Knives of Bastion (An Empire Falls Book 2)

by Harry Leighton

  He was getting off track here. Trimas was an expert in art, and in his opinion it was entirely possible that the art could be elvish. Apparently ‘stylistically it ill-matched the current imperial idiom’, whatever that really meant. He’d tried examining it himself, looking for something familiar. Or perhaps alien. He’d been among the humans for some time. This was his home and these were his people now, however welcome or unwelcome he was.

  The artwork was troubling though, and it bothered him on some level. As Elena had pointed out, it had been a weird combination. There were a number of building sketches and a couple of portraits. So far, so normal. Then there was … the other stuff. Oddly to him, that hadn’t particularly troubled Trimas. Apparently artists were passionate people and often explored dark subject matter. It was rarely an indicator of something else going on. But to him it was unsettling.

  Murderers were very rare amongst his people full stop. In each instance he could think of, there had been some specific motivation for the action, however wrong it was. There were also probably those that were unhinged, but ‘the unwell’ as they were referred to tended to be weeded out before they caused too much harm by the societal police. A serial killer was completely unheard of as far as he knew.

  An elf who was so creative also specialising in death? An artist who murdered people?

  Take it separately.

  First, could the art be elvish? There was enough about it that suggested the possibility in the opinion of their expert. So, yes, the art could be elvish.

  Second, was the killer an elf. As far as they knew, yes. Based on the evidence they had, it seemed likely.

  Third, could there be other elves in the city? Other than himself and the killer. It seemed unlikely. Before the evidence on the Nightwalker, he’d have said it was fantastically unlikely there were any but him in the city. But it looked like he’d been wrong then, could he be wrong now? It was still improbable. Whilst his people clearly had been in human lands, willingly or unwillingly, this was the first living member of his people he’d come across direct evidence for. And he’d been looking. Oh how he’d been looking. The chances that there was a third elf in the city, one who was happily living in plain sight as an unusual artist?

  “Zedek?” Trimas said.

  Zedek looked up. “Tell me about serial killers,” he said.

  *****

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “We walk in, we punch him in the face, and we take his money.”

  “Er…”

  “And if he doesn’t give us his money, we smash the place up. Probably lots of expensive shit in a mapmaker’s.”

  There were four people stood in a huddle, three men and a woman, and she was the one who’d decided to bring a chair leg for extra impact. All four were dressed shabbily, and decided they were going to do something about that.

  “Look, I’m not saying I want to pussy out of this, but are we sure, absolutely sure, that with Hood gone we can start a protection racket of our own and not get shat on by someone?”

  “Yes. Of course, yes. Hood’s gone, he’s fucking dead, and everyone who worked with him is fighting. We start now and by the time they’re finished killing each other we’ll have a few streets to ourselves.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Also you’re pussying out.”

  “I object to that,” and a chairleg was raised.

  “Alright, he’s fucking chickening out. Chickens must be cowards, right. Who got killed by a chicken?”

  “Acceptable,” and the chairleg fell.

  “Sometimes I think you lot forget what a group of thugs is supposed to be like.”

  “So why the map maker?”

  “Good God man, why the questions?”

  “If I’m going to risk both a hanging from the state and a killing from the underworld I want it right in my head.”

  “Alright, he makes maps. Maps are rare and cost money. He has money. Which he’ll pay to us? Do I need to get some chalk and write that on the fucking walls?”

  “No. Alright, I’m in.”

  The third man opened his mouth to speak.

  “Don’t you say a fucking word. Right, follow me,” and they turned as one and marched to the door, kicked it open and walked in.

  A man who carefully made glasses had them fall off his nose in the shock of the door flying open, and his stomach fell a moment later when he saw the people who’d come in and filled his shop with sweaty flesh and the largest air of menace he’d ever seen. He couldn’t take his eyes off the chairleg.

  Was that a food stain or bl… Don’t think of that.

  “Alright, we’re here to protect you.”

  What did you even say to that?

  The thugs’ leader tried again. “We’re here to protect you.”

  “From who…” came a whisper.

  “The underworld is in a civil war. So you need protection from people who’ll come here and take your money.”

  “Very … kind.”

  “Naturally we’ll want some of your money to protect you.”

  “Oh.”

  “We was thinking,” and he looked round the shop, “a silver a week.”

  The mapmaker seemed to choke on the air. “What?”

  “A silver a week.”

  “That’s extortion!”

  “Nah.”

  “I think that’s what this is,” said the lady.

  “Will you leave this to me. Right, you think that’s expensive do you?”

  “Yes…”

  “Oh, right,” and he walked over to a map and picked it off the wall where it was displayed for customers. “This, this take long to make?”

  “A lot of charts to consult.”

  “So you copied it. Copying take long?”

  “Hours.”

  “I see.”

  The thug pulled his knife from his belt and cut the map in half.

  “Right. Hours, lost. This civil war, lots of bad people floating about, your old protection is gone. We’re here now. So you pay us, and we keep the place safe.”

  “Or else we’ll rip it all up and shit all over the walls.”

  “Didn’t I tell you do shut up while I talk?”

  “He’ll shit everywhere.”

  “You can shut up as well.”

  “Please, please, no shitting, I’ll pay.”

  “A wise business decision, I assure you.”

  “I’ll need time.”

  “How long would it take to burn every map in this shop? I guess we could give you that long before we get bored and leave.”

  “Half a silver.”

  “Don’t haggle with us.”

  “A silver every two weeks.”

  “Getting better.”

  “Er, boss, that’s the sa…”

  “Shut the fuck up, you and your shitting obsession.”

  “A silver every two weeks then?”

  “A good offer, but no one negotiates with us. We pick our terms. You know what they are.”

  “Then…”

  “For a mapmaker you’re not very clever.”

  “Alright, alright, I will pay.”

  “Good, hand it over and we’ll see you soon.”

  “I’ll need to see a bank.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “You can come with me?”

  “That’ll work.”

  *****

  “...and that’s effectively how I handed in my resignation from the army,” Daeholf finished.

  Elena, sat on the end of the bed, studied him. “Whilst I agree with the sentiment, that was quite a dramatic way to do it,” she said after a moment.

  “You don’t believe the story?” Daeholf said, looking faintly hurt.

  “I believe it. I just think, well, didn’t you have other options?”

  Daeholf frowned at her.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I said I agreed with your motivation. But really, after what ensued and having had plenty of time to think about it now, would you g
o back and do things the same way again?”

  “A statement needed to be made,” Daeholf said quietly. “They couldn’t be allowed to get away with it.”

  “Of course they couldn’t,” Elena

  “Some good came of what I did. They can’t do it again now. It can’t happen again. It won’t happen again. And I met my friends whilst escaping too, so on a personal level anyway it worked out, I suppose.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it,” Elena said. “Ah, you’re right. And it’s not like I’ve not done things some people might disagree with too so I’m hardly in a fair place to comment.”

  “Well that makes it better,” Daeholf said.

  “So now I know everything,” Elena said.

  “Just about,” Daeholf said, nodding.

  “Just about? What have you left out now?” Elena said, eyebrow raised.

  “How interested are you in fishing stories?” Daeholf said, trying to suppress a grin.

  “Not very if I’m honest,” Elena said, smiling back.

  “Then I think we’re good.”

  “Maybe. I do have a question.Your name.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s a bit unusual.”

  Daeholf laughed

  “And that’s amusing how?” Elena said.

  “Funny story. Only in Bastion would it sound unusual this far north.”

  “Funny story eh? I doubt that. But do tell.”

  Daeholf sighed. “Bastion’s not full of proper northerners you know.”

  “Not proper northerners? Careful now.”

  “Most of the citizens have either migrated here over time as the city became prosperous or are like second or third generation.”

  “Okay then, proper northerner, what’s with your name?”

  “It’s a family thing in my case. Daeholf son of Arnolf, son of Randolf, at your service.”

  “Ah. All with the olfs. Why olf?”

  “It was originally more sort of oolf sounding I think. As in wolf.”

  “So you’re really Daehoolf?”

  Daeholf laughed. “No, that derivation was a long time ago. Just Daeholf. The Dae bit comes from my mother’s side, though secretly I think she might just have had a crush on an imperial general.”

  “What girl doesn’t?” Elena laughed. “Which general?”

  “Dahan.”

  “Do you think you could secretly be his son then?”

  “You’re not familiar with him then are you?”

  “No, why?”

  “He died about five years before I was born. I’m pretty sure that’d be a bit long to be pregnant.”

  “Smart arse.”

  “Guilty as charged. Anyway, tell me about you.”

  “What about me? And when did it become my turn?”

  “After I finished my story and explained my name.”

  “I suppose that’s fair. What about me then? You already know the most important things about me.”

  “Maybe. So it’s just you and your brother then?”

  “Since our parents died, yes. But you already knew that.”

  “Not quite what I meant. Can I expect a visit from a jealous neglected man for stealing your attention?”

  “Ah. I see.” She rolled her eyes. “With my present popularity in the city and all the shit that’s going on at the moment, what do you think?”

  “No one? Really? I’d have thought you’d have been fighting them off with a stick.”

  “Watch issue truncheon normally. Though that’s usually because they’ve done something naughty and don’t want to be arrested.”

  “Naughty?”

  “Illegal then if you prefer.”

  “That conjured something of an image for a moment.”

  “My life is basically work or home,” Elena said, ignoring the comment. “Mostly work, sad as that is. Satisfied?”

  “Closer.”

  “Speaking of home then, where’s yours?”

  “Here at the moment.”

  “And not-at-the-moment?”

  “The back of a horse if I can afford one, or a worn pair of leather boots facing the open road if I can’t.”

  “Perhaps you should have been a poet,” Elena said, rolling her eyes.

  “I have a flair for drama,” Daeholf said modestly.

  “As your stories can attest.”

  “I do my best.”

  “So that’s it then? Once the job is done, move on?”

  “I don’t know. We’re on the run as I said before. We were hoping this was far enough away to hide for a bit. Maybe it is. And this city has its attractions. There’s certainly plenty of excitement to keep us entertained anyway.”

  “Entertained eh?”

  “Rooftop chases, underworld intrigue, nighttime robberies, elven killers.”

  “You find this sort of thing entertaining do you?”

  “It’s not boring, certainly.”

  “I’ll give you that.”

  “I’ve been missing out though. In some ways. In others … not.” He smiled at her.

  “You’ll be out falling off roofs again before you know it,” Elena said, once again ignoring him.

  “I’ve done it once, that was enough,” Daeholf said, wincing at the thought.

  “How well are you mending at the moment?” Elena said, a hint of concern.

  “Mending well. I’m fairly mobile now actually. And you’ve really helped me with that.”

  “Happy to be of aid.”

  “Let me show you,” Daeholf said, getting off the bed and standing up.

  “No wobbling,” Elena said, nodding. Daeholf did a couple of gentle stretches to demonstrate. “You’re still moving your left arm carefully,” Elena noted.

  “Still mending from the dislocation and the stitches in my chest are making it tight.”

  “That was quite an injury you had. I’m glad it’s healing.”

  “Oh, you can try but you can’t keep me down for long.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yep. You can try if you like.”

  Elena laughed. “Wouldn’t be fair. You’re still hurt.”

  “Not so much now.”

  “Really?”

  “I can take off my shirt and show you if you’d like.”

  Elena looked him in the eyes, coming to a decision. She nodded slightly to herself. “That’s enough flirting for now,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Massage and innuendo. It’s time to put up or shut up.”

  “That’s a very crude way of describing my options,” Daeholf said, grinning.

  “Then let me put it even plainer. Take off your trousers.”

  “What?” Daeholf said, giving her a surprised look.

  “Take off your trousers. What? Is it only the man that can ask? You’ve been messing around for days.”

  “You're right. I'm just surprised. I'm now half wondering if I am asleep and this is a dream.”

  “You not used to direct women? I thought you were in the army?”

  “I was.”

  “So what's the matter then? Are you shy?”

  “Wow. Okay.” Wondering if she was just playing with him, he gave her a sly look. “Are you going to give me a hand?”

  “Nope, I’m busy,” she said, picking up the chair and carrying it to the door, wedging it under the handle.

  “Should I be worried?” Daeholf said, watching, hand on the drawstring of his trousers.

  Elena turned to face him, hands on hips. “This isn’t your first time is it?”

  “No, but barring the door like that is new,” Daeholf said.

  “I don’t like your friends enough for them to join in.”

  “Um, right. Of course.”

  “Trousers,” Elena said, pointing. “And shirt too of course.”

  “Just me?” Daeholf said.

  “No,” Elena said, calmly disrobing.

  “You’re in great shape,” Daeholf said admiringly.

  “For so
meone my age? Is this your way of telling me I’m old?”

  Daeholf looked down. “Does this answer your question?”

  “I see not all of you got broken then.”

  “As I said, I’m surprisingly robust.”

  “That’s good. You’d better lay down though, it’ll help you conserve your strength. You’re going to need it.”

  “Oh, God,” Daeholf said, laying on the bed.

  “That part comes later,” Elena said.

  *****

  Trimas was looking in through the window of a shop, pondering the rows of glass jars. There was something almost beautiful about them. That dream was shattered a moment later.

  “At the risk of sounding coarse, pissing in a back alley in this temperature is tricky.”

  Trimas turned to look at Zedek and replied, “Well if you had a bigger bladder like me that wouldn’t be an issue. You lot were designed wrong.”

  “Very funny. So why are you looking in the shop instead of eating?”

  “Oh, no reason. Just, er, browsing.”

  Zedek just raised an eyebrow and gave a look, prompting Trimas to sigh.

  “Alright, I thought Elena joking about us eating all the time meant I was eating all the time.”

  “Ah, you felt scolded.”

  “Maybe.”

  “How big are you? And you’re worried about being mocked by anyone?”

  “She’s probably got a small point. Besides, she’s so organised and has that weird authority some people have and getting told off by her is particularly galling.”

  “Imagine what Daeholf has to go through working with her.”

  “God, the poor bastard must be sick of it by now.”

  “So are we going to go in the shop?”

  “No.” Trimas paused. “Yes, alright, but we’re not telling the sergeant.”