Jalmar had to physically stop himself from simply kicking in the door to the safe-house. Luckily it was very early morning in Vanzograd so there was not anyone around to see him standing in the little entryway to an empty house, clutching the door-handle in a white-knuckled grip while he slowly calmed himself down with deep breaths.
He was hot and sweaty despite the morning chill, so the key slipped from his grasp as he brought it out. Normally he would have caught it before registering that he'd dropped it but this time he simply stared at it until it hit the stone. For a moment the ringing sound of metal-on-stone seemed the loudest noise Jalmar had ever heard. But it also shook him out of his stupor, so Jalmar took a deep breath and looked about the empty street. No-one seemed to be looking at him, so he slowly sat down on his haunches and picked up the key. It was a simple affair for a simple lock. He could have picked it in the blink of an eye but that would just seem suspicious and, given that their client had provided a few buildings throughout the city for the job, unnecessary. The key slid in smoothly and the lock turned with no complaint. The same could not be said for the hinges of the door. They sounded like nails on a chalkboard to Jalmar's sensitive ears. Resisting the urge to scan the street again, he took a step inside. The entrance was dark. A single lantern hung unlit from the ceiling. It was clear that their client Malesaria had not spent much time setting up these buildings for use. The only concession he felt to being inside was that the absence of wind chilling his skin, but besides that it was easily as cold inside as it had been outside. The room simply smelled of cold and dust. Past the entrance was a kitchen, albeit one with an empty hearth and no cutlery or pans anywhere to be seen. A few scattered chairs huddled in the middle of the room but there was no table. It had probably been too valuable to leave behind. Similarly, all the chairs that were not broken must have been brought along, for all the remaining chairs had a broken limb or some other defect. Jalmar took down the lantern and lit it with his tinderbox. Beyond the kitchen was a larger room with a table the previous owners clearly had not wanted to bring along. Jalmar could understand why. It looked demoniacally heavy.
Beyond the central room were two large bedrooms. He could not help but think of Reija again while he looked at the smaller room, clearly made for the parents of the family that had lived here. The Vaulters had kept to the ways they knew from their caverns when constructing their new cities. Jalmar tried not to think of his old life, the life with his wife Reija, as he made sure the door was securely locked and the windows, such as they were, were closed. Snuffing out the lantern, he forced himself to sleep, albeit uneasily.
When Jalmar awoke, the hours of sleep felt deeply inadequate. Sore, tired and irritable, he was glad that he would be alone in the safe-house for a day or two before he should re-join the others. Overall, he enjoyed their work and their companionship, but time alone, especially at a time like this, was a blessing.
Dusk had already passed when Jalmar arrived back at the safe-house the next day. He entered as calmly as he could, trying to look like a merchant that was tired from having been working the streets all day, rather than a shade of the night just raring to get back out there. The information he had heard about the Dawn Officers of the city, especially their offices in the cathedral and churches of Vanzograd, bounced about his head like crazed bees. He ate quickly, the hot soup nearly scalding his mouth. Then he laid out his tools to make sure none had developed dangerous defects. Knives, climbing tools, lockpicks and powder charges. Everything seemed in order.
Lastly, he donned the Clanner disguise again, applying the tattoo make-up as meticulously as he could manage. Jalmar must have killed near a score of people since they had been sent into exile and his hand had not trembled at the thought nor deed for near a decade. But now he was shaking. Jalmar had no cause to doubt his memory from but a day ago but he needed confirmation at the very least. He wasn't sure what he was going to do once he was there, but he needed to see Reija again. Lastly, he cleaned the house as best he could to remove any trace of his stay. He did not expect to return.
The hour was late when Jalmar finally left the house and turned the key. The street was abandoned so he entertained no theatrics in shuffling the safe-house key away and into a pocket. He stayed close to the buildings as he walked, trying to stay in the shadows without making it too obvious. He barely needed to; He saw few others on the streets. There was no official curfew in Vanzograd but Vaulter culture was not one to last into the night unless work called for it. Clanner culture, on the other hand, only got going once the sun began to hang low in the sky. In the scorching deserts where they lived it was the only way. In the cold climes where the Vaulters had settled after the Great Quake the nights were brutally cold. Jalmar was thankful for the padded leather he wore underneath the Clanner disguise. Without it he would be shivering even more. As he drew closer to the Cathedral, activity increased. More civilians wandering to or from the cathedral, as well as Clerics of the Great Orrery in their grey-and-red robes. Guard patrols, though there were less of them than when they had been scouting the warehouses. Jalmar supposed they had drawn more guard patrols to the warehouse district. He could hardly blame them. With 2 warehouses having been destroyed in the space of a week, Jalmar knew the Forgotten would do much the same in their situation. Winter was coming, and who know how long this one would be. Each 'season' the winters were harsher and longer. Vanzograd was impressive as a fortress and as an industrial hub. But high walls and furnaces would be of little help in a winter that might very well last a full year, especially so far north.
When compared to the rest of Vanzograd, the Cathedral was a singular work. Vaulter architecture was blocky, sturdy and simple, evidence of their heritage in tunnels and caves. Only a few very new buildings, as well as the central Palace, displayed any considerations for style and appearance. The Cathedral stood alone, raised on steps in a large open square surrounded by street-lights. It towered over the houses and workshops surrounding it, buttresses and slim towers giving it a unique presence in the city. Elegant designs of glass-steel stood out starkly against the dark-blue of the titanium and the stones. Glass was a relatively new part of Vaulter architecture and they had put as much of their knowledge of its use into the Cathedral, large stained-glass windows crudely depicting Vaulter history and mythology up until and immediately following The Great Quake. Jalmar had to admit it was striking and made him long for his home in the hidden enclaves the Forgotten had constructed for themselves after their exile.
A crowd was gathered in front of the Cathedral. A group of civilians, some in rough furnace-workers attire and some in lighter clothes, stood assembled in front of a group of Great Orrery Clerics and Dawn Officers. The Officers were easy to spot. Their uniforms also had a white sash which stood out well in the dark northern night. And their advanced armour, which was also part of their uniform, gave them a couple inches of height at the minimum as well as an enviable posture. All 3 Officers wore helmets.
Jalmar was still a fair distance away when he could hear the group's shouting. They were asking if the 'rumours' were true, if the winter supplies were truly going up in smoke. The clerics were trying to shout the crowd down. Jalmar noticed that they were not decrying the rumours, but rather they simply shouted for order. A few moments later, when the crowd had been reduced to mumbling amongst itself, one of the Dawn Officers stepped forward. Too broad and too tall to be Reija, by Jalmar's estimate. And the man's voice confirmed it.
"You have heard true. Two warehouses have been destroyed and the supplies within, trashed."
Another Dawn Officer stepped forwards. This one looked about right. "One to ravenous beasts and another to an accidental fire." Reija shouted. Her voice, so well-known to Jalmar, carried easily across the plaza. The crowd was entirely silent now. Reija stepped back again. Now Jalmar knew her uniform, she was easy to spot. She must be taller than him in that armour. He had always enjoyed teasing her about her height.
The first man spoke again. Now that Reija had silenced the crowd there was no need for the Dawn Officers to shout. "Worry not! The rest will be checked and made secure. We will make it through this coming winter."
The third Dawn Officer stepped forward. Short but stocky. Voice much shriller than the other two. "We will be reaching out to the workshops and factories to assess the remaining warehouses to ensure their safety. Now disperse!"
The crowd grumbled as crowds are wont to do but did as asked. A few older workers caught up with the stocky Officer and began hashing out some deal or other, probably to ensure that their workshop would get as much of the work as possible. The tall Officer in the lead scanned the square, his gaze resting only briefly on Jalmar, then turned, spoke a word to Reija, and headed for the Cathedral. Reija stood alone on the steps. Jalmar could not see her face but, knowing his former wife, she was probably lost in thought. He knew he shouldn't approach her. It was useless to their job in the city, or worse, he might endanger it by a slip of the tongue.
Nevertheless, his feet moved of their own volition and he found himself standing nearly beside her. He could practically reach out to touch her if he wished.
"Hmm. Ambassador Malesaria did not try to fool me for once. It truly is a beautiful work." Jalmar said in his Clanner voice. He wanted to thicken his fake accent even more than usual, but it might be too much.
Reija craned her head briefly then shook it and turned towards Jalmar. He wished fervently that he could see her eyes. Just so I can see if she recognises me, for the good of the job, that's all. "Excuse me?"
Jalmar grinned as far as he dared. "I am simply expressing my admiration for your Cathedral, Lady Reija, as reluctant as I might be to do so. It stands out well amongst your brick-like buildings."
At the mention of her name Reija stepped slightly closer and removed the helmet. It made a soft hissing noise as it disengaged from the powered armour. Her auburn hair was cut short but not quite crew-cut, but otherwise the face was just as simultaneously harsh and lovely as he remembered. Her eyes seemed suspicious but not recognising, thankfully enough. "How do you know my name?"
Shit. "Ah, my apologies, I must have forgotten my manners on beholding the splendid Cathedral. I have a friend who is very interested in your culture and even more-so your religion, especially in the wake of your, uhm, relocation. Perhaps you've met him, a Sparian Wolkin? Old scrawny fellow."
The suspicion mostly left her features. For a moment Jalmar was again transported to a time before his exile. "If I have, I cannot remember."
"He can be an unassuming fellow, old Wolkin," Jalmar replied, trying to keep a grin on his face, "He knows a great many things about Vanzograd, including the names of its officials and Dawn Officers."
Reija started slightly at that. "I am surprised he knows even the names of Dawn Officers. There are scant few citizens in Vanzograd itself that know."
"Indeed, old Wolkin was ever a sponge when it comes to information. Sucks it up and gives it up just as readily if squeezed." Jalmar responded then laughed loudly.
That made Reija smile. Jalmar felt both happy and pressured at that. He needed to leave, or he might never wish to leave. "You mentioned Ambassador Malesaria?" She said.
The cover story, stick to the cover story. "Oh aye, me and my fellows have come here to see the city for ourselves, perhaps sell some wares and see if we can't learn a trick or two about handling the cold from your people. These abominable winters are hitting our Clans too, you see." Jalmar responded.
"The winters are even stretching to the deserts of your people?" The serious look returned to Reija's features.
But before Jalmar could respond, the stocky Officer shouted something at Reija from the open double-doors of the Cathedral. She shouted something back then turned to Jalmar. "Apologies but duty calls. If you wish to see the Cathedral inside, the doors are always open. I hope you well and that you find what you seek for your people." She bowed then hurried away, boots noisy on the cobbled square.
Jalmar stood alone on the square looking at the love of his life walking away for a moment before turning away himself and headed back the way he came. He should go back to the others, finish the job then leave, get out of this city. But he couldn't just leave her now that he had found Reija again. But no matter how he imagined their meeting playing out, the job would be in danger.
But did that really matter? The thought came unbidden but it shocked Jalmar. What would the others think? What did that matter. She is right there. Jalmar stopped and turned again. He could just about catch a glimpse of the Officers heading inside the church. Reija didn't look back once. Of course, why should she? She had no reason to do so, but that thought did little to help Jalmar's mood, growing like a black storm-cloud.
Instead of heading back to the safe-house or the group's 'base', Jalmar turned back towards the Cathedral. Under the Clanner-cloak his hands idly checked all the weapons on his person. Each was secured in its space. The group of protesting workers had left the square so Jalmar was the only soul in the large open space. Dusk had nearly passed so it was dark, and the massive inner space of the Cathedral was largely empty. Save a couple of guards standing by a door to the far left of the central altar. The Dawn Offices. He needed to get past them. Trying his best to look the gawking tourist, he went around the far side of the altar from the guards. Out of the corner of his eye he could see them keeping an eye on him but not moving from their spot. So, they were guarding the door rather than the shrine. He thought he could probably take both but not before one would shout alarm. He would have to separate them.
Jalmar circled around the shrine, keeping a watch on his watchers through the corner of his eye. They lost him as he rounded the back of the large central shrine, an impressive titanium edifice to their Machine-focused religion, etchings depicting the events of the Great Quake and the Vaulter civilisation's mysterious past. He could hear the two sentries muttering, probably about him. Looking at the glass-steel-inlaid candle-stands formed an idea in Jalmar's head.
First, he took off the heavy scarves and coloured poncho that made up most of his Clanner disguise, stuffing them under a cabinet. He did not want to be weighed down for this. Then he kicked over one of the candle-stands. It clattered onto the dark stonework, making a horrible racket. Jalmar quickly stepped back, crouching as much as he could behind the little cupboards standing behind the shrine. The guards muttered between themselves and then Jalmar could hear one set of boots begin moving towards him. The shrine broke up the line of sight between the guarded door and the fallen candle-stand. Jalmar drew the knife on his thigh, holding it ready while he held his breath and allowed his Dust-tattoos to meld with the surroundings. The guard's boots appeared around the corner of the cupboard and Jalmar could hear the man sigh and mutter something about outsiders. The man took a few more steps forward and knelt, reaching forward to right the candle-stand. He never reached it. Jalmar surged forwards and kicked the man's foot out from under him, his left hand grabbing the back of the man's head and slamming it down as hard as he could. Jalmar barely registered the sickening crack of the man's head hitting the floor as the shade rammed his knife into the man's throat. Any possible cries of pain or alarm were silenced, and the body lay still, a large amount of blood pooling on the floor of the cathedral.
Jalmar kept moving, ripping his blade free and pulling the corpse into his little hiding spot. The other guard would have heard something. Normally Jalmar could kill quietly but he found he was almost beyond caring right now.
"Hans?" A man asked in a raised voice, as if on cue. "Did you fall again, you daft old man?"
Another pair of boots began stomping towards the rear of the shrine. Jalmar fell back quickly and looped around the large shrine, hurrying along as much as he could without making a racket.
"Hans!?" The voice was agitated, understandably so. His colleague was missing and there was a large pool of blood on the floor.
Jalmar rounded the other corner of the shrine, keeping an eye on the open double-doors as they passed into his view. Still no other visitors. Some would come eventually or one of the clergy would come and see the carnage. He had till then to do whatever it was he was here for.
The remaining guard was in front of him, leaning round the edge of the cupboard. From how he tensed up, it was clear that the game was up. Knife ready, Jalmar rose and ran forward to reach the man just as he turned about. He opened his mouth to shout but Jalmar punched out, his fist catching in the guard's mouth, his shout resulting in little but a shocked gurgle. Jalmar pushed forward hoping to topple the man but the sentry kept his feet, reaching up with his hands to try and pull the fist out of his mouth. The guard's eyes widened when Jalmar raised the knife and instinctively bit down on Jalmar's hand, raising his arm as much as he could to block the knife-blade. The sharp blade stabbed through the man's tunic and through the arm, the spike of pain causing him to bite down even harder on Jalmar's hand. He kicked the man in the gut as hard as he could from the awkward position, still hoping to topple him. Jalmar almost lost the grip on his knife, the handle slick with blood, but held on and ripped it out of the man's arm, ripping a good chunk of flesh free with it. Jalmar's hand burned with pain from the man's bite and he lost his breath when the guard kicked back, landing a knee-kick while still holding on to his hand. Jalmar's knife flashed again, lower this time, easily parting the tunic around the guard's stomach. The man gasped as if punched and his bite slackened. Jalmar thankfully ripped his hand out and gripped around the man's neck while his knife-hand kept stabbing, puncturing the man's lungs and heart. Before long he too was lying on the floor in a spreading pool of blood, though this time some of it was Jalmar's too.
His hand thudded with pain and he could barely make a fist. Wiping the knife-blade on one of the dead men's tunics and pulling a strip of bandage from a waist-pouch, Jalmar made for the door they had been guarding. Injured hand wrapped in bandage, it was only as he reached for the handle of the door that it occurred to him it might be locked, but if it had a lock it was not engaged for the door swung easily on silent hinges. Within was a hallway decorated in much the same style and grandeur of the larger Cathedral, but the ceiling was like a more regular corridor. Doorways sat interspersed along both sides with long spaces between. It seemed like a side-entrance to the Dawn Officer-complex for further along the wide corridor was a dark-blue titanium double-door, currently closed. He hurried inside and closed the door behind him, sticking to the wall on the left as he continued further inside. The first couple doorways led into empty offices, though both had lit candles and lanterns, suggesting recent use. From the third open doorway he heard a low voice and something like the scratchings of a pen. Holding his breath Jalmar slowly peeked around the corner and nearly gasped. Reija was inside, sitting at a large table poring over some document, muttering about supplies and patrol-routes.
In that moment all the years of Jalmar's careful training seemed to vanish like dust in the wind. He rose from his seated position and stepped forwards, holding himself steady against the wall of the corridor with his injured hand. Initially she seemed not to notice, but then she had always been one to lose herself in her work. He had found that endlessly endearing. He knocked slowly on the edge of the doorway. "Hello Reija. It's been a long time."
She looked up, at first with a curious glance like one wondering who would disturb them at such an hour but then realisation dawned on her face. "Jalmar, is that," Reija said, her voice breaking almost immediately, "Is that really you?" She slowly stood up from her chair, supporting herself on shaking legs.
Jalmar didn't say anything, simply nodded. Down the years he had thought of this moment more than a thousand times but now his thoughts betrayed him, and nothing came.
Now away from her desk Reija took a few tentative steps towards him. He stood still, not moving a muscle. Reija reached out to him, a shaking hand touching his chest then lightly caressing his face, running over all the scars and tattoos with a finger. She recoiled and stepped back, looking dumbfounded at her hand as if she could not believe what it was telling her. Then without a word she wrapped her arms around him before he could step away.
"It's really you! I, I thought you had died, Jalmar."
"I almost did." He responded awkwardly.
"I'm so sorry I didn't come with you, didn't look for you. We both thought you had died in that winter." Reija hugged him tighter, eyes brimming over with tears.
Jalmar wrapped one arm around her, his own vision becoming clouded with tears. "It's okay, I'm here now." He gripped his knife in the other hand firmly then stabbed Reija just under the arm, twisting the weapon in the wound.
"I'm here now."
She stiffened in his arms immediately and tried to push away. His focus was off so Reija managed it, stepping backwards on unsteady legs and holding the bleeding wound. "Jalmar? What is thi-" The tone in his former wife's voice nearly stopped him. Steeling himself Jalmar stepped forwards and punched her, his injured hand flaring with pain from the impact, and spun her around before she could recover. His knife flashed again, stopping her voice for good. She gasped as she collapsed, mouth flapping like a fish out of water. He was dimly aware of the sound of approaching guards but could not find it in himself to care. The clattering stopped, and a man shouted at him from behind as Jalmar watched Reija's eyes glaze over.
Turning about, he barely managed a snarl before the air was punched out of him when 3 crossbow-bolts tore into his chest. He nearly fainted from the pain but held on, leaping forward with knife in hand. The guards ducked back, but too slowly, Jalmar striking at the closest one. But his mind was slowed with pain and his vision was already darkening so the sharp blade simply struck the marine in the chest to catch in chainmail. The knife slipped from his hand as he tumbled to the floor, immune to the pummelling from the guards out of simple shock. As his vision faded, Reija's shocked face was the last thing he saw.