For the following weeks defeating Jacob Payne was the only thing on Arlandra Knight’s mind. The dark streets of Taelliwey were his playground as he scoured here and there for signs of the crime lord’s whereabouts. He devoted the remainder of his time to completing his training and assisting Ashley in developing a new weapon to use against the anomalies. He barely slept, ever since the day he became one of them he found that he was never tired, nor hungry or thirsty.
The assassin was surprised to hear that Devin had left the anomaly project in order to lead a team dedicated to studying that strange stone he had encountered. Regardless, Arlandra’s new boss was Ashley’s old mentor, a professor named Roland Smith, who was rather a sturdy old man, and like Devin and Ashley, he saw the world like an equation through the lens of his circular glasses. Arlandra had only met him once, so far, and it was a meeting just short enough for the old man to say, “You’ll be glad to know, Mr. Assassin, that one of Devin’s old boys has coughed up a lead on that Payne fellow. Take a look around Blackberry Square, chiefly the entrance to the sewers; we suspect he plans on moving his operation underground.”
Arlandra spent the night in humble meditation upon the roof of the Royal Palace. Being so high up the air was cool and clean. He had removed his cloak and hood, and now wore only a black vest, so the night air would caress his bare arms and his face. With his eyes closed he could hear nothing and everything; the chirping of crickets in the courtyard garden below, the wind dancing through the leaves, the shuffling of a nested bird above the balcony, the muffled banter of people in the rooms below. He opened his eyes to the light of the city so far beneath him, a thousand glittering fireflies in a forest of stone.
There was something Ashley had told him while they were working on her new weapon that stayed in his mind, and somewhat frightened him. “There are all kinds of substances that make up the universe, and some of them are more stable than others; the same goes for people. I know you have been training to control your power, but no matter how hard you try you will always be an unstable element.” He recalled a vision he had once, and he saw himself within a red field, a dark force yearning for freedom. “I have a theory,” Ashley went on, “that coming into close proximity with other anomalies enhances the process as you each draw energy from the other. So far you have used your powers far away from anyone else, so I’m saying that it’ll be different this time, harder to control.”
“I have to use it,” he had told her. “You said it yourself, normal weapons won’t work on him. Don’t worry, this is what I’ve trained for. Just promise me that if Payne starts to fight back you’ll get as far away as you can.”
They spent the following day scoping out Payne’s operation. Hidden just outside of Blackberry Square, they observed the entrance to the sewers, which was a large tunnel with heavy wooden doors. Over ten minutes or so groups of two or three men passed to and fro, like a trickling of water, carrying strange boxes of equipment. All movement stopped then until dusk, where they observed a new and much larger group of men moving a heavy crate into the dark tunnel. “That doesn’t look good,” Ashley remarked.
Arlandra agreed. “We should get closer and see what it is they’re moving.”
They crept, still hidden, as close to the entrance of the sewers as they could without entering. The convoy stopped not far from where they were hidden, and the guards at the entrance ordered them to open the crate to inspect the cargo. Arlandra was granted a look himself, from afar. The object was a large brass device shaped much like a bowling ball. The sight sent shivers down Arlandra’s spine. “It’s a bomb,” he whispered. “I’ve seen that make before. It’s like the one Garn Pallerii used to destroy Riftsire.”
Ashley’s face went pale. “Good god! They’re moving bombs through the capital. You don’t think they plan on attacking?”
“If they are I’d like to know what their agenda is. Payne can’t plan on going up against parliament, his organisation is too small…”
“But Taelliwey is stretched thin on account of the war,” Ashley added.
And then Arlandra realised. “Hang on. Taelliwey’s looking for any excuse to start this war with Surra, and maybe this is it. If Payne sets off a bomb anywhere in the city, then the fighting will commence all over Noveria!”
“Arlandra thousands will die. We have to stop him now.” She made to move forward as soon as the convoy was again underway, but Arlandra stopped her.
“Wait,” he said. “Who’s that?”
The man seemed to emerge from the shadows like some ghostly apparition, and from afar he was certainly sinister in appearance; the heavy build and firm square jaw, and the threatening gaze through fiery red eyes. The man was Louis Cole, an associate of Jacob Payne, but secretly a loyalist to Grey Skull. Of course, Arlandra didn’t know this at the time, and all he could tell was that the man was an anomaly. “I can feel it, Ash,” he began to say. “The energy radiating from that man is phenomenal, I can feel it burning in my fingers and toes.”
“Try to calm down,” she told him, promptly. “If you can sense other anomalies then maybe they can sense you too. We don’t want Payne and this new one picking up on us.”
Arlandra drew back a little. “I agree. We need a plan.”
The plan was to draw as many of Jacob Payne’s men out of the sewers as they could to allow Arlandra a fair chance. He would have to be careful of Louis Cole; this man was an extraneous variable, and Arlandra did not know what the man was capable of. He was at an unfair advantage of two against one, so he would have to even the odds. If Ashley’s weapon worked then there would likely be no fight at all, but even she was not willing to put all of her confidence in it.
The land above the sewer entrance was a less desirable section of the city and was not far from becoming a slum; the remainder of Jacob Payne’s men had inhabited it, and now, in the dead of night, they huddled around their fires to escape the eerie cold of a Taellian night. Arlandra and Ashley each borrowed a tattered cloak from a nearby broken-down shack and used their hoods to cover their faces. As they stalked the gloomy streets they appeared just as suspicious as the next stranger to come by, and were hardly given a second look. They had successfully infiltrated the surface camp.
Arlandra was fully alert, his green eyes were ever watching for some sort of edge. We have to get those men out of the sewers. He observed a pale column of smoke rising up from a nearby drain, and with a hint of excitement he touched Ashley’s shoulder. “Look at the drains,” he told her. “There is smoke rising from the drains!”
She instantly understood what he had in mind. “Cover the drains,” she replied. “Smoke them out.”
“We’ll have to clear out some of the men up top then.” His eyes flashed towards each of the surrounding fires. “Look at how each group keeps to themselves. There’s not a lot of movement, is there? We can use that to our advantage.”
“We could create a distraction, something to draw their attention while we cover the drains.”
Arlandra nodded. “Yes, that could work. But I can’t think of anything big enough to…”
“I have an idea.” Ashley was then making her way towards one of the larger groups of bandits. The man to her left was a mischievous looking fellow with a long moustache and an awful twitch, while the man to her left had hunched shoulders like a bull and a chin that pointed too far out of his face. The big man was sprawled over a table, his face sagging with drink. When no one was looking Ashley clapped him over the head and quickly stepped away. At first Arlandra drew a quick breath, he thought she had gone mad, but he soon realised what she was doing.
The brutish man growled a spun around, poking the twitching man behind him with one thick meaty finger. “Aye, you just clapped me o’er me head,” he said sluggishly.
The smaller man drew back, and his many companions rose and stood behind him. “I did no such thing, you smelly oaf!”
“You callin’ me a liar?” the drunkard bellowed.
“No, I am calling you an oaf!” Only a moment later a giant ham-sized fist flew by, but with a twitch the smaller man fell aside, and the fist collided with another man’s face. This man stumbled, spat out a rotten tooth, and then punched the closest man to him. Seconds later there was more wood on the fire, more music in the tents, and a jolly old brawl was under way. Men from every group were running forth to watch the action, or if they weren’t careful, to get dragged into the fight themselves.
Ashley stepped out of this sudden chaos with a sly smile upon her face, and her eyes drank in all of the assassin’s approval. “Men aren’t difficult to control so long as you understand their most basal instincts.”
They used crates, planks, and slabs of wood to cover the surrounding vents; when it was done all they had to do was wait by the front door. Soon enough it came crashing open with a thick torrent of smoke and coughing men; they came bursting like bats out of a cave. It wasn’t difficult to slip past then. Ashley used a cloth to breathe through while Arlandra used his mask, and they both slipped on goggles to prevent the smoke from burning their eyes. “I can’t see a thing down here,” Ashley remarked, with a muffled voice.
“I can sense the area around us, just stay close to me. We need to find Payne and the bomb before this smoke clears out. If we can find where it came from we might be able to stop the supply; I got my money on the new guy. Let’s go.” He took her hand and guided her through the tunnel system. He could see the aurora of several people in a nearby room, and he raced towards it.
Suddenly the tunnel opened up into a large square cavern, and there was not a person in sight. Arlandra cautiously stepped inside and together he and Ashley edged their way forward. Ashley stumbled upon a desk and papers fell away as it rocked a jittered loudly. She picked up one of the papers. “It’s a sales log,” she told Arlandra. “The key items appear to be armaments, including several large explosive devices.” Her voice became shrill. “Arlandra, these documents name Johnathan Barnard as the supplier!”
The assassin took the paper from Ashley’s hand and examined it in disbelief. “No that’s impossible. Bernard is a rebel but he’s not a warmonger – not to this degree anyway.”
“The wax seal,” Ashley pointed out.
Arlandra nodded. “That’s his alright, but Payne can’t be one of his boys, it doesn’t make sense. Unless,” he collected another document and then another. “Look at the dates of sale! First of April, April fifteenth, April twenty-second and April twenty-ninth! The last date is next week…”
“Which means the documents were forged to name Bernard as the supplier…”
“And he has perfect access to the city to plant the bombs.” Arlandra picked out a letter beside the log book. “And here’s the connection to Suria, a letter of service from the Surian Chancellor. If the authorities find this, they’ll think Bernard is in league with their enemies; they won’t even bat an eye at Payne and his boys. But why Bernard of all people?” Arlandra wondered.
“He’s an obvious target,” Ashley suggested.
Arlandra jumped at the sudden and vicious appearance of Jacob Payne and Louis Cole’s auroras, which were more suffocating than the smoke that remained in the room. “Very perceptive,” said Payne, in a low and scornful voice. “I still wonder how you managed to escape me the first time, Mr. Assassin, but now my men are covering all your exits.”
He was right. Through the smoke Arlandra saw the shadow of a dozen men in masks surrounding him. He could take them down using his powers, but would Ashley be safe?
His female companion stepped in front of him, and all she said was, “Arlandra, the gun.” He stepped far to the side as she raised her weapon – a large silver revolver with bright electric cylinders – and fired a strange fiery blast into Jacob Payne’s chest. Merely standing near the blast, Arlandra could feel that it had drained some of his energy, the way the noon sun of the Morroak Desert seemed to do. Mr. Payne staggered back several paces but remained on his feet; there was no wound and yet there were fierce burns on his shirt and suit jacket, and the flesh beneath had gone red and blistered. He breathed heavily and began to cough like he was choking, and then his eyes shot forward and were full of hatred. He staggered forward with an angry growl and drew the short-sword at his belt.
Arlandra jumped forward with his own shining blade just in time to parry to the blow, and save Ashley’s life. “If you want to hurt her you’ll have to deal with me first!”
Payne was still shocked after being blasted, but he was still able to handle his sword skilfully. “With pleasure! I have a dozen men,” he called them all forward. “You, the girl, and your mysterious friend are dead!”
Arlandra drew back. What did Payne mean by mysterious friend? Then the assassin began to hear music, played upon a violin, a bright yet remarkably chilling melody that weaved its way through the smoke like a snake. Whoever was playing was hardly a skilled musician, for the notes were jagged and scratchy, but played with wild passion, as if a kind of madness lurked within. Arlandra’s eyes followed the sound, and settled upon a man dressed in motley. This man sat upon a stool, his violin propped up between his chin and shoulder, his right hand holding the bow whizzed back and forth while the fingers of his left hand danced upon the strings. Arlandra saw that his face was covered in pale makeup, there were small scars above and below his closed eyes, and a smear of red over his freakishly sadistic smile. The gold bells in his jester’s hat jingled as his head bobbed happily from side to side.
The mad man played on, seemingly oblivious to everything around him, until one of Mr. Payne’s men placed a hand upon his shoulder. The musician played one last note and then swung the violin like an axe, violently cleaving into the intruder’s face. The violin was smashed to splinters with the unpleasant din of snapping strings and the victim fell to the ground with a bleeding face. The jester stood up, holding the broken remains of his violin, and his face was tight with anger. “YOU DO NOT INTERRUPT MY MUSIC!” he screamed, and kicked the wounded man. In the blink of an eye his expression changed, and smiling ear to ear he broke out into a hysterical laugh, and did not stop until he fell to his knees in tears. He knelt down close to the bleeding man and said, “Doesn’t my fiddle sound a little flat to you?”
The assassin broke away from the jester’s theatrics and saw that Jacob Payne was distracted; he raised his sword, striking like a cobra, but Payne caught on just in time, and received only a large gash upon his cheek. Then the big man ducked aside and countered, swinging his blade at Arlandra’s ribs. The assassin parried and then bashed forward with his shoulder while Payne was still off balance, but Jacob Payne was a large man, and his feet shifted quickly so that he did not fall over. Still, Arlandra maintained the offensive, and used his speed to counter his opponent’s strength. He pressed a fury of attacks, one after another. So long as Payne didn’t make contact he would be unable to use his special ability. Suddenly a bulky hand lashed out, and Arlandra jerked his head to the side, caught Payne by the wrist and struck him over the head with the pommel of his sword. Payne didn’t seem to feel it, and when Arlandra lunged for the final thrust the attack was averted and suddenly Payne had an opening. A chill of panic ran down the assassin’s spine however he was not prepared to lose; he focused his energy and drew a second sword, with which he blocked a strike that would have opened his abdomen. Arlandra countered with a slash that left a red stripe across his enemy’s chest and then another that removed his hand. The assassin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and then reached out for Jacob Payne’s aurora. He wasn’t exactly sure how he managed to do it, but his aurora merged with Payne’s for the slightest moment and then overwhelmed it, and when he opened his eyes his opponent was defeated.
Meanwhile the mad jester bounded after the remaining guards like a rabid dog. He had replaced his bow for a sword, his bloodshot eyes burrowed into each man he slew, and his pale face and dry orange hair became stained with splashes of crimson. He laughed like a wild jackal. One man came up from behind and made to strike him with baton, but before he could the jester vanished in a puff of smoke. He remerged and screamed, “Peekaboo!” before slaying two more men. Another attack was aimed at the jester’s head, and quite amusingly, when the baton struck his head disappeared. The headless body hopped and skipped around in a circle, and then said, “Oh my, I appear to have lost my head! Won’t you help me look for it?” The remainder of Payne’s men stood no chance against the mad jester’s ghostly antics and swordsmanship; the fight was over in moments.
Most of the smoke that clouded the chamber had now cleared, and a great silence overwhelmed the remaining three. Arlandra was glad to see that Ashley was unharmed, but dismayed when he realised that Louis Cole had escaped with the plans and the bomb; it would take forever to catch him in the sewer system, even with the ability to track his aurora. There was also the jester to deal with.
Arlandra was grateful for the jester’s help, however the man was an anomaly which meant he was either a useful friend or a powerful enemy. The assassin never lowered his guard, and demanded, “Who are you?”
The jester offered a low royal bow. “Zester Dumont, at your service.”
“Okay, why are you here? You’re an anomaly; why help me?”
“Oh it’s all just a bit of fun, isn’t it?” the jester declared. “Besides, I understand a war is about to break loose, not only between Taelliwey and Suria, but also between man and anomaly. People all over the continent have been choosing sides, and I want to be on the winning team! You’re the assassin who has been leading the assault against the impelling underground forces, they say you help your own kind, and so I say again,” he bowed, “Zester Dumont at your service.”
Ashley then approached them frantically. “Arlandra, the bomb!”
The assassin glanced from side to side, but there were too many exits. “We’ll never find him in time!” he cursed.
Zester stepped forward and suggested, “The man you’re after is named Louis Cole, a real pyromaniac, and a Grey Skull loyalist…”
“Grey Skull,” they both wondered, but the jester continued.
“I can find him if you give me time…” he let his own hand evaporate into thin air to demonstrate. “I’m not so material as I used to be.”
Despite the unforeseen circumstance of the bombs, the only thing Arlandra could do now was return to Mr. Smith for a mission report; after all, Jacob Payne was dead. He feared, however, that something much worse was coming.
After nearly a week of starvation Christel requested an audience with the baroness in her chamber. He had recalled much more of the story and decided it was time to recount it to his captor; it was his only means of uncovering the truth, and he feared that trusting her was his only means of escape. No matter the consequences, he was hers to command.
Christel was once again bathed and fed, but this time there was no great buffet nor intricate dinner; he was put in a chair across from the baroness and he told all that he could tell.
The baroness listened quietly, for the most part, fluttering her jade eyes. “You’re awfully cooperative today,” she mentioned. “I thought I was going to have to force feed you that serum.”
Christel chuckled. “I came to a decision the other night while I was starving away in my cell. I think you like me.”
“Beg your pardon…”
“I’ve been thinking about the old baron, and whoever it is your working for, and you’re not like them. You have your own agenda, and although my hand is being forced, I feel I can trust you enough to want to help you.”
The baroness paused for a moment, her expression was stern and calculative, but Christel felt he was getting somewhere. “Perhaps it’s all a game to gain your trust.”
“Not this time,” was Christel’s answer, “but of course, if I’m wrong then you have nothing to lose. Look, you can keep playing your mystery game if you want. I’m willing to cooperate but you have to promise that I will see my family again.” The baroness nodded but Christel was not satisfied. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Very well, I promise. You have my word, but this changes nothing. I have my place and you have yours.”
Christel nodded, feeling strangely content. “Agreed.”
ns 172.70.130.119da2