Knives of Bastion (An Empire Falls Book 2)

by Harry Leighton

  This wasn’t him. Or her.

  This was someone else.

  So, a different killer. Which, she had to admit, wasn’t exactly rare in Bastion, but that meant someone else to catch.

  Elena stood now, looking at the room. The knife was missing and something was nagging at her, tapping in her mind. Some important point.

  Elena came back down the stairs, and was greeted with a howl.

  “My wife, you’ve seen her, my wife!”

  Elena studied this room. The fire was nearly out … so… She touched something, and knew.

  She walked back over to the husband. “You were out before you found the body. Outside.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s raining. It’s been raining. Not lightly either. But your cloak is dry.”

  “What?”

  “The cloak you said you hung up when you came in. It’s dry. It wouldn’t be. So you lied. You didn’t go out. Which means you’d have been here when she was killed.”

  “What … what are you saying?”

  Elena turned to the guards. “Search this house.”

  “No!” And the husband leapt up. Elena pushed him right back down again.

  “I’d sit quietly if I were you. If you’ve nothing to hide.”

  He looked down, morose.

  The guards didn’t like taking orders from Elena, but they did like taking a house apart, so they started a search.

  A little while later, a guard came inside from the yard.

  “We found this,” and he held up a bloody shirt. It was wet, because it had actually been outside. “Stuffed in the gutter.”

  “I don’t know how that got there,” the husband protested.

  “You are under arrest for the murder of your wife. If you resist we will take you by force.” Force tended to get used anyway.

  “I didn’t! I didn’t!”

  “Then can you explain what that is? Do you go around hiding bloody clothing in downpipes a lot?”

  He let himself be stood up and led out.

  Elena allowed herself a smile at solving this one, and then turned to the guard who had been doing the questioning. He scowled at her.

  Of course he did.

  She didn’t let it show, but she allowed the frustration to churn inside her. She’d solved a murder in quick time through being aware of her surroundings, and her colleagues, the people she was supposed to be working with, they didn’t care. They didn’t want crimes solved, they wanted her out of the guard and far, far away.

  She knew that even if she caught the Nightwalker, they wouldn’t welcome her, and that nearly broke her spirit.

  But only nearly.

  *****

  The artist looked up from his sheet of parchment. The watch station was an ... interesting shape. The architect had clearly been trying to capture some of the more stylistic elements of the city’s architecture to try and make it fit in with a few of the buildings nearby, whilst at the same time trying to make the structure functional. The end result had been something of a mess, neither one thing nor another. An artistic fortification, if indeed that was a thing. In many ways representative of the city itself, in fact, he thought to himself as he sketched the lines of the structure in charcoal on the parchment.

  Much as he didn’t like to admit it to himself, he found the city fascinating. So many disparate elements coming together as a whole. And in the main somehow it largely worked. So much chaos. And yet just enough organisation to get things done. Atypical of the rest of the empire in so many ways he knew. Though whether that was for good or ill, who was to say.

  There was a certain aesthetic to the place though. At once intriguing and annoying. Very much unlike home.

  And of course the watch station housed the watch. Who themselves were also very interesting. He’d expected wannabe soldiers and do-gooders. But the lack of an imperial legion in the area had made them more important. Part of the city guard and thus responsible for the defence of the city in more ways than one.

  That there was no legion deployed here was fascinating. Out on the fringes of the empire. The northern border. So surely it would have made sense. But maybe the empire didn’t have enough money. Or other priorities. The war in the south had been a big draw on the army’s strength. But the lack of a local legion may well prove to be a mistake. Certainly if the rumours he’d heard were true. There had been talk of an internal uprising to the south and east. And no matter how much the governor tried to suppress talk of it, it was still on people’s lips. Oh there was no expectation of the same happening here. The people all seemed too happy to rebel.

  But … a rebellion. In the south or the east. Now that would have been something to see. A battle. A War. Perhaps neighbour against neighbour. Friend against friend. So much to draw. He paused, musing, trying to picture it.

  That would have been a long way from home though. Too far even for him. And the chances of the same happening here were slim. Shame. It would be exciting. As long as he could view it all from a place of sufficient safety. No need to get involved directly of course. Just look on and be inspired.

  Safety though. That seemed to be one of the forces driving the architecture of the city. He had many sketches of the walls. Tall. Thick. Safe. There was a solidity to the place, driven itself no doubt by the ever-present walls around them. And the walls had also clearly been augmented in recent years. No doubt at great expense. Even more formidable than they had ever been.

  The watchhouse he was sketching continued the theme, certainly very solid looking, seemingly continuing the city’s fascination with stone, though he didn’t know of any active quarries nearby now. Plenty of wood from the forests but that seemed almost too easy for the builders here. The city had money and was clearly showing it off. Exhausting local supplies, more had to be shipped in from further away.

  Vanity.

  But effective vanity nonetheless. He pitied anyone trying to invade. Not that it was likely to happen any time soon. Legion or not, the place was a fortress. Any opponent would be foolish to try anything.

  So there. Back to his drawing. A sweeping line on the parchment gave both a semblance of the roof of the watchhouse but also at the same time symbolised the strength housed within. He smiled. As far as the city was concerned, his art was unique. Like nothing anyone local was doing. Which was why it seemed to have developed a certain demand and commanded a good price. He could make a fair living at it if he tried. He had everything he needed materially… And yet something was missing. He didn’t feel whole. Art, though satisfying in many ways, didn’t quite sate the need for something deep inside him. He shrugged and continued his sketch, focusing on the lines. Alike and unlike so many of the city’s other official buildings in so many ways. He’d seen and sketched many of them, building up quite a library. Such interesting subject matter.

  He sketched on and time passed. No one paid him much attention, he had the knack of blending in, which suited him. He didn’t like to be disturbed when he was busy. Or really at all, truth be told.

  He saw some activity at the door to the watchhouse. Shift change. Which meant more watchmen around for a while. More watchmen meant there was a chance that one of them might want to talk to him. That would be … inconvenient.

  *****

  “Do your legs not ache?”

  Trimas and Daeholf had managed to get themselves laid out on the floor of the cell so they were relatively comfy, but this was only possible because Zedek was sat with his legs and knees pulled up tight to him. They hadn’t badgered him into this position, he had naturally adopted it and they had fitted round him.

  It just struck Trimas as very odd.

  Zedek replied, “No, no, I’m fine.”

  “Are you just saying that?”

  “Really, I’m fine.”

  “Very odd,” Trimas concluded.

  Daeholf laughed. “One moment you’re concerned for him and the next you’re calling him odd. Very nice.”

  “It is odd. There was a g
eneral once, long time ago, who used to punish soldiers by putting them in a cage so they had to sit like that for a few days. They say some people went mad inside it, and everyone was scared.”

  “Sounds like an arse,” Daeholf concluded.

  “What happened to him?” Zedek enquired.

  “They put him in the cage and lit a fire under him.”

  Daeholf nodded. “I can see why they give aspiring generals these history lessons. Else you’d all be fucking idiots.”

  “It might help if people listened to history,” Zedek agreed.

  “If this is turning into a barb about me and getting involved in politics, I knew the history. I just underestimated a few things.”

  “Just not your own ability.”

  “Very funny.”

  Zedek had a question of his own. “How long do you think they’ll keep us in here?”

  “They’ll probably let us stew, then fine us.” Daeholf was shaking his head. “Because we have so much money to spare for a fine.”

  “We can charge Kellan,” Zedek tried.

  “I think we are now outside Kellan’s zone of help. We are on our own until we get this sorted one way or another.”

  “I doubt they’ll come back,” Zedek concluded.

  “We killed some, that’ll send a message. But thick heads can need banging more than once.”

  “Which means we shouldn’t be in a cell, we should be out there helping.”

  “Exactly.”

  Trimas folded his arms. “We’ve been in here long enough, have you worked out any plans for escape?”

  “No.”

  “You were a scout, their entire livelihood is based on escaping.”

  “No,” Daeholf repeated, “we are not escaping because we are needed in this city and are not going on the run. We need to be let out legally and then resume our careers as butchers.”

  “Erik is probably pleased we’re locked up when it comes to meat preparation.”

  “You have a point there Zedek. A very good point.”

  “I’m sure all apprentices start like that,” Trimas tried.

  “You’ve been an apprentice, have you?”

  “Of sorts. In the military. You don’t just get a legion.” Zedek opened his mouth to say something, so Trimas carried on. “Alright, you don’t normally just get a legion. We can all sit here and name the unusual ones.”

  “Please God, let us out of here.”

  Footsteps could be heard coming down the corridor, and they stopped outside the cell door.

  “Did God just listen to you?”

  “That would be a first.”

  A key turned in the lock.

  “God did something!”

  “Alright you three, you can go,” and the guard waved them out.

  “Leave?”

  “Yes. Right now.”

  “No fine?”

  “No.”

  “Not even a bollocking?”

  “No murder charge. The bounty sheets turned up for the two you killed. So just fuck off because we have royalty coming in.”

  Daeholf and Trimas looked at each other. They had an idea who had produced those, but murder charge? They’d really been near a murder charge? Clearly bounty hunting was not a solution to every problem.

  As they stood, Daeholf asked, “And who is that?”

  “We have a magistrate. Nice of you to warm the floor for him, shame you didn’t shit in the bucket.”

  “Which magistrate?”

  “Korvax.”

  “You know the magistrates?” Trimas asked Daeholf.

  “No, but it might come in useful.”

  They had now stepped into the corridor and were walking some life back into their legs.

  “Let’s get out of here and get some food inside us.”

  “I think you need to go and give thanks at a temple.”

  “If there’s one on the way.”

  As they walked through, they found a man in torn robes and a bandaged hand swearing at everyone he saw. Blood had seeped through the white cloth, and had smeared onto his robes. His eyes were red, and spittle flecked his mouth.

  “Korvax?” Daeholf asked.

  “Fuck you too, fuck all of you, you can’t do this to me. You can’t execute me!”

  Deciding to leave the guards to it, Daeholf led his friends outside.

  “You know,” Trimas said in a voice oddly sad, “I sometimes wish I could see the Emperor reduced to that.”

  “That’s two of us,” Daeholf added.

  “I’d just like to see this emperor,” Zedek added.

  “Well when we develop a death wish we’ll go stand in a procession at the capital.”

  “Doesn’t he have to conquer somewhere first?”

  “Oh, that’s a really big procession. They manage to fit in lots of small ones.”

  “Small being relative.”

  *****

  Elena had finally managed to speak to the man who had been working the Nightwalker murders before her, an experience she’d been looking forward to. A fellow guard, conveying what he knew, it sounded so good in theory.

  In practice, the man had been pleased to get off the case and seemed disinterested in helping the next person on it.

  Or maybe that was because it was her.

  One moment of shining success against terrible odds, and now she was the black sheep of the guard.

  No, more than that. If she’d been a sheep they’d have eaten her. As it was they just ignored her as best they could.

  But Elena refused to be dispirited, because she had recently solved a murder, and she knew she would catch the Nightwalker too.

  This mood was punctured when she turned down a street, saw the guardhouse on the right, and three very familiar people walking away from it.

  Very familiar indeed.

  Her anger rising, Elena ran to the guardhouse and inside, where a scribe was making notes from a recently returned guard.

  “Has anyone escaped?” Elena asked.

  “What, escaped?

  “Yes. Three men, the soldiers who just left, I can see them walking down the street. Have they escaped?”

  “No, I just signed them out.”

  Elena nodded and bent over the desk. “Why have you signed them out?”

  “We need their cell.”

  “What?”

  “The Thieftaker has made a big arrest. Magistrate Korvax.”

  Elena’s anger was momentarily forgotten. “Korvax? Actual Magistrate Korvax?”

  “The very same, he’s currently in a cell.”

  “What for? Korvax?”

  “Taking bribes.”

  “And he’s locked up here?”

  “Vika said we’re making an example of him. Common cell like everyone else gets. Good to see him brought low.”

  It boggled the mind. Was no one immune for Vika? As Elena considered it, she realised she was pleased they weren’t.

  Then she remembered the cell.

  “So you let those three out? They murdered someone.”

  “No. They didn’t. Two bounty sheets came in. They didn’t register properly, but they have the paperwork. Good to get rid of them too, they had a fight…”

  “How many people died this time?”

  “No one died. Just hurt some regulars in the cells.”

  “God, these are violent soldiers, everywhere they go people get hurt, even killed, and you let them out onto the streets?”

  “Two bounty sheets.”

  “Then let them stew for a few days. At least fine them!”

  “We need the cells.”

  Elena raised a protesting hand. “We have several cells, why them?”

  And then she knew.

  Oh, yes, the arrival of Korvax did mean a space had to be made. But there was only one reason those three had been chosen for release. Only one reason they were free.

  Because Elena had arrested them.

  Because they were a way of getting back at her.

  Up
until now Elena had been angry, but as she stood in that building and felt the eyes of the guards on her, the anger drained out of her to be replaced by something else.

  A black cloud that threatened to drag her down.

  “Okay,” she forced out, and then walked back outside and down the street, with legs that now felt heavy and hard.

  It doesn’t matter does it.

  It doesn’t matter what you do, they’re going to fight you.

  Arrest three bounty hunters for overstepping, and even though they did it, even though there are witnesses to be spoken to, they don’t spend even a few days in the cells thinking, and they’re not even fined, because people want to fight you, Elena, you, no matter what.

  Would the killer be freed next? Some clever excuse giving the guards an excuse and he’ll be out the door?

  And the Nightwalker? What if she ever caught them? Would they be ignored or freed out of nothing but spite?

  Elena realised she was walking randomly, drifting through the city, and tried to get her control back. That was all she had most days, control, to keep her emotions hidden and do her best, because part of her wanted to storm back into the guardhouse and rant and rave to her superiors, to her juniors, set them all straight.

  Part of her wanted to collapse on her bed and weep at it all.

  She had to keep those apart, had to chart a middle course.

  Not for the first time she switched into a defensive mode, her mind taking on the role of a ship’s captain, leading his vessel through the storm. She would stand at the wheel, and she would lead herself through these two halves as the storms crashed alongside her.

  She felt herself calming, the weight reducing, her old self coming back, and she looked up to see a baker’s shop.

  Ah, she thought, I can finally get something. Something nice for Regis and I.

  Something tugged at her heart, and she felt it deeply. If she felt like this, such turmoil, and all she had lost was advancement or respect from her career, how did her brother feel? What was it like for him?

  Did he have a ship’s captain?

  Was that her role for the both of them?

  Because she would, if she needed to, carry the weight of both.