It was drawing close to the late afternoon and Boras had still not returned from his excursion into the city.

  Arcos had half a mind to sally out into the city himself to find the drunken layabout and bring him back to The Four Claws. No doubt Boras had found himself in a tavern, where he was spending the scant amount of coin that they had scraped together on drink and undesirable company. Understandably, Arcos assumed that Boras was doing just that. Reeva also held the expression of anger that was reserved for misbehaving children.

  The sun was setting and both of them were ready to drown Boras in the ale he was certainly imbibing. He was late. They were supposed to go and complete the tasks set by Sade that very night. How were they going to achieve that now with one man down?

  However, that worry did not matter as Vanto came for them right on schedule. He had left word with Maraby that he would be stopping by to begin the mission. And it was because of him that their concerns were laid somewhat to rest.

  Boras had been sighted leaving the city in the company of Sitra.

  Apparently, Boras had found a lead of some sort and Sitra followed him to ensure he returned, after getting a street urchin loyal to Victor to send word of their plan. With that known (and feeling a tab chastened for their poor assumptions of their friend), both Arcos and Reeva shook hands, wished each other the best of luck, and split apart. Reeva hurried away with Torrance towards the Merchant District to deal with the corrupt merchants, while Vanto led Arcos down a different street towards the city docks to protect the Violet Leaf shipment.

  As the evening rolled in, so did the cold, despite the summer warmth of the day. The coldness crept through the city from the sea with an insidious intent as it crawled under the clothes that Arcos wore. Even the travelling cloak and hood that helped hide his face from unwelcome eyes could do little to hold back the chill. Vanto was not so cloaked, yet he walked with a confidence and comfort that only a local used to the temperature could display. He knew the city well enough that he never asked the way.

  Arcos was surprised by the number of turns they made in their journey. It was clear that if he were alone, Arcos would have been lost. And that surprised him. He was a city-born local as well. He was born in Fennaposia, raised here for the most part. Had he forgotten so much already during his time away? That revelation gave him a knot of anger in his chest and stomach. The Bodyhunters took so much from him that he was discovering just how little he had been left for himself.

  That anger swelled the already growing fire within. Damn them, he cursed. Damn them all.

  On their walk, Vanto was quiet. But not inaccessible to conversation.

  “What’s the plan then?” Arcos asked him. “I assume we aren’t going to question every leak we have about the shipments.”

  “Certainly not.” Vanto gestured with an easy flourish. “Victor has his sights on three members of our company, which his instincts had pointed out. Ill-intent in their hearts.”

  “That’s a blanket statement.” Arcos pointed out. “Don’t all of you people have ill-intent?”

  Vanto chuckled. “Oh, that is very good…very good… Yes. One could say that we have little in the area of moral enlightenment, but we aren’t traitors like the one that has been hurting us.”

  “Yeah… right…” Arcos replied sceptically.

  “Lad, you and your friends act as if you know the world more than those who actually live in it.”

  Vanto pointed in a direction. Arcos followed his finger.

  He saw a street urchin. A child barely ten years of age, sitting on the corner of the street they had crossed. He was eating an apple that was rotten. Vanto halted in his walk, turned towards the child and approached the boy.

  The boy looked up, seeing the man approaching and jumped to his feet. His face was scrunched up in a face of aggression. Arcos was surprised. Usually a child of that size and in such a situation would run. But not this lad.

  Vanto raised his hand in a peaceful gesture. Arcos watched on as Vanto knelt down, putting his knees into the dirty gutter water and spoke with the child in a foreign accent that Arcos had not heard before.

  Was it Tashiishan? Eastern? The boy’s face softened and then gave a small smile. Vanto grinned back, ruffled the hair of the urchin and the boy darted away into the shadows.

  “What did you say to him?” Arcos asked.

  “I asked him whether he’d like a job.” Vanto patted off some of the muck from his trousers. “If he or those he knew would want to sleep under a roof and not be at the risk of molestation from degenerates. He said yes, he has two sisters and one smaller brother. They will be on their way to the Mercurial Den to apply for work as we speak.” Vanto sighed to himself.

  Arcos nodded, seeing the meaning behind that expression. “You were like him, weren’t you?”

  “Indeed.” Vanto started off walking, Arcos followed. “I have seen despair and depravity on the streets of this fine city. It has only gotten worse with the Oligarchy in power. I was lost, powerless and hungry. Victor’s father, a cruel man by most people’s standards, harboured a deep care for children. A sentiment continued by Victor. Nearly all the people who work for Victor and once for his father, we all were discarded trash to begin with. We had nothing, and yet those two men took us in. That is why we remain loyal. And those who do not are traitors and deserve everything that comes to them.”

  Arcos remained quiet at that. Just like the Guild, he remarked to himself. I was lost. I was an orphan. The Guild took me in. And I still ran away. But I haven’t betrayed them. I haven’t given up secrets. Not like what Vanto says. I’m no traitor.

  Strange, he didn’t seem to believe that…

  “So, how are we going to find out who’s the rat?” Arcos asked, eager to drive away those thoughts.

  Vanto grinned. “Process of elimination. I have informed the three of the shipment’s time of arrival. But each of the men has been informed that the shipment will arrive an hour away from each other. Midnight, 1 o’clock and 2 o’clock. So, should any pricks turn up at any of those given times… I will know who has betrayed us and the rest will play out as such.”

  “Are you going to kill him?”

  “Yes. There is no room for a traitor, no matter the reason.”

  “Alright…”

  They moved onwards, through the dark.

  Vanto glanced behind him at the boy that had caused such a change in his boss’s mind. Surely, he couldn’t be the same one as… But it is possible. The boy’s face was uncannily similar. Victor was right, they had to be sure.

  “Where did you grow up, lad?” He asked Arcos offhandedly.

  Arcos gave him a look. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m curious. And seeing as we are going to be working together, a sense of trust should be built, don’t you think? I’ll start; I was born in a Night Tavern. My mother slept with a Nightman. They had me. She died from a rather terrible case of whooping cough, my father couldn’t support me and gave me over to an orphanage. One that wasn’t so nice. I ran, lived on the street, got taken in by Victor’s father and here I am. Your turn.”

  Arcos stared at the strange man in front of him. His mannerisms were not like others. He was blithe. Pithy. Careless. But at the same time, he held a certain charisma that was undeniable. And Arcos didn’t feel so guarded. Maybe it was the unabashed way he spoke the truth. And it was the truth. Vanto, for all his immoral characteristics, did not strike Arcos as a liar.

  “I was born in the Merchant District, seventeen or eighteen years ago.” Arcos began slowly, struggling to form the words. It was hard. Vanto was the third person Arcos had begun to reveal his past, following Tilda and Nerisity. “My mother died from an illness as well. My father was a blacksmith. He took care of me and… well…”

  Arcos trailed off. He couldn’t say anymore. How could he?

  Vanto said nothing. And he didn’t push it. He seemed to be content with what he needed to hear so far.

  Because instead of a reply or a follow-up question, he made an ‘aha’ sound and pointed ahead. “Docks. Here we are.”

  Arcos and Vanto exited the narrow street and stepped into the vast thoroughfare that acted as a market and stalls for the fisheries and suppliers that sailed in from the various ports along the Eastern Coast, connecting the trade routes for the ports of Iron Bay, Cliffside, the capital itself, Tarney then Tigerstone from north to south. But at this late time in the night, the thoroughfare was dead silent and empty of stalls and the people who manned them. Only the two of them were there. It was unnerving to be so alone in a possibly hostile scenario.

  Arcos surveyed the area and had a flash of a memory, sparked by recognition. This was where he had first met Tilda. And by meeting her, he recalled he actually pitched her into the sea instead.

  That memory floored him.

  So much had happened since then.

  He was a different person now, armed with so much knowledge, skill, and experiences. What would he say to the young twig of a boy who had interfered in a child’s affairs? Arcos knew, he would have certainly said to the boy to run away as far and as fast as he could.

  But… then he wouldn’t have met Nerisity. Courageous. Reeva. Boras.

  Arcos felt his heart twinge at the thought of the Sarku. He had not thought of the large feline for a while. He hoped he was doing alright. He was more than certain that the Guild would be caring for him. Sister Valari in particular, she had always shown a softness for the beast, which Courageous (as selective as he could be) had reciprocated in time. Arcos hoped in that moment that he would see Courageous again. He had to apologise for his latest treatment of the animal. He was his friend and Arcos had pushed him away. No, Arcos knew he had to make it right. Once this was all resolved, he would return to the Guild with Nerisity in hand, find Courageous and run away with him.

  Yeah, that would be nice. Arcos, Nerisity and Courageous. Quite an adventuring party. Arcos grinned briefly at that.

  On the piers, there were several boats of varying sizes moored and tied to their stations. Lights dimmed or snuffed completely. The distant bell of the dock’s watchman rang out three clangs, in their habitual duty of alerting incoming ships.

  There was no lighthouse operating as of yet, as the building that could be seen towards the northern area of the docks was under reconstruction. A violent storm had damaged its seaward face, causing its bricks to tumble in on itself.

  Without the reassuring light, the mood was sombre and the night seemed thick with worry. Only the near full moon provided the light needed for the work that had to be done.

  Arcos felt an odd sense of exposure, crossing the thoroughfare to reach the pier. At any moment, he felt as if he would receive a throw dagger in his back. Twice he whipped his head around, thinking he heard a sound of movement in the shadows of the buildings behind him. Vanto had no such concern. He strode to the piers with the confidence of a peacock. Boots clomping on the wood panels on a pier identified by a sign painted in black ink labelling it as Pier 3, he surveyed the stations, finding all but one occupied by boats. The one unoccupied was an extensive space, big enough for a trade ship to make berth.

  “There’s ours.” He said. “Now we wait for the others.”

  He positioned himself on a post, pulled out another of his cigarillos and lit it with a match. Arcos found a similar post opposite Vanto and sat down on the boards, leaning his back against the moss-covered post.

  Time rolled by, rolling with the waves that gently slapped the piers and the boats that buoyed against the current. The watchman’s bell sounded on occasion, echoing in the gloom.

  Vanto was on his second cigarillo when Arcos started his questions.

  “Does the Mercurial Gang control most of the territories in the city?” He asked as the criminal.

  “No. Though we certainly wish we did.” Vanto sucked in and blew out a plume of smoke with a chuckle that made the smoke jump in short grey plumes like the chimney of a bakery. “We have a good claim in the Merchant District and the Central. One Tashiishan teahouse is ours, another’s in contention. But the Docks are a bit of a free-for-all for the gangs and gatherings alike. Then again, the Docking Fellows are a good pain in the arse.”

  “Oh, yeah… I heard of them. They run the shipping lanes.”

  “Extort them too. But there’s agreements in place so we can all have a piece of the naval action. Though our piece is a little smaller than the others, makes sense. Our gang’s a little landlocked.”

  “Have the Mercuries and the Docking Fellows been fighting for a while?”

  “Oy… for a long while. Carrick Shipper. He’s the boss of the DF. He’s had it in for Victor for as long as they had known each other.”

  “Why?”

  “Some say it’s because of money or territory. But I know why. You see, kid… Carrick had his eyes on a girl that Victor also liked. But Victor was faster and more charming. He wooed her, bedded her, and partnered her. All in a few weeks.”

  “Wow. That’s… fast.”

  “Eh, in our line of work, time’s never on our side.”

  “And Carrick got pissed.”

  “Oh yeah. He went full-on war mode. Threatened to burn down the central district, kill every Mercury he could find… But his sponsor stopped him.”

  “Sponsor?”

  “Yes. Which is why the DF are a strong gang. They have a leg up. From one of the Barons.”

  “What??” Arcos jerked his head towards Vanto. “The Barons run the gangs?”

  “Not all of the Barons. Not all the gangs. Victor opted out of being used like a puppet for the Barons’s little war-games. But Carrick was more than willing to sell his ass to the highest bidder. That bidder is Baron Zult, the Spymaster.”

  “Gods…” Arcos rubbed his neck, then he looked at Vanto. “So Sitra’s mother-?”

  “Is that girl. Her name’s Julianna.” Vanto nodded. “Victor sired Sitra and her little sister Henrietta.”

  “You said he partnered with Sitra’s mother.”

  “I did.” Vanto lit a third cigarillo.

  “So why hasn’t he married her yet?”

  “Because of the Blood Rite. Julianna’s parents are dead.”

  Arcos blinked with an ‘oh’ expression. “That… that’s fucking sad.”

  “Yeah. I’d have loved to have been made best man. Victor practically said as much to me when we got drunk that night Sitra was born.”

  Vanto made a saddened expression at that.

  Arcos felt the pang of pain for that too. He understood the meaning of the Blood Rite. He was taught it by Sister Valari when she had designed the necklace for Nerisity. Arcos had dumbly stated in a moment of euphoria that he was intending to wed Nerisity, followed by a sheepish admission that he had no idea how to. Valari had given him a raised eyebrow and chuckled. To humour him, she had him sit on her bench and explained the Rite:

  Two partners, seeking to be married, would go to their respective parents and ask for their blessings. The woman of the pairing would then formally ask her betrothed to marry her. Once that was accepted, the four parents would journey to the smithy selected by the couple to forge the wedding bands. Wedding bands made of two metals, one metal selected by each of the families. The heated metals would then be mixed with the blood of the parents and the blood of the betrothed couple. That was where the blood came into play.

  One parent from each family or both would be sufficient and required. As long as there is blood from a direct relation. Both of the partners’ blood is essential.

  The bloods would boil and bubble upon the molten liquid and be mixed in. The rings would be forged and then inscribed with the names of the couple on the inside.

  The mixed bloods within the rings also serve a practical purpose.

  Scholars had slaved over the possible answers for the connection that the blood provides. It is a strange phenomenon that has occurred time and time again with each wedding. None have come up with a definitive reason nor answer.

  No matter where one wedded is, anywhere in the world, the other wedded would know with an instinct where to go. If one wedded is ill or in danger, the other would know intrinsically.

  The wedding bands provide this spiritual connection that is so deep and personal, that only the Black’s intervention could sever it.

  But this only works if the blood of parents is given as well as the couple.

  If an orphan falls in love with another, they can never have that bond.

  Which meant that for Victor and his wife, the mother of his two children, they can never have that bond. Maybe they wouldn’t need it. But it would have been a good thing to have all the same.

  Arcos was saddened at the notion when Valari explained that to him and it saddened him now as he sat on the pier.

  Like Victor Sade, Arcos would never be able to fulfil the Blood Rite. His mother was dead and he would never ask his son-of-a-bitch-father for anything. And that was if he was still alive somewhere.

  The same could have been said for Nerisity.

  For as long as Arcos had known her for those blissful four months in and around their home in Silverstreak, she never spoke of her family. Not once, even when Arcos had carefully pressed for details of her birthplace or her childhood. Like Arcos, she held a cold heart for her family, for hidden pains which she could not say, even to him. Arcos respected her for her privacy and set boundaries and realised with a cold certainty that she’d rather be eaten by a Sarku than go to her family for anything at all.

  With that known, marriage was an impossibility for them. A bitter truth to bear, but also a reality of their lots in life.

  Arcos sighed, as the memory of that lecture and the ramifications of his situation with Nerisity ebbed back down to his subconscious. “I’m sorry to hear that…” He meant that. He understood the pain of that.

  “Yeah. Me too.” Vanto replied with a grateful half-grin.

  Eager to change the subject, Arcos followed up with another question. “Are we in any danger now, being in the Docking Fellows’s territory?”

  Vanto made a half-shrug.

  “Not at the moment. No one’s going to shit-stir tonight or any other night this month. The Gangs are all a little bit on edge since the Scandal and especially now with the Barons’ Council occurring tonight. I bet you didn’t know about that.”

  “No. I didn’t.” Arcos chewed his tongue. The Barons’ Council. Planning another way to ruin the world and everyone’s lives in the process.

  “Arcos…” Vanto ventured as he noted Arcos’s change in modes whenever Barons were brought up. “You have something against the Barons. Do not get me wrong. Anyone with a brain would have something against them. But you, in particular, you hate them. Why is that?”

  Arcos looked up at the stars in the sky. There were only a few now, a blanket of cloud had pushed its way in, ruining the beautiful umbral scape. “When taxes came by, they were higher than normal. It was getting too much for my father to handle. He was going to lose everything. His shop, his home… He wanted money so he could leave the city… so… He sold me to the Bodyhunters.”

  There came a vacuum between the pair. Arcos stared down at his boots, reliving the memories of that terrible night. That night when Darius Snowhair and those other bastards had dragged him from his warm bed and out into the cold night. How his father - his father - had counted the silver coins handed to him by the Bodyhunters.

  Vanto wordlessly drew in and exhaled a few breaths of smoke as he studied the boy. And he studied him hard. He stared at Arcos's face. His eyes. The shape of his nose. His gait. With all the information of the boy’s parents, where he grew up, how old he was… Yes. Yes. There was absolutely no doubt on who this boy truly was. Victor was right. And with the inevitable ramifications of this revelation seated before him, Vanto wished to the Hands of Fate that he and Victor were wrong. This poor lad had no idea of the chaos his existence will bring.

  “I’m sorry,” he eventually said as he battled to keep the explosive excitement and worry from his voice, “that’s a rough deal. A lot of people ended up that way. How did you survive?”

  Arcos sighed and began retelling the story. How he scraped by day by day for those seven long years. How he met Torrance, of all people, in the Salt Pit. The riot and eventually his flight up North. Arcos was careful to avoid mentioning Tilda, Ashmak and the Guild.

  Vanto listened and only asked a few questions here and there; mainly placing people like Boras and Reeva in parts of Arcos’s story.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  It was hard too retell the story without it hurting him in some small ways. But Arcos figured that this was a good way to establish some trust with the people helping him. So he did what he needed to do.

  “So, Markus comes along…did what he did…” Vanto concluded. “And here we are.”

  “Yeah…” Arcos was exhausted. Telling the story without mentioning the Guild in any way was gruelling. He barely struggled through explaining his fighting skills by stating that Torrance was the one who trained him and his friends.

  But he was able to sell the lie and he felt some pride in that. Wait. Pride? Arcos was surprised by that. Didn’t he leave the Guild in the first place? So why did he have that sense of pride in protecting their anonymity? Arcos felt confusion at that.

  “Your woman- Nerisity was it? She will be fine.” Vanto said quietly. “Nightwomen are good stock in the Baron’s eyes. Markus won’t allow any harm to her, in fear of losing her value. As fucked up as that sounds…”

  Arcos rubbed his face and sighed through gritted teeth. He hated this. He hated all of it.

  “…What time did you tell the men that the shipment would come?”

  Vanto fished out a silver pocket watch from his coat. He peered at the face. “One hour between each man. Midnight, 1 o’clock and 2. It’s nearly midnight, so they’ll be coming together. I asked them to do so.”

  “And what time is it really coming?”

  Vanto grinned. “It’s already here.”

  “What?” Arcos looked around at the moored ships. “One of these?”

  “Yes. The boss and I sailed out a few weeks ago and exchanged the shipment between the ships on the trading route. It’s the ship that’s behind you, lad. That has our shipment.”

  Arcos looked behind him, seeing a small two-mast sloop, as unassuming as a washerwoman on the street. It was silent and unmanned, with a single oil lamp lit.

  “But what about the space that isn’t being used?” Arcos asked, his mind perplexed by the trap unfolding before him.

  Vanto chuckled. “That berth is for the ship that’s coming in. It only has wine in the hold. But this ship is used by us regularly. The three men will have the wrong ship in mind, tell their true masters, gather up some thugs to steal what they think is the leaf shipment, and put themselves all in the shitter in the process…”

  Vanto narrowed his eyes at Arcos, who was now looking at him intently. “Heh. You think I’m the traitor?”

  “The thought had come to mind, yeah.”

  “That’s smart of you. Not smart enough that you didn’t hide your expression, but smart all the same. Trust me, I’m as loyal as they would come. And after all, I would be a dead man from the get-go with the boss’s gift.”

  “Is it true then? He can see into your soul? Sense someone’s nature?”

  “As he had stated, it’s more of seeing into the essence of a person. What they are at the core… that is too deep for even one as intelligent as him. Your friend Boras, for example: the boss saw cowardice, doubt, and hesitation, and yet the boy proved his mettle by standing up to Victor. So, being transparent and honest in what keeps you alive in this business. As ironic as that sounds.”

  With that, the pair waited in silence. No more questions were asked, and no answers given. Each of them knew enough to be content with the quietude of the night and the brisk sea air that coated their lungs.

  It wasn’t long though before they heard the scuffling of shoes on flagstones.

  Arcos stood up and noted three figures in the dark approaching the docks. They had emerged from the various alleys that led to the area. Arcos felt his hand creep towards the hilt of Alaintiqam. The magnetic draw he felt in his hand and his mind towards the silver blade was increasing by the day. Vanto subtly gestured to Arcos to calm himself and wait. Arcos did so as Vanto pushed away from the dock, flicked his fourth finished cigarillo into the water to join the previous three, and greeted the three men that arrived at the foot of the pier.

  “Sir?” One of them said. “We didn’t expect you to be here.”

  “Yes, a change of plans.” Vanto replied smoothly. “The boss wanted me to ensure this larger shipment be delivered safely. I trust that there is no issue with that.”

  “Course. No problem, sir.”

  The group stepped onto the pier, following Vanto. Arcos saw a stocky man of blackish skin shorter than himself (probably an Easterner like Reeva), a fair-skinned young Darganian of the city with too many pimples, and a tall Tashiishan with a beard that reached down to his chest. Arcos was intrigued by the dark man from the desert country; he had not seen many Tashiishans in Fennaposia since arriving.

  His heart twinged a little. He had missed Ashmak’s wise words and calming demeanour. Another aspect of a life that he wished wasn’t tainted by Markus and the Bodyhunters. He wondered what that strange Tashiishan was up to. Maybe causing some trouble in his own calm, meticulous way…

  The stocky Easterner stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “Sir. What do we do now?” He asked in a deep, thick tone synonymous with his islander people.

  “Well…” Vanto stretched his back. “We wait.” He lit his fifth cigarillo and smoked away as he leant against the pier’s post.

  The young man with pimples flicked his eyes towards Arcos. “Who’s that, sir?” His voice was croaky and cracking into high octaves, a sign of late puberty.

  Vanto waved nonchalantly. “Hired help, I brought him in. Pay him no mind.”

  “Why?” The Tashiishan asked. “Are you expecting trouble?”

  Vanto smirked. “I always expect trouble. Tonight is no different.”

  Arcos looked at each of the men in turn as they talked with Vanto. One of them was most certainly the traitor, that much Victor Sade was convinced.

  The Tashiishan would have been an obvious assumption. A foreigner in an unfamiliar land, no ties familial nor friendly. Easy to cut losses and run at a moment’s notice. But, from what Arcos had learnt from time spent with Ashmak, the Tashiishans were also an honourable people. Loyalty was a way of life for them, so him being the mole was unlikely.

  The stocky man from the Isles, the self-appointed leader of the trio, now he was more suspicious. He didn’t turn away from speaking with Vanto. He kept asking questions, clearly intent on learning all he could for the shipment’s arrival.

  The young man was also an option. He barely looked Vanto’s way, and kept looking over his shoulder. But that could also be attributed to his youth and inexperience, which would always look like fear to most laymen.

  Arcos glanced up to the south as the sounds of a bell tower within the city rang out twelve cries from its brass knell. It was midnight, the first supposed arrival time for the ‘shipment’.

  Vanto and the trio looked towards the bell tower’s noise, and an alertness descended on the group. No more talk was made, and their faces grew taut with hard lines of concern and expectation.

  Vanto, to keep up the pretence, cast his eyes towards the darkness of the sea that stretched eastwards. The three men also looked to the ocean, straining to spot a lantern on the bow of the approaching ship.

  But no sign of it had come.

  Minutes dragged by as the group fell once again into a state of unnerved quietude. In the wait, Vanto was studying the men closely, but with enough subtlety to avoid suspicion.

  The subsequent minutes piled like unread books until the first hour of the new day drew near.

  The Tashiishan paced with slow steps along the pier, breaking the silence with each wooden footfall that creaked under his weight.

  The stocky black Easterner cracked his knuckles and chipped away at the dirt in his nails.

  The young pimple-faced Darganian stood at the edge of the pier, still watching and waiting for the ship. He wiped his mouth and chin. He cast an eye towards Vanto and to Arcos and the others.

  Until Arcos, Vanto and even the two men, the young man could not remain still.

  Arcos noted the young man’s behaviour and then met Vanto’s eyes.

  It was in that moment that the pair agreed in the silence: he was their traitor.

  No one would be this nervous for a delivery, especially if they were with Vanto to ensure it. The traitor clearly had no guile.

  All that mattered now was the confirmation of their conclusion.

  A single cry of the southern bell tower announced that the first hour had come. 1 o’clock. And it was another two minutes later when Arcos and the possible traitor both sighted the flickering light that emerged from the dark horizon.

  “It’s here!” The young man announced, a tad too loudly for this type of mission. Another tell.

  The Easterner slapped the boy on his shoulder and then approached Vanto. Vanto had his eyes on the young man with a simple smile. Arcos saw that look. It’s him, all right.

  “Sir,” the stocky man asked. “How are we supposed to get the Violet from the ship and to the warehouse? Where’s the horse and cart?”

  “On the ship, of course.” Vanto said offhandedly. “Once we have all we need, we can load up and cart it away by horse.”

  “Alright. Better now than never, bloody freezing tonight.” The man rubbed his arms.

  “There is a chill in the air, isn’t there?” Vanto dropped his fifth and final cigarillo into the water and stepped along the pier to see the ship.

  The ship, much like the sloop that had the shipment, sailed quietly into the docking area. It moved with the gracefulness of a mako shark. Silent and intense.

  A woman on the starboard bow waved at Vanto silently and then hopped onto the pier, holding a rope which she moored to the post. The anchor was dropped from the bow, hitting the seawater with deft, softness. The quick and careful movement on the deck suggested a good ten or so crew members aboard. Three gangplanks were folded out from the railing of the ship and clunked onto the wooden pier’s planks.

  The atmosphere was tense now.

  Arcos could feel a familiar sensation in the back of his throat. A tightening in the muscles, a dryness in the gullet. It felt like that before the battle at Malachi’s mansion and the fight against Markus's men at the Night Tavern.

  A fight was coming, but from where and by whom?

  That answer didn’t wait that long to arrive.

  Footsteps, ten of them by the sound of it, rushed along the promenade of the docks.

  Arcos leapt to his feet, Alaintiqam already drawn from the sheath and settled easily in his right hand.

  The silver blade caught the light of the moon with a shard of light that pierced the darkness. Strange, Arcos thought as he moved beside an awaiting Vanto and the others who had heard the arrivals’ approach. I don’t remember drawing the sword out…

  The new group that arrived in their hurry from the shadows halted at the pier. They were dressed in dark cloaks designed for stealth and unwelcome deeds. Some of them carried flaming torches that sparked to life upon their appearance. Their faces were obscured by the shadow of their hoods.

  Vanto, calm as a summer breeze, strode two steps towards the group. “Evening. Or rather, good morning actually.” He made the greeting as pleasant as one could manage considering the circumstances.

  The group of strangers turned and looked at one another. They began to whisper. Then one of them stepped forward and pulled back the hood. It was a woman with olive-tanned skin and blackish/brown hair that was shaved at the sides, leaving a braided mohawk that looped around her neck. She was tattooed on her cheeks and the sides of her scalp. Arcos raised his eyebrows; she was another Easterner with eyes the colour of spring grass.

  “Vanto Heartly…” she said in the accent that Arcos recalled Reeva speak at points during their conversations. “We didn’t think you’d be here.”

  “And yet, here I am.” Vanto extended his hands to the sides and bowed with courtesy. “I didn’t expect it to be the esteemed Docking Fellows themselves that were the undeserving beneficiaries of our boons.”

  “Well,” the woman said, “times are hard. Barons and Lawgivers cracking down on us honest folk… Mouths to feed. Speaking of which…” She pointed at the ship behind Vanto. “That there is our goods that you have.”

  “Is it, now?” Vanto replied calmly but with an edge of a blade in his tone. “I don’t see your name on it, Ashira…”

  “It’ll be, once I’m done with you.” Ashira looked at the Tashiishan, the stocky man, and Arcos in turn. “You three don’t have any business here. Fuck off and live or stay and die with him.”

  The stocky man, whose confident attitude before this encounter had now evaporated, looked worriedly at the Tashiishan.

  The Tashiishan, staying true to his people’s way, simply crossed his arms and stared daggers at the gang that glared back. The stocky man looked down at his shoes, then with a grunt, spat at the pier in the direction of the Docking Fellows.

  Arcos rolled his shoulders and stepped in line with Vanto. “This isn’t what I signed up for.” He said to Vanto, to which Vanto shrugged with impressive nonchalance.

  “Wait!” The young man suddenly cried out. He stepped frantically towards Ashira and Vanto. He raised his hands. “You said— you said no one was gonna get hurt!”

  The stocky man and the Tashiishan balked at their companion, betrayal clear in their eyes. Vanto set his jaw in a grim line. And Ashira laughed.

  “And you believed that?” She said with a smirk.

  “Jeb…” Vanto spoke softly, stepping up towards the speechless man who couldn’t decide whether to run, fight, or beg.

  “Wha-” was all Jeb could say before Vanto spun him around and shot his balled fist into Jeb’s gut. Jeb caved inwards, spewing spit as he crumpled onto the pier.

  Kicking the wheezing Jeb aside, Vanto rubbed his knuckles with amusement, and his smile returned as he observed Ashira.

  Ashira scowled at Vanto. “You and your fucking master… thinking you’re so much better than the rest of us. You forgot where you came from, Vanto. The gutter just like us, and you want to leave us all behind? For what? That iron-faced cunt? His sliced spawn? It’s high time you learnt that you’re not as untouchable as you want everyone here to believe.”

  Vanto shrugged, but Arcos noted the twitch in his eye when Ashira spoke the words ‘sliced spawn’. Who was she referring to?

  “That is fair.” Vanto said. “I wanted to forget where I came from. For very good reasons.” He opened his coat and drew out a pair of thin stiletto daggers from the hems within. “Because I want the best. I deserve the best. And I will kill whomever I can to get it. And for the record, I don’t think I’m better than you, Ashira. I know I am.”

  Movement from within the ship sounded, feet stomping and rushing.

  “And I’m smarter too.” He grinned like a crocodile.

  Arcos watched in surprise as ten figures rushed onto the gangplanks of the ship and mobilised behind Vanto. They were dressed in thick leathers with padding strapped on their chests, arms, knees, and steel helmets on their heads. They were armed with barbed axes and spike-hammers. And judging by their faces, they looked eager for a fight. In the moonlight, Arcos could see as clear as one could the capital letter M stitched on the coat shoulder of each person. The Ms shone silver. They were Mercuries.

  Vanto crossed his arms with a widened smirk, his stilettos’s points poking out under his elbows. “Told ya.” He grinned.

  Ashira hissed a curse his way.

  Vanto laughed. Then he made a sharp whistle like a kennel master signalling the start of a fox hunt. And the fight began instantly.

  Both groups rushed at one another, feet pounding the boards and shaking the pier. No shouts, no cries. Just quiet bloodlust. The Docking Fellows dropped their torches in their mad attempt to draw their weapons as they ran.

  One of the Docking Fellows tripped in the rush and fell hard on his front in the resulting dark. There was a shucking sound and he gasped in pain as the dagger he carried drove itself up and through his shoulder.

  Arcos, muscles tensing with practiced battle-awareness hammered into him by months of Tilda’s training, closed the gap quickly. He was ahead of the Mercuries and slashed Alaintiqam across the chest of the first Docking Fellow before he took a wild swing of his steel-capped club. Arcos ducked the blow as fresh hot blood spurted. The sanguine slapped against the boards, and the Docking Fellow cried out in pain and fell back twitching.

  Half a second later, Arcos was forced to dodge to the side as Vanto’s group came up behind him and smashed into Ashira’s group with a crunch of flesh, steel, and bone.

  Given the limited space of the pier, which was only four men abreast, there was no room to dodge or fall back. It was a fight to the bitter end.

  Each attack found its mark in many various degrees.

  Daggers slashed.

  Axes chopped.

  Clubs and hammers bashed.

  Skin was cut.

  Cries were silenced.

  Fists were thrown and caught.

  Vanto snapped a pained curse. Ashira howled orders, but her voice was suddenly brought to a grim silence.

  Arcos ducked a swing of an axe intended for a Docking Fellow and saw it get buried in her head.

  All he saw was shadows, highlighted by the moonlight and the sheen of the blood that was soaked up by the wood. Arcos clashed his sword against a sword of another. A hiss of anger. Arcos roared back and pushed against his aggressor, then swiftly lashed his boot out to crack into the fighter’s groin. The fighter dropped hard and Arcos swung again. Metal cut into flesh. And again. Metal to flesh. And again. Metal to flesh. And again…

  The fight ended as it had started: quickly, painfully, and within a matter of three minutes.

  Panting from exhausted survivors perforated the air.

  Arcos collapsed on the pier, feeling a sharp pain swelling up in his thigh. Looking down, he saw that his right trouser leg was slashed open and a thick gash was there on his bare skin. It bled slowly as the cut was not deep enough to cut arteries, but the blood flowed consistently. Arcos, too exhausted from the fight, just sat there and watched as Vanto’s group stood victorious.

  But the result of the fight was costly.

  Out of the twelve Mercurials that backed Vanto - which included the black Easterner and the Tashiishan - and they did fight well, only four were left alive.

  The Tashiishan was lying face down on the pier, with an axe embedded in his skull.

  The stocky black Easterner’s severed head lay a couple of feet from his still-twitching body.

  Arcos felt some small levels of sadness for those two. They showed true loyalty and paid the price for it.

  The four remaining fighters of the reinforcing ten moved amongst the dead, dying, and injured. The Docking Fellows who survived the fight were not shown mercy. The Mercurials wordlessly slid their daggers into the throats and hearts of the enemy survivors, ending their suffering quickly.

  Vanto stood amongst the carnage, bloodied and limping on his left leg. His face was stony. He noted a rattling breath of a Docking Fellow. He moved to the woman who tried in vain to pull out a dagger from her chest. He silently lifted his foot and drove it down into her neck, breaking it and silencing her mewling.

  “-bastard-” came a woman’s snarl. “-arrogant sonofabitch…”

  Vanto and Arcos snapped towards Ashira who was sat against a post and glared bitterly at them. She had her hands full though in the most literal sense: she was disembowelled. Her guts were trying so hard to pop from the slice that curved across her abdomen and she struggled to hold them in. She spat out blood, bile and spit. Her eyes were rolling around in a dazed panic. But they soon locked with hateful focus as they found Vanto still alive amongst the dead.

  “Having trouble there?” Vanto sneered mirthlessly.

  Arcos watched Vanto as he limped towards Ashira and with great pain and then knelt down to her eye level. “Why, Ashira?” He asked her with pain suddenly filtering into his voice. “You should have left. Why stick with Carrick?”

  “-Got- kaff! - got no other choice…”

  “You could have joined us. Joined up with Victor. I’d have vouched for you, you daft fool.”

  Ashira grinned through bloodied teeth. “-kaff!- kaff, kaff! - and what? Work for you? Sorry… I… I’d rather be eaten by rats…”

  Vanto studied her injuries. He grimaced. This was fatal, there was no chance. He levelled his gaze at her. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about this…”

  “No you’re not.”

  “Yeah… that’s fair.” Vanto reached down and picked up a dagger discarded in the fight. He placed the tip against Ashira’s chest. He did not break eye contact as he reached with his free hand and gently held the back of her head.

  And in an act of uncommon brotherhood, he pressed his forehead against hers. His eyes closed. As did hers.

  “See you around… in the next life.” He said.

  “Yeah. Fuck you too.” She replied.

  Without hesitation, Vanto shoved the dagger in and pierced Ashira’s heart with one movement. She stiffened from the pain and then instantly slackened as the Black took her away. Vanto sighed deeply, still holding the body close to him, heads still touching.

  After a moment of what Arcos could have construed as mourning, Vanto released the body and allowed it to slump down to the side. He breathed out a breath that he had been holding for as long as he had been killing Ashira and, still kneeling, turned his head towards Arcos. “Still alive, boy?”

  “Yes.” Arcos reached up and, gripping the post, pulled himself to a hobbling stance. “Wasn’t she your friend?”

  Vanto’s jaw clenched. “You could say that. We grew up in the same gutter. Robbed the same people, fought them too. But she made the wrong choice when I made the right one. Now look at her; bleeding and dead on a no-name pier in a shithole dockyard. She was my friend. Now she’s fish food.”

  “Sir.” Called out a man’s voice.

  Arcos looked back up the pier and saw that whilst this was going on, the rest of the Mercuries had dragged the bodies of the dead to a small pile and had begun carrying them onto the ship that had pulled in. A horse and cart was trundled off the ship at the same time and waited patiently by the ship with the cargo stashed inside. But Arcos had his attention on a Mercury man hoisting up the traitor Jeb, who was by this point, re-soiling his already ruined trousers.

  “You.” Vanto snarled, his calm veneer shattering with frightening speed. “You back-dealing, scum-sucking, worthless little weasel…”

  Jeb stared at the death around him.

  At the Mercuries scowling him. At Vanto, the man who did not ever lose his temper. Until now. Vanto’s eyes were aflame with fury as he practically lurched to his feet, ignoring the pain he was in. He stalked right for Jeb. Jeb tried to get away, but he was firmly held in place by the man at his back.

  “Why? Tell me. Now.” Vanto ordered as he loomed over the shaking, pissing man.

  “I have a family!” Jeb blurted in terror. “I have a baby boy coming! Carrick found out and offered to house my Nancy and child in a hospital to make sure the baby would be delivered safely. He threatened to hurt them if I didn’t help him out with…this…” Jeb’s eyes glanced down and his voice died in his throat when he saw the bloodied dagger in Vanto’s hand.

  “Why didn’t you come to me? To the boss?” Vanto implored, though filled with the rage of a blood-crazed mako. “We would have housed Nancy. We would have protected them. We would have done all we could for you. You know that! You’d seen the boss do that! But you betrayed us. Betrayed me. Betrayed the boss! For Carrick, of all people? Carrick??”

  “I wanted to! I did, sir! But I- I thought you weren’t going to! I had no idea what to think! Who to trust!”

  “Eight fighters.” Vanto hissed. “Eight good, loyal women and men are dead tonight because of you. Because you didn’t trust me. Because you didn’t trust Victor Sade. You understand me?”

  “I… I know…” Jeb dropped to his knees and grabbed for Vanto’s leg. But Vanto swept his leg back from his reach with a disgusted snarl.

  “Please forgive me!” Jeb squeaked. “Please! Talk to the boss! Explain what’s happened! He’d understand- Wait. Wait. Wait! You know I’m a traitor! But Carrick doesn’t. You can use me. I can be on the inside. You don’t know what he’s planning. What he’s been doing with the Barons! I can find out for you! I can! Just let me do this. I can, I-”

  Vanto whipped the back of his hand and slapped it hard against Jeb’s face, causing the blabbering fool to fall onto his hands and spit blood.

  “SHUT UP.” Vanto hissed. He looked over his shoulder towards Arcos, who had limped up to him. “Well?” He asked him.

  “Well, what?” Arcos replied.

  “What should we do with him?”

  Arcos blinked. “Why are you asking me? Is this another test?”

  “Yes.” Vanto was not smiling. His eyes were fixed on Arcos like nocked crossbow bolts.

  Arcos looked at the weeping Jeb who continued to repeat apologies after sodden apologies to anyone that could hear him or matter to him. He noticed that the Mercuries were all watching him and waiting for his words. Arcos felt his grip tighten on the handle of Alaintiqam. It was still in his hand and was slick with spilt blood. The warmth built up in his clenching sword hand-

  Ah. Yes… There it was.

  The thrum of energy. Of adrenaline.

  He felt it that night against the mountain spiders. The thrill of the fight and the thirst for vengeance being satiated. This would be right to end this pathetic man. This man who backstabbed his comrades for false promises. It would be right to show this Jeb no mercy. It would be right. It would be just. It would feel good. But…

  Arcos's mind turned to Nerisity. To Reeva. To Boras. To Tilda…

  They wouldn’t see it as right. This… this was not honourable.

  “Don’t kill him.” Arcos finally said after what seemed like an eternity in the span of a few seconds. “He’s suffered enough with the thought of being killed. Put him in debt to Victor. Have him pay off the deaths of the people here tonight through work that would pay well… It isn’t worth losing another man from the Gang. At least… at least you know where he stands with you.”

  Vanto clasped his hands together by his waist, still holding the dagger, as he listened to Arcos's reasoning. Jeb’s eyes lit up with a hope that was scant and small while this happened.

  Vanto regarded Arcos thoughtfully. He nodded once.

  “I see,” he said. He looked towards Jeb. “Stand up,” he ordered.

  Jeb was hoisted to his feet by the Mercury man. Jeb shook in the stare that Vanto made at him.

  “Jeb…” Vanto sighed. “You are a fool. A deluded, gutless fool who couldn’t see the opportunity even if it punched you in the face. You betrayed the Mercury Gang, caused the deaths of our comrades, and sold your soul to the highest bidder. It is an unforgivable thing… But we have all been down the road of damnation. And it was our boss who brought us all back up. You chose to ignore that kindness. Arcos has made a very good point though. It wouldn’t be worth losing yet another hand in our Gang-”

  Jeb clasped his hands together. “Thank you! Thank you, sir! I promise I’m going to-”

  Vanto held up a finger to him, cutting him off. “I’m not finished. It wouldn’t be worth losing you… but is it really worth keeping you?”

  Vanto gave the man behind Jeb a single nod.

  The Mercury man wordlessly drew out a curved knife from his pocket and - before Jeb could have a chance to beg or Arcos a chance to intervene - slit the young man’s throat with an efficient slice.

  Jeb’s eyes went wide.

  His hands reached up to grab the wound, to try to hold the blood in.

  But the man kicked Jeb’s knee out from under him, forcing him down and yanking his hair back to open the wound wider and allow the blood to pump out. It splashed on the pier’s already sodden boards.

  Vanto looked to his people as Jeb’s life ebbed away.

  “Unload the shipment, have it sent to the warehouse. Put up the bodies on the ship and have them dropped off to our morgue. Have all this done by dawn.” A series of four yeses acknowledged his order. Vanto turned his back on the dying Jeb to face Arcos, who watched this all play out.

  “Was that necessary?” Arcos asked him flatly. “He had a family.”

  “A family that will be taken care of.” Vanto cleaned his dagger with the sleeve of his jacket. “The Mercury Gang are loyal to their own. It will be said that Jeb fought for us and died protecting the shipment, just so his honour remains intact. But understand this, Arcos… Victor would not have allowed him to live, even if I had decided to spare him. And he would have been far more imaginative with Jeb’s demise than I.”

  “He didn’t pose a threat. He would have been useful. Didn’t he say something about Carrick planning something? With the Barons?”

  “That is worth noting. I will investigate that with the boss… As for Jeb’s possible usefulness… that can only take one so far until unreliability breaks your stride. Jeb proved to be a weak link and that will always break the chain. Then ruthlessness becomes a necessity to save the chain from destruction and doom. You would do well to remember that in life.”

  “That ruthlessness is good? Even justified?”

  “It got me where I am today, so yes. Come on, let’s get you back before I get an earful from Torrance.”

  Vanto limped past Arcos and began to make his way towards the alleys of the city.

  Arcos gave one last look at the bloody pier, at the bodies and the mixed feelings of anger, remorse and excitement that roiled in him.

  He looked down and finally allowed his hand to loosen its grip on Alaintiqam as he sheathed the blade. Arcos looked at his sword hand.

  The blood had begun to crust. He flexed his hand, breaking the blood into flecks and had it fall from his fingers. Arcos wondered if the congealing blood was the reason that he found it hard to let go of the sword.

  But that thought was for another time.

  He started after Vanto, careful not to put too much weight on his injured leg. Catching up to Vanto, he walked with the second-in-command of the Mercury Gang into the shadows.

  “So, did I fail the test?” He asked.

  “Far from it, my lad.” Vanto smiled as he patted Arcos's shoulder with genuine affection. “You passed. With flying colours.”

  And Arcos, despite feeling tired, pained, and miserable from the night’s grisly affair, couldn’t help but feel a minute flicker of pride in those words. Words of affirmation that he did not know he needed…