by M. Walsh
And those were the upfront merchants. They also passed shady looking men and women who glared from dim huts and shacks just off the road—offering something, though they wouldn’t specify what. Krutch wondered if he might spot the sorceress who cursed him among this sort.
It was gray and cloudy, but despite the overcast sky, it felt as hot as ever. In some ways, it felt even hotter, as though the clouds bottled up the heat and humidity. He didn’t know how often it rained in Seba—assuming it rained at all—but figured it might come as welcome.
He awoke that morning, still on the sofa, with his throat dry and head aching. Arkady offered to see what the word on the street was, though Krutch had no idea what word there was to find. He would’ve been content to remain in the loft and wallow in his hangover, but Audra convinced him to come out. After lunch—which Krutch, still feeling awful, didn’t eat—they wound up on Tramp Road.
“So, Lee,” said Audra. “I’ve been meaning to ask: is Arkady the idiot partner who got you blown up by a dragon?”
“Huh..?” he murmured, not paying attention. “Oh—uh, no. That was someone else. Arkady is actually pretty dependable.”
“Can we trust him?” she asked.
He thought about it. Arkady had proven to be reliable through the winter—but he was involved in Lemmy Hobbs’s mutiny. “About as well as one can trust a pirate.”
Audra gave him a side-eyed look, but said, “Fair enough.” She stopped by a blacksmith’s and looked over the various weapons on display outside. “I need a weapon. Something I can call my own. What do you think, Lee? You figure me a sword or an axe person?”
“I don’t know,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “You have to decide that.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Still hung-over?”
“That,” he said. “I also don’t feel comfortable being out in the open like this. After last night …”
“What..? The Wraiths? I think if Dune or Elliot were going to give us heat over that, they’d be on us already.”
“I’m just a little uneasy knowing the militia in this town isn’t shy about butchering people in the street.”
“No one said it was going to be easy or safe.”
She returned her attention to the blacksmith, and Krutch sighed. She was right. He could make it in Seba, he was confident of that, but that was no reason to get cocky. If anything, seeing what Dune and his Wraiths were capable of was a reminder he needed to be smart. He might embrace his curse—try to be the Krutch Leeroy—but he couldn’t be stupid about it.
“Hey, boss!” Arkady called, moving his way through the crowded road. “Glad I found you.”
“You get anything?”
“The card game is legit,” Arkady replied, wiping sweat off with his shirt. “Sebastian Clock likes to have the big names in Seba gather to discuss business and shit.”
“What’s Clock’s story?” Audra asked.
“Not sure,” he said. “Supposedly he runs the industry in this city, but I think he has a hand in everything.”
There was a pause as they waited for him to continue. “Is that all you got?” Audra asked.
“Nobody likes talking about this guy,” he said, shrugging. “To tell the truth, he sounds spooky. They say he spends all his time in the tower in Mannix Square. He has this bodyguard named Vident, and they say if he’s gunning for you, it’s time to leave town.
“I haven’t found anyone who’s actually seen him or work for him directly, but … it’s like this unspoken fact: Sebastian Clock is the man in Seba, and if you cross him, you disappear.”
They stood in silence. The clouds above had darkened, and Krutch thought it might rain after all. He didn’t need Arkady to tell him Clock was spooky—anyone who would call the tower in Mannix Square home had to be a nutter on some level. And anyone who could be the top dog in Seba had to be nasty to boot.
But what kind of nasty, he wondered. Elliot turned out to be a middle-man, but what was he going to find if he went to the card game? A corrupt old man? Some depraved sorcerer? A jacked-up warlord, clad in spiked armor?
“So what now?” Arkady asked. “You going to this game?”
“Whatever Lee does,” Audra said. “It’ll send a message. I’d bet anything these people—Elliot, Clock, whoever else there might be—they’re all feeling him out and trying to figure out what he’s trying to do.”
“So if the boss doesn’t go,” he said. “What message does that send?”
“Either he’s afraid or he doesn’t care.”
“What message do we want to send?”
They both turned to him, but Krutch was deep in thought. His usual instinct in such a situation would be to flee. But he looked at Audra and thought about what she’d been saying. Maybe he could do it. Maybe he really could be the Krutch Leeroy. But if he was, he needed to be bold. And that meant he couldn’t be intimidated.
“I’m going,” he said.
It seemed, despite the fact both Audra and Arkady believed in his reputation, even they were surprised.
“All the top guys will be at this game,” he said. “Sounds like a good chance to learn how things are run in Seba before I plan my next move.”
Arkady and Audra both smiled. Audra, in particular, had a look of pride on her face. It was something Krutch was not used to.
* * *
Continuing east, they started talking about finding a new place to stay, when they came upon the coliseum. It appeared to be made of the same black stone as the tower in Mannix Square, and it was covered with statues of grim men and women in armor. Although not as tall as the tower, it overlooked all the surrounding buildings and was almost as sinister in its own way.
“Malison Coliseum,” said Arkady.
“I know,” said Krutch. “I saw it when we came into the city. Is it still used for..?”
“Blood-sports..? Oh, yeah.”
Krutch felt a chill, knowing what that meant. Gladiator fights, obviously, but also people getting fed to monsters and the occasional slaughter. He wasn’t surprised there were such things in Seba, but he was amused to find more evidence Elliot’s speech about being an orderly city was horseshit. He’d seen fighting pits before, and they were never regarded as beacons of civilization.
A parchment of paper attached to the coliseum wall caught his eye. It was advertising fights the following week, but what drew his attention was the main event.
“The Last Vigorian..?” he read aloud.
“Yeah, I’ve been hearing about him,” said Arkady. “They say he’s the best fighter in Malison.”
“Is he really Vigorian?”
“I don’t know,” Arkady said, shrugging. “I guess.”
He smirked, thinking to himself, I know someone who’d be interested to hear that.
“Interested in attending, Mr. Leeroy?”
He turned to find an Eldér woman standing beside him. She had the white skin and small pointed ears of a Whitelander Eldér, and she towered over the people around her by at least a foot. She had blue, cat-like eyes, but was bald and, contrary to the pristine look of most Eldér, her face was lined, making her look like a woman who’d lived too long and traveled too far.
“My name is Tetra Serk,” she said, with a slight bow. “If I might take a moment of your time, my master, Jonathon Gash, wishes to meet you.”
Krutch, feeling dumb, stared at her. He’d only been walking down the street, and again he had someone inviting him to meet people he’d never heard of. Not even two days in, and Krutch Leeroy found himself a popular man.
“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “And where is Mr. Gash?”
“Inside,” said Serk, gesturing toward the arena. “Master Gash is a major part of Seba’s games.”
Meaning he’s the guy who decides who dies and how, he thought with a frown.
He looked at Audra and Arkady, and they waited for his lead. He already knew what Audra would say. Taking a breath, he decided if he’d come this far, he might as well keep goi
ng.
Audra and Arkady were told to wait in the main hall while Serk led him into the lower levels of the coliseum. It consisted of long stretches of halls with cages and cells built on either side—looking like a massive dungeon. The whole place stunk of rotten meat and filth. Upon entering, Krutch was even more reluctant to meet this Gash, but he was relieved to find the cells contained only animals.
They passed a variety of creatures—mostly predators—like lions, tigers, jackals, and even some devilish looking beasts that looked like overgrown wolves. They growled or hissed and would likely feast on anyone they came across. Krutch was reminded of the corrupted swamp he crossed with Lily and wondered if some of these creatures were also tainted by the Black.
He snapped back to reality when he saw the man standing at the end of the hall. He looked somehow out of proportion. His posture was impressive, and he was tall—almost as tall as Serk—but his legs seemed too long for his body and torso too thick for his height. He walked with a limp and cane, wearing a fancy suit, complete with gloves.
It was his face that stood out more than anything. There was something artificial about him—as though he should be much older than he appeared. His skin looked stretched and unnatural and had an odd color, like his tan was more make-up than otherwise. His nose was thin and looked rubbery. His eyes were beady and glaring, and his light brown hair was receding and slicked back. A few tufts of hair came from his chin.
“Krutch Leeroy,” said Serk. “I present Master Jonathon Gash.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Gash said in a strained voice like he was either faking one accent or hiding another. He grinned, but it only highlighted how bizarre his face looked. If anything, it told Krutch the man was anything but pleased to meet him.
“Uh, likewise,” he replied.
“I’m glad I was able to catch you,” Gash said. “I’d hoped we would get a chance to meet before Clock’s game.”
“Oh,” he said. “So you’ll be there, too?”
“Yes,” said Gash before making a bizarre barking noise. “Clock does love his little exhibitions. I understand he had our good Magistrate invite you for him?”
“Yeah.”
He barked again and jabbed his cane through the bars of one of the cells. It struck a wolf in its face, and the animal responded with snarling and barking. Gash grimaced and jabbed the cane into the wolf’s face even harder.
“Is that all he wanted?”
“Elliot wanted to know what I was doing in Seba,” Krutch replied.
“And what are you doing here?”
“Hiding from Sentry Elite.”
Gash’s eyes narrowed to tiny black slits. Much like Elliot, it was apparent he didn’t believe him. Unlike the Magistrate, Gash was doing a poor job of even pretending to have a benign exterior.
“And what do you do, Mr. Gash?”
“Ah,” Gash said, contorting his face into something that might have been a smile. He limped to Krutch and continued, “Most are aware of our city’s reputation for thugs and outlaws. What most people don’t know is Seba’s rather troublesome Goblin problem. Are you familiar with Goblins, Mr. Leeroy?”
“I can’t say that I am,” he replied.
“Wretched, loathsome beasts,” Gash said. “Contrary to belief, they are not creatures of the Black like demons and their ilk. Just abominable trash that dwell underground and in mountains and wallow in their own filth.”
Krutch could tell Gash was angering himself talking about it—either his fake accent was fading, or his real accent was coming through. He said nothing and nodded.
“They thrive in the deserts and badlands of this country. Naturally, they pose a threat to the Three Sons of our city and must be defended against. Such defense requires payment. And sometimes collecting said payment requires … brutality.”
Krutch thought of Brick in Frank, and recalled the incident he witnessed had nothing to do with collecting taxes. He wondered if Gash knew about that kind of brutality. And if he did, would he even care?
“But that is only a portion of my income,” Gash said. “My true riches come from my connections in Gain.”
“That’s nice,” said Krutch, losing interest in the discussion.
Gash let out a raspy sigh and said, “I see you want me to get to the point. I know men like you, Mr. Leeroy. I assure you, we’re more alike than you may think.”
There were times, listening to people who bought into his cursed reputation, Krutch would wonder how they interpreted his character. He was known everywhere as a notorious pirate—but that was nebulous, really. Pirate, after all, could mean a great many things.
Although he wouldn’t ask, he was curious what Gash thought he meant when he said they were alike.
“I was not born in Graylands,” Gash continued. “I came here to seek my fortune and etch my legacy. I’ve clawed and fought my way very far in life. I think that’s something you would appreciate.”
“… sure.”
“I don’t know what you want in Seba, Mr. Leeroy. Perhaps you yourself haven’t even decided yet. But know this: given your reputation, I can assure you Sebastian Clock already regards you as a threat. Don’t think for one second his invitation is entirely friendly.”
“What exactly should I expect when I meet Mr. Clock?”
“Tread carefully around him. However he might present himself, that man knows how to cut and cut deep. I don’t know what your people have already learned, but Clock is the man who runs this city. Dune and the Wraiths answer only to him. Magistrate Elliot is merely a puppet.” Gash took a step closer and lowered his gruff voice to a whisper. “Seba is Sebastian Clock’s city. And he is not a man who likes to share.”
“Should I not go?”
“I would advise against that,” he said. “Clock would interpret it as an insult. Whatever you’re planning, you’d do well not to make an enemy of him.”
Gash looked him in the eye. Being this close only highlighted how off his facial features were. Krutch felt like he was talking to some kind of animated doll. The only thing that looked natural was his eyes—they blazed a fiery brown and looked like eyes that should belong to a different body.
He then muttered under his breath, “Yet.”
19
Katrina dreamed again of memories long past …
She was lying on a cot in a small, narrow room. It was warm and the scent of bacon was in the air. The shades were thin and patchy, and bright morning light filled the room. When her vision cleared, she focused on floating specks of dust illuminated by the sunlight. For some reason, that image always stayed with her.
“Am I dead..?” she groaned.
“Not yet,” said someone sitting beside her. “Pretty damn close though.”
She tried to move, but her entire body ached. She was weak, and her wounds were bandaged. The last thing she remembered was rain and mud and orcs howling in the night. She looked at the young man chewing bacon and thought he looked familiar. It was the small scar on his eyebrow that made her remember.
“I know you,” she said.
“I would think so,” he said. “I’m the guy who saved you last night.”
“No,” she said. “I know you. We met … um … two or three years ago. You stole a chest.”
Still chewing his food, he looked at her. For a moment, she thought he recognized her. “No offense, but I meet lots of people, and I’ve stolen a lot of chests.”
“Rien,” she said, sitting up with a pained grin on her face. “My name is Rien. You … your name was … Jyggers.” She paused, cringing, and muttered, “Or something.”
“Jyggers, huh..?” he said. “Close. Jagger. Jagger Ryggs.” He took another bite of bacon and chewed thoughtfully. He stared at her a moment, and his eyebrows shot up. “Oh, I remember you! You were the girl busting my balls over that chest!” He chuckled and added, “Never thought I’d run into you again. How the hell are you?”
“Been better, obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes.<
br />
By the age of fifteen, Katrina was starting to be trusted out on her own, and it was believed time she took a more active role in the resistance. She’d participated in a few missions and fought in some battles. Nothing significant, but enough to warrant Armand Tyrell’s attention.
Because of traitors in the Vigorian nobility, she and some fellow rebels were lured into an ambush. They were meeting in a cellar beneath a tavern, when the assassins and orcs sprang from the shadows, seemingly from nowhere.
No, that wasn’t true, she would later remember. They did come from nowhere—because it wasn’t just soldiers and assassins. Knowing the Lamont Princess herself would be present, Tyrell had one of his Black Mages there. It was the Mage who used his magic to make orcs appear from nothing and surround them in the darkness.
Katrina had been trained. She’d experienced battle. But that night was the first time she found herself truly fighting for her life. Thanks to the sacrifice of allies, she escaped—though not unharmed. She lumbered out into the rain, alone and uncertain of where to go or where to hide with orcs and a Black Mage at her heels.
She might have died that night, had Jagger not happened to cross her path.
“You helped me,” she said.
“I suppose I did,” he said, shrugging. “Standing by and letting a girl get torn apart by orcs didn’t sit right with me.”
“Thank you,” she said with a weak smile.
“No bother. Here, you want some food?”
He passed her some strips of bacon, and she ate slowly. She took a moment to marvel at the coincidence she should not only meet Jagger Ryggs again, but that it would happen to occur when she was in desperate need. Perhaps it was destiny, she wondered.
“So how does a girl like you end up with a pack of orcs out for her blood?” he asked. “Even I have never gotten into that kind of trouble.”
