《A Good Man》


 Prologue

    My name is Eli de Winter, today I¡¯m going to kill someone. Not out of anger, or because I really want to, but because it is a part of who I am. It wasn¡¯t always, I used to be a regular kid from Seattle. That was before I came here. Here being Victoria, the largest city of Mercia. I doubt you¡¯ve heard those names before, or could point them out on a map. That is mostly because neither the city nor the country is located on Earth. A shocker, I know. Where exactly I am is a question that I¡¯ve been asking myself for fifteen years. Mercia is a lot like Charles Dicken¡¯s England, only it has been stuck in the industrial revolution for a couple of centuries now.


    It is however not something I¡¯m terribly busy contemplating on a day to day basis. I walk down the steps leading up to the entrance of the unnecessary large civil service building known as city hall. Anyone could be fooled into thinking that Victoria is Mercia¡¯s capital. With its four districts built right on top of each other, and its massive local government, it is a behemoth of a city. The nation¡¯s capital however lies more to the northwest. It is a paradise without crime where only the cr¨¨me de la cr¨¨me is allowed to set foot. The biggest congregation of rich assholes you will probably find.


    I pass the columns on which the three commandments of the great Mercian bureaucracy are engraved. All are to be ordained. All ordained are to be registered. Those that stray from the path of God will become obsolete. Apart from a passing glance I no longer look at the words, no longer am I concerned with their meaning. I stop to light a cigarette, while still shielded from the cold wind. In this world cigarettes are a lot tastier than the ones that so irked the health institutions of many countries on Earth. The taste of chocolate fills my mouth as I take a deep drag.


    I hold up the file, I¡¯ve just been given. The necessary elimination of Bartholomew Shaw, it reads on the front. I know what I will find inside. All necessary deaths are the same, none of them ever see it coming. Victoria is a strange city, within a stranger country. It is governed by God¡¯s chosen bureaucrats, protected by God¡¯s soldiers and maintained by God¡¯s laborers. A nation built on God¡¯s plan, yet the church hardly holds any power. It is a nation of contradictions and it is corrupted to its core.


    I walk down broad boulevards, watching cars and carriages drive by. The cars here resemble carriages quite closely, only they¡¯re made of metal and aren¡¯t pulled by horses. My mood sours as I realize that I will have to go down today. Shaw¡¯s file tells me that he lives in the factory district. Some people say that the fourth district is the worst. Being the lowest level natural light hardly ever reaches it. When a citizen of the fourth looks up he sees nothing but concrete, gothic arcs, and perhaps a bit of glass. If you ask me the factory, or the third, district is much worse. It is permanently covered in smog and the noise of the factories ceases only a few hours every night.


    I take a couple of turns, walk down a flight of stairs and enter the second district. There are fewer cars here, but you can see that the citizens here are well off. Ample light, nice houses, relaxed bluejackets patrolling the streets. Rich middle class, artisans, doctors, architects, good people overall, even though they¡¯re a bit boring. I take my time, strolling through the district. Descending through Victoria¡¯s levels is a bit like slowly descending into hell. The lower you go the worse it gets. I¡¯m not in a hurry to go down, Shaw¡¯s not going anywhere.


    If you think that assassinating someone takes a lot of time and effort you are entirely right. Had this been a regular, unnecessary contract than I would have to be careful to not leave any trace at the scene, lest the police connect me to the murder. Picking the right time and place to murder someone is far harder than most people think. That is if you don¡¯t want collateral damage, it is. As I see it my ordained path is bloody enough without killing extra people.


    None of the above however matters. Shaw has strayed from the path of God, in other words he has become obsolete. The government doesn¡¯t tolerate the existence of the obsolete, which is why his death has been deemed necessary. It is why I¡¯m going down to kill him. I look at the giant elevator in front of me. It can easily hold two carriages. It is still too early for the evening rush, so I am alone. I sigh and step inside.


    The elevator¡¯s doors shut and starts its slow, rambling descend. About ten minutes later it comes to a halt. Before the doors even open the smog is already creeping inside, pooling at my feet. The doors open and I walk into a wall of fog. It is worse today than usually. I have trouble adjusting to the lack of sight. I light a cigarette waiting for my sense to settle down. After a minute or two I recognize shapes. What had been floating balls of yellow light turn out to be streetlights and lanterns.


    People shuffle past each other, never making eye contact, never shouting a greeting or stopping to talk. Nobody likes to be out in the fog, or living in the district, but it is better than starving to death on the fourth level. It is telling that people would rather live here than in the crime riddled belly of Victoria.


    Two trucks pass me, their shiny yellow headlights announcing their presence just in time for me to jump out of the way. I lock eyes with the people in the second truck. Between the open flaps of canvas twelve sets of eyes stare at me. Red goggles on top of grey gas masks, military issue. I wonder what they see when they look at me. Probably just another civilian, living his life, following the path. There aren¡¯t any regular police officers in the factory district, instead the military holds jurisdiction. Victoria¡¯s production is too important to leave to the cops.


    The trucks are swallowed by the fog and my thoughts return to the matter at hand. The factory district is big. Not as big as the fourth district on which the city stands, but it has the largest density of people. There is no use trying to hail a cab, the only cars or carriages here belong to bureaucrats, factory management and the military. Most of the streets aren¡¯t even paved. I walk through the grey sludge that passes for a road around here.


    Square, ugly apartment buildings line both roads. There aren¡¯t any other buildings, save for the occasional distributional point. Laborers seldomly handle money. They work to pay off their daily expenses, which are all provided by the factory they work for. It is a never ending cycle where ordained laborers work too long and too hard for points, which they all spend on shitty products. Goods which are just cheap enough to save up a little, thus creating the hope to move to one of the slightly better neighborhoods. The next day the laborers will line up and step into the factories again, taking tiny step by tiny step towards a better life.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    The ordained factory owners, of course, encourage that kind of thinking. Every so often they lift someone up to a management position, helping them to get out of the factory district entirely. The entire district is united in a single thought; ¡°It could be me.¡±


    I pass by, what feels like the hundredth, apartment building when I see the first factory. It is monstrously big, pillars of black smoking billowing from a dozen chimneys. I¡¯m not an expert, but I doubt the ones on earth were as big as these back in the day. The noise is deafening, it is probably worse inside. The sound of the factories is audible throughout the entire city, but usually it is softer. If you live here long enough you get used to it. The sound of the pounding pistons a lullaby when you go to sleep, the whistle of released steam an alarm to wake you up.


    Here however, it is causing me a headache. I quickly walk past the building, following the directions in Shaw¡¯s files. More grey apartment blocks, more sludge in the streets, I hate the factory district. It is fortunate


    In yet another depressing residential area I reach my destination. Right in front of me is Shaw¡¯s apartment building. I could go up and wait in his apartment. There is no light shining from the small window, so I doubt he is home. I could, but I don¡¯t. I calmly wait for Shaw to come home, smoking cigarette after cigarette, watching the hours pass. After breathing toxic air, for what seems like an eternity, Shaw finally shows up. He¡¯s not even trying to cover the disfigurement that mark him as obsolete. His veins stand out as if there is black tar floating through them instead of blood.


    It is perhaps the biggest difference between this world and Earth. Here gods, or in this case God is proven to be real. When you stray from God¡¯s path your veins turn black. It starts slow, spreading from the heart to the rest of the body. Once it reaches your head however it becomes hard to hide. The obsolete have no rights, they are outlaws, waiting for the day someone from the government comes to kill them.


    I cross the street at the same time he does, keeping my head turned the other way, so that he won¡¯t feel my prying eyes. He doesn¡¯t suspect a thing as he stops in front of his building to open the door. I slowly draw my pistol, the movement to slow to alarm his more basic instincts. As he¡¯s about to enter the building I level my gun and shoot twice, the impact pushing him slightly forwards. There isn¡¯t a dramatic moment where he damns me or asks for forgiveness, this isn¡¯t a movie after all. He¡¯s lying face down halfway into his building, a bullet lodged in his lung. Going by his wheezing breath it has collapsed. I don¡¯t say anything, instead I shoot a third bullet in his head.


    There isn¡¯t a police presence in the factory district and even if there was, nobody would report to them. Once I¡¯m gone somebody will come downstairs to look at the body and they will contact the district governor¡¯s office. Some minor bureaucrat or soldier will get send down to check on the body, after which it will be taken away. There will be no follow up investigation once it becomes clear that Shaw was an obsolete. The whole thing will be reported to city hall, who then will make the appropriate changes in their archive, after which the case is closed.


    It is ironic maybe that somebody like me is officially called a good man while I murder people like Shaw, but it is the way the Mercian bureaucracy works. Maybe Shaw pissed off the wrong people, or maybe he said the wrong thing at the wrong time. Maybe he got it in his head that he¡¯s being treated unfairly, which he probably was. It hardly matters anymore, his story is over.


    There is of course a chance that his death might spark something, a movement of some kind or an influx in ordained revolutionaries. More likely things will continue as they always have. I put my gun back in my holster and leave Shaw¡¯s body behind. There is very little reason left for me to remain here.


    ?


    About an hour later, maybe a bit longer I enter my office, which also doubles as my house. Jesse, my secretary, has already gone home, I don¡¯t mind, I¡¯m not in need of my secretary right now. Instead I walk to my desk and turn on the light. I put Shaw¡¯s file in front of me, grab the appropriate forms and start filling them in. There is certain calm that comes from doing the paperwork. Slowly Shaw becomes less of a person and more of a statistic, or maybe a character in a story. His parents were chemists, his path took him away from them. Everybody had expected great things from him, but God had another plan. For years he slaved away as a laborer in service of big, faceless companies. All the while he yearned from the days of his childhood. Eventually he snapped. He strayed from God¡¯s path, isolating himself from the rest of the world. Then, finally I came along and put a couple of bullets in him.


    The last part is familiar, it is how all my reports to City Hall end. I don¡¯t keep track how many there have been. It doesn¡¯t matter since I was doing this long before I started documenting it.


    I check if all the data is correct and if the right names are redacted. I finish by writing the details of Shaw¡¯s death. Once the paperwork is done I make a short phone call to City Hall, where a bureaucrat thanks me for my service and promises to make sure that the money will be in my account by tomorrow. I hang up.


    It was a short and easy job; most necessary deaths are. The obsolete know that someone is coming for them, eventually. It can however take months before the government actually gets around to sending an assassin after them. Months in which the fear subsides and people settle back in their regular life. It gives them a false sense of security, a belief that they¡¯ve been forgotten. For some of them this is probably true. I have no doubt that there are dozens, maybe hundreds of people are hiding in the fourth district. Within the slums no one cares if you are in God¡¯s good graces or not.


    I calmly pour myself a glass of whiskey, before walking towards the gramophone in the corner of my office. The record I put on is a classical piece from a local talent, Underhill¡¯s third symphony. As the music starts playing I light a cigarette and sit back. I release the smoke through my nose, watch it dispense.


    I am, and have been a lot of things, a foreigner, an immigrant, a student, a traitor, a runaway, a businessowner and a murderer. It is in these moments, right after a job that I wonder, had I remained in Seattle, would I have been the same? Or would I have grown up to be a very different kind of man? A better man. A good man. Gloomy thoughts, unbefitting a proper assassin, who just earned some good money for a day¡¯s work.


    The record cracks, signaling the ending of the piece I had only half heartedly been listening to. I get up, leaving my worries behind in my chair. I have no doubt that they will be waiting for my next unguarded moment. I turn off the gramophone and go to bed.

 Chapter 2: The Unnecessary Death of Elizabeth Aksokov

    Fifteen years ago.


    Eli was bored. He had been waiting for close to an hour, but the airport security never seemed to be done with their checks. He closed his eyes, listening to the music booming through his earbuds, bobbing his head in rhythm with the sound. Suddenly he was shoved forward, making him stumble. ¡°What the hell man, I¡¯ve been waiting just as long as you¡¯ve been!¡± The man behind him glared and pointed forwards.


    The man looked weird, like really old fashioned, and when he spoke Eli didn¡¯t understand him. He turned around and his eyes became big, this wasn¡¯t the airport. ¡°Next!¡± A voice called out. ¡°What the fuck.¡± He softly whispered to himself. It was as if he had stepped into a Charles Dickens movie. Everybody wore shitty clothing and seemed underfed. ¡°I said next, you deaf immigrant.¡± A voice yelled at him.


    Eli turned to the man that had just insulted him. The man was sitting at a table, taking down names or something and he was glaring at him. Eli hesitantly walked towards the man. ¡°Name, country of origin and ordination.¡± The man barked. ¡°Eli de Winter, United States of America, what¡¯s an ordination?¡± The man glared. ¡°United what now? What kind of backwards country are you from?¡± Eli was about to tell the man he could fuck off, but the man was no longer listening. Instead he films in the form, leaving his country of origin open.


    ¡°Listen barbarian, you are to be ordained, get in that line and wait for instructions. Got it? Good. Welcome to the Mercian Bureaucracy. Next!¡± The man that had been standing behind him shoved Eli aside. As Eli moved to his designated line the man started shouting in his incomprehensible language. ¡°Speak Mercian you Monarchial freak!¡± More shouting in the foreign language. ¡°Name! Country of origin and ordination, you piece of shit, in Mercian or I will have you fucking deported!¡±


    Eli tried to distance himself from the immigration officer and the foreign man as quickly as he could. ¡°What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.¡± He kept whispering to himself. Wherever he was it wasn¡¯t any place he had been intending to go. There wasn¡¯t any sign of his friends either, just rows upon rows of dirty, desperate looking people.


    The line he was standing in was slowly moving forwards. Behind Eli the conflict had escalated. The immigrations officer was fighting the foreign man. Both were bleeding, but neither seemed to want to give up. Around Eli people started to exchange bets on who would win. He however didn¡¯t stick around to see the fight end. The people in front of him had all disappeared into a closed of hallway and some official or other waved him to come over as well. The woman waved again, and he complied.


    ¡°Good evening sir, please follow me.¡± She said politely as we walked down the hallway, passing several doors before halting before one. ¡°Please step inside and await your ordination, welcome to Mercia.¡± Eli opened the door and stepped inside.


    It was dark, apart from a single glowing lamp. ¡°Please take a seat, I will be with you in a moment.¡± A tired voice said, making Eli startle. He sat down, a bit twitchy as he waited for the owner of the voice to appear. When he did he was surprisingly young, barely older than Eli. The man was clad in robes, which didn¡¯t hide how thin he was. Even if they had, the man¡¯s hollow cheeks would have betrayed him.


    The man gave him a kind smile. ¡°There is no reason to worry about your ordination, it won¡¯t hurt, and nobody will judge you, regardless of the results.¡± Eli nodded and swallowed. ¡°Whatever this ordination was, it apparently was important. ¡°Shall we start?¡± Eli nodded again.


    The man reached out and touched Eli¡¯s forehead. His fingers were cold. Not just human hands cold but ice cold, as if they were made of ice. Eli breathed in deeply, surprised by the sudden cold. A moment later the man removed his hand. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for that, it took a bit longer to find your path. I hope it wasn¡¯t to unpleasant?¡± Eli shook his head. ¡°It was okay.¡± He assured the man. He got a grateful smile in return. ¡°I have good news for you. Your path is a relatively rare one, giving you the opportunity to be of great value to the bureaucracy.¡± Eli tilted his head. ¡°What did I get?¡± The man scribbled some things down on a piece of paper before beaming at him. ¡°You are an ordained assassin, you will help purge the dangerous obsolete from our society.¡±


    ?


    Now.


    It has been two weeks since the Shaw job, I haven¡¯t taken any new contracts. Not because there aren¡¯t any clients, there are always clients, but because the available jobs don¡¯t meet my standards. My ordination requires me to take the jobs involving the execution of obsoletes, the necessary deaths. I¡¯m free to choose the unnecessary deaths, which is why I¡¯m quite picky. A long time ago I decided that if I was going to do this I wasn¡¯t just going to kill for anyone who walked through the doors of my office. No, I have rules.


    If you want me to kill someone you must prove that the person in question is guilty of a crime. My standard of proof is of course different than the one of the courts. Everybody knows that the scales of lady justice in this city are tilted towards the rich. Going through the courts is pointless, unless you have the cash to back up what you¡¯re saying.


    Secondly, I don¡¯t kill children, I never have, and I never will, period. I know that some of my colleagues don¡¯t think the same way, but my mind is set.


    Lastly, I never take on a job which involves killing more than two targets. I¡¯m in the assassination business, I don¡¯t organize massacres. Again, more than a few colleagues disagree, but they would argue that collateral damage isn¡¯t a big deal. When it comes down to it we might all be ordained assassins, but we are all very different.


    Jesse knocks on the door and I give her permission to enter. ¡°Something the matter?¡± I ask. ¡°Not really, I just came to see if you needed anything.¡± She doesn¡¯t come into the office often, it is not appropriate, or something. She gives my LP collection a curious glance, before darting over to see if I have anything new. I continue reading the paper. ¡°Have you heard about the butcher of the south?¡± she asks. ¡°The serial killer or the general?¡± I respond, looking up from my newspaper. ¡°The general, I thought the serial killer got killed?¡± I shrug, it is not my job to hunt serial killers down. ¡°What about him?¡±


    Jesse is turned away from me, so I can¡¯t see her face. ¡°My brother serves beneath him, and apparently they are redeploying the butcher¡¯s army in Armes.¡± She sounds worried, making me want to comfort her. ¡°He will probably be alright, according to the paper the war will be over soon. Armes¡¯ forces are depleted, and their allies aren¡¯t showing up.¡± Jesse nods but when she responds she still sounds worried. ¡°I know, but you know how things go. Officers make mistakes, generals give the wrong orders, it is the grunts who get screwed in the process.¡± She isn¡¯t wrong, especially with ordained officers running around, fucking things up. ¡°Send your brother a letter, ask how he is doing.¡±


    She twitches. ¡°What if I don¡¯t get one back?¡± she asks. ¡°Then you should probably add extra paper since he couldn¡¯t get hold of some.¡± She nods and smiles. ¡°I will, thanks.¡± For the first time she looks straight at me and I see the dark rings around her eyes. ¡°It will probably turn out alright, the butcher will probably be doing mop up duty.¡± She nods again. ¡°Yeah, he probably will.¡± I put the paper down and stand up. ¡°You¡¯re going somewhere?¡± It is my turn to nod. ¡°I will take the cycle to the club, see if there is anything urgent they need me to take care of.¡±


    ¡°I will grab your jacket and helmet.¡± I rummage around in my desk, my thoughts still focused on the war. It has been a quick one, lasting a little over a year. The Armian army is outdated and has bad equipment. It is the sort of war the bureaucracy specializes in, fought on foreign land against an inferior enemy. The bureaucracy has great support for the war effort, both domestic and abroad. Victoria¡¯s bureaucrats, of course, support any and every military action. The city is the main manufacturer of arms and ammunition in the country, so it is only logical.


    I find my gloves and I leave the office, where Jesse is already waiting with my helmet and jacket. A few minutes later I take off on my motorcycle. Ever since I was a child I¡¯ve wanted to own a Harley Davidson. There is just something about the chrome skeleton of the bike that pulls me in. They unfortunately have no equivalent here, so I got the next best thing, the Katsuen S-60. It isn¡¯t the fastest bike on the market, or the sturdiest. You can¡¯t travel across the country with it or ride off-road. But it looks amazing, and rides like a dream as well. I never take the Katsuen on jobs, out of fear that it will be damaged.


    The drive to the club takes a while, but I enjoy it, so I don¡¯t consider it wasted time. I give my bike to the valet waiting in front of the club. I¡¯m confident he won¡¯t do something to it, he knows what kind of people frequent this establishment. Still, as I walk up the steps to the enormous, ornamental building I track the valet¡¯s movement. Eventually he disappears out of sight and I have to let the matter go. If I can¡¯t trust the staff with my bike I shouldn¡¯t have brought it here in the first place.


    The club is as extravagant inside as it is outside. The biggest difference is that inside you¡¯re confronted with the clientele. The Victorian elite are every bit as ostentatious as you would expect from a mixed group of aristocrats, factory owners and high government functionaries. The bureaucracy doesn¡¯t pay its officials all that much, but people who are so close to the center of power always find a way to benefit.


    The hallway I¡¯m walking through is lined with alcoves in which all kinds of people are partaking in different kinds of vices. Sex, drugs, possibly illegal dealings with all kinds of shady people, all are common occurrences in the most exclusive club in Victoria, possibly Mercia. Not that I¡¯ve seen much of the country I¡¯ve been living in for the past fifteen years. Apart from a few business trips to the capital I¡¯ve stuck to Victoria¡¯s filthy streets.


    I leave the main hallway, heading for the room where my colleagues usually hang out. Room is maybe the wrong word, it is more of a bar really. I open the door, immediately coming face to face with Moose. ¡°Eli, you came!¡± She hugs me tightly, almost crushing my spine. ¡°Moose, I¡¯m dying.¡± I wheeze. ¡°Oh right, sorry.¡± The woman says, grinning, clearly not sorry. She motions me over to one of the unoccupied tables. The other assassins present make no move to greet me. When Moose monopolizes someone you would be an idiot to butt in.


    Moose stands over two meters tall, one massive block of muscle. She can crush a horse¡¯s skull between her hands, fire a shotgun with one hand and lift a car with only a little effort. Betraying her appearance Moos is, there is no other word for it, bubbly. It is as if somebody took a little girl, who dreams of riding a unicorn and being a pretty princess, and put her in an indestructible machine of death and destruction. That is of course an overstatement, but you get the picture. In her own, scatterbrained way, Moose is very effective.


    As we sit down the bartender comes over and hands Moose a pitcher of ale and me a cup of coffee. ¡°Thanks Jim.¡± I say as Moose takes a big gulp. The bartender nods and walks away. ¡°So, what do you have for me Moose?¡± She holds up her hand, motioning for me to wait, as she takes another gulp. ¡°How did you know I have a job for you?¡± She then asks, a bit disappointed, as if I spoiled the surprise. ¡°Because we always do this, every time I get in.¡± I say, raising my eyebrows. She becomes a little red, scratching her neck in embarrassment. ¡°Sorry about that, I was just excited, that¡¯s all.¡± I wave her apology away. ¡°I don¡¯t mind, it isn¡¯t often I¡¯m greeted with so much enthusiasm.¡±Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    She starts nodding furiously. ¡°You know, before you came in I told Birdie the same thing. We should all act friendlier towards another, we aren¡¯t getting it somewhere else. We are sort of like family after all. Somebody should be happy to see us, you know?¡± At the sound of her name I see Birdie look up from her round of cards. She sees me and waves, I wave back. Birdie and Moose are the two nicest people here and I get along with them well. The same however can¡¯t be said for a number of my ¡°family¡± members.


    Moose shakes her head. ¡°Alright, back to business, the job, it is straight up your alley. The contract is for Elizabeth Aksokov, an unnecessary death.¡± I wait for her to continue. ¡°Aksokov has been flooding the lower districts with bad quality snuff. Her clients are dying, but she refuses to cut back on karach levels.¡± I take a sip from my coffee. ¡°Killing off your clientele doesn¡¯t sound profitable, why¡¯s she doing it?¡± Moose shrugs. ¡°Word is that she¡¯s found a new market, something to do with the war, but those are just rumors.¡± Poisoning a bunch of junks is enough of a justification for me, her death won¡¯t keep me up at night. ¡°What¡¯s the pay?¡± Moose beams at me. ¡°I knew you would do it. Two big now and another five big upon completion.¡±


    I nod, the price is reasonable, most contracts range between five and fifteen. ¡°Who¡¯s setting the contract?¡± Moose takes another big gulp, emptying the pitcher. ¡°The Syndicate, they don¡¯t want bad quality snuff circulating, it is destroying the franchise.¡± Moose stands up, dropping a few crowns on the table, the red notes land in a small puddle of ale. ¡°I¡¯ll introduce you to the contractor, he is in one of the conference rooms.¡±


    I follow Moose out of the bar, back into the main hallway. It has gotten busier since I arrived, the party spilling from the alcoves into the hallway. Moose however, can clear a path through any crowd. People jump out of the way as the enormous woman strides through the hallway. Moose never wanted to be an assassin, she never liked the sneaking around in the shadows all by her lonesome. She always wanted to be soldier, like her brothers and parents. In the end she found a way to be both. Moose is the only assassin I know who works with a team. Sure, we all team up with each other from time to time, but at its core our profession is a lonely one. Not so for Moose, she has her own strike force, specializing in acquiring and eliminating targets behind enemy lines. Basically, she has her own black ops unit.


    I can only imagine what it must be like to have an entire team backing you up, the security that comes with it. It does have its drawbacks, from a business point of view. Only large organizations like the Syndicate or the Mercian government can afford to hire Moose and her team. Her choice in contracts is severely limited by that. ¡°You¡¯ve been to the front lately?¡± I ask, casually. ¡°I just got back, the fighting is winding down. Now that the butcher has been deployed I reckon that peace talks will start soon.¡± I nodded. ¡°You¡¯re going to the butcher¡¯s regiment any time soon?¡±


    Moose raises her eyebrows at me. ¡°You¡¯re interested in joining my team? I can always use another able hand.¡± I shake my head. ¡°No, I¡¯m perfectly happy in the city. A friend of mine has family serving, she¡¯s worried about her brother.¡± Moose nods sagely. ¡°We¡¯re all worried about our serving family. If you give me his name, rank and serial number I can ask around when the team goes back in.¡± I thank her.


    ¡°So, with the war drawing to an end what kind of contracts do you have to look forward to?¡± Moose grimaces. ¡°We¡¯re probably going to deploy in the colonies again.¡± She sighs. ¡°Months of sludging through swamps and jungles, getting crawled on by bugs, all the while being shot at by the natives.¡± I shudder, it sounds horrible. ¡°But you never know, peace talks might fail, the war might drag on until we¡¯ve conquered every square meter of Armes.¡± Her voice sounds hopeful.


    ¡°We¡¯re here.¡± She announces happily, the swamps and jungles of the future already forgotten. She slams the door open, where a surprised man in a suit is waiting. ¡°Ahh miss Clayton, I see you¡¯ve found your friend.¡± Moose happily nods. ¡°Mister East meet Eli de Winter, he¡¯s the man you need for this job.¡± I offer my hand which mister East shakes. ¡°My apologies for the fake name mister de Winter, but you can¡¯t be too careful in my occupation. Cigarette?¡± I appreciatively take the cigarette, which is of a far better quality than my own brand. Moose refuses, she only drinks.


    ¡°Straight to business then?¡± East asks, while shoving a file towards me. I sometimes wonder how many different sets of files there are in Victoria. Take for instance my own files, those only contain a few people of interest, mostly my colleagues, and the necessary deaths I orchestrated, for tax purposes. The bureaucracy has a file on every registered person, yet it has another set used only by the intelligence agencies. Then there are large companies, the Syndicate and private concerns who all keep their own files. With all these circulating files it isn¡¯t surprising that Mercia is known as the bureaucracy.


    I open the file on Elizabeth Aksokov and am surprised by its detail. They have done nearly all the prep work. Staked out Aksokov¡¯s holdings, all of them. Connected her to several residences on both the lowest level as well as in the factory district. I frown, I know one of the buildings on the list. It is Shaw¡¯s apartment building. I narrow my eyes and glance suspiciously at mister East. ¡°Something wrong?¡± He asks nonchalantly. ¡°just one thing, why is it that both Aksokov and I are connected to this building.¡± I point at it on the list. East gives it a once over and then shrugs. ¡°Coincidence? Frankly I don¡¯t know. We weren¡¯t aware that the hit carried out there recently was you.¡±


    I take back the file and notice something. ¡°You don¡¯t have an address for me, or a place of business?¡± East shakes his head. ¡°We couldn¡¯t pin down her exact location, she moves around a lot, making it hard to track her.¡± I sigh, finding her is going to be a chore, creating a window to take a shot even more so. ¡°No reason to look so annoyed mister de Winter. We might not know where she is, but we know where she is going to be two nights from now.¡± East gives me a smug smile before handing me the ashtray, pointedly looking at the small heap that has piled on the table.


    ¡°Point of fact it is one of the reasons we want to hire you, instead of Moose. We need a long-range specialist, and Moose told us you are the best candidate.¡± One of the reasons. It makes me wonder what those other reasons may be. East shoves a second file to me, a much thinner one. ¡°We have scouted the area and marked several spots from which you might be able to take the shot. The target will be moving throughout this warehouse. The Syndicate also wishes for a clean hit, we only want the target dead, no collateral.¡± I look at the map, it isn¡¯t detailed enough to make a decision, I will have to go look myself.


    ¡°When you go over the second file you will find some instructions as to how things are to play out.¡± I quickly skip to that part, arching my eyebrows as I read the extra instructions. ¡°What do you think mister de Winter, can you do it?¡± I look up from the files and nod. ¡°Consider it done.¡± Mister East smiles broadly. ¡°Excellent, how would you receive your payment, cash or account?¡± I put out the cigarette. ¡°Account, both now and after.¡± East smiles, offers his hand, which I shake and we part ways.


    ¡°Very professional, aren¡¯t they?¡± Moose asks. ¡°Very professional indeed, I get why you work with them.¡± Moose puts her arms behind her head. ¡°If you don¡¯t fuck this up they might send more work your way.¡± Somehow, I doubt that, but I don¡¯t tell Moose that. ¡°They might, yeah.¡± I start walking towards the exit. ¡°You¡¯re not staying for another drink, play a hand of cards with Birdie?¡± Moose sounds hopeful. ¡°Come on, it¡¯s been so long, and I will be shipping out again soon.¡± She pushes as she sees me contemplating the idea. ¡°Sure, why not, it isn¡¯t as if I had other plans.¡± I give in. Moose lets out a very girly weeh, which I take at face value.


    ?


    ¡°El, are you sure about this?¡± Thomas asks, carefully as to not upset her. El gets upset easily these days, the years have been hard on her. ¡°It should all be alright Thom, one more deal and we¡¯re done.¡± El sounds tired and there are dark circles around her eyes. ¡°Remember dad Thom? He would have been proud of what we¡¯re going to accomplish. I promised him Thom, do you remember that I promised it to him?¡±


    Thomas nods, he remembers. ¡°But why are we killing the clients?¡± He doesn¡¯t understand. He often doesn¡¯t, it is one of the problems he can¡¯t get around. Things were going well, they were making a lot of money, El got to run her side projects and he got to fight. Killing the clients would end all that. ¡°Dad would have liked the money, that¡¯s all I¡¯m saying.¡± He says defensively as El glares.


    ¡°Just one more deal and then it is all over.¡± El sighs. Yesterday she sold her side project to some men with green scarfs, maybe that¡¯s why they¡¯re selling the last snuff. Thomas signals to one of the men sitting on the roof of a truck, a rifle over his legs. Fighting, guns, men and trucks, those are things Thomas understands. He¡¯s a bruiser in the truest sense of the word. A car, followed by two trucks drive into the warehouse.


    Thomas signals his men to stand ready, besides him El straightens. ¡°Dad would have laughed so hard if he knew what was going to happen.¡± Thomas doesn¡¯t have the foggiest what she is talking about. Dad wouldn¡¯t have laughed about a shipment of raw, uncut snuff.


    A man steps out of the car, he wears a nice suit, Thomas wishes he had such a suit. ¡°Are you the representative of the Syndicate?¡± El asks. ¡°Yes, I am, my name is East.¡± El snorts in the way she does when she thinks somebody is full of shit. ¡°Do you have my money mister East?¡± East a man of action waves towards the car. Two men exit, each carrying a briefcase. They present it to him and he opens them, revealing the red notes within. ¡°Two hundred thousand, as we agreed on. Can I see the product?¡±


    El leads the man around the truck, he will probably want to taste for impurities. Thomas patiently waits for them to return, signaling the men to hold steady. He is supposed to look intimidating, like an aggressive dog. He always wanted one of those dangerous dogs, but El wouldn¡¯t let him have one. There are a lot of things El keeps him from doing, which annoys him. El however is smarter and older, so she probably knows best.


    Mister East and El come from behind the truck. El looks tired but satisfied, mister East looks happy. ¡°We have a deal then?¡± Thomas asks. ¡°We do, you may take the money.¡± Mister East says, and Thomas complies. With the money in his possession he gives the men the sign to hand over the truck. Before the Syndicate¡¯s members can take it however the deal is interrupted by a gunshot.


    The warehouse erupted into chaos as El collapsed. Everybody was shouting, but Thomas had only eyes for his sister. El had a surprised expression on her face and a large hole in her forehead. One of his men came running, waving his pistol around, shouting. Thomas just handed him the two briefcases. ¡°Bring them to the car, I will be with you soon.¡± He waved the man away and ignored the truck with product that drove past him. A second later he was holding his sister.


    She was very light in his hands, so very light. With shaking hands he closes her eyes and lifts her up. ¡°Dad would have been proud.¡± He whispers at her as he carries her to the waiting car. He holds her still as he sits down in the back seat. He doesn¡¯t know exactly what dad would have been proud of, but El has been working so hard to achieve it. Forgetting to eat and to sleep, working with powders and numbers day and night.


    It is halfway through the trip back home that Thomas realizes something. He is the head of the family now. He will have to make the decisions from now on. Unlike El he doesn¡¯t want to get out of the snuff business. All the people are in the right place, they have a nice thing going, why not continue? as the shock of his sister¡¯s death slowly fades the new head of the Aksokov family starts planning. El¡¯s thinking was too small. Just snuff and a few apartment buildings aren¡¯t going to cut it, it is time the family branched out. ¡°You will see sister, I will make you proud.¡± He whispers.


    ?


    There is a telephone ringing in an ornate wooden office in arguably the most beautiful apartment building in Victoria. Of course, it is just an apartment building, not one of the stately mansion, so the people living within are only of relative importance. A few higher placed bureaucrats, some wealthy single traders, a few wealthy shareholders, a couple of lobbyists and a number of gangsters.


    A phone is ringing and if somebody doesn¡¯t pick up they will soon have to deal with an angry assassin in person. Thankfully someone does pick up. ¡°I take it I¡¯m speaking with mister de Winter?¡± Mister East¡¯s cultured voice says. ¡°Why the hell where you there? What kind of idiot creates a crime scene where they were present themselves?¡± An angry voice responds, skipping common courtesies.


    ¡°Now, now, now, mister de Winter, how impolite. The small issue of my presence matters very little. You performed the service you were hired to do, and if you are a professional as you claim to be none of this should trace back to you.¡± Mister East doesn¡¯t sound even remotely worried. ¡°You will receive payment per account as you requested for a job well done. Isn¡¯t that all that matters?¡± He is of course right. After all, mister East makes it his business to be in the right.


    ¡°Can you tell me why you ordered me to take out one of your business partners?¡± Mister de Winter knows that the question is unprofessional, but maybe the situation has rattled him, he¡¯s rather paranoid. ¡°There is no harm in telling you, I suppose. The Aksokovs were planning on pulling out of the snuff business, at least Elizabeth was. We are confident that with her removal the family will keep operating, cornering a market that we like to see cornered. It¡¯s all just business, the Syndicate consists out of ordained merchants after all.¡±


    Mister de Winter remains silent on the other line. ¡°Was that all mister de Winter?¡± East asks a bit tired of the day¡¯s events. ¡°Yes, my apologies for inquiring. This call should conclude our business.¡± It seems mister de Winter has recovered his professionalism, good for him. ¡°Indeed, it should. Good night mister de Winter.¡±

 Chapter 3: The Unrelated Death of Joseph Amber

    Fifteen years ago.


    Nothing makes sense anymore. It was a thought that kept rotating through Eli¡¯s skull as he was dragged from one place to the other. Everywhere he went he had to stay in line, fill in forms and answer questions. Nobody listened when he tried to explain that he was lost and wanted to go home. They just blankly stared at him before repeating the last question. It was as if he was the only person in world full of robots.


    At some point he had just given up and done what they wanted him to. At some point someone had given him a sandwich, told him he was a good man, and moved on to the next person in line. The whole thing was nuts. He was supposed to be an assassin, a guy that kills people for a living. Were they fucking kidding? Who the hell tells a fifteen-year-old he is going to kill a bunch of people? Why would you do that? He had so many questions, but apparently nobody here was willing, or maybe allowed, to answer them.


    ¡°Eli de Winter, please go to waiting room number five.¡± A voice came through the microphone attached to the ceiling. The audio quality was bad, the voice doing the announcements sounded bored, and he had the feeling that she sometimes generated static herself so that she didn¡¯t have to repeat the message.


    He slowly walked to waiting room number five. What was he going to find once he got through that door? An irrational part of his mind screamed that he might have to kill someone when he stepped through the door. His hand was resting on the doorknob, he was hesitating. If he ran away now, got himself deported or something he wouldn¡¯t have to go inside. Then again, another country might be even worse. Everybody was migrating to this place for a reason, right?


    With a deep breath he opened the door and stepped inside. The room was plain, the only furniture being two chairs and a table in between. There was another door, identical to the one Eli had just passed through, across the room. A man in a grey suit was waiting for him. The suit was a cut above the ones he had seen other employees wearing. Maybe this guy was some kind of big shot. ¡°Mister Eli de Winter, I presume?¡± The man said, and Eli swallowed. With his snow-white hair and sharp face, the man didn¡¯t make a friendly impression. His voice was cold as well, fortifying this feeling.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s me.¡± His voice was higher than he would have liked, but the man was scary so there you go. ¡°My name is August Cabaneri, you may refer to me as sir or mister Cabaneri.¡± August looked at Eli pointedly. ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Eli said. ¡°Good, you may take a seat.¡± Eli would be damned if he was going to think about this man as sir or mister Cabaneri. He would come up with a clever nickname later, for now this dude was August.


    ¡°So, boy, do you have any idea who I am?¡± Eli shook his head and August frowned. ¡°No, sir.¡± Eli corrected. August was going to force this thing, wasn¡¯t he? ¡°I¡¯m the owner and CEO of Cabaneri incorporated. Too make a long story short, we train assassins.¡± It wasn¡¯t what Eli had expected, but he believed it without a doubt. ¡°Immigration informs us of any ordained assassins they pick up, which is why I am here. I want to offer you a scholarship. We will house you, feed you and teach you how to follow your destined path. In exchange you will sign a contract for five years with us, after you graduate.¡±


    Eli was speechless. ¡°You train assassins, and the government thinks that¡¯s okay?¡± August was frowning again. ¡°Sir.¡± Eli added absentmindedly, and far too late. ¡°But you are a corporation, so you¡¯re in the private sector?¡± He said before August could answer his first question. The white-haired man was getting increasingly annoyed. ¡°All your questions will be answered by your teachers if you agree with my proposal.¡±


    August shoved a bunch of papers forwards for Eli to sign. ¡°What happens if I don¡¯t sign?¡± Eli suddenly asked. ¡°Sir.¡± He added, before the old man could frown. ¡°Then I wish you a good day and I move on to my next item of business.¡± August said with a sigh. ¡°You will have to follow your destined path on your own, which is harder but also doable.¡± The older man added, seeing Eli open his mouth to ask the obvious question.


    Eli thought for a minute, pretending to read the papers, which were copies of the same document in different languages. Among the languages was English, something that might be German and a strange script that was probably Russian. ¡°Are you going to sign, or are you going to learn those other languages?¡± August asked, clearly impatient now.


    There wasn¡¯t much of a choice here, now was there? Either Eli could go to assassin school, which sounded cool, or he could starve to death, which sounded a lot less cool. Anyway, it wasn¡¯t as if he was going to stay in this world, his parents would find a way to get him home. Might as well learn to kick ass while he was in this world. He signed his name in the curly handwriting his mom had forced him to learn.


    August sighed in relief. ¡°Here I was, thinking we had to teach you how to read and write, that would have been a pain.¡± He collected the papers and stood up. He strode towards the door, where he stopped, frowning over his shoulder. ¡°Are you coming boy?¡± Eli looked up in surprise. ¡°Right now, sir?¡± The sir came after a pause, involving a lot of glaring. ¡°No, tomorrow boy, or maybe next Sunday, if that is convenient?¡± The sarcasm in his voice was so thick you could swim in it. Eli hurried across the room, after August, who was already walking down the hallway.


    ¡°So where are we going? Sir.¡± He asked the white-haired assassin. ¡°To buy you new clothes, you look absolutely ridiculous.¡± The older man said, a hint of amusement in his voice. ¡°And a haircut, only barbarians and women have long hair like that.¡± Eli was protested but the old man wouldn¡¯t hear any of it.


    ?


    Now.


    I lift my cup of tea to take a sip when I¡¯m rudely interrupted by a very excited customer entering the caf¨¦. ¡°He wrote back!¡± Jesse¡¯s jubilant voice drowns out all the other noise in the caf¨¦. Conversations fall still, heads turn, and I try to at least finish my sip without becoming the center of attention. ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear me Eli? He wrote back!¡± I turn, a happy, slightly awkward, smile on my face. ¡°I heard you, congratulations. You want to have celebratory breakfast?¡±


    Jesse blushes a little as she notices everyone staring, before deciding that she doesn¡¯t care and nodding happily. ¡°You know, I could have sworn that guy¡¯s name was Vlad.¡± I hear one of the bartenders softly saying. It seems I need to find a different caf¨¦ to enjoy breakfast in. ¡°So, what did your brother say?¡± I say as I order an extra breakfast platter.


    ¡°Oh, it is just as you thought. They¡¯re cleaning up deserters, who¡¯ve been looting the countryside. I should have known really, I had a quick look at their supplies and logistic routes. They are by no means armed for a drawn-out conflict. They can offer some support at best.¡± I don¡¯t even question how exactly she got access to secure military files. When Jesse puts her mind to something she can be surprisingly resourceful. Also, I think she has another job besides writing and being my secretary.


    ¡°He says he¡¯s well, it is almost like they¡¯re taking a trip.¡± Somehow, I highly doubt that, but I don¡¯t tell Jesse that. The dark rings around her eyes have disappeared and she seems a lot happier. ¡°But wait, there is more!¡± She makes the reveal as dramatic as possible by drumming on the table, making my plate ring. I wave reassuringly to the bartender; his dishes are safe. ¡°Armes is sending their prince to the capital to discuss the nation¡¯s surrender.¡± Jesse¡¯s eyes are gleaming, I already know what she is going to ask next.


    ¡°Yes, you can go.¡± I say before she can. ¡°You¡¯re doing the literary world a favor.¡± She said, digging into the platter of food that the waiter brought. ¡°Somehow I doubt that.¡± I comment drily. She just rolls her eyes, taking another bite of egg. ¡°Why don¡¯t you come along? You already finished two contracts this month, the office should be fine.¡± There is a lot I don¡¯t tell Jesse. Some of those things are confidential, contacts, contracts, and some things I simply don¡¯t wish to disclose. The financial situation of the office belongs among the latter.


    I consider what Jesse is saying. ¡°No, I think it is better if I don¡¯t go.¡± I say after a minute. Going to the capital will complicate things. When I left situations were left, unresolved. It isn¡¯t a good plan to go and stir things up. ¡°Oh, come on, it¡¯s been ages since you left the city.¡± Jesse is pouting, honestly, she looks adorable. The effect is only spoiled by the fact that she knows that. ¡°I already said no. Don¡¯t force the issue.¡± Jesse scowls, but she isn¡¯t actually mad. She will probably bring it up again, maybe I will say yes. She is, after all, one of the few people I enjoy spending prolonged amounts of time with.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ?


    ¡°Why again are we sitting here, doing absolutely nothing?¡± Karl asks, adjusting his green scarf. He is frustrated and impatient. It has been a little over two months since he joined the green raiders, but so far it has been boring as hell. His veins are thick, black, tainted, they mark him as an outsider, one who has strayed from the path. More importantly they force him to stay inside or cover his face when he goes outside.


    ¡°All we do is smoking, drinking and playing cards. I could have done the same on da¡¯s farm.¡± He mutters angrily. When the recruiters came to his village they had talked a great deal about lifting oppression, fighting the system and taking down the corrupt bureaucrats.


    All those promises feel very empty now that he is sitting in this moist, dirty basement, waiting for orders that never seem to come. ¡°What did you expect? That we would take over the country overnight, joined by angry farmers and laborers?¡± Lars says, amusement clear in his voice. ¡°Revolutions aren¡¯t wars, boy. They aren¡¯t fought on battlefields but in backrooms. When the order comes we will probably have a single objective. We do our part, destroy a cog that keeps the bureaucracy turning, and after we go home to our families.¡±


    When the old man puts it like that it all sounds very reasonable, and really boring. It isn¡¯t what Karl signed up for. It isn¡¯t what his father imagined when he had proudly told his son to accept, to go change the world. What is the point of having a gun if he can¡¯t use it to take down the enemy? He tosses his cards down on the table and stands up. ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡± Lars asks sharply.


    ¡°Outside, it¡¯s dark and I will cover up.¡± Karl responds angrily. A minute or so later he¡¯s standing outside, trying to light a cigarette in the persistent wind. He curses a few times before the thing finally lights. He is still angry, still upset about how things have turned out. The green raiders suck, for all their talk about being revolutionaries they¡¯re mostly being intrusive. They take over the houses of poor people, who believe they are the heroes come to save them from misery. Instead of being those heroes these people need we are nothing but a burden.


    He passes a woman whose face is so hollow that she seems to be a corpse already. When she looks at him however, she smiles. She isn¡¯t looking at him of course, she is looking at the green scarf. When she looks at Karl she sees a young man fighting for justice, or something. Sure, he might cause another hungry night now, but he will build the better future. It¡¯s all bullshit.


    He quickly hurries on, passing the woman without looking her in the eye. He misses the farm, the talks with his dad, the dinners with mother, he even misses the work. But he can¡¯t go home, he is committed to the cause now. Back home they think of him as a hero, what kind of hero returns home in defeat? The whole thing makes him sad, the sadness turning back into anger. If only we would do something! The thought is screaming in his head. Something, anything really, as long as he doesn¡¯t have to go back to that basement.


    He walks past another rundown building, there are a lot of those in the lowest level. A lot can be said about the factory distance, but at least the housing is good there. But down here, where there is nothing to interest the corporations, the factory owners or the bureaucracy, everything is rotting. The streets have been reduced to muddy trails, every stone stolen to repair crumbling houses, not that you would find a car down here. Maybe the occasional truck, but no cars or carriages.


    It isn¡¯t the infrastructure that bothers him most however, plenty mud trails in the villages, nor is it the broken-down houses. Those are problems easily resolved once the government has been torn down and the ordination system abolished. No what bothers him most is the crime, and the fact that the green raiders were doing nothing about it. There are enough cells in the lower district to put an armed man on every street corner. We could install a shoot on sight policy, he muses. You seen one of those Aksokov cunts? You gun him down. You hear a bell? Shoot that powder sniffing asshole. If we just did that these poor people wouldn¡¯t need to suffer more than they already do.


    He could start today, right now. His hand moves to the gun hidden in the back of his trousers. Maybe everybody just needs the right incentive, an example of how things should be done. It is early, but he is convinced that if starts searching now he will find a snuff dealer before noon. It is as if a lever in his mind is pulled, everything becomes clear. It doesn¡¯t matter that he¡¯s a nobody, that he has never even heard the boss¡¯s name, he is going to show everybody how it should be done.


    Deliberately he starts his search. First, he looks in the park, but there is nobody there. The dealers only come out when there are clients to do business with. Karl takes a minute to think, there is only one place a dealer could sell his poison, the employment office.


    A long time ago, before Victoria was an industrial, corrupt cesspool, somebody intended the lowest level to be a retreat, a place for young families with kids. A part of the district still reflects that intent. Adjacent to the park there are several semidetached houses anyone of the third level could have been proud of. Had they been kept in their original state the district might have had a chance of becoming decent again. Instead, the houses had been remodeled to fit as many families as possible. There was no electricity and occasionally no running water either. It was the best the lowest district had to offer.


    The only building that hadn¡¯t fallen into disrepair was the employment office. It was a smaller version of city hall, made of less expensive materials. Also different from the real deal there were soldiers. A lot can be said about the bureaucrats running Mercia, but they aren¡¯t idiots. They know perfectly well that there are revolutionaries, both ordained and regular, hiding amongst the poor. They know, but do nothing, giving the terrorists the initiative. In war this would have been a fatal mistake but, like Lars so aptly put, this isn¡¯t a war. Maybe it should be.


    Karl watches the line of people shuffle into the employment office. They all hope they will find work today, maybe somebody from the third level needs a strong back, or somebody from the second level is organizing a party and wants to show off. Most go back home disappointed, not all though. The people in charge are a lot, but not stupid. There is always a chance that if you show up you will get a job. It isn¡¯t even first come first serve, some people stand in line all day and then get hired. The majority however gets rejected. The day after they will stand in line again, and the day after that, and the one after that. Because there is always a chance that they will get a job and feed their families.


    It is a harsh but effective system, proved and tested through time. It disgusts him to his core. The government should protect its weakest citizens not prey on them. Contemplating the evil nature of his government isn¡¯t the reason he¡¯s here however. He slowly makes his way to the line with rejected people, who are wondering what to do with the rest of their day. Amidst so many people the soldiers don¡¯t notice him, and he moves around unobstructed.


    It doesn¡¯t take him long to find who he is looking for, a man leaning in an alley. There is a silver bell tied to a string about his wrist, which he sounds from time to time, announcing his presence. Behind the green scarf Karl grins, today he will make a difference. He walks towards the Silver Bell cartel member. Patiently waiting as he sells his product to the clients in front of him. When it is Karl¡¯s turn the man looks surprised.


    ¡°Green Raider eh? I don¡¯t see your people often, here for something fun or for business?¡± Karl slowly uncovers his mouth, his black veins standing out. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m here for business, definitely.¡± The silver bell is curious, until Karl whips out his gun and put it to the man¡¯s head. The other people in the alleyway are suddenly attentive, except for one guy who is so out of it he can just blankly stare. ¡°Is there anyone here who can relay a message to the Silver Bell cartel?¡± Karl shouts, his voice filled with excitement.


    A girl with a burn mark on her cheek nods uncertainly at him. ¡°Excellent. Let them know that the Green Raiders won¡¯t condone their filthy presence any longer. Any bell seen in the lowest district will be returned covered in blood!¡± Not one for long speeches he pulls the trigger, splattering the Silver Bell¡¯s brains all over the wall. It was messier than he had imagined it. Messier and easier, he doesn¡¯t feel guilty in the least. ¡°The same counts for the Aksokovs, the ravens will get what¡¯s coming to them.¡± The girl with the burn mark nods and runs of.


    Karl covers up his face again and leaves as well. Chances are good that the military will investigate, this is the reason they¡¯re here after all. Beneath the green scarf Karl smiles. The word is out now, the raiders and bells will go to war. He will finally have the chance to become a true hero, instead of a cog in the machine.


    ?


    The body of Joseph Amber is found by the authorities an hour or so later. Junior detective Strega is put on the case, the whole thing is rather low priority. Even though Strega is enthusiastic, she is overburdened. Another dead gang member hardly stands out. Since the Aksokovs started branching out gang members have been dropping left and right.


    Nobody puts any stock in the rumors that the Green Raider terrorist organization is taking over territory. They don¡¯t operate like the gangs, a few city blocks mean nothing to them, not when they want to take over the country. The green scarfs that start to pop up everywhere are just another way for the gangs to piss off the government.


    Besides, the whole thing takes place on the lowest level, so who cares? Up on the first level the situation report gets a once over from a minor bureaucrat and is then filed away. Nobody with any authority reads the report or is informed of the situation below. No contracts are made, no assassins get hired. Nobody knows about the increasing amount of obsoletes gathering to listen to a young man wearing a green scarf. Nobody knows, and nobody cares. Maybe they should.

 Chapter 4: The accidental death of Iris Dice

    Fifteen years ago.


    ¡°Welcome students. I¡¯m not one for long speeches so I will keep this short and to the point.¡± August¡¯s eyes went over the three rows of new recruits. ¡°The reason you have signed a contract with us differs from person to person. Some have signed because they believe in their duty and see this as the best way to fulfil said duty. Others might have less noble reasons. None of that matters now. The contract you have signed with either me or one of my representatives is binding. If you break it, we will eliminate you.¡±


    He paused for dramatic effect. ¡°However, if you keep to what has been agreed upon I guarantee that you will become excellent assassins. Lessons start at six o¡¯clock in the morning. You will be handed your roster on your way to the barracks. That¡¯s all, dismissed.¡± August marched off the podium and disappeared through a door, leaving a slightly bewildered student body behind.


    Eli looked at the other students, much like him they were trying to decide what to do next. Everyone was wearing the same clothes, giving the whole thing a rather martial feel. Grey linen shirt over black pants. They were all supposed to be assassins, but he doubted anyone here had ever killed someone. Except for a girl who was missing a chunk of her nose, she probably killed over a dozen people.


    ¡°This way you bunch of idiots.¡± Someone yelled at the top of their lungs. ¡°Get in line, take your roster and run towards the barracks.¡± When everybody hesitantly started moving in the direction of the voice it got louder and angrier. ¡°I¡¯m growing roots down here! Why the devil is this taking so long? Get into line!¡± As a line started to form I got a look at the person who the voice belonged to. It was a tiny bald man with the biggest moustache I had ever seen. He reminded Eli of the dwarfs from lord of the Rings. The thought made him chuckle.


    ¡°Hold the fuck up! Everybody stop what you¡¯re doing. Yes, you too, you laughing piece of shit.¡± The tiny bald man barked. Yelling seemed to be his regular tone of voice. ¡°This isn¡¯t how we¡¯re going to do things. When I say form a line everybody forms a fucking line within thirty seconds. For every second, real or imagined, I will have you all running around the field. Is that clear?¡± There were some muttered yesses and the dwarf grinned. ¡°I asked, is that clear?¡± The sheer volume of his voice had Eli¡¯s ears ringing. Not metaphorically, he couldn¡¯t even hear his own sir, yes sir, over the sound. ¡°Good. Now form a line.¡± The half-formed line became a straight line within fifteen seconds.


    ¡°Excellent, now if you would all pay attention. My name is Jarl Dobber. That is mister Dobber for you lot. I will be your physical educator, and as such I will do my very best to get you all into shape. Take your roster and jog towards the barracks. Boys to the right, girls to the left.¡± Nobody risked Jarl¡¯s ire as they waited for their roster. As they waited Eli took the opportunity to study his fellow students. They were all around his age and most were regular people, like him. A few people stood out, a giant woman with a lazy smile on her face, a boy with grey skin, the angry looking girl and a guy so skinny you could his ribs. Then again, every class had some weirdos in it.


    His turn came up and he accepted the roster. Dobber barely glanced at him before sending him on his way. He jogged towards the barracks, breathing in the fresh air. It was just a jog, nothing that would make him sweat. He had been going to soccer practice since he was five, curtesy of his dad. A wave of homesickness struck him. The past two days had been too crazy for him to stand still and think about home. He knew that if he lingered on the feelings too long he would get really upset. Deep within him was a fear that might just become reality. The distinct possibility that there wouldn¡¯t be a way home, that this was some kind of freak accident in universes or something and that he was stuck here.


    He entered the barracks, which was just a hall with a lot of bunkbeds. Behind two doors there should be showers and toilets he gathered. It was best not to think too much about his home or his family. Instead there were far more pressing matters to deal with, like which bed to take and what was actually on his roster. He chose one of the lower beds somewhere in the center of the hall. The roster itself was pretty self-explanatory, the days of the week were lined up with the subjects below that.


    His classes were a bit unorthodox, but still nothing beyond his imagination. ¡°You mind if I take the bed above you?¡± Somebody asked. Eli looked up, the guy standing in front of him was unearthly handsome. On earth he could have been a model or an actor, if he had the talent. ¡°Sure, the name is Eli.¡± They shook hands. ¡°Charles, you¡¯re from around here Eli?¡± Charles spoke in a cultured manner, which betrayed his good upbringing. ¡°No, I¡¯m not even from this country.¡± Charles nodded thoughtfully. ¡°An immigrant hmm, must have been strange getting your ordination?¡± He sounded sympathetic.


    ¡°You can say that, yes. It was very unexpected.¡± Charles nodded again. ¡°Going by your accent you¡¯re from the West somewhere, even though you look like an Imperial.¡± Having no clue where they were, or what this world even looked like on a map, Eli decided to go with the safe option of nodding. ¡°At least you¡¯re not from the monarchy, they have the most annoying accent in the world. Three languages in one country was bound to get messy. I doubt they even know their own official language.¡± Eli again went with the nodding. Going by how people had been talking about the monarchy it wasn¡¯t loved. Maybe hostile neighbors of some kind?


    It was maybe the biggest problem he had. He knew absolutely nothing about this world, but everybody expected him to. It made him a little angry, he knew it wasn¡¯t their fault, but if everybody just stopped asking him shit he wouldn¡¯t have to mask his ignorance all the time. ¡°You okay there?¡± Charles asked. ¡°Sorry, just thinking about people back home.¡± Eli lied. ¡°You left a lot of people?¡± A shadow flitted across Eli¡¯s face. ¡°Yeah, quite a few.¡± Charles saw Eli¡¯s expression and quickly changed subjects. ¡°So, I¡¯ve been looking at our roster and six o¡¯clock isn¡¯t going to work for me, I like to sleep you see.¡± Eli arched his eyebrows and his lips curled into a smile. ¡°I¡¯m sure drill sergeant Dobber will accommodate to my lord¡¯s wishes. Would you like a softer bed as well?¡±


    Charles chuckled in a very girlish manner, making Eli laugh, before they both knew it they were both roaring, slapping each other¡¯s backs. The joke hadn¡¯t even been that funny, but both had been tense, and they were very relieved to find a kindred spirit.


    ?


    Now.


    I¡¯m in my office, mentally going over my last job again. Elizabeth Aksokov, I can¡¯t seem to put her out of my mind. On some level I feel screwed, not money wise, everything that was promised was delivered. Yet, mister East was aware of my policies, my rules, and he found a loophole. Sure, Elizabeth was a criminal, who flooded the streets with snuff, but her death made matters worse.


    I¡¯m not so na?ve to think that if her brother hadn¡¯t taken over the snuff trade wouldn¡¯t have continued. Someone would have reached out to the farmers in the colony and started importing the poison. I don¡¯t feel guilty, not for killing someone who made poison her profession. I¡¯m angry, because my hypocritical bubble is burst. I feel used, since I worsened a problem, while being told that I would lessen it. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth reminding me of the old days.


    If I had been a different kind of assassin I might have gone after mister East. However, I¡¯m not some kind of superpowered murderer. I¡¯m just a man with a gun and some training. The syndicate employs hundreds of men like that. Still, my anger remains, and I have to do something with it. The way to strike against mister East is by attacking an asset of his. A corrupt government official, or an important smuggler. Someone with a contract already on his or her head, preferably government. A necessary death.


    I pop my head outside, finding Jesse at her desk, typing away at what I presume is another dreadful novel. ¡°Jesse, can you get me a cab.¡± She nods, already walking towards the door. ¡°Also, if the weather is dreadful, could you fetch my raincoat?¡± She answers in the affirmative. ¡°Lovely.¡± I step back inside my office, walking to a cabinet in the corner. I open the second drawer from the left, revealing a row of pistols. My eyes slide to one I recently bought from Victor. It is a nice piece, resembling the Browning HP-35, but with a more stylized barrel. I take it and close the drawer. From the first drawer I retrieve a loaded magazine, 9mm. I take my holster from the peg next to the door, and my suit jacket from the visitor¡¯s chair.


    A lot can be said about August Cabaneri and my relationship with him. One thing is certain though, without him I would have never learned how to properly dress myself. Jesse knocks on the door to inform me that my cab has arrived, just as straighten my tie. ¡°Will you be long?¡± She asks as she helps me into my coat. ¡°That depends. You don¡¯t have to wait for me to get back, just be sure to close up the office on your way out.¡± She offers me a top hat, which I decline. No matter how long I¡¯ve lived in this country I refuse to wear such a ridiculous hat.


    Jesse knows that of course. Just like she knows that it annoys me that I even own one of the damn things. Which is why she finds every excuse to bring it out. When she first found out not an hour would pass without me coming across the bloody thing. She hands me the cap I normally wear, her lips curled into a sardonic smile. ¡°Good luck.¡± I smile, a man can always use a bit more luck in his life.


    ?


    A short drive later I¡¯m standing in front of the club. They have replaced the curtains which hide what goes on inside. Instead of their usual red velvet they have now opted for a poisonous green. It adds to the gothic theme the mansion is styled in. The first time I saw it it reminded me of old horror movies. Not that you would find any squeaking floorboard inside. From the patio to the crested roofs everything is in supreme condition.


    Inside things are already in full swing. There was a time when I came here every night, but those days have passed. Ridiculous amounts of alcohol, questionable women and even worse decisions are better left in the past. Still, as I walk past a very naked alcove I¡¯m greeted by a few people. I hurriedly move on before they start to reminisce about the goat incident.


    The club harbors many different kinds of people, but you can generally divide them into four groups. The first being the people that work here. This varies from waiters, to poets, to prostitutes. Their main goal is getting paid, and for the suicidal acquiring blackmail material. All assassins hope that the employees go for the latter, since the bounty the club sets on potential blackmailers is nothing to scoff at. The second group of people are visitors. People who come once or twice to enjoy themselves. Then there are the regulars, for whom the club is as much a place of business as well as entertainment.


    The woman I¡¯m about to meet is part of the last variety, the truly depraved. Even within the most secluded club in the country they chose to close themselves off, giving in to the vilest cravings. I include the merchants that cater to these people into this group, since they offer things no person with any morals could accept. I generally despise these people, yet I¡¯m about to meet one.


    Mistress Alice Ouverte caters to a very specific audience, us. She only deals with assassins, giving them their dream contract. It doesn¡¯t sound like a very lucrative deal, but she gets half of the promised commission. You want a contract which allows you to torture your victims to death? No problem she can get it for you. It has been a very long time since I went to her. This is the third time I visit her, but she is always happy to see me.


    I shove the curtains aside of her alcove and am greeted by a cloud of smoke. ¡°My favorite customer, it has been so long.¡± The thick French accent, of which I¡¯m still not convinced is real, greets me. ¡°Can I offer you something? Wine? Cigarette? A tug on my pipe?¡± She winks at me. I blush slightly. Sue me, she is a beautiful woman. Her cream-colored skin, lush black hair, green eyes and all the right curves would make any man blush. She snickers at my embarrassment. ¡°Ah monsieur de Winter I always do so enjoy your company. What can I do for you?¡± I sit down and pick up one of the hoses of the hookah standing in the corner. ¡°I want to hurt someone.¡± I say. ¡°Not in the way you¡¯re imagining it.¡± I hastily add.


    She gives me a lazy smile. ¡°Mon ch¨¦rie, I would never believe that coming from you. Not when I remember the frightened boy who didn¡¯t want to kill good people.¡± I snort. ¡°If I was a frightened boy than you were indecisive girl, the age difference isn¡¯t that big.¡± She chuckles. ¡°So, you keep insisting.¡± She says. ¡°Enough reminiscing, I have an appointment soon, which I can¡¯t miss. The person you want to hurt is too powerful to hurt directly, yes?¡± I nod. ¡°I¡¯m not sure but I think that might be the case. Or the people he works for at least.¡± She nods, blowing a ring of smoke.


    ¡°Syndicate or government?¡± I tilt my head and give her a tired smile. ¡°It isn¡¯t as if there aren¡¯t any other groups with members out of my reach.¡± She waves the answer away, motioning for me to answer the question as she inhales deeply. ¡°Syndicate, goes by East, you heard of him.¡± She releases the smoke through her nose and nods. ¡°I know of him, yes. Never met him though. He is somewhere midlevel, but more valuable than your average member. He has a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, not every pie, just a lot of them.¡±


    I grimace, hurting him personally might be harder than I thought. ¡°But many pies mean more targets, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Alice shakes her head. ¡°The players don¡¯t put contracts on Syndicate business. They don¡¯t want to start a war, not even the ones who are capable of winning one.¡± As a shadow falls over my face she swoops in with the information I really want. She¡¯s had it all this time but has been waiting for the right dramatic moment. She¡¯s like that, Alice is. I have wondered if she¡¯s slightly mad in the past, but I know better, she¡¯s just bored.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°The Syndicate is a many layered organization. All of layers try to branch out into any direction they can. East and his people are no different. So far they¡¯ve been concentrating on manipulating markets, real estate schemes and the usual gang games in the lowest district. They however have hit a wall.¡± Alice is getting excited as she talks about the power struggles within the city.


    ¡°The military is interfering in their business, hunting terrorists. The terrorists themselves are bad for business as well, turning the locals against the Syndicate. What East needs is to expand his influence in the district governor¡¯s office, so that he can get the military to back off. To accomplish that he needs to evolve one of his minor bureaucrats into a major one.¡± I calmly waited until she finished explaining and got to the point.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been approached by a party that wishes to call a halt to the Syndicate¡¯s growing influence in the district. They wish to remain anonymous however, sorry.¡± I nod, I respect her discretion, especially since I¡¯m making use of it. ¡°Who is the contract for?¡± Alice smiles. ¡°Iris dice, an ordained bureaucrat in a minor position. The contract is an unnecessary one, but it will not appear in any file like that.¡± I raise my eyebrows. ¡°They want it to look like an accident.¡±


    I sigh, accidents are a pain in the ass. I specialize in what they call clean jobs, three or four bullets, maybe some knifework and the job is done. Accidents aren¡¯t in my field of expertise. They harder to set up than you would think and often require a lot of lying, additional costs and time. ¡°What about suicide?¡± Alice shakes her head. ¡°Terrorist attack?¡± She sighs. ¡°Mon ch¨¦rie, you know me better than that. If those were a possibility I would have mentioned them.¡± I narrow my eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve withheld information from me before.¡±


    For a second a hurt look crosses her face. ¡°That was different, and you know it.¡± She¡¯s right, I shouldn¡¯t go around opening old wounds. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, that was uncalled for.¡± The tension lifts. ¡°Are you taking the contract?¡± It depends on the question I¡¯m about to ask next. ¡°Has she committed a crime for which she hasn¡¯t been punished already. Just taking money from the Syndicate isn¡¯t good enough, everybody has done that at some point.¡± Alice mouth curls into a sadistic smile. ¡°It depends.¡± I frown. ¡°On what.¡± Her eyes gleam. ¡°How much time do you have?¡±


    I step out of the club about an hour later. Iris Dice¡¯s list of crimes is extensive and is still growing. Blackmail, extortion, forcing others into prostitution and a number of embezzlement schemes that would impress Jordan Belfort. She¡¯s forty-seven, divorced twice, no kids, a string of boyfriends, most of them weak-willed. Ambitious, driven, but untrustworthy. Somewhere in her career she stuck a knife in the wrong back or pissed off the wrong people, and they banished her to the lowest district for it. I doubt she will be missed.


    She lives on the third level, so that at least means I can orchestrate a traffic incident of some kind. I¡¯m lacking information however. I need to find out how she gets to work. when she eats. When she sleeps. How often she takes a walk to the general goods store. Where she does her criminal dealings. I need to know anything and everything to find the right window.


    ?


    Forty-seven years ago, in the lowest district, a girl was born to an impoverished family. In a community of laborers, who were all slowly starving to death, she wasn¡¯t a welcome surprise. Her mother died during childbirth, which shattered her father to pieces. The girl, Iris, wasn¡¯t anything special. There were hundreds of children in the exact same position, some in even more desperate ones.


    In the neighborhood Iris grew up in the obsolete were a common sight. The thick black veins just another part of the people. It is hard to follow one¡¯s destined path if worldly things like the labor market are blocking it. The obsolete used to be afraid. Fearing that the assassins would come in the night, or that the government would round them up. However, years of being ignored led to a realization; if you don¡¯t draw attention to your condition you will be left alone.


    So, the obsolete laborers kept their head down, doing just well enough to keep on living. Despite the hunger, despite the cold, they kept on going. Harold Dice understood those things. He understood that Iris¡¯ childhood was going to be a short one. More than anything he understood that he had to get her out of the district, regardless of the cost. So, he worked, illegally, for the Silver Bell cartel. He extorted the men and women he used to call friends. He pushed drugs that ravished his old neighborhood. He broke knees and skulls alike. And in the end, he succeeded.


    Every single crown he acquired went to a boarding school on the third level. He was an absent father at the best of times, but he got his daughter educated. Seven years Iris spent in The Lord¡¯s Home for the to be ordained. When finally the day of her ordination came Harold wasn¡¯t there to see it. She never found out what happened to her father, but as she became older she learned of the choices he had made. Harold¡¯s wasn¡¯t a wasted life, in the end he achieved what he set out to do, get his daughter out of the lowest district. That being an ordained bureaucrat would see her to the upper echelons of the first level he could have only dreamed of.


    Upon receiving her ordination Iris left the third level to be trained in her duties. She was a very eager student, filled with ideals and plans. She had never forgotten the hollowed out faces of her youth, or the blackened veins for that matter. But she was going to change all that, make the shattered lives whole again. She graduated at the top of her class, a prodigy. Dice was the name of a young woman who was going to make it far in the government.


    Within months of her graduation her name was well known in both Victoria as well as the capital. Her work ethos was unheard of, her drive appraised by all her superiors. Whenever the Mercian government uncovers a rare gem it is prone to shower it with attention and love. A high Iris rode, with full abundance. A full membership to Victoria¡¯s most elite club and all that it had to offer. A luxury apartment. The newest model car, with the best trained driver. A standing invitation to the high counsel in the capital. Everything she wanted was offered to her on a silver platter, all bought and paid for by Mercia¡¯s citizens.


    Yet, what nobody could understand was Iris¡¯ fixation on Victoria¡¯s lowest level. She ceaselessly negotiated on behalf of the ¡°citizens¡± there. She traded precious favors to get foodstuffs sent down, clinics opened, and sewers built. Whenever asked why she would simply smile, calling the lowest level the new frontier. That was a lie of course, the slums were nothing but a sinkhole, where business interests went off to die.


    As the years passed and Iris¡¯ efforts didn¡¯t come to fruition the tide of favors became a tiny stream, eventually being reduced to a trickle. Her supervisors where losing faith, her support was crumbling. But she was so close, if only she could open a well-funded police department, then the rest would follow. So, she soldiered on, biting through the sour part of the apple.


    Only she pressed too hard, making enemies out of allies, destroying her career in the progress. First her privileges were withdrawn. Then her friends stopped picking up the phone when she called. Until finally she was demoted and reassigned. They send her back to the slums she had crawled from.


    Being send back to her former home after the sights she had seen left a nasty taste in her mouth. She was angry and in her anger she made the wrong choices, made deals with the wrong people. She became a part of the problem she had been trying to solve. Just until she got back on top. Once she was in a position of power again she would resume her crusade against poverty and crime. She was thirty-eight when she got on that path. She is forty-seven now, once again so close to a position of authority. One more promotion and she would be a major player in the district governor¡¯s office.


    If she played her cards right she could be district governor within five years. Three, if she managed to hold on to the Syndicate¡¯s support. It was the first thing on her mind when she woke up, and the last thing when she went to sleep. She was going to fix everything, redeeming herself in the process.


    ?


    Iris is happy and also very drunk. Very grateful she hangs unto the coach driver¡¯s arm as he guides her to her carriage. If only it was a car. ¡°I hope ye don¡¯t mind me old friend.¡± The driver says, with a heavy western accent. ¡°¡¯s okay, I can ride double.¡± Everything is better than walking after all. The driver grunts appreciatively and guides her into the carriage. ¡°Where do you need to go miss?¡± It takes Iris a second to think of her home address, her mind automatically going to her first level apartment.


    It has been a long time since she was invited to a party like this. Much like the first time she had been terribly nervous of fucking it all up. She had drunk too much but remained steady until she got outside. Maybe it hadn¡¯t been the smartest decision, but when dealing with types like Thomas Aksokov it was confidence you needed, not smarts. The carriage starts moving.


    The driver¡¯s friend is sleeping, which suits Iris just fine. The other passenger is a very still sleeper, not moving at all. Iris wishes that Mark, her current boyfriend, was like that. Instead the oaf tosses and turns without restrained. Yet, he is sweet, and she likes that in a man. Maybe she should wake him up when she gets home. Give him a reward for being such a loyal man.


    After ten minutes or so the carriage halts. The driver opens the door and carries his sleeping friend outside. Probably drunk, Iris muses. The thought is shortly followed by another. Maybe the driver will carry her as well if she pretends to be really drunk. Pretending might not even be that hard, seeing that she actually is quite drunk.


    The carriage starts moving again. She¡¯s tired and the soft rocking motion of the carriage makes her aware of the fact that she hasn¡¯t slept in a while. Her eyes start drooping and her thoughts become hazy. Sometimes when you¡¯re about to fall asleep you get the feeling that you¡¯re actually falling. However, if you ignore that feeling, it goes away on its own. She ignores the feeling, instead focusing on pleasant thoughts. Thoughts like how well the party went, how there will be more in the future. She smiles and the carriage crashes into the lowest level, killing her instantly.


    ?


    I watch the carriage disappear over the edge of the third district. Setting this whole thing up took more than three weeks. It is the longest contract I¡¯ve ever completed. I¡¯m quite satisfied as the career of Iris Dice is cut short. Who knew what that woman would have done in a true position of power? The thought makes me shudder. Truly, we should make a collective effort to clean up scum like this. The bureaucracy really should install some solid anti-corruption laws, and an inquisition to back the new laws up.


    Getting a carriage for a decent price was the hardest part of this job. Surveilling the woman is part of my bread and butter, but I generally don¡¯t work with vehicles. Getting a body from the morgue to serve as a replacement for the driver had been easier than I anticipated. A few crowns to make the paperwork disappear was all it took. Who cares about a few bodies? The morgue clearly doesn¡¯t.


    It was fortunate that miss Dice had been in an intoxicated state. Deceiving people is usually a lot harder, especially when they are trained to spot liars. I light a cigarette, taking a drag. I had gotten back at East, in a roundabout manner, and was about to get payed for it. The whole project had taken a lot of time, but I didn¡¯t have much going on regardless. All in all, I was pleased. The whole was resolved now, unless East would try to get back at me for this. Something I doubted, this was an accident after all.


    When the authorities investigated, they would find a shattered carriage with a dead driver and a dead customer. When they started searching they would find the span of horses somewhere in the city, the story would shape itself from there. According to the authorities I¡¯m a good man, maybe tonight I did the right thing.


    ?


    In a city as big as Victoria the phones never stop ringing. There is always someone who needs to talk to someone at even the most impossible hour. Not that all calls are answered of course, nobody can be near the phone all the time. Nobody, except one man. He always picks up on the third ring, regardless of the hour or his location. The whole thing is almost unnatural.


    ¡°This is East, who am I speaking with?¡± Mister East¡¯s cold voice sounds through the line. ¡°Sir, I have some bad news, ordained bureaucrat 425 is dead. Her carriage crashed over the edge of the third district.¡± East sighs and pinches the bridge oh his nose. ¡°Any signs the carriage had been tampered with?¡± He asks. ¡°No sir, it seems to be an accident.¡± The minion on the other end of line hears him curse, but he doesn¡¯t care. He had been so confident that Dice could help him achieve the next stage. He had wanted her, not someone else, her. Her loss would have consequences he didn¡¯t really want to face.


    ¡°Standby for new orders, I will get back to you.¡± He hangs up. After a few minutes he dials another number. ¡°Mister East, I wasn¡¯t expecting a call from you.¡± A soft purring voice says on the other end of the line. ¡°Ma''am.¡± He acknowledges the woman. ¡°I have some bad news. I have run into a delay; the timeline will have to be moved back with a week.¡± The voice on the other end remains silent. A tiny beat of sweat rolls down mister East¡¯s cheek.


    ¡°This is unusual coming from you. When we deployed you in Armes you were more effective, we expected similar results here. North, West and South are on schedule, while they have less experience. Do you understand how that forms a problem?¡± The threat is less than subtle. ¡°I made a mistake ma''am, put too many eggs in one basket. It will not happen again.¡± When the woman on the other end of the line speaks again she is much friendlier. ¡°I certainly hope not. I¡¯m quite attached to you, you see, I would hate to let you go.¡± East swallows. ¡°I would hate to be let go ma''am.¡±


    She chuckles, the sound making his skin tingle. ¡°I will inform the others. Hedge your bets next time mister East. Planning a nationwide revolution is so hard when certain elements keep fucking up the time line.¡± She hangs up before he can respond. His hands are shaking, he needs a drink, and after that he needs a new plan. He had a long night and an even longer day in front of him.


    ?


    ¡°Your champion is lacking.¡± The King of the North¡¯s voice is filled with ridicule. ¡°After all these years you still have no faith in me?¡± The Queen of the East says, producing that odd purr of hers. ¡°You wound me great king. How long will it take you to learn to trust me? Another century, two?¡± The King of the North spits on the floor. ¡°I probably won¡¯t learn, not when your servants deliver such shaky performances.¡± She chuckles. ¡°As if you don¡¯t like a little risk, something to up the stakes.¡±


    The King of the West snorts some red powder from his hand. His eyes are glowing a sickly yellow as he looks up. ¡°A bit of action is always welcome.¡± The Queen of the south lays down a couple of cards on the table in front of her. ¡°I¡¯m willing to bet Armes that East¡¯s champion will fix his earlier mistake and reclaim the lost week.¡± The King of the North spits on the floor again. ¡°I will take that bet.¡± The Queen of the South¡¯s mouth curls into a smile before moving a copper crown to the other side of the table. ¡°I thought you would.¡± She mutters.


    The King of the West bangs his head against a wall. ¡°I¡¯m done sitting here!¡± He announces loudly. He stalks out of the room, kicking over a chair as he leaves. ¡°I¡¯m betting everything I own that he¡¯s going to drink, fight and fuck.¡± The Queen of the South announces. Nobody takes the bet. A few seconds later they hear the double doors leading to the mansion grounds being thrown open. The Queen of the South watches through the window as the King of the West starts yelling at the help for his car.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to drink, fight and fuck!¡± The King of the West yells, presumably answering the butler. For a second the other three individuals in the room wonder how this man ever got in their midst, then they put it out of their minds. ¡°I presume this meeting is over then?¡± The King of the North inquires. Outside the revving of a car engine is heard, before it takes off with a shriek. ¡°Yes, I would think so.¡± The Queen of the East sounds annoyed.


    The King of the North doesn¡¯t say anything more and leaves as well. ¡°Men!¡± The Queen of the East huffs as both kings have left. ¡°As if you¡¯re any better.¡± The Queen of the South snorts. ¡°I bet I am.¡± The first woman purrs. ¡°I take that bet.¡±

 Chapter 5: The Ringing of Silver Bells

    Fifteen years ago


    Eli, Charles and Moose were walking in a close formation. Moose was on point, clearly the one most suitable for the position. The enormous girl was very professional out in the field, unlike the other students she didn¡¯t joke around or shoot at random targets.


    She put a fist in the air, signaling the two boys behind her to stop. ¡°Two enemies, standing on the eleven and two, target at twelve.¡± She rapidly signaled. Both Charles and Eli nodded. Eli¡¯s heart was racing, it was like gaming, only better. The weapons they were using were for training purposes, the bullets couldn¡¯t wound or kill, but they hurt like hell. The danger of feeling pain when shot made the stakes much higher. ¡°3. 2. 1. Go!¡± The three turned around the corner, shooting at the targets. It went off without a hitch, Moose was good like that.


    The girl came from a prestigious military family, planning missions and executing them exactly according to design was in her blood. Charles and Eli had quickly realized that, after two major fuck ups. Charles¡¯s plans were too complicated, it¡¯s many moving parts seldom going according to design. Eli¡¯s plans were the direct opposite. He wasn¡¯t one for grand strategies or plots within plots. He liked things to be simple, effective and quick, but his game plans were too predictable. Moose used a perfect mix of the two styles.


    Eli had been surprised when Dobber had divided them into three men strike forces. He felt less like a ninja, sulking in the dark, preparing to eliminate the enemy, and more like a marine. Even though Dobber was a hard ass he was fair. You did your pushups and jumping jets and you would get through the day with a minimal amount of yelling. Really it wasn¡¯t all that different from soccer practice. The whole purpose of the training was just a bit more sinister.


    ¡°Students de Winter, Kingsburg and Bancroft, please report for your scores.¡± We jogged towards Dobber, who was on the edge of the practice terrain, holding a loudspeaker. They were a short time later followed by the students they had shot. ¡°That was a fine performance. Bancroft, good plan, smooth follow up. De Winter, fine shooting, confirm your hit next time. Kingsburg, be a bit sparser with you ammunition. Your aim is true, trust that you got the job done. You all pass, dismissed.¡±


    Eli was sweating as he jogged towards the barracks. ¡°I¡¯m going for a shower and a drink.¡± Charles announced. ¡°Can I join?¡± Moose asked. ¡°Shower or drink?¡± Charles wriggled his eyebrows. Moose didn¡¯t respond, smiling instead. ¡°Break it up love birds, we still have that assignment for diplomacy.¡± The disdain dripped from Eli¡¯s voice. He absolutely hated diplomacy. It was like history in high school, boring, long winded and mostly about people who died a long time ago.


    Moose and Charles both gave me a mean smile. ¡°Already finished it.¡± They both announced. ¡°You got to be kidding me. You¡¯re seriously going out, leaving me to work on the world¡¯s most boring assignment by myself?¡± There were more mean smiles, followed by some bickering.


    It had been almost two months since Eli had stranded in this new world. Yet, he felt as if he had been here for years. Cabaneri Incorporated was a lot like his old high school. He had fit in easily, made two friends, done a couple of really cool things. He suffered the occasional bout of homesickness, but he was far from the only one, together they pulled through. The whole ordained assassin business had become an afterthought at this point. After all, he wouldn¡¯t have to use any of the things he had learned after he got home.


    As Eli was taking a shower, Charles standing a few meters from him doing the same, they noticed something strange. The veins in their arms were slowly turning black.


    ?


    Now.


    ¡°Jesse can you run a few errands for me?¡± Jesse answers in the affirmative and her boss gives her a list. None of the assignments fit with her job description, but she¡¯s used to it. Eli de Winter is a very strange man. He disappears back into his office, a short while later the sound of music reaches her.


    When the bureau assigned her to Eli she hadn¡¯t known what to expect. Ordained assassin de Winter, former member of Cabaneri Incorporated. Once found guilty of being obsolete, now redeemed. The Bureau¡¯s file on him was extensive but lacked rather crucial details. Such as where the man had come from and how he got to Mercia. There were no records before his sudden appearance at the immigration office.


    Even though the assignment was dangerous and strange she had taken it. She had inserted herself into Eli¡¯s life as his secretary. The first thing she found out was that Eli kept his secrets close. He talked little about himself and even less about his contractors. All his correspondence was in code, one she cracked after a while. However, even decoded, the letters were hard to follow. They were all about amounts of money being transferred from one account to another. The accounts themselves, or the institutions they belonged to, were never named. Even upon closer inspection there wasn¡¯t a single crown that moved on Eli¡¯s registered accounts. The whole thing had been infuriating.


    In the five years Jesse had been Eli¡¯s secretary she had made one appointment. There wasn¡¯t a single reason for the assassin to even have a secretary. He did everything himself, unloading meaningless jobs on her. Had she really been an ordained novelist doubling as a secretary she would have quit ages ago. But, Eli was her assignment. So, she kept her head down and did what he asked. The Bureau didn¡¯t recall her, even when she reported that he didn¡¯t do anything strange or especially criminal. Now, five years later, she was still at his side.


    She would be lying if she said she doesn¡¯t like him. He is polite, occasionally funny and surprisingly empathetic when it comes to her worries. For a former criminal and a professional murderer, he is surprisingly human. She looks at the list, there is grocery shopping on there. She sighs, then goes to grab her coat.


    It is cold outside, winter is dragging its feet. At least it isn¡¯t snowing, Jesse fucking hates snow, it makes everybody¡¯s work that much harder. ¡°Jesse, over here.¡± From the other side of the street Amanda waves at her. A few seconds later the woman joins her. ¡°You¡¯ve been shopping?¡± Jesse nods at the bags Amanda is carrying. ¡°There is so little to do these days, now that Benjamin is out of the country.¡± The other woman sulks. ¡°So you decided to empty the stores?¡± Jesse¡¯s arched eyebrows make Amanda pout. ¡°It¡¯s not as if I can¡¯t afford it. Benjamin won¡¯t even notice transactions this small.¡± Amanda seems disappointed by that, maybe she wanted Benjamin to notice.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re doing mister de Winter¡¯s groceries again?¡± Going by Amanda¡¯s tone she disapproves. ¡°Yes, I am, what about it?¡± Maybe Jesse is a bit aggressive, but she doesn¡¯t want to hear Amanda badmouth him. The other woman gives her a knowing smile. ¡°A bit protective, are we? Tell me, how are things going with mister de Winter? Have you found out how to get closer to him?¡± The question is an awkward reminder of the conversation the two of them had two years after Jesse started working for Eli.


    At the time she had been desperate to get him, so that she could move on to the next assignment. After seeing how Amanda dealt with her frosty husband she had asked the woman for help. Amanda had, of course, misinterpreted the question as Jesse trying to seduce her boss. Ever since that conversation the woman kept asking if Jesse had succeeded in her efforts. The most annoying part of it was that Jesse blushed every time Amanda asked. Apart from that repeating bit of awkwardness she actually liked Amanda.


    The other woman chuckles upon seeing the expected blush, then mercifully moves on to another topic. They chat for a bit as Jesse posts two letters, picks op dry cleaning and shops for groceries. Amanda is excellent company, she asks the right questions, has countless entertaining anecdotes and knows the latest gossip. The two of them are so engrossed in their conversation that time passes without the two of them noticing. Before Jesse knows it, she is standing in front of the office again.


    ¡°Now then honey, you should come over for dinner some time.¡± Amanda says, as she kisses both Jesse¡¯s cheeks. ¡°You should bring mister de Winter. Maybe a social event where you show up as a duo will awaken something in him.¡± Jesse grins awkwardly. ¡°Yeah, maybe, you never know.¡± She mumbles. ¡°Give my best to your brother. Tell him I would love to see him once he returns from the front.¡± It is an inappropriate request, but Amanda was never fazed by that sort of thing. ¡°I will.¡± Jesse says as the other woman turns to leave.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Quietly Jesse enters the building that doubles as her boss¡¯s house and office. It is a nice building, with an arched roof, blue steel window frames and polished wooden door. It must have cost a fortune, considering that it was built on the first level, a short walk away from city hall. Where Eli got the cash from to buy it is a mystery. It has something to do with the contracts he completed when he worked for the Cabaneri corporation. The Bureau never got to access those files. The entire case is locked behind retributory seals, nobody will ever see them.


    Inside the doors to Eli¡¯s office are closed, but sound comes from behind them. A woman¡¯s voice, clearly upset, and Eli¡¯s, calm and reassuring as usual. Jesse puts the groceries away, returning just in time to see a crying woman exit the office. She is followed by Eli, who looks concerned. ¡°It will all be taken care of ma¡¯am. I will call you when it is done.¡± The woman sniffles a thanks and disappears through the front door.


    ¡°A new case?¡± Jesse casually asks. Eli is lingering by the front door. ¡°Hmm? Yes, indeed, a new case.¡± She is hesitant to probe, Eli gets prickly when asked too many questions about his business. ¡°Today or later?¡± He looks up. ¡°I just want to know whether I will be cooking for two tonight.¡± She quickly adds. He considers her answer, even after five years he doesn¡¯t trust her. She doesn¡¯t take it personally, he trusts nobody.


    For as long as she has known him he has never brought anybody home. There have been clients, but those visited the office. As far as she¡¯s aware she¡¯s the only one who has been invited into his home area. It makes her feel a tiny bit special, even when she knows it makes no sense to feel that way. Eli is paranoid. But within his profession the question is not whether you¡¯re paranoid but whether you¡¯re paranoid enough.


    ¡°Later, this contract will take time.¡± Jesse nods and a silence falls over them. She wonders what he is thinking. Is he worried, angry or something else? It is like looking at a mannequin, his face never reveals anything. There have only been a handful of times she saw the mask come off. Only one of those times it was due to happiness. She sometimes wonders whether he¡¯s happy. There is no reason he shouldn¡¯t be, he¡¯s fulfilling his destined path, he¡¯s rich and he¡¯s healthy. Yet, his smiles so seldom reach his eyes.


    ¡°How¡¯s you brother?¡± He asks, breaking the silence. ¡°My brother? Oh, he¡¯s fine. There¡¯s currently a ceasefire in place so his unit is doing nothing.¡± She¡¯s relieved, it doesn¡¯t take much for her to admit it. She never stops worrying about her brother, always fearing for the news that he won¡¯t make it home. ¡°That¡¯s good. The war should be over soon, he might even get stationed in the city.¡± If only she was that lucky.


    ¡°On an unrelated note, what do you know about the Silver Bell cartel?¡± Jesse is surprised by the question. ¡°Not that much. They sell Breath and some other drugs on the third and fourth. They¡¯re not from Mercia, almost all are here illegal. That is what the bureaucrats say at least.¡± He seems to think about her answer. ¡°I thought Breath was going out of style?¡± She nods. ¡°Yeah, it is inferior to Snuff. Rumor has it that the Silver Bells are being pushed out by the Aksokovs and some new player.¡± Jesse shrugs. ¡°Not that it matters. The Syndicate doesn¡¯t allow other activity than their own in the higher districts. As for the factory district, there are no clients.¡± Eli looks at her questioningly. ¡°The factories ban workers who use for life, nobody is willing to risk it.¡± He nods, it makes sense.


    ¡°So, if you wanted to find a member of the cartel you would need to search in the lower districts.¡± Jesse shrugs and nods. ¡°I¡¯m not an expert, but I guess so, yeah.¡± He grunts a thanks and disappears into his office. He leaves the door open and she can see him rummage around, opening drawers, picking up weapons and putting them down again. What exactly he is looking for she doesn¡¯t know. Eventually he picks up a small gun and nods appreciatively.


    He comes back. ¡°Listen, I want you to take this, do you know how to use it?¡± He hands her the gun and she takes it. ¡°My uncle thought me on his farm.¡± She lies smoothly. ¡°But why would I need one now.¡± Eli gives her a worried look. ¡°I¡¯ve heard how the cartels deal with people they have a problem with. They go after their friends and family, cut them up and send them back in parts. I don¡¯t want you to be without protection, seeing you¡¯re a close associate of mine.¡±


    Jesse wonders what the hell kind of cartels they have wherever it is that Eli comes from. The Silver Bells may be conscienceless dealers and ruthless, but even when making an example they kept it somewhat civil. The kind of barbarism Eli described was beneath them.


    ¡°Are you coming?¡± Eli asks as he walks towards the door. ¡°Coming?¡± She asks, the gun still in her hand. ¡°Yeah, I thought it would be nice to go out for dinner. To spare you from cooking.¡± She was about to say that she didn¡¯t mind cooking for him when an imaginary Amanda smacked her on the back of her head. ¡°Yes, I would love to, let me grab out coats.¡± There is a slight smile on his face as she hurries to the coatrack. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare to bring back that stupid hat.¡± He calls after her. For once she doesn¡¯t, even if it looks good on him.


    ?


    It¡¯s been two days since Jesse and Eli had dinner together. Eli has been out mostly, chasing leads. She looks at the clock, it is already late, but she has a feeling it will get later before Eli gets back. Normally she would have gone home hours ago, but he had requested that she stayed until he got back. It was an unusual request, which made her worry.


    About two hours after midnight a car stops in front of the house. Jesse walks towards the door, ready to take Eli¡¯s hat and coat. He stumbles in however wearing neither. ¡°Call the surgeon.¡± He croaks. Blood is seeping through his right hand, leaving a trail on the floor. As Jesse rushes to the phone she notices that he¡¯s clutching something in his left hand.


    ¡°Doctor Devehlin¡¯s office, how may I assist you?¡± Jesse concentrates. ¡°We need the doctor¡¯s assistance, name is de Winter.¡± She faintly hears the rustling of paper on the other end of the line. ¡°De Winter, indeed, I assume its urgent?¡± The woman¡¯s calm is infuriating. ¡°Yes, it is fucking urgent, he¡¯s bleeding badly, damn it.¡± There is a chuckle on the other end of the line. ¡°They always are. The doctor will arrive shortly. Please try to keep pressure on the wound.¡±


    The woman on the other end hangs up. Hadn¡¯t she been on the verge of panic she would have remarked on the rudeness of the doctor¡¯ secretary. She rushes to Eli¡¯s side; the bleeding is getting worse. He is profusely sweating and there is something wrong with his eyes. The whites are turning yellow. ¡°Cat?¡± Eli suddenly rasps. ¡°Keep pressure on the wound, the doctor is on his way.¡± Jesse says. ¡°Cat, how¡¯s mom?¡± Eli ignores her completely, it isn¡¯t her he is seeing.


    The doorbell rings and Jesse stands up. ¡°See, the doctor is here, everything will be okay.¡± Her voice is shaky, she is talking to calm herself down. Suddenly he grabs her arm in a death grip. ¡°You can¡¯t tell mom Cat, not this time.¡± There is an intensity to his voice that scares her, even though he isn¡¯t talking to her. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± She squeaks. ¡°It would ruin our vacation.¡± He releases her.


    The doorbell rings again and Jesse runs to let the surgeon in. The doctor is a man of average height, bald, wearing tiny round glasses. ¡°The patient is in the side room I presume?¡± She nods, and he marches past her. ¡°Mister de Winter, do you know who I am?¡± Eli mumbles something intangible. ¡°This is going to make things harder. Miss secretary could you hold mister de Winter down, I¡¯m about to sedate him.¡± Eli struggled as she tried to keep him down. ¡°Now now mister de Winter, we¡¯re just trying to help.¡± Eli grunted and spit at the doctor, before slowing down, finally settling. ¡°Going by mister de Winter¡¯s responses to minor stimulations I assume he was poisoned. I will now examine the wound.¡±


    It is light when the doctor is finally done. Eli is peacefully sleeping on the couch, his waist covered in bandages. ¡°Mister de Winter was holding on to these quite tightly, I suggest you keep them safe.¡± Doctor Devehlin hands her a pair of silver bells, covered in blood. ¡°He is to move as little as possible, least the stitches rupture. I left him three tinctures, the green one he is to take in the morning, the red and blue ones at night. I expect the usual payment in the regular account within the week. Please let mister de Winter know.¡± He nods at Jesse and leaves.


    She checks on Eli, who is still asleep. God in heaven, she¡¯s so tired, she¡¯s been up for hours. This isn¡¯t the first time she scheduled an appointment with the surgeon. There was another incident three years back, a contract gone bad. But it hadn¡¯t been Eli who had done the bleeding back then. She folded the bloody bells back into his hand, then headed off to the spare bedroom. It was going to be a busy few weeks.


    ?


    Thomas Aksokov is a happy man, a rich man as well, these days. He whistles happily as he strolls through the rather nice safe house. ¡°You know, when El started up this whole operation I thought it would be a temporary thing. Just a way to fund the project she was working on. However, I¡¯ve found that I rather like being in charge.¡± He smiles at the men kneeling on the ground, rifles pointed at their heads.


    ¡°But, to be in charge means that you have to have an idea where you are going. Because your trusted soldiers don¡¯t know, do they Dimitri?¡± Dimitri, Thomas¡¯ second in command grins. ¡°Just here for the fighting and the money.¡± Thomas nods at him, before turning his gaze back to the kneeling men. ¡°Right he is. So I thought long and hard of what I wanted. I found just the thing. Why stop with just a few blocks, a couple of dealers and some snuff? Why not take everything? The entire district, gambling houses, brothels, fight pits, bars, everything.¡±


    Thomas throws his hands in the air. ¡°But, all these things are already owned by others. So, I figured that instead of building these enterprises I will take them from others. Which brings us here, to you, proud Silver Bells.¡± He grins at Dimitri. ¡°Is it a good speech? I thought of it on the way over.¡± Dimitri gives a thumbs up. ¡°Good mix between intimidating and familiar, I like it. Next time, maybe you shouldn¡¯t tell them the plan.¡± Thomas nods appreciatively at the feedback. ¡°I will keep it mind, Dimi, thanks. Good that this was a test round.¡± He gives the signal and the kneeling men all get shot.


    ¡°Now, to send the right message, I want you to cut out their eyes and replace them with their bells. Hang the bodies by the neck around the borders of our territory. Between us and the green scarfs the sound of bells will soon go extinct.¡± He chuckles. ¡°You know, I¡¯m enjoying this far more than I expected.¡±

 Chapter 6: Endings and Beginnings

    Fifteen years ago.


    ¡°By now you will have seen the marks on your body. The black infection which is slowly creeping through your veins. The signs that set apart the obsolete from those that follow the path.¡± August Cabaneri¡¯s voice boomed through the hall in which the student body had gathered.


    ¡°Had you been a laborer you would start to feel sluggish, unmotivated to try and make something your life. Had you been a merchant you would start seeking release in vice and gambling, insuring your own destruction. However, you¡¯re all different. You are assassins, and that means that the infection will change you.¡± Eli shuddered, but kept his eyes on the stage August was standing on.


    ¡°Within the week you will all feel a need, an unholy hunger. You might be able to ignore it for a while as your veins turn black, but in the end you will succumb. When you do, you will turn into a monster worse than any beast. You will murder anyone and everything, right up until the day the ordained retributor ends you.¡±


    August smiled. ¡°I will not allow that to happen. You are my students, ergo you are my future employees, I must protect my investment. Which is why I have purchased Mercia¡¯s worst to be executed by your hands. Until the day I deem you ready for your first real contract I will keep your feet on the path of the righteous. That will be all, dismissed.¡± And just like that the man marched off.


    For a moment the hall was silent, then everybody started to talk at once. ¡°We¡¯re going to kill someone, today?¡± Eli almost shouted at Charles, his face white as a sheet. Charles, looking a bit pale himself nodded. ¡°It seems that way, yes.¡± The other boy mumbled.


    Dobber marched onto the stage. ¡°When I call your name follow me. Abbot.¡± Every ten minutes or so Dobber returned to pick up another student. Once called the students didn¡¯t return to the hall. Far too soon Dobber called Eli¡¯s name. ¡°De Winter, follow me.¡± Eli swallowed as he walked to Dobber. ¡°Sir, you should wait for w to call on me.¡± He haphazardly tried. Dobber¡¯s arched eyebrows were his only answer.


    They left the hall through a steel door Eli hadn¡¯t seen before. Then again, this was the second time he had entered the hall since he had been recruited. They entered a corridor without windows and a whole lot of doors. They walked past a number of doors before Dobber opened one, ushering Eli inside.


    ¡°There is a bucket in the corner if you need to barf. Weapons are on the table, pick the one you¡¯re the most comfortable with. Leave through the other door once it is done.¡± Dobber turned around and was about to walk away when Eli stopped him. His hand was shaking and he was sweating, struggling to even keep a hold on Dobber¡¯s jacket. ¡°You¡¯re going to leave me?¡± There was a tremor in his voice he was unfamiliar with.


    ¡°Listen kid, you gotta do this. If you don¡¯t the retributor will put you down. If it helps, this is what you¡¯re meant to do. God set your feet on this path for a reason, don¡¯t stray from it.¡± He slowly untangled Eli¡¯s hand from his arm. ¡°Take as long as you need, we have more than enough room. Remember, the first one is the hardest, after this it will all get easier.¡± Dobber patted Eli on the shoulder and left, closing the door behind him.


    Eli¡¯s legs were unsteady as he looked around the room. There was a curtain between him and the person he was about to kill. His eyes found the bucket in the corner of the room and the table. Like a drunk man he walked towards the table. A thin wire, a knife, a syringe and a pistol were lying on the table. He stared at the four items for what seemed like an eternity. ¡°Hey kid, what¡¯s taking so long?¡± A voice rasped making Eli jump in surprise.


    Het contemplated saying nothing, but a part of him was curious. Slowly he walked towards the curtain and pulled it aside. Eli wasn¡¯t sure what he had expected, maybe an enormous bulky man covered in gang tattoos or something, but it wasn¡¯t anything like that at all. The man he was facing was old and blind in one eye. The man¡¯s other eye was crystal blue, like a frozen lake. ¡°No weapon? Kid, you aren¡¯t going to beat me to death, are you? That is a bad way to go.¡±


    The shaking got worse. There was no way in hell Eli could do this, especially not now he had looked the man in the eye. ¡°Shit.¡± He whispered. The old man smiled unapologetically. ¡°I am your first.¡± He stated and Eli nodded. ¡°Your first is important boy. Your first you never forget. It is him who haunts your dreams at night. And although you may increase the amount of ghosts, he¡¯s always there.¡± There was something tired in his voice. ¡°What¡¯s your name boy?¡± Eli hesitated, was there something the man could do with his name? ¡°Eli¡± He swallowed again. ¡°My name is Eli.¡±


    The old man nodded at the table. ¡°Pick the gun Eli. The syringe is a coward¡¯s weapon, the wire is to set an example and the knife,¡± The man paused, then grimaced. ¡°the knife is for personal matters.¡± Eli just remains still, staring at the old man, he must be crazy or have a death wish or something. ¡°Come on boy, you know it is the right thing to do. You must follow the path, just like I followed mine.¡±


    Eli¡¯s hand closed around the pistol. It was cold and after two months of training with fire arms also familiar. The old man smiled. ¡°Now, the next part is going to take courage. They don¡¯t tell you this Eli, but you have to be brave to stand in front of a human being and pull the trigger. It is a hard thing to do, especially when you feel you understand the person facing the barrel.¡± Eli looked at the pistol in his hand and then back at the man.


    ¡°Listen Eli, I know this is going to be hard but I¡¯m going to tell you my name.¡± The old man coughed. ¡°Because if you don¡¯t know it will haunt you for the rest of your life.¡± With sudden clarity Eli knew that he didn¡¯t want to know. He had no interest in knowing this kind old man¡¯s name, not when he was going to kill him. ¡°It¡¯s Keith Randal and I have taken the lives of more than a hundred men.¡± The pistol that Eli had raised lowered. ¡°Don¡¯t lower your gun boy, I deserve to die, and you are the one that needs to do it. An ordained assassin, send by God to end my life. Anything less simply won¡¯t do.¡± Keith grinned. ¡°I don¡¯t want to die by some petty thug¡¯s hand, or at the end of an executioner¡¯s blade, but a man ordered by God to destroy the worst of the worst,¡± Keith¡¯s smile got wider. ¡°that sounds perfect. Now face me Eli, watch the light drain from my eye! Do it!¡±


    The gun snapped up and fired a 9mm bullet into Keith¡¯s chest. The sound of thunder filled Eli¡¯s ears, but that might have been his own heartbeat. Keith slammed against the back of the chair, a red stain growing on his pristine white shirt. Keith didn¡¯t have any more last words to offer as he bled out quickly. Eli¡¯s aim had been true, a direct hit to the heart.


    The pistol fell to the ground and Eli backed away. He had just killed a man, a living breathing human being. A wave of nausea hit him and he ran for the bucket. When he was done puking he tried his very best to avoid looking at Keith¡¯s corpse. He kept his eyes focused on the door, walking straight to it. He opened the door, walked through it and closed it behind him. If he tried very hard he might just be able to pretend this whole thing didn¡¯t happen.


    As a ghost he walked through a corridor, it was similar to the one he had walked through on the way to Keith¡¯s execution. ¡°Eli de Winter, this way please.¡± A kind voice said. Eli looked up and saw a woman wearing a white lab coat. ¡°Before we get started there is something important we must see to first.¡± She retrieved a wad of red notes from her pocket. ¡°Two hundred Mercian crowns, for a job well done.¡± Eli took the notes, noticing that his hands were no longer shaking. ¡°Now that that¡¯s behind us I want to begin our session by stating the following; Eli de Winter, you are a good man.¡±


    ?


    now.


    I sit up. ¡°Aw, shit.¡± The wounds from my last contract still hurt. It has been a couple of days but the client still hasn¡¯t been informed. I simply haven¡¯t felt up to it. Today however I¡¯m finally going to take care of business. ¡°Jesse, you in?¡± I hear movement and a few seconds later she appears from the spare bedroom, looking pristine as always.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°I swear to God, if you¡¯re going to insist on doing your own grocery shopping again I¡¯m going to shoot you.¡± She¡¯s high spirited. ¡°No, that¡¯s not it. Could you set an appointment for later today with Madam Gomez?¡± I scribble the number on a piece of paper and hand it to Jesse. Her face is a bit red and I wonder why, it¡¯s not like I gave her something precious.


    I¡¯m not being fair to her. Jesse took care of me when I couldn¡¯t do so myself and I really should rely on her more. After all, that¡¯s what I pay her for. It is, however more than that, these past few days I¡¯ve seen another side of her. I always considered her to be a bit airheaded and unfocused, but she really came through for me. I¡¯ve caught myself staring at her from time to time, but it is not a line of thought I wish to entertain. I¡¯ve been down roads like those before and in my line of work they seldom end well.


    I grimace as I walk towards the shower. The doc said that the whole thing should be over in a couple of weeks. I¡¯m not in a hurry to get back out there again. I have two months, one and a half before symptoms start showing, I intend to make the most of it. Sometimes we need a reminder that it is time to take a holiday, getting stabbed in the stomach is a pretty good one.


    A short shower later I¡¯m dressing myself as slowly and painlessly as possible. Jesse knocks and enters without permission just as I¡¯m buttoning my shirt. ¡°You are aware that the point of knocking is to announce your presence so that the other party can make themselves representable?¡± I ask drily. ¡°Maybe if the other party didn¡¯t bleed all over me I would consider it.¡± She responds, her lips curling into a very sarcastic smile. ¡°Hand me my jacket, would you?¡± she complies. ¡°So, madam Gomez, that isn¡¯t a local name.¡± I shake my head. ¡°She came here when the civil war in the People¡¯s Republic of Navarra started.¡±


    There is surprise on Jesse¡¯s face, I know where it comes from. Most immigrants don¡¯t make it far in Mercia, unless they have a very special ordination. ¡°She¡¯s a teacher, a good one too. They put her to work in one of the better schools. She married up from there, an aristocrat parent I believe.¡± I¡¯m not willing to tell her more and Jesse doesn¡¯t press, she knows that it is an aspect of the business I don¡¯t like to involve anyone in.


    ¡°She will be here in an hour, do you need anything special?¡± She asks. ¡°Tissues, the matter is rather personal and I couldn¡¯t offer any before.¡± She nods and walks towards the door. ¡°Oh and Jesse?¡± She halts. ¡°I greatly appreciate your assistance these last few days. You¡¯ve been a real help when it mattered most, I won¡¯t forget it.¡± She turns and gives me a beaming smile. ¡°Just doing my job.¡± For a second I wonder which job that would be, because most secretaries don¡¯t nurse their boss back to health, then she¡¯s gone and I let the matter lie.


    ?


    Business has been slow the past few weeks. Ever since Victor sold his prime long distance piece the people that have come into the shop only bought boring weapons. Pistols and carbons, it is all everybody seems to be interested in these days. Not the good ones either, just regular cheep merchandise. It has all been terribly boring.


    ¡°If this continues I might have to go harass Vlad.¡± He mutters as he puts an ugly yellow coat in the trash. The bell above the door rings and immediately Victor perks up. With a big smile he steps around a rack of green coats to greet his new victi- clients. ¡°Welcome my friends to Victor¡¯s where prices are as volatile as bullets, how can I help you?¡±


    The people standing in the door opening do not look very friendly. They¡¯re all wearing long coats, gloves and hats. Their faces are covered by green scarfs so that only their eyes are visible. ¡°Karl, this can¡¯t be the place, where would he even hide the merchandise?¡± A female voice asks, disdain in her voice. Victor, entirely used to this kind of attitude just smiles broadly. ¡°I doubt you¡¯re here for a not so new new coat. Although you could use one. I will bring out my other merchandise, yes?¡±


    The man named Karl steps forwards. ¡°That would be much appreciated.¡± Victor waggles to the back and flicks the switches. The surprise in the woman¡¯s eyes as the coats disappear, only to be replaced by weapons, is worth suffering the disdain. ¡°Please ladies and gentleman take a look, if you see anything you like shout and I will come, yes?¡± Karl¡¯s companion spread through the store, but the man himself doesn¡¯t make a move.


    ¡°Victor, isn¡¯t it?¡± Karl asks and Victor smiles and nods. ¡°I¡¯m sure that you¡¯re having trouble making ends meet as it is, don¡¯t you?¡± Victor¡¯s smile disappears as he hears Karl¡¯s tone. ¡°I can¡¯t complain, in the motherland things were much worse.¡± Karl nods. ¡°I believe you comrade Victor. Times are hard as they are, which is why I must ask for a favor.¡± Victor¡¯s eyes narrow. ¡°I want to buy everything you have to offer, truly I do, but payment in full will have to wait.¡± Karl nonchalantly picks up one of the pistols. ¡°Just until the revolution has been won and the people are back in control. That will be a manner of months, believe me. The cause will be very grateful for your patience, comrade.¡± Karl¡¯s tone indicates that the discussion is over.


    ¡°You know why I fled the motherland, mister Karl?¡± Victor asks, his voice even. ¡°Enlighten me.¡± Karl grunts. ¡°Because a man there threatened my family. Not because I was afraid of him you see? Yes he was powerful and he had many friends, but that wasn¡¯t the reason I fled. No, the reason I left was because after I killed his friends, his nephews, his cousins, his daughter and the man himself my pakhan wasn¡¯t willing to pardon me.¡± Victor grinned. ¡°Now, I suggest you look around for the merchandise you want, comrade, and pay me in full. I would hate to move to another country again, yes?¡±


    This time it was Karl¡¯s eyes that narrowed. ¡°The cause remembers Victor, when the time comes it will settle all debts.¡± Victor shrugged. ¡°We¡¯ll see, for now we settle your debt to me for these guns in cash, yes?¡± He offered his hand to the revolutionary. After a few seconds Karl shook the warm sweaty hand. ¡°It is always a pleasure doing business with the cause. Now, you will want these delivered, yes? I want payment beforehand, I will give you my price.¡±


    Outside the dirty coat shop two man are standing in an alley. ¡°We should inform the Bureau.¡± One says, the other nods, his eyes still glued to the shop¡¯s window, which shows an ugly blue suit. If he had it his way he would be storming inside guns blazing, showing those damned terrorists that the ISB knows exactly who they are and what they are doing. But orders have come from above, he isn''t going to have his way any time soon.


    ?


    Two bloody silver bells were lying on the table between me and madam Gomez. Neither of us had said a word since she came in. ¡°I¡¯ve completed the contract, your daughter can rest easy now that her murderers have been brought to justice.¡± It isn¡¯t the first revenge hit I¡¯ve executed, but this part stays hard. You never know how the client is going to react to the news. I¡¯ve seen everything, from crying to shouting to one particular instant where a client tried to kiss me. Madam Gomez however remains silent, an empty look in her eyes.


    She reaches into her purse and produces several wads of cash. Normally I would insist on a deposit, but I¡¯ve made an exception for madam Gomez. I expected there to be tears, like during our first meeting, but so far they haven¡¯t showed. I take the cash and put it in the safe, which I already opened in preparation for this meeting.


    ¡°Isabella was a sweet girl.¡± Madam Gomez suddenly says. ¡°She was stupid as a bag of bricks, but she was kind.¡± The woman struggles to light a cigarette, until I light it for her. ¡°Much appreciated.¡± She mumbles as I light one of my own. ¡°She wasn¡¯t mine, Tiberius already had her when I came into the picture, but she was very young. I taught her, then in time came to love her like one of my own.¡± I nod understandingly.


    ¡°She was going to get married.¡± The tears start rolling down her cheeks. I offer her a tissue, respectfully keeping my distance. ¡°Hector is such a kind man and he was so very patient with her. So very, very patient with my beautiful girl. They were going to be so happy and now she is scattered across the wind.¡± Madam Gomez sniffs. ¡°We should have buried her, burning people isn¡¯t proper.¡± I hand her another tissue and she dabs her eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry mister de Winter, to start blubbering like a fool, it is hardly appropriate.¡± I wave the apology away. ¡°We all grieve in different ways madam. May I however recommend this counselor.¡± I hand her a card with a phone number and an address. ¡°He may help sort things out.¡± I calmly take another drag of my cigarette as madam Gomez looks at the card. ¡°And he is discreet?¡± I nod. ¡°She¡¯s discreet and very good, I speak from personal experience.¡± Madam Gomez nods, dabs her eyes again and stands up.


    ¡°Thank you so much mister de Winter, poor Isabella can now pass on without further hindrances.¡± We shake hands. ¡°I¡¯m sure she will find solace in de hands of the Lord.¡± I respond. Madam Gomez nods and I lead her out of the office. I watch until her car disappears around the corner. My wounds start to sting in the cold so I go back inside.


    ¡°That went well.¡± Jesse remarks as I walk past her desk. ¡°Another happy customer.¡± I say. ¡°You want a drink?¡± I ask and Jesse nods and stands up. I nod at the typewriter. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t your finish your sentence? The ink might dry badly.¡± She shrugs. ¡°The whole thing wasn¡¯t working out anyway.¡± She follows me into my office, browsing my LP collection. As I pour two drinks a piece of Pergovich starts playing. Soothing piano music fills the room as I hand Jesse her drink. For a brief second my eyes linger on my desk, where two silver bells used to be. ¡°To surviving getting stabbed.¡± Jesse says as we cling glasses. It¡¯s been a long time since I celebrated finishing a contract with anyone. ¡°To the future.¡±

 Chapter 7: Ghosts of the not so distant past

    Fourteen years ago.


    ¡°Student de Winter, you¡¯re up.¡± Eli stood up from his chair and left the waiting room. The woman waiting for him at the end of a nondescript corridor smiled. ¡°Eli, so wonderful to see you again.¡± Eli smiled back. ¡°Doctor Meier, a pleasure.¡± She herded him into her office, where two comfortable chairs were waiting.


    ¡°Before we begin I would like to state the following; Eli de Winter, you are a good man.¡± Eli nodded. ¡°As you are a good woman, doctor.¡± Meier gave him a pleasant smile. ¡°Now I would like to pick up where we left off two weeks ago, if you don¡¯t mind.¡± Eli tried to remember where that exactly was but came up empty. ¡°The dreams.¡± The doctor prompted. ¡°Yes. The dreams.¡± They were one of the many constancies in Eli¡¯s life. Together with the sun rising, getting shouted at by Dobber and killing a person every two months.


    ¡°Have they gotten more frequent?¡± Meier asked, to which Eli raised his eyebrows. ¡°More frequent than every night, you mean?¡± Meier nodded. ¡°No, I sleep, I dream, but otherwise I¡¯m not haunted during the days.¡± The doctor wrote it down. ¡°Good, very healthy. Have the dreams changed?¡± Eli shook his head. ¡°It is the same dream, always. I¡¯m given the room, I talk with Randal, I kill him.¡± He shrugged, if anything he had gotten used to it by now. ¡°Nobody new ever shows up? None of your other contracts?¡± Eli shook his head again. ¡°Just Randal.¡±


    Dreams and nightmares were a constant plague upon the student body. Three students had already taken their own lives as a result, one had simply disappeared, never to be heard from again. A number of students had chosen to leave the school, paying off their debts in any way they could. The remaining students numbered seventy-two, all of whom regularly met with doctor Meier.


    ¡°Have you been using the techniques I thought you?¡± She asks. ¡°I don¡¯t need them, dreams are a waste of time, I put them out of my head when I wake up.¡± Again the doctor notes it down. ¡°I¡¯ve received a report that student Kingsburg, student Bancroft and you often go into the city after a contract.¡± It isn¡¯t a question. ¡°We do, to blow of some steam, yes.¡± Another notation. ¡°How much Breath do you use?¡± Eli is lost for words, but before he can spin a tale the doctor holds up her hand. ¡°I¡¯m not your mother Eli, I just want to verify if your hobbies influence your work. What you do in your free time is your business. If Bancroft wants to get drunk and fight she is free to. And whether Kingsburg gambles away all his money or not is up to him. But when their problems start following them here there will be a problem. The same counts for you. So, how much Breath do you use?¡±


    Eli exhales slowly. ¡°Four hits, every time we go.¡± He confessed. ¡°Does it help cope with the guilt?¡± The question came out of nowhere. ¡°The guilt?¡± Eli stupidly repeated. Meier narrowed her eyes, she doesn¡¯t like to repeat herself and this is the second time he has forced her to within the conversation. ¡°I don¡¯t feel guilty.¡± He hastily sad. ¡°Randal and the others had it coming, if I hadn¡¯t done it, somebody else would have.¡± Meier shook her head. ¡°But it was you who did the deed, no matter how righteous, guilt often manifests after a contract.¡± Eli remained silent. The doctor gave him questioning glance, before making another notation.


    ¡°It is not because of guilt that I take Breath. I take it because it is fun.¡± It isn¡¯t a lie, Breath is fun. It makes you feel clearer, more focused in the moment, everything becoming more intense while you become sharper. ¡°You only take when you celebrate a contract?¡± She asked. He answered in the affirmative. ¡°Only after a contract are we allowed to venture into the city.¡± He wished he had taken a hit just now, dealing with the doctor would have been much easier. ¡°It is the highlight of every two months, the night out I mean.¡±


    He isn¡¯t lying, after finishing a contract it is the only thing that cheers him up. It is probably the same for Charles and Moose. ¡°It isn¡¯t unusual for people in your line of work to have a coping mechanism, the burden that has been placed on you is quite a heavy one.¡± Eli gritted his teeth. ¡°I don¡¯t need coping mechanisms, I¡¯m not weak. I take Breath, end of story.¡± The doctor picked up on the finality of his words and decided to move on to the next topic.


    ¡°What about your family? You haven¡¯t seen them in over a year, do you miss them?¡± Eli shrugged. ¡°I imagine that everybody here misses their family.¡± The doctor tilted her head. ¡°You would be surprised how many students have no desire to see their families.¡± Eli again shrugged. ¡°Seeing my family isn¡¯t an option, so I try not to think too much about it.¡± The doctor wrote it down. ¡°In one of our previous sessions you told me you had a sister, Catherine.¡± Eli nodded. ¡°I just call her Cat though, everybody does.¡±


    Cat was a couple of years younger and had practically worshipped him. When he was younger she had always been his reliable number two, the Watson to his Sherlock, the Robin to his Batman. They had been inseparable, until he had gone to high school. New friends, classes and the soccer team started to take up most of his time. His sister was ranked below these new priorities and they had grown apart. It is just how things go sometimes.


    ¡°Is your sister coming to Mercia?¡± Eli shook his head. ¡°Even if she knew how, my parents wouldn¡¯t allow it.¡± And if he was honest, he didn¡¯t want her here, or his parents for that matter. He had been in this country for a year and already killed six people, with more deaths on the horizon. Not that he could back home either. First of all, he didn¡¯t know how. Second, his ordination might not disappear and committing murder was a lot harder on Earth than here.


    ¡°Your parents are strict people?¡± It wasn¡¯t a hard question, yet it gave Eli pause. A year ago he would have said yes, but a lot had changed. ¡°No, not really. They had rules, sure, but nothing that would stop me from doing what I wanted.¡± He knew where the doctor was going with the line of questioning. ¡°No, I don¡¯t want to discuss the circumstances surrounding why I left.¡± Meier was about to say something, but he interrupted her before she could start. ¡°During our first session you told me that I didn¡¯t have to tell you anything I didn¡¯t wish to. This is not a subject I wish to discuss.¡± Meier¡¯s lips became a thin line, but in the end she relented. She closed her file and stood up, signaling the ending of the session. ¡°Student de Winter what is the most important thing to remember from our sessions?¡± The question was a familiar one.


    ¡°That I walk my ordained path, which makes me a good man.¡±


    ?


    Now.


    Covered in a blanket of snow most of Victoria is still asleep. Junior detective Strega however has been in the station for hours. She is alone, typing away at her fourth rapport, another case unsolved. Recently the violence has been escalating. After the Silver Bells were taken out everybody thought things would calm down, but the opposite has happened. Where the Aksokovs and the Green scarfs get their weapons is a mystery she thus far hasn¡¯t been able to crack.


    The other members on the force aren¡¯t exactly helping either. She suspects that more than half is on the take. Recently she found out that the Aksokovs hire cops to do their dirty work for them. Any attempts to investigate the matter however has been shut down by her superiors. Nevertheless, in her shabby apartment down Bloomsdale lane she has slowly been assembling evidence on her shadier colleagues. The ones actively involved in the drug business. When the time comes she will bring it to the courts on the first level, taking all these bastards out.


    She finishes her last report and opens the file on one of her current cases. She is greeted by the picture of a naked dead man tied to a chair. According to the coroner¡¯s report the wounds had been inflicted antemortem. The body had been found in Aksokov territory and it felt like the drug dealer¡¯s handy work. The questioning remaining was why? What had Aksokov hoped to find. Tyler Ellis was a minor information broker, what had he done to get Thomas Aksokov¡¯s nickers in a twist? More importantly, what had he known? One thing was sure, she wasn¡¯t going to find out in here. She put on her coat and left the station, surprising a pair of cops just coming in.


    ?


    ¡°For the last time, who killed my sister?¡± Dimi hits the woman again, to bring a little weight to his boss¡¯s question. The woman just whimpers as tears stream down her face, yet she remains silent. The three of them are in the woman¡¯s apartment. It is quite a nice place. A lot can be said about Lyla Jackson, but she knows how to decorate.


    ¡°You know, I¡¯m considering moving to the second level. The air, it is different here.¡± Thomas says as Dimi continues the interrogation. ¡°Much cleaner.¡± He looks disdainfully at Lyla. ¡°Listen miss Jackson, it has been a long week. I¡¯m trying to find out who killed my sister, but nobody seems to be able to tell me.¡± There was frustration in his voice. He had everything he had ever wanted, yet it wasn¡¯t enough. He was plagued by dreams of El. No matter how well business was going, or how busy he was, he could feel her ghost staring disapprovingly over his shoulder, judging him.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    He had neglected avenging her and she had haunted him for it. Being the man of action he was he had decided to settle the matter once and for all. He would find his sister¡¯s killer and bring him to justice. ¡°First I chased around random rumors on the fourth level, until I found the man who was spreading them. He pointed me towards a broker on the third level, which sent me on a merry chase around the district. Eventually somebody dropped your name and here we are. If you don¡¯t provide me with the answers I seek I will have to start searching anew, which would be terribly inconvenient since I¡¯m also fighting a war.¡±


    Lyla doesn¡¯t answer. ¡°I¡¯m going to take a nap in the other room, Dimi wake me once you have what we need.¡± Dimitri nods. ¡°Yes boss.¡± Thomas nods and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Dimitri looks at the woman in front of him. ¡°Listen little lady, I do not hate you.¡± His accent is heavy, and Lyla has trouble following what he¡¯s saying. ¡°If you don¡¯t answer the question he will bring out special tools. Thumbscrews and bugs, yes?¡± Lyla shudders.


    ¡°You will talk, better now than with centipede in your head, yes?¡± The shivering becomes worse. ¡°I just set up a meeting.¡± She whispered. ¡°I contacted an assassin I know, Moose, she brought a friend, he took the contract.¡± Dimitri nods. ¡°Why?¡± Tears start flowing again. ¡°I don¡¯t know, I didn¡¯t set the contract. I just found an assassin who knew someone who would take the job.¡± Dimitri brings his face close to her. ¡°It is okay, we will find out. Who hired you?¡± Lyla has trouble speaking between sobs. ¡°Some syndicate woman. I don¡¯t know her name. I don¡¯t know anything. Please don¡¯t bring the bugs.¡±


    The sobbing becomes incontrollable. ¡°Shh, it¡¯s okay.¡± The deep voice in her ear whispers. ¡°Everything is okay.¡± A loud snap cuts off the sobs and the room becomes silent. Dimitri walks to the room where his boss is napping. Thomas¡¯ eyes snap open the second the doorknob turns. ¡°You got what I need?¡± Dimitri nods. ¡°We will have to talk with a woman called Moose.¡± Thomas smiles. ¡°Capital work, let¡¯s go see her.¡± Dimitri nods towards the other room. ¡°What about the woman?¡± Thomas shrugs. ¡°Leave her, it won¡¯t be connected back to us.¡± As the two leave the apartment building Thomas¡¯ mood visually improves.


    ?


    ¡°De Winter, how can I help you?¡± The other line is silent for a second. ¡°Eli? It is Moose.¡± I¡¯m surprised, Moose generally doesn¡¯t use phones. She believes that the government listens in on the lines, which is probably true. ¡°Moose, something the matter?¡± I ask, alarmed. ¡°Yeah, no, maybe? I don¡¯t know. Somebody tried to hire you through me.¡± I shrug, this isn¡¯t the first time she has shoved a contract my way. ¡°So?¡± I prompt. ¡°The contractor was just a bit odd, he didn¡¯t want to say anything about the case, just described what kind of hit he was looking for. It just doesn¡¯t sit well with me, he might be a cop or something.¡±


    I shrug, contractors can be shifty, especially if it is their first meeting. ¡°Maybe he is new to this.¡± Moose is clearly uncomfortable. ¡°I don¡¯t know, I send him Hadrius¡¯ way, but you know how he is.¡± I snort, nobody who has ever met Hadrius would be willing to do business with him. ¡°I appreciate the heads up, even if it doesn¡¯t turn anything up.¡± I can almost see Moose nod happily. ¡°Oh, before I forget, somebody told me that there will be a number of contracts in the capital soon. It has something to do with the Armerian prince coming over. You want to be kept into the loop?¡± My hands go to the now closed wounds on my chest. ¡°Yeah, keep me posted.¡± I get a cheerful goodbye and she hangs up.


    ¡°Jesse?¡± I ask and a few seconds later she pops her head into the office. She¡¯s smiling, been doing that a lot lately. Usually I¡¯m a glass half empty kind of guy, but her positive attitude just puts me into a good mood. ¡°What do you need?¡± I shift uncomfortably in my chair, fact is I don¡¯t need anything. A good assassin works a job a month, two months if he or she gets injured. The Silver Bell contract was a little less than a month ago, so I haven¡¯t taken a new case. ¡°You want to get out of the office? See a play, or something?¡± She¡¯s a bit thrown off by the question. ¡°Sure, I will get our coats.¡± She quickly says before hurrying off.


    Getting our coats takes quite a while for some reason. When Jesse appears, she looks absolutely stunning. ¡°You changed your clothing?¡± I say a bit perplexed, I didn¡¯t even know she kept clothing in the apartment, let alone the long flowing red dress she is wearing now. It forms a nice contrast with her long black hair. ¡°I always thought your hair was shorter.¡± Even as I say it I know it sounds stupid. ¡°I usually wear it differently, I¡¯m glad you noticed.¡± She beams a smile and hands me my cap. I open the door. ¡°After you.¡±


    Before she can step through the door two cars stop in front of the office building with squeaking tires. Windows roll down and I see muzzles. ¡°Get down!¡± I yell as I push her away from the door. A storm of bullets thunders over our heads as we slowly crawl away from the door. After a few seconds the bullets cease. I hope to hear the sound of cars leaving, but instead I hear the sound of a door being slammed shut. ¡°Fuck.¡±


    I reach for my gun and fire at the first sign of movement at the front door. ¡°He¡¯s still alive! Get him!¡± We must move, if we stay we¡¯re fucked. ¡°Run!¡± I yell as once again the enemy opens fire. The whole place is being shot to hell, if we get out of this I will have to redecorate. I give Jesse cover fire from behind her desk as she runs towards the back door. In the distance I hear sirens, thankfully the police are reliable in this part of town.


    My clip is empty, so I keep my head down as I crawl towards my office. Inside there is an arsenal, if only I can get there. ¡°Eli de Winter, come out, I know you¡¯re there.¡± A voice suddenly says. ¡°You killed my sister, the person most precious to me. So, I will take what you value the most, your life.¡± The sirens become louder, but if I¡¯m found it will be over before they get here. ¡°I will find you.¡± It sounds like the intruder is enjoying this. ¡°Eli¡± Jesse exclaims, before opening fire on the intruders. I don¡¯t waste time and sprint towards her. Forget the office, they will kill her when she runs out of bullets.


    She fires another shot before I drag her along to the backdoor, into the garage. Garage is maybe too generous a name, it is more of a workstation where I maintain my bike. I run towards the desk, retrieving a pistol from a drawer. It is a good thing I don¡¯t have kids, there isn¡¯t a single room in the house where I don¡¯t keep a loaded weapon. Jesse has already started up the bike. I throw open the door just as I hear footsteps. A bullet whistles past us as we drive into the street.


    It doesn¡¯t take long for our pursuers to catch up with us. I half turn around and fire at the car, the shot goes wide. Contrary to what most Hollywood movies will show you it is actually very hard to hit a moving target, especially when you¡¯re moving yourself. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you could drive a bike.¡± I shout over the sound of traffic. ¡°Neither did I.¡± Shouts Jesse back. I look back and see a woman sticking out of the window, a shotgun pointed at my face. ¡°Shift lanes, now!¡± I yell as the woman aims.


    The noise alarms the other drivers as the scattered shot barely misses me. Their driving becomes erratic, which make things harder for Jesse. I hold on tightly to her as we weave through traffic at high speed. Occasionally I hear the woman fire, but the bullets don¡¯t even come close to me. ¡°This isn¡¯t how I planned this.¡± Jesse yells as she takes a turn, leaving the main road. I have no idea where she¡¯s going, but I trust that she knows what she¡¯s doing.


    We pass through a particularly small street, scaring a few pedestrians as we roar past them. When I look back the car is nowhere in sight. We take a few more turns before descending to the second level. Jesse is clearly familiar with the area, taking turns and passing through shortcuts. The streets are smaller around these parts, dominated by scooters and bikes rather than cars. It is clearly a residential zone, the buildings being dominantly terraced houses, built in brick with slate roofs.


    We slow down, earning a few odd looks from curious residents. ¡°Where are we going?¡± I ask. ¡°My home, to lay low for a while.¡± She says, turning around to look at me. ¡°Watch the road!¡± I say as she almost runs over a stray cat. I¡¯m relieved however, when she looked at me it wasn¡¯t in fear. Relieved and concerned, because her face was red with excitement.


    She stops in front of one of the buildings. ¡°You own this place?¡± I highly doubt she could afford this on the salary I pay her. ¡°No, I wish. I just rent an apartment in the building.¡± I step of the bike and put my pistol away. I guiltily look at Jesse¡¯s dress, it is ripped in several places. ¡°I will pay for a replacement.¡± I motion towards a dress. ¡°You¡¯re taking me shopping? How kind of you. I¡¯m sure we will find suitable replacements.¡± Her lips curl into a smile when she says replacements. Honestly after the backup she has provided today I would buy her anything she wished for. A couple of hours spent in some boutiques is a small price to pay for one¡¯s life.


    We place the Katsuen in a communal garage, after which we cover it with an old blanket. Jesse is careful to avoid any of the other residents as we walk up the stairs. As she retrieves a spare key from under the doormat I raise my eyebrows. ¡°What?¡± She innocently asks. ¡°Nothing.¡± My lips curl into a smile.


    Her apartment is cozy, filled with all kinds of things I would never buy. She lights a few candles since the electric lights are not bright enough to illuminate most of the room. I stare at a picture of her from when she was younger. Beside the younger Jesse is a slightly older boy. ¡°Your brother?¡± She smiles. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s Caiden. I imagine he must look a bit differently now, but he doesn¡¯t have the money to have his picture taken.¡± She puts the kettle on before disappearing into a bedroom. The apartment seems to consist out of three rooms. Her books must sell better than I think if she¡¯s able to afford this place. Or spying on me must be quite lucrative indeed.


    I¡¯m not an idiot, the way Jesse behaved during the incident isn¡¯t normal for a civilian. Nobody who shoots like that learned it from their uncle. Unless said uncle was government trained. When Jesse returns she¡¯s wearing simpler clothing, but she¡¯s kept her hair loose. I give her time to prepare two cups of tea and sit down on the coach next to me.


    ¡°Jesse, I¡¯m going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest with me.¡± I start, my tone serious. ¡°Who do you really work for?¡± As Jesse levels her pistol at my head I¡¯m not surprised, but just a little bit sad. ¡°It seems you have a decision to make, whether you¡¯re going to kill me¡±, I look past the barrel, straight into her eyes, ¡°or not.¡±

 Chapter 8: Contract

    14 years ago.


    ¡°This contract will be a bit different from the ones you are used to.¡± Dobber said, looking at Eli, Moose and Charles. ¡°The target is a corrupt banker who recently escaped justice. The Internal Security Bureau knows he¡¯s guilty of laundering money for both the Syndicate as well as the Silver Bell cartel, but the evidence failed to satisfy the courts. Which is where you come in. You are to infiltrate his mansion, take out the guard and the man himself. We would prefer it if you leave the civilians on the premise unharmed, but we don¡¯t want any witnesses. Bancroft takes point, any questions?¡±


    There were no questions. ¡°Excellent, time is limited, so I suggest you get to it.¡± Dobber stood up and was about to leave the briefing room when he stopped. ¡°One last thing, among your gear you will find masks, you are to wear them.¡± Moose nodded and Dobber left. The three students were looking at the map in front of them. ¡°Well this is new.¡± Charles stated. ¡°They¡¯re finally taking the kids gloves off.¡± Moose said smiling. ¡°This is something worth our time, instead of digging out holed up obsoletes.¡± Eli grunted.


    ¡°Why so gloomy?¡± Charles asked Eli, who shrugged. ¡°I sort of liked where we were, the obsolete are guilty, their marks show it. With this banker, I don¡¯t know, it feels off.¡± Moose snickered. ¡°He¡¯s a banker, guilty by default. If we¡¯re not taking him down, nobody will.¡± She wasn¡¯t wrong, the banker was probably guilty. The Bureau was very seldom wrong, there was no reason to assume they were this time. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s take him out. Where do you want me?¡±


    Moose was looking at the schematics of the mansion. ¡°I¡¯m suggesting we do this textbook. A three men sweep, al wearing light armor, carrying subs and a side arm of choice. We take out the guard silently and then we find the bastard and dust him. Everybody on board?¡± Eli nodded, the plan was simple and clean, just the way he liked it. ¡°What if there are more guards than intelligence suggests?¡± Moose shrugged. ¡°Than we take those out as well, we should still have the element of surprise.¡± Charles nodded. ¡°Sounds like a plan. I take it we hit the place just before dawn?¡± Moose nodded, still looking at the files. ¡°Between four and five. Make sure you¡¯re well rested.¡± Charles mockingly saluted and left the briefing room. Eli was about to leave when Moose stopped him.


    ¡°Something wrong?¡± He asked. ¡°Take this before we go in, I want you as clear as possible.¡± She handed him a vial with blue powder. ¡°How did you get this?¡± He hissed as he quickly took the vial and put it in his pocket. ¡°I have my ways.¡± Moose smiled. ¡°But that is the only one I have, so keep it until we go in, get it?¡± Eli nodded. ¡°Yeah, thanks. I will pay you back.¡±


    ?


    The three of them were looking at the mansion from a nearby hill. They had just finished changing into their gear, for the first time seeing the masks they were supposed to wear. ¡°They certainly went for the intimidation factor with these ones.¡± Charles stated looking at the smooth expressionless masks. ¡°They are cold as fuck and don¡¯t fit for shit.¡± Moose complained. ¡°We could just not wear them, as we¡¯re not supposed to leave witnesses anyway.¡± Charles commented. ¡°Let¡¯s just do as we¡¯re told, someone might be evaluating us.¡± Eli said, ending the discussion before it could start.


    ¡°Remember even after we take out the guard there might be more armed hostiles in the house. After we take the target out we will use the signal and retreat. We will regroup here, then take the car back home.¡± She pointed at the truck. ¡°Last minute complaints, needs, worries?¡± Neither Eli nor Charles spoke up. ¡°Alright everybody masks on.¡± Eli pulled the vial of breath from his pocket. He popped the lit off and snorted the powder inside, instantly the world around him became clearer. He put on the mask and the three of them ran down the hill.


    It was cold, it would probably start snowing soon. This world was a lot colder, or maybe it was just Mercia. The guard that protected the target¡¯s property was doing a very poor job of it. He was sitting inside a small house, warming his hands in front of the stove. He didn¡¯t even hear Charles as the young man quietly slipped into the room and cut his throat.


    We split up after that, entering the house from three separate entrance points. A lot could be said about the target, but he had good taste. Exquisite pieces of art were tastefully displayed, matching the room they were put in. The team didn¡¯t have comms so after Eli cleared the rooms he was designated to search he went on upstairs.


    The first door he opened on the second floor led to an empty vanity room. He quietly closed the door and went on to the next one. After clearing both a guest bedroom and a bathroom he was starting to get annoyed. How many rooms did this house have? Just a bit louder than he wanted to he closed the bathroom door. He turned around, only to come face to face with a little girl holding a stuffed bunny.


    ¡°Go back to bed.¡± He said softly, his voice as unthreatening as possible. ¡°I¡¯m here to keep you safe from the monsters.¡± The girl rubbed her eyes sleepily. Softly Eli guided her back into her room. ¡°Now you stay in your room, no matter what you hear, okay?¡± He whispered. The little girl had already gone back to sleep. Softly he slipped outside, just as Charles came around the corner. Eli gave the all clear sign and Charles waved him over. A burst of shots broke the silence, followed by a shrill whistle. ¡°It seems Moose found the target, time to go.¡± Charles said.


    ¡°You came across the target¡¯s wife?¡± Eli asked. ¡°She was out of it, whatever she¡¯s taking it makes her sleep like the dead.¡± Charles responded. ¡°You didn¡¯t take her out?¡± Charles shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not some fucking savage, like Jiro or one of his asshole friends. She isn¡¯t a witness.¡± They quickly exited the mansion, joining Moose at the regroup point.


    ¡°Trouble on your end?¡± Moose asked. Charles and Eli shook their heads, making Moose grimace. ¡°The target wasn¡¯t alone, there was a girl with him, I took her out as well.¡± They got into the car and drove off quickly. Moose was silent the entire drive back. Eli didn¡¯t tell them about the little girl, but she didn¡¯t leave his mind.


    ?


    Now.


    Jesse¡¯s hand is trembling, the gun is shaking with it. Not that it matters at this distance, if she shoots now she won¡¯t miss. I¡¯m not worried however. ¡°You can put the pistol down, you¡¯re not going to kill me.¡± I say, calmly. ¡°You don¡¯t know what I will do. Agents don¡¯t waver when their cover is blown, they follow protocol.¡± It sounds more like she¡¯s trying to convince herself than me. ¡°Come on, we¡¯ve worked together for five years. We can work something out.¡± I say smiling.


    Slowly she lowers the pistol, just as slow I stand up and take it from her. For a second, I see her eyes widen in fear as my hand closes around the weapon. In that second she is right to be afraid. Years of training and instinct kick in and the world slows down. The cold steel in my hand, Jesse¡¯s ragged breath, my rapid beating heart, in that single moment the decision is mine.


    The second passes, I click the safety on and throw the gun in the corner. ¡°I think I killed someone today.¡± There is a tremble in her voice. ¡°I never killed anyone before.¡± I recall the shootout in the apartment. The man she shot when she saved me probably didn¡¯t survive. ¡°You were just defending yourself, you did nothing wrong.¡± I say. ¡°I will fix this and afterwards everything will return back to normal.¡± We sit down, and I hand her one of the cups of tea she poured earlier.


    ¡°When I was assigned to you I knew it was going to be dangerous, but all this time went by and nothing happened, and I thought¡­¡± She doesn¡¯t finish her sentence. ¡°You thought nothing ever was going to happen.¡± She nods. ¡°You know what I do, situations like this, although rare, sometimes occur. The people that did this were very thorough, it takes a lot of effort and resources to find a specific assassin.¡± It doesn¡¯t take me long to figure out who is behind this attack. Only Thomas Aksokov has the money, manpower and balls to do something like this in the first district. Also, the dead sister commentary was a big hint in the right direction.


    ¡°What are we going to do?¡± Jesse asks. ¡°As I see it I have two options. Either I take Aksokov out, after which the entire gang might come after me for revenge. Or I manage to convince him that the blame for the contract lies with the one who sets it, not the one who carried it out. The latter one will probably get me into trouble with the Syndicate. Regardless I¡¯m fucked.¡± I sigh, fucking East, without his bullshit contract I wouldn¡¯t be in this shit. ¡°I will figure it out, I¡¯ve been in worse situations.¡± I¡¯m silent for a while.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t answered my question.¡± I state after an awkward silence. ¡°Who assigned you to watch me?¡± I have my suspicions, but I wonder whether she trusts me enough to tell me. I see her hesitate, considering what it will mean if she tells me. ¡°The Bureau.¡± She finally says. ¡°Why?¡± Jesse shrugs. ¡°They didn¡¯t say, and it wasn¡¯t my place to ask. They never recalled me, so I stayed.¡± The tremor from earlier is gone. ¡°I wonder why they haven¡¯t. Why does the ISB think it is worthwhile to keep watching me?¡±


    Jesse doesn¡¯t have the answers to my questions, if I want those I will have to go pay a visit to the Internal Security Bureau. It however isn¡¯t a priority, I hardly need another enemy. I decide to let the whole thing rest for a while, there are other matters that need handling. I stand up and walk towards Jesse¡¯s phone. ¡°You don¡¯t mind if use this?¡± Jesse shakes her head and I ring a number.


    ¡°Anton?¡± I ask as the other end of the line remains silent, even when I hear someone breathing. ¡°Can you check if Birdie is in?¡± Anton grunts. The bartender lacks a tongue, which makes him a challenging conversation partner at the best of times. A few seconds later Birdie picks up the phone. ¡°How are tricks sweetie?¡± The old woman croaks. ¡°Not so good dear. Have you heard about my place?¡± Birdie shouts something about peeking at cards at her usual group of degenerate gamblers before responding to my question. ¡°All shot to hell, as I hear it. The police are looking for you, there are some bloodstains you will need to explain.¡±


    I let out another sigh. ¡°I will handle them later. For now, I would ask a favor of you.¡± I can almost hear the gleam in Birdies¡¯ eyes right now. ¡°What you need toots?¡± Birdie knows everybody that matters and many more who don¡¯t. She¡¯s very straightforward regarding her business, which is why I respect her. ¡°I need you to get me and Thomas Aksokov in a room without guns or goons, can you make it happen?¡± Birdie is quick, and it doesn¡¯t take her long to reply. ¡°That¡¯s big favor dearie, but for you I certainly can. Come to the club tomorrow and everything will be set up for you.¡± I smile. ¡°You¡¯re a national treasure Birdie.¡± I say before hanging up.


    ¡°You figured out our next step?¡± Jesse asks, hugging her knees. ¡°I¡¯m going to convince Aksokov not to kill us and then we¡¯re going on a vacation.¡± Someone else might be mad upon discovering their secretary is a spy, but I don¡¯t really care. Apart from Moose and maybe Birdie she¡¯s the only friend I have. She¡¯s just doing her duty, she didn¡¯t chose to be a spy, much like I didn¡¯t chose to be an assassin. I sit beside her on the coach and she lays her head on my shoulder. For a while we¡¯re just normal people, doing a normal thing.


    ?


    A phone rings in an office in the third district. It is reconnected to a residence occupied by a single man. Smoking a big cigar Thomas Aksokov grins as the person on the other end of the line starts speaking. ¡°And he is confident I won¡¯t kill him on sight?¡± He asks after a while. The person on the other end of the line informs him that any hostile action will result in his immediate demise.


    ¡°Tell me mystery caller, why would agree to this meeting? I¡¯ve got him on the run, either I kill him, or he will have to flee the city leaving everything he built behind. In both cases I win.¡± There is a chuckle on the other end of the line. ¡°But mister Aksokov, if that happens you will never find out who ordered the hit on your sister and why.¡± The mob boss considers the answer, taking a long drag from his cigar. ¡°How late does he want to meet?¡±


    ?


    I¡¯m sitting in one of the private meeting rooms in the club, waiting for the man who tried to kill me yesterday. I don¡¯t have to wait long, apparently he is a punctual man. Thomas Aksokov struts inside like he owns the place, a big smile on his face. ¡°You¡¯ve got balls, I give you that.¡± He says as he takes a seat.


    Aksokov is a thug, he likes money, power and women. The last time I saw him it was through the scope of a rifle, when I killed his sister. ¡°I have something you want.¡± I say. ¡°I think we can come to an arrangement.¡± Thomas lips curl into a smug smile. ¡°Do you now, Eli, I can call you Eli right?¡± I nod. ¡°I¡¯m the only one who can tell you who put the contract on your sister¡¯s head.¡± Thomas shrugs. ¡°What keeps me from picking you up somewhere and torturing the information out of you?¡±


    I raise my eyebrows. ¡°You think you can capture me alive?¡± The smile stays fixed in place. ¡°I can always find your girlfriend and trade her life for yours.¡± I give him a smug smile of my own. ¡°Considering my occupation do you think I would value another¡¯s life over my own?¡± Had the person in front of me known me better he might have called my bluff, but Thomas has already made his mind up about me. He thinks that the only difference between us is the level of wealth and power. He can¡¯t imagine sacrificing his life for another, which makes him doubt I would.


    The mob boss leans forward, clearly interested. ¡°I¡¯m sure you prepared these arguments ahead of time, which means you have a different proposal for me, yes?¡± I nod. ¡°Let¡¯s hear it.¡± He leans back again, but the smug smile is gone. ¡°A blood contract, I give you the name of the one who set the contract and you refrain from taking any action against me or my property. Also, I will not take any contracts that harm you and yours ever again.¡± Aksokov strokes his chin, considering the offer. ¡°And what would happen if I were to break this blood contract?¡± There is an unhealthy gleam in his eyes.


    ¡°Suffice to say that the bounty on your head would be substantial enough to put every assassin in the country on your trail.¡± Thomas whistles. ¡°Quite a hefty sum, who would pay for something like that?¡± I smile. ¡°A secret reserved for the practitioners of my profession.¡± Aksokov grins. ¡°I like the idea, but this way I would be denying my sister her revenge.¡± It is one of the arguments I prepared for on my way over to the club and I have my answer ready. ¡°And then, after you¡¯ve killed me, will you kill my gun as well?¡± Thomas bristles. ¡°They are not the same.¡± I frown. ¡°They are, a man, a gun, a piece of string, they are all the same. When you order your men to kill someone, it is you who is doing the killing, not them. You sign the contract and you will learn who the weapon that killed your sister belonged to.¡±


    I see the gears in his mind turn, see him reach the conclusion I predicted he would. ¡°I will sign the contract.¡± The smug smile returns. ¡°On one condition, you will kill the man that set the contract. Call it poetic justice, using the weapon he used against my family to destroy him.¡± I repress the urge to message my temple where a headache is growing and nod. ¡°We have a deal.¡±


    The signing of a blood contract is a formal affair, both parties need a witness to be present and the whole thing has to be administered by both a priest and a bureaucrat. There are always bureaucrats around if you pay the right price and the club has a priest on retainer. The word of God is just another thing for sale after all. I cut my hand open with a ceremonial knife, Thomas mirroring my movements on the other end of the table. ¡°You know, the more time I spend up here, the more respect I gain for the traditions of our magnificent city. Maybe we should implement some of them on the lower levels. Abridged versions, of course, they have to mirror modern times. But a blood oath just feels weightier than a regular one.¡±


    I want him to shut up, his attempts at intimidation fall short in the assembled company. My witness, Moose, has taken out worse scum than him. The preacher is high, trying very hard to conceal it, but failing. The bureaucrat doesn¡¯t give two shits about anything that is happening in this room and even less about what is going down in the lower levels. She just wants to get payed and get the hell out of here.


    I hold my hand above the contract and drip blood over my name. I then shove the paper to Aksokov, who does the same. ¡°The contract is sealed, both gentlemen are aware of the consequences of breaking this agreement?¡± The bureaucrat asks. Thomas and I both nod. ¡°Excellent, I will take this document and put it under lock and key with the other blood contracts. A good day.¡± Both the priest and the bureaucrat leave as quickly as they can manage.


    ¡°I expect results Eli, I¡¯m not a very patient man. Find this East and kill him. Make it your priority, or I will.¡± The door closes behind him and I¡¯m left alone with Moose, who¡¯s looking at me with a pitying gaze. ¡°How did you even get yourself into this situation?¡± I frown at her. ¡°Because you found a contract which was straight up my alley, remember?¡± The bickering that follows puts my mind at ease, reminding me of old times.


    ?


    ¡°The King of the West is missing.¡± The Queen of the East says, more than a little annoyed. ¡°We will start without him.¡± The King of the North responds. He plucks his glass eye out of his left socket, scratching the hole. It is making the Queen of East highly uncomfortable, which is why he enjoys doing it so much.


    ¡°The plan is entering its more dynamic stage. The only pieces unaccounted for are the prince and Aksokov.¡± The Queen of the South says, officially opening the meeting. ¡°Aksokov has been ramping up the violence like my champion predicted, he will be the first to fall once the riots start.¡± The Queen of the East purrs. ¡°As for the prince, I have send my champion to the capital to take care of that little problem.¡± The King of the North frowns. ¡°The capital isn¡¯t in your jurisdiction, it¡¯s in mine. You have no right to have your champion operate there.¡±


    The Queen of the East gives him a condescending smile. ¡°I can if I think you are woefully incompetent, which I do think.¡± The King of the North just glares at her. ¡°I will send my own champion then, we shall see who the incompetent one is.¡± At the sound of the challenge the Queen of the South¡¯s eyes light up. ¡°What shall we bet on this game?¡± The King in the North smiles. ¡°Knowledge. If her champion fails to assassinate the prince she will reveal what exactly she has planned for Victoria. However, if her champion succeeds I will reveal my source of intelligence.¡± The Queen of the East smirks. ¡°An easy win, I will take the bet.¡± The King of the North stands up and leaves the room, his lips curled into a sardonic smile. There is a call he must make.

 Chapter 9: An unexpected encounter

    Thirteen years ago.


    ¡°You are concerned?¡± doctor Meier asked. ¡°I risk my life weekly, more than a few of my comrades have perished and the assignments have been getting increasingly difficult. I have a reason to be concerned.¡± Eli answered. ¡°However, your team has performed well out in the field, there is no reason to think that things will take a turn for the worse.¡±


    Eli remained silent for a while. ¡°Fine, let me rephrase. I¡¯m not worried for my life, but the nature of the contracts. In the beginning every third or fourth mission would be a masked one. Us taking out criminals that slipped through the court¡¯s grasp. But now, things are different. The last time I went in recognizable was months ago.¡±


    Meier made a notation. ¡°Isn¡¯t that a good sign? It means that you¡¯re taking on weightier contracts, bringing to justice enemies of the state.¡± Eli shrugged. ¡°Sure, I¡¯m serving my country, but we¡¯re no longer informed who exactly we¡¯re taking down.¡± He raised his hands before the doctor could respond. ¡°I know a lot is classified and on need to know basis, I¡¯m just frustrated.¡± Meier nodded. ¡°And worried too?¡± Eli nodded. ¡°Yes, worried about the increasing collateral damage and what it is doing to my team.¡±


    Meier tilted her head. ¡°Have there been problems?¡± As she speaks her hand writes along. ¡°We¡¯ve been fighting lately. Me and Charles mostly, me and Moose sometimes.¡± Eli shifted in his chair uncomfortably. ¡°They are convinced that the collateral damage is acceptable.¡± Meier waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn¡¯t she took the initiative. ¡°Mister Cabaneri would agree with them.¡± Eli snorted. ¡°Of course, he would, he set out those guidelines.¡±


    ¡°But you don¡¯t?¡± Meier asked. ¡°No, I don¡¯t. The sins of the father shouldn¡¯t be payed for by the son. I don¡¯t believe it to be right, or fair. Especially not if the son, daughter or wife is punished for being near the father.¡± Meier noted this down. ¡°You will discuss this with August, won¡¯t you?¡± Meier nodded. Doctor patient privilege wasn¡¯t a thing in this world. ¡°I think we should be better, taking out the target without collateral damage.¡± They already tore families apart by eliminating the target, the collateral damage just made it worse.


    ¡°You understand that the company cannot be brought into association with the contracts. All unnecessary deaths remain illegal after all, even if the government sets the contract.¡± Eli¡¯s expression turned dark. ¡°Isn¡¯t that what the fucking masks are for? We go in unrecognizable, wearing nondescript body armor and masks, yet we still kill everybody that sees us. What is the fucking point?¡± Meier gave him a disapproving look. ¡°Language young man. I understand that you¡¯re upset, but that is no reason to abandon civility.¡± Eli inclined his head, calming himself. ¡°My apologies, that was uncalled for.¡±


    It was called for, but profanity was heavily frowned upon within the institute. Apparently, August was convinced that a person who kills others for a living has no excuse to lack manners. It had been months before Eli¡¯s accent was considered to be even remotely acceptable. He still had to go to a mandatory language course every Tuesday.


    ¡°These fights that you have with your team members, how do you resolve them?¡± The doctor asked. ¡°Usually we decide to go drinking, to take the edge off. It is hard to stay angry when you¡¯re having a good time.¡± A good time was an understatement. With the new club membership every pleasure he could imagine was only a few crowns away. One of the benefits of his ordination was sheer amount of money he earned. By the time his contract came to an end he would be rich.


    ¡°How many hits of Breath do you take when you are having a good time?¡± Eli frowned, all their conversations always seemed to loop back to his Breath consumption. It was vexing, and he was getting sick of it. ¡°Let¡¯s not do this doc, not today. We can talk about it some other time.¡± The doctor nodded and made a notation. ¡°Next time it is then. I take it your family is off the table as well?¡± The cool gaze she shot him was returned as a frosty glare. ¡°You are making this hard on me student de Winter, banning all these rather important topics.¡±


    Eli shrugged, it wasn¡¯t his problem, August would have to live with a less complete picture of Eli¡¯s life for once. ¡°I¡¯m going to propose another line of inquiry and this time I want you to except it, or there will be consequences.¡± Eli nodded a bit stiffly. ¡°Good. How are your nightmares?¡± Hadn¡¯t she warned him Eli would have shot down the question instantly.


    Hadn¡¯t these sessions been mandatory he would have stopped showing up a long time ago. Doctor Meier might be following her ordination as a doctor, but she is far from a good person. Meier doesn¡¯t keep the sessions secret, nor does she make any attempt to put outbursts into context. She pries information out of students they don¡¯t want to give and hands it to her superior.


    Eli sighed. ¡°They remain the same, I talk with Randal, I kill him.¡± He was lying, and he could feel that she knew. ¡°You are sure nothing has changed about the room, the tools or the target himself?¡± Eli has spoken many times about Randal, but Meier never acknowledged the man¡¯s name. Instead she simply called him the target like she just did. In her mind he is nothing but a name on a list. ¡°No, nothing.¡± Except for the little girl he decided not to kill during his first masked mission. She is there for the whole of it. From the moment Eli enters the room, right till the point where he kills Randal. At the end she always asks the same question. ¡°Will you protect me from the monsters now?¡±


    Eli looked at the clock hanging above the door. ¡°Can I go? I have class in a couple of minutes and still need to get my books.¡± Meier looked at the clock as well. It is made of steel and glass, pretty much like everything in her office. She stands up. ¡°Student de Winter what is the most important thing to remember from our sessions?¡± The same question she asks at the end of every session, and it only has one right answer.


    ¡°That I walk my ordained path, which makes me a good man.¡±


    ?


    My office is a ruin. My windows have been shattered, there are bullet holes pretty much everywhere and somebody tore through my desk and file cabinets. My carpet has been ruined by the snow that blew through my shattered window. The whole thing has awakened something in Jesse however. With a bright smile she has been calling carpenters, decorators and several contractors who I suspect are going to change my home and office into something else entirely. I¡¯ve decided to just let her, there is something about seeing her this happy that warms me.


    Since I¡¯m mostly in the way I retreat to my office, where I clear my desk by throwing everything off it safe for the telephone. When it promptly I sigh and pick it up. ¡°De Winter, how can I be off service?¡± The voice on the other end of the line is monotone. ¡°Mister de Winter you¡¯ve been ordered to travel to the capital for a special commission.¡± I raise my eyebrows, nobody has ordered me to do anything for a long time. ¡°Ordered by whom?¡± I suspiciously ask. ¡°Ordered by the senior council of aldermen. Attendance is mandatory, attempts to circumvent these orders will be severely punished.¡± The line goes dead. ¡°Sonofabitch.¡± I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose.


    I don¡¯t know what the hell has been happening lately, but between getting screwed with shitty contracts, getting stabbed, being shot at by the mob and discovering that my secretary is a trained ISB agent I¡¯ve sure been in the center of things. Unfortunately, I won¡¯t be able to get out from under this summoning. The senior council of aldermen control are at the very top of Mercia¡¯s needlessly complicated bureaucratic system.


    ¡°Jesse, can you come here for a minute?¡± I say. Normally I would have to stick my head out of the door or shout, but since I don¡¯t have a door anymore that is hardly necessary. On some level I¡¯m impressed that someone managed to shoot my door down, the hinges being on the inside and all that.


    Jesse enters my office, raising an eyebrow at the clutter that is now on the floor instead of my desk. ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that, the place already was a mess.¡± Her lips curl into a smile. ¡°What can I do for you?¡± I light a cigarette, offering her one as well. ¡°I¡¯m going to the capital for a while.¡± Jesse nods. ¡°I know, I already packed our bags.¡± I give her a confused look. ¡°I just got the call; how could you know?¡± She gives me a confused look of her own. ¡°We were going to see the Armerian prince?¡±


    I vaguely remember a promise made in a diner, but I have other priorities right now. ¡°Actually, I was hoping you could take care of things here.¡± Jesse beams a smile at me. ¡°I already did, by the time we get back everything will be fixed. It will look even better, now that that ugly carpet is gone.¡± I pout a little as she insults my carpet. ¡°You know, I really liked that carpet.¡± She arches her eyebrows. ¡°That carpet was horrible, I ordered a new one, a better one.¡±


    A short while later we¡¯re heading for the station. Jesse has convinced me that I will return to a completely restored office and that my possessions will be safe in the meantime. Not that I¡¯m overly worried about any of my things getting stolen. Crime is nearly non-existent in the upper district. City Hall likes their elite to feel safe and secure at all times.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    In the distance the station appears. Even after fifteen years its sheer size still impresses me. There are only two train stations in the whole of Victoria. One in the factory district, which primary task is to provide the factories with all the raw materials they need and this one, Victoria Central. The city¡¯s main train station is accessible from all four districts. Yet, upper district citizens never have to mingle with lower district scum. From restaurants and terraces on platforms up high the rich and powerful can watch the unwashed masses mill around below. I must admit that it is a fascinating sight.


    I once spoke with an administrator who told me that almost thirty percent of the country¡¯s goods pass through Victoria Central at one point or another. Jesse shivers, it is cold on the platform, the terraces covered in snow. ¡°Are you cold?¡± I ask, she nods. ¡°I hate this snow, every year it seems to be getting colder.¡± I should probably offer her my jacket or something, but I see the train approaching.


    For long distances the train is your best mode of transportation. The capital can¡¯t be reached by ship and the more land inwards you go, the shabbier the roads get. There is something like a highway, but it is reserved for troop and cargo transports. The rail system however is highly developed.


    The train compartment we¡¯re traveling in is nice and warm. I generally live a life of luxury when not out on the job. I watch out of the window as Victoria becomes smaller. It has been a while since I left the city. From a distance Victoria looks like a number of spires sticking from a plume of black smoke. I exaggerate, in truth it is just the factory district that produces a lot of smog, but it tends to linger in the morning. Apparently, the city spends a small fortune cleaning away the fog¡¯s residue from the upper district¡¯s buildings.


    Slowly the residential areas are replaced by farms. For a nation that is quite advanced there are still a lot of people employed in the agricultural sector. Still, the ordained farmers are probably happier than the ordained laborers. I¡¯ve wondered how God choses who gets which ordination. Especially when I meet another yet incompetent manager or banker I wonder. Maybe the ordinations are a complicated ruse the church started to not become irrelevant. Or perhaps it is a way for a government to control the people. Or maybe it is God and the bastard just likes to screw with people. It is not like it actually matters, I can¡¯t change the system by myself.


    ¡°You know, I come from a family of farmers.¡± I turn to look at Jesse. ¡°All my other siblings became farmers, like mom and dad. Only Caiden and I were different.¡± Jesse never told me much about her family. I know her brother Caiden serves in the army, but that¡¯s pretty much it. It is not like I invite others to talk about their private lives, never sharing anything about my own. ¡°If things work out like my dad wants to my youngest sister will marry into the Oakheart family soon. He has this dream you see, he wants to unite all the local farmers by tying them to him with family bonds. He¡¯s going to succeed as well, in his last letter he told me that only the Oakhearts are holding out.¡±


    As we ride past several villages she talks about the family farm down in the south. You always hear stories about how things are slow in farm areas, but you probably have to live there to properly grasp it. I¡¯m a city man, always have been, even before I came to Mercia. Listening to Jesse¡¯s stories about harvest festivals and cozy nights around the fire I can understand the appeal.


    ¡°What about your family?¡± It is a question I saw coming, so I¡¯m not surprised. ¡°We got out of touch when I migrated.¡± Jesse gives me a sad look. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine not seeing my family for so long. Don¡¯t you miss them?¡± I shrug. ¡°I used to, especially when I first came here. I thought my stay would be temporary and I would go back to my hometown.¡± The longer I followed my ordination the less I wanted to go home. I doubt that there is anyone who wants to tell their parents that the reason they disappeared for years is that they were off killing people in another world. Besides, I was an addict, I couldn¡¯t stand the idea of never taking Breath again.


    ¡°Tt turned out that I would be staying quite a lot longer. Honestly, I don¡¯t think I would go back even if I could.¡± I say. ¡°Maybe your family will come over as well, have you tried reaching out to them.¡± I shake my head. ¡°My parents would never leave, even if I offered to set them up for life. My sister might, but I don¡¯t really know anything about the person she is now. Regardless, I can¡¯t reach them, there is no airship, boat or train that will be able to take me to them.¡±


    Jesse gives me a sad smile, but I wave it away. ¡°I¡¯m sure my parents are alright, they still have my sister. I was a bit of a brat when I was younger, while she was more compliant. We got up to a lot of stupid shit together. Actually, now that I think about it, I got up to a lot of stupid shit and dragged her along. We did have a lot of fun together though and she never got into serious trouble. There was this one time though that I almost blew up the neighbor¡¯s cat.¡± Jesse chuckles and before I know it I tell her the whole story.


    As we glide along the endless tracks Jesse and I share more stories about family members and our childhoods. It feels a lot more like a vacation than an ominous summoning by the rulers of my country.


    ?


    The King of the North marches through a long nondescript corridor of doors. It reminds him a lot of an institution he worked for a long time ago. He passes by two agents, who hastily step aside and salute. He gives them a stiff nod and marches on. Het stops in front of room 221 and knocks on the door. The metal hatch is shoved aside, revealing a pair of red goggles.


    ¡°Identification number?¡± A muffled voice asks. ¡°0101456B¡± The King responds. ¡°It is an honor to have you sir.¡± The muffled voice says as its owner opens the door. The King gives another stiff nod. ¡°Will you need an escort sir? The prisoner is dangerous and unpredictable.¡± The King shakes his head. ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary soldier, I have the situation well under control.¡± The soldier salutes and stands down.


    The King marches on, passing several security measures, until finally he approaches a steel cage. Inside is only one person, a woman, she is naked. The King frowns. ¡°Could you please cover yourself up?¡± The woman looks up and grins at him. ¡°And why would I do that, while I feel so comfortable like this?¡± The woman is the picture of health, muscled like a ballet dancer or a fighter. ¡°I would say because it is immodest to walk around uncovered and, with the weather we¡¯ve been having, also quite cold.¡± The King responds.


    The woman¡¯s grin broadens. ¡°You¡¯re going to let me out.¡± It isn¡¯t a question. ¡°That depends on you.¡± The woman walks to the bed on which clothes lay neatly folded. ¡°I will have to wear the collar, won¡¯t I?¡± She nods at the metal contraption stacked on top of the clothes. ¡°I¡¯m afraid so, you¡¯ve gone rogue before.¡± Electric sparks flash from her fingers. ¡°I did have a lot of fun.¡± The King raises his eyebrows, but doesn¡¯t say anything. ¡°So, what is the job?¡± She asks.


    ¡°You are going to make sure that a man keeps his promise.¡± When she grins she bares a row of veiled teeth. ¡°And if he doesn¡¯t?¡± Her voice is almost a growl. ¡°Then you kill him and destroy everything he loves.¡± Fully dressed the woman approaches the cell¡¯s entrance. ¡°What¡¯s his name?¡± The King unlocks the door. ¡°Eli de Winter, one of the most dangerous men alive.


    ?


    The train slows down as it pulls into the station. Unlike Victoria¡¯s massive station Kinestorm¡¯s central station is small and refined. It reflects the capital rather well. Opposed to Victoria Kinestorm doesn¡¯t just accept any citizen. Only men and women of a certain standing and level of wealth are allowed to live within the city¡¯s walls. All servants and other low entities live in a separate walled of section. Much like Victoria there is a clear separation in status in Kinestorm.


    Jesse and I are awaited by a small entourage of pompously dressed servants. That there is an escort at all surprises me, I¡¯m just hired help after all. ¡°Mister de Winter your presence has immediately been requested in the palace.¡± I raise my eyebrows, the senior council of aldermen like to keep people waiting, this is a known fact. I never actually met them myself, but I know people who have and from them I got the impression that I¡¯ve been summoned by a bunch of self-entitled pricks. Not that they do a half bad job of running the country, they¡¯re a lot better than the complete idiot who rules the monarchy.


    ¡°As you can see I have a guest, so if you don¡¯t mind.¡± The servant shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry sir, but this meeting is confidential. We will escort your guest to the suite we reserved for you.¡± All of this is strange. I haven¡¯t been summoned to the capital before, but I¡¯m pretty sure this isn¡¯t how they treat assassins. It is not like I can protest against the situation either. One word from an alderman and I¡¯m heading for the gallows.


    A few minutes later I¡¯m driven to the palace. Kinestorm¡¯s streets are pristine white, not a speck of dirt in sight. Marvelous mansions line the streets, each more beautiful than the next. You can say a lot about Mercia and its problems, but when the bureaucrats want to build something they don¡¯t hold back.


    ?


    The King of the North briskly marches through the palace. His eye doesn¡¯t fall on the beautiful decorations adorning the walls, or the magnificent view of the capital visible from the window. Much slower a rather strange woman saunters behind him. Her lips are permanently curled into a sarcastic smile. With every step she takes the beads in her dreads click together.


    ?


    I walk through the palace, my eyes never settling on one place. It is hard not to gawk like a peasant amidst the splendor around me. I thought I knew what luxury was when I entered the club or entered Victoria¡¯s townhall, but this is a whole new level of extravagance. I really wish I had more time, but my escort is rather impatient.


    ?


    The King of the North angrily opens a door and enters a conference room. ¡°What do you want me to do?¡± His prisoner asks. ¡°Just stand in the corner, I will give further orders when the situation arises.¡± The King says. His eye is itching, an unpleasant experience which becomes irritating rather quickly. Not that he is going to take it out, he wants to look as dignified as possible when his guest arrives.


    ?


    ¡°It is through here, sir.¡± The servant points at a door and then quickly leaves. It is the sort of treatment I expected. I take a deep breath, I¡¯m about some of the most powerful people in the world for reasons entirely unknown to me, I have a right to be nervous. However, I¡¯m not one for dilly dallying and full of confidence I open the double doors.


    However, I¡¯m not greeted by a group of pasty old white man. Instead I¡¯m greeted by one, who seems to be in very good shape, for a dead man. I would recognize this man everywhere, yet he shouldn¡¯t be here, since I killed him six years ago.


    ¡°Charles?¡±


    ¡°Hello Eli, long time no see.¡±

 Chapter 10: Old friends, new enemies.

    Six years ago.


    Eli ran. He ran faster than he ever had. He had killed someone earlier that night and this time there would be consequences. In the distance he could see Victoria looming through a veil of rain. The factories had been shut down for the day, many of the citizens had probably gone to bed. Eli however, had no time to sleep, there were about twenty people trying to kill him, possibly more.


    A car passed by, covering him in mud. For a moment it seemed like it was going to pass him by, but then it grinded to a halt. The door was thrown open and an enormous figure got out. Shaking Eli pointed his gun. ¡°Not a step further Moose, I will shoot!¡± He shouted. Moose gave him a lopsided grin. ¡°Come on Eli, we both know you¡¯re not going to shoot an unarmed comrade.¡± She raised her empty hands. ¡°I will if you don¡¯t back away from the car and get on your knees.¡± Eli¡¯s chances of surviving tonight had just increased and he was going to survive.


    ¡°You really didn¡¯t think this through, did you?¡± Moose asked. ¡°My family had a whole plan in place to get us out. You, me, Charles, everyone that matters, but you had to fuck everything up.¡± Eli tilted his head. ¡°As if Charles would have followed, August was his hero, we both know that.¡± Moose scowled. ¡°I would have been able to convince him, he loves me.¡± Eli snorted. ¡°Not as much as he loved being August¡¯s top dog. Wake up Moose, Charles kills kids, fucking kids. August has turned him into a monster, just like he turned us into his private kill squad.¡±


    Moose eyes grew empty and cold. ¡°You¡¯re like a brother to me Eli, but if you keep talking like this I won¡¯t help you.¡± Eli spit on the ground. ¡°I don¡¯t need your help, I don¡¯t need anyone. I¡¯m taking my money and I¡¯m getting out of this crazy country. Everybody is insane here. Now step away from the car!¡± Moose got out of the way and Eli got in, still pointing his gun at her. ¡°You can run Eli, but it won¡¯t change what you are, who you are. You are a murderer, just like us.¡± Eli turned the key in the ignition and closed the door. ¡°When you¡¯re back call me, I¡¯m sure we can fix things between us.¡± Moose shouted as Eli drove away. She shook her head and cursed.


    ?


    Victoria¡¯s banks are famous for two facts. They are accessible to everyone with money and they are open every hour of every day. Eli was nervously standing in line, his eyes constantly checking the entrance for angry assassins. When it finally was his turn his request was simple. ¡°I would like to empty my account.¡± The clerical staff is used to shifty, shade individuals emptying accounts in the middle of the night, so very few questions were asked.


    Without much fuss he was brought to the vault where the money was kept. He carefully oversaw the filling of a briefcase with red notes. ¡°Are you sure you want the entire amount in bills of one, two and five hundred?¡± The cleric asked for a third time. ¡°So long as it fits in one suitcase, and hurry it along, I¡¯ve got places to be.¡± The cleric nodded and finished putting the bills in the suitcase. ¡°There you go sir, have a fine eve..¡± Mid-sentence the man was interrupted by gunfire.


    ¡°Everybody on the floor, this isn¡¯t a robbery!¡± Somebody shouted in the other room. The cleric pouted. ¡°Friends of yours?¡± He asked drily. Eli had already pulled his gun, picked up the suitcase and moved to the other end of the room. Staring around the corner of the vault he saw nobody, even though he heard muffled voices.


    ¡°Is there any other way of this place?¡± He asked. ¡°The roof has been modified for a quick escape to the lower district. Just follow the arrows and you will be there in no time.¡± Eli was running before the man even finished speaking. The muffled voices were growing louder. He rushed up the stairs, constantly looking over his shoulder. If he got out of this mess he would be on a boat by morning.


    ¡°Eli!¡± Charles shout was audible even from Eli¡¯s position. For a second, he contemplated shouting something back, but he didn¡¯t. He threw open a door leading to the roof. His eyes scanned the open space for the arrows, but he found nothing. ¡°Lying sack of shit.¡± He cursed the cleric. He ran towards one of the edges of the roof, but only an empty pocket of air waited there for him. He wouldn¡¯t survive a fall from that high. On the other sides there were crested roofs that would surely impale him if he jumped.


    The door banged open and Charles burst through, wearing his body armor and mask. Some years back he had decorated it with a red hand. ¡°It¡¯s over Eli, there is nowhere left to run, you will pay for what you did!¡± Eli turned around his own gun raised. ¡°This is the second time I pointed a gun at a friend today, I will tell you what I told Moose.¡± Eli breathed in deeply. ¡°August had to go, he ordered us to kill children. Now step aside or I will pull this trigger!¡± Charles grimaced. ¡°Damnit Eli, you never stop to fucking ask yourself why. You never let others explain themselves. The second someone disagrees with your misguided morals you pump them full of lead.¡±


    Eli motioned with the gun. ¡°Get the fuck out of the way Charles or I will¡± Charles snarled. ¡°Or you will do what? What will you do Eli? There are five other agents downstairs, who won¡¯t hesitate to blow your head off. We have the numbers, we have the bigger guns, stop and thing for one bloody second!¡± The rain was still pouring from the sky. ¡°We could have talked it out. There is a perfectly fine explanation for all of this.¡± Eli growled. ¡°Children Charles, some of them six or seven years old. How the fuck do you explain that?¡±


    Charles eyes hardened. ¡°Those weren¡¯t children, they were weapons, made by the monarchy to kill us all.¡± Eli gave him a condescending look. ¡°Six and seven-year-old weapons, you must feel like a hero for taking them out.¡± Guilt flashes on Charles¡¯s face. ¡°It had to be done, there wasn¡¯t any other way. They will haunt my dreams, but I will carry that burden, knowing I kept Mercia safe.¡± Eli shook his head in disbelief. ¡°If you think killing children is the only way to keep the country safe than maybe the world is better off without it.¡±


    Charles shook his head in bitter regret. ¡°You¡¯re not going to let me explain or come in, are you?¡± Eli shook his head. ¡°Not this time Charles, not ever again.¡± Charles flashed his characteristic smile Eli had grown so familiar with over the years. Eli didn¡¯t wait for what would happen next and pulled the trigger. Like always his aim was true and as the bullet entered Charles¡¯ skull his head snapped back.


    Getting shot is nothing like movies like to depict it. People don¡¯t fall stiffly backwards and have time to mumble a few last words, instead they crumble. As Eli rushed for the door Charles lay in a heap on the floor. His breathing had stopped, his eye was a bleeding mess and his heart had given out. He was dead.


    Single shots resounded through the bank, shortly followed by bursts of submachinegun fire. On the roof however, it was quiet, the rain beating down on the corpse of a man deserted by fate. The door to the roof opened and a muscular man came through. His eyes were a sickly yellow and the corners of his mouth had been cut into a permanent grin. ¡°I see the negotiations have failed.¡± The man¡¯s crooked teeth bared into a mocking smile. ¡°You should have fought, talking is overrated.¡±


    The man knelt beside Charles¡¯ corpse, not caring about the dirt that got on his expensive suit. He pulled off his gloves, revealing heavily scarred hands. ¡°Now hold still or this will hurt a lot more.¡± He chuckled at his own joke as sparks of electricity danced across his fingers. Unceremoniously he punched the corpse in front of him.


    Charles surged upright gasping for breath. For a second, he marveled at being alive, then all his pain centers flared at the same time. Excruciating pain made him spasm, as if he was a fish on land. The other man lips curled into a sardonic smile. ¡°See the pain as a crucible, you will come out of this a much stronger man. If you don¡¯t die again, that is.¡± He let Charles ride the pain for a few seconds as he put his gloves back on. ¡°That¡¯s enough of that.¡± He punched Charles in the face, rendering him unconscious. ¡°You will make a fine king.¡± The King of the West said, his sickly yellow eyes sparkling with delight.


    ?


    Now.


    ¡°Hello Eli, long time no see.¡± Charles¡¯ eyes are cold, like a glacier. ¡°Please take a seat.¡± My hand automatically goes for my gun, but I¡¯ve given it to the guards at the palace¡¯s entrance. ¡°He¡¯s reaching for his weapon; can I kill him?¡± The woman in the corner asks, leaning forwards. ¡°Hush. Eli take a seat.¡± Charles commands.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you survived, but whatever reason had you crawl out of hiding won¡¯t be enough to compel me to do anything.¡± I say as I sit down. Charles gives me a skeptic look. ¡°In hiding? I was never in hiding, I was just busy. Too busy to hunt somebody who would eventually end up right in front of me. I told you, you can¡¯t run from what you are.¡±


    I want to give a snarky reply, but Charles cuts me off with a gesture. ¡°Eli meet subject forty-five, code name Olivia. She is one of the children I was supposed to kill.¡± Olivia bares her veiled teeth. ¡°She¡¯s more dangerous than you, me or any of our brothers and sisters. Show him.¡± On Charles¡¯ command electric sparks dance across Olivia¡¯s fingertips. Suddenly the sparks turn into a bolt and she flings it straight at me. It misses me by a hair, scorching the wall behind me instead.


    ¡°More dangerous than any gun we can bring to a fight, always armed, always ready to kill. Without that collar she would kill us and everybody in this building with not so much as a second thought. She feels no remorse or fear, a weapon forged on the operating table of the monarchy, rendering our entire branch of industry obsolete.¡± Charles always had a flare for the dramatic.


    ¡°After all this time does any of it even matter?¡± I ask. Charles stands up and slowly walks towards me. ¡°It matters.¡± Charles softly says. It is unusual for him to be soft spoken. He stops in front of me and brings his face to mine. ¡°It matters to me.¡± There is a lot of pain and anger in his voice. ¡°Admit it. Look at her and admit it.¡± I look at Olivia and all I see is a bored young woman with a dental problem. ¡°She¡¯s a monster and she should have been destroyed, like the others. Admit it!¡± He yells the words in my face.


    ¡°You seem to have her well in hand. If you were able to train her, you could have done the same for the others. If the only answer is to kill children, then you are asking the wrong question.¡± For a second it seems like Charles will blow his lit, like he so often used to. The man in front of me however doesn¡¯t. He calmly composes himself and returns to his seat.


    ¡°Good, you still hold on to your ethical views, that¡¯s good. You see, I was worried with the track record you¡¯ve built up you grew cold. That doesn¡¯t seem to be the case, I¡¯m relieved.¡± Charles is completely calm and firmly in control. ¡°You are right of course. Over the years I¡¯ve come to realize that August¡¯s views were shortsighted. He was blinded by patriotism and wasted valuable resources.¡± I raise my eyebrows in disbelief.


    Charles shrugs. ¡°When children grow up they realize that their idols are just human. Wiping away nostalgia can make one see a lot.¡± Charles leans forwards. ¡°I don¡¯t feel wroth for what you did in the past, although I do feel you owe me. If nothing else, then at least for the eye. My marksmanship never recovered after they removed it. Speaking about that fateful day, how did you do it?¡± I narrow my eyes in suspicion. ¡°How did I do what?¡± Charles chuckles, a mirthless sound. ¡°I figured out the rest, from the countries you visited, to the reason you returned, but I never found out how you killed the assassins. Just like you and me they were trained by Cabaneri Incorporated, their abilities were on par with ours. How did you do it?¡±


    I look at him and smile. My voice drops an octave and I growl a little. ¡°Lower your guns, I¡¯m coming down.¡± There is a glimmer in Charles¡¯ eyes. ¡°You pulled the Moose gambit?¡± I nod, for a second, we both smile and think of the shared memory. The moment passes, and we become serious again. ¡°Those were lighter days, these are dangerous times.¡± Charles says, and I agree. ¡°I¡¯m going to stop lying to you now Eli.¡± Charles announces.


    The words sent a jolt of electricity down my spine. ¡°I have been pulling you in, because I believe you¡¯re capable of making it out through this mess alive. By now you must have connected some dots.¡± I nod, I¡¯ve seen some connection in my cases recently. Not nearly enough to see Charles¡¯ hand in it, but I¡¯m not about to let him know that. ¡°When did you start?¡±


    Charles shrugs. ¡°I¡¯ve started interfering directly with the Shaw case, using the factory owners as a front, but I¡¯ve been keeping tabs on you since I recovered from our shootout.¡± I retrieve a cigarette from my case and light it. ¡°Why meet now?¡± The smell of chocolate fills the room. ¡°Because certain events are about to unfold that will destabilize Mercia. A nationwide revolution, which can¡¯t come to pass.¡± I wave dismissively. ¡°You¡¯re a man of power now, you hardly need me to stop a revolution.¡±


    Charles raises his eyebrows. ¡°Traded in one addiction for another I see.¡± I glare, and he gets to the point. ¡°Indeed, I don¡¯t, but I need you for something else. Something my agents can¡¯t be involved in.¡± I shake my head. ¡°Whatever shady shit you¡¯re doing I don¡¯t want to be part of it Charles.¡± Charles sits back looking smug. ¡°In that case Olivia will kill you and the girl you brought with you.¡± I tense and realize it as a mistake the second I see the gleam in Charles¡¯ eye. ¡°You care about her, don¡¯t you? Eli de Winter, in love at last. And here we all were thinking you were a stone-cold murderer, a living weapon. It seems the gun has a heart, how unfortunate.¡±


    I snarl, crunching the cigarette between my teeth. ¡°I¡¯m not going to kill anyone for you, not under duress or in any other situation.¡± Charles is the one waving dismissively now. ¡°I never said I would be setting up a contract now, did I? In fact, I want you to save an innocent man.¡± I stay silent, waiting for him to elaborate. ¡°I want you to do what you did six years ago. Assassins are coming for the prince of Armes, I want you to keep him safe. There is a catch though.¡± I take a deep breath. ¡°Let¡¯s hear it.¡±


    Charles nods at Olivia. ¡°She¡¯s going to try and kill him as well.¡± I¡¯m dumbfounded. ¡°You¡¯re going to set a murder machine on some innocent man, while hiring me to keep him safe? What kind of sadistic game are you playing?¡± Charles flashes one of his old charismatic smiles. ¡°A very complex one, with many moving parts, in which you now play a vital part.¡± His expression becomes serious again. ¡°It is for the good of Mercia. Olivia won¡¯t try to actually kill you, but she is going to try to get as close to is as possible.¡± I growl at her. ¡°I¡¯m putting a bullet in her the second I see her anywhere near me or mine.¡± She bares her veiled teeth, which are really white and very straight. Whatever brand of toothpaste she¡¯s using I want a crate of it.


    Charles shrugs again. ¡°Hit her, miss her, I don¡¯t care. She¡¯s tough, she will undoubtedly survive.¡± Olivia turns and gives him an amused smile. ¡°That is probably the nicest thing somebody ever said to me. Watch out, or I might start thinking you want to be my mate.¡± I don¡¯t have to lie, Olivia makes me feel uncomfortable, she would make anyone feel that way. The whole of her is just wrong.


    ¡°Apart from Olivia you will have to protect the prince from an individual known as Mister East. My agents haven¡¯t been able to figure out his real name, but I¡¯ve been told that you can put a face to the name.¡± I nod. ¡°He and I have a short but uncomfortable history. He crossed a line, I harmed his business interests.¡± The whole briefing is eerily familiar. Charles and I must have done this a hundred times, maybe more, and we settle in the routine as if the last six years didn¡¯t happen. ¡°East operates solo, but he usually sends his left and right hand in first. We don¡¯t have pictures and the names we picked up are fake. We know that they go by Huginn and Muninn and prefer blade work.¡±


    I nod. ¡°How will I get close to the prince?¡± Charles smiles. ¡°I¡¯ve already arranged an opening in his delegation, you will be at his side for as long as he is here.¡± I think about the whole thing for a minute. East being here is bad and good news. The bad being that by killing him I will exchange Aksokov for an unknown enemy. The upside of course is that I will get Aksokov off my back. ¡°You must understand that I don¡¯t work for free, not even when put under duress.¡± Charles smile broadens. ¡°There he is, the assassin I know and love. Of the three of us you always did love money the most. Moose never really cared as long as it payed her drinks and I, well I never lacked anything, but you, you always loved having all those red notes pile up within reach. A true capitalist.¡±


    I scowl, and he becomes serious. ¡°If you do this I will compensate you with five hundred thousand crowns.¡± I raise my eyebrows. ¡°You¡¯ve climbed up in the world to be able to throw money like that around.¡± Charles wiggles his eyebrows. ¡°The world becomes a bigger place when you get government funding.¡±


    I stand up. ¡°If that¡¯s all?¡± Charles stands up as well, buttoning his suit. ¡°The prince arrives tomorrow, by train, around noon. Make sure you are there to assume your role as head of security.¡± I nod, and he gives me a smug smile. ¡°Happy hunting, try not to die.¡±


    I leave the room, never turning my back on my old friend. We might have joked around and planned a mission like in the old days, but those days are long gone. I don¡¯t trust Charles, and I certainly don¡¯t trust his charged sidekick.


    People throwing lightning around, ridiculous. Sure, this world has made odd jumps in technology, doing insane things with electricity, but even though I don¡¯t understand it there is still a science behind it. Olivia however is unnatural, by both Earth¡¯s and this world¡¯s standards. As I exit the palace my concern grows, bringing Jesse here was a bad call. Thinking that she would be safer outside of Victoria was a mistake. In hindsight it is even more stupid, considering that I was summoned. I shake my head, what¡¯s done in done, no use mulling it over. With a sigh I hail a cab.


    ?


    Crown prince Antoines de Puissance of Armes was calm. Even though he was in the middle of foreign hostile country surrounded by enemy soldiers he was completely at ease. His delegation consisted out of fifty people, scattered throughout the train. He was sitting by himself in an isolated compartment. A book on Mercia¡¯s history was lying open in his lap. At a young age the prince learned that it is always good to know one¡¯s enemies. The prince pushed his spectacles up. With a sure hand he underlined a sentence in the book and smiled. His country might be on the brink of defeat, he personally was relishing the challenge.


    ?


    As the train moved towards the capital the prince prepared for his uphill diplomatic battle, an assassin antagonized over the future and a pair of siblings wearing raven masks sharpened their knives.

 Chapter 11: The necessary rescue of Antoines de Puissance

    Five years ago.


    Three separate explosives went of simultaneously and three teams moved into the office building in the first district. It was the sort of operation Charles had performed many times, only now he was leading it, instead of being a member of a team. At a first glance not that much had changed, the operatives were all wearing the metal masks and armor Cabaneri Incorporated had used. They operated with the same surgical precision and moved within the same formations. Even the mission was the same.


    However, everything had changed. He had been lifted from his old position and placed at the top of a hierarchy he didn¡¯t fully understand yet. After his rescuer had taken under his wing he had explained some things. August Cabaneri had been part of something much bigger than just his corporation, a brotherhood of kings and queens. A legacy of individuals dating back to a time before the bureaucracy was installed, back when Mercia still had a royal family and a noble hierarchy.


    The King of the West had explained to him that August had been grooming Charles to be his successor. ¡°He recognized a certain quality in you, the ability to see through complex machinations, to recognize all the parts of a plan and the ability to counter each individual part.¡± It wasn¡¯t a quality Charles recognized in himself. He should have anticipated Eli turning against them. There had been signs, the fights, Eli¡¯s insistence that they were being lied to, his friend¡¯s drug abuse. Yes, there had been signs, and he should have acted accordingly, but he hadn¡¯t. His hand stroked the ISB insignia, which was stitched on his armor.


    The sound of gunfire broke the silence of the night. He saw the police shift uncomfortably, they weren¡¯t used to these kinds of procedures. In the future he should see about obtaining some soldiers. He was approached by a member of his staff. ¡°Director, we¡¯ve eliminated two of the three targets, but there is a complication.¡± Charles turned to look at the woman, his single eye narrowing. ¡°What kind of complication?¡± The woman shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. ¡°One of the children wasn¡¯t feral, like the others. She¡¯s also older and more capable than the other two targets. She downed a man and is threatening to kill more, if someone in charge doesn¡¯t talk to her.¡±


    Charles raised his eyebrows, this was highly unusual. The experiments he had taken out over the years had been unstable at best, but more often completely feral. One demanding to speak to someone in charge was unheard of. ¡°Tell the men to stand down, I will speak with it. Maybe something can be learned.¡± He didn¡¯t waste more time, marching towards the building.


    A few minutes later he reached the team, now consisting out of two operatives. ¡°She¡¯s inside?¡± He asked. The second he got the confirmation he stepped inside. Even from the other side of the room he could hear the electricity¡¯s low buzzing. The girl in front of him couldn¡¯t have been older than fifteen. Not that age meant anything, he was living proof of that. ¡°Who are you?¡± The girl asked, revealing sharpened teeth. Those teeth were a hallmark of the Monarchy¡¯s experimental line of Electromancer terrorists. It was crude and barbaric, much like the Monarchy¡¯s leadership.


    ¡°My name is Charles Kingsburg, I¡¯m the director of the ISB, you asked to see me?¡± The girl shifted nervously on her feet. ¡°I don¡¯t want to die.¡± She said decisively. Charles nodded. ¡°I understand, but you¡¯re a danger to my nation, and we can¡¯t be sure we neutralized you until you¡¯re dead.¡± She shifted again. ¡°Then why did you come to talk?¡± She grimaced. ¡°I was curious, I haven¡¯t talked to one of your kind before. Honestly, I wasn¡¯t sure if you could talk at all.¡±


    The girl cracked her neck and licked her lips. ¡°They did something to us. It is hard not to try and kill you. Can you make it less of an effort?¡± She grinned. ¡°I could offer you a way out. If you relax and let us take you, we might be able to reverse what they did to you.¡± She shook her head and hit the wall with her fist. ¡°No, it can¡¯t be reversed. It is broken,¡± she pointed at her head, ¡°in here.¡± She hit the wall twice more. Slowly Charles reached for his sidearm, but the girl wasn¡¯t born yesterday. ¡°Hands off!¡± She yelled, and a lightning bolt sizzled past him. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± She followed up. Slowly Charles raised his hands and started moving towards the girl. ¡°I think we can work something out. Everything will be alright if you just relax.¡± His tone was soft, but his one eye was locked in hers.


    She had warm brown eyes, which were spread in anger and fear. He kept talking to her as if she were a crazed horse, until he got so close he could touch her. Softly he took her hands in his gloved ones. ¡°I¡¯ve been working with your people for a long time.¡± He said, flashing her a charming smile. ¡°I¡¯ve learned a couple of things.¡± The electricity disappeared, to the girl¡¯s dismay. Before she could do anything further he knocked her clean out. As his two operatives came in he looked at her unconscious body. ¡°Always wear rubber gloves.¡±


    ?


    The girl woke up somewhere around noon, they had kept her sedated until a cell could be readied for her. Waking up in an unfamiliar room was enough to set her off. Electric static crackled through the air as she readied herself to destroy the room she was being kept it.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do that if I were you.¡± A voice said, from an unknown source. She searched the room until she found the origin of the sound, a small loudspeaker attached to the ceiling. It didn¡¯t take her long to figure out that the mirror above the washbasin wasn¡¯t just a mirror. It was the only thing she could think of that let them have a clear view of her. ¡°Explosives have been placed beneath your cell. Attempts to escape are futile, so I suggest you get comfortable.¡± Slowly the girl calmed down, eventually settling on the bed, her arms clasped around her knees.


    It didn¡¯t take her captors long to send someone in. It wasn¡¯t the director, instead it was a woman. ¡°Do you have a name?¡± The woman kindly asked. The girl shook her head. ¡°How do you feel about Olivia, the director picked the name himself.¡± The girl shrugged. ¡°Excellent. Well then, Olivia, my name is doctor Meier. Before we start our session I want you to know that nobody is blaming you, and that with our help we believe you can be recuperated.¡± Olivia shrugged. ¡°I will start by stating the following; Olivia you are a good woman.¡±


    ?


    Now.


    I¡¯m not the only one waiting for the prince¡¯s arrival. At least a dozen bureaucrats and officials are standing on the same platform. Soldiers have set up a tight perimeter to keep the curious masses away. Nobody who isn¡¯t already standing next to me is going to get to the prince. I made a sweep of the surrounding area earlier, looking for vantage points, and found nothing. I¡¯m reasonably sure the prince can at least get off the train without getting shot, stabbed or poisoned.


    I sigh, this is all going to be very tedious. A horn in the distance alerted me of the train¡¯s imminent arrival. ¡°Attention!¡± The guy in charge of the assembled soldiers calls out as the train grinds to a halt. My eyes search for anything out of the ordinary, but everything is as it should be. The doors of the train are thrown open and a squadron of soldiers gets off. They¡¯re all wearing Armes¡¯ navy blue uniform, classic disc helmets. They are all using carbines, standard issue, mass produced by the Hispanic traders league in the southwest. The soldiers set up a perimeter with practiced ease.


    More than a few bureaucrats shift uneasily at the sight of enemy combatants. They are however reassured when our own men make a show of emulating the Armerian. Mercian uniforms inspire fear, not just because they represent the nation¡¯s might, but because the gasmasks are a promise. Mercia has not qualms about using toxic gasses in combat. Anything that will end the war as quickly as possible is authorized by the government. It is why the Monarchy is always hesitant to start a conflict.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    After a number of cabinet members, advisors, CEO¡¯s and lobbyists get off I finally get a first look at the man I¡¯m supposed to protect. He is a thin, bookish looking man, wearing a navy blue suit, his country¡¯s coat of arms embroidered on his heart. A longwinded exchange of greetings starts and I tune out. I¡¯m neither a politician, nor a bureaucrat, diplomacy isn¡¯t one of my strong suits. Something that became clear to me when I told Jesse she couldn¡¯t come. She didn¡¯t take it well, nor the fact that I was going without her. We yelled at each other for a while. Me about worrying that she would get caught in the crossfire. Her about me being one of the targets. Somewhere during the shouting match I realized she had a bit of a point. She had then acknowledged that I probably knew better about some of the aspects of the situations. Eventually we had settled on a compromise.


    My eyes scanned the crowd of well-dressed citizens, somewhere amongst them was Jesse, carrying two pistols and a submachinegun. If she was determined to be in the crowd he wanted her armed. ¡°And this is Eli de Winter, your chief of security while you reside in the country, your highness.¡± One of the pompous bureaucrats says, prompting me to pay attention. ¡°A pleasure your majesty.¡± I say, bowing my head. I refuse to actually bow before the prince, monarchies are detestable and should be banned. I lock eyes with the prince who has a polite smile fixed in place.


    ¡°Mister de Winter, I was told you had a shadier profession.¡± The prince says, his voice curious. Before I can answer the pompous bureaucrat from before interrupts. ¡°The ordination of assassin is a holy one, your majesty, like any other. All are needed in God¡¯s eyes. The assassins are all in service of the government, their activity is closely regulated.¡± The prince slightly tilts his head. ¡°Is that so, mister de Winter?¡± He asks. Behind the prince¡¯s back the bureaucrat gives me a pointed look. ¡°So it would seem.¡± I say, keeping my voice neutral. ¡°Very interesting, I would ask a few more questions about this topic later. The ordinations greatly interest me.¡± I nod. ¡°If that¡¯s what his majesty wishes.¡±


    The bureaucrat shot me a glare. ¡°Your highness, you and your delegation will be under the protection of the Mercian government. You will stay at the Cullingham Hotel, which you can secure as you see fit. An event has been organized in your honor tonight, negotiations will start in the morning.¡± The prince shook the bureaucrat¡¯s hand and started his descend of the platform. I half walked, half ran after him. ¡°Mister de Winter, do you intend to accompany on my short drive to the hotel?¡± It was a genuine question. ¡°Yes your majesty, in fact I intend to stay by your side during your stay.¡± The prince scowled. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware that the danger was imminent. These negotiations are a minor event for the grand bureaucracy, are they not?¡±


    The prince¡¯s gaze was piercing, as if he could see straight through me. ¡°Our intelligence suggests that several attempts from different parties might be made on your life. I¡¯m here to stop that from happening.¡± The prince tilted his head. ¡°Which is rather odd, isn¡¯t it?¡± He waved dismissively. ¡°Not the possible assassination attempts, those were expected, although not immediately. No, you being here. According to our information ordained assassins aren¡¯t in the business of protecting foreigners.¡±


    I was spared from answering by the cheers of an ever growing crowd. The prince himself was distracted by the sight, surprise on his face. After a second of hesitation he waved and the cheers grew even louder. ¡°Very odd, I¡¯m not even this popular in my own country.¡± I heard him mumble to himself. ¡°The people have a rather romanticized picture of royalty. In their heads you¡¯re a prince on a white horse, who in due time will become one of the kings of old.¡± I raise my voice so the prince can hear me. ¡°Tonight they will think about the war and laugh at the idea of having a king. You will see at the gala tonight your majesty, you have very few allies here.¡±


    The prince shoots me an amused look. ¡°You are a pessimist, aren¡¯t you mister de Winter?¡± I shrug. ¡°Just calling it as I see it, your highness.¡± The prince nods. ¡°Very well, shall we go?¡± He opens the car door as I walk around the vehicle to enter from the other side. Before I get in however something catches my eye. On a building in the distance a shadow moves. It is too far away for me to identify defining characteristics, but somebody is most definitely there, watching us. East and his accomplices? Oliva? Or maybe somebody else? The shadow disappears and I decide to let it go. Protecting someone is very different from trying to kill them.


    ?


    ¡°I think he saw you.¡± Muninn says, following the moving car with her scope. ¡°He knows we¡¯re coming regardless, so it doesn¡¯t matter.¡± Huginn responds. His voice is rough, he¡¯s been drinking too much. Her brother is easily distracted by drink and narcotics. He often says he needs it to keep up with her bloodlust. It is an unfair statement, dissecting has an educational purpose, while drinking and drugs have no use at all.


    ¡°But our orders¡± Muninn starts. ¡°Fuck our orders, I¡¯m not some dog that gives a paw on command.¡± Huginn interrupts. He¡¯s a very angry person, but she knows how to cheer him up. She throws her arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder. He smells nice, of gunpowder and oil. He relaxes and gives her an affectionate pat on the head. ¡°One last job, afterwards he will help you become a surgeon and give me what I deserve.¡±


    She releases him once he is completely calmed down. ¡°You want to play?¡± She asks. He shakes his head. ¡°Are you sure, I invited that girl from before. You remember how much she liked our games?¡± Huginn considers it, but then shakes his head again. ¡°You go play with her, make sure she has some energy left so that I can play later.¡± Muninn smiles, only when her brother gives up on pleasure there is something really wrong. She leaves him to his brooding as she goes to see to her visitor.


    Fearlessly she jumps over the edge of the roof, catching herself on a gutter. For those with the right knowledge the rooftops of Kinestorm are a quiet road, unpatrolled by troublesome policemen. It takes a little acrobatics from time to time, but Muninn is nothing if not nimble.


    After about ten minutes she¡¯s made her way home, the Cullingham Hotel¡¯s rooftop just a jump away. She jumps, landing silently in a crouched position. What kind of theme should she go with today? She¡¯s in the mood for leather and skirts. Didn¡¯t she have a corset lying around somewhere?


    Back on the roof Huginn is contemplating the job. He has seen the target, but something is off. It isn¡¯t anything concrete, but he has a gut feeling that something is very wrong. In this business it is smart to follow your instincts, they have saved him on numerous occasions. The money however doesn¡¯t lie. One last job and both him and Muninn would get what they always wanted. Yet, the unease remains, making him both angry and worried.


    ?


    We arrived at the hotel without complications. The place was a lot nicer than the one Jesse and I were staying in. A lobby made of white marble, with golden chandeliers, all very tasteful. The entire staff seemed to have been selected on their beauty and grace, giving the entire place a rather utopian feel, which going by the owner¡¯s explanation was the entire point.


    As the prince was talking to the owner and some other people I made a sweep of the building. I in this consisted out of me and an entire squadron of soldiers, it was rather odd. I am just about to report to the prince when I notice a woman. She is stunning, but that isn¡¯t what attracts my gaze. It is the way she walks, it reminds me of predatory animals. I shake my head, I¡¯m imagining things, seeing threats were there aren¡¯t any. I watch as the woman greets another one in the lobby. Both woman smile and talk, before they take one of the elevators.


    They don¡¯t have a more than a passing interest in the prince, which is suspicious, until you remember that Cullingham Hotel is the host of almost every foreign dignitary. A prince might sound like a big deal, but Armes is just a minor nation, not even a tenth of Mercia¡¯s size. The People¡¯s Republic of Manchuria sent corporate missionaries with estates larger than the Armerian nation every two months. Any regular of the Cullingham has probably seen about a dozen princes, or people with an equal level of power, before.


    ¡°The hotel is secure your highness.¡± The prince smiles. ¡°My gratitude for your thoroughness mister de Winter.¡± I incline my head. ¡°Shall we reconvene here in an hour? I would like to see some of this wonderful city before attending the social event this evening.¡± I think about it. Sightseeing is not a bad idea, it is public, not on the prince¡¯s schedule and divert us from the regular route. However, it also gives opportunity for less conventional assassins, like Olivia to make a move. ¡°As you wish your majesty.¡±


    ?


    Mister East is standing in front of a mirror. Tonight is a big night, chances are good his career will be made tonight. He straitens his tie, fixes his cufflinks and lastly puts on a ring. It is a new one, with a special poison compartment. Now, personally he has always detested poison, it is a coward¡¯s weapon. However, desperate times call for desperate measures. He looks in the mirror again, a smile automatically fixing into place. He frowns, it is his polite smile, it doesn¡¯t fit the occasion. His smile broadens. ¡°Much better.¡± He should lighten up, tonight is going to make his career.

 Chapter 12: Poison and lightning

    Six years ago.


    Eli chopped away at the tree in front of him. He had been chopping trees in some minor village deep in the Monarchy¡¯s heartland for five months now. No assassins, no talk about ordinations, nothing at all to indicated that Mercia was sparing a thought for one of her missing sons. His ordination however had not forgotten about him at all. His veins were turning blacker by the day and with it had come haunting thoughts. Sometimes a voice would whisper in his ear just before he fell asleep. However, knowing what something is shields you against it. Eli had done his very best to defend himself against his ordination.


    ¡°You know, it is funny.¡± Eli assumed someone said. Assumed since the people¡¯s accent was so thick around these parts that Eli had trouble understanding them. ¡°Most people try to flee to Mercia, not from it.¡± The man, a co-worker named Fritz or something picked his teeth as he spoke, making understanding him that much harder.


    ¡°Well, Mercia isn¡¯t all it is cracked up to be.¡± Eli said, focusing on the tree in front of him. ¡°Maybe, maybe, but it has got to be better than living here.¡± Eli grunted in response. It had been a wise choice to move to Gr¨¹nig. Half of a conversation consisted out of grunting, which suited him just fine. There were a number of questions he didn¡¯t want to answer.


    Fritz found his own tree to chop and nobody else felt like harassing Eli. The life he was leading was a peaceful one, and yet, he didn¡¯t feel at peace. His dreams were still haunted by Keith Randal and the little girl whose father he had helped kill. Now that he had left Mercia he was no longer seeing a therapist, or whatever doctor Meier had been, and his anxiety had been increasing. More than a few times he had woken, gun in hand, covered in sweat.


    ¡°Eli de Winter, you are not a good man.¡±


    Eli lost his balance, not prepared for the voice. It wasn¡¯t Meier¡¯s voice, or Charles¡¯, like before, it was the voice of the little girl. The one who he had promised to protect from the monsters so long ago.


    ¡°But you were the monster, weren¡¯t you?¡±


    Eli never talked back. Talking back would be accepting that the voice was real, and he refused to believe that. He was sick, he knew that. The price for a cure however was too high. It maybe was hypocritical, seeing the trail of bodies he had left in his wake, but he was trying to be better.


    Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Up and down the axe went as Eli cut the log in front of him to pieces.


    ¡°Chop, heave. Chop, heave. And another part of your soul gone.¡±


    Eli ignored the voice, trying to ban it out entirely.


    ¡°You can run Eli, but it won¡¯t change what you are, who you are. You are a murderer, just like us.¡± Charles screamed.


    With a roar Eli brought the axe down. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Don¡¯t think about the past. Don¡¯t think about how easy it would be to walk to Fritz and chop his head off. It would be an easy way to make the voices stop. Kill Fritz, chop his body into parts and bury them in the woods somewhere. It would be so easy.


    ¡°Eli de Winter, you are a good man.¡± Meier whispered.


    Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave.


    ¡°I have seen your future Eli de Winter, and this isn¡¯t it.¡± An unknown voice hissed. The voice sounded like something was crushing insects between two rocks. A horrible grinding that never ended. ¡°I will get your story back on track number 2500116, nobody will escape my grasp.¡±


    Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop, heave. Chop¡­¡­¡­..


    ¡°Thomas are you okay?¡± A kind voice asked. Eli whirled around, his hand reaching for a gun that was no longer there, his eyes bloodshot, black veins bulging in his neck. Rosa looked up at him with her big brown eyes. Sweat was pouring from his back, his hands were bleeding and he was panting.


    A soft hand caressed his face. ¡°It is all over, Mercia is in the past, we¡¯re together now.¡± Rosa whispered. Slowly Eli untensed, sagging to his knees. Soft lips were pressed to his as she drew him into her embrace. There was peace there, one of the few places where the voices didn¡¯t reach him. She had been a stroke of luck, put in his path to make him happy. Rosa¡¯s father was the local foreman, in charge of coordinating the logging business. Eli had run into Rosa when he had registered with the Lumber Guild. They had taken a liking to another and before long there had been talk of a courtship. It was all very old-fashioned and decent. There had been kisses, but nothing more. Her father had made clear what would happen if something happened before their union in the eyes of the gods.


    Eli hadn¡¯t told her everything, but she knew he was burdened by his past. He couldn¡¯t talk about it, and she never asked. her father didn¡¯t care as long as Eli did right by his daughter. No one had said a word about Eli not responding to the name Thomas. They sat for a while together, until he calmed down.


    ¡°Father send me to fetch you, there¡¯s going to be a storm and he doesn¡¯t want anybody out in the woods. The soil has been loose lately, too many felt trees in the same area or something. He fears there will be a mudslide if the rain is strong enough. He also invited you to eat with us, he wants to discuss something with you.¡± Rosa smiled at him in a meaningful manner. She seemed to already know what her father wanted to talk about.


    ?


    The dinner had come and gone like a pleasant dream. The Hertzfeld family was gigantic, Rosa being one of her father¡¯s many children, several of which had children themselves. The patriarch had however ordered the entire family to make themselves scarce while he talked to Eli. Undoubtedly some, if not all, family members were listening from somewhere.


    ¡°Thomas, son, you¡¯ve been good for my daughter these past few months.¡± Klaus started in Germanic. He spoke slowly, because he knew Eli hadn¡¯t grasped the language completely. ¡°You¡¯ve worked hard, and although I don¡¯t like your tattoos, I think you are a good match for my daughter.¡± He smiled, his beard almost cracking in two. ¡°I never used to be fond of foreigners, but you¡¯re one of the good ones.¡± He switched to English. ¡°Mary my daughter, yes?¡±


    Eli¡¯s face cracked into a smile and he was about to respond when the front door was kicked out of his hinges. Both Klaus and Eli jumped up in surprise at the sudden intrusion. The intruder was big, having to duck to get into the house. Eli¡¯s stomach dropped when he saw the necklace the man was wearing. He recognized the snake eating its own tail, it was a sign he had learned to fear while under the care of Cabaneri Incorporated.


    ¡°Eli de Winter, you¡¯re a hard man to find.¡± The ordained retributor said. ¡°The council of senior alderman has ordered an inquiry into your whereabouts, seeing that ordained assassins aren¡¯t allowed to leave the country. Upon closer inspection I find you guilty of forsaking the path set out for you by God, which is an offense punishable by death. My authority isn¡¯t recognized by the Rosharian authorities, which is why you will be taken back to Mercia where you will stand trial for your crimes against Mercia and its people.¡± The retributor pulled his sword from his sheath. ¡°Submit or die.¡±


    A voice was laughing in Eli¡¯s ears, one only he could hear.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t over Eli. For you it will never be over.¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ?


    Now.


    The prince and I were sitting together in a car heading for Kinestorm¡¯s grand radio tower. Instead of being accompanied by the entire Armerian army the prince had preferred his security team to consist out of the driver and myself. So far anonymity had worked rather well. For all the prince¡¯s face had been plastered over the front page of nearly every newspaper in Mercia nobody recognized him. It is a curious phenomenon that I¡¯ve observed before. When people don¡¯t expect you to show up somewhere they are less likely to see you in a crowd. Nobody expected to see the prince at Kinestorm¡¯s attractions and so they didn¡¯t.


    We arrive at Kinestorm tower, a pinnacle of modern engineering, which I find rather ugly. Call me old-fashioned, but I¡¯ve always like the more classical buildings. All the steel and concrete reminds me of Victoria¡¯s lower districts. The prince however is rather impressed. ¡°And this single tower transmits to the whole country?¡± I shrug. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know, I¡¯m not terrible familiar with how radios work. I personally never used one.¡± The prince frowns. ¡°You¡¯ve never listened to the radio?¡± I shake my head. ¡°I dislike waiting for good music to come along, I tend to purchase records whenever I want something new.¡±


    The driver joins us shortly after he parks the car. The bulky man had a professional air about him that I quite liked. He was a solemn man who didn¡¯t talk much. I like him already. ¡°Can we go up? I would like to view the city from above.¡± I nod. ¡°Please follow me.¡± We enter the building where I explain to a worried guard who we are and what we want. The prince shows his royal seal and I slip a few red notes into the guard¡¯s pocket. Before long we¡¯re standing in an elevator heading for the top floor.


    The top floor is an observation platform where parties are hosted from time to time. Currently it is empty, which I don¡¯t mind at all. I stay at the prince¡¯s side as we walk around, looking at the city. ¡°It is quite a beautiful city, yet there is something that puzzles me.¡± He halts and points at the walled off district. ¡°Why is it that the city has no defensive works, safe for that wall?¡± He shoots me a puzzled look. ¡°Your majesty have you wondered why there don¡¯t seem to be any poor people in Kinestorm?¡± The prince clasps his hands behind his back. ¡°An entire city built for the rich, where the poor are locked away, simply for being poor? That seems rather harsh, no?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t Armes have a gap between the rich and the poor?¡¯ I counter his question with one of my own. ¡°Yes, it does, yet my country doesn¡¯t lock them up.¡± I raise my eyebrows. ¡°The rich and poor mingle than? Go to the same pubs, visit the same hospitals, enjoy each other¡¯s company?¡± The prince shakes his head. ¡°I see your point, yet this still feels wrong.¡± I shrug. ¡°A cultural difference, I would presume, your majesty.¡± The driver approaches. ¡°Gentlemen, it is about time to head to the palace for the gala.¡± The prince smiled. ¡°Thank you Fabio, we will head there in a minute.¡± The prince gives me a thoughtful look. ¡°When my home is annexed into the bureaucracy, will a divide like that be mandatory?¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°No, but if Armerian people start thinking like the Mercian government it will happen regardless.¡± We ride the elevator down in silence. I slip the guard at the entrance another red note and we step outside. ¡°Oh fuck.¡± The square adjacent to the radio tower generally is a busy place, but right now it is deserted. Completely empty, save for one woman. Sharp teeth are bared into a ferocious smile. Wearing a whole lot of leather and carrying a whip with attached sharp blades, Olivia looks like a very angry dominatrix. ¡°Hey boys.¡± She calls out.


    I pull my pistol out of its holster attached to the small of my back. The movement is mirrored by the driver. ¡°Shoot to kill.¡± I order and start firing. Olivia however is already moving, racing towards us. She moves with unnatural grace and precision. A bead of sweat runs down my forehead as I try to aim where I think she will be, instead of where she is. I hear a click beside me as Fabio runs out of bullets. Olivia is too close to reload so instead the driver pulls a knife from somewhere. Olivia snarls and the whip cracks through the air. It winds itself around Fabio¡¯s throat, the blades digging deep. ¡°Get to the fucking car.¡± I growl as I fire three shots into Olivia¡¯s direction.


    Electricity crackles and the driver¡¯s skin starts smoking. I reload as the man¡¯s eyes roll back and he collapses. Olivia licks her lips as she pulls back the whip. She gives me a hungry look, which pisses me off more than a little. Fucking Charles and his shitty plots. Exactly this is the reason Moose was in charge, she kept things understandable. I hear car tyres shriek, which means that the prince at least is getting away unscathed.


    ¡°I promised to put a bullet in you.¡± I sneer. She just smiles, does a trick with that fucking whip of hers and comes for me. I pull my second pistol from its holster and for a single, very satisfying moment she seems surprised. I open fire and she scrambles. Firing two pistols looks really cool, just like in the moves. What they don¡¯t tell you however is that when you aren¡¯t trained to shoot with two pistols your aim is complete shit. Fortunately, Olivia doesn¡¯t know that.


    A car comes to a squeaking halt behind me and the door is thrown open. ¡°Get in!¡± The prince yells, sounding both excited and frightened. It takes me a whole wasted second to realize that I rather have the prince behind the wheel than Olivia¡¯s whip around my neck. I fire a couple more bullets in Olivia¡¯s general direction before throwing myself into the car. We take off as quickly as the car can manage. For once I¡¯m glad with the carriage like design of the machine, as it is harder to hit someone through the smaller windows.


    ¡°Who the hell was that?¡± The prince yells as we leave the square behind. ¡°Certainly not a colleague of mine.¡± I grunt. ¡°That woman is crazy. Who uses a fucking whip? The bitch killed Fabio.¡± The prince is a bit out of sorts, which isn¡¯t that odd, since a mental case just tried to kill him. ¡°I¡¯ve never been considered important enough to warrant assassination.¡± The prince muses and I¡¯m surprised to hear a bit of joy in his voice. ¡°Congratulations, your majesty. The only thing you need now is a bureaucratic victory and you will fit right in with the aristocrats and bureaucrats.¡± The prince gives me a lopsided grin. ¡°Call me Antoines, any man who saved my life should address me by my name.¡± I nod, but if Antoines thinks it means I will call him by his first name in public he will be sorely mistaken. I¡¯m not painting a giant target on my back advertising that I¡¯m friends with foreign nobles.


    The prince pushes his spectacles higher on his nose as he focuses on the road. ¡°At some point you will have to give me some directions, since I have no idea where we are going.¡± He suddenly says. I chuckle and instruct him to take a right. ¡°Where are we going?¡± I become serious again. ¡°To my hotel, to pick up an additional agent and some ammunition.¡± The prince raises his eyebrows. ¡°You¡¯ve got some accomplice stashed away at your hotel?¡±


    ¡°Something like that.¡± I mumble vaguely. ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡±


    ?


    ¡°So, you¡¯re left alone with royalty for a few hours and somebody tries to kill you within a few hours? Eli, this is rough to say, but I think you¡¯re cursed.¡± Jesse badly tries to camouflage the worry in her voice with levity. The prince meanwhile paces through the hotel room.


    ¡°I have to go to the gala.¡± The prince suddenly says. ¡°That would be stupid, people are out to kill you. We should be closing the ranks, let your delegation handle things.¡± The prince shook his head in agitation. ¡°I can¡¯t, it will project weakness, which I can¡¯t afford.¡± I throw my hands in the air in disbelief. ¡°Antoines, you don¡¯t know how many people are trying to kill you. There are over two thousand assassins in this country, they might all be after you. Let your nobles do the partying and negotiating.¡± I sit down, and Jesse gets me a glass of wine. Normally I wouldn¡¯t drink on the job, but my head was almost electrocuted with a whip today, I deserve a break.


    ¡°Since when are you on first name basis with the prince of Armes?¡± Jesse asks softly. ¡°I¡¯m well connected.¡± I wiggle with my eyebrows. The prince glares at us. ¡°You don¡¯t understand, the nobles are part of the problem.¡± I sit up straight and play close attention as I notice the worry on the prince¡¯s face.


    ¡°The reason Mercia wants to make peace is because the war is no longer profitable. Too many men and resources are lost at the front, even though the Armerian army has been defeated.¡± I raise my eyebrows. ¡°If the army has been defeated who are our forces fighting?¡± The prince pushes his spectacles up. ¡°Mercenaries, bought and paid for by the southern nobility.¡± I shake my head. ¡°Impossible, it would take a country¡¯s financial capabilities to pay that many mercenaries. Mercia has deployed almost its entire standing army.¡± The prince nods. ¡°You are right, the nobles are receiving financial aid.¡± The statement puzzles me. ¡°From who? Who would help a country prolong a war they would eventually still lose?¡± Jesse asks.


    ¡°Someone within the Mercian government.¡± The prince states. ¡°We traced the noble¡¯s expenditures, they were all in Mercian crowns.¡± I shake my head in disbelief. ¡°It would cost a fortune; the government can¡¯t just throw that kind of money around. And why would they?¡± The prince shrugs. ¡°I don¡¯t have a clue, but you understand that I must go, or this peace deal will go up in smoke and my country will be torn apart even further.¡±


    ?


    The prince is late. The tardiness of some people never ceases to annoy mister East. Tonight, however it grates on his nerves. He spends too much time talking with Armerian inferiors and Mercian riffraff. The whole thing is quickly turning into a waste of time.


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, the most honoured crown prince of the sovereign nation of Armes Antoines de Puissance will now grace the room with his presence.¡± An overblown statement if ever there was one. Fucking royalty and their high horses, they should hang the lot of them. Nobody should be born to a throne, they should either take it or carve it themselves.


    The prince is in the company of a rather plain woman, not that she will form a problem. East patiently waits until the prince¡¯s drink is empty, and he is without company. Carrying a glass of poisoned wine, he walks towards the prince, a smile plastered on his face. Even though he despises the man¡¯s position, this is purely business, courtesy was a must.


    ¡°Your majesty, what a pleasure it is to meet you.¡± He hands the man the poisoned glass. Etiquette dictates the prince to take it and the prince can¡¯t afford to be seen snubbing a Mercian. The other man politely smiles. ¡°I¡¯m sorry my lord, but I don¡¯t know your name.¡± The prince¡¯s accent is cultured, tailored to sound Armerian, yet grammatically perfect. ¡°Knight, Rowan Knight, your majesty and of course I¡¯m not a lord, just a mere gentleman hoping to steal some of your time.¡± The prince¡¯s woman snorts.


    East turns his gaze to the woman. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware I said something funny, please let me in on the joke, my lady.¡± The smile is still fixed in place, but his voice has grown cold. He didn¡¯t claw his way out of the gutter only to be disrespected by some Armerian whore. ¡°Oh, I thought you made a joke regarding stealing some of his time, when you are in fact planning to steal all of it.¡± Her accent isn¡¯t Armerian at all, it is Mercian, Victorian middleclass to be precise. ¡°A trap.¡± East whispers, just as the barrel of a pistol is pushed against his back.


    ¡°Mister East, what a pleasure it is to see you again.¡± A familiar voice whispers in his ear. ¡°Mister de Winter, I thought our business had been concluded.¡± The sound of a humourless chuckle comes from behind him. ¡°Mister Aksokov disagrees, now let¡¯s go on a walk, I know a perfect place in the garden where you and I can have a drink. I will take that your majesty.¡± The gun prods in East¡¯s back. ¡°Start walking, I have questions, which need answering.¡±

 Chapter 13: The unnecessary death of East

    Almost five years ago.


    The water was calm as the steamboat slowly made its way towards Victoria. From this distance the city wasn¡¯t yet visible. The black smoke from the factory district however was. Eli was standing at the prow of the ship, where others could easily avoid him. As always, the retributor was two meters behind him. The retributor hadn¡¯t given him any privacy, not even to take a shit. The man was always within killing distance, hand clasped around the pommel of his sword. If Eli gave him any excuse he would pull out the sword and strike him down. Perhaps that was preferable to what was waiting for Eli back home. The Mercian Bureaucracy wasn¡¯t known for its mercy.


    ¡°You have one of those to spare?¡± Eli nodded at the cigarette the other man was smoking. The retributor grunted and threw him the pack. Eli lighted one up and inhaled the smoke. It was only fitting he regained an addiction as he neared his former home. Cigarettes were a lot milder than Blow, if ever wanted to get off them the symptoms wouldn¡¯t be half as bad. He shuddered when he remembered how he had gone through withdrawal. Blow enhanced the senses, the moment an addict stopped taking it his senses would dull. Half-blind, smelling nothing but blood and completely deaf Eli had spent nearly a month begging, crying and shitting himself somewhere in an alley in the asshole of creation. It had been the lowest point in his life.


    ¡°When I get home tomorrow I¡¯m going to hug my daughter, kiss my wife, have a drink and an amazing night.¡± The retributor blew out a plume of smoke and grinned. ¡°You on the other hand will be dead or rotting in a jailcell. It makes you wonder, doesn¡¯t it? How can you be such a major fuck up?¡± Eli knew that the man was provoking him on purpose, that he was being baited into making a move so that there would be no trial. Which is why he tried to remain calm. A feat which was made a lot harder by the screaming voices in his head.


    ¡°Kill him Eli, we know you can. Didn¡¯t you kill five trained professional assassins? What is he, except for another murderous dickwad? Do it Eli! This is what you were born to do!¡±


    Eli released the smoke through his nose. His veins have all become entirely black, his thoughts have blackened with it. So, he did the only thing that he could do. He banned out the voices by doing nothing, but think of Rosa. Her voice, her touch, her face, her absence hurts even in that moment. He loved her so much, she made all the pain worth it, but she is far away, in the monarchy¡¯s heartland.


    ¡°If you kill the zealot you could be with her.¡± A female voice said.


    It is lying of course. Even if Eli managed to kill the retributor, take over the ship and return to Rosa, Mercia wouldn¡¯t let him go. They would just send the other three retributors, all at once, and this time their mission would be simple, search and destroy. No, Eli would be brought before the court, found guilty of several crimes, and be condemned to death. He would go to the gallows, head held high, thinking of Rosa every step of the way. He was going to die tomorrow and there was nothing he could do about it, his fate was sealed.


    ¡°I told you Eli, I have plans for you.¡± The female voice said. Only it wasn¡¯t a woman who was speaking to Eli. Over the past few months he had finally figured it out. All the voices he heard were in fact one voice. They all belonged to an entity who could read Eli¡¯s mind and tortured him for fun. A devil that had come to sit on his shoulder because he hadn¡¯t followed God¡¯s path. If God had designed it to be so, it was a very cruel deity indeed. During his time in the monarchy he had grown fond of the local gods. Apart from the god of war their gods were all quite peaceful, focusing on creating instead of destroying.


    Eli turned towards his captor, who was still waiting for a response to his insult. The moment he turned around the retributor clasped his blade tighter. ¡°Could you stop provoking me? If you¡¯re patient I will be swinging from the gallows by midday tomorrow. They will make an example out of me, not a public one, but it will be seen by my colleagues. Everybody that matters will know what happens when you run. So, if you sit still, shut up and leave me alone, both the state and your church will profit. Got it?¡±


    The other man smiled. ¡°Okay devil boy, if you say so. I will stop hurting your feelings.¡± Eli sighed, threw his cigarette overboard and went to his cabin. He would be tried as soon as they arrived, he wanted to get some sleep in before he was hanged.


    ?


    Eli was sitting in a waiting room, shackled, waiting for his trial. As always, the retributor was with him. In a few hours he would be rid of the man for good, which would have been a relief, hadn¡¯t it been for Eli¡¯s own demise. As things stood, Eli was tired, hungry and eager to get the whole thing over with.


    Some clerk opened the door. ¡°Mister de Winter, the court will see you now.¡± Eli stood up, followed by his shadow, and proceeded to walk through the door, straight into the courtroom. Like all governmental institutions Victoria¡¯s grand court was a display of wealth and power. Normally in a trail like Eli¡¯s there would have been a crowd of onlookers, eager to see him convicted. But instead of piercing gazes filled with hate and tongues silenced by police presence Eli was met by an empty courtroom. There were no guards, no reporters, no onlookers, save for the judges, the retributor, Eli¡¯s lawyer and himself there was no one at all.


    It made sense, the government wouldn¡¯t want to let it slip that it had taken them this long to find and arrest one of their own assets. Mercian assassins were feared for the single fact that the bureaucracy maintained the illusion that all assassins were under direct control of the government. Eli shuffled towards his lawyer¡¯s side, but the moment he sat down the man stood up and approached the judges.


    ¡°Esteemed judges of the court, as you can see my client is obsolete, in accordance with the law I will withdraw from this case.¡± A judge nodded, and the lawyer marched out of the courtroom. As he stopped briefly in front of Eli. ¡°There is no defence for heretics who have strayed as far from God as you have.¡± The lawyer¡¯s face showed nothing but contempt and disgust. Eli raised his eyebrows. ¡°If that is all? The defence would like you to fuck off.¡± The lawyer scoffed. ¡°Strong words for a man who is about to be sentenced. I will look forward to seeing you swing.¡± Dick.


    ¡°Mister de Winter the court will now preside over the charges that have been brought against you. You¡¯ve been accused of the murder of August Cabaneri, straying from the path of God, leaving the country without permit, tax evasion and dereliction of court duty.¡± Eli looked up from his seat. The judges were seated on a plateau up high, so that he had to crane his neck to look at them. ¡°Additionally, the court wishes to inform you that earlier this year you were accused of the murder of Charles Kingsburg and five other employees of Cabaneri Incorporated. This court saw you cleared off these charges due to a lack of evidence and the absence of a viable witness. Even though the cases are connected this court will not take those charges, nor their outcomes, into consideration during this trial. Do you understand the charges brought against you?¡±


    Eli nodded. ¡°I do.¡±


    The Regent Justice ruffled through some paper. ¡°First, we will start with the charges regarding dereliction of court duty, tax evasion and your unauthorized emigration. The court has found you guilty of these three charges. However, since you couldn¡¯t have made an appearance in court due to being out of the country we will lower the sentence from three years in prison to one. Instead of the prison sentence you can pay a fine of ten thousand crowns. Do you accept this verdict?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± Something was happening, it wasn¡¯t yet clear what, but a small flame of hope had ignited within Eli¡¯s heart.


    ¡°The sentence for tax evasion is normally twenty-five years of forced labour in one of the colonies. The state is however willing to wave this sentence in exchange for the as of yet unpaid taxes plus a fee of twenty thousand crowns, to be paid within two years. Do you accept this verdict?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± Thirty thousand crowns weren¡¯t a small sum, but it was something Eli could easily get his hands on, given some time.


    ¡°Seeing that the aforementioned three crimes are all linked the court has decided that thirty thousand crowns in fines are a severe enough punishment. The court isn¡¯t without mercy, which has been extended.¡± The Regent Justice pouted a little as he spoke the words, as if he personally didn¡¯t agree in the slightest with the situation.


    ¡°Moving on to the murder of August Cabaneri. The court has reviewed the evidence, and found you guilty of premeditated murder, the punishment of which is death.¡± Eli¡¯s heart sunk in his chest. ¡°However, it has been brought to the court¡¯s attention that mister Cabaneri committed several crimes against Mercia and its people.¡± The judge plucked a piece of paper from the pile next to him. ¡°Some of these files are redacted in the interest of national security, but your former boss was definitely guilty of consorting with known criminals, murder for hire, facilitating the illegal killings of prominent national figures, facilitating the drug trade, facilitating illegal gambling operations, smuggling, piracy, murder, manslaughter, bribery, inside trading and crimes against the faith.¡± The judge coughed.


    ¡°Due to the nature of his crimes August Cabaneri¡¯s murder has been reclassified as a necessary death. Eli de Winter, during the time of the assassination you were still legally classified as an assassin ordained by God, in service of the Mercian government. This means that you were simply executing your duties as you saw fit, within the boundaries of the law, and thus can¡¯t be found guilty of a crime, for none was committed. This court dismisses the charge of murder brought against you.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Somewhere behind Eli the retributor shifted uneasily from his left to his right foot. He too had noticed that something strange was going on. Victoria¡¯s grand court was a lot of things, but never soft. Either somebody had bribed the judges, or God had taken a personal interest in the matter.


    ¡°Lastly, mister de Winter, it is very clear to this court that you are guilty of being obsolete. Your skin is evidence enough of your crimes against God. I will personally add that I¡¯ve never seen somebody stray this far, and that I personally fear for your soul.¡± The retributor scoffed. ¡°Normally, as you are well aware, the punishment for straying from God¡¯s path is death, to be carried out immediately.¡±


    The retributor¡¯s eyes widened as he felt what was about to come next. ¡°No, you got to be kidding me.¡± He said out loud, before striding towards the judges. ¡°Your honours, you can¡¯t mean this! Surely you wouldn¡¯t let an abomination like him walk free? He needs to be put down like the mad dog he is! I will do it right here, right now if you ask me. He is an affront to God!¡± The bulky man shouted at rather unimpressed looking judges above him.


    ¡°Mister Stark! May I remind you that you don¡¯t have a voice in this court room.¡± The Regent Justice thundered. ¡°You will hold your tongue, or you will be removed, now stand back and let the trial presume!¡± The retributor shut up and stepped back, his eyes aflame.


    ¡°Mister de Winter, due to the nature of your ordination this court understands that a heavy burden has been placed on your soul. Under section 9B of the book of ordinational law, you¡¯ve been granted a forty-eight-hour reprieve. During this time, you must lift you must reclaim the status of a good man in service of the faith. If you fail mister Stark here will execute you. Do you understand this verdict?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± Eli said.


    ¡°Excellent, then this court will reconvene in forty-eight hours to hopefully wave the charges.¡± The gavel hit the wooden plague and the judges stood.


    ¡°This is a fucking outrage! Haven¡¯t you seen the markings on his skin? His veins are as black as his heart, he needs to be destroyed!¡± The retributor raged and shouted, but the judges didn¡¯t even listen, let alone respond. Eli stood, his shackles ringing obnoxiously. With a shit eating grin he walked towards the retributor, who was panting heavily. ¡°My new bracelets chafe a little, could you take them off?¡± The zealot turned around, his face screwed up in anger. As roughly as he could he undid Eli¡¯s shackles. When he was freed Stark¡¯s hand fell heavily on Eli¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Forty-eight hours, you filthy heretic. Forty-eight hours before I sever your head from your body.¡± The man stalked out of the room, leaving Eli behind.


    There was only one place Eli could go to, one place that would have what he needed. The club.


    ?


    Now.


    With barrel of my pistol poking in his back I half drag, half walk East through the halls of the palace. Eventually I find what I¡¯m looking for, a balcony. The two of us step outside, into the cold. There is nobody who will hear him out here, and even if they do it will take them too long to get here, giving me all the time I need to make a safe exit.


    ¡°When did all this become personal for you, mister de Winter?¡± East asks. His voice is arrogant and there is contempt in his eyes. He isn¡¯t afraid, which means he has a trick up his sleeve. ¡°It isn¡¯t.¡± I say. ¡°This is just another job, just not one I will regret later on.¡± East scoffs. ¡°The hell it isn¡¯t, ever since the Aksokov case you¡¯ve been getting back at me. First with the Dice woman, then you attacked my business through the Silver Bells. Is this how your personal vendetta against me ends? With you rescuing a foreign monarch from a would-be assassin?¡± The way East says it monarch sounds like a curse.


    I shrug. ¡°Believe it or not your involvement in those other cases had little to nothing to do with me. Except for Dice, her death I orchestrated to get back at you.¡± East spits over the edge of the balcony. ¡°Well, lets get it over with then.¡± He spreads his arms, inviting me to shoot. ¡°You don¡¯t seem terribly concerned for a man who is about to die.¡± East smiles smugly. ¡°Live by the sword, die by the sword. Honestly getting shot isn¡¯t the worst way to go, my employer probably had something much worse in store. Besides, I go out knowing that you¡¯re fucked regardless what happens. There is no ending to this story where somebody doesn¡¯t kill you. I will be avenged, of that I¡¯m sure.¡±


    I shake my head, he won¡¯t get off this easy, I need answers. ¡°Why are you doing this? Who are you working for? What do you or the syndicate have to gain by loaning fortunes to foreign nobles to keep fighting a war that can¡¯t be won? It makes no sense, you won¡¯t ever get that money back. Now you want to assassinate the prince who has come to surrender.¡± East smile increased in smugness. ¡°Oh, this is rich, I regret that I won¡¯t be there to see your face when you finally figure it out. You¡¯ve been at the centre of things this whole time, yet you understand nothing. When you first appeared, I was concerned. I spent money, influence and political capital to find out who the fuck you were. When I found out you used to belong to Cabaneri Inc I thought I understood. I thought you were one of the other players, or at least a champion of one. But when I hired you, you didn¡¯t know jack shit. I was stuck in this loop you see, trying to figure out who you were and how you could be in all the wrong places at the wrong times. Now it turns out, it is all just one big fucking coincidence. It is terribly ironic.¡±


    I hit him in the face with the butt of my gun. ¡°Answer the fucking questions!¡± I yell in his face. He just laughs. ¡°Poor fucking Eli, doesn¡¯t know shit about the game he is playing.¡± I lay a beating on him, like I¡¯ve never done before. Over and over I hit him with the butt of my gun. When that doesn¡¯t get any answers out of him I throw it aside and beat him up with my own fists. ¡°People I know, people I care about are in danger, tell me what is going on!¡±


    East spits out blood, but the smug smile is still fixed on his face. ¡°How does it feel to let the devil out? It has been a while hasn¡¯t it.¡± He pants at me. ¡°I grew up in Victoria¡¯s gutters. You think you¡¯re hurting me? You¡¯re not even getting close.¡± I hit him again and again, shouting at him to answer the questions. His eye has swollen shut, his lips are bloody pieces of flesh, but he¡¯s still smiling. ¡°I¡¯ve seen a lot of guys like you over the years. Men who can barely keep the rage hidden inside contained. You all self-destruct, you will too.¡±


    He¡¯s not going to say anything. He knows it, I know it. There is not a single thing in the world that will make East talk. ¡°If it isn¡¯t money or loyalty that drives you, what is it?¡± I ask. There is a gleam in Smith¡¯s good eye. ¡°Fear.¡± He breathes the word, as if it is magical. ¡°Not of a person, but of standing on the wrong side of history.¡± He reaches inside the pocket of his bloodstained suit. I¡¯m about to hit him again when he reveals that the object he¡¯s grasping for is a cigarette case. He leans on the balustrade of the balcony, using it to keep himself standing. He offers me a cigarette and I accept.


    ¡°Have you not seen it?¡± East asks. ¡°Seen what? Say something useful, I¡¯m not in the mood for you riddles and bullshit.¡± I respond. ¡°The injustice in our country. The ordinations that are corrupting our society. At the bottom the obsolete are left to their own devices or hunted down and killed. Why? Because there aren¡¯t enough jobs around to keep their feet on the path of God. Whose fault is that? The workers, who one day got up to find out that their factories were closed? Or the factory owners who were too incompetent to keep their own businesses running?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°So what, because some people get screwed it is okay to flood the streets with narcotics? Because that is what you¡¯re doing, isn¡¯t it?¡± East spits a red plume over the railing. ¡°We had to get the money, and we needed to make the populace angry. Narcotics was an excellent way to achieve both.¡± I narrow my eyes. ¡°What are you saying?¡± East smiles. ¡°Have you ever wondered why we call ourselves the Syndicate?¡± He tilts his head. ¡°No? A syndicate mister de Winter is a group of individuals with a common interest. For many of us that common interest is making money. I¡¯m not a sentimental man mister de Winter, but even I can see that there is more to life than just making money. Some of us actually want to change things for the better.¡± He flicks the butt of the cigarette on the ground. ¡°I might not be there when the time comes, but my legacy will see the nature of this country changed.¡±


    Before I can stop him East throws himself over the balustrade. I dash forwards in an attempt to catch him, but his coat tails slip through my fingers. I watch as the man who holds all the answers I need falls for a short time, before hitting the streets below. The fall must instantly kill him as his body doesn¡¯t move an inch. A few seconds later I hear a scream, followed by doors banging open. I quickly leave the balcony, putting my gun away. I should have seen a suicide attempt coming, yet I didn¡¯t. I¡¯m not used to interrogating my targets, it isn¡¯t my job. East had answers, he knew what is going on and what was going to happen.


    The Syndicate wants the crown prince dead, why? To keep selling weapons to Armes? No, it doesn¡¯t make sense. The nobles would just use the money they loaned from the Syndicate earlier. Why loan the Armerian nobles all that money in the first place? They can¡¯t pay it back, the war has pretty much impoverished them. What was all that horseshit about wanting to make the country a better place. A criminal syndicate with supposed good intentions, a war fought on foreign grounds, a nationwide revolution, how do they connect?


    ¡°Mister de Winter?¡± I¡¯m pulled from my thoughts by a pretty woman. ¡°Yes miss?¡± The woman smiles. ¡°Romanov, Katharina Romanov.¡± Her accent sounds Russian, which means she¡¯s most likely from one of the states within the Imperial Hegemony of Kryzan. ¡°A pleasure.¡± I say cautiously. ¡°You look like one of my countrymen, yet you sound like a born and bred Mercian. It is quite odd.¡± She approaches, running a finger along my cheek. ¡°My uncle Boris, the Kryznian ambassador, he wants to have a word.¡± She turns around, clearly expecting me to follow. ¡°I¡¯m terribly sorry to disappoint the ambassador, but I have places I need to be.¡± I cautiously say. I don¡¯t want to offend a foreign dignity, especially not one who is partially responsible for keeping the peace between the three biggest countries on the continent.


    ¡°That would be terribly unfortunate. My uncle Boris you see has some information he thinks you should have. Information about your former friend, Charles Kingsburg.¡± She takes another step, before seductively looking over her shoulder. ¡°Another time perhaps.¡±


    The cogs in my mind are turning at such a speed that smoke must be coming out of my ears. With East out of the way the prince should be safe for a while. Huginn and Muninn are probably a back up plan, they won¡¯t strike openly during the party. That leaves me with some time, an hour, maybe two. Unless the discovery of East¡¯s body will prompt an early end, in which case the prince will go to the hotel immediately. The question boils down to a single question. Can I trust Charles enough to pass up this information? I know the answer, it isn¡¯t one I like.


    ¡°Lead the way.¡±


    ?


    As the Queen of the South walks through the corridors of the palace, the assassin following like a meek lamb, she smiles. Always hedge your bets.

 Chapter 14: Gods and Kings

    Almost five years ago.


    Eli got out of the cab, the club looming over him. Disgusted eyes followed him wherever he went.


    ¡°All these black marks, you¡¯ve lost your way. You¡¯re beyond redemption some might say.¡±


    Eli ignored the voice that had been plaguing him for what seemed like an eternity. Rain drizzled from the sky, a forebear of the storm that was yet to come. As he walked up the steps to the club¡¯s entrance the ghosts of his past walked beside him. Memories of different days, different people, some dead, others still living.


    He ignored a servant trying to stop him, pushing the man aside, indifferent to his protests. He barely heard the man, who kept crying for security. The club¡¯s halls were darker than he remembered them, more hostile, less inviting. The alcoves were filled with people, but they didn¡¯t call out. Back in the monarchy his blackened veins had just been a curiosity, but in Mercia they only meant one thing, heresy. He was a disgrace.


    The accusing glares followed him all the way to the bar where off-duty assassins resided. He threw the doors open and marched inside. Within seconds the entire bar was up in arms, aiming all kinds of weaponry at him. The person he had hoped to see wasn¡¯t there. He had hoped to find Moose in their old hangout. He wondered if she had moved on, gone to a different city, or joined some branch of the military.


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, you all know the rules, no killing on club grounds.¡± The bartender said in a monotone voice. He sounded bored and uninterested, as if situations like these occurred on a daily basis. Slowly the guns went down, nobody was risking his membership to kill an obsolete.


    ¡°You want to play a hand of cards toots?¡± An old woman asked. ¡°Birdie you can¡¯t be serious about dealing him in, the fucker is obsolete!¡± An ugly man exclaimed, sitting at the old woman¡¯s table. ¡°Brian, darling, be a dear and fuck off, please?¡± She slapped him affectionally on the cheek. ¡°Honestly sometimes I wonder what goes on in that ancient brain of yours.¡± Birdie gave Brian a smile, which several teeth. ¡°You keep wondering sonny, exercise is good for your brain.¡± The old woman waved Eli over, who had been standing around looking a bit forlorn.


    ¡°You ever played seven fools dear?¡± The old woman asked as Eli sat down. ¡°Can¡¯t say that I have, but I¡¯m familiar with the rules.¡± He watched as Birdie nimbly moved a suit of cards around in her hands. ¡°Many people think the surest way to win is to follow the fools move around the table. They¡¯re wrong.¡± The old woman grinned again. ¡°The trick to the game is not to know where the fools are, but where they aren¡¯t.¡± The cards seemed to be alive in her hands. ¡°You see, Florian over there is going to end up without fools, but two aces.¡± She dealt smoothly, the cards flying over the table. Once Florian got his cards he showed them, a clover two, a queen of hearts and two aces.


    ¡°Life and cards, they are not so different, do you understand?¡± Eli didn¡¯t. Birdie looked at him for a moment, then chuckled. ¡°Of course, you don¡¯t, you¡¯re too impatient. Your life hangs in the balance, there are other things on your mind.¡± From somewhere she conjured a cigarette case and offered it to Eli. ¡°Keep it, I don¡¯t smoke.¡± Eli inclined his head gratefully.


    ¡°Would I be correct if I assumed you are Eli de Winter, the runaway assassin?¡± Eli¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°How do you know me? I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve met.¡± Birdie croaked in delight. ¡°It is my business to know anybody and everybody. Regardless you¡¯re asking the wrong question.¡± Eli lit a cigarette. ¡°And the right question would be?¡± He asked. ¡°Who you need to contact to get a private contract, one that suits your needs.¡± Eli gave her a guarded look. ¡°Who said I was looking for a specific contract?¡±


    A piece of wood smacked into the back of Eli¡¯s head. ¡°Don¡¯t think me dense boy. Every idiot could go to the lower levels and whack some obsolete fuck. The fact that you haven¡¯t means you want something special to get back in the game. You are in luck boy, somebody fills exactly the niche you¡¯re looking for.¡± The old woman grinned. ¡°I¡¯m even going to give you her name, for free.¡± Eli had a feeling the information was going to cost him dearly at some point, but without it he would be dead, so he had little to lose. ¡°Hit me.¡± He said.


    ?


    Eli pulled away a curtain, revealing the alcove behind it. There are cushions, an awful lot of them. Somewhere in the huge pile there is a girl smoking a long thin pipe. ¡°Uhm, I¡¯m searching for an Alice Ouverte, are you her?¡± The girl sits up straight, looking a bit perplexed. ¡°A customer?¡± She asked, as if she wasn¡¯t entirely sure if Eli was one. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve come for a contract.¡± She looked at his black veins, then smiled. ¡°Of course, what is it that you desire?¡± It sounded like she had practiced the line many times, her thick French accent sounding very fake.


    ¡°It needs to be clean. It needs to be a man, not a woman and definitely not a child. Most importantly I must be able to complete it within thirty hours. Oh, and I will need a pistol, any kind will do.¡± Alice raised her eyebrows. ¡°Maybe you would like a million crowns to go with that?¡± Eli shrugged. ¡°This is your job, isn¡¯t it? I¡¯m prepared to sweeten the deal, you can keep the money, all of it.¡± Alice¡¯s eyes shone with greed. ¡°I think I have something lying around, let me look.¡± She smiled as she got out of her bed of pillows. She was a lot smaller standing up, barely reaching Eli¡¯s chin. ¡°Don¡¯t go anywhere.¡± She said as she hurried off, presumably to find the most expensive contract she could find.


    Ten minutes or so later she returned with a file. Unceremoniously she tossed it at his feet. ¡°Aiden O¡¯Malley, former soldier, now running around the second district, stirring up a lot of trouble.¡± I open the file. O¡¯Malley¡¯s story is a familiar one. After he got ordained, he was immediately drafted and brought to Bridgemore Academy. There they drilled, trained and educated him in his God chosen profession. According to the file he was a driven, patriotic and trustworthy student. Hence, they signed him up for the officer course. After three years of training he graduated and was given the rank of captain. Then they send him off to the colonies to participate in peacekeeping missions. Apparently, he was disillusioned by the things that happened there, and when rotated back he wasn¡¯t the same.


    Anti-government speeches, misconduct, several accounts of disorderly behavior, assault, until finally he allegedly murdered a superior. The court had been unable to convict him due to missing evidence. Allegedly O¡¯Malley¡¯s subordinates made the evidence disappear. Since the trial O¡¯Malley¡¯s has changed his ways, for the worse. He¡¯s suspected of being a player in the local drug game, extorting business and tax fraud. He and his men, all ex-military, hang in a bar known as the broken riffle. The government wants him gone. The contract isn¡¯t a necessary one, but there will be no investigation if O¡¯Malley turns up dead.


    ¡°I can¡¯t recommend using a gun, his men will hear, and they are better armed. Besides, they outnumber you ten to one, you wouldn¡¯t make it out. Use this instead.¡± She hands me a knife. I unsheathe it, it is well cared for, sharp, but otherwise unremarkable. ¡°It is military issue. If somebody decides to investigate they will most likely think that one of his subordinates did it.¡± Eli nodded. ¡°I will let you know when it is done.¡± He said, and just like that he was back in.


    ?


    Now.


    I follow Katharina Romanov through the winding hallways of the palace. I have a feeling she is trying to confuse me, by taking a longer route to the place where I will meet her uncle. Just as I¡¯m about to say something she suddenly halts. ¡°Uncle Boris is behind this door, he will tell you what you need to know.¡± She smiles and gestures invitingly. I open the door and step inside.


    Boris is a big man, in all senses of the word. He stands easily over two meters tall, but his enormous belly gives him a sense of mass. He sports a massive beard which makes it hard to determine where his neck ends, and his chin begins. He twirls his mustache as he watches me enter, looking every bit a Bond villain. ¡°Mister de Winter, after the things I¡¯ve heard about you I thought you would be taller.¡± His accent is heavy, and he sounds a bit like Victor, only rougher, his pronunciation of the words somehow sharper.


    ¡°Ambassador, I was told you had some information for me, regarding an associate of mine.¡± He nods. ¡°Yes, Charles Kingsburg. He is more than he seems.¡± My face remains neutral. ¡°You might not know, but he is the head of your internal security bureau.¡± Boris tilts his head. ¡°I see you do know, or at least suspected.¡± He waves dismissively. ¡°But that is of course not the information I wish to give you. No, mister Kingsburg is part of a secret organization you see.¡± He smiles as he sees my face. ¡°Now I have your full attention, good. Now then, mister de Winter, let met tell you about the council of kings.¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    ?


    Somebody has died, the party is over. Mercian bureaucrats might order murders on a daily basis, but they are quite upset when one happens close by. The second the news got out the prince¡¯s security team came for him. There was very little Jesse could do, except for staying near him. She is afraid, not for herself, but that the person lying in the street is Eli. She hasn¡¯t seen him since he disappeared with the would-be assassin.


    The prince drags her along, into a car that will take them back to the hotel. Once they¡¯re there the prince will be safe, and she will be free to go back to find Eli. The car speeds away from the palace, down the brightly lit boulevards. Everything will be alright, everything will be okay.


    ?


    Blood is dripping from Muninn¡¯s blade, leaving dark stains in the carpet as she walks through the hotel¡¯s corridors. She¡¯s wearing her mask, the raven feathers tickling her cheeks. ¡°Who¡¯s there? Show yourself!¡± An exasperated soldier shouts in Armerian. He is not used to operating in the dark, unable to see the enemy. Unfortunately for him Muninn is.


    Soundlessly she moves closer to him, until she can hear his breath. Her blade sneaks out and she cuts his throat. The blood flows from the wound like a red waterfall. It is fascinating and beautiful, but Muninn doesn¡¯t have time to watch. The prince is on his way and she needs to prepare a warm welcome.


    ?


    ¡°Mercia used to be a kingdom, as you might know. However, unlike the Rosharian monarchy the king didn¡¯t have any power. No, the true power was held by four dukes, respectively of the North, South, East and West. They were the ones with power, they were the ones in control. As a joke they referred to themselves as the council of kings.¡± Boris smiled, revealing several gold teeth.


    ¡°Now the king, he wasn¡¯t happy, not at all. So, he started searching for something that could make him a true king. For many years he searched, scouring the known world, meeting all kinds of very interesting people. Until, finally he found the answer. Somewhere in the southern desserts he found a man of God.¡± I shift uncomfortably from my left to my right foot. This is all taking too long, there is a prince in need of protecting. ¡°Get to the point please.¡± I say, a bit agitated.


    ¡°Patience mister de Winter, this is a very important story.¡± Boris smiled again. ¡°So, the man of God he told the king that his god had a plan, for everybody. And the king liked that idea, so he invited the man into his kingdom. But the king, he was betrayed, for there are no kings in God¡¯s plan, just like there are no dukes. In less than a century the nobility lost everything they had once held, all because of the actions of one foolish king. And because nobles are proud and vindictive they swore vengeance. One day they would wrest back control from the dirty bureaucrats that had taken over the country.¡±


    ¡°For many years they hid in the shadows, amassing wealth and influence, all in preparation for the day they would take back control. This group, they still exist, and call themselves the council of kings. An homage to the dukes of old. I have reason to believe that your friend Charles Kingsburg is a member of this group.¡±


    I raise my eyebrows. ¡°And the reason you¡¯re telling me this?¡± Boris shrugged. ¡°My country has a vested interest in keeping Mercia strong, ready to plant a knife in the Monarchy¡¯s back. You¡¯re unknowingly helping one of the men trying to destabilize the region. We hope you will cease your activity.¡± I think about it, it makes sense. The Kievan hierarchy, the Rosharian monarchy and the Mercian bureaucracy have been in a diplomatic deadlock for years. The three countries all want to go war, but fears to act on account of the third party destroying the two weakened ones. If Mercia is torn apart in a civil war the deadlock will be lifted. If that happens Roshar and Kievan will go to war and the whole thing will become a mess.


    ¡°Okay, the question that remains however is how you got this information.¡± Boris grins. ¡°Mister de Winter, you very well know that if a Kievan official admitted to having an intelligence network within Mercian borders there would be diplomatic hell to pay.¡± I understand, some things can¡¯t be disclosed. ¡°Now, mister de Winter I imagine you have places to be.¡± I recognize the dismissal for what it is and leave the office.


    ?


    The Queen of the South watches from the shadows as the assassin leaves the office. The man seems to be sunken in thought. It is okay, her intelligence on him suggests he isn¡¯t all that clever. Still, he needs to go, before he becomes an inconvenience. It doesn¡¯t matter whether the King in the North is using him in some elaborate scheme, tonight he dies.


    A shadow appears beside her. A man wearing a raven mask looking suitably grim, and more than a bit theatric. ¡°You wait until he has left the palace, but he can¡¯t reach the hotel. I don¡¯t want this to come back to haunt my family. Are we clear?¡± Uncle Boris is a sweet man, who genuinely loves his country, he doesn¡¯t deserve to get killed over some unimportant information he told a random assassin.


    The man nods and disappears as eerily quiet as he appeared.


    ?


    A country away a letter is delivered to a man known as the Butcher of the South. His real name is Eugene Booker, and he is upset. Upset because once again politics have interfered in a perfectly good war. True, he isn¡¯t the leading strategist in this campaign, but if they give the guy in charge another season he will have these noble bastards on the run.


    None of that is his concern however, since he has been recalled. Why he¡¯s recalled is unclear, something to do with a possible invasion. It all sounds like hogwash, but according to the letter¡¯s date he should have been home yesterday. That is the sort of thing that gets his nickers in a twist. The only thing worse than ending a good operation is ending the operation when it has just gotten off the ground.


    Other than that, Armes is an awful country, the people are rude, the air smells too clean, the women are ugly and the liquor tastes like donkey piss. He has many reasons to be upset, but as he sees the transport he is supposed to board near his mood sours even further. It is a fucking civilian ship, which means this whole new operation isn¡¯t orchestrated by the military top back home. The whole thing reeks of bureaucratic shenanigans, and he fucking hates those.


    The general spits on the ground, barely missing the polished boots of one of his regulars. ¡°You¡¯ll see boys, that when we get home the government will have turned this war into the biggest diplomatic clusterfuck we¡¯ve ever seen. Meanwhile we leave our own guys¡¯ backs open for raiders and every cunt who can hold a gun.¡± Eugene doesn¡¯t expect an answer, and he won¡¯t get one. General or not, in the eyes of the government he¡¯s nothing but another soldier, ordained to fight and die in service of God and country.


    ?


    The car stopped in front of the hotel. Jesse got out, accompanied by the Prince¡¯s security team. The prince himself was forced to stay inside until the area was cleared. After a few minutes one of the prince¡¯s guys gives the okay, and everybody goes inside. The hotel is quiet, but it is the middle of the night, so nobody thinks anything of it. The lights are on, a guest is lying in a drunk stupor in one of the chairs in the lobby, and the radio is on.


    Drip. Drip. Drip.


    The sound is hard to make out over the background noise of the radio. ¡°Where is the nightshift?¡± Jesse asks softly.


    Drip. Drip. Drip.


    One of the security people walks past the counter, in search of anyone hotel personnel. Meanwhile Jesse walks towards the drunk man. There is something weird about him, the way he is lying in his chair isn¡¯t entirely natural. She gently pushes him. ¡°Sir?¡± The man¡¯s head lolls back, revealing a red slid across his throat. Horrified Jesse takes a step back.


    Something falls on her face, something fluid. She wipes it from her cheek and looks at it. Of course, it is blood, it couldn¡¯t have been anything else, it must be blood. She looks up at a sight that will stay with her for the rest of her days. A completely dissembled man, strung from the ceilings. His organs hanging neatly from different threads. An acid taste spreads through her mouth as she feels the vomit rising. It is in that moment that the sound of gunfire fills the hotel.


    ?


    The palace has emptied out. It isn¡¯t as weird as you would think. None of the people that work in gigantic ornamental building actually lives there. Not even ambassadors or diplomates can stay past a certain time. Much like the rest of Mercia, the palace too sleeps for a few hours every night. Bedtime just came early tonight, because of a suicide. I quicken my pace, the prince has been alone for quite a while now, and seeing that there already have been two attempts on his life today I don¡¯t want to leave him alone for too long.


    First realize that something is wrong when I step outside and there isn¡¯t a single cab in sight. The sense of wrongness deepens as I decent the steps and notice that the great plaza in front of the palace is deserted. At the bottom of the steps I turn to see that the soldiers, which were guarding the doors a bare minute ago, have abandoned their posts. I draw my pistol, searching for the enemy attack that will undoubtedly come any moment now. The sound of snow cracking beneath my shoes sounds far too loud in my ears. It is only drowned out by the sound of my heartbeat.


    He appears like a shadow, a rapier in hand, stepping from behind a pedestal, on which the statue of king stood long ago. He¡¯s entirely clad in black, a raven mask covering his face. In all honesty he looks ridiculous, like he just escaped from a hot topic store and is now on his way to a renaissance fair. His reputation however is nothing to laugh at. I¡¯ve done my homework and learned about at least a dozen confirmed kills by this lunatic. He and his accomplish to the most fucked up things together. They¡¯re the kind of people you hire when you want someone to suffer before they¡¯re murdered. Nobody will miss him once he is gone.


    I¡¯m about to shoot when I suddenly realize something, he¡¯s alone. Either Huginn or Muninn isn¡¯t here, which means they¡¯re performing one task or another somewhere else. I don¡¯t have to think twice about what said task might be. I must get to the prince, before he gets Jesse and himself killed. The clown with a sword in front of me isn¡¯t going to make it easy. I can see it in the way he walks as he approaches me. He is far too eager for this. At about twenty meters he stops and makes a bow, never breaking eye contact. I should have stayed in Victoria with the gangsters and normal people.


    Before birdman gets up I shoot him.

 Chapter 15: Lies and Monsters

    Almost five years ago.


    ¡°You know, Eli my boy, I¡¯m so glad we¡¯re back here again.¡± The voice whispered inside Eli¡¯s mind. These days it didn¡¯t come and go, like it used to. Instead it was with him day and night, making sarcastic comments, whispering about murders yet to come.


    He was sitting in a booth, in the bar where Aiden O¡¯Malley liked to hang out. His hands were shaking. He didn¡¯t want this, he wanted to be back in the Monarchy¡¯s heartland with Rosa and her family. Instead he was waiting for O¡¯Malley to go take a leak, so that he could shank him. The whole thing was depressing.


    ¡°Oh, lighten up, this is what you¡¯re meant for. I mean, have you seen how easily you slid back into your role? You¡¯re a natural born killer, you just have to stab someone to remember it.¡±


    O¡¯Malley got up from his seat and walked to the restroom. Before he entered he cracked a joke at one of his friends back in his booth. Slowly, as to not draw attention, Eli got up and followed his target. Nobody tried to stop him. This was O¡¯Malley¡¯s territory, nobody would dare touch him here. Nobody, except the truly desperate.


    The restroom was empty, safe for the gangster, who was whistling a tune Eli recognized, but couldn¡¯t put a name to. It was as if the whole world slowed down, as if time had taken a break. It is a feeling Eli knew well, the blissful moment just before a kill. It was a high like any other, and all assassins were addicts. The moment of perfect peace, in which there is only the assassin and the target, the hunter and the prey.


    The knife slid into his hand, smooth cold steel, more trustworthy than any gun could ever be. His footsteps were inaudible, his breathing a bare whisper on the wind, O¡¯Malley¡¯s whistle and the clattering of piss down a hole drowning out all other sound. Eli rose to his full height behind the gangster. In an almost tender motion his hand snaked around O¡¯Malley¡¯s chin. With an iron grip he pulled the man¡¯s chin to the side and shoved the blade into his ear, all the way up to the hilt.


    There was a moment between seconds in which the world was completely still.


    ¡°Well Eli, my boy, it sure has been fun, hasn¡¯t it?¡± The voice said, feigning warmth. ¡°It is here that we will part ways I¡¯m afraid. Now, you remember your lessons, or I will be back.¡±


    The moment between seconds passed. Time resumed at its normal pace, O¡¯Malley sank to the ground as Eli pulled out the blade and released the man. He turned and was about to walk away when he caught his reflection in a mirror. The black markings were gone, he was no longer obsolete. Instead he was once again an assassin. It was a fate that seemed to be inescapable. The voice had been full of shit, but it seemed to be right about one thing, this would never be over. The killing, it would never end, for he would go insane if he stopped.


    He left the bar in a daze, not stopping for anything. He didn¡¯t even react when the sound of an uproar followed him down the street. He got rid of the disguise he had been wearing to conceal his marks. He felt as if his whole life was a joke, and he the only person who didn¡¯t get the punchline. Less than a day ago he should have been convicted for his sins, but instead he had wiped his card clean by adding to the list of sins.


    Now.


    Huginn is dying. It doesn¡¯t make sense. He had been so sure, he had felt it. The second his master had approached him with this assignment he had known. This was what he was meant to do, the very reason for his existence. But it had ended before it could even begin. Everything had been perfect; the stage had been set and the actors were all there.


    Slowly the snow around him turns red. It is pretty. It reminds him of the day his master found him. He and his sister had been sitting in a box, huddled together, waiting for the cold to take them. Then, like a god his master had extended his hand. He could even see it now. He frowned, this wasn¡¯t his master¡¯s hand. This hand was scarred, his master¡¯s had been smooth.


    The raven mask is pulled from his face. A man bows over him, rolling him unto his back, giving him a good view at the sky. It isn¡¯t blue, but white. The clouds are so densely packed together that there aren¡¯t any visible individual shapes, just an endless sea of white.


    ¡°Fuck, you¡¯re just a kid.¡± A low voice says. His killer comes within view, but his face is blurry. Huginn wants to say that it is okay, but the words won¡¯t come. That too isn¡¯t a problem, Muninn is going to kill the target, she always finishes the mission. He wonders if she will be okay on her own.


    The world slowly grows dark, until he only sees a white pinprick in funnel of darkness. It is cold, the world is always so cold. It always felt like he and Muninn were the only warm beings in a world of tin men with metal minds and stone hearts. It is cold, but everything has always been cold. It is okay. Maybe in the next life it will be warmer.


    ?


    Charles sips his tea. Around him the council of kings had gathered. The queen of the East is outraged, and noisy. The Queen of the South is calmly laying down tarot cards. Finally the King of the West is shifty. Charles¡¯ savior becomes restless when he stays in one place for too long.


    ¡°It seems both your champions are failing.¡± The queen of the South notes. ¡°Last time I checked we were planning to throw over a centuries old government.¡± The King of the West gives the other members of the council a lopsided grin. ¡°The Queen of the South is right, this is really not the time to send amateurs.¡±


    Charles shrugs. ¡°The night isn¡¯t over yet, and we have options.¡± The Queen of the East has a sour expression on her face, like she just swallowed a glass of vinegar. ¡°We should move up the time line. I have distributed the Aksokov devices to every major urban area in the country. If we give the order tonight, we can have our revolution the day after tomorrow.¡± The Queen of the South tilted her head. ¡°Unsure of our plans, are we? I don¡¯t like giving into panic. I vote to keep the original time line.¡±


    The King of the West snorts. ¡°Of course, you do. I¡¯m voting to move it up, I need some action.¡± The three other members look at Charles, who serenely takes another sip of his tea. ¡°I won¡¯t vote until we have a clear picture. Either the prince lives and we speed things up, or he dies, and we keep the plan as is. At this delicate phase rash decisions will get us nowhere.¡± He smiles, everything is playing out exactly as it should.


    ?


    Jesse runs through a dark corridor, the prince hot on her heels. Ever since they got to the hotel shit has been messed up. The gunfire died a few minutes ago, likely the prince¡¯s guards with it. She¡¯s afraid, it doesn¡¯t take much to admit it. In her situation anyone would be. She¡¯s stuck in a deathtrap, a deranged lunatic wearing a raven mask is trying to kill her, all the while she is dragging an unarmed prince around. She wasn¡¯t trained for this.


    To be fair, when they train you to be a spy they don¡¯t expect you to get into, whatever this is. She wishes Eli was here, not because she misses him, he¡¯s just a lot better at the whole killing lunatics thing. She turns around a corner, making sure her gun is pointed at whatever might come for. The corridor is empty, she breathes a little easier.


    The relief is short lived however when she hears the sound of girlish laughter. The whole hotel has been turned into some kind of horror show. Ever since she saw the disemboweled man hanging from the ceiling in the lobby she¡¯s been trying very hard to ignore the other decorations the killer left behind.


    The prince follows in her wake, as she slowly and deliberately walks through the corridor. More laughter coming from a different direction, a steady drip of blood falling from the ceiling, she ignores it all. At the end of the corridor is a fire escape. Hopefully it won¡¯t be rigged, like the front door. She shudders as she thinks about the guard who had tried to evacuate his employer, he had bled out in seconds.


    She walks past an intersection, towards the window, through which she can reach the fire escape.


    ¡°Found you.¡± A soft voice says, followed by a solid kick to Jesse¡¯s midriff. ¡°We¡¯re going to have so much fun.¡± The soft voice continues, mirth resounding through its voice.


    ?


    I¡¯m sweating as I run through deserted streets towards the hotel. I killed a kid just now. It is not entirely accurate. Huginn, or was it Muninn, is an adult by law, but it sure as fuck doesn¡¯t feel like that. The boy wasn¡¯t old enough to grow a proper beard. I shouldn¡¯t focus too much on it though. Birdman was a killer, but not an assassin. The boy committed gruesome murders, he was as terrible as they come. I should not forget that. I didn¡¯t kill a kid tonight, but a monster.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    I stop to get my bearings, breathing heavily. I killed one monster, but the other is still on the loose. I take a deep breath and start running again. I¡¯m worried, I¡¯m anxious and I¡¯m angry. I¡¯m angry because I¡¯m not entirely sure how I got pulled into this mess, and why. When this is over Charles and I are going to have a long talk about this whole situation.


    ?


    The King of the West is smoking something that doesn¡¯t even remotely smell like a cigarette. The pungent scent reminds Charles of burning old socks. The room is silent as the council waits for news to arrive.


    The phone rings.


    Charles picks it aggravatingly slow up, to annoy his fellow council members. It is childish, but he too needs some entertainment from time to time. He scowls as the person on the other end of the line hurriedly informs him of the situation. ¡°I see, keep me posted.¡± He says and hangs up. He makes a show of pinching the bridge of his nose.


    ¡°So, are you going to share with the rest of the class?¡± The Queen of the South sounds aggravated. Apparently, she is not as indifferent about this operation as Charles thought. He turns to the Queen of the East. ¡°Two of your three assassins are dead, one with a raven mask, the other a man called Rowan Knight.¡± The Queen of the East¡¯s face becomes pale. Her champion is dead, which complicates things greatly.


    ¡°I still have one piece in play, she will deliver the prince¡¯s head.¡± Charles inclines his head. ¡°Perhaps, or maybe my champion will.¡±


    The Queen of the South looks up. ¡°It is time that we talked about your champion. I¡¯m wondering if the girl you presented to us is truly your champion.¡± Her eyes are narrowed in suspicion. ¡°Since everywhere we¡¯re active this assassin keeps showing up, ruining things. This Eli de Winter, who we know is an old associate of yours. I would like to know why he is on the prince¡¯s security team, since he just killed two of our operatives.¡±


    The whole room is silent, tension thick in the air, all eyes turn to Charles. ¡°Do you think my dear boy here is a rat?¡± The King of the West asks the Queen of the South, his lips curled into a smile that doesn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°Since I brought him in, that would be questioning my judgement. Are you? Questioning my judgement, I mean.¡± There is this aura, which hangs around the King of the West, as if things can escalate into extreme violence at any moment. It is deeply unsettling, worsened by the man himself. The yellow hue of his eyes seems to pulsate as he stares intensely at the Queen of the South.


    ¡°Of course not, I would just like some clarification.¡± She backs down, but her posture makes it clear that she isn¡¯t going to let it go. ¡°Eli is good at what he does.¡± Charles says. ¡°Back when we were both working for Cabaneri Incorporated he was one of the best. I would know, I was on his team. It isn¡¯t strange that the council of senior aldermen would want him for the job.¡± The Queen of the South¡¯s eyes narrow even further. ¡°I thought you controlled those old farts?¡± Charles shakes his head. ¡°Only broadly speaking. I can nudge large votes in the right direction. Decrees and positions like the chief of a foreign prince¡¯s security are out of my reach.¡± The lie comes without hesitation, and when he looks at the Queen of the South he can tell that she buys it.


    ¡°So, it is just bad luck?¡± She asks. ¡°I¡¯m afraid so. Well, that and Eli¡¯s competence.¡± Charles adds. He takes another sip of his tea, before putting it down. ¡°If good news doesn¡¯t reach us within the hour I will vote to move up the timeline.¡±


    ?


    Pain, it comes in white hot flashes. Jesse¡¯s vision is blurry on account of the tears and the blood. It hurts so much. ¡°You¡¯re a lot less pretty now, aren¡¯t you?¡± The soft voice almost sounds sweet, making the whole situation more twisted. The knife makes a deep cut in her cheek. ¡°When they heal they will be so pretty.¡± The voices says. ¡°Like a map of silver stars.¡± The knife makes another deep cut. ¡°But, you won¡¯t heal, you will be dead.¡± The hand stops, the cold edge of the blade lying against Jesse¡¯s forehead. ¡°Maybe in the life after this one.¡± The voice says, as the blade follows the curves of Jesse¡¯s face, leaving shallow cuts behinds.


    ¡°It seems that your mommy forgot to tell you not to play with your food.¡± A different voice calls out from somewhere behind Jesse¡¯s assailant. Her assailant gets up, leaving Jesse lying on there, bleeding, in pain. ¡°No, but she did teach me how to cut my meat.¡± The statement is followed by girlish laughter.


    ?


    Olivia bares her fangs at the monster in front of her. They aren¡¯t actual fangs of course, but they come close enough. The woman in front of her is a real piece of work. She¡¯s wearing a white dress, which has been painted red with blood. Her face she conceals behind a raven mask. She¡¯s carrying at least five knives, that Olivia can see, which means there are probably half a dozen hidden ones.


    ¡°I like your teeth, but they would look better if you weren¡¯t so ugly. A few slashes and some cuts and that can be fixed. What do you say?¡± The woman gives her a big puppy stare, which creeps Olivia out. So, she does what she always does when she feels unsettled. The whip with its many interlocking blades snaps at the woman.


    Muninn lets out another bout of girlish laughter as she ducks beneath the whip. She throws a knife at Olivia, who barely twists away, right into the path of a second knife. The blade makes a shallow cut in her arm. Oliva doesn¡¯t pay it any mind, with a howl she pushes forwards. The whip winds itself around Muninn¡¯s arm. Olivia twists her hand and the whip¡¯s blades bite into the other woman¡¯s arm. Muninn bites her teeth together in pain as Olivia pulls the whip back, tearing chunks of arm with it.


    Blood drips on the floor, both women breath heavily, both are smiling. Slowly Muninn pulls the mask of her face. She drops it on the floor and cracks her neck. ¡°You¡¯re a cut above the rest.¡± She says. Her voice is no longer soft, instead it has strange high and low notes in it, as if something is wrong with her vocal cords. ¡°Normally I would invite you to a play a different game with me, but you¡¯re exceptional as you are.¡±


    Olivia inclines her head, one monster acknowledging the other. ¡°Normally I would take you up on the offer, but as you can see I¡¯m not exactly my own master these days.¡± Muninn clacks her tongue. ¡°Collars are for dogs, wolves break them.¡± Her eyes are cold. ¡°If you were a true wolf you would have torn it off long ago.¡± Olivia snarls. ¡°When they put this collar on you I¡¯m going to enjoy watching you tear yourself to shreds.¡±


    A new blade snaps into Muninn¡¯s hand. Suddenly the sound of cackling electricity fills the corridor. Mad laughter and equally mad howling resound through the hotel, concealing a pained whimper.


    ?


    The prince of Armes runs. It is not his default speed of movement. He¡¯s an intellectual and a royal, running is for peasants and servants. He instead prefers a slow stroll, maybe a shuffle when walking through a library. He has been running a lot lately. Personally, he blames Mercia. This country is crazy, filled with insane people. He had expected scheming, maybe an assassination attempt, not this. Who sends monsters and lunatics after someone? Not only are they unprofessional, they are a hazard to everyone within a mile.


    He runs through dozens of identical corridors, avoiding the ones that will lead him back to the fighting. He is lost, but that doesn¡¯t stop him from running. He needs to get out of this death trap. Something moves in the corner of his eye. Without thinking he fires a shot in its direction. It however is just his shadow. Another shot wasted.


    He looks at the gun, its Jesse¡¯s. He took it when she was attacked by the lunatic in a mask. He hopes she¡¯s okay, but he doubts it. The important thing is that he gets out, signs the treaty and gets the hell out of this country.


    He runs into something or someone, pointing the gun at him, she, it he is about to fire when suddenly the gun is taken out of his hands.


    ?


    I take the gun out of the prince¡¯s hands. It is easy, the prince probably never learned how to shoot. I look at the gun and my heart skips a beat. It is Jesse¡¯s. The prince recognizes me. ¡°De Winter? Thank the gods. I thought I was going to die. There is this woman after me, she¡¯s crazy.¡± He is panicking, I ignore him.


    ¡°Where is she?¡± I growl.


    The prince falls silent, then starts shaking his head. ¡°No, I¡¯m not going back. They are insane, they want to kill me.¡±


    ¡°Where is she?¡±


    ?


    Jesse is hurting. She no longer pays attention to whether there is fighting going on around her. There is only pain and the feeling that she¡¯s leaking. It is not a pleasant feeling. There is a finality to it, as if she will stop feeling when the leaking does. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knows that she¡¯s dying. She¡¯s afraid. Deep down all people are afraid of death.


    Something warm touches her face for a brief second. A few seconds later it touches her neck. It feels so nice that it makes her want to see it. She tries to open her eyes, but crusts of dried blood prevent her from doing so. The warm thing gently touches her eyelids, removing the crusts. She again tries to open her eyes, succeeding this time.


    Eli is looking concerned, but when she looks him in the eye he smiles. She tries to smile back but manages little more than a grimace. He says something, but she doesn¡¯t understand. She hears the words, recognizes them even, but they don¡¯t register. He smiles again and shakes his head. She knows he¡¯s worried, she wants to help him, but he turns away, looking at something out of her range of sight. He softly lays her back, saying something else and moves out of sight. The pain is still there, but Eli¡¯s is here, so everything will be okay. He will figure it out.


    ?


    A body crashes through the corridor, shortly followed by a bloody looking woman. Olivia bares her sharpened teeth at me. ¡°Nice of you to join the party. You¡¯re too late however, she¡¯s already dead.¡± I look at the giant smoking hole in who I presume is either Huginn or Muninn. I point my pistol at her. She spits a clod of money on the corpse lying a meter or so away from me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother, you¡¯re not on my list. Now that I think about it, there isn¡¯t a list any longer.¡± I tilt my head. ¡°So, you¡¯re not going to kill the prince?¡± I ask. ¡°Neh, the boss wants him alive and well. Make sure he shows up tomorrow and signs the papers, or something. Those are his orders. If you don¡¯t comply you won¡¯t get paid, and I will finish what is left of her.¡± I¡¯m tempted to shoot her, but I have more pressing concerns. I put the gun away and lift Jesse in my arms.


    ¡°See you around assassin.¡± Olivia says, before disappearing through a window.


    ?


    The phone rings, once again it is Charles who picks up. He grimaces as he hears the news, inwardly however he is smiling.


    ¡°The assassins are dead. Our window is closing. I vote to move forward to the next stage tonight.¡±

 Chapter 16: The dreams of the dead

    Twenty-five years ago.


    With a broad slash Cutter took out his opponent. Breathing heavily, he kicked the dying kid out of the way and looked around. The other members of his gang were fighting somewhere else. He sat down in the gutter, safe for the moment.


    Suddenly the sound of clapping resounded through the alley. He jumped up and looked around. A girl in a pink dress leaned against the rough bricks of one of the buildings. She was staining her expensive looking clothes, but she didn¡¯t seem to care. She seemed a little older than him, but that shouldn¡¯t explain her utter comfort being this close to a murderer.


    ¡°That was an excellent display, would you care to repeat it?¡± Her accent was cultivated, meant to sound educated, upper class. He couldn¡¯t phantom why a girl like that was doing in a place like this. ¡°Fuck off you cunt.¡± Were the words that came out of his mouth. Instead of fucking off however she straightened and walked towards him. ¡°Tss, hasn¡¯t your mother thought you that manners make a man?¡± She waggled her finger at him, sassy little bitch.


    He raised his knife. ¡°If you don¡¯t beat it now you¡¯re going to regret it.¡± He said in an as menacing tone as he could manage. She smiled and took a step towards him, and then another one, and another, until she was standing close enough that he could smell her. Roses, lavender and something spicy he couldn¡¯t name. She smelled better than anything his nose had to endure in his miserable life. She gently brought his hand, with the knife in it to her neck. ¡°Is this what you want? To give me another smile? Positively terrifying, don¡¯t you think?¡± She gave him a wink. ¡°If you ask me nicely I can safe you from a short and bloody life. I can give you wealth and prestige, like you¡¯ve never imagined.¡± There was an arrogance, no, an absolute certainty in her voice that made him believe her.


    ¡°Who the hell are you.¡± He asked. She brought her face closer, her warm breath in his neck. ¡°I¡¯m a princess of a kind. One day I will be queen. Do you want to be my knight?¡± There was something about her that made him want to drop his blade and follow her. He felt things he had never felt before. ¡°Yes, I want to be your knight.¡± She smiled. ¡°You will be my champion, and I will be your queen. We are going to do great things together mister East.¡±


    A boy and a slightly older girl left the alley together. She had great plans, he was prepared to follow her to the ends of the earth.


    ?


    Twenty years ago.


    Fifteen years old Elizabeth Aksokov watched as her father ruffled through papers, picked up a piece of chalk and made a notation on a chalkboard. He talked while he worked, explaining what he was doing. He was a chemist, not ordained or anything, just a regular chemist. Much like her father she had no intention of giving her future to some foreign god.


    ¡°You see El, it is all in the mixture of the compounds. If I can just find the right ones, I can turn this nation upside down.¡± Her father coughed. ¡°The ordinations, the church, they¡¯re all lies to keep the little man down. The laborers, the dockworkers, the farmers, the government uses the church and the army to keep them on their backs, a gun pointed at their heads. Meanwhile the atrocities committed in the colonies are growing out of control.¡± He coughed again, and Elizabeth handed him one of the green scarfs. He coughed again and handed the scarf back. Elizabeth pretended that she didn¡¯t see the red stain.


    Her father was sick, he had been for a long time, but lately it was getting worse. He refused to see a doctor, saying he already knew what it was. He was going to die, Elizabeth knew it, but didn¡¯t want to except it. Her father was the smartest man in the world, there was no way he couldn¡¯t develop a cure for whatever it was he had. For some reason she couldn¡¯t phantom that wasn¡¯t the formula he tried to develop.


    ¡°Listen El, one of the truths of our world is that there is nothing in nature we can¡¯t replicate. Nothing, not a disease, not a process, not even the will of some minor god. I¡¯m close dear, soon this nation will know that their ¡°god¡± is nothing but a few chemic compounds thrown together.¡± The words were followed up by more coughing, only this time it didn¡¯t stop. Her father doubled over, then fell to his knees. In seconds Elizabeth was at her father¡¯s side. His breathing was interrupted by gurgling, something was stuck in his throat.


    Unceremoniously she opened his mouth and stuck her fingers inside. He puked over her and himself, but she didn¡¯t care. Yellow bile and blood stained their clothes, but once her father was done he was breathing normally again. ¡°Thomas get in here!¡± She yelled. The door banged open and her brother lumbered in. He was younger, but about twice her size. When he saw their father lying on the ground his eyes became big. ¡°No time for questions, carry him to the bath.¡± He lifted their father in his arms as if he was a newborn and carried him away.


    ?


    Fifteen years ago.


    It was a rainy autumn day. A slow procession made its way to the field of obsoletes. Thomas didn¡¯t cry as he carried his father¡¯s coffin. El had cried, a lot, as dad got sicker, on his deathbed, during his wake. It made sense, they were a lot closer. In the past few years he and his father had barely exchanged a dozen words. It was fine, as long as his father was aware who was keeping the family together. While dad and El played chemist he now ran the strongest group of independent bruisers in the city.


    He glanced at El, who was walking at the head of the procession. One of his lieutenants was holding an umbrella over her head. Dimitri is a fine man, loyal, in love with his sister. At least that means he will keep her safe until the end of time. Almost all the people in the procession are contacts of Thomas. His father was a solitary man, he didn¡¯t make a lot of friends. The only people Thomas can¡¯t put a name to are two men wearing green scarfs.


    They arrived at the field of obsoletes, where a grave had been prepared. No priests, no government officials, just family and subordinates. ¡°We¡¯re going to make this quick, or the grave will with water.¡± El said distractedly.


    Thomas gave his men a signal, and together they lowered the coffin into the grave. With an unceremonious thump the box hit the bottom. No words were spoken, and after five minutes people started leaving. After ten minutes only El, Dimitri, Thomas and the two men wearing green scarfs remained. They walked over to El. The blade fell into Thomas¡¯ hand, as he closed the distance.


    ¡°Keep her safe Thom, she¡¯s the future.¡± His father¡¯s words echoed through his head.


    The men in green scarfs halted in front of El. They shook hands. Dimitri looked up, gently shaking his head. The knife disappeared back up his sleeve. He watched as the men spoke, making wild gestures. He saw El nod. There was another round of shaking hands, far more enthusiastically, and the men took off.


    He joined El as she left the graveyard. ¡°What are we going to do now?¡± Thomas asked. ¡°We¡¯re going to finish dad¡¯s work.¡± She answered.


    ?


    Ten Years ago.


    The man formerly known as Cutter, now mister East, walked through a dirty alleyway. He was on his way to a warehouse owned by his mistress. He had a meeting there with two women, who were going to make his career. He turned another corner, and there it was, it was as shitty as he had expected it to be. When he entered the two women were already waiting for him. The warehouse was empty, safe for a table, three chairs, three glasses and a bottle of whisky.


    ¡°Ah, you¡¯re finally here. Let¡¯s start.¡± One of the women said as he sat down. He offered them a cigarette and lit one of his own. Soon the slightly mouldy scent of the warehouse was replaced by the familiar sweet aroma. ¡°A round of introductions might be prudent.¡± The right woman said. ¡°My name is Iris Dice, I¡¯m an ordained bureaucrat stationed in the lowest district.¡± The left woman took a drag from her cigarette, she looked tired. ¡°Aksokov, Elizabeth Aksokov, chemist, revolutionary, part time mob boss.¡± She grinned.


    ¡°You can address me as East, that is all you need to know.¡± Mister East said, his tone neutral. ¡°The reason we have gathered here is because we all represent different interests and groups.¡± He didn¡¯t mention the fact that both he and Aksokov worked for the same woman, mostly because neither of the women in front of him knew that. ¡°Miss Dice here, used to be a woman of means. She intends to be one again. Now you miss Aksokov need contacts who can keep both the army and the cops off your back.¡± He took another drag. ¡°The Syndicate, who I represent, can fulfil both your needs. We have a vested interest in keeping the lower districts stable, out of sight and out of mind.¡±


    He leaned forwards. ¡°Miss Dice in the coming days you will be promoted. With your newfound influence you will start making miss Aksokov¡¯s life as easy as possible. She in return will help you get rid of opponents, and back you financially. Does all this sound reasonable? Yes, good.¡± He uncorked the bottle of whisky and poured each a glass.


    ¡°Ladies, to the future!¡±


    ?


    Six years ago.


    ¡°I want to introduce you all to the newest member of our council, Charles Kingsburg. He will be taking over as the King of the North. We all know of August¡¯s little succession game.¡± There were nods around the room. ¡°Mister Kingsburg won it fair and square. His main opponent fled the country, the others have all fallen in line.¡± This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    The King of the West sat down and poured himself a drink. ¡°Not only will he inherit all of Cabaneri Incorporated¡¯s assets, he will also usurp August¡¯s position as the head of the ISB.¡± There were chuckles, making Charles look up in anger. ¡°Something funny about that?¡± The Queen of the South gave him an amused smile. ¡°August butchered the ISB, stole its personnel, slashed its budgets, did everything in his power so that the government would have to rely on his corporation. He thought kid assassins were the future, clearly he was wrong.¡±


    Charles grimaced, apparently the deck wasn¡¯t stacked in his favour. His eye started itching, and he took it out, to the disgust of the Queen of the East. He grinned, he had all the time in the world to figure this out.


    ?


    Five years ago.


    ¡°It is not good enough, I will need a bigger lab. Also, get me another chemist, I need a second opinion.¡± Elizabeth Aksokov was far from the most reasonable woman Iris had ever worked with, but her brother was far worse, so she let it slide. ¡°I will get you what you need.¡± She said.


    Bartholomew Shaw wasn¡¯t a chemist, at least not in the traditional sense. His parents had both been chemists, and even though their son had been ordained to be a labourer they had thaught him the craft. It wasn¡¯t however his hobby that was getting him into trouble. No, it was the frequent protests he mounted against his bosses. Labourers were being treated like dirt, as if they were all disposable. It was horrible, and he wouldn¡¯t be a man if he didn¡¯t stand up against it. That others didn¡¯t follow his example was disappointing, but not unexpected. Most labourers couldn¡¯t afford to be unemployed, without the work they and their families would starve. It was one of the things Bartholomew was protesting against. Unfortunately, it tended to end with him behind bars, like now.


    ¡°Shaw get up. You have a visitor.¡± Bartholomew looked up at the warden¡¯s face, which was bored and uncaring. He quickly got up and walked towards the cell door. ¡°See ye in a couple o¡¯ days Shaw.¡± Ludo drunkenly yelled after him. He gave the drunk a small wave. The two of them had shared this particular cell quite several times before. When he got locked up for disturbing the public order Ludo often got arrested for drunken misconduct. The two of them had shared many a discussion over a bottle of smuggled booze. The drunk was one of the few men who saw things his way and dared to say it out loud.


    The warden brought him to an interrogation room. It was a lot nicer than the ones the bluejackets used in the higher districts. Military police always got the good stuff. Inside a lady motioned him to sit. ¡°Mister Shaw, my name is Iris Dice, I¡¯ve heard that you¡¯re quite the amateur chemist.¡±


    ?


    A couple of weeks ago.


    ¡°It is finished, Shaw verified as much before he left.¡± There was a silence as Elizabeth listened to the man on the other line. ¡°Yes, we tested it, why do you think Shaw is obsolete? We¡¯re sure it works, where and when do you want it?¡± The man on the other end of the line asked another question. This time Elizabeth was annoyed when she answered. ¡°Yes, we are absolutely positive that it will turn people obsolete instantly. And no, unlike my father¡¯s formula it won¡¯t kill everyone that takes it. Everything that comes to pass naturally can be replicated in a lab, my father told you as much.¡± The man on the other end of the line gave an address.


    ¡°I will be there, you make sure the money is ready.¡± She said and hung up.


    A few seconds later she dialled a different number. ¡°East? It is Elizabeth Aksokov, I want out. Yes, I can sell you the uncut stuff, but it will need to happen the day after tomorrow.¡± There was a reply from the other end of the line.


    ¡°Excellent. I will see you then.¡±


    ?


    Yesterday.


    Under the cover of night about a dozen men and women wearing green scarves carried a tank towards Victoria¡¯s water reservoir. Of course, the rich and powerful had their own reservoir, carefully guarded. The revolutionaries weren¡¯t targeting them however.


    A day, they had been told. A single day before the revolution would begin. When the veins of ninety percent of Mercia¡¯s population turned black, the revolution would finally have its army. Karl smiled as the tank with liquid was emptied into the great basin of water. This was his destiny, this was what he was born to do. He would lead Victoria¡¯s green soldiers from the gutters to the shiny city up above. First, he would destroy the Aksokov gang, then he would lead the masses of obsolete straight to city hall.


    The ordained bureaucrats would either step down themselves or he would tear them down himself. If he was honest he would admit that he preferred the latter to the former. However, he was supposed to stand for justice and these days also democracy. When somebody had introduced the idea to him he had taken to it quickly. A government with elected officials, chosen from the people. It was wonderful, it was fair and as far as he was concerned it was the future.


    ¡°For justice, mercy and democracy!¡± He softly, but firmly whispered to the people around him, as they emptied the tank into the reservoir. ¡°Justice, mercy and democracy!¡± They echoed back.


    One day, and after it the world would never be the same.


    ?


    I pace through the waiting room. The sun has been up for hours, I haven¡¯t slept. I¡¯m tired, but also restless. Jesse is still in surgery. I got news an hour or so ago. The prince has signed the peace treaty. Armes is now officially a vassal state of Mercia. The prince left for his country as quickly as he could. Apparently, he filed a formal complaint about me, something to do with prioritizing civilians over him. I couldn¡¯t care less. The prince got a lot more than he bargained for, maybe it has shown him how dangerous this nation really is.


    A door opens, a doctor comes through. He spots me and comes straight for me. His face is stony and expressionless, making it impossible to tell if he comes bearing good or ill news. ¡°Mister de Winter?¡± He asks. I anxiously nod. ¡°The patient suffered severe damage to her facial tissue. We weren¡¯t able to restore most of the damage, there will be scars. Otherwise we believe she will make a full recovery.¡± I release my breath, which I apparently have been holding. My heart thumps in my chest. ¡°Can I see her?¡± I ask.


    ¡°The patient will not be conscious for another three hours at least. The sedatives and blood loss are to blame for that. But, I understand you¡¯re anxious to see your fianc¨¦.¡± I don¡¯t even bother setting the record straight on that one. I just want to see her.


    A few minutes later I¡¯m sitting next to her bed. She¡¯s asleep, like the doctor told me, but it doesn¡¯t matter because she is okay. She looks a bit like a mummy in the headwrap they have bound around her head to cover up the still healing wounds. I¡¯m relieved, ashamed and angry, all at the same time. I brought her here, she was my responsibility, and I screwed it up. It wasn¡¯t supposed to be like this, but still. I should have known.


    There is a knock on the door. I look up, there is a nurse standing in the door opening. ¡°I¡¯m sorry sir, I¡¯m here to change her bandages.¡± I have no idea how long I¡¯ve been in this room, but suddenly I feel a need to get some fresh air. ¡°Anywhere I can smoke around here?¡± I ask. ¡°Up on the roof, nobody will bother you there.¡± I mumble a thanks, and flee the room. I feel like a coward as I trudge up the steps towards the roof.


    I step outside, through a metal door, into the fresh air. It is cold, there is snow lying on the roof, it is fresh, I¡¯m not alone. Charles is leaning against the balustrade, smoking a cigarette of his own. To my surprise it is not him I¡¯m angry at. Without his assassin Jesse would be dead now. I could blame him for dragging me into this mess here, but he couldn¡¯t have known that I would involve Jesse.


    ¡°What is it with us and roofs of semi-public buildings?¡± Charles asks. His voice is mirthless, he sounds as tired as I feel. I lean next to him on the balustrade. There is a wall between us, one consisting out of six years and an eye. ¡°Why me?¡± I ask, looking at him sideways. ¡°Would you believe me if I said it was because I missed us?¡± I shake my head. ¡°You¡¯re not the sentimental type, you proved that when you tried to kill me six years ago.¡± Charles doesn¡¯t answer. I wonder whether that is how he remembers the events of that day. I could ask, but I don¡¯t.


    ¡°I went to see Moose a few days ago.¡± He suddenly comments. I grunt. ¡°She was very happy to see me alive and well. Very angry as well.¡± I raise my eyebrows. ¡°At whom?¡± He grins. ¡°You, me, both? Who can say?¡±


    ¡°Do you remember Eli? How we used to talk about a better Mercia? Me drunk as shit, you high as a kite. You remember how we talked about getting rid of the ordinations?¡± I nod, I remember. ¡°You were right Eli, this country, it is sick. It has been sick for a long time.¡± I look up, my eyes narrowing. ¡°That sounds a lot like treason.¡± I say. Charles shrugs. ¡°I¡¯ve already committed multiple accounts of treason. As well as murder, terrorism and unlawful espionage. My sins are many in the eyes of the Mercian government, even though they aren¡¯t aware of them.¡± I shift uncomfortably from my left to my right foot. ¡°And in your own eyes?¡±


    A shiver runs down Charles¡¯ spine. ¡°If I tell you that I still dream, every night, no matter how many pills I take or tonics I drink. Would that answer your question?¡± I nod. ¡°The dreams never stop, but maybe it is a good thing. They remind us of what we¡¯ve done. Maybe prevent us from the things we could do.¡± Charles takes a drag from his cigarette.


    ¡°We¡¯re reaching the endgame. I would really like us to be on the same side.¡± I look away. ¡°I can¡¯t betray my country.¡± I say. ¡°I can¡¯t make you king, you know how I feel about those.¡± Charles shakes his head. ¡°You¡¯re thinking about the wrong game, I¡¯m playing a much deeper one.¡±


    ¡°Then tell me, explain to me what the hell is going on Charles!¡± I all but scream at his face. Charles doesn¡¯t flinch, his eyes cold and hard.


    ¡°It started six years ago, just after you put a bullet through my eye.¡± I listen as he tells me the story of his magical resurrection, the years he spent building the largest intelligence network Mercia had ever known, the scheming that was always present in the council of kings and how he helped govern the syndicate. Finally, he tells me about the revolution. At last the puzzle pieces fall into place. The syndicate funded the Armerian resistance to keep Mercia¡¯s armies occupied on the mainland. As long as the armies were tied up there they couldn¡¯t stop the revolution back home.


    ¡°But because of your intervention the armies will be returning shortly.¡± I muse. It is one of the things I can¡¯t wrap my head around. The plan was solid, the broad lines I could have set out myself. Why did Charles sabotage it? If things were carried out according to plan he could have been governing the country within months. Charles smiles.


    ¡°You don¡¯t see it, the deeper game, the parts within parts. Moose told me you wouldn¡¯t.¡± I raise my eyebrows. ¡°Are you done gloating?¡± Charles chuckles. ¡°I have no intention of making my co-conspirators kings and queens. What we need is a competent council, not some idiot wearing a crown.¡± He released the smoke through his nose. ¡°I¡¯m taking them out Eli. The council first, then I will ban the ordinations. Only through merit will people rise, just like we talked about.¡±


    ¡°How will you get the power to do that?¡± I ask sceptically. Charles grins. ¡°That is beauty of it, the council will give it to me.¡± I shake my head in disbelief. ¡°They will never agree to it, you will be executed for treason the moment you suggest it.¡± Charles flicked his bud over the balustrade. ¡°You let me worry about the council, I need you to do something else entirely.¡± He turns towards me, he offers me a gun, butt first. ¡°I need you to kill the Queen of the East, the woman responsible for your girl¡¯s hospitalization, Celestia Nightingale.¡±


    I stare at the gun. ¡°Moose is taking out the Queen of the South, she has returned to Kievan, to wait out the storm. The King of the West I will take out personally, I owe him that much. Nightingale remains. You¡¯re the only one I trust to do this. We were always the best, we could be again.¡±


    I take the gun, maybe out of sentiment, or anger, or perhaps shame, it doesn¡¯t matter, I take it nonetheless. ¡°For old times¡¯ sake?¡± I ask.


    ¡°For old times¡¯ sake.¡¯

 Chapter 17: Where the good men have gone

    A few days ago.


    Moose walks through the palace¡¯s spacious corridors. Why she is here isn¡¯t entirely clear, all she knows is that she was summoned. Some servant is leading her around. She knows he is trying to confuse her, leading her through the same parts of the palace. He¡¯s underestimating her, the second she got into the building she started mapping the place in her mind. It is one of the basics of her craft.


    As the servant is about to take her on her third trip through the western wing she clamped a hand on his shoulder. Her grip was like iron, and she was fresh out of patience. ¡°Either you lead me to my destination, or I¡¯m leaving.¡± She snarls. Normally she would be more optimistic, happier, but she was tired, and she didn¡¯t have time for this shit. The servant smiled in an obnoxious manner. ¡°He said you would notice.¡± She raised her eyebrows. ¡°Who said that?¡± The servant kept on smiling. ¡°The director, and he said that you would ask after him as well. I¡¯m instructed not to say anything, as to not spoil the surprise.¡±


    She considered beating it out of him, but curiosity won it from irritation. ¡°Show me to him.¡± He nodded and started walking. After a few minutes the servant stopped and knocked on a door.


    ¡°Enter.¡± A familiar voice said.


    The servant opened the door. Inside there was a table, lavish dishes spread out on it, candles softly illuminating the room. At the other end of the table sat a man.


    ¡°Charles.¡± she breathed, as she lowly walked towards him.


    ¡°Hey Christina.¡± He said, a warm smile on his face.


    But he was dead. Her thoughts were a mess, her feelings even worse. Slowly she closed the distance between them. He stood up from the chair and spread his arms. In a second, she was standing before him. He was taller, but thinner, carrying much less muscle. His smile however, was exactly the same.


    ¡°Christina I¡­¡±


    Before he could finish the sentence, she punched him in the face as hard as she could. ¡°Six years! Six fucking years Charles! You stupid wanker. You let me think you were dead for six fucking years! Who in the bloody hells did we cremate? I mourned you. And now you think that you can waltz back into my life after six fucking years, with dinners and fucking candlelight?¡± She took a moment to breathe.


    ¡°Christina can I¡­¡± Charles started as he got up from the floor. ¡°I¡¯m not done fucking shouting! You tosser.¡± Moose yelled. There were tears of anger in her eyes. ¡°You and bloody Eli fucking abandoned me. You were dead, and Eli just left. God damnit Charles, I loved you, I told you as much.¡±


    A long silence fell between them. The weight of six years heavy between them. ¡°Listen Christina, I can explain. If you just sit down and listen, I will tell you the entire story. From the day I died, to just now if you want to.¡± Moose sat down, grabbing the nearest bottle of wine. She put it to her lips, without so much as looking at her glass, and took a big gulp. ¡°Start talking.¡± She growled.


    ?


    Now.


    It started around ten pm. Complete and utter chaos spread through Mercia. Tens of thousands of citizens, who just an hour ago had been good men and women, turned obsolete. Like a sickness their veins turned black, as if tar flew through them instead of blood.


    First came the disbelief. Only those who strayed from the path of God turned obsolete, didn¡¯t they? Then how could good, Godfearing, hardworking citizens turn obsolete?


    Then came the fear. The obsolete are outlawed, and subject to persecution. What if the government decided to send in the retributors? What if they send the army? Where they all going to die, for no reason at all? Had God truly abandoned them?


    Following the fear came anger. Thousands of obsolete citizens marched through the streets. They marched to the churches, to the city halls, to the palace, all demanding the same thing, answers. Answers nobody could give them.


    Last came the blind fury, the rage of the mob, carefully incited by men and women wearing green scarfs. The priests were the first to get lynched, loyal soldiers and bureaucrats soon followed.


    The fires have been burning all through the night, the revolution has successfully seen its first dawn. The army is outmanned, and in some places outgunned. Victoria is the worst of the lot; there armed rebels have formed an organized militia that wages war against the garrison and the remaining gangs.


    I listen as one of Charles¡¯ men gives me the report. I¡¯m still at the hospital, but outside Jesse¡¯s room. She woke up a couple of hours ago, we¡¯ve been talking about nothing. She¡¯s hurt and she¡¯s afraid, she doesn¡¯t need to hear any of this.


    ¡°So, it has begun. What is Charles going to do about this mess?¡± I ask. ¡°Mister Kingsburg will soon address the senior council of aldermen on the current crisis.¡± It is probably part of his plan. Charles clearly has a head for politics, he came up with this convoluted scheme. ¡°He requests that you stand ready to move out with the team.¡± I shake my head. ¡°I have everything I need right here, come get me when it is time.¡± The man clearly isn¡¯t happy with the situation, but that is hardly my problem


    I return to Jesse¡¯s room, she¡¯s awake, she¡¯s been crying. I sit down beside her bed, and she grabs my hand. ¡°It is going to be okay, I will protect you.¡± I say, but the words sound hollow even in my own ears.


    ?


    Today is the worst day of Thomas¡¯ life. The world has gone mad and everybody seems to be gunning for him. The sound of gunfire makes him curse and get his focus back at the current fight. What remains of his gang is holed up in their last safe house. Outside is a mob howling for blood. He¡¯s probably going to die.


    An explosion rips through the building. ¡°Thom, they¡¯re in the house.¡± Dimi shouts while running up the stairs. He is holding a pistol the size of a children¡¯s arm. He¡¯s one of the few men who can use the monster gun with one hand.


    Thomas grabs the submachine, which has been his loyal companion trough this recent shitstorm. Together with Dimi they turn the thick wooden desk into a makeshift barrier. Between the two of them they have enough ammo to make this final stand last for another week at least.


    Going by the sounds downstairs however they won¡¯t have another week. Another explosion followed by shouting and pained screaming. Thomas lights a cigarette, handing it to Dimi. ¡°For good luck.¡± He tells the man. Dimi lights one of his own, handing it to Thomas. He says something in a language Thomas doesn¡¯t understand. It isn¡¯t Kievan, the language of he old country, but something else.


    Downstairs there is more shouting, followed by three single gunshots, then it becomes silent. Dimi takes a drag from his cigarette and checks his pistol. Thomas just waits and listens. The sound of boots climbing the stairs signals his approaching end. He¡¯s quite calm about the whole thing. ¡°Live by the sword, die by the sword.¡± He says in Kievan. Dimi brings his fist to his chest. ¡°Let¡¯s make the old gods proud.¡±


    The boots come to a halt in front of the office. With a lock splintering kick the door is thrown out of its hinges. Dimi doesn¡¯t wait for orders and Thomas doesn¡¯t give them. Both men know what to do. Both men know how to die.


    The sound of gunfire fills the room.


    ?


    Karl steps into the shot-up building. ¡°So, this is Aksokov¡¯s tomb.¡± He observes happily. ¡°Fitting.¡± The place is something between a drug den and a brothel. The furniture is tasteless, selected only because it was expensive. It is everything Karl despises about the drug trade.


    ¡°And the body?¡± He asks. A man wearing a green shirt leads him upstairs. There was a time when Karl knew the names of all his companions, it has long passed. Since he has taken over the rebellion¡¯s reigns in Victoria his friends have risen to great heights, while his enemies within and without the organization have perished. He knows there is a nationwide revolution going on, but nobody can tell him more. It doesn¡¯t matter, here he makes the rules, here he decides who lives and who dies, here he is God.


    Not that he voices such thoughts, nobody knows where the retributors are, or what they are doing. Those crazy assholes will kill you for less. Once he is in charge he will have the mad dogs put down. They arrive at the place where Aksokov¡¯s body is supposed to be. Some of the casualties have been removed, but there are still bodies littered around the place. Aksokov is lying in a pool of his own blood, shot to pieces. His face is barely recognizable due to the giant hole in his face. Karl¡¯s lips curl into a smile, he¡¯s sure it is him. ¡°When you¡¯ve taken our people out of here torch the place.¡± The man in the green shirt salutes. ¡°With pleasure sir.¡±


    Karl goes downstairs, lighting a cheap cigarette as he joins his guards. Someone hands him a long green coat. ¡°What are your orders general?¡± Sandra, his right hand asks. Karl takes a drag.


    ¡°We¡¯re taking the upper district, now that the others have been secured it is time we rip the head of the snake.¡± A car stops in front of him. Karl and his followers file in, every single one of them armed, all ready to do what needs to be done.


    ?


    ¡°This is getting out of hand, something needs to be done!¡± One of the senior aldermen shouts, slamming his hand down on his heightened bench. ¡°Victoria has already fallen. The malcontents have almost reached the palace. The city guard can barely hold them off, soon they will be taking the square!¡± The first amongst equals motions for silence. ¡°To the end of restoring order in both the city and country at large we¡¯ve invited Charles Kingsburg, director of the internal security bureau, to speak to the council.¡± He motioned towards Charles. ¡°Director, you have the floor.¡±


    Charles looks up, at the senior council of aldermen, the most powerful people in the bureaucracy, up on their heightened bleachers, and smiles. All he sees is a group of frightened old men, afraid of losing their power, prestige and wealth. They want nothing more than for someone to take all responsibility, someone to tell them it will be alright. Fortunately for them Charles is just that man.


    ¡°Most honourable councilmen, we are dealing with a catastrophe off a scale this country hasn¡¯t seen in a long time. Dire circumstances require dire measures, which is why I¡¯m going to suggest a transfer of power.¡±


    Outrage filled the bleaches as a group of very vocal aldermen. After a few seconds the first amongst equals quietens down the room. ¡°Director, you still have the floor, but tread carefully, there is always time for an execution.¡± Charles could ask who was going to carry out said execution, since he controlled most of the garrison through intermediaries, but further aggravating the council wasn¡¯t going to gain him anything.


    ¡°This transfer of power would of course be temporary, just until the current crisis is resolved. By my estimates that shouldn¡¯t take too long. Already my agents have infiltrated the enemy leadership. Soon the three ringleaders of this revolt will be put down. However, to make sure that these leaders won¡¯t be replaced I will need full control over the military forces under our nation¡¯s command, most of which are still tied up in Armes.¡±


    This time the bleachers remained silent. After about a minute the first among equals asked the question on everybody¡¯s mind. ¡°If you¡¯ve been aware of these malcontents for some time then why haven¡¯t they been dealt with before? And why wasn¡¯t this council informed?¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Charles¡¯ face radiated innocence. ¡°My agents obtained most of this intelligence only recently, most honourable alderman. As to your second question, isn¡¯t the answer to it obvious?¡± He could almost see the suspicion spread. The enemy is already amongst them, maybe has been all this time. ¡°Aldermen, if you give me the resources I need I will make swift work of the rebels, those outside as well as those within this very room.¡±


    A deadly silence ruled the council room. Who could vote against this proposal? The director of the ISB had always been trustworthy, a patriot, a man so thoroughly vetted that there was no possible way he could be a revolutionary. He was the only logical choice to solve this crisis. Voting against the proposal made a councilman look guilty, a possible traitor.


    The best thing about this whole situation was that the actual traitors all thought that this was part of the plan. They thought he was just spinning a tale so that there could be legitimate power transfer. He could see their faces, Scott, Watts, Gray, Meadows, Fox, and many more who had helped him get this position in the first place.


    ¡°The matter will be put to a vote. Director Kingsburg, could you temporarily leave the room, while the council makes its decision.¡± The first amongst equals asks. Charles bows and leaves the room. Outside one of his men, Harriot, is waiting. ¡°Are they in session?¡± Harriot asks. Charles nods. ¡°They will shout some more, then give in. Call the Butcher, tell him to move.¡± Harriot looks up. ¡°On whose orders?¡± He asks. Charles give him a predatory smile. ¡°By order of the Lord Regent.¡±


    As soon as Harriot has disappeared Charles has a phone brought to him. The extended landline is a luxury few can afford, but in the palace, it is nothing to write home about. He dials a number and waits for the other side to pick up. There is a lot of noise on the other end of the line, but when Charles says a code phrase it suddenly becomes very quiet.


    ¡°Tell your leader that an unmarked goods train will soon arrive at Victoria station. Tell him to be ready to meet his boss.¡± He doesn¡¯t say anything more or waits for the person on the other end of the line to respond. These people are hardly worth his time, but it is always good to tie up loose ends before they can become something more.


    The second call he makes is far more important, for the recipient is one who has a future, one for whom Charles has a use.


    ¡°Eli, it is time. My men will take you to where you need to be.¡± Eli is silent on the other end of the line. Knowing him he is wondering about something unimportant, like whether he¡¯s doing the right thing, or something. ¡°I know how badly you want to hurt her for what she did to Jesse. It doesn¡¯t make you a monster, it makes you human. When you kill her don¡¯t feel guilty, she¡¯s a criminal, responsible for thousands of deaths all over the world. She doesn¡¯t deserve to play a part in our dreams.¡± Eli sighs. ¡°I will contact you after it¡¯s done.¡± He finally says. He hangs up. ¡°Happy hunting.¡± Charles mutters.


    ¡°Director Kingsburg?¡± Charles turns to see an attendant waiting for him. ¡°The council will see you now.¡± Charles follows the attendant inside.


    Less than half an hour later he comes out as the most powerful man Mercia has ever known.


    ?


    I hang up the phone. Jesse looks up. ¡°Who was that?¡± Her tone is neutral, but I know that she¡¯s concerned. ¡°An old friend of mine, who needs help with something.¡± She tries to look sceptically, but the bandages ruin it. ¡°Friends? You? And I thought the world didn¡¯t have any miracles left.¡± It is a pale shadow of her usual sarcastic humour. Not really funny, yet I still chuckle. It makes me believe that face wounds or not she will recover.


    ¡°Are you going to leave?¡± She asks. I look away before nodding. ¡°Yeah, but just for a short while, I will be back soon.¡± As a child I saw enough movies to know that you should never say those kinds of things, because it usually ends with you dying somewhere. This is real life however, not some dumb action movie. Here the odds are stacked in my favour, since my enemies don¡¯t know that I¡¯m coming, and I¡¯m taking a lot of guys who are willing to die for their mission. Who said fanatics were useless?


    ¡°You better, we¡¯re going to buy so many hats when you get back, I¡¯m going to make you wear all of them.¡± I give her hand a squeeze, she returns it. I stand up, it is time to leave. I¡¯m led around by Charles¡¯ minion, whose name I don¡¯t know. Outside we get into a car without windows.


    ¡°There is body armour in the chest beside you, the director insisted on it.¡± I open the chest, recognizing the armour immediately. It is the one we used to wear on our missions for August. Just like old times.


    ?


    The King of the West is pacing through the room. He¡¯s alone, while he shouldn¡¯t be. The other members of the council of kings are taking their sweet time. He abruptly stops when he hears footsteps. Electricity cracks in his hands as he stares at the door. Charles steps through, raising his eyebrows at the lightning.


    ¡°Are you going to hit me with that?¡± He asks, a lazy smile on his face. The older man scoffs. ¡°I just might if the others are any slower.¡± The electricity dissipates, and the King of the West starts pacing again. ¡°Don¡¯t worry so much, everything is going off without a hitch. Come sit with me, have a drink.¡± Charles says, offering him a glass of whisky. The King of the West takes it, throwing it back, downing the glass without so much as tasting its contents.


    For a while they sit in silence, then the King of the West tries to stand up. Suddenly his knees are weak. His eyes mist over, shrouding the world in a fog. He looks at Charles, who is quietly watching him, without a hint of surprise.


    ¡°Betrayal.¡± The old man croaks. Charles nods, his smile is apologetic. ¡°I¡¯m sorry old man, but it has to be.¡± He says, as he grabs the old man¡¯s arms. The King of the West tries to summon the lightning from before, but it won¡¯t come. ¡°We will be having none of that now.¡± Charles says calmly.


    ¡°I saved your life.¡± The old man growls.


    ¡°And now I¡¯m taking yours for the good of the country.¡±


    The old man loses his strength and sags in his chair. There is only the fog now, and far away, Charles face looking down on him. ¡°From all the betrayals this one is the hardest. You are a good man, I truly believe you wanted to make this country a better place, but your goals were the wrong ones. Don¡¯t worry, Mercia will be safe, I will see to it personally.¡±


    The world is grey, darkness gaining ground at the edges of the King of the West¡¯s vision. Charles is speaking, but the words mean nothing. His thoughts are focused on Mary, poor Mary who didn¡¯t deserve what she got. As the world goes black the King of the West is calm, and for the first time in a long while he is at peace.


    ?


    It is around noon when the palace in Kinestorm is overrun by angry revolutionaries. They tear through the building, looting everything that isn¡¯t bolted down, killing anyone with any tie to the government. The freshly minted Lord Regent is suspiciously absent. The revolutionaries hiding in the mob search for him desperately, they don¡¯t want this new figure of authority to escape. There however isn¡¯t a sign of the man.


    ¡°Find him! Find him even if you must burn down the entire city! If we don¡¯t she will have our heads.¡± The leader of the revolutionaries calls to his subordinates. It is another betrayal amidst a hundred others. An attempt at regicide which comes far too late to matter.


    ?


    Across the sea, in the capital of the Rosharian Monarchy nobles and diplomats implore the king to make use of the current chaos in Mercia. Their words are just a formality, the king made up his mind when word of Mercia¡¯s plight first reached him. An hour later a messenger hastens out of the palace, heading for the Rosharian Kievan border. In his satchel he carries a declaration of war.


    ?


    The car grinds to a halt. I get out and survey my surroundings. About thirty or so men and women are preparing for a frontal assault. They aren¡¯t military. They¡¯re all wearing the nondescript body armour I¡¯m wearing. ¡°Who are you people?¡± I ask my driver who has joined me. ¡°ISB black operations, untrained, trained to keep the country safe.¡± He says proudly.


    ¡°Director on the scene.¡± He shouts so that everybody can hear him. With military preciseness the men and women line up for inspection. With their masks on and in uniform they¡¯re impossible to tell apart. Even height seems to have been factored in.


    ¡°Director?¡± I ask, a bit perplexed at the turn of events. ¡°Congratulations sir, you¡¯ve been promoted by the Lord Regent. You now lead the ISB.¡± The driver says, a polite smile on his face. I don¡¯t have to ask who the Lord Regent is, apparently Charles¡¯ plan worked. Still it is a little difficult to wrap my brain around this. A few hours ago, I was a chief of security and now I¡¯m the director of the ISB. I hardly feel suited for the task, isn¡¯t this more in Moose¡¯s wheelhouse? Once we¡¯re done I should talk to Charles about this. Right now, however I have other things on my mind.


    ¡°Ehm, stand down?¡± I half order, half ask. The people around me relax. ¡°All right people, back to work.¡± The driver yells. He reminds me a bit of Dobber. ¡°Give me the situation, ¡­¡± I have no idea what this man¡¯s rank is, even though he seems to be someone important. ¡°Assistant director Wells, sir.¡± I nod.


    ¡°The target is holed up inside a mansion just over the hill, it is one of several in her name. Which is good news, since she hasn¡¯t been here long enough to prepare the place. She doesn¡¯t know that we¡¯re coming, there have been no signs of increased security. We have three guards with dogs patrolling the grounds. Our snipers will take them out. Inside we have five confirmed hostiles, but we assume that there will be more. We will breach at several entrance points, goading the enemy into a killing zone. The target is believed to be on the second floor, at the heart of the building. Our snipers don¡¯t have a clear visual, but I believe that we will be able to get you to her without a problem.¡±


    I nod once. ¡°Excellent work Wells, how soon can we start the operation?¡± Wells looked around the camp, then he fished a timepiece out of his pocket. ¡°Fifteen minutes director. You will let our boys do the heavy lifting and you will be in and confirm the identity of the subject within half an hour.¡± I frown. ¡°I won¡¯t be going in with the ground forces?¡± Wells shook his head. ¡°With all due respect sir, you¡¯re too important for groundwork now.¡± I nod reluctantly. In more ways than one I feel like a puppet, dancing to Charles¡¯ tunes.


    ¡°Proceed.¡±


    ?


    It is an hour past noon when Karl receives word that the train with his special guests is imminent. Ever since the phone call he¡¯s been preparing the station for the grand arrival of his colleagues in the revolutionary leadership. Indeed, he sees them as colleagues, not as his masters. He took Victoria, he gets to keep it. If anyone has a problem with that he will just have his own little revolution.


    There is a skip in his walk as he leaves the station¡¯s office. He shrugs into his long green coat. Somebody hands him the green scarf he¡¯s been wearing since the start of his revolutionary career. Now that everyone¡¯s veins are black he no longer has to hides his marks, so he wears the scarf loosely. Lastly, he is handed his pistol. No revolutionary is complete without his weapon after all.


    He walks down the stairs and the crowd explodes. It feels as if the whole world is cheering his name. Karl, the brave leader of the Victorian freedom fighters. He raises his hands; the cheering only increases in volume. He smiles and waves, feeling every bit the royal, he is.


    He turns as the train arrives, blowing its horn three times. Everybody who has been of any import during the liberation is proudly standing next to him. They¡¯re all eager to meet the men and women who¡¯ve made this entire operation possible.


    As one the doors of the goods train are thrown open. For a moment it is too dark to see the insides of the compartments. A single moment in which Karl realizes he has made a mistake. Everybody who is anybody is standing on this platform.


    Sunlight reflects in red glass.


    Dozens of soldiers wearing grey uniforms with black stripes are aiming their fully automatic Rosharian assault rifles at the revolutionary leadership. The Butcher¡¯s regiment has arrived.


    ¡°Light them up boys.¡± A voice growls.


    The bullets mow down every single person on the platform. As the soldiers swarm out of the train, steadily shooting on anything that moves. In minutes the station is deserted, safe for the soldiers.


    The butcher strolls onto the platform, looking very pleased with himself. ¡°Not bad, not bad at all.¡± He lights a big cigar and takes a long satisfied drag. ¡°You know, I like this new Lord Regent. He knows how to properly wage a war.¡± He nods to himself. ¡°Now then, sweep the city, kill anything that wears green. If they¡¯re willing to lay down arms or surrender spare them, I don¡¯t want to be court martialled.¡± He looks at his officers who haven¡¯t moved yet. ¡°Hop, get to it my little chickens, I don¡¯t have all day.¡±


    The butcher¡¯s lips curl into a smile again as he walks down the platform, stepping on the bodies of former rebels. ¡°The Lord Regent and I are going to be the best of friends.¡± He says as he looks at Karl¡¯s now permanently surprised face. He takes another drag, blows the sweet-smelling smoke into the air and marches on.


    ?


    It is strange being this close to an operation, knowing everything about it, yet not being a part of it. I watch as Charles men move in on the mansion. They are quick, silent, well trained. After a while I see light flicker inside the mansion, they have engaged the enemy.


    We wait a while longer. I¡¯m quite tense, even though Wells isn¡¯t. He raises an eyebrow as I shift my weight to my left foot. This might not be his first time leading an operation of this size, but it is mine, so fuck him. After a while a green flair lightens up the evening sky. ¡°They¡¯re ready for you sir.¡± Wells says. I nod and follow him to the car.


    A short drive later I¡¯m standing in front of the mansion. I step inside through the ruins of a door. There are a couple of bodies left and right, but none of them are guys from my side. ¡°She¡¯s on the first floor, you will recognize it when you see it.¡± A woman says to Wells. Before my assistant director can say anything, I head up the stairs.


    The first floor has an odd construction. It is entirely empty safe for a single square room dead in the centre. My people have got the place locked down tight, so I proceed without hesitation. I open the door of the strange room. Inside sits a woman, her back towards me. ¡°You know Charles, if you wanted to see me, you could have just requested a meeting.¡± She says. Her voice is steady and calm, as if her house wasn¡¯t just stormed by an unknown number of assailants. She turns around, looks at me and frowns.


    ¡°You are not Charles.¡± She states.


    ¡°I¡¯m not, but you¡¯re the individual who calls herself the Queen of the East.¡± I say.


    ¡°You¡¯re the assassin.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the woman who sent the murderers that cut up my girl¡¯s face.¡±


    She bits her lip.


    ¡°I can explain, if we just get Charles we can talk about this.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡±


    I fire three times. Two in the chest, one in the head. For a second, I look at the body. I don¡¯t feel happy, or satisfied, or righteous. I don¡¯t really feel anything, except for a kind of faint relief that I just closed this part of my life. I turn around and walk out of the room. I stop briefly at the ruined entrance to light a cigarette.


    ¡°Where to now director?¡± Wells asks. I look up at the darkening sky. Snow drifts lazily down, Jesse is going to hate it. ¡°To the hospital.¡± I say. It is the only place in the whole world, probably in two worlds I want to be.

 Chapter 18: Aftermath

    Fifteen years ago.


    Five people wearing white lab coats stand around an enormous machine. The room they¡¯re in is partly cloaked in steam, they seem used to it. ¡°Electric currents at 4.10.¡± One of the scientists says. ¡°Pressure levels are steady, we can increase the outage.¡± A woman calls from somewhere within the mist. ¡°The liquid amber is doing its job, I¡¯m sure it we will be successful this time.¡± Another man says, observing the process. ¡°Don¡¯t sell the bearskin before killing it Kinsky.¡± A woman who seems to be in charge calls from an observatory platform up ahead.


    With a great heave the machine starts pumping. Golden liquid flows through class tubes upwards, steam is released from a pressure pipe somewhere in the room and electric static fills the room. ¡°The math is good, this time we will succeed.¡± Kinsky grumbles. ¡°Electric currents increasing, rising to 4.25, 4.50, 4.75. We¡¯re nearing maximum capacity.¡± The pressure in the room increases. A low humming absorbs all sound. ¡°Reach¡­. Ma¡­.. ca¡­..¡± Someone shouts, but the words are lost in the humming.


    The room explodes into white light. There is no sound, no light, no life, there is in fact nothing at all. It is as if the world ceased to exist in a single moment. As if time and space never happened. A single second lasting an eternity. In that single second there is a tear, and a boy gets through. Then it is suddenly over. The light returns to normal and the room is exactly as it was before.


    The five scientists are the same as they were before, they haven¡¯t even changed positions. They are exactly the same, and at the same time they are nothing like they used to be. There is something rattling through their skull. A word. A name. Of what they do not know, but that single name isn¡¯t letting them go. It is a word that embodies the past, present and the future.


    Discordia.


    ?


    It has been two weeks since the revolution started. In some places the fires are still burning, but Victoria is stable. The eastern part of the country is locked up tight by the military. Here Charles rules unopposed. I have little doubt he we reunite the rest of the country soon enough. As the new director of the Internal Security Bureau I¡¯m privy to a lot of information unknown by the public. I know that Charles has another plan, something on an international level. It makes sense, now that he has taken control over the most important parts of the country he wants to take the show on the road.


    Roshar and Kievan have gone to war. I wonder whether Charles factored that into his plans, probably. A part of me is permanently annoyed with him. He keeps vital information to himself, even though I can¡¯t prove that, and only sparsely gives me a peak behind his curtains. You would think that I had a way of finding shit out, being in control of the largest spy organization on the continent and all that. Apparently not even the director of the dreaded ISB has clearance for everything.


    I¡¯m sitting in my office, my home office these days. The place used to be a bit battered, before it was shot up. Back then there was a lot of brown wood and stately furniture, a bit like a country club. That was before it was shot-up by the mob, looted by revolutionaries and redecorated by my girlfriend. The last being the most damaging of the three.


    The whole place now looks more like a French salon than the office of an assassin. Furniture with flower patterns, a large standing mirror, hell I even got a rug. Jesse went all out, going as far as having the walls painted a sort of light blue. I don¡¯t mind all that much, and apparently the whole thing is quite classy. I wouldn¡¯t know, I¡¯m not a bloody interior designer.


    The door is thrown open and Jesse enters excitedly. ¡°You ready?¡± She asks. I nod, signing the last of a bunch of papers. ¡°Yes, let¡¯s go.¡± I stand up and walk towards the door. She stops, stands on the tip of her toes and kisses me. ¡°You¡¯ve got to wear the hat.¡± She whispers in my ear. I grimace. The bloody hat. I glance at the monstrosity hanging on the peg inside my office. It is a top hat, but not a regular one. It has a red sash tied around it, a tiny timepiece on the brim and several feathers sticking from it. Of all the objects in the world it is the one I hate most.


    Jesse¡¯s smile is so wide I worry her face might rip itself apart. ¡°You can¡¯t find that thing pretty, please don¡¯t make me wear it.¡± I beg. The sparkle in her eyes tell me all I need to know. I can beg, plead and curse all I want, I¡¯m wearing the bloody hat. I sigh and put the monstrosity on. Jesse snickers, she¡¯s awful. Together we walk towards the front door. Jesse stops at her desk to pick up the veil she¡¯s been wearing since she was hospitalized. I stop her.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± I say. Suddenly the atmosphere becomes tense. ¡°People will stare.¡± She says, biting her lip. ¡°I don¡¯t care, you shouldn¡¯t either.¡± I mean it too. With my right hand I trace the scars which form a silvery web across her face. ¡°You know it isn¡¯t as easy as that.¡± Her hand goes for the veil again. ¡°As long as I wear this hat, nobody will be looking at them, if that is what you fear.¡± I give her hand a squeeze. ¡°It will be alright.¡± She glances at the veil again, but leaves it on the desk. ¡°Okay, let¡¯s do this.¡± She says. Together we step outside, into the pouring rain.


    ?


    The corridors of city hall are deserted. Charles walks through them by himself. He succeeded, it is all his. The chaos going on in the rest of the country is a carefully crafted illusion. As long as the foreign powers believe Mercia is too weak to intervene in their war they will keep at it. Already he can see it. Roshar will win the war, obtaining lots of land and valuable resources, all the while sustaining heavy casualties. Their armies weakened, their war machine almost out of fuel. At that precise moment he will strike.


    Even now, as he strolls through these corridors, he¡¯s raising a new army in the north. It is one unlike Mercia has seen before. An army of men and women capable of impossible feats. It is draining resources, but the returns will be immense. All thanks to Rosharian ingenuity. A lot can be said about the monarchy, but their engineers and surgeons really are top notch.


    A woman falls into step next to him. He doesn¡¯t have to look to know who it is. ¡°Getting some late night exercise?¡± He asks drily. ¡°You of all people know what exercise for me would look like.¡± She responds, baring her teeth. ¡°You almost scared me there.¡± He says with a lazy smile. She makes a strange purring sound. ¡°How did your date with your ex-girlfriend go?¡± It is not her place to ask. She knows that, but she likes to push boundaries, real or otherwise.


    ¡°She did what she was supposed to do. The Queen of the South is dead, I received a report this morning.¡± He glances at her. ¡°What about the retributors?¡± Oliva cracks her neck. ¡°Two are dead, one fled the country, the last one is leading the rebellion in the north.¡± Charles nodded. The rebel would die soon enough, when it suited his designs. ¡°The one who fled, any idea where he went?¡± The woman shook her head. ¡°Might have gone to Kievan or Roshar, but he could also have headed south.¡± Charles sighed, it would be a problem for later.


    Olivia licks her lips. ¡°So, what is the plan now?¡± They take a turn. ¡°Firstly I¡¯m going to give you what you deserve.¡± Charles calmly says, looking straight ahead. Olivia stops dead in the middle of the hallway. Her hands go for the collar around her throat, her eyes widen, her lips curl into a snarl. Had Charles been an animal he would have been able to smell her fear. He turned around to look at her and raised his eyebrows. ¡°No reason for panic.¡± He walks towards her, does something with the lock and takes the collar off.


    There is surprise in her eyes when he steps back holding the collar. ¡°But I could still be useful? Why do you discard me?¡± She says backing away. Charles shrugs. ¡°Oh I still have a use for you, I just don¡¯t think you will leave.¡± Olivia takes another two steps back. ¡°There is nothing now that stops me from leaving.¡± Charles raises his eyebrows. ¡°You are an emotionless monster, are you not? Created to kill without remorse. You could indeed leave right now, kill any guards I sent after you, be out of the country come first light.¡± He smiled. ¡°And yet, here we are.¡±


    He fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. ¡°I won¡¯t be kept in another cage!¡± Olivia barked. ¡°And you wouldn¡¯t be. There is a place for you, by my side.¡± Charles said calmly, taking a drag. ¡°You don¡¯t have to answer now, get back to me when you decide to stay.¡± He turns around and starts walking. ¡°Or you could join me and have a couple of drinks at a party.¡± He looks over his shoulder, the hallway is empty. ¡°See you tomorrow.¡±


    ?


    When Jesse and I get to the party it is already in full swing. At the bar people are already drunk. The dancefloor is filled with people. As we enter it feels like everybody is looking at us. Maybe they are. Jesse stiffens, crushing my arm in a dead grip. I bow over. ¡°They¡¯re just jealous of how beautiful you look.¡± I whisper in her ear. She looks up at me and I smile. With a soft hand I guide her to the dancefloor.


    I glare at the orchestra, holding up three fingers. I¡¯m a horrible dancer, all the little steps and extra moves just don¡¯t register. There is only one dance I can dance fully, the waltz. One, two, three, repeat. It is easy, it gets the job done, and with the right woman it is fun. Jesse is hesitant at first, but quickly settles into the rhythm. We swirl and twirl like bloody naturals. At some point I look at Jesse and see a quiet content smile.


    Maybe I¡¯ve been chasing after the wrong things all my life. I¡¯ve done horrible things, acts that should have landed me in prison. Instead I was promoted. I¡¯ve tried freedom, and found it to be a lonely affair. I¡¯ve earned and spend fortunes, never sating the hunger I felt. I¡¯ve been a good man, and I¡¯ve been obsolete, neither made me happy. Briefly my thoughts go to Rosa, who kept me something resembling sane six years ago. Could I have had with her what I have now with Jesse? It is useless to think about it, besides I¡¯m here, with Jesse, now. I don¡¯t need or want a different relationship. This is how it is supposed to be.


    I smile back, leaving my thoughts for what they are. Sometimes it pays to live in the moment.