Spade locked the office door behind him and stood in the hallway for a moment, listening to the nighttime quiet of the office building. The corridor smelled faintly of varnish and damp paper and was only dimly lit from a single, bare aetherbulb in the stairwell at the end of the corridor. The rest of the offices on the floor had long since gone dark, now as empty as the city, their frosted glass windows just dull reflections of the fog outside. Somewhere on the floor below a janitor’s mop slapped against tile in a slow, patient rhythm.

  Spade shrugged into his coat and went down the stairs, pushed through the front door and stepped outside into the dense fog that had rolled in from the bay.

  Looking down the block, the lights faded one after another until the street vanished into eternity. He cursed the fog, and the cold drizzle that came along with it. Spade pulled up the collars of his jacket and hunched forward as he checked out the street.

  He looked up at the first Aetherlamp, barely casting enough light to touch the ground in the fog. Spade didn’t know why they even bothered. They certainly didn’t help much.

  The city had installed the aetherlamps twenty years before, after the first God war. After the divine lights had died along with the god that had once watched over San Veneris. He could almost remember those lights. There had never been fog in the city in those days. These replacements worked, in their way. But each one only threw out a tired yellow glow that pushed the darkness back a few feet before giving up and letting the fog have the rest.

  Deadlight City.

  The name had begun as a joke. It had stuck when they all realized it was no joke after all.

  Spade settled his fedora lower on his forehead. The brim caught the drizzle and sent it sliding down the shoulders of his black trench coat. He slipped his hands into his pockets and started north towards Archer’s place.

  His partner lived with his wife, five blocks up the hill on a narrow street just off the trolley line. Archer had been married to Iva for more than ten years and somehow managed to spend most of them somewhere else; working, drinking, gambling, and chasing other women. At least, he had for the past year that Spade had been his partner.

  Spade had been consoling her for the past few months.

  Archer would be following Wedby all night, which meant Iva would be lonely. He smiled and patted the bulge in his jacket where half of Miss Wonderly’s money rested comfortably in an inside pocket. His partner was earning his half by tailing their man. Spade was getting paid for tail.

  Work was work.

  Spade walked two blocks up the hill, passing a few other people on evening errands. A trolley clanged somewhere in the fog, its bell muffled by distance. A couple hurried past beneath a shared umbrella, the woman leaning in close to avoid the drifting rain. A dockworker in a peacoat stood in a doorway lighting a cigarette, cupping the match with thick fingers.

  The match flared, burned down, and vanished. The fog swallowed everything.

  Spade’s rounded, cap-toe oxfords struck the pavement with a steady rhythm, his stride long and consistent—A habit that had been drilled into him during the war. They may have taken away his military class, but some habits died hard and not everything needed a skill.

  Tonight that steady cadence alerted him to another, discordant rhythm half a block behind. A second set of footsteps. He slowed down, but not enough to be obvious. He pretended to check his pockets for something, then kept moving.

  The sound was faint but persistent, echoing his pace too closely for chance. His passive Perception skill stirred quietly, sorting the street sounds the way a careful clerk sorts paperwork.

  Spade sped up again. The other steps quickened.

  He cut across the street at an angle, not turning his head. The footsteps crossed too.

  Spade walked on.

  By the time he reached the next intersection, the fog had thickened enough that the far sidewalk had disappeared entirely and all but the closest aetherlights looked like distant, blurred gold coins. Anyone behind him could have been ten feet away or thirty. Or gone. The footsteps behind him grew more muffled the further he went.

  The old instincts that had carried him through three years of hard military work didn’t much believe in coincidence though. He crossed the street again and turned onto a narrower street that ran across the face of the hill between a row of boarding houses and a warehouse shuttered for the night. The buildings leaned over the pavement so that the fog hung between them like trapped smoke.

  The footsteps followed, but now there was a second set.

  Spade kept moving, letting his eyes wander casually along the street, starting to catalogue options as he moved forward.

  Doorways. Blind corners. Tight, dead-ended alleys.

  Even without the Tactical Geometry skill the army had stripped from him, the old habits remained. He picked up his pace again. Any faster and he’d be jogging, then it would just be a race—May the faster man win.

  Halfway up the block a wider alley cut between the warehouse and a long brick building. Spade walked past it without slowing but he didn’t make it. The footsteps had caught up and a large hand dropped onto his shoulder like a side of beef. He grunted. Then the hand yanked him backwards, twisting, and threw him into the alley.

  His shoulder struck the bricks of one wall hard enough to bruise.

  Two men stepped out of the fog and blocked the mouth of the alley right in front of him.

  There was really only one way to respond to this situation and Spade swung hard. His fist caught the smaller man in the ribs with a satisfying thump. The man grunted and doubled over, but the big one reacted too fast. A fist like a wooden mallet drove into Spade’s stomach and folded him halfway over.

  Air rushed out of his lungs. The big man hauled him upright before he had half recovered. The alley tilted disturbingly sideways, considering he was being held upright.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Take it easy big man,” the even bigger man said, one hand on his collar, one hand on his chest, pressing him back into the brick wall. The man’s voice sounded like gravel poured out of a bucket.

  Spade focused on holding in air and looked them over.

  The big guy was broad enough to block most of the alley on his own and more than a head taller than Spade. The other man, narrow and restless with a pointy face, was recovering his derby hat from the alley floor. He took his time wiping it clean and then pulled it low over sharp ears. The whole time he flicked quick glances towards the mouth of the alley.

  “Evening,” Spade said, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand.

  “Evening,” the narrow one answered, then stepped in and drove a fist into Spade’s ribs. Damned weasle. The big man just chuckled and tightened his grip on Spade’s trench.

  “What’d the woman tell you?” said the weasel.

  Spade blinked at him, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He blinked again. “What woman?”

  The big man hit him this time. It was like getting hit by a truck.The punch landed under the ribs and somehow the whole alley lit up bright white for a moment. Like their god had returned to the city. Spade forgot all about his knees and sagged heavily, but the big guy kept him up with ease.

  The weasel moved close and looked into his eyes. His breath smelt of fish. “Don’t be a funny man. We don’t like ‘em,” he said, waving a long pointy finger between himself and the big guy.

  Spade breathed slowly and looked over the big man. He wondered what class he was running. Must have had some kind of pugilism skill. Boxer? Maybe a Bruiser. Was that a class? “Look, if you boys are collecting for charity,” he said, “you picked the wrong fellow, I’m skint. Flat as an empty wineskin.”

  He really hoped Miss Wonderly’s money wouldn’t jingle when the next punch came. He could really use that coin.

  The weasel leaned even closer. Spade turned his head. The smell really was too much.

  “Don’t. Play. Dumb. Where is it?”

  Spade frowned slightly. “Where’s what?”

  The big man struck him again, this time across the jaw. Spade’s head snapped sideways and bounced off the bricks. He cursed and spat blood onto the weasel’s shoes.

  “You boys are terrible conversationalists. You’re starting in the middle of a story.”

  The weasel, clearly the talker of the two, crouched a little so their eyes were level. Spade frowned at him. Hadn’t the man been shorter before? Then he realized he was hanging from the big fist and straightened his knees again.

  “What’d she tell you?”

  “Who?”

  The big man punched him again. Spade slid down the wall before being dragged upright again.

  His head rang and his jaw throbbed harder than his racing heartbeat. His passive Durability skill was keeping the lights from going out, if only just, but he really wished he had something combat related still.

  The narrow man watched him carefully. “You talked to her,” he said. “For a long time.”

  Spade rested his head back on the wall and shrugged weakly. “I talk to lots of people.”

  “Where is it?”

  Spade looked from one to the other.

  “You boys understand that your questions don't make much sense without the rest of the sentence right?”

  The big man jerked him forwards and then slammed him hard against the wall. Brick scraped his shoulder blades. He hoped his trench was going to be okay.

  The system stirred faintly in the back of his head, offering Cold Read the way it always did when people were withholding truths from him.

  Spade ignored it.

  The system liked to be in control of every situation. Spade had never trusted that, and learned better during the war. Besides, he didn’t need the system to know these two clowns knew something he didn’t. He’d rather trust his own judgment than whatever the system claimed to provide.

  “What’d she tell you?” the weasel asked again.

  What the hell did any of this have to do with Wonderly’s missing sister?

  “Look, none of this is necessary fellas. She came by, we traded a few recipes and made a dinner date. That’s all. Pretty lady right?”

  The big man punched him. Hard.

  Spade slid down the wall and stayed there a moment, the lights faded this time and he struggled to stay conscious.

  What he needed was something from his old army class. He used to have so many combat skills to choose from that this encounter would have been a joke. Now he could only remember them wistfully. Even one of his old body reinforcement skills would have been nice right about now.

  Instead the system had handed him a Detective badge after the war. Now he had things like Pattern Recognition and Conversation Leverage. And the everpresent Cold Read.

  Fine tools for the day job. But nothing that was going to soften a fist.

  The weasel came back into view now. He was squatting. Why was he squatting? The man shook his head sadly.

  “Yo… You’re making a mistake,” Spade slurred.

  “Yeah?” the weasel asked and stared at him. “And what mistake would that be? You have some friends coming?”

  Spade started to shake his head, then stopped when it caused a wave of nausea. He had to take a couple of breaths before he could talk again. “No. No friends. It’s the one where you think I know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  The weasel watched him for a long moment, then shook his head with a frown. “He’s lying.”

  “About what?” Spade asked with a very small grin. He didn’t have the strength for any more.

  The big man answered by kicking him in the ribs.

  The next few minutes were very unpleasant.

  ***

  After a time, Spade found himself lying on his back, staring up into the fog. He rolled onto his side and pushed himself slowly upright. Everything complained.

  He spit blood between split lips and probed gently at aching ribs, checking for breaks. Then he checked his coat.

  The money was still there.

  Apparently they really did just want answers.

  Spade stumbled out of the alley and sat down on the curb under the nearest aetherlight. He fished a handkerchief out of a pocket and wiped blood off his face.

  “Good times,” he muttered and thought back to the two men. He had no idea who they were. Or what they were asking about.

  What’d the woman tell you? That her sister had run off.

  Where is it? It? Or Her? Had they made a mistake?

  That was it… Just two questions. Over and over again.

  For some reason they were following Miss Wonderly and knew about her visit to his office.

  And now they thought he knew something valuable enough to beat out of him. But was it about Einne Wonderly, the missing sister? It sure as hells didn’t sound like it.

  Spade stood carefully and dusted off his coat. He looked up the street. Just a couple more blocks and he’d be at Iva’s.

  He pictured knocking on her door looking like this.

  Lip split. Coat soaked with alley water. Probably with a black eye.

  Would she scream and kick him out? Want to take care of him?

  Spade sighed and turned the opposite direction.

  He walked slowly down the fog-drowned street towards his little apartment. The sad light from the overhead aetherlamps guiding him home.

  Deadlight City.

  A place where the lights were as bankrupt as the people.

  Spade pulled his coat tighter around himself and stumbled through the fog.

  Consider checking out My first Royal Road story as well: (???)つ━━???: *?