“What now?” Adina’s voice came from beside him, but he didn’t turn. He watched the beggar, saw that the dirty old man was sparing too many glances in their direction. They know. Aaron wasn’t surprised. Word traveled fast in the Downs, word of rich nobles out for a night on the town, word of recent scores and newly “found” merchandise, or the town guard making one of their rare visits, but most of all, word of hits. Of course, the last person to know was always the one with the price on his head.
A scream of pain came from inside the house, jerking Aaron back to the present. He turned to the princess and her chamberlain, taking in their pale, scared faces. “Come on. There’s someone we need to talk to.”
He set off at a fast walk without looking back to see if the other two were following. He was angry, pissed, in fact. The two brothers had thrown their lives away for nothing, for the hope of a peace that would never be. He’d hated his time at the orphanage, had suffered there, but he’d also learned. The only peace men were capable of was that of the grave. Only when the masses of humanity had gone room temperature and maggots feasted on their corpses, would the world know an end to war.
He hated the brothers for their choice. Surprisingly, he also pitied them, and it was that pity that made him the maddest of all. Who were they to him? Just two men working for a woman who seemed to be trying her level best to get him killed. Life was cheap—he’d known that for a long time—yet the thought of their deaths sickened him just the same.
He strode through the back alleys of the Downs in a quiet rage, ignoring the shouts of the occasional beggar that smelled of piss and worse, booting them roughly aside when they wouldn’t get out of his way. Eventually, he came to a decrepit building that was larger than many of the others on the street. Other than its size, the building looked like nothing special, which was, of course, the way the owner, a heavy set redhead named May, wanted it.
The chipped paint on the walls, the hanging sign that read Traveler’s Rest, even the two bums sitting nearby covered in rags and filth, all created the illusion that the building was little more than a run-down inn in need of repair—certainly not the place anyone in their right mind would want to stay given a choice. However, like many things in the Downs, the building was more than it appeared. Without slowing, he stalked inside. Once through the door, he was confronted with an elderly lady sitting behind a rickety, dust-covered counter.
“Surry,” the woman said, shaking her head and speaking with a slur. “I’m all full up. You want yeselves a room, ye’ll be needin’ to try again on the ‘morrow.”
Aaron flicked a coin at her without slowing and walked toward the door beside the counter. The old woman moved with a nimbleness surprising for her years and snatched the gold coin out of the air. “I wonder, mother, may I smoke?” He asked.
He didn’t have to look to know that the elderly woman’s wrinkled, leathery face had broken out into a knowing smile. “Yes, you may.” She answered, in a cultured voice, all traces of her thick accent gone. “And your friends?”
Aaron frowned and tossed two more coins into the woman’s eager, waiting hands and motioned to the others. “The accent’s getting better, by the way.”
The woman beamed at him, “Room service will be right out.” She reached under her desk and pressed something, and the door in front of Aaron opened.
A man scowled at them over folded arms, ludicrously big biceps pressing against the fabric of his tight-fitting shirt. “Silent,” the man grunted, acknowledging him with a slight nod, “May wants to see you.”
Aaron nodded and pushed his way past the bigger man, “If there’s time.”
The bouncer frowned but said nothing. Aaron had, after all, a bit of a reputation in the Downs, enough, at least, to ensure that people stayed out of his way when they could.
“H-how can this be?” The princess asked beside him, but he didn’t answer. Most everyone had the same thought when they first stepped inside May’s club. The door they’d entered gave the impression—from the outside—that it would lead into a rundown hallway in as much filthy disrepair as the entrance itself. Even knowing what waited on the other side, Aaron still always found himself surprised by the dramatic change. The club was a sprawling room so big that one could barely see to the other end of it and so richly furnished that it looked as if it belonged in some nobleman’s manor.
The tiled floors were covered in rugs of various designs and make, the tables and booths expertly-fashioned. The room was bathed in warm, golden light given off by what Aaron thought must have been at least a hundred of the contraptions he’d heard called Sun Globes hanging from the ceiling. Each circular orb was worth a small fortune, and it was said that they never stopped giving off light. Of course, only a fool would think that—after all, nothing lasted forever. Still, he could appreciate how expensive they must have been, and he’d heard of more than one incident when a particularly brave—or foolish—thief had attempted to steal one despite the fact that the ceilings were at least thirty feet high and that May, the club’s owner, was known for the quality of guards she kept on her payroll.
All around the room, the tables were packed with people who talked, laughed, flirted or argued as they each enjoyed their own brand of relaxation. Many smoked on pipes or cigars, so that the air was filled with a constantly shifting curtain of gray haze. On a large, raised platform in the center of the room, a woman in a skimpy dress and top sang a bawdy song about a sailor who was caught by a mermaid and “forced” to perform certain favors for her before she’d set him free. The singer’s voice was off key, but she looked good enough in her red dress and high boots that no one seemed to notice, and even the women in the audience clapped and cheered her on.
Aaron had to push his way through a crowd of people as he headed for the bar. Finally, he made it to the counter and nodded to the bartender. She had emerald green eyes and the type of body that men usually only saw in their dreams. Though she looked to be no older than twenty or twenty one years, Aaron knew her to be, in fact, in her early forties, and the blue silk dress she wore revealed even more than the singer’s. He suspected that the guards earned their keep just convincing the male clientele to keep their hands to themselves.
The woman noticed him and smiled revealing a set of perfect, pearly white teeth. “Well, my, my, if it isn’t the Silent Blade himself!”
Aaron grunted, “Celes.”
“The Silent Blade?” Gryle asked curiously, pushing his way beside Aaron, “does it refer to your stealth in combat?”
The bartender let out a girlish laugh and ran a hand through her long, blonde hair. “I don’t know much about fighting, hon, but our friend here does everything silent.” She winked at the chubby man, “and I do mean everything.”
Aaron sighed as Gryle’s face turned a deep, embarrassed red. The chamberlain tried to reply, but his words came out as stuttered, incomprehensible sounds, and Celes laughed throatily. “You’re cute.” Aaron hadn’t thought it possible, but the man’s face managed to go an even deeper, angrier crimson.
“Still,” the bartender said as she draped her arm around Aaron, “I’m a one man woman, and I’m already taken, aren’t I, sugar?”
He swallowed, hard, conscious of the firm softness of her pressing against him, “You know I’m not good enough for you, Celes.”
She grinned and spun in a circle with the grace of a dancer before leaning forward and kissing him on the lips. “Maybe not, sugar,” she said as she leaned back, “but you’ll do until the good gets here.”
Aaron laughed despite himself.
“Is there a reason why we’re here?” Adina asked, scowling.
“Uh-oh,” Celes said, grinning mischievously as she glanced between the two of them, “Now don’t tell me you’ve been cheating on me, Silent. Why, I think my heart would break from the strain of it.”
He smiled. “Of course not. You know me better than that, Celes. She’s just my employer.”
“Right,” Adina snarled, “an
d as such, I think it’s about time we got down to business, don’t you?”
He glanced over at her face, saw the anger flashing in her bright blue eyes, and his smile died. “You’re right.” When he turned back, the barmaid’s eyebrow was raised in silent question, but he ignored it. “Celes, I’ve run into a bit of a snag, and I need some information. Is Lucius in?”
The blonde frowned, “I don’t know why you waste your time with that bastard, Silent. He’s a world-class weasel if there ever was one.”
Aaron grunted in acknowledgment, “Easier for him to keep his nose to the ground then.” The truth was, Lucius was a weasel, the kind of guy that made you want to wash your hands just by talking to him. He was also a world class liar who would sell out his own mother if he thought he could make a profit off the deal. Still, there was no denying that the man knew of almost everything that went on in the Downs.
Celes sighed and pursed her lips in a pout. “Well, if you would rather spend time with that gutter trash than me that’s your affair. You’ll find him at his usual table.” She gestured disgustedly to the far end of the room, “Oh, and Silent,” she said as Aaron started to turn.
“Yes?”
“Are you alright?” She asked, her expression one of concern, “You seem … different.”
“I’m fine, Celes. Thanks for asking.” He pushed his way through the crowd, thinking of the brothers again, and of Flinn, all men who had died, in some way, because of him. That’s bullshit, He thought angrily, Stop screwing around in my head, firefly.
That wasn’t me, Co answered, but you must not think that way. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t kill those men.
“I know it wasn’t my fault,” he muttered angrily, “and who cares if it was? Who were they to me?”
“Did you say something?” The princess asked beside him, and Aaron shook his head, glad of the noise made by people too drunk to know or care that they were making asses of themselves and others who were doing their level best to get that way as quickly as possible. He would really have to watch that. The last thing he needed was for somebody to figure out that he had the orb; he had plenty of people wanting him dead already. Many more and they’d have to form a line and make appointments.
He weaved through the crowd of people, pipe smoke parting around him like a curtain of graveyard fog, and he finally spotted the table he’d been searching for. “Stay here,” he said to the princess and the chamberlain, “this will only take a minute.” Adina eyed him for a moment but finally nodded, and he turned and walked up to the semi-circle booth. “Hello, Lucius.”
The small man sat in between two scantily clad women, smiling. Their breasts were pressed provocatively against his shoulders as they leaned in and whispered something into his ear. The women were young—eighteen or nineteen at most—and their eyes held only a small portion of the apathetic disillusionment that could always be found in the gazes of hired women, as if they still retained some of their innocence. Innocence, Aaron thought, a rare thing in the Downs. Rare and expensive. He wondered idly how Lucius, a small-time crook, could afford such company. It wasn’t by his looks—that was certain.
Celes hadn’t been far wrong when she’d called the man a weasel. His nose was long and pointed, giving his face a stretched look, and his smile revealed a set of crooked, pointy teeth. As he turned to Aaron, he ran a hand through long black hair lank with sweat and grease. “Well, if it isn’t my dear friend, Silent. How do you fare in these remarkable times?”
Aaron frowned. Lucius was a notorious coward, and the fact that he didn’t seem the least put off by the sellsword’s arrival didn’t bode well. “I think you know. Send the hirelings away, Lucius.”
The greasy man gasped in mock surprise, “You must be kidding. These are my two cousins, only recently arrived from the cold north. Why, what kind of man would I be if I were to fail in my duties to warm then with good cheer and better company?”
Aaron growled, out of patience. While he was wasting his time with this asshole, those men were no doubt combing the streets in search of him and the others, and it was only a matter of time before they came here. The women squealed in surprise as he reached across the table and jerked the greasy man out of their arms. Glasses of wine toppled, staining the table a crimson red, and Lucius squeaked, rat-like, as Aaron dragged him across the table. “Let’s try this again,” he snarled, leaning down to look the suddenly pale man in the eyes, “Someone tried to dust me today, Lucius. Quite a few someones, actually, and I’m betting you know something about it.”
“Let him go.” Aaron turned and saw two men scowling at him, their hands fisted at their sides. Tattoos ran up and down their massive arms in dark spirals. Their heads were shaved bald, and their noses and ears looked like little more than malformed balls of clay on their face—the marks of any long-time street tough. All in all, they had a fearsome, brutal appearance, one that wouldn’t win them any beauty contests, but did add a certain amount of credibility to their experience in their chosen profession. He glanced back and saw that a small crowd had begun to gather around the princess and chamberlain, most likely in the hopes of seeing a fight. He frowned. The last thing he needed was to attract attention, but there was no help for it. He turned to the man who’d spoken, “Let him go?”
“That’s right,” the bruiser said, cracking his knuckles, “before we make you.”
Aaron slung the little man back across the table in disgust and turned to face the two men fully. “You don’t mean to tell me you work for this little bastard?”
The man shrugged, “It’s a job, and the pay is good. Besides, one asshole’s not so much different than another.”
Aaron sighed, “Well, I guess that’s true, but listen. There are some questions that I really, really need to ask your employer, alright? So, if you’ll give me just a minute, I promise to leave him mostly alive when I’m done with him.”
The man shook his head. “Not gonna happen. Best leave while your legs can still carry you, little man.”
Aaron grinned, “Little man, huh?” Not something he was called often. He was six foot, three inches, and a hundred and ninety pounds, but considering the fact that both of the men were about twice his size, he guessed it made sense for them to think so. Still, it wasn’t something that a man enjoyed hearing. He felt the familiar, cold anger that had driven him his entire life beginning to assert itself.
There is no reason to fight these men, Co said into his mind, after all, so what if the man does know something? What use could it be? You already know that men hunt you and the princess. What possible knowledge could this man possess that would make it worth it?
Aaron nodded slowly. It was a good point, as far as it went. Of course, that would mean letting the slimy bastard get the better of him. “You see, Silent,” Lucius said smugly, unaware of Aaron’s battling thoughts, as he leaned back and took a calm sip from the only wine glass still standing, “I won’t be your whipping boy anymore. I’ve got friends now. You’ll have to find someone else to push around.” Aaron met the man’s gaze, and Lucius looked away, his smile twitching nervously.
Aaron forced himself to take a deep, calming breath. You’re right, he thought at the virtue. What would we benefit from forcing a fight here?
Exactly, came the Virtue’s satisfied response.
Aaron popped his neck and turned back to the two hired men. “So, there’s really no way I can talk you two guys out of it?”
The men shook their heads in unison, “Not going to happen,” said the talkative one.
Aaron shrugged, “Well, you can’t fault a man for asking.”
“Of course not,” the man said with a sympathetic nod.
Aaron glanced back at the fidgeting Lucius once more, then over at the princess and chamberlain who were both shaking their heads. He sighed heavily, “Well, alright then. I’ll go. Maybe another time—when the money runs out.”
The bruiser nodded, watching him warily, “When the money runs out.”
&
nbsp; Aaron stepped past the two men and noticed that the gathering crowd was still relatively small. Apparently, the possibility of a fight wasn’t enough to lure many of the club’s patrons away from watching the singer’s performance. There’s no reason to fight here, he told himself for the second time. No reason at all except pride, and pride never fed a starving man as dad used to say. Best to let it lie, best to just--“There’s just one problem,” he said, stopping.
“Oh?” The big man said, turning, “what’s that?”
“The truth is, I’ve always been a pretty prideful man, and I’ve never needed a fucking reason.” The men were bigger than Aaron, stronger, but they were slower too. By the time they realized what he was doing, he was already inside their reach, kneeing the silent one between the legs as hard as he could. The man let out a broken cry and crumpled to the ground, gripping his crotch in two massive hands. A woman in the crowd screamed, but Aaron barely heard.
The talkative one swung at him with a paw as big as a shovel, surprisingly fast, and the sellsword only just managed to sidestep the blow. He bumped into the table, scattering trays of food, caught his balance, and grabbed the first thing he could—a toppled wine bottle. The man rushed forward, reaching for him with arms as big as tree trunks, but Aaron lunged to the side, away from the hired man’s grasping hands, and swung the bottle into the man’s face with all the force he could muster.
Glass shattered and wine flew as the bruiser stumbled backward, bellowing curses and pawing at the pieces of bloody glass sticking out of his face. Before he could recover, Aaron stepped forward and kicked him in the shin, hard. The street tough howled in pain and stumbled into a spectator who’d gotten too close to the show, knocking him over as he tried to comfort his leg and bloody face at the same time. The tough was so preoccupied that he didn’t look up at Aaron’s approach. With a burst of movement, Aaron grabbed the man’s head in both hands and slammed it down on the heavy oak table with a resounding crash. The man’s head rebounded off the table, and he dropped to the ground like a pole-axed calf.
A Sellsword's Compassion_Book One of the Seven Virtues Page 7
