He pretended not to notice her look, and his eye caught upon the familiar sight of a man regal in red and gold. His powerful build and mane of golden hair had always made Sigmund think of Sir Gunter Dupont as leonine, though the man’s boisterousness tended to undermine the regal effect of his appearance. In that respect, Sir Gunter Dupont was more akin to a hunting dog than a lion. Respectable but excitable, and loyal to a fault.
Upon spotting Sigmund, Dupont beamed, flashing a row of white teeth and actually waving. Despite himself, Sigmund felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Improper as the behavior was, it was good to see his acquaintance. Better still to be greeted so warmly. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be wanted.
“We must not forget,” the deaconess continued, “that the Fallen are deserving of our pity. Beasts were once human. Who among the diamond souled can fault another for her ambition? Pity the beasts who are the servants of man, who are the servants of woman.”
Sauvage’s fuming rage had been redirected at the deaconess, and it drew his attention once more. He sighed. He’d missed the heart of the sermon. A shame, that. A greater shame still that Sauvage seemed incapable of feeling anything other than anger. That was going to get old fast.
The sermon ended. The congregation rose and began departing or clustering in small groups to socialize. Sigmund intended to be among the former group so that he might catch Rodriquez at the inn before the old codger departed, but he was intercepted just past the door as something large fell upon him from the side.
Something akin to panic shot through the roots, and Sigmund very nearly threw a punch before the booming laughter of Dupont reached his ears and relaxed him.
“You weren’t thinking of just sneaking off now, were you?” the larger man demanded, breaking his embrace.
A scuffle and snarls behind them drew both men’s attention.
Sauvage had been restrained by a trio of beasts. Fury and embarrassment pulsed through their roots, the former more than the latter now, and not because she was being restrained. With an effort, Sigmund schooled his face to mask his surprise. Had she actually tried to come to his aid?
“This one’s fierce,” said the largest of the beasts. Ballista had been with Dupont for as long as Sigmund had known the man, though the other two were new. Ballista was a marble boar, her flesh pale white shot through with veins of gold and powerful tusks jutted out from her mouth. Her frame was large and dense, easy to mistake for plump.
The other two were more subdued. One was a thorn covered feline, while the other was more difficult to place, with brightly colored, plant-like growths coming from her scalp and forearms. Sigmund could not even begin identifying her seeds, though one had to be a flora type.
“You may release her, Ballista,” Sigmund said, grinning. “She’ll not hurt you.”
That earned a raucous laugh from the marble boar. Admittedly, the idea of Sauvage hurting her at present was laughable. Rare was the beast who could inflict real damage upon a mineral type unarmed.
Sauvage was released and fell back into glaring at everyone. Anger and embarrassment continued to thrum down the roots. Passionate, indeed.
“What on earth are you doing here, man?” Dupont asked. His trio of beasts fell into position behind him, one keeping an eye on the door, another on Sauvage. Ballista herself pretended obliviousness, but Sigmund knew what to look for. She was as alert as any of them, perhaps more so.
Sauvage by contrast took up position beside him, and, instead of minding their surroundings, focused on their conversation, earning several scandalized looks from passersby. Among them was a dirty young man with a glint of gold on his hand who cast them an appraising once over. He wondered if Sauvage had noticed the looks and did not care, or simply attributed their reactions to something else.
“Attending church,” Sigmund replied. “What else would I be doing here?”
“Don’t make me smack you, Sigmund,” Dupont said with a chuckle.
That earned a flinch from Sauvage. She appreciated the niceties of station. Good to know. Getting Sir Dupont to uphold them was a losing battle, which was probably why he’d never advanced very far up the chain of any command he was put into. Capable yes. Politically minded, not so much. Admittedly, if Gunter Dupont’s lack of station ever bothered him, Sigmund had seen no sign of it.
“I’ve newly joined The Company of Golden Swords,” Sigmund said. “I arrived in town last night.”
“Welcome to The Company!” Gunter boomed. “Let me buy you an ale.”
A pang rang through Sigmund’s core. Dupont had joined The Company of Golden Swords. A company of mercenaries he was spying on because they were growing too fast. He couldn’t see his old friend being a part of anything dishonest, but he could easily see Dupont being duped into participating. Loyal to a fault. And Sigmund’s investigation might just upend his friend’s world.
He’d have to move carefully.
“Not this morning,” Sigmund said with a smile, noting out of the corner of his eye that Sauvage had given him an odd look. She must have felt him through the roots. He’d have to guard himself more carefully. “There’s work to be done. I’m hoping to catch Conde Rodriquez before he departs, and then we are to properly equip ourselves.”
Their current attire, proper for church, was on loan. They needed to procure new garments and equipment.
“Gide’s,” Gunter said, holding up a finger, as if scolding Sigmund. “Best outfitters for beasts in town. Does all kinds of custom jobs The Company’s quartermaster won’t.”
Sigmund gave his friend an inquiring look.
Gunter shrugged. “Gaumont does solid, quality work. Especially for arms and armor, but those are his passions and he doesn’t get creative. Get the basic arms from him. A light, quick beast like yours though? You’ll want Gide. Tell him I sent you.”
“I’ll do that,” Sigmund said with a nod of thanks. “I’d best be on my way if I want to catch the conde. You know how he is.”
Dupont rolled his eyes. “I do. Best of luck. If we’re lucky maybe the old bastard died in his sleep.”
Sigmund laughed. “We’ll sit down to ale soon. We can talk about Hawkhill if you’re up for it.”
Dupont’s entire face lit up. “I’d be honored.”
A few moments later, he and Sauvage were out the door. The inn was not far.
They’d hardly made it a block before she asked, “Does he hate the conde so much?”
He’d been right. Silence was not her natural state. Interesting that such was her takeaway from their conversation.
“Sir Dupont hates nothing and no one, save perhaps boredom and pretense,” Sigmund replied.
“But his comments about the Conde….” She trailed off.
“Were harmless, if off color. Hatred takes too much energy, and while Sir Dupont has an over-abundance of that, he directs his attentions elsewhere,” Sigmund replied. “Did you find Conde Rodriquez a particularly likeable individual?”
“Not in the slightest,” Sauvage said, without hesitation. She was decisive, then. That was also good. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not to be respected.”
Sigmund gave her a look.
Though her face was schooled into a dispassionate mask, her tail jerked upright. “What?”
“You really were quite sheltered,” Sigmund said.
Embarrassment flooded their connection. A moment later, they arrived at the inn where they found the conde had already departed, leaving behind a note.
Moreau,
You don’t need me here to hold your hand. I sent the pain’s stuff to Chaney’s last night to be appraised. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. Don’t leave me any regrets.
— Conde R.
He read it aloud for Sauvage’s benefit.
“That can’t possibly be what it says,” Sauvage said, snatching the note from his hand.
She glared at. Squinted at it. Then despair flooded the roots. Des
pair so deep that it consumed itself, leaving nothing but hollowness behind.
“You didn’t know beasts can’t read?” Sigmund asked.
“I knew,” she said. “I just….”
It had been an abstract concept. Not something applicable to herself. Now, it was real.
“Come,” Sigmund said, not unkindly.
They found Chaney’s, then carted the trunks to another store owned by a man named Michaux, where Sigmund was able to sell everything for 10% more than what Chaney had offered. The conde had already paid the man for his appraisal and he’d still tried to weasel more out of Sigmund. Not the mark of an honest merchant, though those were a rare breed in his experience.
It wasn’t until the items were actually being sold, however, that Sauvage’s despair shattered, replaced once again with rage. “Those are my things,” she said, through clenched teeth.
“Those were the possessions of the woman you were before you Fell,” Sigmund said. “Now they are mine, and they serve us better this way.”
“Serve us?” Sauvage demanded.
“Yes,” Sigmund said. “Their sale puts money in my pocket for our provisions and removes a reminder of your past. Better to move on and embrace your new life.”
She had some protesting at that, but Sigmund ignored her. Then continued to ignore her. No beast had ever made such an issue of themselves before. They were beginning to attract attention.
A lowborn woman with pink locks in her hair selling meat pies from a stall gaped at them. A young man with unwashed hair and a golden ring sneered at him from behind her. A town guard, flanked by his two beasts, gave a derisive glance as he passed by, and pointedly ignored them. The only one on the street not paying them attention was a small, darkly furred beast with a long tail, stumbling in their direction. There seemed to be a faint glow about her fur, or had that just been a trick of the light? Interesting.
Sigmund came to a halt, putting his hands behind his back as he glared down at Sauvage. “Enough.”
She came to a stop as his command sank home. Her eyes widened. Fury consumed despair, all of it directed at him.
“Enough,” Sigmund repeated. “I am patient with you. I understand your pain. I am probably the only human who ever will. More, I’m the only one who will give a damn. I give you much leeway, but you will cease this childish protesting now.”
Sauvage rocked back. For the first time, she seemed to become aware of their surroundings and was once again filled with embarrassment. Prideful. That could be both useful and detrimental. For now, it seemed the best tool offered him. It was certainly better than giving her command after command until she was a stumbling idiot. Her mind was too valuable for that.
“If you have concerns or wish to question my actions, you may do so in private. You will not make a public spectacle of yourself. Is that understood?” He said this more quietly, stepping closer to her. He could feel the eyes of everyone on the street, watching them. Specifically, watching her. She could feel it too. He knew she could.
Someone stumbled past him, muttered something that sounded vaguely like an apology, and hurried on.
“Is that understood?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, though she clenched her teeth.
“You will comport yourself in a proper, respectful, and obedient manner?”
Something was going on in her mind. Some thought. That sense of a patient predator awaiting the moment to strike came upon him again. What was she waiting for?
“Yes, Sir Moreau,” she said, unlocking her jaw and speaking more normally.
“Good,” he said with a nod, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Then go fetch my coin purse. That beast with the dark fur lifted it while I was busy disciplining you.”
Sauvage blinked, then looked past him to where the beast in question was hurrying along the street. Her eyes narrowed and she bared her fangs. Impressive, sharp little things.
“Thief,” she snarled and took off.
The beast noticed and ran.
Sigmund raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t even have to tell her to be quick about it.” He turned and found the young man who’d been loitering by the meat pie stand slinking off. There was the real thief. The youth couldn’t afford to keep himself clean but wore a gold ring? Some thieves were intelligent. Most were simply opportunists.
Without warning, Sigmund charged the young man. The youth very nearly didn’t realize Sigmund was on to him until it was too late. With a yelp, he fled down an alleyway.
With a silent mental command, Sigmund sent instruction to Sauvage: Come. She’d know where he was. A harvested beast always knew where her keeper was. She’d not be happy about being called like this, though seeing as he expected she’d take it out on the thief, he didn’t feel too worried. It wasn’t his fault she’d gone after the thief’s beast instead of the thief himself.
The thief ducked down another alley. Sigmund reached for his shot-pistol but once again found the space empty. Whose foolish idea had it been to instill the idea that firearms were improper in church? Some foolish diamond souled with more power than sense, he imagined.
He followed the thief around another corner and found himself facing off against not one, but three youths. The thief had been joined by another a young man and a woman. All of them had knives pulled.
“Stick him, Teddy!” one of them called, and Sigmund barely drew his cutlass in time to stave off an attack from one of the newcomers.
In three swift moves he had the youth bleeding on the ground, clutching a broken arm instead of stanching the wound on his thigh. That would cost him. Blood loss was the greater threat.
He kicked up the young man’s knife and caught it out of the air. Knives were great tools but terrible weapons. They tended to slip one’s grip in the chaos of a fight, more often than not slicing open their own wielder’s hand, and they required one to get in close. Holding one alongside his bloody cutlass after taking down one of their number so swiftly, however, had to be intimidating. It probably would have been more so had his hands not been shaking so hard.
Which was probably why the woman pulled out a pistol and opened fire.
Sigmund barely managed to duck back around the corner he’d only just come around. Pieces of masonry flew from where the bullet hit the wall inches from his head.
“You cut, Teddy, you bastard,” the gunwoman said. “Bullet’s too quick for you.”
Gunfire in the city after church would draw the town guard. Not that it would do him any good if the gunman blew his brains out before the guard arrived.
Sigmund readied himself to attack. His best bet would be to catch the gunwoman as she rounded the corner and get in close before she could bring the weapon to bear. If he was lucky, his opponent would come in close to the corner.
He was not lucky.
The gunwoman had sense enough to know that distance was her ally and came around on the far side. No chance to get in close without getting shot. Sigmund met the gunwoman’s eyes. They were set in a face prematurely aged from a hard life and reflected that same steel. This woman had killed before. Taking Sigmund’s life didn’t mean a thing to her.
Sigmund intended to make sure it cost her. He launched himself forward.
Something struck the woman from above.
The gun went off, and then skittered across the ground.
Blood flew as Sauvage, who had pounced off of the roof of all places, rode the woman so hard to the ground she bounced, and then tore her throat out with her fangs.
The woman tried to scream. The sound came out a burble. Sauvage continued to tear into her, ripping out the muscles connecting her neck to her shoulders. More blood sprayed.
The remaining thief screamed and pointed a finger at Sauvage. A directing finger. It was a move used by a keeper unused to working with his beasts against other keepers.
“Look out!” Sigmund called out, sending the warning through the roots simultaneously.
The warning came just in time. Sauvage looked up from her kill and ducked to the side just as the beast she’d been initially chasing leapt at her from above with a knife. The blade sank into the chest of the woman Sauvage had been attacking. If she hadn’t been dead before, she was now.
The furred beast had a monkey seed, Sigmund could tell now, though not what her orbis seed was. She’d be fast and a quick thinker. Not that it would do her much good, if all that fur and her keeper’s amateurish pointing was anything to go by. The thing was barely a step removed from being Rampant.
Sauvage was fast and cunning too, but armed only with her teeth and claws. If a knife was a poor weapon, those were even worse.
The monkey beast gave no quarter, leaping from the dead man and coming in low with the blade. The attack was practiced. This wasn’t the first time she’d been directed to kill.
It was probably, however, her first time actually being in a fight with another beast, because when Sauvage nimbly dodged aside, she didn’t seem to know what to do. If the monkey beast had been a second slower to get her knife up, Sauvage could have taken her throat.
The monkey recovered quickly and, spurred on by her frantic keeper’s direction, met Sauvage’s ferocity with her own. Knife, claws, and teeth became a blur as the two beasts fought, dodging back and forth across the alley, bouncing off the walls and tumbling about each other, exchanging a dozen attacks a second.
Sauvage was the faster, the fiercer. The monkey the better armed, and she was near Rampant, trapped between harvest and madness so that she did not care whether or not she was wounded. Her attacks came unpredictably, forcing Sauvage to adapt more often. Sauvage scored more strikes, each drawing blood, but none were vital. The advantage of the blade’s reach kept her from committing fully to a lethal blow.
The knife caught Sauvage across the arm. Across the leg. Blood flowed. She slowed.
Sigmund glanced at the fallen gun. The beasts danced over it in a flurry of claws and steel. Trying to get it would get him stuck, and then Sauvage would be left vulnerable.
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