Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

“This can’t possibly be it,” Vlora repeated.

“It is.”

“How can you be sure?”

Olem jerked his chin. “Because our contact is right there.”

Vlora turned to find Michel Bravis in the shade of a nearby awning, at ease in the heat, his collar sweat-stained and his lapel undone, wearing the black, offset-button shirt and ridiculous bowler hat, the Blackhat’s trademark uniform. He gave Vlora a wave. Vlora resisted the urge to respond with a rude gesture.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Michel said as he crossed the street to join them. He squinted up at the sun, as if it were the first time he’d noticed it today. “Bit warm out, isn’t it?”

“Go to the pit,” Vlora answered. “You promised me a barracks.”

“This is a barracks,” Michel said.

“It’s a rotted ruin,” Vlora snapped. “If I’m going to be weeding out your problems, potentially facing rioters, I want someplace my men can fall back to. A child throwing stones could break down those walls.”

Michel walked over to the wall and kicked at one of the timbers. A splinter the size of Vlora’s leg fell off. Michel stared at it for a moment, then turned to her with a salesman’s smile. “Bit of paint. Some plaster. It’ll be right as rain.”

“I want something else,” Vlora said.

“There is nothing else.”

Olem cleared his throat. “It’ll do, Agent Bravis. But we’ll want supplies to get this fixed up, even if we have to replace every timber.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Vlora shot Olem a look. Why didn’t he ever let her give anyone a good chewing out anymore? “How is this place even still standing?”

“We used it during the war,” Michel answered. He turned to walk along the wall and Vlora dismounted, handing Olem the reins and following Michel on foot. “I was just a kid at the time. I was one of the lucky ones that got out before the Kez arrived, so I didn’t see it firsthand. It’s said that Loel’s Fort was the last defense at the Battle of Landfall, where we really turned the tide and fought the Kez back to the sea. Biggest battle of the whole war, tens of thousands dying on both sides. If it wasn’t for the arrival of the Mad Lancers it would have ended here and I’d probably be speaking Kez.”

Vlora exchanged a glance with Olem. It was the first time she’d heard of the Mad Lancers outside their meeting with Styke and Taniel’s letters. “Who are the Mad Lancers?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound too casual.

“Were,” Michel corrected. “Bunch of mean bastards who fought for us against the Kez. Ask around any pub in this town about Mad Ben Styke and I’m sure you’ll hear a thousand stories. Especially around here. Lots of veterans in this part of town.”

“Ben Styke?” Olem echoed.

“Everyone in Fatrasta knew his name. Damned near a legend.” Michel shrugged. “We’re not supposed to talk about him. He was executed at the end of the war for disobeying orders. Sullied name and all that. But you know how legends are.”

“They refuse to die,” Vlora said quietly.

“Right you are, ma’am.” Michel reached the front gate of Loel’s Fort and pushed open one of the big doors to reveal an overgrown muster yard, filled with lean-tos and a handful of dilapidated buildings. Michel’s smile faltered for a moment, and Vlora swore under her breath. “Lots of paint,” Michel said helpfully.

Vlora did a quick circuit of the premises. Nothing she saw changed her initial impression. The fort was a rotten dump. They must have thrown out hundreds of squatters to make room for her men. The least they could have done was clean the place up a little, too. “There’s not enough room for five thousand men in here.”

“There are two smaller forts within a few blocks of here,” Michel said, turning around and indicating opposite directions. “Loel’s Annex North and Loel’s Annex South. Each of them has a proper barracks hall. That should give you enough space. We’ll provide materials to repair any leaky roofs or broken windows. Until then, I assume you and your men have tents.”

Vlora drummed her fingers against her leg and locked eyes with Olem. She formed a ring with her hands, pointed at Michel’s neck.

Olem shook his head emphatically.

She mouthed the word please .

Olem rolled his eyes. Michel, examining the fort with a rueful look on his face, didn’t seem to notice the exchange. He turned back toward them. “Have you seen the Depths yet?” he asked.

“No,” Olem said, “we haven’t.”

Michel crossed the muster yard and took the steps gingerly up to the top of the western fort wall. “You should be able to…” He called down. “Yep, you can definitely see it from here.” He beckoned for them to join him.

“I can’t get a read on him,” Vlora said quietly.

“Agent Bravis?” Olem asked.

“He’s so… bland. Polite, but not too polite. Ready smile. Attentive, but almost distractedly so.”

“I still think he’s a spy,” Olem said. “Think about it. That politeness is feigned. We’ve both been around enough politicians to spot it, but he’s no politician. I caught his eye a couple of times when he didn’t think I was looking. He’s watching us carefully.”

“Why would they assign a spy to us?”

“Because that’s what the Blackhats do? Do you really think Lindet trusts a mercenary company in her capital city?”

“I suppose not.” Vlora took a few deep breaths, forgetting the Blackhat and looking around at their surroundings. This wasn’t how she wanted to start their latest assignment, but she knew she needed to cool her heels. If Olem was right, anything she said would likely be reported straight back to the people paying her commission. The last thing she needed to do was piss off an employer in a foreign city. “Promise me you can do something with this dump,” she said quietly.

“It’ll take some time,” Olem responded, “but I’ll put the men to work right away. We’ll have a defensible barracks within a couple of weeks.”

“Right about the time we get our own spy network in place.”

“Should be about the length of it, yes.”

“Remember,” Vlora reminded, “we have just one month to find Mama Palo. We’re going to have to work quickly.”

Olem gave her a reassuring wink, and she left him to oversee the brigade’s move-in and joined Michel on the west wall. “What do you have to show…” What she saw below took her breath away.

She’d heard the stories. She’d even gotten a glimpse at the Depths as they passed it on the keelboats in the gorge, but this… this was something else. It was as if a god had reached down and pressed his thumb against the Landfall Plateau, leaving a two-hundred-foot-deep mark a mile in diameter. The Depths wasn’t just an old quarry; it was practically a crater, and it was jammed from one end to the other with tenements; roofs stacked with shantytowns and overgrown gardens, dilapidated construction that made Loel’s Fort look structurally sound. The tallest roofs almost came within spitting distance of the Rim while the bottom – she couldn’t even see the bottom beneath the chaotic hodgepodge of buildings.

Michel was looking at her with a strange smile on his face. Vlora closed her mouth, straightened her belt, and said, “This is something else.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Michel said, almost reverently. “I always like watching the expression on a newcomer when they first see the Depths. No one’s ever ready for just how big it is. I’ve never been to the mountains, but I imagine it’s like looking down on a valley that you didn’t expect hidden away behind the peaks.”

“I’ve never seen a valley packed with so much slum,” Vlora said. “What did you say the population was?”