( STORY )
from: CHAPTER SEVEN ~ SHADOWS OVER THESSIOS
characters: KIAN, MISERO
Autumn on the Helicosian coast is pleasant. Feted as saviours of Thessios, the party reposes at the court of King Taronymes after their triumph over the evil priestess Eudoxia. Spirits are high, but as night falls, Kian discovers that suspicious minds are everywhere, even in his own camp...
THE MIDNIGHT CALLER
Kian Grey pushed open the small double doors of his chamber, and stepped in from the palace corridor.
Moonlight streamed in through the drapery leading to the terrace overlooking the bay of Thessios. A brazier at the center of the room glowed faintly and radiated a cozy warmth. Kian shrugged off his leather jacket, and began to unbuckle the cutlass at his side. He paused, abruptly aware that something was amiss in his chamber
His eyes adjusted to the dim light and the contours of the room began to solidify. The decorative scenes painted on the walls, the lushly cushioned bench that serve as a bed, a small table bearing a decanter of wine and a bowl of olives, the wooden armchair in the corner... and the wreath of elegant smoke that curled slowly around a black, uncertain shape occupying that armchair.
Kian’s fingers found the pommel of the knife in his sleeve well before a coherent thought could form. In that same instant, a familiar scent argued for his attention. The blade flew across the room with a flick of the wrist and snapped into the wood of the chair’s back, about one foot from the center line. The dark shape shifted its form slowly. Ever-so-slightly, a tiny orange pinprick of light burned through the shadow, followed by a fresh swell of smoke. A gloved hand tugged the knife loose from the wooden chair and turned it over once in the faint glow of the brazier before tossing it gently back to Kian.
Kian caught the knife and eased it back into its wrist sheath. His other hand still held his sword belt, and his eyes did not leave the figure in the chair. “The way I see it, you’re lucky you’re the only person I know who smokes that oily Talumar tobacco... Misero.”
The man in the chair leaned forward and tilted his hat up to reveal his face. As usual, his solemn features betrayed little emotion. “They do say that smoking is good for one’s health, after all. How lucky it was not some poor napping chambermaid in this chair instead.”
“So what’s this then, eh? Did you wander into the wrong room? Or has the Aesosian lifestyle caught hold of you? Will you take it right if I say I’m flattered, but not interested?”
Misero waved a hand dismissively. “I assure you, the occasion for my intrusion is business, not any such frivolity, Senor Kian. You must pardon my most unworthy breach of manners. I had some matters to discuss with you, and I thought it best to follow a more discreet route.” Misero gestured to the terrace.
Naturally, Kian had taken stock of the terrace when he’d been given the room. There were other nearby balconies with lattices entwined with floral vines, but the autumnal air had left the vines dry and brittle, and it was perhaps a 50-foot drop to the stone courtyard below. Traversable by someone with the right skillset, but certainly challenging. Kian already knew the Iagosi swordsman was nimble with a sword, but now, he knew him to be resourceful in other ways as well.
“Discreet matters to discuss? Well, then... speak your piece."
The Iagosi exhaled, releasing a small gust of smoke. "Since departing Ladroa, one might say that I have become most curious about our esteemed employer, Dona de Cinza of the Grey Stripes…”
Kian cocked his head. “Curious, is it? And what’s that got to do with me? If you’re looking to negotiate more pay, you can take that up with Jack. He’s the one you owe some sort of honour debt to, ain’t he?”
Misero sighed. “I now understand that the fearsome Jack Tyrsson is a simple mercenary at heart, albeit a most formidable one. He has ambition - this is certain - but I do not think he has vision. In my experience, those who bark the orders are not the ones who truly hold the leash.”
The corner of Kian’s mouth twisted slightly. “Well, congratulations, Misero. You’ve pieced together that Jack works for the Lady de Cinza. Looks like you’ve sorted out the mystery of our patronage, so how about you take that knowledge back to your own room? It’s been a long day, so I don’t mind if you take the corridor this time.”
“Senor Kian, I must beg your pardon; in but a matter of days, you first attempted to assassinate an Aesosian king, then sent a covert message to this same king to broker an alliance on behalf of the Dona de Cinza and the Grey Stripes.” Gloved fingers tugged at one end of his long mustache, and his eyes glinted beneath the brim of his hat. “To me, such actions are not the portfolio of a simple hireling.”
For the briefest of instants when Misero mentioned the secret message, Kian knew his composure slipped. He was sure the Iagosi saw it. “You been snoopin’ have you? Seems you’re acting a bit out of your portfolio yourself.”
“I have learned to watch what goes on around me, your mercy. Nothing more.”
“Well, no need to hold back then, Misero. I must admit, you’ve got me curious now.” Kian stepped across the room and reached for the carafe of wine on the side table. He felt Misero’s dark eyes following every movement, even as he scanned the swordsman. Misero wasn’t wearing his rapier or old soldier’s breastplate, but he carried a pistol and a long parrying dagger in his belt. Kian poured one goblet, then a second. He handed one to Misero. The swordsman accepted it and Kian stepped back to sit himself down on the bench opposite the brazier. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you think you know about what’s going on around here.”
Misero raised his goblet, and took a long, deliberate sip. Kian reciprocated. Misero then slouched into his armchair, and puffed on his cigarillo. “Ladroa has seen more trouble than usual in these past months. I’m sure you’re aware that the Grey Stripes have a less-than-illustrious reputation. With their recent internal difficulties, many in the city have been watching. No sooner was the old leadership of the Stripes removed - well, was it not a fortuitous coincidence that the notorious Jack Tyrsson and his gang should arrive in Ladroa, and that very soon after, a young Lady de Cinza reappeared to pick up the pieces of her house?”
“Everybody’s got to arrive sometime, ain’t they? I agree it was lucky for us she needed muscle right when we were on the market… and lucky for her too.”
“Indeed. I also know that Nino Arriaga - who runs the casinos of the Colegio - quietly assembled a number of questionable men for a job not long ago. And I know that each and every one of these bravos met a most violent end in the Bosque. Now, it appears that Arriaga has disappeared... perhaps kidnapped by a man he thought to be in his employ, one who goes by the name Agila.”
Kian drained his cup and shrugged indifferently.
“I think you have heard of him, yes? In fact... I believe you have been wearing his hat.”
Kian felt a flush rise in his cheeks, but kept his gaze steady. “A friend of yours, this Agila?”
Misero waved his cigarillo nonchalantly, leaving a ring of smoke in its wake. “Please, your mercy, you injure me. To my regret, Agila and I have never crossed swords, but of all the men I have asked a Saint’s forgiveness for killing, for him I would find no sorrow. But now, I suspect this matter has been taken out of my hands, hasn’t it…?”
Misero eyed him expectantly, but Kian gave him no answer.
The swordsman leaned in. “Senor… I believe the mysterious Dona de Cinza is making a play. Or at least someone is, and is using her name to do so. That much is clear. People of such ambition often find themselves in need of someone who knows the terrain very well… much as Misero knows Ladroa. Such people also sometimes need other services - a sword, wielded with some discretion… or sometimes, better still, a knife."
“A knife in the dark, eh?"
Misero leaned back in his chair again. “Yes, this is also something Misero knows something about.”
“You’ve got some advice to offer, is that it? Cause all I see is some tired old bravo trying to renegotiate his contract.”
“Forgive me for saying, Senor, but in relying upon outside agents like Jack Tyrsson, the Eastlander, and yourself, your employer has caused much unnecessary disruption in the city. One must know how to conduct business in Ladroa without earning the attention of Los Mariscales. One does not swing a hammer in a belfry. Or set it on fire… there are better ways to remove obstructions. Quieter ways.”
Kian’s lip twitched with annoyance.
“As for my conditions, I have been spared the indignity of most of Ladroa’s vices, but to my regret, the dice are not among them. And so, in such idle, tranquil times, I have found an ex-soldier’s occupation unequal to my… expenses. But should an endeavor like yours provide me with equity… you will find my true talents to be worth every coin.”
Kian huffed. “So, you want to be on the inside of something. And you think I’m in charge. Is that it?”
“Yes... No... Perhaps? Are you the king here? Or are you the queen?” He bared his teeth in a strained imitation of a smile. “Perhaps you have your own ambitions as well. I do not care who is playing the game, but Misero knows this game well. Why should a man be content to be a lowly, hungry pawn, when a… a bishop suits one’s talents much better?”
“Oh, you’re that good, are you? A real saint?” Kian cocked one eyebrow.
“I said a bishop, senor. One who passes anywhere, and may commit the most unthinkable sins, one who rapes and murders and puts innocents to the sword… but whose hands never show any hint of stain, and who smiles with beatific serenity.” Misero gently clasped his hands in mock prayer, and with a small twist produced a flashing stiletto hidden between his palms. The blade danced through his fingers a moment before disappearing again into the folds of his doublet. His gaze remained fixed, his face stoney.
“Just a minute. Assuming I know where you’re going with all this, aren’t you the one who’s always going on your-honour-this, and your-honour-that? A bit hypocritical, innit?” Kian jabbed a finger at the swordsman.
Misero lowered his voice. “I was at the siege of Dafra… two thousand sons of Iagos fighting in the name of His Majesty the King, who saw neither pay nor furlough since marching into that foreign land. No food or relief for a year and 7 months. This changes a man. Those who returned can tell you... honour will not fill a man's belly.”
At this, Kian only clenched his jaw, as he found himself thinking about the battlefields he had seen, and how the reality of war had changed his own ideas about who he truly was.
After a brief silence, Misero rose to his feet, turning the smoldering stub of his cigarillo around in his fingers before sending it twirling into the brazier. “It is true, in Ladroa, everyone knows of Misero. And yet, nobody knows Misero, which is most useful. In our city, a man wears many masks. I sense that you are one who understands that a reputation can be everything, Senor Kian…”
Kian stood up as well. Misero now had his back to the balcony. He cast his arms wide in a sweeping mock bow and began stepping backward. “I am glad we’ve had this little chat, and come to this understanding, Your Mercy.” he said. “I look forward to hearing from you… on behalf of your esteemed mistress, of course.”
With that, he turned with a swirl, and Kian’s view of the swordsman was briefly lost in the billows of Misero’s cloak. Then, just as suddenly, he was gone. Kian darted to the balcony, scanning the walls and rooftops. The night air was still and quiet, and of Misero there was no sign.
