Zuma

“Tell me that you found the recipe, Rigial-Pik,” said the mayor. Zuma had come down lured by the commotion in the common room, but he decided to not appear and remained in the shadow of one of the side exits. This complex construction had its uses. The death of doctor Charcot was a shocking but quickly cooling revelation in his mind. Izin-Pil’s murder broke his will and it seems that even the news of kidnapping little Tzin-ake didn’t move him as much.

“No, mayor,” the doctor’s assistant replied and Zuma didn’t need to see the younger man to picture his dark face go ashen and nervousness take control of his body. Rigial-Pik was an average cape towner. Average height – around six feet – dark skin, though not exactly black as many northerners. Mildly featured face, clean shaved facial hair, and shoulder-length black hair. Now there was nothing of that sort, standing before the mayor. Tenoch-Ling thoroughly intimidated the doctor’s assistant, making him bend beneath the pressure of her stare and threat. She’d done to him as well, years ago, when Zuma had arrived with coins in the coffer offering to set up a true inn. He’d promised her that Cape Town would become famous because of his cocktails. But the mayor had other plans for him. And she certainly hasn’t been looking for fame.

“It’s impossible!” the mayor snapped. “Charcot must have been holding some documents. He couldn’t remember them all.”

“I will have my people take the doctor’s house apart,” Yamil said. “If there is something to find, they’ll.”

A moment of silence followed then the mayor spoke again, “have you done what I asked of you, Rigial-Pik?”

“No, mayor. Doctor Charcot didn’t permit me inside when he conducted his experiments. I was only allowed to assist him with patience. Nothing else.”

Zuma almost laughed though it wasn’t a laughing matter. Tenoch-Ling and her sister had a serious argument a moment earlier. The mayor wasn’t concerned with the disappearance of her daughter so much as she was with the death of the old man. It all came down to money. The drug they were selling to the Red Cities, and red abyss knew where else, has made her fortune. But it was only possible because of Doctor Charcot. Without him she had nothing. What did it mean for everyone? Zuma had no idea.

Rigial-Pik left.

“He’s useless.”

“It seems that the old doctor guarded his secrets well,” Yamil said.

Zuma silently agreed with this statement. The mild-mannered old man struck them as a trustful fellow but had he ever trusted them?

“Charcot didn’t trust me. This fool had an ugly past. Who knows? Maybe it caught up with him. It doesn’t matter now.”

“We must think of the contingency plan. What about the innkeeper? I’ve heard his brews can be outstanding.”

Red Sands take me. Getting involved in their illegal business is the last thing I want.

Tenoch-Ling snorted.

“We aren’t selling alcohol, Yamil.”

Another stretch of silence unfolded before the head of guards spoke up.

“Some of my people mentioned healers in obscure villages using similar stuff our doctor must have been adding to the drug. We can get the innkeeper to come up with an elegant solution, a drug hidden within booze. Wasn’t Faler Illa complaining that the Royal Houses started watching closer the spread of Yellow Sand?”

Yellow Sand? He must be joking. Zuma’s blood turned to ice. His hair stood up on end. Yellow Sand was so famous that the news of it returned to Cape Town organically. This drug was very potent and addictive and the only place to come by it was in the Red Cities. The mayor was smart. She shipped it a thousand miles from here so no one could link it to her. How rich she was because of that? When Zuma has arrived here he had five gold coins with him. Now with his sixty gold coins deposited in Tucan, he believed himself a rich man. For half of that, he could buy a mansion in a town. This drug … what kind of attention it must have gathered? She fears that people will learn about Giliad’s true nature while sitting on the top of a bomb.

“Fine. Get the innkeeper to come up with products. We must have something ready before the next departure.”

Zuma quietly retreated back into his office. So, his decision to leave Cape Town was finally sealed. He couldn’t stay here. On one hand, staying here was like reliving the death of Izin-Pil, on another, the mayor’s shady business could easily go out of hand, destroying everything. I could poison them. There are poisons that take days to fully develop. He wouldn’t do that. Zuma was many things but not a murderer. It’s decided, I’m leaving with Giliad.

* * *

Harvey Logan

It was madness and frankly, this was what kept Harvey Logan alive. This Giliad seemed like a nobody here and when he’d decided to take Harvey Logan back to Soto no one confronted him. The hunter was bent on killing Harvey Logan. The hatred that ran in the man’s veins was radiating off him. The conman didn’t get a chance to ask questions. Guards took him to the cold and damp cell where he’d wait until tomorrow morning. The hour was too late to depart now. The night was two hours away. They wouldn’t find a shelter house in time. It gave Harvey Logan the whole night of thinking about the escape plan. He couldn’t return to Butcher. Even if Giliad was a Royalblood bastard, it didn’t mean much. Butcher had another forty people, ready to kill them in a blink of an eye. It didn’t matter if Giliad won, for Harvey Logan would be dead, shot by Black Jon. I’m not ready to die. Garhala, do you hear me? I’ll get out of this unscathed. I always do. If the circumstances were different. If they were in the Red Cities, where Harvey Logan could operate amongst the normal people, not these wildlings. Why did you kidnap the mayor’s daughter? Why? And why kill that serving girl? They clearly did it with a purpose in mind. Out of the three bandits, Perkins has some wits about him. He wouldn’t panic, leaving Red Bill and me … or at least Red Bill.

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Unfortunately for Harvey Logan, his idea to come up with an escape plan backfired. He fell asleep shortly after the natural light has disappeared and frankly it wasn’t light that woke him up.

The rain hit hard and because the cell had only bars instead of a solid ceiling, Harvey Logan was painfully reminded of why people in the Red Cities called the jungle the rainforest. It kept him awake past the first light and until a guard appeared to take him to the assembly point. The rain was merciless but warm enough to keep the conman from shuddering to death. Everything around was veiled behind the curtain of water. A perfect condition to run away. Ironically, Harvey Logan didn’t have a clue where to go without a map. The dirt roads connected towns and larger villages, though bandits rarely used them. Only during the con, they had been traveling as officials on the dirt road. Soon after the con was done, Emm led them off-road to some obscure hideout, high in the tree or underground. The way these things were designed was to keep the enormous beast away. Like amakor. A hellish creature, larger than a carriage. They’ve never heard or seen one though. And thanks Garhala for that.

The guard led him to the main gate where thirty men wearing hunting gear and clothes, stood unmoved by the fierce rain. Giliad was not amongst them. Having hunters with them didn’t help at all. Bandits would see them coming from afar. We won’t even get close to Butcher.

The hunter from the inn broke out of the group and rushed toward Harvey Logan. The knife appeared faster than Harvey Logan’s eyes could track. The conman had only time to twitch as the blade stopped an inch from his throat. Madness in the hunter’s eyes was terrible. It was rather natural to hate or fear bandits but this? This was something else. What have they done to him?

“Sul-Tizoca, is it really necessary to take the bandit with us? We know the way to Soto,” one of the hunters asked from the group.

Sul-Tizoca’s hand began to shudder until he took it away, then he answered to his man. “He isn’t here for us, Kira-Ulk. Cape Town hunters will never ask such a scum for help.” He turned back to Harvey Logan and added, “when your role is fulfilled, expect my knife to reach its destination.”

He strode away, toward the gate. The rest followed him out of the village through the smaller door in the gate. Harvey Logan watched, thinking of the man’s threat. It was unlikely to come to that. These hunters would get themselves killed. Butcher had many enemies and still, he lived just fine.

They stood in the middle of the road, twenty yards from the gate. The guard didn’t say a word or offer anything to drink or eat. Harvey Logan was about to ask him why they came so early when the innkeeper came from between two buildings. When he saw the guard he backpedaled but hit the wall … a man behind. Giliad stood taller than anyone in this village. Clearly, these wildlings haven’t had much contact with Royalbloods. They’d know that there was something suspicious about this young man. A young was a relative term for a Royalblood. They could live for hundreds of years without much ageing. Butcher was over a hundred years old and he looked barely forty.

After a quick exchange of words, which Harvey Logan couldn’t hear but he read their lips. But I must be wrong about this. The innkeeper wants to go with us. But why? To die heroic death?

The guard’s eyes bulged and he made a strange whistling noise then ordered Harvey Logan to keep behind him. Not the smartest man, wanting to have ‘a bandit’ behind his back.

“Untied him,” Giliad said as he and the innkeeper reached the guard and the conman. The guard pointed at the innkeeper and said, “we have been given explicit orders to not let you out of Cape Town.”

The innkeeper didn’t seem surprised, Harvey Logan was. What is going on here? What’s their problem? His silent question was soon answered as the lone, tattooed man appeared on the road. At the first glance, he looked composed and cold, but Harvey Logan’s experienced eyes picked the murderous stare. And it strangely wasn’t directed at him or even Giliad.

“We have no issues with you going after Tzin-ake. After all, she’s the mayor’s blood. But the innkeeper must stay.”

As if in response the rain’s strength increased and Harvey Logan was forced to put his hands above his head. I hope the Drowning Moonson hasn’t started yet. I hate this rain.

“I won’t be part of your dirty business!” The innkeeper shouted to be heard in the thunderous rain.

“It’s not for you to decide!” the wide-shouldered man replied. “But we can make a deal. Once we find someone to replace the doctor, we’ll let you go.”

Harvey Logan instinctively looked at Giliad. It occurred to the conman that these words were meant for him. If not for the large fellow, the guards would drag the poor innkeeper back to this place. I made a mistake. The mayor is a dangerous woman. Her daughter was kidnapped and she didn’t care to send anyone after her. The hunters went on their own volition propelled by the hatred of their leader.

“I refuse!”

The guard in front of Harvey Logan grabbed the hilt of his sword and shifted feet. Is he going to attack a Royalblood? Good luck with that.

“Giliad, understand us. If you let this man go. Cape Town will be annihilated. You don’t want that, do you?”

Giliad didn’t reply. His passive face didn’t change, his posture remained relaxed. Wearing sandals, short and sleeveless shirt exposing Giliad’s own tattoos didn’t do much to deal with the rain. The conman’s borrowed clothes weren’t any better. Actually, their weight increased dramatically and he wished to shed them.

“Let’s make a deal,” the head of guards shouted. “We’ll send the innkeeper to you, safe and with purse bursting with gold coins in three years. He’ll carry one more. Fifty gold coins. What would you say to that?”

Fifty gold coins? Red sands preserve me. What kind of business allows them to throw this kind of money? My cons were profitable. Some netted me nearly thirty gold coins after the dust settled down. But paying fifty … twice that for three years worth of work was unheard of amongst the commoners. Harvey Logan almost called out and asked to be allowed to stay. This place could make him a fortune. It was far away from the Red Cities to start with a clean slate. But the Royalblood chose to speak up then.

“I don’t care about your business, Yamil, nor I’ll decide for Zuma. But you’ll try to stop him against his will then prepare to fight me.”

The guard, two, three, four…

Ten. They appeared out of the gray veil of the rain. Their blades seemed slow, almost insignificant when Giliad moved. He was a Royalblood for not a single commoner was capable of such reflex and speed. And yet, he didn’t attack the guards, only dodged their assault. They were not there to take him down. The head guard held a crossbow aimed at Giliad. An arrow wouldn’t kill a Royalblood unless got him right in the eye. Unless they have the access to the moonflower. But that … that would be crazy. Wasn’t everything Harvey Logan seen in Cape Town already beyond the scale of what a rainforest village had to offer? This place wasn’t normal. If they were ready to throw away a hundred gold coins, a sum that bought a sizeable mansion in the Red Cities, then what would be having the moonflower to them? If caught, their village would be annihilated and the ground salted. Same thing for sheltering a Royalblood bastard. Garhala take me, what kind of mess did I just step into?

The head guards aimed, ready to shot. Harvey Logan calculated the odds of his survival and neither outcome seemed promising. And yet, he felt he’d rather go with Giliad than stay here, in this viper’s nest. Only five yards divided him and the man with the crossbow. He rushed forward, almost reaching him, in the last moment he slipped on the muddy ground. The man took a notice of him but didn’t move.

Harvey Logan heard the snap of the string. If he killed the Royalblood then the conman’s survival odds just plummeted to zero. This was very heroic of you, old fool. But the expected blade didn’t plunge into his back. Nor hands reached for him. He lifted his head and found the head guard up in the air. Giliad held him with one hand.

“Don’t cross me again.”

He threw the man like a toy. Harvey Logan looked to the side and saw ten shapes laying on the ground. It seems he is not the weakest of his brethren. We may have a chance against Butcher. Slim but still something.