"What?" Fritz asked, staring at the scarred man standing under the doorway and out of the rain.

  "You heard me," Jagged Nic replied in those tarred and gravelled tones, his smile slipping away.

  "How'd you find us?" Bert asked.

  "A little bird told me," Nic said, chuckling. "And you weren't exactly quiet last night. A bunch of bruised gangs in the drowned district, a tavern fight at Tallies. Word is Barry's still trying to find his balls."

  Bert laughed at that and Fritz thought it was more likely the little bird wasn't so little, and was keeping an eye on them from the skies.

  "We just got back. Can we have some time to prepare?" Fritz stalled.

  "You're already late, a couple more minutes won't hurt, much," Nic said, shrugging hunched shoulders and causing water to cascade down his brown coat.

  "I was thinking more along the lines of a week," Fritz hedged.

  "Hah. No," Nic said.

  Fritz had known this was coming, though he thought he'd have a couple more days to scout and scheme.

  They stood there silently for a moment. Fritz's mind spun, trying to form a plan that could buy them more time to act freely.

  "Not goin' to invite me in? Mighty rude that is," Nic said.

  Fritz frowned. "Come on in," he offered, stepping aside. "Let's sit in the lounge."

  "Nah," Nic said, his lip twitching. "I'm fine out here in the rain."

  Fritz smoothed his sudden frown. The man was playing with them.

  "Bert, get the thing," Fritz said.

  "The thing?" Nic asked suspiciously.

  "A gift. Or tribute. To the Nightshark," Fritz said.

  "Oh, ho!" Nic exclaimed. "Straight into bribery, already trying to get in their good graces. You really are one sneaky, scheming squidbedder."

  "Is that some great crime?" Fritz asked arrogantly as Bert retreated up the stairs.

  "Hah. Course not. You can do whatever you want to a squid," Nic said.

  Fritz frowned, again.

  Nic spat to the side. They waited.

  Fritz quickly considered his approach. He had planned what he would say to the Nightshark, he had weighed the words and the secrets he'd let spill. But no matter how much he had rehearsed in his head, dread settled in around him. It was like a giant's hand closing around his chest and squeezing him slowly.

  With an exertion of Control and an application of Focus, he pushed the fear away. His hand gripped the hilt of Quicksilver, it still softly hummed from stored lightning. He let out a breath and met Nic's cold stare. He had the eyes of a killer, though they weren't mad like the raider's, no, this was far more callous and uncaring. This man could murder him and then think nothing of it. He wouldn't be haunted by nightmares.

  Bert burst down the stairs, a pack on his back and Dale secreted somewhere on his person, just as they had planned.

  "Ready?" Nic asked.

  "Yes," Bert said.

  "Lead the way," Fritz entreated.

  "Right, follow," Nic said, turning and trudging into the rain.

  They did so. Fritz closed the door behind him, and a mote of guilt sparked as he left his home and his team behind without a word.

  "Don't worry," Bert said. "I told George we'd be back later. And if we don't that they shouldn't mourn us."

  "A little mourning would be appropriate, and a few tears would not go amiss," Fritz opined.

  "I know. I hope they cry a lot. I was just trying to sound humble," Bert said.

  Fritz nodded, agreeing easily.

  "Hurry up," Nic growled, his stomping gait had somehow carried him far ahead of the pair and they had to jog to catch up. The swift pace Nic set likely had something to do with the Speed Attribute they assumed he had.

  Nic led them to the Sunken Ring's gates and they passed through with impunity. The storm guard looked the other way with well-acquainted ease. Seemingly they knew the lay of the land as coin didn't even pass between them.

  From there, it was into the twisting and turning alleys until they came to a door. Nic knocked and with a clank and a creak the heavy wood swung open, revealing stairs down and another thug in a brown coat. He nodded to Nic, handing the scarred thug a lit lantern and letting them pass into the dark of the tunnels.

  It illuminated a few feet in front of them, and although they didn't need the light due to their Night Vision Award, Bert still pretended he was blind to the winding tunnels ahead. After some time descending, and turning this way and that, Fritz thought he could hear something. The sound echoed eerily off the walls but at its heart, it was rhythmic and sweet.

  Music.

  Eventually, Bert noticed the noise and asked what it was, only to be met with a gruff, "You'll see."

  They were led to another door, it was banded with rainsteel and needed to be unlocked by Nic with a heavy key of the same material. When the door was swung open, gentle light spilled out and a gust of warm wind washed over them. The escaping air carried floral perfumes, cloying colognes, spice, smoke and the smell of indescribable, sensual oils all on a dizzying wave. Those myriad swirling scents were an onslaught to Fritz's powerful senses. His eyes watered and he stifled a sneeze, turning it into a cough.

  "Right, go on in," Nic said, motioning them through, following, then locking the door behind them.

  The door clanked closed with finality.

  The music could be heard more plainly now, it had a languid, bawdy beat and an ardent allure. Nic led them up the stairs and, after some more tunnel, through some dark-blue, velvet curtains.

  What they saw on the other side wasn't exactly unexpected. The pair had heard tales of the Nightshark's harem since they were young and didn't even know what a harem was. He'd always thought the stories exaggerated. They were not.

  The room was large, littered with couches, cushions and walls were hung with tapestries and silks. In an alcove a trio of well-dressed musicals played, suffusing the slightly-smoky air with sensuous sound. The artful depictions of revelry on the walls weren't what caught Fritz's eyes though. All around, sitting, standing or sleeping were scantily clad men and women, at least thirty of them.

  Smooth skin, from alabaster to onyx, gleamed under the light of dim mana lanterns. The men were handsome, well-muscled and shirtless. The women were beautiful and wore see-through gowns and perilously provoking undergarments, if they wore any at all.

  Fritz's steps faltered as he blinked at all the bared skin. Bert grinned wide, eyes dancing wildly over all the assorted beauties. Soon some curious gazes turned towards them, and there was a light lull in the chatter and other activities.

  "No gawking," Nic grumbled over one shoulder. "If you were early you might have had the chance to look. But you're late and you don't want to keep them waiting."

  Fritz tried to reply but found himself speechless. He merely nodded.

  "No fair," Bert grumbled, regretting their trip to the archive no doubt.

  They followed Nic, their steps plodding through the haze and past the languorous crowd.

  The interested eyes soon slid off them and those in this harem resumed their leisures, drinking fine wines and spirits, or imbibing other more esoteric substances while they talked and revelled.

  One set of eyes, however, didn't leave them, those soft brown irises lit up with joy when they recognised Fritz and Bert as they trudged by.

  The red-headed woman lifted one graceful hand and waved at them playfully, her painted nails glittered. They quickly recognised her in turn.

  Veronica or Vee as she was known by her friends, lay on a long velvet couch and held a glass of dark wine in her hand. She smiled, curling red, red, lips at them and Fritz had to stop himself from stumbling again. She was also attired, or rather un-attired, as the others were. Her flowing shawl of gossamer hid nothing of her lacy undergarments or smooth, pale skin from view.

  "Vee," Bert said, pretending at calm while his eyes drank in her appearance with a glutton's gleam. "New job treating you well?"

  "Very well, thank you, Bert," Vee said without a hint of worry, taking another sip of wine.

  "No chattering, you're late," Nic growled, pulling Bert and Fritz along by the elbow. "And you, don't talk to them. You know the rules."

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "I know the rules. They say I don't have to listen to you. I belong to the Nightshark," she stated, her nail tracing a black fang high on her collarbone.

  Vee turned her head and pointedly ignored his scowl. And although she spoke no further, she waved a farewell to the pair as they were pulled away.

  Fritz was surprised to see her here, and so much of her besides, but he was still worried for her. Even if she had proclaimed she was well, could the statement be trusted? And just how had she come to the Nightshark's attention? Was this his fault too? Was this a trick?

  Fritz shook his head. Of course, it was some kind of trick, befuddle them with a display of delights, then they were likely to be subjected to some sort of vicious interrogation while they were still in a stupor. That smoke also had some odd, if weak, soporific effect, his coldly burning bones warned him so.

  They left the harem, into a hall with six doors leading into either bedrooms, showers or baths. One such bedroom was occupied by whom Fritz could only assume to be one of the harem and someone who had gained the Nightshark's favour.

  The message was clear, there was much pleasure to be had if you pleased the Nightshark in turn.

  Though Fritz was intrigued, as any might be, he wasn't too tempted. At least, not nearly as much as Bert was. It seemed the idiot was positively eager to meet the Nightshark now.

  Fritz held onto his caution, even as they were led into a new room at the end of the long tunnel, lit by a great jagged crystal raining down soft white light and small sparking motes of blue-silver.

  This room was more bare, though its floor also had cushions, chairs and couches, and its smooth stone walls were similarly hidden by curtains, blue and black. There, in the centre, was a pavilion of hanging silk, surrounded on all sides by a pool of slowly sloshing water. It reminded Fritz of a moat around a castle, and he thought he could see at least two dark shapes swimming in its depths.

  Nic brought them right to the edge of the water, and from here Fritz could see the silhouette of a large, strong man sitting on a large high-backed couch, they had someone, likely a woman sitting in their lap. Behind them, standing on either side, were two figures, both a bit shorter than Fritz's own height.

  "Brought the two new boys, boss," Nic called out. Though he didn't need to, Fritz knew theatre when he saw it.

  The man behind the curtains moved an arm and the silks of the pavilion parted and rose, revealing what lay beyond.

  The couch was large enough to be a bed and resembled an open clam, banded in rich, golden wood and cushioned in pale blue velvet. As he had seen through the curtains, there was a large man with brutal, handsome features. And there, sitting in his lap was a dainty merfolk woman, decorated in gleaming jewellery and whispering into his ear.

  His first instinct was to look at the bulky man, his common sense telling him that had to be the Nightshark. He was tall, thickly muscled and covered in scars and tattooed scales. The man's shoulders flexed and he smirked.

  "You're late," he said, in a booming voice that easily reached over the nearly thirty feet that separated them.

  They didn't respond, caution demanded he glean as much knowledge from this meeting as he could. Any secret could be a sword, every word could be a shield.

  He searched the man's face and bearing, and for a moment, Fritz thought he was staring into the face of the Nightshark, and was fooled. Then the illusion was broken, shattered as soon as he glanced down to the fawning woman in the man's lap and met those deep red eyes.

  It was like staring into a tide of blood and hunger. That was the Nightshark. He could feel it in his bones. It wasn't just the eyes though, it was the sense of hidden power, the hundreds of invisible threads connecting her to her countless contacts, servants and bonds.

  Her eyes narrowed and glittered in what might be cold amusement. Fritz stifled a shudder and set to take her in.

  Even through that haze of bloodlust and cruelty, she was lovely. Wavy, black hair fell past her shoulders, framing a surprisingly young, pale face with a strong nose, cheekbones and chin that glittered with ridges of black scales. Her wine-red dress was elegant yet angled, with a high collar and long sleeves. It was tight enough that the shape of her scales could be seen through the fabric that wrapped her shoulders, arms and hips.

  As Fritz stared her proud pout crept into a sly smile.

  "Yes, I'm Fritz and this is Bert," Fritz said, aiming his words at the woman and praying his guess was correct. "We've come as you commanded, Nightshark."

  "Oh. No fun!" The woman exclaimed. "You guessed it too quickly, boy. Before I had time to tear out this pretty thing's throat and watch your faces as he died."

  Her voice was sonorous, regal and all-too-pleasing for what she described. The man stiffened and paled as The Nightshark reached one ring-covered, delicate hand to his throat and patted it tenderly.

  "You see, this one has displeased me," she continued as she slipped off his lap and stood on her own bare feet. "He has been listening, or rather, remembering all the wrong things. And forgetting the rules."

  Her hand seized his throat tightly and although the man struggled, his bulk and strength were worthless against The Nightshark's lithe arm. He couldn't even tear the sleeve of her dress. Razor-sharp nails pierced his skin and blood poured out from his neck.

  "Alas," she said. The man gurgled and tried to yell, failing as he choked on his own broken flesh.

  "The surprise is ruined," The Nightshark stated.

  She effortlessly dragged the man to the edge of the pool, and one of the dark shapes stirred, then sped for the surface. The Nightshark dangled the man into and over the stirring waters, blood trickled freely, staining the pool red.

  Fritz watched the scene unfold, frozen in horror.

  A shark, eighteen feet long and the colour of tar, leapt from the water. It tore the lower half of the man away in one bite before continuing its graceful arc back into the pool.

  "Good girl," The Nightshark purred, then she threw what remained to the other dark shape looming below the waves. Another, only slightly smaller, shark raced towards the bloody torso. The man's last coarse cry was cut off as he was pulled under the water and into the depths.

  The Nightshark strolled back to her couch and sat, crossing one shapely leg over the other while leaning back, observing her audience.

  No one spoke. Fritz felt sick. With an effort, he lifted his eyes from the bloody bubbling and to the perfectly poised woman sitting across from them.

  Bert was frowning, but shrugged off the gruesome sight quickly and smiled at The Nightshark. He was resilient like that.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  "Didn't know you were a woman," Bert said bluntly. "Can't say I mind though."

  "Especially one so beautiful," Fritz added, and he didn't even have to lie.

  She smiled, baring her teeth, they were pristine white and pointed like fangs. The sight might have frightened Fritz if he wasn't already inured to such strangeness by Rosie's grin.

  "What is it you wanted to see us for?" Fritz asked as obsequiously as he could manage. "Have we offended you in some way?"

  "Have you, indeed?" She asked, watching them.

  "I can think of nothing," Fritz lied, lacing his words with Dusksong. "We have been keeping our silence and have been sparse with our violence."

  The Nightshark pursed her lips, then her gaze flicked over his body, lingering on his Treasures, his signet ring and finally the hilt of Quicksilver. Fritz caught the flash of annoyance in her eyes, then a deadly smirk crept over her face.

  "Moonsilver," she said, then turned her head slowly to one of the figures standing behind her.

  Fritz hadn't paid the two much notice until now, he probably should have.

  One was a scarred and grizzled Browncoat, similar in stature to Nic. Though this man had a full head of black hair, flecked with white and had a pair of daggers belted at his waist. That man wasn't the one the Nightshark turned to. No, she levelled her gaze on a figure wearing a washed out dark blue cloak, their head hooded and concealed in shadow.

  Fritz's heart pounded. Beating out in terror.

  Even through the shade, the outline of Sid's pretty features could be seen, though she kept one side of her face covered. How had he not noticed her standing there? Even with all the hideous distractions and the alluring diversions, he should have seen her.

  Chiding himself, he almost moved, nearly took a step forward and cried out to her. The dark water and a flexing of his Control stopped him.

  "What of it?" Sid asked in gruff tones.

  "Isn't that what you gifted to me when we first met? The head of that hound with bones made of moonsilver?" The Nightshark asked.

  "Don't know much about metals," Sid stated, shrugging.

  "Do you know these two?" She asked, motioning to Fritz and Bert.

  "Yeah," Sid said, avoiding looking at them. "They went in the Spire in the same group as me."

  "Nothing more?"

  "Nothing more," Sid said.

  "Then why do your hearts pound like those of lost lovers reunited?" She asked coldly.

  Sid glanced to Fritz and he was struck by the bright blue of her eyes and the worry hidden within.

  Their gazes met. And he knew. It was real.

  "What a disappointing development," The Nightshark said. Her voice was still polite, proper, but it had taken on a dangerous tone and her smile was now long dead. "And I actually believed you Climbed mostly alone."

  The Nightshark returned her penetrating gaze to Fritz and Bert.

  "You three completed the Golden Climb together, didn't you?" She asked.

  The pair glanced to each other.

  All the lies and half-truths Fritz was planning to tell were cut apart in a moment by the woman's sharp senses and imposing instincts. Now that he had met the Nightshark, had seen this lurking threat, he knew, that somehow he had still underestimated her. Even though he had heard all the tales and believed most of them they didn't do her justice.

  In that moment he knew that only servitude would save them. It infuriated him, made his chest burn. He clenched Quicksilver's pommel. Dusksong spat and spiked discordantly. Eldritch flame deep within roiled as his Sanctum stormed. He pushed down his pride, forced away his need for freedom and focused on survival.

  Just for now, he told himself. Just until I'm strong enough, he repeated.

  The promise mollified the song, but did nothing for the flame.

  "We did," Fritz admitted, breaking the tense silence.

  "And what was the purpose of this subterfuge?"

  "We didn't want to be dragged here," Fritz said.

  "And lose all our Treasures," Bert added.

  "Greed then?" She asked.

  "No, I didn't want to submit, to you," Fritz stated, letting his Dusksong spit spitefully. "I wanted to be free for longer."

  "I see," The Nightshark said, deliberate calculation hiding behind her bland facade. "A sneaky, greedy liar and one who seeks, what? Freedom? You should know there's no such thing in this city. Not while I rule."

  "I understand that. Now, " Fritz said. "I regret my past rashness. I hope you'll forgive my transgressions."

  The Nightshark wasn't impressed, but his obsequiousness seemed to ease her somewhat.

  "And what of you, Bert? Are you the same?" She asked, turning to the man.

  "Of course! We're brothers," Bert said proudly, slamming a fist on his chest.

  "Is that so? And what is that?" She asked pointing at a strange bulge under his shirt.

  "My best friend, Dale," Bert replied, reaching under his shirt and pulling the snail off himself with a slurping pop. He held Dale aloft for all to see.

  The Nightshark stood, then strode towards the pool, she leapt the thirty feet of water that separated them, landing with a light thud, right in front of Bert.

  "Some sort of snail beast?" She asked, intrigued, her eyes alight with desire.

  "Yes, we called it a rust snail," Bert said. "Or a salt snail since the ones we found sprayed salt acid."

  "Very interesting, its shell colouring is exquisite. Though it does look to be a graceless, gangly creature," she said, mostly to herself. "Give it to me."

  "I can't, he's already bonded," Bert said.

  "Break it," The Nightshark demanded.

  "No," Bert refused.

  "We have a gift!" Fritz cried out.

  But he was too late.

  The Nightshark's hand was around Bert's neck before he could blink. Bert's body still reacted. The Arte Pugilist was ingrained too heavily in him for him not to counterattack. His free arm came up and seized her wrist, then he spun, flinging the Nightshark up and over his shoulder.

  She soared through the air, a spiral of black scales, pale skin and red fabric. She landed lightly on her feet, then turned. The Nightshark was completely unruffled save one strand of black hair that fell over her face, which she tucked away with practised dignity.

  Bert fell to a knee clutching at his neck, blood dripped from between his fingers, from where her nails had sliced right through his flesh. The Nightshark strolled up to the kneeling man and stared down at him callously. She flicked droplets of blood off her nails, spattering his face with specs of red.

  "What a waste," She stated. "Dying for your beast aids no one. You can just bond something new, something better."

  "Who said anything about dying," Bert croaked out, grinning up at her.

  Her mouth twitched, whether it was annoyance or amusement Fritz couldn't tell.

  "Vitality? No, you'd need more than that to recover from having your throat cut," she said. "Interesting."

  "And you, you said something about a gift?" She asked, turning to Fritz

  "Yes, in the pack there," Fritz said quickly.

  "Get it," she ordered, still watching as Bert still bled. Absently she lightly licked her upper lip.

  Fritz rushed to obey, his hands shook as he opened the pack, and within moments he was presenting the Nightshark with the clay jar containing the aberrant eel's egg.

  "Open it," she commanded.

  He did, then showed her the clear orb with the occasionally sparking cloudy mass in its centre.

  "What is this?" The Nightshark asked.

  "An egg, it came from the nest of an aberrant lightning eel," Fritz explained shakily.

  Her red eyes lit with wonder, then deep suspicion.

  "And just why did you think this would make a good gift?"

  "Well, I don't mean to boast. However, with my sharp eyes and keen awareness, I noticed something odd about some of the birds and beasts. They would wait and watch, much like a sentry. And knowing what I know from Bert's own bond, I deduced you were a beastmaster," Fritz boasted, trying to make it seem an easy leap of logic.

  "You deduced it?" She asked in an unbelieving, deadly tone.

  "Yes," Fritz stated, pulling on all the Dusksong he could to make the word ring with certainty.

  The rubies set upon The Nightshark's necklace of gold links gleamed softly in response. Fritz's gut fell, and he hoped the woman hadn't noticed it. He stared into her face, and luckily, she only had eyes for the egg.

  "Did you know that aberrants can't be bonded? And that trying to do so can kill a Climber or send them insane? That they're poison?" She asked.

  Before Fritz could respond or deny any attempt at assassination, she continued speaking. "I suppose not, it's rare knowledge. And not a mistake someone will make more than once. Aberrants fight the link, and their minds are evil, twisted things, full of hate and hunger."

  "This egg though," she said, taking the jar gently from Fritz's hands. "Still has yet to be born. It's soul too weak to resist the bond."

  "This is a wondrous gift. One whose worth is beyond your ken. I am pleased with your tribute," she said, finally looking up and smiling at the two of them.

  This was her true smile and it did not comfort in the slightest, it was just as mad and sharp as she was.

  "Still, what am I to do with you two?" She said.

  "Let us serve," Fritz pleaded.

  "Yes, we'll do anything you want," Bert said, standing and still holding his throat. The bleeding had slowed to a drip, and preposterously, he winked. "Anything."

  "We're useful, I promise," Fritz entreated, this time suppressing his Dusksong lest those rubies light up again.

  The Nightshark assessed them coldly, patting the jar and tilting her head slightly as if to see them from another angle.

  A small sly smile crept up her lips.

  "Tell me of your uses."