The Tijervyn Chronicles
Chapter Nine

story by
Richard Fife

art by
April Herron

Chapter Nine: “Family”

Gavrial pushed past the curtain and into Markus’s quarters. The revenant was still asleep, laying with his real hand across his chest, but otherwise prone. His covers were bunched up and thrown across the room, and they looked sweat sodden besides, not that Gavrial could tell in the dim light.

He edged a little closer and looked at the other man’s face. In the peace of sleep, Gavrial realized how young Markus really was. For all the scowling and frowning the man did, he could have passed more for Gavrial’s senior. As stood, he was probably quite a few years younger. If he really did join the army a decade ago, he might have had to lie about his age to do it.

Gavrial’s eyes were drawn down to the intricate metalwork and gears of Markus’s newer parts. It reminded him a bit of Bryon’s Praedin-be-taken cat, but where the cat was actually a fairly delicate piece of machinery, Gavrial had seen what the revenant could do, from shrug off a bullet to crush bone like it was paper. And all this amazing power could be hidden under clothes and only took a tank the size of a canteen to run. It boggled his mind.

Markus implied that he could feel with his new parts just as well as his old parts, too. If that was not proof enough of the devilry of that cursed spike in his head, Gavrial did not know what was. He reached down slowly to touch Markus’s arm near the elbow, but stopped when a knife was pressed against his neck.

His eyes flicked up to Markus’s face. “Been awake the entire time, eh?”

Markus took a deep breath and pulled the knife, held with his real hand, away. “No. Soldiers just sleep light. Occupational hazard, you understand. You’re lucky I didn’t stick you like a pig, you know. What’re you doing in my room?”

“Bryon just got a job,” Gavrial said. “Good pay, and he needs all of us.”

“It couldn’t wait until I woke up?” Markus popped his neck and started to reach around his body to twist valves. “What time is it?”

“Six in the morning,” Gavrial said. “And no, not really. This is going to be a day-job, and we need to get moving soon.”

“What is this job, exactly?”

“Don’t know,” Gavrial said. “The old weasel just got back and told me to round everyone up. You know just as much as I do right now.”

“Right,” Markus said. “I’ll be there in a bit. Just let me warm up.”

Gavrial stood and looked Markus over one more time. “You turn yourself off like that every night?”

“Yeah,” Markus said. “If I had better steam, I wouldn’t, but right now, I might not last the night. I’d rather take a few minutes to be up and moving than die in my sleep. And, as I think you can tell, I’m hardly defenseless.”

“Yeah.” Gavrial turned and pushed passed the curtain. Hardly defenseless. He rubbed his neck where Markus had held the knife. Where had he even been hiding that thing? Did he sleep with it under his hand?

He shook his head and walked back over to the gang’s hall. He had figured Markus might need to “warm up”, as he put it, so he had gone to wake him first. Without really thinking, he poked his head into Norin’s old room. The turncoat lockpick still had a small clutter of things about the room, despite the weeks since he had left. In all truth, it should have probably been Markus’s room now, but Bryon was dragging his feet on letting the revenant move over to the gang’s hall. Not that Gavrial minded; he did not relish the thought of sleeping any closer to the revenant than he had to.

He moved next to Kira’s room and poked his head in past the curtain. Kira was already up and dressed, and she had a small derringer pointed at Gavrial’s forehead.

“Aw, what’s that about?”

“I know why you just poked your head in, you pig,” she said. “You could have asked first.”

“Bryon said to not be too loud about it,” he said. “Didn’t want to disturb the urchins who are still dozing.”

“Bryon?” she said. “What is this about?”

“Meet in the kitchen,” he said. “Bryon has Cook brewing some coffee.”

Before she could respond, he moved to the next curtain. For the rest of the rooms, he just knocked on the wood next to the curtain and told them to get up and get to the kitchen. No use taking too long about it. Groggy and angry moans answered him except in Vlad’s room, which was silent.

He poked his head in, and not for the first time, felt like he had stepped into another world. Furs covered the floor and wall, and a hide was stretched across the ceiling. He was surprised the furniture was actually made of wood instead of bones, and the small distillery the strange man operated filled one corner. The man himself, though, was nowhere to be seen.

Gavrial grunted and made his way to the kitchen, where he found the man leaning against a wall and staring into his coffee mug.

“Morning Vlad,” Gavrial said. “No, I haven’t, yes it would, good thing you weren’t.”

Vlad shrugged and took a sip of the nearly black coffee. “Ah, but why?”

“Because Bryon told us to,” Gavrial said. “Don’t go off anywhere. The rest should be here shortly.”

Gavrial had poured his own coffee and filled a plate with some bread and cheese by the time the rest of the gang showed up. Not surprisingly, Kira arrived last, even after Markus. Gavrial would have to talk to Bryon about her attitude, not that it would do much good. Bryon doted on her like a proud father and turned a blind eye to her trumped up opinion of herself.

To be fair, though, she was not technically the last person to arrive. No, that honor went to Bryon himself, who had woken Gavrial up then disappeared into his office wearing the same stupid satchel that he had across his shoulder now.

Now the same man who had been in such a rush strolled into the kitchen, smiled and said soft good mornings to everyone, poured a coffee, then walked over to lean next to Gavrial as if he was waiting on something as well. Fortunately, Kira blew up at him before Gavrial had a chance.

“What’s this about?” she said.

“We have a job that is extremely time sensitive,” he said. “And one that has sadly very short notice but luckily enough of a payoff to compensate.”

“Stop trying to sell us and just tell us,” Margot said. “It better be good, I was planning on working the Royal District today.”

“If you aren’t attached to your fingers, I could have helped you easier,” Vlad said. “But I had plans for today, too, boss. We signed up for nights and advanced notice.”

“Payout is five thousand,” Bryon said.

“That’s advance enough for me,” Vlad said.

Gavrial spit his coffee out. “Five? What harebrained plan have you got us tied up in, Salteen?”

“Transport,” Bryon said. “Our employer wants us to secure a satchel from a ship coming into port. It will be guarded by both private security and constables, and they will not give it up easily.”

“Then how do you plan on us getting it?” Kira said.

“I’d imagine the same way we get anything,” Margot said. “Steal it.”

Kira shot a glower at Margot but then shrugged and looked back at Bryon. What was that about? Gavrial ran a hand over his scalp then looked to Bryon.

“Well?”

“A decoy,” Bryon said. “Gavrial, Vlad, and Gust will take a decoy satchel, steal the real one, and then run off with the fake while in truth ditching the real one where the second team can get it. Kira, Markus and Margot will be that second team. Likely there will still be constables or security about, but you should have an easier time of it. You will deliver the satchel to a house in Uptown.”

“Uptown?” Vlad said. “This is for the rebels, then?”

Bryon hesitated. “Yes.”

“What’s in this satchel that’s worth five thousand?” Markus said.

Bryon took the satchel off his shoulder and put it down on the table. When he had been wearing it, the imprint on the leather had been hidden, but now the meisters’ gear and lightning was as clear as day.

“This is the duplicate Gavrial’s team will use. Any other questions before I get into the specifics?” Bryon said.

Gavrial crossed his arms. “Should we be expecting that bastard that killed Jak?”

Bryon frowned. “I don’t know, but be ready for him. Anything else? No? Good.” He opened the satchel and pulled out a map of Docktown. “To the details.”

As Bryon spoke, Gavrial had to admit, it was a good plan. Nothing too fancy, but enough going on that it was not easy to predict. And that, he remembered, was why he put up with the eccentric man. Harebrained caper or not, Bryon could put a plan together that would work. And that was also why Bryon put up with Gavrial: no one else was crazy enough to actually carry Bryon’s plans through.

Gavrial looked the map over one last time after Bryon finished, committing the timing and placements to memory. “Right then. We don’t have much time. Let’s move.”

* * *

Gavrial wheeled around a corner and pulled Vlad after him. Bullets whizzed through the air, and ahead of them, Gust was constantly muttering what could have been prayers to Troena or a string of swears foul enough to make a dead sailor blush.

“Well, this is fun,” Vlad said.

Gust looked back with glare then kept moving.

Gavrial laughed. “I don’t think your cheery outlook is shared, my friend.”

“Bah,” Vlad said. “Gust is having a blast, too. I’ve never seen him move so quick, so lively. Your blood has to be pumping to move like that.”

“Or you at least want to keep it pumping,” Gavrial said. “Come on, we’re almost to the drop point.”

Gavrial adjusted the satchel to emphasize his point and Vlad shrugged. At the end of the alley, the warehouses gave way to an open shipyard. Several vessels wrapped in scaffolding and looking more like wind-blasted carcasses than ships filled the yard, and more in the later phases of construction poked out of the large bay doors of surrounding buildings.

The drop point was in one of the skeletal hulls, any of them, really. Kira’s team was on a nearby roof, watching. Unfortunately, there were also plenty enough workers moving about, far more than Bryon had anticipated in his plan. They needed to somehow distract all of them long enough for Gavrial to make the switch. The ruse would hardly work if someone else saw them drop the bag and either took it themselves or told the constables.

As if to punctuate the thought, a shout came from somewhere behind them, from the private security, most likely. The constables had been easy to sneak past, but those black-coated guards had been another matter entirely. They had to force through them on the boat and might have left one dead besides. Sadly, the bastard who killed Jak was not among them. Gavrial had wooden club hanging from his belt just for the occasion.

He glanced back and tried to judge how close the shouts where. “How in Troena’s name are we supposed to get all those workers away from the drop?”

“You could put on a dress,” Vlad said.

Gavrial grunted. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Not when you are the one who insists on telling the story all the time,” Vlad said. “I guess I could blow one of the ships up.”

Gavrial blinked. “That’s too flashy. Bryon wants us to be high profile, not Tijervyn’s Most Wanted. But . . . you can just blow a ship up? Right now?”

Vlad looked at him as if he was simple. “You can’t?”

Gavrial shook his head. “Think of something else. You’re the expert on distractions.”

“Why does everyone think this?”

The shouts were getting closer and Gavrial scowled. “Vlad, just do something!”

“Fine, fine,” he said. “But, in the spirit of the plan, I need a decoy.”

“Gust,” Gavrial said.

Gust looked from Gavrial to Vlad and back. “No.”

“Oh, look at that,” Vlad said. “He knows Sentatian.”

“Fine,” Gavrial said. “You know where to stash the satchel?”

Gust nodded, and Gavrial handed him the satchels, both real and fake.

“Don’t get them mixed up, and make sure Kira can see you from the south roof, and—”

Gust took the satchels, stuffed the real one in his coat and put the fake one over his shoulder, then cut Gavrial off with a gesture and said something in Krellin. Gavrial was not sure, but he thought it meant ‘calm down’. Gust then slinked into the shipyard, keeping to what shadows there were and out of sight.

“Oh, I guess not,” Vlad said. “Anyway, follow me.”

Vlad led them around the shipyard and stopped when they were near the north side. “Alright, this is going to be like the Tresling Gardens job.”

“I’m not wearing a dress,” Gavrial said. “I don’t care if you have one my size in that ridiculous coat of yours.”

“I know, I know, I just need you to go cause a small ruckus right there.” Vlad pointed. “That’s it.”

“A small ruckus?”

“Pick a fight,” Vlad said. “Claim one of them stole your favorite dress, I don’t know. Just get that group there to look at you and not at what they are doing.”

“How is that like the Tresling Gardens job?” Gavrial said. “Are you going to wear a dress?”

“I, well, no.” Vlad rubbed his beard. “You’ll see. Just go, we don’t have much time, yes?”

Gavrial sighed and marched down to the group of workmen. The closest one of them was stooped over a makeshift workbench, and Gavrial figured he would do.

“Hey, you!” he said. “You raped my sister!”

The man stood up, and Gavrial realized he had picked someone who was almost the same size as he was. The workman looked Gavrial over and laughed.

“You’re the brother she was crying about? Go home before you get hurt.”

Gavrial blinked. He had not expected that answer. He had also forgotten that the lewd stories about Docktown were not just stories. He balled his fist.

“You son of a whore!”

He jumped at the workman, landing a solid blow on the man’s chin while catching the man’s fist with his hand. The workman stumbled back, and Gavrial saw the rest of the crew turn to watch, although a few had picked up lengths of steel or hammers as well. Great. He had meant to put off the actual fight and just bluster and make a scene, but if it was one thing he could not abide, it was a rapist. A smug rapist was worse.

He drew his revolvers out and pulled the hammers back as he trained them on the group. “Who wants some?”

The workmen hesitated at the sight of the guns, and the first man rubbed his chin and laughed. “Oh, got yourself a pair of guns and think you can take on the world, eh?”

Instead of answering, Gavrial shot the man’s kneecap. The workman collapsed with a scream. Where was Vlad’s distraction? That Gavrial was willing to shoot would keep the crew at bay, but it would also attract a lot of attention Gavrial did not want right now. He could already hear men from other crews shouting and getting closer.

“Alright,” Gavrial said. “Well, this isn’t where I wanted to be.”

The workmen gave him confused looks, but before any could question him, an explosion echoed off the half completed hulls followed by the loud groan of straining steel. Gavrial looked up past the crew, and they turned around to see the ship they had been working on listing to the side as the scaffolding around it collapsed and burned.

Gavrial swore and ran. He glanced back and saw that the workmen were too concerned with the ship that was about to fall over to give chase, so he took the time to holster his guns and then went looking for Vlad. He found the man not too far from where he had left him.

“I said to not blow any of the ships up!”

“That wasn’t a ship,” Vlad said. “It was a cutter.”

“Same thing,” Gavrial said.

“No, not really. Besides, I didn’t blow the cutter up, either. I blew up the scaffolding. The cutter just happened to—” He paused as a loud crash reverberated through the yard. “Fall over.”

Gavrial rubbed his temples. “And how was that anything like the Tresling Gardens job?”

“Oh, it wasn’t,” Vlad said. “Come on, let’s go get Gust. We still need to lead those guards on a jolly chase before we escape, yes?”

Gavrial sighed and threw his arms up. “Fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

Markus peeked over the ledge and down to the busy shipyard below. How Gavrial was supposed to drop the satchel off without being seen in that would be quite the trick.

Kira touched his shoulder. “Markus, get down. Someone will see you.”

“I know what I’m doing, Kira,” he said. “It isn’t like I didn’t do this kind of thing in the war all the time.”

“Well yeah,” Margot said. “But you also lost both your legs and an arm doing it. Not a good track record.”

Markus stooped back down and glowered at the shorter woman. “I actually didn’t start doing this kind of work until after I was reclaimed. I was injured in an explosion.”

“You still need to stay down,” Kira said. “I’m sure we’ll know with the rest of the shipyard when Gavrial is here.”

“Kira, just leave off,” Markus said.

“Then don’t go screwing this up,” Kira said.

Margot laughed and leaned back against a small water tank. “Oh, love birds are going to have a fight.”

Kira looked like she was wanted to snap Margot’s head off, but instead she just frowned and looked away. Margot chuckled again, and gave Markus a coy smile.

“We aren’t love birds,” Markus said, then turned to Kira. “And what is with you? You’ve been either busting my chops or ignoring me for weeks. Don’t tell me you’re still sore over the Thieves’ Race.”

Kira turned back to him. “The race? What?”

“I know you’re mad about me getting to run in the race,” he said. “But honestly, can’t you just let it go? I already have it bad enough with Gavrial and Bryon thinking I’m unreliable after I didn’t kill that man.”

Kira furrowed her brow. “Why would you think I’m upset over the race?”

“You didn’t want me to run,” Markus said. “You didn’t think I deserved to.”

“Markus,” she said. “Stop being an idiot. You proved you deserved to run by helping us win. You earned that ring just as much as I did.”

“Then why have you been ignoring me?” he said. “You’ve barely said two words to me since the race that haven’t been criticism. What did I do?”

“I’ve just been busy with other things, Markus,” she said. “I’d say I’m sorry that you feel like I’m ignoring you, but it’s really all in your head. It doesn’t help that you’ve gotten all broody and are always at the church or out with your little soldier friend.”

“Its not like anyone is suggesting other things for me to do,” Markus said.

“Markus, sweetheart,” Margot said. “You need to calm down. Besides, Kira really isn’t upset with you. She’s just been spending all her free time stalking that Tidor boy she knocked out.”

“Margot!” Kira stood halfway up then dropped back down with a nervous glance to the parapet and shipyard beyond. “You said—”

“That you owed me,” she said. “And I decided you owed me a good laugh.”

Markus glanced at Margot then back to Kira. “The Tidor boy?”

A gunshot echoed below, and Markus looked back over the low wall. The groups of workmen were looking north, towards where the shot had come from, but only a few were moving to investigate. No doubt Gavrial was involved, but Markus hoped that he did not expect a single gunshot to be distraction enough.

“Don’t tell me that’s it,” Margot said.

An explosion sent flames flying into the sky from the far north side of the shipyard, and Markus fell backwards in shock as Margot squealed in glee and Kira just stared. When he stood back up, it was to see the workmen running towards the commotion, and not a one of them seeing Gust running from the shadows behind them with a satchel over his shoulder.

Gust passed the barely begun frame of a ship and shoved another satchel from inside his coat behind a plate of the half-riveted hull. Soon as he did, he ran to the east, although he paused when two black-coated men appeared from the alley to the south. The men pointed at Gust, and he bolted away. The men quickly followed.

“Well, that’s going smoothly.” Margot smiled as the sound of metal crunching and crashing filled the air. “I’ll go fetch the satchel. You kids keep each other company.”

Before Markus could say anything, Margot hopped onto the fire escape and scurried down to the shipyard. Markus kept an eye out for trouble, but glanced back to Kira.

“So you do know him, don’t you? The Tidor boy?”

Kira crossed her arms and looked down at the shipyard. “It’s none of your business, Markus. Please, just forget about it.”

“Is he your lover?” Markus said. “And now he’s upset with you for breaking into his house and knocking him out? Is that how you knew so much about the manor?”

“You have quite the imagination,” she said. “He isn’t my lover.”

“Then why have you been stalking him?”

She sighed. “I’m not stalking him. Not anymore.”

“But why were you?”

“Oh, fine,” she said. “I guess no use hiding it, since Margot is probably just going to try and tell everyone else about him when it tickles her fancy. He’s my brother. Okay?”

Markus blinked. “Your . . . wait, what?”

“He’s my brother,” she said. “I was born in that house, but I ran away years ago and changed my name. I always regretted having to leave him behind, but I was barely able to escape myself.”

“So . . . .”

“I was trying to talk to him, but he had a bodyguard with him all the time. I finally got past the old codger, but I almost wish I hadn’t. Douglis isn’t the innocent baby brother I left behind. He’s grown up into his father.”

“Oh,” he said. “I’m, um. I’m sorry. I don’t really know what to say.”

Kira frowned. “I don’t need your sympathy. I chose this life for myself, and finding out about him is hardly the worst I’ve suffered.”

Markus chewed his lip, trying to think of something to say, and Margot popped back up onto the roof, satchel in hand. She looked them over and smiled.

“Have the love birds kissed and made up? No? Well tough, time to get moving. I have five thousand quid in my hands, kids. Time to go.”

Kira gave Markus an unreadable look and followed Margot to the other side of the roof. Markus fell in step behind her.

* * *

Bryon looked up at the modest downtown flats, sat down his briefcase, and checked his pocket watch. He was on time, but it was always good to check, especially with these types. He picked the briefcase back up and walked into the building. An old man sat behind a desk in the entry hall and looked Bryon over with a critical eye.

“May I help you, sir?”

“I have an appointment with Mr. Ginken,” Bryon said. “The name is Salteen.”

“I’ll let Mr. Ginken know you are here.” The man stood and went down a nearby corridor. He returned before long. “This way.”

Bryon followed the man deeper into the building. The man knocked on a door then opened it and gestured for Bryon to enter. Inside the flat, three men were standing around a table in the main room. The first, a man as tall and broad as Gavrial and with a long but well-groomed beard, gestured to the table.

“I am Mikhail Ginken, Mr. Salteen. You have what we sent you for?”

Bryon knew who the man was: the foreign born leader of the rebellion. Of course, it was best to let him have his pretensions of mystery. He was not a noble, but Bryon had heard he could be just as picky. Bryon put the briefcase on the table.

“The documents from the satchel,” Bryon said.

The man to left, a tall, narrow-built fellow, popped the case open and leafed through the papers, which appeared to be schematics of some sort. As the man read, Bryon noticed that he was wearing a meister’s bracer, although without a sigil, and a shockrod was sheathed at his side.

“Meister Lector Cennet, I presume?” Bryon said.

“High Meister,” the man said. “The rightful High Meister.”

“Then it is not Tesma?” Bryon said.

“He’s a usurper and a thief,” Lector said. “I am still High Meister, even if the Guild does not realize it.”

“Calm down, Lector,” the third man said. “Are those what we wanted?”

“You’re one to talk, Arik.” Lector looked the papers over a second, quick time. “Yes. They’re all here.”

“Lord Spears,” Bryon said. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Might I ask, what was the purpose of the double decoy you insisted I set up in addition to retrieving these papers?”

Arik caressed the prosthetic hook that acted as his left hand with his right. “Tesma is going to know we stole these papers, but we’d much rather he thought it was done by an elaborate heist than by a spy aboard his trusted vessel.”

“He stole from me,” Lector said. “I want to return the favor ten-fold.”

“You have an odd sense of Karma, my friend,” Mikhail said. “Regardless, Mr. Salteen, thank you for your assistance. Our agents have told us you are trustworthy, and I am glad to see it is so. I trust you will be amicable to future work?”

“Long as the pay is right,” Bryon said. “Speaking of which . . . .”

Arik reached down beside him and pulled a burlap sack onto the table. “Five thousand, as promised.”

Bryon gave the men an apologetic smile, opened the bag, and checked a few straps to be sure as he transferred the money to the briefcase. Sure enough, if there was not five thousand in the bag, it would be a close thing.

“Thank you, gentlemen, my lord,” Bryon said. “I look forward to future opportunities for us to work together.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Mikhail said.

Bryon nodded to all the men then let himself out. He had the money, and the job went without a hitch, at least he hoped everything in Docktown was proceeding well. He had a mild pang of regret at having fooled the gang into thinking they were honestly stealing the papers, but it was justified, in the end. He needed them to be convincing. The money would soothe any ruffled feathers, though.

He nodded to the doorman and went back into the street, just another man about business. Just business, but after having met his employers, he was not quite so sure. Meister Cennet had been the ultimate client in the Dunny Manor fiasco, but was he the cause of the fiasco? It did not quite make sense, and while Bryon did believe in coincidence, this almost seemed too convenient. He returned to The Hole, preoccupied by his thoughts.

* * *

Markus and Kira stood outside of the moderate uptown townhouse, trying to not look conspicuous, while Margot was inside. She had insisted on being the one to hand the satchel over to the rebels. Perhaps she was just trying to give Markus time to talk to Kira again in private; they had not said a word to each other since Margot had reappeared. If that was the case, her brilliant plan was not working. Kira, at least, was not going to speak first.

He took a deep breath. “Kira—”

“Thank you,” she said.

“I—what?”

“Thank you. For not being upset with me for keeping the secret. Not that I want or need your sympathy, but I guess it’s better than you being angry, or thinking I was suddenly different.”

“Well, it doesn’t really change who you are,” he said.

“I’m a noble.” She rubbed her forearm, perhaps trying to feel the nautilus tattoo underneath. “I’m not really some sewer-rat that is trying to scrape by. A lot of people would be upset with that.”

“I know what it is to pretend to be something you aren’t,” he said. “And to wonder what the people you call friends would think of you if you ever told them the truth. But I also know that I was never a different person because of it. Are you?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Until now, only Bryon knew who I was, and he didn’t treat me any different. It doesn’t change the fact of my birth.”

“And what is birth?” He gestured around to the houses. “Noble or sewer-rat, Sentatian or Adervynian, in the end, we’re all people. And it isn’t like you can just give up this life and go back to being a noble, just like I can’t give it up and go back to being a soldier.”

“Thank you, Markus.” She smiled and turned away. “You’re from Tijervyn, right? Do you have any family in the city?” He took a sharp breath, and she turned back around. “Well?”

“Yes,” he said. “My parents have a house not ten minutes from here. I have a sister, too, although she is probably married and moved out. I haven’t seen any of them for ten years.”

“Why haven’t you gone by?”

“They probably think I died in the war,” he said. “I don’t see any reason to give them false hope that I didn’t.”

“But—”

“Kira, I am not the man I was when I left, not even by half.” He held up his right hand. “They wouldn’t understand this, not the how or the why of it. It’s better that they think I died.”

She crossed her arms. “Didn’t you just get done saying people are people?”

“And didn’t you just get done believing otherwise?” he said. “You can sympathize. They would just see a monster with their son’s face.”

A blood-curdling scream came from inside, and Markus looked up to see Margot storming out of the house, satchel still in hand. It was opened now, and a bundle of papers were half hanging out of it. He could not be sure, but Markus would swear they were all blank.

“Did Gust give us the wrong satchel?” Markus said.

“Oh, he gave us the right satchel. We were a decoy,” Margot said. “There’s no one in there. Not a bloody, single person!”

“What, why?” Kira said.

“I don’t know,” Margot said. “But I know Bryon is behind it. I’m going to skin that weasel, I swear it. No one makes a fool of Margot Pukini and gets away with it!”

She stormed off back towards the slums, and Markus looked at Kira.

“Should we try and stop her?”

“I was thinking maybe we could hold Bryon down for her.” Kira gave Markus a mischievous smile. “Either way, I guess we’d better follow her.” Kira started off after Margot, and Markus chased after them both, laughing.