is where I start. I spin around, both blades outwards. Both blades slash into the badger's thin pelt and skin, leaving gashes. He groans as he stumbles. I care not what species they are right now; only that I make it to the next room alive. I slash sideways with my left Khopesh. I then turn, swiping an angle with my right Khopesh. I turn again, swiping with both a second apart in the same angle and direction. I make the same two moves again, followed by an angled slash with my left Khopesh. I perform a scissor motion, and then turn right around, executing a reverse-scissor motion. That is the end of this room. I respect the choice to die keeping secrets, but not by becoming a bloody mess on the floor.

I sheathe my Khopeshes so I can open the stone door to a short hall. There would supposedly be nothing, but I detect a faint smell of metal. I look around. I need only a few seconds before I find something standing out among the greys of stone and dust. What I pick up is a knife, sheathed. I draw my stiletto, to compare it to the knife. I take it out of its sheath to confirm that it is as long my stiletto. It has been stained with blood, but I doubt it useless. I sheathe and pocket this stiletto and place my own back in my boot. I am in front of the next door, when I take the brass knuckles out. If you truly double-cross me... I slot my fingers through the blooming piece of duff before I push the wooden door.

The chamber that I enter is much broader than the first. It smells even worse of decay. The floor is also decorated with bones. Whatever skulls that litter here are in pieces. There are worse people here. These are dogs, which will eat anything. They all mutter, "Meat..." To add to the decay is the stench of cannibalism. Cor, what destruction done to minds.

The dogs approach me all at once. Not enough time to draw my Khopeshes. I jab with my right hand, as that hand has the brass knuckles. My punch lands squarely in the nearest dog's nose. His reaction implies that I have broken his muzzle. I manage to draw my left Khopesh, slashing up the next dog's chest, breaking his ribs. On the third dog, I swing a hook in the side of his face. The second it lands, blood drips from his muzzle. I slash across his midsection, making him bleed profusely. At the same time, he coughs blood. I leap past him, to the fourth and final dog. I leap again, kicking straight at the same time, and then punch him in the eye, making him yowl, though hoarsely. I thrust my Khopesh--and it goes through his chest and protrudes from his back. Now I know why Willoughby has given me the infernal contraption.

I look back, to the open wooden door, so I can remember the next direction. I bear left this time. I fail to see the point in leaving the door open now. I have my left Khopesh drawn, so I can mark the door with an X. Splinters add to the dust, fur, and bone fragments decorating the floor. This next chamber is filled with numerous books. The one bookcase stands out among the stone, aligned with an opposite door. Curious, I scan the several books in one row, to determine that they are journals. I pull one from the shelf, the wood looking fragile. In this one book that I have at a random page, I am right about this being a journal as the pages are marked with dates. The paper is yellow with its age, but I can still read despite the ink faded in some places. This is how I know that the writer, in particular, is a woman that got away with killing her abusive husband and was haunted still by nightmares. I look around. How many people were willing to die here? I tread carefully, expecting some kind of trap here as I cannot isolate scents to stand out in such pungent odours. I quickly take other random books from the shelf, to toss in other places. Five thuds, each of them followed by no kind of thump or snap. I take one more book, which I toss right in front of the door that I am recommended to take--

There it is! My suspicion about a deep and straight scratch proves correct. A guillotine falls, splitting the book in half. I scurry now, expecting someone to be fast to reset the trap. Upon the next chamber, I mark the door with an X, expecting to lose my bearings again.

This also has information in the form of crests of houses. I assume that the crests became obsolete decades ago. These symbols have been scratched into gargoyles in the corners, as well as the walls. The stench of blood is strong here. There is another peculiarity: a grizzly bear. He is naked, showing me that his pelt is thin and pale--not exactly white, but near to it. I can even make out the lines of his ribs and his ilia. Upon his approach as he growls hoarsely, "Meat...", I can see the lines of the ulnae and femurs. I instinctively raise my left Khopesh, slashing his midsection. His skin turns out to be thin enough for him to bleed. He hesitates from the pain, but for only a moment. I leap aside, so I can punch with the brass knuckles where I have wounded him. He bends forward, groaning. I hook him with the same fist, in the side of his muzzle, and then slash his throat. I back up as he falls forwards.

These fights have been all too easy, but I expect that to change. I jump toward the recommended door, which I break from its hinges with my air kick. The second I hear stone scraping, I jump forwards again. I am right about another trap: the pair of gargoyles at this side of the door, crashing together. I turn around, finding hints of other traps. My best bet is to trigger them, and then get past before they reset. To the right of where I entered this chamber of pale grey is where I need to go, but a line of grates is something I wish to take no chances on. I approach a gargoyle next to it, and begin kicking with my boots against the flat wings. This hurts my feet, but I have no time to complain.

With a thorough hammering, I break off the gargoyle's left wing. I then sit down, to give my feet a rest. I cough a few times from the stenches that will poison me. In about ten minutes, I get up again, and I toss the broken wing to the grates. Almost instantly, they open. Now I know why this room stinks of blood as well. I pass the doorway--

And there it is. I stride toward the end of the narrow corridor. I pull out the disk, placing its pegs through a series of holes. Metal and stone scrape with one another. The sound is soon greeted by grinding. The door opens and I push it. I take the disk with me, expecting that I will need it again. The small room turns out to be a way down. I lower the switch, and I hear a chain and gears grinding as I am brought down.

(The official nights of the festival were ones that I would remember for years. Even I participated in what few games they had. Though it was playful, I participated in a ceremony of bean tossing. Like the adage: "Out with the old; in with the new", they followed a way of warding off demons--or what they call "oni"--by tossing beans at a volunteer portraying an evil entity. This was done with the dialogue meaning, "Leave, evil; come, good." I wanted to know the feeling of those beans tossed against me...

(But I could not do that without Kana at my side. It was a rare instance, throwing the beans at two portrayers, but it was allowed. After sweeping up the mess that we made, we proceeded with a traditional sushi dinner made with the same kinds of beans. Of all the methods of raw fish on which these people prided themselves, this particular roll was one that I liked least. I only ate them so they would not go to waste.

(On the night after, there was another ceremony begetting another game. As we were to celebrate a part of the natural cycle, we were outside, the ground barely frosted. I was assured that I needed no additional robe to the tunic, pants, and robe I had grown accustomed to. I only stayed outside by telling myself, "Wolves are survivors." In this activity, we were to gather in a circle, to welcome the shroud of darkness and snow, to welcome the cycle following the shrivelling of the plants, meaning that they were to begin anew. Because of the poetry of trees having shed their leaves and taking the snow, I had never felt so sad for the plant life.

(Then, on the third night, I was brought into the temple used for a performance. I was given a sample of the theatre that they practised. Their theatre made me wonder if it was something to have the Mau-Re connect with the Tamashi Kadorikyo. The portrayers of deities, spirits, and champions all wore specific kinds of masks and specifically-patterned robes. The blunt dialogue featured choral speaking alongside the declarations for the transitions.

(The fourth night was to have but a feast for all pupils, disciples, and staff. We had to wait until everyone was in the dining temple, of course. Starting without a single individual was an insult here. The two grandmasters gave their own speeches, praising the year that has passed, and wishing fortune to the newcomers.

(There were five low-key nights to follow, simply everyone enjoying themselves and each other's company. I wondered if I could participate in the ceremonies of the following years. Having something aside from warrior's training could not hurt...

(The tenth and final night was to end with a fireworks show. I had never been so enthralled in my life than the night I first saw the bursting of coloured fires. To make it all the more enjoyable was that I sat next to Kana, on the roof of the dining temple. During the show, I looked at her. I was all the more enthralled by the coloured glows licking the edges of her face. It made her look more beautiful.

(She turned, finding me staring, in my trance. I looked in her lovely amethyst eyes. I leaned toward her. She had no objection, for she cupped my muzzle. I closed my eyes, letting it happen. My lips locked with hers. Before I could pull away, she kissed me back.)

Along the way, I am greeted by steam, a short relief from the blood and decay odours. In fact, there is more metal as I go down. Where I stop is two levels down, past one tier of a maze that seems to shift. I feel the abrupt stop. This is as far as the lift can take me. I wrench the scissor door open--

And I am met with more than the stenches of decay. To add to it is the pungent smell of blood, both fresh and dry. I doubt that even the high-security wing of Agnarge Asylum can contain anyone to have survived the hell that I must now endure--assuming it would be full of them.

I press on, needing to constantly blink away the potent fumes as if they are tobacco smoke. Fuck, this place is toxic... The grates and the pipes for air might as well make no difference. So many deaths down here caused by madness, and yet I have arrived where I need to be, taking the shortcut. I look around this chamber, seeing that a broad grate makes up the upper half of each wall. Massive gaslights once illuminated this chamber, based on the large broken glass balls. Suspended on the ceiling like a chandelier is a behemoth of a gargoyle. The face is to the wall where a large door is. I line up with its visage, which seems to bare teeth like a feline. To make it all the more feline-like, it lays flat as if prepared to pounce. Standing out in the centre of the floor, among the fractured stone slabs, is a metal square slightly higher. It is perfectly aligned with the platform of the gargoyle. The two chains that I see suspending it are thick, and I have nothing that can break them. Eyeing the two open doorways, I understand only one thing to do.

I first head left from where I entered, following a corridor. This stone corridor is riddled with cracks, along with dry blood. Much of that blood is in splotches as if the mad scraped each other against it. Other splotches are crudely shaped, as if they are messages. The only legacy that the mad here leave behind... Do the insane deserve a legacy?

I have no time to think about that for long. There is a gap in the floor, the rubble of which has gone quite a way down. I draw my Khopeshes for this. I back up, before I sprint. At the edge, I leap to the wall, and then off it. I successfully land past the gap. I still have my Khopeshes in my hands as I continue the trek of the corridor without interruption.

On its other side is another chamber. This one looks so green from all the mould between the many cracks in the floor that the decayed bodies might as well be used to fertilise the trees of the Countryside. In the centre is a lever for a stopper. The chain matches those for suspending the gargoyle. However, I hesitate. I narrow my eyes as I look around. What if this is also the stopper for the panels? The metal panels are rusty, but seem to hold well still. I have but one choice, which I go through.

I push and hold the long lever down with my leg, the thick chain going up. However, I lift my foot from it, to see the lever staying in place. I am right about the price as well. The metal panels have gone down completely, revealing mammals too short and thin for me to determine their species. They wear robes like those of a monk, but open, showing that they are naked. The dozen of them swarm upon me, all at once. I jump and thrust backwards, managing to get out of the circle.

It all happens so fast. I slash again and again, breaking spines, breaking ribs open, cutting bodies in half, and lopping off heads. It is blatant what these insane people wanted. It is a matter of them or me. I walk on, heading back the way I have come, which means jumping the same gap the same way. This time, I make cracks where I land. I dash on, expecting the rest of the corridor's floor to budge. I stop when I return to the gargoyle, which I see leaning. I cough dryly at the toxic air that I have inhaled. I breathe through my mouth to suffer less from the stenches, but the fumes could only poison me faster. I have overcome the assault on my eyes, but I need to overcome another assault.

As I am in the other chamber a few minutes later, my guard is still up. The floor looks stable, but scum has clung to it. Decaying bodies have been here. Are the bones dust now? Ropes from the doorway are stuck between the slabs. The walls also seem to be gates. I look around in an attempt to deduce whether this is meant to be an ambush or a trap. Still having both Khopeshes in my hands, I kick the hooked lever down. The thick chain rattles as it drops rapidly. At the same second the chain stops, I can hear the rumble and feel the vibrations of the ground. The doorway is open--

But at a price. The floor of this chamber is not all stone; it is metal. Much of it has retracted by hinges. Looking down, I can make out spikes at the bottom of the pit. Whether anyone has made it this far, only to find themselves impaled, I cannot make out. However, all I need know is how long the fall is. I cannot utilise the chain to swing across and I cannot build enough momentum from where I stand to make the jump. I sheathe my Khopeshes, so I can climb the chain to the ceiling. The chain is visible, but I wanted to see how much of a grip I can get. I firmly grasp the line past where it meets the gear. I let go of the line going down--

And I fall only to snag. I dare not look back as my heart races. _Keep going._I reach with my other hand to the chain above me, and begin to put one hand in front of the other. I cannot keep a good grip forever. I have only latched on to a few following chain links when my paw pads start to ache. I make haste with my progress, coughing yet again when I am barely halfway. So, I hold my breath to avoid the disorientation by the toxic fumes. This helps... for a moment. I become hastier with climbing along the chain.

I breathe again upon reaching the end of the line. I ignore why hooks from which the ropes start are lodged in the stone. I swing myself as I hang on, and swing again and again. Then, I leap from the chain. Arms out. With a grunt--

I hit my chest and armour against meta, holding on the edge and lifting myself up. I leap upon getting my left leg over the edge. As I lay face-down, eyes closed, I pant, catching up with my racing heart.

(After the winter celebration, I grew closer to Kana than I ever felt to anyone, even closer to Themba. I was sad to write that in my regular letter to him. Eventually, I overcame that guilt of betraying Themba, as I saw Kana as more than a dear friend. She and I would always study together in the written portions; she and I would always spar together in both Naginatajustsu; also their unarmed fighting style that had been pointed out blended two forms. Sana was the one to request a cake to the cooks in honour of my birthday. I was glad to share it with Kana and my other classmates.

(When I thought that I was sick a month later, I realised that I had entered my first heat; I was taught the signs. It was Kana who helped me through it. She taught me how to pleasure another individual orally. It was the first time we first saw each other naked outside the bathhouses, as well. She looked even more beautiful. Following my first heat, I realised that I had become each day less and less like a cub and more like a grown she-wolf.

(Furthermore, even though we were close, she showed no favouritism. It reminded me of how I had become attached to Themba. She taught me the realities more than the teachers and the grandmasters of the dojos or the High Priestess did. Thank you, Kana.)

I feel as if I am just waking from forty winks when I lift myself from the floor. The gargoyle is now on the floor in the centre of the chamber. The door looks different from the way it did when I entered from the lift. My instinct has served me well. However, there is more. Each corner has a new hole from which boxes have been dropped. I break one nearest to me open, to find medallions, watches, and rings. These could be stolen items. The medallions prove it. I take the few that look untarnished, along with the least tarnished watch and the few jewelled rings. In the opposite chest in front of the gargoyle, I find cutlass and flintlocks. I take one of the stilettos and a dagger. Those might be a part of my collection. I then go back to the open doorway. Eyeing the scum, I yank out the pitons, finding the cracks wider than they should be. I growl at how cruel the gesture is. I scrape each piton against the mould on the stone. To make sure that they do nothing to my suit, I find a handkerchief to wrap them in, among the treasures--no more procrastination. Let us see what awaits next.

When I enter the next chamber that the gargoyle supposedly guards, I find the walls decorated with bookcases, but the books are behind glass. Furthermore, bar the entry, the circle of the chamber has a crude moat of jagged glass. The rest is cracked cement. In the centre, someone suddenly enters. It is a grizzly bear, naked under an open black robe with gold plates on the shoulders and at the tail's edge. Peculiarly, his muzzle stands out among his pale pelt. Though hoarsely, he roars at me, before running to me. Up close, I can see perfectly that he wears a mask like I do. This is at the price of almost getting my throat slashed. After dodging the blow, I leap aside, so I can draw my Khopeshes. I turn to face him.

He backs up as I thrust both blades toward him. Then, I swipe them both upward. I twirl them anti-clockwise as a feint, before I bring the blades down. As if he is onto me, the grizzly begins his counterattack. Though his swings are sloppy, he still has his claws, which have been embedded with iron. Can he even feel pain if he endured that?

I make his counter fail, before I slash at his chest, tearing into his robe, and then slash again. I make further progress as I tear into his robe again with two simultaneous slashes. I slash into his midsection with a scissor motion, and then a reverse-scissor motion. As that disorients him but does not kill him, I take an opportunity. Utilising the hooks of the Khopeshes, I pull on the edges of his mask, which has been stuck to him.

Upon pulling it off of him, I see that his face and muzzle are wholly hairless and terribly scarred from cuts. The grizzly yowls in pain, driving him to wave carelessly. Before an attack of mine can land, he scratches my armour, and then smacks me down with his palm. He kicks me when I am knocked down. He is about to impale me with his metal claws--

When I stab him where it hurts. This causes him to yowl even louder, though hoarser. I then get up, to kick him there. I slash upwards at an angle with both Khopeshes, separated by a split-second. Then, I make him back up further as I slash him twice, also separated by a split-second. I jump up, kicking twice, making his wounds hurt more. With one more straight kick, he backs up into the jagged glass. I get atop him. I push his face against the sharp glass with my boot, making him lift his arms. I back up, so I can slash his throat. He has no time to react.

I look around, wondering if this is where I need be. The only question is where I must search for the essential information if so. I need not wait long for the answer, for I hear hissing of steam and squeaks of gears. Approaching is an ashy-grey coyote, though he could easily be mistaken for another canid variation. He is clad in a heavy duster over a ragged work shirt and work pants. He sits in a moving chair, which is the cause of the noise. His eyes are nigh colourless.

His hoarse voice speaks, "Good show, young dame. That ursine seemed t-know no pain until you came along."

My first question is on who this coyote is, but now that he has brought it up--"Wos he protecting you, or controlling you?"

As hoarsely, the old coyote chuckles. "Why matters it? He is dead."

Ranks must not apply here, regardless of where anyone is. I ask, "Who are you?"

The coyote objects, "You should really ask 'What are you?' for my name is nothing." He continues with a grin, "I am the Keeper."

I should have guessed: built upon another cult. Then again, this place is likely a century old. They have only been upgrading the dungeon with the evolution of technology. I introduce myself. "I am Lady Death." I then inquire, "Is the Keeper a mantle?"

"Indubitably", the coyote answers, raising a bony finger. "As the fourth Keeper, I am one of few residing down 'ere to live the longest." Along with his arm, his muzzle drops. He continues, "I am not proud of how I managed, but I did whot I needed to." That is it: that is the new stench that I detect. Lingering on him is the odour of others--their blood. Not just the ones that are lower in natural rankings.

I state, "You need not tell me what you are a keeper of." I query, "Is this the library of the most precious secrets?"

"Not just precious ones that someone must take ta their grave", he retorts, not looking at me. Instead, he looks around, as if to indicate. "Oll secrets in this chamber are incriminating evidence that could 'ave solved cold cases, particularly about aristos."

I inquire, "Would those aristos include the Lowell House?"

The Keeper suddenly looks directly at me and holds a switch, to roll his chair toward me. Upon being directly in front of me and meeting my gaze, he asks, "Why seek you incriminating secrets on the Lowell House?"

I answer bitterly, "That is not your business. If nobody died bringing secrets on Giffard here, I would 'ave never set foot in Crowsridge at oll."

The old coyote retorts, "And whot makes you think that someone did bring Lord Giffard Lowell's secrets here?"

"Intuition", I answer. I explain, "Propagander is a powerful weapon in politics. By uncovering something about a candidate in a race to outrage the people, the scales shift in the opponents' favours. Organised crime is like that. Someone could be sent to make weapons defective to cost the dealer money. Someone could assassinate a family member to cause a broken heart, a weakness to exploit."

The Keeper explains, "There are other ways in here. The route you took and the puzzle is the easiest. Someone working for Lord Lowell came 'ere seventeen years ago. He wos but a thug in 'is cartel. He came across something he should have not. Though driven mad, he brought Giffard's logbook. I wos the one t-find it along with that thug's body. If he held out longer, he could 'ave brought the book to the 'all back there." He nudges his head to indicate the door behind him. He continues, "Lord Lowell 'as kept many secrets, as indicated by 'is logbook. I can only assume that he utilised it for the most common reason: keeping 'is mind intact. He needed something to prevent the destruction of 'is own mind. I 'ave 'eard the cries of the many residing here, repeating secrets until giving in to savagery to go 'and-in-'and with insanity. By memorising the speech, I 'ave bin able ta record whot is told about someone's life. Much of what you see wos written by me an' my predecessors." His face droops again as he holds the switch on the side of his chair, rolling it to one of the glass doors. He then lifts a stick, to press quickly against the glass. With a squeak of metal, the panel is free. I approach the old coyote.

Standing next to him, I pull the glass panel, spotting a piece of metal on the inner side. I detect as well, the magnet on the edge of the shelf. I speak, "I 'ave my reasons fer seeking a weakness to exploit."

The coyote says, "I know whot Lord Lowell is. I know whot kind of company he leads... or supposedly." I snap a look at the old coyote. That is something to astonish me. No one could be controlling him. I reflect on the time I saw Giffard with his sister. That cannot be. "Use the ladder", he says, snapping me out of my thoughts. He points with his cane. I dash to the end of the chamber, a ladder idle next to the doorway. Dashing back, I place the ladder near the glass, the peak aligning with the top shelf. The Keeper says plainly, "Very top, far left." I rush up the steps, which feel somewhat unstable.

At where the Keeper has said, there it is. I pull the book, and read in faded letters "Giffard's Log". I carefully climb back down, to avoid making the steps give way. When I reach the floor, I quicken again, dashing to place the ladder back to where it is kept. I return to the Keeper. "Before I go", I speak. "How could you 'ave survived down 'ere fer twenty years?"

The Keeper explains, "I told you, young dame: I did whot I am not proud of, and I 'ave bin livin' with the memory of it. I only have not become insane because I remain near this chamber. Oll these savages and they prefer t-fight each other, but not exploit the elderly's handicap. Furthermore, only one t-know beforehand the easy route to the library would be one to remain stable enough to reach the destination." Compliments of High Counsellor Willoughby. "I am as old as I look, and time will catch up with me. Unless there is a way of sealing all entrances and exits, there will be more and more to lose themselves to insanity and hunger." He then wheels to the opposite shelves. He opens another glass door. This time, he gets up. The Keeper leans forward, and quite far. This should strain his spine, but he keeps up. He is quick to back up after taking an old page. As he returns to me, and as if having read my mind, the Keeper speaks, "The High Counsellor is not the only one t-keep drawn routes." He presents the pages to me. "At the end of the corridor, straight ahead, you will find an opening to the sewers. Take that route and you can get out. It will be easy if you want no trouble, for there will still be more upstairs."

I bury the page along with the rest of my findings. "Thank you."

"I must ask of one favour before this is farewell."

I answer irritably, "As long as it does not involve fetching an item, whether 'tis a few metres away or lost in the borough."

"Your sword", the Keeper rasps. "I want you t-do it."

I object, "I kill only criminals."

"In a way, I am. I 'ave killed more people than y-know."

"But you are not my problem or my business. And I 'ave no reason to kill an unarmed old man."

"True..." He ponders. The Keeper adds, "But surely you are disgusted by the stench of canine blood on a canine's breath."

I scowl at that. I could walk away, but something tells me not to. I draw my left Khopesh. I flip it to have the hilt at my thumb. I remark, "Your secrets die with you, old fool."

He taunts, "My secrets, yes. But not yours." Words that could be no truer. I hesitate, wondering if someone could follow me out of Crowsridge. I stretch my arm. There will always be others to take an open position. I slash his throat--

And he goes limp, choking on his blood. I sheathe my Khopesh. This is the end of an era, hopefully of having these secrets buried.

I make it out of the sewers without hassle. I assume that the Keeper is right. Furthermore, I am in no condition to keep fighting. Upon climbing out of the grate in the middle of the sand road, I feel weak. The air is clean compared to down there. That is why my lungs ache. I need to keep going. I must get out of here as soon as possible. I inhale sharply before howling, "Michi!" I pant, looking down at the grey sand.

In about a minute, I hear the caw that I can hear from only my friend. I hold out my right arm, and I am right to expect Michi. I stroke the top of his head, and then his back. I take in his three legs and green eyes. He is real. I comment, "You are a survivor, Michibiku. You always were." One friend that would never betray me. I ease up a little from the assurance that he can guide me out of an environment as hostile as this.