The Assassin's Cunning - Act I: Black Guard's Reprisal

MOONLESS NIGHTS ARE ALWAYS THE best nights for an ambush. They’re also the best for transporting illicit goods you don’t want the authorities knowing anything about. Too bad for the six Black Guardsmen traipsing down the dark lane below that I’m not the authorities. Black cloaks, hoods, gloves, and boots. You’d think they were escorting a funeral procession. But though they moved slowly, it was only because they matched the pace of the mechanized carriage they escorted. A single driver manned the carriage, and while I knew little about the transport’s payload, I knew it was important. That didn’t matter, though. I wasn’t here for Gwendolyn Goddard’s latest infernal invention. I was here for the Guardsmen. If this was a heist, I would have arranged a blockade to slow or stop their progress or a distraction to create confusion. But this was a much simpler operation, requiring a different sort of execution altogether.

Planting my left foot securely at the roof’s edge, I waited until I saw their backs before pulling a single barbed arrow from my quiver. With a practiced motion, I set the arrow on my composite bow, drew the string back, and chose a target. Who died first didn’t matter, so I chose the nearest mercenary. Then I took in a breath, exhaled slowly, and loosed.

“Gah!” the Guardsman cried out as the barbed missile plunged into his back.

I repeated the routine, drawing, nocking, aiming, and loosing again, causing a second Guardsman to cry out in surprise and pain before the other four realized what was happening. Their reaction was swift, practiced, and predictable. Two took cover behind the still-moving wagon while the other two spun around behind their shields and tried to determine my location. Though there wasn’t much to shoot at with their shields in the way, I took aim anyway, loosing a barbed arrow that impacted the intended target with a satisfying thunk. Tossing my bow aside, I leaped from my rooftop perch to land on the top of the carriage. The driver spun around to face me with a club ready, and while I admired his dedication, I still slashed his throat open with one of my long knives. Clutching at the wound, he instinctively tried to stem the tide, but that never worked, so while he died and fell from the carriage, I dropped to the ground to deal with the others.

Even with no driver, the carriage kept rolling along, turning precisely at the next street to stay on course. Rounding that corner was just what I needed to keep the two pairs of Guardsmen separated, so as I engaged the two hiding behind their shields, the other two gifted me precious seconds by running around the carriage. Fighting two opponents instead of four made my job easier, but these two had the advantage of heavier armor, shields, and better reach with their long swords. The grins on their faces told me they knew it too. Or maybe it was because they knew my best weapons—my long knives—weren’t a match for their heavier armor and shields. Imagine their surprise when I didn’t reach for my usual blades but drew a sword from over a shoulder instead. Maybe the sword itself didn’t surprise them, but the blade’s dark course of steel did. Black as night, only the exotic metals of the volcanic Steel Islands yielded an edge so perfectly deadly. The dark metal was hypnotic, drawing the Guardsmen’s gazes. No longer grinning, they shook their fascination off and, snarling, advanced on me. One came in with the point of his blade balanced on his shield and ready to jab. The other was less subtle, lunging to deliver a mighty swing. It was nothing to leap to the side, letting them get in each other’s way as I swung at the first Guardsman’s legs. My blade sliced through greaves and into the flesh beneath, nearly taking the man’s leg off. While he screamed and crumpled to the ground, the other leaped over him and rushed me. I let him swing at me once, twice, and then I clove one end of his shield off when he raised it to block my attack.

Blades forged from rare and expensive Steel Island alloys were like that, and I hoped it wasn’t lost on him that I only brought this sword out for special occasions as I thrust the blade into his chest. He died with a moan, leaving me to finish the other with a similar thrust into his back while he crawled away. Not the most dignified way to die, but I wasn’t in the mood to grant concessions, especially with the other pair of Guardsmen closing on me. They tried a similar double-team tactic, hacking and thrusting with their long swords. But where the other two were slow and clumsy, these two were fast and skilled, forcing me back with a coordinated barrage. Fighting all four would have been a challenge, and it was too bad for them they hadn’t joined the fight sooner. As it stood, these two were good but not good enough. A neatly timed leap to one side as the first Guardsman dove in opened him to a killing stroke that I then reversed to catch the other’s sword. I let his blade slide from mine, and then we traded blows until the clang of steel rang down the darkened block. As much as I enjoyed the opportunity to shake the cobwebs from my sword skill, I didn’t want the carriage to get too far ahead, so I let the Guardsman think he had the better of me. When he overextended, I finished him with a swing at his torso, cutting the links of his mail shirt as easily as the flesh beneath. He let out a gasp and died. After wiping my blade clean on his cloak, I ran after the carriage, which was almost out of sight now, leaving four corpses and, I hoped, a clear message behind that I was done tolerating the Black Guard.

The squeak and whir of gears and other mechanical parts greeted me as I drew up alongside the carriage. The noise created a steady rhythm as it rolled down the avenue and turned once more, even though no one guided it. I might have considered jumping inside and riding it to its final destination, but this was no passenger transport. Lightly armored, with doors locked tight and no windows, Gwendolyn was taking no chances with whatever it carried. I didn’t blame her.

Ever since I’d passed on the information that she was working with the Warders, Elizabeth and Atticus had made her life a living hell, waylaying transports, stealing from warehouses, and even raising a legal stink via Atticus’s lawyers over the trading and transportation of illegal and dangerous alchemicals and such. I had no love for Gwendolyn, her faction of the Society, or the Warders, and if I could help Liz’s cause against them, then I was happy to help. But I wasn’t here for any of that tonight. Tonight was about something more personal.

Some months had passed since my first altercation with the Black Guard, and while there’s been plenty of drama, fighting, and words exchanged since then, the simple fact was that they remained sore over the single killing of someone they were charged with protecting. They’ve been trying to even the score ever since, mainly by killing me but also by driving me from every one of the fine taverns and wineshops I frequented before I’d run afoul of their obsessive ways. These days, I’m lucky if I get a moment’s peace in a dive of an establishment while I drink watered-down mead from a wooden cup. I’ve lived on both sides of the road, so I can say unequivocally that I prefer the sunnier, wealthier side. A reckoning between myself and the Guard was inevitable. So, I gave them the courtesy of an ultimatum with a generous deadline of two days. Get out of Alchester, or else. In hindsight, perhaps two days were not enough time, given the logistics of moving an entire company of mercenaries. However, the deadline had passed a week ago. Despite that, they’d shown no signs of packing, let alone leaving. Enough was enough, I figured, so here I was, making my threat real. It was past time to put an end to this Black Guard annoyance once and for all.

Information about the timing, location, and the carriage’s route had cost me, but my trade paid well, so coin was never a problem. The source, however, had been questionable, so I was glad to see the logistics were accurate, especially as the carriage left the sleepy streets of Grainger Town behind to pass through the winding lanes of West End and finally to the Manchester Borough, where it rolled up to the service entrance of an exceptionally large manor. My source had identified the place as belonging to one Thaddicus Seppert, a rich lordling with strong mercantile relations and a rumored communication channel to the king himself. Rich, powerful, and someone who boasted of having the king’s ear? No wonder Gwendolyn was so interested in delivering something of value to him.

With the carriage approaching the house, I kept my distance, melting into the shadows as guards opened a gate to admit the transport. The lack of a driver and accompanying Guardsmen was likely to cause a stir, but with the safe arrival of the carriage’s contents, there was no reason for anyone to suspect further mischief. Oh, how they were wrong. Making my way around the manor, I snuck onto the grounds of a house two doors down where all was dark. As part of my preparation for tonight’s escapade, I’d learned its residents were currently out of town. Servants had been dismissed or traveled with them, leaving the place quiet, empty, and the perfect place for me to stash my weapons and change clothes. Hopping over the manor’s decorative wall, I found the bundle I’d stashed on the property right where I’d left it earlier that day. At the back door, I fiddled with the lock for longer than I liked, but I finally got it open. Inside, I quickly changed, leaving all but the smallest of knives on my person, just in case. Then, retracing my steps, I returned to Lord Thaddicus’s house, where I entered the manor with all the splendor of a person befitting my disguise.

“You!” a man yelled at me from the other side of the kitchen. He rounded a table where porters busily sliced shallots, chopped garlic, and peeled potatoes. Across from them, sauciers worked magical wonders, mixing sauces and preparing the evening’s hors d'oeuvres, while beyond them, tongues of flames rose from a stove as chefs seared delicate meats and fish. The tantalizing aromas of the place were delightful. The expression on the approaching man’s face was not.

Too late to disappear, I placed one hand behind my back, puffed out my chest, and, as the man stopped right in front of me, asked, “How may I be of service, sir?”

“How may you be of service?” the man asked back, incredulous. “How about by doing your godsdamn job? Your usual maître d' may allow such behavior, but I’ll have none of it! Not tonight. I run a tight ship! The tightest! Everything must be perfect for his lordship’s party, and it will be! Now, get your arse back out there and do your job, or I’ll make sure you no longer have one after tonight!”

I stood straighter and feigned a salute. “Yes, sir! A tight ship, it is! The tightest!” Then I hurried from the kitchen before he blustered at me anymore.

Outside the kitchen, I found a serving tray to complete my disguise, then I navigated through the press of guests, heading straight for the bar, where I let the bartender know I needed a single glass of sherry. With the glass balanced on my tray, I meandered through the crowd, making eye contact with no one and backing away in deference whenever my path became blocked by an oncoming gentleman or woman. No one paid me any heed except to place empty glasses or plates on my tray. I quickly and dutifully did away with those, then returned to my roaming, the single glass of sherry still balanced with care. The lord’s house was impressive, with dark lacquered wainscotting, filigreed moldings adorning every wall, elaborate drapery, and plush carpeting throughout the multi-roomed floor. Most of the party took place in the central chamber, but guests had spilled into adjoining rooms or even outside, where I glimpsed a fountain lit by colored lights of red and blue, the royal colors of our fiefdom. I wondered if Lord Thaddicus meant this display as a subtle reminder to the guests of his connection to King Classus or if he simply meant it as a demonstration of his patriotism.

A couple stopped me to order drinks. A glass of rosé for the lady and a whiskey smash with Vrannan bourbon for the pompous gentleman. Oh, and an extra mint leaf, if you please, and don’t skimp on the bourbon this time. Of course, sir. An extra leaf and no skimping. The man dismissed me without even a thank you, but the lady flashed me a quick smile and a nod of appreciation, which I returned with a simple nod of my own. While I considered fetching the lady’s drink—a rosé on a cool night such as this one was an excellent choice, especially paired with the seasoned flatbread hors d'oeuvres I’d spied earlier, and I appreciated her courtesy besides—I was not in nearly as generous a mood concerning the gentleman’s request. You, milady, I thought, should find better company.

Speaking of finding someone, I took another circuit around the current space, exited into a hallway to another, and finally spied my quarry in the host’s library. She wasn’t alone, so I hung back, out of sight, occupying myself with a stack of napkins on my tray while I surveyed the situation. Luckily, the gentleman with her was on his way out already. I gave him a slight bow as he exited, catching a flash of olive green eyes cast my way before he left. Promptly entering the library, I presented the glass of sherry to the lady with a flourish.

“Sherry, milady. Courtesy of an old friend.”

She was perusing the library’s books with her back to me. Looking over a shoulder, she said, “I didn’t order anything. Old friend? What old friend?” She spun around and froze.

“Hello, Gwendolyn. Long time.”

Smoldering blue eyes turned frantic. Hands resting easy at her sides bunched into fists. Her entire body went tense.

“I hear you wanted to talk,” I said. I placed the wineglass and tray down, then closed the door to the room. It didn’t lock, but a closed door still gave us the privacy and time we needed to have our little chat. I crossed my arms and, besides for a smirk at her discomfort, gave no indication of my disposition. Was I really here to talk, or had I come to kill her? I relished watching her sweat, but knew we only had so much time alone before someone came looking for her. “So, Gwendolyn, what did you want to talk about?”

My question didn’t change her posture one bit. Her eyes had that frenetic fight-or-flight look, glancing at the closed door but also sizing me up, wondering at the sincerity of my inquiry. She, at last, realized I wasn’t going to kill her, at least not right away, so some of the tension melted from her, and she settled on her heels. She picked up the glass I’d brought and asked, “Coastal?”

The gesture was not lost on her. Atticus had served a fine coastal sherry at the party where Gwendolyn and I had first met.

“Unfortunately, no.” The previous sherry’s vintage had been excellent, and I’d enjoyed my fair share while attending the party. “It’s a few steps down, I’m afraid, but serviceable.”

Tilting the glass to her exquisite lips, she downed the drink in one pull. Then she suggestively ran a finger around the rim of the empty glass while turning those fiery blue eyes of hers on me. “I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

“I didn’t come to chitchat, Gwen.”

“It’s even more surprising no one has arrested you yet. I gave the constables more than enough evidence about what happened the night you killed my brother and the other members of the Society. Someone in the Ministry of Justice must really like you.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” I said, and I meant it. No one on Lawbreaker’s Hill owed me a thing, which was exactly the way I liked it. As to the murder of Walter Goddard and the other Society members, Gwendolyn knew the person who had committed that crime all too well.

When I said nothing else, Gwendolyn humphed and said, “All business tonight? Very well. I’m running late for a demonstration, anyway.”

She meant whatever the transport had carried here. These gala events were always a means to recruit new members to the Progressive Society, secure new funding, or demonstrate some new device or technology to ooh and awe people. I kept my ambush of the Guardsmen to myself. She’d find out soon enough, but not until after I was long gone. While the Society employed the Black Guard, she had nothing to do with their vendetta against me.

“I want to hire you,” she said matter-of-factly.

I wish I could say she hadn’t caught me off-guard, but she did. I should have refused outright, but curiosity got the best of me. “Hire me for what?”

“To do what you do best. I want you to kill someone for me.”

“That so?” With my arms still crossed, I leaned against the closed door. “And why would I ever take a job from you?”

“Don’t you mean another job?”

I ignored that. “Who’s the mark?”

“Someone who’s caused me a lot of trouble.”

That’s the usual reason.

“A rival of mine in the Society,” she said. “His name is Atticus Drake. Do you know him?”

“He hosted the party where we met. But, other than that, never heard of him.” Gwendolyn must know about my relationship with Atticus, but why admit to anything when I didn’t have to? “What’s so special about him that you want him dead?”

“Why is that any business of yours?” Gwendolyn asked, taking a seat in a plush reading chair. “Will you take the job or not?”

“I’m willing to consider it. But first, let’s talk payment.”

Gwendolyn crossed her legs and sat back. “Money is not a problem. Name your price, and you’ll have the funds before the night is out. Because of the circumstances surrounding our prior relationship, I’m willing to pay the entire fee upfront if that helps sway your decision.”

“I was thinking of something a bit more meaningful than coin.”

Gwendolyn grinned. “You want me to recant the story I told the king’s inspectors detailing how you murdered my brother.”

“Actually, no. You said it yourself. The Ministry of Justice doesn’t seem interested in pursuing that.” I knew as much as Gwendolyn about the reason. Although I initially suspected Inspector Wright had something to do with it, I’d changed my mind. The inspector was too much of a straight arrow to look the other way, especially where murder was concerned. Still, he’d wanted my help with something, the details of which remained a mystery because I’d done my best to avoid him since we’d last parted ways. Not on purpose, since I owed him for assisting me with another matter, but life gets in the way sometimes, doesn’t it? I knew I’d have to pay him a visit eventually, but right now, other matters took precedence. “I have something else in mind.”

She sat up straighter, curious. “Such as?”

“The Black Guard works for you. I want them off my back. No more searching the city for me, no more harassing me at every turn, no more trying to kill me. If you can do that, then I’ll take the job, but only after I’ve seen for myself that they’ll listen to you.”

Leaning back again, Gwendolyn crossed her hands in her lap. That fantastic smile never left her lips. “Consider it done.”

“Just like that?” I asked.

“Just like that. Give me some time to speak to Captain Belford. Once I do, I’ll have him spread the word amongst his men immediately. When can I expect to hear of Mr. Drake’s untimely demise?”

“After I’m satisfied the Black Guard is no longer interested in me.”

“Shall we say in a week, then?” she asked.

“A week it is.”

I thought we were done, but Gwendolyn clinked a fingernail against her glass and said, “There’s one more thing.”

I raised a brow and waited.

“You have something of mine. I want it back.”

No negotiation this time. This was a demand, plain and simple.

“You mean Aravar Tillwood’s scroll?” No point in denying I knew about it since I was the one who’d killed Aravar and taken it from him. “I don’t have it.”

“I know you don’t,” Gwendolyn said. “But you know who does. Whether your thief friend still has it or if she loaned it to Atticus, I don’t know or care. It belongs to me. If you need more incentive, consider its return part of our deal. If the scroll is not in my possession by the end of the week, I turn the Black Guard loose on you again, and our deal is off.”

I didn’t have an answer about the scroll. When I said I didn’t have it, I meant it. But Gwen was right. I knew who had it and how to get it. For now, agreeing to her terms was enough. I’d deal with the details later. “Fine.”

A knock at the door presaged the arrival of a steward, who stuck his head into the room to address Ms. Goddard. “Ma’am, you’re wanted outside. Something about a problem with a delivery.”

I’d retrieved my tray before the steward had the door half opened. I lifted Gwendolyn’s empty glass and placed it on the tray. “Another sherry, Ms. Goddard?”

She was more concerned with her delivery now, so she waved me away as she stood and went to follow the steward. Before leaving the room, she turned back to me and said, “One week.” Then she was gone.

I followed in her wake, ditching the tray as I slipped out the back door and returned to the nearby manor to change clothes and retrieve my weapons. As much as I wanted to witness Gwendolyn’s befuddled reaction to her transport arriving intact but without a single guard as escort, I had other business, ironically enough, with the man Gwendolyn wanted dead.

Atticus Drake’s manor wasn’t far, but out of an abundance of caution, I took a circuitous route to get there. Gwendolyn hadn’t called off her Black Guard watchdogs yet, and other forces were at play besides, none of which I wanted following me to Mr. Drake’s house. Out of habit, I skulked past the manor, observing the sparse lights within and the quiet settled over the property. Since nothing seemed untoward, I went to the back, climbed the wall, and snuck through Atticus’s modest garden before stopping in the side yard. Given my assassin’s attire, it wouldn’t do to use the front door, so I climbed a tree growing close and gained the roof with a quick leap. From there, I found an unlocked window and was soon inside, where all was dark and quiet. I’d been here before, so I headed straightaway for the study, where I found Atticus seated at his desk. Elizabeth was there, too, leaning against a table with her arms crossed. Like me, she was dressed for nocturnal events.

“About time,” she said, grinning.

I lowered my mask. “Sorry. I had some other business that ran longer than expected.”

Liz knew better than to ask about details. She learned when we were an item that it was better not knowing.

“Thomas!” Atticus said, rising and coming around his desk. “It is good to see you again. Elizabeth arrived only a short time ago. We’ve been catching up, so you haven’t missed anything.”

We shook hands. Thomas was the alias I’d used when Atticus and I had first met. He continued to use the name because I’d given him no other. I figured it was as good as any until it had outlived its usefulness.

“Sorry about the unannounced entry,” I said.

Atticus waved my apology away. “One cannot be too careful these days, so I understand. If you’ll follow me, I think we can get started.”

Our previous conversations had always occurred in the study, so I was a little surprised when Atticus led us to the outside hall, down a flight of stairs, and to a narrow door at the rear of the house. The door was triple locked, so while Atticus pulled out a ring of keys from a vest pocket, I said, “Can’t be too careful, eh?”

“Precisely,” Atticus said. “Especially with what’s behind this door.”

I exchanged a glance with Liz, who looked just as intrigued. The fact that she’d been working closely with Atticus and still didn’t know what was on the other side was surprising, but it must mean that whatever it was, it was damn important.

With the third and last lock undone, I expected Atticus to reach for the knob. Instead, he placed a single hand on the door’s surface and whispered a handful of unintelligible words. Sigils lit up beneath his hand, then their light faded, and, finally, Atticus pushed the door open. A draft of cool basement air assaulted us. I exchanged another look with Liz, then we followed him down a narrow stair. As we descended, the atmosphere became dense and pungent with an odd mixture of flowery fragrances and the acrid scent of alchemicals.

“You’ve been busy,” Liz said, echoing my thoughts as she swept into the room ahead of me.

Alchemical lanterns evenly spaced throughout the chamber revealed a work area the like of which I’d never seen before. Part alchemist’s foundry with crucibles and alembics, part tinkerer’s atelier with spanners and bins full of parts, and, I daresay, part sorcerer’s sanctum with open books marked by runes and, finally, something that had caught my eye immediately. A Stilson’s orb, hovering at the room’s center, spinning in place and crackling with the same nightmare-inspiring dark energy I had hoped to never see again. Though I had a hard time tearing my gaze from it, I forced myself to examine the rest of the room, noting by instinct the lack of exits but also tallying the many schematics and diagrams I saw hanging from lines or pinned to the walls, the distinct sign of burn marks here and there, and, in a corner, a small oven with an exhaust pipe winding into the ceiling. Atticus had all the makings of a mad scientist here.

Liz had scanned the room at the same time I did, but while she seemed content to wait for an explanation about the Stilson’s orb, I was not.

“What the hell are you doing with that?” I asked. No gesture was needed for Atticus to understand what I was talking about. I knew more than anyone what the orb represented and the danger it posed. What I didn’t understand was the allure of creating one. Since meeting Atticus, I’d come to know him as a gentleman, inventor, and wine connoisseur, but I’d never taken him for a fool. This was the third orb I’d had the misfortune of encountering. If you asked me, it was three too many.

Atticus approached the orb. He crossed his arms and stared at it. “It’s stable and contained, so you’ve nothing to fear.”

I didn’t get any closer, taking in the strange melding of glass and metal surrounding the spinning ball of energy from my current vantage point. One of Gwendolyn’s engineers, who I’d shared an adventure with not too long ago, had called such an apparatus a dilutive containment sphere. But that vessel was only a short-term solution for containing the orb. So, how was this one different?

“I got the design from Mr. Raed Lendin,” Atticus said, “whom you may remember from the gala event you attended, Thomas. Some improvements were necessary to overcome the short-term nature of his implementation, but all has been well with my design for some days now.”

Reassurances aside, the sight of the orb—and the memory of that cold, dark place I visited when I fell into the first one—still sent a chill down my spine. Not to mention the dark entity I’d had the displeasure of interacting with when the second orb’s energy grew out of control and somehow formed a connection with that other place. We’d managed to shut that one down and sever the link, but I was ever mindful of another such situation, where some mad inventor’s experiment gone awry inadvertently reopened the portal and let that thing into our world. I survived those previous episodes, but some others—Gwendolyn’s brother, for one, who I suspected must have been delivered there by his sister’s machinations—hadn’t been so lucky. There are merciful ways to die, but that isn’t one of them.

“Why is it here?” I asked through tight lips.

“Is something wrong, Thomas?” Atticus asked. “You seem alarmed. I can assure you, you are quite safe.”

Liz sauntered over to us. She knew how I felt about the subject, so I was grateful for her seriousness. “He never told you about his trip into one of those things?”

Atticus raised a skeptical brow. “You can’t be serious. There is no traveling into a Stilson’s orb. Contact with one will kill you as sure as a knife to the heart, but not nearly as quickly. Unless you mean . . . . Ah, I see now. You’re talking about the Jakaree’s horizon dichotomizer. Now, that would take you somewhere. But one trip would likely be enough, and I imagine you’d never want to do so again.”

“Exactly,” I said. The presence of the dark entity remained unknown to Liz and Atticus, and while I had no reason not to tell them about it, seeing another orb so close did not make me want to revisit those memories, so I kept that to myself for the time being. Atticus hadn’t answered my question, so I asked again, “What’s the orb doing here?”

“More to the point,” Elizabeth said, her hand sweeping across the room’s expanse, “what is all this?”

“The sanctity of my home is the only place where I can ensure Ms. Goddard’s spies inside the Society cannot see what I am working on. Some weeks ago, you entrusted me with a certain parchment, the contents of which, at the time, were a mystery. Everything you see in this room has played a part in my investigation of the scroll’s contents.”

Once more, our gazes roved over the laboratory equipment, the stacks of books and scrolls, and the mechanical tools and parts.

“All of it?” Liz asked.

Atticus smiled. “Well, maybe not all of it. This is my personal workshop and laboratory, where I perform experiments I am not quite ready to share with my colleagues. Most of what I do down here is tinkering at best, but it’s a worthy space for performing real experimentation away from prying eyes, too. Here, allow me to walk you through what I have discovered. I promise we will return to the Stilson’s orb in good time.” Atticus led us to the tinkerer area, where he’d pinned a copy of the scroll’s contents to the wall, though this one was a much larger depiction of the schematic. “When you first allowed me to examine Aravar’s scroll, I thought the schematic depicted an energy regulator or modulator, though it possessed some characteristics I found baffling. Specifically, the design indicated that energy was split from a single source into multiple, less robust energy streams, stored, and recombined into a new energy stream using select sub-frequencies from the original source. Given this mystery, I had trusted engineers examine the scroll’s contents.”

“By trusted, I take it to mean they’ve no allegiance to Gwendolyn?” I asked. “Given the alliance she made with the Warders, we have to assume she’s passing on anything she knows as part of their arrangement.”

“Precisely! Besides that, she continues to gain leverage within the Society and allies across the city using the promise of new technologies to come. She’ll get no help from me with such recruitment efforts. However, that being said, it’s quite possible she already knows much of what I am about to tell you. Gwendolyn is as smart as they come, and while we know Aravar authored the scroll, I suspect he may have only been improving on an initial design Gwendolyn provided.”

She was smart, all right, and cunning too. She would have made a good assassin, come to think of it.

“So,” Liz asked, “what did these trusted engineers of yours find? Also, try to dumb it down for us, if you wouldn’t mind. We’re not all scientists and engineers.”

“Of course!” Atticus said. “We all have our specialties, don’t we? I’ll attempt to limit my explanation to only the most pertinent, high-level information. First, look closely at the document on the wall. It is, of course, an enlarged version of the same schematic detailed on the scroll, but with certain highlights here, here, and here.” He pointed at three different shaded areas on the drawing of the regulator. “These areas confused me the most when I first looked at the drawing. Each is a transitional point where energy is acted upon. At the first, between the fragmenter and stabilizer, it’s split. Here, transmuted. And here, it’s recombined and stored.”

Liz stepped closer, examining each of the three shaded areas. “The symbols on the drawing are the same at each transitional point. But what do the symbols mean? I assume they’re engineering or artificer shorthand for something?”

“Brilliant! Your intuition for solving puzzles is miraculous, Elizabeth. I should have had you consult with my engineers from the start. You could have saved them days of work. The symbols are indeed shorthand, but they are not engineering symbols. Have either of you ever heard of mystical cuneiform?”

“Mystical, as in magic?” I asked.

“Indeed,” Atticus said. “Mystical cuneiform is a lost art, or so I thought. It turns out Mr. Tillwood was a practitioner.”

“Aravar was a mage?” Liz asked.

I stayed silent, waiting for the answer. The notion that the bookish artificer may have been a wizard was a lot to take in, especially considering I’d entered his home and killed him. If true, it was a wonder he hadn’t blasted me to smithereens with a thought.

“Not exactly,” Atticus said. “Here, let me show you.” He laid a clean sheet of parchment flat on the table. Then, with a quill and dark ink, he wrote out a symbol that looked identical to the one in the schematic. He paused, making sure we got a good look at it.

“I don’t see anything special about it,” I said.

“Nor will you,” Atticus said. “Now, observe.”

Using the same inkwell but a different quill, which looked no different from the first as far as I could tell, he traced out the same symbol. This time, something happened. As he wrote, the quill glowed a soft amber color. The character, too, faintly at first like the quill, but soon the symbol shone so brightly I wondered if the sheet of parchment was about to catch fire. Light rose from it like a small blaze, but no heat emanated from it. What did come from it was another sheet of parchment. The space above the light shimmered, and then it was there, floating in place before lazily settling downward. With a deft hand, Atticus snatched the sheet from the air and held it up for us to examine. The light from the character slowly diminished until it was dark and lifeless once more.

“It is nothing more or less than a fresh sheet of parchment,” he said. He waved it about. “There is nothing extraordinary about it except it shares a link to the original document via the magic symbol I wrote.”

I touched my index finger and thumb to the new parchment, confirming his statement. Once Liz had done likewise, Atticus said, “Now, watch this.” He jotted down a meaningless squiggle on the new parchment, then settled it on top of the original. Beneath it, the rune began to glow again. Then, with a flash, the magically generated parchment vanished.

“Where did it go?” Liz asked.

Atticus held up a finger and smiled. I noticed a ring on the finger he held up. He touched the ring to the symbol on the original parchment, and, just like that, the magically generated parchment reappeared, squiggle and all.

“The sheets are referred to by the layman as a stacked parchment,” Atticus said. “In technical parlance, a sheaf parchment. As one might imagine, the mechanism has certain benefits, including content density, portability, and others. I knew we had recruited certain arcanists to work alongside our technologists on the concept, but I did not know until I discovered the scroll’s symbols that they’d gone well beyond even the prototype stage. No doubt Ms. Goddard kept their progress secret from me and the others on purpose so no one guessed she hid information from us. Now, allow me to put all this into context.” He walked to one corner of the room, where I spied a wall safe. Atticus opened it with a key, reached inside, and returned carrying a locked chest. A lock inside a lock. Atticus was taking no chances. He deposited the container on the table. Once open, he lifted Aravar’s scroll from it. As he unfurled the parchment, placing weights at each corner, I saw the artificer’s wax seal at the corner, so I knew this was the original. Atticus touched his ring to a symbol he’d pointed out earlier on the larger-scale drawing. Nothing happened. No glowing symbols. No magical parchment appeared out of thin air. Nothing. Removing the ring from his finger, he held it up for us to see. “This is a key. Like any key, it only works on a specific lock.” He lifted the quill with his other hand and held the two next to each other. “The ring, or key, and the quill, or lock, complement each other.” He placed both on the table. “When Aravar created the schematic, he used a special quill not unlike this one to write those specific symbols. That quill is linked to its own key. Without the key, we’ll never know what additional secrets Aravar hid within the confines of this sheaf parchment.”

Crossing my arms, I thought back to the night I’d entered Aravar’s house. I’m sure he wore at least one ring, but nothing stood out to me. I wasn’t a thief, so I rarely paid attention to a mark’s valuables unless the client asked me to make the job look like a robbery, which happened sometimes. This job, however, had been a straight assassination, with no special instructions other than to retrieve the scroll.

“The key,” I asked, “can it take some other shape or form?”

“Indeed,” Atticus said. “The key complementing the quill Aravar used could take any form. Perhaps a ring, a pendant, or maybe not jewelry at all, but something more utilitarian, like a seal.”

“Or a spoon?” I asked, only half-joking. Artificers, scientists, and alchemists were an odd bunch as far as I was concerned, so who knew?

Atticus smiled. “Unlikely, but not impossible. Do you recall anything special either on Aravar’s person or his desk? Not that it matters. Whatever it is, it’s unlikely it’s still there.”

Liz flashed Atticus a questioning stare.

“As you already know, Aravar’s scroll is important to many individuals and factions across Alchester. For one, there are the Warders, who hired Thomas to steal it from Aravar. Also, the Jakaree, who stole it from Thomas. Then there’s me, who hired your guild, Elizabeth, to procure the scroll. Last, there is the person who commissioned Aravar to create the schematic.”

“Gwendolyn Goddard,” Liz said. “I’m really getting tired of hearing her name.”

“You think Gwendolyn has the key?” I asked.

It made sense. She knew better than anyone what the artificer worked on, not to mention she may have been the only one up to this point who knew about the sheaf parchment. Plus, she had access to Aravar’s house after I killed him. Due to some odd legal arrangement, ownership of Aravar’s home had fallen to the Progressive Society, whereupon Gwendolyn had promptly handed it over to the Black Guard for use as an officer’s barracks. But you can bet Gwendolyn had Aravar's study picked over before she’d handed the manor over to anyone. Anything valuable—especially the key—was long gone.

Atticus nodded. “It seems likely. She alone knows the true nature of the scroll and the hidden information it contains. It’s a wonder she hasn’t made more of a play for it. It’s one reason I keep it under double lock.”

“Speaking of Gwendolyn,” I said. “I went to see Ms. Goddard before coming here. She got word to me a while back about wanting to talk. I was curious to hear what she had to say, so I finally obliged her.”

“And?” Liz asked.

“Well, for one, she asked me to take a job.”

“Oh, really? I assume you told her to shove it up her—”

“Not exactly. Whether or not I take the job depends on certain conditions, like Gwen getting the Black Guard off my back. But assuming she follows through and makes that happen, she wants me to kill one of her rivals in the Progressive Society.”

“And who might that be?” Liz asked.

Mention of the Society piqued Atticus’s interest. He stared at me, so I returned the gesture, locking my gaze with his. I had nothing against Atticus, but I rarely had anything against any mark. A mark’s a mark, as assassins say. But I hadn’t taken the job yet, so Atticus had nothing to fear.

“Atticus Drake,” I said.

Liz laughed out loud. “You’re not serious.” Her laughter faded and died away completely. “Oh. You are serious.”

“I told Gwendolyn I’d get back to her once I saw proof the Black Guard had lost interest in me.”

Liz cleared her throat. “But even if she gets them off your back, you’re still not taking the job, right?” When I didn’t say anything right away, she asked again with some alarm, “Right?”

Meanwhile, Atticus’s gaze hadn’t left mine, thickening the tension between us.

Finally, I said, “Of course not.”

Liz let out an audible breath. Looking away, Atticus smirked and said nothing.

With our brief stalemate over, my gaze strayed to Liz. “What happens when it’s time to pay my end of the bargain is something I’m still trying to figure out, but in the meantime, I get a reprieve from those damn mercenaries hunting me high and low. I brought up my meeting with Gwendolyn for another reason. As part of the deal, she asked for the scroll back. This is the first time she’s even hinted at wanting me to return it, so I wonder if her alliance with the Warders has something to do with her request.”

“If it does, it wouldn’t be the first time the Warders have asked for it,” Liz said. “One of their imperators, Falofogus, asked too.”

“Right,” I said. Falofogus was dead, so he’d only had the chance to ask the one time. But the Warders were an organization of indeterminate size, with plenty of exactors, compulsors, imperators, and supposedly even a supreme leader they call a primus. They’re secretive, so it’s hard enough determining the rank and file’s identities, let alone the leader of the organization.

“I see why you have the scroll so well secured,” Liz said.

“Indeed,” Atticus said, furling the scroll up and returning it to the locked chest and the safe. With that done, he said, “The fact that so many are looking for the scroll speaks to its importance, but we’ll never know what else it contains without the key. My guess is Gwendolyn not only took the key from Aravar’s study but that she keeps it close always. Probably on her very person.”

Liz crossed her arms and smirked. “So, is that why you asked me to come tonight? You want me to steal the key from her?”

“You know I delight in seeing you, Elizabeth, but your supposition is correct. I’m afraid we are at an impasse until we can unlock the additional sheets contained in the scroll.”

“It will take some time,” Liz said. “I’ll need to determine if she has it first, then where she keeps it, and, last, how to get it. You have no idea what the key is?”

Atticus sighed. “None, unfortunately. But I know someone who can help. A trusted friend created my quill and ring. I can send you his way for a consultation. He may be able to shed some additional light on the situation and give you somewhere to start.”

That was all agreeable to her. With nothing left for the three of us to discuss, we went upstairs. Atticus closed the attic door, and while he didn’t lock it, the same runes from before lit up, then faded until no trace remained.

Since neither myself nor Liz was dressed appropriately to leave by the front door, we found a window at the back of the house that let out into shadow. I let Liz know I’d catch up with her later as I stayed behind to discuss one last thing with Atticus.

I sat on the window ledge with cool air drifting into the house behind me. “You know they’ll come for it, don’t you?”

Atticus looked confused. “Who?”

“Everyone.”

He nodded knowingly at that. “First, they’ll need to figure out I have it. But if they do, they’ll find me and Samuel ready and waiting. The Warders tried to kill us once and failed. Don’t forget that. As for Gwendolyn, the fact that she wants to hire you to kill me tells me she isn’t ready to move against me herself. Not yet.”

“Don’t forget about the Jakaree. The priests want it too, and when they figure out who has it, they won’t ask nicely.”

I wanted to ask if he or Liz had made any progress determining the objectives of the Jakaree or the Warders, but it was already late and getting later, so I bid Atticus good night and slipped through the open window. Outside, I heard the window close and the lock turn, then I was away, leaving the same way I’d come. I moved fast, staying hidden as I passed through the gaudy estates of the Manchester Borough to the smaller residences of more modest neighborhoods until I found myself amidst more familiar surroundings. Chester Borough was near, but given the late hour, I saw no point in checking in on my sister. She was likely asleep, and it’s not like my visits involved knocking on her front door, greeting her with a big hug, and spending the evening drinking tea while we caught up. Me and Olivia hadn’t spoken in some years. Mostly because I never visited, but also because she thought I was dead. It was not the most ideal arrangement since family should stick together, but it kept her safe and allowed her to live as normal a life as one could hope.

I passed through several more sleepy boroughs until I reached Low Town, where travel by rooftop was faster and less conspicuous. From there, I navigated the maze of tarred surfaces, steaming pipes, and smoking chimneys, leaping from rooftop to rooftop all the way to the Shambles, where I kept a small rundown place in a similarly rundown tenement. The Shambles was a rundown sort of district, so it fit. After a quick change of clothes into something more comfortable, I grabbed a bottle of wine I’d left chilling and a glass and headed for the tenement’s rooftop. No one went up there, allowing me my privacy. I’d love to say it had a pleasant view of the city, but it didn’t. Still, it was better than sitting in my small room with the walls squeezing me.

On the roof, I was pleasantly surprised to find no one had stolen my chair or tossed it to the street below, so I poured myself half a glass, leaned back, and put my feet up. We were deep into autumn, with crisp temperatures during the day and crisper ones at night. My trade demanded I work in all conditions and at all times of the year, and I found the cool night air refreshing after all the running around I’d done this evening. Swirling my wine—one of the last bottles of syrah I’d receive from Abelard per our new arrangement—I indulged in the exquisite smell of blackberries and pepper that delighted my senses before drinking deeply. I had just poured myself another half measure when the door to the rooftop opened, and out popped a young lady. Seeing anyone up here, let alone a teenage girl, was rare. She hadn’t seen me, and with my curiosity piqued, I stayed still and quiet to see what she was about.

Sniffling, her head hung low as she walked straight to the roof’s edge. I thought she meant to jump, but she only stood there, mewing. She let out a quiet sob, then wiped tears from her eyes with a sleeve. I had no desire to see her jump, so I figured it was probably better to say something now rather than after it was too late.

“Jumping isn’t the answer,” I said quickly and evenly, hoping I didn’t startle her.

Her head shot up, and her gaze darted my way. I recognized her now. Deep blue eyes, sunken cheeks, and an otherwise gray demeanor. The girl from the fifth floor. The closest I’d come to meeting her had been when she’d opened the door to her apartment while I’d passed by on my way out. She’d slammed the door closed as quickly as she’d opened it, and that had been that. But I’d seen her a few times since, oftentimes while one of us was coming or going. While I was always open to striking up conversations and meeting new people, Shamblers didn’t appreciate such niceties, so I’d done nothing more than give her a curt nod. Each time, she’d met such gestures with a quick duck of her head before scurrying away.

Now, those strikingly deep eyes of hers, even red-rimmed from crying, bored into me. It seemed she had no desire to engage in conversation, so I wondered if she meant to scurry away like she’d done those other times. But, so far, she showed no signs of leaving.

“What I mean to say,” I said, figuring I should say something more, “is that if you’re trying to kill yourself, jumping from a rooftop isn’t the best way to go about doing it. I know it seems like it will work, and it might, but it’s often imprecise and can get messy if you don’t land right.”

She looked with some surprise at where she stood, as if not realizing she’d walked so near the edge. Carefully, she stepped back from oblivion. “I wasn’t going to jump.”

“She speaks! I was beginning to wonder. If you’re not here to jump, why are you up here?”

She wiped at her eyes again and sniffled. “I could ask you the same thing.”

I held up my wineglass and gave it a swirl. “Just enjoying a glass or two.”

“Why not do that in a tavern?”

“Oh, I do, more often than not. Tonight, though, I wanted some quiet time before calling it a night. What about you? I couldn’t help but notice you were crying. Boy trouble?”

She glowered at me. “No. Why do men always assume it's trouble with a boy when maybe I’m having an actual real problem?” I opened my mouth to answer, but she kept on before I could speak. “I came up here to think. It’s quiet.” Her stare lingered on me. “Most of the time.”

Apparently, I was the one intruding on her space and not the other way around.

“If not boys, then what’s the problem?”

Whatever the answer, it was none of my business, so I wasn’t sure why I asked. Maybe she reminded me of my sister, who had been about this girl’s age when we had fled for our lives from our parents’ murderers. We would have been next if we hadn’t. I doubted this girl’s problem was anything so serious, but some part of me wanted to make sure. No one should have to go through what Olivia did, especially alone.

She didn’t answer, but crossed her arms and looked away to stare across the dismal cityscape of domes and towers. She wore only a simple homespun gown, dirty and tattered at that, so I knew she hadn’t planned this sojourn to the rooftop. Turning her gaze on me again, I wondered if she was about to explain when she shook her head and said only, “It’s a long story.” Then, before I could say another word, she spun around, mumbled an apology for disturbing me, and went back inside.

I pondered what might have brought her up here for a few more moments before the next swallow of my syrah made me forget all about her. The vintage really was exquisite. I might have to purchase more bottles from Abelard just to keep my monthly delivery coming. That, however, was a problem for another day. I jammed the cork back into the bottle, swirling what wine remained as I returned to my room. I had an early morning appointment with a certain king’s inspector, and I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting any longer than I already had.

“Nice of you to finally show,” Inspector William Wright said, greeting me with a wave of a breakfast sausage he’d skewered with his fork. “This is what, our third appointment? All set and confirmed by you, I might add. So much for getting back to me in a few days. More like a few weeks.” He jammed the sausage into his mouth and shook his head. “This is not how I like to do business. We had a deal.”

I sat down opposite him and waved at the server for some coffee. Then, with elbows propped on the table, I rubbed my temples. Damn, if I didn’t have the worst headache. The inspector’s prattling was not helping. “Good morning to you too, Inspector. You hungry?”

The Weary Beggar, a place I’d chosen, always did a nice spread in the morning, and it seemed the inspector had taken full advantage. A generous portion of scrambled eggs, four pieces of toast, four breakfast sausages besides the one he’d already finished, half a slab of bacon, and a helping of porridge he’d already eaten decorated an assortment of plates and bowls. The inspector did not cut an imposing figure, so if he ate like this all the time, I’d no idea where he stored it.

“A good breakfast keeps a man moving all day,” William said, chewing rapidly. “I rarely have time to stop until supper, so starting the day out right is essential. A good night’s sleep helps too, which is something you should try. You look like hell.”

I didn’t think I looked that bad, but I didn’t feel great, so maybe he was right. Perhaps I should have stopped at the second glass of syrah. My coffee came, and I drank generously before saying, “You’re right, Inspector. We had a deal, and I apologize for breaking our prior appointments. But I’m here now, so what is it you wanted to talk about?”

The Weary Beggar always did a good business, no less this morning, with such a hum of conversation hanging over the place that keeping our discussion private wouldn’t take much effort.

“I would have preferred we meet in my office,” Inspector Wright said, deftly attacking another sausage and jamming it into his mouth. “But I’ll take what I can get.” He took a sip of coffee, then he leaned in. “The matter I wanted to discuss with you will have to wait since more pressing matters are at hand. What is the nature of your relationship with a woman named Gwendolyn Goddard?”

Mention of that woman’s name so early in the morning threatened to make my head feel worse, so I only stared back at him with a blank expression.

“Or perhaps you know her as Gwendolyn Morgan, though she hasn’t used that name since her husband passed. Murdered, actually. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Nothing about the murder, I’m afraid,” I said, which was a lie since I was the one who’d done the murdering. “But I know Ms. Goddard. We have a relationship I would describe as . . . unique. Why do you ask?”

“Because she accused you of a different murder. The murder of her brother.”

“Me? That’s preposterous!” I sat back, wishing I’d kept my voice down as the echo reverberating inside my skull made my headache swell right when I hoped it might start subsiding. I lowered my voice and said, “I’ve never done such a thing in my life.”

William humphed. “She says you not only took out her brother but a handful of notable members of the Progressive Society too. Also, you set fire to her brother’s house to cover it up. I’ll admit, evidence was scarce. But not too scarce for a king’s inspector.”

“Oh? What did you find?”

“Enough to exonerate you and cast suspicion on Ms. Goddard.”

I waited, intrigued to hear more. But first, with the aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly baked bread assaulting my senses, I thought it wise to still my aching stomach with breakfast first, so I asked our server to bring me half of what the inspector had ordered. While I told her how I wanted my eggs, Wright attacked his bacon, crunching away at it with a satisfying grin.

“The breakfast here is quite good,” he said.

I sipped my coffee. “You were saying how you suspect Ms. Goddard of the murders?”

“And how I don’t suspect you,” Inspector Wright mumbled between bites. “The entire incident struck me as strange right from the start. Not much was left of the house, and we never discovered any bodies, burned or otherwise. I questioned Ms. Goddard quite extensively about the fire and her accusations. Her answers were less than satisfying, though she remained insistent that a certain nameless assassin perpetrated the crime. Or rather, Thomas Thornton had. You do realize there is a well-established gentleman in the city by that name, don’t you?”

I did, and while I hadn’t used the name in some time, I’d used it enough that my association with it had become a growing liability. Making a mental note to step away from it before it got me involved in any more trouble, I asked, “So, what made you think she was lying about my involvement?”

“For one, you had no motive. Or rather, no one had any reason to murder Mr. Morgan and those others except for Ms. Goddard. So, unless she hired you to kill all of them, I don’t see how you’re involved.”

“She didn’t hire me,” I said. But she might as well have, considering she’d tricked me into acquiring the murder weapon and delivering it to its intended victims.

Wright took a drink and nodded. “Besides that, I did some looking into her past. Reynold Morgan was not her first husband, for one, which might mean nothing, except her previous husband also died under odd circumstances.”

“Another murder?”

“Not exactly. A laboratory accident with no witnesses. Ms. Goddard was the only one who provided a statement. It’s thin, I know, but I found some other oddities which I’m still looking into that cast suspicion on her. Suffice to say, the lack of any bodies, the house burning down, and Ms. Goddard’s near-obsessive accusations against you raised enough suspicions that I thought I’d see if you had anything to add.”

I considered my answer. Even though Inspector Wright knew what I did for a living, he had given me a free pass. I wasn’t sure why, nor was I inclined to ask lest I somehow jinx myself and lose that privilege. But I also didn’t want to say too much and incriminate myself. I decided to keep it simple. For all of Wright’s forthcomingness and leniency, I had to remember he was still a king’s inspector, with all the authority that came with such a position. He could have me in irons and put to the question with a word, though he’d have to catch me first. Still, no point in giving him a reason to chase me.

“I’ve nothing to add,” I said, “other than I’m innocent, of course.”

Inspector Wright rolled his eyes. Mostly finished with his breakfast, he leaned back with his steaming mug in one hand. “You mean to say I’ve been waiting weeks for you to tell me absolutely nothing? Remember, we had a deal. Maybe not about this, but I help you, and you help me. Those were the terms. Besides, I think if you had information to help exonerate you, you’d want to provide it.”

As I remembered it, our deal called for me to listen to what the good inspector had to say, nothing more or less. I’d done that, so I considered bidding the inspector good day, but the server arrived with my breakfast just then. Considering how famished I was, I forgot all about leaving and tucked in. I didn’t look up until I’d devoured half my eggs, toast, and most of the bacon. Meanwhile, Inspector Wright nursed his coffee and waited patiently for me to say something. His expectant stare finally wore me down.

“I’ll tell you a story, Inspector,” I said, mopping up eggs with a piece of toast. “Mind you, it’s only a story.”

“Fine,” Inspector Wright said. “Just a story. I’m listening.”

“This is about a gentleman who, by happenstance, meets a distraught widow at a party. This gentleman, doing what gentlemen do best, offered to assist the widow because he thought she was in legitimate peril. I won’t bore you with the details, but the widow, who I’m sure you can guess is Ms. Goddard, deceived said gentleman and used him to help murder her brother and his associates. The gentleman, of course, had nothing to do with the murders. Those were all done by Ms. Goddard. But it’s a fine line between observer and perpetrator sometimes, isn’t it? So, said gentleman prefers to remain inconspicuous on this matter and would never consider acting as a witness in an official tribunal.”

Inspector Wright’s expression turned thoughtful, then he said, “I suspected as much, though it’s good to hear it all the same. As I said, I had my suspicions about Ms. Goddard’s statement and her involvement.”

“So, when do you plan on arresting her?”

“It’s not that simple. Besides a lack of evidence—all I have is your word against hers, and you’ve already said you aren’t willing to make an official statement—there’s also the fact that Ms. Goddard has friends in the highest places.”

King’s inspectors had made arrests on much less, but I kept that to myself. Instead, I asked, “How high?” I knew Gwendolyn had deep connections throughout Alchester but not how deep, so I was genuinely curious.

“Not so high she can reach the king, but she has her hooks in some of his innermost circles. Many within those inner circles feel the technological advancements Ms. Goddard and her Progressive Society bring to the table have the potential to set us above the other fiefdoms for decades to come in terms of economic development alone. Then there are the potential military advantages. Ms. Goddard has played the game well. Dislodging her from her perch will take some effort. That’s one reason the king asked me to begin this investigation.”

Rumors abounded about Inspector Wright’s relationship with King Classus. Though no one had put the finger on its exact nature, it remained the leading suspicion regarding how the inspector had achieved such a prominent rank while only in his early twenties. Rumors also said he’d solved a particularly thorny case for the king that had baffled everyone else, so he’d earned the promotion. However, I didn’t understand what aspect of this case had piqued the king’s interest, so I waited for Inspector Wright to explain.

“King Classus is . . . concerned, shall we say? Not so much with Ms. Goddard or even with the Progressive Society, but with those Ms. Goddard has recently aligned herself with.”

So, we get to the crux of it.

“The Warders,” I said. “You’re all caught up then. I only learned about that myself a short time ago.”

William placed both elbows on the table and leaned in to speak. “A mysterious bunch, and while I’ve no qualms about bringing them in for questioning, I can’t risk tipping my hand. In my experience, the best way to lose sight of a secret society is to let them know they’re under investigation. They’ll scurry into such deep cracks and crevices, I’ll never find out what business they have in Alchester.”

“I can help with some of that,” I said. “But not here.”

Inspector Wright nodded. “I was hoping you’d offer. In fact, that’s one reason I’ve been so eager to meet with you. I have limited resources for this investigation. My superiors felt, and I agree, that the fewer who know about my actions, the better. We can’t risk Ms. Goddard, the Warders, or anyone else they’ve aligned themselves with learning I’m on to them.”

“And what is the point of your investigation? Do you honestly believe you’ll gather enough evidence of wrongdoing against the parties involved to make arrests? Even if you do, I don’t see how that changes the situation. As you said, the rats will flee the ship at the first sign of trouble. Even if you nab a few, you’ll never find all of them.”

The inspector pursed his lips. “If there’s evidence of wrongdoing, I’ll find it. But I understand what you mean and have considered the possibilities. For now, though, my focus is to tread carefully while learning all I can, including what purpose the Warders have for coming to Alchester. I believe that remains a mystery, does it not?”

“Mostly. All I know for sure is that the Warders are at odds with a group of priests calling themselves the Jakaree. They’re a bit of a mystery, too, so you might as well add them to your list of shadowy organizations.”

I considered mentioning the work Atticus had conducted, but while Mr. Drake was an upstanding citizen and all, I wasn’t sure about his comfort level where the Office of the Magistrate was concerned, so I left it alone for the time being. Plenty of time to make acquaintances later, and it might do some good to let Inspector Wright fumble around on his own for a time since—who knows?—he might actually find something useful the rest of us overlooked.

“The Jakaree are not entirely unknown to me,” he said. “I intend to look into their activities as well, especially as it seems everything and everyone is interconnected in one way or another. In the meantime . . .”

“Yes?”

“It would be a great help if you passed on any new information that comes your way. A man in your position has access to sources that, frankly, I do not. The law has a heavy hand, but sometimes too heavy, if you understand my meaning.”

All too well, I wanted to say, but I was already too occupied contemplating how best to handle the good inspector’s request. I wasn’t opposed to helping him with his investigation, but I wouldn’t want it getting out that I was feeding information to a king’s inspector on a regular basis. My clients often share their deepest, darkest secrets with me. They expect anonymity and a certain level of discretion. Anything linking me to the law in anything other than an antagonistic relationship was a detriment to my livelihood and my general well-being. If someone wants someone else dead and they can’t trust me, who can they trust?

Inspector Wright must have recognized the conflict of interest his proposal created for me, if not by my narrowed brow then by my silence, so he said, “Understand that these are special circumstances. You can trust me to remain discreet.”

I stared at him, gauging his resolve and sincerity. I found neither wanting, and given what I already knew about the man’s reputation for integrity, I said, “Very well, Inspector. You have a deal. But only because no one wants these people gone from Alchester more than I do.” I wiped my mouth with a napkin and stood. “I’ll contact you when I have something.”

“And if I need to reach you before that?” Inspector Wright asked.

“It’s probably better you don’t. But don’t worry, I’ll be in touch soon enough.” With that, I tossed a few coins on the table to cover my breakfast and left The Weary Beggar behind.

Outside, I pulled my jacket tight against the morning chill and hurried down the street. Easy enough explaining a one-time meeting with a king’s inspector, but it wouldn’t do for people to see us together out in the open. I hoped the inspector had enough sense to give me a head start. Wright seemed like an intelligent fellow, but his street smarts remained in question. In any case, I melted into the morning crowd, passing through a bazaar where I took a turn through the leather goods section. I found a nice leather belt for which I paid too much, but I’d learned from local gossip that the stallkeeper was dealing with a rough situation, so the money was well spent. Recently, she’d become a widow with three children at home, and while I couldn’t fathom why anyone wanted one child, let alone three, her husband had left her with a financial mess she didn’t deserve. I’d been to her stall every day this week, buying something different each time. Today, it was a belt. Yesterday, a wallet, and the day before, a pair of fur-lined gloves, which, come to think of it, I had in my jacket pocket. Fishing them out, I was instantly gratified by the smooth texture of the fur on my skin and their warmth.

The market seemed exceptionally crowded today, which I usually didn’t mind, but I needed somewhere quiet to sort through my thoughts, so I ducked into a nearby alley. I considered the rooftops for their usual solitude, but I wasn’t working, so I said to hell with it and stayed on the ground. I almost instantly regretted it when a beggar appeared out of nowhere to hobble his way right in front of me.

“Please, sir, times are tough, and even a bit helps,” the beggar said, head ducked and face concealed by a tattered hood. This close, I couldn’t help but get a good whiff of him. He needed a good scrubbing and to eat fewer onions.

In my experience, beggars are like pigeons. Give something to one, and the next thing you know, the entire flock is on you looking for the same. But this gent was alone, so I deposited some florins into his waiting hand. The coins vanished with practiced ease into the soiled rags that passed as his clothing.

“Thank ye, sir! Thank ye!” He stepped back, a twisted left leg and a hunched back slowing his movement as he bobbed up and down in a sort of bow. Then, as I passed, he asked, “Are you the one they say don’t have a name?”

I stopped to look at him curiously. “What if I am?”

He still had his head lowered in genuflection. “Then I’ve a message, sir.”

“From?”

I caught him glancing up ever so slightly. “He didn’t give me a name, sir, but he wore armor and had a black shield on his surcoat.”

A black shield emblem meant Black Guard.

“And you’re sure he didn’t give a name?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if I throttle you within an inch of your life, Rabbet, will you tell me who sent you then?”

Lifting both hands in supplication, the beggar backed away. “I’m just a fool beggar, sir. Don’t know no Rabbet.”

He turned to run, which was exactly when I grabbed him and shoved him hard against the wall. “Not so fast. You can save both of us a lot of time by dropping the act, Rabbet. I know it’s you.”

“I don’t know no . . . . Aw, hell.” Realizing there was no way out for him, Rabbet straightened his back and righted his twisted leg. Unfortunately, he couldn’t so easily shed the stink hanging heavily about him. He drew his hood back, revealing a sparse beard and features so ugly I doubt even his mother loved him. “What gave it away?”

“I know your act. It’s not a very good one.”

Rabbet chuckled. “You still gave me your coin, so I must have done a fair job of it.”

He had a point there.

“What’s the message? And who’s it from? You’ve wasted enough of my time, so out with it.”

“Message is from Captain Belford. He wants to meet.”

“That right? Seems like a waste of your morning to come all this way to let me know about an ambush, doesn’t it?”

He flashed me a grin full of missing teeth. “He said you’d say that. Ain’t no ambush, he said. He wants to meet you alone, just you and him. He said this afternoon behind Osterland’s. Said he only wants to talk.”

Seemed everyone did lately.

“Speaking of talking, Rabbet, don’t think I don’t know how you’ve been feeding information to the Black Guard. No way they’ve been keeping up on my whereabouts these past months without help.”

“Hey, now, I’m no rat! I don’t know nothin’ about—”

I shoved him against the wall again, harder this time.

“Aw, c’mon! Ain’t no harm done. You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“No thanks to you. I thought about making an example out of you, but I was concerned I’d never get the stench off my blades.” I released him and backed away. “Now, get out of here. Tell Captain Belford I’ll see him there. Oh, and if this is a setup, Rabbet, don’t expect to see another sunrise.”

Rabbet knew when the getting was good, so after he provided some more details, namely the time Belford wanted to meet, he scampered from the alley without a single glance back. Rabbet was about as dishonest as they came, often working both sides as long as the money was good. How he’d survived this long was a mystery, especially because he was a mediocre thief, a worse beggar, and a subpar informant. When I discovered he was reporting my comings and goings to the Black Guard, I should have dealt with him more harshly. But two can play the game of deception, so I’d used it to my advantage, appearing at one place long enough for him to report back before I moved on to my true destination elsewhere. Serves the Black Guard right if Rabbet had them scampering all over the city looking for me.

Meeting behind Osterland’s was an odd choice, but since the wineshop was one of my favorite places in the city, maybe the captain meant it as a gesture of good faith. Their selection of reds was second to none, and the chef prepared the most wonderful pork medallions in a honey sauce worth killing over. Too bad that wasn’t where I planned to meet Captain Belford. The Black Guard captain had never reached out this way, so unless it was a last-ditch effort to kill me before Gwendolyn’s order took effect, I doubted it was an ambush. Still, I was alive because I was careful and suspicious of almost everything, so once I made it into Low Town, I found a reliable scamp willing to deliver a message to Belford at his proposed meeting location at the specific time of 4 o’clock that afternoon in exchange for a small sum of coins. Then I went about the rest of my day until I heard a nearby bell tower sound off three times, letting me know it was time to get ready to receive Captain Belford. I had considered changing into my usual assassin’s garb, but sometimes dark leather armor and all those weapons made me look too conspicuous, especially in certain parts of the city, so I satisfied myself with the long knives I always had with me and a few other, assorted weapons hidden away in the folds of my vest and elsewhere.

Wondering if Belford truly intended to meet me alone, I went to the rooftops, finding a safe place to hide that afforded me a good view of the street leading to the location in my message. Some twenty minutes after the bell struck 4 o’clock, there he was, striding down the street alone with a soldier’s efficiency and an impatient look on his face. I waited a little longer to see if anyone followed, but when I saw no one, I ran ahead of Belford, dropping into the appointed meeting spot where I found a safe place to hide behind some evergreens.

Captain Belford burst into the small plaza with a huff, wasting no time as he circled the area looking for me. “Well,” he shouted, stopping at the square’s center with arms raised, “I’m here! Show yourself!”

I still wasn’t convinced of the captain’s sincerity, so I stayed put. As long as he remained alone, I was in no real danger. But in case other mercs rushed in, I already had an exit plan in mind. Up the stair behind me, a moderately busy street waited to embrace me, its crowds offering instant camouflage and relief from any Black Guard eager to kill or capture me. I found myself leaning in that direction in anticipation, but more time passed, and still, no one came, to the point where I reluctantly began to suspect Belford’s request to meet was genuine.

“I’m here alone, dammit! I only want to talk!”

One genuine thing was his growing annoyance, so with my concerns lessening, I stepped into view. As soon as he saw me, his jawline tightened. Not happy to see me? I couldn’t imagine why.

“We were supposed to meet at 2 o’clock,” he barked. “You could have sent your message sooner. A lot sooner.”

“Sorry, Captain,” I said. “I didn’t realize you were on such a tight schedule.”

Belford huffed and took a few long strides closer. The motion set his mail jingling, and he placed a hand on the hilt of his long sword. Out of habit or because he meant to draw it, I wasn’t sure.

My hand drifted to the hilt of a long knife. “That’s close enough.”

He got the hint, lifting his hand from his sword to show he meant no threat. “Like I said, I’m only here to talk, which is a far cry from what I should be doing, considering the position you’ve put me in.”

“Oh?”

“My men want you dead.”

“I’m pretty sure I already knew that based on how many times they’ve tried to kill me.”

“But now Ms. Goddard says you’re off-limits.”

When I made my request of her, I wasn’t sure how it might play out with the Guard. It was like pulling a stick from the bottom of a pile. Would the entire stack crumble, or would it hold? I suppose I was about to find out.

“We have an arrangement,” I said.

Belford huffed again. “Your damn arrangement has put me in a damn tough spot.”

Curious about the details, I asked, “How’s that?”

“Because you had to go and stir the damn hornet’s nest last night!”

In our handful of encounters, Geoffrey Belford had always exuded reassurance and calm, whether leading his men in battle or through the streets on a chase after me. Right now, though, with fists clenched and jawline quivering, he clearly looked like someone who wanted nothing more than to give me a good thrashing.

“Thinking of defying Gwendolyn’s order, Captain?” I asked, smirking at him to see if I could stir the hornet’s nest some more.

The captain took one angry step toward me, and I wondered if I’d pushed him too far. But then he stopped, took a deep breath, and settled down.

“I should kill you where you stand, assassin,” Geoffrey said. “But like I said, you’ve put me in a damn inconvenient position. I can’t kill you, but I also can’t let you live.”

I played out his meaning in my mind. “Meaning, if you move against me, you lose Gwendolyn’s support and the piles of money she’s throwing the Black Guard’s way. But if you don’t . . .” This was where I was guessing. “You risk losing face with your company and possibly even your position as company captain.” Belford’s narrowed brow told me I’d guessed right. “A mutiny? That is a damn inconvenient position, Captain. But I still don’t see how any of this is my concern or why you wanted to speak to me.”

“I wanted to talk so that—”

“Talk, talk, talk! That’s your problem, Belford. Too much talking and not enough doing.”

Five armored men proudly displaying the black shield emblem of the Black Guard entered the plaza. The speaker, a burly gent with a shaved head and a broadsword already drawn, bore a grim expression that spoke plainly of his intentions. The others, who filed in behind him with naked swords and flanged maces at the ready, seemed to share their leader’s enthusiasm as they trotted toward us. Briefly, I wondered if they were here for me, but other than sneers thrown my way, they all seemed focused on their captain.

“So much for talking,” I said, backing away. Fortunately, I had Belford between me and the new arrivals. Behind me, my escape route remained accessible, at least for now.

“This isn’t my doing,” Captain Belford bellowed at me as he drew his sword and spun around to meet the oncoming charge.

I believed him. Nothing about what was happening seemed planned. This was an ambush of convenience, an assassination of sorts, meant to do away with a leader who’d lost the confidence of those serving under him.

“Stand down, corporal, and sheath your weapon!” Belford shouted at the approaching men right before Corporal Baldy, who didn’t slow his assault one bit, engaged the captain with a flash of steel.

Clang! Clang!

Their exchange echoed throughout the plaza before Belford sidestepped Baldy, sending him hurtling toward me. I readied myself, drawing my long knives, but the corporal chose not to fight me. Instead, he pointed his sword at me, mouthing, “You’re next,” before spinning back to re-engage his captain, who found himself in a spot of trouble fighting off the other four. Steel rang on steel as he deflected the swing of a sword, but that left an opening for another Guardsman’s mace to score a glancing blow on the captain’s thigh. Though Belford’s armor absorbed some of the impact, it still sent him to one knee. Baldy grinned and drew his sword back, ready to plunge it straight through the captain’s chest.

Time froze, and I knew I had a choice to make. This wasn’t my fight, but whatever happened next directly impacted my well-being and livelihood. Best case, Belford becomes a martyr with men loyal to him willing to fight on, guaranteeing the Black Guard remained embroiled in a civil war for some time to come. That meant less time to bother with me. Worst case, Belford had already run out of allies, in which case the Black Guard would return to hunting me in earnest. I had the arrangement with Gwendolyn to fall back on, but that meant killing Atticus, which wasn’t an option since we needed him as long as the Warders and Jakaree remained a threat. Besides, killing him would upset Liz something fierce, and since I’d disappointed her enough in the past, I had no desire to do so again. Bottom line, my best chance of freeing myself from the Black Guard's attention was by making sure Captain Belford survived this encounter.

I was too far away to engage the Guardsman with my long knives, but fortunately for the captain, those weren’t my only weapons. No barbed arrows this time, I slipped a pair of equally deadly throwing stars from the folds of my vest and let them fly. One lodged itself in a Guardsman’s face, and the other—the one that mattered—connected perfectly with the corporal’s hand. My first target broke into a fit of spasms that soon had him on the ground. The corporal only grunted in pain, but his attack was momentarily delayed, giving me the time I needed to close the distance with my long knives drawn. No going back now, I dove in, barreling into a merc about to take Belford’s head off before spinning around to jam my long knife into another’s belly. The blade didn’t sink as deep as I would have liked, but enough to shift the merc’s attention away from Belford, giving the captain the respite he needed to regain his feet.

Though Belford’s grimacing stare locked onto me, we exchanged no words. In that microcosm of a second in which I’d leaped in to help the Black Guard captain, we’d formed a bond, an alliance of sorts whose lifespan likely ended at the battle’s conclusion but which guaranteed our purposes remained aligned until then. This was a struggle to the death, and we both knew our part, so we put our backs to one another and got on with the business at hand. Like any battle, even with lines drawn and foes clearly identified, chaos soon took hold so that it wasn’t me against one or two and Belford against the others, but each of us fighting all of them depending on which Guardsmen thrust or slashed at us. Some preferred the order of a clean fight, but I thrived on the chaos, cutting, ducking, kicking, feinting, and, finally, stabbing through armor and into flesh until blood flowed. The Guardsmen knew their business well, but I knew it better, so with Belford doing his part behind me, I focused on the ones in front, slashing one across the face when he stupidly overextended himself, then taking the other in the throat when he thought he had a chance of running me through. While the one I’d slashed across the face struggled to clear the blood from his eyes, I ducked low and stabbed him through the ribs. My blade sank deep enough that it must have pierced his heart because the Guardsman was dead before he hit the ground.

I spun around, ready to take on the next, but the battle was done. Belford had killed his share, leaving only Baldy alive. The corporal fled with my throwing knife still in his hand.

Captain Belford stood there momentarily, his chest heaving, before he said, “We should pursue him before he gets back to base.” But he took one step forward with the leg that had taken the glancing blow and, with adrenaline fleeing his system fast, staggered and almost fell to the ground. Belford cursed, then he hobbled over to a bench and sat.

I ensured the four corpses were really corpses, then I said, “Those men were in a rush to get here. Someone followed you, then ran to tell them.”

“No shat,” Belford said, glaring at me as he massaged his leg.

“Has the mutiny gotten so bad that they rushed here to kill you?”

I’d only made my deal with Gwendolyn yesterday, so it seemed rather soon for this to have blown up already.

“This has been simmering for a good long while. One of my lieutenants, man named Marcus Nelson, has been making a play for my job for months. He must have figured it’d be easier to assume command of the Guard with me out of the way.”

“So why here and why now?”

Belford kept glaring at me. “It’s like this. Most signed on with the Black Guard for the money. We’re the best at what we do, so anyone who wants to hire us pays a premium for our services. We were only passing through Alchester when the Progressive Society, or rather, Gwendolyn, lured us in with the promise of fat paydays and easy work. At the time, I figured, why not? Kallendor’s usual border skirmishes had slowed, so we had time to cool our heels until I figured out what to do next. Meanwhile, Gwendolyn delivered on both accounts. As promised, the money’s been good, and it’s been a nice change from slogging through the muck out on the road or finding ourselves up to our elbows in blood and guts for some n’er-do-well lordling’s petty ambitions. But Black Guardsmen sign on for action, not to play chaperone to scientists or to escort whatever infernal device Goddard and her tinkerers have cooked up from one end of the city to another.”

“So why not pack up and leave?” I asked.

“Because Gwendolyn has her hooks in a good number of my men. Turns out, not all Guardsmen want life hard. Lieutenant Nelson is one of those men. At first, he grumbled under his breath at my orders. Then he started openly questioning me. I should almost thank you. You gave everyone a common goal when you killed Gwendolyn’s artificer. For a while there, Marcus had no reason to complain.”

“Glad I could help.”

Belford spat. “But you didn’t help, did you? The longer you eluded us, the worse it made me look. Lieutenant Nelson took advantage of the situation by fomenting dissent again. He started playing Gwendolyn against me. You know how she is. She loves to take sides.”

“As long as it’s the side that wins.”

“Right to that,” Belford said. “Marcus has his following, but a good number of the men are still loyal to me, but only so long as the money keeps coming in.”

A mercenary’s first loyalty is always to coin, isn’t it? I imagine there must be a little mercenary in all of us.

“No one will walk away from the Society unless I can give them some guarantee the spigot won’t run dry. We’ve had our dry spells like any company. When times are tough, we tighten our belts and do what we must. That’s how it used to be, anyway.” Belford stood. He tested his leg, which, from the looks of it, seemed to work better now. “You asked why here and now. It’s because of your ambush last night. Those men were loyal to Lieutenant Nelson, so it was easy for him to blame me for not putting a stop to you sooner. It gave him and his men the opening to stop beating around the bush and come at me. Also . . . ”

“Yes?” I asked, waiting.

He hesitated a while longer but finally said, “I told the men aligned with me that I have enough coin stashed away to buy their loyalty from the Society. Enough to keep the company going for some time.”

“Do you?”

“Damn straight, I do. I only need to deliver it to the barracks by tomorrow morning, and they all agreed to cut ties with the Society and leave Alchester for good. There’s a war brewing between Kallendor and Seacea, in case you haven’t heard, and I want the Black Guard there to reap the rewards.”

“So, you wanted to meet me to ask for my help moving your stash?” The idea seemed absurd. While we weren’t anything quite so dramatic as mortal enemies, we certainly weren’t friends or allies.

“Your help? Why the hell would I need your help?”

I looked at the four dead corpses and raised a brow.

Belford glowered, but when he next spoke, he did so with far less vehemence. “I wanted to meet with you to ask you to cancel your arrangement with Gwendolyn. But it’s too late for that now. Lieutenant Nelson made his move, and what’s done is done.” He glanced at the fallen Guardsmen. “These men paid for their disloyalty with their lives, and so will anyone else who gets in my way. I’ve been a soldier all my life, and I’ve done more than my share of sweating and bleeding for the Guard. No way in hell I’m giving up my position as company captain. Not without a fight.” He paused, then took a deep breath and let it out. “Given what happened here, I’d be a fool to think I can do this alone, so while I didn’t come here to ask for your help, I’m asking for it now. It’s the least you can do given all the trouble you’ve caused.”

We had disparate perspectives on who had caused who trouble, but I set that aside. Yes, I was angry at Belford and the Guard for taking things so personally when killing the artificer had only been business. I didn’t like that they’d chased me from the fine establishments I used to frequent, making my life a misery of second-rate taverns and watered-down wine, but I put that aside as well. Captain Belford offered me a rare opportunity, and I did not intend to waste it.

“I’ll help you, Captain.”

Belford narrowed his gaze at me. “In return for what?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?”

“I mean, nothing.”

“I don’t buy it. Everyone wants something.”

“True, and most of the time, I do as well. But not today.”

Belford grunted. “I still don’t buy it. What do you want? Money? A favor? Maybe the Black Guard off your arse?”

“No, nothing. I don’t need your money or your favor, and since I’ve already got the Guard off my arse, as you put it, there isn’t anything left.”

“Then why help me? I thought for sure you’d say no, and I’d be on my own. The Old Gods know I’ve done you no favors over the past few months.”

I shrugged. “You said if you win, you’ll leave Alchester. That’s reward enough for me.”

Belford scrutinized me some more before he nodded and said, “So be it, then.”

“So, what’s the plan?” I asked. “We wait until your bank opens and make a withdrawal? You know, most lending houses will write you a writ. Much easier—and safer—than carrying money these days.”

Geoffrey grinned. “The money’s not in a bank.”

The grin said it was somewhere more interesting.

“It’s somewhere safe,” he said.

“You afraid if you tell me where it is, I might steal it?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough.” I suppose if it was enough money, I might try. “How much does Lieutenant Nelson know? Enough to head us off?”

“He doesn’t know about the money or where I stashed it, but he knows what I promised my men, and he’ll have his looking for me.” Scanning the plaza, he stopped again at the four dead men. “Best we get moving before Corporal Castus has time to round anyone else up. He’ll head back here first on the off chance we decided to loiter about.”

He was right about that, so we left the plaza via my planned escape route, letting the gathering afternoon crowd carry us until we were well away from the square and the Black Guard corpses. Six blocks later, Captain Belford led us down a side street to an alley, then to another avenue heavy with shadow and chilling air. I pulled my coat tighter, jamming my hands into my pockets, wondering where the good captain meant to lead us. Turns out, he took us straight to The Jaded Peacock.

“You stashed your fortune here?” I asked.

“No, but we need somewhere to lie low for a few hours until night sets in.”

“Then might I suggest a more appropriate establishment? Someplace where you won’t stick out quite so much? Your surcoat draws too much attention, and the Peacock has far too many nosey people hanging about.”

“Where then?”

“Follow me,” I said, turning us about so that soon we ducked into alleys and side streets I doubted the good captain knew existed. As expected, his black shield emblem drew some curious stares but nothing more. But curious stares often turned into talking mouths, especially when someone flashed silver and asked questions, so I took us along an even more circuitous route to allay any concerns and, in no time at all, we were safely ensconced inside The Lazy Minstrel, a favorite haunt of mine when I wanted the world to leave me alone. The proprietor, Ophelia, greeted me with a smile and offered me my usual chair at my usual table. I told her to hold the bottle from Abelard for the next time and instead ordered a dry red. Geoffrey said he’d have the same. A quiet hum hung over the crowd this evening. A boisterous few played darts in one corner, but most of the Minstrel’s patrons sat quietly, nursing their drinks after what had likely been a hard day of work for many. As expected, no one paid us any attention. The simple, unspoken rule here was that everyone stayed out of everyone else’s business.

Needing clear heads for whatever lay ahead, we stopped after one drink. Geoffrey slipped into a somber mood, likely over having to kill some of his own men, so I drank my wine and left him in peace until he let me know it was time to go.

Outside, he pulled me aside and said, “I’ll get us some transportation. It’s better if I do it alone. Meet me in about forty-five minutes at the corner of Maple and Elm.”

That was fine with me since I had an errand of my own. “Make it an hour.”

As Geoffrey turned to leave, he said, “Don’t be late.” Then he was gone.

I got moving, too, setting my sights on my tenement in the Shambles. It had occurred to me while we wiled away the time at The Lazy Minstrel that we were more than likely to run head-on into a sizeable Black Guard presence, negating my usual tactic of evasion. Different tactics called for different weaponry, namely my Steel Island blade. While my long knives did their job well enough, they were a disadvantage in open combat, especially when going up against trained mercs with longer-reach weapons. Besides that, I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed the simple act of swinging a sword.

Mindful of the time, I double-timed it to my apartment building, heading straight for the basement once I got there. Past the boiler room, there’s a locked door. Behind the door, there’s a forgotten space I reserved years ago for my own use. Part weapons locker, part training dojo, I spend more time here than in my apartment above, training, sharpening weapons, and planning. The room has maps of the city and detailed drawings of key buildings on every wall. Locked chests hold the tools of my trade. A wooden striking dummy stands in one corner, climbing ropes hang from the ceiling, and heavy iron hoops and weights are stacked on the floor. The basement area is secluded and, besides the hiss of the boiler, quiet. Atticus has his basement, and I have mine.

After quickly changing clothes from jacket, vest, and frilled shirt to dark linen gambeson and black studded leather, I gathered what I needed from the weapons locker and returned to the street. No time for rooftops, I melted into the shadows of back alleys and side streets until I reached the rendezvous point. Approaching cautiously out of habit, I slunk forward until I spied the intersection. There was no sign of Captain Belford, even though I was a little late. I wondered if that meant trouble, but then I saw him approaching. No more walking for the good captain, it seemed, as he arrived driving a sleek, alchemically fueled wagon.

“How do you like it?” Geoffrey asked, driving the machine beside me and bringing it to a smooth stop with the pull of a lever. The captain was grinning from ear to ear as he leaped from the wagon. “Gwendolyn had a pair of them commissioned. I hope she doesn’t miss this one.”

I made a quick visual inspection. “Reinforced frame and wheels, an iron lockbox in back that looks like it’s bolted to the wagon’s frame, and a shielded driver’s bench so no one can pick the driver off from above. Smart. Why isn’t the Society making more use of them?” Seems like something the Guardsmen from last night could have benefited from.

“Gwendolyn’s not ready to reveal this one’s design yet. There’s more than just aesthetics. Something about the alchemical engine that makes it special. All I know is that it goes damn fast when it wants to. She had them built for urban transport of valuables, but it also has military applications. Change the lockbox for a scorpion, flamethrower, or some other armament, and you’ve got one hell of a war wagon. I bet it’ll see action before long.” Geoffrey stopped ogling the wagon long enough to glance at me. “I see you changed clothes.”

“Thought I should look my best.”

“Planning on going to war?” Geoffrey asked, one brow raised.

I suppose he meant the sword slung over one shoulder, or perhaps my bow and quiver of barb-tipped arrows over the other, or maybe he referred to the long knives at my belt. He wasn’t referring to the many throwing knives and stars I had elsewhere because those were hidden. I shrugged. “I’ve no idea what you mean.”

“Right.” Geoffrey hopped back into the driver’s seat. “Time to get moving. Jump in.”

I took the seat next to him, and we were on our way. Captain Belford guided the wagon with an expert hand, manipulating pedals and levers to maintain a nominal speed and change our heading when needed. The hour was getting late, so we saw few people out and about. Still, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention, the captain kept the wagon moving smoothly and steadily, maintaining an air as if we were only out for a late-night ride. One time, a patrolman raised a hand at us, but it was only in greeting, and then we were past him. Although I remained unaware of our destination, I recognized the districts we passed through, so I was a little surprised when we traveled deeper into the residential part of the city. If I was hiding a treasure trove of coins, I would have picked an abandoned warehouse or building off the beaten path with so many nooks and crannies that even if someone suspected I’d hidden something there, they’d never find it. But Captain Belford kept driving through the quiet boroughs of the well-to-do until he finally stopped right in front of the burned-out husk of a house I knew all too well.

“You hid your money here?” I asked. “In Gwendolyn’s deceased brother’s house? Or what’s left of it, anyway?”

“It wasn’t my first choice. Nelson was on to me, so I had to move it before he caught on to what I had planned. This seemed like the one place no one would ever think to look.”

Considering where I’d hidden Aravar’s scroll after stealing it—right back in the artificer’s study—I had to agree with him. Sometimes the best hiding places are the most obvious ones.

“I hope you at least buried it,” I said as we disembarked.

While I kept lookout, Captain Belford went straight for the hiding place, crunching his way through the debris to the base of one of the few walls still standing. He selected a specific spot along the wall, put his back to it, then counted a certain number of paces from there before making a ninety-degree turn and taking a few more steps. He took another turn, counted out five more steps, then dropped to his knees in what I believe had once been the receiving room where Mr. Goddard wined, dined, and entertained guests. The irony of the location was not lost on me, as it was almost directly beneath the spot where Gwendolyn had hurled her negative energy grenade at her unsuspecting brother, killing him and the other Society leaders with him. While Captain Belford sifted through the debris, throwing darkened wood and stones split by fire aside, I walked over to find he’d revealed a hole containing two medium-sized chests. Geoffrey reached down to lift one. He grunted and gave up almost as soon as he started.

“Give me a hand with this,” he said, taking one side.

I lifted one end and found it just as heavy as it looked. We set the first chest down, then lifted the second one from the hole to place it beside the other. Geoffrey flexed his considerably sized arms and shoulders, lifted the first chest on his own, then carried it to the wagon. I suppose he wanted me to bring the other one, so I lifted it with great effort and stumbled along behind him. As I set the chest down in the back of the wagon next to the first, he leaped into the bed and, using a key from around his neck, unlocked the secure lockbox. The interior space was large enough to accommodate both chests, so, with my help, we placed both inside. Only then did the captain lift a lid so I could view the chest’s contents.

Whistling, I said, “That’s a lot of crowns.” Large sums of money rarely impressed me, but the glitter of all that gold was mesmerizing. I tore my attention from it only with some effort. “I didn’t realize mercenary work paid so well. Maybe I need to reconsider my line of work.”

Geoffrey reached in to grab a handful of coins. He let them slip from his fingers in a literal shower of gold. “Gwendolyn isn’t the only one with friends in high places.” Geoffrey slammed the lid closed. He did the same to the lockbox, then returned the key around his neck. “Now, let’s get out of here before—”

“I wondered where you were taking my wagon, Captain,” a feminine voice said from the darkness. “I guess now I have my answer.”

Black Guardsmen stormed in from every direction, quickly surrounding the wagon in a ring of grim visages and bare weapons. A pair of Guardsmen stepped aside, and in walked Gwendolyn Goddard, looking as lovely as ever, with her trademark smirk and blonde hair hanging loose. She wore a scarlet-colored coat with the collar turned up and soft leather gloves that accentuated her slender fingers.

“That’s a hefty sum of gold,” Gwendolyn said. “What do you plan on doing with it?”

A Guardsman stepped forward to stand next to Gwendolyn. By his leering grin, I assumed this must be Lieutenant Nelson. “I’ll tell you what he plans on doing with it,” the lieutenant said. “Captain Belford has had enough of Alchester and the Progressive Society, so he wants to cut and run.”

“Is that true, Captain Belford?” Gwendolyn asked. “After everything I’ve done for you and your men?”

Geoffrey clenched his teeth but said nothing.

“He’d let this man walk free, too,” Lieutenant Nelson said, pointing the tip of his sword at me. All around, his men bristled with anger. “That’s not happening, assassin. You’ve spilled Guardsmen blood, so you’ll pay in kind. The captain must have forgotten about that, or maybe he’s getting soft. Unfortunately for you, the rest of us ain’t.”

“That may be, Lieutenant Nelson,” I said, hoping he wondered how I knew his name and what else I might know, “but too bad I have a deal with your employer. Didn’t she tell you? It’s hands-off from now on. Ain’t that right, Gwen?”

“That depends if you plan on fulfilling your end of our deal,” she said, crossing her arms. “Given the current situation, I’ll have your answer now, if you please.”

My hand drifted to one of the long knives at my belt. “Let’s say I do. Then what? You let me and Belford drive out of here?”

Gwendolyn humphed. “Not likely. Agree to my terms, and the arrangement stands. I’ll allow you to leave unmolested. But only you. Captain Belford stays.”

“And if I don’t?”

She shrugged. “You’ll both die, and I’ll have to find someone else to deal with my rivals.”

Ordering the death of a man was as easy as ordering a fine glass of sherry for her. Probably just as satisfying, too.

“In that case,” I said, “I’ll take my chances with the captain.”

Gwendolyn shook her head. “Very well.” She spun around and strolled through the line of Guardsmen. When she was past them, she said over a shoulder, “Kill them both.”

Lieutenant Nelson flashed us a wicked grin as he and the other Guardsmen closed on us. I moved both hands to the hilts of my long knives, ready and waiting for the first to make his move. Then one did, except it wasn’t one of the mercs standing against us but Captain Belford himself. The captain drew his long sword in one fluid motion and threw himself at Lieutenant Nelson.

“So, this is how it is?” Belford yelled, hacking at the lieutenant. “If it’s a fight you bastards want, then it’s a fight you’ll get.”

Brave, I thought, but stupid, given the numbers against us. Still, Geoffrey’s assault took the lieutenant and many others by surprise, so while they were fending off his attack, I leaped across the wagon to make my way to the controls. A Guardsman saw what I was doing and swung for my legs, but I hopped over his swing and was away before he could reverse his attack and try again. Another attempted the same thing, but I was too fast once more. Behind me, steel rang on steel, and a man cried out. I hoped it wasn’t Captain Belford. I had to swing into the driver’s bay, a motion I used to kick the face of the closest mercenary. He fell back, blood spurting from his nose as I landed on the bench. Looking at the controls, I realized I had no idea which lever did what, so I started pulling and pushing each one until something happened. The first lever made the wagon lurch backward, which was fortuitous since it crunched into several Guardsmen, knocking them away. Then I reversed the same lever while pressing with my foot on the pedal I saw Geoffrey using on the way over. That had the desired reaction as the engine purred to life beneath me, and the wagon rolled forward.

“Get in!” I shouted to Geoffrey as I pressed harder on the pedal. Beneath me, the engine roared to life as the wagon accelerated so fast Captain Belford barely had time to leap into the back. In front of us, Guardsmen jumped every which way, then we were past them. Some ran after us but stopped when they quickly realized they had no hope of matching our speed.

Captain Belford hopped into the driver’s bay alongside me. “Let me take the controls!”

I obliged him, moving aside. While he took over, I glanced behind us. No sign of— No, wait. “Didn’t you say there was another wagon like this one?”

“That’s right!” Belford yelled back at me.

“Looks like it’s heading our way.”

Geoffrey quickly looked over his shoulder, then pressed harder on the accelerator. The wagon reacted instantly, its speed increasing to what I supposed equaled a horse loping along at a fast gait.

Seeing a more useful role for myself, I leaped into the back of the wagon, crouching low and hanging onto whatever I could to keep from being ejected. Looking at our pursuer, I couldn’t help but notice the scarlet red of Gwendolyn’s jacket as their wagon passed beneath a streetlamp. She was driving. A Guardsman leaned out the other side of the driver’s bay and more crowded the wagon’s bed.

“They’re gaining!” I shouted at Geoffrey.

Captain Belford manipulated a few levers, and we sped along even faster. The other wagon matched our speed, but it was no longer gaining. Wondering if I could somehow slow them, I removed my bow from my shoulder and nocked an arrow. I took aim, trying to compensate for the wagon’s jostling. I was an expert marksman, and while I was well-trained in compensating for wind, I had to admit that loosing while driving along at a breakneck speed was a new challenge. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained, so I took as careful aim as possible, pointing the tip of my arrow straight at Gwendolyn, whose eyes went wide when she realized I was aiming right at the spot between them. I loosed and almost immediately recognized that my arrow drifted high. Gwendolyn didn’t know that, though, swerving so violently she dumped most of the mercs in her wagon onto the cobbles.

“Nice shot!” Geoffrey yelled, laughing.

Not nice enough, as Gwendolyn course corrected and kept coming at us. “Can this thing go any faster?”

“I’ve already got it at full power! I’m not even sure how long it can keep this up! These things are only prototypes, so I don’t—”

The wagon’s engine rumbled, and black smoke billowed from underneath the carriage. Just as Gwendolyn’s wagon picked up speed again, we slowed.

“Damn!” Geoffrey shouted. “I’ll try easing off to see if that does it!”

Easing off only allowed Gwendolyn to get that much closer. But she wasn’t on us yet, and I still had a full quiver. I drew again, aiming for the mercenary leaning out of the driver’s bay since he presented a larger target. The slower motion and less jostling of our wagon helped, and though my arrow lifted too high like before, this time, it connected with a mercenary in the back of the wagon. I saw him go down with an arrow sticking from his eye socket, then he was gone from view. Beneath me, the engine’s rumbling lessened as Geoffrey’s tactic seemed to work. Gently, he accelerated. The wagon responded sluggishly, but it started moving faster. But not fast enough as the other wagon rolled up alongside us. Immediately, three Guardsmen jumped across the distance to land on our wagon. As one, they drew swords. I smiled and drew mine. I felt like I’d been waiting for this fight all night.

Three against one might as well be ten against one for all the good it did them. With the wagon picking up speed, its wheels clattering along on the cobbles, and the whole contraption shaking, maintaining one’s equilibrium was paramount. While I was an expert in the art of balancing, the mercenaries snarling and lunging at me were not. A slash at my belly turned into a downward strike for my feet as the first merc shifted his weight too far forward and lost his balance. The second fared no better, his sword missing me by enough of a margin that avoiding it was nothing. I caught the third’s blade with mine, letting it slide off as I leaped and swung at the same time. The Guardsman ducked, but the wagon bounced at the same time, and he fell into the man next to him. I stabbed down, catching him in the shoulder, then another was on me. The clang of our swords impacting was the sweetest melody I’d heard in some time. One other regained his balance and joined the symphony, though his beat was off, so I rewarded him with a cut across his leg that sliced through the chain links of his hauberk. He grunted but didn’t let a little blood deter him from trying to take my head off. I ducked, then sprang back, which the second thought to take advantage of by closing the distance between us. Bad idea, as I drew a long knife and slashed up, cutting him in the neck and face. While he cried out and tried to staunch the flow of blood, I deflected an attack from the other, then side-kicked the overzealous one. His cries faded soon after he flew off the wagon's side and disappeared somewhere behind us. Two to one made my job easier, but two more jumped onto our wagon. One immediately went for the driver’s bay. I tried to block his way, but the other three pressed me back, so I yelled a warning to Geoffrey, hoping he heard me and that he could drive and fight at the same time.

“Hang on!” Geoffrey called out.

I wasn’t sure why until the wagon lurched to one side, turning with such reckless abandon it lifted into the air, hovering on two wheels as we rounded a corner and nearly sideswiped a storefront before settling back down to keep rumbling down the lane. I’d kept my feet, as did everyone else except for one merc who was thrown from our wagon at the initial lurch. Fortunately for him, he landed in Gwendolyn’s wagon and would have been no worse for wear if Gwendolyn had made the turn as neatly as Captain Belford. But she turned too late and tried to compensate by angling too sharply. Gwen panicked when the wagon leaned over on two wheels, turning the other way to get all four wheels back on the ground. As soon as the wagon righted itself, she slammed into the storefront we’d only narrowly avoided. Glass shattered and brick crumbled, and the wagon came to a violent, sudden stop. The impact hurled Guardsmen every which way. Then I saw nothing else as the calamity disappeared behind us.

That left the three still loitering about with us. In front, Geoffrey had one hand on a lever and another around the throat of the Guardsman who’d attacked him. Say one thing about Black Guardsmen: they don’t give up easily. With gritted teeth, the two facing me came in hard, striking with such speed that defense was my only option. In such close quarters, swordwork became an act of slashing and swinging supplemented by fists and kicks when the opportunity presented itself. I still held my knife, though, so each time a merc got too close, he was defending against two weapons. Slash, cut, stab, and next thing you know, one of the mercs had enough.

“This isn’t over, Belford!” he shouted right before he jumped from the wagon.

The other looked from me to his fellow rolling away on the ground and decided he’d rather live to fight another day, too, so he jumped as well. That left only the one assaulting Geoffrey, who had shoved Belford back and gained a spot in the driver’s seat. The two traded punches and elbows, and the wagon veered left and right, rolling from one side of the narrow street to the other. A pedestrian screamed as we narrowly avoided running her down. I wanted to help, but the driver’s space was too cramped, and I didn’t see an opening without making the situation worse. Finally, Geoffrey cracked the man hard in the jaw, sending him reeling back, so I was able to reach around, catch him at the collar, and toss him from the wagon. He hit the ground hard, rolled, and came to rest sprawled in the street with his arms extended, either dead or, more likely, unconscious. With his adversary gone, Captain Belford got the wagon under control in short order, so we slowed and soon rumbled down the road at a moderate pace. I returned to my seat in the driver’s bay.

“I didn’t see Lieutenant Nelson,” I said.

“Neither did I,” Geoffrey said, glowering. “It has me concerned.”

Me too, though I said nothing. Nelson hadn’t joined the others on Gwendolyn’s wagon, but where else would he have gone?

There was no answering that question presently, but I thought we might know the answer soon as we turned down a long street that ended at the Black Guard’s barracks. As we rumbled closer, I saw torches lighting a square, the long, squat building forming a mass of darkness behind it. Neither of us wondered any longer about the lieutenant’s location since there he stood amidst the lights. Behind him, a host of men—every one a Black Guard mercenary—stood with him. Too many to count, their numbers extended into the inky dark. I supposed we were looking at the entire Black Guard company. All hundred or more of them.

Captain Belford brought the wagon to a stop inside the torchlight’s reach. He stepped out, so I did too. I hoped Geoffrey didn’t mean to fight all of them. If he did, he was on his own. I’d more than done my part, so I started looking over my shoulder to plan my exit, just in case. But then the Guardsmen responded to some signal, double-timing it to form a wide ring around us and the wagon. Many wore grim expressions. Others looked on with neutral, if not curious, stares. Lieutenant Nelson waited for us to approach before addressing us. No, not us. Only the captain. This was a Black Guard affair, and my participation was neither needed nor, I supposed, wanted. From this point on, Captain Belford was entirely on his own.

“You’ve violated our code by aligning yourself with a man marked for Black Guard justice, Captain Belford,” Lieutenant Nelson yelled for all to hear. “Even worse, you’ve killed your own.”

A murmuring grumble washed over the mercenaries.

“That may be true,” Captain Belford shouted in a voice loud enough to match his lieutenant's, “but that same code says a Guardsman has the right to defend himself against any adversary, regardless of allegiance or oaths. You sent Guardsmen to kill me, Lieutenant. That’s mutiny, plain and simple. It’s you who violated the code.”

A grizzled veteran stepped between the two. “You’ve both leveled your accusations, and we all know there’s only one way to settle this.” He gestured at a place roughly at the center of the torches, which were arranged in a sort of crude circle. “Two enter the circle. One leaves. Do any dispute this?” His gaze roved over the assembled men. No one answered. Satisfied, the merc looked at the captain first and then at the lieutenant. “Do you both agree?”

Lieutenant Nelson drew his sword in response. Geoffrey did the same.

“Single combat it is, then!” the grizzled mercenary said. “The winner assumes command of the Guard. The loser gets a new home six feet under.” Another merc ran into the circle carrying two heater shields. He gave one to each of the combatants. Once that was done, the grizzled veteran backed away to stand alongside the others. “You may begin when ready!”

I stayed near the wagon, wondering if Captain Belford lost if I could use it to get away before the mercs overwhelmed me. Even if he didn’t, my position here was tenuous at best. If he won, Captain Belford might let me leave out of good faith, or he might sick his dogs on me and let them tear me apart. Whatever the outcome, I was trapped here until the contest's conclusion. A hushed silence fell over the crowd, and then it began.

The fight was a duel, but not the honorable sort. Honor had no place in a real battle, especially when no quarter was expected, so while the fighters initially exchanged strikes and counterstrikes, the struggle quickly denigrated into a thrashing tussle marked by wild sword swings and punctuated with fists, elbows, and kicks. The mercenaries seemed evenly matched, both skilled with the blade, both showing good footwork, and both equally determined to kill the other. Captain Belford was older and presumably more experienced, but Lieutenant Nelson made up for any shortcomings with youthful vigor and a burning ambition to take over as captain of their outfit. He’d arranged all this, fleeing to come here instead of pursuing us, making sure the circle was set, the men in attendance, and, I figured, the traps laid. Anyone who went to that much trouble and planned something so well would leave nothing to chance or rely solely on overcoming his adversary by skill alone. The stakes were too high, and, like I said, honor has no place in a battle like this one.

While the combatants continued swinging at one another, neither gaining an overt advantage, I scanned the barracks’ rooftop for any sign of foul play. Given the current audience, it seemed unlikely Lieutenant Nelson would employ a sniper. Too obvious and probably against their precious code besides. Something else, then. Poison on his blade? Possibly. Or a knife darting out from the crowd to prick the captain—again, poison came to mind—then vanishing just as quickly? But the ring of mercs was outside the circle of torches and not close enough. Something less apparent then, and more desperate. Something that might come into play with the battle nearly lost.

I scanned the faces of the men in the crowd. Pursed lips, rigid jaws, and eyes locked on their captain and lieutenant’s every move. Nothing suggesting a double-cross. I spotted a Guardsman shoving his way sidelong through the others, and I’d almost moved on when light from a nearby torch glinted in the man’s eyes, reflecting a distinctive shade of olive green. The color was not common, but neither was it unusual, and if I hadn’t just seen a man with the same color eyes leaving a meeting with Gwendolyn the night before, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But I didn’t live this long by discounting coincidences, so I watched the Guardsman as he continued to jostle his way through the others. Other than the eyes, nothing set him apart from the other mercenaries. He wore the same style mail shirt and tabard as the others, though he also wore a mail coif beneath a nasal-guarded helmet, obscuring most of his face. He might be the same man, or he might not. The merc had one hand lifted to help part the sea of mercenaries, but he concealed his other beneath his tabard, as if holding something he didn’t want anyone to see. He shouldered his way to the front row and stopped. Then his hand slipped into view. He held onto something all right. It was a fist-sized sphere I recognized instantly. The last time I’d seen a weapon like that, Gwendolyn had tossed it into a room occupied by her unsuspecting brother and his associates. The grenade had ended their night—and their lives—very badly.

Meanwhile, the fight kept on. The furious pace of Marcus and Geoffrey’s assaults had diminished as the combatants tired, but in equal measure, so neither merc had gained an advantage. But a warrior’s true mettle is tested the most when weariness drags on the limbs, slows one’s footwork, and clouds the mind so that mistakes are made. Such was the case now as Nelson lunged forward, countered a swing by Belford, but failed to catch the other’s blade when he swung it around on the backstroke. Belford’s blade cut deep, slicing through chain links and leaving a line of blood on the other’s thigh. Nelson staggered but recovered quickly, deflecting the captain’s next attack and almost scoring a hit of his own. But Belford was too quick, and Nelson’s blade cut only air. Belford pressed his advantage once more, forcing Nelson back one step and then another. Right toward the mystery assassin, I noticed. Was Belford aligned with the assassin? The captain kept pressing until Nelson was almost close enough for the imposter to reach out and touch him. But then Nelson was on the offensive, forcing Belford to lunge to one side to avoid the lieutenant’s furious swings. Interestingly enough, that move left Nelson alone and apart from anyone else. If he was the assassin’s target, it seemed the perfect time to throw the grenade at him. Then Belford closed the distance, and that was that. The assassin hadn’t moved, though I saw his eyes following every movement of the two opponents, measuring the distance between himself and his target perhaps, or trying to predict their next move and wondering when to strike. I knew this because it was exactly what I would do if I were in his position.

The assassin stood at the opposite side of the circle, so I started moving closer. Meanwhile, Nelson made a bold move, darting in with the tip of his blade low. When Belford moved to block him, the lieutenant sidestepped and sliced up, scoring a hit on the captain’s arm. Belford cursed, perhaps causing Nelson to think he had caused a more significant wound as he kept coming. But Belford was more than up to the task of fending him off and turning the tables, so Nelson was suddenly deflecting attacks from each side. Strike, counter, thrust, and soon Nelson lost track of his opponent’s sword so that Belford scored another hit, this time on the lieutenant’s other leg. Another swing put Nelson on his back foot, unbalancing him. Breathing came in ragged gasps, and Nelson’s sword dipped from the strain of holding it for so long, leaving him exposed. The lieutenant realized his folly, bringing his blade up, but not before Belford slashed Nelson’s chest and again across his abdomen on the return stroke. Each was a killing blow, but Nelson’s hauberk denied the captain each time. Still, the succession of attacks unnerved the lieutenant as he scampered back. The captain gave no quarter, delivering another series of strikes that Nelson struggled to deflect. A score on his shoulder, another to his left arm, and, finally, a thrust to his chest that jabbed through the lieutenant’s armor enough to cause a squeal of pain.

“Surrender, Lieutenant,” Captain Belford bellowed so all could hear, “and I’ll spare you!”

Nelson grasped his chest, where blood leaked from his wound. “Never!” he yelled between fatigued breaths. He scanned the faces in the circle, looking one way and another before he settled on the mystery Guardsman. “This fight isn’t over!”

Perhaps that look was a signal. Perhaps it was nothing. But while those who had sided with Nelson raised fists and hollered encouragement at their champion, I watched the assassin’s movement. I was close, but not close enough to stop him. In the circle, Nelson followed his bravado with an attack that did little other than rile up his supporters to new highs. He came in fast, his sword dancing in such a blur of movement that he must have devoted all his remaining strength to the effort. The sudden ferocity surprised the captain, and though they exchanged sword strikes, the effort meant little in the end as Nelson’s sword arm inevitably slowed, and he stumbled away before his attack lost all its momentum, and his arm completely gave out. That final assault seemed an act of desperation, the stumbling unplanned. But in light of my observations, it appeared a tactful maneuver. With the two men separated, now was the time for the assassin to strike.

I watched as the imposter raised his arm. Drawing a breath, he cocked his arm to throw. His target selected, his arm swung forward. His motion stopped when, behind him, I closed my hand around his. Under my hand, I saw lights flashing. The grenade was armed, its detonation imminent.

Leaning in close, I whispered in the assassin’s ear. “Nasty weapon you’ve got there.”

My presence spooked him. Or maybe the grenade was about to go off. Either way, his grip on it slackened enough for me to poach it from his grasp. I grabbed him at the back of the collar, shoving the grenade down beneath his gambeson and between his shoulder blades. Then I gave him a good kick that sent him stumbling into the circle between Captain Belford and Lieutenant Nelson. The captain looked at him with surprise. Nelson’s face melted into horror. The assassin paid no attention to either of them as he danced a jig, grasping at his back with both arms as he cried out in desperation.

I wasn’t sure how to warn anyone about what was about to happen, so I simply pointed and yelled, “Bomb!”

I’ll give it to the Guardsmen. When they become aware of an imminent threat, they don’t ask questions. The men in the first few rows were the first to react, but those behind them retreated in unison so that soon all were at a safe distance, including Lieutenant Nelson, who needed no warning, and Captain Belford, who heeded mine.

When the grenade went off, it didn’t make a sound other than a sharp crackle of energy. A sphere of absolute darkness exploded outward, enveloping the would-be assassin and extinguishing the light from the torches. As quickly as the spherical ball of energy appeared, it vanished, taking the Black Guard imposter with it. I knew he was gone, sucked into that other place, and that we’d never see him again.

Questions rose from every quarter, not least from Captain Belford, who balanced on tired, shaky legs.

“What the hell was that?” he asked.

Someone had enough sense to relight the extinguished torches, so I saw all the fingers pointed my way. The accusations were not far behind.

“The assassin knew about it! He tried to kill the captain! No, he tried to kill the lieutenant! He tried to kill them both!”

I raised my voice above all of them. “If I was trying to kill anyone, why would I have warned you?”

That shut them up. As much as they wanted to believe I was involved, no one had an answer to my question. Sometimes actions did speak louder than words.

“Then what the hell was all that?” someone yelled.

“I’ll tell you what it was,” Lieutenant Nelson shouted. “Captain Belford saw he was losing the fight, so he had an assassin waiting to kill me!”

A disapproving rumble coursed through the lieutenant’s supporters. But many Guardsmen grumbled back at them, some yelling that Nelson was the one losing the fight. Others shouted that the captain had nothing to do with it. One of the more astute amongst them pointed out one of the most critical bits of information.

“Didn’t anyone else see the tattoos on that man’s face? He was Jakaree!”

Captain Belford finally raised a hand and let loose a whistle that cut through the chatter and silenced everyone. He turned his attention toward me. “You yelled the warning. What happened?”

All eyes were suddenly on me.

“Simple,” I said. “Lieutenant Nelson knew he couldn’t take you in a fight, so he made a deal with Gwendolyn Goddard to assassinate you.” That created the expected uproar from all sides. No less from Lieutenant Nelson, who shouted something at me that was lost in the cacophony. I waited for the noise to subside before I went on. “But they weren’t planning on getting caught—whoever does?—so they planned on pinning it on the Jakaree. Makes sense. You Guardsmen have foiled their plans almost as many times as I have. The assassin had black and white tattoos on his head, sure enough. But he wasn’t one of them.”

“How do you know that?” Captain Belford asked.

“Because I saw him coming out of a meeting with Ms. Goddard last night. When I saw him, he didn’t have any tattoos.”

Murmurs this time were an improvement over shouts of outrage as my words sank in. Many still had questions, so I waited to answer them.

“How do you know he didn’t have the tattoos covered up?” Geoffrey asked.

It was a fair question. “You’ve seen the Jakaree up close. Those tattoos aren’t easy to hide. I would have noticed. I know with certainty that the man who tried to kill you was not a Jakaree. Since I have no reason to protect them, I must be telling the truth. Besides, if he was a Jakaree, don’t you think he would have tried to take you with him before the grenade went off?”

The captain let out a breath, silent as he thought it through. If nothing else, he knew I was right about that last bit. He glanced at Lieutenant Nelson, who had gone quiet for a change. The lieutenant’s ire rose when Belford kept staring at him.

“You can’t seriously think he’s telling the truth?” Marcus asked.

Belford’s attention strayed to the men standing around Lieutenant Nelson. I’d noticed it too. At least forty Guardsmen congregated there. The rest had gathered around Captain Belford. The Guardsmen had chosen their sides. Many fingered weapons. Most looked ready to use them.

“What do you say to all this, Marcus?” Captain Belford asked his lieutenant. “Did you have any part in this, or was it all Gwendolyn?”

That was it then. Admit it, and all hell was about to break loose, with me caught right in the middle. Deny it and . . . . I wasn’t sure. How it played out was up to the Black Guard’s captain.

“You’ll take this assassin’s word over mine?” Lieutenant Nelson asked, incredulous.

“Answer the damn question, Lieutenant!”

“I knew nothing about any of this! For all I know, the imposter was in league with your new friend. He’s killed more than a few Guardsmen, so what’s one more?”

Grumbling arose from both sides. I knew I was in a precarious position here, with enemies in every direction and little hope of escape. My fate was in the captain’s hands, as was the lieutenant’s.

Captain Belford’s gaze swept over all the Guardsmen, both those with him and those who had aligned themselves with his rival. “Marcus says he had nothing to do with this, and that’s good enough for me.” He pointed at me. “I also believe this man when he says he had no part in it. But that’s not the end of it. We have some things to set right between myself and Marcus and between the Guard and the assassin. Things we’ll settle here and now.” As he let his words sink in, he slowly spun around to look into the faces of his men. “Marcus wants leadership of the Guard. Enough that he challenged my command. The duel isn’t done. There was no victor. So I say this. Let’s start again right where we left off. Or, if those of you who have taken the lieutenant’s side are of a mind, I’ll pay each of you your share, and we’ll go our separate ways. You can stay here in Alchester and keep working for the Progressive Society or bugger off to wherever the hell you like. But take that deal, and you’ll no longer be Guardsmen. To the rest of you, I have what I promised. Enough gold to see us through until we find better work elsewhere. What say you?”

On Nelson’s side, uncertain looks were exchanged all around. Not so with those who stood with Belford. One such man stepped forward.

“It’s as you said, Captain. You held up your end of the deal, so we’ll hold up ours. As always, we’re with you. You can count on us to follow where you lead.”

Captain Belford nodded at that, then he turned his attention to Lieutenant Nelson and the others. “And you, Lieutenant? If it’s a fight you want, then let’s get started. Otherwise, take the deal, and you and those standing with you can find somewhere else to bunk by morning.”

A Guardsman loyal to Nelson approached him, and the two exchanged words. Once the man stepped away, Nelson addressed the captain. “Done. There’ll be no more fighting tonight, but from here on out, if you run into me and mine, the outcome won’t be so cut and dry.”

Geoffrey scoffed and shook his head. “Mark the lieutenant’s words,” he called out to those standing with Nelson. “If you disagree with the terms, you have a place with the Guard. But make your decision now. After tonight, it’s as Marcus says.”

At first, it seemed all were content to remain with their chosen leader. But then one, two, and soon a handful left Nelson’s camp and joined Belford’s side. The lieutenant’s gaze was full of loathing and daggers, and he spat as they ambled past. But then it was done.

“Now,” Captain Belford said, “we have this man to deal with.”

I had everyone's attention once more.

“We all know what he’s done, so I won’t waste time on that. I also won’t waste time beating around the bush. By all rights, he should face Black Guard justice for his crimes against our company. But for all the harm he’s done to us, he’s also done some good. Tonight, this man saved my life more than once. More than that, he exposed an assassination attempt that might have taken my life and maybe others. You can bet I’m not forgetting the role Ms. Goddard may have had in it. That’s something I intend to deal with personally. But after tonight, I can’t in good conscience condemn this man. We don’t have many rules in this business, but a man saving another’s life needs to count for something, especially when he isn’t even one of us. I know some of you ain’t going to like it, but I’m offering him a reprieve.”

Shouts from all sides rose like thunder. Not surprisingly, the loudest crackle came from Lieutenant Nelson. Captain Belford let it all run its course, then he held up his hand for silence. I stood there with my arms crossed, a little surprised at the course of events but smart enough to keep my mouth shut lest I disrupt the delicate balance the captain was trying to establish between reprieve and reprisal.

“The slates wiped clean,” Geoffrey said. “If you’re unhappy with my decision, then too damn bad. The lieutenant will walk out of here by morning, and you're welcome to join him. Otherwise, there’ll be no more payback. In exchange, all debts are cleared. Agree?”

He was looking at me.

I nodded. “Sounds fair.”

Lieutenant Nelson didn’t feel the same, but he said nothing as he stalked off into the dark. His men threw scowls our way, but they followed him in silence. Around him, Captain Belford’s men dispersed. He stopped four and ordered them to unload the gold from the wagon. “I know exactly how much is in each chest,” he told them, “so make damn sure it all gets to my quarters.”

Many Guardsmen still milled about, but they kept their distance, giving me and the captain a minute.

“That was unexpected,” I said to him, “but appreciated.”

Geoffrey’s scowl rivaled the others. He was about as happy as the rest about letting me off the hook, but I’d appealed to his sense of honor, so what choice did he have?

“I won’t do it again,” Geoffrey said, “so I mean it when I say to stay the hell out of Black Guard business from now on. Otherwise, the embargo is lifted, and all bets are off. Understand?”

“Perfectly. So now what? Pay Gwendolyn a visit?”

Geoffrey shook his head. “Not tonight.”

“You’ll never have another opportunity as good as now.”

His stare turned curious.

“She’s unprotected,” I said. “All the Guardsmen are here, including Nelson and his men. Starting tomorrow, though, that’ll change. Nelson wanted to stay on with the Society, so where do you think he’s headed once he leaves? There’s also the question of him conspiring with Gwendolyn to hire that assassin.”

“That really isn’t a question, is it?” Geoffrey asked.

“So, you think he knew?”

“I know he did,” Captain Belford said. “What you said made sense. It actually surprised me when Marcus challenged me. He’s no slouch with a blade, but he never had a chance against me.”

I admired the captain’s bravado.

“I know he’ll run to Gwendolyn, and she’ll be happy to have him and those who follow him. But the Black Guard is done working for her, especially after tonight. Though it may take some time, she’ll get what’s coming to her. She’s connected, you know, so it won’t do to have her disappear without a trace. The last thing we need is the king’s inspectors breathing down our necks while we’re trying to get out of the city.”

“Speaking of that . . . ,” I said.

“You want to know when we’re leaving?” Belford asked. “Not soon enough. I just lost almost a third of my company, so I’ve a mind to do some recruiting before we leave. Also, it’ll take some time to get the travel logistics in order, and I have to make sure we’ve got a solid place to land. It may be a few months still before we’re good and ready to leave. Then there’s winter to consider. Might be spring at this rate.”

“Nelson won’t make your stay any easier.”

Geoffrey grunted at that.

Then there wasn’t much else to say, so I bid good night to the captain. He stopped me with an extended hand.

“You didn’t have to help me tonight,” he said. “But you did. I won’t forget that.”

I grasped his hand in mine. “Anytime, Captain.” I wasn’t sure I meant it, but it seemed the only thing to say. “Seems like you’ve got everything figured out.”

“Not everything,” Belford said.

“Oh? What’s left?”

“Someone let Marcus know about our meeting. Not the one I’d set up, but yours.” It seemed he stared at me a little longer than was necessary. “Only you, me, and that kid you sent to deliver your message knew anything about our meeting. But somehow, Marcus found out about it.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t tell him. I didn’t even know about the lieutenant or that he wanted you out of the way until we met.”

“The kid, then.”

I scoffed. “Unlikely. I’ve used him before. He’s reliable. Besides, he knew less than I did about your situation. Still does. One of Nelson’s men probably followed you.” I shrugged. “Or maybe one of your own. You obviously don’t trust them any more than you trust Nelson. Why else come to me for help?”

Geoffrey grumbled something under his breath, but I hoped he at least gave up the notion the boy had anything to do with ratting him out. The kid deserved better than the tender mercies of the Black Guard.

With nothing left for us to say, Captain Belford turned away to join his men, who welcomed him into their embrace with the familiar camaraderie of brothers-in-arms. Some still glared at me, so I thought it best I leave before the glares turned into something more. I didn’t doubt they’d abide by their captain’s order, but no reason to push my luck.

Outside the compound, I made sure there weren’t any surprises like Nelson’s men waiting in the shadows for me. Though I didn’t see anyone, I took an unconventional route away from the barracks in case someone tried to follow. It wouldn’t do for anyone to find out what I was really about this late in the game. Back in Low Town, I ducked into a narrow alley, climbed a short ladder to a building’s rooftop, then made my way to the designated meeting place, where I found Braeden waiting as expected.

The kid saw me and scowled. “You’re late.”

“So? You’re lucky I’m here at all.”

“Hey, fair’s fair. I did what you asked, so pay up.” He held his hand out, waiting.

“You’re right,” I said, reaching for a small pouch at my belt. “A deal’s a deal, isn’t it? Here.” The pouch landed in his hand with a jingle of coins. “You can count it if you want, but it’s all there.”

Braeden shook his head. “I don’t need to count it. I trust you.”

This kid was not spending enough time around Elizabeth if he thought I was trustworthy. But tonight, he was in the right. Like I’d said, a deal’s a deal, so I’d paid him a third upfront for letting Captain Belford know about my preferred meeting location and the rest now for finding one of Lieutenant Nelson’s men, if not the lieutenant himself, and letting him know about that very same meeting. Let Belford think one of Nelson’s men or even one of his own had ratted him out. It didn’t matter. The captain was no friend of mine, so any discord amongst the remaining Black Guard only helped my situation. They may no longer pursue me, but that didn’t mean we wouldn’t cross paths again.

“I thought you were going to let those mercs kill the captain,” Braedon said. “Wasn’t that your plan?”

I shrugged. “Plans change. Now, better get back to the House before you’re missed. Tell Elizabeth I said hi. Oh, and might want to lie low for a week or two, just in case. Stay out of Low Town if you can help it.”

While I watched him scamper off, I reflected on the evening. I never guessed the events I’d set into motion would result in attaining all my goals. The Black Guard’s reprisal rescinded, Gwendolyn exposed, and Captain Belford and his merc company with plans to leave the city. Sooner would be better, but I’ll take later too. It pays to do one’s research and keep an ear to the street. Gwendolyn knew how to navigate high society, but she’d never guessed when she’d reached out to certain parties looking for an assassin that word of it made it to me. At first, I’d wondered why she hadn’t considered me for the job until I discovered who she wanted dead and how she meant to pin it on the Jakaree. That kind of deception wasn’t my style. Still, I knew she’d wanted to talk, so I obliged her. Her request to kill Atticus was an interesting surprise. Interesting because I was happy to pass on to Atticus how badly she wanted him out of the way, but my plan had always been about the Black Guard and had nothing to do with what Gwendolyn wanted.

Now, Lieutenant Nelson had always been part of the plan. I’d learned about his ambitions from Malakai, an all-around scalawag but an informer who always seemed to have the best information. Malakai had told me how confidence in Captain Belford’s leadership ability waned and how Gwendolyn had put Geoffrey’s status as the Black Guard’s captain in an even more precarious position with her backroom alliances with Nelson. The way I see it, I was only taking advantage of the situation. It wasn’t my fault the Black Guard wanted me dead or that I’d contributed to Belford’s woes by making the job difficult for him. Last night, my attack on the Black Guard was meant to stir things up. I knew the men guarding the carriage had aligned themselves with Nelson. I also knew killing them would raise further questions about Belford’s effectiveness as a leader and, more to the point, give Nelson the opportunity he needed to act against him. I couldn’t have accounted for everything, like Captain Belford wanting to meet with me the next day, but I’d still used it to my advantage. Inform the captain of a new meeting location, then get that same information to Nelson so the lieutenant had enough time to send his men to ambush and kill Geoffrey Belford. I knew the square well. I had my escape route planned. But I hadn’t let the captain die. That hadn’t been part of the plan, which at the start had been all about reprisal, and it still perplexed me why I hadn’t let Nelson’s men kill him. Maybe I was getting soft, or maybe when Captain Belford had presented another option, I saw an opportunity for further gains. Help him and, by doing so, help myself. You see, I also knew about the man’s sense of honor and how highly mercenaries value saving one’s life, especially when it’s theirs. I wish I could say I’d planned every aspect of this evening, right down to Gwendolyn sending in her assassin at precisely the right moment, but I’d only set events in motion. Happenstance and luck had driven the rest. Sometimes, that was enough.

As for Gwendolyn, I didn’t have the proof Inspector Wright wanted, but maybe that would come another time. For now, I was satisfied.

As I made my way to my tenement in the Shambles, I realized I needn’t come this way any longer. With the reprisal lifted, I could go anywhere I liked without fear of the Black Guard disrupting my plans or my life. I found the feeling . . . liberating. But I was almost all the way there already, and one more night wouldn’t kill me. I decided to stop at a local watering hole before retiring, so after a quick change of clothes, I found myself seated alone with a jug of the Groggery’s finest swill and a wooden cup to pour it into. It’s said the finer things in life aren’t truly appreciated until one has experienced life without them. Over the past few months, I've found a truer statement had never been spoken.

Join today to receive an email when I have a new release available or when I'm taking part in a mega-sale where you can get some great book deals.