By morning, the roles reversed. Adrian and Rupert took over at Erika's home, the former with a knife under his sleeve, the latter with a medical bag that held more bandages than he could ever need. Erika and Helge returned to campus, ostensibly to avoid suspicion, but also for something else.
Lao Zhe was scheduled to teach his first lecture.
The hall was full of auditors, professors, and even a few regional administrators. Curiosity buzzed through the crowd like static. Weyer's university prided itself on rare and respectable foreign appointments, and thus this man was a curiosity by their standards.
He walked in alone and placed a small bundle of books at the lectern. It wasn't obvious, but his robes were dirty with dust and soot. Helge noticed that detail and also realized that the professor was still carrying the scroll case from the other day: tied in black silk cord, not long, but thick, a lacquered tube of aged wood. The professor's movements were smooth, he almost reminded Erika of an actor on stage. He was used to being watched, and made no attempt to hide it.
The topic of the lesson was comparative histories. Lao Zhe presented a wide, sweeping introduction about empires that rose too quickly, revolutions that only brought catastrophes with them, great leaders led astray by one tragic mistake. The point seemed to be that power is never inherited without cost. His accent was mild, his voice surprisingly soft. He never raised it, so that the rest of the hall had to sit in complete silence to be able to listen.
Erika faked attention, as bored as she would have been with any other lesson.
Helge, however, could not look away from the scroll case. Something about the way it rested by the professor's side — untouched, unread — almost seemed to call to him.
He took a small vial of water from his coat, opened it, poured a few drops on his fingers, then rubbed his eyes and drew a breath. Finally, Helge reached outward with his senses.
A ripple, faint but present. Like something far below the ocean, reaching to him. He pulled back quickly, eyes narrowing.
There is magic in it. I wasn't wrong.
He said nothing.
When the class ended, Lao Zhe dismissed them with a small bow. Most spectators left at once, while a few lingered, pretending to examine notes, hoping for a moment of conversation. The professor simply gathered his books and left the same way he had come.
Helge and Erika remained seated a moment longer."He knows," Helge said quietly.
Erika glanced at him. "Knows what?"
"That we've… touched something. I don't know how. But he's watching. I'm just telling you so that you don't end up making some stupid mistake. I'll warn the others too."
She folded her arms, an impertinent expression on her face. "Good. Let him watch. Maybe he'll see how little we know."
Helge turned to the windows. Soot and dust... the industrial district? Why would he go there?
"Maybe that's exactly what he's waiting for."
It was the sort of night that pressed against the skin.
Rain clung to the roof tiles and pooled in the cracks of the cobblestones. The gaslights stretched halos across the major streets, but they could not reach the alleys. Those stayed purely black, not exactly silent because of the rain, as though something lied there in wait.
Adrian and Helge moved quickly. They'd spent the last few hours charting the docks, sketching possible escape routes which weren't marked on maps already, alley turns, and half-collapsed staircases in case things went wrong during one of these patrols. They'd found two possible temporary shelters, five ways of getting to the rooftops and a way to scale the southern walls of the city in case everything else failed. Now they walked back, trench coats pulled tight, the city whispering around them.
"I don't like this street," Adrian muttered, rubbing his arms. "It's like something's watching."
"Rain makes you imagine things," Adrian said, though his hand was already near his coat pocket. I wonder if that's a side effect of your spell..."
Helge stopped.
"No. Listen."
Footsteps, only barely audible.
Not the shuffling, drunkard's sort, nor the steady and constant marching of constables and city guards. Someone was tracking them. A figure detached itself from the mouth of an alley ahead. Another behind them.
Two men, broad-shouldered, cloaked, faces shadowed. One carried something like a cane, only it scraped against the street, as if it were sharper than it looked. The other seemed to be empty-handed.
Adrian whispered, "Run?"
Helge didn't answer. He stepped sideways, pulling the revolver from beneath his coat with practiced ease.
"Don't move!" he barked, voice cutting through the night. "We're armed! Take one more step and I will open fire!"
The figures advanced, disregarding the warning.
Adrian's breath shortened, he put one hand on the handle of the knife he carried.
Then the first rushed them.
Helge fired. His aim was immaculate.
The sound of the revolver tore through the alley. Muzzle flash lit the air for a fraction of a second. One of the assailants let go of his weapon and crumpled — a harsh, twisting fall — his head striking the ground with a wet crack.
The second man lunged.
Helge spun around, fired again. The bullet struck center mass. The man staggered, dropped to his knees... then rose again. No gasp, no groan, no scream of pain.
"What?!" Adrian stumbled back, eyes wide.
"It's undead, run!" Helge shouted.
But it was already too late.
The thing came forward fast, impossibly so. Its coat flared back, revealing something beneath it. The skin, in the few spots were it was exposed, was constellated with dark lines, like veins of ink quickly pulsing.
Helge threw himself sideways, panicked, tried to fire again, missed thrice.
Adrian grabbed the knife, swung blindly and hit. The figure didn't even flinch as the weapon sunk into its side. Instead, it reached out and grabbed Adrian by his throat.
Then, for no apparent reason, it pulled back screeching.
Adrian blinked. Water. A puddle right by Helge's feet. A ripple was going through it. Helge's hand hovered just above the surface, eyes fixed in a trance. Adrian, split his mind in two pieces: the first moved his body and struck again with the knife, hitting the creature in the chest, near the heart. The second part of Adrian was trying to understand what exactly Helge was doing. He could sense mana flowing from him into the water, but nothing else.
The creature spasmed again. This time, it fell and did not move again.
They stood over it, gasping, rain clinging to every inch of them.
The first man lay still. Human. Bleeding out. The second didn't bleed at all. It didn't even seem dead, really.
Adrian knelt. "What is it exactly?"
Helge didn't answer. He only stared at the unmoving figure. "It's not the man who followed Irvin. It's something else," He said at the end. "Come on, let's get out of here. I can only bind it for so long. If someone has heard the gunfire we might be in trouble."
Adrian looked down again, and saw something shift beneath the creature's skin.
They didn't speak much on the walk back. Not after what they'd seen.