“So!” Torrance laughed as he took a swig from his tankard and smacked it down on the table. He used his sleeve to wipe the droplets of the drink from his stubble. He grinned at Arcos. “I never thought I’d be seeing you again, kid!”

  “ And I you.” Arcos nodded.

  The trio were sat with Torrance at a private table, set for them next to one of the great hearths. Each of the trio was given drink and a large plate of food. Boras, ever the polite one, launched into his plate and drink with the ravenous speed of a starved jackal. Reeva sat back, taking pieces of food calmly and sipping her drink, all the while glaring at Boras's pig-like behaviour. Arcos was not eating, for his attention was on the man whom he thought he would never see again.

  Torrance was dressed in a brightly coloured waistcoat with gold inlays. A pair of cotton and leather trousers, tapered to his legs into a slim fit. A pair of gloves were folded and laced in his front breast pocket and he wore jewellery. A silver chain necklace with a small silver rose dangling from it with a brass ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. His hair was cut sheer-short this time, no longer the wild crop of red that Arcos remembered. It was like a farmer took his razor to Torrance’s scalp. With that, his clothes and the black eyepatch that covered the majority of his scarred left eye, he looked rather intimidating. Like a pirate ripped from some three-copper adventure yarn. A far cry from his wretched look as a fellow slave.

  Had Arcos only met him just now, he would have been on his guard. But he knew Torrance’s true nature, so this facade of a roguish mercenary/exiled assassin did not work on him as it did for the others, who had not yet met the enigmatic man.

  Arcos knew of Torrance’s selflessness, which was why he felt more relaxed than he had been for the last couple of days.

  “I was wondering how you were faring, lad.” Torrance said as he plucked a grape from his plate and crushed it slowly between his molars. “I was hoping you were well away from danger. Seems like I was wrong.”

  “The opposite, really.” Arcos replied with a snort.

  The next few minutes were all it took Arcos to explain his story to Torrance. How he ran into Tilda, got wrapped up in the child snatchers’ scheme, meeting Ashmak and heading to Silverstreak. Reeva and Boras then picked up the tale from their perspectives. Torrance nodded and in turn, added that he had heard of the revolt that forcibly supplanted Malachi from his position.

  “You know where Malachi is?” Reeva asked. “We had thought he died.”

  “Well, a lot of people did.” Torrance waved his hand. “He went to ground, hasn’t made a peep since. If I knew where the little toad was, trust me, he wouldn’t see the next sunrise.”

  “That’s a shame.” Reeva chewed her lip. “I can’t believe he didn’t die. I got him with a bolt and he survives. But… not…” Reeva blinked a few times and turned to face the fire.

  Boras and Arcos exchanged a quick look. Marvis’s death was still fresh in their minds. His slow, agonising end, his blood bubbling from his mouth, his final words to Reeva. It was a painful memory to suffer. But it gave them a clear enough reason, on top of all they had seen before and afterwards, to bring the Bodyhunters down. Reeva had been holding herself with an admirable strength, never allowing the grief to break her down. Her will was iron; they respected her deeply for it.

  “Anyway,” Arcos stepped in to help Reeva collect herself. “We need to find the Bodyhunters. They took a lot of people, people we care about. We’re taking them back.”

  “Right.” Torrance crossed his arms and nodded. “And I take it that we won’t be hearing from Tilda or the Guild?”

  “You know about the Guild?” Boras asked.

  “Of course.” Torrance laughed. “I was a child. Now, I’m what you refer to as an apostate. I didn’t take to the rules and turned away from their ways.”

  “Holy hells…” Boras blinked in surprise. “That’s some history.”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t pretty…” Torrance wavered his hand back and forth. “Partly, it was exciting and bloody boring… But, seeing as you are not accompanied by Tilda or another child, I can only assume that means the three of you did the same as me?”

  “In a sense… yeah.” Reeva gritted her teeth. “It wasn’t pretty. As you said.”

  “I bet it wasn’t.” Torrance rubbed the back of his neck. “The Elders do not look favourably on those disobeying their rules.”

  “Seems one of them likes you enough, though. And you being one of them explains why they told us to give this to you.” Boras replied, and with that, he pulled out the wooden box that Elder Lowan had handed to them.

  Torrance’s eyes widened a tad with recognition at the sight of the box. “Well. Look at that.”

  Boras placed it on the table in the middle of the plates of food and cups of drink. “Lowan told us that we should give this to the leader of the Waywards. Assuming that’s you.”

  Torrance sat up straight and reached out to the box. He slid it closer to him and studied the dial locks on its lip. He looked up at Boras.

  The look on the man’s face was strange. It was a mixture of nostalgia, uncertainty, and excitement. And a smile curled over his lips. “And you say that Elder Lowan told you to give this to me?”

  Boras shrugged. “Yeah. To the person leading the Wayward mercenaries.”

  “Then this is indeed mine, and if I am not mistaken…” Torrance placed his thumbs on the locks and twisted the numbers on the first dial up and down. He turned each dial at a time until he stopped at the number he wanted. When he finished with the fourth and final dial, something clicked inside the box, which allowed Torrance to gently lift the lid away.

  “Hold on.” Boras started, leaning forward. “What number did you use?”

  “My birth date.” Torrance grinned before opening the box fully and then uttering a short gasp. The trio leaned over to get a look inside. They all stared.

  “What the hells?” Reeva uttered.

  Inside, lying on black silk and folded linen all around to prevent interior damage, were a pair of ornately designed iron gauntlets. They were attached to vambraces that reached the length of a forearm. Their outer layer was painted a charred black with brass decorative inlays across the filigree. The brass inlays gave off scale-like patterns that started from one end of the vambrace and stopped at the knuckles. Torrance slowly stood up, his eyes locked on the gauntlets.

  “I never thought, in what remains of my life, that I would see these two again.” He reached in and took out one of the gauntlets. He rolled back his shirt sleeve and then pulled on the gauntlet. It fitted over his hand and then wrist with great ease. Flexing his fingers through and into the iron funnels, he twisted his wrist around. It locked into place with a click.

  With a grin, he warned, “Take a step back.” The trio did so by shuffling away along the benches or leaning away. With that, Torrance clenched his fist. There was a clicking of wires and springs inside the gauntlet and suddenly jutting out from the vambrace’s sides were a pair of eight-inch-long curved blades - the size, sharpness, and style of a curved stiletto.

  “Whoa!” Boras jumped back.

  Reeva and Arcos blinked, stunned.

  Torrance made a solid laugh, turning the extended weapon around on his fist. “Oh! It is good to feel these on my hands again!” He opened his fist and the twin blades retreated back into the vambrace, through two small openings previously invisible to the trio’s eyes, which were placed above the gauntlet’s knuckles.

  Torrance eagerly pulled on the second gauntlet and vambrace and tested that one too. Sure enough, another pair of blades thrusted out. He proceeded to clench and unclench his fists, prompting his claw-like daggers to jut in and out from their grooves.

  Torrance’s face looked like it would be at home on a child’s during his birthday. He laughed as he studied the gauntlets. “Thank you, Lowan!” He shouted out and he clapped the gauntlets together. The steel clap grabbed attention from the patrons of the tavern.

  A man from the long table nearest to them turned, and upon seeing the gauntlets, shouted out. “To The Four Claws!” He raised his tankard with a drunken squark.

  Some of the hall cheered in response. “Four Claws!”

  “Four Clawed Torrance!” Cried another.

  “'Four Clawed Torrance’?” Reeva queried. She gestured to the gauntlets. “Something to do with them, I suppose?”

  “Indeed! That’s their name, I named them.” Torrance replied with a laugh as he sat down. Once he had regained his composure, he pulled off the Four Claws and put them back into the box. “They got me out of a few scraps back in the day, earned me a bit of a reputation here. And when you have nothing else, reputation can be as valuable as gold. Hold on… There’s a parchment.”

  Torrance noticed the small roll of parchment rolled up and stuck into the corner of the box. He took it out and unfurled it. There was writing. Only one sentence, which he read out loud:

  ‘Never forget where you came from and never doubt where you are headed. - L’

  Torrance smiled with a swell of emotion billowing in his single eye. “That old fox. Been exiled for years and he’s still teaching me lessons…” He folded the parchment and put it back into the box with the gauntlets, then closing it shut.

  “Alright then.” Arcos sat back down, eyes on Torrance. “Maybe you can use your valued reputation to help us with the problem right now? Bodyhunters. Where are they? How do we get our friends out?”

  “That depends…” Torrance replied, regaining his serious side since Arcos was clearly in no mood for jovial conversations. “What was your initial plan?”

  “What do you mean? We find the Bodyhunters.” Arcos upturned his hands in growing exasperation. “We find them, break in, find the prisoners and fight our way out. We can do it. We have the skills.”

  “Right…” Torrance rubbed his chin. “And this plan, does it take into account the fifty-five or so Bodyhunters that are stationed and trained there? Not to mention the personal battalion of Baron’s Fist which Baron Markus has with him at all times? A small army of one hundred and thirty-ish soldiers at any given moment?”

  Boras sat back in his chair. “I didn’t think he’d have that many… I mean, sure, he’s a Baron. He’s bound to have lots of money and men, but that much… That’s practically two hundred against us…”

  “Baron Markus is no fool,” Torrance warned with a wagging finger. “He has enough skilled fighters to even challenge the other Barons if he wanted to. Let’s not forget that the Bodyhunters are stationed in a fortress. A fortress that has been standing strong since the days of the Royal family and their personal headquarters for the last decade. You want to break into that? Then get your plan rethought.”

  “Then help us,” Reeva implored. “Get the Waywards on our side, so we can take them. Storm the fortress, fight them off. And with you, we’ll have a chance.”

  Torrance looked at Reeva with a smile. He pointed past her. “Take a good look at the people.”

  Reeva turned. She looked over the faces of the drinking men and women as Torrance talked.

  “If you wish to count, there are maybe fifteen people here tonight. That is the extent of the company I have on hand. I used to have a lot more, but the rest left or resigned during my captivity as a slave. They’re good fighters, but nowhere near as good as the Bodyhunters. Maybe three of my people can take down one— just one— Bodyhunter.”

  “I can believe that,” Boras nodded, with vivid memories of the battle in Silverstreak fresh in his mind. He recalled the one called Darius that nearly killed Arcos. He was too fast to be fought.

  Torrance upturned his hands with a concluding reply. “Then you can see the issue. I simply do not have enough people. If we have the Children on our side, then the odds would be in our favour. If not, then the Waywards would be outnumbered and slaughtered. And seeing how the Children enjoy their isolation more than the lives of others… my hands are tied.”

  “Then find more people to join you!” Arcos snapped with a slap on the table. Reeva and Boras looked to him at that reaction. Arcos's teeth were bared and his nostrils flared with each breath.

  Torrance, arms still crossed, looked down his nose at Arcos, clearly unfazed by the boy’s outburst.

  “I understand your hatred for the Bodyhunters, Arcos. You know that I understand this more than most.” He said with not a drop of mirth. His eyes seemed to light up against the flames of the fireplace. “But I will not, in good conscience, send my kin nor the three of you into The Black’s embrace so recklessly. If Tilda had taught your skills, as you have claimed you have, then surely she would have taught you some semblance of patience.”

  “Sorry.” Arcos raised his hand and sat back into his chair. He turned his face to the fire and stared there in silence.

  Reeva coughed, taking Arcos's place in the conversation. “Would it be possible to bolster your numbers? It could help.”

  Torrance’s hard stare softened quickly in her look. “And there’s the rub. As much as I would like to boost the meek numbers we have here, I have not the permission to do so.”

  “You need permission? Who’s permission do you need to run your own mercenary company?”

  “The Mercury Gang.”

  “And who are the hells they?”

  Torrance sighed deeply. “That is a lengthy explanation, one you clearly need if you’re intending to stay in the city.”

  He took his ale and drank it in one slow swig before beginning his history lesson.

  “Way back, back before Arcos and I got out of that slavery pickle we found ourselves in, this city had a fair share of gangs milling about. The Districts had a leading gang hiding in the shadows and serving that gang would be a couple of smaller ones called gatherings. One of the gatherings was the Mercury gathering. A right vicious lot, as tough as the others could be. Leading that gathering and still alive today is one man. He’s called Victor Sade. He and his group, they’re all related in some way or another. A family business as he called it. Kept the loyalties tighter than a bank’s lock.

  So, that would be the status quo.

  The Barons carried on, ruling and lording over the country and changing up the laws as they saw fit, while the gang leaders and their people would adapt and extort and steal their way through life. Just to survive and sometimes prosper. And at some point, the gangs would kick up a tithe to the Barons, paying for the permission to run their businesses without oligarchy oversight.

  Of course, people being people, some of them weren’t satisfied with their lot nor the generous ignorance the Barons gave them. So these particular individuals began to expand into certain avenues to make more money than even the crooked merchants in the Barons’ payrolls. Drugs, weapons, prostitution, underhanded trading, slavery, and, unfortunately, children.”

  “The Child Snatcher Scandal…” Boras caught on.

  “Which leads to after Arcos and I sprang out.” Torrance looked at Arcos pointedly. “Arcos, when you met Tilda, she was on the hunt for one of the gatherings who had a child she stole. After you and she returned the girl to her parents, Tilda and I tore apart the trafficking ring, saved the children stored there, and burnt the warehouse to the ground. But not before Tilda had swiped the ledgers and documents from the dead smugglers. I was not certain what she had planned to do with those papers, but I would assume by what transpired next. She went to Volstag Moneylender.”

  “Moneylender?” Boras laughed. “Okay, that’s a worse surname. I suddenly don’t feel so bad now.”

  “Granted, I had a good laugh when I heard about him.” Torrance smiled. “But that man earned the surname. Being a loan shark, he must have seen the profit to be made from having such valuable information.”

  “Let me guess, he went straight to this Victor Sade you mentioned.” Reeva assumed.

  “You’re a good sharp one.” Torrance noted.

  “I listen well, and sometimes I need to listen for these two as well.” Reeva smirked, giving both boys a flick on their shoulders. Boras gave her a narrow-eyed glance.

  “And Volstag did go to Victor…” Torrance mimicked a bird in flight with one hand.

  “I was told he practically ran to Victor with that bulging bag of papers and books. You see, Victor and Volstag have an understanding, one that hampers the Waywards to this day. But I’ll get there in a moment.

  With that information at his disposal, Victor put in anonymous tips to all the Lawgivers branches in the city and beyond, got his people all over Fennaposia to point accusatory fingers at the people involved with the stealing, selling, and exploitation of the children.

  My Gods… if you saw the chaos that week had… the streets weren’t fit to be on. People dragged out by their feet, hands, and hair… Mobs of enraged families demanding their children be returned to them. There were a lot of murders too. Crimes of passion… Hells, I didn’t leave this place for all that time. With Maraby, some of the Waywards and myself, we barred the front doors and waited with our knives and swords.

  We watched that door, waiting for it to be kicked in and stormed by a troop of Lawgivers and Fists or some angry mob. No one came, thanks the Gods.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  But we listened all around us as doors were kicked in, shouts were made, and arrests secured as dozens of perpetrators were named in the ledgers Victor had. In one week, he had taken down nearly half of the gatherings in the city who even had a hand in the child scandal. Even one of the leading gangs was taken down, which was the very one the Mercury gathering served under. Merchants, officers, landlords, nobles… it just kept on going. People were arrested, fired, thrown out, exiled, imprisoned, and some were even executed by hanging. Can you imagine? With one week and a couple of books and papers, a small-time criminal called Victor Sade upended the entire underworld. And he didn’t even pick up a knife to do it.”

  “And he sidled in to take over.” Reeva nodded. “Clever.”

  “But what does this have to do with you and the Waywards?” Boras pushed. “Sounds like you wouldn’t have allowed that shit anywhere near this place.”

  Torrance pointed at Boras. “Right you are. But I wasn’t here for a period of time.”

  “He was stuck in the Salt Pit for six months.” Arcos spoke whilst looking at the fire.

  “A lot of stuff can happen in half a year.” Torrance rubbed the side of his head. “I came back, not too soon before the whole scandal properly kicked off. You see, I had left a person in charge to take over in case I got myself captured, killed, or otherwise indisposed. His name was Carter. I trusted him to keep the Waywards on a good path. I trusted him to do the right thing. But… Carter started to figure that not enough money was being made from just guarding merchant caravans from bandits and wild animals. There being no wars to actually fight, it can get rather dull as a mercenary… I suppose I couldn’t blame him for looking for other ventures. He decided to invest some of the Waywards to act as guards for the smugglers. I did not know this till after killing the men at the warehouse I burnt down. He also borrowed money from the Mercury Gathering to invest in more weapons and expand their trade into racketeering for the gangs. A substantial amount of money. If I were there, I wouldn’t have allowed that either.

  After I learned all of this, I returned here to find this place transformed into an absolute pigsty. All filled with thieves, dealers, smugglers and unlikable sorts. Trust me, you would not have liked them. After chatting with Maraby and some of the Waywards I recognised and trusted, I was told that Carter had spread the word I had died in the Salt Pit Revolt. Which gave him more power to use in his rule.

  So, it was just a simple matter of rounding up the people that we trusted to not stab us in the back later onwards and beginning taking The Four Claws Tavern back that very night. What a fight… Chairs breaking over backs and heads, knives being flung and shouts and curses… Makes you appreciate being alive. Anyways… I found Carter in the mashing of bodies and limbs, killed him for his lies and betrayal and that was that. Took back control of the company, but the damage was done. The scandal kicked off, the curfews were put in place, so we were stuck. And all the remaining job opportunities for this company dried up instantly because we have ties to the scandal and Carter borrowed too much money from Volstag and in turn Victor. So the Waywards are at the Mercury Gang’s beck and call ever since, stuck in a debt we cannot hope to pay back. To sum it all up, we are truly buggered.”

  Torrance sat back in his chair with hands in his pockets and a ‘well, what can you do?’ expression plastered on his face.

  Reeva and Boras were leaning on the table, listening and thinking. Boras exchanged looks with her. “But, if we could convince them…” Boras started but stopped mid-thought. “No, they wouldn’t just forget the debt, would they?”

  “We can’t just go at it with what we have though. What are we, twenty right now? No… We need more fighters.” Reeva insisted. “Maybe I could go back to Silverstreak? Or to the Children? I could ask for their help. Surely Sister Valari and Archibald could do something? They’d listen to me.”

  Torrance smiled to himself. “Ah, Val and Archie. That brings me back! Good to hear that the old goat is still alive and kicking around. But they won’t be any help. Valari is devoted to the Guild, and Archie is too old to ride a horse, let alone fight. And the Elders will never let those two leave if they could. They are assets that the Guild cannot afford to lose.”

  “And Elder Lowan?” Reeva added. “He was the one who pointed us your way. Why would he send us to you if he knew that you wouldn’t be able to help?”

  Torrance shrugged. “That man’s an enigma inside a Tashiishan Rubik’s Cube. If I knew what he knew, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “The way I see it…” Arcos spoke. He turned to the three at the table and looked at Torrance. “We go to the source of the problem. Lowan knew we’d run into this debt issue. So he’d expect us to ask you aid in helping us, and in turn, we find a way to help you find a solution.”

  “So what’re you saying?” Boras asked with an incredulous look. He had a sinking feeling that Arcos would come up with yet another wild plan. “We just saunter up to the Mercuries and ask them to piss off? Threaten them?”

  Arcos looked at Boras and at Reeva. “If we ask them to forget the debt, they’ll laugh in our faces and get rid of us. If we go back to the Guild, as Apostates because that is what we are right now, we’ll be ignored and certainly killed. Either way, that’s time wasted. And the more time we waste here, the more likely Markus will sell off the Silverstreakers, and we lose them all forever.

  So what we should do is go to them, introduce ourselves as allies of the Waywards and representatives of a rival mercenary guild. We seek to abolish the debt the Waywards owe and get the chain off Torrance’s neck so he can get to recruiting more fighters to bolster our ranks.

  After accomplishing whatever is needed to get that debt absolved, we can attack the fortress.”

  Arcos waited for a response. The other three Apostates looked back at him with appraising looks. Reeva and Boras were surprised, and Torrance was smiling.

  “You know, when you’re not a hothead,” Boras said, “you come up with pretty good plans.”

  “It could work.” Reeva nodded slowly. “It could. But we have to be very convincing.”

  “As long as Torrance gets us in, we take it from there.” Arcos nodded. “Hopefully, they won’t be aware of our true intentions. Torrance, can you get us an introduction with Sade?”

  Torrance’s smile widened, revealing his clean teeth. “Certainly. But firstly, let me show you your rooms. Best to get some beauty sleep. Respectfully, you all look like dogshit. Victor Sade is a man who appreciates good-looking guests.”

  ???

  The following morning, Doctor Nathaniel Hacker kept his small tincture of smelling waters close at hand as he pulled his small wagon to a halt outside the shut portcullis and gate of the Hunter Fortress. It was an imposing structure.

  The wall reached a good forty feet in height and reached around the vast area till it stopped and ran along the cliff that the Fortress was originally built on top of. In the past, it had been built as a worthy defence against encroaching pirates seeking to attack Fennaposia from the sea. The Eastern Coast of Dargania was well-known for its high cliffs and very few inclining beaches. Such was the case that various fortresses were established all along the coast, both north and south of the capital. Each of the fortresses was equipped with turrets, divots for archers to fire out of, and very, very thick walls. Of course, the Bodyhunters would take the largest of the fortresses. And Hacker was called out to them, once again, to inspect the ‘stock’, as Baron Markus called them. Hacker much preferred to call them people.

  The smelling tincture would be invaluable when he performed his inspection. The slaves were always kept in the cells beneath the keep, built to house prisoners and enemies of the Royal Family. Now their use was a far more viler practice. The stench that Hacker expected in those dark chambers would be foul.

  Not too far away, Hacker could hear the lashing of the waves against the coast and the call of seagulls. The salty scent briskly whipped against his nostrils. It was a pleasing scent.

  He inhaled it fully, savouring it and knowing it would be the last pleasant scent he would have for an extensive period of time.

  And as he stopped his wagon, an unseen bell was rung on the gate’s battlements. The gate and portcullis opened just wide enough for him to pass through and under. Sure enough, he grabbed his tincture and snorted a hefty waft of his tincture’s peppermint and juniper mix to combat the initial stench of horse manure, sweat, smoke, and wrought steel. This was also a slightly unpleasant smell to endure, but endure he must.

  The main courtyard was alive as ever with activity. Bodyhunters were training hard as always, fighting one another in duels that would no doubt be resolved with brutal injury as per Markus’s instruction, which Hacker or another of his trade would be called upon to rectify if the injured person could be saved.

  One such Bodyhunter awaited him with a silent stare. Hacker recognised the snow-white hair and the slightly pallid skin instantly.

  “Ah…” Hacker said, adjusting his spectacles on his hooked nose. “Darius. Lovely to see you.”

  “Likewise, Doctor.” Darius replied.

  Hacker smiled. It was heartening to hear Darius speak more readily. In the past, Hacker would be lucky to get more than ten words out of the frightfully taciturn man during any given conversation. The Bodyhunters were trained to kill off their emotions to guard them against the work they committed. So imagine talking with one. The conversations would be truly one-sided. Hacker found their whole ethos and livelihood unpleasant and wished that these men and women did not have to be forced to hunt and capture other people for profit.

  But Darius was different from the rest, at least in some areas. He had thoughts, opinions, and would— at very infrequent intervals— express them to Hacker in the few words he could utter. Hacker therefore made it his mission to help bring this broken man back to life. Thank the Gods that Baron Markus knew none of this. Baron Markus would not approve and would sooner execute Darius and Hacker himself than suffer any unforeseen consequences from an inconvenient friendship.

  “I suppose Baron Markus wants me for yet another examination.” Hacker clambered down carefully from his wagon.

  “Yes, and more.” Darius said with a small nod.

  “Oh? Well, lead the way, good sir.” Hacker took a hold of his leather bag of equipment and followed the tall and ill-looking man into the keep of the Fortress. He took another hard sniff of his tincture.

  The hallways of the Markus’s keep were stone walls, with carpets lining the floors throughout. Oil lanterns hung from the ceiling and on torches along the walls, giving a deep yellow-orange hue to the inner parts of the hallways. Various rooms housed the Bodyhunters and some of the Fist that Markus borrowed from Baron Fosto, the Warmaster of the Barons.

  At one point, Darius led Hacker through the main mess hall where the men and women ate during their time off from work. As of now, only a couple of Bodyhunters sat at various places in the room. There wasn’t much conversation between them; the only sounds made were the clinking of cutlery and the consumption of meals. It was a rather sizeable room, but they quickly crossed with ease.

  Hacker glanced up at the wooden balcony that ran a complete circuit around the room. No doubt, Baron Markus would stand there to survey his troops. He truly did not let anything escape his notice.

  Back in the hallways, Hacker was brought to the stone steps that descended down into the darker parts of the keep. This was where he had his tincture at hand for most of his time. The smells of the cells grew thicker as they neared.

  They reached a shut door of wood with an iron-grated window. Darius pulled out a ring of keys from his belt and unlocked it. Heading inside, Hacker was made very aware that Markus had been very busy. The iron-barred cells ran on both sides of a lengthy corridor that turned both left and right. Normally, on a day that he did not wish to recall so readily, the cells would hold a couple of people each. Not this time.

  This time there were at least nine to ten people in each and every cell. Men, women, and children, some in rags and others in fresh clothes, all crammed in and silent. They looked up with frightened eyes as Darius’s form showed itself. They moved as one, shuffling as much as possible to stay away from him. Hacker had to tear his gaze away from a pair of emaciated children’s eyes that looked at him with woeful despair. The fish oil lantern that dangled in a haphazard line along the path revealed all this terrible visage in startling detail. Hacker raised his tincture and took another hard sniff to drive away the stench of human sweat and fear. Oh yes, fear took on a scent with this many terrified souls in one place. It was musty and tangy, like dried urine. Most likely, it was dried urine and other worst things.

  “Good Gods…” Hacker uttered. “So many now…”

  “The Baron has a new quota. More slaves needed since the Salt Pit Revolt,” Darius remarked as he slowly made his way through the prison. Hacker followed, with more urgency to leave as soon as he was done.

  “Gods, Darius… This is too much. He must have… How many villages did you pass through on your journey?”

  Darius took a moment to think. “Maybe five. Maybe six. I lost count.”

  “Are they even criminals? I mean, there are children here.”

  “The Baron’s taking them now, ‘cause they deter future defiance. His words.”

  “But… but that will only drive people to anger, not quell them. What is Markus thinking?” Darius did not respond. He continued walking.

  Not to be deterred, Hacker pushed for more answers. “There’s a rumour spreading around the city. Markus went to Silverstreak, the mining town that rebelled. He did something bad. Something very bad. Please tell me what I’ve heard isn’t the case.”

  Darius halted his steps and looked to Hacker with an expression that Hacker could not truly define. But there was a hint of… of sadness in the Bodyhunter’s eyes. A hint of regret.

  Hacker staggered back, a hand raising to his mouth. “By the love of the Gods… He did. He really did it. That really happened. How many did he hang?”

  Darius didn’t speak.

  “For the gods' sake, how many, Darius?”

  “A third of the town.”

  Hacker stared at him. “A third. A third?”

  “To be made examples of. We took in a third and left the rest to work.”

  “Do not tell me he hanged children.”

  “He did.”

  “Gods above…” Hacker rubbed his face. “How could… How could you stand by and let him do that?”

  Darius tightened his jaw. “You know why, doctor.”

  Hacker closed his eyes, bringing in his appalled reaction back. “Of course. Of course. I know you didn’t have a choice. It’s just… A third of them… Those poor, poor wretches…… Do you understand that the Barons will not allow this to go on unanswered? That is not peacekeeping.”

  Darius shrugged slightly with a resigned stare. “What do you expect of me…?”

  Hacker sighed, seeing that he was trying his friend’s patience. “I’m sorry, Darius. Again, I know you can do nothing about it. Anyway, carry on, Darius. Sorry for holding you up.”

  Darius nodded and headed onwards with Hacker in tow.

  They moved onwards, passing more filled cells of desperation and hopelessness. Hacker did all he could not to look into the broken eyes of the doomed. It was all he could to stop the well of shame and pain from overriding his heart. Here he was, walking through the cells with freedom. Flagrantly displaying his safety to those with none. And after this was done, he would leave and live his life, forgetting the slaves that suffered in silence. He would be attending luncheons with fellow surgeons and doctors at the university or the hospital later on, eating food prepped and served by slaves. Hacker shut his eyes, willing those thoughts away. If he continued thinking of it in such a way, he might go mad. There was a reason that Markus, the other Barons, and the rest of the city’s people referred to the slaves as objects. It made it easier to use and abuse them. Hacker just couldn’t bring himself to live with that mentality.

  Slaves were people. They lived. They breathed. They loved. They died.

  At last, Darius brought Hacker to the furthest end of the cells where the smells of the slaves were not as putrid. The sign that these were special cells for selling at a moment’s notice or that they were newly acquired— or stolen, as Hacker would dangerously state. The cells were filled with people, much like the others before, and there were a lot of children in these cells. More so than men and women. The children were pushed back from the bars as Darius and Hacker entered.

  “These…” Hacker assumed. “These must be the Silverstreakers, yes?”

  Darius nodded. But he stopped and pointed. Hacker looked ahead and found that they were not alone.

  Waiting for them on a wooden stool and polishing her crossbow vambrace with an eerie intent was Bodyhunter Hildur Blackheart.

  She was crossed-legged, watching the prisoners with a strange stare. She was like a cat who had found a nest of blind baby birds. Hacker found Hildur to be utterly dislikable. She seemed to enjoy the hunt and her profession too much. This was not a profession to be enjoyed in any scenario. The fact that she did gave Hacker all the red flags he needed. She spoke merrily, more so than her compatriots, which made her all the more unnerving to interact with. And there were also her eyes. They were a dark shade of brown, like rotted wood. She held an unnerving intelligence in those eyes of hers. And when she chose not to speak, she would listen and learn and wait with a hunter’s intense patience. Judging by Darius’ hardened expression, Hacker knew Darius did not enjoy her company any more than he did.

  Hildur glanced over to them and smiled sweetly as she loosened her crossbow string. “Hello, Doctor.”

  She did not stand up in respect for Hacker; she only gestured lazily towards the cells and then tapped the pocket watch hanging from her coat’s inner pocket.

  “What are you waiting for?” She asked with an extremely subtle tinge of steel in her tongue.

  “Yes, yes. I’ll begin now.” Hacker saved off her silent remark and stepped forward to the first gate.

  “Hello.” He spoke to the prisoners in the cell with as much kindness as possible without it sounding insincere. “I’m Doctor Nathaniel Hacker. I’m here to give you a quick health checkup, just to ensure none of you are ill.”

  The prisoners looked back at him in silence. What else could they do?

  Hacker cleared his throat. “I would like to go through each cell. Children, women, then men in that order. It will take some time, so may I ask you all to form a semblance of a line. Darius?”

  Darius pulled out his keys and approached the cell nearest to them. He gave a short glare to the occupants inside to back away from the cell door. They did so with immediacy. Darius opened the cell and beckoned to the children in the centre.

  Hildur snapped her fingers, drawing everyone’s attention. She pointed silently at her crossbow and pointed at all the men and women. A warning to stay put.

  Darius beckoned again. But Hacker stepped in between him and the cell door. Hacker knelt down and smiled. “You don’t need to leave the cell. Just come stand at the door and I’ll take a look at you here.”

  Finally, a small girl gingerly stepped forth. She approached Hacker and Hacker took her shaking hands carefully and gripped them warmly. “There now. Now let me see you.” With his bag set down and opened, Hacker used various tools to get the information he needed. The girl’s heartbeat, eyesight, hearing. Very substandard checks, but for a preliminary round, it was enough and he had a lot of people to go through.

  When he was done, he sent back the girl and welcomed the next.

  One by one, he checked the people of the cell. When that was done, he turned to the next cell opposite them and checked them through too. It was at the third cell, which he encountered a taller woman. She wore an opulent dress with a haggard look of travel. She was older than most of the women Hacker had seen, but she beheld an unbroken spirit. Hacker stepped back as she stepped up to him. Judging by her tattoos and dress-style, he figured she was a Nightwoman. Perhaps the leader of the Nightpeople he had seen throughout these six cells.

  “Hello.” He uttered with certain reverence that she inspired in him. “Shall we?”

  “If you must.” She hissed.

  “O- Okay.” Hacker checked her over. But he faltered when he saw her hand. And the black blemish on her palm. “Oh. You’re Marked.” He said with surprise.

  “Yes.” The woman affirmed. “What of it?”

  “Oh, it’s only that… I have never actually spoken with one of your kind before.”

  “What does that mean, ‘my kind’? I’m human like you, am I not?”

  “Yes. Yes, that is true. Apologies.”

  He resumed checking her over. Finding nothing wrong, he thanked her.

  “Just one question.” He asked the woman before she stepped back into her cell. “What is it?”

  “What is your Mark’s gift? I have a colleague of mine who is an avid student of the history of Marks.”

  The woman gave him a witheringly silent look before returning to her people. Hacker sighed before resuming the check-ups. Clearly a sore subject for her. He would have to find out from Darius, but in good time.

  After completing his work and seeing no issues arise, which was made a tad fraught with the examining of a rather large and muscular man named Barnabas who was clearly not pleased being treated like a market ox, Hacker sincerely thanked the newest prisoners for their patience and followed Hildur and Darius out of the Silverstreak section in reflective silence.

  Passing back through the hallways and the rooms of the keep was quicker as always. Darius did not enjoy having his only non-Bodyhunter friend in this place as equally as Hacker himself did. Upon reaching the courtyard, Hildur split away from them with another sweet smile that made Hacker’s skin crawl. That woman had no soul. Hacker sometimes wished that she suffered a fatal accident.

  Hacker turned to Darius and shook his hand. He made a point of doing that every time he parted ways with Darius. It was to remind Darius that he was human.

  “I’m human like you, am I not?”

  Hacker flinched at the comment that woman made. She was right. She wasn’t born into slavery, much like the countless Darganians pressed into service. Hacker wished he could say something to the right people to change things. Or do something that could help. But what would be the point? He couldn’t do anything to provoke real change. He was just a doctor, in constant service to Markus.

  A prickle on his neck told him that they were both being watched. Hacker turned and instinctively looked at the battlements of the outer wall.

  Standing there, watching them, was Markus.

  He was a vulture of a man, tall and leering. His hands clasped that silver-topped cane of his as his sunglasses shone against the morning sun. Hacker wasn’t fooled. He knew very well what was behind those glasses. The eyes of something inhuman. Hacker was asked, like all the doctors in Fennaposia, for the cause of the Baron’s abnormal heterochromia . But no one found a credible reason to explain it. It was just what it was… That unnerved Hacker. Something that couldn’t be explained in a man that couldn't be human in his vile ways.

  Baron Markus raised a hand and waved once, slowly. Hacker wisely waved back respectfully.

  “Best you get going, Doctor.” Darius warned. And quite right too. That wave was a gentle warning, that Hacker was outstaying his welcome.

  “Indeed.” Hacker hoisted himself up onto his wagon’s seat and took up his reins. Darius took a hold of the horse and guided the beast around the courtyard to aim for the gateway that opened for Hacker. Hacker looked down at the Bodyhunter looking up at him.

  “Please, don’t get lost in here.” Hacker implored Darius. “Think of your future. You have a lot to live for.”

  “You know that is impossible for me.” Darius patted the horse’s rear and sent off Hacker’s wagon. Hacker trundled away, leaving Darius behind.

  The gate and portcullis closed behind Hacker with a shuddering clang and thud. He glanced over his shoulder at the Fortress, seeing the guards watching him leave. And there he was again, Markus. Standing there in silence, watching Hacker leave. With each visit, Hacker felt less and less welcome there. Like he was trespassing onto a land that was too wrong for his ilk. And it was an unpleasant feeling. To feel daggers being stared into his back at every waking second spent there. Hacker wondered if it was for the best that he did not return to the Fortress the next time Markus requested another doctor’s examination.

  But to refuse a Baron, especially now with all the residual chaos and paranoia in the city and the country… it would be signing a death warrant. And Hacker very much enjoyed living his life. He didn’t wish to be woken rudely in the night, like so many before him, by a gang of thugs that would drag him away to the slave pits and never be heard from again.

  I’m human like you, am I not?

  Hacker sighed through his teeth. Gods… He needed a break. Once his work at the hospital was done and he could finally pay Malta Catcher for her most recent haul of cadavers, he knew the best place to go for a hearty meal with a stiff drink to drown his sorrows of the world and for a single moment, forget the unpleasant situation he was stuck in.

  “Oh well…” Hacker said to himself. “It’s not like my life can get any more complicated…”

  It was going to.