There was a knock at the second door. Right on time.
“Come in Darek,” Hood said.
“What is that smell coming from downstairs?” Darek said as he entered.
“A new informant.”
“Very method on the disguise then. Are we celebrating something?” Darek said, looking at the desk and indicating the cup of wine.
“That depends. Do you have something for me?”
“Yes and no.”
“I seem to hear that a lot from you these days.”
“You value honesty.”
“What do you have?”
“Nothing more on the new player. Whoever they are, they’re moving very carefully. Clearly got some experience. Not just trusting to strength as the last lot were.”
“Which got them nowhere.”
“Indeed.”
“That’s the no then. What was the yes?”
“I’ve got something useful on someone else.”
“Who?”
“One of the Governor’s aides.”
“Interesting,” Hood said, thinking fast.
“I thought so.”
“What do you have?”
“Gambling and smuggling.”
“Small time or we’d have caught it before.”
“Oh yes. Very discreet. But not invisible.”
“Can anything be tied back to the Governor?” Hood said, trying hard to cover her excitement. Darek didn’t know who she was. And as Hood, she didn’t have any direct conflict with the Governor beyond the obvious law administrator versus criminal. It was times like this that she was grateful she’d gone for a large enveloping hood as a disguise. People couldn’t see her face, draw anything from any expression she might betray.
“No. He’s still clean as far as I can tell.”
Once again the hood was useful, this time disguising a flash of disappointment. But still … her mind raced.
“I might leave this information in a useful place. The right people pick it up, the aide gets arrested. Taken out of play. Which gives us an opportunity to get a man on the inside. Perhaps you.”
“That’s ... an interesting suggestion,” Darek said, frowning. “Not where I was expecting you to go with that at all. I thought perhaps just a little blackmail or something for information.”
“Which is why I’m the boss.”
“Of course.” Darek thought about it. He nodded. “That might work. Could be a good opportunity for us.”
“Exactly.”
“You never cease to surprise me,” Darek said. “Do you have a second cup?”
*****
Vesek squatted down on the roof and looked down at his moonlit, gloved hands. They were trembling. He couldn’t control the desire any longer.
He made fists. This wasn’t really the roof he wanted. But it was a roof he needed. It was time again. He couldn’t suppress it.
He had to kill again.
He couldn’t wait any longer.
He’d been warned off one target he burned for. By strangers on the rooftops. Warned off for now anyway. Not forever. But until he knew more about the people on the roof, it made sense to steer clear. His need wasn’t so far gone that he’d lost the ability to choose a target.
So someone else. Someone easier. Someone who wouldn’t be missed. It might not be as satisfying. There was still that nagging sense of defeat from what had happened that only finishing the task would assuage. It would come.
He’d not been able to shake the feeling of being watched since. But no one had come looking that he could tell. It was obvious that no one had found him. He was still free. He’d been careful and they couldn’t have seen where he’d gone. Of this he was sure. As sure as he could be, anyway. And he’d already been able to resume his ‘normal’ life without interruption. Perhaps he really was safe.
So it was time. Once again.
But who?
The artefact seller was off limits for now. But there were others that were on his list.
After the execution at the square he’d been filled with disgust. It was a fine distinction, and ultimately he would shed few tears if the people in this city all got what was coming to them. They were all guilty of something. But there was an injustice to the execution as it had been done.
Death was a final sentence. The most final of sentences. In this case the punishment didn’t fit the crime. The man wasn’t the same sort of pathetic excuse for a being that the people he’d killed were. People who had squandered the gifts that life had given them. Had abused themselves. Or indeed, their status.
As the magistrate that had ordered the execution had.
And the executioner that had been his agent.
Killing the executioner was satisfying in many ways. The irony was delicious.
But it was a job half done. So the magistrate also had to die. To be punished. He would be an extraordinarily difficult target though. And this was the time to be careful. The magistrate would require extensive scouting and planning. He didn’t have the patience for that at the moment, he needed to do something now.
And so, here he was. On the roof of someone else that had come to his attention. Someone that had also drawn his disgust. Deep, sickening disgust.
Someone that should die. Someone who had abused their life in a complete but very different way to those that he’d killed before.
And this was an opportunity to try something new.
Irony aside, the last kill had lacked a certain something. And this wasn’t his first choice target. So it was time to step things up a little.
Try something … different.
He took a breath, settling himself. He knew the kill was assured. The calm anticipation settled his hands. He peered over the edge of the roof down onto the balcony below.
Empty.
Easy.
Hands initially gripping the edge, he swung off the roof and dropped, catlike, down on the balcony. He looked around. Unobserved.
His target lived in a nice part of town. This was a nice house. A nice house that had a very convenient weakness for people like him.
Which was why he’d decided, for the first time, to take his target in their own home rather than stalking them on the streets.
A shiver of excitement went through him. He’d crossed the line into someone’s sanctum. He was invading someone’s private space in exactly the same way his knife would invade his victim’s body.
He pictured himself as a knife, piercing the night as easily as his blade pierced flesh. It was a compelling image and he breathed it in deeply. He knew now what his next painting would be.
But standing in the darkness, picturing the kill was not as satisfying as the act itself.
The door to the balcony posed no challenge. The lock was primitive and easily defeated. He opened the door softly. A chill breeze disturbed his hood. He’d need to make the entry quickly or else risk alerting someone.
He entered the room. The bedroom, just as he’d expected. He’d studied a lot of buildings during his time in the city. Drawn many of them. He knew the typical layouts well.
His target was on the bed. Out cold as he’d expected. He paused, taking in his surroundings. There was a distinctive smell in the air.
This man’s vice. Narcotics.
Poisoning his body with evil. Ruining what nature had given him just the same as the others had. But in some ways this one was worse.
The man had felt like it had helped him.
He hadn’t recognised that it was a vice.
In some ways, that put him one step ahead of the others.
Fuelled by the narcotics, the man painted. Wild crazy paintings. Paintings that resembled nothing at all. Or maybe they did. He couldn’t tell.
It wasn’t jealousy though. There was no merit in this art, despite how popular this man’s work seemed to have become. How much money his work sold for. Money that had been parlayed into living in this area of town. This nice house. But it wasn’t jealousy. The man might as well
have been possessed by a demon. That was nothing to be admired. Instead to be despised.
Which is why he had this coming.
He approached the bed. The comatose artist didn’t stir. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t interested in the pain or screams of his victims. Just the kill. They needed to be extinguished. The cutting was to mark them for their crimes.
That he enjoyed it frightened him. But it felt … right. These were people to be hated. They deserved to die.
He drew out his knife and went to work. It didn't take long. The artist didn't even move, too far gone with whatever it was that he’d taken. And then it was too late.
He stood back, satisfied. Sated. Better. This wasn’t the same as the last one. Not the same at all. It took him a moment to work out why.
He looked at the body and smiled in realisation.
It wouldn’t do for the kill to go unnoticed for too long. To his surprise, the thrill of being chased had added that extra something that he’d been missing.
It was good again.
*****
Vika sat alone at the desk in her office, elbows on the surface, fingers intertwined and chin resting on them, deep in thought. This was a delicate situation and she needed to move carefully.
It hadn’t been difficult to put the information on the Governor’s aide into the right hands. Her own hands would do after all. But, how to handle it? She had already dismissed the idea of blackmail. As the Thieftaker she had little to gain from that and the potential of everything to lose if the man went to the Governor. She could do it in her position as Hood, certainly, but as she had already discussed with Darek, there was a greater opportunity here.
The arrest would be a huge embarrassment to the Governor. One she was already enjoying a little before the event. But it was obvious that she couldn’t be seen to be trying to embarrass him. Not directly. And tempted as she was to have the aide snatched from the Governor’s residence in public and broad daylight, it would send a message. A very big message. There was no way that he would not see her hand in it.
It would mean war.
And maybe one that he might win. She still wasn’t quite sure what the extent of his power was yet. The man was careful, politically astute and had many allies in various sections of society.
She hadn’t quite finished consolidating her hold on the lower levels of the city yet either. It was too early.
But she also couldn’t sit on information like this. If the Governor found out, and he might, he could make the problem go away himself, and quietly.
Oh, she could march up to his residence at the head of a squad of loyal men and women in full regalia. In daylight, and in full view of the inevitable crowd that would follow them. Demand entry. Grab the man and clap him in irons. Spit right in the Governor’s face. Fight the war. Have it out and see what happened.
She ground her teeth in frustration. The image of her marching up to the Governor, badge in hand, dragging off one of his friends as he stood powerless to intervene was so compelling she could almost taste it.
But that is not what would happen, however much she wanted it. He would order her to stand down. And understanding the politics of the city as it was, she would have to.
Oh it would hurt him. And his embarrassment would be delicious. She could let slip to the right people about what had happened. But that too would unavoidably come back on her. So in the end, few would see it. Word would not get out. And that, after all, was the important part.
But … if it wasn’t her directly? What if she sent someone that didn’t understand politics the way she did? Someone who wouldn’t just bow to the Governor’s instructions to sweep it under the carpet and would instead suggest that he take it up with her in person. By which time it would be too late to stop.
She could turn this over to one of the watch captains. Let them deal with it. But one of them clearly wasn’t a team player. One was clearly out for him or herself. Going direct to the Governor and informing. If only she knew who, damn it. Pick the wrong one and this would all just go away quietly. The opportunity would be lost. And worse still, the Governor would know what she had tried to do. It would result in all the negative results of trying the arrest with none of the positives of his embarrassment.
Besides, the captains probably also understood the politics of the situation. To an extent, at least. Fear of her only went so far. It was doubtful any of them would defy the Governor directly to his face, whatever her orders.
There were other options though.
She could have the man grabbed quietly on the street and send a messenger to the Governor to explain what had happened. Perhaps even go in person. Express her regret but point out that no one was above the law, no matter who they worked for. Try to look sympathetic. Though she wasn’t sure if she had the sort of game face a ruse would require. And there was another problem with that idea. It didn’t have quite the same fuck-you as taking the man from the Governor’s residence itself. And the fuck-you was the important part.
Oh it would be helpful to get a man on the inside, as she had said to Darek. A good, maybe even great opportunity. Her spur of the moment suggestion had a lot of merit. There was a lot that could be done with that sort of access. But after recent events she needed to get one over on the presumptuous arsehole. The Governor had too much go his way in their recent dealings. The man-on-the-inside idea was mainly a cover for her glee at the opportunity to stick one on him.
It was petty. Beneath her, certainly. She had spent a long time manoeuvring carefully to get where she had. But she was human. She had feelings. And the bastard trampled over them with a smile on his face. Inadvertently or deliberately, it didn’t matter. She wanted to get one back in the win column. The possible man on the inside was just a bonus. For now.
So it had to be the residence. And it couldn’t be her or one of her captains.
She had a number of people on the watch that she did trust fully. People who had proven themselves loyal rather than just scared of her. Not the usual suckups either. People that understood that sometimes things needed to be done differently, for the good of the city. It wouldn’t be difficult to assemble the sort of snatch squad she needed without giving the game away to any spies the Governor might have.
And she’d need to order them to be discrete. Polite. It would be easy to write up an official sort of message for the aide which they needed him to see. Draw him outside of the Governor’s presence so that he couldn’t get in the way.
And after they had got the man away and clear, one of the men could stay behind and approach the Governor directly. Explain why the man had been taken. Show him the arrest warrant. A warrant with her signature at the bottom.
He would certainly come to her then, fast and angry. It wouldn’t be a summons this time. She knew him well enough for that. And she would explain calmly to him that she had tried to be discreet. Quiet, so as not to embarrass him. The fact that she had not come publicly at the head of a snatch squad would demonstrate that beyond the point of argument.
She would get to see his face then. His anger and defeat. It would be too late for him to overrule her. With the man in custody in a location she would not disclose to him, too many people would know about it if he ordered his aide’s release. And that would look bad. So he would have to remain quiet on the subject. Furious but powerless, he’d have to quickly distance himself from the man. Maybe that would even upset the rest of his staff, thinking that they too might be thrown to the wolves. Perhaps.
And then, if someone had happened to see the Governor at her residence, overhear what had happened? Well that would just be unfortunate. And entirely out of her control.
It was decided. She straightened up and drew out what were now the main tools of her job.
She wrote the arrest warrant carefully, folding it and applying her seal. She made sure there was no way it could be opened without discovery. She needed to be careful so as not to give anyone clues ahead of time. The orders that accompanied it w
ere extensive but coded. On the face of it they looked very much like instructions ahead of an inspection. But her people would read between the lines and know what to do.
She called in the new aide. He seemed to have settled down. He was a lot more deferential now, which was appropriate.
“Yes, Lady Vika,” he said, eyes lowered.
“I have some orders here for watchhouse three and Sergeant Enlik. Make sure he receives them.”
“As you say Lady Vika.” He left quickly, head bowed. Yes. Definitely much better. She sat back and smiled as her plan went into operation.
Politics was fun.
*****
Kellan had rented a room in a part of the city that was perfect for getting lost in.
There was a problem, however, and that was how those parts of the city are often equally filled with people who’d like to make your items go missing too. If what he’d been discussing was true, he’d need to find a better standard of accommodation, and soon.
That depended on the message, and that depended on the bird, and that should be any moment now.
Kellan had his window open, and he was sitting next to it. So much of his job involved patience that he wasn’t getting angsty, wasn’t tapping his fingers on the sill. He was just sat, waiting, pondering contingencies.
If the worst came to the worst they’d have to look into a bank. A special kind of bank: one you couldn’t entirely trust with your money.
Then he saw movement, and a raven landed with a light thump on the sill. The black bird looked at him as if to say, “Well where is my food?”, and Kellan took it inside, closed the window, and soon had the bird pecking away at seeds.
That enabled him to open the message holder tied to the legs, and pull out a missive.
He read it, read it again, and placed it on the pile with the others.
*
Hello Karina.
I have arrived in the city, and my three charges are now installed in rooms. I have to say, they don’t appear to take anything seriously. Quite how they managed to kill a mage I’m not sure, I can only assume they made it kill itself through frustration. Still, they seem to be capable of handling the problem, so we shall see. I will ensure that Zedek is made an ‘expert’ in short order.
Knives of Bastion (An Empire Falls Book 2) Page 29
