Knives of Bastion (An Empire Falls Book 2)

by Harry Leighton

  “So it’s not him then?”

  “You sound disappointed,” Elena said, not looking up from the body.

  “No. I. Well, he’s become famous.”

  “We don’t actually know if the killer is a he,” Elena said, continuing to examine the body before her carefully.

  “You think the Nightwalker could be a woman?” the watchman said, incredulous.

  “Anything is possible,” Elena said distantly.

  “But a woman?”

  “You think women aren’t capable?” Elena said, looking round.

  “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that the killings have been so brutal, it seems unlikely to have been a woman.”

  “Sign of the times,” Elena said, looking back to the body and continuing her examination. “And I’ve read the reports. Like I said. Sliced and not hacked. This one is different.”

  She continued her examination.

  “Ah,” she said after lifting a sleeve.

  “Something important?”

  “Look at this,” Elena said, holding the sleeve up.

  The watchman hesitated.

  “What’s your name watchman?”

  “Watchman Storn. Ma’am.”

  “Storn?”

  “My parents had a sense of humour. Ma’am.”

  “Indeed. And it’s just Sergeant.”

  “Yes Sergeant.” He still hesitated.

  Elena rolled her eyes. “If anyone asks I’ll say you were awkward and difficult and swore at me the whole time.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Storn said after a moment. He moved over. “What am I looking for here?”

  “There’s a sign on his wrist. I’ve seen a few of these lately. Some new players have moved into town and are causing trouble. Maybe someone decided to teach them a lesson.”

  Storn looked intently at the marking for a moment. “I see. I think.”

  “Looks like a knife sticking from a bag of wheat?”

  “If you say so,” Storn said, looking at it intently.

  “Tell the chief this one is gang related,” Elena said, standing up.

  “You’re not going to take the credit for this discovery?”

  “No. You can. I’m going to bed. It’s been a long night.”

  The second watchman chose that moment to appear with the lantern. He glowered at her.

  “Tell your partner here to buck his ideas up,” Elena said, pointing to Storn, who was still bending down and examining the body intently. “He’s done nothing but get in my way and obstruct my investigation. I’m giving up. It’s your problem now.” She stalked off, looking angry.

  “Good lad,” the lantern holder said, grinning.

  “Yeah,” Storn said, standing up and frowning as he watched Elena walk away.

  *****

  He looked like he’d been travelling. He’d like to think it was the expensive cloak he was wrapped in, a black fur that showed status and pedigree, but it was actually the mud that had splattered his legs and his horse.

  He was travelling down the side of the city’s main street as if he was a returning hero, and to the investors who would now profit off his inputs, he was. Someone rather lower down the chain had spotted him and sprinted over.

  “Hail!” the newcomer said in an exaggerated manner. “The stranger returns!”

  The horse was nudged to a halt, and the merchant smiled down at his old clerk. A man who, he hadn’t forgotten, had gained a promotion in the government.

  “How are you doing? Want your old job back?”

  “Oh, government work is good, pays well, but you’ll have the real story.”

  Oh yes, he would, wouldn’t he, and he pulled himself up on his horse. There was only one thing on the lips of the empire’s travellers, and that meant they were in great demand wherever they arrived. Tell us about it, what have you heard, what’s happened, it was a great way to get your meal paid for. Not that he needed to, but the offers were nice.

  “I suppose you’re still too mean to buy me a drink while I tell you?”

  The standing man raised an eyebrow.

  Unable to resist, the merchant leant forward. “There really was a rebellion. A whole region, arrested their governor, beat back the guards, established a rebel council. Imagine it, a rebellion. Then a legion marched over to put it down but the battle…” and he paused, smiling, for dramatic effect.

  Only now did the merchant notice his former clerk had gone puce. At something behin—

  The merchant turned to find a large, ornate carriage had stopped alongside him. Four armed horsemen were at each corner, carrying halberds with more work than the average division, and a curtain in the carriage had been pulled back.

  A pair of eyes glared right out at the merchant.

  The eyes of the Bastion’s governor.

  “Fuck…” was all the reply he could muster before the curtain was dropped and the Governor ordered the carriage to continue.

  A short time later it arrived at the Governor’s palace, a place that eschewed columns and straight lines for curving arches and flying buttresses, a building that hadn’t looked modern when it was built and showed the distance from the imperial capital.

  Flinging the door open, the Governor jumped out and marched forward. “Get me Grub and get me my speech writer.”

  Staff began running around as their boss strode to his office, paused at his desk, and laid a hand on the packet. These documents had been couriered to him, to all the governors, by the emperor himself. An account of the rebellion, and why everything was under control.

  Now, the Governor wasn’t a stupid man, he knew this packet was pure propaganda, but he was also certain that there’d been no calls to help, no warnings a rebel army was on the march. Just the order to keep everything working. He could do that.

  The door opened and the speech writer rushed in, arms full of parchment and quills.

  “Here sir.” He had one of the worst jobs in the capital on a satisfaction basis. The Governor would lead the writing of the speeches in great depth, then stand up and completely ignore the words in favour of his own off-the-cuff comments. If they were poorly received, the speech writer got no blame, but if they were appreciated there was none either. He wrote a speech and then it was basically never used. But the Governor got it right far more than he ever got it wrong.

  Behind the writer appeared Grub. That wasn’t his name, but a reference to his habit of dressing as if he’d just been thrown out of a cheap inn, which was more or less accurate. He could drink and drink and not get drunk, soaking up gossip instead.

  “I heard them talking today,” the Governor began, gesticulating strongly, “I know the word has reached here. I know the people want to hear more of this so-called rebellion.”

  “Correct,” Grub said.

  “So what else are they saying?”

  “Currently, no one knows it failed.” Which did beg the question, how did Grub know it had? “There are merely rumours. Whisperings of imperial defeats, whisperings of rebel defeats. All hearsay.”

  “And how are the people reacting to this uncertainty? Do they see a glorious possibility? Or something to fear?”

  “We are a large city with people far from their cultural overlord, you can find every single viewpoint.”

  The Governor shook his head with perennial frustration. “I mean a majority view?”

  “I would say … interested.”

  “Right, I thought that might be the case. Interest. Which we will stamp out. No one will be interested by the end of the day. They will be nodding at the lessons learned from the rebel failure.”

  “I take it you have a plan, sir?”

  “Yes,” the Governor said, turning and replying to his writer. “Firstly, we will order a public convocation, then we will march the guard past, then I will give a speech. Then everything will be dealt with.”

  “Of course, sir, you will need a speech.”

  “Then let us begin writing.”

  Me
ssengers went out from the palace, telling councillors to assemble for an emergency session, to be held in a town square that was hurriedly cleared of annoyed locals. Fortunately, the groundskeepers of the city were used to organising things quickly for the Governor, and soon the staging had been erected and tested to the extent time allowed.

  Councillors turned up on time and took their place, and a great proportion of the city had come for the Governor’s proclamation too, all hoping to learn about the rebellion.

  The Governor looked out from a window, judging the situation, and said, “Start the march past, I will go down and assume my position at the end.”

  He walked down the steps to the door, and the hastily assembled city guard began their procession. Every member who could be spared from keeping the peace in the square now walked purposefully along out of the palace and around the square, until they had it surrounded. They stood, smiling but very clearly there and armed.

  There was the sound of trumpets, and the Governor marched out onto the stage. He smiled at the crowd, knowing this was what he could do: he could talk to people, he could make them understand.

  Especially when you’d just surrounded them with a paramilitary force.

  “Citizens of the empire,” he began, and that was as closely as he stuck to the approved text, “you may have heard rumours of a rebellion in the east. A rebellion which has defeated a legion and led to imperial rule being rejected. I know those rumours are going around, and I am here to address them. I carry in my robes a message from the Emperor himself, which confirms the truth of events. There is no rebellion. There was no rebellion. No imperial legion has been defeated. Instead, a riot which got out of control was stamped down by the forces of authority, and peace was restored. A matter of days, a matter of a few people. Things only led to a riot because Governor Erland was an idiot.” Behind him the speech writer put his head in his hands, but the Governor knew his audience. “He got that posting because no one else wanted it. I, however, am not an idiot. This region is with the Emperor. One hundred per cent with the Emperor. I am loyal. My city guard, as you can see, are loyal, and you, I have no doubt, are loyal. There will be no riot here, there will be no uprising here, there will be no more lies about there being one.”

  He smiled. The crowd, used to this man, nodded along. Everyone loved believing the other regions were idiots, and they were the strong one. They would be with the Emperor.

  *****

  “It’s starting to get cold,” Zedek said with a hint of a shiver.

  “We’ve been travelling a while. It does that in winter,” Trimas said.

  “Smart arse,” Zedek said.

  “He’s getting the hang of it,” Daeholf said.

  “That goes for you too,” Zedek said.

  “We’re also heading into the north,” Daeholf said helpfully.

  “I don’t know why I put up with you two sometimes,” Zedek said.

  “Our sparkling wit and companionship,” Trimas said.

  “That must be it,” Zedek said, looking to the sky.

  “You have a point,” Kellan said.

  “About our wit?” Trimas said.

  “About the weather,” Kellan said. “I had hoped to be further along. Next stop we’ll need to buy you something warmer.”

  “Not you?”

  “I’m always prepared,” Kellan said, patting his pack.

  “So are we,” Trimas said.

  “And yet you’re getting cold?”

  “Oh, I do so miss this time of year and this part of the empire,” Trimas said, ignoring him. “I should have stayed at home where the climate suits me better.”

  “When we were there you grumbled about the heat,” Zedek pointed out.

  “Whose side are you on?” Trimas said.

  “The side that keeps me warm,” Zedek said.

  “I’m sure Trimas could arrange something,” Daeholf said.

  Zedek and Trimas both looked at him, eyebrows raised.

  “Too far?” Daeholf asked, grinning.

  “You told me you wouldn’t talk about that,” Zedek said.

  Trimas looked at him, shocked. Zedek winked.

  “That’s an entirely human sense of humour you’re growing there,” Trimas said after a moment. “I think I liked you better beforehand.”

  “I travel with a pair of soldiers. What else am I going to learn but piss-taking?” Zedek said.

  “You’ve got that part of being an ex-soldier down pat,” Kellan said.

  “Thanks. I think,” Zedek said.

  “I’m not sure I remember working with a noisier crew,” Kellan said.

  “Do you want to visit your family on the way by?” Zedek said to Daeholf. “We’re probably not that far away now.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Daeholf said.

  “We’ve been through quite a bit. You must be thinking about it,” Trimas said.

  “At best the events of the last few months have left us in the same position we were in before. Hunted.”

  “They might want to hear about your cousin though,” Zedek said.

  “At worst we were identified personally as being involved in the war and our descriptions are being circulated,” Daeholf finished.

  “Let's hope not,” Trimas said.

  “I’d have heard about it by now if that was the case,” Kellan said.

  “Perhaps,” Daeholf said. “But either way, it means it's probably even less safe for me to go home than it was before.”

  “Do you want to?” Zedek said.

  “More than almost anything at the moment,” Daeholf said.

  “Almost anything?” Trimas said.

  “Keeping them safe is higher on my list,” Daeholf said.

  “I hear you,” Trimas said, voice momentarily heavy.

  “Will we be going near…?” Zedek said before he caught himself.

  “No,” Trimas said firmly, noticing that Kellan was once again gazing in his direction and looking very interested.

  “You don’t seem to be making any progress,” Trimas said to him.

  “I’m not sure I follow you,” Kellan said.

  “We’ve been keeping a pretty close eye on you as we’ve travelled. And we’ve not exactly been hanging around since we want to get to Bastion ahead of the weather.”

  “And?”

  “I can’t help but notice Zedek isn’t a Bounty Hunter yet.”

  “I’ve been making the arrangements.”

  “Really? We’ve not seen anything.”

  “You may have been keeping an eye on me but you’ve not seen everything. Messages have been passed. It will happen.”

  “We’ve been travelling quite quickly. There won’t be much ahead of us.”

  “Wait and see,” Kellan said.

  Trimas frowned.

  “Tell us a little more about the city,” Daeholf said, drawing his attention away.

  “It’s on the coast,” Trimas said.

  “We know that,” Zedek said.

  “Which means the sea air keeps most of the snow off,” Trimas said.

  “Oh,” Zedek said. “That’ll be handy.”

  “Yes,” Trimas said.

  “I’m hoping you have more than that,” Daeholf said.

  “It’s like any city in the north really. Cold. Remote from the main politics. They probably don’t even know who the emperor is up there.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Zedek said.

  “Maybe I exaggerate a little. But it’s a city on the northern frontier,” Trimas said.

  “That why they call it Bastion?” Daeholf said. “I’ve always wondered.”

  “No one knows that for sure,” Kellan said.

  “Someone knows,” Zedek said.

  “Do you?” Kellan said.

  Zedek shrugged.

  “It’s as good a reason for the name as any. Anyway, the point I was making is that people have more things to worry about than who is in charge a thousand miles away,” Trimas said.
r />   “I think when the new taxes come in they’ll care,” Daeholf said.

  “Probably,” Trimas conceded. “I’ll be very interested to see the impact the legion moving out will have had though.”

  “Why?” Daeholf said.

  “Because it was a big influence on the place. In many respects, we practically ran the city. There is plenty of respect for soldiers past and present up there, protecting the citizens from things like the pirates.”

  “I’d be careful using that term too much when we get there,” Kellan said. “It has the wrong connotations now.”

  “Noted,” Zedek said.

  “They’re traders now,” Kellan said.

  “Wait and see,” Trimas said pointedly.

  “So we’ll be resupplying then,” Daeholf said. “Furs and the like.”

  Trimas looked at him. “I hate wearing fur. I look like a bear.”

  “Would you rather be cold?” Zedek said.

  “I also need a new saddle,” Daeholf said.

  “You’ve worn it out?” Trimas said.

  “That or my backside,” Daeholf said. “I’m hoping it’s the saddle.”

  Trimas gave him a pointed look.

  “I’ve given you too much of an opening there, haven’t I?” Daeholf said.

  Trimas laughed.

  “I could have phrased that better,” Daeholf accepted.

  “Do we have the money?” Zedek said.

  “I suppose I’m supposed to be adding this to the bill?” Kellan said after a moment.

  “In which case I need a saddle too,” Trimas said.

  *****

  The smell of incense had begun to give him a headache. It always did after a few hours in these cramped rooms, with the smoke a haze you could touch, and that was a problem for a priest in a church.

  The brother rose, ran a hand over his shaved head, and decided he needed air. He had been here long enough, it was time for a walk. It might not be the best time of day, it might be cold out, but if he didn’t clear his head he’d be seeing stars.

  He’d be more like the seer they were supporting.

  The brother smoothed his robes and left his room, walking through the open chambers of the church, and then walked out onto the steps. Here a guard stood, who noted the arrival and nodded.