The Bad Guys Chronicles Box Set

by Eric Ugland

  And so I had no idea what time it was when I was rudely being hoisted out of bed, lifted up by a very large fist wrapped around my neck.

  As soon as I opened my eyes, I was face to face with a gruff looking dude I’d seen before. An ugly half-ogre.

  “Found you,” he said, his voice gross and slimy, his breath repulsive.

  “It’s me,” I said, barely getting it out since he was crushing my throat.

  “Put him down,” came a much more refined voice close to the front door.

  The half-ogre opened his fist and dropped me on the floor.

  “I must apologize for him,” came the other voice, stepping around the brutish half-ogre. It was a middle-aged man, human, with perfectly-tailored clothes and close-cropped hair. He looked every bit what I would have expected a noble to look like.

  “These things happen,” I managed to get out, though I wasn’t sure how comprehensible it was, since the big brute definitely did real damage to my vocal chords.

  “While not the best helpers,” the guy said, squatting down next to where I was on the floor, “they are passionate. And loyal. Tough to beat those qualities.”

  “Can I help you?” I grunted out.

  “Not me, but my employer would like to speak with you.”

  “Mind if I get dressed?”

  “It would please me greatly if you did.”

  I took my time getting to my feet, going to my closet, and pulling clothes on. I certainly considered stepping into the closet and making my escape through my bolt hole. Or, more appropriately I suppose, Etta’s bolt hole.

  But this guy was being polite for the most part, and I was a bit curious to find out who’d been sending the half-ogres. So I just got dressed like there weren’t two dudes watching me.

  “Ready,” I said.

  The half-ogre grunted in my general direction.

  “Lovely,” the man replied, gesturing for me to leave my apartment first.

  “Mind if I lock up after you?”

  “Yes,” the man said. “You have been rather slippery so far, and I’d really prefer to wrap this little detail up. So, you first.”

  I shrugged, pretending I didn’t care, and then I walked down the stairs.

  The other half-ogre was waiting outside, leaning against the wall. A beautiful carriage was parked in front of him, a glossy deep red body pulled by a team of four black horses. All gorgeous animals. The driver stared straight ahead, as if he didn’t care about anything except the horses and where he might be driving.

  The half-ogre stood up straight as I came out of the door, and he pulled a little lever that dropped a set of stairs from the carriage so I could walk into it. The inside was incredible in terms of luxury. Plush pillows, deep carpeting, all of it a bold crimson. There was even a waiting flute of champagne.

  “It’s for you,” the man said, somehow right behind me and basically pushing me into the rear-facing seat of the carriage.

  “Not much of a drinker,” I said, which had been the case in the new world so far, but only because I had too much to do. As soon as things settled down, I had plans to paint the town red. Or whatever color was appropriate. Maybe even multiple colors. I wanted to leave my options open.

  As soon as the man was in and the door had closed, someone tapped twice on the outside of the carriage. We were off, the horses’ harness jangling as they ran.

  “As long as we have a moment of privacy,” the man said, “I thought we might do a little chatting.”

  “Sounds fine,” I said.

  I noticed he had his own glass of champagne now, and took delicate sips as he watched the city rush by.

  “I appreciate your cooperation in this matter,” he said. “I daresay it will be tedious for you, and I do apologize. My employer is, trying to find a polite way to phrase this is difficult, but he is new to having his own agency, and he is intent on pursuits I feel are a bit foolish. Immature, perhaps. But, I see this as a learning opportunity, so please do me a favor and be polite.”

  “I’m trying to polite right here,” I said, doing my best to match his tone. “Tonight, you’ve kidnapped me, and before that your two thugs destroyed my furniture in what seemed like a legitimate attempt at murder.”

  “That was a mistake.”

  “Some mistake. I could have died.”

  “You aren’t dead, though, are you?”

  “Thin ice on that, bub.”

  “Look, you can complain about what has happened, or just accept the apology.”

  “Apology? I must have missed the part where you apologized for almost killing me. I got the apology for tonight being tedious.”

  “Perhaps it slipped my mind.”

  “How difficult it must be to keep all these apologies straight, you horse’s ass.”

  “Now, no need for that kind of language, is there?”

  “How about an actual apology? Or maybe some renumeration?”

  “Seeing the state of your furniture, you might think about thanking me.”

  “You are an impressively myopic pus bucket.”

  “Excuse me? You realize I had to pay for one of my men to receive emergency medical care after that trap of yours—”

  “Trap? He broke into my apartment and tried to kill me. You want me to feel sorry because he got hurt over the course of trying to kill me?”

  “It was expensive. Whatever you used to poison that blade was remarkably effective. Even for his robust constitution. Don’t suppose you’d share the recipe?”

  “I’m not sure I remember it. Why don’t you sit on a thumb and rotate? That would give me time to think about it.”

  The man looked at me and tilted his head in confusion. Then he looked at his thumb. And back at me.

  “You are a strange man,” the guy said.

  “Pot, kettle.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You’re just as strange as me.”

  “No, I don’t think I am.”

  Then he turned his head, and looked out the window, effectively ending the conversation.

  Chapter 91

  It was a long ride. We went through plenty of places I’d never visited before, and finally ended up all the way over in The Bright. While most of the city’s neighborhoods remained nameless for me, there was a helpfully large sign to let me know when I got into the Bright. Also, the homes transitioned to massive as soon as you passed the sign. The estates weren’t quite as big, but the homes themselves were gargantuan. Nearly everything around was over the top. Clearly a new money kind of place, as everyone in the neighborhood seemed to be going to extremes in order to outdo everyone else.

  Unlike the home of Lord FancyPants, these places looked like they’d been designed by architects who were trying to make their mark on the world. Which, to be fair, is fine. Make money off rich idiots, that’s my motto. Can’t fault someone else for using it as well.

  The security on most of the places seemed more focused on theater than anything that might actually make their homes more secure. Large men and women wearing altogether too much plate armor, with massive halberds in their gauntleted hands, standing at attention in front of gate houses. It didn’t even look to me that the armor was fully functional. No one walked the grounds. No one was up high with bows or crossbows. Sneaking around was going to be ridiculously easy. The only walls around seemed to be tall iron bars about six inches apart with nothing on top to make climbing up and over difficult.

  The house we arrived at was even bigger than most of those around, and it was one of the only ones that actually had land around it. Most of the other homes really pushed the limits of the size of their lots; sometimes they had barely a foot between the wall around the property and the home itself. This place, however, was massive, and clearly one of the homes against which the others in The Bright were measured. It was only three stories tall, but the stories seemed like they were all double height. Tall windows, roomy doors, an edifice that seemed purely designed for being pretty. And looking impressive
without actually being impressive. At least not to me.

  The grounds had been meticulously cleaned, so I didn’t see a stray leaf or even one blade of glass differing in height. The bushes were all pruned to within an inch of their lives, and the gravel was almost perfectly uniform in color on the perfectly parallel pathways leading from the absurdly flat driveway. It was almost a shock to go from the bumpy Imperial roads to the glass-like driveway.

  Three footmen were waiting for me at the front entrance. There was a blaze of light there, and the their red coats were almost blinding. They had poofy white wigs — at least I hope they were wigs. They stood at rigid attention as I exited the carriage, followed naturally by the unnamed man who’d been instrumental in getting me to visit his boss. The unnamed asshole smiled at the footmen, and took his coat off. He handed it to one of the footmen, revealing a wide-bladed short sword sheathed at a nearly horizontal angle across his back. I wondered if he was at all comfortable sitting down.

  I had no coat, so I just stood there like a tool, looking at the smiling footmen and becoming increasingly worried about the position I had found myself in. While I stood there, I noticed the two half-ogres hopping off the back of the carriage. They were having a quiet conversation between themselves — mostly hand movements and grunting — something they continued as they crunched down the gravel pathway and moved around to the back of the house.

  “This way,” my kidnapper said, gesturing to the front door.

  “After you,” I said.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Having no other option, I went into the house.

  The inside had high ceilings, marble floors, and lots of artwork and sculptures. Everything immediately in front of me was most definitely put there to make an impression, and that impression was wealth. And grandeur. But it also rang false — the statues looked like they were copies of some sort; they had no life to them. I don’t want to make it seem like I’m some sort of art historian, but in my previous days as a semi-professional thief, I’d done enough wikipedia work to know when a piece of art was worth bringing home with me. And this stuff didn’t look good. This stuff looked expensive and big, but without actual quality that would stand the test of time.

  The footmen followed behind, busying themselves with closing the door. One of them even had a small broom out, and swept up everywhere I walked.

  Ridiculous.

  The kidnapper raised an eyebrow, then indicated with a head nod that he wanted me to go through an arched doorway to the right. It led to a library of sorts, with an absolutely massive fireplace that was filled with huge chunks of wood. On fire. The shelves were nearly floor to ceiling, and all filled in big leather-covered books. Books that looked way too perfect, like they were only touched for dusting. Two huge couches dominated the center of the room, deep and comfy leather things, with a sturdy table between them.

  “Sit,” the kidnapper said, pointing to one of the couches.

  I did, dropping onto the couch and plopping my feet on the table.

  One of the footmen definitely scoffed, but I kept my attention on the nameless asshole.

  “His lordship will be with you momentarily,” he said. Then he left through the door we’d entered, closing it behind him.

  I was alone.

  Naturally, I hopped up and wandered over to the books. Really, only the door and the fireplace weren’t book covered. I was curious, since I really hadn’t seen many books in the world so far, and I knew that books weren’t very common during Earth’s medieval period. So I pulled one down.

  Trade Practices of Mahrduhm.

  A remarkably dry, yet verbose, description of trade between the Empire and a country called Mahrduhm.

  I slid the book back in place, and tried another.

  Rocks of West Blossom Mountain.

  A geology treatise. Truly compelling stuff. Insert gneiss pun here. Or schist. Or both.

  I scanned through the shelves only to encounter more of the same. Droll books that were almost all devoted to banal topics. There were also several shelves that held nicely bound collections of invoices. This was all for show. I mean, I already knew that everything else in the place was ornamental, so why would the library be any different?

  I thought, for some reason, that the books on the very top shelves, the ones only reachable via ladder might be different. Maybe it was a repository for impressive works, or spellbooks. But as I got the ladder in place, a section of the shelves moved aside, and a well-groomed young man strode through the hidden door. He stopped in front of the fireplace and turned towards the couches, I guess wondering why I wasn’t there. And since I wasn’t, his attempt at silhouetting his powerful form with the fire behind him was a bit of a waste.

  “Over here,” I said.

  His face snapped over in my direction, and he frowned.

  “You’re the reason I’m here, yes?” I asked.

  “Clyde Hatchet?” He asked, his voice clipped and a bit nasal.

  “That’s me.”

  “Yes, I desired to speak with you.”

  “There are easier ways to go about that.”

  “I needed to ensure you understood the gravity of the situation.”

  “I mean, I don’t. So, bit of a failure there.”

  “I need to know things, and those things are—”

  “Okay, just ask, bub,” I interrupted, tossing the book I’d been flipping through onto the coffee table as I dropped onto the couch. “Enough with all the small pageantry. Just ask away. I’m a reasonable fellow — I’ll most likely tell the truth.”

  “Most likely?”

  “Yeah. Most likely. Do you tell the truth all the time?”

  “I like to think I do.”

  “Did you read all these books? Or any of them?”

  He hesitated, and I knew he was trying to come up with something.

  I held a hand up.

  “Just stop there,” I said. “You were thinking about lying, right? Example made. Ask your question.”

  “The girl who owns your building,” he started, his voice a little shaky as if he’d lost whatever modicum of composure he had, “where did she go?”

  “Well first, I own that building. And second, that’s a complicated question to answer.”

  “I need that answer. What do you mean you own the building?”

  I leaned back into the plush cushions of the couch, and looked up at the ceiling. Which, incidentally, had some very nice ornamental carving on it. A nice touch.

  “The simple version is that I bought it from her.”

  “You?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “With some coin?”

  “That building is worth far too much to be bought by a simple man like you.”

  “So you’re into real estate?”

  “Yes.”

  “She had to leave the city quickly, and she needed money. I happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

  “She sold it to you, just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “And where did she go?”

  “South.”

  “South where?”

  “She said something about going to see the Great Erg.”

  “The Erg? That’s absurd.”

  “Maybe, but that’s what she said.”

  He started pacing back and forth in front of the fire.

  “It makes no sense,” he said. “Why would she leave?”

  “Oh, I’ve got the answer for that one as well.”

  He focused on me, and stared.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “Before I tell you, how about you tell me your involvement with the Iron Silents,” I replied.

  “Who?”

  “The gang, the Iron Silents?”

  “I have not yet heard of them.”

  “You’re not with them?”

  “I would not sully myself being aligned with such criminals.”

  “Okay, so this definit
ely went in a different direction than I expected.”

  “Apologies for your confusion,” he snapped.

  “Yeah, well, the gang, the Iron Silents, wanted your girl to join, and she didn’t, and so they were going to, uh, kill her. So she bolted.”

  “Which means she probably wasn’t heading south.”

  “Look, man, I can only tell you what she told me.”

  “I wasn’t speaking to you.”

  “Could have fooled me. Actually, you did fool me.”

  “Who are these Iron Silents?”

  “Just some low-life criminals I suppose.”

  “The girl, did you know her well?”

  “No. Barely at all really. It was mostly just for the transaction. I gave her some coin, and—”

  “You were not a client of hers?”

  “Uh, no. Nope. A client?”

  “She did not mention me?”

  “I still don’t know who you are, so, can’t really answer that, can I?”

  “Lord Gazayev.”

  “Nope. Nothing.”

  “Isaac?”

  “Still can’t help you.”

  He stared at me, his mouth opening and closing as if he was talking inside his head, but he didn’t make any noises. Clearly, there was some shit going on with the dude, but I had no idea what to make of it. I was thinking I’d just sit there, but the guy looked so forlorn and messed up I had to do something.

  “Hey man,” I said, “it probably doesn’t mean anything. She wasn’t social with me; it was business. And quick business at that. And I’ve got a little secret for you, something she asked me to keep close to the chest, you know.”

  He grabbed me by the front of my shirt, pulling me to my feet and close to his face.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  There was a definite hint of alcohol on his breath. Hint is being polite. It was a bit like getting a face full of paint thinner.

  “She didn’t ride off south,” I said. “She went west.”

  “Out Death’s Gate?”

  I nodded.

  “Mayhap she sought the Emerald Sea,” he said softly, his eyes taking a far off and wistful look to them, as if he was busy looking out over the Emerald Sea himself.