The Agent (21 page)

“Yeah,” the other agreed, “an angry one that got hit with a hammer.”

“Keep it up, you little shits, and I’ll give you what I gave the last guy who insulted me.”

“I think maybe he gave
you
something. Hey, Ronnie, I bet that’s why it looks so angry.”

Ronnie bobbed his head. “Yup, gotta be it.”

“Shut up! Come with us, P.T.”

“What do you need me for?” Adam asked.

“You can’t catch any fish without bait.”

Adam sighed and got out his chair. “Right behind you, T.P.”

“T.P?”

“Thumb Penis,” Adam said with a grin.

“Shut up!”

***

“Hey, mister,” Ronnie called out as he ran up to one of Victor’s henchmen. “You’re one of the blokes who been looking for them other fellas, right?”

Max fished the sketch of Adam and Garran out of his pocket, unfolded it, and held it for the boy to look at. “Did you see these men?”

Ronnie pointed to the drawing of Adam. “I saw that one.”

“What about the other one?”

“I didn’t see him.”

“But you’re sure you saw the other one?”

Ronnie bobbed his head.

“Where at?”

The urchin held out his hand, palm up. Max pressed a dinarin into it, and Ronnie shoved it into his pocket.

“He was saddling up a horse in a small stable two streets over just a minute ago.”

Max looked in the direction Ronnie pointed. “I know your face, boy. If you’re lying to me, I’m taking that coin out of your hide—with interest.”

“He’s there, but he looks like he might be ready to light out.”

Max made long strides in the direction of the stable. He should go find Victor, but it sounded as if he might not have time. If Adam was alone, he should have no problem handling it himself. He did wonder where Garran was and why he had left the Prince alone. From what he knew of Holt, he was likely in a bar or a whorehouse. Drunk or not, he certainly did not intend to tangle with a transcended. That was Victor’s job.

He slowed to a creep as he approached the stable. Max used the side of the building to shield his body from view and peered around the huge open door to get a look inside. Adam was saddling a horse, his back to the doorway. Max travelled his eyes around the interior but did not see anyone else. Drawing his shortsword, he stepped inside.

“No sudden moves, boy, and this stays simple and painless.”

Adam spun around and held his hands open next to his side. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I’m going to take you home to your sister. You want to see your sister don’t you?”

“How do I know you won’t kill me?”

“Because I’m being paid to bring you back alive, but alive is the only requirement in my contract. How comfortable you are during the trip is entirely up to you. Where’s Holt?”

“I’m right here, Sunshine,” Garran whispered into Max’s ear and looped a rope around his neck.

Max whirled around, slashing with his blade. Adam turned, grabbed the branding iron sitting in a bucket of glowing coals, and pressed it against the horse’s rump. The horse lashed out with both rear hooves and bolted, leaving behind the acrid stench of burnt flesh and singed hair. Max tried to tug the rope loose from around his neck, but the cord snapped taut, and the panicked horse dragged him out of the stable and into the street on its flight out of town.

“My god, Garran, that was one of the most awful things I have ever seen,” Adam said as he watched the horse drag the man away, rolling, bouncing, and sliding down the street.

“Yeah, it was pretty awesome. Now let’s go get the others.”

***

Kyle spotted a young man with blond hair step out of a shop just ahead of him. Adam looked up and down the wooden sidewalk before walking away. Kyle pulled the drawing of Adam Altena and Garran Holt from a pocket, compared the image with the boy’s face, and followed.

Adam trotted down the three steps at the end of the raised walkway lining the storefronts and turned down an alley. With any luck, this would give Kyle a chance to take Adam without drawing much attention. Not that it made much difference. Victor could handle any problems they ran into with the local constabulary.

Kyle’s foot touched down onto the middle step leading off the boardwalk and down to the street. He felt something grab hold of his ankle, and he was suddenly pitching forward. The ground raced toward his face at frightening speed until the two collided a second later, his outstretched arms only minimally softening the impact.

Those who saw him fall stood in shocked silence as he vanished between the steps and under the walkway. They heard a few dull thuds and a strangled cry before everything went silent. Pedestrians who witnessed Kyle’s demise stepped off the sidewalk and into the street, making a wide circuit around the stairs so that whatever fell creature making its home beneath did not drag them to their doom as well.

***

John compared the images drawn on the paper with the faces of those around him but none bore more than a passing similarity. Neither was he able to find anyone who had seen them or were able to point him to where they were staying. Frustrated, he shoved the drawing into his pocket. It was almost noon, and he needed to find Victor and the others and report what little he had discovered.

“Hey, handsome, looking for a good time?” a woman standing in front of a brothel asked as he walked past.

She was a homely woman of questionable hygiene; certainly not the best choice to post out front in hopes of enticing men to come inside. At least he hoped she was not the best they had to offer. John was about to walk past, not having the time nor inclination for a dalliance, when a thought struck him. Garran Holt was as renowned for his drinking and whoremongering as he was for being a transcended. There was a better than fair chance that if anyone saw him it would be a prostitute or a barkeep.

He pulled the portrait back out of his pocket and held it up for the woman to see. “Have you seen either of these men around in the last day or two?”

She leaned forward and squinted. “Yeah, I seen that roguish one.”

“Where, when?”

“He’s in a room upstairs right now.”

“Show me.”

The whore held out her hand. “If you take me upstairs, you have to pay whether or not you keep your trousers on.”

John fished five dinarins from his pocket and dropped them in her outstretched hand. She bounced them in her cupped palm and looked at them skeptically.

“It will only take a minute of your time,” John assured her.

She pocketed the coins inside her dress. “Most of them do.”

She led the hunter into the brothel and up the stairs before stopping before a door. John grabbed her elbow and stopped her from going in.

“Listen, all we’re going to do is open the door and take a quick look. You say, ‘sorry, I didn’t know this room was taken’ and we leave as soon as I see his face. Then I need you to keep him here for as long as you can. I will make sure you are well rewarded for your time. Do you understand?”

The woman shrugged. “Sure.”

He nodded, and the whore opened the door. John took two steps inside and squinted into the gloomy interior lit by a single oil lamp. “Where is he?”

“Right behind you.”

John spun, his hand reaching for his blade. Garran Holt now stood with a bed sheet wrapped around him and pinned on like a dress where the prostitute had been just a moment ago. Garran flicked his wrist, and a throwing knife fell into his palm. He grabbed John’s forearm with his free hand before he could clear the weapon from its sheath and buried his knife just below the ribs.

John’s fear-filled, questioning eyes glazed over, and he fell lifelessly to the floor. Garran shed his hastily constructed garment, dragged John’s corpse to the open window, and tossed him out of it and into the alley next to the brothel like so much trash.

“I have to say,” Garran said when Adam appeared in the doorway, “your little tricks could be quite useful in my line of work.”

“Doing so would break international law and brand me a criminal in every kingdom.”

“Your rather strict adherence to the law is one of your less endearing qualities.”

“Only to someone like you. Do you think this will work on Victor?”

Garran shook his head. “Doubtful. Transcended are too closely related to god-touched. We got lucky in Brolla that he wasn’t looking for it and didn’t notice it until it was too late. He won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“How are we going to beat him then?”

“Battles between transcended are won and lost in the space between fractions of a second. If one of your little illusions, or whatever they are, can take that sliver of reaction time from him and give it to me, then I have a chance.”

“Wow, you almost sound humble.”

“And you almost look like a girl, so we best get out of this room before I decide to take a minute and put it to proper use.”

“A minute’s all it takes, huh?”

“Shut up.”

***

Victor stood in town square, his eyes shifting between the faces of those strolling down the streets. He hoped to spot Garran or the Prince, but he also sought out his men. They should have been here waiting for him already. He hoped they had better luck in their search than he had, but their absence made the prospect unlikely.

“Where in the bloody hells are they?” Victor muttered under his breath.

He was about to leave his post and go in search of his hunters when he spotted a familiar face standing in the doorway of small general store. The face was not that of one of his cohorts, but the man he was sent to kill. Victor pulled the hood of his coat over his head and melded into the noonday crowd.

Garran furtively ran his eyes through Cimmaron’s ambling denizens. Victor followed him when he left the doorway and stalked down the street. Garran’s movements were wary, his posture on guard. Victor sank back farther into the crowd and wondered if Garran knew he and his men were in town or if it was just the knowledge that he was being hunted that made him so paranoid.

Victor followed him to the eastern edge of town where, after stopping and looking for any sign that someone might be following him, he disappeared into a massive grain warehouse. If this was where he and Adam were holed up, it was no wonder he did not find them sooner.

Victor cautiously advanced on the warehouse, approaching the massive sliding door from an angle almost parallel to the opening. Reaching the yawning doorway, Victor peered around the edge into the cavernous, gloomy interior. It was a sprawling complex. The only source of light came from numerous openings set high in the wall. Rays of light stabbed through the darkness to illuminate thousands of sacks of grain stacked into cubes the height of a tall man.

From somewhere near the back of the warehouse, a horse nickered and stomped its hoof against the wooden floor. Victor edged inside, pressing his body against the sides of the filled and stacked grain sacks. Darting from stack to stack, he navigated his way deeper into maze.

Victor peered around a stack of grain and saw Garran saddling a horse. His traveling bag rested on the floor near his feet as he tightened the cinch strap.

“Where’s the Prince, Holt?” Victor asked as he stepped around the sacks of grain.

Garran spun, his hands flashing to his reaping blades and drawing them. “I sent him ahead.”

Victor looked around the warehouse. “No, I don’t think so. Why would you still be here?”

“I saw your goon squad and decided to deal with them.”

“You killed them?”

“Yup, just like I’m going to do to you and every suicidal idiot Gordon and his puppet masters send after us.”

Victor smiled and hefted his sword. “Pretty big talk for a guy who has never won a fair fight.”

Garran stepped away from his horse, his eyes locked onto Victor. “I have no intention of fighting fair.”

Victor turned with Garran’s movements. “Good, maybe you can make it interesting for once.”

Garran, teetering dangerously close to the edge of sobriety, transcended and lunged forward. It took him perhaps the span of a single heartbeat to devour the twenty feet separating them, but it was more than enough time for Victor to react.

Victor took a step back and slashed, his sword intercepting Garran’s swing with a clash of steel. Garran leapt back to avoid the riposte. He executed an empty fade, lunging forward immediately after his swift retreat. Garran’s left reaping blade snaked down, seeking Victor’s right ankle. Victor lifted his foot above the strike, denying his foe a potentially swift victory.

Garran swung his right reaping blade at the crown of Victor’s head, but his opponent’s sword was already in place to intercept the fatal blow. Victor looped his sword to the outside, forcing Garran’s weapon out wide, before bringing it back across in a powerful slash. Garran dropped and rolled beneath the swing, coming back to his feet in an instant.

Victor’s sword slashed open a bag of grain, casting the seed out in a spray across the floor. The agent glided forward, never lifting his feet, and advanced. Garran carefully retreated, pushing through the scattered grain just as Victor was doing.