To say that our impromptu meeting in the tiny side room was unpleasant would be a severe understatement of the facts. Spare furniture and other discarded possessions clogged the floorspace. Charlie sat on a chair in front of me. I kept my fingers wrapped around the back of his neck whilst standing at the rear.
“Why are you keeping your hand on my neck?”
“So I can kill you if you try anything silly.”
If that wasn’t enough to fill the air with awkward tension, the sounds of the half-hawk screaming, braying and scratching at the walls was disquieting in equal amounts. Charlie kept his eyes locked firmly onto the empty bookshelf on the other side of the room. A tiny circular window allowed some natural light into the room with us, but there was no way in hell anyone could squeeze through the gap.
We remained unmoving for ten minutes. Eventually the hawk became bored, or simply forgot that we were there, and wandered away to cause trouble somewhere else. I wouldn’t want to be in the shoes of Charlie’s armed gang who were still waiting at the door to the inner chamber, hoping that he’d return soon with the key.
Instead they were going to get turned into bird chow...
This normally wasn’t an issue in urban areas. Half-hawks were extremely skittish. They didn’t like being around small villages. They were sensitive to any disturbances in their natural habitat – which was why the implementation of national parks and protected areas had been pushed through parliament to ensure they wouldn’t die out.
How forward thinking of them. I mean that genuinely, this was a world where until five years ago it was still legal for children to work in a factory unclogging machines with their bare hands. The prospect of genuine environmentalism amidst rapid industrialization was notable, if only because the areas in questions weren’t useful for heavy industry.
Their behaviour would change drastically if some moron smeared a populated area with a dosage of pheromones however. Like many animals they became aggressive and territorial, and would push through their dislike of loud places to seek out a suitable mate. It didn’t matter what season, especially when they believed a fertile female was somewhere nearby.
“We’re just going to sit here until it goes away?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were worried about rescuing the former king...”
“I know for a fact that none of those nut-brained fools you brought along will be able to get through the door. The security in this wing of the palace has exceeded even my expectations.”
“I should have stayed there and blasted the bloody thing until it fell over.”
Doubtful that such a scheme would have worked. It was evident that the sanctum’s designers were worried about the rapid proliferation of mobile explosives and other demolition techniques. It was effective enough to keep a wave of energy from breaking through to the other side and opening a path.
“I do wonder what story your father told you to make you this way.”
My first impression of this kid was that he was some kind of elitist, but Sloan’s background was less affluent than that. All that talk about cockroaches and collective punishment for the society he saw as too lax on criminals and frauds. As I considered his words I started to form a new theory about why. Sloan must have ranted and raved endlessly about how his work wasn’t being appreciated enough. That would rub off on any young, impressionable kid after long enough.
He was a parrot. He didn’t understand what he was saying so long as he could use it as justification to hurt people.
“He never told me any stories. I’ve seen what’s happening with my own eyes.”
“And what is happening, exactly?”
“Walser rotting from the inside out. A bunch of no-good nobles mooching off the hard work of people like my dad. Frauds and cheats being celebrated in the streets. A bunch of lazy politicians arguing over pointless rubbish like what the flag should look like. It’s stuff like that which means that dad can’t get the credit he’s due. He’s the smartest guy around! Everyone will see how stupid they’ve been when they finally find out about his work, and about me!”
I would have thought that such knowledge would lead to a universal condemnation for using his son as a test subject, but Charlie wasn’t going to accept that.
“It sounds all very convenient. A good way to excuse whatever type of bad behaviour you want to use on other people. What was that about frauds and cheats? I’d rather have them than a gaggle of psychopathic murderers.”
That was rich coming from me, but it was all about riling him up and making him talk.
“I never murdered no one!” Charlie scoffed, “They were all going to do something worse anyway. There’s not an honest soul at one of those gang funerals. They’re all the same.”
“I do detest thoughtless killers like you. Does thinking for yourself sound too intimidating?”
“Funny of you to say when you’ve been threatening and killing folk this whole time.”
“I’m not passing moral judgement – it’s a personal distaste.”
I was always aware of what shaky ground I stood on when critiquing others, and nobody expected that self-awareness from a man who kills for money. They assume that you’d have to be mad or ignorant to work an amoral job like that, unaware of how it contravened people’s values and expectations.
“They told me all about you and what you’ve done, and they kept complaining about WISA assassins and stuff.”
“It’s a popular myth that WISA has an army of trained child spies who take on their dirty work from a young age.”
“Isn’t it true? You’re one of them.”
“I’ve never worked for WISA in my life. I’m not surprised that they’ve all caught on to what’s happening though. I’ve been meddling in this affair from the start – and I couldn’t keep it under wraps forever.”
“How did you hide it?”
I chuckled, “Have you seen my face? Nobody would ever consider the possibility that I’m the one dispensing violent retribution for the crimes you and your cohort have committed.”
“They won’t be considered crimes when we win.”
How cliché. His father must have rolled out a speech about how ‘history is written by the victors.’ Unfortunately for them the historical record was mostly written by socially-conscious historians, even if they could maintain significant levels of influence and wealth with widespread disapproval from society at large.
My magic still wasn’t back to the level where I could be confident with killing Charlie. The question was whether he understood that I was stalling for time or not, and if he could recover before then to turn the tables. My new trick saved me from his attack, yet the stalemate continued on unabated. I didn’t like my odds of coming out on top.
At least the half-hawk was gone. The sound of its claws scratching the marble had gone away and left us in peace. The revolver and knife were both lost in the chaos, even if that damn gun didn’t have the firepower to break someone’s skin at a distance. It was going to tickle Charlie before it killed him.
There was no more talking. Our discussion elicited the sum total of shit-all sympathy from me. Brandon had indoctrinated his son good and proper. A stupid kid hyped up on the idea of being the one holding people’s lives in his palms. He was living a story, a big stupid action movie where he could kill a lot of people and worry about the consequences later.
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In my past life I might have been seduced into walking a similar course, but I knew better now that there was no freedom from judgement for what we did. There were beings more powerful than us that watched over everything. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine there was a world ‘after’ the one we inhabited too. They were forbidden from robbing us of our free will – but did that movement for indifference apply when we were dead, or did they tally our sins and decide what to do with us?
Durandia clearly didn’t see matters as being so black and white. The fact she was open to sending a known quantity like me to quell her problem was evidence enough. If she was so morally upright then my spirit would have been banished to whichever plane of existence was reserved for us mere mortals.
None of this mattered at all. Charlie saw his window of opportunity and leapt from the chair, rushing towards the door on unsteady legs and barrelling through it. He was calling my bluff and making a run for it. I gave chase, but I wasn’t exactly in peak condition either. I was exhausted. It felt like I’d just run a marathon.
“Get back here!”
“You can’t kill me, you bloody arsehole!”
He stumbled through the wreckage caused by his rampage to try and reunite with the group of armed men who accompanied him to the inner-sanctum doors. The only way this situation could get even hairier was if that group of goons started shooting in my direction. I didn’t have a gun to fight back with and my magic reserves were close to empty.
“How about I pay you to bugger off?” I shouted.
“You can’t bribe me either! Dad says we won’t need dirty money when we’re done!”
“Our money is perfectly clean, I’ll have you know!”
Rhetoric was wasted on him. I couldn’t get him to slow down now. Normally most people would be chomping at the bit to get a big payday from someone like me, but Charlie couldn’t conceptualize the value of money as an adult did, that or he was in too deep and didn’t want to admit it. Inertia was an all-too powerful force in the human mind, it was why wars could be smouldering even while everyone involved wanted them to end.
Too many sunk costs, too many flags staked on an inflexible position, and too many fanatics at your back who would revolt at the slightest sign of weakness. There was no space for redemption or a softening when that was lingering over your head. The cruelty machine kept spinning because of it, even if the one leading the charge had a change of heart.
The walls closer to the big doors were still standing, obstructing my vision and keeping me from seeing where his friends were located. I skidded to a halt before we got there and hesitated to keep up the pursuit. This was a terrible situation to find myself in – and it was all that damn bird’s fault! Lady Luck had left me in the cold once again.
“Gun, I need a gun! Goddamn it!” I hissed.
I dived into one of the rooms and closed the door. I could hear Charlie telling the others what to do. They were close.
“Someone’s trying to stop us!”
“A guard?”
“No, a girl! I want you to kill her. We’re going to get the key!”
“You still don’t have it?”
“She stopped me before I could blow the door down! I don’t give a damn about what happens to them. Kill the servant if you have to!”
I locked the door from the inside and turned around. I was not inside the conveniently placed armoury that I’m sure the palace contained, but rather a study, complete with a cosy stone fireplace and a large wooden desk. Did these people even need so many meeting, sitting and reading rooms? I suppose that was what happened when your prestige was partly measured by how uselessly huge your countryside manor was...
My salvation was propped up over that fireplace. An old shield was displayed there as a piece of decoration, sporting the heraldry of the royal family, along with a pair of thin sabres. I grabbed one of the chairs and dragged it over to boost myself up, dislodging them from their binds and making sure they were the real deal.
With the prevalence of guns these kinds of weapons were now mainly for show – but the royal family didn’t do forgeries either. The sabres were deadly and the shield was real. That also meant it was extremely heavy for a short teenage girl. I laid it over the desk and considered ditching it and just using the sword instead. How much punishment could it even take, could it block a bullet? If the other gunmen were using weak trash like that revolver – maybe.
I was going to have to get medieval on these assholes.
The shield wasn’t so heavy that it was completely worthless. I decided to bring it with me and hope that my estimation was correct. As I walked to the door, someone on the other side started to jiggle the handle to try and get in. I recoiled out of the path, with several bullets being fired through it by the interloper to try and catch me with a lucky shot.
There was a brief respite while they reloaded their magazine. With the door wrecked, it was a simple matter for them to kick what was left through and invade my safe room. I charged at them with the shield held aloft. They reacted quickly and turned to shoot at me, but I managed to tuck the edge underneath their shooting arm and lift it into the air. On instinct they pulled the trigger. The bullet ricocheted off of the metal shield and hit the ceiling over my head.
My other hand was already moving. The tip of the sabre I stole swiped across the front of his neck and caught the artery there. A lucky strike if I ever got one, because using a sabre was very different to a knife. It was difficult to estimate how far it could reach and the added weight made swivelling it using my wrist much harder.
The real problem was what happened next. The man stared me dead in the eyes and didn’t cover the new cut in his neck. Blood spurted outwards and drenched me from head to chest, covering my polite daywear in a thick layer of viscera. It almost got into my eyes and blinded me. I was forced to use the shield to keep it from getting worse.
He staggered to the left and collapsed against the wall once the blood supply to his head ran out. He’d only managed one shot using his gun before he met his end.
“Shit!”
So much for the subtle approach. I looked like I’d wandered blind through a slaughterhouse. My clothes were absolutely covered in the stuff, and it would make a grisly sight if anyone from the royal family found me. There was no time to worry about that though. A stampede of footsteps was heading to my location while I fretted about the mess he’d caused by rudely bleeding all over me!
I secured the leather straps tighter around my forearm and pilfered his newly-loaded pistol for myself, dropping the sabre near his body and preparing for their breaching action. Two more of them peeled away from Charlie to try and finish me off, and they must have assumed that their friend got me, because neither of them were fully ready for the fight they walked into.
He was lucky that my aim was slightly off. The anticipation made me pull the trigger a few milliseconds early, but that was all the difference he needed. He fell backwards in a cloud of gun smoke, falling over a chair that was placed on the other side of the room and landing with his legs stuck up in the air.
His friend took his example to heart and rounded the corner with his gun trained in my direction. He fired at me before I could recover from the kick of the pistol. I held the shield in front of me in the optimistic hope that it would be enough to stop it from ripping through my flesh and adding another lingering injury to the list. Sparks flew, and I felt no pain, so I was vindicated to some extent.
I returned fire, the bullet striking his good arm and causing him to drop his revolver to the ground. Conscious of how little ammo I possessed, I moved up and swung the shield at his head, clattering him around the ear and forcing him to his hands and knees. A second blow to the back of his skull put him down with a nauseating crack.
The other one was under the table!
He forced out a pained gasp and unloaded every round in his magazine from his lying position. He must have crawled around the chair while I was distracted. I ducked down behind the shield again like a turtle, feeling my body and arms enduring the pummelling that came with each bullet impact.
He wasn’t happy about it; “Piece of shit, worthless fucking ammo!”
The first problem was the gun he was using. It was a Becker semi-automatic O20 ‘Royal,’ a horrendous piece of engineering made by a company that was sorely out of its depth when it came to firearm development. It resembled a Mauser in form factor, with a boxy magazine in front of the trigger, but with a much fatter barrel and a strange, uncomfortable handle that jutted out at a diagonal angle. Not only was it unreliable, inaccurate and difficult to hold – but the large magazine box also held six rounds.
Indeed, the people leading the company seemed to believe that the marketing advantage of having the semi-automatic mechanism and a box magazine would be enough to satisfy the Walserian consumer, despite the objective fact that it was worse than the cheap revolvers that could be found almost everywhere you looked. At least they didn’t break when you tried to put bullets into them!
I dropped the dent-covered shield and trained my gun on him. The man squealed and rolled away, trying to find some solid cover to put between me and him.
“Mercy! Mercy!”
Mercy was in short supply. I put a shot between his eyes and left him dead on the floor. It took a moment for me to collect myself. The carnage was intense. The building was in tatters, I was drenched in blood, and now the bodies were starting to pile up too. It was a lot to process even with my decades of experience in dealing with stressful situations.
Most of my jobs were a ‘get in, get out’ kind of deal. Gunfights were a sign that things had gone horribly wrong – but that was flipped on its head now that I was in Walser. A gunfight meant that I was on the right path, even if it was not the one I wanted. I could count the number of battles that got this violent on one hand. This one was going to come back in my nightmares eventually.
That Becker O20 could stay in his cold dead hands for all I cared. I dropped my trusty shield and pilfered their pockets for whatever bullets they brought with them, the usual routine when I was outgunned and unprepared. I had a revolver with twenty unspent rounds, and a good semi-automatic pistol with three extra magazines.
None of the others came to chase me. They were too busy helping Charlie get the key to the big doors. There was another trick to their security. I couldn’t see how a simple handheld key could open a pair of heavy, reinforced doors like those. A mechanism of some description, or perhaps magical assistance. The ideal outcome was that I would never learn the secrets of how they secured the sanctum, because I didn’t want them to get the key in the first place.
I used a handkerchief to remove the blood from my face and set out to frustrate their efforts once again.