Zane Halloway: Omnibus Edition

by P. T. Hylton

  The fact that Graze had made it to Zane’s study spoke to both his status and his resolve.

  Hiring an assassin in Barnes was no easy task. The Ferox Society—the society to which Zane belonged—existed to find things. If you had a family heirloom stolen, or wanted to find a child who’d run away, or some coin that had been removed from your home in the night, the Ferox Society would provide someone to find it.

  But there was another service the Society provided, a service that was much whispered about but rarely confirmed. If you wanted someone killed, and you had enough coin and a good enough family name, the Ferox Society may be able to assist. Zane was one of four ferox assassins.

  Zane knew the hoops this man had jumped through to get to this point. The Society referred potential clients Zane’s way; it was up to him whether or not to accept their offered jobs.

  “You understand my price, Mr Graze?” Zane asked.

  Graze nodded and lifted a small bag. The coins inside clinked as he handed them to Zane. “I’m told you’ll do the job for twenty-five thrones.”

  Zane shook his head slightly. “Actually, that’s incorrect. I’ll consider the job for twenty-five thrones.”

  He opened the bag and took out a coin. The currency was commonly called thrones due to the image etched into its surface. An empty throne. King Victor had instituted the currency two-hundred years ago to avoid the practice of each new monarch minting a new set of coins bearing his or her own image. It was a costly and pointless practice, in King Victor’s opinion. Six months into his rein, Victor had been killed by his own brother. The currency had remained dominant far longer than its creator.

  Zane inspected the coin against the light coming through the window and suppressed a smile as Graze shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Men like Graze weren’t used to having their coin validated.

  Graze eyed the bag of money in Zane’s hand. “Sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “You pay me the twenty-five thrones and then you tell me about the job. If it’s the type of job I would like to take, I’ll do it. If, after proper consideration, I decide the job is not for me, I’ll give you my regrets and send you on your way.”

  Graze barked out a laugh. “And you keep the coin either way?”

  Zane nodded.

  “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Even still, that is my price. Shall we proceed or would you like your money back?”

  Graze frowned. “It’s not that I doubt your skill. You come highly recommended. It’s just that my family has fallen on hard times of late.”

  Zane studied the man’s face. Graze’s definition of hard times seemed to be different than that of most Barnes residents. “I know about your family.”

  “Then you know we aren’t what we once were. We’ve gone from the second most important family in the Abditus Society to the sixth.”

  Zane did know that. He kept tabs on the Abditus Society, the only organization allowed to produce magical objects. He also knew the family’s decline was the fault of the man sitting in front of him. Graze wasn’t the genius thornsman his grandfather had been, and he wasn’t the shrewd businessman his father had been.

  “The reason I mention our finances,” Graze continued, “is that I want you to understand twenty-five thrones isn’t an insignificant sum to me. That’s a year’s salary for a good man in my employ.”

  “I understand,” Zane said. He stopped there, letting Graze decide for himself. Zane wasn’t here to push his services.

  “And what criteria do you use to decide whether to take the job?”

  “That’s not something I share, Mr. Graze.”

  Graze scratched his chin. “Alright. Let’s get started.”

  Zane just nodded, showing no reaction one way or the other. He slipped the bag of coins into his cloak.

  Graze nodded toward Lily who now stood in the corner of the room, doing her best to blend into the shadows. “She your apprentice?”

  Zane chuckled. “Only a foolish assassin would take an apprentice. There are only two ways that relationship can end. Either the apprentice learns well and kills you to take your business, or the apprentice is not good enough to kill you and thereby shames your name.”

  “Oh,” Graze said. “So who is she?”

  “You were correct. She’s my apprentice.”

  Graze looked confused for a moment, then he nodded.

  Zane was a little surprised to find he was having fun.

  “Tell me about the job,” Zane said.

  Instead of answering, Graze pointed at a small object on one of the shelves. “May I?”

  Zane nodded.

  Graze walked over and picked up the object. It was a wooden sphere slightly smaller than a man’s fist. Graze turned it this way and that, inspecting it from all angles. “You have good taste. This is a tangle designed by Irving Farns, is it not? Protects against eavesdroppers, from the looks of it.”

  Zane didn’t reply. The tangle in Graze’s hand was the only magical object in the house.

  Graze’s family made thorns, objects embedded with aggressive magics. Tangles provided protective magic, and most were specifically designed to protect against thorns. Thornsmen and tanglesmen had a complicated relationship.

  Graze hefted the object in his hand. “You know, it’s funny. Twenty years ago, this thing would have been unbeatable. The technology didn’t exist.”

  “And today?” Zane asked.

  Graze flashed a smile. “Now there are a dozen thorns that could get past this thing if one’s willing to spend the money.” He set the object down and went back to his seat. “That’s the way it goes, isn’t it? The tanglesmen come up with something to stop the latest thorn, and the thornsmen come up with something to break the latest tangle. ‘Round and ‘round it goes.”

  “Tell me about the job,” Zane repeated.

  Graze nodded. “I’m having a hard time figuring out how old you are. Do you remember the golden age of magic?”

  Zane had been a small child during the golden age, but he didn’t make a practice of giving away personal information. “I’ve read about it, anyway.”

  Graze waved a hand toward him as if shooing away a fly. “Ferox. It’s impossible to have a conversation with you lot. I’ll admit to remembering the golden age, even if you won’t. I was just a boy, but it was quite the big deal in my household.”

  It had been in Zane’s, too. More magical progress was made in those five years than in the previous two hundred. It’d been a heady time, even for a family who wasn’t part of the Abditus Society.

  “Let me ask you this,” Graze continued, “since you admit to having read books about the golden age. What caused it?”

  Zane considered that a moment. “It’s a complicated question. Like asking who started a war.”

  “All the same, I’d like your opinion.”

  Zane didn’t like revealing his opinions any more than he liked revealing personal information, but he decided to indulge the man. “Some say it was a crop of especially talented abditus who all happened to be in the right place at the right time, your grandfather among them. Some say it was the inevitable result of hundreds of years of theoretical research, like a pot of water finally boiling after sitting over a flame for a long time. Some say it was the political climate that caused so many bright minds to study magic at the same moment in history. And then there’s the theory that the war led to the advancements.”

  Graze smiled. “That’s a bunch of drivel. Don’t get me wrong, there were some great men involved. My grandfather was in his later years by the time the golden age happened, but I’d like to think he played his role. And, yeah, there were a lot of smart kids joining the Abditus Society at the time. But if you ask me, there was only one reason for the golden age.”

  “What’s that?” Zane asked.

  Graze pointed at the object on Zane’s shelf.

  Zane squinted at the tangle for a moment before getting it. “Irving Farns.”

/>   Graze nodded. “To tell you about this job, I’m going to have to talk a bit about the magical industry. Things that my fellow abditus wouldn’t approve of me discussing with outsiders. We are a close-knit group and we value our secrets. Can I trust your discretion?”

  Zane said, “Mister Graze, secrets are what I do. You can be sure none of what you say will pass outside these doors.”

  Graze nodded again, like he’d expected no less but felt obligated to ask. “The Abditus Society is much like the Ferox Society, I’d imagine. Knowledge is passed to each new generation through apprenticeships. The average apprenticeship lasts about five years. Irving Farns surpassed his master in two. And his master was no slouch. He apprenticed under my grandfather.”

  That fact Zane did not know. Though he certainly wasn’t going to admit it.

  “To hear my grandfather tell it, the boy was a revelation. Back then my family made both tangles and thorns. But apparently Irving wanted no part of thorns. He was all about tangles, right from the start. Grandpa said Irving looked at the world differently. He approached his tangles in a way so new it made everyone else rethink what they were doing. And that is what caused the golden age.”

  “Interesting history lesson,” Zane said. “I haven’t heard a job offer yet. Have you, Lily?”

  “I have not,” Lily said.

  Graze looked at her with surprise. He’d forgotten she was in the room. The woman was good, Zane had to give her that.

  Graze cleared his throat. “I’d appreciate it if you’d indulge me a bit further. It’s important background information.” His eyes flashed toward Zane’s cloak. “Besides, I believe I’ve paid for the conversation.”

  Zane nodded deeply, the closest he came to an apology. “Proceed.”

  “My grandfather hated the golden age.”

  “Because it rendered him obsolete?” Zane liked to throw a few barbs in these meetings to see how the clients would react.

  “Not at all,” Graze said, his voice as even as ever. “My grandfather never got the respect he deserved because he worked on both thorns and tangles. The Abditus Society loves specialization. Still, Grandpa couldn’t help himself. He loved the science of magic so much that every bit of progress was a joy to him. The only thing he loved more than magic was people, and the golden age caused too many deaths for Grandpa’s conscience to rest easy.”

  “Deaths?” Zane asked. The assassin was genuinely curious. There were few worlds he didn’t have full access to, but magic was one of them. Sure, he had a small network of abditus sources, but they only revealed so much.

  “As I said before,” Graze continued, “it was a heady time. So much innovation. And the money flowing in! Once the public got wind of the things that were happening, cutting edge magics became the new status symbol among the rich. There were thrones to be had for all abditus who could make a name for themselves. I should know. I’m still living off the fortune my grandpa acquired in those years.”

  “But the deaths?” Zane asked, prompting the man.

  “Everyone knew the golden age wouldn’t last forever. Progress couldn’t continue at that pace, and as soon as it slowed, so would the demand. Young men and women were desperate to make their names while they still had a chance to get rich. Suddenly every abditus was an inventor. Novice abditus who could barely put together a pre-made charm kit were trying to build master-level thorns from scratch. Worse yet, the devices weren’t being tested properly. The things that went on sale to the public…it makes me shudder to think of it.”

  Zane laced his hands behind his head as he often did when he was deep in thought. “I remember a lot of faulty charms when I was growing up. My parents would buy two of anything they really needed just to offset the possibility of a dud. But I don’t remember hearing about any deaths. Nor are they referenced in any of the histories I’ve read.”

  Graze smiled. “That is as it should be. There were blessed few of them, all things considered. Only five that I know about. The Abditus Society values its reputation above all else. We’ve been through times when people fear magic, and it isn’t pretty. So the families of the dead were paid handsomely and a new official cause of death was recorded. But that wasn’t the worst of it.”

  Zane nodded for the man to continue.

  “It became difficult to establish yourself even if you did have something extraordinary,” Graze said. “So many people were making so many claims that quality magics got overlooked. That was when the duels began.”

  Zane arched an eyebrow. This definitely wasn’t in the history books.

  “If a young abditus had created what he believed was a revolutionary new thorn, he might challenge an established tanglesman to a duel. A young tangle maker might challenge a well-known thornsman.”

  “Why don’t I know about this?” Zane asked.

  “Like I said, the magical community is tightly knit. The duels were held in private Society halls. These challenges were often made in front of the store owners who had come to select which magics to stock. Turning down the challenge was difficult under those circumstances. My grandpa was coerced into participating in a dozen duels. But it was far worse for Irving Farns. The challenges were endless. Every up-and-coming thornsman wanted to face Irving’s Tooth of Glass. Are you familiar with it?”

  Zane said, “I’ve heard of it. It supposedly reflected the thorn back at the caster.”

  Graze smiled. “You are well read. It did more than reflect, though. It amplified the thorn. Duelists used de-powered, non-lethal versions of their thorns, but the Tooth of Glass re-amplified them to lethal levels. Most of the fools who challenged him were maimed or killed. After a while, he stopped accepting challenges. He figured it wasn’t worth killing anyone else just to prove he was still the best.” He paused and nodded toward the tangle on the shelf. “You paid a pretty bit of coin for that tangle, I’m sure. You know why his prices got so high?”

  “Because he retired.”

  “Went into hiding is more like it. See, after he stopped accepting challenges, some ambitious young thornsmen decided they weren’t going to take no for an answer. They started attacking him in the street, forcing him to use his tangles to protect himself. It went on for almost a year; him barely going out of the house, and them constantly trying to find ways to draw him out. Then one day a young thornsman with a particularly nasty fire thorn attacked Irving while he was on his way to church. The young man didn’t see Irving’s wife standing there. She died and Irving, as you say, retired. He said he was afraid for his young daughter, and who could blame him? He hasn’t been seen in twenty-five years.”

  Zane had known Farns dropped out of the public eye twenty-five years ago, but he hadn’t known the reason why. He glanced at the tangle on his shelf with a new level of respect. He’d only bought it because it made his more magic-dependent clients feel comfortable. Hearing about the man who’d made it changed the way he saw the thing.

  Still, he wasn’t here to be educated on the great tanglesmen of history. “Mr. Graze, you said that you paid for my time, and so you did. But my patience is not infinite. What do you need from me?”

  Graze nodded his understanding. “Last week a woman showed up at the Volst Hall.”

  Volst Hall, Zane knew, was the Abditus Society headquarters in Barnes.

  Graze continued. “She knew the passwords to gain entry, but none of us had ever seen her before. She identified herself as Beth Farnes.”

  “Irving’s daughter,” Zane said.

  Graze nodded. “And she had quite the story to tell. According to her, Irving never retired. He has continued working and innovating. He just hasn’t been selling his creations. Now, for some reason, he has decided the time is right. He will be putting his new tangles up for auction in two week’s time.”

  Zane laced his hands behind his head. “Did you see the woman?”

  “I did.”

  “And do you believe her?”

  “I do,” Graze said. “She provided a demonstration of
one of the tangles. It was convincing. As you might imagine, there is quite a lot of excitement around this announcement.”

  “But not from you?” Zane asked.

  “Not from me. Mr. Halloway, a second magical golden age cannot happen. Too many lives are at stake. Too many young abditus would be killed in the new wave of duels. The kids today are different. They are so much hungrier. To put it bluntly, they are wolves, and they are all going to want to be the alpha.”

  “So what’s the job?” Zane asked again.

  Graze leaned forward. “I want you to kill Irving Farns and destroy his creations.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  After Graze was gone, Zane turned to Lily. “What’s your initial assessment?”

  Lily cleared her throat. During the conversation with Graze she’d stood in the back of the room, barely seen and mostly unnoticed, but listening. Evaluating the job as she imagined Zane would. Preparing for this question.

  “My initial assessment is he’s lying.”

  Zane grunted noncommittally. “Which part?”

  She walked to the shelf and picked up the Farns-made tangle. “I believe him about Farns. About the duels and why the man went into hiding. I believe him about Beth Farns and her announcement of the auction for Farns’s designs. All that can be checked, so he wouldn’t lie about it. I don’t believe his motivation.”

  Zane had sent Graze away with the vague promise they would contact him by the end of the week. The man hadn’t been happy, but he’d left without much complaining.

  Zane leaned back on his stool, his hands laced behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. “Walk me through your thought process.”

  Lily set the tangle down and began pacing. Zane liked stillness when he thought, but Lily liked to remain in motion. “His family’s fallen on hard times. Relatively speaking. They were the best, and now they’re struggling to hold onto fifth place. Does that sound like a man who would welcome a disruptive force into his industry?”

  Zane shrugged. “Maybe a little disruption is all he needs to reinvigorate the family business.”