Chapter 46. The Fever

  One upside of everyone assuming Jeremiah was dead was that there was no particular rush to return Cassidy's prize to Monty. Until he reappeared, he was just the latest cocksure thief to throw his life away in the name of avarice. In fact, he and his friends didn’t even think about the treasure for a week as they focused their energy on recovering from the ordeal.

  Allison remained Delilah’s top priority. It was several more days before Delilah let her be moved from the Giant’s Bag to the apartment proper, where she continued to fuss over her like an anxious mother bird.

  At least Allison had stopped resisting treatment—while she could remember only snatches of the dungeon leading up to her poisoning, even she was not stubborn enough to deny the tremors and shortness of breath that still lingered. Thus she submitted to Delilah’s attentions and insistences with only minor complaints.

  Bruno was much less cooperative, especially when Delilah proposed he may have to lose more of his arm, depending on the state of things. It was only after she pointed out that putting off a proper exam could result in losing the entire limb or even death that he acquiesced, looking pointedly away as she removed the bandages and inspected the mutilated flesh beneath.

  “How this didn’t throw a clot and kill him I’ll never know,” said Delilah.

  Her professional opinion was to cut away more of the arm and create a less complex injury, to which Bruno graciously and gently disagreed as loud as he could.

  Only after the others had been stabilized and Delilah herself took a day to rest did she turn her attention to Jeremiah. He did his best not to protest—she had no sympathy left to offer—and bore the readjustments of his foot and nose as stoically as he could. It was a relief to be sent to bed with a healing tonic, where nothing would be asked of him for a few precious hours.

  Most of his dreams were lost in a feverish haze as he faded in and out of sleep, but one image kept finding its way back to the forefront of his mind. Jeremiah was collecting rocks on a mountain face, and piling them on one spot to build a cairn. The pile rose higher and higher, until he realized that all the rocks were skulls, and they began babbling ceaselessly, a thousand voices screaming, their words crawling into his ears like a swarm of bees and carrying away his brain, piece by piece.

  When he emerged again, it was morning. Bruno sat alone at the table, Allison and her guard uniform were gone, Delilah nowhere to be seen—working in the lab or, Jeremiah hoped, resting.

  Bruno greeted him with a nod and kicked out a chair. Jeremiah sat. He was grateful for the invitation, but words escaped him. He averted his gaze from Bruno dealing himself cards one-handed. It was all too surreal.

  The old chair creaked as Bruno leaned backwards, stretching and rolling his neck. When Jeremiah still kept his eyes fixed on the table, he said, “You’re gonna have to look at me eventually, you know. We live together.”

  “That’s a good point,” said Jeremiah. “I should probably move out.”

  “Well, we’ve got a lovely selection of farm holdings for you to choose from, picked fresh from the deathtrap dungeon. Fancy places too. Cost an arm and a leg.”

  Jeremiah smiled. “Actually, my leg is feeling much better now.”

  “Oh? Just an arm, then. Heck of a deal, if you ask me.”

  “Sorry Bruno, you’re just not that good a salesman.” Jeremiah finally forced his gaze from the table and took in his friend as he was. Bruno was studying him in his casual manner. His sleeve was pinned loosely over the stump. Jeremiah could still see those little signs of age he’d first noticed in the dungeon, seeming ever so slightly more pronounced.

  “Ah, bummer. I was thinking of going into real estate now that I’m taking an early retirement from roguing. Not going to be much of a lockpicker now. Or trap disarmer.” Bruno tried riffling the deck and scattered cards all over the table and floor. “Or card dealer, for that matter.”

  Jeremiah bent under the table to help pick up cards. “I really am sorry, Bruno. I should never have let it happen.”

  Bruno smirked like he was going to crack a joke, then shook his head. “Nah, you shouldn’t have. But if you learn something from it, maybe it’ll be worth it, you know? I’d gladly trade the hand of a rogue past his prime for you to become the mage you’re supposed to be.”

  Jeremiah nodded. “I was so focused on taking responsibility for what I might do, I never considered my responsibility for what I don't do. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “Good. Frees you up to make some real mistakes. That’s important too, you know.”

  “‘The mistakes of great men are just as great as their accomplishments,’” said Jeremiah. “Colonel Valen told me that once.”

  “Ignoring the fact that you just referred to yourself as a great man, and how loath I am to agree with Valen, he’s right.” Bruno had gathered the deck and began to shuffle again. This time, the cards riffled into a neat stack, just as they were supposed to.

  “Does it hurt?” asked Jeremiah.

  “More than I can explain. And it's itchy, that's the worst part. I was ready for pain, but I didn’t expect that.”

  Jeremiah watched Bruno’s fingers practice their unfamiliar dance. “Do you really think you’re past your prime?”

  Bruno sighed. “Every day, a little bit of sand gets put in my pockets, and I can't take it out. I can fight it, I can rage against it, but I can't stop it.” He flexed the fingers of his remaining hand. “My body doesn’t move quite as fast as I remember. And yeah, it’s harder to see the markings on the cards than it used to be.”

  “I get—hey, that deck is marked?” Jeremiah lunged for it, but Bruno yanked them just out of reach. “We played for money with those cards!”

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  “Weren’t we just talking about learning from our mistakes?” Bruno riffled the cards with one hand in the air, still beyond Jeremiah’s grasp. “Now you know never to play with someone else’s deck, especially with a known cheat!”

  Jeremiah laughed as Bruno effortlessly held him off with one foot. It felt good to laugh, a glimpse of normalcy he hadn’t even realized how badly he’d needed. For a brief, healing moment, everything was going to be okay.

  Then the moment passed. Bruno’s face grew serious again. “Are you going to be ready to head back out soon? Things are getting bad out there. Allison reported there have been three more murders in the last week alone.”

  “Shit,” said Jeremiah. “Has Delilah had a chance to look over the paperwork? Anything there I shouldn’t just give over to Monty?”

  “If you’re okay with handing this guy the means of escape for himself, and maybe a good chunk of his gang, if he’s the type to share. Do you think there’s any risk he skips out on your deal and you never see him again?”

  Jeremiah considered what he knew about Monty. “Not a chance.”

  “Then it’s yours,” said Bruno. “Delilah says the monetary value wouldn’t help our situation nearly as much as getting you in with the cult. Are you ready to do this?”

  A thrill of fear ran down Jeremiah’s spine. It all came down to this. The culmination of months of work and suffering was nearly at an end, one way or another. His friends, the empress, and the entire city were depending on him getting this right.

  Jeremiah took a deep breath and looked Bruno square in the eye. “I’m ready.”

  ?

  ?

  “The key to a better life,” said Monty. “That’s what they all said, about the Gilded Vault. I guess I didn’t imagine it would be so literal.”

  “Cassidy was a fan of subverting expectations,” said Jeremiah. They were in Monty’s office, reading by the light of that single candle, the claustrophobic darkness crowding them like a smothering fog.

  “‘Cassidy?’ You’re on a first name basis with him, huh?”

  Jeremiah chuckled. “After what he put me through, I know him better than I know myself.”

  “Allow me to offer you advice; if anyone asks, you never entered the vault. It’s much easier to believe and you won’t nearly be the target you would be otherwise,” said Monty.

  Monty read over the papers again. Jumping back and forth between particular pages, his brow furrowed with concentration. He began taking notes and touching his quill to certain words and letters.

  “I’m going to need to talk this over with some people, see how I can best use it to help the Stonefists…assuming I’m not discovering a code.” More checks back and forth between pages, punctuated with curious grumbling.

  “I didn’t see anything that looked like a code,” said Jeremiah. He meant Delilah, but he’d still be surprised if she had missed something like that.

  “You don’t know the Cant, you wouldn’t know how to look for it,” said Monty, trailing off again. He evaluated Jeremiah, as though seeing him for the first time. “I’ll be honest, I was not expecting to hear from you again. You have proven yourself, more than I ever would have dreamed when I first laid eyes on you. You must know, there is freedom in what you’ve handed me. You’ve more than earned it for yourself, if you prefer.”

  Jeremiah nodded. “I know, but let it be for those who don’t have any other option. I do. Also, I have no interest in farming. Assuming your offer is still valid, of course?”

  “Of course.” Monty spoke in a low voice, nearly to himself. “A mage that bested the Gilded Vault. That will get their attention, without a doubt.” Then to Jeremiah, “It will take me the day to make contact and arrange the meeting, return here this evening and we will go there together. I advise you to take the time to ready yourself in any way you deem appropriate—I know nothing of what happens past the moment of introduction. Be prepared for anything.”

  His words reminded Jeremiah of what Allison had said back in the dungeon. “ They’re going to make you do something to prove your commitment. It won’t be something you want to do. ” His fingers brushed the burlap parcel nestled deep in his pocket, and he nodded. “I will be.”

  Jeremiah considered parading his victory over the Gilded Vault around the Stonefists and basking in glory, but soon realized nothing about it sounded appealing. In fact, imagining their laudations and excited questions when all he could feel was shame for letting Bruno down made him sick to his stomach, so he spent his time outside the Pit.

  He soon realized what Bruno had meant when he’d said things were getting bad. Much of the rubble from the The Tragedy had been cleared, but the destruction remained—homes and shops were simply gone, and the people had nowhere to go. People of all races, classes, and ages huddled in alleys or wandered aimlessly. Even the fevered rush of traffic that had once been the lifeblood of the city had been thinned, becoming meandering and unfocused, except for the wagons that headed for the cemeteries, laden down with the dead.

  One thing that hadn’t changed, though, was the malice underlying Elminia. If anything, it was worse. The loss of routine and basic security for so many people at once, the pain of bodily injury or the death of loved ones—Jeremiah could imagine a city where such an event would unify those remaining, let them come together and rebuild. But here, people seemed to grow even meaner.

  People gripped whatever they could and guarded it jealously. Temporary constructions on the ruins of buildings quickly became the targets of squabbles and violence until they collapsed. Jeremiah watched two women nearly kill each other over a scrap of bread, ceasing their fight only when one had been hobbled, left unable to fight or fend for herself. She was quickly robbed of what little remained in her pockets by others who had been watching the fight. The edges of The Pit seemed to be creeping further outward, swallowing those who previously had sure footing and safe distance.

  The cutthroat ambition of Elminia was alive as well. The remaining businesses jockeyed for position among themselves, charging a premium for whatever goods they managed to procure. Jeremiah could only imagine the furious scramble that had to be going on behind the scenes for newly-available property.

  The city guard seemed to have returned to business as usual, albeit with many more homeless to harass from the corners. When he thought about it, Jeremiah supposed it wasn’t surprising that Empress Aubrianna was allowing the city to recover with so little oversight. He guessed she might describe it as a wildfire, burning through the overgrowth so that new life may thrive.

  Something was certainly thriving in the aftermath of The Tragedy. It was pulsing, reveling in the chaos, tightening its grip over Elminia. It was the same presence he’d felt seeing the headless man suspended over the city, the same lingering dread, half-remembered from his dreams.

  Whatever it was, it was closer than it had ever been, an invisible predator stalking an entire populace. Jeremiah steeled himself to face it.

  He prayed he would be enough.