The Tijervyn Chronicles
Chapter Three

story by
Richard Fife

art by
April Herron

Chapter Three: “Old Habits”

Dusk sat over the city, and Markus followed Gavrial, Jak, and Gust through streets and alleys now cast in long shadows, if not complete darkness. They were all nearly deserted, though. A stray group walked quickly and with purpose here or there, but never anyone by themselves, and even the groups were rare.

“There isn’t a curfew, is there?” Markus said.

“Not anymore,” Gavrial said. “But it’s only a month gone after years, and old habits are hard to break. Me, I like it this way. Constables won’t pick you up, and you still have the streets to yourself.”

Markus smiled. “Not a fan of crowds?”

“Let me put it to you this way,” Gavrial said. “If someone touches me when I’m not expecting it, they’re likely to earn a new hole.”

Markus’s smile slid off his face as he looked up at the other man. The tone was not joking or even grim, just matter-of-fact. Markus made sure to be far enough away to not even chance brushing against Gavrial.

They left the slums and walked along Industrial Avenue, then followed the sharp curve. Ahead of them, Castle Sentat rose up on its hill, a dark silhouette that blocked out the last of the setting sun. The tall, dark buildings of the financial district dominated the north side of the street, and soon the slightly less tattered buildings of the outer slum gave way to the clean, well-kept storefronts of the Scent District.

They continued until they reached the Royal District, and to Markus’s relief, they turned north. He wondered where they were going to perform their unique work and had been nursing a growing dread that they intended on robbing the Castle, or perhaps a higher noble’s mansion. That they were now headed to the wealthy Garden District was not much better, but it stood to reason that if they were going to steal from someone, it should be someone worth their time.

When they entered the Garden District, it was like entering another world. True to its name, the broad streets were lined with trees and hedges, and the mansions were set in expansive lawns, although often behind tall walls and with the only glimpse available through the wrought-iron gates.

“Try not to look so damnably obvious, McGrigor,” Gavrial said. “We belong here, and we’re just enjoying a stroll through the evening air. Nothing more, understand?”

It suddenly occurred to Markus that he was skulking in the middle of the street, and he instantly adapted a more relaxed gait. Gavrial’s near double take was worth more than the faint approving nod that came after. So the man did not think Markus would be up for this kind of work. Truth told, he did not blame him. With how he had been allowing himself to be caught off guard since he arrived in the city, it felt odd falling into his old habits again.

Markus looked around, taking in the area without being obvious, and noted there was something strange about the light. The lamps that lined the street and were now lit did not flicker at all, and gave off an eerie yet familiar blue light instead of the normal yellow of gas.

Gavrial glanced around when Markus asked about them. “What? Oh, that’s right, you’ve been out of town for a while. Those are some of High Meister Barak’s toys. Feed off that lightning he makes instead of gas like they ought to.”

“You mean Tesma?”

“Aye, that’s the one,” Gavrial said. “Now hush, we’re here.”

Gavrial led them into a small park that was not lit with the strange lampposts. They travelled to the middle then stopped. Markus opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut again at Gavrial’s sharp glare. Everything was quiet, and for all that Gavrial demanded silence, he did not look like he expected trouble.

After several minutes, a bush shook, and a strange, small man came walking towards them. He was clothed in a thin, long coat, and his fur hat was cocked to one side. His thin wisps of beard and goatee seemed to be purposely groomed that way.

“Gavrial.” The new man’s accent was harsh, and Markus could not place to for the life of him. “I see you have a new girlfriend.”

“Can it Vlad,” Gavrial said. “This is Markus, and he’ll be helping us out tonight. Bryon’s orders. How do we stand?”

The other man made a grand bow to Markus. “Vladimir Rasputny, Duke of Rasputnik, at your service. You may call me Vlad.” He then turned to Gavrial when the man groaned. “You did not introduce me correctly, Gavrial. I merely had to right this wrong. As to our standing, Kira is in position, and will signal us once the donor has left.”

Gavrial turned to Gust and muttered something, using hand gestures as much as words. The man nodded and walked past Vlad, elbowing him along the way. Vlad merely smiled, sketched a bow, and sunk back into the shadows himself.

Markus looked after the strange man. “Who exactly was that?”

“He’s one of us,” Gavrial said. “Ignore most of what he says, and be careful if he offers you a drink. It won’t kill you, but if you aren’t expecting it, you might wish it had. Enough chatter, though. Come on.”

They moved in a different direction than Gust and Vlad had gone, and soon they crossed the street on the other side of the park and hunkered down in the narrow alley between the walls of two manors.

As they waited, Markus checked his tank, even though he knew it was still nearly full. He then let his mind truly feel the difference between his mechanical parts and his real ones. The odd sense of feeling he had in the new parts told him that he needed to service the gears soon. He was still in good order, though, and he could feel the muted strength he had not used for over a month still there, waiting.

He half expected to feel anxiety, or worry, or even fear as they stood there in the alley. Yet, all he felt building was excitement. Had he really wanted a quiet life as a thug guarding a door? The thought frightened some distant part of his mind. His first time in battle, he had nearly pissed himself. Now, he doubted himself for having wanted to give up the thrill of going into someplace he could very well die.

Up on a roof down the road, a small, orange light flickered as if off a polished blade, and then another one flashed closer, from behind a tree in the park.

“It’s time,” Gavrial said. “Follow me.”

* * *

Bryon walked calmly along the streets, a cane in hand and top hat straight. He shared pleasant greetings with others who were about in the dusk, and even stopped to share the time with a fellow who was likely a councilman. Not a one of them suspected who Bryon was, but he was hardly surprised. They saw what they expected to see, and a crime-lord from the slums would hardly even dare step foot in the Royal District.

In short order, he made his way to a rather large building that tried quite desperately to appear as though a small fortress, complete with a battlement and towers. Never mind that it was made of plaster and wood, and that it seemed almost comical, what with Castle Sentat clearly in view, towering over it. He nodded to the two soldiers that stood in the near tower, then walked up to the finely carved door and rapped against the doorframe with his cane.

The soldiers above gave him a curious look then went back to talking to each other and ignoring the streets below. A few moments later, the door opened, and a rather non-descript man bearing the rank of sergeant looked at Bryon with uncaring eyes.

“Yes?”

“Is Captain Rojer Hares in?”

The man looked up at the darkening sky for a moment. “Business is done for the day. Come back tomorrow.”

“If I’m not mistaken, you are still open for business for another ten minutes. I’m sure Captain Hares will see me,” Bryon said. “Tell him Lord Thames is calling on him.”

The sergeant shrugged and opened the door. “Come in and have a seat then, my Lord. I’ll go let the Captain know you’re here.”

Bryon entered into a larger foyer with a few divans and seated himself on one. The sergeant navigated past a large desk at the other end of the room and into the back hallways.

He came back shortly, bowed, and gestured for Bryon to follow. They entered the austere back halls, and soon Bryon was walking through a door that looked like any other and into the moderately large office. Behind his desk, Captain Hares looked up from his paperwork and smiled.

“Ah, Lord Thames, of course. That will be all, Sergeant Fresen. Thank you.”

Fresen nodded and withdrew, closing the door behind him, and Bryon helped himself to a seat while the captain gestured patience and finished a line of paperwork. Bryon noticed the empty tumbler next to captain’s hand, and the nearby decanter of whiskey.

The captain finished in short order and put the paper to the side. “So, Lord Thames, what is it I can do for you today?”

Bryon reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I need you to pull someone’s military record. I only know his name and that he served somewhere on the front.”

Hares took the envelope, opened it, and made a bit of a show of counting the bills inside. “Difficult, but not impossible. In fact, I’ll have it done right now. What’s the name?”

“Markus McGrigor,” Bryon said.

Hares wrote the name down then stood. “I’ll be back in a moment. Help yourself to a drink.”

Bryon had nearly finished the finger of whiskey he had poured himself when Hares returned. “I found where the file should be. One of my lieutenants is fetching it.”

Bryon nodded. “Thank you, Rojer. You are, as always, an invaluable resource.”

“Well, Lord Thames, you have your own uses as well.” He patted his breast-pocket, where he most likely had the envelope. “In some ways and others as well. Tell me, while we wait, have you heard of anything strange in the slums, lately?”

“Strange is a funny word,” Bryon said. “Especially in the slums, and since Tesma built that tower of his. Care to be more specific?”

Hares smiled. “Oh, I don’t know, stranger than the usual, I’d imagine. I have a murmur from the castle that Sunset House is interested.”

Bryon leaned back in his seat. “Perhaps.”

Hares smiled and poured himself a finger of whiskey. “That’s what this is about then, is it?”

Before Bryon could respond, there was a courtesy knock on the door, and a uniformed woman walked in.

“Ah, Lieutenant Lux,” Hares said. “You have the documents I sent you for?”

Lux walked forward and held out a folio. “Yes Captain.”

Hares took the folio and leafed through it, then looked up at the lieutenant. “I meant to say something earlier, Megyn. Your boots are rather dingy.”

Megyn blushed, but Bryon noticed she also clinched her fist. “Sorry, sir. I took a late lunch, and used the time to visit the cathedral.”

“I don’t know why you insist on going to that run down thing in the slums,” Hares said. “But I can hardly punish you for your devotion to Troena. Just be sure to show proper decorum, Lieutenant. Dismissed.”

Megyn nodded and left without a word, and Bryon had to suppress a scoff. “Rojer, that was just downright cruel. A proper decorum dress down, from you of all people. I swear, the only reason you even know the uniform regulations is so that you can skirt as close to them as possible.”

Hares smiled. “But I do follow them. I’ll admit, I don’t like her much and the feeling is mutual. She was on the front lines, and I don’t think she likes serving under a desk clerk like me. Anyway, to the file.”

Bryon did his best to wait calmly as Hares again looked through the folio, this time with greater care. When he was done, he closed it and slid it across the desk.

“I don’t know what you want to know about this man,” Hares said. “But from his file, he is rather unremarkable. Served with neither exceptional distinction nor demerit. As true to an average soldier as you could expect, even down to his medals and awards.”

Bryon read through the file quickly. “No mention of injury.”

“No,” Hares said. “Should there have been?”

“He is . . . deformed,” Bryon said. “He says it was from the war.”

Hares took the folder back and looked through it again. “According to this, he came back fit as ever. The file is a little out of date, but not since the war ended. It says he was to be discharged a week ago at his field station. And, well, I wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“This file is unremarkable in every way,” Hares said. “And, in all truth, that doesn’t happen.”

“Oh, surely in the course of the war, there would be a thousand files like this,” Bryon said. “Although, I will say that file hardly matches the man.”

“Bryon.” Hares leaned across his desk. “I make no lie that I used my father’s influence to avoid the lines, but that does not make me weak-minded. I’ve worked with soldiers’ files for years, and aside from a few rare cases, they all had something to mark them as special. A wound, even if one they recovered from, an illness, a demerit, an arrangement of medals that was slightly above or below what one might expect.”

Bryon bit his lip. Hares rarely let slip his real name in the office, and only did so when he was trying to make a point. “But, there were those few cases.”

“Ah, yes,” Hares said. “And I didn’t believe them either. All of them were as pristine as Sergeant McGrigor. No imagination at all. I looked deeper into those too, and I found inconsistencies. The file claimed the soldier was at a battle, but the battalion ledger he was supposed to have served in oddly did not have his name. Or perhaps he had received an award, but the award ledger was missing him.”

“Are you saying the file is forged, old chap?”

“Markus McGrigor did serve in Sentat’s army, but, if I had my guess, he was a little further out than the front line.” Hares glanced down at the folio again. “What kind of deformation did you say McGrigor has?”

Bryon reached over and helped himself to more whiskey instead of answering. “Any reason he wouldn’t have reported back to the military? That he would be in the slums, hiding?”

Hares spread his hands wide. “Unless I could get the real record, it’s anyone’s guess. But, if he had done something wrong by us, I can assure you, they would not have left such a clean record behind. They likely wouldn’t have left any record at all.”

Bryon nodded and looked down into his whiskey, wondering. After a long silence, Hares stood. “You’d best be on your way, Lord Thames. Our arrangement is nice enough that I won’t go talking about what I suspect, but should you decide this McGrigor man is too much for you, let me know. Sunset House would be interested, I have a feeling, and the promotion cycle is coming up soon. I wouldn’t mind being a major.”

Bryon finished his drink in a quick gulp and stood. “Of course, old chap. What are friends for?”

Hares put a hand on Bryon’s shoulder. “Then, as a friend, let me tell you just how much of a hassle this man might be. If he is what I think he is, then you should know there will be plenty enough people after him. My lieutenant, for example, has an abiding hatred of his kind, despite anything he might have done for us. And then, I’m sure the meisters will want to get their hands on him, too.”

“Would you say that the military has cast him out,” Bryon said. “That, by no fault of his own, he is now in hard times?”

“I don’t know about fault,” Hares said. “But whoever buried the real file would more than likely put a bullet in McGrigor’s head than let the truth surface.”

“If he served with honor, like you seem to think he did, then I will abide him, for a time.” Bryon patted Hares’s hand. “But I’ll remember you, should that change.”

Hares smiled. “That is all I man can ask. A pleasure doing business with you, Lord Thames. I’ll escort you out.”

* * *

Markus stood with his back pressed against the wall of the hallway, waiting for the light from a patrolling guard that was just around the corner to dim. Even with the household proper out, apparently attending a gala of some sort, there were still guards and servants aplenty about the grounds and manor. They had knocked out and tied up a few sentries already, a task that Jak seemed rather adept at. But, that was only when it could not be avoided.

The light dimmed, and Markus checked to make sure it was clear before dashing across the intersection and joining back up with the Gavrial. Slightly further down the hall, Jak had clubbed another sentry and was in the process of stuffing him into a linen closet.

Gavrial snorted as Jak worked. “Shame we can’t just kill them.”

“What’s stopping you?” Markus said.

“A simply burglary won’t get the constables all that riled up,” Gavrial said. “But, if we spill blood, they’ll hunt us like a pack of hounds. That and Bryon likes to keep things clean and not kill ‘innocent bystanders.’”

“A good policy,” Markus said.

Gavrial sneered but motioned for silence as they continued to creep down the hallway. A thick door stood shut at the end of the passage, and a narrow servants’ stair was just to the left.

“Third floor, north wing.” Gavrial reached out and tried the door. “This would be it, but it wasn’t supposed to be locked. This complicates things. Going to be loud, breaking this in.”

Markus knelt down and looked at the knob and lock. “There’s no other way?”

“Might be, on the other side,” Gavrial said. “But if they have this locked, they’ll probably have it locked, too. It’s alright, though, we were going to have to break a door down eventually anyway.”

Markus looked over as Gavrial pulled out a pry-bar. He had a sour look on his face, and Markus shook his head. “I think I can get this open, and quite a bit quieter.”

“You’re a lockpick, are you?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

Markus pulled his right glove off, revealing the brass plates, gears and hinges of his artificial hand. He ignored the wide-eyed stares from Jak and Gavrial, and manipulated a small switch on the back of his hand. A narrow tool popped out of his index finger, and another detached from next to the switch.

“Troena above,” Gavrial said. “Would you look at that.”

Jak made some sign with his hand and seemed to be muttering a catechism of some sort in his native tongue. Markus inserted the tools into the lock and began working them, still ignoring the others, and in a few moments, the tumbler turned. He put the tools away and put his glove back on.

“Shall we?”

Gavrial grabbed Markus’s arm. “Have any other neat tricks you want to tell me about?”

Markus pulled his arm free. “Well, I could have just punched the door down, but I thought we were trying to keep a low profile.”

“You, me and Bryon are going to have a nice long talk once we get back The Hole.”

“Good to know I’ll be getting back,” Markus said. “After you.”

Gavrial frowned but went through the door. Inside, the hallway continued, and Markus noticed that each door had a lock. He softly knocked against one of the plaster-covered walls, and unless he missed his guess, they were stone underneath, not wood.

“What exactly is it that we’re after?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Gavrial said. “Here’s the door. Think you can open this one too?”

Markus moved forward and looked at the lock. “Should be able to. It’s the same type of mechanism.”

“Then get to it,” Gavrial said. “Not making noise here will be nice.”

Markus started to work on the lock. “Are you telling me that your little gang doesn’t have a skilled lockpick?”

“Oh, we have one,” Gavrial said. “But he went and got himself picked up by the constables two days back in a bar fight. He should be out tomorrow, but our only chance at this was tonight, so we decided to improvise.”

“Lucky thing I came along,” Markus said. “There, it’s open.”

As Markus put his glove back on, Gavrial reached to open the door. Along the frame, Markus noticed the flicker of gaslight, and his eyes went wide.

“Gavrial, don’t—”

But the door was already opening. Inside, the gaslight lit a large room lined with gun racks and guard uniforms. In the middle, a simple wooden desk held the lit lamp, and in a chair facing the door was a slender man in loose, black clothes and a leather helmet that completely obscured his face, even down to having tinted goggles.

“What the—?” Gavrial pulled one of his heavy revolvers out of its holster and trained it on the man. “Stay right there, if you know what’s good for you.”

The man did not move, and Gavrial nodded to Jak as they both entered the room. Markus followed them, and Jak started to make a wide circle around the man with his short, steel-tipped bludgeon out.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Gavrial said. “We’re going to take what we came for and be on our way, understand?”

The man glanced at Jak then stood and twisted the knob on an odd brass box on his belt.

“Now, I said stay put,” Gavrial said.

The man took a step forward, reaching for what looked to be a sword at his side. Jak rushed in, bludgeon whizzing in the air, and the man did not even turn towards him. The weapon came within half a foot of the man’s head, then Markus had to turn away as a bright, blue light filled the room. Gavrial swore and fired, and another, slightly dimmer burst of blue light answered.

Markus turned back, rubbing his eyes, and he saw Jak on the ground, smoldering and writhing in pain. The man drew his weapon, which was not a sword, but more of a copper rod. Gavrial fired again, and this time Markus saw what seemed like a blue aura around the man ignite. He ignored the gunshot, and instead jabbed the copper rod at Jak’s chest.

Blue light filled the room, and Jak screamed and arched his back for a moment before falling limp. His eyes sightlessly stared at the ceiling, and smoke curled off his entire body. The man casually popped something out of the end of his rod, dropped it to the floor, and produced something else from his belt that he put back into the strange weapon.

The man turned his attention to Markus and Gavrial, who had just futilely fired a third shot. Markus drew his weapon, and Gavrial grit his teeth.

“Distract him.” Gavrial’s order was barely audible, and he started running in the same wide circle Jak had made.

Markus fired a shot at the man, but he seemed more interested in Gavrial, who had reached a chair and picked it up. The man ignored another shot each from both Gavrial and Markus, and then Gavrial threw the chair as he ducked into a roll. The man dodged and used his off hand to block the chair then swung his weapon at Gavrial. The weapon only grazed his back, but it sent him flying into the table.

The man turned towards Markus and titled his head with a glance to the exit, as if daring him to try and escape. Markus put his revolver up, knowing it would not do any good, and charged in a circle. The man moved to meet him, and Markus grabbed another chair with his left hand and swung it around to meet the copper rod.

Nothing happened when they touched, and Markus pushed hard on the chair, throwing the man off balance. As the man stumbled backwards, Markus ran over to Gavrial, who was still groaning where he lay against the table. His right hand was clinched shut around something, but Markus could not tell what.

The man had gained his footing again, and Markus grabbed one of the table’s legs and pried it free. The feat caused the man pause, and Markus smiled as he held his new weapon with his right hand and picked Gavrial up over his shoulder with his left. The mountain of man might as well have been deadweight, and quite a bit of it, but Markus was fairly sure his legs could handle it.

“Come on, Gavrial, let’s get out of here.”

The man took a more defensive posture, and Markus dropped the leg. The man rushed forward, his odd copper weapon extended, and Markus grabbed the table and swung it around. It caught the man full in the middle, and he went tumbling to the side. The gas-lamp tumbled to the floor and extinguished. In the confusion of darkness and before the man could regain his balance, Markus rushed through the door and headed to the end of the hallway.

From below the stairs, he could hear a commotion of guards calling out to each other, wondering what was going on. A glance behind showed the strange man stepping out of the room. The only choice was up.

The stairs opened to the roof of the manor. The commotion filled the yard below as well, and that man was surely close behind. Markus looked around only briefly before running towards the east wing. It was the closest to the wall, and thus the relative safety of the street. He was halfway there when he heard the man burst out onto the roof. Markus only glanced back to see the man in pursuit then focused on what was ahead of him.

The edge of the house approached quickly, and he did not pause as he jumped. It was twenty feet across and another twenty down to the wall, and even with his enhanced legs, Markus knew he wasn’t going to make it, not with Gavrial’s weight added to his own. He reached out with his right hand, and his fingers barely caught purchase on the lip of the wall. His feet slammed in hard against the side of the wall, and bits of stone flaked down below him. He glanced up to see the man at the edge of the roof, looking down with an unreadable face behind his mask and goggles.

“That’s sure to get us some attention.” Markus took a deep breath then pushed off the wall, pivoting around his hold and up to the top. He paused only a moment before he hopped down to the other side and ran into the night, leaving the commotion in the manor behind.

* * *

Gavrial groaned and opened his eyes to darkness. It was not complete darkness, though, just the shadow of a deep alley. He tried to push himself up, but his muscles felt like sludge. He could tell he was against a wall, and across from him, another shadow was checking something at its side.

“That you, Markus?”

The shadow looked up. “Yes.”

“Where are we?”

“A couple streets into the Warrens,” Markus said. “I decided west was safer, in case we were being followed.”

“Did you kill that son of a bitch?”

“I didn’t try.” Markus helped Gavrial up to a sitting position against the wall. “I didn’t feel like risking that rod of his, or whatever it was he had that got Jak and our bullets. I threw a table at him, though, and I don’t think he liked that any.”

“A table.” Gavrial laughed despite the pain. “Bastard deserved more, but I don’t blame you.” He hesitated. “Thank you. You didn’t have to rescue me.”

Markus looked at him. “You don’t leave men behind. I wish I could’ve brought Jak, too, but I only could carry one of you. And, no offense, you saw Jak. Better to save a live man than a dead one.”

“Gust won’t be too happy,” Gavrial said. “But he’ll understand, eventually.”

Markus moved back and sat down. “What happened back there?”

“We were sold out, that’s what happened.”

Markus nodded. “I hope you don’t think it was me.”

Gavrial looked at him with narrow eyes. “Don’t be showing a guilty conscience now. But it couldn’t have been you. You didn’t know where we were going or what we were after.”

“And what about that man,” Markus said. “Is that something I should come to expect?”

“The shockrod, maybe,” Gavrial said. “We’ve heard of them, although this is my first time seeing one. They don’t make you bulletproof, though. That one was a new one for me.”

“Lovely,” Markus said. “So, this mean you aren’t going to kill me?”

“I—” Gavrial shook his head. “How’d you know?”

“I didn’t,” Markus said. “Not really. But I’m not dumb. Only makes sense that if I screwed up, I’d die.”

Gavrial nodded. “You saved my life when you could have gotten away easier without. That makes you okay in my book.” He then looked down and noticed his fist was still clinched shut. He tried to open it, but his muscles were still sluggish at best. He could feel what he held, though.

“Good news is, that bastard didn’t stop us,” he said.

Markus looked at him in confusion. “What?”

“I’d hoped to get more than one,” Gavrial said. “But one will do. I got the power source for the shockrod that he threw down. That was what we were after. Bryon has a buyer that’s real interested in that, and the High Meister doesn’t just hand them out.”

Markus sighed. “Hope it was worth a death.”

“This is our life, Markus,” Gavrial said. “Don’t think that just because the war is over that all the dangerous jobs that could end with you being riddled full of holes are gone.”

“Well, I’ve been riddled full of holes before,” Markus said. “No reason to go running from it now, I guess. You know what they say about old habits. You good to move?”

“If you help me,” Gavrial said.

Markus stooped down and helped Gavrial up. Together, they hobbled out of the alley and back towards home.