by Leo Hull
“Hey, the—” the second man froze as he caught sight of Tristan looking like death himself. Blood dripped from his face and arms from the fresh kill, and since he felt like a corpse, he likely looked like the dead brought to life again.
“Where are the girls,” Tristan croaked, his dry throat making him sound less menacing than he hoped, but the young man in front of him seemed to find him terrifying enough.
“I—I don’t know anything about that,” the man stammered. “We’re just hired to clean up.”
“You don’t know anything?” Tristan frowned. “Who hired you?”
“I don’t know.” The man gestured at his compatriot’s corpse. “He does the business side of things. I just help.”
“Shit.” Now that he had a better look at the two men, there hadn’t been any reason to kill the first guy so rashly, but he’d felt weak and unsure if he could take on two at the same time.
“Take your clothes off,” Tristan ordered, gesturing with his knife. The man was smaller, but his clothes were loose. Tristan didn’t want to wander around this foreign town covered in blood during the day.
“My clothes?”
“Are you deaf? Strip.” Tristan advanced on him.
The man obeyed, his hands shaking as he pulled off his shirt and fumbled at the laces on his pants. He tossed the clothes midway between Tristan and himself, clutching his arms around him like that offered some measure of protection.
The man opened his mouth to speak, but Tristan buried the knife in his chest and all that came out was a wet stream of blood. Tristan quickly moved the clothes away from the growing pools of spent life force.
Tristan cleaned himself as best he could as the man died, cursing Perran for his cowardly plan. He’d expected some form of retaliation from Perran, but Nessa’s former vulta had moved in hours rather than days.
On some level, he knew his anger masked despair and disappointment that he’d failed to protect Nessa and Annik, but he’d sulked enough over the past few years for a lifetime. Better to cling to the anger and do something rather than wallow in a puddle of self-pity.
He packed a satchel of what remained in the room, which wasn’t much. Nearly everything else of value had been taken with Annik and Nessa. He briefly considered chucking the crystal but ultimately shoved it into the bag. He couldn’t do that to Annik.
He needed to eat, but as he readied to leave decided it would be best if Perran thought him dead. If his crew were discovered like this, Perran would be on alert. Remembering the men’s discussion, Tristan was pleased to find a cart right outside the window and unceremoniously dumped the bodies into it, followed by the mattress. He used the blanket to mop up what blood he could then added that to the pile.
He would need to move the cart, but that was a problem for after he’d gotten breakfast.
Tristan moved gingerly downstairs, glad to find the innkeeper, an older man with nervous eyes and a tremor in his hand, still had breakfast. After the fuss about prepaying for the room, Tristan felt guilty when the keep agreed to open a tab since he had no money to pay. He needed to eat, though, and didn’t even mind the tepid bowl of porridge the old man set in front of him.
“Wurcon, that room ready to turnover yet?” A woman much younger than the inn keep asked, sliding an arm around his waist. Her copious cleavage threatened to spill out right at Tristan’s eye level, but he wasn’t looking at her. Tristan stared daggers at the keep. “It’s a slow morning and I’d like to get that cleaned and ready then go see my sister.”
“Not yet,” the man said, his voice shaking. His eyes swung wildly around, looking anywhere but Tristan’s dark face.
Tristan set the spoon back into the bowl, reached under the table, and slowly pulled his knife free. He pressed it against the man’s leg, just out of sight of the barmaid. So, this was the Wurcon the men spoke of. The innkeeper poisoning their food made sense, and if he’d sold them out to Perran when they took a room, that would explain how Perran tracked them so quickly.
“I’m going to go wake them up. It’s almost noon, and if I leave much later, I won’t be back in time for dinner,” the woman pouted.
“No!” Wurcon sagged, and he looked at Tristan with pleading eyes. “I’ll take care of it, Tekka. Go on and see your sister. You can leave now.”
Tristan nodded, but didn’t pull the dagger away. The woman kissed him, then left, softly singing to herself. Tristan waited until the door at the back of the inn slammed.
“This poisoned?” Tristan asked, flicking his head to the food in front of him. The man cringed. “I’ll take that as a yes. Where are Nessa and Annik?”
“The girls with you?” the man asked dumbly. Tristan just stared until the man nervously licked his lips. “They’re gone, but if you let me go, I won’t say anything. I swear it! You can walk away, find new Bound.”
Tristan pressed the dagger harder into his leg and the innkeep wet himself, his entire body trembling as he released his cowardice.
“Please…” Wurcon begged. “I didn’t have a choice. No one ever does with him.”
“Perran isn’t that scary,” Tristan grunted, disgusted with the man.
“Perran? That bumbling fool is deeper in it than I am. You think that’s who owns me?”
“It’s not?”
Wurcon’s mouth slammed shut, his lips forming a thin line. Something hardened in the innkeep. Tristan frowned, as Wurcon studied him.
“Look, you can get more girls. We can both walk away from this.”
“How about I start with the barmaid,” Tristan suggested, his stomach flipping at the idea of using the her as leverage, but he needed to know who sat above Perran. Tracking down Perran would have been hard enough, but finding some nameless kidnapper seemed impossible.
“You wouldn’t,” Wurcon gasped. He seemed surprised by the threat, strange considering he’d just suggested Tristan walk away from his own women. Wurcon was a coward, Tristan realized, likely used to passing along information and willing to use poison rather than tackle things head on. This was probably his first time confronting an angry mark.
“Show me to the alley,” Tristan ordered, standing twisting Wurcon until the knife poked into his back.
“Wait! I—I can’t tell you! He’ll kill me, kill Tekka. You don’t know what these people are like. I swear I didn’t have any choice!”
“You think you have a choice now?” He hated what this man was making him do and gave him an impatient shove towards the back of the inn. Wurcon stumbled forwards, and Tristan followed him out to the cart, grabbing his bag from the table as they left. “Lift the mattress.”
Wurcon’s hands shook as he obeyed, and his legs gave out when he exposed the two dead cleaners. He collapsed to the ground in a heap, sobbing.
“Talek. It’s Talek, the Son of Saeli, but you don’t stand a chance against him. That bastard has his pudgy fingers in everything, and I swear he made me do it! You think I wanted to poison you? I just want to live out my years in peace, but he doesn’t give you a choice. Last night, Perran went upstairs with Talek’s men, and then came back down with the two girls. That’s all I know.”
“A name isn’t much to go on,” Tristan frowned. He remembered a similar name coming up last night when he followed Perran. “Where can I find Talek?”
“I only ever met him in the baths.” Wurcon shivered. “He has a whole section that he keeps to himself and that’s where he meets people like me. Talek sits there naked in the water, while fools like me sweat away miserably. He owns half the city—even this piece of shit inn is his, I just run it.”
Tristan believed Wurcon, but there was one part missing from his story and the man had still poisoned him. Tristan wanted to let him live but rescuing Nessa and Annik might rely on Perran thinking Tristan was dead.
“How did he know we were here?” Tristan growled. Wurcon’s hands clenched in the dirt and he cowered without looking up. “I think he paid you for telling him we were here, just as I think he’ll pay yo
u when you let him know I’m still alive.”
“No,” Wurcon insisted. “I would never—”
The inn keeps hands flew upwards, dirt and rocks flinging at Tristan’s face and eyes. Tristan flinched away but lashed out with his foot catching the scrambling inn keep in the leg.
Blinking through the grit in his eyes, Tristan stepped forwards and aimed a kick at Wurcon’s head. The man got his arms up, which only meant he got the pleasure of a broken arm before Tristan’s dagger pierced his heart.
As Tristan loaded the body into the cart alongside the others, he found a small pouch tied to Wurcon’s belt that was filled with gold and silver and had a note that read simply Son of Saeli. After hiding the bodies the best he could, he pulled the cart down the street and tried to remember the way to the river where they had washed the night before. That seemed as good a spot as any to dump these three.
He needed better fitting clothes and some better weapons, but he had the gold for it now. He noticed a bit of blood on the back of his hand and stopped to rub at it.
A bath sounded nice too.
Chapter Fourteen
Tristan ambled through the crowded streets unable to shake the feeling he’d just been had. Sure, his new clothes fit like a glove, just like Trish had promised as she ran her soft fingers over his chest and down the ripples of his abs to tease playfully just above his growing manhood. He had never been measured by a tailor before, and he suspected Trish’s insistence that he disrobe to get the right measurements was just a ploy to flirt with him.
If it was just a sales tactic, Tristan had risen manfully to Trish’s flirtatious baiting and her teasing promises of a ‘more intimate final fitting’ where she assured him ‘complete satisfaction.’ Trish had been on her knees at that point, measuring his inseam and licking her full lips with unspoken promises.
Tristan took a deep breath, and adjusted himself at the memory of Trish’s expansive, tanned cleavage and how she’d smiled welcomingly then shrugged her top down further when she caught him looking. Like a horny sailor back to land after months away, Tristan had nodded along in happy agreement with whatever Trish suggested, and now his purse was far lighter than he wanted.
Tristan tried not to blame himself. After all, he’d grown accustomed to Nessa’s nightly companionship, and now that he’d recovered from the attack his body seemed intent on making up for lost time. And the expense wasn’t totally unwarranted. Trish’s demonstration of how this new fabric could tangle a blade and provide protection without the weight or conspicuousness of armor had been very convincing, particularly the flashes of thigh as she’d spun, her skirts lifting as she demonstrated a sample.
He’d grinned as Trish led him back to the fitting room, her short skirt rising to the very edge of exposure as she bent to lay out his purchases. His smile lasted right up until she’d taken his coin and hustled him out the door with a coy smirk. It was clear Tristan wasn’t the first she’d ensnared with her sales tactics.
The local fashion isn’t helping any, Tristan thought to himself as a pair of giggling women walked past in loose fabrics that left their assets bouncing with each step. One smiled at him, her head turning as she strutted, an eyebrow raised as she appraised him. She had no chain around her neck and was headed towards the Relegate.
Tristan needed to get laid. He couldn’t afford any distractions from rescuing Nessa and Annik, but after Trish’s trap he couldn’t afford a trip to the brothel just to take the edge off. He’d been visiting the Baths daily, and despite the ‘Public’ in the name, entrance wasn’t cheap. He had no idea how long it would take to find Talek, but he wouldn’t risk Nessa and Annik for cheap thrills, no matter how badly he wanted them.
Tristan forced his gaze upwards, refusing to let himself be distracted as he hurried to the Baths. As soon as he rescued Nessa and Annik, his need would be a thing of the past.
His unsated lust wasn’t the only reason to hurry. The communication crystal blinked away with urgent requests to acknowledge their orders. Tristan ignored them, but he feared for what his silence would mean for Annik. The longer he took to rescue her, the more likely the Corp would view the lack of response as insubordination or desertion. Tristan didn’t care about himself, but Annik had been on the right path towards a promising career before she gone out on a limb to help him and he didn’t want her kindness to drag her down.
The Baths were as busy as ever. Despite the steady stream of patrons flowing in and out, the expansive reception area and maze of rooms meant he never felt crowded. There were also enough guests wandering around that his efforts to explore went unremarked upon. The only sections anyone had stopped him at were when he’d unknowingly headed down the hall towards the women’s side his first visit and when he’d tried to play dumb and enter a private area towards the back of the Baths.
The attendant, a giggling woman in the Baths’ thin white uniform, had flirtatiously redirected him with teasing words and glimpses of thigh and hip that inadvertently revealed the flash of steel strapped against her leg. Tristan had made an effort to see if the other workers were armed, but his investigations only revealed smooth skin beneath the uniforms of the attendants.
It had to be the meeting space the innkeep had spoken of. Now, Tristan just needed patience.
“The day pass,” Tristan said to the to the freckled, redheaded beauty that greeted him each of his visits. Her green eyes lit up as soon as she saw him, and each day it seemed like another button down the front of her uniform had worked itself free. Her interest seemed stronger today, and Tristan wondered if it was the tighter fit of his new clothes and the way it left his muscular shoulders and arms bare.
“You know we have week and month passes as well?” she asked sweetly. “The week costs the same as only five days, and the month just twenty. It’s a real money saver if you’re going to visit just to flirt with me every day.” She crossed her arms under her chest, her uniform close to losing the battle to contain her.
“I didn’t know,” Tristan said, glad for the tall counter that obscured his body’s reaction to the redhead’s teasing. “Do I need to pay to flirt with you? I though it only cost if I wanted to slip inside.”
The receptionist’s cheeks blushed a pretty pink that reminded Tristan of Annik the times she’d watched him and Nessa. The reminder of Nessa and Annik soured his interest in flirting. He should be focused on rescuing them, not flirting with every woman that showed the slightest bit of interest.
“There are special rates if you would like a personal attendant,” the redhead suggested hopefully. “It varies based on experience, and I’m still in training so it’s cheaper, just five gold per hour. If you’re interested, find an attendant and ask for Morwyn?”
Tristan tried to maintain his smile despite the price. Entry to the Baths for a day didn’t even cost one gold, and he’d heard girls calling down prices from brothels where he could spend a whole night for just one hour with Morwyn.
“I’ll keep it in mind. The week pass for now, please.” He tried not to dwell on what Morwyn, or the other more expensive girls, offered that demanded such a price. He counted out the coins, nearly a third of his remaining purse, and resigned himself to finding a cheaper room tonight.
Saeli was a strange but amazing place, and the Public Baths were no different. He’d been surprised they weren’t coed given the rest of their culture, but even that hadn’t tamped the pleasure of spending hours relaxing in pools of water or clouds of steam.
Beyond being relaxing, his time here doubled as an opportunity to recover from the poison and brutal knife attack. The skin of his back had healed days ago, and the slight ache of his muscles eased completely when submerged in the near scalding water. Being here was part of the mission, but it had to be the most soothing assignment any Bolstered had been tasked with.
Tristan locked his clothing and shrinking purse away in the small cupboards provided for guests, slung a towel over his shoulder, and slipped into a world of tile and steam.
His targets today were the salt baths, a pair of rooms nestled away and empty every other time he’d been to them. Aeol overlooked the ocean, and the saltwater reminded him of a youth spent swimming in the surf. The Saelians, used to the fresh water of the Albeder Sea, avoided these baths—which was perfect for Tristan’s purposes. The hot saltwater pool was just down a short hallway from where the armed attendant stood, and when seated in one corner Tristan had an unobstructed view of the entrance to Talek’s lair.
Even better, the cold saltwater room seemed forgotten, which explained why no one had bothered to lock a door that led to a small passage in the walls of the Baths. He’d followed it all the way to a perfect vantage point over what he hoped was Talek’s private bath. He’d even found a small stool there, pushed against the wall as if someone had used the room to spy before him. Attendants appeared and disappeared into similar passages throughout the Baths, always careful to lock them, but as far as Tristan had been able to tell, this passage only connected the men’s and women’s salt bath areas. It was perfect for his needs.
Making the trek was nerve-wracking, as the walls of the whole building had slatted vents for air flow, and he had to creep just feet away from the armed attendant. Abandoned supplies made the trek treacherous and at some points he had to carefully squeeze between precariously balanced stacks.
That challenge was for later. For now, Tristan tossed his towel onto a hook then settled into the hot saltwater for a relaxing afternoon doing the hard work of trying not to fall asleep.