by Cory Herndon
“Come on now, pay attention,” Fonn said. “You all right? You sure that thing didn’t do something to you?”
“I’m sure,” the elf said, but Fonn didn’t think he sounded very convinced. “Still a little off balance.”
“Well, I need my arms for the reins. If you need to hold on to something, hold on to my waist,” Fonn said. “And don’t get any ideas.”
“Why would I need to hold on to anything?” He pointed over Fonn’s shoulder. “Head down this street and take the walkway that forks off to the right. That will take us to the lifts, and the lifts will take us to the restaurant.”
“You sure about this place?” Fonn said. “If this friend of yours sells information, we might be walking out of one trap into another. If that thing wasn’t lying, there’s more than your sister after us.”
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Jarad said. “But if he doesn’t know, he’ll tell me. And any bounty hunter would be a fool to try and take our heads there. He doesn’t allow hunting on the floor.”
“Where does he allow it?” Fonn asked.
“Funny you should ask,” Jarad said.
* * * * *
“Is this a joke? An insurance policy?” Kos repeated for the fourth time. “It’s ridiculous.”
“Yeah. I always thought they were a joke, too,” the ghost said, “but when I partnered up with you, and saw how you’d let yourself get—”
“How did I ‘let myself get,’ exactly?” Kos said.
“You know, 110 years old, no wives left who will speak to you, no children, no one, really, who would care if you died,” the ghost said.
“A lot of people would care if I died,” Kos said. “I mean, there’s—well, Garulsz. And Feather. And Valenco still talks to me. We were married, once.”
“Exactly. Anyone you don’t work with or keep in business? No. So I started thinking, I don’t know, about the future. Then about the danger that I was going to end up like you. Then about the danger in general. So I started poking around.”
“Where did you—”
“I got it in the mortuary quarter from that Orzhov. You know, the one with three arms? Harkins the Ectomage? She did the work, but I went to an assuror to make sure the contract was all open and aboveboard.”
Kos sat on the edge of the bed, mouth ajar in disbelief. “Well, I guess it’s … good to see you? If I’m not hallucinating again.”
“When were you hallucinating?”
“Never mind,” Kos said. “Just tell me how this works. If it’s an Orzhov contract, I’ll bet I’m not going to like it.”
“It’s your basic revenge policy. In the … How did it go …?” A slip of white, ghostly parchment materialized out of nowhere in the phantom’s hand. “‘This agreement is a legal postmortem contract between Bell Borca, hereafter referred to as the policy holder, and Vlerel, Orytane, Fodret, and Wundico, Licensed Orzhov Vengeance Assurors, Limited, hereafter referred to as the insurer. In the event of the policy holder’s homicide,’” he read, “‘the policy holder chooses Agrus Kos, hereafter referred to as the avenger—’”
“‘Avenger?’ Borca, what did you—”
“I’m not finished. ‘Kos, hereafter referred to as the avenger, to bring justice to the deceased. To this end, the policy holder shall accept enchantment by an insurer-approved ectomancer. Said enchantment shall allow the policy holder’s spectral remains’—I think that means ‘ghost’—‘spectral remains to function as normal, with complete memory and personality intact until such time as revenge is served upon the guilty or their representatives and/or guardians as determined by the avenger. To comply with the Vengeance Act of 3920, the policy holder’s spectral remains shall only be visible or audible to the avenger. To complete the terms of this contract, the killer or killers of the policy holder must be found guilty in a court of Ravnican law.’ Then it’s signed, and there’s a seal, see?”
“Finished now?” Kos asked.
“Well, there’s more, clauses and subclauses and things: what exactly constitutes revenge in the case of accessories to the crime, what happens to you if you don’t find the culprit—”
“What happens to me?” Kos asked. “Nothing happens to me, Borca. I never signed anything. This is insane.”
“No, not insane, but insanely expensive,” Borca said. “Why do you think I live in a boardinghouse?”
“Why me?” Kos said. “And how can I be bound by a contract I never signed?”
“Why is easy. You’re the best investigator in the Tenth, probably in all of Ravnica. And you are my partner. Were my partner. I figured you’d be doing it anyway. Seemed like a safe bet, at least until you went and shot your mouth off. And I wanted to see justice done.”
“I only ever had one partner,” Kos said. “You and I worked together.”
“Whatever,” Borca said. “I’m getting a little tired of your personal issues.”
“All right. Kos is great. Kos is the best investigator. Let’s stick him behind a desk and bronze his bald head,” Kos said. “Fine. You still haven’t explained how you bound me to a contract I never saw. That’s not how contracts work.”
“That was interesting,” Borca admitted. “Normally, we’d have both been required to sign, but I knew you’d start acting like this. The Orzhov found a loophole: You’re a wojek, and the Guildpact has some mighty strong, mighty ancient magic. That’s not just a legend. It’s true, you know.”
“I went to school in the same city you did, Borca.”
“All right, all right. The lawmages said since you were a ’jek and compelled by one law of Ravnica to uphold the others—like the law against a wojek getting murdered—you were bound as soon as I blew up. I took a chance, but I knew you had it in you. The policy rode the magic of the law.”
“That’s crazy,” Kos said.
“No, it’s implausible, not crazy,” Borca said. “Look, I’m not as stupid as you seem to think, which really hurts, by the way. I always figured I wouldn’t go in my sleep due to old age. I’ve got enemies. And who better to solve my murder than you?”
“Enemies? What enemies?”
“Oh, people I owe, the woman who runs the boardinghouse,” Borca said, “maybe a guild or two. You know, the usual.”
“What makes you think I’m going along with this?” Kos demanded.
“What, you want me hanging around you for the rest of your life? Now I admit that wouldn’t be too long at your age, but still.” The ghost flicked his fingers, and the spectral parchment disappeared. “Besides, you’re already going along with it. Partner.”
“Say all of this is true,” Kos said.
“I just did.”
“Shut up. Say all of this is true and you’re actually the ghost of Bell Borca. You bought something from an Orzhov assuror that binds you to me until I solve your murder. Which I would do in any case. So as my first witness, answer me this: What were you thinking, leaving that dead girl and charging off after the goblin? What were you saying to Bayul?”
Borca’s phantasmal face scrunched up as he racked his memory, or made a good show of it. “This is going to sound ridiculous—”
“More ridiculous than the fact that you’re here talking to me?”
“No, not like that—I just—Kos, I heard what Phaskin and Feather told you. And I don’t remember anything after you took off after the goblin. One second I was looking at the girl. The next, I materialized in midair chasing the ambulance bird that brought you back here. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up ever since.” Ethereal hands scratched his ghostly head. “I don’t remember a loxodon, and I don’t remember any explosion. I just—”
Whatever Borca’s ghost was about to say was cut off when the door swung open and through his dead partner to admit Feather. She looked right through Borca’s ghost at Kos.
“Are you all right, Lieutenant?” Feather asked. “I thought I heard you speaking to someone.”
“Get her to help you,” Borca’s ghost said.
&nbs
p; “No, Feather, I’m not,” Kos said.
“Shall I summon a healer?” the angel said.
“That’s not what I mean,” Kos said. “I mean this—none of this—is settling very well with me.”
“That’s persuasive,” the ghost said.
“Such loss of life leaves all who remain unsettled, in one way or another,” the angel said. “I suspect you just need more rest.”
“No, that’s not what I need. Feather. I can’t stay in here,” Kos said. “I’ve got to get out there and start working this.”
“Better,” the ghost said.
“You are under suspension, Lieutenant,” the angel said. “You are not to work on anything. Captain’s orders.”
“Get me some ’drops. There’s a medicinal kit up there.”
Feather actually looked surprised. “No, Kos, and if you ask me again, the answer won’t change,” the angel said. “I will not be a party to your suicide.”
“No ’drops. Fine,” the Lieutenant muttered. “All right, the ’jek healers aren’t the only doctors around here. It’s Ravnica. There are probably three or four shamans running stalls on the corner outside my window who can have me back in fighting trim in no time. How’s that?”
“While you were unconscious, I spoke with Nurse Yaraghiya,” Feather said, “Your body doesn’t care how you are healed. Any healing magic strong enough to quickly fix your physical injuries would have the same effect on your system as ’drops.” Kos opened his mouth to object, and Feather added, “It could kill you in a heartbeat, even the magic of Selesnyan faith healers. They can do amazing things, but none of that changes the fact that it’s the rapid healing that could kill you. Nor does it change the fact that you are not authorized in any way to pursue this investigation.”
“Forget the authorization,” Kos said. “I’ve had a good run. If this is going to be my last case, so be it. But I’m not staying here. I’ll drag myself out the door if I have to, but I’d rather you just brought me those ’drops from the kit.”
“But they could—”
“Could, Feather,” Kos said. “Could. I’ve got to get up and out of here. You don’t have to help me with the investigation. You don’t have to do anything but bring me those ’drops. I’ll administer them. And if you don’t, I’ll get them myself, even if I break the rest of my bones going through you.”
“Nice touch,” the ghost said. “She wants to help you, and not just with this either. Gods, can you feel it? It’s washing off her in waves. She wants to kill whoever did this to you. Wish I could inspire that kind of loyalty. I don’t think she’ll take much pushing.”
Feather didn’t move through Borca’s short monologue, even as Kos forced himself to sit up. Every bone felt fractured, but he had to back up what he’d just—foolishly, perhaps—said. He winced around grinding teeth, determined not to cry out.
“Stop,” Feather said. She turned, the “cloak” of her bound wings brushing against the walls in the small infirmary room, and opened the medicinal kit. Kos spotted a dozen ’drops inside. Feather scooped all twelve in one hand and carefully set them on Kos’s lap. “Do what you will. I shall stand by should the nurse be needed. And I don’t think I need to remind you she will be very unhappy with both of us should I need to summon her. When you are finished, assuming you survive, what will you do?”
“I’m going to find out who killed Borca, Luda, and the Living Saint. I’m going to track down my dead partner’s daughter.”
“Your other dead partner,” the ghost corrected.
“You will need help,” Feather observed.
“Oh, no,” Kos said. “Feather, I may not ever be a wojek again after this. And I don’t know what you did to get shackled to the Tenth, but that place relies on you now. I can’t deny I could really use your help, but the Tenth needs you.”
“You need me,” Feather said. “And I have already violated orders. I’m coming with you, and we’re going to get to the bottom of this. As you have said many times, Stanslov could not pour bumbat from a boot even if directions were written upon the heel.”
“I can’t ask you to—”
“You already asked,” Feather said, “Please do not think I intend to leave the job half-finished now that I have betrayed my oath,” Feather said.
Kos could barely speak. He looked at Feather with a touch of awe at the casual self-sacrifice she’d made on his behalf. There was no telling what punishment might be levied upon her since she was already technically working off some previous penalty.
“Incidentally, were you planning to stare at the ’drops all day?” the angel added.
Please ask about our daily specials.
—Pivlichinos menu, in its entirety
27 ZUUN 9999 Z.C., EVENING
Neither Kos nor Feather wore their uniforms beneath their cloaks as they stood outside the second-floor entrance to Pivlichino’s. They had considered leaving their badges behind, but in the end Kos was unable to do so and tucked them into the pocket of his stolen trousers. Fortunately, the Leaguehall laundry also made for the easiest egress from the infirmary, but it wasn’t an experience Kos hoped to repeat. The smell would be with him for weeks, or at least until something worse came along.
Over the shoulder of the imp seated beside the open door, something worse wafted out of the kitchen and helped Kos stem his raging appetite. Using ’drops always made one a little peckish, he’d learned long ago. Something to do with the way they accelerated the healing process. It burned a lot of energy from your own body.
Kos had taken half of the ’drops Feather left with him and had still been unable to walk. In a fit of frustration, he’d gone and used the other six. Borca had almost deafened him with objections, after all a dead avenger wouldn’t be doing much avenging. Eventually, though, it had been enough. The massive dose of teardrops had left the lieutenant—suspended lieutenant, now probably never a captain, he corrected himself—slim and weak but whole again. Bald, achy, and hungry as a dromad, but whole. Somehow his heart hadn’t exploded.
Stranger than the hunger was the fact that he didn’t want a drink. The lingering thirst that had been there for at least the last fifty-seven years had vanished with the massive infusion of magic. If he hadn’t been sure she would have reported him, he would have told the nurse about that particular discovery.
Fortunately, the hunger was less problematic. The informant he needed to see was the proprietor of the most popular restaurant in the Tenth. He hadn’t expected the imp at the door would address the angel first but shouldn’t have been surprised. She was bigger. Amongst the usual clientele at Pivlichino’s, the bigger of two persons was usually the one making the decisions.
“And will sir and madam be dining this evening?”
“What would be the alternative?” Feather asked.
“Dining and challenging, dining and viewing, challenging and dining—”
“The first one and the last one are the same,” Feather said.
“Ah, but they are not, madam.” The head waiter waved a map clipped to a board under Feather’s eyes. “Dining and challenging begins on the mezzanine level, with five courses of delight selected personally by our chef, the famed Jandallare of Venzenzerra. Then, you may accept the challenge of the feeding pits, if you wish you prove your mettle against the undead.”
“And the other?” Feather inquired.
“Challenging and dining, on the other hand, is not generally the choice of those like yourself, by which I mean the living, non-demonic type. Challengers from Old Rav and parts surrounding also patronize Pivlichino’s.”
“Feather, I’ll explain when we get inside,” Kos said, stepping in front of the angel. Feather had concealed her bound wings beneath a heavy woolen cloak, and he didn’t want her getting too close to the imp. Though all were welcome at Pivlichino’s, as the sign behind the head waiter’s head read, some were less welcome than others in a restaurant that catered to zombies, demons, and generally less-than-reputable characters. The lieute
nant hadn’t had the chance to tell the angel about the particulars of the dining arrangements, but she’d learn soon enough. He turned to the imp and said, “Dining only, and tell Pivlic a friend is here to see him.”
“Lieutenant Kos, yes?” the headwaiter asked, looking at his clipboard.
“Yes,” Kos said. “I sent word ahead of time.” It hadn’t been easy sneaking out of the Leaguehall with a falcon, but Kos had insisted. Even if it meant his own arrest, he planned to inform the wojeks when he found who he was looking for. But first he’d sent word to his informant that he was on the way. It never hurt to let Pivlic know a wojek was going to walk into his place. It made it all the more likely he would help.
“Please follow me,” the head waiter said and led them from the top of the lift once Kos had found a zib to tip the goblin who ran the conveyance. Pivlichino’s was surrounded on all sides by the lifts, but Kos and Feather had only gone up one floor on the city side of the towering eatery. The lifts on the canyon side carried diners up from the floor of Grigor’s Canyon. Undead diners.
“Kos, why have I never seen this place?” Borca’s ghost asked, trailing behind.
“Shut up, Borca,” Kos mumbled.
“Did you say something?”
“I want to order,” Kos said. “The ’drops made me hungry.”
“Please do not remind me of the ’drops. I thought you were going to expire.”
“That was just nerves,” Kos said. “All of them, I think. But look, I can walk. I’m fine, Feather. If anything, I’m better than I was before the—before the attack.” He didn’t add that in addition to his hunger he could hear his heart racing. It pounded like a galloping beast against his inner ear and had since they’d emerged in the alley and made their way canyonside. In truth, it worried him, but he was far more worried about the prospect that whoever had sent the goblin bomber wasn’t finished. In just the three days he’d been down, the city had become so packed with visitors from all over the plane that another bomber could kill dozens, maybe hundreds with a single attack. He didn’t really expect that to happen. The killing, and the circumstances surrounding it, were too specific, too targeted.
