“What?”
“She is irrelevant, I need the baby.”
Marlen considered reaching out and making the man collapse in agony as his nerves burned, but there was a woman to be aided. Aided very soon.
“Alright,” Marlen sighed, turning to the woman. He put a heavy case down and took another look at her.
“Save the baby.”
“You have made your point, sir.”
Oh how easy to make him suffer.
No.
Things to do.
*****
Brear surveyed his inn with a sense of pride. It was small, it was dirty, the stools and tables were covered in notches and sticky patches, and the clientele was little better. But it was his inn, the one he’d managed to extort from the old owner who’d been foolish enough to hire him, and now it was a gold-making machine.
Okay, not gold, but the silver pennies were flowing through, and that was good enough.
Slowly he ran his eyes over the drinkers, a disparate group of desperate wastrels, and decided that he could step away for a short while without yet another fight breaking out. It was a shame he’d never joined the army, all the experience he’d earned pulling apart drunken idiots trying to cut each other’s throats, even this early in the day. But step away he must, as the drink needed attending to.
In the room round the back he took a flagon full of ale, tasted it, and mulled things over. If he was being honest he could water this down a little bit more, squeeze a few extra coppers from the barrel, and he’d need to have words with his son for not putting enough extra in to start with. That boy — assuming it was his boy of course, he had just the mother’s word as she passed through town again to go on but there was a resemblance — might not be a natural innkeeper. Too honest, too clean, too sniffy about Brear serving prostitutes for free in return for favours, although the itchy crotch he was dealing with was making Brear reconsider that last policy.
He walked out to the front and found a new customer waiting at the bar, one hand resting lightly on the wooden surface. A new customer alright, a young woman. Brown hair shorter than the fashion, quite boyish in that regard, but with a round face and nice lips, and Brear made sure to peer over the bar at the customer’s breasts, which he decided would be sufficient if they weren’t being hidden under a man’s tunic. He didn’t see the customer notice what he was staring at and clench one of her hands.
He looked back up to see a face that was trying to remain polite and not scowl, a battle she was losing, and asked, “What can I get for you m’dear? Something warm?”
“I’m looking for a man.”
“Are you indeed? Well I’m right here my lovely,” Brear leered at her.
The battle was finished, and the young woman glared at him.
“Merchant, probably came through a couple of months ago. Tall, blond, a bit scrawny with a scruffy beard. Bad tipper. Will have had a couple of minders. I’m hoping you know might know him,” she continued through gritted teeth.
“Ah, so it’s information you’re after.” Brear smiled and dropped a hand near his crotch, which was feeling pleasant for a change. “If you can help me with something, I’m sure I can give you…”
They were inside, but still a shadow fell over him. He looked up from imagining the girl knelt before him to find him staring into the face of a man who he should have noticed, who couldn’t possibly have been tucked away into those shadows, with a pitted and beaten face that was glaring at him as fiercely as the girl. The girl turned, nodded at the man, and then turned back.
Brear prayed to God that the walking scar didn’t snap him in two.
The girl turned to the bar and, voice full of contempt, and asked, “Can you help me now?”
“Y-y-yes.” Speech seemed to have deserted Brear. “I think I remember the person you mean. Keeps to himself, but when he asks you something, you do as you’re told. Here about a month ago and passes through occasionally.”
“Which way did he go?”
“West this time.”
“This time?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We’ll come back if he didn’t.”
The man behind her spoke, one guttural sound: “Drinks.”
“Of course, of course, let me get you them for free. As an apology.”
Both nodded, and soon were carrying flagons of ale to the far corner of the inn. There they sat, the girl still scowling, one fist still clenched. The man sat on a stool and relaxed with a sigh.
“You could have tried smiling at him, Alia.”
Alia raised an eyebrow. “I am not flirting with some pondscum innkeeper Jonas.”
“I didn’t say flirt, I just said smile,” he said firmly but cordially. “I’m talking about using a friendly, disarming demeanour with people.”
She shrugged.
“We do a violent job, but we don’t have to keep the air of menace up all the time … although the glare you’re now giving me is perfect for the people we’re bringing in.”
“I’m sorry, we’re bounty hunters, I didn’t sign up for people letching over me when a punch on the nose would sort them out.”
Jonas did his best to smile in agreement, which was somewhat lopsided given the long scar down the left side of this face, and thought to himself for a minute.
It was easier for him in many ways because he was a big man and while he’d never felt violence was a calling, he’d always been very good at it, and had never been denied employment in those fields. And he’d been at it in various roles all his life. An enforcer when he’d just been a mound of strong flesh, a bodyguard when he’d slimmed down and honed himself into a weapon and now a bounty hunter, a profession he’d been in so long he pre-dated the edict restricting weapons to veterans and got grandfathered in. A handy coincidence which meant older hunters were still in demand. Not that many got old.
But Alia? She was still quite reluctant to talk about her past, the time before the unfortunate incident where they’d met and she’d eventually agreed to sign on as his apprentice. She’d been born a woman in a world where violence was still seen as much more a man’s game despite the Bloody Empress bringing them into the military. Oh he’d travelled with and fought alongside women fighters in the past, and they’d more than held their own. One more than most, he thought ruefully.
She was feisty enough; part of that probably came from her anger at being too short for the height requirement to be in a legion. Too feisty at times, truth be told, and it could get the pair of them into trouble. She had a good heart though and strong sense of right and wrong, and in many ways was becoming his moral compass, something which he was worried a lifetime of violence had eroded in him. Her sense of justice was probably where her interest in hunting outlaws came from and what had encouraged him to take her on in the first place.
They made a good pair, him a cynical old fighter needing a nudge in the right direction every now and then and her a young woman with the will to take on the world but needing the experience to do it. He wondered where they’d both be now if they’d not met.
“You’re daydreaming again,” she chided him, and he snapped out of it.
“Does you good to imagine sometimes.”
“I catch you doing it more and more,” and he was pleased to see a sly smile develop at the edges of her mouth. “You’re getting old.”
He smiled warmly in response, but felt a hole inside him. She wasn’t far wrong. Best move onto more useful things.
“I assume you don’t want to move our lodgings to this charming place?”
The smile turning into a sneer, she nodded. “I’ve slept on woodland floors, I’ve slept in barns, I’ve slept next to a dead man,” and Jonas began to wonder whether she was displaying the seed of a storytelling ability or just liked to repeat things to the ‘old’ man, “but I’m not sleeping under the same roof as that vermin.”
“Agreed. He’s the sort who’d sell us out to thieves.”
Alia narrowed her eyes. “How
do you mean?”
“He knows who’s thieving, he’d go to them, tell them he had two bounty hunters staying, and tell them exactly where to find us. Next thing we’d know a gang would kick our door down.”
“Last thing they ever did.”
Jonas tilted his head to one side. Her bravado was good, but you didn’t stay alive by believing you could beat everyone. “A gang of them would cause us serious problems,” he said, and was pleased to see her roll her eyes but then nod in agreement. He was getting through. “And he’s the sort to whip one up.”
She leaned forward, eyes bright, teeth bared, teeth that betrayed her youth. “Let’s see if there’s any rewards out on him.”
“I don’t think he’d sit and run an inn if we could pick him up.”
“You say that, but we did catch that fellow over in Scarfell.”
“Ah, yes,” and Jonas raised a finger, “but that was a tiny place, and off the main trade route…”
“Mud track.”
“Muddy main trade route, but if there was money to be made off this man, someone would be making it.”
“Speaking of making money, hadn’t we better get looking? The day is young, but you are not.”
*****
Braxis had been sitting, but now he rose, walked over to where the man stood, and put his face a few inches away from a foul-smelling beard.
The man was no longer standing. He was shaking.
“You decided you would steal from me.”
“No, no,” the man protested.
“You decided you would take my money, you have admitted you took my money.”
“To pay back! I needed a loan, I just borrowed it.”
“I do loans, why not ask me?”
“The interest … I can't afford…”
“You dislike my loans?”
“No, I…”
“You dislike my business practices and you stole my money…”
Braxis had kept his voice level, quiet. Still, the man had started crying. “A loan…”
“Alright. You two,” Braxis said to his bodyguards, “cut this man's thumbs off.”
“No, no, no—!” But he was dragged screaming out.
Braxis smiled, watching them go. Then he turned to his secretary. “What’s next?”
“Marlen, sir.”
Braxis swallowed. He swallowed hard, feeling his stomach plummet. Not him, not him again, not this monster.
“Show him in.” It came out as a whisper. Get it together, he told himself.
The secretary went out and returned with company. Braxis couldn’t tell how old Marlen was, but surely he should look more threatening given what he could do. Surely he shouldn’t look like just an ordinary man.
Except his eyes.
“How is business?” Marlen asked.
“Good. Very good.”
“And my business?”
“We can traffic people across the whole area, your business is safe with us.”
“That’s not an answer, Braxis.”
“The deliveries are on schedule. Multiple consignments of the sick and disabled to your base.”
“Excellent.”
“An unusual request given we usually traffic the healthy to mines and ships and suchlike, but achievable.”
“Now you’re showing off, Braxis.”
Why does he keep using my name like that? “May I ask something?”
“Maybe.”
“It’s just … I know you are healing these people to sell on. But … Some are badly disabled. How do you do it?”
Marlen smiled. “You really don’t know?”
“I…”
“You suspect. And now your suspicions are asking financial questions.”
“Yes.”
“Well, my advice to you, Braxis, is to keep being suspicious, but keep your mouth shut.”
Braxis swallowed hard again. He should have kept quiet. He didn't want to be experimented on.
“They say there is a bounty out on the operations…” It was hard to tell if Marlen was concerned or admonishing.
“Nothing to worry about, I assure you.”
“Good. Because if anything happens to you Braxis, I will not come and rescue you.”
That was normally the threat he’d issue. That was a worrying development.
“Of course…”
It did beg a question: what exactly would Marlen coming to your rescue be like?
*****
Daeholf, Trimas and Zedek had discussed how to present themselves at the interview, eventually deciding they should just act their brand of normal. Such were their experiences in life, it would hopefully do the trick. This was why they were walking the next morning into the mercantile district and to an inn where the ale was far more expensive, and the meat came from better animals. One merchant was holding court inside the door, sat behind a table in the sort of robe you were presented in to a local magistrate, flanked by two men in the sort of leathers you travelled across the empire in while protecting a caravan. They were clearly positioned like this for effect, and the visitors knew this was the man they were after.
Magath knew they were after him, too, as he looked up and saw the arrivals. “You’re not too late,” he said cautiously, “I’m still looking for muscle.”
“We hope to provide it,” Daeholf said, not smiling much, as normal.
“And what are your names?”
They gave them as Magath looked them up and down. Trimas was tall but with an interesting bearing, and a smile that, while not irreverent, wasn’t desperate either. Daeholf was a little shorter, not as broad shouldered but lither, with a face that was set hard and eyes that could pierce you. Zedek was thin, but that probably belied a wiry strength, with long hair running either side of his face. An eastern tradition or something else?
“You were all soldiers then,” Magath concluded.
“Yes,” Daeholf replied, “we can fight, we can scout, we can ride, we can accompany a caravan.”
“Do you think it’s that easy?” he asked, and looked at their expressions.
None of them thought caravan work was going to be a challenge, which wasn’t unusual in newcomers, but Magath also realised they weren’t underestimating the job. In their eyes, he could see their relaxed state was because they’d all seen much, much worse.
“All in the same legion?”
“Yes,” Daeholf said again, voice not wavering, expression not changing, “the tenth.”
Magath nodded. That could be checked, if he had the time. He didn’t doubt they were soldiers, but not of the bottom rank. So, retirees? They were certainly all old enough to have done at least one ten-year tour. Still, no one grew up aiming to guard caravans.
“We’re travelling north all the way up to Kelwich, where they have the salt mines…”
“That’ll do us nicely. We have business near there,” and as Daeholf explained this, Magath smiled. Too many people pretended they’d be signing on for life. Whatever this group were, they weren’t messing him about, and that in itself was valuable.
“Okay, you can sign on with me, for one journey, to the north. We can both assess after that.”
“Thank you,” they all said.
“You receive a salary from me on the journey, and your pay at the end. It’s not conditional on what sales I make there, just on my being alive and the cargo being with me.”
*****
Alia looked around thoughtfully as she and Jonas rode quietly along a slightly rundown imperial road through some overgrown fields. They were now travelling east across the outer reaches of the northern edge of the empire, where the capital had a lot less influence and not much was spent on maintaining the infrastructure. These were good lands for bounty hunters she supposed, where the touch of imperial law was a little lighter and enterprising people could make up the difference if they were willing to face the risks. They were also getting far from home. She’d travelled a lot all her life really, but she and Jonas had been operating ou
t of largely the same area for the two years they had been working together and she’d started to get settled. It had been nice to have some stability and she had been getting comfortable, building up a web of her own contacts and resources with Jonas’s assistance, readying her for the time she would go solo. Although, she thought ruefully, that won’t be for some time yet. And much as she didn’t like to admit it, she was really quite fond of Jonas and had come to rely on the big old bear.
She looked over at him, slumped casually in his saddle as he rode beside her, and saw him looking at her, a funny expression on his battered face.
“You’re quiet this morning,” he said when he saw her looking, and smiled at her.
“Thinking,” she replied, still slightly lost in reverie.
“About what?”
“Tell me again why we’re after this guy. We’ve been after him for a while now without success.”
“This again?” Jonas said, his smile fading to be replaced by a stern look.
“I know — it’s our ‘job’ — but why him? He’s taking us a long way from home. Surely we’d have been better picking up people more locally?”
“You’re moaning again. It doesn’t suit you.”
He was trying to avoid the issue. Alia stuck her tongue out at him. Jonas sighed and spent a moment looking at the countryside. He would have to say something. Just not everything. A lie?
“Okay, again: we took the job because he’s been on the run for a year and the other hunters have all given up and moved onto easier jobs.”
“Again, why us?”
“Because it’s a challenge and I think you’re ready for it. And because it is taking us a long way from home.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t have to,” Jonas said, frowning at her. “I still pick the jobs.” He paused. “You’d got too comfortable with the easy jobs we’d been doing,” he continued, his tone softer. “It’s time for a bigger challenge.”
“Sorry,” Alia said, actually sounding like she meant it.
“You’ve still got a lot to learn.”
“You keep saying that.”
“That’ll be because it’s true.”
Dark Healer (An Empire Falls Book 1) Page 2