Despite the initial shock of the situation, the Manticores were quick to regroup. Ladoss ordered two of his men to bring the dead back to the tunnel’s exit, and then to venture topside to deliver the hand cannon to the archchancellor.

  They still needed to finish their mission, but if things were to go south they needed someone to spread the word of the situation to Velasco. Coin left them to it, scuttling sneakily into the darkness.

  He moved, initially, like a formless thing. A creature of pulsating grey flesh and angular limbs. He clung to the shadows as if they were an old friend of his, moving with utmost stealth through the tunnels and tributaries that formed a complex underground network.

  His sense of smell, growing sharper and more refined through conscious effort, fixated on the smell of human sweat and the now-familiar tang of black powder. Eventually, as he wound his way closer to those smells, the sound of human conversation drifted toward his ears: An argument.

  “Ser, I implore you, I.. that prototype your men took from me, see reason! It’s far too dangerous to be used! I... th-the hand cannon was bad enough, but this-”

  “Shut it, would you?! If you want to keep that head on your shoulders, you’ll do as your told.”

  “But-”

  “But nothing! Gods... you’re lucky your inventions are useful. Otherwise Lord Bleak would have had you flayed by now.”

  Coin came to a halt around a corridor of carved stone, his claws resting atop a large crate. He peered through the gloom to a man clutching a lantern, jabbing his finger at a smaller man through the bars of what appeared to be a prison cell. A hand cannon jangled on the man’s hip, and there was no doubt in Coin’s mind that he was Brotherhood.

  “Now shut up. Something’s going on, and I have to-”

  Coin’s tongue lashed out from the darkness, curling around the man’s ankle, and yanked him into the shadows. His lantern fell from his grasp, iron frame clattering on the dusty ground. He was slow and sluggish, only barely drawing his blade before Coin’s colossal jaws crushed down upon him. He sat in the dark for a few moments, digesting his meal.

  The stranger behind the bars squeaked in confusion. “H-Hello? Is someone there? Someone who could... save an unfortunate artisan from his bondage?” He gripped the bars and tried to peek out of his cell. But his eyes, weak and human, could see nothing in gloom.

  Coin debated what to do next. Clearly this man was no friend to the Brotherhood, held against is will and all, but helping strangers was something to be a little wary of. Still, he thought, there was a possibility this man had seen something and could give Coin useful information. Reluctantly, he let his body twist ad morph into his clothed, humanoid shape.

  He emerged from the dark, warily watching the stranger.

  “Oh... the gods smile upon me. Please, good ser, release me from this awful cell!”

  Slowly, steadily, Coin swept across the windows that had been carved into the wall, and took in the sight of a heavy steel manacle bolted to the man’s right ankle. The chain attached was long enough to encircle the chamber at least twice.

  “Who are you?”

  “Albus LeBon. Charmed!” He strained a smile, mania rife in his eyes. He was desperate to be free, but trying not to vomit that desperation aloud.

  “And... what did you do that got you brought to this place?” Coin inspected the door and found it. He shrugged, pulled upon it, and wrenched it from its hinges with a shriek of tearing steel.

  LeBon stared at him for several moments as Coin tossed the heavy door aside. Eventually he decided that he was still entirely sane, and that he didn’t really need to know how this enigmatic young man had done that. It was unimportant in the face of prospective freedom.

  “I am... I’m an inventor, I suppose is the term I prefer to use. But in common parlance I’d be called an artisan,” LeBon said, pacing around his strange cell. His chain clinked and rattled with every step he took. It was a sturdy bit of metal, Coin noted. Expertly crafted from high end steel. Certainly excessive for keeping such a scrawny man prisoner. Even with the tools that surrounded him, it would take a long time to cut through. Time for any guard to easily catch him in the act and stop him.

  But being excessive is something of a norm when it comes to prison, be they professional or unprofessional in nature

  “And... what is an artisan exactly?” Coin asked, narrowing his eyes. This was something of a distraction, he knew, and he was wasting time on his hunt for Valle. But this situation was so bizarre that he couldn’t help but be intrigued.

  “We make things, to put it bluntly,” LeBon said, fidgeting awkwardly with his scarred and bruised hands. “The official mantra of the Artisans Guild is that we are the ‘architects of the future.’ If it involves the construction or creation of things, particularly things that are unique or special in nature, that is our domain.”

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  “You were imprisoned here to build things for these people?”

  LeBon paled slightly. “Unfortunately. I... I did not wish to, obviously, but I’ve seen what they... what these people do to people they deem uncooperative.” He shuddered, a particularly gruesome memory stampeding brazenly through his mind. “I have the constitution of a wet paper bag. Wouldn’t last long under torture, you see.”

  “I see.”

  “But, now... now you’re here! I don’t know who you are, but you’re not one of them and that’s more than good enough for yours truly!” He flashed Coin a desperate smile.

  Coin grumbled. He wasn’t one with the Brotherhood, the shackle alone made that clear, and he did look about as dangerous as a kitten. And if letting him go would harm the Brotherhood in some way, all the better. He sighed and made his way over, inspecting the chain.

  “Call me Coin,” he said.

  “Coin! Wonderful name. Er... Vesidian, is it?”

  Coin shrugged. He crouched and gripped the manacle around LeBon’s ankle. “What exactly were you making for them?”

  LeBon hesitated, nervous beads of sweat prickling his brow. “W-weapons, I suppose you could say. I’m... I’m loathe to admit it, but I’ve been building weapons for these people.”

  A realisation struck Coin, who swept his eyes up to meet LeBon’s own. “Weapons like hand cannons?” he sharply asked.

  “My... work is already out there, I see,” he murmured. The scrawny man swallowed harshly. “When I first came up with the idea it was... it was a thought experiment, you see. I had seen regular cannons in action and wondered if the principle of their design could be applied at a smaller scale. After many failed prototypes, and many scorched eyebrows, managed to make a cannon that could fit in a man’s hand. I... I envisioned it being a tool for pest control, you know. Rats, sewer serpents, boggarts... Not for killing people.”

  Coin narrowed his eyes. Even he thought LeBon was rather foolish if he didn’t expect other people to see the hand cannon as a lethal weapon. “Clearly the Brotherhood didn’t see it that way,” he said.

  “No, certainly not. I... spoke of my idea to people at the Artisans Guild, but most folks there don’t take me seriously. They always say my ideas are foolish. Automatons, mechanical limbs... Granted my prototypes have a tendency to, er, explode, but that still doesn’t give them the right to brush me aside.” He huffed and shook his head. “Well, regardless, someone must have been paying attention when I spoke of the idea. Only a few days later I was abducted in the dead of night, spirited away to this dreadful place. I’ve been here for months at least.”

  Coin snapped the sturdy steel manacle as if it were driftwood, tossing the broken ends away. “Well, you’re free now. So you might want to get moving.” The way I came through should be safe. Keep pressing on down those tunnels and you’ll find a ladder to the surface.”

  “G-goodness, you’re as strong as an ox!” LeBon replied, sweeping a hand through his shaggy hair. “You must be a rather potent wizard. My thanks, Ser Coin! I owe you my life.”

  “Well, do me a favour and don’t mention my presence here to anyone. If anybody asks how you got free, just say you saw an opening during the chaos.” The man’s inventions were doubtless gong to harm many more people. But, ultimately, Coin could tell he wasn’t malicious at heart. He was a victim in all this, and things would only get worse if they picked his brain for more ideas.

  And, above all else, Elijah would want him to help somebody in need. Just as he often chose to do.

  If he was to be the heir to Elijah’s wealth, then he would need to approach the world as the old man had. To an extent, at least.

  “Of course, of course. A thousand thanks to you.” LeBon started for the door, a faint limp to his gait. He paused as he reached the door. “Ser Coin there is... there is something else I should say. Just before you arrived, one of those brutes took another prototype from me.”

  Coin paused, turning to face the scrawny man. “Another hand cannon?” he asked.

  “No... worse than a hand cannon,” LeBon admitted, grimacing like a man who’d just caught his hand in a closing drawer. “Lord Bleak was very insistent that I design a weapon with greater range and accuracy than a hand cannon. I tried to... delay the process. Kept asking for all these special tools for shaping and cutting metal, to make the design I envisioned.”

  Coin glanced around the cell, paying attention to the assortment of lathes, drills, and miscellaneous tools on display. It was the kind of collection that most artisans would be elated to be in the presence of, where even they would struggle to name half of tools on offer. Some of them looked more like torture implements than speciality tools.

  “But... I could only delay for so long before the threats of torture became more... pronounced.” He lifted his ragged shirt by the hem, exposing faded scars along his back. Such wounds, in the world of the Brotherhood, would not constitute torture. Those injuries would be classed as ‘a kind word’ to persuade a captive. If a kind word failed, they would progress to ‘persistent persuasion.’ And if persistent persuasion yielded no results, they would indulge in ‘stern negotiations.’ Then, if the bruised and bloodied target was still obstinate... then they would move on to torture.

  “What... did you make?” Coin warily asked.

  A shaky sigh escaped LeBon, who hastily made for the drawing table at one end of the cell. He sifted through a stack of scrolls, each one covered with a myriad of very technical scribbles.

  Eventually he found the parchment he was looking for, and unfurled it before Coin’s very eyes. It was a strange thing, Coin noted. A long metal tube with a curved wooden rear. It had a small glass circle positioned on top of the barrel, dubbed a ‘scope’ by one of the many labels written on the page.

  “Mechanically it functions in the exact same way as the hand cannon. You insert a lead ball, and a small amount of black powder, and the use this section here to create an igniting spark when the trigger is pulled,” LeBon explained, motioning to different parts of the diagram with a grubby finger. “A person can survive a shot from a hand cannon. Particularly at further range. But a shot from this hits much harder, and stays accurate from a much grander distance. I er... I called it a rifle, owing to the patterns I created when I was rifling about with the barrel.”

  “A rifle,” Coin murmured. The word carried an odd degree of weight to it.

  “I worry that Lord Bleak has even more destructive aspirations when it comes to my firearms,” LeBon said, rolling the parchment up. “The prototype, and the instructions I wrote when I constructed it... that’s all someone would need to make more, provided they have the raw materials to work with. And these people seem to have no shortage of such things.”

  “I see,” Coin murmured. “Take that drawing with you to the surface. I’ll deal with that courier if I see him.” It was a lower priority to Coin, but still something that should probably be dealt with.

  “Thank you, Ser Coin. You’re a good soul... better than I, certainly.” LeBon rolled the sketch under his arm and set off. Coin stood idle until the man’s footsteps fell away into silence. His movements had been slow at first, and then grew frantic when he realised his freedom was finally at hand. The reality of the situation had taken some time to settle in.

  Alone, Coin heaved a small sigh.

  He didn’t really want to get involved in any of this, in truth. But this damn conspiracy... it threatened people close to Coin. And after losing Elijah, he was determined to make sure he lost nobody else. He turned and set off into the darkness, hoping for some trace of Valle Irons.

  In the distance, echoing off the tunnel walls, he could hear the pounding of ironclad boots. More Arcadian soldiers, he was willing to bet. The whole place would be crawling with reinforcements for the Manticores, and soon after the underground would swiftly turn into a battleground.

  He’d have to find Valle soon, and quickly. Lest he slip away in the oncoming chaos.