Steam - VI

We stand on the roof of a building. Sharing a brief silence on flat ground. The cold grows ever stronger, and the darkness with it, casting long, black shadows.

I look at the sky. At the moon, passing through a column of black clouds, and shining its grey light.

I give a quick prayer. Hoping that it will, too, shed a light on the questions unanswered.

I don’t have a watch on my person, but I suspect it’s already been an hour past. That means there are six more until dawn. Six more, until the guards make their rounds, and word of my escape comes out.

Six more, to find Prince Jasi’s killers.

“Munaku.”

“Yeah, Gamoun the Gallant, Commander at the Battle of Twenty Virgins?”

“Do you thin—Twenty Virgins? Did I hear that correctly? If I recall, I had deflowered five of the fine maidens who came onto me. So there were really only Fifteen Virgins; study on your master's history, please.”

She smiles. “My bad. Anyway, what did you want to ask?”

“Don't you think Okuri was too quick to give out his companions' information?”

“Not really. I think he knew better than to mess around. Plus, they're probably less companions and more well… customers. Just people he allows to talk under his roof.”

“Perhaps,” I chew on the word. “Perhaps.”

I retrieve the paper from my robe and look at it. It flutters in the wind. Like many beastkin, I can see well enough in the dark. Making the words legible even in the absence of close light.

“So. Who are we going to gut?”

Most of the names have the words (Grunt), placed next to them. Some (Barely Intelligent).

While just one has (Ex Counter-Intelligence Officer. Commander of the White Hands).

Alemi ai-Patel.

I've never been one for puzzles, but it seems quite obvious what the suggestion is.

Munaku pokes her head in. Putting a hair's breadth between us. “Ai-Patel,” she says, long and hard. “Ai-Patel… Don’t folk with those sorts of names tend to be nobles?”

“A correct observation. In Ineo, affixes such as ‘Ai’, or ‘Si’, tend to suggest a noble lineage.”

“Wow. That must mean he’s got a lot of protection, wouldn’t you say?”

“Contrary to popular belief, not every noble’s house is stocked full to the brim with guards, traps, and all manner of dangers.”

“Just the important ones.”

“The very important ones. And even they have moments of weakness.”

“Makes sense.” Her blue lips form a wry smile. “You know. On account of the Prince being dead and all. I’d suppose the had-been assassin exploited a proper moment of weakness then, eh?

I slowly shift my head towards her, before looking over the paper once again.

Alemi Ai-Patel.

My mind keeps going over that one name. As if trying to draw some greater meaning from it.

If Okuri’s intent was to get me to visit Alemi, why would he bother writing these other names? Was it simply so I’d have a way to remember? Had he thought my memory so poor, that I could not keep one name in mind?

A few lines are written beneath Alemi’s name. Recounting the directions needed to find him.

Head to Boyi District. Across the Great Turtle Statue, turn left, then head straight. Until you find the estate with a grand, blue gate.

Munaku puts on a strange expression. Somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

“What's wrong?” I ask.

“Not much. It just feels as if Okuri is leading us along, somehow.”

“I understand. But for the time being, I reason this is a good a clue as any other.”

In any other condition, I might stop and consider another possibility. But with six hours, and a sense of subtle desperation, I decide to take the chance.

We follow the instructions given. Leaping from roof to roof. Feeling the wind against our skin, as the night recedes into an even blacker darkness. Avoiding the occasional watchtower and the guards who hold them.

It takes some time to get there, and I have to look at occasional monuments and changes in architecture to be sure.

There’s an obvious change in temperature as we near it. A gradual increase in warmth.

I look down. Wooden pipes run from the ground through the buildings. Covering almost every nook and cranny of the neighbourhood. Coloured white and blue, they’re far more well-maintained than those in other places. A testament to this place’s wealth.

This is all because the country of Ineo is built atop the corpse of the Great Steam Turtle. A Divine Beast, whose body continues to dispense steam and warmth through the pipes present.

As the biggest city in Ineo, and the richest area in that city, this place may as well be the most ‘piped’ of them all.

I look around.

Not far away, a great monument can be seen. A massive statue over a hundred men tall, depicting a blue turtle with a shell full of holes, from which steam releases into the air.

“We’re nearly there,” I say.

We continue a bit longer. Alemi Ai-Patel’s estate remains within sight. A large mansion, with a gate of blue metal. Beyond that gate is a courtyard in a circular shape, designed to match the shell of the great turtle, as is customary for mansions of Ineo.

There are no guards within sight. And the gate can be leapt over in one fell manoeuvre.

But I feel something else. Hear something else. A high-pitched noise, emitting from the garden.

I look closer. The entire garden is covered in a hazy mist. Giving it a distant, almost dream-like quality. The path through the garden resembles a stone maze. Surrounded by tall, jointed plants called greystrips.

“I can hear pipes whistle beneath the garden.”

“And? Maybe Mr. Alemi just likes to keep warm when he’s walking.”

“That, or the man in question enjoys his protection.”

“Protection?” Her eyes shut in thought. “Oh, steam traps, right? Step on the wrong flagstone, and get your face melted.”

“Quite right.”

“Shall we pay off an orphan to test run the garden for us? After the first dozen, I reckon we’d find a safe path.”

“As I recall, you seem to be an orphan too. So unless you’re willing to volunteer for this macabre experiment, I’d advise against it.”

“And here I was, looking forward to having steamed orphans for a late-night snack.”

A silence washes over us. I use the moment to reconsider our situation, and how exactly we must approach it.

Munaku breaks that silence. “This place has gotta have a maintenance valve, right? If we find it, we could open it and vent the pressure. It might make the trap pretty ineffective, all things considered.”

“Perhaps. But consider that there might be a number of these valves. It would take quite a length of time to go through them all. That, and a potential pressure gauge, would reveal that we tampered with the system.”

“Well, you’ve got pretty good ears, master. How about just putting your head to the ground, and listening for any potential traps?”

“I doubt very much that’s possible. At least with my current capabilities.” I consider the matter for a brief moment. “Those who tend to this estate must have a way to get through without being burnt.”

“So, a shut-off switch.”

“That… or a safe path. Some stones without weighted latches, vents, or mechanisms of those sorts.”

My eyes wander around, before seeking purchase on the metal gate. As it does, I notice the paint peeling from its handle, suggesting repeated use.

“Munaku.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you use your magic to disperse this mist? A gust of wind, perhaps, strong enough to clear the view, without destroying well… everything?”

She smiles broadly. “Can do.”

My apprentice takes a few steps forward, pressing a hand to her club’s hilt. Suddenly, with that very same hand, she begins to make gestures. Her club’s scabbard begins to whistle. Black wind gathers around the sheath, swirling like a current.

“Amtira.”

With that uttered word, Munaku draws her club. A gust of black wind sweeps over the garden. It blows the mist away, making the garden far easier to see.

I take the moment to scan the garden. In a moment, I discover what seem to be well-walked paths. Squares of stone that show signs of use, with bits missing, and even light footprints.

“Take care not to trip, my dear apprentice.”

I leap from a nearby house, landing at the start of a supposed path. My apprentice follows. Slowly, surely, we trace the path, before ending up at the entrance to the mansion.

“Let's go from above,” I say, remembering an open window.

We leap to a balcony several times our height. A dim light flickers in an even dimmer darkness, revealing an occupied bedroom.

Alemi’s there. Lying on his bed. Staring into the ceiling as if in some measure of thought.

Munaku makes a scary-looking face before knocking on the open window. Upon seeing it, Alemi shoots backwards, slamming his head against the bed frame.

“Who are you?! And what are you doing here?!”

“We’re gonna be hearing that a lot, aren't we?” Munaku says.

Alemi leaves his bed, standing tall, and putting on his bedside coat. He's a strong-looking man. An Ineo, with greyish-white hair and a triangle moustache.

“Allow me to conduct myself properly,” he says. Without pause, Alemi plucks a sabre from the wall. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”