The Assassin's Blade

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The Assassin's Blade Page 10

by H J Peterson


  “Same gang as Biermann,” Brooks said. “Sounds like the boss doesn’t want him talking.”

  “Do we know where he might be?” Hiro asked.

  “We do, but that ain’t none of your concern,” Berkowitz said. “You two are going to go find this Florian person, and you’re going to find out what the hell he’s doing with this Archangel.”

  Hiro nodded. “Do we know where he is?”

  “Lord Dubois estate: he’s his driver,” Berkowitz said. “Get down there, and figure out what the hell he’s doing for the Archangel.”

  Hiro frowned. “Why the hell-“

  “Last I checked, any question that starts with ‘why the hell’ is your department, inspector,” Berkowitz said. “Unless you can’t handle it: in that case, I’ll be happy to have you working the beat.”

  Hiro clenched her fists. “No, sir. I can handle it.”

  “Good: then handle it, or I’ll find somebody else to handle it.”

  XIV. ADELRIC

  Adelric plucked at his violin strings, trying to settle his nerves. He was in the basement of Medvye’s, hiding from the police. They were looking for him, now: every officer from inspectors and Shapers right on down to the humblest of beat cops. They’d come down to the basement at one point with Docs to try and sense his heartbeat, but luckily for him, one of Bator’s Docs was down there with him: he was able to hide both of their heartbeats from the police force’s Doc. He had no idea how long ago that had been: down in the basement, he didn’t have any sort of sense of time. All he could really do was sit in that basement with his violin and wonder whether or not any chance he had of getting out of this life had just been destroyed.

  Someone came down the stairs. Adelric immediately stopped plucking and watched as Klara, Bator, and a Valtruscan Doc by the name of Luca Giovanni descended down the stairs.

  He quickly put his violin in his case. He had a bad feeling about this.

  “You’ve got some things to answer for, faszfej,” Bator said once they reached the bottom of the stairs.

  Faszfej. Adelric had no idea what that meant (he had a pretty good guess) but he did know one thing: it was Magyaran.

  That was a horrible sign: Bator never spoke in Magyaran unless he was really pissed.

  “What about?” Adelric asked. He was being genuine, but he could tell by the look on Bator’s face that he didn’t think so.

  He slugged Adelric across the face, hard. The next thing Adelric knew, he was on the ground, his jaw throbbing. He knew this strategy: it was a favorite of mob bosses like Bator. They would beat them to a bloody pulp, then have a Doc fix them up. It meant for double the pain: having a Doc heal an injury hurt as much as the injury itself. Unless, of course, you had an Alchemist on hand to mess with the brain chemistry-

  Brain chemistry!

  And if it weren’t for the fact that he hadn’t ever attempted something like that before, he would’ve gone ahead and made his mind think that his jaw was throbbing a whole lot less than it actually was.

  He scrambled up to his feet. When people pissed Bator off, they didn’t get out with a few bumps and scrapes: if they were lucky, they spent weeks under the care of Docs with half their bones broken and the other half shattered.

  “I really don’t know what you want me to answer to,” Adelric said quickly. “Do you really think I would play dumb if I knew what it was?”

  “Yes, I do, actually,” Bator said without a hint of hesitation. He grabbed Adelric by the front of his shirt and lifted him up, shoving him against the wall.

  “Remember when I asked you if you left anything behind for the police to find and you said no, faszfej?” Bator asked. “And remember how I told you that you better not be lying?”

  “Yes, I remember both of those,” Adelric said quickly.

  Bator slammed him against the wall again, even harder than the last time. Adelric began seeing stars after his head hit brick.

  “Then why the hell did you lie to me?” He shouted in his face. “Didn’t you think that I would’ve liked to know about this before the damned inspectors found you and tried to arrest your sorry ass?”

  “I didn’t think I left anything behind,” Adelric said quickly, hoping beyond hope that Bator wouldn’t kill him over this.

  “Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t notice the lordling,” Bator scoffed.

  Apparently, Klara didn’t know that. He could practically see the steam coming out of her ears when she heard that.

  “Ya left a witness?” she asked as she stormed up to them. “Ya murdered a nobleman, an’ ya left behind a damned witness?” She cursed as she smoothed her red hair, which was up in a tight bun that day, back. “Damn it, Adelric: I didn’t think ya were tha’ stupid!”

  “I can see why you want to kill him, Klara.” Adelric was pretty sure that that was the longest sentence Luca had ever said in his life. He was leaning against the banister of the stairs that lead down to the basement, his arms folded over his chest and a very calm look on his face. “We may as well have had a little kid do it if we were going to have witnesses.”

  Adelric was about to protest, until Bator socked him in the face, again. Immediately, Adelric could feel blood filling up his mouth; he was pretty sure that he was missing a few teeth, now.

  “Do you remember the witness you left?” Bator asked. “I’ll give you a hint: he’s a pretty famous noble, one who supposedly sacked one of the police inspectors who happens to be working your case right now.”

  “Friedrich freaking Eltz?” Klara asked almost immediately.

  “Where would we be if I’d killed him, too?” Adelric asked. He could feel blood slowly dripping out of his mouth. “Do you have any idea how worse off we’d be?”

  “You really think things would be worse?” Bator asked. “How the hell could you be so stupid?”

  Bator punched Adelric in the gut, but before he could do anything worse, Francesca, one of the Valtruscan sisters who helped Bator out with things, poked her head down into the cellar.

  “Bator, you’re going to want to come up here,” she said. “There’s some police officers here to see you about Lord Saaltz.”

  Bator sighed as he let go of Adelric, letting him fall to the ground. Obviously, this was the last thing he wanted to deal with: he looked like he’d rather sit in a furnace than deal with the cops.

  Of course, though, he didn’t really have much of a choice.

  “You’re lucky, Adelric;” Bator said as he ran a hand through his thinning hair. “If the police weren’t upstairs right now and if you weren’t an Alchemist, I would go ahead and send you to hell.”

  He began to go upstairs.

  “Klara, break his legs,” he said as he walked upstairs. “Luca, make sure the police can’t hear it.”

  Adelric could feel the blood drain from his face.

  Klara took up the bat as the cellar door closed and began to gently smack her hand with it.

  “I would say tha’ this is gonna hurt me a lot more than it’s gonna hurt ya, but tha’ would be a lie,” she said as Adelric’s throat suddenly tightened; Luca’s work, he imagined. He also tightened Adelric’s legs so he wouldn’t be able to move them, rather than force one of them to hold him down while Klara did Bator’s dirty business.

  Adelric braced himself as Klara got ready to hit him with the bat.

  XV. FRIEDRICH

  Lord Dubois’ estate was modest, compared to the rest of the nobility. In fact, most wouldn’t even really call it an estate: it was a private three-story building in the ever fashionable Kirchner Quarter, where the rich of the middle class and the poor of the upper class lived. He didn’t have expansive grounds, or really any grounds, at all: homes there all had inner courtyards, instead, with alleys large enough for a fence and space for guards to walk on either side separating the homes. Lord Dubois’ estate was just a block away from the university, where Friedrich was studying political science and Magyaran. An excellent choice, considering the current climates. The lectures th
at day had been fantastic: the professors-particularly Professor Adler in regards to the development of political ideologies-had all tried to focus on the stirrings that had been happening since Lord Saaltz’s murder. His day had been going very well, until he’d walked out of his Magyaran lecture with Katalin to find Chayim waiting for him.

  He frowned when he saw him. “I’m sorry: I must have forgotten to tell you that I was going to go to the parlor for a few hours after lectures, today.”

  “You didn’t,” Chayim said. “Lord Eltz has different plans: he wants you to go have lunch with Lord Dubois.”

  Friedrich felt himself deflate. “Lord Dubois? Why? The two don’t even like one another.”

  “Only in private,” Chayim said. “You know your father: he likes to have his hand in everything, whether or not he likes them. He thinks you might have a better shot at getting some sort of business deal with him: he seems more fond of you than him.”

  Only because Lord Dubois thinks he can manipulate me more than he can my father.

  And that was how Friedrich and Katalin ended up in the Kirchner Quarter, walking up to Lord Dubois’ door.

  “You didn’t have to come,” Friedrich told Katalin as they walked up to the door. “Really: these lunches are horribly boring. Especially if you’re not the one doing business.”

  “I don’t care,” Katalin said. “I needed a little adventure, today.” She took his hand. “Besides: this will be our first appearance in public together since your father gave his blessing.”

  Right. That conversation he’d had with his father-the one that had ended with Lord Eltz finally giving his blessing on their relationship-still weighed heavy on his heart. He’d hated himself before going in to talk with his father, and he hated himself even then. He’d told Eltz about Katalin’s being a Dodger, had used all the cold words he’d heard over the years when describing allies, and Eltz had finally consented. “At least we’ll have a Shaper if one of the other houses decides to take advantage of your weakness when I’m gone,” his father had said. It had turned into a reminder for Friedrich: sometimes, it was better to not get what you want than to get what you want through lying.

  He still hadn’t told Katalin. He didn’t think he could ever tell Katalin-

  “You told him that I’m a Dodger, didn’t you?”

  Friedrich’s heart leaped into his chest. “I-erm-“

  “It’s okay if you did,” Katalin said. “Really: my father warned me about that before we came to Vorbereich.”

  “I’m sorry,” Friedrich said. “Honestly: I shouldn’t have-“

  Before he could finish what he was saying, Katalin knocked on the door.

  “It’s fine,” Katalin said. “Let’s just… have a nice afternoon, alright?”

  He could tell she was lying, but he didn’t get the chance to talk about it more: the door opened, revealing one of Lord Dubois’ attendants.

  “Good afternoon Lord Eltz, Countess von Thurzó,” the attendant said with a bow. “Lord Dubois is waiting for you on the patio. Shall I escort you?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Friedrich said with a nod.

  “Right this way, then.”

  Friedrich and Katalin stepped into the house and the attendant closed the door.

  Lord Dubois had his house set up the way every other noble did. They were lead through what some called the parade route: halls decorated and kept up to show off the wealth of the family. Every house had them, and they were always in the most trafficked area of the house. Antiques lined the walls, there: paintings on the subjects of history and religion, ornate vases with plants that didn’t grow well in Vorbereich, as well as the odd suit of armor and antique weapons. The black and white checkerboard floor practically shone under their feet as they walked to the courtyard. Katalin was courteous to look around and marvel at it, as one was supposed to do, but Friedrich didn’t: he was so surrounded by opulence like that, it was hard to pretend like it was new, or impressive.

  Lord Dubois sat at a latticework table and chair, drinking tea and looking over papers in his courtyard. He was an older, balding man, with a stomach that reached over his belt and a pudgy face. All in all, he looked exactly like the caricatures of nobles in the papers: a man who hadn’t seen so much as a day of actual work and a stomach that had never known a day without as much food as he wanted. A cellist played in the corner, keeping away complete silence.

  Friedrich hated going to the homes of lesser nobles. Every one of them tried to be as rich as possible when they had visitors in an effort to impress them. It was the one thing he liked about his father: he never felt the need to show off his money in ways like that. Not that he had to: the surname Eltz was enough to intimidate people.

  The attendant stopped by the door to the courtyard. “Lord Dubois, Lord Friedrich Eltz, heir to House Eltz, and his courtship, Countess Katalin von Thurzó.”

  Lord Dubois looked up them, frowning. “Friedrich? I was under the impression that your father would be the one coming. And I didn’t know that the countess would be coming, as well: I might have told Denise to stay, give her company while we talk business.”

  “My father had other business to attend to,” Friedrich said stiffly. “He sent me in his stead.”

  “Of course,” Lord Dubois said, his upper lip twitching slightly. Friedrich might not have even noticed it if it weren’t for that mustache. It was easy to see what it meant, though: he was annoyed that Lord Eltz had sent his son-whom most saw as weak-minded-in his stead. He perceived it as an insult, likely, and it was: it was Eltz’s way of saying that Dubois wasn’t important enough for him to bother with in person.

  “Please, sit down,” Lord Dubois said, motioning to the table. “We have much to discuss.”

  All three of them sat down at the table, and Lord Dubois began to tidy up his mess of papers.

  He turned and said something to a nearby attendant in Rocheran. The attendant nodded and walked off.

  “We’ll be having poulet chasseur, today,” Lord Dubois said. “It’s a delicacy back in Rochereux. I hope that’s alright with you.”

  “Of course,” Katalin said with a nod and a courteous smile. “That sounds delicious.”

  Lord Dubois didn’t acknowledge her: instead, he turned to Friedrich. “Now, tell me: what has Lord Eltz told you about our business, today?”

  “He told me that you’re looking for a business associate, since your last one… died,” Friedrich said. Friedrich wasn’t certain if Lord Dubois or the late Lord Saaltz knew this, but the two lords had both tried to give Eltz a portion of the shipping business they had: whatever falling out they’d had had become an opportunity more and more contacts overseas for Eltz as they prepared to become part of their shipping empire. Only adding to their influence.

  “Correct,” Lord Dubois said.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Katalin said.

  Lord Dubois snorted. “Why? I’m not: Saaltz was a lousy business partner. He gambled on things that would never work. ‘We’ll never rise in this world without risk’, he used to tell me. We’ll also never rise in this world if we make stupid investments that don’t turn a profit. But, that’s in the past. I look forward to working with a house with more stable prospects.”

  Katalin opened her mouth to say something, but she closed it before she could say it.

  “Before we give you our business, my father has some… concerns,” Friedrich said.

  “What are they?” Dubois asked. “I’m sure I can ease your mind.”

  “How do we know you’ll stay loyal to House Eltz?”

  Dubois raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything. He was, apparently, waiting for Friedrich to continue.

  “Please, don’t be offended,” Friedrich said. “You see, you… don’t have an excellent track record with loyalty to your business associates. Lord Krieger, Lord Ackers: all of them fell to the wayside once your ambitions outgrew them. Lord Eltz would like to know how he’s supposed to know that you won’t do the same to hi
m.”

  Lord Dubois gave Friedrich a long, hard stare as one of the attendants set food and tea down for them. If looks could kill, Friedrich would’ve died right there.

  “He must not be too concerned: he sent you here instead of coming himself, after all.”

  It was meant to be a jab at him, of course, but he didn’t let it phase him. “My father was under the impression that you wouldn’t wish to make an enemy of the most powerful house in Vorbereich. Was he wrong?”

  Friedrich could see the wheels turning in Lord Dubois’ head. Weighing his options. Deciding what might benefit him the most.

  Friedrich was fairly certain he knew what conclusion Dubois would come to. Men like Dubois liked to puff out their chest, pretend like they didn’t care about the opinions of houses like Eltz, but the fact of the matter was, the lower houses needed to be aligned with at least one upper house. If they broke free of them, like they all said they wanted to, the prominent houses would destroy them.

  “Perhaps I should shop around for business partners a little more,” Lord Dubois said. He turned to Katalin. “Tell me, countess: is your father open to having more business partners? Perhaps getting in on new ventures?”

  Friedrich just about choked on his food. He couldn’t help it. Lord Dubois was insane: he’d really rather make an enemy of Eltz than just pretend like he would be a loyal business partner?

  “My father is always open to business partners,” Katalin said. “However, he values a man who keeps to his word. If you back out of this deal with Eltz, Count Tamas von Thurzó won’t touch you with a ten foot poll. He’s well liked back home: if he says no to you, the rest of Magyar will say no to you. I’d suggest for the sake of your house that you don’t backstab House Eltz.”

  Lord Dubois paled.

  Friedrich smiled slightly as he took a sip of tea. Looked like he hadn’t expected her to know a thing or two about this sort of politics.

 

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