Chapter 7 - Reap and Sow

For a base of operations located out of an underground sewer, Severin Lich’s headquarters were disconcertingly lavish.

Eda followed her surly guide along numerous low-ceilinged tunnels, even down a short flight of crumbling steps. Torches illuminated the way. Some passages were so tight they had to walk single file. The sound of trickling water lured them into a wide cavern, where four different sewage channels met. Each fed into a single circular channel of water, surrounding a vast stone island like a moat. The ceiling above was a naturally hewn dome. A shaft of light illuminated the space below from its apex, perhaps courtesy of a strategically placed street drain.

Accessible by four arched bridges, the island itself was packed with people hard at work.

An eclectic gaggle of desks spread from one edge to another, with people arguing over papers and weighing scales and little sacks of coin. Someone gave a young boy a hastily scrawled note; he ran over a bridge and into the darkness of a nearby tunnel. A woman sat hunched over a gleaming pile of gems, one huge eye blinking at the collection through a magnifying lens. Another child—a girl—ran up to a group of men by a chalkboard. She passed them a piece of paper, and they clustered around it, hurrying to copy down names in chalk. Boxing, Eda realized. They were receiving live updates on one of the fighting rings held elsewhere in the city.

It was a strange sort of guildhall. Here, in the depths of a sewer system, an entire conglomerate of businesses hastened on, much like the world above: a dark reflection in a puddle.

Or a mirror.

“Keep up,” her guide barked, striding across the first bridge. Eda followed. The burbling water below looked cleaner than the other channels she’d seen. The stench was less apparent, too, more akin to the familiar algae smell characterizing the canals above. Some sort of filtration system must have been cycling out the worst of the foul before it circulated back here.

She caught a few wary glances thrown her way as they cut through the chaos, but nobody seemed much concerned. Not with her unfriendly escort leading her like a dog to heel. Eda tongued the cut inside her lip nervously. She supposed her being here was fitting. These people operated in shadow and subterfuge beneath the notice of good society—just as she did. In another life, the Shaws might have lorded over an operation just like this, had they only the appetite for it.

Knowing so did not soothe her apprehension.

At the back of the guildhall, the northernmost bridge split into two staircases that met overhead on a wooden balcony, abutting a small archway. A fine arras hung across it, concealing the way beyond.

Her guide led her up and swept the arras aside. He bid her enter with a mocking wave. Arsehole.

Inside, the cold stone and low ceiling reminded Eda of the cellar back home. But where the Shaws’ cellar was bare of ornament, Severin Lich’s office had been decorated with all manner of luxuries. Tapestries hung from corner to corner. In one, stags fled from a pack of leaping hounds. In another, a unicorn strode between the bows of a towering green forest. Beautiful iron-wrought candelabras stood in each corner, casting the room in a rich glow. A bear fur lay vigil before a mahogany desk.

Sat at that desk was Severin Lich.

Eda knew it was him instinctually. Such dark, shrewd eyes could belong to no one else. Unease trickled down her back like cold water.

Another man, tall and reedy, was nattering about something at Lich’s side. He stopped. “What’s this?”

“Sorry t’interrupt, Lord Lich. Found the lady fleeing a whole pack of Blades down the eastern passages. Says she wants to speak to you on a matter of some urgency.” Her guide shoved her forward. Eda almost tripped over the bear’s head. She shot him a venomous look.

He called him Lord. Eda knew little about Severin Lich, but he was no noble, and certainly no lord.

“That so?” Lich leaned back in his chair. He was middle-aged and finely dressed, his black hair slick with pomade. Eda smelled it where she stood—something vaguely floral. Gray lined his temples. He was round in the belly. Thick, blunt fingers curled about a glossy smoking pipe as he brought it to his mouth and drew deep, watching her all the while.

The man beside him bristled. “Hillock, you daft prick. What are you bringing some whore in here for? Lord Lich and I were—”

“Peace, Mr. Bindle. Allow me a moment with our young guest, hm?”

Bindle seemed unhappy but did not argue. As he made for the door, Lich spoke again. “Bindle. Are you forgettin’ something?”

“My lord?”

“You owe the lady an apology.” Lich tapped his pipe into a little bronze bowl. “For misplacin’ your manners.”

Bindle turned red. He bowed awkwardly in her direction. “Forgive me, miss.”

“Get out.”

Bindle slipped through the tapestry.

Hillock pulled up a cushioned chair without a word. Lich gestured for Eda to sit—slowly, she did. Severin Lich’s amiable introduction didn’t fool her. He hasn’t threatened to slit my throat or throw me in the sewer yet, so this makes a good start, she told herself. But after years of living in Mr. Night’s shadow, she’d come to sense the darkness about a person, the way a doe might startle before she ever saw her hunter. In some twisted way, the familiarity was encouraging. Eda knew how to converse with those who frightened her.

“Mr. Lich. Thank you for seeing me.”

“And who might you be?”

She took a breath, preparing for any number of reactions. “My name is Eda Shaw.”

Lich paused in drawing on his pipe. The scent of pomade and spiced tobacco made for an overwhelming combination. “Then it seems I know you, as well.” His eyes didn’t leave her face. “Your family has a Gateway.”

Guess we’re getting straight to it. “Yes, sir. My brothers and I are indebted to a demon on account of a Pact our father made. We inherited his debt.”

If this surprised him, he did not show it. “You take no coin?”

“We had no interest in the soul brokerage business but for filling our father’s quota.”

They never charged coin. Luring people to the mirror out of necessity was one thing; profiting from it was quite another. Ben refused to sink so low, and Eda could not fault him. Local dealies rarely had much to spare anyhow.

“You refer to these matters in the past tense. Don’t leave me in suspense, young lady. What has happened to send you to my door?”

Eda recounted the bare necessities of all that’d transpired since Florian Fane arrived in Blackbridge. To repeat aloud her disastrous venture into Gaffham was humiliating; no doubt her cheeks were red as apples. Still, there was no point in hiding much from Severin Lich. This was not a man to play games with, and if he wanted her dead, she imagined Hillock would happily snap her neck before she even knew the order had been given. She hoped transparency would count for something.

When she was done, Lich leaned back, deep in thought. “Why tell me this, Miss Shaw?”

Her brothers would not want her to come here. They told her to flee Blackbridge—away from Wesland itself, if necessary; rather that than make even more deals with dangerous men. But Eda had only ever known allies that hid in shadow.

And Ben and Lawrie were not here.

“Florian Fane made a deal with the demon we know as Mr. Night. To drive the Faithless back to the templehouses and be the one to offer them protection. I don’t know how, exactly, but he plans to make himself a beacon against the demonic in Blackbridge, even if it means using a demon’s power to do it.”

“Mm, hypocrisy. A common ailment amongst the Faithhood.”

She grimaced. Hypocrisy is in your nature, Mr. Night had said. Eda thought herself exempt from this pitiless indictment of humankind, yet how quickly she’d come here, begging for a Pact, after scorning so many for just the same!

This is different. This is not avarice or vanity or rage. This is for Ben and Lawrie.

“You come bearin’ pertinent warnings, young lady. But whispers such as these would’ve reached me soon enough.” Lich raised his brow. The question was unspoken but painfully obvious: So what are you expecting in return?

Eda glanced about the room. She saw no Gateway. Nothing that looked like one, anyway. “I—I need to make a Pact.”

Lich stood. “I see.”

She tried not to panic. “I’ve no coin, but I thought…” What had she thought? That simply being the one to give Lich a heads-up about the bishop would be enough to earn use of his Gateway? It seemed like a child’s gambit now. “Please, Mr. Lich. I’ll work, whatever you want. If I could just make another Pact, then I might free my brothers—”

“I pity you. Truly.” Hillock refilled and lit Lich’s pipe. The crime lord leaned against his desk, blowing gray smoke. “Why should I not simply hand you over to the good bishop myself, Miss Shaw? I’ve no desire to make an enemy of the man. He’d be in my debt.”

Eda fought to keep her expression neutral, even as her heart strived to beat out of her chest. She recalled again what Mr. Night had said in the cellar. There is another of my kind, hiding somewhere in this very city.

“Mr. Night seeks another demon. He offered Fane a great boon in return for their demise.” Carefully, she bluffed, “The bishop intends to start his search with you. You are the only other soul broker in Blackbridge, after all.”

If anyone knew where the demon Mr. Night sought might be hiding, it would be Lich. The idea held water, and claiming Fane had already made the connection felt more like an educated guess than deceit. Surely enough to put Lich on his guard.

Dark eyes sharpened. “Fane said this?”

“That’s what I heard.” When Lich remained silent, Eda leaned forward, unwilling to let him overanalyze the lie. “The only debt Florian Fane is likely to honor is the one he owes to Mr. Night. Help me instead, Lord Lich, and when I free my brothers, I’ll find you the mirror too. I swear it.”

“The mirror?”

“Our Gateway. That is what you want, no? Unless you mean to tell me your people have been watching our shop for weeks due to a love of artisanal candles and rare taxidermy.” Lich smiled thinly, but he did not deny it. To own not just one but two artifacts so valuable, possibly the last in all Wesland…“Fane beat you to it, but he won’t destroy the mirror. He needs it to contact Mr. Night.” She raised her chin. “I’ll get it for you.”

“And what makes your word so dependable?”

“Because I don’t care about Gateways or coin or power. I just want my brothers. Betraying you would hardly help in that endeavor.”

Lich blew smoke through his nose. “Even if I wanted to help, Miss Shaw, no demon using my Gateway will agree to make a Pact with you. Not if this Mr. Night is who I suspect.”

“What do you—”

“The Faithhood talks much of the Otherworld, a mystical realm where sinners are condemned to divine punishment. The truth is simpler. Demons are powerful, yes, but they’re a species like any other. Their world is real—societies, hierarchies. Gateways are a precious resource shared between their noble houses. Nothin’ is so desired as the chance to cross into the mortal realm and make Pacts that extend a demon’s life. Without, they’re no longer-lived than you or I.” Eda found herself gawping. “Six archdukes rule over their homeland. I learned that one particular duke took a Gateway for himself, has hoarded it ever since. Quite against their customs.” Lich cocked his head. “Sound familiar?”

Eda’s mind spun. She knew Mr. Night was powerful, a creature of some standing in the place he came from. He’d told her himself how the Shaw’s mirror was his alone. But this…“The noble demons who share your mirror—why haven’t they forced Mr. Night to give up his? If there are five other archdukes, surely…”

“I don’t know the intricacies. Only that for whatever reason, the dukes have not risen against him. Must be quite the brute.” He grinned, flashing a gold tooth. “They’ll not readily make a Pact that risks interfering with one of his. Terrible gossips, demons. If the nobles of the Otherworld don’t already know about Night’s latest conquest, they soon will.”

“But one of them must be willing. There has to be…” She trailed off. Like a window flung open in a dark room, an opportunity materialized amidst the mire of her despair.

If Mr. Night was really so powerful, so afeared by his own kind, why would some nameless demon here in the city concern him? Enough to offer Fane a boon in return for killing them. Was it possible he actually felt threatened?

Eda stared at the bear’s glassy eyes by her feet. A demon who’s successfully evaded Mr. Night. Who concerns him enough that he wants them dead. A demon hiding here, in Blackbridge, with no way of knowing about Mr. Night’s recent dealings.

A demon with no reason to refuse her.

Eda met Lich’s gaze. Perhaps Fane would seek the crime lord’s aid in hunting this quarry…but she got here first. “If you’re still willing, Mr. Lich, I know how you can help me.”