freeholders and the High Holders. War is about to break out between Jariola and Ferrum. And Cydarth is scheming to replace the Commander. But it’s all going to happen at once.”
“I can’t say as I’ve seen you this gloomy before.”
I forced a smile. “I could be wrong. All these things might be coincidence.”
The lieutenant snorted. “For a patroller, coincidence is a fair-weather friend. We both know that.”
After leaving Alsoran, I spent the next several glasses catching up on the various reports required by headquarters, mostly by Cydarth, who thought that more reports equated to more accountability and more effective patrolling. Beyond a certain point, I’d observed in my own experience, greater accountability resulted in less effectiveness because too much time and effort was spent on reports and documentation.
I made my first rounds with Deomyn and Zarcyl, around sixth glass. While they had to handle a drunken husband and catch and tie up a loose sway-backed dray, their round was calm. At a quarter past eighth glass I switched to accompanying Sammyl and Rarydn. Their round encompassed the east end of the district out to the Plaza SudEste, the same one I’d once patrolled with Alsoran years before, and the round I thought likely to see taudis-toughs or strong-arms from the Hellhole.
We’d made one complete circuit and were just two blocks in and a block east of the woodworks, when a taudis-kid gave a low whistle from the alleyway.
“Sir?” asked Sammyl.
“It’s for me.”
The two patrollers exchanged looks, but said nothing as I slipped away from them and walked up to the alleyway. I waited.
The slender figure studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Jadhyl says four outsiders are moving up the alley west of Fedre. They crossed Quierca by the old silversmith’s. They’re likely carrying pieces.”
“Give him my thanks.” I slipped a pair of coppers to the taudis-kid-a girl, I realized after the fact, as she vanished into the darkness.
I had a good idea where the four outsiders were headed, and that was to the forked alleyway west of Fedre just off North Middle, where the lighting offered a clear view of anyone on the south side of North Middle, and where two separate patroller rounds intersected. That section of the alley was also slightly higher, and afforded several escape routes.
Sammyl and Rarydn and I took two side alleys and zigzagged through the taudis until we reached the top of the alley two blocks south of North Middle, just short of the fork and only a block inside the taudis.
We waited less than a tenth of a glass before I could make out movement in the alleyway south of us. Despite the fact that Artiema hung barely over the houses behind me and was little more than a crescent, it wasn’t long until I could make out four figures in black jackets, not even moving all that quietly.
“Stay close to me.” I kept my voice low.
Both patrollers moved shoulder to shoulder with me as I walked through the darkness toward the shadows, holding my shields around the three of us.
“Halt! Just stop where you are,” I called.
The four never said a word. Bullets slammed into my shields.
Two of the guns had muzzle flashes, and I imaged iron into the barrels. Both weapons exploded, and the toughs carrying them collapsed where they stood. The other two turned and started to run. I imaged a sheet of oil onto the pavement in front of them. They pitched onto the stone.
I kept walking toward them.
One of the two on the rough alley pavement didn’t move. The other one-the squatter figure-rolled onto his side and lifted a short-barreled, wide-muzzled weapon. He fired twice.
The force of the shells against my shields threw me back, and I nearly fell. I staggered, and, for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
The squat figure started to run. I imaged more oil under his feet, and projected air and a partial shield. Under the combined attack, he went down hard.
“You all right, Captain?” asked Rarydn.
“A little winded, but I’ll be fine.” I might also be sore, but I wouldn’t know that until later.
Still holding my shields, I imaged away the oil, then moved toward the fallen figures. The two patrollers flanked me, truncheons ready to strike, but even the squat black-jacketed strong-arm was out cold.
We checked all four, but the two whose weapons had exploded were both dead. The other two had cuts and some shrapnel wounds, but they were breathing.
“Cuff the two who are still with us. Let’s get them both back to the station,” I ordered.
They were heavy enough that we ended up dragging all four figures to the nearest pick-up pole, where we waited half a glass for the wagon.
By the time we reached the station, our prisoners were awake, if groggy, and I immediately set the smaller tough in the small room used for interrogation, not that we did much of that, since usually we knew what had happened by the time prisoners were in the station. Most crimes in Third District were obvious. I did have him tied to the chair. He said his name was Grohar. It probably wasn’t.
Grohar looked at me. It was fair to say he was anything but friendly.
“You shot at us. Why?”
“Frig you, trolie! Frig you…”
I clamped shields around him and began to tighten them. He said nothing. I released them. “Care to tell me who sent you?”
“Frig you.”
I tried a number of other techniques, well short of physical coercion, but, needless to say, anything that I could immediately think of that would leave him in one piece and unmarked wasn’t going to persuade him to talk. So I had the station patrollers cart him back to the holding cell and bring in the other one, the one who’d given the name of Haddad and who had fired the stronger weapon, something like a twin-barreled blunderbuss.
I’d spent some moments thinking while he was being restrained.
Just because I couldn’t do something painful and obvious to them didn’t mean I couldn’t suggest the possibility. So I held up the belt knife we’d taken from Haddad, then tossed it into the air…and suspended it in my shields.
“It’s not that sharp a knife,” I said conversationally. “Rather dull. I imagine it’s going to hurt if I have to use it to find out what I need to know.”
“You can’t touch me…”
“I’m not going to touch you.” I glanced to Alsoran, standing beside me. “I’m not even close to you. And it is your knife, not mine. And…if we failed to find it, and you slashed your wrists because you didn’t like being caught…”
His eyes fixed on the knife, seemingly suspended in mid-air. I eased the shields, and the knife, toward him. “It would be a lot easier if you just told us who sent you.”
I edged the knife closer.
I could see the sweat beading on his forehead. It was amazing how a knife hanging in mid-air and edging toward him brought out the fear.
I waited, smiling.
“It was Costicyn…he was the one. He told us…be a gold for every patroller we brought down. Didn’t matter which ones, but had to be inside the streets he told us…”
“Which streets?”
“North Middle and Quierca, the part east of Fuosta, and west of Fedre…”
Basically, the streets were those that bordered the taudis. That made sense, in a way, because any patrol deaths would be blamed on the taudis-gangs and my inability to control the taudis in difficult times.
“Who was there besides Costicyn?”
“He was the only one…he was.”
“There had to be other dealers involved…” I eased the knife forward again.
“Honest…he was the one…know he works with Sadharyn…but he never said…”
After I finished getting what I could from him, I had them bring back in the first tough. I had the knife almost in his eyeball before he cracked.
