Magefall

by Stephen Aryan

  CHAPTER 15

  Feeling as if she were stepping back in time, Munroe found herself sneaking through the streets of Perizzi. Ever since she’d returned to the city she’d done her best to go unnoticed by people from her old life. She wasn’t that person any more and wanted nothing to do with them and their criminal dealings. Now she was trying to avoid them and the Guardians as well.

  If any of the Guardians, or a member of the Watch, recognised her then word might get back to Tammy. Munroe knew she was only doing her job, but right now she wanted to avoid the Khevassar. If she had any chance of succeeding, then the fewer people that knew she was still in the city the better. That meant a return to the quieter parts of the city, those off the beaten track, where the Families held sway.

  Avoiding the prying eyes of former associates was proving to be a difficult challenge. She had hoped that after being away from the city for several years it would give her a degree of anonymity. After listening to a few conversations in bars Munroe realised stories of the Flesh Mage and his downfall were still popular. Although she wasn’t mentioned by name Munroe didn’t want to take any chances. Instead she decided to assume a role that was familiar. One that would attract attention in a different and predictable way.

  The gambling den was not one she’d been to before but after studying the people waiting to go inside she knew it was a good place to start. The customers comprised mostly merchants and business owners, those with a little extra money to spare. Along with them came a gaggle of working men and women hoping to hook a wealthy trick on a good night; Wooden jackals kept everyone in line and Brass jackals kept watch. It was a fairly middle-of-the-road establishment where fortunes could be won, but losses were not severe enough to result in someone going hungry or losing the shirt off their back.

  Wobbling slightly as she approached the front door Munroe smiled at the big doorman on the left and winked at the woman on the right. He merely raised an eyebrow while the woman said nothing and held open the door.

  “I hope to see you later,” slurred Munroe, waving at the woman as she stumbled inside.

  As expected, the furnishings were bright and colourful, giving the illusion of wealth, but a second look showed her they were gaudy copies. The crystal lanterns overhead were made from coloured glass and the multi-coloured carpet underfoot was worn thin in places and patched in others. There were a couple of paintings on the walls and a few exotic plants dotted around the room, but they, too, were fading and withered from lack of sunlight. Thirty years ago it might have been glamorous. Today it was merely sad and dilapidated.

  Most of the people here didn’t really care and wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the real thing and a forgery. Drinks were cheap and plentiful and the room was alive with the rattle of dice, cries of disappointment, cheers, laughter and faint background music coming from a tired old man on a fiddle.

  Easing her way through the crowd Munroe went straight to the bar and ordered a couple of drinks, draining one quickly in two gulps. After giving the barman a little wave of thanks she shuffled to the first table and cheered on a Morrin woman doing rather well at cards. One or two people stared when she shouted a little too loudly, or touched strangers in a familiar way, but they dismissed her as a harmless drunk. A few of the working girls in the room were glaring but Munroe pretended not to notice. After a while, when they realised she wasn’t there to steal their business, they also ignored her.

  When the Morrin picked up a bad hand and lost half her money Munroe commiserated with her and drifted away to the next table. The hypnotic rattle of dice caught her attention and she decided to have a little fun. After watching a few throws, she put some money down and scooped up the dice.

  “So I need three crowns, right?” she said to the croupier. The balding man gave her a thin smile of encouragement. The dice rattled across the table and three crowns landed. “This is fun!” said Munroe, scooping up her winnings.

  Long before she’d travelled to the Red Tower to learn how to control her magic, Munroe had used her Talent in gambling dens like this one for many years. Back then she hadn’t known it was magic and had thought of it only as a curse. The owners never liked to lose too much money and her innate ability to manipulate the odds, cooling off a natural winning streak, had been in high demand. Of course, much later she’d also discovered her ability to change someone’s luck for the better, and do so much more with her Talent, if she focused.

  Over the next twelve throws she continued to win at dice, adding more money each time until she had a healthy stack of chips in front of her. Others started to notice her streak and began betting on her to win. A pit boss approached the table, whispered in the croupier’s ear, and the dice were switched out. Despite their precautions Munroe continued to win and the crowd around her table swelled in number again. After placing a rather large bet, and then somehow winning once more, she bought everyone a drink with the money.

  The dice were switched again and suddenly she had three pit bosses and one of the Brass watching her, as well as several Wooden jackals who were scanning the crowd. They were looking for the con, thinking she was the distraction meant to keep their attention in one place while someone else stole their money. Of course there was no con, other than the fact that she was manipulating the odds with her magic.

  “Let’s make this one a big one,” said Munroe to the people around her. “How about I bet the whole lot on one last throw?”

  “I’m afraid you’ve reached the house limit,” said the croupier, sweating under the intense glare of so many people. The crowd booed and swore at the croupier until the largest pit boss at his shoulder leaned over and whispered something in his ear. “However, we would like to offer you access to a special high-stakes game. It’s very exclusive.”

  Munroe pretended to consider it, looking at those around her whose opinions were mixed. By now, despite only sipping at her drinks and spilling the rest, she was actually feeling a little fuzzy-headed. Part of her slurring wasn’t an act and the lights did seem a bit too bright.

  “That sounds like fun,” she said, grinning at the croupier who heaved a sigh of relief. Someone collected up her chips while two large jackals escorted her out of the main room, down a short corridor and into a richly decorated waiting area. Munroe sank into one of the comfy chairs and dozed off for a short time before someone shook her by the shoulder.

  “We’re ready for you now,” said one of the pit bosses, a broad Seve woman with a nasty scar under her right eye. Her smile was probably intended to be friendly, but it only made her look more villainous.

  Tottering along, using the wall to support her, Munroe walked down another corridor into a room at the end. It was gloomy and she ran into the chest of the large man waiting for her. When she turned around she saw there was nothing in the room except three very large jackals, all of whom loomed over her. All had battered faces and were wearing weighted leather gloves.

  The pit boss stepped into the room, closed the door behind her and leaned against it, blocking the only way out. “How did you do it?” she asked.

  “Annoying, isn’t it,” said Munroe, dropping the drunk act and grinning at the woman.

  “Are you working alone or with a partner?” asked the pit boss, showing no surprise at Munroe’s soberness.

  “What do you care? Is it your money? Are you in charge?”

  The pit boss scratched at the scar on her face, a nervous twitch, before shaking her head. “My employer is not someone to be trifled with. You can see what will happen if you don’t tell me everything I want to know.” She gestured at the three bruisers surrounding Munroe.

  “Is he here? Can I talk to him?”

  The pit boss winced and her patience seemed to run out. “Left arm,” she said to someone over Munroe’s shoulder. Without turning, Munroe waved a hand at the three jackals and all of them stumbled back, seizing their chests. Needles of pain were shooting through their chests and it would feel as if their hearts were about
to burst. One fell onto his face and the other two stumbled to their knees, gasping for air.

  “Is he here?” asked Munroe, producing a dagger from where she’d hidden it inside her belt. The pit boss stared at her and then at the three wheezing jackals. She knew what Munroe was and how she’d done it. Munroe could smell the woman’s fear. The pit boss winced when Munroe pressed the dagger against her throat hard enough to draw blood. “Last time. Is he here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Show me,” said Munroe, gesturing at the door behind her. “But lie to me and I’ll do the same thing to you.”

  Even though it wasn’t necessary, Munroe kept the dagger pressed against the back of the pit boss. It served as a reminder of what would happen if she tried anything. She followed the scarred woman down a long corridor and then up a narrow flight of stairs to an office where her boss was sitting behind his desk. He looked up in surprise at the pit boss, a question on his face until Munroe stepped out from behind the large woman.

  It had been nearly a decade since she’d last seen the Butcher but in all that time he’d barely changed. Back then he’d been an interloper trying to claim territory from one of the other Families. Ten years on he was part of the establishment and had maintained his fearsome reputation.

  He wasn’t the biggest man she’d ever seen, but his black vest did show off thick arms that were covered with faded scars. An intricate black tattoo ran up his arm from his left wrist, across his chest and down to his right hand. His head had been freshly shaven and the gleam from the lantern reflected off its surface.

  “The beard is new,” said Munroe, casually sitting down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. He’d been clean-shaven last time but now had a goatee that was shot through with grey. “But the grey makes you look old. I’d shave it off.”

  The pit boss was at a loss, unsure of what to do or how much trouble she was in for bringing an armed intruder.

  “Leave us,” was all the Butcher said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. She closed the door and he sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. As he did so the swirling tattoo on his forearms lined up, creating a more complex interwoven pattern.

  “That’s cute,” she said, gesturing at his arms.

  “What do you want, Munroe?” he asked. If he was afraid of her at all it didn’t show.

  “Information.”

  The Butcher raised an eyebrow. “About?”

  “A woman named Akosh. I’ve gathered a few bits and pieces, but I need more. I want to know where she is.”

  “I see,” said the Butcher, running a hand over his shaven head. He seemed to relax, shaking off whatever had been bothering him. Perhaps he’d thought her visit had been about something else. Right now it didn’t matter.

  “Can you find her?”

  The Butcher got up from his desk, poured himself a glass of water and offered her one which she accepted. Munroe didn’t think he would try to poison her but she waited for him to drink before sipping hers.

  “Why come to me?” he asked instead of answering her question. “Why not speak to your old friend, Don Jarrow?”

  “Because a favour from him would have serious strings attached. You need to understand, I’m not coming back into the business. I don’t care about Perizzi or any of the Families. I just want you to find this woman.”

  The Butcher mulled it over and Munroe noticed he hadn’t asked why she wanted to find Akosh. There were a number of rumours about where the Butcher had come from and who he used to be before carving out his own empire in the city, but Munroe didn’t care. All of that was also part of her old life and she was not going back to it. The reason she’d chosen the Butcher was his reputation. As well as scaring many people in the underworld, he was known to have a network of contacts beyond the city.

  Primarily they gathered information on rich targets coming to Perizzi for his grifters to swindle. Cons took time and patience to set up, which meant he had people dotted across the west, or at least in most of the main cities. If Akosh had a network of her own, via her cult, then it seemed feasible that the Butcher’s people could find her.

  If she’d gone back to Don Jarrow it would have created a number of ripples and she wanted to remain unnoticed. Finding Akosh not only relied on solid information, it was critical that she didn’t see Munroe coming until it was too late. Until she was breathing down her neck.

  “Can you do it?” she asked.

  “Perhaps, but I want something in return.”

  Munroe cocked her head to one side. “I thought the stack of gold I won downstairs would be enough.”

  “We both know you cheated and used your magic.”

  “I’m not going to owe you a favour,” said Munroe. “I won’t have something like that hanging over my head.”

  “No, this is something I need right now.”

  Despite the circumstances Munroe was curious. “Which is?”

  “Protection.”

  “From who?”

  “That’s the problem, I don’t know. Someone killed Don Lowell and no one knows who did it or why.”

  Such a bold move was surely a play for his turf, but it was unusual that someone had not taken credit for it. It could be that they were waiting for something. Or it could merely be the start and the Butcher, or one of the other Dons, could be the next target.

  “You want me to be your bodyguard?”

  The Butcher’s smile made Munroe uncomfortable. “No. I have people for that. I just need you to watch my back during a few important meetings. Just in case.”

  She didn’t need to ask why. He could surround himself with a hundred of the best killers in the city. A mage could cut through them like a warm knife through butter.

  “Deal,” she said, offering her hand and he leaned forward to shake it.

  “Akosh. Actually, I’ve heard the name before,” said the Butcher, startling Munroe as she leaned back in her chair. “Don’t get too excited. She’s not here, but I’ve heard stories from the north.”

  “Where?”

  “Zecorria. One of my people recently had an encounter with her at an orphanage in Herakion.” Munroe twitched at the last word and the Butcher smiled. “Yes, I know about them. She has a few orphanages here in Perizzi, but the Guardians are watching those. She’s not been seen in the city for a few months.”

  “Then she’s in the north.”

  “Maybe, but she moves around a lot. You need to be patient.”

  Munroe ground her teeth and gripped the arms of her chair. She was beginning to hate that word. Balfruss had asked her to be patient as well. She’d given him a month and he’d not come any closer to finding Akosh. Her family, her world, was gone, and that demented bitch was still alive.

  “She’s cautious and insulated by her people,” the Butcher was saying, noting her demeanour. “Finding one of them willing to talk is difficult. From what I’ve heard they’re all zealots. So getting any reliable information to pin down her location is going to be tricky. I suspect you’ll only get one chance. If you go blundering in then she could slip away. Once she knows you’re after her, it will be a hundred times more difficult. But it’s up to you,” he said, putting the choice back in her hands.

  Munroe knew he was right and that the Butcher represented her best chance at finding Akosh. She still hated it. The anger inside her was just simmering under the surface and at times she felt as if it were going to swallow her whole. Hate worse than any she’d ever felt burned her inside. Her veins were on fire and she needed to find a way to release the pain before it consumed her.

  Slowly, bit by bit, as if she were choking down poison, Munroe pushed the rage down inside her. The Butcher said nothing, giving her time to regain her composure. Eventually she felt calm enough to speak.

  “I will try to be patient,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

  It seemed as if Munroe had no choice. She would stay in the shadows for now, but when the time came there would be nowhere for Akosh to run
. Nothing would stand in the way of her vengeance.

  CHAPTER 16

  This time when Akosh entered Bollgar’s office she was pleased to see that for once he wasn’t eating. He was still dressed in a loose food-smeared robe, this one a dingy blue, but all his attention was focused on the pristine ledger in front of him.

  In a small notebook she watched him totting up a series of numbers with incredible speed before recording the final value into the ledger.

  “Apologies, Mother,” he said, gesturing at the seat opposite. “I just have a few numbers to check for the local businesses.”

  “Go ahead,” she said. On her way into the building she’d nearly walked straight into a tall, impeccably dressed woman. She recognised her as the owner of the candle shop a few buildings down the street. Her business was one of several that he managed. Akosh knew they found Bollgar distasteful because of his slovenliness, but his accounting was beyond reproach, so they tolerated it. However, they preferred not to visit him in person unless absolutely necessary, as his office did have a certain pungent odour.

  “Mistress Valine’s candle shop is not performing,” muttered Bollgar, feigning a sad smile while his eyes twinkled in delight. “With some reluctance she’s accepted a new business partner who has generously paid off her debts. In return they will have a healthy stake in her shop. You should make a nice profit in the coming year, Mother.”

  She was pleased to hear that he was putting her money to good use, but right now she had more important matters to think about. Such as the possible repercussions from not attending the meeting with her brethren. Last time they had been discussing the problem of magic and Seekers where she had feigned ignorance along with the rest as to the cause. Now she was more deeply invested than ever and Habreel had escaped. It would’ve been foolish to underestimate some of the older ones, like Vargus and Nethun, and assume they remained unaware of her actions. For now it was safer to be cautious and remain hidden. Money was important but it was only valuable if she was still alive to put it to good use. Her new ally, whoever he was, had promised to keep an eye on her brethren in the meantime. Pavel, the former Guardian, had not made contact with her again, forcing her to assume his Master had no important developments to share.