Mage Tank

Chapter 33: Lito the Bloodhound

“What do you mean you never went through the Creation Delve?” said Lito. “How did you get your first level?”

“We went through the Delve on that ring.”

“So it’s not just something for this mission?”

“No. The fact that the client wanted us to bring Arlo there had us very curious about who the client was and what we would find when we returned.”

“How’d you get the ring?”

“Artemix is the one who acquired it. He never told us much, only that it was gifted to him by an older woman. We thought the woman might be the client, but had no good evidence to support that.”

Myria produced a slate and had Mishala place her hand on it and consent to viewing her Delver profile. She frowned when she looked over the information.

“Well, she’s in the System, but what she’s saying is true. There are no addendums or authorizations made by Central. It’s completely clean except for the System info.”

“She really never went through the Creation Delve?” said Lito.

“There’s no authorization or notation here saying she did. It’s possible she snuck through, but that would have required someone from Central fudging something with the entry and exit logs. She’s also under the effect of Suggestion, so she shouldn’t be lying.”

“Are you aware of any other Delvers,” said Lito, “who received their first level without going through the Creation Delve?”

“Just the members of my party.”

****

The pair asked Mishala a few more questions about the ring and how she located copper Delves to run, but didn’t get much else that was useful. Lito then led her through a series of questions to determine where she went each day while in Foundation, noting the points where she would no longer discuss her location because of the Oath and where she was able to keep talking.

The effect of the spell ran out, and Mishala immediately clammed up. They repeated the questioning with the legless Jayko, but also weren’t able to discover much more than they already knew. Lito requested controllers to come and pick up the pair of would-be kidnappers.

“Normal penalty for Delvers committing this type of crime is death,” said Lito as the two were hauled off. “All that stuff about becoming a Delver without the Creation Delve is going to keep them alive. For a while, at least.”

“Well,” said Myria, “what’s our next move?”

“I’ve heard of this Typhoon guy,” said Lito, producing a map of the city and marking it with Mishala’s known whereabouts over the last few days and circling the area where she was forbidden from discussing where she was. It was a decent chunk of the freight quarter. “Based on what we know about him, I suspect he’s a Delver himself. He knows enough about Delvers to hire the right person for the right job. He’s got a good understanding of countermeasures for mind control.”

“Suggestion isn’t mind control,” Myria said. “It places the subject in a highly receptive and compliant state.”

“We’re not having this argument again.”

“If I bought you drinks until you had the confidence to ask out Ashe, would you say that was mind control?”

“I don’t have any interest in Ashe.”

“So you agree with my argument.”

Lito massaged his temples.

“Typhoon has a good understanding of countermeasures for… persuasive techniques of the Delver variety,” he said. “Based on what I’ve heard about the guy through my own channels, his strength and resilience are way beyond human, and he’s got a lot of money.”

“Could be exaggerated tales,” said Myria.

“I’ve talked to guys that have seen the aftermath of goons who tried to fight him. It’s not the type of damage you can do with a truncheon unless you’ve got a Strength of at least twenty.”

“Assuming you’re correct, that gives us a male Delver with a Strength build, and some sort of presence in the freight quarter. Unless that’s just where the dead-drop was.”

“No. I know he works out of the freight quarter.”

“How confident are you?” said Myria.

“This is what I do, Myria.”

She smiled and turned to me.

“He’s a Delver that moonlights as a bounty hunter,” she said.

“I’m a bounty hunter ninety-five percent of the year, Myria.”

“A Delver is always a Delver first, and whatever else they’re trying to do second.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“Everything in life is preparation for the next Delve.” She turned to me. “If you don’t see it that way, you’re going to die. At least with gold Delves. For platinum you might also benefit from a healthy dose of prayer, maybe some large donations to an orphanage, helping some geriatrics clean out their attics…”

Lito cleared his throat.

“Now that we know Typhoon is involved with hiring and defending against Delvers, I’m confident that, when considered with the other evidence I’ve received, Typhoon is himself a Delver. I’ve already mapped out various locations in the freight quarter that are owned by Delvers. When we consider the area produced through Mishala and Jayko’s movements and where the oath stops them from speaking, that narrows down the list. Then we consider which are owned by male Delvers. Then the publicly available records of the builds of those Delvers, looking for Strength focused.”

Lito produced a large, leatherbound journal from thin air, with dozens of colorful tabs poking out from its pages. He threw it open on my console table, making the candle holders clatter and knocking over a small metal sculpture of a fox-like animal.

Kind of rude, honestly.

The journal was entirely hand-written, with precise and crowded writing filling the pages alongside diagrams, hand-drawn portraits, and endless lists. He thumbed through the pages and cross-referenced a few indecipherable notes.

“That gives us three people,” he said. “Lord Henok spends very little time in the city. High-Lord Amine’s station makes him unlikely and he receives guests all the time at his estate in the noble quarter. He also resides in Timagrin throughout hurricane season which is inconsistent with Typhoon’s known activities. That leaves us with Low-Lord Demarsus.”

I leaned forward and glanced at the thick tome.

“You seem very well informed,” I said.

“There aren’t that many Delvers,” said Lito. “And most of them don’t make trouble. But when they do,” he gave me a stern look, “I make that trouble disappear.”

“If you’re convinced, then shall we go and have a talk with Low-Lord Demarsus?” said Myria.

“I would enjoy that, yes,” said Lito. He clapped the journal shut, and it disappeared back into his inventory. Then he marched right out the front door.

Myria paused and looked me over.

“I like the new eyes, and I noticed you put some points in Strength,” she said.

“I have raised my Strength score, yes.”

“It looks good on you.”

“You’re going to make me blush, Myria.”

“Care to join us on our raid?”

“I thought it was going to be a talk.”

“I’m sure there will be some talking. Don’t you want to face the man who facilitated this home-invasion?”

“I suppose there may be some cathartic effect to that experience. Do you normally take the victim of a crime along when arresting suspects? Seems like a dangerous practice.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Myria waved a hand at the three sets of blackened bones on the ground.

“I think you’ll be ok. Besides, Lito said that Typhoon has thugs!” She took me by the arm, and her intoxicating presence began to grow thick once more. “I may need you to watch my back.”

“A back worth watching, to be sure.”

She plastered an exaggerated expression of shock onto her face.

“Keep it professional, Arlo.” She gave me a wink and turned to leave, sending me a party invite and motioning for me to follow.

Definitely a back worth watching.

Oh, behave! You’ve rubbed elbows with many merchants, dressed to impress, made an ill-considered attempt at flirtatious banter, and even engaged in a touch of bribery. This shameless use of your wit and natural charm has earned you +1 to Charisma!

The freight quarter was south, on the opposite side of the city, and Myria suggested we rent a “land-skiff” to get there.

“Sure,” said Lito. “It’s official business, so we can expense it.”

The land-skiff was, in fact, a freaking hovercar.

Well, a bit more like a small hover-boat in design. It was long and narrow with a curving, pointed shape like it was designed to cut through water, and the top half was open to the air. There was a space for the driver to stand near the bow with two rows of benches along the sides where passengers could sit facing one another.

The device was powered by a ruby chip, and when I asked why I didn’t see more of these on the road, Lito informed me that the cost of one was over half the cost of my underground mini-mansion. They also weren’t the greatest for pulling large loads, so beasts of burden remained the preferred mode of locomotion for traders and travelers. We set off at a brisk speed, wind rustling my hair and sending Grotto’s feathers fluttering as his tentacles gripped firmly around my arm.

Leaving Formation took us through the noble quarter, which was full of multi-story houses made of brick and marbled stone nestled around the base of the mountain. There were no ‘lawns’, the cultural trend being to fill the space around the houses with well-manicured and maintained flower gardens, bushes, trees, and a type of moss. It gave the region a very upscale suburban feel, with a sense of grandeur imparted by the omnipresent view of Foundation’s royal palace at the center of the city.

The castle itself was dark and spired, rising up from the ground with enough height to rival some modern skyscrapers. It was also made from stone pulled out of the mountain, but was plated in the soot-colored material called dark iron that Grotto had used as the central structure of the Pocket Delve’s obelisk. The expense of the project was mind-boggling, but I’d read that the government had a relative monopoly on the excavation of the durable and versatile metal.

The opulence of the palace was both practical and symbolic. The metal plating made the castle resilient against traditional military bombardment via catapult or trebuchet, and allowed for the inscription of defensive mana-weaves that protected from Delver-derived attacks and military technologies.

Beyond the practical use, Hiward was originally a mining colony for the Littan empire, with enslaved Hiwardians imported and forced to pull the material from the ground for little or no compensation. The discovery of the Creation Delve caused a super-soldier led rebellion, and the mineral rights for the mountains were retained and used by the government as its primary means of funding for the first several decades of Hiward’s existence. The demand for, and scarcity of, the metal led to low taxes, bountiful infrastructure projects, and Hiward’s meteoric rise as one of the continent’s military superpowers.

While the Dark Iron Palace was a stunning testament to Hiward’s history and wealth, it couldn’t help but seem mundane in comparison to the symbol of Hiward’s military might, which floated above it.

A flying, dreadnought warship.

The Ascendant was the most powerful military airship among the world’s only known airship fleet, made entirely possible from pilfered Delve technology and a kingdom’s worth of chips. It was a promise to invaders, and all others who would threaten Hiward’s blood-soaked independence.

The nation had the largest population of superhuman Delvers, it had the world’s most powerful traditional naval fleet, it had the most durable fortifications and one of the most powerful economies, and if that wasn’t enough it had goddamn air superiority. Gods above, it made the ‘freedom’ in my blood sing Yankee Doodle and nearly sent me running to the nearest bay to throw crates full of tea into the damn thing when I first saw it.

That right there is diplomacy.

After an inordinate amount of gawking at the sky, we made our way past the palace, across the river that ran through the center of Foundation, and onto a main thoroughfare that led either north to the artisan quarter, or south to the freight quarter. We turned south, traveling a few blocks deep and passing between the wide and unadorned timber buildings.

Large wagons moved dutifully along the wide roads, carrying rows of timber, sacks of dry goods, and crates of various raw materials and supplies to distribution centers to be dispersed out into the city at large. Myria stopped the land-skiff, and we dismounted in an empty and disused alley.

We were between a rather pathetic looking pair of buildings, with sagging roofs and rotting timbers. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a large “condemned” sign on the front doors. Maybe the local barmaid would tell us tales of mutilated warehouse workers who still walked the hallways in their eternal unrest, seeking vengeance for the negligence that caused their demise and letting out haunting cries that demanded the establishment of OSHA.

“Hopefully we’re close enough for this to work,” said Lito, pulling the copper ring from his pocket. He lit a fresh cig and took a deep puff, then blew the smoke out over the ring.

Rather than dispersing into a cloud, the smoke formed a spiraling loop around the metal band, then stretched into a thin line that zipped away from us down the alleyway. I didn’t get a notification, so whatever he’d done wasn’t a spell.

“What kind of ability is that?” I asked.

“Technique,” said Lito. He looked at me for a moment as we walked down the alley, gears turning something over in his mind. He eventually decided to share more. “I have the intrinsic skill Tracking. This is an active skill that gets offered when you pick it up.”

“It consumes stamina then? Instead of mana.”

“Yeah.”

Apparently, my Magical Thinker ability didn’t work for stamina-based abilities, which left me wondering what defined a ‘spell’. Maybe it had to consume mana to count.

Lito’s technique definitely looked like a spell, with the way the smoke snaked through the air and directed us toward some unknown destination. It eventually took us to a main street, then split into a line traveling in two directions. The trail formed just below waist-high off the ground. The right height for a man’s pocket.

“This shows the ring’s path through space,” I said, taking a guess at what I was looking at.

“More or less,” said Lito. “It has some limitations, so it’s better to get as close as you can to the trail you want to follow before using it. The trail north takes us back toward the artisan quarter, which is where we know the Artemix group was staying for the few days they were in town. South takes us toward Low-Lord Demarsus’ warehouse.”

“Why use your own warehouse as a dead-drop location?” I said.

“I suspect Artemix kept some secrets from his allies,” said Lito. “There may not have been a dead-drop. Or maybe he had his own business with Demarsus.” He shrugged. “We’ll get some answers one way or another.”

We continued down the street, passing by several more poorly maintained warehouses and buildings. We disturbed a group of squatters, who took one look at the uniforms Myria and Lito wore, then scurried off into the shadows.

“We’ll be expected,” Lito grumbled as he watched them flee.

It only took a few more minutes before we stopped at a large, timber building that was slightly less dilapidated than its neighbors. A careful study showed that much of the wear and damage was superficial, with the roof and structural features in good shape. Details that I would not have noticed in my prior life.

We entered through the front and into a wide space, where a grizzled and portly woman leaned back in a chair on two legs behind a simple desk made of unfinished wood. It was covered in neat stacks of ledgers and papers, with a bottle of liquor and three glasses set out on the limited workspace free of paperwork.

“M’lords,” she said, looking us over intently, her eyes lingering on Grotto. She took a sip from a fourth glass she held that was a little too full of the booze. Rather than two fingers of amber liquid poured into the crystal glass, she’d opted for a whole hand. It failed to evoke the sense of sophistication it otherwise might have. She didn’t seem like the type to be concerned with that.

“Drink?” she asked, gesturing at the bottle.

Lito approached the desk and picked the bottle up, studying the label, then poured himself a measure. He offered it to Myria and I, but we both declined. I didn’t feel inclined to experiment with unknown warehouse liquor, especially after catching a whiff of pure ethanol from Lito’s glass.

He knocked it back in one sip, then sat the glass on the table upside down as though it were a shot glass. I flinched. That was going to stain the unprotected wood. The man was an animal.

“What can I do ya’?” the woman said. I swftly realized that she wasn’t speaking in Hiward, but a divergent dialect that I recognized as Loward. It was a complex amalgamation of various foreign languages boot-strapped onto Hiward and primarily spoken by particularly poor members of the peasantry. She knew that Lito and Myria were nobles–it was obvious from their uniforms–and she’d greeted them as such. She was either testing us, messing with us, or trying to delay us by making communication difficult. Maybe all three.

“Seein’ fer the boss,” said Lito, also in Loward. “Lordlin’ Demarsus.”

“Aye. Given’ a moment then. Can be here or there.” She sat her chair back down on all fours, then yelled behind her. A dirty young man no older than fourteen trotted up from between rows of crates. He bent down and she whispered in his ear.

“Who callin’?” the woman asked.

“Lordlin’s Lito an’ Myria.”

“The third’n?” she nodded at me.

“Arlo.”

“No-lord?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Third Layer,” I said.

She studied my black and emerald eyes, then looked over Grotto’s C’thon body more closely. Her already pale Hiwardian skin went a bit paler, then she nodded. Lito raised an eyebrow at me.

“Recent immigration.”

The young man ran off.

“Drinkin’ again if ya’ wish,” said the woman, pointing at the bottle. Lito took another pour, and the woman busied herself scribbling in one of the ledgers.

“You understand what they’re saying?” Myria whispered to me.

“I’m good with languages.”

The young man returned after a few minutes and began leading us toward the back of the warehouse.

We moved through the place without a word, surrounded by hundreds of crates and packages stacked on the ground and lining shelves. We went by half a dozen workers, their frames all muscle and scars covered in sturdy leather work clothes. The kind that made more sense in a smeltery rather than a distribution center. Or maybe a militia barracks. More than one had a truncheon hanging from their belt, and I spotted a couple poorly hidden daggers as well.

It was a short walk to the back of the warehouse, where we entered through a small open door and into an office lit by a dozen hanging glowstones. There were no other doors or windows.

The room was dominated by a slab of a man, wearing similar work clothes to the rest of the workers, though his were free of stains or wear. He looked like a competitor for World’s Strongest Man–six and a half feet tall, with thick and powerful muscles under a heavy layer of fat. Round face, neat-trimmed beard, shaved head.

He was also a level thirty gold, ten levels higher than Lito or Myria, and the difference in power was palpable.

Maybe we should have brought some backup.

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