Shadow Knight

by O. J. Lowe

  Castle’s mistake was always that he thought himself invulnerable, unstoppable, like a typhoon or a tidal wave. Most powerful beings do, they can’t face the reality that there’s someone out there who can beat them under the right circumstances. Where he went wrong, he blundered onto the wrong territory, into Lion Town and got into a fight with their queen, still an unknown quantity as far as I’m concerned, but she’d killed him dead. That hinted at impressive combat prowess, I cursed Levitt for running to her. I might well need to pay her a visit one night soon and see if I can get a lion for my cadre.

  Most of the other knights had had similar things to say to Thirlwell, Andrew Talliver, the earth knight and the driver of the car that had brought me here had offered the suggestion he thought Moulton had a place somewhere out in Fullman’s Brook, but he couldn’t confirm it. Tony Blake, the air knight, had merely shrugged and given one-word answers where he could when I’d questioned him, not at all helpful but I got the impression nobody trusted him with valuable information. Karen Symond, the fire knight, she’d told me she’d always found Moulton creepy, something off about him even if initially she’d claimed she didn’t know what it was. When I’d pressed her on it, she’d finally relented, admitted that she’d never caught him checking her out was something that unnerved her.

  “Because,” she said, “they all do it, usually before they know who I am. Even caught you doing it on the way over here.”

  Illuminating, just as you might expect from a pyromancer, but hardly helpful to the circumstances at hand.

  With the knights being a bust, I’d turned my attention to Nivendis, even gone to his house to talk to him, had been brought in by his creepy butler, a tall, black fellow whose name I’d been informed was Garchand. The more I studied his back as I followed him into the house, the more I found myself convinced that he was a zombie. Through being wielders of shadow magic, the Nivendis family had a reputation for being skill necromancers. His house wasn’t the best I’d ever been in, all the signs of comfortable living rather than excessive. Nivendis was coming to the end of his life after all, I guessed, he looked pretty old, though sometimes it was deceptive with wizards. But what was the point of opulence when you couldn’t take it with you?

  The old man sat in his study, a fire flickering merrily in the background, a blanket over his legs and a pipe in his mouth, he sucked at the stem merrily as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Thanks to my conversation with Commodore, I recognised the woman stood inside with him, the infamous Rebecca Meheq, nee Nivendis.

  “Ah, Armitage,” Nivendis barked. “Welcome, welcome, have a seat, have a seat. Coffee? Garchand does an irrepressible brew, truly.”

  I nodded. “That would be lovely.” Always handy to have right of hospitality in a house like this. Behind me, Garchand nodded, shuffled off. The notion he could speak implied against him being one of the undead, though I think skilled necromancers could make them parrot some words at great effort. Most didn’t bother, relied on sign language and rude gestures when resurrected.

  “My daughter,” Nivendis said, jerking his head towards her. “Rebecca.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” she said. “My father told me to come here, said that we had a distinguished guest.”

  “Your father does me great honour,” I said. “I didn’t know you had such a lovely daughter, Lord Nivendis.” Flattery gets you everywhere. He didn’t need to know about my discussion with Commodore.

  “And why would you?!” he barked. “This girl’s been nothing but trouble through her life, still she’s blood.” Rebecca’s face fell a little, I felt a stab of sympathy for her. Nobody liked being called out like that in front of strangers, especially by a parent. “Bad choices all the way, especially in her choice of husband. Though she does have her uses. And I think you know something about being a troublemaker, Armitage.”

  “Some of the best people I’ve ever met have been troublemakers,” I said with a smile. Given what Commodore had told me about the way Rebecca Meheq’s marriage had ended, I wondered how often her old man held that against her. “Not that it matters. We’re all the product of our character flaws, Lord Nivendis. It doesn’t mean we’re bad people. It means we work twice as hard to compensate for them where we can.”

  “Work!” Nivendis almost spat. “A filthy word at the best of times. Now. Moulton.”

  “You don’t think he did it, do you?” I asked, remembering what he’d been at great pains to repeat throughout the meeting with him and the other members of the Shining Council.

  “Oh, I know damn well that he did it,” Nivendis said. “Boy always was driven. Always hated the fae royalty. Surprised it took him as long as it did to pull his finger out.”

  I blinked, hadn’t expected that. “You knew he might pull something like this?”

  “Suspected, my boy, suspected. Suspicion is not proof.”

  “And you gave him the shadow amulet?” Rebecca asked, giving her father a surprised look. I had to agree with her, that reeked of irresponsibility.

  “I gave it to the best candidate, damnit!” Nivendis bellowed. “That’s what we do. You pick your options, you look at what you’ve got, you pick the best one. An inferior one is going to let you down.”

  “The best one let you down!” she shot back. “He invaded fucking High Hall; he could hardly let you down further. He’s weakened your position on the council and—”

  “Pah!” Nivendis spat. “I was there before most of them and I’ll be there after they’re in the ground. This won’t be the thing that drags down our family. That’s what Armitage is here for. He’s going to kill that son of a bitch and retrieve our property.”

  “Easier said than done,” Rebecca said, smiling at me. “You’re going to find it hard to track Moulton.”

  “What, because of the whole shadow walking thing?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “One of the other knights said he could do it. Step into the shadows somewhere, step out somewhere else.”

  “Perhaps an exaggeration. People always do that about what they do not understand. Especially on this council,” Rebecca said. “They might have seen him do something they interpreted as that. In the same room, perhaps it’s a dream. Doing it somewhere and reappearing halfway across the Novisarium is an idle fantasy. I imagine melting into the shadows is something an assassin like yourself would find undoubtedly handy, Mister Armitage.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “No doubt. Do you know why Moulton hated the fae royal family?”

  “Why do any of us hate anyone?” Nivendis inquired. “Sometimes hatred comes from what we’ve suffered, sometimes it comes from what we fear. I never asked him. I wasn’t his therapist; I was his boss. As long as he did his job, I didn’t give a shit about what he thought.”

  “Except now he isn’t doing his job, is he?” I asked. “So, I guess now you’ve got to give a shit.”

  “Indeed,” Nivendis replied begrudgingly. “Indeed, I do. Nothing I hate more than being forced to give a shit, hmmm.”

  “Any idea where I might find him.”

  “You won’t,” he said, though he looked like he hated himself for the admission. “If Moulton doesn’t want to be found, you’re not going to.”

  I smirked at him. “Now, that just implies that I’m going to fail and that’s not going to happen. Not with this much at stake.”

  “Armitage,” Nivendis said. “As much as I admire your confidence, this is one time it’s not going to have a resolution that favours you. If you go up against Moulton, he’s going to murder you.”

  “Your concern is both noted and touching,” I said. “But I’ve made a contract now and I have to see it through. And if you were that unconcerned, you wouldn’t have hired other assassins now, would you?”

  Nivendis’ nostrils flared in disgust. “Who told you about that?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Just know this, old man, I don’t appreciate being made to jump through hoops.”

  “Son, wel
come to the Novisarium,” Nivendis barked with laughter. “That’s all any of us ever do in here.”

  Seven.

  What do you do when the trail feels as if it’s going cold before you’ve even started? The Novisarium is a huge city at the best of times, countless places for someone on the run to hide, there are places that haven’t seen the touch of another human being in months, that’s even before you remember that the Novisarium is a nexus, a place touching every human city in every dimension and there are countless demesnes to wander off into. Though I think I could rule out Moulton returning to High Hall. Nobody in his position, in their right mind, would do that. If he was seen by the fae there, he’d be executed.

  Of course, it’s always good to check out their home. In the file they’d given me on him, they’d confirmed what Talliver had said, that he had a house in Fullman’s Brook. That was interesting. It wasn’t the wealthiest of areas in the Novisarium, but rather a place where those who’d started with nothing and accrued something ended up living, middle class to the core. They’d reached out of the poverty; they’d made something of themselves. Dreams of living Uptown or somewhere like Vermillion Heights, those were a million miles away, but at least they could say they didn’t live in Stoller’s Shanty or sleep rough in the warehouse district. Not many of my targets actually live out here, I’ve got to admit. They might run here, a bolt hole for an emergency, most of them were either Uptown or in the centre zone. Hell, it’s like the busier, richer areas draw the most discerning sort of arsehole.

  When I got to the address in the file the Shining Council had given me, I was less than surprised to find the door booted from its hinges, the wood around the lock splintered almost in two.

  I didn’t even want to think about who might have done this much damage, there were some pretty powerful beings in the Novisarium, but most of them didn’t steep to home invasion. I drew my gun, checked it expertly across before I stepped inside, both hands on the butt, barrel pointed at the ground. On the off chance that it was the Vigilant, I didn’t want to storm in like a wild west gunslinger. That’s an all too swift way to end up dead for my liking. Wood splintered beneath my feet as I followed the carpeted hallway into the main room, the scent of old swamp water and graveyard dust hitting my nostrils. I tried not to gag, just about succeeded as I entered the living room, a big man stood towards the back of it. The moment I entered, he stiffened and turned to face me. Wild haired and eyed, he gave me a grin through pointed bloody teeth.

  “I know you,” he said, not a hint of satisfaction about it. “Cassius Armitage. Which means the Red Claw. Ah, but well, I fear you’re too late. He’s not here.”

  I knew the man by sight, though I’d never gotten his name. Assuming he was actually a man which was something I wouldn’t have staked my career on. “Who are we talking about again?” I politely asked.

  “The knight of shadows, indeed. You must be one of the others.” He shrugged, moved to slope towards the other exit out of the room.

  “You’re not an assassin,” I said. “You’re a mercenary. A fighter for hire.”

  “I’m multi-skilled,” he replied. “You’re too focused on labels, Armitage. I’ve got better things to do with my time than fight with you, I’m going to let you walk out of here. Or maybe you’ll scratch around a while, see what you can dig up. Either way, I don’t care.”

  I had no desire to get into a tussle with him, not unless there was some point to it. It’s not often someone gives me pure indifference, but in my dealings with him, as few and far between as they’d been, he’d never treated me with anything but.

  “Happy hunting, Armitage,” he said, his voice fading as he headed for the door. If nothing else, I’d always found him reasonable. Disturbingly so. He might look like a backwoods maniac, but he’d always been civil. You might have expected us to start scrapping like a pair of toddlers having a tantrum, but it’s never been my style. It’s not worth it, not over nothing. If he got to Moulton before I did, then I’d not been good enough, that was the truth of the matter. I’d recruit him, truth be told, if he’d give me the time of day long enough to listen. Maybe he doesn’t like me, maybe he just wasn’t a big joiner.

  I didn’t have time to worry about him, I went over the house with a fine precision, sought out anything out of place, anything that might hint where he’d gone. I truly hadn’t expected him to come back here, you’d have to be dumb in his position to do something like that, but it’d been known to happen. Desperate men did truly stupid things sometimes. Even if I didn’t find him here, I might pick up some clue as to where he’d eventually ended up. I wondered about family, if there was a Mrs Moulton out there, a father or a mother. His file hadn’t mentioned him being married, any sort of partner, there’d only been a passing mention to his parents. That meant they didn’t know, I found myself wondering about that. The Shadow Council was a bureaucracy at heart, I’d guessed that much, the notion that they either hadn’t bothered or hadn’t been able to find out everything they needed about his parents, that was troubling.

  I didn’t find anything related to the father, but as I went through the rooms, I found a photo of a younger Moulton, maybe in his teens, stood next to a tall woman with the same blond hair, a haughty look on her face as if she thought the person taking the photo was nothing more than shit on her shoes.

  I couldn’t imagine growing up with a woman like that in my life, she looked colder than a polar bear’s nose, the sort of woman for whom nothing would ever be enough, her clothes didn’t look expensive, but they were immaculately conditioned, probably helped in no small way by the fact she had the body of a catwalk model, tall and statuesque.

  Maybe she had been a model in a previous life, the more I stared at her, the more I got the feeling I should know her, that I’d seen her before somewhere. Just another question for another day, not a pressing one. If I found an address, I might go see her. Maybe she wasn’t even alive. Maybe. Too many maybes.

  When all else fails, I do have other avenues to explore. Since the Morningstar took over at the Vigilant, it has become notoriously difficult to bribe them. Difficult. Not impossible. And because of the added risk, infinitely more expensive. Getting them to look the other way while you blatantly commit crimes? Not happening.

  Slipping someone a consideration in order to get information? That hadn’t been completely wiped out yet, though I don’t doubt that window will slam shut very soon. The Morningstar has a real bee in his bonnet about corruption, what he wants, he inevitably gets, and I had no doubt the Vigilant would eventually get locked up tighter than a virgin on the night before her wedding.

  For now, though, the store was still open if you were prepared to pay. I’d never met Janos Ptolemy in person, I meant to keep it that way. But I knew his voice, that he liked money and I knew his price.

  “Hello?”

  “Ah, Janos,” I said, all too amicably. If I was too guarded, he’d be on alert, question something was wrong. They breed the paranoia into them early in the Vigilant, and well, this guy had more to be paranoid about than most. “How the devil are you?”

  Our code word. If he was good to talk, he’d give a positive answer. If not, the call wouldn’t continue.

  “Brilliant,” he said. “Although I can’t stay long, we’ll have to keep this short.”

  “Garrett Moulton,” I replied. “I need to know everything you have on him.”

  “Who?”

  “Shadow knight for the Shining Council.”

  “Officially we don’t keep logs on them,” Ptolemy said. “They’re an entirely separate body whom we shouldn’t have any jurisdiction under our agreements with the Shining Council that they can govern themselves if they keep it all under control.”

  “And unofficially?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “Unofficially, we like to know what’s going on. Just because they’re knights for the Shining Council, it doesn’t make them immune from Novisarium rules. We’re just a bit more lenie
nt on them where we can be. Politics, right?”

  I made a sound of disgust, didn’t argue it too much. After all, I had a similar agreement with the Conclave. A business like mine had to have a licence. We were permitted to exist as long as we didn’t make a big scene, as long as we didn’t give them excuse to catch us in the act. Part of the reason the school had started, we could drill the importance of it all into them early on.

  It’s the sort of arrangement that might not be palatable for some at the Vigilant. I know when we took the contract on Loki, Cameron Cavendish got in touch and threatened all sorts of action against us if we performed the hit, though how that had backfired in his face when that Valkyrie had killed the trickster on the steps of the Novisarium. Where we were concerned, he didn’t have a leg to stand on. Granted, they had Eric Steele in custody, but he’d always kept his story the same, that he was operating under his own initiative. Good help like that really is hard to find. When he got out, he’d be rewarded handsomely.

  “Be in touch, Janos,” I said and hung up.

  My next phone call went to voice mail, yielded me a text message some several moments later with an address to go to. I had to bite down the sigh of frustration, I never liked dealing with this asshole. At times like this, I used to go to Josephus Van Helsing, the Shadow Director, but he’d been killed some months earlier. (Not by me or mine, I might add.) As of yet, nobody had sprung up to fill the void of the services he provided, but no doubt given time, someone would. If nature abhors a vacuum, the Novisarium even less so.

  Travelling to the location, I found myself thinking about the contact. Where magic was concerned, he had his finger on the pulse of its underworld, the parts not really acknowledged by the Shining Council. He used to deal in potions and poisons, though I believe he’d had that inclination knocked out of him by an unpleasant encounter with the Vigilant. Rumour had it they’d only let him go because he’d given them information they needed, I didn’t know whether it was true or not, but it was a disturbing possibility. Still, none of his regular clients had gone down for it, that spoke to me of it not being true. Nobody had gone to jail; nobody was screaming for his blood in the streets because he’d sold them out. It was about the only reason he was still alive, if not entirely trusted the way he once was.