I knocked on the door to William's home, having hurried there as soon as I could. He was waiting for me with a tense look on his face. "Ren, what's the matter?"
"News about the job – can we talk inside?"
We found ourselves sitting across from each other over a coffee table. William had a look of fear in his eyes as if he was expecting bad news from me. If it was bad news I wouldn't have even shown up to tell him about it. I didn't provide excuses, I got results. Even if Adam had somehow leaked the information, I would have chased it down to the last man. He didn't get the chance because I did the work properly.
There was no need to keep him in needless suspense. I reached into my pocket and retrieved the wax seal – sliding it across to him. His eyes widened in shock as she took it into his quaking palms. "This is…"
"The seal from your papers, I'm afraid I ran into a bit of bother during my escape. I burnt them on the spot to keep them from getting taken again. Why? Do you think I forged it?"
"No, not at all," he insisted, "I can tell this is the real thing. These seals are incredibly difficult to emulate. The colour, the texture, even the design would be beyond most, especially since it's a few decades old now. If you could find a wax worker in the Federation able to press this I'd be even more impressed."
"It wasn't easy. Right when I had everything as I wanted it, somebody decided to try and fight their way through the district. I heard a huge explosion and all kinds of chaos."
"Really?"
"I assume they're trying to take Adam's bounty."
The penny dropped. William groaned and cleared the corners of his eyes with his fingers; "Goodness. There's going to be havoc in the city if they succeed. Did you kill anyone?"
"No. A few injuries, but nothing fatal. They have a bunch of healing draughts locked in a safehouse nearby anyway. Nothing a drink of one of those won't fix."
Well, aside from Vincent's missing teeth anyway. He'd need to find a specialist to put those back.
"Where were they?"
"Adam was keeping them inside a safehouse – the one he uses to pretend he's still living with his other gang members. Picked through a pretty common type of safe, and dug them out. He was trying to keep their location on the down-low, so there weren't even any guards posted inside."
"But you found them anyway."
"Even the most paranoid people have loose tongues when a little alcohol gets into them. I got what I needed from his right hand and tailed him to the house. They had some other stuff in there – but nothing relevant to you."
William's face showed palpable relief at the news. Thankfully his mind hadn't gone to another place of accusing me of keeping the papers for myself. It wouldn't have been the first time somebody tried to stiff me by doubting my legitimacy. That kind of situation was usually resolved through violence, theft, or a rogue's blackmark; a small symbol painted onto the side of the building that would encourage others to break inside. It was rarely done because the threat of retaliation was so strong that most people gave in.
"Thanks. You really saved my arse with this one."
"No thanks needed. I did what you paid me for."
William handed me a few extra iron bars, "Here's the rest of my payment, and a tip for a job well done. I'll have to throw this thing into the fire to get rid of it, I suppose." He held the wax stamp between his fingers and inspected it again. A remnant of a life left behind.
"Were you born in Sull?" I wondered.
Willian nodded, "I was. My pa was a soldier too, always said it was what turned him into a man. First chance I got – I signed myself up as a squire and started working in the camps. Learned to use a sword, fought in a small war or two, but managed to avoid most of the big battles and lived to see the other side of it."
"Easy money?"
He scoffed at me, "If you survive, it is. But for every man like me with a house and a story to tell, there are two dozen more who lost their lives in the fighting. If you aren't willing to take that risk I wouldn't recommend it. And most of the officers are from well-off families, so there's little prospect of advancement through skill alone." William grimaced and placed the seal back down onto the table.
Evidently. The fish rots from the head – and what a deep and terrible case of rot it was. Sull's knights and foot soldiers were led by people who only cared to try and curry favour with the ruling elites. They seldom possessed any real experience in leadership. The Federation's move to a meritocracy based military structure had single-handedly reversed the traditional disadvantage in numbers and wealth that they enjoyed.
Killing a royalist commander was usually a bad idea, because there was always a risk that they'd be forced to appoint someone competent as a temporary replacement. That kind of thinking had started as a joke amongst the Feddie troops, now it had turned into gospel.
"Yeah, I got that much."
"Fortune favours the bold, I suppose. What are you going to do now?"
"Head out of town and find some trouble, though it has a bad habit of finding me first."
"Well, if you're ever back here – don't be afraid to stop by for some more lessons."
"Why? You don't mind me for company now?"
William exhaled wearily, "I never disliked it. I understand now that I was being too set in my ways when we last spoke. This life is the only thing that everyone can claim to have. Getting washed away with the tides is all too easy."
He was right about that. Not only had I protected his comfortable life in the city, but I'd also provided him with a valuable learning experience. Who ever said I wasn't a good Samaritan? I stood from the chair and nodded to him, "I'll consider it. If there's nothing else to do, I'll be off."
"Yes, yes. Run along then. Thank you again."
I shut the door behind me on the way out. Back out on the streets I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. A well-paid job done quick with a bonus skill lesson in it for me – there was nothing more that I could ask for. Apart from finding a way to break the damnable curse that had been put onto me by Stigma.
Speaking of Stigma, I was still thinking about her shifting behaviour. An inkling of an idea had started brewing in the back of my mind. It must have had something to do with absorbing her sister, allegedly one of the children of the last mad King. Without a full picture of that story I wouldn't be able to have a clear conclusion. Stigma had indicated that her own memories were left wanting, but I was wavering back and forth on whether to believe her or not.
She did seem desperate to find the other cursed items. What better motivations would there be than your own identity and life? Everything that Stigma was had been stripped away. I stopped in the middle of the road and scowled. I realised that I had gotten off-track somewhere along the way, mentally and literally. Why would finding her sisters and consuming them restore Stigma's memory? I was leaping to conclusions. That couldn't be right. There had to be a different reason. Power, embodiment? It would take a special kind of magic to create a physical vessel from nothing.
She had overplayed her hand by telling me the manner of how [consume] worked. I wouldn't be giving her anything without something in return first. All the promises of power weren't enough to convince me to dive in head first again. The last time I consumed a cursed item it felt like somebody had stabbed me in the heart, and it also accelerated the changes to my appearance. It was giving me a headache just thinking about it – negotiation with a spirit living inside of me that had total control over my bodily functions was infuriating.
I corrected my course and successfully returned to the hotel. The gossip being spoken aloud was all about what had happened to Adam. Somebody had keelhauled him all the way from the poor district to the fort and claimed his bounty. Impressive work. When I entered our hotel room, Cali and Tahar were waiting for me in their gear, none the worse for wear.
"I'm back. Are you two rested and ready to go?"
Cali met my gaze, "Yes. We had an enjoyable stay."
Tahar shied away from me. "And thanks for the save, Tahar. What were you doing out there anyway?" I asked.
Tahar shot up stiff as a board and shook her head, "Nothing! It was nothing."
"Just sightseeing…" Cali muttered. I looked down to where her legs met the floor, hanging from the edge of the bed. Her boots were caked with mud and water that had been hastily wiped away with a cloth after the fact. The stains remained plainly visible however. I could also smell the faint stench of burning powder, she'd used her catalyst recently.
"…Right. Sightseeing."
"Are you prepared to hear the Warsister's offer of employment?" she ploughed on, "I have it on good authority that the job is both extremely dangerous and highly paid."
"I guess I'd be willing to hear her out."
"Then allow me a brief stop to the bathroom, and we shall be away."
I stepped out of the way as Cali flittered to the toilet. A luxury that only a good hotel provided. They didn't have running water, mind you, most of the waste was fed through into a composting bin and flushed down with a bucket of still water. Tahar opened her mouth to speak but closed it again like a fish.
"Yes?"
Tahar cleared her throat, "I would like to… apologise."
That caught me off guard; "For what?"
"Cali angry with me. Say that I not listen to words said by you or her. I believed in virtue and honour and ignored what you say."
"Is this about coming to Sull?"
She nodded, "I ignore your will to benefit myself. Not realize life here hard and complex. I am sorry – I will listen to you from now on. I will learn truth with own eyes."
Something had clearly happened between them while I was away. I wasn't venturing for an apology from her though. To be truthful I'd mostly forgotten about the original argument we'd had about my supposed virtues. It hadn't offended me so grievously that I was holding a grudge over it. I bit my bottom lip and considered my next words carefully.
"Tahar – I asked if you were certain of this 'path' because of how things are here. I offered you that information knowing that it would be hard, and that you did not understand me fully. It was for your benefit alone."
"I understand. I want to honour village tradition…"
I put a hand to my chest, "You still can. Underneath this exterior maybe there is a honourable, noble person. But that's a matter of perspective. One man's honour is another's disgrace. I'm someone who is more concerned with realities than ideologies."
Broaching such a complicated subject with someone who was not fully fluent in our language was always going to be difficult. Tahar took a minute to chew on my words. "Not mad?" she asked with a quiver in her voice.
I sighed, "No, I'm not mad. The only person you should worry about is yourself." I never thought about how hard it was for me to deal with selfless people until I met Tahar. That wide-eyed optimism was something that most had been stripped of after decades of living on a continent enshrouded in war, both violent and class based.
The door opened and Cali returned, bringing an involuntary end to our discussion.
"Shall we be away?"