by Cait Ashwood
“Oh?” Hound hadn’t told Ace this part, so he couldn’t blame the man for being confused.
“You have to go inter-planar to access the latch.”
The room was silent as the men contemplated this newest bit of information. Going between locations, or planes, was how Seekers phased but was extraordinarily difficult to manage for any length of time. It was occasionally used as a sort of truth serum; a Seeker was unable to lie while inter-planar. For that to be the method of entry was going to limit their options severely. The Ravens wouldn’t even be able to participate.
“Again, gentlemen. Boom.” Blaise rolled his eyes, giving a flourish with his right hand.
Zeche raised an eyebrow. “You seem to enjoy that word quite a bit.”
Blaise lowered his chin, batting his eyelashes at Zeche. “If it works, why not?”
Hound stared at the two men, feeling vaguely nauseated at their blatant flirting. “Regardless, explosives are currently off the menu for us. We don’t have the layout or schematics we’d need to use them.”
Tops cleared his throat, his voice deep. “Agreed.”
Zeche glanced towards the door, sighing deeply. “I’ll see what I can do, but I make no promises.” He excused himself without any further comment, his ‘guards’ accompanying him.
Tops, staring after him, shrugged. “I guess we’re waiting on the Ravens’ pleasure.”
7
Zeche wandered through the streets of Ebonwallowe, not at all lost in the pitch darkness of the night. The black stone around him absorbed any scattered light, but he knew this city like the back of his hand. He proceeded toward his target, taking a roundabout path and doubling back, laying several false trails before slipping into a cellar entrance. He continued down the underground path, popping up a few streets over.
There was a tavern here, but he went around to the back, tapping in a specific sequence on the back door. It opened almost immediately, and he slipped inside, no one outdoors any wiser for his passage. The trap door was already open for him and he descended, traveling roughly south once below. He navigated several intersections before finding the staircase he wanted. At the landing was an iron grate, seemingly like many other grates on staircases here, but this one was different. Zeche pulled out his lock picks and crouched in front of the lock, taking his time. If he didn’t get this one right on the first try, there was an explosive device that would send him to his maker sooner than he wished.
He sighed softly in relief as the lock clicked in his hand, pocketing his picks and opening the gate, which moved silently on well-oiled hinges. He didn’t lock the door behind him; once picked, the entire trap had to be re-set. Nikita would send someone to take care of that as soon as she saw him.
He looked at the ceiling above him, cursing softly under his breath. Nikita, his co-commander, was ever the enigmatic thorn in his side. She had one hell of a temper, and he wasn’t exactly bringing her good news or asking for a light favor tonight. Whatever happened, this was not going to be a good night. He double-checked his daggers, which he always kept rigorously clean and perfectly sharpened. He patted the throwing knives strapped around his ankles, and the other plethora of weapons he had on his body. Everything was as ready as could be. He didn’t honestly expect her to try and kill him, but who ever knew with women?
Up an earthen staircase was a pocket door. Zeche raised an eyebrow at the rather obvious arrow trap, stepping easily over the tripwire that would trigger it. He dodged a few other traps, mainly meant to deter anyone who happened this way on accident. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but it slid open before his knuckles could make contact.
“Zeche. It’s been a while. Do come in.” Nikita’s back was to him, her long black hair braided elegantly and ending mid-back. She was standing at the fire pit working with a kettle, and Zeche had never seen her looking so domestic. Zeche stepped inside the room, and the door slid back on its own. So the switch to the door is on the mantle. He scanned the room out of habit, not even beginning to relax until he determined they were alone. There were guards on the other side of the more traditional entrance to her chambers, but they wouldn’t be any trouble.
“The latest beans have arrived from Filben. I had them roasted yesterday.” She turned, her smile soft but brilliantly happy. “Care for a mug?”
Zeche shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve never shared your love for coffee. You know that.”
“And still I ask in the hope that one day, you’ll see the light.” She poured the black liquid into a mug and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and looking radiant. “Perfection.”
She moved over to the small table along one wall, taking a seat and gesturing for Zeche to do the same. Zeche nudged the chair out with a foot, stepping lithely to the side as a dart, no doubt poisoned, went whisking by where he’d just been standing. “You never tire of testing me, do you?”
Nikita’s smile was warm, almost affectionate, as she looked at him from her mug of coffee. “I have to be sure you’re staying sharp.”
Zeche’s lips thinned. “Yes, because killing me is an excellent test.”
She shrugged nonchalantly. “I have the antidote in the cupboard. We’d just have to have a talk afterward.”
Zeche rolled his eyes, tapping the seat of the chair with his boot. “Can’t trust your friends anymore.” He eased himself down into the chair, ready to jump up at the slightest noise or sign of movement.
Nikita watched him as she sipped on her coffee, her eyes bemused. “You’re the one that taught me that.”
“Yes, well, never thought you’d apply it to me.” Zeche grouched, stretching out in the chair. He’d made it all the way here and still hadn’t decided how to broach the subject.
Nikita made it most of the way through her mug of coffee before breaking the silence. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with the Seekers, lately.” She paused, giving him a speculative look. “Some say you’re neglecting your duties here.”
Zeche shrugged, not entirely concerned. “Such as they are. I still take contracts.”
Nikita narrowed her eyes, then glanced towards her nightstand, eyes resting on a thick book resting there. “Not as many as you used to.”
Zeche followed her gaze, the black leather-bound monstrosity bringing back memories. He remembered when they added the very first page to that book, taking out the street gang that had once attacked Nikita and held her at their mercy. Zeche had been the one to take her in and teach her everything he knew. She then excelled past his teachings, and they’d decided they worked well enough together to eliminate the rival gangs. They built the Ravens, turned them into a respectable group. Ebonwallowe, while hosting the infamous assassin’s guild, had the lowest crime rate of any of the cities currently in existence. No one dared put a toe out of line where vengeance so easily hired.
I am drifting away from them. But leadership is never something I wanted. “I suppose you know why I’m here.”
Nikita circled the rim of her mug with one fingertip, staring down at the dregs of liquid in the bottom. “You want forces to support the Seekers in their ill-fated rescue attempt.”
Naturally, she already knew. Zeche made no attempt to keep his interests quiet. “This affects all of us, Niki. You’d have starved on the streets if I hadn’t found you. We restore the Order? No one has to worry about starving anymore.”
Nikita’s finger made a few more rounds around the lip of the mug, her eyes following the movement. “Seems to me the Order is well on its way toward restoring itself. Audrey, Lily, Gwyn? That’s three right there.”
In other words, you see no need to get involved.
Her muddy green eyes caught his. “How much are they paying you, Zeche? There are no records in the log book.”
Zeche drew his brows down, pinning her with a narrow gaze. “That’s my own business. You’ve got jobs you don’t put on the books.”
She shrugged. “But you know about them.”
“For saf
ety. The Seekers are hardly a threat to me.”
Nikita threw her head back, laughing. “The Seekers are hardly a threat to anyone outside of themselves.”
Zeche sighed, staring up at the ceiling and praying for patience. Didn’t help that she was right.
“I get that you think you’re doing the right thing here, Zeche. But this is not a path for the Ravens to travel.”
Zeche’s lips thinned. “It’s a path for the world to travel.” He shook his head. “You showed up for the Battle of the Institute. What’s changed?”
Nikita stared at him, eyes impassive. “What changed? We were not compensated for our losses. They weren’t even acknowledged. There was no pay for my men and no money to send home to the families of those that died. I took the loss from my coffers.” She rose, moving to pour more coffee from the pot. “We are a guild, Zeche. We accept contracts, paying contracts. You can work for free, but if you want the use of any of our men, you’re going to have to find a way to pay them.”
Zeche ground his teeth together. He had the money; coin had never been a problem for him. It was the principle of the thing. Restoring the Order was of paramount importance for the future of humanity. Nikita was blocking him for coin. Where did I go so wrong with her? He was only nine or ten years her senior, but he’d played a big role in raising her up on the streets.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Her gaze softened, head tilting to the side.
“Never thought I’d be getting morals in my old age.” He said the words with a bite, meaning for them to sting.
Her resulting smile was pitying, and he hated the expression on her. “Our men deserve to be paid for their work. They’d follow you without it, but only for so long.”
Her words were a warning, and the second such warning she’d issued since his arrival. His position with the Ravens wasn’t as strong as he’d expected, and part of what made him a good spy was being able to understand the why of it.
“I’ll speak with Audrey, see what we can arrange.” He shifted in his chair. She certainly owed him more than just a simple favor, and he hoped she wouldn’t balk when he asked her to fulfill it.
“How is our little mother doing?” Nikita seemed genuinely interested. Zeche hadn’t realized she’d gotten so attached in the brief moments they’d met during the battle.
“Just fine. The twins are about four months old now. Her one training session with Gwyn has apparently been a great help to her.”
“Twins. What luck.” Nikita sipped contentedly on her brew as if their spat had never happened. That was her way, though.
“Agreed. Especially as Rowan was born first.” The abilities of the Order only traveled on the female line, so Lily was truly a godsend.
“Was he, now? Very lucky for us then.” She dipped her finger into the coffee, sucking it dry and looking at him suggestively. “What bargain is it you hope to get from her?”
Zeche shifted in his seat. Nikita always knew just how to get to him, and he knew where this evening was going to end up. He wasn’t in the mood, but she knew that. “She can easily make up part of the wages in foodstuffs. And I’m sure she can arrange for food packages to be sent to the families of those we lost.”
Nikita nodded thoughtfully. “That would go some way to restoring the men’s confidence in you. And towards softening their hearts toward this holy calling of yours.”
“Gotta keep the men happy,” Zeche grumbled the words, but Nikita’s gaze was warm.
“Exactly. And the women, too.” Her voice took a seductive dip and her eyes were hooded.
Zeche glanced around the room, lip twitching in annoyance. “I’m not in the mood, Niki.”
She stood, walking around the table and putting her hands on his shoulders, kneading her fingers into the muscle. “Never stopped you before.”
He reached to his shoulder, grabbing her wrist by the pressure points and twisting as he stood, putting her in an armbar and bending her over the table, stepping up close behind her. “You’re going to have to work for it.”
Her chuckle was throaty. “Gladly.”
An hour later, she was dozing lightly on the bed they had eventually made their way toward. Zeche buttoned up his pants, staring at her silhouette. I’ve got to stop whoring myself out like this. Nikita was a complicated woman and always had been. He couldn’t even explain this thing they had going on, but it always left him feeling vaguely dirty. He thought back to that new demolitions expert Tops had taken on. Now that would have been a much nicer way to spend the evening.
He smirked as he crouched poised in her windowsill. One thrown dagger and all his problems could be over. If she was truly asleep, that was, which he rather doubted. She hated goodbyes more than he did. He slipped out into the night, determined to put her and her sticky webs behind him. He had to find a place to get some sleep tonight.
Paranoia kept him from setting up a permanent base for himself, but it had kept him alive nearly forty years so far. He wandered down the streets, swinging up a drain pipe and sneaking across roofs as the whim struck him. Half the city later, he found an unoccupied residence. He ducked in through a window and saw the empty bed waiting for him. He swept the house to ensure it was empty, secured the locks, and came back to the room he could see the moon from. He trapped the window and slowly unlaced his boots. The mattress was lumpy as he laid out on it, but he’d slept on worse.
8
Deuce blinked in the sudden darkness, disoriented until he realized they were standing in the shadows of a mountain range. Zad vibrated with energy next to him. The man that had raised him strode off, beckoning for him to follow. Deuce scanned the area. Lots of dips and valleys, and plenty of places to lose track of anyone on foot. Perfect ambush country.
There was an unsettling feeling here that ran over his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He looked past Zad to see their destination. There was a small, grass-covered mound with an obvious door visible from this approach. The eerie feeling wouldn’t leave. Deuce squinted up at the sky, trying to pin down why he felt so insecure. No birds. No wildlife. He tried to calm the pit of dread in his stomach. He’d come here to disprove the rumors about Zaddicus but had a feeling he was about to be proven horribly wrong.
He swallowed past a lump in his throat, finally moving to follow his mentor. The years had been kind to Zaddicus; too kind. His muscular physique was in as perfect condition as ever, his tanned skin nearly bronze in complexion. He moved without the touch of arthritis that had plagued him when Deuce was younger, his stride long and confident.
Deuce lifted his hood despite the relatively warm temperature. He didn’t want to be seen here, though he doubted his peers even knew where the compound was. They’d been horribly disorganized, and with Tops and Audrey fighting over how to proceed, nothing had been accomplished. The fact that Zaddicus had a point about the ineffectiveness of the Seekers as a unit was not helping Deuce’s mental state.
They were at the door before Deuce had a grip on what was happening. The next thing he knew, Zad’s form wavered, becoming somewhat less than solid. He reached through the stone next to the door and must have pulled a switch because the stone slab slid down into the ground below until they could step through. Tortured sounds rose from the bellows of the earth, and every bone in Deuce’s body screamed at him to run. He wasn’t a fighter like Quad and didn’t have Hound’s constitution. He was an empath, and already what he could feel of the place had him ready to puke.
You have to do this. He repeated the mantra endlessly until he managed to convince one foot to move, then another. Zad waited for him expectantly, his face an expression of jubilation. Zaddicus had built this for him; he at least had to take some responsibility for whatever monstrosity the man had managed to create.
The smell was dank, bordering on fetid. Deuce wrapped the extra fabric from his hood over his nose and mouth as the door behind them slid back into position, thankful the darkness would hide his disgust. Torches were few and far between, but
Zad knew the way. He passed several intersecting hallways without making a turn, the path going ever deeper into the earth. After what seemed like an eternity, the trail opened into a main circular room with several paths and doorways around its edges. The air here was somewhat cleaner, and the room was well lit, so Deuce dropped his hood.
“What is this place?” The words came out strangled, and he cursed himself. He was always the king of composure, but he had none of that here. He felt naked without it, vulnerable. It insulated him from the horrors of the world, but they were coming at him, up close and personal.
“This…this is the future.” Zaddicus beamed at him, heading toward one of the paths that was blocked by a door. “Come, see how the Order should be run.”
“The Order?” If he’d managed to capture Audrey, they were so horribly fucked.
Zad’s smile fell somewhat. “I don’t mean that bumbling youth running around on the surface. I mean the powerhouses, the women who know what they’re doing. But it gets better. You must come see.”
Deuce stared at the door before forcing himself to look away. The only path he wanted to follow was the one back up to the surface. Thankfully, though there were a myriad of tunnels, there seemed to be a marking system. The path leading back to the relatively sane world aboveground had a tree inscribed next to it. Escape route, secured.
He walked forward until he was standing next to Zad, the door in front of him taking on enormous proportions in his mind. “Show me.”
Zad grinned, clapping him on the shoulder, and pulled out a key ring from his pocket. He fumbled through it until he found the correct key, keeping it concealed in his palm the entire time. He blocked Deuce’s view of the lock as he unlocked the door, and then the keys disappeared back into his pocket.
So much for trusting your ‘prince.' The phrase itself nearly brought the nausea back, and Deuce turned his head to the side, clenching his jaw and feeling the muscles ripple in the side of his neck. He had to keep himself under control. He was one man in the enemy stronghold. One man.
