Perfect Shadow: A Night Angel Novella
* *
“What do you know of the ka’kari?” I ask Yvor Vas, draining my fourth ale.
“I know about them,” the freckled idiot says. “Otherwise why would I be talking with you? And you know everything about them, so why are you asking?”
“I know what I know. What I don’t know is what you think you know. And if you use that tone again, you’ll be picking it up from the floor.”
“What tone?” Yvor asks, petulant.
My fist crosses the boy’s jaw. He flies off his stool and lands flat on the floor. Most satisfying.
“That tone,” I say.
“You broke my fucking tooth!” the boy complains. His lips are bleeding.
“My knuckles, on the other hand, are pristine. Odd.” Hot, barely restrained rage flares in his eyes. The boy picks himself up and takes a moment to master his anger. I watch his eyes closely. Finally, he says, “There were six ka’kari. One for each of Emperor Jorsin Alkestes’ Champions of Light. They were created by Jorsin’s archmage, Ezra, during the Battle of Black Barrow. The Society of the Second Sun believes they confer immortality – the bearers of the ka’kari can still be killed, but if not killed, you live forever. Maybe not forever, but at least seven hundred years, which seems close enough to me. Most in the Society believe that you were originally Shrad Marden, bearer of the blue ka’kari, friend of Jorsin Alkestes.” Friend? Did you have friends, Jorsin? I thought I was one, but now I’m not so sure.
“And you? What do you believe?”
“I think you were and are Eric Daadrul, the bearer of the silver ka’kari. Impervious to blades and able to form them in your hands by thought alone.”
* * *
“There’s a small rumor that Polus Merit might be dead,” Gwinvere Kirena said.
“Something about him giving a fortune to one of my girls.” They were in one of her houses, in a small, well-appointed library. She was wearing a casual blue dress that still managed to accentuate her curves.
“Can you hush it up?” Gaelan asked.
“This is the kind of thing that can get worse if you try to quash it. Wetboys frequently disappear for weeks at a time. Sometimes they give money to their favorite rent girl in case they don’t come back. It doesn’t mean anything yet. I don’t know the girl well enough to lean on her and be completely sure what she’d do. So I’d say we have four nights.”
“Who’s next?” Gaelan asked.
“Saron and Jade Marion.”
“Two at once? Siblings?”
“Husband and wife. More than a little crazy.”
“Anyone who chooses this work is crazy,” Gaelan said.
“They have a seven-year-old son.”
“So I’m making an orphan. Fantastic.”
“They’re already teaching him the business. Crazy.”
“Oh, so now I’m doing him a favor?” Gaelan asked.
“In this life, some people are finished before they begin, Gaelan.”
“You’ll take care of him.”
Her eyebrows lifted. First you were worried for him, now you want me to kill him?
“I mean, provide for him,” Gaelan said. “You’re not going to put him on the street.
He gets a chance. Small as it may be.”
“Done,” Gwinvere said.
* * *
They were beating the boy when Gaelan arrived, landing on a neighbor’s rooftop. He supposed that should have made it easier. The Marions’ home, bamboo and rice paper with a steep slate roof, was in a nicer area on the southeast side of the city. The home itself was small, but had a large yard, surrounded by a high fence so their neighbors couldn’t watch them train.
It was oddly careless for two wetboys, but then Gaelan supposed if you had a child, it was hard to move surreptitiously between safe houses. And any robber who accidentally came here would quickly wish he hadn’t. And if someone knew he was attacking two wetboys and decided to do it anyway, he was probably powerful enough to find you regardless.
Still. Odd.
And it was the mother doing the beating. “Faster, Hubert! Pathetic. You disgust me.” The boy was curled up on the ground, and she was punching him, her fist stabbing in past his blocks, efficient, crisp, remorseless.
Will you serve me in this?
~What are you doing, Acaelus?~
Serve me or abandon me, black heart. I’m going.
Gaelan leapt from the roof. There were good tactical reasons to do this – there were doubtless booby traps on the fence, on the wetboys’ own roof, and at their doors – but really, he just wanted to get it over with.
Problem with jumping – you can’t change
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