by Stina Leicht
Arion gave her a frightened nod from the chair. “I will gladly give whatever assistance is requested.” His voice was nasal and breathy. He smelled of tobacco and something else she couldn’t quite make out. Something unpleasant.
Drake said, “Thank you. Your cooperation is appreciated, sir.”
As Arion stole glances around the room, his head bobbed like a wary bird. Drake was instantly reminded of one of her father’s favorite tricks. Arion was memorizing important details of his surroundings and was doing an excellent job of covering for it. If she didn’t know him for what he was, she wouldn’t have been the wiser.
“You hold no lands, only a house on Oakwood Avenue,” she said, reading the information off the license. She didn’t have authority for much else. Why would the Brotherhood require my help with the inspections?
Perhaps they intend to dump the North End problem on me. The thought gave her a dull, throbbing pain behind her right eye before she dropped the card on the table.
No lands, she thought. At least I don’t have to call him “my lord”.
“I’ve no lands, Captain. It is true,” Arion said.
She silently reread the last line on his record. “You work at the church school on Granger Road?” Disbelief slipped into her voice.
At that moment, his fearful demeanor slipped, and his words suddenly acquired a lofty, earnest tone she found deeply disturbing. “Charity work is the highest honor, Captain. Nonhuman children must be given the opportunity to learn to read, or they’ll never grow to become proper contributing citizens of the Regnum. Without literacy, they will become a burden upon the state and the good citizens who pay taxes.”
Drake set the record page down and again picked up the license Arion had handed to her upon entering her office. The word “orphans” filled the blank next to TARGET TYPE. Since hunters only legally preyed upon nonhumans, that meant Arion killed nonhuman children. He studies his favorite targets without their knowledge and is given a modest stipend to offset the cost of his habit to boot. The malicious efficiency of it all gave Drake a shudder.
“Your bag limit indicates ten kills per year,” she said. The largest tally on a license she had yet seen was three. In spite of Arion’s commonplace exterior, he was connected and extremely wealthy. But he held no lands with which to support himself. She wondered how he managed it. Syndicate connections? Influential friends? It was early in the winter season, and the record indicated his current total was nine, a majority of them female.
She glanced to Sergeant Benbow, who stood at the right of the closed door. The tension loosened slightly in her lower back. We’re nearly done. To Benbow’s left stood Arion’s Retainer, a tall young man with brown curly hair. Retainers were always young. Only the very best and, therefore, most expensive Retainers lived to an old age. This Retainer looked newer than usual. His traditional black clothing was pinned with quite a few silver baubles. Is he showing off his wealth? It was then that she noticed he seemed more focused upon Arion rather than potential threats within the room. It struck her as odd.
“Your license appears to be in order,” she said, stalling.
“May I ask why an Inspector Warden isn’t present?” Arion asked.
Drake frowned. She hoped Arion wouldn’t be difficult. Using a polite but firm tone, she said, “You may ask, but I couldn’t tell you for certain even if I knew.” She’d been instructed not to mention the series of kill dumps in the North End. “However, I believe there is a backlog of some kind. I hope you understand that you aren’t being singled out. This is a citywide investigation.”
“Yes.” Arion cringed in his chair and stared at the floor.
Something about the action made her stomach churn in disgust. Every aspect of Arion’s manner said he was a victim of the most pathetic variety, and yet she knew from the records he was not. He disgusted and terrified her in ways that were difficult to comprehend. He won’t look me in the eye. It’s more than a role he’s playing. He’s hiding something. Holding the license by the corner, she handed Arion the card. “Thank you, sir. Please wait outside. We will accompany you shortly.”
Benbow respectfully escorted Arion and the Retainer from the office. Drake waited until they were gone to reach into her desk drawer and pour a drink. She closed her eyes briefly and took comfort in the sound of the amber liquid filling the glass.
I hate this job. It’s nothing like I hoped, but what else can I do? She gulped down the contents of the glass and gathered what she needed. Collecting a loaded flintlock pistol, she tucked it in her belt, then grabbed a second one just in case. Whiskey-laced courage burned in her belly as she opened the door. Arion hunched on a bench outside, flanked by the Retainer and a dour-faced Benbow. How can Benbow sit next to him? Across the room, Drake spotted Jaspar and Gilmartyn playing cards. Gilmartyn clutched his hand to his thin chest, not that it would do him any good. The deck was worn and dirty. The top left corners of two cards were torn and a third was bent. Gilmartyn must not have noticed the pattern.
His loss.
The Watch House walls were a dingy grey from years of coal smoke. A smoky fire heated the room. In spite of having had the damper fixed twice last week, it was apparently broken yet again. She glanced into the hearth and frowned. Someone had put too much coal on the fire this morning. Jaspar looked up from her cards and nodded, her dark eyes feigning innocence.
“Jaspar, you’re in charge until Benbow and I get back.” Drake turned to Arion, who instantly shifted his gaze back to the floor. “Come, sir. The sooner we get this done, the better. No doubt you have more important things to do,” Drake said, and walked through the Watch House door. She paused to hold it open, waiting for Arion and Benbow to follow. As Arion’s Retainer opened the coach for Arion, Drake asked Arion’s carriage driver to take them to Arion’s address. That’s when she saw that not only was there a second token-decorated Retainer waiting inside but the driver was dressed similarly.
What’s going on here? She blinked.
Benbow paused.
The young Retainer who had escorted Arion inside the Watch House motioned for her to enter the coach.
“No, thank you,” Drake said, being very careful not to show her discomfort. “It’s a nice day. I think Benbow and I will ride with the driver.”
The Retainer didn’t seem to register any surprise. He merely nodded and climbed inside. The coach step clattered back into place and the door thumped closed. Benbow raised an eyebrow in question.
Drake shook her head once. Not now. Will discuss it later.
Benbow shrugged and assumed a seat on the driver’s bench. She scrambled up last. During the journey, Drake suppressed an urge to question the Retainer who was driving. She knew it would do no good. Retainers were notoriously reticent in general. When it came to the clients they served, they were even more so.
Arion’s home was larger and more lavish than Drake had expected of a lesser noble. Fashionable marble columns supported a dentiled pediment reminiscent of the old country, and the windows were mullioned in what appeared to be silver plate. A filigree doorknob was set in the door. The topmost windowpane was arch-shaped, the white curtain inside reminding Drake of a lady’s fan.
Perhaps Arion is a noble’s second or third son.
The Retainer tapped a distinctive pattern on the door, and a servant with military bearing let them in.
Was that a warning? What are they hiding? She decided to make a mental note of everything she thought unusual so that she might bring it to the Brotherhood’s attention. They may even pay me for it.
The spacious main passage revealed a curved stairway and a polished wooden banister. Two sets of sliding pocket doors, one on her left and the other on her right, led to separate rooms. Gazing to the right, she knew it for a formal receiving parlor. A stuffed couch and two wingback chairs upholstered in thick brocade squatted near a large fireplace. Another fierce-looking servant lurked in the archway between the drawing room and the room beyond it. Sunlight from the win
dow glinted off the pommel of his knife. There were fresh cuts healing across his right cheek.
An Assassin attack? She wasn’t sure. Arion didn’t seem important enough to warrant such an expense. He didn’t seem the type to habitually insult or otherwise risk undue attention. She thought again of how she’d fought to keep her attention focused on him—how she’d wanted to dismiss him as unimportant. Why would anyone want him dead? On the other hand, she’d seen any number of people targeted by an Assassin for simply being at the wrong place at the wrong time.
“If you would wait here one moment, Captain,” Arion said. “My private trophy rooms are in the cellar. It will be dark.” He kept his head tilted down so that he seemed to speak to the floor.
Unease settled deep into her gut. I do not like this man.
The manservant with the military bearing made no move to fetch a candle for his master. Arion did so himself. The manservant remained where he was, facing the passage with his back to the open front door as if barring an exit.
Who’s in charge here?
The original Retainer finally entered and swung the door closed behind them, shutting out the cold. Drake loosened her scarf. The house was warm, and once again she caught the scent of something unpleasant. Sour. She took a step backward, turned and was relieved when she felt the wall’s comforting presence against her shoulder blades. She suspected her precautions regarding someone like Arion must seem absurd to Benbow. However, Benbow followed her example without question.
He knows more of what to expect than you do. Still, remember he doesn’t know everything. She’d asked Benbow if her predecessor had been required to conduct inspections. He’d told her no.
We’re both on unfamiliar ground. All the more reason to be careful.
Several minutes passed before the thump of a shutting door signaled Arion’s return. He entered the hall passage from the receiving parlor. “No need to worry, Captain. The cellar is secure. The tunnels are kept in good repair,” Arion said. He breathed out half-hidden amusement before leading the way.
They passed a wooden bench with a mirror set in the back and hooks along the top. A green greatcoat hung off the first hook. Beyond the second door on the left, Arion stopped and pressed a panel behind an oil painting. A hidden door slid open to the right of the landscape. The stench of dank earth wafted from the doorway, and the unpleasant odor she’d noticed before grew worse.
Something is rotting down there. Something dead.
Of course there is. Drake’s stomach fluttered. She didn’t care for cellars. They reminded her too much of childhood. This is the last time, I swear. I don’t care how much the Brotherhood pays. No more hunters.
Arion took the narrow stairway first, the Retainer went next and then Drake, followed by Benbow. Once all had crowded into the narrow passage, the Retainer paused on the third stair. He reached back to press another panel. Drake did her best to avoid his touch as he did it, keeping her weapon side well out of reach. With the click of the shutting door, Drake felt the walls close in. She hated small enclosed spaces. She bit the inside of her cheek to give herself something else to think about. The back of Arion’s head and his candle continued downward.
Benbow whispered, “I didn’t sign up for this.”
“Neither did I. But our orders are to check his tags. Jaspar knows where we are. The interview is on record,” she whispered back with a confidence she didn’t feel. Of course, no one but the Brotherhood would know where to look for us, if something does go wrong. She took a deep breath and forced her feet to carry her downward.
At the bottom of the stairwell, the passage took a sharp turn to the right. For a brief moment, she lost sight of Arion’s candle. She put her hands to her flintlocks. Her heart pounded, and she scanned the blackness for any sound as she took a cautious sliding step forward. When Arion and the Retainer again came into view, the relief made her knees feel loose, but she didn’t remove her hands from her pistols’ grips.
Arion turned back and motioned for them to follow. “This way. It isn’t far.” He meekly bobbed his head, and it made her think of a child eager to show off his playthings.
At that moment, she couldn’t help thinking they were far enough underground that no one could hear if she screamed.
Arion made a quick turn to the right through a roughly carved doorway. A makeshift curtain fashioned from an old tapestry hung over the open door. She pushed at the cloth and moved through. The acrid scent of lime and rot was thick in the air. She covered her nose and breathed through her mouth until she grew accustomed to the smell. Arion lit two iron candelabras, and slowly it grew bright enough to see. The room was approximately thirty feet long by twenty-five feet wide. Between the candelabras stood a roll-top desk. A folding pallet bed sat against the far wall, and three curio cases stood in a row to her left. Each case contained five shelves of trophies. The light was dim enough that it was easy not to focus on what was inside. Opposite the cases were several stained buckets, a rag mop, a narrow bedstead, and an ornate quilt. Chains were anchored into the wall, their ends resting on the featherbed.
“The tag information is in the desk,” Arion said.
Reluctantly, she followed Arion. He opened a drawer, pulled out a sheaf of papers, and placed them in the middle of the desk. A small surgeon’s satchel rested next to where he had deposited the papers. From the corner of her eye, Drake saw Benbow walk to the curio cabinets and gaze through the glass. Drake didn’t feel comfortable with Benbow being that far away.
Don’t be a coward. Just look at the damn papers and get the hells out of here. She moved around the desk and shifted through the documents. That was when something caught her eye. It was an expensive blown-glass paperweight containing the golden sunburst of Gens Aureus. It was tucked inside one of the little nooks in the top of the desk.
Arion is a member of Gens Munitoris, not Aureus. What is that doing here?
“I can read the tag numbers below the display, Captain,” Benbow said.
I’m here to inspect hunting tags, not paperweights. “Read ’em out, Sergeant,” she said.
With Benbow’s help, the process went quickly. When she was done, Arion slipped the papers back into the drawer and locked it. She crossed the room and braved a look inside the cabinets, focusing on the first.
Mounted with care on a board covered in black velvet were nine small pairs of ears, each of them with pointed tips. Feeling a presence behind her, she whirled and bumped into Arion. He started. In that instant, she caught a good look at his eyes. The pupils were diamond-slitted like a snake’s. A cloudy membrane nictated once, and Arion gave her a brief smile full of menace before he resumed his passive demeanor.
Oh, God. He’s one of them. He’s part malorum, she thought before the whiskey in her stomach turned to ice. How is that even possible?
CAIUS
NOVUS SALERNUM
THE REGNUM OF ACRASIA
3 DECEMBER
THE TWENTY-FIRST YEAR IN THE SACRED REIGN OF EMPEROR HERMINIUS
Caius pushed his way through yet another alehouse crowd. A boisterous fiddle, penny whistle, and drum combatted the low rumble of laughter and drunken conversation. Regardless of the press, his path to the snugs wasn’t much impeded. The establishment’s patrons were nonhuman and, upon spotting his uniform coat, fled to other parts of the alehouse. A pall of controlled menace blossomed in the air. It occurred to him that he was without a partner and that any whistle-call for assistance would be answered too late. With that thought, a lightning flash of cold fear quickened his pulse.
They wouldn’t dare attack a Warden. Would they?
The alehouse itself was every bit as disreputable as its clients. The half-timber walls were a dingy tobacco-stained off-white. The dirt-encrusted floor was sticky beneath his boots, and the furniture had witnessed more than a few bar fights. It was the sort of place his cousins would’ve ventured into on a dare. Pipe smoke and the close stench of the unwashed formed a heavy miasma. Of course, the air outside
on the street wasn’t much better. Old Mercatur Road, located near the wharfs, was one of the city’s poorest areas. It was also where a majority of the city’s sewers terminated. The area was infamous. Old Mercatur was known for drunken brawling—the only entertainment for poor rabble outside of sex. There had been no less than three riots there over the past week. He didn’t understand why Drake, a Watch captain, would select such a meeting place. Yet when he’d expressed unease, she’d given him his choice of alehouses—provided the establishment was located on Old Mercatur Road. He’d picked the Green Dragon because he’d liked the name. Now that he was there, he wondered if he should’ve asked for a recommendation instead.
I’ve given her another reason for which she can sneer at me. He couldn’t help sensing her air of mild disdain whenever they spoke, and it struck him as odd. Most people, especially those associated with any type of authority, respected the Brotherhood. Not her. He wondered if she were nonhuman. The odds were good, given her job. Why do I care what she thinks of me? And yet, the truth was, he did.
She was nothing like any woman he’d ever met. She wore breeches, for one thing. Of course, he didn’t know many women in positions of power. If a Watch captain can be considered powerful. It wasn’t unheard of. Anyone with the means to buy a position was free to do so. It was one of the freedoms upon which the Regnum prided itself. Everyone is free of restrictions to success. While noble titles existed, they weren’t limited to hereditary lines. It never occurred to him to think about why women and nonhumans didn’t often invest their wealth in positions of leadership.
Why Old Mercatur Road? Captain Drake didn’t seem the type to do much of anything without thoughtful motivation.
Her intent must be to keep me uncomfortable. He stood a little straighter and took a deep breath. It won’t damned well work. Not this time. He gazed at the rough-looking patrons. At least, he wouldn’t let her know it had. He held that thought close as he searched the snugs located at the back of the alehouse.
