Valverna

by A Clarkson

  “Unless they no longer held the market.”

  Magnus turned to stone. She wasn’t sure he was even breathing. No, actually she was certain that he wasn’t. She watched as the gears behind his eyes turned, connecting all of the dots.

  The lab in Caldessa discovered an alternative to rybrum.

  Valverna could not afford for an alternative to exist. They built in a self-destructing mechanism into their own fuel source to ensure it never surpassed demand and stayed a rare and valuable commodity. But who would pay that high price if a new product hit the market that could do the same thing at a lower rate? The only way for Valverna to stay relevant would be to compete by producing more and dropping the rate.

  But that was impossible, because the slugs ensured that no more rybrum could ever be grown in Valverna. And if they started growing the crops elsewhere? Or allowed others to do so? The city’s industry would become obsolete.

  So they shut it down. Wiping out the lab and everyone who knew about the research.

  Except they failed. Someone managed to get a copy of the research out of the lab and into Valverna where a chain of people had been trying to get the research to its final destination.

  This is going to change the world.

  And Clarisse had been one of the links in that chain. Why? She wasn’t a researcher, or a bodyguard, or even a courier. How was Clarisse involved in this?

  Flor glanced between the two, realizing that she had witnessed some kind of shared epiphany.

  “Ok, so let us say for the sake of argument that the lab found a rybrum alternative,” Magnus said once he regained his composure. “The most likely people to want it destroyed would be the Guild. I find it hard to imagine that one of Valverna’s merchant elite is running around with a poisoned knife torturing seventy-five year old men.”

  Flor blanched at Magnus’ description and Ira’s head fell despondently. “You’re right. This doesn't help us find the murderer at all.”

  “It does help. It helps to understand why. The motivation behind all of these deaths, and why the murderer is still so desperately looking for someone. If even one person survives and is able to replicate the lab’s work, it all would have been for nothing.”

  “But we still have no idea what we are looking for,” Ira groaned in frustration. “If this theory is correct, it’s safe to assume whatever it is, holds some kind of information about the research. But it could be anything!”

  Magnus shook his head. “We know it can’t be anything. It has to be small, and lightweight. Easy to move from person to person. And most importantly, it started in Valverna.”

  “How do you know that?” She asked with a frown.

  “David Francis was hired to take something to the Blue Desert,” he explained. “This means that whatever the murderer is after started here, was carried out by David, and then most likely brought back by Maureen. From there my guess is she gave it to Alistair.”

  “Who passed it on to Clarisse,” Ira finished in shock. “And Clarisse died before she could give up who now held the information. So our man is at a dead end, waiting for the next person to show their hand.”

  “Exactly,” he nodded.

  “So it’s a race,” Ira said softly. “Either we find the murderer, or he finds his next victim and the research is lost forever.”

  Chapter 18

  The Clothing Store

  Magnus and Ira left the bar shortly after they finished their beers. The reality of their search and the consequences of them failing to stop the murderer hit them both hard. Flor seemed to realise they were no longer feeling chatty and quickly stopped trying to coax them into a new conversation.

  They returned to the boat and went their separate ways to retire. The tension between them had continued to grow since this morning, and Ira wasn’t sure how to make things less uncomfortable. Hopefully Magnus was right, and whatever was between them would keep a little longer.

  She now lay in bed, listening to Margo’s rumbling snores in the room beside her.

  Ira envied the older woman her rest. She hadn’t slept well in over a week, her mind constantly racing. The few times she did sleep, Ira was plagued with nightmares that she now feared were not images concocted by her subconscious as she previously believed.

  There was still something about the dream with Clarisse and Alistair that bothered her. Something picking at her brain like a small insect trying to bury its way in through her skull. The more she tried to focus on it, the more elusive it was.

  Ira ran through the details of the dream for what felt like the thousandth time today.

  Alistair was in his shop, a knock sounded on the door, Clarisse enters and they talk, Alistair hands her the box --

  The box!

  Why hadn’t she realised it sooner? She had seen that box before, it was sitting on Clarisse’s dresser.

  Ira rose and quickly dressed, needing to confirm her suspicion.

  Already Magnus was dubious of her vague feelings about Clarisse and Alistair having a connection. Ira hadn’t been able to come up with a reasonable explanation for her earlier comments and was certain he now had less faith in her instincts. She didn’t think she could talk him into a late night jaunt to the cottage.

  What could she say? She saw the box in a dream? He would simply dismiss it as something she saw earlier that day.

  But if she didn’t go tonight, and tomorrow they learned that the jewelry box from Clarisse’s vanity was the item they were searching for, but the murderer found it first? She would never forgive herself.

  She needed to go tonight. Ira may be able to end this whole thing tonight.

  Ira wasn’t foolish however, and knew better than to head off in the middle of the night alone. Especially as they were finally closing in on the murderer. She moved to wake Margo. The woman was assigned as her bodyguard after all.

  ***

  Ira thanked her lucky stars when Margo simply nodded at Ira’s rousing and quickly dressed, following the younger woman out from the underbelly of the barge. It seemed that in this one instance, their inability to speak the same language was a blessing.

  Magnus had been very clear on her not running off alone to face the murderer, and Ira had no intention of doing that. Ira had no reason to suspect that the murderer would be at the cottage. She just wanted to get there, grab the box, and get back to the boat as quickly as possible.

  The barge was docked near a bridge on the third ring, conveniently located centrally within the city. Clarisse and Bill’s cottage however was out in the quiet residential seventh ring. It would take Margo and Ira at least an hour to get there on foot. But that was preferable to looking for horses or a rickshaw this late at night.

  Besides, the less people who saw them on this errand, the better. Ira had no idea who was caught up in this mess. If the Merchant Guild or even the Crown were involved, which Ira now realised was entirely plausible, then anyone could be working against them. Ira was amazed the investigation even got this far.

  Deciding it would be safer to stay on the well lit streets, Ira led them toward one of the major shopping strips that traversed the third and fourth rings. That would allow them to avoid late night delinquents looking for a fight, and she was confident from there they could dart through the residential streets unharassed.

  They jogged about three miles before Ira’s knee began to give her trouble. Magnus’ cream worked wonders, but the hard stones beneath her feet were hard hitting on the still healing flesh. Margo slowed down to accommodate Ira’s more relaxed pace, and once again Ira was impressed at the physicality of a woman her size.

  Ira opted to rest briefly to stretch out her knee, hoping that the small respite would be enough to allow her to start jogging again. They would be out all night if they needed to walk the whole way.

  Placing her hands against a shop window Ira leaned forward, feeling the soft burn up her right leg. She moved to rise but was abruptly stopped by Margo tackling her through the glass just as three arrows
sailed over their heads.

  They had fallen into a women’s clothing store. Racks of garments hung around them, others were scattered on the floor having fallen when they smashed through the window. Looking around, Ira pulled Margo to her feet, and they quickly darted toward the back of the store, looking for another exit.

  The sound of glass crunching underfoot told them they were no longer alone, and Ira turned to see four silhouettes outlined in the window by the street lights outside.

  Ira turned to signal to Margo to keep moving, and saw that the other woman’s breathing was increasingly short and laboured, her face drawn and pale.

  Glancing down she noticed for the first time the arrowhead protruding from Margo’s stomach. The fletch gone, Margo having already snapped it off.

  Shit.

  Ira took stock of her weapons. She always carried a small arsonal, and now was no different, but four against one were tough odds, especially with Ira needing to protect Margo, who was fading by the second. She needed to get them out of here, and quickly.

  The attackers made Ira’s decision for her as they began to advance, knowing the women could have only gone one way.

  Deciding she needed to keep Margo out of sight as much as possible, Ira moved toward the shop counter, and ushered the woman into the relative safety of the desk. Satisfied Margo was momentarily hidden, Ira made her way to the right side of the shop, and began edging up the wall toward her intruders.

  A few feet in front of Ira stood a display platform with a menagerie of mannequins that were dressed in formal attire. Hoping that her long black hair and fighting leathers wouldn’t give her away too quickly, Ira moved silently to stand amongst the frozen models, and waited for the attackers to approach.

  The four spread out evenly across the floor and were slowly sweeping through the room trying to flush the women out of hiding. Based on the way they stopped periodically to kick a clothing rack, it looked as though they expected the women to be cowering under a clothing stand.

  Good, Ira thought. At least that’s one thing that should work in her favor.

  Silently slipping her dagger from her thigh, she waited until her attackers moved closer, her heart beating so loudly in her head she was sure they would hear it.

  One of the men stopped in front of the mannequin display, his sword raised ready to strike, as though his body sensed the danger his eyes hadn’t yet seen.

  Ira waited until he stood directly in front of the tall mannequin she hid behind and struck. With as much force as she could muster, Ira threw the mannequin into the man's arms. Poised as he was for an attack, he quickly deflected the doll, slicing his sword across its body in a move that would quickly kill a live opponent.

  Darting to his left, she used her right hand to push his arm further into the momentum of the swing, leaned into his body to bring her left hand up, and buried her dagger into his throat.

  No longer hidden, Ira withdrew her dagger and spun away, crouching into a low sprint that caused her knee to bark in protest.

  Having put a few metres between herself and the now dead attacker, Ira watched as the remaining three moved in on her location, swords raised.

  They were all big, but the largest would be the hardest in a brawl, and Ira was already at a disadvantage in close quarters. She needed to take him out next.

  Palming three of her throwing knives she popped up above the racks just enough to aim and throw. One, two, three.

  The knives struck true. Two to the chest and one to the throat for good measure. The man fell to his knees, a choked gurgling sound escaping his lips as he fell.

  Hiding now out of the question, Ira moved to intercept the remaining two men and drew her second dagger. She couldn’t let them surround her, that would only end one way, and quickly. She also needed to keep herself between them and Margo as much as possible. If they got their hands on the injured woman, it would all be over.

  Rushing toward the closer of the two, Ira snatched a handful of clothing and threw it toward his face. Anticipating her action, villain number three sidestepped and brought his sword down in a brutal thrust. Overwhelmed by the sheer power of the attack, Ira barely parried in time. Perhaps she misjudged who the strongest of the group would be.

  Dodging another attack, Ira darted through a narrow gap in the clothing rack to her right, only to come face to face with the fourth assailant. Number four stabbed his sword forward just as Ira dropped to the ground, and the sickening sound of metal entering flesh came from the other side of the clothing rack. Still standing with his blade buried in the belly of his teammate, the man growled, glaring down at her, as she kicked out his knee.

  That blow should have taken him to the ground, but instead he just wobbled slightly and backhanded her hard across the head. Ira saw stars, her head clearing just in time to see a sword coming down on her. She rolled off to one side, bringing her foot around to swipe at the man’s legs a second time. This time she heard a satisfying crunch, but felt a matching sensation in her own leg as her knee finally surrendered to the brutal punishment.

  Not wanting to lose her advantage, Ira quickly lunged to stab her right dagger through the man’s chest. He caught her wrist mid-descent, but missed the second dagger that she buried into his exposed armpit.

  With her so close, he was unable to strike her with the blade of his sword, so instead brought the pummel down onto her head, almost knocking her out.

  She withdrew the dagger and slammed it into his kidneys, an action that barely caused him to grunt, but made Ira’s head spin and pound in agony. What were they feeding these guys? They were made of steel.

  Although now bleeding profusely he seemed unaffected, her wrist still held in a crushing grip as he drew back to aim a third strike to her head. Ira pulled away as far as she could, but restrained as she was, she wasn’t able to fully dodge the blow and took the hit instead on her shoulder. Pain laced through her as the still healing crossbow wound reopened.

  Ira’s strength was fading fast, she needed to end this quickly or she would collapse, and she still didn’t know what happened to the other attacker.

  Lunging with all her strength, Ira used his punishing grip on her wrist to pull herself up his body and bury her dagger into his ear.

  The grip on her wrist relaxed and she watched the light fade from his eyes as he glared at her in hatred.

  She wondered what she had done to deserve such anger. Hadn’t he attacked her?

  Retrieving her weapons, Ira rolled to all fours, flinching at the added pressure on her knee and shoulder.

  She was stopped by the tip of a blade under her chin, and she looked up to see villain number three accompanied by a fifth man with a bow and quiver strapped to his back, and a sword now pointed to her throat.

  Ah, the archer. She hadn’t counted him.

  Number three was barely standing, one hand over his gut wound, the other holding himself up as he leaned against a nearby clothing rack.

  “Up!” growled number five. His accent wasn’t Valvernan, but heavy and thick with guttural sounds.

  Slowly Ira obeyed, wincing as her knee was forced to take her full weight.

  “Where is your friend?” asked number three in a weak voice. Good to know they were still somewhat human, Ira thought idly.

  She was about to say something to the effect that Margo escaped, or that she didn’t know, or some other comment that would keep the other woman out of it, but that became redundant when the woman in question jumped out from behind number three, wrenching his head back and slicing a blade across his throat.

  The momentary distraction was all Ira needed. She lunged to her feet, ignoring the bark of agony from her knee, and charged the archer, tackling him to the ground, and knocking his sword from his hands.

  He quickly rolled them over and straddled her waist, gaining the upper hand as Ira knew he would. He was bigger and stronger than she was, not to mention uninjured and fresh, having stayed outside for the last fight.

  But Ira an
ticipated this action, and when he reached up to clasp his hands around her throat, she slipped hers to her thighs and grabbed the two remaining throwing knives. As quick as a flash, she brought the two knives up and sliced open his throat in a crossing motion.

  Instinct had him releasing her throat to grab his own in an effort to stop the blood flow, but it was too late, and he quickly collapsed on top of her, a fountain of blood covering them both.

  Ira coughed as her lungs refilled with air, and tried to wipe the blood from her face. Looking at her hands she realised the action had likely been futile.

  Margo’s still form and ghostly pallor jolted Ira into quickly pushing her attacker’s body off her, and moving to check the older woman’s wounds.

  Grabbing a dress hanging on a nearby rack, Ira held it to the bloody gash, trying to avoid touching the arrow still buried in Margo’s stomach. She desperately needed help.

  A noise at the window had Ira jumping to her feet, daggers raised for another attack.

  Standing in the opening, the light silhouetting his figure, was a giant. Copper hair glowing even in the dim light.

  In a gruff voice they said, "Your friend is badly injured, we must move somewhere safer, Little Raven before others arrive."

  Ira paused and looked at them in confusion, "Do I know you?"

  A booming laugh, like the sound of rocks falling from a mountain erupted from their mouth. "Perhaps not. Though I remember you." They moved slightly into the light so Ira could see the face of a scruffy woman with a twinkle in her eye. "My name is Francis, and you cost me a small fortune in gold on my first night in Valverna. I did not imagine someone so small could drink so much."

  Ira was suddenly concerned, and raised her knives slightly as she looked at the giant wearily. Was this person angry that Ira had beaten them in some stupid drinking competition and taken their money? She had been attacked before but it all seemed so utterly ridiculous now. Had she really been so bored and restless that she spent her nights picking fights with people like this? Ira hadn’t always ended up fighting them. But she knew that the drinking contests were a way for her to egg on a larger opponent who may otherwise turn her down. Once she robbed them of a purse of gold, they usually weren’t so concerned about her sex or her size. But right now? She was injured, and Margo needed help, and fast. She couldn’t afford to be dealing with some giant with hurt pride. Ira did have a vague recollection of meeting the woman, however the alcohol made Ira mistake Francis for a giant man.