The stone beneath City Hall burst apart.

From the darkness below came a roar like a thousand iron gates dragged across the earth. 

Dust poured from the ceiling. 

Men stumbled. 

Lamps went out one by one, and in that sudden darkness every faction drew steel.
“Hold!” cried Wayne.

But fear had already loosed the arrows.
A Scurlock guard struck a Triad captain across the face. 

The captain answered with a dagger-thrust. 

Three men fell before either lord could speak.

“Traitors!” shouted Scurlock.
His guards formed a shield wall.

Wang’s captains answered with curved blades, darting between the benches like wolves among sheep.

Steel rang against steel. 

One Scurlock man fell beneath a shower of short blades, while another seized a chair and broke it across a Triad soldier’s shoulders.

Lionel’s men stood apart for a heartbeat.
Then Lionel smiled grimly.
“If everyone is fighting,” he said, “we may as well choose a side.”
His guards charged.
The council chamber became a battlefield.
Scurlock’s men fought in tight ranks, their shields locked together. 

Wang’s warriors moved like water, striking from gaps and retreating before the counterstroke. 

Lionel’s mobsters attacked both sides, hoping to break the balance and seize City Hall for themselves.

Wayne drew his sword.
He met the first attacker at the foot of the council table.

Their blades crossed once, twice, three times.
Wayne turned the fourth stroke aside and struck the man’s wrist, sending his sword spinning across the floor.
“Enough!” Wayne thundered.
No one heard him.

Then the floor split.
A black claw rose through the broken stone.
Every warrior froze.
It was larger than a carriage wheel, plated in ancient metal, its fingers ending in hooked talons.
Steam hissed from the joints.
Behind it came another claw.
Then another.

Grandmother Bright raised her staff.
“The Dragonheart does not serve Gotham,” she whispered.
The creature below roared.
“It rules it.”

For the first time that morning, the factions lowered their weapons.
Outside, bells began ringing throughout the city.
From the South Quarter came the sound of marching feet.
From the markets came horns.
And beneath Gotham, the Dragonheart awakened fully.

Ping:

The sound of War

Before the great houses had learned to call themselves allies, Grandmother Bright heard the ominous sound:

Three turns.
A pause.
Three turns.

She rose before dawn and went to City Hall.

There she found Lord Wayne already awake, standing over a map of Gotham. Red markers surrounded the South Quarter. Blue marked the markets. Black marked the tunnels.

“You heard it,” Bright said.

Wayne did not turn.
“I heard something.”

“No,” she replied. “You heard war approaching.”

Before Wayne could answer, the doors opened.
Lord Scurlock entered with twelve guards.
Behind him came Wang, surrounded by Triad captains.
Lionel arrived last.
For the first time, every faction had brought armed men into the council chamber.

Scurlock placed a ledger upon the table.
“Three hundred workers have disappeared.”

Wang’s eyes narrowed. “And you accuse me?”

“I accuse everyone.”

Lionel laughed bitterly. “At last, something honest.”

Wayne struck the table.
“Enough.”

But no one listened.

Wang accused Scurlock of preparing a coup. 
Scurlock accused Wang of arming the workers. 
Lionel declared that Wayne had secretly ordered soldiers into the South Quarter.

Then a messenger burst through the doors.
“Milord!”

Everyone turned.
“The South Quarter is burning.”

Silence followed.

Wayne reached for his sword.
Wang’s hand went to his dagger.
Lionel’s guards raised their weapons.
Scurlock stepped backward.

And for one terrible moment, Gotham stood upon the edge of civil war.

Then the ground beneath City Hall moved.
Stone cracked.
The chandeliers swung wildly.

From below came three enormous turns of gears.
Everyone froze.
Three.
A pause.
Three.

Grandmother Bright closed her eyes.
“The Dragonheart has awakened.”

Beneath them, something vast began climbing toward the surface.
And the council, divided against itself, suddenly understood the cruelest truth:
They had spent so long preparing to fight one another that none of them had prepared to fight what was coming.

ping:

Gotham Patchwork Council

The council held together for exactly as long as Gotham remained in ruins.

Lord Wayne brought order to the meetings.
Lord Scurlock brought ledgers, contracts, and an unsettling knowledge of where every surviving coin had gone.
Triad Elder Wang kept the markets moving when no one else could.
Godfather Lionel made certain that food reached the districts that had once belonged to his enemies.
Grandmother Bright listened to everyone, spoke little, and somehow knew which promises would be broken before they were made.
Together, they were almost a government.

Then City Hall reopened.
The first argument concerned taxes.
The second concerned who had the authority to collect them.

By the third, Lord Wayne and Lord Scurlock were no longer speaking directly to one another.

Wang accused the nobles of rebuilding Gotham for themselves.
Lionel accused Wang of using the shortages to strengthen the Triad.
Scurlock produced figures proving that everyone was stealing from everyone else.
Grandmother Bright merely sighed.

Outside, the citizens watched.
They had fought a tyrant and discovered that tyranny was not the only thing that could make a city miserable.
The council’s greatest weakness was also its greatest strength: none of its members trusted the others enough to surrender power.

And so they watched one another.
Wayne watched Scurlock.
Scurlock watched Wang.
Wang watched Lionel.
Lionel watched Wayne.
Grandmother Bright watched them all.

For a time, this was enough.

Gotham recovered.
The bridges reopened.
Workshops filled with smoke.
The hospitals gained roofs.
Children returned to schools where teachers had begun replacing portraits of Highlord Macdonald with maps of the new republic.

Yet beneath the streets, something was changing.
Workers repairing a sewer beneath the old South Quarter discovered that their tools were vibrating.

Then came the sound.
Three slow turns of enormous gears.
A pause.
Three more.
The foreman ordered the men out.

That night, beneath Gotham, the Dragonheart and Clockwork body moved.

And somewhere inside City Hall, Grandmother Bright suddenly woke from sleep.
She had heard the same rhythm before.


Ping:

Even death may die in Mythago World