The Raike Box Set

by Jackson Lear

  At long last, she appeared. Alysia Kasera Lavarta glided out of the building, dusting her hands and moving to Zara.

  The two kids from before ran in, their hands held up. Alysia had coins in her hand before the youngsters even reached her. She smiled at them, asked for their names, asked something else that I was too far away to figure out. The boy gave her a solid nod and jumped to attention, giving her a salute. I guess he either had aspirations of being an officer one day or he was a quick study on how to flatter a general’s daughter. Alysia laughed it off, reached her horse, and climbed up.

  Zara and the two other riders joined her. One rider drifted north, the other three rode off south, along the same road as the green blanketed riders. I must’ve stood there looking like an idiot, my jaw hanging open long enough for flies to land on my tongue.

  Before she disappeared, Alysia gave one glance over her shoulder. I jumped back, spun, hiding my face, and retreated into the alley.

  Once I had settled down I peered out from behind the wall. She and Zara were gone.

  Not my finest moment. Nor was it likely to be the last time I made a complete fool of myself.

  I walked away, leaving the magistrate’s building well alone.

  For about half an hour.

  What compelled me to return, I have no idea. Perhaps it was nothing more than curiosity. I headed inside, found the young clerk once again. He looked up, acknowledged me, and proceeded as per usual. “Yes?”

  “I’m supposed to meet Miss Kasera here at noon. Has she arrived?”

  “Miss Kasera?”

  “She might also go by Lavarta.”

  “Ah! Councilor Lavarta. You … oh, you just missed her.”

  “That’s too bad. Will she be back?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Did she say where I could find her?”

  He peered at me, a suspicion rising. “You in particular?”

  “I was hired by her and her head of security. A woman. Tall. Broad. Foreign accent. Goes by the name of Zara.”

  “I see. There are a couple of Kasera’s men still in town, I believe. I don’t think they’re staying here but if you find one of them they might be able to help you.” He looked me up and down again. “Do you work for the army?”

  “No. Is the commander still around?”

  “Commander Lavarta?”

  Fuck.

  “You just missed him.” He thought it over for a moment, the cogs turning so clearly I could almost see his brain moving. “Does Commander Lavarta have something to do with the guy you brought in for seduction?”

  “I wouldn’t be spreading those rumors if I were you. And no. I’ve been asked to look into his aide-de-camp.”

  The clerk’s face dropped. Apologetically. No effort to correct me if I was wrong about the dead body being Lavarta’s senior-most aide.

  “Have they arrested anyone yet?” I asked.

  He peered at me, straining, the cogs still not quite functioning at full speed. “He died in his sleep …”

  “So no one’s been arrested.”

  More straining, like we were speaking the same language but having two different conversations. “He died of asph … usph … the thing. He choked to death.”

  “Asphyxiation?”

  “That’s it, yeah.”

  “The senior-most aide in the commander’s army died in – I presume – a locked room, all alone, and no one is investigating this?”

  The clerk faltered, at odds between common sense and what he must’ve overheard from Lavarta just that morning. “I mean …”

  “So the commander has asked for an investigation.”

  Defeated, the clerk said, “Yes.”

  “Which is why I’m here. I’d like to speak to your military police.”

  “We don’t have any. There was a point of, uh, contention about that this morning.”

  “How so?”

  The clerk sure liked to squirm. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. He would’ve been better leaning back, as the move could be seen clearly by any of a dozen people walking through. It simply screamed, ‘I’m telling you a secret.’

  He said, “For the time being, one of General Kasera’s lieutenants is leading the investigation at the request of Commander Lavarta, even though the commander’s army belongs to Governor Gustali, not General Kasera.”

  “I take it the governor won’t be too happy about that.”

  “It’s only until they reach Torne.”

  “Is the lieutenant riding with the army?”

  “I believe so.”

  “And no investigator is staying in Verseii?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Torne’s twenty miles away?”

  “Twenty five.”

  “How much of an investigation is there really going to be between here and there?”

  The clerk shrugged, admitting the answer was likely to be ‘none’. “I mean, it’s pretty much closed anyway, right? The aide choked on his own vomit while he slept.”

  “If that’s what actually happened then why did Commander Lavarta ask for outside help to investigate someone in his own army?”

  The clerk stared back at me, mouth open, not quite grasping at what I was getting at.

  “What was the aide-de-camp’s name?”

  He drew in a deep breath. Suspicious-like. “Artavian.” Of all the information I should’ve been given by someone investigating this, his name should’ve been one of the first, yet I didn’t know it. He was starting to put it all together, knowing that I had nothing to do with the investigation and conluding that I was now a nuisance. Maybe even close to becoming a suspect, given my skill-set of tracking down people who don’t want to be found and laying untold misery upon them.

  I left. Headed back down the stairs, pausing with my hand resting on the wooden beam used to tie the horses up. To my left, somewhere, was the rich woman who had robbed me the night before. To my right: Alysia, heading to Torne.

  I wasn’t entirely proud of the choice I was about to make.

  Chapter Five

  I returned to the inn where Artavian was found dead. Standing on the street were a gaggle of gossips, talking excitedly about – hopefully – the dead guy. I strolled along, doing my best impersonation of the clueless clerk from the magistrate’s office. “Hey, is this where the soldier died?”

  They looked my way. Sized me up. I was not a merchant, priest, baker, or pauper. One of them flicked a gesture towards the inn. “Yeah, in there.”

  I looked to the building, awe struck. “Wow. So what happened?”

  “Don’t know. He just died.”

  “In a bar fight or something?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Really? Because usually when a soldier dies in an inn there’s a lot of shouting.”

  “Not last night,” said a new one. Frumpy. Handsy. The sort of woman who will interrupt another with a silencing gesture and start talking without realizing how much of a bitch she was being. “I live …” she nearly pointed out exactly where, then opted not to, given that I was probably someone who would climb in through her window in the dead of night, and not with a rose between my teeth. “... nearby,” she concluded. “I didn’t hear a peep.”

  “So who found him?”

  “One of the other officers, I think.”

  “Last night?”

  “This morning. Breakfast time. I was at the window when one of them ran out the door and hurried down the street.”

  “Maybe he did it,” said one of the women.

  “No, he came back with other soldiers.”

  I asked, “And the soldiers didn’t find anything other than one dead guy?”

  “Nothing.”

  “But they did ask everyone they could find,” said the handsy interrupter.

  “Were they wearing full battle gear?” I asked.

  “These ones? Yeah. The officers who were already spending the night? No.”

  One of the women helpe
d me out by asking her friend, “You saw all that from your window?”

  “They came and questioned me.”

  “Do they think it was a murder?” I asked.

  “I don’t know what they thought, but if it was, then poor Norma.”

  “Definitely poor Norma,” the women muttered.

  “And Marcus,” murmured a lone voice.

  “They’re the two innkeepers?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Nice couple. Always good at keeping the riff raff away.” She squinted at me, judging, then looked away while I maintained an innocent expression.

  “Then two riders and the commander came along,” said the interrupter. “Very serious they were.”

  “The riders with red or green blankets under their saddles?” I asked.

  “Red.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Of course.”

  “Gray and white horses?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I saw them earlier. Did they leave with anything?”

  “A couple of others took the body away.”

  “Did they take anything else? A tankard of beer? A small barrel?”

  The way the interrupter looked at me, I was either a genius of insight or I knew a little too much already. I’d like to think both. In any case her silence answered my question.

  “One small barrel, or many?”

  “Just one.”

  “So who else was staying there?”

  “Just the stewards, I think.”

  “Strange that they didn’t stay with the camp,” I said. “Did the rider ask if anyone saw anyone unusual last night?”

  “He did. We didn’t.”

  “No one strange walking up and down the street?”

  “No.”

  Which on one hand was a relief since I had charged after Beriss the night before and manhandled him along, into Norma and Marcus’ inn and out again just as quickly, all without anyone noticing. But it also made things a little trickier if no one saw who did actually kill Artavian, if he was indeed murdered. Given the severity of Commander Lavarta asking someone from Kasera’s army to investigate his own troops, and that the investigator would soon be heading to Torne along with Lavarta’s army, I’d say the commander held the belief that if this was a murder then one of his own people did it. And if the investigator walked off with a small barrel of beer then it was probably a sample of whatever Artavian drank last night. The prime culprit would be poison.

  I walked away as the rest of my day gnawed at me. The first time I was introduced to Alysia, she enquired about some army deserters, testing me to see what I knew about them from my time in a company where army deserters were not an uncommon sight. The last time I saw her, she offered me a job. I turned her down, favoring the company instead. I’ve been reconsidering the wisdom of that decision ever since. Now her husband had a murder and potential murderer on his hands and an investigation that was already off to a poor start.

  I returned to the tea house. Enquired within. No rich woman yet. She wasn’t going to show, that was becoming crystal clear.

  I would’ve been more than happy to carry on my day as usual, and I might’ve been able to do so if it wasn’t for that one person in a sea of thousands. Seeing Alysia from afar had spun me around more than I was ready for. A swell of anger and pathetic misery consumed me. The idea of walking after her, broke, my tail between my legs, did little to ease my sleep-deprived mood that morning.

  I should’ve walked away. Instead, I found my way to one of the blind beggars in the street, a wooden bowl between his ankles, staring up at the passers-by with a delayed reaction between where he had heard them and where they were. I dropped a heavy coin into his bowl. He jerked his head to the side, then dipped his head with the slightest of bows, his eyes still half open. “Gods bless you.”

  “I’m looking for a few powders and balms and I need them quickly.”

  He leaned back, picking out the timbre of my voice. “Not from Verseii, are you?”

  “No.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “Not even for a fellow traveler?”

  He offered me a toothy grin, his gums not in the greatest of conditions and his breath as foul as they came. “I am no traveler, my boy.”

  “I’m sure you travel every day in that mind of yours, listening to the voices of those walking past, making up stories to keep yourself entertained.”

  He bobbed his head, nodding gently. “Not much else to do, sitting here.”

  “I’m after some Childer’s Kiss, crushed fire ants, and leaves of the elder plant.”

  A pregnant pause, not quite him thinking it over, but more a case that I hadn’t yet said the right thing.

  I asked, “What are you after? Me to tell you that your brown tunic is actually red? That the sky is a fine crimson even if there isn’t a cloud to be seen? That I only buy these things in winter when it is in fact spring?”

  Another toothy grin, followed by a sinking of his shoulders. “All right, you’re not from here, that much is clear. Is that what they say wherever you’re from?”

  “Along those lines, yes.”

  He held up one hand, his fingers curling slightly as he listened to the street around us. People walked past, the echoes bounced from wall to wall, then the sandals faded. As far as he was concerned we were as alone as we were ever going to get. With a quick point to my left he said, “That way. Third door, I think. Is there a plant out the front?”

  “Yes.”

  “Knock on the door. She’ll help you out.”

  I dropped another coin into his bowl. “Thank you.”

  He bowed again. “May the gods bless you.”

  After an expensive loading up, the woman inside gave me everything I needed. I reached the road heading to Torne, convinced that I would’ve talked myself out of going after Alysia long before then, yet none of my compelling arguments to stay in Verseii seemed to stop me from walking forward.

  I sincerely hoped she was worth it.

  Chapter Six

  Lavarta’s army had an hour’s head start on me. They probably started their day late themselves since the troops wouldn’t have left without the commander and the commander was busy looking into Artavian’s death. I had to cover twenty five miles in eight hours if I wanted to reach Torne before dark. Doable, but I wanted to not only catch up to the army but get ahead of them as well, which was going to make my trip all that more unpleasant, especially on an empty stomach and no sleep.

  From what Greaser used to tell me the army would only realistically push beyond a twenty mile day if; their commander was in a foul mood, they were hurrying to reinforce an ally who was already under attack, or they were heading home to wives, husbands, or – better yet – whores.

  I had honestly never seen an army on the move before. Them standing around and looking bored, yes. Moving up and down a short road from the front gate of a general’s compound to his villa, yes. But never on an open road between two cities. I had to give them credit, they had their shit down.

  Hundreds of spears jostled back and forth in the air, protecting the perimeter of their hurried walk while also protecting a ribbon of walkers in the middle, free from the burden of carrying such cumbersome weapons wherever they went. Six distinct groups moved in front of me, all walking casually but still within a tight unit. Lightly dressed with bulging packs over their shoulders. Red tunics far in the distance. Brown, blue, and gray ones closer to me. Hand-me-downs, by the looks of things. Red usually indicated the wearer had been in the army long enough to earn a specialist post, be it carpenter, blacksmith, or whatever.

  Each group held eighty troops. Those who didn’t carry shields walked farther back. Some with quivers across their backs and bows in their hands, others simply with swords by their sides. According to Greaser, the lightest of armed folks were the mages. What surprised me was just how many women seemed to be mages – there to blast the enemy with enough magic that could topple trees or trip a cavalry c
harge, but still dependent on a sword to finish the job.

  To the rear of each group were oxen, mules and donkeys pulling carts. Lots of carts. Lots of mules, too. Tents, barrels of food and drink for the troops, tools for building camp. In the rear-most position and closest to me, was one cart that would’ve been empty, were it not for a dead body residing within, now with two dark sheets covering him instead of one. To the side was a single rider. Gray and white horse. Red blanket under his saddle.

  I pressed on, doing my dumbest impersonation of an idiot, wide-eyed at the might of an Isparian army and heading forth like an overjoyed fan, which was a pain in the ass and not something I was any good at, if I’m honest.

  I found a group of elated grunts in their late twenties. Chances are they signed up at fifteen and were about to be granted their papers after serving their fourteen years. With that came a pension, a citizenship, and a three day hangover. The rougher looking ones would soon end up in a mercenary company. Some of them in front of me might even make it to the Governor’s Hand in Erast.

  I found three such guys. Starry-eyed and woefully naïve. Talking excitedly. Perfect. I sidled up to them. “Hey, are you guys all heading to Torne?”

  They gave me a look like I was a talking donkey. “Uh, yeah. You don’t see this great big army?”

  “Of course I see it. I just wanted to make sure I was on the right road.”

  The middle one sighed at his friend. Or at me. I couldn’t exactly tell, but he sighed nonetheless. “Yeah, buddy. We’re heading to Torne.”

  “Great. Did you fellas just kick the shit out of a bunch of barbarians?”

  They started to puff their chests out. “That’s right. The fuckers in the north kept raiding some of the towns and villages. Most of them won’t ever be able to do that again.”

  “Shit, really? How many of them were there?”

  “Enough to be a nuisance.”

  Translation: twenty. Against what looked like five or six hundred soldiers. I didn’t see even a single injury among the troops.

  I asked, “You guys are all in General Kasera’s army?”