In the Dark, Part Nine: Denoument

(Yes, it's been a while. Sorry! The previous post was here, the first post was here, but there's a plot synopsis as part of this one, so you might be okay just reading it. Your call.)

I sat first at my own table, my back to the decorative fireplace. The Councilmen sat next: Mario, accompanied by a pair of bodyguards, and Adrianus, with his own men. I spotted a gun on one of them, hidden (poorly) beneath a coat. My own flechette gun was loaded and holstered. I didn't expect to have to use it here, in a meeting with Councilmen, but an ambush on the way home seemed, at the time, quite likely.

The Tyrant sat last, across from me, beginning the meeting. "My agent," she said, nodding to me, "Has informed me that your presence is required for the preservation of the Città del Profondità. As duly elected Tyrant, I have exercised my right to summon any citizen of the City for its own preservation."

"A right you will maintain," said Mario through gritted teeth, "Only so long as you may prove its necessity in every case. I have been given no justification for this summons!"

This was my moment. I cleared my throat and spoke. "If you'll listen a moment, Your Graces, you'll see I have every reason to bring you here today. It's a long story, but necessary."

"Over the last two days, I've been investigating a plot to blow up the city. After finding explosives placed in such a position that, if detonated, they would destroy the city, I was attacked by a group of thugs, seemingly assigned to guard the bomb. I then investigated further, consulting both of Your Graces, the office of the Tyrant, and certain other sources in an attempt to discover who placed the bomb. While investigating, I was attacked again, by Councilman Adrianus's own guards, and later by two other people, separately, each of whom escaped after failing to kill me."

"That's the outline. Now, there are two questions that come from this; two crimes which must be answered for. The first: who is trying to kill me? And the second: who set the bomb?"

"The immediate assumption would be that they are one and the same. After all, I found the bomb and was investigating it. But the attacks didn't come immediately. I had time to travel to the Tyrant's office, talk to her, go home, change clothes, and travel to Councilman Adrianus's residence before I was attacked. There was a reason, therefore, that I was attacked only after I met with Councilman Adrianus, and only until I'd awoken and managed to tell the Tyrant what I'd learned from our discussion. Someone didn't want me to tell what I'd found out. And my conclusion, at the time of the discussion, was that His Grace was innocent. I was attacked to put blame on him. After all, if I were killed after meeting with him on the case, killed after an attack by his own guards, suspicion would immediately fall on him. Councilman Adrianus wouldn't have attacked me with his own guards, not then. He has subtler tools. Logically: he did not launch the attacks on me. Can we agree on everything said so far?"

The Tyrant nodded. She was just listening for form. I'd already told her all of this, just before the meeting. It was the Councilmen's agreement that mattered.

Visibly reluctant, Adrianus nodded. He didn't like the bit about "subtler tools", I was guessing, but he wanted himself cleared of the attacks. I was more worried about Mario. But he, too, agreed, finding no way to object. I continued.

"I'll come back to the attacks later, but for the moment I want to talk more about the bomb. Actually, about the thugs guarding the bomb, because they're the things that bugged me since I started investigating this case. Where did they come from? Who paid them? And why were they there?"

"It took me until the end of my investigation to learn the answer to the first two questions, but the answer to the last one is obvious if you just think about it, as I realized somewhat later. If they'd actually been ordered to guard the bomb, they would have been inside the rim, with it. Standing outside, not only were they conspicuous (which, as a side note, started the entire investigation), but they wouldn't have been able to guard the bomb from any maintenance worker or smuggler who decided to use that particular part of the rim, and entered from outside. It's unbelievably idiotic for the thugs to have been there; unless their purpose wasn't to guard the bomb, but rather to reveal its presence."

"The bomb was never intended to destroy the city. It was planted in a suspicious place, conspicuously guarded, and left there to incriminate someone else. The thugs, and their positioning alone, reveal that, though I suspect that if we checked the bomb carefully, we'd find that all or most of it was doped, harmless."

"It's obvious that the bomb came from the Franks. No petty smuggler would be able to bring in that much in the way of high-grade explosives. Odds are, their ambassador made the same offer to our traitor that their last one made to an undercover agent: blow up the Città del Profondità, and they'll make the traitor rich. The Franks eliminate us, and the traitor becomes vastly wealthy. But the traitor decided to take it one step further; he betrayed the Franks, took their bomb and used it to frame someone else, not to blow up the city."

"The first the ambassador heard of this was shortly after I discovered the bomb, about five minutes after I called the office of the Tyrant to inform them of what I found. One of the thugs, a man named Alex, had survived the attack on me. I spoke to him, though not for long; but then he vanished." I had to be careful here. It was important that Mario had imprisoned and interrogated Alex, but I couldn't admit that I'd been poking around his dungeons and impersonating his sheriff. "Someone, probably one of the Councilman Mario's guards (who are, after all, responsible for the district), found him lying on the ground and took him away. Quite quickly, he found out about the explosives, and panicked. Rather than going through His Grace's chief sheriff, who had (unbeknownst to his employer or subordinates) been bribed to quietly ignore any reports of the thugs or the bomb they guarded, the guard contacted His Grace directly. Around this time, Councilman Mario would have also heard my call for reinforcements from the Tyrant to investigate the bomb, exercising his right as Councilman to monitor all communications from or to his district. He, too, panicked, and not thinking too clearly, called the Frankish embassy, and warned the ambassador to run. We know this last because the embassy's phone lines are tapped, so we have a recording of the call."

"This would be incriminating at first glance. It's entirely possible that whoever tried to frame the Councilman planned for that reaction. But we already know that the traitor had sold out the Franks. Why would he then warn them? There is absolutely nothing for him to gain, and after details of the case became more clear, the Franks would have every reason to kill him to prevent testimony about their attempt to destroy the Città del Profondità."

"There is, however, some question as to how Councilman Adrianus knew that the ambassador fled immediately after he did, when speaking to me. He told me that the ambassador had left for a "family emergency", and pointed to Councilman Mario, among others, as a friend, naturally arousing my suspicion of that latter worthy. But a friend, however close, would be unlikely to be told that the ambassador had left; he was fleeing from incrimination and voiding of his diplomatic immunity! He would have told no-one that he'd left until he was already safely away from the city; except, of course, his co-conspirator, who could give evidence on him, and would need time to escape."

I grinned tightly. I'd touched a nerve. Continuing, I told the group, "This is not conclusive evidence, of course. Neither is the fact that Mario's mint could not make the coins that filled the thugs' pockets, while Councilman Adrianus's is one of the few that could. But the fact that, if found guilty of treason, Councilman Mario would be unable to bid when the geothermal vent powering the Città del Profondità gave out, and you, possessing the rights to the second-nearest vent, would be almost certain to win the rights to power the city for the next ten years, and the ensuing wealth... why, I do believe that's means, motive, and opportunity."

Adrianus stood suddenly. His bodyguards stood moments later. "I've had enough of this nonsense," he told us. "You have no right to detain me here, no proof. I'm leaving."

My hand crept toward my holster. Still sitting, I told him, "As a member of the Tyrant's Service, I hereby place you under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason and mass murder. If you resist arrest, I have the right to use any means necessary to bring you down."

He froze, then bolted for the door. His guards went for their guns.

I drew first, firing my flechette gun even as it came out of the holster. One guard lost his face; the other fell, bleeding. I tossed aside the flechette gun, its single shot exhausted, scrabbled behind me on the fireplace's mantelpiece and picked up the gun I kept there. I ran for the door, vaulting over the front desk. Adrianus had already made it to his limousine, gasoline engine roaring. It began to pull away as the chauffeur revved the engine, too slowly. I aimed quickly from the doorway of my house, fired two shots. The limo accelerated; then, suddenly, it braked with a horrific screech and stopped. The passenger-side door opened, and a body fell out. Then the door slammed shut again, and the limo fled.

Councilman Adrianus was dead.

I went back inside, walking slowly. I kept the gun in hand as I re-entered the back room. Councilman Mario and his guards still sat there, having done nothing during the brief fight. Neither had the Tyrant.

"Is he dead?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Enough confirmation of his guilt. As a traitor, I hereby confiscate his land, putting it and all his possessions into the custody of the Crown. His seat on the City Council will sit absent until a suitable replacement is found."

Mario started up, enraged. "You can't do that!" he shouted, furious. "It violates every principle upon which this city was founded!" His guards had gone for their guns when I entered with my own in hand; now they stood, one leveling his weapon at me, the other aiming at the Tyrant.

The Tyrant, seemingly unfazed, smiled. "Do you really believe that?" she asked him, mockingly.

Mario said nothing.

"I know you tried to kill me, Your Grace," I told him. "You'd subverted Adrianus's guards beforehand. You'd probably been working on it ever since you realized that the contest for the next geothermal vent would be between you and him. You hadn't realized that he was responsible for the bomb, but when I went to visit him, you decided to try to frame him for it. It was a perfect chance; and what a coincidence, that he was actually guilty!"

"You have no proof," Mario snarled.

"No, I don't," I agreed. "Nothing but circumstantial evidence. That's the only reason that you're not in the same position Adrianus is. So right now, you can walk away, scot free."

"As long as I don't object to the confiscation of Adrianus's estate," he growled.

I nodded, said nothing.

He thought about it for a few moments, then, looking like he was chewing lemons, agreed. As he walked out the door, he whispered in my ear: "You and the Tyrant you serve, you've been accumulating power, for the last fifteen years since we foolishly created the position. There's always some "emergency", some reason to keep holding elections every year, to keep putting in a new Tyrant. But each one only lasts one year; and one day, one will slip up, and the Council will take it all back."

I smiled, nodded, waited for him to leave. Then I turned back to the Tyrant, who had stood by now. "He really doesn't know," I said to her. "That each Tyrant is carefully briefed and provided with all the support we can muster; that the bureaucracy behind you has been working to preserve the sole piece of democracy in this corrupt city. He has no idea. I don't think any of them know." I sighed. "I still wish I could've nailed Mario today, though. The slimeball."

"This was a great step forward, though," she agreed, "We've finally seized a seat on the City Council. I'll probably be able to open it to public election after we get the evidence to take Mario down. The more shortsighted Councilmen, which describes most of them, will agree that attacking a Tyrant's agent is intolerable, especially with the Franks still working against us at every turn; and they'll lose just a bit more power." The Tyrant stood, walked to the door. "Will you be coming with me?" she asked.

"No," I told her. "I've gotta make one call first. There's a man, an informant named Jack, the one who started me on this case. I think he deserves some thanks."

This concludes In the Dark. Sam Black, the Tyrant's best agent, struggles on.

In the Dark, Part Eight: Calculations

I expected to have some trouble entering the Councilman Mario's dungeons. I was right. It was hard to find. Asking questions would have raised suspicions, but wandering aimlessly was just as dangerous. After a few minutes of searching, I found a pair of district policemen, going to relieve the last shift. I figured that the only thing down here that warranted even one policeman was either the dungeon or the treasury, and I remembered passing that a few minutes ago. I followed the police, keeping a safe distance. Turned out I was right.

They were suspicious of me. I was a new face, though thankfully they hadn't seen me enter. (They wouldn't have seen me in the newspapers. I keep a low profile.) They didn't want to let me enter. I presented them with the chief sheriff's badge, spun them a story about being delegated for a check-up on the prisoners while the chief sheriff was detained. Quickly figured out that the police didn't know he was imprisoned - didn't tell them.

Needed some luck here. If they didn't buy it, things could get nasty. Fingered my flechette gun.

They weren't taking the bait. One of them was going off on a tangent, while the other one watched me. Needed an opportunity to get my gun out.

Ah! No. They wanted a bribe! Never a more oblique request I'd ever heard.

Paid them in forged coin. It might spread a bit of confusion to get that circulating. One bit it to test purity, then they let me in.

The dungeons of the Councilman were the same as the others I'd been in. Dark. Dank. Noisy. Generally unpleasant. This one was deep enough that you could hear the gears of the city grinding away, probably no more than two hundred feet down. Constantly. A bonus for interrogation, probably. I didn't want to stay any longer than I had to.

Most of the cells were empty. No common criminals here - the aboveground jails held those. These were political criminals, disloyal to the Councilman, or loyal to his enemies. The same thing, really. I looked for the chief sheriff - stepped in something en route. Euch. Vowed to take another route out.

Found him. He seemed mostly intact. Mario probably didn't want any marks on him, just in case he needed to show off to the Council. The sheriff was hung up on the wall, in chains, behind bars. His eyes were closed. I shouted at him a little, woke him up. He didn't seem inclined to talk much. Shocking. I managed to get what he'd already confessed to, though. He'd carefully overlooked the thugs, destroying any reports of their presence. Been paid through an intermediary. He wanted promises before he'd say anything about the go-between, which I gave him after a suitable display of reluctance. Wasn't anything useful. Average height, average complexion, average voice. Worthless.

I asked the sheriff if he'd thought anything was unusual about the currency. He shook his head. Not as though he intended to get caught. Idiot. The least he could have done was to ensure that when he got caught, he dragged his employer down with him. Some people just aren't cut out to betray.

Took another route out. Found a surprise on the way out. Alex Brandon, the thug who I'd questioned briefly before he vanished. No qualms here about leaving marks. I prodded him. He jerked, whispered "It wasn't real! I told you! We wouldn't have blown up the city! It was a trick!" He didn't seem to recognize me. His eyes were fevered, didn't focus. I left.

Spotted three policemen on the way out. They were searching for someone. Questioning people, watching. I ducked around a corner just in time. Didn't want them to see me. Too many awkward questions were I found here. Managed to get to the front entrance without more trouble. Got some looks, but no-one stopped me. Just as well. After the last encounter, I had my flechette gun aimed beneath my coat. Anyone who tried to stop me from less than fifteen feet away would have gotten a shower of razors for their trouble.

Stopped by at the Tyrant's Palace, to see if the night staff had anything new for me. They did. Some industrious fellow had found some information on Alex Brandon. He was registered as a taxi driver in District Five. Adrianus's. Not incriminating, but interesting.

I asked if there was any news of the Franks. Had they taken any stance on the bomb? No. The head ambassador was gone. He'd left after a phone call in the afternoon, earlier today.

The time of the call was after Adrianus had assured me that the ambassador had already left.

Why would he lie about that?

Two more loose ends I could think of to investigate.

The staff could help me with one. They had a forging expert. She told me she'd already looked at the coins. They were forgeries, all right, and pretty poor quality ones. The only way someone who was familiar with the original coins could miss it was if they weren't looking, or just didn't care. She also gave me a list of known mints in the city that could have produced the coins.

Mario's was not on the list. I asked why.

She told me that his mint was set up differently. It could only produce coins of a different thickness and width. There was some flexibility, but the forged coins fell well outside the parameters. It would take weeks to reconfigure the mint, and there was no sign that such a reconfiguration had ever taken place.

I asked her if there could be other mints.

She gave me a lecture. Price, size, complexity. I won't repeat it. But: probably not.

I fled. There was one last thing I could think of. I went to the nearest library. Closed! Damn. I presented my badge. They opened.

Newspaper archives. Why would the Councilman of District Two have "a great deal of money coming in?" Properties, investments... what would make him so certain? He had rights to geothermal vents, the type that powered the City...

Including the nearest ones currently active.

Aha. If he had inside knowledge that the geothermal vents beneath the City were giving out, he would be indeed in a position to make a great deal of money, by owning the site of the City's likely next destination. And, of course, were that so, he would have no interest in destroying the City.

I checked Adrianus's public holdings. Did a little map-work, exercised my long-forgotten trig. He owned the rights to the second-nearest geothermal vents.

And, with that, I had the information I needed to crack the case open.

In the Dark, Part Seven: Badgering the Witness

Councilman Mario snarled. "For the last time, I had nothing to do with this - any of this. I don't know about the thugs at Oxy and Ring, I don't know about the gunmen or the bomb-thrower or anything. I did not forge that god-damned coin. And I have no more time for an interfering pawn of the Tyrant. Out!"

I had a feeling that there was nothing more I was going to get out of him. I'd headed to his mansion just after I left the hospital, on the hunch that Mario, Councilman in charge of the area where the bomb had been planted, had answers to give me. If nothing else, he certainly owed some explanation for its presence in the part of the city it was his responsibility to steward. But he wasn't, and here, in the center of his power, I hadn't the will to press him. I rose.

Furious, he gestured for a servant to open the great gold doors at the entrance of his sanctum. I took the hint and bowed out through them. Councilman Mario had one last thing to say, though. Spitting as he spoke, he told me, "And of all insults, you'd suspect me to blow up the city. I've more than anyone else to gain from keeping it intact - as you'd know if you paid any attention, I've got a lot of money coming in, dependent on this city staying intact." He slammed the doors.

I spent a moment in thought. Then I noticed something: there was no-one around. Infuriated beyond reason, Mario had sent me out without calling for his guards. Everyone outside the room thought that I was still meeting with him.

There was an opportunity here. It was a little dangerous, to go wandering around a Councilman's palace without permission. But I wasn't paid to stand around and look pretty, and the matter of the bomb, I thought, outweighed most minor qualms.

The Councilman's palace was sprawling, in a city ever pressed for space. The dozens of servants, guards, and functionaries passing through its halls, much more cramped once I left the Councilman's immediate presence, paid me little heed. I found it easy to make my way to my two quickly decided destinations. The first was the office of Mario's chief sheriff, his right hand. My suspicions were first aroused by the absence of the secretary from his outer office. Proceeding inside, I found the security officer equally absent. There was blood on the wall. His desk was locked; I picked it. Inside was more of the forged gold.

Interesting. Looked like he was in on the bomb plot, too. And from the blood, it seemed he'd been found out.

Before I left the palace, there was one more place I wanted to go. It would require either guile or firepower to get in. I pocketed the chief sheriff's badge, left on his desk, and confirmed that my flechette gun was still safely concealed in my coat. I was ready either way.

(too tired to finish post)
(will be continued)

In the Dark, Part Six: Personal Endangerment

I hurt all over. I was in a hospital bed, unmistakably. The metal bed I lay in and the harsh white-lit room meant I was either there or jail, and most jails didn't have scalpels and other tools lying within reach of the prisoners.

I looked at the door. On the back was my undershirt. My bulletproof undershirt. Cost me a fortune, but it was probably the only reason I was still alive...

Wait.

There were several bloodstained holes in my undershirt.

I probed my torso beneath the bedcovers, feeling stiches in several places.

What were those guards firing to blow through bulletproof fabric like that? Elephant guns?

I felt disgruntled, and a little bit nauseous. I'd been in my current occupation for years, but this was the closest I'd come to checking out. I looked around the room further, noting the bedside table to my right. It held my flechette gun, unloaded, and a note.

"Sam. Adrianus's guards fired only at you. They vanished shortly after you were shot. Adrianus claims he was not responsible. I am watching his estate closely," the note began. Who WAS responsible? And who was hiding them?

"I've stationed my own men around the hospital. One of them caught a woman carrying a bomb under her shirt - looked pregnant. She ran for it; guard dealt with the bomb first. Who wanted me dead enough to try to blow up the hospital? If they were even after me...

"Beware District 4 - Rafiel has invoked the Right of Protection." That was bad. My house was in District 4, and if Rafiel, the ruling Councilman, had invoked his Right, the Tyrant would be unable to send her men in without urgent and obvious cause. Rafiel was in the group Adrianus named as being linked to the Franks. If he didn't want the Tyrant's men about, he was probably plotting something against her interests - which, at the moment, probably meant he was plotting against me, directly or indirectly. Guess I'd have to do without a change of clothes for a while.

"No results so far on the investigation into the thugs. Expect more attacks." And that clinched it.

Creaky hinges alerted me to the door opening. An orderly walked in, and began to fill a small needle with liquid from a rolling table near the door. I asked him, "What are you doing?"

He froze for a moment, then answered, "I'm preparing some medicine for you - vitamins, a few other things. It's standard treatment."

After reading the note, I felt entirely paranoid. I told him, "I'm sorry, I really don't think I need that right now. I want to talk to a doctor before I take anything." My hand crept toward the flechette gun.

The orderly froze again. "Ah, I'm working under doctors' orders now. Please, don't make a fuss."

I grasped the flechette gun. "Do you have a note?" I asked.

The orderly hesitated; then, brandishing the hypodermic needle, he lunged at me.

I brought up the flechette gun. Panicking, the orderly stared at it, then fled, dropping the needle.

I didn't know what the (phony?) orderly would do next, but I wanted to get out of the hospital first. Half naked and armed with an unloaded flechette gun, another assassination attempt would probably kill me. Dressing in my bloodstained, damaged clothes (piled near the bed), I walked briskly out of the halls. No one questioned me; I'd managed to adopt enough of an air of purpose that my presence didn't appear out of place, despite my clothes and frequent winces of pain as my stiches caught.

Leaving the hospital, I breathed a sigh of relief to be in the dim citylight once more. It was night, so the overhead lights were turned low. In the darkness, I spotted a dismounted carabineri, watching me. I started towards him.

Who was attacking me? If my meeting had proven Adrianus's guilt, it would have made perfect sense for him to try to kill me, to kill the one person who knew the most about the plot, besides him. But, if anything, the meeting had proven his innocence, as far as I could tell. So... what if someone had tried to kill me to conceal just that? Some sort of bizarre double game, trying to conceal the fact that Adrianus didn't need to conceal anything, and pin the blame on him...

So far, it was working. All suspicion was on Adrianus, because mine had been, and I hadn't gotten a chance to talk to anyone after I talked to Adrianus. Once I did, hopefully, there'd be no more profit in killing me. But the fog of secrets was thick enough to drown me. Actually, that would be more of a soup - filled with creamy intrigue and chunky murder attempts. And poison. Who was trying to throw attention off himself? Was it a conspiracy, or the treachery of a single person? And whatever happened to the thug I'd interrogated, Alex Brandon?

I didn't know. But I had only one lead left, and that meant it was time to finish the trip I'd begun yesterday.

I talked to the carabineri on the corner for a few minutes, filling him in on all I knew or suspected. He lent me his pistol and ran off, and I walked towards the nearest trolley stop. Time to pay the Councilman of District Two a visit, and find out why someone had assembled a city-buster bomb in his land.

In the Dark, Part Five: Dealings with Authority

I went home and changed my blood-stained clothes. My hat I kept, but I discarded pretty much everything else for fresh clothing. That accomplished, I checked myself over in the mirror, adjusted my flechette gun, and tilted my hat to the appropriate angle. This wouldn't be the first time I'd dealt with a councilman, but it was rarely pleasant. Better to be prepared.

I ran into trouble at the gates. The guards at the gates gave me one look and began stonewalling. They refused to accept my credentials as an agent of the Tyrant, and forced me call her myself before they'd believe me. When they let me in, it was grudgingly, and with eyes constantly trained on my back. I kept my own hand quite near the flechette gun: I didn't like some of the looks I was getting.

After that, Councilman Adrianus's secretary kept me waiting for another good ten or fifteen minutes, claiming that they'd had no warning of my visit. (Quite false, of course, but as long as it wasn't too blatant, a Councilman could get away with any lie he wanted to.) I sat on a marble bench, in one of the largest waiting rooms I'd ever seen; furthermore, I'm almost certain that the walls were plated with gold. (Hard to tell with all the chandeliers and paintings and statues blocking the view.) When finally I was admitted, it was with a mood mixing irritation and intimidation.

The Councilman Adrianus, His Grace the Steward-Until-Impeached of the Fifth District of the Città del Profondità, had chambers quite as lavish as the waiting room, if not more so. He lay on a couch, eating grapes; as I approached, he indicated with a slight nod that I should take a nearby, slightly smaller couch. I did so, feeling (for all my efforts) quite underdressed.

"There is some misunderstanding?" Adrianus asked. "They say that I am accused of hiring thugs to ambush an agent of the Tyrant; quite silly, of course, I would do no such thing. But to clear it up, I agreed to meet with you on the matter."

I frowned. "You are accused of no such thing, Your Grace. The accusation is of something rather more serious: a plot to destroy the city."

"What?" he asked. "Why would I do such a thing?" He gestured to himself. "I live here, do I not?"

"That was one of the questions I hoped you could help me with," I told him. "Nonetheless, it seems clear."

"What?" Adrianus asked, surprised. "I'd think that you'd be investigating the Councilman with responsibility for the district, not me."

"We have evidence, your Grace," I explained.

"Evidence?" Adrianus asked. "What evidence?"

I picked a coin out of my pocket and laid it upon the table. "Thugs were guarding the bomb, the one that was in a position to destroy the city. Their purses were full of these; every one of which bear your head."

Adrianus picked one up, examining it closely. His eyes widened. "But - these aren't mine."

"What?" I asked.

He held a coin of his own in the air and laid it onto the table. Beside the other coin, the differences were immediately apparent. "The head is much cruder on your coin," Adrianus told me, "And the text is lumpy. This isn't from my mint - it's a forgery."

He was right. I picked up the forgery and pocketed it. "Well. I suppose that's all I had, your Grace. I'll be on my way now."

"Very well," he said. Frowning, he added, "If you don't have any more proof the next time you accuse a Councilman of high treason, I think you will find yourself in a rather nasty position yourself."

I nodded, wordlessly, and rose to leave. As I stood, I had a sudden thought and asked, "One last thing. What do you know about the Frankish ambassador?"

He frowned. "I don't know him personally. He mainly moves in different circles - with Rafiel, Leonardo, Mario, Edmondo, the ones who do the most trade with the Franks. I heard he left recently, in quite a hurry - a family emergency, or so they say."

I smiled, thinly, thanked his Grace, and left. I'd check with the Tyrant to see if they'd found anything yet, then I'd investigate the other suspects. Starting with the Councilman responsible for Oxy Street - who, I was pretty sure, was in the group Adrianus had just named.

As I walked down the street, away from Adrianus's gates, I heard gunshots. I turned to see his guards firing into the street.

They were firing at me.

I tried to do everything at once. I reached for my gun, shouted for help (the civilians filling the street were scattering from the first gunshots), dropped to the ground.

I woke up in the hospital.

In the Dark, Part Four: Containment

I walked into the deli, and ordered a sandwich. Then I went into the back, to use the phone there. The owner knew me, so I didn't need to show my credentials.

A functionary answered after the first ring. "Office of the City Tyrant. What do you need?"

"I need a dozen of the Tyrant's Finest down at Oxy and Ring in ten, and an appointment with the Tyrant in twenty," I told the functionary.

After a pause, he replied, "...who are you?"

I told him. Then I hung up and ate my sandwich.

Let me tell you a little about the sandwiches this deli served. They're always on sourdough. Two thick slices of bread, with culinary joy inside. Lettuce, bacon, onions, cheese, poppyseed, pickles, bananas, eggplant or eggs, whatever you could ask for, they had it. I generally asked the owner to design my sandwiches himself. They were always fresh, different, and delicious.

After I ate, I left the shop and saw a platoon of carabinieri outside, hanging off the sides of an armored truck. Their leader saluted me. "Good sandwich?" he asked.

"Very," I answered sincerely, returning his salute. "The problem's over that way." I pointed toward the nearby airlock. "Just follow the bloodstains."

He acknowledged the order and signaled his driver, who accelerated smoothly, so as not to dislodge the men on the sides. I smiled. That should deal with the explosives, for the moment. No surprise my employer had sent four times as many men as I'd requested; the Tyrant believed fervently in overkill, and had the resources to indulge that belief.

I looked at my watch. I was running late; eight minutes to my appointment. That wouldn't do.

Nine minutes later, I arrived at the Tyrant's Palace. Another minute took me to the Tyrant's desk. She raised an eyebrow at me.

"Sorry," I told her. "Transit was running slow today."

"You could at least bow," she suggested, ignoring me. "A genuflection would be even better."

I waved my hand, dismissing her suggestions. "I'm running late already, and this one's a big one."

"All right," she said, leaning forward over his gigantic desk. "Give it to me."

I took a deep breath. "There is a conspiracy to destroy the city, possibly aided by foreign spies and certainly funded by our own Councilmen, that came within inches of succeeding today, foiled only by information from one of my most unreliable sources and a great deal of luck."

The Tyrant considered this. "Does this happen often?" she asked.

I thought about it. "Never."

"So what do you want me to do about it?" the Tyrant asked, furrowing her fingers.

"I want teams searching the rest of the Rim, looking for more explosives."

The Tyrant nodded. "That can be done."

"I want an investigation into the thugs I killed, the ones who were guarding the bomb. I need to know if they were common street trash, or if they have some other association."

"That sounds more like something suited to your resources than mine," the Tyrant remarked.

"It'll take brute work, slaving through the records to find men of their descriptions - the only name I have is Alex Brandon. Frankly, I haven't the time, and you do have the men."

The Tyrant nodded. "Anything else?"

This was the boldest of my proposals. "I want unrestricted access to the Councilmen for the duration of the emergency, for purposes of investigation. Them and the foreign ambassadors."

"The foreign ambassadors should be easy enough to gain access to," the Tyrant mused. "Consider it done. But for the existence of the Tyranny, the one right the Councilmen have rallied behind is their immunity from City investigation. If I violate that and grant your request, there will be trouble."

"They brought this upon themselves," I told her. "Every one of the thugs had a purse full of Council coin - from just one Councilman, Adrianus. And where was the local Councilman's men while the thugs were lugging those explosives? Something stinks, and the Council is up to it in their necks."

Slowly, the Tyrant nodded. "Very well," she agreed, "You will have your access. But if this intrusion is unjustified, the Council will scream for blood - yours."

For a moment, I reconsidered. But: "Every bone in my body tells me it's them. If I can't investigate them, this is over before it starts - and whoever's behind the bomb will be free to strike again."

"Will that be all, then?" the Tyrant asked. "If so, I have calls to make, men to set in motion."

"Yes," I agreed. "I'll talk to Councilman Adrianus. Make sure he knows I'm coming, please."

"Will you be returning home first?" the Tyrant asked.

I looked at my streetwear, and at my boots, spattered with blood. "I suppose I might," I conceded.

The double glass doors of the Tyrant's office closed behind me.

In The Dark, Part Three: The Process of Discovery

I stood before the pile of explosives, shocked, appalled - and thinking.

The city of the deeps, Città del Profondità, is protected from the terrible pressures outside by a gigantic, miles-wide dome, as any citizen knows. The dome is, in fact, double-layered, with the greater part of the structural support on the outer layer, and the reflective shielding and lights on the inner part, with a small, bulkhead-separated space in-between. If the outer wall, by some vast catastrophe, were to give way, the inner wall and bulkheads would (in theory) hold it for long enough for evacuation to take place. The inner space, where I now stood, was painted and ornamented where it formed part of the main exits (used for trade, fishing, and travel), and elsewhere locked and plain. Those parts were scarce-used, frequented only by maintenance workers, smugglers, and vagrants who managed to pick the locks. Those latter groups were largely thought poorly of by the law, and cracked down upon often. Certainly anyone seen loitering in such a place would be attract the attention of residents, and the law would follow soon after.

Yet, here before me were enough explosives to blow a hole in both parts of the dome at once, flooding the city instantly. Everyone would die, save perhaps for the very fast and very lucky on the other side of the city, if they reacted in time.

There were a lot of questions here. Who would want to blow up the city? Why hadn't the law come down on the thugs while they loaded the explosives here, and why had Jacko come to me, not them, for that matter? But the question that occupied my mind as I traversed the inner airlock to re-enter the city was one readily answered: what did the thugs know about their deadly task? I turned past the corpses littering the wall to question my captive.

He was gone.

Hmm. This was a problem.

From the looks of it, someone had dragged him to a street-trolley and taken him away, depriving me of my only source.

What did I know? Someone was trying to blow up the city. That someone seemingly had cooperation from the local law, judging from the utter lack of response from that party. They also had more resources than the thugs, judging from the quantity of explosives (how did those get into the city, anyway?) and were ready to respond quickly when I waltzed in and killed their men. I was willing to guess that it was the work of foreign spies; extremely worrying that they'd gotten so far before I found the explosives.

On a hunch, I checked the bodies again. Their purses were filled with coins: a few of mixed vintage, from the Tyrant's mint or the Franks', but the vast majority of them were from the Councilman Adrianus's own mint.

Most suspicious, indeed.

I had my own plans for further investigation; but the first thing to do was to walk to the local deli. I was hungry, and, in addition to their sandwiches, they possessed a telephone. It was about time for me to tell the Tyrant what was going on.

Author's Note: As usual, I underestimated how long this would take to write; it's the first half of what was originally going to be one post. Some exciting stuff is going on. Stay tuned!

In the Dark, Part Two: Further Inquiries

(The first few paragraphs of this story, to my amusement, were written on my graphing calculator as I sat in my first final.)

I swung off the street trolley, my hat remaining on my head through long practice. The trolley sped off without me, leaving me at the corner of Oxygen Street and the Rim, where my informant had directed me. I saw no-one at all, and sighed. Jacko had cried wolf for nothing once again. I shrugged and began to walk down the Rim. It seemed a shame to head back to the office, especially when there was a good deli not three blocks away.

Then I saw the thugs loitering a block before the deli and realized that Jacko was just terrible at giving directions.

They eyed me suspiciously as I approached*, which didn't help them in their apparent effort to appear nonchalant in trenchcoats. I noticed that they were standing in front of an airlock, and headed for it. Unsurprisingly, a thug interposed himself in my path. "Sorry, this area is off-limits," he told me.

I twirled a coin between two fingers. "I'm Tyrant's Service. It is your duty, as a patriotic citizen of the Majestic Città del Profondità, to assist me in my duties."

The thug considered this. His comrades gathered around. "What do you want?" he finally asked.

"I want to enter this airlock," I told him.

"No can do," he told me. "It's dangerous."

"I don't care," I told him. "Move out of my way, or I will move you."

The thug seemed on the edge of violence at this, but his fellows calmed him, whispering in his ear, and he allowed me to pass. I unlocked the airlock and spun the great wheel, stepping inside the first chamber.

Something hit me in the back, and my sight went dark. When I recovered, I was sprawled in the airlock, with thugs looming in the entrance. One of them brandished a fist, grinning. His grin faded as I made my way to my feet.

"You stupid sons of bitches," I told them. "You have just attacked an officer of the Tyranny." I took out my flechette gun, and the eyes of the closest one widened.

The flechette gun is a curious weapon. It's a bit of a throwback to the medieval crossbow, both in appearance and design. The main difference is what it fires - instead of a single bolt, it fires a canister of tiny blades, designed to explode in midair and send shrapnel in a wide arc before the gun. It's not as long-ranged as a rifle or as powerful as a shotgun, but the flechette gun is quiet, light, and doesn't require gunpowder to fire, a major advantage for underwater operation. An incidental property of the weapon is the extremely painful nature of its projectiles. If you get hit with a spray of blades, it hurts.

I fired.

The frontmost thug, the one who'd attacked me, was down in a bloody mess on the floor. I couldn't tell how the others were, so I started forward as I reloaded the flechette gun and cranked it back into position.

As I emerged from the airlock, my boots began to stick to the floor. Most of the thugs were more intact than the frontmost one; some had survived unscathed, but they were running for it. I couldn't blame them. I was actually a little surprised at the damage; even a trenchcoat should have stopped a lot of the flechettes. As I checked the bodies for clues, I fingered the fabric of the coats. Cheap, thin stuff. Figures.

I wasn't too thorough in my search. The thugs didn't seem inclined to wear any identification, and I preferred to avoid undue contact with the dead. To my surprise, one of the thugs was still breathing - he'd fallen unconscious, probably from blood loss. I propped him up against the wall, using his trenchcoat to tie him up, and then wrapped his limbs.

After a few minutes, his eyes fluttered open. He seemed rather surprised to see me in front of him. I allowed him no time to adjust. "What is your name?" I asked.

"Alex, Alex Brandon," he mumbled weakly.

"Who is your employer?" I pressed.

"Dunno," he told me.

I pointed the flechette gun at his face.

"No, no, I don't know," he exclaimed with more energy, leaning away as far as he could, even bound and propped against the wall. "Tony was the guy with the money, the finance guy. He's the only guy that met the latest boss."

"Who's Tony?" I asked him. Now I was getting somewhere.

"He was the one who hit you," Alex said.

So, no.

I tried a different tack. "What was your job here?"

"Just... guarding that locker. Loading stuff. Moving stuff." Alex said, somewhat evasively.

I hefted the flechette gun.

"Just look inside the airlock," he told me. "It's all there."

I checked his bonds and went into the airlock. Closing the inner door, the one Tony had been standing in, I opened the outer one. It was looser than most - it had been used a number of times. Past it was a ten-foot high stack of crates, marked "FISH."

I pried one open. Inside was a block of plastic explosive.

For a moment, I was lost for words. Then a thought sparked. "Jacko," I whispered, "You have just saved half a million lives."



*At this point, the story diverges from the calculator version. (I made some earlier changes for spelling, grammar, and flow, but they don't count.) The other version continues:

They eyed me suspiciously as I approached, and i had sex.
THE ENDE.

Feel free to write fanfic about this.**

**No.

In the Dark, part one: Initial Evaluation

I leaned back nonchalantly. "So you think there's a problem?"

Jack bent over my desk, red-faced and panting. "It's a real big one this time, boss!"

I sighed. "Just what you said last time, Jacko. What is it now?"

"Okay, when I got up this morning, I was feeling a little queasy," Jack told me. "So I decided to pop some pills, see if that would make it better. I got them out of the medicine cabinet, swallowed them down with some water, and-"

"Stop." I looked at Jack sternly. "Get to the point."

He gulped. "All right. Um. I was going down to the outer rim, anyway, because I felt sick. And there were all these guys there! Just sort of milling around, staring at anyone who came near. Real suspicious-like, right? Trenchcoats?"

I put a hand to my forehead. "Do you remember where in the outer rim this was? There are about fifteen miles of rim to search."

Jacko rubbed his chin, thinking. "Um. I think they were at the corner of Oxy? I don't remember exactly. I feel sick, like I was tryin' to say." He coughed demonstratively.

I waved him off. "All right, all right. If this is a real thing, I'll get you your just desserts. Head off for now, I know where you live." He left, closing my door behind him, and I sat back in my big leather chair to think.

Men with trenchcoats, milling around at the corner of Oxy... it wasn't much to go on. Jacko wasn't the most reliable informant I had (though he was the most... eager), and I had no idea why there would be anything going on down there, of all places: Oxy wasn't in the ritziest of neighborhoods, but it wasn't a gang haven either. In my four years watching the city, I'd never seen anything worth my notice down there.

I shrugged. Well, it was a slow day, and I supposed there was a first time for everything. I locked the front door and headed into the back room.

The back room was mainly filled with a great big fake-wood table in the middle, but there were cabinets at one end of the room, and it was to those that I went. I took various useful items from each - a baton in case things got rough, a flechette gun in case things got rougher, and a few hundred in discretionary funds - I preferred not to spend my own money on government business. I considered taking the handgun lying atop the decorative fireplace at the other end of the room, but decided not to - if things got too nasty for the flechette gun to suffice, then the handgun would just be dead weight.

Buttoning up my vest, I walked out of the office, unlocking and relocking the door as I went. The glare of reflected floodlights blinded me for a moment, as always, until my eyes adjusted to the faintly blue-tinted outdoor light. With a flourish, I tilted my hat to a jaunty angle and started walking.

Time to see what the Città del Profondità had in store for me today.

In the Dark: Prologue.

Far beneath the sea, in a time distanced from our own, there is a great city. It rolls across the seabed on a score of mammoth treads, carrying within its massive arching dome half a million souls. It is surrounded by darkness, and is, itself, a thing of shadow; light is reflected off its dome, to conserve it for those within. Conservation is the key for this great underwater city, for there is so little to go around.

For the city, power is an eternally pressing need; to fuel its heat-generating engines, its light-producing lamps, and the hundred and one other necessities of a city. But the depths are cold, and so the city must travel, rolling from one thermal vent to another, staying while the heat is there, then rolling to another, praying that they will not run out of power before they get there.

It is an existence of extremes that the people of this city live; the stakes are ever high, for no more than a few could flee in the direst contingency. But still men live within, with their petty quarrels and disdain for the common good, and so mistakes - or worse - happen. Sometimes, nothing comes of them; but the worst of them could be the end of this city, and half-a-million people within.

My name is Sam Black, and it's my job to safeguard this city. It's never easy, but I have a feeling that before too long, it's going to get a hell of a lot harder.