BLOODFIRE

Trea was up and dressed when Kal reached the room where she slept above the office.

“So she’s finally taking a look at your private life.” Trea said, pulling hard on a cigarette.

“So it would seem.” Kal replied, half mumbling. The fact that Mercy had went so far as to question Madame Broudeaux disturbed him. Everyone knew that what happened in her brothel never went beyond the bedroom doors. Even the workers there weren’t allowed to gossip about this or that lover they had spent time with. Did Mercy think that she could intimidate Madame Broudeaux?

“Well she certainly took her time getting around to it.” Trea said, sounding rather irritated, “If I was her I wouldn’t have wasted my time stopping your father from giving you your allowance, I’d just expose you for the filthy heathen you are off hand and let it go from there.”

Kal looked at her startled, “Well, gee, thanks. Remind me to never make you an enemy.”

“You’re just now figuring out that it would be a bad idea? You’re as slow as your sister.”

Kal yanked a cigarette from a brass case he pulled from his pocket, and put it in his mouth, not once reaching for his long filter. Trea raised an eyebrow as he lit it and pulled so hard on the butt that he burned half of it before removing it to exhale. He was mad. Mercy had pulled underhanded stunts before, always in an effort to discredit her brother as a capable heir, but never had she gone so far as to delve into his private life. A man’s private life had nothing to do with how he ran a business. So long as he wasn’t being extorted or somehow manipulated by an outside force who he slept with and where he drank had no bearing in his business.

Kal picked up the phone and began dialing a number.

“Who are you calling at this hour?” The clock had just chimed half past one a.m.

“A former client who owes me a favor.”

“Which one is that?”

“The one that got you put in jail.”

It was forty-five minutes later when Trea and Kal met with their client in the office of a dock-house. Behind the desk sat a dirty, unshaven, balding man who looked like he belonged scrubbing sewers more than officiating over dock business.

“You’re bounty hunters. What do you need me for?” He asked, seeming rather peeved to have been awakened at such an hour.

“Because I nearly went to jail for your greedy ass.” Trea shot back, staring him down the way one does an aggressive dog.

The man rolled his eyes, “Hazards of the job lady. Get over it.” As the words passed his lips, something sharp burned past his temple, taking a thin layer of skin with it. In the wood paneled wall behind him, a long thin needle wobbled away the last of its momentum. He stared at Trea in shock as the wound began to weep tiny dots of blood.

“Next time I won’t miss.” Kal said. Trea raised an eyebrow, when had he learned that little trick? The dirty man’s eyes doubled in size when he realise Kal had thrown the needle.

“What do you need, Kalwren?” He finally said after several minutes of speechlessness.

“Find out what my sister wants. Why she is asking around about my personal life. Keep an eye on her visitors and make sure no one is following Trea or I.”

Trea looked at Kal, “Why would she have me followed? I don’t go anywhere, don’t do anything and don’t know anyone.”

“You’re an unknown variable to her. She’ll want to know everything she can about you. Right down to who your parents are.”

“I don’t have parents.”

“Even so, she’ll find out, or at least try to.” Kal turned to leave, leaving both Trea and the man completely puzzled.

The man looked at Trea, “What the hell have we walked in on?”

Trea just shrugged, and before she could reply Kal called out, “Are you coming or are you just going to stand there gaping?” Trea and the man traded glances, the man gave her a helpless shake of the head and she walked out the door behind a Kalwren Meadowhart she didn’t recognize.

Sitting next to Kal in the auto, Trea attempted to gel the Kalwren she had known all this time with the one who had walked out of the dock-house. “Where did you learn to do that?” She asked finally.

Kalwren never took his eyes off the road as the dead, grey trees flew by, his countenance was just as hard and fixed as it had been when they first left. “I had been in the military for some time. I was sent to covert ops. I learned to throw needles from a Dragon Master from the Eastern Kingdom of the Desert Region’s Fourth Empire. They are easier to carry than knives and they look so flimsy no one would take them as a serious weapon anyway. It takes a very special hand to master it. I’m one of three in the entire history of covert operations to master it with such proficiency, and the fastest.”

Trea was now completely confused. “Who in the hell are you?”

Kalwren looked at her. His face softened into a smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “I’m more complicated than I let on. Sorry for lying. I had hoped to put things behind me, but meeting you, starting the business, and now Mercy’s meddling…if I don’t nip it in the bud now it may become very ugly very quickly. No one can win this one.” His smile remained, but it seemed sadder. The sadness reached his eyes.

“You realise you’re going to have to tell me everything, don’t you. I need to know what I’m dealing with and how deep a pile of dung I’ve put my foot into.”

“Deal. But tomorrow. I’m exhausted. Mind if I sleep on your couch? If I go home I may murder my sister in her sleep, then I really would be out of my inheritance.”

Trea nodded, then asked, “Why do you care about the inheritance? You barely care about the business you started.”

“I don’t care about the family business. I’d rather not even take it, but I can’t deny it, Father won’t allow it. The plan was that once I was put into power at the head of the company, I would bring Mercy on and slowly give her more responsibilities until she had basically taken over. I’d be owner in name, but she would run it.”

“Did you tell her that?”

“Tried to. She said she didn’t want some pittance from me to ease my conscience. I could barely even explain the whole thing to her before she started yelling. I gave up after the second time. She seems to want to blame me for everything she went through, as though it were all my fault.”

“So what are you afraid of her finding out?”

“There are things I have done, things I was ordered to do, that I take no pride in. Things that I’d rather remain buried, now that I’ve finally moved beyond them.”

Trea nodded. For once, she completely understood.

Revelations

“It’s been some time.” The old man said, neither looking up from his tea nor turning to see who was behind him.

“Quite.”

“I assume you are here about our friend.”

“Indeed.”

“And how is she faring these days?”

“Hurt. Angry.”

“As should be expected.”

“Of course.”

“You found her?”

“She found me.”

“After all this time? Interesting.”

“It is time she learned. She needs to know.”

“And you believe I am the one to teach her?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You are the eldest of them all. More importantly, you are her blood relative. Only you can teach her.”

The old man lifted his head. “Indeed.”

“Master?” a voice called from the other side of Kalwren’s closed eyes, “Is everything alright?”

“Of course, dear. Why do you ask?”

“You seem so distant lately. I was beginning to wonder if, maybe, you are no longer pleased with me.”

Kalwren chuckled, “If I wasn’t pleased with you, I wouldn’t be here now, would I?”

“No. I guess not.” The voice paused, wanting to say more, but not sure.

“What is it love? What are you thinking now?”

“I’m not sure if I should say, but…a representative for your sister came here yesterday.”

This made Kalwren open his eyes. Mercy was on a mission to destroy him, as though it were his fault that he was the only boy and their father was still so old fashioned. She had started to snoop on what he did in his down time. “How did you know it was one of my sister’s people?”

“All they asked about was you. The Madame would not tell them anything. But…I was thinking…” Another heavy pause.

“Yes?”

“It may be better if you stayed out of the backrooms, visited some of the others here for a while. To protect yourself from whatever it is your sister has planned.”

Kalwren put an arm around the bare waist of his lover and placed kisses on his shoulders, “How odd, you’re actually concerned about me.”

“I’m sorry if it’s inappropriate for me to suggest.” The boy turned away from Kalwren’s gaze.

“No. Not inappropriate at all.” Kalwren chuckled, “You’re actually quite right though. Until I know what it is that Mercy is up to, it may be best for me to stay away from the brothel all together.” He checked his pocket watch, nearly one in the morning. “I should be on my way.”

“Will this be the last time I see you?”

“For a while,” Kalwren responded, placing his hand on the boy’s cheek and giving him a reassuring smile, “once I know what Mercy has up her sleeve, I’ll be back when it’s safe.” Kalwren quickly dressed and left the room.

At the front of the brothel he picked up a phone and dialed the number ot the office. Trea answered, her voice thick with sleep, “Wake up. Things are getting serious. I think she’s planning to make a move against me.” He paused, “And maybe you also.”

Old problems rise anew 

George was fairly irritated by time the doorbell rang for the fourth time. Where were those guards? Why hadn’t they come to announce there was a guest? And what rude cad would ring a doorbell four, now five, times in the span of a few minutes?

He opened the door and attempted to hide the shock he felt. On the other side of the threshold stood a woman with a deathly grey complexion and posture that reminded him of a vulture. Her back was humped and her head hung low between her shoulders. She wasn’t old, but by no means was she young either. Rather than lifting her head to look at him, she simply rolled her eyes upwards, staring from beneath her hairless brow. She lifted her arms; in each hand was a guard, both unconscious but still breathing.

“These belong to you?” she rasped. It was a rhetorical question, they both knew that. Still she seemed to take some pleasure in asking anyway. She smiled a gruesome smile that made George’s stomach lurch.

“What is your business here? Do you have an appointment?” George said, attempting to maintain his professional composure even as she dropped the two men on the doorstep.

“She is my guest George.” A voice from behind him called.

George turned around, “Miss Mercy?” There was no need for him to even finish the question. Everything was understood in his tone.

“I’m sorry I didn’t inform you ahead of time,” Mercy said as she came down the stairs at the front of the entrance hall, “I wasn’t certain what time my guest was going to arrive. I thought she was going to phone first.” That comment was directed at the grey vulture woman, who remained smiling.

Despite her name, Mercy held nothing of the sort in her person. She had always been cold and calculated. Even her father had often remarked that, had she been born a male, he would certainly pass Kalwren’s birthright to her.

The maids blamed it on the way she had been treated. Though he was several years older, Kalwren had been babied and coddled his whole life. He was the last living heir to the Meadowhart estate. Everything he wanted for, he got. Mercy, on the other hand, was not afforded such luxury. She was pushed and scolded for even the slightest misstep. At fourteen, her mother put her into a corset, telling her that fat girls don’t marry well. Mercy could barely even be described as chubby at that age. A stiff bar had been strapped to her back at fifteen to, as her mother put it, “Perfect her posture. Hunch backs don’t marry well.” It was no surprise that, when her mother died in a riding accident a year later, Mercy barely seemed to flinch.

The grey woman dropped the two guards just inside the door and followed Mercy into the study. Mercy closed and locked the doors behind them. She motioned for the grey woman to sit.

“You were supposed to phone before coming by.” She said.

“I know.” The grey woman replied, still wearing her disturbing grin. “I got caught up in some…things.”

Mercy sighed. “George is one of my family’s most trusted servants, but he is not above reporting suspicious behavior to my father. You can not simply go around knocking guards unconscious and dropping them on our doorstep. Father must not hear of any of this. George will over look this once, because I intervened. Next time he will go straight to Father. If that should happen, I will certainly be your last client.”

The grey woman’s smile broadened, there was an amused look in her eye. “It may not be so wise to threaten one like me,” she said, “I am no ordinary hunter. My skills, my powers, are beyond your comprehension. I have not survived as long as I have by allowing simple humans like yourself threaten me.” The woman sat up straight, the joints in her back and neck cracking along the way. Her eyes, once black, became a silvery grey and a hint of color returned to her skin. She rolled her head in a circle, working the kinks out of her neck, then stood. She had gained a good half meter in just a matter of moments.

“Now, tell me about this woman your brother is working with.” Her smile was no longer gruesome, but looked no less dangerous than before.

Mercy was unfazed, she shrugged, “Not much to describe really. Tall, slender, golden skin tone, long dark hair, grey eyes.”

The hunter cocked her head a bit, “Like mine?”

Mercy thought for a moment, “No, slightly…not lighter, but…” she searched for the right word, “clearer.”

The hunter nodded. “I see. If she is what I think she is, I may not be able to kill her.”

Mercy shrugged again, “That’s fine. I didn’t hire you to kill. I hired you to follow.”

The woman rolled her eyes, “Well that takes the fun out of everything. Do you have a name?”

“Trea.”

The woman thought for a moment, then nodded again. “What, exactly, is it that you want from me?”

“Information. I hear you’re the best bounty hunter in the area, and I see you can manipulate your appearance, so you may be exactly what I need. She’s a cautious woman. Rather distrustful. No real friends to speak of; none living anyway. I barely believe she actually trusts my brother, I can’t help but to think she is just looking for an income and a place to stay.” Mercy pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to the woman, “This is the address to the office. She sleeps there most nights.”

“And the others?”

“Couldn’t tell you. She’s fast, even on foot.” She looked at her guest curiously, “What do I call you?”

“My name couldn’t fit on your tongue,” the woman chuckled, “but, for now, Nereza will do.”

 A house divided

When they arrived back at his apartment, he pointed to a chair for her to sit in and poured them both a cup of beer. She turned away when he handed her the cup.

“What? What’s wrong with this?”

“I don’t drink beer.” She replied flatly.

Aindreas shrugged, “Well, I tried to be hospitable.” He placed the cup on a small table, sat in a chair across from Trea and took a sip of his drink before addressing her. “Alright then, what’s this all about? What brings you back to the Court after all these years looking to cut my throat?”

“If I was looking to cut your throat I would have done it a long time ago. I certainly wouldn’t have waited all this time.”

“Ok, you don’t want to kill me, that’s a relief.”

“I never said I didn’t want to kill you. I really see no reason why I shouldn’t, but you won’t be very useful to me dead right now.”

Aindreas raised an eyebrow and chuckled, “Now, why would you want to kill me? I thought we were friends.”

Trea’s eyes grew wide, “Why? WHY? You’re kidding right? You abandoned me! What’s worse, you never even bothered to say goodbye. Just up and gone in the few hours I was doing my chores. All you left was a lousy note, and not once did you even attempt to contact me. Your friendship is a lie.”

This time Aindreas looked away. “I guess I deserve your anger then, don’t I. And I guess you deserve an explanation.” Trea opened her mouth to protest, but Aindreas held up his hand to stop her, “No. You do.” He sighed and then took in a deep breath.

“The day I left I was given two choices: I either pack my things and leave right then, or get court-martialed and watch you get sent to a brothel. Word about our relationship had reached the Lieutenant General, he sent an assistant with those two options. I was not to have any contact with you before I left, I took a risk even leaving you that note. You were considered a prisoner of war, you staying in my quarters was illegal. You should have been locked in a cell where they would have interrogated you and then prepared you to be sold as either a slave or a whore. I couldn’t let them do that to you, you had already been through so much. I figured leaving was best.”

“So you couldn’t send a letter or something? The Captain knew where I was.”

“They wouldn’t even let me contact him for over a month. By time I could, the regiment had been sent back out into the field and the Captain had been comatose for sometime. A wall had fallen on him. He died six months later without ever coming to.”

Trea gasped. She hadn’t known about that. During that time she had locked herself in her room above Marco’s pub, refusing everything except the simplest foods to survive. She had been so depressed that she shut out the world around her. Even when she finally came out her room she refused to discuss anything from her time in the Court or the Desert Region. Marco wouldn’t ask, she wouldn’t volunteer.

“I came back two years ago,” Aindreas continued, “I thought about finding you, but I didn’t know where to even start. All the Captain’s personal affects had been taken to a friend, but they wouldn’t tell me who.” He drew in a deep breath, “I figured you had moved on, so I thought it best that I move on too.”

Trea laced her fingers together, put her hands under her chin and closed her eyes. After a while, she spoke, “I came to get you to do me a favor.”

“And if I say no?”

“I wouldn’t suggest you do so.” This made Aindreas look at her curiously. “The King’s only daughter is about the age I was when we first came here to the Court. Being Captain of the Royal Guard, it is your duty to protect her. I doubt the His Majesty would be pleased to hear that his daughter’s close, personal guard has a taste for young girls.”

Aindreas laughed, “Blackmail?”

“I’d like to think of it as a high-pressure incentive to make up for wronging an old friend.”

“But I just told you, it couldn’t have been helped! I couldn’t contact you!”

Trea shrugged, “Explanations are nice, but they don’t heal hurt feelings. Just because I understand the situation doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

Aindreas straightened up, his face became hard and serious. “Well then, what do you need done?”

“Contact the guard in Entara, tell them to drop the warrant and bounty for my arrest.”

“The guard in Entara are not part of the Royal Guard.”

“I know, but they are your subordinates. If war breaks out and there are not enough soldiers in the Royal Guard, you take from the civilian guard. And even as a Captain you out rank all of them by simply having the Royal Guard insignia.”

Aindreas rubbed his face; she was right. He could send a note to them and the warrant and bounty would disappear into thin air. “Why are you wanted anyway?”

“They think I robbed a jewelry store. I was out there doing a job and happened to be nearby when it was robbed. They are trying to pin it on me because I am a foreigner.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

“Job? What job?”

“That’s for me to know. Are you going to do it or not?”

“What have you gotten yourself into Trea? Why are you so cold now? You used to have such warmth and brightness in you.”

“This is what happens when you’ve been abandoned, rejected, and orphaned three times over.”

This stung Aindreas. “Alright. I will send the official letter in the morning.”

“Thank you.” There was no sincerity in her words. They were flat and hung heavy with obligatory politeness. She got up to leave, and Aindreas grabbed her by the arm, she turned to swing and he caught that arm also.

“You’ve gotten faster.” He said, “But it’s better for me to walk you out. An intruder this time of night is not guaranteed safe passage.” He looked into her eyes for a moment, searching for the girl he had known. He so desperately wanted to kiss her, wanted to take her right then and there, but so much time had passed. He knew nothing about the woman who stood in front of him now. Even a kiss could complicate things further. He released her left arm and walked her through the Court and out the main gates. He watched her as the gates closed; not once did she look back towards him.

MercyNary

Trea came to the Court of the Royal Guard and stopped at it’s outer wall. Cloud cover blocked the large, full moon, and the air smelled like rain. She would have to do this as quickly and quietly as possible. She knew the court like the back of her hand. It was where her life in Ralaugh started, and where she had found her first friend. It had been so long since she had been back. So long since she saw her friend. Her mind spun with memories and emotions.

It had been more than five years earlier when she first arrived at the Court of the Royal Guard. Back then there was a war between the Northern Kingdom of the Plains Region and the Third Empire of the Desert Region. The reasons for it starting were lost to her now, and she was sure they were just as lost to her then. She had only been a child when it started, people simply didn’t discuss such things with children. All she could remember from that day was being dug out from under a fallen wall by Northern Kingdom soldiers. The Third Empire’s armies had either been killed or abandoned the fight when they saw the slaughter that was to befall them if they continued their attack. The Northern Kingdom soldiers were digging through the rubble looking for something, what she didn’t know, but when they found her, legs broken and semiconscious, she remembered one of them yelling out for a medic before she passed out. She was about fourteen then.

Her savior had been a young corporal named Aindreas. He was almost twenty then. Young and handsome with golden hazel eyes and long brown hair. The Desert Region’s sun had tanned his skin, making his eyes seem like they could glow. He had taken her back to the base camp’s medical center. When she had finally come to, Trea couldn’t remember who she was or where her parents were. The Captain commanded Aindreas that she be taken to the small tent that housed several other people from the same, and nearby, villages to find out who her parents were and if they were still alive. As soon as he entered the tents, people ran from her, recoiling in horror. One woman screamed, another hissed to all the others, in their native tongue, “She is a demon. They are trying to curse us!” Trea clung to the Corporal terrified, not entirely sure why people were reacting they way they were, but knowing it was not good. It would not be the last time she had felt like an outcast and a freak. The Corporal, quickly assessing that the girl may well be in danger if they stayed any longer, quickly returned her to the medical center.

Later that night, an elder approached Aindreas. He apologized for the people’s behavior earlier and explained that the girl was unique amongst their people. They called people like her At’Treans, and were gifted with amazing abilities, but many people saw them as children of the Unholy and felt they carried curses that could destroy entire nations if unleashed. At’Trean, he explained, meant “soulless”, referring to their colorless eyes. It was believed the clearer the eye the more powerful the At’Trean. The elder remarked that the girl had to have been protected by her parents for many years, hidden away in rooms and cellars, since many At’Treans did not live to see adolescence. Most were killed before they even reached the age of two; the people believed once they could talk they would be able to unleash whatever curse they carried inside themselves. As he departed, the elder warned the Corporal to keep the girl away from the refugee tents. For her own safety.

By then, though, it was too late. Word spread of the At’Trean amongst the refugees and many confronted the Captain, insisting that he hand her over to be “dealt with properly”. Several times they had attempted to break into her room in the medical center and kill her, only to be stopped by Aindreas everytime.

“SHE HAS SEDUCED HIM!” One woman screamed as she was dragged away from the entrance of the tent that housed the medic, “THE UNHOLY WENCH HAS DARKENED THE SOUL OF YOUR SOLDIER! HE IS AN ENEMY TO ALL MANKIND NOW! HE MUST DIE ALSO! THE DEMON WHORE AND HER CONSORT MUST DIE!“

As the violence escalated, against the girl and against himself, Aindreas sought the councel of his Captain.

“You saved her. You brought her here. You presented to her people only to be rejected. It would seem the Gods have put her fate into your hands. You decide what to do with her. You can protect her or hand her over.”

“But…What do the Gods want me to do?”

“Do I look as though I know the will of the Gods boy?” The Captain chuckled, “If I knew the will of the Gods do you think I’d be here fighting for King and country? Hell no. I’d be safe and secure in a temple as a cleric somewhere.” The Captain shook his head, “No son, this is a decision you must make.”

Several hours later Aindreas requested, and was given, an extra tent near his own to move the girl to.

By this time the only one of the refugees who would still speak with Aindreas was the elder. The elder was a merchant and caravan driver who was said to have lived over a century and outlived over twenty wives. He claimed to have lived in every known region in the world, studying under great scholars and clerics, selling his wares, and learning different languages. Aindreas and the elder spent many hours talking, usually about the girl. The elder taught him several words in the girl’s native language and encouraged the Corporal to teach her the language of the Plains Region.

“You’ll have to take her with you when you leave. She won’t survive here if you leave her behind, not now that the people know she exists.”

“She doesn’t even know her own name. How is she to survive in the Plains?”

“It is up to you to give her a name. You are the only protector she has. She’ll be depending on you to take care of her until she can stand on her own.”

“What sort of name is appropriate for a girl like her?”

The elder shook his head. “Most never get beyond being called At’Trean. The fact that she survived this long without being discovered is nothing short of a miracle.”

“Have you been able to find anything out about her parents?”

He shook his head again. “No. Even if they are here at camp, they will not claim her. Their lives could well be at stake also for hiding her. The people could go so far as to blame this entire war on them not killing their child.” He sighed, “Are we really so barbaric that we destroy what we don’t understand?”

Aindreas looked the old man in his eyes, “I believe we all are.”

A year later Aindreas had named the girl Trean, “soul”, a show of defiance towards the people who rejected her, and taught her Plains language. They had become close friends, she often tended wounds he suffered in battle. They had even been intimate at times, never quite going as far as sex, but often coming close before Aindreas would stop himself. They had also returned to Ralaugh, Aindreas’ regiment was no longer needed in the area though the war continued. He had asked the Captain to bring Trean with them, as her life would be in danger if they didn’t. The Captain warned him that Trean would have to considered a prisoner of war and marked as the property and slave of the regiment. This opened her to being taken by the King himself, sold to a brothel or farm as a slave. He discussed it with Trean that night.

“Which is worse,” she asked, “to live as a slave for a time, or die by the hands of those who hate you without reason? It is true that in the Plains that a slave can buy her freedom, even a whore in a brothel, right? Even if I must bear chains, it would be better than to be left to the mercy of these hateful people.”

She stayed in the Court of the Royal Guard as a servant for three years. Her relationship with Aindreas had deepened, finally leading to her giving herself fully to him several times over the years. She had loved him, and he professed his love to her time and time again. One day it all came crumbling down around her. After finishing her daily duties, she returned to his apartment only to find his things gone and a note on the dresser simply saying, “I am sorry. You are free now.” She waited for him to return for over ten days, never moving from his bed. Finally, it took the Captain to carry her out of the apartment, she had been so weakened from not eating that it was impossible for her to move on her own. It was through the Captain that she met Marco.

Marco…

Over a year had passed and just his name cut like a knife.

Trea steeled herself, took a deep breath and jumped to the top of the wall. From there she could see the entire court. She went through her path in her head for the umpteenth time. She didn’t really need to, she knew the Court like it was her own bedroom. She could walk through there blindfolded and not trip on a single stone. This time, however, she was taking the rooftops. Her soft, suede-bottomed boots barely made a sound as she leapt from apartment to apartment with amazing speed. She finally came to the apartment before the Captains quarters. Through the window she could see Aindreas sitting as his desk, writing. He almost looked exactly the way he did the last time she had seen him nearly six years ago, only hours before he disappeared from her life. She watched him for sometime before he got up and left his quarters for a walk. She pulled the knife from her boot and made her move.

Landing softly behind where he had been standing, she quickly reached around and put the knife to his throat. “That little officer’s insignia on your breast making you slow, Aindreas?” She whispered in his ear

Aindreas smiled, “Hardly, you just make enough noise to wake the dead. I heard someone following me and decided to see who could possibly want to meet me alone in the dark.” He inhaled, “You still smell like spice Trean, not as much as you used to, but being this close to you again I can smell it.”

This made Trea’s mind race between slicing his throat open and embracing him. “Do not call me Trean. I don’t go by that name anymore. I haven’t for years now.”

“Oh? And what name should I call you?”

“Trea.”

“Trea? Alright. Now would you be so kind as to take that knife from my throat so I can tell my subordinates not to kill you.”

Trea looked around, the cloud cover she had relied on earlier made it hard to see if anyone was near.

Aindreas chuckled, “No, you can’t see them. We’ve been training covert soldiers here for the past year. If you did see them, they’d be the last thing you saw before you died.” He made a motion with his head and Trea felt the edge of a blade sting the side of her face. She turned to look and behind her, stuck deep into the wall, was a thin, handle-less throwing blade. A warm, thin line of blood ran down her cheek.

“Shit,” she thought, “he wasn’t lying. I can feel them near by. I didn’t notice before. Shit.” She moved the knife from Aindreas’ neck. He grinned.

“Good. Now let’s return to my quarters and discuss whatever brought you back here like civilized adults.” He grabbed her by the arm the way a father grabs a misbehaving child. Trea was wrong. He had changed. He had become harder. His eyes seemed so much colder, even when he looked at her they didn’t soften they way they used to. Even the aura about him changed. He was much more intimidating. She wanted to pull away from him but knew such a move could lead to the next knife hitting her dead on. She wasn’t going to fool herself, she knew they missed on purpose the first time.

A favor

Trea’s head was pounding, and all the bouncing and shaking that was going on wasn’t helping in the least. She opened her eyes and saw a chubby man sitting across from her. He was wearing a guards uniform. Through the haze that blurred her vision she tried to focus on his badge.

“Not-Not Ralaugh.” She groaned.

The guard across from her chuckled, “So, you’re finally awake eh? I was almost afraid I had killed you. You’re right though, you’re not in Ralaugh. You’re in Entara. Are you wanted in Ralaugh too? I wonder if I can collect both bounties on you.”

“Wanted? Bounty?” Trea still hadn’t quite taken in her situation. She tried to put her hands up to rub her headache away, but found them cuffed. This snapped her back into reality. Her eyes widened and she looked around. She was in the back of a police truck, cuffed. But what had happened? Why was she being arrested? The reason was there, buried in the fog that clouded her mind still, she could just barely make it out. She managed to cup her hands just enough to rest her head and rub her eyes with the heels of her palms. What was she forgetting?

“Yeah, five thousand gold for your arrest. I’d have to say, it was pretty ballsy of you to try to pull off that heist before dark. Even in all that black you stand out.”

Heist? “Shit!” she thought, “Shit! Shit! SHIT!” She remembered now, though a part of her wished she hadn’t. If she couldn’t remember, then she could at least claim she had been coerced into her crimes; not that she expected that would have gotten her any leniency, but it would have been better than nothing.

Since they had opened their security and bounty hunting business over a year ago, things had been slow for Trea and Kalwren. Not that it bothered Kalwren in the least, he was simply biding his time until his father retired and passed the family business on to him. Having clients was not an issue to him, it simply meant less paper work and that he could live with. Things went this way for a while, until Kal’s younger sister, Mercy, put it into their father’s mind that he could use Kalwren’s business as a sort of barometer to measure how well he would do with the family business, and that the best way to judge it was to cut off his monthly allowance that Kal used to keep up with bills. This sent Kal into a panic. To be cut off meant he would eventually go broke, or worse, he’d have to give up his regular indulgences. Kal began accepting any job that was put his way, this included several jewelry heists.

That is how she ended up in cuffs. Kal, ever the coward, had left her at the shop at the first sign of trouble. She probably could have escaped, but the officer that sat across from her now had hit her across the head with a small club. She hadn’t even gotten the merchandise they were after. She knew the job was a bad idea. Hitting the same place twice in a month was just dumb, but Kal insisted that they had to do it for that month’s rent.

“Shit!” she yelled and stomped her foot. Then she heard a distinctive, yet very unexpected, sound. Wood. Splintering wood. She looked at the floor. It was wood. As were the walls of the police truck. Only the roof and doors were metal and they were a thin, cheap metal at that. “God bless the Arch-Duke for being a penny pinching miser of a bastard.” She thought as she began to think of how to get out of this bind. Soon she felt the truck begin to slow and she began doing thankfulness prayers in her head.

The guard banged on the wall separating them from the driver. “What’s going on up there!” He barked.

“Th-There’s an accident of some sort. Everyone’s backed up. I can’t get around.”

“Then back up!”

“I-I can’t…sir. We’re blocked in.”

The guard moved back over to the middle of the bench he was on muttering something about how the goddammed people of this goddammed town needed to show the police some goddammed respect. He looked at Trea, as though just remembering she was there. “We’re gonna be here a while.”

Trea smiled. This was her chance. “Got a smoke?”

The guard looked at her cautiously. “What for?”

“Well we’re gonna be here for a while, I may as well enjoy one last smoke before I get to jail.” Having spent all that time in Marco’s pub, she learned to soften herself enough to seem harmless to any man by watching other women do it. Trea was putting her education to good use as she made an effort to seem complacent about her arrest.

This answer seemed to please the guard enough. He moved over to her side of the truck, pulled out a cigarette, lit it and reached to put it in her mouth. As soon as he was close enough, Trea hit him with a hard headbutt, knocking him out cold. The blow slightly stunned her, but she shook her head and recovered. She stared at the guard and grimaced, “Yeah it sucks when someone sneaks a blow to your head, doesn’t it?” She sucked on the cigarette and frowned even harder, “And your smokes suck.” She dropped the cigarette and stomped it out.

Trea grabbed the keys to her handcuffs and managed to get herself loose, bruising her wrists in the process. She cleared her throat, banged on the front end of the truck the way the guard had and did her best to imitate him. “Hey idiot! Get back here, there’s something wrong with the prisoner.”

“O-OK.” the driver responded.

When Trea heard the driver’s door open and shut, she positioned herself right behind the door. As the driver opened the back doors, she let loose a kick sending him flying back five feet. She hopped out the truck, and looked at the driver. The man couldn’t have been more than 25. “Sorry there chappy, but I seriously doubt you’d have let me just walk out of there.”

Some time after sundown, Trea walked through the door to their office. Kal was at the desk smoking a cigarette through one of his favorite long, ivory filters. Trea rolled her eyes.

“I was expecting you to call. How did you make bail?” Kal asked.

“Bail? I didn’t make bail. I knocked out the guards who arrested me and escaped. No thanks to you. What the hell happened back there? You’re the get away car, that means you want for me before you get away.”

Kal shrugged, “Well I heard the sirens and thought I should probably leave. Our clients weren’t going to bail us out, so it didn’t make sense for both of us to get arrested.”

Trea reached over the desk and lifted Kal by his collar, “If you ever do that again,” she said through clenched teeth, “I will nail you to the bottom of the car, find the bumpiest road I can and drive down it at top speed. Got it?”

Kal was unfazed, he blew the smoke he had in his lungs out the side of his mouth. “Sure, sure,” he said, unrolling Trea’s fingers from his shirt, he frowned when he saw her grip had left wrinkles, “I get it.”

Trea straightened up, sat down in one of the chairs facing Kal and propped her feet on the desk. She lit a cigarette and pulled on it hard. The blast of smoke she let out made her resemble a steam whistle. “So what are you going to tell the clients?”

“That we were not able to finish the job we were hired for.”

“And they’ll just accept that?”

“Mmmm…probably not.”

“So…?”

“So what? You’re the thief, you got caught not me.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten caught if you had let me do it at night like I originally planned.”

“Yes but then that would have interfered with my plans.” Kal whined.

“Your plans? What plans do you have besides going to Ms. Broudeaux’s brothel?”

Kal’s eyes widened, but in a split second he regained his composure, “I planned to meet with some friends.” He said, forcing calm into his voice.

Trea’s lips curled into a cruel smile, “Friends? Really? Which one tonight? Troy? Basil? Or maybe the new boy, Pasquale. You seem to have taken a liking to him. Though I can certainly see why, he is quite beautiful. Young, limber. And that dark hair with those pale blue eyes. He makes a striking image doesn’t he? An angel in the devil’s boudoir.”

Kal began to shake nervously, “What do you know about this?”

Trea’s eyes sparkled like a cat ready to pounce, “Come on now Kal. We’ve been working together for almost two years now, don’t you think that I would have checked on you? Especially since you were in Marco’s pub the night he died. I followed you for weeks before I agreed to be your partner.”

“You thought I killed Marco?!?” Kal’s voice rose and cracked, “How-How could you?”

“Don’t get so upset. I followed everyone who was there that night who may have had a reason to kill him. I even managed to get that loud fellow to stop blubbering long enough to exonerate him. Though the chances of him killing Marco and burning the pub were slim. After they bandaged his arms they had him committed. Apparently they thought the shock of his arms being broken drove him to madness. The guard described me and said he claimed I broke his arms, everyone agreed there was no way I could have done it. When Marco was killed, he was drugged, and in a cell by himself.”

“Even so,” Kal said with a pout, “I am far from the murderous type.”

“Well, I know that now, but I didn’t know back then you were such a coward.”

“Coward! I am no such thing. I’m just…cautious.”

Trea scoffed.

“Anyway, I don’t just keep company with the young men at Ms. Broudeaux’s. I like women too.”

“Oh yes, I know that also. You like them lusciously curvy. And the more exotic the better.”

Kal’s face turned a deep red. He could feel the heat of his embarrassment burning through him. Trea laughed and rolled her eyes.

“I know more about you than you thought, eh? Don’t worry, I have no reason to spill your naughty secrets to the world, and Madame Broudeaux is on your father’s payroll-yes, I know about that too-so she’s certainly not going to say anything.”

Kal sat back in his chair, attempting to regain his composure. He normally kept his cool under all sorts of conditions, but he never expected anyone to know what he did in the backroom of the brothel. The backrooms were saved for the more deviant acts of carnal shame. The things no self-respecting, upright man or woman would admit to doing, but fantasized about often. It was not at all unheard of to find a cleric rushing from the backrooms, muttering blessings and prayers of forgiveness quickly under their breaths, guilt smeared on their face like the incense ashes. If asked they would always use “saving the soul of these hapless sinners” as their go-to excuse for being there.

Madame Broudeaux’s brothel housed some of the most beautiful men and women, of all ages, from all three regions. Some were captured in wartime, others were slaves traded and sold. Madame Broudeaux got the first pick of them all. Having been the King’s concubine before the birth of the Princes and Princess afforded her privilages others could only dream about. Trea was quite right on all points. Madame Broudeaux extorted some of her richer clients to maintain their secrets, and it was said that she kept books with trusted people so that should she ever turn up murdered the wives of all the society elites would know how their husbands fouled their flesh.

Kal inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. His cigarette was near the tip of the ivory filter, so he gingerly plucked it out and extinguished it. His heart had slowed to it’s normal steady beat, his mind had stopped spinning. He looked at Trea, who had started in on her second cigarette. “What are you going to do about the bounty they’re going to put on you for knocking out two guards?”

Trea raised her eyebrows in surprise. It felt like an eternity had passed since she revealed Kal’s secrets, and in that time he became as cool as ever. She pulled the cigarette from her mouth and blew the smoke upwards. “Well, there was already a five thousand gold bounty from the first job.”

Now it was Kal’s turn to look surprised, “So, what are you going to do about it? If we need to go back to Entara we can’t have your face plastered on every wall with a bounty under it.”

“I have a friend. He’ll take care of it.”

“A friend?”

“Yes. A friend. He has some influence.”

“Well if this friend should fall through, I’m certain a bribe to the Arch-Duke will clear things up nicely.”

“Yeah, but the Arch-Duke is a greedy fucker. The police truck was a plain wood cart with some flimsey metal over it. I wouldn’t put it past him to hold that bribe over our heads for as long as he can milk it. Even you Meadowharts don’t have enough to keep him quiet forever.”

Kal stood and threw his heavy cloak over his shoulders. It was autumn and there was a chill in the air. He walked around the desk and past Trea. As he reached for the door he stopped. Without looking back at her he said, “I trust you Trea.” Then he opened the door and left.

A friend

The port city of Ralaugh was usually busy on a Friday night. Ralaugh was where the King’s main palace was, and where he docked his personal and merchant ships; this meant the security at the Ralaugh docks was tighter than in other ports. Which meant even the lowly cabin boys were allowed to disembark and enjoy themselves a pint and the company a woman. This Friday, however, every inn, tavern, pub, and brothel in Ralaugh was filled to the rafters with captains, crewmen, privateers, and fishers from every end of the seaboard and abroad, all of them awaiting the next day when a fleet of new royal ships were to be christened and readied for their crew. The sailors weren’t there for the pomp and ceremony though, they were there for employment. A position on the King’s fleet meant a better pay and pension. If you were lucky enough to get on the royal privateer ships, you even got a cut of whatever looted items the King himself didn’t want.

In Marco’s Pub, the night had gone rather smoothly. Marco, himself a former sailor, knew how to best deal with tired and drunken seamen who were happy to sit around a table with friends, bragging about conquests real and imagined. Marco was a large burly man of middle age, his size alone was intimidating and he rarely needed assistance in dealing with unruly customers, but Marco did not like physical violence. He thought sports like fisticuffs and grappling were barbaric and he often proclaimed loudly, “If God wanted us to act like animals, He would have made us animals!” when the subject of either sport was brought up. He preferred a more civil sword fight, or even guns, over hand to hand combat. This lead him to take on a bouncer, of sorts, for his pub. He hadn’t intended to, but after seeing how one of his regular customers dealt with drunken sailors who seemed to want nothing more than to prove their brute strength, he decided to keep them on as an employee. Now Marco had to call on his hired hand to deal with a very angry, very drunk, and very large customer so bent on violence that he dented the bar in a few places slamming his cup down.

“IS THERE NO ONE IN THIS WEAK TOWN WHO WILL FIGHT ME?!?” The large man roared, quieting the din that had filled the pub. Several men, not wanting to be jailed that night and miss a chance at a good job on the King’s ships, got up and left, throwing a contrite glance at Marco as they walked out the door.

Marco leaned over the bar towards the man, and said in a calm voice, “Ya mind keepin’ it down, man? This weekend is filled with opportunities fer us all. Don’t get yer’self nabbed by the police for brawlin’ and loose yer chance at a respectable place on the royal fleet.”

Marco’s calm seemed to enrage the man more, “TO HELL WITH THE KING’S FLEET!” The man yelled. “AND TO HELL WITH THE KING!” This prompted even more men to leave. “COWARDS THE LOT OF YA! WALKING OUT WITH YA’ TAIL BETWEEN YA’ LEGS EVEN AS I DAMN YER CROWN! PITIFUL DOGS!”

Marco looked at a dimly lit corner of the pub where a small table was occupied by one person. They stood up, unfolding their long, thin frame from under the table, dropped their cigarette on the floor and extinguished the glowing ember with the back of their heel.

Regulars at Marco’s pub knew this was a bad sign. Marco’s bouncer never put out their cigarette before removing a customer. The bouncer walked towards the bar and sat next to the loud man. Marco walked to the other end of the bar, not wanting to be in the middle of anything.

“You may want to keep it down a bit, mate,” the bouncer said in a low voice, “we’re all here for a good time. Don’t ruin your weekend before it starts.”

The loud man growled and turned towards the person speaking to him. Then he paused. For the first time the entire night, his glowering countenance changed and he let loose a loud and contemptuous laugh. “Are you men so afraid that you seen some scrawny wench over to deal with me?” he said between laughs. The bouncer’s expression didn’t change. “Come closer whore. I’m probably more man than you can handle, but I’ll enjoy seeing you try. I’d love to watch you squirm under me, I’d fill you out quite well.” He growled at the bouncer, his liquor soaked breath burning her nose.

The bouncer sighed, but her expression never changed, “You sound like a braying ass.” She said, “And you smell like one too.”

“Rotten BITCH!” The loud man reached to grab hold of her hair, but her hand shot out and caught his before he could. He moved to grab her neck with the other, and she caught hold of that one also. Slowly, she began turning his arms outward. The sound of cracking and splintering bones soon filled the dead silent pub. Marco cringed at the other end of the bar. When she was done, the mans arms hung limply and blood began to soak his sleeves. He stared at his arms in horror. Too much in shock to speak, his voice squeaked and cracked as he struggled to either say something or scream in agony.

The bouncer got up from her seat, walked towards the door, opened it and looked out. Spotting a guard she called to him, “Hey, Officer! We have someone in here that needs to be taken to the hospital, he’s in need to medical attention.”

Marco walked the still stunned man out the door. The guard recoiled in horror at the site of the man’s disfigured arms. He looked at the bouncer, “What happened to him?”

She shrugged, “Couldn’t tell you.”

The man finally spoke, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “It was her. Sh-She broke my arms.” He shook as he spoke.

The guard looked at the man and then at the woman. She was certainly tall, a few inches taller than the broken man who stood before him, but with her slender build there was no way she was able to over power the huge man and break his arms without getting hurt in the process. He gave her a questioning look. She shrugged again.

“I guess he hit his head too.”

The guard carefully grabbed the man’s upper arm and escorted him down the block to the nearest medical center.

Marco shut the door behind them and returned to his place behind the bar, the bouncer sat down on the other side. From across the room came a loud clapping. Both Marco and the bouncer looked to see what was going on. A thin, blonde haired man stood, swaying to and fro drunkenly attempting to steady himself. A drunk floozy, her top barely doing the job it was made for, stood also, holding on to him as though he were a steady pole.

“Brah-vo! Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!” He slurred as he spoke, he approached the bar not so much walking as stumbling.When he finally reached the bar, he leaned on it next to the bouncer, the floozy still hanging on, draped like a rag on his shoulders. “Honestly. I have never seen a young woman dispatch of a brute the way you did. What is your name dear?”

The bouncer looked at the drunken man next to her. His eyelids hung lazily over his eyes and his smile was a sloppy one. She looked at the floozy that clung to him for dear life, she was just as drunk as the man, if not more. There was a grin on her face as though she had finally caught “the big one”. She turned back to the bar. “My name is Trea.” She replied flatly.

“TREA! THE HEROINE OF THE NIGHT!” The drunk blonde proclaimed at the top of his lungs.

Trea put a cigarette between her lips, lit it, inhaled, then held it front of her as she exhaled. “Do me a big favor bucko,” she said still staring at the cigarette, “keep it down.”

The drunk blonde straightened himself, barely, puffed out his chest and said, “My name…is…Kalwren Meadowhart,” he wobbled a bit then steadied himself again, “the third. Of the…Ralaugh Meadowharts. But you can call me Kal…Everyone does.” He chuckled a bit, as did the floozy.

Trea sucked deeply on her cigarette, “A Meadowhart, eh?” she said exhaling a cloud of smoke, “You guys are pretty rich. What are you doing in this dive with a cheap whore like that?”

The floozy’s face screwed up in a show of indignation, but before she could form the words Kal laughed loudly and spoke first, “I like this pub, and the expensive whores in my part of town are all daughters of the rich elites that expect you to marry them after a roll in the hay. This one here knows that there’s no way in Hell that’s going to happen.” He laughed again, amused with himself. The floozy frowned again for a moment, but laughed anyways.

Trea rapped on the bar a few times, and a couple minutes later Marco returned with a cup of hot cider.

“Bring me two more.” she said, “Sober these two up a bit.”

Marco looked concerned for a moment. “Are you sure? I mean…”he let the comment drop without finishing the thought.

“Yeah. It’ll do them some good.” She took a drink from her cup, then addressed Kalwren and his partner, “Sit. Having you hover over me like that makes me think you’re looking to fight, and I barely worked up a sweat with that last idiot so I’m still ready to go.”

Kalwren sat and the woman plopped herself on his lap, nearly falling off and hitting her head on the bar once before finally steadying herself.

“Why don’t you sit on your own stool hon?” the bouncer said, more a command than a request.

The woman glared at her, “Why don’t you mind your own damn business?”

For the first time since she sat down, Trea lifted her head and sat up straight. “This bar is my business. Now get on your own God damned stool before I permanently attach you to one.” Her voice was a low, threatening growl. The woman slid off Kalwren’s lap and climbed up on a stool the way most people would climb onto a bull, muttering obscenities the entire time.

Marco arrived a second later with two cups of hot cider. Kalwren and the woman looked at them puzzled. Kalwren was the first to take a sip. That little bit seemed to nearly choke him, “THERE’S NO ALCOHOL IN THIS!” he shouted.

“First, be quiet. Second, you’re right. There is no alcohol in it. Drink. Both of you.” They both slugged back their ciders. Within moments they were both gagging.

“What’s in this?” the woman demanded to know.

“Well, cider obviously. But also ginger, chilies and lobelia.”

“What? What’s all that?”

“The first are to get you to sober up, the last is to get you to vomit.”

“Vomit? Wh-?” before she could complete her question the woman’s face suddenly registered surprise, she hopped of her stool and ran to the bathroom, her hand cupped over her mouth.

“That worked faster than usual.” Trea said, mostly to herself “I’d think someone her size would take at least ten minutes to work.”

Soon after it was Kalwren’s turn to run for the bathroom.

“Was that really necessary?” Marco asked with an impatient look on his face.

Trea cracked a cruel looking, crooked grin, “You know I can’t stand talking to drunks. He wants to get chatty, he can sober up.”

“And th’ girl?”

Trea’s grin spread a bit, “That was just fun.”

Marco sighed, “Honestly Trea…I just don’t know what to do with you sometimes.” He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face towards him. Her eyes were a grey so pale they could almost be mistaken for being clear. If eyes were windows to the soul, Trea’s eyes were more like mirrors. He looked at her violet hair. “And when will you stop wearing these silly wigs, girl? No one could mistake you for being around here. Yer longer than a canna, and your skin,” Trea gave him a hard look, warning him to tread carefully on the subject, “well that gold complexion is a pretty dead give away yer not from these parts.”

Trea pulled away from him, “I just…I don’t know Marco. I-I like my wigs. At least this way when people stare at me, they are staring at something I can change. I’m a little tired of being seen as a freak.”

“Honey,” Marco said, his voice like a father’s, “No one sees you as a freak.” Trea stared at him, one brow lifted, “Ok, maybe some folks see you as a freak, but there are all sorts of men who come in here askin after you. The way they talk, someone would think yer some earth-bound goddess. Yer beautiful, doll. I honestly think it’s time you got out of the bar business. You should have enough saved up by now.”

Just then Kalwren and the woman emerged from their respective bathrooms. They took a moment to regard each other, looking at one another as though for the first time. They both seemed to make up their minds about each other before returning to their stools at the bar.

“Sober?” Trea asked, her voice was flat again.

“Why did you give that to us?” Kalwren demanded.

“You wanted to talk to me, but I can’t stand talking to drunks. Plus you both needed it. You were barely able to sit, none the less stand.”

The woman on the other side of Kalwren hung her head, her dark hair hung over her face, “Thank you.” She said quietly. This startled both Kalwren and Trea. She had been belligerent a moment ago, now her voice was soft and penitent. “My name is Martha. I usually don’t get so drunk and pick up strange men in bars. My fiance died in battle a few weeks ago, and my father was tired of my crying so he gave ten gold to go, well, anywhere but the house. I spent so much of it on drinks that I was already drunk when I met Kal, and we continued drinking together.” She lifted her head and looked at Kalwren, “I’m sorry love, but, normally, I wouldn’t have even considered sleeping with a man like you.” Kalwren’s face looked hurt, Martha just shrugged sadly.

Trea let out a short laugh, “Well now that we’re done with that, what did you want Kalwren?”

“Call me Kal, please. And I wanted to offer you a job.”

“I have a job, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Yes…Well…If you ever wanted a new job, I was offering one to you.”

“Doing what?”

“Um, well, I’m starting my own security and bounty hunting business…And…Well you seem rather apt for it.” Now that he was sober, Kal wasn’t as confident. It didn’t help the woman he had planned to bed that night told him quite plainly that now that she was sober, she had no intentions of sleeping with him. Ever.

“The Meadowharts are moving into security and bounty hunting now?” Trea asked incredulously, “Isn’t that a little low for you guys?”

“Not the Meadowharts,” Kal said, “just me. It’ll be awhile before my father retires and I take over, and, well, I need something to do to occupy my time. Plus he wants me to have experience running my own business before I take over the family one. Security and bounty hunting seemed easy enough, so I decided on that.”

Trea shook her head. “You picked a business because it seemed easy? How much do you actually know about security or even bounty hunting?”

Kal looked confused, “Well…Nothing really. But what is there to know?”

Marco and Trea looked at each other, but Marco spoke first, “She’ll consider your offer, just get on home now. I’m gonna close up anyway. That idiot basically cleared the place out and it’s nearly 1 a.m. anyway.”

Kal and Martha left, behind them went the last five customers.

“Why’d you tell him I’d consider his offer?” Trea asked Marco as they walked towards their rooms above the bar.

“I told you, you need to get out of the bar business.”

Later that night, Trea woke up coughing. She tried to open her eyes but smoke stung them, forcing her to squint and try to see through the tears in her eyes. She wrapped a scarf around her face and crawled towards Marco’s room only to find it empty. She managed to feel her way towards the stairs and backed down them on her hands and knees, trying to stay just below the smoke.

As she got closer to the main room of the bar, the heat intensified and flames grew brighter. She could see the flames crawling up the walls to the ceiling like ivy and consuming most of the bar area. Sweat began to pour down her face and arms as she searched the barroom for Marco. She attempted to call his name, but the smoke choked the words before she could get them out. Over the roar of the fire she heard a weak groan, and rushed towards it in a frantic crawl. She had found Marco lying in one of the booths on the far side of the room, away from the fire. Blood showed the path he used to crawl to the booth. Trea could see he had been stabbed several times and his throat had been cut, not deeply, but enough to cause a great amount of blood loss. She froze for a moment, her whole body grew cold and stiff as she saw him struggling for breath, a small stream of blood making it’s way out of his mouth.

“Trea.” Marco’s voice was a ragged whisper, wet with his own blood, “Trea, the safe. They wanted…but…didn’t get.”

Desperate hope at the sound of Marco’s voice snapped Trea out of her shock. She hoisted him up and dragged him outside the burning building. She screamed for help, her voice high and loud, a child’s shriek. The fire department had arrived just as she had exited the building. They muttered of the hopelessness of saving the building even as they poured water on to the flames. Inside, the sound of shattering bottles could be heard. The rows of alcohol fed the flames, giving them the fuel needed to continue their ravenous feast upon the wood, mortar and pitch that held the structure together.

Medics had arrived, but far too late to save Marco. They focused on Trea, whose tanned complexion had turned ashen. She clutched Marco tightly to herself, shaking and rocking all at once, staring deep into the fire as though the name of her friend’s murderer would reveal itself in the dancing yellow and white. The medics attempted to move Marco from Trea’s hold, but it only made her hold tighter, at one point so hard was her grasp that she cracked one of his bones. Finally, she looked at her friend and found his eyes had rolled heaven-ward. Though a large crowd had gathered after hearing her screams, Trea wasn’t aware of them. All that existed, in that moment, was Marco and the fire. Now, though, there was more than one fire; the first was the fire that was tearing at the place she had called home for over five years, the second was the fire that was beginning to flow through her veins and eat its way into her very soul. And while the fire fighters would eventually extinguish every smoldering ember of what had been Marco’s pub, the fire that raged in Trea could only be put out with the blood and screams of those who had taken away the closest thing she had ever known to a true, loving father.

Some of Marco’s friends allowed Trea to stay with them for a while until she could recover from her shock. A few days later, remembering what Marco had told her about the safe, Trea went back to the place where the burnt out husk that was Marco’s pub stood. She carefully rummaged through the debris, collecting what items she could that were salvageable. She found the trap door that Marco hid the safe and other important things in and pried it open with a bent metal pipe. Marco had been a smart man, and having worked with all sorts of scoundrels and criminals on the seas he knew they’d look for hollow sounds in floors to indicate where trap doors lay, so he backed the door with a thick panel of steel to deaden any hollow sound. From the hole she dragged up Marco’s safe and three small chests and loaded them onto a cart she had borrowed. Her clothes were gone, as were her wigs. For the first time in years, Trea wore her blue-black hair out in the open. It’s weight and length shocked even her at first but soon she had gotten used to seeing it and being seen with it. Not eating had made her face gaunt, not sleeping put dark rings around her eyes. She now struck a haunting figure to all who saw her, if it weren’t for her tan skin she would easily be mistaken as a spectre.

She climbed onto the cart and directed the horse towards the bank where she had kept her savings, at the insistence of Marco who informed her that only a fool kept their money in between the mattresses of their bed. She smiled at the memory of him chiding her for her distrust for banks and other such institutions. At the bank she opened a vault account and put the safe and chests in it. She needed to go through them, but she had no desire to at that time. Her next stop was to a Solicitor who had left a message with one of the friends she stayed with about Marco’s will. Much to everyone’s surprise, Marco had amassed quite a fortune in his years as a sailor and royal privateer, and having no children of his own, Marco willed it all to Trea. It was an aspect of the society that Trea hadn’t quite come to grips with, getting money from the dead, but she accepted it, knowing that Marco would have yelled till he was blue in the face if she had turned it down. She instructed the Solicitor to take what was owed to him for performing his duties and then to transfer what was left to her bank account.

Her last errand for the day took her to a part of Ralaugh she had never before visited. The houses slowly became larger and more opulent as she continued up the winding roads. Stone walls were replaced by tall, iron gates behind which were large, immaculate yards and perfectly tended gardens. She finally came to a gate with the letters “MH” formed from wrought iron. She told the gate guard who she was and that she wanted to speak to Kalwren Meadowhart. He looked at her incredulously, not really believing that Mr. Meadowhart would want to have an audience with a woman who drove a horse cart. That was until she added “The third.” A knowing look crossed his face and he went to talk with another guard further up the drive, who then went into the house, presumably to speak with a butler who was then sent to fetch Kalwren. A few minutes later the guard further up the drive waved and the gate guard opened up the gate and allowed her through.

As she entered the house, she was immediately greeted by Kal and the head butler. The three walked towards a large study, the butler quietly shadowing them in a way that made Trea nervous. As they sat, the butler served them tea then stood off to the side. Trea related what had happened in the hours after Kal and Martha had left the pub. Kal was shocked, but the butler’s face showed the fact that he was horrified by her tale. Trea dropped her eyes, and her voice, and told Kal that she would work for him so long as he provided room and board for her with a monthly pay.

“No, I can’t agree to that.” Kal said.

Trea looked at him, shocked, “What! You said you-.”

Kal laughed, cutting her off, “No, no, what I mean is that I can’t agree to you working for me. I want you to work with me. A partner of sorts.”

Trea was now thoroughly confused, “A-A partner?”

“Yes, equal shares and all that.” He stirred his tea lazily before finally taking a sip. “Naturally I’ll be the main source of funds for the start up costs. You can find the building and what not that you think would be suitable, don’t worry about condition, we can pay for renovations.” He looked over towards his butler and motioned for him to come over, “George get our guest seventy gold from my safe so that she may get appropriate lodgings and a new wardrobe.” Kal thought for a moment, then said, “In fact, make it an even one-forty.” He turned to Trea, “Spend what you need on yourself, use the rest as a down payment on a building.”

“But..I-I…”

“No. No arguments. I insist.”

George returned with a small wallet, Trea opened it with a puzzled look on her face.

“They are notes.” Kal explained, “The Treasury allows certain families to print them so we don’t have to carry actual coin on us. This way we if we get robbed all they’ll get are unsigned paper notes. And should they force us to sign them we can alert the treasury who will alert the merchants, and we change the appearance of the notes immediately afterwards. Quite convenient and very discreet, but I doubt it’d catch on with the general public.”

Trea was still puzzled, “But how do I spend this?”

“The merchant will know what to do, just pick what you need and hand them the notes. They can ring us if they have their doubts.”

“But…”

“Oh! Will you just take it woman. There is no need to explain everything. It works, that’s all you need to know.”

Trea got up to leave, “Thanks.”

“Oh no,” Kal replied, “thank you! I know nothing about security or bounty hunting. Having someone like you, with experience, as my partner will help things run more smoothly.” Kal thought for a moment, “Do you know how to drive an auto?”

“Um, no. Why?”

“Because if you arrive at a store with that horse cart of yours they are going to think you forged them and that would be such a headache.” Kal turned to the butler, “George, get her an auto and a driver.”

Trea stopped him, “No, no need. I have a good riding horse. I’ll be ok.”

Kal rolled his eyes, “Well if I know nothing about you, I know not to argue with you. Let me know once you have everything, I’ll set up all the necessary paperwork to get this little business off the ground.”

George showed Trea out.

Minutes later, a young woman entered the study and stood behind Kal.

“Who was that vagrant you gave our family notes to?” She asked.

“Mercy, if you were trying to surprise me, you failed.” Kal replied flatly.

“Just answer my question. Father wouldn’t like it if he knew you were just handing out notes to whatever whore claims you impregnated her.”

“Oh come now Mercy,” Kal sighed, “did you see her? Of course you did, you were standing there the entire time. There is no way she even looks pregnant. And I was speaking loud enough for you to hear everything. If you didn’t catch it all then maybe we should call the doctor and have him test your hearing.”

Mercy walked around and stood in front of Kalwren. “I don’t know why that foolish old man would trust you with the family business. Look at you, you’re going into a business you know nothing about with some….some…woman who claims to be a bounty hunter. And you’re right, I saw her, and from the looks of her she couldn’t wrangle a cat, none the less some violent criminal.”

Kal sipped his tea. “Looks, Mercy, can be deceiving.”

“I’ll be watching you Kalwren. I will prove that you are an incompetent and that Father should give me the business when he retires.”

“Really? You honestly think Father will bequeath to you, a woman, the family business? It’s true, you probably are better at business than I am, but Father is too traditional to let a woman run the business. He’d rather I ran it into the ground and spent up all the family’s wealth than hand it over to you. You’d do better taking his advice and marrying well. Maybe that Paolo character will let you have your own business. He’s been asking after you, you know.”

Mercy’s face turned red with anger.

“You’re nearly twenty-six Mercy,” Kal continued, “you’re certainly not getting any younger; and there are younger, prettier girls who would be happy to just marry well, live on someone’s vast estate, and be well cared for on their husband’s budget. Do yourself a favor and stop wanting after what you will never get.” With that Kal got up, grabbed his coat and went out the study’s door, leaving Mercy where she stood, shaking. As he entered the hall, he turned to George, “If anyone should call for me, tell them I’m visiting a friend.” Then he left.

From the study came a loud crash and the sound of breaking porceline. Mercy had turned over the small table the tea set had been on, shattering everything. George rolled his eyes and went to fetch a maid to clean it up.

18 Months Later