Courte was quiet the day after Chariot Day, even in the Warrens—even at the Slattern’s Quarrel, one of the Warrens’ most horrible taverns, where two young women sat and waited. The Quarrel, with its filthy tables, watered-down drinks and hordes of unconscious patrons, was clearly not the watering hole of choice for Bisha and Scarlet, but they had an appointment to keep, and here they were sure to not be overheard.“Do you think they’re coming soon?” asked Scarlet, picking nervously at her smeared glass of wine. “This place is disgusting.”
“They’ll be here,” said Bisha. She, a few years Scarlet’s senior—although both had reached dao shi—was confident in her information network and certain that her letters had been delivered, and that their recipients would show.
Right on time, the ranger swaggered in. He’d clearly had a few drinks elsewhere before showing up, swaying just a little as he shouldered his way through the crowd, but he’d do. Gods, he’s seen better days, thought Bisha, but she waved him over nonetheless. Just after came him the sickly young man from the Guild, a little pale but still confident, earning a wide berth from the drunks who rightly recognized him. Bisha fingered him, as well, and the barkeep made a show of wiping their table, albeit with a filthy rag. Several patrons looked on, including an unusually wide-eyed dwarf, sitting alone, and what looked like a circus performer, a mixed-race man whom Bisha had seen around Courte, busking.
Bisha, not wishing to waste any more time in such an awful place, told the ranger, “It was I who left the summons for you, ranger, because when I heard you were in Courte I knew we could come to you for help. I am from Leye, in the Loc Forest, and grew up hearing of the legendary Cragge, the ranger who prowled the South and protected us from harm.”
The ranger squirmed, choking back his drink. Scarlet piped, “I’m a Courte girl, born and bred. But she’s said a lot about you. You look, um, older than she said, though.”
He did look older, and much less heroic than Bisha had hoped, but she continued. “Two weeks ago, one of our friends, Ilia, serviced a client named Edulf Bound. He’s rich—his father is the quaestor of Trowe—but he’s unpleasant. Companions before Ilia warned her that his tastes were unusual, but she was young and trying to reach dao shi, so she took him regardless.”
“We didn’t hear from her for a few days,” said Scarlet, “but that’s not unusual, since the Bound boy is rich and keeps a house here and the rich ones often retain us for a period of days and not hours. But she never turned back up, even after four days, and we—Bisha and I—sent someone to the Bound house to find her.”
Bisha said, “Our messenger said that she wasn’t there, and then Ilia turned up near the Buldocks. Her throat was cut and her purse was still tucked into her dress, and she’d been ravaged.” Ravaged wasn’t the least of it. Ilia had been defiled, her throat slashed, her belly cut up, her groin torn apart. There’d been bruises on her neck, marks all over her, even after some time in the water. This simply wasn’t tolerated among companions.
The ranger and the other, that young and unhealthy assassin, didn’t blink, so Scarlet continued. “Normally, in a case like this, when somebody does a companion violence, our matron will deal with it. She’ll bring in the Assassins Guild. But when we got Ilia’s body and asked our nu she jian how she would go about justice, she ignored it. We brought a formal complaint against the Bound boy but were rebuked, told he’d done no wrong. We tried to convene a council of the dao shi, but the matron squashed it.”
Bisha looked at Rydley, the assassin about whom she’d heard so much recently. “Which is why we’re coming to you. We don’t know why the nu she jian won’t act on this, and we can’t go the Assassins Guild because they’re obligated to get approval from her before taking a contract. We were told you might be open to taking a contract on the side. I know it’s not the way the Assassin’s Guild normally does things, but this just isn’t right. The Bound boy needs to be brought in. If we could just produce him, we know he’d be brought to justice.” She paused, hoping for more of a reaction. Instead, the ranger simply looked into his drink and the assassin stared at her.
“So, my question is, will you help us? We can show you where he is.”
The assassin, Rydley, laughed, a hopeless bleat. “Why would I want to do that? The Guild doesn’t allow it, and they’ll come after me. This is ridiculous.”
Bisha leaned forward. “From what I’ve heard—and believe me, my network of people rivals yours—you’ve got ample reason to help me. It’s only a matter of time for you. Your clock is ticking.” Rydley leaned back, thinking about this.
The ranger, Cragge, who was slurring by this point, waved dismissively. “I don’t need your money. I don’t need any of this.”
“Yeah?” said Bisha. “Where’s your next drink coming from?” The ranger scoffed and turned his attention back to his mug, and Bisha, frustrated, looked to the busker.
“I’ve seen you around, haven’t I?” she asked. “Would you be willing to earn some money?” And then to the dwarf: “I don’t know why you’re alone, but you seem like the type who’s looking for adventure.”
The busker stood and leaned over the table. “I’d definitely be interested in making some money.” In the light, his almond-shaped eyes and pointed ears made clearer that he was of mixed elven stock.
The dwarf jumped at Bisha’s voice, surprised at being addressed. “I’m just traveling,” he said. “I’ve been on the road a long time and came to Courte to see something new. I might be able to help.”
Bisha turned to the ranger. “What about you? If these two, whom we don’t know at all, are willing to help out, why aren’t you?”
Cragge burped, and said, “It would just go wrong. Everything goes wrong. I don’t know what you heard, lady, but that was a long time ago.”
Scarlet pushed her wine away. “But don’t you care about doing right? This boy needs to be brought to justice.”
“It might have been a long time ago,” said Bisha, “But I’m sure you’re still the Cragge I heard about as a girl. I’m sure you still want to help people.”
Cragge weighed this for a moment. “If I do this,” he said, “And I’m not saying I will. But if I do, I want to do things my way.”
“Of course,” said Bisha. “That’s why we came to you. We can’t do this by ourselves.” She looked to the assassin, whose expression was dark. “What about you? Can we count you in?”
“You don’t leave me much choice,” he said.
“Of course there’s a choice,” said Bisha. “It’s just a choice that offers one, much easier path.” The assassin glared. “So it’s decided, then. Another round of drinks, and then we go after the Bound boy.” Bisha waved the barkeep over, and Scarlet clapped. Her enthusiasm was not echoed around the table, and everyone drank silently while Bisha wrote out a note of credit to the party they’d just hired. Cragge broke the quiet.
“Someone needs to check out this house first. Someone needs to go first and let us know what’s going on. There must be a tavern or something where we can hang out while somebody—I think that guy”—he pointed to Rydley—“figures out what’s going on.”
“The Bound house is on Cairn Island,” said Bisha. “There aren’t taverns in the neighborhood.”
“And don’t you have a flask or something?” asked the dwarf.
“Of course I have a flask,” Cragge said. “It’s just stupid to walk up to the house together.”
The dwarf chimed in again. “The ranger brings up a good point. The four of us trekking in a straight line to one of the richest neighborhoods in town is going to draw attention.”
“Normally, yes,” said Bisha. “But this is the day after Chariot Day.”
“This is the best day to go anywhere in Courte and not be noticed,” Scarlet agreed.
There followed much discussion about strategy, all agreeing that the Bound house wasn’t to be approached lightly but parties disagreeing on how retrieving Edulf would be accomplished. Everyone spoke at once, describing strategies ranging from a juggling distraction to burning down the house.
Rydley broke in, irritably interrupting the din. “We know where we’re going and we know how to get there. We should go if we are really doing this. Why are we wasting our time here?”
The companions agreed, laying down coins for the drinks and ushering the motley group out of the Quarrel and onto the street. The night had grown dark while they met, and even on such a sedate day as the day after Chariot Day, the Warrens were teeming. Here, unlike most of Courte, the streets were dirt rather than cobbles, and the narrow lanes were populated equally with those still sleeping off last night’s festivities and those who lurked in the shadows.
The group, making their way south toward Cairn Island, navigated through the Warrens, Rydley impatiently in the lead.
Out of the grimy shadows, two thugs suddenly appeared, one striking out at Rydley with a shortsword and slipping in the mud of the road. Three more emerged from behind, caging the group in the narrow road. The other in front swiped at Rydley with a club, making a wild swing and missing. All members of the gang bared their teeth, shouting for the group to give up their purses. The companions shrieked and clung to one another, terrified.
Rydley, no stranger to the streets of Courte, stepped forward and drew his sword. Likewise, Cragge, unhappy at being boxed in but reluctant to fight, turned and pulled his sword from its sheath. The thugs in the rear brandished their weapons—a knife, a battered old sword and a chunk of wood used as a club—and advanced, yelling all the while. The two in front moved closer, one making another ineffectual poke at Rydley and the other standing back.
Rapchil, the half-elf, then slashed out with his staff, catching one of the thugs across the face. The thug stumbled and shook his head, backing off. Emboldened by this, Ennecus, the dwarf, summoned the energies of the Body and caused a line of fire to streak from his finger, engulfing the heads of one of the thieves in front. The thief shrieked, his hair burning away, and made a blind slash at Rydley. His sword caught him on the shoulder, biting deep. The other thug in front, shocked, took a swipe at the dwarf who’d just burned his friend’s hair off, stabbing him in the neck with a dirty dagger. Ennecus howled. This was the adventure he'd been craving all this time? He should have stayed in Gildas.
This sudden bloodshed caused the thieves at the rear of the group to draw nearer. Cragge shook the cobwebs from his head and finally lashed out woozily, easily striking one of them down. Well, at least his muscles still work. Kind of, thought Bisha.
At the front of the group, the lead thug, singed, suddenly seemed to recognize Rydley for who he was. “Oh, no—I didn’t mean to—” he began, but Rydley, bleeding heavily and regretting ever having gotten himself in this situation, sent his sword deep into the man’s gut. The thug buckled, falling into the dirt of the alley. His mates, seeing their leader fall, scattered, leaving their dead friend behind. The leader began to crawl away, leaking blood and moaning, trying desperately to escape. Rydley, grim-faced, let him get a few paces before following, leaning over and slitting his throat.
Bisha and Scarlet looked at one another, wide-eyed. This is not what either of them had expected, and this scene, with blood and mud and an alley reeking of offal, was a far cry from the satin comfort of the Companions Guild. Rydley turned and looked at them, sneering. “Let’s get this over with,” he said, and limped away, toward Cairn Island. The rest of the group followed.
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