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Down in the Dirt

^{Prologue: The Mark}

More dirty deals had gone down in the city of Blackforge than anyone would dare admit, except under duress. At any time, day or night, somebody had a knife in their hand, cash in their pocket, or a lie on their lips. They’d be hanging around a back alley, a pool hall, a seedy hotel, or an abandoned shack somewhere, primed for all manner of wicked business. That was just the way of things, so everyone knew you kept your eyes diverted, and your mouth shut, and if the law ever started poking around asking questions, you had no idea what they were talking about. Such was the code, and every damned soul in Blackforge lived and died by that code. Mostly died.On the outskirts of town, bordering the wild Magic lands of Mudweed, sat a tavern— nameless, for its grim reputation was quite enough. A decent place for thieves and scoundrels of all stripes to lie low and hang their hats. More decent than getting hung themselves, anyway.On an evening grayer than most, Duke and Rinehart showed up and asked Bronson, the old barkeep, if they could rent the room upstairs for a meeting.“You gonna…” He trailed off, looking at them both with heavy, tired eyes.“Spit it out,” Duke said.“Keep the place… you know. Tidy. No blood, I mean.”“It’s just a business meeting,” Rinehart said. She glared at him, arms folded.Bronson glared back. “There’s all kinda business.”“This ain’t that kind.”The barkeep shrugged, took the cash they left on the table, then shuffled away without a word. They had an afternoon to get the place ready, which was a hell of a big ask. The wallpaper was peeling and faded, and a handful of thread-worn furniture pieces were strewn about — a couple of musty chairs, a coffee table covered in dark stains not made by coffee, and a frayed yellow paisley sofa that seemed designed to make asses itch. The room stank of alcohol, the floors littered with sticky rings left by leaking casks that had been hauled away at some time or another. They swept and dusted as best they could, then laid down an old rug and lit a handful of candles to help brighten the place up. It didn’t work, but it would have to do.Rinehart— or, the woman who called herself such, but whose given name was undoubtedly not Rinehart— sat statue-still on the sofa, wreathed in curls of smoke from her hand-rolled cigarette, her steely gray eyes fixed on the window. Her shoulders were draped in a crow black coat, her head draped in crow black hair, with a permanently stony expression etched into a face of alabaster. She drew no notice, faded into crowds, prowled in silence, and played nice with shadows.Duke— or, the man who called himself such, but whose given name was undoubtedly not Duke— paced the floor. The guy was dense, all sinewy muscle and tanned leather skin, with rough and calloused hands that had gripped their share of throats. His craggy, bearded face was a map of tavern brawls and bloody gutters, and Rinehart was the only person left alive who had the legend. Each scar told a story, and she’d heard them all.They set up an end table with a few bottles and glasses as a makeshift wet bar. Duke poured himself a muddy cocktail and downed it. He scratched at his beard and rubbed a hand across his sandpaper skull.'“Got the jitters,” he said. “You believe that?”“You’ll do fine,” Rinehart said coldly.“Hell, that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He flashed her a warm grin of crooked, coffee stained teeth.“Just take it easy. He’ll do most of the talking, you can count on that.”
She ashed her cigarette, stubbing it out with the heel of her boot as they heard the galloping rumble of a carriage approaching. Right on time.There was a clatter of footsteps up the stairs and a tall, gangly man in a heavy wool coat shuffled through the door. A strange, angular glyph, chalked in white, was set in the middle of his forehead. Beneath the coat he wore pale, silvery robes, like the Sorcerers of old; considered traditional by some, terribly old-fashioned by most. His black hair was pulled into tight braids, his thin, pursed lips were set into a permanent frown, and his eyes darted between Duke and Rinehart, watching them like a deer watches a pair of wolves. He pawed absent-mindedly at a necklace tucked under his shirt, closing the door behind him without breaking eye contact. He couldn’t have been more than twenty five, but the desperate, anxious energy he carried with him like a pack mule’s load aged him by another ten years, at least.After what seemed like a long time, Duke finally burst the silence saying, “You must be Aundlo. Thanks for meeting us. Get you something to drink?”“The fellow downstairs already offered, I’m quite alright.” Aundlo brushed dirt from the chair nearest him, and eased into it. “I haven’t the disposition for the hard stuff,” he said, although it hardly needed saying.“I hear you hail from the mountains in the West. First time this close to Mudweed, I imagine.” Aundlo nodded vigorously. “You nervous?”“An understatement.”“You get used to it,” Rinehart said.“Do you? There’s just something about the — you know.” He waggled his fingers next to his head in a vague gesture of confusion.“Magic, sure,” Duke said. “There’s a buzz in the air, I admit. That doesn’t go away, no, but as long as you don’t go traipsing too far into the ‘Weed, you’ll be fine. The real sour stuff was dropped deep yonder, so you can ease your mind. You’re safe in these walls.”“That’s what they said before the Fall. The great kings of old, I mean. They said it was safe.”“Yeah well, they may have been mistaken on that one,” Duke said with a chuckle. "Regardless, we’re here now. You’re a nobleman, right? Then we’re at your service.”Aundlo smirked. “Flattery might work on my father, but status doesn’t particularly concern me. I want someone strong, smart, and brave — noble or otherwise. The two of you come highly recommended from our mutual friend Chisel Gardener. I understand that he makes a living down here in Blackforge.”“He did,” said Duke, hanging his head.“Chisel’s dead,” said Rinehart.“Oh my,” said Aundlo, as if he’d never considered the possibility. “How?”“Bravely defending the good name of our former prince,” Duke said.
“May they both rest in peace.”Aundlo closed his eyes and mustered a weak smile. “Gardener was an honorable man. Led a respected company in the revolts of old, you know. Royal army, first captain.”“Really? I’d no idea.”“May he rest in the arms of the Elders,” Aundlo sighed. “These are dangerous times, and now I come bearing poor news of my own. Although to tell true, I’m not really sure I should even be here. I’ve just nowhere left to turn.”“Shit, you just described most folks living out in these parts.”“I bear the mark of the wanderer,” said Aundlo, pointing at the symbol on his forehead. “It is a token of shame, worn until the completion of my quest.”Rinehart said, “Your sister’s missing.”Aundlo nodded, a hollow look in his eye. “Yes. She was on her way to Gorse to serve in our temple, but she never arrived. I came down from the mountain with a group from the village to find her, but we are strangers in a strange land. We scarcely know the customs or your laws, and we certainly aren’t bounty hunters or trackers. I fear the task is simply beyond our skill.”“You made the right call coming to us,” said Duke. “You’re trying to find a flea in a city of dogs.”“More than that,” said Aundlo, hanging his head, “I fear Zelna may not want to be found.”“What makes you say that?”“A feeling. When I dropped her at the station, I sensed a profound, unvoiced turmoil within her. My father wouldn’t hear of it, of course. He forbade me from even suggesting she might abandon her duties. But I couldn’t let it rest. I had to do something, damn the consequences.”“Good man,” grinned Duke. “I can tell you care about your sister a great deal, willing to step out of line to do right by her. That’s a rare quality in this world.” Aundlo held back a beaming smile, but his blushing cheeks betrayed him. “Any leads so far?”Aundlo shrugged. “My father notified a few prominent families of the valley, but my father is hesitant to raise the alarm in fear of it reflecting poorly on our family. I’ve been in contact with the port guard in the North, the lawmen roaming the Western roads, and the railway sentries stretching East. But she’s one girl, she is hardly their concern. All that’s left is the valley, so that’s how I ended up here.”Duke sighed. “Then we’ll have to look South.”“South? You mean in Mudweed?” The word hung heavy in the air, prompting a grave nod from Duke that made Aundlo shudder. “Would Zelna really— I mean, I can’t imagine,” he stammered. “I’ve heard the stories —”“Not stories,” said Rinehart.Duke rubbed his hands together, meeting Aundlo’s wide-eyed gaze. He said in a low, stern voice, “Miles of rough terrain. Caves and swamps, rife with thieves and murderers. A nest of vipers. And a dumping ground for the kings of yore, where lay the bones of enchanted castles, pipes of the ancient waterways, the Sorcerers’ rotten tools, all the mystic artifacts of days gone by. The remnants of Magic, all gone sour, infecting the land as it rots. And boy, don’t get me started on what awaits in the deepest dark.”Aundlo swallowed to wet his dry throat. “What do you mean?”“Untold horrors. All those rotten scraps of Magic, pooling up, molding, merging into god knows what. Unnatural reflections of living things, more monstrous than you can imagine. Swamp kelpies, nuckeldemons, wicked wisps, bloodwind spirits —”“Don’t forget moonwalkers,” added Rinehart.“Lordy, I wish I could. One bite, and you ain’t nothin’ but a beast in a human suit. Nasty, nasty business.”“You’ve seen them?” Aundlo rasped.“I pray I never do,” said Duke, shaking his head. “You’re worried about your sister, I get it. But we know the terrain, and I tell you this — we’ll get her back, you can count on that, Aundlo Enock. She might be clever, she might be fast, but she’s never met us.”“Thank you!” he said, leaping to his feet. He gripped each of their hands and shook them with both of his, tears welling in his eyes. “You can’t imagine how much this means to me.” He touched his forehead lightly with two fingers, and closed his eyes. “With your help, may this mark be taken from me.”“We need to talk payment,” Rinehart said with less tact than she’d intended.Aundlo’s attention snapped back to her. “Why yes, of course.”He fumbled in the inner lining of his coat and produced an envelope of parchment tied in gold twine. “That is twenty thousand Empirical notes.” He handed the bundle to Duke. “We rely on hard coin back West, so I hope this is sufficient.”“It’ll do,” Duke said.“Oh, it’s all I have for now — I’ll tell you what, I can pay an additional ten once she’s back.”“Very generous,” said Duke cooly, trying to maintain his composure.“Plus expenses,” Rinehart said. She took the envelope from Duke, unwrapping the twine and began thumbing through the stack of notes.“Ah yes, of course. Expenses,” said Aundlo, looking to Duke for reassurance.Duke laid a gentle hand on Aundlo’s shoulder. “Just covering supplies for the journey. We’ll be on the trails, bush country, with a great deal of ground to cover. Fifty per day is sufficient. Standard.”Aundlo nodded. “That seems reasonable.”Rinehart finished counting the money, pocketed it, and nodded to Duke.“That’ll do for now,” said Duke, guiding Aundlo to the door. “Where are you staying?”“The Broecker Hotel.”“Of course. We’ll send word when we can. Keep this under your hat, wouldn’t want the girl catching word that we’re on her trail.” They shook hands one last time. “We’ll be in touch.”Aundlo grinned, bright and eager as a child in a sweets shop. “Thank you, again! I pray for your safety, and the safety of my dear sister.” He bowed to them both, bounded down the stairs, climbed into an extravagant white carriage, and rode away towards Blackforge.Duke and Rinehart waited until he was out of sight, then they headed to the place where they’d been keeping Zelna.