Infernal Investigations

Pointed teeth bit into flesh, tearing it off in ragged strips. The jagged points sliced skin off, slurped in along with the rest of the meal.

I took another bite out of the warmed bit of mystery meat I’d gotten from some brave street vendor who’d bet that the few people out would appreciate the warmth of cooked meat. Appreciated it enough to ignore the fact that his sign didn’t specify what that meat was. He’d bet right on me, although I’d been ready to go demand my money back if a nibble had proved this to be anything capable of talking.

Nope, rat. Definitely rat by the taste, and well-cooked as well, nice and crispy. A delicacy for street urchins anywhere, even if street urchins of certain areas would never admit to having tasted it.

The snobbery of the streets, that you could have barely a penny to your name, clothes barely better than rags, and yet would still claim to have never tasted rat.

I didn’t believe those who did. I still remember the days when the choice was either rat or what swam in the Nover. Rat was the more sanitary option, and when the sludge of the Nover froze over in winter, the only one. Also, while one could always count on the racism of the people of Avernon, things weren’t better enough for the human urchins that they could afford not to eat rats.

Sure, soup kitchens and charity and everything else, but I’d hear of years when they ran low on funds, the funding ran out. When the choice was a fight over what was left, or scavenge for what you could. Or theft, theft was always a popular option. Long as you bet on the odds, that you could keep yourself out of the Coffin.

I finished the chunk of meat, using the little wooden skewers to clean the little bits and chunks out. A passing group of humans gave me a wide berth. I rolled my eyes as I felt the telltale itching that they made the sign of Halspus at me as I passed.

I was reasonably sure it was cold and desolate enough that any Watch officer they called to go after the suspicious Infernal outside the Quarter wouldn't bother. Sure, I could argue my way out of it eventually. But my destination was just up ahead.

Off to the side, railing and stone steps leading down to where the eatery was partially underground. Hopefully not iced over and slippery. The snow on the sign was not promising.

Harry’s Eatery and Lodgings it said, partially obscured by the snow. The sign looked old, the lettering large, potentially from a time when you had to come put a torch on outside to illuminate your building. It looked it as well, rough-hewn construction from centuries past. The few windows had rough iron bars installed, which was definitely anachronistic for the neighborhood it was in.

Gelware was a decent district, mercantile even if not on the same level of wealth as the Orchard or Melong’s Way. Which meant a lot of upscale, modern-looking establishments. It also meant the intense cold was the only reason I’d received the sign of Halspus only once. Also, the places here didn’t have names like ‘Harry’s Eatery and Lodging’.

Another sign this place didn’t fit? It also looked like it hadn’t been maintained more than the minimum necessary to keep it going.

As if on cue, one of the chain links keeping the sign up broke, snow falling off it as it swung around on a single chain.

I sighed. Well, it wasn’t the worst omen I’d gotten yet about this.

My path to this place had started with Varrow, who could be trusted to have approximate knowledge of close to nothing, but the few things he did have were always information. Even if he didn’t know it himself, he knew who you could go to who might know. If they didn’t know? They’d know who’s next up on the chain. A chain to someone who eventually did, if an expensive one.

I almost felt embarrassed that it ended with some rambling beggar who either genuinely needed treatment or was playing the part of a maddened soothsayer of the streets. That encounter had made the earlier negotiations with Wishbone Larry appear reasonable. Even more insulting, all he’d wanted was some chicken. It should be insane on my end to consider that annoying, but damnations, after bribing half a dozen other people to get to him, it was an insult for his price to be that low.

The snow was melting, which just made things more difficult. Now instead of knee-deep snow I had to walk through without trousers that could cover all of my legs. It was slippery, wet, and worse, they actually had a sidewalk I could break something on if I fell.

Or a set of steps, I thought as I finally reached the top. Melting snow piled on top of each of them. Well, perhaps it would be fragile enough my hoof would just punch through the surface layer.

The first step slid, and I had a death grip on the railing for every step. Yes, I looked ridiculous hugging it, but I’d still have an unbroken bone when anyone who saw this laughed at me. Mind you, that was in doubt as each step slid about. The Hells? Had someone put water on this last night?

I made it to the bottom, where the railing ran out, and spent an undignified amount of time trying to cover the five feet to the door using the walls for balance. At least I never left my hooves before I reached the solid, unadorned oak door.

I stumbled through it, getting every eye inside on me as I got my hooves firmly underneath me.

The inside of this place was a little more modern than its exterior, but more aimed at function over fashion to my eye. Stone floor, rough-hewn, stained from years of spilled food and drink mixed with cleaning that couldn’t quite get all the stains out. A large bar that looked like it had been carved out of a tree trunk dominated the right wall, while at the back was a stage. To the left, stairs leading up, with wooden tables crammed onto the floor, with not a booth in sight.

It wasn’t that populated, but every eye in the room was currently on me.

“Not to be critical,” I said as I closed the door behind me. “But perhaps in the future someone might want to consider de-icing those steps? It’s a good way to break a paying customer’s neck if you don’t.”

That got me an annoyed glare from the bartender and a few snorts of amusement from some of the customers before most of them turned their attention back to their meal. Music from the stage resumed, a slow, peaceful little tune that immediately faded to the background. Some of the tension went out of my shoulders though. It was a beautiful piece, and unobtrusive unless you listened right for it.

Only about a dozen people lounged around inside. Even if the snow had stopped falling and with the sun heating everything up, people would be inside, fearing the snow coming down. People out would be those who could have afforded to dodge work, making their way to their jobs, or with urgent appointments. Not people seeking to venture through the snow for a drink and a meal. Maybe as the day dragged on, more would show up, in search of a warm fire and company. Also alcohol if they didn’t have their own stock.

Or the people who actually lived in the lodgings, of course.

Looking through the room, most of them were sitting at their own tables in singles or duos except the blonde bartender, a farmer’s build mixed with a dead-eyed glare turned my way, and a slim dark-haired bard strumming away on a lute on the stage a peaceful tune. The rest of them spread out equally around the room, a dwarf nursing a pint morosely, an elf studying a book, a well-dressed merchant idly talking with a brunette man writing something down, a passed-out woman clearly from the county while a sailor played cards with herself across the table, a tall thin woman drinking tea, and a pair of twins in white and black, respectively. Oh, and what was clearly a fellow lowlife who had perked up the moment I opened the door, a very slim fellow in a hooded cloak that made me want to roll my eyes.

Okay, yes, I did in fact go around in what could charitably be called ‘Infernal Low-life with a bit less patching and slightly more class’. But I didn’t wear a hooded cloak! That practically screamed ‘thief’ to everyone around you.

An eclectic mix, as the last informant informed me on the chain I’d gone through. ‘A mix most strange and likely to baffle, do not hesitate or let it stay your course.'

That entire chain had definitely been designed to milk me for as much cash as possible. Including at least three self-proclaimed street prophets and a preacher of some deity I’d never heard of who’d railed against my heritage the entire time I was getting my information.

It had taken far too long to realize it somehow wasn’t the diabolic part of my heritage he had been shrieking about.

I made my way over to the bar, pausing as I saw both the menu and the sign above it. Really? I raised an eyebrow, but the bartender neither said anything nor started yelling at me to get out, so I politely ignored them while returning to my internal thoughts on the informant chain.

Normally I’d be fine with the usual games to get extra money, but they’d wasted my time. I had so little of that left, so I’d…well, there wasn’t much I could do. Pay Varrow less and have him complain at me? Tell others ‘Wishbone Larry’ was a mediocre informant? After he’d gotten me the information I wanted.

I giggled. There was really nothing I could do to them for eating up more of my freedom, was there?

“Well, that was terrifying,” someone commented.

I turned around, forcing myself to slow and my tail not to grab a weapon from inside my coat as I completed the rotation.

The rogue from the table had gotten up, and now was only a few feet away. Keeping a respectful distance from me, but even not being that close and with the bard’s music filling the room, I hadn’t heard a thing. I was either very off my game or very rusty at actually listening for things. My ears should have picked that up.

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None of that took my mind off what he was probably considering terrifying.

“I’m sorry,” I said politely. “What precisely was terrifying, mister-?”

I cheated a little. I smiled with a lot of teeth as I said that, and the rogue’s smile didn’t falter in return, but they did hold their hands up in mock surrender. He had a clean-shaven face, green eyes and long cheekbones. Actually now that I could see inside the hood and the cloak hid their body less, I was much less certain in the assumptions I’d made before. Also pointed ears, definitely Elven even if they were shorter than most.

“The idea of you having broken your neck,” he said smoothly. “You are definitely right about that being terrifying. Really, you should have that de-iced.”

He directed the last at the bartender, who simply glared at the rogue.

“Also, neither Mister nor Miss, but you can call me Taiva, Miss-?”

“Malvia Harrow,” I said, deciding to grant them the grace of buying into their lie over what they’d called terrifying. “Apologies for the mistakes.”

“Not a problem,” Taiva said. “And my apologies for startling you. I was just curious why you’d come on into our establishment?”

I relaxed a little. Another criminal wanting to see what kind of business you were in their territory to do was more familiar ground. Less risky, less feeling of uncertainties and danger than the packet of papers in my pack.

“Just a meeting,” I told them. “Nothing that involves anything dealing with your trade, I’m sure.”

“You certain about that?” Taiva asked lightly, but there was a hint of bite waiting in ambush underneath it. “I might not look it, but I’m a good scrapper when I want to be.”

“Nothing that should involve anything you need a cut of around here,” I said. “Besides, what is your trade anyway?”

“Silks,” they said, leaning up against the bar and earning a venomous glare from the bartender. “Thought I'd dabble in more common goods as well.”

Thieving of luxury goods mixed with regular goods, which made the hooded cloak so on the nose it hurt.

“I can assure you,” I told Taiva. “I have no interest in engaging in merchandise trading of any of those goods you can think of.”

Their eyes glanced at the back of my hand. My grin faltered a little. Could they see through the glove to the Black Flame sigil on the back of my hand?

“This has nothing to do with that,” I said, and they chewed on my words for a moment.

“Good to hear,” they said cheerfully, leaning back in their chairs. “Interested in getting that kind of business?”

Someone groaned audibly from the floor, but we both ignored them.

“Not today,” I told them politely.

“Never too late to get into a new trade,” they said, only for a loud thump to make both of us jump.

The bartender withdrew his hand from where he’d slammed it into the bar, then jerked his head towards the door in an impossible to misinterpret gesture.

“Sorry?” I said, choosing to still ignore the signs.

Another jerk of the head.

“I’m waiting for a friend,” I told him cheerfully. “And I’ll happily pay for any food or drink needed to keep me here until they arrive if that’s an issue?”

Another grunt, and another gesture of his head at the door. His hand tapped the signs hanging along the back wall.

I took a glance at the row of signs hanging on the back of the bar, then cocked an eyebrow. “You must be joking?”

He grunted non-committally as I looked at them once again.

No rats, no stunties, no pot-lickers, no gem-hoarders, no devilspawn, no tusks, no knife-ears, no horse-fuckers, no-

It continued on for quite a bit, and to be honest, I didn’t even recognize some of the ones near the bottom. Money-eaters could honestly describe opinions I’d heard on half the races in the empire.

“Don’t take it personally,” Taiva said. “He feels the need to enforce it, but never quite gets to the actual kicking of people out of the bar, isn’t that right?”

The bartender’s scowl deepened, and he spat out a few rude words before returning to his glass.

I glanced back to where the dwarf stared morosely at the table in one corner, then at the elf studying in the center of the tavern. And Malstein ate here as well. “I take it the signs aren’t accurate?”

Taiva laughed again, drawing everyone’s gaze once more. “Nah, he just ain’t able to kick us out even if his heart was into it.”

“Right,” I said, turning my gaze back to the bartender. “Am I going to be kicked out, then?”

The bartender set his glass down, glaring at me. I stared back, not conceding anything.

Eventually, he just turned around completely, grabbing a bottle from the wall and pouring himself a drink before starting to drink from it.

“That means he’s not going to raise too much of a fuss,” the rogue stage-whispered to me. “Again, heart really isn’t in it, but rules are rules set by the owner, you know?”

“I suppose I do,” I said, although the man could at least communicate that instead of staying dead silent.

“Come on, join me at my table,” Taiva said. “I’ll guarantee some interesting conversation until your business arrives.”

“We’ll see about that,” I said, getting a chuckle out of them as I moved away from the bar.

The bard finished playing, bowing to slight applause. I joined in it. Pleasant tune, not obtrusive, really it had faded into the background until the only time I’d noticed it was the wistfulness when it stopped. I could always appreciate good craftsmanship. Had I ever heard Gregory play? Something to consider.

I sat down at the table, Taiva already busy poking at some half-eaten roasted pork with a fork.

“He undercooked this again,” they said amusedly, gesturing towards the bartender with his head. “Guess I’ve been getting under his skin again.”

“Do you often do that?” I asked seriously. “Because if he’s doing more than that, I know some people-”

Taiva laughed. “Sorry, sorry, it’s appreciated, but please, don’t try anything on my behalf. His bark is worse than his bite. Pretty much everyone in this room has experienced it at one point or another. “

“Strange,” I replied. “I’ve heard that line before with regard to so many, and so many times it’s true in the word but false in reality more often than not. Especially when bark is so easily turned into bite.”

That came out more bitter than I intended, and the rogue’s expression became a mite more sympathetic.

“True, maybe it’s the number of times I’ve suffered both that’s made me more numb to it. Apologies for dredging up any painful memories. Especially if you’re waiting to, oh, say, make a deal for returning some borrowed china?”

One of the more obvious phrases for stolen goods. “No.”

“Velvet perhaps?”

Had they seen a chemical smudge on my coat? “No, I don’t deal in those.”

Explosives, acids, and other harmful alchemicals substances were fine, but for some reason the Watch really got nettled about recreational drugs, so I definitely didn’t deal in those. Not that their efforts against them had much success against the upper class, who loved them so much.

“Discount furniture?”

“I’m here on other business,” I told them. “So whatever you are fishing for, I don’t have the time. Apologies. I can provide an address if you want to pursue it later.”

Taiva’s grin seemed to grow even wider. “Really, you’re here to see him, but you also are willing to deal with me? What a breath of fresh air you are!”

“See who?” I said, crossing my arms. “I haven’t specified who I’m here to see.”

“Only one other regular due on a day like this,” Taiva told me. “And I don’t think you have enough time to wait if the person is already in here.”

“Paltry business,” I said drily.

“Today, certainly,” Taiva said. “Cold day, lots of folk have the good sense to stay in-doors where they live, like us. Oh, except Larek. He comes here from his house because he thinks he’ll get tipped more for that dross he plays..”

“I heard that!” the bard exclaimed, coming off the stage and making his way towards our table. “I do not perform dross; I perform masterpieces!”

“Howard doesn’t agree,” Taiva said in a mocking singsong.

“Howard thinks that you need fifty people to do proper music because he has no soul,” Larek said, glaring angrily at the brunette note-taker with the merchant. Both of them chuckled while Larek sat down.

“So,” he said, eyeing me. “Who have you convinced to let you torment them with your blather now, and why do they look like you fished them out of the Nover?”

“I am not a fish,” I said. “And I’m fully capable of speaking for myself, thank you. Miss Malvia Harrow, alchemist from the Infernal Quarter.”

His eyebrows raised. “The Malvia Harrow? The one from the newspapers?”

Oh, Hells damn it, me, and everything within a half mile for good measure. “That’s a different Malvia Harrow.”

“You sure about that?”

“They’ve never described Malvia Harrow in the papers as having fins or a shark’s tail, so I clearly cannot be the same Malvia Harrow.”

“Maybe. Although that is a fish tail, not a shark’s.”

“I assure you, it’s a shark.”

“It’s a fishtail. Taiva, back me up here.”

“If you pay your share of the drinks tab, sure.”

Larek glared at Taiva, who smugly stared back, then shrugged. “A shark it is then. And you are not the same Malvia Harrow. But I think you should know all the horrible things this other Infernal sharing your name has done. For the sake of your reputation.”

“I assure you,” I told him. “I’ve heard it all.”

“Really? Even the bit about how she sacrificed the entire Montague family while stark-”

“Yes,” I interrupted, while trying to shove down the sudden urge to damn politeness and strangle him right here on the table. “Yes, that one. Must we recount them?”

His expression turned strangely serious. “You can’t destroy stories written, Miss Harrow, only make alternatives the public likes more. A good story, now that’s a power that you can’t stuff inside a bottle.”

I frowned.

“Says the bard,” Taiva said. “Take his word with a grain of salt, Miss Harrow. Although he’s right about needing to take control of some things instead of just sitting back and letting the current take you.”

“I’m taking every word I hear with a grain of salt, pardon my rudeness,” I said, eyes flicking between the two of them. “I suppose the question is, why take an interest in me?”

The two traded glances.

“You’re new,” Larek admitted.

“It’s been a while since someone different came along,” Taiva said. “I don’t think you’re as new as him, but I always like making new friends if I can.”

“Keep on insisting on being around me, and I’ll have to conscript you,” I told the two of them.

“Really?” Larek said. “Officer in the army, are we?”

“Something like that,” I lied, glancing between the two of them. They probably thought I was joking. “So sticking around me only increases the chance of you finding yourselves my minions, spent on some futile cause.”

My polite expression curdled after those words left my lips, cheap tea mixing with bitter thoughts and memories into a painful brew. A poor choice of words, a poor choice of everything.

“We’d make poor minions,” Taiva told me. “We are terrible at taking orders.”

“I can take orders fine; you’re the one who insisted on taking the trapped route so you had the most opportunities to show off,” Larek said. “I’m the bard. I’m the one who should be trying to hog the spotlight, not the thief.”

“Oh, come on, the best deception is when people think you aren’t capable of it to begin with!”

“Delving?” I asked. It was the first thing that came to mind where both bards and thieves could find work and actually find traps to trigger.

“On occasion,” Larek said. “We fulfill a variety of odd jobs, most of the time apart from each other. My card.”

He passed me a pristine white card with golden writing

Larek Tristan, Bard and Performer Extraordinaire

Spectacular music, amazing support, reliable, safe, very difficult not to get along with

1135 Wylroad, Garretsville

I raised an eyebrow. That was a very interesting neighborhood for someone pretending to be so high-class.

“I have a business card as well,” Taiva said, tossing a slightly crumpled, worn-down business card my way.

I picked it off the table. “This is just a copy of his.”

Larek was already turning to face Taiva, ready to yell some other bit of banter when the door to the Lodgings opened.

“Would someone please de-ice those steps? Someday, someone is going to break their neck on them.”

Captain Malstein of the Watch froze halfway inside the lodgings, eyes narrowing as he spotted me. Then his gaze turned to the two sitting next to me, and he groaned loud enough to fill the entire room.

“You two. What is this, some elaborate joke?”

I bristled unconsciously. Joke? This was many things. A joke was not among them.

“Captain, my captain,” Taiva said, getting up from the table. “Just keeping someone who wants to see you company until now. We’ll go back to our usual tables now that you’ve finally arrived, isn’t that right, Larek?”

“Of course,” Larek said, shooting a feigned nervous look over at the bartender. “I think I’m due to do my actual job for a bit as well.”

They swiftly went away, leaving me, the Captain, and a dozen sets of eyes on the both of us. With a long-suffering sigh, the orc removed his heavy Watch jacket and set it along the back of his chair before sitting down.

“What do you want, Harrow?”