None of which would help if those men abandoned their friend and followed, and knew the makeup of this city.
Vesek’s heart was pounding in his shallow chest, and his breath was growing ragged. He turned a corner, slammed himself against a roughly plastered wall, and peered around so only his head was visible.
He needed it quiet, so he could listen, so he could hide, but someone was beating a drum that would call people to him.
A drum?
He realised it was his heartbeat, that no one could hear, and he felt silly, just a little sliver among the other emotions racing across his mind and body.
Emotions he hadn’t felt in a long while.
At the top were the newer feelings, those he had become familiar with on his stay in this city. There was the anger and the hatred towards these citizens, the oil of murder which sprang from a limitless well in his heart. How easily he felt it when observing these people, and how much he had to observe.
The oil yes, but the fire raged in him too, the desire to hurt and kill, to cut and carve, the need, the actual fucking need to murder.
But that need was blunted. He felt like he had run into a wall, not having sated his hunger, not having killed… Although he had killed, hadn’t he, the arrow had struck in a chest, but he hadn’t finished his work, he hadn’t delivered the final judgement.
He was like an unfinished artwork, or a lover pulled away.
So what to do…
He could find someone else and kill them…
How easy. He had his knives, he had his bow, he had a city to prowl in and many dark streets to take him. He could walk into whatever this building was and slaughter everyone with it.
He could kill, because killing was easy and so satisfying.
But it was wrong, the feeling within him was growing wrong. You couldn’t just hunt, be stopped, and resume hunting, it was all ruined, all spoiled. Those men, even with one dead, hadn’t cut a rope that could be tied together, they had smashed a cake all over the street and it would never be eaten.
Cake?
Oil?
He put a hand to his head, and felt he was going mad. He wasn’t thinking, his blood was up but the moment wasn’t right, he was a killer who couldn’t kill. Not this night.
And yet … that wasn’t all.
Other emotions, deep within him, rising up.
Fear. The dark scent of fear.
Not anger. Not Hate. Not even the patronising stare of an artist who sold works to people he considered fools.
Fear.
Vesek had walked this city like a god of death, killing where he wanted, hiding where he wanted, and the citizens had not caught him, the guard had not caught him, even their fabled Thieftaker seemed oddly inhibited. Only one rotting beggar had ever clapped eyes on him, and that man would be stepped on by the guard before he was ever listened to. Probably dead by now anyway.
But now he was known, sighted, pursued by trained people.
Known? How much could they have seen?
He looked down at himself, and felt reassured that he had dressed to blend in, apart from the bow, and he would have to get that and himself home soon. Had they seen his face?
He hadn’t seen much of theirs, so maybe he was safe on that regard.
But they knew his height, his build, and they knew he was on the roofs. Had they been stationed there to hunt him? Were they a new militia after him? What had they been doing, sat right where he wanted to go?
Had his gods sent an obstacle? A test? A message?
Or was it just stinking bad luck.
He realised he was peering round a corner. No one had come, jumped down, followed in any way, so the group had stuck together and were no doubt trying to pull an arrow from the poor bastard.
Which meant Vesek could turn and force himself to walk normally away through the streets, as if he had every right to be there and not arrested.
His heart was no calmer, his breath little better, but the anger was going, the feeling of being blunted, smashed.
He wished it had remained, because what replaced it was a growing tide of black liquid in his mind, swamping his thoughts and making his body heavy, too heavy to seem nonchalant on this night.
The liquid of panic, already in his chest and his head, now making his hands shake, making him want to fall and kneel and whimper.
He was partly disgusted. He had watched this cosseted citizenry with their crazy god and their endless corruption, and seen their weakness. Seen it, judged it, hated it. But now he wanted to be weak too, to fall and wail.
But it was only a small part because the rest was so strong.
Vesek turned a corner, slipped down a tiny street only one person in width, and permitted himself to wipe the sweat off his face. To put a cheek on the cool wall, to force his breathing to return to normal.
He had much to learn from this, including how easy it was to be seen, and how the old fears he’d struggled with as he’d approached this city weren’t as buried as his daytime arrogance had insisted.
He would need to find out what the guard had learned.
He would need to plan a new killing, and not rush into confusing, desperate lunges.
He would need to stay hidden for a few days as everything cleared.
And, for the first time in his life, he wished he had allowed himself the same release as those around him, drinking until the edge came off the turmoil of life.
*****
Erik awoke to a banging on his door. He got up and rushed over to see what was happening as quickly as he could, knife in hand. He threw the door open, relaxing only slightly when he saw it was Trimas.
“What? What is it? Are they back? Do we need to flee?” Erik said.
“No. No. It’s not like that. We need your help,” Trimas said.
“My help? At this time of night? What are you talking about?” Erik said, taking in Trimas’s state and haunted look. He took an involuntary step back.
“It’s best you come and see. He’s in our room,” Trimas said.
“Who is?” Erik said, looking confused.
“Daeholf,” Trimas said, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.
“What does he need my help with?”
“Please just come with me,” Trimas said, grabbing Erik’s arm and almost manhandling him out of the door and guiding him quickly to the other room.
Erik took in the scene quickly. Daeholf was immobile on the bed, sheets blood and mud stained. Zedek was at his side, rag pressed to the fallen man’s chest.
“What the hell? Is he alive?” Erik said, shocked.
“He’s hurt,” Trimas said.
“I can see that. But he’s not moving,” Erik said doubtfully.
“He’s still breathing,” Zedek confirmed.
“Who did this?” Erik said. “Will they be coming back for the rest of us?”
“We don’t know and we don’t know,” Trimas said.
“What do you want me to do?” Erik said, turning to look at Trimas, eyes wide.
“Get the arrow out. Stitch him up. Help him,” Trimas said.
“Me?” Erik said.
“Are you sure about this?” Zedek said.
“What choice do we have?” Trimas said
“That’s not helping,” Erik said.
“Do you want him to die? Here, now? In your home?” Trimas said.
“No. Of course not,” Erik said.
“Then save him. Please,” Trimas said.
“Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m a butcher, not a surgeon. I’m who you’d come to after he died. And then only if he was a cow or a pig or something,” Erik said.
“We know. But he needs help. And we can’t. You’re someone who has a chance. And you’re better at this than we are.”
Erik looked at Daeholf for a long moment before coming to a decision. “Get my tools,” he said to Trimas. Trimas dashed off. “What are we dealing with?” Erik said to Zedek.
“Arrow to the chest. J
ust above his heart I think. I hope. He’s bled quite a bit,” Zedek replied.
“What’s with all the mud?” Erik said.
“He was on a roof when it happened. It caused him to fall off,” Zedek said.
“How is he still alive?” Erik said.
“I don’t know. But he is. But I don’t think he will be for much longer if we don’t do something,” Zedek said.
“Have you tried pulling the arrow?” Erik said, approaching the bed.
“Can’t. It broke off when he fell on it.”
Erik looked to the heavens. “Um, okay, keep the rag on it, try and keep the bleeding down,” he said after a moment. He moved around to the side of the bed next to Zedek. “Let me look quickly though,” he added.
Zedek lifted the rag. Erik saw the broken shaft of wood sticking through the bloody tunic. “Shit,” he said. “You’re sure he’s still alive?”
“It’s not like you could do any more harm if he’s not,” Zedek said.
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” Erik said doubtfully. “You said he fell too. Are there any other injuries?”
“I don’t know. He’s covered in mud and unresponsive,” Zedek said. “If he has any, they’re probably not as serious as the arrow.”
“That’s bad enough,” Erik said.
Trimas came crashing back up the stairs and into the room. He held out a bag with a variety of butcher’s tools rammed in it.
“Put them down at the end of the bed,” Erik said. “Okay, make some room,” he added to Zedek. Zedek backed out of the way. Erik used the knife he had been intending to defend himself with to cut away Daeholf’s clothing around the wound.
“What’s going on?” came a woman’s voice from the door to the other room.
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” Erik shouted back. “It’s in hand.”
“What’s all the noise for? Are we under attack?”
“No, and it’s okay. One of our guests got a bit hurt so we’re tending to him. Please go back to bed,” Erik said.
“If you say so.” They heard a door close. Erik sighed and bent back over Daeholf, knife in hand.
"You need to wash the wound out with clean water. In fact you need to clean everything first," Trimas said.
"Do you want to do this?" Erik said, turning to look at him.
"Um, no," Trimas said.
"And yet you're suddenly experts?" Erik said.
"No. No we're not," Zedek said.
"Then why all the instructions?" Erik said.
"Well we've met someone in the past who had a good success rate with these sorts of things," Trimas said.
"Perhaps you should get him to do this then," Erik said.
"We can't," Trimas said,
"And why not?" Erik said.
"We..." Zedek started.
"He's too far away," Trimas said quickly and loudly over him.
“Okay,” Erik said. He bent over Daeholf.
“Thank you,” Trimas said.
“I’ve not done anything yet. And I want you to understand something,” Erik said.
“What?” Zedek said.
"There's a good chance this is going to kill him. Though I'm surprised he's not dead already," Erik replied.
"We understand. But some chance to live is better than none," Trimas said.
"Look, I want to help. Really. You've already done a lot for me and my family. I just want you to know the risks. I've seen what you do to people that get on the wrong side of you," Erik said.
"If we try this, we definitely kill him, with you maybe he lives. There will be no come back," Trimas reassured him.
"Well then. Since we understand each other, I'd better get started. Hand me the small knife.” He looked at them. "And some water. I'll rinse it carefully."
*****
The sun might have been on its way up but it did little to lift Elena’s mood as she walked the streets. Investigate a missing cart. If she wasn’t the laughing stock of the station now, she would be soon.
A missing cart. That no one had declared missing. Was the Captain serious? She wasn’t sure. He wasn’t exactly known for making jokes. And she doubted that the Thieftaker would be amused to learn she had been sent on a fake case, so that seemed a bit of a risk for the Captain to take.
Maybe it was real. Or at least it had been reported. But what did that give her? A ghost cart, lost at night. What was she supposed to do with that? Could she just go back and say she’d found nothing?
It was probably daft to have come this early. There would be few people around other than some early risers looking to get ahead of the day’s work. But she couldn’t stay in the watch station now. And she could hardly go home either. It’s not as if there was any chance of sleep in her current state of anger and frustration.
So here she was, walking the muddy streets of the old quarter, looking for an invisible cart that no one was missing.
What should she do first? It wasn’t really light enough to look for signs and she wasn’t going to go door to door, asking people about a phantom cart, especially at this time of day. At least she could walk the area. Get an idea of where the cart was supposedly taken from, try to build a list of the people she’d need to talk to.
Alleys seemed a reasonable place to start. Perhaps if someone had stolen a cart when it was already out of sight no one would see it go. And maybe whatever was in it was the sort of thing you didn’t report stolen. Or maybe it was just her tired imagination trying to conjure a usable case out of nothing.
She picked an alley at random, pulling out her cosh for defence as it didn’t make sense to take chances. Though it would be little defence against an arrow from the roof if the Night Walker decided for some reason to make her next.
That was a horrible thought and she had a momentary shiver. Still if that was the case, there was sod all she could do about it so she might as well get on with things. The alleys weren’t going to search themselves.
She walked along the alley, measuring the walls for distance. Probably not wide enough for a cart. Time for another. She turned off, into a slightly wider one.
This was pointless. Even if the growing light was going to be enough to examine things by, what exactly was she expecting to find? A cart was a cart. How would she see evidence of one compared to another? And a day had passed. Anything could have moved by to cover the non-existent signs. Anywhere that was wide enough to admit a cart was going to be busy enough to have been trampled over again by now. She headed back out onto the main street. One or two people had started to emerge, setting up shops for the day ahead. She approached the closest, noting a well dressed man smoking a pipe standing just outside, regarding her as she approached.
“Have you seen a cart?” Elena said, drained.
“Many. This is a main route. Though perhaps none this morning so far. You’ll need to be a bit more specific than that,” the man said politely, removing his pipe.
“It was stolen nearby,” Elena said.
“Ah. I see. No, I’ve certainly not seen that sort of a cart around here,” the man said with a smile.
“Never mind. Since you seem to be an early riser I thought you might have seen something other people wouldn’t.”
“Of course. Of course. Sorry I can’t help you.”
Elena took a moment to look at the shop. ‘Artefacts and Objects of Interest’ read the sign. Here? “I’m surprised there’s a lot of call for people buying artefacts at this time of day though,” she said.
“You’d be surprised, sergeant. We get all sorts around here and some customers value their privacy.”
Odd. But something to be looked into another day. “I can imagine. Well thank you for your time. And if you do happen to remember anything, please do get in touch,” she said.
“Of course.”
She started walking along the road again, tiredness slowly winning the battle against her anger, making the decision to give up and go home for a few hours at least a little closer wi
th every step.
“Ah, officer. I’m glad you got here so quickly.”
Elena looked around to see an elderly woman approaching. “Quickly?Okay, yes. I’m here. So I gather you saw something?” she said tiredly.
“Yes. Well, heard anyway,” the old lady said.
“So what did you hear?”
“A man crashed off the roof.”
“Roof? What do you mean?”
“There was a man on the roof. Or men.”
“Men on the roof? Did they steal the cart?”
“Cart? What cart?”
“Let’s try this again. There were men on the roof?”
“Yes. I heard them running around.”
“And one of them fell off? Was he hurt?”
“Shot off I think. That’s what the big one said.”
“The big one?”
“The big one that carried him off to help. Along with another smaller man. Aren’t you here about that? I just sent my son running to the watch station a little while ago.”
“I’m sorry, it’s been a long night, lots going on as you can imagine. Can we start again? You said there were men running around on the roof, one got shot and fell off. Someone found him and carried him off to help?”
“That’s it, yes. Though the ones that found him were on the roof too. I’m sure of it.”
“Right. And he said that the man that fell had been shot?”
“With an arrow, yes.”
“Did you see him, could you point him out? Or any of them?”
“No, my sight isn't all that it was these days. I heard it mostly. I’m a light sleeper and they woke me up.”
“Of course. I see. I understand, I mean. So they took the man for help? Do you know where?”
“No, sorry. It can’t have been far away though, I didn’t hear them for long.”
A man shot from the roof. With an arrow. And maybe survived as someone took him to help, though that sort of help was in short supply around here. But maybe she had been lucky after all. Was it possible? Maybe she now had a witness. Or more than one. Maybe there was someone nearby who had seen the Night Walker.
Elena looked around. Her sudden elation disappeared almost instantly. Two doors up was a butcher’s shop. One with a hastily repaired facade. One she’d arrested three men outside not long ago.
Knives of Bastion (An Empire Falls Book 2) Page 21