Chapter 80: The Shadow Over Kakariko
Was this the day?
She asked that question every morning, as she made her way out of Kakariko and walked through the tombstones that led her to the hut. Was this the day? The day when the sound of an old man muttering to himself and the winching of gears did not greet her when she knocked on the door. The day when the reek of death consumed the small home. The day she would find her old master had passed in the night.
A clank and a crash followed by a muffled curse broke the silence. Impa let free a breath of relief as she trod up the stones that led to Dampé's home. He lived. Though she knew not whether that was a blessing for him, or only her own selfish desire to cling to what companions remained to her.
Impa knocked on the door. "May I come in?"
He didn't respond. She tried again, and when he remained silent, she opened the door regardless.
Dampé lay in his bed, his head propped up by a rolled-up pillow. His pallid skin now had a noticeable yellow tint, and his once strong arms had turned to flab. Oil, gears, and screws lay sprawled out on the bed and his chest. Some pieces littered the floor as well. The smell of dried sweat, mildew, and grease hung in every corner of the one-room hut.
When she drew closer to the bed, Dampé looked up. "Who are you?" He blinked. The once keen eyes looked over her face and down to her arms and the basket she held. "Stay back."
"Master, it's me. It's Impa."
"Impa?" He squinted at her, frowning. The man who once taught her to analyze everything she saw now could not see the truth right before him.
"I brought you something to eat."
He grunted. "Not hungry."
"You haven't eaten since midday yesterday. I brought you some bread and cheese."
He put down the metal contraption and stared at her. "Not from that idiot Vedrim, I hope. How many times must I tell you not to buy from him?"
"You've never told me not to get food from him. What other baker do you know?" Impa went to the bed and sat in the same chair she'd used every day for weeks. From her basket, she took the fresh bread and a knife to carve the loaf.
"He doesn't mill his grain enough. It's coarse. That fool always does everything too quick, gives up too easily. I told him… I told him he didn't have to be a baker but he didn't try. I told him and he didn't listen. I- I- hmmm."
"Where is this coming from? Not two days ago you were telling me how much you liked him, the trouble you got into as children. He even asked after you this morning. He's your friend."
"Friend? Hah!" Dampé picked his device back up and continued tinkering with it. He cranked at a winch on the side. "Never forgave him. Never. Not after what he did. What we all did."
"What did he do?"
"Hmm?" He looked up at her, his eyes once more searching her face, trying to discern who she was. His eyes focused, and his mouth drew tight. "Impa?"
"Yes, master. It's me."
He shook his head. "No, not master. Never again, I told them. Never again, after what we did. No. Unforgivable, all of us who wore the masks."
"You're not speaking sense. Here, give me your hands. Let's clean them up so you can eat. You'll feel better once you have food in your belly."
"No!" He pulled his hands out of hers. "I told you I don't want any of it."
Impa sat and waited. There was no point arguing with him. He'd grow hungry soon enough, and then she'd get him to eat. These moods came and went, like a child. She hoped this one went quick.
"Why are you here?" He snapped. "I've nothing for you."
"I'm looking after you, now."
"Why you? You should be away, in the capital. Do you have any idea how disappointing it is to see you back in this place? Where's Cottla or Steen? Where's Granté or that rascal Kieve? They were suited to staying, not you."
"Steen left the order, found himself a Hylian bride, and moved away. The rest are dead."
"Dead?" He shook his head. "No. I was talking to Kieve. We spoke about you. There was a mission. He wished for my advice."
"That was many years ago when I asked him to join me in Castle Town."
He shook his head. "No. It was last night. I was asleep and he came to talk to me. We spoke about so many things. You and your ward. The graves and the pit. He even asked questions he knew he shouldn't."
"You had a dream, master. Only a dream. Aren't you hungry? The bread won't be warm for much longer."
"No, not hungry." He looked about his bed, scattering the tools and bits of metal that surrounded him. "Here," he said when he found a heavy-looking metal box. He brushed some of the grease from it, before giving it to Impa. "Make yourself useful."
"What is this one, now?" She asked as she turned it over. It was heavy, and despite Dampé's ministrations the leather grip still was covered in oil and grease.
"Use your senses. Like I taught you."
Impa pulled out a handkerchief and wiped down the gadget. As she did she pressed against some small nob on the side, which caused something within to whirr and nearly causing her to drop it.
"Careful."
"I am," she said once the sound stopped. After finishing her cleaning, she wiped her now damp hands. Better than nothing. Satisfied, she folded the handkerchief so the grease would not ruin her clothes before she tucked it back into her pocket. "It has a trigger, like a crossbow. You shoot it, I'm assuming. And this hook here is what flies?"
"Good. What else?"
"What good is there in hurling a hook?" Impa shook the device and heard steel rattling within. "There's a chain. You've made a mechanical grappling hook?"
Dampé smiled. "Test it."
"What? In here?"
"I taught you not to waste time on fool questions, young lady. Outside. Find a cliff or a building to scale."
"This is what you've been working on? Why would anyone need a mechanical grappling hook? Do their arms not work?"
Dampé grunted, then frowned. "He fell. He was rushing and had no time to cast the rope. The Gerudo found him and threw him. He fell. Who?"
"Granté." The first of her childhood friends to die during the Civil War. That had been decades ago, far before she became the princess's protector. Far before Dampé left his position and this madness took his mind.
"Yes," Dampé shut his eyes and leaned back on his bed. "My Needles should be safe. I won't lose another. Next time it might be Impa or Kieve." Within a few heartbeats, he was snoring.
"As you say, master," Impa whispered. She left the bread in the basket on her chair. Taking a moment to position it so he'd see it when he woke up. Perhaps he'd feed himself if he wished. The door creaked when she left, but not loud enough to wake him, thankfully.
She could walk away, head back into town, and see if Samel at the tavern had opened a keg yet. This was not going to be a good day, she could tell. Dampé's senses came and went, but she doubted he would be more lucid until well after midday. He was having more bad days than good, it would have been a safe bet.
Yet she didn't head up the road into Kakariko. Instead, she walked around Dampé's hut and went deeper into the cemetery. Just beyond the last gravestone lay a ridge she could test this ridiculous grappling hook on. It would give her time to think if nothing else. It was always better to keep one's hands busy, and not obsess over things she could not change. Just as she could not stop the madness of her master, she could do nothing for Zelda.
The princess had left out on her own months ago. She thought herself so skilled, so clever. But she was still only a child, with the vainglory of youth to lead her to dangerous paths. Zelda had passed a message to another Needle days before she was supposed to meet Duke Arlan, and after that, nothing. Not a word of her plans, not a thought to prevent the worry of those who still cared for her. And it wasn't as though those designs were going anywhere near as they wished. Death Mountain was up in arms and word from Castle Town was that Ganondorf had gathered another army. Perhaps they'd even marched out by now.
The world grew more dangerous every day, and she was stuck here. Taking care of an old man who was no longer half what he once was. Even on the hardest days taking care of the princess, Impa knew that Zelda would mature. She'd learn, grow smarter, and become a fine young woman. But there was no such hope with Dampé. All that was left was watching him wither away.
The cliff stood ten paces high at its tallest point. Dampé was a clever man when he had his whole mind, but she did not feel much like falling that far to test this new tool. Impa walked further to where the cliff face dipped to only half that height.
She angled the device up and pointed toward the ledge.
It made a loud thwack as she pressed the trigger. The hook shot high, far faster than she expected. The long chain trailed after. The hook struck the ledge and bounced off, sending the entire length of it spiraling away. The metal near wrenched itself from Impa's grip.
This is ridiculous. It will never work. How am I supposed to crank this back up?
She fiddled with the metal casing, trying to discern how to take it apart and reel the chain back in. Finding the nob on the side she'd clicked while cleaning the device, she pressed it. She did not know what she expected to happen, but the chain springing back to life was not it.
The links rushed toward her. She yelped and jumped back. Dropping the gadget onto the ground. It whirred and sputtered, until the chain returned, coiling itself inside the metal box until only the hook remained exposed.
"Why thank you, Master Dampé," she said as she picked it up from the grass. "I had never realized the key tool missing from my training was a device that would take my fingers off."
Still, she tried to get the device to work several more times. Of the dozen attempts it only latched onto the cliff once, and she dared not risk pushing the button with the hook caught in the rocks. Instead, she managed to jiggle it loose before calling the chain back.
This wasn't working. Perhaps she needed a different target? A brisk walk further from the graveyard stood a thick tree with branches that would support her weight. That time when she released the chain, it didn't catch well into the branches. It broke clean through the thinner twigs and brought a rain of leaves and sticks upon her head.
When the hook succeeded in wrapping itself around a sturdier branch, Impa still did not trust the hook. With good reason. The first time she pushed the button the hook slipped free and clattered to the ground, forcing Impa to step aside lest the metal strike her foot.
Only once in her hours of attempts did the chain wrap around a branch and the hook latched itself secure. Impa climbed up the chain and onto the tree and felt a little tinge of pride that she could still do so with ease. Not every Needle her age could still do field work if called upon. Though, in truth, there were not nearly as many Needles her age at all.
When she climbed back down, she pressed the button. She held the grip tight, but not firm enough. The gadget pulled her half a foot from the ground before she let go. The thing had nearly pulled her arm from its socket. Instead of pulling the chain down, the hook remained firmly stuck in the tree, only now so was the rest of the device.
Impa stared up at the hook, her hands on her hips. The call to go see Samel and discover the continence of his latest keg grew quite loud.
Moving to the lowest of the branches, she hoisted herself up. Climbing limb to limb until she reached the hook. Sap glistened from her fingers as she pried the gadget loose. It fell to the ground and with a loud thump embedded itself into the dirt. When she climbed back down, she'd decided that was well enough. She'd done more than most, and it was not as though Dampé would understand any criticism of the device if she gave it to him.
Let the old man think himself helpful. Just as she deluded herself into thinking she was helping him.
On the way back, she swept loose dirt from her clothes and plucked a few leaves from her hair. She'd wipe the sap from her fingers with her handkerchief if she could, but she knew that would only get them covered again with grease. Instead, she found some grass to wipe her hands into something that resembled clean.
She'd check in on Dampé and see if he was still asleep. If he was, she'd leave him be, go back into town, and fetch something more substantial to eat for supper. If he was, then she'd see how long he'd last before he fell back asleep. It wouldn't take too long.
As she approached the hut, she heard something shuffling around. Was he out of bed? She walked faster, best to make certain he hadn't hurt himself.
"I told you to leave!" Dampé roared.
Impa ran faster than she had in years. When she rounded the corner of Dampé's home, she found someone standing in front of the door. The visitor wore a long black cloak of silk that covered everything but his long, skeletal face. Even his hands were gloved in black and she could not see his feet beneath the robes.
"Is this how you treat an old friend?" Inquisitor Olkoi asked.
"We were never friends," Dampé said from his doorway. He held a shovel in his hands and looked ready to use it. "Even when I was one of you."
"Master, Olkoi" Impa stopped before the pair of old men. She bowed to both of them. "Master Dampé is tired and should not be out of his bed. Perhaps if you come back later."
"Not later," Dampé said, "don't come back at all. None of you are welcome in my home."
Olkoi's head swiveled around to look at Impa. Like all inquisitors, his features were milky white and oily from spending so long beneath the ground. Dark bags hung below his sunken eyes. Along his cheeks and under his thin lips, red spiderlike webs of veins shown beneath his skin. Despite the slenderness of his face, the rest of his body was pudgy, filling out the loose robes, which bulged around his stomach and arms, and the back of his head. Impa averted her eyes as she was taught.
"Ahh, Needle Impa, a pleasant sight." He spoke slowly, drawing out each of his breathy words. "Perhaps you can speak sense to my defrocked colleague. You know how he gets; doesn't see things clearly anymore."
"I see clearer than any of you."
Impa tucked the handle of Dampé's invention into the loop of her belt before stepping around Olkoi and touching Dampé's shoulder. He used to be so broad she could hardly reach around him, but now she could encircle him if she chose. "Master, let me take you to bed." She took hold of his shovel. "I'll handle things."
"I'm not your master," Dampé snapped, refusing to let go of his makeshift weapon. "I hate when you call me that."
"He is correct," Olkoi said, "he gave up that title. He is no longer fit to wield it, along with any of the gifts as an inquisitor."
"My apologies, would you please wait here." Impa tugged on Dampé, it was not hard to pull him away from the door. She nudged the door to close with her foot and turned Dampé away. "You can give me the shovel. You're not going to hurt anyone."
"Says who?" Dampé said, though his grip on the shovel loosened enough for her to take it. "I promised him I'd do far worse things if any of his kind ever came in here. They won't find it, and I won't give it to them."
She led the old man back toward his bed, letting him lean on her as he walked. Even before his illness, his club foot meant he often leaned on a walking stick or that shovel of his. How had he even gotten to the door? She brushed aside the pieces of metal to clear a space for him. "Careful," she said as she helped lower him onto the bed.
"Get him out of here."
"I will." She grabbed his feet and raised them onto the bed.
"Now," he snapped. "I won't give it to him."
"Give what to him?"
"Everything. What he wants. What all those vipers want. I can't say. I wish I could, but I can't." He groaned as he rested his head back against the pillow. "Vipers I name them, and vipers they are. Stabbed her in the back, after all she did for us. Because they were drunk on their own delusions and power."
"Stabbed who?"
Dampé looked past her to the door. "Send him away. Make certain none of them sets a foot inside."
Impa looked back around and nearly jumped. She must not have shut the door completely, or had Olkoi stopped it? Whatever the case, it had swung back open. Master Olkoi stood at the threshold leering at them. His mouth hung open, far too wide for anyone to feel comfortable. He stood frozen, save the twitch along his bulging eyes.
Impa coughed to regain her composure. "I'll take care of him." She left Dampé's tool on the stool beside the untouched breadbasket. Perhaps that would distract him while she took care of the situation. The shovel she brought with her back to the door; well out of his reach. Olkoi shuffled back to let her out and made no protest as she shut the door behind her.
"It's a rare thing to see a master this far from the village. How can I help you?"
His jaw realigned as he began to speak. "The hunchback has hidden something of ours. We must get it back before his time comes."
"I am at the Inquisitions command, of course. But I must ask that you refer to my former master with more respect than 'the hunchback.' He has earned that much, at least."
"Such loyalty you have for him. Dampé had a knack for gaining that from the Needles he trained. I've oft wondered how he beat such respect into you. Nothing I've tried has ever been half so successful. Very well, what would suit him more? The clubfoot? The gravedigger? The coward?"
"If Dampé has something of yours, tell me what it is and if it is in his home I will find it and return it to you. He does not have much, it will not take me long to find."
"That is true. But I doubt you will find what we seek. He must have hidden it, digging all those graves, all that time alone. Coward he may be, but a clever one. You, Needle Impa, he seems to have taken some liking to you."
"Less than you might imagine."
"Oh, I doubt that. I doubt that very much. Ask him to return what he has stolen, speak honey into his ear. Make him understand this is best for everyone."
"And should he not listen to me?"
"Make him."
"I have never had the power to make an inquisitor do anything. And whatever connection you think exists between myself and Dampé, I doubt it will change that. He's a stubborn man."
"If you cannot make Dampé listen to reason, then when I return, I will have no choice but to take him below."
Impa stifled the chill that went through her. "Is that necessary? He is one of our own."
"He is not one of us," Olkoi turned away from her. "Not anymore." He shuffled away, his cloak did not sweep or sway with his steps. Only when he changed direction, did it press against him and reveal the outline of the bulbous flesh beneath.
Impa watched him depart, not turning away until he disappeared behind the tombstones. She let a breath and shut her eyes. Just as she had when she was a child, first given to the inquisitors to train. They'd been terrifying then, how had they grown more monstrous with age? Weren't adults supposed to grow out of the terrors of their youth? They had seemed dark creatures, shrouded in mystery and inscrutable knowledge. But now, seeing them in the light, they looked truly grotesque.
Once her nerves settled, Impa re-entered the home. Dampé's eyes were open and active. When he saw her, he nodded. He recognized her, for now. That would make things easier.
"Is he gone?"
"Yes."
"I cannot say of them what I wish. But I can call them vipers, though it is still too generous." He rested back against his pillow. "He will be back."
"Master-"
"You were always slow to learn, that's not who I am anymore."
"Dampé, he said you stole something. You stole from the Inquisition."
"I know what they say."
"Is it true?"
"Of course. Now, how did my invention work?"
"This is serious. Olkoi made a threat. If you don't give him what he wants-"
"My work is serious. Tell me, how did my hookshot work?"
"It released the hook well enough, and if it catches a ledge it can hold."
"Good."
"But the angle is wrong. You swing a grapple with a wide arc, so it will drag across the surface to catch hold of something. This shoots the hook straight, it has more chance to bounce off whatever I am aiming for than it does to latch on.
"Hmm," Dampé nodded. "Well, one must never expect the first draft to be successful. I'll make some adjustments."
"I- Mas- Dampé, what is happening with the Inquisitors? I can't protect you if you don't tell me what's going on."
"When have I ever asked for your protection?"
"You don't need to ask. Look around you! If I hadn't been taking care of you, you'd have starved or wandered off a cliff by now."
"And what business is that of yours? Hmm? Why would you care?"
"Because that is what people do! I care about you. I want to help you. Because I remember the good man who took me in. I remember the one who taught me, who fought for me when the others would have thrown me out. I remember the man you used to be, not this bitter old thing you've become."
Dampé gave a wheeze of a laugh. "Then your memory is as faulty as my leg. Very well then, go on. Show me what I taught you."
"Do you wish me to sneak inside without you noticing me? Or perhaps poison you? Would that suffice?"
"So dramatic. That's what will happen when you live so long with all those nobles. You saw Olkoi, go ahead. Describe him."
"He's pallid. Spending so long away from the sun has turned his skin too pale, and sickly. He walks with a slight stoop."
"How dare he? That's what I'm known for."
"He moves silently. Surprising given his width."
"And to think you were once my prized student. Come now, a child would notice this."
"I'd get to more detail if you would stop interrupting. He has a problem with his jaw, where it is more comfortable to leave his mouth agape. Perhaps from a wound-"
Dampé scoffed. "You think a man like Olkoi would ever receive a wound?"
"Perhaps from the assault of the Gerudo."
"You left with the babe before the Gerudo arrived in full. Olkoi and his ilk hid in the dark, as they always do. Best to hide their shame."
"A deformity then."
"Perhaps. What else?"
"He's… contradictory. He shuffles about as though he's uncoordinated, but his steps are silent. I'm surprised he was never the inquisitor to teach us to be light of foot, he has the knack."
"Bah, Olkoi has nothing to teach you. At least nothing you'd want to be taught."
"What are you looking for, Dampé?"
"I want you to impress me. So far, you've been middling, at best."
"He did not have any weapons on him. Nothing beneath his cloak, or in his gloves, or behind his hood."
"How do you know? His cloak had room to hide all manner of things."
"No. There's less room than one would think. When he raised his arm the silk pressed smooth against the top of his arm, there were no folds or loose pockets to hide anything. And when he let his arm hang limp the same was true to the underside. His arms are bigger than I would expect."
"You mentioned his hood, could he hide something there?"
"It's possible. There's something he keeps back there, but it isn't a weapon. The bulge at the back of his neck is too round to be a blade, too big to be darts. It could be something else, such as poison, but that would be a ridiculous place to put it."
"What of his chest? His legs? Could he store weapons there?"
"No. There was obviously no blade at his hip. When he turned, the cloak brushed against his torso, he filled most of it out. And…" Impa shuddered, thinking of the way the cloth roiled against him.
"And?"
"And his legs, he didn't… he doesn't walk like someone with anything strapped to him. He doesn't…"
"He doesn't what?"
"Nothing. I could see the outline of his chest and shoulders, and he could not hide any weapons. I'm certain of it."
"Then why did he wear the cloak?"
"Because that's what Inquisitors wear."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do." His thumb rubbed against the smooth surface of his hookshot. "What can't you see?"
Impa's jaws clenched. Why did the lumbering Olkoi move so quietly? How did his bulbous body end in a thin and sickly head? The shapes beneath his clothes did not stay put; they moved unlike anyone she'd ever seen. "He's not… he's under a glamour. He's an illusion. Like the one Zelda uses to hide herself."
"And what does this illusion hide?"
"He's not Sheikah, anymore."
When she looked up, Dampé was smiling at her. A tremor went across his lips as he tried to speak, but he could not form the words. He sighed, then took her hand in his own. The once powerful fingers that picked her up when she fell now felt so weak, so thin. But still, she gripped him tight.
"That's my girl."