Shadow Clone Sorcery
Chapter 47: Who Is The Mastermind? (2)

El-One hesitated on the way to the docks. His path took him uncomfortably close to Kat’s smithy. They had strict instructions to avoid her. El-Prime hadn’t decided whether Lukas was dead or not. The clone lingered on a nearby roof for a moment, watching the glow from the window.

The clone didn’t have it in him to go against the prime’s direct instruction. If not, he would’ve visited or, at least, peeked in on her. He missed her. All of them did, El-Prime included. The fool refused to admit it, but their short tryst had temporarily filled a hole left by the loss of Minarv. Now, the emptiness had returned. It felt as if a massive stone slab sat at the clone’s chest, and whatever was within the cavity holding it up had disappeared.

He moved on. It was hard, but El-One moved on. Not because he wanted to, but because he had to. There was a job that needed doing. All eyes were on Bass, Penelope, and the Elder Wyrmkin when they exited the undercity. It was unlikely anyone recognized Lukas; however, it was known that he was currently employed by the Cold Fire Sorcerer.

If El-Prime’s theory proved correct, the perpetrators would probably swiftly turn against him. The Grey Rat job was now also a source of doubt and concern. Not fulfilling his half of the bargain would attract the wrath of a criminal empire, and he lacked the strength or means to defeat or avoid them indefinitely. Clones could serve as distractions, but they were far from a permanent solution.

We could fake our deaths. It won’t be the first or last time we’ve done that. It won’t be easy to pull off without collateral damage, though.

El-One paused at the shop where they’d almost been robbed. It was closed. He peeked through the window and found renovation efforts. There was no one inside, but a good deal of the interior looked new. Burn marks still marked the space around the doorway and the windows. He went around the side of the store to the rear, moving slowly and with care. Silencing Shadows helped him blend into the shadows almost perfectly, but he didn’t want to take any risks in case the pawn shop had any wards or protection against such magic.

The rear was just as the clone saw in El-Prime’s memories. Except now, there were more cages, and many seemed more recently in use. There were torn clothes, food bowls, and bits of blood. El-One scoured the area for feathers, scales, or tracks that could connect the business or area to the Elder Wyrmkin. He found none.

Next, he turned his attention to the hidden docks, taking cover by the elevator mechanism and studying below. El-One didn’t have access to Spellweaver, but his close connection to shadow magic made it easy to tweak Shadow Sight and study what lay below. There was movement, but it mostly involved moving cargo on and off a long and narrow vessel. He wanted nothing more than to go down and wreak havoc, set people free, and maybe burn down the vessel. El-One knew for a fact that El-Prime did too.

However, they needed a longer-term plan. Freeing slaves and putting down a dozen or two low-level thugs wasn’t enough. The whole system, network, and, most importantly, the people at the top needed to be taken down. If their suspicion of the slavers bringing in Elder Wyrmkin proved correct, it was sure to damage the secret slave trade. So, El-One sat tight, contained his impulses, and watched.

El-Two arrived at the distillery within minutes of being dismissed. He snuck into the compound and entered the tavern through a first-floor window. His low mass made climbing and maneuvering a breeze.

The clones had probed the area before, and there were subtle arcane defences, but instead of keeping people out, they seemed designed to alert the staff. An ordinary mage clone had attempted the infiltration once while channeling Silencing Shadows. Alarms had gone off. Armed thugs had come running. He had no choice but to dispel himself. Meanwhile, El-Two entered without issue. He guessed it was because the spell was an innate part of who he was, naturally suppressing presence and sound. It took El-Prime picking up Spellweaver to display the same level of mastery.

Temptation struck the clone as soon as he took his first step. The floor was empty, and the tavern devoid of noise or life. Expensive weapons and tools hung from the walls, calling to him. None of them felt magical, but the artisanry and history were bound to fetch a nice prize. El-Prime had lost all of his weapons and armor except the Runic Shortsword and Three-Stage Spear. El-Two was sure a couple of new toys would cheer everyone up, but he resisted.

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Instead, he crept onward, checking walls and doors for any backrooms and spaces. He doubted the tavern would have any such spaces. The risks of someone unwanted wandering in were much too high, but it didn’t hurt to check. El-Two covered all of his bases before moving onto the production part of the facility.

It all looked mundane and uninteresting. There were giant mixing pots, even bigger fermenting barrels, and boiling containers. El-Prime and the clones, by extension, had no knowledge of brewing beer, mead, or any such beverages. He assumed everything was above board, continuing to check for backrooms and hidden doors.

Unlike the tavern, the distillery wasn’t empty. Workers milled around the vats and pots. They mixed, checked temperatures, and tasted. Everything seemed surprisingly above board for a criminal organization’s operations. The only thing that seemed odd and out of place was the number of little children among the workers. Child labor wasn’t illegal in Iskander, but it didn’t seem like the norm.

Following a man pushing a pushcart of barrels eventually uncovered a secret door. A barrel as big as a house opened, revealing a downhill ramp. El-Two waited until it was about to close before creeping in. He had to step out of the shadows for a moment, but managed to slip through without being seen.

El-Two’s heart leaped into his throat. He didn’t just see stacks of barrels, crates full of pink powder—the clone recognized it as the street drug, Pink Sellis—but also women, children, and young people in chains being escorted out of a tunnel and into another.

Jackpot.

___________________

El-Three and El-Four parted ways at the research center. The pair agreed it was a dead end. It was unlikely any of Penelope’s colleagues were the people behind the Eldedr Wyrmkin plot. El-Prime and the sorcerer all agreed that they were far too incompetent. It was possible that they had hired goons to interfere with package deliveries, but the assassins and coordinating an entire smuggling ring felt beyond them. None were as well-connected, rich enough, or terrifying enough for such an operation.

No stone left unturned. It was what El-Prime said, and the clones, of course, agreed.

Tailing Captain Stefan Santana felt like a much more fruitful plan, and El-Four rushed to find the man. Over the past few months, they had learned a rough idea of his weekly routine. His responsibilities took him all over the city, ensuring everything was running fine. Occasionally, he stepped out of line to put out fires.

It felt like a night for firefighting, and there were a few set places where Stefan went. El-Two started at the guardhouse, which Bass had first passed on exiting the undercity. He crept in. Checked the dormitory and the meeting rooms, and found no guard captain. However, hushed conversations suggested he had passed through the area. Most complained about his overzealous followed and assistant: Hump.

The next stop was a secret holding and interrogation room. It took El-Four on a curved path, edging toward the docks. He kept his third stop in mind and debated heading to it first, but then saw suspicious movement along the way. Guards and known Grey Rats were rushing toward something. And the clone followed, leaping between rooftops.

El-Four found Stefan Santana. He also found Kelpie. The latter of the pair lay dead on the ground, surrounded by a giant pool of blood. Her skin was discolored. She appeared diseased, decayed, and worn out. It appeared something or someone had sucked the life out of her. He recognized the oddity.

The failed incompetent assassins who attempted to take out Penelope, Lukas, and ‘Elvis’ during their first delve looked oddly similar once the spell tattooed on their skin disappeared.

“No!” Mister Grey roared, rushing onto the scene. Guards and gang members swiftly moved out of the way, creating a path for him. Anyone who was too slow was knocked aside or down. “Who did this?!” He looked at Stefan Santana, beady eyes large and filled with rage. “Tell me!”

“I don’t know,” Stefan Santana answered, standing tall. El-Two could tell the man was lying. They’d observed the guard captain enough to identify such things. “A patrol found her like this. It wasn’t us. I swear.”

Mister Grey fell to his knees and tenderly picked up the immobile woman. She looked like a child in his giant arms. “What did you get entangled in my love?” He pulled down her collar, checking her scarred skin. Mister Grey did the same with her arms and pulled off her boots too, looking for marks. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

Someone is tying off loose ends.