For his own part, Gyre had brought his full kit, long and short blades in their sheaths, half mask covering his missing eye, the pockets of his dark hooded coat filled with alchemical surprises from Lynnia’s supply closet. He crossed his arms, looking down at Kit as she straightened up and sauntered the last few meters. She’d taken nighteye as well, her pupils hugely swollen until her eyes were nearly all black.
“Hello, Halfmask,” she said. “I like the look. Very mysterious.”
“Doomseeker,” Gyre said.
She winced. “Call me Kit, if you don’t mind. I try not to spread my cognomen around.”
“Kit, then. Can I ask why you wanted to meet here? Another test?” He’d had to elude several patrols just to cross the grounds, not to mention a dangerous climb up the side of the chapter house timed to elude the men and dogs on patrol. I hate plaguing dogs.
“Something of that nature. Although, fair’s fair. I got here too, didn’t I?” She half turned and gestured. “Besides, I like the view.”
With trees screening the neighboring estates, there was really only one thing to see. The Spike lived up to its name, two hundred meters of unmetal as slender and featureless as a needle. It was a relic of the war, a Chosen fortress that had served as a base for their purges of the tunnels. The Gate was inside, connecting Deepfire directly to the Forge and the heart of the Republic, ensuring that it remained under the Twilight Order’s influence in spite of being well outside its nominal borders. In later days, the dux’s palace had been constructed around it, a manor even more luxurious than the Moorcat chapter house, surrounded by walls, Auxiliary barracks, and intricate arcana defenses.
“I can’t say that I care for it,” Gyre muttered.
“Always good to appreciate what you’re up against,” Kit said. She glanced back at Gyre. “That is what you’re up against, isn’t it, Halfmask? The Order?”
“If we’re asking questions, I have a few. Starting with your cognomen.”
“Oh?”
“Doomseeker has been a legend since before I came to Deepfire,” Gyre said. “I asked around, and people have told stories about him for at least fifty years. You’re, what, nineteen? Twenty?”
“That’s a rude thing to ask.” Kit gave a saucy wriggle. “Maybe I’m just very well preserved.” She grinned. “Maybe I found the elixir of youth down in the Tomb, and I’m really a hundred and ten.”
“You’re not Doomseeker,” Gyre said. “Which raises the question of why I’m even talking to you.”
“Now, let’s not run away with ourselves.” Kit spread her arms. “I’ll admit that I’m not the first Doomseeker. How does that sound?”
“Does that mean you never found the Tomb?”
“That’s an awfully personal question,” Kit said. “Let me maintain some air of mystery.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Gyre said.
She put on a pout. “But I haven’t even gotten to my proposal.”
Gyre turned away.
“Fifty thousand thalers,” Kit said. “And the chance to kick the dux in the teeth as hard as he’s ever been kicked.” She cocked her head. “Not literally, I suppose.”
“I wouldn’t get anywhere near his mouth,” Gyre said. “They don’t call him Raskos Rottentooth for nothing.”
“Ah,” Kit said. “You’re listening, then?”
“For the moment.” Gyre turned back to her, eye narrowed. “Fifty thousand thalers?”
“Fifty thousand,” Kit said.
That was an astonishing sum of money, enough to buy a sizable chunk of the building they were standing on. Gyre paused.
“Why do you have that kind of money?”
“My business,” she said. “Or, rather, my client’s.”
“You have a client.” Gyre frowned. “Who?”
“Also their business.”
“And?”
“Raskos has acquired an item from the deep tunnels,” Kit said. “He’s currently negotiating to sell it, but he doesn’t have the faintest idea what it is he’s got. I want you to take it from him.”
“That’s it?” Gyre’s frown deepened.
“Don’t make it sound so easy. The item is locked in a stasis web, so we’re going to have to acquire a destabilizer to open it. Then we need to get the thing itself.” She shrugged. “Most of the mercenaries and scavengers in Deepfire won’t go up against the dux, not directly. But I knew there was at least one group willing to take him on. You and your crew are a little bit infamous, Halfmask.”
“It’s not my crew. And for fifty thousand thalers, I imagine most mercenaries would overcome their reservations,” Gyre said.
“Maybe. But they’re not the best. You are.”
There was a long moment of silence. Gyre looked into her too-wide pupils, and she stared steadily back at him. In the distance, the lights of the city twinkled, and the red glow of the Pit reflected faintly off the low clouds.
“No,” Gyre said.
“No what?”
“No, I’m not doing it.” He shook his head. “The whole thing stinks. For all I know, you’re working for the dux and this is a setup.”
“If I was trying to trap you, I could have done it back at the Smoking Wreckage,” Kit said.
“Still too risky,” Gyre said. “I don’t need the money, and there’s other ways I can get to Raskos.” That wasn’t true, of course, but …
“Then why come to meet with me at all?” Kit said. She leaned closer. “Why come a second time, hmm? Just my personal charm at work?”
“Curiosity.”
“Birdshit.” She smiled delightedly. “I was right. It’s the Tomb you want, isn’t it?”
“I thought we’d established you’d never been there.”
“I didn’t say that.” Kit straightened up. “So what would it take, Halfmask? You want an artifact from the last city of the ghouls? Something no one has ever seen before?”
She’s lying. She’s been lying to me all along. But Gyre couldn’t keep his pulse from racing.
“I want you to take me there,” he said.
“Oh.” Kit blinked. “Is that all?”
“That’s all.”
“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” she said. “Didn’t they tell you no one ever comes back from the Tomb?”
“You did. If you’re telling the truth.”
“The truth is … complicated. But that complexity doesn’t apply to you, I can tell you that much.”
“Nevertheless. That’s what I want.”
Kit rocked back and forth on her heels, lost in thought. “You’re serious.”
“I am.”
“And they call me Doomseeker.” She sighed. “If that’s what you want, I’m not going to stop you. Just don’t blame me afterward.”
It was Gyre’s turn to be taken aback. “Just like that?”
“What, do you want to go downstairs and have the Moorcats draw up a contract?” Kit shrugged. “It seems simple enough. You help me get what I want from Raskos, and I’ll take you to the Tomb. I assume you’ll still need the fifty thousand to get the rest of your merry band on board.”