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Chapter Eight: The Masks We Wear

Councillor E. Gausswinder

City Hall District

Aureate, The Gilded State

Over a week ago, Councillor Gausswinder and her lackeys left the front yard of Imafenduwell Hall. As the small spider-bot slipped from her fingers, she worried that the little girl had seen it tumble to the ground. Luckily for her, though, the little girl raised no alarm over it. No doubt just writing it off as an actual spider or some other bug.

Just as intended. Exactly as I planned it…

As she watched through the shadowy eyes of the magically powered brass drone, Gausswinder used her remote control to urge it forward. As the children—a human girl and one of the nulliwumps—slipped out of their classroom yet again, the drone followed them through a secret doorway. It moved swiftly between their feet to avoid detection.

She followed the children through the hidden corners of Imafenduwell Hall, her drone capturing the creeping dusk as the Tuesday afternoon slipped away.

Perhaps this time, these brats will actually lead me to something useful.

Up winding staircases and past dormant brasshulks, she followed them until they came to a door that led to a previously uncharted section of the manor. All the artifacts and furniture in this hallway were caked in a thick layer of cobwebs and dust. All the windows of the hallway were boarded up with planks of wood, so there was no way for the councillor to tell what section of Aureate this hallway was nearby. For all she knew, they might have been in one of the other wings that were impossibly connected to another part of the continent entirely.

At the end of this hallway stood a door that was three times the size of the girl, Keridwen. There was no sign of what might lie behind it.

“Try using your magic on it.” Said the nulliwump—Gausswinder hadn’t bothered to note what his name was.

“I can’t.” Said Keridwen, “I’ll get in trouble again.”

“We’re already going to get in trouble for being here.” Countered the young nulliwump. “Wait a minute. I know!”

The nulliwump boy picked up a large piece of debris that had broken off of one of the stone pillars with all four of his hands and threw it as hard as he could at the door. The door made such a loud noise that it echoed down the hall, causing the children to cover their ears and the councillor to swear as she ripped off her headphones momentarily.

This quickly led to another problem for the children, though; no doubt alerted to their presence by the massive noise they had just made, a large, polished brasshulk came stomping around the corner at the opposite end of the corridor the children were in. Keridwen and her furry companion both hid on opposite ends of the locked door behind a pair of large vases. Just as a precaution, Gausswinder re-positioned the spider-bot so that it too was hidden from the sentinel robot’s view.

The brasshulk scanned the hallway with its luminous glass eyes twice in its search for the source of the commotion—its laser-like scanning bathing all its gaze touched with an ominous red light. Thankfully, though, this silent interrogation of the room did not last much longer. Once it was confident that everything was as it should be and that there were no intruders, the brasshulk ceased its scanning, its luminous, red vision turned to an almost cosmic purple, and it continued on its patrol down the hallway.

Thinking quickly, Gausswinder whipped her drone around to face the locked door once the coast was clear. The councillor then closed her eyes to the monitor on her desk in front of her. Instead, she focused her magic through the connection to the drone and onto the locks within the door themselves. Picturing the inner workings of the locks in her mind, she made quick work of getting them to unlock silently.

“Whoa! Look!” the nulliwump child whispered excitedly. “I did it! Look, Keridwen! I got it to open!”

“Nice one, Thumper!”

Ah, yes. Thumper. That was the silly one’s name.

After the children worked together to pull the door open, Gausswinder smiled as she feasted her eyes on what lay behind it; behind the door was a room full of the knowledge and technology of the Dwarfs. Gausswinder was greeted by shelves overflowing with scrolls in the Dwarfs’ tongue, arcane devices from lost sciences, and other things that were beyond her ability to describe.

“How’s the search coming along?” came a voice from behind her. Gausswinder turned around in her seat to find the wolf-masked Lincoln Grimshaw standing in the doorway to her office there at City Hall. “Find what you’re looking for yet?”

“As a matter of fact, I just did.” The councillor said with a smirk. “And you thought it was a waste of time.”

“I still do. Even if you get it all out of there, how are you going to get it to work? Yet alone reverse engineer the stuff.”

“That’s what my team at the University is for.” Gausswinder turned back to the monitor just in time to see the children playing at the feet of a large brasshulk. It bore the image of what she could only assume was an ancient dwarf lord or something. “As for how I’m going to get it all out of there, I think the children just helped me solve that conundrum.”

Grimshaw had approached the table to get a better look at what she was looking at on the monitor. “The Dwarf brasshulk? Why not just steal one that you know for sure works? And isn’t that a bit…obvious? There’s no way you’re sneaking out of there with that thing.”

“One, I want that one because I want that one. Two, who said anything about sneaking?”

“…As your Head of Security and your primary aid for keeping you out of trouble, I’m going to point out that this is an incredibly stupid idea.”

Gausswinder looked up at Grimshaw, and although she couldn’t see his eyes through his wolf mask, she knew he was looking down on her disapprovingly. The man wore the mask because of a horrific scar that covered much of his face. Despite how close they had gotten over the years, though, she had never pried from him the exact details of what led up to him receiving said scar. Nor had she ever seen him without the mask. She had it on good authority that he might even sleep with it on his face. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

If anyone else had spoken to her or treated her like that, she’d have them fed to whatever was stalking the city’s network of sewers—The Guttermaze—these past few weeks. However, Grimshaw had been with her longer than most—protected her for longer than most…so she allowed his momentary lapses in judgment—for the time being, at least. She needed at least one person she could let her guard down around—one person who she didn’t always need to be a councillor around.

At least that’s what you always tell yourself, said a voice in her head.

“Don’t worry about it.” Gausswinder focused her eyes back onto the monitor as she moved the drone forward towards the ancient brasshulk. The children were just leaving the room with the new “toys” they had found there. “But…if you must worry about it, then I suggest you start working on a Plan B of your own.”

A moment of silence filled the space between them.

“Evangeline, we can’t afford you being this hasty. Why not just wait for one of the University’s students to come up with the tech we need to replace the magical contraptions we rely on?”

“…You know full well why I’m doing what I’m doing. And who I’m doing it for.”

The councillor’s office was a large and opulent room—a grand chamber with high ceilings adorned with intricate brass chandeliers. On one wall, there was a series of windows that gave her a fantastic view overlooking the city. The walls themselves were made of polished brass plates and lined with intricate piping and valves, providing a functional yet ornamental display of the city’s advanced magic and steam-powered technology—both technologies pioneered by the University, which Gausswinder was the Dean of.

Despite the cold metal and steam, the room felt cozy and inviting thanks to the plush leather armchairs and roaring fireplace. The desk reserved for Grimshaw’s sensitive operations was currently in use by the councillor. It was at the side of the room with its security monitors mounted onto the wall. The centrepiece of the room was a large desk of ornate brass features and white marble, a symbol of the councillor’s power and authority…or at least it was.

Now that desk was just an ever-present reminder of how far she had fallen—a shadow of her former glory. She was never the Head of her own House, or even the Head of the High Council—not officially, but she came close. So close. So unrivalled was she in her ambition and cunning that she quickly secured her position—and that of her own House—as a household name within the upper echelons of the city. Then she got careless.

She let the wrong people get close to her. Too close. Ideas were stolen from her, projects were sabotaged and undermined, and in some cases, outright destroyed. Even her beloved University’s students were affected, with many of them either being severely injured or outright intimidated into giving up their scholarships. She believed that she had friends in every corner of the city. Now she knew that all she had were rivals…and Grimshaw.

Councillor Gausswinder had tried to push back, of course. Investigations were started and championed by Grimshaw on her behalf. Leads were followed, and accusations were made. Shaky accusations. And as it would turn out in most of those cases…false accusations. And those came at a heavy price. Gausswinder’s fellow councillors criticized her for recklessness, citing “unsanctioned security operations” that resulted in censure, fines, and even threats of arrest.

Upon recalling all of this, Gausswinder stopped what she was doing momentarily to look at who was sleeping soundly on the sofa in her office behind her. It was a boy—only six years old—with dark green hair like her own and a fresh scar on his left cheek. That scar was made by a weapon that was meant to kill him. Only the latest threat made on his life. Gausswinder had no tangible evidence, but the notes and other messages left by attackers always made it clear that this was revenge for her acts against the high society that she knew had tried to strike back against her. The councillor had no reason to believe it would stop anytime soon. As a result, she no longer let him stay at home alone anymore with his usual babysitters. She no longer trusted he was safe with them, even with guards watching. So she now brought him with her wherever she went. For whatever that was really worth.

It was them—her unnamed rivals—who started it all, but it was her blood in the water now. And her son was paying the price for it.

“If I can get my hands on that tech,” she then said, more to herself than to Grimshaw. “We could revolutionize this city—by my hands. With that kind of recognition comes power—security…peace for my little Deji…”

“Perhaps, but reckless actions got us into this mess. They won’t get us out. We have to be smarter than—”

“I will do whatever I have to!” Gausswinder shot back at him.

“…Fine then.”

“And where are you going now?” Gausswinder demanded, as Grimshaw turned to leave.

“You gave me leave to go come up with a Plan B, remember? I’ll be back as soon as its ready…oh, and by the way, I was told that we received another gift basket and request for a meeting with you from the Octavians. Should I throw this out too?”

Gausswinder sighed loudly at that. “Renewed and positive relations” had been the aim of the Octavian Empire’s envoys to Aureate for a long time. However, it had long since been Aureatan policy to not be too friendly with the Southern empire because of their suspected covert activities within the jurisdictions of the different Border Dominions, including The Gilded State. And while on another day, they could have perhaps persuaded Gausswinder to have lunch with a foreign dignitary, today was definitely not the day for it.

“Is there anything nice in this gift basket at least?” The councillor asked.

“Not particularly.” Grimshaw responded.

“Then yes, toss it with the others, and have my secretary send a letter of thanks and apologies for not being able to meet.”

“Very well. I’ll also tell the guards not to let anyone in to see you. Try to get some sleep, Councillor…for all our sakes.” And with that, Grimshaw closed the door behind him.

For a moment, Gausswinder stared at the door after it had closed. Deep down, she knew Lincoln meant well. In fact, he might have been the only one who did, aside from her son. But she couldn’t let his caution get in the way of potential windfalls. Especially if they meant they could secure a prosperous future for her House, along with her son’s safety.

Setting the spider-bot on autopilot, she let it work on hijacking one of the ancient Dwarf brasshulks at Imafenduwell Hall without her oversight. Then she went over to the sofa on which Deji was sleeping and managed to shift and squeeze on without waking him so she could lay next to him, and began examining how well his scar had healed and she played with his hair. All the while, his adorable snore filled the otherwise silent office.

“They’ll never touch you again, sweetie.” She whispered, just before she dozed off to sleep. “And anyone who tries…I’ll flay them alive.”

Lincoln Grimshaw

134 Electrum Lane

Aureate, The Gilded State

Eventually, Grimshaw made it back to the bathroom of his large townhouse in one of the more modest residential areas of the city’s core. The first thing he did was close the curtains of the window, make sure the door was locked, and then finally, he took off his mask.

Grimshaw looked into the mirror and wiped the sweat at the otherwise flawless and youthful, olive brown face with green eyes reflected at himself. He had come back to rest a little while before heading out again and to prepare as well for the night ahead. The bathroom counter was a mess of different disguises, make-up products, and tools, but Grimshaw managed to find what he was looking for: a small container of voice-changing cream that he applied to his throat. He spent some time adjusting his new voice, and when he was satisfied, he walked to his bedroom. Despite his previous conversations with the culprit, the pile of dresses and a peacemaker’s uniform still lay on the floor, annoying him. He opened the wardrobe and examined the masks within it.

Each mask was made of a material made to look and feel like an actual person’s face—from the real hair stitched to the scalp, to the very pores on the “skin” of them. Each face has been used at one point or another. The face that he planned on using for tonight’s venture was of a man with clammy, white skin, bushy blue eyebrows, and matching blue hair.

Once the mask and the rest of his outfit were assembled and put on, Grimshaw was indistinguishable from any of the other blue-haired Yondorian immigrants in Aureate.

With careful steps, Grimshaw left the house through the back door and quietly made his way through the fence door in the backyard, beginning his night errand in a far-off section of the city.

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