The Blood Market Chapter 16

We were taken to the stables of the horsetrack and thrown into a caged enclosure that had likely intended for horse breaking. We were searched and relieved of our firearms, my sabre and harbinger's knife. The  t-handle knife hidden in my concealed boot sheath escaped discovery, but that was small comfort.

"So what do we do?" I said staring at the ground, "They're going to make us play that game. And it's not like they're going to play fair, or let us leave even if there's some way to win. This is what you meant about dying in the line of duty. So is this it?"

"You know that I deal in magic, Dahlia. Did I ever tell you what magic was when strip away all the lies and tricks?"

"As far as I was aware, that's all magic ever was: lies and tricks."

"No, that's just how you work magic. Stories are magic, magic are stories. We are the heroes of this story."

"Heroes die in all the stories I loved as a child," I said.

"Ah, but in this story, your partner is a magician. And as you said, magicians use lies and tricks. Watch the door, I am going work some magic." Harbinger sat down at the little wooden bench and began to scrape wax from the candle that served as our light source, "Watch the door, not me!" He repeated and I turned to watch. harbinger kept talking in a conversational tone as I watched the hall outside our cell, "This is one of the oldest magic tricks in the book, this version itself tested by the Grandfather of magic: Jean-Eugene Robert-Houdin himself under conditions much worse than this. Throw me one of your boots. Mine don't have enough shoe polish. I'm not military enough, clearly."

I yanked a boot off and tossed it back, Harbinger caught it and began rubbing his fingers across the toe of the boot, "What are you doing watching me?" He asked, "Watch the door."

"Are you going to tell me this plan of yours?" I asked.

"I'm not. This is a long shot with a lot of variables. It's a plan with too many moving parts, none of which are nailed down. Just be ready to try and make an escape, regardless of what happens to me."

"Don't say that," I told him, "You're talking about this being a story, well people in stories who use the phrase 'whatever happens to me' always end up dead."

"Doesn't matter," he said, "Whatever happens, you be ready to take advantage of it. I will give you a chance, and it will only be one chance, so you be ready for it. Don't make me haunt you."

"Don't you dare sacrifice yourself for me," I said, turning back towards him, "I have enough dead friends on my conscience."

Harbinger tossed my boot back at me, "Too late, I'm ready. You're going to have to trust me, because we have no other plan."

I tried to count until they came to get us, but my nerves took their toll. Sounds kept distracting me, and I kept having to restart my count. Eventually an entourage of fifteen thugs came to collect us. I smiled, even disarmed they had finally learned their lesson on dealing with me. Blackwater himself stood behind the thugs, as they fitted us with elaborate carnival style masks to conceal our faces. Gunter Albrecht glowered beside him.

"What is the point of this?" Harbinger asked as a wiry man with a vandyke style beard drew a large beaked mask across Harbinger's face.

"All of the players are all masked.  Many of the wealthy who enjoy the show get squeamish if they have to look the people in the eyes. It's worse if they recognize the players," Blackwater answered.

"Cowards to the end," I said.

"Indeed," Bklackwater nodded, "But wealthy and willing to pay to have the cowardice catered to by people willing. People who seek happiness in external things eventually need ever greater indulgences, and the person willing to procure such things can make a great deal of money, and build a substantial power base. The aristocrat is a child, easily spoiled, easily upset, easily bored, easily bullied. They have great power and yet have no idea how to use it. People become nobility by living and dying by the sword, and then their descendents live and die by the silver spoon. It's disgusting, but easily exploited."

I watched as Albrecht's face tightened as Blackwater continued to talk. Harbinger must have noticed the change in Albrecht's face as well, as he turned his head to look at the other man as Blackwater gave his speech. A man fitted me with a carnival mask depicting a snarling lioness.

"And clearly the nobility are so easy to manipulate," Harbinger said, "Kill a few relatives, antagonize a noble blooded rival into a foolish gang war he has no chance of winning and you can easily gain control of your rival's forces, correct?"

Blackwater looked at Albrecht without changing his expression, "Something like that, perhaps. Enough, they are ready. To the field."

The thugs led us to the center of the horse track, with Blackwater parting ways to sit in a VIP box lookin down upon us. We stood before a table with a platter filled with all the equipment necessary to fire a flintlock pistol and the pistols themselves.

Gunter Albrecht waved to the plater and address the crowd, "The pistols are real. Our contestant can vouch for that, and may inspect and confirm that the ammunition and powder and all necessary equipment are genuine."

Albrecht gestured to Harbinger, "Inspect them. COnfirm for yourself that they are real, that there is no escape for one of you."

Harbinger looked at Albrecht, "Just me?"

Albrecht rolled his eyes, "You may both check."

Harbinger waved me forward, "You know this better than I do."

I inspected the equipment and pistols, looking everything over for some flaw that obviously wasn't there. After a moment, Harbinger joined me, examining first the pistols, then the ramrod and the cleaning equipment, finally the powder and the lead shot.

"It's all real," I said to him, "One of us is going to die."

"Say that louder." Albrecht said, "Let the crowd here your fate."

I raised my voice, "The weapons are real. You are about to watch somebody die for your amusement."

"Very amusing," Albrecht said, "For that little embellishment, why don't you go first?"

He picked up the platter and moved it out of our vision and loaded the weapons. I noticed that he stayed in view of the audience.

"They'll know which of us is getting the pistol that's actually loaded," I said.

"It doesn't matter," Harbinger said.

"Do you think he'll just load both pistols to get rid of us?" I asked.

"It's a pretty safe bet." Harbinger answered.

Albrecht returned and set the platter down. He addressed the crowd again, "I have loaded only one pistol. Fifty percent chances of survival. One shall stand and one shall fall. Our brave lioness shall go first, I think."

Harbigner stepped forward, "No."

Albrecht turned and looked at harbinger, "No?"

"It is my fault my junior partner is in this mess." Harbinger said to Blackwater, "I demand the right to go first. This is our game, and I am your opponent. You only need to defeat me."

"I have already defeated you. This is just your execution, but far be it from me to deny a man his last request. And in any case, you are not my enemy. This is chess, Mr. Harbinger. I move pieces around. I take pieces, and sacrifice pieces. And it all ends in checkmate. You are, in the end, my agent. You are an unconventional one to sure, a knight rather than a bishop or a queen, never moving in a straight line. But you still stand on my board."

"And you think you're the King. But the King does not move the pieces Mr. Blackwater, he is a piece on the board all the same. And I think you may have misunderstood my character in this little play. Because I believe that you are wrong. This is not chess. This is theatre. This is a story, and I am not the villain. You call me your knight, but you have forgotten my name. "

"The gun," Albrecht said. Harbinger picked up the pistol from the platter on the table and stared at it. The crowd gasped as he did, and I wondered what their reaction meant for me. He then pressed the muzzle of the gun up against the underside of his chin. The barrel disappeared beneath his beard.

"Old G.K. Chesterton always used to warn against invoking ancient gods,"Harbinger said, projecting his voice out to the back rows of the theatre," Something about them being quick to anger or other nonensene."

Albrecht shook his head, "Get on with it old man."

Harbinger ignored Albrecht and stared up Blackwater as he continued to speak, "Well I am invoking your namesake: Huitzilopochtli, the old left handed hummingbird and god of War of the Ancient Americans. And I am calling on his aid to best you in this battle. I
offer my blood and a sacrifice in his name! Let's see who the god's favor!"

And then he pulled the trigger and his face disappeared a crack of fire and thunder and an explosion of black powder smoke.

I don't scream. Little girls scream. I don't scream, often. I screamed.

"I guess he accepted your sacrifice." Blackwater said, a slight smile forming on his face, "I am not a King. That was his mistake. I am the player of the game."
I stared at Harbinger's body lying crumpled in the dirt of the stadium. I remembered Harbinger's demand that I take advantage of the chance that would give me. Was this it? Die on purpose so that I could walk free. They'd never just let me go free, I was sure of that, but I had to at least try.

Sound died away, leaving the arena bathed in silence. A low murmur crept into the arena from the stands. I looked around, counting the armed thugs, at least twenty that I could see. And Although most of the thugs carried clubs or machetes, more than enough had pistols strapped into hip holsters for my chances of escape to be virtually nil. I couldn't just give up thought, Harbinger had just died trying to by me a chance. I barely knew the man if I were to admit it honestly. I'd heard stories for years from my father, but had never met the man before this whole affair. And he had just died, willingly died, to give me a slim chance at survival. I had to try.

"The game ends when one of us dies, yes?" I said, addressing Blackwater and not Albrecht, "Well I've won. Let me go. It's over, you've got him."

"I have to admit," Blackwater said from his seat, "I didn't expect your partner to simply play the game. But I simply can't allow you to walk away with all that knowledge in your skull. I'm afraid that this time there are no winners as the rich and powerful here cannot tolerate being exposed. So we will have to empty your skull of its contents as well. Gunter, dispose of her."

Gunter Albrecht looked up at Blackwater with a look that I couldn't find a pleasant way of describing to myself. He didn't move immediately. The two men stared at each other for fifty three seconds before Blackwater sighed and shook his head.

"Gunter. The life of your niece means nothing to me. If her life also means nothing to you then, by all means, continue challenging my authority in these matters."

"When it comes down to the gutters," Albrecht said, "You're just the same as me; a thug in fancy clothes. You look down on me because I was born high. At least I understand I'm a bad man at heart. You and your chess talk, you're just pretending to be better than me."

"Potentially all true, and yet, irrelevant. Do you value the life of you niece?"

Albrecht looked away from blackwater and turned, taking a step towards me.

My mind raced. Would telling him the truth about his niece buy me time? Would it put June at greater risk? I said nothing.

Instead, I snatched the flintlock from the table, and fired it at Albrecht. He flinched but couldn't hope to move out of the way in time. I don't miss often, but something went wrong. A spray of blood spurted from Albrecht's neck. But I couldn't see a wound and he didn't stop advancing.

I heaved the table over and dropped behind it for cover knowing there would be other shooters taking aim. I could hear Albrecht's foot falls. I needed a workable plan, a way do get past the near two dozen armed opponents between me and freedom. I didn't see a lot of useful options.

"This is pathetic Crowe, face your death with some dignity." He said, and I heard him advance towards me.

Dignity and honor don't immpress me and never will impress me. I value victory and survival, and not necessarily in that order. I want my team to get through alive and intact, and I want to win the day. If I achieve the first, but not the second, I can try again. Albrecht put his hands upon the edge of the table. I had to act. The time for plans had waved goodbye as it passed.

"Fine," I said, "You want me to die a hero, I'll die like a hero." And I grabbed the table and rammed it up into his face and torso, knocking his head back.

"Heroes don't always die you know!" a familiar voice announced.

And Harbinger's corpse suddenly reached out and yanked Albrecht's Feet out from under him, sending the man falling backwards flat onto his back. He hit hard, I heard him gasp as the wind was driven out of him. I dropped back to my knees and drew out my t-handle knife from my boot and pounced on Albrecht, jamming the knife through his left eye. I let go of the knife and withdrew my hand and then drove a palm heel strike in to the handle of the knife driving it further into his skull. Blood sprayed from his nose and mouth, the wound spurted twice and then the body lay still. I stood up and looked at the crowd.

The nobles had nothing to say.

Blackwater sat leaned back in his seat, applauded," Well played, I must admit. But you still have no way to escape alive. Constable, I think you need to arrest these scapegoats, I mean traitors to the crown."

"It would be my pleasure. Nothing tastes sweeter than teaching some holier than thou priss some street justice. You think you're the alpha, Dahlia, I'm going to teach you that you're just a little..." Violetta said.

I spit into the dirt, "I cannot believe that I used to kiss that mouth."

The Blood Market Chapter 15

Cavalry Track Fifty-Six had stood since the earliest days of New Jericho, and had been decommissioned from active use before I ever put a foot in a stirrup. The building  looked at least as old as New Jericho itself, paint peeled from every surface. The metal frame sat rusting underneath a rotten wooden exterior. The tracks around the building had gone to seed and were nearly lost under generations of wild grasses and unrelenting invasions by wind borne weeds. But the whole site didn't match the expected state of a decomissioned and abandoned military structure. Somebody had replaced all of the doors. Paint had been scraped off the new doors to give the impression of age, but the paint had not faded and the wood underneath had not rotted. Somebody had also replaced the hinges with new steel hinges, and the same person had likely been the one to add new locks to all the door and bars to the ground floor windows. The walk in front of the main gates showed recent use however. The grass lay bent and trodd down, ruts and exposed earth spoke of fairly recent foot traffic. We weren't close enough for me to be certain, but the earth seemed from a distance to wear the tracks of many different sets of feet. These were the tracks of a crowd.

The whole tableau screamed of something not right, something hidden or concealed. And then, of course, there were the thugs patrolling with machetes. That certainly looked out of place on government property.

harbigner nodded to me, "Time for you to put that rifle to good use."

I flipped the Mosin-Hayha from it's case and brought it up to my shoulder, "I want to be clear here," I said as I took aim on the woman with the shaved head carrying the machete, "You're telling me to shoot somebody preemptively, not in defense, from concealment and with now military or police authority to back us up if we're caught. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Harbinger said, "People are dying here, on the whim of the powerful to entertain other bored rich people. As I see it, our duty as honorable people is fairly clear. We must do what is right, not necessarily what is just and not what will keep us safe. Any disagreement?"

"That's why they kicked my out of the military. I will always do what is right, not what is ordered."

"Then you've found where you belong, and we're probably about to die. Now, be a dear and cripple those guards please."

I squeezed the trigger and the woman's lead knee exploded, she fell to the ground and dropped the machete. I looked up from the scope and spotted the nearest two thugs. A big black man and a small caucasian man with a rat like nose had heard the gun shot and were looked at their fallen companion. I worked the bolt action, and sighted the closer man first. I fired, taking out another knee. I opened the action and ejected the spent round, closed the action and sighted the smaller remaining thug. I fired a third shot and took a third knee as a trophy.

"Time to move," I said, snapping the safety on the rifle and crouching low as I hustled for a different collection of discarded barrels.

Harbinger caught up and dropped into a crouch beside me, "Why are we moving?" He asked.

I peeked out at the three injured thugs and watched as several more thugs arrived on the scene. The woman who had shot me first pointed back towards our previous position.

"So they can't pin us down." I said and hustled further away from our original position.  The next set of cover I settled behind was a moldering pile of discarding hay, hardly what I would consider good cover. But I had taken us in a half circle arc around the building, and people were looking for us in entirely the wrong direction.

I flipped the safety off, and then sighted the thugs scouting our old position. Four men and three woman all carrying machetes were milling around the old steel drums we had started behind. I chose my target and collected my kneecap. Ejecting the spent round, I acquired a new target and shot out another thug's knee. The thugs panicked, dropping to the ground or seeking cover behind the drums.

Harbinger watched through a small spotting scope, "Why knees?"

"None of them are carrying pistols," I said, "You can't close the distance necessary to use a machete if you can't walk."

"Sound logic," Harbinger said and then clapped me on the shoulder, "Dahlia, bring me their kneecaps!"

"Nope," I said, "We need to move while they're still cowering, before they have a chance to spot us."

I flicked the safety on and then ran again, continuing to circle clockwise around the building. I knew that the predictable pattern presented a risk. But I needed to move in a way that wouldn't keep in the same line of sight from the entrance. I was gambling. That was the nature of war. I ducked behind a disused chain link fence with white plastic slats. The cover provided by the fence was purely visual and poor by even that metric.

"Lay on you belly," I ordered Harbinger, directing him by hand behind the fence. I dropped flat so that I could look past the fence, while keeping most of me behind visual cover. I flipped the safety and fired two rounds, striking two more thugs.

"And move!" I commanded, safety on, already running in a low crouch for the best cover thus far, a set of small sheck built from corrugated steel and heavy black plastic, surrounded by abandoned steel drums and an assortment for horse and cavalry equipment. I dropped behind the cover, and slipped down to my belly. I looked through my scope to assess the situation as Harbinger dropped down beside me.

I paused, watching the group of injured and uninjured, trying to gauge their condition and reactive ability. Then my soldier senses began to tingle.

"Do you smell that?" I asked sniffing the air. I rose to a crouch, and then stood up.

"No sense of smell remember?" He said, turning his head towards me.

"Cloves and tobacco, somebody smoking Jakarta Blacks."

"We know several people who smoke that brand," Harbinger said, standing up beside me.

"There's something else," I added, "It's masked by the cloves, but that smell of a human body that has forgotten to bathe.

Harbinger opened his mouth when a blackjack swung out from the shadows and struck Harbinger on his blindside. Harbinger collapsed to the ground in a limp heap like a burlap sack filled with bones. The familiar figure of Buster Brand stepped into view. Instead of his previous Gemsbok cigarette, a Jakarta Black hung from his lips. He grinned and three more figures stepped from the shadows. I recognized the figures of Jaromir Hus and his boss Gunter Albrecht, the third man was a big man of Indian descent dressed much the same as Hus.

I raised my rifle, and Hus lifted and tossed one of the steel drums into me, sending my sprawling to the ground and the rifle skittering out of reach across across the hard packed dirt.

"I thought you were going to ground?" I said to Brand, drawing out my sabre in a cut to drive the men back standing up and stepping backward to gain measure on the men, blade pointed forward in a medium guard, "Not taking the fall for this, and other tactics to save your skin."

Brand smiled and took a drag from his cigarette, "Honesty is the best policy in all things."

"And because you decided not to hide, I have to fight," I said.

Albrecht spoke, "I've heard that you didn't fight Miss Crowe. Word has reached my ears that killing is your art, and yet I've yet to find a single dead body of which you are to blame."

"Are you volunteering?" I asked.

"If you think you can manage the task, certainly."

He drew a Highland style broadsword and advanced flanked by Hus with his Bowie Knife and the Indian man with a pair of billy clubs. Albrecht threw a cut which I parried, but that left me vulnerable to his men. Hus moved to cut as my off hand while the gentleman with the clubs swung in from the outside of my sword arm. I withdrew away from Albrecht and Hus, given that their weapons would very likely kill me if they hit. But my retreat forced me to veer into range of the third man's clubs, and he took advantage of that sacrifice on my part and struck at me landing three blows before I was far enough out of Albrecht's measure to drive my pommel into the face of the Indian gentleman, just above the bridge of the nose. Blood spurted from his nostrils and he staggered back. He wasn't a threat compared to the other two. His blows had hurt, but I'd taken them on the arm and shoulder, and nothing felt broken. He could conceivably give me a concussion, but the real danger lay in him distracting me and leaving my open to a fatal cut or thrust from the other two. And so, as he staggered back I re-positioned and thrust the sabre straight into his midsection and quickly withdrew backing away from the other two men and behind the falling body of the man I had just stabbed.  He was probably dead. I couldn't spare a glance to be sure, and moved my sword arm and maintained a medium guard. The shoulder had began to ache, the clubs may have hit something important after all.

"You can just give up, you know." Hus called to me.

I calculated to myself. Hus' comment made it seem like they wanted me alive, but didn't want me to know it. Maybe I could push that. Maybe they'd hold back if I pressed. Hus seemed the most hesitant from his body language. His blade was also the shortest, only really dangerous to me if I got engaged with Albrecht's heavier broadsword. I thrust in at Hus as suddenly as I could, aimed from his knife hand, it being the closest target. Hus howled as I ran the blade through his hand and he dropped the knife. I moved to regain a useful defensive guard against Albrecht, but discovered that I hadn't surprised him. He brought a heavy cut down which I was out of position to parry well. I managed to block it, but my position was weak and my block collapsed. I instinctively moved to avoid being cut, but Hus wasn't out of the fight. The man tackled me to the ground, which probably saved my life. My sabre flew from my hand and Hus got clubbed on the forehead by basket hilt of Albrecht's sword. And I found myself on the floor with three hundred pounds of angry gang member kneeling on me. He threw a series of hammering blows with his off hand, of which I managed to block a few before taking a blow to the nose that probably broke it. The blow to my nose cause my eyes to water, preventing me from accurately blocking and the next blow hit my right eye, followed quickly be a wild blow that struck my temple and left me dazed.

Brand moved in towards me, evidently planning to look good for his boss. He scooped up Hus' fallen Bowie knife as he passed the fallen thug. I extended my arm towards him and flipped my wrist to activate the wrist holster. The Pepperbox extended into my wobbling hand and I squeezed the trigger as fluidly as I could manage. I had aimed for his knife hand, instead I hit his knee- which exploded in a cherry blossom of blood. Brand stumbled to the ground and dropped the knife, which skittered towards me. I reached for it, only to get struck from behind by the pommel of Albrecht's broadsword again. I blacked out for an instant, and came to pinned hard with Hus having applied a front forearm choke to my neck. I drew my Ehrenfeld from its holster, and was in the process of flicking the safety off when Hus noticed.

"Gun," He called to Albrecht, who quickly kicked the pistol from my hands with the aid of his heavy boots.

"I can crush your windpipe before you can do anything to me," Hus said applying more force to make his point, "Don't make me do it. You lost. It took all of us, but we thrashed you."

I felt my eye's closing again and fought to remain conscious.

"Enough," An emotionless voice said, "She is down. She is defeated. Take them into custody."

I forced my eyes open enough to see Blackwater standing above me.

"I assume that none of the people you spoke with were brave enough to name me as the Hummingbird. So I assume that this may be something of a surprise. Not unlike pulling back a curtain to reveal the little man hidden in the mechanical chess player."

"I knew it was you," I answered, "Even when I saw Brand with the Jakarta, I still knew it was you."

"Mr. Brand can't afford such cigarettes," Blackwater answered, "That was his reward for providing me with useful information regarding your investigation. Information that you should have already provided to me, I might add."

"I'm pretty sure Harbinger suspected you as well."

"The man is clever, but this is checkmate. And unlike in chess, I do insist on watching my executions."

"Spoken like a true sadist." I answered as Hus and Albrecht hauled me to my feet. I staggered a little as they did, and said to Hus, "I think you paid me back that concussion I gave you earlier."

He looked upset by that, which surprised me. Blackwater shook his head.

"No sadism, this is still chess. Everything is part of the great game, only now you will be a demonstration of my power, a method of enforcing obedience among my new associates, and proving my control over my enterprises to my clientele. I am making an example out of you. you wanted to get to the bottom of my shadow business endeavors. Well now you have. Not only will you get to see the Russian Duel, you'll get to participate. And you'll be playing against each other."

The Blood Market Chapter 14

"So you said that you knew what June meant?" I said to Harbinger as we left the Sun Yat Sen Club.

"It's not what it meant, but who." Harbinger answered, "I realized from our conversation with Zhang that people will do dangerous, even suicidal things to protect their loved ones, their family. I went looking for missing person reports including the name June. I had Rudy zero in on wealthy missing persons based on what we knew about the victim. and lo and behold, a name popped up. June Albrecht-Price; a young girl of eight years who went missing along with her mother, one Julia Albrecht-Price, a few weeks ago."

I raised an eyebrow, "Albrecht-Price was the name that came up? Didn't your sister just say that the head of the Song of Perun was some guy name Gunter Albrecht?"

"Yes, and he was mentioned in some of the reports Rudy found. I didn't think much of it until Cassie added that little gasoline fire to the equation. Apparently this is his sister-in-law."

"So, this was somebody leaning on Mr. Gunter Albrecht then? Or a revenge killing, blood feud and all that? Presumably this relates back to him." I said.

"Oh yes, I very much assume so. Li Jing is now dead. Gunter Albrecht has seen his sister murdered or likely rather induced to commit suice to keep her daughter from harm. This stinks of a gang war. The commentary of the Red Flag Fleet folks who attacked us suggests that the war is at least partially between the Red Flag Fleet and the Sons of Perun. But then the matter of los Hijos de la Guerra and the Hummingbird lurk in the background. Zhang mentioned this Hummingbird, as did our Mr. Buster Brand. He seems affiliated with los Hijos, but they have been back and out of the way during all of this. They have been present by reputation alone, and I do not know why."

"Wait a minute," I said, "Brand must be los Hijos, because he answers to the Hummingbird, correct? And it was Brand that had been ordered to watch the child, the one we think was June. And June is the niece of Gunter Albrecht. What is the motive behiind that? Antagonizing the Sons of Perun?"

"We are missing pieces to the puzzle. Control of the human smuggling market seems at the center of all of this. I'm still at a loss regarding the suicides, some piece of the grenade are missing. I can see the damage caused by the shrapnel, but not the shrapnel itself."

"That's morbid metaphor."

"But apt I think. We have walked into a room where a grenade has detonated. People are lying dead around us. And now we have been asked to determine the make of the grenade by examining the damage and working out from the spray of the shrapnel what the thing looked like before it went off. "

"People are still dying." I added, "It would be more apt to say that we've been sent to a mine field to find out what kind of mine went off, but have to do so without setting off the mines still in the ground."

"Oh, very good, I like that better. I mean not living it, but I think that it better describes our situation."

As we walked I noticed that Harbinger had turned away from the Baker's district. Streets became fancier and buildings grew more upscale as we continued.

"So where are we going?" I asked.

"Mr. Brand chased young June back towards the wealthier parts of town, but not the fanciest, near where your new girlfriend lives. But the young girl doesn't live in that area. I had Rudy do a little research. Julia Price married up quite successfully from nouveau riche to old money. The Albercht family is one of the very old German descended families that controls so much of the Mountain District. The Price family, on the other hand, made their money by attempting to revolutionize larger scale beekeeping to decrease the number of hives lost to things like mites and parasites. They haven't quite succeeded onthe scale that they wanted, but they made a fair bit of money, and have done well enough to by a house near Mrs. Darrington and her daughters. They own several houses, as it happens, and just moved from their original home in the district into a newer and fancier home- probably thanks to Julia marriage to Gunter's brother."

"So she was running for the home she grew up in you think?"

"I do, and based on Mr. Brand's method of hiding in homes of that sort, I suspect we will find the young girl in the walls."

"How will we get in? Walk up and tell them that the missing child of their dead relative his maybe possibly hiding in the walls of their old house? Do you have anything other than a hunch on this?"

"Wouldn't you want any help you could find in order to save your daughter or niece?"

"I wouldn't want a manipulative stranger digging through my house on a promise and guess."

"Then I guess we'll have to sneak in."

"breaking and entering. Brilliant. How could that go wrong?"

Arriving a the house in question, Harbinger instructed me to look for tracks and evidence of a child sneaking in through an avenue other than the front door. This took very little time. Children generally lack training in counter tracking, and we soon found ourselves looking at a side window.

I pointed to the window, "That window's been forced open from the outside, and those are June's tracks beneath the window. Your hunch seems correct."

Harbinger nodded and marched around to the front of the house. I followed.

"Do we have a plan?"


"Follow my lead," Harbinger said as he approached the door.

Harbinger knocked loudly on the door and then pulled the bell and waiting. We waited nearly three minutes before the door opened and a hispanic couple in serice uniforms answered the door.

"Hello sir, madam? Are you my clients?: Harbinger said, speakinga little louder than I thought necessary.

The two people looked at each other and then back to Harbinger in clear confusion.

"I see that you are not, my apologies. My name is Professor Freeman Harbinger, perhaps you've read my pamphlets upon supernatural possession or haunting of a location by unquiet spirits? In either case, the owner of this home contacted me through an intermediary and asked for my assistance in performing an exorcism in order to remove an excessive amount of negative energy and the accompanying malicious spirits residing within the walls. The ritual should take no more than two hours, and then location should be safe to inhabit after that. I am impressed by your loyalty to your employers staying in a house so heavily haunted by such vicious spirits. you must have very strong auras to resist the nightmares. You haven't been too put off by the sounds in the walls have you?"

The two looked at each other and then back to Harbinger, their faces registering visible growing alarm.

"They should be entirely incapable of possessing human beings based on my initial investigation. In fact I estimate less than a forty five percent chance that the spirits will attempt any violence at all during the exorcism, it should be almost totally safe as long as you don't show fear. In fact you would be welcome to stay and watch, and perhaps assist in the rituals if you like. It's a very good show, very little blood and only a littel screaming from beyond the veil. So how did you want to proceed."

And thus we found ourselves inside the entry hall of a home that didn't belong to us, while the house staff waited outside huddled together like children. On a low table in front of us sat a large heavy wooden casket that appeared to be made of hardwood, making it very expensive.

"How did you know that would work," I asked as we began looking through the house, from room to room.

"Did you see the brooch with the occult looking pattern that the woman was wearing? That was the veve of Ayida-Weddo, one of the Loa of Haitian Voudou. Practitioners of Voudou understand the dangers of spiritual possession and uncooperative spirits."

"We aren't looking for a spirit." I pointed out.

"Details." Harbinger said.

"What happens when the owners come home?" I asked.

"I'll handle it."

"Well," I said tapping the casket, "I guess we understand why they were so ready to believe in unquiet spirits. Followers of Voudou minding a house witha coffin in the front room. Who's in here do you think? Is this relevant to our business?"

"Let's check!" Harbinger said, prying up the lid and swinging it open, hinges locking into place and nearly tipping the casket off the coffee table. I flinched and waited until the table had stopped swaying before I approached and looked into. The man inside the coffin looked a great deal like Gunter Albrecht, right down to the mustache. He had been dressed in a similar cut of suit, but without the pin-stripes. The body appeared serene, save for the missing eye balls and the poorly concealed entry and exit wounds on his temples."

"I'm guessing that was June's father then?" I said cautiously.

"We should start looking for June," Harbinger said and then nodded, "I'm starting to sense a pattern in all of this."

"Really?" I said, joining him in the search, "Just now? Maybe I should be the senior partner."

Harbinger turned away and began knocking on the wood panelling of the walls. We swept the entry way and moved into a nearby drawing room.

"I mean, that I can feel the pieces of this whole great flying mess fitting together. The picture isn't clear yet, but I feel that I am very close."

"Well, when you find it, let me know," I answered, running my hands along the walls feeling for seems.

"Maybe," He said with a grin.

Eventually we found the room with the window through which June must have entered. Muddy tracks had been ground into heavy rugs and streaked across the hardwood floor. I followed the trail to a laundry room, and then to a panel of wall with concealed hinges and wear on seams that should never have moved, were the panel simply part of the wall.  I looked at the panel and then nodded quietly to Harbinger. I felt around, found a latch with little difficulty, and opened the panel. Sitting in the space in the wall, with her hands around her knees was a girl off about years old by appearance, dressed in a perrywinkle blue and white summer dress now stained with dirt and grease and blood and torn in at least a dozen small places. The hirls face and arms and knees all bore scrapes or purple bruises. Her hair had been strawberry blonde before this began, but was now grey brown from the mud caked into her half exploded french braid. As she saw us, she scrambled back further into the hidden chamber.

"Honey? Are you June?" I asked dropped to one knee to put myself at the right height to address the girl before me. She nodded, but didn't say anything. "We're here to help you."

"We're friends of your mother," Harbinger added

June scowled at Harbinger, "No, you're not. They took me and my mommy away and I had to run and hide. She said it was going to be okay. But it's not okay. She showed me the guns, but she still went away. Even though she didn't lose. And Daddy is in a box in the front of the house."

"You're right honey. We don't know you mommy, we're trying to help find the people who took her. My friend wanted to make you feel safe. Adults do that, they lie when they want children to feel safe. Can you tell me about the guns, the ones your mommy showed you? Can you tell us why she thought that they meant she would be okay?"

June was quiet for a solid sixty four seconds before nodded and crawling deeper into the compartment. After nearly one hundred and thirty seconds she called back, "Follow me."

Harbinger shook his head, "There is no chance that this belly is fitting through that opening. You will have to follow the child."

I smiled and nodded, "I'm coming June."

I dropped to hands and knees and squeezed into the compartment. I just barely fit and experienced a brief feeling of claustrophobia before emerging in a room that appeared had been constructed to serve as a panic room, probably during the Banner War. A small table had been mounted on the wood framing of the walls, along with two small chairs. On the table sat five beautiful custom built ornately inlaid flintlock pistols.

"When they let me talk to mommy, she would show me the new gun she had and would tell me that she only needed five guns to go home. She let me keep them when she got them," June held up and open hand with all five fingers displayed to make her point, "But then she got five guns and they wouldn't let her go, said she had to stay. Next time she saw me, she told me to run away and hide in here as soon as they weren't looking. She told me to run fast and hide and not look back. The guy they made watch me was a dummy so running away wa easy. But mommy never found me. I don't know what happened to mommy."

I looked at the flintlocks on the table, and tried not to visualize my only memory of June's mother. I confirmed with a quick examination that each pistol had been fired, but examination of the barrel showed something bizarre. The pistols had been fired, but there was no scraping to indicated that the guns had ever been loaded with anything besides paper wadding. The guns had all been fired without a lead ball ever being rammed down the barrel. My mind processed the information. Five guns. All fired. None ever loaded with a live round. Julia Albrecht-Price died of a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head, but all previous guns had been fired empty.

"They were making her play Russian Roulette." I said.

"What's Russian Roulette?" June asked.

I started, realizing I had spoken aloud. I paused a moment, and then answered, "A very mean game. We need to go sweetie. A lot of bad things are happening, and we need to fix them."

"I can't fix anything," June said.

"Not yet," I said, "It's our job to fix things, but we need your help to do it. My name is Dahlia, and the man outside is Mr. Harbinger. We help people, that's what we do. That's our job. And right now we need to help you, and we need you so that we can help other people. Can you come with us honey?"

After a moment June nodded and we extracted ourselves from the wall. I showed Harbinger the flintlocks and explained my theory. Harbinger nodded and opened his mouth to speak when movement out the window caught my eye and I turned to see what was happening. Outside, in fron of the house, an array of large men and women in sheriff deputy uniforms had assembled with pistols drawn.

"That looks like Constable Priest." Haringer said, eyeing the familiar figure at the front of the group.

"Are they coming to search the house?" I asked

"More like raid it," Harbinger said.

"Why?"

"Did they get a tip?" Harbinger asked, "I don't see Hurley with your ex-girlfriend. In fact the other deputies are all unfamiliar to me, and I know all of Hurley's staff."

"new recruits?"

"Unlikely."

"Conscripts?"

"More unlikely."

I raised an eyebrow, "Imposters? I do see more than one prson in the little army with 'Hijos' tattooed on their knuckles."

"That's a troubling thought."

"Shall we go out the backdoor?" I asked.

"Let's," Harbinger agreed.

Fortunately for us, Violetta had not secured the back entrance, and we slipped out and the front door slammed in. We stuck to side alleys as we made our way back tot he Baker's District, as neither Harbinger nor I was sure what this raid meant for us personally.

We arrived at harbinger's office to find a brown paper package stuck out from the mail slot. We opened the first door, and Harbinger pulled the package free and inspected the postage.

"It's from Rudy," He announced.

June jumped up and down trying to read postage, "It says its from a William Wentworth Wiggins from someplace called Wallaby Way." She said.

"Rudy doesn't like to his own name on documentation. He isn't a fan of formal systems of government."

"These days, I'm less of a fan than I used to be as well." I said.

Harbinger pulled out an archaic old pen knife from his breast pocket and slit open the package as we walked up the stairs. He peered into the oversized envelope as we walked back into Harbinger's war zone of an office.

"This is really messy. I don't keep my room this messy." June said, "I didn't think anybody kept their room this messy."

"I'm going to have to clean this, aren't I?" I asked, "You're never going to get this place in shape."

Harbinger looked up from the mass of papers and photos he had removed from the envelope, "Don't worry about that, we're probably about to get killed in the line of duty. So with any luck, neither of us will ever need to address the condition of our office."

"Until this place is clean, it's your office. What do you mean 'killed in the line of duty?', what did Rudy find?"

"Who's getting killed?" June asked.

"Hopefully nobody," I answered, "Harbinger, what did Rudy find?"

"Several things. He has followed a trail that leads to some sort of illegal event that seems to be occuring at horse track in the Arba District. And he has plenty of suggestive photographs of people going in and out of the place."

"Is that the location of our Russian Roulette game do you think?" I asked.

As harbinger nodded, I heard the sound of the lower door open, and then listened to the sound of pounding steps moving up towards the office door. I reached for my pistol. The steps stopped abruptly at the inner office door. A black shadow visible through the frosted glass began pounding on the door.

"Mr. Harbinger! I know you are in there! This is your fault! They have taken him!"

"Well get in here then!" Harbinger said, and I watched as the door swung open and the man with the pompadour and the burgundy pin stripe suit from the blood market stormed in.

"They have taken them both!" The man said,

"He's loud," June said.

"Mr. Hanjaya?" Harbinger said, his eye brows crowding together in concern, " I presume you mean your husband and your son? And, based on what you are involved in, and what we are investigating, I presume that 'they' means either Los Hijos de la Guerra or the Sons of Perun."

"Wei spoke to you. You convinced him to say too much. The Hummingbird cannot punish me directly. I am too useful. And so he will hurt me through my family. Because of you, he has taken my son! Because of you, my husband will play his game of death!"

"They've taken him to play the Russian Roulette game?" I asked.

"As a way to punish him for saying too much! And they've taken Ricky to force him to comply. He must play or they will kill our son!"

I stood up, "Or I kill him," I said, "I am going to stand over that monster's corpse and kick his skull in."

Harbinger stood up, "Go to my sister. Tell her to expect a communication from me. Tell her everything that you know. She will be able to protect you."

"Are you certain that she's not involved in this?" I asked.

"Absolutely. I'd make a deal with the devil long before she would. Her methods are dark and shadowy, but she doesn't compromise."

hanjaya looked between us and then spoke, "If you are serious, I can give you the location the nasty little blood sport. The next show is tonight. And so you must hurry."

Harbinger nodded and pointed to the address on Rudy's note, "Is this the location?"

Hanjaya nodded quietly, "Yes, how did you know?"

"My agents have been tracking people who could suddenly afford medical treatment," Harbinger answered, "And the trail led back to events held in that location, rich and powerful people go in the front door, the poor and desperate go in the back door. Only half the poor and desperate come back out."

"And this is what you're helping to run," I added.

Hanjaya nodded silently, and then suddenly seemed to notice June, "That is Albrecht's niece! How did you find her?"

"Clever detective work."

"She is the Hummingbird's leverage against the Sons of Perun."

"That sounds right," Harbinger said with a nod.

"Are we telling Hurley or Cassandra now?" I asked.

"No time to do that, and anyway, I have other reasons to leave their respective organizations in the dark for the moment. We don't know if you ex-girlfriend was acting alone or upon whose behalf she was acting when she raided that house. We have to assume everyone is against us right now. Leave me be. I need to write something. I'd prepare as though you were going to war Dahlia- because we quite possibly are doing just that."

I could have argued with him, but he had sat down at a metal desk. He stared at the mess and then swept the rubbish off the desk in a clashing clattering that must have been audible outside. June leaped back at the sudden action and stood behind me. Hanjaya sat quietly, looking sick. And June stared at me intently.

"If we survive, I will help you clean this." He said, "Now. If we have any chance of walking away you will need guns and knives and swords and whatever other nasty military toys you have left over from you days of service. And I? I will need paper and an ink well."

I looked around," You just knocked it on the floor and broke it." I said.

"Are we going to get in trouble?" June asked.

"I think Mr. Harbinger is always in trouble June honey."

"Oh, well so much for dramatics." Harbinger's shoulders slumped, "Can you find me another please?"

I shook my head, "Are you sure that this is the best option?"

He looked over at me, "We don't have a best option. I have speculations and gambles and if they are wrong, then we are dead. And if they are right, we may still be dead. I will tell you what you need to know, but please- as my partner- I need you to trust me. Anything that I keep from you know, I do in order to help our chances of survival. That's not a pleasant prospect for a soldier who's been so badly betrayed by commanders- I know. But if we survive this, you will see what I mean. And if you think I was wrong, and if we are still alive, I will apologize."

I found an inkwell on the ground that had survived Harbinger's dramatic flourish and handed it to him, "You're the boss." I said.

"No no no," He said, "I'm your mentor. If we find ourselves toasting our success tomorrow, then you will be nothing less than my partner- you'll have earned it."

And with that, Harbinger turned back to his desk and began to write. I nodded and stepped across piles of rubbish to my duffel bag and hard frame backpack.

"Are you going to get in a fight?" June asked me as I unpacked my gear.

"It does appear that we are going to start a fight," I said, "And from what Mr. Harbinger says, we may be in a lot of trouble. Bad people will want to do bad things to us."

"So you're going to kill them first?"

I removed the Ehrenfeld 9mm checked the gun,  chambered a round, and topped up the magazine, and then cocked and locked the gun and slipped back into my hip holster.

"Well that's not the first choice," I said, but I suspect that we aren't going to be given a choice." I removed my Wittegenstein .32 rimfire Pepperbox holdout pistol from it's wooden storage case and strapped on the spring mounted wrist holster and then holstered the little pistol. It would escape detection in a pat down, but still might surprise an unprepared enemy. The Eccelston T-handle knife was already in my boot sheath.

I picked up my .315 Mosin-Hayha Rifle, still in it's leather should carry case, and opened the case.

"That's a big gun," June said.

"It's not that big for a rifle, not really," I said, "This is the Mosin-Hayha. It's bolt action rifle originally intended for hunting, but it's really reliable and it doesn't break easily and when the rifle does stop working, repairs are much easier than on other rifles. The military issues Mosin-Hayha rifles because all the rifle designs that they commissioned weren't as good. This gun was designed based on two really popular guns from before the fall. This gun belonged to my father before it belonged to me. And he hired a gunsmith to make this gun even better than other Mosin-Hayha rifles."

The magazine my father had commissioned held fifteen rounds, where the convention magazine held only 5. I loaded the custom magazine into the rifle, and filled three standard magazines as a back up and strapped them into the bandoleer strap of the rifle case. I chambered a round and then topped up the magazine of rifle before checking the safety and putting the rifle back into the custom case- this time in the quick draw configuration. My sabre was resting against the back and I strapped it back on, I could apologize to Victoria if she found out, if I was alive to be sorry.

"You have a sword." June said.

"I do. This is a cavalry sabre. The blade is shaped for cuts over thrusts, because it's easy to cut when you're riding a horse."

I removed my jacket and drew my concealed armor vest from my backpack. In the heat of the dry season, the armor was truly unpleasant to wear- but so are gunshot wounds. I put on the vest, most of its protection came from small ceramic plates, and a certain amount of kevlar. the ceramic plates could deflect blades and bullets. The kevlar would only help again the small arms fire. The vest only protected my torso, front and back and lower torso on the sides, but that was preferable to nothing. I put my jacket back on, and now appeared to have gained ten pounds or so of unflattering weight. If they knew me, they might realize I wore armor- otherwise I was just a big woman. I was a big woman, a bigger woman then. I strapped on the shoulder carry case for the Mosin-Hayha. I turned back to Harbinger, who was sealing four envelopes. I watched as he wrote out the addresses on the backs of the envelopes.

He looked over at me and I saw his eyes widen, "Well that's a terrifying image. We might just get out of this yet. By the books of Solomon, you look like death come down to collect in person. Now, it's time to talk with our landlord. Young lady," Harbinger looked at June, "Would you like to meet a real live knight of New Jericho?"

June nodded and harbinger continued, "Now he's been a knight for a very long time and he isn't young anymore, but this man has fought for New Jericho longer than most people you know have been alive. That we are not under the thumb of the Bannerlands is partially his doing and you can thank him for that if you like. But treat him with respect, he's fought long and hard and earned the right to rest and enjoy his retirement. And since I'm about to drag him into yet another fight, politeness is important."

June nodded and Harbinger reached forward and tussled her hair.

"Mommy is never coming home is she?" June asked.

Harbinger opened his mouth and then closed it again without speaking. He turned away and then turned back and once again opened and closed his mouth in silence.

"Your Mommy is never coming home." I said, "Bad people took her away, and in order to keep you safe she made a choice that means she'll never get to come home."

"I miss her."

"I know. I can't bring your Mommy back. But Mr. Harbinger and I are going to go make sure no other Mommies have to make that same choice to keep their children safe. And we're going to make sure that the people who did this realize just very very bad a mistake it was to take away a little girl's mommy."

Harbinger gave one letter to Hanjaya with instructions to seek out his sister and ask for her protection.

"Talk with nobody else, not below her or above her in the chain of command. We cannot trust anyone else."

"I know that very well," Hanjaya agreed, "But can I trust your sister?"

"You can, Now go, before the noose tightens."

Hanjaya left, scurrying from alleyway to alleyway, trying his best to keep out of sight.
We found Harbinger's landlord, Sir Henry Barchester in his modest little suite. The suite sat across from Harbinger's, over a pastry shop that also paid Mr. Barchester rent. He opened the door, a small fragile looking man with a gentle smile and eyes that told people not to cross Sir Henry Barchester.

"Hello. Young Freeman, are you actually delivering your rent early? That would make a wonderful change. And who are these beautiful ladies by your side. I thought you were past all of that."

Harbinger smiled a thin smile, "I am past all of that. Too old for another kick at the can. Here," Harbinger handed Mr. Barchester the envelopes. "If we don't surface alive within a week or if we do surface, but not alive- well, you know the procedure."

"We? Are you dragging these ladies with you on your latest attempt to spit in death's face. Hmm, I imagine death doesn't have a face, at least not if he's the typical skeleton looking death. Hmm, I imagine death wouldn't ahve a gender either. Ignore me. I'm old. But why would you drag these two fine ladies to their doom?"

"I'm only dragging one of them to their doom. I apologize, I should have introduced you sooner. This is Dahlia Crowe, my new apprentice, new partner if we survive what's about to come. And this beautiful young lady is June, and she is why I am knocking on your door. The rent will have to wait to see if I am alive to pay it. If not, my will bequeaths the publishing rights to my pamphlets and books to you as a way of making up for past late payments and complications."

Mr. Barchester tilted a head, "We've done this before. You give me letters and then I burn them when you inevitably surface alive. Why the drama this time?"

"I can't tell you. Ignorance is my leverage in this case. Take the usual precautions, but in this case what people don't know- but might if I opened my mouth- is what's going to keep us alive if everything else goes wrong. But this young lady needs a place to hide. And I do mean hide.Tell nobody that she's in your care, don't even keep her here if you can help it. Put her somewhere nobody will check if they look for where I might have hidden here."

"well, good luck then young man. And young lady," He looked at me, "I would wish you good luck, but I suspect that you have run out of luck if fate brought you into young Freeman's employ. So I will instead tell you this- make the best of your bad luck and make the enemy wish they had not crossed you. And you young lady," Mr. Barchester looked down at June, "Do you by any chance play that wonderful African board game with the two lines of pockets and the chips that walk up and down the line things?"

"Mancala?" Harbinger asked.

"Yes, mancala." Mr. Barchester said. June shook her head and Mr. Barchester clapped two wrinkled hands clad in paper thin skin together in delight and continued speaking, "Then I must teach you. It's a wonderful game where the trick is to force your opponent to give you the victory by their own actions. You can't win by acting directly, but by making your opponent take bad moves. Wonderful fun, I'll teach you- we will visit a friend of mine. I doubt anyone will find us there. Run along Freeman, a pleasure to meet you Dahlia dear. June and I are going to explore military tactics through that classic method of learning by playing. Run along."

Mr. Barchester ushered June inside his suite and closed the door. Harbinger looked at the door as it closed and then nodded once and turned to face me, "Now, are you ready to get into a lot of trouble with substantial risk of bodily harm?"

"I'm a soldier, that's my job description. So now we go, find an illegal Russian Roulette stadium, confront a high ranking member of the Royal Commission about his likely ties to human trafficking and illegal blood sports, somehow come out alive, and then find a different way of earning Mr. Barchester's rent?"

"Something to that effect."

The Blood Market Chapter 13

I flagged down a young girl who really shouldn't have been out as late as this and sent her to fetch the sheriff. Sheriff Hurley arrived with several deputies, thankfully not Violetta, and established a crime scene with remarkable efficiency. I explained that I had been following up on a long shot lead for Harbinger's other case when I had been jumped by several assailants. I concluded by explaining that after I had driven off the assailants, I had found the body and called for Hurley.

Hurley confirmed the lack of powder burns on the hand and confirmed my conclusion that the woman had been shot.

"ballistic path of the gun is reminiscent of the suicides. It looks as though the shot was made using a smooth bore weapon, but that isn't certain to me. What do you have?"

I had examined the body as I waited, and so I related what I had discovered, "I don't see any blood spatter. I don't think she was killed here. The woman died recently, but the window I can give you would have allowed somebody to move her here. I couldn't find any dynamic transfer from her body to the crime scene, blood or skin or anything else, only slow pooling blood seeping out from a body without a functioning central pump. My guess is that, if you look up the details, you'll find that this woman owns or runs or works at this bar. My guess, with Harbinger not here to give you his, is that she was killed- possibly as punishment for something- and dropped here to send a message."

Hurley nodded, "And this other case of Harbinger's, you still can't tell me about it?"

"I doubt it." I answered, "I don't know how Harbinger's agreement with his sister works, but I wouldn't want to cross her or the people to whom she answers."

"I have to ask," Hurley said, "I know you carry a pistol. Has it been fired recently? You were the first one to find the body you know."

I suppressed a flinch and then produced my pistol and handed it over. I had reloaded it after the altercation in the ring, but I hadn't cleaned it since firing. As Hurley looked at the gun, I said, "This is only a 9mm pistol Sheriff, the rounds used here are much bigger, hence why you and I are both assuming this is another of the flintlock suicides- only without the suicide part."

She looked the gun over and then handed it back, "I prefer revolvers," She said, "I don't like a gun that's so easy to fire so quickly. Every round could potentially end a life. I like that the revolver makes that a little more work."

I nodded, "That's because you're a peace keeper. That's a good perspective to keep."

"You're clean as far as I can tell. But there's nobody else around, so you and Harbinger better give me somebody else sooner rather than later.'

I nodded, after all what was a little more pressure?

We wrapped up at the crime scene and I began to make my way back to the Baker's District to bring Harbinger up to speed. As i got close to Harbinger's office, I saw a man waiting for me wearing a blue pinstripe suit, many rings, and sporting a large handlebar mustache. He waved at me from the distance. I could see a large highland Broadsword held in hand and leaning against his shoulder.

"You are Harbinger's new attack dog, I assume?" He said as I approached. I noticed the runic tattoos on his hands as I considered my answer.

"I'm his assistant. And let's see. Runic tattoos mean Sons of Perun. Well dressed, fancy Broadsword. I'm guessing it's a Halstatt and not a Shanzai or an Eccelston. Would it be safe to say that you're Perun and not one of his so called sons?"

"You wouldn't be wrong in that guess. So it would appear that mere attack dog would be to understate your capabilities."

"Is this where you tell me to lay off or you'll hurt me or harbinger? You have already tried that." I said.

"I am going to recommend that you find other jobs, but for entirely different reasons. Mrs. Li Jing is evidence of what happens to those who refuse to work in my interests, but do not think I need to threaten you like that. I also think that it won't help. But as it happens I have information that could damage the job security of Harbinger's sister, and I know for a fact that your continued digging will expose those unpleasant pieces of information. So, to put it more bluntly, if you actually succeed in cracking this case, you will destroy the career of your partner's sister. I am not threatening you. This is simply what will result if you succeed in exposing the truth. So, now, I bid you good night. Do what you like with the information."

He strode off out of the district. I debated shooting him in the back as I left. But knowing a man runs a crime organization, and proving he's done something illegal are very different things. I checked on Harbinger, who was thankfully finished smoking, and explained the situation to him. Harbinger shook his head.

"Well, then I guess I have to bring Cassie up to speed. Let's get to the Sun Yat Sen Club." Harbinger said.

"It's not open this late," I pointed out.

"No, but Cassie will almost certainly be there."

Harbinger dragged me out to the Arab District in the pre-dawn hours. upon arrival, we found he door locked and on a single light burning in the dining area of the building. Harbinger knocked on the window, and made rude expressions by pressing his face against the glass. I snorted out loud trying not to laugh at the image of a fifty year old man playing like an eight year old. ninety Three seconds later though, The front door clicked open and Cassandra Harbinger ushered us into the building.

"What brings you out so earl little brother?" She asked as we sat down.

"Well in short, there is a smuggling ring. Dahlia found the woman with the red tattoo, but she's dead. Apparently killed by the Sons of Perun for not agreeing to work with them, the likely subject of Mr. Zhang's conversation. Mr. Zhang lied to us, by the way, he had been employed at their translator, not because he could speak Chinese, but because his husband has been blackmailed into working with Li Jing in the smuggling ring and the Sons of Perun apparently wanted to put pressure on Mr. Zhang's husband. There seems to be a gang war between Los Hijos de la Guerra and the Sons of Perun.  The battle seems to be for control of the human smuggling and black market medical operations: blood banking and organ sales. Many of the immigrants smuggled in are paying by giving blood, some are paying with organs that they can afford to lose, others are paying rather more. Further, the wave of suicides that are paying the Newsboys' salaries seems to be related to all of this in some way, because the organs of the healthy bodies have been harvested. Further the Sons of Perun have hinted obliquely that it would be for our health and your career for us to forget both our case with you and the case with Sheriff Hurley, so again- connections."

"They mentioned me?" Cassandra asked.

"By name," I said, "I was told that your career would be destroyed if the truth of the events came to light."

"By whom were you told?"

"The gang leader of the Sons of Perun. I don't know his real name."

"Gunter Albrecht," Cassandra answered, "We had him under surveillance, but need something we can show to the press before we move."

"You might have told us," Harbigner said, "You might also have told us that the docks where Zhang was interrogated had actually remained open. Those might have helped."

"Albrecht is under surveillance as a matter of course, not in relation to your case. Obviously that will change now. As for the docks, my understanding was that they were locked down. I will investigate this. No do you have any evidence to support what you know?"

"A few photos that will serve as circumstantial evidence at best."

"So, little brother, in short, “Cassandra said drawing out the pauses between each word, “You can prove that humans are being smuggled, you know several mid level people involved, but none of major players can be directly tied. None of the names you have would likely be for people whom we could destroy or cripple the operations by removing. And Harbinger has one of his trademark 'weird feelings' that something big and dangerous is looming in the background. Does that sound about right?”

"Pretty much."

"Well the clock is running out. Chop Chop Freeman, it's only the Queen that you're keeping waiting."

The Blood Market Chapter 12

I walked Victoria home, and received a second, slightly more lingering goodnight kiss at the door for my trouble. The girl knew how to hook people, that was clear. I walked back to Harbinger's office to drop my sabre off, true to my word. My mind turned inward and returned to my earlier panic attack. I hated my reaction. I wondered why these things happened in civilian situations and not in conflict as in my fight with Jaromir. I knew that my life had had suffered far fewer setbacks and are minor tragedies than a majority ofntye people struggling to get by in sticktown, to say nothing ofntye people living inbth eponymous ring of shanties and shacks that surrounded Sticktown. And in Sticktown residents enjoyed a much higher standard of living than people living in many other nations after the fall. I knew this. My mind knew all of this. My mind knew that I had not dishonorably discharged, which would have easy to do and would had made my scapegoat status near perfect. I had a job that paid. Harbinger had given me the opportunity to use my skills already in the job. My brain kept advising my gut that our life status ould have fallen much further and collapsed much more completely then it had. The problem keeping me from believing my brain, rested in fact that my gut kept sending alarm signals. My gut didn't believe my brain. My gut disagreed, not in words, because unlike the brain the gut didn't speak in words.

My gut spoke in alarms. Something felt wrong, my gut kept advising my brain. My brain kept advising the gut that no problem existed. The gut disagreed, and continued sending alarm signals. And eventually my brain decided that the gut must have a point, based purely on how insistent my gut's messages remained. And so my brain went in search of a reason that might explain my gut's alarm. I had lost my girlfriend, and she now stood as a possible obstacle between myself and my work with Harbinger. I panic in crowds, and still struggle with nightmares relating back to the Ashlands. My career in the military was finished, and my disgrace had become well known, and the official story that I carried all the blame for the loss of life in the Ashland Incident seemed to have taken hold in the rank of file of my former comrades in arms. My brain, once it started looking, had no trouble finding reasons for the alarms my gut kept sending out. My primary worry concerned whether Harbinger regretted taking me in. my presence had complicated matters with the Sheriff's office due to my relationship with Violetta. And I had reacted badly to his pipe smoke and driven him up to the roof. And now I was hanging up my sabre to please a pretty girl I had known less than a day, just because she was a good kisser and I was on the rebound.

I climbed the stairs to Harbinger's office and set my sabre down on top of my backpack. I could hear Harbinger moving around up on the roof, and the smell of his pipe smoke wafted down, in through open windows. He had honored his word not to smoke in his office, and had moved to the roof to do so, but the heat of the dry season meant that closing the windows would invite death by baking. The smoke lingered like a shadow in the room, barely present, but present enough to cause me unease. Harbinger had made the attempt, and I didn't want to chastise him for doing his best. I would go for a walk. I headed down to the street and stepped out into the night. The streets were not as busy as during the day. I disliked the sporadic problems with crowds that seemed to linger after my discharge from the Dragoons, causing occasional problems that screamed of weakness. The crowds at night were less and thus more manageable.

As I walked, I tried to put things together. People had been killing themselves. No, I corrected myself. People had been shooting themselves in the head fatally. The effort that people are putting into attempting to convince us to not look into the deaths basically confirms that they can't possibly be suicides. So people are being made to die so as to appear that they have killed themselves. Some of the bodies have the organs harvested. A human smuggling ring was accepting blood and organs as payment to ferry people out of South East Asia.

I stopped, something was trickling up in my mind. Zhang had said that he though the red tattoo related to a Red Flag Fleet, which certainly matched our experience with the thugs from the blood market. But I recalled something. Naval personnel liked to frequent a pub down by the water called "The Fleet", and I knew from rumor that a secret invitation only speakeasy inside "The Fleet" called "The Pirate Queen". The secret was fairly open in the military. Generally to receive an invitation one had to be a naval officer or a former naval officer, and generally had to have done something fairly impressive in the service of New Jericho. I had been to The Fleet occasionally, but not being in the Navy meant that such visits had been infrequent. But remembered that the owner had been a woman of Chinese descent.

It fit. It definitely fit. I debated going back to get Harbinger. He would high as a vulture on a hot day. And I would have to go up in the pipe smoke to get him. I shook my head, the junior partner going off on her own to investigate.

"This is asking for trouble," I said to the night air. I thought about the smoke and decided that trouble was preferable to more hallucinations.

It didn't take long to reach The Fleet, but as I approached, my soldier senses started too tingle. Something had triggered my danger instincts. I paused. What was I noticing? What had triggered my alarm bells? I saw the figures standing in alleyeway beside The Fleet almost immediately; four men, sons of Perun from their appearance and their bearing. They stood over a shape that looked suspiciously like the body of an unconscious or dead human being.

I appraised their posture and suspected they were not armed. As I watched, one of them looked up in my direction and spotted me. He said something to his companions and pointed at me. The three grinned at each other and turned towards me.

I moved my off hand to my sabre, and then remembered that my sabre now sat on my backpack in Harbinger's office. Which meant I had to either evade them, or fight four guys using either my knife or gun- which could be lethal and get me arrested. You can't claim self-defense if you're better armed than they are.

"I was indeed right about asking for trouble," I said under my breath.

One of them called out to me as they approached, "This is a lucky coincidence, you're the next lady on our list."

I should have run, I knew, at that point if I wanted to avoid a fight, but curiosity bested my common sense and I asked, "What list?"

"Our list of people who need to learn how to be less interested in business that doesn't concern them." The same thug said, standing just a little back from the other two.

"That doesn't really work as a strategy when you're working for a private detective," I said.

"You aren't getting the message blueback. So consider this priority post for your crazy boss. A taste of things to come if he doesn't lay off looking for people who don't want to be found. As far as you two are concerned, they're just regular immigrants. it's healthier for you that way." One of them said.  A blueback was a slang term, not terribly polite either, that infantry gave to dragoons and other cavalry officers. The name refers to the navy blue uniform, compared to the infantry brown that NCMs (non commissioned members) wore as dress uniforms.  As the first one finished speaking, the other two charged. Without my sabre at my side, I didn't have an easy means of preventing them from closing the distance. They hit me in a combined tackle from both sides. The two men felt like they carried a combined weight of nearly five hundred pounds or more as we hit and crashed to the cobble stones.  Without my sabre and now, grappling two large foes, I didn't have easy access to my pistol or my boot knife. I found myself mentally berating myself for not strapping my pepperbox hold out pistol to my wrist. One of the thugs landed two wild blows to my face with rune tattooed fists  while I was blocking his friends, knocking my head back against the cobblestones, leaving my dazed.

I struggled to regain my mental clarity as I scrabbled with my hands to block the incoming blows. They definitely considered me a reasonable threat, three on one seemed to be their preferred method of assault. Although given how I had treated Jaromir Hus, perhaps I had that coming.

I assessed my options. They wanted to send a message, so they were probably trying to rough me up and not kill me. I could theoretically take my medicine and walk away later, but they might not leave me in a condition to provide useful assistance to Harbinger. I could draw my pistol, assuming I actually was able to do so, and risk killing them or myself through that escalation. I could draw my t-handle knife from my boot and try to cripple, and also risk killing them or myself in the escalation. Another fist slipped through my blocks and hammered my head against the cobblestones. I reached for my knife.

I had to stop blocking to grab my knife, moving my right hand down to my boot, and using my left hand to grapple the bigger of the two thugs to maintain a decent position. As such, I took a few more hits as I grabbed my knife from my boot. One decent hit landed on my brow and jolted down the bones of my eye socket. My eye closed as an automatic reaction and I could feel tears welling up as an automatic body response. It didn't feel as though my eye had actually been hit by the blow, but I would have to check to be sure after I survived this. Eye injuries can ruin a sniper's career. I got the knife into my hand and rammed it into the gastrocnemius muscles on the left calf of the bigger thug. As he howled, I turned the blade and ripped the knife out. I twisted and appraised my options on his friend, who had leaned back in shock- having noticed the knife. Taking what was easily available, I plunged the knife into the top of his foot, straight through his estensor muscles. The adrenal response was kicking in as I twisted the blade out of his foot and pushed into a backwards roll. The roll carried me away from my attackers and allowed me to flow back to my feet. I dropped my knife into my jacket pocket and drew out my pistol.

"Let's just admit that the message was lost in post and call it a day." I said, drawing a bead on the thug who had spoken initially.

"I can't let this go," the man answered.

"You will and you'll all of you walk away as well. If not, then you'll discover that I am perfectly capable of hiding bodies in the parts of Ring where the Sheriff's boys and girls wouldn't dare going."

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Noise from inside the fleet drifted out along with the smell of cheap stale grain alcohol. I looked at the man, staring into his eyes. He looked back. And a long moment passed. His eyes darted back and forth, not looking away from my face. I suspected he was searching for give, an opening in my facade that might make him think he could make a move. We held each other's gaze for seventy five seconds, I could feel him scrambling for any opening, like a rat in a mason jar. His shoulders slumped just slightly and he nodded.

"The pain is coming," He said, "You aren't going to win forever."

"Nobody wins forever," I answered, "But you won't be the one to make me lose. Not you. Not tonight."

Another long pause and then he waved to his fallen men. I considered a parting shot, but the act seemed petty. So as the men pulled themselves up, I stayed silent and watched them hobble away without a word. Once they were gone. I turned back to the body left behind. The body was missing a lower jaw and most of the nose and the left eye had been blown apart by a gunshot wound. The shot had come from under the chin. I checked the hands, no powder burns, but I found a familiar tattoo, bright red like an old traditional Chinese seal with an ideogram in negative space. I was staring at the body of Li Jing. But without powder burns, we could conclusively rule out suicide on this one. I was looking down at our first clear cut murder victim. And I needed to tell the Sheriff.

The Blood Market Chapter 11

I stumbled into Britell's Dining House nearly twenty minutes late. I hated being late, but the practice seemed to be my calling card of late. Britell's Dining house wasn't full yet, and I spotted Victoria pretty quickly. I waved and she waved back. I walked over to the table. Victoria was a cute as I remembered from our first meeting, all frills and pastels and lace, at once innocent and mischevious.

"I'm sorry about the delay." I said as I sat down, "You look amazing by the way.  There were some people who disagreed with the idea of us continuing our investigation."

"That's all right, you're here and only twenty minutes late. It really isn't proper to get upset until you've been stood up a full half hour. But after that, oh my. Then I would have been legally obligated to let you have it. Throw my hand bag, make a scene and everything." She said, winking at me.

I tried to guage how much of what she was saying was real and how much was teasing and decided to assume it was mostly meant as gentle teasing.

"Thank you for not throwing your hand bag," I said.

A waiter arrived and took our orders. I tried to guess whether I was supposed to pay or her, or if we would split it. Victoria has asked me out. And convention meant that she should pay. But I was used to pretty little girls assuming that I had to pay, as though a taller woman automatically plays the 'man' in the role. I couldn't tell with Victoria, and so I assumed that I would be paying, and ordered lightly in case she had expensive tastes.

"You are so adorable. I'm going to teach you all about makeup. We'll get you out of that old navy uniform. You'll look amazing."

"The uniform is an army dragoon officer's dress uniform. It's one of two sets clothes that I own. And what's what's wrong with my make up?"

"Oh dear. I hope I didn't upset you. I was just so excited. Do you really not own any other clothes? That's a tragedy. That really is. Why did you not buy other clothes."

"Some soldiers definitely do. I never saw the point. The army provided my clothes. I've been saving up for a Hallstat sabre."

"I thought you had a sword already. Why would you need another?"

"Hallstat makes the best blades in Olam. This sabre is  an Eccleston. Eccleston makes fine blades. But Hallstat blades are nearly perfect."

"But you aren't in the military anymore. Why would you need to carry such a mean thing? Jesus said to love your neighbor and turn the other cheek to your enemy."

"And the koans say that if you meet the Buddha on the road, you should kill him."

"Oh you're a Buddhist. Well that's okay too. But even Buddhists believe in avoiding violence. So why don't you leave the sword behind? Look a little less warrior and a little more diplomat."

"I'm a warrior." I said, shifting my body in the seat.

"Buddha was a peaceful warrior wasn't he? You could be a pacifist warrior."

I could hear a voice in my head telling me that the only reason pretty little rich girls are afforded the luxury of being pacifists is because large men with guns pacify threats for them, but I could see that this was going nowhere fast. I had my concealed pistol and boot knife, and she hadn't mentioned my Ehrenfeld pistol. Maybe the leather flap over the holster was unfamiliar to her and she hadn't realized I was carrying a gun. Or perhaps she was unsettled by the sword because she had actually seen me use it as a reflex action.

Either way, I wouldn't be unarmed, just less visibly armed, which might not be bad as a civilian. But I've learned my lesson from Violetta, don't push your girlfriends to hard. And at least Victoria isn't a thug.

"Alright, I'll leave the sword at the office."

She clapped her hands in delight, "For that you get a goodnight kiss!" She said and leaned over to give my a quick rose scented peck on the lips. I could feel myself blushing.

And when the bill came she snatched it up without hesitation. "I asked you out. I know the protocol." She said with a wink.

The Blood Market Chapter 10

It didn't take long to get to the University and find the office of Professor Zhang Wei. Professor Zhang sat in his office, door open, answering a litany of questions directed at him by a group of student not much younger than myself. I felt very much out of place as I stared at the students. Their hands laid bare their wealth, soft and without callouses, pale or at most lightly tanned, some were even manicured. None of the students smelled of either body odor, perfume or cologne- which meant they all recently bathed. During the Dry season bathing became a luxury of the elite and the wealthy.

Zhang saw us approaching, and his posture stiffened slightly. He dismissed the students, and they rumbled past, giving us curious or bemused looks as they went.

Harbinger smiled and offered a hand to shake, "Hello again Professor Zhang, I understand that you lied to us when you explained why the thugs decided you would be a useful translator. Why don't we talk about that."

Zhang paled, "Yes. I lied to you. I did not have many options. There are debts that must be paid. Money owed. I owed money to the Hummingbird. I owed money. Yes. To pay for my schooling and my position here at the University. And so, I was known to Sons of War. And so when they needed a translator. They came to me. "

Harbinger shook his head, "I think that it's more likely that they came to you because your husband works for them."

"My husband is an honest business man, an importer of luxury goods from the nations and lands of South East Asia."

"And we have witnesses who have photographed him managing the transportation of illegal immigrants through the Ring under the supervision of our Ms. Li Jing."

"You are lying!" Zhang practically spat the words.

"He's not an inconspicuous man in a burgundy pin stripe suit and sporting a very stylish pompadour haircut," I added as casually as I could.

"He is a good man! You don't understand!" Zhang said, his voice cracking.

"Make us understand." Harbinger answered, "We can help."

"No, you can't," Zhang, "The Hummingbird is invincible. All opposition makes him stronger. He is a God of war as his name suggests."

I decided to try an alternate tactic, "People are suffering. People are dying. You are being complicit in murder, extortion and human suffering."

"The illegal immigrants are fleeing the conflicts in Southeast Asia. The Rise of the Restored Republic of China has threatened the dominance of the Empire of Hong Kong. The Empire has taken a cold war approach in response, attacking the Restored Republic indirectly by inciting rebellions in territory controlled by their allies or fomenting civil wars and border disputes, attempting to undercut the Republic's rising prominence in the region. People are fleeing north into the arms of the various nations of China, west to the nations of India and east to Olam. The situation in The Papuan Emirate is so dire, with the Catholic Majority in revolt against the Emirs, some people are even fleeing south to the Graveyard Lands in the hope of surviving there. Perhaps you do not understand, but the suffering of the illegal immigrants here at the hands of the smugglers is positivelya respite from the suffering they faced at home. It is tragic. Indonesia survived the Fall with it's government intact, Signapore as well. Malaysia and the Phillippines recovered remarkably well, especially compared to the nations of Olam, China or the India subcontinent. And now, a squabble between regional powers is sending these people howling down the fury road to conditions just like the Fall itself."

"And when they get here, some of them end up putting a pistol to their head after they are processed by your husband," I pushed, "Does that seem better to you?"

"I know nothing of that," Zhang shook his head.

"I bet your husband does. Maybe he's lying to you?" I said.

"Impossible," Zhang shook his head.

"Not even to protect you?" Harbinger asked.

Zhang did not answer.

Harbinger continued, "Something nasty has been going on. People are dying, apparent suicides, and a number of them are illegal immigrants just having reached New Jericho. Bodies are frequently found with organs removed, and evidence indicates that this either started in June, or something siginificant changes about the whole affair in June. We understand that your hands are largely tied. We don't want to put you in any more danger, but we don't want to keep seeing apparent suicides that look suspicious under any light. We don't want to see refugees, legal or not, turn up dead with their torsos hollowed out and their eyes missing. Do you?"

"No."

"Then what happened in June? Point us in a useful direction, and we can pretend they told us and not you."

"I don't know what happened in June. They have not mentioned anything happening in June. Why is June important?" Zhang asked.

"If you don't know, it's probably best that you stay not knowing." Harbinger said, which I suspected was his way of hiding our own ignorance.

"You see. Everyone has secrets to keep. I am not an evil man because I am forced to do what I must in order to live in an imperfect world." Zhang nodded.

"Just keep telling yourself that," I said.

"Everyone compromises," Zhang insisted.

"I didn't." I said leaning in very close to the man's face, "I sacrificed lives and my career and I made strategic decisions the caused people under my command to die. But I never compromised my morals. That's why this uniform is purely decorative. I didn't compromise."

"Then be grateful," Zhang said quietly, "That you had that luxury. In the face of true evil, sometimes one if forced sacrifice one's morals in order to safeguard others. I hope you are never forced to do so. We have a son, they would hurt him if we wenta gainst them. They always use the family as leverage. That's why we have to cooperate, or at least be seen to cooperate."

Harbinger's eyes widened and his eyebrows raised, "Yes. I bet people would do all sorts of things to protect loved ones that they wouldn't normally do. Crazy things. Horrible things even."

"My husband does not enjoy what he does. But his family is here, safe from the Malay-Indoesian conflict, and he is here, because of the things that he has done. We are a family, and he and his family are safer than they would be in Indonesia right now."

"Even with these threats hanging over your head?" I asked.

"Well, obviously I would have been safer otherwise," Zhang admitted, "but everyone else is safer even wrapped up in this criminality as we are."

"And you are wrapped up in it aren't you?" I asked.

Zhang sighed, "He is. As payment for arranging for his escape and the escape of his family from Indonesia, the Hummingbird has extracted my husband's assistance in running and expanding their smuggling operations, both people and luxury goods. And to ensure silence regarding my husband's illegal actions, the HUmmingbird has extracted continued assistance in the running of this criminal enterprise."

"So what is he, the second in command?" I asked.

"No. More like middle management or a bookkeeper."

"Is he instrumental to the operation?" Harbinger asked, "If we got you and he into hiding, would that stop the whole thing?"

"No. He is useful, but not essential. And much of what they needed him for, he has already set up. I think they keep him involved, because it's easier. They could just as easily dispose of him and get anyone else now."

"It sounds as though this Li Jing woman and the Hummingbird are the linchpins in the operation. Those are who we should focus on."

"You cannot defeat the Hummingbird. If you must continue your hunt, focus on the woman."

"Do you think that would stop the whole operation?"

"I doubt it. But the Hummingbird is beyond your grasp. I doubt I can help in this, and my husband would never agree to speak with you, but I had been thinking about the Red Flag," Zhang answered, "That did match something that had crossed my mind, that perhaps the tattoo did not refer to the old communist flag of old China. You see, a famous pirate band from China about three hundred years before the Fall called themselves the Red Flag Fleet. They were led by a female pirate Ching Shih, so perhaps the name is reference to that."

"That doesn't tell us much."

"I know."

Zhang was unable and unwilling to say more. And in short order we left the University to regroup and assess our strategy.

"We know all of this is connected," I said, "But it's all a mess and I can't see how they connect. So what do we do?"

"Well," Harbinger said, "First we look at what we need to learn in order to get paid. As detectives we get paid to provide information, more accurately we get paid to provide solutions. So what we should be asking, is what will make our clients happy?"

"And?"

"Well, to make Hurley happy, we need to find out who is causing these apparent suicides to keep showing up. And to make Blackwater and my sister happy we need to find a big name in this smuggling ring that they can parade around for maximum politcal effect." harbinger said.

"I think Blackwater would rather not parade anything around." I answered.

"I agree, but I suspect that the ship has sailed on that option. So know he will need a victory to show in order to save face."

Something odd about what Zhang told us. His original description of the two thugs reminds me of Jaromir Hus, "I said, "Hus is Son of Perun. He's not part of the Hijos de la Guerra. Is he?"

"I see possibilities. The person Zhang described might simply be somebody with a similar appearance to Mr. Jaromir Hus. Also, possible are that Mr. Zhang lied to us or Jaromir Hus has loyalties that are less than clear. If Hus is the culprit, then he's likely playing both sides of some dangerous game- a possibility that requires bravado, chuztpah, guile, cleverness and a strong affinity for deceit. Does Mister Hus seem like that person?"

"No, he seems like a straight forward thug, almost amiable in his violence."

"And if Mr. Zhang has lied to us, then there are three possibilities. He may have lied to us in his original testimony. Not a startling possibility, given that he has admitted to it. He may have lied to us just now in his most recent testimony. In which case, he is still protecting something. Of course we know he lied originally, and he may simply have lied and then lied again. So in the majority of possibilities. Mr. Zhang is hiding something further from us. Either that or Mr. Hus is much more clever than he appears."

"Should we go back and question him again?"

"No, because I know what June means. I know what is going on. I may even know how this all ties together. The suicides, the smuggling, that missing girl that Mr. Brand lost."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Not yet. I need to check something, confirm suspicions. I'll tell you once your date is done."

I froze, "I'm late."

"Not that late. If you run it won't be that bad."

I ran.