by J. J. Newman
Before Elias could berate him further, the door to the tavern opened and an agent entered. He scanned the room, his eyes searching until they found Elias. The agent rushed over.
“What is it?” Elias asked.
“A message, Elias. You better read it.” The man handed Elias a sealed envelope. The man must be an Initiative messenger, Tsaeris thought. The Initiative was far too massive for him to remember the faces of all its members.
Elias opened it and read its contents. He seemed to read it more than once. He put the envelope on the table and sighed.
“There a problem?” Tsaeris asked.
“Agent Aaron was captured last night by the Watch,” Elias said. Tsaeris didn’t recognize the name.
The messenger looked shocked and upset at the news. “He’s my brother, sir. Are we going to help him?”
Elias nodded. “I know he’s your brother, Brock. We’ll take care of it. You go get some rest.” Brock nodded in appreciation, thanked Elias and left.
Elias turned to Tsaeris. “Feel like breaking into a jail?” Elias asked.
“What? Alone?”
Elias raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think you can handle it?”
“No. No, I just...” Tsaeris paused. He had never been alone on a mission before. He knew he was being tested. “I can handle it.”
Elias nodded. “Good. Make sure you get a lot of rest today. You’ll be going tonight. I’ll make sure to get you intelligence on the jail before you leave.”
Tsaeris nodded. He said goodbye to Elias, and headed up the stairs to one of the rooms in the tavern. He was feeling very nervous. He was being sent on a mission alone for the first time, and this mission was pretty big. He shook off his concerns. He would not let Elias down. He would pass this test.
As he lay in bed his bravado began to fade. He suddenly wished that he were back in recruitment training. At least those tests didn’t mean death or imprisonment if you failed. Sleep did not come quickly for Tsaeris.
Chapter Twelve
The Jail
A Third Eye messenger stood in front of the bed in Tsaeris’ room, waiting for him to finish reading his mission intelligence. When he was finished, he handed the parchment back to the man. The agent walked to the hearth and threw the document and another piece of parchment into the fire. When the flames reduced them to ash, the man left the room without a word.
Third Eye mission documents were written in a complex code, and only the messengers knew how to decipher them. They would bring the mission to an agent, decode it in their presence and destroy both the coded copy and the translated copy. The system was designed to keep information secret and safe. A messenger foreman would transcribe the mission in code at the safe house then relay it to a messenger. The messenger would not open or decipher it until they were with the agent that the information was intended for. If somehow they were captured before delivering the message, they knew nothing about its contents and the document was useless to anyone but the messengers.
The mission would be fairly routine. The guards were already bribed, and Tsaeris need only go to the jail and complete his task. A simple job for a novice.
The day dragged on as Tsaeris waited for nightfall. He spent the day at the tavern, though he considered going to see Cyra. He had been considering that a lot lately, yet somehow he never found the time. He wondered if she even noticed. He wondered if he cared at all if she did.
As night arrived, he headed out into the streets. He left his sword behind again, as an obviously armed man attracted too much attention. Better that he looked unarmed. He wasn’t, of course. He had knives and daggers to protect him, should it come to that. He hoped it wouldn’t. He hoped it would.
He chuckled inwardly at his own conflicted nature. He never knew what he wanted these days. In the past, all that mattered was finding coin and food. All that had changed when The Third Eye Initiative found him. Now he could actually want things, and he could take them if he chose. It was a major paradigm shift and he was still adjusting. How the hell do you decide what you want when you can actually have them?
It was dark out, though people still wandered the streets. Night was just beginning, and the crowds had yet to change. For at least a few more hours, the day folk would own the streets. Working men would find an inn or tavern to wash away a hard day’s work with ale, whiskey and wine.
A strong northerly wind began to blow. The cold ripped through Tsaeris’ skin and seemed to settle right into his bones. He wrapped his wolf fur cloak tightly around himself. He was glad he had brought it instead of the thinner brown one he often wore in the warmer early autumn months.
As if to mock his efforts at keeping the weather away, the sky suddenly filled with large white flakes. The snow had come so suddenly that Tsaeris found himself blinking at the change. The wind whipped the flakes through the air, and Tsaeris knew a storm was coming. The walk home would be a nightmare, but at least the streets would be empty soon.
He made his way towards the district jailhouse where the agent was held, cursing as he wiped large clumps of snow from his face and eyes. The street torches whipped and danced in the strong wind, and Tsaeris wondered how the hell they could stay lit in this kind of weather.
The walk was taking longer than he had anticipated, and he was shocked at how quickly the streets were filling with snow. It was almost ankle deep already, and was only getting worse by the moment. He considered taking to the sewers, but wasn’t confident in his ability to find the jailhouse from underground.
The snow was playing tricks with his eye. For a moment he thought he saw a large cloaked figure standing at the mouth of an alley, but the image vanished so quickly that he was sure it was a mirage created by the darkness of the alley and the stark white of the snow-filled air. He wanted so badly to get out of this weather.
Finally he arrived at the jailhouse. He wasn’t sure how long it had taken him, but it had felt like hours. The jailhouse was a large stone building which towered above the wooden houses and stores around it. It almost looked like a small castle, and was so out of place within its surrounding as to appear almost comical; the opposite effect from the designer’s intent, Tsaeris guessed. An imposing building only looked imposing if it matched its surroundings. An imposing building in the middle of a nice street looked silly.
Tsaeris made his way into the alley and took a moment to settle himself. The buildings kept the wind away, and he took this time to shake off as much snow as he possible could. His hood felt heavy, and Tsaeris removed what he thought must have been a small child’s weight worth of snow from the top of his head.
Feeling he had composed himself as much as possible, he approached the side door and knocked. Three knocks, then two, then one, then three as he had been instructed. He waited. After a few moments, the iron bound door creaked open. An enormous man wearing the surcoat and chain mail of a City Watchman greeted him when he entered.
“He’s in the basement level. Follow me,” the man said. Tsaeris followed the main down a long hall, past the main entrance.
The main level was plain but efficient. Several offices lined the hallway, and there was a bench and a reception desk by the main entrance, both unoccupied at this time of night. The guard led Tsaeris to a large heavily locked door. The man produced a ring of keys, and only took a moment to find the key he needed. The door opened, and the Tsaeris followed him down a narrow flight of stone stairs.
The cell level was damp and cold, despite a large hearth in the wall. This area was small and enclosed. It also had a desk with another guard sitting there looking tired and bored. A large door stood across from the door Tsaeris had entered through.
“This him?” the tired guard asked.
“Yeah,” the large guard replied.
“Go on in.”
Tsaeris and the guard passed through the large door, and into the cell blocks. The cells were not barred. Rather, they were small rooms with large wooden doors. They passed several of these doors before stoppi
ng in front of one.
“He’s in there. How do you want to do this? Hit us a few times? Make it look like we was knocked out?”
“Let me go in and talk to him first. We’ll figure out the details in a few minutes.”
The Guard nodded, and then unlocked the door. “In you go. I’ll meet you at the desk.”
Tsaeris entered the cell. It was small, furnished only by a small hay mattress in the corner. A waste bucket sat in the opposite corner. Agent Aaron was on the bed, looking cold and miserable. He was wrapped in a dirty green blanket and his short curly hair was greasy and damp. When he saw Tsaeris, he threw the blanket aside and stood up. His white prisoner smock was stained and filthy. He ran his hand through his greasy hair, and wiped it on his pants.
“Evening,” Tsaeris greeted in a cheerful voice. “I have three eyes.”
Aaron smiled. “As do I.”
“What happened?” Tsaeris asked.
“Got nipped while stealing some weapons from the dock. Was careless. Didn’t think I was being watched,” Aaron replied.
Tsaeris nodded. “Tough luck.”
“I’ll say.”
“Well, let’s get you out of here,” Tsaeris turned to leave the cell.
“I screwed up, brother. I gave them my real name. Was scared.”
Tsaeris closed his eye tightly for a moment, then sighed and turned to Aaron.
“I’m sorry, brother,” Aaron said again, sadly. “Was never nipped before.”
Tsaeris nodded. “Jail can be a scary place, and those watchmen can be rough men. Not really your fault. You should have held out though.”
“Didn’t know somebody would come for me,” Aaron replied.
“We don’t leave agents in jailhouses, Aaron. Even I know that and I’m a bloody novice.”
“Was stupid. Wasn’t thinking. Like I said, was scared shitless.”
“I know. What’s done is done, and there’s no undoing it.”
Aaron nodded sadly. “How we going to do this?”
Tsaeris reached into his belt pouch and produced a small glass vile and handed it to the agent. Aaron sighed, eyes wet with regret and a sense of loss. He removed the stopper from the vial and swallowed its contents, then handed the vial back to Tsaeris.
“Will it hurt, brother?” Aaron asked softly.
“No,” Tsaeris replied.
“Tell Brock I’m sorry.”
“I will.”
Aaron nodded, and sat down on his hay mattress. He covered his face with his hands, and the two men didn’t speak for several long moments. Tsaeris wondered if he should say something to the man, but decided against it. What could he possibly say at this point?
Suddenly Aaron looked up from his hands, and stared into Tsaeris’ eye. “I feel...tired,” Aaron said.
Tsaeris nodded. “It’s almost over.”
Aaron began to say something, but his final words were forever lost as his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to his side, rolling off of the mattress and onto the floor. Tsaeris knelt beside him and checked his pulse. Aaron was dead.
Tsaeris removed a small knife from his belt and cut both of Aaron’s wrists. He then begin pressing on his chest to try and force more blood from the wound, as his heart had already stopped. His work finished, he broke off the tip of the knife and left it on the floor beside the body, so it would appear that Aaron has managed to sneak in a small blade. He sighed, left the cell and headed back to the guard desk.
“Where’s your pal?” the big guard asked when he saw Tsaeris approach alone.
“Killed himself in the middle of the night. Snuck in a small blade.”
The guard frowned and nodded. “When do we find him?”
“Morning, before your shift ends,” Tsaeris replied.
The guard nodded. Tsaeris made his way through the jail and out into the blinding snowstorm. He was in no mood to make the trek back in this weather, so he had gotten directions to an inn nearby from the guard.
In the warm tavern, Tsaeris drank ale and reflected on what he had just done. He understood why it had to happen. A name meant they could track you, and that could lead to other members of the Initiative. He wished he knew what this was all about. It might make it easier for him to accept how expendable they all were. Then again, it might not.
Chapter Thirteen
A Cold and Desperate Place
Winter had come to The City in full force. It had appeared with a mighty roar and the city trembled under its weight. Large streams of sooty hearth smoke oozed from chimneys and seemed to hang in the frozen air.
Elias read the letter one last time, sighed and stored it in his desk. There was work to be done before he left, all of it tedious. He began by reading a stack of reports on his desk, organized by priority and importance. The Third Eye Initiative intelligence network was his to manage. He had spent years rebuilding it. The Third Eye Initiative had existed long before his time and the network was not created by him, but he had molded it from a simple yet effective channel of information into a sprawling spider web of secrets and knowledge. There was not a corner of The City that his web did not reach.
It was a mammoth undertaking, with hundreds of agents to help manage it, and many thousands of spies and sources to keep the steady flow of intelligence uninterrupted. It was a well-oiled machine, and only the important reports made it to his desk these days. All intelligence was stored and filed in a secret location known only to him and a very select group of agents, known collectively as the Archivists. If a report wasn’t on his desk, yet there was information he needed, it was not difficult for him to find.
Any intelligence requests from agents had to be approved by him personally. Some days there were only a few requests. Other days it would take him from dawn to dusk to sort through them all. If a chapter from another district required intelligence, the request would funnel down to him by a chain of messengers. Many had argued that the other chapters should have their own archives, but Elias was wary of that. More copies meant more risk, and if knowledge was power, there was simply too much power here to chance it. Better that he control the flow. The Boss had argued with him several times about this, but ultimately left the decision to him. It was one of the reasons he was here, after all.
His office was simple, containing a desk with various drawers, a seat for himself, and a chair in front of his desk for private meetings. No intelligence was held here, and reports were left for him in a hidden compartment in the safe house. He would either go over them at his office there, or bring them to his home office, where he was now. They were written in messenger code, which he of course could read. He had created the code, after all.
Hours passed before he had finished going over the reports. He destroyed the reports, as copies had already been sent to the archivists, and left his office, locking the door behind him. There was nothing of major concern in the reports. The only one of interest had been the mission report on Tsaeris and his jail rescue, which he had ordered brought to him when it was available.
He was saddened by the turn of events, but impressed with the novice’s handling of the situation. The boy did what was necessary without hesitation. He still felt a pang of concern over the ease of which Tsaeris could kill, but the boy was doing a great job. He supposed that he couldn’t really be sure of how killing made Tsaeris feel. Perhaps the boy only put on an air of callousness and masked his emotions. Elias could relate to that.
Elias regretted the death of Agent Aaron. He had been a good Agent, and was now dead because of a mission Elias had personally assigned to him. That was so often the case. As the head of the intelligence network, it was also Elias’ responsibility to assign priority missions, as he knew best what needed to be done. He didn’t assign every single mission to every single agent himself, that job would take him a hundred hours a day, but he managed the important ones. Aaron had been sent to steal a shipment of weapons that was bound for a crime lord in the Aidrol District. That shipment of weapons, had it arrive
d, would have tipped the balance of a gang war in way that did not suit the Initiative’s goals.
Elias had originally tried to get The City Watch to intervene and take the weapons themselves, but they had already been paid off. So he had sent Aaron. In an unforeseen turn of events, however, Captain Blorick had received word of the shipment himself and the names of the bribed guards. He promptly had the guards executed, the execution involving Blorick’s own hammer and about five minutes time, and then moved to intercept the shipment. By the time Elias had found out about it, Aaron was already acquiring the weapons.
Elias now knew that he should have gone to Blorick to begin with. He was on good terms with the dwarf, and knew him to be a good Watchman. But Elias had made the report anonymously to a lower ranking watchman, believing that something as serious as a gang weapon delivery was something they could not possibly ignore. That mistake had cost a good agent his life. Elias would pile the guilt of his death with the many others. His shoulder slumped a tiny bit more, but the load was still bearable. It had to be.
The rule that if The City Watch learned your name, you had to either end your own life or have it ended for you was a rule he had put into effect himself, adding many other bodies to his pile of guilt. The rule was a fail-safe. A name could be tracked and could lead back to other members of the Initiative, and that simply could not be allowed.
There was only one Watchman who knew of their existence, and only because Elias had occasional need to work in tandem with the Watch. That Watchman was trusted and kept their secret well, even though he was conflicted. Elias understood the Watchman well enough to know that he would never betray them, even if he didn’t quite agree with what they did.
The Third Eye Initiative was more important than any one man. If an Agent had not given his name they would be extracted. They all knew that, yet sometimes they didn’t quite believe it. Most captured agents would give false names, or refuse to talk at all, but there were always a few who folded. It was a credit to his agents that they almost always admitted to giving up their names when rescue came. Their loyalty to the Initiative was so strong that they would die for their mistake rather than try to conceal it. The few, the very few, who did try to conceal were killed as well. You couldn’t hide much from Elias.
