The Stained Tower

A fly lands atop one of the rat bodies. I watch the fly rub its two front feet together as the rat bodies sink back into the putrid water, leaving the fly floating upon the surface alone. 

Looking away from the fly, my eyes roll across the rift in the tunnel filled with yellowish-green water. Every so often, bubbles will rise to the top, yet they take much longer than a bubble before popping. ‘Nay? Could this be…’

“Lincoln,” I hear Pierce whisper. Two clickers squeeze by me to float and patrol above the water. Pierce continues speaking, “This is the same rancid water that’s in Bryan Park. I’m sure of it.”

My head toward Pierce. ‘Bryan Park that’s the place; where we suspect the Fly Kiln’s Domain might be. This is the hellbroth Terra told me about! Have we really walked far enough to run into their Domain!?’ [1]

Lincoln frowns and kicks a pebble at his feet. The pebble hits the water next to the fly, forcing it to take flight and flee. “I was thinking we might be getting closer since every time I checked the compass, we were heading further southwest.” Shaking his head, he reaches into his jacket and draws a pistol I have only seen once before. It’s the same pistol that I saw blow the trunk of a tree into splinters. “We must have been walking beneath Columbus Avenue and 9th longer than I thought. Weren’t you watching our pace?”

Checking his own coat pocket, Pierce glances at a device that seems to be counting up. “Based on our pace, we should still be at least a half-mile from Bryan Park. Besides, we’ve scouted this zone before. There wasn’t anything about stagnant water in the reports.” He puts the device away, his eyes scrutinize the surrounding area. “If I remember correctly, there was a small pool mentioned in the report. Except, that one was only a hundred or so yards from Bryan Park, and it had been there for weeks without change.”

‘There was another pool like this one?’ Recognizing similarities between the cesspool and the Wretched Rat, a thought crosses my mind. ‘...Could it be possible that the Wretched Rat underwent its evolution in that area after being exposed to my Kiln’s paste? Both the Wretched Rat, and even the copepods, had unusual constitutions that never aligned with my own nature.’ 

While Lincoln and Pierce discuss what to do, my gaze returns to the putrid water where not one, but three flies now float watching us. Mimicking Lincoln, I kick a loose pebble into the water, forcing the flies away. ‘There are much more important things to ponder right now!’

Lincoln taps my shoulder. “We’re going to get away from here as quickly as we can,” he murmurs, glancing back at the expeditioners. “Don’t scare them too much. We need to keep any irrationality to a minimum; I’d rather not have to abandon anyone.”

With a nod, Pierce starts patting people on the shoulder. “Alright, folks, unfortunately, we can’t go any further, so we’re going to quietly start turning around and making our way back,” he says with a strict tone, counter to his words. 

The air becomes both heavy and eerily quiet. With tone alone, Pierce’s voice has made it clear that something is amiss.

Covering their noses in loose clothing, everyone nods and begins reorganizing. 

Glancing at the anxious faces of his fellow group members, Ethan raises his hand and asks, “Is the trip back going to be as long as the one here? Is there anything we need to be on the lookout for?”

“We think we know where we are, so the trip back shouldn’t be a quick one,” Pierce replies while pointing in the direction we just came from. “What we’re going to do is hop out at Columbus Circle rather than walk all the way back to where we entered. Just keep any talking or questions to a minimum, and as you should have been doing since the beginning, keep your guard up.”

“Columbus Circle,” Ayameko whispers in a muffled voice. “That’s where everyone is hunting the bugs crawling out of the sewers?”

“That’s right, and please...” Pierce replies with both a smile and a scolding glare. “No more unnecessary questions until then.”

Ayameko nods. “Sorry,” she whispers.

Watching the people preparing to leave, I cannot help but wonder if they understand the seriousness of this putrid water. ‘We cannot just leave, can we? This water is genuinely worrying! If it keeps spreading like this, it shall reach the edge of Central Park within the next few weeks! How did it spread so far away from Bryan Park!?’

My fingers rub together as I begin to try to think and work out how this is happening. ‘...Earl! Doth thou knowest anything?’

Reading the wall, I am a tad surprised that Earl responded and in such a casual fashion; however, there are more pressing things right now. ‘There is nothing special about where we just came from, except for the camps. Are they after the Pilgrim’s essence!?’ 

With that thought, a breeze blows through the tunnel, whipping strands of thick steam upward. 

‘But, wait, there is another possibility. Since the chamber pot tunnels are what the Tower vents into, these tunnels would also lead him right to the Tower’s foundation and its roots… Does it even matter? This is a clear act of hostility and trespass; this cannot go unanswered!’

I poke out my chest and turn back to the putrid water, discovering that the area around my feet is now black with flies. ‘Unfortunately, I am all out of answers at the moment, so I deem it time to depart and regroup!’

Taking a few more steps back, I bump into someone. I glance back to find Nyle with his back to me. ‘There are too many people!’

The putrid water bubbles, disturbing the floating flies. They take to the air and vanish around a curve in the tunnels. 

At the same time, numerous insect carcasses surface. The carcasses are covered in various shades of white, green, and yellow maggots—a one foot section of the tunnel cracks and sinks.

“It’s a goddamn cesspit,” Nyle says in a low voice. With a green expression of disgust frozen upon his bearded face, he gestures at the rotten insects. “No wonder this whole city smells like surströmming.” [2]

I stare at the degraded insects and shake my head. ‘I am genuinely sad to admit that it does not look particularly disgusting or unappetizing… Now, please move, Nyle!’

Moving away from Nyle, I again try to step back only to bump into someone else. “They eat maggots in some cultures, y’know?” I hear Rabbit whisper to Nyle and me. “It’s a cheese called casu marzu; crow uses it to make his special grilled cheese. Those little worms can really jump too!”

Nyle looks at Rabbit as if she’s speaking pure gibberish. “Your brain is cheese,” Nyle scoffs. 

Rabbit giggles, causing a few people to stare at her uneasily.

Turning my head, I find Lincoln and Pierce sending half the group on their way. In such a confined space, it is difficult to marshal everyone into lines that make strategic sense. 

Yet, I can sense the change in the winds and the air, so I do not care. ‘Thine amateur tail tuckers; cast thy courtliness to the earth, wave thy arms in the air and learn to bravely flee like I, a grandmaster in the art!’

With that thought, there’s a wooden thunk that echoes across the putrid water. My eyes dart in the direction of the sound, finding three dark, wooden shapes drifting around the curve in the tunnel. The shapes bob along the water, moving through the steam and parting the green sludge that coats the surface.

Freezing in place, the cattail wiggles in my arc suit, and my hand drifts to my sword. I honestly cannot tell what they are at first, but when I recall what Terra told me, it clicks. These three shapes are the boats that were said to float in the putrid waters of Bryan Park.

It would seem like recognizing a boat should be almost instant, but these have such an odd build I hesitate to refer to them as that even knowing what I do. Each of them is sealed, resembling a bean pod, or perhaps, a coffin. Upon closer inspection, each boat looks this way because there is a second boat flipped, fitted, and fastened to the top of each of them. Though the boats are fitted perfectly together, they are also ajar because each boat has a passenger holding and peeking through an opening.

Glancing behind me, I find that the last group of twenty is about to depart. Thus far, the only people who seem to have noticed the boats are Lincoln, Pierce, Nyle, and Rabbit. Yet, I am uncertain if they have seen what I have.

Someone discovers that none of us are moving, and they raise their torch, illuminating both the boats and their passengers. Ayameko gasps, drawing everyone's attention to the pale, festering arms pinned between each pair of boats, dragging their fingertips along the water.

“I-I can’t do this!” a girl next to Ayameko shouts, fanning herself. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Ethan grits his teeth. “W-what sick bastard did this?!”

“The flies, take a close look,” Nyle says, bringing his crossbow closer. “This is the same fitte who attacked Fairy a few weeks ago.”

Nyle’s words cause everyone to begin to realize what’s happening, except there is yet more, and only I am capable of seeing it.

Atop each boat, there is a person, or rather, a spirit. The three spirits are similar to the spirit woman who follows the Bishop, but I can scarcely see these. 

Still, that does not hinder me from recognizing the spirit sitting atop the front-most boat. It’s a woman that has crossed my mind from time to time since my Tower sprouted, the same one who made me understand that things were becoming heated. The woman gazing back at me with hollow eyes is the one that begged me to help her granddaughter before then calling me a liar in front of everyone.

The wooden boats creak, and a brown shimmer manifests around the spirits. The spirits slump forward as brown ethereal flies break away from them and take flight. They buzz around the boat for only a second before darting through the gap held open by the dead. 

A glimmer of brown light grows inside each boat as a muffled, wooden knock makes itself known. Each boat grows weighted, sinking deeper and pitching to one side. The boats moan as all at once a cascade of white maggots spills over their edges and into the green water en masse.

Dozens of bubbles surface, and with each one comes more and more flies. At the same time, a black swarm buzzes around the corner from whence the boats came. The tunnel becomes so black with flies that even my night vision cannot pierce it. 

Someone shakes me. “Don’t zone out,” I barely hear Pierce say over the roar of innumerable buzzing wings.

Byron’s alarmed shout causes both of us to look back, “Stay away from the wall!”

There we find flies with small bodies, and fat white heads, pushing their way through cracks in the tunnel wall. Once through, they dart around the group of twenty people, searching for any exposed skin they can find.

“Annoying little bastards,” Pierce mutters to himself. Reaching into his pocket, he removes a handkerchief and begins to tie it around the lever of the caged mace. At the same time, Lincoln grabs my arm. 

Lincoln motions toward two additional clickers who race toward the boats and form a circle with the other two already over the water. Together they block the tunnel path and begin to spin their cogwheels. “Pace yourselves and don't get separated; it’s time to go!” Lincoln shouts to everyone.

I nod. ‘A test of Endurance then!’

The last remaining clicker takes position between the flies and me. It follows behind us as everyone begins to move away at a near run.

When we have gained distance from the white headed flies, Pierce stops and spins on his foot. With his handkerchief keeping the mace active, he casts it at the flies like a javelin. The mace strikes the ground, sending out a wave of sparks. The white-headed flies freeze in place, and some white smoke rises from their body. Pierce pivots on his foot and follows behind us.

“Be ready for if the Cogs can’t get a charge off!” Lincoln shouts to the group.

I look back to see the clickers have been beleaguered. [3]

Three of the clickers resemble floating black masses as flies crawl into every opening they can find. They spin and bang against walls grinding the flies into a pulpy mash that seeps inside the clickers. Their inner gears produce a pulpy clack and their cogwheels rasp to a crawl.

Only a singular bronze clicker yet crackles with lightning as a black fog envelops it. 

We turn a corner.  

“Press together; if they swarm, outer people shield middle, middle guide outer,” Lincoln commands.

The front slows, the back races forward as everyone clusters together. 

A flash of blue light illuminates the tunnels behind us. 

Pierce huffs. “If we’re lucky, that means they’re dead, but don’t stop, keep running!”

Byron, who’s buried within the cluster of bodies, studies a fly pinched between his fingers. Only the headless dead black body remains, and its white head is nowhere to be found. 

With visible worry, he shakes his head. “It bit me, but where’s the head?” he mumbles to himself.

Time passes as we continue retreating and retracing our steps until we come upon an unexpected exit. Though the exit is still a half-mile from Columbus Circle, we choose to use it. 

An unnatural silence hangs over the group as we shamble toward the Tower’s figure shimmering beautifully in the distance. ‘...The expedition was a near disaster.’

When we re-enter Central Park, people cannot help but gawk, and in all fairness, they are right to gawk. Half of the group is bleeding from sores where the white headed flies bit them, one girl I do not know is now weeping, and all of us are covered in algae that apparently smells. Then there is me, the Fairy, with a Squir-Eel tied to my back, several people with sacks of giant fish eggs, and Byron carrying a bag of disfigured insect carcasses. 

None of us care, though, not even the weeping girl, who keeps apologizing to me in between tears. I shake my head while staring at the ground. ‘These people were supposed to guard me, but somehow it ended in me comforting a weeping stranger. If there is one thing this expedition taught me, it’s that we require a method of endorsement for these sorts of things in the future.’

We separate to cleanse ourselves of the chamber pot tunnel’s corruption.

However, when Byron informs me that there is… ‘movement’ beneath his skin, I call for everyone to report to the big white tent at the center of Sheep Meadow.

---

Hours later, the sun is setting, and I am in the white tent that sits at the middle of Sheep Meadow, assessing the twenty-two people who were bitten by the white headed flies. All twenty-two people are experiencing a tickling movement beneath their skin. This tent is primarily for token holders that have been exposed to the haze and are undergoing treatment, yet now it’s crowded by people from the expedition.

For a while, I have been using my scrounger skill to see what’s moving around beneath the skin of those bitten. It’s difficult because I rather doubt the scrounger skill is meant to be used in this way, but nevertheless, I have just been able to use it on Byron. I pull my vision from the inside of the bump on Byron’s neck, and a blue wall appears.

Taking out my sticky paper, I push the blue wall away and pause, thinking over the best way to inform everyone of what is happening. 

I glance at some ‘medical equipment.’ Every time I am around or learn more of this time’s medicine, I become shyer about pursuing or ever discussing Humorism. There is a clear divide between the two, and I am embarrassed to face it.

With a shake of my head, I choose to simply be curt about what I saw. “There is a maggot beneath thy skin, and it has pinned itself tightly using barbs on its back. Considering the maggot’s origins, I suggest it be removed immediately.”

While everyone reads and absorbs the information, I watch as Byron’s arm begins to be covered in black bumps. The invasive scrounger skill requires haze to work, so I have also just infected Byron with the haze. This is something I decided I was going to do now with or without the maggot. 

Byron needs to begin strengthening himself if he will be staying in the Tower and possibly going on more expeditions in the future. Here in the medical tent, he will be better taken than inside the Tower with only Doctor Jäger and Shriek. As long as Byron recovers properly, I think Terra will understand my reasoning for expediting Byron’s awakening and not confining him to the Tower as planned.

“…I was afraid of that,” Byron says with a sigh. “If it was a bot fly, you’d suffocate it before pulling it out, but it might be better to do as you said.”

I look up at a few men and women in white coats. These are doctors that were forced to leave their places of practice due to insects or Kiln but did not wish to abandon New York. Only a handful of doctors came to Central Park, though; most of them went to work for the First Line Task Force. However, some that did chose to volunteer and work in this big white tent Terra erected. Here they watch over the people who awaken and help those who have fallen ill or had an injury.

They all glance at one another and then nod. “Right, well… if it’s really an unknown, mutant species, as you’ve told us, then we agree that the safest option is to remove it. Even though you’ve brought us a lot of people, it should still be a quick and clean procedure.”

Though I am still a tad curious about this era’s medical practices, recent events have occupied my mind. 

‘This Fly Kiln is obsessed with me. I do not know why, but I also do not care. Regardless of what they may say, there will certainly be other Kiln more deserving of rumination than him or her. The Tower is my focus now, but I can still take steps to strengthen and prepare myself. When I can spare the time and preparations, I shall see this conflict between us put to rest.’

With strengthing myself in mind, there is a belated meal waiting for my consumption at the BDP’s tavern—it’s time that I ate the Wretched Rat’s corpse. 

Informing Byron that I shall return to check on his recovery in a few days, we exchange a few words about the status of his project in the Tower before I leave his room. I bid farewell to a few others and then move to depart the medical tent. 

Yet, just as I am about to walk out the door, I hear a familiar voice.

I stop, noticing the back of a brawny red-haired man between the cracks in a white curtain. ‘It’s Lorcan?’ Shifting my gaze, I can see Lorcan seems to be talking to a pale woman lying in a white bed. She looks to be somewhere in her upper forties with messy blonde hair and a thin figure; however, her eyes still seem energetic and full of life.

Lifting a rubbish bag that looks to be full of clothes, he says, “I’ll try to get your clothes washed and back to you by tomorrow night, but I gotta get going, ma.” He glances around the room, scrutinizing every corner of it. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay? Is the heating blanket working? This place really isn’t very well insulated, so it’s a little cold.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Patting the white bed, she laughs and says, “I’m comfy, tucked, and ready to get a good night’s sleep.”

“I’m ju—”

She raises her hand, stopping him before he can say more. “Like I said, I’m fine….” With a sigh, a puff of white leaves her lips as she continues, “...but honey. How did you manage to arrange this? What is it you’ve been doing lately?”

He lowers the bag resting it on the ground. “Don’t worry, I can afford it. It’s no big deal, really; I’ll take care of you.”

“I mean, it’s not just the money, baby.” Gesturing toward the white tent and curtain, she says, “This isn’t a place that people that need a lot of care get to stay. What have you gotten yourself into? Is everything okay?”

“Stop worrying, ma, it’s bad for your health.” She sighs again and drops her head. Seeing this, Lorcan glances around, leaves the bag, and walks closer. “Okay, I’ll tell you.”

‘Is he really about to tell his mother that he is working for a supposed famous criminal?’

“It’s a secret, but…” He hesitates before saying, “But I’m actually working for the Fairy, ma. I’m working for the person that everyone is here to see. I’m almost Miss Nightingale’s left-hand man!”

‘Aye, I did not think he would tell her about Galtry; though, this is still unexpected.’

“Miss Nightingale? The Fairy?” Looking up, she stares at Lorcan with half-closed eyes. “Honey. Do you think I’d believe that? How on earth would you even meet her?” She leans forward, lifts a part of Lorcan’s long hair. “Was it before or after you got that new tattoo and dyed your hair this bright red? Why would you dye your hair? I can’t even see your roots. Is it one of those gang initiations, the one where you have to kill something? Because, honey, your roots have to be so fried that they’d set off a Geiger counter.”

“Ma, stop messin’ around. I told you that I just liked it being this really…” His eyes drift to the hair in her hands. “...reeally bright red color a-and the tattoo actually rounds out the whole thing.”

“...I wish you wouldn’t lie to me.” Letting go of his hair, she runs her fingers through her own while shaking her head. “Just, please-please-please, don’t get yourself into any trouble again that you can’t back away from. That’s all I ask.”

Lorcan raises and drops his arms, allowing them to hit his sides. “Didn’t I just say to stop worrying? I’ve already told you, I’m not doing what I used to.”

“Well, honey, I know you spent a year driving trucks. After you stopped doing that, you started hanging out with the same crowd as before.” She seems to remember something and points at him. “Y’know that one man you used to hang out with from time to time? The lanky one? I saw he’s missing online before the internet went out!”

‘...Missing lanky man? Does she mean the one who burst after injecting the Elixir? I can guarantee no sign of him shall be found in this life.’

Lorcan frowns. “Ma, I don’t want to talk about him. He and I hardly hung out anyway.”

Raising her hand, she says, “Don’t get mad at me! I’m just sayin’ I don’t know what you do anymore because you won’t tell me.”

“Cause it doesn’t matter.” Motioning vaguely in the direction of the Tower, he continues, “Plus, I already told you what I’m doing, and you didn’t believe me, so not much I can do about that.”

‘...Lorcan already knows I have strange eating habits, and he is claiming to work for me, so he can actually assist me.’

I walk into the room, the pair stop talking and simply stare at me. I face his mother and wave.

She waves back at me with wide eyes. “Lorcan, that’s the Fairy!”

Lorcan glances at me. “Y-yeah. It should be obvious that she’s here because I work for her.” With a chuckle, he picks up the bag of clothing and says, “So no more worrying about me anymore, okay, ma?”

Looking toward me, I take out my sticky paper and write, “It’s a pleasure to meet thee. Thou may address me as Nightingale if that is thy wish. Lorcan has been helping me tremendously.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Nightingale! Your handwriting is so beautiful!” While I am nodding back in agreement, she fixes her hair and then continues, “And I’m Samantha Yarborough, Lorcan’s mother. Both Lorcan and I truly appreciate you making room for me here. The hospital I was in was barely running, and I didn’t feel very safe there anymore, so being able to stay here has been a load off my mind.”

‘...She thanked and credited me with several things I have essentially nothing to do with.’ I nod and write, “Do not thank me, thank thy son instead.”

“You have a lot of explaining to do later!” With a grin, Mrs.Yarborough throws up her arms and says, “All this time, I didn’t know my son was doing anything other than sleeping around.”

“M-ma!” Lorcan shouts.

“I’m sorry, I’m only kidding. I shouldn’t say such things around Miss Nightingale.” Mrs.Yarborough laughs, placing her hand over her chest. “But I'm sorry that I’ve been bugging you. I’m just worried about you. I’m not really sure what’s going on or how this happened, but I love you, and I’m sure you’re doing me proud. Thank you for taking care of me, son.”

Lorcan seems lost for words for a second. “Well… yeah, I mean...” He takes a breath and blows a hot breath out of his nostrils. “Yeah, love you too.”

“But, don’t let me keep the two of you,” Mrs.Yarborough says, waving her hands. “Miss Nightingale is waiting, and I’m sure she has more things to do than wasting her time with a woman lying in bed.”

Nodding, I remove and stuff the used sticky paper in my pouch and then write, “I would not mind staying longer, and I do not consider it a waste of time, but aye, I do have somewhere to be before it’s too late. Still, I suspect I shall be back here someday soon.”

Throwing the bag of clothes over his shoulder, Lorcan also nods. “Yeah, we should probably get going.” He faces his mother, and continues, “I’ll bring you your breakfast in the morning. It’s getting harder to find eggs, so we’ll probably do something closer to an English breakfast, minus the eggs.”

Mrs.Yarborough looks at me, shaking her head. “He’s always made the best breakfasts, y’know? My ASL children always loved them.” Her eyes light up. “Which reminds me!” Raising her hands, she begins performing sign language in an attempt to speak to me. 

All I can do is stare and slowly raise my own hands. ‘Oh, good lord. I have still only memorized a few words.’

“Ma, Miss Nightingale and you can talk later,” Lorcan says, gesturing for me to put my hands down.

Clicking her tongue, she nods and drops her hands. “You’re right, you’re right. I just got excited when I remembered I could sign to her.”

I nod awkwardly, wave farewell, and we depart. Together, Lorcan, the single clicker that was not sacrificed, and I move to the southwest of the park.

As we walk, Lorcan coughs. I glance over, finding him looking off and to the side. “Thanks for backing me up. I’ve gotten in trouble a few times… well actually, a lot of times, so ma worries about me.”

With my mind still heavy, I merely nod. ‘It is not an issue. Though, I am surprised with how happy she seemed.’

He talks for a while longer before arriving at the tavern the BDP has made into their own personal abode. Unlike the time before, it is lit up. 

Well, actually, the expedition and I stopped by the BDP several hours ago. Since I cannot raise them properly inside the Tower, I dropped off the Squir-Eels. I also gave them the Squir-Eel carcass so that they may compare it to what hatches. When they have done that, I will then eat whatever is left of the Squir-Eel and check it for adaptations as usual. However, at the time, there were a lot of people around, and I suspected that I smelled rather horrid, so I decided to return when there were fewer people around. That was until the whole maggot thing started, then I became nervous that I would miss my opportunity to return.

Lorcan and I knock and discover that there is only a single person remaining. After delivering my prepared excuse, they escort me into a room at the back of the tavern.

“I shall require some time alone to examine the corpse,” I write on a sticky paper, showing it to both Lorcan and the BDP man.

Before the man even has the opportunity to object, Lorcan puts his arm on his shoulder. “Alright. We’ll wait outside,” Lorcan says.

When I walk further into the icy room, I find silver tables spread out and filled with organs, viscera, bone, and meat. This is all that remains of the once mighty beast, and soon half of what is left of it shall be devoured by me. The cattail wiggles from the neck of my arc suit. ‘Pray thee. After all the trouble that thou caused me, I believe I am owed a worthy adaptation.’

Piece by piece, I begin consuming the Wretched Rat, savoring each flavor, watching the different colors flow down my cattail, laying on the silver table with my negating membrane closed. But best of all, my prepared excuse did not include me taking anything, and to my immeasurable delight, this counts as stealing. Honestly, I think I am supposed to leave the BDP more than half the corpse, and that could also be why it counts as stealing, but to be frank, I could not care less because I need this.

Every single drop that flows through my cattail feels as if I am consuming the Wretched Rat’s very quintessence, and I know I shall daydream of this flavor often.