Free Web NovelChapter 37: Rat King?
Nacho’s Mind Fortress brushed against her thoughts. What he found there made his stomach drop.
—definitely him, power signature is massive, how is he hiding it so well, need to confirm before taking action—
She wasn’t sure yet. The detection ability must work on power levels rather than specific abilities. And since Nacho kept his tentacle retracted and his Talents suppressed, she couldn’t get a clear read.
But she was suspicious. Very suspicious.
"I’m just here for a drink," Nacho said. "Whatever you’re looking for, I’m not it."
"Mmm. That’s what they all say." She pulled out the chair across from him and sat down without being invited. Pip looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. "My name is Inquisitor Vance. And you are?"
"Tomas Verill. Trade envoy from Lumen."
"Is that so?" She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Funny thing about trade envoys. They usually stay in the merchant district. They don’t usually run through back alleys with known criminals." Her eyes flicked to Pip, who flinched. "Care to explain?"
Nacho’s options were narrowing by the second. He could try to bullshit his way out, but her Talent would probably detect the lie. He could attack, but that would confirm every suspicion she had and bring the entire Inquisition down on his head. Or he could run, which would have the same effect.
There was a fourth option. One that relied on something Pip had mentioned earlier.
"I don’t answer to you," Nacho said calmly. "Not in here."
Vance’s smile flickered. "Excuse me?"
"This is neutral territory. Even Inquisitors can’t make arrests without the Rat King’s permission. Those are the rules."
"Rules." She laughed, but there was an edge to it now. "You think the rules protect you? You think they’ll stop me from dragging you to the Spire if I decide you’re a threat?"
"No," said a new voice from somewhere behind them. "But I might."
Nacho turned his head slightly and saw a figure emerging from the shadows at the back of the tavern. A man, short and thin, with gray hair and a face that looked like it had been carved from old leather. He wore simple clothes that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a dock worker, but the way the other patrons scrambled to get out of his path told Nacho everything he needed to know about who this was.
"Rat King," Vance said. Her voice had gone carefully neutral. "I wasn’t aware you were here tonight."
"I’m always here, Inquisitor. This is my house." The Rat King stopped beside their table, his small dark eyes moving from Vance to Nacho and back again. "And in my house, we follow my rules. Which means no arrests without permission. No violence without cause. And no harassing my guests."
"This man is a suspected unregistered magic user. That makes him a threat to Imperial security."
"Suspected." The Rat King’s voice was mild. "That means you don’t have proof. Which means he’s not a threat. He’s a guest who hasn’t broken any laws." He smiled, revealing teeth that were surprisingly white and even. "Yet."
Vance’s jaw tightened. For a moment, Nacho thought she was going to push the issue anyway. Her thoughts were a storm of frustration and calculation, weighing the political cost of challenging the Rat King’s authority against the potential value of the capture.
Finally, she stood.
"This isn’t over, Siren. We’ll meet again."
She walked out of the tavern without looking back. The moment the door closed behind her, the room seemed to exhale as one. Conversations resumed. Drinks were poured. Life went on.
The Rat King didn’t move.
"You owe me," he said to Nacho. "And I always collect."
"What do you want?"
The old man’s smile widened.
"There’s a problem I need solved. Someone’s been moving goods through my tunnels without paying tribute. I want them found. I want them stopped. And I want whatever they’ve been smuggling brought to me."
Nacho considered this. On one hand, getting involved with the criminal underground was exactly the kind of complication he’d been trying to avoid. On the other hand, he was already involved. And having the Rat King as an ally would be infinitely better than having him as an enemy.
"What kind of goods?"
"Monster cores. High grade ones. The kind that sell for thousands in the right markets." The Rat King’s eyes glittered. "Interested?"
Monster cores. That could mean dungeons. Dungeons mean experience. Experience means leveling up.
"Where do I start?"
"There’s an entrance to the tunnels behind the slaughterhouse in the Low District. The password is ’The drowned man sings.’ One of my people will meet you there tomorrow night and show you where the smugglers have been operating."
The Rat King turned and walked back toward the shadows he’d emerged from. ƒгeewёbnovel.com
"Don’t disappoint me, Siren. I really would hate to have to tell Inquisitor Vance where to find you."
Then he was gone, swallowed by the darkness as if he’d never been there at all.
Nacho sat back in his booth and let out a long breath.
"What," Pip said weakly, "the actual fuck just happened?"
"I think I just got recruited."
"By the Rat King? The Rat King doesn’t recruit people. He uses them until they break and then throws them away."
"Then I’ll have to make sure I don’t break." Nacho stood up and dropped a few copper coins on the table for their drinks. "Go get your sister’s medicine. And remember what I said about lying low."
He walked out of the Drowning Rat and into the night, his mind already racing through the possibilities.
Monster cores. Dungeons. Combat.
For the first time since arriving in the Mortal World, he was going to get to actually fight something.
About damn time.
The tunnel entrance was exactly where the Rat King had said it would be. Behind the slaughterhouse, hidden by a mountain of rotting offal that made even Nacho’s enhanced senses recoil in protest.
He’d spent the day preparing, testing his Talents in the privacy of his room at the Velvet House, making sure everything was in working order.
His Silverion Daggers were sharp and ready. His Storm Manipulation could be controlled at percentages low enough not to drain him instantly. And his Combat Precognition was humming at the edge of his consciousness, waiting for something to predict.
