Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

“The second tenement,” Olem explained. “The engineers decided to take them both down today.”

“Could have warned me. Vallencian, thank you so much for checking on me. I need to get to work but please, do not disrupt your business on my account.”

Vallencian waved off her protestation and stalked toward the door. “I will discover who hired your assassins, Lady Flint. I will also try to recover Devin-Tallis’s body. It’s Greenfire Depths, so the scene of your attack is probably already cleaned up, but I will still try.” He turned, flourishing a bow. “For now, good afternoon!” He was gone a moment later, and Vlora let out a sigh of relief.

She ran her hands through her hair. “Is it really afternoon already?”

“One fifteen,” Olem reported.

She mentally sorted through the long list of things she needed to get done, filing them in order of importance. She knew she should feel elation at the success she’d had last night at the gala, but the assassination attempt after left her wondering if this was all a terrible idea. She was getting mixed up in the petty politics of a slum exactly like she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. “Let Agent Bravis know that I’m making progress,” she told Olem. “But also tell him I’m going to need resources and permission to build in Greenfire Depths. Then set up a meeting with Meln-Dun. And,” she said, handing him Tampo’s card, “look into this. Find out who this guy is. He gave me the creeps.”

The Fles family home in Greenfire Depths had not changed much since Styke’s last visit. It was located at the bottom of the quarry near the Greenfire Inlet, where the Hadshaw River Gorge and the Depths connected in a narrow corridor that allowed immense blocks of limestone to be floated up or down the Hadshaw River by barge. The house was an old stone manor, one of the few single homes left in the Depths, facing the inlet in such a way that it actually received a bit of sunlight every day. When Styke approached that time was well past, and the manor was cloaked in shadow.

Styke had expected the Fles family home to be a ruin by now, what with the current reputation of the Depths, but the street outside was devoid of the usual quarry grime, the stone facade of the house scrubbed clean. The big wooden sign that used to hang over the door declaring it FLES FINE BLADES had been replaced with a small bronze placard that said:

FLES FAMILY HOME

FOR BLADES SEE FLES AND FLES

AT HADSHAW MARKET

Styke watched the house for a few minutes while Celine did a circuit of the neighborhood to see if the Blackhats had managed to beat him here. He noted that the inlet was busy with Palo workers loading stone on barges, and there were truncheon-wielding Palo in pale green uniforms at regular intervals up and down the street. A Palo police force. He snorted. They really had taken charge of the Depths.

Celine returned, shaking her head. The Blackhats hadn’t left anyone to watch the Fles home – at least anyone obvious – and Styke took that as a good sign. He went around to the side door, finding the spare key in the false knot halfway up the frame, and let himself and Celine into the old workshop.

Most of the manor had long ago been converted into a smithy for Fles’s business, and then allowed to gather dust when the smithy moved to Hadshaw Market. The forge was now dark, the rooms quiet. Styke guided Celine through the dim light of the old smithy by memory until he reached the heavy oak door that separated the Fles home from the workshop. The door stuck, forcing him to put his shoulder against it, and he pushed his way inside.

The “home” portion of the manor contained several large rooms that all seemed to lead into one another, from the foyer, to the great hall, to the kitchen and larder. The mix of smells hit him first – the smoky scent left in clothes after all day at the forge, the corn oil and lime mix they used to rub the blades. Styke felt himself transported back twenty years, to a time when he was young and stupid, and without direction, hanging around the forge all day to flirt with Ibana while Fles worked his blades in the next room. There was still the old ironwood chair by the front door, atop the striped hide of a swamp-cat rug now worn thin.

Styke thrust aside all his old memories and stalked through the great room to the kitchen, following the smell of a woodstove and the whistle of a teakettle. He found Old Man Fles leaning against the counter beside the stove, snoring quietly, asleep on his feet.

Celine poked him gently. Fles stirred, swatting at an invisible fly, but continued to snore. “Why do old people sleep so much?” she asked.

“Fles has always been a napper,” Styke said, taking the teakettle off the stove. “Fles. Fles!”

Old Man Fles jerked awake, nearly falling over. “I’m up! I…” He blinked and seemed to remember where he was before glancing from Styke to Celine. “What are you two doing here?”

“You said you didn’t want me coming by the market,” Styke answered.

Fles rubbed his eyes, stretched, then snatched the teakettle out of Styke’s hand and poured himself a cup. He didn’t offer any to Styke or Celine. “Right, right,” he said, sniffing. “Surprised you’re still alive. Thought the new city would eat you up by now.”

“I’m a cripple, not an invalid,” Styke said, growling. Bloody old man always liked to bait him.

“I hear you messed up a bar full of Palo kids up on the Rim.”

First Olem, now Old Man Fles. “Word’s getting around, huh?”

“Sure is.” Fles poked Styke in the stomach with one bony finger.

“Ow.”

“Ow, nothing. You need to harden up, boy. The Blackhats are looking for you.”

“I know.”

Fles raised his eyebrows. “You know? Well look at you, getting your information before Old Man Fles. I just found out half an hour ago.”

“They come by the market?” Styke asked, unable to keep the worry from his voice.

Fles waved him off. “Nah.”

“Here?”

“Not yet. I fired up some of my old contacts this week. Turns out the Blackhats are quietly asking around about you. Nothing overt – nothing that gives away your name. Just telling people to be on the lookout for a scarred giant.”

Styke nodded, feeling more than a little relieved. Maybe the Blackhats had forgotten about Styke’s relationship with the Fles family. Not likely, but he could always hope. They hadn’t started roughing up his old friends yet, at least.

“Don’t touch that!” Fles said, swatting Celine’s hand away from a knife on the counter. “You’ll cut your damn fingers off.”

“I can handle a knife,” Celine said, sticking her bottom lip out at Fles.

“I keep mine sharp enough to shave with.” Fles turned his attention back to Styke. “Boy, what happened with those Palo kids up at Mama Sender’s? That’s the place you had me setting up the meeting, isn’t it? You really had to kill ’em?”

“Didn’t want to,” Styke replied. His initial feeling of joy at being back in the Fles home had soured, and he found himself scowling back at Fles. Everyone, even his friends, always assumed he enjoyed killing. Which he did, sometimes. But the assumption still hurt a little. “Damned kids came looking for a fight.”

“Well, did you at least get the information you wanted? You find yourself a dragonman?”

“I did, actually.”

“No kidding. What did he look like?”

“Like a Palo, but with black tattoos on his neck and arms.” Styke reached to the sheath on the back of his belt and took out the dragonman’s knife. “What do you think of this?”