Chapter 33 Evrard

Detective Gilbert Evrard, Special Branch, stood sulking at the edge of SwanBad, hands shoved deep into his long-coat pockets, collar turned up against the chill. He sucked air through his already stained mask and cursed the Church and their dark orders.

Gilbert had no problems with midnight raids. The Sink only bothered him a little, and the foul smog was simply part of living in Lambria. One got used to it.

No, it was the orders from on high he had a problem with. He was to accommodate an observer from the Church, and was to follow any suggestions this observer might have. The Church had no place messing around with his raids, he felt. But orders had come in from the Citadel, and who was he to argue?

And the dark Crow was late. Gilbert removed his spectacles, wiping the condensation from them, and cursed.

“Is there a problem, Detective Evrard?” The Crow’s voice cut through the fog like a knife. Gilbert spun on the man, glaring. His observer slid out of the shadows, tall and grim and dressed in Church black.

“You’re late,” he barked. “I get an order aether-graphed to me to set up a raid immediately, as-soon-as-yesterday, the least you could do is be on time. Do you know how difficult it is to move HeavyGuard into place quietly?” Gilbert pulled a thick cigar from his coat pocket and bit off the tip, spitting it into the flooded street. He clamped his teeth on the end, and struck a lucifer-match, lighting it and puffing happily.

“It was unavoidable. Are your men in position? Have you deployed them as instructed?”

“Yeah, my boys are ready, just as you wanted em: two divisions of HeavyGuard on either side of the Island, with the big guns and four division of LightGuard ready to move in soon as I give the word. Two more in the airship. Never seen so many FlashBangers in one place before, though.” FlashBangers was local slang for the AdeptGuard, the military’s wizards; fire-throwers and enchanters. When you battled the kinds of things SpecialBranch did, they were better than artillery.

“You will need the AdeptGuard, Detective Evrard, make no mistake. This is no group of cultists you are arresting. They are Naga.”

“Naga? In the Sink? I thought-”

“Her Grace the Ambassador, Akansha Anilla, has assured us these are political exiles, and dangerous criminals. They are not part of the Naga Empire.”

“Dark!” Evrard had never faced Naga before. As a ranking officer in SpecialBranch, he knew the Naga Empire had an embassy in Lambria, with less than dozen diplomats stationed there. He knew next to nothing else about the snake-people. “So, what can we expect from this Servant?”

“Savant, Detective. Not servant. He’s a sorcerer. An Elementalist, expect spirits and energy-based attacks. Most of his people will fight you hand to hand. But be prepared, they are fast, and fanatical. They will attack close range, so avoid incendiary or explosive rounds. Save your Hepatizon rounds for the Savant.

“Right. No giant snake-monster? No ancient snake-god is going to come to life and threaten the city? This should be a piece of cake then.” Gilbert smiled around his cigar, and turned away from the dour man. His boys were bully-rock, and he knew they could handle this little raid.

Gilbert pulled out his pocket watch; a silver and copper device inscribed with the spear-and-shield sigil of SpecialBranch, and flicked it open. He watched its hands tick along its ornate face. Orichalcum runes set in the face matched those on his captain’s watches. Entangled affinities bound each watch to its sister, science stuff. What happened to one watch happened to each of the others. They each kept the same time, he knew, exactly the same time. Gilbert also knew that when he pressed the little stud at the top, making his watch vibrate, each of the others would too, signaling his men to start the assault. There was nothing better for silently synchronizing an operation.

Gilbert puffed and chewed at his cigar, watching the innocuous seeming buildings across the canal. He let his gaze lift upwards, where a SpecialBranch airship floated, hidden in the fog, and pressed the little copper button. Gilbert loved this part of a raid, when the action was just starting. It was so much more fun than the hours of paperwork he had to look forward to afterwards.

Silent shadows dropped out of the smog, men on cables leaping from the airship above, like black hawks diving for their prey. Gilbert turned his head, scanning the row of HeavyGuard lined up to his left, waiting. Two AdeptGuard in light steam-armor stepped out of the shadows behind him, to flank the detective. Each pulled a long rifle up to their shoulders, taking aim down the alley opposite. Gilbert took a moment to study the Adepts, letting his gaze wander over their armored forms as he puffed and chomped. Long barreled rifles, far too heavy for an un-augmented man to lift, etched with runes. WarLock rifles. Only a wizard could use one. And only steam-armor could hold one up for any length of time.

Encased in alloyed steel, each Adept’s limbs were enhanced by various cables and pulleys that snaked their way to the small boiler and engine carried on the armor’s back. Not much different to the armor worn by his own lads, he mused, save for the ArcaneTurbine mounted near the boiler and several coppery runes cast into the armor’s chest plate and helmet. When the Adept switched his turbine on, the little engine would spin coils of orichalcum wire, generating thaums to power the runes. An AdeptGuard could carry an assortment of enchantments, anything from enhanced vision, to in-human strength and speed, or even protection against magical attacks and spirits. Those were bright nice to have when some ancient evil terrorized the city. Too dark bad he didn’t have more at his disposal.

Then the shooting started. Gilbert turned away from the Adepts and back to the raid. He could not make out much detail through the fog but knew how the raid would play out. His men were on the roofs, and had leapt the side canals, swarming over the Island into doorways and windows.

The Naga were fighting back. They were not strong, but they were fast, and fanatical. LightGuard could not hope to catch them with swords; the blighters were too dark quick. So Gilbert’s men relied instead on their heavy-repeaters. Much heavier than those used by the Watch, his troops carried five barreled weapons loaded with buckshot. Those dark blighters could spin and leap about all they wanted, one good load of shot from one of those guns and they were splattered on the wall. The two AdeptGuard beside him did not fire yet, as instructed.

One guardsman staggered out of a doorway, two Naga clinging to his back, stabbing ineffectively with kitchen knives. Another of Gilbert’s men stepped up gun barking, and the two Naga fell dead. The first Guard shook his head to clear it, and both men again entered the building. Good lad. Gilbert thought. Get back in there and fight. A small knot of resistance boiled out into the street. Several dozen Naga soldiers in bronze scaled armor with oddly curving swords and crossbows. Crossbows! Who the dark still used crossbows? The highly trained Naga soldiers swarmed over a squadron of LightGuard, leaping and slashing, leaving a bloody, armored mess behind. More LightGuard rushed in, iron boots thudding through the fog, guns flashing. A few Naga fell, but these were armored, and even light armor could hold up to buckshot. A pair of AdeptGuard joined the fray, chest runes glowing brightly, they leapt forward, moving so quickly they seemed to blur, guns barking, firing alchemical rounds. Still, the naga soldiers would not fall.

Gilbert looked to the dour shadow beside him, who nodded its approval. The detective signaled the HeavyGuard beside him. Much heavier and bulkier than LightGuard, each suit of Full SteamArmor towered several feet above Gilbert. Hydraulic muscles powered their massive iron limbs, with fists the size of goblins that could punch through brick walls with ease, they were strong enough to carry the heavy steam-guns, the light cannons that used built up steam pressure to hurl iron slugs at incredible speeds. HeavyGuard were slow and noisy, but unstoppable. Better than WarDolls with no archaic cortex to fail in the middle of battle, a skilled Guardsman piloted each behemoth.

Five hulking iron brutes each lifted their steam-guns to iron shoulder and fired. Steam-guns could take out light dolls with ease. Five fist-sized hunks of iron flew at the Naga resistance, each round trailing steam and fire, cutting holes in the yellow fog. They struck with thunderous force, tearing the Naga defense to pieces. Less than half the Naga soldiers remained after only one volley. Gilbert puffed and chewed proudly.

“Tell your men to load the grenades.” The black clad figure next to him hissed. Dark interfering Crows. But orders were orders.

“Good work lads, load the boomers.” Gilbert gave the order, and his men obeyed, loading explosive rounds into their steam-guns. Across the alley, the Naga defense was just about spent. Small pockets of fighting continued, armored men stomping and blasting away at the lithe Naga.

The gaunt, almost skeletal figure next to him raised one thin arm, pointing at the canal. Gilbert chomped and looked to where the Crow was pointing, a small eddy in the fetid water of SwanBad. An elementalist. Right.

Quickly the eddy grew, churning the water of the canal into a boiling froth. A great, curving neck rose, made of the very foul waters of the canal itself, followed by a massive body and two great watery wings. The massive water-spirit shook and bellowed, its roar sounding like a muted bell, full of rage and pain. Its great, beaked head shot down to grasp a guardsman and fling him screaming into the air. Still, the AdeptGuard flanking the detective did not fire, keeping their WarLock rifles trained down the alley.

“There it is.” Gilbert mumbled around his cigar. “Looks like a class five, corrupted water spirit. Probably been haunting this canal for centuries. The old bastard took control of it.” He signaled his men again. “Let him have it boys.”

Five steam-guns roared again, sending five rounds deep into the spirit’s watery body where they exploded. Gilbert smiled around his cigar. Each grenade was loaded with holy water and iron filings. Deadly to spirits and fae. The spirit shuddered as it was blown apart, for it could no longer hold its form. It collapsed back into the canal.

Two shots rang out, the AdeptGuard finally firing once their line-of-sight was no longer blocked by the massive, swan shaped canal spirit. Gilbert’s head whipped around, peering down the alley. The detective did not have the enhanced vision of an AdeptGuard, but he could still make out the staggering, hunched form that must be the Savant. With two rounds of hepatizon buried in his scaly flesh, Gilbert doubted he could cast a cantrip.

A single armor-clad form stalked up behind the old Naga, seeming to materialize out of the smog, runes on its chest and helmet blazing.

The Savant leaned against the alley wall, heaving, trying to stand, raising one feeble hand towards Gilbert. Nothing happened. The AdeptGuard behind the Naga raised its pistol, and fired. The old Naga crumpled, to lie still in the dark, sodden street.

“Well, that’s that,” Gilbert remarked, flicking his soggy cigar but into the canal. “Nothing to do now but paperwork.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and turned to the dour shadow beside him. It nodded its approval.

“Your men performed admirably. His Grace the Bishop thanks you for your co-operation. Now, if you will excuse me, I am needed elsewhere rather urgently.” The Crow turned on its heal, and left.

Dark Crows, always interfering with police business. At least this one was human. Gilbert frowned to himself, unsure where that last thought came from. This was one cursed dark fog. Blown sewer pipes, missing prisoners and inventory. At least the raid had gone well.

Detective Gilbert Evrard slumped down the street, already dreading the mountain of paperwork waiting for him.