Everyone was free to come and go. The church kept no prisoners and barred no doors. The guard was just hoping for some wisdom.
“Stand easy,” was the best he could do, and then he was stepping onto the paved street.
Further up the road, someone had been leaning against a wall, huddled against the cold. Now, seeing a target, they stepped out and began to follow.
The brother enjoyed the way the cold cut into his lungs, the way his blood pumped. He felt alive. The temperature would probably make him uncomfortable soon enough, but for now it was glorious.
He walked quicker, to get the body warm, and behind him the follower also sped up, keeping perfect time.
As the brother walked he was pleased to see people getting out of his way, a sign of respect to the religion that some of his temple believed was fading among the public. But here, today, everyone in front of him nodded and swerved.
Very pleasing indeed.
Behind him the follower eased through the slipstream.
Would it be heretical to go back to an early thought? To consider that the seer was nothing more than someone like him with a headache and a confused vision brought on by the fumes and the tiredness?
Was the seer simply someone ill?
Yes, the brother concluded, that would be heresy of the first order, and he’d just committed it by thinking it. He supposed God would allow you to think, and not demand the mind be as constrained as the body or its actions, because thoughts popped into your head at all times, unbidden, thoughts were how a god could speak to a subject.
It couldn’t be wrong to think.
Even if that thought was heresy?
Not if you rejected it, so he did his best to reject it, to push it out of his mind and consider only that the seer could foresee the future, and if it happened to be a very confused vision of the future that would need lots of interpretation, well, that only kept a small elite like the brothers employed since they did the interpreting.
The crowd was thinning now, and there came the question of a route. How did the brother want to get back? He disliked the idea of turning around and retracing his path, but he disliked the idea of doing a whole circuit of this thoroughfare.
What he needed was a shortcut to get him back. He knew a few of those, and it was time to use them.
Up ahead a street led to the right, and the brother stepped off the main street, turned, and found himself on a narrow path made up of compacted earth, close walls and little light.
Still, there was enough to see the ground, and know he wasn’t about to step on a curled up beggar.
Behind him, footsteps sped up as the follower turned into the path and increased his pace. These were timed to allow the brother to reach the end of that small path, take a turn, and then be out of sight of the main streets just as the two came together.
Now the follower removed a hand from his robe and pulled out a knife.
The brother felt a great thumping pain in his side and stumbled forward on the ground, gasping in shock. He reached a hand round, unable to tell what this sharp pain meant, when he simultaneously felt a hot, sticky liquid on his robe, and saw the figure above him.
A figure holding a now bloody knife.
As the brother opened his mouth to scream the knife flew down, slashing across the throat. The scream was gone, and now the brother could only stay mute as he felt the blade cut into his lungs, the way his blood pumped out of his neck and he felt himself losing life.
Each stab was like a punch filled with needles, and there were lots of them.
The attacker stabbed again and again.
The attacker sliced and ripped and tore.
The priest’s robe was shredded and his internal organs began to leak out of their former prison, until one slash uncaged them.
He died then, but the frenzy did not abate, and the body was butchered, until the attacker straightened and stood panting.
No one had come running.
There were no guards, or witnesses, or anyone else to kill.
There was just the fading of adrenaline, the decline of hate, and the rise of guilt as he regarded the shredded body below.
The priest had deserved it. He had flouted what should be done, and he had paid what should be the price…
So why did the attacker feel so uncomfortable about killing him? So regretful now the red mist had gone?
It was at that point the killer became acutely aware he was standing in a backstreet over a corpse, and that he needed to get out of here quickly.
He wiped the knife on the priest’s robes and concealed it, then shrugged off a light pack from his back. Out of this he pulled a cloak, which he now wrapped around himself.
No one would look at a walker huddled in a large cloak. No one would know that while it was clean, below was the blood of a stranger. He could walk all the way home, and no one would care.
Which was exactly what he did.
*****
Kellan looked at the sky and then at the city gate ahead of them. “I assume you three know how bounty hunting works and I don’t need to explain, so instead we can get some food, then get this rod organised and get on.”
Trimas smiled. “What makes you think that?”
Kellan looked askance. “You spent several months with two bounty hunters?”
“Yes, but we managed to absorb very little, most of it probably wrong. Perhaps if you explained we wouldn’t get it hideously wrong after and arrested after a day?”
Trimas was still grinning at Kellan, a man who clearly didn’t want to explain the ins and outs of imperial rules.
“I assume you’ll still want the food while I talk?”
“We’ll meet you halfway, yes.”
Zedek leaned in and whispered to Trimas, “I think I have the key points in mind.”
“Sometimes, Zedek, you should try just being a bastard to someone.”
They passed through the gates, and Kellan picked out a street vendor. Soon coppers had been handed over and the four were riding to their destination, one hand on the reins and another holding hot meats wrapped in flour pancakes.
Kellan sighed. “Right, bounty hunting. It’s all about travel really. The law of the empire is the same everywhere, but the agents of it operate by region. City guards, the watch, militias. Governors are in charge. But, criminals are very good at crossing these borders, very good indeed,” and he grinned proudly, “so bounty hunters are a solution. You are approved by the imperial governor, you have your rod and your rights and your powers to go everywhere, and you catch the people who slip between the regions. Somehow, I can’t imagine how, bounty hunters started demanding payment for doing this, and presumably a few heartbeats after that bounty hunters started accepting paid private work too. So, you have an organised, cross-border force of approved people who operate purely for money and the sickness of their heads.”
Daeholf snorted. “I see you love bounty hunters.”
“They’re mad. You’ll all fit in.”
“Thanks for the history, but I think we knew it already.”
Kellan looked at Trimas and sighed. “I spend my life avoiding imperial paperwork, I do not need you making me repeat it.”
“So, how does it work day to day?”
“When approved, you are given your rod. When you arrive in a new location you must present yourself, your rod of office and details of what you are doing to the authorities, and then you can basically do your business. Don’t run amok, but you have more power than normal people, and only really less than a soldier. Fail to present yourself, and you’re no better than a civilian. Clue: civilians have no power at all.”
Zedek was taking it all in. “So don’t forget to present yourself. Even if you have to go out of your way.”
“You’ve got it,” Kellan replied.
“Yeah, Zedek, this isn’t a note-taking thing.”
“If you really want to blend in as a bounty hunter and their deputised assistants, make sure to drink too much, beat people up and
generally suspect everyone.”
Daeholf pushed himself up. “May I remind you, Kellan, that we met because of two very well-balanced, efficient bounty hunters.”
“You got lucky.”
“I am prepared to accept that.”
“Seems easy enough,” Trimas concluded.
“I haven’t covered the documentation yet. Or how you get paid.”
“Present the body. Living or dead. Well I’ve finished,” Trimas said, chewing, “let’s go get a rod and start questioning people.”
Kellan sighed, nodded and spurred his horse on.
Daeholf rode up beside Trimas. “I think you’re pushing the fact Kellan usually organises people who might stab him and throw him into a river so can’t tell us to fuck off.”
“I’m not good at taking orders.”
“Yeah, well some of us had to get used to it.”
“I find this whole situation so dubious, I am reliving my growing anxiety by ragging the instrument.”
“I do also wonder what we’ll be walking into.”
They soon stabled their horses at an inn, paid for the afternoon, and began walking through the city.
“I want you to let me answer the questions, unless I defer to you, in which case Zedek should answer the questions. And please, make an attempt at seeming slightly normal.”
“Don’t I always?” Zedek replied to Kellan.
“Mostly the opposite.”
“Won’t he fit in?”
Kellan looked at Trimas and then nodded his head.
The government’s office building was modestly sized compared to the last one they had seen, and the four of them filed in, finding themselves in an open, high-ceiled room with officials sat in a row at one end.
There were no queues, so Kellan led them over.
“I’d like to see Magistrate Kelis.”
“What business?”
“I have bounty hunters here,” and the look of fear on the scribes faces told the story: please get the psychopaths out of our offices.
“Just a moment.”
The scribe disappeared, and returned with a city guardsman. Trimas, Daeholf and Zedek didn’t flinch physically, but they did experience a sinking feeling until the guard nodded and led them inside.
Down a corridor, to a thick wooden door with a guard outside, and after a knock they filed inside.
“I’ve never seen so many texts outside a library,” Zedek gushed as he looked round the room.
“Hello Javik,” said a stout woman, with a shock of white hair, and fingers covered in ink. “What business have you got for me?”
Kellan smiled. “I have a new bounty hunter for you.”
“Ah, I see,” and her eyes turned to the group. They settled on Trimas. “You?”
“No.”
She looked at Daeholf. “You?”
“No we’re helpers.”
“Oh, you,” and she looked at Zedek.
“He can strike down a fleeing murderer with an arrow from a hundred yards,” Trimas offered. Kellan gave him a look and he shut up.
“I am afraid I don’t have the paperwork or the evidence, Zedek here was involved in a particularly brutal case where he was the only survivor, but I feel that alone proves he is good enough.”
The magistrate raised an eyebrow. “Karina couldn’t even provide the evidence?”
“I’m not entirely lying.”
“Ah. So ... magic,” she whispered.
“Indeed.”
“I will only be able to provide a beginner’s rod, for someone so obviously a beginner. But I will be able to provide one.”
“That will be excellent.”
*****
Hal climbed the stairs at the back of the warehouse reluctantly. The boss wanted to see him. Alone. That wasn’t a good sign. Though he didn’t have any choice. You didn’t ignore a call from the boss. Not if you didn’t want to end up looking like the rival organisation member he’d butchered a few hours ago. Or perhaps worse. So the rumours said, anyway. Not something he was prepared to risk.
As usual there was no guard outside the heavy oak door. The boss didn’t need one. No one would be daft enough to risk anything here. He paused at the door. Muffled voices came from behind it. Not sure what to do, he knocked as politely as he could manage.
The voices paused. “Come in,” one said after a moment.
Hal opened the door slowly, not sure what he would find. From the entrance he could see that the office was lit unevenly by a number of candles. No windows to let any daylight in. Or potential assailants for that matter. There were a number of cabinets along the walls, though Hal doubted there would be much evidence of the business in there. The bit that made the money anyway. The boss was far too clever for that.
The main feature of the room was a large wooden desk. A figure was sat behind the desk, hood drawn down. Hal glanced around as he walked slowly into the room.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” the hood said.
“I thought I heard someone else…”
The hood indicated a second door opposite.
“Ah,” Hal said.
“You nearly got caught,” the hood said.
“The watch got there unexpectedly quickly,” Hal said nervously, shuffling his feet slightly. “I barely had time to finish up and get away.”
“You took your time with the cutting,” the hood said.
“It … it's not like last time. I've not had to do anything like that before. It … it was harder than I thought.”
“Perhaps I selected the wrong man for the job?”
“You can rely on me.”
“You'll make a better job of it on the next one.”
“Next one?”
“What good is a message if the other party doesn't receive it?”
“Um…”
“Spit it out.”
“It's just … we didn't have to do this last time. Or the time before. They always got the idea quickly in the past.”
“Are you questioning my methods?”
“No. Absolutely not.” There was a definite hint of fear in his voice now.
“How long have you been working for me?”
“Two years.”
“You weren't involved in the running battles when the legion left. That free-for-all where everyone thought there was room to have a go. That was messy. This is just … education.”
“Yes boss. I'll do better, boss.”
“Send the second message. But this time don't do it in the alley where you leave him.”
“Boss,” Hal said, relieved. He bowed and walked away quickly, closing the door to the office behind him.
“Do you think he'll get it right this time?” came a voice from the shadows in the corner.
“You don’t approve,” the hood replied.
“Not entirely,” the figure said.
“They can’t see you, Darek,” the hood said.
“I’ve never liked doing business here,” a short smartly dressed man said as he stepped into view.
“It suits me,” the hood said.
“Perhaps,” Darek said.
“So you don’t approve,” the hood said.
“Sending messages we’ve done plenty of in the past and, even if a little squeamish, your man did a decent job. Or would have done if the watch hadn’t arrived.”
“So?”
“It seems like a crude negotiating tactic to me.”
“We’re not negotiating.”
“I’ve run the numbers. Even with the small operation they’ve managed to eke out, they’re making a fair bit of money.”
“You still think it is a business we should get into?”
“I’m just saying there is money there to be made. Potentially a lot of it.”
“You remember when the legion was here?”
“Of course. It’s not been that long really.”
“Their commander didn’t approve of the drugs trade. He set a lot of his soldiers to stamping
it out. Hanged any of them that got involved.”
“Publicly. I remember it well.”
“It was very effective.”
“Indeed.”
“It didn’t hurt our business since we weren’t involved.”
“No.”
“And yet we did well.”
“We did.”
“And now we’re doing even better.”
“Trade with our new partners is very profitable, yes.”
“So we don’t need that as a revenue stream.”
“I wasn’t suggesting we need it but…”
“The city as a whole operates better when it is clean.” Hood seemed calm but certain.
“I can’t argue with that.”
“And yet you still have reservations.”
“New players are making money in our town. And if they become powerful enough they might start to cause us problems.”
“Which is why we’re sending them a louder message” There was no doubt in the hood’s voice. “That they’re not welcome in our town. There will be more until they listen.”
“I just think that if we controlled the trade ourselves we could starve them out. There is clearly a demand for their product.”
“No. And that’s my final word on it.” Hood was final all right.
“Of course. Do you want me to help with the ‘message’?”
“Not directly. Run interference with the watch, make sure it gets through to the right people this time.”
“As you wish.”
*****
The guard looked down the steps to see who was coming next, and saw a woman he really wished he didn’t recognise. Tall, thin, with cheekbones that gave her face a slightly harsh aspect and red hair tied severely back, she wore a dress that buttoned to her throat and carried a fur coat. He straightened himself up, intending to make a good impression on Thieftaker Vika.
She, in turn, walked quickly up the steps and saw the guard. He was supposed to check the credentials of anyone who arrived at this party, because it would be filled with the rich and the powerful. He was even supposed to check the credentials of the governor if he travelled the short distance from his palace, which was doubtful. Vika suppressed a cruel smile at the situation: not many imperial provinces had their local capitals so far away from the imperial capital, not many governors could feel they were genuinely on the edge of the empire and the world, and fewer still stayed as loyal the man who ran this region. He had been well chosen by the emperor. But distance changes everyone, eventually. She would keep an eye out for it.
Knives of Bastion (An Empire Falls Book 2) Page 3