Against Inevitability

Prologue They would be coming soon, eight pairs of feet leading hundreds more, each pair scraping and thumping along the cobblestone thoroughfare towards the estate. There would be more scrambling into positions on rooftops and skittering about the meager maze of alleyways that wound about the few shops that were lucky enough to call the Upper City home. All of those feet made up the combined forces of eight of the nine houses of Serol and the Lords led them. They were coming; it was only a matter of time. Lord Nanron sat sunken in his overstuffed chair, unaware of the seconds that ticked by and equally unaware of the threat that marched ever closer with the passing of those seconds. Nor was he aware of the man that stood by his side, tall, armored, and grim faced with one hand on the pommel of the sword that hung on his side and one upon the back of his Lord’s chair. He was certainly unaware of the thoughts that swirled through his servant’s, his guard’s, mind. William, or Bill, as he was called, was keenly aware of the time that crawled by and he counted every second of it. He counted them as he waited for news, news of the arrival of the Lords’ me or the coming of a miracle to stave off the inevitable. News of neither had come and his waiting gave way to his other thoughts, darker and deeper than his worries and his fears. They jostled and persisted, fighting their way to the forefront of his mind. They were of his lord, the slack-faced man who sat at his side, his eyes staring at nothing and reflecting the same. Nanron had once been a great man, powerful and brilliant on both the battlefield and in politics. There was no doubt that he was a hard man, who had little kindness and even less patience, but was all the greater for it. Bill had served under Nanron for over twenty years, first on the field of battle, then as a servant, guard, counsel, and, most importantly, as a friend. Bill had little in the way of a life, he had no family, no house to call his own, no wife, and spent little time away from his Lord, but he did not consider it a life wasted. Instead he was content in the knowledge and experience his Lord had provided, in their friendship, and in the wife and children of his Lord, who he came to view as a surrogate family. The Assassin’s Touch had brought an end to that. It was an acute plague, neither widespread nor centralized like the others, but deadly all the same. It had no limits or boundaries, no one was safe. It was that plague that took Bill’s surrogate family, Nanron’s wife and children. It had saddened him, the loss, but it had driven Nanron to a sort of hollow madness that persisted until he was a mere shell of his former self, dead to the world and useless to the council as well as everyone else. The Lords had discovered the truth about Nanron’s condition despite all that Bill did to keep it a secret. Now they were coming to take away all that Nanron had, his estate, his title, and likely his life. The council had no need for an old man with a dead mind and Bill saw the logic in it, but he did not like it. They were going to take more than just what Nanron had, they were coming to take the only home that Bill

had known for decades, to throw away what little life he had, to leave him dead, dying, or destitute upon the streets of that horrible brown smudge known as the Dirt. Bill was not fond of the idea and would do anything in his power to stop them. The plan that those dark thoughts made up had come to dominate his train of thought. He could no longer focus enough to count or to worry. So he stood there, with his hand clenching and unclenching the pommel of his sword as he thought about what would come next and the culmination of his plans. He waited. *** Silence encroached upon the estate and the hearts of the men and women that occupied it. An unnatural quiet, it brought with it a deep-set feeling of unease that served to keep everyone on edge. Gerald was more so than others, it was the silence that made him so ill at ease, but there was more to it. The guard had never before suffered the sort of misfortune he did then. His was a chattering soul that craved conversation, but he was forced to stand at the gate to the estate, alone and in silence. Silence, because that was the one rule of his forced duty, to stand guard at the gate and watch and listen. In silence. Gerald did not blanch at the fact that he would be the first to see the enemy or at the fact that he would be in the open and a clear target. He did not mind either for in his heart he knew it would only bring an end to the silent torment that had been thrown upon him. Despite all that he did his duty, he stood there in silence and listened as he was told to do, perhaps even more intently than anyone else would. He strained to hear anything at all, a snatch of conversation, the solid thump of a boot against a cobblestone, or perhaps the crash of a roof tile falling under the weight of a clumsy foot. He was the front line, the first warning, and it would fall to him to bring the news to his superior officer at first hint of the enemy’s approach. More importantly the approach would signal the end to his cursed duty, which was a punishment for sure, though some fool would think it an honor. So he stood there waiting, watching, and listening as he grew more jittery and jumpy by the minute, like an addict whose drug of choice was locked just out of his grasp. He waited, because it was only a matter of time. The Lords were coming. *** The time had come. It was not signified by a clatter, crash, voice, or thump. Instead the arrival was announced by the prideful call of a dozen horns, ensuring that everyone in the city, from the Upper City to the Dirt, would know the events of the day. For one man, who stood alone beside a gate, the horns gave birth to a sigh of relief and a grin that was out of place given the danger that waited. For another, who stood beside a chair that held the withered body of a once great man, they gave birth to a sigh of a different sort, be it weariness, sadness, or the exaggerated sigh of tension being renewed in the face of a new and daunting task.

The man at the gate did not wait for another second. He was off before the horns’ calls had come to an end, running towards the office of his superior. The horns were loud enough, his superior would no doubt have heard them, but it was Gerald’s duty and he would not forego his chance to speak for the first time since his dread duty began. The estate’s features raced by, for Gerald was not only known for his ability to run his mouth, but also for his swift feet, which was the real reason for being put on the gate, whether he knew it or not. Faces drifted by and changed as Gerald ran by, each one turning into a different mask, be it the grim face of a guard whose last task was about to commence or the horrified face of a servant who didn’t know what to do at all. Gerald did not notice the changes as he ran, he didn’t notice much more than what was in front of him. He ran further and further, his every step threatened to steal the breath from his lungs and leave him gasping on the floor, but his target was in sight. The door to his Lord’s study appeared to be more a large slab of wood set in the door frame than an actual door and was flanked on either side by a well armed, and armored, guard. The one nearest the handle did not say a word as Gerald neared, nor did he stop him, he merely reached down, turned the handle, and gave the door a push. The beast of the door swept inward silently and more quickly than one would imagine for such a large door. Gerald ran through the portal into the room and stopped abruptly as he came face to face with his superior officer and his Lord. “Sir—” Gerald’s voice gave out before he could finish. *** Bill had heard the horns, everyone had heard the damned things, but he had decided to wait for the gate guard. It wasn’t because he held any particular fondness for the man that stood before him gasping as he attempted to tell him the news, but because he was rather enamored with the idea of making the Lords and their armored men wait outside sweating in the afternoon sun. It would have even brought a smile to his face had things been different. “Sir,” Gerald began again, “Sir—” “I heard,” replied Bill, cutting him off. He looked out the door towards the two guards outside. “The two of you, get in here,” he said and motioned the two to either side of the Lord’s chair as they entered the room. “I am afraid our lord cannot walk, so we will have to carry him out to our friends waiting outside.” The guard to the right of Nanron raised an eyebrow at the statement, “You planning on giving him to them, sir?” “No, but nevertheless, he must be present,” replied Bill, his voice low and sounding almost mournful. The guard nodded in answer, but found himself under the glare of his superior, who began to speak in a tone far different from the previous one. “Do not dare question my intentions again,” he said. His voice was nearly a growl and displayed a hint of the temper that he was known for, but rarely showed anymore. “Do you understand?” The guard blanched at the sudden display and replied in a meek voice, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” said Bill, “Now the two of you pick him up out of that chair and let’s be on our way, we have guests waiting.” *** The walk to the gate was long and made longer by having to drag Lord Nanron along behind them. The sheer amount of life did not help either, people ran about here and there, relaying messages, forming lines, and taking positions around the estate. The staff scrambled about the estate as well, some looked for a place to hide, others went about their tasks, and a few wandered about either drunk or otherwise lost to the world. To Bill the walk seemed to be the longest he had ever partook, a slow crawl mocked by the quick pace set by those around him. It did not ease his tensions. The guards all acted as though they stood a chance, but Bill knew different. They had the advantage of being former soldiers, all of them, but they were too few and the walls were too thin. If they managed to hold out a night it would be a miracle. The Lords would not want to attack though; they would much prefer a whole compound and readymade garrison for whichever lordling they had decided should take Nanron’s place. It heartened him to see that the men and women of the guard did not take to that idea. They were loyal men, one and all, and each stood tall, grim-faced and angry, as they faced the wall and gate. They would not surrender, not their Lord, who they had served under in the military, or his title. They had no desire to kneel to some upstart lordling and even less desire to swear their service. That thought briefly played at his nerves, but he no longer had time to think about anything other than what he was going to do and what he was going to say. His group neared the estate’s iron-barred gate that normally looked so strong. It looked fragile now, as if it could be knocked to the ground with ease. Behind it stood the Lords, all eight of them arrayed in a crescent, each one of them staring as the group neared. One grinned as if the whole thing amused him, the others merely sneered. There would be no surrender, they all knew that, but they stood there in anticipation anyway. *** The knife’s blade slid easily across Lord Nanron’s throat, despite Bill’s trembling hand. A short wheeze was the Lord’s only response and Bill watched as what little light that was left in the old man’s eyes fled, he watched them fall away as the guards let go of him in shock. The Lord’s body toppled to the ground and Bill watched as a pool of blood slowly expanded from beneath Nanron’s body. Silence had once more fallen upon the estate, but this time it extended outwards from the estate as well. The combined forces of the Lords had hushed. A low murmur began, but Bill did not hear it, he only stood staring down at his friend’s body, his knife still clenched in his hand. The murmur had transformed into a dull

roar, the Lords’ forces talked amongst themselves, unsure of what to make of the situation, cries of outrage, curses, and shouts came from his own men. Still Bill did not hear them; his focus remained on the body and the pool of blood. The dark thoughts that had raced through his mind were gone with the life of his mentor, friend, master, lord, and surrogate father. He had done the deed, the thoughts were gone, now only guilt remained. Bill gathered his thoughts as he stared down at the body of the man who had given him a life, a family, a home, and a friendship. Anger coursed through him, but he fought to keep it in check, it was the last thing he needed. He turned slowly from the corpse and looked up away from the ground, up towards the eight men that stood on the other side of the gate, each one with their jaws hanging open in disbelief. He noticed the sounds now, the shouts, the curses, the conversations, and the muttering. It would not do. “Silence!” he yelled. It was the same voice that he used on the battlefield to command the soldiers under his command, the same voice that each of the guards on the estate grounds had heard many times over. They obeyed and the crowd on his side began to lower their voices, the other side was not as forthcoming. “Silence?” questioned the Lord that had worn a grin earlier, a dark-haired man of middling height with a dog at his side, “Who are you to command silence, Bill?” “The new Lord of this house,” answered Bill, his voice calm and clear. A few gasps could be heard around him and beyond the wall, but more than one scoff came from the men on the other side of the gate and all but one sneered in his direction. Beezer just grinned. “Oh?” began Beezer, “and what gave you that thought? You have merely performed the task we set out to do ourselves, albeit it was quite a surprised to see you do it. It was almost sweet, your betrayal.” “That is where you are wrong, Beezer, Lord Nanron has been dead for some time now. I did not betray him, if anything I betrayed the shell of a man, a withered husk. There was no recovery for him, but I think you already knew that.” Bill paused and allowed himself a grin. “As for what gave me that thought, well as far as I can tell, the blade that took the Lord’s life was my own and my men hold the estate. I do believe that makes this a coup.” “A coup,” Beezer’s face grew sharper and his grin disappeared, but only for a short time. The grin suddenly appeared on his face once more, “It seems someone has been studying his history. If that is so, then you should well know that the results of a coup must be recognized by the council.” Bill nodded in response and Beezer shrugged in reply. “So be it. Tell us why we should recognize the success of your coup and allow you the title, but do it quickly.” Bill nodded and took a deep breath. “Who else would suit as a replacement for my lord than someone who has been at or near his side for so many years, as guard, counsel, and friend, all the while learning? He may have been the least of you, but you know damn well that he was the best of you; you know he was effective, that he was strong, and you know that he was in much higher standing

with the commoners than the lot of you. All of this he has passed on to me, all of this you need! Would you hand the title down to some fop lordling, barely responsible enough to wipe his own ass, or would rather pass it on to the one person taught directly by his lordship?” Bill paused to gather his breath before beginning again, “I ran this estate for nearly two seasons with none of you wise to my lord’s fate and if it weren’t for a pair of loose lips that would still be the case. The fact is, you know me or you know of me and you know my reputation, you know why my lord trusted me, and you also know that I can do a damn deal better job at this than whatever little bastard you think you’ll be able to control.” Bill narrowed his eyes at the group before him, “And you know damn well the only way you’ll avoid shedding more blood is to do this. Besides, could be I’ll be slaughtered before the end of the night and your jobs will be all the easier. So, my friends, what say you?” The guards had watched him with clear contempt, but he had made some valid points. They muttered to each other in low tones as they gathered together, forming a tight circle that allowed bits and pieces of conversation to escape, but only that and nothing at all telling of which direction the informal meeting was taking. The tone of the conversation had changed several times over, with the muffled vocal range of the conversation growing heated, then hushed, then heated once more. Hatred and disgust were clear in some of the tones, but even that eventually few away. The council did indeed know Bill’s reputation, which was much like that of Nanron’s, and they could use it to their advantage. Minutes passed and the discussion had died down to a plethora of hisses and whispers. The Lords were doing what they did best, weighing the options, considering their own needs, and talking. Half an hour huddled in a circle proved to be long enough for the council and Beezer turned around and stepped away from his fellow Lords, a smirk had replaced his customary grin. “Our meeting has come to an end and we, the ruling council of Serol, have reached a decision,” he said. The man paused and silence dropped over both parties. Bill waited for his answer, so did everyone else.

Chapter One - Price of Boldness The afternoon sun glinted off the bright red scales of the creature’s long neck as it pulled it back to rear its elongated, narrow head. Black, vertical pupils surrounded by gold stared out and held the fool that had wandered into its territory in a fierce glare. The creature’s jaws opened to reveal a mouth full of dagger-sharp ivory teeth and it let out a hiss as a warning to the foolish thing. The warning went unheeded, the fool merely continued to stand there, staring back at the creature, into those vertical slits. Smoke began to roll out of its mouth as it hissed again, but the fool still did not flee. Darius watched as the creature’s head shot forward and unleashed a gout of flame towards her, but she did not try to evade it. Instead she laughed as the footlong gout of flame fell far short of its mark. The creature’s eyes did not work well under the bright glare of the sun and she was out of range besides, there was little to worry about. The tiny beast had reared its head once again, its eyes were once again fixed on her, and it began to hiss once more. It was six inches of beautiful, benign fury, a dragon of legends in miniature form. It would mock rage, hiss, sputter, and let loose its elemental breath, but at the first real sign of danger it would run. The tiny dragons were beautiful to behold and Darius loved to watch them. The one before her was a dark red, but she had seen others that were different colors. The Jewels of Serol. Someone had called them that, but she could not recall who, not that it mattered. While the dragons were beautiful to her, others found them to be a nuisance better done away with. They were an odd creature and rare, rarer still since the only place they could be found sought to have them destroyed. They set fire to buildings and attacked people foolish enough to persist in bothering them. The warehouses found across the city were the ones that took the hardest hit, especially those near the docks or the ones that commonly held food of some sort and it was the owners of the warehouses and the owners of the stock inside that screamed the loudest for bringing an end to the Jewels. Darius sighed at the thought and shook it from her mind. There was little point in thinking about it, that was life and there was nothing she could do about it. A hiss from the little red dragon did well in removing the thought from her mind and bringing her back into focus. Once again she found herself staring at those gold eyes, just as they focused on her brown. They were not on equal ground, the two of them, so Darius ducked down until her eyes were even with its own. The little dragon stared back, smoke rolling out of its nostrils and mouth. Darius began to sway her head back and forth, left to right, right to left, and soon the little dragon’s head began to do the same, their eyes locked all the while. The little terror’s mock rage melted away with the smoke that had stopped pouring from its mouth and the hissing that had finally come to an end. An almost dull burst

of sparks brought an end to the odd peace as the knife Darius had slowly drawn from her belt struck the parapet between them. The dragon hissed loudly as it backed away from the sudden clang of steel against stone and smoke once again started to issue forth. There was no benign rage in its display, however, just pure terror. It twisted and fell over itself as it attempted to turn about and Darius laughed at its clumsy escape. After a few seconds of untangling its limbs the little dragon managed to right itself in the proper direction and skittered down the parapet towards the edge of the roof. It did not stop as it neared the end of the parapet and the long drop to the ground; instead it bunched its rear legs and leapt. The tiny wings were of no use for actual flight like the wings of the tiny beast’s mythological counterparts, but they were good for gliding. The wings of the little dragon opened after it had dropped a few feet and its slow descent began. Darius watched as it turned in circles, slowly gliding down towards the courtyard below. She applauded its jump just as much as she laughed at its clumsiness and she watched in awe as it smoothly dropped from the glide to land in a tree far below. She turned her gaze from the courtyard and walked to the other side of the roof to lean against the parapet. The view from the roof of the estate was a stunning one that brought her back almost daily. Serol’s steps stretched out before her, widening the crescent shape of the city with each one until finally the Dirt terminated in the embrace of ocean. The sight of the cityscape soothed her mind and brought her comfort. It had served to do that for many years, ever since she first wandered up soon after being brought to the estate all those years ago. It was her spot, the guards may have occupied it more, but that didn’t matter. They would always leave when she came to visit, to leave her alone with her thoughts and her temper. The Dirt was far below, nestled against the ocean like a dirty brown smudge on the surface of a brilliant sapphire. It was her home once, all those years ago, and it hadn’t changed much since then. The air was still filled with dust and grit kicked up from the streets as it always was. She remembered how it would settle over her after she managed to find a place to sleep for the night, even when there was shelter that was meant to keep it off of her. She remembered how it meant you could get clean, but you wouldn’t stay that way for long. She remembered it clearly, so much so that she could almost feel the grit settling on her skin, could almost feel the familiar itch. She closed her eyes to shut out the sight before her, but she could still see the Dirt clearly. Not the distant view of it from on high, but the sight of it from the eyes of a young girl. A hand closed about her arm and she remembered the hand that had closed around her wrist so many years ago. Black gloved and strong, it had gripped her hand like a vice to prevent it from reaching the bulging purse before her. She turned to see who had touched her arm and saw the same face she had all those years ago. Bill had not changed much since then. He looked the same as he did when he yanked her to his side, away from his black-clad master she had

intended to steal from. Looked the same as he did when he asked her where her parents were and told his master he would be taking her after she told him they had died. The same after he refused to take her hands or turn her over to the constabulary for them to do it. He always looked the same, perhaps a few more creases in his face, but the same. “Are you all right?” he asked, letting go of her arm. She looked at him, at the beard and bald pate, at his eyes. She wanted to hate his man for what he had turned her into, but she knew that she could have turned out much worse had she stayed down in the Dirt. Children, especially little girls, were not safe in that maze of dusty alleys. They were taken, abused, turned into whores, or killed. That was the way of it, the danger of the Dirt, and he had saved her from it. For that she could not hate him, could only be thankful. “Yes, sir,” she said, “I’m fine.” She paused. “Just thinking about times gone by.” “I see.” He turned away from the view of the city and leaned back against the parapet. He looked over at her and waited. “I assume there is a reason you braved the ladder to join me,” she finally said. Bill grinned, but it quickly faded. “Yes, there is.” He went silent for a short time and Darius knew he was sorting his thoughts. “I just finished talking to Avelyn.” “And?” “And he does not believe Nanron is going to pull out of his spell.” “Is that so?” Bill nodded in answer. “Too bad,” said Darius. She was thankful for Bill, for what he had done, but she did not have to feel the same about Nanron. He had wanted her hands stricken from her body for attempting to steal, he forced her to remain out of his sight and away from his family, and in those rare moments that she had been before him with Bill at her side she had been treated with an indifference that hovered on the edge of disgust. “So what does it mean?” Bill moved beside her and looked out over the city. He stared out over it for a few seconds and answered, “It means that we are going to have a fair bit of trouble soon, more than we’ve had.” Bill’s eyes moved from the far end of the city to the Upper City that spread out around them, “The time when we could say Nanron was grieving and unwilling to take visitors is coming to an end, and very soon at that. The council will want to see their fellow member.” “And when we cannot produce anything but that shell?” Darius prompted. “They won’t make any sudden moves, but sooner or later they will demand to see him and when they find out his state, then it is the end of the line for us,” answered Bill. “So what does that mean for us? The streets?” asked Darius. Bill looked at her intently, “Not for us. Perhaps for the regular guard, but we’ll not be so lucky.” “Death then,” said Darius.

“Death,” answered Bill. “Why don’t we go to the other council members and tell them, then? Perhaps they wouldn’t boot us out onto the streets and they certainly wouldn’t kill us.” “Darius,” Bill began, “what are we? What are you?” “Guards,” answered Darius. “Guards, yes,” said Bill. “Perhaps I should have worded it differently. What were we?” “Military,” she said, “under Nanron’s command.” Bill nodded, “yes, that we were. Others don’t like that sort of thing, Darius. We are loyal to Nanron, too loyal for the council to keep us around. All except you, and you were nothing more than a thief and they wouldn’t like that either.” “So we’re doing what, fighting?” asked Darius, “if so, for what, loyalty to a mindless shell?” She shook her head, “This is silly, Bill. No, more than that, it is insane.” “I don’t know what we are doing yet, Darius,” answered Bill. “We can’t fight them. We aren’t strong enough for that. The only thing we can do is bide our time and try to figure things out, come up with a plan, and hopefully come out of it all with our lives.” “I don’t like it--” Bill cut her off, “I don’t care if you like it. You are part of the guard and you will do as you are ordered. You are cut slack because of what you have been trained to do and you weren’t in the military like the rest of us, which means you do not know the seriousness that comes with disobeying an order. We are in trouble, any way you cut it, and now is not the time to be willful, now is not the time to think, just do your damned job.” Darius straightened, “Yes, sir.” She waited a few seconds and continued, “what would you have me do?” “The same thing as always, go about making sure our secrets stay safe and figuring out the secrets of others,” Bill answered. “There is one more thing though.” “Yes?” asked Darius. “We need your dreams,” said Bill. Darius had seen things in her dreams since her parents died over a decade before and they began with a vision of their death. The dreams could be helpful at times. When she was younger, before she had been caught by Bill, they had shown her where to steal and what to steal. They gave her an edge. After she had been caught, however, they had slowly turned for the worse. When she closed her eyes terrors flashed before them. Murder, rape, beatings, and even worse things, the dreams of such things plagued her. The fact that each and every one would happen at some point in the near future made things even worse. She felt guilt for things that she could not change. At some point she had figured out that when she was fully exhausted and sleep deprived she could sleep and the dreams would not come. She had used that method ever since she had learned it. Four years, give or take, and it was not an easy thing to grow accustomed to. “No,” Darius answered.

“Yes,” replied Bill, “I am not asking you to sleep, I am ordering you to.” Darius narrowed her eyes at him, “You know what happens when I--” “I know very well, but I also know that we need your dreams. I wouldn’t have you do this if it wasn’t important and it is very important. Your dreams can warn us ahead of time, it is the one advantage we have.” She growled in response and looked back over the city. “Fine,” she said finally. Bill put his hand on her shoulder as he turned to leave, “I know--” Darius cut him off, “No, you don’t. You have no idea.” She shrugged his hand from her shoulder and he walked back towards the ladder without saying a word. There was nothing he could say. She was right, he didn’t know. *** The length of steel scored a shallow stab to the man’s gut and he doubled over. This did not please Beezer, nor was he any more pleased when the man fell over onto his side, his hands over the shallow wound. The man’s opponent wiped what little blood was on his sword off on the fallen man’s shirt and sheathed it as the crowd about the circle gave a round of quiet applause. Beezer did not applaud, he only frowned as he mentally calculated how much he had lost in the small bet he had made before the duel had begun. He gave up on them shortly after and chalked it up to too much. His assistant stood behind him and to the side. “Izzil,” he said, “I take it you know the amount I owe?” “Yes, sir,” answered Izeil, who was not at all happy that Beezer had once again called him by the wrong name. “Good,” replied Beezer, “then I’ll leave it to you to take care of.” He turned from the circle and the disappointment that was still on the ground and began walking to the carriage that awaited him. “I am returning to the Upper City, Izelle, I trust that you can find your own way up after you are finished here.” “Yes, sir,” answered Izeil with a shallow bow. A few choice words filtered through his mind, but he left them drift away. Beezer stopped, “Oh, and see if you can find her and if so, send her to my office.” He referred to the woman he had placed in charge of the intelligence network and because of that position he rarely said her name aloud. His assistant would know who he was talking about though and showed that he did by giving yet another shallow bow. The crowd had begun to disperse just as Beezer reached the carriage. “Home,” he said to the driver as he opened the door. The driver did not respond, but that was part of his job, and Beezer entered the carriage and took a seat. The carriage lurched forward and Beezer looked out the window at the green grass, canals, and ponds that made up the Waters district. Unlike the Dirt and Stone, which were always busy with people doing work, this place was always busy with people pursuing leisurely activities. The only people doing work here were servants and

assistants and the select few whose task it was to maintain the greenery of the district. There were few houses in the district and most of them were found on the edges of the district facing in towards the gardens and such that dominated the district. A few buildings were spaced out across the breadth of the district, mostly stores and restaurants. He spent time down here just as most other Lords did, for as little that took place in the Waters, even less took place in the Upper City. The Lord kept to themselves and the Upper City was home to them and their families, as well as a sprinkling of minor nobility. Once yearly they would hold a ball, but that that was the height of the excitement for the place. The carriage had begun moving noticeably uphill, as suited the fact that the Upper City was the highest district in Serol. The greenery gave way to the beautiful housing on the edge of the city and Beezer looked away from the window. While he found the gardens and such to be beautiful, he did not find architecture at all interesting. *** Izeil knocked on the heavy-looking wooden door, but the sound was not the solid, but low thumps that one would expect from knocking on such a door. Instead the knocks rang out loud. The door was as hollow as his master was cheap and though it provided no protection at all, besides from prying eyes, his master did not mind, just as long as his purse was not damaged in its purchase. “Enter.” He heard the answer through the door and did as was said. The door swung open with a slight creak, which seemed odd for a door that weighed so little and was maintained on a regular basis. Beezer sat at his desk, a quill in one hand and the other petting the dog whose tail was wagging just to the side of the desk. Beezer would proudly go on and on about the dog, but much to his chagrin no one ever asked him about it. Izeil almost smiled at the thought of it and wondered if he would ever stop telling visitors that the dog was a touchy subject that Beezer had no desire at all to talk about. ‘Better not to mention it,’ he would say and they would all nod and smile as if they understood at all the reason why Beezer didn’t wish to speak of it. Of course, no reason existed, but since Beezer still did not know Izeil’s name, he found that he rather enjoyed claiming there was. “My Lord,” Izeil said with a bow. “Issielle,” replied Beezer, “all is taken care of?” “Yes, sir,” answered Izeil, “your debt has been paid and I located her. She tells me that she will be along shortly.” “Good, good,” said Beezer, who had started to write something down. “That is all for now, Essle, you are free for a few hours.” “Thank you, sir,” replied Izeil. He turned away from Beezer and the shelves that lined the walls met his vision. He had once looked over the books that the shelves held and discovered, as expected, that Beezer had no taste. He would have

limited it to books, but he had worked for him for several years and knew better. He walked from the room and towards his chambers with a curse on his lips and a string of them waiting behind it. “It’s a simple name!” he shouted in a whisper after he closed the door to his chamber and let loose the curses. *** “Enter,” Beezer said as another hollow knock sounded. The person who came in was short and swathed in silk. What parts of her that was not covered, which amounted to her hands and head, were a pale white. Her face was angular, but soft, and framed with dark hair, unevenly cut. Beezer remembered an incident a few years before that had forced her to cut it extremely short and almost laughed. “Hello Kayla,” he said. She grinned and whatever hardness her face could have held disappeared, “you know, most just call me Wyvie.” “I do know that,” replied Beezer, as he slipped a scrap of parchment into the book he was reading and closed it, “but I am not one of them.” Kayla only shrugged at the response and the grin remained. “So,” she said, “you called?” “I did,” he replied, “your report was due two days ago and yet I have seen neither hide nor hair of you.” “But I am right here,” she said and her grin grew wider. “Indeed,” said Beezer. “Since you are here, do you have anything to report?” “I do,” she said, “but little of import.” “Doesn’t matter,” said Beezer. He waved to a couch over to the side, “have a seat and tell me about it.” *** The sun had finally gone down some time previous, but Darius hardly gave notice to it. She watched the pin pricks of lights pop up in the city below, from the Dirt, to the Stone, and especially the Waters, where a party would no doubt be taking place just as they always did. The reality of the situation was that she did not wish to leave that spot, to retreat to her chambers for a night of whatever horrors fate wished to throw at her. Things were not so simple for her, after she had been caught by Bill she had been submitted to training. They turned her from a thief to a thug, from a thug to a fighter, and from a fighter to an assassin. She knew how to torture, to steal better than she did before, how best to take someone down unarmed, and how to kill. Despite all of this, she was terrified of what her dreams would hold for her. Fate had taken her in directions that she would have never expected to take. It had taken her parents from her and made her a petty thief to survive. She was warned not to trust her dreams, but she ignored the warning and it lead to her being caught by Bill. Her boldness in trying to steal from a Lord was the reason Bill

spared her and why he asked permission to take her in. It is why he gave her such training, which took from her what little innocence that remained. Still, she found it hard to resent Bill. He had given her a chance at survival and had taken her innocence in a way much preferable to the way it could have been taken on the streets of the Dirt. She looked out towards the Dirt and wind began to blow. Darius was not the spiritual type, but she still blamed only fate for what had happened to her. Marisolde, the goddess of luck and fate, that was who she hated above all, Marisolde with her mismatched eyes, one that glittered and blessed those under its gaze with good luck and her dark glare that did exactly the opposite. “Fuck you, Marisolde,” she whispered to the wind. “Which do you look upon me with now?” she asked, “Does your gaze glitter or is your dark glare fall upon me? Which one fell on me that day so long ago?” She sighed, she could ask many questions, but the gods would not answer. “Cast your meddling eyes upon someone else, Marisolde, and leave me to pay the price of my boldness.” She turned from the view before and descended the ladder. It was time to sleep.

Chapter Two: Once in a Bluemoon The harbor pilot pulled himself over the railing with an exaggerated grunt and took a quick look about before fixing his eyes on the woman standing a few paces ahead of him. Dark hair and dark eyes against the pale skin and a faint whisper of Seslani features, another mix breed, he thought, damned if those Seslani don't get around. She stood, arms crossed, glaring at him with those dark eyes. Seconds passed with no one moving or speaking and the harbor pilot flashed a nervous smile, his only answer to the awkward situation. A grunt that resembled his own rang out behind him signifying the arrival of his first underling and he knew the other would be right behind. It was time to get started. The harbor pilot crossed the space and extended his hand towards the woman he knew to be the captain. She did not take it; she didn't even look at it. The woman hadn't even shifted an inch since he had crawled aboard, just remained standing there, her arms crossed, glaring at him. The harbor pilot withdrew his hand with a nervous chuckle, yet another attempt to lighten the mood, and bowed. "I am," he began, "Harbor Pilot One-One-Seven, but most call me Entreri." No response came from the woman, but Harbor Pilot Entreri thought that perhaps her eyes narrowed just a little more than they already were and, once again, laughed nervously. No effect, so he continued on. "Uh, one thing before we get you on your way and docked," he said, "the harbor has seen an unusually high amount of traffic as of late. As such," he turned to the man on his left, with a satchel slung over his shoulder and motioned him forward, "we have been forced to do some of our paperwork out here on the ships. The Harbor Master is too busy or some such, I hope you understand." No reply, no movement, nothing from the woman before him. He laughed again. "It's just a few quick questions, sooner we're done the sooner we can all be on our way." He took another look around, apart from the railing and the deck there was little in the way of a surface to write on. "Uh, heh, but if we could please move to somewhere with a surface to work on, I am afraid my companion here requires such." The man beside him nodded. A quick gesture from the woman's right hand was the only response and a few seconds later a man dropped a crate before the pair. The Harbor Pilot let out another nervous laugh. "It will do," he said as the man beside him knelt before it and slipped the satchel from his shoulder, pulling it open and removing a large wooden case. This he sat upon the crate and opened, revealing a number of tubes, a couple of quills, a well of ink, and a few other items likely used to seal the tubes, making them waterproof in case they were to take a swim. From the case he removed one of the unsealed tubes, his ink, and a quill and set them to the side. The lid of the case closed without a sound and he centered it on the crate after a second of debating whether to put it back in the satchel and attempt to write on the rough wood of the

crate or use it as a writing surface. He chose the latter and a few seconds later a roll of parchment was smoothed out over the surface, the ink well holding it in place, and his quill was in his hand. The man nodded up to the Harbor Pilot. "All right," said Harbor Pilot Entreri, looking towards the woman, "shall we begin?" "Sure," she said in an accent that would have been unmistakable Lord's Tongue had it not been for the slight Seslani influence, "ask away." A mix breed indeed, he thought, and either she's some Lord's bastard or she treats with them enough. More than enough reason to get this over and done with. The man kneeling before the crate dipped his quill and nodded once again to the Harbor Pilot before looking back down at the parchment. "Alright," began the Harbor Pilot, "First question, captain. What is your name?" "Danie," she replied. The man at the crate put the quill to the parchment and started writing down the name: D-A-N-N"You're spelling it wrong," interrupted the woman, who had leaned forward to ensure that it was being done correctly. "I am?" squeaked the man. "Yes." "Then do you mind spelling it for us, Captain?" asked the Harbor Pilot. "D-A-N-I-E," she said. "Uh, wouldn't that be Daynie?" asked the man, who seemed to be puzzled by the spelling. The Captain's eyes managed to narrow even more than they already were, "No." "Ah, yes, OK," replied the man, who finished spelling the name and motioned to the Harbor Pilot to continue. "Alright," began the Harbor Pilot, "any more of that? Is it short for something? Do you have a surname?" "Yes," replied the Captain. Harbor Pilot Entreri only needed a few seconds to realize that nothing more would be forthcoming from that question and moved on. "Next question then, what is the name of the ship?" "Depth's Mercy," she answered. The man's quill began scratching at the parchment and stopped even as the Harbor Pilot's eyes began to widen. "You… you," stuttered the Harbor Pilot, "You sail a ship with a cursed name. You invite death to yourself, to your crew, and anyone who steps aboard!" The Captain laughed. "Oh, quiet down will you," she said, "The Lord of the Lightless Depths has left us afloat for a good while. I like to think we have an agreement." Harbor Pilot Entreri laughed again, this time with a healthy bit of fear mixed in. "You tempt him? Ha! Let's speed this up before you doom the three of us to the depths with your own. What sort of ship is this?"

The Captain sighed. "I thought you wanted to speed this up?" "If you'd answer the question, Captain, it would go slightly faster." "Very well, it is a Brig." The scratching of quill against parchment began and ended. "And what is its purpose?" "She's a fishing vessel," answered the Captain, with the straightest face the Harbor Pilot had ever seen for such an obvious joke. Nevertheless the quill began scratching against the parchment again, but stopped when the Harbor Pilot rested his hand upon the man's shoulder. The Harbor Pilot looked about, there were no nets in sight, the stench of fish was absent, and there were several strong posts about that were similar to those found on the decks of military ships. Posts upon which ballista were mounted. "Right," he said in utter disbelief, "where, then, are your nets?" "We lost them in a storm." "Ah, of course," replied the Harbor Pilot, "any fish at least?" "I'm afraid not, the storm hit us at the beginning of our run." "Indeed. Any other supplies or did you lose them all in the storm?" "Of course we have other supplies," replied the Captain, who turned and pointed towards a skinny crewman who in turn held up a cane fishing rod. The Harbor Pilot shook his head and sighed. "Well, in that case… next question. What is your purpose here?" "We were blown off course by the storm and are running low on supplies, we are here to resupply." "Indeed. You know…" The man stopped himself from going any further, no one else had reported any troublesome storms, but he found himself torn between bringing up the fact or getting done and off the cursed ship, "… eh, never mind that. That is all for questions, just allow me a second and we can take her in." "Mm," replied the captain, who began barking orders, sending her crew to their tasks, before moving to stern and the standing just beyond and to port of the helm. The harbor pilot was not long in arriving at the helm and despite his nervous demeanor he took hold of the wheel in confidence and immediately began passing directions to the Captain, who in turn relayed them to the crew. Into port and off this cursed ship, thought the harbor pilot, let's hope it doesn't bring the depth's mercy to all of Serol. *** The sun shines high in the sky and a rundown tavern appears before her from out of nowhere. Warped planks make up the front of the building and the gaping holes left by the twisting of the old wood have been filled by a variety of materials, mud, dung, cloth, and anything else to keep the dust out. The door hangs crooked on rusted hinges, overlarge for its frame. She can feel the soft ground beneath her bare feet, soft, she looks down. It is dirt beneath her feet, this paired with the state

of the tavern tells her the location and the sun gives her a time. She walks towards the door with a slow, floating grace, and it seems to her that minutes pass, then hours, before she finally reaches it. She reaches for the door, its handle long gone, and touches its rough surface. The door is newer than the wood that surrounds it, but there was no care in its manufacture, no attention to measurement or detail, a discarded plank most likely. She pushes on that rough wood, but the door does not move, instead she finds herself in the tavern, her arm stretched out before her. She lowers it as she looks about the smoke-filled room, paying attention to the details and looking for anything of use. A familiar bald head is all the detail she needs and she moves towards it when she sees it. Bill listens intently to the man in front of him, his eyes focused upon the man's face, one hand on a glass in front of him, the other undoubtedly resting upon the handle of the knife tucked into his belt. All Darius can see is the back of the man, so she moves around the table and next to Bill. The man is odd to behold, he has two faces. One face he displays openly, it laughs and smiles and the eyes shine brightly. The other hides below the first, out of ordinary sight. It displays little emotion and there is no expression etched upon it, its eyes are cold and hard, but clouded with guilt. The hidden face is the face of a Lord. Shadows flicker about him, each one in the shape of a person, each one bending down to whisper in his ear. With each shadow, with each whisper, his eyes grow brighter. He talks, but she hears nothing. Darius awoke from her dream covered in a cold sweat and sat up, her eyes wide but unseeing as she fought to constrain the dream to memory. The thin blanket she had been under was bunched up in her lap, revealing the sodden nightshirt she had worn to bed earlier that evening. It was a simple thing, long enough to cover the essentials, but only proper to wear in one's own chambers. As she got out of bed, her thoughts fully upon her dream, she had no intention of changing into something more appropriate. The dream had been the sign that Bill was looking for and she needed to tell him, there would be no delay. The tavern had been easy to recognize, there was no other place like it in the Dirt or the city for that matter. Anyone who spent enough time in the Dirt would know it and most would know well enough to stay away from it. It was a haven for the lowest of the low, those who could only afford drinks by the grace of another's purse. Given freely, of course, for they were not thieves and thieves would never claim them. They met there because the drink was cheaper than dog piss and a bit easier to come by, though it did have the problem of tasting like it as well. Other than those of that group there were few that entered the bar, even the hardiest of alcoholics on the slimmest of budgets were likely to avoid it like a plagued corpse. Those few that did enter, who were not of the aforementioned financial state, were there for the atmosphere alone. There were few places more secluded than the tavern and even those places likely had ears listening in an attempt to make a coin. The tavern's regulars were often too far gone to be anything but oblivious to their surroundings, making for a relatively safe discussion on a wide variety of topics, most of which were likely to get you hung or gutted.

Darius thought about all of this while she ran down the hall, her naked feet slapping against the marble floor. The dream was important, but, as she could not hear the words spoken, obviously not for her. No, the dream was meant for Bill only. She knew the time, day, location, and what the man looked like, she would relate these to Bill. Hopefully it would be enough to keep her from her forced sleep and the dreams that came with it. As she passed a window she noted the light still in the sky, this was good, she had gotten word of a potential leak of her Lord's status and she wished to follow up on it. Her dreams had showed her a lot of things she'd rather not see and she had a lot of aggression to work out. *** The tavern had been accurately described by Darius the afternoon before, but she had left out the part about it looking as though it would collapse at any second. Looking at the building before him, with its warped siding and door that would never shut even if it wasn't hanging lopsided, Bill couldn't help but feel a mixture of anger and fear well up in him. Had Darius told him that the place was a potential death trap he'd have never sought out the building and now that he had found it he had not the slightest desire to enter into the place that would without a doubt serve as his pyre when it fell down upon him. Bill was afraid to touch the door, thinking that if he pushed too hard the entire wall might fall inward with the door. He did so anyway, but not without a long sigh and the faintest shake in his hands. The door swung open with only a faint squeal from the hinges, but little was revealed of the room beyond. Smoke filtered out of the doorway, obscuring even more of his vision of what lay before him. With a shrug and his hand on the knife at his belt he strode forward into the tavern. The steps that led down into the tavern were gone, either rotted away or destroyed by some odd event. Bill did not know this and his step into the bar was quickly transformed into a plunge as his foot stepped into the doorway and met nothing but air. His hand left the handle of his knife and joined the other as they flew out in front of him in an effort to break his fall. They didn't do much good. It was his old knees that took much of the fall, leaving his head swimming in pain. The fall was accompanied by a sharp exhalation of breath, which was followed by an even deeper inhalation. The air he inhaled was a mixture of smoke: tobacco, wood, and harsher types, all of which burned at his lungs and made him light-headed. He rose to his feet with the help of a table he had managed to miss falling into and he cursed the entire way up. This time he utilized shallow breaths to regulate the amount of smoke he breathed in and it seemed to work. At one point he tried to breathe through his nose, but the smell of old beer, body odor, years of decay, smoke, and the faint smell of incense, which Bill could only see as a cruel joke by the proprietors of the tavern, had assaulted his senses and nearly caused him to retch. Bill's breathing slowly became something that resembled normal as he got used to the smoke that clogged the air and all the other odors that fought so hard to

make him gag. There was little he could see as he gazed about the tavern, the smoke settled around the room as if it were a fog, but the hazy view he was afforded revealed no one of any note, especially no one that looked remotely as the man was described. There were people there, but most were either staring dead eyed into space or passed out drooling on the wooden tabletops. Bill sighed in frustration, he would have to wait. Stuck waiting until the damned roof falls down on me, Bill thought as he looked about once again, his eyes finally coming to rest at the bar, may as well get a drink. Probably poison, but it is more welcome than being crushed. Bill walked towards the bar, attempting to ignore the pain in his knees. "What cannie get fer ye, gold blood?" asked the barkeep as Bill walked up to the bar. "Gold blood?" asked Bill rhetorically, "my blood is as red as yours." The barkeep laughed at the suggestion. "Might be yer blood was as red as the rest 'a ours, but it's done turned gold, gold blood. Ain't no disputin' that with yer fancy clothes an' such. Yer blood's gold now, ain't no turnin' it red 'gain, ye ain't one 'a us, ye'll ne'er be. Now, what'll it be, gold blood?" "Bottle of your finest and a glass," Bill replied. The rejection had hit him hard, but he should have expected it. The people who lived in the Dirt looked upon those who didn't with disdain, just as those who lived elsewhere looked down upon the people of the Dirt. He himself had been born and raised in the Dirt, but he managed to escape through the military. The military was not the easy choice out and not widely taken by those who lived in the Dirt. To serve in the military was to serve the Lords directly, an idea that did not settle easily upon their common shoulders, but Bill had worked hard to get where he was, to get out of the Dirt and stay out. He was proud of this fact, but it did not lessen the sting of being rejected outright. The barkeep laughed again as sat a dusty bottle on the counter and went looking for a glass, the laughter turned to mutters and curses as the effort to find one became even more heated. On occasion snippets of speech could be heard clearly, rude comments about where gold bloods could shove their glasses and such. Finally, after what seemed like several uncomfortable minutes, the barkeep appeared once again and sat a glass on the counter. His face displayed a deep frown. "How much?" asked Bill. "A sliver," replied the barkeep. Bill's eyebrows rose at the suggested price, "Just a little expensive isn't it?" The barkeep smiled. "What, too expensive fer yer gold blood? If ye can't afford it, then ye can try an' find a cheaper bar, but I be doubtin' ye will. Simple, gold blood, ye can take it or ye can leave it an' me bar. I be prefferrin the latter, but it's up ta ye." "No, it's fine, I'll pay," said Bill. A few seconds of digging about in his purse produced a small flat bar of silver, a sliver, and he placed it on the counter next to the bottle and glass. The coin purse returned to his side, cinched closed, and he took the bottle and glass from the counter to search for a good spot to watch for the

man in Darius's dream. There was one corner table that was left empty so he took it, he sat down, uncorked the bottle, poured himself a glass, and waited. *** The Shadowhouse was not the fanciest of bordellos in the city, but it was far from the cheapest and, despite its location in the Dirt, it was one of the most popular in the city. The girls the bordello employed were clean for the most part and were more skilled than the girls you'd find in the cheaper houses deeper down in the Dirt, perhaps even more skilled than some of the girls you'd find in some areas of the Stone. Skill and cleanliness was one thing, but you could find that just about anywhere. What made the Shadowhouse special was the variety of services you could purchase from the house. Almost any fetish could be met, anything but the truly obscene. Even this, however, they did not specialize in. The Shadowhouse dealt in another trade: secrets. Those with too much money and even more time to think up odd, deviant, interests were blackmailed by the house they paid to play out their shameful acts. Others were seduced or drugged into letting slip their darkest secrets, some of which led to blackmail, most of which led to a good amount of gold from an interested buyer. The Shadowhouse played the market for the most profitable income and it did it well. Sometimes, however, secrets were dangerous. Darius stood across the street in a darkened recession between two buildings watching the house intently. The house had been part of a dream a few nights previous. The other part had been a small man by the name of Avelyn. Avelyn was one of Nanron's doctors and, apparently, a frequent visitor to the bordellos of Serol. Her dream had been quite clear on the events that would happen. Avelyn, bored of the lower houses, his pockets filled with the fees from his services to Lord Nanron's estate, would enter into the Shadowhouse. A little later the prostitute, some dark haired beauty, would whisper a question into the doctor's ear and, in the heat of passion and inspired by some wonderfully crafted drugs, the doctor would whisper back. A small tale, told breathlessly, about an important man who was much sicker than most thought. The secret would be whispered into the ear of Lady Shadow herself and then eventually, after the market was properly played, it would be whispered into the ears of a Lord. The downfall of the estate brought about by loose lips pried apart by looser lips. The dream gave no timetable so she was forced to do things the hard way. Almost instantly after waking she had set a tail on the doctor. To say that Avelyn frequented the bordellos is a bit of an understatement, from the tail's reports it could well be said that he had no home of his own, he merely stayed in a different one each night. It made for a long, frustrating trail that needed to be backtracked in case the doctor parted his lips elsewhere and it tied up more resources that Darius would have liked. That trail, however, had come to an end. The report that had been waiting for her the afternoon before had detailed Avelyn's first trip to the Shadowhouse, which

would have been to set an appointment. The tail had somehow managed to get the time, the next evening three hours prior to midnight. As she stood across the street it was just a few hours until the appointment, the light of the day would dissipate and night would fall. Then the fun would begin. *** The chair before him was grating across the floor and away from the table and before Bill could react a man was sitting in it. Bill looked up from the drink he was nursing. It tasted like piss with a metallic tang. "You are early," he said. The voice was steady and unaccented. "You are late," replied Bill. He looked over the man before him. Darius had described him as large, but he was not all that large, but perhaps this is just how Bill perceived the term. When he thought of large he thought of stature. The man before him was not large. In fact he seemed rather small, all except for his gut. Immediately though, the man before him struck him as an oddity. He sat before him, measuring Bill just as Bill was measuring him, his eyes shining all the while, just as Darius had described. The clothes he wore were once fine, but no longer so, they were now dirty, covered in grime and dust. They were clothes befitting someone who had fallen on hard times, yet they seemed manufactured that way. The grime had an unnatural patter to it. Oh, no one would have recognized it, no one without the proper background that is, but Bill had practiced such techniques a few times in his stint in the military. The clothes under all that grime were of a cut and quality that one would find in the better markets of the Stone, perhaps the Upper Stone. Maybe even the Waters. "Whichever," said the man, "but I am afraid my ego will just not stand for me being late." "I see…" said Bill. "I doubt it," the man responded, his grin growing ever wider. "Let's just say we were both on time, but our sense of time is off. That sound about right?" "Works for me," said Bill, who suddenly felt the need to take another drink of the piss in his glass and did so, just to wince at the horrible taste. "Enough small talk for you?" asked the man. "Yes," replied Bill, "now let's start with who you are and why I'm here." "Ah good, directly to the point," said the man. "I'll begin with the second question, as it is slightly easier to explain, although the first may be the better choice as it will help you understand the second." The man paused in thought, "second it is." "Let me begin by saying that I know about your Lord," the man held out his hand in a halting gesture as he saw Bill's arm tense, his hand undoubtedly wrapped around the knife's handle, "and I want to help you." "How do you know?" asked Bill, his hand still clutching the handle.

"I know many things," the man answered, "how I know them, I will not divulge, but I will say that the source of my information has disappeared. No one else will gain the secret from those lips." Bill nodded, "Now who are you?" "Ah, the more difficult answer," said the man, "I am known as James around the districts." "Indeed," replied Bill. "Oh, yes, indeed," said the man. "I, however, am known by a different name and it is one that you will surely recognize, but first I need to know that what I saw will not leave this room." Bill tried his best not to laugh at the request, why anyone would care who this man was he did not know, but he decided to go with it and stuck out his hand, "you have my word, sir." The man took his hand with a grin. "Good," said James, who gripped his hand tighter and pulled him closer, while he leaned in. Bill's grip on his knife slipped in the surprise of the act, but it was not needed. "I used to be known as Sargai," said James in a low, whisper-quiet voice before letting the man go to drop back into his chair. Bill was surprised at the revelation and by the smile on Sargai's face, it was apparent. He started to speak several times, but the right words did not surface in his mind. Finally he managed, "You are dead." "Obviously not," replied the man, Sargai or James, whatever his name was. "However, the death of my lookalike still weighs heavily upon my conscience. Had I know what they would do, I would have never allowed him to take my place." "Sargai, Lord of Haet," said Bill. "Former," interjected Sargai. "Yes, former," Bill corrected himself. "How do they not know you live in hiding?" "I am smarter than them perhaps?" The man smiled and laughed, "No, hardly that. I know a lot of things, I regulate the information they receive, especially the information concerning me. It is likely that they do know about me and are just too proud to deal with me, to admit their mistake." "Alright, then, so why help me, Sargai?" The man who was Sargai clasped his hands and raised them to his face, studying Bill. "I have no love for the Lords and I have no love for your Lord Nanron. However, what you are doing is defying the Lords and you are playing a dangerous game, one that you are not in the slightest prepared for. You have done well up to this point, but the Lords are becoming wary of your Lord's status and the fact that he hasn't been seen in some time. In other words, you are causing problems for the Lords and I want a part of it." "I don't quite get your motivation, Sar-" "James, please, I am no longer that person." "Okay, James, I don't quite get your motivation in all of this," said Bill, "are you jealous that they took you down?"

"Jealous?" James's eyebrows lifted, "No, the life of a Lord wasn't for me. I wasn't half the bastard my father was, I couldn't do the job they asked me to do and so when they asked me to make people disappear I did, but not in the way they wanted me to. Sending them out of Serol instead of to a shallow grave just didn't sit right with the Lords. I got sloppy, I got caught, and when they came for me I sent an innocent man to his death and fled where they wouldn't bother to look." James shook his head, "No, I am not jealous, I am rather happy about it. The Haet estate is a miserable place for miserable people and I have no desire to be there. I do, however, have the desire to cause as much trouble for the Lords as I can. Let's just call it a hobby. That is my motivation, Bill." Bill stared at James for a few seconds before speaking. "I know your secret, you know mine. We can't +$%# each other over in this matter, a word from you and I'll have every Lord and their guard at my gates. A word from me and you'll likely be dead before morning. So then, I think we can trust each other as far as that goes. So what then, is the point of this meeting beyond introductions?" "Well," replied James, "I have some information for you." "Yes?" "Well, it seems one of the Lords is having a ball and everyone important is invited, your Lord Nanron included. He will be expected to be there, in fact the ball, which is annual as you know, was moved up early with your Lord in mind. They are getting anxious." Bill's face became grave at the information. "This is not good news at all," he muttered. "I agree with you there, but there may be something you can do." "What's that?" asked Bill. "If he is not in Serol, then he cannot attend," said James, with a smile on his face, "isn't that right?" "Ah, I see where you are going, what do you propose?" "Luckily for us, a certain ship entered port today. An ill name, Depth's Mercy, but a fine and discreet captain. She's a mercenary captain and her loyalty lies with your coin, but she's honorable enough and can be trusted. Her name is Danie and you'll find her on the Brig that no one will dare venture close to for worry of being cursed by the ship's name." "That's all well and good," said Bill, "but I highly doubt she'll be up for sailing about with an old man who cannot take care of himself." "Do you not have anyone in your service that resembles Nanron?" asked James. "Well yes," said Bill, "but I don't see what that has to do with anything." "In other words, you send the able bodied man on a vacation of sorts, he won't complain, given free roam of a ship, no duties, and all the while, the Lords think that Nanron is off traveling in an attempt to get over the deaths of his family." "Ah," said Bill, "I see now. It could definitely work."

"Good," said James, "now we all have things to do, I think it would be well to end this meeting on this note. Tell Danie who sent you and take your purse with you. She'll not refuse. I will contact you again soon." Bill nodded as the man stood and left. *** The light of day had receded and night had come. Darius had long since abandoned her watch over the Shadowhouse, there was little reason to watch the house until a little before the appointment, the bordello was well known for its strict take on appointments. Avelyn would not be there before the appointed time. She had returned to the estate to brief her agents, the estate guards who had received the same training she had and had been placed under her command. There were a few ways to take the doctor, she had considered just having someone pull him off of the street, but then there was little reason to actually hold him. An excuse, she knew, the only reason she didn't go with the idea was because it did not appeal to her, there wasn't much to it. For a while she thought about entering into the bordello in a covert fashion, but that too left a sour taste in her mouth. In the end she had decided on a smash and grab. Less finesse, of course, but it played to her desire to let loose her aggression. That and it would bruise the pride of the Shadowhouse, something she could only see as a positive. Now she stood outside the bordello, dressed in a dark outfit that left only her face and hands showing, once again tucked into the recession. There was only a score of minutes left until the appointment and she busied herself by checking her equipment. She wore a side-handled baton at her side, a replacement for the short sword that normally hung there. There would be no killing, none intended at least, so it was a better choice. Her agents were similarly equipped, most with saps or normal batons. If she was forced to kill she could do it with the side-handled baton easily enough, but the knives sheathed at her belt were more comfortable in her hands and quicker. A flash of light from across the way, another recession further down from the Shadowhouse, caught her attention and she left everything as it was. She reached into the pouch at her side and pulled out a cloth mask as dark as the rest of her outfit. She slipped it over her head and waited. The signal had meant that Avelyn was close to the bordello. It would be a matter of minutes. The minutes sped by in opposition to Darius's expectations and before she knew the time had even passed Avelyn was walking into the brothel. She gave it a few minutes; the matter of the room and girl would have to be sorted, then separated herself from the darkened recession and blew a shrill whistle. There was only one guard at the door, the norm, there to prevent the unsavory from entering the building. A laugh since most of the things that went on within were unsavory. The bouncer was also there from preventing women from entering. Apart from those that were employed at the house and Lady Shadow no women were allowed to enter the Shadowhouse. They did not offer such services.

The decision to do this was purely financial, it was not born of some misogynistic ideal or prejudice. Rather it was believed that female clients were less likely to let slip their secrets or perhaps less likely to participate in the more damning services offered. Men were viewed as investments with the potential for providing supplementary income beyond the services rendered. Women were viewed in an opposite light. They were seen as merely one-time profits with little to no potential for recurring income. The rule did not particularly sit well with Darius and she smiled as she walked towards the bouncer. Darius did not make the first move or the second. The first came in the form of a large stone that flew through the air and slammed against the side of bouncer's head. The accuracy and the stone itself could only be attributed to Pech, who had an affinity for stone and as such carried only weapons made from it. The second attack came not from the man, who was reeling over the impact of the stone, but from Yoski, who had fired a tell-tale dart into the man's shoulder. The dart would be covered with a poison, Darius knew, a concoction to put its victim to sleep rather than to kill, a special change for the evening. The dart itself was fired from a special crossbow attached to the wrist, a weapon developed by weary warehouse owners tired of dragons setting fire to their wares. The third strike, however, belonged to Darius. The poison was already affecting the bouncer, but it didn't matter, he was still conscious enough to be dangerous. She surged forward, the side-handled baton in her right hand, its shaft along her forearm, and threw a jab into the exposed belly of the bouncer. The force of the punch, lead with the butt of the baton, and the poison was enough to double him over with ease. Darius was not done though, the baton twirled away from its position along her forearm to crash into the man's ribs, knocking him completely to the ground. The bouncer would not be getting up. The pain in his ribs, the birds flying about his head, and the poison seeping through his blood would see to that. The baton twirled back into its customary place along Darius's forearm as Yoski and Pech entered into the light cast by the single lantern over the bordello's door. She nodded to each in turn and they nodded back. "Are the others in place?" she asked. "Yes," said Pech, "Both Sock and Cutter are around back watching the door, they'll come in as soon as they hear us." "And miss out on some of the fun," said Yoski, who loaded a strange looking dart into the crossbow at her wrist. "What is that?" asked Darius, who had yet to see the dart before. "Oh, just a surprise," replied Yoski. "Remember, I don't want any deaths tonight," said Darius, her voice chiding. "Nothing to worry about," said Yoski, who smiled, "it won't kill anyone." Her voice became low as to almost be a whisper, "probably." Darius ignored the last part and looked back at Pech, "everyone else?"

"We've got Fellshot on one of these rooftops. She'll cover us if things get too hot or take out the bastard if he manages to get away. Kai is behind you, he'll be following you up." She turned at the mention and saw the large man behind her, smiling in her direction, a rather large cudgel in his hand. Once again she was surprised at how quiet he could be. "Haven't I told you not to do that?" Kai shrugged and motioned towards the door. Darius couldn't help but agree. "Let's do this then," she said, motioning Pech and Yoski towards the door. *** The miniscule sound of Yoski's crossbow was followed by the sound of thunder and Darius was truly happy to be heading in the opposite direction. She and Kai moved immediately to their right as the two ran straight ahead unleashing chaos upon its occupants. The room was where the ladies and bouncers of the Shadowhouse gathered, most of the occupants of the house would be there, all but those with clients and it was a slow night from what Darius could tell during her wait. Darius heard the crack of a door being kicked in as she moved along the hall and knew that the other two had joined in. Before her was a short flight of stairs that would lead to the next floor and the room she was looking for. A bouncer came down the stairs as they neared and Darius twirled her baton and, using the opposing momentums, sent her baton into the man's gut. The strike took the man from his feet and the side-handled baton from her hand, but it would not be needed, Kai with his cudgel was more than enough to deal with any foreseeable problem, if not there was always the knives at her belt. They moved past the guy, who was on the floor holding his stomach and curled into a fetal position, and up the stairs. They arrived at once in another hall, this one wider with doors on either side. The one she was looking for was the very last one to her right. The two broke into a run, the occupants would likely still be at it despite the commotion below. That was the way of things; you get what you pay for, even if there is hell breaking loose around you. Darius did not stop as she reached the door, rather she kept going a few steps only to turn around and motion towards the door to the man behind her. Kai did not stop or slow either, instead he threw his weight and shoulder against the door in midstride. The door gave way with massive cracking sound and Kai spilled inwards, a scream could be heard within, though whether it was from the prostitute or the doctor, she did not know. A knife was in her hand as she followed the large man, the prostitute was out of the bed already and was moving along the wall towards the door as Kai was standing. Darius was on her in an instant, the blade of her knife pressing against the prostitute's naked throat, she could smell the girl's sweet perfume through her mask. "Name," she demanded, putting more pressure on the knife.

"Aria," said the prostitute, in a cold, calm voice, "Aria Bluemoon." She paused, "On account of the birthmark on me arse." Despite the seriousness of the situation Darius had to choke back a laugh, but she recognized it for what it was: a ploy to put her off guard. Darius's backhand sent Aria tumbling to the floor and Darius bent down close to her. "Nice to meet you Aria, my name is unimportant, what is important is the fact that my blade will bite quite a bit deeper than it already has if you lie to me. Do you understand?" The girl nodded. "Good," she said. "Now tell me, Aria, has this man told you anything?" "No," replied Aria. The knife once again appeared at her throat, "are you sure?" "Yes," answered Aria, her head nodded just barely. "I know your name, I know where to find you, and believe me, you cannot hide from me, @%@@%. If I discover that you have lied to me, I will end you. Understand?" Aria nodded. "Good, now just sit there like a good little girl until we leave." Darius turned from the girl and saw Kai standing, one arm wrapped around the man's neck, the other holding his mouth. "Hello Avelyn," she said, "do you know how hard you are to track?" The man made a few muffled sounds from behind the large man's hand and Darius motioned for Kai to remove his hand. "Who are you?" he asked, "What do you want?" "Who we are is none of your concern," answered Darius, "and we want you." Darius made her way out of the room through the remains of the ruined doors and came face to face with Cutter in the hall. "What are you doing up here?" Cutter looked at her, "Yoski shot off something foul, everyone cleared out. I Figured I'd find you or some more fun up here." "We are done up here," replied Darius, but he only shrugged. "Good," said Cutter, "because I do believe someone has called in the constables." "Damn it!" exclaimed Darius. She called behind her, "you lumbering oaf, sling that bastard over your shoulder and let's get moving!" "He's naked," replied Kai. "Then put him in a blanket!" *** The stench was still with her as she walked into her chambers, but that didn't matter. She was happy and content, the end of a long frustrating hunt had come with the closing of a heavy iron door. Avelyn would find himself in no one's arms; his only companion for the time being would be the dark and cold of the cells below the estate. Until her next visit, that is, then they would have some fun. Darius opened

the chest at the foot of her bed and pulled out a large wooden box. She opened the lid to reveal the metallic sheen of the instruments within. Fun, indeed.

Chapter Three - Conversations It was past midnight and the inns of the Stone had long since turned out customers and barred their doors to those that wandered through the thick fog in search of a drink. Most had disappeared into the Dirt to continue their drinking and merriment though and only the truly drunk or foolish wandered about in the thick fog that settled onto the Stone late at night. There were myths and legends, of course, of people who disappeared, taken by things that lurked within the fog. Many of the wine-blurred stories were mostly true, though the things that took them as they wandered about were merely the hidden constabulary of the Stone, all of whom dressed in light uniforms to better match their environment. One Inn, the Prancing Prick, had ushered its customers out the door hours before, all but five. The five that remained were not regular customers, but it was not the first time they spent long hours in the Inn. Nor was it the first time that the Inn Keeper watched them nervously as he wiped down his bar over and over again. They made him nervous, the five, especially the large one that carried an axe the size of the Inn Keeper. The rest were armed as well, but they hid it for the most part. A dagger tucked away here, one there, and a small crossbow tucked into a bag. Oh, they thought themselves clever, but the Inn Keeper knew about the weapons, he would not be a proper Inn Keeper if he didn’t. Nevertheless he kept his mouth shut and his attention focused elsewhere even as the need for sleep crept into him. Had they been anyone else he would have thrown them out with the rest and perhaps have called the constabulary had they given them trouble, but not these folk. They either did not know how the Stone worked or they did not care and the Inn Keeper figured it was the latter, they knew they were dangerous. He wouldn’t be a proper Inn Keeper if he didn’t. The Inn Keeper hefted the small purse that contained only the gold that the group had paid him. It was a heavy thing and contained more gold than he had seen in the past week. They were dangerous, but they paid well and he could overlook the fact that they ignored the Stone’s rules. After all, they weren’t really rules, just guidelines agreed upon by a coalition of cranky inn keepers who weren’t getting enough sleep at night. The small purse disappeared behind the bar, secreted into some small nook or another just in case and the Inn Keeper wiped the bar with a savage focus. The group that was tucked into the corner of the bar was talking lowly, but it would not do to overhear any of it, it wouldn’t do at all. *** “So, do you think Darius managed to get anything from the doctor?” Red wine met ice-blue eyes and gave them an almost demonic cast as Sock looked out at the group, her wine glass held just below her mouth as she asked the question. She smiled as she took another drink from the glass in her hand. The wine

had gotten to her quite a while before, but no one bothered to stop her from drinking more. Yoski still scoffed at the question, even if the person who asked it was drunk, but she still grinned, perhaps because her own wine had started to affect her as well. “Are you kidding?” she asked, her words not yet showing any sign of slurring. Sock’s eyes narrowed at the question that had answered her question. “No,” she said and took a sip of wine, “I am rather serious.” The last words slurred even as she moved her wine glass in an exaggerated circle as if she tried to point at Yoski, but realized that her drink had moved too far away for her liking. Yoski opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted as Pech cut in, “You didn’t see the guy, Sock, the man was shaking as I took him down to the cell.” He took a long drink from the mug before him and grinned. “I’d be willing to bet that the man breaks just from Darius raising her voice above a whisper.” The large man that sat beside Pech grunted and took a drink from his own mug before speaking, “I’m lucky he didn’t piss himself as I was carrying him.” Kai shifted his axe from one side to another almost as if he was bored. The slim man to the side of Kai only laughed. “What’s so funny, Cutter?” asked Kai. His eyes narrowed as he glared at the smaller man who held a wine glass like the two women he shared a side of the table with. Cutter did not wither in that glare like so many others had, he only laughed more. “You are losing your touch, big man.” He took a sip of wine and continued, “You just aren’t scary enough anymore. Used to be you could scare the piss out of just about anyone. Now? Can’t even scare the piss out of a coward doctor.” The man had a grin on his face as he finished speaking and only lost it when he took another sip of his wine. The words were only in jest. “Bah,” replied Kai, “it is because I did not have my axe.” He lifted the axe where everyone could see it. It was truly large, its haft was made from iron and fit the man’s hand perfectly, but widened towards the head. The head itself was a single blade, long and wide with only a subtle curve to its edge. For all of its size, Kai lifted and swung it as if it was nothing, but anyone who had attempted to heft the axe knew well that it was far too heavy for most people to lift, let alone wield. “Had Darius allowed me to bring my axe, the man would have fainted in terror and likely pissed himself as well.” “Yes,” said Yoski, who had taken to digging around in her purse for some more coins, “well, I am sure Darius would have let you bring, but you tend to swing it. Tonight’s work called for subtlety and that axe is neither subtle nor safe.” “Hmm…,” Sock stared at the axe, which Kai had sat down on the table, “that reminds me.” She switched her view from the axe to Kai, “All of this time I have worked with you and I still don’t know what is with you and that axe. You carry it everywhere unless Darius forbids you and even then you still do if you know you won’t be caught.” Pech’s head fell back and he groaned. “You are going to regret that, Sock.”

Kai glowered at Pech, who only grinned in answer, and lifted the axe from the table. He held it up for a few seconds and lowered it to the floor and took a drink from the mug before him. Finally he lowered his gaze on Sock and cleared his throat. “I am an axeman of the Seral Jehai. You know the name, we have died slowly over the years on the tundra to the south, but we are still well known and people still come to us for help. We are a people of war, perhaps even the people of war, and the children of the one god, Kerisefal.” Kai stopped speaking at the mention of the name and muttered a prayer that no one else at the table could understand. “When the young of the Seral Jehai reach a certain age and are deemed ready we forge a weapon. This weapon, be it a sword, spear, axe, hammer, or anything else, contains are imbued with a piece of ourselves, our souls.” He lifted his axe once more and looked at it. “My axe is my soul, when I die my spirit will leave my body to sit beside Kerisefal in his long hall with my kin, but my soul shall live on, bound to my weapon, as an object of war.” He sat his axe down once more and took a drink from his mug. “My axe is my soul and because of that it belongs close to me, without it I am incomplete.” The group sat in uncomfortable silence as Kai finished and it was Pech who broke the silence, “And that, friends, is the most you will ever hear him speak at any given time. And I told you that you’d regret it.” Everyone at the table laughed, including Kai. “Wine!” called Yoskias she fished out another coin from her purse. The yell surprised the rest of the group, but they did not hesitate in joining in. “Ale!” called Pech, who lifted his mug into the air. “And Mead!” added Kai in an accent that was a mocking parody of Pech’s own. He lifted his mug into the air as well and briefly thought about adding his axe into the mix, but decided against it. “You’re paying, right?” asked Pech as he sat his mug back down the table and looked towards Yoski. “Me?” she asked. “Uh…,” she growled and began digging through her purse again. “I was just joking,” answered Pech as he reached out to stop her from digging it the leather purse, a grin on his face. “I think I can handle the drinks,” he said as he pulled a small purse from his belt, “in fact, put your money away, I got this.” He took a quick survey of the contents of the purse and sat it on the table. “Whiskey!” he called, “and some glasses.” He winked at the others in the group. “If we’re going to drink, may as well do it right.” “Cheers to that,” slurred Sock. She held her glass out in front of her and the others lifted theirs as well. All at once they brought them back down and drained what was left, just in time for the Inn Keeper to arrive with a tray. The Inn Keeper quickly doled out the contents of the tray and scurried off behind the bar to wipe it down some more. If any of the group noticed the odd behavior, they did not mention it. Pech set out the glasses, took up the bottle of whiskey, and filled the glasses in turn. Each one took a glass.

Pech lifted his glass in the air and the others did the same. “Cheers again,” he said before drinking the entirety of it. The whiskey burned as it went down, but it felt good to him. “Lets you know you’re alive,” he muttered. “What’s that?” asked Cutter from the other side of the table, his face was scrunched up, his eyes watered, and he was in the middle of opening the new bottle of wine. Pech looked over at him and grinned, “Nothing much and nothing important.” The cork came off the bottle of wine with a low pop. “Ah,” said Cutter as he sniffed at the cork and filled his glass. “I wonder,” he began after taking a long sip, “how Fellshot is doing or did for that matter.” He paused, “How late is it anyway?” “Who cares how late it is?” asked Pech. “Do you have somewhere you need to be?” He grinned, but was not expecting an answer, so he continued. “Fellshot is probably doing just as well as we did when we were in her place.” Fellshot was the newest member of the group, as she had only taken the offer to join a few weeks previous. All new members were required to sit in on a questioning, which was just an alternative term for a torture session. They had all been forced to sit through one. “Hehe, she’ll be green the next time we see her,” said Sock, who should not have been given whiskey. “No, likely not,” replied Yoski with a yawn, “but she will be after she goes solo.” “That will be an interesting night,” said Cutter, who yawned as well. “It always is,” replied Kai, who stifled a yawn of his own. “And stop yawning damn it!” The group fell into a silence once again, each one forced to remember the memories of the torture they had inflicted on their own. “Now, what were we talking about?” asked Cutter, who took a well timed drink of wine. “Who cares,” answered Pech, “just enjoy your drinks.” He stared down at the mug in his hands and switched it out for a glass of whiskey, “something tells me we’ll be too busy to share drinks and keep inn keepers up all night soon enough. Kai grunted and took another glass of whiskey for himself, the rest of the group just sat in silence. They all took a drink. *** Someone stepped behind him, but he did not move, did not look. It was a familiar, if unnerving, sensation, one that that he doubted he’d ever get used to. It had been a long time since he had any reason to fear the blade of an assassin, but he could not get over the feeling that it might be a blade slid across his neck instead of a whisper spoken into his ear. The person behind him bent down next to his ear and spoke, just as James had expected, and the feeling dissolved into a smile. A gold coin appeared in the hand opposite the ear and was held over his shoulder as the whisperer finished. The gold coin was taken abruptly and all that could be heard was the dull footsteps as the whisperer quickly walked back the way he came. James closed the purse at his belt and committed the whispered

information to memory, though he hardly needed to do so, he had heard about it much earlier. The whisper brought news of the havoc at the Shadow House and it took all James had not to laugh at the news both before and just then. The Shadow House was powerful, even for an establishment located in the lowest district, and the fact that someone had the audacity to attack it was unbelievable. Of course, all of those who had attacked the bordello were masked and there was no positive identification, but James did not need any. Somehow he already knew who attacked the place, even if it was just a gut feeling and he approved. The Shadow House was a competitor in the information market, but the night’s events would end that for some time. Still, something told him that Bill had little say in the attack of the Shadow House. It was too much of a risk, even if no one knew who did it and the incompetency of the constabulary meant there would be little chance of anyone ever finding out. That meant that he would have to thank Darius for her unintentional help if he ever met her. The dock was spread out before him and was mostly empty. The crews would have departed into the Dirt for their leave hours ago or would be stuck aboard. There were a few people loitering around the docks, much like him, but most were the homeless looking for dropped coins and the rest were the local constabulary who were likely already drunk. The docks were packed with ships to the right and left of him, but there was one ship with plenty of space on both sides and James smiled at the sight and the thought of it. There was business to be done on that ship. He had set up one side of the meeting and scheduled it for the later that day, but he had neglected to set up the other. That situation would not end well for either parties involved and most likely not for him either. He had decided to fix that problem a few hours before and had wandered down to the docks to look out over the ship. He hopped off the piling he had chosen as a seat and onto the wooden planks of the docks with a hollow thump. His steps were slow as he walked towards the ship, he had plenty of time to get there and wanted to observe it just a bit more. The ship was dark except for a few lights here and there, but that was to be expected. The crew would be on leave, finding booze, women, and other entertainment scattered across the Dirt. There would be few left on board, just the ones unlucky enough to have drawn the short straw, the first mate, and the captain, Danie. It had been awhile since he had last seen her and longer since he had spoken to her. James couldn’t help but think of their first meeting, the scar he received when she stabbed him with her saber still itched from time to time. Not that he could blame her, it was his fault after all. He could have introduced himself properly instead of showing up in her cabin, but that took the fun out of things. James thought on that for a second and came to the conclusion that it also took the pain out of things. Nevertheless, he would be doing the same thing again. It would be an interesting night. He only hoped that it would not be painful as well.

*** A cool breeze blew over the deck of the Depth’s Mercy and caused the woman standing at the stern railing of the ship to shiver. It was still hot in the city and in the port, but the breeze carried with it the cold bite of the coming winter. Danie did not welcome the breeze, but it was the price she paid for the momentary escape from the stuffiness of her cabin. With all luck she would be far north and enjoying the warmth before the cold settled. For the first time in months the ship was quiet, only a few remained on board while the rest were out in the city finding their entertainment and those few that were left behind were likely far into their cups as well. The name of the ship alone meant that they would be left alone and unbothered. Her first mate would be somewhere, either drinking with another of the crew or secreted away somewhere on the ship drinking by herself and reading one of her many scrolls featuring questionably written tales of romance. Either way, she doubted she would see the woman until morning. She sighed. There was much work to do if she hoped to get out of port in a timely fashion. Supplies had to be ordered and brought aboard, people had to be contacted, the ship had to have a little maintenance, and there was always work to find. Not that she lacked for money, of course, but it was easier to keep things in order if there was a goal in mind. Off to her stuffy cabin then, but not for work, that could wait until morning. Sleep was the more pressing matter. *** The door to the cabin opened with barely a sound and Danie noted that she would have to make sure that they were not oiled so well the next time. A silent door was nice and suited houses and such just fine, but when your life included risks such as mutiny and pirates, a squeaky door became suddenly more useful. “Hello, James,” she said before she even got around to lighting the lamp that rested on a hook next to the door. It was a hunch, but one that had been honed over the past few years, ever since she and her saber had met the man. “Ah, see, you steal all of my fun,” replied James from a chair in front of her desk. “You don’t even allow me to surprise you these days.” She lit the lamp and turned towards the man, who only smiled. “James, you have only surprised me the once,” she dropped her hand to the hilt of her saber, “do you really wish to surprise me again?” The man’s hand went instinctively to his scarred arm, but he caught the movement in time and moved up and past to scratch at his shoulder. “Oh, of course not, Captain.” “Captain is it?” asked Danie. “So, business is it?” “Alas, yes, though just being here is a pleasure,” answered James. Danie only shook her head at the man’s answer and walked behind her desk to take a seat. “Very well,” she said as she sat, “then let’s hear it.” Her voice had

taken a more serious tone, she had settled down into the role of Captain for the time being. “You haven’t been in Serol in some time, have you?” he asked. “I would expect that you’d know the answer to that better than anyone,” she answered. “Oh, indeed, indeed, but you never know. You do, after all, have a few names you could go by and I doubt all of your ships are so conspicuously named,” said James. “I would not put it past you to so easily slip in unnoticed.” The captain laughed. “True,” she said, “but I assure you that I have not been in Serol for some time.” James nodded. “Well then, I am afraid that you are woefully behind on current events.” He grinned, “No worries though, so are most of the other people of Serol.” “Oh?” “Yes, but we can’t all be so well informed.” “Indeed.” “Anyway,” said James, “the important thing to know is that there is trouble brewing.” “Always a good thing to hear,” said Danie, “it is where the profits lie.” “Aye, if you’ll let me continue…” “Oh, I’m sorry, was there something beyond the important thing?” James threw his head back in frustration and felt pain as the back of his head thumped into the hard backing of the chair. “Yes,” he said as he held the back of his head, “there is more.” “Alright then,” Danie waved her hand and smiled, “continue on then.” “Yes, well, there is trouble, but more than that, the trouble is coming from the Upper City. Most notably from Nanron.” “I’ve done some work for him in the past. How is he doing?” “Near dead, or rather not close enough. The man is alive only by virtue of the fact that his heart is still beating.” “Oh.” “Yeah,” replied James. “Now, as I was saying, there is trouble brewing from that quarter. Nanron’s done for, but no one really knows that. Bill has been trying to hide the state of his Lord’s health, but it is all starting to unravel. The Lord’s have gotten suspicious and are starting to ask questions and make their moves.” “Bill?” asked Danie, who didn’t recognize the name. “William is his real name, he has been at Nanron’s side for over a decade now,” answered James. “You never met him?” “No, Nanron always dealt through others,” said Danie, who had clasps her hands before her on the desk. “So,” she began, “what does all this have to do with me?” “A plan,” answered. “The other Lords have made their first move and one is throwing his annual ball a bit early in order to draw Nanron out.” “Okay,” said Danie, “and?” “Nanron cannot be there, obviously.”

Danie narrowed her eyes; it was her turn for frustration. “Do you have a clearer way of stating your intentions or do I have to stab it out of you?” James began to laugh until he noticed that she was not at all joking. “Basically,” he began, “we have to find a way to get Nanron out of the city. Now, we can’t use any of his private ships, who knows who is crewing those, so we need someone else.” Danie straightened. “And that would be me.” “Yes, and you will be paid well, if that matters to you.” “Not really. So, you want me to ferry about an old man in order to ruin the Lords’ plans?” “Pretty much, except Nanron cannot be moved,” answered James. “A look alike, then.” “Yes.” “So we are to take on a look alike of an old man and ferry him about the seas in order to ruin the plans of the pompous bastards on their hill, correct?” asked Danie with an odd glint to her eyes and the beginning of a small smile on her lips. “Yes,” said James with a grin. “Fine enough, not the most exciting of tasks, but if it will give the Lords some grief I am all for it,” she said and the small smile grew into a mischievous grin. James looked at her and couldn’t help but smile, though the fact that she had actively decided to work against the Lords was slightly unnerving. “You sure you want the job, you know that you’ll be working against the same people that often employ you?” “I am well aware,” she answered, “but what is life without a little chaos?” “A boring one, I suppose,” answered James. Danie grinned and the façade of the Captain dropped away, “At least.” “Bill will be here in the morning to go over any details.” James said as an aside. “Try not to stab him, okay?” “Will he show up in my cabin unannounced?” asked Danie, one eyebrow raised above the other. “No, I suppose not,” answered James. “Glad to see others do not share your penchant for self destruction through creepiness and stupidity,” she said with a wink. “Truly,” he replied, his smile still present, “but that just means more fun for me.”

Chapter Four: Information The clang of the closing heavy iron door followed Darius down the tight stairway and into the chamber that served as a miniature dungeon. The chamber was small and dimly lit by a solitary lamp hung on a rusty hook jutting out of the stone of the wall next to the stairwell. The lamp’s dim light revealed five doors: four short iron doors, each with a small slit to allow in a little light, and one iron door that could have been a replica of the one Darius had entered at the top of the steps. The four short doors each hid a cramped cell and the taller fifth door hid a small room that contained nothing more than a small table and two uncomfortable chairs. Darius had been in the room before. It was where she asked questions, often times in a violent manner, but she had also been in one of the cells. It had been part of her training and she remembered it well, especially when they were there before her. Avelyn was in one of those cells, hunched down so he could fit and, if her experience was any indication, grasping on to what little light the door let in like a beacon of hope. A key appeared in her hand and she moved to the normal door to unlock it. She would prepare the room first, and then retrieve Avelyn. The door opened with a horrible shriek that forced Darius to clench her jaws and cover her ears until the echo finally died away. She stood in the way of the dim light and the room before her was dark. It had no light source of its own and Darius had once again forgotten the spare lamp upstairs. That was nothing new or unusual, it seemed as though she left it up there every time. Darius had remembered to take her case though and strolled into the darkened room to sit it onto the small table, which was really only large enough to display a small amount of wicked looking instruments, most of which did nothing much at all. With the case on the table, she went back upstairs to retrieve the spare lamp. Fellshot would be waiting for her, she already knew, but that was to be expected. Those on her team were expected to sit in on one session and to perform one on his or her own. Fellshot was new and had yet to do either, so it was easy to see why she would be eager. It was even easier to see from Darius’s standpoint. Fellshot would not be a real member of the group until she sat in on a session and would not be truly welcome until she performed one of her own. If it were anyone else other than Avelyn, Darius would have allowed Fellshot to sit in on the session without hesitation. It was Avelyn though, and she could see it in his eyes as they carried him to the cells that he would break easily and fast. Darius figured the session to be an easy one and doubted that she’d have to break out her tools at all in order to break the doctor. No, she decided, she would not allow the woman to sit in on the session, but Darius had the feeling that there would be plenty more for her to sit in on soon enough. The heavy door at the top of the steps opened with barely a sound. Its hinges were well, and often, oiled as to not disturb the occupants of the rooms around it.

The room that the door opened into was smaller than the chamber below, but comparatively well lit. Two halls connected to it, one to the right and one to the left, but it was easier to say that it merely interrupted the one hall. The lamp would be found beside the door, where it was always left, but Fellshot leaned against the wall directly across from it. The blonde woman lacked the bow that she normally carried around with her and instead carried a thin sword at her hip and a dagger opposite. The woman stepped away from the wall and nodded. “Are we ready?” she asked. Her voice quavered with either nervousness or excitement, Darius could not tell which. “No,” answered Darius without a second glance in Fellshot’s direction. She leaned down next to the door and grabbed the spare lantern by its wire handle and made to reenter the stairwell. “Why not?” asked Fellshot. “Don’t I have to do this? It is part of the rules, isn’t it?” “Yes,” Darius replied, “you do have to do it, but there is nothing to say when you have to view a session.” “So why not this one?” queried Fellshot. Darius did glance towards her then, the woman looked confused and angry. “Because this one isn’t worth the experience,” replied Darius, her tone one of utmost finality. “Don’t worry, there will be more sessions to come, you’ll have ample chance.” Fellshot sighed, “What now then?” “Now?” answered Darius, “Now go get some sleep, get a drink, or make some lucky guard’s night. Doesn’t matter what you do with your time off.” Once more Darius turned towards the stairwell, spare lamp in hand. With one last glance into the room, she grabbed the latch of the door and pulled it shut as she began down the steps. The clang of the heavy iron door followed her down and into the chamber. Darius knew that sound well enough, for those in the cell it stood as a stark contrast to the dim light of the lamp below. Where the light was a beacon of hope, the clang was a portent of doom. *** “Whispers, mutterings, and slurred secrets, nothing more,” said Beezer to the grey furred head that lay in his lap. He stroked the fur above his dog’s ear with one hand as he thought on the news that his agent had brought him, the other dangled over the arm of the couch. “Where have all my sources gone?” he asked the empty room. “I used to have many all across the districts and now all I have are my agents.” He sighed and continued to stroke the dog’s fur. “My agents are considered the best of all the Lords and yet all they bring me are whispers and mutterings and half a hundred rumors that I’ve heard before.” “Oh, and then there is the Shadowhouse, the one source of information I had left. Who would attack them? I had placed my diminishing sources down to rivalry, but none of the sources I knew had the clout or guts to pull off something like that.” His free hand moved up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a sign of the frustration he

had been suffering lately. “Now the Shadowhouse will be out of commission for a while and I have no one left to get information from. They’ve all gone underground or died, or something, all the sources I have known have disappeared.” “All just in time for this whole Nanron fiasco,” he said, still speaking his thoughts to his dog. “The man’s family died, I get that, but he hasn’t been seen since the funeral and even then he was looking ill. Of course, that works out well since he is supposedly ill, but we have given him ample time to grieve and get over whatever has been afflicting him, yet he still hides in his estate.” “I tell you, Beast,” he continued to the dog, which was in no way, shape, form, or disposition, a beast, “if the man would just show himself it would make our lives easier. A Lord that cannot do his duties is not fit to be a Lord. Nanron was there when Sargai learned that lesson, but it appears he did not take it to heart.” Beezer looked down at Beast, her head in his lap still and her eyes watching him silently and switched to stroking the fur beside her other ear. “I have to say that I envy the man in a way though, he is the only one of us who has managed to surround himself with people loyal to him.” Beezer shrugged, “I have tried to bribe several of them, more than several, but they won’t budge. Curse Nanron and curse his luck.” “None of us, other than him, can inspire such loyalty, let alone maintain it. A little extra gold placed in the pockets of anyone who works our estates is enough to turn them informant. I don’t like the fact that the people closest to me would betray me so easily, but I know that they will and I know that they do. So I spread false information, I lie, and I use their betrayal for my own advantage.” Beezer grinned as he thought about his latest lie. It would spread to all the sources across the city, none of which he knew of, but existed if only because they were needed. His annual ball was coming up, but, as every Lord other than Nanron knew, not for a few months. The lie stated that the time until the ball measured in weeks. All he had to do was wait to see what Nanron did, if he did anything at all. Beezer once more glanced down at Beast again and noticed that she had fallen asleep. “Did all of my talking bore you to sleep?” he asked quietly as he continued to stroke her fur. “Or are you just pretending to be asleep?” Beezer smiled and reached over the arm of the couch to retrieve a book he had laid on the small table next to the couch. “Fine then,” he said, “I’ll shut up, but I am going to have Sissiel give you a bath tomorrow to get back at you.” *** The room’s iron door clanged shut behind Darius and she locked it. The doctor within had given her nothing that she did not already know and she did not have to do anything other than raise her voice over a whisper. He knew everything about Nanron, that much was true, but there was no intent to let the secret out, she knew that as well. Now Darius had to decide what to do with him. She could not let him go, that would be stupid and likely disastrous. The thought of a faceless man floating down by the docks in the morning light had crossed her mind several times, but murdering an innocent man did not appeal to her. It was the most practical, of

course, but she felt that there had to be another way. Darius could, of course, just let him rot in the cells, but that was an even worse fate for the doctor than death. Another option occurred to her then and she turned around, unlocked the door, and reentered the room. Avelyn was still sitting where she left him, his face slack and tired. She pulled her knife and sat down opposite of him. “You have three options,” she said as he looked up, “I suggest you choose well.” Avelyn nodded, “Alright.” Darius held up one finger, “I can take his knife,” she held it up to where he could see it clearly, “and kill you.” She held up a second finger, “I can tuck you back into your cell to rot.” A third, “or you can agree to stay at the estate and look after Nanron.” “Well,” replied the man, “something tells me I should go with three, it seems to be less dangerous.” Darius laughed at the doctor’s reply, “I am afraid that is where you are wrong. The first two definitely end in death, the third will likely end in death.” Avelyn’s face was no longer slack, instead he looked confused. “What?” he sputtered, “How?” “It is not just taking care of a sick old man, doctor. You will be, and have been, taking care of a sick old Lord, but you already knew that. What you don’t know is that the other Lords don’t take kindly to those who cannot do their job and I assure you, Nanron cannot pull his weight anymore. Though I do believe that you know that well enough,” answered Darius as she fiddled with the knife. “Sure you want to choose three?” The look of confusion disappeared. “A possible death is better than a definite death,” Avelyn replied. The knife stopped spinning and disappeared up her sleeve as Darius stood from the table. “Very well,” she said, “I’ll send someone down later to get you, until then you can stay in this room instead of going back to your cell.” She gathered up the box from the table and put it under one arm, with the other she grabbed the spare lamp’s wire handle. The door clanged, the lock clicked, and Darius smiled. She had been right about the session, but it had gone well nonetheless. The solution was a good one, she felt, no need to go and find another doctor that might do the damage intentionally that Avelyn could have done accidentally. There was no need to murder, yet. Still, for all the bother that the doctor had caused, Darius decided that the doctor could do with a while in the dark, perhaps a day or two. As she locked the door to the stairwell behind her, she noted the predawn light that shone through the window. Avelyn said a lot, a lot of nothing, but a lot was a lot any way you put it. Darius had a few reports to write, but after that she would have to sleep again. She did not look forward to it.

Chapter Five: Lord’s Mercy Even the dock’s planks that surrounded the ship was given a wide berth by the sailors, dock workers, and those who knew even a little about maritime superstitions. The crowds that walked up and down the length of the dock bottlenecked there, each and everyone unwilling to cross the planks that fell under the ship’s shadow. Only the ignorant or uncaring crossed before the ship in apathetic comfort. One passerby was neither ignorant of the superstitions, nor did he have an uncaring attitude towards them. Bill had been on many ships over the years and few were anything that he would call pleasant. More than a few times he had held on to dear life as a storm raged and threatened to push them into the Lord of the Deep’s grasp. This time however, his needs outweighed the superstitions. The morning’s light had long since fought its way over the horizon and blazed towards noon. Bill passed the ship for what felt like the hundredth time, uncertain about what he should do. There was no doubting that he needed the help, but the strange man from the tavern was not the sort of help he had hoped for and nothing that he would have ever expected. Then James had told Bill his own secret, the true identity that linked him to a burned out shell of an estate that once went by the name of Haet. Even with the shared secret, Bill did not know if he could trust the man. He was a former Lord after all, one that had been thrown down by his fellow Lords, one of whom was Nanron. So he walked the docks and passed the ship once, twice, and a hundred more times. There was little doubt that someone on the ship had seen him and there was no doubt that the sailors and dockworkers saw him. They likely thought him insane and Bill did not, and could not, disagree with it. He was, after all, challenging both the Lords and, by being so close to the ship, luck. His feet began to ache, something that his many years of marching should have kept at bay. He had grown too soft, he decided, too much sitting down, reading reports, and far too much fine food. That was the life he had chosen though, he could have stayed with the military. If he survived long enough, he could have ended up with a high ranking position, no matter where in the city he came from. Maybe not, though. Nanron taught him everything that would have allowed him to rise in the ranks. Without him, Bill would be little more than front line fodder. Bill owed him too much; his life, his home, and a family that he loved, despite never having one of his own. “Two more circuits,” he told himself, assured in the knowledge that the few people hurrying across the barren planks were too wrapped up in their own problems to hear his silent statement and the people trapped in the bottleneck at

the edge of the docks could barely hear their own thoughts, let alone his quiet words. “Two more circuits and I will make up my mind,” he continued, though in an even lower tone than the original. He did not even make it one before his mind was made up for him. “Oi!” a feminine call from above, on the ship. Bill looked up, but saw no one. “Ya comin’ up, or are ya just gonna keep on walkin’ back an’ forth in front o’ the ship?” Bill looked about the ship, but still saw no one. “Uhh,” he began, not sure how to exactly answer that sort of question, “sure!” “Right then,” answered the voice, “keep walkin’ how ya were, take a right onta the thin bit, and then up the plank ya go!” The dilemma about whether or not to trust James was nullified and Bill was not pleased by the prospect. Nevertheless he did as he was told and kept walking straight. The thin bit that the voice had mentioned had very little relation to the term thin. It was certainly thinner than the main dock, but that was where any similarity to the attribute ceased. No matter the term used, there was a plank of wood that stretched from the dock to the ship and Bill made his way to it. A woman stepped in front of Bill as he reached the deck of the ship. “Welcome aboard,” she said as she held out a blue painted hand. In fact, all of the woman’s flesh was painted blue, all of her clothes were dyed blue, and even the grin she flashed as she greeted him had a blue tint to it. Long brown hair stood out as the sole deviation from the coloration. “I be Blue,” she added. Bill took the hand gingerly, but found that the paint was dry. “I can tell,” Bill responded as he shook her hand. “Nay, it’s me name, not me color,” she stated. Her smile was gone, but her blue eyes had a mischievous quality to them. One of Bill’s eyebrows hitched towards the sky. “Oh,” he replied, “a pleasure then.” “Aye,” she smiled again, “now where were we?” “Welcome aboard,” Bill answered. “Ah, aye, right,” she began, “well then, me name’s Blue.” “A pleasure to meet you, Blue,” said Bill with a bow. “My name is Bill.” Blue laughed at the sight of Bill bowing towards her, “Whatchya bowin’ for, eh?” “Seemed the polite thing to do,” answered Bill. “Polite?” asked Blue as if the entire concept was alien to her. It was her turn to hitch an eyebrow skyward. Answering the woman’s calls from the dock struck him as a bad idea as a little of his patience slipped away from him. “Aye,” he answered through gritted teeth. Blue laughed again, but said nothing more. She was not even looking in his direction anymore, her attention had moved elsewhere and her feet followed. She left Bill standing in front of the gangplank, unsure of just where he could find the captain.

“Don’t mind her, mate.” Bill nearly jumped in surprise. The voice came from immediately behind him on the gangplank, though he had heard no one walk up behind him. He turned to see the speaker, who stood on the sagging gangplank, a bottle of something in one hand, the other on his forehead. The man was tall, too tall for Bill’s comfort, but he was happy to see that he was not painted. The tall man did not even allow Bill to speak, he held out his hand for Bill to shake. “The name’s Renasko,” he said, “but most just call me Joe.” Bill shook the man’s hand, “Bill.” “Well, Bill,” replied Joe, “it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but what brings you to the ship?” “I have business with the captain,” answered Bill. “Ah, well you aren’t gonna speak to her by standing in the way of the gangplank,” Joe said, “if you move yourself out of the way, I’ll see what I can do, eh?” “Oh,” replied Bill, who only just realized the precarious position Joe was in as he stood out over the water on a plank of wood with a hangover, “sorry about that.” Bill stepped to the side, out of the way of the gangplank, and Joe stepped aboard. “S’no problem, mate,” responded Joe as he walked toward the steps leading below deck. There was a certain sway to his steps, which could have been from being on shore for the first time in months, or being on shore and drinking all night. It could be the first, but Bill guessed it was both. The man tumbled below deck with a few grunts and the sound of a breaking glass. Bill figured that the man wouldn’t so much be getting the captain as he would be falling into his bunk to sleep off the previous night. A few minutes of nothing but passing time proved his figure correct, but it was nothing at all to revel in. Especially since something was splattering on the deck not too far away and was closing in on him. Bill looked up to see what it was, but saw nothing through the chaos of lines and sails. He relocated a few feet to the other side of the gangplank just in case. “Deep take you, Shan! Get your damned prick back in your pants!” Bill turned as the shouting began to see a woman run from below deck, her face oddly colored and skyward. “But I’ve got to piss,” a man above, in the crow’s nest, yelled in reply. “Then use the damned bottle! How many times do I have to tell you to keep the damned thing in your pants, no matter where you are?” The woman’s fist was in the air as she shook it in the direction of the crow’s nest. “Ain’t no one here, Kammi,” yelled the man, “everyone’s done gone out drinking, everyone ‘cept us! Ain’t no one here to see me!” The woman’s head hung for a second, as if she sighed, before it rose back up to glare upwards and she began shouting again with renewed vigor. “You just barely missed Joe, you dumbass!” She looked at Bill then and looked as though she was surprised that she was not alone on the deck. The woman did not say anything to him, nor did she make any movement in his direction, she just looked back up at the

crow’s nest and yelled, “And I’ll have you know that we have a guest aboard and you almost hit him!” “Always telling me not to—,” her last remark cut him off in mid rant. “We do?” “Aye, we do, and he looks the fancy type, too!” The woman, Kammi, smiled. “Almost?” asked Shan. “Then I guess I don’t get the extra points, do I?” The smile disappeared, “If you did or if you didn’t, you’ll be getting something!” “A little time in your bunk?” asked Shan. Bill thought that he heard a hint of hopefulness in the tone of the shout. “When you come down from there, I am going to beat you!” “Why not come up, make it faster?” Kammi grasped the handle of a short club that hung from her belt and Bill could easily see her putting it to use. “If I come up,” she shouted slowly and with emphasis, “you will find the deck quickly and hard.” She waited for a response, but none came. “Now keep your mouth shut and your prick in your pants, because if you don’t, I’m going to tear it off and feed it to the fish!” Her face turned from the nest and towards Bill. “Now,” she said in a hoarse voice, “who the deep are you?” Kammi started walking towards him, her hand on the club, and the coloration on her face taking shape as a tattoo of an octopus. The head settled on the upper part of her face, her eyes served as the eyes of the tattoo and the tentacles spread out from her mouth. “It’s a tattoo,” she stated as she looked at Bill evenly, “now who are you?” “My name is Bill,” he answered. He had been yanked from the distraction of the tattoo. “Well, there is that,” replied Kammi. She gripped the club tightly, “Now why are you here?” “I was told to talk to the captain of this ship about some work I need done,” Bill answered immediately. “James?” she asked, a black look crossed her face. “That was one of his names, yes.” Kammi let go of the club, “Well, if that is the case, then Danie is likely already waiting for you.” She sighed, “The bastard is always sneaking aboard when we come to Serol, though he doesn’t know that I know that. Think this is the first time he has ever sent someone our way though.” “Ah,” replied Bill, who realized that sneaky and any of its forms was a good term for the man and bastard was right up there with it. “So,” he began, unsure of how to proceed. “So?” asked Kammi with a glare. “I need to speak with the captain,” answered Bill. “Oh,” replied Kammi, the glare still present, “why didn’t you say that in the first place?” She did not wait for an answer and Bill did not have one to give, “Follow me.” ***

“Beezer wants what?” Lord Mira peered over her half moon reading glasses that were propped up at the end of her nose at Izeil. On the desk before her was the book she had been reading before she allowed him entrance, a thick tome that she had closed when he entered. An odd diagram on the front bore resemblance to a worm. “Sorry, Lord,” replied Izeil with a short bow, “Lord Beezer requests that we move the annual ball up to the fabricated date.” “A few months become a few weeks and he expects us to be prepared? Is there a specific reason for the change?” The questions the diminutive, gold skinned woman asked were anticipated by his Lord, though Izeil did not know how Beezer had accomplished such a feat. There was anger behind the questions, anger. The woman had inherited her father’s temper along with his estate. Izeil could hardly blame her for being angry though, she was not the first of the Lords he had spoken to that day and none of them were happy. A good dressmaker would be hard to find within the next day as all of the Lords’ ladies rushed for a dress to be made for the event. The Hells hath no fury, Izeil recited as bowed again. “My Lord believes that if he is to go through so much trouble to make people believe that the ball is on a certain date, then perhaps he should actually hold the ball on the fabricated date.” “Something tells me that Beezer never really thought his original plan through,” said Mira, mostly to herself. You mean Beezer actually think? questioned Izeil in his thoughts, but he knew well that he could not ask the question aloud. To disrespect one Lord is to disrespect them all, even if he was partially agreeing with the Lord before him. “Are there any more reasons?” “My Lord did not mention anything specific,” answered Izeil, “however, he did intimate that should Nanron show up only to discover that there is no ball, problems could arise.” “Of that, there is little doubt. The old man never had use for games,” Mira responded. She had never met actually met Nanron, but she had heard many stories from her father and a few of the other Lords that she had met. “So why not pretend to hold the ball or make some excuse for having to cancel at the last second?” “This he did speak of,” stated Izeil. Though I don’t know whether I prefer that he talks or stays silent, he thought. He was not at all happy about being woken up before light to bathe his Lord’s precious mutt. “You see,” he began, “while he is certainly willing to be flexible on the date,” as much as choosing between two dates is flexible, “he is perfectly unwilling to sacrifice his time and money to hold two, even if one is fake, when he doesn’t care to hold the one.” “He’s a bit cheeky with his answers,” Mira said, her eyes narrowed further than they naturally were. “Or did you add your own touch to it?” “I assure you, Lord Mira,” answered Izeil, that Beezer could not be cheeky if he tried, “that I repeat only what my Lord tells me to repeat in the case of such questions. I am afraid that all cheekiness belongs solely to Lord Beezer.”

The Lord sighed. “Very well,” she stood from her desk and placed her glasses down on her book, “tell Beezer that I agree with moving the ball forward.” “Yes, Lord Mira,” said Izeil with a bow, “I shall do so.” The assistant turned to leave, but was stopped by the Lord. “That is not all,” she stated before he had the chance to complete a full turn towards the door. “Tell him that I am not at all pleased by this change, that I have a lot of work to do in order to prepare for it thanks to him, and that I will be sharpening some presents for him.” “Yes, Lord Mira,” replied Izeil with another polite bow. Though perhaps I will not warn him of the sharp objects, they should make for an interesting surprise. *** “Frustrating bastard,” spat Kammi as she led Bill to the captain’s cabin. “He probably kept her up all night with that yammering mouth of his,” she explained. Kammi stopped in front of a simple door covered in odd indentations. Bill discovered how those indentations came to be when Kammi struck the door with the club. “She’s likely asleep, even this late in the morning,” said Kammi as she turned from the door to wait. “Bad enough that she doesn’t get enough sleep any other time,” she complained and whacked the door with a side swing of the club, “but as soon as we dock in Serol, you can be sure that the bastard will be along to ensure she doesn’t even get her usual small amount.” “He really didn’t seem the most talkative type,” replied Bill. The club smacked against the door again and he briefly wondered just how often they had to replace it. “Oh, of course not,” Kammi said. She brandished the club in Bill’s direction. “That’s because you are not her,” the stick whipped against the door as she said it. “If you were her,” she continued, “you’d hardly be able to shut him up.” “I see,” began Bill, who was cut off when the scarred door opened to reveal a bedraggled woman. Her hair was everywhere but in place and her clothes appeared to have been slept in. The door acted as a crutch for her slim frame as she glared at the two of them, her brown eyes narrowed in a sleep induced seething fury. “I’m awake, Deep take you,” she growled before slamming the door closed. Kammi looked at him pointedly, “Captain Danie, at your service.” “She seems pleasant,” replied Bill. The tattooed woman laughed and the tentacles seemed to waver, “Yeah, well, she isn’t always like that, only when people show up in the middle of the night to keep her awake.” Her move to knock on the door with the club again was interrupted by a call from within. “Hit my door again,” came the call, “and I swear that I’ll keel haul you and give your corpse over to Shan for the night.” The club returned to its place at Kammi’s belt and she looked at Bill with an uncomfortable smile. “A joke,” she assured him. “Not in the slightest.” The door opened again to reveal the captain, her hair was almost controlled, but still far from in place and her clothes had the appearance

of at least one attempt to smooth the wrinkles from them. Her eyes were still narrowed, but the sleep had disappeared from them and left the fury. “You must be Bill,” she dropped her gaze upon him and held out her hand, “James told me that you would be coming.” Kammi muttered something too low for him to hear as he reached for the captain’s hand and continued on even as he gripped it. Bill was not surprised to find that the captain’s grip was anything but soft. “I am glad he was so certain,” he replied as he shook her hand, “I was not too sure I would come.” “James is always certain, even when he is lying on the floor bleeding,” stated Danie, “believe me, I know firsthand.” She stepped out of the doorway and waved Bill in, “We may as well get started.” The captain looked over at Kammi and tilted her head to the side. The first mate nodded back and wandered away, muttering lowly all the while. Bill could hear her shouts begin anew as he walked into the cabin. The door closed behind them and Danie walked across the cabin to take a seat at her desk. “Take a seat,” she pointed to one of the chairs in front of the desk and Bill sat. “So talk to me,” she said, “James has told me a little, but I need more.” “Well, that’s a long story,” replied Bill, “what exactly do you wish to know? From the beginning or just what I need your help with?” “Either or,” Danie answered. “We have got plenty of time before the ship is restocked.” “Telling you anything more than the specifics of the job will likely do nothing for you, but cause problems,” Bill stated as he leaned forward in the chair. “It is better if I just stuck to that.” “Alright then, go ahead, what is the job?” “James likely already told you, but I need you to transport someone for me,” he answered. “Yes, a lookalike,” responded the captain, “a lookalike of a Lord.” Bill nodded, “Correct.” “So what is that you want?” “A tour of some islands perhaps, maybe some time spent up north. Honestly, I don’t care, just as long as he is far away from Serol for a few months.” “Easy enough task.” Danie stood from the chair and moved to the window, which she opened. A cool breeze flowed through the window into the stuffy window. “However,” she shivered, “in a few months, I would much prefer to be in northern waters, sailing warmer seas.” A moment of silence as Bill thought about what to say next turned cold as the breeze turned into wind. The wind whipped up the waters of the port and send the ships to rocking, creating a cacophony of creaks along the docks. It was especially loud inside the cabin, but it gave Bill a little longer to think. The creaks faded all too soon. “That definitely presents a problem,” Bill finally replied. “Is there any way I could convince you to stay in southern waters until it is safe for Nanron to return to Serol?”

Danie’s answer consisted of a shrug as she leaned forward on her desk, her hand to her chin as if she was putting great thought into the question. “I assume you are referring to gold, yes?” the question was rhetorical. “In that case,” she said quietly, forcing Bill to move in closer, “I don’t think so.” As he heard the whispered answer, Bill’s face became crestfallen. “I am afraid,” she went on, “that I dislike the cold more than I like gold.” Danie sat back in her chair, “However, there may be something that we can work out.” Bill did not retreat back against his chair, “What would that be?” Danie smiled, “While I do not have any need for your gold, you do have my support in opposing the Lords, even if you are doing so in order to protect one of them.” She stretched and yawned before continuing, “I don’t know how much James told you about me, but I am sure that it wasn’t much at all. He probably just dropped my name and said some comment that made me sound even better, right?” “Pretty much,” answered Bill, unsure of where the captain was going. “Yes, I had figured as much.” The captain reached down to her side and Bill heard a drawer open. A small map was slapped down on the table a few seconds later. “To the victor goes the spoils,” Danie quoted. “You won a map?” Bill’s question was matched with an incredulous look. “No,” she said flatly as she flattened out the map, and pointed out several light black marks. “These marks indicate the placement of my ships, each one won through battle or chance. I guess you could say that I am much more than just a captain.” Bill understood the captain, or at least he hoped that he did. “And you could arrange for one of these ships to stay in southern waters?” “I’m glad I didn’t have to explain it to you or this meeting would have ended in short order.” The map was folded up and slipped back into the drawer. “Yes, either that or I can have your lookalike delivered back into local waters,” the captain paused, “barring any unfortunate luck.” The thought of the lookalike going down with the ship stood out to Bill as an event that would make his life harder, but it would no doubt make the council happy. Nanron had been out of the game for a while, perhaps too long, and there was certainly no going back. A quick, quiet death, even a fake one, would be easier for everyone. Certainly, it would not please Bill to have everything shot down so easily, but it would alleviate the stress that the circumstances had thrust upon him. Defying the Lords was bad enough, but Bill was unsure of why he was even doing so in the first place. The estate was his home and had been for decades, it was the only one he knew anymore; the others had long since faded into ethereal memories. Even so, there was a chance that he would stay on as a simple guard, though it was unlikely that any of the current guards would stay for long. Better to risk everything and move on, than stay put under the soft, pampered fist of the lordling that would take Nanron’s place.

Perhaps it was loyalty that drove him, then, to risk his life and the lives of those around him, but that was better than giving up his home, his life, and his Lord. Unfortunate luck was not something that Bill was used to, but his run of it had started with the death of Nanron’s family and had yet to end. “Whichever way,” he finally said, after realizing that he had delved too deeply into his thoughts and shelved them to think of later, “Any help you can provide will be welcomed.” Danie smiled at the expected response. “Good, now let’s discuss payment.” “How much are you asking for?” A wry smile from the captain. “How much do you have?” “That much, eh?” asked Bill. He could not say that the captain’s move was unexpected; her help would be a move against the Lords. Most would not bother hearing him out when it came to such things, fewer still would bother to offer help. “Actually, no,” said Danie, her smile still present as she formed the words. “I admire what you are doing and am not all that fond of the Lords. You will be charged for passage as well as any supplies the lookalike may consume. From what I have heard, Nanron was a strong man, which means that his lookalike should be about the same, which means that I can put him to work. That will lower the charge to you even lower.” “That is generous of you, but how much are we looking at now?” “No gold,” replied Danie, her smile all the wider, “I already told you that I have plenty of that. How about you owe me a favor?” Bill’s eyebrows arched. “That little?” “Little?” questioned Danie. “A favor is no small thing, it means that I can call on you at anytime and ask you to do anything, at which point you will accomplish what I ask of you.” Her hands folded in front of her as she leaned on her desk. “Do you understand the payment that I am asking?” “I do.” Bill sighed. “I understand and agree to the payment, but I am afraid that you may be cheating yourself.” “Oh?” The captain sat back in her chair, her hands still folded on the desk and her eyes narrowed in curiosity. “How so?” “If everything goes bad,” he began, but did not get very far. “If everything goes bad, then you will be dead.” She shrugged. “Tell me, Bill, do you know what the superstitions say about Daer Seslani?” “A smattering, but I never spent much time on the islands.” Bill was confused, if only slightly. The Daer Seslani, or dark Seslani as they were known outside the Seslan Islands, were commonly whispered of in seaside taverns and on ships. However, the clarity of such whispers was often muddled by alcohol or distraction and, like the memories of his past homes, had faded away over time until he was left with nothing more than pieces. The captain explained, “They say that the Lord of the Lightless Depths is a lonely soul. He seeks out company and does this by drowning any who dare stare into the salty waters and pulling their souls to him. He encourages the wives of the lost to throw themselves into the sea, the suicidal to plunge from the bridges and the cliffs, and those of adventurous spirit to swim out further from shore.

“Yet, with all of the souls he drags to him, he is still lonely. To sate his loneliness, the god leaves the ocean to take the form of man. His hair, skin, eyes, and lips the darkest of blue, he walks amongst the people whom he loves the most, the Seslani, and chooses several mates, both man and woman alike. After his short stay the women find themselves pregnant and the men blessed by the god. However, the arrival and stay of the god is not heralded or loved by the Seslani, for disaster follows in the god’s wake as he once again descends to his lightless depths and many die in the raging storms. “The children of the selected women are born dark of hair and dark of eye and the children of the selected men are dark of skin, but light of hair and eye. The children are a stain upon the population, a dark splotch on a white cloth, but still those born of the selected women were taken in by the Seslani. The darkened hair and eyes was considered exotic, though their dispositions often leaned towards a similarity to the storms that raged in the god’s wake. The children of the selected men, however, were not so welcomed with their dark blue skin, but that was no issue for them; they were attracted to the sea and embraced it one by one until finally none lived on the island. No bodies ever turned up, it is said that they returned to their father. The other children were also attracted to the water, but not in the same way. They wished to sail it and indeed they did, they became the finest ship captains, the greatest naval commanders, but still they weren’t trusted or treated equal by the Seslan population. “The superstitions state that it is a link to the Lord of the Lightless Depths that makes them so, that the god refuses to allow one of his children to be a disappointment. The children of the Lord, so it is said, have nothing to ever fear of him, no ill maritime luck will touch them, no storm shall swallow their ships, and the Lord’s Mercy will be swift. “It has been centuries since the god last strode the islands, but the blood still runs through the veins of the Seslani; though it runs thin. Those, who have that blood, no matter the thickness, are linked with the god, they are family. “I am of his blood,” she said, “and though the link is faint, I can feel the ocean’s current running through me.” She closed her eyes; her smile had long since faded from her face. “Don’t think me crazy, because I’m not. I assure you that if you die before you can repay my favor, I will rip your soul from its rest and send you to the Lord of the Lightless Depths to keep him company.” Bill could have thought her crazy and likely would have, but the woman had narrowed her eyes into another glare. He imagined, for a second, that he could see into the very depths through those eyes and beyond that a pair of dark eyes looking back at him. He could not think of a response to it and, on second thought, doubted his desire to accept the captain’s help, but he had no choice. He breathed in and out a few times and sighed. “I understand the payment,” he said finally, “and I accept.” The glare disappeared and the smile returned, both of which Bill was glad to see. “Good. Now let’s discuss all the small details.”

Chapter Six - Revelation The Depth’s Mercy pulled away from the docks in the dark of night. No harbor pilot worked at night, all incoming ships would be delayed until morning and all outgoing ships would be forced to remain docked. No one raced out to stop the cursed ship from leaving the city. The sailors, dock workers, and port authorities were more than happy to see it go. Not one of the harbor pilots wished to board the ship in any case. It would have been a silent departure if not for the many sighs of relief and one depressed sigh issued from a large man who sat on a piling, watching the ship depart. “Another departure, eh?” James had become well used to whispers in his ear, each one spoken by some informant whose face he never saw, even if he cared to look. The words were not whispered, but spoken aloud. He already knew that the voice was muffled by the disguise the speaker wore, but it was confirmed when he hopped down from the piling and turned to the speaker. The speaker had never deigned to give James a real name. Instead he took up the name of a man long dead. ‘Call me Kemp,’ the speaker had told him, a man’s name, though there was no way to tell the sex. Kemp’s name was not Kemp of course. No one would dare take up the name of the infamous revolutionary, even so many centuries after his passing. “Yes,” James said, his voice low, “yet another departure.” “And when shall she return?” asked the muffled voice. “Who knows,” James stepped off the dock and onto the dusty ground beside it, “spring perhaps.” “Let’s walk.” The disguise Kemp wore was such that it revealed little of the physique that it hid. The wearer could be male or female, just as long as said female was not well endowed. The veils that covered the mouth in order to muffle the voice helped along the effect, though a wearer altering his or her voice aided all the more. James had created the original design for the disguise years ago to be worn by the handful of agents he kept secret from the rest of the Lords, but the version before him was much better than his own, and more effective besides. Kemp gave a short bow and waved his arm out to the side, “I think you will agree that it is a bit too open to speak here.” “Yes, I do agree,” replied James. The pair followed a well worn path that zigzagged from one errantly placed warehouse to the next towards the extremely low wall that separated the docks and the Dirt. The short wall was never meant to stand as a defensive measure, a fact easily recognized since the wall rarely posed a problem to any, save drunkards and toddlers. The two stepped over the wall and into the Dirt and then hastily slipped down one of the many alleys that formed the labyrinthine district.

“How is this going to affect you?” asked Kemp. “I know how you get when this sort of thing happens and…” Kemp paused briefly and continued on, a frustrated edge accompanied the muffled voice, “…and now is not the time.” “It won’t affect me,” James answered and sighed. “You needn’t worry, I’ll be fine.” “Listen,” Kemp stopped and leaned against one of the buildings that formed the alley, “you cannot let this affect you at all. You chose to deal with the rot now and I promised to help you, but all of this goes nowhere if you are not at your best.” James leaned against the other wall and sighed again. “Do not worry. There is no way I’d allow my chance to bring an end to the rot of Serol to slip through my fingers over so trivial a matter.” “Good to hear,” Kemp pushed off of the wall and started down the alley, James followed. “I don’t care to know what you have planned next. I do, however, wish you luck in your efforts.” “Thank you,” replied James. They pair stopped where the alley they walked opened out into a street. “One last warning, Sargai; keep your wits about you. They will be tested this time around.” The speaker disappeared down the street before James had a chance to reply. *** The faces of the Lords before him showed little emotion, as was expected, but Beezer could almost feel the undercurrent of frustration that several of them shared. No one had said a word since Beezer delivered the news to the bedraggled Lords. Each one had been pulled out of bed, away from work, or away from some other nocturnal venture by Beezer. The little house that stood in the corner of the Upper City was unusually bright and the Lords were even crankier than usual, but the news was important and Beezer knew there were a few on the council who would not want to wait to hear it. Finally the Lords’ silence broke. “What?” asked one of the Lords in disbelief, his voice quiet and restrained, but carrying the familiar undercurrent with it. “I do not believe I have to repeat myself, Elrond,” answered Beezer. It did not surprise him that the first person to break the silence was Lord Elrond. The man was chief amongst those putting pressure on him to look into Nanron’s disappearance from the Council and his duties. “No, you do not, but I think you should explain just how such information escaped your notice,” replied Lord Elrond. His voice became less restrained with each word. “That is your task, is it not? Getting information?” “That it is, Elrond, but you seem to be under the false assumption that I know everything that goes on in this city. Fact is, information sources are drying up. I have a few, but only a few and they surely cannot know everything that happens, or will happen, in this city.”

“Perhaps we should find someone else to do the job. Someone who doesn’t have such hard time finding needed information,” suggested the dark skinned Lord, the tone of his words calm for the moment. The rest of the Lords sat by in silence watching the exchange unfold. None chose to break up the spat and get back to business, most weren’t even paying attention and the rest followed the spectacle with offhand amusement. Arguments between the Lords occurred often and were nothing special. “Tell me, Elrond, are you so quick to make such suggestions despite being unaware as to what all I know? I can tell you this, just because I do not know everything that goes on down in the city, doesn’t mean I do not know what goes on up here in the Upper City.” Beezer smirked. “I would caution you against making any more suggestions.” Elrond either did not register the threat or put it down as being benign. “If you know so much about the Upper City how is that you are so ignorant of what is happening with Nanron?” It was his turn to smirk. Beezer did not give much thought to the question, the answer was simple. “Nanron, if you have somehow forgotten, only employs those who are loyal to him. His is the one estate in the Upper City that I cannot implant an informant or turn someone. The rest of you, however,” he smiled, “that is a different story.” Not even a murmur escaped the lips of the Lords gathered at the table when the information was revealed. Beezer had expected them to know that he had agents in place, but still felt a small pang of self pity. When exactly had things started to spiral downwards? His ploy worked though, there were things the Lords would rather others not find out about, no matter if it was a bluff or an actual threat. Elrond took his seat and crossed his arms, his face a mask of seething anger. A feminine cough interrupted the stilted silence that followed. “Perhaps,” said one of the Lords, her hands clasped before her, on top of a large book, “we should discuss something relevant to the situation.” “How is Beezer’s failure to gather the proper information in time not relevant to the situation, Mira?” asked Elrond. Any restraint that had once existed in his voice had long since vanished. Mira looked at him flatly. “Because,” she began, “there is nothing we can do. We can’t change the past so what is the point of arguing about it? It happened, now we need to talk about what we do about it.” “Yes, that seems the thing to do. I suggest we get on that so we can all go on our way.” Laethyn looked thoroughly bored and more than a little tired as he spoke. “If we may, can we get on with it?” No answers were forthcoming, but the silence was enough of an answer. “Good,” said Beezer, who stood in front of them all. “As I said before, Nanron has left the city unexpectedly. We do not have much information; it seems he worked to keep it secret. The ship he left on was The Depth’s Mercy, but I wasn’t able to get much information from the Port Officials.” “That’s because there isn’t much information to give,” cut in another Lord. He sat at the end of the table, away from the other Lords, his feet up on the table. “I

heard about this ship right after it came into port, the Harbor Pilot was spooked, indeed most of the people on the docks were spooked. The name’s bad luck, you see.” “Are you going to complain about the lack of information gathered by Lord Dreyzzyn on this ship, Elrond?” asked Mira, her gaze just as flat as her tone. The man did not answer and she waved dismissively in his direction. “So what information on this ship do we actually have?” asked Beezer. Lord Dreyzzyn fell silent for a few moments as he went over the information he could remember. “Captain’s name is Danie, the ship’s a brig and her name is The Depth’s Mercy, and from the report, it seems possible that they were lying about their reason for being in port. The Harbor Pilot didn’t look into it though, just wanted to be done and away.” Beezer sighed. “That’s it?” The other Lord nodded, “Afraid so.” “Alright then, so we know that Nanron left the city without notice, but eschewed his own ships. Instead he chose to use the services of a ship that was both noticed and ignored because of the superstitions involved with its name.” The eyes of the Lords were focused on Beezer as he spoke and he felt vaguely uncomfortable. He continued, “It does not appear that any of his guard or household left with him, so we can still get some answers.” “Bill?” asked the other female Lord in the room, Niyte. “Yes, Bill,” answered Beezer. “Wonderful,” said Elrond, “we get to ask an upjumped grunt some questions. How much do you think Nanron actually told his pet commoner?” “It doesn’t matter,” answered Beezer, “anything helps at the moment.” A burly Lord who had remained silent throughout the discussion cleared his throat. “What happens after that? It seems that we haven’t gotten anywhere despite our efforts at discussion tonight. If we need to question someone, then it should have already been done, there is no need to discuss it. Do it, but after that, what happens?” “Which is what I have been trying to get at,” said Mira. “Thank you, Lord Ras.” “This is just the latest in a long line of problems we have had with Nanron since the plague hit the city,” began Elrond. “He has not been to a council since and there has been no contact with him. His military duties have all been completely ignored and we have been forced to split them amongst ourselves.” The Lord scoffed, “At least Sargai pretended to do his duties.” “You are recommending that we replace him, then?” asked Laethyn. “I am. We have done so for less.” “True,” replied Beezer, “but Sargai was actively refusing to properly perform the duties required of him. This is different, we have no idea what is going on.” Lord Turgon finally spoke up, “We can do nothing major while Nanron is out of the city.” The Lord looked out of place at the table and in the room. As the master of the archives he was normally seen surrounded by books and with at least one book

open before him. If there was one person in the Upper City, or even the city, that was aware of all the laws concerning the Lords it would was he. Lord Laethyn yawned. “Then we will call in Bill and see how well he can lie.” “No matter,” replied Niyte, “Beezer could always tell when someone was lying.” Lord Elrond scoffed. “He used to be able to gather information as well. Times have changed.” *** “They are coming for you.” The statement was not unexpected, nor was the truth that it entailed. Bill looked at Darius as she entered his office and sat down uncomfortably in one of the two padded chairs before his desk. He set down the report he had been pretending to read intently and leaned back in his chair. “When the greater cannot be found, the lesser may serve,” he quoted. “Kemp?” asked Darius. It sounded familiar, but she could not quite place it. “His brother,” answered Bill. “They are, reputedly, the last words he ever uttered before being tortured and killed. A real tragedy, considering he didn’t have any information to give his captors. They were looking for Kemp, but found his brother instead. They never did catch up with Kemp.” Darius gave him a skeptical look. “That does not bode well for you.” The report took its place on a cluttered pile of papers. “The time of Kemp and his brother was a much more brutal one and long before this city was even thought of. The Lords can do nothing to me other than ask me questions and send me on my way.” He winked. “Unless I am found out, of course, then I may just share the brother’s fate.” “These questions, you are aware that you have to lie when you answer them, correct?” Darius shifted uncomfortably in her chair, trying her best to find a better position. “You aren’t that good of a liar, Bill.” Bill scoffed in response. “Don’t forget that I taught you how to lie!” “How do you think I know you are no good at it?” replied Darius, slight grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. Bill only frowned, “That speaks much of your own ability.” “Not so,” Darius said with a smile, “my ability to lie has only grown, while yours has stagnated.” “Indeed,” remarked, Bill, “I assure you that I can do this, no matter your misgivings.” Darius only shrugged in response. “What did you see?” asked Bill. A look of confusion crossed Darius’s face as she answered, “Hmm?” “You said they were coming for me. What did you see in your dream?” Bill clarified.

“You being taken in, not dragged though. I was cut off when they slammed a door in my face,” answered Darius. “What about after that, what did you see?” “Nothing that pertains to what’s at hand,” Darius answered. “That is the wonderful thing about my dreams, I see a lot that has absolutely nothing to do with any of us.” Bill reached over and picked up another report from a neater stack. “Yes, but it is the small things that do that are helpful to us.” He paused. “I can’t possibly know what you see in those dreams, but I do know what you do to yourself to keep from dreaming. It’s tough forcing you to do this for us, but you have to know that what you are going through is much appreciated.” Darius nodded. “I should go, work to do,” she said. “Alright then,” replied Bill as she stood up from the chair. “Don’t worry when they come for me, I’ll be back.” As she walked through the door and out of the office she waved. *** She lied to Bill, but that was a small thing compared to why she did so. The dreams that followed Bill being taken in had everything to do with their situation, but it was not something she could share with anyone. The dream worried at her mind, it did not dull and fade away like the others did, but remained bright and clear. It lurked at the edge of her vision, burrowed deep into her thoughts, and threatened to unfold before her whenever she closed her eyes for more than a few seconds. The quiet, lonely walk from Bill’s office to her own chambers did not serve her well. For once she was unsettled to be alone with her thoughts, afraid of where they might take her, and confused. The walk felt painfully long, but she made it to her chambers. She lied down on her bed, for once eager to be asleep and away from her thoughts and the dream that haunted them. Yet sleep did not come quick enough to prevent the dream from playing once again. “I have some information,” Darius watched herself say to a slim man behind a large desk, one of the Lords. Beezer. The name came upon her fast, a recollection dragged up through the layers of sleep. “Do you?” asked the man. He leaned forward on his desk and grinned. “You work for Nanron, don’t you?” “Yes, Lord Beezer,” she began, “though, more accurately, I work for Bill. Nanron despises me for what I was when we first met.” “Ah,” he said and it appeared as though his grin grew wider, “so you are the thief from so long ago. I really must say, I am happy to meet the one person who has insulted the man and gone unpunished. You are something of a myth amongst us rumormongers.” “Quite the scandal, I am sure.”

“More than you know,” replied Beezer. He waved the subject away and sat back. “You have some information for me then?” “Yes,” answered Darius. The Lord motioned over to the couch. “Well then, sit down and let’s talk.” Darius watched as she moved over to the couch and sat down on the edge of it, as if she was ready to bolt for the door at any moment. “There we are,” said Beezer, “now what is it you have to tell me?” “You want information on Nanron,” she stated. Darius watched as the Lord’s expression faltered with surprise for just a second before returning to its grinning state. She did not wait for a reply before going on. “I can tell you everything you want to know.” “Hmm, yes, there is much to know” said Beezer. “Start at the beginning if you will.” Darius watched as she began to tell the Lord everything. Darius should have been angry about what she had seen, she should have been surprised, but she was neither. She was confused most of all, but she had been feeling confused a lot as of late. The future her dreams revealed were not set in stone, there was a chance the things in her dreams would not come to be. She could even stop herself from going. The question was whether she wanted to.

Chapter Seven - Midnight in the Market “I don’t know what else you expect me to say,” stated Bill. The words were spoken calmly, a virtue of taking orders from too many idiots in the past. Bill was frustrated and annoyed, but he could not allow that to show through, not in front of the two Lords. “I expect,” Lord Beezer stared at him, his gaze level and tired, “that the truth would be suitable.” Bill had expected a frustrating line of question. The repetitive nature of it didn’t surprise him either, but it had become tedious and ridiculous. Two questions were asked, time and time again in a variety of ways. ‘Where are Nanron’s current whereabouts and where is he going?’ and ‘What is Nanron planning?’ Bill was glad that they changed the way they asked the questions. It was a saving grace, but tedium disguised under a façade of newness was still tedium. He was lucky, they were not. For all their attempts to catch him in a lie or throw him off, he answered consistently. It grated on the Lords and he knew it, just as their questions would quickly wear him down if asked the same way every time. His answers were lies of course, but he would not allow them to get the truth from him. “Should I start from the beginning?” asked Bill before adding, “Again?” He didn’t allow an answer and pushed on. “The tale has gotten a bit tired, don’t you think? However, if you would like me to waste our time and tell it again…” he lingered on that, “well, by all means, I would be pleased to do so.” Beezer moved to answer, but Laethyn interrupted him. “I think,” the Lord replied, “that such a notion is wholly unnecessary.” He looked at Bill with heavy lidded eyes as he spoke and stifled a yawn even as the words escaped his lips. “I do appreciate your time and I appreciate my own even more. I am sorry we wasted both.” Long marches, battles, and exhaustion were part of Bill’s life for many years, but he could not remember ever seeing anyone as bored or tired as Lord Laethyn. To Bill it was an amazing feat to achieve and he decided that if he was given the chance, he would not switch places with the Lord for anything. To look at him was to induce a yawn and Bill was forced to stifle one of his own as he looked on. “Does this mean I am free to go?” asked Bill, more than eager to be away from the little house in the corner of the Upper City he had been whisked away to and back in the comfort of his estate and office. As the words left his mouth he saw the third Lord in the room stir. Lord Elrond had kept back during the questioning. He leaned against the doorframe and watched, but did not move to add anything. If the sour expression on the Lord’s face wasn’t enough proof of his displeasure regarding the prospect of Bill’s freedom, the glare that was fixed on him was. Lord Elrond may have stayed back and silent, but he looked as though he wished to speak.

Laethyn cut Elrond off before he could get a word out. “I am of the notion that we are done here,” he said, “it has been a long enough night and we have discovered nothing more than we had already known.” He waved towards the Lord beside him. “However, it is up to Beezer to make the call.” Bill watched Elrond’s face scrunch up more just before he stepped away from the doorframe and towards the center of the room. There was no chance to get more than a step from the wall and no chance to say a single word. Laethyn rounded on his fellow Lord and Bill could not tell whether it was a look or some mouthed threat, but Elrond sank back against the wall once more, his mouth shut. Beezer sighed. “He is either not lying or he is very good at it,” he said, “and I am the notion that it is definitely not the latter.” Bill wanted to laugh, he was lying and he had never been any good at it, he doubted very much that his ability had somehow grown. Beezer had managed to root out Sargai, a man well known for his ability to lie. It seemed to Bill that the man had lost his touch or just didn’t care anymore. He was unsure whether he should feel a tinge of sadness for the loss or be thankful for it. “I agree with you, Lord Laethyn. We are done here.” Laethyn and Beezer both dipped slightly, it was the closest to a bow that Bill —or anyone of his common nature—would ever receive from any Lord. They apologized for the trouble and the wasted time as Elrond slipped out the door without a word. Bill could imagine the earful the two in front of him, and probably the rest of the Lords, would receive later. “Wait here,” said Lord Laethyn as he turned away and began towards the door, “there will be a guard in to see you out and on your way.” *** Rumors circulated around the dockside taverns and warehouses, but they concerned the sudden departure of a ship with a supposedly cursed name. Tales circulated alongside them, most tall and absurd, about why the ship had left the city in such a hurry and in the middle of night. Kai listened closely to the tales and the rumors in the hope of hearing something about an old man, a Lord, going along with it. There were stories of sailors and dockworkers going out in a drunken rage to challenge the captain of the ship and most ended with the sudden disappearance of the blustering fool. “Durned demon ship took ‘em, it did!” yelled a man as he flung his hand out wide. The brew in the ceramic mug he held swished up and out to splash onto the floor and the man looked down at it as if he were going to cry. He muttered something, but it was too low for any but those close to him to hear. The man looked up from the floor and Kai could have sworn there was a tear in his eye. “Ya see,” he said louder this time, “ya see what the ship has done?” The man turned away from everyone and leaned on the bar, his head down and his mug not far from his face. Kai had seen the scene, the same or similar, many times over since he was told to head down to the docks and listen. He still watched them in a mixture of

amusement and horror. He was never one for water or ships, his people were at home with solid earth beneath their feet. They had their superstitions though, just as every people and profession does. Kai had never met anyone, no matter where they came from or what they did, that had as many superstitions as the people who ply the sea and its shores. The superstitions dominated their lives in absurd ways and Kai could not understand the preoccupation. The dockside taverns were all the same and so were the men and women who frequented them. An odd lot, but they left him alone and his large axe made sure that they stayed a ways away at all times, which he rather preferred. The taverns were quiet and he hadn’t expected that at all. Not with the reputations that the sailors and workers were so well known for. It was far from normal, the hushed conversations and sullen attitudes. Another sign of just how deep the cursed ship had touched them. They awaited the worst to befall them, brought down by a ship that would dare to challenge the dark master of the seas. Kai let out a sigh. The mood about the docks was depressing and he was bored. There was plenty to learn here, it was a study of all the reasons to take work inland and never set step towards the sea, but there was nothing relevant to his search or interest. At least the ale was good, better than the watered down piss that Pech would be drinking up in the Dirt at least. The task he had been set to provided him with little more than boredom and a fuzzy head, but it was better than nothing and much better than having to lurk about the Dirt or Stone. He was thankful for that. ** It had taken a while, but the three had managed to find the Dirt’s best kept secret, the Midnight Market. They had been by during the middle of the day and the large square tucked away deep into the dirt had been nothing more than a cluttered mess of refuse. It had changed though. The trash had been swept away or moved to the very edges of the clearing and there was movement everywhere. People lit torches, strung lamps from one roof and across the square to another, and set up stalls and stands. Somewhere in the busy chaos of the square an instrument was being tuned and tested and a few words were sang just loud enough for the milling crowd outside the square to hear. It was not yet midnight, but it would be soon and the three waited anxiously for something they thought they would never see. “So, how’d you manage to find this place?” Cutter looked at Yoski as she gazed towards the square. “I mean, we all searched high and low, but we got nothing. Then you show us this place earlier and we think you’re crazy, but here we are. So who clued you in?” “No one clued me in, I’ve got my ways,” she answered, her voice deadpan and uninterested as she continued to gaze towards the square in anticipation. “Come of it now,” replied Cutter, “we know you had some help.” He glanced over at the other member of the group, “Don’t we Sock?”

She smiled. “Yeah, Cutter, we sure do. So who is it Yosk, who helped ya?” “Told you,” snapped Yoski, “I have my ways! Now shut up and leave me be, else I’ll put a dart in your gut that’ll kill you slowly.” Her last words came out as a growl as she turned her attention back on the scene. It was nearing midnight and she couldn’t wait. “Well fine then,” Cutter muttered as he turned towards Sock and leaned towards her. “I bet she made some guy an offer he couldn’t refuse,” he whispered in Sock’s ear. “I’d be more than willing to offer up directions for that.” Cutter laughed as he leaned back away from Sock, but she was not laughing with him. She glared at him instead. “What?” he asked. Her hand was little more than a blur seen from the corner of his eye as it lifted from her side and slapped him across the face. The sound of it was enough to catch the attention of the closest members of the crowd, but they turned away quickly as they saw Sock’s glare. Cutter’s face turned a bright red, darker where the slap connected. When he spoke it was half yelp, half yell, and there was no masking the surprise found there, “What did I do?” He rubbed at his cheek. The sting faded, but the burn of it lingered. Sock leant in and spoke quietly, “You know what you said and if you say something like that again I’ll make sure to shove that dart somewhere unpleasant.” Shock had erased the smile he had worn. “Oh come on,” he pleaded, “it was just a joke. Harmless.” She turned away and if she heard him at all, she did not show it. Why does that always happen? Cutter asked himself and once more was unable to come up with an answer. ** To Yoski, the arrival of what she was waiting for came with too little ado. A few shouts, a few calls, the sound of music playing, and that was it, the people that crowded outside the square slowly began to filter their way inside. For most of those in the crowd, the poor people of the Dirt, the Midnight Market had become mundane and routine. There was something about it that drew them back night after night, but it had lost its original luster. Yoski had not been born in the city. Her home had always been the Nanron estate in the Upper City, this was new to her and she was excited. The urge to part the slow moving crowd and rush forward into the square was a hard one to overcome, but she managed and eventually she and her two companions were inside the midnight market. Sellers hawked their wares, calling towards passing men and women and shooing away little children that undoubtedly sought to steal from them. “Ey, ey you!” yelled a merchant from one of the smaller stalls. Yoski wasn’t paying attention to the merchant or anyone else for that matter and was unaware that he was yelling at her. “Oi you, little woman there,” he called again to no avail.

He threw his hands up in the air and turned away to unleash a curse towards the back of his tent. “Uh,” began Sock, “Hey Yosk, I think that man was trying to get your attention.” Yoski didn’t hear her. She was awestruck at the sights, the music, at everything. “Hey Yoski,” said Sock again, this time tapping on the smaller woman’s shoulder. Yoski nearly jumped at the touch and let out a quiet yelp of surprise. “Huh?” she asked. “What?” Her hand was on a knife at her belt as she turned around to face Sock, it did not move away from it as she realized who had disturbed her. “What?” she asked again, her tone harsh. “Well,” said Sock, “had you been listening to me or anything, you would have heard me say that there is a merchant calling you over.” She pointed towards the dark tent and at the merchant who stood there looking upon the scene with both interest and horror, as if he had never witnessed someone about to be murdered. “You would have probably heard the merchant in the first place,” she added. “Come here, come here,” called the merchant, his hopes up at the sudden attention. He waved the three of them over towards his small dark tent. “Come on now,” he yelled, “I don’t bite hard, I swear it!” Yoski wanted to see more of the market, she wanted to wander from here to there and sample everything, see everything there was to see, but this damned merchant was proving a problem. She growled and began her walk over. The other two fell in line behind her. “So what do you have for us?” she called in return. The merchant did not answer immediately, letting them get closer and closer until they were standing before his stall and tent. He smiled at each of them in turn and bowed. “Hello, hello, my friends,” he began. “Cut the crap,” said Yoski, impatient to move on, “what are you selling?” “Ah, good question, little woman,” he replied and ignored Yoski’s glare. “I am Manikal,” he said, once again bowing, “and you have the pleasure of standing before the stall of Manikal’s Manacles! The finest manacles in all of Serol! Made with the best iron and hand crafted by the talented hands of our best smiths! Oh, don’t give me that look, there is disbelief in that look, but I assure you it is true! No fine smiths in Serol, I am sure you are muttering to yourselves, but there are, there are, as secret to the people as the Midnight Market you stroll in now. Ha!” Yoski’s jaw dropped. Never before had she heard such a stream of bullshit flow from one mouth. It was as if the man did not need to breathe, as if the very act of speaking was all that was needed to sustain him. Worse yet, he was not done and there was no way she could think of to stop him other than cutting his throat. She couldn’t do that here, not if she wanted to see the rest of the market, but the temptation was overwhelming. “Now, let me tell you,” he continued on and on and on, “I know the sort of people in the market for manacles. It is a talent of mine, the great Manikal’s talent! You lot are the sort in need of a good, strong pair of manacles, let me tell you. A set? Did I say a set? I meant a whole box of them. One can never have too many

manacles, oh no, never too many!” He stopped talking just long enough to smile wider. “There are padded ones,” he said with a wink, “perfect for use in the bed chamber, but one can have too many of those, so I only have a limited amount. Get them while they last!” Manikal looked towards Cutter, “you look the sort that’d find use in them, and a good use they have!” He winked again. “But alas, I won’t go into that sort of thing in the presence of ladies, oh no, not polite of me, oh no. Now where was I?” Yoski wanted to tell him that he was in the middle of wishing them a good night, but the merchant did not give her a chance to answer. “Manacles!” he yelled. “Yes, manacles. You need manacles, he stated, you need them and I know you do, because manacles are an important thing to have, yes they are. Ha!” “You know,” said Yoski, loud enough to stop his litany, “I have frequently found that a good pair of manacles is an asset.” The man brightened up, smiled, and moved to speak, but Yoski held up a hand. “However,” she said, “It is with an increasing frequency in which I find broken bones work just as well.” The merchant’s face fell again. “And,” she added, “if all else fails, I find a good knife to the throat works as well as anything. Oh, and there is this poison that locks up the muscles and joints that I have grown fond of. It is hard to get them to talk of course, what with their jaws clenched tight, but there is this other poison that acts as a sort of antidote. It really only works to loosen up their jaws and is very painful, but a combination of the two is just wonderfully useful. Hey, I know, how about I show them to you? Maybe show you a new bit of business you can get into. I mean, you’ll have to hire a hand because you won’t be able to move much of anything, but it would really bring in the gold.” The merchant did not say anything, did not go on about manacles or anything else. He stood there, still and shaking as he looked at the little woman standing before him. Her eyes were a pair of knives aimed right for his throat and her every movement hinted to him the application of poisons upon hidden blades. His lips moved, in prayer and in apology, but there was no voice to give them life. His throat was as dry as parchment, even as his skin was soaked in sweat. Yoski smiled at all of it. “I think it is time we bid you good night, good sir,” stated Yoski with a slight bow, “and I do hope your business goes well this evening.” She turned away from the merchant and the stall and back towards the sprawling market. Her smile grew wider. ** Interest, horror, and the brink of madness, Sock experienced all of these things as she listened to the merchant, Manikal. Then the sweet voice of a savior, calm and hard, and she was free from the terrible trap of the merchant’s incessant babble. She was impressed and thankful and made a note to buy the woman a drink

later if they managed to escape the madness of the market with its trappings of speech and flash. To look at Yoski was to see someone entranced by her surroundings. It was a look that Sock saw on the faces of visitors to the islands she once called home. Festivals were held regularly and were grand, wonderful things. The Midnight Market, as odd, out of place, and eccentric as it was, paled in comparison to those festivals. She could appreciate the look on Yoski’s face and the spectacle about them, but it was nothing of note to her and they had a task to perform. Listen to the crowds, to the people, gather rumors and stories and if anyone has something to say about Nanron or his estate, then reel that person in for questioning. Yoski was out of it, she would be of no use and she was angry at Cutter, but she would have to make do with him. Sock pulled him to the side, towards one of the stalls, as Yoski moved forward in wonder. “Don’t forget we have a job to do,” she reminded him, her voice nearly a growl. It was a show that bordered on truth, but a show nonetheless. “Keep your eyes open and listen. If you hear something, then you keep an eye on the guy and follow him,” she paused as she tried to find the right word to use, “discreetly.” A small glass globe sat upon the wood in front of her and she could hear the merchant babbling on to another customer about something similar. She pretended to examine it as she talked. “If you get the chance, make your move and take him. Don’t come find us, don’t wait, just get back to the estate. Understand?” “Of course I understand,” answered Cutter, “that is standard procedure.” “I know, I am just making sure you stick to it,” snapped Sock. She was angrier than she had been and was getting angrier. “Just go, look about!” “Alright,” replied Cutter. He pocketed the small glass globe he was examining and walked away into the crowd. Sock looked towards the merchant and pocketed the globe in her hand. The idiot was too busy and too focused trying to make a sell to the customer in front of him to pay any attention to his goods. A farce most likely, she thought to herself as she watched the merchant and his prospective customer. Sure enough a small form darted in to snatch something from the table just as the customer asked another question to keep the merchant going. It reminded her of the festivals back home, back when she had been one of those darting children. “Nice to know,” she whispered to herself, “that no matter where you go and how much time passes, things never change.” With slow steps and a mind that was split in present and past, Sock began her walk through the crowds and listened. *** “Gather all, gather all! Step up and through! Enter the tent! Find your game!” a barker in a large hat yelled out at the crowd passing to and fro before the tent he stood before. It was a large tent, the largest in the square, and brightly colored. It was bright inside, enough to shine through the fabric of the tent and to pierce the

night whenever someone entered or left through the flap that served as a door. “Find your seats! Place your bets! Come one, come all! Step on up and step on through, a night of delight awaits you! The King of Games welcomes you!” There was no recognition in the barker’s eyes as James passed by once and then twice, but he knew that the so-called King of Games saw him. He was busy, the King of Games had to call his audience or else he would be unable to rake in the gold that each and every one of them would inevitably lose on his tables. James was in no hurry, there was plenty of night left and he knew that the King of Games would find him eventually. ** “So what can I do for you, eh?” asked the King a short while later while James bent over to examine a knife. James straightened and looked at him, noticed the absence of the ridiculous hat from before and the bottle in the man’s hand. “Thought you were giving that up,” replied James. “What, this?” he asked, holding up the bottle. “This is nothing, just takes the edge off.” James looked skeptical. “Sure it is,” he remarked. “So tell me, how many is that for you? Second, third maybe?” “Ass.” The King of Games took a drink of the bottle. “I’ll have you know that it is my first of the night and you are right, I am giving it up. It’s my first and last for the night.” There was a time when he would end the night with three or four bottles of wine and not a lick of sense or consciousness. James had met the man then and it was not a pleasant experience. There were rumors in the Upper City of a man, this King of Games, who was an unparalleled source of information. He could be found in the Midnight Market, not that the Lords had any luck in finding it. It was not until after his fall that James had managed to track him down and what he found was not what the rumors described. Perhaps he had been once, but by then he was insensate and lazy. His tasks had fallen to the wayside to be picked up by the men and women he employed and they were the sole reason the whole operation hadn’t collapsed. Eventually, sometime after James had found the man and left in disgust, his employees decided that they had all that they were going to put up with. James happened across him a few months later and though the man was not exactly sober, he was at least functional. There was some hint of the man he had once been, James could see it as plain as day. The man who had inspired rumors was returning. He was pleased that day and further pleased to learn that he was swearing off alcohol. James was less pleased to see the bottle in the man’s hand. “So, old friend, are you lurking about the market for any reason in particular or are you just here to admonish me for my lack of will power?” asked the King of Games, or Kog as those around him had long ago taken to calling him. “Because, I

have to tell you,” he continued, “there are many people in that tent who do such on a nightly, sometimes hourly, basis and I don’t think you can match their tenacity.” James laughed though he knew that it was not a joke. “No, I did not come here to wander about the market or to talk to you about your habit. I came here for the one thing you happen to be good at.” “Ah, you want me to yell then, is it?” replied Kog with a smile. “It seems that you had a different talent when last I spoke to you,” said James. There was no smile in return; he was not in the highest of spirits. “It was enough of one to catch the attention of those sitting high.” Kog shook his head. “Talent? I am afraid you are mistaken, my friend. This talent you speak of is a curse and nothing more. Why else would people such as you come about and bother me while I try to work, while I try to relax, or while I am trying to do anything at all.” He laughed, but it was a false one. “Talent, indeed.” “Whatever you want to call it, I have need of it,” said James. “Will you help me?” “As long as you have the coin,” Kog replied as he lifted the bottle to his lips. James looked at the man askance. “Don’t I always?” Kog swallowed his drink and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Unfortunately you do.” “I need to know all the information you have on Lord Nanron and his estate as well as the rumors coming from up the hill,” stated James. Kog appeared to examine his nails for a few seconds and looked up, “You are asking me to gather information from the Upper City?”

“I am,” answered James with a nod. “It’ll cost you more, then,” replied Kog, “and I’ll brook no argument over the cost, what you ask for is difficult.” “I have no argument to make. You’ll get what you ask for as long as it is within reason.” “And what, may I ask, is within reason,” asked Kog, a wry grin playing upon his lips. James fixed him with an even stare, “Within reason means you get to live.” Kog smirked. “Is that right?” “You know it is.” There was no smile or threatening gaze. James stood looking out over the crowds and the market. Even so, Kog knew better than to think he wasn’t paying attention. The bottle tipped up and Kog took another drink, held it in his mouth for a few seconds, and swallowed. “Yeah,” he said. “Unfortunately I do.” James turned from the man and began his walk from the market. “I’ll be back in a couple days,” he called back. “It would be nice if you had the information by then.”

Chapter Eight - The Calm Darius threaded her way across the tavern, trying her best to avoid the vomit on the floor and the reeling drunks who tried their best to fall against her. The smell of the place hit her nose like a balled fist when she first entered and there was no growing used to it. It pervaded everything and continually changed, picking up and dropping scents with every step. The entrance reeked with the thick smell of vomit, urine, and body odor, but a variety of smokes threatened to choke her as she neared the large man seated at the back. He watched her as she made her way towards him. He wore the same smile that he always did when he showed up in her dreams. It felt unnerving, as if he expected her. Perhaps he had, she thought briefly before she went back to concentrating on the room around her. ** James wondered if he would have to search her out or if she would find him herself, but the answer came towards him, gingerly avoiding the unpleasant features of the rundown hole of a tavern. Though he had no desire to do so, he pasted his usual smile on. It was something he had taken to doing, all part of the disguise that comprised James. "I was wondering when you would show up," he said quietly as she took a seat before him at the table. The din of the place was low, perfect for the whispers that reached him, but hardly the place for private conversation as the volume of his voice easily matched and overtook the rest of the noise around them. He leaned forward, the smile only leaving his face for a second so he could ask a question. "What can I do for you?" The woman's answer was slow in coming. For the longest time she only stared at him, her eyes narrowed with aggravation. She spoke finally in a slow growl, pausing between each word, as if she grudgingly offered them up. "I don't know," she answered. The final word issued a sort of transformation. The facade of upright frustration gave way to slumped and tired, her face almost pale in the poor light of the establishment. ** The man said nothing in response. Instead he raised a hand above his head and snapped his fingers. The sound of it rang out over the quiet din of the place, forcing a moment of silence from the regular crowd before they resumed their drunken conversations. The intended effect came a few seconds later in the form of a large woman in a dress a few sizes too small carrying a dusty bottle and two glasses.

There was nothing gentle about the way the woman placed the bottle and glasses on the table, she very nearly through them there. The barmaid did throw a glare in James' direction before hurrying back to the bar, where she was harangued by a trio of drunken men who saw something entirely different than what was actually there. For a brief second the smile on the man's face grew a little larger and he leaned in further. "She hates when I do that," he stated. "Told me once to 'get off my fat ass and walk to the counter like anyone else', because 'she's not a waitress.'" He used a high, mocking voice when he told her and she could not help but laugh. She did not do so for long. The man unstoppered the bottle and filled the glasses by the time she finished. The liquid he poured into the glass was several shades of orange, varying from bright to nearly read. The hues swirled around the glass, never quite settling or mixing into one shade. "Drink this, it should help chase away all the unpleasantness of this place," he said as he pushed one her way. Darius eyed it with distrust and hesitated, but the man had already gathered up his own glass busily polished it off. She raised the glass to her lips and took a drink. Her eyes widened just a little, much to the amusement of the man before her. It felt as though she had swallowed fire. "Guh! What the fuck is that?" Darius was surprised to see that no smoke followed the words and her anger blazed hot enough that her face burned red without the aid of the drink. She pushed the glass away and it spilled off the side of the table to fall with a thud on the sawdust strewn floor. Before she knew it, she scraped out of her seat with her hand on the handle of the knife at her belt. James only smiled at her in amusement. "Take a sniff," he said. She did and smelled nothing, though her nose was running. All eyes were on her, she did not have to look around to know and her face was red with embarrassment rather than anger when she took her hand of the knife and sat back down. "What was that?" she asked. "Setrathi fire wine," James replied. "Made with all sorts of things, cinnamon and several varieties of peppers primarily." Darius glared. "You could have warned me!" James shrugged, "I could have, true, but then you would have never drunk it. I've warned people before and that is always what happens and so they sit there and suffer the smell. There is nothing at all enjoyable about talking to someone bitter about such things." The smile wavered only when he formed the words, but it never faded. It grew wider for just a second as he once again raised his arm above his hand and snapped his fingers. The barmaid came again and glared at the both of them as she took the bottle and glasses. There was a look of pure hatred on her face when she looked at James, one that carried the threat of bodily harm. Darius almost laughed at the whole scenario and did after a short exchange of words between the two. "Thank you, Susan," said James as the barmaid was turning back toward the bar.

"Bugger off, prick," the lady responded in a husky voice that could have been easily confused with that of a man if it wasn't so apparent that she was a woman. ** "There are many people that seek me out," explained James. "I pay well and they have information to sell and I know that you know that already. I don't think you are here for anything like that though. Which leads me to my second and third questions for the night. Why are you here? And what can I do for you?" Darius hesitated, as if lost in thought. James did not push the issue. It was better to let her think, things would go smoother then. Finally she cleared her throat, which likely burned from the fire wine, and looked up at him. The usual glare was gone and in its place was a look of sadness and confusion. "I had a dream," she said. For the briefest of moments James considered making a comment, but chose to hold his tongue. She continued, "I was talking to one of the Lords, Beezer. I was telling him everything about Bill and Nanron." The smile disappeared from James' face, "And you assume I know of all of this?" He knew that she was aware he knew, but he also wondered how much else she knew about him and whether or not Bill may have mentioned his past. Her mouth tightened into a small frown. "I know you know all about it, after all it was you who orchestrated sending the doppelganger Nanron away. I don't think Bill could have come up with anything like that by himself." "So about the dream," James prompted. Darius nodded in return and continued, "It is just that. I told him everything about what was going on. I betrayed Bill…" She trailed off into silence and looked back down at the table. "Hmm," was the only answer she received in return. Darius stared down at the table as James thought about the situation and how to best spin it. ** The dream was always on her mind. It didn't matter if she tried to focus on something else, her thoughts inevitably returned to the dream and her betrayal. Why would she tell Beezer about all that was happening with Nanron and Bill? She couldn't figure it out, not by herself at least. And that was why she needed to find James. She needed help to figure it all out and there was no one else to turn to. She could go to Bill and tell him that she dreamed of turning him over to Beezer. Bill would understand even less than she did. James folded his hands together and held them up to his lips. After a few seconds he asked, “Could it be that it is all part of the plan?" The smile left his face and she did not know what to make of it. She had grown used to it and it was gone, for some reason she found the lack of the smile more unnerving than the smile itself. "The plan?" she asked. Unsure of what he spoke of.

He nodded. "Yes, the plan. Sending Nanron off was just the tip of the iceberg, but as any Southern sailor can tell you, what you see on the surface is only part of something far larger beneath. Nanron's departure was a quick fix to prevent a problem, but it was just a bandage. To treat the wound requires much more." Darius frowned in confusion. There was no plan that she knew of, which meant that there either was not one or Bill had not told her anything. Her expression relayed this to James, who summoned the smile again. "Of course you don't know of the plan and of course Bill didn't share anything with you. The simple fact is that Bill doesn't have a plan that goes beyond surviving until something turns up that might be able to help him." James paused and took a drink from the mug sitting in front of him since Darius had wandered in. "He prolongs the inevitable. The Lords will find out and when they do, they will be upon him without a second thought. Though what they do after that is unknown to me and likely to them. I don't think anything like this has ever happened before." "So how would this be part of the plan if there is no plan?" asked Darius. "Ah, just because Bill doesn’t have a plan doesn't mean that there isn't anyone looking out for him. I have offered my counsel and he has taken it, which means that my plan is essential his, he just hasn't heard about it yet." Darius had no doubt that she wore a confused look that was tinged with the skepticism she felt deeply. "And how do you figure he will accept your plan?" "Simple," answered James. "I don't expect him to and I don't expect him to even know all the details. I am here to help and with luck he will make it out of all of this with little more than scratches and hopefully less than that. He will have his life though and so will the rest of you." Darius shook her head in disbelief. She did not know what to say, she did not know what to think, but at the back of her mind, hushed by the sound of the tavern around her, there was a small voice encouraging her to listen to the man. Another internal voice spoke to the contrary. "You would betray Bill's trust, you would work against him?" ** James could see the confusion easy enough, just as he saw the conflict that raged within her. He saw it often enough over the years in the people he received information from. Those ones faced a choice between loyalty and gold, but that choice paled in comparison to the one Darius had to make. Hers would be one of loyalty or life. He waited a few seconds before answering the question, no reason to hurry. "I do not work against him," he finally said. "I work for him and I work through him, but most of all I work around him. Bill does not know what he faces and before all is said and done it will be his undoing and the lot of you will face the consequences. "I am helping in the only way I can and things will not turn out how Bill expects they will, if he expects anything at all. I ask you to help me help him and

everyone of the Nanron estate before he ruins you all. If you do, then I can guarantee your safety, if not…" James let the words hang in the air and shrugged. He hoped he had read her right and that the information he had gathered about her was correct. She sat there for the longest time, not moving or speaking. Her gaze was empty as she focused inward, perhaps thinking of what she was going to do. Perhaps she thought of nothing at all. "What would you have me do?" she croaked. There was sadness there and he knew it well. It was the despair that came with a knowing betrayal by those who gave a damn. He had felt it long ago and still felt it every now and then, the product sacrificed so that he may live. "Nothing at the moment or for a while at that. Do what you normally do and follow Bill's orders. I will call upon you at some point to do what your dream described and that is all that I will ask you. That is your only task and you have to trust me that it is safe, that by telling Beezer the truth you will be providing a pivotal piece of the plan that will ensure the safety of many." Darius was quiet for all of a minute, but nodded in agreement. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she looked at him and there was no confusion or sadness there. What he saw in her eyes was hope and he knew that the tears were only for the betrayal she would have to enact to bring that hope about. A gambit born on the spur of the moment, but James often found that his best plans were created that way. There was little to go on, but rarely did such opportunities fall into his lap. A mixture of old and new, his boy had originally came to him in his studies as a child and lingered on until his fall from Lordship. It had been filed away since, a final ploy that would be impossible to pull off without someone in the Upper City to help him and a large enough commotion to act as a distraction. It took him only a few seconds that he had almost everything he needed. He only lacked a couple last things. James knew the perfect person to help him in the tasks to come. It meant that the fake Nanron would have to find a new ship to vacation on. *** Darius stumbled from the tavern as though drunk, but after only one horrible drink, she was far from it. Bill spoke highly of the man, as if he were some enigma that would lead them to salvation. Darius knew better though, especially now that he had joined with the fat man in his plotting. James would guide them to safety and no further, he did not help Bill out of pity or the good of his heart, he helped him because it served whatever it was he wished to accomplish. James offered them safety, a reprieve from the plotting and planning that Bill would be mired in if left unchecked until the Lords finally came against him. Darius suffered her dreams for Bill and sacrificed most of her thoughts to worrying for her old friend. The toll of the worry was too high, the weight of her confusion was too great, and the torment she faced when she allowed herself to drift to sleep was nearly unbearable. For the first time in what seemed like forever, she felt that

burden lift from her shoulders and allowed herself to feel a small amount of hope that all would be well. *** Hundreds of whispers, secrets one and all, spoken in the dark of night and yet there were secrets that never found their way to the man's ears. There were other ways to learn secrets and gather information, ways far less suspicious. James had a network of informants and they paid him well, but there were things they would never hear and places they could not go. For Kog there were no such limits. It was all a game and he was the King of Games. In a sectioned off corner of Kog's large tent there was a small, smoky room that few were invited to. There was only one game played there, one much different than the games played in the rest of the tent. The house antes gold, enough to last a laborer a couple years, and the players ante something far more valuable: secrets. It was Kog's game and only lost enough to make the players think they had a chance. The game attracted anyone and everyone, those low enough to need the gold and high enough to know something. Workers and Estate staff mostly found their way to the table, but every so often another type would saddle up and take a seat. They were quiet and dressed to fit in with the rest of the Dirt, but there was something about them that stood out and told everyone who knew better that they are outsiders. Not dirty enough, perhaps an old lilt to their voice when they did speak, or the brief glimpse of a weapon; small, odd things that gave them away without their knowledge. Kog strung them along, let them win a few times, and then he would make them lose. Spies, agents, thugs, whatever it was that the Lords wanted to call them. The men and women on the Lords' payroll who knew too much and spoke too little, but when they lost at Kog's table they would speak all they knew. The terms of the game were simple enough that even the slowest player could understand, not that Kog would allow such a player at the table. If the player won, the house paid, and if the player lost, then the house was paid in information. If the information was less than substantial, the players were warned, there would be other ways of paying. Kog usually held up the cleaver that sat at the edge of the table as he explained the rules. A few would get up and leave and a few would stay, but Kog was not the sort to waste good gold on worthless information. Kog looked at the four people arrayed before him as he took the cards in his hands. A maid and two others from the Upper City, the three of them dressed just slightly better than the usual rabble found outside the room in the rest of the tent. The fourth was one of the quiet ones, dressed like the folk from the Dirt, but cleaner than the rest. She was slender and pale with short black hair and eyes that saw a lot. Kog smiled at her and at the rest of the players as he laid down the deck of cards.

"You all know the rules." he stated. His smile was gone, it was time for work, time to lose some gold and earn a lot more in return. There was no answer in return, they knew the rules and they knew what would happen. He nodded at each player in turn and took up the deck again. "Good," he said. "I wish you all good luck." The cards slid face down in front of the players as he dealt them. *** A fast ship was costly, but worth the payment. A bird would never be able to find the ship and there was no trusting magical communication, as spotty as it was. All that remained was the fast ship, which he had no choice but to hire out for an absurd price and then for a much higher price when he whispered the name of the ship it was to deliver a message to into the ear of the captain. Captain Danie had told him the general location she would be if he needed to contact her. Barring a catastrophe or a plague of storms, she would still be there, the voyage little more than a month in. He did not care how she did it, but she needed to get back to Serol quickly and without the fake Nanron in tow. He let her know as much in the sealed message he handed off to the captain, who, in turn, slipped it into a heavy metal lockbox in his cabin. With a wave of the hand and the transfer of a bulging pouch, James waved the crew off. They were prepared to leave already, just as they always were when they were in port. Ready to leave at the quickest for those desperate enough to pay their high prices. And with that finished he turned away from the docks and made his own way through the maze of streets that formed the Dirt. He had a man to see about a game. *** A spy. The Lords purchased information like no others, wasting more money in a day on useless gossip than several laborers made in their entire lifetimes. Spies were a wholly different case. They were on a payroll, they were highly trained, and they were expensive. They were not kept, so much as maintained and there were few who bothered to do so. Beezer employed a handful because it corresponded to his work. A group was kept by Nanron as well, former scouts and intelligence that had no better place in his household. The King of Games singled out the quiet woman who dressed in an outfit he could only describe as being upscale Dirt. He had watched her play, let her win a few hands, and slowly fed the other players cards until they finally folded and left the table. He would have their secrets, but they would be unimportant. The two of them were left, House and player and after a few poor hands, he finally chose to let her lose. And so she told him a story. ***

There were benefits to having a tent. It folded up nicely, which meant for easy storage, and it provided a rather nice expanse of temporary shelter. The downside to a tent was that there was hardly any privacy when it was really needed. Someone could sidle up next to the tent and listen to their heart's content so long as there was no one to catch the person in the act. The room that served to house the game was always moving, but it was easy to spot by its size and thicker fabric, which didn't really help all that much, except to make it harder to know if someone was outside listening. Much in the way that James was sitting outside the tent listening to the game as it moved along and the secrets of the losers as they sauntered off into the night with an uncertain future ahead of them. He remained there until the last player was left and then the last player lost. She regaled the King of Games with a tale that seemed nearly impossible except that it was true. It was a tale of an insensate Lord and the close friend and advisor that was doing everything in his power to keep the city and Lords from finding out. James did not know how the woman knew and perhaps Kog would not believe her, but she could not be allowed to tell anyone else. *** There was comfort in telling the secret, of giving freely the information meant for her master. She knew that he would think it impossible and unbelievable, but it was the truth. It had taken her years to weasel her way into the estate as a servant, good years that she would not get back. She had left the estate only a few weeks previous and had taken it upon herself to track the movements of Nanron's special little group. It had been successful, they even led her to the Midnight Market, a place she hadn't visited in years. One stop was all that she wanted to make, a visit to the tent that she hadn't been in since she was a little girl visiting the market with her gambler mother. Management had changed hands since then and a new game had been added to the lineup, one that she wished to try her hand at. She had hoped to win, the gold promised was more than she could ever dream of and she would need it after giving her report. After this she had no intention of returning to the field. Thanks to her gambler mother, she thought she had an edge, but it did not work out as well as she intended. The years had dulled her skill in the game, she hadn't played since before she made her way into the estate, and just before the end of the game she came to realize that no one at the table had ever stood a chance against the House. She could have been the pinnacle of excellence at the game and she still would have lost. And, by the rules, she was forced to give up a secret, a bit of information. The truth about Nanron was the only thing she had and the only thing she could spare. She finished her tale and the king of games showed her the way out of the tent and into dim light of the square. There was no thank you and no request to

return, just the simple and unmistakable gesture telling her to leave in no words at all. A report had to be made still, so she did just that and threaded her way through the crowds and towards the Upper City. *** For such a large man, James could stalk quietly through the streets without giving himself away. The young woman who had told her story to Kog had left the Market quickly and hurried along the Dirt, no doubt making her way to the Upper City, to whichever Lord she called her master. It was hours until the sun would rise above the horizon to herald the coming of the new day. No one else was on the streets save the usual smattering of drunks. There was plenty of time to catch up with her, but not enough city. He would have to catch up before she crossed into the lawful Stone, which would make things all the more difficult. Closer and closer, he narrowed the space between the two of them. Finally he was close enough to reach out and grab her. One arm caught her around the throat and the other held a knife to her kidney as he tugged her into a recently passed alley. "What's your name?" he asked, putting more pressure on the blade of the knife. The woman thrashed about and snarled, "Let go of me!" James answered by putting pressure on the blade again, pressing it into her back with enough force to draw blood. "Your name," he said again. It was a demand, not a question, and the pressure he placed on the knife once again accentuated the point. She kicked and sputtered, perhaps hoping for some help from some unknown quarter. There was no help to be found in the Dirt, none at all, something that she should have taken into consideration before entering. She stopped when the arm around her neck coiled tighter. "Your name," repeated James. The woman coughed, "Ginger." The name came out in a whisper as if it was a secret more precious than that she had shared with Kog. "Well, Ginger," said James. "Do you know what your mistake was?" "What?" she asked. James slid the knife into her side, pulled it free, and returned it. "You were too lax with your words. You should really be more careful about what you tell people in the future." Blood spilled from the wounds at her side, falling to the dirt alley with a dull splatter, but it turned into a deluge as he ran the knife along her throat for good measure. For a moment he considered saying something comforting to the woman in her last moments, but he had more important things to do. Kog knew the story and he was far too dangerous with that sort of information. James bent down to clean the knife on the woman's shirt and turned back towards the Market. It had been a long day and it was not yet over.

Chapter Nine - Remembrance "Oh, the crow's nest, the crow's nest it is for me. Curse these blessed eyes, for long can they see. Oh, cause the crow's nest the crow's nest for me. Oh, boredom, boredom, 'tis all that there is to be. Just miles and miles of nothing upon the sea. Boredom, oh boredom, 'tis all there is to be. For the crow's nest, the crow's nest, it is for me." The words disappeared into the wind as Kammi softly sang her makeshift song. Her shift in the crow's nest had only just begun, but she felt that her short stay had already stretched beyond its welcome. A cursory glance about her, looking out to the horizons in every direction, showed nothing but the flat blue green of the ocean. A night of drinking did her no favors either, causing her head to ache from the bright sun that shone down on her from above and reflected up from the water below. After so many years on the ship-and hangovers—she thought she should be used to it. Much to her chagrin, it only seemed to get worse as time went on. Kammi sighed. Shading her eyes with her hand, she squinted through the bright reflected glare and scanned the horizon. The octopus tattoo squeezed in upon itself as she did so. "Gee, let's see," she said to no one but herself and the wind. "Nothing to the South-and such a surprise that is-and, oh my! Nothing to the East either!" She paused briefly to consider which direction to turn to next. "Shall I look to the West?" she asked herself. "Oh, my dear Kammi, I do believe we should look to the North!" she answered. "The North," she repeated, "why the north?" "Because it's better than the West," she replied. "How so?" "Who cares?" Kammi turned from the East, closing her eyes as she passed the North side of the crow's nest and opened them again to look towards the West. There was nothing there, just the empty sea from the ship below her to the edge of the world so far off in the distance. "See. I said to look to the North," she said. "Shut it," she replied to herself as she turned her gaze from the West to the North. On the horizon was a speck, a small brown smudge that she would have easily missed if it was later in the day. But then if it was later in the day she would be out of the crow's nest with a bottle of something firmly in hand. Besides, it was just a little too early for that sort of thing. Kammi pulled a slender metal tube from her belt and held it up to her eye. The spy glass did not do much, but presented the speck as a much larger brown smudge. From the shape of it, as blurry as it was, the ship was a narrow-hulled clipper. "Oh, the crow's nest, the crow's nest, it is for me. Bless these cursed eyes, for long can they see." She smiled as the last of the words to her song slipped into the

obscurity of the wind once again. She tucked the spy glass into her belt and leaned over the crow's nest's railing. "Captain!" she called. Her smile lent the octopus an angry pose. "We've a ship to starboard!" A voice floated up from below, "What sort, first mate?" "Brown speck coming down from the north! Looks to be a clipper!" Kammi thought she could hear the captain's grunt from far below, but she knew it was impossible. "What do you think?" she called back. *** The tavern was unusually busy. No one stayed long, but each one of them would buy a drink before or after they stopped to speak to the man sitting in his customary seat. This made the owner of the little tavern, as run-down and unused to custom as it was, rather happy. And if the old tavern owner was happy, then James was pleased. Other taverns would serve just as well, but none of them were outright ignored by anyone with more than a copper to their name. The tavern, an unnamed abomination of a building, was a blight upon even the poorest section of the Dirt. It was known by all, but by that same token, it was pushed out of sight and out of mind, even when crossing before its twisted frame. Rather, not everyone, just most people. The poorest of the poor flocked to the tavern with the slivers they happened upon while trudging through the streets or the occasional copper donated by a kindly stranger with a penchant or weakness for feeling pity for the unfortunate. Those with secrets to share also flocked to the tavern, each one with a whisper lingering on their lips. A building was a building, they did not fear its poor construction, nor did they fear the unfortunate that lingered within. All they could think about or care about was the whispers they could share and the price they would be paid for them. As far in as he was, James found that these secrets were both needed and unwanted. Things could go wrong at any moment, someone who somehow knew something could walk up to a constabulary office and-given the right amount of luck-gain an audience with either Beezer or Bob depending on whose payroll the constable on duty was on. Either would prove a bit of bad luck, though both were nothing more than a bit of paranoia. James needed to know what the Lords were up to though and there was only one good way of doing that, which meant spending coin and time. Whispers were just whispers and those who spoke them into his ear were little more than random whisperers. There were a select few skilled individuals who were in his service. A small group, but highly effective. They were the source of much of his information and the whispers were just a bit of topping. They were all gone though, sent off on tasks that would last until everything was said and done. And so he sent out the word and dug deep, because there was little doubt that they would come swarming. Secrets and rumors and news that had not been recent for

nearly a year, anything and everything, he accepted the whispers with a nod and a flick of a coin. Such was necessary, if only for the time being. *** The cutter meant that the ship belonged to a merchant, a noble, or a messenger. Merchants did not often use them, the cutter was a craft meant for fast sailing, which meant that they could not hold much cargo and even then the cargo would have to be light. Nobles were more likely to make use of the cutter for quick transportation, but they rarely ventured out of sight of the coast. It was likely a messenger. The clipper was a newer development, designed by a handful of bored Seslani shipbuilders with more whiskey at hand than was sensible, though few Seslani would admit that such an event as having too much whiskey was anything short of impossible. The ship was not sturdily built and tended to be crafted from cheaper materials, so it was a miracle if they lasted even a decade. Nobles and merchants rushed out to buy them and got the short end of the stick, but the messengers made out. They bought the ships cheap from nobles and merchants who found that the cutter was not to their liking and then used it for their services. They charged an arm, a leg, and more than enough gold to get a message where it needed to go and people paid it because it was either fast or the only way. Danie stood at the railing, her spy glass to her eye and aimed towards the northern horizon. She had contemplated the destination of the ship enough, but there was little use with it too far off to even make out clearly. There would be time enough to make plans once the cutter moved closer or moved off. "Figure it for a messenger!" Danie yelled up towards the crow's nest. "Either that or a rather pathetic pirate!" The latter was more of a joke, but they had once been attacked by a half-starved pirate steering a dinghy with a single paddle and wielding a tarnished fork as if it was a cutlass. Granted, the man had gone insane, but it had taught them to expect anything. The captain looked through her spy glass towards the ship once more. It appeared to be moving directly toward them, occasionally adjusting their course to match that of her ship. "Seems we are going to have company," she said quietly. The spy glass went back to her belt and she turned away from the railing and the ship beyond. "No point in running," she yelled out, "there's no doubt we can take that pathetic thing!" She had little doubt that the ship belonged to a messenger, but it was better safe than sorry or surprised. "Back to your work and be ready for anything!" Danie wondered at the message it brought. *** The brick gave way with little more than a quiet scrape. There may have been a time when it was mortared into place, but it was obvious to James that such

a time was too far into the past for anyone to remember. Someone along the way had etched it free, smoothed the sides of the mortar, and cut it down to half its size. The mortar still bunched up at the front and when placed into the wall it looked as if nothing was unusual about it. The brick and the small space that it hid was how he contacted his mysterious associate who went by the name of the long-dead revolutionary. James checked inside the space to make sure there was nothing left there and, upon seeing nothing at all, slid a piece of parchment from his pocket and slipped it into the space before replacing the brick. He looked around him again, just as he had when he arrived, but it was far too early in the morning for anyone to be traveling around such an area of the Dirt. The main road through the district would be crowded in the dawn hours, with throngs of people traveling to and from the docks, but in the small court that joined the Dirt and the Stone, not a soul was stirring. The cross district market would not be setting up for another few hours. Kemp would find the message, of that he had little doubt. In a few hours time, even after watching the space the entire time, James could return and the message would be gone. It was a feat to be admired, especially then. James had found that time was quickly becoming a luxury that he could not afford. The message was simple. It contained only one word: Docks. There was comfort in such a place for James, who enjoyed staring out over the water, but the place also afforded a measure of privacy. The docks was the one place in the city where two people could stand around and talk at strange hours of the night and not be noticed as being out of place. Sailors often kept odd hours, though most tended to spend them in the various taverns that spread out from the docks, but it was not an uncommon sight to see them loitering about the docks for a chat. Plans were being set into motion and they would come to fruition soon enough, but before that happened, James needed to warn Kemp of what was to come. Kemp deserved that much for the help he or she had provided. There was much that needed to be done before their little chat and so little time. James made sure the brick was set firmly and walked away from the wall and the court. He needed a little rest and then it was back to his machinations. *** "Whoever did the lettering on her needs to be sent down to the Depths," muttered Kammi. The clipper was close enough that she did not need the spy glass to read the name along the side of her hull, but the lettering was odd and she could not have read it even if she used the spy glass. It had not taken the ship too long to catch up to Depth's Mercy. It was a fast ship, but it also helped that Danie had the ship slowed nearly to a halt. Danie grunted in reply and tilted her head to the side for a different view of the lettering. "I've no clue what the name of that ship is," she finally said. "Is that even a real language?"

"It's not one that I've ever seen, Captain," answered Kammi, who tried her best to get a view of the lettering upside down, but only succeeded in hurting her neck. Danie leaned on the rail. "Doesn't matter," she said, "soon enough they will be broadside and we can just ask." *** Sleep did not come easily. James lay in a ratty bed tucked in the back room of some random building in the Dirt. There were many such rooms and it was rare that he would sleep in one for longer than a single night-or morning, as it were. Thick cloth covered the sole window and allowed only a thin band of sunlight to filter onto the floor below the window and to the walls on either side, but it was not the light that kept James awake. He had slept with the light in his eyes enough that it did not bother him. His thoughts kept him from sleeping. James cast aside his jovial façade when he entered the room. He found it harder to keep it up with each passing day. Things were easier when he was a Lord. His father was the scheming sort and he had passed the nature on to his only son. It came to him as easy as anything else, perhaps easier. It had not aided him or his father, but they both played games with each other, the servants, and on occasion, the prisoners. It was their task to obtain information from their special guests and the method was straightforward, brutal, and effective. James learned how to handle the instruments of the trade at a young age, despite the protestations of his mother, and taken to it just as he had scheming and plotting. He was not like his father though. His father had a passion for causing pain and using it to extract any and all information he could. Then he would go further. There were the games, which were not games at all. Beezer, though young at the time, had taken to his task with just as strong a passion as Sargai's father had taken to his, but there were shells even the young spymaster could not crack and these shells were always part of a larger collective. In the end they were handed over to his father to deal with in his own special way. The old man would turn them out after a little talk. Sargai did not know how his father managed it, but the person he released always delivered someone of more importance into his father's grasp. For years Sargai had no clue how such a thing came to be and neither did the other Lords. It was not until after his fall that James learned the secret. It came in a whisper: "There was a man up the hill who would turn you out with a bag of gold, an offer to enter his service, and a sincere threat of bodily harm and death if you didn't bother to cooperate. All he asked in return was for someone more important." It was the only time James wanted to turn and look at the person whispering in his ear, but he did not. Instead he flicked a piece of gold over his shoulder, his smile never wavering as his eyes blurred and another whisper carried on the same voice was spoken, "No worries, your secret is safe with me."

There was a kindness to his father that few people ever saw. Sargai saw it more than anyone, likely more than even his own mother, who spent most of her time avoiding her husband as if he was a plague. There was a shine to his eyes when he went about his carving and questioning, as if it was the only time he truly felt alive. The same glimmer, perhaps a bit duller, filled his eyes when he noticed potential. Sargai saw it when his father's eyes fell on him and he saw it time and time again when his eyes fell on those few he turned out. "A perfect blend of loyalty and the willingness to betray," was all he would say of those he turned out and James never thought much of it. Had he done so, he would have figured the simplicity of what his father did long before it was revealed to him. This did not highlight his ability to plot and scheme. It was a simple plan that lived on as a mystery only because it seemed too simple to be plausible. Beezer was the spymaster of the Lords and Serol, but that mattered little to his father. "Little bugger doesn't know what he is doing," his father had said of Beezer more than once. "Thinks he can see a lie as it is spoken and I am sure he can, but they are simple lies spoken by simple liars. They have no real ability and no value. And his spies are just that sort. A mob of simple men and women no better than an eavesdropping actor can lie as much as they want and never be convincing. The perfect agent, the spy in your midst, is the one that is trusted by those around him like a brother, but betrays them as if they mean nothing. The sort of person that is no different than the men or women around them. There is no inherent good or bad, there is only the task at hand." His father could go on and on about whatever was on his mind, hardly appearing to even need to breath. "That's the problem with these bloody actors of his. They think, 'I'm working for a Lord and the betterment of the city,' and they're wrong. Just because you are working for a Lord doesn't mean a damned thing and it definitely doesn't mean you are working towards anything good. When the going gets tough they think they'll get rescued. And maybe they will, who knows? But it makes them soft and unlike those they are meant to get information from. My men know that they have no help. If they mess up, then they die, be it by my hand or the people they betrayed. They are damned well more effective for it. Beezer can go on pretending as if he is doing some service to the city. I do my task for the city and I do it well, I get the information they want for them, but I have information of my own that I'm not for sharing with them." There was only one thing that his father told him and never repeated. It remained clear in Sargai's memories. "Let me tell you something, son, because this is something you may find useful later in life. The one thing that can destroy a Lord is fire. Anything can kill the man, but only fire can destroy the Lord." Sargai puzzled at what his father told him. "Give it time," the old man said, "you are clever enough to figure it out if ever it becomes relevant." His father coughed, a hacking thing that brought up a thick red glob of phlegm. "One more thing," he continued, "if ever that becomes relevant, you should find it to your best interest to have agents in the criminal organizations about the city, of which there

are a total of five. There is no distraction quite like five headless snakes flailing about and causing death, destruction, and chaos in the Dirt and Stone." Sargai could only nod to his father, who took to lying down in his bed more often than not and was there then. It was the final year of his life and his father knew it, so he left his son to puzzle at the information he gave him. Of all the things the man had taught his boy, those few words were the most important. Every Lord had a task, but only one had two. The Lord could feel in his bones what was coming and what needed to be done. In his son, he saw the intelligence needed to plan things and the willingness to do what needed to be done, but there was also that bit of his mother, which allowed him to care enough to put things into motion. James was not the hard sort that his father was, he found no passion or love for the work with which his house had been tasked. When things first started, he was willing to do all that was required of him, but as things moved further and the years passed, the mere thought of torturing the truth from people left him cold and miserable. In the end he found it easier to say they died from the injuries without saying anything of import. Most were not criminals and there were many innocent people amongst them, just as he was sure there were many amongst the men and women sent along to his father. In the end, he could no more perform his duty on them then he could on a member of his own family. But he was not careful and never planned to be. He wanted the other Lords to find out, but he never expected for things to go as far as they did, leaving him in exile, an innocent stand-in dead, and the Lords believing that his life had ended. James stared up at the ceiling and wished that he could close his eyes and go to sleep instead of thinking about things from the past. It was no use, so he turned to the future. There were a few people he had to contact, though he had not tried in some time. There was also the matter of talking once more to Kemp and trying to set up a meeting with the young woman in Bill's service. By then, Danie would be coming into port once again and he knew she would aid him. Then the fun would begin. There was much to do and so little time, but James needed his rest. He rolled over and closed his eyes shutting out the little light in the room. The memories came and he fought through them, eventually falling into a fitful sleep. *** The cutter came to a slow off the starboard side of Depth's Mercy as her crew waited patiently to see what would come about from the quick little ship. The hands on the cutter's deck made quick with lowering a small boat over the side of the ship and three men quickly followed it down. It took a few minutes, but the crew of the brig waited just as they had before until finally the small boat reached the side of the ship and a rope was thrown over. The man who stepped aboard the ship was tall, dark, and ugly as sin. Danie stared, unable to look away from the horror that was the man's face for reasons she could not specify. It looked as though someone had taken an oar to his face, allowed

the damage to heal rough, and then went at it again. And again. And again. His looks, which had more in common with that of a jellyfish than that of a human face, was not at all complimented by the smile that stretched across his face like a scar. The teeth were crooked, but unnaturally white. The stark contrast to the man's dark skin proved unsettling. He looked about briefly before fixing his eyes on Danie. Both eyes huddled beneath a broad and misshapen brow, one bloodshot and the other a filmy grey. "Captain Bhaalav," he croaked as he swept low in a bow. "You must be the Captain of this fine, but cursed vessel." "Captain Danie," she replied. "Now that the introductions are out of the way, would you kindly tell me your business in finding us?" The man's smile managed to grow, only to distort the captain's face in a more grotesque manner. "Ah. My services have been acquired to relay a message to you." Captain Bhaalav wasted no time in reaching into his coat, a great dirty thing that swept against the deck as the man walked. Kammi reached for the knife at her belt as the man reached into his coat and somewhere on the deck the sound of a crossbow string being pulled into place could be heard. The ugly captain only continued to smile his bright, ghastly smile despite the threat and pulled an envelope from the inside of his coat. It was spotted with a bit of blood and he held it out to Captain Danie at arm's length. The envelope, Danie noticed, was not the only thing covered in spots of blood, it took a few seconds to realize that Captain Bhaalav's dirty brown coat was splashed with dots of rust. "Seen a bit of action, Captain?" asked Danie as she took the envelope from him. Captain Bhaalav's smiled faltered for just a second. "Just a bit," he replied quietly. "Couple of shits pretending to be pirates or something, they were. Easy enough to take care of, but one of the bastards got off a lucky shot and took my first mate through the throat with a quarrel." Danie nodded and tucked the envelope in her own jacket before sighing. "Been a lot of that lately, you have my condolences." "No need for that," said Captain Bhaalav, his ghastly smile threatening to return all too soon. "It is grim work, but I drowned the lot of them. I sent them to see His Grace so he can bestow upon them his mercy." "And I assure you, the Lord of the Lightless Depths thanks you," replied Danie. "However, I must ask you to take your leave and allow us to depart." Danie had a feeling she knew who the sender was. If she was correct she would have to get back to the city. "I've little doubt that this message will send us off at all haste." "Aye, Captain," Bhaalav gave a short bow. "I have more messages to deliver in any case. Hopefully I'll have a bit more trouble to send below, too!" He turned away and walked back the way he had come, but he stopped just before the side rail and turned back to Danie. "It is nice to finally meet you," he said. "You know, most of the fools in the ports think you don't exist. They'll go on and on that you are nothing more than a legend, even when you sail into port with your curse-named

ship and your crew harangues them with tales of their adventures. You're real, but you're still a legend. You're the opposition to our superstitions and yet you are still afloat and unafraid." Danie said nothing. Kammi grunted. Someone drunkenly laughed elsewhere on the ship. Captain Bhaalav said nothing more as he turned back to the side rail and hastened down the rope to the small boat below. There came a shout a few moments later, "Row, you bastards, row! We have work to do, people to drown, and gold to earn!" Captain Danie sighed. "Turn the ship about, set a course to Serol," she ordered. Only James, she thought, would choose the one person who admires the blasphemy instead of fearing it. She walked towards the door of her cabin, leaving the crew of her ship to the task at hand and trusting that they did not need supervising. She wanted to read the message in peace and privacy.