“Then we’ll give him a taste of this. But just in case – ”
Bastion held his hand out, gesturing here, then there, and Hubert’s pack roll slithered across the ground like a snake, slipping effortlessly under him, then around him. With a few deft twists of his wrist, Bastion had the man snugly trussed up in his own sleeping bag. He gave me a tight smile.
“You know. Just in case.”
I shrugged. “Not a bad idea. So I’ll just be heading back to the office then?”
“Yes,” Prudence said. “You can handle that, right?” She gestured at the bundle in my hand. “You just hand it over to the archives section. Look for Herald. Young, grumpy. Kind of nerdy.”
“Herald. Not Harold?”
“Herald,” she said. “He’s Japanese, but his parents wanted to name him something, well, different. Something familiar, but still unique.”
“Huh.”
“I mean, mine called me Prudence, so who am I to judge?”
We found the sword eventually, wrapped up in a clump of rags towards the back of the warehouse. I wasn’t sure why Hubert was so protective of the thing. It was beautiful, sure, the scabbard ornately decorated and set with red gemstones – garnets, maybe? – the blade sharp and gleaming, very much the kind of sword you’d find in a fantasy hero’s hand.
It seemed to be made of bronze, oddly enough, which made me think it had more of a ceremonial purpose. Tarnished bronze, colored with verdigris, not unlike the dagger that had killed me. But I was quick to shake that thought out of my head. Just a coincidence. Surely more than one magical artifact in history has been in the shape of a bronze weapon made ghastly-green with age.
Yet the sword hardly seemed magical, and the fact that Prudence and Bastion were trusting me to deliver it back to headquarters myself meant that it wouldn’t be nearly as deadly as the mobile artillery platform that the staff was. This was, functionally, just a huge, heavy knife, but I was glad for the rags all the same. Sure, we were in the Meathook, which was about as safe and as sweet-smelling as a dumpster fire, but that didn’t matter. You couldn’t just walk through the streets with a frigging sword and expect to get away with it.
“You can call for a car, walk it, whatever you like. Just be sure to get that thing back to HQ as soon as you can.” Prudence raised a finger. “No detours.”
I nodded a little too enthusiastically. “I got it. I’ll be a good boy.”
Bastion looked like he was about to say something. I knew that I’d earned a precious drop of his respect, but he kept his silence, choosing to just nod at me instead.
“Cool,” Prudence said. “We’ll see you back at the office in a couple of hours. Need to strip down the place and make sure he doesn’t have anything worse than this staff stashed around here.”
Bastion tapped the staff again, looking pleased when its tip glowed a deep crimson, like a coal just starting to catch fire. He caught me looking, then cleared his throat.
“I’ll – I’ll just hold on to this. You go on ahead.”
I shrugged and went on my way. It was even darker out now, and the Meathook really wasn’t the place to be at this time, but knowing what I did now about the Veil and the underground made me feel a little more confident about getting around Valero on my own.
It was a different feeling, you see, between being totally, utterly defenseless, and knowing that you had the option to duck into the shadows, disappear, and show up somewhere else entirely at will. And with the sun down, Valero was essentially my playground. Worse came to worst, there was always the sword – not that I really knew how to use it, mind you.
But there was no need to abuse what little magic I had. Best to save it up for a rainy day. Thea pointed that out early on, that we all had our own storehouses of energy. I guess it was only a matter of time until Hubert’s grip over his faculties loosened as he used the staff more and more. The weapon was probably drawing on his life force to get the job done. Maybe some artifacts even drew from your mind to produce magic, pulling so much that the strain could fray at your sanity. Damn. Poor Hubert.
I did briefly consider using the rideshare app on my phone, but it was a nice night out, and within a few blocks I’d be clear of the Meathook anyway. Plus there was the little matter of my stomach grumbling.
For its name the Meathook really didn’t lend itself well to co
mmercial establishments – not that I’d want to eat anywhere there anyway. Rough area, like I said. But I pulled out my phone, risking a glance at the time. Quarter past seven. My stomach complained some more. I hoisted the sword higher up onto my chest, hugging it closer to my body.
“I could really go for a burger right now,” I said.
“Same.”
I whirled around, because first of all, this is the Meathook we’re talking about, and second, this is the Meathook we’re talking about, and if anyone snuck up on me without making so much as a sound it only meant they had really bad things in mind. I started regretting my decision to go strutting around by myself in the district, ready to step into the shadow under a lamppost, when I realized I was alone.
Huh. Hackles raised for nothing. I peered into the closest alley. Nothing but some dumpsters, and a scruffy cat. I frowned, then kept walking.
“I must be losing my mind,” I muttered. “It’s the hunger. That’s all it is.”
“Doesn’t do well to go hungry,” the voice said. “We should go for a snack.”