Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

“The work won’t be easy,” Tampo said, as if he didn’t notice the dangerous glint in Styke’s eyes. “There’ll be fights, killing, maybe even full-fledged battles, but I expect those are all things you’re used to. I’m guessing your old wounds from the firing squad have slowed you down a little, but based on the brawl with the guards, you’re still more than capable. You’re still Mad Ben Styke.”

Styke felt a growl rise from the back of his throat. He resisted the urge to reach through the bars and squeeze Tampo’s head between his hands until it popped.

Tampo’s eyebrows rose slightly and he looked Styke up and down like one might a newly purchased horse. “Yes, more than capable. Now then, I expect to use you as a tool – a blunt instrument for my own ends, some of which may be distasteful to you. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

“Get me out of here,” Styke said, “and I’ll kill the bloody queen of Novi if you’d like.”

“Excellent. Guards!” A pair of yellow-smocked guards appeared in the hallway. “Escort Mr. Styke outside the premises, if you will. Mr. Styke, I’ll attend to a few items and then meet you outside. Try not to get into any fights on the way out.”

The process was over as fast as a whirlwind. Styke was led through the holding cells, marched through the labor camp, and straight toward the front gates. He walked mechanically, in a stupor, unable to believe that this was really happening. Every step he expected this to be some kind of joke, a cruel attack on his psyche – a fleeting taste of freedom that would be pulled away at the last minute.

“Ben!” a voice called, pulling him out of his stupor. He turned to see Celine matching his pace, staying well out of reach of the guards. “Ben,” she said, “they said you got in a fight. I thought you were a goner.”

Styke felt a knot in the back of his throat. “Wait,” he told the guards, stopping and turning toward Celine. He was yanked forward.

“No waiting,” one of them said. “You leave now or you don’t leave at all.”

“Her,” he said, pointing at Celine. “She comes with me.” He let himself be pulled along, unable to stop his feet from walking him toward freedom.

“The girl wasn’t part of the deal,” the guard said.

“She’s not a convict,” Styke said, hearing a note of desperation reach his voice. “Her father was a convict. He died last season. She doesn’t have to stay here, she’s just stuck because she came along with him. Check the records, just let her out.”

“Not happening,” the guard said. Styke was shoved roughly through the front gate of the labor camp, the gate shut behind him while the guards chased Celine away from the entrance. She stopped a safe distance back, staring openmouthed at Styke, a look of despair on her face. She was a child, but she was far from stupid. She knew what this meant – the fate his presence protected her from.

“Come on,” Styke said. “I’m not a begging man, but please. Just let the girl go.”

The guard checked the lock on the gate, then sneered at Styke. “You broke my cousin’s leg earlier today. He won’t work for months. Your kid back there” – he jerked his thumb toward Celine – “won’t last the week.”

Styke snatched at the guard through the bars, but the man skipped back with a laugh.

“You’re nothing but a killer,” the guard said. “You’ll be back here in a few months, once that posh asshole is finished with you. And we’ll have a welcoming committee waiting.”

Styke smacked his fist against the bars of the gate and retreated a safe distance to pace, eyeing the guard towers above the palisade and the muskets they held at the ready. He would tear the whole bloody camp down to get to Celine.

Tampo returned and was allowed through the gate. He held up a piece of paper that Styke recognized as the note Raimy received from the Lady Chancellor’s office. “Is this the note you referenced?” he asked.

“It is,” Styke said.

Tampo produced a match, lighting the edge of the paper, and letting it burn down to his fingertips before brushing away the ash. “There,” he said. “As far as anyone inside is concerned, no communication was received from the Lady Chancellor’s office and you were released as a free man without parole based on your exemplary record.” He dusted his suit jacket off and checked the polish on his shoes, looking pleased with himself, before gesturing toward a waiting carriage. “Shall we?”

Styke shook his head.

Tampo seemed taken aback. “You leave something inside?”

“Celine,” Styke whispered. The girl had disappeared, probably hiding from the guards.

“Eh?”

“Celine,” Styke said. “I’m not leaving without her. There.” He caught sight of her near one of the administration buildings, peeking out from behind the corner. He’d always liked her independence – she could beat up any of the camp boys her age, and could outrun even the most determined convict – but she suddenly looked vulnerable and alone. He would not leave her in the camp. “She comes with me.”

He waited for Tampo to say no. He could see the word on the lawyer’s lips as he looked back and forth between the two. Then Tampo suddenly called for a guard to open the gate. A handful of coins changed hands, and a few minutes later Styke was riding in the carriage opposite of Tampo, an arm around Celine, the girl clinging to his side. His aches and bruises seemed far away, and even his knee didn’t hurt as much as usual.

He looked down at Celine. She was clutching the canoe he’d carved her in one hand, the other grasping his. He glanced across at the lawyer, silently daring him to say something about his relationship with the girl. All of the convicts and guards certainly had.

“The two of you reek,” was Tampo’s only comment.

“So,” Styke said. “Who do you want me to kill?”

“Have you ever heard of Lady Vlora Flint?” Tampo asked.

Styke recalled a newspaper article he read awhile back about the Adran-Kez War. “She’s a general in the Adran Army, isn’t she?”

“That’s her,” Tampo said. “But she’s not with the Adran Army anymore. She left Adro a few years ago when the government decided to reduce the size of the military. Took the cream of the Adran Army with her and formed the Riflejacks, a mercenary rifle company about five thousand men strong.” Tampo looked out the window while he spoke. “She’s recently been recalled here to Landfall to deal with the Palo riots. She arrives this afternoon. I want you to go join her company.”

“What makes you think she would let me join?”

“She will when she finds out who you are. No general worth their salt would let Mad Ben Styke walk away. Besides, they had some losses putting down Palo revolts on the frontier and they’ll want to come up to full strength.”

“And if she lets me in?” Styke asked.

“Get close to her.”

“You want me to kill her?” Styke was already working the idea through his head. Lady Flint was a powder mage, and Styke had never fought a powder mage before. He wasn’t sure if he could manage one in a fair fight. Fair seldom came into play during an assassination, though.

Tampo grinned at Styke, but the smile never touched his eyes. “On the contrary,” he said. “I want you to keep her alive. For now.”

Styke thought he detected a sinister note to those last two words, but he shrugged it off. No more bars, no more hard labor. He didn’t even have to report for parole. He laid his big, mangled hand on the back of Celine’s head, gently patting her dirty hair. For the gift of his freedom – and Celine’s – he’d kill any damned person Tampo asked.