Suspiciously Good Working Conditions

  The Dreadfort soared forward, coasting between the tips of jagged snow-capped peaks, drinking greedily as it went. Through the eyes of the demons on lookout Marci watched as clouds rolled around her like great fluffy bnkets. It was beautiful and served as some small distraction both from the pounding handover in her head, the shame at said pounding's source (she'd managed to bypass the ward on the drawer with the alcohol in it), and the fact that she was having absolutely no luck trying to understand the Shard.

  Marci was at the very heart of the fortress, beyond the throne she now reluctantly held some facsimile of court, in the rge, spherical room within which the Shard itself y. It glinted, red and bck, with points of light and strange, strange, sometimes mind-bending shapes that danced and shifted—fairy-looking one moment, terrible and monstrous the next.

  And the magic inside it? Beyond the fact that she had confirmed it contained a soul—hers, presumably—she couldn't make heads nor tails of the magic involved. The principles of the enchantments didn't even vaguely resemble anything she'd learned in university, the runes used were not infernal—and ,in fact, made her eyes itch if she looked at them too long—and the only thing that her endless barrage of spells designed to identify the heart had done was give her the distinct sense that it was a supremely creepy object, and definitely not Infernal.

  Marci cast one st spell, a slightly obscure Rank Two spell called 'Reveal Secret' that rarely revealed anything, let alone secret things, and when it replied with utter nonsense, flitted down and alighted on the gantry that ran around the glowing heart, kicking her legs and staring up at the terrible object that had snared her, rubbing her aching head.

  "Dark Mistress?"

  Saoirse, Marci's Shardsense told her.

  "Yes?" said Marci, not looking up.

  "I, ah, you… wanted to go over some more necromancy?" said Saoirse. "I've prepared a lesson pn."

  Necromancy. Yes. Something that might hypothetically make her less dependent on bloodthirsty demons for her protection.

  "Right," nodded Marci, gncing back towards the succubus, who today was wearing a baggy shirt, a knitted red cardigan with high-waisted, but more or less shapeless dark-blue pants. "Let's… wait, hold on- what do you make of this?" Marci gestured upwards.

  Saoirse gnced at the object, then gulped. "The… Shard, m'dy?"

  "You don't have to call me m'dy, just call me Marci," said Marci. "And yes."

  "I, ah, didn't think Keepers wanted anyone to find out about the Shards," she said.

  "Humour me," said Marci, gesturing to it.

  Saoirse's blonde brows sharped into a 'V' as she raised a hand and began casting diagnostic spells. Most of them Marci recognised or could see how they were modified versions of things she used, although a few worked on novel, quite interesting principles she hadn't considered.

  "It is… strange?" said Saoirse eventually. "Your… soul is in there? Is that right?"

  "I think so," said Marci.

  "I don't recognise any of the enchanting," she said, shaking her head. "It's like the portal, to Pandemonium and the other cities. Totally…"

  "Alien?" finished Marci.

  Saoirse nodded. "And a bit creepy."

  "Yeah," said Marci, before taking a deep breath.

  She had a few other spellcasters 'on staff,' although only one or two other wizards. Marci had always been naturally gifted with magic, but she knew from her mastery thesis that having someone to bounce ideas was an important part of any research project. The demoness seemed to be much nicer than the rest of her kind. But did that mean she could trust her…?

  "Saoirse, can I tell you a secret?" asked Marci.

  "Um… yes? I mean, of course, m'l- um, Marci," said Saoirse.

  "I didn't mean to become a Shardkeeper," admitted Marci. "I was an adventurer, with my friends—the ones we rescued. We came to that gcier, we found the Shardfort, and I accidentally bonded with it."

  Saoirse cleared her throat. "I sort of… um, figured."

  Marci swore. "And do the other demons know?"

  "I think Rafferty sort of suspects?" said Saoirse with a shrug. "But he's, well, he takes his job seriously. It probably doesn't even matter to him. Maeve might know too, but wouldn't care so long as she's getting paid. Finnley? Well… I could never tell what he was thinking."

  "And the rest?" asked Marci.

  "I think you've done a better job tricking them," said Saoirse. "Although I've heard a few people talking about the 'excellent workpce conditions.' Which is, uh, unusual."

  "If you knew all this, why are you still working for me?" said Marci.

  "Well, uh… it looks good on my resume?" said Saoirse. "And, um, well… teaching you necromancy has been fun! And you're a much nicer boss than what we were expecting when we heard there was a Shardkeeper recruiting."

  Well, at least her legions of demons didn't think she was a failure.

  "Saoirse, I'm trying to figure out how to stop being a Shardkeeper," said Marci. "How to disentangle my soul."

  "But… why?" said Saoirse, cocking her horned head to one side. "You're… well, you're one of the most powerful people on the pnet now. Why would you want to give that up?"

  "Because I don't want to spend my whole life being hunted by the armies of the south, or else have to carve out some kind of horrific queendom full of a subjugated popution," said Marci. "And because power is never something I wanted. All I ever wanted was to be a wizard: learn magic, rummage around in ancient pces, and snog hot people."

  Saoirse hesitated, before coming over to sit next to Marci. Through her Shardsense, Marci could feel that the yer of tension that the succubus had always carried around her when they'd interacted had melted away to a rge degree, and in its pce was a warm, friendly feeling.

  "I don't know if it's possible to get your soul out," she said, staring up at the Shard. "But if that's what you want, then I'll try to figure it out with you."

  Marci felt some of the tensions in her shoulders ease, and despite the pounding in her head, she felt a little lighter.

  "You're not like the other demons," said Marci after a moment.

  She felt a flicker of irritation from Saoirse's mind. "What? Yes, I am!"

  "The others seem to revel in cruelty," said Marci, shaking her head. "They're always talking about 'bloodshed' this, and 'murder' that."

  "No- well, some of them do—Maeve is a psychopath," said Saoirse. "But most of them are just putting on an act to try and please you."

  Marci raised a sceptical eyebrow.

  "I said most," said Saoirse.

  "Demons ensve people," said Marci. "Your entire society is based on cruelty."

  "And how many demons do you think actually own sves?" said Saoirse. "What percentage?"

  "I don't know," admitted Marci. "Like… eighty percent?"

  "I believe the statistic is around four percent; and the vast majority are ensved by the Shardkeepers," said Saoirse. "My family has sves; they're one of the most powerful in the Underworld. But most demons have little economic or political power. If I understand correctly, and I've been doing a bit of reading, all those things are true about the surface as well."

  "We don't have svery!" said Marci, outraged. "We're nothing like the Underworld?"

  Saoirse raised hand and began ticking off things. "Edraine, your homend, has serfdom, materially not that different from svery; Velubos has… I think they call it indentured servitude? The far south, Korral, has chattel svery, like the Underworld does for mortals—right?"

  "Altnd doesn't," said Marci. "And they abolished serfdom." She scratched the back of her head. "Although… I think lots of farmers say it isn't so different. They still pay most of their crop in rent…"

  "Then why are you still disputing my point?" said Saoirse.

  "I just- we're not as bad as demons," said Marci. "We didn't invade you! Subjugate half of your nd!"

  "I'm not trying to excuse anything," said Saoirse. "I'm saying that there are a lot more parallels than you seem to think."

  "You wanted me to use the dead demon's bodies!" said Marci. "The ones who died defending me!"

  "They were dead, what did they care?" said Saoirse, clear confusion radiating in her mind.

  "What if you died and I reanimated your body?" said Marci.

  "Assuming you didn't try to bind my soul… why would I care?" said Saoirse. "I'd be dead."

  Marci huffed and looked away. Of course, Saoirse was a nice demon, but she was still a demon—a creature of fundamental darkness. And… and the other stuff was utter nonsense. Sure, the surface had its problems, but it wasn't as bad as half of what she'd seen from the demons.

  Were they?

  Obviously not.

  But… maybe Saoirse did have a point about serfdom.