Nikon stepped on a rat corpse and grunted, glancing down at the disgusting mound of fur and fat clinging to his boot.
"Shit," grunted the doctor, scraping the bits of the corpse across the stones beneath his feet.
Once he was sure his boot was relatively clean, he kept up his slow pace down the sewer tunnel. Every few feet he'd activate Eavesdrop, listening in to the various noises in the street above him. He could clearly hear conversations through almost ten feet of concrete, the rushing of water through pipes, even the sizzling of food in distant apartments. He began to hear other things as well, the murmurs of the rats and the caws of the crows that seemed to come out at night, and even further, almost to the point of inaudibility, were the whispers of the Outsider's gifts, tempting him with occult power.
"Focus," he told himself, hiding in a small alcove in the wall unconsciously. "If I find one of those trinkets again, I'll take it, but I won't look for them. I have more important things to do."
He paused as he heard his first guard, stopping dead in the shadows.
The guard was about twenty feet away and down two bends in the sewer, as he could tell from the distortion of the sound on the walls. He was sitting on an old rickety wooden chair, each squeak as clear to him as if shouted, and he was holding a sword that he was scratching against the ground.
"Is he facing me…?" questioned the doctor. "…no. The scratching of the sword is further away than the squeaks of the chair. He's facing away from me."
He moved closer, this time far slower, eventually reaching a spot where he could see the guard. The guard was indeed facing away from him, and seemed to be tracing his sword along the ground in circles.
"…have to be quiet," he murmured tapping his chin. "Choke-hold? Don't know how to do that really. Bash him over the head? Too loud, and potential brain damage."
He noticed a small closet nearby, and quickly ducked inside. It was completely empty save for a few rats, most of the interior consisting of metal piping along the walls.
"Could tie him up in here," he mused aloud. "Once I'm inside I'll have to think of something else, but this'll do for this guy."
He grabbed the coil of rope he had brought, cutting two sections of rope about a meter and a half in length. He tucked them into his pocket, drawing his sword.
The guard was whistling a small tune to himself when he felt cold steel on his neck, immediately stopping.
"Drop it," ordered Nikon in a tone that offered no argument.
The guard did so.
"Stand up, then drop your gun."
The guard nodded, slowly rising from his seat and unfastening his pistol from his belt. It hit the ground, making far too much noise for Nikon's liking.
The doctor grabbed him by the collar. "We're walking backwards. You try anything, you'll end up breathing through your throat."
The guard nodded. "Got it, got it."
"No talking," ordered Nikon.
Then he smashed his sword hilt into the back of the guard's head, sending him reeling forward.
The guard whirled around, flashing a dagger he had snuck into his grip. The blade whistled as it passed over Nikon's nose, the doctor taking a step backwards before lunging with the hilt of his sword again, slamming it into his nose.
The guard roared in pain as his nose shattered, blood pouring down his face. Nikon savagely kicked him in the groin, the guard collapsing to the floor and weakly trying to breathe.
The doctor grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the closet, the guard in too much pain to fight back. He propped him against the wall, again slamming his foot into the guard's chest.
"Stand still or I cave in your ribs," commanded Nikon sternly. He tied the guard's hands together then over his head onto a pipe, tying his legs together as well. Once that was done, he sighed, looking down at his bleeding, bruised handiwork.
"Well, at least you're alive," stated the doctor.
Then he swung the sword hilt right into his face, knocking him out cold.
Nikon left him there, tying the inward-swinging door knob to another nearby pipe to make it harder to pull open, before walking off.
As he got further down the tunnel, he encountered a trio of guards standing around a barrel, a small fire burning in the center. He stopped right out of their line of vision, analyzing the situation.
"…why that section?" he murmured to himself. "The door's not anywhere close by, so why stand guard there?"
Then he saw it. Just above their heads, amongst a series of wooden boards, was a hole. It seemed to disappear into the dark, but the direction it was headed in confirmed it. That hole lead into the building.
"A secret exit? Hmm. That'll do."
He debated on how to get past three guards. Unlike before, he could not hope to take them on.
He grabbed one of the blightpowder grenades Kallisar had given him. Let's hope they were as effective as he said.
Nikon yanked out the pin and tossed it at the trio's feet.
The three men looked down sharply, the grenade ticking pleasantly between them.
"Shit…!" shouted one of them before the grenade detonated.
Immediately a wave of noxious green gas spewed from the explosive, flooding the tunnel they were standing in. The trio coughed and desperately fought to breathe, collapsing to the floor. In a matter of seconds, they lay still.
Nikon quickly checked their vitals, moving their bodies to make sure they did not suffocate in their slumber. Kallisar had assured him the gas would keep a person unconscious for hours, and so he was not worried about tying them. He would be gone by the time they woke.
The doctor peered into the hole, darkness meeting him. He grunted.
"I could hazard a light," he decided. If there wasn't any light, then that meant they didn't expect anyone to be down here anyway.
He wrapped a bit of one of the guard's clothes over an iron rod and lit the end on fire, making an impromptu torch. He climbed into the hole.
Immediately he saw the cot in the room and the iron bars on the door. He was in a jail cell of some kind.
In a slight panic, he checked the door, noticing it moved. He breathed a sigh of relief.
"Nerves," he grunted.
He studied the room closer, trying to determine who the former denizen had been. Judging by the claw marks on the wall near the hole, they had fashioned the hole themselves. It must've been recent too, as they guards hadn't even had time to patch up the hole yet.
He paused when he noticed something under the mattress of the cot. He lifted it, noticing it was a piece of paper, hurriedly scribbled over in what looked like black coal or dirt. His eyes widened when he read what was there.
Doctor
Unsure you find letter. Writing anyway.
Being taken to Matteo Ricci.
Kalin knows but doesn't understand.
Love
Diana
Nikon smiled despite himself. Always so laconic in writing, though this time seemed more out of necessity than habit.
Then the message scrawled on the paper dawned on him. She was being taken away. She had told Kalin what he wanted to hear, but he did not understand it. That made sense, of course. She was a scientist, and he was a politician. Their lexicon were very distinct from the other, and she might as well have been talking to him in tongues for all he could guess.
That left Matteo Ricci, and that thought disturbed him greatly. Matteo Ricci was not a doctor or a scientist, but a businessman. Specifically, he made his money controlling the underground gambling and prostitution rings in the city.
That second word made Nikon start to shake in rage. The thought of Diana, brave intelligent Diana, reduced to the life of an abused whore made him want to bash Kalin's face in.
He calmed himself. Kalin wasn't an idiot. Diana was dangerous now, and had to be dealt with, either through murder or exile. Her appointment with Matteo could mean either.
"Okay, can't help her here," he stated finally. "I need more information."
He took one last glance at the note and saw a word he did not see the first time, or at least did not process fully.
Love.
He blushed. Did that…did she…? No, that was preposterous. It was deliberate, a common farewell people attached to letters. Nothing more.
He put the note down, deciding that he had more important things to deal with.
"First things first, let's find Anna Morozov. I have to make sure she surrenders willingly."