Chương 199

"This is..." Elara trailed off, tugging her healer's robes more snugly around herself as they moved past a group of hollow-eyed men warming their hands over a trash fire.

"Certainly not quite to the same level as the rest of the camp, no," Orion murmured. This was much more like what he had expected to find when he first arrived, and the contrast with the pristine area behind them made the difference even more noticeable.

"A lot of violence has taken place here," Selene agreed, though she didn't seem particularly worried. Orion suddenly remembered that she was the one who led him deep into the refugee camp last time and had not even blinked at the bloody fight that broke out when the vampire thrall attacked. All her changes and mysterious silences couldn't hide the fact that she was actually quite reckless and even relished the thrill of danger. I wonder if that's common for those with the Sight.

It might be one of the few thrills they get out of life. Already knowing everything that's about to happen would be so boring. They navigated the maze of mud and misery, ignoring the hostile glares tracking their every move. Orion wasn't looking for a fight, but he wasn't hiding either, especially since he was trying to find a very specific kind of place—somewhere people would gather in the shadows to discuss matters better left alone. It was bound to exist in a place like this.

Fortunately, it didn't take long to find it. Near the southern edge, pushed up against the ruins of an old watchtower, sat a large tent that was noticeably more sturdy than the others. Laughter and unidentifiable iridescent liquids that Orion was fairly sure contained unadvisable amounts of alcohol spilled out. And there, roughly painted on the stone wall beside the entrance, was a symbol Orion hadn't seen in months. A jagged dagger stabbing a coin.

If his memory had been any less eidetic, or if this place hadn't already been jogging his past experiences, he might have missed it, but suddenly, he made the connection with the would-be bandits they'd been set upon. He pushed the flap aside and entered, with the others following closely behind. The inside was smoky, lit by sputtering oil lamps. Trestle tables made of stolen planks were packed with rough-looking men and women drinking cheap swill.

"Jareth," he said, a dry smile touching his lips as he noticed who was sitting on a chair that had been padded with stolen furs.

"You know him?" Elara asked, raising an eyebrow. To her, he was the son of a Veil Priestess and the Speaker of the High Council, possibly the most high-profile teenager in all of Cyril. Having any sort of connections in this kind of place must have felt impossible.

"It is him," Selene confirmed, her lips quirking up in shared amusement.

"We have a history," Orion said.

"He tried to rob us, but was attacked by a vampire thrall, and then arrested. I can't say he might be inclined positively toward us, but if he's still hanging around, he might know something." The conversation faded as the patrons noticed them, and forty pairs of eyes turned to the intruders. In the Expansion Zone, strangers were usually either victims or guards, but Orion's group looked like neither. Jareth had changed since their last meeting.

He was heavier, well-fed, and bore a nasty scar running from his ear to his jaw that cut through his beard. He was currently counting a stack of coins, looking every bit the king of the trash heap. He looked up, squinting to see in the low light, and his eyes first landed on Pauline. She was slightly ahead, her dark robes and pale features making her look like a porcelain doll in a mud pit. To a thug like Jareth, she probably looked like the best kind of prey.

Someone would say that he should have known better, since they were still in the shadow of the coven, and any woman, especially one dressed up, could have been a witch. But to be fair, Orion doubted that many witches had even come through the camp. Jareth grinned, revealing a gold tooth that definitely wasn't his originally.

"Well, look at this," he boomed, standing up. The tavern went silent, sensing entertainment.

"We got ourselves a little lost sheep. You take a wrong turn looking for the charity line, sweetheart?" The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Pauline just tilted her head, looking at him with the mild curiosity one might show a particularly noisy bug.

"I know exactly where I am," she said calmly.

"Is that right?" Jareth laughed, stepping around the table. He hooked his thumbs in his belt, puffing out his chest.

"Well, down here, there's a toll for pretty things, just to make sure they aren't ruined, you see. So many ruffians around these parts, it's not easy to keep the peace. Maybe you can pay with coin. Maybe you can pay with—" He halted suddenly, having shifted enough to see past Pauline's shoulder and spot the person behind her, which just so happened to be Orion. Orion knew what he looked like.

A young man in a white lab coat, with stark white hair, purple eyes behind crystal glasses, and a bored expression, did not make for the most intimidating of sights, yet Jareth froze mid-step. His mouth stayed open, but the words caught in his throat. The color drained from his face so quickly it was almost impressive, and his knees actually knocked together.

"You," he squeaked. The menacing baritone was replaced by a tremulous tone that could have charitably been called anxious.

"Hello, Jareth," Orion said pleasantly, adjusting his glasses.

"I see the business is booming. Good, I was worried about you after our last meeting, you see. I know the militia can be a bit rough, and there was that spot of bad business with the vampire."

"The... the Devil," Jareth whispered, taking a shaky step back. He bumped into his own table, knocking over his pile of coins. He didn't even glance at them. The other bandits looked confused, glancing from their terrified leader to the unassuming teenager.

"Boss?" one of them asked, reaching for a club.

"You want us to—""DON'T!" Jareth screamed, flinching as if Orion had already cast a spell.

"Don't touch him! Don't look at him! Do you want to die?!" He looked at Orion, his hands raised in surrender.

"I didn't know she was with you! I swear! I'm legit now! I'm a businessman!" Pauline glanced back at Orion, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"The Devil? Really?"

"I've been called worse things," Orion shrugged. He moved forward, causing the sea of bandits to part for him, infected by their leader's terror. Orion pulled out a rickety stool and sat right in front of Jareth.

"Sit," he ordered. Jareth sat, though he looked like he wanted to cry.

"I'm not here for revenge," Orion said, crossing his legs.

"Though, considering you tried to rob me, I probably should be. I'm here for information."

"Anything," Jareth babbled.

"You want names? Stolen goods? I can get you anything. Just don't..."

"I want to learn about the extra crates, "Orion said, lowering his voice.

"The ones that don't go to the main warehouse and are moved at night. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about." I'm actually not sure if he knows. The guy doesn't seem particularly talented, but then again, he's also become a leader in the slums. If anyone knows, it's him. Jareth flinched, seeming even more spooked. He looked around the tent, lowering his voice to a terrified whisper.

"I can't talk about that. That man... he's got eyes everywhere. If I talk, I'll get shanked."

"If you don't talk," Orion said, leaning forward, "you get shanked now, and that is for sure. If you do talk, you might get away with it, especially if we are successful." It wasn't a tough choice. Jareth broke instantly.

"Okay! Okay!" he hissed.

"But not like this." He waved his hand at his crew.

"Everyone out! Bar closes early! Get out! I know you have a job to do." There was grumbling, but no one argued in the face of the sheer fear in Jareth's eyes. Within a minute, the tent was empty except for Orion's team and the bandit leader.

"The Night Shift," Jareth whispered, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Yeah, we do it once a week. Nethelgard pays triple for it, but we are told that if even one person looks into the crates, we'll all lose our jobs. It's heavy stuff. Lead-lined, I think."

"Where do they go?" Orion asked.

"Not to the depots," Jareth said.

"There's an old storm drain near the river, with a big iron grate. We load the crates onto a sled, push them through the grate, and leave them on the platform inside."

"And who picks them up?" Pauline asked. The bandit hesitated visibly, but the fact that he did so told Orion he had to know something. He leaned forward, allowing the light to hit his glasses just right, making them fully reflective, and growled, "Tell me!" Jareth shuddered.

"The steel men." Orion's eyes narrowed.

"Golems?"

"I don't know what they are," Jareth said, pouring himself a drink with shaking hands.

"I've only ever caught them once. They look like armor, but there's no one inside. It's like no magic I've seen before." That didn't mean much, considering he was a bandit living in the slums, but the description made Orion think they weren't dealing with the usual kind of magical construct. We might need to ask Eire if she knows what they are once everything is settled. She's probably the most likely to figure it out.

"And they take the crates deeper?" He pressed.

"Yeah," Jareth nodded.

"Down the drain and into the deeper tunnels."

"Why don't you take them down?" Elara asked.

"Why switch to golems?" Jareth looked at her like she was crazy.

"Because we like living, lady. The air down there is poisonous. It burns your eyes even before you go in. One of my boys tried to peek once, to see if he could skim a crate. He got ten feet past the platform and started coughing up blood. Died two days later with his lungs turned to mush." Orion exchanged a look with Selene.

"Could be an alchemically charged atmosphere," he mused.

"Or highly concentrated magical runoff."

"It ain't magic," Jareth insisted.

"I know magic. Magic tingles. This stuff... it just felt empty. There is nothing there, but there is." The Silence must be involved then, Orion realized. If they are moving large quantities of the liquid, the fumes in an enclosed space would be concentrated enough to sever the mana connections in a living body. It would cause severe organ failure.

"And these steel men?" Orion asked.

"The gas doesn't bother them?" If they were regular enchantments, they wouldn't be able to survive under such a heavy concentration of the Silence, but that didn't seem to be the case.

"Nope," Jareth said.

"They just march right through it. And the weirdest part? My mage—Old Pete, rest his soul—he said he couldn't sense them. Said they didn't show up on his mana-sight at all. I knew I had to steer clear of them then." I know the Silence isn't that expensive, considering how it keeps showing up, but to use enough to fill the tunnels, at least the entrance, and keep it like that, they must have a depot.

Even beyond the implications of the storage being just a stone's throw from Silverpeak, it explained why no one had noticed anything. The Silence made everything invisible to magical senses. He looked at Jareth.

"Where is this storm drain?"

"Sector 4," Jareth said quickly.

"Behind the latrines. Look, I told you everything. We're square, right? You won't... do anything, right?"

"You're safe," Orion said, turning to leave.

"For now. But Jareth? If I find out you warned Nethelgard…"

"I didn't see you!" Jareth yelped, covering his eyes.

"I haven't seen anyone! I'm blind!"