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vigilantiaThis job wasn’t important enough for Daud. He wanted to tell the guard to just fuck off, said it wasn’t his problem if a watchman lost his job over some drunk’s claims. Deal with it yourself, he said. But I followed the guard, told him I’d do it. No job is too small for Jenkins, I said. The guard grinned at me, agreed to pay me, told me where to be and who to kill. I should have known there was something else behind that grin, but I wanted to prove my worth. I would have ignored it even if I’d seen it.
I waited until nightfall before leaving. I climbed out one of the windows of the base and went across the rooftops, slipping by the tallboys and leaving them none the wiser. It was too easy, the thought occurred to me, but I brushed it aside. How hard was it to off a drunk? Not hard at all, it was fine for it to be too easy.
The house was small, run-down, stinky. A squat, probably. I crawled in through the second story window, hid myself in a corner. Waited. I was early, and drunks don’t keep schedules. I wondered about that; the guard had told me a specific time and place...it was probably nothing. Guards operate on schedules. Can’t help themselves, I guess. I waited.
Half an hour passed before I saw a light shining through the crack under the door. The scuffling, shuffling sound of drunken footsteps came from the hall, and I moved to one side of the door. It opened, concealing me in the corner as a man with a bottle stumbled in. I crept up behind him and stabbed him in the neck, like we’d been trained. He gurgled, swayed, and fell in a heap on the floor at my feet. The bottle rolled across the floor, sloshing whiskey everywhere. Then, more footsteps.
It was a trap. That’s why the specific time and place. That’s what was behind the guard’s grin. Guards were searching the house, checking for signs of the plague here, or at least that’s probably what they were told. They wouldn’t find the plague, but if I didn’t move fast, they’d find me. They’d find an assassin with a bloody knife standing over the body of a dead drunk. I panicked, darting for the window. My boot caught the whiskey bottle and sent it spinning into the wall, and the heavy footsteps that’d been coming up the stairs quickened.
A huge figure darkened the door. The biggest guard I’d ever seen, but he was silent. He wasn’t looking at me, but at the drunk on the floor. He recognized the stiff. I froze. I should have bolted, or transversed, or killed the guard, but my mind went blank. The guard stared at me for a second, hesitating. What was he thinking? His eyes--weird eyes for a Continental--narrowed.
He stepped back into the hallway and closed the door. “Nothing here!” He’d said, and the guards left.
--
Telal returned to the makeshift table, scooping up his cards as he sank heavily into the chair with a groan. Markos had his feet propped up, legs crossed at the ankle, and was peering at him from behind a cloud of cigar smoke.
“Who was it this time?” The Serkonan asked, looking disinterested. Telal shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Jenkins.”
Markos chuckled, a grin spreading over his features. “Jenkins,” he repeated, as if it explained everything. Telal reached for the bottle of whiskey that sat between them on the table, pouring himself a drink. He brought it to his lips and smirked before taking a swig, then sat back in the chair and shuffled the cards in his hand. Markos puffed another mouthful of smoke into the air, raising an eyebrow at Telal. “He was the one who blundered into that trap all those years ago, was he not?”
“Mm. He was.” Telal picked the two worst cards from his hand and set them on the table, replacing them with two from the deck, waving a hand to tell Markos it was his turn. “He was just standing on the window ledge when I saw him. As if I wouldn’t be able to see a back-lit idiot if he didn’t move.”
Markos took his feet off the table and sat forward to make his play. “I do not think I have heard the other side of this story before,” he mused, counting out the chips and placing his bet in the middle of the table. Telal matched his bet but didn’t raise.
“Back then, the guard captain was--” Telal paused, leaning back in the chair and looking skyward as he tried to remember the name. “--ah, Voss. Seedy, untrustworthy. Used to take bets on the illegal boxing matches, though he never paid out. People who threatened to report him often disappeared, so he got away with it for the most part, but I suppose he saw a chance to kill two serpents with one stone.” He shuffled his cards again. “Taking on you lot and getting rid of a drunk who would expose him at the same time. He sent a squadron out on patrol this side of Draper’s Ward, knowing Jenkins would be there at the same time and likely get himself caught. It worked, until I saw who the mark was.”
Markos laid his cards on the table, smirking. Telal shook his head, tossing his cards into the table in defeat and refilling his drink as the Serkonan scooped up the chips.
“If I thought less of you, I’d say you cheated while I was gone.”
“And if I thought less of you, I would have done so. You are simply not as good with cards as I am, my friend.” Markos grinned again, puffing his cigar. “So who was the mark?”
Telal paused for a moment while dealing the new hand. “My old employer, Fitzsimmons.” He said ‘employer’ as if the term was laughable. Markos’ grin faded slightly.
“Employer,” he repeated. He recognized the tone.
“I hadn’t seen him in about eight years, but--what’s the phrase? Something about absence and fondness…”
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Markos supplied.
“Yes. That didn’t happen. Quite the opposite, actually. I had been working off his debts for some time and seeing him relegated to the past tense was rather satisfying. Even more satisfying was the look on the captain’s face when he was discharged. As if he hadn’t expected to get caught.”
“I can tell you really enjoy this part of the story,” Markos chuckled. “So I will ask the obvious question. Who replaced Voss as guard captain?”
Telal grinned, his drink halfway to his lips. “I did.”
Telal stood in his office, his helm tucked under one arm. The words rang in his mind any time his thoughts struck them: his office. He glanced around as he stepped forward, away from the door. It wasn’t particularly grand, compared to other offices he’d seen. Indeed, compared to Gerald Fitzsimmons’ office at the old estate, it was positively tiny, but then again, Fitzsimmons’ office had taken up the better half of an entire floor. This office--his office, he thought once again--was tucked away in the upper level of the guard station at the end of a long hallway. Its furnishings were simple but finely crafted; a tall-backed leather armchair sat behind a leather-inlaid walnut bureau in the center of the room. The far wall was taken up by a trio of arched windows, the centermost window open to let in the warm evening breeze. On either side of the windows stood a bookcase, each sparsely populated with decorative tomes. His predecessor apparently wasn’t the reading type. To one side of the door was a small table and coat rack, and on the opposite side sat a globe in a polished metal stand. All in all, it was a much more exquisite set-up than Telal would have expected.
“Nice place you have here.” A gravelly voice preceded Daud’s appearance in the open window, his sudden arrival causing Telal to jump back in surprise. The Pandyssian sighed and knuckled his forehead. It didn’t seem like he’d ever get used to that. Daud stepped forward to drop off the ledge and onto the floor. “Looks like you’re really moving up in the world, Captain. Or is it ‘Commander’ now?” A rhetorical question. Telal narrowed his eyes slightly as the assassin moved about the room.
“I suppose I have you to thank?” Telal asked, suddenly dubious of his recent promotion and its legitimacy. Daud made a noncommittal noise low in his throat.
“I’m not in the business of putting competent men into the City Watch. Or putting such men into positions that might compromise my work.” He turned a pointed look towards Telal for a moment before resuming his casual perusal of the office.
“Ah, of course,” Telal nodded, feeling stupid. Daud had no interest in the affairs of the City Watch beyond knowing how best to avoid the patrols. Telal furrowed his brow, then smoothed the expression away. He leaned casually against his desk, crossing his arms. “So what brings you to the guard station? I assume you have some business in the area, unless this purely a social visit?”
“I did have business nearby,” the assassin rumbled, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But it’s finished. I thought I’d check to see how the new Watch Commander was settling in.” Daud stood near the globe, nodding with muted appreciation before raising an eyebrow at Telal. “So?”
“Fine,” Telal answered, his shoulders lifting into a shrug. “I’ve never had an office before but I’ll get used to it. Seems like they thought of--” He looked around, frowning slightly. “Well, almost everything.”
“Almost?”
“There’s no drink cart.” Telal smirked. “I’ll have to fix that before our next social call.”
Daud chuckled, shaking his head. “See that you do. In the meantime, I’ll leave you to finish getting acquainted with your new position.” He walked back across the room, towards the window. “Though I’d take a closer look at that globe if I were in your shoes.” He stepped up onto the window ledge, then paused, turning his head to look over his shoulder. “Congratulations on the promotion, Commander.”
Daud disappeared from the window with a sudden whoosh of air and once again, Telal was alone in the office. The Commander watched the window for a moment, half expecting someone else to appear, before he turned and looked at the globe in the corner of the room. What did Daud mean, take a closer look?
Telal strode across the room and leaned down to inspect the globe, not finding anything unusual about it until he noticed that the equator line was not simply drawn onto the sphere. It was a crack that circumvented the object. He touched a finger to it, tracing the line around until he found hinges on the other side. Frowning, Telal put his hands on either side of the northern hemisphere of the globe and lifted. The top half of the sphere opened, revealing a silver tray upon which sat two crystal glasses and a matching crystal decanter of whiskey. A smile spread across Telal’s features. So they had included a drink cart after all.
Telal loosened his collar as he followed the familiar path through the Flooded District. Making visits to the quarantined area may have been easier as Watch Commander but he still had to be careful not to be followed. Frequent visits would look suspicious no matter who you were. So he would leave the guard station and make it look like he was going home. He’d stop here and there, talk to the men and women patrolling, and then double back through alleyways and side streets to get where he needed to go. Sometimes he could get away with saying he needed to personally deliver the new assignments to the tallboys patrolling just past Rudshore Gate, but even that would garner unwanted attention if he did it too often.
He strode up the walkway as he had done numerous times before, acknowledging the assassins that guarded the entrance with a nod as he passed. It was impossible to tell them apart when they wore their masks, so he couldn’t very well address them by name even if he wanted to.
Just after he ducked through the window and stepped into the hall outside Daud’s office, there was a burst of air and a soft popping sound above him. He barely had time to sigh, recognizing the sound all too well, before someone dropped onto his shoulders and looped a length of wire around his neck. The wire cut into his throat as the hands holding it tightened their grip, small boot-clad feet digging into his back as the assassin leaned back for greater leverage.
Telal grit his teeth. How many times had he come here, only to find some novice attacking him? How many years had he been working with Daud, and yet there was always someone out of the loop. The pain from the wire tightening around his neck announced the breaking of skin, and he reached up and behind himself to grab the assassin. He took hold of a fistful of cloth, yanking the assassin off of his back and swinging them forward, over his shoulder and tossing them onto the floor at his feet. He reached up with his left hand to feel his neck, and when his fingers came away red with blood, a crease was drawn between his brows and he scowled down at the assassin.
She was a girl, no older than 20 if he had to take a guess. Her head was shaved, her complexion dark, and she stared up at him from the floor with muted shock on her face. She seemed to recover from having the wind knocked out of her and she hopped to her feet, making a move to rush him head-on. He didn’t have time for this. Keeping his left hand on his throat to keep as much blood off of his shirt as possible, he reached out with his right as she charged. He caught her face in his palm, his hand big enough to cover her visage entirely, and stopped her assault. He pushed her backwards and turned away, opening the door to Daud’s office and leaving the girl dazed and confused in the hallway.
“I see you’ve met Seris,” Daud stood beneath the loft by his desk, but didn’t look up when Telal entered. He frowned down at a few papers on the desk, making a mark here and there with a pen while Markos stood nearby, hands folded behind his back. The Serkonan glanced over, a look of irritation crossing his features when he saw Telal’s bloodied throat. His eyes moved from Telal to look past the man, looking at the girl who was standing near the door and glowering at the Watch Commander.
“Who armed the new recruits?” Markos asked, though the question may have been rhetorical. Telal shook his head and walked over to Daud’s desk, pulling a folded map from his breast pocket. He unfurled it and set it on the desk, tracing lines on it with his fingers even as Markos came over to inspect his throat.
“New patrols have been set up around the city. Things are chaotic, to say the least, since the number of plague victims has gone up. My men have been told to be more diligent, paying more attention to everyone on the streets because of it, so I would suggest sticking to the rooftops.” Telal flinched and made a noise of protest as Markos tried to tend to his neck, and the Serkonan rolled his eyes and gestured to a chair.
“Sit down, then!” He commanded, shaking his head. Telal acquiesced, seating himself in the chair and letting Markos clean the laceration, apply a poultice and cover it with a roll of gauze. The man clicked his teeth, grumbled, and swore under his breath the whole time, but once the deed was done, he clapped Telal on the shoulder, instantly more jovial. “There. Do not worry, my friend. At least you have a good story to tell about being strangled by a small girl.” He grinned the type of grin that got people slapped.
A guard approached the group of men that stood at the mouth of an alleyway, fidgeting restlessly while he waited for them to finish speaking.
“Go and inform Jenkins of his new route assignment,” The Watch Commander instructed, glancing up from the list in his hands. The guard he had addressed cleared his throat.
“Jackson, sir.” He corrected, and the Commander nodded quickly, frowning and looking back down at the list.
“Yes, of course, Jackson. And you...what was your name again?” He peered at the third, a short and somewhat rotund guard with an ill-fitting helm.
“Williams, sir.”
“Williams, you’re to relieve Officer Gernhardt at the turn of the hour. He’s stationed near the wall of light between this district and Legal.” Williams nodded, despite looking unsure, and the Watch Commander sighed. “In the meantime,” he started, and Williams perked up again. “Go back inside and find yourself a different helmet. I don’t care what kind; a hat if you can’t find anything else.”
With the two guards bustling off to do their respective duties, the Commander turned, glancing at the fidgeting guard who had approached. The guard bowed abruptly, apparently too new to the ranks to fully understand the salute or the protocol when relaying messages.
“S-sir!” He announced, somewhat loudly, trying to stand as tall as possible and fumbling to remove his helmet out of respect. He was clearly intimidated by the Commander. The Commander raised his eyebrows, waiting for the guard to continue, and when the man seemed to forget his words, the Commander walked past him to go about his own more important business. The guard returned to his senses and jogged after the Commander. “Commander Telal, sir, there’s a um...that is a uh--”
Telal stopped and turned to face the young guard--he couldn’t have been more than twenty--and waited. The man staggered backwards when Telal turned, avoiding a collision with the Pandyssian’s back, but under the Commander’s scrutiny, the words finally tumbled out of his mouth.
“There’s a lady. Over by the wall of light, sir.”
With a frown, the Commander turned once more and walked with purpose towards the border between districts. If this was Seris following him on his rounds again--he heaved a sigh.
“We didn’t know what to do, sir,” the young guard was saying, though only half of his excuse filtered through. “Out alone--curfew--shadows--escort--best to ask you, sir.”
When the two of them arrived at the wall of light, however, it was clear that the woman in question was not Seris. In contrast to Seris’ dark complexion, shaven head and thin frame, the woman that waited for him had a pleasant round face, rosy cheeks dotted with freckles, long red hair hanging over one shoulder in a loose braid, and wore a flour-dusted apron and navy dress over a plump figure. She faced him as he approached and her eyebrows shot up, blue eyes shifting from where she’d expected his face to be up to where it actually was. Telal was taller than most anticipated.
“Oh! Captain!” She exclaimed, realizing that the guard that left her at the wall of light had returned with the man in charge.
“Commander,” Telal corrected.
“Pardon me, Commander. I’m sorry to interrupt your duties but I didn’t feel comfortable walking home alone. You see, I was making a delivery to a friend and was invited in for tea and--” She stopped, clearing her throat. “In short, I found myself out after curfew and keep seeing shadows moving in the alleys and hearing strange noises and...well, to be perfectly frank, I’m frightened to be out alone. I know it’s not the express duty of the Watch but I would be very much obliged if I could get an escort home, sir.”
“Ah. Well, Miss--?”
“Albrecht.” She offered. “Ilse Albrecht. I own a bakery this side of the clock tower, near the Estate District.” Telal nodded.
“Well, Miss Albrecht, I’m sure we can arrange for someone to--” He looked around, but while there would typically be any number of guardsmen who could be spared for such a task, and many would jump at the opportunity to escort a lady home rather than patrol the alleys, it seemed they all made themselves scarce. Even the young guard who had come to tell the Commander about Albrecht was gone. “Hmm.” He returned his gaze to Ilse, who had apparently noticed the lack of guards as well and looked at him imploringly. Telal inclined his head, realizing exactly what was happening. “I shall see to it personally that you arrive home safely.” He bowed stiffly and gestured for her to lead the way.
It was an uneventful walk, for the most part. Telal kept an eye on the rooftops and in the shadows, taking note of nothing more than a few crows overhead and rats near the trash bins. Nevertheless, he rested one hand over the hilt of his sword. Better to be ready than caught unawares, and he wouldn’t put it past Seris or any of the other whalers to be keeping tabs on him. There was a moment during the night when a stray cat, in pursuit of a large white rat, knocked over a trash bin and Ilse yelped in surprise, jumping back and latching onto Telal’s arm. She let out a breath, then flushed in embarrassment at her reaction, though she did not release the Commander’s arm. She lifted her chin and adjusted her hold to be more casual, looping her arm over his and resting her hand on his forearm.
“If you don’t mind,” she said, and Telal slowed his stride to match hers as they continued on.
“Of course.”
When they arrived at Ilse’s flat, she released his arm and stepped towards the door, digging around in the pockets of her apron to find the keys. Telal, ever diligent, continued to scan the area for potential threats.
“Thank you, Commander--I’m so sorry, I never asked your name.”
Telal was taken aback for a moment, not accustomed to being asked his name. Commander seemed to suffice for most people. “Ahrash.” He said, forgetting himself. He cleared his throat. “Telal Ahrash, miss.” Ilse smiled.
“Well, thank you, Commander Ahrash. I’m sure you have many more important things to be doing than escorting some silly woman home, but I appreciate it.”
“Not at all, Miss Albrecht. It was my pleasure.” He gave a small bow after she unlocked her door and shot him a look he couldn’t quite decipher, waiting until she closed the door and locked it again before he set off down the street. One block away, he stopped and pressed his lips together, knuckling his forehead. Ahrash. Idiot. He could practically hear his mother’s voice: Damn fool boy, giving your father’s name before your own. Telal sighed, squaring his shoulders and resting his hand over his sword hilt, then forged on.
It was early evening before Telal headed towards the north end of Kaldwin Bridge, cursing under his breath. Anton Sokolov, the royal physician, had requested extra patrols around his safehouse at all times since the reports of Corvo Attano’s escape from Coldridge. It seemed a superfluous request, even in the wake of the High Overseer’s expulsion, but it was a request that couldn’t be ignored, and due to the earlier events of the day, the Watch was understaffed, so Telal had to take it upon himself to act as Sokolov’s extra guard detail. He had expected to be on his way to the Flooded District before nightfall, but with the new list of duties, he’d be lucky if he made it by the following morning. There’d been talk of Overseers arranging an assault on the District, hoping to flush out and eradicate the assassins and any cultists holed up there, and though the attack wasn’t scheduled for another day or so, Telal wanted to relay the information to Daud as soon as possible. The man himself was not Telal’s main concern; he was cunning and resourceful enough on his own to avoid or even withstand an Overseer ambush, but the other assassins would not fare so well. Though it had been the primary focus of Telal’s training of the recruits to rely more on their skills as fighters than on the black magic that Daud provided, a lot of them still depended too heavily on their arcane abilities to give them the advantage.
A shadow moving out of the corner of his eye caught Telal’s attention, and he turned to scan the area. Nothing. He frowned, moving his hand to rest over the hilt of his sword before pressing on.
“Commander.” The Overseers posted outside the door of the glass-paneled house inclined their heads as Telal approached along the metal walkway, and he eyed them as he slipped past them into the safehouse. Through the windows on either side of the door, he could see them resuming their patrol, one of them posted in front of the entrance at all times while the other walked down the nearby steps and kept an eye out for movement. There were times when he almost admired the Overseers’ discipline. Almost. He’d witnessed far too many acts of zealous sadism to even consider admiring the men who’d been granted martial law in his city.
Within the safehouse, on the first floor, there was another Overseer, this one bearing a music box strapped to his chest, and a guard, both of them pacing back and forth slowly. The guard kept to one side of the room, opposite the Overseer, and continually looked over his shoulder as if the music box might explode at any moment. Telal glanced about the room, noting that nothing was out of place or unusual before he ascended the stairs and walked down the hall, passing the dining room and kitchen on the way. He checked each room along the way, giving them a brief sweep to clear them before moving to the next, ignoring the hushed whispers from the serving staff in the kitchen when they came under his scrutiny. When the second level of the safehouse was cleared, he progressed further up, where two more guards patrolled a carpeted hallway. The third level and onward evidently served as Sokolov’s private quarters, decorated much like an estate would be, and adorned with the comforts of home.
Upon reaching the greenhouse on the top level, it became clear that something had already gone wrong. A woman--presumably one of Sokolov’s unfortunate test subjects--sat hunched, cowering in the corner, and Sokolov himself was nowhere to be seen. The door to the outside of the greenhouse stood ajar, held open by the body of a guard who lay prone on the catwalk. Telal jogged over, stepping over the body and onto the catwalk before kneeling down to put a hand to the man’s neck. A pulse beating beneath his fingers announced that the man was alive, but unconscious. Someone had knocked him out, stolen into Sokolov’s greenhouse, taken Solokov, and left, all without alerting anyone below.
There was a sudden blast of air and a familiar whooshing sound behind him, and before he could turn or stand, someone snaked an arm around Telal’s neck in a choke hold. It seemed the culprit hadn’t left after all.
Telal threw his weight backwards, rolling over his assailant as he hit the catwalk. With the Pandyssian’s full weight on him, the attacker lost his grip and was splayed out on his back. Telal drew his sword coming out of the roll in a crouch and looking towards the other man just as he recovered and hopped to his feet. In the split second it took to blink, the man disappeared from thin air, materialising in the same instant several paces away, on the flat portion of the next roof. Telal darted forward, moving quickly down the catwalk and using the railing to leap up over the slanted glass panels between the metal gangway and where the assassin stood. As he landed on the roof, the man disappeared again, but the scuffling of boots announced his position, behind Telal.
The Pandyssian blocked the man’s sword over his shoulder and spun, the clash of metal ringing in the air as he took one step back then lunged forward to counterstrike. When his blade missed, Telal lashed out with a fist, but the man disappeared again. Anticipating his move, Telal whirled and made a sweep with his sword, but the man knocked the blade away with ease. The action left Telal open to attack for a second, more than enough time for the man to make a move, but he instead stepped back and stood in a ready position, waiting.
The two of them circled slowly, assessing each other. The assailant was clad in a long black jacket and a black waistcoat, both lined with gold. The hood of his jacket covered his head, partially obscuring features that were, in turn, obscured by a mask. It was a sight to behold, molded from steel in the visage of a human skull and fitted with various mechanical components; they no doubt gave the man a tactical advantage. The man also wore a number of belts slung across his torso and waist, bearing a myriad of weaponry, ammunition, and bone charms. This was clearly an uneven fight, and yet the man wasn’t attacking, wasn’t using his advantage over Telal to simply kill him and escape. No alarm had yet been raised from the safehouse, and judging by the tattoo on the hooded man’s left hand, transversing wasn’t the only trick he had up his sleeves, so why was he holding back?
Telal narrowed his eyes, trying to get some insight into the man before him. Sliding one foot forward, he lunged with his blade, knowing it would be blocked. The masked man knocked it aside with an underhanded swing and turned, once again given the opportunity to simply slip the tip of his sword through Telal’s ribs and be done with it, but once again, he didn’t take it. So the man was toying with him, or simply didn’t want to kill to achieve his ends. Telal could use that. Telal lunged again, attacking quickly, once, twice, three times, each move blocked by the masked man. Their blades clashed a fourth time and Telal knocked the sword aside, the man’s arm crossing over his chest with the momentum of the swing, but as Telal raised his blade to attack again, the masked man spun around, leading with his sword and drew the tip across Telal’s ribs. The Pandyssian jumped back a moment too late, instinctively covering the injury with his left hand. He didn’t have to take his eyes off the masked man to know that he’d drawn blood.
Telal took a few steps back, resuming his ready stance, but this time the masked man attacked first, lunging with lightning speed. He thrust his sword forward, pushing Telal further back as the larger man had to take long strides to block and avoid the attacks. He knocked the blade away twice and jumped back to avoid another slash to the ribs, holding his sword out in anticipation of another attack, but the masked man stepped away, ceasing the onslaught. Definitely toying with him. The man wasn’t even breathing hard despite the speed with which he’d attacked. Telal, however, was panting slightly. He could match the man’s speed, but only in short bursts, and the bastard knew it. Somehow, he knew. Telal narrowed his eyes, sliding his foot back to try and find a better stance, but his heel found the edge of the flat roof. Behind him was a steep slope of glass that ended with a sheer drop to the river below. Shit.
The man was waiting for something, or assessing the situation, or hesitating to lure Telal into attacking again. If the masked attacker lunged first, Telal would have nowhere to go. Even if he ducked to the side to avoid a thrust of the blade, he was too close to the edge to keep his balance and if he didn’t fall, he’d lose his footing and be left vulnerable. Attacking first was the only sure-fire way to get away from the edge, and that was what the man was expecting. So he waited.
A long moment passed with neither making a move until Telal shifted his foot forward. The masked man closed the distance between them, assuming that the move was the precursor to attack, but Telal wasn’t attacking. When their blades crossed, Telal grabbed the assailant’s sword hand to keep him from retreating. It was a move the man hadn’t anticipated, and when he tried to pull away, Telal pushed the attacker’s arms down and headbutted him. His forehead crashed into the mask and the man grunted, staggering backwards. Telal wrenched the blade from his hand as he retreated, tossing it away and quickly striking with a well-aimed fist. The mask came off and clattered to the roof, skidding several paces away. The man recovered quickly and drew his pistol, leveling it at Telal’s chest.
There was no gunshot, but Telal felt the realization hit him as hard as any bullet. The man who stood before him, wiping at his bloodied nose with his branded hand, was none other than the Royal Protector, Corvo Attano.
“Outsider’s balls,” Telal swore, lowering his sword. It suddenly became clear why his opponent had been holding back. Telal had known him for as long as he’d been a guard; he'd been trained by him personally. Corvo wasn’t a killer.
The alarm sounded from within Sokolov’s safehouse, causing both Corvo and Telal to flinch and raise their weapons again, whirling to face the catwalk. Telal’s sudden shift in stances compromised his balance and he stepped back--onto nothing. His foot fell through air until it struck the glass slope behind him and he fell hard against the roof, dropping his sword. Unable to gain purchase on the sheer surface, he slid down towards a drop that would surely kill him. He reached out with his left hand at the last second, grabbing at one of the vertical supports of the hand railing on the catwalk. Though it saved him from falling, he was still propelled over the edge of the glass roof and his full weight landed on his arm as his momentum was abruptly stopped. There was a dull popping sound as his shoulder dislocated, and he gritted his teeth against the pain, looking up towards the railing. Corvo was there, reaching his hand through the supports.
“Give me your other hand!” He shouted, and, grimacing, Telal reached his right hand up to grasp Corvo’s. The Royal Protector pulled him up just enough that Telal could hold himself there, then glanced over his shoulder and darted back up onto the glass roof, disappearing behind a structure attached to the roof. Telal was suddenly aware of thunderous footsteps announcing the arrival of the guards from the lower levels of the house, and in moments he was helped up onto the catwalk by three officers, one other behind them, all of them shouting questions.
“What happened?!”
“Who did this?”
They all looked to Telal, ready to pursue whatever criminal had attacked the City Watch and abducted Sokolov. In what he predicted would be considered a lapse of judgement later, he gestured off to the right down the catwalk, in the opposite direction Corvo had gone.
“That way,” he said, holding his left arm tight against his body to keep it from moving. The four guards trotted off, swords drawn.
It took several more hours for the guards to thoroughly search the area, though they found nothing. Telal oversaw the operation, barking orders to the men and patrolling at street level himself until they all reported back, after which they were dismissed to their originally assigned routes. He returned to the barracks just before sunrise, mind still reeling from the revelation of the Masked Felon’s identity as the sky cast an eerie blue filter over the streets of Dunwall. He briefly considered collapsing on one of the empty bunks at the guard station, but he couldn’t afford to postpone what needed to be done.
On his way out of the infirmary, his shoulder freshly set but still throbbing, he overheard a pair of guards talking as they stood on the near side of the wall of light.
“What did they want in there, anyway?”
“Hell if I know. It’s insulting how they march around like they own the place. Like they can go anywhere they fuckin’ want.”
“I ain’t about to tell them they can’t. Those masks freak me right the fuck out.”
Telal approached the pair, who stood to attention when they saw him. He glanced around the empty street before turning his gaze upon them. “Overseers?”
The guards, a man and woman, respectively, nodded in unison. “Yes sir,” the female officer confirmed. “A group of them went into the Flooded District late last evening. Overseer Hume was leading them. Wouldn’t say what they were doing, sir, but they had six of them grinders and twice as many without.”
“They’re probably looking for cultists,” the other guard piped up with a sneer. “Though I dunno why they’d start in there. Flooded District was picked clean ages ago and there ain’t nothing in there now but weepers and crusts.”
Telal’s jaw tensed as he processed the information. The Overseers had made their move ahead of schedule, and he hadn’t been able to warn Daud or the others.
“Orders, sir?” The first guard asked, recognizing the irritation in Telal’s expression. He sighed and smoothed it away, keeping his face stern but guarded.
“As you were, but if you see any Overseers come out of the district, give them hell.” The guards looked at each other apprehensively as Telal strode through the wall of light, turning when one of them called out to him.
“What are you going to do, sir?”
“I’m going to have a word with them about disobeying orders.”
Any commotion within the district apparently hadn’t reached beyond the Old Mosley Canal. The tallboys still made their rounds, guards posted near spotlights and patrolling through the streets. A few of them yawned, but straightened up as Telal passed. He paid them no mind, walking with purpose along the paths that the guards themselves had built to make patrolling easier. They had a limited reach, the bulk of the patrols being given to tallboys who could traverse the dilapidated architecture, but Telal was able to cross the Old Canal with relative ease.
The closer he got to the Commerce Building, the less he was able to hope that the Overseer attack had been thwarted. The calm of the guards near the canal had been misleading, and he knew better than to see that as a good sign, but his mind still wandered. Maybe this had been one of the many nights that Seris had followed him for lack of anything else to do. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it would have meant being out of harm’s way. Maybe Veta had gone with Markos on a mission, also out of harm’s way. Maybe any number of assassins found themselves out of the district, or noticed the Overseers before it was too late. Maybe this was all wishful thinking.
The scent of blood hung in the air, the coppery tang invading his nostrils and giving rise to images of dead whalers, eyes, ears, and noses bleeding as Overseer music droned. He shook his head to clear it and pressed on towards the makeshift walkway that led to the Commerce Building. He slowed his pace when he passed the outer perimeter, treading softly and keeping an eye out. Usually there’d be at least two assassins perched above the street, watching for uninvited guests, but the balconies were empty, abandoned. Within two hundred paces of the base, the wind carried a distant argument to his ears, but he couldn’t decipher the words. He didn’t need to hear what was being said; he knew what had happened. There were a few Overseer bodies in the street below, broken music boxes nearby, and it looked as though the assassins were already loading the dead into a wagon to be taken away, but these weren’t Overseer bodies. They were dead assassins. Telal’s heart sank.
He surged toward the cart, not sure what he planned to do once he reached it but he had to know. He was stopped by one of the recruits that was working to load the bodies, the young man holding out his hands as if to shove Telal back.
“How many?” Telal demanded, and the recruit--what was his name? Aedan?--looked around, confused. “How many did they kill?!” Telal shouted, and the young recruit’s face crumpled as he started blubbering.
“I don’t--there were--I just--”
Telal sighed and ran a hand over his head. As he exhaled, he composed himself and waved Aedan away, looking to the other recruit that had been loading up the dead. He was older, had been with them longer, and seemed to be holding himself together. He glanced upwards to the scaffolding above before approaching Telal. “Fourteen. I don’t know all the names. Markos has the list.” He pointed skyward, to the window that they used as a main entrance to the building. “Up there.”
Nodding, Telal turned and started up the scaffolding, taking note of each whaler he passed. Akila. Misha. Kieron. Many of the assassins that had not fallen were the more seasoned recruits, which meant that the youngest were the ones filling that cart.
“Stop right there!”
A scarfaced assassin shoved him back suddenly, apparently the only one guarding the entrance. He glowered at Telal, who shot an affronted look down at him in return.
“You been gone a long while,” the assassin, Thresh, said. “Where you been, huh?”
Telal resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Is it really such a surprise that I work for a living?” Thresh narrowed his eyes and took an accusatory tone.
“Working for the guard, yeah? Alongside them Overseers?”
Telal bristled, staring down the assassin. “If you have something to say, then say it.”
Thresh opened his mouth to speak, but Markos interrupted him, emerging from a nearby windo. “Telal! It is about time! We need to fortify the perimeter.” The Serkonan looked from Telal to Thresh when the latter made a noise of protest. “What are you doing?” Markos demanded.
“We can’t let him in. You don’t know if he was helping Lurk!”
The two began arguing, their words soon dissolving into a jumbled mix of Gristolian and Serkonan while Markos tried to dismiss Thresh and Thresh persisted that a guard couldn’t be trusted. While they shouted at each other, a small figure darted out from a shaded corner and collided with Telal’s midsection. It took a moment to register what had hit him, a look of muted surprise crossing his features. How long had Seris been hiding there, just out of sight? He looked down at her, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Awash with relief that she’d not been counted among the casualties, he leaned down to wrap his arms around her, holding her to him as she squeezed him tighter. When his shoulder twinged painfully, he grimaced, pulling away and removing her arms from his waist. He lifted his right hand to cup her chin, frowning as he tilted her head to better inspect what looked to be the remnants of a beating. There was blood around her nose, in the cracks of her lips, the corners of her eyes, and in her ears. He frowned at the scratches on her cheek and the bruise under one eye, furrowing his brow to mask the concern with a stern face.
“You didn’t remember any of your training, did you?” He asked, and for a brief moment he hated himself for saying it. The girl had been beaten, tortured, and his first instinct was criticism. But Seris laughed.
“I tried, mentore.” She sighed, smiling. Her voice was quiet and hoarse, but relieved. As the smile faded, Telal straightened up and cast a glance towards Markos. Thresh had moved several paces away, and Markos simply waved towards the entrance to the building. He looked tired.
“Go on, I will find you when we need you.”
--
Hours passed, and the few remaining whalers slowly established order in the base. Daud, after ensuring that the recruits would defer to Markos and Telal, retired to his quarters and wasn’t heard from until early evening.
Though there was some grumbling about following the orders of a City Guard, the assassins managed to fortify the outer perimeter and set new traps, ensuring that an alarm or deterrent would be triggered in the event of an unwanted visitor.
Telal, sore and exhausted, returned from his final perimeter sweep, Seris following on his heels, to find the recruits at street-level, arguing loudly as they crowded around the cart that held their fallen companions. The bodies of several dead Overseers lay on the ground at their feet, and the topic of the argument seemed to be about whether or not to pile them up with their friends.
“We can’t put them together! It’s disrespectful!”
“Since when do any of us give a damn about respect?!”
“These scum don’t deserve the same treatment as our own!”
“So you’d rather waste a boat to send them out for the sharks?”
“Why we gotta do anything with them at all? The rats’ll pick ‘em clean soon enough.”
The Pandyssian stood behind the mob of whalers, not even bothering to hide his exhaustion and impatience. “What is going on here?” He demanded, looking at each of their faces. They turned and voiced their opinions again, and Telal sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. “Enough,” he said simply, and the whalers fell silent. Dropping his hand, his gaze fell upon the dead, both within the cart and on the street. They didn’t have time to give each whaler a proper burial before dealing with the Overseers, and they didn’t have time to bicker about it before they needed to move to stop the rest of the Overseer assault. This had only been a precursor to the official movement, and if they didn’t act fast, they’d have more than one cartful of bodies to worry about. “We don’t have time for this. Put the bodies on the cart--ALL of them--and get them out of here. If you want to do right by your own, you’ll reclaim what they died defending. Right now there are four ships full of Overseers in the harbor. What matters now is not the treatment of the dead, but ensuring the wellbeing of the living. What is dead cannot suffer, and one dead thing cannot defile another. By all means, close the eyes of our dead to give their souls peace, but load up all the bodies together and get rid of them.” The whalers’ glanced around at each other, the ones who had argued looking resigned, but unsure. “Now!” Telal ordered, and the whalers hopped into action, two of them inspecting the bodies that already lay in the cart, making sure the eyes had been closed, and the rest started hefting the dead Overseers up and laying them cross-wise over the dead assassins.
Seris stepped out from behind Telal, watching the operation with a distant look in her eyes. “This is wrong.” She said, quietly. Telal turned around without looking at her, walking back up the sheet metal path to the scaffolding. Seris followed, taking two steps for every one of Telal’s. “We shouldn’t do that,” she said, beseeching him. “They deserve proper rites and burial. They deserve better!”
“They didn’t deserve to die, either. You expect me to do something about that, too?” Telal snapped, then stopped immediately regretting the words. He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. A lovely little headache was blossoming behind his eyes, adding to his irritability, but he forced his voice to be calm when he addressed Seris again, trying to show that his anger wasn’t directed at her. None of this was her fault, it was just an unfortunate combination of stresses. “There’s nothing else we can do for them now, allira. We have to worry about the living.”
He rubbed his forehead and continued up the scaffolding, ducking in through the open window and turning left down the hall, away from the double doors to Daud’s quarters. Seris continued to follow him, though she did so in silence. From the training room, he heard Markos shouting, and found the man leaning out of another open window.
“Be careful with those, you idiot!” He was yelling at another couple of whalers, one who stood on the roof and the other that had a wheelbarrow at street level. The one on the roof dropped one of the Overseer music boxes down into the wheelbarrow.
“Why? We aren’t going to use them, what do we care if they break?” She asked, shrugging. Markos hung his head and let out a thoroughly exasperated noise before he looked back up at her.
“I do not care if they break, but if you drop it on his head you will be adding to the body count!” Markos removed himself from the window as the whalers agreed to be careful, though shortly thereafter was another loud crash as something else landed in the wheelbarrow. Markos cringed at the sound but did nothing to further reprimand the whalers. He looked to Telal expectantly, brow raised. “You finished the perimeter sweep?” He asked, and Telal nodded.
“The perimeter is secure and the dead are being seen to. Thomas?”
“He took a few of the more experienced fighters to scope out the ships in the harbor and see what can be done about that little problem. Once the base is secure I will head over there myself,” He looked down at his hands, adjusting the fit of his gloves and flexing his fingers. “I could stand to kill a few more Overseers.”
Telal studied Markos’ face for a moment. The Serkonan, usually jovial and bawdy, was the most serious Telal had ever seen him. He looked weary, aged, solemn. It was this that made Telal refrain from arguing, simply bidding the man be careful before he started to leave. Once more, Seris followed after him like a child hanging on her father’s coattails. Her presence weighed heavily on his mind as he traversed the district. She would have to stop following him before he got to the courtyard where the tallboys patrolled; she was still dressed in her whaler garb, and despite not wearing the mask, the belt of weapons alone would be enough to get her arrested or killed on sight.
They ducked into a crumbling building on the far side of the courtyard, opposite Rudshore Gate, and Telal faced Seris, looking at her sternly.
“What?” She had the audacity to act innocent.
“You know what.” Telal said. “You need to stay here. You cannot follow me.”
“So stay here!” She insisted. Telal sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.
“Seris--” He started, but she cut him off.
“No!” She lurched forward and threw her arms around him, pleading into his chest. “Please, please stay home! Please, just this once, Telal, please!” She looked up at him, tears in her already bloodshot eyes. Damn. It wasn’t as if he wanted to go; he had to. It didn’t matter how tired he was, or how much pain he was in, or how much pain she was in or how much she needed him. It was the price he agreed to pay when he swore allegiance to two oft-opposing sides. Gritting his teeth, he gently removed her arms from his waist, putting his hands on her shoulders momentarily.
“I can’t.” He said, walking past her to the opening they’d come through. When she made a move to follow, he stopped and held his hand up, palm towards her. “Seris!” He took a deep breath to keep from shouting, clenching his jaw and willing himself to not be affected by the tears on her face. “Stay. Here.” Dammit, girl, I need you to stay safe, why can’t you understand that? He gave her a pointed look, took another step away to test that she wouldn’t follow, and when he was satisfied with her lack of movement, he rounded the corner and walked across the courtyard to the gate.
Telal had less than two hours to get to his house, wash the blood off of his hands, put on his spare uniform, and report back to the barracks for his evening shift. And eat something, if he could manage it. If he was really, very lucky, he’d manage to make it home without being seen. If he was only just lucky, he’d make it there without being asked about his appearance. He avoided his reflection, both for superstitious reasons and in an attempt to avoid seeing just how bad he looked. If it was anything close to how he felt, he likely looked as though he’d just crawled out of the deepest circle of hell. He was neither lucky nor very lucky.
“Sir!” One of the two guards posted on the other side of Rudshore Gate called to him as he passed through the wall of light, and he stopped, closing his eyes for a moment. He sighed, opening them again and turning to the one who had spoken. These weren’t the same guards he’d spoken to on his way in; the shifts had changed while he was working, apparently. The two seemed comically opposite. The first one, Petersen, was tall and fair, with an unruly mop of stick-straight blonde hair that hung in his face so often that he’d taken to pinning it back beneath his helmet. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t get much flak about that from the men. The other one was called Punter, and he was short, stout, barrel-chested, and dark skinned. His hair was dark and wiry, his eyebrows bushy, and he had a nervous habit of twirling the ends of his moustache. Telal could see in both of their expressions as they stared at him that he did indeed look as bad as he felt.
“Are you...alright, sir?” Petersen asked, sending a furtive glance toward Punter.
Nothing a bathtub full of whiskey wouldn’t cure. “I’ll live.” He replied.
“What happened?” Punter raised an eyebrow, his eyes lingering on Telal’s bloodied shirt for a moment. Telal sighed again, running a hand over his face.
“Those damn fool Overseers ran foul of the river crusts.” He hoped that the two would allow him to leave it at that, and he gave a one-shouldered shrug before turning to walk away. Thankfully, Petersen and Punter let him go, satisfied to simply talk amongst themselves about it rather than press Telal for details.
In keeping with his rotten luck, he had to answer the same question three more times on his way home. By the time he unlocked the front door and staggered wearily into the entryway, he was left with just over an hour to do what needed to be done.
With effort, he stripped off his jacket, the high-collared waistcoat, and his shirt, removed his boots and unbuttoned his trousers before walking down the hall to the washroom. There wasn’t time for a proper bath, as much as he would have liked one, so he simply washed his hands in the basin, splashed water over his face, and sponged off as much of the blood from the graze on his ribs as he could manage. When he was done cleaning, he leaned against the basin, scrutinizing his face in the mirror. Cleaning up had helped, but he still looked tired. He rubbed the area beneath his eyes in a futile attempt to clear away the dark circles, then sighed and turned, looking at the reflection of his shoulder. The entire upper portion of his arm was covered in a bruise that extended from his bicep to his shoulder blade. He sucked his teeth, running over the events of the previous evening in his mind. Corvo Attano. Just another secret he’d silently agreed to keep. How many did that make? Two, three things that could completely ruin him if word got out? With another sigh, he left the washroom and ascended the stairs, each step feeling like a mile. He entered his room and crossed to the closet, digging through the neatly folded garments to find a clean shirt. He’d fold them back up when he returned later. Just as he was pulling the shirt on over his head, someone across the room cleared her throat.
Telal started, surprised by the unexpected sound and lifting his hands halfway to a fighting stance before he realized and knuckled his forehead, exhaling heavily. “Seris.” He should have known. He should have known better than to think the girl would stay, would follow one simple instruction. He looked at her, opening his mouth to speak, but closed it when he saw the look on her face. She was staring at his midsection, brow slightly furrowed. She crossed the room quietly, reaching out with one delicate hand and holding the hem of his shirt between two fingers. She lifted it, exposing where Corvo’s blade had cut Telal’s ribs. It hadn’t been a serious injury, but Seris apparently hadn’t expected him to be injured at all. He had made no mention of his brush with the Royal Protector, so for all the girl knew, he’d simply taken an extra patrol and that was why he’d been late. Now she was seeing that nobody she knew had escaped that night unscathed.
Next, she reached up to pull the collar of his shirt away from his left shoulder. From where she stood, a full foot and a half shorter than he, she would only be able to see a third of the area the bruise covered, but it was enough. It was disarming to see her so still. Seris was normally talking fast and moving faster; fidgeting, never stopping, hyperactive. Now, her expression hard and cold and her movements slow and careful, the hidden potential that Telal had seen when he started her training was staring at him from behind her dark eyes. “Who did this to you?” She demanded, frowning.
Telal pulled the collar from her grasp and started buttoning the shirt. He was running out of time. “What are you doing here, Seris?” He ignored her question, stepping away from her and pulling a new pair of trousers from his wardrobe. When he looped his thumbs over the waistline of the pants he wore, Seris turned around, arms akimbo, and he quickly changed. He tucked in his shirt and buttoned the trousers, grabbing the spare red waistcoat from where it hung in the wardrobe. “I told you to stay home.”
Whatever indignant, protective anger that had stilled her before vanished, and Seris hugged herself, turning around again and paced back and forth in front of the bed. “I don’t want to be alone. Markos and the others went to help Thomas, and Veta disappeared. I don’t--I can’t be there. I don’t want to be there. I want to be with you. I feel safe with you.” Telal finished buttoning the waistcoat and sighed, looking at Seris. She sat on the bed and he hesitated for a moment before grabbing his jacket. She had bags under her eyes to rival his own, her face ashen despite her dark complexion.
“I can’t stay with you, allira,” he said finally, shaking his head and putting the jacket on. He might get away with being a few minutes late, but he couldn’t skip work entirely. He crossed the room and kneeled in front of Seris, wiping an errant tear from her face with a gentle hand. “You can stay here, but I have to go. I can’t afford not to.” He could tell that she wanted to argue, but she was using what little restraint she had left to simply nod agreement. Telal stood, leaning down to kiss the top of her head before turning to leave. “I’ll be back after midnight.”
Down the stairs, he took the little time necessary to retrieve his weapon belt from where he’d stripped down and left, locking the door behind him.
The night was blessedly uneventful. Telal overlooked a few instances of the guards playing cards on the job, and the guards in turn overlooked the utter exhaustion that their Watch Commander was having trouble hiding. Early in the evening, a Captain had suggested Telal simply take the night off, but under the weight of the Pandyssian’s stare, the suggestion was waved away and everyone returned to their duties. In truth, Telal would have loved to return home early, but his stubborn nature and pride wouldn’t allow it.
It was an hour after midnight when he unlocked the front door, finding his house darkened and silent. He locked the door behind him, hung his weapon belt on a hook by the door, and walked towards the kitchen, unbuttoning his collar.
As light flooded the kitchen, he saw the remnants of Seris’ scavenging. His kitchen was well stocked, though not with anything truly special. A half-eaten loaf of bread sat on the table, next to a half-eaten roll of cured sausage and a block of cheese that looked like it’d been gnawed on. Telal made a face, but was just glad she hadn’t burned anything. He got a bread knife from the knife block on the counter and sliced off two pieces of bread from the loaf and put the bread away, then got out a different knife and sliced off several pieces of the cured sausage and two slices of cheese, putting it all together into a simple sandwich for himself.
Finishing the sandwich, he turned the lights off in the kitchen and rubbed his face wearily as he trudged up the stairs to the bedroom. He stood in the doorway, the moon casting enough light through the windows to cast long shadows and illuminate the edges of the furniture with a blue glow. It also illuminated a dark figure sprawled out over his bed, her chest rising and falling in the slow, steady rhythm of one deep in sleep.
Telal barely had the energy to remove his waistcoat and shirt, toeing off his boots near the wardrobe and grimacing when he overextended his left arm. He sent a sour look in the direction of the couch, where a gentleman would sleep, leaving the bed for the girl, but he’d slept on that couch before. It had been a restless night, and his back complained about it for days after. Screw it. He walked to the bed, untucking the blanket and folding it over Seris’ sleeping form. She’d fallen asleep on top of the covers, so he used the blanket to shift her over, covering her with the half of it she wasn’t laying on. When she stirred slightly, he froze, not wanting to wake her. But she simply curled up on her side, facing the wall, and snuggled under the blanket that had been draped over her. Letting out a breath, Telal then untucked the top sheet, sliding in under it and letting his head fall heavily onto the pillow, asleep within moments.
Telal stood in Daud’s office, if it could be called that. Telal was hesitant to assign proper titles to the rooms in the base, considering each room was a mere shadow of its former glory; run down, derelict, dilapidated, makeshift. There were any number of descriptors available, but none of them warranted official designation. Nevertheless, a room that had once been an office, outfitted with a loft and bed, served as Daud’s quarters, and that was where Telal stood, leaning on a table and poring over a map. Every so often he made a new mark on the paper, doing quick calculations in his head to ensure they were correct before moving on to study a new sector.
After a long while, Telal set the pen down and straightened his back, rolling his still-sore left shoulder with a sigh. He picked up the map to save his posture and resumed his study of the document, and before he knew it, he was pacing around the empty room. He stopped, realizing he’d been pacing in time to the music that had been stuck in his head all night. The Boyles’ party had ended hours ago, and he hadn’t been stationed in that part of town, but the music carried through the streets to his post and lodged itself firmly in his mind. At any given moment since then, he found himself humming the tune idly, or walking in time with the beat that no others could hear. Even here, in Daud’s office, the tune followed him in memory.
Setting the map on the table, Telal cast a cursory glance around the office and backed a few paces into the empty room. He squared his shoulders, head held high, and crossed an arm over his midsection as he bowed low to an invisible partner, who he imagined would curtsey in turn. He extended his left arm despite the twinge of protest from his shoulder, and hooked his right arm in the air in front of him, fingers splayed over his imaginary dance partner’s back. It had been something close to five years since Telal had danced, his last experience being with the daugher of a noble who had hired him to stand guard at their party. He hummed along with the tune in his mind and started moving his feet, stepping his feet together before moving to the left, stepping his feet together again, then putting his right foot forward. Step together. To the right. Step together, and then back. He made few mistakes, shaking his head and admonishing himself for forgetting something so simple.
“What are you doing?” The voice, so small and sweet, stopped him in his tracks and he dropped his arms, turning on his heel to face the open door where Seris stood, a wide-eyed look of surprise and disbelief on her features. Damn. Telal cleared his throat and looked at the armful of rolled maps Seris held, seeing an opportunity to shift the focus off of himself.
“Seris. You have the maps I asked for? Good.” He reached to take them from her, but Seris moved backwards to hold them beyond his reach. Her eyes lit up with intrigue and her mouth curled into a grin that spoke volumes of “I caught you in the act!”
“You were dancing?” She asked, though it was clear that she already knew the answer. “You were dancing!” She exclaimed again, as if she could barely believe it. She rushed past Telal to the table and dropped the bundle of maps onto it before turning and walking back towards him, a bounce in her step. “Dance with me!”
Telal sighed and shook his head, trying to side-step past her and get back to work, but she stepped in front him every time. “No, Seris,” he said, finally getting fed up with being blocked and picking the girl up and displacing her out of his path. He walked towards the table once more but she latched onto his hand, trying futilely to drag him backwards. She, being petite and rather slight, had no chance of pulling him anywhere, but Telal knew he’d never hear the end of it if he continued to protest. He allowed himself to be turned away from the table, facing the smaller Pandyssian as she held onto his hands.
“Show me what you were doing before,” she demanded, and despite the immense height difference, Telal took the stance. Straight back, arms out--this time holding Seris’ right hand in his outstretched left, his right hand across her upper back and her left arm looped up across his right elbow.
When he moved through the steps, however, Seris struggled to keep up with his long strides, and it was clear that she hadn’t learned this dance before. She kept her head down, watching his feet and trying to translate them backwards into what she should be doing with hers, but after a few stumbles, Telal had to simply lift her off the floor. After a few moments of her not even touching the ground, she shook her head and he stopped.
“No, no, no,” she continued to shake her head, stepping back and letting go of his hands, only to reach forward and grab his hips. It was a gesture that had him bristling, silently thankful for his dark complexion as it hid the flush that would have otherwise reddened his face. “You’ve got to move your hips!” Telal plucked her hands off of his body and pushed them away, as if returning them to her.
“This is how they dance in the Great Hall,” he cleared his throat again, but Seris was still shaking her head. The girl was going to get whiplash from such denial. He put a hand atop her head to cease the movement and she scowled at him playfully.
“You’re not in the Great Hall now. We don’t care about no stuffy noble dances here, Tel! You gotta move your hips and move with the music!”
“I was moving with the music!”
She grinned at him, and he raised his eyebrows at the expression. He’d rarely seen her smile, possibly due to some embarrassment on her part about the gap between her teeth, but he couldn’t see why it should stop her. He thought it was adorable. Apparently catching his surprise, she dialed back the grin to a close-lipped smile, then lunged at his hips again, trying to influence him into swaying back and forth. “Come on!” She huffed when he didn’t budge, thudding her forehead against his chest in frustration before taking a few steps back. “Like this!” She lifted her arms to be parallel with the floor, touching one toe to the ground and bending her knees before swivelling her hips about in a serpentine motion. It was Telal’s turn to smile, though it was colored with incredulity and accompanied by a scoff.
“No,” he waved his hands and shook his head. “I can’t--” He was cut off by Seris lunging at him again, but he hopped backwards out of her reach.
“Sure you can! It’s easy! Let me show--mmf!”
Seris’ words were muffled by Telal covering her face with his hand, fending her off. She mumbled something into his palm, reaching up and pulling at his fingers to no avail. “You and Markos can keep your Serkonan snake charmer moves,” he told her, waiting until she stopped pulling at his arm before releasing her face. She glowered at him and he inclined his head, staring her down. She pressed her lips together, making an obvious effort not to blink, but she underestimated Telal’s staring prowess. When she finally did blink, she huffed and spun on her heel.
“Fine!” She called over her shoulder, stopping in the doorway to turn and jab an accusatory finger in his direction. “This isn’t over!”
“What’s that? You want an extra shift on the watch tonight?”
Seris squeaked and quickly disappeared from the door, leaving a smirking Telal standing over the maps once more. Threat of more work was always an efficient way to end a conversation.
The mattress dipped with added weight and Telal slowly drew himself out of sleep, his brow furrowing when he felt someone on his back. He’d dared to hope that this would be one of the rare nights that would see an undisturbed, deep sleep, but it seemed that was not the case. Seris would often come to him in the middle of the night, burdened with questions and a restless mind, and for whatever reason, she was gracious enough to share her insomnia with Telal. Sighing, he turned his head so he could speak without his words being muffled by the pillow.
“I don’t know if hagfish dream, or how they sleep, or whether one has ever made friends with an eel.” Knowing the nature of Seris’ usual queries, he assumed he could get some of them out of the way preemptively and perhaps get back to sleep sooner.
“You did not strike me as the sort to care about such things,” the accented voice that responded to Telal did not belong to Seris. Opening his eyes, he stared into the darkness of the sleeping quarters.
“Markos.” Telal confirmed with a frown, and looked out of the corner of his eye when the man on top of him shifted, apparently making himself comfortable.
“Yes?” The bastard replied pleasantly, as if open to requests. Markos was lounging on Telal’s back in the way one would lounge on a chaise longue; legs crossed at the ankle, fingers interlaced behind his head. Though he couldn’t see it, Telal supposed the Serkonan was smirking, too. Heaving a great sigh, which lifted Markos briefly, Telal buried his face in his pillow and growled something, hardly complimentary. “Well,” Markos said, in answer to the growl, “my bed was too cold, so I thought I’d come join you and partake of your body heat, my friend.”
Friend. Telal scoffed into the pillow. It would be so easy to simply roll over and send the man sprawling to the floor, but he thought better of it. He shifted to lay his head sideways on the pillow and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to focus on falling back asleep, but more movement from above called his attention. Markos had turned to look down at him, leaning more on one side of Telal’s back than the other. It was lucky--or perhaps a conscious, courteous decision on Markos’ part--that the man hadn’t chosen to lean on the Pandyssian’s injured shoulder.
“Did I hear that you were dancing in Daud’s quarters earlier?”
“If you’re going to sleep here,” Telal spoke through clenched teeth, ignoring Markos’ question, “You have to sleep, not ask questions.”
Markos was silent for a moment, then chuckled, settling back across Telal and getting comfortable once more.
Telal surfaced, treading water between the large trawler and the significantly smaller fishing boat that he’d commandeered. He reached up and tossed a heavy metal object onto the deck before grabbing the gunwale and pulling himself out of the water. A small shadow approached and handed him a cloth, then bent down to pick up the object he’d thrown--the engine coil from the trawler.
“That ship won’t be going anywhere,” Telal said, drying himself with the cloth and looking over his shoulder at the silhouette of the larger ship. Though the trawler sat low in the water, it still loomed overhead. Backlit as it was by the moon, swaying slowly with the swell of the waves below, it was truly an impressive, foreboding sight. Impressive, foreboding, and stationary. “V. You know what to do.” Telal turned to Veta, who nodded and held out the coil for him to take. As soon as it was in his hand, she disappeared.
Walking the length of the deck, Telal kept his eyes on the trawler. Though it had been made to look like a simple fishing vessel--it may even have been one once--there were score marks on the hull where gun ports had been made. The marks were hard to spot in the darkness, and would have been nearly invisible from a distance, designed to be overlooked until it was too late to escape the cannon fire.
Telal approached the stern and looked at Seris, who sat huddled in his jacket atop a small crate in the middle of the deck. Her eyes widened a bit when she turned and saw him, half-dressed and soaked.
“Did you fall overboard, too?” The question coaxed a chuckle from Telal’s throat.
“No, just went for a swim,” he answered, setting the engine coil on the crate beside her. next to his weapon belt and neatly folded shirt. He picked the latter up and shrugged it on. “Are you ready?” He studied her as he buttoned the shirt. She hesitated, thinking about her answer. Her eyes were still wide, darting around but not focusing on anything. She licked her lips nervously, and cracked her knuckles. She looked shaken, but nodded.
“I think so.”
“You think so,” Telal echoed with a sigh, buckling the belt around his waist. “Seris, look at that ship. See those marks? Each of those is a port that opens up to allow a cannon to fire. Count how many there are.”
“I--” Seris started, but was silenced by Telal’s stare.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
After a moment of trailing her eyes along the length of the ship, Seris said, “Fifteen.”
“Fifteen gun ports. And another fifteen on the starboard side. A swivel gun on deck, and at least thirty men on the crew, if not more, all of them armed. Veta’s in position, waiting for my signal, but if you expect us to move forward on ‘I think so,’ I’m pulling us out now.” He watched her carefully, seeing the doubt and uncertainty pass over her features briefly before she set her jaw and looked up at him, resolute.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
Telal nodded and faced the trawler, cupping his hands together and bringing them to his mouth. He blew between his thumbs and made a low, resonating bird call that carried over the water. Then, he waited. From the ship deck above them, an answering call pierced the air seconds before a body was hefted over the railing. Telal ran forward to the gunwale and braced himself with one arm, reaching out to catch the body with the other just before it hit the water. The last thing they needed was to wake up twenty nine pirates with the sound of their crewmember making a splash. He looked at the dead pirate in his grasp, gripping the dead man’s collar. A crossbow bolt was lodged in the man’s throat, another embedded in his heart. Telal lowered the man into the water as quietly as possible before letting him go. Just as he released the pirate, another body was thrown overboard, but this one Telal couldn’t catch. He froze after the splash, trying to listen for any movement below deck on the trawler, but either the ship was very well insulated against sound, or the pirates hadn’t stirred.
“Let’s go.” Telal said, walking back over to Seris. She stood, leaving his jacket on the crate and grabbing his arm. In less time than it took to blink, they were on the deck of the bigger ship, a few feet away from Veta. She crouched and gestured for them to follow her behind cover.
“Two more on the far side,” she whispered, then nodded towards the navigation deck. “I took care of the one in there. Where’s the one we’re after?”
“Below deck, captain’s quarters. V, don’t toss the bodies overboard.”
“I was getting rid of the evidence!”
“The splash is evidence! We don’t want to wake up the whole crew, unless you plan on killing twenty-eight more men tonight.”
Veta blanched, but said nothing. Telal turned to Seris.
“You remember the layout of the ship?” He asked. Seris nodded. “Once we clear the upper deck, you have five minutes.”
Veta and Seris disappeared in two puffs of black smoke, leaving Telal to dart from cover to cover, keeping an eye out for pirates and an ear out for movement below. All seemed quiet. At the other end of the ship, Telal could see the silhouettes of two men patrolling. As one walked towards the bow, the other walked aft on the other side of the navigation deck. It created a blind spot for less than thirty seconds, which was more than enough time. Telal waited for the nearer one to have his back turned before he darted forward, quickly getting the pirate into a headlock and covering his mouth with one hand. As the man struggled, Telal dragged him behind the navigation deck to hide him from view. When the man went limp, he wrenched the unconscious pirate’s head to one side, snapping his neck, then easing him to the ground to avoid making too much noise. The Pandyssian crept along the wall to the corner, peeking out from behind it to ascertain the position of the other pirate, but he was already on his back, a bolt in his chest.
The din outside of the captain’s quarters was frantic and readily rising in volume as more pirates were roused, fumbling to retrieve their weapons and defend the ship. The sound of swords clashing against steel and pistols firing and men and women shouting and boots thundering against the floor injected the atmosphere with urgency, and Telal rushed into the cabin, prepared to finish what Seris had started if it should come to that.
But the cabin was empty, save for the furnishings and Seris, who stood stock still by the desk near the back of the room. Telal strode towards her quickly, glancing over his shoulder at the door when something slammed into it.
“Seris, we have to go.” He said, looking around the room. “The captain wasn’t here?” The girl was holding a bone charm in her cupped hands, staring down at it with a look of shock and horror firmly fixed on her features. “Seris,” Telal repeated, frowning. No response. Kneeling down, he turned her to face him, but her eyes were glued to the charm, and even when he took her face in his hands and made her look at him, she didn’t seem to see him. “Seris! Time’s up, we need to leave!”
“Cyros.” She whispered, dazed.
“What?” Telal demanded, but Seris simply looked back down at the charm. Telal shook his head and stood up, shooting a glance towards the door as something else struck it before he scooped her up in his arms.
When they emerged from the cabin, the entire lower deck was lit up and twenty-odd men and women were rushing this way and that, Veta transversing between them. Each time she appeared, she loosed another bolt, then disappeared again, sending one pirate to the floor and the rest aiming their weapons at where she had been. Telal whistled sharply to get Veta’s attention before he ran up the stairs to the main deck. He ran to the gunwale, looking over the edge towards their boat below. Too far to jump, even if the trawler was relatively low on the water. Veta appeared next to him, grabbed his arm, and in a blink the three were on their small fishing boat again.