Day 70, 07:00 PM
“I say let the world go to hell, but I should always have my tea.”
― Fyodor Dostoevsky
“… but that’s not the most important thing,” I finish narrating the pacification of the devils to the council of influential, trustworthy citizens Manny had called into session even before we set off into the tomb.
“And pray tell, what is more important than successfully binding the devils?” Katen, a slimy merchant with oiled hair, wearing vibrant green silks, asks.
I disliked the fellow from the moment I saw him, but Manny insisted he was trustworthy and influential, so I let him slide. He has enough confidence to speak up, even though there are several more important people at the table, calmly analyzing what I said.
I glance at my woman. Manny sits at the head of the table, not saying a word, mired in her own thoughts and doubts. A moment passes, and she remains silent, so I reply.
“We found treasure in the tomb. Two hundred crates filled with gold, weapons, and armor. Enough to outfit a sizable army and hire several large mercenary armies for a year or two.”
Vatten’s and Phill’s eyes narrow in realizations immediately, and the rest either don’t get it, or they knew Duke Eagleeye really was preparing for a war of independence. The discovery certainly shocked Manny.
I don’t really care who is in the right and who is in the wrong; what concerns me are her surging emotions, which are bad for her and the baby. Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do to ease her burden right now. The only thing I can do for her is lead this meeting to a desirable conclusion while she is dazed. So, I clear my throat and continue.
“With these assets, we can negotiate with foreign powers, bribe the king’s loyalists, and field a large, professional-looking army. Hopefully, we have at least six months of training before major battles start, and they make them more than just professional-looking.”
Vatten nods. His gesture is slow and deliberate, I can see the cogs in his head turning, including the implication that the duke kept this stash a secret even from him. His ignorance is also the dead duke’s advice to me. Keep him close, trust him with distant lands, but don’t put complete faith into him.
Did he do it because he believed Vatten might betray him? Or did he see the relationship between the king and himself mirrored in how he and Vatten did things? Vatten certainly has become a powerful player. Strong enough to balance two entire countries and dissuade them from attacking him.
That’s not a bad line of thought to pursue when I have more time. I file it for later consideration as Vatten opens his mouth.
“You have found the late duke’s contingency funds for harsh winters. This is fortunate, and it will aid our cause greatly.”
Rainy days? Really? That’s how you’re going to explain it? Surprisingly, everyone around the table nods, save for Phill, who’s still frowning. Two nods later, he makes his decision and also nods, showing he’s agreeing with Vatten’s explanation.
Well, I guess we can play ignorant. What I’m wondering about the most are the traitors caught trying to free the devils ten years ago. Were they really traitors? Were they king’s men investigating what the late duke was doing in the tomb? Or were they the unlucky bastards hauling the crates, eliminated after performing their duty?
Master Dorigund, the late duke’s secretary, keeps avoiding my gaze. My gut tells me he probably knows everything, there’s almost no chance something of this magnitude had gone unnoticed by the man in charge of the treasury.
Does it really matter?
Not really. Whether the duke was guilty or innocent when the king acted was and is irrelevant. Manny and the crown are past the point of peaceful reconciliation and coexistence. So, I will crush them in her name and pave the way for her future. As for Dorigund, assuming he knew the secret, he endured ten years in the dungeon without betraying his lord’s trust, which immediately brings him to the forefront of an extremely short line of trustworthy people.
Once more, I wait for Manny to speak, but she remains silent and the silence stretches. The meeting unfolds without us, Vatten taking initiative, suggesting we move the crates as soon as possible, and only towards the end does Manny find a few words she wanted to say.
“Gomer, Aang has noticed a difference between old devils and the newly bedeviled, one which is not mentioned in the books we have read.”
Despite the solemn atmosphere, Gomer cannot hide the shine in his eyes as Manny explains our discovery. He bites his lip, no doubt searching for dramatic words which will match the grim tome.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
The meeting draws to a close with Manny’s suggestion that we brick up the tomb’s inner doors.
“Anything I can do to help?” I ask, walking half a step behind her.
“You have done plenty. Thank you for taking charge of the meeting. You have performed admirably.”
“How do you know?”
“Nobody interrupted you while you spoke. That means you were addressing the right issues at a proper pace in the correct order.”
Yeah… It’s fine to say you weren’t listening. We made a colossal discovery regarding your deceased father, the war which ruined your family, and destroyed your life. It’s only natural you need time to gather your wits.
“Thanks.” I almost sigh in relief when Blunt spewed nothing stupid. I’ve spent weeks now, paying close attention to my mouth, clamping it shut when needed, with varying degrees of success.
“Do you want to talk about anything?” I ask, and she shakes her head.
“I’m fine.”
You’re not. Luckily, we do have a topic that will hopefully help her get her mind off the crates and all their implications.
“You promised you’d tell me about weird plants, animals, and phenomena once we’re done with the devil subjugation.”
She slips while walking. I grab her upper arm in a firm, yet gentle grip. She wants to be alone now, she wants to brood and analyze and think, but there is nothing good coming from those thoughts, nothing to be gained from picking at old truths better left buried in deep crypts.
“I really want to know.” I give her my winning smile, and she rolls her eyes. She’s an intelligent woman. She knows what I’m doing and why, and she knows I won’t let the matter drop.
I expected her to hiss a ‘Fine,’ or maybe a ‘Very well.’ She doesn’t.
“Devils are one of the five threats to humanity. All of them are either suppressed or we built our settlements far enough from them that they pose little to no danger. Griffons are another. They are impossibly swift, and legends state their hides are impervious to weapons. Luckily, they are few and they rarely venture outside their territories. Deep ones live in the seas surrounding Arborea. They venture out on dry land to hunt, and because of them humans never built cities or even small settlements on the shore of the four seas, despite the sea’s bounty. Luckily, they seem to fear river water and keep to the open sea…”
***
Ripening 10th, late afternoon
Ibrahim, the fearsome assassin and death abbot of the Grim brotherhood, observed his marks as they left the tomb, surrounded by a ring of guards. Despite their preposterous wardrobe, the short, pudgy man could tell his target at a glance. The duchess turned whore he had tasted half a decade ago was half a palm taller than her protector.
The fifty-year-old assassin had observed General Blackstaff’s training and listened to his soldiers’ stories when they drank in the Bucket of Figs. Angry, they called him, and they were right. The alias suited the monster perfectly.
He had caught the ghastly descriptions on how he had broken Jallen’s body and squashed the man into a giant meatball. Ibrahim’s skin had crawled when he watched the fury with which Angry slew Malek, tossing a simple woodman’s dagger well outside human throwing range.
Ibrahim learned from his juniors’ mistakes. He tried to separate the target from her monstrous protector, but the madman brought her with him into the devil-infested tomb.
What now? The assassin rubbed his nose, sinking deeper into the tree’s crown, his green, brown, and yellow tight-fitting robe melding with the leaves.
The first and simplest method of assassination, one frequently chosen by initiates and failures was assassinating the target in their sleep. The method failed more often than not, and Ibrahim disapproved of Jallen’s choice, going so far as to warn the young hopeful.
Customers hired the grim brotherhood to eliminate difficult targets, not commoners who sleep without a care in the world. Yet Jallen did not heed his abbot’s advice. His death was natural, inevitable, like all deaths.
Malek’s approach, on the other hand, was a shiny example of assassination techniques. Great distance, a position difficult to spot and easy to get away from, and yet the so-called Angry General reacted before Ibrahim heard the bow twang.
The rest of the incident was burned into Ibrahim’s brain, and he vowed not to take his shot until Angry was sufficiently far away from the target, preferably a city away. Releasing the devils seemed foolproof, yet the bestial warrior acted randomly and broke the trap.
What if he immediately realized I just wanted to separate them? Now that would be scary. If he really has such a level of insight and the physical ability he has displayed so far, he’s even more dangerous than I predicted. What do I do now?
The death abbot slowed his breathing and calmed his heart.
It’s not worth the risk. The task came without a deadline. ‘If she reveals herself, eliminate her.’ Very loose terms for a questionably probable assassination. I have enough savings, and I can settle down here. Should the opportunity present itself, and he leaves the mark’s side, I will strike. If he stays with her all the time or just in the vicinity, well, they’ll spend months or years looking over their shoulder, wondering when the third assassin will strike.
Ibrahim stopped picking at his nose and looked at his fingers for a long moment, considering his choices and their repercussions on his future. He had become a death abbot not because of his art of assassination, but because he knew how to pick his battles, when to pretend he was sick and skip on work, and when to take a job. He had grown old thanks to that very skill.
The contract for Manuella Eagleeye was his first lapse in judgment. By Ibrahim’s calculations, she should never have reached Eaglegord, let alone slain viscount Gohen. Unfortunately, the easy money phantom job had turned out to be an unpleasantly real tough nut. One better ignored or passed to someone else.
This is way above my paygrade. I’ll open a bakery in a side street and wait for a chance, which will hopefully never come.
And so, Ibrahim, the fearsome assassin and death abbot of the Grim brotherhood, went to the brothel to get drunk and continue his indecent, indulgent life, exploiting a contractual technicality.