by Cait Ashwood
“Zeche.” Tops strode into the hall like he owned the place, a smile on his face.
The assassin took in the beast of a man before him, craning his neck back to look up at him. “Tops. A pleasure, as always.”
Tops arched an eyebrow. “Quite.” Tops glanced around the hall, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. “My office?”
Zeche dipped his head, offering a faint smile at the man he was going to spend the next hour schmoozing up to. “That would be appreciated, yes.” He wasn’t bothering with an accent today— today was all about business. Unfortunately.
Zeche followed the commander of the Seekers through halls he knew well, though he feigned curiosity, glancing around at various decorations as they went along. No need to let the commander know how many times he’d snuck around his stronghold unannounced. For all Zeche’s attention to detail, it appeared Tops was comfortable enough in his home base to not care. Never know who else is watching. A curtain down the hall billowed with a nonexistent breeze and Zeche smirked, doing his best not to roll his eyes. The Seekers really should leave the subterfuge to the Ravens, or at least give their men the basics of espionage training.
At last, they reached Tops’ office. Zeche had only officially been here once before, shortly after Audrey’s rescue. Unofficially? He could practically live here. Plenty of good intel crossed the commander’s desk, and while it had to be verified, free information was still a good resource for the Ravens. Tops circled around to sit behind his rather small desk, leaving Zeche to close the door behind them.
“So,” the commander began, folding his hands on the top of his desk and leaning forward, “to what do I owe this surprise visit?”
Zeche took a seat, clearing his throat as he did so. He leaned back in the chair, crossing one leg so his ankle rested on the opposite knee. “Business, of course.”
Tops’ thick lips pressed into a thin line. “I had a feeling it was something like that.” Tops pushed back slightly from his desk, shaking his head. “I told you during the attack that we didn’t have the funds to pay for the Raven’s assistance.”
Zeche nodded, resting his hands on his ankle. “You did mention that, I believe. But there is also the issue of the upcoming rescue, is there not?”
The commander pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes briefly. “And I assume the Ravens are offering to help with that as well, seeing as our numbers are now greatly reduced.”
Zeche didn’t miss the sarcasm in Tops’ tone. “At this point in time…no.”
“No?” Tops raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.
“We lost a lot of good people defending the Institute.” Zeche ran a hand through his hair. Their line of work was risky, everyone knew that, but he dealt with spies, assassins, creatures of the night. Dying in a pitched battle wasn’t exactly what his men signed up for.
Tops gave him a half-smile. “So the Ravens are now just as short-handed as we are, eh?”
“Hardly. We don’t have a genetic limitation on our members.” Zeche shifted in the chair, leaning back more into the corner. “What our men do expect is that reparations are made in the event of their deaths.”
“And I told you before you called them in that we simply couldn’t do it.” Wrinkles weighed down the commander’s forehead, making him appear foreboding.
“I am aware. However, Nikita was not a part of the negotiations.” And while the woman is an infernal pain in my ass, she makes a valid point.
“Ah, the other nefarious leader of your organization.” Tops shook his head, chuckling softly. “And what are her demands?”
Zeche studied the commander for a moment. Despite his constant claims that the Seekers had neither the funds nor the resources, he was entertaining the request. How exactly is he playing this?
“She wants coin for the families of the fallen.” Zeche dropped the high-dollar request on the table, interested to see how the commander would respond.
Tops didn’t seem surprised. “And what is the going rate for a dead bird these days?”
Zeche frowned, narrowing his eyes. “Those ‘dead birds’ are the only reason we have an Order to speak of.”
“Of course, my apologies.” Tops cleared his throat and shuffled some papers on his desk. He apparently found the one he was looking for as he brought it to the top of the stack and spent a moment looking over it. “Exactly how many were lost?”
“Twenty-three, total.” They might lose an operative or two a month, ordinarily. In over a year, the only one to make compensation was Nikita. I’m slipping.
“And what is the usual dispensation for them?” Tops seemed much more respectful now. In all honesty, Zeche hadn’t known all of the lost personally, but a few he had trained himself and were good, solid agents. Nikita hadn’t given him specific figures or length of service details on most of them. The families of the deceased were generally either given their share of the job’s payout, or a larger sum representative of their length of service with the Ravens.
“She didn’t give me a sum. May I use a sheet of paper?”
Tops slid the paper over and inked a quill for him.
He scratched away at the page, creating an average payout for the soldiers he didn’t know and making individual charts for those he’d trained with. He made a final column, adding all the amounts up and circled the total, sliding the paper back across to Tops.
“That’s…a pretty penny. I think I’m in the wrong line of work.” Tops shook his head, eyes resting on the paper.
“They’d hear you coming a mile away, if your shadow didn’t give you away.” Zeche was willing to banter now that respect had been restored to the proceedings.
“There’s no way we can do this all at once, Zeche, and I’m being completely honest with you.” Tops set the piece of paper among the other piles, brows drawn.
Zeche inclined his head, pulling out his trump card. “I’m sure if I spoke with Audrey, she’d be willing to offset some of the fee with food supplies. And if Gwyn assisted as well, it may help put her in the better graces of those she’s wronged.”
Tops nodded slowly. “That could work. And that would offset—?”
Zeche straightened in the chair. “Up to half of the fee.”
The commander took a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his bald head. “We made the reparations to our own men last year for the most part, though the food stipend to their families continues. We’ll make good on your losses, Raven, a bit at a time.”
Zeche tilted his head to the side. “And when will they be paid in full?”
“Within the year.”
Zeche rose, extending his hand over the desk. “I think we may be back in business.”
Before Tops could get to his feet, an impatient rapping sounded on the door. Tops rose, giving Zeche a hurried handshake on his way to the door, pulling it open with a pissed-off expression.
“I left orders that I was not to be— Hound?”
The former Brotherhood leader didn’t beat around the bush. “I’ve made contact with Deuce.”
Zeche crossed his arms over his chest. “Now this I’d like to hear.”
Tops turned, frowning at him before rolling his eyes. “Fine.” He turned to one of the guards stationed outside his office. “Get Ace and Blaise here, immediately.”
“You’re certain he wasn’t telling you this information under duress?” Zeche was standing against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The intel Hound had gotten from Deuce was priceless, if true. Getting someone in to verify things was going to be tricky, especially seeing as it apparently had to be a Seeker to even get in the door.
“That’s my concern, as well.” Tops just had to get in on the action. I think he likes the sound of his own voice. Zeche puzzled over that for a moment before turning his attention back to Hound.
The man looked exhausted, bags under his normally sharp brown eyes. “Deuce isn’t the type to keep taking risks unless it’s necessary. He went back in there be
cause he believes we’ll have better chances of succeeding if Zad remains calm.”
The room was silent for a while, the men all in various contemplative postures. “There is the issue of Clover.” Tops said the words hesitantly, eyes on Hound.
Clover? Ace seemed similarly confused.
Hound became more animated. “What does she have to do with any of this?”
Tops sighed, shaking his head. “She’s a tool Zaddicus can use to pressure him. If he has her, or agents in place to act on her, we can’t trust a word coming out of his mouth.”
Zeche raised his hand. “Question! Who is Clover?” It wasn’t often he found himself not knowing all the parties involved.
Hound glanced sidelong at Blaise, who had been uncharacteristically silent. “His daughter.”
Quiet guy has a kid? I didn’t see that one coming.
“Wait, Deuce has a daughter? Since when?” Ace strode over to Hound, staring the man in the face. “If he had a kid, I would know about it.”
“Chosen Abbie had an adopted daughter.” Hound didn’t back down from his former second in command, instead speaking plainly.
Chosen Abbie— the Chosen assigned to his mother’s estate?
Ace’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. She married some no-good deserter and died in childbirth.”
Hound didn’t say anything else, merely raising an eyebrow.
“Shit.” Ace turned, still lost in thought. “Shit!” He smacked a fist into his open palm. “No wonder he said she wouldn’t come help Audrey if he was the one to ask.”
Tops cleared his throat awkwardly. “If we could return to the matter at hand—”
Blaise spoke up for the first time. “If we secure the kid, then there’s no concern.”
“If there are operatives watching the girl and we take her, they’ll know we’re trying to protect Deuce, which would flag him as a traitor for Zaddicus.” Zeche stroked his goatee, trying to think of a way around this problem. No matter which angle he approached from, he ran into a brick wall.
“And it also wouldn’t prove that the intel he’s already given us is correct.” Hound added that little zinger to the end. He’s right, of course. Someone else is going to have to get in there.
“If I may, gentlemen.” Blaise sauntered into the center of the room, sitting irreverently on the edge of Tops’ desk. “Rats are often good allies when working with explosives. We have several Chosen possessing a talent with animals. A rat could infiltrate the compound and verify all maps and symbols through its connection with the Chosen.”
Zeche perked up, staring at the flamboyant demolitions expert. I knew there was more to you than a pretty package. “And a rat wouldn’t be suspected if seen running through the tunnels and, if caught, would have no way to be traced back to us, assuming the Chosen severs the connection.”
Tops didn’t seem convinced. “A rat can verify depths?”
“No, but if everything else checks out, we can probably assume those are accurate.” Ace seemed half-dead, his body rigid, his words delivered in a monotone.
Zeche nodded slowly. “This is all well and good, gentlemen, but what is our plan once the intel is verified?” The Seekers hadn’t recovered from the Battle of the Institute, and aside from recruiting rank and file soldiers, a small strike force untrained in many of the necessary skills for mounting an assault on an underground compound would be all they could muster.
Blaise leaned forward, studying the map Hound had drawn. He put markers over certain sections of the tunnels, biting his lower lip as he moved the pieces. Finally, he turned to Zeche. “Thoughts, spy master?”
Tops grunted, arms crossed over his chest and frowning at them grouchily.
Aw, mad that I’m moving in on your turf, big guy? Too bad… Zeche didn’t bother hiding his smirk as he sauntered forward, purposefully standing too close to Blaise as he looked over the man’s shoulder at the map. His eyes flicked to the depth markers and he nodded slowly as he verified the man’s calculations.
“What’s your plan for delivering the explosives? These will have to be detonated below ground, yes?”
Blaise frowned, turning the expression almost into a pout. “Oh, ye of little faith,” he tisked, waggling a finger at Zeche.
Zeche put a hand on his hip, arching an eyebrow. “I’m willing to be educated.”
Ace made a disgusted sound over in the corner, and Tops was looking fit to be tied. And I’m okay with both options.
Blaise looked him up and down, and Zeche found his lips twitching into a one-sided grin. “You obviously haven’t bedded an animal seer.”
“Can’t say that I have.” Until Audrey, he’d made a general policy of avoiding the Chosen.
“They can make those little rascals do…just about anything.” Blaise’s words were dripping innuendo, and as much as Zeche was enjoying the flirting, he still wasn’t entirely seeing Blaise’s point.
“Including…?”
Blaise winked at him. “Digging tunnels exactly where you need them. Like a mole, for instance. Have one of those little suckers dig us a nice, straight line down, then drop the explosives, and—”
Zeche grinned. “Boom.”
“Boom,” Blaise agreed.
“If you two are done ‘booming’ over there…” Ace was standing near the window, as if the fresh air was the only thing keeping him on his feet.
“I quite agree.” Zeche had never heard Tops’ voice so deep.
Blaise waggled his eyebrows at Zeche. Yeah, you’re gonna get it later. He slid off the desk and almost pranced to Tops’ side, putting his hand on the commander’s arm.
“There’s still the matter of your men.” Zeche returned to his earlier position in one of the chairs in front of Tops’ desk, feeling quite smug.
“What of them?” Oh yes, the leader of the Seekers was not pleased with him, one bit.
“Are they proficient in close quarters fighting in an underground setting, quite possibly with bits of earth and rock falling down around them? Can they escort out refugees in those conditions?”
Tops humphed. “I assume by asking the question, you’re already aware of the answer.”
“Indeed.”
“So, we have to delay the rescue mission for training purposes.” Ace didn’t sound happy about that, though how much of that reluctance came from him and how much of it came from the earful he’d get from Audrey when he got home, Zeche wasn’t sure.
“There’s no sense rushing off to disaster if we’re not going to actually save anyone.” Blaise rolled his eyes, as if the decision were child’s play.
Ace frowned. “I wasn’t suggesting that.” He rubbed his hand over his face, shaking his head. “Audrey is not going to like this one bit.”
“I think I might take a sabbatical.”
Zeche turned to face Tops, finding the admission from the commander almost startling. Tops had certainly met his match in Audrey, and Zeche could see both sides of the coin. This time, however, he’d have to back the commander. The Seekers weren’t ready to launch an offensive against Zaddicus.
“Well, you’ll just have to remind her that, as important as their lives are, they’ve been living there with no hope of rescue their entire lives. A month or two of training for our men isn’t going to kill them.” Zeche shrugged, wishing Ace the best of luck. Audrey could be quite the spitfire when she got her hackles up about something.
“Is there anything else?” Tops groaned out the words, and it was obvious he was done with the meeting.
“I’ll be easy to find if you need to consult with me on training tactics.” Zeche made the offer, and hoped the commander took him up on it. Learning the tactics from him would go far better than whatever they could read about in some dusty old tome in their library. Zeche spent a great deal of time in close quarters.
“I’ve gotta get back to the Manse, but I’ll take you up on that.” Ace pushed off the window sill, glancing at Tops.
“Dismissed.”
12
&
nbsp; Ace looked up from the report, shaking his head. “Zeche, is all of this really necessary?”
The assassin turned away from the window, shrugging with one shoulder. “For each Seeker? No. But there must be enough men trained to fill up the ranks.”
The training list was extensive. Zeche wanted Seekers trained in detecting weaknesses in the structure, predicting collapse points, hostage negotiations, close quarters fighting, explosives, and guarding, and that was just the first half of the list. Ace tapped the nub of the quill against the parchment, frowning.
“I’m never going to get Audrey to approve of the delay.” Not to mention the crapton of work involved, here. I don’t know half these things, myself.
“Leave her to me.”
Ace looked up, startled. “You. Really?” At the assassin’s unimpressed glare, Ace shrugged. “Whatever. You want to volunteer to stand in front of the charging bull, I’ll let you.”
“If you routinely compare her to charging male bovines, it’s no wonder you have so much trouble.” Zeche chuckled, shaking his head.
He ignored the jibe, instead letting his eyes fall to the parchment again. “I can’t ask the men to learn things I don’t know, and I can’t devise training plans when I have no idea of the material.”
“You’re thinking too hard.”
Ace dropped the quill. “Okay, fine. How would you do it?”
Zeche grinned. “You have weapons masters. Interview them. Find out who fights best in tight quarters, then put them in charge of close combat training.”
“Well, that takes care of one of your requirements.” Ace crossed his arms over his chest.
“Blaise can teach the explosives segment. Quad is good at guarding a specific target, so give him the class to teach and he’ll get even better. As for the structural classes…” Zeche paused, eyes narrowed.
“I get it, find someone good at it and bring them in.” Ace sighed, fixing his gaze on the ceiling. “And just how am I supposed to pay for all of this?”
