by O. J. Lowe
Simone Zaha had been his name. Rumour had it, he’d had the protection of the Vazaran Suns, the premier mercenary group of the kingdom and the singular constant thorn in Nwakili’s side since he’d reached the premiership. They were not pleasant individuals, they consisted of cutthroats and murderers who’d find it hard to gain constant employment anywhere else. They’d wanted Zaha to eventually overthrow Nwakili, step into his shoes in the thought that things would become much better for them. They spoke of peace through force, what they really wanted was control.
He remembered being on that rooftop in Cubla Cezri, looking through the scope of the Saga at Zaha strolling around the opulence that he was setting out to create. It was obscene that the first thing he’d sought to do was to seize the fortunes of the rich, he hadn’t even had the good grace to redistribute it amongst the masses as he’d claimed to do. The team had been dotted around the town, ordered to gather intel while he kept eyes on Zaha.
Hobb didn’t quite remember what had happened next. He’d been observing through the scope, there’d been a woman. There was always a woman. Zaha had been the sort of man whose sexual appetites were the stuff of disconcerting urban legend. When they’d been on their way to Cubla Cezri, he’d heard rumours that his cock was allegedly bigger than his brain. If he had a sense of humour, he might have found it funny. Instead it merely sealed his opinion that Zaha was going to die.
The warlord had been wearing a silk robe, scarlet with trims of white and they’d thrown a girl off the streets in front of him. By his guess, she’d not been on the streets long. She was dirty and though her clothes were torn, they’d looked like they’d been expensive. Her teeth were all there, as were her fingers. That alone was perhaps the greatest giveaway that she’d been born into a family with more than most. You could tell how poor someone was in most parts of Vazara by what they were missing. The dead were the poorest of all, not even their lives had any sort of worth.
She was attractive, Hobb had to admit that. Her face was bloodied, one of her eyes bruised shut but it was still there. Rather than diminish her looks, the wounds only enhanced it for him. She was a fighter. She’d fought them rather go meekly. He respected that. He hated women who didn’t have that spark in them. They were worthless. Little more than animal. Didn’t deserve any sort of help.
Someone was speaking in his ear, demanding to know what was going on. He’d explained in as few words as possible. Didn’t do to waste them. You never knew who was listening. Someone somewhere was warning him to let it go. They’d thrown her to the ground, she was crying but still trying to get away as Zaha opened his robe. He was naked underneath, spare slabs of heavy flesh pillowing out. It made him sick. The man was fat and a bully, Hobb saw him bring back his fist and the girl’s head bounced back, almost off the ground. Blood trickled from her bent nose, her tears going pink as they mixed together.
Still they were warning him to let it go. Not to react. They underestimated his professionalism. They underestimated what he was here to do. Hobb knew what had to be done.
The Vazaran sun beat down on him, he felt the sweat coating his face, warming the rifle in his hands. He ignored it. He’d been trained for far too long, experienced far too much to let a little discomfort unsettle him. Unisco snipers were the top of the crop, they trained in worse conditions than this. These were meek and mild, not even a challenge. The bleakest desert areas of Vazara where the miles and miles of sand could set a man crazy and the heat would broil your bones, the Fang mountains in Serran where the winds were wild with rage and the cold would kill you if you let it, those had been the arenas he’d perfected the art in. A shooting range was okay for beginners.
Zaha had his cock in his hand, he was slapping it viciously against her face as it grew harder, one hand shot up and grabbed her by the hair. She struggled, he raised his other fist and she flinched without him even touching her, he pulled her face towards him. He saw that sense of savage grace, ill-deserved triumph and it moved him to act.
Hobb had pulled the trigger, not once but twice. As actions went, they were anathema to a sniper. He’d always been told that if you couldn’t do the job in one shot, it wasn’t worth it. You’d failed. He’d always told those he’d trained the same thing. What you hit, you kill. No exceptions.
The first shot had hit him square through the largest possible target, the layers of fat that were resting on her forehead, forcing her eyes shut. Hobb saw his eyes go wide with shock, his mouth sliding open wordlessly before the second blast hit him between them, a wave of scarlet and bone fragments erupting out behind him. The girl was screaming, he could see her mouth open, even if there was no sound coming out that he could hear. The voices in his earpiece were screaming too, demanding to know what he’d just done. They sounded pissed.
He didn’t care. It was like someone had thrown a light on in his brain, what had been murky and hidden before, he could now see with perfect clarity. The truth had been outed. There wasn’t some sort of bigger picture. Far from it. Life was just lots and lots of smaller pictures struggling to coexist. Sometimes they overlapped. Sometimes they had to be scrubbed clean of their paint. Whatever anyone else may say, Zaha hadn’t deserved to live for what he’d just done alone. Screw Vazara, screw the kingdoms, screw the Senate and screw Unisco.
Things had gone downhill for him, ever since then. Looking back on it, Hobb felt it quite remarkable how he’d changed not only the future of Vazara but the course of his own life with the single pull of a trigger.
Looking forward out the window, over towards the stage they were building up in Graham’s Field, Hobb thought it would be even remarkable how the pull of his trigger tonight could go on to change the entire future of the five kingdoms.
That would be an achievement.
Chapter Four.
“Come one, come all, to every caravan and stall. Be it love, be it lust, be it power if you must. For in our carnival, you’ll find what you seek, but dally not, for we’re not here all week. Make it tonight, make it now, choose right, do it somehow. It might be what your heart seeks, come make it yours to keep. Rain or snow, hail or shine, come now, come quick, don’t delay and certainly don’t whine.”
Mantra at the entrance to the Belderhampton Annual Carnival of Wonder.
It was a numb Nicholas Roper that left Carling alone in the speeder outside the building he’d come to think of as his future home. It wasn’t much, wasn’t the biggest house on the street, wasn’t the smallest either, but it was his. His tongue didn’t feel like it’d work, fat and numb inside his mouth. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to think. Just that life had dealt him another hand that might prove ruinous to his stress levels.
“Unisco directive forty-two alpha six,” Carling had said back in the speeder. “An executive order. As you know, our esteemed director has the power to overrule any sort of decision made across the entire organisation if he deems it necessary for the immediate future. And before you point it out, I’m aware that I’m not Terrence Arnholt. What you might not know is that on the first day of Winternew, the director sends these out to every station head across the kingdoms, every agent in a position of ultimate authority within their jurisdiction. Just one each. A free pass for the year. They’re valid for the twelve months. Can’t stockpile them. When they’re done, they’re done.”
Nick had been speechless. “That’s…” He hadn’t been able to find the words. He truly couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t known about it, hadn’t even suspected it. It was insane enough to be true. By the standards of many Unisco directors, Terrence Arnholt was different. It was the sort of thing he’d do. He’d been an agent for a long time, swept up through the ranks. He wanted his people to have every resource they could get. Becoming the director hadn’t changed him like it had to many others. Those who knew him said he was the same man he’d always been.
“I know. The Senate went ballistic when they heard he’d put this in place. Said it was diluting his authority. He told them he
trusted those underneath him to make the right decisions when they needed to.” Carling paused, rubbed his eyes wearily. “It’s not entirely generous. If we screw up with it, we’ll wind up in a world of shit. There’ll be repercussions, investigations, the works. It’d be a career setback. Agent Roper, I’m using mine to override your suspension because I need you. I can trust you. I can’t say the same for everyone else under my command.”
That was sad, Nick had thought. Really said. When you couldn’t trust those around you, it never usually ended well. Trust was the foundation Unisco had been built upon and when they started to shake, it affected everyone for the worse.
“You’ll report to me alone,” Carling said. “Consider your situation to be as if you were still out of the loop. I don’t want you talking to any of my other agents. Not right now. You’re going to the carnival.”
It didn’t sound like a question. Nick didn’t treat it any other way.
“Nobody ever comes here at this time of the year just for random. It’s the carnival or they don’t show up. Keep your eyes open. Anything you see out of the ordinary, let me know. I can’t give you a badge or a blaster, your role is strictly non-com. I don’t want you doing anything that’s going to endanger your life. I might have overridden your orders and your suspension, but it doesn’t mean there won’t be hells for me to pay if you wind up dead while under investigation.”
Nick nodded, didn’t know whether to feel mollified or insulted. He’d been trained to put himself in the line of duty if it came down to it. To be side-lined, regardless of the circumstances, it didn’t sit right with him.
“I want your impartial eye,” Carling said. Maybe he’d seen the look on his face. “It’s not a slight against your skills or your abilities. You’re exactly what I need. You’re exactly who I can trust to do the right thing.” He’d glanced at the time, clucked his tongue. “I think we’re just about here. Thirty-five minutes until the good Lady Arventino leaves for the day. Don’t say that Juniki here doesn’t do good work.” He inclined his head at the driver. “He works for us you know. He’d have gotten you, no matter what. Don’t take it personally. Anyone we want to talk to, he makes a point of delivering. Consider his fee for the journey paid for. Least I can do for you.” He’d put a hand on Nick’s arm, the gesture surprisingly paternal. He hadn’t been sure he’d liked it. Only politeness had stopped him from shrugging it away. “If you ever need anything else, don’t hesitate to get in touch with me.” He showed his teeth in a grin, they were small and peg-like. Canterage dentistry at its most prominent. “If you ever want to stop doing the wandering thing and settle somewhere, I’d happily have you under my command full-time.”
Before, he’d have rejected that thought. Now, it didn’t sound like too bad a thing if he was honest. Get away from all the stresses of being summoned to put out fires that had been started under someone else’s watch. Someone else could have dealt with Bertram Avis. Not him. Not Lysa. If she hadn’t been with him, she’d have been somewhere else far away and she’d be awake now, laughing, smiling, a lot happier than with a tube down her throat and the scars on her stomach.
There’d always be the danger though. It was just closer to home. And those were sometimes the hardest to avoid. Just look at here. He’d come to get away from it and still Unisco had found a way to drag him into their mire. Carling had pulled out all the stops to try and get him on board, thrown everything at him he could, even an official document. The steps they’d go to were staggering. All because he was apparently what the agent wanted for this set of circumstances and to hells with the consequences.
He’d not been convinced then. Out on his doorstep, he still wasn’t convinced. About the only positive he could see was that Carling had paid for the speeder journey he’d hijacked. He’d saved the credits there. He might need them when he was kicked out of Unisco. He still wasn’t convinced that everything Carling had said was the truth. There’d been something about the man. He radiated suspicion the way a politician oozed sleaze. And yet, that document had looked authentic. He’d examined it, read through every single word twice, on the way here. The signature looked accurate. It was the sort of thing Director Arnholt would do to bend the rules for the greater good if it was needed. Ultimate if restrained power. A single chance to do what you thought was right.
He was going to the carnival anyway. He might as well keep an eye out. If there was going to be even a hint that things were going to go badly, he’d need to act on it. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Even before the document had been thrust in front of him, he’d already made the choice that if he’d seen anything, he’d have let Carling know. Now, he’d gone from a passive observer to an active asset. A dangerous transition. Not least because there’d be someone around him that he cared about. It wasn’t unfeasible that there was a possibility Sharon could even be the target. It was unlikely, but it wasn’t impossible. She was in town, she’d already told him she’d intended to go, she was famous enough that killing her would make a statement. Plenty wanted to knock her off her perch.
If he started to think like that, he’d never let her out the house. He could see her through the window, her back to him. She didn’t know he was here, he saw the way her blond hair billowed down her back and he couldn’t help but smile. All the weights on his shoulders felt like they’d fallen away as he stepped to the door, brought his hand up and knocked. It was only polite, even if it was his damn home. Give her a chance to prep herself if she needed it. He dropped his bag to the porch, cupped his hand to his mouth and exhaled into his palm, trying to check if his breath smelled good. It’d do. He should have chewed some mints before coming here. He thought about going for his bag, maybe he had some at the bottom. Maybe he didn’t. Suddenly he wished he’d made more of an effort before showing up.
He heard the turn of the key in the lock, frantically brought his fingers back through his hair to slick down any bits that might be sticking up, his heart hammering. He didn’t know why. She’d be happy to see him. Surely.
His heart leaped at the smile that greet him, her lips parting to reveal her pearly-white teeth. That smile couldn’t be faked. Not with the way her eyes lit up with the light of her heart. He couldn’t tell who’d gone for who first, if she’d made the move for him, or if his legs had carried him into her embrace. All he knew was their lips had met, crushed against each other as she pressed herself into him like she was never going to let go. The moment might have lasted forever. He wished it would. Any worry he might have had felt like it was slowly bleeding out of him like a thousand tiny cuts.
As greetings went, it beat the hells out of the one he’d gotten from Carling. She broke, grinned at him, raked her nails across the front of his shirt. She looked positively radiant, bouncing on the balls of her feet in glee. It was a distant sight from the serious, calm Sharon Arventino that the world saw when she was in the spirit battling arena. There she was like stone. Unmoving. Emotionless. Enduring. Here she was like fire, wild and hungry, unceasing in that desire.
“Happy to see me then?” he asked, not quite able to hide his own grin. Any sense of weariness he’d been feeling had been lost to him, the aches and strains in his limbs no longer weighing on his mind. He felt reinvigorated. A new man already.
“Just a little,” she said, making a small-size gesture with her thumb and index finger, her grin still plastered across her face. “Nick, what are you doing here? I thought you were back in Serran?”
That was an awkward question. She didn’t know about his secret life. If he had any control over it, she’d never find out either. That was his dirty little secret. He liked the way she looked at him now, love laced with devotion. He could see it in her face. It was the way he felt whenever he looked at her. He didn’t want that to be lost to them. Didn’t want the taint to spread across that love and curdle it into disgust and hate. He’d lost track of how many people had died at his hand. That admission alone probably would have been an absolute disaster for the futur
e of the relationship. She’d never look at him the same way again. She might not leave him over it, but the first cracks would have appeared. Eventually every crack becomes too insurmountable to ignore. She’d leave him. Irreconcilable differences in every sense of the world.
“Thought I’d surprise you,” he said. Lying was a key Unisco skill. They didn’t call it that. They had their own fancy name for it, directed deceptive skills. Being able to bullshit someone while keeping a straight face was an art itself. With the best lies, the key was seeding them with enough of the truth to make them believable. “Looks like I did just that.”
She’d half dressed, he’d noticed that already. Her shirt looked like it might have been one of his, lined with thin blue-and-white stripes that cooperated nicely with the fading remnants of her tan. A pair of months in Canterage at the back end of the year was enough to cancel out a multitude of them in Serran for what it did to your skin. She’d rolled the shirt back up to her elbows, her legs and feet were bare.
“Come on in,” she said, smiling. “Or are you going to stand on the porch all day?”
“I don’t know, there’s a great view of the street from here,” Nick said. “But there’s a better one coming from inside the house.” He winked at her, picked up his bag in one arm and followed her in, one arm around her waist. She leaned her head over to him, rested it in the crook of his shoulder.
“Charmer.”
“Beautiful,” he shot back. His heart was hammering in his chest, the rush still swilling around his system. He’d missed her. He hadn’t realised just how much until now.
Hobb’s summoner trilled, he didn’t even glance at it before pushing the button to answer it. Only one person had the number. Should someone else be dialling it, he’d be compromised heavily. He’d have to abandon his position immediately or risk discovery. That could not be allowed. Sometimes he thought that he’d personally made his own profession a prison. He had to keep going, keep on moving around lest he be discovered. And if he needed to keep going different places, he might as well keep the hits going. The credits would undoubtedly come in handy one day.