move a muscle, but he was wound tight as a spring inside. He needed to do something and quick. He couldn’t take on the whole gang by himself.
While he was thinking, Taney stepped up and looked at his belt. “Look at what we have here! A sword. Just the thing for cutting hair. Enel Onato, will you allow a humble barber to demonstrate his arts?”
Without waiting for a response, Taney slowly put his hand on the hilt. The gesture violated everything Vordius believed about proper behavior, and there was only one possible reaction. He grabbed the man’s fat hand and twisted it hard. Taney cried out and fell to one knee. In an instant, one of the apprentices grabbed Vordius by the hair while another – a small hoodlum with a Capotian face – knocked his feet out from under him. Taney stood up, a shining razor in his hand. The phony smile was gone, replaced by an expression that boded ill for Vordius.
“Hold him while I give the Enel an intimate haircut!”
Vordius tried to hit the man behind him with his head, but he was held too tight. He was stronger than most men, but Taney’s apprentices were professional criminals who knew exactly what they were doing. His body was wet with sweat, but his mouth was dry, with a metallic taste. Is this really the end? flashed through his mind.
The man with the red beard gestured with his knife again, and the others laughed. Master Taney stepped aside, and his place was taken by giant of a man with a hunched back who grabbed Vordius’ belt with a hairy fist.
All of a sudden, there was a snapping sound in the bushes, like the sound of someone beating a carpet. The thugs let go of Vordius. The bearded man grabbed his buttocks and let out an awful cry, and the giant groaned. He turned and retreated with a limp. The small Capotian got the worst of it: a bolt no more than two hands long pierced both of his cheeks at once with striking accuracy.
Taney leaped toward the trees and crouched down. He looked around, trying to ascertain the direction of the attack. Vordius’ hobnailed boot made contact with his sweaty face. The barber fell back, dropped his razor and began to yell, his mouth spouting blood.
He must have bitten through his tongue, Vordius laughed to himself. He pulled his sword from its scabbard and barked at the unfortunate riffraff, “Put your knives on the ground and hands in the air! Take five steps back! Now lie down on the ground!”
This highly unusual turn of events had evidently hypnotized the thugs’ meager brains. Like sleepwalkers, they followed the orders of the man whom, minutes before, they had been intending to torture with the cruelty that was characteristic of the capital city’s underclasses.
“You fools, did you think I would come alone?” Vordius worked himself up, his fear turning into anger. “Who did you dare raise your hands against? I have a bowman behind every tree. One move and you’ll all look like pincushions, you lousy wretches!”
The ruffians lay quietly, their bodies flat to the ground. Taney shoved a corner of the fancy robe he wore into his bleeding mouth. He was in no condition to talk. Vordius walked down the line of hostages and put his boot on the head of a young ruffian with a shock of dark hair and a face that was too tender for his line of work. His check pressed into the clay, the boy squinted his eyes shut.
“You raised your hand against an officer in the Imperial Guards,” Vordius informed him. “Do you know what the punishment for that is? They’ll burn your eyes out with mirrors, char your skin off and throw you in a cesspool, where you’ll howl in agony until you die. Attempting to harm one of the Emperor’s guards is the same as raising a hand against the Great Lord himself, may the Heavenly Deity preserve him for ages!”
Shaking, the boy bleated out, “Enel officer, we never would have harmed a hair on your head! It was a stupid joke, nothing more! Take pity on us and we’ll do anything you ask!”
“What can you do for me, swine? You’re about as useful as a candle on a bright summer day! I’ll turn you over to the Guards and take my reward!” He turned back to the tress. “Hey, Svenius! Inpato! Bring the ropes!”
“Enel nicor!” came a deep voice to his left. “We know how it is. You want that girl. The redhead. We can help you out…”
“Speak for yourself, Bergius,” hissed a young ruffian in a leather tunic and braided leggings. “You’re the one Asp will cut into tiny pieces. Not the rest of us.”
“Not so, Nicius,” said the deep voice. “You’re all in it now.” The speaker was a young man with a simple, round face, low forehead and prominent cheekbones. He looked like a peasant. “I’d rather spend the rest of my life back in my village in Semeria than get fried alive because of some stupid business of that fat Taney!”
“Stop chattering!” Vordius cried. “I want her name, where she lives, and who her family is. Tell me everything you know, or I swear by my honor I will personally deliver you to the Heavenly Throne’s jailers!”
“We don’t know those things, Enel nicor,” the young man with the peasant face said apologetically.
“I don’t believe you!” Vordius hissed. He reached for the hilt of his sword.
“May the Heavenly Deity burn me from head to foot, I don’t know what you are asking!” The peasant was calm and sober, like a man who has accepted a twist of fate and is making the best of it. “We are little people. You need to find Fire Asp. In the port, not even the mice leave droppings without his permission. That’s the truth.”
“Fire Asp?” Vordius laughed. “Is that his name? And where would I find him?”
“Fire Asp is everywhere and nowhere,” growled the man in the leather tunic.
“Speak up!” Vordius turned to him.
The peasant spoke for him. “There’s a house-boat restaurant in the port called Lotus Petals. Taney is supposed to meet someone there tomorrow, at the beginning of the second watch. I’ve heard talk that Asp will be there, too.”
Vordius turned to the barber, who was moaning, his robe black with blood.
“Taney has more important things to worry about now,” he said. He eyed them all. “Think of it this way: you just made the best bargain of your lives. But this is no pardon. It’s a head start. I’m on your tails, and so is that Asp. So take your cripple and his tongue,” he speared the bloody piece of meat with the tip of his sword and held it out to the talkative ruffian, “and get the Shadows out of the city.”
Without waiting for further explanation, the apprentices picked up their master and hobbled away as fast as they could. Vordius put his sword away and sighed – he hadn’t gotten to use it for its intended purpose. Despite all his bravado, it had been his first truly difficult fight.
When he caught sight of Sorgius crawling out of the bushes, he did his best to hide how worried he had been. “What was that you were shooting?” he asked.
His friend smiled proudly and held out a strange device.
“Let me see that!” Vordius took it in both hands. “A Capotian multi-shooter? These are toys! I remember when some merchants tried to sell us some of these. The bolts barely pierce canvas. I’d rather spit toothpicks!” he laughed.
“There’s an idea,” Sorgius said, raising a finger. “I’ve been trying to come up with a name for it, and I think ‘Spitter’ is just the thing!”
Vordius
