Chapter 33

Nevassa

"The Randy Wyvern, really?" I commented drily, surveying the tavern with a mixture of distaste and shock. "This is where your gangster contact hangs out?"

"Don't let its looks deceive you. Sternn runs most of his business from here," Kezhda replied.

"No worries there boss, we believe you," Marcia grumbled, wrinkling her nose as a rancid smell wafted out of the alleyway next to the building. "But to be honest I think 'The Rotting Cabbage' would be a more accurate name for it."

"Well that name would hardly bring the customers in," Kezhda chuckled. "Trust me; it's nicer on the inside."

"Wow, for real?" I quipped. "The exterior set the bar so high..."

From the outside, this place was arguably the ugliest, seediest tavern I had ever seen. Sketchier than Cap'n Nedata's place in Sienne, and that was saying something. The walls were filthy and couldn't have seen a fresh coat of paint since the last king's reign, at least half the shutters were missing and the remaining ones looked ready to fall off at any moment, and the sign... well, the sign certainly matched the tavern's name, but that was not a good thing. Not in the least. I chuckled despite myself; Boyd would have loved this place.

"Pardon my asking, but how exactly is this guy going to help us? I mean, the odds of some crook stumbling on a Fenrir hideout seem pretty slim." Marcia asked, still eyeing the tavern with distaste.

"Sternn is no regular crook. He controls most of the smuggling in this region of Daein, protection rackets all over the city, hitmen, highwaymen – by the way, those men we killed on the road may well have been his, best not to go mentioning that – and of course dozens of legitimate businesses to launder funds," Kezhda explained. "Most of his contracts, legitimate or otherwise, come from the nobility or the city's guilds."

"Guilds, really?" I realized as I said it that I shouldn't have been surprised. Back home, organized crime and construction often went hand in hand. No reason the same couldn't hold true here.

"Anything they don't want to be directly involved in," the assassin replied with a shrug. "You know how competitive guilds can get. More cutthroat than Sternn's men, at times. Essentially, Sternn has eyes and ears everywhere, and just about everyone important here owes him a favor or two. If anyone can get us the information we need, it would be him."

"Now remember, you two just stay behind me and let me do the talking," Kezhda reminded us quietly as we pushed through the doors and entered the surprisingly spacious bar.

A light layer of smoke hung in the air, carrying with it the scent of burnt food, alcohol and tobacco, but despite the smell and the variety of liquid spills on the bar and floor Kezhda's prediction had been correct; this place was nicer on the inside, at least a little. The bar and booths were made of some kind of dark wood, and were adorned with simple but elegant designs that leant the place a level of class its exterior was lacking. This early in the day the tavern was fairly quiet; just a few drunks sitting at the bar, a pair of lethargic barmaids, a shabbily dressed minstrel plucking away at a lute, and several unsavory characters engaged in a little knife-throwing game, with a wooden wyvern skull on the wall as their target. Those last ones looked like hired muscle, judging by the array of weapons either on their belts or near at hand.

Kezhda ignored that first cluster of people and started to walk towards the back of the tavern where a trio of figures sat at a private table, blocked by a hulking pair of guards. He made it about halfway across the room before one of the knife-throwers stepped away from the game and stopped him with an outstretched arm.

"What's yer business, stranger?"

"I'm here to speak with Sternn," Kezhda replied evenly, loud enough for his voice to carry to the well-guarded figure at the back. The man blocking Kezhda looked back that way, and received a nod from one of the guards. He let us pass.

When we reached two guards, they stopped and frisked us for weapons. They were quick but very thorough, without being rough or invading anyone's privacy unnecessarily; these guys were more than just hired muscle, they knew what they were doing. Once they were satisfied that we were unarmed, they stepped aside, revealing a balding, barrel-chested man who, despite the modest layer of fat around his gut, sported a thick neck and arms that indicated he was no less dangerous than his guards. Two well-endowed young women sat on either side of him, massaging his shoulders and generally making a show of fawning over him, but he payed them little heed as he picked absently at the plate of food in front of him. As soon as he got a clear look at us, an unnervingly predatory smile spread across his face.

"Well if it isn't the old man's top dog," the man sneered when he saw Kezhda. "Or should I say cat?" He picked a piece of meat off his plate and waved it mockingly in Kezhda's direction. "Come for some table scraps, have you?"

"Sternn," Kezhda greeted him coldly, ignoring his mockery. He pulled out a chair and took a seat without waiting to be invited, then fixed the man with an impatient look. "I'm here for information."

"About...?" Sternn asked innocently, flashing a toothy grin.

"You know."

"Do I?" the crime boss asked, still feigning ignorance as he waved one of the barmaids over. "I'm a busy man; 'fraid I haven't had time to keep up with your little group's needs."

"Do you mean to tell me you've grown so blind in your old age that you can't even see what hangs from your own walls?" Kezhda asked, his voice taking on a more antagonistic edge.

Sternn just shrugged, maintaining his careful mask of bored disinterest. "Ah, your friends. Real pity, that," he said, making no effort to sound sincere. The barmaid arrived with a glass and a bottle of whiskey. "It was bound to happen eventually. You know how people are around here." He shrugged again and poured himself a glass. "Care for a drink?"

Kezhda just glared at him.

"Your loss." Sternn took a drink, letting out an appreciative sigh as he swallowed. "Fine whiskey, that."

"How did it happen?"

Sternn rolled his eyes and gave Kezhda a condescending look. "Well, the mob put spikes through their-"

"How were they found out?" the assassin specified. He was still keeping control, but there was an unmistakable edge to his voice. The bodyguards shifted closer to him.

"How should I know?" Sternn shrugged, taking another drink.

"Knowing is your whole business model."

"Not the whole business. Gotta diversify if you want growth. Troubled times and all."

"You're avoiding the question," Kezhda hissed, hands clenching into fists. "I am in no mood for your games!"

"And you're acting as if you and your rabble still have some kind of pull in this town!" Sternn snarled, coming forward in his seat and abandoning his impassive act. "Look around, kitty boy. Business is better than ever; I got the finest women, finer whiskey, food enough for me, my men and an army besides, not to mention half the damn city in my pocket. Do you know why that is?" He leaned farther over the table. "Business is good because there ain't no trouble to be had between me an' them that keep me in business. Because I keep things running smoothly!" He let that sink in for a moment, then sat back in his chair and gestured at Kezhda. "Your lot have always been trouble, what with your vendettas and your meddling. They died, and Nevassa's better off for it." Kezhda let out a low snarl, but Sternn just scoffed at him. "Oh, but now some friendless dandy from Sienne shows up and I'm supposed to do what, exactly? Go digging around to find whatever trouble got them killed, hmm?"

Despite the derision in his tone, I caught an eager gleam in his eye as he spat those questions, and I realized he wasn't turning us away. He was setting a price, and if his opening arguments were any indicator, he was going to drive a hard bargain. Kezhda must have known this, because he quickly regained his composure and turned the conversation to talk of money.

"You know the assassins pay well for information," he countered immediately. "Unless I'm very mistaken, you bought this very bar with money you earned 'digging around' for us troublemakers." When Sternn had no immediate retort, Kezhda smiled and continued. "Now, I believe our standard rate should be ample compensation for-"

"Standard rate just doubled," Sternn cut him off, smiling as though he'd been waiting for Kezhda to say that.

"That's outrageous."

"Hardly," Sternn sneered. "Or do you mean to tell me you've grown so blind in your old age that you've missed the state Nevassa's in?" he added, mimicking Kezhda's mocking tone from earlier.

"Fine," Kezhda hissed, reaching into his pack and emptying a bag of coins on the table. "Double the rate it is. For your trouble."

Sternn reached for the coins, but Kezhda tugged them back out of his reach. The guards stiffened and grabbed their sword hilts at the sudden movement, but neither Kezhda nor Sternn reacted. Marcia and I shared a worried look, not sure whether or not Kezhda needed us to back him up.

"Part now, and the rest when I have my information," Kezhda said in a tone that would brook no argument, ignoring the tense bodyguards as he pushed a small stack of coins towards the crime boss.

Sternn's expression darkened and for a moment it looked as if he would order his guards to squash the impudent assassin, but then seemed to relent. He nodded and took the coins. "We've an accord, then."

Kezhda smiled, a falsely sweet smile practically dripping with malice. "See? I knew you could be reasonable. Pleasure doing business with you, Sternn," he said, getting to his feet. Sternn was still counting the coins, so Kezhda calmly took the crime boss's glass from the table and drained it in one gulp. He smacked his lips appreciatively and fixed the surprised man with an impetuous stare. "You're right, that is fine whiskey."

Without another word he strode towards the exit, and Marcia and I fell in behind him, both of us glancing back nervously at Sternn's guards and thugs. We half expected him to set them on us, but he remained seated at his table, jaw clenched but otherwise impassive.

"Something's wrong," Kezhda murmured once we were out on the street.

"What, you think he's going to betray us?" I inquired.

"I believe he already has," he corrected me. "He gave in too easily with the price. With things as bad as they are, he should have at least tripled the rate. He knows the assassins are good for it."

"Maybe he's just waiting to add fees later," Marcia suggested. "That's how these groups usually do business in Sienne."

I shot her a surprised look, drawing an exasperated sigh.

"What? I had to deal with a lot of moneylenders whenever Makalov..." Her eyes grew distant for a second, the corners of her mouth falling in an expression of grief, but it was only for an instant. The emotion vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, an impassive mask taking its place. "Whenever he got himself buried in debt," she continued, barely missing a beat. "I know how those types operate."

Kezhda nodded. "You're right, and I might consider that as an option," he replied. "Except he's sent some of his men to follow us."

Marcia started to turn around, but Kezhda stopped her with a look. "Now now," he chastised her, an amused grin spreading across his face. "Let's not be too obvious about it."

Kezhda stopped and pretended to examine a street merchant's wares, holding up a wide metal plate as though to examine it.

"Beautiful piece," he commented to the merchant. "Silver, is it?"

While the assassin spoke with the merchant, he subtly turned the polished surface so that Marcia and I got a clear view of the street behind us. Sure enough, after only a few seconds I spotted a pair of men from the Randy Wyvern, one bald and the other sporting a hooded black cloak, doing their very best to act casual. Okay, Black Cloak and Baldy. Easy enough to remember, I thought, tucking away as much information as I could about their appearance from that brief glimpse.

"Oh, an excellent price too," Kezhda sighed after a few words with the merchant, setting the plate down. "If only I hadn't lost my purse on the road. Good day, friend."

"Sternn might just be keeping tabs on us," I pointed out as we continued on our way. "He made it pretty clear he didn't want us making trouble with his business."

"No, he knows what the assassins do to those who pry too much." There was an eager gleam in his eye, much like the one I'd seen in Sienne right before he took out Varus and his co-conspirators. He was getting ready to do something very lethal.

"Well we can't just lead Sternn back to the others," Marcia sighed impatiently.

"No, we most certainly cannot," he agreed.

"So wh-"

"You're going to kill them," Kezhda replied, quietly slipping each of us a knife. "Quietly."

I nodded, not altogether surprised. He'd told me many times on the road how the best way to learn the assassin's craft was, well, to actually get out there and do it. Marcia looked taken aback for a split second, but her composure returned immediately.

"What's the plan? Or do we have to come up with our own?"

"I'm going to stay on this street, while you two split off once we get to the inn," the assassin replied, slipping us each a small dagger as he did. "That will force them to split up. The rest, I leave to you."

"Aren't we putting the safehouse at risk?" I asked.

"We'll need to change locations, but not to worry. I have one other contact in Nevassa who might be of some use. Just tell the others to meet me at the nearest entrance to the orphanage. Sothe ought to know what I mean." He grinned, clearly amused at some joke neither Marcia nor I understood.

"And how-" Marcia started, but Kezhda ignored her.

"That's the inn. Go."

She seemed about to continue her question, but I grabbed her arm and tugged her down the street Kezhda had indicated. She glared at me and jerked her arm free, but by then Kezhda was already out of earshot, disappearing amongst Nevassa's busy streets.

"Let's just get this done," I hissed. "You can pester him all you want once we're at a secure location."

I could almost see her biting back a snarky retort. "Fine. Inn's just over there, so be quick about it."

"I've got an idea, so just follow my lead," I said as we drew near the inn.

She raised her eyebrows, clearly displeased with the notion. "Are you sure you're the one who should be taking the lead here?"

"You haven't even heard my plan yet."

"Fine. Go ahead."

"Well first, we head down this alley." As I said that I turned down the alley right next to our inn. About halfway down the alley ahead, the inn's brick wall ended, leaving a good portion of the alley hidden from the street. "Now, once we get down there, I'm afraid I'll have to kiss you."

"Already trying to exploit the situation," she remarked dryly.

"Oh, cut the complaining. I'm pretty sure I'm the one getting the worst of that deal and besides, we only have to pretend."

She just rolled her eyes.

"Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable, and our tail can't exactly stick around and watch once he comes around the corner and sees that," I reminded her. "He'll have to keep walking, and once his back is turned I'll take him out."

"Yeeeeah no." Marcia shook her head vehemently. "I think it'd be better if you left the killing to me."

"Really? What, you doubt my ability to kill one man? In case you haven't noticed, I've dropped more bodies in the last-."

"Oh relax, I don't doubt your skills in battle-"

"Damn straight. I'm pretty handy with my sword," I agreed smugly.

"Oh, I don't doubt that either," she snickered, casting a lewd sidelong glance at me. "You, and only you."

I cringed, then let out a frustrated sigh. I didn't even have a snarky retort. "Walked right into that one."

"Yup," she agreed. "And you also made my point for me."

"I don't see how your immaturity has anything to do with my plan."

"It's not my immaturity, it's the fact that you don't think things through well enough," she corrected me, passing the alley and going straight through the inn's front doors. She tried to hold one door for me in mock courtesy, and I shouldered her lightly aside as I entered. "If we kill him in the alley, then he'll still be in sight of people on the roads at either end of the alley."

"Okay genius, we're in a crowded taproom now," I snapped, gesturing around at the multitude of potential witnesses filling the inn's eating area. "What's the plan?"

"You carry on out the back. Get rid of Kezhda's tail," she replied. I opened my mouth to protest as our tail – Baldy – strode into the tavern behind us, eyes scanning the crowd, but she put one finger over my mouth and cut me off. "Now now, do you really think I need your help to get a man alone for a few seconds?"

I shook my head, grumbling as I turned to leave. "Just make sure no one sees you do it." Then I left through the back, as instructed, and returned to the main road to look for Kezhda.

I didn't have to look for long; Kezhda was still strolling casually along the same street, stopping every now and again to look at a display or stall. Spotting his tail actually proved a little tricky, but after hanging back carefully for a block or so I spotted him; Black Cloak had dropped his hood and put a hat on while I'd been at the inn. A quick appearance change like that wasn't a bad idea, but it wasn't enough to fool a careful observer. Better still, while he knew how to tail people he clearly wasn't used to being the hunted one. His eyes stayed aimed in Kezhda's general direction as he turned down the same street, never glancing back or even straying across a reflective surface. Totally focused on his quarry.

I paralleled Black Cloak's route as he meandered down the street, keeping him in my peripheral vision as I browsed the windows and took in Nevassas's sights. We were coming into a nicer part of town, I noticed; not a rich district by any means, but the seedy taverns were giving way to restaurants that might actually pass a food safety inspection, and the streets themselves were remarkably cleaner. It was busier too, and there were plenty of new wooden benches to accommodate the foot traffic.

So, a recently gentrified neighborhood, busy, with people feeling safe enough to let their guards down. Not a bad place to drop a body, as long as I can get him to one of those benches. Passerby wouldn't look too closely; they'd just see a man taking a break.

Almost as if he had sensed that I was ready to take out my target, Kezhda slowed as we got into a dense cluster of merchant stalls and feigned interest in a few rolls of sturdy fabric. His tail came to a stop, keeping a carefully casual eye in the assassin's direction.

I stopped myself before making my move. Something, whether my gut or just paranoia, told me I needed to take a step back before moving in. He's not the only one watching his target with blinders on. I need to make sure I'm in the clear before I take him out, or I'll give myself away.

I scanned the rest of the street. Merchants, slightly classier whores, rich kids "slumming it," couples latched onto each other like junebugs, and a pair of obvious cutpurses staring glumly out of their chosen alley as pedestrian wisely kept their distance. No one watching me, nor any eyes deliberately NOT looking my way. Promising, but hardly a guarantee that I was in the clear. I waited a few moments, then did a second sweep, keeping it as calm and benign as possible and this time noting any changes in position. One face stood out this time: A small, wiry man with one eye. He'd been inside the Wyvern, one of the knife-throwing thugs. A foot soldier in Sternn's group, then, but for some reason he was watching Black Cloak, not me. Interesting. I'd have to keep an eye on him.

Ahead, Kezhda had moved a little further down the street, and I just lost sight of him as he pushed his way into the dense crowd. Black Cloak tried to crane his neck to keep eyes on the assassin, but gave up and began to close the distance, moving slowly and carefully into the busy cluster of people.

Perfect time to strike.

Sliding my knife from its sheath, I too moved into the throng of shoppers, gently nudging people out of my way to position myself well to the side of my target. The one-eyed man was still quite focused on Kezhda's tail, still cautiously hanging back a few dozen meters, and had no way of seeing either of us. Holding the knife down against my thigh, I closed the distance to my quarry.

I bumped right into Black Cloak, and when he turned towards me I seized him by the back of his neck and buried his face into the thick fabric of my cloak while my other hand drove the knife up into his chest. It hit something solid, then slid between the fourth and fifth ribs, just as Kezhda had shown me countless times. Fastest way to a man's heart.

My cloak muffled his surprised cry to a pained groan, barely audible even to me. I held him tight to my chest until I felt him sag, then carefully maneuvered him over to an empty bench and settled him down into a seated position. From there, it was a simple matter of pulling the hood down over his face and wrapping the cloak around his torso to hide the wound, and then I walked away. As far as any casual observer could tell, he was just resting on a bench, using his cloak to keep the cold wind at bay.

I walked towards Kezhda and caught his eye, just enough to let him know his pursuer was taken care of. He gave an almost imperceptible nod and continued on his way, still browsing wares.

"Meet me at the inn," he murmured as we crossed paths. I kept walking, moving to the other side of the street to take a separate route to the rendezvous point. I was still careful to keep my expression calm and composed, but inside I felt a strange surge of adrenaline.

So this is how Hetzel's agents operate.

I was more than a little shocked that I'd pulled it off even against an unwary adversary, but even so I allowed myself some smug satisfaction. No one had even seen it happen, and when that man following my target finds...

Wait, what the hell was that?

I fought the urge to turn around and look behind me, but I could swear I just saw the one-eyed man from earlier in the reflection of a shop window. I kept my eyes forward and looked for another reflective surface or a merchant's stand to browse. I didn't have to look long; a door swung open in front of me, and the small window on it gave me a split-second view of the pedestrians behind me. He was right there, several meters back but very much on my tail. Shit.

My view of Sternn's thug vanished as fast as it had appeared, the small cluster of youths slamming the pub's door behind them as they went off laughing and carousing along the street. I had hoped to perhaps slip into the pub behind them before the heavy door shut fully, but the door cracked loudly against the jamb just inches ahead of my reaching fingers. I grabbed for the handle, but for some reason my nerves got the better of me and my trembling hand slipped. I cursed and kept walking, stuffing the offending hand angrily into my pocket; if I stopped to get the door open, my pursuer would be on me before I could get inside, so I had no choice but to forge ahead, heart sinking as I surveyed the city before me. The street kept going straight, with no crossroads or decent alleys, just an endless parade of Nevassa's tightly packed buildings.

Okay, stay calm. He hasn't made a move yet, so I should have a few minutes... Probably. Hopefully. Just need enough time to find somewhere quiet and turn the tables on him. Like an alley. Alleys would work. Now where the hell are the damn alleys? Stupid city!

A sharp prick in my side was the only warning I got that my unknown tail had caught up to me. I froze, knowing full well he had me at his mercy.

"Shit," I breathed. Well, now I've done it. Some assassin I am...

"Relax, I didn't come here to hurt you," my assailant whispered in my ear still keeping his knife tight against my back. He nudged me ahead. When I didn't move, he huffed in exasperation and shoved me harder. "I didn't come here to be seen with you either, so hurry it up, wouldja? We need to get off the street."

I followed his directions, apprehensive despite his claims. I slowly, carefully shifted my arm back a few inches closer to where I felt the tip of the knife. As soon as we got off the street, I had every intention of turning the tables on him. Even if this guy was true to his word, there was no way I was going to let him keep me at his mercy. Too risky. I needed to get control of the situation.

We found a little alley and he shoved me inside. I pretended to stumble as he came in behind me, and he seized me by the shoulder to keep me from getting too far ahead. Just what I'd been waiting for.

I snapped an elbow back into his face, then twisted back the other way and shot a rear kick to his midsection. It wasn't particularly strong, but it caught him off guard and drove him back enough for me to get clear of the knife's reach.

"Ashera's ass, would you relax?" the thug grunted, rubbing his jaw where I'd hit him.

"This coming from the man with the knife."

"Fair enough," he replied, sliding his knife back into its sheath. "That put your mind at ease?"

It didn't. "If you wanna talk, then talk."

"Alright." He paused for a moment, as though trying to find the right words. Finally he sighed. "Look, I've been Sternn's man for more'n ten years. Betrayin' him don't come easy..."

I rolled my eyes impatiently. "And we're all touched by your loyalty. Get to the point."

"I won't pretend to understand all that's goin' on between Sternn and these assassins, but I know he's the reason your men're hangin' from the walls."

"Explain." Despite my carefully controlled tone, my mind was racing, caught somewhere between elation at finding a potential source of information and worry that it was all a trap.

"Alright, so it's like this," the one-eyed man finally explained, eyes darting occasionally to the alley's entrance. "Bout five months back some new player showed up in Nevassa. Not smugglers or racketeers, nor assassins, but definitely not doin' anything official neither. Been makin' inroads into everything since then: guilds, guards, criminals. Whoever they are, they're powerful. Your assassins caught on, and suddenly bodies started dropping by the score. People on their side, people with these new folks, all dying. Sternn blamed the assassins. Said they'd picked the fight, caused the chaos, so he found their hideouts and sold them out."

"Still haven't explained why you came to me."

"...See, these new players... they're powerful an' all, I suppose, but... I dunno, there's just somethin' unnatural about them." He shuddered, eyes going up and to the side, as though recalling some old, awful memory. "Plus, ever since they showed up, people been goin' missing. Just a few at first, but now..."

Okay, he's definitely talking about Fenrir. This could be good.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice to hide the sudden surge of hope I felt. "We have a common enemy, then. How do I find these 'new players'?"

He shrugged. "That's just the thing, nobody knows. You don't find them, they find you."

I let out a heavy, frustrated sigh. Or maybe not so useful after all. "Not the outcome I'm going for. What about Sternn? If he sold out the assassins, then surely he can get in contact with them."

"Maybe..." the man mused, but he fixed me with a shrewd look. "But first I'll need protection-"

I shoved him back against the wall, pinning the hand that went reflexively to his dagger. "You don't come to me and make demands," I snarled impatiently. "If you want my protection, then I'm gonna need something more than a 'maybe'."

"Hey, they might kill me for this!" the man protested.

"Then I guess you'd better make yourself useful, and quick," I growled. "We passed a tavern just down the street with a warhorse on the sign above the door. Meet me there when you have something worth talking about."

I brushed by him and went back out into the street, vanishing into the crowd.

Kezhda was nursing a drink at a table in the back of the inn's taproom when I arrived.

"You certainly took your time. Any problems?" the assassin asked as he got up and pointed me to the back door.

"Just making a new friend," I replied as we slipped out the back. "You were right about Sternn. He's in bed with Fenrir."

"Found an informant?" Kezhda nodded appreciatively. "What did you do with them?"

"I set up a meeting place for the future, and made sure he didn't follow me."

Kezhda frowned. "It could be a trap."

"I'll take precautions," I assured him. " He seemed genuinely scared of Fenrir."

"I could seem genuinely scared of you if need be. Doesn't mean I am," Kezhda was quick to point out.

"Think I don't know that?" I snapped, though he wasn't off the mark. I had those very same concerns. I took the hard edge off my voice, not wanting to start an argument. "Look, I'll stay on my guard, but you know we need leads like this."

Kezhda nodded, turning down a narrow stairway leading underground. I wrinkled my nose at the stench of rotting garbage and soiled water coming from the darkness below.

"So where is this orphanage you were talking about?"

Kezhda chuckled. "Right here," he replied, opening a metal gate and leading the way into a wide sewer.

"In the sewer?" I asked incredulously, surveying the dank tunnel. Filthy water ran through the center, but there were narrow ledges to walk on on either side of the tunnel. A torch flared ahead, illuminating a very unhappy cluster of figures waiting for us at an intersection in the tunnels.

"The sewers are the Orphanage," Sothe chuckled, easing a plank out across the running water to make a way through the intersection. "It's where all the street urchins in Nevassa go when they need to shelter from the cold..." He flashed a cocky grin as he crossed the plank with practiced ease. "...or from the guards."

"These sewers run all over Nevassa," Kezhda explained. "It's the easiest way to move without any of Sternn's men spotting us."

"Just make sure you don't fall in," Sothe added. "The smell kinda sticks with you."

"Ugh! Disgusting," Calill moaned, stepping carefully over the makeshift bridge.

"Oh don't despair, our destination is only halfway across the city," Kezhda laughed, easily hopping the river of sludge and drawing another groan from the mage. "Sothe, do you know the shoemaker in the old warehouse district? Goes by the name John, last I checked... mind you that was a few years ago, but still..."

"That old bat?" Sothe stopped and shot the assassin a quizzical look. "Last I checked the man was thoroughly touched in the head."

"Oh good, so you do know him!" the assassin replied, evidently relieved. "Lead on then."

After what seemed like an eternity of Calill complaining, Marcia threatening to kick her into the water, and Nephenee actually falling into the aforementioned sludge, we emerged from Nevassa's oh-so-fragrant tunnels. The streets here were wider and somewhat less busy than the other areas of Nevassa, with cargo-laden wagons replacing the throngs of foot-traffic. The tightly packed taverns, shops and houses were fewer and yet somehow packed even tighter here, crammed between massive warehouses and granaries, and while those monstrous structures were mostly made of old, worn stone, many of the tiny buildings sandwiched between them still had the sharp corners and fresh wood of newer buildings. The building Kezhda led us to, however, appeared as old and weathered as Nevassa's ancient granaries. He stopped short of the front door, however, and turned to address us.

"Before we go in, I should warn you. My contact here is brilliant but... eccentric. Very eccentric." No one appeared overly impressed or worried, so he shrugged and turned back to knock on the door.

"John?"

"We're not open! No solicitors!" came the immediate reply from within. A hand shot into view in the door's window, gesturing to the "closed" sign with its middle finger.

Kezhda sighed. "Just open the damn door John."

A disheveled mop of hair with two eyes peering out from under it now popped into view. There came a surprised "Oh-!", and the door swung open to reveal a short man approaching middle-age, his worn clothes covered in patches, burn marks, and a strange orange-brown dust.

"Goddess' bones, Kezhda, you're the last person- I mean, ever since the uh, well y'know, incident-" His tone was almost comically conspiratorial as he jerked his head none-too-subtly in the direction of the walls. "-I haven't really had any visitors."

"Nice to see you too," Kezhda deadpanned. "If you don't mind, we need to get off the street."

"Yes yes of course, do come in my good peop-" John took a few steps back as our group poured in. "Goddess there's a lot of them."

"No more than we need," was Kezhda's decidedly vague retort. He looked around at the dusty, largely empty interior of the shop, and I couldn't help but feel the same confusion I saw on the assassin's face. For a shoemaker, there sure weren't many shoes here: No more than a dozen pairs or so in the whole store. "Business falling off, John?"

The man just made a vaguely dismissive gesture towards what I presumed to be his livelihood. "Bah, I'm too busy."

Kezhda sighed. "John, a front business needs to be convincing, especially at times like this." From the sounds of his voice, this was not the first time he'd had this discussion.

The little man just grunted "Too busy!" again, then turned his attention to the rest of our group, who watched the exchange warily from the entrance. John frowned, scrutinizing us in open suspicion. "Are they all cleared? Don't look like the usual assassin type..."

Kezhda just nodded.

"And they know about..." He nodded his head towards a door behind the shop's counter.

"Not yet, but no need to worry. They're a discreet bunch."

"Okay... Okay..." He fidgeted around a bit, not meeting anyone's eye before finally speaking up again. "Soooo... what do you need?"

"Weapons, a secure location or two," came Kezhda's immediate reply.

The man nodded, scratching nervously at his hairline. "Laying low, or do you need a base of operations?"

"A base, but one with discreet access."

"...Got a warehouse that might do the trick..."

"And the weapons?"

"Oh, weapons?!" John's face suddenly lit up, but he locked it down and drew one hand over his face, only partly succeeding in composing his expression. "Come with me," he said, excitement still ringing in his voice.

He led us through the door he'd indicated earlier. That door was just a benign front, with another, heavier door behind it. This one was locked, and when he put a key in the lock the door itself seemed to shrink just a few millimeters on each side, allowing it to swing ponderously inwards. Stepping inside, we found ourselves in a cavernous room filled with shelves and crates. There were several work tables arranged at the front of the room and piled high with all kinds of papers and equipment, most of it completely unidentifiable.

Kezhda whistled appreciatively. "You have been busy..."

"I'm always busy," the strange little man chortled, waving his arms around at the packed room. His eyes settled on one crate and he practically quivered with excitement. Grabbing a crowbar from the assortment of tools on his worktables, he set about prying the lid off his chosen crate. "Over here! Come see, come see!"

The crate held a multitude of spheres – some sort of clay or ceramic, from the looks of it, with the colour a perfect match to the dust covering John's clothes – each bearing carefully carved runes.

"My latest invention," John proclaimed, bouncing one of the spheres in his hand. "A spell, contained within a breakable shell. Now, these ones are still empty of course, but were it loaded you would simply throw it on the ground like so-"

The room filled with blinding light and a sharp BANG that left my ears ringing and sent me reeling back to crash into the nearest shelf. I toppled to land in a heap among at least two other people, our limbs tangling as we fumbled and covered our ringing ears. As my vision slowly returned I saw a very distraught John hurriedly returning the crate to its shelf.

"So sorry, so very sorry!" he kept repeating as the rest of us regained our senses. "I could have sworn I got the empty ones..." He glared at the shelves, shaking his head in confusion. "The left the right, the right the left, but which one?" He waved his hands for a moment, then held his right up triumphantly. "Left, of course!" And then he grabbed a new crate, once again hoisting the crowbar to pry it open.

Those of us who were able tried to shout some form of protest, but dear old John was undeterred, rifling through the crate until he'd selected a new orb.

"Stop!" Calill cried, holding her hands out to halt him. Kezhda managed to join in with a stumbling "Ashera's sakes, not again!"

John paused, sphere held aloft. He watched us for a second, listened to our protests. Then he shrugged, and dashed the sphere on the floor anyways.

Nothing happened.

"See?" he said brightly, all smiles. "I knew it was empty."

"That man is fucking insane," Beth grumbled, shaking her head as we sat around a fire, crates serving as temporary chairs.

"No arguments here," Matt agreed. Al grunted and rubbed at her ears.

We'd been settled in at John's safehouse – a disused warehouse a few streets over from his shop – for a good hour or so by now, but a few of us, myself included, still had ringing ears, headaches, or some difficulty with bright lights.

"Still, those grenade things are effective," I added, albeit leerily. "Imagine clearing a room after tossing one of those in."

Jarod chuckled appreciatively. "Aye. Wherever Fenrir's based, they'll be somewhere fortified. That means plenty of room-to-room fighting." He shrugged. "Mad or no, I'll feel a lot safer with weapons like those at our disposal when it comes time for the assault."

"Fair enough," Marcia allowed. "But can we trust him to protect our safehouse in the meantime?" She spat a bone out of her stew. "Doesn't seem the type to keep a secret too well..."

Before we could discuss our reservations any further, the air around us filled with an unholy, gag-inducing stench.

"Hey, we're doing room assignments," Nephenee's voice rang out innocently from behind me. Despite the odor, the group's relief was palpable; Kezhda had insisted we stay out in the main area of the warehouse until he'd determined what space was needed for equipment and stores and what could be used for quarters, but it was wickedly cold inside the empty warehouse. Small, better-sealed rooms with blankets and torches would be a great improvement. "There're five rooms, so we'll all have to double up."

"I'm with Al," Beth said immediately, shuffling away from Nephenee and wrinkling her nose.

"Fuck!" Al grumbled, hands going instinctively to her hair.

"Jarod," Matt was quick to call. The sergeant nodded, fist-bumping the tall Midgardian.

"With you, Dragonslayer? Need me to help beat all your fans off?" he chuckled, using the moniker some of the soldiers had given Matt after he killed the giant wyvern at Talrega. Matt blushed and stammered uncomfortably for a second before Jarod clapped him on the shoulder and put him at ease. "I'm joking. I'd be glad to."

"Well, I guess I'm with Sothe," I said, but Neph shook her head.

"Sothe's with Kezhda. Something to do with planning a search of the tunnels," she corrected me.

"Well..." I considered my options. That left Marcia, Neph, or... Calill. Hardly ideal.

Granted, leaving notions of propriety aside rooming with Neph wouldn't be so bad, at least once she didn't smell like the ass-end of a cavalry regiment anymore, but the other two? Goddess, Marcia and I would likely kill each other, and Calill's fussing would drive me insane within the day.

"Oh shit biscuits, I'm with Calill!" Marcia exclaimed, backing away from Neph and I. "Have fun, you two."

Neph actually looked kind of relieved – didn't take a genius to guess why, with the way Calill carried on around her – but she must have seen my unease because she leaned closer and patted me on the shoulder, no doubt hoping to reassure me. "Don't worry, I trust ye not ta misbehave," she assured me. "The arrangement's alright with me if it's alright with you."

I made a mental note never to fall into the sewer water: Sothe wasn't kidding about the smell sticking around. Several of the others made excuses to leave, and Jarod flashed me a grin I wasn't quite sure how to interpret.

"What's to object to?" I asked, smiling past the flip-flop of my stomach. After all, she was my friend, and pointing out that she made it smell as if death itself had contracted dysentery would've been needlessly hurtful... albeit kinda funny. "I suppose you'll be wanting the room to yourself for a while though..." I added leadingly.

"I've not got much to unpack, and I've already changed me clothes," she said, but I shook my head. Poor girl had gone blissfully nose-blind.

She cocked her head to the side, still looked confused, so finally I opted for bluntness. "So you can wash off from the sewer."

"...I just did," she said, furrowing her brow and indicating her own damp hair. Unable to help myself anymore, I burst out laughing.

"Once more, then, roomie," I chuckled. "For my sake, please."

A/N

So long story short: Things in France were going well, but then things back home took a few turns for the worse, so I cut my stay short to be with my family. Since then, I've been getting involved in with my university's theater company, learning that theater/acting is an enormous time commitment, not sleeping, and indulging in my newfound love of alcohol and redheads. So, y'know, healthy life choices all around.

Anyways, feel free to leave a review, chastisement, vicious mockery, random emoticons: Whatever tickles your fancy, really. Take care, don't drink too much (I am very qualified to tell you it's a bad idea), and see you next time!

Review Responses:

NLV: This will hopefully not be the last we see of Nolan until RD. He's a great character, and I really want some time to play around with him and his interactions. I mean, a man who is literally watching his world crumble around him and is just scrambling to save as much of it as he can? So much possibility for character development...

As for the criminal syndicate, I'm not sure I would go with Tyber Zann as a comparison. Zann's too power-hungry and reckless. This guy seems a little more Talon Karrde-like – staying in the shadows, running legitimate fronts, dealing in information as much as contraband – just without Karrde's agreeable personality. Sternn's kind of a dick.

And yes, the pasta was egg-celent ('cause I used eggs in the dough... get it?)

Tomnovikov: Thank you, I was really trying to get the dialogue right with that chapter, so it's nice to know that paid off. Although if we're using a cheese metaphor, I'm pretty sure that at this point the fic is gonna be gettin pretty moldy...

godofmadness43: Thank you. Hopefully you won't have to wait as long to read the next stuff. Large chunks of it are already written.

Tom-Ato13: Thanks! People seem to be responding pretty well to the diversions from the main plot (which is good, because there's more planned for the future).

Y'know, I wouldn't say you're completely insane to ship Adam and Marcia. Antagonistic relationships can be pretty awesome if done right (Caskett, anyone?) But then, I could pair them with anyone! I am the author! I hold all the power! Muahaha!

And yes, there is plenty of murderous, dark, assassination-y goodness to come. Well, when I get around to updating, that is...