Chapter 48: Warlords

Christophe rubbed at his eyes, feeling the telltale signs of an impending headache. With the way his days had been for the past couple of months he had no idea whether it was the monotony of it all, the constant drinking, or having to listen to the short Northie cry about being all alone now. While it was probably the first or second option, the third was surely not helping things.

“I had to watch Phil die in the arena,” Markus seethed. “The Butcher didn’t even grant him a clean death!”

“So you’ve said. Several times now,” Christophe growled. He motioned for one of his minders to fill his mug, and Tavos all but jumped to obey. Christophe took a long drink of wine, willing the throbbing in his head to die down.

“Yes,” Markus said, breathing heavily. “I want him dead. More than anything else, just make sure this moonkissed bastard, this Quentin, dies.”

As far as prices for intel went, it was relatively cheap. Christophe had no problems with another dead body, piled up on the hundreds before it. The fact that this moonkissed mercenary was working for Razia was bad luck on his part. That treacherous whore was poison to everything she touched, and Christophe wasn’t going to lose sleep over cutting through him to get to her. After what she did, he’d even throw the little bastard in front of him a bone and make it painful.

“So you’d rather have that than the shards?” Christophe said, suppressing a smirk. One of the greatest tools he had at his disposal was his fearsome appearance. Smiling had a way of getting under peoples’ skin, but so did empty stares and complete neutrality.

Markus froze, and Christophe could practically see his brain working overtime trying to figure out a way out of that. “I’d…prefer both, if possible,” he said. “My information’s good.”

“Your information’s sketchy at best,” Christophe scoffed. “You gave me a name, an appearance, and a neighborhood. That’s hardly wrapping them up neat in a bow for me. No one in this room would think twice if I grabbed you by the skull and popped it like a grape. It would save me the money and…well, you’re not exactly useful to me anymore, are you?”

Again, an entire drama of thoughts and emotions played out on the little man’s face. Fear, anger, defiance, and finally resolution. He puffed himself up to an unimpressive height and said, “Fine. Do it. I’ll be with my brothers again.”

Christophe took another long drink of wine. He let out a room shaking belch and wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand. “Not afraid of death, huh?” Markus shook his head. Christophe’s hand shot out and grasped the man by the face. His massive hand was more than enough to fully cover it. He gave a squeeze, and the other man shuddered but held still. His fingers dug into the table until his knuckles were white, but he didn’t move.

Oh, phooey. It wasn’t as fun when they were actually brave about it. Christophe threw the man down to the floor and finished his drink. Tavos moved forward with the wineskin again, but Christophe waved him off. He was already pleasantly buzzed, and some of the headache was dissipating. There was a fine line between drinking enough to keep the hangover from coming and drinking too much and making everything worse. Being drunk was one of the only things that made his exile bearable, and even that was starting to grow old.

Markus sat up, looking at him with a mix of confusion and wariness. Good. Christophe smiled at him then, scratching at his beard. “You got anything else up north worth going back for?”

The short man thought about it. He looked down to his bare chest and fingered one of the tattoos there. They obviously meant something to him, though all Christophe saw was a liability. Tattoos were an easy way of identifying criminals too stupid to cover up and keep their heads down. They were for the bold, the careless, and the easily caught and executed. “No,” he finally said. “Nothing.”

“Then go with Simms,” Christophe nodded to a dark haired, freckly faced man with a belt full of knives of different sizes. “He’ll get you situated and see about putting you to work. We’ll even get you proper clothes instead of wandering around like a savage. You want shards? Do some good work for us and you’ll be swimming in them.” Or he’d be the first to die when things went wrong. Either suited Christophe.

Markus stood, nodding. “Thank you,” he said. He hesitated, then continued, “Why did you wait until the Blooming was over before sending for me? Not that I’m complaining about spending a week drinking and feasting.”

Christophe drew his lips back in a silent snarl. Markus took a step back. “It sounds an awful lot like complaining to me. You want a job or not? Good. Get the fuck out of here.” He jerked his head to the side and Markus scattered, Simms nodding to Christophe before following. That left him with three others in the room with him. Despite the extended isolation, even they were too much.

When one was imprisoned, even the best things in life grew dull. Drinking, gambling, sleeping, and fucking the occasional girl they brought to him were the only things Christophe had left for him. All of those had grown boring and lifeless the longer time stretched on. Two months of being stuck in the safehouse. Two months of sitting on his ass while his lieutenants and Piro ran things without him. Two months of utter boredom and stagnation.

“Max,” he barked. Max jolted to attention, cocking his head to the side. “Has there been any word from Piro about the message I sent him?”

“N-no sir,” Max replied. He added, “with the Blooming going on, I don’t think he’s had much of a chance to…”

“To what?” Christophe demanded. “To answer his godsdamned partner?” He stood, and his men all took a step back.

“I don’t know sir,” Max replied, holding very still. He stank of fear. Not the usual kind of respect-fear that Christophe demanded in his underlings, but the kind of fear you displayed in front of dangerous animals and crazy people. He liked to think he wasn’t an especially cruel man. Brutal at times, pragmatic, and he didn’t suffer fools, but not cruel. Just direct. Captivity was making a beast of him.

Christophe took a deep breath. The Blooming made things complicated. The weeklong festival turned the city upside down and had everyone in the streets. There were people to see and things to do for everyone, and crime lords were no exception. Piro was the face of their operation, and the one who kept things semi-legitimate. Christophe dealt with the men and led them into battle and sent them off on jobs, Piro dealt with those who wanted their services and those they robbed with big smiles and open palms. Chances were, he was busy and couldn’t take the time to come to the safe house and touch bases with him.

Logically, it made sense. After two months of increasingly mind numbing exile, logic didn’t mean a damned thing to Christophe. “Tell me how operations have been going,” he said. “Any of you, I don’t care who.”

“Well,” Jan hedged, an uneasy look on her face, “with the Blooming we’ve been -- “

“Then tell me about before the Blooming!” Christophe barked.

Max spoke up. “Things’ve been quiet, boss. With you in here, we’ve just been keeping to business as usual, you know? We stomp any other jackasses who come into our area. We collect tribute on time. I think a couple of times we’ve sent a few men to the outskirts to pick at some of the shipments going to the port.” He looked to Tavos for support, but his friend just shrugged.

Christophe frowned. “So what you’re telling me,” he said in a low voice bordering on a growl, “is that we’re not accomplishing anything? We’re not growing, we’re not striking fear into the hearts of our enemies. We’re just sitting around with our thumbs up our asses and just waiting for the shards to come trickling in?”

“Y-yeah, that sounds about right,” Tavos said, grimacing. He shrugged as if to say ‘what can you do?’

Christophe nodded, mostly to himself. “Get out. All of you. Give me some breathing room.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. They vacated the ruined house. Alone, Christophe paced the length of the room. Five long steps and he was at the back wall. This shouldn’t have gone on as long as it had. Piro promised him that he’d get this taken care of. Five steps and he was at the front wall. Two months with only a few excursions out. Excursions that were a horrible risk and could’ve meant his life if he was caught. Five more steps and there he was, facing the door that led to what passed for his bedroom.

Christophe growled. Not for the first time, he wondered if it would have been better to just go to court, be found guilty and sent to the Colosseum. There he would’ve lived or died honorably, fiercely, instead of hiding in a shithole shack hoping everything would clear up so he could return to his old life. Waiting to either go mad or be suffocated to death. He resumed his pacing.

Four frantic steps to the front. It was tempting even now to just run out there. Just run out screaming, practically begging for the Watch to descend on him like a pack of ravenous dunewallas and bring him in. He could go to his death laughing. Four more steps to the back. One last glorious fight for his life. Then he’d either be free or he’d be dead, Four steps to the front. Either way, it would be better than this half life.

Christophe buried his face in his hands. His fingers dug in to that long, shaggy beard and pulled. He pulled until it hurt, until he was worried he was going to rip chunks of it out. The pain felt good. The pain grounded him, reminded him that no matter how bad it was, he was still alive. Trapped in his own personal hell, but alive. He eyed the divider that blocked the room from the front door.

All he had to do was walk forward. His men wouldn’t stop him. Most of them had seen him in action and knew better than to get in his way. All he had to do was walk forward and do whatever he wanted. Christophe could even get a full night to himself, a night of freedom, before they picked him up and put him in a cell. Another cell. He grabbed the discarded wineskin and poured it directly into his mouth.

Defiance wasn’t worth dying for. Not when he now had a glimmer of hope. The information Markus gave him was definitely enough for them to do something about it. He might not have been able to save his own skin and get back to work, but at the very least he could make sure Razia Rashid died with him. That would be enough. That rotten bitch thought herself so clever, setting them up the way she had. She’d see how clever she was when Christophe broke every bone in her body, one by one. They could do whatever they wanted with him after that.

He had the info, but he couldn’t do anything with it. Not on his own. Piro could, but Piro was off doing gods knew what. Christophe grinned. It looked like it was time for another excursion. At the end, he’d either be one step closer to his revenge, or one step closer to death. Either was better than sitting around, festering in his hidey hole.

The cart was not the most dignified way of getting around, he reflected as his men pulled him along. Sitting in the back with a blanket draped over him was hardly inconspicuous, but most people around those parts knew well enough to leave the Warlords alone. Two of his minders pulled the cart themselves, with one standing in front, clearing the way.

The way to Piro’s place was slow on a good day, and this wasn’t one of them. It was the final day of the Blooming, and people were making the most of the last day of celebration. Though he couldn’t see anything from under the blanket, the sounds of cheering and laughter and music were all around him, making his head start to pound again. Half an hour later, just as Christophe’s patience ran out, they arrived on Guilderlane.

Guilderlane was the south side’s greatest source of high-end artisans and luxury shops. It was a place where the Watch was out in force, protecting the wealthy merchants and even wealthier shoppers as they enjoyed one of the few truly safe places in Orchrisus to flash their shards. Just after sunset now, the street was buzzing with hundreds of people celebrating the festival via sales and the outdoor theater on the west end. It was only another few minutes before Christophe’s minders wheeled him into the alley behind a line of shops.

Christophe waited until they pulled the blanket before getting up. He looked around, nodding as he saw they were alone. Tavos helped him to his feet, and Christophe faced a blank back wall. He put his hand against the colorful clay and the gem on his ring glowed. The clay shuddered and receded, revealing a door. Christophe let himself in to the back, nodding to his men that he’d take it from there.

Piro’s jewelry shop was one of the few places that wasn’t open or doing any sales. Piro wasn’t the kind of person to lower his prices. Not for the special stock he offered. There was no one around as Christophe climbed the stairs in the back and went through another concealed door to get to Piro’s home above. It was a luxurious loft, as bright and garish as the man who lived there. The main room was a wide, open lounge with plush cushions settled into a pit on the floor, next to a wall of wine racks.

A painting hung on the wall dividing the two halves of the floor, displaying Piro Pentius himself. He had a sharp, vulpine face with bright blue eyes and a smug, knowing smile. His dark red hair was messy in a way that Christophe knew he spent time on every day. He wore a red and gold tunic and was holding an orchrisus flower in his open palm. Christophe flipped the painting off, laughing. He grabbed a bottle of wine from the rack and settled down onto the cushions and waited.

It wasn’t fair, he reflected as he took a pull from the bottle. They were literally partners in crime, equally in charge of the Warlords, each managing a different side of their gang. It wasn’t fair that Christophe was the one who got set up by Razia. It wasn’t fair that Christophe rotted in exile while Piro got to live it up in a swanky home. It wasn’t being with their men in one of their hangouts, but if Christophe was going to be imprisoned, he’d rather it be a place like this.

He waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, after three hours and two bottles of Piro’s best, the man himself came home. Christophe sat up, wiping his mouth clean and crossing his arms over his chest. A trio of voices preceded them, two giggles and a goofy, uninhibited laugh. Then came Piro, with a woman on each arm that was notably taller than he was.

“What else was I supposed to do? Never let an insult go unpaid, that’s what I always say!” Piro’s voice was high and bouncy, full of boundless energy.

“You’re so bad!” One of the girls, a smokey eyed brunette said, slapping his shoulder. Then she looked up and saw Christophe and made a noise. All three of them turned to look at the massive man sitting among the cushions. He raised a hand and wiggled the fingers in greeting.

“W-who’s this, Piro?” The blonde on Piro’s right asked easily.

Piro’s eyes widened, before delight flooded his face. “Why girls, this is my brother. The big, the bad, the beautiful Christophe.”

“Isn’t…Isn’t he the man on the wanted posters?” The brunette asked.

“I sure am,” Christophe answered, grinning. “Are you going to be a problem for me?” He kept his eyes locked on hers, daring her to object. She swallowed hard and shook her head.

“I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” said Piro, slipping away from the girls and standing at the lip of the pit. “Couldn’t resist one night of celebration, huh?”

“Oh, you know me,” Christophe drawled. “I’ve never given two shits about festivals outside of how they affect business. And business is why I’m here tonight.”

Piro deflated, motioning with his head to the two attractive women standing in the doorway. “Does it have to be tonight? I’m in the middle of something.”

“As much as it grieves me to deny you your sandwich,” Christophe sighed theatrically, “this is important. It’s about Razia.”

The exaggerated, playful expression on Piro’s face dropped. “Ah,” he said. He turned towards the girls. “Why don’t you ladies head on upstairs and start without me? I’ll be up after I take care of this.”

They exchanged a glance and nodded. They padded past Piro, who reached out and pinched the blonde’s ass as she went, making her squeal. Piro waited until they were gone and hopped down into the pit alongside Christophe. He took the bottle and drank from it. His eyelashes fluttered closed and he moaned. “As always, excellent taste in wine.”

Christophe rolled his eyes. “You done patting yourself on the back?”

“For now. What news do you have? Have one of our boys figured out which caravan she traveled with?”

That made him laugh. “If you’d bothered to come see me at any point in the last month you would’ve known she never left town at all. She gave us the slip, made it look like she got the hell out of here, and then promptly went up north to hide behind Cicero’s skirt.”

Piro’s eyes lit up. “That devious bitch! How did we not see that coming?”

“Being fair, it was awfully stupid of her to stick around. It would’ve been smarter if she did skip town. There’s only so far we would’ve been willing to chase her. But apparently she’s not as clever as she thinks she is.” Christophe took the bottle back and drank. At this point he was past buzzed and was now comfortably drunk. That was the best state to be in around Piro.

“No one is as clever as she thinks she is,” Piro countered. “Though naturally, I come close. Shall we send some scouts up and find which rock she’s hiding under?”

Christophe shook his head, smile only growing wider. “No need. I know where she’s staying. More or less. Even locked up I’ve been busy keeping an eye on things and getting shit done.” A dark, nasty part took satisfaction in growling out, “What the fuck have you been doing the past couple of months?”

Piro winced and held up his hands placatingly. “Trying to keep everything from falling apart. That raid from the Watch had our rivals smelling weakness. They came right up to our doorstep, looking for a fight. We haven’t done much because we’ve been busy defending what we’ve got and lying low so we don’t get finished off.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me this!?” Christophe fumed. No one did. Business as usual, huh? Something wasn’t adding up. “You didn’t think to tell me that we’re two steps away from collapsing?”

“Okay, finished off might be stretching the truth a little,” said Piro with a laugh. “But we can’t afford to show weakness or lose territory right now. There’ve been some skirmishes and I…Haven’t been able to help much.” It cost Piro something to admit that.

“And why the hell not?”

Piro sighed. He held up a hand. A bottle from the wine rack wiggled, then shot out violently. Piro ducked in time to not get brained by the projectile. It continued on past him and shattered against the wall, painting the clay a dark purple. “I’ve been a little…inconsistent since Razia took my focus.”

Aha. So that’s the real reason Piro wasn’t pressing forward. Piro Pentius, the fearsome Shaper, was having control issues. It was something he didn’t like to talk about, and Christophe always took the rose pendant Piro wore for granted. He hadn’t even noticed it was gone. “Ah,” said Christophe. “I forgot she took it. I’ve been a little preoccupied, what with being stuck in a tiny safehouse without anyone fucking updating me.”

“Well, I’ve been busy!”

“You brought two girls home on the final night of the Blooming, but you couldn’t come see me and check in?”

Piro flushed, eyes darting to the ceiling. “I have needs. I was going to come see you tomorrow, I promise.”

Christophe sighed. “Of course you were.”

“Anyway, you said you know where Razia is? More or less.” Piro leaned forward.

Christophe took another drink. “I have it narrowed down to a block of high end homes up on the north side. It’s a square of eight of them, and she’s shacking up with one of the residents there, and is being protected by a moonkissed mercenary.”

Piro’s eyes lit up. “A moonkissed? That’s fantastic! There aren’t that many of the devils in this city. It should be easy to narrow down who it is and either bribe him or take him out. Send a couple of spies up there and see what they turn up. This time we’ll make sure there’s nowhere for her to run.”

“You’re forgetting Cicero,” said Christophe. “He hates you and if he finds out you’re fiddling around in his backyard he’s gonna be pissed. We’ve got the manpower to handle any fights he starts, but he’s a devious sumbitch. For all we know, the merc is one of his.”

“So we send up a spy to just watch and figure out what they can,” said Piro impatiently. “We don’t have to make a move immediately. If she hasn’t skipped town yet, she’s not going to. That arrogant bitch probably thinks she’s safe. We keep our heads down while the heat is still on us, we find out what we need to know, and we strike like lightning,” Piro snapped his fingers. “In and out in a flash. We can put all this to rest and get back to growing.”

Yes, that’s more or less what Christophe figured they would do, but it was on him to raise objections and find flaws in the plans. Piro was prone to overexcitement and not seeing any weaknesses in himself. “You’re forgetting one thing,” Christophe growled. Piro stared at him blankly. “Killing her isn’t going to get the Watch to just ignore me.”

“I’m working on it,” Piro beamed. “In fact, I’ve got some good news on that front. We’ve been expanding some of our contacts in the Watch and have more men on the take. Including a Gold Badge near our base.”

Christophe let out a low whistle. “That is good news. How did you manage that?”

Piro grinned. “By not coming to see your ugly face for two months and working on shoring up our defenses.”

“Fuck you,” Christophe laughed. Piro joined him, and just like that Christophe’s night turned around. It was a rough couple of months, but they had a way out now and everything was going to go back to the way it was supposed to be. With Christophe and Piro on top of the world, crushing the poor bastards around them under their heels.

“So with that in mind, I’ve got some urgent needs to tend to,” Piro said, climbing to his feet.

“Not so fast,” Christophe said. “It’s been a bit. Give me one of them.”

Piro let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Which one do you want?”

“Which one do you want, brother?”

Piro thought about it. “I think I’d prefer the blonde.”

“Fantastic. I’ll take her.” Christophe smiled at the aggrieved look on Piro’s face. Yeah. Everything was going to be okay.