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Mahoen is cautious. He never goes anywhere alone, and he knows the city like the back of his hand. Everyone knows who he is and he has many enemies, the local law enforcement being the least harmful.

He shows up to the meeting in the East Town half an hour early, surrounded by a small army of goons. The gang goes on to comb through the block with great care, and not one trash can or a cat goes ignored. They block the streets and chase loiterers away. Not that there are many civilians about in the middle of the night.

All doors are firmly shut, windows covered. Not a glimmer of candle light escapes through.

The average Nikéan knows better than to poke his nose in cartel business. The city has learned this the hard way. Not even the Sultan’s men are safe if they cross lines they shouldn't. Certain clear, unwritten rules have been established between the parties over the years, what flies and what doesn't. You can say a thing or two about the management, but if it comes down to a choice between turning a blind eye to a bit of shadiness now and then, and a full-blown civil war, the choice gets easy.

But tonight, there are two silent guardians patrolling the rooftops.

The heroes these people may not deserve, but need right now.

Watchful protectors. Dark kn—

“—ACHOO!”

Gosh, it’s cold up here. My nose is dripping. I was just getting to the good part too!

Next to me, Sephram gives me the evil eye. “...It’s like you want them to find us.”

We lie flat on the edge of a roof barely two floors above the Y-fork in the street where Maohen and his gangsters are gathering.

“Relax, Master Chicken,” I soothe his tight nerves. “The ward’s foolproof. We could play the test screenings for American Idol at full throttle and nobody down there would bat an eye.”

“Don’t let those be your last words.”

Yeah. That’d be awkward.

We turn our keen gazes back down and wait alongside the villains, unseen.

Oh man, I totally feel like a secret agent now. This moment was worth sitting on my hands for a month. All I’m missing is the Rolex, and the thing on the rocks that’s shaken but not stirred. And the Aston Martin. And lovers with funny names. What the hell, this isn’t like being a secret agent at all! I’m just a very sleepy clown getting my clothes dirty on a sandy rooftop dyed with bird poop.

What I wouldn't do for the good of all little girls in the world.

Under the crescent Qualdia’s azure glow, the nightly street is drawn in sharpness and clarity comparable to daylight. There's no wind. The very town around us stands on its toes, so quietly you could hear a pin drop. It’s as if even in the safety of their houses, the oppressed masses are holding their breath under their tables, praying the bad guys will soon leave and nothing worse is going to happen. What has Maohen done to spook them like that? No, I don’t even want to know.

For another quarter hour, it's silent.

It’s only way past midnight when the Kingdom’s contact shows up at last.

He doesn’t come unnoticed, or alone.

We imagined he wouldn't want to draw too much attention to himself and might only bring a select bodyguard or two, but we couldn't have been more wrong if we tried.

A platoon of knights comes marching down the street from the north in an orderly rectangle form. Every troop is decked out in sleek armors blacker than the shadows of the night, helmets on, and those armors lack any flags or emblems or other symbols to identify the wearers by. They’re like faceless, nameless devils borrowed from hell. But the Nikéans aren’t into knights. Not their shtick. It’s painfully obvious these goons are westerners, and they’re not exactly hiding it.

The whole conspiracy is laid wide open right under our eyes, like they’re bragging to us.

The platoon comes to a halt in the middle of the junction. Maohen’s infamous gangsters with their shoddy clubs and machetes look only like shy choir boys next to that grim gang, and none of them dares to go any closer.

Here we go. All the big players gathered in one place, ripe for the picking.

“Now do we kill them?” I whisper to Sephram.

“No!” he whispers back.

“Why? It’s a whole flock of birds with one stone. Two stones. Well, comparing stones, you’re like a small pebble, while I’m basically the Washington monument, but I’m trying to be a good friend.”

“We went through this before. Even if the guy we’re looking for is down there, killing him isn’t going to stop the war. It’ll only fan the flames! We need solid proof to convince the King and the army heads. Most of all, we need a name! And jumping in there now would be a suicide, even if you were the gate of Ptoloios!”

“Fine, fine! I get the picture.”

“Then be quiet and listen with great care.”

We turn our attention back to the street, where Maohen stands face to face with the leader of the knights.

How can I tell who's the leader? Obviously, because he's the only one prancing around relaxedly, looking like the boss, while everyone else stands stiff and quiet. Also, his armor is bigger and more elaborate, and clearly more expensive than the others. It’s way wicked cool, with big pauldrons shaped like lion heads, and a cylinder helmet that’s like a castle turret, and all sorts of tiny decorations and engravings. Damn, I wouldn’t be able to move at all if I had that much metal on me.

Maohen’s gang has the foreigners outnumbered 3-to-1, but he bows his head low before the black knight, like a dog before his owner. Guess he thinks he’ll be the next Sultan, if all goes well.

“My lord,” the gangster says, “I am most pleased to report that the next shipment will be ready by the date we previously agreed on. There have been minor complications as of late, of which you may have heard, but I assure you, it will not be a problem. The wares are assembled and ready for your inspection, should you wish to see them. Only, due to the on-going blockade, the production costs have ended up somewhat higher than our estimates, which would necessitate a slight increase in...”

The knight raises his hand to silence Maohen. A coarse, low voice sounds through the helmet,

“A change of plans. There will be no more shipments to the foreseeable future.”

Maohen’s face pales.

“W-what do you mean…?” he stammers, wringing his fat hands. “You couldn't mean to terminate our contract? But, have we ever given you any reason for discontentment? If it’s the price that worries you, it is entirely open to negotiation—”

“No. I am not displeased,” the knight interrupts. “And we would not be having this conversation, if I had any cause to be discontent. For the time being, you still have my trust, Maohen. That is not the reason.”

“Then why…?”

“Because of war! The Kingdom’s II Army will commence its land assault in another three days. I suggest you pack up your production lines, store safely what is ready, and keep your head low till the storm has passed.”

“What…?” Maohen recoils a step in shock. “In three days, my lord? B-but, that doesn’t make any sense! Why attack now? The Sultan’s army still holds all the key positions between Khelim and Sai'ith. They are prepared to withstand siege, and well supplied. They can hold out for months, even against a superior force. To attack now, when the summer draught is soon upon us, would be madness. Your losses would be catastrophic! If you are expecting me to sabotage our stations, that is not part of our deal. I am not—”

“—I expect nothing from you but silence and compliance,” the knight grumpily interrupts Maohen again. “Your so-called key positions in the canyons will only be so much rubble when it begins, and the army at your city's gates ere the end of the week. Everything is in position. All that remains is to do it.”

For a moment, the villain forgets his humble manners, too stunned by the news, and an angry scowl distorts his fat face.

“That is preposterous! Impossible!”

“Yes, and inevitable. But I am not here to make a believer of you, dotard! What I want are the blueprints of the palace complex that you promised me, and a secure route in and out when it's time! I want what is in that vault! When the Kingdom begins its attack and excess troops are drawn from here to the front, that is our cue to act. Failure is not an option.”

“You were serious about it? Raiding the royal district? But you have seen it yourself, it is an impenetrable fortress. No enemy of Nikéa has set foot on the palace stairs for a thousand years! You must wait. Only after the Kingdom has the city can it be done, no sooner. It would be foolish to attempt. Suicide!”

“It will be too late when the army is here.”

The black knight lays his gauntlet on the gangster’s shoulder.

“I will go into that fortress,” he says, calmly. “And I will smash it into a million pieces. If that’s what it takes to retrieve the core.”

The grip tightens. Maohen winces.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Now if ever is the time to show your worth, Maohen Tyuan-hé. Do what needs to be done. Spare neither men nor expense. Bribe who you must, kill any who resist. When all this is over, the Sultan’s head and his treasury will be yours, and our business may resume as before. But I must have the core first! All of our lives depend on it. Do you understand?”

“O-of course! My lord.” Mahoen quickly bows his head again. “It will be done. But—how? How can you know the front will be breached, in such a short time…?”

“Leave the hows and whys of it to me,” the knight grunts. “All you need to worry about is the role I have given you. How well you perform will determine whether you get what you want, or whether I will burn Nikéa to the ground and leave you to rule over a mountain of ash and bone, as the last of your miserable people.”

“I will take care of it!” Mahoen bows again. “I shall not fail you!”

“Hmph! We shall see.”

The knight lets go of Maohen and turns to go. But then pauses and looks slowly around the dark, slumbering neighborhood. Looks up. Sephram and I reflexively pull our heads lower, though there should be no need to. A light refraction field and a soundproof boundary surround us. It would take a mage abnormally sensitive to the flow of natural energies to notice our camouflage. No way he could feel anything remotely magical with so much iron on him.

I know that. But I still have a bad feeling.

“You mentioned something about ‘complications’…?” the knight asks Maohen.

“Ah, yes. Nothing too severe. Only, in the recent weeks, our operations here and there have been hindered by unknown people. Only mild mischief, but we have been so far unable to determine who is behind it. They take great care not to leave any traces. I had assumed they were Kingdom’s scouts sent ahead…”

“Nonsense,” the black knight refuses the idea. “The King would not have authorized such. Not without my knowing.”

“Well, they are not Sultan’s Sabers either!” Maohen argues. “And a month ago, this strange foreigner appeared in the city. A witch. Caused quite a stir at one of my clubs. She knew about the smuggling, and then disappeared into thin air. They never saw her again, but she must have been with those same people! Is there a third party involved? What if they have learned about our arrangement? If word were to spread, it could ruin everything!”

“A ’witch,’ did you say?”

“Yes? A white woman, an albino. With strange ears, or so Laosco told me. Like them lynxians or canians...”

“An albino magician…Hu...huhahahahahahaha!”

All of a sudden, the knight bursts into a bone-chilling chortle.

I thought this before, but there’s something creepily familiar about that voice. The way it rings in his helmet makes him sound like Darth-fucking-Vader. Whoever that is. No, that’s not why. It wasn't on TV.

Where was it? When…? I just can’t remember.

“Thirteen!” the knight barks out a number.

At once, a slim knight comes forward and drops down to a knee next to him.

“My lord,” an effeminate but emotionless voice sounds through the closed visor.

“Locate this witch and kill her, and anyone who’s with her.”

“As you command.”

“Go.”

Having received her orders, the female knight jumps. That’s right, jumps, clad in full plate. And it’s not a cute little hop either. She darts up to the sky quietly like a launched arrow, and vanishes into the night in a flurry of glittering cherry petals. Like a fucking ninja. What the fuck was that, what the fuck what the fuck?

Apparently, it’s not an everyday thing around here, seeing as Maohen nearly falls on his ass out of shock. His goons look like they’re one bass boom away from turning tails. I think I leaked a little too.

The cruel knight turns back to Maohen.

“Your troubles will soon be a thing of the past. In the meantime, put your mind to the operation. Three days, Maohen. In three days, I want a way into the palace and out of the city. Get to it, if you value your life on this earth!”

“On my honor! I will see it done!”

The meeting ends.

The Kingdom’s troops pull a neat 180 and depart the way they came. Maohen’s gang leaves too, less orderly, like a soft turd sliding down a pant leg. In another five minutes, the fork in the road has gone quiet, no sign of the gangster conference left behind, like nothing ever happened. Everyone can breathe again. I hear the clatter of someone washing dishes in the apartment below us.

I exhale slow through my teeth.

Cool. I haven’t had a super-powered killer after me before. Like there wasn’t enough pressure already.

“Now what do we do?” I ask Sephram. He’s been super quiet for some time now. Is he thinking, or did he fall asleep?

No, he's awake. Sephram rolls over onto his back on the roofing and sighs.

“This isn’t good,” he says. “I know that man.”

“You mean the iron man?”

“Yes. I could never forget that voice. It’s Marshal Erwin Hume of the Royal Army. I served briefly under him in my knighthood days.”

A small world, huh.

“Wouldn't have thought it'd be him. He's a ruthless man, but not a criminal. Rather, he openly despises the lawless, a stickler for rules. A man capable of heartless things, but never without a reason. The Marshal I know would've loathed the thought of sending good men to die in a foreign land, let alone for villainous reasons he himself has contrived.”

“Who would've thought, people can change. And most of the time, not for the better.”

“Damn it. If the plot goes that high up, we’re going to have a hard time selling our story to the Kingdom. Moreover, by Hume’s words, the attack will begin in only three days! How could that be? We’ve received no reports of increased activity at the border yet. Maohen was right. The army’s not equipped to take on the heavy fortifications on the way. Many times more supplies and weapons are needed than what has been delivered by our estimates. When the dry season sets in, there's going to be a heavy shortage of drinkable water and food. No commander would order an attack until closer to fall. It has to be a bluff.”

“Well, Maohen bought it,” I say. “An attack or no attack, there’s definitely going to be action here in the city.”

Sephram rubs his freshly shaved chin, as he does when he tries to pass off as an intellectual.

“Hume mentioned something about a vault in the palace. And a core.”

“Yes. I noticed the keywords too, even without italics.”

“It seems getting into the royal district was his hidden agenda all along. But what could this 'core' be? Evidenly something important enough to start a war for. Have you ever heard about such a thing before?”

You’re asking me? I’m three.

Sephram realizes his unreasonable expectations. “We’ll need to have Endol look into it. For now, let's go back.”

“Sure, but aren’t you forgetting about something here?”

“What?”

“Hello? The freaky super ninja killer?” I remind him. “Don’t you have anything to say about that? What are we going to do?”

“What about it?” Sephram shrugs and gets up. “What happened to your big stones?”

“I don’t actually have any balls, literally or metaphorically! I just like to talk big, to impress the readers! And I feel a lot less courageous in the moonlight at midnight—with a kill order on my freaking head!”

But our guy is not impressed.

“Trust me, it’s not the first time I have a professional killer after me. We’ll cross that bridge when the time comes. You’re properly disguised. Our hideout hasn’t been compromised. This city makes for a big haystack to scour, even for a specialist. Stay calm and don’t do anything unnecessary to catch their attention in the coming days, and we shall be fine. Come on. We’ve achieved our purpose here. I'll get you a turkey skewer on the way back. That'll lift your spirit.”

So he says.

Still, did I say I have a bad feeling about this?

It might not be something just one skewer is going to help.