"Where is Varyn?"
A man strode into the reception hall as I was reviewing a ledger with Anya. Standing tall and lithe, he wore a gilded vest with silver gears woven into his tunic. It covered his entire body except for his neck and head. His exposed skin was covered in tattoos and his hands were silver prosthetics. His eyes were sharp, and he had a narrow face with sunken brown eyes.
"That's Karvyq Silverhand," Anya whispered from behind me.
"That would be me," I answered, straightening up as he approached. I heard the gears in his prosthetic hands shift and grind and realized I stood a head shorter than him.
Studying my face silently, he then nodded. "Well done catching those thieves."
"I was just doing my job."
"Good. I have a task for you. Come with me."
Blinking, I watched him swivel and briskly walk back out. I glanced back at Anya, who looked anxiously at me, before quickly following at his heel.
Outside, a lady in a ceremonial black outfit used for mourning stood waiting and at her feet lay a white body bag on a hand-pulled wagon.
"You will follow this lady," Karvyq said sharply. "Her name for this job is Mary if you're asked and you are the son carrying the body of your deceased fourteen year old brother. Your only job outside of this is to look bereaved when unloading."
"Why—"
"No questions. Drop and leave. You'll be paid double for today."
I nodded, eyeing the white-cloth body bag.
Karvyq's metal hands whined as he gestured toward the eastern sea. "The Jubilee is tomorrow. He needs to before midnight. Understand?"
"Yes."
Right. This isn't a dead body.
"Anya will inform your mother of your late return."
The Jubilee was an Undercity tradition. Once every four years they celebrated the sea for all the food it provided. Piltover, being a city on a narrow peninsula connecting the Northern and Southern continents of Runeterra, survived primarily on seafood if not dead rats. Most of it flowed to Piltover and only the Undercity truly honored the day. People prayed or tossed a coin to the sea as per the custom.
And on the day of celebration?
Fish food would be available for cheap even in the Undercity. Something I'd been looking forward to because I could actually afford a whole fish for only two copper!
Hefting the wagon up, I began to follow the lady wearing widow's weeds, and before long I was huffing and puffing.
My legs were burning, my arms were tired, and I was completely soaked in sweat while this lady walked several paces ahead of me—and very fucking slowly.
Fuck this lady. Fuck Karvyq. Fuck my life. Fuck their lives. Fuck.
I was seething halfway there. The lady refused to help, and she refused to talk.
This is worth more than double pay! It should be triple!
When we arrived, the sun was setting. It was a typical gray stone building.
"Stay here," she finally said as she approached the door.
"Yeah, I'll do that," I wheezed.
A few minutes later, she stepped back out and from around the side a metal trolley was wheeled out. The man pushing it had a large belly and, despite the mourning occasion, appeared indifferent. Actually, he looked a little annoyed.
I looked down at the body with purposeful sadness.
He didn't even care about me as he pushed the trolley my way and turned back to giving the lady his full attention. As she stepped up toward the door to distract him, I lifted the body, not quite as stiff as a dead body should be, and quickly hefted it onto the trolley.
The lady let out a pitiful cry, wiping her eyes. But beneath the veil, when she bent forward and it revealed her face to me, and as the man looked up and scratched his head awkwardly, I saw her cold, malicious gaze and the thin lips curved into a sadistic smile.
Fucking hell…
"Well," she sniffed, placing a silver coin into the man's hand, "we should be off. We've already given our farewells, and I don't think my heart can take this anymore."
"Aye, you two stay safe. The body will be buried after the morrow."
"Thank you," she sniffed again and, with my own sad expression, we left.
A few blocks later, in an empty street, her act vanished. Her expression twisted into boredom. She pulled out four coppers and dropped them into my extended hand after I silently held it out.
"That boy," her high-pitched voice squealed in delight, "we ripped his heart out and put in a Chemtech replacement."
I stopped and looked back at her. Her face had curled into mischievous delight, clearly reveling in my wide-eyed shock at what she'd just said.
"If he doesn't return after the twelth bell, Karvyq will detonate it."
"Wh—"
"Ah-ah, no questions." She wiggled her finger teasingly before placing it over her lips.
My mouth snapped shut and I couldn't help but glare at her. She giggled, and I turned away, quickly putting distance between us. All the while it felt like her chilled giggles were following me, mockingly.
Not my problem. Don't get involved, I repeated to myself. Karvyq has the detonator. I can't do anything. Don't do anything.
Yet despite repeating it, her mocking giggles clung to my soul and I kicked a piece of trash along the Promenade streets in frustration.
The light had faded and Undercity's nightlife had begun. Heavy drinking and rambunctious laughter. The sounds of sloshing ale and soon enough, the moans of whores that would openly be fucked in back alleys.
"I'm in a bad mood so I'm going to start kicking everything I see," a flat, mocking voice echoed from behind me as I entered the elevator descending to the Entresol level.
Vi, giving me a wry smile, slipped in after me. Her clothes were smeared with grime and her knuckles were split and bleeding.
"Pull the damned lever already!" she snapped.
"I'm too tired," I muttered flatly.
She shoved me aside, hard, and yanked the lever down with a clang, glaring at me the whole time like she needed something, anything, to hit again.
"I'm having a bad day too, okay?"
"Doing what?" I shot back, the bitterness slipping out before I could stop it. "Beating up kids or running a bullshit job?"
Her fist was in the air before the words even finished leaving my mouth.
I ducked. She missed, stumbled, and cursed. Something ugly and frayed snapped between us at the same time. I shoved her back, she slammed me into the wall, and the elevator jolted as if ready to drop us both into the abyss.
No witty jabs. No bragging. No posturing.
Just two pissed-off teenagers throwing hands inside a rattling metal box, each too exhausted and fed up to care how reckless it was.
Both of us needing, maybe even wanting, something to break.
Before we knew it, we were scuffling inside a descending, wobbly, death trap.