"Are you sure we can't give you a ride?"

I shook my head, looking up at Voltar who was currently sitting inside the carriage.

"It's appreciated, but I don't want to draw any attention when I make it to Glee Street. And I don't want to figure out how far out Holmsteader is keeping watchers."

We were already drawing enough attention, the people on the street giving us a wide berth. Being the only carriage on the street only made it more obvious. Even if people didn't know whose carriage this was, an even somewhat decent carriage in the quarter was bad news.

It would draw less attention on Glee street, but any would give it away. I didn't want to take half a day changing my face, and my current one was rather recognizable.

"Very well," Voltar said. "I'll endeavor to return as soon as I make a breakthrough. Horace, let us get going!"

Horace gave me a polite enough nod before he moved the reins, the restless horses more than happy to get going. Sure, they'd had thick quilts thrown on top of them, but this snowfall could not be making things pleasant.

They weren't making things pleasant for me, the cold already nipping at me. The issue of hooves, I thought in irritation as I started back towards my shop. Clothes weren't built for them usually, and while I'd adjusted my trousers for the fact that my legs bent backwards halfway between hoof and knee, no covers were protecting me all the way down to my hooves. The cold crept in, up to where I'd tied the trouser legs to my own. Enough of a chill to be uncomfortable.

The snowfall wasn't heavy enough to really obscure my vision, but it'd been going on long enough to blanket the ground. Each step was a struggle.

"So," I said, "You've been awfully quiet for a little bit?"

Why wouldn't I be? The Imp demanded. I have cavorted with creatures carved from the cream of chaos that make more sense than you do. Want advice but refuse, want teachings but seek other teachers, invite me in your head but treat me like a parasite.

"To be fair on that last part, I was a lot less suspicious than I should have been. Part of that is on Daver and Versalicci for misleading me, part of that is on me for being naive. As for the rest, need I remind you why I decided to stop listening to you?"

You need to listen to me more, The Imp complained. If you don't, I will wake you from your sleep every time you try to rest.

"I'd like to see you try that," I said stifling a yawn. "I think that alchemical induced one was the most I've gotten for a while. Your complaining versus my body's tiredness, I might take that bet."

Because surely a mortal's body being exhausted can beat a devil in her head, able to do so much more than telepathically yell, The Imp said. I shall take that bet.

I frowned as that phrasing sank in. "Are you the one making me have nightmares?"

No, The Imp replied grouchily. If I ever touch your dreams, you shall know it. I can be subtle, but not when I'm cemented in the head of the dreamer.

"Hrrm. Still, you're saying it's possible for me to use you as a glorified alarm clock, then?"

That set the Imp grumbling as I walked down the street. The snowfall was easing some, enough that some were trying to clear their shop entrances. Like the older Infernal ahead with a broken shovel.

"Mister Carlsdale," I said. "Good morning."

Swiftly departing morning. The barely visible sun was directly overhead and swiftly heading towards the afternoon section of the day.

"Morning," he said reluctantly, and internally, I cursed. I'd only been here a month, not nearly as long as that little apartment I had before. That had become home after a while, before it had been torn apart. Despite the assaults on it, I wanted this shop to become one too. Something to replace that apartment.

I tried to think of something to say, but as nothing came to mind I gave up. I knew nothing I could say would work. No one wanted to talk to the person who had Voltar show up on their doorstep or gang members tossing screaming infernal artifacts through their window.

It was like that with the next two neighbors I passed by. I'd never been especially close to anyone here, but it had never been an issue before now to trade a few polite words. Not so anymore.

I could fix that. With time. And less chaos on the street.

I was doomed, wasn't I?

Moving off the street made things a little easier, especially as the snowfall eased off. The cold was still there, and the snowbanks I had to wade through. Still, I could stop and catch my breath without getting buried in it.

It also meant being able to see the entire street, and while there was still quite a bit of traffic it was lessened from earlier today. And those on the streets were cautious. Small groups all around, hardly a single person walking on their own besides me. All keeping a healthy distance from each other, and today, clubs were a lot more in evidence, knives, old flintlocks, whatever weapons could be scrounged.

I'd thought the tension on my street had been entirely the fault of the events earlier. But the further I got, the more it became clear that this was spread all across the Quarter.

Looked like the rumour mill had finally started getting things right. Or at least close enough the Quarter expected violence. And why wouldn't they? After the cart bombings just over a month back, Pantheon priests dying at the hands of a Diabolist wouldn't endear the rest of the city to Infernals.

That would be the overall tension, but the wariness around others had another explanation. How many rumours and newspapers had linked the cart gonna and the shapeshifters to the Black Flame? One of the last groups to publicly use Diabolism?

You better be hunkered down somewhere secure, Versalicci, I thought. Because if someone gets in their head you're behind this, and they can forestall a reckoning by handing you over to the authorities?

Probably not that dire for him. He'd done his best to make himself the voice of the downtrodden Infernal, partially, I suspected, by murdering anyone else who tried to take it. That image had taken its hits in recent years, but it would be strong enough to hold off a hunt for him. For a while, at least.

I tried to keep my mind off that. As pleasant as it might be to imagine Versalicci ripped out of his hiding hole and torn asunder, I might get caught up in that. Depended on whether the word on the street started questioning if I'd actually left the Flame.

The lack of snow did mean I could read, although I hadn't brought a book with me. I'd taken along some of the papers I'd pulled out of Tyler's desk, and they were…cryptic.

I was lucky they weren't encoded. I didn't fancy a trip back to Glee Street and that house to try and find a codebook or other way to translate it. Instead, it just merely relied on allusion and veiled names, and while that meant no specifics it did mean a general sense of relationships and business in these arrangements for grocery deliveries clearly for things not edible.

Someone had been reading a few too many cheap novels. That or Mr. Tyler had defaulted to the most boring good he could think of. Seriously, do drugs! Everyone expected someone in Glee Street to deal with them.

Maybe he thought Holmsteader would be upset if she found him dealing in those. She didn't seem the forgiving kind if she thought an employee was dealing on the side, especially if it might be from her stocks.

So, he'd been clearly dealing with Diabolic components. Likely summoning, then harvesting. Summon a devil, let its energies suffuse the dead flesh it was inhabiting, then, as it fully converts the corpse, snip off pieces and banish the devil itself. Typically done with animal flesh and animal souls to pay the devil for the time and pain, usually summoning a lesser devil in case it wasn't fully satisfied or tried to renege on the deal. It made him a point of connection between a lot of Diabolists, including one Father Reginald. Had Father Reginald approached him first, or the other way around? Then again, their relationship may have started before the deal for Father Reginald's death was on the table. Maybe. From another snippet I'd heard, they'd been under orders not to deal with any of the priests.

The connection to the Black Flame was probably a business one. Versalicci may not necessarily be trading them, but I knew he had diabolic reagents. Hells, I'd used some of them before when I'd summoned the Duke for him in return for some information. For redundancy's sake alone, he'd have his own Diabolists making reagents. And some might choose to deal on the side.

That still didn't explain the abattoir I'd found in his basement. You didn't need that many corpses for devil summoning. Especially not lesser devils. You could use animals for those, and draw a lot less attention for it. Sure, livestock wasn't common in the Quarter, usually animals sick or on their last legs of life, but it was easier to hide than people. At least on the scale Tyler had done.

Unless he wanted to summon greater devils instead. Creatures that needed corpses that had once been people. Magic could only be channeled with bodies that could use magic, and that meant corpses that had been sentient. Especially as the Delver's work was clearing more magical creatures out of the old dwarf tunnels. Could that have been the aim? Souls to fuel his work and summoning to help as well?

Among those snippets of conversation I'd caught among the nightmares, there had been one warning him against using the circle for his own purposes?

So, stuffing the ritual circle full of souls had been in preparation for his own move as well? Summon some heavy hitters from the Hells to aid in his attempt to kill Father Reginald and claim a slice of the reward? It would explain the vessels he started crafting out of some of the corpses.

Of course, none of this thinking as I leafed through the papers distracted me from knowing I was being followed.

I expected to be followed of course. Too many interested parties not to have a tail or too. What I didn't expect was people this incompetent.

Oh, it wasn't too bad; they weren't following twenty paces behind or anything too bad. It would be harder to notice without fine-tuning one's hearing. Still, I could hear as the two of them ducked down an alleyway, clearly planning on emerging behind me a minute after I passed

Slowing down, I was only a few feet away when they both emerged from the alley, freezing when they saw I was only a few feet away instead of further down the road.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Huh. The pair I'd first noticed Tyler's infernal strands on were frozen-halfway out of the alley, looking like rats caught going through your fridge, and expecting about the same treatment.

"Marat, Jones," I said. "A pleasure to meet you both again, but if you don't mind me asking, why are you here? Following me?"

I wasn't near Glee Street again, perhaps halfway between my house and Holmsteader's territory. There were reasons why her people would venture out this way, but very little I could think of for her temporary laborers to be here.

"Because of you," Marat said, eyes narrowed, tail thrashing, and I inwardly sighed.

Please let today not involve me having to rough up these two. It wouldn't be an issue, but I'd just gotten myself mostly healed up. And worse, I'd probably feel guilty if I ever saw them again.

"What happened?" I said, crossing my arms while my tail hung limply. I didn't glare at it as I tried to make it reach for a knife at my belt. It twitched. Once.

"Holmsteader kicked us out is what happened," Jones said, seeming less irritated than his companion, or at least more apprehensive about getting on my bad side. Smart man. "She got word that we helped you that night, and while she ain't going after folks for you spotting threads on them, we crossed a line."

Ah. Well, understandable on her end, especially depending on how many details she got. Helped me break into her lieutenant's house, knock out her guards, rob the place, and then help me get away when I shot him in the face. And if she knew the full story, abduct a priest of Tarver and a diabolist of the Black Flame from there as well.

Yes, she might not appreciate that too much.

"First steady work we've had in years, and it's ruined," Marat snapped, taking a step only to be pulled back by Jones. "No one in the area is even willing to look at us, much less give us a job, and it paid better than those shite jobs starting to open outside the Quarter! That bloody idiot in his top hat offering us a third of what he pays anyone else to come live at his factory!"

Oh. Had the Ironworks started opening its doors to the Infernal Quarter? Apparently so, just with a little confirmation that just because they needed workers didn't mean Infernals were getting anything close to a deal.

Then again, from what I'd heard, even non-Infernals didn't get much of a deal. Still more money than if you couldn't get an apprenticeship in a trade. Which was close to the Quarter.

"My apologies," I said. "I didn't intend for your employment to end."

I should have realized it would happen, and it did seem obvious in hindsight. In truth, I hadn't cared much then, and if you'd pointed it out to me then, I'd have shrugged my shoulders. I'd saved their lives, hadn't I? More than payment enough for costing them their work, and any attempt to lean on the scales would get that point reinforced quite heavily.

"Ain't exactly your fault," Jones said, getting a nasty eyeful from his partner.

Jones was being the rational one this time. Probably realized how little they could actually push me, and especially not with an open confrontation. One that was drawing eyes on all of us, I noted with a twinge of irritation.

Still, it didn't mean this didn't present an opportunity…mostly because I didn't want these two trying to follow me and potentially running off to Holmsteader. And maybe I felt a little guilty over them getting screwed over because of that night.

"Jones, can you still get me a cart?" I asked.

"Err, not as easily but yes?" he said, tone shaky but he was eager to jump on anything that might mean no violence.

"Follow me a moment," I said, going for the brief safety of an alley. For this, we could do without gawkers to overhear me. Only to the mouth, so neither of them felt I was leading them to someplace secluded just to knife them

They followed a few steps behind, both very cautiously, and both had metal in their hands I could glimpse. Sleeves hid it some, but not much.

"How much did Holmsteader pay both of you per day?" I said. "No exaggerating too much on this one, I'm not some rube who's going to fall for anything close to a livable wage."

The two of them traded looks, one quizzical, one slightly less so with a little bit of hope.

"Three shillings!" "Two shillings."

Marat and Jones immediately traded accusing looks with each other while I considered that. Probably a lie on both Infernals part. The upper bound on what they believed I'd buy. Honestly I was betting on pennies, maybe up to half a shilling worth?

"Four shillings," I said. "Four shillings to the both of you in return for your help today."

Jones's eyes lit up some, only to immediately be doused by suspicion.

"How much we risking our skin?" He asked. "There's a difference between hauling goods and helping with the scutwork, and folks leaping on us with knives or trying to shoot us."

"Fair point," I said. "Six shillings, and you're both free to run if violence happens, but I only pay half up front."

Marat blinked slowly. "You're going to pay half the wage before we even start."

Right. I'd forgotten who their former employer had been.

"Yes," I said. "Although if you just take the coin and start running down the alley, I reserve the right to put a bullet in you both. So the cart?"

"We got one," Jones said, then hesitated. "Now the donkey…"

***

Ten minutes while Jones fetched the cart, but honestly, the pay was worth it just for the cargo capacity, but more importantly, the look. A single person approaching Holmsteader's territory? Suspicious. A trio probably showing up for work? As long as they didn't look closely at our faces, a good cover, especially since we wouldn't be going to Glee Street itself.

It started snowing again as I got into the cart. The donkey was…probably in need of a good, long stay at a warm stable, but they pulled the cart through the snow well enough. I'd have to see where to put it. And my new employees, assuming they didn't have a place to stay.

"Glee street," I said as I got in the back, getting looks from both of them. "Don't worry, we won't be getting on the main street itself. Just close."

"Close ain't much safer," Marat said, but the cart went into motion.

"So my minions," I said from the back of the cart. "The mood on the street is a little foul today, isn't it?"

"Call us your minions again and I'll kick you in the head," Marat said from up front, keeping her eyes on the street.

"Uh," Jones said, trying to be diplomatic. "What she means to say is that while we appreciate you paying us and everything. And we wouldn't want to offend you after the jam you got us out of, but maybe don't use words like that?"

"Understood," I said. "Still, the streets seem…tense."

"They are," Marat said. "Lot more than last week, and people are still on edge after all those bombings."

"What are the rumours on what's going on?" I asked them, and they both visibly hesitated.

"Uh, well," Jones started, already stumbling over his words. What?

"Do you want the ones involving you or the ones that don't?" Marat said bluntly.

Oh? Oh. Of course. Why hadn't I thought of that? Of course, I'd eventually be dragged into the swirling cauldron of rumors and whispers surrounding these events.

"How central am I to the rumours?" I asked, getting a blank look from both. "How much of them are about me?"

"Not most," Jones said. "Lot of 'em it's just like, priests are dying, diabolisms involved, and one of Versalicci's finger-cutters is involved. Bunch of reasons for that, from you two having a falling out to you still working for him and tricking Voltar. Versalicci is working for the government."

"The government's working for Versalicci."

"It's not actually you, everyone just thinks it's you because no one's seen another Infernal coming from…whatever they call the country, I ain't trying to pronounce it."

"You turned traitor on your own kind and are working for the Halspus priests to avoid the silver spike."

"You're working for Voltar because you caught Versalicci sleeping with another woman."

"What?"

My shriek of outrage drew eyes from practically every Infernal on the street, but that didn't matter right now. Jones quailed, trying to scrunch down as I stared at him, hands trembling.

"Just something I heard in passing," he said quickly. "I'm sure he wouldn't ever cheat on you-"

"Jones, do yourself a favor," I said, tone colder than the newly falling snow. "Shut. Up."

He thankfully did, mouth closing as I pulled myself together, trying to figure out what to do. Maldrake root combined with Helso leaf could induce some memory loss, maybe if I got really lucky I could wipe that portion of this conversation right from my mind.

I heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh behind me, and an exclamation of pain from Jones.

"Marat, please don't hit him for things that aren't his fault," I said. "I appreciate the initiative, though."

Marat scoffed. "You think I'm hitting him because he got your knickers in a twist? Daft fool just smacked himself."

"Blasted insect bit me," Jones complained. "Nearly got them too. Anyway. You're sure on Glee Street? Because-"

"Yes, Glee Street," I said. "Now, let's talk about the rumors floating around that aren't about me."

I spent a good twenty minutes listening to those, picking out which ones seemed the most popular. There was a whole variety of them, some of which actually neared the truth of the pantheon's Diabolism program, some of which hared off in whole other directions such as a power struggle between the pantheon and the queen, Halpsus punishing the other deities for their sins, this all being the Flame, and so on and so forth. Diabolism was a feature in each one, explaining the tension on the streets, as I let the flow head to Jones and Marat's brief period after getting kicked out of Glee Street.

"Found a new abandoned warehouse," Jones said. "Already had some folks trying to stake it out, but they backed off. They already had their own next door, there aren't even that many of them, but bastards wanted two for some reason. Not like they don't have more, that entire area is more abandoned than normal. Plenty of perfectly good buildings no one was using. That or everyone's hiding. Anyway, they didn't seem willing to contest it at the time, so we got ourselves a real nice home."

I raised an eyebrow. "Really? They didn't want to tangle with both of you?"

Not that Jones and Marat looked feeble, they'd survived on the streets, but they also had the wounds of fights on the street as well. Marat moved a touch slow, favored her right leg, and the scars on Jones' arms went deep.

"Not cause they were scared," Marat said with a scoff. "Probably aiming to sneak in while we were asleep and cut our throat."

"Yeah," Jones admitted dejectedly. "Probably."

"Especially because Jones here decided to try and peek at their operations," Marat said. "Why does this place have so many old big buildings anyway?"

"I was just seeing why they wanted ours so bad!" Jones protested.

"Hrrm. When they were first finding a place to exile all Infernal too after Her Most Profane Majesty's defeat, they settled on a section of the docks that was used for little but loading, unloading, and storage," I told Marat. "Fewer people living there meant less uproar over people being forced from their homes to house us. And the businesses were compensated with partial ownership of the new docks built along the Nover. Did you see anything interesting, Jones?"

"Not really," he admitted. "They got some rooms completely blocked off from the outside and I couldn't hear them taking. Then that crimson-haired bastard almost caught me."

"Crimson-haired?" Rare but not entirely abnormal for Infernals. Hair color could get rather strange when touched by the diabolic. As I could personally attest to.

"Rich fancy little shit had is styled like his head was on fire," Marat said. "He was the one who confronted us originally. Didn't seem the kind to do that, though, felt more like an act. And that he wasn't as young as he made himself seem. And-"

"It can wait," I told her, standing up a little straighter. We were maybe a few more streets from Holmsteader's territory by now.

"Can you head to Tyler's house?" I asked Jones.

"So not onto Glee Street proper?" Jones asked me.

"No," I agreed. "Let's not provoke Holmsteader any more than we have to."

My diabolism had been drained by that stunt with the circle, and while I'd stocked up on alchemical tools for this, I didn't want to go right into her den. Tyler's house was no doubt crawling with her people as well, it would be less than on Glee Street itself. Further away from any reinforcements. Besides, I just needed to pick off isolated guards until one squealed on if Melissa had been spotted around here. Or captured.

"Have any weapons?" I asked them.

"Got an old flintlock," Marat said, and I tried not to let my surprise show.

I'd been sure all they had were knives and improvised clubs when I'd entered their warehouse. I must be losing my touch, getting too complacent and confident.

"We'll probably stay back and watch the house for a bit," I told the two of them. "Say, a few hours to find all the-"

I trailed off as my ears picked up something a fair way ahead. The sound of swearing, yelling, and fighting. And a pair of familiar voices. Shite.

"Jones, forget Tyler's house for a bit," I said. "Two more streets, then make a right. Slowly."

Both of them gave me questioning looks, but Jones obeyed, moving the cart down another couple of streets.

We turned onto the street in time to witness

Jones brought the cart to a halt as we watched an assortment of eyesores continue swearing and trading punches with one, maybe two people trapped between them. They'd formed a loose circle around their opponents, and everyone else on the street was quickly finding somewhere else to be. The loose circle had clearly been in a difficult fight themselves, torn clothes, bruises, a broken horn, and four of them were lying in the snow, in varying stages from probably concussion to completely knocked out.

My eye twitched. I recognized some of these people. They'd tossed Tyler's circle through my window this morning. And the color they wore was a strain on my eyes.

Lime green, purple, and a pale sky blue. A fortune of dyes was spread among the clothes of a bunch of street toughs as if they didn't cost a penny. Most of those were already torn, probably from the fighting. Ludicrous.

"Holmsteader's folks," Jones said.

"Yes, I know," I said, staring at the writhing circle of Infernals as they continued beating on the two deeper within. "I saw them at my shop earlier. Why do they share their boss's insane sense of fashion?"

It had been an off-the-cuff remark. I didn't really have time to hear the answer, considering who they were attacking.

In the middle of the group, currently getting the shite kicked out of them, were Tolman and Gregory Montague. Well, mostly Gregory, Tolman was holding his own still, but had his attention split trying to protect the noble. Maybe twenty seconds more, he'd be able to hold out?

Two people I hadn't even been searching for. Truly, I was blessed with fantastic luck.

I double-checked my revolver as I jumped off the cart. Time to go save the bard.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.