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Seventeen: Entry to the Underworld

(Only a week after having turned sixteen, I departed from the Sanctuary of Mau-Re. There was much that I would miss about this place: the temples, the library, the High Priestess, and Themba. That already felt like a load to me. However, it was how I planned to learn more about balancing my emotions and about combat. Every cub that was allowed to exit the grounds saw me off when taking the steam-powered ferry awaiting the boarding of passengers. I already had the tickets needed. I would take three ships. The first was to take me the Prime Meridian kingdoms. The second would take me as far as the southernmost country of the tropics. The third was to take me to my official destination.

(The travel took four weeks. On the first ship, I caught a fever so severe and nausea so disturbing that I felt like I felt like I could die. However, my fever broke halfway through the route. By the time I recovered, I finally got to reading what I could learn of the language foreign to me. The characters of the language came off as bizarre to me... at least at first. However, I found the words that they represent elegant. Why is it that we find words of another language more poetic than those of our own?

(My body was quick to become difficult to please. By the time I was on land in the kingdoms of the rainforests, I found balance difficult and eventually had short-term fever and nausea again. I rested near the first rainforest where camping was permitted, for two days. After that, I boarded the next ship--

(Only to come down with a fever yet again. However, it lasted for only a day, and I could continue with my studying. I became so used to the sea that the same thing happened when I was on land again. I was still alive, and I had no reason to complain about the sickness. I had no reason, either, to complain about the stability of the surface, or lack thereof.

(By the time I was on the third ship, many words and phrases of the foreign language had been drilled into my head. So, I had not much to do but read. I still welcomed the silence as the pilot of the ferry did his job. Even though the space had others, I would have nobody to make conversation with for their languages. 'Twas only me and my books.

(How astonished I was when I got off the ship. From the port alone, I had fallen in love with what the city could present. Like the famous city of streams in Stin, this portion of the city was supported by airbags. Every house was like a mosaic and as rustic as the houses in Knightsedge. Every last one of them was uniform in some way.

(However, I remembered why I was there when someone told me off in their language, which I did not fully understand yet. I strode to one merchant, and pulled out a book that I copied from what the Sanctuary had. I asked the merchant how I could find the grounds of a place they called a dojo. Specifically, the Dojos of Tamashi Kadorikyo. The merchant laughed, but he knew that I was not joking. He gave me a series of gestures, indicating to go all the way across the city, to a bamboo forest. I knew their term for that. This is the start of my next test of endurance and patience. I was willing to walk until my feet would bleed.)

The land of the dead. The land of crime. The land of corruption. The list could go on about the borough Crowsridge. The train stations are well intact, as if there is a strict law against fighting inside the walls of the one I got off in. I am eager to get out there and to find a decent place to stay.

"You will convince yourself that you are ready to face the villainy that plagues Crowsridge, but I beg that you consider otherwise. Please, do not go there the second you return to Highcond from the Sanctuary"-

Time again for business. This time, I don deep purple slacks. I keep hung up, an imperial purple jacket with the buttons on the right side. I begin to fasten screws through gold-brass plates to the sides.

• "However, you will never find a place like it, for information is everywhere in the borough. As anyone in business is sure to afford the materials for their shops or their factories and make a profit off quality items--all through crime--rivals are willing to seek information that could quickly cause bankruptcy."-

I have the lower guard protected now. Now comes the hard part: the shoulders. Like the military have their epaulettes and sashes, I have additional protection. One at a time, I get the rivets through the first plate, aligning it with the shoulder and the short sash.

• "It is also a place of cultism threatening the economy of the borough. Centuries ago, there was a vast space dug below the Crowsridge Cathedral, which has not been owned even in my time. Nobody knows why the place was dug or made into its own space. It is the primary reason for the rumour of those to enter Crowsridge never leave the borough alive. The few to leave the space under the cathedral moved to Agnarge Asylum, where they died."-

With a load of patience, I have the plates where I need them. Now, I fasten the laces of my boots. I have fit them the plates for the toes. I then bind the belts for the shin guards, making sure that they are secure.

-"That is where you may seek information on the clan that had your mother and her family. What you seek will make sure that they cannot recover from a crippling blow."

I fasten the buttons of my jacket, and then sheathe my two Khopeshes, which I have sharpened. I pick up my golden mask, expecting to find something in the empty face staring at me. Then, I place it over my head, getting my ears through the slots on the first try.

On the roof of the house where I am staying, I am joined by my raven friend, looking out upon the buildings of bricks and cement, all of them in various shades of grey. The ground is all sand that has not been paved over. I speak, "Contrary to its name, I doubt that the borough is an 'aven for corvids. Chikaku ni ite."

Not all of these houses have roofs that can be treaded without making something give way. My best choice is to climb only those made of bricks. With all these houses looking virtually identical, I cannot tell which area is the poorest. This borough is the slums.

As I tread the roofs of the townhouses, I take in the atmosphere that has been established. As if my journey controls fate, the sky is filled with clouds, seeming that rain awaits, and the air is brisk for a June day. The sands of the ground shift with the breezes, creating short-lived dust clouds. The roofs supporting me are covered with shingles that are far from beaten. What a dreich day and atmosphere. Oddly, there is no one to be seen, from where I am, and it is only midday. Whether the residents of the borough await something or hide from someone, I will find out soon enough.

There is one thing that I wish to find out before I seek the high counsellor of Crowsridge. Where I find my information is at a factory... At least, I think it is. That factory building has four long chimneys, one from each corner, from which tentacles of smoke rise. I vault from the roof where I stand, and then drop from one window frame to the next. I reach the ground climbing down from the same wall.

Only a few steps away from the same house I climbed down, I realise my answer to why everyone is in cover. To make a crowd, I count eight men--five dogs and three weasels, all of them dressed in rags, but carrying weapons--and they form a sloppy circle around me. All of them slowly approach as if trying to match pace, but they fail to do so. One of the dogs in front of me, pulls out a butcher knife and speaks, "Y-know whot we do to the rich 'ere?" I do not answer. They all continue their slow approach, acting like the predators that they are, toying with their supposed prey. The dog makes no acknowledgement. Instead, he just urges his friends on. So be it.

I draw my Khopeshes, pointing them back, and then leap backwards, managing to connect my blades with two figures. I leap further back, plunging the blades all the way through each dog at each side of me. I use them as shields, so the bullets that the others fire fail. I quickly get my blades out of the bodies, as I run toward the two dogs in front of me.

They block my attacks with their butcher knives. I then kick the shin of the one to my left. As quickly, I spin around, slashing the throat of one and the midsection of the other. Again, I make the bullets miss their target. I dash in an erratic pattern, making sure that the weasels have no clear shot on me. The pair that I aim for is the two stoats. One stoat takes a kick in the chest, sending him flying. The other, I slash both my Khopeshes in the same direction across his chest. I swiftly turn around, seeing that the dog with the cut in his side can still fight. He slowly draws his gun, but I switch my focus back on the uninjured pair. Both of them fire bullets at my chest--

And those bullets ricochet off my chest guard. They let their guard down from the surprise, and that makes for my chance. I slash at each of them. The badger is briefly lifted from the ground by the blow while the dog gets a cut up his leg, and then an angled gash up his chest. The badger gets another slash, forcing him to face the ground, while my right Khopesh is plunged in the dog's lung. That leaves the wounded dog and the injured stoat. The injured dog seems like he can still fight, but he fires his gun, to no avail. He discards the pistol, and catches my wrists. He forces my arms to my sides. So, I butt my head against his, making him lose his grip. I perform a scissor motion across his midsection, and then a reverse-scissor motion, almost cutting him in half. I dash to the stoat, and before he can fire his pistol, I force him to the ground again with a kick to his head. To make sure that he will not get up again, I drive my Khopesh in his chin and flip him over my shoulder. I look around, seeing that everyone is dead. I sheathe my Khopeshes. Now, I can continue my business. If many a criminal's blood has been soaked into this sand, these men are no one who will be missed.

I enter the factory, which is filled with steam-powered machines and coal-fuelled boilers, heavy at work, just like their operators. No one seems to pay me any heed, probably from the noise of the roaring fires and the steady boiling. I would wager that these workers look forward to entering here during the winter. I walk past the workers tending to the fires of the furnaces, to the opposite side of the building. I am right about the stairs being at this side. I take the stairwell to the left, which is quite sturdy as I expect this place to be old. On the next floor is the workers tending to the boilers, keeping the pace of what I assume are mixers in check. Based on the number of grown men and women, I assume that this place does not take advantage of child labour. I would admire that if it were not in a city passing for civilisation in a desert. The foreman's office is on this level. That is where I go, and I am right that they have a telephone.

I surprise the foreman, who protests, "Oi! That's not"-

I cut him off with, "There will be no quarrel about using your telephone. My fight is not with you."

He stands up and leans forward. "It will be if you"- I shush him by shoving him, to sit back down.

I dial the number and turn the crank repeatedly. In only a few seconds, I hear someone speak, "Sputure Station."

"Get me Wickerson."

I wait again. As quickly, I hear the familiar baritone voice speak, "Is this who I think it is?"

I remark sarcastically, "Good ter 'ear from you, too, Payton."

"You got some bottle colling me, Vigilante. Eleven naked men dead and the arrests of three dolphins, and kidnapping cases have been closed. And yet, the chief of Agnarge police has made a warrant for yer arrest. I suspected that Diefenbach was worse than a psychopath, but thanks to you, there's no evidence of him conspiring with criminals." I need not ask how he knows all that.

I speak, "I have my own reasons for doing that."

"Be sure to tell that to the judge when the police of Agnarge arrest you", he snorts.

I say plainly, "Well, if you're one ta tip other branches off, you can tell them that I am in Crowsridge."

There is a pause before he snorts again. He quips wryly, "So, Death 'as a death wish."

"The real reason I call is, I want to know which criminals in Crowsridge are wanted with the 'ighest bounty."

I hear him sigh. "No reason to argue with yeh. I'll search fer the lists." I have to wait for even longer, but it turns out to be only a few minutes before the silence is broken. I hear papers rustling before Wickerson speaks, "I got three criminals, all wanted for the same amount. I go' a debt collector, a drug dealer, and a cultist." I am given their names, what charges are on them, and where they are seen. I am also given the address to the station house.

Where I find myself next after hearing vulgarities from the owner of the factory that I depart, is on the grounds of a church. It is the first place with a stone and cement ground I see since exiting the train station. Even the stone ground is not in the best condition; almost every slab has a crack. The cement between the slabs is cracked in places, as well, but manages to hold them together still. Then again, no one can use only a step to make a slab shift on steady ground.

Per my advice, Michi stays close to me. However, he might have been able to see my lingering target at the same second that I catch the scent that we are not alone. This drab church ground is where the drug dealer stays, making crack masquerading as incense. Watered-down or potent, this drug dealer named Westman has the attention of the police. I climb in through the open window, its stained glass having been taken out--

Now I know why the police avoid coming to this church: the altar has been claimed as a workspace, taken up by long desk of vials, a small burner, a hand-built boiler, and a clay bowl over a white tablecloth. The light is dim despite that it is only lunchtime. The only fumes to harm me are those of the stench of dry blood and a very ripe musk--something I have long since grown used to. However, that is not the only problem. Faces rise from the pews as if the dead are suddenly alive. They all turn to me in unison and begin to approach me as if they are puppets on strings held by the same master. Six of them. These must be working for the dealer. I stride toward these puppets, drawing my Khopeshes. In turn, they draw weapons. I sweep the first two, before I stab them each, between their upper ribs. I then slash upwards, gashing the midsections of the next pair. To make sure of their demise, I slash across their chests, breaking their ribs. As for the last pair, I deflect their clubs, and then slash their arms. They lose grip of their clubs. The second they realise just that, I drive the hooks of my Khopeshes up their throats and chins. The drug dealer enters from the back, having heard the fight. He draws his pistol--

And I manage to distract him by sweeping his beakers. He only watches his work go to waste as I leap on the table, and then kick the large clay bowl--only making it break. Finally, the dog shoots me. He is then aghast at how that bullet is deflected by my chest guard. I leap from the table, kicking his muzzle. He falls from the blow. I step on his right arm, so he cannot shoot me again. I sheathe my Khopeshes before I pick him up and butt his head. That knocks him out. I strip him and all his men. It is with the tablecloth, I bind the dog's wrists.

The station is not hard to find in this borough, for it stands out for being one of the few to be all black. Only up close, one can see the patterns to influence the house's design. The thresholds are given a grainy look and feel, just like sand. Even like the churches and the cathedral, the station house has a roof expanding to high spires. The interior makes for a direct contrast, the walls being pure white. The policewoman at the cream-white desk speaks, "This is the wrong place to shame a courtesan."

I ignore that remark. "Inform your sergeant that a drug dealer named Westman has been apprehended for a bounty." The female rabbit jumps from her seat, to fetch her sergeant, and brings back two grizzly bears.

The grizzly in the overcoat under which he is bare-chested is the one to speak, "So, the church defiler 'as been caught. Try blending drugs out of dust in prison." He then turns to the grizzly in a blue tunic and trousers, who approaches me with a stack. I count the bills, to know that it is exactly the amount promised to bring the criminal back alive. I only thank the sergeant before departing. However, it would not be long.

After I have eaten my lunch--if it can be called that--I return to my hunt. That hunt takes me to where a cultist suspected of kidnapping likes to be. The clue on where he could be is the ash. Almost everywhere he goes, there is an improvised fire leaving only charred wood. According to reports that Wickerson relayed to me, this man has kidnapped two women. In the vast emptiness of the borough, I use a carriage to get near what could pass for a cemetery.

Like a transition from a desert to a savannah, there is more and more grass as I go along. The stone poles make me wonder if they were once parts of houses, but the near perfection indicates otherwise. I see no chance of grass growing after a house is taken down. Two oak trees, distant from each other, stand, but their trunks are gnarled and what few leaves they have seem frozen in time. I close my eyes, sensing the danger instantly. I can smell fire and ash somewhere, along with another stench of a ripe musk.

Round the corner of the wall where I stand, I trust only my sense of smell, which has not failed me thus far. I pick up the sound as well. It is not only the sound of the crackling of a fire, but I also hear... crying. Someone other than my target is here. The only cover that I can find is the randomly-placed stone poles. To stand out among them is what should be a shack. At least, it was a shack once. Almost half the construct is gone, only the support bars in that section.

I have to take cover in what little fog there is, for the masts will not do. I see a single, short figure exit the front door of the ruined house. A rat. That is him: Morgan. He strides along the stone ground, looking content, and carrying a leather bag. He exposes himself in all this. I can only assume what kind of demon this rat worships.

I manage to follow him quietly. He seems too blinded by his ego to wonder if he is being watched. I can hear the crying and moaning of someone more clearly as I follow him. Before long, Morgan reaches his destination--near one of the two oaks--and two rabbits lay dead. Somehow, they have been kept from decaying too much. Tied to one of the stone poles is another rabbit, wearing only a corset. I will not wait to see what the dozen other naked rats waiting, intend to do. I quickly draw my Khopeshes, and start running. I kick the rat that I've been following, knocking him facedown on the stone ground.

All the rats squeal, picking up a knife, but they are all too late. I get down on one knee, centring myself with the group. I swipe side-to-side, each attack going uninterrupted. I thrust downward, stabbing two rats, and then throw them off the hooks of my blades. I use my legs, as well, to sweep. The wind is knocked out of every rat to get hit. I still rely on my Khopeshes to make sure that their wounds are fatal. I deliberately stay where I am, anticipating that they would come back, and they do. I swipe across the remaining rats without looking at them. I stand up, counting the bodies. I saw twelve rats, and twelve rats lay dead. Using my left Khopesh, I cut the rope binding the rabbit. She breathlessly thanks me for freeing her. I tell her lowly, "Wait here."

I pick up the rat that I have just knocked out, and then return to the "altar". With the same rope at the stone pole, I tie the rat's wrists and ankles. The rabbit speaks, "That is the one who brought me here yesterday. His men... beat me..." I look to the ground, and I am correct about the demon. In the stone, symbols circle a pentagram, all carved, though crudely. I then turn to the direction of the shack. I take the rat with me, and let the rabbit follow me. There is not much inside the shack, but I do find what I am looking for. I find notes about what I assume are dreams, and a short manuscript about a demon. I put those in the rat's leather bag, which has been containing three different knives, each one with an etched symbol.

The rabbit makes it home as I make sure of that. Then, I head to the station house. How jovial the sergeant is when seeing the rat in the lobby. He comments, "Delusions will not save you, Morgan." He examines the contents of the leather bag, and then adds, "This will make great evidence in your trial."

And now, the debt collector. I need only go to his living space, for evidence on what he does. His apartment is one of the floors of an elegant building. It is in his living room, among his books, I find his bank records along with personal records of those who owe him more money than they would claim. Just when I pocket the pages, I hear the clicking of a pistol.

I do not listen to the orders of the one pointing the gun. Before he can fire, I am right in front of him, and I twist his arm, making him drop the gun. He is a badger. This is the man. I choke him with both hands until he passes out. Then, I strip him, so I can humiliate him.

Bringing him to the police is not so easy. Why am I not surprised? Five rats jump at me as I toss the badger as a distraction. I draw my stiletto. I stab one rat in the heart, and then toss him toward the rest. That gives them another distraction. I then kick one in the jaw, which makes him writhe in pain. I get down and sweep with the same leg, knocking them down, so I can stab them in their backs, one at a time. Now, I can collect the bounty.

"Impressive", the sergeant comments.

I explain, "I am not just in this for the money. Now that I gained your attention, bringing three criminals t-you in one day, there is information that I seek."

The bear replies, "I can only provide muscle. It is oll that a bear 'ere is good for."

I narrow my eyes at that, not believing him. I ask plainly, "Whot can you tell me of the borough's council?"

The bear snorts. "Only the High Counsellor. He is very stubborn. If someone wants 'im fer an important matter, it depends on how much time tha' ull take." He pauses a beat. "However, by fulfilling bounty hunts, I believe you will 'ave 'is attention. Follow me." I follow him along the lobby, where many officers in uniform or business suits file reports.

As we walk, I ask, "You've this number of men out on patrol, and no criminal comes in?"

The bear speaks, "I assure you: what rumour you might 'ave heard about the muggers 'ere being as vicious one with rabies is true. That is whot overwhelms us police. Many officers 'ave been afraid to go out at night and many 'ave been afraid to get near anyone fighting in public. If you don' believe the latter, watch fer the small gangs figh-in fer territory."

I enter the sergeant's office. The wooden door is labelled in black paint with the name Pierce Kenworth. The office's space has only file cabinets and a desk with a telephone. The bear gives me a sign for me to sit down. He hesitates himself, getting the impression that I prefer to stand. Surely, this will not take long. The bear looks at me awkwardly, even as he turns the dial on his telephone, the earpiece in hand.

Kenworth speaks, "This is Sergeant Kenworth of the Fourth Precinct." I wait for something. He scowls as he listens to what can only be a rant. He responds impatiently, "The 'issue' that I must relay is worth your attention, and she is in my office right now." His pause as he listens is very short. "She 'as fulfilled the three bounty hunts each worth two thousand pounds turned in alive over only this day. She wants an audience; she is worth"--He is interrupted by another reason to scowl, but that scowl quickly goes away. "Perfect." He looks at me, finishing, "She will come in tomorrow morning." I can hear the dial tone from where I stand, before the bear can bid good-bye. The bear adds after hanging up the earpiece, "The High Counsellor will be pleased t-see you." He changes the subject, though slightly. "Whot is yer intention, Vigilante? Everyone in the borough 'as a reason to personally confer with the High Counsellor."

I step up the desk and lean toward him, scowling. I growl, "That is my business only."

The bear, remaining calm, counters, "You will tell _him_that, but he will make it involve others. I warn you that now. Furthermore, we need more than the presence of our chief inspector, to re-establish order."

I straighten myself. I speak, "I came to Crowsridge on my own business. Trying to capture or kill all criminals in the borough is like trying to kill all the flies. Good day, Sergeant." I turn around and leave his office. I consider calling Jack, but I hold back on stealing a telephone from one of the officers. I see now time to get involved with my friend's affairs.

(I was out of breath when I reached the front gates of the field. Spring was made obvious by the growth of minuscule leaves on the trees seeming to be perfectly aligned. I was gobsmacked at the sight of all the green, making me think of how I had the impression people lived in the Empirical Wars. I walked in the open front gates and took the mosaic stone path, slowly. As I did so, I took in more of the lush fields of green and the trees sprouting their leaves. The day was dreich for a spring day. It just started to rain when I was barely on the path. The drops came down at a slow pace, only to accelerate, until there was no space between the fall of two drops. This was the kind of day that I needed. I was thankful to avoid these at sea, but now this was to hinder me. I picked up my pace along with the rain.

(My first problem when reaching the first temple: how was I to acknowledge those dwelling inside? The wooden frames were made to slide. I was convinced otherwise about the wooden sticks in the space, covered by paper.

(I was about to knock on the edges when the door slid open. The sight of a wolf with a crimson pelt and scowling fiery-orange eyes greeted me. He was clad in some kind of robe, which was black with yellow trims. I quickly rummaged through my bag for a book, and searched hastily for the right text. Upon finding the right page, I ask, over-pronouncing their words, "Can I come in?"

(The scowl did not waver, but he moved aside without saying a word. I strode right inside, carrying my two bags. I was gobsmacked further by the interior of the temple. There was no furniture, it seemed, to my confusion. This chamber was simple with the walls of only well-polished wood, and shutters to separate it from others. In the centre of the mat filling most of the floorspace, atop a pillow, sat a wolf with a curious deep-sea blue pelt accented by azure markings and violet eyes. He, too, wore a black robe, but it had white trims. The crimson wolf joined him.

(The blue wolf gestured me to sit down in front of him. I reluctantly did so. I had the book with me. Before seating myself, I took off my tailcoat and hung it on the first hook that I saw. I flipped through the book, for a quick reminder on my speech. In how well I could pronounce their words, I spoke, "I come from Ventine. I was raised in the Sanctuary of Mau-Re. Living there for six years as an orphan, I learned to handle weapons. I wish to expand upon the art of combat, having heard about this place from the High Priestess. I am aware only that I will be tested on endurance and patience."

(The two wolves looked at each other before the blue wolf signalled for me to approach him. I reluctantly did so. When I was near him and on my knees again, he presented me with papers. The text is familiar to me already; something I should expect. I got a quick reference, to know that the first line meant: "You are not the first traveller to come here, unexpected." I had to get other references for the rest. "Nor will you be the last. However, we will teach you how to speak our language. We can speak your language, as well. Communication with words and with the body will be your first lessons before we will allow you to attend classes in combat."

(The red wolf then signalled for me to approach him. He, too, presented what should have been his speech. His text translated: "We are more well-connected with the Sanctuary of Mau-Re than you assume. You can say that you can fight, but you have not been in real fights. There is more to our arts than holding a sword. We are also a proud clan, which means for strict rules against dishonourable acts." I looked up at him. I got the impression that the red wolf disliked me, those flames in his eyes standing for some kind of hatred. I turned to his partner, taking in another wonder about them.)

The city hall of Crowsridge is built like a naval fortress: constructed entirely of cement and chiselled stone, complete with a pair of turrets. The central spire's peak is only significantly below that of Knight's Tower. Up close, you can see the pattern of skulls in the double stone door, each one with a ring for a knocker. As if to show how many souls have been sold to make this senseless abomination, the pattern of skulls is shown in a long strip, like a banner, along the front. The banner ends at the turrets.

These doors open only inward. So, it is with a straight kick, I force the double door open. I stride past the threshold, where the atmosphere becomes all the gloomier. It is cold in here. No electric lights. No torches. Even the inside of this fortress for officials has its own fog in the form of the dark shadows, the wisps of dust like mists, shifting as I progress along the front corridor. This charade reminds me of an old nightmare of mine, except overplayed by architects, for rectangular thresholds carved where the wall and floor meet in addition to the occasional spot where the pattern of bones is painted. The only real pattern is the occasional chip or hole in the wall, the larger holes filled with only dirt.

I kick another pair of doors open, correct about them opening only inward. Beyond that gateway to the idea of the Devil's throne room is another chamber lit by a large electric chandelier, complete with well-carved glass prisms.

Chairs surround a vast and perfectly-square table, perfectly angled to look like a diamond. The floor is tiled, the cement holding them visible. At the other end is a large chair, like the Devil's throne, gleaming ebony even from the doors. There are windows, one of which is open, but not helping with the light or the warmth to be brought to this gloomy place. The supposed Devil is a dog, dressed like a butler for his black suit, his jacket having four buttons, his grey vest, the raised collar of his dress shirt, and the straight black necktie. I walk toward him, circling one side of the table.

As I approach, the dog speaks, "Some people knock before entering." I do not reply; it is too predictable. I keep walking, even when the dog continues, "I do not take kindly to trespassers. This is your only warning; come no closer." I hear grinding and whirring.

I announce, "You have something I want, High Counsellor. And I will not leave without it." I heed the warning; on the side of the throne are cords attached to a column of what appears to be the ends of gun barrels. Whatever guns are built into the pillar, I doubt my armour can stop their bullets. I continue, "I am the one ter 'ave the police's attention, bringing in wanted criminals."

He lifts his fingers and rests his hand on his lap before he motions for me to approach. I still question his intentions, catching a hint of charcoal. Noting my hesitation, he speaks, "I can promise ter 'ear yehr out." So, I walk the rest of the way, past the large table. I stop right in front of him. He leans forward upon me aligning with his position. He speaks, "Sergeant Kenworth said little about you, but I could 'ave killed you. Then again, you pass fer one o' the wealthy folk."

I ignore the remark. "I am Lady Death."

The dog replies nonchalantly, "I expected Death ta wear a friendly face, not a mask ter add to the hood."

"Not taking me seriously is a reason fer me t-kill _you_where yer arse is."

Unphased, the dog, a Doberman, speaks, "High Counsellor Willoughby." His ears are perpetually pointed up, and his muzzle is brown, to stand out among his black fur. His eyes are a curious green, his left paler than his right. "Know you how many citizens think they kin give me their issues t-make me consider them high priorities?"

I speak bitterly, "I can harbour a guess, but that is not my priority right now. I did not come 'ere t-kill the pests that infest yer borough." I have my fists clenched already.

Willoughby comments, "Y-might 'ave no choice, seeing as you made yerself the primary subject for painters."

"Jus' tell me now: how kin I access the underground of Crowsridge Cathedral?"

The dog barks laughter, which is blatantly sarcastic. After seeming to lose himself, raising his head as if to howl, he quickly looks at me again with a stern look. He explains, "Anyone can enter through its front doors. Anyone can enter its gate to the underground as well. The city legend is true: those to enter Crowsridge Cathedral are never seen again. Nobody leaves there alive and with their sanity intact."

I respond, "Then I will be the first."

Willoughby narrows his eyes and slowly stands up from his throne, though probably to avoid exerting himself. He steps up to me, looking into my eyes. He whispers, "You seek something from within."

"Information", I clarify.

He whispers, "There is an easier way if you seek where the information is stored, a key to which only I have, and no lockpicks can mimic." He backs away. Without looking, he pulls what should be a device from an opening in the side of his throne. What he lifts, to present to me, is a metal disc, like a saucer. He turns it over, showing the pegs where it fits. The lines from connecting the points is like... a skull... "This cannot assure you protection, but it will get you where you need to go."

I lower my muzzle, scowling. I ask, "Why is it- that of all people- to have a key so important to an underground space, _you_have it?"

Willoughby explains, "Crowsridge Cathedral was declared a landmark, being a hundred years old when it closed down. So, the city owns, and therefore it is mine as it is in my jurisdiction."

"Then why not lock its doors for good?"

Willoughby answers, "That is meant t-be a unanimous decision. If you attend my council meetings, yeh'll know 'ow often and 'ow strongly the others disagree about particular issues."

With that out of the way, I can focus again on why I am here. I reach out, but he pulls his arm away. Willoughby speaks, "If you want this, you must do me a favour."

I scowl, lowering my arm. "What kind of favour?"

He explains, putting the disc away and sitting down again, "A part of failing to resolve our issues in the borough is the absence of my council members. Three in particular are necessary fer reaching decisions. I can tell you where they live."

Like hell. I draw my left Khopesh, which I press to his throat. "And if I kill you an' jus' take the key instead?"

He answers by making another point. "You stand upon the grates, Death. No one can survive the fire that flows through if I press this button." I look down, to see his finger on another button. I also note the copper standing out among the grey, just out of reach of his throne. Willoughby adds, "Your armour will not protect you from it fer long. In yer position, I would not press my luck." I could slash his throat, but he could also press the button that would burn me at the same time. I focus on him again, scowling. Knowing that he is right, I back up and sheathe my Khopesh. "Good", he says. He proceeds to a cedar chest, where he keeps important papers, and presents me three pages. Each page tells of one member. Willoughby adds, "Bring me those three, and your access to information is assured." I scowl at him again after skimming through the pages. Willoughby says defensively, "I will not go back on my promise, Death." I fold the pages and then bury them in my jacket.

I speak, "Now, I must ask: why d-you 'ave guns and flamethrowers?"

Willoughby answers, "There've bin criminals t-force me 'and. Since the weapons were installed, they've backed off." He continues, glaring, "I've a reason t-not kill you. Again, do not press yer luck." I could try again to kill Willoughby and take the key by force, but that would only make things worse.

Slowly, I turn around and walk away. I am fast to reach the other side of the table. I have no doubt that he keeps no gun on him. I am as fast to stride through the corridor, and then reach the outside. Compared to inside there, outside is like I am in front of a metal can with fire. I already know where to start, upon reading the pages carefully. I already have no choice if the High Counsellor is quick to counter my counter. It is not yet midday. So, I will make the most of this day that I can.