The Raike Box Set

by Jackson Lear

  Zara looked to me. “We should see if Franco cracked the message.”

  I tried the front door to Franco’s building. Locked. I pulled the cord running through a hole in the wall. Rang the bell. Soon enough, Franco’s caretaker poked his head out. Tried to place me. Couldn’t.

  “I was here two days ago looking for Franco,” I said. “To give him a letter from his son?”

  “Ah! Yes, yes, yes. What, uh, what can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to come in and speak with Franco.”

  His face fell. “Oh … that might be a problem.”

  “Why?”

  “He and Miera have gone to Highlake to see Miera’s sister.”

  I glanced towards Zara. She didn’t look like she believed the story either. “When did they leave?”

  “Two days ago,” said the caretaker. “They said there were too many people bothering them but they’ll be back soon enough.”

  I stepped out onto the road, peering up at the building. Several narrow balconies poked out from the sheer wall. Most had clothing out to dry. One was barren.

  I asked, “Did they leave anything for us? A note, perhaps?”

  “I can’t say they did, no.”

  “Did they seem rushed at all?”

  “They were in a hurry to beat the sun, yes.”

  Zara said, “And it doesn’t trouble you at all that Franco was working on the same day that he was supposed to leave on a long trip?”

  The caretaker shrugged. “Well, I suppose he needed to finish up some work for the days he missed because of his son’s passing. He did say he needed some time away.”

  “Did he mention anyone else? The governor? A lieutenant? A commander?”

  The caretaker shook his head. “No, nothing at all. Miera did most of the talking, actually. She just said that they’d be gone for a month or so and that was pretty much that. No need to pester a grieving parent, you know?”

  Halfway down the street, Zara said, “Looks like Artavian had written a code and Franco cracked it.”

  “It would’ve been nice to know what that code said.”

  “We could go to Highlake.”

  “On the off chance that Miera was telling that old guy the truth about where they’re heading?”

  We fell into silence.

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what was written in the letter you took from Muro’s apartment?”

  “I’m sure you know exactly what it says by now.”

  “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Zara peered back at me. “All right. It was written in Isparian in Caton’s handwriting. It said that Lieutenant Gustali had written to Caton personally about Muro’s profound aid to the army. Caton was writing to express his gratitude for Muro’s service to the empire.”

  “No mention of Artavian or the commander?”

  “No.”

  “When was the letter dated?”

  “Three months ago. It would be quite the thing to receive, the personal gratitude from the governor’s chief-of-staff for a job well done. Something like this could be worth a thousand marks, either from a promotion, a job outside of the army, a future spouse, or a loan from the city.”

  “And you took it?”

  “He is complicit in Artavian’s death and the commander’s downfall. You said something about making this worth my while?”

  I dug out a letter from my clothes. Handed it over. “Can you read this to me?”

  Zara took it. Slowed immediately. “What is this?”

  “I don’t know until you read it to me.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “Lieutenant Kace’s office. I daresay this is what was planted in Lavarta’s office.”

  Zara glanced over it. Came to a complete stop. “‘My love, I know these times are hard and you are beating yourself up over things beyond your control. Your time in the north may not have gone as you wanted but separating the first century from the rest of the cohort was a good idea. I’m sorry the peace you should’ve enjoyed from it was ruined by your steward’s increasing paranoia and the whispers he was spreading about you. You don’t deserve that. I know it’s easy to lose yourself to other people’s lies but there is always a silver lining. You now know who was spreading lies about you and that has helped to show you who your true allies are. Whispers like these will follow you no matter where you go, especially in the army and especially if you move into the senate. Don’t listen to them. You will make a great general and statesman one day. Trust me on that. I will be in Verseii on the night of the fourteenth. We will speak more then. I love you. Yours always, Alysia.’” Zara folded the letter over. Slowly. Unable to fully process what I had uncovered.

  “I don’t suppose that’s in Alysia’s handwriting?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure. It’s definitely feminine. And cryptic enough for any lawyer to jump on.” Zara squinted back at me. “You’ve had this on you for some time.”

  “A few hours.”

  “You didn’t trust me?”

  “Not completely.”

  “And now?”

  “Still not completely.”

  “But you showed me anyway.”

  “That’s what building trust is all about.”

  “You’re not going to try and blackmail me, are you?”

  “Because you walked into a trap, got tortured for it, and was released with one hell of an ax hanging over your head? How cold do you think I am?”

  “I think you will remember exactly what I told you in case you ever need to cash in one hell of a favor, and doing that isn’t far from blackmail.”

  We moved on.

  Zara couldn’t let the silence stay where it was. “Why haven’t you joined another mercenary company?”

  “Once was enough.”

  “But you miss it.”

  “No I don’t.”

  “You do. You might not want to tell me you do, but you do.”

  “What’s to miss about it? You sit around all day, playing game after game of bones, drinking yourself stupid while having the same dumbass conversations over and over again, no women in sight except for the ones you pay for … twenty years of that was enough.”

  “They were your friends.”

  “Yeah. Were my friends. Restula may have gone from one arena to another to endure the same kind of crap every day because he liked it, but I’m not him.”

  “Restula was a slave.”

  “And I finally got my freedom. Now let’s see if Alysia recognizes this letter that she supposedly wrote to her husband.”

  We got within sight of the university. Stopped dead in our tracks. Swore.

  Zara turned. Ripped the letter into a hundred pieces and scattered them across the ground.

  Ahead of us: Lieutenant Kace. Behind him, Lieutenant Orin and six members of the city watch, four with spears and shields, two with short swords and one free hand at the ready. All eight of them locked their attention onto Zara and me.

  “Halt!” bellowed Kace, at a volume that was ridiculously unnecessary.

  Zara reached for my hand. “Don’t do anything.”

  “They’re not here for pleasantries.”

  “There is more at stake than just your life.”

  The four spearmen stamped into position, spanning out. Shields dropped. Spears pointing directly at my chest. They were still a good two yards away but I was well within their striking range. The pair of mages with their swords fanned out, circling Zara and me.

  Kace stepped forward, eyeing me carefully. “Hands up. Both of you.”

  “Why me?” asked Zara.

  “Because I’m arresting you too.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “Him for the attack on six of our soldiers at headquarters this morning, impersonating a member of the army, the murder of Artavian. And you for obstruction of justice. Mages? Take their weapons.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Plaza Central seemed to be home to all corners of law enfo
rcement. The Magistrate’s Office stood on the northern side, built in thoroughly dull gray bricks, I guess because it was either cheapest or the architect was an overcast-sky kinda person. To the east lay the Hall of Courts, clad in alternating slabs of blue marble and gray brick. Again I had to wonder about the mentality of the architect for this building. I wondered for a third time as to the south and directly in front of me sat Torne’s City Watch, hexagonal in shape and made up of rough brown stonework complete with flecks of color here and there that would’ve sparkled in the sunlight, if the genius who designed it had made the front entrance face the south.

  I had one spearman and one mage following me. Another spearman ahead of me while Lieutenant Orin led the way with my blade in his possession. My wrists were manacled behind me – leather straps that locked together with chain links connecting one wrist to the other.

  Every time I glanced back at Zara, Kace gave me the stink-eye. It suited him. Zara kept shaking her head at me, willing me to understand whatever telepathic message she was trying to send. The problem was, I had made it a principle in life to never be taken in alive, yet here I was, putting my balls in the hands of an assassin who herself was putting her balls in the hands of a councilor.

  We were pushed through the magistrate’s office, led straight to the back, down one flight of stairs to a dark corridor, and through a heavy-duty wooden door that was four inches thick. Beyond that: a room to the side that one of the young watchmen unlocked. Inside: a bookshelf against one wall with repurposed sacks folded one upon the other. Well used. Itchy as hell.

  One of the watchmen locked a chain to my ankles. Did the same to Zara. Unlocked her wrists. Did the same to me.

  Kace threw a sack at my feet. Holes had been cut into it for my head and arms to poke through. “Strip.” He threw one to Zara’s feet. “You too.”

  A confined area. Eight of them against two of us. Four of them with spears that was more of a hindrance than an asset. The mages would be a problem. The others? Less so.

  Zara sent another glare my way, willing me not to fight back.

  Kace narrowed his attention onto me. “Him first.”

  The four spearmen dropped their spears into an attack formation, their blades one foot from my chest.

  I lifted my hands. Conceded defeat.

  “Strip.”

  I kicked off my boots, freed myself from my jacket, tunic, and undershirt, and had something of a problem with my trousers, considering that my ankles were manacled. One of the watchmen came forward with a wooden box.

  “Dump your clothes in there.”

  I did as instructed. Zara the same. Our ankles were freed, giving us a chance to part with the last of our dignity, and once Kace was satisfied that we hadn’t snuck any weapons inside we were allowed to dress ourselves in the itchiest brown sacks you could imagine, coming to just below my knees.

  “I want a lawyer,” I said.

  “We’ll have the court appoint you someone.”

  “I’d like to choose my own.”

  “Considering the two of you are under investigation for witness tampering, you will get someone the court deems appropriate.”

  Our wrists were re-manacled behind us then off we went, through another door, down one more flight of steps where not even the faintest trace of sunlight would ever reach us. Our final stop was into a narrow dungeon. Three cells, the iron bars rusting but still sturdy. A few strands of hay on the ground but nothing of significance. A small hole in the ground against the far wall that stank like you wouldn’t believe. I guess the guards didn’t want any prisoner to have their own chamber pot, not when the contents could be thrown at them.

  Were it not for the small lamps two of the watchmen carried I would’ve been completely blind. One guy removed a set of keys.

  Click. The first cell opened up. Zara was nudged inside. Door closed. Click. She turned to show off her wrists locked behind her. “What about these?”

  “For troublemakers like you two? No chance.”

  Click. The second cell opened up. I was prodded between the shoulder blades. Went inside. Click.

  They closed the dungeon door on us, taking the lamps with them. The whole room plunged into darkness. I tested the manacles, the chains rattling against each other. Tested each and every bar in my cell. Nothing budged. Nearly stepped into the hole in the ground which stank like no one had cleaned it out in years.

  “I don’t suppose you got to keep that spear of yours?” I asked.

  “Did you notice that I’m wearing the same flea-ridden outfit that you have on?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that you went through the same humiliating process that I did?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. I did not get to keep my spear. Did you shove anything up your ass?”

  “I did not.”

  “Maybe you should keep something up there from now on. You know, for luck. Now hurry the hell up and get over here.”

  I pushed my hands out behind me and tread backward, nearly tripping over the uneven brick floor. By the time I’d reached the bars Zara had squatted down. “Where are you?”

  “Here.”

  “Where’s here?”

  “Down a bit.”

  “You’re going to need to keep talking for me to figure out where your head is.”

  She scoffed and yabbered in her native tongue.

  My fingers eventually found the top of her head, then the edges of her wig. None of this was remotely easy since I was doing everything back-to-front and in total darkness. “How do I get it off?”

  “It’s hooked into my hair just above my ears. Both sides.”

  “Wouldn’t that hurt if it was yanked off your head?”

  “Yeah it hurts, but it’s better than having your actual hair in their hands when they’re doing the yanking. Have you got it?”

  “I feel something like a pin.”

  “That’s one of the hooks. You need to slide it forward.”

  I tried.

  “Ow! Fuck, do you mind?”

  I think I got one hook free. “Was there anything else to the Rastula story I should know? Some feat of heroism, like saving his true love from a horde of lions and keeping them busy while she’s able to escape?”

  “No. Just being set upon by a pride of lions.”

  “Horde.”

  “It’s ‘pride’.”

  “Pretty sure it’s ‘horde’ when there’s a lot of them.” I pushed the left pin free.

  “Don’t let my wig fall.”

  I held on, just in time. Zara wiggled free.

  “You got it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Keep it steady.” She stood, felt around, found what she was looking for. “You still have it?”

  “I promise I still have your wig safely in my hands.”

  “Okay. Are your hands still through the bars?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stay still.” She waved her hands about behind her, knocking hers into mine. Then, with one set of fingers walking over the back of my wrist, she got to work picking the lock to my manacles.

  “I’m wondering why you feel the need to break out of here.”

  “Because Miss Kasera or the commander won’t get to us in time.”

  “We had plenty of opportunities beforehand to try and fight our way out.”

  “I was a little too optimistic before.”

  “What changed?”

  “A few things. Have you ever been arrested before?”

  “No.”

  She fumbled with the lock and stabbed me in the wrist with the point of a pin. “Really? You’ve never been arrested?”

  “Oh, people have certainly said, ‘you’re under arrest’ and they were quite serious about it, but I’ve been determined to never let a set of manacles reach my wrists.”

  “You killed them?”

  “No. Mostly I’d run. You know how hard it is to give chase while armed with a shield and spear and wearing armor?”

 
; “Yes.”

  “And the other times I’d fight them. Not to the death or anything. I’d grab their spear and either punch them or make them run away. Why are we breaking out?”

  “Because we’ve been locked in together even though we’ve been arrested under separate charges. Doubly unusual because they’re supposed to segregate the prisoners.”

  “By gender?”

  “Yes.”

  “In case we …”

  “There is no ‘we’ here. Hold still.”

  “So Kace is alerting someone right now that he’s caught us?”

  “Probably. And lastly because we’re still manacled and the manacles are behind us. That’s fine for walking us through the streets but they are supposed to switch them to our front when we’re in the dungeon. It’s so we can sleep better, feed ourselves, water ourselves, and so the guard can see that we’re still ironed when they come to get us. No one likes to face a prisoner when they have their hands behind their back. You want to see their hands at all times.”

  “Good to know. Perhaps you should hurry this up a little.”

  “Hey, this isn’t easy! Doing this in pitch darkness, my hands manacled and behind my back, rummaging around with nothing but my fingertips to guide me.”

  “Maybe you should’ve practiced a little more.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You can do this, right?”

  “I’ve literally practiced blindfolded and with my hands behind my back. Have you?”

  “I’ve practiced never letting someone slap my wrists with a pair of manacles.”

  “You were out numbered eight to one.”

  “Eight to two.”

  “You still wouldn’t have beaten those odds. And if you had then Miss Kasera and the commander would’ve been summoned by the governor for employing a mercenary with no decency or respect for the law. The commander would’ve been expelled from the army and Miss Kasera would’ve been expelled from the council. Appropriations for your crimes would’ve been enacted against the Kaseras and Lavartas.”

  “Even if the governor was dirty?”

  “There’s only so much you can get away with when you kill someone in a uniform in broad daylight. You would jump to the top of Syuss’ most wanted list.”

  “I’m surprised if I’m not on there already.”