They filed in and smelt … something strange.
Trimas responded by picking a jar up, going to the shopkeeper and asking, “What’s this?”
“Those are pickled delights sir.”
“Well, yes, you’re a pickler, I know that…”
“Busiest time of the year for us, winter.”
“Yes, I know that too, but, the thing is … these look like pickled strawberries.”
“That is correct. You have a jar of our finest strawberries. Would you like that in a bag?”
“No, no,wait. Why have you done that?” Trimas said, eyebrow raised.
“What?”
“Pickled strawberries. Like, vinegar and stuff and strawberries…”
“It is a delicacy that some of our customers love.”
Trimas was still peering. “I know you live in the cold but that’s really odd.”
The pickler looked down a long nose at Trimas with perfect contempt.
“I suspect sir is from the southern regions of the empire. Would sir like something a little more to his taste?”
To be honest, given the look on his face, it was a miracle those words came out instead of ‘fuck off from my shop right now’.
A few minutes later Zedek and Trimas were back on the street, eating pickles out of a jar with two tiny pieces of wood.
“So you joked about the strawberries being terrible and then bought these?” Zedek queried as he munched.
“You don’t like them?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know at all.”
“You’ll get to like them.”
“I think I’d have preferred…”
“Yes, alright, I was surprised, don’t you start.”
“A very strange shop.”
“A shame Daeholf missed it.”
They walked, chewing.
“Poor bastard is probably desperate to get out of bed,” Trimas decided.
“Yes, he’ll be stiff if he doesn’t walk about soon.”
“How long before we start encouraging him onto the streets?”
“I guess we have to let him decide.”
“He’ll want a break from Elena soon enough. Ex soldiers either hate being with sergeants, or they love them. Given how Daeholf left, not sure he wants one around.”
“True. So what do we do with the jar?”
“Sell it on.”
“Now that is a handy economic feature. This place is well thought through.”
“Bastion’s evolved a lot of features other places copy. I guess if you’re stuck out here far away you just get on with it.”
“So why don’t we stay here for a while?”
“Maybe we will. I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to be around Karina’s machinations all this time.”
“Good word.”
“Thank you.”
“What do you think of Karina?”
“I have a growing phobia of powerfully connected people ever since I totally failed to deal with a few in the senate.”
“But she’s not official.”
“That’s worse.”
“Oh. Yes, I can see that…”
“Have the pickles grown on you yet?”
“I believe it takes longer than a short walk.”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
Zedek stopped dead. “What?”
“You won’t lose the taste of those for a week. They’ll grow on you, because you have no choice.”
“I knew the strawberries would be a better idea!” Zedek shook his head and they began walking again.
“I grew up on these things,” Trimas protested.
“No you didn’t, unless you’re about to give me some story about hiding in the cook’s quarters and being fed normal food.”
“No.”
“Right then. So, where did you eat them?”
“The army,” Trimas said triumphantly. “They take away the taste of the biscuit.” Then he began to look sad.
Zedek nodded, and decided not to press the issue any more.
*****
Hal stood outside the office, thinking. Things were different now. Hood was clearly gone and though privately he doubted the stories of how, it was clear that something had happened. The fact that there was no body didn’t matter. He’d disappeared a couple of people in his time and just because you couldn’t see them didn’t make them any less dead. And that had left a new man in charge.
A new man. Hah. He had to give it to Darek, he’d played it well, having them all running errands, distracting them with his Hood granted authority until he’d had the opportunity to consolidate. When it had finally become clear that Hood was gone, there was already someone else in place.
Darek had clearly known more about what had happened to Hood than he’d let on. At the very least he’d known about the death before any of the rest had, which had given him his opportunity. He’d never have moved like this if he thought Hood might still be around somewhere.
How he’d known was the important thing here. Hal wasn’t the most senior of those who were left, though some others were looking to him, so he’d been okay with following orders, at least initially. Where Darek had got his information was something that was increasingly gnawing at him though. Had he killed Hood to take his place?
It didn’t seem believable really. Hood had been such a powerful and careful figure. For a man like Darek to have got the best of him would be disappointing to say the least. Maybe he’d employed someone more competent to take on the job. But he didn’t know of many brave or stupid enough in the city to try, let alone manage it and get away clean. Maybe it had just been an accident and Darek had become aware of it first. That was probably more likely.
Either way, it didn’t much matter. Bosses died in this business. New bosses took over. It was the way of things. The important thing, though, was how the boss managed when they did. Things weren’t looking quite so good there.
He decided.
He opened the door and stepped in without knocking. “There’s another three dead,” he said.
Darek looked up from where he was sitting at the desk. He thought he caught a quickly hidden sneer on Hal’s face. “How many is that this week?” he replied.
“Five,” Hal said grimly.
“And how many of them have we taken down?”
“Doesn’t matter. They’ll keep coming now. They’ve smelled blood.”
“We kill enough of them, they’ll back off same as ever. They’re just testing us now that Hood is gone.”
“It’s more than testing.”
“We’ve been here before. They’ll stop sooner or later.”
“Sooner or later? How many of us do you remember dying in these sorts of things previously under Hood?”
Darek frowned. “We’ve had a couple of turf wars,” he said.
“Which ended quickly when Hood showed his strength,” Hal stated. “There’s been nothing more than the occasional prod for ages. They’ve been too scared to try more.”
“There was the battle on the docks,” Darek pointed out.
“There was the ambush. How many of us died?”
“None.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t see what you’re getting at. A rival is trying to push in, we’re giving them a battle. They’ll lose stomach for the the fight like they all do and things will get back to normal, fast. It won’t take long for us to replace our losses.”
“You really don’t understand this world do you?”
Darek frowned. “Better than you seem to think.”
Hal ignored him. “It’s not about how strong you are. It’s how strong you appear. We appear weak which is why the sharks are circling.”
“We’re winning the fights.”
“Most,” Hal conceded. “But you’re reacting, not understanding their moves, planning. It’s getting worse. You’re losing to them. Slowly, but you are. Hood would never have let it get this far.”
“Hood i
s not here.”
“More’s the pity.”
“And perhaps you think you could do better?”
“Perhaps,” Hal said calmly.
“So what would you be doing instead then?” Darek said, frowning and tensing for trouble.
Hal sighed. “You shouldn’t have let that pass. This is exactly what I’ve been telling you. I come in here and tell Hood I can do a better job, I get thrown back down the stairs or leave in pieces, an example to the rest. I should respect you or fear you enough not to try.”
“So what happens now?” Darek said, standing up. “You take over?”
“I take over,” Hal said. “I’m sure you understand the process. You took over from Hood after all.”
“And if I don’t want you to take over?”
“I’m sure you did Hood good service. Probably done all of us some good at some stage, so let’s not make this any more unpleasant than necessary.” Actions in contrast to his words, Hal pulled out a knife.
“You want me to stand here whilst you kill me?”
“It’ll hurt less that way,” Hal said calmly.
Darek answered him by pulling out a knife of his own.
“As you wish,” Hal said.
Darek stepped in, slashing quickly with his knife. Hal leaned out of the way before catching his wrist. He poked Darek deep in the gut with his own knife. Darek sagged instantly.
“If you’re going to carry one, you should learn how to use it,” Hal said, letting him fall to the floor. He looked down at him. “That’s going to hurt. It might take a couple of hours to die. You should have taken the easy way.”
Darek grimaced, hand pressed to the wound, blood seeping from between his fingers. “You won’t get away with this,” he forced out.
“I already have,” Hal said, wiping his knife. “Now I’m going to leave you to experience this by yourself whilst I go clean up the mess you’ve made of things.”
With one last look at the man on the floor, he turned and left, closing the door behind him. He stood outside, reflecting. Shame it had come to that. There was a noise from the office. Hal opened the door again, looking to see what Darek was doing, but he was gone. He looked around. No sign, not even a blood trail.
It didn’t matter. He could find a hole to die in secretly if he wanted to. With the wound he’d given him, there wasn’t a man in the city that could save him.
*****
Vesek allowed himself a smile. A rare thing, those, in the time he’d been hiding, but now he was out and the blood was high.
The man he was tailing was moving slowly, and Vesek took this for a sign that the man’s activities had worn him out, made him suitable prey for these coming moments, made him stupidly vulnerable. Did these citizens ever learn? There was a killer in Bastion and they should be afraid.
The man in front paused. He had on a long cloak, and under it a sword. Not a military blade, but an ornate weapon that must surely snap if it was used in battle. The man had been an officer, and was now spending his time invading the wives of all the other nobles of this city.
What did they call it? A libertine?
What a stupid term, Vesek thought to himself, with its connotations of freedom. This man, this vermin he followed, had given into lust again and again and now lived his life according to what fleeting physical pleasures he could take, what relationships could be broken. There was no freedom in being this addicted, this drunk to the body, to me moments. Vesek knew people sat and studied his paintings for ages, but this man’s pleasure was seconds.
The fact Vesek had stalked this prey through a very lengthy assignation was not registering in his fevered mind.
Yes, he thought, I have found another person who deserves to die, and this time a hundred cuckolded husbands should pay me their regards.
A darker smile, darker than ever before. He, Vesek, an elf among humans, lauded for his greatness.
It could happen.
But first, to kill him.
The man had begun walking, as slowly as ever, clearly exhausted. There was hardly any need to lure him anywhere, it would be quicker to just cut him down here. But Vesek knew there were certain protocols to being a successful killer, ideas in his mind even now, and he waited until the man turned into an alley and put a hand down to his trousers.
Stepping into the alley, Vesek drew his bronze knife and closed in.
Then he discovered a very important fact.
The quarry was not tired, or slowed through lack of any energy. The quarry was merely wistful, about the pleasures of the night, and had enough energy to sense the person behind him, make a very quick mental calculation, and to draw his blade, having just enough room in the alley to do so.
They then paused, Vesek standing in the entrance, a single knife raised high, and down into the darkness a man with a thin sword raised defensively.
Both wondered what to do, what was happening.
Vesek had never found himself faced with a weapon before. He had killed secretly, suddenly, and had sliced up the defenceless. Now this man had a blade… He didn’t actually know how to react.
For his part, the man was trying to work out if he was being mugged or murdered, and hoped this assailant would run away before anyone needed to die and an explanation was given to the watch. The man wasn't really supposed to be in this area and it would be better if certain husbands didn't think he was.
A pause which began to get silly.
“Fuck off,” the man tried.
Vesek looked at the sword. Thin, jewelled. Clearly useless, to his mind. But still pointy … and elves did not like pointy.
He stepped back, and every fibre of his soul screamed to kill this weak creature and finish the job, called on him to fight forward and murder. Every fibre of his being, momentarily more killer than elf, told him to kill.
So he tried. Vesek moved with great speed forward, aiming to get alongside the sword and stab in with his blade. Years of eleven training, to not charge a longer weapon with a smaller one overcome by his bloodlust.
The duellist had years of training too, and he moved with equal speed, slashing out to repel, not to kill, still wanting to drive this thief away.
Vesek found himself moments later back where he had come from, the feeling of hot blood on his chest and a line cut across him. Not enough to kill…
...but enough to remind him he was an elf, not someone to die in a fight in an alley. Now he leapt backwards and began running.
The libertine exhaled at having got away with not being caught or robbed, and prepared to continue the creep back home. Until his brain finally made a very important connection, and he realised that a man with a knife could mean one key thing, could mean the Nightwalker, and the man surged forward in pursuit, not bothering to sheathe the sword.
Vesek ran, ran faster than he ever had, sprinting down streets, turning this way and that, determined to put distance and doubt between him and that evil blade which stung his chest. He let his heart pound and his muscles burn on this journey, until he slammed himself into an alley, leaned against a wall and waited. Closed his eyes, felt the sting, felt the burning in his body and waited.
No rushing footsteps, no guards or swordsman running round, just the occasional footfall. Bastion quiet.
Vesek stepped out and looked around, realised he needed to sheathe his own blade, then walked back to his hideaway. As he moved he looked at the bronze, and saw an area of damage too large for him to sharpen himself.
It must have happened when he parried the sword…
What he needed was a professional with the right equipment, or he’d need to find another knife.
He would never use another knife.
*****
The hammering continued, on and on.
Regis looked up from where he’d been working, and for the eighth time today pondered whether he should move premises.
Okay, technically he was working for this blacksmith sharpening, so he couldn’t really find a new, quieter
building without breaking away and starting on his own, and he knew he owed this man for his employment.
Elena would never approve of either.
But by God wasn’t that hammering annoying. How did the smith’s arm not fall off! It just went on and on.
Regis closed his eyes and looked at the knife in his hands. An easy job, made difficult by the urgent desire to murder the smithy…
Oh there it was.
There it was.
Anger at someone other than a soldier. A desire to lash out more. The hunger spreading slightly. A brief, flashing expansion. The noise, that infuriating noise, driving him further than ever, driving him…
Regis put a hand out to the workbench. This was bad. Very bad. He had to keep some control over all this, he had to just kill the soldiers. That smithy was innocent, had been kind to him, he had to get this sorted out.
The hand now went to his head. What Regis needed was some sort of distraction.
Voices.
He was hearing voices.
For one awful second Regis thought he was going mad, before he came out of his introspection and realised there was a customer next door with the smith.
Regis sighed and relaxed. Just one silly moment and…
“Yeah, for that you’ll want him,” and Regis could imagine the smith gesturing with his thumb to where the sharpener sat.
A distraction alright.
The door between the rooms opened and a man stepped in. Regis noted how tall Vesek was, how thin, and concluded the man needed food and a wash.
“Hello sir…”
Vesek looked around the room, peering. “You seem … well equipped. Are you very skilled at knives?”
Regis allowed himself a little brag. “I can sharpen anything.”
“Good, how do you feel about this?”
A knife was offered up, a funny looking knife.
“Is that bronze?”
“Yes.”
“And … yes that’s quite a mark.”
“Can you repair it to be perfect again?”
“Of course. Give me a few days and…”
“No.”
“No?”
“I need it done immediately. I can wait outside.”
“The smith will charge you heavily for water alone. There’s an inn nearby.” Regis noticed the reaction on Vesek’s face.
Knives of Bastion (An Empire Falls Book 2) Page 52