The Assassin's Blade

by H J Peterson

  He heard somebody curse, but heaven knew if he actually hit anything.

  Some other force took hold of him, this one even more sinister than the last. He felt like he was being held in some gigantic fist, being squeezed to the verge of popping. It held his arms and his legs against the wall, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move them. He could barely even move his head.

  He tried to call out for help, but he couldn’t even do that: it came out as a strangled squeak.

  “Achthoven?”

  That was when he saw who else was in the cell with him. Klara was no longer alone in that cell, and she certainly wasn’t still shackled to the wall: Aki, Hiro’s brother, was also there, as was…

  If Adelric had had an ounce of control of her his body, he probably would’ve wet himself.

  It was the Archangel.

  His heart started to beat against his chest like a sledge hammer. Where was the Dodger? There had to be a fourth man, somewhere: one could only be one type of Shaper, and since the Archangel was a Doc, Aki was an Alchemist, and Klara wasn’t even a Shaper, there had to be another one hiding out somewhere.

  And that meant that there was somebody out there, ready to kill anyone that might stumble upon that scene.

  “His real name’s Adelric Biermann, the kid that narked on Bator,” Klara growled. “Hruska’s that ‘jai inspector, too. Both o’ them was just with us t’ figure out what we was doin’.”

  Aki cursed, running a hand through his hair, then turned to look at the Archangel. “What do you want us to do about him, sir?”

  “What the hell do you think we do?” Klara asked. She pressed the gun in her hands against Adelric’s chin. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to prepare himself. “He’s a useless nark: we kill ‘em.”

  Adelric began to squirm even more, desperate to break whatever hold the Archangel had on him, but it didn’t work: he was stuck right where he was in the worst spot in the world.

  Klara cocked the hammer of the gun back.

  Don’t let this be the end, he prayed. For the first time in a long time. Please, don’t let this be the end!

  “Wait.”

  Adelric opened his eyes a crack.

  Klara seemed pretty confused, too. She lowered the gun and looked back at him. “What?”

  “I don’t entirely agree with your assessment of Mr. Biermann, Miss Schultz,” the Archangel said. “Everybody can be useful: sometimes, it’s simply a matter of finding the proper part to play.”

  The Archangel stepped forward, Klara and Aki parting to let him through.

  And he thought being around the Archangel when he thought he was an ally was terrible. Facing down that cold mask and soulless eyes as an enemy of the movement was absolutely terrifying.

  The Archangel cocked his head to the side. “You’re a nervous man, aren’t you? I can feel your heart beating from here, and I’m not even trying.”

  Despite the fact that the Archangel’s Grip on his neck loosened just enough to allow him to speak, Adelric didn’t say anything: his mind was absolutely paralyzed with fear.

  The Archangel pulled a knife from his belt.

  Panicked, Adelric began to squirm, again.

  It didn’t help. The Archangel’s Grip on every part of his body but his throat tightened. He couldn’t so much as twitch, now.

  He’d never felt so helpless in his life.

  “Why are you so worried about this old thing?” The Archangel asked, running a finger down the side of the blade. “Nothing has to come of this knife: all you have to do is cooperate, and you can go home in one piece.”

  Suddenly, Adelric slid down the wall, his feet finally touching the ground as his gravity returned to normal. Where in the hell was that stupid Dodger, and how did he know what to do and when to do it?

  “Now, tell me, Mr. Biermann,” the Archangel started, pressing Adelric’s shoulder into the wall. Why he even bothered, though, was anybody’s guess. “What do you know about the investigation?”

  For a few seconds, Adelric’s mind remained blank. The truth was, he had no idea what was happening with the investigation: that sort of information was strictly on a need to know basis, and Berkowitz and Bouchard didn’t seem to think he needed to know.

  But could he really tell the Archangel that he didn’t know anything? He had a feeling that that would end with him getting killed, and he’d rather avoid that as much as he could.

  So, naturally, he made something up that, in hindsight, was probably worse than just admitting that he didn’t know.

  “They know who you are,” Adelric said as defiantly as he could manage. “They know your name, your address, how you like your coffee, everything. They’ll have you in front of a firing squad by the end of the week-“

  Adelric gasped for air as the Archangel’s Grip on his neck suddenly got tight beyond belief. He couldn’t breathe: it took everything he could muster just to get tiny gulps of air. He was being strangled to death, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

  The Archangel sighed, as if he was disappointed. “You’re lying to me, Mr. Biermann. People’s hearts are like open books, yours especially: the mouth may lie, but the heart never does.”

  He began to struggle against the Grip, desperately trying to get away. He had a nasty feeling about where this was headed.

  Sure enough, the Archangel sent his knife right through Adelric’s shoulder and partially through the wall behind him, pinning him to the cell wall like an insect in a collection.

  Adelric would’ve screamed if he could.

  “I’m going to give you one last chance,” the Archangel said, still eerily calm. “What do you know about the investigation?”

  The Grip on Adelric’s neck loosened just slightly. Enough for him to breathe and to tell the truth about what he knew.

  “I don’t know!” he squeaked. His face began to grow red hot as his vision began to blur with tears, pained and ashamed. “I swear, I don’t know!”

  The Archangel twisted the knife, again. Adelric yelped.

  “Are you sure?” The knife slowly continued to twist, tearing the flesh in his shoulder into a pulp.

  “Yes!”

  The Archangel looked him in the eye, trying to decide whether or not Adelric was lying. Then, he yanked the knife out of his shoulder and let go of his Grip on him, entirely.

  Adelric slid to the ground and grabbed his shoulder, cursing. His coat was already nearly black with blood: he had to get to a hospital, before he bled out.

  “Run along, Mr. Biermann,” the Archangel said, wiping the blood off of his knife, seemingly disinterested. “Tell your masters that the people will take back their government come Friday, and that full amnesty will be granted to anybody that joins me before then.”

  The Archangel didn’t have to tell him twice. He scrambled to get back to his feet and ran out of the cell before any of them could change their minds about letting him live.

  They didn’t follow their messenger as he ran out to tell the police the news.

  LVII. HIRO

  Hiro sat just outside Maddox’s hospital room at Beloved Maximillia, looking down at her feet. She was supposed to get a statement from Maddox about everything that had happened back at the Vorbereicher House after the doctors had had a chance to give him a full examination, but, of course, the second the doctors gave her the okay to come and ask him questions, Friedrich showed up at the hospital and asked if he could visit him. And, of course, Hiro couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him after that awkward situation back on the lawn of the Vorbereicher House: just walking past him on the way out of Maddox’s room was bad enough.

  And so, there she sat. Waiting for Friedrich to hurry up and leave. Praying that he would leave.

  So, naturally, he stayed in that room for what felt like forever.

  Hiro sighed, tilting her head back slightly and gently hitting it against the wall behind her. The clock on the wall said that she’d been in that hospital for nearly an
hour: a half an hour waiting for the doctors to finish up with Maddox, and now, nearly another half an hour later, she was still waiting. All while the other cops in Königstadt ran around like chickens with their heads cut off, trying to learn as much about the bombing as they could.

  Thank heavens, though, she didn’t end up sitting alone out there for too long after that. Right about then, she saw Brooks walking down the corridor towards her, carrying a sight for sore eyes: cups of coffee from a local shop, one for each of them.

  Hiro stood up. “Please tell me that that’s what I think it is.”

  “If you’re thinking that it’s the biggest thing of coffee I could get with a hell of a lot of creamer and sugar in it, then yes: it’s exactly what you think it is,” Brooks said, handing Hiro the coffee. It was still warm, thank heaven. “You look like you could use it.”

  Hiro didn’t respond. Instead, she swigged down a gulp of coffee, ignoring the burning sensation of that scalding hot pick-me-up as it went down her throat. It was an instant energy boost, a trick she’d learned in her time at the police academy. Not the healthiest thing in the world to do, but it always worked when she was desperate.

  Brooks didn’t look impressed: he just looked concerned.

  “Good thing we’re in a hospital,” Brooks said, “because you’re going to need one after that.”

  “It’s fine,” Hiro croaked. “I used to do it all the time: kept me awake whenever I had to pull an all-nighter at the academy.”

  “And the award for police academy horror story award goes to Hiro for that,” Brooks said. “Did you really do that?”

  “No: I just wanted you to think that I have permanent damage to my throat and gulped down hot coffee just to watch you shit yourself.”

  Brooks began to massage the front of his neck, cursing. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you.”

  Both of them took a sip of coffee. That time, though, Hiro made sure to take a small, small sip.

  “What’s going on out in the city?” Hiro asked. “I haven’t exactly heard all that much since I got here.”

  “Well, Berkowitz has just about killed everyone that’s stepped foot in his office since the bomb went off,” Brooks said. “The last people I saw go in there were Biermann and Friedrich Eltz. I doubt they’ll be able to sit after that: Berkowitz looked about ready to tear somebody a new asshole before they went in.”

  “Friedrich seemed able to walk just fine,” Hiro said. “He’s chatting up Maddox right now: been in there for a good twenty, thirty minutes, too.”

  “Well, then, it sounds like I’m a little out of the loop, too,” Brooks said. “The commissioner just said we’re on high alert. Curfew’s coming back, inquests, patrols, identification papers; all of it, until we root out this New Dawn movement, find the Archangel, and put him in front of a firing squad.”

  “Are you serious?” Hiro asked, turning to give Brooks a look. “B-but they haven’t done that since-“

  “Since the war, I know,” Brooks finished with a nod.

  “Is it even legal?” Hiro asked. “I thought that they could only do that in war time.”

  “Technically, the term used in the law books is ‘state of emergency’.” Brooks took a sip of coffee. “And the emperor has declared this a state of emergency. Not illegal, but it sure as hell ain’t a popular decision.”

  “Of course not,” Hiro said. “Remember what happened when they did this during the war?”

  “The riots?” Brooks asked. “Not at all: I was four.” He glanced back at Hiro. “You thinking that we’re going to have some more riots on our hands?”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking, actually,” Hiro said. And all just in time for a state funeral.

  “That’s a fair assumption,” Brooks said. He began to take a sip of coffee. “Whatever this Archangel bastard’s endgame is, we’ll probably be seeing it, soon-”

  There was a commotion down at the end of the hallway, where the hydraulic lift to get patients that couldn’t walk to other floors was located. When Hiro looked down in that direction to see that the doctors were carrying someone in on a stretcher. It was a boy that looked like-

  “Biermann?”

  Hiro jogged down the hallway to where Adelric was being carried in. He had a bandage wrapped around his shoulder, which was already soaked through with blood.

  “What the hell happened?” Hiro demanded, walking alongside the doctors.

  “He was stabbed, ma’am,” one of the doctors said. “Poor kid probably would’ve bled out if we found him a few minutes later.”

  What the hell?

  She looked down at Biermann. He had a glazed-over look in his eyes, his face as pale as a sheet. It didn’t take doctor to be able to tell that he was going into shock.

  “Biermann, who stabbed you?”

  “We have to get out of here,” Adelric whispered. Was he… was he crying? “They’re going to kill us all!”

  “Damn it, Biermann, who?”

  “Ikeda!”

  Hiro stopped and looked down at the lift, again, allowing the doctors to pass right by. Berkowitz was standing there. He was practically buzzing with anxiety.

  “What the hell is going on?” Hiro demanded, storming towards him.

  “What’s going on? That Schultz woman escaped and went and stabbed Biermann on the way out, that’s what!”

  That made Hiro stop dead in her tracks. She felt like someone punched her in the gut.

  “Schultz is out?” Hiro asked. “You’ve got to be joking!”

  “I wish I was,” Berkowitz said. “Biermann also said that the Archangel will strike on Friday.”

  Hiro clenched her fists. “The funeral.”

  Berkowitz nodded. “And that’s why the emperor wants you at the podium with him.”

  Hiro didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to react.

  “Why?” She finally asked.

  “The Archangel’s a Doc, and without that, he’s just another perp.” Berkowitz nodded at her leg. “And thanks to that little thing, you can’t be affected by him. It’ll be a good idea to have someone like you up by Manfred II, should something happen.”

  Hiro didn’t respond for a few seconds. She felt sick to her stomach. How had things managed to get this twisted in such a short amount of time? “Things are going to get worse on Friday, aren’t they?”

  For the briefest of seconds, Berkowitz’s guard went down. That rough cop that he normally was left for the briefest of moments, and it was replaced by something she’d never thought she’d see from him: a glimpse of a man that was getting far too old for his job.

  However, that look went away as soon as it came. Instead, the look on his face darkened, the way it always did whenever he was on the verge of killing someone.

  Hiro couldn’t decide which look she preferred.

  “Not if I can help it, Ikeda,” Berkowitz said, clenching his fists. “Not if I can help it.”

  LVIII. FRIEDRICH

  Friedrich stared out the window of the carriage, watching the shuffling mass of people writhing on the sidewalk. As was traditional for state funerals, the major streets were cleared of all vehicle traffic, with only a few exceptions: the emperor, those that would be participating in the funeral, and the funeral procession. Normally, it wouldn’t have been that much of an inconvenience, except for the fact that foot traffic also wasn’t being allowed on King’s Street, the main road that ran through Königstadt: the police were too worried about another attack to allow that. It meant that the sidewalks on King’s Street were packed beyond anything he could’ve imagined, before. The unfortunate people that found themselves walking down King’s Street were packed in like sardines, only able to shuffle their feet in order to get to Memorial Cathedral (where the officers killed in the protests would be buried), their jobs, or wherever they were going. Just looking at it made him feel claustrophobic.

  It also could’ve been the fact that he was about to give a speech to the entire
city, though

  “Friedrich, are you sure you’re alright?” Katalin had been asking that question since they got into the carriage, and frankly, he wished she would stop: it just kind of served to remind him that he was anything but.

  No. I’m about to make a fool of myself in front of all of Königstadt, and everybody in Vorbereich is going to know about it. “Of course: I feel just fine. Why do you ask?”

  “Because you look about the same way you did after you vomited before the wedding,” Katalin said. “Really: are you up for this? We can get someone else to read your speech if we need to. In fact, I’m sure we could get my father to do it: he’s never seemed to care all that much about speaking in public, anyway.”

  Friedrich shook his head. “We can’t do that. You and I both know that my father would kill me if I did that. And seeing as he’s willing to pay for our house, I’d really rather not give him a reason to be mad at us.”

  “Wouldn’t he be more angry if you ended up getting sick in the middle of your speech?” Katalin asked. “I know how much your father cares about his house’s reputation.”

  As if on cue, Friedrich’s stomach began to writhe in him even more. It was like he had a damned snake in his gut.

  He doubled over, groaning. “Katalin, I love you to death, but that’s not helping.”

  Katalin blushed. “Sorry.”

  “What would you do if I started saying stuff to try and get you to throw up?” A newly released Maddox asked. He was still technically had orders from the doctor to not exert himself too much, but, of course, he wasn’t about to follow those orders.

  Friedrich looked up at him, a look to kill in his eyes. “I’ll send you right back to the hospital.”

  Maddox laughed. “You’re going to send me to the hospital? In your condition? I’d like to see you try.”

  “Famous last words, captain,” Katalin warned. “Really: please don’t make my husband throw up.”

  “It’ll make him feel better, I promise.” Maddox sat back in his seat. “Did I ever tell you about my first job with the army? I used to be in the cavalry: LeBeau’s cuirassiers, to be exact. I was the one and only Gelynian in the troop.”