Stealing Life

by Antony Johnston

  Nothing happened. Maybe the options were laid out differently over here. He touched one of the onscreen options instead, trying to pull up a contextual menu pane. Still nothing. Nicco sat back and sighed in frustration. Surely it couldn’t be broken. Hadn’t that adept just been using it?

  Then he saw the input board sitting on the desk.

  Watery saints, when was this terminal built? Before the war?

  Even the most basic of Turithian vidscreens were touch-based, and most terminals in his home country had abandoned flatscreens altogether years ago, replaced with motion sensing holovid displays. Werrdun might be doing a sterling job bringing Hurrunda into the modern age, but he was taking his sweet bloody time about it. Nicco reached out and touched one of the keys. It beeped at him, but the display remained the same.

  He hit another key, and another, desperately trying to get a reaction—any reaction—from the display, when the door opened. He turned, hoping it might be an assistant or at least somebody who knew how to use the terminal, and asked for help in broken Varnian.

  “Zandomon, bikka! Zenrrok firrom—?”

  He stopped short. It wasn’t an assistant, or a kindly adept, who had stepped through the door. It was the tall cop from the airship port.

  “Salarum,” he said in a thick Varnian accent. “You’re coming with us.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THEY MARCHED HIM out of the library at gunpoint.

  It was a normal blaster, not an entropy gun, but that wasn’t what made Nicco suspicious. What gave him pause for thought was that the tall cop walked close behind him, with the gun pressed against his back, and his short partner walked in front. Not exactly police procedure. And neither of them said a word or flashed a badge during the walk.

  Not police, then. Maybe they were government agents of some kind, Werrdun’s own personal secret service. Mirrla Werrdun had got a good enough look at Nicco to give a decent description over a phone, and Nicco hadn’t made any attempt to disguise his appearance when he arrived in Hurrunda. He’d thought he wouldn’t need it. Strike one for overconfidence.

  They exited the library, turned off the main street and into a narrow alleyway. They’re going to kill me, thought Nicco. They’re just going to shoot me in the street. The tall cop shoved him into the alley, while the other stood at its mouth and pulled out a cell phone. It was a bulky unit, an old model, but it was definitely a cell phone. It was also a cell phone in a city with barely any satellite coverage. He punched a number into the unit.

  “I know where it is!” Nicco blurted.

  The tall cop raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

  “I know where it is, or at least I know who has it. He wasn’t a wizard—that was just a con, he was a fake—but I know who he really is now and if you kill me you’ll never find out!”

  The tall cop laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that just made Nicco worry all the more, and put the blaster away. “Calm down, Salarum. We’re not going to kill you. We’re here to take you back to Azbatha.”

  The short cop stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled at his partner. The tall man grabbed Nicco by the arm and pulled him toward the mouth of the alley.

  “Mr Bazhanka might kill you, of course. But we won’t.”

  “Wait,” said Nicco, “What do you mean, Bazhanka? You’re government agents, you’re not supposed to throw people to certain death! Turith doesn’t have an extradition treaty with Varn! You can’t do this!”

  The tall man laughed again and called to his partner in Varnian. Nicco made out the words for clown and idiot. Then the big man turned back to Nicco. “Government agents, that’s funny. No, Salarum. We work for Mr Werrdun.”

  The short man looked up as a sleek silver skycar descended toward the street.

  Nicco’s heart sank. “I knew it. That swine Patulam put you onto me, didn’t he?”

  The skycar landed at the kerb with the engine still running. The short man opened the back door, and his tall partner bundled Nicco inside. “Never heard of him,” he said, sliding in beside Nicco. “Never heard of you until we got the call, either. But you don’t seem so smart to me.”

  The short man closed the door, then walked round the skycar and got in on the other side. As soon as all three of them were seated, the driver, unseen through a blacked-out glass divider, took the skycar back up into the air.

  The short man turned to face Nicco. “Mr Bazhanka’s very disappointed in you, Salarum.”

  “What? How do...” Nicco floundered. “Look, just who on earth are you? You’re not police, you’re not government agents, but you work for the governor? What are you, his private security force?”

  The big man laughed again. “You could say that. But we don’t work for ‘the governor.’ We work for Mr Werrdun. Just like you work for Mr Bazhanka.”

  The short man leaned forward and flicked a switch on the glass divider. A section of it flickered into life, revealing a vidscreen built into its surface. A beep sounded from unseen speakers, probably also built into the divider. The gear in this skycar was more like what Nicco was used to, much more advanced than what he’d seen elsewhere in Hurrunda. Evidently, ‘Mr’ Werrdun wasn’t so altruistic as his hagiographers liked to think. He kept the best tech for himself. A second beep sounded, and a crystal-clear image appeared on the vidscreen.

  Wallus Bazhanka.

  “Ah, dear boy,” he said. “I see you’ve met Brinno and Huwll. I do hope they’ve treated you well.”

  Nicco grunted. He didn’t see a camera, but guessed there was probably a monocell hidden in the glass somewhere. “How did you find me?”

  “As I’ve told you before, Nicco, my reach is long. You were seen boarding the airship. While you were in the air, I called in a favour from my relative in Hurrunda.”

  “Your relative? These monkeys said they worked for...”

  Bazhanka sighed and glanced from side to side at Brinno—the tall one—and Huwll who was the short one. “Oh, dear. You weren’t supposed to tell him.”

  Nicco gaped with sudden realisation. Many of us run entire cities...

  “Werrdun’s your relative! That’s why you’re so bloody concerned!”

  Bazhanka shrugged. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you found out. Jarrand Werrdun is my grandfather, dear boy. Did you really think he turned Hurrunda around because people liked him? Dear, dear. So naïve.”

  “But why... why bother running for office? Why not just run the city from behind the scenes, like you?”

  “As I’m sure you’ve seen by now, Nicco, Hurrunda is a very different place to Azbatha. If Werrdun was not in power, the Kurrethi would be. And the last several hundred years have proven how bad that is for business.

  “But all this is irrelevant. Tell me, what are you doing in Hurrunda? If you tried to escape me, you really should have run a little further.”

  Nicco considered his options. If he told Bazhanka the whole truth, the mob boss might yank him out of the city and put his ‘boys’ on the case instead. But if he lied, Bazhanka would just demand his return to Azbatha, and Ven Dazarus would get away with it. He couldn’t allow that.

  “I was looking for the necklace,” he said to the screen. “And I think I’ve found it. I’ve found Xandus, at any rate.”

  “The wizard? Are you sure? No-one I know there has ever heard of him.”

  “That’s because it was an alias. The whole thing was a smokescreen.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “No.”

  Bazhanka raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon? Dear boy, perhaps you forget in whose skycar you are presently flying, and to whom you owe the pleasure of company.”

  The big man, Brinno, casually reached inside his jacket and pulled out the same blaster he had pressed into Nicco’s back in the library.

  “I said no. I don’t trust you, I don’t trust your goons, and frankly I don’t trust this entire bloody city. But you’ll get your necklace back. Just leave it to me.”

  “So
you won’t trust me, but I must trust you? Come, now...”

  “Look, you know I don’t want Werrdun dead any more than you do. But I do want that conman. This is personal now.”

  “If you’ve found him there, why don’t you already have the necklace?”

  “Security issues. But I have a plan.”

  “Then allow me to assist you. Brinno and Huwll are natives. They know their way around the city and can supply you with whatever you need.”

  “No. You know I work alone, and this pair would just be a liability. If you want that necklace, just let me get on with it.”

  Nicco could tell the two heavies weren’t too happy about the comment, and Brinno still had his blaster in his hand, but they’d have to live with it. So long as Bazhanka told them to anyway.

  The mob boss sighed. “I confess, this isn’t unexpected. Huwll?”

  Huwll reached inside his jacket. Nicco thought he might be going for a gun as well, but instead the short man pulled out a small red gem. “Here,” he said and handed the gem to Nicco. “Take this.”

  Nicco did. The ruby crystal was no bigger than a coin, but masterfully cut, diffracting the dim evening light from outside the skycar even through the one-way glass. It glittered, the light seeming to move, swirling inside the sharply-cut facets—

  “Aaaah!”

  The gem suddenly burned hot, searing Nicco’s palm. He tried to drop it, but it stuck to his hand like glue, jabbing needles of pain into his skin. He screamed again, staring at the gem as it burnt into his palm. Thin smoke curled upward, wafting an acrid smell across his nostrils that made him want to retch.

  Then it stopped.

  The crystal was firmly embedded in his palm. Nicco tried to prise it out, but his nerves shrieked and the gem didn’t budge. He looked up to see Bazhanka, Brinno and Huwll all suppressing laughter.

  “It’s a wonderful piece of Varnian technology,” said the mob boss. “Well, magic actually, but you get the idea. Think of it like a phone tracker. Except, as I’m sure you know, ordinary phones don’t work very well in Hurrunda. But this does.” He leaned closer to the screen. “If you’re lying to me, Nicco, if you try to run... I’ll find you. If you lose yourself in the very wastes of Hirvan, I’ll seek you out and bring you home. Magic doesn’t need satellites. Understand, if Werrdun dies—and he won’t last more than a few more days—I’ll bring you back here and make you watch while I have that whore of yours executed. Then I’ll throw you to the mercy of my grandfather’s loyal subjects. Is that clear?”

  Nicco clutched his hand and nodded.

  “Don’t fail me, Nicco.” Bazhanka cut the connection and the vidscreen went dark, disappearing into the smooth surface of the glass.

  Brinno put his blaster away and knocked three times on the divider. The skycar began to descend. “So,” he said, “you’re the one that stole Werrdun’s necklace, are you?”

  Nicco looked up at the big man with hatred in his eyes. “Yes. And I didn’t realise what it was, so give me a break. I’m here to get it back from the son of a squid who hired me to take it in the first place.”

  “Right, I see.”

  The skycar landed in an empty backstreet and Brinno and Huwll got out. Nicco followed, flexing his hand and wondering if he could find a wizard somewhere in the city who could remove it.

  “Right, then,” said Nicco. “Now that you’ve mutilated me, just tell me how to get to—oof!”

  Brinno punched him hard in the gut. Nicco doubled over and Huwll kicked his legs out from under him. He grasped at Brinno’s sleeve to break his fall, but the big man took advantage and punched him again, this time in the face. Nicco saw blood spatter from his nose onto the street, and he followed it down.

  He hit the ground with a dull thump. One of them kicked him again, he wasn’t sure which, then the other joined in. Nicco curled up into a ball as they kicked and punched him again and again.

  Eventually the blows stopped. Brinno grabbed Nicco’s shoulder and rolled him onto his back. “‘Mutilated’?” said the big man. “You don’t know the meaning of the word. But if Mr Werrdun dies, you will. We could lose everything here, you idiot. Everything, do you understand? All because of a poxy pickpocket.”

  “I’m... considerably... more sophisticated than... a pickpocket,” Nicco groaned. “I didn’t... know... he’d die without the necklace.”

  Huwll leaned over him and grabbed him by the collar. “Well, now you do. And if Mr Werrdun comes back to Hurrunda in a box, you won’t need to worry about Bazhanka. Because we’ll take care of you before his airship even leaves Turith.”

  “Free of charge,” said Brinno.

  Huwll released Nicco’s collar. He fell back, hit his head on the street and groaned. His ribs felt broken, there was blood in his mouth and he didn’t dare straighten his back.

  Huwll was still leaning over him. “Hang on,” he said, “What’s this?” He reached down toward Nicco’s chest. Nicco brought his arms up instinctively, fearing another blow, but the short man wrestled them away and looked up at his partner. “Brinno, check this out.”

  Brinno crouched down. “Where on earth did you get that? You’re no Varnian! Steal that as well, did you?”

  “What?” Confused, Nicco lifted his head. It hurt, but he could see what they were talking about—his father’s pendant. It had slipped out from under his shirt while they were beating him up. Huwll peered at it. “No,” said Nicco, “My... my father gave it to me...”

  Brinno snorted. “A likely story. Who’s your father?”

  “I... don’t know,” said Nicco. “I never knew him. He was a sailor...”

  Huwll stood up. “Sailor, my arse.” He reached under his own shirt and pulled out a glass pendant.

  “What...?” Nicco stared at Huwll’s pendant. It was almost identical to his own, but the teardrop was a deep red instead of golden. “I... don’t understand.”

  Huwll tuned to Brinno. “Show him yours.”

  The big man stood up. “I don’t wear it. It’s in a drawer at home.”

  Nicco sat up. His back and ribs protested, but this was too important. He had to know. “What is it? Xandus... he hired me to steal the necklace... he saw it too. He asked me... what it meant.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “Nothing... My mother said it was just a... good luck charm.”

  Brinno laughed his deep, throaty rumble. “Then she’s as stupid as you are. It’s an army tag, you idiot. The Bishlurram army.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “I don’t believe this. Here! Hurrunda is in Bishlurra.”

  Nicco sat still for a moment, trying to take it all in. His mother hadn’t been lying when she originally said his father was a soldier. In fact she’d lied later. But Nicco had hired Birrum Razhko to check the military records and he’d found nothing. Had she lied about his father’s name too? Could he still be out here somewhere, alive?

  “You should get it read,” said Brinno. “Find out what company he was in.”

  “Probably the bloody catering corps, if he’s anything to go by,” said Huwll, and both men laughed.

  “But... where?” said Nicco. “How do you read them?”

  Huwll rolled his eyes. “You go find a wizard down at the market, of course.”

  “But not before finding that necklace,” said Brinno, wagging his finger at Nicco. The big man climbed back into the groundcar and signalled to Huwll. “We’ll be waiting, Salarum. If Werrdun dies, you die. Even you should be able to get that through your thick skull.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  HE’D LIED TO Bazhanka, of course. Nicco didn’t have a plan at all. He didn’t have the faintest idea how he was going to infiltrate the Kurrethi rebel camp and somehow get close to Ven Dazarus. One man, to achieve a task the entire Hurrundan force had repeatedly failed at? But he figured that if they couldn’t find the rebels, Bazhanka’s men wouldn’t be able to help him either. At least on his own Nicco didn’t have to worry about them ruining whatever
plan he eventually formulated.

  Besides, he didn’t want Bazhanka spoiling his own personal revenge on Ven Dazarus. That was something Nicco wanted very much.

  He also wanted to get to a market, to have the pendant read as soon as possible, regardless of what Brinno said. And in a place like Hurrunda, where the old world and its ways were clearly still a vital part of everyday life, the market might be a good place to hear gossip and find out as much as he could about the Kurrethi—and their new inspiring leader.

  It was dusk when they left him in the street. He had no idea where he was, or how to get back to the centre of town where—he assumed—the market was located. It would probably be closed for the day by now, but he didn’t even know how far he was from downtown. They’d been in the skycar for a while. It might take him all night just to walk back.

  Nicco picked himself up off the street, wincing at the pain in his ribs and back. It was beginning to ease off a little, and now that he stood up he was pretty sure he’d been mistaken earlier about his ribs being broken. They just hurt like the fifty-nine hells. On the bright side, it was a sort of confirmation that at least he was alive.

  Nicco smirked at his own cynicism, regretting it instantly when pain shot through his chest. He gasped, took a deep breath, and began walking.

  “I DIDN’T EXPECT to see you here.”

  “Yeah, well. I didn’t expect to find you still working here.”

  Lilla Salarum sat at her dressing table wearing a nightgown, slowly combing her long black hair. She looked at his reflection in the mirror. “You know better than that, Nicco. What else am I supposed to do, go work in a store? No-one would employ me even if I wanted to. Especially not now.”