Right. This bullshit has gone on long enough.
The reinforced double doors to my office swing inward, and in come Tirist and Sigun, dragging a dwarf in chains between them. They throw him down at the foot of my desk. The dwarf looks up at me, amusement dancing in his eyes."So you're the one that's been downing dwarven cocktails,"
I tell him, my tone perfectly neutral, as if musing aloud.
"Why, I've no idea what you're talking about,"
the vampire feigns. "I demand to be released at once."
"Don't insult my intelligence. I have twenty-two witnesses who saw you wander into Zefon's cell, and come back out with bloodstains all over your beard. Zefon had been asleep for mere hours, alive and well. By the time you left, he was dead."
"Well, what can I say? A dwarf needs his liquor. It just so happens I get mine from other dwarves."
"Yes, like a common prostitute."
It took no small amount of self-control not to laugh at the offended look on his mug."Well, what now? Do you expect me to confess? Go quietly?"
I chuckle. "Honestly, I just expect you to cooperate. Unnatural abomination or no, you still serve an important function in Steelhold. A function you can't performed if you're dressed in chains from head to toe."
The vampire looks confused. Guess he wasn't expecting to get out of a meeting with the hammerer without getting, well, a hammering. "So you're letting me go? Just like that?"
"Not quite,"
I say, staring him right in the eye. "You will be confined to your office. Not your quarters. Your office. You'll do your job, same as always. I'm sure your vampiric gifts will be of great help to you there. And you'll not sink your fangs into another dwarf's flesh ever again."
"Or else what, oh mighty warlord? You'll kill me?"
Here comes the mandatory display of arrogance. It's fine, I was counting on it. "You think I fear death? I have lived more lifetimes than your entire bloodline. I have seen the rise and fall of nations, the coming and going of faiths old and new. I fear no death."
I chuckle. "Death? Oh, no. Nothing so merciful."
I walk around the desk, hunker down in front of him, eyes slightly above level with his. "If you disobey my instructions, I won't kill you. I'll have you on crossed pikes, going in under the ribs, like we did back home. Ah, I see it in your eyes. You know that old tradition from up north, don't you? The victim stays alive for days, incapable of movement, eventually succumbing to starvation or infection. But you don't suffer from that like us common mortals, oh no. You'd be there until I ordered the lads to bring you down. Which I won't."
"So, do I have your cooperation, or should I call for the pikes? Mister mayor."
Like candy from a baby.
The dwarven caravan is here, and with it comes the inspector. Once the mayor is done conning the merchants out of all their food, booze, wood and metal, the inspection begins. We had arranged the whole affair like master playwrights. Prisoners "chained" to workshops, overseen by "guardsdwarves". Idlers in their cells, or in the "exercise yard". The inspector didn't even bat an eyelash at the vent shafts, since he'd seen them the year before.
No suspicious behaviors. No riots. Not even health code violations, such as they were. Even the loonies were acceptable - it's a prison. As far as they know. After some final arrangements with the mayor, the inspector returned to the caravan, report in hand, utterly pleased with himself. I'm sure a healthy dose of vampiric suggestion helped that as well.
The inspector is even pleased with the series of arches that line the approach to the prison. If only he knew what they were really for.
It's been a few days since the inspection. I'm minding my own business, watching The Mighty Cudgel-Roads execute another goblin POW by firing squad, when the missus comes up to me.She is dead set on joining the second melee squad, the Constructive Fed Daggers. I'd try to dissuade her, but you don't keep a marriage together for over a century without knowing your spouse. I'd be wasting my time. So now I have this to worry about too.
The goblin on the platform spazzes out and falls into the hole, a bolt lodged in his brain. I sigh and call for the next prisoner. Onul, my dear wife, links her arm with mine and watches intently as two of the lads drag in a bound goblin archer and slap him in irons on the platform. The sargeant calls for the next volley. She's trying to figure out my thoughts again. Nothing too difficult. I'm sure she's thinking the exact same thing.
Goddamn, I feel old.
My boots click against the smooth floor as I make my way to Lenehan's secret chamber again. For the millionth time this year, I gaze upon the monstrous machinery. It has since been rendered completely useless thanks to Emdief's advice, but I still can't help but feel its former danger. Worse yet, the lad's expert opinion had confirmed my suspicions. Lenehan couldn't have built this thing himself. And none of his former elf party supporters had the mechanical know-how for a device of this complexity - and elves don't know shit about mechanics or engineering.
That left very few people who could have aided in building the damned thing. I had identified the mechanics months ago, but Lenehan had been clever - each was given only a small piece of the schematic, and each assembled a different component. They had no idea what any of it was for at the time. Most just figured it was just another eccntricity of the infamous baron. But even then, it didn't account for everything. From various conversations with Emdief, I'd concluded that the device itself was merely a sort of complex gas pump, designed to spread any substance it received in the central canister. It didn't account for the substance that caused the Elf Plague.
I thought of Lenehan's son. A report from my observers had told me that the lad did not support my cause in the slightest. A pity. He might have information I could use. Maybe even Lenehan's entire archives, presumed lost in the aftermath of the Crisis. I had asked Melek what she could do about finding Asmoth's research logs, but I'm no fool. I know the lass maintains correspondence with Corley. I'll know if she brings me the real files or not. Though I'm not sure I could hold it against her if she lies. She reminds me of my daughter when she was younger.
Then there's the matter of the vampire. He'd been caught red-handed before the killings got out of control, and made subservient. But I was not satisfied. Somebody had known the mayor's secret and locked him up in a cell in solitary confinement. Somebody had also released him in time to attend his brokering duties, and they did it without alerting my sentries. And I aim to I know whom.
I pace to the back of the chamber, where I'd had the lads install the controls for the entrance arches. I gaze into the tunnel mouth where I'd proclaimed my rule for all to hear, then turn back to face the central machinery. I lower myself slowly to my knees and slow my breathing.
I think back on my training as a tracker. I'd spent years tracking down yetis and polar bears through snow and blizzards. I'd found them most of the time, too. You just had to know what to look for. Just study the pattern until you found the irregularity that broke it, and there you would find your trail. I've known all this for so long, it's almost second nature. But I'd never done it like this.
I gaze at the shadows in the nearest corner of the room. I take in their hue, their shape, the source of the light that projects them. I take a moment to know this shadow as one would know an old friend. I observe until the shadows hold no secrets from me. Then I let my eyes and ears wander, looking for the irregularity.
There, in the far corner. This shadow holds a secret. I knew it would. I know he's been watching."I know you're there, masked one. Come on out. I need information."
He steps out from the shadows, as casual as if he'd been walking down a corridor. If he's surprised that I could detect him, he doesn't show it."Spill it. The Elf Plague. Asmoth's involvement. Lenehan's fate. The vampire. The fractaldwarf. We've got some catching up to do."
OOCPending dorfs have been dorfed. No migration wave ocurred. Magni is infiltrating and working as a strand extractor. Melek is learning how to be a doctor. Bees is bees is bees is bees.