Spire's Spite

Through the still-open doorway, Nic watched the two new levelers go splashing through the rainy alley. His cautious instincts didn’t quite know what to make of them. Potentially useful? Maybe. Cunning schemers? Possibly. Complete idiots? Absolutely. But there was one thing he did know; they were up to something.

The presence of a watcher had eased some of his worries, but intensified others. The Nightshark was already keeping an eye on them, so it was best to let his suspicions lie for now.

Nic spat to the side and tried to relax his tightly clenched fists and slacken his too-present scowl. Wouldn’t want to give myself wrinkles, would ruin my charm, he joked inwardly.

“Kev, make sure to dive and check the Spire lake’s floor,” Nic ordered his foolish minion.

“Think they left some Treasure down in the depths then?” Kev responded, leaning casually against the stone brick tunnel wall.

“As sure as the rain,” Nic replied. “Those two are trouble. Maybe more trouble than they’re worth. I can feel it in my black-ironed bones,” He added darkly while tracing the one-inch hole Fritz’s ‘fish blade’ had cut through his Tough Skin and into his chest. He’d even been forced to use Iron Skin. and the cut was surprisingly deep, and frighteningly close to where his heart lay, just six more inches and he’d be dead.

“Why don’t we just kill ‘em now, save us the time and worry,” Kev asked perplexed.

“’Cause they’re the property of the Nightshark, and they might make ‘em a lot of gold in the long run,” Nic replied with a shrug.

He didn’t personally have much of the eager blood lust his subordinate did, as he’d seen and spilled too much blood to be excited by it anymore. But Nic did like keeping things simple and thought along the same lines. Killing them now would be less hassle.

“If it’s about the gold and Treasure why don’t we take everything off them when they come up? Seems a waste to let them walk away with what they had,” Kev pointed out.

“I don’t make the rules. Nightshark does, and I just follow them. And you better do as well if you don’t want to be found drowned in the gutter or worse, never found at all,” Nic warned.

It was a warning he’d given out many, many times to his gang, but somehow, for some idiots, it just never stuck and he’d have to replace them. Well if Kev messes up I could always give Bert his job. He seems loyal and stupid enough to make a good right-hand man, Nic grimly observed.

“But the reason for the two-thirds-tax is simple. You try to take all the Treasure, they’ll fight you to the death. You try to take most of the Treasure, they’ll fight you a lot less. And it weeds out the truly stubborn and greedy. If you throw away your life for two-thirds of your loot, you’re not made out to work for the Nightshark. Which means you aren’t fit to live,” Nic explained just as it was explained to him long ago. “That and it reminds them of who’s boss around these parts.”

Kev looked unhappy and dismissive of the answers given so Nic tried one last time to get the cruel idiot to see the storm in the clouds. He didn’t want to find the fool dead, after all, Kev was his nephew and his sister would never let him hear the end of it. Even if the lout deserved it.

“Nephew, I know you didn’t go through the Spire the hard way, like these wretches. But think on how it would be if you left the Spire and had your Treasures all stolen from you,” Nic said, trying to drive some sense into his dull brain.

Kev thought for a moment as if placing himself in someone else's shoes was some great feat, then said slowly, “I’d kill them for trying and if I lost I’d get revenge.”

“Exactly. I backed you up on the boots thing, but I think you made an enemy for life there. You should be more careful about that,” Nic said.

“I ain’t scared of Fritz, he’s a weakling, level-two, squid-squeezer,” Kev said dismissively.

“A weakling can poison your beer when you're not looking. A level two can rob you blind when you’re not home or stab you when you sleep. It’s best to keep things simple in our line of work; only make enemies if you intend to kill them. ‘Cause that’s where it always leads, always,” Nic rattled out as serious as the many graves he’d filled.

Kev huffed, obviously offended that Nic had suggested he’d fall to a ‘level-two’s’ hand.

Nic sighed, though it sounded like a growl, and said, “I want you to find me, what was it? Toby and Jody?”

“Toby and Jane,” Kev corrected.

“Toby and Jane. And have ‘em come to me before our next meeting with Fritz. Something’s wrong with their tale. It’s probably that they dumped their Treasure in the lake, but it's best to get another side of the story, just to be careful,” Nic ordered.

“Want me to do that after the dive, or before?” Kev asked sullenly as if given unfair chores to complete.

“Before. And don’t be giving me attitude. I may be your uncle but your blood means less to me than the piss in my bladder,” Nic growled getting into his nephew's face and glaring him down.

Kev's eyes went wide with fear and his forehead beaded with sweat, but he tried not to show how utterly terrified he was of Nic. That’s good, He thought. Nothing like a bit of fear to build a bit of respect.

“Do your tasks, and do ‘em well, or I’ll break your bloody skull,” Nic promised.

Kev nodded vigorously and fled through the doorway and into the rain-soaked alley beyond.

Nic watched, then closed, locked and barred the heavy door.

Nic needed a drink, so he took the dark passages that led him up through a trap door and into a dark room that stank of stale beer. He exited the room quickly and strode into the common room of a tavern and gestured at the barkeep who responded with his usual nod and began to fill a pewter mug with their usual ‘best beer’.

Nic interrupted the rote routine with a short, serious sentence, “I’ll need the hard stuff tonight, Henry.”

“Problems?” The barkeep in his grey apron asked, reaching for a bottle filled with amber liquor from the shelves behind the counter

“Too many to count.”

---

“You know, I think we pulled it off perfectly,” Fritz proclaimed, even as he strode down the street without shoes, wincing as he stepped on a particularly pointy cobblestone.

“Except the boots?” Bert asked.

“Excepting the boots,” Fritz agreed affably. “So, what’s the plan now we’re out?”

“I’m getting drunk, just like Nic told us to,” Bert said jovially.

“I think he said the opposite of that, but it matters little,” Fritz said.

“Think Veronica and Lynn still work at Tallies?” Bert asked.

“Can’t hurt to check,” Fritz said.

“What about you, will you join me for some fun? Or will you go searching for your glorious hero?” Bert asked.

“I need some new boots, then I’m going to check on my brother and sister. I missed my last visit you see, what with the whole kidnapping. I need to let them know I’m alive,” Fritz explained, trying not to think about Sid and the still raw feelings she brought up.

Instead he focused on the future and began to plan on how and when to recover their Treasures. Now that he knew a way to the Sunken Spire it would be easy to find, but they would still need some time and equipment to get everything right and get everything out unnoticed.

“Fair enough, come find me when you’re done,” Bert said as he ran off through the rain, he turned and waved then was off again making his way toward Tallies Trawler.

Fritz smiled at the sight of Bert’s eagerly retreating back, then set his own path through the tall tenements, taking his usual shortcuts through alleys and dilapidated, flooded and abandoned buildings. The rain wasn’t too bad tonight, not quite a drizzle but also not pelting down like most nights, it drummed like a familiar lullaby that sang him into reminiscence.

It was an odd experience, all those same places that remained as they were, yet looked stark and strange to his new sight. The shade and shadows no longer hindered his eyes and he could see as if it were only an overcast day, able to pick out the rats as they skulked and picked at their patches of scale with webbed paws. He even could make out dozens of skulg as they lay dormant, collected in their spiralling colonies, their bumpy shells blending in with the cobblestone and brick they were stuck upon.

They almost looked like knobbly stalagmites as they slept and were silent. It must have been late indeed for the skulg to be inactive. Fritz wondered how long he had been in the Sunken Spire and made a note to check a calendar, or perhaps just ask his brother. He probably wouldn’t do the latter, he didn’t want to reveal himself as anything other than the most knowledgeable brother in the world after all.

His mind drifted back to the question of how long he had been away and he reflected that it had to have only been a few weeks at most. And yet, his time in the Spire had changed him, irrevocably and he could only hope it was for the best. He doubted that though, as he remembered in flashes of pain, terror and rage. He had killed people, at least three, and lost half his crew, from both bloody battle and cowardly abandonment.

Sombre feelings and a black mood threatened to encroach upon his triumphant steps, so he pushed the dark memories away.

He could deal with them later. Much later.

For now, I have boots to find and family to mind.

He made his way over the oft-flooded streets, finding and crossing them with the narrow wooden planks that served as walkways. It was said that Rain City was sinking, and had been for hundreds of years. But Fritz suspected this was not the case, as the Upper Ring behind the second circle of walls and where the Rain and Mer Spire’s stood, never seemed to have the same flooding problems the Sunken Ring did.

No, Fritz’s observations from living down here with the weak and poor told a different story. For one the uncountable gutters were too narrow, sparse and often blocked for all the water coming down from the Upper and Palace Rings. And for two the seawall was leaking, dripping constantly as the Antaru Ocean strained to get through. Those minor leaks were never repaired though, only major breaches or stalled trade on the docks ever got the king’s attention and were then remedied immediately.

His royal highness, Floodbreaker, The Aqueous Lance, King Alphonse Rain had ruled for five decades, and the Sunken Ring had suffered for it. Well, that was at least what the old storytellers insisted, as they were intent on reminding people of the good ol’ days, when the King’s father, the now abdicated, King Alain the Torrent’s Tide, had ruled.

But again Fritz had his doubts about things being better under the previous king, especially if anything about kings written in ‘The Observations’ held to be true. He was sad to have to leave the little Technique book behind in their stash, but they would be reunited in time. That’s if the water or something worse didn’t get to it. He shuddered at the thought but reconciled his actions with the keen instinct that it’d better off destroyed than in the hands of the Nightshark and their cronies.

As he strolled through the nostalgic rain, he noticed the slight keening tingle in the back of his mind. It had been there for some time but he had been too distracted by the familiar sights and sounds seen with newly enhanced eyes and ears to lend it any attention. Anxiously, wary and searching for threats he focused on the sensation. He could feel the strange sense pull his attention to...doors just ordinary doors and empty frames.

Fritz sighed, glad it wasn’t Trap Sense, or worse Danger Sense, warning him. He was somewhat surprised to find that all those niggling feelings were just him detecting all those mundane entrances. He had thought that Door Sense would only work the Spire Doors and Stairways, but here he was able to know where a side door or attic hatch was within the buildings he walked past. A curious and interesting Ability indeed, and one with much potential in finding hidden rooms and secluded places.

Fritz was tempted to go exploring, to search for any secreted stashes or any other lost and abandoned goods that were scattered in the more disreputable parts of the Sunken Ring. A storm hawk called out a cry and he shook his head and returned to his mind to his mission.

Finally, after an hour or two of walking, bemoaning the loss of his boots and dearly wishing he had something like Shoe Sense, Fritz could see the great stone wall that separated the Sunken Ring from the Upper Ring. They were at least twenty feet high and interspersed with grates of dark iron that perpetually poured a powerful spray of water into the Sunken Ring below like some great sieve. An eternal mist of water vapour swirled up and surrounded the base of the equally eternal walls.

All that could be seen from below the curving wall were the towering Rain Spire and the smaller Mer Spire that stood on the opposite side of the Upper Ring looming like titans through the rain and fog.

Fritz knew the centre most walls also lay within, the Palace Ring between the two Spires, ready to spill out the King’s Scale Guard, in case of a Spire Break. Of course, it wouldn’t only be the Scale Guard and their Captain. Nobles and their Spire teams might join the fray if the monsters seemed harmless enough, or if there was profit in doing so. Which there usually was, as monster parts and meat could sell quite well, even if there was a sudden surge of the same materials.

The iron grate gates were shut this late, and the storm guard were doing their nightly patrols around and atop the wall. They did so in trios, the rain sliding off their waterproofed, distinctly light-blue tabards and the dull grey leather armour underneath.

One patrol above and one coming up from behind Fritz sequestered himself in the shade of a ruined, roofless house. He didn’t want to be seen and then subsequently shaken down for his last silver after all. The storm guard were as bad as muggers if not worse in Fritz’s opinion. But being part of the gangs might have coloured his view a bit, he allowed.

The drizzlers strode down the road as if they owned it, which in a sense they did as the storm guard got their mandate from the nobility, ostensibly to protect the people and the city, but really, all they amounted to were enforcers, no, thugs for the Upper Ring to keep the riff-raff in their place.

The patrol slowly approached where he lay hidden, they carried a mana lantern, its light creating a slight scintillating halo around it in the swirling mist. It only illuminated a few feet in front of them and occasionally flickered. Must be running low on capacity, Fritz guessed. Or its broken. He amended as the guard holding the lantern thudded a meaty fist on it as it flickered.

“Damn piece of junk,” A guard groused. “Can we stick some mana in it? Can’t see a thing out here.”

“Sure, but it comes out of your pocket,” a familiar voice growled. Fritz tried to place it but couldn’t quite remember who it belonged to. That was until they got closer.

One of the drizzlers was a sergeant and when his hard, lined face came into view he recognised him as one of the guards that had given him particular trouble over the years. Hassling, harassing and hurting a young and weak Fritz for almost a decade. Sgt. Rob had made his teens a true torture ‘fining’ him many times even when his work had been completely legal, or legal adjacent.

He was built like a squat bull and hunched his shoulders as if bearing some heavy burden, it was probably the overwhelming weight of being such a complete arsehole, Fritz had surmised long ago.

He struggled with his desire for revenge again, looking down at Quicksilver and wondering if he could possibly get away if he impaled one of them through the neck or heart. He didn’t know exactly how strong the Storm Guard were, only that they were sent through the Mer Spire and sometimes the Rain Spire during their training.

It was likely they had some sort of Guard Path they knew how to reliably receive, and they might even out level me, Fritz theorised.

Eventually, he decided against attacking, no matter how much it might relieve some of his fury. He reasoned that he didn’t actually want to kill, not again. He just wanted… he didn’t know… justice… retribution? But a stab in the dark wasn’t the vengeance he desired against this man. No, it would have to be... fitting. That and if you kill or injure one of the guard they’d hunt you down as sure as any hound. Right now revenge wasn’t worth the risk.

He let out a soft sigh, relaxed his frown and pushed down the festering years-long resentment, calming his nerves and remaining hidden.

Standing in the shadow of the wall and waiting as the grizzled guards passed by, Fritz marvelled as their eyes slipped right past him even though he was so close. He was near enough to reach out a hand and grab one. So he did, the sergeant's triad purse that is. Timing his strike to when the mana lantern flickered again, Fritz’s hand slinked out as subtle as a snake and seized upon the cloth and its knotted string. With fingers now enhanced by Grace and Agility, he easily loosened the string’s knot and took the purse from where it was tied to a woven leather belt.

He stepped backward into the deeper dark, clutching the purse to his chest and holding his breath the whole while. The sergeant never noticed a thing and continued trudging down the street. Fritz smirked, hefting the small pouch of, hopefully silver, triads. Cloak of Dusk already paying off, he gloated inwardly, tying it off to his own dark rope belt.

After some minutes, once the coast was clear, he found his usual climbing spot, a section of the wall close by that had just the right handholds in the form of chipped and cracked stone. His fingers alighted upon the weather-worn wall, gripping between the smooth stone and he began to scale the dark, almost-black bricks. He had been a little afraid that his new weight, on account of his marbled bones, would make the climb all the more difficult. But he found that his increase in Strength had mostly cancelled out the added strain on his muscles and he pulled himself upwards with some small effort.

The way up was also far smoother and he barely needed to concentrate on his balance and where to put his feet and hands next. It was like his Grace was guiding him down, or up, some subtle path of least resistance, bolstered by his keen Awareness and precise Perception. He was at the top quickly and quietly, only scuffing against the wet stone when he made a few small mistakes, the sounds of which were easily smothered by the endless rain.

From his vantage on the wall, he stared over the Sunken Ring in all its disrepaired, drowned, dreariness. The snaking gutters, tall tenements and flooded street below made up the Darkwood District or Desperate District as it was known by the locals.

There were nine districts in the Sunken Ring each in varying stages of flood and fortune. They were separated by the nine outer canals or ‘great gutters’, like huge slices of questionably fresh squid pie. Besides the desperate district to the east was the self evidently named drowned district, where only the tallest of structures peaked over the water’s surface. It had been lost to floods before Fritz was born. Few of the submerged houses had been tall at all and now lay forgotten, rotting and home to the many fish, eels and squid that now lurked within.

To the west lay Bluestone District, with its more robustly built tenements and taverns of that dark blue-grey stone that gave the district its name. It was the closest thing to a prosperous and safe place outside the Upper Ring. Its sprawling market drew all those from the other districts to set up stalls and sell the all wares too common, damaged or dubiously acquired for the Thoroughfare Markets.

Fritz was distracted by a commotion coming from the guards that had passed by him earlier, apparently, Sgt. Rob had noticed the alarming absence of his triad pouch.

It took some control not to giggle, no, chuckle, as he watched the sergeant backtrack, curse and search the street below for his collection of wages and bribes. Fritz emptied the purse into his own, transferring the silver and bronze triangular coinage, and threw down the empty pouch into a puddle far below, where it splashed and now floated on the rippling water.

Giving the drizzler the chest-to-heart salute they were so fond of, Fritz bid the guard a silent farewell and no luck. “May you trip and drown,” He whispered. Of course, he couldn’t be seen in the dark and behind the parapet, nor heard over the drumming rain, but it was the thought that counted.

He turned his back on the Sunken Ring and skulked to the other side of the wall, quickly climbing over the lip and down the dark stone until he landed lightly on the paved streets of the Upper Ring.

He searched the street for guards and found none, so he resumed his great quest.

“On route to loot boots.”