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“I don’t know any redheads!” the dandy insisted. He turned to his companions, “Don’t listen to him – he’s drunk!” Then he leaped up from his chair and quickly made for the exit.
“My goodness,” Sorgius raised his eyebrows. “How long has he been having these fits?” The young women glanced at each other, at a loss for words.
“Here you are again, fooling around with the women while your whole purpose goes up in smoke,” someone hissed in his right ear. “Just keep sitting there, big professional!” It was Vordius. As soon as he spoke, he was gone.
Sorgius pushed his chair back. “Ladies, this will just take a minute!” he tossed over his shoulder as he raced after his friend.
The two women cried foul. “You forgot to pay!” It was their first attempt at hunting for fat wallets among the ladies’ men of Enteveria, and they ended up having to pay out of their own thin purses for a jug of the most expensive wine in the house.
* * *
“Keep up with him no matter what, even if he notices you. When he turns around, wave at him friendly-like. I’ll be on the other side of the street…”
Sorgius looked doubtful. “What if he gets in a carriage and drives off?”
But they were in luck. The dandy passed by the waiting carriages and hurried down the Avenue of Twelve Virtues, trying unsuccessfully to melt into the crowd. He turned around frequently to see if he was being followed, and soon caught sight of Sorgius. This sent him skittering into a side street. Sorgius ran after him.
Again, he was in luck. The narrow lane was lined by high fences, and when the dandy finally found a gap and tried to slip through it, he ran right into a hulk of a man who threw him easily against the fence on his right.
“Watch out, Sorgius!” Vordius called to his friend.
His shoulder bruised, the dandy sized up the situation and pulled out a short dagger.
“Stay back or I’ll draw blood!” he said hoarsely, his eyes darting from one to the other.
“What is that you’re holding?” Vordius asked, hands on hips. “Civilians in the Empire are prohibited from carrying weapons of war…”
“Let me go!” screeched their victim, waving the dagger.
“…and I’m going to have to confiscate that from you,” the Imperial Guard finished his sentence.
He leaped smoothly to one side, tossing his cape over the dandy’s head and easily knocking his feet out from under him.
He picked up the knife while the dandy writhed in pain. “This isn’t good for much more than peeling apples, but you could put your eye out with it.” He stooped and retrieved his cape. “Now, what’s your name?”
“Sermey,” the dandy whispered. “Senius Sermey. I have money,” he touched his belt. “Just let me go!”
“Money is nice,” Vordius smiled, “but that’s not what I need from you.”
Sermey’s eyes were as round as plates as he imagined all sorts of unpleasant things.
“What I need is information,” Vordius continued in a conciliatory voice. “Now tell me, Senius Sermey, have you ever tasted a human eye?”
Poor Sermey’s heart was racing so hard that it almost broke through his chest.
“I see that you haven’t,” Vordius smiled and looked around in a stagey manner, as if to assure himself that they were still alone. “But there’s a first time for everything. There is a cocktail called Eyeball. You take an eye – yours, for example,” and he gestured with the knife, causing his victim to flinch. “You add two egg yolks, white wine, and a little salt. Do you know what you end up with?” he suddenly roared right in Sermey’s face. The man shook. His face was wet with tears, and the ground under him was wet with something else entirely.
“You end up with something really stupid!” he spat in the man’s face. “Because a nice young man like yourself ends up missing an eye. And why?” he asked, turning to Sorgius with a predatory smile. “Because he was too stupid to tell to fine, upstanding men the name of his girlfriend.” He paused. “She’s about five fens tall, red hair, green eyes, and she has a mole on her left cheek.” Each word hit Sermey right between the eyes.
“No, no!” he cried, his nose running. “She doesn’t have a mole. I swear it by the life-giving power of the Sun!”
“No mole?” Vordius repeated joyfully. “Then give me her name, where she lives, and her parents’ names. Slowly and clearly!”
Sermey wiped his face. “Her name is Fenia Brazelo. That was the only time I laid eyes on her, I swear!”
“That’s too bad. I’m sorry for you,” Vordius sighed. “Your choice. Left or right?”
“No, don’t! I beg you! May the Darkness take me if I’m lying!” Sermey was already foaming at the mouth. “The barber Taney brought her to the Fish that night. Ask him about her!”
“Who is this barber?”
“You don’t know Master Taney? He cuts the hair of many upstanding men,” the dandy tried timidly to gain ground.
“I don’t have to know him if you do.” Vordius chuckled. “Tell him I’ll be waiting for him today when the Heavenly Deity sinks to its outermost palace. I’ll be in the Ravine of Divine Song, just a few steps south of the Old Grotto. Tell him he’s mixed up in an attempt to assassinate an important member of the government. If he declines to spend an evening with me, he’ll spend the next few years in prison. The one we call Heavenly Submission!”
“I will tell him,” Sermey stuttered. “I’ll go right now.”
He stood and righted his dirty robe.
Sorgius turned to his friend with wide eyes. “I’m beginning to be afraid of you sometimes. This man is a nobody, but you worked him over like he was a black-hearted villain!”
“May I have my knife back?” Sermey piped up.
“Of course,” Vordius bowed. “I’ll lay it in your cold hands at your funeral. Now,” he barked, “get moving, scum! Or else this dagger will play havoc with your eyes…”“He’ll be here,” Vordius sneered.
The ravine was an excellent place to watch the sunset, but the friends had more important things on their minds. As always, Sorgius had studied the situation from all angles and chosen the least pleasant possibility to discuss in an attempt to rile his friend.
“We should have gone to his house…”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out, Sorgius! The dandy with the funny hair ran off as soon as you mentioned the girl, and that means he could smell his bacon frying!”
“I know that,” Sorgius sighed and scratched at a spot on his chin he had missed while shaving. “I’m worried about who the girl is. She didn’t look like a courtesan, and you can trust my experience on that!”
Vordius slapped his shoulder. “You certainly had time to look her over!”
“You can laugh if you like, but I didn’t.”
“What? Do you mean to say…”
“I do. Everything went just as I told Sermey and his girlfriends back at the Song of the Star. It was the first time in my life I felt used by a woman, if you can imagine.”
Vordius shook his head. “Well, you can cry about it if you want, but you’ll have another chance to win her heart once we find her.”
“How kind of you!” Sorgius turned his head to look up the path. “I’ll let you talk to the scissors man on your own. I don’t like watching you torture people!”
“Fine, if you’re that soft. Go sit in the bushes and wait until I call for you. Did you remember to bring what I asked for?”
“I most certainly did,” Sorgius threw a canvas sack over one shoulder and walked off into the underbrush.
Vordius stretched, rolled his shoulders, and strolled out from under the trees onto a bare patch of ground. Many years ago, before the opening of Enteveria’s central park, this place had been a popular spot for evening entertainment. Now, it looked wild and empty. When the young guard heard footsteps, he closed his eyes. “A man. Weighs about two hundred and fifty baklas. Short and stocky.” When he opened his eyes again, he was pleased to see that he had been right. All his eyes could add was the fact that the man was bald and wore a thin, black moustache with an unpleasant smile under it.
“A bald barber,” Vordius said. He scratched his head and returned the unpleasant smile with one of his own. “Just like a shoemaker with no shoes.”
The new arrival walked up and showed his teeth. “So you’re the handsome fellow that scared my friend half to death? That was a bad business. A very bad business. I hear you love the ladies. Redheads. Is that right?”
“They’ll soon be teaching you about love in prison. My name is Vordius Onato, and I’m a nicor in the Imperial Guards. Here is my badge. I’m investigating the attempted assassination of a high-level civil servant. We believe the redheaded girl had something to do with it. You have a choice. You can tell what you know about her to me, here and now, or you can tell it to the inspectors at Heavenly Submission tonight.”
Taney’s ugly smile turned really foul. His pig-like eyes were defiant, and his tiny mouth disappeared in the fat rolls of his chin.
“Boss, I’m as clean as a prison bowl after breakfast. I had nothing to do with it.”
“We’ll find out just how clean you are, you can be sure of that,” Vordius grumbled, cracking his knuckles.
“I’ll be happy to prove it,” Taney said sweetly. “I have a whole crowd of witnesses, and they can’t wait to tell you how innocent I am.”
The back of Vordius’ head went cold. Seven men suddenly stepped out from under the trees, and it didn’t take more than a glance to see that they were riffraff, young men from poor families who had willingly chosen a life of causing bodily harm to others.
“Let me introduce you to my apprentices,” Taney said. “They help me with my toughest customers.”
The young men nodded.
“Boys, this honorable Enel from the guards of our most beloved Great Lord Kergenius has asked us to render him services at home.”
The thugs laughed and made a circle around Vordius.
“Why at home, Enel? We can render you services right here. Snip-snip and you’re all done,” growled a man with a red beard and a fat nose as he drew a dagger.
Vordius didn’t move a muscle, but he was wound tight as a spring inside. He needed to do something and quick. He couldn’t take on the whole gang by himself.
While he was thinking, Taney stepped up and looked at his belt. “Look at what we have here! A sword. Just the thing for cutting hair. Enel Onato, will you allow a humble barber to demonstrate his arts?”
Without waiting for a response, Taney slowly put his hand on the hilt. The gesture violated everything Vordius believed about proper behavior, and there was only one possible reaction. He grabbed the man’s fat hand and twisted it hard. Taney cried out and fell to one knee. In an instant, one of the apprentices grabbed Vordius by the hair while another – a small hoodlum with a Capotian face – knocked his feet out from under him. Taney stood up, a shining razor in his hand. The phony smile was gone, replaced by an expression that boded ill for Vordius.
“Hold him while I give the Enel an intimate haircut!”
Vordius tried to hit the man behind him with his head, but he was held too tight. He was stronger than most men, but Taney’s apprentices were professional criminals who knew exactly what they were doing. His body was wet with sweat, but his mouth was dry, with a metallic taste. Is this really the end? flashed through his mind.
The man with the red beard gestured with his knife again, and the others laughed. Master Taney stepped aside, and his place was taken by giant of a man with a hunched back who grabbed Vordius’ belt with a hairy fist.
All of a sudden, there was a snapping sound in the bushes, like the sound of someone beating a carpet. The thugs let go of Vordius. The bearded man grabbed his buttocks and let out an awful cry, and the giant groaned. He turned and retreated with a limp. The small Capotian got the worst of it: a bolt no more than two hands long pierced both of his cheeks at once with striking accuracy.
Taney leaped toward the trees and crouched down. He looked around, trying to ascertain the direction of the attack. Vordius’ hobnailed boot made contact with his sweaty face. The barber fell back, dropped his razor and began to yell, his mouth spouting blood.
He must have bitten through his tongue, Vordius laughed to himself. He pulled his sword from its scabbard and barked at the unfortunate riffraff, “Put your knives on the ground and hands in the air! Take five steps back! Now lie down on the ground!”
This highly unusual turn of events had evidently hypnotized the thugs’ meager brains. Like sleepwalkers, they followed the orders of the man whom, minutes before, they had been intending to torture with the cruelty that was characteristic of the capital city’s underclasses.
“You fools, did you think I would come alone?” Vordius worked himself up, his fear turning into anger. “Who did you dare raise your hands against? I have a bowman behind every tree. One move and you’ll all look like pincushions, you lousy wretches!”
The ruffians lay quietly, their bodies flat to the ground. Taney shoved a corner of the fancy robe he wore into his bleeding mouth. He was in no condition to talk. Vordius walked down the line of hostages and put his boot on the head of a young ruffian with a shock of dark hair and a face that was too tender for his line of work. His check pressed into the clay, the boy squinted his eyes shut.
“You raised your hand against an officer in the Imperial Guards,” Vordius informed him. “Do you know what the punishment for that is? They’ll burn your eyes out with mirrors, char your skin off and throw you in a cesspool, where you’ll howl in agony until you die. Attempting to harm one of the Emperor’s guards is the same as raising a hand against the Great Lord himself, may the Heavenly Deity preserve him for ages!”
Shaking, the boy bleated out, “Enel officer, we never would have harmed a hair on your head! It was a stupid joke, nothing more! Take pity on us and we’ll do anything you ask!”
“What can you do for me, swine? You’re about as useful as a candle on a bright summer day! I’ll turn you over to the Guards and take my reward!” He turned back to the tress. “Hey, Svenius! Inpato! Bring the ropes!”
“Enel nicor!” came a deep voice to his left. “We know how it is. You want that girl. The redhead. We can help you out…”
“Speak for yourself, Bergius,” hissed a young ruffian in a leather tunic and braided leggings. “You’re the one Asp will cut into tiny pieces. Not the rest of us.”
“Not so, Nicius,” said the deep voice. “You’re all in it now.” The speaker was a young man with a simple, round face, low forehead and prominent cheekbones. He looked like a peasant. “I’d rather spend the rest of my life back in my village in Semeria than get fried alive because of some stupid business of that fat Taney!”
“Stop chattering!” Vordius cried. “I want her name, where she lives, and who her family is. Tell me everything you know, or I swear by my honor I will personally deliver you to the Heavenly Throne’s jailers!”
“We don’t know those things, Enel nicor,” the young man with the peasant face said apologetically.
“I don’t believe you!” Vordius hissed. He reached for the hilt of his sword.
“May the Heavenly Deity burn me from head to foot, I don’t know what you are asking!” The peasant was calm and sober, like a man who has accepted a twist of fate and is making the best of it. “We are little people. You need to find Fire Asp. In the port, not even the mice leave droppings without his permission. That’s the truth.”
“Fire Asp?” Vordius laughed. “Is that his name? And where would I find him?”
“Fire Asp is everywhere and nowhere,” growled the man in the leather tunic.
“Speak up!” Vordius turned to him.
The peasant spoke for him. “There’s a house-boat restaurant in the port called Lotus Petals. Taney is supposed to meet someone there tomorrow, at the beginning of the second watch. I’ve heard talk that Asp will be there, too.”
Vordius turned to the barber, who was moaning, his robe black with blood.
“Taney has more important things to worry about now,” he said. He eyed them all. “Think of it this way: you just made the best bargain of your lives. But this is no pardon. It’s a head start. I’m on your tails, and so is that Asp. So take your cripple and his tongue,” he speared the bloody piece of meat with the tip of his sword and held it out to the talkative ruffian, “and get the Shadows out of the city.”
Without waiting for further explanation, the apprentices picked up their master and hobbled away as fast as they could. Vordius put his sword away and sighed – he hadn’t gotten to use it for its intended purpose. Despite all his bravado, it had been his first truly difficult fight.
When he caught sight of Sorgius crawling out of the bushes, he did his best to hide how worried he had been. “What was that you were shooting?” he asked.
His friend smiled proudly and held out a strange device.
“Let me see that!” Vordius took it in both hands. “A Capotian multi-shooter? These are toys! I remember when some merchants tried to sell us some of these. The bolts barely pierce canvas. I’d rather spit toothpicks!” he laughed.
“There’s an idea,” Sorgius said, raising a finger. “I’ve been trying to come up with a name for it, and I think ‘Spitter’ is just the thing!”
Vordius made a face. “I suppose they’re fine for use in the city, especially at close range.” He turned the device over in his hands. “Where did you get it?”
“My Uncle Rikso brought it back from the homeland.”
“He brought it back, did he?” Vordius raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you know this thing is contraband.”
