Slumrat Rising

Vol. 3 Chap. 21 What's Next

The staff of the mansion assembled on the steps, Madame Gullvar at the top. They bowed as one. The descended deity was worthy of that much respect. Truth pegged the large man at Level Five, but that wasn’t the source of the oppression. It was his sheer presence. If Truth had a local superreality edge on almost everybody, this man was the “almost.” Truth moved out of sight, went very still, and ran the Incisive as hard as he could. He didn’t bother trying for total imperceptibility. He was just a maintenance guy. Things need maintenance. And he’s just the maintenance guy.

“We welcome Young Master Ramu!” Gullvar said loudly. Still bowed, as was the entire staff of the mansion. Even though he was pretty sure he was unseen, Truth did the same. Not a good time to find out that you overestimated yourself.

“My thanks. You may rise.” The staff stood from their bow. Truth could feel the pressure of the man move, like the heat of the sun as it crossed the sky. He went up the steps. Truth assumed that he went off with Gullvar.

Truth was torn- he desperately wanted to know who this was and what was being said. On the other hand, he had no idea about the layout of the mansion, the security measures, a safe way to listen in, nothing. It would be stupid to rush in. He took another look at the wards. His bypass was invisible unless specifically and carefully looked for, and even then, it would look like an accident with no consequences. He packed up his tools and quietly walked to the elevators.

He focused on his breathing and on keeping his body language at the appropriate level of tension. A diligent worker. Worried. Job done, on to the next job. Truth desperately wished he had a toolbox or something to help sell the illusion. Fortunately, the people of Jeon would have no trouble believing he was Blouth Crometche, Talisman Maintenance Specialist 1st Class, Eprington Talisman and Fetish, Employee #372. (Part of the Starbrite Family of Companies.)

He didn’t collapse in relief when the elevator doors closed. He looked straight ahead all the way down. Even when he suddenly had an itch, he very visibly scratched. Not trying to hide anything. He walked out of the private elevator, across the street, down four blocks, into a twenty-four-hour diner, ordered a coffee and a bowl of fried rice, and then collapsed into a relieved heap.

Truth racked his brain, trying to figure out what the hell that was. He had seen spirits shaped like a human, but this wasn’t that. This was something human-ish. Human and a bit. Something beyond the common masses. He had no idea what such a thing could be. Nobody had ever mentioned anything like it.

He knew that sometimes, possession by an angel or devil could result in dramatic changes in appearance, but that was like something wearing a human-shaped suit. There was almost always something visibly wrong with them- lumps moving under the skin, an inability to speak properly, gross deformities- something. When demons did turn up looking “human,” it was only to a point- none of them could really pass for long, even insubstantial things like succubae.

This guy wasn’t any of that. He was like a body-builder’s notion of the perfect human, with a brutishly handsome face and the eyes of an emperor. Provided the emperor’s eyes glowed scarlet and gold.

Truth scooped up a spoonful of fried rice. Pork and pineapple. Fancy. And pretty decent. Not the best fried rice he had ever eaten, but right now? Delicious. He ate it up like he was angry at it, washing it down with the free tea that came with it.

He wasn’t going to go anywhere near Gullvar’s place for a while. In fact, he was going to give that place a solid twenty four hours to settle down. Just in case. It was late at night, it had been an… interesting day, and he needed a break. He shook himself loose. He’d go back and see if his usual suite was available at the hotel, then tomorrow he’d check in on De’Ponte and his thugs. Had they been scooped up yet? It would be good to find out. He finished his bowl, downed the rest of the tea, and walked over to the cashier.

“Good meal. How much is it?”

“Thirty wen, please.”

“HOW MUCH?”

“Thirty wen. Pork fried rice is twenty three, and seven for the tea. Prices are on the wall.” The cashier looked both helpless and frustrated. She had clearly had this conversation a lot recently. Truth dug out some of his rapidly dwindling supply of DePonte’s cash and paid her.

“Isn’t the tea usually free?”

“Not anymore. Everything is so expensive these days, we can’t afford to serve even the cheapest tea for free.”

“Damn. Guess I’m lucky to get pork in my rice.”

“We put it up as a special. We don’t always have it in stock these days, and pineapple is even rarer. Our usual vegetable fried rice is twelve wen a bowl.”

Truth remembered Merkovah saying nobody was growing animal feed anymore. Looks like the shortages were starting to hit Jeon. His mind involuntarily jerked back to the bad old days-

“Say, you don’t get your pork from a woman called Rebah in Harban, do you?”

“Eeeeh? How could we get our pork from so far away? We have a deal with a meat packer west of the city, they let us know when they have stuff available. We take what we can get.”

“Ah, right, right. Makes sense. Thank you. Sorry I flipped out, you can tell it’s been a while.”

She put on a business smile, nodded, and waited for him to leave.

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Truth woke, rested and refreshed. He gave himself a good scrub in the shower, and in an act of pure pettiness, he put on a never-before-worn set of clothes. Having cleaned and scrubbed to the exacting specifications of De’Ponte, he then turned to the question of murder. He had promised to kill Wothera Hersch, hotel manager at the Hanging Orchard Hotel on Czerni Square. But would he?

He had now enjoyed the involuntary hospitality of the Hanging Orchard Hotel for several nights and had come to the conclusion that it was actually a very good hotel. He had no particular opinion of Manager Hersch as an employer, and taking out the soon-to-be slave overseers had always been a bit remote as a way to draw Starbrite attention. At least doing it retail was. Contracting it out to De’Ponte and his ilk was a bit more plausible. But last night made that irrelevant.

Gullvar had definitely summoned “Young Master Ramu” as a result of their meeting. Which meant that the unnatural bastard would be aware of it and likely taking steps. A Level Five asking about things that should have been a total secret? It wouldn’t be any ordinary PMC squad they deployed to shut him down.

Truth frowned, thinking it through. Why was Gullvar at Number Five Laurel? She was clearly sincere when she said she was looking for an out, for shelter. But why, when she had the patronage of Young Master Ramu? Unless he was badly misunderstanding the nature of their relationship. He felt like he had gone fishing, and had gotten hooked instead.

Oh Hell. That was exactly it. She was bait. She probably was under some kind of compulsion, and didn't even remember Ramu. Looking for other, like-minded sorts. Maybe as targets for recruitment by Ramu. Maybe as competition to remove. Gullvar was pretty far from a damsel, but she was definitely distressed and looking for a rescue. And there was Young Master Ramu, waiting in the bushes to bag a white knight.

Truth quietly swore to himself. He was really not cut out for spy games. It looked like it should work out, and he was definitely going to search the mansion, but…

>

Truth really didn’t want to think about that.

need to understand that part of yourself. If you were a bit more aware of where your head was at, you might have picked up on where the “arrogant young master” persona was pushing you. And you didn’t even try to push back on it- you leaned in even harder.>>

I really don’t have time for this.

>

Truth parsed that last sentence.

When you say “pushing on…”

>

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Truth had decided to give Wothera Hersch a pass. Mainly because he thought killing her was pointless, to a lesser extent because he had no expectation of actually getting paid for the hit. On that point, the street De’Ponte’s apartment building was on seemed remarkably quiet. Truth felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise- not so much a warning from Incisive as his inner slumrat.

There were four old timers sitting on a terrace, playing dominoes. Just so happened that the terrace was attached to a cafe at the top of the block. What looked like a very lazy roadwork crew down the bottom of the street. Truth kept right on walking. De’Ponte had been nabbed. The only question was, how fast did he give up his “employer?”

Truth smiled up at the cool spring sun. Few things he enjoyed quite so much as dropping a gangster directly in the shit. Then he frowned up at the sun. He was short of cash and really did want to steal more from De’Ponte. Gullvar would not be a great source of walking around money. From what he had observed, the richer you were, the less actual cash you had on hand outside of an emergency reserve in a safe. All the rest was in bank accounts or investments.

Well. Time to stir the pot a bit. It won’t get him any money, but it will help him feel better. When you got right down to it, he rated cops about the same as gangsters but with more power and self righteousness. Not like they were doing much to help in the slums. He walked over to the “Work Van” the undercovers were using. Now… what would be sufficiently upsetting, while remaining cryptic enough to invite paranoia?

It was a real problem. Truth stood there, completely stumped, for ten minutes. Just not the kind of creativity he was used to using. He was half tempted to ask the undercovers, possibly while pointing out that most road crews didn’t carry stun batons and coma-cuffs tucked into their waistbands. Eventually, he decided on a message of support. Of positivity. A message that would definitely ensure De’Ponte’s comfort and well-being in jail.

He coated an index finger with the fangs and, in his best handwriting, wrote: “Touch one of ours, we will take ten of yours. We know where you sleep. De’Ponte or your kids. Choose.”

Good deed done, Truth briskly walked away. Maybe he was wrong about Gullvar, and she did keep cash around the place. First, assemble a few extra B&E tools, working until lunchtime. Then, a little light burglary at Gullvar’s. Midafternoon should see most of the higher levels out of the house, leaving only the domestics. No sense in wasting the day. He should probably check the dead drop for messages in case Merkovah got a reply back fast. Horrible thought- he should probably check in on his… co-religionists? too. There was almost certainly a colony of Ghūl in the city. Perhaps they could play a role. Truth sighed. The days were just so packed.