Unknown - The Spirit Eater

“Sara!” Sparrow cried.

“Do it,” she snapped. “I’m cutting off now. Whitefall just sent a page. I have to go to some sort of emergency meeting in ten minutes and it will take me at least that long to get up to the hearing room. I’ll check in tomorrow to see how you’re doing, and I don’t want to hear any complaints, Sparrow. Don’t forget, there’s still a nice-sized bounty on your head I could turn in to Whitefall any time I like, and they don’t hand out prison sentences for what you’ve done.”

“How could I forget,” Sparrow grumbled, but the orb had already gone dim. He glared at it for a moment more and then shoved the Relay into the pocket of his ruined silk jacket. “Well, isn’t this just lovely?”

“It is,” Tesset said. “It’s been awhile since I had a good old-fashioned hunt.”

Sparrow harrumphed and ran his fingers through his dusty hair.

Tesset watched him, frowning. “Why didn’t you tell her about the demons?”

“Because I’m trying to get out of here, remember?” Sparrow said. “If I’d told her, she would have asked us to investigate that as well, and I’d rather her hand me to the bounty office on a platter than go anywhere near that place.”

“She’ll find out,” Tesset said. “And she’s going to be mad.”

“We’ll worry about that when it comes,” Sparrow said, giving up on trying to tame the dusty mess on his head. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Tesset nodded and followed him out of the maze of broken buildings. He was grinning. A hunt, and a fine quarry too. Just what he needed to combat the city softness he’d been sinking into. He needed something to push him forward, because he wasn’t getting any younger. Somewhere out there, Den was waiting for him. When they met again, Tesset knew he would have only one chance to show his master that his lesson had been well learned. He had to be ready.

Clenching his fists, Tesset started jogging toward where they’d last seen the ghosthound. Sparrow stumbled along behind him, sending a stream of curses into the late-afternoon breeze.

Sara marched up the stairs of the fourth and largest of the Council Citadel’s seven towers. Servants in flawless white pressed themselves against the walls as she passed, peeking at her curiously from under their lowered lashes. She bit her pipe and kept walking.

The meeting room was already full when she got there. Council officials milled beside the catering table, enjoying the array of little sandwiches, cheese plates, and brandy aperitifs that the Council demanded even for its emergency meetings. Sara pushed right past them, going straight for a tall man with close-cropped silver hair holding court by the picture windows, the only person in the room who actually mattered.

“Whitefall,” she said, nodding as the crowd parted to let her through. “I’m extremely busy. What’s this all about?”

Merchant Prince Alber Whitefall, Lord Protector and Grand Marshal of Zarin, gave her a politician’s bright smile. “I was hoping you could tell me, Sara dear.” He touched her shoulder, guiding her in beside him. “I received an urgent message from the League of Storms. Normally, they fall under your jurisdiction, but this time the message was addressed specifically to me. Very odd. Haven’t I asked you not to smoke in here?”

Sara took a pointedly long draw from her pipe. “What does the League want with you?”

“I don’t know, the reasons were quite vague, but the letter specifically said that I was to call a meeting with you, Phillipe, and all the upper Council. And since you’ve always stressed that the League of Storms is never to be ignored, I did.”

“Phillipe?” Sara gave him a skeptical look. “The bounty office windbag? What does the League want with him?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Whitefall said. “But that’s my cousin you’re talking about. Only I get to call him a windbag.” He waved and smiled. Across the room, the topic of their conversation jumped, and then hesitantly waved back before returning to his plate of sandwiches.

Sara rolled her eyes. “Well, since we’re all here, can we get this mystery meeting under way? I have work to do.”

“Not quite yet,” Whitefall said, adjusting the lapels of his black dinner suit. “We’re still missing the representative from the Spirit Court. And, of course, whomever the League is sending to enlighten us.”

“Spirit Court?” Sara said as the doors opened. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Etmon Banage himself sweep into the room.

“Powers,” she muttered, smoking furiously.

Etmon saw her as well, but to his credit the only change was a slight hardening of his eyes as he approached to pay his respects to the Merchant Prince.

“Lord Whitefall,” he said with a nod. “What is the emergency?”

“I think we’re about to find out,” Whitefall said, glancing toward the far wall. Sara and Banage both turned to see a thin white line dropping down through the air. When it reached the floor, a man stepped through. Sara winced. Alric looked furious. He also looked worse for wear. His face was badly bruised, and he walked with a limp. Of course, in his line of work, that wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the man he was dragging behind him.

By the time the white doorway closed, the room was silent. Everyone was watching the Deputy Commander of the League of Storms and the man dragging on the floor behind him. When he was sure he had everyone’s attention, Alric tossed the man forward. He fell sprawling, leaving thick smears of dirt on the silk carpet.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Council of Thrones,” Alric said through gritted teeth. “I bring you Izo Barns, also known as Izo the Bandit King, wanted by the Council for one hundred and fifty thousand gold standards.”

The man on the floor curled into a ball, moaning softly to himself with his eyes wide open like a horrified child. Alric just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest.

It was Sara who recovered first. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing,” Alric said. “He’s just had a bit of a fright. But it doesn’t matter. His bounty is good whether he’s dead or alive, correct?”

This question was directed at Phillipe Whitefall, though it took a few moments for the bounty office director to realize that.

“Yes,” he said, his voice trembling as he bent over for a closer look at Izo’s terror-stricken face. “Izo, scourge of the north, wanted dead or alive for one hundred and fifty thousand. But how did you catch him?”

Alric closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. “I didn’t. Izo the Bandit King was captured by Eli Monpress. I’m only here to deliver him.”

There was a collective gasp around the room, and then everyone started talking at once.

“Hold on!” Banage’s voice rose over all others. “What right does a wanted criminal and enemy of the Council have to a bounty?”

“Well,” Phillipe Whitefall said, wiping his brow with his handkerchief. “There’s no rule about who can turn in bounties. Keeping them open to lawbreakers actually encourages derision within the criminal element.”

“That’s all well and good,” Sara said. “But how does Eli intend to claim his hundred and fifty thousand? Is he coming to Zarin to collect it himself?”

“Of course not,” Alric said with a long-suffering sneer. “Monpress wishes for the reward to be added to his own bounty.”

This time the room went silent.

Merchant Prince Whitefall stepped forward. “You want us to add a hundred fifty thousand to Monpress’s bounty? But that would bring it to…” He looked at his cousin.

“Two hundred and forty-eight thousand, your grace,” Phillipe answered.