by Jackson Lear
“This house. It belongs to the captain of the city watch, you moron.”
The guy retreated back into the corner in fright, his jaw dropping open at the ambush, his mind scrambling to figure out the best thing to do. ‘If you’re being mugged, use your dagger.’ But I hadn’t mugged him yet. ‘If you’re being threatened, shout to call attention.’ But he’d been caught doing something wrong, and the words ‘captain of the city watch’ was still buzzing through the air. He must’ve run through five different options before finding something coherent to say. “I’m sorry, I didn’t …”
“Yeah, yeah, you didn’t know. Where did you think he lives? On another street? Are you really that turned around?”
His blurry eyes no doubt saw two of me as he couldn’t decide on which of my four eyes he should be looking at. “I …”
“Tell me, where do you think Castor lives?”
“I … I thought he lived near the great dog.”
I pointed south. “What, the one over there?”
He pointed more towards the west.
“Does this look like a great dog to you?”
“No, I … I didn’t know …”
I glanced down to the front of his tunic. He hadn’t pissed himself but I still gave him a look of disgust look as though he had. “Go on, get the fuck out of here.” I stood my ground, allowing him to slink away with a nervous look over his shoulder. When he was gone, I headed west and tried to find some kind of landmark that looked like a great dog.
Two people stumbled towards me. One concentrating more on trying to make the other laugh, his friend focused completely on the ground like the next cobbled stone he stepped on would drop out from under him and send him plummeting to his death. The more sober of the two practically walked sideways, slapping his friend on the shoulder with every punch line before howling with laughter.
“Hey, don’t you assholes know the captain of the city watch lives on this road? Keep the fucking noise down.”
The twosome slowed, not quite stopping but close to it. They murmured an apology and edged passed me.
I followed. “Hey, I’m serious. You know Castor lives just a few doors down, right?”
The one with his chin down paused, turned, his brain struggling to connect what he knew and what he heard. “He doesn’t live here.”
I closed the gap on them. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“No, just … he couldn’t afford a house here.”
I moved on, noting the scale of houses along that road while trying to find something a little more in the budget of a bribe-friendly government official.
The houses west of here started to shrink in size. Some were interspersed with three story buildings, home to multiple families. The roads narrowed. I pushed on, moving gingerly through one plaza to another until something stopped me in my tracks. A dog, made from flat planks of wood and painted brown stood in front of an ancient temple to Silvair.
A whistle called out behind me. A quick double burst. My heart damn-near stopped beating. I lowered my head, walked towards the nearest road and stuck to the darkness as much as I could.
A voice came from behind. “You.”
I kept walking.
“Not a good idea to walk away from me,” he said. A nasal voice, but the tone still chilled me. The road I found myself on started to narrow. The buildings rose around me, trapping me inside unless I sapped my reserves to leap a three story home. Ahead of me was nothing but walls on either side for the next hundred yards.
A blast of a whistle called out. No longer subtle, now calling for back up. Someone scrambled to a window on the ground floor ahead. A head poked out. Bearded. Receding hair line. If he had a spear inside then there was no way I was going to make it past him alive.
I started to reconsider my chances of walking through there without drawing blood. I was alone in enemy territory, and if I lost this fight then there was no saving Día. Worse still, Greaser and Lieutenant might be walking into a trap of their own, all because of my dumbass idea about targeting one of Castor’s kids.
The guy behind the window stepped back out of sight. Not a good sign since he was probably reaching for a weapon large enough that carrying it on him at all times was a burden. I glanced over my shoulder, marking for the first time the guy who was about to try to kill me – My height. A little heavier but only just. I stopped, giving him a moment to let me go. He brought his hand up. In it, a curved blade, a kukri, the type the field hands would spend their life working with. The difference here is that this blade had never seen a field once in its life.
So much for letting me go. I raised my hands in defense and approached.
“Not so fast,” he said, slowing with caution.
“Something’s happened and I need your help,” I said, trying my best to sound like Lieutenant.
“It’s gonna cost you just to leave here alive.”
“How much?”
He craned his head towards my shoulder. “Everything in that bag of yours, and your pouch.”
I did wonder what he would make of the Eyeless Ghost costume if I surrendered it, as well as a pouch with soot in one pocket and broken glass in another.
Two feet landed behind me. The guy had exited the window holding a sheathed sword. Not as long as Lieutenant’s but certainly longer than what I had on me.
The chatty one spoke again. “Whoever you’re with, you didn’t clear your little robbery with any of us. Hand it all over.”
I grunted in defeat and approached.
“Nice and easy. Hands where I can see them.”
I slid the pack from my shoulders and got to two yards in front of him.
“That’s close enough. Leave it there, and your pouch.”
I admit, it was possible that I could’ve just walked out of there alive. Robbed, but alive. But Día’s note was in my pack and that was the only thing that would get Castor looking in the right places. The guy behind me had slowed to a stroll, confident that their mugging was now a success.
I looked back to the one in charge. “This is just between us three, right? I give you this thing and I can go, yeah?”
He stretched his arms out wide in a sign of good grace. “You have my word.”
Día had my word as well. I leaped forward with a kick, arcing my foot around and connecting with his fist. Direct hit. His bladed-arm swung away from his body, opening his chest. I released the grip on my pack and sprung forward, snapping my elbow into the side of his jaw so the momentum of it and his arm swinging out wide would knock him off balance. I spun from my hips, swung my right fist back, smacked him square in the face, felt a crack in his nose and a graze of teeth against my skin.
The next guy had some warning in how I fought. He ran in, trying to unsheathe his sword as he went. Most people under attack forget to cry out for help. He was no different. I threw my pack at his chest – missed – but I was still holding on, using it as a shield. I charged in, barreling into his chest. He recoiled, his sword skewering my pack.
He was fucked now.
I threw my pack off to the side, the weight of it yanking the sword free from his hand. I threw my fist into his solar plexus, winding him, snapped my knee to the underside of his rib cage, then swung my elbow around and connected where his jaw met his ear.
He dropped, out cold.
The guy behind me was back on his feet. I grabbed my pack from the ground, hoping to run. He had other ideas. He collided into me, sending us both to the ground. Somehow I thought I could still kick the shit out of him, despite him being close enough to nuzzle on my ear. One quick hammer fist to the back of his head told me I wouldn’t get very far like this. He had hair, though, and quite a lot of it. One of those lucky assholes who still had a thick mane well into his forties. Not great for fighting with while you’re on the ground. I grabbed hold and yanked back, the strength in my arm greater than his neck. He cried out, at risk of snapping his own neck. He lost sight of me, stuck staring at the wall in front of him in
surprise, and went into an immediate defense.
Both of his elbows sprung out to the side, one connecting with mine, the other an instinctual response to clear the space around him. I pulled his hair to the side, twisting his neck so that he started to roll off me. He fought back, slamming one fist into my ribs and the other into my forearm as I tried to protect myself. I rolled with his body, got him onto his side, brought my knee up as hard as I could between his legs, and it was goodnight soldier. He gasped, an unusual sound with someone’s neck pulled back as it was. I slammed my fist into his jaw, released my grip, grabbed my pack, took the sword and sheath, and scrambled away.
Cries of shock soon rang out after me. One of them regained consciousness, then the other. Louder and louder they bellowed until the alarm rippled from one street to the next. The scouts would be racing across the roof tops, blinking themselves awake and soon swearing that they hadn’t been staring off into space when two of their brothers were attacked. My only saving grace was that the majority of Vanguard would be asleep, drunk, or both.
I ran, past the great dog, down a wide street, around a corner, through the next plaza … then came to a stop. The air was silent here. No Vanguard watchmen.
A tall, slender figure with a long sword walked slowly through the darkness, coming my way. “What the hell, Raike?”
I wasn’t sure how relieved I was to see Lieutenant but it was better than seeing one of Vanguard’s mages coming my way. “I had an idea that didn’t go so well.”
“Are we making a run for it?”
“No. You hear how quiet it is here? No Vanguard, yet we’re in the middle of their territory.”
Lieutenant blew out a blast of air in annoyance.
From above came Greaser’s voice. “We’ve been sprung.”
Lieutenant and I looked up. Greaser was on the roof of the building next to us.
“Not yet,” I said. “We’re in the right area. If we leave now, Vanguard will be checking every road for us. We need to give it some time for them to go back to sleep.”
It was Greaser’s turn to sigh loudly. “For fuck’s sake.”
Lieutenant asked: “Just what did you do back there?”
“I pestered a local drunk into telling me where Castor lived. He started shouting.”
Lieutenant arched an eyebrow at me, then to the sword in my hand. “That’s what happened?”
“Hand on my heart.”
“So we haven’t started a war with Vanguard?”
“They never even saw me.”
Lieutenant looked up to Greaser. “They never even saw him.”
Greaser stared back at me, silent, the kind of silent your captain gives you as he’s trying to settle on a creative punishment which fits an unusual crime.
I handed the sword to Lieutenant. “I got you a present.”
He took it, swallowing a grumble as best he could. “So, now what? We might be in the right area but we still don’t know which house is his.”
Greaser added, “And there’s a lot to choose from.”
“These houses have atriums don’t they?” I asked.
“Most do,” said Greaser, with a quick look around.
“Then we go from roof to roof, stick our heads through each hole, and see who keeps a city watch spear, shield, or insignia by their front door.”
Chapter Nineteen
Walls. That was the overall impression from the narrow laneways. Walls. Each lane was wide enough for a pair of ladened donkeys to squeeze through, but that was it. The walls were twice my height and smooth. I had started to wince with every leap from roof to roof. I had been battered by Vanguard’s finest, no question there. My ribs ached, I had been largely winded, and just above my knee had taken a hit that would soon swell and turn a jaunty walk into a hobble.
Greaser and I squatted by each of the atriums to have a look inside while Lieutenant poked his head under doors and around windows on every home that we couldn’t look into.
I reasoned that Castor was probably an asshole of the highest order. I also reasoned that we needed the entire city watch to hunt anyone who kidnapped girl’s of Día’s age. I had spent the last few hours convincing myself that I’ve done worse and slept without remorse. But as I stared across the rooftops, finally doing a job that had nothing to do with money, I started to reconsider.
Greaser clicked his fingers at me from across the street. I climbed down, got a boost from Lieutenant, and looked into an atrium six yards across and eight deep. A light-weight cloak hung by the front door, the leather shoulder pads keeping its shape. On the floor: a pair of leather boots and five sets of sandals, lined one beside the other by size. Mr. and Mrs. Castor, their son, and three daughters.
The atrium was protected by a locked gate. That would be as big a problem as the dogs. Everyone of importance had dogs. You want to get rich? Start breeding attack dogs and train them to tear the flesh off anyone who snuck in through the roof.
Greaser leaned in for a whisper. “You’re sure about this?”
I didn’t have much of an answer for him. Whatever we did, we had to do it quickly. We were an hour away from dawn. If we got the girl, we had to get her to the safe house before anyone woke up. If we called the whole thing off we still had to get to the safe house and tell Qin that it was a no-go.
Greaser must’ve seen something in me. He said, “Let’s go back. Think of something else.”
“No. It’s time to bring a new party into the fight.”
We climbed over several more houses to ready Greaser’s escape. With one rope secured in place ten houses down, Greaser would be able to run along the road and climb back to the roof fairly quickly, even though he was a big and lumbering guy.
I returned to Castor’s home and surveyed the situation below me. The atrium was almost square in shape and held several pots, plants, statues, and a pleasant bubbling water feature with petals floating through it. The outer edge of the atrium was fitted with iron bars from top to bottom, each about six inches apart. It looked as though the bars were fitted to a railing that could be folded over during the day, providing a nice bar-free view of the garden.
“Good luck,” whispered Lieutenant.
I took the edge of the rope, lowered myself to my knees then stomach, swung my legs over the edge, and lowered myself into Castor’s tranquil garden. It was nine feet down, not much a problem, but the creaking rope seemed to roar against my ears. My heart thundered so loudly I was sure it would wake the dogs. Down I went, my toes finally reaching the cool tiles of Castor’s atrium. I released my grip and crouched down.
Honestly, this wasn’t my first time breaking into an atrium. I was relatively safe where I was. The bars would keep any dog from getting to me and it was doubtful that the Castor’s would grab a bow as their first weapon. A spear maybe, but doubtful in a house. The thing you had to watch out for were the bells and chimes hidden somewhere along the bars in front of me. All you needed was a quiet ding a ling a ling from sliding the bars open and the dogs would raise hell. I took my time, looking high and low for all the traps. There were two chimes on each set of bars. A paranoid man, Castor. I unsheathed my blade, cut the chimes free, laid them in the grass by the far wall.
Lieutenant gave me the thumbs up. Greaser was ready by the front door.
There was little point in trying to pick the lock. It wasn’t designed to be opened from this side so the only way to get in was through brute force. Lieutenant lowered two sashes down to me: one red, one blue. I double checked the hinges along the gate to see which way they moved. I tied the red sash a yard from where the two gates met, and the blue sash a yard farther back, making such there was no slack in each.
No one ever liked this part. You had to get your face close to enchanted items that had a reasonable chance of failing, and when they failed things had a tendency to slam into your face. I leaned in, took a moment to brace myself, and whispered: “Open.”
The blue sash snapped tight, the red pushed out. The gate jumped its
track, the hinges breaking free and the lock falling apart.
I kept an ear out for the dogs. So far, so good. I tossed the sashes back up to Lieutenant. Then, with a couple of shimmies and a little heavy lifting, I pushed the heavy gate completely open along its tracks.
I was in. Next up: the distraction.
I went to the front door, unbolted the lock around the wooden beam barricading the door in place, slid it free, and pushed open the door. Greaser was on the road waiting for me. I handed over one of the chimes from the atrium. I ducked back into the street in front of Castor’s house, climbed up to the roof again with Lieutenant’s help, and climbed into my god awful costume. Everything seemed fine until I donned the hood, blocking out my eyes. It was one thing doing this amid the candle light of our compound, but looking around in the dead of night rendered my vision null.
“This isn’t going to work like this,” I whispered.
“So, no ghost?”
I removed the hood. Maybe I could poke some holes into it. Then Lieutenant and I had the same idea at the same time.
“Turn it around.”
My lack of visibility should’ve been obvious back at the compound but we weren’t used to masks and wraps like this. The nails had always been a problem, one that could’ve jabbed me in my eyes. Easiest fix: the face of the Eyeless Ghost was now on the back of my head. As long as I didn’t strain to look upward then the nails weren’t going to dig into my back. I peeled away some of the wrap around my eyes, exposing most of my face. Hopefully my guise would provide some scary visual of a ghost flying backwards as I ran for my life.
Lieutenant got into position over the atrium. I remained on the edge of the house signaling between Greaser and Lieutenant. I gave the go-ahead. Greaser gently rang one of the chimes from the street.
The slight tap tap tap of nails against tiles came from the distant quarters. Greaser rang the chimes again and stepped away from the front door.
A dog appeared. Medium build. A little chunky from a lack of exercise. He had a slight beardy moustache appearance. A second dog appeared. Similar to the first.
