Cali didn’t say so out loud, but she did enjoy seeing Ren beaten and bruised. There was something special that rumbled in the pit of her stomach when seeing someone putting their life and health in danger. This was a habit she had developed soon after leaving home. The first time she ever experienced it was during one of her early jobs for Elise. One of the mercenaries who accompanied her received a terrible cut on his brow, leading to a curtain of blood covering his features. She was entranced, but she didn’t know why. She couldn’t explain it even if somebody asked.
Cali had never been attracted to anyone because of it before – she just found the sight of grisly injuries to be interesting. She lived vicariously by imaging the pain they felt or the scars that would be left behind. Ren was someone special though. Over time a complicated ‘feeling’ had started to gnaw at her, one she had never felt before. Benadora had described it as jealousy, and concluded that it meant she was in love with him.
She didn’t know if things had gotten that far. Cali was a stranger to love, how would she be able to recognize it when it came?
Cali set her sights firmly on her goals for the day to distract herself. First, she wanted to find a map with the layout of the city’s streets. Secondly, she wanted to visit Well’s Street for herself and study potential escape routes. If they were going to dive into the hornet’s nest to capture Adam (which Cali was very excited to do) they needed to plan a way out.
Ren had slipped away and claimed that he had something to do – so Tahar and Cali had carte blanche to do as they pleased with their day. He was sceptical of their assurances that they had recovered fully from the effects of the Barkbone’s poison, but he always worried himself sick over nothing. Cali had handled herself for years before he showed up, why was he so concerned?
Finding a map wasn’t going to be simple. They didn’t just hand them out on street corners for passing tourists. The industry relied heavily on contracts from local governments and nobles who were planning to make large changes to the area. The only other group who bothered with such things were the rogues; rogue maps were extremely detailed and showed things that the official maps may have omitted. They were designed to let even a layman break, enter and escape without issue.
But the longer Cali thought about it, the more she realised that finding a map wasn’t that necessary. She decided to swap things around. She would go and see Well’s Street and the surrounding area for herself, and only if she couldn’t figure out a good exit route would she endeavour to find a map. Equipped and ready for action, she led Tahar back through the winding cobble streets and towards the poor side of the city.
You couldn’t miss it. The change was sudden and violent. The buildings took an immediate turn for the worse – shoddily constructed hovels that were crammed close together and very susceptible to fire. The clothes became raggedy and filled with holes, and beggars laid in wait on every corner and in every doorway. The gang members were everywhere, even beyond Well’s Street itself. Some wielded crude weapons and posed as some kind of authority where the guards wouldn’t dare tread.
From the moment that Cali stepped over the threshold, she was making her own map in her head. The streets were very narrow and cramped, it would be easy for the gang to close ranks and block them, but it also meant that her halberd was even deadlier than usual. The haphazard construction of the district meant that it was teeming with side streets and alleyways, crossing through the urban sprawl like veins. It was easy to get lost, and easier still to lose someone.
She felt eyes on her back. The gang members stared as they passed. There was a natural paranoia in the air targeted at outsiders. You never knew if that person was a bounty hunter or just a passing mercenary. In this case the paranoia was entirely justified. None of them would dare make a move though, Tahar was extremely intimidating with her clawed hands and huge stature.
Well’s Street was designated by a small wrought-iron signpost. A yellow rag tied around it made clear the claim that the local gang had claimed. This was their district. They were the ones running things, handing out punishments for outside criminals, running protection rackets, supposedly funnelling that money back to the community.
The street was wider than the others – it was an avenue that once promised great things for the people living on it. Now it was a miserable strip surrounded on both sides by rotting timber and blemished paint. A few low-brow businesses made their homes here, beside the orphanage was a whorehouse that made no illusions about that fact.
That orphanage made Cali stop and stare. It was an ailing building, leaning to the left like it was going to crumble any day now. The glass windows on the bottom floor had long since been shattered. She could hear the commotion spilling out from inside, dozens of children crammed into a building not large enough for a single family.
Was this the kind of place that Ren grew up in?
He didn’t like to talk about it, but Cali still understood the way that it had shaped him as a person. She could connect the dots and conclude that his survivalist mentality had been instilled into him at an early age. Fighting for whatever scraps the caretakers could get together, defending each other from people who would do them harm, and leaving your connections with others weak so that you can cut them at any time.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
That was who Ren was. That was one of the reasons he’d turned her down.
It was impressive then that Ren had somehow managed to keep a little piece of his morality intact; his continued belief that there was a ‘better way’ of doing things. That was a perspective afforded to him by his life in a previous world, before he was reincarnated. Was it a better place than here? Or did he have the benefit of growing into a privileged stratum of his old society?
Cali was his opposite. She had no grand perspective on a gleaming future, and she had grown up in extreme wealth and equally extreme isolation. Part of her wanted to form connections with other people, would she have left her home estate if she didn’t? No, she concluded – for all of the thrills she had experienced, it was the people who kept her going and inflamed her deepest curiosities. She gripped the coat that covered her heart tight. It was beating too fast for such a peaceful moment.
She cast her eyes further down the street. If someone saw her staring at an orphanage like this they’d have a lot of questions. “What is this building?” Tahar asked as they departed.
“An orphanage, where they keep children without parents.”
Tahar tried to digest the explanation, “Without parents?”
“Yes. Some children are not blessed with parents. Some may be cruel and wish to hand them away, others die for a variety of reasons.”
“Yes. I understand,” Tahar explained, “Orphanage. Orphanage.” She repeated the word and dedicated it to her internal dictionary. Such a strange and cold concept was not something she was familiar with. Parentless children in her village were cared for regardless of lineage. The tribe was a family – the death of one’s parents did not cast them aside to the confines of such a dour home. Was this what Ren spoke of when he said that Sull was different to Versia?
“Many people do not care for these children. They are trapped inside these unfeeling cages and left to fight for themselves. Generosity is not to be expected.”
“Terrible,” Tahar muttered. How cruel could these people possibly be! She recalled a discussion they shared on the boat trip from Versia, “And you said Ren grew up in one of these orphanages?”
“Yes. Don’t speak with him about it. He doesn’t like to talk about his childhood.”
Tahar didn’t know if she could. She had always prided herself on being a compassionate person. Hearing that her prospective mate had experienced such hardship was like a dagger through the chest.
“I think I have a good idea of where we can go now,” Cali said, moving on from the topic. “If and when we capture the target, we can move through here.”
“Similar to hunt.”
Hunting people? That sent a sadistic shiver down Cali’s spine; “Yes, I suppose it is.”
----------------------------------------
I returned to William’s gym. Before I’d even gotten down the stairs he was on me, demanding to know what had happened; “How did it go?”
I smiled, “That Vincent fellow’s too trusting for his own good. All I had to do was walk up to him and ask to throw some fights. He bought it and didn’t ask too many questions.”
He frowned, “But what about my papers?”
“I’ll find the papers. But it wouldn’t do me much good to wander into Well’s Street and search every house. I need to know where they’re keeping them. So to that end I’m ‘assisting’ them with some money-making schemes until I can get him to spill it.”
William sat down on one of the benches and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “Aye. I get it. Just don’t do anything too nasty for my sake. You look like you’ve been put through the wringer already.”
“I was. But I made some extra money for the effort, at least.”
He shook his head, “I can’t say I approve. You know how I feel about fixing fights.”
He’d annoyed me, “William – would you rather I take some spare change off people, or does being paraded down the main street so they can hang you for being a traitor sound better?”
His lips thinned out as he felt the tension build, “I didn’t mean it like that. There’s a world of difference between those outcomes. But what’s the point of protecting my honour when I send you out to do the very same thing?”
“That’s your problem William. You put too much weight into fighting.”
His voice cracked, “Fighting is my life!”
“Your life is everything William, not just the fucking fights!” I snapped back. “You have this nice house, the money to retire, and the time on your hands to indulge in your hobbies. If Adam leaks those fucking papers - you aren’t going to have any of that anymore!”
William leaned back from me as if he was expecting a sucker punch. I wasn’t that angry, not yet. There was a moment of hesitation from William as he sussed out who he was speaking to. The rat who lived in the gutters, never knowing if he had the money to pay for food and shelter.
“…I’m sorry. That was rude,” he grumbled.
I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. Getting angry at my client was bad. It never made things easier to lose my temper like this. I explained again, “Listen William. You paid me to get those papers and I’m going to get them. Rigging three fights seems like a small price to pay when everything you’ve worked for is on the line. I’m not gonna’ make a habit out of it.”
He held up his hand, “Just promise me that you won’t do anything too drastic. I don’t want to live with anything horrible on my conscience.”
That I could do. If the client wanted me to hold back and keep things clean, I’d do that for them.
I nodded, “No killing, nothing like that. I avoid it anyway. Escalating a robbery to murder is asking for trouble.” That seemed to alleviate his concern for the time being. “I got myself in tight with Vincent. I should be able to booze him up and squeeze him for info on where they’re keeping the documents. I’m thinking of Adam's house or maybe a gang hideout.”
“And then?”
“Go over there when nobody’s in, break inside and steal them. I’ve done it hundreds of times before. I can burn them on the spot, or bring them back here for confirmation.”
On the spot, William decided to change the conditions of the job; “I’d like to see them, if possible. Just to set my mind at ease.”
That wasn't what we had agreed on at the time, the paranoia was getting to him. For me it didn't make much of a difference either way. I had no reason to refuse - doing so would just make him unjustly suspicious of my motives. I sighed, “Okay. I’ll bring them here and we can throw them into your fireplace together. Have a toast to a new life without that shit hanging over you.”
He chuckled nervously, “Heh. I’ll drink to that.”