Knives of Bastion (An Empire Falls Book 2)

by Harry Leighton

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Erik gasped as he came into the room.

  “One carcass ready.”

  “Ready? That’ll all have to go for mince.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t just hack it up like you’re chucking it straight in a pot. Some bits of the animal are worth more than others. You’re going to cost me a fortune.”

  “You mean … we can’t sell this?”

  “No. Not like it is at the moment.”

  Daeholf looked at Trimas, who was highly amused. “So I’m a princess, and you’re a blundering ogre.”

  “Apparently.”

  Zedek held up a tail. “What’s this worth?”

  “Is he taking the piss?”

  “He’s good at odd questions.”

  “Well,” Erik explained, “there’s a reason it’s called ox-tail soup.”

  “Ah.”

  “Maybe you should show us?”

  “Yeah, reckon I should. Pass me that cleaver.”

  There followed a class in how to carve meat up for sale, which finished with a carcass that, this time, was ready.

  “I don’t expect you to be as fast at first,” Erik conceded, “we don’t want to be selling your fingers too.”

  Zedek laughed, because this felt like a joke. He was wrong.

  “That’s harsh. Poor Stav really did sell one of his fingers when he lopped it by accident. Got a good price among some really odd people.”

  “Well that’s comforting,” Trimas said. “Suddenly Bastion seems a whole lot friendlier and not in any way weird.”

  “Reckon I can leave you alone with this now?”

  “Yeah, we’ve got it,” and Daeholf accepted the cleaver back.

  “I’ll get another body,” Trimas said and walked back out.

  “Shall I get this all laid out next to the prices?”

  “Good idea Zedek.”

  This was why the elf picked up a tray of meat, went to the front of the shop and paused.

  “Problem?” Daeholf asked?

  “Yes. The labels are things like shoulder, saddle. Assuming saddle is its behind, which bit is the shoulder?”

  Daeholf looked down at the block with a sinking feeling. “I didn’t make a note of that. Just how to cut it.”

  “Shall I ask him?”

  “Zedek, if you can stomach us looking like even bigger pillocks go and ask him, yes. Otherwise go and look for a chart or something in the back.”

  “Ooh, a chart, yes.” He disappeared.

  Trimas nodded at Zedek and dumped a carcass on the block. “Here you go. No idea what animal this is, but it’s bound to be tasty and lucrative.”

  “You don’t know what it is?”

  “It turns out they all look similar without any fur.”

  “It’s a good thing I’ve seen you command a legion, because otherwise I would be doubting the stories I’d heard.”

  *****

  Elena put her feet up on her desk and sighed. Perhaps she should take a break. This case was nothing but a headache. She could see why Rast had been having difficulty. At least five likely victims so far. And maybe a sixth, though it was less certain as the method hadn’t been quite the same. So possibly six victims. And no obvious connection between them. A merchant. A musician. A sailor. A soldier. Well an ex-soldier anyway. Now a priest. And maybe a prostitute.

  And the only apparent link was the way they died. Carved up, out of sight. With a knife. And according to the coroner, a very sharp knife.

  But was that the only link? Rast had a number of theories but none of them really fit. The merchant and the musician, whilst not associated, had moved in similar circles. But the sailor and the soldier clearly hadn’t. So a class or status type link had to be thrown out. The soldier and sailor both had an element of military service in their backgrounds and Rast had spent a lot of time looking for something related in the history of either the merchant or the musician. It looked like he thought there could have been something in the musician’s past but it was tentative at best. And there was absolutely no indication of any sort of army or navy type involvement with the merchant. His family had been in the business for generations and none of them had popped up in any lists or claimed any sort of career beyond buying and selling goods.

  Location had been a possibility. Except that the sailor had died near the docks. And the merchant in the west quarter. The soldier on the south edge of town. Basically all over the city.

  So, what else?

  Rast had even considered a money angle. Maybe these people all owed someone money. It had certainly been possible. It had also been the focus of his most recent investigations. People got into debt all the time. She’d come damn close to it herself with all the excitement and expenses over what happened with her brother. She’d stayed clear, but they didn’t live in a very nice part of town anymore.

  Money though. Maybe all these people owed money to the same person. Someone who wanted to make an example of people who didn’t pay up on time. It had been Rast’s best shot from the look of it. And it also looked like it missed. The merchant’s business looked clean and he’d not been able to find anyone who’d heard anything about gambling debts. And there was no sign of a mistress. He had been, by all accounts, happily married. He’d clearly enjoyed the finer things judging by the size of him but it was unlikely to have got himself into the sort of debt that would get him killed just from food.

  The merchant wasn’t really the problematic one though. Maybe he was just good at hiding things. The real problem on this line of thought was the sailor. Rast had been able to find little information on the sailor’s finances as he had only been in port for a short time. And that was exactly the problem. How did someone who was only in port for a few days get that sort of debt to get them killed? Who would lend a sailor who was due to leave that sort of money in the first place?

  So money was out. What did that leave?

  Her first thought on that score had been drugs. The merchant was clearly someone who over-indulged himself. Musicians famously got up to all sorts. And he’d been a big drinker so it wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine he’d tried something a little more. The soldier had been wounded many years before and had been invalided out. Maybe his pain got too much sometimes. It was certainly possible. Maybe the sailor had been indulging or experimenting whilst in port. Who was to know?

  It was certainly a line of enquiry worth exploring.

  Or would have been until the priest died.

  Father Kolan was reasonably well known in the city. Very highly thought of. And that was essentially why the case had ended up being reassigned. Because he was well known enough to be visible.

  Oh, sure some priests had a dark side. Things hidden in their pasts that they didn’t want to see the light of day. Or not even in their pasts but concealed by a friendly church.

  But not Father Kolan. He had been famously ascetic. A monk. And he’d had no secrets. Whilst it wasn’t impossible that there had been something more to him, it would have been close. And involved some sort of massive conspiracy. She’d come up against one of those before of course, but they always fell apart if you poked hard enough. And she’d actually met him. While her sense of people wasn’t perfect, it had served her pretty well in the past. And he’d seemed clean to her.

  Perhaps it had been a case of mistaken identity and another priest was the intended target. But that was also very unlikely. Father Kolan was quite recognisable. Mistaken identity just so that one of the patterns could fit was a bit of a reach Maybe Father Kolan wasn’t one of the serial killer’s victims? But again, a mistaken victim was unlikely. The wounds were pretty explicit and fit the pattern.

  So the drugs vine almost certainly wouldn’t bear fruit. Exactly like the money one. Or the class one. Or…

  But Rast had maybe missed something. He’d not considered the prostitute’s murder to be part of the same case. Elena wasn’t so sure. It had been a couple of months before the first offi
cial victim, and the pattern of the cuts was less clear. But that might just mean it was the first victim where the killer was learning his — or her — art.

  So maybe the prostitute could have been the most important victim to consider and that was why Rast had got stuck.

  So what did the prostitute give her? She could certainly explore the drugs or money angles again but both of those were largely knocked down by the priest’s murder. A prostitute may have had contact with all of the victims in the past. Perhaps. But the sailor was new to town and she’d died before then. And again Father Kolan was a problem there.

  Maybe … maybe Father Kolan was the key. Maybe there was a religious angle. The merchant was fat, the musician was a drunk. Sailors often got up to all sorts whilst on land. And the prostitute. Fornication? Maybe. But where did the soldier fit in there? And who the hell killed a priest as a sinner?

  So once again Father Kolan basically also ruled that one out.

  She was going round in circles. She was getting nowhere, just like Rast. She looked again at his notes.

  He’d been reasonably thorough. Better at his job than she’d expected given that it had been taken off him. Which gave her a problem — how was she going to demonstrate progress and not end up on the scrap heap just like he did?

  Oh, she had no illusions. She could see that she was expendable. Probably the most expendable person in the watch as a whole from a top level point of view, given her past. So if she didn’t get somewhere quickly she’d just be another fall guy. Rast had a good career and he was gone. She started to wonder if she should have accepted the assignment or whether pride had got in the way. Though had she any choice? Who argued with the Thief Taker herself?

  That line of thought was getting her nowhere. Back to the case.

  So who would pick these people as victims? Different walks of life and in different parts of the city. Were they just random? Was she going to have to rely on blind luck to come across a murder in progress and catch them in the act?

  That was a horrible thought.

  Maybe she should start looking at alternative career options. In a different city.

  She heard an angry murmur from across the other side of the room. Please. Not another one. Or not another high profile one, she thought guiltily. She took her feet off the desk and noticed Storn. She caught his eye and waved him over. Obvious reluctance in his face, he walked slowly to her desk.

  “What it is, sergeant?” Storn said.

  “What’s going on over there?” Elena said. “Has there been another murder I need to know about?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Storn said.

  Elena suppressed a sigh of relief. “So what is it?” she said.

  “Bit of a heated discussion.”

  “What about?”

  “One of the men got roughed up by a Bounty Hunter a couple of days ago,” Storn said.

  “What? I didn’t hear about that,” Elena said. “How badly?”

  “Well, not roughed up as such,” Storn admitted.

  “So what happened?” Elena said.

  “Ah, well, I’ve not got the full story,” Storn said. “Maybe you’d best take it up with him.” He looked at the floor.

  “Who was it?” Elena said.

  “We call him Gordo,” Storn said. “Though I’m sure that’s not his real name. Ah, will that be all?”

  “Yes,” Elena said. “Thank you,” she added.

  “Don’t mention it,” Storn half mumbled as he walked away.

  Trouble with a Bounty Hunter. Hmm. This might be a way to earn back some credit with the rest of the watch. An opportunity had presented itself. A quiet word with ‘Gordo’ was probably in order.

  *****

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “No I am not.”

  “I ordered you to tell him.”

  “The Hood appointed you to keep him informed of developments in the field, so you can do your job.”

  “And I appointed you to tell him.”

  “But he appointed me to maintain the accounts. I am an accountant. What I am not is a fucking idiot, so I’ll do my job and you do yours.”

  The two men were now staring at each other. One was standing, attempting to lord it over the accountant who sat at a table covered in ledgers that only two people ever saw, him and his hooded boss.

  “I am not going to forget this,” the standing man hissed.

  “Well that might not be for very long.”

  “Fine.”

  He pulled himself up, walked through the building, and came to a closed door on which he rapped, hoping that confidence would see him through.

  A confidence he didn’t have, but still.

  “Come,” Hood called, so the man entered. His boss had clearly been looking at documents, but how had the familiar covering in place.

  “I am not entirely pleased to see you,” Hood used as an opening gambit, the sort that loosened bowels.

  “I have come right away with news, sir.”

  “Given that I told you to sweep up the remainder of the drugs gangs, I assume you are either here to tell me that has been completed, or you are here to tell me there is a problem. Given the way you have been standing outside arguing, I suspect the latter.”

  Ah.

  Ah fuck.

  “Yeah … there are complications.”

  “Then you had better tell me.”

  “I, er, it’s nothing to do with me, right? I did exactly what you said.”

  “I should hope so. You are here as a messenger, so relax. Explain.”

  “We cleared the gangs out of the city. We fought them, broke them, and cleared them right out, and turned everyone who aided them to us.”

  “A flattering history lesson.”

  “It appears we didn’t kill the whole gangs, we just cleared them out.”

  “We did not affect a full scale cleansing, no. We pushed them out.”

  “Yeah, but we’re getting word. They fled from us, but they formed a base. Out there, in the region.”

  “Ah.”

  “Not only did they form a base, they teamed up. Everyone that was left and fled, they managed to sink their differences and form a new gang.”

  “I see. They never sank their differences in fifty years in the city.”

  “So they’re out there, a new gang, and they’re coming back.”

  “Into my city.”

  “Yeah. They reckon they were taken by surprise.”

  “They were.”

  “They reckon the dead leaders mismanaged them.”

  “Also true.”

  “And now … they reckon they’ll do it right. They are organising for one big push to break back in here and break you.”

  “Us,” Hood replied.

  “What?”

  “Break us. Not me, us. You work for me. If I am defeated, you will be too. Not that I ever would be.”

  “Of course not, sir.”

  “And you wouldn’t be planning to transfer your allegiance.”

  “No way!”

  “Good.”

  “But they do have a lot. All their remaining money, all their remaining men. They’re going to win or die.”

  He couldn’t see the Hood smile. “Then they haven’t learned much.”

  “They’ll risk it all!”

  “People willing to die are interesting, because they take risks. Risks that people with cooler heads and colder hearts can move through.”

  “No one colder than you sir.”

  “You need to work on your flattery. Do you have names? Locations? Details?”

  He knew how much Hood liked details. “All written down.”

  “Good. Leave it with me, and come back tomorrow at the same time. There will be a plan in place then.”

  “As you wish.” He turned as if to go.

  “It helps to pretend you’re not in such a huge rush you forget the details.”

  “Oh.”

  Hood did sometimes wonder whether the
y had been too effective in creating and maintaining their reputation. It did seem to encourage loyalty, but fear could cause mistakes.

  A sheaf of papers was placed on the desk.

  “Anything else?” The messenger asked, really, really hoping the answer was no, go straight home and lie down.

  “The accountant.”

  “Yes?”

  “What were you talking about?”

  “I, er, I…” Lie? Should he lie? Was there any harm in lying? Actually yes, he might get the other man killed and, when it came down to it, the accountant didn’t deserve that. “I tried to get him to bring you the news.”

  “And he didn’t.”

  “No. But … it was unfair of me.”

  Hood nodded. You needed hard, evil bastards in this game, but it was handy to know who the good ones were.

  “Thank you. Dismissed.”

  *****

  “I think we’re done for the day,” Daeholf said, wiping his arms.

  “Finally,” Trimas said, sitting down.

  Erik gave him a grin. “You were starting to get it there, I actually got nearly half a day’s honest work out of each of you.”

  “Half? Nearly?” Trimas protested. Daeholf sighed.

  “I’m sure you’ll all do better tomorrow,” Erik said.

  “Well that’s something to look forward to,” Daeholf said, flexing his shoulders.

  “Trouble,” Zedek said from his position lounging in the doorway. “And they don’t look much like customers.”

  “Our men?” Daeholf said.

  “Pretty sure, yes,” Zedek said.

  “How many?” Trimas said, standing back up with a groan.

  “Six,” Zedek said before ducking back into the shop and closing the door behind him.

  “How far?” Daeholf said.

  “End of the street, coming this way. We don’t have long,” Zedek said.

  “Six is more than we were expecting,” Trimas said. “You really must have pissed them off,” he said to Erik. “That or there’s something you’re not telling us about last time.”

  “I’ve been completely up front. Perhaps they’re going to send a message,” Erik said.

  “Your limp was a good start I’d have thought,” Zedek said.

  “Perhaps to the shops nearby,” Erik said.