Mourningbird

by Brock Deskins

  “What was in the blast box?”

  “An arcanstone.”

  “Just when I thought this could not get any stranger. Arcanstones, even high-quality ones, are not impossible to get on the black market. Someone with Nimat’s connections probably would have little trouble.”

  “I only caught a glimpse of it. It was an impressive specimen, but you’re right. I don’t know why someone would take such a risk or go through so much expense to get it. I do know that the men hired to steal it were paid a lot of money, and that was only the upfront half, which explains why they went through with it even after seeing who they were robbing.”

  “Nothing addles a man’s brain like the sight of gold and silver.” Conner rested his chin on his fist with his elbow propped on his knee. “You said Fred had several chests filled with coin when the man tried to assassinate him.”

  “He did, and Switzer’s place was my first stop once I locked up the men I arrested. He claims to be bedridden from the sword wound I gave him. He of course denied any involvement, and he had his usual people around him.”

  “He would certainly distance himself and his gang from any attempt against Nimat, but that still begs the question of why Fred would risk everything just for an arcanstone.”

  “I don’t know, and as strange as that is, it’s far from the oddest part of all this.”

  “There’s more?”

  “One of the mercenaries I apprehended says the whole thing went to hell when Nimat attacked one of them seemingly without cause. That set off the chain reaction that resulted in the huge melee between the three groups. It turns out he was not who anyone thought he was, and Nimat must have seen through the guise, which technically is a fourth party.”

  “You’re right, this thing gets more convoluted by the minute.”

  Bertram chuckled. “Oh, I’m not even at the worst of it. Not only does no one know who this fourth party was, they cannot even say what he was. I saw him and Nimat wielding magic. Foul, black stuff I never imagined existed.”

  “That is troubling.”

  “It is. I came here immediately after meeting with my uncle. He says the creature is called a Necrophage and that the sorcerers drove them across the sea during the time my first ancestor assumed rulership in Eidolan. It appears at least one has found his way back.”

  Conner scratched his head. “So they’re sorcerers?”

  “Worse from what I’ve heard, at least in some ways.”

  “Heard where exactly?”

  “I told you, my uncle.”

  “But where did he get this information? I’ve never heard of Necrophages.”

  “No one was supposed to have. The highlords went to great lengths to keep their existence a secret.”

  Conner fixed Bertram with a firm stare. “Again, then how did he find out?”

  Bertram let out a long breath. “Nimat told him.”

  “And you believe her?”

  “Rastus does, so yes.”

  “Exactly how close is our duke to Nimat? I have to say, that bothers me more than anything you’ve said so far.”

  It was Bertram’s turn to fix his host with his eyes. “My uncle and I may have different ideas of what is best for this city, but he has always put it and its people above himself.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. You certainly have a far higher vantage point from which to view him.”

  Bertram stood abruptly. “I would appreciate it if you inform me of any new customers who are spending money they have no business having.”

  “Of course. Bertram, forgive my rudeness. Rastus has always been a fair and decent ruler, but I have some…bitterness in me as a result of things in my past of which I am having a hard time letting go.”

  Some of the tension fled Bertram’s muscles as well as the room. “I doubt you said anything wrong. I’m exhausted and overly sensitive. I’m glad I can count on you to speak plainly and not hide behind literal or figurative masks.”

  “Let me go grab Quinlan’s journals before I show you out.”

  “Thank you, I would appreciate that.”

  Conner limped up the stairs as swiftly as his bad leg allowed and returned a minute later bearing three leather-bound books. He handed them to the inquisitor and led him to the door.

  “There is one other thing I must warn you of,” Bertram said from the doorway. “This Necrophage, Nimat called him a skin stealer. Apparently, he is able to take the skin of a man and wear it as his own.”

  “That sounds absolutely abominable.”

  “And dangerous. Watch for any changes in the behavior of those around you. It is far more likely a concern for me and my uncle, but who can say what this creature’s goals are.”

  “Thanks, I’ll be on my guard.”

  Cleary was standing at the top of the stairs when Conner returned. “You’re going to need help.”

  Conner sighed. “All right, we’ll bring her in.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Kiera woke to the sound of Russel toiling in his workshop lair beneath the airship. She shuffled around deck but found no sign of Wesley and assumed he had managed to make a last-minute appointment. Deciding that lounging around and hiding on the airship was not going to improve her situation, Kiera elected to go into town and maybe lift a few purses.

  Nimat might have ordered all debts suspended, but Fred had already shown that he was willing to violate the underlord’s law. Maybe if she paid him off he would forget about her and go about whatever nefarious business occupied his mind. It had to be vastly more important than dealing with an annoying girl.

  Kiera disliked going out during the day, and pickpocketing was the lowest form of thievery. She considered herself above it, but she was not ready to take on anything bigger at the moment. She had also given over every last coin she owned to Nimat, and if she and the boys hoped to eat anything other than poverty rations, they needed money.

  Kiera had walked less than halfway through Blindside before spotting her first tail. The people were good, using both men and women, dropping off and being replaced by someone else every couple of blocks, but by the time she crossed into Midtown, the same faces started reappearing.

  What little doubt she may have held vanished when she deliberately began ducking down alleys and using side streets regular traffic had no purpose in taking and still they stuck to her. Kiera thought about luring one into an alley and ambushing them, but they invariably traveled in pairs and were not run-of-the-mill thugs. If they were trained in surveillance, it was likely they knew how to fight as well.

  Gazing at the top of the building walls looming two and three stories over her head, Kiera touched the grappling gun holstered inside her light coat, but she did not want to use it as it was not something to display in public. She picked up her pace to a fast walk and then a jog, all ideas of picking pockets forgotten.

  Her head whipped from side to side and she noted an increase in the number of people following her and a decrease in their attempts at remaining inconspicuous. It was impossible to say who gave up the charade first, but both sides were soon sprinting through the streets. Kiera tried to lose her pursuers down side streets but often found her way blocked by menacing-looking men who were likely part of whatever group was after her.

  Ideas of who they were or what they wanted flashed through the tiny part of Kiera’s brain that was not devoted to escape. Nimat and Fred’s names sprang to the fore. She doubted it was Nimat given their meeting yesterday morning. While it could be Rafferty’s people if he thought she was lying about not having the arcanstone, it was more likely that he would have sent Langdon to talk to her rather than chase her down in public.

  That left Fred. Nimat had ordered him to lay off her, but as she had already reasoned, Fred had no problem betraying her. Especially if he thought she had the stone. His hired thugs had killed several of Rafferty and Nimat’s people, so catching and murdering her in broad daylight was a big step down the audacity ladder.

  With her flight blocked
at every other turn, Kiera knew her situation was getting more dire by the second. With no other recourse, she angled toward a nearby gendarmerie station just two blocks away. She turned the final corner onto the street on which the gendarmerie resided only to find her way blocked by a black carriage.

  Kiera slid to a stop, nearly tumbling into the riding compartment when the door swung open. A man dressed in a fine suit and wearing a black porcelain mask leaned down and held out his white-gloved hand. Her hand flashed to one of her batons, thinking it was the man she had fought at Fred’s, who probably thought she robbed him, which she sort of did.

  Her eyes took his measure with the speed and detail of a professional. This man was shorter and less stocky. Unlike the man she had crossed paths with on three separate occasions, this one was far more likely to have been born into his mask, something she suspected was not the case with the assassin.

  With a final glance behind her, Kiera made up her mind and allowed the man to help her into his carriage. She sat opposite him on the padded bench located nearest the driver. She pulled out one of her batons and laid it across her lap. If this highborn thought he could take advantage of her situation, he was going to be in for a rude and painful awakening.

  Kiera lurched in her seat as the carriage rolled into motion. She looked out of the window at several men standing in the middle of the street watching her leave. It did not appear as though they intended on following her further.

  “Thanks, you can let me out at the next block,” Kiera said after failing to spot any pursuers in the last several minutes.

  “I was rather hoping you would stay on. There is a job I would like to discuss with you,” Conner said.

  “I have things to do.”

  Conner pulled out a small sack of money. “I will pay you for your time.”

  “I’m not a whore, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  Conner smiled behind his mask. “I know you are not a whore, Kiera. That is the last thing I need right now.”

  Kiera narrowed her eyes at the man. “You sent the men who were chasing me.”

  “I did.”

  She grabbed for the carriage door. “I’m out of here.”

  Conner hooked the door with his cane and pulled it shut. “Please, just hear me out. It costs you nothing and will earn you at the very least a bit of coin without the fear of arrest.”

  Kiera scowled at him but sat back in her seat. “I don’t talk to people behind masks.”

  Conner lifted the mask from his face. He was a handsome man with dark hair shot through with streaks of grey, lean, sculpted facial features with prominent cheekbones, and piercing grey eyes.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Conner Rey. Have you heard of me?”

  “No, should I have?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  Conner’s lips curled into a pursed frown. “That is a bit of a long story. Let us just say that we have a mutual acquaintance.”

  “I doubt that. None of my friends have more than a pair of bronze drams to rub together.”

  “I said acquaintance, not friend.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I would prefer to discuss it after we reach my home.”

  “I want the money first,” Kiera demanded.

  Conner shrugged and handed the purse over, but he did not release his grip when Kiera grabbed it. “I want your word that you will not run off before hearing me out.”

  “Fine.”

  He fixed the girl with his gaze while still holding onto the pouch. “Do you know what integrity is?”

  Kiera tugged at the money. “Yeah.”

  “Integrity is a rare and amazing thing,” Conner continued, ignoring Kiera’s petulant glare. “It is one of the few things that can never be taken from you, only surrendered of your own volition. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, I get it! I’ll listen to you before telling you to go stuff yourself!”

  Conner let go of the purse and leaned back with a smile. “Fair enough, but I hope I can change your mind.”

  Kiera snorted. “Don’t bet on it. Where are we going, anyway?”

  “To my house.”

  “Where’s that? Some mansion in Liberty?”

  “No. It is not far from here.”

  “Just so you know, I might come back to rob you if I see something I like.”

  “Why would you tell me something like that?”

  “Because I don’t want to surrender my integrity if you wake up and find that I’ve stolen all your nice things…except your integrity, since you say I can’t take that from you.”

  Conner chuckled, realizing that maybe Cleary was right about the girl being clever as well as audacious. The two traveled in silence for another fifteen minutes before the coach began to slow. Kiera looked out of the window and her face turned red.

  “This is a whorehouse!”

  “No, it is a pleasure house.”

  “Same thing. I told you I’m not a whore!”

  “And I told you that is the last thing I need. This is also where I live. Don’t worry, we will conduct our business in my residence.”

  Kiera tightened her grip on her baton, knowing that not all prostitutes chose their profession of their own free will. “If this is a trick, you will regret it.”

  Conner stepped from the carriage, stumbling a bit at the pain and weakness from his old injury. “It is no trick.”

  Kiera slapped away his hand when he tried to help her down. She took several steps away from him after hopping from the coach step. The thief noted how Conner leaned on his cane and walked with a pronounced hitch in his step. If he did try something, she knew where her first blow would land.

  She followed Conner inside the manor and let her eyes travel around its interior. From what she could see, it was not as large as the last one she had robbed, or attempted to rob, if she discounted the large wing comprising the pleasure house. The furnishings were nice but not gaudy or excessive. For a rich man, his tastes appeared to be modest.

  The only other person she saw was a woman, likely Thuumian given her white robes and face wrap, standing silently in one corner of the parlor, her large emerald eyes tracking her as she followed behind the lord of the manor. Kiera figured she was watching her in case she tried to steal something.

  “I’m not a cook either,” Kiera said when Conner led her into the kitchen.

  “I don’t imagine you are given that the only culinary skill needed to cook public rations is boiling worm meat for a few days and liberally dosing it with salt. But then, I doubt you can afford salt.”

  Kiera bit off her retort and suppressed the sudden desire to push the man down the basement stairs he revealed behind one of the kitchen doors. The way down, as well as what she could see of the interior, was lit, but not brightly. She hesitated at the top of the stairs as Conner descended, doing her best to try to sniff out any traps.

  “I’m warning you, if you try anything, you’re going to need two canes,” Kiera said as she followed him down.

  “I told you, this is merely an employment opportunity, one you are welcome to refuse and go safely on your way once you hear me out.”

  “Mr. Cleary, we have a guest,” Conner called out from the base of the stairs.

  Orange light flared as someone near the middle of the spacious cellar lit a match and set it to a lantern hanging from a post. The light revealed a rough-looking man, perhaps half a score years older than Conner, his right arm suspended in a sling. Kiera noted the bulk of what was likely a thick bandage covering a serious wound in his shoulder.

  “Ah, you got her,” Cleary said. “I’m almost disappointed it was so easy.”

  Fear filled Kiera’s eyes and her heart raced. Even without his mask, she had no doubt as to who the man was. His build, voice, and eyes gave him away. She pulled both her batons from her belt and held them at the ready as she slowly backed toward the stairs.

&n
bsp; “I warned you not to play any games with me!”

  Conner held up a hand and motioned the girl to remain calm. “It is no game, Kiera. We’re just going to have a talk and then you can leave. No one here means you any harm.”

  “You set me up! You sent men to chase me halfway across Midtown, you tried to kill Fred—which is actually a point in your favor—you stole from me. From Nimat. I don’t know what your game is, but I want no part of it. You’re half the reason I’m in so much trouble now!”

  Conner understood the girl’s recalcitrance, but the fact she completely ignored the man tied to a chair with his head covered with a sack spoke volumes of her temperament and composure.

  “Kiera, this is not a trap, nor is it a game,” Conner said.

  “Tell that to the guy you have tied to a chair in your basement.”

  “Aren’t you curious who it is?”

  “Unless it’s Fred, which I’m pretty sure it’s not, I got my own problems.”

  “He’s here because of you—for you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Conner pressed his lips together in a tight smile. “Let me introduce myself and my colleague. I used to be the city’s chief inquisitor until circumstances made it impossible for me to continue.” He tapped his cane on the floor for emphasis.

  “Despite losing my position, I never stopped believing in administering justice, particularly to those who think themselves above it.”

  Kiera looked at Cleary. “Ah, people like Fred. So what does that have to do with me?”

  “Mr. Cleary is obviously no longer fit for such duties, but I still wish to see justice brought to those who deserve it. Mr. Cleary thinks you are a suitable replacement.”

  “I’m not an assassin, so thanks but no thanks.”

  Conner walked over to the bound man and laid a hand on his shoulder. The man flinched at his touch and tried to cry out, but only muffled grunts and whines made it past the gag in his mouth.

  “There are injustices wrought by filth like this man here. Crimes that are never caught by the gendarme and punished by our courts.”

  “Yeah, life’s tough and never fair. You learn to live with it,” Kiera retorted.