The Agent

by Brock E. Deskins

  “What do you mean it’s not a fair trade?” Garran demanded. “These are better horses than what you’re giving me in return!”

  “They have constable brands!” the man countered.

  “As if you don’t have a brand back in your shop that will fix that in an instant.”

  “I run an honest business.”

  “Like hell.”

  “Even if I didn’t, you aren’t going to get full value on a stolen horse.”

  “I told you, they aren’t stolen!”

  The man crossed his arms and gave Garran an accusatory look. “I ain’t never heard of an auction surplus.”

  “What’s not to understand? The constabulary buys more horses than it needs and decides it is better to sell off the surplus than to stable and feed them.”

  “Then show me the bill of sale.”

  “I told you, I lost it!”

  “Yeah, that seems to happen to a lot of fellows wanting to sell me horses. If you want me to take those horses in trade, you need to throw in another twenty argats per.”

  “Good, you are open to negotiation. All right, how about a counter offer of—”

  Garran’s fist collided with the man’s chin and dumped him onto the floor. Two stablehands reached for pitchforks and made to intervene.

  Garran slapped a hand against one of his reaping blades and held up a finger in warning. “Ah! Don’t even think about it. It’s a fair trade, and when he comes around, he’ll see it. Just go about your business, and I won’t put you down too.”

  Garran grabbed the fresh mounts’ reins and led them out of the stable when the grooms backed off. Adam took the lead of one and swung into the saddle.

  “Was it necessary to hit him?” Adam asked once they had galloped a sufficient distance from the small town and slowed their horses to a walk.

  “You saw how unreasonable he was being. We didn’t have time to haggle with him with Victor riding down on our asses.”

  “His argument seemed reasonable to me. Don’t you have some coin left from what Anton’s seneschal gave you? You could have offered him something.”

  “I need that money and likely more in the days to come.”

  “For what, drugs and whores?”

  “No! Not just for drugs and whores.”

  “You need to take this seriously, Garran!”

  “I just punched a man in the face and stole his horses. How much more serious can I get?”

  “I mean you need to prioritize. You need to place the success of our mission higher than your vices.”

  “My vices are a key component to the success of the mission.”

  “How is that remotely possible?”

  “Everyone has a system—a process. Like a musician or an author has a process that helps spur their imagination to create brilliant works.”

  “You are as far from a brilliant work as one can get.”

  “I am a masterpiece in human form.”

  “I’ve seen you crap your pants.”

  “I fell really hard!”

  “You were so drunk you tripped over a shadow. Maybe if your diet included something other than booze, you would have the consistency not to soil yourself during a sneezing fit.”

  Garran dipped and rolled his shoulders. “Oo, look at me. I’m a prince with breeches that stay closed, and my bowel movements are well-formed and smell like roses. La-tee-freaking-da!”

  “The fact that you think not exposing or soiling oneself is the height of social graces makes me weep inside.”

  “Bah, you’re probably just on your period.”

  ***

  Cimmaron lay fifty miles from the border with Opatia. It was where Garran declared they would stay the night before pushing on to Glidden and into Opatia. Opatia was a landlocked country, and its capital lay more than two hundred miles into its southern heart.

  Garran rented a room at an inn and paid extra for the innkeeper to feign ignorance of their existence if anyone asked. Adam stayed downstairs to enjoy a proper meal. Garran complained of stomach distress and went up the room. Adam finished eating, hustled upstairs, and found Garran in the middle of the room squatting over a small box.

  “What are you doing?”

  Garran looked up, his face flush and his brow beaded in sweat from his exertions. “I’m shitting in a box, as if it weren’t readily apparent even to those who lack the deductive skills of a trained agent.”

  “I can see what you are doing. My question is directed toward the why of it.”

  “Because I keep my promises.”

  “You promised someone you would do your business into a box?”

  “I promised that prick of an innkeeper back in Brolla that I would mail him his payment.”

  “Why did you not just pay him when we were in Brolla?”

  “I tried, but the constables interrupted me.”

  Adam gave him an exasperated sigh. “Why did you not just give him the money we agreed upon?”

  “Because he was a prick.”

  “So are you!”

  “I’m…incorrigible.”

  “You are crapping in a box.”

  Garran grinned. “The look on his face when he opens it will be priceless.”

  “Yeah…I don’t think it will be. How exactly do you plan to get it to him?”

  “Express courier.”

  “And how much is that going to cost?”

  “Seven Dinarins.”

  “Our bill was seven argats, which is around five dinarins. You spent an extra two dinarins over what it would have cost just to give the man silver.”

  “A man cannot put a price on principle.”

  “In this case, the price of your principles is two dinarins. Of all the principles a man could espouse, honesty, loyalty, integrity, courage, you choose crapping in a box. We have the best field agent on his way to kill you and arrest me—”

  “Second best,” Garran interrupted. “I’m the best.”

  “You stand in defense of your argument while the rest of the world refutes it. Not only is he an agent, but also a transcended.”

  “I’m a transcended too.”

  “A somewhat retarded one by your own admission.”

  “That was your word, not mine.”

  “But instead of preparing for what you say is an unavoidable clash, you are in the middle of our room crapping in a box. That is the cornerstone of your guiding principles?”

  Garran groaned. “I think a cornerstone is what I am trying to shove out of my ass and drop in this box. I should not have held it for this long. I bet I was riding three inches taller in the saddle for the last couple of days. Ah, there it goes!”

  Garran hitched up his trousers, applied a sticky resin around the lip of the box to create an airtight seal, and nailed the top on. Slipping his reaping blades back into his belt, he tucked the parcel under his arm and made to leave.

  “If you will excuse me, I have a package to send.”

  “Nothing in this world could possibly excuse the likes of you.”

  “Still on that period, are you? I should have taken you for a heavy bleeder. Don’t answer the door for anyone, and be ready to make use of the escape plan should it be necessary.”

  Adam watched Garran leave with his disgusting package tucked under his arm, lay back on the bed, and stared at the ceiling. Despite the exhaustion he felt from the days of forced riding, the fear of impending doom prevented him from falling asleep. As the minutes dragged into hours, his fear only increased. Growing so restless that he could no longer find comfort lying down, Adam began pacing the room. With luck, he would tire himself enough to get to sleep.

  ***

  So wrapped up was he in his anxiety, the sound of the door opening startled him so much that he nearly fell to the floor. Adam found himself pulling the window and shutters open, ready to jump out into the street, before he looked over his shoulder and realized it was Garran and not Victor.

  Adam closed the shutters and faced Garran. “Where have
you been all day?”

  “Doing what a good agent is supposed to do—prepare.”

  Adam recoiled from the overpowering smell of alcohol assaulting his olfactory senses. “I hope you didn’t spend all of our money on booze and prostitutes during your preparations.”

  “No, mister judgmental. In point of fact I spent most of it on children.”

  Adam took three angry paces and put his face within inches of Garran’s. “I have tolerated a great deal of delinquent debauchery from you, but I absolutely will not abide you exploiting children to satisfy your lecherous habits! I would sooner turn myself over to The Guild than ally myself with someone who would do such a thing!”

  Garran blinked and leaned away. “What the hell are you talking about? You think I would…I paid street children to keep an eye out for Victor or anyone asking about a pair of strangers in town. Those little beggars are the best eyes and ears in any city. The fact that you would automatically assume that I would do something like that, well, that’s as insulting as it is preposterous.” Garran stepped away and pointed a finger at Adam. “You got problems, buddy.”

  Chagrinned, Adam sat heavily into a chair next to the small table. “I’m sorry. It’s just…I never know where you might draw the line when it comes to terrible behavior.”

  “I might drink donkey piss if it will get me drunk, but when it comes to women, I like whores. The bigger the better.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be. The mere fact that you are able to offend the likes of me should make you take stock of your own character. You have some pent up frustrations, and you need to deal with them before they come flooding out and I’m the one looking down my nose at what you did. That would be like a whore calling someone a slut. You don’t want that.”

  “Other than drinking and bribing waifs, what have you been doing?”

  “I have never beat Victor in a fair fight, and I don’t see that changing now.”

  “So what will you do?”

  “Make sure it isn’t a fair fight by choosing my battlefield and setting it to my advantage. With any luck, it will be enough to give me the edge I need to beat him.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Not unless you can get your hands on some cocaine. You can’t can you?”

  “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “Yeah, no one else seems to either. I guess I’ll have to rely on my skill and cunning without chemical enhancement.”

  “So, are there any special funeral arrangements you want me to make?”

  “You’re really pushing for that court jester job, aren’t you?”

  ***

  An insistent knocking on the door roused Garran from his sleep. He chased the cobwebs from his brain, noted the hour to be around midmorning, and walked toward the door.

  “What if it’s Victor?” Adam asked.

  “Assassin’s don’t knock, Pickle Tits.”

  Garran opened the door and stared down at two boys of ten or eleven years of age. They were filthy and wore tattered clothes, but their eyes projected the wary wisdom of life on the streets. One of the boys stood behind and just to the side of the one who had knocked holding a short, flat length of iron that looked to have been sharpened on a cobblestone to resemble a stiletto. Its crude construction did not reduce its lethality in the slightest.

  “What?” Garran grumbled.

  “We saw your man ride into town a few minutes ago,” the one nearest the door said.

  “Are you sure it was him?”

  “He looked just like you said. He had three blokes with him, and they was definitely looking for someone.”

  “Where?”

  “You promised us coin.”

  “I’ll pay you when I know you aren’t lying to me.”

  “We ain’t lying, and we ain’t telling you nothing until you pay us!”

  Adam called out, “Just pay them, Garran.”

  Garran glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll try, but I haven’t eaten since yesterday. I don’t know if I can work up a—”

  “With money!”

  “Fine!” Garran groused, pulled two argats from his pocket, and dropped them into the boy’s grubby palm.

  “They rode in on the west side of town about ten minutes ago. They stabled their horses and started asking for two fellas and showed a drawing.”

  Garran scratched at the stubble on his chin. “They’ll ask at the inns and stores closest to the edge of town and work their way in, so we have a little time. How would you boys like to earn a little more money?”

  “Sorry, we ain’t fancy boys, but I can find ya some who’ll turn a trick for the right price.”

  “I’m not asking to—what the hell is with people automatically assuming I want to prostitute children?”

  “Well, when a grown man answers the door with his dilly dangling in front of a pair of young boys and then offers them money, it’s not an unreasonable assumption to draw.”

  Garran’s hands darted for the laces on his breeches and retreated into the room. “Damn these trousers all to hell!”

  “Looks a bit lit like a thumb don’t it, Ronnie?” the one boy asked his fellow, nudging him with his elbow.

  “Shut up!” Garran snapped as he buckled on his weapons belt.

  “Yeah,” the other agreed, “an angry one that got hit with a hammer.”

  “Keep it up, you little shits, and I’ll give you what I gave the last guy who insulted me.”

  “I think maybe he gave you something. Hey, Ronnie, I bet that’s why it looks so angry.”

  Ronnie bobbed his head. “Yup, gotta be it.”

  “Shut up! Come with us, P.T.”

  “What do you need me for?” Adam asked.

  “You can’t catch any fish without bait.”

  Adam sighed and got out his chair. “Right behind you, T.P.”

  “T.P?”

  “Thumb Penis,” Adam said with a grin.

  “Shut up!”

  ***

  “Hey, mister,” Ronnie called out as he ran up to one of Victor’s henchmen. “You’re one of the blokes who been looking for them other fellas, right?”

  Max fished the sketch of Adam and Garran out of his pocket, unfolded it, and held it for the boy to look at. “Did you see these men?”

  Ronnie pointed to the drawing of Adam. “I saw that one.”

  “What about the other one?”

  “I didn’t see him.”

  “But you’re sure you saw the other one?”

  Ronnie bobbed his head.

  “Where at?”

  The urchin held out his hand, palm up. Max pressed a dinarin into it, and Ronnie shoved it into his pocket.

  “He was saddling up a horse in a small stable two streets over just a minute ago.”

  Max looked in the direction Ronnie pointed. “I know your face, boy. If you’re lying to me, I’m taking that coin out of your hide—with interest.”

  “He’s there, but he looks like he might be ready to light out.”

  Max made long strides in the direction of the stable. He should go find Victor, but it sounded as if he might not have time. If Adam was alone, he should have no problem handling it himself. He did wonder where Garran was and why he had left the Prince alone. From what he knew of Holt, he was likely in a bar or a whorehouse. Drunk or not, he certainly did not intend to tangle with a transcended. That was Victor’s job.

  He slowed to a creep as he approached the stable. Max used the side of the building to shield his body from view and peered around the huge open door to get a look inside. Adam was saddling a horse, his back to the doorway. Max travelled his eyes around the interior but did not see anyone else. Drawing his shortsword, he stepped inside.

  “No sudden moves, boy, and this stays simple and painless.”

  Adam spun around and held his hands open next to his side. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “I’m going to take you home to your sister. You want to see
your sister don’t you?”

  “How do I know you won’t kill me?”

  “Because I’m being paid to bring you back alive, but alive is the only requirement in my contract. How comfortable you are during the trip is entirely up to you. Where’s Holt?”

  “I’m right here, Sunshine,” Garran whispered into Max’s ear and looped a rope around his neck.

  Max whirled around, slashing with his blade. Adam turned, grabbed the branding iron sitting in a bucket of glowing coals, and pressed it against the horse’s rump. The horse lashed out with both rear hooves and bolted, leaving behind the acrid stench of burnt flesh and singed hair. Max tried to tug the rope loose from around his neck, but the cord snapped taut, and the panicked horse dragged him out of the stable and into the street on its flight out of town.

  “My god, Garran, that was one of the most awful things I have ever seen,” Adam said as he watched the horse drag the man away, rolling, bouncing, and sliding down the street.

  “Yeah, it was pretty awesome. Now let’s go get the others.”

  ***

  Kyle spotted a young man with blond hair step out of a shop just ahead of him. Adam looked up and down the wooden sidewalk before walking away. Kyle pulled the drawing of Adam Altena and Garran Holt from a pocket, compared the image with the boy’s face, and followed.

  Adam trotted down the three steps at the end of the raised walkway lining the storefronts and turned down an alley. With any luck, this would give Kyle a chance to take Adam without drawing much attention. Not that it made much difference. Victor could handle any problems they ran into with the local constabulary.

  Kyle’s foot touched down onto the middle step leading off the boardwalk and down to the street. He felt something grab hold of his ankle, and he was suddenly pitching forward. The ground raced toward his face at frightening speed until the two collided a second later, his outstretched arms only minimally softening the impact.

  Those who saw him fall stood in shocked silence as he vanished between the steps and under the walkway. They heard a few dull thuds and a strangled cry before everything went silent. Pedestrians who witnessed Kyle’s demise stepped off the sidewalk and into the street, making a wide circuit around the stairs so that whatever fell creature making its home beneath did not drag them to their doom as well.

  ***