Slumrat Rising

Truth slowly walked around the roof, examining the circle of chests and the metal coffin at their center. The blue mists rising out of the chests were thin and cold, like smoke from a dying fire. The mist was being pulled through the air by the array and saturating the coffin. From what he could see, there were intakes in the coffin for the mist to seep into. He squatted next to one, trying to get a closer look at what it was exactly. The spellwork wasn’t familiar to him. There were structures that seemed intended to gather cosmic rays and others to contain cosmic rays, but what the chests then did with those rays was unclear.

Each chest was plugged into an array, and the arrays were connected to the coffin, which had its own arrays and sub-arrays, all of which were built into the larger cosmic ray gathering array on the roof. It was all systems within systems, like a giant funnel feeding into different filters, then collected in a flask. Nine chests around one coffin. Those numbers weren't a coincidence. But why? He examined the chests, finding them identical. Mass-produced, he would guess, at heartbreaking expense.

Things that were mass-produced had tags, labels, and logos. Truth set to examining one of the chests without touching it. Somewhere on there would be some indication of the maker. Usually, it is very obvious. So why was it acting bashful now? He got right up close and gave it a really intense glare. Every join, every seam, every microarray got a harsh look. And… there was nothing.

Some of the components were painted a slightly different color or were made of slightly different colored materials. Occasionally changing from one color to another mid-component. That was it. As anonymous as a ransom note. Outside of the ring of chests was a desk and a standing wardrobe. Behind the rather nice and ornate desk was a single chair. Off to one side was a toilet. Not enclosed in any way- the same model toilet used in the rest of the house, sitting right out in the open. Truth got up and strode over to the desk. Maybe there would be something in there to shed some light on this.

The chair wasn’t rigged with anything nasty, and the locks on the desk might have triggered bombs, but the bombs were tiny, designed to destroy the contents of the drawers. It took a surprising amount of work to get them disarmed, purely because some clever bastard had put all the components inside the desk, so the only channel to attack the devices non-destructively was through the goddamn physical keyhole. Which each drawer had.

You had to use, from what he could tell, an actual bit of metal to do something to some other bits of metal that would let you turn the cylinder and move the bolt. Truth considered himself a fairly paranoid individual, but he had to admit defeat here. This was freak-level. This was do some meditation, drink some water, and maybe hit the pet cafe levels of swirling madness. Just… use a spell. Lots of good ones on the market.

He spent longer figuring out how to defeat a three-centimeter-long collection of metal scraps than he did to break the multilayered wards over the whole damn mansion. And sure, it made sense. If the magic was getting unreliable, or would soon be unreliable, use things that didn’t require cosmic rays. Between the physical locks and the magical spells, any attempt to break into the desk and access the components would be… if not impossible, then greatly slowed. Presumably long enough for security to catch the intruder. Truth felt a high degree of vindictive pleasure when he finally cracked them both.

The desk held more or less what he might expect. There was a high-powered, compact, needler and four extra magazines. Truth snorted. The needler had a full auto setting, which was wild in such a small form factor. Maybe Gullvar just wasn’t interested in learning how to aim. It was resting on top of a stack of bank drafts and wen, though less of both than he would have thought. DePonte had more wen on him. Annoying but expected. There was also the usual loose collection of pens, a pair of scissors, a magnifying glass, lancet, wax, business grade atheme, and the usual detritus that collected in the drawers of office workers.

The next drawer down was a file drawer containing… files. Truth didn’t really know what he expected there. Maybe something with bold letters saying “PROJECT DOOMSDAY” or “TOP SECRET STUFF DO NOT READ!” This appeared to be tax stuff, which, in fairness, was stamped “Confidential Business Record.” The largest file appeared to be a legal and economic analysis of acquiring a fish processing terminal. It didn’t look heavily read.

On the other side of the desk was a selection of prescription narcotics and anti-anxiety medications. Some more office junk. A few gold disks with pictures stamped on them. They looked kind of like money. There was a brand new atlas, along with new reports laying out what happened in the Ressilaud Free State all those years ago. Most with the caveat that trying to find out what happened in that famously anarchic place was borderline impossible, and any results would be completely unreliable.

Truth grinned. Fast work. And the important thing wasn’t results, it was that she was looking. He wondered if the “Young Master Ramu” was running his own investigation, or if he was using Gullvar as his hunting dog in this too. There was nothing else of interest in the drawers.

Truth’s grin turned nasty, and he started checking for false bottoms. With immense care, he pulled out the drawers and investigated whether there was anything hidden behind or underneath. He found yet another set of business records, some correspondence that sure sounded like someone was having an affair, and some very illegal summoning charms.

Truth’s paranoia was sounding a red alert here, klaxon wailing and lights strobing. This was the kind of “hidden” stuff that got planted to be found. Truth widened his search, checking the desk legs, the chair, the waste paper basket.

He moved over to the wardrobe, finding more money, some jewelry gaudy enough to definitely be expensive, and an army issue long-range heavy needler. There was a small chest of charms, most intended to glamour the user or to enchant those near her. Some more were intended to render a target unconscious or dead. Less clothes and shoes than he would have thought. She had been clearing out her closets dramatically.

The toilet was taken apart too- an efficiency design, where the waste was simply desiccated and incinerated into essentially dust. Presumably, some spirit periodically cleaned up. But no explanation about the chests or coffin or Young Master Ramu. Or spells. Spells weren’t hoarded in Jeon the way they were in some other places, but high-end spells and elixirs were precious. They could form the foundation of a family, even if they weren’t particularly exclusive or unique. Did she keep everything in a safe deposit box or something? It would be impressively rational if intensely irritating.

His eyes drifted over to the one place he hadn’t searched yet- the coffin and the chests. The chests he wasn’t going to touch- there was obviously an ongoing magical process there, and screwing around with it was a great way to get dead. The coffin would also seem to fit that description, but there were no obvious controls for the system anywhere. Which he would bet meant that they were in the coffin.

Truth carefully watched the streams of blue mist coming from the chests. They were keeping to pretty straight channels through the air. It would get very tight near the coffin, but he could walk over most of the way, then crawl or something. Actually… Truth silently laughed, then jumped straight up.

The Meditations of Valentinian were now utterly part of Truth. He spent a portion of every day meditating, usually right before doing his daily cultivation. He even started treating it like a bit of a game- sneaking in a quickie sesh when he had a little downtime. Fair to say it was a very rough start, way back in Harban. But now? Now he could leap up so high, he had plenty of time to examine the lid of the coffin for anything that looked nasty.

There was something so damn satisfying about knowing your body could do that. Like running on water or being able to dance on just your fingertips. Not just knowing your cultivation elevated you, but feeling it with your whole body. The lid of the coffin looked clear. No warning from Incisive. He lept on top of the coffin, light as a cat. The blue mist kept streaming in below him, harmless.

Now that he was on top of the coffin, he could see a few things he had missed before. The first thing was a little brass plate screwed into the lid, just above the latch. Anak and Sons HyperThaumobaric Chamber- Custom Made for Majorie Gullvar.

He didn’t know the maker, but from up on top of the coffin, he finally had the right angle to see why the components had been painted different colors. It was the Three Rivers Group logo, only visible if you were standing or sitting in just the right spot. Gullvar was at the heart of her company in more ways than one. What a curious device. It must have cost an absolute fortune in labor, let alone what the components themselves cost.

Truth wasn’t entirely sure what “HyperThaumobaric” meant, but he could see the blue mist going in, and not coming out. Presumably it was staying in there, saturating whatever, or really, whoever, was in there.

Truth had now been up on the roof for nearly three hours. He had tidied up after himself, taking only a modest amount of the stashed cash. The only remaining puzzle was the coffin. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the mist stopped flowing, and latches snapped open inside the chamber. Truth nimbly dropped to the ground on the side of the coffin with the hinges.

A moment later, the lid swung up, and Gullvar stepped out, never looking behind her. She looked about as she had in the restaurant. Less made up, perhaps. A little more lively looking. She walked over to the wardrobe and started dressing herself, unbothered by her nudity in the open sky. Having set herself to rights, she checked a few personal amulets and talismans, found everything in order, and descended into the house proper.

Truth was vibrating with anticipation. He had spend the whole damn day waiting to find something in Gullvar’s place, and waiting an extra fifteen minutes for her to get dressed and ready for the evening was sheer torture. As soon as she was down the steps, Truth vaulted the chest and popped the lid.

It looked cozy. A little foam pillow, more holes than solid matter, to support the head and neck. A fine mesh net suspending the body over the bottom of the chamber. There was a little latched box for personal effects just above the pillow, and to Truth’s satisfaction, there was a little reading light installed. Inside the box were a number of crystal shards, and a trashy mystery novel.

System, get memorizing!

>Truth was looking over the shards too. Two spells, but he couldn’t quite figure out what they did from a glance. More business records, this time for an organization of some sort. Something encrypted, which made Truth frown. Then he thought a little more and instantly downgraded his opinion of Gullvar and her security team. He picked up the mystery novel.

System, memorize this book and see if it’s a key for cracking the encryption on this shard.

> The System was grumbling steadily as Truth flipped the pages. Once done, he felt around in the little box and found some folded up papers shoved down to the bottom. A medical evaluation for one Majorie Gullvar.

He didn’t recognize the doctor or the hospital. Most of the test results were meaningless numbers to him. He carefully memorized it all anyway. The narration section at the end seemed clear enough.

Patient is otherwise healthy and with corrective cultivation and mechanical support, would meet the minimum medical requirements for Project Golden Dawn. Her projected baseline planetary collapse survival rate falls solidly within the median at .00531%, As such, I am recommending her conditioning begin at once. The integration of the Giant’s Seed will take approximately four months.

It was dated two months ago. On the bottom of the report was a final line- “cc- Remu Anakson, Offworld Export Co.”

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