Rebuilt Anew 1.7

By Asynca

"'All Roads Lead to Longyearbyen'," I read aloud as the private coach rolled into the snow-covered town. I figured the sign was a poor English translation of literal directional information; philosophically, though, it rang very true for me. All roads do lead here, I thought. I wished I could just lay the whole Hellheim-Avalon-whatever matter to rest and get on with my life, whatever that would be without pursuing Father's legacy.

Although, I had to concede, despite my reservations about digging up this particular grave, part of me was curious about the Thrall Stone. I suspected I would regret wanting to learn its secrets.

Being the only commercial hotel in Longyearbyen, the Radisson wasn't too difficult to spot. My driver, who didn't speak a single word of English, deposited me at the doorway with a grunt and insisted with a few sharp gestures that I carry my own luggage. It wasn't any bother, but I found his gruffness uncharacteristic of previous service on the island. I chose not to make an issue of it, however, and walked into the foyer of the hotel as he spun his wheels and drove off behind me.

The attendant on the reception desk greeted me with a broad, false smile as I approached her. "Concierge is currently engaged," she told me flatly. "You'll have to carry your own bags."

"Okay..." I said at length, watching her with some confusion. Occasionally I was mistaken for a game hunter, but that couldn't be the reason here: I didn't even have my holsters on. I couldn't understand the animosity.

She pushed a key across the counter toward me. "You are all on the second level."

I stared dumbly at the key. "Aren't you going to ask me who I am?"

"The booking was for 'plus twenty'. It doesn't matter, your name. You may go up to the second level." With that, she turned back to the computer, meaning to dismiss me.

I narrowed my eyes, thinking. Obviously she'd confused me with some large party of – by the sound of it incredibly annoying – tourists. "Look, I don't know who you think I am. I have a booking for Croft for three nights, I'm here alone."

She glanced toward me, checked the computer, and then blushed as she hurriedly snatched the key back. "Ms. Croft, of course," she didn't make eye contact as she spoke, "I, eh, I..." She made a gesture to her head that I didn't understand. "I apologise."

I nodded and accepted the second set of keys that she gave me. "It's okay, I think I understand. You have a large party of people here?" I was half making peace with her and half incredibly curious about this large group of people.

She laughed shortly, still nervous. "Americans," she told me. "These Americans, they are not tourists at all, I think. Most Americans, they are friendly, you know? These men, they are so rude. So rude to me." I listened, wondering what they could possibly have done to make half the town so passionately detest them.

"Men?" I probed.

She nodded vehemently. "I think they are Army. You should not go up there, I think." She inclined her head towards me. "Like sharkbait, if you do."

I raised my eyebrows at her. "Thank you," I told her sincerely. However, I definitely wasn't going to be heeding her warning. Large groups of armed men were definitely something that required investigation.

My room was on the ground floor, overlooking the sheer cliffs of ice behind the hotel. Despite the fact it was probably after ten at night, there was still an eerie glow about the sky and a faint green aurora hung on the horizon. Father would have loved that, I thought. He loved that sort of thing. During my childhood, I remembered several visits to Reykjavik that he'd had insisted on. Mother had gone to sleep in the car, and he had driven us around the coast for hours looking for any sign of aurora. I still had photos of the aurora we'd finally found, somewhere.

The image of Mother asleep elicited a short, painful memory of her body falling backwards as I emptied a cartridge into it. I jammed my eyes shut and tried to force the thought out of my head.

A serendipitous thump on the ceiling distracted me from the image. I looked up, almost expecting something to crash through the plaster. The muffled sound of heavy laughter and cheering followed another thump. I was beginning to understand why Longyearbyen hated the group. A third thump sealed the matter for me: I might as well go nose about, because I definitely wasn't going to get any sleep in the room tonight.

I unzipped my case and retrieved my holsters, looping them through my belt. I chose some ammo for my pistols, and then, thinking, fitted both of them with silencers. The last thing I needed was to be arrested. Although, judging by the behaviour of the locals, they would probably knight me for killing the Americans rather than throw me in a cell.

Testing the window to my room, I found it would open just enough to permit me to climb through it. I did so, feeling the sharp change in temperature as I stepped outside into the snow. I should have worn gloves, I thought. My fingers would just have to manage.

The hotel was structurally Tudor, which was handy: there were plenty of ways to scale it. Putting a boot on the window sill, I reached up and pulled myself onto the second level. Carefully, I inched along the ledge until I came to a window. I then wedged my grapple in between the sill and the shutter, creating a small gap which I put my ear to.

"...eight of hearts."

Another voice continued, "...pair of clubs."

"Bullshit!" That exclamation was followed by more thumping and more cheering. "I knew it!" The voice drawled, "You're full of it. Your face is like an open fucking book. I don't know why your wife believes anything you say!"

Charming, I thought, but kept listening.

"Hey, at least I actually have a wife!" A voice defended, which was followed by knee-slapping and more cheering. "Which is more than you can say, bro. You probably need directions to find your dick."

If I had to perch here all night listening to proverbial pissing contests I was going to end murdering the lot of them.

Just then, I heard a door be wrenched opened. The men fell silent as a familiar female voice hissed, "Would you idiots keep it down? The last thing we need is cops getting involved."

Amanda! I inhaled sharply, losing my balance. I grabbed at the windowsill as I fell, managing to catch sight of pale blond hair over the sea of crewcuts before I slipped. I choked the grapple to prevent myself from falling flat-backed on the ground, but my weight simply yanked the pin out from between the windowsill and pane. The window slammed loudly as a result.

I landed awkwardly. Ignoring the pain my ankles, I drew up against the wall as tightly as I could, holding my breath.

The window above me flew open. Be dark enough, I willed to the sky. My pulse hammered in my ears as I counted the longest few seconds I could remember.

"It's nothing, boss," a voice said above me. "Probably just the wood moving from the cold."

I exhaled with relief as the window shut. Minding my tender joints, I climbed back through my window and eased myself to sit on the edge of the bed.

I knew it! I thought. I knew Amanda would have to be involved! I wondered if the Doppelgänger had been in the room with the men, but quickly dismissed that possibility. I doubted she'd have had the patience to tolerate that sort of behaviour. Additionally, the men probably wouldn't have been as boysy if a woman had been present. She was probably with Amanda, I decided. The Thrall Stone was probably there, too. If I could somehow sneak in and retrieve it... I gave up on that possibility, too. If Amanda had knowledge of how to use the Thrall Stone, she definitely wasn't going to share it with me if I put a gun to her head. Additionally, if I alerted her to my presence in the hotel, I wasn't going to get very far. Two, maybe three men, I could handle, not twenty. I was also definitely no match for my Doppelgänger. I would have to follow and silently observe the lot of them.

Another thump rattled my light fittings. The men were obviously not too concerned about Amanda's ire.

It was going to be a long night.