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Fandom: FFXIV
Summary: Snowballed Headcanon!
Chapter Summary: Thancred does his information gathering thing, and then goes and mashes his face into a trap, resulting in Yda getting to show off and Thancred getting re-acquainted with Y'shtola and the infirmary.
Warnings: Violence, body horror
They hadn't been joking about Yda being able to disappear; she'd been a pest getting ready, and then once he got outside the campus grounds, he would've been hard pressed to tell she'd ever been nearby at all. He'd raided the costume closets at the theatre, but had decided against going full-bore unrecognizable, settling for just a good hood and obscuring clothing; he'd need SOME people to recognize him or this wouldn't work as well.
He didn't head for any territory he spent much time in, instead heading straight for the larger market streets in that part of the city; there was a dusting of snow on the ground that was sticking, but the sky was clear and the cold wasn't enough to deter the merchants or the people out browsing stalls. It wasn't the main central market street, further south and east of even where he'd lived, but this one managed to get a few further-flung traders anyway; Ul'dahns hoping to find a market with less competition or trading in goods a little sketchier, various traders from the tribal races who'd found enough profit in making the journey, shops within the city that weren't quite up to competing with the masterworks keeping stalls.
He had a mental tally of people to check with, and had been granted a request for honestly a mildly ridiculous amount of coin going out, something he was keeping in multiple smaller pouches in awkward places to reach and doing a lot of minding potential pickpockets; even if he looked too ragged to be a good mark, he knew some of them would probably try anyway.
One pass of the market got bits, but nothing too useful; the murders were coming up in market chatter, and supernatural involvement had gotten out enough that he caught whispers of voidsent and a few other things further off the mark; there were a lot of theories floating around, but none of them he overheard in passing sounded like more than idle gossip trying to make sense of it. He did get a tally of merchants that passed through those districts more or lived in them and who looked more or less nervous; too confident was a flag for the possibility they knew something and had bought security, too nervous was a flag they might've seen something, and one of the nervous ones had his attention in particular, enough for a stop at a cook's stall, run by a couple of Lalafell in Ul'dahn garb with a very tired Hyur mercenary sitting in back, hawking “rare delicacies from the east and beyond”.
They weren't around enough to give more than a brief shrug at a request for the very best they had of eggs, netting him a still-warm shell of a Zu's egg almost as big as his head, a careful hole cut in it to season and cook it.
The actual target was a spread of blankets and woven baskets of clams, small crayfish, and other fish, a Qiqirn scrambling back and forth flagging down passer's by; there were a few good sized crabs spread out on a blanket on one side that the tiny rat-man kept hand-washing after even touching.
Kataroon didn't come in with crabs like that, and he'd been a fishmonger too long to be squeamish about shellfish.
“Kataroon!” He waved, the large egg cradled in one arm; the Qiqirn's ears swiveled, and a half second later Kataroon was at that side of the stall, a nervous glance between Thancred and the nearest baskets as if checking count -
And then his attention was entirely on the egg, eyes wide.
“I brought you a gift.” He held the egg out; the widened look of awe and disbelief held, the Qiqirn still for a few long seconds, before there was a tiny, thin chirp and Kataroon grabbed it, wrapping around it with a little trill-purr.
Kataroon's attitude when he looked back up was significantly less suspicious. “Thankyouthankyouohmostgeneroussinger, mayyoubeshoweredincoinoneverycorner, how can Kataroon ever repay this -” And that was the sound and brief what-did-I-just-do blink of a merchant from a race that, for all their tendency towards thieving, took debts and repayments very seriously realizing he'd just accepted a gift with a great deal of value. “What would you wish of Kataroon?”
“There's a few things I was trying to figure out, and I thought you might know something; you don't have as many of the clams as usual, and I've never seen you with crabs like that before.” The Qiqirn froze. “Is there any word from the tunnels?”
Kataroon was faintly shaking, giving the crabs a nervous glance behind him, and Thancred noticed now that the packs and all that Kataroon normally had were larger – less day-supplies, more “it looks like he has all his worldly possessions with him”. From the crabs, he looked down at the egg in his paws with a tiny warble-whine, back at the crabs, and at Thancred, almost pleading for a moment.
He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head.
The whine turned into the Qiqirn shrinking, voice down and head down. “Crabs bad luck, whole city bad luck, Kataroon doesn't want to sell bad-luck crabs for more bad-luck but can't afford to leave bad-luck city without selling bad-luck crabs!” At Thancred's questioning look, Kataroon gave another fidgeting glance around, checking for anyone close by. “No clams because – Kataroon doesn't know, people stopped coming with clams, Kataroon went down to see where people were and maybe gather clams, and there were crabs! Big crabs, juicy crabs, so Kataroon grabbed them... until last crab had half of a hand in its claws...so Kataroon looked in the water and there were bits of dead people and Kataroon saw one of the clam-diggers – crabs are bad luck crabs. Kataroon does not know what killed them, Kataroon does not want to know, Kataroon is leaving city.”
“Thank you, Kataroon.” That was probably just what he was after. “You've helped more than you know – in fact I may owe you a little; I'll have another of those eggs sent over later. Things will get better.”
A few bells in the market didn't find much elsewhere; both of the other places he'd been looking for did have corpses found, but more the usual “left out intending them to be found” for this than dumping in a hidden underground reservoir for the wildlife. He burned through most of the bribe money on gifts and more direct bribes anyway, even if half of what he got was normal merchant gossip, and a few small return-gifts.
He meandered back to more familiar territory; not really lingering anywhere, and less information gathering than getting a look around for his own nerves and maybe giving a red-herring to anything hostile following him.
He considered checking the clock-tower, but if they were looking out for him, he really didn't want to lead them back to his home; only places where it was known he would be – which did include checking on Miss Lyons and Edine. The shop looked quiet, calm, and normal enough, with a guardsman on the corner standing watch within sight of it who looked more bored than anything. Ducking in the door found Miss Lyons sitting at the counter, working on very close embroidery work, halfway through filling in the outline of a bell on some kind of coat.
She glanced up sideways from it, not really looking up. “It's good to see you well; I had been starting to worry.” For some reason it struck him as a little too calm. “You've gotten popular.”
That sarcasm did worry him. “What happened? Are you and Edine alright?”
“Oh, we're fine; I've just had two people through in the last two days asking about you. Do you want the more worrying first, or less?”
“...Let's go with less, in case the more needs me dashing off immediately.”
He saw an eye flicker up from her embroidery. “Well, I'll spare you the pretense I was given about being the only tailor in town who can do proper justice to the crests of the Great Houses and a sudden pressing need for a surcoat of House Durendaire, I think he only did it to avoid our dear Inspector Westin taking offense to him prodding outside of his own district. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he's about as good at subtlety and subterfuge as a drunken behemoth.”
“Marcelain was here?” Now there was an idea worth being audibly frazzled by it.
Her hand stilled with the needle still poised, and she glanced up. “When this is over you really do need to tell me what you've been up to. Yes, in between his various attempts at playing it off, he was trying to fish at me about your habits and whether or not I would consider you trustworthy.” She returned to her embroidery.
“...And?”
“...After a few assurances that you weren't a threat were brushed past, I pointed out that you and Edine had shown mutual interest for over a year now, and you were noticeably lacking in potentially fatal rapier holes.”
That shouldn't be comforting, really, but it was. “Did he seem to accept that?”
She snorted. “I'm not sure; if he did, give him a week to whinge and posture before he admits it. There's reasons I married and settled outside of Ishgard.”
“....Lovely. What's the more worrying?”
“Gib actually came in day before last asking if we'd seen you, looking afraid half to death. He said he knew where Ives was; that he couldn't say much to anyone else, that he needed to find you, and that you were to not go looking for Ives – he seemed quite certain something horrible would happen if you did, and that you needed to avoid anywhere too familiar.” She slipped her needle in secure on the edge of the hoop holding part of the cloth, setting it down to pull something out of a pocket. “He said if I saw you, to give you this.”
She handed him a tiny, battered leather pouch, mended five times over and definitely having seen better days. Inside it was little more than a handful of river-gravel, stones worn smooth by the main river through town; three off-color grey, one a muddled brown with dirt flaking off it, and a bit of white limestone from the walls that'd been wave-battered and muddied.
He slipped them back into the pouch, hiding it in an inner pocket. White stone from the river gate where small boats would come in – enough traffic to be able to not draw attention, but enough guards to not be a good place to try anything illegal; third cycle and a last one to mark an hour.
“Thank you.” Halfway through Azeyma's hour, if he hurried he could make it; Gib had probably been waiting out there at the appointed time daily since, just in case, and keeping any regular schedule would be dangerous no matter how careful he was and how much it was giving a little distance. “I do need to go to catch him – take care.”
He took a winding route; if he went straight or by a more normal path, he could've easily made it with plenty of time to spare, but if there were people that knew their routines watching, he'd just risk leading the problem there and sweetening the pot by giving them two targets they wanted, and he was more than capable of cutting through buildings, following crowds, and doing everything he could to make it hard to follow him, including fast-changing the cloak and a more visible outer coat for something else pulled off a rack in a tavern when nobody was looking.
Gib was maybe a year or two older, and one of the ones that'd been better off; he'd been in and out of orphanages, and later in and out of the city proper. He'd become a familiar fixture of the winter, spending warmer months outside the walls foraging and gathering after getting a good grasp of plants and other things that would be valuable to alchemists and scholars; the last winter Thancred was pretty sure he hadn't actually needed to show up at boltholes with the others, that he'd only done it to check on people and help a little with food, blankets, and occasionally bringing in medicine. He must've come back into town with the snows, gone looking for everyone... and found them.
He managed a few minutes to spare; the river-docks were busy with barges coming and going, making the most of the last week or two before the river iced over. The guards were easy enough to pick out, but even trying to find a better perch without drawing attention found no sign of Gib. He made a few passes of the area, trying to just look like he was waiting for one of the boats coming in; at ten past, he was getting more worried, and started going between the dock and nearby alleyways, the forays into possible nearby out-of-sight spots widening slowly.
It wasn't even half past when he spotted something, the smell of blood getting his attention; something trailed along a wall down a blind alley as if someone were intentionally painting it.
He flattened near it, one of his own knives dropping from a sheath on his wrist into his hand; if it was a human and not the Ascian, he might need it. There was no sign of other movement in the dim reflection of a window, only what looked like one crumpled shape; he edged around.
There was a weird sense of pressure popping as a foot crossed the threshold of the alleyway, the air suddenly thickening as if something scentless and heavy had been let loose into it; Gib was curled up in the center of it, a few yalms in, bloodied and shaking slightly, unfamiliar signs scraped out in blood around him.
“Don't – stay - “
He was alive – if they could get him out and get things vaguely patched on the run, whatever the trap was seemed to be taking time to happen, Y'shtola could handle the rest - “I'm not alone, I'll get you to help-”
“No!-” He moved forward, hoping to grab Gib and run; Gib made a feeble attempt at more distance and froze, shuddering.
His fingers brushed the older boy's shoulders before he'd even quite processed something was happening; for the second he was crossing ground, it was as if the wounds widened, bleeding out something that was turning black and half-vapor, something twisting just under Gib's skin, as if something else were trying to tear free from the inside.
Whatever it was, the rest happened almost too fast to process; there was an impact across his chest and shoulder, an unconscious reflex to throw weight with it kicking in, and then another impact on the wall. The next thing he knew, he was staring up at something tall, flattened horns easily marking out the edge of a first-story, pale grey-white, a triangular skull with gleaming red eyes set deep in armored recesses and a maw of rows of teeth, wings trying to stretch but a little too wide for the alley, and a very heavy dull-black blade held in one large clawed hand, bits of blood barely visible along its edge.
That there was a gash where it'd hit him, and one that was probably deep, sunk in just as something hit the base of the back of its neck from above, bone shattering and its hide ripping audible; it dropped like a puppet with cut strings, the head falling limp, the flesh already dissolving into black mist before it'd hit the ground.
Yda was standing in the middle of the remains; for a second she was trying to pull an armored boot free of the corpse, then it dissolved enough for that to no longer be a problem, and she was standing over him.
“GODS I didn't know you could do that I actually lost you for a while don't do things like that here -” A pale, white-green glow guttered around her hands held over the wound, the injury stinging and numbing as it half-closed. “I'm not very good at it but it'll keep you going until we can get to Y'shtola, she can patch you up right as rain, Louisoix INSISTED we all learn even if we weren't very good at it because of things like this, come on, we need to get back -” She tugged on his arm, then went oddly still and silent, craning over to where there was the half-crumbled, blackened remains of a skeleton too large for human; there were voices at the alleyway – guards, agitated.
“Oh. That was a friend of yours, wasn't it.”
He managed to close his mouth, moving his head a little.
Yda walked away for a moment; he didn't catch all of what she said, but it seemed to waver between “Okay everything's under control we're okay things are okay” and “Nobody touch anything just get some of the mages from the college and keep people out”; once she seemed satisfied they were going to comply, she returned, grabbing his arm and pulling it over one of her shoulders to carry him. “Come on; we can't stay here, Y'shtola needs to look after that injury... they'll have to move – what's left of him to the college anyway and do a cleansing, I'll make sure there's a proper burial.”
He stumbled along with her supporting him for a few streets before he finally found his feet again, tugging to walk on his own; she hovered close the entire way back, mostly in awkward silence, tugging on his sleeves now and then to mind which way they were going and steer him to the infirmary.
Y'shtola seemed to be waiting when they arrived, tugging him into a side room off the main thoroughfare. “I heard some of what happened, Yda – I'll handle things from here. Thank you.”
Yda hovered at his shoulder awkwardly, and he actually caught a tiny, worried whine from the woman before she nodded and didn't exactly leave, but apparently went to hover outside.
“The guards sent word ahead by linkshell; Louisoix is seeing to the remains – he said to send his apologies if you arrived before he could be here.”
He nodded quietly, accepting being directed to sit on the edge of the narrow bed; she was being careful, but quick, getting the cloak and half-cutting the now-damaged remains of what he'd been wearing off. She laid a hand on his shoulder to steady him, getting a better look at the wound; some of it was still sluggishly bleeding where Yda hadn't quite managed to completely heal it. “Well, Yda managed to do enough that you wouldn't bleed out getting here; it looks like it cut through bone in a few places.” Her ears lowered. “You've likely still lost enough blood to need rest.” She gave one more close check, studying it, then held up a small, curled wand that was sprouting fresh leaves in places, holding a hand close over the injury.
Y'shtola's spell took longer to cast, and left a funny, warm pins-and-needles much further through than the one Yda had used. He hadn't quite noticed it was hurting to breath until that suddenly stopped, leaving him taking a few short, gasping breaths catching up. In fact, a lot of things were trying to catch up, sharp pains from his shoulder and back that came noticeable and then faded out to a weird, numb prickling, a lot of dull aches that were dying to the leftover remnants of stiffness and soreness, and the much sharper, louder, deeper pain of having come way too close to getting cut in two lingering even as it closed, weird smaller twinges as bone shifted back into place higher on his ribcage.
Everything in general since he'd found Gib caught up; Gib had been trying to warn him, they'd gotten there first and turned it into a trap.
Y'shtola was quietly keeping watch, but was running down a priority list; he was half snapped out of that bit of reeling by getting carefully mauled with a wet cloth that had some sort of sharp astringent smell to it; she was thorough enough to nudge and check his back, and to end up further distracting him enough for a yelp where there was drying blood that'd managed to seep past the top hem of his pants.
“Oh settle. The infirmary is no place to suddenly discover a sense of modesty.” He frowned, examining what he was still wearing. “You're going to need to be out of those anyway; it is unwise to stay in bloody clothing.” It wasn't as bad as the remains of the shirt and coat piled out of the way, but there was a noticeable bloodstain spread down it. “As bad as that looks, I would say that everything you were wearing is a lost cause.” She gave him a brief, pointed look, and then turned her back, her attention on a cabinet in the narrow room longer than was probably strictly necessary.
He took the hint, stripping off what he had left of his clothes and dropping them on the stool where she'd set the rest of it, trying to settle, stiff, sore, and without a bit of clothing in a room with someone he barely knew.
She turned back with a thick blanket in hand, held out to him without any real reaction to what, for her, was a routine; he wrapped in it as best he could, while she was giving a gentle nudge to lie down. “You should be resting – you'll be well enough to be on your feet some by morning, although you won't want to do anything strenuous for a few days; curative magic can only do so much when you've bled half out.”
He gave a quiet nod, propping up on the pillow a little.
“For what it's worth... what was described is not a possession; merely a trick to better anchor something stronger summoned from the void via a sacrifice. It – was over before Yda arrived, and there is every sign that they cannot impede a soul passing into Thal's hands that way.”
He wilted into the pillow, closing his eyes.
Part of him wanted to ask why, but he knew why; Gibs had found them. They wanted him silenced, and had used it for a chance to also aim at Thancred. He curled around part of the blanket miserably, the heavy fabric suddenly not feeling like nearly enough. Y'shtola settled carefully on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on his head, smoothing out some of the loose hair. “I know it's a cold comfort, but we'll stop this as soon as we can.”
“...They have Ives....he told the weaver he'd found Ives, and that it was bad enough that he wanted me to stay away....”
“We'll do everything we can.”
The door opened, to Yda with a tray; she hurried over, fumbling to get some kind of small legs out so that it'd sit without him having too much risk of him knocking off the bed. There wasn't anything horribly solid, but there was some kind of thick juice, soup, and sliced fruit, the bowl filled enough that it was a wonder she had gotten it here without spilling any.
He stared at it, moving to sit up; Y'shtola stayed close, and Yda was hovering by the bed as well. The best he could manage was giving it a mildly dubious look, feeling a little queasy.
“Do you remember when you last ate?” Y'shtola was being quiet and careful.
“Oh, it was bells and bells ago, I was worried about that too!” Yda... was not, really, or was trying to flounder her best. “I know you're probably not up to much so that's why I asked for soup and things...”
“...Thank you, Yda.” He picked up the bowl, staring at it for another few seconds before trying to drink some of it. He didn't manage much before he set it down, feeling more sick to his stomach.
Y'shtola seemed to notice. “One moment.” She left the bed to rifle through cabinets, sparking alight a small heating pad, settling a small kettle on it.
Yda was actually being surprisingly quiet, even if she was hovering and worried, although even that had limits. “...Is he okay?” She did stop to look at Thancred instead of over him. “Are you okay? I mean, it could've cleaved you clean in two...”
“I'm fine.”
That returned her focus to Y'shtola.
“He'll be alright; he managed to avoid getting a clean hit, although he'll need some rest.”
“Oh that's good! I mean, what happened wasn't good, but I'm glad you'll be okay!” Yda tried for a very awkward hug from the side of the bed, which ended up being one-armed and having a little bit of flounder, before she returned to perching on the chair by the side of the bed. “Twelve, you're all skin and bones! Maybe I should've gotten more than soup, you haven't been eating nearly enough!”
Thancred managed a flat, pinched expression, trying very hard not to say anything. One of Y'shtola's ears swiveled around zeroing in, and then there was very swiftly a very flat look cast over her shoulder.
“Eep! Sitting down, shutting up!” Yda very quickly settled from perched on the chair to sitting, hands folded in her lap, making a very visible effort to hold perfectly still.
Y'shtola returned to the bed with a mug of some kind of tea that she held out to him. “Drink this first; it should help with nausea, at least some.”
It did manage to not set off feeling queasy, and mostly seemed to be mint and some other herbs; he was halfway through it when the door opened quietly.
It wasn't Louisoix; Y'shtola's attention focused on the door sharply with a very quick warning look at the Inspector. The man held up both hands with a very tiny shrink of his shoulders, staying with his back to the door.
“What happened?” He looked between Yda and Thancred.
“Well we were out trying to find them and he went in this shop and then he peeled off and I actually lost him for a little while, and when I found him I think the Ascian must've gotten there ahead of both of us because it was using a friend of his as a sacrifice to summon a gargoyle – it nearly killed him! I tried to give directions there as best I could but I needed to get him back here because he was kind of bleeding all over...” She made a few helpless hand gestures, and he noticed now that yes, there was blood all over one side of her mostly-white clothes, enough that it was easy to guess how she'd carried him.
Inspector Westin gave Thancred a helpless and slightly more pleading look; Y'shtola shifted to be sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. He closed his eyes, hands wrapped around the tea, keeping it close. “It was Gib... he must've come back in and gone to check on everyone, and found the cult.”
“Gib – the herbalist?”
He nodded. “He'd left a message for me, with something to signal a time and place he'd be watching for me, away from our normal haunts; he didn't want to say much to anyone else. All he'd left was that he'd found Ives, and for me to stay away. I got out to the docks, and he was – late, so I started checking the area.”
“I should see if Miss Lyons would be amenable to having one of my men stay in the shop out of easy sight, just in case.”
Thancred couldn't even really argue; that one wasn't hard to guess, between Yda's rambling and how few people with a shop someone would think to use to leave a message for him, and keeping a closer watch on her was more of a comfort than anything. “It...was like something popped when I walked into the alley... he was already bleeding all over, I thought if I could get him out of there fast enough I could get him back here... and – then I was on the ground with a monster looming over me.”
The Inspector frowned, turning his attention to Y'shtola. “Then they did...?” She nodded, and the man let out a slow breath between his teeth. The door opened again; the Inspector gave a short nod back and stepped out of the way enough for Louisoix to enter and the door to shut before he continued. “...Did you find anything of use, before that?”
“...Yes.” He shifted a hand, running fingers along the sides of the mug, tracing the patterns in the glaze. “I know where they are – there's old catacombs under the city and other tunnels, the river's broken through into them in a few places; people go down there to get out of the weather, and sometimes they just settle. There – was almost a small town down there. There was a Qiqirn fishmonger who had a trade going....he'd barter supplies for some of the clams and fish that ended up there out of the river, sell them in the markets, and use part of the money for things to trade to them.”
“Oh! Is that why you were - ...but that was the first one you talked to!”, Yda interjected.
“If any of them were watching, I didn't want them to realize that I'd gotten an answer like that, or to aim at him, so I kept looking... I wanted to make sure, too.” He sighed over the tea. “The people that used to meet with him had stopped coming; he said he'd gone down to see if he could find them, or gather some of the clams himself...he'd found some of the larger scavenging crabs, feeding on corpses in one of the places it pools – he said he'd recognized some of the dead. He didn't know what'd happened, but it frightened him badly enough that he was planning on leaving the city.”
“We might be able to find maps of some of the old tunnels, but some of those date back to before the city was built...” The Inspector frowned.
“I've spent weeks down there sometimes when there were storms. The best ways in and out are from a few old tombs in an abandoned lichyard by the wall; it's also big enough and avoided enough that they could drag people down there and come and go freely without much notice. I can mark a surface map, but if we don't know where the Ascian is or what they might already have summoned -”
“It may be better if you and Inspector Rigaud could give us a cordon; the followers will likely try to scatter. I will take my people in to find it, and send a signal when it's clear for the rest of you to move in.”
The Inspector gave Louisoix a short nod of agreement.
There was really only one problem Thancred found with it. “Can you make it the people that can blend in – not anyone in uniform? That way we can have a better chance of catching them off guard.”
“I can relay that to the Magistrate as the Allseer's plan; are there ways underground they could use to slip away?”
He frowned. “Not well; the tunnels range a decent ways over the two districts and a little into the one to the north, but you couldn't really get anywhere else – there's areas that used to go further but they're either collapsed, badly flooded, or both. There's a few places within the districts it comes up, but they're either the cellars of some of the baileys or in graveyards that aren't abandoned – you'll want to post a few extra watch on those.”
“That will be simple enough – we should be able to move the day after tomorrow. Thank you all.” The Inspector gave the entire room a short, stiff bow, and hurried out.
“...You said I would need a day's rest to be back on my feet?”
Y'shtola's ears flattened, and she gave him a dim look. “In a pinch; to be truthful, you should be minding yourself for two or three days.”
“I think, as long as he is staying with the rest of us,”, Louisoix spoke carefully, “That we can ensure he doesn't need to do anything past what he can manage. We will need him as a guide, if we wish to corner it.”
One of her ears raised and turned; she frowned, and shook her head, but didn't argue.
“...Thank you.” He mumbled it into the tea, relaxing and finishing the mug.
“Take care to stay close, when we go.” Y'shtola reached over to take the mug back. “The list of casualties is already too long, and you'll help no-one by being added to it.”
“I'll be careful.” There was, at least, some feeling of weight off; the end was in sight, and it would be over soon. He took up the soup, sipping carefully; Louisoix pulled over a stool from the corner, hands folded over his staff. For a while, the room was quiet, but that was something that would only last so long with Yda in the room.
“...When this is over, are you staying?”
He stared into the mostly-empty bowl. “I don't know... I want to find Ives, and Ayla, and the others, and – see how bad off they are...”
One of Y'shtola's ears flickered, and she said something quietly to Louisoix in a language he didn't recognize; Louisoix frowned, and the answer was only one word.
Whatever it was, Louisoix returned to something more familiar after. “Could you tell us about them? It may make it easier to find them, and convince them it's safe to come with us if one of us finds them without you present.”
“Oh that's a great idea! It'd be good for you to tell some happier stories anyway!” Yda had somehow managed to return to perching on the chair without making a sound, bouncing slightly.
“I...” He closed his eyes, feeling a little sick with worry again; but they were right, if they had to split up to make sure they got to people alive, it would help the others trust them. “I can, I think.”
He spent most of the rest of the evening telling what ended up being half of his life story, and a few things he'd heard some of the others had done; Papalymo had filtered through for a while, and there were a few minutes where Urianger had come in with a thin, neat, new-made leather journal to hand to Louisoix, taking a few minutes to linger for tea. Y'shtola filtered in and out, occasionally ducking out to check on other patients. There were a few halting moments, words hanging in his throat in mid-sentence realizing that one of the people involved was one of the victims, that always had Yda hovering closer, or Louisoix or Y'shtola putting more of the tea in his hands. Y'shtola did manage to be nearly psychic on timing, returning from one of her checks to be beside the bed with a plain robe checking if he was steady enough to make it out of the room himself for trips to the washroom.
It went on until she'd gone to her room for the night, apparently one that was in the infirmary wing, and Yda was nodding off asleep, still perched on the chair by him; Louisoix nudged her awake with his staff, gently herding her out to go to bed herself.
The door shut behind her, but he stayed by the bed, giving what had been Thancred's “good” shoulder a gentle squeeze. “When things turn worse, it's easy to lose sight that there were times that were good; they encourage that despair and prey on those who've lost hope. Whatever may happen, even though it may sometimes hurt, remember those stories; there will always be darker times, and they will always eventually pass to a dawn.”
He was tired enough, and starting to feel the effects of the blood loss Y'shtola had been nudging him about enough, that the most response he managed was a bleary nod; now that things were turning quiet, he was already starting to feel a lump in his throat, trying not to wonder how much he would even have left to go back to.
“Will you be alright alone for the night? I've slept in chairs often enough, and there is nowhere I need to be until dawn.”
Once again, the people that would do the most to settle that fear were nowhere around; that was the problem. “...I should be alright.”
Louisoix studied him with a look of concern, then set something small on the end-table beside the bed. “A linkpearl; I should've given it to you before you went out today. It will call to the others on a touch – don't be afraid to use it if there is anything wrong.”
He nodded, mumbling a quiet “thank you”.
“Sleep well; I'll see about having a few books sent down for when things are quiet tomorrow.”
Summary: Snowballed Headcanon!
Chapter Summary: Thancred does his information gathering thing, and then goes and mashes his face into a trap, resulting in Yda getting to show off and Thancred getting re-acquainted with Y'shtola and the infirmary.
Warnings: Violence, body horror
They hadn't been joking about Yda being able to disappear; she'd been a pest getting ready, and then once he got outside the campus grounds, he would've been hard pressed to tell she'd ever been nearby at all. He'd raided the costume closets at the theatre, but had decided against going full-bore unrecognizable, settling for just a good hood and obscuring clothing; he'd need SOME people to recognize him or this wouldn't work as well.
He didn't head for any territory he spent much time in, instead heading straight for the larger market streets in that part of the city; there was a dusting of snow on the ground that was sticking, but the sky was clear and the cold wasn't enough to deter the merchants or the people out browsing stalls. It wasn't the main central market street, further south and east of even where he'd lived, but this one managed to get a few further-flung traders anyway; Ul'dahns hoping to find a market with less competition or trading in goods a little sketchier, various traders from the tribal races who'd found enough profit in making the journey, shops within the city that weren't quite up to competing with the masterworks keeping stalls.
He had a mental tally of people to check with, and had been granted a request for honestly a mildly ridiculous amount of coin going out, something he was keeping in multiple smaller pouches in awkward places to reach and doing a lot of minding potential pickpockets; even if he looked too ragged to be a good mark, he knew some of them would probably try anyway.
One pass of the market got bits, but nothing too useful; the murders were coming up in market chatter, and supernatural involvement had gotten out enough that he caught whispers of voidsent and a few other things further off the mark; there were a lot of theories floating around, but none of them he overheard in passing sounded like more than idle gossip trying to make sense of it. He did get a tally of merchants that passed through those districts more or lived in them and who looked more or less nervous; too confident was a flag for the possibility they knew something and had bought security, too nervous was a flag they might've seen something, and one of the nervous ones had his attention in particular, enough for a stop at a cook's stall, run by a couple of Lalafell in Ul'dahn garb with a very tired Hyur mercenary sitting in back, hawking “rare delicacies from the east and beyond”.
They weren't around enough to give more than a brief shrug at a request for the very best they had of eggs, netting him a still-warm shell of a Zu's egg almost as big as his head, a careful hole cut in it to season and cook it.
The actual target was a spread of blankets and woven baskets of clams, small crayfish, and other fish, a Qiqirn scrambling back and forth flagging down passer's by; there were a few good sized crabs spread out on a blanket on one side that the tiny rat-man kept hand-washing after even touching.
Kataroon didn't come in with crabs like that, and he'd been a fishmonger too long to be squeamish about shellfish.
“Kataroon!” He waved, the large egg cradled in one arm; the Qiqirn's ears swiveled, and a half second later Kataroon was at that side of the stall, a nervous glance between Thancred and the nearest baskets as if checking count -
And then his attention was entirely on the egg, eyes wide.
“I brought you a gift.” He held the egg out; the widened look of awe and disbelief held, the Qiqirn still for a few long seconds, before there was a tiny, thin chirp and Kataroon grabbed it, wrapping around it with a little trill-purr.
Kataroon's attitude when he looked back up was significantly less suspicious. “Thankyouthankyouohmostgeneroussinger, mayyoubeshoweredincoinoneverycorner, how can Kataroon ever repay this -” And that was the sound and brief what-did-I-just-do blink of a merchant from a race that, for all their tendency towards thieving, took debts and repayments very seriously realizing he'd just accepted a gift with a great deal of value. “What would you wish of Kataroon?”
“There's a few things I was trying to figure out, and I thought you might know something; you don't have as many of the clams as usual, and I've never seen you with crabs like that before.” The Qiqirn froze. “Is there any word from the tunnels?”
Kataroon was faintly shaking, giving the crabs a nervous glance behind him, and Thancred noticed now that the packs and all that Kataroon normally had were larger – less day-supplies, more “it looks like he has all his worldly possessions with him”. From the crabs, he looked down at the egg in his paws with a tiny warble-whine, back at the crabs, and at Thancred, almost pleading for a moment.
He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head.
The whine turned into the Qiqirn shrinking, voice down and head down. “Crabs bad luck, whole city bad luck, Kataroon doesn't want to sell bad-luck crabs for more bad-luck but can't afford to leave bad-luck city without selling bad-luck crabs!” At Thancred's questioning look, Kataroon gave another fidgeting glance around, checking for anyone close by. “No clams because – Kataroon doesn't know, people stopped coming with clams, Kataroon went down to see where people were and maybe gather clams, and there were crabs! Big crabs, juicy crabs, so Kataroon grabbed them... until last crab had half of a hand in its claws...so Kataroon looked in the water and there were bits of dead people and Kataroon saw one of the clam-diggers – crabs are bad luck crabs. Kataroon does not know what killed them, Kataroon does not want to know, Kataroon is leaving city.”
“Thank you, Kataroon.” That was probably just what he was after. “You've helped more than you know – in fact I may owe you a little; I'll have another of those eggs sent over later. Things will get better.”
A few bells in the market didn't find much elsewhere; both of the other places he'd been looking for did have corpses found, but more the usual “left out intending them to be found” for this than dumping in a hidden underground reservoir for the wildlife. He burned through most of the bribe money on gifts and more direct bribes anyway, even if half of what he got was normal merchant gossip, and a few small return-gifts.
He meandered back to more familiar territory; not really lingering anywhere, and less information gathering than getting a look around for his own nerves and maybe giving a red-herring to anything hostile following him.
He considered checking the clock-tower, but if they were looking out for him, he really didn't want to lead them back to his home; only places where it was known he would be – which did include checking on Miss Lyons and Edine. The shop looked quiet, calm, and normal enough, with a guardsman on the corner standing watch within sight of it who looked more bored than anything. Ducking in the door found Miss Lyons sitting at the counter, working on very close embroidery work, halfway through filling in the outline of a bell on some kind of coat.
She glanced up sideways from it, not really looking up. “It's good to see you well; I had been starting to worry.” For some reason it struck him as a little too calm. “You've gotten popular.”
That sarcasm did worry him. “What happened? Are you and Edine alright?”
“Oh, we're fine; I've just had two people through in the last two days asking about you. Do you want the more worrying first, or less?”
“...Let's go with less, in case the more needs me dashing off immediately.”
He saw an eye flicker up from her embroidery. “Well, I'll spare you the pretense I was given about being the only tailor in town who can do proper justice to the crests of the Great Houses and a sudden pressing need for a surcoat of House Durendaire, I think he only did it to avoid our dear Inspector Westin taking offense to him prodding outside of his own district. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he's about as good at subtlety and subterfuge as a drunken behemoth.”
“Marcelain was here?” Now there was an idea worth being audibly frazzled by it.
Her hand stilled with the needle still poised, and she glanced up. “When this is over you really do need to tell me what you've been up to. Yes, in between his various attempts at playing it off, he was trying to fish at me about your habits and whether or not I would consider you trustworthy.” She returned to her embroidery.
“...And?”
“...After a few assurances that you weren't a threat were brushed past, I pointed out that you and Edine had shown mutual interest for over a year now, and you were noticeably lacking in potentially fatal rapier holes.”
That shouldn't be comforting, really, but it was. “Did he seem to accept that?”
She snorted. “I'm not sure; if he did, give him a week to whinge and posture before he admits it. There's reasons I married and settled outside of Ishgard.”
“....Lovely. What's the more worrying?”
“Gib actually came in day before last asking if we'd seen you, looking afraid half to death. He said he knew where Ives was; that he couldn't say much to anyone else, that he needed to find you, and that you were to not go looking for Ives – he seemed quite certain something horrible would happen if you did, and that you needed to avoid anywhere too familiar.” She slipped her needle in secure on the edge of the hoop holding part of the cloth, setting it down to pull something out of a pocket. “He said if I saw you, to give you this.”
She handed him a tiny, battered leather pouch, mended five times over and definitely having seen better days. Inside it was little more than a handful of river-gravel, stones worn smooth by the main river through town; three off-color grey, one a muddled brown with dirt flaking off it, and a bit of white limestone from the walls that'd been wave-battered and muddied.
He slipped them back into the pouch, hiding it in an inner pocket. White stone from the river gate where small boats would come in – enough traffic to be able to not draw attention, but enough guards to not be a good place to try anything illegal; third cycle and a last one to mark an hour.
“Thank you.” Halfway through Azeyma's hour, if he hurried he could make it; Gib had probably been waiting out there at the appointed time daily since, just in case, and keeping any regular schedule would be dangerous no matter how careful he was and how much it was giving a little distance. “I do need to go to catch him – take care.”
He took a winding route; if he went straight or by a more normal path, he could've easily made it with plenty of time to spare, but if there were people that knew their routines watching, he'd just risk leading the problem there and sweetening the pot by giving them two targets they wanted, and he was more than capable of cutting through buildings, following crowds, and doing everything he could to make it hard to follow him, including fast-changing the cloak and a more visible outer coat for something else pulled off a rack in a tavern when nobody was looking.
Gib was maybe a year or two older, and one of the ones that'd been better off; he'd been in and out of orphanages, and later in and out of the city proper. He'd become a familiar fixture of the winter, spending warmer months outside the walls foraging and gathering after getting a good grasp of plants and other things that would be valuable to alchemists and scholars; the last winter Thancred was pretty sure he hadn't actually needed to show up at boltholes with the others, that he'd only done it to check on people and help a little with food, blankets, and occasionally bringing in medicine. He must've come back into town with the snows, gone looking for everyone... and found them.
He managed a few minutes to spare; the river-docks were busy with barges coming and going, making the most of the last week or two before the river iced over. The guards were easy enough to pick out, but even trying to find a better perch without drawing attention found no sign of Gib. He made a few passes of the area, trying to just look like he was waiting for one of the boats coming in; at ten past, he was getting more worried, and started going between the dock and nearby alleyways, the forays into possible nearby out-of-sight spots widening slowly.
It wasn't even half past when he spotted something, the smell of blood getting his attention; something trailed along a wall down a blind alley as if someone were intentionally painting it.
He flattened near it, one of his own knives dropping from a sheath on his wrist into his hand; if it was a human and not the Ascian, he might need it. There was no sign of other movement in the dim reflection of a window, only what looked like one crumpled shape; he edged around.
There was a weird sense of pressure popping as a foot crossed the threshold of the alleyway, the air suddenly thickening as if something scentless and heavy had been let loose into it; Gib was curled up in the center of it, a few yalms in, bloodied and shaking slightly, unfamiliar signs scraped out in blood around him.
“Don't – stay - “
He was alive – if they could get him out and get things vaguely patched on the run, whatever the trap was seemed to be taking time to happen, Y'shtola could handle the rest - “I'm not alone, I'll get you to help-”
“No!-” He moved forward, hoping to grab Gib and run; Gib made a feeble attempt at more distance and froze, shuddering.
His fingers brushed the older boy's shoulders before he'd even quite processed something was happening; for the second he was crossing ground, it was as if the wounds widened, bleeding out something that was turning black and half-vapor, something twisting just under Gib's skin, as if something else were trying to tear free from the inside.
Whatever it was, the rest happened almost too fast to process; there was an impact across his chest and shoulder, an unconscious reflex to throw weight with it kicking in, and then another impact on the wall. The next thing he knew, he was staring up at something tall, flattened horns easily marking out the edge of a first-story, pale grey-white, a triangular skull with gleaming red eyes set deep in armored recesses and a maw of rows of teeth, wings trying to stretch but a little too wide for the alley, and a very heavy dull-black blade held in one large clawed hand, bits of blood barely visible along its edge.
That there was a gash where it'd hit him, and one that was probably deep, sunk in just as something hit the base of the back of its neck from above, bone shattering and its hide ripping audible; it dropped like a puppet with cut strings, the head falling limp, the flesh already dissolving into black mist before it'd hit the ground.
Yda was standing in the middle of the remains; for a second she was trying to pull an armored boot free of the corpse, then it dissolved enough for that to no longer be a problem, and she was standing over him.
“GODS I didn't know you could do that I actually lost you for a while don't do things like that here -” A pale, white-green glow guttered around her hands held over the wound, the injury stinging and numbing as it half-closed. “I'm not very good at it but it'll keep you going until we can get to Y'shtola, she can patch you up right as rain, Louisoix INSISTED we all learn even if we weren't very good at it because of things like this, come on, we need to get back -” She tugged on his arm, then went oddly still and silent, craning over to where there was the half-crumbled, blackened remains of a skeleton too large for human; there were voices at the alleyway – guards, agitated.
“Oh. That was a friend of yours, wasn't it.”
He managed to close his mouth, moving his head a little.
Yda walked away for a moment; he didn't catch all of what she said, but it seemed to waver between “Okay everything's under control we're okay things are okay” and “Nobody touch anything just get some of the mages from the college and keep people out”; once she seemed satisfied they were going to comply, she returned, grabbing his arm and pulling it over one of her shoulders to carry him. “Come on; we can't stay here, Y'shtola needs to look after that injury... they'll have to move – what's left of him to the college anyway and do a cleansing, I'll make sure there's a proper burial.”
He stumbled along with her supporting him for a few streets before he finally found his feet again, tugging to walk on his own; she hovered close the entire way back, mostly in awkward silence, tugging on his sleeves now and then to mind which way they were going and steer him to the infirmary.
Y'shtola seemed to be waiting when they arrived, tugging him into a side room off the main thoroughfare. “I heard some of what happened, Yda – I'll handle things from here. Thank you.”
Yda hovered at his shoulder awkwardly, and he actually caught a tiny, worried whine from the woman before she nodded and didn't exactly leave, but apparently went to hover outside.
“The guards sent word ahead by linkshell; Louisoix is seeing to the remains – he said to send his apologies if you arrived before he could be here.”
He nodded quietly, accepting being directed to sit on the edge of the narrow bed; she was being careful, but quick, getting the cloak and half-cutting the now-damaged remains of what he'd been wearing off. She laid a hand on his shoulder to steady him, getting a better look at the wound; some of it was still sluggishly bleeding where Yda hadn't quite managed to completely heal it. “Well, Yda managed to do enough that you wouldn't bleed out getting here; it looks like it cut through bone in a few places.” Her ears lowered. “You've likely still lost enough blood to need rest.” She gave one more close check, studying it, then held up a small, curled wand that was sprouting fresh leaves in places, holding a hand close over the injury.
Y'shtola's spell took longer to cast, and left a funny, warm pins-and-needles much further through than the one Yda had used. He hadn't quite noticed it was hurting to breath until that suddenly stopped, leaving him taking a few short, gasping breaths catching up. In fact, a lot of things were trying to catch up, sharp pains from his shoulder and back that came noticeable and then faded out to a weird, numb prickling, a lot of dull aches that were dying to the leftover remnants of stiffness and soreness, and the much sharper, louder, deeper pain of having come way too close to getting cut in two lingering even as it closed, weird smaller twinges as bone shifted back into place higher on his ribcage.
Everything in general since he'd found Gib caught up; Gib had been trying to warn him, they'd gotten there first and turned it into a trap.
Y'shtola was quietly keeping watch, but was running down a priority list; he was half snapped out of that bit of reeling by getting carefully mauled with a wet cloth that had some sort of sharp astringent smell to it; she was thorough enough to nudge and check his back, and to end up further distracting him enough for a yelp where there was drying blood that'd managed to seep past the top hem of his pants.
“Oh settle. The infirmary is no place to suddenly discover a sense of modesty.” He frowned, examining what he was still wearing. “You're going to need to be out of those anyway; it is unwise to stay in bloody clothing.” It wasn't as bad as the remains of the shirt and coat piled out of the way, but there was a noticeable bloodstain spread down it. “As bad as that looks, I would say that everything you were wearing is a lost cause.” She gave him a brief, pointed look, and then turned her back, her attention on a cabinet in the narrow room longer than was probably strictly necessary.
He took the hint, stripping off what he had left of his clothes and dropping them on the stool where she'd set the rest of it, trying to settle, stiff, sore, and without a bit of clothing in a room with someone he barely knew.
She turned back with a thick blanket in hand, held out to him without any real reaction to what, for her, was a routine; he wrapped in it as best he could, while she was giving a gentle nudge to lie down. “You should be resting – you'll be well enough to be on your feet some by morning, although you won't want to do anything strenuous for a few days; curative magic can only do so much when you've bled half out.”
He gave a quiet nod, propping up on the pillow a little.
“For what it's worth... what was described is not a possession; merely a trick to better anchor something stronger summoned from the void via a sacrifice. It – was over before Yda arrived, and there is every sign that they cannot impede a soul passing into Thal's hands that way.”
He wilted into the pillow, closing his eyes.
Part of him wanted to ask why, but he knew why; Gibs had found them. They wanted him silenced, and had used it for a chance to also aim at Thancred. He curled around part of the blanket miserably, the heavy fabric suddenly not feeling like nearly enough. Y'shtola settled carefully on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on his head, smoothing out some of the loose hair. “I know it's a cold comfort, but we'll stop this as soon as we can.”
“...They have Ives....he told the weaver he'd found Ives, and that it was bad enough that he wanted me to stay away....”
“We'll do everything we can.”
The door opened, to Yda with a tray; she hurried over, fumbling to get some kind of small legs out so that it'd sit without him having too much risk of him knocking off the bed. There wasn't anything horribly solid, but there was some kind of thick juice, soup, and sliced fruit, the bowl filled enough that it was a wonder she had gotten it here without spilling any.
He stared at it, moving to sit up; Y'shtola stayed close, and Yda was hovering by the bed as well. The best he could manage was giving it a mildly dubious look, feeling a little queasy.
“Do you remember when you last ate?” Y'shtola was being quiet and careful.
“Oh, it was bells and bells ago, I was worried about that too!” Yda... was not, really, or was trying to flounder her best. “I know you're probably not up to much so that's why I asked for soup and things...”
“...Thank you, Yda.” He picked up the bowl, staring at it for another few seconds before trying to drink some of it. He didn't manage much before he set it down, feeling more sick to his stomach.
Y'shtola seemed to notice. “One moment.” She left the bed to rifle through cabinets, sparking alight a small heating pad, settling a small kettle on it.
Yda was actually being surprisingly quiet, even if she was hovering and worried, although even that had limits. “...Is he okay?” She did stop to look at Thancred instead of over him. “Are you okay? I mean, it could've cleaved you clean in two...”
“I'm fine.”
That returned her focus to Y'shtola.
“He'll be alright; he managed to avoid getting a clean hit, although he'll need some rest.”
“Oh that's good! I mean, what happened wasn't good, but I'm glad you'll be okay!” Yda tried for a very awkward hug from the side of the bed, which ended up being one-armed and having a little bit of flounder, before she returned to perching on the chair by the side of the bed. “Twelve, you're all skin and bones! Maybe I should've gotten more than soup, you haven't been eating nearly enough!”
Thancred managed a flat, pinched expression, trying very hard not to say anything. One of Y'shtola's ears swiveled around zeroing in, and then there was very swiftly a very flat look cast over her shoulder.
“Eep! Sitting down, shutting up!” Yda very quickly settled from perched on the chair to sitting, hands folded in her lap, making a very visible effort to hold perfectly still.
Y'shtola returned to the bed with a mug of some kind of tea that she held out to him. “Drink this first; it should help with nausea, at least some.”
It did manage to not set off feeling queasy, and mostly seemed to be mint and some other herbs; he was halfway through it when the door opened quietly.
It wasn't Louisoix; Y'shtola's attention focused on the door sharply with a very quick warning look at the Inspector. The man held up both hands with a very tiny shrink of his shoulders, staying with his back to the door.
“What happened?” He looked between Yda and Thancred.
“Well we were out trying to find them and he went in this shop and then he peeled off and I actually lost him for a little while, and when I found him I think the Ascian must've gotten there ahead of both of us because it was using a friend of his as a sacrifice to summon a gargoyle – it nearly killed him! I tried to give directions there as best I could but I needed to get him back here because he was kind of bleeding all over...” She made a few helpless hand gestures, and he noticed now that yes, there was blood all over one side of her mostly-white clothes, enough that it was easy to guess how she'd carried him.
Inspector Westin gave Thancred a helpless and slightly more pleading look; Y'shtola shifted to be sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. He closed his eyes, hands wrapped around the tea, keeping it close. “It was Gib... he must've come back in and gone to check on everyone, and found the cult.”
“Gib – the herbalist?”
He nodded. “He'd left a message for me, with something to signal a time and place he'd be watching for me, away from our normal haunts; he didn't want to say much to anyone else. All he'd left was that he'd found Ives, and for me to stay away. I got out to the docks, and he was – late, so I started checking the area.”
“I should see if Miss Lyons would be amenable to having one of my men stay in the shop out of easy sight, just in case.”
Thancred couldn't even really argue; that one wasn't hard to guess, between Yda's rambling and how few people with a shop someone would think to use to leave a message for him, and keeping a closer watch on her was more of a comfort than anything. “It...was like something popped when I walked into the alley... he was already bleeding all over, I thought if I could get him out of there fast enough I could get him back here... and – then I was on the ground with a monster looming over me.”
The Inspector frowned, turning his attention to Y'shtola. “Then they did...?” She nodded, and the man let out a slow breath between his teeth. The door opened again; the Inspector gave a short nod back and stepped out of the way enough for Louisoix to enter and the door to shut before he continued. “...Did you find anything of use, before that?”
“...Yes.” He shifted a hand, running fingers along the sides of the mug, tracing the patterns in the glaze. “I know where they are – there's old catacombs under the city and other tunnels, the river's broken through into them in a few places; people go down there to get out of the weather, and sometimes they just settle. There – was almost a small town down there. There was a Qiqirn fishmonger who had a trade going....he'd barter supplies for some of the clams and fish that ended up there out of the river, sell them in the markets, and use part of the money for things to trade to them.”
“Oh! Is that why you were - ...but that was the first one you talked to!”, Yda interjected.
“If any of them were watching, I didn't want them to realize that I'd gotten an answer like that, or to aim at him, so I kept looking... I wanted to make sure, too.” He sighed over the tea. “The people that used to meet with him had stopped coming; he said he'd gone down to see if he could find them, or gather some of the clams himself...he'd found some of the larger scavenging crabs, feeding on corpses in one of the places it pools – he said he'd recognized some of the dead. He didn't know what'd happened, but it frightened him badly enough that he was planning on leaving the city.”
“We might be able to find maps of some of the old tunnels, but some of those date back to before the city was built...” The Inspector frowned.
“I've spent weeks down there sometimes when there were storms. The best ways in and out are from a few old tombs in an abandoned lichyard by the wall; it's also big enough and avoided enough that they could drag people down there and come and go freely without much notice. I can mark a surface map, but if we don't know where the Ascian is or what they might already have summoned -”
“It may be better if you and Inspector Rigaud could give us a cordon; the followers will likely try to scatter. I will take my people in to find it, and send a signal when it's clear for the rest of you to move in.”
The Inspector gave Louisoix a short nod of agreement.
There was really only one problem Thancred found with it. “Can you make it the people that can blend in – not anyone in uniform? That way we can have a better chance of catching them off guard.”
“I can relay that to the Magistrate as the Allseer's plan; are there ways underground they could use to slip away?”
He frowned. “Not well; the tunnels range a decent ways over the two districts and a little into the one to the north, but you couldn't really get anywhere else – there's areas that used to go further but they're either collapsed, badly flooded, or both. There's a few places within the districts it comes up, but they're either the cellars of some of the baileys or in graveyards that aren't abandoned – you'll want to post a few extra watch on those.”
“That will be simple enough – we should be able to move the day after tomorrow. Thank you all.” The Inspector gave the entire room a short, stiff bow, and hurried out.
“...You said I would need a day's rest to be back on my feet?”
Y'shtola's ears flattened, and she gave him a dim look. “In a pinch; to be truthful, you should be minding yourself for two or three days.”
“I think, as long as he is staying with the rest of us,”, Louisoix spoke carefully, “That we can ensure he doesn't need to do anything past what he can manage. We will need him as a guide, if we wish to corner it.”
One of her ears raised and turned; she frowned, and shook her head, but didn't argue.
“...Thank you.” He mumbled it into the tea, relaxing and finishing the mug.
“Take care to stay close, when we go.” Y'shtola reached over to take the mug back. “The list of casualties is already too long, and you'll help no-one by being added to it.”
“I'll be careful.” There was, at least, some feeling of weight off; the end was in sight, and it would be over soon. He took up the soup, sipping carefully; Louisoix pulled over a stool from the corner, hands folded over his staff. For a while, the room was quiet, but that was something that would only last so long with Yda in the room.
“...When this is over, are you staying?”
He stared into the mostly-empty bowl. “I don't know... I want to find Ives, and Ayla, and the others, and – see how bad off they are...”
One of Y'shtola's ears flickered, and she said something quietly to Louisoix in a language he didn't recognize; Louisoix frowned, and the answer was only one word.
Whatever it was, Louisoix returned to something more familiar after. “Could you tell us about them? It may make it easier to find them, and convince them it's safe to come with us if one of us finds them without you present.”
“Oh that's a great idea! It'd be good for you to tell some happier stories anyway!” Yda had somehow managed to return to perching on the chair without making a sound, bouncing slightly.
“I...” He closed his eyes, feeling a little sick with worry again; but they were right, if they had to split up to make sure they got to people alive, it would help the others trust them. “I can, I think.”
He spent most of the rest of the evening telling what ended up being half of his life story, and a few things he'd heard some of the others had done; Papalymo had filtered through for a while, and there were a few minutes where Urianger had come in with a thin, neat, new-made leather journal to hand to Louisoix, taking a few minutes to linger for tea. Y'shtola filtered in and out, occasionally ducking out to check on other patients. There were a few halting moments, words hanging in his throat in mid-sentence realizing that one of the people involved was one of the victims, that always had Yda hovering closer, or Louisoix or Y'shtola putting more of the tea in his hands. Y'shtola did manage to be nearly psychic on timing, returning from one of her checks to be beside the bed with a plain robe checking if he was steady enough to make it out of the room himself for trips to the washroom.
It went on until she'd gone to her room for the night, apparently one that was in the infirmary wing, and Yda was nodding off asleep, still perched on the chair by him; Louisoix nudged her awake with his staff, gently herding her out to go to bed herself.
The door shut behind her, but he stayed by the bed, giving what had been Thancred's “good” shoulder a gentle squeeze. “When things turn worse, it's easy to lose sight that there were times that were good; they encourage that despair and prey on those who've lost hope. Whatever may happen, even though it may sometimes hurt, remember those stories; there will always be darker times, and they will always eventually pass to a dawn.”
He was tired enough, and starting to feel the effects of the blood loss Y'shtola had been nudging him about enough, that the most response he managed was a bleary nod; now that things were turning quiet, he was already starting to feel a lump in his throat, trying not to wonder how much he would even have left to go back to.
“Will you be alright alone for the night? I've slept in chairs often enough, and there is nowhere I need to be until dawn.”
Once again, the people that would do the most to settle that fear were nowhere around; that was the problem. “...I should be alright.”
Louisoix studied him with a look of concern, then set something small on the end-table beside the bed. “A linkpearl; I should've given it to you before you went out today. It will call to the others on a touch – don't be afraid to use it if there is anything wrong.”
He nodded, mumbling a quiet “thank you”.
“Sleep well; I'll see about having a few books sent down for when things are quiet tomorrow.”
