Crime syndicates are rooted in a system that predates even the reclamation of Rios. Back then, the world was such a dangerous place that even criminals had to have a sense of order and discipline to avoid falling prey to the many dangers of a land ravaged by the Second Bane. This old discipline carries over to this day, ensuring that magic incidents involving criminals tend to be few and far between. With the advent of runestones, however, the results can be catastrophic if the use of magic gets out of hand.

  Excerpt from 'Living Off The Land: Gerios'

  Rocam looked at Ventus' body in the early light of dawn with his head tilted to the side. He'd followed the route Cecille would have followed if she had walked back to her home, but he had found Ventus instead.

  The view made him sad, but the sadness wasn't his own. He rarely felt sad because of things that happened to others.

  The sadness he was feeling belonged to Ventus. It was the emotion he had felt in the last moments of his life, which played themselves out in Rocam's mind's eye with crystal clarity.

  Ventus had been running, clutching his doll to his chest without looking back. He did not see the horse riders that came up from behind. A spear made from a pale wood sung through the air, catching Ventus in the back with enough force to pierce right through him and pin him to the ground. The doll slipped from his hands. Above him, the violence of the impact caused the spear to snap in two as the horse riders continued their charge. Ventus sank to his knees, still looking at the doll that lay a small distance away from him. He slid down the now darkening shaft, every beat of his heart forcing out more of his blood along it. A sad expression appeared on his face as he lifted his right arm to reach for his doll. It was too far away, and the spear prevented him from moving closer. After a few moments of trying to reach the doll, his arm dropped and he slumped down further along the broken spear until he was kneeling against it. Blood no longer flowed from his chest wound.

  Rocam averted his eyes from the corpse and felt Ventus' sadness disappear. An unfitting death. He should have died like he lived, with a smile on his face.

  Ventus' doll lay beside the road, trapped against the kerb. Its beady eyes stared at Rocam, accusing him of many things. One of its little cloth arms waved at him as the valley wind blew through the abandoned street.

  Rocam took a moment to turn his face into the wind; the cool air lifted his black hair. This time it isn't just wind that's coming from the north-east.

  He turned around and now gazed west, down the road. In the distance he saw a large cloud of black smoke rising up from the city. It looks like Valour Keep is still burning. Nobody willing to put out the flames.

  He spat on the ground and realized he could not linger here much longer. Far away, he could see specks moving around in the air—the Dust Empire's flying soldiers.

  During the night he could not see how many of them there were. Now he could. There were at least a dozen of them hovering around near the centre of the city. None of them was close to the ground though, and none of them flew near the burning citadel.

  The garrison must be gone then. The city is theirs.

  His inner sense of danger, earlier no more than a slight nag, now started to yell. The enemy vanguard might have moved past this area, but the rest of the enemy host could not be far behind.

  He needed to get off the streets and take some time to review the situation. The invasion meant that there were many things that needed to be taken care of as soon as possible.

  Something in the back of his mind stopped him from taking off immediately, however. Instead, not entirely understanding why, he squatted beside the doll and picked it up.

  It's too heavy, Rocam noticed, eyeing the large bulge in the doll's belly.

  Something was clearly hidden inside; with a swift flick of his boot knife, Rocam cut the doll open along the seam. An amber-coloured object fell out together with some stuffing.

  Rocam deftly caught it before it hit the pebble road, and brought it up to his face.

  The object was a runestone; that much was obvious. However, the colour was one Rocam had never seen before. After spinning it around, he could not find a crafter monogram. The shape was strange as well; too elongated to be properly held in one's hands.

  What spell does this stone contain, and why did Ventus have it with him? Did he take this from that Duster he shot?

  He put the stone away in one of his inner jacket pockets. Whatever its meaning was, it would have to wait. The city was in chaos, and he had to make certain all his affairs were in order first. With Ventus dead and Cecille missing, he was the last active member of the Tasselhane outfit. That was something he planned to prolong for the time being.

  Even so, there was one last thing that needed to be done.

  He rose up with the doll still in hand and walked towards Ventus' corpse, where he squatted down again. Carefully, he placed the doll in the corpse's right hand and closed the cold dead fingers around it. When Rocam rose, he moved his hand over Ventus' eyes, closing them.

  You were dealt a bad hand, Ventus, but you played it well enough.

  Finally heeding his intuition, Rocam started to run, keeping a careful eye and ear out for both flyers and riders. Once he reached the nearest haunt, he could take the time to plan his next step. As he ran through the narrow alleys and vaulted through yards, he noticed that only a few of Tasselhane's residents had risked going outside; they all scurried away the moment they saw him. There was no sign of any enemy soldiers and he arrived at his destination without issue.

  The haunt before him was a two-storey building next to a short, steep street. On the ground floor of the building was a small shop that sold dyes. The haunt was on the floor above that, offering a good view of the immediate area.

  Rocam swung open the door and a soft bell jingled above him. There was little scent inside apart from a vague flowery aroma that he found soothing and relaxing. Aretta was sitting in the back behind a small counter reading something. She was an elderly woman, over fifty years old with a full head of carefully bound grey hair. Rocam noted that she still wore it in a ponytail, which was something of an odd sight on a woman of her age, but she insisted that if she didn't her dyes would all contain hair in no time.

  She looked up at Rocam, not giving the least hint that she recognized him, then glanced towards the door.

  “I'm alone,” Rocam said, closing the door behind him. “I will be staying here for a while.”

  Aretta narrowed her eyes, wrinkling her worn face even more. “I heard the neighbours screaming about cinds riding through the streets, cutting down men left and right. Is that true?”

  Rocam briefly recalled how he had found Ventus and several other corpses along the streets. He nodded. “It looks like the Dust Empire decided to start a war with Gerios. I hope the stocks have been replenished recently.”

  “They are being restocked right now by Tershennen,” Aretta said, flicking her head up. “He's upstairs.”

  Ters is here? Rocam thought. That's good; saves me a lot of trouble. He nodded to Aretta and then made his way up the rickety wooden stairs.

  In the haunt proper, Rocam found Tershennen loading canned goods into the cupboard.

  “Patria Rocam,” Tershennen said, nodding in Rocam's direction as he entered the room.

  “Ters,” Rocam replied, walking towards the sole window in the room and looking at the smoke in the distance. “It's good you are here. I need you to get all the operators together this evening.”

  “Because of the raid?” Ters said as he placed the last can in the cupboard and closed it.

  Rocam frowned. “Raid? You think this is a raid?”

  “What else could it be?”

  Rocam clenched his teeth in frustration, creating an audible clack.

  Tershennen was a country bumpkin from the north of Gerios. A plain-faced young man with a square head and two wide-open eyes that revealed the lack of smarts that lay behind. His build was tall and muscular, similar to most of the peasant boys that lived in that region. Tershennen was someone who would never amount to much more than a hand to till fields or restock haunts, and the only reason Rocam had even bothered to make him part of his personal outfit was because of his physical abilities.

  “Did you look outside, Ters?” Rocam calmly asked, glancing sideways at Tershennen. “Did you see the flying men?”

  Tershennen merely nodded, looking away from Rocam.

  He knows I'm going to berate him.

  Rocam turned his gaze back outside towards the little specks that were still moving around in the sky. “Did you know that until today nobody ever managed to get men flying? If the Dust Empire has the ability to give its soldiers flight, they wouldn't have revealed that on something as minor as a raid. This is an invasion, Ters. And Tasselhane is now an occupied city.”

  Tershennen still avoided Rocam's gaze.

  “Tell everyone to meet at the Drunken Orshak at the hour of the owl tonight and make sure you impress upon them that this is not an optional gathering. No whining about how dangerous it is. We're all sneaks and this is our city. If someone lets themselves get caught by a bunch of foreign soldiers who don't even know the streets, then they deserve to be cut down.”

  “Yes, patria,” Tershennen said.

  “Go then.”

  “Yes, patria,” Tershennen repeated, slinking away through the door with the elegance of a bull. Rocam could see the relief in his step and then watched through the window as he vanished into a nearby alley.

  Rocam's stomach made a distinct growl, and he realized he had not eaten since yesterday before they had gone to Echeb's trade-house. The events that followed had kept him running around the entire night.

  After grabbing one of the new cans of stew, he sat down and started to pry it open.

  Aretta entered the room and Rocam raised an eyebrow at her.

  “I closed the shop,” Aretta said as if reading his mind. “If the Empire has really invaded then I doubt there's going to be any customers today.”

  Rocam nodded and then held up the can he had just opened. “I take it these cans aren't the same kind as last time?” The previous batch of canned goods had turned out to be made from bad steel, causing rust to appear at the edges and spoil the food inside. Over half of them had to be thrown out; a considerable financial loss.

  “That cannery doesn't exist anymore,” Aretta said, sitting down across from Rocam. “We weren't the only ones that got tossed into the tempest by that one.” She looked at Rocam, who was rooting around in the can with a spoon. “You're supposed to heat that first.”

  Rocam shrugged. “How's the shop doing?”

  “Seventy-two florins last moon.”

  “Not even three half-regals? This store is bleeding coin faster than I can make it.”

  “It's because of that shop at the south market. Their dyes are cheaper and the tailors go there now even though those dyes don't hold their colour.” She looked at Rocam expectantly.

  “I'll see if I can do something about that,” Rocam said, taking note of her look. “But I have bigger issues at the moment.”

  Aretta nodded. “As you say, patria. Though I have to admit, I'm uncertain what happens next.”

  “With what? The city or the syndicate?”

  “Both.”

  Rocam shrugged again. “The city is going to be occupied, and considering how easy they conquered it, they're not going anywhere. Tasselhane had the biggest garrison in the province, so if King Darych is planning to take the city back, it's not going to be any time soon.” He scraped his spoon along the edge of the can. “An occupying force obviously brings problems, but it also provides opportunities. We'll need to find and use both, so we will lay low for a few days as we gather information.”

  “That's what tonight's meeting is for,” Aretta said.

  Rocam nodded, not surprised she had overheard. He stuck another spoonful of stew into his mouth.

  “And the Whisper?”

  Rocam paused with the spoon sticking out of his mouth. “What about them?” he finally asked. Aretta was one of the few people who knew about Rocam's activities in the Whisper, yet they weren't something she needed to concern herself with.

  “Aren't you going to be busy for them as well?”

  “Maybe,” Rocam replied. “I haven't decided yet if I still care to stick around for that. Ventus is dead; I found his corpse near one of the haunts. And knowing Cecille, odds are good she's dead too.” He shrugged.

  Aretta looked shocked at this, causing Rocam to give her a questioning look. “What?” he asked.

  “Don't you love that woman?” Aretta asked, visually upset by Rocam's apparent callousness.

  Rocam made a face like he smelled something foul. “Who? Cecille? Are you stupid? I would love to fuck her sometime, but that's about it.” He bent forward across the table, bringing his face closer to her. “Please tell. Where did you get the idea that I love her?”

  Aretta looked down and fiddled with a seam of her dress. “I thought that she was the reason you stayed with the Whisper.” She kept looking away from Rocam, obviously worried that she had made him angry.

  That's it? Rocam thought, huffing. A typical female assumption that men do strange things only for love. His remaining with the Whisper wasn't strange at all, of course. He had a perfectly good reason for that. It was just that he had never told anyone else in the syndicate.

  I suppose that's why they start to speculate.

  He leaned back in his chair. “Aretta, Aretta,” he said, shaking his head. “At your age, still believing in gallant men making sacrifices for love? Especially since you know what kind of man I am.”

  Aretta shrugged. “I do know that. So you loving her was the only reason that made sense.”

  You don't know me very well then. “She's attractive enough,” Rocam said. “But only on the outside. I don't care for her personality at all.” He spoke the truth. Rare were the days when Cecille wasn't doing or saying something that annoyed him. Her insecurity and frequent indecisiveness didn't make her a woman he had any interest in apart from bedding her. He tossed the now empty can into the nearby bin. “So if she turns up dead, don't expect me to cry over it. I'm an uncaring man, Aretta.”

  “You always say that, but if it's true then why did you save me?”

  “A whim,” Rocam answered. “One I might regret if you keep boring me with this silly speculation.”

  Truthfully, he just didn't want to talk about these things as they made him feel uncomfortable. The less anyone knew about how his mind worked, the better.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Was there anything else?” Rocam asked.

  With a neutral expression on her face, Aretta shook her head “I'll be downstairs,” she said, before leaving the room.

  Was I too hard on her? Rocam thought. He had a habit of stating bluntly what was on his mind; something he deemed an efficient manner of conversation. Nonetheless, there were many people who did not share his sentiment, and in the coming days he would need to be cautious. Tonight’s meeting is going to be important. I have to pay careful attention to what everyone says and does in case it all falls apart.

  That evening the streets were quiet. Even more quiet than Rocam was expecting. There wasn't a soul to be seen as he made his way through the city apart from the usual flea-infested dogs that were so abundant in Tasselhane. Most of the lampposts weren't charged either, leaving everything in darkness. It was obvious the Ministry of Transport had not dared to send out channellers for them, and the few that were burning were likely charged by residents.

  Even so, he stuck to the sides of the streets. While he trusted himself to hear an enemy patrol long before they could see him, that only applied to those walking. The ones flying would be quiet, and Rocam didn't fancy finding out what other kinds of magic those men possessed.

  The Drunken Orshak was a run-down inn in one of the worst parts of the city. Only the ground floor had brick walls; the rest were made from a light oak that was clearly rotting in places. Due to bad foundations, the entire structure leaned towards the south-west along the slope it was built on. Inside, you couldn't place anything spherical on the floor as it would roll away.

  It was a place that only the most desperate and poor would use as a drinking hole. The only reason Rocam was here was because the inn also happened to be one of the main dens for the Nameless Syndicate.

  Rocam swung open the door and entered the dining room. To his left, innkeeper Saul leaned over the bar to look at the new arrival. Everyone called him White Saul, but not because he was a particularly pale man or because he had white hair. He was called that to distinguish him from Black Saul, a dark-skinned man from one of the southern clans that lived in the Dust, the great desert that made up most of the southern half of the Dust Empire; the same empire that had taken control of the city today.

  Black Saul was one of the operators in the syndicate, and Rocam spied him sitting in the back with his table covered in empty bottles.

  “Patria,” White Saul said, acknowledging his presence with a nod.

  “You've seen Tershennen?” Rocam asked, positioning himself next to the bar so he could have a good look at the attendance.

  “Briefly. He came by to tell me that he couldn't find Bazoom anywhere. I told him to check the corpses along the road.”

  Rocam frowned. “You think he's dead?”

  “Well, patria, you know how Bazoom is. If there is a fight somewhere, he needs to be in the middle of it. Especially if it involves Dusters.”

  “I was hoping he could control his urges this time. Remind me again why I made him an operator?”

  “To gain control of his gang.”

  “Ah yes, his gang of thugs that no doubt lie dead beside him.” Rocam smirked. “Anyone else missing?”

  “Bann and the Mountain Cat. The rest are all here.” White Saul nodded towards the group sitting in the back. “Apparently it isn't too difficult to get here in one piece.”

  Rocam nodded as he rubbed his chin. “The streets were completely empty. No enemy patrols anywhere. Bit strange, really.”

  “Keviel said most of them pulled out after they put the garrison to the torch. They went easy on the pillaging as well. Only a handful of shops and trade-houses were looted.”

  “Not surprising. Half the wealth of this city belongs to Duster merchants.”

  White Saul nodded. “They withdrew to the Galebreaker afterwards, as Keviel tells it.”

  “I'll get the details from him, then,” Rocam said, moving away a few steps before turning around. “And start serving sandwine. I need everyone sober for this, and by the looks of it that's already becoming a problem for some.”

  “As you say, patria.”

  Rocam joined the group, nodding greetings to everyone and taking note of who was sitting with whom. The Nameless Syndicate had nine operators, four of which were Dusters. Three of those four were here, and they were all sitting together at a single table. Black Saul, Cheket and Zylanja.

  That's not good.

  Black Saul and Cheket sitting together wasn't a surprise. They had joined the syndicate at roughly the same time under similar circumstances, and had been joined at the hip ever since. Zylanja sitting at their table, however, was peculiar. She used to be one of the prize whores of the rival Duster syndicate Cheket had belonged to, and held little love for him as a result. When Rocam looked at her she avoided his gaze, moving her almond-shaped eyes across the room instead.

  Definitely not good. I need to have a word with her later.

  Tristia and Styr were sitting next to each other on the long bench that ran along the wall, and Rocam didn't like that either. Styr was one of Rocam's most trusted operators and responsible for the syndicate's finances. He was good with coin but not with women, and Tristia had never paid Styr any heed before. Rocam did not trust her entirely either. She always did as she was told, but ran her operations under a thick layer of secrecy, leaving Rocam in the dark about what exactly she was doing. She was also too easy to bed and he had an inherent distrust for women like that.

  I need to talk to Styr as well to see what's going on there.

  Finally there was Keviel who was sitting alone, which was as expected. Keviel held a strong disdain for all the other operators in the syndicate, with the exception of Bazoom. If he had been mingling with someone then there would be trouble for sure.

  Rocam took a seat at Keviel's table. “White Saul says you saw the invaders withdraw to the wall fort?”

  Keviel looked at Rocam. Dark eye bags ringed his weary expression, his posture was sagging, and stubble covered his normally clean-shaven face. It appeared that Keviel had been awake for some time now.

  “You feeling alright?” Rocam asked when Keviel didn't respond.

  “Not really,” Keviel said, running a hand through his straw-coloured hair. “I didn't sleep at all last night. I was hoping to catch up tonight, but then this...” He weakly waved his hand around.

  “You can catch up after we finish here. Whatever else we decide tonight, at the very least we are going to lay low for a couple of days to see what happens. Now about those soldiers...”

  “Yeah, I saw them. The flying ones flew back towards the valley and I saw a lot of their horsemen headed back that way as well. Don't know where the rest of them went.”

  “And the garrison?”

  Keviel shrugged. “Gone, I think. I didn't see many corpses wearing the uniform, but for all I know they all burned to death in the Keep.”

  Rocam nodded. “And Bazoom?”

  Again, Keviel shrugged. “I haven't seen him since the attack started. He said he was going to gather the men.”

  Rocam moved his hand over his eyes. It appeared that there was a good chance White Saul's hunch was correct and Bazoom was dead.

  Yet another thing for my list.

  With a loud creak the front door opened, and immediately all eyes in the room shot over to see who was entering. A tall man wearing a hooded cloak entered and closed the door behind him before removing his hood, revealing a middle-aged man with a hook nose and piercing green eyes.

  “Glad you made it after all, Bann,” Rocam said to the tall man.

  “I'm glad as well,” Bann said, tossing his cloak in a nearby corner. “There is an entire army marching down the main valley road. I had to use one of the smuggling paths to get past them.”

  Rocam jerked upwards a bit. “An entire army? When was this?”

  All the conversations in the room fell silent.

  “Not too long ago. I ran into the head of the column just as I was about to cross the main road. There was a long row of torches and sun sigils visible behind them all the way to the Galebreaker. I didn't dare cross the road right in front of them, so that's why I'm late.”

  “So they did come with an entire army after all,” Styr said.

  “Did you expect anything else?” Black Saul answered with a thick Enti accent. “The Hischi clan only moves when they have an overwhelming advantage. The rest of Ceriel will be under their control within days, and then who knows.”

  He's right, Rocam thought, feeling increasingly uneasy. The only substantial force in this region was the garrison in the citadel, and they have been taken care of. And who knows what other arrangements the magistrate set up with his betrayal.

  Rocam beckoned Bann to sit down. It was time to get this meeting underway. There was little reason to keep waiting for Bazoom at this point, and the Mountain Cat was probably perching somewhere to scout the army that marched through Tasselhane right now. For the purposes of this meeting they could be spared, even though the sooner everyone was clear about what had to be done, the better.

  It's a shame they aren't here, but I have to show who's in control now.

  Rocam rose from his chair and gestured White Saul to lock the front door, who promptly did so.

  “Well,” Rocam started. “I'm assuming you are all smart enough to know why I called this meeting. So let's get talking about what needs to be done.”

  He raised three fingers in the air.

  “First, something that is not open for discussion. For the next few days, we are not going to do anything except scout and survey. If you have something else going on at the moment, bury it.” He looked around. “No exceptions. If you catch anyone in your outfit violating this rule, get rid of them. The last thing we need is to have the eye of an entire host on us.” He paused to check everyone's reaction. “I take it nobody has any problems with this?”

  “I don't have a problem,” Styr said. “But shouldn't we wait for Bazoom and the Cat as well before we continue? They need to hear this as well.”

  Rocam waved him away, shaking his head. “Bazoom is most likely not here because he already violated this command. And laying low is pretty much all the Mountain Cat does, so I'm not too concerned about him right now. For the rest of the meeting, we don't really need them.”

  Styr gave no further response so Rocam continued.

  “Second, the Black Rose might take this opportunity to get ahead of us. It's not likely, I'll admit, but I want to hear some suggestions regarding how they could disadvantage us.”

  The Black Rose was the only other criminal syndicate in Tasselhane. It had been that way since five years ago when Rocam's syndicate and the Black Rose had joined up to eliminate the two Duster syndicates that occupied Tasselhane at the time. Afterwards Rocam and Castarre, the patria of the Black Rose, agreed to divide the spoils and the city in such a way that they didn't interfere with each other.

  “Castarre won't do anything,” Bann said confidently. “He knows that the current situation is by far the most advantageous for him. Invasion or not.”

  “I know,” Rocam replied. “But I still don't trust him. He sees opportunity everywhere. He would even join up with the Dusters to drive us from the city if he thought he could pull it off. Attack us to curry favour and all that.”

  “If they were to attack, they would hit our dens first,” Styr said. “After that, there are a bunch of haunts that used to belong to the old Duster syndicates and the Black Rose knows about them as well.”

  “Our smuggling routes will be good targets too,” Bann added. “The value of those will rise immensely now that the city is occupied. In fact, I think the lack of goods is going to become a huge problem for the Black Rose if this occupation is going to last for an extensive period.”

  “All the more reason for them to strike at us,” Black Saul put in.

  “Can't we use this to take them out instead?” Cheket asked.

  “No,” Rocam said, cutting Cheket off. “We don't need a war within a war. And we're not going to join up with the Empire either after going to so much trouble to get rid of the Duster syndicates. If such a war is to happen, so be it, but we will not be the ones starting it.” He glared at both Cheket and Black Saul. Those two are too eager for a fight.

  Rocam continued. “Apart from the smuggling routes, is there anything else?”

  “It's safe to say that any of our known locations could be targeted,” Styr said. “All the dens, all the known affiliated shops and trade-houses. Everyone they know is a member.”

  “Some of our shops have already been pillaged,” Bann added. “I think it would be best to take anything of real value from our more exposed locations and stash all of it somewhere safe.” He turned to face Rocam. “Both the Bishemed Kartel and Ank Karresh might want to take this chance to pay us back for what we did to them five years ago.”

  “Yes,” Rocam agreed. “That's my third point, and by far the most urgent one. If there is an army here, then the Dusters are planning to stay. You say the Kartel and Ank might take the chance. I say they will for sure. We know they've been biding their time in Kesh, preparing to take advantage of any weakness on our side.” He slammed his fist on the table. “We're not going to show them any.”

  He looked around at the faces of his operators and saw signs of agreement from all of them except Black Saul and Zylanja. Keviel didn't respond either, but in his case it seemed to be taking everything he had just to stay awake.

  “Questions?” Rocam asked.

  Nobody responded.

  “Get going, then. Inform your outfits and crews as soon as possible. Except for Keviel, Bann and Zylanja. I need to speak to you about something else as well.”

  Rocam waited until the others had all left the inn and it was just the four of them, with White Saul rummaging around in the back room.

  “Let me refill this one,” Rocam said, picking up an empty jug. He went back to the bar, taking his time to refill it with sandwine. Then he returned to the table and set down the jug.

  Bann looked at Rocam with anticipation, while Keviel still struggled to keep his eyes open. Zylanja avoided his eyes, staring down at her cup, which had been empty for a while now.

  “You know what, Keviel,” Rocam said, “maybe it's better if you get some rest first. If you are like this, you'll forget everything I tell you.”

  With a mumble that might have been an apology, Keviel got up from his chair and staggered towards the exit.

  “Bann, could you accompany Keviel home?” Rocam asked as he eyed Keviel. “If he runs into a patrol like this, he'll be cut down or captured in an instant. You are better off taking the back exit as well. Stick to the alleys.”

  Bann appeared dumbfounded. “You want me to accompany him? But what about the thing you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “That can wait,” Rocam said, making a throwaway gesture. “I wanted to talk to you about how to handle the smuggling routes from now on as we are going to need them more than ever. But it occurred to me that now that an entire host has arrived, the enemy syndicates are likely here as well. It would be better if you consolidate our holdings first and get situation updates from your outfit. At least then we'll have accurate information.”

  “Alright,” Bann said. He got up from his seat and shepherded Keviel in the direction of the back door.

  Rocam waited in silence until he heard the door close behind them.

  “Clever,” Zylanja spoke first, still looking down at her cup. “It's me you really want to talk to, isn't it?”

  It's you who is the clever one, Rocam thought. It was just as she said. He never intended to speak to Bann and Keviel, only requesting their presence as a smokescreen for the other operators, especially Black Saul and Cheket. But that is the reason I made you an operator despite your seeming lack of qualifications.

  “You also know why I need to talk with you?”

  Zylanja looked up with a dull look in her dark-brown eyes. “Because I used to be part of the Kartel?”

  “Indirectly, yes,” Rocam said. “Why were you being so close with Black Saul and Cheket?”

  She shrugged and went back to staring into her empty cup. “They sat down at my table.”

  That is possible, I suppose, Rocam thought. That would be just the kind of thing Cheket would do. Shifty bastard. Yet that wasn't enough of a reason to let Zylanja off. There is more to this.

  “Did they now?”

  “If you don't believe me, there is nothing I can do about it.”

  A nagging sensation appeared in the back of Rocam's mind. She's being far too meek. That's not like her at all.

  He could tell she was nervous as well. Unlike most people, who had some tick or gesture that betrayed their anxiety, Zylanja froze solid like a statue. Just like now.

  “Did Saul or Cheket talk to you about something? After they learned about the invasion?”

  “There is nothing,” Zylanja answered. “We all only realized it this morning, and I didn't see either of them before coming here today.”

  Rocam wasn't too sure about that. Although the Bishemed Kartel had been gone from the city for years, he had little doubt that Cheket retained a line of contact with them.

  That's the other side of the coin, Rocam thought, feeling the round shape of his treasured coin in his pocket.

  After the shadow war, despite both Duster syndicates being forcibly removed, a substantial number of their former members and affiliates had remained in the city; Dusters with coin, opportunities and skills who now lacked an outlet. At the time, Rocam decided it was more advantageous to absorb these parts of the two Duster syndicates than risk them forming a new syndicate on their own. There were some initial difficulties in the year that followed, but in the end it had worked out as Rocam had hoped, giving the Nameless Syndicate much-needed leverage against the Black Rose.

  It was a good arrangement, Rocam thought. But not one that takes a full-scale invasion into account.

  He folded his hands together and leaned back in his chair. In this position, he stared at Zylanja for a while, and she kept her solemn silence.

  She knows something, but how do I make her tell me? If Saul and Cheket are indeed planning something, then threatening her only increases the chance of her switching sides.

  He regarded her a little longer before nodding to himself. Which means I have to remind her which side she is on.

  “Do you remember when I made you an operator?” Rocam asked.

  Zylanja looked up in surprise. “Yes?” She couldn't help phrasing it as a question.

  “Do you remember how happy you were back then? The feeling of not being beaten for every mistake? To not service every dirty peon that stepped through the doors of your brothel?” He leaned forward over the table. “I'm sure your fellow whores shared that happiness as well.”

  Her surprise vanished. “I remember.”

  “So why are you lying to me, the one who saved you from that fate?”

  An ember appeared in Zylanja's eyes. “I'm not lying,” she said, her voice slightly raised. “I'm just...” She paused and grabbed her cup tightly with one hand.

  “Yes?”

  “Tired.”

  “So was Keviel. He wasn't lying to me.”

  “Not like that,” Zylanja started. “Oh, forget it. What do you care? If you want to know if Cheket is up to something, then all I can tell you is what he told me just now before he left.”

  Rocam raised an eyebrow in anticipation.

  “He told me to be ready.”

  Rocam's eyebrow went down again. “That's it?”

  “That's it, there is no hidden conspiracy. At least not one I'm a part of.”

  “He told you to be ready,” Rocam repeated.

  This time Zylanja just rolled her eyes at him.

  Rocam reached over the table, grabbed her dress and gave it a good pull, causing Zylanja to jerk forward onto the table.

  “Don't roll your eyes at me,” Rocam said coldly.

  Zylanja averted her eyes and her body went limp. A habit from her days as a whore serving customers that had more extravagant tastes.

  Rocam held her for a moment, then pushed her back into her chair.

  “Very well then, you can go.”

  She got up without saying anything and left the inn shortly after.

  “You think Cheket is up to something?” White Saul said, approaching Rocam's table.

  “It's not nice to eavesdrop,” Rocam said as he poured himself another drink. He eyed the voicesphere that lay on a nearby table. “How big is the radius on that one?”

  “Just big enough for me,” Saul chuckled. “You know I do this, so if you don't want me to, why hold your meeting here?”

  “I like your sandwine.”

  “Now that's a lie if I ever heard one.”

  Rocam tried to laugh, but he couldn't bring himself to even smile. If Cheket and Black Saul really were planning to betray him, action needed to be taken immediately.

  The thought of betrayal unnerved him. Even in the best outcome, the Nameless Syndicate stood to lose the bigger part of two outfits. A great blow in the best of circumstances, and a potentially devastating one in the current situation.

  Before anything else, I need to know what they are up to.

  “Do you believe Zylanja?” Rocam asked White Saul, who sat down in the seat Zylanja had vacated.

  “I do,” Saul replied. “Considering the life she had with the Kartel, I can't imagine her wanting to go back.”

  “Me neither, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.”

  “And Cheket? Or my bronze-skinned namesake?”

  “They're trouble for certain,” Rocam said with a dark expression. “The only real question is if they planned something in advance or are just seizing the opportunity.”

  “Can't be the first,” Saul said. “If they had this planned out, neither of them would have been here and Duster soldiers would be busting my door down this very moment.”

  Rocam rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I suppose you are right. But that just means that said busting will still take place. Only later.”

  White Saul nodded. “You'll be the main target. The other operators too, depending on what their plan is with the different outfits.”

  “I agree,” Rocam said. Within the Nameless Syndicate, all the operators knew each other. The people who made up their respective outfits, however, were largely unknown. It was a set-up that guaranteed that if there was some kind of takeover planned, they needed to keep the operator alive.

  Yet whoever is going to make a move is not going to keep me around. Which means I have to strike at them first.

  Rocam himself had a select group of trustees as well. White Saul was one of them, yet none of the operators knew this, thinking of the innkeeper as merely a low-ranking member. This gave him an ear in one of the most frequently used dens within the syndicate.

  “Are you going to take them out if they prove untrustworthy?” White Saul asked, correctly guessing Rocam's intention.

  “First I need to know for certain what they are up to. If they are plotting against us, then we will strike at them first.” It will hurt the syndicate, but at the very least I will be the one deciding how the pain is divided.

  White Saul curled his lower lip and nodded. “An enemy army is going to complicate things for sure. You have any idea how to go about this?”

  Rocam smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do have one.”