by Brian Keller
He slowed a little as he approached the alley where Rukle and Spen were positioned. Dailen was covering the street to the south, watching from the rooftops; Birt was to the north. Cooper paused for a breath before turning and entering the alley, then sprinted halfway down before turning and drawing his blades.
He waited for less than four breaths before the first of his pursuers stepped into view. He was almost immediately joined by another. They quickly crept forward as if they hadn’t yet seen him. Cooper took a step forward and slightly to the left, opting to give himself more space to his right. This movement brought the men to a halt and Cooper heard the resonant ‘thrum’ of two bowstrings, one right after the other, and the resultant hiss of arrows as they whizzed past him. He was close enough to hear the arrows hit and the groan that followed. One of the Assassins fell to the ground. The other quickly retrieved him and dragged him backward, whether he was attempting to escape with him to try and save him, or simply using him as a shield was unimportant to Cooper, who sheathed his blades and waved Rukle forward without taking his own eyes off the alleyway. Rukle quickly stepped forward and looped a quiver over Cooper’s outstretched arm and placed his bow in that hand. Cooper shrugged the quiver over his shoulder without taking the time to secure it, transferred the bow to his left hand and crept down the alley the same way he’d come. He muttered, “And now, we hunt.” The three of them stepped out of the alley and turned south, in the direction the man had taken when he exited the alley and they soon met Dailen, standing on the same street with an arrow nocked. Dailen reported, “I hit one of them. In the arm, I think. I heard him curse, back against the building and break the arrow shaft. He left my alley and joined another that was half carrying another man. They continued south, pretty quickly too.” Spen turned to Cooper, “What now?” Cooper considered. His training told him to pursue and continue until the threat was neutralized, but instinct told him that the nature of the threat had changed. His jaw tightened, “South then. But we don’t kill them unless we have to. I want to see where they go.” Rukle looked confused, “Huh?” Cooper almost replied ‘to see if they lead us to the University’ but instead, he explained, “They might lead us to whoever hired them.”
By the time they’d caught up to them, the three Assassins had already crossed the Whitefoam. There was no sign of the fourth. Rukle observed, “They dumped him.” Rukle turned to Spen, “Why’d you shoot the same guy I did. We’d already agreed that I’d shoot the one on the right.” Spen shrugged, “He was the only one I had a clear shot at. Cooper shifted left and blocked my view of the other one.” Cooper hadn’t taken his eyes off the three men on the other side of the river. He replied, “Sorry about that.” The flatness of his voice indicated a complete lack of apology. As soon as the men were out of sight, they crossed the river. The guard made it apparent that he took no interest in them but he watched them intently once they’d passed him.
Spen was the first to catch sight of the three men, pointing south into the Trade Quarter. They followed them for a few blocks, then the men entered a stable. Several minutes passed and Cooper was preparing to direct the others to find locations to surround the place when the large doors opened and the three men emerged on saddled horses. They trotted west without even looking left or right and quickly disappeared from view. Spen leaned in and repeated his earlier question, “What now?” Cooper shook his head, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on trying to keep up with a horse. I’m going to bed.” He turned north with the thought, “If they were going to the University, they wouldn’t have gotten horses. Where, then?”
Birt approached, walked beside him, and observed, “I wouldn’t bother getting a horse unless I were leaving the city.” Cooper confirmed, “I was just thinking the same thing. But what does that really tell us? We already knew that they weren’t local.” Rukle and Dailen grumbled their assent and Spen wondered out loud, “So should we assume they left town? To do what? Report to their employers? To request reinforcements?” Rukle replied, “Only one thing we can assume. If they’ve left town, we shouldn’t see them again for about three weeks.” Cooper reasoned through Rukle’s claim and nodded, “That’s probably correct.” They were approaching the Whitefoam and Cooper took a moment now to secure his quiver. Dailen and Birt exchanged glances. Birt shrugged and Dailen asked, “Three weeks? How do we know that?” Rukle answered first, “Kalistos is the closest city where an Assassin could be hired. It takes about ten days to get there…” Dailen answered, “Ah. I see.” Birt commented, “You’re ignoring the possibility that an employer might be staying at an inn somewhere in between, waiting for a report.” Cooper shook his head, “Possible, but highly unlikely. They’d have no idea how long they might be waiting. It’s been how long? A month, maybe longer since we first saw them? That’d be a long time to simply wait at an inn.” Spen asked, “Does Temidan even have a Guild?” No one answered him for several seconds before Cooper replied, “Mister Ysel or Miss Camilla might know, or we can ask Loryn and Balat when they get back. Maybe they’ll have learned about that while delivering, or at least attempting to deliver, their message.” Rukle asked, “When do we expect them back?” Cooper was grateful to be crossing the Whitefoam. It gave him time to think about the answer. It was something he should know right off-hand and was a little ashamed that he needed time to calculate the days before he could answer. As before, the man of the Watch ignored them as they passed him on the bridge. Once across, Cooper replied, “The soonest I expect them back would be within the next thirty days, but if everything worked out perfectly they could be back in about three weeks.” They remained silent until they reached the Ruins. Rukle and Dailen stopped at the kitchen to see if there was any food that remained from dinner. Cooper made no such detours and fairly fell into bed, stopping only long enough to unstrap his quiver and unclasp his belt and let it fall to the floor. He was asleep before Rukle and Dailen entered the room.
The following morning, the question weighed heavily enough on his mind that he sought out Mister Ysel almost immediately. Before Cooper could open his mouth to speak, Mister Ysel held out a piece of polished ivory for his inspection with the warning, “Careful. Don’t drop it.” Cooper immediately realized he was holding a stamp that would produce a seal every bit as genuine in appearance as the original. Ivory have been a good choice. Soapstone might have been easier to carve but ivory would hold the details and clean lines better, and for a much longer duration considering the temperature of the wax it would be pressing into. Cooper smiled as he returned it, “Excellent. How long did it take you to make?” Mister Ysel’s grin faded, “Two full days…of doing nothing else. It’ll take a week before I’ll gain full use of my fingers again. I still bear the impressions of the carving tools on my fingers.” He held out his hands with fingers spread. A few of his fingers still bore angry red marks and dents from the tool shafts and handles. Cooper sat beside the man, “Yes. The sacrifices we must make for our craft. A wondrous thing, isn’t it?” Mister Ysel withdrew his hand and cradled it with the other. His face bore an almost pouting expression, “I never took you to be a sadist.” Cooper chuckled and Mister Ysel’s face took on its usual cheerful expression, “You saw right through my charade, didn’t you?” Cooper nodded, “It was good, though. Believable, except for the fact that I know you too well. Pouting? That stretched my willingness to believe too far. If I were a stranger, I’d have been fooled completely.” The man smiled, “Well, thanks for that. That’s something, at least. Now tell me what has prompted you to come looking for me before breakfast. It can’t be so that you could inspect my handiwork?” Cooper replied, coming right to the point, “Does Temidan have a Guild?” Mister Ysel continued to quip, winking, “Yes. Why? Are you thinking of relocating, again?” Cooper shook his head, “No. What can you tell me about them? Are they like us?” Mister Ysel became thoughtful for several seconds, “Their training would be similar to ours, but “like us”? No. No Guild is like ours. Temidan’s Guild has an even less co
ngenial relationship with their government. Their Guild is located almost a day’s ride outside the city, or so I’ve been told. The location is a closely guarded secret and they receive their contracts through message drop offs and private meetings. It’s a safe way to operate but it takes days or even weeks from the time the client leaves a message until the Guild meets with them to either accept or refuse the contract. Many clients aren’t willing to wait that long. Freelancers do a thriving business in Temidan.” Cooper considered all this new information before asking, “And the Temidan Guild’s reputation?” Mister Ysel replied quickly, but not immediately, “Not spotless, but neither is ours, especially considering the fact that we were raided and driven from our own home. Temidan has the reputation that a contract, once taken, will be fulfilled. Is there a specific reason for these questions? Are you worried about sending Loryn and Balat to Temidan?” Cooper shook his head, “No. I’m worried about where the team that’s been hunting me, well, us came from. We confronted them last night. We killed one of them and wounded another. They left on horses. The questions that remain are the reasons for my concern.” Mister Ysel understood immediately, “Yes, I see. What brought them here in the first place, and where have they gone? And for what reason have they gone? Are you sure they were from a Guild?” Cooper sighed, “I’d say I was certain of it, but I can’t truly say that. They look like us, move like us… but they departed. I can’t say what I’d have done if I’d lost one of a team of four, but I don’t think I would’ve left. I’d have stayed and worked out how to fulfill my contract.” Mister Ysel offered no reply.
After breakfast, one of the men rescued from the quarry approached him, “’Scuse me, lad. I hear somma your people talkin’ about offerin’ spaces to open new businesses. I usta run a team’a porters over on the Waterfront. It seems ta me that wit’ alla the work goin’ on here, makin’ it nice fer new merchants an’ all, a shippin’ business might find more work’n it could handle. Eh?” Rather than inquire further, as to whether the man had the means or if it was simply an idea, Cooper pointed at Birt, “Talk to him about your plans. Maybe we can work something out.” The man followed Cooper’s instructions and approached Birt, spoke a few words and pointed back at him. Birt followed the gesture and gave Cooper a questioning look. Cooper simply gave Birt and exaggerated shrug and a look, as if to say, ‘Hear him out. See what he has to say.” Birt didn’t seem pleased but he gave the porter his full attention.
Cooper returned to the Waterfront. It had almost become part of a routine, except this morning it felt a little like returning to the scene of a crime. He tried to think of it as any Waterfront citizen would, he was here every day because this is where he lived. Where else would he be? He began walking along the boardwalk, keeping one hand on his pouch and stopping at all the vendor carts. He hadn’t walked more than the span of six buildings before he’d spotted a small group selling Apex. They’d chosen their location carefully. Tucked in away from the street. Close enough to step out and blend with the crowd, but far enough that they could quickly retreat further into the Waterfront neighborhood and disappear.
Cooper wondered if he could be convincing enough to mobilize a few Watch patrols to surround these men from Lukasi. He looked for the nearest patrol. He didn’t need to look far. Just a week ago, it might take several minutes to find a soldier of the Watch. Lately it seemed as if there was a Watchman for every ten citizens. Cooper wondered whether they had enough men to patrol the other neighborhoods. It almost seemed like every man on the city’s payroll had converged on the Waterfront.
As he drew closer, an odd thing happened. One of the guards picked him out of the crowd. The phenomenon of ‘recognition’ is an unmistakable event. The man of the Watch nudged the soldier next to him and, getting his attention, thrust his chin in Cooper’s direction. The second man followed the gesture. ‘Recognition’ again. The second man nudged the third and they all turned to move in his direction. Cooper had seen more than enough. He was already moving away and shifting through the crowd. He heard a loud, commanding voice from behind him, “You there! Halt!” Cooper almost grinned. He wondered if anyone ever actually halted when hearing those words. He turned sprinted a few steps and heard another voice from behind him, “Hey! Someone from the Palace wants to talk to you!” Not stopping, he turned and sped straight through the small group of drug peddlers and was past them before they had a chance to draw their short, curved blades. He almost laughed at the thought of the confrontation that was about to happen if the soldiers continued to pursue him. He hoped they would. After passing a dozen buildings he slowed and glanced behind him, listening for any sounds of steel on steel. He heard only the sounds of the city.
One thing that was certain, whoever was looking for him could describe him well enough that the Watch knew him by sight. Unless they’d mistaken him for someone else…? He shook his head. That would be a foolish assumption. As he considered the facts, he realized that he’d expected the Spymaster to attempt to seek him out, as his new, reliable informant. He certainly hadn’t expected the entire City Watch to be involved in the recruitment attempt, but that was a possibility he couldn’t ignore. This was a development he hadn’t anticipated. The sheer numbers of City Watchmen in the Waterfront district would make killing the Spymaster a much riskier venture. The Watch were likely to remain until Apex was no longer a problem. Perhaps simply arranging the meeting for somewhere in Batter’s Field would solve that problem. He thought, “After killing the Spymaster, perhaps even days after, crossing the Whitefoam will be about as foolish as posting copies of a full confession on the neighborhood notice boards” so meeting anywhere south of the river was not an option… unless he made arrangements for transportation across the bay. He discarded that notion almost immediately. He’d involved the Wharf City community too often already. Involving them immediately after the murder of the Spymaster? That’d be bad business.
“It’s time to move the plan forward, but I need to control where and how the meeting takes place. Aporigh needs to believe I’m just a poor, scared Waterfront kid. Willing to consider employment, but afraid of being taken to the Palace.” He needed to figure out how to set up the meeting without getting captured or revealing too much about himself. He thought, “I’ll have to be close enough for conversation, but still remain out of reach…” In the meantime, there was always work to be done in the Ruins. In truth, the rebuilding efforts should be his priority but he simply felt that someone still needed to be held accountable for the fact that the Guild was now, both figuratively and literally, in Ruins. Besides, killing Aporigh was now integrated into the overall plan. In death, the Spymaster would become a courier of sorts, precipitating further events. The irony brought a thin smile to Cooper’s lips, but it was far too soon to feel confident. The most dangerous parts were still to come.
*****
Chapter 18
The man she was seeing now was more consistent with how she knew the Spymaster. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been excited and almost cheerful. Now, he was standing, hands on hips, berating a sergeant of the City Watch. He wasn’t quite shouting at the man, but she only knew that because she’d witnessed what his shouting sounded like.
Yoren saw her enter the room and he lowered his voice, “Very well. Return to your post. If the boy approaches you again, allow him to start the conversation. Then try and convince him to accompany you. Tell him there’s coin in it for him, tell him there’s an offer of employment, whatever you need to say to get him to come along willingly. The whole point is to bring him in, not scare him off.” He waited a moment in case the sergeant had further questions. The City Watch sergeant remained silent and Yoren waved him away, “Dismissed.”
As the soldier walked away, the Spymaster turned to Iona, “I assume you need almost no explanation. The boy approached one of the patrols and they scared him off. Apparently the boy thought they were going to try and arrest him.” Iona smiled, “To be fair, the intent is to capture him.” It appeared
that Yoren was trying to decide whether she was making fun of him. He decided she was simply trying to lighten his mood, “True, but that information was not made available to the men of the Watch, though it’s likely that they have limited experience with anything other than enforcing laws and detaining criminals. They probably aren’t the best people for this task.” Iona shrugged, “You could assign it to your Secret Police…?” Yoren shook his head, “Even though this is important, to both of us, I don’t want to risk compromising them.” Iona wasn’t convinced dressing senior soldiers of the City Watch in different clothing actually constituted a “Secret Police” but that was the Spymaster’s concern, not hers.
Iona had given up asking the Spymaster to arrange an escort for her so she could walk through the city and try to sense the Gifted boy. Of course, she’d originally asked to simply go alone but his refusal to that idea was so firm and absolute that she never asked again. Instead, she then asked him who she might enlist to escort her. He flatly refused that plan as well, informing her that the detail assigned to guard her would be soldiers of his own choosing. She’d been asking daily, sometimes more frequently, for him to assemble her escort. He ignored her with equal persistence. Recently, he applied a certain amount of logic to his refusals, stating, “If the boy should recognize you, it could endanger our efforts to trap him.” She’d considered mentioning that she’d be less recognizable if she were alone but she already knew that the reason for the escort was as much to keep her from escaping his employ as it was for her protection. The thought reminded her of Felis’ earlier analogy; describing her environs as a “gilded cage”. She told herself, “It won’t always be this way.” She just didn’t know how long she’d have to wait for things to change.
