The Raike Box Set

by Jackson Lear

  “Artavian related?”

  “Unfortunately no. The high council allocates a portion of the budget every year to the junior council so we can provide for worthwhile causes. The budget has just been slashed so all the deals we had in place have gone up in smoke and now we have to start over.”

  “Why did they slash it?”

  “Because apparently the province needs more money to throw at security, now that the mere threat of the Arlo mercenaries making their way here seems more urgent. Bastards.” She took another moment to settle herself down before glancing my way again. “Were you looking for me?”

  “I was, actually. I need a favor. Tonight’s invitation … I can’t make it.”

  “Yes you can. And yes you’ll be there. End of story.”

  “Something else is going to happen and I’d rather be there for when it does.”

  “Delen has that covered.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “One of my father’s riders. If you saw me in Verseii then you probably saw him as well. Anyway, he will be watching the house tonight in case someone breaks in.”

  “And you don’t find it at all troubling that someone might break in tonight?”

  “You were mentioned in the invitation. Zara as well. That tells me someone is desperate to empty our house.”

  “It also seems like they are over-correcting. Trying to smooth things out between your husband and Lieutenant Gustali shows that there is a problem, but instead of owning it they’ll need to push the guilt onto someone else.”

  “Which is why Delen is there right now, keeping watch.”

  “I should be there too.”

  “So you can kill someone in my own home?”

  “Catch someone, yes.”

  Alysia shook her head. “I need you with me tonight.”

  “Zara will watch out for you.”

  “It’s not my safety that I’m concerned about. It’s yours.”

  “Then the last thing you should let me do is sit down with the governor and his son.”

  “You are now a problem to them, you know that, right?”

  “Their invitation tipped me off, yes.”

  “So I need you to do something for me tonight. And it’s not just playing nice. I want you to make yourself invaluable.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because whether you believe it or not, you’re not disposable. No one is. And this isn’t the last time I’m going to need your help.”

  I stared back at her, straining to figure out exactly what she had planned for me in some distant future. “I’m not looking to join the Kaseras or the Lavartas. You already have Zara.”

  “Zara doesn’t work for me. She works for my father.”

  “I don’t think you need your own full time closer. Or assassin. Or whatever you think I am. What would I do? Sit around your home all day drinking wine, staring at the hundreds of house gods lining the walls until I get so drunk that the gods actually start talking back to me? I bet your handmaids are off limits as well.”

  “They are.”

  “Either way: no.”

  We veered off through the streets, heading towards her home. “There are a couple of kids back in Erast who owe you their lives and they know it. They talk about you like you’re a hero.”

  I readied a retort.

  “And don’t give me some crap about how you don’t care or that they’ll be disappointed when they learn the truth. They already know the truth. And they know that you don’t really care. You did a good thing, you know that, right?”

  “It cost me.”

  “You knew it would and you did it anyway. I need you tonight. At the Gustalis. And you need to find a way of making yourself unmurderable.”

  “I’m still not interested in a job.”

  “So you say, but let me ask you, you’ve been looking into Artavian’s death for three days now. Who killed him?”

  “The governor’s assassin.”

  “Who ordered it?”

  “Either the governor or someone in his inner circle.”

  “Why?”

  “As far as I can tell he uncovered some plot involving your husband’s demise, either politically, militarily, or–” I swiped across my neck, “–permanently.”

  “When was this plot supposed to happen?”

  “Four months ago while your husband was in Anglaterra building a new fort.”

  “Who was the other party in this plot?”

  “Lieutenant Gustali.”

  “Why him?”

  “He’s the second in command to the cohort. He has gotten everywhere in his life by complaining loudly enough and often enough so that someone fixes whatever problem he has instead of letting him do it himself. He complained about your husband. Someone listened. Then came another problem: it turned out the lieutenant and the people he trusts are idiots. Artavian uncovered something and the plan to kill your husband had to screech to a halt. But they couldn’t let the truth live on so they ended Artavian and I expect they still plan on taking out your husband.”

  “Why didn’t they kill him in the north?”

  “They tried but the problem with the vampires changed everything. Everyone shifted into protection mode so they could finish building the forts in time. They didn’t have someone within the army to do the killing, or if they did it became too risky to get away with it.”

  Alysia nodded back at me. “There. You started with nothing and you learned all of that in three days.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m available for hire.”

  She shrugged it off. “Yesterday you said they were targeting my husband. Now they’ve started to pay close attention to you. What are you going to do about it? See it through or run away?”

  I needed a second to silence a desperate scream to leave. We got within sight of Alysia’s home. “All right. I’ll come along tonight and play nice with the governor and his son. But they really seem to have it in for your husband. You’re going to have to tell me why.”

  “I don’t know any of the details, only that Lieutenant Gustali is frequently an insubordinate brat, but not enough for his career to be threatened by it.”

  “This isn’t going to be a situation where the wife is always the last to find out about what her husband is really like, is it?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What if your husband is a colossal asshole when you’re not around?”

  Alysia bore into me. “They’re framing him, okay?”

  “I know. There’s been a smear campaign building against him for some time, claiming that he’s incompetent.”

  “Great.”

  “Look, I don’t mind walking into a shitstorm. I just want to know which way the wind is blowing before I get there.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  “We all are. How much of this mess is his creation?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never met the young Gustali. I’ve met his father, though. He’s … not a general.”

  “Is he not a governor either?”

  “That one he’s better at, which isn’t saying much. He doesn’t so much negotiate his way through a problem, rather he simply states what everyone is going to do, and if you don’t agree with him then you aren’t invited to the table again.”

  “What are his favorite things to do?”

  “I suppose he likes to pretend that he’s the most important person in the building. From what Auron tells me, the lieutenant has that trait as well.” We reached her front gate. Alysia looked me up and down and nodded for me to follow. “Come on.”

  The blond handmaid received us. Recognized me. Allowed me inside. One of Kasera’s riders stood nearby in the entryway, watching me. Delen, I suspected. He had thighs like tree trunks and a look about him that told me he had seen combat. Perhaps he had, but it was likely on the back of a horse, which he didn’t have under him right now, yet the look remained. It was very much a one-sided glaring contest as I strolled into the Lavarta entr
y room.

  Alysia waved her hand to Mr Eyeful. “Delen? This is Raike. Raike? Delen. You two were in Verseii at the same time just a few days ago.”

  I said to him, “You were heading up the commander’s investigation into Artavian’s death.”

  He twisted his jaw towards me. “That’s right.”

  “What happened to your friend? The other guy you were riding beside in Verseii?”

  Alysia stepped in before I could ruin Delen’s day even further, all the more so because I was about to point out that Lieutenant Kace told him to take a hike while in the stables. “Delen? Raike is on our side no matter what anyone says. Please offer him the same courtesy that you give to Zara.”

  He peered back at me like he had just caught me pinching his wife’s ass. “Your father said that if I ever saw him I should have him arrested.”

  “I’m sure he did. Ursula?”

  The blond handmaid returned. “Yes, m’lady?”

  “Can you fetch some warm water and a pair of shears, please? Oh, and one of Auron’s nicer tunics. Thank you.”

  “Yes, m’lady.” Ursula scurried away.

  “Noooooope,” I said.

  “Shush.”

  “No, no way, and no how am I wearing one of your husband’s best tunics in front of him.”

  “He won’t mind.”

  “No? I bet you one nice meal with the governor that he will.”

  “Pipe down. I’m going to make you look presentable even if it kills you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  One of the more famous features of Torne was something called the silver springs. Every city had that one talking point which separated it from its neighbors, be it the monstrous deer in the Knightswood, the sunken city a stone’s throw from Kirswell, or the Rexacorus Circus of Durrigan.

  The silver springs of Torne were – not surprisingly – a set of public and private baths dotted around the city. Most were a cesspool of urine, wrinkly old people, and strands of hair floating through the water like seaweed. The baths in Erast were all but shut down a few years ago when morality seemed to outweigh common sense. Baths the world over are notorious for rampant casual sex. The problem is, very little actual sex happens in these places. The high and mighty fusspots of Erast were so uncomfortable at stripping down in public that they urged the mayor to not just segregate the pools between men and women but by time as well. Men were allowed to bathe only on certain nights, women were allowed to bathe on the others. Nothing at day time. Why? Because the fusspots didn’t like anyone looking at them in the full light of day, so everyone had to suffer. What changed? Private bath houses, also known as brothels. Do you think they changed their tune when they discovered that they had made things worse? Not at all. In a very unusual turn of events, we were hired to threaten the fusspots in our area, making it clear that if they knew what was best for them they would never even think about closing the private bath houses. In a bid to restore public deceny the public baths were reopened.

  I followed Ursula – one of Lavarta’s handmaids – through the streets as she led me to one of the baths Alysia had booked earlier that day. A grand brown building twenty feet high with zero windows greeted us at all. Rectangular in shape with a number of simmering pools in the middle, most of the light came from the open roof. Thick hedges zigzagged across the inner sanctum, providing something close to privacy. The more secluded bath rooms lay along the outer edges. Some were curtained, some had doors, others had nothing but the discretion of people wandering by for privacy.

  The attendant waved her hand to one such room. “This is Miss Kasera Lavarta’s room.”

  “Thank you.”

  No door, but there was a modesty screen covering half of the warm pool. The other pool was as still as a cup of wine in front of a teetotaler. Smaller. Colder. Not remotely inviting.

  Almost immediately there was a splash of water and a groan coming from behind the modesty screen. Along the far end of the room was another screen for privacy. A stool sat nearby with boots and dark clothes within reach.

  The attendant handed me a small woven basket and a tiny bowl. “We ask that you do not shave in the bath or pour the contents from shaving into the water. Just leave it to the side and we will collect it later.”

  I stared down at the basket and blade, wondering just who else had been shaving with this and which part of their body they used it on. You hear rumors about other cities, after all. The attendant turned and left me in relative peace, so there I stood, like an idiot who had never had a bath before. The truth was, I’d never had a bath in Torne before and already the customs had me at a loss.

  Zara poked her head out from behind the modesty screen and retreated just as quickly. She followed it up with a quick muttering in her native language.

  To one side were four wooden stools, four deep curved bowls, and one bucket of water. The floor beneath one bowl was soaked in water. A set of foot prints went from this area towards the shimmering pool.

  I removed my boots and clothing, slid my blade into my shaving basket, and dipped my toe into the non-screened pool. Almost immediately my balls shriveled up to the size of a walnut and a ripple of tension lashed my back like a whip.

  “You have to wash first!” barked Zara.

  “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”

  She shifted in the water and pointed towards the row of stools. “Over there. Then you can put your clothes back on and get out of here.”

  “But then you would miss out on my lovely singing voice while I’m relaxing.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare.”

  I did as Zara directed, which offered an unusual dilemma on my part. Four stools. One recently used. The one closest to the doorway, as it happens. And it’s not like there was an actual door or curtain to speak of, just an open section of wall the size of two doors. Zara had washed herself closest to anyone who happened to glance inside. Curious.

  I set my clothes down on the third stool from the doorway and made myself comfortable on the second stood down, next to the one Zara had used, grabbed a sponge and plunged it into the bucket in front of me and holy fuck was it ever cold.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  I scrubbed. Quickly. Each drop of freezing water attacked me like a stinging eel trying to scare me from its nest. My armpits were bad enough but the rest of me? I scrubbed my face, chest, stomach, legs, crotch, then came the absolute worse part. My head. As I scooped enough water into my hand to form a lather I massaged the soap through my short locks with the horrifying realization that the only way to get the soap off was to rinse my hair in freezing water. And since I wasn’t willing to shave my head to spare myself that agony I had little choice but to keep my eyes closed and risk squealing like a six year old as the water cascaded over my head and down my warm back.

  I had no idea how Zara went through this, not when the temptation to dunk herself straight into the warm water was right there.

  I carried on, now forced to shave with ice-cold water at Alysia’s request. Every hair across my neck seemed to get caught and was plucked from my skin, leaving me with a burning sensation almost immediately. I tried to do it all as quickly as possible but the half-assed job meant that everything had to be repeated two or three times just to make sure it was all done properly.

  I rose. Gathered my things. Made my way towards the inviting water.

  “Don’t,” warned Zara.

  I slid into the pool, finally able to relax.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Zara muttered.

  Honestly, it was the first time in months that I’d had a proper soak and it was glorious. I settled my eyes and stared up at the sky above us, my skin tingling with the cold-to-hot sensation rippling over me.

  “If you piss in here ...”

  I ignored her. Took a few deep breaths and drifted away.

  “Right. You’ve had your fun. Now you can leave.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now.” />
  “I’m not ready yet.”

  She grunted and muttered something else in her native tongue.

  “Restula,” I said.

  “Close, but not quite.”

  “I found out what it means.”

  “Congratulations.”

  I drifted through the water a little more. “So I’ve been meaning to ask: why doesn’t Lavarta have a pool of his own? Is the water here better than at the house? Or is it too much of a hassle to heat jug after jug of water to top up a trough of his own?”

  “It’s a status thing.”

  “Ah.” I had no idea what that meant. Zara didn’t explain any further. “Because coming to the baths is expensive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Gotcha.”

  She peered around the modesty screen, which kinda ruined the whole point of having the screen in the first place. “You’ve had a haircut.”

  “Yep. Those shears got closer than I’d ever let someone get before. So, just how bad is it?”

  “You look like you’re in the army.”

  That did not tickle me as much as you might think.

  Zara sloshed her way to the other side of the pool. “And you have actual clothes.”

  “I’ve always had actual clothes.”

  “I mean, you’re not dressed in black.”

  “No. I’ve been given a tunic from the commander’s collection.” I glanced over. The hair on Zara’s head was as short as mine. Her wig lay on top of some kind of a long rust-colored dress – itself folded on a small stool near the standing screen. “So, I’ve been invited to dine with the governor while Lavarta’s home is likely going to be infiltrated.”

  “Delen will be there.”

  “And we trust that Delen will make it out alive?”

  “I trust that whoever arranged this dinner has set out a very careful plan that everyone needs to follow.”

  “Good thing I’m there, then. Can’t wait to see what happens when their plan goes tits-up.”

  “Isn’t tits-up a good thing?”

  “It’s an expression.”