“Look, I understand what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate you coming directly to me with this, but this isn’t how things work,” Lord Magistrate Gerold said. “Minor dumping issues are cited by the Underkeepers and fines are paid on a routine basis. It’s not usually a big deal. But Master Julian’s case wasn’t minor. People got hurt, and besides, you yourself sued him. He’s liable for the damages he caused. You were right to do what you did.”

  Unsure where to start, Therion had decided to tackle the issue head-on. Even if he’d wanted to do it, there was no point in trying to build a case to vindicate Master Julian, not when the evidence against him was so overwhelming. Besides, he knew magistrate Gerold. He was a practical man who would appreciate an honest conversation.

  “I’m not suggesting that the alchemists shouldn’t be held liable for the damage they do,” he replied, offering the only real pitch he had.” What they really want, as far as I can tell, is to protect their reputation and to get Julian working in the city again. And they have a point. Halfbridge is underserved, especially with how much the city has grown. Would you have thrown him out if you’d known you would take in over six thousand refugees this year?

  The magistrate frowned thoughtfully and then sighed. “Probably not. But we can’t change that now. The case is a matter of public record, and last year’s slime spawn wasn’t exactly a low-profile event. I have public trust to worry about. Ensuring that they can meet local demand for alchemical goods is ultimately a concern for the alchemist’s guild. If they fail for too long, they’ll lose their exclusivity rights and I’ll begin licensing alternative providers.”

  Therion stared, nonplussed. “Like who? I thought only the alchemist’s guild educated new alchemists.”

  “Witches from the villages and the wildlands and traditional orc apothecaries. They’re permitted to work informally, but they can’t fill government or guild contracts, open official shops or advertise any of their remedies as ‘potions’ or ‘elixirs’, even though some are virtually indistinguishable from contemporary alchemical products.”

  “Oh!” Therion nodded, realizing what he was referring to, “like the goblin potion vendors at the Gateside market? Do you really think anyone will buy from them?”

  Gerold shrugged. “Traditional alchemical practices aren’t as refined as what the guild does, and they don’t have clear quality standards. But if I endorse them, and there’s nothing else around… Well, it’s been done before.”

  Therion shook his head. A village witch’s brews could never compete with any real alchemist. “Still, you know it would be better if we could get a real master Alchemist, even if it is Julian. I need him to help my father, and you need him for the city in general. Everybody could win here.”

  “Everyone except the Underkeepers and, as I mentioned, the people’s trust in me as a fair judge and trustworthy administrator. This was a high profile case!”

  “So make it probationary, or demand a public apology or something that makes it clear you’re not just doing the bidding of the guild,” Therion suggested, doing his best to sound like someone offering clever solutions, and not someone who was fishing for ways to rescue the career of a corrupt, greedy asshole who had nearly gotten his party member and friend killed. He cleared his throat. “Look. There’s a legitimate need here, and I think if you think more about how to make it work than why it can’t, you’ll find that there’s a lot the city has to gain from this. At least think about it.”

  “Hmmm,” Gerold frowned, sitting back. “Maybe. But I’m not pissing off Archmage Thurdred over this. He’s got his hands full with the Undercity, the refugees and this nasty demon business the count has him working with the solicitors on.”

  “What demon business?” Therion wondered out loud, but the magistrate cut him off with a wave of his hand.

  “Never mind that. Go and talk to the Underkeepers, and if they’re willing to have Julian back and working over their sewage system, then we can talk about this. Don’t go back to negotiate with the alchemists without me, and don’t get desperate and try anything stupid to help your father. The guild thinking that you can do something for them isn’t a good thing for you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Therion said, trying not to sound too eager as he rose to leave the magistrate’s office. He’d hoped, but he hadn’t really expected this to work. Now, if only he knew how to sell all this to Bernt’s old boss…

  ***

  Therion had only come down to the Undercity four times since its construction – once during the Battle of Halfbridge against the Duergar, twice to visit the Underworks, and once to meet Oren, Syrah and Furin for a drink.

  The Undercity Market was a hive of activity, though it looked much different from what he’d seen on the surface the day before. For one, there were barely any humans. Orcs, goblins, dwarves and even a gnoll dominated the space, many speaking in unfamiliar languages that made it feel like he’d just stepped into an entirely different country. They seemed much less in a hurry than the people up above had, and many clustered together into small groups around stalls or in front of shops, talking and drinking tea, coffee, and a strange, bitter mushroom based drink that had recently begun to crop up all over town.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  No matter where he looked, he could see gray-uniformed Underkeeper guards wandering through the streets, keeping the peace. The fact that so many of them were working here spoke volumes about the rising tensions in this part of the city. It made Therion wonder how they managed to still maintain the sewers. Where did they get the funding?

  When he reached the Underkeepers’ compound, his confusion grew. The door guards, an older, balding goblin and a young human woman with a large scar on her neck, wore new mail shirts over their gambesons and held runed spears – clearly dwarven make.

  “Hi,” he addressed them. “I need to talk to archmage Thurdred, or someone in charge about a sewer related issue in the main city.”

  The goblin nodded and gestured over his shoulder. “Maintenance complaints are straight through the courtyard, down the hall and third door on the left. Ask for Nirlig if he’s not manning the desk. He’s your man.”

  “Ah, it’s not a maintenance request.” Therion clarified. “It’s more of an administrative issue, really.”

  “Hmm. Alright. You can try Ed’s office, but I doubt he’s here. Fiora might be, though. She can probably handle it. Six or seven doors down on the right, I think? It’s labeled. You’ll find it.”

  The ‘courtyard’ was filled with new recruits, mostly orcs and a few dwarves, who were practicing unarmed restraining maneuvers on each other under the watchful eye of a middle aged human woman who barked instructions at them. How many underkeepers were there now? Therion skirted around the edge of the room so as not to get in anyone’s way.

  The compound had a simple layout – a straight main hallway with smaller corridors leading off to the sides every twenty steps or so. Every door was clearly and simply labeled: Holding cells, Break Room, Toilets, Repairs, Infirmary, Records and then, finally, Office. He knocked twice and opened the door, poking his head in.

  “Hold on a minute, Josie,” a stone-faced woman looked up from where she sat behind the desk, filling out paperwork and trailed off. “Who let you in here? Can I help you?”

  Therion gave her his most winning smile. “Hi there! My name is Therion. I was hoping to speak to archmage Thurdred – it’s about the incident with the alchemists last year.”

  She sat back in her chair and folded her hands, making a humming sound. “You’re the one who dragged Bernt off into the dungeon last year, right?”

  “He mostly dragged himself along, actually” Therion defended himself, his smile wavering a little, “and it worked out! Without him and Jori, we’d never have made it out. It was lucky, really.”

  The woman, who Therion assumed must be Fiora just watched him for a few seconds, pursing her lips before offering a neutral grunt.

  “Ed’s busy – off working with Jori, actually. What can I do for you? Are the alchemists giving you trouble? I thought we were done with their stupid nonsense.”

  For a moment, Therion considered telling her he’d wait for the archmage to come back. Magistrate Gerold had said he wanted archmage Thurdred to agree to let Julian back into the city, not just one of his people. But she was right there, and he doubted waiting would be faster than letting her relay the message whenever he returned.

  “I need your permission to get Master Julian licensed to work in the city again,” he said. Fiora’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “And why in all the hells would we want to do a thing like that? The man was a menace!”

  “Well, I’m sure there would be room to negotiate some conditions to his return,” Therion said carefully. “The thing is I need his help, and the city needs another master Alchemist.”

  He explained the situation as best he could, trying to present his key points as objectively as possible. The city was short on qualified alchemists, the Adventurers’ Guild needed their top ranger back, and the Underkeepers could, probably, benefit from the goodwill of the Alchemists’ Guild, such as it might be.

  Fiora listened patiently as he talked, interrupting only to get a few more details on what magistrate Gerold thought of going back on his own ruling. When he finished, she scratched at her chin, tilting her head one way and then the other as she considered, clearly conflicted.

  “Ah… I don’t know. I’ll take it to Ed, alright? The idea could be worth something, but nobody here is especially eager to do the alchemists any favors. He’ll probably want to know what the magistrate is cooking up that he would even think about this.”

  Therion nodded. It was the best he could hope for, given the circumstances.

  “How long until he gets back, do you think? Did you say he was working with Jori?”

  “Sure. We look out for our own. She’s come under quite a bit of pressure in the hells lately, so we sent in some support. We had the infrastructure in place from the Duergar War, but we had to rebrand as a harvesting operation to get the solicitors and the Adventurers’ Guild back on board.”

  “I… what?”

  Fiora waved a hand at him. “It’s not important. You’ll hear from us or maybe the magistrate in a couple of days.”

  Therion accepted the dismissal gracefully, but filed the information away in the back of his mind. The Underkeepers’ “war in the hells” had been a well publicized undertaking a few months ago, at least here in Halfbridge. It had drawn some protest from the Temple District about working with demons, even if it was against others of its kind, but Jori was a well-known figure. Several guilds had gotten involved before the entire thing was abruptly canceled with the Duergar Empire’s sudden collapse.

  Therion had assumed that meant Jori was trapped back in the hells, alone – he certainly hadn’t considered that the Underkeepers, or anybody else, might go to the hells to keep her company. Maybe he could take a quest to go and check in on her, assuming they were posted publicly. If they weren’t, he was sure his father could get him access. Elyn would be delighted, he was sure, and Oren hadn’t shut up about getting himself an imp friend since he’d seen Jori melt a kobold sorcerer’s face off.

  But that was an adventure for another time. First, he needed to finish his augmentation, and that wouldn’t happen soon if he couldn’t help his father.