101

Bouchard seems caught between a scowl and a grin—the indecision leaves his face more monstrous than usual. "I was hoping to hear more about the blood squeezing from behind his bulging eye sockets, but knowing the killing was clean pleases me, Mekuztli."

"I've held up my end of the bargain," you say. "I even brought a trophy as proof. I thought you might be interested in having it." You unbuckle Ichiro's sword and take it out from its hiding place under your coat. The old lick takes the weapon, holding it in open palms with nothing short of reverence. He turns it over in his hands and rubs a gnarled thumb over a carved monogram on the hilt.

"I didn't ask you to retrieve this…" he mutters.

"I thought you'd be pleased. Proof that your foe is actually dead."

Bouchard fastens the sword around his waist—somehow it feels like it belongs there. "It's tainted. But even without my asking, it chose to come back to me. This is good, Mekuztli. I am…pleased."

You nod, relieved that your gift has been well received. "When we spoke earlier, you said you had information about an attack to undermine Corliss. You'll need to tell me soon if you want me to be able to do anything about it."

"Correct," the Sewer Rat grunts. "I'd rather not have risked the delay, but ensuring your loyalty to me was essential. Now then," he beckons you to walk with him down a smaller tributary pipe and points a twisted finger at the ceiling of the area you just left. "That entire area is monitored by cameras and motion detectors. I trust my techs to a degree, but some things are better said in private. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course."

"Then let's walk."

Several Minutes Later.

Bouchard stops just before the lip of a steep decline in the pipe where a waterfall of filth drains downward with an irregular splashing. It's dark here—barely any ambient light at all—but the old Sewer Rat seems to relax, genuinely more comfortable than he'd been where you met him.

"No cameras here," he says. "And even if they were installed without my knowledge, the noise level will prevent any words from being picked up."

You're getting nervous. "What could you know that requires this level of security?" you ask.

"Many nights ago, I told you that I have no interest in becoming Prince," Bouchard says. "That remains the case. A small degree of influence from behind the scenes is all I desire. Enough to remain comfortable and expand my underground domain with no topside interference. I'm a pragmatist, Mekuztli, and I have watched the progress of the Second Inquisition with great interest as it consumes cities once thought impregnable by their Kindred rulers. They destroy elder and fledgling alike through sheer force of arms. Maintaining a low profile is imperative to our survival, and when the Inquisition burns itself out, we can once again rise from the ashes."

You nod along with him, wondering when he's going to get to the point.

"Corliss, ultimately, wants what I want. No rocking the boat, no extraordinary risks, nor social upheaval to the order of Camarilla society. She remains skeptical of the Assamites'—or 'Banu Haqim' if you want to be polite—integration here in Ottawa, and wants to end the power struggle it's causing with the Tremere. I'm not a sorcerer, so I keep my head out of such things, but when the Tremere started lurking in my sewers, it started to get personal."