A/N: The following faction is a sequential one to my previous works, the order of which is as follows:
The World
Recovery
New World
Thank you and enjoy!
THE APPRENTICE
Prologue
He walked down the hall, passing his mother's portrait along the way. He remembered when it had first been hung; there had been foreboding air yet she donned a sly grin on her face contrasting the many frowns down below. It was one of his few memories from his youth about her before it all changed. Although, that may have been that he'd been too young to understand why such a big fuss was made about it. Even still as an adult, it seemed so insignificant a problem that for so many to have made the controversy about it as they had was almost ludicrous.
His eyes lingered on her; the first woman in a line of men to hold a place on that wall, poised there in eternal defiance. Almost like a gargoyle. The thought cracked a sliver of a grin on his lips.
The artist had truly captured her good side; well, at least in regard to her looks. Whatever gods there were above this world knew that that woman was too vile for anything good. The details of her delicate facial features were highlighted the best of all. Her eyes sparkled through a half-lidded gaze and her dark red lips had her signature smirk. Her body was poised with her left shoulder forward rather than back with her head slightly turned to face the onlooker. It gave a sense of mystery he supposed. It made her portrait differ from the typical pose as depicted with her predecessors. The dress if he recalled correctly, had been made just for this very portrait. It was a soft light blue to contrast her dark auburn hair and brown eyes. She'd never wear it again.
When she had his father's portrait taken down rather than hung in it's rightful place along the line of previous heads, it had upset more than a fair amount of the organization's members. A petty little passive aggressive action she had taken to signal that she was the new head after her husband's death. Many thought it was a bold move and an attempt at erasing him from their history. It created quite the commotion in their world, especially those still loyal to his father, but eventually those who did not agree with this woman's indirectly hostile takeover of the business came to accept their new leader. Those who still opposed openly after the sway have since been silent in their graves.
It wasn't so much that she was a woman as much as it had been her new policies that they were apprehensive of. Her approach had been different, a new way of business that legitimized their plans and made it easier for them to work above ground rather than in the dark, as had been the way since the foundation of the organization. Though plenty still went on in the shadows, it was easier to hide under all the facades she had unleashed. Within a few years, she had revolutionized the craft of thievery and did what few of her predecessors even dreamed to accomplish.
The money was good, too good, to resist and thus their guild, their underground world, flourished like a thorny weed in a delicate garden. Men who were once lowly thieves were living like lords. Those with more cunning and grace were moved higher into the ranks of officials, infiltrating nearly half of the kingdom's government like a silent cancer engorging itself upon the city's heart, poisoning it yet giving it life. A balance of power came, favoring them. The "pigs in their mansion pens" (as his mother fondly called them) no longer held such a powerful grip on the poor, the weak, or the hungry. Those who had lived in silence now had a voice, had power and purpose.
She often referred to herself as a hero for the people, like the ones in his favorite storybook; Akin to the one who took from those who had too much and gave it to those who had too little. It had been hers and father's dream she'd tell him so casually after giving her men the order to assassinate some over-stepping city official. And she made that dream a reality.
But for every good beginning, there awaits an end. The eternal law of unbalanced power cannot be avoided, cannot be stopped. The higher the rise, the greater becomes the fall. And Maddam Maddox had climbed very, very high.
As she aged, his mother grew more suspicious of people around her, forgetful, delirious. It began with small things at first, simple mistakes such as giving incorrect information to a unit before their mission. Initially it had been easy to cover up, blaming it on "an unconsidered variable" or "unlucky breaks" and more than a few harsh accusations of incompetence. But as more missions became compromised, it became harder to hide. Soon, the poison that had given the city its life back, began to do what poison was always meant to do to life: take it away.
High-ranking men within her power were being plucked from her hand. One by one they were caught and arrested, imprisoned, dying. It didn't take long for those who had not been brave enough to speak up throughout the years to begin gaining courage, straying from her side, taking and not giving as they had so deeply loathed. Greed consumed her once proud order, suffocating it, killing it. Thus began her delve into true madness.
She watched her empire crumble before her; Decades of work, hard-driven deals, planning, sacrifice, all of it ruined and broken and shattered. Her entire world split in half.
She mourned as if she had lost a child, locking herself in her room often. She loved her power more than she loved him, he knew. He was only another piece of her work, a child to continue her legacy, and nothing more. At least that was what she had told him when she reprimanded him.
As the years passed it was up to him to try and salvage what he could as she hid herself away from the world. By his 22nd year, he and his advisor had made significant progress with rebuilding their guild and the relationships with others. Though it had not been completely restored to its former glory, it was something. To his mother, it was far from good enough. She would only be alive for another year before it happened.
It had been a petty complication truly but her cynicism had grown beyond reason by then. He remembered that day too well. Better than he wished. Even now he could picture it, the way she sat at the head of the long table in the meeting hall with her hands folded, her piercing eyes as they darted around the room at every face. The blood would give him nightmares.
Her advisor Kevan would confine her to her room that same day. He had said it was as much for her protection as it was for those around her. Not long after, she would pass in her sleep, officially making him the next head. It was an early summer day, her favorite season.
He was twenty-four at the time, the youngest in the organization's history to do so, his great-grandfather having taken the reins at twenty-eight years old. Though to be fair, it wasn't so much an organization as it was a gang when he was the head.
Quint sighed at the portrait, giving his mother a pitiful smile. It had been seven years since her passing. Beneath her was a vase upon a pedestal that she had loved dearly. He placed the boquet of a dozen fully bloomed purple peonies in it, taking care to gently arrange them.
He never did love his mother, not really. But to say he did not care for her would be untrue. She was as overbearing as any mother might be and criticized him endlessly. Always complaining that his hair was a mess, how his posture was awful and to straighten up, asking why he couldn't ever bother to check a mirror before coming to the meeting or table, scolded him for his lack of interest in the task at hand, nagging him to get married.
In retrospect, he had been fond of her and appreciated what she had done for him, built for him, the privilege that he had been fortunate enough to have as he grew up. It was all because of her. He was grateful for her hard work. She was still his mother after all, and she took care of him.
She had saved him, too. Perhaps that was why he could never truly despise her. She'd done it herself, he'd known. And for a little while after, she pretended to be his mother, a real mother. He never remembered being so happy ever again. She'd taken him on trips to other kingdoms, on picnics, played games outside and cooked him meals; he'd never known she could cook, and very well for that matter. It was like a dream for those few months, until duty called to her again. And just like that, she was Madam Maddox once more and Madam Maddox did not have time to cook him dinner, or read him stories, or go on picnics. That was what nanny Polina was for.
He had night terrors every now and again of what happened. The shadow of the man's face had long since blurred in his memories, forcing him to forget, though the shadow still remained, reminding him every once in a great while of it all.
"Quint." The familiar voice pulled him from his absent-minded gaze to the older man standing at the bottom of the staircase behind him.
Kevan stood near a foot taller than him yet they had both likely weighed the same given the man's lean stature. Though mostly hidden beneath a brimmed hat, his once brilliantly red hair had become thickly streaked with lines of silvery white. His close-cropped beard had endured the same. However, though he neared his seventies, his wits and quick draw were as sharp as any young, new recruit. His mellow and demure expression was in no way indicative of the true potential he possessed, making him more dangerous than any of the others within the order. Yet never once had Quint ever felt any danger around him. He was like a father, seeing as how his own father had died when he was only three, leaving him with little to remember.
"Kevan." He greeted his advisor kindly. "Something the matter?"
"Got some news from Borys. It's about one of your father's hideouts."
"Hideout? Can't be, those were all shut down years ago during mother's time." He quickly summed.
"I thought so too until I received this letter." Kevan pulled the paper from a hidden breast pocket in his jacket and handed it to him.
Qunit glanced through the words scribbled on the page, noting the date afterward. Perturbed by it, he looked up quizzically at Kevan.
"This was sent months ago. Why am I only now being informed about it?" It was unlike the man to withhold matters such as this for so long a period.
"Apologies for not saying anything sooner. It seemed needless for any concern. Thought I'd handle it myself."
"But it is now no longer is a trivial matter is what you're telling me." Quint looked at him curiously and handed the note back to him. "I take it you already dispatched men to investigate."
"Mikhail and Ridley. They left to see to it last week." He reached a wide hand up to rub at the back of his neck. A tell of his signaling his concern for something.
"According to Munro's latest check in, it has been completely destroyed. The man who purchased the land seems to have already begun rebuilding as well."
"Very well. But there seems to be something still troubling you, no?" He had noticed the way Kevan's gaze became distant. There was still more. He seemed to take a moment to consider his words. It was unlike him.
"I see." He almost sighed. "That's too bad. He had quite a bit of potential. But that's not all there is, is it?" He kept his gaze cool, but the ring on his right pinky itched as Kevan filled him in on further details. He fiddled with it subconsciously as he listened, twisting it around his finger.
"That is problematic." Quint looked up at his mother. "I suppose we ought to pay our new tenant a visit then, shall we?"