Infernal Investigations

Passing time was hard to do when you were on top of a roof.

Leaning against a chimney, I was carefully keeping my hooves on the one part of it I trusted to keep my weight. Below, Avernon was still. Suspiciously still if you knew Avernon. The only times any part of the city was this quiet was when people knew not to make a peep.

I was pressed up against the chimney, the only way to keep up the pretense of hiding. The night was too bright for anything else.

Two moons tonight, plus we were in a district where street lamps were actually maintained. Nothing so fancy as the arcane ones used in richer districts, automatically turning on when their runes no longer felt the sun’s rays, but regular oil lamps were more than the Quarter ever had. The street practically glowed, long since lit by lamplighters.

Perfect for an ambush.

People made the common mistake of assuming skullduggery was best performed entirely in the dark. I’d read novels where the thieves and assassins went to great effort to extinguish every possible source of light so their target couldn’t fight back, typically by playing with their target and taunting them about their inability to see them in the night.

Inevitably, even with all light extinguished, they did manage to grapple or fight their enemy in the dark, killing their foe before a dagger could find their throat. And perhaps I still found those parts exciting, even knowing the proper way was to wait in the dark while your target was in the light. Unseen by them, while you could clearly see the target. Oh, and use a crossbow instead of a knife.

Seriously, use a dagger for crowds or other cases where you aren’t sure you can get a clear line of sight on your target. And if you were confident in your skill to slip away after a single blow, which poison would help with. Or disappear into the chaos that would erupt when you sliced a throat. Or have an entire group, who could suddenly isolate the target from the eyes of the crowd.

Or let the snow and deserted streets conceal trying to carve a pair of people up.

I sighed. Poor that my mind was drifting to that.

I played with a bit of thread in between the bricks of the chimney as I waited for the sound of the carriage, the hemp rope providing just enough rope to give my fingers something to do.

Nerves. Nerves I rarely had. Another reminder that there were costs to not enough rest among other decisions. Making a change in course took time to take effect.

That wasn’t the only reason for the tension. If this all went well, there’s be no fighting tonight. I’d hoped for that earlier. Now now.

I let go of the thread, started checking everything stored in my coat again.

It gave me something to do until the carriage arrived. Something to keep my mind off of the two in the infirmary of the Temple of Tarver. The creature that had caused that.

Part of me wanted to think on nothing but that until it showed and flesh parted underneath my blade. Best to focus on the incoming carriage.

I’d insisted on that, and on the three watch officers inside. Wandering the streets would be far too open and dangerous. All it took was one assailant capable of flight and with a modicum of greater than human strength to swoop in, scoop him up, then continue on their merry way into the night sky. Pursuit wouldn’t be fast enough to prevent a quick death, and then whatever ritual was needed to make the Mourner a suitable sacrifice for the Hellgate ritual.

For the same reason, Captain Malstein had been made to see reason about his fool idea of riding inside the carriage itself. I had no doubt he was a decent blade, but putting the man in charge of the Watch contingent and also the only one keeping this agreement alive in harm's way? Foolish.

He seemed irritated that I was keeping him alive in spite of his foolish notions. Hypocrite, after he’d stopped me from embracing my own.

I breathed in, letting the cool night air settle in my lungs. It had seemed like something was needed at the time. A little incentive offered to the Captain to get him on board, and trying to appease the guilt.

Idiotic beyond belief in hindsight. Recriminations could come after success, though.

I leaned against the chimney, feeling various bottles and flasks inside my coat press against my skin, a little gift from the Muse. I’d gone over my rather hefty arsenal twice already, checking each individually after the harder work with the Watch was done. Some alchemists always used the same bottles for the same types of potion, or colored the glass. Easier for clients to keep track of what each potion did.

I simply relied on their position in my coat. No one would easily guess what my mixtures did from color. Besides, I would never understand why people colored mixtures to heal wounds and seal bleeding injuries the same color as blood.

Were you supposed to stare at where your bleeding wound once was and take nothing the same color as the bottle coming out as evidence you weren’t injured anymore?

There would still be blood where the wound was, anyway.

I turned my attention to the rooftops. One hour. Assuming fast communications, someone would have picked this out as the only place to hold an ambush along Mourner Kelson’s usual route. A sharp turn would force the carriage to slow down, and they needed that. They needed time with him alone to complete the ritual, and sure they might nearly kill the target beforehand to pacify them.

But they couldn’t let Zaviel claim his soul until their ritual was complete.

Him being a priest of the death deity may make it take even longer. I was no expert on theology, but the connection would be stronger. So that meant not a high-speed chase that might break his spine or snap his neck. Nothing that could risk their sacrifice so much.

It was tempting to have the Mourner take another route. But I’d insisted on keeping to his usual route. It would lower suspicion in the aftermath.

Now, I wanted it for a different reason. It invited people to interfere. Including one in particular.

Something moved in the street level down below, but the breathing was an animal's. Cat, or maybe an overly large rat. I didn’t pay too much attention.

I’d talked about how you needed darkness for an ambush, but in truth they wouldn't lurk at street level for this. The important ones anyway. The relatively bright light of the night exposing them was a risk neither of those two would take because even slowed by the turn, chasing after a carriage on street level would have too many complications.

Also, this was a rush job. Mourner Kelson would have announced his intention to leave the Zavielan cathedral an hour ago. The excuse would be deciding to end his isolation to help outlying churches in preparation for the coming Day of Closing Skies and Solemn Ground. For those who knew of his work in the diabolism program, he’d have other words to let him go. He’d start with the one he would have gone to two days ago, if he hadn’t isolated himself.

It had been tempting to just not have him get in the carriage at all and have a double board in his place. But that would be too difficult for us to pull off with our resources and so short a timescale to pull it off in. Best we had done was get everyone out of this section of the city, and that had been a perilously close thing.

The Watch had already swept through here, evacuating people from their homes due to a mage’s experiment fouling the air. I’d bolstered their claims of poisonous fumes with some fast-spreading foul-smelling tinctures. Watch Officers had moved people from their homes, helping them take their valuables with them in case the homes could be destroyed.

Then they’d helped me with my work for the hour between then and now, free of prying eyes but not rumor.

I had no illusions that most people involved in this were suspicious. Never mind what people would think tomorrow. The time for subtle schemes had passed when I realized we needed to do something to halt this plot to open a Hellgate in its tracks. Besides, we had something else close enough to feed to the truth tomorrow.

Tomorrow, it would be known to anyone involved in this scheme that it was all the plot of Rogue Imperial Agent dog Malvia Harrow, having fooled Captain Malstein of the Watch with some very thorough false credentials. How exactly Harrow had gotten them would never be known, as she burned them shortly after using them.

Close enough to reality to fit, I decided, looking down at the bit of the street I could see. A cloud moved across the face of one moon, the light dimming as it did.

Melissa would be lurking out there, bio-sculpted into something approximating the Queen of Masks. Same general height, shape, and flesh melded together enough that it wouldn’t break under the slightest stress. It was a rush job, and I hadn’t bothered altering her actual form, more just made a flesh-suit that would look the part.

It would do the part of faking an attack. Anything else would rip it apart.

Stolen story; please report.

There was no ignoring that this was a desperate gamble. Faking someone’s death in so dramatic a fashion was something you planned for extensively, set up, and arranged for as little chance of outside interference as possible.

But that was impossible to ensure. Mourner Kelson was the likely next target on the list. If he wasn’t? Assuredly, a few spots down, if he were the only cleric of Zaviel involved in this. By this point, the killers had to be suspicious of their good fortune. The almighty hand of Her Majesty, in the forms of Watch, Imperial Intelligence, or any other organization at her beck and call had failed to catch them. Somehow.

They’d be after him tonight. Had to be, either that or risking their one chance at success. And Intelligence would know that. And both would know the Watch wouldn’t coincidentally empty a district along the same route a few hours beforehand for no reason.

I perked up as my ears caught a sound.

Hooves on the stone. A distinct sound that made clear who was moving about. Finally.

I sighed, fiddling with the bit of string again. Whether it was actually rogue Diabolists from Versalicci’s Black Flame, the Black Flame itself, or hired hands, Infernals were going to be involved at the heart of this mess.

I’d worry later about what that would mean for the Quarter. Nothing good.

They were fast, though. Had to be. Mourner Kelson would have announced his decision to actually undergo the journey to the temple in Kelton an hour ago. He would have departed twenty minutes ago.

The fact that they were here didn’t help my suspicions of Slayer Derrick. Twenty minutes was far too short a time to have already picked out this as the best place to ambush and organize this. An hour, though, that could work.

Malstein had people watching the cathedral to see who had left in the past hour.

There were catacombs under it, though. I didn’t have much faith in us finding out from seeing who left above ground. Below was too much of a warren to put watchers down there.

And of course, another answer existed for how someone might know about Mourner Kelson’s movements ahead of time. I looked down the street towards where Melissa would be lying in wait.

Trust people. So easy to aspire to. So difficult in practice.

Still, her whereabouts after telling her the route were accounted for. Assuming she hasn’t left her own hiding spot without Malstein’s officers seeing her.

Malstein had assured me his people could hide from the Black Flame. I was skeptical. But I hadn’t seen any of them in an hour and needed the help, so I’d keep my doubts to myself.

More hooves. Traveling fast. Twenty people? Swiftly approaching thirty. Far more than there should be Black Flame diabolists left. Hired hands, or Black Flame soldiers. Maybe both. No other hired hands, like those mercenaries who had fought me, Derrick, and Forcreek.

A good reason not to be suspicious of Slayer Derrick. They’d been trying to kill her.

I shook my head slightly. We needed concrete answers. And failing that, bodies.

More from the other side of the street now, not that I could see them.

I wasn’t anywhere near the street itself. Sanding right along the route Mourner Kelson would take was so obviously a trap that anyone could spot it. I was two rows of houses further away, revolver at the ready.

I bit my lip, suddenly eager. They were here. Meaning it was one or the other. Probably not the one I wanted, but one could always hope.

An Infernal’s head popped over the lip of a roof, looking around. I was behind a chimney, just peering out. A mirror would be better, but I didn’t trust it even on a moonlit night. The Infernal slowly crawled over the lips, placing his hooves carefully. Not the best placement, I could still hear the tiles being stepped on as he traveled across it.

Ragged cloak, long scraggly beard, rifle in hand. Could be anyone from the streets of the Quarter. Probably meant to take out a horse in passing, perhaps. Just in case they needed the carriage slowed down further.

Not the best position for it, though. Three houses down, you could see down both the street Kelson’s carriage would come up and the one it would go down, and the entire arc of the turn. This, while still decent, was an inferior position. It wasn’t even an easier house to climb, and hiding shouldn’t be an issue in an evacuated part of the city.

The only reason to be there was to draw someone’s attention. Or incompetence. But I hadn’t picked a very good hiding spot on purpose.

I heard the soft tread of boots on a nearby rooftop, the slow creak of a tile as something pressed down on it. Not hooves. It had been appearing then disappearing two times, each time a rooftop closer. Gliding, probably.

I tssk’d. Disappointing. When I’d baited this, I’d been thinking of catching someone else. Someone who would fit the narrative I wanted to make more. Someone who I wanted to burn. Still. Even if this meant not pulling what I wanted off smoothly, we were committed. The bait had been eaten.

The sound of boots disappeared again.

I smiled as they suddenly reappeared on my roof.

Then burst into harsh cracking sounds as the boot crashed through the weakened tile. I spun around, revolver in hand.

The killer was wreathed in shadows, scrawling all over solid plates formed of pure diabolism. Armor creaked as they tried to pull their foot out of the smashed roof tile. Must be lighter than it looked. Plate armor should just smash straight through. Their hands were instinctively reaching down to pull it out.

“Good evening,” I said simply, and pulled the trigger. The sound of a harp filled the air.

Hellfire sprayed from the killer’s hands, and I moved behind the chimney. It was an inferno, a tide of it passing by as I hugged the roof. It flew down across the street, splashing across half a dozen housefronts.

I moved swiftly away from the chimney, which was partly melted. I’d kept the side with the thread out of the line of fire. Gun at the ready, I moved back around

The killer was frozen, a shimmering blue shield crackling as my bullet was suspended inside it, burning hot and white, the harp sound only growing in intensity.

Blessed bullets. Like I’d discussed before about the killer’s shield. Sure, the sensation of my arm blowing up had been painful, but it had been worth it for some of these.

A gunshot rang out behind me. The Infernal on the other roof screamed, going limp on the tiles.

It wasn’t the only gunshot ringing out; soon, the formerly quiet night filled with them. Malstein had been right.

The harp music cut out, the bullet dropping to the ground, the shield vanishing.

The killer stared at me, slowly working their foot out of the hole it had punched in the roofing tiles, but otherwise not moving. Blazing red orbs burned behind the vision slits, looking at the end of my gun. Probably more armor.

“You know, do you think if I were trying to hide, I’d be leaning against a chimney?” I continued at the seemingly frozen diabolist. “Give me a modicum of credit. Invisibility is fiendishly difficult to make on a budget, but there are other methods besides just standing. Tell me, did you think to check the nearby rooftops on your own, or did one of the Flame suggest it? I doubt the former. Someone who knew to check would tell I wasn’t trying to hide.”

Please let them think this is a trap and not actually go after the carriage. This had always been a possibility, just not one I necessarily needed. Or wanted, up until a few hours ago.

Even then, not this one.

“Devil got your tongue?” I continued, finger on the trigger. “You have a quite fantastic shield, so we both know my gun can’t break through, can it?”

The diabolist shifted, taking a few cautious treads to the side. They knew by now about the blessed nature of my ammo. I could kiss that Muse if it probably wouldn’t dissolve most of my face in the process.

The question they had to be asking: would my blessed bullets break their shield if enough were hit. Their trying to dodge the bullet had already answered my own question. How do I get them to hit the roof?

They hadn’t trained that instinctive urge to move away from danger out of themselves. Even with a powerful enchantment shielding them, their instinct would be to dodge from danger.

I fired rapidly, spending bullets cheaply and in a pattern that made them instinctively move left to try and avoid a third bullet when they’d already started moving right, shield collapsing from the onslaught of bullets.

Too fast, too far, they fell down, hitting the ceiling tiles.

The entire weakened structure collapsed, sending them through the roof. A collapsing mess of roof tiles and wood followed them down to the floor below.

I had a bottle already pulled from my throat, holy water sloshing around as I stared at the wreckage that had once been in some family’s attic. Some of the debris shifted, black fire licking at it as my target pushed roof tiles off of them.

The bottle smashed against the smoking armor. The smoke immediately dissipated, but I wasn’t looking at them, already crouched then as a retaliatory stream of hellfire flew where I’d stood. I grabbed the thread I’d been playing with earlier between the chimney bricks and pulled.

Down below, the thread pulled on a bottle of alchemist’s fire, the chemical inside bursting aflame, lighting up a small trail of gunpowder. Plenty of time as I jumped over to another roof and ran for the safety of its chimney.

At the end of that trail, multiple barrels of gunpowder. I’d sworn to Captain Malstein while we examined them that they were filled with holy water. The worse that would happen when the small charge planted with them went off is a thorough soaking of the home. No permanent damage to the dwelling of the innocent residents of the capital who’d been evacuated. No reason at all why I’d chosen a home that had it’s top wall made of the sturdiest constructed stone I could find.

He’d taken a look at the clearly gunpowder-filled barrels, then marked on his paper they were holy water. Later he would complain at great length of the accursed devil tongue on the perfidious Harrow to believe such lies. Or how my fouls and sinister magics had transmuted the materials when he wasn’t looking.

I grinned as I skidded behind the chimney on the neighboring roof. I could live with that.

Then the entire world was nothing but noise as the neighboring house exploded. The roof under me quaked, the chimney shuddered. Parts of it blew off as the shock wave tore past, chunks of stone sent flying by the blast. I shielded my head with my arm as debris sent upward from the blast started raining down.

I waited for the world to stop shaking, then looked around the chimney.

The stone walls of the building we’d stood on were rubble, most of them blown out by the force of the explosion. Smoke billowed upwards, and it looked like attic had collapsed down multiple floors.

Good. The holy water would have disabled the diabolism. I’d thrown a bottle of the Halspus water I’d bought, not the relatively weaker Tarver water. It wouldn’t harm him, but it would disrupt and disable their diabolism. Now it was time to go see if the killer had survived or was simply blown to pieces-

Hellfire blasted from the building, illuminating the night sky.

The rotating spiral of hellfire lanced into the sky, screaming faces forming in the flames as wails echoed across the night sky. Forming creatures of oily black tar seperated, descending to the streets below. Panicked screams from Watchmen and women as rifles fired and spells flew, aimed at the forming devils descending on them.

I was already reaching inside my coat, pulling out another bottle. As useless as it might be. Damnations. I’d assumed the level of Infernal power used at each murder had been a lack of control, unable to control the level of power. Calling on far too much.

Now I realized it was just the floor of what they could use. It would be like trying to use a potion bottle of regular water to put out this rotating column of Hellfire reaching out into the sky.

In the middle of it all, an armored figure ascended, orbs of red blazing behind their helmet’s eye slits.

Looking directly at me.