Scourge: A Grim Doyle Adventure

Chapter 22

As Grim walked behind Dorian, he wondered whether the Gargoyle’s allegiances lie with the forces of darkness or not. Many things crossed his mind.

Should I double back to Madam Malkim’s? Should I bolt and run to the closest building? Should I scream blindly for help through the sewers, flailing my arms about like a village idiot?

Grim slowed as he fingered the pocket watch. He wished his dads were there.

Dorian waited. “I didn’t do it,” he muttered, sidestepping a rat that flowed out of one of the pipes.

Grim was unsure of whether to believe him or not. “Then who did?”

The Gargoyle shook his head. “I don’t know. And if I find out who did this to Valeria, I will turn them to stone myself.” His voice seethed with anger.

“I guess you’re relieved to be free,” Grim muttered.

Dorian hung his head. “Sort of, but not much is worth living for without Valeria.”

“Huh?”

The Gargoyle had a sad grin on his gray face. “I see ― you didn’t know. Valeria has been my companion for over a year. Our bond is for life. Our relationship was a secret.”

“Valeria? I thought she’d go Banshee at any moment. She’s so…”

“Rigid?” Dorian said, and laughed. “She’s actually a lot of fun once you get to know her. It’s all for show. Eevenellin’s the same. She was keeping our secret.”

“You mean Eevenellin didn’t turn Valeria to stone either? And she didn’t cause the Scourge?”

That leaves only one person.

Dorian guffawed. “You’re joking, right? Eevenellin may seem a bit rough, but that’s just a ploy. She’s really very nice, and one of my closest friends. She kept me informed of what’s going on while I was locked up. We’re trying to figure out who did this. We think that Valeria knew something, but she was turned to stone to keep her silent. It looks as if she was angered when she was petrified. She was half way to Banshee by the looks of it.”

“Does it have anything to do with Festrel?” Grim asked.

The Gargoyle shook his head. “I don’t know. But if it was that little brat, I’ll hunt him down myself. I don’t care whose son he is.”

He marched faster then, and Grim followed, now unsure of everything.

They strode along darkened passageways, sometimes surfacing in abandoned stone buildings, but most of the time marching through tunnel after tunnel. The smell worsened as they went deeper. And somewhere Grim lost track of time. There was no sign of night or day, no indication of how long they had been walking, searching through the catacombs. Strangely they found entire city blocks under the ground, some abandoned, and some were still populated by the oddest of folk — most with sinth parts making up most of their bodies, if not all. It was in one of these blocks, where the sky above them was made of stone, that they found a small inn in which to rest. It was called The Blackwater and running next to it was a large sewage pipe filled with its namesake.

Dorian had money given to him by Aunt Patrice, but he handed the coins to Grim to pay the innkeeper. Gargoyles, he explained, are not well-liked and if the innkeeper knew what he was she might turn them away. He placed his hood over his head and followed Grim. The pear-shaped innkeeper did not seem to take any notice and saw them to a room, all the while clearing her nose in a rather filthy hanky every couple of minutes.

They woke to a simple breakfast and hit the waste-strewn underground tunnels once more. They slowed their pace as a heavy fog drifted into the tunnels. It inundated them with a strangely warm touch and ghostly white figures that wailed as they swept by.