by Scott Baron
Or relatively clean. Because, despite all appearances, something about Visla Maktan stank, and it wasn’t the shit on Hozark’s boots.
There were dangling threads that just begged to be pulled at, and when he tugged, something unexpected happened. Maktan’s name would pop up in unlikely places. Never with great details, though. Always vagaries and brief mentions. But something felt off.
And Hozark wanted very much to find out what that was.
He, and the rest of the order of Wampeh Ghalian, had never taken sides in conflicts, always working as impartial, and extremely expensive, assassins. They were not easy to engage, and they did not accept every contract offered, nor could most afford them.
But since the Council’s capture of one of their own, and in such an unusual circumstance, the order had begun taking far more of an interest in Council activities than before.
And when a job involving targets related to the Council of Twenty-related arose, the Wampeh Ghalian were now accepting them more often than not.
That was how Hozark had wound up covered in filth and cleaning up after a good many Council-affiliated guests, acquiring quite a sizable amount of intelligence in the process.
But that was all in preparation for his actual job. The real target. A rather horrible woman by the name of Oxalla Slahn.
She was a facilitator for the Council of Twenty, and a great many had fallen, if not directly by her hands, due to her actions or words. She was one of the key parties who made sure the Council’s many off-book, nefarious dealings were handled in a timely manner.
A keeper of secrets.
And it was that knowledge that made her such a prime target.
It also made her one of the most heavily guarded women in twenty systems.
“Done, sir,” shit-stained Binnik reported to his superior. “It was just Goramus fruit clogging the pipe.”
“Goramus? How the hell does that clog the pipes?”
“Well, they managed to fit twelve of them in there, somehow,” he replied with a good-natured chuckle. “But I got them all out, and things are working smoothly. I did need to use my konus to shift the deeper ones out to the waste field, though. It took a fair amount of power, but I thought it best, as the rooms were about to become occupied again. Could you recharge it?”
His supervisor snatched the konus from his wrist and gave him a newly powered one. “Good thinking, Binnik. Well done. Get things working and stay out of the guests’ way,” he said. “Take this one for now. It was just topped off.”
“Thank you, sir,” the disguised assassin said, then headed back to work.
On his way, he noticed there was a flurry of activity in the reception area. More than usual. And something unusual. Guards of a far different sort than typically accompanied their visitors were sweeping the area, while plainclothes agents casually meandered among the guests.
Of course, the master assassin noted them all, just as they noted him. But they paid him no further heed, especially the ones who were close enough to smell him.
It seemed Oxalla Slahn had finally arrived. Or, her advance entourage had, at least. It was time for the games to begin.
Chapter Three
Hozark, also known as Binnik the shit mopper, had spent weeks upon weeks of careful preparation for this moment. All that study, the countless hours of menial labor, all in furthering his disguise, was now going to finally pay off.
The first wave of guards had been thorough with their rapid survey of the lobby and reception area, a number of their ranks splitting off into every adjacent space to ensure no hidden threats were lurking.
As they did so, the plainclothes agents meandered about, milling among the guests and staff, casually casting their scanning spells to ensure no blades, slaaps, or other weapons were being concealed.
Denna Oxalla Slahn, though she typically eschewed the honorary title of denna, was not a loved woman. She had been responsible, directly or indirectly, for a great deal of suffering to the people of dozens of worlds, if not more. Protestors and the like were commonplace wherever she went. And, occasionally, something worse.
In her case, there was a good reason for all of the guards.
Hozark had to admit, it was a well-executed bit of security theater. And theater it was, because judging by the visible weapons these men carried, as well as the cut of their uniforms, they may have looked impressive, but they were in no way the woman’s top guards.
Those would be close to her at all times, keeping a sharp eye out for potential threats. And they would be far better armed than this. Heavy-duty slaaps and konuses, he anticipated, as well as enchanted blades, no doubt. And that was saying nothing of their martial skills.
Highly trained fighters, each of them, for certain. Possibly even former gladiators, given the Council’s ties to the brutal games. Whoever they were, the men and women were no trifling matter, even for a Wampeh Ghalian.
Another wave of protection began to enter the reception area. Their uniforms were more ornate and clearly for show. This was the grand entrance portion of her entourage, it seemed, and their attire shouted out her wealth and status.
A great many races were in Oxalla Slahn’s employ; a multicolored and multi-species mix of great diversity. There was even a Fakarian among them, the amphibian’s blue-green skin contrasting nicely with their uniform, which had been carefully tailored to allow for their powerful tail.
Several of them possessed customized outfits, actually. From the ridged backs of the Orgalun warriors, complete with bulging shoulders and thick necks, to the pair of tentacled Yagutsi with the paralytic, but not deadly, venom carried within each suction cup, the guards’ uniforms fit perfectly.
A moment later, a duo of slender Magani bodyguards joined the party, walking in with the eerie grace of deadly ballerinas. Their race was unassuming at a glance, but upon closer inspection, possessed unusual spines several inches in length that protruded from their elbows, knees, and heels, making them particularly nasty when it came to hand-to-hand combat.
And by the look of them, they were quite ready for a fight, if need be.
Hozark, however, had no intentions of fighting them. In fact, he was at the very far end of the space, nowhere near the goings-on. Just another lowly peon staying out of the way of the upper-class guests as he went about his chores.
A slight shift buzzed through the guards, regardless of their position within the hierarchy. The regular patrons would not have noticed it, but the tiny change in their posturing signaled one key thing to Hozark. They were linked by a silent skree system. And someone had just notified them all that their boss was coming.
That subtle stiffening of the back, a holding of the head just a little higher, chest out and shoulders back, doing their best to look intimidating and alert. For Oxalla Slahn expected nothing less from her minions.
At long last, the woman herself finally made an appearance, the tall, lithe, palest green-skinned woman striding into the place as if she owned it. But as wealthy and powerful as she was, even the great Oxalla Slahn couldn’t have afforded to buy out this particular establishment.
And even if she could, it was owned by one of the more powerful vislas in the system. One who had no interest in selling. And, conveniently, one with whom she had an ongoing, mutually beneficial arrangement.
“Ah, Denna Slahn,” the concierge said, gushing warmth and welcome from his every pore. “It is so wonderful to have you with us again. Your regular suites are ready and have been prepared, as per your usual specifications, of course, and the chefs will be preparing your favorite dishes this evening, compliments of the house.”
She smiled at him, as one would a lesser creature whose sole purpose was to serve her needs. “I would first like to visit the spa. It has been a long trip, and I have need of your strongest masseuse.”
“Of course, Denna Slahn,” the man replied with a little bit too much gusto.
But ass-kissing was his job, and he was so good at it that it seemed he mig
ht lose his head up in some dark nethers one day, if he wasn’t careful about it. He turned to his chief of staff.
“Have the spa cleared for Denna Slahn immediately,” he barked.
“Uh, sir?” the man said, taken off guard. “The Badarian envoy is currently utilizing the healing mud baths.”
A brief look of both fear and anger flashed across his face. This was not good. Not good at all. But compared to Oxalla Slahn, the powerful envoy was as intimidating as a puppy.
“Ah, yes, of course,” the concierge replied as calmly as he could manage. “Please inform the good fellow that a very, very important guest has arrived and will be needing use of the facilities. And please, offer him my apologies. His rooms and meals are on the house today as a token of my appreciation.” He turned to the Denna. “All is in order. Please allow my staff just a few minutes to ready the spa facilities for you. And I will personally fetch our strongest masseuse to tend to your every need.”
The new arrival had observed the exchange with some interest, and, as she was getting what she wanted, continued on her way, apparently satisfied with the man’s quick resolution to what would have otherwise been a problem.
Not her problem, though. But most certainly his.
Hozark had to admit, the fellow may have been a paid sycophant, but he had just pulled off an impressive bit of maneuvering of difficult and demanding guests. Say what you would about the demeaning nature of his position, the man was quite efficient at keeping the workings of the resort running smoothly, even in the most trying of situations.
Oxalla strode across the gleaming stone floor with a confident grace, her closest guards flanking her several feet away on either side.
“You’re a murderer!” a woman shrieked from the crowd that had lingered to observe the woman’s arrival. “You killed my husband!”
Rotten fruit was hurled, flying straight and true, right at her head. Her security detail had not discovered the threat with all their magical scans because it wasn’t really a threat. Not one of damage or injury, at least.
But if she had become smeared with rotten produce, more than one of her guards would certainly have suffered the consequences as surely as the attacker would.
Hozark watched with great interest as the fruit stopped a meter from the woman, its arc arrested mid-flight by an invisible magic shield, before it withered and turned to dust.
That was one thing he had not been expecting. Some defenses, certainly, but a personal protective shield of that power? He began to wonder if perhaps someone had tipped her off that she might be in jeopardy.
But her team handled the situation with the same cool efficiency they showed when performing their initial sweep. No flash of additional weapons, nor hidden troops spilling out. It seemed to have truly been a one-off attack by an angry protester.
The screaming woman was grabbed nearly the instant her improvised projectile had left her hand, hauled off to face a fate likely less than that of her deceased husband. But, then again, she’d just attacked Oxalla Slahn in public, so there was also a very good chance an example would be made of her.
Throughout the entire ordeal, which only lasted mere seconds, Oxalla did not slow or alter her stride one bit. She was a cold and confident bitch, and given what Hozark had heard of her going into this job, it didn’t surprise him one bit. In fact, he expected no less from the woman.
But the shield would be an issue, possibly making his task more difficult than he originally anticipated. He continued on his way across the outer perimeter of the chamber, leaving the others to deal with the thrashing woman and the mess she was making as they hauled her out.
He had work to do, and not the resort employee kind.
Chapter Four
“Binnik! Where the hells are you?” the evening shift manager shouted.
“Here, sir,” Hozark replied, putting down the implements he had been cleaning and hurrying over to the man.
One look at the poor manager and anyone could tell that something was clearly wrong by his nervous fidgeting and the deeply concerned look in his eye.
“We’ve got a problem. Oh shit, oh shit. This is not good.”
“What problem, sir?” Hozark asked, knowing full well the first, tiny part of his plan was underway.
“It’s Oxalla Slahn.”
“The woman who came in a few hours ago? She seemed nice. And tall,” he said, sounding every bit the innocent bumpkin he’d been portraying for weeks on end.
“Nice? You called her nice? Have you never heard of Oxalla Slahn before?”
“’Fraid not. Why? Should I have?”
The manager ran his hands through his hair. “Never mind. Maybe it’s better if you don’t know and just get this done.”
“Get what done, sir? You still haven’t told me what it is you need.”
The manager realized he was losing it, and in front of a far lesser employee. The shit scrubber, no less. He took a deep breath, pausing to run his hands down the front of his immaculate management tunic, smoothing out some imaginary wrinkles.
“Denna Slahn’s assistant called down to inform us the waste system in her suite is having an issue.”
“Oh, well, it’s a good thing there are three of them, then. I can fix the broken one first thing in the––”
“It is her own private restroom, and she will not do with sharing the facilities lesser staff uses. You’ve got to go up there right now and fix this.”
“But, sir, that’s Skardrick’s job. I’m just the apprentice. I mean, I’ve learned a lot about––”
“Skardrick isn’t here. He’s home sick. Some kind of terrible food poisoning that laid him up in bed all day.”
“That’s terrible! I’m so sorry to hear that. Why, I just saw him last night, and he seemed fine,” Hozark said with mock concern. “I should visit him and bring him some soup or something.”
In reality, the timing of his sharing a casual meal with the man and his unexpected gastric distress was anything but coincidental. A few drops of Astralgar extract in his wine had been all it took. Not the option of choice, but given the circumstances, Hozark had to make do with what was at hand while leaving no magical residue or traces.
“Never mind bringing him soup. Haven’t you heard any of what I’ve been saying? Denna Oxalla Slahn’s private restroom is backed up, and you have to go fix it.”
“Oh, well, as soon as I––”
“Now, Binnik!”
Hozark jumped as if terribly startled by the manager’s reaction. “Oh, uh, of course. I’ll head up immediately,” he said, grabbing tools in a flustered hurry and rushing toward the lift disc.
“Wait!”
“But you said––”
The manager threw a slender konus at him.
“I already have my konus. Darzus gave me a fresh one earlier,” he said, showing the band on his wrist.
“It’s not for cleaning spells. It’ll let you get into her suites without being stunned. Or worse.”
“I don’t understand,” Hozark said, understanding full well.
“She’s a high-profile guest, get it? The highest. And her security detail always takes extra precautions, like multiple layers of defensive spells and wards. Without that pass-konus, you wouldn’t make it one step inside those rooms.”
Hozark turned the slender band over in his hands with mock fascination. “Whoa, that’s crazy.”
“Not as crazy as things are going to be if you don’t hurry up and get up there.”
“Right. I’m on it!” Hozark said, then rushed for the lift disc, slipping the pass-konus on his wrist as he went. Work smarter, not harder, he mused.
All was going as he had expected, and with the useful little band he now wore, Hozark wouldn’t have to worry about disarming and countering all of those nasty little spells Oxalla’s team had put in place.
Or at least most of them. Undoubtedly, there would be a few little surprises in place they hadn’t told management about. He’d expect no less of a sk
illed bodyguard team like hers.
The normal security the property already had in place was no problem. He’d already modified the existing spells and wards weeks ago. They’d still work on everyone else, mind you, but Hozark had a free pass within those walls.
The lift disc took him up high in the building to the most opulent set of suites within its walls. It was also the most difficult to access and most secure of them. Tools in hand, the cheerfully oblivious worker stepped from the disc and out into the corridor, right into the watchful gaze of a half dozen security personnel lining the hallway on either side.
“Hey, fellas,” he said with a good-natured smile. “Oh, sorry. And ladies,” he added when he saw the barbed-limbed Magani bodyguard he’d seen earlier among the group. “I’m just here to fix the pipes. Did they call up and tell––?”
“You are expected,” the Magani woman said as her associate scanned him for weapons. “And you are late.”
“Sorry, there was a bit of a misunderstanding, and––”
“No excuses! One does not keep Denna Slahn waiting.”
“Ooookay then. I guess I’ll just get to it, shall I?”
No one moved.
“Uh, is it okay if I open the door, then?”
At that moment, Oxalla’s assistant opened the door from the inside.
Ah. Hidden communications even here, Hozark silently mused.
“The denna has been kept waiting,” the woman said with a glare that could melt icebergs, then whispered a disarming spell for the door wards. “Bring your tools and do what needs to be done, then remove your stink from these chambers.”
“Jeez, it’s just part of the job. No need to be rude,” Hozark said, exaggeratedly sniffing himself. He then stepped into the suites, whereupon the door was shut behind him, its wards put back in place.
From what he could tell, the security team was barred from entry. Oxalla felt completely safe once inside her rooms, and only her personal aide was to be anywhere near her once she had retired.
