( STORY )
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from: CHAPTER SIXTEEN ~ HOMECOMING characters: KIAN (pov), MISERO
With the Tyrson Company's return to Ladroa, it is time for Kian to check in on the various pots he set simmering before his departure.
In addition to providing Kian with intelligence from the streets of the city, the hidalgo Misero was left with a very special portfolio - to provide special protection services to the urchin roofdancers known as The Cats.
As always, in the Port of Masks, there are always entanglements...
The WORLD'S CRUELTY
The street in front of the Teatro Secularo was filled with people. Mere moments ago, it had been virtually desolate, but now, abruptly, Kian found himself awash in a flood of masks.
The audience from the Teatro had just been released from what Kian assumed had been some kind of comedy play, based on the jocular audience now spilling into the piazza. Theatregoers from the pits and the wings - mainly a rabble of students, commoners, and tourists - were now milling about noisily. Most wore cheap, pragmatic day-to-day masks. Some had them pushed up to rest on their brows or hanging around their necks, in casual disregard of Ladroa's peculiar social mores.
Meanwhile, those spectators of means, who had no doubt taken in the play from the elevated balconies, were just now emerging from the theatre in their elegant attire and masks adorned with elaborate designs, ostentatious beaded inlays, and metallic leaf.
Kian felt uncomfortable loitering here - conspicuous. He was regretting not having done as Ladroa roofdancers do, by observing the small piazza from above instead of being stuck in the press at ground-level. Just then, he spotted his quarry across the square, leaning against a wall with the stub of a cigarillo clinging to his lip. His wide-brimmed hat was tipped low, and his russet scarf gathered loosely around his chin, serving as a poor substitute for a mask. He was reading a small pamphlet through his brass-rimmed spectacles, but then, as if sensing someone's gaze upon him, Alphonso Misero raised his eyes to meet Kian's.
This hadn't been the first appointment Kian had planned for his return to Ladroa, but the hidalgo had been quick to learn of the Tyrson Company’s return to the city, and had sent word to Kian for a meeting.
“Don't rush yourself on my account. I'll wait." grumbled Kian as he approached.
Misero frowned absently at the yellow paper. “I had to confirm my suspicions that this company made changes to some lines in this production. It was a disservice to De Serrico's wit, I think. Were he alive to see his verse altered so, there might have been blood spilled over it. Vernacular Imperial is a dwindling art, it seems…"
Kian searched briefly for a snide comment, but elected to give the man an impatient glare instead. Misero quickly concealed both the pamphlet and his eye-glasses within his cloak, and flicked the remains of his cigarillo to the cobblestones. With the smallest shift, the brief undignified moment of seeing the funny little man squinting through his cracked spectacles quickly evaporated, and in his place stood Misero the swordsman, emanating his usual aspect – dark, inscrutable, and dangerous. He touched the brim of his hat slowly. “Your mercy. Thank you for meeting with me. We have some business to discuss, I think. Will you walk with me?"
The shadows were just beginning to grow long on this spring evening, and although a balmy rain had fallen in the afternoon, the air was now cool and misty. Misero took the first narrow side alley off the main street. Of course, this was all the better to discuss discreet matters, but Kian's innate wariness sensed that their path was not random, and that Misero had a particular route in mind.
“The Grey Stripes seem to fare well in your absence, Senor. Their bare-faced alliance with the Mendigos of the Bosque have surprised many. Some have scoffed to see those who were naught but beggars and pickpockets before, now strutting about with Grey Stripes colours tied around their arms or brows, conducting business on the behalf of the young Lady De Cinza. But scoff as they may, the Stripes bolstered their numbers at the right time to discourage further challenges. There have been some small scuffles over it, and nothing more." Misero paused. “But I'm sure the Lady has told you as much?"
Kian ignored the question. In fact, he had not yet met with De Cinza and planned to see her the following morning. “Good, then. So, no trouble brewing?"
“No intrigues have found my ears, your mercy. I might even say that the inherent ignominy of Los Mendigos has actually allayed some concerns among the other interested parties."
“How's that, then?" Kian asked. Misero waved a gloved hand dismissively.
“As I have told you before, in the Puerto, one who sails under a flag of virtue will make waves, but just another boss conducting business will rock no boats. Protection payments are still made, even if they are now solicited as donations. Certain tithes are still collected on smuggled goods. But by the standards of Ladroa, this is all business as usual. The Grey Stripes seem stable, and so there is peace in the kingdom of the Puerto."
“Hm." Kian grunted.
“I have also been attentive to some other matters of your mercy's interest. It seems that last year's spate of… peculiar Eastlanders making use of the hospice at the Temple of Imparthas is now over. No more foreign assassins, just the local kind. All in all, I would say it has been a rather quiet winter. Perhaps owing to the terrible weather?"
“For someone who requested this meeting, you don't have a lot to say."
“Patience, your mercy. Misero will not waste your time, or his own. For example, you may recall that last year, I spoke of a number of mysterious and very high-value burglaries?"
Kian rubbed his chin. “Yeah. Big scores and hush-hush jobs, right?"
Misero nodded. “This trend has slowed, but continues. There have been a few more of these, erm… low-visibility heists." He turned to Kian, his eyes glinting slightly. “After the whole affair last autumn, when the Mariscales and Jack Tyrson apprehended the villainous Di Magappi, it would appear that this particular trade has not been staunched."
The narrow side streets opened up before them, and Kian saw that they were near the promenade along the Grieta. Misero gestured in the direction of the Puente Linterna. Kian waited until they passed through a cluster of masked revelers, and then under his breath muttered “So what was it? Secrets or riches?"
“Both, according to the rumours. Sensitive materials as well as some irreplaceable treasures and baubles, and it is as if they were spirited out of Ladroa without a single fence so much as smelling them. There is no shortage of scandalous secrets in this city of course, and every season brings more. Ladroa is an excellent setting for espionage and blackmail, is it not? So long as the Empire is at peace, we will see many lords or Imperial officials make… unofficial pilgrimages here." Misero favoured Kian with one of his dry, mirthless smiles.
Kian reflected on this a moment. He could think of one person who coveted baubles and secrets above all else. Between pressure from Kian and the Mariscales, that man had seemingly pulled up stakes and flown south… hadn't he? He wondered what news still awaited him from Tom Flagstaff. Was this still the Baron's work?
Misero beckoned Kian to follow him across the Linterna bridge. It was a long structure, but modest to the point of decrepitude. Compared to the grand stone Puente Soldanza closer to the port (over which two carts might pass freely, flanked on each side by market stalls), the Linterna had a lean, forlorn quality. While it saw regular foot traffic, those who used it were not always of the most respectable sort, for across the canal the red lanterns of the Calle Placeres beckoned, and beyond that, the condensed puzzle of rooftops and haphazard chimneys that was the slum of Los Corredors.
They’d walked less than fifty feet across the creaking planks, when Misero paused casually to take in the view. “Oh, yes. Another thing. Your mercy should know that in this past season, Misero has accepted two of your scorpion-coins from the Cats of Ladroa."
“Right." Kian stopped as well. He felt strangely taken aback. “So I expect you want to settle up."
The hidalgo only shrugged. “It was our understanding, was it not? That you would place Misero's sword - and the power over life and death - into the hands of children?" His tone was matter-of-fact as he leaned easily on the wooden railing.
Kian scowled. “It wasn't about making you their personal assassin. I wanted you to provide some kind of protection for them, since I… "
Misero nodded. “...since you were not here to take care of such bloody matters yourself."
Kian gritted his teeth. Misero's words were galling, but where was the lie?
“Truthfully, your mercy… young or old matters little. Are grown men and women any less rash or spiteful? Sadly, even those very young may sometimes end up with blood on their hands. I think you and I both know something of this world's cruelty." He gave Kian a sage look.
Kian found himself staring into the mist coming off the grey waters of the Grieta. “Maybe that's the point - to keep them from joining the world’s cruelty for just a bit longer. Young kids shouldn’t be carrying that around with them."
Misero eyed him for a moment. “Ah, well. Sadly, the world will not not wait, nor spare youth its harsh lessons. But your aspirations ennoble Misero by association, your mercy."
Kian felt like Misero might be mocking him, but his tone was flat, his face stony. The swordsman resumed his stroll across the bridge, and Kian followed sullenly. “So, then… two coins. Who were they?"
“When Misero receives a special job, it is prudent to perform, ah… due diligence. One must understand the players." With a flick of his wrist, a round piece of stamped copper, still shiny, appeared between his fingers. He passed it to Kian. “One coin from the beggar children bullied by a roofdancer. He was a common ruffian, who beat them and took their wages."
Kian took the coin and grunted. “End up in the canal then, did he?"
“Of course not. Exceptionally, the canal was frozen this year." Misero produced a fresh cigarillo from his sleeve and studied it casually for a moment before looking back to Kian. “No, your mercy. It was actually quite easy to find a reason to make public quarrel with this man. But sadly, he was so trifling, he was not worth the killing. Misero left him with a wound upon his leg that shall ensure he never catches another child. Indeed, he will need to make his own way by begging now, I should think. I trust that this meets with your approval, Senor?"
Kian gave Misero an appraising look and nodded slowly. “Guess so."
“This first was a minor business. You may pay Misero whatever you wish for that." In passing, he reached up to tap one of the inert lanterns that hung from poles every twenty feet along the bridge's length. He looked back at his unlit cigarillo and sighed. “The lamp-lighter is late today.”
“Why does this make me worried about what you're going to tell me next?"
Misero paused at the end of the Linterna. The rose-gold light of the dipping sun in the west strained through the mist, casting his lean face in diffuse, sallow hues. “The other scorpion coin - that was a more costly affair, for it purchased no less a death than a Captain of Ladroa's Watch." The swordsman then sauntered down the steps from the bridge.
“Well… fuck." Kian chewed his lip.
When he’d first arrived in Ladroa, he hadn't given much consideration to the Watch. They'd seemed as ineffectual and corrupt as the guards in any city he'd been to, or maybe worse. This was still likely true, but his dealings with the Mariscales the previous autumn had sobered him somewhat. He had his arrangements with the law in Ladroa, and he knew there could be repercussions for something like this.
Shaking his head, he followed Misero into the darkened, twining alleys of Los Corredors. Misero was leading him somewhere, like a driver with a carrot, but his nonchalance was both irksome, and piqued Kian's curiosity. The swordsman made two abrupt turns into increasingly narrow passages, then darted up a rickety wooden staircase. At the landing, he executed a short hop to a tiled oriel, then to a ledge. After turning back to Kian a moment to point the way, he pulled himself onto the roof.
It had been an unhurried ascent with no flourishes or, but Kian noted the comfort in Misero's step, and especially the fact that the man had made no sound. It was a good reminder that this sad-eyed hidalgo was more than he appeared.
When Kian arrived on the flat roof, Misero was standing by a ratty awning that had been erected by three roofdancers. He was casually lighting his cigarillo from the brazier they were using to cook what looked to be a skinned and skewered cat.
He tipped his hat to them, and motioned Kian to follow. Looking around, Kian saw other denizens of the Corredors lounging on the nearby rooftops. Some appeared suspicious and conspiratorial, while others chuckled and passed around jugs of wine. As he approached the ledge where Misero stood, he found that they were not so high up on this side of the building, scarcely two stories above a narrow alley. Below them, strumpets in shabby frills cooed and sighed at passing solitary men.
“Be assured, your mercy, Misero was more circumspect with this task. Nobody saw him die. Likely nobody has yet found his body, and by this time, it would hardly be recognizable. But, as Misero was bidden… he most assuredly suffered."
Kian cursed under his breath. “Yasifa is always on them about being careful - no violence, don't attract attention, don't provoke the Watch, and so on. Why would she–-?"
“It was not the girl Yasifa who brought me this coin, your mercy.” Misero interjected bluntly. “It was the blond one… the pretty thing they call the little saint."
Kian recalled Zantina, the doe-eyed waif in the colourful frock who had led him across the rooftops last season. She was one of the older Cats, and a surprisingly effortless roofdancer. She seemed both flighty and coquettish in ways that bothered Kian slightly, but other than that, he didn’t know her well. “Her? Did you get a reason for this... as part of your due diligence?”
“I understand this captain was a frequent visitor to this very alley, but not one who was welcome among the… peddlers here. First, he broke their putero’s leg. He then tormented them, took what he wished from them, stole from them, and harmed them for his own pleasure. And some of those he took away with him were not seen again. Or were not found.”
Kian clenched his fists as he took in Misero’s words. Looking down into the alley, it seemed like many of the harlots were stringy and disturbingly young. Jenyeva’s age? Even younger?
“Your mercy, for those of this sorry occupation - those who work the streets, outside the dubious protections of the brothels - it is a precarious life. Even so, to kill these lowly wretches is still a serious crime in Ladroa. Perhaps more serious here than in other places.” Misero puffed on his cigarillo pensively. “Though, perhaps this is not the case when the perpetrator is also a Watch Captain of the district, yes?”
“Alright. Maybe this cunt deserved it. But you handled it clean, right? A missing captain will likely bring in a Mariscal, won’t it?”
“It was done quietly as Misero said.” The swordsman shrugged. “Normally such an investigation would fall to Lobo or Gorgones, but since Mariscal Salta, hrm… retired, their territories are stretched thinner. It has been over a month now with no significant ripples, but I thought it wise to advise you of the matter.”
“After the fact...”
“Forgive me, your mercy. Would you have handled this matter differently? Noisier, perhaps?” He gave Kian a sidelong glance .
Kian frowned to himself. “Good question.” he muttered. Last year, he probably would have left a mess and not worried over it. Now, he wasn’t so sure. The feeling of mounting anger still sat within him. Poverty wore similar faces everywhere, but the sordid realities of Ladroa were simply more brazen. He wondered how much a city like this could change, and where he would draw his own lines. He glanced at the harlots again, and shook his head. “Bloody hell. They’re just little girls, ain’t they?”
Misero exhaled a wreath of smoke and turned away. “Are they, your mercy? Look again, if it matters to you.”
Kian gave him a quizzical glance, and looked back to the alley. He squinted in the fading light at the harlots, but it was his ears that served him here. He listened as the prostitutes in the alley called out and bantered coyly with the masked johns. Although he had gotten accustomed to the cants used through the Southlands, some of the Ladroa polari still confounded him. However, this time, it was not the words that drew his attention, but the forced girlish timbre of the voices that gave them away… a squawk here, a throaty sigh there, and the occasional dissonant awkward vocal crack. It was true that they were indeed young, but he now realized what Misero had meant.
“It don’t matter. Still kids. Still ain’t right.”
“The world’s cruelty.” nodded Misero, as if this was all there was to say. With a casual flick, he flipped another copper scorpion coin to Kian’s waiting hand.
Kian examined the coin thoughtfully. “This everything?”
Misero held up a finger dramatically, and then seemed to search the air, as if waiting for something yet to occur. He grimaced. After an awkward moment, he yielded a satisfied smirk as the faint peals of chapel bells began to echo across the Grieta from the Terceto district.
“Ah, yes. This is the correct hour. There is one other small matter I wished to bring to you. You pay Misero for information, and while this may be but a footnote, I felt that it might still be of interest to you. Please follow, your mercy.”
It was a short journey across the rooftops, but circuitous. Nothing strenuous, but Kian felt Misero’s route had more discretion in it than direction. Kian wondered who he was avoiding?
Finally, Misero gestured to one of the many shabby, unsound looking buildings of the Corredors. It was four storeys, but comically narrow, as if frozen in the act of being crushed by the two buildings on either side. At the street level was a wrought-iron gate barring a tunnel-like entrance. It was ajar, and two foreboding goons loitered at the entrance.
“No doubt you will recognize a stash-house when you see one, your mercy?”
“Yeah. What makes this one different?”
“Their selection of wares. Stimulants. Powders to increase wit and will… or at least, one's sense of such things. Confidence in alchemical form, one might say... but sadly, always with diminishing returns.”
“Smart-drugs?”
“That is one name for them. But to remain quick and smart in this way, one must always reach higher, and pay for greater concentrations or new formulations. Gangs have traded in these things for some time, though this past spring, this crew has brought something new. Something quite potent.”
Misero passed a small clay vial to Kian. The wax cap had been broken and it was now empty. The interior was a stained black, or perhaps a deep indigo. “It has a familiar colour, does it not?”
Kian touched his finger to the interior, and gave it a cautious sniff. The odour was fainter, but it was one he recognized. “Black Tears… or something close to it.”
“Indeed, very close, your mercy. It is new, and very exclusive to these purveyors… but it is not expensive, and Ladroa’s appetite grows quickly. This will soon spread… though to what end I wonder? We have seen what this does to men in stronger doses. Those who have already a weakness for such things have eagerly adopted its use. And observe... here is one those lost souls now.”
Misero gestured indifferently to the shadowy street, where a door guard was pulling the gate open so someone could leave. The person was slight of frame and very quick. Within moments they had scrambled up a series of ledges with squirrel-like alacrity. After skimming along the facade of the facing building, they finally heaved lightly up onto the roof.
As the sun was dipping low, the small roofdancer was caught momentarily in the coppery light of dusk, before disappearing once again into one the many hidden fissures of the Corredors.
“Yasifa…” said Kian.
