possession of the one thing they had craved for years.
Respect.
The manufacture of Imperial armour had not stopped when Brynd left the city on his urgent business. He said he would return promptly once a small matter was seen to, and she took the decision then to industrialize their process further. They opened one of the many unused rooms in the factory, cleared out junk and rubbish, and employed some friends of friends to kit out the place as a vast storage facility so it would become a warehouse for armour. It wasn’t long before they had the better part of a thousand of the new-style breastplates on the racks. The gang tested their work on other sections of body armour until they had enough examples to show Brynd. Then they started their first thorough explorations on the art of raising the Mourning Wasp.
They could do this without having to do shitty conversion jobs for cultists. They now had the luxury of having money. Some of the gang had resisted the urge to buy the first thousand things they saw. Even in a post-war Villiren, they could still get their hands on nice clothes, decent drinks, tasty food. The army paid well, it seemed, and the group couldn’t quite work out what to do with all the money. Jeza decided she would save hers. She would perhaps see if she could get a passage to Ysla, where the cultists lived in some kind of utopia. The weather was warmer there.
Somehow news had got out concerning their manufacture of military gear and there had been a request to meet her, one on one, in a tavern on the far side of the Ancient Quarter, in an area untouched by the war.
The note came from a man called Malum.
She thought to herself, what if the deal with the army collapses? What if the commander had to pull out of the contract? If she was going to be a legitimate businesswoman, she would need another plan, something to fall back on.
So she had decided to go on her own, yet for her own safety was secretly wearing one of her own pieces of armour designed to fit her small frame.
As she headed towards the agreed meeting point, by way of the enormous Citadel, she noticed something strange occurring down one of the side streets. There, amidst the rubbish sacks discarded by the nearest bistro, was a hunched figure rooting around in the darkness.
For some reason, Jeza’s curiosity got the better of her and she sauntered cautiously towards the person: it was a human, a woman and, surprisingly, her black clothes seemed to be well cut, though more fitted for combat than anything else. In fact, everything about the quality of the clothing and neatness of her hair suggested that she was from a good background.
Jeza tentatively said, ‘Hi,’ and the woman snapped around to face her. Blood was drooling from her mouth and smeared all over her right cheek, but she didn’t seem injured. In her hands were the remains of something fleshy. Jeza’s gaze followed the trail of blood by her feet and back up the alley — this suggested that the rest of the fleshy thing at the woman’s feet had been dragged here. It had not been found here, discarded by the bistro.
That realization made Jeza’s skin crawl.
The woman looked at her — right through her, in fact, as if she was in some kind of trance. Jeza remained utterly still. Somewhere in the distance she heard a pterodette screech.
‘Who are you?’ Jeza asked the woman. ‘Do you need any help?’
The attempt at conversation seemed to draw the woman out of her state. Her gaze relaxed, and settled more naturally on Jeza. ‘Are you all right?’ Jeza held out her hand, though drew it back hesitantly when she remembered the bloody flesh.
‘I. . I must be going,’ the woman muttered, her voice incredibly refined, her accent from the west; and suddenly she dashed past Jeza and back out into the city. She had dropped something on her way and, after peering around cautiously, Jeza examined it-
She lurched back in horror. It was a child’s arm, and very definitely mauled around the fleshy muscles of the forearm. Who was that? Had they
A bell-tower struck in the distance, and Jeza realized she had to be moving on. Reluctantly, and now feeling a little sick, she stumbled out of the alley and back into the night.
The tavern was surprisingly clean and decent for Villiren. It had all its windows intact and the door had not been ripped off its hinges.
There was no graffiti on any of the walls and no bad smells. Though it was crammed into a row of whitewashed buildings, it seemed big enough to hold a regular flow of respectable clientele.
Inside was a large fireplace near the bar, and plenty of warmth. She ordered herself just a tea — she didn’t want to drink when she had to be alert — and took a seat in a plush armchair by the fire. Brass accoutrements hung on the walls, with shoddy-looking paintings, and a fug of smoke had stained the ceiling. There weren’t as many people inside as she thought there would be, but those who were there seemed solitary, quiet types, which suited her fine.
She sat for a while contemplating the place. Eventually a man with stubble, wearing a long wax coat and a tricorne hat, approached her. He was handsome, bore a scar or two on his face and moved towards her with an effortless cool.
‘You got my message.’ His voice was gravelly. For a moment she thought she saw two animalistic fangs in his mouth.
She nodded.
‘Good,’ he replied. ‘Name’s Malum.’
‘Jeza.’ She watched him slump into the chair with grace.
‘So then, you’re the girl who’s got the underground talking.’
‘I try not to listen to rumours,’ she replied.
Malum laughed and she couldn’t tell whether or not he was mocking her.
‘Look, I’m interested in your military gear,’ Malum continued. He smiled. He looked around sheepishly before he leaned in a little closer. ‘You’re doing business with that albino commander, am I right?’
Jeza nodded, intrigued as to how much he already knew about the dealings. She was, for now, thankful he was treating her like an adult and not speaking down to her.
‘Does he pay well?’ Malum asked.
Another nod; she didn’t want to betray the commander.
‘You’re a closed book, young lady,’ Malum said. ‘I respect someone who’s got secrets — but you can treat me like a business client. I’m interested in purchasing your wares, and I’m also interested in the range of wares that you deal in. Trust me as much as you want to, but I don’t do business with people I don’t believe in. I have faith in your operation. I like what I’ve heard.’
‘What’s your business exactly?’ Jeza enquired.
‘I’m a trader, of sorts,’ he replied coolly. ‘I tend to deal in whatever I can get my hands on, in just about every ware you can think of; but I also deal in private security, or settling scores for people. Sometimes a contract needs enforcing and, in the absence of any decent Inquisition around here, businesses need a little kick now and then. I’m increasingly in demand — things are changing in Villiren.’
‘What things?’
‘Tensions, mainly. You know of the aliens to the south of the city?’
‘I’ve heard a little about them, but not much.’
‘Big encampment — like a new city filled with all sorts of weird, deadly creatures. It’s causing a lot of worries with many important folk in this city, business leaders, local representatives, bankers. They’re worried that these things are just going to come and take over when the city needs stability. They don’t belong here, you see. They’ll upset the balance and do strange things. There’s talk of creatures coming in to the southern fringes of the city and eating pets; even one report of a child being eaten by them.’
Jeza thought of the woman earlier, in the alleyway. ‘It’s a difficult situation that everyone in this city finds themselves in.’
