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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 31

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: VIFRI

“You really think that’s a smart move?” Udre exclaims now, I hear the dismay in her voice but still pick up on just how tired she is underneath it. The same as the rest of ‘em, I know. I been feeling the fatigue as much as the rest o’ my squad for a while now. “I mean that’s your … Thorin, is that five now? Really?”

I pause just short of stepping into sight of the group at large sat in the booth, not wanting to give my presence away just yet as I listen in on my friends and those they’re sharing their evening with. Even so, most of the others are sat at the table close by, and I’m in clear view of them now, catching Gril’s eye quick enough as he gives his a roll. Like he’s heard this a thousand times before.

Tuthi just raises the tankard in her hand the rest of the way and takes a big pull from it before treating the cleric across from her a particularly sharp look that so far don’t seem too dulled by drink. “For your information, I plan on getting good and shitfaced before we go back to … wherever it is we’re going. I’m gonna get up sometime tomorrow afternoon with a big bastard hangover so I don’t have to think about what we had to deal with today. You can’t stop me.”

As I step up now, her eyes shoot up to watch me pass, widening a little as she wipes her sleeve across her mouth, and while there’s a little alarm in her feeling like she’s been caught out now, I think there might be a little bit of challenge too. I pause in front of her now, cocking a brow, and she looks away fast, visibly blanching as she sits back, putting the cup down on the table. “Shit … um … sorry, boss. I’m … um –”

“Carry on, Private.” I sigh, starting to walk again but giving her a little sidelong glance as I go. “You’re off duty now, for better or worse. Just remember what it is we’re doing right now.”

As Tuthi growls low, her cheeks visibly darkening even more than they’ve already started to, Udre shoots her a reproachful look. “See? You’re being an idiot. What if we get called back into it? You won’t like me having to sober you up again.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” the half-orc snarls back, but there’s no real threat in her words. Udre’s her closest friend in the squad, Tuthi’d die before she even tried to hurt her.

Keeping on to the back of the room, I hook my foot round the leg of my chair at the smaller table in the corner, drawing it out so I can settle into it easier once I’ve put the two tankards of ale I’ve brought from the bar down. Tormed gives me time to get comfortable again before picking his up and casting a watchful eye towards our two mingled squads across the way, seeming strangely wistful as he ponders for a long moment. Meanwhile I pick my mug up and take a small swallow before putting it down again, planning to continue taking it as easy as I’ve been doing since we came in here while I wait for him to make the point he’s clearly working his way to.

Finally turning back, the half-elf takes a similarly light sip of his beer and puts it down too, licking his lips before finally speaking. “They’re tense. Even now.”

“You can’t blame ‘em. That was a rough fucking scene they left to meet us. ‘Side from Gril an’ Vid, the rest o’ mine didn’t serve on Barricade. That was their first taste o’ that kinda mess. I doubt yours are much different.”

Leaning back as much as the crappy chair he’s folded his tall, long-legged form into can really allow, he folds his arms again and looks across the room, not at our folk now but just off into no particular distance. Thoughtful again, but with an edge, as before.

“They ain’t alone, either.” I add after another beat, leaning forward to cross my own arms across the table as I just keep my eyes on him. “Are they?”

He looks my way at last, blinking a little, but if he’s really surprised he hides it well. Mostly he just seems a little annoyed. “I’ll admit, it was a first for me too. I’ve worked on some … difficult cases in my time, some of them with Mil, but … no, nothing like this.”

“You’re lucky, then. Today was bad, but … we seen worse, up North. Some of it’d turn your hair white. You might never sleep a full night again, not without a nightmare or two.”

Turning away, Tormed returns his gaze to that empty spot he marked before, frowning a little now as he ponders. I don’t press him anymore, instead reaching out to start turning my tankard around on the spot, shifting it in a slow, tight circle the way I often do when I’m trying to draw out my drinking, instead of just cutting loose. I’d rather not take the chance in case Udre’s right, we might still have to go back out again. So I’ll nurse this second pint for as long as I can, and I’m not sure if I really will have another after.

When I look out across the room again at the others, I quickly catch sight of Starkheart, sat across from Gril, looking past him at our table. I’ve caught her doing that a few times now since we first settled in, her face never changing much even when she’s spotted me watching her too. Not suspicious, nor even particularly wary, she’s just … restless, it looks like. Reckon I’m started to get a sense of what she’s actually thinking now.

Mostly she’s watching him, looks like. Not so much watching out for him, there’s something more subtly possessive about this particular regard, I think. It helps me make more sense of before, in the Hellcat’s house, how reluctant she was to separate from him in those unfamiliar surrounds. At a guess, reckon she’s in love with Tormed.

Far as I can tell he’s largely oblivious to it, but then she’s guarding it well. Or maybe he just got good at ignoring it. Either way, she seems reluctant to act on this impulse.

Well she don’t have to worry about me, anyway. He is definitely not my type.

Eventually I give up twiddling and pick my tankard up again, letting my fingers slide through the handle to get a good grip on it as I raise it towards my mouth, but don’t take a drink. Not yet. I just hold it in front of me, letting my other hand curl around it now as I lean forward on my elbows a little more, starting to scan the room again like I been doing, on and off, since we came in.

Tormed brought us here after we finished up at Redarra House, albeit leaving with more questions than answers, which rankled me some. In the end he sent Erahadur on ahead to fetch the others, prompt ‘em to finish up their own work at the house and meet us here. Meanwhile we mounted up and began a more direct ride back down the Hill towards the riverfront dockyards at the bottom of the Hind. Ultimately leading us to a nondescript terracotta-hued cul-de-sac signposted as Tarahou Yard.

Half of its stetch is lined with close packed, uncomfortably narrow apartment buildings, but at the bottom there’s a livery stable and what looked like a converted slaughterhouse, with a sign over the gate marking it as the Yard Station House. Turns out this is what their squad calls home, along with three more squads o’ regular townsguard they share the barracks with, although most of the rest of the buildings are given over to their own investigative needs. We stalled our horses, stowed our saddles and put our gear away in the antechamber we were directed to, directed by the Yard’s conspicuously stoic quartermaster Ghagol, before heading back out at Tormed’s behest to duck into the tavern next door.

The Vague Pike is every inch a watchman’s pub, seeming to cater almost exclusively to those barracked at the Yard Station or other townsguard who might’ve been brought in by regulars for a drink, or just wandered in on their own. It’s definitely cleaner than most o’ the taverns in the area I been in in my time, mostly on the clock, and a lot less rowdy, the peace likely enforced as much by the inherent nature of the clientele as the watchful ire of the landlord. He's got the look of a battered old veteran of the force himself, although something about him suggests he took most of his scars in the Wars. To be honest, it’s a wonder he’s even willing to serve us, even if we are in such particular company.

The others arrived a half hour after, quickly settling down into their groups as we ordered food and drink and kicked back to unwind after … well, we really didn’t want to think about that shit any more. So we ate the food, then the others bought more beer while Tormed and I slunk off into the corner to ponder what we’d learned, letting them distract themselves without us shading their atmosphere so much. Meanwhile Trick wandered off to the other corner to start playing pool with some o’ the other regulars, and soon enough she was laughing and having the best time of the whole group. The rest … they’ve done the best they can, but the mood’s been changeable at best, and I’m worried none of ‘em are gonna sleep too well tonight after what we saw today.

I took it easier on Cafi Sirsk than I would’ve liked, in the end. Even after I braced ‘em, they remained stubborn, not willing to give away more’n they absolutely had to, not even when Tormed pressed ‘em a little too. In truth there was only so much I could do to press the issue, they’re an Authority official of modest but still great import, so there was risk in letting things get out of hand.

They gave us a few names, here and there, but nothing that really meant anything in the moment. The group they were meeting at the Transit House were indeed a mercenary crew out of Hocknar, apparently, known as the Creeping Bam. It didn’t ring a bell with me, but it seemed to jog Trick’s memory. She withheld on that particular nugget, though. And Sirsk remained stubbornly tight-lipped on the business they had with ‘em, beyond admitting they were there to meet the late Madame Daste. On behalf of the Silver Order, of all things.

That gave us all pause for a few moments. Evoking the goddess Minerva’s vaunted sect of high-powered mages added a whole extra layer o’ complication to this already tangled mess. All eyes in the room turned right to Erahadur, but this just seemed to shock him into apoplectic stammers that made him useless to anyone until we moved on. Honestly, he seemed just as surprised as the rest of us.

So I moved onto the subject of the Hellcat of Kumehn Valley, the Lady Thura Vezrim, and why these particular sellswords were in her house last night right when all this unpleasantness was happening. Sirsk denied any direct knowledge of that, asking how we could really be so sure it was them and not some other mercenary crew in the city. Even when I made it clear how little I thought of that idea, given the sheer unlikelihood of more than one such specific group of specialised individuals being here at the same time, they didn’t waver. That might’ve gotten me the most frustrated during the whole interrogation.

Finally they recommended we just ask the Lady Vezrim herself what happened, since she could be found at the Temple of Minerva in the Gods Round. But they requested that we perhaps wait a little while, and when we do brace her to take care an’ show her proper respect. After all, her eldest son was among the dead.

Tormed met my eyes when they said this. It’s a real important detail on its own, going a long way to explain that blood-soaked imprint we found in that girl’s bedroom in the house. And the bloody trail we followed from the broken window. There’s no way the Hellcat would’ve let her own son’s body get left behind, even if the house hadn’t been on fire at the time.

It’s yet another complication, though. I was all for heading over there soon as we left Redarra House, propriety be damned, but Tormed really put his foot down at that. “Leave her to her grief a little longer, at least.” he said. Something in his tone spoke of genuine sympathetic understanding, like he knows exactly what she’s going through.

Turning back now, I find myself pondering that telling little detail again. Finally I take another little pull from the mug and set it down with particular deliberation, turning it round a few times before finally letting go and clearing my throat. “Who was it, then? If you don’t mind?”

“Hmmm?” He don’t quite jump at the question, but he still straightens up a touch as he turns back to me, frowning a little. “I don’t follow.”

Working my mouth for a beat, I consider the opportunity he’s unwittingly given me to drop it after all, not sure if this is really the right question to ask. Not when we’ve managed to hit it off so well until now. But I’m too curious, after the way he reacted back in Redarra House, so I set my jaw and ask after all. “When we heard about Vezrim’s son, you had a look. Like you understood. You lost somebody. I was wondering …” Faltering, I look down at my beer for a long beat, trying not to frown even deeper now.

In the end he saves me from having to press after all, but he sounds grave enough I guess he’d still rather not. “It was my sister. When we first came to the city, we were both very young, she was little more than a child, barely fifteen, and I still couldn’t really call myself a man yet. We didn’t have a copper mark between us, it was a rough month before we even had a proper roof over our heads. And then one night …” He sighs, and it’s very heavy, filled with regret and a lot o’ sorrow. “I came home after a particularly tough shift on the docks, and she wasn’t there. She didn’t come back that night, either. Or the next. Or ever again.”

Sucking in a tight breath, I ponder my tankard for another long beat, wary of looking up at him now in case I really don’t like what I see. “No chance she just ran off then, I take it?”

“All we had was each other, there’s no way she would have abandoned me like that. And when I began to ask around, I heard enough to worry me. Girls had been disappearing from that neighbourhood for almost six months, on and off. No bodies were ever found, no-one ever brought to heel for any deaths, but …” He sighs again, finally picking his mug up and, when I look up, taking a much bigger swallow from it this time. Even so, when he puts it down again, brushing his lips with thumb and forefinger, he mostly just looks tired. “I joined the ‘guard at the end of that week. I suppose my working my way up to this was always driven, at least in some unconscious way, by the hope I might be able to find some resolution someday. Realistically I doubt I’ll ever actually find whoever it was responsible for that, but … I can still hope.”

“I’m sorry.” I sigh, picking up my tankard and taking a hefty pull of my own. I really mean it when I say it, feeling proper shitty for having brought it up in the first place.

“Of course you are.” There’s no reproach in his words, it simply sounds like an acknowledgement. “You know that pain as well as I do. After your father. Although the Captain was … less than forthcoming with the details there.”

Gods … fucking Ceinog. Even when he’s trying to do me a favour … I put the mug down a little more forcefully than necessary, and it almost sloshes a little onto the table. That puts a little dent in my indignation, but not enough to strip the edge from my words. “He was murdered, on the job. Coming out the training barracks in Neveht, somebody put a blade in his back, seven or eight times, one o’ the perimeter patrols found him practically bled out on the pavement right round the corner from the gate. He was already gone by the time one o’ the duty clerics arrived, so that was it. Middle of an investigation, so his squad figured it was a sign they were getting too close for somebody’s comfort.”

Tormed clears his throat with a polite little cough into his fist I suspect is as much to cover a wince, since he studiously avoids my eyes. “I see … did they find the culprit in the end?”

Sitting back, I stretch my legs out under the table, having to really spread ‘em to keep from getting tangled up in his, and fold my arms good and tight. “They did not. Caused a bit of a stink in local command, actually, how it just wound up grinding to a halt, the way it did. Since it was right there in the middle o’ the Capital, more’n a few higher-ups smelled corruption, but nothing ever came of it. Couple o’ da’s colleagues quit the squad cuz of it, they weren’t happy with how it just … fizzled out.”

He watches me for a long beat, and I get the feeling he’s weighing up how to ask me the next question. “I take it you felt similarly sore about that too.”

“Made me a bit of a handful for a few years, yeah. He was all I had left then, ma died when I was four so he raised me on his own. Well as he could, anyway. He was a career officer in the military police, so he didn’t spend a whole lot o’ time at home, and even then he wasn’t exactly … parent material. But he tried his best. So it hurt.” I look out across the room again now, my eyes wandering over the rest o’ me squad that I can see. “I was fifteen when he died, so one of his friends in command pulled a few strings and I got folded into youth training instead o’ getting sent to the state home. Which might’ve been a bit of a mixed blessing, way I was at the time.”

“Angry.” He seems more thoughtful than anything else, I notice when I look back.

“That’d be selling it short. Might’ve pushed myself a little too hard, in the end. The army were happy enough when I turned eighteen, though. They got more of a weapon than a recruit.” Loosening my arms now, I pick my mug up again. “Barricade did cure some o’ that fervour. But I do still hate leaving a job half-finished, reckon it’s something of a hang-up. So it’s … difficult for me, being back in an investigation now. Vessof thinks he did me a favour putting me up for this duty, and it is that, in a way, but …”

Watching me take another big pull from the mug now, Tormed continues to just ponder, and he remains silent for a few minutes after I’ve put it down again, folding my arms again and hunching my shoulders. Waiting for the question I can feel coming. The one I been waiting for him to ask since Sirsk brought up the subject back in Redarra House.

“What did happen with Beneva’s son, Sergeant? I know the official party line about what happened there, but now I’ve met you … I know there’s more to the story than that. An officer like Vessof Ceinog wouldn’t go to bat for a disgraced non-com with that kind of reputation, even if he did know them from serving in the worst kind of hell imaginable. Unless it was a smokescreen.”

Gritting my teeth, I blow a long, slow breath out through ‘em and fix him with a particularly cool look. “Ask me some other time, please, when we got to know each other a little better. Now ain’t the time. And I really ain’t got the stomach for it after the day I just had.”

Tormed meets my glare well enough now, holding my eye for a long beat before finally clearing his throat as he sits up again. “Neither have I, in truth. But I’d appreciate a little more restraint moving forward. Especially tomorrow, if you do insist on going to the Temple. Cafi’s right, that poor woman’s in the very worst kind of hell, we’ve no right adding to it.”

I watch him stand up, rising with an uncanny grace that only comes from elven blood, and pick his tankard up, knocking the remainder back in one long pull before swiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, which is enough to surprise me on its own. Up until now he’s been the very air of propriety, even here. He lets a little sigh go as he sets the now empty mug down next to my still reasonably full one. “And on that note …”

“You’re calling it a night? Even for an officer, this is proper early. What is it, ten?”

Taking a beat to check his fancy watch, he offers me a cocked little smile. “You said it yourself, it’s been quite the day. And I suspect tomorrow will be the same. I’d suggest you consider following my example, I know how human constitutions tend to be more fragile than elven ones, even for someone as large as yourself.”

Cocking my brow, I’m ready to give him a real smart answer back, but I stop myself. Mostly cuz it’s occurred to me that the whole place just got a whole lot quieter, somewhat akin to when we first came in, and then again when the rest of our combined squads arrived after. Tormed picks up on it too, frowning as he turns to look out across the room now, and I do the same.

Four more troopers have come in, and unlike us they’re still fully armoured, complete with shields and halberds with visors down. I’d almost think it was a patrol except there’s an officer with ‘em, already breaking away to come straight towards us now. I know who it is even before he’s plucked his helmet off.

“Fuck’s sake … Vess! What the hell?” Folding up my legs under me now, I push myself upright with a little more effort than the half-elf needed, but stay where I am as he draws close. I see my own troopers have all stood up now, as much in deference at having an officer in their midst as the pervading shift in mood through the whole group.

Ceinog tucks his helmet under his arm as he stops a few feet short, frowning a little as he looks me over, then inspects the table, particularly my mug o’ beer. I just give him a sharp glare in return, daring him to give me shit about it. “You weren’t in the Yard, so I followed my nose. I can’t say I’m that surprised, not after today, but still …”

“I’m off duty, so’s my squad. Under the circumstances, I’d say regular shifts don’t apply right now. We been up almost two days now, anyway. Let ‘em cut loose. They earned it.”

Raising his free hand in supplication, he lets out a heavy sigh. “I am not judging, Vifri, I swear. I’ve simply come to …” His frown returns as he reaches up and scratches the back of his neck, looking a little flustered now. “I’m sorry. It’s just you might have been somewhat premature calling it a night.”

“Thorin …” I growl, taking a step closer now. “Vess, out with it. What’s so –”

“The Oceanic Playhouse is on fire. It’s a shitshow.”

Tormed and I share a wary glance before I turn back, clenching my jaw again as I feel a chill roll up my spine. “Oh hell … not more o’ that shit, is it? Like the Hellcat’s place?”

“What? Oh … no, it doesn’t seem like it. Nothing fell about it, as far as I’ve been told.”

“Then what the fuck has it got to do with us? Vess, please, I thought the point o’ me bein’ on this is that I’m focusing on this case, not dropping everything to take care of –”

“There’s a golem in there.” He shuts me up with one word, and Tormed’s brows rise appreciably too. That chill grows instantly. “Just went crazy, apparently. And there are people running around in there killing the security staff, and probably more besides. They damn near caused a stampede of highborns and other rich folk trying to get out, more than a few of them were hurt in the chaos too. The fire brigade’s there but … well, given what’s in there right now they’re wary of entering.”

“Shit.” I hiss, immediately turning to step back into the corner and pluck my swordbelt up from where I left my weapon propped against the wall. Tormed’s already plucked his own from the table, starting to strap it on with quick, deft hands. As I turn back I look over at my people, seeing Gril’s already retrieved his from under their table, while Udre’s clutching her spear as she watches me with particularly large eyes. “Gril! Get ‘em all mustered! On the double! Looks like R-an’-R’ll have to wait!”

Tormed simply gives Starkheart a subtle nod, and she immediately pushes herself up a good deal quicker than I expected her too, instantly barking orders at own people while Gril’s already beaten her to the punch with ours. As I step out, Ceinog falling into step beside me with a rueful look on his face, I hear some of ‘em muttering with frustration as they start gathering their gear together.

“I told you.” Udre hisses at Tuthi now as she steps close.

The half-orc gives her a very sharp look and points a finger at her. “Don’t you dare. I mean it. I promise, it will not end well for you, I swear to Thorin.”

“Take that up with him, Tuth.” She purrs now as she reaches out with her free hand, starting to smile with a particular mischievous glint in her eye. “You know the rules.”

Tuthi gives me a look which, for her, could almost pass for pleading, and I nearly relent, but the cleric’s right. Unfortunately this has to be done. “She’s right, Private. Stand to.”

Growling under her breath, the half-orc hugs her still loose swordbelt to her chest and gives her friend a thoroughly pathetic look as the young cleric lays that hand on her broad shoulder, clearing her throat in order to start praying. “All right, just … please be gentle.”

When I turn back I find Gril’s already stood close by, strapping his belt up. He’s got his game face back on, but I sense a little wariness in him all the same. “This more o’ the same, boss?”

Shooting a sidelong glance at Tormed, who I find stood by with Ceinog, leaning in to speak quietly now, I have to shrug. “Honestly, much as I’d hope not, sounds like we might be onto something. Just stay sharp. I need you to watch my back like old times.”

Raising his brows, Gril looks at me like I shocked him some. “C’mon, boss. You never even need to ask.”

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 31 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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