The following morning Troy Halloway stood in the Mayor’s office. The Mayor was really the president of the city state, but after breaking off from Community, the Haven City government never really took to changing the way they addressed its leader.

The Mayor peered out through the window at the destruction wrought by the attackers last night, his daughter—Troy’s fiancé—at the large man’s side. “We need to catch the criminals responsible for this,” he growled. What was left of the relief supply warehouses was visible from the window, now no more than sooty piles of burnt timbers scattered about the waterfront wharfs.

But the warehouses didn’t concern Troy. Someone had tried to kill the Mayor during the chaos yesterday—that’s what concerned the PI. An attack on George was an attack on Troy’s family. Well…soon to be family.

Out in the lobby a dozen officers and other investigators milled about. “Is this going to continue happening,” Isabel asked.

George patted her arm absently. “Everything will be fine, love.”

“The Citadel Guard is the best in Haven, baby,” Troy assured her. “There’s no chance those assassins could get to George—not now that the Guard’s on to ‘em.”

Isabel gave him a wan smile, nodded imperceptibly as a Guard airship cruised by outside, engines humming while it made its rounds around the Citadel.

From the penthouse office all the lower buildings in Haven looked small and insignificant. In the streets rioters rampaged like furious ants, making demands, protesting their living conditions. The Haven PD didn’t have nearly enough men to keep them in check, Troy thought, looking away from the window to address the Mayor. He felt uncomfortable saying his next words in Isabel’s presence. She had enough to worry about. “No clues, George, other than that the perps seemed to know what they were doing.”

“Could just be anti-refugee thugs,” Walcox suggested. The Citadel Guard Captain was sitting in front of the Mayor’s desk in one of the two leather chairs, his cologne making Troy dizzy with the strong scent of Sweet Pine. “There’s been a lot of angry sentiment going around.”

George made a sound of disgust. “Dammed racists…”

“Could these anarchists be Community related?” Isabel asked.

George grunted. “No. No, I don’t think this is Community.”

“Whoever it is,” Troy said, “I suspect they used the attempt on your life as a distraction to get into your safe.” Isabel closed her eyes and exhaled. He moved up beside her, took her hand and squeezed reassuringly. “It’s going to be all right. George has more than enough men surrounding him.” Then to the Mayor he added, “That file—and the destruction of the warehouses—those are our links to whoever did this.”

“How do you know the two incidents are related?” Walcox asked.

“Timing’s too close. George, does the information in the stolen file correlate to the refugees in any way?”

The Mayor nodded, “It does, but that’s all I’m going to say.” He turned around and changed the subject. “How the hell did those anarchists get past your security, Captain?”

Walcox, clad in his black Guard uniform, stood, took off his hat and tucked it beneath his arm. The gold badge on its front glinted brightly in the morning sunlight streaming into the state office. “My priority was to get you to safety as soon as possible, Mr. Mayor. In the chaos I didn’t think to—“

“Place Guardsmen in my office?” George finished for him. “There’s sensitive information stored here, Captain!” He grunted. “The incompetence.”

Walcox sucked in sharply through his nose. “I’ve put the Guard on high alert. You and the District Chiefs are safe.”

George sat heavily into his leather chair and dragged his thumbs underneath his suspender straps. The Mayor was a big fella with wide shoulders, thinning black hair and a thick mustache that had gone completely gray.

“George,” Troy said, “I think those thugs got what they were really after. They won’t likely make another attempt on you.”

“Exactly. That document is what I’m worried about, son.”

“If the perps are doing this because of the refugees, maybe you could divert attention away from the situation?”

“How?”

Troy shrugged. “The frequency of ships seems to be upsetting someone—a conservative political rival, maybe?”

“I’m not going to stop the ships, Troy, and you know it. We have a moral obligation to help those in need. XuiGuan is in civil war and these people have nowhere else to go.”

George couldn’t save them all, Troy thought, even if he wanted to.

“I called you into my office for another reason. With the Guard occupied protecting me and the District Chiefs—and the Haven PD indisposed with the riots…” The Mayor trailed off, eyes landing on Captain Walcox. He jabbed a finger at him. “Keep some Guardsmen near my daughter at all times, you hear?”

Walcox nodded stiffly. Isabel clasped her hands together, looking nervous.

“It’s just a precaution,” Troy said. It didn’t seem to reassure her very well. Then he addressed George. “What do you need me to do, sir?”

“I need you to get that confidential file back. Whatever it takes.” Isabel crossed her arms. “He’ll be fine,” George said, waving a hand. “Troy’s a genuine war hero, love. And a damn good PI.”

“I still don’t like it,” she said, her disapproval deepening as her green eyes landed on Troy. “These people are dangerous.”

Dear Isabel, he thought, rubbing his palms together behind his back, the magical glyphs under his skin causing friction against one another; this was his job. Besides, Troy could handle anything.

“Are you certain you want Halloway for this task?” Walcox asked. “Surely I can—“

“No.” George said. “I want you to do your job.”

Troy understood George’s apprehension; more of the Guard assigned to perform various tasks meant less security around the Citadel and the District Chiefs. The Haven PD had its hands pretty full as well.

“Sir, may I remind you of the sensitive nature of that file? Mr. Holloway doesn’t have clearance. He’s just a PI.”

“I know that, Walcox, but I need you where you belong, dammit!”

“Father, stop it,” Isabel said, putting a hand on the Mayor’s shoulder. “You’re getting worked up again. Remember what the doctor said?”

George regarded Isabel and composed himself. He reached for the glass of whisky on the desk but she took it away before he could bring it to his lips. He sighed. “Troy can do the job. He’s a more than competent PI for God’s sake, and soon to be my own son-in-law. I can trust you not to look at the file once you have it in your possession, right?”

“Yeah,” Troy said. “Of course.”

“Are you happy, now, Walcox?”

A look of disdain crossed the Captain’s ruddy features. Why was he of all people this concerned about the security of George’s confidential files?

Isabel poured a glass of water from the small table beside the desk and pushed it toward her father. He looked at it for a moment without moving to take a drink. “Thank you, dear.”

“Going to need resources,” Troy said, glancing past Walcox at the Police Captain standing in his tan uniform and brown leather boots near the door. “An airship and a few men should do.”

“Already taken care of,” Cogs said with a nod. “I’ve got two good officers waiting for you on the roof and Sargent Hanson is already down at the warehouse setting up a cordon.”

Troy nodded. “Swell. Should we get going?”

“That would probably be best. There’s no telling how long my men will be able to hold the area. The refugees are furious.”

The PI nodded, turned to the Mayor. “I better get down there.”

“I’m counting on you, Troy. Don’t let me down.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this handled, George. It’s what I do.”

Isabel moved next to Troy. “Please be careful.”

Troy smiled. “Always am, baby.”

“Find out who did this.”

“I will. You can be sure of that.”

“Well,” George said, slapping his palms against his desktop as he got up. “Now that we have a firm plan of action, I have to get going. I have an emergency meeting with the District Chiefs to get to and then the damn press to deal with.”

Troy crossed the stately room, grabbed his fedora off the coat rack and turned to give Isabel a kiss and a final wink. She smiled, and then he followed Captain Cogs out of the office where they parted in the lobby. Beside the officers and inspectors from the Haven PD, nearly a dozen Citadel Guardsmen were idling about, four of them near the elevator where Jimmy was waiting for him, newspaper obscuring his face. His partner always was one to sit back and let Troy do the talking parts. Troy strode across the black and white checkered lobby floor, concerned about the level of skill the perps had employed to get that file. They were obviously organized, efficient, and methodical. These guys were no amateurs.

Troy shook his head and approached the other PI. Having just hit forty, Jimmy was half a decade and a few inches taller than him. This morning he was wearing a dark blue suite with white stripes and a fedora to match. He lowered the paper, revealing a friendly smirk on his narrow face as he proffered the early edition. “This morning’s paper.”

Troy glanced at the large bold caption in black that read: ANARCHISTS IN HAVEN! He frowned. “More early morning sensationalism?” He sighed. “Come on, we got real work to do.”

Jimmy chuckled. “Sure thing, boss.” He tossed the paper into a copper trash can beside the window overlooking the west side of the island and the city below. “So?”

“There’s a professional element in the mix. Whoever’s behind this means business.”

“So we going to the waterfront, then?”

“Yeah. Captain Cogs lent us an airship and some men.” He paused, eyes landing on the coffee sitting atop a table near the window. Troy had been awake since before dawn because of the attack and subsequent combing of the Mayor’s office with Jimmy for clues. He rubbed his hands together. “Give me a second.”

#

After meeting officers Dales and Yanis on the roof, they departed for the warehouses in a small airship christened The Water Angel. After takeoff, it only took a few minutes to cruise down to the waterfront where a XuiGuani protest was currently taking at the edge of the destroyed warehouses. There were hundreds of the fur-covered refugees shouting and screaming, making demands. Occasionally three or four would make a concentrated effort to push through the line of officers, but were held back by the tight cordon where the officer’s would use their batons when necessary.

Since the destruction of the relief supplies many of the refugees were forced to share among themselves as they begged for handouts on the streets. Charities trickled in from all over Haven, but still couldn’t account for the amount of food and other supplies needed to feed and clothe tens of thousands of people. It wasn’t for lack of money. Haven was rich, but because the city state had been built on a small Island, everything had to be shipped in for a population of nearly nine million people. Huge supply shipments took time and cooperation, and after the destruction of the warehouses, the city was currently unable to provide adequate relief. Didn’t the XuiGuani understand that?

Sargent Hanson, tall and square faced, came forward. “We better hurry.”

Troy nodded and went to work, digging with Jimmy through the soot-stained rubble of what remained of one of the multi-level warehouses, half a dozen officers from the Haven PD helping them for what seemed like hours. Troy sneezed violently against the blackened soot and grey ash still in the air, most of it worked into his breathing space by their work turning over burnt planks of lumber or other destroyed materials as they searched for clues as to what might have sent the warehouses ablaze so effectively.

“Damned fleabags.”

Troy turned, spotted a well-dressed man. His accent was clearly from the northern territories of Community.

“They come here and act like they own the place.”

Something protruding out of the half buried debris caught Troy’s eye. It was jagged, metallic. He rubbed at it to clear it of grime, and then glared at the warehouse owner. Correction; lot owner now. “They need refuge.”

The fella in his fancy black suit grunted. “I didn’t ask to have my warehouse requisitioned by the city so they can feed these low skilled, lazy fur balls who expect free handouts. What’s worse, they make unreasonable demands on our economy. I don’t think we owe them anything. They should be fighting for their country instead of burdening us.”

Troy called Jimmy over who was poking at something with his foot. “We could probably stop bringing so many, but what of our moral obligation to help these people? They’re destitute.”

The man looked at him askance. “Yeah?” he asked, dubious. “Well I’m out a warehouse and it doesn’t look like the city’s going to reimburse my loss any time soon. If the Mayor loves these foreigners so much, maybe he should find some other way to help them that doesn’t involve his hands in my pockets. Maybe send relief to the camps in XuiGuan instead of trying to play savior to a handful or refugees. It’s a token gesture at best. There are millions of them—we can’t help them all, dammit.”

Troy was about to make a reply to the carpetbagger when Jimmy finally made his way over. He stepped over a blackened beam. He was tall and had no problem hopping over things. He nodded toward the piece of polished metal in Troy’s hand, curiosity on his narrow face. “Please tell me you got somethin’ for us. I’ve already ruined my suit coming down here.”

Troy shook his head as he watched the lot owner trot off and order his valet to bring his personal airship around. Jimmy slapped at his cuff. “Dora just got me this jacket…”

Troy was hardly paying attention as he watched the man wave his engraved cane about. “Hmm?”

“Is that our clue? It’s not much to go by.”

Troy felt slightly irritated. He gave the carpetbagger one last glance, then decided to forget about him. “When dealing with arson,” Troy continued, “there’s never much to go by. You know that.” But that fragment was definitely a clue worth coming here to find, he thought as he regarded the metal scrap closely. “We’ve got a partial rune glyph fragment.”

Jimmy whistled as officer Dales, a thin fella with a goatee ambled over after hearing what Troy said.

Troy glanced toward him, nodded. “You fight in the war?”

“I did,” Dales said. “I’m lucky I never happened to be on the receiving end of one of those, though. Thank God.” He glanced toward the cordon in distraction. “Excuse me, Sargent Hanson is calling me.”

As officer Dales moved away, Jimmy turned the casing fragment over and looked at it closely.

“This particular glyph charge was designed to cause incendiary damage along a wide trajectory,” Troy said. Definitely not amateurs, he thought. “Glyph was etched expertly. Professional magic, then.”

“Perfect choice for the job,” Jimmy agreed, glancing at the destruction as he eased his fedora forward. “So, they’re either ex-military or some kind of a magic based cult.”

“Could be,” Troy said. “Could also just be left over surplus from the war.”

“A dealer.”

Troy nodded. “Still a few around.”

“I don’t know, Troy…I still like that these guys are ex-military.”

“You’re probably right,” Troy said. “They already tried to bump off the Mayor. We should watch our step.”

Jimmy nodded. “We should see if we can find the sellers. Could lead us to the buyers.”

Troy realized he carpetbagger had returned and was now looking over their shoulders, listening to them. “Did you miss your airship?” he asked, annoyed. “If you have a problem, take it up with the city. We’re just here to find out who sent the place up.”

The man cursed, muttered something as he waved his cane some more in obvious frustration. Troy was about to ask him an incendiary question when Sargent Hanson interrupted. “We need to get out of here.” Hanson pointed past the cordon where a large commotion boiled forward about a block behind the protesters. “A mob of rioters is moving in our direction.” They’d no doubt incite the other XuiGuani already harassing the officers holding down the cordon to keep the warehouses secured. Troy had seen that half a dozen times already.

“Can we take the airship?” Jimmy asked, glancing toward the The Water Angel cruising in slow circles above.

“No, we might need her if the situation becomes violent. There’s no saying what might happen, and there’s a residential district only a few blocks back.” Hanson pointed toward an alley behind the first row of buildings facing the wharfs. “You can get out through there. We’ll meet up with you back at the Citadel when I’m finished here.”

Troy nodded, turned to the lot owner. “You better come with us.”

The man glanced around for his airship, then his valet. “Hans, where the hell are you, man? Oh, damnation! Wait—I’m coming with you.”

“Swell,” Troy said, pausing to look at a young man at the north side of the conflagration where some local Havenites watched the spectacle. He stood regarding them, hand tucked into his wool jacket in a suspicious manner.

Cautiously, the PI stepped out on the other end of the alley Sargent Hanson had indicated, and into a quiet street behind a row of waterfront buildings. The mob was getting more agitated, like an approaching thunderstorm. Troy glanced about for a possible attack, thinking that fella back there had a look of wrongness about him.

When they reached the corner Troy turned back toward the alley on the other end of the street. That troublesome lookin’ fella was there, a pistol in hand.

Shit!

Troy turned and jumped. “Get down!” He landed heavily as he pushed Jimmy and the northerner to the cobblestones with a magically assisted volt. Two shots came in contact mere feet away. The carpetbagger screamed as Troy rolled to his back, aimed his pistol, but the assailant was gone, disappeared up the street leading north. The PI jumped to his feet in pursuit. “Come on, Jimmy!”

Jimmy, huffing from the sprint, joined him at the cross street up the road a moment later as the shooter slipped into a double story warehouse building. “Where’d he go?”

Troy gestured with his pistol. “In there. I’ll flush, you circle.”

Jimmy nodded and they split up.

Troy knew that fella had been trouble. He grit his teeth, frustrated that he’d allowed the bastard those two shots. Even a bad aim could accidentally get a lucky kill. As he approached the warehouse he saw that the door was still partially open and put his back to the outside wall. He glanced inside, but couldn’t see much. Too dark.

It took Troy’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dim environment. Most of the windows were shuttered or just too grimy to allow in much light. He glanced around the dusty interior. The place was filled with large boxes stacked in rows two and three tiers high. Nestled around the boxes were crates and barrels and other things covered with canvas tarps that obscured most of the inventory. It was like a maze in there.

Scanning for movement, Troy made his way quietly toward the right side which was one of only two possible paths he could take due to the stack of boxes forming a haphazard wall in front of him. When he reached the end he peered toward the center where a small fishing boat sat. It was covered in canvas and surrounded by piles of nets, buckets and other junk.

Probably not hiding in there, he thought. There looked to be an office of sorts on the other end of the building. Their shooter probably didn’t go up that way either. No way out. The fella didn’t want to confront Troy—not now that the pair of PIs were on to him. He was probably involved with the destruction of the warehouses in some way. Pretty stupid move; the criminal didn’t realize the best way to keep his operations protected was to stay low right now.

Something rattled behind a second wall of crates.

Troy moved forward, keeping low to avoid a possible ambush. When he turned the corner he saw his quarry. The young man had his back turned toward Troy. He grinned as the fella tucked his pistol into his pants before jumping up onto a crate underneath a cascade of dirty windows.

What a sap.

Jimmy barked something from outside, causing the man to jump off the crate. Panicked, he turned around and met the barrel end of Troy’s semi-automatic .45 caliber pistol. The PI volted the little weasel onto his stomach, the glyph under his skin warming as the magic did its part, and the kid slammed into the cement floor with a grunt, scrambled for his gun, but Troy volted the weapon into his palm before the little anarchist could get his greasy fingers on it.

The fella looked around, like the rat he was, caught in a corner with nowhere to run.

“Don’t move,” Troy said. He took a moment to shoot the lock off the door and told Jimmy to come inside.

As Jimmy entered, the young man stood, glanced at them in turn. “Bad place to try and loose us,” he said, and then gut-punched him.

The fella doubled over, wheezing.

Troy knelt down next to him as he recovered from the blow. “Real bad move, kid.”

Their would-be killer grit his teeth, snarled. “I aint tellin’ you nothin!”

That was a guilty statement if Troy had ever heard one. “That’s a whole lot of hooey.”

“You say that now,” Jimmy said, “but when we’re through with you...” He eased his fedora forward.

The young man regarded Troy with contempt. “Do whatever you want. I don’t know anything.”

He wasn’t fooling anybody, and the little rat knew it. He was scared. Jimmy clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock disappointment.

This is exactly what they needed, Troy thought; a quick break. Maybe these guys were amateurs. He glanced toward Jimmy. “Oh, I think he’ll talk.”

“Fat chance of that.”

“Thought you didn’t know nothin’?” Troy asked.

“I—“

“Yeah…” Troy said, interrupting him. “Now you’re in for it.” They wouldn’t do anything too drastic, but the kid didn’t know that. The two PIs shared an almost imperceptible smile as the young fella prepared himself for a rough time.