The Chase Is On Part I (1/2)

“Look on the bright side,” Greta said, between bites of her omelette. “At least we're not on that airship any more.”

“That was the easy part,” Chase said, fluffing the pillows under her rump, and stabbing at her own second breakfast. “We weren't in control for most of that, so all we had to do was hit a few key events to make sure we got where we needed to be. Now... now we have options. And opposition.”

Greta shook her head, then grabbed the table to steady herself as the chair she was standing on wobbled.

As accommodations went, the comfy dungeon was definitely the nicest dungeon they'd ever been in. But the furniture was sized for far larger people.

Ever since Chase had left her home and started her grand adventure, she'd found this was usually the case. Just part of the price one paid for doing great deeds, having the freedom to make one's own choices, and avoiding marrying the boy next door. Chase had hopes and dreams and goals, and none of them involved listening to farmers spend the rest of her life discussing the weather, while she spent her days doing chores and raising entirely too many children.

Greta... was simpler, though. And as she saved herself from a nasty fall, the golden-haired halven squinted at Chase. “How long do we have to stay down here? They have suites upstairs for halven visitors, you know. And we'd be closer to the kitchens. The food would be warmer.”

That was a temptation. But Chase shook her head, and took a few bites of her potato strips before responding. “The cards say we need to stay for a bit longer if we want optimal success.”

“Did they say why?”

“No, but I think I can guess,” Chase said, after he plate was empty.

“And what's your guess, then?”

“Shhhh...” Chase breathed. There were footsteps on the stairs. “I'll tell you later.”

A black-clad human opened the door, smoothing his salt-and pepper beard with one hand as considered the sisters. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was worn, but his smile was friendly enough, and Chase waved him over to the table.

“Mister Graves, when is the last time you ate?”

“It's been some time,” he said, taking a seat with gratitude. “Do you mind?” he gestured at the half-empty tray of scones.

“I do not. Please eat your fill,” Chase decided, and eased butter and jams over to him.

Even Greta looked impressed at how the human tore through the rest of the tray. And when he was done, brushing crumbs from his beard, Chase pulled out her cards and started shuffling them before he could ask.

But for the first time he surprised her, placing a hand over the deck, startling her as his fingers caught hers. It would have been an overly familiar touch back at home, the sort of gesture no unmarried man would make to an unmarried woman without quite a lot of courtship and a few gifts beforehand. But she read nothing of the sort in his expression, and decided to chalk it up to a regional difference in manners.

Then she saw that Greta's eyes were as big as saucers, and decided that she should probably say something before her sister exploded.

“No cards then?” Chase pulled her hand back, leaving the deck where it was. “I'm sure you were just telling me to stop there, that's all.” A hard stare at Greta, who bless her, caught the tone and concealed her disgruntlement by chomping down hard on an apple.

Mister Graves nodded. “Yes. Much as they've been a help, I think at the very least I should bring you up to speed before you make any new predictions.”

It was a silly question but Chase asked it anyway. “Has something happened then?” Something was always happening, and this situation was about as volatile as an active volcano.

“Yes. Threadbare reports that Celia and the others found and engaged the pirates. But he managed to get the engines functional, and they fled before there was any serious bloodshed to either side.”

Chase sighed, and got out of her chair, moving over to hop up on the sofa and lie down. “This is a relief. There are a lot of worst-case outcomes that got averted. No wonder the cards were so mellow this morning. I'm assuming this happened last night?”

“It did.”

“All right. Our odds still would have been better if Cecelia hadn't gone, but now that I've been properly introduced and all, I see that was never an option.”

“Stubborn as an old nanny goat, that one,” Greta remarked. “I like her.”

“Also, Madeline and Garon have concluded their nuptials. I'm very sorry you couldn't attend the wedding.”

“So am I,” Chase said, feeling a lump well up in her throat. Though the wooden dragon had been a late addition to her company back during their first great adventure, Chase had a great many talks with the doll haunter as they crossed the yelps. Madeline was a friend, a confidant, and a good woman besides that. “Believe me, if Hoon hadn't been sending portents nonstop to keep us away, you couldn't have kept me from attending. You did tell her we're sorry, right?”

“We are,” Greta said, gloomily. “Wedding cake. Good wine. A proper feast...”

“I'm given to understand it was a protracted affair, since most of their very close friends were occupied with other matters,” Mister Graves gave a consoling smile. “There might not have even been a cake.”

“No wedding cake?” Chase burst out, in unison with Greta. They looked at each other, horrified. Who the hell would do such a thing, as to have a wedding without a wedding cake?

“There might have been a wooden one,” Graves held up his hands. “In any case I passed along your apology. Do you know why you had to skip the event?”

“No,” Chase said, frowning. “I'm guessing that now they're married Madeline's going to be flying after Cecelia's team?”

“Oh yes. That was the plan. Unless you've had any omens to the contrary?”

Chase hesitated. She hadn't, not exactly. But she hadn't targeted a vision toward Madeline. Or followed up with her considerable divinatory talent as much as she had the other people in the middle of this mess. And that might have been why Hoon had kept her from the wedding, because she would have felt obligated to do a proper fortune for the happy couple. And well, it might have been pretty horrible, especially if Madeline got herself hacked to bits by pirates. That could have influenced all the other fortunes she was telling, and created a proper snarl in Hoon's business.

Gods didn't like it when their answers got contradicted. Though she didn't know the consequences, she felt that at the very least it led to a loss of face on whatever celestial scoreboard they kept up there in the heavens.

“I haven't,” Chase said. “But I can check...” it was common decency that made her offer. This was one occasion where she really didn't want to see the future if it was horrible.

“Not at this point,” Mister Graves decided. “Go ahead and save that for when she rejoins Celia. That's when things will be dicey. In the meantime, I need you working on the bigger picture.”

“Finding out who's stolen Threadbare? Who's really behind things?” Chase grinned.

“No,” Mister Graves said. “The God Squad's been trying. Whoever it is has enough resources and foresight to shield themselves from their collected prayers. If we escalate, we have to assume that they'll escalate as well, or change tactics. I want to apply you to the home front.”

Chase tilted her head, decided not to tell him that she'd seen this coming and started her own preliminary divinations into the matter, and offered a crooked smile. “Why don't you tell me about what's going on closer to home, here?”

Mister Graves pulled a small horn out of his vest, and blew into it. There was no sound, not even a hiss of air, though Chase saw his cheeks puff.

The doors in the room rattled, as though the pressure of the air had changed.

“Something to ward the place?” Chase asked.

“Directed silence. Nobody outside will be able to hear us talking.”

“It's that bad?” Greta asked.

“We think so,” Mister Graves sighed. “It's been going on a while, under our noses. We first became aware that there were problems after the rather surprising death of a man called Daffodil Copperfield...”

He filled them in on the mess that had been the hostile takeover of the Rumpus Room. “In the aftermath, we found that a few things were missing. Namely one of the employees, and a very expensive golem. She fled, and according to my agents, was later seen in the company of a wooden man. Two guesses as to who that might be.”

“You saw him die?” Greta asked.

Mister Graves shrugged, arms out at his side, and palms up. “The man was a Sensate. And if he was the one who coerced Mrs. Beemer into her... episode... then there may have been other misdirections at work. But this is only one part of a greater tapestry.”

“That's usually how it is,” Chase nodded, and stood on her chair, kicking the cushions off onto the floor so she could lean closer to him. “What's the next significant part?”

“We followed up on the missing teacher, Bedelia Tanner. And what we found surprised us.” Mister Graves hesitated. “I should probably give you some explanation before I elaborate. Thinking golems are new to Cylvania. As is the deliberate creation of Doll Haunters. Both these things are a mere three years old, as far as Cylvanian society is concerned. And the state of affairs and public opinion are still adjusting to these new species.”

Chase nodded, thinking it over. “You're mostly humans and halvens here, aren't you?”

“With a good contingent of dwarves,” Mister Graves nodded. “And a rising number of other species, some of whom were considered monsters not too long ago.”

“I think I'm beginning to see where this is going,” Chase said.

Mister Graves sighed. “Neither humans nor halvens are known for handling widescale changes exceptionally well. And when we investigated Bedelia Tanner's friends, acquaintances, and pastimes, we found that she was involved with some people who were acting rather suspiciously. Moreover, the people she was fraternizing with were an odd mix of social strata. Nobility, small merchants, tradesmen, and former serfs.”

“Former serfs?” Greta frowned. “You can stop being a serf? I though the point of being a serf was that you couldn't.”

“Things are a bit different here,” Graves said. “Especially now. Since the Council rose to power, they've been doing a fair amount to let people who were stuck in restrictive jobs move on to things that were more their liking.”

“Which is also a new change,” Chase said, pressing her fingers together and leaning on the table, (which would have sent her mother into a frenzy if she'd seen it so fortunately she was thousands of miles away.) “Do they have a name, yet?”

“Not that we've been able to find,” Mister Graves said, brow furrowed.

“Oh that's bad,” Chase said.

“What?” Greta asked.

“This is one of those long running conversations I had with Thomasi while we were on watch, now and again. I think you overheard us talking about it sometimes? His science, that job that wasn't a Job, the sow she olly gee?”

“Oh. One of the Player things.”

“Yes, that,” Chase said, trying not to let her irritation show. She'd TOLD Greta not to talk about that. “Anyway,” she said, hurrying to try and forestall any questions from Mister Graves about that ticklish subject, “the thing about names, is that people who are just starting out with a rebellion or a conspiracy love putting them on their new organizations. It makes them feel special. Gives them a secret. It's an amateur mistake, and it usually shows that they're not really serious about causing trouble. But when you have something like this, and it's been going on for a while without a name, that's when you know you've found someone who's serious about it. They're planning something bad, and the fewer names that are involved, the harder it will be to run them down if things go wrong.”

Mister Graves nodded. “There's more to it than that, but yes, we believe they mean business. And that business seems to be stopping the “corruption of their nation” that they believe includes the acceptance of sapient golems, legal undead, and rule by council.”

Chase leaned back. “Who's in charge?”

“Nobody.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That seems unlikely. If it's big enough to be a threat, there's got to be someone pulling the strings.”

“Oh I didn't say there wasn't,” Graves amended, waving a hand. “But they're smart enough not to make a proper hierarchy. As far as we can tell it's something we've never seen before. They're... built like parties. There's one person who leads each team, and they're the only person who knows who the other team leaders are. So they pass messages and jobs along, and if a team member who ISN'T the leader gets caught, the worst they can do is compromise that team. The others are safe so long as the leader escapes or doesn't crack.”

“Oh. Oh wow, that's nasty,” Chase said, eyes widening at the possibilities. “So when the person pulling the strings wants some nasty business done, all they have to do is let one of the team leaders know, and they pass it on to the others, and only one person knows where the task originally came from. Or if they're really smart, the puppeteer leaks it to multiple leaders at once, through middlemen... this could get twisty.”

Motion caught her eye, and she looked over to see Mister Graves leaning back in his chair, his sardonic smile growing. “I knew I'd chosen the right person for this task. So let's discuss how to get you into the mix, so to speak...”

Chase and Mister Graves talked until they had the starts of a plan, with Greta weighing in whenever she saw a flaw. Greta was good at that; she didn't have many ideas herself, but she was good at finding little flaws with other people's plans. To some that was annoying. To Chase, it was a trait she'd long ago learned to use to her advantage.

Finally he retired, and a few hours later, after the dishes for afternoon tea had been removed, there came a series of furtive noises from behind the door.

“Am I going loony, or does that sound like someone in full plate mail trying to sneak down the stairs?” Greta asked.

“No, that's what it sounds like.” Chase sighed, and moved to the door as she listened to a chain hauberk rattle against a breastplate, and the steady clink of metal on stone as someone tried to tip toe in steel-plated boots.

And when the racket paused, Chase pulled the door open, catching a nervous-looking young human in heavy armor, with a gray cloak thrown over his shoulders. The hood was a touch too small for him, and several blonde bangs had escaped the hood to frame his sweating face. Caught in the act of knocking, he stopped, looked to his upraised gauntlet, then down at the small figure staring up at him. “Ah. He-hello?”

“Oh for Hoon's sakes come in,” Chase said, turning and waving him toward the table. A few clanking steps later, she sighed and rubbed her face. “And close the door behind you,” she added.

She was starting to get a headache. Maybe if she was lucky, she could give it to someone else tonight.

“You're the young knight then?” Greta said, eyeing him up and down... and taking her time with it.

“Apollyon. Apollyon Henweigh.” He bowed, and to Chase's surprise, it was a halven style bow, with both hands clasped, and head bowed as he dipped his knees. “Good fortune and better digestion.”