The bar that Darrin spoke of was an entirely different one to where Cass had made her new home and workspace. I was extremely happy to find that it was both much larger, and less populated than over there. It only took us a moment to get served with the first round of drinks. Vincent took a deep swig of his beer to get a buzz going right away; “Jeez. You tell me you’re a thief but you’re built like a brick shithouse.”
He wasn’t wrong. The body I reincarnated into looked a lot like my old self, but for some reason my build was much larger and more masculine than before. In terms of being a thief it didn’t really matter. The width of your body wasn’t going to make or break a properly executed infiltration.
“Not to mention the armour - and that huge sword you’re lugging about,” Darrin continued.
I sighed. Why was it always the equipment that people had to comment on? The average person would merely think of me as a mercenary wandering the streets. If anything, it was a very effective form of social camouflage. “I already told you that a lot of stuff has changed for me recently. Can’t survive these days without this kind of stuff on my person.”
Literally. If I lost Stigma’s body I’d be a dead man walking.
Darrin reached into his cloak and retrieved a short dagger from inside, “This is all I carry to protect myself. A sharp edge is a sharp edge, ain’t it?”
I shrugged, “If you’re dealing with a bunch of punks or gang members, sure. Out in this big old world of ours though, there’s a lot of difference between a cheap dagger and a well-crafted sword. You think that can penetrate an armour plate? It’d snap clean in two.”
“That’s fine. I’m not planning on going upstream like you are.”
Normally I would have gotten irritated at a snide comment like that – but part of me knew that it was true. I couldn’t just live as a rogue anymore. I needed to find turmoil and chaos to feed Stigma’s thirst with. Because of her I’d become stronger, and taken on jobs that paid much better than robbery and fencing. I was still a long way away from buying a house, not that I could even use one at the moment.
“I never really understood none of you rouges before,” Vincent said, “But I’m starting to get it. I guess you ain’t so different to us.”
“Rouges aren’t really about taking control of a certain area though,” I objected.
The conversation settled into tall tales about robberies and crimes most daring. Vincent was clearly embellishing his own by a factor of three, having overheard my giant slaying experience back in the safehouse. I found myself shuffled out of the rapport as the pair challenged each other to a drinking game. I occupied myself by watching the people coming and going through the bar’s front door.
This place had a much calmer atmosphere than I expected. Taverns and bars attracted the rowdy and the seedy by the thousand. And that was before you qualified things by making it a rogue hangout. The decoration of the interior was warm and welcoming, and the floors and tables were meticulously kept and cleaned. There wasn’t a stain or empty pail to be seen.
The rumbling conversation seemed to be focused on the fights happening around town. Other pretenders to the boxing throne had sprung up, run by other gangs and pugilist groups looking to dominate the flourishing market. They’d probably jump at the chance to tear each other to shreds just to dominate. It was likely that they’d evolve into criminal gangs themselves if they weren’t already.
“You should have seen Ren at the fight meet Darrin. He kneed this guy so hard in the chest that he flew halfway to Blackwake!” Vincent barked out a vicious laugh as the memory ran through his drug addled brain. “Never seen anything like it! No wonder William wanted to turn you into a bare-handed killing machine.”
Rosy cheeked and with a loose tongue, I saw my chance to press the issue.
“Yeah. It’d be a shame if a guy with talent like that got screwed over, at least while I’m still learning something.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Pft. Adam isn’t going to pull the trigger like that. You know, for a guy who’s so aggressive with everyone else – he gives William a lotta’ leeway.”
I arched my fingers and struck, “How bad is it that you can threaten a guy like William with it?”
Vincent didn’t even hesitate, “Ah, it’s really bad. He’d get his house taken away and the Warsister would probably have him hanged.” I had to stop myself from laughing at him losing his house being the first issue there, and not the impending execution.
“Shit,” I leaned back in my chair, “And he still isn’t going to throw a fight to get rid of it?”
Darrin had caught on to what I was doing. I could tell by the smirk on his lips. He had no particular attachment to Vincent or his gang, and he knew that whatever I was angling for wouldn’t result in a loss of work for himself. Rogue’s code was in effect. He was going to keep quiet and let me do as I pleased.
“Not just one fight. Why would we waste a primo piece of blackmail like that on a one-off? We’re gonna’ rinse him, make sure that we get as much out of the investment as possible. It was crazy expensive to get our hands on this…” Vincent’s face turned queasy for a moment. He knew he was saying too much. I needed to twist his arm a little more.
“You’re really bigging this thing up. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.” In truth I already knew exactly what it was – I just wanted to steer the discussion in the right direction. Vincent chewed on an invisible bit in his mouth as he considered continuing with his braggadocious explanation. The alcohol won out in the end.
He leaned into the table and used the noise of the tavern to cover his voice, “This stays between us. But William used to be a soldier in Sull. Adam found out somehow, paid a guy to snatch his enlistment records from one of their bases.”
That just elicited one big question from me, “How the hell did Adam find that out? I don’t imagine an uptight arsehole like William was willing to spill something that serious.”
Vincent didn’t know. I could tell by his face.
“Whatever. I don’t really care how it happened,” he grunted. “What’s done is done. William knows that the threat’s real.”
I chuckled. “Having that stuff would burn a hole in my pocket, or my safe.”
“That’s why Adam’s being really careful with it. I don’t even know where it is.”
The smile that split my face was entirely genuine. Vincent had told me everything I needed to know without even realising it. If he didn’t know where it was – it was being kept in Adam’s house somewhere. The next step was figuring out where that house was. I decided to keep him on his toes and ‘switch’ the topic to something else. He would not put two and two together.
“What’s it like living in Well’s Street? I mean, you’re better off than I am. I don’t even have a crappy house.”
“It’s better than nothing, keeps the rain away and gives you a little privacy. But the houses around Well’s Street are a mixed bag really. Some of them are worse than nothing. Could fall over at any second and kill you in your sleep. Then they just rebuild the damn thing where it used to be and repeat the process all over again for a new sucker.”
“I bet Adam lives in the lap of luxury.”
Vincent snapped back, “He bloody doesn’t.”
“Why?”
“Even the most expensive houses down on the East side are below standard.”
Expensive. That meant the houses along the main avenue through the district. That was all their turf, and there were around one-hundred homes in total along the route. I couldn’t ask Vincent for the address directly and pressing him for further details would just arouse suspicion. I needed to head down there and scope things out. If I was lucky I’d see Adam entering and exiting his home, or another gang member standing guard.
That all depended on whether or not Adam actually lived there. It was just as likely that he had a second, nicer home to sneak off to when his adoring underlings weren’t paying attention. Nothing would foul his street cred more than coming out as a poser who doesn’t even live in the same neighbourhood anymore.
Vincent rationalised his belief in Adam to me, “You’re an orphanage kid. You said it earlier. You know how strong the bonds are between people like us already. None of us would begrudge each other’s success, and we’d honour each other by helping if we make it.”
I frowned. There’s no such thing as an unbreakable bond. The people who are closest to you can be the most damaging. They can take advantage of your feelings to try and hurt you. I wasn’t in touch with any of the people from my orphanage anymore. Most of them were likely in a shallow grave already. Making it to my age was a success story all its own.
I finished off the last dreg of my drink and exhaled a beer flavoured breath of relief. This had gone better than I expected. I had everything I needed to move on to the next step of my retrieval operation. I couldn’t just dip out now though, the point at which you ended the discussion had just as much meaning as the contents of it.
I amused Darrin and Vincent with the last part of my story, leading up to my arrival in the city. Then I looped back to before I grabbed Stigma for the first time and regaled some of my early deeds as a fledgling thief. I kept my cards close to my chest and didn’t reveal anything personal – I even omitted the involvement of Cali and Tahar from most of it.
There was only one thing on my mind now. Finding where Adam lived and getting those enlistment papers back.