Chapter 143: The League Slanders

“You?” Viv asked with total shock. “You? But I thought you were retired! Abe hired you?”

 

Irao winced, which caused Viv to lower her voice immediately. The Hadal leader looked good in street clothes with a nice hat. Just dandy in a slightly gaunt sort of way.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Yes, he hired me.”

 

“And you are fine with that? The assassination?”

 

“Not really.”

 

Viv weighed her options. Irao seemed a little ill at ease in their secondary base in the craggy forest of eastern Helock. Maybe he wasn’t here of his own accord. She wasn’t sure how far she could or even ought to push but confirming consent seemed like a good idea.

 

“Irao, why are you here if you do not wish to be an assassin for someone else anymore? Are you being forced by someone?”

 

“No. I—”

 

He scratched the side of his head and sighed. Viv waited for a little while. The Hadal sighed deeply when he was done. He made his point, moving his hands to accentuate every new sentence.

 

“You are in danger. I don’t want you to die. So I help. I am here of my own accord so I can leave if I want. I missed you, and… I love bank heists.”

 

He grew a little animated.

 

“They always have the best wards and the best gates. Sometimes golems. A great enigma. I love to crack them open but my previous Helockian employer always used that bank and didn’t want me to get in.”

 

“Not Elunath, right?”

 

“No. A high clan. Can we go steal soon?”

 

“Yes. I just want to get started on my first little project. Can I count on you to join with the preparations? You can just write us notes if you prefer.”

 

“Yes. Yes, that would be good. I have been looking forward to this. Goodbye.”

 

***

 

The more Viv walked and the more she thought this was a bad idea. It was only because the others were too noticeable, too well known that she was willing to take the risk. Abe didn’t have a solution to change footsteps or Sidjin would have gone instead. It didn’t matter that she could depopulate the entire South Gate slums in ten minutes. A shiv through the ribs would always remain an unpleasant experience. It was not so long ago that walking alone in a bad district was something she would never have entertained, special forces training or not. Good form could stop a stronger man. Maybe two, if she really caught them off guard. Five people and she would get her teeth kicked in no matter what. The phantom threat hanging over her made her heart beat faster. Erupt here, and Elunath would come rushing. Then…

 

She might just die.

 

Viv forced down a shiver and hastened her steps. A trio of men followed her jaunt with unblinking eyes like a pack of stalking hyenas. Mud and worse things squelched under her boots. It stank of human refuse and unwashed bodies. The spring sun removed the cloak of darkness from the pavement to reveal the utter state of everything, from decrepit walls to broken roofs and filthy steps. The people were constantly on guard. Women moved in groups. Viv was standing out like a sore thumb and that attracted a lot of attention. The bad kind.

 

She sighed in relief when the street angled right, opening onto a small square around a well from which paupers drew water under the vigilant gaze of goons armed with truncheons. A two-storied inn reigned over the surrounding hovels like a beggar king. Its sagging frame still stood solid despite its old age. A corroded metal sign read “The Dog’s Bollocks” over its entrance. Viv spared a glance to the mastiff standing vigil by the door. The chain was barely long enough to reach the handle.

 

The dog stood still. It had a better sense than the hovering thugs.

 

Viv got in.

 

There was light inside, enough to see that the main room was rather large, with a bar at the far side and stairs leading up on her right. The ground had been swept and covered with fresh hay. Sadly, basic hygiene didn’t extend to the patrons. It took every scrap of self-control she had not to wince at the heady cocktail of rancid sweat and cheap perfume assaulting her nostrils with eye-watering intensity. The people inside tried to look the part of those with more than two iron bits to rub together and failed spectacularly. Ragged upper class coats and stained jackets barely concealed the handles of clubs and pig stickers. Those were, Viv realized, the muscle. The brain was nowhere to be found. Maybe it was still asleep.

 

Having pushed through legs and snickering comments, Viv sat at the counter though she hated exposing her back to the room. Her contact was due any time soon. The barman moved in to take her order with a curious look. He was a completely shaven, older man and the cleanest person here. Sad, droopy eyes gave him an air of constant worry.

 

“You sure you should be around here?”

 

“I’m meeting someone,” Viv replied carefully.

 

Maybe if she implied she was under someone’s protection, they would leave her alone. No one would look at her and believe she could defend herself. Another inspection brushed against the amulet. It warmed a little against her skin.

 

The sharks were circling.

 

“I’ll have a beer please.”

 

The local variety was made from a popular cereal and flat water, with a slightly salty taste. Viv was elated to discover that the mug was clean and the drink rather tasty. She paid her three bits and listened in on conversations. She failed. People used some sort of cant she couldn’t follow. Pressure mounted, as did her annoyance. Mostly, she was annoyed at being scared, and especially at being scared of lowlives the average heavy could probably have for breakfast. They couldn’t realistically kill her but her brain wouldn’t listen.

 

It reminded her of days of fear and powerlessness.

 

Her core pulsed softly. The energy wanted out.

 

The door opened and shut. A moment later, a man sat down by her side with a smirk of amused incredulity. He wore better and cleaner cloth than the surrounding thugs but only just so. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, with curly hair and long fingers stained with ink blotches. She had found her contact.

 

“You must be Busson.”

 

“I am, and you are my mysterious customer! I expected someone… taller.”

 

“You could have picked a better place for a meeting,” she hissed, out of patience.

 

Busson shrugged unapologetically.

 

“A man cannot be too careful. Some folks can’t tell that I’m just the messenger, not the author yea? I just make copies and sometimes, I don’t even distribute them! The targets blame me for ‘unkind words’. I’ve had to move my workshop twice since last year, me, a poor and innocent entrepreneur.”

 

The sarcastic sneer showed how much Busson cared about it all.

 

“I’m just being careful. The owner of this place and myself, we have an understanding. He will protect me, yeah? Though when you contacted me, I didn’t expect a little lady to be the one to come. So, what will it be and how much will you pay?”

 

Viv placed a small engraved sphere on the counter before activating it. Abe had given her a sound barrier tool just so she wouldn’t reveal herself as a caster.

 

In the following silence, she slid several pamphlets over to her prospective hire.

 

“A thousand of each.”

 

Busson whistled at the amount, then he read and took a sharp breath. His fingers clenched at the copies. His breath quickened.

 

“You’re fucking crazy.”

 

“Five gold talents per delivery. A third in advance. We will handle the distribution ourselves. You only need to give us the finished products.”

 

“We? Who is we? Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. You are all insane. I want no part of this…”

 

Viv heard the outrage and fear progressively turn to consideration as the man finished his sentence, calculations plain on his features. Five gold talents was a tremendous amount of money for someone living in the slums. Fifteen was enough to change cities and get a small house. It was enough to turn the head of an ambitious man.

 

“Five in advance, you say? You have them here?”

 

“I do, and before you get any ideas, just consider the kind of group that can throw around that sum on pamphlets, hmmm?”

 

“Oh do not be concerned. I have my professional pride!”

 

Viv gave a noncommittal smile. She didn’t give a shit what he said. A walk to Elunath’s door and Busson would need replacement vertebrae.

 

“Deliver the finished product to the Post Guild. They will be expecting it and pay you on delivery.”

 

“This is my turn to tell you not to short change me, I suppose?”

 

“You know the Post Guild doesn’t mess around with package deliveries.”

 

“I suppose they wouldn’t. Nasty business those guilds. Cutthroat competition.”

 

“I bet. Will you take the contract?”

 

“Sure. Hand over the money.”

 

Busson slipped the papers in his waist pocket. Viv felt like pocketing money in a thug den was a little risky but he did mention he knew the local crew.

 

“Here.”

 

Busson snatched the purse from Viv’s hand. His fingers danced on the leather surface with great speed. Was he feeling the coins?

 

“All there. Good. I’ll be off then. Oh, and a last word of warning. I might be under the Gaters protection but you ain’t so I’d make myself scarce if I were you.”

 

With a last nod, Busson left at a brisk walk. Viv made to stand and face the man who’d made for her as soon as the scribe had left. Viv looked at him and knew shit wouldn’t go well. He had a manic smile, crazy hair, the filthiest, gaudiest outfit of the lot and, more tellingly, his shiv was already out.

 

“Alright, pipsqueak, Hand over the rest of the coin.”

 

Silence spread over the inn. Viv knew what was going on. They were letting their crazy test the ground.

 

Well.

 

That was fine.

 

“This is not—”

 

Viv did not really finish her sentence. She calmly grabbed her beer mug behind her and sent it at the man’s face.

 

It was at that exact moment that the mug snapped in half.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

 

Because of course, the vandal title picked its moments.

 

The handle plinked against the back of the head of a tall man who’d been badly losing at cards if the bits in front of him were any say, while the body smashed on the chest of the bar’s tallest thug, spilling leftover liquid on his fancy doublet.

 

The crazy man blinked, then shrieked in outrage.

 

“Really?” Viv yelled as she backpedaled against the counter. “Really, Nous? Emeric? You absolute—”

 

She pushed away the hand holding a shiv and blocked the front kick but the weight of it made her back slam painfully against the edge of the counter. She still ducked under a hook that clipped the top of her head. The thug somehow moved back from her uppercut but he was off balance. Her next jab caught him in the plexus. He was thrown back with a welp of pain.

 

Viv stood and shrugged her shoulders. The card player had stood white the head thug was making for her with his goons in tow. The leftover anger from the previous day surged through her. Unbridled, unabated fury washed away her self-control like a tide, only leaving clamps on her use of mana. Delicious rage ignited her spine, her chest. Her muscles flexed. Her fingers found two nearby seats and grabbed them. The wood groaned piteously.

 

A rictus of cruelty bloomed on her face and she didn’t care.

 

“Fine. That. is. FINE!”

 

No spells needed.

 

“Let’s bleed this cu—”

 

The card player blocked a thrown seat, the crazy the other, so they missed Viv sprinting forward and kicking the player. She aimed for his nuts and missed, still caught him in the belly. He flew back, taking the playing table with his girth. Iron bits flew everywhere. Other players screamed. One of them grabbed the fallen gambler as he picked himself up and kicked him. Other folks were standing. Meanwhile, Viv dodged a shive thrust and maneuvered around the crazy to keep the thug leader from reaching her. She found a discarded chair and slammed him with it, once, twice. She relished every impact. Every time her victim grew more confused by her power. The sound of wood on flesh. On the third blow, she got him in the temple but the chair broke. The thug captain’s group moved to surround her so she jumped back over a table. The people there complained. They stood to block the thug captain’s men. Someone threw a punch. The two groups started wailing on each other. Chaos spread through the inn.

 

Viv jumped on the thug captain, using a burst of speed and strength. Her boot snapped his head back but he caught her heel, then pivoted to send her flailing on the closest wall. Her mind was faster than theirs but they moved with great instinct. Two thugs made to catch her. She used the wall to twist on herself and dodge under their grasp. A hook in the ribs sent the first against a wrestling pair. All three men swore. The other punched her in the shoulder then grabbed her from behind. She tried to make him lose balance and failed completely, but a brief struggle let her free her neck. She bit down on his arm. It was salty and gross but his screams were delicious.

 

She was sent flying again. Their strength and her weight meant a lot of being thrown around which irritated an already inflamed mind. Those absolute fuckers.

 

She slammed through the window. It broke and she was outside. Peons watched her bounce on one hand to avoid wiping the entire plaza with her fancy cloak. The dog whined.

 

She was standing.

 

Common sense said she was out and should make a run for it. Unfortunately, common sense was taking a vacation for its own mental health. Viv crashed back in like a discount battering ram into the back of an unfortunate twat whose main sin was being downrange.

 

“SOMEONE GET THAT INSANE MIDGET!” the thug captain roared as he made his way through the melee.

 

“Come and get it, asshat!”

 

The captain finally pushed past the last fighter by punching them in the jaw. Viv spotted his furious gaze as he broke through the last pair only to catch a face full of beer.

 

“NERIAD NOT AGAIN!”

 

Before he was even blinded, Viv grabbed an entire table and swung overhead. It caught against a hanging candelabra which broke under the strain. Her downward strike smote the captain clean on the head.

 

“Ow!”

 

He pushed the table aside and caught the candelabra on the nose as gravity finished what the vandal title had started. Against all odds, the thug recovered, though he was bleeding heavily.

 

He and Viv moved in to demolish each other.

 

The slugging contest was short and brutal. It was clear the man had skill and experience while Viv had stats. He exploited his superior reach and weight to keep her away. It mostly worked. Meanwhile, Viv deflected all of his blows before they got to her nose. He moved in to try and wrestle her but that was his mistake. She gripped his wrist and twisted, sending him careening on the ground. She jumped on him but he twisted, kneeing her in the cheek.

 

“STOP RIGHT NOW!” A voice bellowed.

 

Viv did so, not because the pressure of an intimidation skill affected her but because it did everyone else. She was finally cooling down enough to realize that might have been a mistake.

 

A massive man in gambeson stood at the edge of stairs heading up. He had long dark hair and an eye patch. Muscular arms crossed over a massive chest.

 

The brain was here.

 

Outside, whistles echoed each other.

 

“Maranor’s cunt, you dickheads got a patrol in my business. Out, everyone. OUT!”

 

The harried barman pressed something and a secret door opened at the back. All assembled thugs ran with abandon, previous opponents pulling each other up to escape. Viv followed. They moved through back rooms and out of a garden door, facing a small yard. Two guards in crimson uniforms waited, but they paled and backed away when they realized they were outnumbered fifteen to one. For some reason, one of the two found Viv at the back of the formation.

 

“Halt! In the name of the law, stop right there!”

 

Viv completely ignored a weak compulsion.

 

“Kiss my ass, pig!”

 

The guards went after her as the group scattered through a labyrinth of backstreets. To Viv’s surprise, the thug captain grabbed a broken jar and swung. The piece of ceramic slammed into the leading guard’s bassinet. That slowed him down considerably.

 

“Criminals!” the guard accused.

 

Well, yeah. Great deduction, Sherlock, Viv thought. She was getting the beginning of a hangover.

 

Her speed let her move quickly but she was hopelessly lost. Thankfully, a shade detached himself from a nearby corner before she resolved herself to using her gravity harness to go for the roof.

 

“Irao! Thank, errr, some god. Maradoc maybe?”

 

“You are being pursued. Follow.”