Meister of the Secret
The Tijervyn Chronicles: Volume Two
Chapter Two

story by
Richard Fife

art by
April Herron

Chapter Two: “To Do Right”

The clatter of cheap forks and spoons against tin plates mixed with the pewter mugs clinking in toasts or against the rough wood of tables that filled the dimly lit tavern. Markus found it hard to believe the same people that made such a ruckus would have been cowering behind locked doors only a few months ago. Then again, only a few months ago, Markus had been a hero, if an unknown one, helping to serve and protect his country deep behind enemy lines. Markus looked around the full room. Perhaps it was not so hard to believe a few months could change things so much after all.

“What about you, stranger?”

Markus turned back to the man who had spoken. The man, along with a three others, were gathered around the fireplace, the same as Markus. They all had the look of factory workers to them: rough and calloused hands and faces crisscrossed with half-healed scars. Still, their eyes were those of regular men, and their conversation had not been of anything dark and sinister, at least not more so than anyone else spoke of anymore. Tonight, between complaining about their foremen at work and wives at home, the rumors of revenants had filled the meat of their talk.

“What about me?” Markus said.

“You’ve been awfully quite,” the closest man said. “Been having a good listen, and I don’t blame you for that, but I’d wager you’ve your fair share to say, too. Speak up, lad.”

“Bah,” another of the men said. “Look at him. All soft and fancy. This is a free man’s bar, it is, but I can still tell when some shopboy from the other side of the Scent District comes down slumming.”

“Servant in the castle, I’d wager,” the third said.

The first man look back at them then turned back and squinted. “Aye, he’s a soft one to look at him, but those eyes, lads. Take a closer look. This young man has seen more than his fair share, I wager. Well, lad? Who’s buying the next round of drinks?”

Markus looked them over and smiled. “I was a soldier.”

The men looked at him in shock.

“In the war?” the fourth asked.

“Of course in the war, you nitwit,” the first said.

“You were,” the second said. “What are you now, then?”

“Just a man making his way,” Markus said.

“Closer to a shopboy than a servant, I’d say.” The second turned to the third. “Go on then, get us a round.”

“You’ll be getting the next one, Terry,” the first said.

“What?” Terry said. “How do you figure that, Bart?”

“You were wrong too,” Bart said. “He isn’t no shopboy, you can be sure of that. Not with that look about him, not a solider.” Bart turned back to Markus while the third man flagged down a serving girl. “Now then, you’ve actually seen them, haven’t you? Revenants.”

The smile faded from Markus’s face. “Yes. I’ve seen them.”

“What do you think about this one in the city?”

“More than one,” Terry said.

“You’re a blind fool to think that,” the third said.

“Bugger off, Reg,” Terry said. “You think a single man could do all they say this thing has been doing.”

“Bugger you,” Reg said. “Isn’t no man we’re talking about, now is it? I heard one story about a revenant that had enough extra bits on him to make a whole other man, and if he wanted they could come right off him and make another one, too!”

“If they could do that, we’d have lost the war,” Markus said. “But you’re right about one thing. They can put back more than was there.”

The men turned back to Markus, seeming to suddenly remember he was there. “Well,” Bart said. “What about this revenant problem in the city?”

“I don’t think there is one,” Markus said.

“What?” Terry said. “What about all the things they’ve done?”

“Men don’t need metal arms to kill,” Markus said. “Or to burn down city blocks.”

“They’d need one to crumple a revolver up like it was paper,” Bart said. “Or to rip a woman limb from limb.”

Markus narrowed his eyes. “Rip a woman limb from limb? I can’t say I’d heard that one.”

“Happened two nights ago,” Reg said. “Over in Docktown. Witnesses and everything. They say he looked just like a man, and not even a big one, but he grabbed her by each wrist when she tried to feel him up, pulled her arms right off, then walked off into the fog like it wasn’t nothing.”

Markus took a drink to wet his suddenly dry throat. “Even that can be staged, especially if it was during a fog.”

“It wasn’t staged,” the fourth man said. “I saw it.”

Bart turned to the man. “Blimey, Kurt, that where you were that night? And what exactly were you doing down in Docktown?”

“Nothing I’m proud of,” Kurt said. “But that isn’t no matter. I saw that man rip the woman apart. He did it slow like, but you could tell he could have just ripped her in two like a broadsheet if he wanted to. I think he wanted to hear her scream.”

Kurt shuddered, and Bart pulled out a flask and handed it to him.

“Calm down, mate,” Bart said.

Kurt took a pull off the flask but held onto it and stared into the fireplace with a haunted look in his eyes. Markus had seen that look before, back in the war. A man might have tried to impress his mates by saying he actually saw what they only had heard about, but Kurt was not a man boasting.

“Even if it could be faked,” Terry said. “Who could do something like that? Who’d kill a woman like that?”

“Plenty of people could,” Bart said. “Don’t go thinking this is some fairytale city, mate. The real question is why.”

The men’s eyes turned back to Markus, and he shrugged. “My money would be on the rebels.”

“Why’d they do it?” Reg said.

“Discredit the government,” Markus said. “Or the Meisters’ Guild. Maybe both. One can’t stop the monster, one probably made it.”

The men nodded, but more it seemed to satisfy Markus than to agree. Silence fell over the fireplace, and when Markus finished his beer and stood, none of them even seemed to notice.

He had taken a room at a nearby boarding house. The room was small and the bed little softer than a slab of granite, but it was cheap, had a water pump just down the hall, and the landlord did not ask a single question. That it was also near a bar known for catering to the gossip hungry was another reason Markus had chosen it.

Not that Markus had enjoyed hearing the gossip. Still, it was better that he knew for sure. There was another revenant in the city. At least one, and on a rampage besides. And, unlike him, this one did not seem to care if people knew it was here.

A sound from down an alley drew his attention, and he stopped and peered into moonlight and shadows. A door about halfway down the alley was hanging from its hinges, and the sound of what was likely more doors being broken from inside echoed out into the night.

A drop of sweat ran down Markus’s temple despite the cool breeze. Had the other revenant decided to run amok in the slums, tonight? He edged towards door and took a closer look. The wood near the latch was cracked and warped, and the hinges, both the intact and the broken, were thickly rusted. No, it would not have taken a revenant’s strength to put the door in this state. A decently large man with a crowbar would have been just as likely. In fact, more likely. A revenant would probably have completely torn the door off.

He looked through the door and saw another busted open, this one in better shape and obviously forced by more traditional means. A run of the mill robbery, then. As if to confirm Markus’s suspicions, a large man stepped out into the hallway.

No, to say large was an understatement. The man was easily a head taller than Gavrial, who was himself a head over Markus. The same comparison could be said of this thief’s shoulders as well. A mop of dark, oily hair hung around the man’s ears from under a bowler hat, and a distinctive flat, crooked nose seemed the most appealing part of the man’s face. He saw Markus and reached for something inside his coat.

Markus did not have time to think, but old instinct held true. He jumped out of the doorway, and thus out of the line of fire. He clinched his fist, but then hesitated. The burglar was running down the hall and would be around the door frame in a moment. A quick punch from Markus’s right arm would put an end to the situation easy enough, but it would also be the sure mark of a revenant. No, Markus was done leaving clues, trying to sift fact from fiction. He knew there was another revenant now.

So, instead, he turned and ran. At first he moved as fast as his legs would carry him, and so he was already around the corner before the burglar had reached the alley. He then slowed down, not so that he could be caught, but just enough that he would not attract attention.

Something in him ached for having let the man get away. Never mind that it was Markus that was running. He could have stopped the man, could have even killed him. Megyn, a soldier he knew who fancied herself a secret vigilante, would have. But Markus had his fill of killing in the war, and anything he did to non-fatally stop the man would have marked him out. There was simply no way someone Markus’s size could have stopped someone like that.

For the first time, Markus felt mildly scared. He had grown used to being the strongest person he knew, and even if he still was, that he could not use that strength meant that, after a fashion, he was not.

He made it back to his room without incident, but it was long into the night before sleep found him. Even then, it was a dark, fitful thing fraught with nightmares.

* * *

Nobles milled about the salon, gossiping in some circles and arranging business in others. Some circles even had both, such as that of Prince Dorian. In truth, Maaike would have preferred to socialize in a circle that was strictly business, but her association with the prince was well known, and it would cause more gossip than the business was worth to scorn him when he was present.

Regardless, she had not been completely impaired. While it was true the royal family was hardly in the strong position it would have liked, neither was it weak. In the three months she had been in the capital, she had managed to secure several shipping contracts and buyers for the few usable goods Kanadis exported. She had even received letters from her mother commenting about the new income, although she never outright thanked Maaike for saving the barony. No, the woman even signed the letters “Baroness Kanadis”. One would think she had forgotten Maaike was her daughter.

The thought of the letters reminded her of the strange one she had received just yesterday. Quintin had made no mention of Maaike’s meddling with the Sentatian Meisters’ Guild, but his warning seemed too pointed. And help Qristina? As far as Maaike was concerned, Tesma’s daughter could sink into the river along with the rest of the Meisters’ Guild.

Something one of the prattling nearby nobles said caught Maaike’s attention and pulled her from her thoughts. Not that she had been quiet. No, she had long ago learned how to prattle with the best of them without really listening or even thinking.

“Well if it isn’t Count Jaeger,” Lady Ariel Dunny said. “But who is that strumpet on his arm?”

“Knowing uncle, not the same one we’ll see next week,” Lady Becka DeRosa replied.

Maaike turned from the conversation she had been in, some insipid thing about the storms, and turned to see Jaeger, Count of Sunset and the technical administrator of the city, escorting in a woman half his age. A few months ago, that might have been her. And, like a few months ago, Maaike did not believe for a minute that the woman was a paramour. During her own acquaintance with Jaeger, he had not once made a romantic overture towards her, not that he did not allow the rumors to flourish. It had hidden their true cause well enough.

Ariel and Becka broke off from the prince’s group and went to talk to Jaeger, and perhaps find out who is supposed latest dalliance was, but Maaike contented herself to stay behind. It was common knowledge that her and Jaeger had fallen out, and for once that was not a ruse of politics. The man had failed her, perhaps even set her up to fail, and she had little use for such.

She paid a bit more attention to the conversation around her and started to subtly steer it. Just a word her, or an emphasis in her language there, but it was enough. Before a handful of minutes had passed, the nobles around her were grumbling about the reports of strange crimes committed in the night and what the common folk were blaming for them.

Before the conversation had degenerated too far, she steered it away and over to the recent profitability of using overland shipping routes. This time, she was more obvious in her efforts and spared a smile for Prince Dorian. The prince, for his part, had taken notice of the muttered comments, especially the ones deriding Sunset House, and by extension the Royal Family, for not handling the matters in a prompt and discreet manner.

With her goal for the morning done, she excused herself, which of course took upwards of ten minutes. If it was one thing to be said of the Sentatian Court, it was polite.

She finally managed to extract herself from the throng of nobles and left the salon. She had barely managed a few steps in the hallway, though, when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Leaving so soon, Lady Kanadis?”

She turned around and made no effort to hide the venom in her voice. “I prefer to keep more gentle company, Count Jaeger.”

Jaeger walked up to her with a smirk across his lips. He was a handsome man, in his way. A little past his middle years, with a well trimmed goatee. His still somewhat militaristic mode of dress certainly helped to cut the dashing figure, and the sunburst motifs that marked his office at least gave the illusion of power.

“Radiant as always, I see,” he said. “I was curious if we might talk.”

“I believe we said all that needed said on the airship dock three months ago,” she said.

“Three months is a long time,” he said. “Tijervyn hardly could stay the same for so long. Nor could people, I’d imagine. Surely we might find something to speak about.”

“You obviously have something in mind,” she said. “So then, out with it.”

His smirk disappeared much like a summer fog. “I wanted to speak with you about the revenant problem.”

“Revenant problem?” She laughed. “I thought Sunset House was not acknowledging there to be a halfman in the city.”

“We aren’t,” he said. “But certain people do seem to still talk about it.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “And what is talk?”

“You know full well what talk is.”

She smiled. “As do you. Do you know what talk I’ve heard? I’ve heard that ever since that debacle at the Council, House DeRosa has suddenly managed to gain several extremely lucrative contracts with the Meisters’ Guild. Funny thing is: I could have sworn we were working against them.”

“I am—”

“No longer a DeRosa, I know,” she said. “The Sunset Count forsakes his family when he takes his office. Do you honestly expect to me to believe that, Jaeger? Especially after all the times you told me that you were in our alliance for your own reasons?”

“I had nothing to do with those contracts,” Jaeger said. “Not that you’d believe me anyway. That still isn’t why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Yes, I believe you were accusing me of rumor mongering,” she said. “Go ahead, said it.”

He shook his head. “No, I know you’re involved in that, but it hardly matters. What I was more curious about was what you might be able to do to help me. No, not me. This city. Tijervyn needs your help, Maaike, and through it Sentat itself. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“I am helping Sentat,” she said. “But I have my own means, methods, and goals. If you cannot capture a few halfmen, it is hardly my concern.”

“A few I could,” Jaeger said. “From the reports, it sounds more like a hundred. Mere men couldn’t—”

“Mere men?” She laughed, a deep throaty thing. “You have never seen what a halfman can do, have you, Jaeger? To call them mere men is to call a lion a mere cat. They are not men, mere or otherwise. Monsters is more apt. This country named them after risen spirits for a reason, and Adervyn is too kind to call them halfmen.”

“My lady, I think you exaggerate.” The look on his face said that was more of a hope.

“I was in Adervyn during the war. I saw the demonstrations.” She paused and shuddered, remembering. “Sentat outnumbered them five to one on the battlefield, and still they fought us to a standstill. Tell me, Count Jaeger, am I exaggerating? Talk to a soldier that was there, sometime.”

“What are you saying?”

She regained her composer. “I’m saying, my good Count, that at most, you have a handful of barely modified halfmen running amok in the streets, and Troena help you if it ever becomes more than that. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

She turned and left. At the end of the hall, she glanced back briefly. Jaeger was still standing there, a look somewhere between thoughtful and worried on his face. He believed her, on some level. That was good. Maybe, just maybe, he would do what needed done when an even worse halfman showed up. Not if, but when. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

Markus opened his eyes and looked to his side. Father Morgan had sat down next to him, his usual calm and understanding countenance mixed with concern. The priest did not speak, as usual, but instead waited for Markus.

“Afternoon, Father,” Markus said.

“Afternoon, my son,” Morgan said. “You seem well.”

Markus raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Well for you, at least.” Morgan smiled. “Usually you look as if the entire city is about to die because of something you can’t stop. Today I’d wager it was only a city block.”

Markus chuckled then looked at Morgan in disbelief. “Did you . . . did you just . . . ?”

Morgan laughed too. “Just because I wear a habit doesn’t mean I can’t make a joke, my son.” He grew somber and shook his head. “Markus, you know you’re welcome here anytime to find the solace you need.”

Markus took a deep breath. “And so you’re about to tell me to go away.”

Morgan flinched. “I’m going to tell you, Markus. You are welcome here, no matter what. But, you might want to consider it.”

“And why is that?”

Morgan looked around the nave, but it was mostly empty except for a few other parishioners that were sitting alone in faraway pews. He then leaned in closer to Markus.

“It has more to do with your, well, unique disposition. A cardinal has been sent to the city from Adervyn by order of the Sthavara in Gorlido. I would imagine you know what the church is saying of recent events in Adervyn, yes?”

Markus frowned. “If it’s the same thing they were saying during the war, yes. But what does that have to do with—”

A chill went down Markus’s spin, and he glanced up to see a shadow standing at the end of the pew. Morgan looked too, and he quickly stood and nodded in a way that seemed more of a bow.

“Your Eminence.”

The shadow only stood at the end of the pew, and Morgan walked back to the aisle. Markus could feel the shadow’s eyes on him as well, though, and he gave in to the urge to stand and follow the priest.

“Ever so vigilant the shepherd,” the shadow said. “I must say, Morgan, I have never seen a priest so dedicated to his flock.”

Something in the way the shadow spoke told that was not a compliment. Regardless, Morgan smiled as if it was one. “Troena teaches that the strongest connection is between two people. Markus, this is Cardinal Anglind, recently arrived to our fair city from Adervyn.”

Markus bowed. “Your Eminence.”

Anglind looked at Markus through calculating eyes. “Have we met before, my child?”

Markus stood and looked at the gaunt, elderly cardinal again, and he felt a wave of recognition. He had not met the man, but he had seen him. He had also been in a place to be seen. He hoped his shock stayed off his face.

“I doubt it, Your Eminence. The closest I’ve been to Adervyn is the Sentatian lines during the war.”

Anglind nodded slowly. “You’re a Sentatian soldier?”

“Was, Your Eminence,” Markus said. “I took my discharge papers when the war was done and came home.”

“But you fought the halfmen,” Anglind said.

“Yes, Your Eminence.”

“Tell me, what did you think of them?”

Markus swallowed hard. “They were monsters that refused to die.”

Anglind sneered. “Is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough?” Markus said. “You won’t find a Sentatian soldier that doesn’t hate them.”

“Oh, they are worthy of your loathing,” Anglind said. “Vile creatures, but not just because they are impeccable soldiers. No, for that I must give them some thanks. They saved Adervyn, after all. But there is the small matter of their nature.”

Markus was fairly sure what was coming, but it was obvious the cardinal wanted to spout his dogma. “Their nature?”

“They are depraved creatures, my child. They have deformed the purity of their body, and Praedin’s taint enters them through the vile spike. In Adervyn, they run lawlessly in the streets, and it is all the constables and justiciars can do to keep the city from consuming itself.”

Markus became very aware of the spike embedded in his head that was just hidden by his coat’s tall collar. “Surely they aren’t all doomed. Wasn’t the Adervynian High Commander a revenant?”

“And he has fallen into lawlessness with the rest of them,” Anglind said. “A rebel that has gone to ground, disgraced as the basest scoundrel. He is, in case of point, the ultimate example. No matter how noble the man, the halfman will descend into wickedness.”

Morgan coughed. “Your Eminence, surely you don’t want to lose your fire for tonight’s homily.”

Anglind looked at Morgan with venom in his eyes, but he nodded. “Yes, of course. Attend me, Morgan. I have some preparations still. Surely your flock can manage itself for a few hours.”

Morgan appeared completely nonplussed by the Cardinal’s demeanor and nodded. “Of course, Your Eminence. It is an honor for you to grace our cathedral for this one service.”

Anglind was already moving down the aisle. “Yes, I’m sure, come along.”

Morgan spared Markus a glance that seemed to tell him to not worry then hurried after the cardinal. Markus waited until they had reached the altar then slowly left.

* * *

What Markus was looking for was not hard to find. A few pointed questions here and there, and he knew not only the exact address of the man from the night before, but his name, Tymeran, that he had a nautilus, and something of his schedule. Then again, a man larger and uglier than Gavrial was a rare thing, and he surely stuck out in people’s minds.

Markus was not surprised that the thief lived not even a block from the building he had robbed. He was big and strong, but obviously not all that bright, which was probably why he was not in a thieving band. Markus would have given it to a rookie’s mistake, but the man had hardly seemed unfamiliar with what he was doing.

Markus took a deep breath and looked up at the flat. It could have been the same building anywhere else in the slums. Rundown but not actually falling apart, and with the kind of dismal air around it that kept people from dreaming of moving up in the world, or of taking their lot out on those that were above them.

A nearby clock tower struck the time, and Markus walked inside. His plan would work, provided he was lucky. It was hastily thrown together, and even as he prepared for what he was going to do, he could not help but think that Bryon had rubbed off on him.

He went down the hall of the flat and found the right door. He did not even bother to knock, but instead planted the crowbar he was carrying firmly between the door and the jam, just above the latch, and wrenched it. The sound of splintering wood filled the air, as did a surprised grunt from beyond the door.

“What in Praedin’s green blazes?”

The tall man was standing with an overturned table in front of him. A pool of spilled beer was soaking into the already stained carpet. Markus looked at him for a moment then smiled.

“Oh, evening Tymeran. I didn’t think you’d be in.”

Tymeran stared at him in disbelief, then recognition flashed across his face. “You’re that sot from last night!”

Markus smiled and bolted, and Tymeran crashed after him. From the sound, he had decided to go through the table instead of around it.

Markus made sure to keep his pace slow enough for Tymeran to keep up. The thief did not disappoint, and before Markus was even in the street, he found himself having to very nearly run faster than he should in public just to stay out of reach.

People screamed as Markus and Tymeran plowed past. Carts were overturned, and horses reared in their leads and nearly wrecked the carriages and wagons they pulled. Markus led Tymeran on a chase that seemed random, but it had been in truth specifically chosen. Before long, they were alone in an alley, and a glance back showed that Tymeran was beginning to lose his breath, and Markus stopped and turned around.

Tymeran stopped a few yards away and looked at Markus with a suspicious eye. He was breathing hard, but not nearly as hard as Markus would have expected.

“What’s this then?”

“I’m tired of running,” Markus said. “I figured a good old, drag out fight was in order.”

Tymeran laughed. “Is that what you figured, is it?” He cracked his knuckles by simply flexing his fists. “Well then, come on little man. I’m going to enjoy this, after that chase you gave me.”

Markus smiled. “I doubt that.”

Tymeran scowled, but to his credit, when he advanced on Markus, it was at a careful pace. Perhaps he was not quite as moronic as Markus thought, but it would not matter much now. He had chased Markus into the alley, and that was all the idiocy he needed.

When Tymeran had closed half the distance, Markus reached over and pulled a knot loose on a rope that stretched up several floors. Tymeran saw the rope and traced it to the eventual end, which was now slackening quickly and racing towards him, along with the several oaken beams it had been holding up.

Tymeran tried to jump out of the way, but he was too late. One beam caught him in his upraised arm, and the distinct sound of breaking bone echoed off the alley walls along with the tumult of falling beams. Another caught his shoulder, and then the man was lost in the pile of broken wood.

Markus hefted his crowbar and walked over to the mess. He saw splotches of blood here and there, and for a moment he feared he had killed the man, but then he heard the soft groan of a semi-conscious man in extreme agony.

A lesser man, one who did not know how to survive, or at least have the will to do so, would have likely died. But for a man like Tymeran, this would only hurt him, slow him down a bit. Markus had seen wholmen take even worse during the war. At least Tymeran would be saved the fate of becoming a halfman.

Markus found an angle that let him see the other man’s face and brought the crowbar up. For a moment, he was tempted to end it. The man was a thief at least, and likely much more if what he had heard in the taverns was true. But Cardinal Anglind’s voice was in his ears. A halfman will descend into wickedness. Had Markus done that?

He had only harmed innocent people when he was with the Hole. Oh, Bryon would have argued there was no such thing as the innocent, but Markus knew the truth. No matter how Bryon dressed it up, they were thieves, smugglers, and hired killers.

But Tymeran was not innocent. If the constables caught him, they would hang him sure enough for his nautilus tattoo. Markus could save them the trouble.

He lowered the crowbar and tossed it to the side. No. He had given up killing in cold blood, and that was what this would be. It pained him to have to qualify it. He wanted to never kill again, but somehow, he knew he would. Let it be in the heat of a fight, though. Not when his enemy was broken at his feet. For once, he would do right.

The sound of rushed footsteps came from around a bend in the alley, and Markus turned and ran the other way. Voices called out for him to stop, but he was gone and hidden before anyone saw him. He scaled a nearby fire escape and quickly was on the roof looking down. Below, three constables were moving boards off Tymeran. Yes, in the end, they would kill him too, but at least they had the rule of law on their side.

Markus took a deep breath and felt a sense of peace. He then felt a sharp pain as something hit him in the back of the head, and the world went black.