The Lostkind (16 page)

Archivist chuckled. "You want to be a Watcher, you have to keep the records. Our records are more than just the history of this place; but of the city. Things even the press, or the police don't know. More than a few of these volumes were penned by your grandmother, and if you intend to take over when she retires..."

Tecca nodded, having heard it all before. "I know, but... my hand is cramping up." He yawned and adjusted the lantern on the desk before him. "I wish we used computers."

Archivist laughed. "Rule Three: Be Beautiful. How can a computer be beautiful, when it is obsolete so fast? Electrical power comes to us in secret, young one. We could have any toy the Upsiders play with; but how long would it be of use to us? We try it; and we'll be noticed, so much expensive equipment disappearing, so much more power needed..."

"Well..." Tecca picked up his pen stubbornly again. "Maybe one day."

One of the Gremlins came running in, and pressed a small slip of paper into Archivist's hand. The child ran out without another word, and the older man read the note quickly. Keeper had sent him a quick summary of recent events, and a drawing of the glyph the stranger had tattooed. "Interesting."

Tecca looked up. "What is?"

Archivist turned to the shelves of volumes, look for a specific tome. He found it and drew the large hardcover book down from the shelf. "Tecca, if you want a break, can you bring me an Index please?"

The Index was the thickest of all the volumes in the annals of the Underside. It kept track of each reference to each topic. Tecca went looking for one, as Archivist brought over his own selection. When the boy joined him, the older man was carefully leafing through the book, comparing his sketch to the many pages of drawing within. "What's this?"

"This..." Archivist explained absently. "Is a record of all the Clan markings in all the known undersides, as well as Gang Signs, assorted Secret Societies..."

Tecca stared at the drawing Archivist had been delivered. "Where'd you see this Glyph?" The boy asked.

"Someone was brought into the Chapel today. I'm trying to find out where he came from."

Tecca nodded. "Any luck?"

Archivist brought a hand down to point at one of the pages in his book. "As a matter of fact, yes."

~oo00oo~

"We don't know that it's a risk." Yasi pointed out. "He could just be immigrating here. Something brought him to New York, and he decided to check in... We're not exactly easy to find; even for other Lostkind, and the Labyrinth did exactly what it was supposed to do."

Archivist came striding in. "I found it." He said. "The glyph tattooed on his neck is the mark of a Lostkind Warrior Clan out of Berlin Below, called the ‘Wildmen'."

"Wildmen." Keeper murmured. "Never heard of them."

"I have." Yasi said grimly. "The Sensei said that they were pretty fierce. He said that during the Second World War, the Nazis found a way into the Berlin Underside, and the Wildmen held off a whole Regiment so completely that nobody ever knew where they went."

"That was sixty years ago; do we have anything since then?" Keeper asked.

Archivist shook his head.

"What is a Wildman Warrior doing in our Tunnels?" Yasi demanded quietly. "He took one hell of a wrong turn."

"Maybe when he wakes up, we can ask him." Keeper suggested lightly.

Kamy came running into the Throne Room, forgetting to stop at the door. She made it halfway to the Triumvirate, remembered her manners sharply and quickly turned back, scrambling to the door. She was knocking swiftly.

The Triumvirate was amused by that. Without turning, Archivist spoke. "Hey guys, I think Kamy has something she wants to say."

Keeper chuckled thinly. "Come in little Gremlin, what is it?"

"The Healers sent me." Kamy came running in. "The stranger is dead."

~oo00oo~

"You never leave the Chapel!" Keeper roared at the Healers. "You'd think one of you would be watching when we brought something interesting in!"

Yasi was far more restrained, but equally furious. "Dorcan? Explain."

Her Chief Lieutenant looked properly ashamed of himself. "I screwed up Captain, no mistake. I was... He took poison of some kind, he might even have done it before you found him in the labyrinth if it was slow-acting."

"Oh, don't even go there!" Yasi snapped. "I left you to watch him, and he managed to kill himself. How did this happen?"

"I was..." Dorcan surrendered. "You're right. It is my fault, I take full responsibility."

Keeper joined them. "The Healers say they checked when he came in; there was no poison. They say it was fast acting stuff. I assume you checked him for concealed vials of poison?"

"Checked him for everything." Yasi promised. "If he'd been awake, he would have been humiliated at how thorough I was."

Keeper let out a breath between her teeth. "Then somebody must have smuggled it to him." She looked at Dorcan expectantly, and the Shinobi managed to shrink further.

~oo00oo~

"I heard Gill is recovering."

"Owen, its six thirty."

"Mr. Davidson spoke to me about my job here; and he's right. I'm here for credits. I could be gone tomorrow, I could be here a year from now. Depends on a lot of things."

Vincent yawned. "Yeah. Like I said, it's six thirty, and..."

Owen jumped up. "Oh, sorry, am I keeping you?"

"Not exactly. It's not like we have to lock up or anything..."

"Got a hot date?"

"I'm just wondering what keeps a young man here on a Friday night."

"Trying to catch up with my esteemed peers." Owen quipped. "Gill's got eight deals and permissions and feasibility studies cooking. So I've been looking through some old files, trying to figure out what he'd say."

Vincent was surprised by that. "Why?"

Owen looked embarrassed, ducking his head a little. "Look, I'm only a temp, and I don't want him wondering how I screwed up when he gets back. It's not my place to make decisions he disagrees with."

Vincent was stunned, and more than a little touched by the show of character. "I appreciate that. Gill will too."

Owen nodded. "Can I ask... About this deal a year or so back?"

"Which one?"

"Keist Telecommunications. Something about running Fibre-Optic cabling through steam pipes or something."

Vincent felt his heart give a solid thump. "What about it?"

"Well, it's a little out of character with some of the other deals Gill signed off on around that time. For the most part he lets people go right on and spend their money, at least where it won't interfere with other people... This one he said it was a waste of their time."

"Well, that was me." Vincent confessed. "I looked into it. Too much money for too little benefit."

Owen shrugged, taking that at face value. "Fair enough." He seemed to remember himself suddenly as Vincent let out another enormous yawn. "Oh, sorry. You were trying to get out of here weren't you?"

"S'okay."

Owen started collecting his things. "Think anyone will care if I take the paperwork for a night?"

"Don't see why anyone would." Vincent said, not really paying attention. He was already late.

Owen walked out with him. "I agree with you about Keist by the way." He said as they walked. "Seemed like a ridiculous waste of money."

Vincent didn't rise to the comment. "I... I don't really remember. It was what? A year ago?"

"About that. Thing is, it's not your money. That cash goes into the city. I can't imagine anyone around the City Planner's Office having a problem with that."

Vincent felt a sudden spike of worry. This had crossed a line from casual small talk to an actual discussion. "All I can tell you is that I did what I always do. I evaluate the expense, then the benefit; and I put both in a memo. After that, it's not my department."

Owen shrugged, not concerned at all. "Well, whatever. So, who's the lucky girl?"

"That's the second time you've asked me that." Vincent retorted.

"You're yawning, and have been most of the afternoon, but you bought aftershave and used it during the lunch break. Getting spiffed up for the subway, or you going somewhere else first?"

Observant too.
Vincent noted to himself. "As a matter of fact, yes." He admitted. He tried not to read anything into the fact that he
had,
in fact, bought new aftershave to wear to a soup kitchen.

Owen smirked, and headed off. "Have a good night."

It was hours later before he realized that Owen had just changed the subject.

~oo00oo~

Around half the adult homeless population had a chronic mental illness, and while they rarely caused trouble for those who tried to help them, it often made the volunteers nervous to be there on their own.

And at the head of the line, with a smile on her face and her long black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, was Connie Harnell. She smiled when he came in, but then she was almost always smiling. "Hey."

"Connie." Vincent smiled, suddenly self-conscious. It was less than twenty four hours since he'd been trading longing looks with Yasi, but he knew in his heart that the exciting warrior woman wasn't a smart choice.

Connie came over to join him at the serving counter, and hip-checked him aside gently. "I got this, you go handle the Anti-Christ."

Vincent smiled at Connie's nickname for the Coffee Urn. A mistake on her first night volunteering had left her somewhat scalded, and terrified of the large battered pot for the rest of her time there.

One thing Vincent had told his friends over and over for the last year was that charity had provided more clothes than could ever be used, because that was what people gave away. More than clothes, people in need were desperate for food. With more than half the country on food-stamps, food was a blessing, but an expensive one to give.

Helping out in the Kitchen was sort of like being in a high school cafeteria, where people stared at their food unless they had a friend sitting close by. The majority of them hadn't had a good meal in a few days, hadn't had a shower in longer. They had dignity, but little else. Some of them were twitching and muttering to themselves, which put off a lot of the newer volunteers. Those with staying power had serious respect from the people coming in.

People like Vincent and Connie. Connie had shown up to help one night and hadn't missed a night since. She stayed later than any of the others; and often beat him there. Vincent knew the Revelation that had forced him to open his eyes and take a look at the world and wondered sometimes what Connie's driving force was. At first he was certain she worked too hard and too often to be doing it just out of the kindness of her heart. Then a few hours passed and saw her with the homeless kids; and knew instantly just how big her heart was.

She had been as nervous as he was when he first arrived here. It really was as simple as making sandwiches by the dozen and handing them out to people, but very few had it in them to keep coming back.

Vincent hated closing the doors. There were always more than a few people gathered around at the door, hoping for a free seat. There were always more mouths to feed than food to go around. Every day, soup kitchens in New York turned away thousands of people. It was not a feeling Vincent liked, but it wasn't likely to go away any time soon.

With the doors closed, the pace settled, and Connie took the opportunity to bring over a cup of coffee. Vincent yawned again, and nearly cried in gratitude.

"Thank you." He said sincerely. "Come to think of it, didn't you vow never to make coffee here again when you got cooked?"

"You mean since the anti-Christ attacked me?" Connie returned, pushing her glasses up her nose with one finger. "Special occasion. I heard about Gill."

"You did?" Vincent was surprised.

"Yeah." She said gently. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Of course I'm okay."

"Come on Vincent, this is me." Connie pressed him. "How long have we known each other?"

"Five days."

"Exactly." Connie said as though it had been a lifetime. "I know you. You're in here or someplace like it every night. You blame yourself every time we have to turn someone away. When it's one of your oldest friends? Someone you see every day? No way you don't take that personal."

Vincent chuckled. She knew him well. "Connie, do you remember the first time you came to help out at the Kitchen? Did you feel guilty the next day, when you ate a nice big hot breakfast?"

"Actually, yeah." She confessed. "Just a little."

"So did I." Vincent nodded. "So, you tell me, what's worse? Feeling guilty when there's nothing you can do, or not caring when there is?" He kept his eyes on the sandwiches, kept his hands busy making them. "Gill was a wake-up call. There was a time I didn't come to places like this at all. The last few months... I've been neglecting the people in my life." He shrugged. "I'll do what I can, for as many as I can, for as long as I can."