Path of Dragons - A LitRPG Apocalypse (BOOK TWO STUBBING AUGUST 15)-11-38. Deeper and Deeper
The tinkling sound of a ringing bell filled the silence as Gunnar pushed through the door. The shop – called Twill – was full of secondhand clothes, most of it discarded by the well-off elites of Seattle. A few men and women browsed the racks, looking for something to fit their specific needs.
It was one of many such shops scattered throughout the Undercity. Getting something made by a Tailor wasn’t that expensive. They all needed to work just like everyone else, and many did so for less than they probably should have charged. But simple, low-level abilities could only go so far. If they wanted to create anything worthwhile, they needed properly magical materials.
And in a place like the Undercity, those were thin on the ground.
Most of what people wore everyday was either provided by their work – coveralls, usually – and everything else was mundane in nature. Not even Crude-grade, either because of the lacking materials or the low levels and poor skills of the resident Tradesmen.
With so much magic in the world, having unranked clothes was a true detriment. They just weren’t able to stand up to the environment, and as such, needed to be frequently replaced. That, in turn, was just another strain on people who couldn’t afford their other financial burdens.
Like a tax on poor people.
There were hundreds of other things just like that, ranging from poor nutrition to lack of true medical care, that kept everyone firmly in their places. It made Gunnar sick, thinking about the gross wealth disparity plaguing Seattle.
And the rich and powerful likely thought they were doing people a favor by donating their old, discarded, but still perfectly viable clothes to secondhand shops like Twill. In a way, they were. But in another way, they were just pointing out how much better off they were.
Often, Gunnar wondered if they’d convinced themselves that they deserved their higher positions within society. He’d spent enough time among them to know that they often attributed their success to hard work or special skills. And sometimes, they were right. But more often, the true line that separated them from those relegated to life in the Undercity was composed of pure luck.
Maybe of birth. Or they’d been fortunate enough to be born with a valuable attunement that gave them an in-demand skill. That luck might’ve even been as simple as being in the right place at the right time or meeting the right people. It didn’t matter. The world wasn’t pure chaos where only luck mattered, but it played an outsized role in determining who lived in squalor and who lived in the high-rises on the surface.
And from what Gunnar had witnessed, Seattle was the worst offender when it came to the class divide.
Did he have the answers? Not at all. But he knew it was wrong.
In any case, he strode purposefully through the premises, which had been decorated so as to disguise the fact that it was little more than a concrete cubicle. Colorful fabric covered the walls, while bright lights gave the atmosphere a cheerful cast. The subtle tone of nondescript music completed the illusion.
Gunnar ignored it all as he wove his way to a counter in the back. He was forced to wait in line behind a woman buying a sparkly dress that shimmered with a tiny bit of ethera. He could only guess at its purpose as the clerk processed the woman’s purchase. And then, at last, it was Gunnar’s turn.
“How can I help you?” she asked cheerfully, a tiny amount of ethera swirling around her. A Merchant, then, though a low-level one. Probably a fresh archetype, given her obviously young age.
“I need a suit. Black-tie affair. Rush order.”
She blinked, first in confusion, and then in fear as she processed the code. “Uh…um…wait here.”
Then, she disappeared through the door behind her, pushing past the hanging beads and into a workspace. Gunnar saw a couple of people sewing clothes before the beads swung back into place.
Gunnar only had to wait for a few moments before an older woman stepped out from the back. She was short, with dark skin and a no-nonsense demeanor.
“You again,” she said.
“Me,” he agreed. “How have you been Maureen?”
She grunted, then said, “I figured you were dead. Kind of disappointed you’re not. Like a cockroach.”
“Good to see you too,” he said with a subtle smile. Maureen pretended she didn’t like him, but they’d worked together often enough – usually to help the people of the Undercity – that he knew it was all just a façade. That wasn’t to say that they were friends. They assuredly were not. But she didn’t hate him as much as she pretended.
Gunnar liked to think it was because of his winning personality, but he knew it was probably more due to the fact that he’d spent a relative fortune feeding and clothing the poor. After all, he didn’t have that many expenses of his own, and assassination was often a well-paid job. He had to do something with all that money, and supporting those who were incapable of supporting themselves felt like as good a cause as any.
Maureen approved of that much, at least.
“Well, come on,” she said, turning her back on him. “It’s ready.”
Then, she disappeared through the beads. Gunnar stepped around the counter, gave a quick nod to the shopgirl, then followed the woman into the back. Somehow, Maureen had managed to acquire three adjacent units, knock the walls between them down, and create an expansive space where her Tailors could work. Their products weren’t particularly high-quality, but they were good enough that she’d established herself as one of the most important people in the Undercity.
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It was all just a front, though.
Because Maureen was no mere Tailor. She was that, and one with a few levels under her belt as well, but she was so much more.
Calling her a crime lord might have been a bit crass, but that was probably the best label for her position in the Undercity. Beneath her were hundreds of Thieves, Smugglers, and Enforcers, all of whom paid her a cut of their profits. She had a host of other business interests – the most successful of which was a fighting ring where people could bet on the often-lethal outcomes – but she was particularly focused on smuggling.
Gunnar wasn’t there for that, though.
Not exclusively, at least.
Maureen’s other claim to power was more honest. She was a talented Tailor in her own right, and with her criminal predilections, she was the perfect person to hire for the job he’d needed done.
She led him through the room, striding purposefully toward an office in the back. As they went, Gunnar couldn’t ignore the looks he received from the other Tailors. They were all women, many of whom had led very difficult lives. For all that the relative power associated with the genders had evened out, the prevalence of abusive partners was still as high as ever.
Many men were frustrated with their lot in life, especially in the Undercity, and they took those frustrations out on their girlfriends, spouses, and even children. The flip-side was true as well, of course. Women could be just as abusive as men – especially with attributes doing some of the heavy lifting when it came to equality – but Maureen’s efforts were focused on the former.
And most of them were, at best, suspicious of men. Others were outright terrified.
Once he was inside, she bade him shut the door. He looked around the office, and he was unsurprised to find that its décor was an eclectic mix of old-world memorabilia and photos of her family. Gunnar had been there before, so he paid it very little mind.
“Don’t bother sitting,” she said as she stepped around her metal desk to a large aluminum cabinet. It shimmered with ethera, telling him that it was equipped with quite a few defenses. It might’ve looked like nothing so much as an upright file cabinet, but it was as secure as any safe. “You won’t be here long enough.”
“Fair enough.”
When Maureen’s fingers brushed against the handle, a tiny pulse of ethera announced that she’d deactivated the lock. Without acknowledging it, she opened the door, revealing a space that resembled a combination of a safe and a wardrobe. A half-dozen garment bags hung from the pole at the top, while neat stacks of ethereum occupied the lower half. Gunnar also saw a few ethereal pistols, not unlike the one he’d concealed at his waist.
Maureen grabbed one bag, asking, “This’ll get you in.” Then, she bent down and grabbed one of the pistols. When she turned around, she set them both on the desk. “Not going to ask what you intend for this. Just remember, if you get caught…”
“I never met you.”
“Not what I was going to say,” she stated. “If you get caught, you’ll be dead before you ever have a chance to rat me out.”
“Ouch. I thought we were friends.”
“We’re not.”
Gunnar shrugged, then reached into his pocket and retrieved her payment. He tossed the small pouch in her direction. She caught it deftly, slipping it into her pocket without even counting. The message was clear – she would trust him to pay, not because he was too honest to cheat her, but rather, because he wouldn’t dare risk the consequences.
“How’s business?” he asked.
She frowned. “That new outfit’s gaining territory by the day,” she grumbled. If there was one way to get her to open up, it was to talk about her competition. Up until a year before, there were only two other major criminal organizations in the city. There were countless smaller groups that operated on the wrong side of the law, but they were mostly inconsequential.
In any case, the Union Street Saints tended to focus their efforts on racketeering, but they dabbled in a little bit of everything. Meanwhile, the Ballard Syndicate was comprised almost entirely of former dockworkers who’d banded together in an organization concentrating on smuggling and banditry.
Then a new group had come to Seattle. So far, no one knew precisely where they were based, but the Daughters were a powerful organization who focused on thievery, prostitution, drugs, and smuggling. They were entirely female in composition, but that didn’t keep them from taking whatever they wanted. Since they’d set their sights on Seattle, they’d slowly expanded their operations until they could rival the native groups.
“Have you tried working with them?” Gunnar asked.
“A few times. Most of them are good girls. Jaded, though. They don’t trust anyone outside their organization,” she revealed. “Can you believe they offered to just bring me into the fold? I’d have had to get rid of all my boys, though. They don’t deal with men.”
“Any idea why?”
Maureen shrugged. “No clue,” she admitted. “My guess is they had some bad dealings with them. I don’t need to tell you how terrible men can be.”
“You don’t.”
“Point is that Seattle’s changing. Not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stay independent,” Maureen said. “Might just retire. Open up a shop in Ironshore where I can sew clothes for the rich and powerful.”
That was a common refrain from crafters. Ironshore had quickly established itself as a center for crafting. Every day, people made the pilgrimage to that city where they hoped to take advantage of the high ethereal density and the Forge of Creation. Many were turned away, but a few stuck.
Something told Gunnar that Maureen would be one of the latter, though he also knew she’d never leave Seattle. She’d lived there before the world had changed, and she had no intentions of abandoning her home. No matter how bad it got.
So many others were like that.
Some were trapped by circumstance and poverty, but others were held in place by nostalgia and loyalty to a city that didn’t even resemble the place they wanted it to be.
“Just take care of yourself, Maureen. I’d hate to have to deal with someone else,” he said, hefting the bag over his shoulder.
She scoffed, “Ah, don’t worry about me. Just be careful with that uniform. They’ll kill you just for having it.”
“Ten-four,” he said.
Then, without further discussion, he left her and her shop behind. The trip through the Undercity wasn’t unlike any other, and he soon found himself in the elevator leading topside. He got a few curious looks – people didn’t habitually carry garment bags from the Undercity to the surface – but nobody was interested enough to take it any further. Especially with Low Profile letting him fly under their radar.
Once he’d reached the surface, he found his way to a small apartment he’d rented for far too much money. He’d chosen it for two reasons. The first was that he needed a base of operations on the surface, and, given its location, it was one of the cheapest options. Second was the location, which put it across the street from the military’s headquarters.
Or more importantly, where he could usually find his next target – General Nathan Kaffey.
The apartment itself was nothing special. Just a single bedroom affair in a four-story walk-up. But it was already furnished, and the landlord was accustomed to high turnover. Because of its proximity to the base, it was a favorite for low-level officers who couldn’t afford better. The second they could, they moved to somewhere more luxurious.
And that was precisely the role Gunnar intended to play.
He hung the garment bag in the closet, then unzipped it, revealing a black officer’s uniform. It was genuine, too. Embedded with all the right enchantments, it would allow him to infiltrate the base without raising any alarms. Once he was properly dressed, he would be able to go wherever he needed to go.
And hopefully, he could discover if Kaffey had ordered Elijah’s assassination, because his other leads had so far proved entirely unproductive.
So, without further ado, Gunnar got dressed and set off to assume the role he hoped would get him the answers he needed.
11-38. Deeper and Deeper
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