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The Weeping Scar

Chapter 5 - Yōuyǐng: Persistent Shadow

by TheSpiralAim

When the light was low, it was time to play.

During their hour of passion, Decker had asked her to be cautious. This city was not like Jìndū. The implication had been clear: it was a dangerous place. Making Decker concerned for her safety was not a kind thing to do.

Rude, in fact.

A locked gate was only a polite invitation to a better thief.

She'd go see what this city had to offer. What kind of things happened behind closed doors in a kingdom that was so unorganized? The plots must go deep!

Yōuyǐng slipped away from Decker's side. Arms overhead, she stretched her shoulders, then her back. This form was always stiffer than her serval form. Tan eyes met her in the mirror. The look of a large-eared, jet-black koshka was not unattractive, but it meant immediate guarded behavior from others.

She stepped towards her heavy bronze staff with her hand held out. It floated near her before it vanished. Not gone, merely hidden from sight. A surprise for any potential threat she needed to batter.

Shifting took only a thought followed by a feeling of motion; then the floor was closer. Despite that, everything seemed more in reach. In this case, the windowsill. A quick nudge of her mind and the window opened. Yōuyǐng leaped onto the sill and peeked around the wall. A narrow ledge below, some kind of facade structure, offered a place to stalk. Her paws met the ledge, and she slipped out along the wall towards Slate Street. The view out from the front of the temple offered her a better glimpse into how Eforia looked at night.

At the corner, a roof offered an easier perch. Across the outer wall of the cloister, she moved like a streak of stygian paint until she hopped onto the roof to get a good view of Eforia and the Scar.

A starfield of lamps extended downward to the river below. Distinct levels of the city separated by switchbacks. Some roofs were higher than the terrace above them. Getting around would be trivial.

Yōuyǐng looked up.

More terraces were above. Only one could be seen clearly. A vine of flowers wrapped around a garden's railing, and the amber glow of a nearby light was just above them. Beyond that, it became too misty to make out more than the dull halo of lanterns.

A city showed its bones from above and its sins from below.

It wasn't Jìndū's level of neat and impressive. However, a city painfully carved into a cliff was its own masterpiece. Stone made up most of everything: tiles, walls, and every surface that would hold it. Metal appeared everywhere: lamps, fixtures, and, more important to her current situation, fence toppers. Hopping across from this roof would get her skewered.

Yōuyǐng wasn't in the market for perforated organs. Instead, she hopped down a few shorter obstacles and got level with the street. The gate that separated the Weeping's temple from the street wasn't locked or latched.

She nosed it open and stepped through.

Rain-cooled cobbles met her paws immediately. Petrichor now dominated the air. Not much was stirring; she could hear the scrape of a few rats hidden among the old barrels at the edges of the smaller street's entrance. The occasional drip of water hitting stone, glass, or whatever else randomly punctuated the night.

Most of the door candles were lit along the street, all except one. Yōuyǐng crossed the street with the concern of a cat who knew it could win any fight. Right into the shadows where she became part of the darkness's well. She slipped from building to building. A light out didn't mean much, but it was as good a reason to start there as any! The odds of a baker having juicy secrets to see were zero.

The sound of claws on stone made her stop. Just up the street, a ratten woman wearing only her fur stepped from a building onto the street. Red eyes, grey hair, and impeccable posture? That was Martha. She was a tangle of unspoken vows and intentions that Yōuyǐng was eager to tug at, eventually. What piqued her interest here was how cleanly the wound from earlier had healed over. The ratten woman seemed headed home, a drying cloth slung over her shoulder. Whatever these Pain Vessels were, they were tough.

Sugar and Root Bakery had a simple storefront. A window with displays for the day's confections, currently with some kind of pastry still in it. Around the side of the building there was a window with a mini-balcony. Up the support column, hop onto a small overhang, and she was on the railing. The window was partially ajar, and the scent of rot, iron, sweat, and the sour edge of panic drifted out.

She tucked her head into the room.

A mangled corpse lay on the floor. Life pooled around it. Yōuyǐng's ear twitched, and she backed up.

Too much to investigate this early. It left a thread to play with later.

As they said in Jìndū, a cat did not put her nose in the snare just because the bait smelled interesting.

Across the alley was Minh's Jewels. She cleared the distance with a single hop and caught the railing. Not as gracefully as she'd like. Inside was an elegant kobold. Only some kobolds looked like that—the half-dragon ones. Black scales that went transparent green at the point of each scale. A hammer, a saw, and a compass, encircled by Tiamat and Bahamut in an embace, formed the symbol of the Zìzhǎo—Freeclaws, by global name.

Some of the best artisans on Korrenth, here in a backwater city?

A point of interest to pursue! Contracts like that don't come easily and never without drama. First things first: if the Elite is up here, where are the workers?

Generally, back in Yǒngguó, they'd be in well-maintained camps near their project site.

Yōuyǐng hopped away from the balcony, onto a barrel, and then back into the street. Time to find what these Zìzhǎo were working on.

Going from terrace to terrace was frightfully easy for her. Off the ledge and onto a roof, slide down the tiles for a moment and catch a balcony or stacked pile of crates, and she'd be there. At least, in the paths she had chosen. The air got damper as she got lower. The first one from Ivy Terrace was Holly, then Fir, Granite, and finally Slag Terrace. Getting back up would take time.

Slag Terrace was probably named for the sheer number of forges and foundries. The air was clean enough. Yōuyǐng suspected that if it hadn't rained recently, it would be much smokier.

A few of those door candles were lit, not as many as she had seen above. Enough that there were wells of darkness everywhere. Something about the towering walls, stained stone, and general lighting made Yōuyǐng stick to the margins.

Her paws felt something smooth. The stone in this spot was pitted oddly, too level, and had small pockmarks in it. Magical acid, likely.

Yet another curiosity. This city was building a pile of drama fast.

The mouth of the new terrace, labeled 'Moss Terrace', was definitely a work in progress. Scaffolding, temporary barriers, hammered-in footholds, and ropes to help get into high places. The slope was steeper and rougher than all the others. A path followed the cliff face where the road was intended to go. This low, the stone was damper and the air heavier with moisture. The exposed stone was dark and cleanly shaped with whatever technique the Freeclaws were using.

Yōuyǐng didn't understand much about engineering beyond knowing when it had succeeded or failed. With no rubble piles or memorials to dead Freeclaws, she assumed this crew either prevented failures perfectly or hid the bodies.

Plenty warranted inspection, but not the visible pieces. The absence did.

A silent forge was louder than a screaming one.

Freeclaws worked around the clock, and she heard virtually no work going on. Silence was more threatening to her than she would have guessed.

No work?

She padded towards a well-supported lean-to and peeked in. Three kobolds with grey scales lay over one another. They looked exhausted and thin. After a quirk of one ear, she went to the other side of the work camp, where lights were.

A tired voice reached her. "Zhinka, we cannot last more than a month like this."

Impatience laced the older kobold's answer. "I know, Minh-Tajt is doing what she can. We all know you can only push so hard; if the Public Works office doesn't give us the funding, there isn't much we can even do."

"She could steal it."

Zhinka's answer sharpened. "That's not a contingency in our contract with the Crown of Karpatia. I did clear her to spend more time making and selling jewelry to whoever will buy it. If she could get some better pieces sold, we could feed ourselves for a lot longer."

Well now! The local authorities aren't paying their Freeclaws? That's borderline suicidal; it would explain the jewel shop. So the Elite is Minh-Tajt then. That is intriguing.

Small scratching behind her left hind leg. It wasn't too far. She snapped around and pounced. Rats didn't provide much of a challenge, even a big fat one like the one now in her mouth.

The motion drew attention, which was the goal.

"Huh? Something is outside. Didn't sound like a keireth."

"I'll check."

A kobold stepped out wearing a leather tunic. It was well made and clean. At his chest was a small glowing crystal. That was a clever little magical device. It would allow him to see even at night. The light it cast was pale and shone over Yōuyǐng.

She turned and looked at him with typical feline confusion followed by immediate dismissal and trotted past him back onto the ramp out.

"Big cat. That's a new one. Must be more people moving in, I guess." He turned back to the tent.

"It was just a cat? It made me rattle my scales loose," a smaller red-scaled kobold's voice followed him.

"I'm not going to complain about free vermin clearing; let's go through rationing accounts again." Zhinka lowered his voice.

On her way back up to Fir Terrace, she couldn't help but wonder who would end up dead because of this. Their contract was with the king, not the city. It cleared up the backwater question. This region was important to the kingdom. Unfortunately, like most answered questions, it made her itch to know more.

How titillating. Perhaps this would be a better vacation than she had hoped. Tomorrow night: the higher terraces, to get a feel for whoever lived up there. Given the typical idea of high status being taken literally most places, Yōuyǐng assumed that's where the rich would be clustered.

As predicted, the way back up took a lot longer. It let her meander through the streets. Low clouds made certain areas foggier than others. Crickets, the rattle of vermin, and the occasional sound of someone closing a door gave Eforia a certain living charm Yōuyǐng was only now starting to notice. A lack of a curfew meant there was a bit more moving around than she was used to.

Holly Terrace had been largely bypassed on her way down; it had been too easy to run along the roofs and find a path to the street. On the way back up, those same paths were overhangs or too unstable to go up safely.

Very soft wingbeats made her ear twitch. Subtle enough to be mistaken for something smaller. Yōuyǐng knew those sounds. That was a harpy that had decided a medium-sized cat was dinner. Little thought was required on Yōuyǐng's part. She readied her mind's hand and cocked her staff. When it dove, she barely glanced at it before the heavy bronze staff struck it sideways across its back and downward into the pavement. The sound of its body breaking and then slapping into the street broke the otherwise pleasant ambiance. It had landed just at the mouth of the alleyway.

This place didn't even have full control over its local predators? How telling. She'd have to always keep an extra ear out here, since the local guard force clearly wouldn't.

A city that left talons in its own rafters had no right calling itself governed. Surely someone in Yǒngguó had said that. If not, they should have.

She went back up and around the switchbacks and onto Ivy Terrace. The street was still largely empty. A guard patrol was trading off at the far end. Getting back to her room was going to be harder too. It wasn't like a quick stroll around the city was going to remove fence toppers.

She stalked over to the front door of The Weeping like she owned it, clawed at the wood lightly, and made a raspy meow. The number of crepuscular and nocturnal people in there made this viable.

The door opened slowly to reveal a dull grey, almost green, scarred-up ratten. Yōuyǐng had seen him a couple of times in the temple already. Not clergy, but trusted and respected among them. A clean man with unfortunate scars. Her eyes met his, and she moved to nuzzle in past his shin.

"Huh, that inquisitor's cat. I… well, you already let yourself in," he said in a low, gravelly tone.

The nave door stood open. She slipped inside and let her ears sweep for interesting noises. She turned back and noticed the scarred ratten was still looking at her. For a moment she looked back, then trotted off like a disinterested cat might.

That man was sharp, the kind of sharp that meant she'd have to be a bit more careful around him. She wasn't sure if he knew she was something more than just a cat, but he was suspicious at the very least.

She reached her room quickly. The door was closed, and she had to look around. Thankfully, something in the Scar hid delving divinations; she had noticed it the moment they entered Eforia. A quick use of telekinesis to twist the handle was no trouble. Since no one was around, she entered her room and closed the door. The shift back to her koshka form was just as smooth as the reverse, and her hand gestured to guide her staff down and set it on the wall.

So many threads. This city could keep a cat busy for months just seeing where they connected, and that was just the surface investigation. The question was, which thread to pull first? She looked forward to seeing the upper terraces tomorrow. For now, Decker.