by G. T. Spoor
It was a skillful subject change.
Emily looked down at her outfit. “Why? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“A green dress over a pair of purple slakes? I give you a variety of clothes to choose from and that’s what you pick?”
“No offense, but your clothing is not my style.”
“When I found you, you were wearing the tattered remains of a tablecloth.”
“That was out of necessity.”
“Well, you won’t get very far with the Mercs dressed like that. If you want to get their attention, you’re going to have to show them a little something.”
“Show them what? I don’t have any evidence…”
“No.” Sarah laughed. “Not that. I mean you have to show them a little something, you know, something of yourself.”
“Myself? I don’t think I understand.”
“Clearly you don’t. Mercs are like any other men. If you want to get their attention, you have to give them something to notice. You go in dressed like a harlequin, they’re not going to take you seriously.”
“It’s not what I’m wearing that’s important. It’s what I have to say.”
“That may be, but if they’re not paying attention to you, then it doesn’t matter what you say because they’re not going to listen.” Sarah sighed and pushed herself away from the counter. “I have some time before work. Let me help you find something a little more revealing.”
“Revealing?”
“Yeah. You know, something that shows a little leg, a little shoulder, a little cleavage—”
Emily jumped to her feet “Absolutely not,” she shouted. “That definitely violates the tenets.”
Sarah looked at her sideways. “You know, for someone who claims they’re not part of a religious group, you sure sound like you are.”
“It is not a religion, it is a series of beliefs, a code of conduct.”
“Yeah, that’s a religion.”
“No, it is simply a path I must follow.”
“And this path of yours, does it also say you must sleep on the floor?”
“How did you—?”
“I checked in on you this morning. Imagine my surprise when I find you sleeping on the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed going unused.”
Emily looked down at the floor. “I am sorry. I meant no disrespect,” she said. “We are taught to live a modest life.”
“Seriously? So you’re saying one of your tenets prevents you from sleeping on a bed?”
“The seventh tenet states ‘thou shall abstain from luxuries.’”
“How does sleeping on the floor help you on this path?”
“Luxuries distract us from the Way, and it’s important I stay on the path, especially now.”
Sarah studied her for a moment, and Emily was afraid that she may have lost the woman’s trust. She would have liked to tell her everything, starting with the reason she came to New Doral—but she couldn’t. She had to walk that part of her path alone.
“Okay,” Sarah smiled. “You can keep your secrets—for now. We’ll have to find you something more modest to wear, but you have to promise to tell me more about this path you follow when I get home tonight.”
~~~***~~~
After spending nearly an hour searching through Sarah’s clothes, Emily found something more suitable. Her new outfit consisted of a pair of gray slacks and a matching tunic. The slacks were a little too tight and the tunic was a little too big. For shoes, she opted for a pair of boots, the only footwear that fit. Along with the outfit, Sarah gave her the directions to the offices of the Red Wolf Mercs. Fortunately, it was only a forty-minute walk from the apartment. Sarah did offer to pay for a jitney, but Emily declined and told her the walk would do her good. It would give her time to collect her thoughts and reflect on everything that had happened since her arrival in New Doral. What she didn’t tell Sarah was that accepting money went against her teachings, which were proving more difficult to follow, especially outside the confines of the monastery. In the real world, the ideas were more abstract than they were when she was learning them. As a child, everything was simple. There was only right and wrong, good and bad, black and white. Now she was faced with more subtle areas of gray.
Growing up, there were two paths to follow. One she seemed destined to walk because of who she was; the other she needed to walk because of who they wanted her to be. For the longest time, they ran side by side, sharing a common belief. Back then, she didn’t have to decide on which path to take—she could walk both at the same time. Now it wasn’t so easy. The paths were diverging. Eventually she would have to commit herself to one or the other. But which one? She knew which one her sister took, and that was half the problem. Did she want to follow in her sister’s footsteps, or did she want to follow her own path? Fortunately, she didn’t have to make that decision yet.
Emily stopped to read the street sign.
With every corner she took, and every block she walked, New Doral never ceased to fascinate her. The noises of the city were near deafening. Carriages filled the streets and people filled the sidewalks. Back home, if she passed three people on her way to the monastery, it was considered a busy day.
Stepping into the doorway of a bakery, so as not to get trampled, she reread the map Sarah drew her. If she understood the scribblings correctly, she should be near her destination. Unfortunately, nothing looked like a Merc headquarters, although she didn’t know what a Merc headquarters should look like. She had an idea, but this city had a way of taking those ideas and turning them inside out. Nothing was what it seemed. On the surface New Doral was a bustling metropolis filled with people and promises, but that was only on this level. From what Sarah told her, the farther down you went, the worse it got.
Following the directions on the map, Emily took the next left and walked for another two blocks before stopping outside a barbershop. She glanced down at the scrap of paper. Supposedly this was her destination, but again, there was no sign of a Merc headquarters, unless they were fronted by the barbershop.
She was so busy looking for the elusive building, she never noticed the man behind her and only realized he was there when he leaned over her shoulder to see what she was reading. Emily quickly shoved the map into her pocket before she turned around. The man jumped back laughing.
“Easy there, sweetheart.” He held his hands out to stop her. He was young, fair-skinned, and wearing a dirty brown uniform. A mass of shiny black hair sat awkwardly on his head. “You look lost. Maybe I can help,” he added with an unsettling grin.
For some reason, it seemed he didn’t so much as want to help her as he wanted to help himself. Still, she needed some information.
“I am looking for the Red Wolf Mercs,” she said. “Would you happen to know where I can find them?”
“The Mercs? What do you want with them when you can have me?” The unsettling grin grew wider. “I can do so much more for you, babe.”
Wonderful, Emily thought, just what she needed. “I don’t think so. Thank you anyway.”
She turned and walked away.
He followed her. “Hey, Come on, babe, don’t walk so fast. Where’re you going?”
Emily recited the first tenet under her breath.
“Come on, girl. Don’t be like that. Give us a smile.”
A smile wasn’t exactly what she wanted to give him. How easy it would be to drop the man in the middle of the sidewalk with one well-placed strike. She stopped walking and turned around. The man stumbled back still laughing.
“Whoa. Easy, babe. Let’s you and I—”
He never finished his proposal. He wasn’t even looking at her anymore. He was staring at something behind her. The lecherous grin on his face was replaced by a look of fear.
A large shadow descended over Emily.
“I don’t think the lady is interested,” came a booming voice from behind her.
“Look. I… I don’t want any trouble,” the young man stammered. �
��I was only having a little fun.”
“Do you think she looks amused? I don’t see anyone here laughing.”
“Hey, look. I didn’t mean anything by it. I—”
“Why don’t you just run along?”
He didn’t need to be told twice. The young man was two blocks away before the booming voice behind her finished his suggestion.
Emily slowly turned around to face the man who cast the shadow: the only person on the busy street who saw fit to come to her aid, not that she needed it. She could have handled the situation herself, but this way, she didn’t have to violate the first tenet—again.
It was easy to see why the young man was so quick to run away—her savior was huge. A large, powerfully built vir who easily towered over Emily by more than two feet. He stood with his massive arms crossed over his chest and looked down at her with a menacing stare. He would have been a frightening figure if it wasn’t for his boyish face.
“Sorry about that, miss,” he said. “We get those types of people around here far too often.”
For some reason, the boom had left his voice and it no longer fit with his imposing stature.
“It’s quite all right,” Emily said. “Thank you for your help.”
“We try to do our best.”
When he lowered his arms, she saw he wore a thick leather breastplate with the insignia of a wolf’s head painted on it in red.
“You wouldn’t happen to be one of the Red Wolf Mercs, would you?” she asked.
His boyish face lit up.
“As a matter of fact, yes I am. The name’s Berkeley Morris, but most people just call me Berk.”
Seriously? Berk the Merc. She hid her smile.
“Emily, Emily Doyle.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Doyle.”
“So, can you help me?”
“Help you, miss?” For some reason, he seemed a little nervous. “I’m not sure. What do you need?”
“I’d like to report a crime.”
“Well… um. I don’t… that is to say, I’m not really—you should probably talk to my captain.”
“Your captain? Where can I find him?”
Berk looked around the street, almost as if he forgot where he was.
“It’s right this way. I’ll show you.”
He led her back to the barbershop and took her across the street. It was no wonder she couldn’t find the Red Wolf headquarters. It was set back from the road, hidden between a diner and a tinsmith. On the left side of the front door was the image of a wolf’s head, the same one the large man wore on his breastplate.
Berk quickly stepped ahead of her and held open the door.
“This way, Miss Doyle,” he said, waving her in.
The office was quite simple and not what she expected. Hardwood floors and white plastered walls made up the space. A framed painting of a wolf hung in the sitting area. Off to one side, in a larger space, several men were talking among themselves. They looked up when Berk entered but soon returned to their conversation. Even with the Red Wolf insignia beside the door, the place could have been mistaken for a conference hall.
Berk pointed to a row of chairs. “If you can wait here, please, I’ll let the captain know you’re here.”
Emily took a seat beneath the painting and watched as the large man headed to the door at the far end of the room. This seemed to draw some attention from the other Mercs. Berk hesitated for a moment, almost as if he was trying to work up the courage to knock. He turned and gave Emily a nervous smile, then gently rapped on the door.
“What is it?” a voice called out from the other side.
Berk cautiously opened the door and stuck his head into the room.
“Captain Petrova, sir. There’s someone here to see you?”
“Who is it, Morris?”
“She says her name is Emily Doyle, and she wants to report a crime.”
There was a long pause before the voice replied, “Does she now? Send her in.”
He didn’t sound very enthusiastic. Berk quickly stepped away from the door and motioned for her to enter. “The captain will see you, Miss Doyle.”
As Emily crossed the room, she sensed the other Mercs watching her, almost as if they were studying her. They would turn their heads or look away when she turned around. She couldn’t help thinking this was all some kind of joke at her expense.
Stepping into the captain’s office, the first thing she noticed was the smell. It was a combination of tobacco and sweat. The air was thick with it. Petrova sat behind a large oak desk and didn’t look up when she entered. He was deep in a stack of paperwork. Behind him, the wall was covered with photos and newspaper clippings about the Red Wolf Mercs. It appeared they were quite an effective group if the headlines could be believed.
Emily sat down and waited. After a few more signatures, Petrova shoved the entire stack of papers off to one side.
“The reports are what take up most of my time,” he said when he finally looked up.
He was an older man. Balding, with a long black beard that was showing signs of gray. His face was harsh and leathery with a scar just above his right eye.
“What can the Red Wolves do for you, Miss Doyle?”
It was obvious from the tone of his voice he had no interest in her answer and was only going through the motions.
“I’d like to report an abduction,” she answered.
“I see.” Leaning back in his chair, Petrova pulled open the desk drawer and rifled through a few sheets of paper. He removed one of the forms and placed it on the blotter in front of him. Selecting a pen from the cup on his desk, he held it over the paper. “And who was abducted?”
“I was.”
He set the pen down. “Funny,” he said. “You don’t look abducted.”
“That’s because I managed to escape.”
“I see, and do you know who abducted you?”
“No. I’m afraid I don’t. But I believe they were slavers.”
“Slavers? How can you be so sure?”
“For starters, they talked about slave marks.”
“Slave marks? Is that all?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
Petrova gave a half shrug. “Just because they talked about slave marks doesn’t necessarily make them slavers.”
“Then why else would they want to abduct me?”
“Any number of reasons. Are you from a wealthy family or have any associates who would be willing to pay a ransom?”
“No.”
Leaning back in his chair, Petrova folded his hands behind his head. Emily couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t writing anything down.
“I don’t really see how the Red Wolves can help you,” he said.
“Sorry?”
“There’s not enough to go on.”
“How would you know? You haven’t even asked me anything.”
“Very well.” He sighed. “You say you don’t know who they were. Can you describe them?”
“No. I didn’t see their faces. I know one was an orc and one had a… squeaky voice. Oh, and one wore iron-shod boots.”
“A squeaky voice? Iron-shod boots?”
“Does that help?”
“Not really. Do you happen to know where they took you?”
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“You said you escaped?”
“I did, but I wasn’t in my right mind. They used some kind of poison and—”
“Poison?”
“That’s right. I was out of it for most of the—”
“So you don’t remember anything that happened. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Well, no. I mean, sort of. Brian and—”
“Who’s Brian?”
“He’s a steward on the Aeolus. He was showing me around the city and—”
“I see. And this Brian, where is he now?”
“I don’t know. He wasn’t captured—at least I don’t think so. I didn’t see him. He could have escaped or…�
��
“Or?”
“He could have been involved with it from the very beginning. He was the one who took me to the alley. That’s the place I would start looking if I were you.”
Petrova got up from his chair and walked around to the front of his desk. He pointed to a billboard hanging on the wall behind her. It was covered with so many photos there wasn’t an empty space big enough to pin another one.
“Do you know how many people actually go missing in the Chimney, Miss Doyle?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Too many, and we don’t have the manpower to pursue every case. You haven’t given me much to go on and quite frankly, I don’t think you can afford our fee.”
“But these are slavers. They must have done this before. Don’t you think some of those faces on your board are there because of these people? If you don’t stop them, more will go missing.”
“So you say.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Look, Miss Doyle. This seems more like a case of an attractive young girl going off with some young man she hardly knew and getting in over her head.”
“What?”
“Do yourself a favor.” Petrova moved back behind his desk and dropped into his chair “Go home and forget about it.”
“You want me to just forget about it?”
“You’re alive, aren’t you?”
“But they have something of mine that I need back.”
For the first time in the conversation, Petrova seemed interested. His eyes lit up. “Does it have monetary value?”
“Monetary value? Well, no. Not really. But it’s important to me.”
The old man frowned. So much for his interest.
“I’m sorry. The Red Wolves can’t help you.”
His answer shouldn’t have come as a surprise. His attitude alone spoke volumes. He’d made up his mind long before she started talking.
“Maybe I’ll have to take my problem to another Merc group,” Emily said.
Petrova shrugged. “You can try, but I doubt if you’re going to get a different answer. The bottom line is your problem isn’t important enough.”