Seven.

  Just seven souls out of the nearly three dozen locked in them cells. The rest were either dead, near enough, or else their minds were so far gone, so broken and fractured, that the words I said never seemed to register.

  "So who are you, Mister?" asked the boy as I helped an older Outcast woman down off the slab she had been bound to, "how'd you know to come?"

  "I didn't," I replied, not bothering to sugar coat it. They had been through enough lies already, no reason to add one more, "I was hired to unfuck the revenant situation above. If it weren't for that blood banshee whoopin' my ass through the floor I wouldn'ta found you at all."

  "Oh."

  "Yeah."

  "So we're still fucked, then?" asked the kid with an expression well beyond his years. Where there should've been fear and sorrow, there was just a tight frown and a grim acceptance.

  "From the day we're born, til the day we die," I said, repeating a mantra my own ma had given me, "we're all neck deep in some kind of shit. But if you keep strugglin' and breathin', might keep your head up long enough to see a way out."

  "Lovely words," said the old gal, "you are quiet eloquent for a, what? A Hunter? Iquisitor-" she stared before a harsh, we cough tore from her throat.

  "Rank 2, from the Guild. And all ya'll are..." I looked at the group, from one to the next. Three of them, the boy, a woman in her early middle age, and a tall man were all Outcast or maybe mix-blooded. The other four, including the old woman, were Southerners. Two women, two men, all at least fifty years or more.

  "Oh, a mix of this and that," said the elder as she leaned her weight against me before takin' the extended hand of the middle aged woman, "My name is Margarette LeFevre. I was formerly the Captain and sole owner of a exploratory vessel that docked here a few months back."

  I frowned.

  "I figured ya'll were convicts," I flicked my eyes to the tan skinned and dark haired group, "or slaves." Then to the Outcast folk.

  "None of us are guilty of anything, save for being a nuisance to the local power," spat the tall man, "I was a foreman at the Processing facility. Took offense when the indentured men on my shift started going missing."

  "Aye, all of us are freemen, they didn't bother locking the slaves they took in cells. Didn't care to experiment on those without at least a little human blood," spat Margarette, her grey eyes hard and sharp, "my husband was one such 'slave' they saw his grey skin and bright eyes when we docked. A week later he was arrested, dragged right off our ship for supposed theft. Should've run then, but there was no way in any hell I'd leave my Atl behind."

  There was a few moments of silence as each of the survivors seemed to reflect on whatever hell they each had lived through, on whoever they had tried to save, or simple lost.

  "Well, I'm Roche, and I'm a lot of things," I said, "but none of that is important, just know that you ain't gotta worry 'bout me. My job is to get you the hells outta here. Stick behind me, hide or run when I say so, and you might just make it."

  The others nodded, but the kid, the boy, his gaze was fixed on the stairwell and the dark that led upward.

  "What's up there? You mentioned revenants? Like zombies?" asked the boy, his voice a little louder, a little clearer.

  I grimaced. Zombie were much less of a hassle than revenants, though I had no mind to explain the nuance to the kid.

  "Just listen good, that's all you need to worry about son."

  The others gave a look at the boy, then nodded.

  "So, what's the plan, Hunter?" asked the older woman, stepping forward and obviously takin' some charge. She didn't seem the sort to back down, reminded me of my own gran, a Northwoman witch with more steel in her back than an Imperial legionnaire.

  "I mentioned the experimentation for a reason. That madman, the one the Mayor of this cesspit hired, he's been playing with Entropic rituals for months. Likely this entire manor is stuffed to it's rotten gills with horrors far worse than mere revenants." Captain Margarette explained, gesturin' to the stairs that led to the next floor, "so I'll ask again, what is the plan? And how do you mean to fight whatever may be lurking above?"

  I swallowed.

  Good question.

  I had thrown my scattergun at the banshee and lost my pistols in the fall. All I had was my knife, a broken body, two swarms of tentacles for arms, and a bad attitude.

  So, basically nothin' more'n a usual night out.

  "Simple, I'll go up first. Find my gear. These boots of mine are fine for makin' me quiet and I can deal with any locks or wards in our way. While I do that you folk will hold up here and wait for my signal."

  "And what exactly is your signal?"

  "It's pretty simple. I'll just holler."

  "And if we don't hear you?"

  "Then, you better start prayin'," I grinned, "but before all that," I looked around at the round room. Some of the slabs had medical equipment, scalpels, bandages, glass tubes with needles on the end, shit that might otherwise be found in a Chantry hospital, "think there's some medicine, elixirs, alchemical brews, anything to keep me movin'?"

  The group all shared looks, then shook their heads.

  Well, except the boy.

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  "I've seen stuff like that. When they took me up and made me..." he swallowed and looked down at the floor. I noticed a scar, fresh and pink around his neck, "there's a place. Where they were storing the blood they took. Where they kept people who took to whatever it was they fed us..."

  "Ah," cut in Margarette, "yes. It hurts to recall but Vin is quite right," the boy flinched at his name and cast a fearful glance my way. The hell is that about? "there's a laboratory up above, and an alchemy lab, but both are warded, but I did also see a full stock of elixirs in one of the cabinets. Though you're secretly some kind of Abjurist or mage-"

  I held up a gloved hand and gave a small smile, "Locks and wards ain't a problem, I'll see if I can't find some meds first then. Ya'll are even worse off than me, and there ain't no way we could make a run through town like this."

  Well, we could. Only thing was that none of them were likely to make it. If only I were a little bit more of a bastard that wouldn't be an issue...

  "Alright, stay here. Wait for my shout, and if I don't come back, for a good long while" I said, looking around the room and to the door I had entered, "then maybe follow the stream over yonder out. Could lead to the ocean. Maybe."

  Grim nods and clenched jaws. Determination in the face of things that made death look like mercy.

  Had to respect that.

  I turned for the door but Margarette spoke up again, "One more thing. If you can get us out of this manor, I believe my ship is still docked. The oil engine on it is soul-locked," she said, drawing up her tattered dress to expose a tattoo inked into her breastbone, "that means it's unlikely anyone could have absconded with it while I still draw breath. Might be our way out."

  That was a thought.

  Get to the dock, take a ship back to Agusuts' Hope, tell the Hunters Guild to glass motherfuckin' Murkwater and-

  No.

  Don't get ahead of yourself now. Focus on what needs done first.

  "Thanks," I said and reached to tip a hat that wasn't there.

  For the price of feelin' like a few, I got a few smiles, and even a laugh out of the middle age woman that held Margarette on her feet.

  I turned, and climbed the stairs, my heart thumpin' hard in my chest as I went to open yet another door in this godsdamned manor. I wondered what evil lurked beyond, just how many more secrets, how much more pain, and how many more monsters I'd find.

  As the door swung open to a short, empty hall, I was forced to wait a while more for any answers.

  I crept forward, the magic in my nightmoth boots silencing each step. I felt a tug of lifeforce soon after, and a haze of mana seemed to gather around me. Not invisibility, but in the deep and dark?

  Worth every penny.

  As I moved through the hall and into the next room I was instantly hit by the sharp stench of alchemy. My eyes watered a little as I scanned the pristine room. Unlike the filthy accommodations of the prisoners, the lab was so clean it made my skin crawl. Only a few faint brown stains on the while tiled floors and a bit of rust on the many, many surgical instruments betrayed any sign that the space was put to use.

  I walked between the tables, careful not to disturb the liquid filled jars or the piles of papers or books. Out across the room, beyond a dozen or so medical slabs, was two more doors, one on the center where bright light spilled just past the frame, and another to it's right, set into the right wall.

  A few paces closer and I caught faint whisps of yet more wardin' magic on both. My first instinct was to dispel both and then have a look through each but...

  Well, if that door in the middle led up, did I really want to remove the magic barrier? What if the blood banshee came crawlin' her way back? What if there were some of them experiments trapped in the next room?

  It was rare that I had the sense, or the time, to think things through.

  But I was damn glad I did.

  As I worked to sabotage the runes on the door to my right, a soft, strange sound reached me.

  Just to my left, low at first, as if a mouse or rat or somethin' were trying to scratch it's way into the pantry or outta the cellar. Then, as I destroyed the rune that sealed the door before me, the mana dissipating with a pop, that strange scratchin' grew and grew.

  "What the fuck is..."

  Boom.

  The far door rattled on it's hinges, whisps of blue energy gathering before they dove into the markings cared around the flame, settin' each symbol to glow.

  "Oh shit-"

  I dove, throwing my entire body to the floor just before.

  Boom!

  The shockwave of expended mana rippled through the world between me and to door, it's passage slamming the breath from my lungs. The sound of wood shattering against the far wall preceded a furious roar as something big, mean and very pissed off charged stompin' through the breach.

  I slipped my knife from it's sheath and got ready for a fight I had no business winning. I was busted, broken, and still bleedin' red, and as I popped up and got ready to die with my boots on, I saw it.

  My scattergun.

  It washed through the air, clutched in the hands of the biggest son-of-a-bitch I had ever seen. Swung like a billy club with all the grace of a spooked bronto in a fancy dishware store.

  He roared, "Ma! Mama!" so loud I wished I'd covered my ears. As the bald, scarred behemoth barreled into the room he swung his arm out and the scattergun sailed through the air toward the center of the room.

  "What the fuck."

  Was the only thing I could say.

  Because, well, damn. The man looked like a giant. He was easily seven feet tall and built like a brick outhouse. His workman's overalls were torn and stained with blood, his bald scalp split wide, chain dangling from wrists as thick as my thighs. While I couldn't be sure he was fully human, maybe half uruk judging by the pallor and bulk and the short fang jutting up past his thick bottom lip. And while he did look like ten pounds of shit in a five pound sack, I was pretty sure he was at least livin'.

  No revenant had as much humanity as I saw in his small, beady blue eyes. He searched the gloom, gaze slidin' off of me as my boots worked their magic and stole a little more of my dwindlin' lifeforce to keep me hidden. Eventually he locked onto the door opposite, and with another roar he charged.

  "Ma! I'ma comin'!" He said in a thick voice, the words slurred like he'd had a few pints. Or, well, a horrific head injury I guessed.

  There was not a lick of sense, caution or any trace of fear.

  Just rage.

  Just loss.

  And I couldn't help but sympathize with that, whatever sort of man he was.

  That big old boy's mama was, clearly dear to him. And sadly, she was either dead, or amongst the seven in the back. Maybe even one of the rest who's minds were to gone to even get up...

  Either way, letting that man, distraught and dangerous as he was, meet them folk still waitin' in the prison alone?

  Nope.

  Not happenin'.

  Even if we had no ill intent, weren't no way to predict how that poor bastard would react.

  "Hold up!" I shouted as I slipped my hand beneath my shirt and pointed a finger toward the massive, misshapen, bleeding, man. It was a stupid trick, but it was dark, and my estimation of the man was not one of keen sense and cleverness. Hopefully he'd think I actually had a gun drawn and-

  Wham!

  The giant's shoulder connected with the heavy oak door, and he just kept right on truckin' until he crashed through, the wood exploding outward in a cloud of splinters.

  "Godsdammit!" I spat, and took off on his heels, the big man completely ignorant to my presence in his rush. That's why I never bothered bluffing, better to just hit and save pretty words for folk afraid of gettin' their hands dirty.

  This had just gone from bad, to plain weird.

  And it was only gonna get worse.