*Boom*

*Boom*

*Boom*

On the way to Jasselryia’s room, last night’s explosions still reverberate through my bones, living on in memory. I figured it out a month ago. The trick to making three Icebombs simultaneously. A matter of focus, and practice, splitting my attention in more ways than I ever have before. Tough, but I was determined. When I told the Stranger of my success, he laughed his head off. Sometimes, I imagine that behind that mask, he’s a headless skeleton, whispering words through a fleshless skull and jawbone. Faceless despite that endless grin. He couldn’t hide his happiness when I told him though. Not this time. We planned the distribution method carefully and he was ecstatic. Two of the Icebombs were my responsibility. One of them was his. The targets, all supporting clans of the Daggas. We hit them hard. You can hear it in the streets. The stillness and quiet...people are afraid.

Good.

[What horrors I saw...Truthseeker.

I hope you never know them.

Yet...I think you will.]

Stepping quietly through Merekeep’s lower levels, I feel like a lonely spectre myself, not quite what I was. For months now, I’ve been hearing her voice. It whispers to me, sometimes darkly, sometimes sadly. Never angry, perhaps bitter, but not like that time I tried to use Elina’s Time Reversal spell. At first...I was scared. The headaches...all that pain...and the visions. I can see it now. This world’s edges feel thin...translucent. Or perhaps it is I that is translucent. Maybe I’m the one that isn’t all the way here. Who knows? All I can say for sure is that reality is not so solid as I once believed.

*Tap*

[My sins...they will touch you.]

Bits of Merekeep keep changing. It usually only happens when I’m alone, walking the streets. She whispers to me. And then things just...shift. I thought...maybe I was losing it. However, the voice in my head, it has begun to take on a strange sense in my head. If I told anyone else her words, they would think them gibberish. But the thing is...I can hear her voice. And the emotion behind it. Her sadness, that lost despair. Though my whispers never seem to reach her, sometimes she speaks as if she can see what is happening to me. I can...feel it. She may not answer me, but I am certain...she is watching. That in itself...is comforting. Unless I am imagining her completely, perhaps I am just insane, but I don’t think so. It’s like having a confidant who keeps all your secrets. One who can never tell another soul. So intimate, for someone who has as many secrets as I, a bond like this is invaluable. Now, I barely notice the headaches, although the girls worry at my sunken face and quiet moods. They don’t know what it’s like, that little crack of lightning in my head, like the dawn. It’s happening now, the staticky white fuzz slithering across my brain, and then one single frozen moment of time, where we are all alone, with no one else, right before she whispers to me. I almost welcome the pain. They are signs that my friend is coming.

[Will you forgive me?]

...

Forgive you for what?

Of course, there is no answer. Not yet. But one day, I am hopeful. For now, the best I can do is seek out more clues on who the Stranger is from Jasselryia. However, considering her own status as the leader of one of Merekeep’s most preeminent clans, I have to take care that I don’t accidentally fall into some sort of trap. Discretely, I asked around with some of the business contacts who help supply the shop. They weren’t able to tell me much, but I did discover one interesting thing. It seems House Tempera sold all their Demi slaves a few years ago. At the moment, their staff is all human. It’s no guarantee that they can be trusted, but it gives me a just the teensiest bit more faith that they aren’t working with the Daggas Clan. Call it a gambler’s hope.

Passing by a few slums, I see mostly Demi’s hiding in the shadows. Some come out to beg. Those are the fearless ones, usually cripples missing limbs, people who don’t have enough value to bother pressing into service. Kisa tells me that they help take care of the ones who are still healthy. A sort of messed up reverse healthcare system. However, the streets between my shop and the Tempera Manor are mostly for human merchants as well as some of the assassin clans. So, the Demi’s here are just day-lighters. Come nightfall, the Omniscient Guard will sweep through the streets and chase them away. But they are allowed to beg discretely while the sun is up. You see, they have a use. The beggars help feed the Demi’s who couldn’t be ‘convinced’ to serve by conventional methods.

Demi-berries, beatings, or the favorite tactic of the Clans since ancient times, childhood brainwashing, there are endless techniques to enslave a Demi. But some free souls just won’t give in. Trapped in the city, they aren’t worth the trouble to round up. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for any children they have. That’s why they’re allowed to live. The biggest prize for the slavers is a family. Hostages who can be easily brainwashed to enjoy their new home...and adults who suddenly become servile once their kids are taken away. I think I see a small Demi boy, half grown with antlers coming out of his head, peeking his head out of the alleyway. Hurriedly hands reach out to pull him back inside, but I just reach into my pocket and whisper.

“Is the cheese good?”

A pause-

...

Then comes the reply,

“The cheese is good!” Someone whispers back. It’s a coded message which I’ve spread amongst the Demi homeless population with Kisa and Nya’s help. Smiling, I take out a piece of cheddar from my pocket and toss it into the shadows. Dirty hands snatch it out of the air long before it touches the ground. “Thank you, Master!”

“You’re welcome. No shipment today. Just passing through.” I continue on my way, pleased that our organization has reached this far. It spread like wildfire, a movement funded by my business profits. There is an entire set of farms outside the Rainstopper Sect now, where Elina cultivates herbs and animals to help create new products. As for the actual factory where it’s produced, I have that much closer, it’d be too easy for someone from Merekeep to discover my connection to the Rainstoppers otherwise, but I’m not too concerned at this point. To be honest, even if people learned of my association, I’ve built up enough of a support base that I doubt they’d care. My cheeses and wines have flooded the city with something it’s never had before...variety. I make life brighter for the inhabitants of a place designed for killing, not commerce. They love me. Unfortunately, they have no idea just how much light I intend to bring in the end. Merchant of death...peddler of plagues...Icebomber...there are a million better names yet the Omniscient Guard calls me the Black Assassin. So lame.

The Tempera Manor appears in the distance before I know it. Raising my hand, I start to knock on the door only to find Michel opening it. He may be an idiot but undoubtably, he is an assassin with excellent hearing. Now that I think about it, he really is like a dog...guarding the house.

“Michel! It’s been too long!” I greet him like we’re best friends and wait for him to open the door for me. “Is Jasselryia well?”

“Of course, Myrr! Come in!” He invites me in without a second thought. The inside of the main hallway of the Tempera Manor is plastered with their typical white décor, as if to cover up the red blood which probably stains these walls. Though it is still grand, and a far sight from anything I ever had in Sines, I have to admit, now that I’ve spent more time with the other Upper Houses of Merekeep, the Tempera Manor seems a bit...bare. The paint hasn’t been redone in a long time, and there are rush jobs along some cracks and peeling sections which are clearly amateur. As I follow Michel, the lack of staff bothers me. I know they got rid of all the Demi slaves but even the humans seem to be gone. This is weird. All the other important houses had a Demi at every corner, and plenty of managers to keep track of them. But here...it’s practically just Michel.

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Turning another corner, we cross paths with a single lonely servant boy, about ten or eleven, dressed in a black three-piece suit like Michel. However, he doesn’t even notice us until his superior clicks his tongue. Looking up from the empty tray in his hands, he bows deeply when he sees Michel and I.

“S-Sorry, Michel!”

“Go on, Damien. But be more attentive next time!” Shaking his head as Damien scampers off, Michel sighs. “I apologize about the others. House Tempera is a bit busy at the moment. We can’t provide the same kind of service as we used to. Not like you with your excellent Demi’s. By the way, how is Kisa getting on?”

Busy huh? Doesn’t seem so...

“She’s doing quite well. Unfortunately, we’re all floored with work. I just barely managed to escape and get out here,” I tell him with a chuckle designed to get sympathy. Get your own Demi-Cats. Mine are taken.

“Ahh what a shame.” The black-tuxedoed butler wastes no time bringing me to Jasselryia after that. Striding through the white-pastel hallways, it’s a princess’s dream. At the end of the walk, I’ve counted six missing chandeliers. Pretty much no staff. When Michel opens the door to the meeting room, there’s a flash of light, the window is perfectly positioned to blind a visitor at this time of day. Naturally, I see the sunshine coming and close my eyes as I walk in.

“Jasselryia,” I greet my host who is already standing to meet me. For once, instead of her typical frilly white dresses, she’s clad in a simple black affair. High neckline, close fitting but almost comfortable. Medium skirt covering the knees over black stockings. A mourner’s dress. Cocking my eyes, I ask, “Is this a bad time?”

It’s not. But niceties must be observed.

“Not at all, Myrr!” Jasselryia smiles radiantly. Every bit the picture of a young lady of Merekeep. I don’t really understand it to be honest. In the Rainstopper Sect, hell on Earth even, people weren’t expected to act like this. If you were an assassin, you didn’t have to be happy about it. Just loyal. And yet here in Merekeep, everyone is all chipper and fake polite. To the point where even I can’t tell sometimes. Are you really happy as a killer living the high life? Or just putting on a show? She yawns with a tired sigh, “It’s just all these attacks. Things keep blowing up. People keep dying. Not that anyone really cares. It’s just a few rank-and-file contractors and footmen. No one really important has been hit yet. But we have to act like we care, you know?”

“Absolutely. Employee morale is important.” I reply dryly. It still surprises me, even now how callous the Upper Houses of Merekeep treat human life...well, all life really. To be honest, I’m surprised they only enslave Demi’s. People would be the logical next step, but they never seemed to have taken it. Maybe their reluctance is religious in nature? I frown. Not out of commiseration for Jasselryia’s troubles, but more because it seems my night time walks haven’t been bearing as much fruit as I thought. “Are things really okay then? I mean...I heard the Black Assassin, ugh what a terrible errr terrifying name, he’s really been upping his activities. Even last night, the explosions...they shook my shop.”

“Oh, did they really?” Jasselryia gives me a look of utmost sympathy. “That’s terrible! You know, if you’re worried, I could have guards posted!”

“No thank you, Jasselryia. I appreciate the offer, but I for one, still trust the Omniscient Guard. They’ll find him!” Forcing my face to appear patriotic, I do my best to mimic a sheep. Though I fear if I spend too much time in this city, I’ll grow wool. This is probably how Demi’s were made...too much pretending. At my words, Jasselryia smirks, almost spitting out her tea.

“Peh...them?” She chokes a little, shaking her head. As if remembering that she’s supposed to be a lady, she awkwardly reaches down and grabs a handkerchief to blot the tea from her lips. “The Omniscient Guard is useless these days! That Black Assassin has been traipsing about for months now and all they’ve gotten is a blurry description. Couldn’t even catch a glimpse of him themselves, they had to mind-**** a poor Demi. It’s ridiculous!”

“Well, when you put it like that.” Feeling a bit more smug, I find it hard to look worried. Taking a sip of my own tea, I rather find I like the scalding strong taste these days. One of the few things that can affect my tastebuds after trying a hundred different cheeses and wines. My ever-present headache subsides gently, like it’s just a bad case of caffeine withdrawal. I know it’s an illusion though. The damn pain always comes back. Meeting Jasselryia’s gaze, I hold out my hand. “So, on to business. Do you have this week’s names?”

“Yes, although I do still wonder that you haven’t found who you’re looking for...” Jasselryia mutters as she grabs an envelope on the table and hands it to me. “There are four names that can’t be verified by my family in there. But they’re getting smaller and smaller. I’ve been asking everyone. Searching for bastards, minor houses, everything short of the Demi-Slave rosters. If they’re human and a man, I’ve seen their name. And I’m telling you, it has to have been someone I gave you. Or they’re not from Merekeep.”

“Okay...I’ll check these ones too then.” Tucking the envelope in my chest pocket, I don’t feel hopeful. “Actually, now that I think about it, maybe he’s not from Merekeep. Jasselryia, do you know of any visiting dignitaries? Ambassadors or foreigners who are staying in the city?”

“Foreigners?” My host frowns, her pink lips turning into an upside-down smile as she purses them. “There are quite a few of those, but it’s harder to track. I’m not as familiar with foreign policy. I’d have to ask around. Would you like me to?”

“Please!” Bowing my head, I take out a gift of my own from inside my coat. It’s a parcel about the size of my palm. Cheese of course. I brought others, the regular ones are in a basket that Michel’s bringing to the kitchens. But this one’s special. My favorite Moliterno Al Tartufo. “Here. Try this...I don’t recommend using it for parties though. It’s meant to be savored...all on its own. Only share it with someone you love.”

“Is this...? The famous one?” Jasselryia’s mouth widens into a little gasp. It’s funny really, I get to see the reaction twice, one in the future, and the replay when the present catches up. My understanding is that my cheeses have become something of a status symbol in Merekeep. Something which the Upper Houses must have at their dinner parties or be looked down upon as stingy or worse...weak. And most powerful deals in this city are conducted at said parties so everyone needs cheese, the more expensive the better. However, despite their desperation to be the first to try my products, most of them can’t truly appreciate the taste. They’re just buying into the hype. Jasselryia though, despite her taste in servants, she is a true connoisseur. She understands. Her love of cheese is rivaled only by the Demi’s. “What is it you call it? The holy...cheese?”

“Yea. Tartufo means holy.” A little white lie. In this world, I can call it whatever I want. Standing up, I bow to her briefly and motion for Michel to get the door. “I’m afraid I can’t stay any longer. Every second I’m out of the shop is profits lost, so as a businessman...you understand.”

“Y-Yes! Of course.” The head of Tempera nods frantically. She’s barely able to take her eyes off of the block in her hand as I leave. “Myrr...don’t you want to stay and try it though? Something this precious...not even the Daggas can afford this. Is it really okay to give it to me?”

“Heh, it’s rare, but naturally, I’ve had to test it to guarantee the flavor.” Waving my hands, I stop for only a second to look back. For an instant, I’m a bit unnerved as the present catches up to the future. Jasselryia’s face is...certainly enthusiastic about the cheese...but she’s also watching me hungrily. Like I’m a fat sheep and she’s a hungry wolf. I see it only for a second before she hides it, but it gives me the shivers. “Like I said, it isn’t meant to be shared with others. Consider it a token of appreciation for all your hard work.”

“I will,” she whispers back. It’s weird. The entire time I’m leaving the Tempera Manor, I have a nagging suspicion that I’m going to be stopped. It’s just...that look. So hungry, raw unconcealed emotion. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a few spells at the ready in case of attack. However, the future remains clear. I’m allowed out the gates as normal. I breath easy only once Meera appears up above though. Fading into the back-alleys as she directs me onto a route she’s cleared, I relax. Was it just a trick of the light? No...there’s no way. I might be going a bit mad but I’m not that crazy.

“Had fun on your date?” Meera drops down like a monkey, if monkeys wore dresses and eyepatches. Not for the first time, I wonder why she forsook her old leather pants getup. It was just...so much more practical. “Maybe I should find someone local to play with too. What do you think, Boss?”

“Hah, anyone dumb enough to date you deserves what they get. A knife in the back...” I snicker, remembering how treacherous my minion used to be. She has the uncanny ability to make knives appear out of nowhere. Sometimes I think Meera actually has a spell to summon them like my ice shards. Lately, I’ve taken to wearing a trench coat like the Stranger does. To conceal my movements. It’s a common enough style in Merekeep so it helps me blend in too. Meera grabs my sleeve and gives it a rough shake at my comment.

“Boss, you’re really good at holding a grudge.” She yanks my elbow. Harder than usual. Twice. Then one more time. It’s a signal. My eyes sharpen and I have to resist the temptation to scan our surroundings. We’re being followed? Meera leads me a different way. She’s taking us through the city at an angle to the shop. Avoiding our normal route and possible ambushes. I watch the future with interest. Who is it? Is Jasselryia playing games? Or perhaps the Omniscient Guard has finally figured it out? That would be unfortunate. It’s still too early for that. “Speaking of knives in the back...I think we might have one coming our way. Back left corner, third floor pathways. Followed us through two left turns.”