Chapter 9

“Where has the adventure gone in this world? No wars exist to test us, we crush rebellions before they’re started, and the wilderness around us is tamed.”

—Councilman Farha, writing in his journal in the year NNNNBBVI

Wearing a cowl to obscure his face, Seff traveled at night.

A few miles outside of Lamm, the city of Reyn’s address, a group of riders passed him on a backroad in the dark.

“Hey you,” one of them called out to Seff, “Come over here and show your face.”

“No thank you,” Seff said, knowing his face was being hunted everywhere. He wondered if it was a group of bounty hunters.

“It wasn’t a request,” the riders turned around. One with a crossbow leveled it onto Seff.

Seff turned his horse around and faced them, their lantern light shining dimly onto his obscured but young face.

“He’s young,” one of the riders said.

“Ya. Come here, boy. We just want to take a quick look at you. We’re looking for two boys, and I doubt you’re one of ‘em. You don’t look like a sorcerer to me.”

Seff climbed off his horse, put his hands in his pockets. He gripped both his wands and cast the last rune for a spell that shielded him from physical attacks. It wrapped him from head to toe in a powerful whirlwind—two hands wide—that slung dirt and mud every which way.

The riders cursed. The one with the crossbow shot the bolt at Seff’s chest. The bolt was shoved aside into the dirt beside Seff.

With the dirt flying around him, Seff pulled out his two wands and cast a lightning bolt from both his wands onto two of the three riders. Those two fell, and the third turned his horse around and dug his heels in, shouting, “Yaw!” The horse took off running, but Seff shot a bolt into the rider’s back. The rider, like the others, fell off the horse dead.

Seff dragged the bodies off the road and covered them in leaves. He knew the buzzards or other animals would get to them, but he didn’t have time to dig three graves. He also knew it would be a short time before the bodies were discovered. He didn’t have the time to properly hide the bodies.

Looking around, he saw two of the horses nearby. To take and bring the horses with him would invite disaster. If anyone recognized the horses but didn’t see their owners, suspicion would fall onto him. He retrieved his own horse, steering instead into the forest. He only needed to make Lamm by in the morning. Someone would find the bodies sometime soon, and he needed to find Reyn and flee making as much distance as possible.

Seff entered Lamm in the early morning. Soon though, he saw a group of constables. They were knocking on doors, asking questions. There was no possible way anyone could have discovered the bodies already, thought Seff.

Asking a passing man where an address was, Seff was pointed in a direction. He headed directly to Reyn’s neighborhood. It was on the far side of town. He knew he didn’t have much time.

He rode as fast as he dared. He asked for directions once more. After a few wrong turns, he found the home. It was a small one-story building. Seff grimaced at the poorly constructed shack. He knocked.

A middle-aged man opened the door.

“Ah yes, I was wondering if I have the right address. What’s your name?” Seff asked.

“Velro. And, you are?”

“Where is Reyn?” Seff demanded of Velro.

Velro stood in his doorway. “Who are you?”

“I was the one who saved him from hanging. They’re searching everywhere for us. Right now, they’re sweeping the city. Every building. They’re maybe halfway here, so we don’t have much time. We need to run. Now. Right now.”

“What? Hold on. Wait here until I return,” Velro pointed him inside. A few minutes later he returned with Reyn.

“It’s you,” Reyn said.

“Yes. We need to go. I stole all of your information from them, but they know what we look like. They’re here in the city going house to house. We have to go.”

“He’s staying at Gina’s,” Velro said. “She’s a local. No one will tell anyone anything about him.”

“You’re absolutely certain that she can be trusted to give nothing away, even with the large reward on our heads?”

Velro shrugged and Reyn said, “Even if we were to flee, we wouldn’t go with you.”

“Reyn, I’m a sorcerer like you, except I know how to use my talent. I could teach you.”

“Why would you do that?” Velro asked.

“Knowing people is important. I know Reyn has the potential to become a powerful sorcerer. Why wouldn’t I try to make friends with him? Why wouldn’t I save him? I’m the one who flung the oil on him. It’s my fault he was falsely accused. Not only do I do the right thing, but I gain an ally.”

“He could easily get someone else to tutor him,” Velro said.

“Not like me. Do you think just any sorcerer could have stolen Reyn’s information from the station, in addition to freeing him? Do you really think anyone else cares what happens to him? We can argue about this later, but if you want to live, we need to flee. Right now.”

Velro and Reyn stood there. A few moments later, Velro said, “If what he says is right, then we do not have the luxury of deciding this now. Let’s pack up quickly and go. We can argue about what to do while traveling.”

On the outskirts of Lamm, Velro bought two horses with some of his savings. They headed north.

* * *

Two weeks after Reyn escaped, Puugi sat in a wide leather chair smoking a cigar.

“Well?” Puugi asked.

“I don’t think we’ll find them,” the woman said. “It’s been two weeks since the escape, and there’s no sign of them. We found a few dead bodies that a sorcerer killed, and a few other ones, but there’s nothing that connects those incidents with the two boys. However, from what we can tell, a bricklayer named Velro fled Lamm. He deserted his house as we were searching the city, and he does have a teenage son that is also missing. The clerk, after we asked him, remembered Lamm. But, they’re gone already.”

Puugi puffed out a smoke ring and said, “Dammit, that sorcerer kid may kill me yet. Or the other one in ten years.” Puugi readjusted himself in his chair and winced, “Well, reassign yourself somewhere and promote Nyla to your position. Make it a smooth transition and take your time. It was always a pleasure seeing you, but this time, we needed success, and you didn’t succeed.”

He continued after grimacing, “Keep watch for any reports of unusual sorcerer activity—especially something involving a kid or two. If we find one, we might find the other and have ourselves a double hanging. Ah, the revenge would be sweet. What a spectacle that would be... except Codinor wouldn’t allow it, ever. Hanging them would be nice though.”

The woman said, “I enjoy working with you, are you sure you want Nyla instead?

“Positive.”

“Why wouldn’t Codinor allow the hangings?”

“He can pardon whoever he wants, and he’d want the one teenager. The other one, I’m not sure. But the one that burned the courtroom would be pardoned and sent to his fancy estate all within moments. I’m sitting on three letters from him now that I’m going to chuck into the fire. He might get suspicious, but his mail sending or receiving gets lost all the time. I know why, but I’m not going to tell him that I know why. I think he knows why too. Anyway, and you probably know also, right?

“Yes, sir,” the woman said.

Puugi said, “Well, we have to keep searching for them. We’ll get one or both of them. It’s just a matter of time, but we must catch them before they turn twenty or they’ll both get into the Academy.”

The woman said, “And that earns them an immediate pardon for everything they’ve done to that point, right? Oh, and then they can come after you after they graduate,” the woman said, putting everything together in her head.

“Especially since I told one of them my name. He was so hurt, and I sentenced him to death anyway. He’ll never forget me,” Puugi took a sip of water, “He’s going to come after me and kill me if he gets into the academy.”

“Don’t you think you could kill them in duels?”

“The one, sure. The other one has far too much talent. Nothing is going to stop the latter one in this world, especially if Codinor trains him. But there are ways to kill him. We’ll see.”

“Hire an assassin or two or three to go after them?” the woman asked.

“I've already set the plans in motion for that, since the boys seem to have eluded everyone else,” Puugi remarked sadly. “It'll cost me, but it’ll be worth it if the assassins find them.”

* * *

With a moonless night above, Whimby picked the lock of the door in front of him. He slid through the door and closed it behind him. He enjoyed this house, as he had been through it thrice before. It was dark and silent, just how he liked it—none of those bothersome creaky floorboards.

Whimby restrained his powerful muscles to merely creeping. The darkness enveloped him. He wore simple black pants, shirt, and cloak. They were water resistant, a nice touch to avoid getting wet as he maneuvered through the dew-laden nights. Boredom set in as he walked to the stairs.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

That morning, he had noticed his hair had sprouted a few more white hairs. He pulled them out. He thought it made him look weak, but for those who knew what age did, wise and dangerous. He was far more lethal and experienced now than in his younger days.

Clipped to his belt, a steel kinetic’s sphere bounced against his trousers. It consisted of thirteen individually crafted disks, each with slightly different diameters, some with blunt edges, others razor-sharp. All were locked together with an internal pin mechanism. Because he needed mobility, the sphere was small and flattened to about a quarter of the height it would have been if it had been a traditional kinetic’s sphere. Whimby carried the ‘sphere’ wherever he went, for as a wand or staff was to a sorcerer, so a kinetic’s sphere was to a kinetic.

He found the stairs and followed them to the second floor. Scanning the hallway, he found the second flight of stairs and followed them as well.

At the top, he walked down the dark hallway. Streetlamps glimmered through the window curtains. Looking down the hallway and back again, Whimby oriented himself. He walked three doors down and opened the door on his right.

The room was small and pitch black. He let his eyes adjust to the barest light streaming through the black curtained balcony. Inside lay a man and woman, sleeping. He walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Walking towards the bed ever so slowly, he focused on the couple even while moving towards the balcony door. He eyed the sleeping couple for just a moment before slipping his hand through the curtains and grabbing the handle. Turning the handle slowly and testing the ease with which it turned, he put his ear to the door crack and listened. He could hear the wind rush through. Barely.

If he opened the door, an obvious whoosh of wind would stream through and wake the couple. He shrugged to himself and whipped the door open violently, and he slipped through and onto the balcony.

The door crashed into a walnut dresser. Whimby heard the light tinkling of glass falling onto the bedroom floor.

Whimby hoped he had sent the door so viciously on its route that it would bounce back, slamming shut upon catching the wind. No matter what though, he knew the couple would be too stunned to follow.

Whimby jumped onto the balcony railing, reaching for the roof, and climbed onto the roof like twice before. It gave him access to the row of houses and apartments.

Unleashed into the open air, Whimby now dashed his way through the troughs and rises of the uneven rooftops until he reached his mark. There below him lay another balcony. Puugi’s.

Carefully, he peeked over the edge of the roof into a lit room. Whimby’s head hung upside down as he peered into the room.

A man sat with his back to the balcony. The light radiated from two oil lamps on either side of the stacks of paper resting on his desk. The man was writing.

Whimby pulled himself back up and settled in between two ridges, waiting. He could see the room’s light illuminating the small balcony floor.

Patiently in comfort, he considered what new books to buy next. New books, for him, meant old and expensive ones. Books of history, sorcery spells and powerful men vying for princesses. He enjoyed their style more than newer, blander novels that were mass produced. He enjoyed the sentences that had girth—ones with eloquence like dancers leaping chaotically on stage but at the end of it all, completely planned and executed to perfection. Next to the long ones, he enjoyed the short ones.

Older books had an indescribably fine quality to them. The leather was always worn. Maybe a dribble of gin or coffee spilled on an edge. Maybe it was that the older ones that survived had survived for good reason, but he felt it was rare for a new novel to have the same, fine level of detail the older ones had too. Oh, but to live a hundred or five-hundred years ago—that’d be the life.

He yearned to meet the writers, and he hoped another great one would appear who he could meet and talk to. What he would pay to talk to someone like that!

His mind wandered into the world of a fairy tale about little men who lived in giant legendary fish called Volda. To live in a fish was not for Whimby, but it was interesting to think about.

Minutes after the lights in the den had gone out, Whimby lowered himself onto the balcony. He opened the door, grabbed an envelope lying on the desk and slipped back out into the black night.

He made his way swiftly to the ground. He found a local inn where he rented a room. Inside, he opened the envelope. He read the letter, ignoring the currency notes.

The letter instructed him to find the boy who had escaped from the Dric Road Constable Station, in addition to, the boy who had perpetrated the escape and attacked Puugi. Detailed descriptions were included along with mannerisms, how they were thought to have escaped from the city, and which cities had been thoroughly searched. The Lamm details, too, were mentioned.

Whimby skipped to the end of the letter. It allowed him three months to find the boys. Three months. He had never been given that much time for anything. The price... he checked the currency notes. Further, a bank note was promised to be given to him if he was successful as a bonus.

Yes, the money was adequate. Why had Puugi spent so much on hiring his specialized services for three whole months? Whimby had worked for Puugi before and the assignments had been simple ones.

Kill this politician, kill that assassin, make an example of a sorcerer with a grizzly death. Simple things. Fast assassinations. Here, the boys posed no threat to Puugi. They had fled from him. Why go after them so venomously?

They were brazen boys, so he had no doubt that he could find them. People don’t change instantly, so they’d still be traceable. Three months though? No matter where they went, he’d be able to track them down, he was sure of it. Likely as not, they were in the next town over in a basement.

If after three months, he couldn’t find them, then he was to wait a year. He would once again find a letter in Puugi’s study that would have a month’s commission and further instructions.

Maybe they were a threat to Puugi somehow. Why else would he want them killed so badly? Sure, the escape and attack reflected poorly on him, but Puugi’s reputation secured his position. People often disappeared if they crossed him.

Perhaps, he was the best assassin and tracker that Puugi knew. Whimby knew his skills were exceptional, so he took this assignment as a compliment. He’d find the boys, kill them, and collect the bonus worth much more than the search contract itself.

He dismissed the idea of talking to Puugi personally about the contract. One unaddressed question bothered him, though: was he the only assassin contracted to kill the boys?

Often there would be a line stating who was working the job, so that the assassins would be aware. But in this contract, there was nothing.

It bothered him. Back home, he would check his previous contracts to see if it was Puugi’s way not to mention it. He couldn’t remember.

He would need to be careful. If he needed to kill or negotiate with a fellow assassin, he would do it on his terms.

He left the room. He would travel back to his home, arrange his affairs for the months ahead, and leave immediately. Two troublesome boys needed to die.

* * *

Bookcases, wall to wall, lined Whimby’s flat.

His best friend sat at his feet wagging her tail. A wolf crossbreed, she looked almost exactly like a wolf, except her ears were floppy and snout was not quite as long. Her name was Wag.

An assassin once asked him why he adopted such a strange creature. Whimby had answered that it reminded him a bit of himself.

Whimby lived in an apartment that spanned an entire floor. Located on the outskirts of Vax, it afforded Whimby privacy and seclusion yet sufficient cover in the overgrown city. There, he was one of hundreds of thousands.

Two fireplaces provided warmth when needed; multiple bedrooms allowed him to have guests if he wanted. A small kitchen provided his needs.

But Whimby particularly loved books. He owned thousands, all in subjects that interested him: sorcery, kinetics, history, politics, geography, ships, horses, and the rarest books of them all: alchemy. Hidden in the walls were the rarest of rarities: a set of pistoles. A small, sealed bag of gunpowder was hidden along with it. Of course, it was obvious why alchemy was banned. What was the easiest way to kill a kinetic or sorcerer? If anyone knew of what was inside his wall, the entire four empires would hunt him down as an alchemist.

He read the three older contracts from Puugi. They were all listed as solo. But not this one. Whimby wondered. Was Puugi planning on sending more assassins out if he failed or even worse, simultaneously? Obviously, he had left the door open to do so. How many assassins had Puugi hired? Whimby would be careful.

And, if Whimby was successful, would Puugi put a contract on his head? How deep did he want to bury the boys and their story?

Whimby closed the letters, walked to a bookcase, and inserted them between Ora’s Exact Maps and Obscure Places by Quom.

* * *

Whimby opened the door and walked into the tavern. He gave a brief glance to his surroundings before threading his way through tables dotted with seedy patrons. Passing six tables along the way, he headed to the top of the basement stairs. A man stood there, nonchalantly.

“Yes?” The man was tall and slender with long ears.

“Hodges Wants Acorns,” Whimby said.

“That was the old code. What’s the new code?” he asked.

“I don’t know the new code, obviously. Where’s Hodges?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Well dammit, just knock on that door down there, and get someone who knows me. I’m Whimby.”

“Oh, you’re Whimby? I can’t do anything now. You’re not welcome anymore. You didn’t pay your dues last week.”

“I’ve been gone. I’ll pay the dues now and then you can welcome me back.”

“How long have you been gone?”

“I think just three months. Maybe four.”

“You weren’t here for the vote. We voted not to allow anyone back in after they didn’t pay their dues, and this way we don’t have people falling behind when it’s convenient for them.”

Whimby furrowed his eyebrows, “And you didn’t think that’d piss anyone off, huh?”

“Now, Whimby, I don’t know. Let me, uh, check to see if you can still pay. You know, I don’t really want to get into an argument. I’ll be right back.”

The man walked down the steps and through the locked doorway at the bottom. Whimby could hear him speaking as he went through the door.

Wanting to wreak havoc upon this hovel of a place, Whimby instead walked to the bar. He had recognized a few faces there and they were all crooks. Whimby never forgot a face, and the face at the top of the basement stairs was new. If the man really knew about him, then he would have gone for help with the decision much faster, but some things are handled best by diplomacy.

He ordered a beer as he sat down. As he had grown older, he had learned patience, thankfully. Although as he looked back on it, his renowned reputation had been built from his impatient acts of intolerance and frustration.

In a dirty, warped mirror across the bar, his reflection stared back. His red hair framed his thin face and blunt nose. His light beard never required shaving more than three times a week. A single scar ran diagonally across his nose, and burn scars peeked out from his hairline. His eyes were ocean blue. Wearing a simple buttoned cloak-jacket over his normal shirt and trousers helped hide the small assassin sphere.

As Whimby took his third sip, Inid sat down next to him. Inid was dark-skinned, short and bald, yet young.

“Hodges wants acorns, eh?” Inid asked.

Whimby looked over at him before replying, “My apologies to you for not paying my dues. Here they are.” Whimby tossed over a few silver coins across the bar to him. The coins skittered and clattered to a halt.

Inid took the coins and then said, “Doesn’t matter. They already kicked you out along with a few others who weren’t doing anything but using us. We’re tired of it. They sent me to tell you.”

“How much?” asked Whimby.

“Maybe seven or eight more.”

Ten more silver coins dropped and skittered across the bar rousing a few nearby patrons who turned their heads.

“What did you want to know?”

“Anything happening with two kids— boys, ‘bout sixteen. They may be wandering around with their father, going somewhere. Two boys with an old guy or two boys alone—one or both may be sorcerers.”

“You’re still not in, Whimby, but I’ll see if we can get you back in. And I’ll ask about the boys. Give me a second.”

Inid came back in time to hear Whimby order his third beer.

“Took you long enough.”

“They still don’t want you back, so I can’t tell you anything, but,” Inid said while suddenly leaning close to Whimby, “There—hold on.”

Inid got up suddenly and grabbed the man who was walking behind him.

“Hey buddy, I’ve been looking for you. I think we have some business to settle.”

Dressed in a simple dirty shirt and pants, the man looked around quickly. Without warning he pushed Inid’s hands down and made a run for the door.

Whimby rolled his eyes as Inid ran after the man. Whimby wasn’t worried for Inid, but the annoying part was that he didn’t want to spend any more time in this small town. Directly east of where the boys had escaped from the hanging, it was a perfect bottleneck for funneling anyone fleeing that direction. And it had not been touched by the dragnet.

If no one had seen two strange boys pass through, then the chances were they had not fled east. Of course, there was the small chance that they had not agreed upon a meeting place, but surely the boy who had rescued the other could not have forgotten a detail so important, so obvious. Indeed, hadn’t that been the point of one boy stealing the other’s dossier? To prevent recapture and meet up?

He watched in small surprise as the man sprinted out the door with Inid in hot pursuit. If Whimby had really cared, he would have sent one of his disks out and sliced one of the man’s leg tendons. But, Whimby was thoroughly enjoying his beer. It was a local brew with a hint of oatmeal, poured into a crudely carved smoky-white glass mug. He drank the rest of it, and started on the third that had just been placed down.

The chances of them going south or north were equal, in theory. However, mountains lay nearby to the south. There were far more cities in the Phav Empire to the north of the hanging than there were to the south. And to the east were more mountains. Beyond that, the Nomlesk Empire. The chances of them crossing the border, Whimby thought, were slim.

The boys were young, and they surely had family.

Whimby waited until Inid returned. No boys had come through. So north he went, checking every city’s thieves’ guild that he could.