“I do not think that is a good idea.”
“Suit yourself.” Joran walked across the dock, stopped right in front of me, and leaned in, uncomfortably close. “As for you, boy, best start talking, or I’ll start slicing.”
Twenty-Nine
Late Eternanight, I found myself in the shadows of the Core City bay, sneaking up on the hideout of a mercenary band, accompanied by a crime lord’s right hand, his assorted thugs, and a Squalo to steal back a priceless magical relic. And to think just a year ago I was in Fogo dreaming of becoming a rank-one wizard while trapping Fire Elementals for a living. Life is funny like that.
“Trax says he’s sure this is the place,” I whispered.
Joran and I were crouched in the dark behind a fence made of driftwood and wire. At the end of the road was a dimly lit warehouse. Even from two hundred yards away, it was obvious there were guards posted all over it. There was at least one on top of the flat roof, and more walking around outside.
“If you’re lying…”
“Yeah, I’m dying. I know, painful dismemberment and flaying and whatnot, but I swear before all the saints we didn’t take that lamp for ourselves.”
“Yet the only person I trust to confirm your sad tale is conveniently missing, and possibly at the bottom of the bay.”
“Dathka’s likely in there too!”
He thumped me hard on the arm, warning me to keep quiet. I didn’t know what Joran expected. It was hard to remain stealthy while someone keeps threatening and infuriating you, and it was doubtful anyone would’ve heard me over the crashing of the nearby surf anyway.
We watched for a bit longer. This neighborhood was surely busy during the day, but most of the laborers had gone home for the night. Lots of people still lived here, though, so there were witnesses about. We were on the beach, but everything past the sand was covered in buildings, and there were lit candles, lanterns, and light charms in some of those windows.
“Come on.”
The two of us stayed low as we went back to where Joran’s Latros were waiting. There were five of them huddled on the sand next to the grounded skeleton of an old fishing boat. All our light charms had been extinguished, but the moon was full enough we could still get about decently well. Seeing the moon so clearly had been a rare treat in Fogo. There was usually too much smoke, so I still marveled at the beauty of there being a big, round, shiny thing in the sky. It keeping me from tripping over anything in the dark tonight was a nice bonus.
“What’s the deal, Cutter?” one of them asked.
“Assuming this hotland scrub isn’t leading us into a trap, the mercs are holed up in the big warehouse at the back of the lane.”
“I told you, I’m telling the truth. This is where Trax followed them. The mind picture he sent shows that place has its own little dock, and the boats Gerzog used are tied up there.” Trax had even gotten close enough that he sent me a mental image of the bullet hole I’d put into one of the boats.
Joran looked toward the water where Trax lurked. “I could see that too. Fortunately for you, Squalos as a race aren’t known for deceit. Their species produces no liars. They’ll rip your gutsout and eat them in front of you, but they’re always honest about it.”
Trax must have heard that, because he sent back, “Thank you for this compliment.”
“So we gonna go bleed these bastards or what?” That question came from the one Joran had previously identified as a rank-three mage. The rest nodded eagerly. The Latrocinium clearly didn’t shy away from fights.
“Two problems, lads. I suspect there’s a bunch of them in there. But worse, we’re a long way from the Slumps. There’s City Watch crawling all over this district. All these storehouses around us belong to trading companies, and the Council loves commerce above all else. We start a battle here, an army of blue coats will come running.”
That was when I realized none of the Latrocinium were wearing their usual black armbands. They were proud to fly their colors in the Slumps, but in any of the more civilized parts of the city, that would just draw the wrath of the watch.
“I say we risk it anyway,” said the rank three. “I could set the back ablaze, then as they run out the front, the rest of you gun them down.”
“There’ll be no risking arson with one of our own maybe inside,” Joran responded.
One of the Latros was far more grizzled than the others, and you know what they say about someone who lives to old age in a young man’s game… “I know this place. It belongs to one of the traders who on occasion employs this company of fools. I think he gives the mercs a place to sleep and gather recruits while they’re in the Core between jobs. The Tooth and Claw haven’t clashed with us before now, but we can’t have some mercenary stroll through the gate, thinking he can throw his weight around in our territory. It sends the wrong message.”
Joran nodded at that wisdom. “Gerzog has got too big for his britches, and he’ll find the Latrocinium aren’t some deadlands peasants to be pillaged.”
“What if we wait until it’s darkest, right before dawn, when most of them is deep asleep, go in real quiet like, and start strangling,” suggested another. “Easy as stealing a baby.”
I was aghast. “You guys steal babies?”
“Figure of speech,” Joran responded. “Folks who work the sea are early risers. The longer we wait, the more likely we get identified. We’re going now, quiet as we can, and we need Dathka, the lamp, and this upstart orc’s life, in that order. Anybody fucks that up, I’ll end you myself.”
Joran putting the girl before the treasure told me there might be something to her claim of being Carcalla’s daughter. “So is Dathka really your boss’s kid?”
