Slipping off the green armband, he tapped the young man on the shoulder. “I’m here to see Corvo,” Roan said, gesturing across the street. “He’s expecting me.” Roan didn’t wait for a response; he simply started walking brusquely through the crowded street, leaving the man behind.
There was a thug in the doorway of the cafe. He had seen Roan and now put himself in Roan’s path. As he did, the man from across the street closed in from behind. Roan put his hands up. He wasn’t there to fight.
His sword, dagger and crossbow were taken from him. Then he was frisked. Only then was he allowed into the cafe. In the back near the bar Rinely stood, grinning maliciously. His face was completely healed; Roan felt he’d have to rectify that soon.
But he wasn’t there to hurt Rinely, he was there to get in good with Corvo and the Ghaks.
Corvo, his sail of a nose casting a shadow across half his face, sat at the table gazing up at Roan. Behind him the sharp-eyed woman was doing the same thing. Up close he saw she wasn’t wearing black leather like the rest. She had on painted chainmail beneath a flowing cloak of sable. She could have been pretty if it weren’t for the fierceness about her.
Roan nodded once to her and sat down across from Corvo, who remarked, “You’ve been a busy boy.”
“Just another Monday for me. When do we see the big boss?”
“That’s going to be difficult seeing as there’s a team of my men who have been paid to kill you.” He paused to smooth out his already smooth mustache. “You see, we in the Ghak don’t give refunds. If we take money for a job then we see it through to the end. Now, do you see my problem?”
The woman tensed as did the advance man, who had leaned forward, gathering his legs beneath him when Roan had come in. Roan affected a mildly puzzled expression. “The team who came after is no longer a problem. They saw it through to the end.”
He reached into the inner pocket of his cloak and pulled out the six green armbands and tossed them onto the table. “Now, can we go?”
Chapter 11
Oberast, Daggerland
Rinely saw the green armbands and his watery eyes nearly popped out of his head. Slowly, he backed from the front room and disappeared into the kitchen. “You see?” Roan said. “The problem has taken care of itself.”
Corvo had been staring at the armbands and only then did he look up to see that Rinely was gone. “I can’t see how this helps you. I’m…” He turned to glance at the sharp-eyed woman. “Is one of those really Mundold’s?”
Coming around his chair, her eyes full on Roan, she touched the armbands with the tips of her fingers. “Aye. This one,” was all she said, picking up one of the armbands.
Corvo cursed and sat back, shaking his head at Roan. “I’m going to have to kill you. It’s nothing personal. It’s just business.”
Since he could clock out in a blink, Roan was more angry than worried. “I understand your simplistic view. Tit for tat. It makes sense in this moment, but will it make sense when I come back and kill Rinely and torch this place and tear through these apartment buildings killing everyone I see? Will it make sense when I decide to take out every Ghak I can lay my hands on?”
Roan bunched his scarred knuckles into fists. “I’m offering you a chance to gain from the fury of my vengeance, but if you spurn me, I’ll take that offer elsewhere and it’ll be you I come after.”
“He does not lie,” the woman said.
“No, I don’t. Now tell me, Corvo, is Rinely worth it?”
Corvo spat out a quick laugh. “Rinely’s not worth a copper.” He sighed, his mustache and his shoulders drooping. “The best I can do is take you to Tarranon The Red and let him decide your fate. I certainly hope that what you have to tell him is worth something.” Corvo tossed a silver coin onto the table and stood.
He led Roan out into the street, where he walked brazenly down the middle. People scurried out of his way and that included adventurers who took one look at the green armbands and moved aside.
They wove through the Ghak territory until they came to a textile mill. It was a huge grey building that took up an entire city block. It was a hive of activity with gaunt workers going in every direction. They hauled bushels of cotton, yards of fabric, hundred-pound spools of thread, and all manners of clothing back and forth.
With dozens of machines going at once, Corvo had to lean in and shout to be heard: “The heart of the operation.”
This surprised Roan. He would have thought that drugs or prostitution would have been the biggest money makers.
They passed through the center of the building to a gleaming brass elevator that looked as though it belonged in 1930’s New York. It came complete with a uniformed man who operated the elevator via an ivory handle connected to the interior of the brass wall. There were no controls other than the handle.
Only Corvo, Roan and the woman stepped inside. Instead of doors, the elevator had accordion gates that came together. A moment later, there was a whirring sound and they dropped into the earth, but how far Roan could not guess. They stopped at a set of steel doors that had a small peephole set in them. Eyes scrutinized them for a moment before the doors were opened.
All three of them were frisked and, weaponless, they were allowed to enter a mansion. Through some sort of magic, it felt as though they were no longer under the earth. Every room had tall windows that looked out over a beautiful lake. Roan could almost feel the breeze coming in from the water’s edge.
“Did we leave the city?”
Corvo laughed. “I don’t even know. I just know that it won’t do you any good asking.”
They walked down a hallway to a spacious and modern appearing living room. Other than the four burly guards with stern, unforgiving faces, it was pleasant. A fire crackled on the hearth and in front of it was a white leather couch. Seated square in the middle of it was a surprisingly young man. With his cleft chin, bright blue eyes and wavy brown hair, he was handsome.
“Ah, the troublemaker,” the man said as way of a greeting. He didn’t offer his hand, only a cold smile that caused a wave of goosebumps to breakout along Roan’s flesh. He looked as though he was the kind of man who could strangle his mother while wearing that same smile.
“I don’t make trouble,” Roan said. “It just seems to coalesce around me.”
“Coalesce?” The cold smile widened. “What an interesting word. You know, in this world, the eyes can be next to useless. It’s a world crafted in illusion. Take her for instance.” He glanced to the woman who had accompanied them. Roan did a double-take.
She was no longer the stern-faced human, she was an elf with skin like midnight. It was a drow. Roan had never seen one in the flesh before, he’d only heard of them through rumor and tales, all of which painted them as more vile and repugnant than the foulest orc.
“But is she really a drow?” Tarranon asked. “If you listen carefully, you will hear the creole of ‘Nah-leans’ slip out of her. Now, as for you, Ratchet, just using a word like coalesce tells me you are not just college educated, but also that you surround yourself with others who are as well.”
Roan nodded. Tarranon’s smile widened. “Now, you’re afraid of saying anything. What will slip out? What will I guess? The answer is everything will slip out, eventually. You don’t get to be where I am by allowing lies to fester. Yes, it seems ironic that the man who runs one of the most powerful thieves guilds in Daggerland is all about the truth.”
“All about the truth?” Roan asked. “Am I supposed to believe that all you say is the unvarnished truth?”
“I tell the truth when it benefits me, just as you do. Right now, it definitely benefits you because if I catch you in a lie, I will kill you. Let’s start with this secret you have, the one that was for my ears only.”
“First, let me tell you my demands.”
Tarranon threw back his head and laughed. “You weren’t kidding, Corvo. This guy has guts. No common sense whatsoever, but plenty of guts. Fine Ratchet, for entertainment’
s sake, let’s hear your demands.”
“They are quite simple: you allow me to kill your enemies.” Tarranon’s smile dimmed and his eyes narrowed. Roan explained, “I need to gain levels quickly and in order to do that, I need a base of operations. A place where I can fence my goods, where I can heal, and where I can plan my attacks. You can give me targets if you wish or I will choose my own.”
“Is it revenge you’re after?”
Caron’s face floated across his vision, as did Jarrod Maddox and Marshall Mutch’s. “Yes.”
The drow cleared her throat and Roan was forced to add, “It’s also about self-preservation. My other life is being threatened. So, as I told Corvo, I will do this one way or the other and you can either benefit from it or be hurt by it.”
Instead of being angered by the veiled threat, Tarranon beamed. “So tough, so brave. We could use someone like you and yet…you’re also so disrespectful. You kill six of my men; you manhandle one of the shopkeepers under my protection; you kidnap an innocent girl and you have the utter gall to make demands? You don’t even apologize?”
“No. I won’t apologize. Rinely tried to sell me the girl’s virginity. She’s eight years old. I draw the line on child prostitution. And if you ask me to apologize for it, you’re asking me to lie to your face.”
The two men stared at each other until Tarranon waved away the entire conversation with a flick of his wrist. “Let’s hear what you have and maybe I’ll be magnanimous and grant mercy.”
“Last night a group of adventurers attacked the Temple of the Infinite One. It was an operation supposedly instigated at the request of the Greek god Apollo. This morning, in retaliation, a group attacked the temple of Apollo, killing the clerics there and stealing everything of value.”
“That’s how I ran into Ratchet,” Corvo said. “As per your instructions, milord, we were watching the shops, looking for people trying to move suspected merchandise. I checked out his story. Apollo was hit today.”
Tarranon glanced once at the drow, who only continued to stare steadily at Roan. Roan guessed that she could somehow detect lies; he had to pick his words carefully.
“So far, you’re only telling me of the past,” Tarranon remarked. “Nothing I couldn’t figure out on my own.”
“That same adventurer group is planning on going back into the temple tonight at sundown.”
Once more Tarranon looked at the drow. “He speaks the truth, but that does not mean he can be trusted. I don’t like him. There is much about him that is clouded. My advice: grind him under your heel now and maybe when he comes back, he won’t be so arrogant.”
Tarranon sat back on the leather couch and stared into the flames, his feet stuck out in front of him. “I could do that, or I could send him out to kill my enemies. If I kill him, we may exchange vengeance for arrogance. I say we test him, but we’ll make it interesting. Bring me the thumbs of twenty of the K Street Killers.”
“I can do that,” Roan said.
“Hold on, now, I wasn’t done. Bring me the thumbs by this time tomorrow.” Roan’s jaw clenched at the demand. This was almost akin to suicide and he was about to say so when Tarranon held up a finger. “As an added incentive, we’ll keep little Cricket here until you come back.”
Roan’s hand went to his side where his sword normally hung. The scabbard was empty. “How do you know that name?”
Tarranon sat back on his couch, his hands entwined behind his head. “I know almost everything that occurs in my territory. I know who she is and I know where she is, well almost. My men went to pick her up fifteen minutes ago, so she’s somewhere between your place and here. And if you’re not back here at exactly twenty to seven tomorrow, I will auction off not just her virginity but also her life. So, don’t be late.”
2—
Roan strode out of the textile factory, marching as fast as he could. He didn’t know exactly where he was, but he knew that K Street was westward and so he turned as soon as he could so that the blazing sun was in his face. He glared straight into it, his face a mask of rage, his hand now on the hilt of his rapier.
He was sure he would kill the first man who even thought about getting in his way. He would kill and not think twice. “This is just a game,” he hissed under his breath. But it didn’t feel like a game. Cricket was an NPC. He knew that and yet, she wasn’t like so many other NPCs who were devoid of personality. Sariah, or whoever it was controlling the game, had made her special. She seemed completely real, perhaps even more real that Tarranon, who was a caricature of evil.
He was so over the top that he was like a cartoon bad guy. Still, he was a real person. A real evil son of a bitch and if Roan ever found out who he was on the other side, he would pay him a personal visit and Tarranon would be lucky if Roan only broke bones.
Roan’s anger grew until it was almost volcanic as he marched west until the toughs with the green armbands became toughs with shields. He was in K Street Killer territory now and it was a target rich environment. There were shield-wielding thugs on every corner—too many to try and take on with straight forward tactics.
“I’ll wait until dark,” he said, under his breath. He had about an hour to kill and it was a moment before he remembered his body he’d left back in the real world. He clocked back and immediately felt as though his bladder was going to burst.
Groaning, he hopped up and raced for the bathroom. Ten minutes later he exited, sighing. Moving the furniture from the door, he grabbed his phone and wallet and went outside where the sun was setting over Manhattan. He thought about Amanda and hailed the first cab that came by so he could call her.
It wasn’t a long call. She wanted to know what he’d been up to, but he wouldn’t tell her. He knew her too well. If he told her where he was and what he was doing, she’d show up in Oberast, mace in hand ready to knock heads. She was capable, but with assassins running around in the city, it would only be a matter of time before one took her out.
“And how was your day?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.
“It was terrible because all I could think about what you were doing and what sort of danger you were in. I tell you, I can’t concentrate on anything. I must have spent three hours staring at the computer and not seeing a word on it.”
Roan couldn’t assuage her fears when he had so many of his own. Again, he almost told her that he loved her before he hung up. There was a long silence between the two of them followed by a soft, “Bye,” from Amanda.
“Damn it,” he whispered, looking down at his phone. He had the cabbie stop at a gas station with the meter running as he ran in and bought prepackaged sandwiches, liters of water and bags of chips. All together it looked like a horrible diet. “Do you have any vitamins?” he asked the lady at the register. She pointed to a bottle of aspirin.
“Thanks anyways.” Back in the cab, he checked his messages. There were five from Wendell, all of which were high-pitched and neurosis filled. He ignored them and listened to Covington’s single message, hoping to hear the name “Shelby” somewhere.
“Just an update for you, Roan. You were right. NYPD fished out four bodies from the East River this afternoon: three execution type murders and a suicide. They were our assassins. And get this, Arching is getting daily visitors. I don’t need to tell you how unusual that is. We’re looking to see if anyone has been bribed to accede to these demands. And now for the bad news…”
There was a pause in which he could hear paper being fiddled with. “Okay, here it is. The Honorable son of a bitch, Shawn Gore is not postponing Arching’s appeal, which is complete bull since we don’t have a damned D.A. representing the prosecution. And guess what? No one wants the damned case because no one wants to sit down one morning to a bowl of poisoned cornflakes.”
She sighed. “Hopefully you’re getting closer on your side of this. Check in again tomorrow.”
The message ended and for a few blocks all he could do was stare at the phone. They were losing. He could feel it. Stil
l, he had no choice except to carry on. With a sigh, he slid the batteries from the phone and opened the first bottle of water. It was empty in seconds. By the time he reached his hotel room, the next bottle was empty and he was halfway done with a sandwich.
Once more, he barricaded himself in his room and put on the neuro coupler. “Daggerland,” he whispered, and in seconds, he was right back in Oberast where the stink in the air hovered like a haze. It was time to become something he abhorred—it was time to become a murderer. “They’re not even real. I can do this.”
Chapter 12
K Street, The Free City of Oberast
Roan checked his gear and saw he needed more bolts for his crossbow and more healing potions. He hoped three was all he would need, but as he entered a general store, he decided he wanted one more.
“Just in case,” he said the skeevy man behind the counter. The shopkeeper was a greasy-looking thief with bad teeth. His grin was enough for Roan to want to go somewhere else, but he already felt time was slipping away. He was down to twenty-three hours and he didn’t have a single kill yet.
A hundred and fifty-one gold pieces lighter, Roan left the shop and stood for a moment in the gathering night, wondering how he was going to proceed. Should he come up with some elaborate scheme to kill twenty men in one shot or did he simply walk up to groups of gang members and just start stabbing?
As he was considering his options, two of the K Street Killers walked by. One didn’t seem to see him at all, while the other gave Roan a nod. “Evening,” he said.
“Yeah, evening,” Roan repeated, rolling his eyes as the men passed. How was he supposed to kill a man who had just wished him a good evening? What he needed was to catch the K Street Killers doing something evil.
“Excuse me?” he called to the two men. “Where can I get a girl, if you know what I mean?” It had been his experience that men who pimped out women were notoriously bad. He could kill one of them.
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