Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, referenced rape/non-con, and major character death.
Matthew headed out the door almost before Guy even woke up. It would take time to track down Isadora's address, even with the tricks he had prepared for just such an occasion. He wished he had even the slightest idea where she lived. She probably hailed from Pherae, since her fiancé lived there, and Isadora was a good, traditional Pheraen name. Matthew didn't know, though. His plan relied on a lot of assumptions, but short of asking Guy, he had nothing better to work from.
He walked into Pherae's post office as the sun finally peeked over the tall buildings. A scruffy man with an eye patch slept behind the counter. Beyond him, not a soul stirred.
Matthew stepped over, clearing his throat purposefully.
The man let out a low snore.
"'Scuse me," he said. "Hey. Hey! I've got a question!"
Cracking a jaw-popping yawn, the man opened his good eye a sliver. His chin still rested on his chest, and he kept his feet up on his desk.
"Yeah?"
"I've got to post a thank-you to someone, but I don't have her address. Clumsy, I know, but I was hoping you'd be able to help me," Matthew said, following his rehearsed speech.
"And you don't have this letter with you?"
"Well, uh, no. I forgot it," he muttered, pretending to look chagrined. It wouldn't do to have a fake letter, because then he'd actually have to mail it.
The postman arched an eyebrow.
"Really, now."
"Yeah, I…I know it wasn't very smart. Could you give me her address so I can get that fixed?"
"Tell you what. If you give me the letter, I'll help you address it," he said. After a pause, he added, "Maybe."
"Shove off! It's just a thank-you!"
"So you want me to waste valuable work time so you can…" he trailed off, yawning. "Can stalk down some girl? If you need her address that badly, go to the library. Get a phone book."
Matthew nearly smacked himself in the face. Never mind his brilliant plan. The postman had neatly outsmarted him without even trying.
"Well, thanks for your time," he said, trying to contain his irritation at himself.
"Sure."
The man had already settled back in his chair and shut his eyes.
It only took a few minutes to stop by Arcadia Library and flip through the pages of Pherae's phonebook. To his relief, she turned up: 22 Clear Fortune Way, almost within spitting distance of the post office he had just left. As he was about to leave, he took a look at his petrol level and swore. His cab had a few miles at best in it, and at an arm and a leg for a liter, he wasn't looking forward to paying. Legault's mad job had burned through his week's allotment in a day and a half. Growling another curse, he drove to the nearest station. By the time Matthew had a full tank and drove to Isadora's, he was digging his nails into the steering wheel and grinding his teeth.
He was still fuming when he parked on the side of the road, slamming the door shut behind him. One look at the house made him stop short, however.
Growing up on the outskirts of Ostia, Matthew had seen his share of houses: rundown, single-story shitheaps with sagging roofs that looked like they were frowning. Hell, he had even lived in one, moldering wooden siding and all. Looking up at the white molding and red brick, he found himself gaping and feeling woefully inadequate. Never had Guy mentioned that Isadora lived amidst more money than Matthew would hold in ten lifetimes. Stretches of grass yawned between her house and the equally extravagant ones on either side, and an actual garage sat at the end of a paved driveway. Her manse could easily house a dozen families with room to spare. To Matthew, it looked like the city had grown around her strip of carefully-tended lawn, preserving a slice of time from generations past.
He looked down at his plain green shirt and old jeans and wondered if she would even allow him to set foot on the property. Matthew wilted under the sheer magnitude of it, stuffing his hands morosely in his pockets.
"Hey, don't sweat it, Elliot," he said to himself. He'd stolen from people that rich before, and money didn't make her any fiercer or smarter than him.
With that thought, he made his way up the driveway. The door was a slab of oak thick enough to stop a bullet, and the knocker was equally flamboyant, a bronze eagle holding a ring in its beak. Swallowing thickly, he lifted the ring and knocked twice.
A well-dressed young man with auburn hair answered. He looked like the sort of average bloke that Matthew might ask to get a drink with, his teeth a little crooked and his smile wide and open.
"Hey there," he said.
"Ah, sorry, I must've gotten the wrong place," Matthew said, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm looking for Miss Watson."
"You've got the right place, but who the heck are you? Are you with the station?"
Realizing how easy it would be to catch him in his lie, he shook his head.
"No, I'm Matthew Elliot. Guy Kitsai's flatmate."
The man cocked his head to the side.
"Is something wrong with Guy?" he asked.
"No, no, don't worry! He's doing just fine. I just wanted to see Ms. Watson."
The doorman deliberated for a moment, his freckled face screwed up in thought. Matthew impatiently crossed his arms.
"'Fraid not," he said at last. "She's got a lot going on right now, and, really, you're a total stranger."
"I am not!" he protested. "I told you, I'm Guy's—"
"Look," he whispered, leaning closer. "You seem pretty fine to me, and, y'know, I'd let you in my flat if you're Guy's mate. But this isn't my place, and Miss Isadora isn't exactly in the mood for anything but some really, really stellar news. You aren't here to tell us really, really stellar news, are you?"
Matthew paused, wondering if he could bluff his way in. Isadora's butler didn't seem all too bright, and Matthew could easily fabricate something about Harken. He thought for a minute, but as the facts stood, he knew nothing and Isadora had police information.
"I'm sorry to say it, but no," he said.
The doorman shrugged apologetically.
"Sorry, then. D'you want me to tell her you came by?"
"Nah, if she's upset, I wouldn't want to bother her…Actually, could you tell her that Guy sends his condolences? He's positively distraught over this thing with Harken."
"We all are," he replied. "Miss Isadora's…Well, I shouldn't talk about it. It's not proper. It was nice meeting you, though!"
"Yeah, anytime. See you around."
He trudged back to his car, shabby trainers dragging on the paving stones. Legault would laugh his ass off if he heard about that little exchange. Hell, Legault could've talked the butler into letting him in without having to lie, and he had style enough that he wouldn't look out of place in Isadora's decadent house. He wouldn't have dropped the one damn lead he had down the drain just because of poor planning. Matthew kicked the front tire of his cab and slammed the door behind him. According to his watch, it was past one and he still hadn't accomplished a damn thing.
He tore out of Pherae, making a beeline for the edge of Bern. The district, a sprawling mess of a place that was nearly large enough to be a city in its own right, had grown from a trading post to the center of economic inequality. While Etruria took measures to at least keep its streets clean, Bern thrived by the obscenely rich crushing the miserably poor. The streets were far more orderly the men that lived on them, the buildings huddled against each other as if to fight off the damp chill, and refuse of both the human and inanimate sort cluttered the sidewalks. Yet despite the grime and savagery, Bern's people lived beneath the clawed foot of the law, choosing to obey the mad king's edicts rather than step out of line. The infamous military had not seen true combat in over a century, but its soldiers patrolled the city in lieu of the police. They retaliated against law-breaking with the same force they would use on enemy combatants, as well. Bern had no prisons.
Matthew drove past the alley vermin with little more than a grimace. Those people did nothing to overthrow the selfish King Desmond. They didn't participate in the rebellion, join the freedom fighters, join the Black Fang. Even with the military's teeth poised over their heads like a vengeful beast's, Brendan Reed and his fellow malcontents had founded the organization Matthew presently worked under. Bern had yet to escape from its king's clutches, of course, but the Fang's presence had long been a burr under Desmond's saddle. As Matthew pulled up outside a building graffitied with the image of a blue crow, he took consolation in the knowledge that his gang still operated under the government's nose.
The little building only offered a couple cots and a small supply of bottled water and food. The real draw was out back, in a weedy courtyard behind the building, where someone had set up targets for firing practice. Some prankster had painted the cutouts to resemble King Desmond, Consul Uther, and Queen Hellene; Jerme, a manic grin on his face, had already put a bullet through the heads of each. His accuracy left Matthew queasy—shot after shot, he struck the targets' vital areas, neatly bagging kill after imaginary kill.
Determined not to let Jerme scare him off, Matthew drew his gun, chambered a round, and squared off against the rightmost cutout. Jerme's laughed cracked in a high sharp noise that would raise the hackles a dog.
"Nice pea-shooter. You'll never manage a good kill with that little thing. Though you would see lots and lots of beautiful red blood spilled before they died..."
"It's killed fine enough," he lied with feigned joviality as he took a shot. He'd always had a tendency to aim high, and the bullet struck the stone wall over the cutout's head.
"You're awful at this. Even worse than that no-talent Jaffar," Death Kite scoffed. He didn't continue on his usual mocking tirade, however; from that and the glazed look in his beady eyes, he was clearly high again. Matthew found him nigh insufferable at the best of times, but all but the most stubborn Fang members could at least tolerate him while doped up. To Matthew's understanding, that was most of the time when Jerme didn't have work.
"Hey, front-line work has never been my forte," he returned.
"No shit."
A woman walked out of the building, carrying a box of rounds and saving Matthew the embarrassment of fumbling over another response.
Jerme took one look at her, spat on the ground, and holstered his gun.
"Bah! I have better things to do with my time," he called, storming out.
Seeing the woman tempted Matthew to follow his lead. Ephidel's mistress had a bit more color now that she'd had a good night's sleep and had stepped out of the electric indoor lighting, but she still looked fey and feral. She watched him warily for a second, but she didn't say a word.
She loaded her gun and took a balanced stance, bracing with both hands. With a sharp crack, her bullet pierced the target's chest.
"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" Matthew blurted out.
She arched a delicate eyebrow while just as delicately putting another round through the cutout.
"My father," she replied.
Grimacing, Matthew took another shot, clipping the edge of the target. He embarrassedly lowered the weapon; he was only making a fool of himself in front of the boss's whore.
"I'm a self-taught man," he said, attempting to explain his inaccuracy.
"I'm guessing you aren't very high-ranking. What's your nickname?" she asked, firing another perfect round.
"Higher ranking than you," he countered. "Being the Fang's gopher is better'n being Ephidel's toy."
The woman glared, putting up her gun as forcefully as if she intended to bludgeon the holster with it.
"I don't believe I asked for your opinion on that," she said, her expression neutral.
Matthew nodded.
"No, I got you. I didn't need to bring that up. Looks like we started on the wrong foot. What do you say we try again?"
She smiled, close-lipped. He couldn't tell if she meant it or if it was forced.
"All right."
"I'm Matthew Elliot. I'm a simple thief, really, but the Fang's a lot more fun than being homeless," he offered.
"Leila Beckett," she said. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Any reason I've never seen you before? White Wolf says you've been here awhile."
"I tend to keep to myself."
As if she considered the conversation over, Leila drew her gun again. Matthew didn't wholly buy her response; he'd seen most of the recruits, even the teenagers playing at adulthood, and he knew he'd never seen Leila at the rec room or The Full Moon or even at the safe house, at the Fang meetings most every member attended. He certainly would've remembered her; it was hard to ignore the way her eyes tracked his movements, like a cat watching a yardbird. At the very least, he'd remember her style, what with her unfashionable asymmetric haircut and the scandalously short skirt.
"Do you just not like the Fang?" he pressed.
"The Black Fang put a roof over my head," she replied simply.
"You didn't answer my question."
A sardonic smile touched her lips for a second.
"No, I suppose I didn't," she said, pausing for a moment. "I don't dislike the Fang, if that's your concern."
"But you don't like them," he continued. He could hear something not wholly honest in her voice, and he knew he'd caught onto part of it. Matthew had never tried fishing, but he supposed the give and take adequately mirrored chasing a trail. She didn't sound defensive, at least—merely a hair annoyed.
"I'm here and I'm doing my job.. My personal feelings have no bearing on the matter."
"Most people here are proud of what we do. I'm just curious, is all."
"Then, yes, I do like the group. Though some of you have better things to do, I think."
"That's not true," he said.
Leila lowered her gun once more. She stared at him with a quizzical intensity that made him fidget.
"Most of us didn't have anything better to do, either. Did you think you're the only one who missed out on the sudden surge of jobs or something?"
She shook her head, but she stood on the balls of her feet as if preparing to strike at any second. Matthew wondered uneasily what a woman like her had done before joining the Black Fang. More likely than not, she had been a petty criminal, like him. A pickpocket, maybe, or a mugger, although he'd never heard of a woman taking up the latter. Between her bearing and her marksmanship, though, he wouldn't be surprised if Leila was dangerous.
"I didn't mean better things to do than working with the Black Fang. Although some do appear to be better-off than others. Mad Dog, White Wolf, and Blue Crow…They don't need this, do they?"
"The city needs us, don't you think? It's coming apart at the seams, and no one but us does a thing about it."
"You know the government is—"
"Failing you, me, and everyone else, yeah. Cripes, I can't sneeze without getting snot on some way they've failed us. There isn't a person here who wasn't screwed over in some way, you know? Soaring Hawk got canned for being Sacaen in this city, Owl dared teach some nuance in politics instead of just blindly praising the king, and I'm, well, not a very...robust guy. Hard to get work, now."
"I'm sorry," she said.
"You understand, though. You're one of us."
"Ah...If only the rest of you thought the same."
"Hm? What do you mean?"
"In a lot of ways, they've not treated me like one of the Black Fang since Sir Ephidel pushed me into...this." She gestured at herself, disgust crinkling her button nose. "I didn't get much of a choice in the matter."
Matthew swallowed, pain tugging at his chest. He hadn't heard that tidbit of information. To his knowledge, most of Ephidel's conquests came willingly in hopes of gaining favors or privileges. He'd never heard of someone getting forced into it. It struck him as horribly wrong, and he felt bad for the way he and the others had dismissed her the other night.
"Sorry to hear that. I really am."
"I should go," Leila said, pulling her jacket closer around her as if to deflect Matthew's curiosity.
"I didn't mean to mock you, okay?" At her hesitation, he said, "We're both Black Fang. Yeah, you're one of our newest members, but people should still help you, not push you around. We're like a family."
She smiled wanly.
"Okay. I'll see you around, then."
"Sure thing!"
Left alone with the abandoned box of bullets, Matthew spent the better part of an hour practicing. It wouldn't do much good if he cornered Harken's kidnapper only to take a shot to the chest and die on the spot. He couldn't very well make up for years of mediocrity in a few minutes of firing, but any small improvement to his marksmanship would be valuable, especially with him so short on leads.
As he took shot after shot, thankful that Leila favored a similar gun to his, Matthew mulled over what his next step would be. Nearly anyone had incentive to kidnap the commissioner, and running madly around and hoping to stumble upon the perpetrator had less a chance of succeeding than simply praying that the answer would fall out of the sky. It didn't help that Matthew had no idea if a ransom demand had been made; once again, that brought him back to Isadora, the only officer he knew Harken had a connection to. Equally, no one had reported finding the man's body, and although that didn't necessarily mean he still lived, Matthew would have to bet that way.
"Great," he muttered under his breath. "That only leaves half the bloody city."
Or at least, half the city had a motive. That didn't mean they had the capability to kidnap an officer, he realized. Many would be unarmed and unable to dispatch Jaffar as easily as the shooter had. Hell, Matthew would bet that only a handful of people could have neutralized the chief of police and Jaffar within the span of a minute, and as most of them were in either the Fang or the police, that number was much lower. Perhaps a rich citizen with a bone to pick had hired out an assassin, such as the notorious "fireman" that Nergal couldn't afford to recruit. He might have to look into stopping by one of the fireman's haunts and trying to to buy some information, steep though his rates ran.
Thinking bitterly of the eleven gold he and Guy had between them, Matthew dismissed the idea. Even if the fireman knew anything, it would cost more than that to find out. Besides, it could just as easily have been any of a dozen other mercenaries, from disgraced Bernese soldiers to back alley cutthroats of uncanny skill. Murder was one of the few businesses that thrived in Elibe, after all.
He put up his gun and trudged back to his car. Beyond Isadora, he still had no leads. With evening falling and his stomach snarling like a caged animal, he needed to retire to his flat. He only had four days left until Legault's time limit expired—Matthew knew that if he didn't stumble upon something quickly, he would never make it in time. A failure, he would be relegated back to the same useless jobs he had done before.
Guy had already left when he got home, probably out puzzling over the same problems Matthew had. The cabbie's one consolation was that Guy still chased his foolish idea that the Black Fang were responsible; he would never succeed that way.
Matthew reheated leftover couscous and popped the top off of a bottle of beer. He was mildly surprised that there was still liquor left in the flat, since he couldn't remember the last time he'd bought in. It was in all likelihood Guy's, since Matthew didn't often keep anything more than a hidden bottle of brandy around. He would have to pick up a six-pack later to pay him back.
As he ate, Matthew considered going down to The Full Moon to catch up with Legault. He summarily decided against it—anything that held Legault up for one day would likely occupy him for a second one. He wished that he could talk to his mentor, though. No matter how melodramatic Legault could be, he had a certain knack for seeing the truth of things and connecting dots that no one else could. Matthew knew that he was not nearly as acutely logical as Legault was, and it at at hime sometimes.
He sighed. Bereft of any actual work, he did the dishes and headed off to bed. He fell asleep almost immediately.
He headed out early to catch people on their way to work, pocketing a bit of coin to make up for hours spent off the job. Soon enough, though, the nine to five crowd had all dispersed, and he needed to return to Legault's job. Matthew made his way to the rec room, parked in the lot behind the building, and walked on in.
The Reed brothers sat on opposite sides of the card table, with Lloyd leaning back in his chair and Linus hunched over a fan of cards. Like his brother, Linus flaunted his gun, a mean-looking bullpup carbine slung along his back. Unlike his brother, he preferred not to wear a shirt, his jacket worn open to show off his muscles and the black tattoo on his chest. Ursula and Teodor filled the other two seats, wearing the same bored expressions they'd had three days prior.
Leila sat on the couch with her back to the group. Even ostracized from them, Leila didn't wholly separate herself; she hadn't turned on the little radio beside her, and she seemed to be listening to the other talk. Matthew felt a pang of sympathy for the woman, but it wasn't his job to take care of her, not with three of the Four Fangs sharing the room.
He took his favorite seat on the packing crate and put on his best grin.
"Hey, kid!" Linus boomed. "Haven't seen you in a while!"
"Yeah, I've been doing a spot of work for Hurricane. How about you guys?"
"Following orders out in Lycia," Lloyd replied, scratching at his goatee.
"Igor and I trashed some cop cars the other day. Good luck chasin' us if they don't have the transportation for it!" Linus said. He flashed his teeth in a great snarl of a smile, his genial eyes lit up.
"But what sort of stuff does old Legault have you doing?" Lloyd asked.
"I've got to talk to some Isadora woman for information. It's bloody useless, anyway. She won't let me in her damn house," Matthew sighed.
"Isadora, you say?" Ursula said, taking a long drag from her cigarette. "You can't mean Isadora Watson."
"Yeah, actually. Small world, huh?"
"You're not going to find very much luck getting Black Fang help from her. Isadora wouldn't take a biscuit from the jar without permission, let alone assist ne'er-do-wells like us."
"…How do you know?"
"They grew up together, stupid. Don't you ever listen to Ursula?" Linus said.
"What is it you need to talk about?" she asked.
Matthew hesitated, thinking about Legault's insistence that he keep his mission something of a secret.
"Her fiancé," he said after a moment.
Lloyd grinned, and Linus howled with laughter. He elbowed Teodor in the ribs hard enough to knock the thin man off his chair. Teodor didn't even make a sound, just brushing himself off and taking his seat again.
"What does Harken have to—Oh," Ursula murmured. "That. And you absolutely must speak to her about this?"
"Yeah, I've got to see her. It's important."
"Then I suppose I could put in a good word for you. As long as you don't mention the Black Fang, she'll understand; as far as she knows, I'm still living alone because of a fight with my parents, and Isadora thinks I've been lawfully working since then. If you say anything to let her know otherwise, you'll have brought danger to me and to the Black Fang. The consequences will be dire. Remember that."
"I wouldn't dream of forgetting it," he replied. "So, you'll help me out?"
"If it weren't for Hurricane assigning you to this, I'd say no. It's too risky, too stupid. But he tends to know what he's doing, so…yes."
"I am curious as to what information an officer would have for you," Teodor interrupted.
"I'm not exactly sure," Matthew truthfully answered. "I'm just following Hurricane's orders."
Teodor didn't seem too happy about that, but he accepted it without an argument. Legault's status quashed most arguments, considering he was second only to the Four Fangs. Teodor's curiosity seemed passing, but Lloyd's grey eyes bored into his, silently demanding answers.
"So, when do you think she'll see me?" Matthew asked, avoiding Lloyd's stare.
"Tomorrow. I doubt Isadora would spurn a request of mine, but don't expect anything today," Ursula replied with a shrug.
Matthew grimaced, but he hadn't expected much else. The fact that he'd even get to speak with the policewoman at all was a blessing in and of itself.
"Has anyone heard from Angel of Death yet?" he asked.
"Oh, that eerie guy? Why are you going on about him?" Linus replied, slapping his cards down on the table. "Heard he's still tied up off in our Bern safehouse."
"How the hell did he get to Bern? I thought he was shot pretty badly."
"No idea. You ask him when you see him, okay?"
Mulling things over, Matthew decided that it was sound logic. Jaffar likely hadn't caught a glimpse of Harken's kidnapper, or Legault wouldn't even have bothered to assign this mockery of a job to him, but any information would help, especially if Isadora didn't offer any leads. Of course, that meant contact with Angel of Death, and that brought a shiver up his spine. Matthew had only talked to Jaffar once, but the memory stuck firmly in his head. The man made an owl's wings seem loud, a lion's fangs seem safe, and a shark seem restrained. He always looked less like a civilized human and more like a wild beast trained to follow society's rules. Even injured, he wasn't someone Matthew wanted to cross.
The cabbie wasn't in any hurry, though, not with much of the Fang assembled. Instead, he scooted closer to the table.
"Hey, why not let me in on this game? I'd love to play."
Both Reed brothers simultaneously stood up.
"We've got a meeting with the subcommander of the Bernese army in about an hour," Lloyd explained.
"Come on, it's nothing to get from here to there. Why not play some more?"
"Can't. We were told this is huge," Linus said. "I heard we might pick up a chunk of the Wyvern Knight division."
"Since when did Black Fang 'pick up' the military?" Ursula demanded. "Lady Sonia mentioned nothing of the sort to me."
"Well, y'know…" Linus trailed off, frowning.
"A wolf doesn't question the alpha's judgment. We are the jaws that carry out the Fang's needs. You know that, Blue Crow," Lloyd said sharply.
Subdued, she set her cards down; Lloyd never used anyone's nickname unless he was serious. As the highest ranking original Fang member, he had the very real ability to silence those who disobeyed. From the look of bitter disappointment on his face, though, he agreed wholeheartedly with Ursula's protests. It made Matthew uneasy, as well. The Fang didn't work with the government, ever. Why would they start now?
He shrugged it off after a moment's thought. Rounding up non-corrupt members of the military who hated the way the king ran things would bolster their forces and bring more like-minded individuals into the group. The Fang didn't usually judge people by their backgrounds, after all. Matthew waved goodbye to the Reed brothers as they walked out.
"We're down to three," Ursula said. "I'd better be going."
"Hey, why not let Leila in?" Matthew asked.
Hearing her name, she looked over at him, surprise stamped plainly on her face. Ursula crinkled her nose as if she smelled something unpleasant, and even Teodor looked questioningly at him.
"I haven't had a chance to play yet," he explained.
The other two traded glances, but they didn't raise any objections.
"Great. Feel like joining?" Matthew called.
Leila didn't look at the other two, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on Matthew as she came to sit across from him. He knew she was not so naïve as to assume the others would do more than begrudgingly tolerate her; her defiant expression dared them to call her out as she took the hand Teodor dealt. The situation struck Matthew as painfully wrong in a way that the Reed brothers' mission had not.
"So, Shadow Hawk, what have you been doing?" he asked instead of voicing his concerns.
"Owl and I were attempting to build a library. Only of books you people would find noteworthy, gun magazines and whatnot, but a library nonetheless."
"And you, Ursula?"
"Nothing much right now…Though that reminds me. There's something I need to tell you about this Isadora arrangement…in private, if you don't mind," she replied. Her tone did not invite questioning. Matthew drew to his feet and followed her into the drizzly back lot.
"All right. Hit me."
"I think that someone close to the police is hunting us," she said in a low voice. "Think about it: someone nearly kills Angel of Death, puts a bullet in Soaring Hawk, uses Isadora's fiancé to bait a trap…"
"What do you mean, put a bullet in Soaring Hawk?"
"Yesterday. He was poking around in the consul's business in Pherae, and someone shot him in the arse. He should be fine, but…Doesn't it all feel connected? If we got careless…"
"We'll all die," he finished. "All right. What's this have to do with Isadora?"
"You're shoving your nose into Harken's little vanishing act. No, don't deny it—I'm not stupid. All I'm saying is that the other people that snooped around ended up nearly dead, and they're a lot tougher than you. We don't need people to die without cause," she said.
"I'm just doing Hurricane's work. I'm sure he wouldn't have me doing anything too dangerous."
Ursula frowned.
"Lady Sonia is worried about him. He's been acting odd lately. Making his own moves, talking to people the Quinns' backs..."
"Oh, come off it. Hurricane's always a bit odd. He's more loyal than anyone," Matthew scoffed.
"Very well. I just thought I'd give you a warning. There are two kinds of people in this world, Matthew: the strong and the weak. Try not to get mixed up with the latter."
With that, she returned to the building. Matthew dragged his feet as he followed her. Her words bothered him. Who didn't trust Legault? He had helped found the Black Fang, one of the first members save the Reeds themselves. Brendan Reed had caught him trying to pick his pocket and had nearly bashed his head in before Legault's wit won him over. He was everyone's best mate. Why did Ursula and Sonia worry about him? Did they know something Matthew didn't?
As with so many things in recent days, Matthew didn't have answers to those questions. He reclaimed his seat across from Leila, trying to pretend that Ursula had said nothing important. She didn't say anything, likely unwilling to risk Ursula's anger, but she eyed him beseechingly. Matthew shrugged. Leila didn't know Legault, and likely didn't know anything about the shootings. She might have picked up some tidbits from Ephidel, though, that could help him out. But with her reluctance to talk about Ephidel the day before, Matthew doubted it.
"I find I have lost interest in cards," Teodor announced, tucking the deck into one of his numerous coat pockets.
"And I should get on with contacting Isadora," Ursula added in a tone that said she only wished to be excused.
"But I didn't even get to—"
"We'll play some other time, kid. Don't fail us," she said.
The two left without further ado, leaving Matthew alone with a pile of worthless poker chips and a sullen initiate.
"I wish they wouldn't pretend they had reasons to go," Leila said. "Look at the way Blue Crow rushed out. She had no appointment to keep, nor would any policewoman even be home at this hour."
"Shadow Hawk is no fun, anyway. You're better off without him."
Leila shrugged.
"It's the principle of the thing."
"Fair enough," he said. "You're not going to be too happy, though. I actually do have somewhere to be."
"Where are you going?"
He thought for a moment about Ursula's warning. Legault's mission might prove dangerous. For all he knew. Leila was involved in that danger. She had just turned up at the same time as the whole mess had started, after all. Matthew didn't think it likely, though. She'd joined the Black Fang the month before, and, great marksman or not, she didn't look too ready to attack. Her cheeks seemed ghostly white in the fluorescent lighting, and she kept her yellow jacket pulled tightly around her thin form. Besides, with how the others had been treating her, Matthew didn't think it likely that she would backstab the one man who had shown her any kindness.
It nonetheless came as a complete surprise when he said, "Bern. You can tag along, if you want."
"Bern? Why?"
"...We're going to see the Angel of Death."