Underkeeper

After the alchemist incident, things mostly returned to normal. Bernt did his rounds, cleaning out blockages, chasing down the odd leftover slime, and, on one memorable afternoon, incinerating an entire nest of mutant rat men. They had been living in the tunnels underneath the dockside market. That is, until Jori stumbled across them during a routine sweep of the area.

In his free time he kept working on his spellcasting basics. Thanks to his familiar’s support, he also often managed to free up an hour or two during his workday to practice with the new wand. That was good, because there weren’t a lot of places in the city where someone could safely cast destructive fire magic without raising any alarms—or burning down a neighborhood.

The largest sewer mains in the lower city, near the river, were important exceptions. They were broad tunnels that nearly spanned the width of the entire street above. They also had narrow walkways along one side, so he didn’t have to wade through the sludge—the smell was bad enough without actually standing in it. Training here was no problem as long as he made sure that the ventilation was clear, so there weren’t any flammable pockets of gas.

That was a mistake he’d only made once. He managed to protect himself, but a geyser of flame still shot up into the street and set fire to a nearby pile of garbage. Fortunately, he was the one Ed ended up sending to look into the matter, so he just shelved the investigation as inconclusive.

Things were going well. Very well, even. Until one morning, Bernt showed up at headquarters to find nearly all of the Underkeepers, seven of them, assembled in the room.

They were never all here at once. On paper, everyone started at the same time every morning, but in practice it didn’t matter. As long as they finished their assignments, Ed didn’t care when they showed up. Most of the older Underkeepers were early risers—the sewers ran a bit lower before dawn, before the populace started adding their morning effluent to the flow.

Ed scowled at him in greeting. “Nice of you to join us.”

Bernt was very nearly the last one to arrive. Since he didn’t have to walk the sewers very much on an average day, he didn’t see any reason to sacrifice perfectly good sleep.

What was going on? Had they found out about Jori?

No, it couldn’t be. Looking around at the faces of everyone assembled, Bernt saw impatience and a bit of worry, but nothing accusing or suspicious.

Besides, it wasn’t that big of a deal. It was totally legal. Ed would probably just grumble at him and double his workload if he found out. Hells, even if he were a warlock. The Underkeepers couldn’t be picky.

“Where’s Dayle?” he asked. At least he wasn’t the last person to arrive. That was a little strange, though.

Dayle was one of the aforementioned early risers, a friendly type who trained Bernt back when he’d first swallowed his pride to join the infamous muck mages. He’d had to swallow it further once he realized that he wasn’t just the youngest, but also the least competent mage in the entire organization. It was Dayle who’d taught him just how underrated the mages who made up their order really were, and who’d helped him turn his previously academic practice of magic to real, practical use.

Dayle should have been here by now.

Ed sighed. “That’s what we’re here for. Dayle didn’t check in to submit his report yesterday, and he didn’t come in this morning. Kustov went to check on him at home, but he isn’t there, either. We’ve got a man missing. We’re going to trace his route yesterday and see if we can figure out what happened.”

Fiora, the only woman among the Underkeepers, frowned at that, long lines creasing her weathered face. “Did you get the guards involved? This sounds like something they’re supposed to handle. Or at least know about.”

Ed nodded to her in a way that made Bernt think he’d expected this question.

“I already sent a runner to the guard. But it’ll take them at least a few days to even start an investigation, never mind launching a search party.” Disgust practically dripped from his voice. “Nobody up there is going to rush to crawl through the sewers looking for a missing muck mage, or anyone, for that matter. If he’s alive and in trouble, then it’s up to us to get him out.”

Most of the Underkeepers had a complicated history with either the Mages’ Guild, the nobility or the military—a history that ultimately landed them in their current profession. As far as Bernt knew, he and Uriah were the only members of the order who had actually applied to be there on purpose.

Ed, as far as he had been able to work out, had a very difficult relationship with the City Guard Commander. What an archmage might have done to a City Guard force that would get him exiled to the Underkeepers remained a mystery, though.

This was bad. Mundane maintenance workers might sometimes fall prey to a mutant rat, a sewer crocodile, or a slime, but Underkeepers didn’t just go missing. The sewers were their second home—their smelly, cold and damp second home, but still. Nothing there seriously threatened them. Any individual mage should be more than enough to handle anything they ran across beneath the streets.

“We’re going to run a search in teams of two. When you find Dayle, or evidence of what happened to him, you’re going to activate one of these.” Ed held up four runed pebbles, one for each team.

“Hey… what are these?” asked Kustov, reaching out a hand for one. As a dwarf, he was almost as interested in rocks as he was in runecraft.

“They’re beacons. Activate one, and all of the others will light up and gently pull toward it. Now, quit interrupting. We need to get out there.”

***

Bernt trudged along behind Fiora as sewage slowly seeped through the seams of his not-quite-watertight boots. He listened to the dull thud of her short walking staff, her magical focus, as she used it to probe the disgusting waters ahead. He’d forgotten just how awful it could be wading through the sludge for hours on end. With Jori’s help, he rarely spent more than ten minutes at a time standing in the black water. Of course, he wasn’t going to reveal her existence just to avoid a bit of work.

Not that he was going to stake Dayle’s survival on his own inaction, either. He owed the man for showing him the ropes and for bailing him out more than once when he got in over his head citing someone too important to penalize. Their profession involved more politics than a maintenance job had any right to.

Jori ranged out ahead of them, rapidly checking every nook and cranny for signs of recent passage. Bernt reasoned that, if she found something, he could just pretend that he heard or saw something to lead them in the right direction.

They were nearing the end of their assigned section when Fiora stopped so suddenly that Bernt bumped into her.

“Someone’s got something,” she said, already pushing him back. “Back up, let’s climb out over here. It’s pulling over to the right—probably Yarrod and Ed over in Smiths’ Lane.”

Hurrying back, Bernt scrambled up the wrought iron ladder set into the nearest shaft.

Smiths’ Lane was at the very edge of the upper city, up against the city walls. Blacksmiths were craftspeople of status and usually wealthy enough to make it out of the lower city, but the noise and smoky nature of their craft meant they couldn’t set up shop next to a minor noble or wealthy merchant, either. As a result, they’d carved out a small slice of the city for themselves to serve the steady stream of adventurers, citizens, and military quartermasters who came to them for tools, weapons, and building supplies.

Going through the sewers would have required wading around for nearly ten minutes, but at street level, a quick shortcut through a nearby alley brought them close enough to hear the ringing of hammers. A minute later they were climbing back down another shaft to enter near the end of Ed and Yarrod’s search area.

Bernt knew immediately that something was wrong. As soon as they reached the base of the ladder, they could see light shining around the corner, which was… not standard practice. Why bother?

“Yarrod? Ed?” Fiora called out. “Did you find him?”

“Here!” came Ed’s voice, a bit strained.

As they rounded the corner, a new smell hit Bernt’s nostrils, mixing with the already foul odor of the sewers. It was sour and metallic, and he could guess where it came from. Ed was propped awkwardly up against the wall, illuminated by a blinding ball of light that he’d conjured—a light cantrip, but a much better one than Bernt could manage himself. His boss was pinned to the stone wall by two metal spikes that had apparently shot out from the other side of the wall with incredible force, one going straight through his belly. A trap of some kind. Who was laying traps in the sewers of all places?

While he was staring, Fiora moved. Whipping her black staff back and forth in a complex motion, she sent both spikes shooting out of the man to clatter against the far walls from which they came. Before Bernt could protest that Ed was only going to bleed out even faster now, she’d already caught him and pulled out an expensive-looking vial, her staff clattering to the floor.

“Drink it, quick!”

Belatedly, Bernt picked up her staff as Ed gulped it down. It was a healing potion—a good one, too. Fiora must have been carrying it on the job as an emergency measure. He doubted she’d be able to replace it anytime soon.

“What happened?” Bernt asked when, a moment later, Ed leaned back against the wall with a relieved groan.

“We got ambushed. They took Yarrod and came down this way. When I went after them, I got hit. Kobold bastards and their traps.”

Fiora frowned. “Shit. We need to go after them, right now. The others should be here soon. They’re going to torture him first, but he’ll be dead if we don’t hurry.”

Bernt looked back and forth between Fiora and Ed, puzzled.

“What do you mean? Why bother abducting him if they’re just going to kill him? And there’s no point in torturing him… what could they possibly want to know from us?”

Ed scowled and stood up, rather energetically for someone who’d been impaled just moments before.

“Yarrod’s a gnome, and they’re kobolds,” he said, as if that explained everything. “They don’t need any other reason.”

Pulling his pipe out of a pocket, Ed then began flourishing it in precise patterns, casting more balls of blinding light and sending them down the tunnels to illuminate the filthy sewers much more thoroughly than one ever should. Then he put the end in his mouth and pulled on it, apparently lighting it with a thought, as smoke began to rise.

“Kobolds don’t like bright lights,” he said by way of explanation. “Get down there and see if you can find where they came in. The sewers are supposed to be a closed system, but they’ll have tunneled in somewhere under the walls.”

Bernt was still staring at Ed’s pipe. Was it a spellcasting focus, like a wand? Who would even make something like that?

Dismissing the thought, Bernt sent a feeling of caution through his bond with Jori. He didn’t want her getting too close, or running afoul of any kobolds herself. He wasn’t sure how they would react to a demon—he hadn’t studied the intelligent subterranean races much. After years of sewer work, he wasn’t about to waste his adventuring career crawling around underground.

Jori wasn’t far. She slowed and he sensed her eyeing the walls suspiciously.