by Scott Baron
And now it was paying off.
It was again one of those cases of better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it, though Bud did everything in his power to avoid freezing climes.
Laskar, on the other hand, had decidedly not been prepared for their unpleasant destination, both physically and mentally. And even though the Wampeh outfitted him with warm attire, his complaining made Bud seem absolutely stoic.
“It’s so cold I can’t feel my face,” he whined almost as soon as they stepped off of the ship.
The landing site was obscured by the swirling snow, which was pretty much a constant on this world, but they still had to set down far enough away from the nearby city where their target held court to avoid notice. His name was Arvin, and he ran one of the toughest operations in the nearest five systems.
And it looked like he was the one who had delivered the mysterious Council note to Emmik Ozman. Or, at least, so their intel suggested. But until they spoke to the man directly, they simply would not know for sure. Unfortunately, that would not be so easy.
The recreation establishment he ran was the hottest spot in town, as well as the warmest. All sorts visited it to get out of the cold, and unlike so many of the places they had visited of late, this was actually frequented by more than just unscrupulous mercenaries and pirates.
Music, food, drink, entertainment, all were available within those walls, and any who acted up were removed with great prejudice. Rumor had it, the truly offensive ones were even fed to the giant Obanta that roamed the icy tundra.
Those were essentially snow-white, bipedal beasts, but magical in origin, made of powered ice, formed by the world’s unusual, innate magic. Ice that looked like white fur, like a Yeti, but with a much worse attitude. And they were quite omnivorous, eating pretty much anything, or anyone, who stumbled into their grasp.
“Did you see that?” Laskar asked, turning abruptly to the right. “Was that an Obanta?”
“Relax, Laskar. They do not typically attack large groups of travelers. At least, not unless they are particularly hungry,” Hozark replied.
“But what if it is hungry?”
“Then, perhaps, we might have a problem.”
“Wonderful,” their copilot said, pulling his hat lower on his head against the cold.
Interestingly, Hozark noticed that while the snow was sticking to the others, it seemed to be slowly melting from Laskar. Apparently, he had decided to use the tiny amount of magic within him to fend off the cold.
It was actually pretty impressive, his unexpected little trick. Not everyone could manage that spell, and for one as weakly powered as him, it was quite a feat. He was just full of surprises, it seemed.
“How much farther? I can’t feel my toes,” he whined.
“And here I believed Uzabud’s intense dislike of the cold would have meant he would be the griping one,” Demelza said.
“You all bitch too much,” Henni said. “Less whining, more walking.”
With that, she powered on ahead of them, plowing through the snow with a singular purpose. She was a dynamo, and one they would all do well to emulate in this instance.
The little woman was bundled up from tip to toe, just a slit for her sparkling eyes visible providing access to the depths of her coverings. At least she had fabricated her outfit from clean materials, so her stink would not alert anyone––or thing––of their approach.
“Shouldn’t we have her wait for us?” Bud asked.
“Do not worry, she is fearless. And this is what she does,” Hozark replied. “Why she is part of our group, at least for now. She is somewhat unstoppable in this respect.”
“It is true,” Demelza added. “When she wants to, she blends in and hears things as well as most Ghalian spies I’ve met, though she does it all without formal training.”
An echoing bellow rang out through the swirling winds.
“Obanta?” Laskar asked, his eyes wide.
Hozark listened intently for a moment, pinpointing the direction of the sound. “Yes. But captive ones are employed as guard animals near the city. Not only do they keep unscrupulous types on their better behavior, they also tend to hold other Obanta at bay.”
“A territorial thing?” Bud asked.
“More or less.”
“I don’t care what they’re doing. I just want to get out of this cursed cold!” Laskar said. “If we can hear them, we must be close, right? I can’t see shit in this damn snow.”
“Yes, Laskar. In fact, had you been looking ahead instead of focusing your energies on complaining, perhaps you would have noticed what is directly before us,” Demelza said.
He squinted his eyes, focusing on the shapes becoming clear up ahead. And the snow seemed to be lesser there. As if a degree of magic was keeping it somewhat at bay, preventing massive snow drifts from covering all in sight.
“Is that a town?”
“Very good, Laskar. It is, indeed. And if you talk less and listen more, you may even hear the faint sound of music coming from our destination.”
The miserable man actually heeded the recommendation and ceased his whining long enough to make out the telltale sounds of festivities.
“Is that where we’re going?”
“Indeed, it is,” Hozark said.
“So what are we waiting for?”
“Just one thing,” the Wampeh replied. “And here she comes.”
Henni seemed to appear out of nowhere, though her trick came not from a shimmer cloak, but simply her innate ability to stand where the light and natural environment made her less visible. It was probably entirely subconscious how she did it. And it was likely what had kept her alive so long.
“Hey, guys! So, there are twenty-two visible guards inside, seven near the VIP section, four at the door, and the others spread out across the joint.”
“What do you mean visible?” Bud asked. “The crazy chick makes no sense.”
“I’m not crazy, creeper. I was just being thorough. If you’d let me finish, that is.”
“So finish.”
“I am finishing,” she shot back. “As I was saying. Twenty-two visible guards, but there are also five security types in patron attire.”
“How can you be so sure?” Bud asked.
“The way they move. The stuff they’re drinking. They’re nursing their drinks. And what they ordered is pretty weak stuff. And they keep scanning the crowd, but casually. Pretty obvious, though.”
“Damn,” Bud said, impressed.
Hozark slapped him on the shoulder. “You see, my friend? This is what she excels at.”
Laskar seemed unimpressed. “Great, there are guards. We knew that would be the case anyway. Can we please just get the hell out of this cold and into that nice, warm building?”
“That we shall,” Hozark said, undoubtedly brightening the man’s spirits. “All right,” he said, turning to the others. “Let us get inside and see what we can see.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Calling the transition from their trek across the freezing tundra to the cozy interior a night-and-day difference would not have been an exaggeration. When Hozark and his team stepped in through the magical force curtain keeping the snow and cold out when the doors opened, what they found was so utterly opposite of the outer conditions, it was staggering.
The heat felt almost tropical compared to what they had just come in from. And the patrons were all lively and in fantastic spirits. They were also quite scantily clad for the world they were on. But here, in this place? Less was more, and the dancing patrons were shiny with a thin sheen of sweat.
The smells of roast meats, grilled root vegetables from the subterranean, geothermally heated grow rooms, and the musky pheromones of the partying patrons mixed together to give the place an incredibly inviting and cozy feel.
Of course, there were also spells in place, subtly enhancing the effect. Something Hozark and Demelza had noted the moment they stepped inside. But that was the only magic i
n play, it seemed, and it was of no threat to them. Merely a way to keep the clientele happy and encourage their prompt return.
Some of the more private seating areas were frequented by somewhat debaucherous patrons, many engaging in acts that, while not explicit, were nevertheless clear in where they were going. But for that, Arvin’s establishment conveniently offered private rooms, rentable by the day or the hour.
Or by the minute, for the more overly excitable, though he sold a special ointment to help with that as well.
Arvin was a businessman, and quite a clever one, regardless of his mob boss lifestyle. He was shrewd, and not one to fall into the stupid strong-arm thug games of so many of his lesser peers. He projected class and confidence from his VIP booth where he held court over his establishment, his personal guards stationed around him.
Another sign of his more cultured, and also more intelligent, manner of running things was the nature of his guards. While those at the door and on the floor––including the plainclothes ones––were rather large and intimidating, the ones serving as his own retinue were not hulking beasts, but rather, men and women of far smaller, normal builds.
Hozark and Demelza knew full well that size meant nothing when it came to martial proficiency, and Arvin’s employment of calm, confident, and even-keeled guards to work closest to him showed he was a man who had learned that fact as well. Again, a comfort in his environment that belied his unusual grasp on the reins of power on this world.
“That’s him,” Henni said quietly, nodding slightly toward the guarded man.
“Are you certain that is who you saw at Emmik Ozman’s establishment?” Hozark asked.
“I never forget a face.”
“Well done. See what you can find out about this place, but be careful. And, Henni, be subtle.”
“Will do,” she said with an upbeat grin, then shed her bundles, revealing a rather form-fitting and skimpy outfit that blended right in with the other patrons.
Again, she was becoming invisible in plain sight, vanishing into the churning crowd of patrons.
Hozark turned to his friend. “Bud, please keep an eye on her. But from a distance. She is good, but trouble does seem to find that one at times.”
“Will do,” the space pirate said, mimicking the young woman, then dropped his heavy garb at the coat check and danced off into the mass of revelers.
“Laskar. Go work your magic on those tough-looking fellows nearest the bar. Those are Arvin’s plainclothes guards. We wish for them to stay where they are, so buy them some drinks and keep them occupied.”
“How do I do that?”
“You are the one always bragging about how charming you are. Impress me,” Hozark said, stealthily slipping the man a bag of coin to help complete the task.
Thanks to Visla Jinnik’s deep pockets, this sort of operation was far easier than it might otherwise be, as the promise of free alcohol tended to grease the wheels of new friendships easier than almost anything else.
Demelza’s cleavage was the other thing that could help sway people’s attention, but for this particular plan, she was buttoned up high and staying at Hozark’s side.
“So, just buy them some drinks? That’s it? Not even the women over there? That kinda sucks, Hozark,” Laskar said, a little disappointed.
“Perhaps. But when the time comes, I need you to give us a distraction. A sizable one, if you can.”
At this he perked up slightly. “How will I know when?”
“Oh, you will know. We shall make it abundantly clear.”
“Well, all right then. I guess I’m off to get a bunch of thugs drunk. Oh, joy,” he grumbled, then headed off toward the bar.
Hozark turned to his partner, who had shed her outerwear and was ready for the next step of their task.
“Shall we?”
“Let us begin,” she replied.
Hozark and Demelza adopted a casual air, but one of official business nonetheless. To any watching, it seemed they were enjoying the sights and sounds, but still had work to do.
They approached the elevated VIP section, stepping close to Arvin’s table. Hozark had to hand it to the man’s staff. They were subtle, yet quietly efficient in positioning themselves between him and their employer, all without seeming intimidating or aggressive in any way.
The very picture of high-end security.
Hozark moved casually, with his hands clearly visible, adopting the posture of a harmless man. Demelza, likewise, was non-threatening in her demeanor, though either could take the guards out relatively quickly. It would not be easy, though. They were obviously highly skilled professionals. But, ultimately, the Ghalian won out more often than not.
“Arvin?” Hozark asked.
“That’s me,” the man said. “What business do you have here? You’re obviously not patrons.”
“Uh, no, we’re not. We’re friends of Daruvius Kahn,” he replied, using the name of a well-known smuggler who frequented this particular part of space.
The Ghalian spies had informed Hozark that Daruvius had been seen several systems away, so there was no chance of his showing up and spoiling their way into Arvin’s inner circle. Unfortunately, the spies were not privy to one important fact.
Arvin bristled at the man’s name. “Daruvius? That scum owes me coin! And a lot. You have some nerve coming here and saying his name.”
The security detail, while outwardly just as relaxed as before, had shifted their posturing to one of heightened readiness. A layman wouldn’t have noticed it, but the Ghalian assassins saw the change as plain as the switch from night to day.
“No, you misunderstand,” Hozark said with a big, friendly grin. “That’s why we’re here. He knows he screwed up with you, and he wanted us to deliver this to you with his apologies.”
Hozark reached into his inner pocket, moving carefully so as to not set the security staff into motion, and drew out a hefty bag of coin. It had originally been intended to use for bribes and any other issues that money would smooth over, but it seemed that now meant something other than they’d initially expected.
But the Ghalian adapt and improvise as easy as breathing.
Hozark handed the coin to the man, his staff closely watching the hand reaching toward their employer. Arvin took the bag and hefted it in his palm.
“Feels light. Very light.”
“And Daruvius knows it. This is just a token of his apologies. The full amount, plus an additional interest payment, will be coming to you as soon as he is able. He wanted us to tell you that he deeply regrets his actions, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make things right and repay his debt.”
Arvin opened the pouch and looked inside. It was a substantial sum, even if not all he was owed.
“You say this is on top of what he owes me?”
“Yes. And it also does not include the interest he will pay as well,” Hozark replied.
Arvin tossed the coin pouch in his hand, enjoying the heft more than before, a smile growing on his face. This was looking to be a far more profitable day than he’d expected.
“Smart man,” he said, his countenance shifting to a far friendlier one.
“If I can say, sir, this is quite an impressive place you have here,” Demelza chimed in. “Really amazing what you’ve done. Great music, a fantastic vibe, and the bar looks amazingly well stocked. As good as any I’ve ever seen, in fact.”
Arvin’s face cracked into a pleased smile. Flattery was another sort of coin he was always happy to receive.
“It is, isn’t it?” he said. “Come, sit with me. Have a drink.”
“Really?”
“Why not?” he said, hefting the small bag. “It’s on you, after all.”
Hozark looked at Demelza, and a moment of “should we?” passed between them. Of course, that was all for show, but the overt look helped cement their act.
“Well, okay. Thank you, Arvin. You really are a great host.”
The two assassins slid into the seats beside
him and ordered up strong beverages. Three of them. If they were drinking, Arvin would have to join them. Soon the trio were engaged in a quite refreshing bit of casual conversation, and the proprietor found himself increasingly enjoying their company.
Hozark looked around the establishment with an amazed expression on his face. In reality, he was clocking the locations of all of the guards, as well as noting where Henni, Bud, and Laskar were. The latter was hard at work plying the security detail with drinks. And under his charming assault, they’d actually been partaking more than they should have while on duty. That he had spiked the bottle with a particularly potent extract also didn’t hurt.
Soon they would move on to their next steps. But for now, they would continue their ploy until the moment was right. And when it was, they would move, and with speed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In an unusual twist of events, Arvin was happy to find that he was quite unexpectedly having a surprisingly good time with his guests.
Normally, when people sought him out, it was because they were social climbers, eager to seek his favor and backing in one way or another. But these two truly did not seem to care about those things.
They were just having a good time, engaging in pleasant conversation and equally pleasant liquor. It was refreshing, to say the least.
The man had said his name was Orkin, and he proved to be a most excellent storyteller and fellow of infinite jest. And his buxom associate, Liana, was likewise a delight to have at his table. Little did Arvin know he was carousing with two of the deadliest killers in all the known systems.
The proprietor was getting progressively more relaxed, and with that came an increased openness to talk about all manner of things with his two guests. That they had spiked the bottle of alcohol as soon as it had arrived at the table never occurred to any of the security staff, for the two visitors were drinking it as well, keeping pace with their inebriated employer.
Little did they know that both Ghalian were employing the clever little spell that took any liquids passing their lips and rematerialized it a hundred meters away, out in the snowy tundra.