22. Public Service

Falsehand was currently giving him the most EXP among his active clones, which felt almost ironic. That irony came from how little direct control the class actually wanted from him. In fact, if he pushed too much of his own mind into Falsehand, the Acting skill lost some of its edge. The class worked best when it was allowed to move naturally into the role.

Part of the larger EXP gain probably came from how new the role still was, while most of his other classes were tied to work he had already been doing for months. The warehouse visit had made that obvious. New operations, new risks, and new uses for his clones brought noticeably better returns. If that pattern held, then he needed to expand. He needed more reach, more roles, and more situations that forced him to think differently.

After leaving the warehouse, he started considering his next steps more seriously. Lauren was the issue he could no longer delay. Keeping her hidden had worked for the moment, but it could not be the answer forever. After going through the parchments, he had become certain that only two people in Verevain specifically knew her face and knew she existed: Hedra, and the guard he still had not properly identified. The guard might not even have paid much attention at the time, but if another member of the local trade questioned him, he would at least be able to say that a girl had been there. Even that was too much. If Alistair dealt with both of them, then Lauren could be brought into town and placed wherever parentless children were normally put.

Hedra seemed like the easier of the two. The guard almost certainly had a combat-related class, which made him harder and more dangerous. Dealing with both could alert others involved in the trade, but Alistair had to start somewhere. For now, freeing a clone from shelter watch justified the risk.

He chose Hedra first.

One night, Shade entered the Split Cup with Escapee’s help. After confirming that no one downstairs was awake, he opened the back door for the rest of the clones. Under Alistair’s direction, they moved to an empty room on the second floor and waited in the dark. Saboteur remained downstairs in the reception hall. He crossed to the window, stared at the latch for a few seconds, and started tampering with it.

Saboteur’s work went beyond damaging the latch. Weak Link showed him the exact pressure points where a few small changes would make the window look naturally faulty instead of forced. Once he finished, he pulled the panel back and let it strike the frame several times, spreading creaks and hard knocking sounds through the inn. He repeated the action until another part of his mind warned him to stop. Then he disappeared.

Soon after, someone came down the stairs.

Hedra moved carefully through the reception, holding a short iron baton in one hand and a narrow kitchen knife in the other. She was dressed for sleep, though still prepared for trouble. Her feet were bare, her steps measured, and she carried herself like someone who had spent years sleeping lightly and expecting trouble. She approached the source of the noise without rushing. Instead, she stopped several times to listen, study the room, and make sure no one was already waiting for her. When nothing moved, she continued toward the window.

The problem waited there. The latch had been bent just enough that the panel no longer closed properly. Each push of wind made it sway and strike the frame with a dry, irregular clatter.

Hedra cursed under her breath, shut the panel hard, then looked around until she found what she needed. She tore a strip from an old rag kept near the counter, folded it thick, wedged it into the loose corner, and then looped a bit of cord around the handle to keep the window pressed tight. It was a quick fix rather than a proper repair, meant only to silence the annoying thing until morning.

When that was done, she stood there a few moments longer, scanning the reception again.

Nothing obvious stood out: no missing drawer, no open door, no overturned chair, and no sign of a guest creeping around where they should not be. Still, unease remained.

As the owner of the inn, she had learned not to sleep through trouble. Most nighttime disturbances were harmless: late guests returning drunk, couples sneaking about, or fools making noise because they thought the staff was already asleep. But twice she had found real intruders. Once, it had been a thief. Another time, a man trying to force his way into the wrong room. Neither had ended well for them. Hedra lacked a combat class, but she was far from defenseless, and the weapon in her hand made her more dangerous than most guests would ever guess.

She went back upstairs irritated and uneasy.

Sleep came close, but never fully took her. She lay on her bed, one hand still close to the baton, and forced herself to breathe slowly. Her body started to loosen, but her mind refused to. The inn was quiet again, but her instinct kept circling the same thought. Something was wrong. She shifted slightly, preparing to turn and force herself back to sleep.

Then instinct warned her. Hedra moved on pure instinct. She surged upright, tightening her grip on the baton, and in the same instant felt a hot line of pain tear across her side. The blade that should have buried itself into her flesh instead only sliced through her side because she had risen a heartbeat faster than expected. She hissed in pain, twisted toward the attacker, and struck back immediately.

The baton hit Carver in the upper body. Thunderflow burst from the engraved weapon and ran through the clone with a brutal crack. The discharge locked his muscles and threw him down hard. His silence should have warned Hedra, but she pushed that thought aside and reached for the shardlamp near the bedside table. Even with the attacker on the floor, darkness did not favor her. She needed light to feel safe again.

She nearly reached it.

Her instincts warned her again.

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Seeker came in fast from the side. Seeker had little direct value in a fight, but Alistair still used him for the first follow-up because the body was already there and Alistair needed an opening. Hedra turned and struck again. The thunder baton smashed into Seeker’s side and discharged through him. Alistair felt the shock through the connection and immediately pulled back from direct control before the full pain could drown him. Still, before retreating from the body, he gave Seeker one final command.

Grab it.

Seeker obeyed. Even while dropping, he wrapped both hands around the thunder baton and dragged it down with him. Hedra tried to wrench it free, but that brief struggle cost her another opening. Instinct warned her too late. Shade came out of the dark corner where Fade had hidden him and drove Carver’s cheap knife into her back, aiming for a place Clean Cut marked as suited to the class and the attack.

Even then, she stayed on her feet.

Only then did Alistair understand he had made a mistake.

He had assumed Hedra would be dangerous in a practical, desperate way. She was an innkeeper involved in a hidden trade, careful, ugly, and probably experienced with violence. He had expected a knife, a baton, perhaps traps, perhaps poison or some hidden helper. He was right.

But he had also underestimated her level.

Instead, she was genuinely hard to put down. Hedra lacked a combat class, but she was clearly high leveled.

He was right. After forty years, Hedra had earned thirty-four levels, and she had invested many of those free points into stats that kept a person alive when things turned dire. Her VIT was highest, followed by END, then DEX and PER. She fought through three wounds with determined violence, far more dangerous than expected.

With the baton trapped, Hedra ripped the knife from her belt and slashed back at Shade with alarming speed.