When she entered, she was surprised that the room didn’t smell worse than it did. The scent of the various spices was still strong enough to overpower most other smells. She could just barely detect a hint of a foreign stench, a metallic odor that did not belong.
The details, as they often did, caught her attention. Some of the jars of spices had been opened and not returned quite correctly. Out of curiosity, Alena approached one of those jars and peeked inside. She couldn’t be absolutely certain, but she suspected there was far less of the cinnamon in here than there had been a week ago. The city watch appeared to have helped themselves while they were investigating the crime.
She shook her head. The behavior didn’t surprise her. People would take what they could get whenever they had a chance to do so, but she was still disappointed. She had hoped, perhaps, that it would be different with the people whose duty it was to protect the citizens.
But people were people no matter what profession they claimed.
Replacing the cinnamon how she had found it, Alena walked into the back room. Even now, all she could think about was how much blood painted the floor. The human body, it seemed, held far more than she had suspected.
The blood had soaked deep into the wood. Whoever purchased this building would most likely have to tear up the floor and replace the boards.
They would be in for quite a surprise when they did.
Alena forced herself to examine the rest of the room. With the blood such a prominent feature, it was easy to think that was all that mattered. But there were more spices back here, as well as the ledgers for the legitimate business. Alena looked around, noticing that the ledgers were gone. No doubt the city watch would be looking for some motive to explain the grisly murder. But they would find no answers there.
Eventually she turned her attention back to the floor and to the bloodstain. She kneeled down and studied the edges of the floorboards that formed the trap door. There were three places where pools of blood had coagulated across the boards. They were still unbroken.
Alena pushed the switch, opened the trap door, and stepped down. As she descended, she closed the door from below. If anybody happened to come into the shop, it would be far safer to be hidden below than have the trap door hanging open.
She glanced around the small room, already confident that she wouldn’t notice anything that she hadn’t seen before. The place was untouched since her and Bayt had been below. There wasn’t much point in being discriminate. She didn’t know what was valuable and what wasn’t, so she took as much as she could. She loaded up the sack that she had brought, filling it with papers and gold and anything else that might prove valuable. There were a few knives that she passed over. She was no martial artist and even a quick glance told her that every blade was of inferior quality to the one she carried as a gift from her father.
It didn’t take long to clear the small space. It seemed a shame that a man’s life amounted to so little when it was over. She still had room left in her sack.
But it would be enough to get her started. Information was a currency more valuable than gold. If she had learned one lesson from Bayt’s tutelage, it was that.
It was time to put his knowledge to good use.
17
Brandt couldn’t decide how he felt about young Niles Arrowood. When Niles said they would begin immediately, it wasn’t a figure of speech. He stood up and left the headmaster’s office, forcing Brandt to follow.
Outside the door, the headmaster waited for them. Niles took command before Brandt could even open his mouth. “Sergeant Brandt and I are leaving for the day. There’s a matter that requires our urgent attention.”
Niles spoke as though he expected the headmaster to obey without question. No doubt, the expectation had only been reinforced through a lifetime of permission.
Brandt respected Niles’ willingness to jump right to work, but the way he treated others grated on him.
Brandt hadn’t grown up with the privileges that Niles enjoyed. His father and mother had both been wage earners, and while Brandt never needed anything more to survive, thanks to the empire’s policies, he also never received anything beyond the essentials. That lack of wealth was the primary reason he had joined the military as soon as he was old enough.
The young man had character, but it was buried under years of affluence.
Brandt didn’t need to make friends. He only needed information. And who was to say? Perhaps in time the young man would make the Arrowood name synonymous with honor. It hadn’t been his father’s way, but perhaps Niles could chart a new course.
Brandt shook his head softly, wondering who he was trying to convince.
A few blocks after leaving the academy grounds, Niles came to a sudden stop and turned to face Brandt. Brandt had struggled to keep up with Niles and was grateful for the pause. There was a wary look in the youth’s eyes, as though a suspicion had just occurred to him. “How do I know I can trust you?”
Brandt could have given half a dozen reasons, from the blood of his friends on his uniform to the gaping hole that had been in his chest just a week ago. But as he looked at Niles he saw more than simple wariness. He caught a hint of paranoia. “There’s nothing I can say that would convince you. You can only decide for yourself. You have enough information to choose.”
They stood there, facing each other, as Niles debated with himself. Finally, he gave a small nod. “My father wished for the location of our house to remain a secret. But I believe
