Sky looks up from reading reports and other paperwork, catching up on a week’s worth in one double shift, to see the sunlight brightening through the window. Dawn. In two hours or so, Alma will be returning from her harvesting and Dion will probably be meeting her for breakfast, before the charming god of magic turns responsibility for the station over to the lovely goddess of death. Sky has worked almost through Dion’s graveyard shift, but he’s kept quietly to himself in his office, not wanting to bring down the ire of his sergeants who, protectively, don’t wish him falling back into old bad habits of skipping sleep. And they are right.
So he stands and stretches, but quietly. He is not, after all, alone. On his sofa, Mayumi is wrapped in a blanket, her eyes closed, breathing slowly. He pauses to look at her face, which in repose looks so at peace it brings a small smile to his face.
After the little welcome-home party, Mayumi had gone back to work while Alma and Dion had brought Sky completely up to speed. It wasn’t until later, after Sky met with Sergeant Machado and Corporals Lamore and Kaur for additional catching up and discussion of directions for the Popula, that Sky had settled into his office to go over reports.
Mayumi had brought those to him. And he had taken a break, and they had talked. She had told him, with sorrow-tinged excitement, that she had received word back from the Guardia Academy. She had been accepted. Sky had been silent at first, but simply embraced her and held her for a long while before he congratulated her, serious but heartfelt. As fast and efficient as the Academy’s training was, they both knew it meant a separation of six months. Six long Insula months, meaning six thirty-six-day months, six tenths of a year.
Sky is far more worried about Mayumi being apart from her family than about himself. Loneliness is something to which he long ago grew accustomed. In fact, he fears this love he feels for her more than the separation. He almost hopes she will find someone else at the Academy, someone more suitable than he. Liaisons between mortals and gods inevitably feature an imbalance, and by his nature, and hers as well, such an imbalance cannot be tolerated. It must be constantly corrected for, and this resistance makes such a relationship a source of great stress.
And he is not exactly a god. Or perhaps he is, in a way – he has been worshipped as one, and is able to function as one. But his origins…he feels wrong to become so close to her without sharing the truth of what he is.
She would be better off with another mortal. But she made clear, again, that she wants him. And he had given up resisting his own desire to be close to her following the murder of Stathos and his family. Life is for living. No matter how difficult that is sometimes. He will, he knows, have to tell her. Somehow.
And so after words and kisses, Mayumi asked if she could sleep in his office, and he agreed. She made sure he knew she wanted more, without pushing. She has accepted his explanation that, though affairs between subordinates are not explicitly prohibited – the privileges accorded to gods are naturally only barely restrained – that he wanted to wait until she graduates from the Academy and the matter of which station she will join is settled. If she returns to Three Rats, as is her preference, well, they will have to work things out somehow. Having her be an actual cop under his command will be even more awkward than the current situation. And if she’s sent elsewhere…the very thought makes his heart sink. Hopefully she will be nearby and he will be able to provide a portal she can use to reach the station here quickly and easily, living here and commuting to work each day. The very idea of the Bunnies’ family being broken up so soon after finding each other is enough to cost him sleep. But if she is assigned to one of the neighboring wards, such as Little Falls, that should not be too much trouble.
Speaking of which, he does not wish to wake her. But he needs to refill his kettle if he wants tea. He takes it and, conscious of Mayumi’s sensitive ears, slips out of his office.
The main office is early-morning quiet. Corporal Lamore is behind her desk. She looks up and gives him a nod and a smile, but returns to her work immediately. As he moves toward the canteen, Sky hears voices from the stairs that lead to the holding cells, and notes that the yellow rope has been unhooked and laid on the floor. The words are confusing at first, and then he realizes he is hearing Zwergen-ur, the language of the dwarves. He is not fluent, and it has been years since he had to learn it for a counter-assassination mission with Somrak, but knowledge of the language comes flooding back to him.
He sets the kettle on the counter in the small canteen, with its sink and small cooking range and single table jammed in the corner. Hmm, someone hasn’t been washing their coffee cup… He turns and follows the voices downstairs. It sounds like an argument about whether to wait or just go in and explore a little. Telling male and female voices apart is difficult with the Zwergen, but Sky is almost certain the one who wants to go into the hole is male.
Entering the room, the conversation abruptly halts, the two dwarves looking at him expectantly. Both have such advanced states of calcification that they find certain articles of clothing unnecessary, the female going topless, the male bottomless. Sky briefly wonders, as he has before, how reproduction and elimination of waste are managed in the male’s case, but he knows better than to ask. Tempted to greet them in their own language, the caution he has developed over two centuries of hiding his true nature and four decades of being one of the Commander’s ‘off-blues’ makes him reticent to reveal such an unusual skill. Questions about how a non-dwarf happened to learn Zwergen-ur would surely follow.
So instead he greets them in Urbia, extending his hand. “Mister Dwalkee, is it? I am Tuma-Sukai, Inspector of this station. I understand we have an unexpected development down here.” He looks at the large irregular hole in the floor, thinking grimly to himself, I’m going to have to squeeze through that, aren’t I? It looks just big enough.
The dwarf’s hand is like flexible stone, with a powerful grip to match. “Lad, if that’s what you wanna call it… If it’s up to me, we call it a hole and that’s settled.”
Sky shakes hands with the female dwarf as well, who gives her name as Metla Dwalkee. To them both, Sky asks, “Have you had a look inside yet?”
“Ya know, we tried?” the male says, annoyed. “Got the stuff ready, ‘bout to jump in and…zip! Other lass with the white hair said we better wait on you. I told her before you needed a sub-basement in here! Where’s the other lass, by the way?” He leans toward Sky and stage-mutters, “She’s nice in more ways than one, if you know what I mean.”
Mrs Dwalkee rolls her eyes. “Bruhn Dwalkee, you better not be bein’ permiscuous in front of me!”
In his normal volume, which is rather loud indeed, Mr Dwalkee replies, “No, shnookems! You know I always go ‘round your back when I can! ‘Cuz I’m sensitive like that.” Again he leans close to mutter to Sky loudly enough he could probably be heard upstairs, “She’s usin’ all them random long words she knows I can’t speak now but just you wait ‘till we get home and I get my hands on a dictionary. She’s gonna be cookin’ soup for a week!”
“I HEARD THAT!”
“No, Honeypie! I was just talkin’ to the Inspector ‘bout them new illustrated encyclopedias that just came out.” He mutters to Sky, “Eesh! Of all things to take outta her pappy, had to be them ears.” And resuming his louder voice, he says, “Aaanyway, wanna have a look in your hole?”
My hole. “Yes, let’s.” Sky is beginning to remember how noisy his and Somrak’s mission in the mines of the Zwergen was, and Mr Dwalkee seems to consider himself a comic who has found himself a straight man. “Is this room structurally sound?”
Dwalkee nods. “Provided you don’t expect the ceiling to stay where it is. Should be. Hey, can’t go any lower than that!” He jabs Sky in the hip with his elbow. “Ah, just kiddin’! I’m sure we can go in with a minimum of cave-ins. Here’s your hard hat.” He hands Sky a yellow helmet made of thick plastic, which Sky dons. “Here’s your light.” He gives Sky a lantern powered by compressed gas. “And here’s your rat on a stick to keep your teeth busy.” He hands Sky a grilled rat impaled on a stick.
Sky looks at the rat with a mildly nostalgic look on his face. Skinned, gutted, and grilled, but with the feet and head still on, and the tail traditionally wrapped around the skewer. He ate many a rat in his time with the Zwergen. “Looks delicious, and seeing as I haven’t had breakfast yet…” He takes a bite from its haunch. Ah yes, a proper Zwergen rat, bred for flavor. Delicious. “Speaking of which,” he says after swallowing, “why are you here so early?”
Mrs Dwalkee answers that. “Dwalkee is itchin’ to get in there. Came down here at sunrise.”
Dwalkee looks impressed that Sky took a bite, but says, “Hey, ain’t you gonna have that with ketchup?” He takes another out of a steel lunchbox that looks like it could survive a dinosaur stampede, squirts some red sauce from a small bottle, and offers the bottle to Sky while taking a bite. “Letsh hhwo, then?”
Sky indicates the hole before taking another bite and swallowing. “Lead the way, Mister Dwalkee.”
Using a harness and a pulley attached to the ceiling, Mrs Dwalkee lowers her husband into the hole. Moments later the empty harness is pulled back up and Sky is lowered as well. Mrs Dwalkee grunts with the effort of lowering Sky’s bulk, but dwarves regardless of gender are strong, and she is no exception.
He lands without incident on the floor of the room, strewn with rubble from the broken-through floor above. The ceiling is tall here, half again as tall as Sky, which is a relief for a god who has spent so much of his life ducking, or failing to duck and cracking his skull on doorways and rafters. He shines his lantern around, noting racks and shelves, barrels, an upright piano, and many, many bottles, all covered in a layer of dust as thick as the first joint of his index finger.
Their presence is kicking so much dust into the air that both spelunkers sneeze. Motes of dust dance fairy-like in their lantern beams.
“A wine cellar,” Sky says. “I wonder how long it’s been sealed away.”
Dwalkee picks up a bottle at random from a rack, wiping a blanket of dust off it. He twists the cork, pops it up, and takes a deep sniff, then opens his mouth wide. “Ah…Ah…ACHOO! Ugh, dust… Well this ain’t wine, lad. It’s whisky!” He holds the label in front of his lamp. “Balrog distilleries?! These bastards ain’t been around for over a hundred years!” He takes a swig. “Ah… The old stuff always holds better!”
The light from the room above is nearly eclipsed by a head and shoulders looking in. “BRUHN DWALKEE YOU BETTER NOT BE DRINKIN’!”
Crash! The bottle smashes to the floor, exploding, sending shards of glass and a bottle full of precious amber liquid across the floor and over both Dwalkee and Sky’s boots. “Gods damn it! Look what you made me do, you cross-eyed hag!” He murmurs loudly to Sky. “Can you turn her into a frog?” Even more loudly, he finishes, “At least she’d look right for her species!”
Sky kicks the broken bottom of the bottle off his boot, dismayed at the loss. The smell of whisky, a smell he quite enjoys but usually in less dizzying volumes, reaches his nose. “I can’t transform people into animals. I can attempt to damn something for you, but the effects are pretty subtle.” He squats down and picks up a large piece of glass that has the label on it, finding the date in fine print. “Over a hundred years?” Three Rats only became part of the Insula a bit over a hundred years ago. Or perhaps two hundred. There is disagreement. The confusion resulting from the parts of two cities breaking away from another Reality, fusing, and then crashing into the Insula – a strange process that is going on slowly but constantly – has left the exact time of Three Rats’ arrival in question. Whenever it happened, the locals must have very quickly started importing alcohol from other wards. And perhaps they even have bottles from their world or worlds of origin. Whether they came from the same Earth that he lived on has been a long-unanswered question.
“You know what you need here?” Dwalkee asks. “A bar! Got the booze, the tables, the piano, the rats. Add a few half-dressed barmaids, a fat barman, drench the floor in beer and let the red sauce run free and BAM! Old time tavern! Don’t say Dwalkee don’t help his clients.”
Sky drops the label, the glass backing it making a tink sound on the floor. “We have a bar on the property already, as a matter of fact.”
“You do?” Dwalkee shakes his head. “Then why the Hell didn’t you blow things up over there instead?”
“Mr Dwalkee, we did not blow up our own holding cells. That was an attack.” Sky goes to the piano and lifts the fall board to reveal the keys, which are almost dust-free. He presses a key and hears a deep, badly out-of-tune note. “Amazing.”
Above, the light is once again blocked. But a very different voice pierces the gloom, not quite as loud and far cheerier. “Mmmm, smell that whisky!”
Sky looks up. “Merri?”
Another voice, just as cheerful but with a slightly more cynical tone, adds, “I knew I heard a bottle shatter. Heard enough of ‘em. Can tell a dropped bottle from a mile away.”
At the same time that Mrs Dwalkee starts scolding the two Bunnies, Mr Dwalkee shouts, “Son of a bitch, I almost dropped another one! You gotta warn people before you scare the daylights outta them, lassies!”
Sky’s voice, backed with a hint of mana, rings out through the aural chaos. “Quiet!” In the absolute silence that follows, he calls out in a more normal voice, “Merri! Cherry! What are you doing here?”
The response to that is a slim body dropping down from above. Cherry lands easily next to Sky, her powerfully springy Bunny legs – looking quite human to anyone but a trained anatomist, other than the soft fur on her shins and the somewhat longer feet – easily absorbing the energy of the fall. She looks up and says, “Careful, baby! There’s some glass and rocks and stuff down here!” In a moment, Merri is next to her, straightening and looking around curiously. Cherry says to Sky, as if nothing is out of the ordinary, “Like I said, dropped bottle. Followed the sound.”
“An’ the smell hit us as we was comin’ down the stairs!” Merri finishes. “Oh goodness me! Look at all this!”
Mrs Dwalkee’s less-dulcet voice calls down from above, “Don’t you think you’ll be going down there without a hard hat, missies!” She extends an arm holding two helmets by the chin straps, and Sky, as by far the tallest in the room, stretches up and takes them from her.
“Oh gosh, sorry ma’am.” Cherry takes the hardhats from Sky. “Here, Merri, put one o’ these on.” She lays her ears back and crushes down her afro with the hat.
Merri laughs at her, but takes a hat herself. “How cute! GASP! A PIANO!”
Dwalkee looks at Sky. “Help clear somethin’ up for me here. Am I seein’ two young lasses with bunny ears? And did one o’ them actually say ‘GASP’ when she gasped? Balrog’s was famous for inducin’ hallucination.” He looks at the bottle, shrugs, then starts to open it.
“Hey!” Cherry cries. “Ain’t you on the clock? You already dropped one bottle! And how much is this stuff worth anyhow? You put that back where you found it, mister!”
Sky sighs. “Mr Dwalkee, these are Rosemary and Cherry. They are the proprietors and bartenders of the bar I mentioned. And–” He gives them a stern look. “–they are not supposed to be here. This could be dangerous.”
Cherry grins at him. “Dangerous? It’s a liquor cellar. We’re in our natural environment! This is like…our paradise!”
Merri’s voice drifts from behind a rack near the wall. “Oh aye! An’ look, Cherry! These are imports from all over the Insula. An’ beyond, I ken. We got wines, whiskies, bourbons, gins, cognacs, ports, sherries…”
“Sounds good, sweetie,” Cherry says, then turns back to Mr Dwalkee. Only instead of the stone-skinned, wisecracking dwarf, there is a hideous face, a crimson, twisted visage with tusks and a porcine snout, tufts of hair surrounding it. “UGA BUGA BUGA!” it shouts.
Cherry screams and, springing into the air, grabs onto Sky, her arms around his neck, one pretty brown leg hooked around his back, the other folded against her chest. The god had turned to see the horrific face at the same time as Cherry. He automatically puts an arm around her, and though he feels a momentary chill pass through him at the sight of such a hellspawn, he subconsciously knows it is no demon. If it had been, he would have sensed it much earlier.
Then the demon starts laughing. “Sorry, couldn’t help it! Ah, look on your face! Can’t breathe!” He slaps his knees, then looks up at Cherry with the mask still on. “Oh, don’t look at me with that tone o’ voice! Think this is scary, should have seen my mammy. Used to kill rats just by lookin’ at’em. Ah… good ol’ days…”
Cherry slowly climbs down from Sky and shakes her finger at Dwalkee. “You think you’re havin’ trouble breathin’ now, just wait’ll I get my hands around your neck! Now get that stupid mask off before you run outta air from laughin’!”
Merri calls out, “Cherry! This place is full o’ stage goods! Costumes an’ props! Oh, some of it’s fallin’ apart though…but some of it’s good! We could knock up a wee stage outta lumber an’ add it to the bar, don’t you think?” She emerges from behind the racks, dusty but smiling.
“A stage? Well, we were thinkin’ of havin’ musicians in… And this ward don’t have any decent theater. Pretty much just that place over in Jardins, and they hardly even try. Mostly just naked women dancin’ like they’re bored.”
“Oh, Cherry love, we’re gaenta put on plays!”
Sky puts his hands on both their shoulders. “That all sounds wonderful, but we really should get you two out of here.”
“But! But we gotta check out all this booze!” Cherry insists.
Merri nods her head rapidly, making her ginger curls bounce. “Oh yes! Can ye imagine how valuable it is?”
“Mr Dwalkee?” Sky asks.
The dwarf waves his hand casually. “Sure, we can take it all out while we make sure this place is safe. Need a staircase? We’ll throw in a staircase. Real beauty. Hardly been used.” He calls up through the hole, “Rest of the crew here? Hey, Jojy! Go get the spare staircase from the wagon!” He drops his voice to only its usual loudness. “Only one guy died on it and didn’t even leave any blood! Maybe that’s worth a coupl’a bottles? Don’t wanna add to your expense budget, an’all.”
Sky considers the possibilities. “The Guardia does own this land. I think these belong to it.”
Cherry pats his arm. “Listen, hon, let us figure out how much this stuff is worth first. Then we can figure out how much Mister Booga Booga Rockypants gets, huh?”
“An’ if we sell it in the bar,” Merri suggests, “little by little, we can be sellin’ it on commission like! Part o’ the money goes to the operatin’ expenses o’ the station!”
Sky shakes his head. “I’d better consult Sage and Cala on this. Anyway, for the moment, you two get out of here until we’re sure it’s safe.”
“Oh, all right.” Cherry looks up at the hole, then giggles when Sky puts his big hands on her waist, easily lifting her up until she can grip the edge of the hole and pull herself up.
“Oh! Me next! Me next!” Merri cries, bouncing in excitement. Sky lifts her up as well, and Cherry helps pull her up.
“Now that might come in handy,” Dwalkee says. “You wanna work for me, lad? You’d make a damn ugly dwarf but you’re a good ladder. Just uh… keep the helmet on, mind ya.”
Sky grabs a single bottle in order to investigate the age of the whisky further – which will naturally involve tasting it – then puts on the harness and is pulled up slowly by the dwarves. Dwalkee is soon back in the holding cells room as well. He sees two dwarves bringing in a disassembled set of wooden stairs. “What’re you bringin’ the staircase for? Take that back to the car! Didn’t you hear the man?” To Sky he says, “Sorry, ‘bout that. Hard to find good scholars to work construction nowadays.”