Valverna

by A Clarkson

  At Ira’s nod, Magnus poured out another two glasses before moving to take the seat behind his desk and indicated for Rhys to take the third chair, handing the glasses of amber liquid around.

  Seemingly out of nowhere Magnus asked, "Ira do you have any immensely wealthy and powerful enemies you haven't mentioned?"

  She choked on her sip of rye. "Enemies? No!"

  He nodded again, leaning back comfortably in his chair as he casually swirled the drink in his hands.

  “Well then this looks like a freak accident. Better us than a less prepared caravan I suppose. How’s Alex?” Magnus asked, referring to the man who Ira had seen shot with a bolt beside her.

  “He’s recovering fine. Lee is taking care of it.” Rhys confirmed.

  The liquor soured in her mouth as Ira remembered seeing the man go down. At the time she thought he was dead. He almost was.

  Ira was so caught up in it that she hadn’t hesitated to throw that knife to protect the men around her. It had been so easy. Almost effortless. She killed the man with the crossbow, and hadn’t even stopped to think about it.

  Ira had never taken a life before. Not a human one.

  She had been a hunter for as long as she could fire an arrow, but this? This was different. This was a human. A human who had a mother, and a father, and maybe even a wife and kids. She had taken that person from them today.

  Ira wasn’t sure what bothered her more, the fact that she killed a man, or that it hadn’t even made her flinch. She felt like it should have been harder. As though her body should have resisted the action in some way.

  But that hadn’t happened. Ira threw the knife as smoothly as if aiming at a paper target.

  She needed to move. The office was becoming stifling. She couldn’t sit here with these men, discussing death so casually as though it was an everyday occurrence. She wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t ready for that to be her new reality.

  Excusing herself from the room, Ira moved back to her quarters and lay on her bed. Her injuries were hurting again, the ointment having already started to wear off. Ira could almost feel the bolt entering her shoulder again, the phantom sensation making her body shudder in remembered pain.

  She didn’t get up. She didn’t go in search of anything to dull the ache.

  She would feel this. She killed that man when he put a bolt in her shoulder.

  She didn’t know his name, or where he was from. Or even why he attacked them. But he was dead and she was not, so she would lie here and feel the pain from his bolt.

  ***

  Ira didn’t look good when she left the room.

  Magnus and Rhys politely said their goodnights when she rose on somewhat shaky legs, even as every bone in Magnus’ body wanted desperately to follow her.

  He wasn’t sure if she had ever taken a human life - guessed that she hadn’t.

  Magnus ached to go to her. To offer her comfort in any way he could. But his reaction to her injury during the skirmish in the desert made him realise he was growing to care for her. When she was hit his heart clenched in the kind of panic he hadn’t felt in years. The kind of panic he never wanted to feel again.

  It had been too much like Roslyn, and he didn’t think he could go through that again.

  Magnus was growing to care for Ira, that much was clear. But he wasn’t sure she wanted that. At least not right now.

  He needed to give them both some space.

  So instead, he would sit here with his second, and do his best not to think of the woman he lost all those years ago. Or the one currently suffering in the next room.

  Looking at the man before him Magnus knew he hadn’t been honest with them before. He knew Rhys well enough by now to know when the man was lying. “Was it a hit on Ira?”

  Rhys nodded his head, and took a large swig from his drink.

  “How much was the contract?” Magnus asked, rubbing his face tiredly.

  “Forty ounces of gold.”

  Magnus nearly choked on his drink. Forty ounces! One thousand grams of gold? Most people didn’t make that much money in over ten years!

  “When was it posted?”

  “It looks like it went out last night and that crew picked it up pretty quickly when they realised they were in the same area.”

  Magnus nodded and took a sip of the liquor, savouring it on his tongue.

  "Well someone with a lot of cash and motivation clearly wants her out of the picture. We need to find out who."

  Rhys nodded his head. "I think we need more intel.”

  “What do you suggest?” Magnus asked, knowing that Rhys was going somewhere with this.

  The big man paused to take another sip. “I think we bring in some external help when we get back to the city.”

  ***

  “What do you want?”

  Magnus invited Pete into the barge for a drink when the boy showed up with an update on David Francis. He had succeeded in getting the dead man’s manager to agree to an interview, and was waiting for payment when Magnus called him below deck. From the grimace on his face, Magnus guessed that Pete was not pleased to be here.

  Good. The feeling was mutual.

  Magnus wasn’t sure what this snivelling rat had done to hurt Ira in the past, it wasn’t his business, but he certainly didn’t have to like the guy, or suffer his company longer than absolutely necessary.

  Pete had the most comprehensive spy network in this city, and Magnus couldn’t let his dislike for the boy get in the way of business.

  Deciding not to waste either of their time on pleasantries, Magnus cut to the chase, “I have another job.”

  Pete’s ears perked at that. Looked like the little rat would tolerate Magnus’ company if money was on the table. “We know that a contract has been taken out on Ira, but we want to know who listed it. My men and I will keep her safe, but that is only a short term solution if we can’t find the responsible party.”

  Magnus looked at the man everyone called The Kid. He really did suit that nickname. Not just because of his slight frame, exaggerated as it was by the oversized clothing. No, it was his whole demeanor. There was a youthful air and arrogance about him. Magnus wondered if it was a result of his financial success at a young age. “Do you know who called the hit?” He finally asked outright.

  “No. Well, not exactly,” Pete admitted.

  Magnus waited patiently for Pete to continue, imagining Ira’s impatience in this situation. He could almost see her barking, “Spit it out Pete!”. The thought made him smile.

  Pete gave Magnus a funny look when he saw the General smile, “The hit was posted by a Citadel message runner.”

  Magnus wondered what she could have done to get on the radar of someone in the Citadel.

  “Do you know why?”

  “No,” Pete said, rubbing his hands through his hair in a frustrated gesture. That failing had to be eating at him, Magnus thought. He knew that Pete prided himself on knowing everything.

  “Did you speak to the messenger?”

  Pete shook his head. “He clearly wasn’t considered loyal enough. We found him with his throat slit only hours after posting the contract.”

  Magnus pursed his lips. “Well that makes it even more likely that someone in this city wants her out of the picture.”

  “But why her and not you?” Pete asked. “Surely of the two of you, you would be considered the bigger threat.”

  Magnus wondered the same thing.

  After a few moments of silence Pete asked, “Is that it?”

  Magnus shook his head and said solemnly, “I need you to look into Clarisse and William Donoghy.”

  Pete hesitated, before asking, “Does Ira know about this?”

  “No. But I intend to tell her whatever you find. She needs to know. The questions are eating at her.”

  Pete seemed to consider the proposition weighing up his loyalty to Ira over his greed. An arrogant smirk crossed the young man’s face as he put out a hand, and Magnus knew he had chosen the mon
ey. “Fine. But it’s gonna cost you.”

  Chapter 15

  The Manager

  Blake Stevens was a white man in his mid twenties with a slightly amber tint in his beard and receding hair. He was of average weight and height for a man who spent his days sitting behind a large mahogany desk. The desk in question currently sat between Mr Stevens, Ira and Magnus, an array of cakes and tea spread before them. It was a comfortable office in one of the lower city rings, an indication that Mr Stevens was doing ok, but not so well that he had moved his business to the upper rings of Valverna. That, or his clientele preferred to visit him away from the prying eyes of their neighbours.

  Magnus briefed Ira on what they knew of David Francis on their way over.

  David had been a retired mercenary who set himself up in Valverna as a bodyguard for hire. He was described by his clients as a quiet and capable man, and seemed to have been fairly successful.

  Ira wondered idly if she would enjoy being a contract bodyguard.

  David was a private man with very little in the way of a social life. According to the report he visited a few of the gentlemen’s clubs around the city on occasion, the women who served him said he was quiet and polite.

  “So he was a fixer?” Ira asked. Referring to individuals who were brought on to fix problems by any means necessary. Those means often included assassination, extorion, torture, or bribery. Ira supposed that sometimes simply threatening people worked too if you were big and scary enough.

  Magnus bobbed his head, “Maybe. Nobody said anything to that effect, but being capable and discrete tends to lead toward a certain kind of work that involves managing confidential information.”

  Ira nodded. “I can see why his manager was so reluctant to speak with you to begin with. He is probably worried his agency’s reputation will suffer if word gets out that he spoke to you.”

  “That is my feeling exactly.” Magnus agreed.

  “So how did he die?”

  “David was found in an alley shortly after midnight a few nights before Maureen was killed.”

  Ira raised a brow at him in question, “Is there a connection?”

  “Maureen had recently been one of David’s clients. She is the only one we have been able to confirm until now.”

  “How did our murderer manage to take down a fixer?”

  “The same way as his other victims,” Magnus stated grimly. “He used the element of surprise to slice David with the paralytic, then simply waited for it to do its work. Once David was incapacitated our murderer went through his usual interview routine in an attempt to extract information. Based on the autopsy our guess is that David was held captive for a bit over an hour before the poison finally killed him.”

  Ira raised her eyebrows in surprise and whistled softly under her breath, “Who knows what kind of secrets he got out of him in that time.”

  “He wouldn’t have talked,” Blake Stevens said confidently when Ira voiced this question to David’s manager. “Our men and women are the best in the business, and I’m confident that Mr Francis wouldn’t have said a thing, no matter what was done to him.”

  "It is a credit to your employees that you speak so highly of them," Ira said with a nod of approval.

  Pete told them that Blake Stevens was a grouch who didn't like speaking to anyone he couldn't make gold off. In order to get Blake to agree to this meeting, Pete subtly hinted at Magnus being a profitable future client. Blake was clearly hoping to court Magnus with the impressive selection of tea and cakes that were presented to them upon their arrival. Something Ira was certain would not have been offered if Blake knew they held no interest in hiring him.

  In the hopes that this would lead to a more forthcoming discussion, Ira decided to play along with the ruse, acting the part of the interested potential customer. She was doing her best to make appropriate noises of appreciation whenever Blake chose to flash his professional plumage in their direction.

  “Can you tell us how your clients usually hire you?” Ira asked, glancing around the room.

  “ Of course.” Blake nodded knowingly, as though he was in on some secret motive behind her question. Ira was impressed that he managed to suppress a conspiratorial wink. “For new clients -” heavy emphasis was placed on the new “- I will generally meet with them in person, much like this,” he added in case they were unclear what meeting in person looked like, “or exchange letters to understand their needs. Once we are clear on their expectations, and what our firm is able to deliver, we will draft a contract of service that ensures both parties agree to confidentiality in all of our dealings. The client will then pay fifty percent of the total cost upfront, and the balance upon the completion of the job.” Blake turned to Magnus, tail feathers on full show, “Many of our high-status clients choose to keep our firm on retainer, in which case we will generally receive a lump sum of six or twelve months service up front, that is renewed annually or as required.”

  Ira kicked Magnus under the table when he gave Blake a bored look in response to this sales pitch. Blake seemed to mistake Magnus’ wince as a smile, and beamed in return.

  Quickly cutting in before Magnus could ruin their facade, Ira asked, “And for existing clients?”

  Blake turned back to Ira, a falsely self-deprecating smile on his face as he shook his head, “My apologies. I get so caught up. For existing clients, they will forward our office a letter with the initial payment included. There is no need for a lengthy discussion or an additional contract once the paperwork has been sorted the first time. Once a client, always a client.” He delivered that final line with a big smile Ira was sure he thought came across as charming.

  “Would you be able to tell us why Maureen Pierce contracted you a few weeks ago?”

  That self-deprecating smile made another appearance, as he spread his hands imploringly, “I truly wish I could. But it is crucial that I maintain my client’s confidentiality, even in the case of their untimely death.”

  “We believe that Ms Pierce’s death is directly connected to the murder of David Francis, and that there may be others at risk.”

  Blake gave a sad smile, “I’m sorry, but my firm’s reputation would be ruined if people learned that I disclosed confidential client information.”

  Having had enough of this charade Ira decided to take another approach. Clearly Blake didn’t care about a murderer threatening innocent victims around the city unless they were also somehow threatening his firm’s reputation.

  “You’re right,” she said, nodding in agreement, “and we completely understand. Especially given your firm's already precarious reputation.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, looking alarmed, “I haven’t heard anything to suggest my firm’s reputation is in jeopardy.”

  Ira gave the man a concerned expression, “You mean you haven’t heard that people believe David Francis disclosed the identity of his client when he was murdered? Effectively signing her death warrant? It’s such a shame, one silly mistake, and completely understandable, but it will tarnish all of your contractors.”

  “That is outrageous! Whoever said that is lying! Nobody can believe this!”

  “But everyone will believe it if the lead investigators into Maureen and David’s deaths tell everyone that this is what happened,” Ira said sternly. “Before the end of today Valverna will be humming with the knowledge that Blake Steven’s firm were unable to protect their clients when push came to shove.”

  She continued with a shrug, “I suppose your employees will all be ok, as they can disassociate themselves from the firm, and move to other agencies, or simply work as independent contractors.”

  Leaning forward, Ira placed her palms flat on the desk between them as she stared at him with piercing eyes, “But you? You will be ruined. Everyone will associate the name Blake Stevens with this whole mess and practically lay Maureen’s death at your feet.”

  “You can’t do that!” he said in outrage, jumping to his feet. “It’s not
my fault Francis cracked! He always was terrible under pressure! Why do you think the man stopped being a merc? Too much riding on him. He couldn't do it. He was all calm and cool until it mattered. Then he turned into a blubbering mess!”

  Ira sat back with a smug smile. “Perhaps if you share with us why Maureen contracted you, we can avoid this mess from being spread around unnecessarily.”

  Blake glared daggers at Ira, his frame practically humming with fury. “You would blackmail me?”

  All humor disappeared from Ira’s face as she replied in a gravelly voice, “I would do whatever is necessary to find this murderer.”

  He paused, seeming to consider her words for a moment, before he nodded his head in understanding. “Fine, I’ll tell you what I know about all this. But it isn’t much.” Looking between Magnus and Ira he stressed, “And this cannot get out. We clear?”

  They nodded.

  “John Pimento was one of my regulars on retainer. He contacted us a few months back asking for Francis. They worked together before, and John just wanted something delivered.”

  “Do you do courier jobs very often?” Magnus asked.

  Blake nodded absently, “Yeah, sometimes. They aren’t our main business, but people like to have the piece of mind that comes with a professional service like ours when moving precious goods.”

  Ira withheld her snort at the obvious sales pitch. Poor guy probably couldn’t turn it off.

  “So John asked Francis to bring something out from the city. I didn’t ask what. I’m not in the business of asking questions,” he added with a dark look in their direction. “When Francis got back he had a letter from John outlining that he wanted a kitty set aside as part of his usual retainer to cover services for a Miss Maureen Pierce. Says he wants her to be able to hire a guard if she needs one.”

  Magnus and Ira exchanged a glance. So he expected trouble. Why?

  “A few weeks later Maureen reaches out to our office. John told her to contact us if she felt in danger. Maureen tells us she doesn’t want a bodyguard, but instead wants the guy after her taken care of,” Blake said with a knowing look. “Next thing I know, Francis turned up butchered in some alleyway. I don’t know what happened,” he finished with a shrug.