by Jackson Lear
I moved on. A quarter of a mile away I found a much safer area of Torne to break into. Sergeant Muro’s apartment. Third floor of a five story apartment block. The whole street was lined with identical looking buildings, all square in shape, all with a central atrium. The outer apartments looked onto the surrounding street while the inner got a breezeless view of their neighbors. It’s an example where they sound great yet sucked in practice. The residents looking over the central atrium talk up the privacy and peace and quiet, since they don’t get as much clatter from the masses wandering outside. What they don’t tell you is that sweat drips off you at all hours because there’s no breeze, and the inner atrium often stinks of body odor, urine, and vomit. At least with a street view the air pushes the stench away, even if it does come with a barrage of noise.
The outer walls of Muro’s building offered little hope of climbing up. The door was reasonably well locked. The hinges were hidden. Muro’s window, though, was open.
I fashioned a mask out of a black wrap, secured it around my face and forehead, and stuffed the ends down my shirt. At least that way it was less likely to strangle me if someone grabbed hold.
I activated the silk hook, jostled it to the window I had seen Muro peering out of, hooked it, and began climbing. Three stories up I found him. Dead asleep. Thank gods too because he could’ve easily skewered me through the face with his sword if he had noticed the hook.
A thin piece of string crossed the window. A homemade alarm. I was willing to bet that on each side of the window was a set of hooks and pulleys, one with a bell in case an intruder pushed forward, another with a warped sheet of tin which would sound like a thunder clap the moment it drop to the ground if someone cut that piece of string. It might have been a wonderful deterrent if I simply wanted to sneak inside while Muro slept, but no. I wanted him awake and terrified.
Muro’s bed consisted of a thick padded mattress raised a foot off the ground. He lay on his side, his back to me, his chest and legs exposed, the covers giving him only the barest of modesty. A folded stack of clothes lay on the floor near his head. My main concern was the short sword nearby.
I lowered myself down one floor, settled onto the window, re-angled the hook to grab onto the fourth floor apartment, and climbed high enough to perch myself on Muro’s windowsill. I re-angled the silk hook again, fed it through the room, and pushed his short sword just out of reach.
He drew in a long, easy breath. I kept a black sash in my hand, ready for Muro’s eyes. He drew in another breath. Then it came: a gentle exhale. Nearly … nearly … now.
I crashed into the room. Muro jolted awake, his head turning towards the sound of the ringing bell, thunderous gong, and the intruder coming into bedroom. His brain kicked in: arm yourself!
His head turned away, his hand reaching for his sword hidden somewhere in the darkness. I darted forth and landed on top of him, straddling him as he lay on his side. My left shin had both of his forearms pinned to the floor. I slapped both hands onto his face, one covering his eyes, the other sealing his mouth. He cried out, a muffled, ‘Mmmuuaaa!’ The sash covering his eyes offered me a free hand. I tossed his sword towards the window and clamped my hand around his throat.
Another desperate, ‘Mmuuaaauaaa!’
I waited, listening out for anyone who might come to his rescue.
A floorboard creaked nearby, startled and desperate. “Muro?” A man’s voice. Similar tone and timber to Muro’s. Somewhere between mid twenties and fifties in age. At best guess: Muro’s brother.
Whoever it was scrambled to the corridor, peered inside and jolted back. Probably his first time finding an intruder straddling his brother in the dark of night. He huffed, now terrified out of his mind. “Wha … wha … Muro?”
I squeezed Muro’s throat. “Tell him you’re okay or he dies.”
I lifted my hand from his mouth. Muro gasped, sucked in a panicked breath, tried to figure out what to do. I encouraged him by squeezing his throat tighter.
“I’m okay,” he rasped.
Another creak of the floorboards. The head returned.
I graveled my voice. “You. In the next room. I’m going to ask Muro some questions. If you fuck with me you two are going to die. If you behave you both live. Do you understand?”
I was met with a panicked paralysis from the guy in the next room. I gave his throat another squeeze. “Tell him to turn around.”
Whatever frightened instincts had first overwhelmed Muro were fading, replaced now with a heavy reminder that he was a goddamn soldier, a sergeant, and not just any sergeant but the senior most sergeant in the governor’s army. He outranked a million killers trained by the greatest empire the world had ever seen.
“Or do you want me to pour a jug of my own vomit down your throat and pin you down until you drown?”
His bravery started swinging back towards ‘helpful’.
“Tell him to turn around.”
Muro gave the slightest of nods. “Turn around.” He repeated the rest my instructions to his brother. “Step into the doorway. Hands up, above your head. Get on your knees. Now lie down, on your front. Spread your legs, spread your arms. Stay there.”
It wasn’t much, but it would do. I turned my attention back to Muro. “What the fuck did you tell that man and woman today?”
“Nothing,” he rasped.
“You were silent the whole time? Or do you mean the only word you said to them was literally ‘nothing’?”
“I … I don’t know.”
“Then what the fuck did you tell that man and woman today?”
“Nothing!”
The sash had started to slip from his eyes, allowing him to peer into the darkness. I dug into my pouch, pulled out a fine leather wallet. The moment I popped it open a waft of pungent smells filled the room. “Open your eye.”
“No! No!”
“Open your eye.”
“Okayokayokaaaay … They came to me. I didn’t know who they were. Th-the guy … I saw him on the street. The road, I mean. To Torne. He walked past us when we were off to one side. I knew he was up to no good as soon as I saw him. I don’t know what exactly, he just looked like an asshole. But he didn’t do anything, he just walked on by. The woman … she’s one of General Kasera’s. They came and started asking lots of questions about letters going back and forth from the old fort in the north. They even have a letter from Artavian. I told Gustali everything, I swear!”
I leaned in closer. “He doesn’t believe you and neither do I.”
There seemed to be a break in his brain, a split-second slap that left him dazed and despondent. “I’m telling you the truth.”
“So how come there’s a fuck up? Someone dies in their sleep and the first thought is it’s murder?”
“I don’t know. Lavarta just has it in for Gustali.”
“But I can’t get to Lavarta. Not yet. Who else talked? One of the other lieutenants?”
“I don’t know.”
“Another sergeant?”
“No.”
“None of them have given you a hint of suspicion that they knew Artavian was going to be killed?”
“I … I mean, there was talk about court martialing him …”
“And give him the chance to talk to a judge? Are they out of their fucking mind?”
He stammered for a moment, lost for words.
“You two should’ve handled this long before now.”
He gasped. “We tried.”
“Then how come you’ve left a trail of fuck ups along the way? The letter from you. The letter Kasera’s people now have from Artavian. Lavarta still alive. How do you think this ends for you?”
“Please …”
“You’re a loose end.”
“I swear, I did everything Gustali wanted.”
“So now you’re blaming him?”
“No! I don’t know how Kasera’s people got the letter from Artavian. Everything should’ve been intercepted.”
“‘Should�
�ve been’ is not going to work in your favor. Gustali wanted Lavarta dead. You could’ve made that happen but you didn’t.”
“There’s only so much I could do while stuck in the fort miles away from him.”
“Bullshit. You had six months up there.”
“I know, but Lavarta was determined to build a whole new fort instead of riding north. Even when he finally did go up he ran away as soon as the northerners told him about the vampires.”
That piqued my curiosity. “That’s when he first heard about them?”
“I think so. It was like he was ignoring the governor’s orders as soon as he arrived. We tried but there was no way we could keep the cavalry on patrol, no matter what the scouts told him. He just wanted to build his fort. As soon as the cavalry came back we knew it was over. None of the lieutenants would’ve argued to march north, not with the threat of vampires out there.”
“So you decided to make everything worse by sending a letter.”
He stammered again. “All I did was write someone’s name on the front. No one would’ve figured out that Gustali wrote it, not unless they opened it, and even then it was in another language.”
“For fuck’s sake. You’re really going to blame it on bad luck? Sending a letter written in a language no one could read except for the stewards you gave that letter to? This was your brilliant plan?”
“Gustali wrote it. Not me.”
“And now I have to clean up this mess you helped to create.” I eased my grip on Muro’s throat. “If Kasera’s people come back, what are you going to tell them?”
“Nothing.”
“No. You told them nothing and that didn’t work. Now you’re going to have to tell them something. You’re going to need to practice your answer. Keep it short. Keep it easy to remember. Make sure other people are able to back you up. Who can you trust who saw you all night in Verseii?”
“Orin. Vulben. And the guys in my tent.”
“Good. Did anyone see you head into the town that night?”
“I … didn’t leave the camp.”
“Good. The guards at the front of the camp, they saw you?”
“Yes. I talked to them to make sure they remembered seeing me.”
“What about the messenger? Is he going to be a problem?”
“No. He doesn’t know he was involved.”
“Fine. If Kasera’s people come back, you were with Orin and Vulben all night. What were you doing?”
“Playing cards.”
“Whose idea was that?”
“Mine.”
“No. That makes you look suspicious as fuck. Whose idea was it?”
“Orin’.”
“You better tell him that so he doesn’t ruin your story. Who won?”
His eyes darted from side to side.
“Who won?”
“We played several games.”
“And you stayed up later than usual.”
“Yes.”
“You walked back to your tent.”
“Yes.”
“While talking to someone?”
“Vulben.”
“Did you see Gustali that night?”
“No.”
“Good. That’s your story. Even you should be able to remember it.” I squeezed his throat a little tighter. “Does anyone else know that Lavarta was supposed to be ambushed by the northerners?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Only Artavian?”
He wheezed with a nod. “Only Artavian. I don’t know how he found out.”
“Because you fucked up. Now, you know your story. You’re going to stick to it. If I find out you can’t even do that then you and your friend here are going to find yourselves on a nice long trip up north, in chains, beyond the old fort and the new. I’ll leave you deep within feral territory, tied to a tree screaming for your lives as the vampires discover that someone has left a delicious little gift for them. From what I understand, the bloodlust they go through while toying with their prey is among the greatest highs ever experienced, drawn out for as long as they can. Months. Maybe even years.” I leaned in closer. “Do you understand?”
“Y-yes.”
I gave him a moment to think it over before adding: “Don’t let me hear your name again.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I returned to the inn and to my room.
A light crash in the middle of the night saw me with my blade in my hand and my heart thumping. New bed, new room, new surroundings. A light flop hit the floor in front of my window. A moment later, a pair of eyes glinted at me. A mouse.
The flop turned into a scurry of tiny nails on the wooden floor, and the small, dark blob disappeared through a crack in the wall, into the adjoining room.
I rose, my blade still at the ready, and checked the window. I checked the roof tops, I checked the street. I checked the door and the corridor, and finally settled back onto my mound of hay.
Hours later I felt the first footsteps thump along the corridor beside me and noisily descend the stairs. Soon came the smell of ale, of oats and milk being warmed up. The clatter of traffic outside told me it was safe to wake up now. I stretched, worked a knot that had formed to the side of my right shoulder blade, and checked that no one was waiting for me just outside my door.
Sleepily, I looked over the map Alysia had left behind for me. Now in the fresh morning light I could make out a lot more detail, but it was still crudely drawn. The hand-shaped outline of the river jumped out at me. An arrow pointed to the eastern edge of the river, along with a name. Capital ‘G’ and a bunch of other carefully written letters, evenly spaced, not joined together. Nearby was another arrow. ‘S’ and a smattering of letters, and an ‘M’ followed by three letters. Elsewhere was – presumably – Steward Gabriella, since she lived close to Sergeant Muro. I recognized Artavian’s name. Two arrows were close to each other with his name. ‘Fxxxx and Mxxxx – Artavian’s pxxxxxxx.’
Artavian’s parents, hopefully. Starting with an F and an M. They lived almost where Artavian lived. Half an inch away were another pair of arrows and a couple of words I couldn’t read, but ‘Fxxxx’ was repeated and a little dotted line led from – I presume – Artavian’s parents to this new location. Perhaps this was where Fxxxx worked. Across the road from there was another arrow, another slew or words, and the kind of drawing a four year old would do of a woman riding a horse. Underneath was ‘Axxxxx Kxxxxx Lxxxxx’ and a mess of words. Considering this was nowhere near where Alysia lived, I again presumed that this was where I might be able to find her during the day.
Downstairs, people stared across the tables, yawning into their breakfast, nursing a warm ale between their hands, and slowly waking up. I joined the end of one table. A bowl of porridge with dates was coming my way.
Two men entered through the front door. Both grizzled. Hadn’t shaved in a week. Hadn’t bathed in twice as long. Colorful tunics that came just above their knees. Short trousers beneath those. They might’ve passed for merchants were it not for the complete lack of accessories around their belts or wrists. Plus, they each had a slight bulge down the side of their thighs like they were hiding a weapon.
A boy stepped around them, maybe nine or ten years old. Hard to say. He looked around the common room, bored, doing a job that he had been doing for what must’ve been months. The two men he was with turned slowly, scanning each of the faces, picking out the clues in the patrons like I had done with them.
The kid seemed familiar, but not enough for me to place him.
The innkeeper wandered towards the door, unsure if the threesome were here for a room or a drink, but likely hoping for neither.
“Karma,” I whispered.
The innkeeper stumbled with an inward gasp and fell towards the trio by the door. They recoiled, bracing themselves against the collision. The two fellas caught him, the look on his face nothing short of humiliation. Quick mutterings of, “Sorry, so sorry,” and, “Don’t worry about it, buddy.”
E
rast accent. It looked like the oats and dates weren’t the only thing coming my way that morning.
“Sorry again,” said the innkeeper as he righted himself. “Now then, what are you after? A room? Some food?”
“We’re just looking around,” said the other grizzled wanna-be merchant. Another Erast accent. Bounty hunters, no doubt about it. As far as I knew I wasn’t on any government list, but I was definitely wanted by several government officials, not to mention half a dozen companies in Erast and probably the head of the governor’s army.
“You wouldn’t happen to have seen someone from Erast come through here, have you? Mercenary type. Likes to travel alone.”
The innkeeper held his breath for a little too long. “We get all sorts coming through here.”
“Is he here now?”
The innkeeper cast his attention across the diners in the common room, getting a mix of heads in soup bowls and faces peering inquisitively back at him. “No. No one like that here.”
The uglier of the pair nudged the kid forward. “Go have a look around.” The kid wandered forward.
The innkeeper said, “I don’t want trouble here. You should go.”
“We will.”
“I’m protected here.”
“Uh huh.”
The kid crept past the first table, looking over everyone sitting down, careful to study their faces.
The guy beside me swiveled around, stood, and wandered away. I slid over to the edge of the bench. One elbow resting against the table top. The other on top of my knee. Head down.
The kid stopped beside me, scanning each of the faces at our table.
I turned. Two feet from his face. Glared at him, unflinching.
He spasmed, startled that I was this close to him.
I squinted, driving the full force of Hell into his soul.
He backed away, thumping into the table behind him.
I locked on. “One word from me and your eyeballs will explode. Now fuck off.”