Crowds had always been one of the worst parts of being a Hero’s companion so far as Amarantha was concerned. Sure, the long days and nights on the road were bad, and the life and death fights were worse, but dealing with legions of mortals all falling over themselves just to get a glimpse of Wilhelm’s weird butt was too much for her to handle. Before Amarantha got her Ketty, she had been stepped on a few times in all of the commotion. Even riding on top of the stone cauldron or one of the other companions was no guarantee of safety. Some fool or another had plucked at the flames of her tail on at least seven different occasions. What on Ulya’s gracious hearth those idiots could have been thinking was beyond her, and she had punished the first few entirely appropriately. Willy had forbidden her from giving anyone else a face full of moles after the third time, but she still tossed some lesser poxes at anyone who got handsy with her when he wasn’t looking.
No, exuberant crowds were not for her. That was why when Amarantha spotted the delightfully devious Maeve sneaking away from the airship, she followed her.
“Where are you off to?” Amarantha whispered as she padded up behind the Fetch. “You aren’t abandoning us to go have fun on your own, are you?”
At that particular moment, the Fetch had taken on the form of a Voltonian soldier. The crowd surrounding the airship was being kept at bay by a line of such soldiers, but it was a chaotic affair. Many were rushing back and forth across the line, reinforcing where they were needed as the civilians pushed and shoved each other as they tried to get a glimpse of the Hero. Choosing to take on the form of a soldier who was rushing around the cabin of the airship was clever enough, though Amarantha didn’t see how Maeve was going to slip away in that guise if escaping was her plan.
“I’m on the job, actually,” Maeve replied without looking down at her. “Information gathering. Want to come?”
“A surreptitious retreat is just what I’m looking for,” Amarantha admitted as she wound between the fake soldier’s legs like a needy kitten. “I’d love to.”
“Do you have any way of not looking like a Lares? You’re welcome to join me, but a fiery avatar of Ulya stands out.”
“I have a potion for the occasion,” she admitted. “Give me just a moment to fetch it.”
Scampering back the way she had come, Amarantha retrieved the potion she was looking for from one of the many compartments she had hidden throughout Ketty’s stone structure. Upon taking a lick, the flare of her flames was replaced by the illusion of fluffy black fur, giving her the appearance of nothing more interesting than a common housecat. She also took a few seconds to imbibe a trio of other potions that would enhance her stealth as well as some of her attributes for the rest of the day. She had other means of casting magic than just potions, but those were her strongest spells, and she wasn’t going to wander off into a foreign city unprepared.
Giving Ketty instructions to stay with the airship, Amarantha selected one of her pre-recorded notes and put it on the cauldron where she knew Jocy would find it if she went looking for her. Probably she and the rest would be distracted for the next four or five hours, but she didn’t want to disappear without leaving at least a little notice. After that, she slipped away through the crowd of Clan Nox mercenaries who were at that point surrounding the front half of the airship. As she left, she felt the signs of one of Jocy’s miracles coming on. The Oracle’s truly powerful healing spells always put a certain flavor of magic in the air.
“I think a distraction is just around the corner,” the Lares said as she sidled up to the disguised Fetch. “If you’re waiting on one.”
“I know,” Maeve replied quietly. “Get ready to follow me once that spell fires off.”
They didn’t have to wait long. A few seconds later, a wave of healing magic washed over them as well as the gathered crowd, covering at least a few hundred of those who were gathered closest to the airship. It wasn’t as though Jocelyn’s wide-reaching spell would cure anyone with more serious issues like higher tier diseases or missing limbs, but the healing felt good and anyone who was missing health points for any reason would be happy to find them restored. It was a crowd pleaser, and the Oracle often used the spell when they arrived in towns and cities since it helped reinforce that they were there to help.
The moment the spell hit, the crowd erupted in cheers. While everyone but the guards were eagerly shouting and pushing, all focused on the front of the ship where everyone important was gathered, Maeve shifted forms. Amarantha was impressed by the speed of the transformation. One moment, she was a middle-aged human soldier, the next she was a tawny-coated dog of middling size. A few of the people closest to them saw the shift and let out exclamations of shock, but anything they shouted was drowned out by the noise coming from the rest of the crowd.
Moving quickly, Maeve shot forward between the legs of a soldier and disappeared into the shifting sea of mortals. Amarantha followed right on her tail, trailing after the Fetch while doing her best to not get stepped on.
It was a chaotic few minutes, but in the end they both escaped the crowd and left the introductory meeting between heroes and the Senate behind. Slipping through an alley, Maeve shifted again, changing her form into a different breed of dog with darker fur and longer legs. It must have been something local to the area, since Amarantha had never seen the type before, but she didn’t bother asking about it. She was more interested in different details.
“So, where are we going?” she asked as they scooted around a pile of foul-smelling refuse someone had dumped in the narrow passage. “I assume you have a plan.”
“There are a few establishments I want to visit,” Maeve confirmed with a nod of her shaggy head. “The Sagging Grapes first. I need to hear what’s in the air, get a feel for what’s changed since the last time I was here. It’s been a long time.”
“How long?”
“Almost eight years,” the Fetch answered, her tone distracted as she sniffed the ground before continuing down a different alleyway. “Things can change a lot in that amount of time.”
“True.”
Amarantha could only shrug at the comment. In truth, she was quite young. She didn’t have anywhere near the years of experience that someone like Maeve did, who could number her lifespan with decades. Not that she would admit as much to anyone else. She already had enough trouble with Willy seeing her as some kind of little sister. She didn’t want to encourage that attitude in anyone else who might be inclined to if they knew her age. Jadis was a good example of that. No need to let the big lady get the silly idea of thinking Amarantha was childlike in her head, if she could help it.
Then again, Jadis understood that Alex was an adult for her race, didn’t she? Maybe the Nephilim was smarter than she let on. Or wiser, at least.
The two kept conversation light and to a minimum as they made their way through the city. They were supposed to be regular animals, after all, so talking about the weather would spoil the illusion, somewhat. As they trekked away from the senate hill and got closer to the city walls, Amarantha noted a significant decline in the standard of living. They weren’t exactly in a slum, not going by the quality of the buildings, but the cleanliness of the streets was, frankly, awful.
“Ugh, don’t they have anyone cleaning the gutters?” Amarantha wrinkled her nose as she leapt over another puddle of septic filth blocking their way. “Even the most backwater villages in the empire don’t let the streets get this dirty.”
“They used to have mages who would wash away any buildup of muck daily,” Maeve replied, her own tone showing her displeasure. “I’d guess that the army has called those mages to the field for support. Or the senate has them doing other things.”
“Whatever things those mages are doing had best be important,” the Mystic grumbled. “All of this waste baking in the sun is going to make people sick!”
While Amarantha had meant “sick” in the nauseous sense, the more practical and serious “disease” sense was also at play. On their way to Maeve’s promised tavern, she counted no less than eighty individuals, mostly children, who were showing signs of serious infection. Horrible black and green buboes were spread across hands and feet, making the simple act of clenching a fist a painful experience, never mind walking. The disease was likely a product of Demon creation, and thus unnatural, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t play by the same rules as more common illnesses. Filth bred sickness.
When they finally reached a rather seedy-looking establishment with a suggestive sign hanging over the door, Maeve ducked into a side alley and transformed herself into a plain human man with a scraggly beard. Picking Amarantha up and putting her around her shoulders, the Fetch confidently walked into the bar.
The place was overcrowded, with dozens of rough-faced men dressed in ragged clothes holding cups of what smelled like bad wine close to their chests. Almost universally, the men were injured, with bandages wrapped around arms or legs, often times covering stumps. The healthiest of the bunch were the old tomcats whose hair had gone gray, if not outright bald. Even the elderly had signs of injury or illness, though. The whole crowd was human except for a few gnomes here and there, along with a singular half-breed therion whose horns had been cut close to his head.
More than a few of the customers gave Maeve a hard look as she passed by, but no one tried to stop her. Amarantha noticed belatedly that as soon as she had entered the establishment, the Fetch had adopted a limp and had even materialized a few bandages that were barely visible below the hem of her pantleg. Quick thinking on her part, Amarantha silently commended the shapeshifter.
Once she reached the bar, Maeve rapped her knuckles on the wooden counter and spoke a few words in the local language.
“Versami un bicchiere di sogni blu.”
“Si,” the harried-looking older woman behind the bar said without glancing up from the wine cask she was tapping. “Solo pochi istanti.”
While Maeve waited for her drink, a man who was sitting a few chairs away made subtle eye contact with the Fetch before motioning with his head towards the back of the bar, past the doors that led to what had to be the kitchen, by the smell of things. Maeve nodded back, making the motion look like she was merely scratching her ugly beard. The only reason why Amarantha noticed the exchange was because she happened to be looking in the right direction.
Once she got her disappointingly not-blue drink, Maeve paid for it with a few coins of the local currency before slowly sipping on it. Maeve spoke a few more words of light conversation to the men sitting closest to her, but otherwise silently drank her alcohol. By her best guess, Amarantha assumed that Maeve was listening to all of the many hushed conversations going on around her, which would have been fine, except that Amarantha didn’t speak Voltonian or whatever the language was called. All she could do was sit on Maeve’s shoulders and be bored. She was half tempted to dispel the effect of the illusion that was covering her flames just so that she could start up a conversation with someone, but she restrained herself. They were on a fact-finding mission, not a jaunt on the town, so Amarantha wouldn’t do anything that would jeopardize Maeve’s cover.
After her drink was done, Maeve hung around the bar for a few more minutes before quietly departing without any notice or stir from the rest of the patrons. Once they were out the front door, the Fetch immediately turned down the alley next to The Sagging Grapes and walked up to what looked like a separate storage room behind the bar. Maeve knocked on the door in an odd pattern before letting herself inside.
Within the dimly lit space were a few crates and barrels, most of which looked empty. There was no one else in the room, though, so Amarantha assumed that they were waiting for the man who had signaled them inside of the bar to join them. Last she had seen, he had still been at his seat when Maeve had walked out of the front door.
“It’s been a long time, Arancia,” a woman’s voice floated out of the shadows. “Seven years.”
“Eight,” Maeve corrected. “Unless you’ve been tricked by another.”
Amarantha was silently proud of herself that she managed to not yelp in surprise when one of the small barrels in the corner shifted shape into a middle-aged human woman with dark, curly hair. She smiled at Maeve, though there was no warmth in the woman’s dark eyes.
“No tricks by anyone but you,” the unfamiliar shapeshifter said as she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “I expected more courtesy out of you. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, though. That Blandus affair—”
“Was entirely my fault,” Maeve cut in with a bow of her head. “I owe you two favors at least for that. And to show my sincerity, I brought you a gift.”
Reaching inside of her own chest, which rippled like a puddle of mud, Maeve pulled out a large leather sack. Untying the strings on the opening, she revealed a small fortune of silver coins, enough to buy a house. Maybe not a really nice house, but still. It was a lot of silver.
The other woman raised one eyebrow, her expression wary.
“A gift of money, from you? You must be in a lot of trouble.”
“Not at all,” Maeve shook her head. “I just don’t have time for any games today, Vibi. This is serious work.”
It was only then that Amarantha realized that the two weren’t speaking the local language, nor were they speaking Imperial. Instead, they were talking in Old Ahdt, the language spoken by most humans in the area where she, Wilhelm, and Ludger were from. Aila hadn’t been born too far away, either, Amarantha realized, though she let the thought go by since she was focused on the ongoing conversation between the two Fetch.
“I see…” the other Fetch showed some surprise on her face. “If you are taking something seriously, I might have to as well. Not that there has been much to laugh about around here as of late.”
“Things look bad,” Maeve nodded as she set the bag of coins down on a nearby crate. “Worse than when that plague ran through Volto, what, twenty years ago?”
“Far worse,” the Fetch called Vibi nodded, though she didn’t walk over to take the money she had been offered. “Far, far worse. You’ve seen the buboes.”
“Yes,” Maeve nodded. “And then purple rashes.”
Purple rashes? Amarantha had missed that symptom, somehow. She would have to take a better look at the locals once they left the storage room.
“Those are the most widespread, but there are more diseases going around. Some of them are Greater. I’ve even heard of one at Superior.”
“Fuck, that is bad,” the disguised Fetch cursed. “I haven’t seen any sign of diseases that powerful on the imperial border.”
“No, I don’t imagine you would,” Vibi shrugged. “The Haliax would take care of most of those problems. The army is doing what it can, but there isn’t much stopping the poisons and diseases from coming north. Whether by wind, water, or plague-bearing Demons who sneak past the watch towers, the corruption is getting through.”
“I want to hear all the details you have,” Maeve spoke with a serious tone, her expression somber. “Everything you know. But first, I need to know if you’ve heard anything about the Cult of Samleos. That’s my priority right now.”
“Acque pericolose,” the other Fetch shook her head. “I don’t dabble with them. You aren’t thinking of slipping into one of their roles, are you?”
“Not unless I need to. Give me names, locations, associates. Anything you might have heard.”
“I don’t have much,” Vibi shrugged. “And what I do have will cost you more than that bag.”
“We can trade,” Maeve shifted slightly, taking a step closer to Vibi. “I’ll pay upfront. And if you don’t know as much as I need, I’ll go speak with Romy.”
“He’s called Corvo now,” the woman said as she let her curly black hair fall over one shoulder. Leaving the wall, she walked over to Maeve and picked up the bag of silver, weighing it in one hand. “He’s also not here. He went to Petra, to the west. Yaz is around, though. She sort of took his place, in her own way.”
Maeve made a face that showed her displeasure, curling her lip at the suggestion.
“She’s a flipper, but I’ve never heard of her being stupid enough to fuck with the Cult of Samleos.”
“Neither have I, but I wouldn’t trust her with any information that you wouldn’t want getting back to the cult.”
“Hm. Well. That could have its own uses,” Maeve muttered. “Where is she oozing around now?”
“Spends most of her time in the garden district, selling different faces and bodies to the wealthy merchants.”
“Stupid,” Maeve shook her head. “She’ll catch a disease with what’s going around.”
“Probably already has,” Vibi shrugged again. “You know Yaz. She wouldn’t be worried about spreading the sickness among the meat sacks.”
The idea of a Fetch purposefully transmitting diseases among the locals caused Amarantha’s flames to spark. She knew that the children of Destarious were chaotic by their nature, but that seemed a step too far, even for them. Then again, they were creatures of madness. Maeve came across as pretty solid, and so did Vibi from what she could see, but that didn’t mean that others of their kind weren’t more nebulous in their morals.
“Who is that, anyway?” the other Fetch pointed at Amarantha on Maeve’s temporarily broad shoulders. “I can tell that isn’t a normal cat by the expressions it makes, and it isn’t a part of you, either.”
“Ammy, you can talk,” Maeve patted her on the back. “Vibi can be trusted, at least in this respect. Actually, I think if you answer a few of Vibi’s questions, that should count towards some of the price for information. She’ll want to hear what you have to say.”
“Ammy?” the dark haired Fetch asked as the Lares leapt off Maeve to sit on a nearby crate. “That wouldn’t be short for Amarantha, would it?”
“In fact, it is,” she answered the question with a flick of her tail. “I assume you’ve heard of me and my companions?”
Vibi tilted her head to one side while giving Maeve a sly grin.
“For only eight years, you’ve gone and made some friends in high places, haven’t you?”
Maeve let out a huff of laughter.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
187