H - 84: That Equation Doesn't Balance (Patreon)

In Boisverd, as in all the Vale states, back-alley assignations were such an institution that they were reflected in the very shape of the city. Architects and even city planners saw to it that a needlessly complicated labyrinth of narrow spaces ran through every part of the capital, and were further furnished with abundant sheltered nooks and crevices of a suitable size for a handful of people to hold surreptitious exchanges.

Those same architects also ensured that many of these spots were overlooked by windows, or equally sheltered nooks two or three stories up where a person could lurk and snoop upon any assignations happening below. It was taken as given in the Evervales that anyone who failed to take measures against their business being observed was asking for whatever they got.

“Clear, then?” drawled one of the two hooded figures lounging below Kefni’s perch.

“As can be expected,” Cora d’Acron replied curtly, lowering her hand.

Everyone knew that the Nhiyah could not do magic; not many knew that they were also innately resistant to certain types of magic. Not all types, and not in any way that couldn’t be powered through by a skilled enough wizard who knew their secret—but the knowledge wasn’t widespread, at least not yet. In most countries, it helped them mostly by aiding in survival when people threw spells at them. Here in the Vales, Kefni and her tribe benefited chiefly from the fact that most standard detection wards didn’t notice their presence.

“We won’t dawdle anyway,” said the speaker, still affecting a languid tone and manner which fooled no one; he was without doubt as tightly coiled and ready for action as his silent partner. “I trust you were satisfied with our performance?”

“Quite, yes. And I hope I didn’t singe anyone too badly.”

“All in a day’s work,” he said with a dismissive flick of his fingers. “You were no rougher than you warned, and your coin’s good. Far as the Crows are concerned, we’re square. Up to the present, that is—I recall you said this would be an ongoing job?”

“Indeed, but I don’t yet have the place or time of the next encounter. As soon as I know, I’ll contact you via the usual means. Unless you’d care to be proactive?”

“Mm. Now, such things aren’t free…”

“Obviously,” she said impatiently. “I can afford it.”

“Oh, on that point I don’t doubt you, my Lady. No, it’s a matter of…risks. Ambushes with no real harm done, in settings where we can guarantee the target doesn’t identify us—that’s easy enough. I do enjoy a bit of theater with no actual bloodshed now and again, it relieves the monotony. Keeping up a pressure campaign, now, that’s another matter. I know I emphasized it before, but it bears repeating: the Crows do not want any shit started with the Herons, if you’ll excuse my vernacular.”

“That’s fine, we’re in agreement. I also don’t want those kids harmed, nor even too inconvenienced; I just want them to feel threatened in a way I can use to nudge them the way I want, when I want.”

“Mm hmm… That, perhaps, we can help with. It’s not too hard to scurry about, scowling at folk in a way that lets ‘em know they’re being watched. What matters is not setting off any watchers in turn. I will warn you, my Lady, if any of my people are nabbed by Herons asking questions, their orders are to sing immediately and loudly with no pressure applied. We are not getting into an outright scrap with one of the legal guilds, ‘specially one that big.”

“That being the case, I’d prefer you err on the side of caution, then. Very well, I will take point on finding or creating opportunities, and contact you when I have need. Be ready to respond quickly.”

The talker straightened up and sketched a bow that was only subtly mocking. “Dear lady, so long as your discretion and your gold remain good, you may consider my people at your disposal.”

She nodded once, curtly, then turned and strode off down the alley without another word. The two illicit adventurers remained where they were, watching her go until not only had she turned a corner but the sound of her footsteps had faded.

“Risky,” grunted the heretofore silent thug.

“We’ll be polite around the Herons, and take steps to obscure our affiliation. It’ll be fine.”

“I don’t mean them. That woman’s awfully close to the Crown. Climb that high up, and one slip makes for a long fall.”

“Indeed, I don’t mean to hang about up there. But having such a contact to be called on if we have need is too good an opportunity to miss. So long as this job remains…manageable. Don’t worry, I’ll yank us out the second she tries to drag us into anything over our pay grade.”

His companion just grunted again, wordless but assenting.

Kefni began to ease back into the shadows behind the gable shielding her from view. Time to scoot; she’d hoped these two would have more info, but it was just boilerplate Shadow Guild business of no interest to her tribe. Now she needed to catch up with Neff, who would have slipped away to follow Cora—

It was such a little thing that ruined it for both of them; an unpredictable little detail, so small and so random it seemed downright implausible that it could possibly matter. But that was always the way. Skilled agents could prepare for anything they could foresee; more than anything else, it was random chance that scuttled jobs.

That was the moment at which the moon rose above the walls of Boisverd, and by uncanny coincidence, sent its beams of pale light straight between perfectly positioned gables and steeples to illuminate the rooftops above this particular alleyway, banishing shadows and revealing the two lurking listeners to each other.

Kefni locked eyes with a human in dark, nondescript clothing similar to her own, both of them freezing in the act of silently creeping backward toward exit routes.

At a glance, she could see nothing identifying or particularly significant about him. The same was not true in reverse. Not having expected to be spotted, she had opted not to impair her hearing or balance by concealing her ears and tail. Now this guy—this operative of unknown loyalties brazen enough to eavesdrop directly on members of a Shadow Guild—had seen her, a Nhiyah of the local tribe of harmless entertainers, doing the same.

Welp.

Kefni jerked her arm, flicking a throwing knife from her sleeve into her palm. The motion caused him to react instantly; her target chose flight rather than fight, pivoting on his heel and skillfully sweeping his long coat about himself as he turned and bolted, which both obscured his shape and position to baffle her aim, and put a layer of air between his body and the coat which would protect against her little knives.

He was good, but he was between a rock and a hard place, and in avoiding one, crashed into the other.

As the interloper fled, his suddenly loud footsteps echoed on the roof tiles, and he vaulted over the alleyway itself just in time for the two agents below to hear the noise, look up, and see him go.

“Oho! A bit of fun to liven the evening!” cheered the talkative one as he set off at a run, kicking back and forth off the walls bracketing the narrow alley to gain the rooftops himself, while his partner raced below to follow the fleeing eavesdropper’s shape.

Kefni ducked back behind a chimney, ensuring she wouldn’t be seen by that Crow agent as she deftly wrapped a scarf over her head to flatten down her ears, then lashed her tail to one leg.

“Weww, shit,” she sighed, stepping out as her rivals dashed away across the rooftops.

If she didn’t shut this whole thing down, either an unknown agent would report back to his unknown employer that at least one of the local Nhiyah was a player, or those two would nab him and make him talk, in which case the Crows would know. Neither was acceptable.

She dashed down the roof tiles, leaped over the gap, and bounded after them. Kefni had practiced such maneuvers—she had trained to a degree that would match any state agent, and that was the only reason she didn’t immediately take a three-story faceplant. No matter how many times she did this, she was baffled anew at how humans could even walk without tails, much less jump around on the roofs. How could they possibly keep their balance? Training or not, this was impairing her own speed.

Being smaller than the humans she had a shorter stride, but was lighter and more nimble; it was mostly having her tail strapped down that was impeding her now. Her actual target was already out of sight, but Kefni could still see the two Crows—both were now on the rooftops—and was gaining on them. Not as fast as she’d have liked, but whatever maneuver they executed to nab the first guy would slow them enough to create an opportunity.

Four figures chased each other atop the roofs of Boisverd, darting around chimneys and gables and vaulting across streets, and nobody paid them any mind. It was Boisverd; feet running across the shingles were common enough, and everybody knew the importance of minding their own business. What mattered was that anyone who happened to catch a glimpse would see on the trailing figure no sign of distinctive Nhiyah ears and tail.

The critical moment came with no more unexpected meddling from the heavens—it seemed the gods weren’t complete bastards, after all. One of the Crows had disappeared again down to street level and the mysterious listener had slipped back into her view as she steadily gained on them all. In one decisive second, he abruptly flailed in midair and, instead of landing on the opposite rooftop, slammed awkwardly into its edge and then tumbled down to the alley floor below.

With her ears covered she hadn’t caught the telltale sound of a weapon, but Kefni had seen enough people struck mid-chase by poisoned darts or knives to know what she was looking at.

The remaining Crow on the rooftops—the talkative one—let out a celebratory whoop and skillfully adjusted his weight mid-lunge to slide down a sloping roof and undoubtedly land below; from her angle, Kefni couldn’t see exactly what he did once he was over the edge, but he clearly knew his way around the top of the city.

She slowed; they weren’t going anywhere, and as of now, stealth mattered more than speed. The Crows hadn’t spotted her, so all she had to do was ensure the other guy didn’t talk.

Somehow.

Kefni reached the edge of the roof, flattened herself against the tiles, and very carefully peeked over.

Below, the two Crows were bending over the third figure, who predictably was lying in a mangled position that signaled broken bones and who knew how much internal damage.

“All right, let’s not make this needlessly difficult,” the garrulous thug was saying cheerfully. “You just hold still and focus on your breathing, friend. My associate here’ll administer you a potion and then we can discuss business whilst we convey you to a proper healer.”

The other man was indeed crouching and attempting to extend an object toward the fallen agent’s face. Apparently the assistance was not appreciated; the poor mangled spy began to grunt as he attempted to squirm away with limbs that clearly didn’t work properly.

“Now, now, no need for antics,” the first Crow admonished, moving to hold him down. “We’re all professionals here, my good man. If you work in the city you should know we don’t rip out one another’s fingernails and the like. You’re caught, fair and square—now you play nicely, and we’ll see you off safely home as soon as our curiosity is sated. There’s an etiquette to the business, see?”

Kefni had already pulled out her blowpipe and inserted a dart—the one with black fletching, signifying lethal poison. From here, she had a good angle. She could silence the spy with one puff.

Right under the noses of two Shadow Guild toughs who had already demonstrated their willingness and ability to swiftly gain the rooftops and then pursue and apprehend a third party interfering in their business.

Could she evade them if it came to that? Possibly… There was so much more at stake than her own fluffy ears, though. Any hint given to the Crows of all bloody people that the local Nhiyah were anything other than entertainers would spell disaster for the whole tribe.

She peered around for onlookers. None were visible—but there was also no sign of Neff, who must’ve followed Cora off to wherever she want as planned, and therefore had no idea anything was still happening over here. Kefni was on her own.

“Hey,” grunted the more taciturn Crow, then repeated more insistently, “Hey! What’s wrong with him?”

“What the bloody—oy! Get that potion in him, pronto! I don’t care if you have to rough him up!”

Both attempted to wrestle with the feebly thrashing agent, bending over him so that Kefni couldn’t see what exactly was happening. And also depriving her of a clean shot. All she could tell from her vantage was that the man’s struggles faded rapidly, utterly ceasing after no more than ten seconds.

“The hells?” exclaimed the quieter thug. “What happened to him? His neck wasn’t broke, how’s a man just fade like that?”

“Poison,” growled his partner, doing something to the now-dead agent’s face with his hands. “Look—bloody foam on the lips could be from internal bleeding, but look at his eyes. He took something. Something strong enough the potion didn’t counteract it. Shit, I didn’t even think to try an antivenom…”

“Bloody waste of a perfectly good potion, then. Damn, those things ain’t cheap.”

“We’ve got bigger concerns,” the other man snapped. “Why would he do that? This is not how the game is played!”

It certainly wasn’t. The Vale countries could only function as societies because the various scheming factions refrained from dispensing death except at need. Captured agents of almost every player were taught not to resist interrogation; in return, they weren’t treated too roughly, and usually released once they sang.

For an agent to end his own life rather than be forced to talk? Guilds, Houses, even criminal syndicates, they just didn’t do that. Only…

Only national governments and the Secret Societies insisted on such measures.

“Is this all he’s got?” The Crows had efficiently searched the victim, and now the muscle was sorting through the usual selection of weapons and implements while the mouth studied a folder of documents. “Okay, this is shifty as the last hell.”

“What’s up? Just looks like normal stuff here, anybody might be carrying these…”

“Why’s he just walking around with documents? On a mission, no less? And if he had ‘em, why’d he wanna bite it? Had to know we’d find these anyway, so what’s the point?”

“Think it’s a plant? Somebody wanted us to find those?”

“I dunno, this is a stupid expensive way to plant evidence. This guy was good—better than decent, anyway. Good agents don’t grow on trees. He’s gotta have been worth more to his handlers than this. Doesn’t add up. I don’t like it when things don’t add up.”

“What’s in the papers?”

There was quiet for a few second, broken only by ruffling paper as the Crow scanned through them.

Kefni shrank down further, watching. Her part in this nonsense was done, logically. Dead men told no tales; now, nobody would ever know she had been here, unless she tipped her hand again. But the Crow was right—this was way too fishy. Even if the dead agent hadn’t been after her, he’d been watching over an assignation between these guys and Cora, pertaining to what Cora was doing with those kids, which pertained to the black dragon. It was a few steps removed, but she knew Grandmother would still consider this tribe business. For now, she stayed, and listened.

“Oh, this just keeps getting stickier. These are all… Hells, this is a whole intelligence profile, with what I’d swear were original documents. All of it on Lady Cora. Partner, I’m starting to think you had the right of it. This might be higher up than we wanna dance.”

“Mmm… That almost makes sense, though. If this guy was assigned to stalk her, not us, that could explain why he was not only there, but carrying these.”

“Maybe…maybe. I still don’t like it. Lifting documents and following the mark, those are two different jobs. And neither justifies silencing himself this permanently. Nah, that equation doesn’t balance.”

Kefni thought as rapidly as she ever had in her life.

Grandmother would be furious if she took an unnecessary risk in a situation like this. Then again, Grandmother would also flip her lid if she walked away from such a huge windfall without even attempting to catch it. The reality was, Grandmother was just crabby sometimes, and in a situation where she was going to pitch a snit no matter what Kefni did, the call was Kefni’s alone.

She did the math in a split second and raised her blowpipe again.

Getting her hands on that information was one advantage; tangling up Cora d’Acron’s legs was another. Cora was after the black dragon in some underhanded scheme—which was far less likely to work than it was to provoke an attack on Boisverd. Cora working with a notorious Shadow Guild to achieve her ends was going to be a problem. Cora on the outs with that same Shadow Guild because the two of their people who went to meet with her turned up dead before they could report back?

Much more manageable.

One hearty but silent puff of breath later, the dart was stuck in the neck of the larger and quieter—two traits which made Kefni deem him the bigger threat—thug, and she had disappeared back behind the gables, instantly circling around the rooftops to get a different angle and freeing her ears and tail as she moved.

Meanwhile, there was a single outcry from the other thug while his partner toppled—only one, and then silence. He’d seen the dart, recognized what it had meant, and taken action. A real professional, this one, though Kefni already knew that. Unfortunately for him, her big, well-trained ears were now unencumbered.

She bounded on silent feet around the alley below, gaining a different position from which to finally get another peek back down, listening all the while to her quarry’s movements. He was quiet, too, but not prepared to fully conceal himself from Nhiyah. Hardly anyone was.

The remaining Crow had pressed himself back under the overhanging eaves of the roof from which Kefni had shot his partner, having clearly identified the direction from which the dart was fired, and was now halfway down the alley, sidling along as rapidly as he could while sticking to the shadows and keeping his sounds muffled. They were currently in the midst of a warren of tenements, but he obviously knew the terrain; he was making for the alley which would lead most directly toward a main street where there would still be crowds even at this hour.

She took note of the folder of papers still in his hand, quickly scanned the surrounding rooftops to form a rough mental map of the area, and then turned and slid silently down the roof.

Kefni found a spot cast in deep shadow by a nearby turret, hooked her lower leg around an overhanging gable, and hung herself upside down into the alley toward which her quarry was creeping. Extending her arm as far over—or in this case, under—her head as possible to make the angle as low to the ground as she could reach, she flung a throwing knife at him.

It missed, obviously; that would’ve been an impressive trick shot if it landed. That wasn’t the point. The Crow got her intended message: his enemy was in this direction and on the attack. Obviously, he abandoned both stealth and this course, and bolted in a different direction, deeper into the surrounding maze of cluttered alleys.

Kefni swung herself back onto the roof less silently than before, now that he was making more than enough of his own noise to cover her, and took off after him.

At the next intersection she tossed another knife to herd him to the right, not because there was an advantage to her in him going that way, but to test his reaction. The man actually leaped, spinning in a circle and flaring his cloak about himself to present a difficult target; the maneuver afforded him both a moment of relative protection and gave him a chance to scan the rooftops. The latter availed him nothing as she was already hiding in the lee of another chimney, flattening her ears down and peeking around the warm brick. It was the former than interested her—it showed he’d clocked that his attacker was using knives, not a crossbow or spells which would have finished him in the middle of that spinny jump.

Also, he veered to the right, quick enough on the uptake to recognize which way she wanted him to go and do the opposite.

This fellow was good! Kefni grinned as she kept pace along the rooftops, herself an undetectable stalker, her much lighter footsteps inaudible on the shingles and much keener ears enabling her to track him without having to reveal herself. It was almost a shame how this had to end; this was exactly the kind of exercise that got her blood up.

When it did end, though, it wasn’t thanks to her; she hadn’t yet figured out how to bring him to ground, as she was running out of knives and was only a physical threat to a well-trained human in melee range if she managed an ambush from stealth, which wasn’t in the cards in the middle of a chase. It was the Crow who abruptly diverted in the middle of a scramble down an alley, flinging something along the course he’d been running to make further clatter in that direction and himself diving into another space that wasn’t even properly an alley, just a gap between two buildings not quite touching each other.

It was a good gambit, one that would probably have worked on a pursuer who couldn’t clearly hear his footsteps, and also see in the dark. Kefni herself snatched up a loose shingle and hurled it in the original direction to make her own diversionary noise, while she followed him in utter silence.

To her surprise, the sound of his muffled steps ceased a short distance into the alley. She slowed, peeking over the edge of the roof into the pitch darkness below. Well, dark to human eyes—less so to hers.

The Crow had knelt in the middle of the narrow passage, hand on the latch of a small door set low in one wall. Less than half human height, either built for gnomes or similar-sized folk, or more likely for some kind of smuggling. He did not curse at finding it locked, clearly not trusting his misdirection to have fully succeeded.

That folder of papers was still under one arm.

Rather than giving up and bolting, the Crow worked in silence, applying picks to the lock with professional alacrity. Not enough alacrity, though.

Moonlight barely filtered into the upper reaches of this narrow space; it certainly did not gleam along the knife which emerged from the darkness above and behind him, moving slowly toward his throat. The blade was deliberately blackened such that it wouldn’t shine even in direct light. The moon did gleam in her eyes, luminous as a cat’s in the dimness, and even along her fangs as she bared them.

Kefni descended in silence, upside-down, holding onto the edge of the roof with her deft and muscular feet. Her target’s labored breathing filled the space as he scrabbled at the lock. Hers had ceased entirely; she did not give away her presence by so much as a breath. He couldn’t even feel the exhalation upon his neck until her whisper sounded directly in his ear.

“Uwu.”

A distinctive sound split the night: a shriek, suddenly aborted in a wet gargle. The sound of a last outcry as a throat was cut.

Nothing happened in response. This was Boisverd. Everyone had a well-developed sense of their own business, and when to mind it.

***

When silence fell again, a mess had been strewn across several alleyways. The fallen knives would most likely be left alone; even children in poorer districts were warned not to pick up throwing knives they found lying about, as you never knew if they might be poisoned.

A body lay in a particularly cramped alley, bled out from a neck wound and with no remaining sign that it had ever been carrying a folder full of documents. Some distance away, another slumped in a wider and more open space, a black-feathered dart which could have come from anywhere still protruding from its neck.

And that was all. The third body present, previously having shown symptoms of lethal poison and multiple broken limbs, was sauntering away into the anonymous warren of back alleys by the time the last of the blood had finished running. Whistling, and accompanied by the incongruous jingling of tiny bells—just like those bedecking a traditional jester’s cap—but with no obvious source.

The bells ceased by the time he emerged onto a street, of course, to avoid causing more kerfuffle. People got nervous in the presence of priests of the Jongleur; even when not on their inscrutable god’s direct business, they were known to share his sense of humor, which mostly consisted of doing the most apparently random things and then taking offense when no one laughed.