The Tijervyn Chronicles
Chapter Eleven

story by
Richard Fife

art by
April Herron

Chapter Eleven: “Fires in the Night”

A steady, slow drip of water echoed off the room’s metal walls. A single table with two chairs stood in the middle of the room, and for all of the reverberation, it was impossible to tell where exactly the sound of the water dripping came from. There was no sink, nor pipes in the ceiling. Perhaps somewhere behind the walls.

The question had slightly vexed Wynfeld ever since he had been a junior patrolman. That was why he never hunted down the answer. If it irritated him for the scant amount of time he spent in the room, it would have been maddening to anyone trapped in the room longer.

He stopped his pacing and sat down at the table. Across from him, Jak Joraz shook slightly in the thick, leather restraints of his chair. Two wires, one attached to each of the man’s thumbs, led to a small device on the table. It was a tool a meister had given him, and one that he had been loath to use. At least, until now.

“Mr. Joraz.” Wynfeld spoke in the man’s native tongue. What a boon it had been to learn Krellin all those years ago, despite everyone laughing at him for it. “How long are you going to keep this up?”

Jak’s gaze only slightly came into focus when Wynfeld spoke. The defiance was no longer there. When they had first started interrogating the man weeks ago, he had spat in their faces and stuttered curses at them. That was before Wynfeld had finally resorted to the device. Still, even with his resistance broken, the man would not talk. Wynfeld reached over and turned the machine up a setting.

“I had my doubts about using this contraption,” Wynfeld said. “There is something just so impersonal about it, not to mention I can’t be entirely sure of what it is exactly doing to you. But, I think this is a special case. See, I think, in some way, I am helping you, Mr. Joraz. Have you ever worked with a piece of faulty machinery? Something that has a loose part, perhaps? I haven’t myself, but I have watched meisters, and it seems that almost without exception their first response is to hit it. Now, I had thought this might be out of frustration, but I paid closer attention, and do you know what I saw, Mr. Joraz? I saw that more times than not, the machine would start working again. Not only that, it had been a hit of some sort that had stopped it, such as a bump in the road, or something falling over into it.”

Jak tensed as Wynfeld casually reached over and turned the device up another setting.

“Now, the doctors, they don’t know exactly what’s wrong with you. Your dossier says nothing about you being simple, or having a stutter. And then there was the way you had come to them to begin with; they recognize the work of a shockrod now. Not a thing wrong with you physically aside from a few burns, but it’s like something is broken, up here.”

Wynfeld tapped his temple, and Jak made sound not unlike a kitten mewling for its mother. He contemplated turning the machine up another notch, but held off.

“So, I figured, if it was Tesma’s strange, bottled lightning that did this to you, perhaps it could undo it. Repair the damage just like those meisters hitting their contraptions. Now, I have to say, you’re being very brave, Mr. Joraz, letting us try to help you like this. I can tell that this is far from comfortable, but my mother always told me that the worse a medicine tasted, the better it was for you.”

He stood, reached to turn the device’s knob, and then noticed Jak’s fearful eyes following his hand. That was new. He pulled back, leaving the device at the setting it was on.

“Now—”

The door to the interrogation room busted open, and Wynfeld wheeled around on it. Joss Snette stood in the door, and as ever, Andrew Dryden was behind him. Wynfeld nearly snarled.

“What is it?”

“Um, sir.” Joss glanced nervously at the device before looking back up. “There was a major break-in at one of the factories.”

“Salteen’s gang?”

“No sir,” Andrew said. “We aren’t really sure who, but it seemed to be a larger operation than that.”

“Why are you bothering me with this?” Wynfeld said. “I’m busy. Give it to one of the lieutenants.”

“Sir,” Joss said. “The order came from Sunset House. All available personnel are to respond.”

“And I am unavailable,” Wynfeld said. “Now get out!”

The patrolman gave him a worried look, but they retreated and closed the door. Wynfeld took a deep breath and turned back to Jak.

“Mr. Joraz, I haven’t been completely forthcoming with you,” he said. “You see, it isn’t random malice or some petty quest that drives me. I have been given a charge to keep this city safe, and Bryon Salteen is harboring a threat that must be addressed. See, it isn’t your gang in particular that I’m after, but a man that has recently joined it. In fact, I would say he joined the very night you were hurt. Funny, how things like that happen, isn’t it? Do you know him? He would have been brought in by Kira Jons? He would be of average height, dark hair, and, oh yes, there is a silver spike sticking out of his head.”

Jak’s eyes narrowed, perhaps in confusion. It was hard to tell with the machine on; it robbed a person of so much muscular control.

“Yes, Mr. Joraz, there is a revenant in the city. An Adervynian devil. You may not respect our laws, but perhaps you can respect the city’s safety in general. We cannot have this abomination running free, and all I ask is your help in return for the help I am trying to give you. In fact, if you help us, I can promise you a light sentence, despite your nautilus. I will even promise them for the rest of your gang. It is the revenant we are after, Mr. Joraz. All we need is the location of The Hole. Tell us that, and we can do the rest.”

Jak’s breath became quick, and Wynfeld reached over and turned the device off. The instant the switch was flipped, Jak slumped in his chair and began crying. That was new as well, although, on review, Wynfeld had turned the machine up higher than before. How had he not noticed that?

“How are you feeling, Mr. Joraz?” He leaned in. “Are your thoughts any more clear?”

Jak looked up with pain and tears in his eyes. There was no spirit left in the man, and for a moment, Wynfeld was worried he had pushed too far and completely destroyed what was left of the man’s mind. If that was the case, all there would be left to do was sign him over the asylum, Hordin House, and hope they might have more luck. Likely, they would just find a hole to throw him into until he wasted away to nothing.

He waited a moment more, but Jak did nothing more than whimper. Wynfeld sighed and turned. The man was a lost cause. He reached to open the door, but a sound from behind him stilled his hand. That was not just whimpering; there was more to it. He turned back around and kneeled next to Jak.

“Church. Lo—Logain street.” The words were barely there for as slurred as they were. Wynfeld might have almost been imagining them. “Across. Basement.”

“Is that where The Hole is?” Wynfeld said. “Across from the church on Logain street, in the basement?”

Jak looked up. His face was contorted in pain, and tears ran down his cheeks. He started shaking, and after a moment, Wynfeld realized the man was nodding.

“You’ve saved the city, Mr. Joraz. Be comforted in that.” He stood and left the room. He had a raid to plan. As he walked to his office, Joss came running up to him.

“Sir!”

“I already told you,” he said. “I don’t care about that break-in.”

“No, sir, we just got an anonymous tip I think you’ll want to see!”

Wynfeld rounded on the younger man and snatched the offered piece of paper. When he unfolded it, he laughed then crumpled the paper up. Joss looked at him in shock.

“But sir,” he said. “That has the location of Salteen’s hideout!”

“Yes, it does,” Wynfeld said. “And it is just as well to have it from two sources. Now, round up whoever hasn’t gone haring off after that Troena forsaken factory. We have a warrant to fulfill.”

* * *

Markus sat down on one of the couches and let out a long sigh. Bryon had been splurging lately, and with his blessing, Cook had been preparing slightly more wholesome meals, including dishes that had meat and fresh vegetables. At first, Markus had been surprised that the woman even knew what to do with the lavish ingredients, but she had actually managed to create some rather delicious dishes, even not accounting for the kitchen she worked in. The shepherd’s pie that was tonight’s dinner had proven that. Now, if only they cold find a way to make the woman smile.

Most of the gang was in the front room as well. Vlad had his nose in a book, and Gavrial, Kira, and Margot were talking about the latest gossip from other gangs. Even Gust was sitting by the cold hearth, whittling a piece of wood. Only Bryon had retired to his room after dinner, and that was most likely to avoid Margot. When they had returned from Uptown, Gavrial and Markus had to physically hold the short woman back from maiming Bryon over his deception, nor was she too pleased over his explanation that they needed to think it was the real satchel so they would be more convincing to the guards. Even with her portion firmly secreted away wherever it was she kept it, she glared murder at him whenever he was in the same room.

Still, there were no more awkward looks at Markus. Or perhaps there never had been. Regardless, he simply sat back and enjoyed the conversation. He did not really have anything to add except his exclamations of disbelief, but Gavrial liked to tell unbelievable stories, so it worked out. There was no work tonight, and Bryon had promised there would not be for a few weeks while they stay low from all the recent attention they had received. He had told them all to think of it as a holiday. With luck, it would be.

* * *

Wynfeld looked down the street. To his left, an old, run down church rose up into the twilight like a shadowy guardian. To his right, a line of nearly identical apartment buildings looked to be on the verge of collapsing, just like everything else in the slums. He turned around and looked at the thirty constables he had secured for the raid. Not even a third of them were from his precinct, but he had called in favors from neighboring stations.

“Let me reiterate,” he said. “There are at least seven people down there, all to be presumed armed and dangerous. We have found the door, and we will go down in waves. Be ready for anything. It is our belief there is an entire warren of tunnels running under these buildings, so try not to get separated or pinned in. We are striking the adder in its own den. And above all else, beware of the man whose sketch has been distributed. If you find him, do not engage, and find one of the constables from my precinct. We want to capture him alive, and he is to be considered extremely dangerous.”

He turned to the man next to him. “Patrolman Viggler, are you ready?”

Jerin Viggler smiled, showing crooked teeth. “I’ll get that Praedin-spawned demon sir, you’ll see.”

Wynfeld nodded. “Then commence operations.”

* * *

The laughter from Gavrial’s latest story cut off as the bell above the hearth rang. Markus looked towards the stairs and put a hand on his holstered gun as everyone else did the same. A long second passed, and then something small and round fell down the stairs with a metallic ring as it hit each step.

Markus stood, eyes wide. “Everyone! Get down!”

Gavrial grabbed Kira and flung them both to the floor, but Margot, Gust and Vlad just looked at Markus in confusion. A moment later, the canister exploded, and smoke filled the room.

Markus fell backwards, but more from shock than the grenade. It was only a smoke bomb, not that it was much better. Coughing filled the room, and he heard the worried cries of children poking their heads into the hallway in the urchins’ quarters. Before he could do anything, he saw the dim shape of what might have been Margot rushing passed him. A moment later, he heard her voice.

“Come on, little ones. To the kitchen, hurry up now.”

Bryon’s voice came from down the gang’s hall. “What’s going on?”

“We’re being attacked.” Gavrial had to force is words out between coughs.

“Hold them off,” Bryon said.

Markus ducked behind a couch. “What else are we supposed to do? We’re trapped down here!”

Vlad squatted down next to Markus and offered him something damp and wrapped in cloth. He held a similar bundle next to his mouth. “Breathe and relax, friend. And be ready for a fight.”

Markus took the bundle and breathed into it, and while it smelled of charcoal and the strange liquor the man made, it did make breathing easier. Vlad patted him on the back and rushed over to where Gavrial had been shouting.

A moment later, the bell rang again, and this time it was followed by the sound of heavy boots coming down the stairs. A loud voiced called through the smoke.

“This is the constabulary. You are under arrest by warrant from Sunset House. Come up and surrender, and you will not be hurt.”

“How’s this for an answer?” Gavrial fired a round into the stairwell, and men screamed as it ricocheted off the metal steps.

Something metallic bounced down the steps, and another explosion shook the room, this one far more powerful. Markus’s eyes stung against the smoke, and it hurt to breath.

“They’re just going to drop grenades until we die,” Markus said. “We can’t hold this position.”

Gavrial growled something that might have been an oath. “Vlad, take Markus back down the gang’s hallway. Kira, Gust and I will make sure all the urchins are out of their halls.”

Vlad swooped by Markus and pulled him back towards the gang hallway. Boots thundered down the steps, and Markus fired a shot blindly into the stairs. A dull ping of metal was the only sound he heard back.

“They have shields,” he said. “We need cover.”

“The bend of the hallway will have to do,” Vlad said. “Come on, move it.”

They walked backwards, half stooped and staring into the smoke filled room. Vlad reached into his coat pocket and produced a vial that he threw into the smoke. It exploded in a small fireball, and several men screamed, although it sounded to be more from shock than pain. A flurry of bullets came in return, and Markus cried out and fell as one hit.

“Markus!”

Vlad grabbed Markus and pulled him around the corner as more bullets bit into the wall and floor. Markus waved him off and settled himself up against a wall.

“It’s alright, they only got my leg.”

Vlad threw another explosive vial down the hallway. “It didn’t sound alright.”

“They got between the plates.” Markus felt along his pants, near the knee, and found the bullet hole. With a wince, he tested the joint and found that while it was damaged, it would still work, for a while at least. “I’ll live.”

Bryon ran up to them from further down the hall with a pack strapped across one shoulder. “What happened?”

“Markus was shot,” Vlad said.

“In my leg,” he said. “I’ll be fine, for now. But what are we going to do? They have us caged in.”

“Not quite,” Bryon said. “Can you move?”

“Yes.” Markus pulled himself up and tried to hobble along. “Don’t expect me to run, though.”

“Good, get to the alcove across from the dining area.”

Vlad nodded and threw another vial back down the hallway. This one, at least, sounded like it hurt someone. He heard a call to fall back in the front room, and he groaned as he hobbled up the steps.

“Now they are just going to wait us out,” he said.

“We can only hope,” Vlad said. “They’ll be waiting a long time.”

In the alcove, the thick oak door was opened wide, and Markus squinted into the darkness beyond. “What’s in there?”

“Escape,” Bryon said. “Margot is already ahead, leading Cook and the urchins. Go on ahead to the first intersection. We’ll be along in short order.”

Markus laughed despite himself. “You have a plan for everything, don’t you?”

“I try,” Bryon said. “Now go on. You’re no more use up here.”

Markus nodded and descended into the darkness. The path—which truly was a carved tunnel—sloped steeply into the bedrock of the city, and he could barely make out a light further ahead. When he finally reached it, he found a gas-fed torch flickering weakly and illuminating three different tunnels that met up with his. He looked back, but there was still no sign of the others, so he reached down his pant leg and felt around.

He could not feel much external damage to the knee, but the bullet hole had lined up perfectly with one of the gaps in the plates that were requires so he could move. He sighed and felt back up further along his thigh until he brushed against a small nub near the valve that would turn the leg off completely. He’d have to use the valve soon. A faint hiss said he was leaking steam. But not now. Now, he needed to be able to move without the blinding pain. He pulled on the nub, and a small, silver pin came free.

Instantly, it felt as if the leg was gone. Not just the pain, but the entire leg. He checked, and sure enough he could still move it, but any sense of feeling had been cut by pulling the pin. That would have to do, for now. He pocketed the pin and waited.

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps, and he could make out four shadowy figures walking towards him. Two of them limped along, and when they entered the light, Markus saw that it was Gavrial and Gust, both of who looked as if they had been worked over. Bryon and Vlad were behind them, and all four had worried faces.

“Where’s Kira?” Markus said.

Gavrial growled and charged, punching Markus square in the gut. The air left his lungs, and Gavrial threw him against the far wall. Markus did not have time to even think when a strong hand picked him up and pressed him back against the wall and another grabbed his spike.

“Give me one good reason to not pull it out,” Gavrial said. “You back-stabbing bastard!”

Markus looked Gavrial in the eye. “What are you talking about?”

“They took her!” Gavrial tightened his gripe on the stump and bundle of wires. “You led them here, and they took her!”

“Let him down, Gavrial,” Bryon said. “We don’t know that for certain. Now that we’re safe, why don’t you tell us exactly what happened.”

Gavrial looked back at Bryon. “I’ll tell you what happened. Kira, Gust and I were checking to make sure none of the urchins got left behind. Next thing we know, two constables come charging down the hall, hiding behind those huge shields of theirs. Kira was the closest, and they just clubbed her before she could so much as point her gun at them. I fired a couple shots, and that’s when they opened fire. Gust and I had to duck into a room for cover, and then they threw a grenade that brought half the ceiling down on our heads. When we poked our heads back out, they were gone, and they had taken Kira with them.”

“But why do you think Markus is to blame?” Vlad said. “I mean, he was shot. Not a good backstabbing if he gets hurt too.”

“It wasn’t constables that took Kira,” Gavrial said.

Vlad scratched his head. “But you just said—”

“When they opened fire, I saw their guns. They weren’t revolvers.” He let go of Markus’s shirt and pulled out his meister-built pistol. “They were these.”

“Sounds like you should be accusing your buddy Torbit,” Markus said. “Not me.”

“Torbit didn’t make this gun for me,” Gavrial said. “He just let me have a spare. They were made for the military. Only people who have them are your old friends in uniforms.”

Bryon raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that, Gavrial? Only the military?”

“Torbit told me that he only had the one to spare, and it was a prototype. All the production pieces are shipped to the military.” Gavrial pointed the pistol at Markus’s chest. “What I want to know is, why? The way they acted, they wanted her, and only her.”

“I don’t know,” Markus said. “I told you, the military was quit of me at the end of the war. They wanted nothing to do with a revenant.”

“But you sure have been cozy with that lieutenant,” Gavrial said. “You ratted us out, and I want to know why!”

“She’s just a friend,” Markus said. “And I haven’t even seen her recently, not since she took me to Docktown to murder a rapist and go on like it was some calling from Troena.”

“That the best story you can come up with?” Gavrial said.

Bryon sighed. “Let him go, Gavrial.”

Gavrial turned around. “What?”

“He didn’t do it.”

“How can you know?”

“Because if he was going to rat us out like that, he wouldn’t have been in The Hole during the raid. As Vlad pointed out, he did get shot.” Bryon rubbed the bridge of the nose. “And because I think I know did send those soldiers, although I still don’t know why they wanted Kira.”

Gavrial’s fist loosened on the stump and wires, but he did not completely let go. “What do you mean?”

“I have a contact in military, a man who deals in information,” Bryon said. “I went to see him yesterday, and he warned me that I needed to be careful, that I had made enemies.” He scoffed. “Looking back, I should have seen that he was warning me that they had hired him. I came straight back to The Hole from there. He probably had me followed.”

Gavrial let go and took a few steps towards Bryon. “Then this is your fault?”

“This is the fault of whoever hired him,” Bryon said. “Or of the corrupt bureaucracy that infests this city, or of the fates themselves.”

“That supposed to make me feel better?” Gavrial said. “You’re trumped up holier than thou art attitude isn’t going to bring Kira back!”

Bryon sighed and slumped against a wall. “No.”

Gavrial stared at Bryon for several long moments then holstered his gun. “What now?”

Bryon shrugged, and Gavrial snarled and waved. “Follow me, then. Only one place to go now anyway: up and out.” He paused next to Markus and narrowed his eyes. “I still don’t trust you.”

“When did you ever?” Markus said.

Gavrial sneered and walked down one of the tunnels. Gust followed him, and Bryon slowly pulled himself up and trudged along, a look of either deep thought or complete loss on his face.

Vlad walked over to Markus and extended a hand. “Come on, then.”

Markus accepted the hand and put an arm around Vlad’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Are you going to be able to fix it?”

Markus glanced down at his knee. “I don’t know. I’ve never been damaged this badly before. I had a habit in the war of not getting into gunfights.”

“Well, nothing we can do now but go forward, yes?”

“It would seem so,” Markus said.

* * *

Wynfeld looked up from his folio as a man approached him. “Yes, Lieutenant Lang?”

“Sir, we’ve secured the hideout,” Lang said.

“Good, prisoners?”

“Um.” Lang cleared his throat. “They got away, sir. I thought we had captured a girl at one point, or at least I saw her being hauled out, but I can’t seem to find where she’s gone off to. No one else seems to know either.”

Wynfeld closed the folio and put it under his arm. “They got away?”

“They had some sort of bolt hole in the back of the den, sir,” Lang said. “Most of them escaped down it.”

“Well,” Wynfeld said. “Follow them!”

“We can’t get it open, sir,” Lang said. “It’s reinforced oak. I have a crew down there going at it with a battering ram, but it isn’t even shuttering. They might as well be trying to bust through a wall.”

Wynfeld chewed the inside of his lip to try and calm down. “Did we kill any of them, at least?”

“No sir,” Lang said. “And we have three men wounded. They had some sort of strange explosives they were throwing.”

“Keep working at that door,” Wynfeld said. “And find any documents or hiding holes. I need leads to where they are going. Understand, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir.”

Wynfeld nodded as the man saluted and ran back to the building. Once more, the revenant had escaped. But he was getting closer. Wynfeld had struck at the place it called home. The one place it had thought would be safe. Now it knew: there was no where in Tijervyn it could hide from him. He would find it. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

Kira struggled for breath through the thick, dark hood. They had shoved it on her before they had even hauled her up out of The Hole. They then had taken her out the rear door of the building and through alleys and side streets. Finally, they had stopped, and she heard a voice somewhere in front of her.

“Well, take the hood off.”

They pulled the burlap sack off, and she took in a deep, unhindered breath. Dim light only showed shadowy figures, and then the one who had spoken, the one in front of her, lifted the shutter on a lamp, blinding her.

“Yes, that’s the one,” the man said. “At least if the description is to be believed. I trust you were inconspicuous?”

“The constables never realized we weren’t one of them,” the man to her left said. “And they were too busy fighting below to care about a pair that was dragging a prisoner back up. We slipped away unnoticed.”

“Good.” The man with the lamp bent down, and Kira blinked until she could make out his face. It was narrow, almost sickly looking, and short, lank hair framed it. “Lady Tidor, I am sorry for the way we had to extract you, but your brother was most specific that no one know the life you had been living.”

“Douglis put you up to this?”

“So you are indeed Kira Tidor, excellent.” The man stood staight as another man came running up. “What is the situation?”

The man saluted before giving his report. “From what I heard, the thieves have run down a bolt hole and the constables can’t get it back open.”

“Bryon would have an escape plan.” The leader looked up to the sky for a moment then sighed. “Burn the building down. Bury them under it, and don’t be seen lighting the fire, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Kira screamed. They were going to burn The Hole? Why? “You monster!”

The leader looked back to her and frowned. “I fear this has been too much for the lady. Fresen, quiet her down, please.” He hesitated. “Gently.”

The man to her right pulled something out of his pocket and pressed it against her nose and mouth. A familiar scent hit her, and she tried to not breath, but she knew it was already too late. The light from the lamp dimmed as her eyes grew heavy, and the last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was the leader’s face with a self-satisfied smile wide across it.