“Sorry.” She looked back over her shoulder. Either she was very young or he was very old. “History is a passion of mine, it’s why I work at the library. During my time off I can read any books I want. But meeting an actual ranger is like having a book come to life in front of you.”
He grunted. “Word of advice. Reading about history is a lot more enjoyable than living it. If anything happens to you interesting enough that people want to write about it, you can be certain it’s horrible. The more horrible, the more they’re interested.”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way, though when you say it out loud it sounds obvious.” They left the chaos of the merchant district behind and emerged in a square plaza. She pointed to the building directly across the street. “That’s it.”
The Bright Moon Inn was two stories tall, a little run down, but not as bad as many places Moz had visited. The siding needed a fresh coat of paint and the windows a good washing, but other than that it looked pretty solid.
“Thanks for showing me the way.”
“My pleasure.” She hesitated then asked, “Can I come with you? I’d like to see a ranger work.”
“You already saw me working at the library.”
“All you did was ask questions,” she said.
“Yes, and with any luck that’s all I’ll do here.”
She smiled, revealing a slight gap in her front teeth. “I wouldn’t count on it. The sort of people that hang out here don’t like questions.”
“All the more reason for you to keep your distance. There’s no guarantee I can protect you in a fight.” He also didn’t want her getting in his way. “I can find my own way back out of here.”
“Oh, okay.”
Moz ignored her obvious disappointment, crossed the plaza, and entered the inn. The common room was dim and a few groups gathered in the corners to hold hushed conversations, conversations that ended when Moz walked through the door. He ignored the narrow-eyed gazes that followed him as he walked to the bar and put a foot on the rail. The bartender had her back to him as she adjusted the bottles filling a rack that ran the length of the rear counter.
He tapped his finger on the wood and she turned. The bartender had seen better days. Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks hollow. A fat cigar was clamped between yellow teeth and she chewed it hard as she looked Moz over.
“What?”
“Been working here long?” he asked.
“Half my wasted life. What’s it to you?”
Moz slapped a silver scale on the bar. “I’m looking for information about a guest that stayed with you a while back. Weaselly little bastard, slicked-back hair, name of Rondo Tegan. He’s wanted for murder.”
She shrugged. “We get so many in and out of here I can’t keep track of everyone.”
“No register?”
She barked a laugh that set her to coughing. “Are you kidding? Even if we did, no one would give their real name. That’s not the sort of guest we specialize in, know what I mean?”
He did know what she meant. Before he could ask another question the sound of footsteps clunking down the stairs drew his attention. Moz turned in time to see a figure dressed in black robes making his way downstairs. The man’s – he was pretty sure it was a man anyway – robe could have been a twin to what Rondo wore the last time Moz saw him. Somehow, he doubted it was a coincidence.
He looked away so as not to scare the man and asked, “Who’s that?”
“Calls himself Crow. The owner lets him stay here no charge. He comes and goes, but always returns. Can’t tell you much more than that.”
“Thanks.” Moz pushed the coin over to her.
He spun and put his back to the bar.
The only warning he got was the clink of bottles.
He twisted just in time to avoid getting a heavy jug of whisky over the head. Instead it glanced off his shoulder and shattered on the bar.
Moz grabbed her wrist with his left hand and pulled, swinging with his right. His fist caught her square on the chin and she collapsed in a heap behind the bar.
What the hell was that about?
Every eye in the place was on him now, including Crow’s. The man in black locked gazes with Moz for an instant before sprinting toward the door.
Moz took off after him in a blink.
The patrons scrambled up from their seats and made a barricade between him and the door. A pair had knives, but the rest were unarmed.
He didn’t have time for this.
“Out of the way!” he shouted.
No dice.
He drew his matched blades. A bloodbath would serve no one, but time was short. A few of the unarmed men gave his swords a long look before easing aside. The two with knives advanced, one left and the other right, trying to surround him.
Moz couldn’t allow that.
He feinted left, spun and slashed right, catching the man’s arm just above the wrist and sending his knife clattering to the ground.
A twist to the left brought him nearly nose to nose with the second guy.
The knife darted in.
Moz parried with his left sword and countered with his right, carving a deep gash across his opponent’s forehead.
The wound bled freely, blinding him.
When the man instinctively raised his hand to the wound, Moz closed and brought the hilt of his left sword around into his opponent’s temple, dropping him cold.
A clear path to the door opened and he shot through it. In the plaza outside there was no sign of Crow. Cursing the gods, Moz flicked the blood off his swords and sheathed them.
Priscilla came running up from across the street. “Did you have a fight? How did it go?”
“Forget that. Did you see a man in black come running out?”
“Yeah.” She pointed toward the maze of merchant stalls they’d navigated earlier. “He went that way.”
Moz grimaced. No way was he going to track anyone through that chaos.
He turned back to the inn. Maybe he could beat some information out of the knife wielders. Those two didn’t risk their lives for nothing. If they knew anything about Crow, they’d tell Moz. One way or another.
Chapter 5
The thug he’d cut earlier stared hard at Moz who had the tip of his sword resting lightly against the tender skin of the unlucky man’s throat. His partner was still lying on the floor, out cold, while the rest of the cowards had fled the inn completely. Given Moz’s mood, he wasn’t at all fussy about who he questioned. This son of a bitch just drew the short straw.
Priscilla stood a few feet away watching with a rapt expression. He tried to discourage her from coming in, but his suggestion fell on deaf ears. She was determined to tag along and short of violence he saw no way to dissuade her. So here she was sitting in on his interrogation.
“I’ll ask you once more, who is Crow and where can I find him?”
“I don’t know his real name,” the thug said. “No one does. He runs errands now and then, I don’t know for who, but he always comes back here at the end of the day. He pays our tab in exchange for chasing off anyone that comes around asking about him.”
“Do many people come around asking about him?” Moz asked.
“You’re the first and I’ve been drinking here for six weeks. Look, man, I don’t know his business and I don’t want to know. All I wanted was to get drunk on someone else’s scale. After all this time, I never figured I’d have to earn it.”
Moz shifted his gaze to the unconscious man. “What about him?”
“My brother. He told me about this setup.”
“He’s been working here longer?”
“Only a few weeks.” The young man’s pimply face turned pleading. “Could you give him a break? He was sixteen when he went to fight in the war against Carttoom. He ain’t been right in the head since. I hear him talking in his sleep sometimes. Some of the moans he lets rip will chill your soul. Can’t imagine the things he saw.”
“I can,” Moz said.
“It’s no excuse for letting evil take over your heart. Still, I’ll go easy on a fellow soldier if he tells me what I want to know.”
“Thanks, man,” the young thug said.
“Don’t thank me yet.” Moz hooked a chair with his foot and swung it over. “Sit and don’t move.”
Moz crossed to the bar, reached over, and grabbed a bottle of cheap rum. Not his first choice for waking a man, but it should do.
“I thought you were going to torture him,” Priscilla said.
“Why? He obviously knows nothing of value. Are you interested in that sort of thing?”
“Me? No. Gods no. It’s just I’ve never seen anyone tortured and I guess I was morbidly curious to see what it involved.”
“Pain is involved.” Moz pulled the cork out of the bottle with his teeth and spat it across the room. “So much pain you’ll say anything just to make it stop. Sometimes you get something useful, usually you don’t. The best way to use it is to first ask questions you already know the answers to and see if they lie. If you get the truth more often than not you can use it. Having multiple people to question is useful as well. If they don’t give the same answer you know at least one of them is lying.”
Moz poured the rum on the unconscious brother’s face. He sat up sputtering and looking around with red-rimmed eyes. “Abe?”
“I’m here, brother,” the younger thug said.
“Don’t look at him.” Moz stepped into his line of sight. “Look at me. You hold your brother’s fate in your hands. Tell me everything you know about Crow and you both live through this. Lie or hold back and Abe dies first. Do we understand each other?”
The elder brother groaned and wiped the rum off his face. “I should have known better than to pull on an Alteran Ranger. It was mostly reflex. I’m not eager to die for the black-robed bastard.”
“If you know what I am, then you know what I’m capable of. That’s good,” Moz said. “Let’s start with your name.”
“Robess, Corporal, third scout division.”
Moz whistled. “Third scouts. You boys had it almost as bad as we did. Glad you made it through.”
Robess snorted. “That makes one of us. I would’ve been better off dead in the field.”
“I doubt your brother agrees,” Moz said. “Tell me about Crow.”
“Not much to tell. I was the first person he signed up to serve as muscle in the bar. Seemed like a simple enough job, and it was until you showed up. All I had to do was sit here and look intimidating. Eventually he had me bring in more men.”
“If no one ever bothered him, why the big crew?”
“Can’t say. Crow’s never been what you’d call stable, but about a month ago he got worse, really paranoid. Constantly looking over his shoulder whenever he came or went. It got so bad he even took me along on a few of his outings.”
“Oh?” Moz raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t get too excited. I just escorted him through the streets to some private homes. He went in alone and I never heard a peep from inside. He’d stay sometimes for ten minutes and other times two hours. When we got back, he’d slip me a few scales extra. No one ever made a move on him, so I figured he was just jumping at shadows.”
“Can you show me these houses you went to?” Moz asked.
“I can try. I wasn’t entirely sober and he led the way.”
“Good enough. If I leave you untied, do you give me your word as a soldier not to run?”
“My word as a soldier hasn’t been worth shit in a long time.”
“It’s good with me,” Moz said.
Robess sat up a little straighter. “Then you have it.”
Moz nodded and took his half-empty bottle of rum back to the bar. Priscilla trotted along beside him. She’d been so quiet he’d forgotten about her for a moment.
“Was that what you call torture?” she asked. “You didn’t even break a finger.”
“Didn’t need to. Sometimes a soldier can talk to another soldier when he can’t talk to anyone else. Robess needed to talk and he needed to be shown a little respect.”
“You’re weird.”
“Says the woman following me around hoping to see torture.” Moz poured the rest of his rum on the unconscious bartender.
The woman opened her eyes, groaned, and licked her lips. “Gods’ blood! If you were going to wake me, couldn’t you have at least used the good stuff? This cheap garbage is more useful as paint thinner.”
“Considering you tried to bash my head in, you should be grateful I was this gentle. Now you’re going to tell me about Crow and your boss.”
“I’m dead if I tell you,” she said.
Moz whipped out one of his throwing knives and hurled it so the blade ended up quivering in the floor an inch from her left ear. “Worry about me, not them.”
“I see your point. Unfortunately, I don’t know that much. My boss, his name’s Carter, whether that’s his given or family name I have no clue, is scared to death of Crow. Whatever the man in black wants, he gets, no questions asked. Crow’s been here longer than me, so I don’t know how they came to this arrangement, but when I took the job, the situation was made clear. Do as you’re told, keep your mouth shut, anyone looks like trouble for Crow, bash ’em.”
Moz glanced over his shoulder. Robess made it sound like Crow had only been here for a couple months. Interesting. Was Crow so paranoid he brought in new muscle on a regular basis to avoid anyone getting too much information about him? Moz didn’t know, but his interest in a long conversation with Crow rose a notch.
“Where can I find Carter?” he asked.
She shrugged, quite a feat lying on her back. “Beats me. He comes in a couple times a week to collect whatever money we made, check the liquor levels, and talk to Crow. Never the same day or time. He won’t be in now anyway. Someone will have warned him about you by now.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Like a ball. Short, round, bald. The only remarkable thing about him is a gold tooth in the upper left part of his mouth, in the front not the back. He’s so proud of that tooth it’s pathetic.”
When he’d heard enough, Moz bent to collect his knife. His lips were only inches from her ear and he whispered, “Get out of the city. If you take another swing at me, I’ll kill you.”
He straightened and put his knife back in its hidden sheath. The brothers were right where he left them. Robess still had sufficient honor to keep his word. Maybe there was still hope for the young scout.
“Okay, boys. Let’s go for a walk.”
Chapter 6
The first houses Robess led Moz to were in a modest part of the city, a little fancier than the working-class areas, but not the fine mansions of the nobles and rich merchants. The siding was freshly painted white, the windows held reasonably clear glass, and the door knockers were bronze and polished. The streets were quiet and clean without a piece of litter to be seen.
“It’s one of these two.” Robess pointed at the two nearly touching row houses across from them. “I can’t remember which one. Crow brought me here three days ago.”
Moz studied the buildings. They were pretty much identical except for the names written on plaques above the doors, Sullens on the left and Corvines on the right. Moz grinned. It was just a little too clever. Would Crow actually be arrogant enough to name a safe house Corvines? The word basically meant having to do with crows. It seemed too arrogant given the man’s excessive paranoia. Moz made a mental note to check out both names at the government building.
“Where next?”
“You’re not even going to knock?” Priscilla asked.
“And put them on guard? No, not yet. First rule of hunting; don’t move until you’re ready to make the kill. Robess?”
The former scout led them out of the middle-class area and into the high-end wealthy district. If the streets were clean before, here they were polished. It looked like someone had sorted the stones and only used white ones to cobble the streets. There mus
t have been servants that cleaned them every day as there wasn’t even a pile of manure to be seen.
They’d barely entered the neighborhood when a pair of armed men in crisp, pressed uniforms spotted them and marched their way, hands on the hilts of their swords.
This was grief Moz didn’t need.
“The guards seemed to know Crow,” Robess said. “They never bothered us.”
Moz stopped and let the guards approach. As they got closer, he studied the insignia on their chests. It was a scale balanced by gold coins. That wasn’t the city guards’ livery. These two must provide security for this neighborhood. That meant they didn’t have any actual authority. That was convenient. Moz could ignore them without worrying about the actual guards getting angry.
The pair were a fairly typical duo, an older man with gray in his well-trimmed beard and a younger man who deferred to him. The younger one was probably new and just getting some experience. He was about to get some real experience today.
“What’s your business here?” the older guard asked.
“I’m looking for a man that calls himself Crow.” Moz described him and immediately the younger guard darted a glance at his superior. They knew him for sure. “Has he been by lately?”
“I don’t see that it’s any of your business,” the older guard said. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave this neighborhood. The residents don’t like people sneaking around.”
Moz rested his hands on the hilts of his swords. “I’m going to have to refuse. And I’ll warn you that if either of you pull your swords, it will be the worst mistake of your lives.”
“Listen here, mister,” the older guard stammered. “Are you looking to get yourself in real trouble? Ignoring a guard’s orders is a serious crime.”
Moz looked left and right. “Good thing there aren’t any guards, just two fools in pretty uniforms with an inflated sense of their own importance. Now, this can end three ways. One, we can stand here insulting each other.”
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