03-333 Crater Sea

  Patrik stood by the tall cast-iron gates that guarded a villa located on a small island in the Crater Sea. A drizzling rain colored the landscape grey. It had already seeped through Patrik’s jacket on the boat ride, but the dampness didn’t bother him; the key that didn’t open the gate did.

  The villa had seen better days. It had belonged to one of many Ainadu families, who had never moved to the North. The last resident, an unsuccessful sculptor who had died insane and alone, had left no offspring, and with some well-timed bureaucracy, the property had landed in Anhava’s hands.

  Patrik had been tasked to secure the villa and prepare it as a base of operations. It had a great location by the main shipping routes, and its gloomy history, together with the isolated location, made people avoid the place. It was said that the house was cursed, for its construction had claimed two lives in accidents, and the ship transporting the building family’s property had sunken, downing a large share of their fortune.

  The key was stuck in the rusty lock, and Patrik left it there. He checked the chipped nameplate on the gate for one more time: Villa Redsands. This was the right place; the neglect claiming the yard had just reached the gates, too.

  “Break it,” Patrik said to his sergeant, a wide-shouldered man called Marek.

  He studied at the villa as the men worked with the gate. The main house was a stone building occupying a rocky hillside by the sea. It had three floors and a roofline that eerily followed the landscape’s shape. Patrik was not a student of architecture, but the building fit into its location, looking like a natural appendage in the rocky hill. The damp greyness fitted the place’s abandoned atmosphere.

  The garden surrounding the villa was an ordinary arrangement of paths, patios and plants, providing no defensive aspects, which was what Patrik first looked for. Everything was overgrown and infested with statues. The more Patrik looked, the more painted statues he spotted; human-sized shapes with slightly disproportionate bodies, sitting, standing and dancing like the garden was a reception in a great hall.

  The sight made Patrik wonder if the last occupant had been consumed by a particularly strong memory that she had tried to bring alive. It seemed possible, and in the end, she had killed herself.

  The metallic screeching and a following crack signalled the lock being broken. Marek pushed the gate open and walked in before Patrik. The dancing statues had claimed the tiled path from gate to house, and they had to walk among them, like pushing through a throng of people.

  They had reached the stairs made of red stone when the villa’s door opened, and a short man stepped out, a shotgun in his hands.

  He stopped to stare at the Ainadu, and Patrik noticed his stubble of beard and the muscles in his arms showing below the rolled-up sleeves. The arrangement of chains and rings in his left arm clinked softly as the man raised the gun. To him, it must have seemed like the statues had come alive.

  “Don’t you approach one more step! Take your arses out of here before I give you extra assholes!” the man shouted.

  “Third window on the right. Second floor,” Marek whispered to Patrik.

  Patrik noticed the movement in the said window and other telltale signs of an armed welcome being prepared. His men were spread out, one pair on the perimeter, two people checking both sides of the garden.

  His eyes met Marek’s. Sergeant was a decade older than Patrik, and a tiny narrowing of eyes told him that Marek didn’t want to risk the men. Patrik agreed with him; there were too many unknowns inside the house to take it by a blind charge.

  Patrik gestured at his men to stop, and they took cover among the statues. Patrik stayed his ground, standing by a statue of a woman in a yellow gown. “I will speak to whoever is in charge here. Send them to meet me at the gate. You have ten minutes.”

  “Fuck you, witch. Fuck you all,” The man on the door looked around, taking in the small armed group surrounding the house.

  Patrik glared at the man, who seemed to have more spine than he had assumed. He didn’t care what was going on in the house; he only needed to follow his orders, and Anhava had been specific about obtaining this house. He risked turning and walking away, disappearing among the statues.

  They regrouped at the gate. Marek had already spread the men out to secure the perimeter. He glanced at Patrik questioningly but kept his professional silence.

  “It seems that we have a vermin invasion in the house. Find out their numbers and preparations. We will attack today, unless they come out willingly,” Patrik said.

  Marek saluted and arranged scouts. Patrik checked the men while he waited, assuming no one from the house would answer to his request.

  “Who were those people? Not us, anyway.” Patrik overheard a soldier whispering to his comrade.

  “Outlaws, by the look of things. Raiders, most probably,” the other man answered.

  “That guy almost pissed himself. He thought the statues had come alive.”

  Patrik didn’t fully agree with their analysis, but couldn’t put a finger on the thing that didn’t’ fit. The house was a good fit for an outlaw den, but it was far from the most productive reefs that were the typical targets for raiders. He didn’t dismiss his suspicions, for they had often proven valuable.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  To Patrik’s surprise, his thinking was interrupted when three people walked from the house towards the gate. A man in a suit was accompanied by a black-clad brute and a petite woman, who looked more like a boy, as she wore trousers and had short hair. They stopped on the other side of the gate, and Patrik picked two of his men to accompany him as he went to greet the unexpected retinue.

  “Anish Trobin, at your service,” the man in the suit greeted. “Well, what is this armed surprise visit about? Breaking the lock was unnecessarily rude; it keeps the statues from wandering away. Ha, joking.” The suit was well-tailored, but the softly shining fabric and flamboyant cut didn’t fit into the image generally connected with the gentlemen of respectable occupations.

  “You don’t need my name,” Patrik said. He was just a messenger and not willing to socialise with the random southern rubbish. “I represent the legal owner of this property, and it came as a surprise to find an armed group occupying the house. I assume it was a misunderstanding, and we can discuss the situation.” Patrik kept his voice polite; avoiding bloodshed was preferable.

  “Are you telling me you are a relative of the previous owner?” Trobin asked.

  “No. The property was sold. Are you a relative, perhaps?” Patrik said.

  “Not me, but she is.” Trobin pointed at the woman, who had stood silently by his side.

  “I’m Nerya. Honoured to meet you. Sorry, I won’t ask you for a tea at my property,” the woman said in perfect Ainadu language, grinning like she had told a joke.

  Nerya’s looks were general enough that no specific ancestry shone through. Brown curls and light brown eyes; based on her face, she couldn’t be older than twenty.

  “The house has been sold. You should have filed the complaint several weeks ago. Unfortunately, it is too late for that,” Patrik said, continuing in his native language. He didn’t care if the woman was telling the truth or not.

  “Ah, no. You understand this the wrong way. I knew my great-aunt would leave nothing for me.” The woman smiled prettily and switched to the southern language. “That is why I asked Viper to support my claim. You are not the only one with a document stamped in Sandau.”

  “Ahem, let me continue from here,” the man in a suit interrupted, pushing the woman backwards. “I see you are a military man. As you may know, there is an agreement to, ahem, ensure the transportation of certain restricted goods towards the north. I represent the local organisation that supervises the transport operations, and this is our base. To put it bluntly, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but we are on the same side.”

  “I am aware of the arrangement,” Patrik said stiffly. The man claimed to be a smuggler, and not any smuggler, but one working on an indirect Northern payroll. “Of course, I will need evidence later, but let us assume that you speak the truth.”

  “Ask me anything. I serve Viper. I am here to organise the local, ahem, hub. The villa is in a most convenient location.”

  “It certainly is.” That was the reason why Anhava had chosen this spot, but messing with the smuggling routes complicated things. Patrik knew that the arrangement was fragile, and his half-brother had worked to upkeep it. “Still, I must ask you to relocate.”

  “In that case, I can’t guarantee the uninterrupted supply of goods to reach northern shores,” Trobin said, staring at Patrik.

  “I see.” Patrik cursed inwardly. The situation was getting tricky.

  “Maybe we can reach an understanding. There might be benefits in sharing this location. Would you walk with me?” the man in a suit asked, opening the gate.

  “Do you need me?” Nerya asked. “He may do something with the statues.”

  “They are just painted wood and cast cement, you said it yourself,” Trobin said, but the black-clad man made a protective gesture, blessing himself against curses.

  Patrik stepped through and followed Trobin. They walked along a curving path, passing statues. He couldn’t spot any sign of matrices in them, but they were eerie with their painted eyes and coarse features. One statue would have been a humorous personal touch, but the sheer number made them an unnerving experience.

  Trobin and Patrik reached a patio at the top of the hill, providing a view of the sea and behind the house. The hill reached the water in a sheer fa?ade of broken stone, but smugglers were building a dock down there, where it was protected from sight and the worst waves by the small, bare isle.

  “The staircase was part of the original building,” Trobin said, pointing at the wide stairs cut to the rocks, descending from the villa to the sea. If there had been statues, the smugglers had removed them. “We are expanding the operations.”

  “I understood that the only waterway deep enough for anything bigger than a rowing boat is on the other side of the island.”

  Trobin smiled for an answer. “That is correct, if you read the public maps. We’ve been busy with some underwater landscaping. You see why we are not willing to relocate.”

  Patrik understood that Viper had invested in this place, and it could be of Ainadu’s profit. “You have the ships, but I have soldiers. If I am not badly mistaken, neither of us would constantly keep a large crew positioned here.”

  “For us, it will be a secret harbour. A storage and a stopping point when needed. The servant’s building and whatever we built on the waterfront will suffice for Viper’s purposes.” Trobin glanced at Patrik.

  “My people will require the villa, but they can surely play along with the unique atmosphere this place has,” Patrik said, resting his hands on the railing beside the hand of a statue that had raised a glass at the sea. “What about the girl, Nerya?”

  “She was the one who knew about this place and its abandonment.”

  “Do you believe in her story about relatives?”

  Trobin sighed. “Viper’s league is the only family she has ever had, but family roots can be a tangled business with murky secrets. Who knows what is true, and does it really matter? She was to be our face, the lady of the house, in case someone was to pay a visit.”

  “Is she trustworthy?” Patrik didn’t like the fact that he was partially siding with smugglers, but he accepted Anahava’s decision.

  “She has nowhere else to go, and she is useful. Is her presence a nuisance?”

  Usefulness was a two-edged sword, Patrik knew from experience. Viper’s presence here meant that his half-brother might someday appear in the villa, but before that day came, Patrik would be far away.

  “She can stay. I see the benefits in cooperation. You provide transportation services. We provide security,” Patrik said.

  “I agree.” Trobin offered Patrik a hand, and he took it to seal the deal.

  “It is settled then. I move the rest of my people to the servant’s building. Most are already dwelling there, as the artist has made some decorations in the villa.”

  “Someone will come to deal with the indoors. How bad is it?”

  “Some nightmare stuff. More statues, and there is a permanent stain on the floor where she died. You’d better see it yourself.”