Underkeeper

“Damnit, Bernt! I didn’t know it was going to go like that, alright? I told you that you should have pacted Jori from the start!” Josie snapped, her face red with anger. Bernt didn’t care – he was angry, too.

He’d found her in the courtyard when he arrived at work and cornered her immediately to demand an explanation for what he’d just overheard.

“Jori didn’t want a pact in the first place. Especially not after she saw the kinds of pacts you use here. How can you expect someone to agree to that in the first place? She’d be a slave.”

Josie’s jaw clenched. “No she wouldn’t. A demon can’t be enslaved by a human – not really. She’d be bound to behave and follow lawful orders while she’s here. The distinction is important. Demons are always free to leave at any time and resume their lives in the hells however they like. That means any pact a demon will accept is accepted by choice. It’s employment, not slavery, and the termination clause is frankly better than what you have at the Underkeepers. Did you know you have to give a month’s notice before you can leave?”

Bernt threw up his hands. “Those were her words! Do you really think the technicalities matter here? Besides, that’s not even the point. You’re lying about what Jori did and using it as propaganda to make the Solicitors look good!”

Josie groaned. “What does it matter, Bernt? It’s good for the Mages’ Guild and the Underkeepers, too. And you know just as well as I do that Jori would be delighted if she heard the stories they’re telling out there. This is good for her, too.” She emphasized the last sentence a little, as if willing him to understand something, but Bernt had had enough games and intrigue for a lifetime.

“It matters because it’s wrong! It’s wrong to punish someone for saving your life, and it’s even more wrong to spin lies about it to take advantage of someone you betrayed like that, all just to look good in front of other people.”

Josie’s face fell at his description, though it was quickly swallowed in a professional mask. “I understand that you’re distraught, but you’re not thinking it through.” She manifested her claws on one hand and laid them on Bernt’s chest, pushing him back firmly. He stepped back quickly, despite his armored robes – he’d seen what they could do. “Don’t corner me like that again in the future, it’s rude. We’ll talk about it later, when you’ve had some time.”

Bernt tried to think of an adequate retort as she walked away, but nothing came to mind. How had she managed to make him feel like the asshole now?

***

The first few hours of the shift passed quickly. There were a lot of new people in the Undercity, and Fiora set him up at a table in front of the Underkeepers’ Headquarters along with several others to help organize and register the masses of evacuees from the Crafter’s and Lower Districts. All in all, nearly two thousand people had found refuge in the Undercity – more than Bernt had expected would have been able to make it down the stairs in the time they’d had.

Today, those numbers were only growing. Many of the residents who had fled into the Temple District and other parts of the city had no homes to return to, and some of those who did couldn’t return yet, because the streets were blocked by debris and as yet undiscovered bodies. The army and the City Guard had cleared the bodies as best they could, but there hadn’t been time to dig through most of the rubble yet. There was no official death toll, yet, but Bernt knew it had to be significant.

Whatever Ed had expected to happen, his foresight was proving its value now. Kustov’s secret project – a massive new cavern complex that had housed nearly a thousand evacuees last night, was quickly filling up with even more people streaming in from the partially gutted Lower District. The Goblin Quarter, ironically, still wasn’t fully populated. A few families settled into the empty homes there, preferring the better-prepared quarters to what was available in the newest construction. Most, though, were deterred by its unofficial designation as a proverbial goblin den.

Bernt was registering one such family and helping them fill out a temporary change of address form for the Official Records Office when Nirlig tapped him on the shoulder.

“Fiora wants you in Ed’s office,” he murmured to him before turning to the young human woman wrangling her toddler while trying to make sense of the abstruse form. He made faces at the little boy until he laughed, and then picked him up, flashing the mother wide grin. “Hi there! Change of address? Let me walk you through it. Oh, this is right down the street from my house. We’re going to be neighbors!”

Leaving them in the gregarious goblin’s capable care, Bernt made his way inside.

The Underkeepers’ complex felt oddly empty as he hurried down the main hallway, reminding him just how many people they’d lost last night. There was supposed to be a memorial ceremony tomorrow for Glim, Rindle and the others. Bernt had worked with most of them at some point and it felt strange to think that they were just gone. It didn’t feel real, as if any of them might be sitting in the break room right now.

The door to Ed’s office was open and Fiora was sitting behind his desk, signing papers of some variety or another. Bernt hadn’t learned until today just how much paperwork was involved in war – specifically in cleaning up after one.

Waiting until she flipped a sheet over onto the pile of finished documents, Bernt knocked on the door frame.

“You called?”

Fiora looked up. “Ah, Bernt. Yes. You and I are going over to the temporary Solicitors’ Office over in the Crafters’ Quarter. They’re going to try to send supplies to Ed, and they want you to help.”

Bernt frowned. “How could I possibly help with that?”

***

Bernt tried not to fidget under the stern gaze of Archmage Iriala as they waited to be brought into the Solicitors’ ritual chamber. He’d tried to go inside to watch them prepare the summoning when they arrived, but a sour-faced warlock had barred his way.

It had been worth a try, at least. They were going to summon Jori! Considering they were going to summon her specifically, it was exactly what he needed. If he could just watch, he might learn how it was done.

“Do you think you will be able to convince your imp to help?” Iriala asked, breaking the silence.

Bernt frowned at her. “What do you mean? It’s Ed. Of course she’s going to help him.”

The archmage made a doubtful noise and Bernt’s frown deepened. Jori had never done anything to suggest that she couldn’t be trusted. In fact, it was the Solicitors and institutions like the Mages’ Guild that insisted on continuing to treat her with suspicion that she very clearly hadn’t earned. He was about to say something when Fiora put a hand on his shoulder.

“We understand your concern, archmage, but I agree with him. Jori considers Ed to be an ally. Even released from her obligations to him, I think she’ll still help. She likes him. Besides, wasn’t this your idea?”

“Yes, for lack of any better options.” Iriala sighed. “They’re going to try to bribe one of the enemy imps first – one that they got the name of somehow.”

Bernt perked up at that. “Are they going to bribe Jori? What do you think they’ll offer?”

Fiora shook her head. “Not that. They’re a legal organization – they can’t offer anything that they can’t legally justify to the government, and Radast obviously doesn’t want to bring her back, anyway. Those rumors they’re telling about her are a lot easier to believe if you haven’t actually met her.”

The low murmur on the other side of the door subsided, replaced by a single voice chanting something unintelligible. That continued for a minute or so before it cut off. Someone cursed and a few other people started talking.

The door opened and a mild herbal smell accompanied by an acrid undertone wafted out. Then Josie stepped out, dressed in a brown robe and wearing a troubled expression.

“Gegrenoth is dead. That, or bound by a greater demon, but that isn’t very likely.”

“What do you mean?” Fiora asked. “Demons don’t die, right? If he got torn up in the fight before the banishment ritual, he should still have just reformed in the hells. For all we know, he never even returned after Jori killed him on your patrol.”

“It means he was killed there, not here. Demons that survive long enough to go through a metamorphosis tend to live a long time, but a class 3 imp isn’t anywhere near the top of the food chain. Maybe its master killed it for incompetence, or a more powerful fiend got it, or there’s a war on in the hells themselves. It could be anything.”

Iriala nodded impatiently. “Alright, alright, we get it. What does this mean for Ed?

Josie shrugged, turning back toward the ritual room. “We’re going to have to hope that Jori is nearby.”

She closed the door and, a few moment later, the chanting started up again. The sound rose and fell, and for a moment Bernt feared that this summoning would fail, too. But then, suddenly, Jori was there. He could see Radast’s infuriatingly professional smile through the bond. Jori was first surprised, then annoyed. Then she realized that Bernt was nearby and grew curious.

“Great One,” she said formally to Radast. “What’s going on? I was in the middle of something!”

Finally, Josie opened the door to let them in. Trying to project a sense of wariness and urgency to Jori, Bernt followed Iriala and Fiora inside.

She was standing inside a circle of script that appeared to be drawn in blood – hopefully Radast’s. It was nowhere near as complex as what he’d drawn out in the pact description that they’d offered Jori when they’d first met. Presumably this one was just to assist the summoning itself, or maybe for containment, if they were paranoid.

Jori’s robes were singed at the edges. Had that been from the battle, or was she fighting in the hells? She grinned at them and waved.

“Bernt, Josie! Hi guys!” Then she turned to Iriala, whom she acknowledged with a tiny bow, followed by another wave to Fiora.