HARVEY LOGAN

On his way to the inn, gazes were locked on him. Clearly, the presence of the guards made everyone gawk. Harvey was accustomed to attention, even the predatory stares hadn’t been enough to bring him to his knees. The cape towners were upset because of Yucca. Understandable. In no part of the world, bandits were the welcomed news. The recent years were bad enough. Without the emperor, the banditry has thrived and the empire seemed uninterested in changing the status quo. Why? Harvey could only guess. The matters of the empire were far beyond the scope of his expertise. He could scam the rich of the Red Cities and even the Royalblood Houses within it. But to think of the interregional politics? No. Harvey understood his limits. Whatever reasons the empire had in letting the bandits fester, they must have been good ones. “Leave the empire to the Government. Never come close to this establishment or even mention that word. The Government is what makes the empire so deadly for us.” My father had good advice always at the tip of his fingers. But he hadn’t lived by the rules he had preached. He couldn’t stop reaching higher and higher. Sometimes, Harvey wished to know what exactly happened to his father. Which scheme killed him?

They came to a stop before the inn. Something was off. He smelled the smoke then and his heart skipped a beat. Garhala’s rotten tooth! What’s going on?! One of the guards shoved him hard into the inn. The guards followed him inside. Shouts exploded from outside. The villagers went crazy.

Harvey stumbled forward. The guards used force to push him farther. They clearly wanted to leave him in the hands of the innkeeper. But as they charged inside, things escalated in an unexpected direction. Tables were turned over with signs of the fight all over the place. It was not what caught Harvey’s and guards’ attention though. Near the corner and amongst the upturned tables, a man sobbed. Zuma held something … someone in his arms. He didn’t notice the three men approach. He didn’t seem to care.

“What happened?” a guard asked. Zuma didn’t answer as he swayed, sitting on the floor. “What happened, innkeeper?”

“Bandits.” It was all he said and the guards didn’t inquire further as steps sounded upstairs. It had to be Siddy.

Harvey took a better look and saw who Zuma held in his arms. It was the serving girl. Blood was all over her. Killed? Garhala, bless her soul. That idiot Siddy killed her? Why? The answer soon arrived. Siddy ran down the stairs, his eyes wide. His stare was maniacal. Sharproot. When he saw the guards, he rushed toward the exit, but a guard was faster. The bandit had only a long knife and still managed to fend the guard with ease. These people, they don’t have experience. The guard showed some skill but in the face of a true opponent who wanted to kill you, the man faltered. It was only a matter of time before the knife found its way between the guard’s ribs. Siddy grabbed the sack he’d dropped a moment ago and escaped. The other guards stood frozen. He didn’t move for the entire fight, which couldn’t last longer than ten seconds.

Harvey’s eyes returned to the innkeeper and a dead girl. Zuma’s hatred was almost as heavy as a physical blow. The guard finally moved, Harvey didn’t see the fist that knocked him out.

*

His head felt like split into two pieces. He groaned at first, then his pulse increased when he tasted blood in his mouth. At least one tooth was seemed loose as he prodded it with his tongue. He shook off the confusion. He sat on a chair, tied to it. It has to happen sooner or later. This is what you get when you work with amateurs! Of course, this was more complex than that. Harvey’s options were severely limited. It could be said, he danced on a sharp edge. Running away from the butcher and his cronies didn’t seem possible. Cape Town appeared to be the first place that created a chance to escape.

He lifted his head and hissed as the massive headache erupted above his eyes.

“He’s awake. Inform the mayor.”

Harvey heard the door shut and for many moments nothing else but his pulse in his ears. He wished for a bed and a pain-easing salve or concoction. At least the air inside wasn’t damp and heavy. The jungle was a nightmare when it came to moisture. Nothing could beat the fresh breeze from the Red Bay. And from what Harvey learned, season-wise the worst was as ahead of him. Something called Drowner Monsoon, which would bring constant downpour and the air so humid, it could drown a person as they stood. It was difficult to imagine and Harvey hoped that the bandits lied to him about this. The Red Cities had two seasons and to notice the difference one needed to understand the sea.

The door opened without a warning and many sets of boots entered. Harvey didn’t risk lifting his head. The pain was already too much.

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“Out.” A sharp command could only come from one person. The mayor. “And make sure that no one comes closer than fifty feet to the inn.”

The guards left. There were three of them. Harvey squinted to better see who came to see him. There was the mayor, her tattooed killer, and another two people Harvey hasn’t met before. One stood tall, a hunter’s knife attached to his belt, he had a leather shirt on him. His lean limbs looked strong and agile. This man looked like a honed weapon ready to kill. The last man was short with glasses and a long gray hair tied at his shoulder. He was old and strangely enough, there was no hatred in his gaze.

“Who are you?” A cold tone made Harvey shiver. Such a voice was a common prelude before a murder. Garhala, take them. But the deity of death has remained silent – as always – to Harvey’s pray. Why wouldn’t he? Harvey didn’t believe in the Pantheon or any other lesser religion.

A sound of a blade leaving a sheath was one that’s always filled Harvey with a dread of imminent death. He thought of all the reasons, which kept his head on his neck. They needed information. This was his only asset in this game. The cold and a little moist edge touched his neck. A tattooed arm held it with confidence. Harvey’s sniffed citrus and oil from the man and his knife.

“You’ll answer the mayor’s questions or I’ll cut your throat. Understood?”

These people were much more rational than bandits and many villagers he’s encountered on his way here. This single fact made Harvey sure that there was a healthy chance of getting out of this mess alive. Rationality was the foundation of the society and one of the biggest weaknesses the human nature possessed. It made people predictable. This was the environment where Harvey Logan thrived and it was the time for a bet.

“I am guessing that the bandits escaped.”

The blade didn’t waver but the man said with emphasis, “answer the question.”

“Tenoch-Ling, shouldn’t you ask about—”

“Silence, Charcot,” Tenoch-Ling interrupted the old man. “When I need your input, I’d ask you for it.” The doctor fell silent.

“Answer the mayor,” the tattooed guard said. The blade withdrew and he grabbed Harvey’s finger. “Or I will break them one by one.” This was a threat Harvey couldn’t ignore. They might not need to kill him after all, only torture. It left the conman with very little room to work with. It should be enough.

“I didn’t lie about my identity.”

“You called your personal guards, bandits, how is that?”

“Well.” Harvey’s lips and throat were parched but he didn’t risk licking them. This would send the wrong message. “They are bandits.”

The entire room tensed up at his words. It was the confirmation they needed.

“To what group do they belong?”

“Butcher’s.”

The lean guy who hasn’t spoken so far crossed the distance and slashed his hunter knife. If not for the tattooed man’s awareness, Harvey would be dead. He tackled the attacker on the floor but wasn’t the end of this. The lean guy wasn’t as strong built as the tattooed guard, but he was agile as hell.

“Stop it!” The mayor cut in. “Or I will have you hanged, Sul-Tizoca.”

Sul-Tizoca hissed but stopped struggling. “He must be killed!”

“I am not one of them,” Harvey said as confident as he could. Sul-Tizoca seemed bent on killing him. It could prove an asset and the shortest way to get himself killed.

“Explain.”

“Around ten weeks ago, my archaeological expedition was attacked by the butcher’s gang. They went through all my people in less than five minutes. I talked myself into their ranks offering them help with scams while waiting for the chance to escape. The scams were meant to be bloodless. Butcher promised that no one would die. In Yucca, everything went wrong. Red Bill killed their chief for not wanting to pay. They started the massacre.”

Sul-Tizoca scoffed. “Butcher promised you something. How nice of him. Let me kill this bastard, mayor.”

The old man stood up and left without a word. No one tried to stop him.

The mayor considered Harvey’s words or at least he hoped so. If she let this madman kill him, it’d mean troubles.

“I can tell you everything about them!”

“You’ll one way or another,” the tattooed man chimed in.

“The names of the men who came with you.”

Harvey told them. He didn’t have any loyalty to the bandits. So nothing tugged at his soul, a small silver lining in the ocean of treachery.

“I can help you defeat butcher. He should be killed.” As if these people could achieve that.

“That goes without saying,” Sul-Tizoca said with emphasis. He was back on his feet, his hunter knife back in the sheath. “We must join forces, mayor.”

The fever in Sul-Tizoca’s eyes flared so brightly it made Harvey consider the man’s reasons. The mayor looked as angry as when he’d visited her the first time. Her tattooed man kept his expression well-guarded.

“Tell me of the gang’s structure. Details.”

The guard froze for a split-second then turned to the mayor. “Do we have time for that?” His question implied something. They kept things from Harvey. Whatever happened in the mayor’s mansion shook them. How much? The conman didn’t know.

“There isn’t much of a structure. Butcher is the boss. Kills on the whim. Indulges himself in eating and drinking. He has three officers. Black Jon, Yellow Bud, and Red Bill. Three deadly brothers. The rest is a bunch of nobodies who found their way into butcher’s liar.”

“Then we should go there now and kill them all. Isn’t this the time to use your private army, Tenoch-Ling? We must act!” A private army? Who the hell are these people?

“Shut up, Sul,” she snapped and Harvey rightly judged that dropping ‘Tizoca’ was the sign of disrespect. The man winced but bit his retort. The guard’s hand was on the pommel of his knife. It can get ugly. “We know virtually nothing about the butcher and we cannot trust him.” She pointed at Harvey.

“I will show you the way to the butcher’s lair.”

Sul-Tizoca was shaking, feeling an overwhelming need to do something. The guard’s posture changed showing his readiness to attack.

“But there is one problem,” Harvey added, keeping the men in check. “Butcher is a Royalblood.”