Knives of Bastion (An Empire Falls Book 2)

by Harry Leighton

  “So no harm done?” the short man said hopefully.

  Hood turned back to him and stood motionless for a few seconds before exploding into action. A fist crashed into the short man’s stomach, taking all the wind from him. As he doubled over, Hood’s knee took him hard in the face, smashing his nose and sending him gurgling to the ground. A hard boot to the torso had him coughing and gurgling, the blood flooding from his smashed nose getting into his mouth.

  “Finish him off,” Hood said whilst stepping back to the taller man, who looked on, stunned.

  “Wha?” the tall man gabbled, stepping back himself.

  “You heard me,” Hood said. The tall man looked down at his companion doubtfully. “Would you like to join him?” Hood added.

  “N... No,” the tall man said.

  “Then kick him,” Hood said.

  The tall man looked at Hood. He then looked down at his friend. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “No…” the man on the ground gurgled through the blood. The tall man kicked him unenthusiastically in the ribs.

  “I’m tiring of this,” Hood said. “Someone open a crate and hand me one of the spears. It seems I need to make an example.”

  The tall man gave a sharp intake of breath before quickly booting his former friend in the chest as hard as he could. There was an audible crack of bone. The man on the ground cried out.

  “Better,” Hood said. “Again.”

  *****

  The east gate was a solid structure, designed to repel heavy bombardment and with footings dug to try and prevent undermining. The stone could crush a thousand people, and the labourers required to build it had needed plenty of time.

  Yet, if you looked at it a certain way, you could see beauty. Plenty of the stone had been worked, particularly around the arc, creating elaborate effects, and if you liked gargoyles you would enjoy it.

  Not many people stopped to look, certainly not the guards stood underneath. In fact, the six men and women stationed in their armour around the gate on this dreary day were exchanging sceptical looks at the artist who had stopped, taken out a canvas and charcoal, and was stood slightly up the street drawing the monolithic entrance.

  The guards noticed the way this man moved suddenly in a swift, arching movement, and would then stand still for moments, before launching off again. What they couldn’t see was the art itself, as they only had a wooden easel in their vision.

  “Right,” one finally said, and she marched up the street, coming to within a few footfalls of the artist before he saw her and not the stone. “Let’s have a look then,” she said, coming to stand by him.

  She looked, expecting to scoff, but the words caught in her throat. The picture wasn’t like looking at the gate with your eyes; it didn’t look like reality. But this mass of sharp tones did look like the gate nonetheless, a gate filled with energy and action, not at all like her life standing in front of it.

  “That’s brilliant,” she told the artist.

  “Thank you.”

  “I don’t know how you did it.”

  “I would be out of a job otherwise.”

  “You sell many?”

  He smiled, and she looked at his narrow frame, shining eyes and pointed face. “I sell a lot. I do this full time.”

  “I can see why, but, er, why the gate?”

  “This sketch will come with me, and in my studio I will use it as a basis for a returning hero marching in.”

  She looked at the sketch and tried to imagine. It would look powerful but … odd. Which, she supposed, was how you stood out from the crowd.

  “It’s got it all. It’s got the gate, it’s got the dimensions, it’s got how the stone fits together, but … it’s something else.”

  “Some artists would try and sell it to you now. Sadly I need it.”

  “Oh, yes, of course not.”

  The artist looked at the sun. “I need to go, but if you get a chance come to my studio. I’m Vesek, I’m known.” He smiled, carefully put the canvas in a bag and folded the easel up. Then he began walking through the city.

  As he walked he looked at the people he passed, and felt a wave of revulsion. All these people, with all their secrets and all their foibles, pretending to be nice and kind and moral, but they’d go home and beat their servants and fuck their lovers and all, absolutely all, would consider themselves better than him if they knew.

  His smile turned acid. His pretence was intact, practiced, he could walk through this entire city sketching and working and recording and he would always be the artist, the colourful creator, the person people paid to impress others by hanging his art on their plain walls in their plain homes.

  Oh how they would be surprised if they knew.

  If he told them.

  If he cut them up with his blades.

  If he hunted them through the streets and shred their weak organs and supple flesh, if he made them bleed onto the pavements or the earth, as he took their wasted lives and endless hypocrisy for his toys.

  Now he smiled, ever broader, smiled so much people passing smiled at him, such was the infection.

  How easily fooled they were.

  They thought he was full of life and inventive fire while he was seeing their beating hearts and thinking of cutting them free.

  Soon, all too soon, he arrived back at the small set of rooms he called his studio, on the third floor of a building that probably shouldn’t have been licensed above the first. He presumed it was licensed, and he couldn’t get the landlord in trouble just by reporting it to city planning.

  The landlord was no better than the people he had killed, but at this moment he knew killing someone that close was bad. Could lead to detection, arrest.

  At this moment.

  When it took him, when he could hold back no longer, would he still know?

  He loved to think of the murder but … he wasn’t in control when it happened. He was something colder and more basic, something that might not weigh up consequences, something that might get him killed. That did not appeal. Oh no, he did not want to die.

  “Vesek!”

  The voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he realised he had left the door ajar as he’d entered. A mistake, because he had been preoccupied. Just the sort of mistake he had been worrying about.

  Not that there was anything in this hovel to incriminate.

  “Hello, have you come with a purse full of gold for me?”

  “That depends on what you have painted! But always for you Vesek, you never let me down.”

  “Then come in and look at this.” Vesek went into the rooms, put his street kit away, and went into the studio. Every surface was covered in spatters of paint, and the tools on those surfaces too.

  Canvases were stacked on the floor in a corner, covered in sheets. One was pulled out, unwrapped and put on an easel.

  “What have we here… Is that Jubilio marching to the courthouse?”

  Vesek smiled. The man knew his history, and the painting conveyed it. “Yes, yes it is.”

  “And … those stakes, those rows and rows of stakes with severed heads on them…”

  “To convey the fates of the traitors.”

  “Ah, yes. I have never seen them represented like that before. It is powerful. And horrifying.” Which, the buyer had to concede, matched the violence of the strokes and the verse of the vision.

  “I like it. I will take it. I have a client in mind.”

  “I have something else,” and the canvases were changed.

  The buyer was now looking at a scene he didn’t recognise. A building, or a group of towers, rising beyond what must be low trees, mountains all around.

  “What’s this?”

  “Something I have done from my imagination.”

  “It looks like nothing I have ever seen.”

  “That is the idea.”

  “Do you have more? I have several clients who would like this.”

  “I prefer to work on the city. Set my work in the c
ity. These are … for variation.”

  “But perhaps you could be tempted?”

  “Perhaps.”

  *****

  “She’s here,” the mutter went up.

  Storn didn’t have to ask who. He knew who ‘she’ meant in this case. No one was spoken about with such reverence and fear. He looked around the watch station. There was a buzz amongst his fellow watchmen but no one was quite fleeing in panic yet.

  “Where?” he said, looking at his partner. He hoped that Rek might have a better handle on things given his extra years service. The older man paused, scratching his belly.

  “Her office probably,” Rek said, looking around.

  Her office? Hah. Whilst the Thief Taker nominally maintained an office in a number of stations she rarely ever used them, preferring to do business in her own place. It was much more intimidating that way.

  “Maybe we should wait a bit. Our report isn’t that urgent. She probably won’t be here that long,” Storn said.

  “Why are you so scared of her?” Rek said, glancing over at his younger partner.

  Storn thought about that. He’d always been uncomfortable around powerful women, not just the Thief Taker.

  “She doesn’t scare you?” Storn said.

  “Hah, no. She might have this big reputation but it’s all smoke,” Rek said, grinning.

  “You’ve seen her in action, right?” Storn said with a frown.

  “Yeah but that was probably staged,” Rek shrugged.

  “So you’ve no respect for her? I’d keep that quiet around here,” Storn said quietly, almost conspiratorially.

  “That’s not what I meant. I’ve plenty of respect. She’s a politician. And someone that could be good for my career,” Rek said. He looked at Storn. “Ah, our careers, I mean.”

  “How so?” Storn said.

  “We take this news to her, she’ll be grateful. Promotions all the way,” Rek said with a wink.

  “You’re dreaming,” Storn said, shaking his head. “Besides, we can’t just walk up to her without invitation.”

  “You have a point,” Rek said.

  “We need to talk to the Captain,” Storn said.

  “Who is hopefully talking to her now. That’s our opportunity,” Rek said.

  “That’s not what I meant and I think it’s a terrible idea. We should wait until she is gone,” Storn said earnestly.

  “Coward,” Rek almost spat.

  “Fine. Go for it. I’ll try to catch you when she throws you out,” Storn said.

  “You’re not getting out of it that easy. It’s pretty obvious I couldn’t carry that crate by myself,” Rek said, patting the tall box stood at the end of the desk.

  “Isn’t that the truth,” Storn said. Rek gave him a hard look.

  “Who the hell is transporting this stuff around the city anyway?” Storn said, ignoring him.

  “Lot of money in arms,” Rek said.

  “Don’t doubt it,” Storn said. “But who would be selling them to who? We’re not exactly at war with anyone.”

  “Except in the south,” Rek said.

  “I hardly think spears from up here are going to make it all that way down there. It’s thousands of miles and there’s got to be good forges closer than us,” Storn said.

  “They’re not official, idiot,” Rek said.

  “We’re hardly going to be supplying spears to the southerners on the black market from here,” Storn said.

  “Obviously,” Rek said. “You just said that there were no wars and I was correcting you.”

  “Okay, so where do you think they’re going then?” Storn said.

  “Rebels,” Rek said.

  “Rebels?” Storn said.

  “You’ve heard the stories about what happened off to the southeast,” Rek said.

  “The Governor was quite clear on that,” Storn said.

  “You’re naive,” Rek said. “He’s hardly going to tell us if it did happen is he?”

  “Maybe,” Storn said, considering.

  “Let’s go see the Captain,” Rek said. “Hopefully he’ll pass us on to the boss lady and she’ll show her gratitude at the great work we’ve done.”

  “We found a crate in the street. We didn’t even manage to follow the cart it fell off because you were too interested in seeing what was in it,” Storn said.

  “We can leave that bit out,” Rek said. “Now help me with this,” he said, grabbing one end of the crate. Storn sighed and grabbed the other end, lifting it with a grunt. They walked slowly to the Captain’s office. At the front, and lacking a free hand, Rek kicked the door in lieu of knocking.

  “What is it?” came a voice from the other side.

  “We’ve got a report for you, Captain,” Rek said.

  “Not a good time,” the Captain said.

  “It’s important, Captain,” Rek said.

  The door opened and a thin, tired looking man looked at the two of them. “It better had be,” he said. He looked at the crate Storn and Rek were holding. “What’s that?”

  “What we wanted you to see,” Rek said.

  “A crate?” the Captain said.

  “Weapons,” Rek said.

  “You’d better come in,” the Captain said, motioning them into the room before retreating back behind his desk. Storn and Rek trooped in, putting the crate down beside the desk.

  “So what have you got?” the Captain said.

  “Spears,” Storn said.

  “Where did you get them?” the Captain said.

  “We found them in the street,” Storn said.

  “We were following up on some suspicious activity and we came across the crate,” Rek said. “Given the nature of the contents we thought it best to secure them safely before anything unfortunate happened.”

  “You didn’t see where they came from?” the Captain said.

  “The people involved were clearly highly skilled and melted into the crowds,” Rek said. “We thought it best to get the weapons to safety and report.”

  “You’ve done well,” the Captain said. “And this is the sort of thing that can show we’re on top of things to the chief.”

  “You want to take this to her?” Storn said.

  “You have some problem with that?” the Captain said.

  “No sir,” Rek said quickly.

  “Pick up the box then and follow me,” the Captain said, motioning. Rek beaming and Storn looking doubtful, they followed him with the crate to an office along the corridor. The Captain knocked gingerly on the door.

  “What is it?” came a male voice from the other side. They all looked at each other confused.

  “Important report for Lady Vika,” the Captain said after a moment.

  “You’d better come in then,” Vika said.

  The Captain straightened his shoulders and opened the door. He marched in, trying to look confident, motioning his men to follow. He saw the Thief Taker herself sat relaxed behind a desk, an aide on the other side, nearest them. Storn and Rek followed in, putting the crate down carefully on the floor.

  “So what do we have here?” Vika said.

  “My men have done some fine work helping to break up an illegal arms ring,” the Captain said. Storn winced whilst Rek thrust his chest out. Vika noticed the discrepancy but didn’t comment.

  “Illegal arms ring?” she said.

  “Open the crate,” the Captain said. Rek opened the top carefully to reveal a large number of spears neatly packed. The aide gasped.

  “Interesting,” Vika said. “Where did you find them, Captain?”

  “Ah, my men found them,” the Captain said hesitantly.

  “Then by all means let them fill in the details,” Vika said, waving a hand.

  Rek stepped forwards. “We were following up on some suspicious activity and in the course of our investigations we located this crate,” he said.

  “Indeed. Where?” Vika said.

  “In the street. Ah, Main Street in the old quarter I mean,” Rek said.
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  “In the street?” Vika said. “Did you happen to see who left them there?”

  “Dropped,” Rek said. “Ah, and they escaped, clearly having some skill at blending into the crowds. We thought, given the nature of the contents, it was best to secure it and report in.” Rek stood, shoulders straight, chest out, almost glowing.

  “Dropped indeed,” Vika said. “So there are men out and about carrying crates of weapons openly in the street? It seems a bit of an odd way to transport them don’t you think?”

  Rek paused, trapped. “Well, not carrying as such…”

  “There was a cart,” Storn said.

  “Ah. There was a cart,” Vika said.

  “Yes, there was a cart,” Rek said.

  “And it blended into the crowds?” Vika said.

  “There were a lot of carts,” Rek said.

  “I see,” Vika said.

  “And we thought it best to secure the weapons before they caused any trouble,” Rek said.

  “Sensible,” Vika said. Rek relaxed. “After you’d lost the cart that is.” Rek frowned. The Captain shifted nervously. “You did right in bringing this to me, gentlemen,” Vika said. Rek relaxed again, along with the Captain.

  “Something is bothering me,” Storn said. Rek and the Captain started and looked at him apprehensively.

  “What would that be?” Vika said.

  “Why spears?” Storn said.

  “They’re effective weapons of course,” Rek said, trying to take charge.

  “That’s not quite what I meant. Why full spears rather than just spear heads? Spear heads I could understand as surely the shafts are easily made or improvised,” Storn said.

  “That’s a very interesting thought. You’ve done well. I will look into it. That will be all,” Vika said.

  Rek looked disappointed.

  Vika noticed. “Was there something else?” she said.

  “Er, no. Ma’am,” Storn said, nudging Rek. Rek frowned.

  “Your companion doesn’t agree,” Vika said.

  “It’s nothing,” the Captain said, glaring at Rek.

  “Let him speak his mind,” Vika said.

  “I was thinking…” Rek started before thinking better of it and stopping.

  “You were thinking that you had done well and deserved some sort of reward perhaps?” Vika said, smiling.