Mid Spring - 1901

  Apparently, as Arcos found out the next morning, the girl called Sitra did not like to wait till the afternoon for their arranged meeting. After a lengthy night of drinking, encouraged by the alcoholic hound that bore the name of Boras Cutter and the plenty of food provided by Maraby, the hangovers hovered over The Four Claws with pendulous weights set to burst at the first instance of noise.

  That noise was the heavy pounding of a fist against a shut door. It boomed from the front door, through the entrance way, into the mess hall and thundered at the throbbing heads of the trio who had made the long tables and an armchair their temporary beds. So inebriated by their drinks, they did not have the energy nor forethought to seek out actual bedding.

  Arcos awoke to the noise, gritted his teeth and lifted his left hand out of a bowl of half-eaten carrot soup. He stared at the sodden hand that would no doubt smell for a long time fate he washed it and shut his sore eyes tightly. He groaned. It was a peaceful sleep, even if his hand now stank of old carrot and garlic.

  The first peaceful sleep he had for many days since Silverstreak. Now the memories of his recent days swept back up to him and his first thought was that of Nerisity. How was she fairing? Is she hurt? Is she even alive?

  Victor Sade’s assurances that Markus would not move his assets until after he had found buyers did little to settle Arcos's nerves. It was all he could do not to take up his sword and attack the first Bodyhunter he came across. His sword…

  His eyes flicked down to the sheathed sword, wrapped and hidden in his cloak on the floor. His right hand trembled. Alaintiqam was there, waiting. Waiting for the moment to be drawn and used against the enemies they identified. Arcos knew very well that the blade had some hidden agenda. That was true enough, he was no fool. But so long as its purpose aligned in some regard with his, then one would use the other to achieve both. Just as long as he found out a way to truly harness the sword before the brutal work began.

  The pounding struck again. Arcos swore under his breath and pushed himself up from the table. He felt sweatier, grimier and dirtier than an urchin. Yawning, Arcos craned his neck down to the other side of the table and at the floor. Snoring away, sure enough and still hugging the gnawed-upon mutton leg he had claimed the night before was Boras.

  Nestled under Arcos’s long table, Boras was snoring and smiling, bless his little booze-addled heart. Arcos swung his feet around and planted his shaking legs on the floor. With his boot heel, he tapped the side of Boras's shoulder to rouse him, to which the companion yawned and drooled in response.

  The booming knocks echoed again and Reeva’s voice responded in equal volume, echoing across the room.

  “In the name of the Black, someone answer that godsdamned door!”

  Arcos looked to her, finding her half-sprawled on a leather armchair in a corner of the hall with three abreast footstools to act as a bed. A book was laid over her eyes to shield the light from her eyes.

  She showed no sign of moving, but her hand pointed at the door. “Please…” She snarled.

  In the end, it was Torrance who finally answered the door. He had come out from another room, having found a bed still usable. No one, not even right dutiful Maraby were in fit enough to fulfil their duty as hospitable welcomers. But Torrance, with a higher tolerance of drink, was able to partially enact the words and body language required, despite his own hangover. He - very slightly - staggered to the front entrance and patted down his clothes from the dust on his sleeves. He was not wearing boots, only his socks.

  Re-entering the mess hall, Torrance was followed by two figures. The first was Sitra herself, looking well dressed, rested and wearing a bright green satin scarf across her mouth. The exact opposite to the trio, still lazing around the hall.

  As the trio started to rouse themselves properly, Sitra was was followed by the second visiter. The second was an older man, dressed in a travelling cloak with a broached waistcoat that fit just enough over a bulging stomach. He had a cap fitted on his round head, which Reeva felt was a humorous copy of his body.

  Torrance had one of his mercenaries quickly clear a long table and arranged tea and coffee to be brewed, setting it down for Sitra and her colleague when it was ready. Sitra sat astride on her bench, opting to give The Four Claws a look over whilst her companion set at work prepping a cup of tea from the teapot and a ceramic milk jug.

  Arcos, Boras and Reeva eventually gathered themselves up and loped towards the table to sit opposite them with Torrance, who quietly sipped a cup of black coffee. By the time that all the required people attended the meeting, the rest of the Waywards were milling about the hall with food and drink, all of them nursing headaches that the Slumbering Mother saw fit to curse them all with.

  Sitra arched an eyebrow at the trio, with a sneer in her lips. “I do hope you enjoyed yourselves.”

  “As well as one can, given the circumstances. I might need to instil a drinking limit, for my sake if no one else’s…” Torrance rubbed his temple as he took a second sip of his coffee. “How was your morning, Sitra?”

  “Restful.” Sitra said with a simple nod. “Must say, it does little for my confidence seeing the state of you. With so much at stake, could you really afford to be drinking like offshore sailors?”

  Arcos and Reeva gave Boras an admonishing look, who was too busy downing his second cup of coffee.

  “Well, we’re all human.” Reeva replied pithily. “Sometimes a chance to unwind is required.”

  Sitra rested her elbow on the table, staring Reeva down. “You certainly don’t like to lose a conversation, do you, love?”

  Reeva tapped the mug of her tea. “Depends. I like to pick and choose the fights I can win, love.”

  “Which come few and far between I wager.” Sitra grinned, flashing her teeth.

  “More than you can handle, I think.”

  “Reeva…” Arcos laid a hand on her wrist. “Not here. Not now. I've got a splitting headache.”

  There was a pregnant pause between the two women. The Four Claws mercenaries that moved around the table and in the mess hall were doing anything possible to not look the way of the possibly explosive table.

  This was a conflict no one wanted here.

  Reeva continued her glare for Sitra. Sitra did not blink. It was a tug of war between them. Each recognising the strength and killing power in the other. Like two wild Sarki over a carcass.

  The man she came with now spoke up. “Miss Sade.” He spoke with reverence. “Please, let us not break down what has been built. Your father sent us to ensure a worthy partnership.”

  The trio looked up at Sitra and her man. Father? Victor is her father?!

  Sitra snapped her fingers at the man to silence him.

  “Worthy, Volstag? Bollocks to that! He sent me to engage negotiations, you are here only as a consultant. I came here to establish an employment for my father. What do I find? Drunks, louts and disrespectful bumpkins. No better than the bandits on the Western and Southern Roads.”

  Arcos glanced at Volstag. So, this is Volstag. Tilda’s tinder to the fire she started. I wonder if he knows we know Tilda, or her moniker Shadow-Killer.

  Boras looked at Torrance. The man was silent and drinking his coffee. He was also watching Reeva and Arcos. Torrance was expecting them to handle this conversation. Seeing this, Boras coughed heavily. “Excuse me.”

  Sitra, Volstag, Arcos, Reeva and Torrance all looked at him.

  “Ah, the lout speaks at last.” Sitra regarded Boras with cold jade eyes. “What have you to say in this stimulating conversation?”

  Boras looked at Sitra. He caught his breath in his chest. Gods, her eyes were greener than grass. With her mouth hidden, all his attention was focused on the top half. He blinked hard. Now was not the time to be distracted by the woman’s beauty. For once, he had a godsdamned job to do. “You say we’re louts and drunks. But it was your father that saw our worth, didn’t he?”

  “Much to my ever-growing chagrin.” She replied cooly. “I am certain that should Father see you now, he would certainly renege on the deal you struck.”

  “Really? I think he and your thugs would be the last to judge someone for engaging in certain vices.”

  Sitra’s eyebrows furrowed hard as she glared twin shards of ice at Boras.

  “You do not judge him. You will not judge him. And some vices, I will tell you here and now, are worse than others. Drinking is one of them.”

  Boras straightened up, seeing the nerve that he had struck in her. “I apologise. But I do not like anyone insulting my companions’ skill or character. We are here to do what we can to help The Four Claws and in doing so, help our friends. And forgive me for pushing into assumptions as your father has done with us, but if you feel this strongly that the Mercury Gang does not need our help, then why the hells are you still here? The door’s over there. Off you trot.”

  Sitra made to reply, retort or react. But with a silent exchange of looks with Volstag, she remained silent, her eyes blinked slowly and she nodded with a resigned expression.

  “Fair enough, mate.” Was all she said. She rested her elbow on the table and looked away from the conversation, though she occasionally sent a searching look in Boras’s direction. She also silently waved at Volstag.

  Seeing this as an order to take over the discussion, Volstag cleared his throat.

  “You understand our hesitation.” He said placatingly, eager to steer the conversation towards a productive end. “We are an organisation that prides itself on ensuring loyalty through familial ties and acts of courage and selflessness. You are arrivals, strangers to our little game. Master Sade is a man who utilises people like a craftsman his tools. All must work to their absolute perfection in all his plans, of which there are many and are complex. The last time a stranger entered our city and interfered… well, let’s say she brought a certain degree of unwanted chaos to Fennaposia.”

  Torrance hid a grin behind his cup. That’s my Tilda. He shared a look with Arcos, who made a similar half-smile.

  Sitra impatiently waved at Volstag to get on with it. He nodded and turned to a satchel he had brought in. Pulling out a thin leather bound tome of red, he set it before the trio and Torrance. “These are the debts owed and paid to the Mercury Gang, all tied to this mercenary company.” He opened the book and they could all see page after page of numbers set to dates within the year. Volstag wasted no time to explain their function. “Here we have all the debts owed to the Gang. Noted and accounted for, down to the last copper piece. For any reasons; medicine, weapons, food, armour, etcetera, etcetera… Observe the amount of money that I have calculated together.”

  They did. And they did not like the amount of numbers they saw.

  “A sizeable sum, isn’t it?” Volstag turned a couple of pages till he reached another tally of payments and dates. “And here we have the payments made to the Gang.”

  “That’s too few.” Boras observed. “Gods, that’s all they’ve paid?”

  Sitra made a short, sharp chuckle. “Quite so.”

  “Alright, you’ve made your point.” Reeva nodded. “Carter was shite at paying you off. What can we do with make this right?”

  “Chances are it will be a sizeable task, now seeing that amount.” Arcos added.

  “It will be.” Volstag nodded. “You wish to back out?”

  “Not a chance.” Arcos gritted his teeth. “We didn’t come all this way to give up here.” “That’s a good attitude.” Volstag appraised at Arcos's expression. “Strange, you remind me of someone I dealt with a year ago.”

  I bet I do. Arcos thought with an inward grin. “So? What it is?”

  Volstag looked to Sitra, who had seemed to give up on talking out the rest of the meeting. Seemed she was not in any mood to converse with the arrivals, especially Boras.

  Volstag continued. “Despite what you know of the Mercury Gang, we are not wholly invulnerable. We have been losing money, outside what had occurred with the Scandal. We are losing profit.”

  Torrance blinked and set down his coffee. “That’s the first I’ve heard of this.”

  “We’ve been keeping it very close.” Volstag admitted. “We have cultivated a strong reputation. Any weaknesses will be an invitation for incursions from the rival gangs. The main issue that is causing our profit losses is from our Violet Leaf trade.”

  “Violet Leaf?” Reeva asked. “The smoking drug?”

  “Indeed, Reeva.” Torrance answered. “Quite potent, hallucinogenic and very addictive.” He then turned to Volstag. “You want us to play bodyguards to your drug mules? What, Vanto and his friends aren’t cutting the proverbial mustard?”

  “Not just that.” Volstag waved a hand. “Master Sade wishes you to find the leak in the Mercury Gang. The person or persons who have been selling this information, track down the ones siphoning off the leaf from our stockers and put an end to them. We would love nothing more than to rely on Vanto and our men. We have done so in the past. But there is a leak within the gang, one which only Vanto, Master Sade, Lady Sade and myself know about it. So we must use outside help to seal it tight, or the mole will flee.”

  “Alright.” Arcos said. “How much money have you lost?”

  “Enough to warrant a reasonable response.” Volstag wiped his forehead. “Master Sade honestly doesn’t care about the Violet Leaf to such a degree like drinks or weapons which are more reliable source of income and, more importantly, legal. But money lost is a slight on his character and a sign of disrespect to the Gang. He demands an answer.”

  “That would mean us. And how would you want us to handle this?” Reeva asked.

  Sitra shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care. We just want results. And bloody ones, if needs be.”

  “Alright. Fine.” Reeva waved her hand, endeavouring to not allow Sitra to provoke another rise from her. “Anything else you need us for?”

  Volstag nodded. “As a matter of fact, yes. One more thing…” Volstag stuck his fingers into his inside breast pocket and pulled out a small folded piece of paper. He handed it to Reeva, who took it and unfolded the names that were written here. Four of them, to be exact.

  She read them out loud: “‘Georg Logger, Fanri Tailor, Jocelyn & Zantrix Brewer.’ And who the hells are they?”

  Volstag refilled his cup. “Merchants. Previously in the employ of the Mercury Gang.”

  “‘Previously’ being the operative word.” Sitra explained. “When the Scandal kicked off and all the arrests were made, Father did his part in pointing the Lawgivers in the correct directions. And away from us. We did not want blowback from the arrests and the confessions that followed. We kept our noses clean. But not so much for the Merchants there listed. They got used to the amount of money they received for working in these particular avenues. So they’ve been sneaking this business on the side. Carefully, mind you. Without anyone’s knowledge. But we found out, as we eventually do.”

  “They’re still trafficking children.” Reeva hissed under her breath. “Even now.”

  “Even now.” Sitra nodded. “They don’t know that we’re onto them. We’re keeping it that way, as all the eyes are on us to make a mistake. If we start going around offing merchants we bring in to legitimise our more easy-going wares, no one on our more agreeable fronts will deal with us. We’ll be fucked. Another gang war will erupt. So, we require people who have no ties to us.”

  “So you want us to clean up the mess that they’re causing you.” Reeva concluded.

  “Correct.” Sitra sat back with crossed arms and a smirk. “Get these two things done and consider the debt cleared from Volstag’s books.”

  Reeva leant back and exchanged looks with Arcos and Boras, who were equally dubious about the missions they were issued. Torrance tapped the side of his cup, chewing his tongue.

  “What’s the risk?” He asked. “I assume there is danger.”

  “Well, if your friends are as capable as you have made them out to be…” Sitra replied coolly. “Then it shouldn’t be a problem either way, right?”

  “I recommend that you take this proposal.” Volstag advised as he closed his books and finished his coffee. “Shall I inform Master Sade that you declined?”

  “We didn’t say that.” Boras grumbled.

  Volstag nodded and then waited in silence with an expectant Sitra beside him.

  Reeva narrowed her eyes at Sitra.

  Oh, how she wanted to claw out that expression from that woman’s perfect cheekbones. But, they were here to make a deal, get help and get their friends out. She looked towards Arcos and Boras, both of them were looking back at her and eachother. Torrance remained his silent and relaxed self. Reeva honestly thought in that short space of deliberation that she’d be the one to speak, but Arcos saved her the trouble.

  “We’ll do it.” He said with sureness. “Tell your boss that we’ve got it covered.”

  Volstag brightened at the response with a smile and nod that would make a rat shudder. Sitra blinked once but said nothing.

  “Well!” Volstag clapped his hands together as he rose from the bench. “This has been productive. Wouldn’t you say so, Lady Sade?”

  “I imagine so.” Sitra conceded as she also rose to her feet.

  Torrance stood in response and shook their hands pleasantly, firstly Sitra, then Volstag. “A pleasure. Please give our regards to your boss.” He said warmly.

  “Of course, Four Claws.” Volstag headed for the door, which Maraby stood by waiting for them. Sitra followed, but she halted by the exit.

  Torrance and the trio watched her as she placed her hand on the doorframe. She looked at the floor, obviously thinking about something. Volstag stopped in the entrance hall and waited for her. Sitra looked back the group with a cold hard stare. She focused the most of her stare at Boras.

  “Don’t make us regret meeting you.” She warned, before striding into the entrance hall.

  Torrance’s smile faded quickly and he wiped the hand he shook with Volstag on his shirt. “Maraby.” He ordered. “Follow them, make sure they’ve gone.”

  Maraby nodded and whistled for two Waywards to follow her out.

  Torrance lowered himself back into his bench and rubbed his chin.

  Reeva, Arcos and Boras waited for him to speak. But, Arcos being the way he was, spoke first again. “Charming girl…” he stated.

  “Oh yes…” Torrance agreed with a mirthless smile. “Quite a sociable creature. It’s a pity that her manners do not match her eyes.”

  “She’s a looker, that’s for certain. Even with that scarf across her face.” Boras whistled. “What’s she hiding under there?”

  “I don’t care how she looks.” Reeva hissed. “I cannot stand that bitch.”

  “I understand, Reeva.” Torrance patted her tense wrist. “But if you want their help, anyone’s help in this city without alerting the Barons’ or the Lawgivers controlled by the Barons, you have to play nice with people not as desirable and alluring as yourself.”

  Reeva tisked sharply as she snatched up a biscuit and bit into it aggressively. “I despise bullies.”

  “Here, here.” Boras noted with a saluting cup of coffee. “Are we sure there’s no other way that we can do this without them?”

  “I would tell you if I knew…” Torrance stood up. “If you excuse me, I’ll need to make plans.”

  “What do you mean?” Arcos asked him.

  “If we are to do these tasks for Victor, chances are we will succeed. I have faith in us. Because of that, I would like to begin recruiting new folk, arrange their bedding, weapons and armour. It pays to be prepared. We’re going to need all the help we can muster for the attack on Markus.”

  “Just a moment, Torrance.” Boras asked.

  Torrance looked down at him. “Yeah?”

  “Everyone calls you ‘Four Claws’. Why? How did you earn that name?”

  Torrance closed his eyes with a slow nod and a downturned mouth.

  “Like Tilda earning hers as the Shadow-Killer… It was because of those gauntlets that Elder Lowan gave me when I was a Fledgling. It’s a lengthy story, so I’ll shorten it to not waste our time. When I left the Guild, I was purposeless. I had no money to my name and only the gauntlets by my side. But I was free to do whatever I wanted. So I found work as a mercenary. I ended up in fighting pits and skirmishes along the Tashiishan border. I killed a lot of people with those gauntlets.

  By then, I made a name for myself. I didn’t like it, it wasn’t what I wanted. Because I still didn’t know what I wanted. But I had to find out without the past holding me back. So I paid for the gauntlets to be returned to the Guild via Silverstreak, with instructions that they’d be left on the mountain path. As for me; the name stuck. But I was free to make my own choices with those weapons to remind me of my life. So, I set up the Wayward guild, recruited some lone fighters and here we now stand.”

  Arcos said nothing. He just stared at Torrance with a new understanding. He did what Arcos thought was incredibly hard to do. When Arcos abandoned the Guild to pursue his own choices, it was painful. He was leaving a home that brought him in. Torrance didn’t seem to have that problem, or he wasn’t showing that pain so easily. Arcos felt a sense of envy for Torrance and his carefreeness.

  “It must have been hard for the others when you left.” Reeva assumed, voicing Arcos’s thoughts.

  “Well, adjustment is easy for a cult of death dealers. Change and impermanence is natural for them, no matter how extreme.” Torrance waved his hand. “We tend to have an easier view of life because of that. We live each day like it is our last. Usually that is the case for some those not fortunate enough to have long lives. I just wanted to use my talents to help my life in the way I wanted. I wanted to help others, without the restrictions of the Guild’s Promises holding me back.”

  “Was it worth it?” She pushed. “You’re hunted and hated now.”

  Torrance made a gesture to the people in the mess. “See them? Some of the mercenaries here are expatriates. Outcasted because of creed, morals, orientation… They came to me because no one else would have them. Others, they’re runaways from abusive families, addicts recovering from dealers like the Mercury Gang, slaves escaped from the Pits and urchins desperate for coin and food. I gave them a home. Sure, the Children spit on my name. But I believe it was worth it.”

  “Hence the name of the company; Waywards.”

  Torrance smiled at her. “Indeed.”

  “Here’s one thing I don’t get.” Boras rubbed his head. “How come Elder Lowan knows about you? Keeping tabs on you? You’re an Apostate. By all the teachings in the Guild, Lowan should be the first person to hunt you down and kill you. What’s going on there?”

  Torrance laughed. “Well, that’s a question even I do not know… I suppose he finds it hard to let go. That sentimental old goat… But that’s enough talking for now. I think it’s about time for us to prepare. So I’ll begin bringing the Waywards back to its truer self. What about you three?”

  Arcos stood up, finishing his drink. “I’ll take the list of those merchant names and start seeing where they’re based. I know the Merchant District well enough.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Reeva said. “Best to stick together. Boras?”

  “Not for me. You two have that in hand.” Boras stretched his hands. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “What for?” She asked incredulously.

  “All this talk about rebels…” Boras replied with a pondering look. “What’s really happening there? And there’s this Barons’ Council or dinner or whatever it is happening very soon. I’m going to walk about the city, see what I can find out. I’ll also check the teahouses in the port. They’re still Tashiishan?”

  “They haven’t changed that for over a hundred years.” Torrance said.

  “Good enough for me. When I have a chance, I’ll find out when the leaf shipments come in.”

  “Boras.” Arcos warned. “Watch yourself out there. It’s not just the Bodyhunters looking for us.”

  “Same to you guys as well.” Boras plucked up a head scarf that laid discarded under the table and wrapped it around his mouth and neck.

  The three of them stared at him. “That’s your disguise…?” Reeva asked.

  “Of course!” Boras displayed his work proudly before strutting towards the exit. “Trust me, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  ???

  Boras had no idea what he was doing.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  He did however feel that Reeva’s critique on his disguise was fair, so with a quick scoop of some mud - that he really hoped was mud - from the side of a street as he walked down, his face was well covered with grime and muck. He was now an urchin. It was a role that he was well versed. He snatched a dirty rag of a robe that laid abandoned on the stoop of a shut door and wrapped that around his cleaner clothes. He also decided to add a limp to his gait. Now he was the correct image to a casual looker’s eyes.

  He turned a few more corners till he reached the maim market that connected the districts like a straightened necklace. Boras meandered, passing stalls and carts, hands out. His eyes were switching back and forth, watching the faces of the people around him. But his ears were at work here, trying to snatch the conversations he passed by. What exactly he wanted to learn, he’d just have to find out.

  A few snippets were heard, here and there.

  A discussion between three lumberjacks, hauling fresh logs from their cart.

  “-Another ship disappeared you say-?”

  “-Aye, gone with not a trace. Down the Southern Coast, great storm apparently-”

  “-Nah, I heard different like. I heard it was a sea monster. Came and swallowed up the ship-”

  “-any word from Cliffside Harbour then-?”

  “-silent as a dead man’s cave-”

  “-poor bastards…”

  Another conversation: two elderly women washing their laundry and sharing the bucket for it.

  “-well, I heard the Baron’s son’s lookin’ for a wife-”

  “-it’s not like he’ll be lackin’ suitors. Handsome one, he is-”

  “-you say that, but I ‘eard he’s very particular-”

  “-hehehe, maybe he’ll take a shine to me, eh-”

  Boras ducked his head and moved onwards. Other conversations gave him more knowledge of the current state of affairs in the city. Particularly, rumours of rebellion. During his time at the Guild and in Silverstreak, Boras and the others had heard word that there were a small collection of incongruous groups that rejected the laws of the Oligarchy and clamoured for the return of the Royal Family. They were little more than peasants who had taken weapons from ambushed soldiers on country road patrols or convoy guards. So they posed no threat, at least in the eyes of the Barons. But after the battle of Silverstreak and especially its fallout, and word of that massacre had already began to reach the mouths of Fennaposians, rebel activity had now started to escalate.

  Half a year ago, there was an arson attack which burnt down a taxation office in the central city, the Great Plains Vineyard, the hub of wine and crop production. Thereby obliterating all debts the townsfolk in the North and Southern Plains owed to the Barons’ personal landlords.

  Three months ago, a heavily guarded bank on the Eastern coast in a port town called Tigerstone, a hundred miles south of the city, was broken into and something of value was stolen, leading to the magistrate who ran the bank vanishing without a trace and a full blown battle exploded between Baron soldiers and a clutch of armed rebels hidden there.

  And only a month ago, there were the sudden slew of slave riots occurring along the northern parts of the Corikyne river, from Iron Bay, across Golden Hole and towards the Black Pit Lake. Incidents which the Barons have been keen to suppress from public knowledge.

  And that was just the first series of incidents, Boras was certain more would follow. He gulped. What had he, Arcos and Reeva done? What the hells had they started?

  Boras slyly swiped an orange from a cart and hunkered down on the corner of the main criss-cross road junction of the Merchant District. Sitting on the curb of the pavement, he was ignored by the citizens. He sighed as he peeled open his orange and bit deeply into the sweet, juicy flesh. He glanced up the road and saw a sight that made his gut turn.

  There was a man, another merchant by the way of his fine robes and clean shoes. He was standing in stern discussion with the vendor of a perfume stall. Boras was too far to hear what was being said, but it was clear by the frantic body language of both men that the merchant was furious and the vendor was nervous. But it wasn’t that which made Boras squirm.

  It was the downcast woman in rags and worn sandals behind the merchant. She had chains and manacles on her arms that linked individually in two chains to her ankles. A slave, with a tattooed number in her left shoulder, just like Arcos. Boras gritted his teeth at the unfamiliar sight. In Tashiish, from what little he remembered from his early days, slaves were an extremely rare sight if none at all. It was frowned upon and treated with the same attitude as the notion of riding horses.

  All creatures of the Torchbearer, on two legs or four, deserved to be free.

  In Silverstreak, slaves were not an uncommon sight. Baron Malachi had the townsfolk to the labour for him. But as Boras traveled from Silverstreak to this city, he had seen more and more sights of slavery which twisted his morals something rotten.

  Children, shackled and carrying parcels, deliveries, products or slops of meat for animal feed. Women, heads down and beaten. Men, backs lashed bloody.

  Arcos was fully justified to feel the hatred towards the Bodyhunters. This woman that Boras observed was staring at the floor whilst standing by a two-wheeled pull-cart laden with goods and covered with a tarpaulin. She was also chained to the cart by her waist.

  She was the horse. Boras felt his blood fucking boil.

  During the heated exchange, the merchant snapped his fingers and opened his hand to the slave. The slaves nodded quickly, darted to the cart and took something out. She handed it to the merchant, which he shoved under the vendor’s nose and pointing at it vigorously. It was a glass vial half-full of crimson liquid. The vendor nodded many times and then handed a newer vial of the same liquid. The merchant shook his head and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. Boras sighed with understanding, he wanted a refund. The vendor shook his head and gesticulated wildly. The merchant, in a fit of explosive rage, threw down his glass vial. It shattered on the cobblestones as the merchant euchred out a hand and grabbed the vendor by the collar of his jerkin. He began shouting, pointing at the vendor’s face with dagger-like precision. The vendor was wincing in obvious pain of being handled as such.

  Boras's hand twitched towards his axes, already regretting walking down this way. He had promised the other that he would stay incognito. He glanced at the people around them. No one was looking their direction, in fact they were taking great pains not to. They were not getting involved at all. Boras was half a mind to follow suit. He was supposed to stay hidden.

  That was the whole point of their mission.

  But… he just couldn’t sit by and let the merchant do what he might do. Boras reluctantly dropped his barely eaten orange and rose to his feet. He started to stalk towards the altercation, already planning how to kill the merchant in the quickest way possible.

  He was halfway across the street and able to hear their words when he saw a third man step into view. This third man was well-dressed in a coattail jacket, black trousers held by with a silver-buckled belt, brown shoes. He was carrying a briefcase, which he dropped upon approach.

  “Wait!” He cried out. “Please, there isn’t a need for violence!”

  Boras drew up short and slid to the side of the road to watch the altercation. He was also close enough to hear the words spoken this time.

  The merchant and the vendor both whipped their heads to the stranger.

  “What’s it to you, sir??” The merchant blurted out. “This is a private matter.”

  “Not to me.” The stranger insisted. “That man is a patient of mine. Recently recovered from a case of dengue fever last week.”

  The merchant’s face gained a shade of paleness in response to that. “What-?”

  “Indeed. Now if you wish to remain hale and hearty as you are, I would request that you release him. Please.”

  The merchant immediately did so and stepped away from the vendor, wiping his hands on the rags of his silent slave behind him.

  The stranger quickly moved in-between the merchant and the vendor, facing the merchant calmly with a degree of nervous energy. “Now. May I ask what seems to be the issue at hand?”

  The merchant regained his composure and his anger. “That patient of yours sold me a case of rose petal bath oils. All of which failed to have any sense of that smell, in fact they smelled of rot! Now half my clients at the capital’s Night Tavern are furious and rightfully so. They asked for compensation and so do I! This man owes me a substantial amount of coin and satisfaction. I will have both!”

  “I see.” The stranger said. He took out a brown leather notebook and a pencil. He opened it and took it down. Boras carefully sidled across to reach their side of the road to avoid being noticed and noted the sigil on the book as he did so. A silver staff with a pair of wings atop and three snakes coiled around its body. He recognised the sigil and so did the merchant.

  The merchant raised his hand to the man placatingly. “I- I apologise. I did not realise who you are.”

  The third man, who was a doctor, nodded quietly, but he still wrote in his book. When he was done, he looked up with a critical eye. “What is your name? So that I know who I am talking to.”

  “My- my name is Ignatius Seller.”

  “Ignatius. That is good to know. I’ll remember that name the next time I return to the hospital to read upon the listing for our patients there.”

  Ignatius’s face paled further. The doctor nodded slowly. “So you do have someone there. Well, don’t you think it would be in your best interest to avoid escalation of this situation? Any problems here with me and my patient could affect your family member’s or friend’s recovery at our hospital.”

  Ignatius balked. “You wouldn’t threaten my son. You daren’t!”

  The doctor shook his head. “I do not threaten. I’m not like you nor your ilk. I merely state the facts as I see them. You are a bully who seeks to extend his menial power over someone with none. That is until someone like me with more power comes along to remind you just how low on the ladder you are. What does this man owe you?” Ignatius said nothing.

  The doctor asked the question again and this time Ignatius answered.

  “I paid one hundred pieces of gold for the whole shipment. It was faulty, it did not even work. Now all of my clients are demanding their money back from me.”

  The doctor nodded once and then turned to the vendor. “What do you say to this?”

  The vendor, suitably panicked and distraught by this entire situation, wrung their hands in despair. “I told him! I told him to store the vials in a dark, cool storage and not in direct sunlight. They are rose oils! They can spoil easily.”

  The doctor turned back to Ignatius. “Well, there you have it. You are given due warning before and after the purchase. By laws of both Baron Secra and Baron Malachi, you are the sole bearer of that responsibility.”

  Ignatius’s face reddened and Boras could see a temple starting to throb on the side of his head. He jabbed a finger at the vendor whilst staring with this rebuilding eyes at the doctor. “How- How the hells was I supposed to remember that!? What the hells do you expect me to do now?”

  “Simply pay them back,” the doctor replied soundly. “Pay them back and start over.”

  “I can’t!” The indignant Ignatius cried out, shaking a fist at the pair before him. “I’ve already invested the money in ventures for more trade ships due to leave for Tashiishan sail barges via Dargan’s Arrow!”

  Boras smirked. Idiot. He should have been smart about that. Boras knew, with the life he had lead and what he knew about the less-than-reputable business dealings in the underbelly of towns and cities, that money was easy to take and less easy to find, but hard to pay back. And it wasn’t likely that this Ignatius had many friends that would sympathise with him, especially when he owned a slave.

  As Boras thought that, the doctor glanced towards the slave woman who was, throughout this whole encounter, trying to become as invisible as a chameleon.

  The doctor turned a new page and began scribbling in something else. As he did, he asked, “I shall send you one hundred and one gold pieces to cover the debt that Kino the vendor here was attached to. Would that be sufficient to cease your harassment?”

  Ignatius was taken aback by the sudden act of charity. “What? What? I- I do not understand.”

  “I do not care that you do or not. I am paying you to go away and not haunt this man’s stall again.”

  “What about the rest of the-”

  The doctor held up a finger at him. “I do not have to be so patient, sir.”

  Ignatius shut his mouth and then nodded.

  “Furthermore…” the doctor added. “I will buy the woman from you.”

  This made Ignatius splutter the words coming from his mouth. “What?! I- You can’t just- What are you trying to- I- I- I-”

  “I will send you another hundred and one pieces of gold. That would help you settle the issues you have with your clients, surely.”

  “Well- Well, I would say it does- But…”

  “But what?”

  Ignatius glanced at his slave, who kept her eyes fixed on her feet. “She’s- She’s mine.”

  The doctor twisted his mouth in contempt. “I have given you two hundred and two gold pieces. On hundred for Kino’s issue and one hundred for your clients. The remaining two gold are for her. Will you let me take her. Yes or no?”

  Ignatius’s eyes flicked to three areas.

  His slave.

  The doctor who had upturned his day in one minute.

  And the threatening leather bound book that held the name of his son within its pages.

  Finally, Ignatius sighed through his teeth, produced a key from his coat and set to unlocking the manacles from her wrists and ankles. The woman flinched every time Ignatius’s fingers even brushed against her. Ignatius picked up the manacles and tossed those into his cart.

  The doctor beckoned the slave to step behind him and away from Ignatius. He then tore the page that held the amounts of money he was set to pay the irate merchant and handed it over.

  “Please, when you are ready to do so, have this sent to the Citizenry Hospital. They’ll pay you what I owe.”

  Ignatius nodded as he folded the page and shoved it into his breast pocket. Then he realised upon seeing his sold away slave that he was alone with the pull-cart.

  “How am I supposed to leave with my cart?” He demanded, his temper on the rise once again.

  The doctor shared a look with Kino the vendor. An ‘isn’t it obvious?’ look. The doctor gestured to Ignatius himself. “Go on.”

  The man’s eyes bulged. “Are you serious?”

  “As leprosy.” The doctor replied cooly. “And may it help teach you the value of kind words and due patience in your life.”

  Ignatius looked set to pummel the doctor right there. It was fascinating for Boras to watch a man battle with multiple impulses at the same time. Humorous as well.

  Boras grinned. Oh, if only Arcos were here to see this.

  The hilarity only grew when Ignatius grunted a resigned farewell, turned on his heel, yanked off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and set to pull the cart away from the stall. Sniggers could be heard from the various stalls and the open windows of the houses on the street. Ignatius said nothing as he was took busy puffing wafts of hot air whilst pulling the trundling cart.

  The doctor watched the cart go with a silent smile that widened. When the cart turned the corner and was out of sight, Kino reached over and took the doctor’s hand in his and shook it. Then he looked fearful.

  “That man’s son… You wouldn’t do that though, surely? Doctor?” asked Kino.

  The doctor smiled and gently patted Kino’s hand.

  “Of course not. But that man had to understand that even a good person with a kind soul can be forced to become cruel. I will never be that way, but there’s always a time which a person must choose between compassion and indulgence.”

  Afterwards, the doctor looked to the slave woman and said, “Come on then. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He offered his hand to her.

  People in the street stared at the doctor’s public act. But he didn’t seem to give a damn. The slave was also shocked by this act and was seemingly about to run away. But when she looked up at the warm eyes that the man had, she slowly reached her hand out. Taking with as much gentleness as a monk would have for a spider, the doctor led the silent slave away.

  Boras watched this all play out in enraptured silence. He smiled with the same sense of surprise as the onlookers around him. There were some decent people still in this city, then. That was very heartening. Boras approached the vendor Kino to find out more.

  “Who was that, then?” Boras asked Kino as he watched the doctor leave.

  “Oh, a decent sort he is…” Kino smiled. “Name’s Nathaniel Hacker. Doctor works at the hospital. Kindest man to walk these here streets. Kids love him.”

  Boras blinked as he shifted away from the stall. That name… Hacker. When did I hear that from…? He blinked. Oh! Catcher, the bounty hunter! She said she was delivering corpses to a Hacker person, didn’t she? Good to know.

  As he stored that information in his mind, Boras gained a butterfly feeling in his stomach. There was more to know about this Doctor Hacker. Perhaps this man was a lead to the Silverstreakers or the Bodyhunters. He had no proof of this but he just felt it. Like a sixth sense.

  Having spent enough days training with Tilda in honing his senses, Boras knew better than to ignore gut feelings. Especially with so much at stake.

  With a grin, he set off down the street in pursuit of the altruistic man.

  But if he had been more alert as Tilda had told him to be numerous times in his training, Boras would have noticed that he himself was also being followed.

  ???

  Doctor Nathaniel Hacker was very well aware of his recent actions garnering unwanted attention. But he was fast approaching the point of caring now. Watching that self-righteous pig threatening and hurting one of his former patients gave Hacker a boil in his blood that he was now trying to dispel as he walked the street with short and steady breaths.

  Perhaps with all that was going on now with his tenuous relationship with Baron Markus and Darius, it may have been reckless.

  But again, how could he stand by and do nothing? He was glad that he didn’t.

  He looked to the silent woman walking just behind him, hand still latched onto his like a vice. His heart ached as the sight of her. From her gait, he could tell that her legs had been broken and healed in bad ways, causing the loping, limping pace she kept. There was light bruising on her neck and arms. Hacker could only imagine what horrors she had been forced to endure. At Seller’s hands or others before he bought her.

  Damn it all, he would love nothing more than to let her go and run away from all of this. But as soon as he would do that, a Bodyhunter or some opportunistic rogue would snatch her away in the day or night. At least with him as his slave - only in name and appearance - she would be safe from harm. He knew of the few he called as true friends that they too would buy slaves as a pretence to own them, but in actuality give them a decent life as servants or secret colleagues. It wasn’t much to change the way of the world, but at least it was his way to do something.

  “What’s your name?” Hacker asked the woman. She glanced up at him with wide, scared eyes.

  “My name…” she spoke softly. “It’s… It’s… Gemma.”

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Gemma. You do not need to be scared anymore. I’ll take care of you. You just stay close, okay?”

  Gemma quickly nodded once and then stared at the ground once more.

  Turning around a few corners of the intersecting streets within the East Central district of the city, the pair arrived at a modest two floor house of brick and wooden supports. The front door was a painted deep blue with ivy crawling up and covering its front face. And standing in the doorway was a woman in the midst of carrying a basket of clothes into the house. She was medium height, with brownish blonde hair tied back into a single ponytail and dressed in a faded washerwoman’s dress and skirt.

  She turned and saw Hacker’s coming through her thin spectacles. She was demure in expression, but pretty in the eyes.

  Hacker grinned. “Sandra!” He called out. “Good morning.”

  Sandra smiled warmly as she laid her basket on the step. “Nathaniel Hacker. Always a pleasure.” She waited for Hacker to approach before embracing him.

  Hacker was pleased to see her well. It felt like it was only yesterday when he saw her as weakened as she was when giving birth to Thaddeus. Hacker didn’t dare leave the house for the fear of some complication arising. There had been too many scenarios where a happy birthing would turn sour at a moment’s notice.

  But thanks to all the gods, Thaddeus was brought through into the world, bright, beaming, bouncing and bawling. Which Hacker found to be yet another miracle. How could a child of such light and joy come from the blood of two people whose lives were mired in such miserable tragedy? It seemed that even a doctor like himself would be hard-pressed to unearth an explanation.

  After introducing Gemma as his newest assistant - which earned a knowing look from Sandra and a shocked one from Gemma herself - Hacker was invited inside for some delightful tea.

  Hunkered down behind a barrel, Boras watched Hacker conversing with the woman called Sandra. He rubbed his grime covered mouth, deep in thought. This didn’t look like anything out the ordinary, save for the doctor’s seemingly generous behaviour with his patients. This looked like another of a doctor’s cordial visits. So why did Boras get that feeling in his gut? Maybe it was his time spent with the Guild or the people in past who taught him to look for any angle, any opportunity to exploit and to follow any possibility.

  Hacker was someone important, in what way was only going to discovered by following up on it by any means. He watched the doctor walk inside with Sandra, followed by Gemma.

  Boras stood up and quickly slunk out of the alley and across the street towards the house. His head switched by and forth, keeping an eye out for any witnesses - which there were none. At the door, he squatted and crept around the house, turning the corner and seeing an open window. Pausing, he pulled back his scarf away from his ears and strained to listen in. It was a conversation between the two.

  “Regardless of what you felt was right,” the woman Sandra spoke. “What you have done is terribly risky. If someone were to find out what you have been doing, what your truer feelings are concerning the slaves… And gods forbid, if Markus were to-”

  “I am well aware of the risks that I pose for myself.” Hacker replied. “But it is for the greater good of my own soul, Sandra.”

  Markus! Boras clenched his jaw with excited justification. He knew there was a connection!

  “But why?” Sandra pursued. “You have done well for yourself these seven years I have known you. We all have a good life. We worked damned hard for them.”

  “What good is our lives when it has come at the expense of so many others?” He said this with a gravely remorseful tone.

  Sandra said nothing for a moment.

  Boras was seated under the window, listening to the conversation. He couldn’t help but look at the similarity between himself and this doctor. Both of them had a good handle on life that they each had forged in the world of today. While Hacker had a more lucrative position than Boras, it was a peaceful one like his, even though Boras had a very unsavoury start in life… Boras had every right to turn away that day when Arcos and Reeva were taken by Malachi. He would have been content with his lot, drinking and laughing and sleeping.

  But he chose to help, just as Hacker had done. He put his livelihood and life in jeopardy for people he barley knew. And he, like Hacker, was still doing that. Again, he had every possibility to stay in the Guild in safety. But here he was, in the heart of the enemy’s main capital city with bounty hunters and spies and Bodyhunters, all on the lookout for the three rebels that started Silverstreak’s short-lived insurrection. It was that nagging feeling of just doing the right thing because it was the right thing to do.

  Boras sometimes wished he was more callous or more mercenary like Malka Catcher. Then at least, he wouldn’t feel bad to leave them all behind. But he wouldn’t live with himself. No, no he was the way he was. As much as he would like to deny it, he was a godsdamned do-gooder, just like Reeva and Arcos.

  Boras smiled. His best friends really rubbed off on him in the most annoying ways.

  “I just…” Sandra finally spoke. “I just don’t want my son to live in squalor like my husband or in constant fear like me. What we do, what he does… it was always for Thaddeus’ benefit.”

  “And that is admirable in ways you cannot even know. But… surely you know that these times cannot last for long.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Gods, Sandra… haven’t you been down in the markets today? What has been talked about? There’s talk on open rebellion springing up in areas of the country. Arsons and break-ins. Fighting and riots. Times are going to change very quickly.”

  “Maybe. I know there has been that revolt in the Salt Pit. But the Barons have their Speakers out decrying any events of rebels as just rumours made by bandits and Tashiishan agitators.”

  “You haven’t been at the hospital. I have, and I have heard testimony from the beds of dying men and women, soldiers of the Barons. They have told me that rebels have been seen, have been fighting and what you have heard or not is true.”

  “But what do you expect me to do with this?”

  “I am not expecting anything. I am only telling you what I have learnt and what I have decided based on it. You must convince Darius to leave the Bodyhunters, take you and Thaddeus and leave.”

  Boras's felt his eyes go wide and his body tensed.

  Darius. No. No way. Not Arcos's Darius. Not Snowhair in Silverstreak. Holy hells…

  Sandra scoffed sadly. “There is no possible way that my husband would even think of that option. His loyalty to the Bodyhunters as much as his is to me. He will not leave, no matter how much I want him to.”

  Boras gripped his hands to stop the from shaking. Had he done it? Was this all that it took to find their path forward? Frankly, he thought it would have taken longer and be a lot more complicated, like a lot of threats, bribes and tedious investigating. Gods, this whole tracking lark was easy.

  “What are you doing down there?” Came a girl’s voice.

  Boras blinked from his stupor and looked to his right, towards the voice. Standing in the shadow of the house across from Sandra’s, arms crossed, was Sitra.

  Wait. What.

  Boras did a double take.

  What in all the hells? Sitra!?

  Boras nearly shouted her name in surprise, but he clamped a hand over his mouth to stop it from getting him in trouble for once. Silently, he frantically waved Sitra to get over there and be gods-damned quiet while doing it.

  Sitra rolled her eyes and walked over the street without giving so much as a glance around her. No stealth, no fear, no care. Boras watched her come towards him and he was having trouble thinking whether he should dislike her or respect her for it. At the very least, Sitra did squat and crawl towards Boras once she reached the house.

  Under the windowsill, she brought herself close to Boras so that she could whisper to him. Her hair was dressed in two braids that were tucked into the back of her shirt to allow for quick movement. Boras was away how bright her eyes were with her hair tucked away like that. They shone like emerald torches against the satin scarf that masked her.

  “You. Look. Ridiculous.” She covered her nose. “And you smell terrible.”

  He rolled his eyes. And there’s the attitude to counter those entrancing eyes.

  “That’s the bloody idea. It’s a disguise. You clearly don’t think of using one.” Boras hissed. “Oh. I’m sorry. I thought that was how you usually look when you’re not working.” Sitra smirked, her mouth twisting against the satin fabric. “And what do I need a fucking disguise for? Everyone in the city knows me, and stay the hells away from me. I don’t need to hide. Anyway, what are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing-” Boras jabbed a finger at her. “What are YOU doing here? Oh- just… What does it look like?” He sighed hotly. Reeva was right, Sitra was good at getting under their skins with only a few words. It was almost a talent. “I’m gathering information. Reconnaissance.”

  “Ooh… spycraft. My favourite. Who’s the lucky victim you’re stalking today, you pervert?” Sitra made to rise to look through the window. But Boras grabbed her wrist and yanked her back down.

  “Don’t stand up! Are you mad?” He snapped in a whisper.

  She wrenched her wrist out of his hand and just stared at him with wide eyes of indignant anger.

  Neither of them spoke for a moment. Boras saw her eyes gleaming with that rage.

  She held onto her wrist with a tremble. Her words came through in a dangerous whisper. “No one has ever - EVER - dared to grabbed me like that for a long time. Do not do that again. Ever.”

  Boras glared back. “Then don’t get us killed. Fuck’s sake!”

  The pair glared at one another with no movement and extreme vitriol. The conversation continued on whilst this confrontation happened.

  “What if I were to arrange you passage to a Southern port town? Maybe Paratell?” Hacker offered. “I have contacts in the Merchant district to transport people wishing to leave. I have done it before.”

  Sandra sighed. “Again, what would Darius say?”

  “Then we must find a way to convince him together.”

  The front door opened suddenly and a man’s voice came through. “Convince me of what?”

  Boras didn’t know how a few words could have the effect they had on him in that moment. Four words from an emotionally deadpan voice that caused a shiver through his spine. Looking at Sitra’s similarly intimidated expression, she seemed to share the feeling of dread Boras had.

  Darius bloody Snowhair was here.

  The man that nearly killed them all.

  The man who dragged Arcos into the life he has now. Boras did not dare breathe. What if Darius heard him? He could still recall those sickles the Bodyhunter wielded. How they sliced through flesh like butter… He was certain that Darius would no show hesitation in ending them there and then, with them so close to his wife and son.

  Boras exchanged a look with Sitra and put a finger to his mouth. Sitra gave back an expression that could only be interpreted as: Yeah, no shit.

  “Husband.” Sandra spoke. A chair scrapped along the wooden floor and footsteps crossed the room. There was a kiss. It sounded tender. “You are well?”

  “I am, love.” Darius replied calmly. “Hacker…”

  “Darius. It warms me to see you so soon after.” Hacker said. “As it does me, old friend.” Darius yawned. “It was a long night.”

  “Let me help you get dressed. I can make you some tea.” Sandra offered as more movement could be heard in the room. “I am sorry, my love.” Darius denied. “But I am only here to bring Hacker back with me.”

  “What?” Hacker spoke. “Back to the Fortress? But I was only there a day before.”

  “The Baron requires that you make daily visits from now on. He wants the stock to be in perfect selling condition.”

  The stock. Boras shuddered. He could only assume that the stock were the slaves Markus had taken. Chiefly, his friends. Barnabas. Nerisity. The others. He felt a pit of anger swelling inside him. It shouldn’t have come to his surprise to hear people talking about slaves in such a way. But it was. It really was. People were not just stock.

  Seemed Sandra shared this view. “Darius. Don’t use that word…”

  “Ah- I’m sorry, love. Force of habit. When everyone else says the same thing… it can be hard to ignore. But that is no excuse. I am sorry.”

  “That’s alright.”

  There was another kiss before Hacker sighed deeply. “So be it.” Another chair scrapped on the floor. “Sandra, a pleasure as always.”

  “What of this person?” Darius asked, no doubt talking about Gemma - who had remained silent throughout the entire conversation.

  “She’s with me.” Hacker said. “She will be working for me in the hospital’s wards. I hope that does not cause an issue.”

  “I do not see why it should. But she must remain with my wife. I doubt the Baron will take kindly to a slave freely walking around the fortress. Now, let us leave.” Footsteps and a door opened.

  Boras nodded at Sitra and pointed quietly towards the corner of the house. As one, they slowly crept along the wall till they stopped at the corner. With the slowest movement that could draw envy from a snail, they peeked around to watch as Darius stepped into the street.

  Boras did all he could to not squirm. The man was tall, as much as the doorway he stepped out from. He was well built, with a sharpened jawline and hard eyes. His nose was pointed like an arrow. Though he had pallid skin and jaundice eyes, he still struck an imposing figure.

  A proper killer.

  Darius waited for Hacker to emerge and gave the doctor a single, respectful nod, which Boras found intriguing for a Bodyhunter to be so cordial with someone outside the slavery organisation.

  The two men made to head away from the house till a cry came out from the home.

  “Wait!” It was the voice of a small boy.

  The men stopped as a small boy of blonde and white hair jumped from the doorway and bounded his way towards the men. And Darius, Darius Snowhair of the Bodyhunters and certainly one of the more terrifying people Boras had the misfortune of knowing, knelt down with open arms and an uncharacteristic smile on his hatchet face. As if a mask had peeled off in the face of innocence.

  The boy, again no doubt was Thaddeus, jumped with a chuckle and landed squarely into the arms of the Bodyhunter. The Bodyhunter uttered a short burst of laughter and swung his son off from the ground in a tight embrace. It was a father’s embrace. Boras was stunned by the sight and judging from Sitra’s stare, so was she.

  Darius kissed Thaddeus on the cheek, dropped back down on his knee and spoke a few words that Boras could not hear. Thaddeus nodded and ran back to the house.

  Darius remained there, watching his son leave. Hacker stepped up next to him and patted his shoulder. The smile on Darius’s face faded quickly and he was back to business. With his mask back on, he rose, turned on his heel and strode away with Hacker hurrying behind him.

  Boras and Sitra slowly walked away from the house, loosely going in Darius’ and Hacker’s direction.

  “Well.” Sitra spoke at normal volume. “I did not expect that.”

  “Neither did I.” He replied.

  “You don’t get it. Bodyhunters are sworn to abandon emotional attachments. It would cause emotional distress, weaknesses. The fact that he is married. And has a kid… He has no idea what trouble he could get in if he was found out.”

  “All good to know. I’m going after them.” Boras gritted his teeth. “Are you touched in the head??” Sitra pursued him to get in front of him. “What are you planning to do here?”

  Boras halted before her. “Again, reconnaissance. I need to know more.”

  “Need to know more… You’re gonna get caught, you ass!”

  “No. I’m very sneaky.” He grinned.

  “Oh, for…” Sitra shook her head as she put her hands on her hips. “Alright. If this helps your scheme, then at least it would help us with some planning.”

  “Us?”

  Sitra gave him a raised eyebrow. “How long have you been in this city? You know all the shortcuts? The alleys? The secret tunnels the Mercury Gang use?”

  Boras chewed his tongue. “Well… no. But I don’t need help with tracking.”

  “Yes you do. So if you’re going, then so am I. And before you say it’s too dangerous, just remember who I am and what I will be when my father retires.”

  Boras and Sitra stared at one another for a moment, thinking.

  Then Boras laughed to himself and shook his head. “When will I learn to say no?”

  “Never to me.” Sitra gave Boars a wink before gesturing him to move ahead of her. “Lead the way, partner.”