by Pile, Duncan
Jonn stopped in his tracks. Why was a building as large as the warehouse still standing? Any other buildings of that size in this district had been torn down ages ago, their bricks carted away by a thousand opportunistic thieves. For the warehouse to remain intact, it must belong to someone powerful. It was grimy, its windows smeared with obscuring dirt, and from the outside it looked derelict, but that simply couldn’t be the case. Suddenly it was as clear as day to Jonn that he was looking at Belash’s headquarters. The Lotus Flower was just a front, masking an entrance to the warehouse.
Adela was probably in there right now! He glanced up and down the street, but there was nobody watching him. He reached out a hand, spreading his fingertips and resting them against the bricks, rough to the touch and still warm from the heat of the fading sun.
Newly focussed, Jonn withdrew his hand and carried on down the street. He rounded the corner of the warehouse and approached the Lotus Flower with even steps, his gaze searching right and left, high and low, looking for an entrance to the warehouse. And then he saw it. There was an alley to the left of the tavern, narrow and clogged with filth, but it was the only possibility. He glanced into the interior of the Lotus Flower, just in case anyone was looking out for him, but the only people he could see were opium addicts, draped over every last piece of furniture and even stretched out on the ground in front of the den. A man lay in the entrance to the alley, hands outstretched towards the sky, muttering incoherently with eyes as wide as saucers. Jonn stepped cautiously over him, only to feel the man’s hand latch onto his ankle. Jonn looked down to find two perfectly clear eyes looking back at him.
“Name?” the man asked quietly.
“Tarek,” Jonn answered, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
“Go ahead,” the man said, letting go of his ankle and going back to his raving. Jonn walked cautiously down the alley, being careful not to step in fragrant piles of filth. The alley looked like a dead end, almost completely overgrown by weeds and choking shrubbery at its end, but he kept going nonetheless. When he reached the end, he saw that the tangle of foliage hid a narrow opening that cut behind the tavern and led between the rear wall of the Lotus Flower and the higher wall of the warehouse. A dozen paces along the passageway there was a door, set into the warehouse wall. The Wrench stood outside that door, watching Jonn with shrewd eyes as he approached.
“Greetings Tarek,” he said, opening the door and ushering him into Belash’s lair.
…
The door swung shut behind Jonn, leaving him in a torch-lit corridor with the Wrench and a small, dark-skinned boy dressed only in sandals and a brief loin-cloth. The wiry henchman bolted the door shut and appraised Jonn intently. His eyes reflected the flickering light of a burning torch, ensconced in the wall opposite him. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said.
Jonn didn’t know what to say so he just nodded, fighting to subdue the flutter of nerves in his belly. The Wrench was Belash’s chief enforcer, and only dealt with matters of importance. Did he suspect Jonn of duplicity, or was he there just because of this mysterious gathering?
“Jack came to me earlier to let me know you were coming,” the Wrench said. “After giving away our most secret location, he became concerned I would be unhappy with him for giving sensitive information to someone so new to our organisation. He has a point, don’t you think??”
“Not in my case,” Jonn said without hesitation. There was very little else to say, and he figured that the fewer words he spoke, the harder it was for the Wrench to detect a lie.
“That’s what I told Jack,” the Wrench said, suddenly amiable. He clapped Jonn on the back and let out a burst of laughter, surprising Jonn once again with his mercurial mood shifts. “Take this,” he continued, handing Jonn a stack of parchment. The topmost sheaf had a detailed likeness of a man’s face drawn on it in charcoal. Jonn leafed through the stack and saw that each sheaf had a different face on it. There were twelve in total. “This is your spot, right here,” the Wrench continued. “The guests will come in one by one, in the order you see on the parchment. When they knock, open that hatch,” he said, indicating a small iron window set into the door. “If they match the drawing, let them in and Sali here will take them to Belash.” He indicated the boy at his side. “Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Don’t say anything to the guests,” the Wrench continued. “Just make sure it’s really them and let them in. Sali will do the rest. If anyone doesn’t resemble their drawing, refuse them entry and send Sali for help. If they have someone else with them, do the same. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“The guests will be staying for three hours or so. On the way out, burn the parchment with their portrait on it, but hold onto any you do not see pass out of the door. We are very careful about who we let in here, and just as careful that they leave again. Clear?”
“Clear,” Jonn repeated, reflecting that it was an elegant system. No names, just faces on parchment, which could be destroyed with ease. The carefully drawn sketches made it impossible to pretend to be someone else. Unless they had a magical disguise, Jonn thought to himself wryly.
The Wrench looked him up and down, taking in his sword and heavy knife. “Suitably armed,” he said. “Right, I have other things to attend to. There will be dozens of guests joining us tonight, and all the entrances must be manned. Remember, if you get any trouble, just send Sali for help, but it’s unlikely that would happen. This is Belash’s house, and even the other crime lords wouldn’t start something here. Do a good job Tarek, and I will use you again.”
“Thank you,” Jonn responded. “I will.”
The Wrench looked at him carefully for a moment. “You don’t say much do you?”
Jonn shrugged. “I don’t have much to say,” he responded, keeping up the act of a taciturn brother, seeking nothing but revenge.
“Good man,” the Wrench said, clapping him on the arm. With that, he walked lightly down the corridor and disappeared around a corner, leaving Jonn with Sali. Jonn glanced at Sali but the boy was ignoring him, which suited him just fine. Conversation would give him away more quickly than anything else.
Jonn looked at the topmost parchment. The detailed sketch showed a long-faced man with a heavy jaw and hair tied back in a pony-tail. He had deep scars running vertically down each cheek. Jonn flipped through the leaves of parchment, checking to see if any of the faces were ambiguously drawn, but each guest was clearly depicted. It would be hard to mistake any one of them for someone else, in part because most of them carried the marks of a life of crime. The third guest had half his nose missing, the fifth only had two fingers on his left hand (a detail scrawled alongside the sketch of his face), and the eighth had facial burns so severe his features were pretty much irrelevant. Content that his job would be easy enough, Jonn leant back against the wall and waited for the first guest to arrive.
…
He didn’t have to wait very long. The first knock on the door came within minutes of the Wrench’s departure. As Jonn reached for the handle, he had a moment of clarity. There he was, in the den of the most notorious crime lord in Helioport, about to open the door to another incredibly dangerous man, and the only thing between him and discovery was a thin magical disguise. Jonn understood more clearly than ever before that he was deep into this now, and there was no going back.
The knock sounded again, louder this time. Jonn realised he’d frozen in mid-motion. Sali was staring at him incredulously, his eyes as wide as saucers. Jonn took hold of the bolt holding the viewing hatch in place and slid it to one side. He dropped the hatch and looked out at a face that clearly matched the first sketch in Jonn’s pile. He closed the hatch, unbolted the door and swung it open. The man on the other side stepped through, glaring at him with eyes that glittered with irritation at being made to wait. Jonn looked down, expecting the man to berate him, but the guest obviously knew the rules of entry at Belash’s place, and didn’t say a word. Sali scooted off down the
corridor, and the long-haired man followed him with long, loping steps.
Jonn sighed with relief when the man was out of sight. It wasn’t that he was scared of a fight. Quite the opposite! One on one, Jonn fancied himself against almost any man, with the exception of a weapons-master like Sabu. But he was there for one reason and one reason only - to rescue Adela. Any attention he drew to himself was a threat to his mission, and therefore to her life, so until the moment came when it was time for him to act, he had to keep his head down and work his way into Belash’s organisation.
Sali returned and disturbed his musings, and then the wait began again. It wasn’t a long delay however as the next knock came within minutes. Jonn lowered the hatch immediately and peered through. The person on the other side had a wide, heavy-boned face with white-blond hair and eyes as blue as chips of ice. His appearance exactly matched the sketch in Jonn’s hands, down to the short scar just to the right of his nose, and Jonn didn’t hesitate to open the door and let him in. He ignored Jonn entirely and was led away by Sali.
The next few guests arrived and were led inside without incident, and Jonn was just starting to relax into it when the seventh knock came. He opened the hatch, expecting to see a man with close-set eyes, a weak chin and a carefully manicured beard. The person on the other side of the door matched the sketch, but he hadn’t come alone. He was accompanied by a tall, swarthy-looking man with long limbs and broad shoulders. Jonn knew at a glance that he was looking at a seasoned fighter. It was evident in numerous little signs – calloused hands, lean musculature, loose-fitting clothes that allowed freedom of movement. Jonn closed the hatch without a word and turned to Sali.
“There are two of them,” he said. Sali’s eyes widened, and then he bolted down the corridor. The knock sounded again, loud and angry.
“Let us in!” a high male voice said from the other side of the door. Within moments, Sali returned, accompanied by the Wrench.
“Move aside Tarek,” the Wrench said. The henchman stepped past him, lowered the hatch and looked out at the guests.
“Stephanos, what are you doing? You know the rules.”
“Let us in, Wrench,” Stephanos demanded.
“I can’t let you bring Vamos,” the Wrench said calmly.
“This affects him too,” Stephanos responded stubbornly.
“Do you really want me to have to involve Belash in this?” the Wrench asked.
There was a long pause before Stephanos responded. “No, I don’t want that.”
“Very wise,” the Wrench responded. “I’m going to let you in – just you, mind. If you’ve got any weapons on you give them to Vamos now, and he can wait for you in the Lotus Flower.”
“I’m not armed,” Stephanos said.
“No trouble now?” the Wrench said. “Remember where you are, Stephanos.”
“I know where I am,” Stephanos responded. Something about his inflection made the hair on the back of Jonn’s neck stand up. All his experience as a guard told him that trouble was coming, and yet there was no way he could say anything. If he contradicted the Wrench it would probably get him killed. Surreptitiously, he slid his hand over the hilt of his dagger. If it came to a fight, a sword was too ungainly in close quarters.
The Wrench slid the bolt and pulled the door open. Stephanos stepped inside, hands spread to show that he was unarmed.
“See how much better things go when you play by the rules?” the Wrench said as he started to push the door closed behind him, but then the door slammed open explosively, shattering the Wrench’s wrist as Vamos shouldered his way through the entrance. The Wrench cried out in pain, and before he could defend himself, Vamos had him up against the wall by the throat and was drawing a concealed dagger from within his shirt. Jonn drew his own dagger, intending to plunge it into Vamos’ back, but from the corner of his eye he saw Stephanos bend down to retrieve something from his boot. Jonn spun around and hit him in the throat with the flat of his hand. Stephanos dropped his knife and fell to the floor clutching his neck and gasping for breath.
Jonn spun back around to deal with Vamos. The tall fighter had his stiletto tight against the Wrench’s windpipe, the muscles of his shoulders bunching as he tensed, ready to open the Wrench’s throat.
“Hey!” Jonn called. Vamos glanced over his shoulder, the tension transferring from his shoulders to his back, which was exactly what Jonn was waiting for. If he’d stabbed Vamos in the back while the man was tensed, the Wrench may have ended up with a slashed throat anyway when the large fighter spasmed. Jonn struck before Vamos had time to decide what to do, plunging his knife deep into the fighter’s back. Vamos arched backwards, roaring in pain. From behind, Jonn planted a hand on the tall man’s shoulder blade and wrapped his free arm around his neck. He snapped Vamos neck with a single mighty heave of his arm, and let him fall to the floor.
The clamour of hurried footsteps came from round the corner, and a group of men spilled out into the corridor, led by a man dressed in loose white linens. He took one look at the situation and drew a knife, his storm-grey eyes fixing on Jonn with cold fury.
“No!” the Wrench cried, cradling his shattered wrist with his free hand. “It was Stephanos who attacked me. Tarek saved my life.”
The storm-eyed man transferred his murderous gaze to Stephanos, who was still sitting on the ground, his hands around his throat as he recovered his breath. “You bring trouble to my house?” the grey-eyed man asked in a deathly quiet voice.
“Curse you Belash,” Stephanos spluttered, glaring at him in defiance. Jonn froze when he heard that name. This was Belash? This was the man who’d bought Adela like she was a sack of meal? The man who’d kidnapped her from her apartment, who probably raped her at will? White hot rage filled Jonn in that moment. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to take his knife and ram it into the man’s throat. For reasons Jonn could barely remember, Jonn resisted the urge to attack. He kept his breathing steady, willing his racing heart to calm down.
Stephanos gulped several times and spoke again: “You took…everything from me.”
“I’ve not even begun,” Belash said, beckoning to the group behind him. Two men rushed forwards and bound Stephanos’ hands and feet. Two more took Vamos’ body and carried it away.
“Where are you taking me?” Stephanos shouted as they hoisted him to their shoulders. “Just kill me, you whoreson!”
“You’ll die, but not easily,” Belash responded. “As you have injured him, I shall leave the manner of your death to the Wrench. No doubt he will have some ideas. Take him away.”
“No!” Stephanos cried as he was carried off down the corridor. Jonn could hear the fear in his voice. “Belash, you coward, kill me yourself!” His cries became muffled by distance and then couldn’t be heard at all.
“Are you alright Wrench?” Belash asked.
“My wrist is broken.”
“Have Kenril look at it,” Belash said absently. “It’s hard to believe Stephanos would be so foolish.
“He comes from a proud race,” the Wrench said. “He couldn’t have kept his position if he left you unchallenged.”
“I will have to remember that in future,” Belash said. He turned to Jonn. “Tarek, you have my thanks.”
Jonn stared at him blankly, knowing a response was expected. “I was just doing my duty,” he said, trying to keep the murder from his eyes. It was the hardest thing he’d had to do since undertaking this whole charade.
“And doing it well,” Belash responded. “Finish out your duties tonight and the Wrench will find you something more suitable tomorrow.”
“I will,” Jonn replied. “Thank you,” he added, forcing out the words he knew were expected. They tasted like bitter ashes in his mouth.
“Let us hope our other guests are less troublesome,” Belash said, turning away. The men who’d accompanied him parted, leaving a gap through the middle of them. As Belash walked through it, the men closed ranks behind him and followed him down the corridor.
“I have to get seen to but I’ll be back by the end of the night,” the Wrench said, cradling his shattered wrist.
“Okay,” Jonn said, barely registering the henchman’s words. He had just come face to face with Belash! The Wrench followed Belash’s group down the corridor, leaving Jonn alone with Sali. Jonn felt the urge to punch something, anything, but he couldn’t show his feelings in front of the boy. If he let his pretence drop for even a moment, all could be lost.
A knock sounded, making him jump. It must be the next guest! The fight had used up all the time between arrivals. Jonn lowered the hatch, saw that the woman outside matched her sketch and that she was alone. He let her in, and Sali led her away to join Belash and the others. As soon as he was alone, he bolted the door shut and leaned back against the wall. His breath started to come heavily as he thought about what had just happened. This was exactly what he was trying to do – to infiltrate Belash’s inner circle and find a way to rescue Adela, but he hadn’t been prepared for coming face to face with the man himself. Sweat broke out on Jonn’s forehead as he remembered how close he had been to him. He could have drawn his knife and buried it in Belash’s neck. This man, this monster, had stolen Adela from him, and he deserved to die. It was that simple. First things first Jonn reminded himself sternly. If he’d attacked Belash there and then it would have left Adela without chance of a rescue. He had to get her out first, and retribution could come later.
As Jonn calmed down, he allowed himself a moment’s satisfaction that he was a huge step nearer to his goals. The Wrench would assign him more important duties now, which meant being closer to the hub of activity, which in turn meant he would be nearer to Adela. Jonn mopped the sweat from his brow and released a deep breath, stealing himself for an extended stay in Belash’s hideaway. Sali returned at that moment, and they waited in silence for the next arrival.