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Thirty: Homecoming

"Lord Lowell,

"You should be aware by now that crime in Knightsedge is now under MacNiadh's control. You must also expect in a note some erudite speech about myself, eradication of your insects plaguing the city, or a new dawn of the people claiming what is rightfully theirs.

"Consider yourself disappointed; there is no grand scheme. I thought wrongly that I would live for revenge, for this is about you. Wolves are predatory by nature. I answered that call. I only killed your conspirators because they were obstacles. Only one barricade remains. I assure you that I will break it and you will be defenceless. Soon, the hunt will meet its end."

This is the way of the warrior. Or so we believe. It is all about tradition begat by ideology. Such is the case of what I plan today. It is only the day after the siege on Ignisater Pillars, and already the borough looks more peaceful. Even though there would still be muggings on the streets, no mercenaries are out to contribute to the chaos. As I am prepared to leave, I have my luggage with me, in a townhouse where I wanted to meet Nadine. She answers to this, having entered the open doorway--

And I slam it behind her. The second that Nadine turns around, and just as she reflexively prepares to jab, I dash, shoving her by the shoulders. I drive the white she-wolf against the boarded wall, and then punch her abdomen. Then, as quickly, I jab her eye. This disorients her, for now...

I speak, "No games, Lady Lowell. No hesitation. No evading the topic."

She groans, and then snarls, "You will get no satisfaction, regardless."

"Giffard and his mercenaries ended their transit to Ventine and back, taking six hostages. If you were aware of that trip, you are aware of his prisoners."

"And you can do nothin' about it", she chuckles. I make her smile drop by twisting her arm.

Looking into her eyes, I growl, "Who has them? Who is seeing to their captivity?"

Nadine breathes heavily. She speaks, "The same mercs that were with Giffard and Lieven. Or whot remained of them. I assume that I have you to thank for three of them dying by poison." So, it did work. "With as much gratitude toward you, the prisoners have been re-located."

"Where?" I snarl.

Nadine chuckles again. "Whot is the last borough that the Lowell House controls?" The place of my past. I knew that I would one day return to that massive slum. Nadine continues, "Our last middle-woman has control of the people watching them, whether she likes it or not. But you will not get near 'er; I know now who that woman is, as well."

I state venomously, "Giffard and his men committed a fatal mistake assaulting an embassy. 'Tis as much your problem as it is his."

Nadine asks, "And whot intend you to do in such a dire circumstance?" She is right: I need to tread carefully if I am to save those cats.

I inquire, "How many people of whom has she control?"

"She is a con artist, Vigilante. She has an helpful number of thugs on 'er side."

I narrow my eyes. Mercenaries or street criminals? "I expect that Jack will get yer 'recruiters' to disband now that yer traffickers are out of business."

"I reiterate: you will not get near Ms Woodward."

"Tell that to the direct witnesses to see me kill the Tirrell sisters, Ross Samuels, Joshua Derrickson, and Aldous Kohut."

"You only prove how many people turned out to be cheap to us aristocrats."

I object, "If you were able to afford such valuable assets at the start, you--if not Giffard--would have recruited people with much more expertise and better security."

Nadine retorts, "And there will be other people more valuable to obstruct paths that individuals such as yourself follow."

I take my hands off of her and back up. I point out, "You are not the one that I want." I turn around and pause, expecting her to draw a gun, if not jump me. After the short pause, I return to the door, next to which I have the sack. I pick it up and hand it to the white she-wolf. I add, "Furthermore, you can only see that when you are alive. Open that only when you are alone. You can do whot you want with the contents; you can tell Giffard whot-ever you want about it."

I pick up my bags and depart. Nadine could have opened the sack the very second that I shut the door. I can imagine her presenting the token of war to her brother, and him howling with a snarl, arms raised.

When boarding the train taking me to the next borough north, I can sense that somebody is following me. However, I do not slow my pace, let alone stop and look around. Jack already knows my next and final destination for my personal mission. So, I would wager that he has already despatched an informant to look out for me. I have to smile, looking forward to having the game session with Jack that I owe him.

The train ride progresses without hindrances. My first instinct is to find an inn where I can sojourn during my time in the massive slum. So, that is what I do. I exit the station, clad in my grey pinstripe suit and my eyepatch. Upon walking out of the tunnel for the stairs--

I already find that the borough has changed. I took the train from here to Agnarge the day I saw my mother and step-father die by Giffard's hand. Just the marketplace outside looks as if it has been upgraded. The stalls have baskets like I remember, but they look like chainmail repurposed, the counters and canopies being metal. Though the vendors and their patrons seem to sport tattered apparel, they dress like business people. Nobody pays me heed, save for that they ask me politely to move aside. I do so.

I tread the ground of bricks into the marketplace. From the stands, I buy rolls, root vegetables, and an excellent cut of meat. They might as well have erased whatever crimes could have occurred in this area seventeen years back.

I find a decent townhouse where I could rent the upper level for the time. Apparently, this unit for an inn went into business a while back. It has seen proper maintenance, as well, given the wallpaper, the clean floorboards, the floral carpet having not collected much shedding, and the polished wooden wardrobe. I test the mattress, to know that it is stable. Though the floral blanket and pillowcases have also taken shedding, they look clean, too.

This puts me ill at ease, for I feel as if I have travelled to a different world. All that I knew about this borough, Tolden, was the slum where I lived until I was ten, and the streets separating that from the schoolhouse. I think about the two child informants that have been of aid to me. Both of them have seen the life that no cub deserves. Then, the grey wolf named Shady gave me an idea of how many cubs today had that kind of life. I always thought that such a way was limited to the families here in Tolden. I sigh, sitting on the side of the bed. I pull out a picture from my inner breast pocket and unfold it. I stare at it, the one picture that I have ever known of my mother. Grauk was for Clement. Destroying the brothels were for the abused women. Invading the factories and storages were for children deliberately put in danger. Slaying Diefenbach and sabotaging Coombs were for Jack. Killing Giffard will be for you.

"Golda Woodward. Rottweiler. The con artist to have been active the longest. The first woman to whose purse Giffard appealed, or so we believe. She leads a ring of con artists that write false contracts. Lauren and Rhonda Tirrell were her employees before they departed for permanent residence in Solmil, but she still sees action from them. Since Giffard's recruitment, she and her people have created false evidence against anyone who threatens her or the Lowell House.

"She is known to frequent the Tenebra Angela Concert Hall, where she approaches her next victims to which she pitches deals to swindle businesses or recruit cubs for the Lowell House's shady practises. Woodward often has a bodyguard with her in public: one that will never back down from a fight. So move quickly, but also be careful where you tread."

That is the last section of Jack's note that I have not marked. I hope that the bitch saw a decline in business after I slew the Tirrell sisters. As the whole of Tolden sees as much art business as Solmil does, anyone would be a damn fool to not believe that the borough is filled with swindlers. I have read about a few wanted criminals who were so good that they convinced their victims to give them the clothes they wore. Knowing that they were apprehended and prosecuted before I returned to this city satisfies me with the notion of other people fulfilling bounty hunts.

I look out the open window, considering summoning Michi. I postpone that howl, to find a decent pub where I can eat my supper. However, upon exiting the townhouse with my food, I can sense Michi flying above me, not far behind. What a magnificent corvid, being so loyal that he would follow me. My friend keeps up with me, staying aloft in the fiery sky of clouds, complete with the atmosphere of toxic fumes and coal smoke.

No face or figure stands out to me in the pub, where the landlord cooks the meat and root vegetables. The barkeep is pleased to serve me a pint of the ever-popular Kabal Kane Ale. I scout the tables, finding canines and weasels playing card and dice games, if not socialising about the latest rumours. I can sense the tension among them; if the news has travelled fast, these people must know already of the gang war. I sigh. There must still be a reason to kill Golda Woodward, given what Jack wrote about her. The Lowell House has lost their brothels, factories, largest cache, drug dealers, and arms market. If she has lost trust in them, is she still worth killing?

When the landlord presents a platter of my cooked foods, I offer more than the amount that he charges for those and the ale. I then wave him to get closer. While the barman proceeds to check on other patrons, the landlord, a grey coyote, leans toward me. I mutter in his ear, "Do you face harassment from notorious criminals?"

He mutters back, "Me pub only sees bar fights."

"But you hear news about gangs and the like, yes?"

Pause. He thinks about this, before he murmurs, "You should watch where you stick yer nose, Lass. I avoid rumours about Woodward, if she is the one you imply."

"She is of somebody's interest."

The coyote growls, "If yeh be an investigative journalist, yer sting better not occur. Woodward's people may take yer other eye."

"But she has many people 'ere. Is that correct?"

I feel a puff of breath against my ear, which twitches in response. "She got many long-time muggers fightin' for 'er guild. After oll, her employees are more brains than muscle. She don' be the only one makin' transits with muscled company."

I back up. I tilt my head downward and raise the tin tankard. "Cheers." Then, I take a swig of the ale. How ironic: no ale would taste better than that of a brand named after an elusive pirate. I dine in silence, though I cannot help turning my ears to pick up conversations from the tables.

Having stayed to listen to other talks, I deduce that the other patrons, undoubtedly having beaten rivals of theirs in the streets, are avoiding speaking of the Grim Reaper. They probably already know that the next prominent outlaw to be slain by Lady Death with her Khopeshes is the grandest of swindlers. Only then, it will be only expendable thugs and mercenaries as the wall between me and Giffard.

I am on the rooftop of the inn when I howl for my friend. A small line of orange remains on the edge of the dark horizon as I perch, clan in my blue suit with brown vest, but without my mask. The instant that my friend alights upon my forearm, I present him with the orts of my meal. I watch as he pecks at my paw pads to get every last fragment and crumb. Even in such an instance, he looks remarkable to me. "The provision for your next big meal has her days numbered." However, I cannot just storm into her house and challenge her directly.

I use the telephone owned by the inn's landlord to contact the Sanctuary. A woman answers the ring. I say bluntly, "It is the she-wolf with the one violet eye. I need the Grizzly." My connection redirects, and I hear the familiar groggy voice answer. I tell him, "Payton. I require your aid."

Wickerson replies, "I am too far from the office ta provide you information."

"Surely, you obtained an office with a printing telegraph."

He responds, "Aye, but"-

"I know that it will take longer. D-you at least 'ave access to yer station's archives?"

"Hard to say, Lass. My status is unclear ta the rest o' the police, knowin' that the local officers in Muspax never saur a body."

I inform him, "Yesterday, I helped a gang war along, and it ended with victory for the good side. Now, I am in Tolden, which I remember as a surface-based sewer. So, I want to know if anybody working fer one Golda Woodward stand out in police files."

He mutters, "Cor..." He then speaks, "I 'erd o' that slippery eel when I wos fresh in the uniform. By me understanding, she bin active since she came of age. I 'ope yeh got time ter wait." Without waiting for an answer, dead silence follows. I leave the earpiece on the table and perform callisthenics whilst I wait. I also consider how I will slay the bitch. I still have my Katana and Naginata with me. So, any weapon could taste her blood. As the Lowell House's resources have dwindled and Woodward might consider severing her ties with them, the petty criminals following her orders could make my pursuit of her, cubs' play.

In mere minutes, the bear speaks up, "I got the documents." I lunge back to the counter and quickly pick up the earpiece. What I catch when I align it with my ear: "--her great share of agents over the years. Most of those in league with 'er were arrested, but they refused to give 'er up. Only the most recently detained con artist under Woodward's orders gave her up. He did not refuse the deal fer a lighter sentence."

I interrupt, "How long ago wos the bloke taken in?"

"A year. Someone collected a bounty on 'im. There are three frauds for which the police 'ave arrest warrants. Since it's been a year, and they are still on the streets, there is a bounty that the poor would consider a king's ransom.

"The police 'ave records of previous arrests and charges. We got a broker exposed as a swindler named Hazel Curry, a recruiter with a known connection to the late Derrickson siblings named Rachel Oakland, and a counterfeiting loaner named Morgan Ashton. Unfortunately, there is no known address for any of them. I recommend you search Dreamer Circle." I would not know what happens there. I have never attended what probable gatherings were held there.

I state, "This is helpful of you, Payton. I wish that you could come here yourself and help me again."

"Jus' say the word, and I will."

I sigh. "There is a reason I told you 'This is not your fight.' I have a reason to pursue the Lowell House. For that, I wanted none of your involvement."

Wickerson responds, "No police in the borough 'as warranted fer yer arrest--yet. If yeh're so insistent, I kin leave Giffard fer you. I cannot promise to kill Woodward if she does not resist arrest."

Resistance! That gives me an idea! "I will need you, then, here in Tolden, but only in confronting Woodward herself."

I can sense that the grizzly bear grins at the thought. "I'll catch the next train out."

"Farewell, for now, Payton."

"Until then, Lady Death." I hang up. I look forward to us working together once more.

The next order of business is to seek a trustworthy cub, which is not so difficult. Waiting opposite the townhouse is a familiar golden-brown rabbit. I smirk at the rabbit's appearance, clad in a floral summer dress, complete with a long skirt. Then, I tread the pavement, directly toward her.

I speak up, "Good show, Leigh-Anne."

"Likewise, Ma'am", she squeaks in reply.

"Whot brings you 'ere, of oll places?" I get on one knee.

The little rabbit gets close and whispers in my ear, "Mister MacNiadh's direct orders: he thought that you could use a familiar face. I have been in Tolden on assignments from Mister Dolan, as well. He sought information on other arms dealers, and I gave him locations on where their merchandise was built."

I whisper back, "I understand if you despise guns."

"I prefer Mister Dolan over any arms dealer." She returns to the first topic. "Mister MacNiadh knows that yeh're after Ms. Woodward now. I kin seek 'er workers fer you."

I pause, considering my options. I take her tiny hand and murmur, "She has bin forced to keep Giffard's prisoners with her. If she sees me, she could order her thugs to execute them." I pause before finishing sternly, "I cannot. Let. That. Happen."

I back up, seeing fear in the rabbit's eyes. I place a hand on her face. She can do so much, but she cannot handle Woodward's men better than I will. Leigh-Anne realises how severe the situation is. Looking into my one visible eye, she says, "I can think of a place to begin."

I never thought that I would return to the one place where I was happy for a moment, only to have my worst evening ever when going home. Tenebra Angela Concert Hall looks the way I remember it: the twin minarets, the conical roof, and the rotunda. Architects find such an appearance more irregular than any construct that they have seen. I knew nothing of its history, which was recent when I listened to an orchestra within its walls. An elder artist from Stin came here to Highcond with a vision. All that he wanted was to open a place for art, and invested everything he had in the construction of an art gallery. As quickly it opened, that artist was on the brink of bankruptcy. Thankfully for him, a fellow Stinian aristo bought it out, sharing his vision. Another Stinian artist with a taste for theatrics would buy it and brand it as a theatre. She named it after her two daughters, giving us Tenebra Angela. I know not whether she still runs it or has passed the deed to her daughters. Nevertheless, I expect that nothing inside has changed.

Leigh-Anne asks, "Is somethin' wrong, Ma'am?"

"No"--I am unsure whether that is a lie--"Jack did mention Woodward frequenting the establishment."

"I have an idea." I hastily lower to one knee and pull the rabbit close to me. She continues lowly, "The only way in would be from the back, which takes you directly to a separate chamber behind the back of the stage. People of Mister Dolan's interest favoured the top floor and the closest tables. Though the utility is rare, they keep manual pulleys for lifts." Rare utility? Then the stage is still the required size for a symphony orchestra.

I mutter, "Yet again, you are of appreciated support, Leigh-Anne."

"How else can I aid you, Ma'am?"

I inform her, "I need you to seek Woodward herself. If Jack has another spy guild in Tolden, I request that you have them monitor Dreamer Circle. I must confirm where in that area, Woodward resides. She is a Rottweiler, middle-aged. Jack also says that a bodyguard always accompanies her. In addition, I must detain her best-known agents."

"Consider it done, Ma'am."

I shift aside, and then stand up. I say, "Find me after you see her. Until then, Leigh-Anne."

She curtsies, responding, "Good day, Ma'am." I watch her skip away. Such innocence and purity. It amazes me that she acts as if working for a gangster has not fucked her up.

It takes two days, but the golden-brown rabbit provides the necessary information. I could be no prouder of the kitten now. Let us see if the facts are not out of date.

Here I am at Dreamer Circle, lines with small, coloured flags decorating the street. I have seen them connect with the rooves of the townhouse rows, and they look new. According to the note from Leigh-Anne, Woodward resides in the corner unit of the townhouses bearing southeast. Even the street workers are preparing for some event, not that I would be familiar, for they raise banners on the lampposts--in midday.

I head to what should be an inn as fashionable as the one where I sojourn, and knock sharply on the front door. I need not wait long for an answer. The door opens and--

The man on the other side is a muscled, tan Grizzly Bear, naked. He snorts, and I can feel the air brush my crown as he looks down upon me. He states irritably, "Ms. Woodward has scheduled no house appointments."

I retort, "And I have ter 'ear that from a house servant having discarded fashion?"

"Believe me when I say: me boss and I were very busy." He is about to slam the door in my face--

When I barge my way in. I take in no detail of the living space as I tread the stairs to the next floor, and I am right about it having the bed-chamber. That must be her on the bed, scrambling upon seeing an unfamiliar face: a Rottweiler with grey streaks in the black of her pelt. She hastily puts on her corset and underpants, growling, "Have you no decency?"

I reproach, "Tell that to yer manservant."

"Manservant?" she barks sharply as she puts on fire-like pinstripe pants and fastens them. "He is nothing of the sort. Whot he may lack in manners in yer opinion, he makes up for in physical prowess." I brush off the question of whether that has two meanings. She buttons up an orange business shirt before she finally asks, "Whot is so fuckin' important that a stranger such as yerself 'ad ta make a bloody spectacle?"

"I come with a proposition, Ms Woodward", I answer calmly.

Still bitter about what she and her bodyguard have been up to being interrupted, she declares, "If that be the case, everyone wantin' involvement with me would interrupt personal time between Silas and me." She approaches me, adjusting her shirt, adding, "Whot would you know about me?"

"Whot I hear from the criminal underworld."

She turns away, scoffing. "So, you be a spy. I 'ad me fill 'o that cack. Oll too tedious in me opinion."

"I may know of yer business, Ms Woodward, but not about yer resources."

The dog turns to me again. This time, the bear goes up the stairs, shoving me aside. I scowl at what I can see with his back turned. While the muscled bear approaches the bed for his clothing, Woodward asks, "And who would know about the long-time criminal Golda Woodward?"

As she stares with suspicion, I answer, "My name is for you to find out."

"Well then, 'For you to find out', I wos warned about you. Lady Lowell suspects that you used her to get to 'er brother." Of all things that I could have deduced about Nadine, I would have never taken her as envious about lovers. She raises a finger and explains, "Because of the vigilante, the Lowell House faces the threat of ruin, and the Snowfox Syndicate would kill me if I intended to join them. No faction would want the con artist that worked with aristos whose reputation is tarnished."

I respond nonchalantly, "You should have thought about that before becoming an asset for the Lowell House."

I sense her urging to punch me to add to her low growl. She swiftly turns around. When facing him, the bear--now wearing black business pants--asks, "Should I see her out?" I make out another growl from Woodward.

She turns back and asks me, "Intend you to use me as well, to get to Giffard? Or have you brill ideas on savin' me guild from Giffard's idiotic choices?"

I raise a finger, speaking, "There is but one way ta save yerself and yer workers: sever your connections with the Lowell House and turn yerself over to the police."

She overacts with a sarcastic cackle. Then, she barks, "Like fuck! I bin in the profession for thirty years. There be no bloomin' way in bloody 'ell I be throwin' it away before I die."

Be careful what you wish for. I look past her, seeing the Grizzly Bear slowly approaching, shotgun in one hand. I state, "Know that I deny refusals, Ms Woodward. You will eventually seek other help than your one... manservant." The Ursine is calmer than I thought, for I predicted provocation. "Good day to you both", I conclude. I then stride down the stairs and out the front door.

In the evening, I am at the borough's park looking out upon River Numo. Many have gathered out here to listen to a string quartet in a halo of torchlight. Crime bustles out here, even though the Lowell House is on the edge of being fugitives. If such is the case, they would have to make a choice: seek me out and kill me while they have the chance or leave Symphon and never come back, but expect me to track them.

As anticipated, a shady figure--a black rabbit in a checker-pattern grey suit with a pop-collar shirt--struts onto the scene, accompanied by two deer in dusters over ragged business shirts. The one on the left carries a shotgun, the one on the right, I deduce, is armed with two pistols. As it so happens, Michi idles on my shoulder, anticipating my next order. I whisper, "Kougeki anausa."

All too eagerly, my friend swoops down before I begin to quickly climb down from the house from where I listen to the music. The only entertainment you get tonight, Rachel. She waves her arms, pushing my friend away, to no avail. The deer on the right draws a pistol, looking for a clear shot. I lunge toward the group, Katana drawn, and plunge it into his back. The blade penetrates his ribs and heart, protruding from his chest. I then turn, yanking the blade out. The other stag draws the shotgun--

Only for me to sweep his leg with my sword. I then slash his throat. He staggers to the ground. Then, I focus on the black rabbit. I grab her by the arm, and then pull her close. I hold her in one arm, hand over her mouth. I bow, whispering, "Tameni." I can find the police station myself.

Unlike what I have done with the rest, I let Rachel keep her clothes when I take her to the stationhouse and collect the bounty. She should thank me, for the male majority--both officers and captives--would likely attempt to seduce her. It has barely been an hour by the time I get to where the young spies state one known criminal often transits: Troupes' Market.

What a deceptive name: coming from music, but a place for grocers. Soon enough, I will see why a criminal with no known address would select a well-known marketplace for operations. Where I look out is from the glass roof of the market. I can see anything that moves through my reflection. The silence is thick as a dense forest. Each tap of my boots against the glass degrades the forest, only for the trees to regrow. My raven friend hovers above me, expecting some other sound of movement like I am.

Only when I hear through the panels of people making a deal, the activity among criminals becomes numerous and tense. I get on one knee to slowly lift one panel and then climb down, my friend close behind. I land on a stone-tiled floor, squatting.

Understandably, these criminals whisper amongst themselves. Any of these people could alert their friends of the vigilante's presence, as well. I look carefully in the dim light, examining each figure. The lamplight with the groups is minimal, with the instinct of ensuring only patrons can see the merchandise. I detect three unfamiliar contraband merchants, none of them the one that I seek.

I tread along, standing straight. I hear someone mutter, "Oh, bugger." Then, someone scrambles to gather their wares at the sight of my frame, if not the gleaming light from my golden mask. The other two seem too terrified to think about moving. I turn from the end where I stand, to the rest of the posts. Instead of down to my belt, I reach over my right shoulder, unhooking the Naginata. I scan the vast space, and the merchants farthest away still go about their businesses. I listen closely, angling and bending my ears to what murmuring I can. I stroll, making my footsteps nigh-soundless. I listen for particular speech--

Until somebody blurts, "I fell fer yer ruse once, Ms Curry. Never again." I turn to where I hear that, and deduce in the lamplight and my night vision, the known short stature of a stoat, and the beefy frames of two dogs carrying pistols and canes. I resign to a vacant stand, for cover. Even most canines to get my scent died fighting me.

I listen for the stoat and her company to approach. In the process, my raven friend moves to stand by me, managing to remain undetected by my impression. He remains quiet, as well. How patient of you. I allow the stoat to pass me. Then, someone growls, "Yeh're not welcome here, li-ul bint!" Only after the two dogs move past where I stand, not heeding me, I stand up straight. I slowly follow them, aiming with my Naginata.

I almost toss the glaive, plunging its blade into the neck of the dog on my left, and he gurgles, only to abruptly stop. I slowly lower him, even though the other one draws his pistol. I leap aside before he can fire, and then lunge right in front of him, slashing him across his chest. I swing it back, cutting his throat. He chokes and gurgles as he staggers. My friend needs no order; he knows it, for he flies to and flaps his wings over the stoat. I re-hook my Naginata before I dash to the stoat and lift her by the head. I comment, "You are not worth killing, Hazel; only arrest." I punch her, and she goes limp. I wait and see if she instantly passed out from the pain, but she "comes to" as quickly. I carry her by the neck; that is all I need for threatening to choke her or break her neck--not that I would do the latter.

Utilising the same carriage, I take her to the stationhouse and collect the bounty. Let the criminals say what they want about what they saw. Clearly, these swindlers need better mercs for bodyguards. I already do not underestimate Woodward's bodyguard. Payton, I cannot promise to spare Woodward, for she is with the Lowell House. No good has ever come from them.