I was one of the first people out of the barracks in the morning, but even when I was walking down the stairs to exit the building I saw the innkeeper on the lower floors opening up rooms and waking people forcibly. Evidently, a night’s worth of time in the building didn’t cover any sort of relaxing morning in the same way it didn’t cover food. When I got outside, it was already starting to rain, though it didn’t seem to affect the foot traffic much. I wasn’t entirely sure where to go, so I decided to head for the northwest, an area I hadn’t yet been to. Either I find a caravan company and can get started on leaving, or I find Vaozey, I thought, This would be so much easier if I had a map.
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There aren’t a lot of stores here, I realized as I walked, glancing at the buildings around me. In other cities I had been to, outside of purely residential areas the streets were generally covered in stores that sold various goods and services. However, Towrkah seemed to have an abundance of buildings with no signs or advertisements on them at all, but that also didn’t look to be any kind of housing. They were also locked and their windows weren’t made of clear glass, so I couldn’t see what was going on inside. From what I could hear though, the buildings had people in them, and it was probably that labor was being done inside.
The other strange thing that came to my attention by about the time I hit the center of the city was the number of children and adolescents. Other cities had them in their streets as well, mostly adolescents as children were kept inside by their parents, but in Towrkah it seemed that almost a full quarter of the population was barely out of adulthood. I couldn’t tell the age of anyone past that visually unless they were old, of course, but logically it was probable that there were a great number of young adults as well.
The northwest was visually richer than the east, mainly because the buildings were constructed out of better materials and fewer of them were braced to one another to prevent collapse. So, if the east is the poor district, and this is a Rehvite city, why were there so few marks of ire? I wondered, In fact, the east has been either slums or generally poor in almost every city I’ve been in so far. That’s too many times in a row for it to be a coincidence. The increased guard presence made me reluctant to stay in the northwest for long, and the eateries looked too expensive for my liking, so I went east again just before noon.
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“Did you hear about the murder?” the woman in front of me asked the man who was walking beside her. “They found somebody with their head bashed in just last night.”
“Oh, where?” the man asked, sounding disinterested.
“The alley behind Thoydh’s bakery,” the woman said, pulling on his arm to get him to look at her. “You work over there, don’t you?”
“Yeah but-” the man started, shaking out of the woman’s grip.
“You need to be careful,” the woman said, thumping the man on his chest. “I don’t want to hear about you bein’ found dead in an alley or something. Mom would be devastated.”
“Do you even know the chances of that happenin’?” the man replied with a small laugh. “Somewhere around two hundred people work part time at Thoydh’s bakery. Whoever got killed probably got caught up with the wrong people, you know, detested and such. There’s nothin’ to worry about, your brother knows how to keep out of trouble.” These two don’t look wealthy enough to be Rehvites, I thought, in fact, they look poor. This is… very different from Owsahlk.
“Damned doymztoyl,” a voice swore behind me, and I looked over my shoulder to see an old man glaring in my direction. “Yeah, you,” he spat. “What’re you doin’ here? Don’t you know things are hard enough in Towrkah without your kind takin’ work from us?” His outburst drew the attention of the siblings in front of me, who glanced back at me.
“I’m not planning to stay long,” I replied to him, before meeting the eyes of the woman in front of me. “Where is this bakery?” I asked her, walking up to her left.
“You were listenin’?” she asked, sounding anxious.
“We don’t want any business with you,” her brother said sternly, reaching to his hip for a knife.
“Then just tell me where the bakery is,” I replied. “If you pull that knife out and try to use it, you won’t like what happens.”
“It’s on River street!” the woman blurted.
“And where is that?” I asked.
“South of here, near the center,” the brother said. “Now seyt off before I call a guard.”
“There aren’t any in earshot,” I replied with a smile. “Thank you for the information.”
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I headed south for a while, long enough that I suspected that the man had lied to me, before I saw River street. Very few streets in Towrkah had any sort of names, but those that did had signs at each intersection hanging from either the buildings nearby or the bracings between them. I wouldn’t have called the area that River street ran through a slum, it was tidier and less run down than that, but it certainly wasn’t a good area. There were more marks of ire on faces as I walked down it, and the stares I got contained more hostility.
The bakery was about a ten-minute walk from the cross street I had entered from, though I only identified it by the smell coming out of the building because the sign identifying it was merely a plate nailed to the front door. One of the non-shop non-residence buildings, I realized when I approached, I guess those all must have been businesses of some kind, but not ones that sell to the public? I didn’t see any entrances to whatever alley the woman spoke about, but there were some guards gathered a few dozen meters up the road, so I crossed to the side they weren’t on and moved to walk past them to observe.
The guards didn’t even notice me, instead, they were focused on their task of keeping people out of the alley they were guarding. Since I was peckish, I stopped at a food cart that had been set up nearby and bought some food, some kind of pasty stuffed with mushrooms and vegetables. Other people had the same idea as me, eating while watching the guards, so in an effort to not look like I was doing the same thing as them, I went against foot traffic for a bit and found my own spot in front of another business. Why would Vaozey kill someone so soon after arriving here? I wondered, but before I could start to think of answers I noticed someone approaching from my right.
“You’re not from around here,” a female voice said, and I looked to see a brown-eyed woman in a guard uniform looking at me. Suppressing my instinct to flinch was almost painful, and in the back of my mind, I was trying to figure out exactly how she managed to sneak up on me. Her posture is neutral, I thought, voice relaxed, hands away from weapons, she doesn’t recognize me.
“I arrived last week,” I replied, then I took another bite of my pastry. The guard, to my surprise, pulled her helmet off and stowed it under her left arm, then removed some jerky from a pouch with her right hand and also took a bite.
“Just watchin’ then?” she asked nonchalantly.
“I heard someone was murdered near a bakery,” I replied. “If I’m not mistaken, this is the entrance to the alley it happened in, right?” The guard chuckled, then took another bite.
“Here I thought you might have seen somethin’,” she said, asking a question with a statement.
“No,” I replied. “I wasn’t in this area last night. Do you know what happened?” As soon as I asked the question, I knew it was a mistake because it drew a suspicious glance from the guard.
“If I didn’t know better I’d think you were the guard here,” she remarked.
“I’ve done similar work in the past,” I explained. “I was just curious, it’s a bit of a habit.”
“Didn’t think you mercenary types were good for much besides killin’,” the guard replied. And you came over here because, since we’re so good at killing, I might be a suspect, I thought, though, probably not with the permission of your captain, or else this would be a different conversation.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“I used to live in Owsahlk for a while,” I explained, weaving truth and lies together. “While I was there, I ended up getting involved in a search for a criminal. There were a number of murders, detested from the slums trying to take revenge on regular people, and the situation got so bad that they hired mercenaries at one point to try to hunt down the killer.” I let the statement hang, judging how much of it the guard believed before continuing. “I was just wondering if this is something similar,” I finished. “Might mean work for me.”
“From what I hear, Owsahlk takes the commentaries a bit too seriously,” the guard replied, then she took another bite of her jerky. Commentaries? I wondered, but I didn’t dare to ask since it was likely part of the Rehvite religion. “I don’t think it’s anythin’ like that, unfortunately for you. Our problems mostly relate to smugglin’ here, and we don’t generally segregate our detested as strictly. Plus, the victim here wouldn’t match that sort of killer.”
“Oh?” I prompted, getting a look from the guard in response.
“She was a detested too,” the guard explained. “Tagged but unmarked. I don’t think the killer did her in because of that though. Judging by how badly the body was damaged, it was more personal.”
“Unmarked?” I asked. I was fairly sure I knew what she meant but I wanted confirmation, and my lack of knowledge was consistent with the identity I was presenting.
“Guessin’ you haven’t been out east much,” the guard laughed, but then she sighed and looked a bit sad. “Ten years ago, during the conversion, marks of ire were a common practice around here. Things never got as crazy as I hear they are in Owsahlk, but it was chaotic. However, about two years into that the baron made an edict in line with the holy word of Rehv, and it calmed things down a bit. So long as detested register themselves, carry an identification tag, and sire no children, there is no need to mark them at all. Most comply peacefully, and can retain the majority of their social status and property.” Interesting, I thought, I wonder why Owsahlk didn’t do that.
“So you identified the victim with her tag, then?” I asked.
“Only thing left to use,” the guard shrugged. So the victim didn’t even have a face left, I intuited.
“Seems like a better system than Owsahlk, at least,” I replied. “The level of violence there was quite high. The way they dealt with their problem didn’t do much to resolve the tensions at all. If anything, it made it worse.”
“Don’t get me wrong, we still have to keep them in line,” the guard replied. “Those first few years were tough, and even after the edict, we had plenty of crime until Zihzehshehsk sent over their specialists to help us root out the leaders of the crime families. If they hadn’t done that, well…”
“You might have ended up having to enact a purge,” I finished. The guard looked up at me, brow furrowed, but also curious. “I heard that, just after I left Owsahlk, the detested tried to rise up and enact a mass slaughter of the rest of the city. There were hundreds of victims, and in response, the guard went through and burned their entire slum to the ground.” She didn’t know that, I thought as I watched the guard’s reaction, then heard her sigh.
“Yeah I heard somethin’ like that,” she mumbled. “Horrible as it is, if it puts an end to the fightin’, it’s probably for the better in the long run. Some people just can’t accept the way things are as easily as others. They’re like kids, you can tell them not to do somethin’ a thousand times and be ignored, but smack them once or twice, and they’ll listen.” Is that so? I wanted to ask, but I kept quiet. Warbreed rarely had to punish their young in non-lethal ways, so I didn’t know much about how human children were raised.
“Do you have a suspect?” I asked. The guard laughed again, then finished the jerky she was eating.
“You gonna hunt a bounty?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I replied. “If the price is right.”
“Well there’s no price yet,” the guard replied. “That being said, someone saw a woman in armor fleein’ the scene. No real description, just regular lookin’ with black hair. You seen anybody like that?”
“Dozens,” I lied. “Not a very useful description.”
“I agree,” the guard said. “I have to get back to work, but if you see anythin’, come find us, alright? I came over here thinkin’ you looked suspicious, but it seems like I had the wrong idea, so my apologies. Oh, and if you do find that woman, bring her in alive, would you? If you show up with a head we’ll have to throw you in a cell until we can prove you didn’t just kill some random person.”
“Got it,” I replied. The guard smiled at me, then walked off, entering the alley and disappearing. That woman is either half-blind, or they didn’t distribute my description, was all I could think as I finished my pastry.
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Once the guards finished what they were doing and left, I crossed the street and entered the alley. As predicted, it passed right behind the bakery, though I didn’t predict how badly it smelled of feces and urine. Blood too, I thought, and bits of rotting flesh. It didn’t take me long to find the large stain on the ground where the woman had been killed, just behind the rear entrance of the bakery. Even though it had rained all day, the ground was still dark with blood, and there were still lingering impact marks on the ground from Vaozey’s mace missing its target a few times.
As I was looking around for anything that survived the rain and the guards’ investigation, another man walked into the alley. Dressed in filthy robes that were nearly worn through, he was clearly poor, and from the expression on his face, he looked to be either tired or potentially under the influence of a drug. Our eyes met for a moment, then he looked away, modifying his path to make a wide circle around me. What are the chances that he takes this route often? I wondered, Maybe he knows something.
“Hey,” the dirty man called out after walking past where I was crouched down. “What are you doin’ here?” Maybe he had the same idea, I thought, looking up and seeing his previously dazed expression gone from his face.
“I heard there was a murder,” I replied.
“No shit,” the dirty man scoffed. “Doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“I’m looking for the killer,” I said, and the man’s hand snapped back into his robes so fast that it made an audible sound. My own hand grabbed onto the handle of my sword, and we stared each other down for a moment.
“You don’t look like a guard,” the dirty man commented.
“Neither do you,” I retorted. “In fact, you don’t look like anyone would miss you if you did something stupid.”
“Careful doymztoyl,” the dirty man growled. “I could say the same for you.” A tense moment of silence passed, and though neither of us drew our weapons, the dirty man relaxed a bit. I gave the appearance of backing down, letting go of my sword, but I began charging up electricity in my left hand just in case. “So you’re, what, a bounty hunter?”
“Maybe,” I replied.
“Lerawlay zvihr,” the dirty man spat. “Why don’t you find someone who actually deserves to be arrested and go after them instead?”
“So you know who did it then?” I asked.
“Wish I did,” the dirty man snarled. “I’d buy them a nice meal for taking out the seytoydh trash. Tihseylao was a teylm ngoyth who sucked Rehvite jhoyt for money and thought it made her better than her own kind. If I had known she’d be back here, I’d have cut her head off myself. Got what she deserved.” He spat on the ground in a display of intense derision, then scowled at me.
“And what if I know who did it?” I asked. “What if I know that person fairly well?”
“The seyt you do,” the dirty man laughed. “What kind of seytoydh tactic is this? Most people would at least try buyin’ me somethin’. I ain’t sellin’ her out that easy, boy.” Not very smart to slip up like that, I thought, but you do know something, so you’re not getting out of this until you tell me.
“Her name is Vaozey Svaaloyweyl,” I said. “She’s from Owsahlk, and she absolutely hates Rehvites. Black hair, yellow eyes, uses a mace in combat, burned pretty much everywhere but the face. Does that sound like the person you don’t want to sell out?” The dirty man wavered for a moment, and narrowed his eyes at me. “I have a feeling you know where she is, and you’re going to tell me.”
“I’m not gonna do anythin’ of the sort,” the dirty man replied, pulling a knife from inside his robes. “Don’t think that guard sword is gonna help you, I’ve shanked more than my fair share of guards, and you’re not even a Rehvite. A big body doesn’t mean anythin’ in real combat.”
“Just tell me what I want to know and I won’t kill you,” I replied, drawing my weapon. “Where is she? I’m her traveling companion, we got split up.” Again, the man wavered, and I could see on his face that his disposition towards me was changing. However, just before he could speak, I heard the twang of a bowstring. At nearly the same time, an arrow struck the man, and whatever was on its head shattered, spewing liquid across his torso and spattering me with some errant drops. I spun around just in time to duck out of the way of a second arrow and spot someone running away across one of the pieces of scaffolding above the alley.
“What the seyt,” the dirty swore. “Was that some kind of- hey, what the- little ngaaz-” I turned around to see the man swatting at his legs, jumping back and cursing. A smell of sulphur met my nose, and I realized what had been shot at him.
“Burn them off, quickly!” I yelled, looking down at my feet to see hundreds of ants pouring out of every crack around us. “Your clothes as well, take them off!” The repellent must have been washed off by the rain, I thought, Damn, I need to get out of here. Though I was able to keep the ants at bay with magic, the dirty man wasn’t, and he fell to the ground screaming as the ants began biting him all over. I didn’t think the bites hurt very badly when they attacked me, but he was suffering hundreds at once, so the effect was clearly multiplied.
“HELP!” he screamed as the ants took his head’s proximity to the ground as an opportunity to start digging their way into his eyes, ears, and nose. With morbid fascination, I watched as the insects dug their way into his brain, killing him over the course of about thirty seconds, then began tearing away the softest pieces of his flesh and transporting them back to the cracks and holes they came out of. As they worked, the ants seemed to lose interest in me, concentrating their undulating mass of insectoid flesh over the corpse of their victim for maximum efficiency.
That explains why Awveyray wanted the attractant, I thought, As soon as it stops raining, I’m soaking my gambeson with my last repellent vial, then figuring out where to buy more.