Maria Snyder - Shadow Study

“Yes, sir.” She hopped from her bed.

He left and headed to his office. Qamra had the best aim in his entire corps. He’d put her through the paces, thrown every obstacle and distraction in her way, and she never missed. Valek wished he could say that about all his operatives. Blow in Janco’s ear and he’d miss every time. But that was the beauty of training—it exposed the strengths and weaknesses of his corps so he could match jobs to agents.

At Hedda’s school, though, she hadn’t allowed weaknesses. Every skill had to be mastered before learning another. When Valek had been a student and he’d regained his health, his training began in earnest.

Arbon had shown him the long narrow one-story building then left Valek there without a word. An instructor gave Valek a stone about as big as his thumbnail. The man pointed to a target at one end of the building, then swept an arm out, indicating a series of red marks along the floor.

“Stand on the first mark, closest to the target. When you hit the bull’s-eye with that stone at that position ten times in a row, move to the next one. Repeat. When you can hit the bull’s-eye from the last mark, you will go back to the first mark and practice hitting the target with a knife. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Who would have thought hitting a bull’s-eye with a stone would be that difficult? Hours turned into days and, determined to succeed, Valek only stopped when it was too dark to see. Hedda’s training methods were simple and effective. No one taught you how to throw the stone. Repetition and practice until calluses coated your hands and you figured out the best way to hit a target.

Valek wished he had the time to train his corps the same way. However, time was always an issue. Back in the days before the Commander’s takeover, he had sent promising individuals to Hedda’s school to be trained. After the takeover, the Commander wished to incorporate her school into his military. She refused and had retired. Or so she claimed. Obviously she’d lied, and there might be more assassins in Ixia. Yet another detail to investigate.

He unlocked the door to his office. Even with the first rays of dawn creeping in through the square window, it remained too dark to read. He lit the lanterns. Searching through the files, he found the one on Gerik and read through the man’s dossier. Nothing popped out at him. Maren had performed a thorough background check.

His door banged open. Valek stood and drew both knives without thought.

“Easy there, boss,” Janco said, spreading his hands wide.

“I said to knock. Not to knock the door down.” Ari entered.

“I barely touched it. It wasn’t latched tight.”

Valek returned his knives to their hidden locations and sank into his seat. “Come on in.”

They drew closer.

“Is it true?” Ari asked him.

Nice to know the castle’s gossip network still worked with lightning-fast precision. “Yes.”

“Son of a snow cat!” Janco slapped his thigh. “Did you kill him?”

“Her. And no, I didn’t.”

Ari and Janco glanced at each other in amazement.

“But she reached the Commander.” Janco’s voice held outrage.

“He wasn’t her target.” Valek leaned back in his chair.

Ari smiled. “Possible recruit?”

Or replacement. But Valek wouldn’t say that aloud. “We’ll see if she escapes the dungeon.”

“You want us to hang out near the dungeon, catch her in the act?” Janco asked.

“No. Continue with your assignment, and I’d also like you to nose around and see if you can dig up anything on Sergeant Gerik. He’s a transfer from...” Valek consulted the file. “MD-2 about a year ago, and managed to impress his commanding officer enough to be promoted to the Commander’s security detail.”

“Seems sketchy to me,” Janco said.

“Maren approved it. Do you know where she is?” Valek asked.

“No,” Ari said. “No one does. She slipped out of here without a word a month ago, leaving Mannix in charge, but all the poor guy’s been doing is sorting reports into piles.”

“Keep asking around. See what you can discover.”

“Yes, sir.”

They left and Valek returned to the files. After a few hours, a light tap broke his concentration.

“Yes,” he said.

Gerik poked his head in. Strain lined his haggard face, but he kept his voice even. “The Commander wishes to see you in his war room, sir.”

“Now?”

“Yes, sir.”

Valek straightened a pile of files then followed Gerik out. He locked his door and strode to the war room. Gerik didn’t say a word as he trailed behind. The guards waiting near the entrance flinched when Valek approached. White-faced and with eyebrows pinched tight together, he sensed there was more going on than their fear of being reprimanded.

They pulled open the double doors. Valek entered the room.

Onora sat at the table with the Commander, eating breakfast.

7

JANCO

“You know what I can’t figure out?” Janco asked. He leaned against the wall despite the grime. They hid in yet another garbage-strewn alley that reeked of piss, tracking potential suspects. Ah, the life of a superspy.

“How to tie your laces?” Ari asked.

“Funny. What I want to know is why sell black-market goods this close to the Commander’s castle? Castletown is crawling with soldiers and spies. Why not sell their illegal wares in MD-7 or MD-5 since both are closer to the border?”

“Who says they’re not selling there, too?” Ari crossed his arms. “This is a big city full of people. Criminals like to hide in plain sight.”

“Yeah. They can be smart until they’re stupid.”

Ari’s mouth opened, but then he closed it. Too bad. Janco enjoyed provoking his partner. It helped pass the time. When they did stakeouts that required silence, it killed him to keep quiet. Worse than magic. No, scratch that—nothing was worse than magic.

“There’s the guy with the funky mustache.” Janco pointed to a tall man unlocking one of the warehouse doors. “Could be going to get more of those illegal Greenblade cigars.”

“Or he’s going to warn his boss about the guy who had asked too many questions about those potent cigars,” Ari said drily.

“No way. I was smooth. Subtle. More than subtle.” He pouted.

“I think you’re too recognizable. You should have worn your cap.”

“It itches.”

Ari sighed. “We’ll see what happens next. If they start packing up, we’ll know you hit a nerve.”

Janco fidgeted. He studied the building. “Why don’t we jimmy open that second-story window and slip inside? Better to hear what’s going on than guess.”

“We’ve no idea what’s inside.”

“Exactly.”

“What if there’re guards?”

“So? Not like we can’t handle a couple—”

“And tip them off? By the time we fight our way in, they’ll scatter.”

“Oh, all right.” A few minutes passed without incident. “How about I slip inside and you watch for Funky Mustache?”

“No.”

Janco groaned. He was a man of action. All this sneaking about... Yes, it was necessary and patience led to results. Usually. But give him a fight over this any day.

Hours, seasons, years must have passed while they watched the door. An ordinary green door with paint peeling from the wood, revealing a yellowish-gold color underneath. Curled chips of paint lay on the ground right in front. Probably from when they installed the lock. A shiny knob and keyhole looked out of place on the weathered wood.

Smart until they’re stupid. Install a new lock, but don’t bother to paint the hardware to match the age of the building or bother to clean up.

Janco’s hair turned gray as another few years passed—or so it felt to him. According to Ari, two minutes equaled two years in Janco time.