Steamforged Sorcery - Chapter 40 (Patreon)

“Good,” the guard grunted, stepping to the side and waving for Angel to pass through. “And, before you leave, make sure you’re stocked on supplies. I’ve heard that there’s unrest in the center of the desert. If you’re passing through, don’t expect much from the cities.”

“When is the desert not in turmoil?” Angel asked, laughing as he passed the guards and made his way into Ashwind.

The city was an somehow both chilly and uncomfortably humid at the exact same time. The tall shadows cast by the buildings and massive watchtower almost made it feel like the city was trapped in between day and night.

It had been years since Angel had last been in Ashwind, and he didn’t look on his previous experiences in the city with any amount of nostalgia. Flashes of tavern brawls and men leaned against back alley walls, their blood leaking into the ground around them danced through Angel’s mind.

Long, straight streets led him deeper into the city. If he recalled correctly, many of the taverns were located at the base of the watchtower. Actually, just about anything of interest was near it. The rest of the city was borderline disposable.

The buildings at the edge were harsh and uniform, made from layers so thick that they could have been mistaken for city walls. Many of them even had arrow slits instead of windows. Angel had never understood the purpose of that, as he couldn’t think of any monsters large enough to cause Ashwind threat that would ever be bothered by some bloke with his bow.

Once he got deeper into the city, the buildings started to show a little variation. A withered plant here, a wall made out of a slightly different tone of greys and blacks. They were small, but in a city that looked like someone had dropped tar over everything, it was noticeable.

Angel came to a stop before the base of the watchtower, but he didn’t bother spending any time looking at it. It was a big black pillar, and that was about it. He was much more interested in the buildings in the surrounding area.

He spotted three taverns off the bat. They made something of a triangle around the tower. They each had a copper sign hanging above their door, with the only difference between them being the name.

After a brief pause, Angel settled on the closest one. He made his way over to it and slid inside. It was rather empty, with only a few forlorn patrons and an incredibly thin bartender. He made his way over to the bar and pulled out a metal stool, sitting down and crossing his arms on the table.

“What you want?” the bartender asked, his eyes flicking down to Angel’s mechanical arm for a moment.

“Information,” Angel replied.

“About?”

“A girl and a Hunter dressed in rags with a metal mask. They’re my teammates. We got separated in a catacomb, but they were meant to meet me at Ashwind.”

“Haven’t seen ‘em,” the bartender said, giving Angel an apologetic shrug. He cleared his throat, coughing out a blob of phlegm. “Hey! Anyone seen a girl and a ragman in a mask?”

“I might’ve,” a man several tables down slurred. “What’s it to ‘ya?”

“Thanks,” Angel said, giving the bartender a small nod and sliding a Vex across the table. It vanished into the bartender’s apron as the Seeker slipped off the barstool and moved to sit beside the man who had spoken.

“I’m Angel.”

“Cute,” the man said, wiping his raggedy beard with the back of a stained sleeve. He only had four fingers on one of his hands. “I’m Gert.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Gert,” Angel said, his eyes flicking down at the half-finished mug of beer in Gert’s hand. Something told him this wasn’t Gert’s first drink of the day. “You say you saw my companions?”

“Girl was wearin a scarf,” Gert said. “Other one had a pointy hat ‘an metal mask. Scary lookin.”

“That’s them,” Angel said, hiding his sigh of relief. “Your mug’s looking a bit empty there, Gert. I don’t suppose you’d mind if I help you out with that? One friend to another.”

Gert gave Angel a wide grin, revealing two rows of yellowed and rotting teeth. The Seeker barely repressed a grimace as he tossed a Vex through the air towards the bartender. It vanished into the thin man’s pockets and, a moment later, he emerged from behind his counter to set a new mug down on the table beside them.

“So, Gert, where did you see the Hunter and the girl?”

“Red Snake,” Gert replied, downing the rest of his drink before grabbing the new one with an eager giggle. He hiccupped. “Can’t miss ‘em. They were ‘bout to get their shit kicked in.”

“What? When?”

Gert shrugged. “It’s all blur, An’hel. Not all tha’ long ago.”

“Thanks for your help,” Angel said, tossing another Vex onto the table. The drunkard met his gaze. For a moment, the haziness left Gert’s eyes and a spark of recognition passed between them. “Enjoy your drink, Seeker.”

“And you yours,” Gert replied swiftly. He blinked, then shook his head. “Old habits die hard. Quit while you’re still ahead. The drink is much kinder a mistress than the catacombs.”

“Can’t do that,” Angel said, rising to his feet. “I’d rather make something of my life.”

He walked out of the tavern at a brisk pace. Gert wasn’t the first retired Seeker that he’d met. It was always a sad sight, and it did nothing but bring back bad memories. Ashwind seemed to be good at that.

Angel didn’t know which tavern Red Snake was, but it wasn’t particularly hard for him to find out. There were only two other options, and it turned out to be the next one he checked. Angel flexed his fingers and slotted one of his remaining canisters into his arm before pushing the door open and heading inside.

Unlike the first tavern, the Red Snake was clearly somewhat popular. There were about a dozen tables, and each of them had several people packed around them. Two waitresses darted around, taking peoples orders as quickly as they could.

A cursory sweep revealed no signs of Cowl or Vanessa. Angel made his way over to the bar, frowning at a small, dried puddle of blood on the ground beside him. The bartender was a large man with a bushy moustache and a rather prominent bald spot.

“Seeker or Hunter?” the bartender asked, nodding at Angel’s arm.

“Depends on why you’re asking,” Angel replied, giving him a small smile.

“Fair enough. What do you want? Oil?”

Angel chuckled. “Not at the moment. Maybe I’ll take you up on that later. However, I’m currently looking for my companions. A Hunter with a triangular hat and metal mask and a woman wearing a scarf. I’ve heard that they came through here and might have had a little trouble.”

The bartender’s gaze darkened. “They’re trouble all right.”

“Did something happen?”

“You could say that,” the bartender said, crossing his thick arms and shaking his head. “It took them all of five minutes after showing up to stab one of my customers.”

“Ah,” Angel said. “Did they deserve it?”

“Probably,” he admitted. “They got blood all over the floor, though.”

“Well, I’m sorry for their behavior,” Angel said. “Judging by your tone, they weren’t actually in any serious trouble.”

“He’s a Hunter,” the bartender replied, pressing his lips together. “What do you think?”

“Fair enough. Are they still here?”

“Unfortunately. I’ll thank you if you can be rid of them. They’re in the backroom right now.”

“The backroom?” Angel asked. “Why? Are they gambling or something?”

“Or something,” the bartender said with an exasperated sigh. “You’re traveling with a real demon, you know that? If they’re really your group, I’m almost considering paying you to drag them out of my tavern.”

He stepped out from behind the counter and led Angel across the room to a thick curtain. Angel pushed through it, grimacing at the smell of stale sweat and low quality grease, and froze.

Half a dozen men sat around a table, watching Vanessa as she dropped two dice into a stone cup. Cowl stood over her like a gargoyle. She rattled the cup around on the table before lifting it, revealing a three and a four. A series of groans and more than one curse filled the room.

They all pushed several coins over to Vanessa, who happily slid them into her purse. She glanced up, realizing who had arrived.

“Oh, you made it!” Vanessa exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

“Buried gods, another weird one,” one of the men muttered.