The Broken Man

by Brandon Jones

  Epalli wasn’t a man who smiled often—not genuinely, at least. But he smiled now, watching the redhands put the small room back together, remaking it piece by piece. “Ah, yes. Good,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Quickly, they’ll be here soon.” Another patterned knock sounded at the door behind him, and Epalli’s smile widened. He hadn’t been sure his man would be able to beat Josen back here.

  He opened the door to retrieve the wooden box the man had left for him. It was a pity that he was going to have to kill these men tonight. Everything else had gone so smoothly.

  * * *

  Josen searched the closet as quietly as possible. The little bit of glass filtered moonlight, lighting his search. The room was smaller than Josen would have expected, but everything was a little more crowded in Ludon, he supposed. Besides, small was good. Small meant fewer hiding places. The little walk-in closet was a good place to start, even if it was unlikely. It was the easiest access. Best to rule it out and move on if needed.

  It only took Josen a few moments to search the closet. If Parose had left his priceless robe of office behind, he hadn’t left it hanging in his closet. No surprise there, Josen thought. He didn’t have a high opinion of clergy, but even Parose was doubtless aware of the robe’s value, and the consequences if it went missing. The robes were ancient things, supposedly special in a way Josen didn’t understand. The Church didn’t even make them anymore—couldn’t, for some reason. Instead, robes were handed down from priest to priest across the generations. When it was discovered that Parose had lost his robe, he would be lucky if he was merely excommunicated.

  Josen abandoned his search of the closet and moved across the dark bedroom to the trunk at the foot of the bed. He crouched in front of it, examining the cheap lock that dangled from the front of the iron bound trunk. A few seconds of gentle persuasion with his pick set, and Josen teased the lid open.

  “Josen,” Tori whispered from just behind him, close enough he could feel her breath. He started, and nearly yelled. He lost his balance and fell onto his backside, swearing quietly.

  “Bleeding hands,” he said, heart racing. He looked up into her face—she was grinning at him. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Sorry,” she whispered, with nothing approaching remorse in her voice. “I found something interesting.” She held up a square, lacquered wooden box, flat and about as wide as his chest. It was just the right size to hold a folded garment—like a robe.

  “Good find. Is it in there?”

  “Not sure,” Tori said, tilting the box so he could see the opposite side. Three large, complicated looking locks were nestled into the wood itself. “I couldn’t get it open. I’ve never seen locks like this before.”

  “Me neither,” Josen said, taking the box from her to examine the box more closely. There was no place for a key of any kind, at least that he could see. Instead, on the face of the lock was a set of dials, three of them, each numbered one to thirty-six. Josen frowned, twisting a few of the dials to random numbers. Nothing happened. It was fantastically complicated, impossible to pick, and odds of guessing the right combination of numbers…

  “Ideas?” Josen asked after a moment. They could just take the box and leave, work on opening it in a less conspicuous place, but there was no guarantee this was what they were looking for unless they could open it. It could be jewelry, or important documents. It could be almost anything—anything small and light and worth spending the money it would have cost to have those locks custom made. No, they would have to open it before leaving. They couldn’t afford to waste tonight’s unique opportunity. “Because I have no idea how we’re going to get this open. I mean, I suppose we could try smashing it, but—”

  “Right. Loud noises,” Tori said. “No smashing.” She paused for a moment, glancing from Josen to the box and back again. “Ideas?”

  He did have an idea, just not one he could tell her about. Josen wracked his brain for other options but came up blank. He shrugged and shook his head.

  “I knew it! I knew—”

  The distinct sound of a door opening on the first level froze both of them for one paralyzing second. Josen looked at Tori, but Tori was looking around the room—looking for a place to hide. Josen pressed his ear to the closed door of Lady and Reverate Parose’s room. Someone was coming up the stairs, quickly. Two someones, by the sound of it, and they were… giggling?

  “Move!” Tori whispered. She grabbed the back of his shirt, pulled him away from the door and into the closet half a heartbeat before the door swung open. A tangled pair of people fell through the door, blessedly far too interested in each other to notice Josen and Tori retreating into the shadows of the closet.

  “How the starving hells did they get past Akelle and Winder?” Josen whispered.

  “How am I supposed to know?”

  “Tomas,” a woman’s voice gasped. “You scoundrel! Is this the—”

  “It is.” A man’s voice—Tomas, apparently. Tomas, the assistant butler. “We are here for a very good reason. Those keys are very important—”

  “We found the keys, just outside the door—”

  “Really? I think we should search more… thoroughly. Besides, the Deferate won’t be home tonight, so we,” he paused to kiss her neck. “We have the place all to ourselves.” She giggled again and raised his mouth to hers, the two of them becoming indistinguishable in the dusty moonlight.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Josen whispered.

  “You think?” Tori whispered back. “Get to it,” she said, poking him hard in the back of the head.

  “Look at that bed,” the woman said to Tomas. “Is it as soft as it looks?”

  “God’s tears,” Josen heard Tori moan under her breath.

  Out of options, Josen readjusted the box in his arms so he could reach the locks easily. The wet kissing sounds stopped mercifully just as Josen began to focus. He touched the lock and…

  “Shall I put on something a little more… fitting, my lord?” Soft footsteps moved closer to the closet where Josen and Tori crouched, and Tori’s hands tightened around his arm. He hadn’t even realized she was holding onto him. Josen’s heart stopped as the woman paused just outside of the closet. “Perhaps something less restricting?” she said in a too innocent-sounding voice. Josen could barely see the woman, but it looked as though she had struck a rather provocative pose. Silence stretched. She stepped closer.

  “Ahh,” Tomas said, the sound coming out as a moan. “Best not, Kara. I can remake the bed, but if any of the Lady Parose’s clothes are out of place when she gets back—”

  “Oh, you’re no fun,” Kara said, pouting, but she retreated toward the bed.

  Starvation, that was close. Making sure that Tori was looking the other way, Josen refocused on the first lock, ignoring the renewed sounds of passion coming from the room beyond. He took the lock in his mind and remade it—broke it.

  Energy rushed through Josen as he tapped into the well of ceral power inside him. He let it course through him and into the lock in his hand. The complicated features of the lock changed under his hand, deteriorating and as if it were hundreds of years old. Josen tugged, and the lock—now rusted and brittle—opened with a soft click.

  Josen glanced back to make sure Tori hadn’t seen, but her eyes were fixed forward, watching Tomas and Kara. As far as Josen knew, his ability was exactly like the breaking he had seen in the alley behind the Verolius—the breaking that rub addicts could do. It was a useful trick—had gotten him out of more than a few tight places—but it wasn’t the kind of thing he bragged about. He was barely comfortable with it himself, despite the advantages. It was too much like what the rub addicts could do.

  The difference was that Josen wasn’t high on rub. He had never even tried the stuff. He didn’t need it to break. All he needed was a little ceral.

  He paused, listening to make sure Tomas and Kara hadn’t heard, but they were still occupied. He moved to the next lock to repeat the process, a
jolt of energy thrilling through him as he broke each lock. Josen twisted the third lock and set it on the floor next to the first two. The first lock had already reverted back to the original unblemished iron, except for ragged break where Josen had twisted off the box.

  He lifted the lid of the lacquered wooden box to peer inside. The crest of the Church of the Faceless God was inlaid on the inner side of the lid. Folded inside was a length of inky cloth, glossy like a pool of liquid night in a box. In a smaller compartment on the right was the cloth of gold sash, standing out even in the darkness of the Deferate’s closet. Tori looked over her shoulder and gasped softly. Josen grinned. He replaced the lid and…

  Josen froze, eyes wide as something crashed to the floor next to the bed. He listened as the crash echoed into silence, Tori’s fingers digging into his arm.

  “Bleeding hands,” Tomas swore, breaking the silence, followed the sound of rustling movement.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  Tomas swore again, louder, and Kara’s apology trailed off. “It’s fine. It’s… Bleeding tears.” Josen had no idea what had broken, but it sounded expensive.

  Josen wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

  “Ready?” he whispered.

  “What?” Tori sounded alarmed, but Josen was already moving. Pulling her by the hand, Josen burst from the closet. They sprinted through the room and out the door in the space of a heartbeat. By the time Kara screamed, they were halfway down the stairs. Josen grinned like an idiot as they ran, not bothering with silence as they burst into the entryway and ran for the front door.

  “What the starving hells,” Tori said as they threw open the front door. “What was that?”

  Josen hesitated as something caught his eye, then turned back.

  “Josen?”

  Josen snatched a small porcelain vase and a fine table clock off an entry table, stuffed one in his jacket and the other in the satchel with the box.

  “Souvenirs,” he said with a grin, rejoining Tori at the door.

  “God’s tears. You can’t be serious,” Tori said.

  “Ready?”

  Tori hesitated, then nodded. Josen and Tori strode, nonchalant, into the silent moonlit streets of Ludon and walked away from the Parose house. Nice and easy. Nothing got the attention of the Ladies like running through the streets after dark. Josen took Tori’s arm, and she let him, walking arm in arm for several minutes in silence. Josen began whistling a soft, merry tune.

  “What,” Tori asked in a quiet, tight voice, “was that? Besides the exact opposite of discreet?”

  “What are they going to say?” Josen asked. “They’re in as much trouble as we are if they’re found out.”

  “No. If they get found out, Tomas gets fired. We get a pair of cells in the Finger.”

  Josen shrugged. “They won’t say anything. When the Deferate finds his robe missing, they would be the most obvious culprits.”

  Tori didn’t say anything to that, and Josen couldn’t suppress a grin.

  “I blame it on you,” Josen said.

  “What?”

  “Your fault, for thinking it was too easy.”

  Tori pushed him away, but she was smiling too, the excitement overwhelming her annoyance.

  “Come on, let’s make the drop,” Josen said. “Shep’s waiting.”

  “You do it,” Tori said. “I’ll grab celebration breakfast. I’ll meet you back at your place.”

  Chapter 6

  The Old Ludon Circle had been the literal center of Ludon once. The old city was set up like a wagon wheel, and the Circle was the hub. Modern Ludon was a sprawling mess with no real discernable center, but the Circle was no less prominent for it. Josen walked the cobblestone commons toward the large shadowy stillness at its heart. At the middle of the Old Ludon Center was the Round—a worn, open-sided stage.

  Josen circled the old stage, tapping each wooden support as he passed. The sound echoed oddly in the silent Circle. Shep always hired a sweep team to clear the drop point—it was one of the reasons Saul preferred him—but the silence tonight was thick. Tangible. Silence in an area usually so busy, so filled with people and voices, was unnerving.

  Josen couldn’t help but feel like Shep was showing off, choosing an area that was normally so busy. That was uncharacteristic but understandable. Aboran had everyone rattled some way or another. This was Shep’s reaction to that. But it still felt eerie.

  Josen forced his thoughts back to the Round, the nearest available distraction. Each of the Passbound Cities was known for something, and Josen had visited all of them. Jurdon was the City of Lights, Kendai showcased the wares of the finest craftsman in the Union at Iyoka Square, Sefti was home to the Vandosse Libraries and the best universities.

  Ludon was the home of the arts. The best musicians and playwrights in the Union gathered to perform on the dozens of stages around the city. The Round was neither the most beautiful nor the most prestigious, but it was the oldest. Every playwright and musician in the city was required to make their debut here, performing on the Round to the crowds of the Old Ludon Circle. It was a rite of passage. It felt appropriate that Josen’s first solo job with Saul would culminate here.

  Josen stopped at the lone set of stairs as he completed his lap around the Round. He sat on the bottom step, slipped the lacquered wooden box out of his satchel and slid it beneath the wooden steps. It felt odd to leave it there, but the instructions were clear. Josen counted silently to one hundred, then stood up and walked away from the Round, whistling his made-up tune as he walked away.

  “How’d it go?” Akelle asked as he fell in beside Josen the just outside the Circle proper.

  “Good, no thanks to you,” Josen said, taking a half-hearted swipe at his friend. Akelle ducked out of the way without even looking at Josen. “Weren’t you supposed to be watching for random strangers barging into the house I was in the process of robbing?”

  Akelle shrugged. “Seems like it worked out fine to me.”

  Josen opened his mouth to argue but decided he didn’t care. Not right now. The job had gone well despite the intrusion, so he let it drop as they headed back toward their little place in the Mercantile district. The two of them walked in companionable silence, both tired and ready make up for the night of sleep they spent thieving. By the time he entered the Mercantile district and neared their apartment, Ludon was just beginning to wake, and the streets began to swell with life. Beggars and merchants alike claimed their preferred positions, and especially ambitious shoppers bustled about, hoping to avoid the impending crowds. Josen was just happy his day was nearly done.

  Tori stood at entrance to their building when they arrived, lounging against the wall. “Do you realize how expensive this stuff is,” she asked without preamble. She held up a small paper sack, the gentle aroma of hot scones making Josen’s mouth water.

  “I do, in fact,” he said, holding the door open for both Akelle and Tori.

  “Thirty doubles,” Tori said, as if Josen hadn’t said anything. “Thirty! For a half dozen scones. And that didn’t even include the jam.”

  “Jam?” Akelle perked up at the word. “What kind of jam?”

  “Oh, hey, Akelle. I don’t know. It’s red.”

  Josen led the way down the hall to their room and unlocked that door as well.

  “You know, if you didn’t spend so much starving money on your fancy food,” Tori said, “you could afford something nicer than…” she trialed off. “Oh.”

  Akelle was more eloquent.

  “God’s bleeding tears!”

  Sitting on the table, framed by a rectangle of light pouring through the still open door behind them, was a lacquered wooden box—the box they had stolen from Deferate Parose not an hour past.

  “How…” Josen began, then scrapped the thought as his mind leapt into emergency mode. It didn’t matter right now. Akelle was already running. “How bad is this?” Josen called after him.

  Tori, standing next to hi
m just inside the doorway, looked at him, confused.

  “Remember the Alinama job?” Akelle called as he disappeared into the bedroom.

  Josen shuddered at the involuntary memory of blood in his mouth, broken glass in his feet, and metal locked tight around his neck. The Alinama was the last job he and Akelle had pulled—tried to pull—before fleeing to Ludon.

  “This is worse,” Akelle yelled. Josen could hear him tossing things about.

  Josen tore his eyes away from the table and rushed to the mantel, grabbing the few things off it that would travel well—a few paintings he pulled from the frames and rolled, a small wooden statue, a necklace—

  “Get the dash bag in the false back of the wardrobe,” Josen called.

  “Already got it,” said Akelle. “And the emergency coin in the bedpost.”

  “What is going on?” Tori asked, almost too soft to hear over the sounds of Josen and Akelle rushing about.

  Josen paused, Oberine kettle in hand. Could he bring it? It was bulkier than the rest, but…

  “Leave it, Josen,” Akelle said, noticing Josen’s hesitation.

  “But it’s one of the most—”

  “No, this was the deal,” Akelle said. “Only what we can easily carry. Leave the rest.”

  “Wait, what?” Tori said, still confused. “The rest of what? Josen, you said that stuff was junk. What’s going on?”

  “It’s not junk,” Josen said. “But the Pallouve frames?” Josen called to Akelle, holding one up. It would fit in his satchel. Mostly.

  “Josen,” came Akelle’s muffled yell from underneath one of the beds, only his feet showing. “I swear, I will throw you in the fire if you don’t—”

  “Guys! What in hell’s bleeding hands is going on?” Tori yelled. “Josen, I thought you made the drop already. What is that doing here?”

  “I did,” Josen said, trying to find a way for the frame to fit into his satchel despite Akelle’s threat. He could make it fit. He pushed...

  And it came completely apart.