Exiles in Arms: Night of the Necrotech (14 page)

A powerfully built man with the iron pectoral of a lieutenant in the Five Fingers Watch hanging around his neck stalked toward Rutger, a pistol clenched in his fist. Keeping the weapon trained on the mercenary, he pulled Rutger’s hand cannon from its holster and handed it off to one of the watchmen with him. With an equal display of caution, he repeated the procedure with Jackknife.

When the lieutenant turned toward Taryn, his eyes became as wide as saucers. In a blur of motion, the gun mage drew both her magelocks. Before anyone could get too nervous, she reversed her hold on the pistols with a deft flourish, presenting them butt-first to the stunned lieutenant.

She smiled at him. “Nobody would miss a mere lieutenant anyway.”

“But they would miss a captain.” The two prisoners turned their heads. A tall mustached man emerged from the darkened interior of Zahn’s shop. There was a precise, military bearing about him, the cool self-assurance of a commander secure in his authority. True to his words, he wore the jeweled signet ring of a watch captain on his left hand.

Lieutenant Trask saluted as he handed his commander Taryn’s magelocks. Parvolo took a moment to study the weight and balance of the pistols, then returned his attention to the prisoners snared by his ambush. “Forgive the theatrics,” he said, bowing his head in contrition.

“I take it then that we are under arrest,” Taryn said.

Parvolo considered the point for a moment. “It was fortunate for me that you had such a bad time on Chaser. Otherwise, I might have lost valuable time tracking you down.” He smiled and waved his hand at Rex’s inert bulk. “Toros aren’t such a common sight that they go unnoticed. One of my men remembered seeing a Toro being brought into this repair shop shortly after the unpleasantness in Blood Alley.”

“What next? Blackstone?” Rutger said, again glaring at Zahn.

“That depends entirely on you,” Parvolo said. “You see, I’m not really interested in what happened on Chaser. I’m more interested in what’s been happening on Hospice.” He could see from the pallor that crept into the complexions of his prisoners that they knew precisely what he was talking about.

“Trask, take our friend the proprietor down the street,” Parvolo said. “He looks like a very dangerous person, so you’d better take your men with you.”

The lieutenant looked doubtful. He glanced suspiciously at Taryn and Rutger. “Are you sure, sir?”

Parvolo waved away Trask’s concern. “I’ll be quite all right. Follow your orders.” The captain waited until the watchmen and a very confused Junkers Zahn had marched out into the street and closed the gate behind them. Parvolo cocked his head to one side, listening to the withdrawal. “It’s not that I don’t trust my men, but in this city there’s no such thing as being overly cautious.”

“If you’re expecting a bribe, you’re dropping your bucket in a dry well,” Rutger said. “What money we have is tied up in Rex over there.”

“It’s true,” Taryn said. “Just this morning we were debating whether to have breakfast or get some coal for that thing.”

Parvolo laughed. “This is probably going to come as a shock, but trying to bribe an officer of the law is a crime. Even in Five Fingers, though I’m afraid many of my associates don’t share that viewpoint.” He extended his arm toward Zahn’s shop. “We can speak more freely inside. Less chance of being overheard.”

The interior of Zahn’s shop was a deranged fantasy of tools, parts, and components. The torso of a reasonably intact Talon dominated one corner of the room. An armature that might once have been inside the chassis of a Buccaneer hung by chains from the ceiling. Parvolo brushed aside the housing of a gearbox and seated himself on a table corner. Taryn and Rutger frowned at the stools and chairs strewn about the shop. All the furnishings were gobber-sized.

“Well, if you don’t want money, what is it that you’re after?” Taryn gave voice to the question vexing both mercenaries.

Parvolo appreciated the directness of her question. “I’m after you,” he said, “but not to drop you in Blackstone.”

“You’re after a favor,” Rutger said.

The captain nodded. “My men and I spent a very unpleasant night down at the Scrapyard, cleaning out the place. We found quite a few survivors. Many of them credited their escape to some rather impressive heroes. Only a few of them mentioned this charming lady,” Parvolo bowed to Taryn, “but all of them were adamant about a man with a Cygnaran accent and his Toro. You could even say that in some quarters of the city, these heroes have acquired a certain amount of renown.”

“You want to exploit that,” Taryn said.

“Just as much as I can,” Parvolo admitted. “I won’t claim I can pay you much. The watch has a rather tight budget. But I can arrange to have those posters on you rescinded. Your little friend from Rhul could be convinced to drop his complaint, maybe even remember that it was two other mercenaries he hired. You’ll have a clean slate as far as the watch is concerned. We’ll also make arrangements for your ’jack to be repaired.”

“And what’s this favor?” Rutger asked.

Parvolo rose to his feet, walking across the shop to where Junkers Zahn had a crude map of the city tacked to the wall. The captain tapped his finger against the spot where Doleth Island was depicted. “One of my best investigators vanished recently. His informants had been giving him tips about strange shipments being smuggled into the city. Rumors mostly, third-hand tales whispered by friends of friends, that kind of thing. Nothing substantial, only that somehow Vulger Volkenrath’s name was involved, that whatever was being brought in was being offloaded on one of his docks.” He clenched his hand and drove his fist against the island. “Then, after my man hinted to me he was going to get the evidence I needed . . . nothing. Vanished as though swallowed by the Wurm.”

The captain paced back toward the two mercenaries. “Then we have a monstrous incursion by Cryxian horrors. Somehow the fiends of the Nightmare Empire appear in the city. What do they attack? Why, a fighting venue operated by Vulger Volkenrath of all people.” Parvolo shook his head. “There’s a connection.”

“You sound like a man who still lacks proof,” Taryn said.

“Which brings us to the favor you’re going to do me,” Parvolo said. “Volkenrath is terrified. He’s holed up on his estate, surrounded by a small army of thugs and sell-swords. He’s obviously aware of the attack on the Scrapyard. He was probably there when it happened. He usually is. Either way, he certainly knows about the two heroes who prevented the carnage from descending into a complete massacre.

“I want the two of you to offer your services to Volkenrath. One of his syndicate men owes me a few favors, so I can finagle an introduction for you.”

“And then?” Rutger asked, feeling he already knew the answer.

Captain Parvolo matched the Cygnaran’s stony gaze. “Once you’re in Volkenrath’s good graces, I want you to find that proof I need. Keep your eyes and ears open. If there’s a connection between Vulger and Cryx, I want you to find it.”

Taryn shook her head. “We put ourselves between a crime syndicate and monsters from a nightmare. In return, you agree not to throw us into Blackstone and arrange to have Rex repaired.” The gun mage smiled coldly. “I should think preventing a total massacre at the Scrapyard would have already earned us that much consideration. Surely even the watch can dole out some extra compensation for operatives who are putting their lives at stake to preserve law and order.”

“No money,” Parvolo said. “We’re on a budget, and my post at least doesn’t supplement our incomes with graft. Do we have a deal or not?”

Taryn raised her hand, motioning Rutger to silence. “I want our agreement in writing.” A cold glint came into her eyes as she thought of Udric and their contract with him. “And I want a notary present to witness everybody signing it.”

Parvolo had described the estate of Vulger Volkenrath as a fortress. As Taryn and Rutger were admitted into the place, they decided he didn’t know the half of it.

The estate was situated in the affluent Terraces District on Bellicose Island, the northernmost of the large islands on which the city of Five Fingers had been built. The district consisted of layers of terraces cut into the gentle slope rising from the southern shore. Many of the lower terraces were given over to stacks of overpriced apartments and packs of townhouses that looked like they’d been squashed together by an angry giant. Toward the top of the slope, however, looking out across the island toward the mainland, the sprawl of walled estates began to make its presence felt. Among the largest of these urban compounds was the one that had fallen into Vulger’s clutches. He had acquired the estate either through blackmail or gambling debts, depending on who told the story. All the stories agreed, however, that the estate represented the last holdings of a once-mighty Ordic noble family.

Vulger seemed to have made considerable changes to the place. A second ring of perimeter wall had been added, topped with jagged bits of broken glass, and the ten-foot gap between walls gave over to a deep trench with what smelled like oil lining the bottom. The gatehouse was like a small fort, fitted with monstrous oaken gates two feet thick and reinforced with steel. Armed guards stood both within the gatehouse and on its roof, which sported a number of gaps that looked to Taryn just the right size to drop a grenade onto somebody’s head.

A vast flower garden lay beyond the walls, but for all its size there was neither bush nor tree to provide any visitor with shade . . . or cover. The marigolds and daisies didn’t deceive the two mercenaries walking down the limestone path. They could see the watchtowers rising from the building’s roof, the profusion of steel-shuttered windows that stared from the face of the home. The area had been cleared as a killing ground, a hundred yards fully exposed to the mansion. Any invaders who tried to cross the garden would find themselves met by a murderous fire.

“Vulger’s a man who plans ahead,” Taryn said, noting the partially exposed pitfall in one of the flower beds.

Their escort, a dark-headed Thurian who looked as though the word “unsavory” had been coined expressly for him, stopped and scratched his head. “Nah, the boss was scared when Kilbride took over from Karsento. He thought it meant his neck too.” He shrugged. “Nothin’s happened yet, though.”

Scratching his head again, he looked past the two mercenaries at the immense warjack following behind. “Don’t know what the boss wants with that thing.”

Rutger smirked. “Maybe he wants some engaging conversation.”

The Thurian thug laughed, a nasally braying sound. “Never heard of a talkin’ ’jack!”

“If that’s the smartest of the bunch, Vulger has staffing problems,” Taryn hissed under her breath.

“No wonder Vulger was so eager to hire us,” Rutger whispered back.

The doors that opened into Vulger’s mansion were solid bronze. A small barred window allowed a sentry inside the house to observe the situation outside the doors before opening them. Today, however, the gangsters didn’t need such precaution. Rutger and Taryn were expected, and even if the guards in the watchtowers had failed to inform them about the mercenaries’ arrival, there was small chance the sentries had failed to hear Rex’s thunderous advance or the roar of its steam engine.

Inside, Vulger’s mansion was lavishly appointed. Rich carpets graced marble-floored hallways, rare paintings stared from walls paneled in exotic wood, crystal chandeliers with alchemical illuminators hung between the open skylights in the ceiling. Immaculately dressed servants rushed ahead of the mercenaries, hastily removing delicate rugs and fragile furnishings before the ponderous advance of their warjack. Another gang of servants threw down padded mats in an effort to cushion the impact of Rex’s feet on the stone floors. Other servants followed behind the ’jack with a canvas sheet and a large broom, striving to remove the soot expelled by Rex’s smokestack. An automated bellows groaned away in one corner of the hall, trying to suck the smoke from the air and propel it through the skylight.

“
Wrecks
strikes again,” Taryn said. “Our new employer’s going to need quite a cleanup crew before we leave.”

“He’s a scared man,” Rutger said, “so scared he doesn’t care if his treasures get ruined.”

The hallway opened into a sprawling parlor. A clutch of armed guards surrounded an antique chair that might once have stood within one of the royal courts of Tordor. Now a far less noble personage reposed in the seat. Vulger Volkenrath was well into middle age, his stocky body descending into fat, his hair rapidly deserting his scalp. There was a haggard, weary quality about the gangster’s face, but when he saw the two mercenaries and the massive ’jack following them, an excited gleam shone in his piggish eyes and a delighted smile spread across his features.