A/N - Apologies for the day-late update. Busy. Distractions. Also, I almost forgot to send myself the illustration for this chapter lol.

8 – A Nefarious Plot?

"Seviper." Tinker leant forwards over the dried river, holding Spark in one paw to shine light over the grim scene. Sharp, red spikes and long fangs stood out amongst the rocks and fleshy remains. "Definitely seviper."

"Great," said Spark. "Could you put me down now?"

Tinker obliged and set Spark down next to Cleo.

"I have one question," said Cleo. "Who would build a dam out of seviper remains?"

"Easy." Tinker leant back against the wall, his red eyes fixed on the dam almost as if such a scene didn't phase him in the slightest. "It could be an assassin, or someone who has a grudge against the pokemon that live in this area. Any vindictive soul really."

"Zangoose?" Spark asked.

"It's true zangoose and seviper have a long-burning feud against one another, but this goes far against their tastes. This could harm an entire eco-system." He scratched his nose. "Not to mention the poison type pokemon are having a very difficult time right now. They're being tracked and chased away from their homes by the Shadow Lands. This reeks of malicious intent."

Cleo gritted her teeth. She knew what that felt like.

"But doesn't this water feed..." Spark nodded to the stone slab.

"Oh no, no." Tinker shook his head. "We've tapped into several mountain springs to direct the water straight to us. It doesn't come from a river. This did flow down into the forest, but now... I think it may be headed elsewhere."

Cleo stared over at the backed up water. Of course. It was draining off somewhere. It had to be, otherwise it would have overflowed the dam and fed back into the river.

She turned to Tinker. "How do we find that out? It's too dangerous for one of us to swim down there."

Tinker crossed his arms. "Yes. We need someone immune or resistant to poison who doesn't mind getting wet. That rules out a pure ground type, definitely. Someone used to water would be best. I know." He turned to head back to the gate and paused to look back at them. "I won't be long. If you wish to wait there, you can. Otherwise, you can wait in my office? Or continue with the mission I assigned you?" His tone implied he hoped she'd take the final option.

"No." Cleo shook her head. "I'd get answers faster if I waited here."

Tinker's face dropped and he turned away to open the gate. "Fair enough. I shall be back shortly."

Cleo looked down at Mischief. He was sat with his back against the wall, his paws crossed in his lap. Motionless. Clearly this had been a shock to him. She tore her eyes away and leant back on the wall herself and let out a sigh. If she were to put herself in his situation, being shocked at such a sight would leave her rather speechless herself. Maybe to such an extent she'd be reeling for days.

At the end of the day, the seviper were still pokemon. Something... someone... had killed them and used their bodies to build this dam. Used them to poison the river. To kill other pokemon.

That was the likely scenario, and one that didn't sit well with her. Not just with her, with any level headed pokemon with a sense of morality.

For Mischief, who'd just recently learned of the evil that filled the world they lived in, this was likely a very unwelcome eye opener.

And nothing Cleo could say would change that.

A dull grating sound signalled Tinker's return.

"Just over here," Tinker said. "I hope you have a strong stomach."

"A stomach of steel!"

Cleo looked over at the two pokemon. Tinker was leading a marshstomp towards them. Excellent choice. Ground, so he would resist the poison, and water so he would be able to see when he dived into the river. Sometimes she didn't give Tinker enough credit. He was a mad genius but he could certainly think on his toes.

The marshstomp moved a pair of goggles from his forehead so they were covering his eyes. "So I'm just lookin' fer where it drains off then, aye?"

"Yes. And any sign of what may have done this."

Without a word, the marshstomp slipped head first into the river, not creating so much as a splash. Within moments, his head appeared above the water.

"I can see where it's goin', sure enough, but th'hole's too small fer me."

"Don't worry about that, Skipper," Tinker told him. "Can you see what made the hole?"

"Nay. It's clearly been made days ago. The water's washed away any claw marks."

Tinker sighed and ran a paw over his face. "That's fine. We'll just have to track it and see where it comes out. And hopefully block off the hole. But... it might be too late for that."

"We should clear th'blockage away," Skipper told him. "Right enough, that'll get th'river flowin' again, an' away from where it's flowin' out."

"Days..." Tinker stared at the far wall.

"We can't do that!" Spark exclaimed. "If we remove it, all the poison will just flow into the lake!"

"Aye. That's right enough." Skipper leant on the bank and moved the goggles back up onto his forehead. He looked up at Tinker. "Any suggestions?"

"Days..." Tinker didn't look at any of them. "How has this gone unnoticed for so long?"

Skipper inclined his head on one side but said nothing.

"Because we have no security in the forest or mountains," Cleo told Tinker flatly. "That's why."

"No, our security is all internal. But we still have pokemon coming and going." Tinker nibbled his claw. "This has been going on without our knowledge and it chills me. Oh well. Can't be helped." He swiftly regained his composure and kicked himself back from the wall. "Skipper, we shall track this river and see where it goes. In the meantime, I'm going to rally up some shroomish and breloom and ask them to build a new dam, clear away this mess and remove all poison from the water. But first... Skipper, we need to block where this exits."

"Ne'er a finer suggestion." Skipper slipped out of the water and stood a couple of feet away while the putrid water fell from his body. "Might I suggest stockin' up on pecha berries? We're gonna need 'em."

Tinker gave a nod. "True. As for you three." He turned to address Cleo.

"I already have a plan," Cleo told him. "Follow the dry river and see where it leads, what the damage is, and look for clues."

"No." Tinker crossed his arms. "I gave you orders and you're to stick to them. Find out why that noivern was out during the day, and what he wanted."

Cleo waved a paw at the seviper remains. "There's a chance he did this."

"Right ye are!" Skipper nodded his head. "If he were out during th'day n'all."

Tinker narrowed his eyes. "I think we'd be aware of a noivern flying about for days."

Cleo stared back at him. "But you weren't aware of this."

"Look!" Spark hopped up and down. "There's no sense in arguing over it! If either are linked, it will become obvious later! Let's just get out of this smelly place and look for clues!"

"Do your job!" Tinker growled. "Both tasks will be dealt with accordingly, I can assure you. This river will be cleaned, and if the noivern is linked then we'll discover that. The upside there is that the noivern is already dealt with."

"But you didn't find its body," Cleo said flatly. "You fear it's still out there."

Tinker grit his teeth and looked away. "Yes. Well, either way. Please leave now. I can't thank you enough for discovering this. However, I do need you to find the information I asked for."

Cleo nodded and turned away. "Very well. Keep me informed. We'll be back soon."

"Haste makes waste, Cleo."

She glanced back but said nothing. She moved on, following after Spark as she lit up the cave.

Cleo paused at Mischief, still sitting silently against the wall.

"Mischief?"

He looked up at her, his orange eyes wide and fearful. Something twanged inside her chest but she didn't let it show. He wasn't cut out for this. Putting him through all this was just emotional torture.

"Come on." She looked away and moved past him.

She didn't look back, but the shuffles behind her told her he was following. And that the former spring in his step had been brutally beaten out of him.

...

Yurlik perched on the high stone wall that surrounded Hydreigon Castle, his red eyes surveying the surrounding areas of the Shadow Lands. His mind was reeling with many unanswered questions, the topic of which left an unwelcome nausea in his stomach.

Something had slaughtered Boomer.

And he was having severe doubts in the eye-witness reports from the murkrow that were with him.

After he'd removed Boomer's body from Hydreigon's throne room, he'd taken the opportunity to look over it with some of his murkrow brethren. It was unnatural. What had done it? And how? What pokemon could leave a dragon in such a state? Even an encounter with a lapras wouldn't leave a dragon in such a state, and there was no evidence of any use of ice attacks. An encounter with another dragon type, considerably stronger than the noivern, was a possibility but an unlikely one. Most of the dragons that rebelled against Hydreigon had fled the Shadow Lands and were living as outlaws on the borders, and none of them would dream of facing against Hydreigon's ace for fear of their own lives – enough evidence had sufficed to put an end to any such actions on their parts.

However, the idea of a dragon having done it was ruled out by the wounds themselves. The claw marks weren't deep enough, or large enough, to be those of any known dragon pokemon. There was also too much blunt trauma. The only dragons they could think of that would have done that were the smaller variety of their evolved kin – bagon, axew, gible... an unevolved dragon wouldn't have been able to do it. Boomer would have made short work of them.

The news the murkrow had given them was that the whimsicott had done it.

No ice attacks.

No dragon attacks.

But somehow it had killed him. With ease.

Without even flinching under a dragon breath attack.

Yurlik wanted to be sick.

He refused to believe it. The thought frightened him. How could a mere whimsicott succeed in such a feat?

He couldn't believe it. The murkrow had to be mistaken.

But the evidence was in their favour. Blunt trauma, minor claw wounds, and the unmistakable fluff that stuck to the tacky patches of blood over the dragon's body.

The honchkrow ruffled his feathers and retreated into himself, keeping his red eyes on the trees in the distance, unseeing, lost in his own fearful thoughts.

Something was happening, and he didn't like it.

Something, he feared, that would threaten an end to the Shadow Lands, and this was just the beginning.