NIghtbird (Empire of Masks Book 2)

by Brock Deskins

  “None of you will have to pay them ever again. It might take a little time for word to fully circulate, so tread lightly yet and use my name if anyone tries to collect.”

  “Yes, sah. Thank you again, sah. My bakery is always open to you, no charge.”

  Bertram smiled behind his mask. “I will accept this pie only because it smells fantastic, but I will pay for anything else I might want from your shop, as will every man. Good day to you, shopkeeper.”

  The inquisitor set the pie atop the one file he still held, pulled a silver fork from inside his vest pocket, and gently stabbed it through the golden crust. He lifted his mask onto the top of his head and moaned softly at the sweet taste of the goldenberries as they slid over his tongue. It was quite a gift as goldenberry pie was so extravagant that even the baker himself likely only had it on one or two special occasions throughout the year. It was considered a treat even for the wealthy as goldenberries were challenging to grow and harvest, and thus were always in limited supply.

  “Well, hello there, Inquisitor,” one of a pair of working girls called out to him as he walked past.

  “Here I thought all you highborn wore masks because you were such an ugly bunch, but you’re quite the handsome fellow,” the other said. “Care for a taste of my pie? I might even let you have it for free too.”

  The two women laughed loudly at the slight reddening of his face.

  Bertram handed his pie to one of them. “Sorry, ladies, but I’m afraid that compared to your sweetness, the pie would turn tart in my mouth. Have a nice day and enjoy the pie.”

  The women cooed behind him when they recognized what he had given them. Bertram used a handkerchief to wipe his mouth clean before returning it to its special pocket and pulling his mask back down. He flipped open the file and read the name.

  “All right, Fred Switzer, let’s see what you’ve been up to since your last arrest.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Cleary stalked the dark streets for a second night, searching for the men he had tasked with guarding his witnesses or a link that would point him in their direction. He was beginning to think that he would not find them unless he tripped over their dead bodies. Such an outcome was better than the alternative, that they had hopped an airship out of the city. That would have been the smart thing to do, but he hadn’t hired them for their intelligence.

  Soft moaning interspersed with weeping reached his ears. He turned down an alley and strode toward the flickering orange light. Cleary found the source of the wailing hunched over a metal bucket with a small fire burning within its confines. The woman looked up, her face lined by age and hard living and mottled with dirt.

  “Fridda, where’s Harvey?” Cleary asked.

  The woman’s eyes flashed with terror as she rocked on her knees. “He dead, oh he dead, and now you come to kill me too!”

  “I’m not here to kill you, Fridda. I just need to know what happened.”

  She shook her head, causing the greasy, grey-streaked locks to wave about, some dangling too close to the fire and getting singed. “He dead. They done killed him. I told him he should take the money. We fly to Vulcrad and live good, but he a stupid man. Stupid, stupid man!”

  “Whose money was he supposed to take?”

  “The tall man with the top hat and cane. He gived them others money, now they livin’ good in Midtown, but my stupid man be dead. Stupid man done killed us both.”

  There was no mistaking Harvey’s killer’s identity. It pleased him to know that Harvey hadn’t betrayed him despite it costing him his life. He had always liked the man. It was rare to find a person of Harvey’s lowborn status with real integrity. Most of Blindside’s residents were so desperate that they would sell their own children, and often did, for enough coin to eat for a few more days.

  “Do you know where they are at, Curtis and Don, the men he was working with?” Cleary asked.

  “They took the money. They took the money to Midtown and are drinking like kings while I’m drinking lizard piss.” Fridda took a swig of brown liquid from a half-empty bottle she clutched at her side.

  “Where are they drinking, Fridda?”

  “Drinking real whiskey like kings.”

  Cleary’s mind tried to make sense of her ramblings, and he thought he might know where Don and Curtis had gone. “Here. This is the rest of Harvey’s pay and a little extra for his loyalty,” he said, and tossed a small sack of coins next to Fridda.

  She cast a scornful glare at the pouch and stood. “That’d keep me a month, but what then? My man be dead!” She grabbed the hem of her tattered skirts and lifted it to her face, exposing herself. “Ain’t nobody gonna pay for this! You wanna pay for this?”

  Cleary looked askance and tossed some loose coins in the dirt by her feet. “Here’s a couple more staters to put it away.”

  Fridda dropped her skirts and fell to her knees, scrambling after the coins. Cleary turned away and left for Midtown.

  It was already late, so he hailed a passing cab and ordered the driver to take him to the King’s Conquest, a tavern favored by the working class who appreciated a proper drink and had the money to afford it.

  Cleary was one of only three men wearing a mask in the King’s Conquest. Most of those who were entitled to wear one tended to revel in Liberty, but some, those whose fortunes were waning or perhaps simply preferred the company of lesser men, found themselves in Midtown. Of course, not even the most hard-pressed mask wearer did business or recreated in Blindside unless either of those things were of the illicit variety.

  His half mask allowed him to sip a glass of whiskey while casually observing the tavern’s occupants incognito. Cleary owned numerous masks and outfits, which allowed him to hide in plain sight. It was the greatest benefit of the mask culture for men like him. It was also dangerous. All masks he wore were registered, even if under false identities. Getting caught wearing an unregistered mask was a serious offense, so serious that few people were willing to risk the penalty for violating the law. It would not hold up to thorough scrutiny, but it would allow him to pass cursory gendarme inspections.

  Cleary found Curtis and Don already comfortably seated at the bar. They spent money as if they had plenty, and likely did. The payment they were supposed to receive from him after Fred Switzer’s trial was not a small amount for men like them, so whatever Top Hat had given them was quite substantial. Of course, not getting murdered for refusing his offer inevitably sweetened the deal.

  He had to endure more than three hours of sitting, sipping, and fending off the other masked men’s attempts at engaging him in conversation before the pair finally had enough of drinking and carousing and staggered out of the tavern. Cleary politely detached himself from his “new friends” and followed after his disloyal employees a moment after they left.

  Tailing the duo was easy despite the sparsely lit streets. A blind man could have followed them thanks to their singing as they bounced off of the occasional streetlamp or stepped into a gutter with a loud curse. Cleary spotted a darkened patch of roadway in the distance, slipped down an alleyway, and raced ahead of the men.

  With sword in one hand and pistol in the other, he darted out from the narrow passage between buildings and planted himself in their path. “Not a sound,” Cleary warned, twitching the muzzle of his pistol for emphasis.

  Don and Curtis blinked stupidly several times as their eyes focused on the weapons and their drink-sodden brains fought to comprehend what was happening.

  “Are you robbing us?” Curtis asked, his words coming out in a slur.

  Don punched him in the shoulder. “He ain’t robbing us. He’s wearing a mask.”

  Curtis gave Cleary several slow blinks. “If you ain’t robbing us, then wha’ you want?”

  Cleary pointed with his sword. “Walk that way. Turn into the alley on your left. We need to have a talk.”

  Don squinted at the dark opening between buildings just ahead. “Why don’t we just talk here?”

  Cle
ary jabbed him with his rapier hard enough to pierce his clothing and about half an inch of flesh beneath.

  The inebriated man took a stumbling step backward and slapped a hand over the minor wound. “Ow, shit! What ya do that for?”

  “I said move,” Cleary ordered.

  Don raised a hand and waved it as he lumbered toward the alley. “Fine, I’m going. Ya don’t have to go around poking holes in my clothes and my body.”

  “Yeah,” Curtis chimed in, “he just bought that shirt.”

  “Shut up, both of you.”

  “Rudest damn mugging I ever been in,” Don grumbled.

  “Stop, turn around and face me.”

  Still seemingly unconcerned, Don and Curtis turned about, slightly weaving on their feet in a constant battle between their equilibrium and gravity.

  “I paid you to do a job,” Cleary said. “You did not do that job, and now some people are dead, which means I failed to do my job. That has me very upset.”

  Recognition dawned in both men’s bloodshot eyes and Don said, “Oh, it’s you. Yeah, we got paid to not do your job. Sorry about that."

  “Where is Fred Switzer?”

  Don shook his head. “We aren’t supposed to say nothing about that. It was part of the new job.”

  “You see, the problem is that I had already paid you to keep my people hidden until Fred’s trial.”

  “Yeah, but Fred’s man paid us more. Damn, I don’t think I was supposed to say nothing about that either.”

  Cleary’s rapier leapt forward and stabbed Don through his heart. The man looked stupidly at the blossoming hole in his chest for a moment before crumpling to the ground.

  “Aw, man, he just bought that shirt,” Curtis said.

  “Where is Fred hiding?”

  Curtis snapped his head back up to face Cleary, his mind sobering under the imminent threat of death. “I-I don’t know.”

  Cleary cocked the hammer back on his pistol.

  “I don’t know, I swear! He’s been laying low since they let him go, but Top Hat’s been hanging around Lowgate Plaza, managing his business.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Curtis bobbed his head up and down. “Yeah, I tried to buy some aether weed from him and he shouted at me to bugger off on account I wasn’t supposed to be seen anywhere near him.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Yeah, sure man. It was just business, you know?”

  Cleary nodded. “Yeah, just business.”

  The pistol discharged with a sharp crack, a cloud of smoke, and a spray of brain matter. Cleary knew all about business. It was why he was still alive and these two were now lizard food. He could have recouped his financial losses, or rather Conner’s, but he decided to let the scavengers have that as well and left what remained of the men’s ill-gotten gains on their bodies.

  ***

  “Come on, Top Hat, I need to talk to Fred,” Wesley pleaded.

  One oversized hand came up, wrapped around Wesley’s neck, and shoved him against the wall while the other touched the tip of a long, slender knife to his bottom eyelid. “It’s Mr. Ridley to you.”

  Wesley fought the impulse to nod. “Right, Mr. Ridley. Sorry.” The hand released its hold and the stiletto withdrew. “I just need to see Mr. Switzer.”

  “If you want something, you pay me—with coin, otherwise, piss off. That’s how this works.”

  “It isn’t for me!”

  Top Hat’s eyes traveled up and down the young man’s trembling body and he smirked. “That’s what your mouth says, but your body tells another story.”

  Wesley’s shoulders sagged and he flexed his knees. “Not entirely for me.”

  “Then pay me and stop all of this dancing around.”

  “I don’t have the money.”

  “Then we don’t have business.”

  “I want more than just to use. I have clients, lots of clients, I can resell to. That’s why I need to talk to Fred. I need the money.”

  “You need a fix.”

  “I need both, but mostly I need the money. Look, Kiera said Fred wanted me to come see him. I can’t find him, but I’m sure you know where he is.”

  Top Hat’s face darkened. “You can’t find Fred because Fred don’t want to be found.”

  “But he still has you out here doing business. So take me to him so we can do business.”

  Top Hat ran his tongue across his oversized teeth and nodded. “All right, but if he isn’t happy with your proposal, know that your ass is going to belong to me until I get bored with you and I give you to the worms.”

  “I’m confident Fred will see the merit in my proposal,” Wesley said with a smile. Kiera, if I live through this, you’re going to owe me big time, he thought as he followed behind Top Hat’s lanky form.

  Wesley felt like a man walking to the gallows, and if things went poorly, either today or whenever Kiera executed this insane scheme of hers, this very well could mean his death. He was momentarily surprised when they passed through Lowgate and crossed into Blindside, but then, no one batted an eye at a dead body in this section of the city, so it made perfect sense. He was pretty sure he walked by at least three corpses before they reached their destination.

  Top Hat led him into an old building that looked to have once been a counting house before the cataclysm. Numerous dust-laden tables occupied much of the ground floor, several of them with equally filthy abacuses adorning them. They proceeded up a set of rickety stairs, which Wesley was certain would collapse beneath them at any moment, and went into one of the offices.

  Fred Switzer looked up from the surprisingly tidy desk he sat behind and glared. “What’s this, Mr. Ridley? I told you I didn’t want anyone coming here.”

  “He insisted. Said he has a proposal for you and that you wanted to see him.”

  Fred squinted through the gloom. “Ah, it’s young Mr. Ferdy. What do you want, boy?”

  Wesley wrung his hands together, noting that they were slick with sweat. He flicked his eyes around the room and took in everything at a glance. Several columns of Velarothian staters sat in glittering silver stacks around an abacus. Two chests, too small to be for clothing or personal belongings and secured with strong locks, sat against the wall.

  “Sah, I hoped we could come to an arrangement for some dream dust.”

  Fred grinned at Top Hat. “You hear that, Mr. Ridley? Sah he calls me. He must be desperate, and desperate men tend to make bad deals.” He turned his predator’s gaze back to Wesley. “Mr. Ridley is handling all of my deals. He should have told you that. Your being here is now a problem for me.”

  “Sah…Fred, I’ve been a good customer for a long time,” Wesley pressed.

  “You’ve been a shit customer! With your dram-bag purchases. You’re small-time. Always will be. I’m going big and leaving the pissants like you behind. I’m going to be running all of Topside very soon, and I don’t have time to waste on lowborn pleasure boys.”

  “That’s why I had to talk to you, Fred. I need to go bigger, I know this. I have a lot of wealthy contacts who like to indulge when they are with me. I thought that maybe you could front me some product and I could sell it for a small part of the take.”

  “You’re a user. Users make terrible sellers. They have a nasty tendency to consume their inventory.”

  “I won’t, I swear. I’m just a casual user during jobs…mostly.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, kid.”

  “I think—I know I can open up a good line with my customers. Please, Fred, I need the money.”

  Fred grinned and his gold teeth glinted in the feeble light streaming through the large, dust-covered glass skylights overhead. “Yeah, I know you do. It’s why I’m tempted to tell you to piss off. Kiera insulted my man by stealing from him. Then Rafferty gets in my business because of it. But, great things are about to happen for me, and I’m feeling generous. Mr. Ridley, set our young friend up with a pound of dream dust. We’ll see what he can do with that and go from t
here.”

  Wesley swallowed the lump in his throat and beamed. “Thank you, Fred! You won’t regret this.”

  “Oh, I know I won’t. I’m not like Nimat. I won’t play around with chasing down debts. I’ll just cut your throat and be done with you. You and your little girlfriend, and maybe your simpleton brother too while I’m at it. Oh, and you never saw me. Got it?”

  Wesley bobbed his head. “Yeah, got it. Never saw you.”

  Top Hat shoved him toward the door and into another room where he retrieved a package of dream dust from one of several chests. He shoved it into the young man’s hands before ushering him down the stairs and out into the street.

  “Don’t come back here, boy, ever,” Top Hat warned. “You come find me in the plaza once that’s sold.”

  Wesley was already hurrying away and nodded over his shoulder, concealing his precious package. He walked as fast as he could without drawing undue attention to himself, desperate to get as far away from Fred Switzer and his psychotic sidekick as possible.

  ***

  Cleary detached himself from the alley wall across from the abandoned counting house. He stepped into the street and collided with a man upon rounding the corner.

  “Pardon me, sah,” the man said as he stepped aside.

  Cleary noted the extraordinarily fine porcelain mask and the man’s clothing. “It was entirely my fault, Chief Inquisitor.”

  Bertram motioned at the emblem in Cleary’s mask. “You’re part of the Ewart family, correct?”

  “That’s right, sah. Isaiah Ewart.”

  “This isn’t the kind of place I would expect someone of your line to be frequenting.”

  “My father is looking to purchase some affordable property to expand our printing business.”

  Bertram tilted his head back. “Ah, that counting house would make an excellent location, would it not, despite the class of its citizenry?”

  Cleary smiled. “Luckily, thieves tend not to read and are thus disinclined to steal books. But it appears that the building is occupied, so I shall continue my scouting elsewhere.”

  “You may want to stop by here on occasion. I think the building is likely to become vacant very soon.”