Forty-one days after the imperial ambassador’s murder.

Undersurface, Thi district, Radaar, 11:17 am.

“This is the place,” Raid said, eyeing the sign that read ‘Hot Booze’.

The wooden doors rattled as the wind blew past. They were splintered and dry, the sky-blue paint flaking off above fading black boot marks. The dilapidated walls, a darker shade of blue, sprinkled ash, dirt, and bits of rotted wood. Devan tried looking through the windows, but the murky glass stained by smoke obscured the inside.

For a moment, he thought they had gotten the place wrong. That the holonetwork had no other records of a similarly named bar didn’t inspire much confidence anymore. The bar looked as if it were abandoned for months.

“Looks like a dump,” Devan said.

“Maybe,” Raid said and peered into a casket. “Still working though.”

“Oy, you two,” came a woman’s voice from behind, rough and annoyed. She lowered a casket full of beer bottles by the entrance and wiped sweat off honey-coloured arms. When she turned to Devan and Raid, she arched a brow and began wiping her hands with a green cloth. “Ya want somethin’?”

“Do you work at this place?” Devan pointed toward the bar.

“Own the place,” she answered. Her green eyes observed them, from their attire to their faces, their weapons, and their left hands. “Who’s askin’?”

“I’m Bale Merewyk. This is Thren Raid.” Devan gestured at himself and then Raid, making sure not to make any sudden movements. “We thought you might be able to help us.”

“Help you?” She scoffed, the same sneer on her face as if she’d heard a bad joke. “Don’t know you. Pretty sure you don’t know my people neither, nor do my people know you.” She moved to a stack of empty ale crates and tossed the green cloth on top of them.

“Could we talk inside?” Devan asked.

The woman readjusted the white head scarf that tied back her frizzy hair. “Can talk ‘ere.”

“It’s about the recent murders. You’ve heard of yesterday’s one?”

“Murder?” she asked incredulously. “CitySec handles that. All of Radaar knows it. Mercs play cop every now and again, but they scram when CitySec come close, or drop their contracts when a case closes. So leave.” She picked up the crate of beers and headed for the entrance to the bar.

“Do you know highborn Olmeen?”

She stopped. “Who doesn’t?”

“He was murdered last night,” Devan said. There was a string of mutters from the woman, which sounded like curses. “Can we talk inside now?”

Turning towards the two men, she regarded them for several seconds, then beckoned them in. “Follow me.”

Rustic floorboards creaked under their steps followed by puffs of dust that flew up in small clouds of grey. Chipboard peeked from places on walls where veneer had been peeled off. The tables were stained and scratched, often with cracks running along their surface, but not enough to make them break. Devan and Raid sat on stools by the bar counter, while the bar owner went behind the counter. Her hands deftly moved cups and coffee about, all the while cleaning the leftover mess from the previous night.

“Rahee Bereten,” she said and slid two steaming jugs toward us. “So, whatcha wanna know?” She sat on a high stool on the other side of the counter, gliding her clasped hands across the dark wood. “Nah much I can share with ya.”

“How do you know Olmeen?” Devan asked.

She poured herself a mug of ale and drained half the golden liquid. A little of the alcohol dripped down her chin and she wiped it off roughly. “Guess you could say I was his go-to woman for a while.” When Devan raised a brow, she added, “We had a thing goin’ on.”

“You were together?” Devan looked at Raid, but the other man simply shrugged.

“Fooled me at one point,” she said, taking a sip. She stared with vacuity at the scratched surface of the counter. “He poured loads of credits into this. Bought me stuff I couldn’t with a ten-year paycheck. If it ain’t real, why do so much, eh?” Her eyebrow rose an inch, and a mirthless smile tugged at her lips. “Turns out, that’s just pocket change. Or worse: charity work.”

“Are you aware of what he was doing in North Island yesterday? Perhaps we went to meet someone, or?”

“Haven’t spoken to him in a while. Maybe a month and a half. Came and broke it off, not that I shouldda been surprised.” She took a big gulp and sighed. “But I was. Sobered me up pretty good, that.”

“You don’t remember the exact date?”

“You from the ground?” she asked.

The words caught in Devan’s throat, but he spoke a moment later. It was better to go with her assumption than try to correct her. “That’s right.”

“Thought so,” she said, draining the rest of her mug. “Down ‘ere, we don’t care much about time. It’s all the same, ya know?”

Devan drummed his fingers on the counter. The time was close to the ambassador’s return to Radaar. Were they connected? It was a stretch, but he couldn’t eliminate the possibility. “Did he say anything when he broke it off?”

“Nope. Just came and said we’re through. Walked out without a second glance.”

Devan thought back on Mannock’s message. Olmeen was their link to the ambassador, and the two must have met in the days prior to the murder; but for what? The sudden changes in the ambassador’s behaviour upon his return, the drinking, the anger – they all suggested he had been grieving; and with the two of them presumably being friends, Olmeen might have taken him somewhere to cheer him up. “What about his habits? Did he have a place he frequented?”

“Uh, let me think.” She shut her eyes tightly, concentration carving creases into the skin around her eyes and on her forehead. “He… said he often went to a place called Smoke and Pleasure. It’s a sex club in the south of the district. Said the drinks are divine and the girls better. Not just the sex, but because they know how to talk to customers. They ease the worries right out of you, or so he chanted. Miracle workers.”

Raid leaned closer to Devan. “You think he took him there?” he asked. “Two-shot, I mean.”

It took Devan a moment to recall that was the nickname Raid had given the ambassador. “We don’t have much else to go on, but it certainly fits,” he said and stood up from the stool. Raid followed his lead. “How much do we owe you?” he asked Bereten.

She shook her head. “It’s on the house. Just come back once when it’s all done. Bring some acquaintances over as well. Order some real drinks and then I’ll charge for real.” She winked and disappeared through a door leading into the kitchen.

With the door creaking shut behind them, Devan and Raid left the bar. The captain took out his phone and typed in the name of the sex club. The map then zoomed in on the northwestern part of West Island, eleven minutes from where the two stood currently.

Instead of going through the larger streets to their destination, they decided to head into the maze of smaller alleys. The claustrophobic pathways made the odd person stick out, and as Devan swivelled his head to the side from time to time, he glimpsed figures lurking in shadowed corners.

“We’re being followed,” Raid said. He hadn’t turned once but spoke with a certainty that extinguished any doubts about his statement. That he had spent many years in the undersurface and knew its ways was enough to convince Devan.

“Can we lose them in the alleys?” Devan asked, keeping his voice level, and staring straight ahead. Alerting their tail wouldn’t help them get rid of it. “I could create a mirage or an invisibility ward.”

“You misunderstand.”

Raid turned a sharp left at the junction; and as they veered off their path, Devan caught the gaze of a hunched beggar, watching them frow within the shadows of his hood. The wind flapped the fabric down, covering the eyes, and when they were revealed again, they were desperate and empty – nothing remained of the ephemeral light of scrutiny. Before becoming a Hand, Devan would have dismissed it as a trick of the mind; now, however, he wouldn’t ignore his instincts.

“I’ve told you once before,” Raid said, turning right this time, “information is the lifeblood of this place. Everyone watches. I wasn’t exaggerating.”

“Are you saying we can’t shake our tail?”

“Oh, no. We can shake this one alright. Just not all the others.” He glanced behind him, at the rooftops, and into the darkness inside the surrounding houses. The windows had been wrenched from the walls, both the glass and the frames, leaving gaping holes that led into mouldy rooms filled with rotting furniture. “In here.”

Raid climbed into one of the houses, beckoning Devan to follow. Once they were both inside, they crouched into the shadowed corner by the window. “Wards,” Raid said, and Devan obliged.

Flows of power raced through his right arm, out through his palm, and into reality, weaving an intricate pattern that commanded aspects of light and air to obscure the two from the senses. Sound would not travel past the ward that wreathed their crouching bodies; light would bend around it, making them invisible.

And then they waited.

Cloaked and hooded figures crept past the window, as silent as shadows, their whispers coated in so much caution that close proximity did little to unveil the words. Despite the numerous pools of tepid water scattered across the alleys and the small rocks dotting the paths, Devan had to strain to hear their footfalls.

“Don’t be surprised,” Raid said. “They know this place like the back of their hand. They’ve been treading through these alleys for Ascendants know how many cycles.”

“Are we ambushing them?”

“Course not.”

Devan raised a brow at his companion. “No? I thought you were the type to eliminate a problem instead of avoiding it. Why are we letting them live?”

“Because for every one we kill, ten more will follow.”

Letting his head droop, Devan sighed. Without a clear way to dissuade their stalkers from stalking, he had to resign himself to waiting and hoping that Raid’s plan – whatever it was – would work out. “You must have a lot of experience with this,” Devan said offhandedly.

When Raid offered no reply, Devan turned to the man and saw the captain’s face set in a thoughtful frown. “Well, you probably should know,” Raid said, his voice showing not a hint of whatever internal struggle he had faced. “You recall Zyke saying I had a price on my head?”

Devan nodded. He had filed the information away as a potential danger, but if the people hunting Raid had begun to act, he had to weigh whether the man was worth the trouble. No matter his sentiment, millions of lives were at stake; everything would be for nought if the war started. “I thought it was an exaggeration. It happened many cycles ago, didn’t it? Shouldn’t grudges fade?”

There was a pause. “Some grudges can’t fade.” Shadows crawled over Raid’s face as he shifted, his voice grave. “I took one-too-many jobs, ten-too-many, void, perhaps it was most of them.” He sighed. “The undersurface was boiling back then, during the Uprising: there were more gangs, more fixers – more highborn down in the dirt where they could be killed.”

“Is that what happened? You targeted the highborn?” Devan asked, though his mind refused to reconcile with the idea. Such a transgression of the High Law would have resulted in certain death. Even if Raid ran, the Val Tairi would have chased him, and if not them, then the Hand of the Emperor; and she would have found him.

“Among others,” Raid said.

Devan peered at the captain’s face, and only sincerity stared back. “How are you still alive then?”

“Zyke and I, we had a deal. When the chaos of the Uprising was in full swing, the void-born fixer offered an exchange: he would erase my tracks, and I would hunt his bounty contracts.” Then, more to himself, he said, “It was a mess.”

“You shouldn’t have been able to escape,” Devan said. “The Emperor and his Hands came to each world to quell the rebellion. If they wanted to find you, they would have.”

“It helps when you know details of the inner workings of their investigators.” A lopsided grin tugged at Raid’s mouth. “I made sure they’d find nothing but a cold trail.”

Devan stared at his companion wide-eyed. The investigators shouldn’t have – couldn’t have – been anything short of the Val Tairi; being from the military wouldn’t have granted him the knowledge about their methods. If he did possess it, he had to have been either an extremely talented spy or a high-ranking member of the military. So how the hell had a man like that ended up as he was now?

Rising to a half stand, Raid looked out the window and observed the alley beyond. “Should be safe to get out now,” he said, then turned to face Devan and grinned. “Don’t worry. It’d be quite shitty if, instead of repaying you, I brought dozens of bounty hunters on your head.”

Devan didn’t smile back at the grizzled soldier. The revelations promised a world of trouble simply by sticking close to the captain, but he couldn’t deny the man’s skills and his usefulness. Casting Raid away would likely bring more harm than good. So Devan dispelled the ward and climbed out the window into the alley. If trouble found them, he could decide afterwards.