LITMIR.BIZ

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a few words with Captain Riverun, who had emerged from his cabin.

      “I wonder who our human counterparts are.”

      “Probably soldiers like us. I can’t wait to meet them,” said Mat dryly as the cousins watched the high priest and his guards dive off the starboard side of the Peacekeeper.

      CHAPTER 6

      Piotra looked out the dirty, stained window. Where in the Deep was his contact?

      His morning had started as normal. Wake at the crack of dawn, run down to the docks of Virtoria for another day of hauling cargo for minimal pay, and leave an important message in a hidden compartment in the wall in the worker’s toilets. He had checked later in the day, and the parchment had disappeared, so his contact must have picked it up.

      But the appointed time for the meeting had come and gone, and his contact in Malaquey Naval Intelligence was yet to appear here in one of the rundown shanties at the edge of town.

      This part of the city had once been the jewel of Virtoria decades ago; it had been home to one of the most acclaimed wielding colleges in Namira. But now it was the poorest sector, home to the vagrants and criminals. Unless one had nefarious purposes, it was best to avoid it after dark. However, Piotra had lived here long enough to know which areas to sidestep. He had also discovered hardly anyone loitered near this particular abandoned house, almost as if the locals were scared of it.

      Which made it an appropriate place for clandestine meetings. But something had felt off when he had approached the meeting point earlier that evening, and his feeling of unease had only grown the longer he waited. With his nerves screaming at him to leave, he turned and did so.

      Only to run into the Namiran Military Patrol. And from their expectant expressions, the four officers had been waiting for him.

      “Evening, officers,” he tried to say calmly as he wondered why their patrol schedule had changed. He had memorized their route, and they hardly ever patrolled this abandoned part of town. It had been another reason why he had chosen this location for the meeting.

      “You’re out quite late, friend.” The patrol officer’s smile was chilling.

      Piotra tried to keep his voice calm. “I…I was checking out this house. I heard it was on the market, and quite cheap too. So, once I got off work, I came over to investigate.”

      The leader faced him while the remaining three surrounded him. “It’s not surprising it’s dirt cheap, considering it used to belong to traitors of our beloved monarch.”

      “Oh, I see,” said Piotra, trying not to tremble. There was something odd about this patrol. The others he had met in the past usually asked for money right off the bat. “Well, it’s getting late. I better head home. Please have a pleasant evening.” He turned to leave.

      “Leaving so soon?” asked a female patrol officer, blocking his path. He noticed something different about her coal-black uniform. She had a pistol. Where was her truncheon? He glanced at the other three. No truncheons in sight, just pistols.

      This wasn’t a real patrol. He had to get away from them. “Um…I need to get home. I start work early tomorrow.”

      The leader chuckled coldly. “Good excuse. Almost believable, if one didn’t already know you’re a spy for Malaquey intelligence.”

      Piotra froze as he stared at the fake patrol leader in shock.

      “I must admit, I am impressed you chose the house of the late Master Tren Baths, the former headmaster of the destroyed Astral Wielding college. No one would have thought to look—” He was abruptly cut off when Piotra wielded sand into the faces of the four officers.

      As they yelled in pain and fury, Piotra took to his heels.

      “Find him! Take him alive!”

      Piotra realized he was in a bigger mess than he’d first thought. The four pursuers soon became several more, which meant backup hadn’t been far away. With his heart beating painfully against his ribs, Piotra wielded small balls of hard-packed sand behind him as he weaved his way through the dark alleys. He felt a moment of grim satisfaction at the shouts of pain as his sand balls struck targets. His inattention almost made him crash right into someone lunging at him from a side alley. Veering to the right, he barely avoided the outstretched hands of a young man in a Namiran military police uniform.

      By the Maker! He had to reach safety. They must not catch him. A plan began to form in his mind as he changed direction and turned right to run towards an enormous, also abandoned, building.

      “He’s headed for the old school!”

      Suddenly finding new strength, Piotra outpaced his predators as his new destination came into sight. It was a looming structure, which in its heyday would have been an impressive work of architecture filled with bright wielder students. But the ravages of time now had its once proud walls peeling, its windows cracked and dirty. Piotra ran for the damaged double front doors, wielding a blast of sand at the doors so they sprung open at his approach. He ducked inside and started up the damaged stairs. Having explored this place extensively in the past, he knew which would bear his weight and which wouldn’t.

      It wasn’t long before the supposed military police were inside too. Screams of pain soon followed as the unwary officers stepped on rotted wooden steps and crashed through.

      But Piotra didn’t have time to gloat. His pursuers would learn fast.

      After what seemed an eternity of running, he reached the roof. He had almost reached the edge when the fake patrol leader and several of his officers burst through the door.

      “Halt in the name of the Immortal Queen! You have nowhere to go!”

      Piotra paused and turned to face the Namiran officer. Though winded, he couldn’t help but laugh.

      The fake patrol leader’s expression went from triumph to shock. “What are you laughing at? You’re under arrest for treason. There is no escape!”

      Piotra raised his hands and inched slowly backwards, nearing the roof’s edge. He wasn’t surprised when no one raised their pistols to shoot at him. Someone important really wanted him alive.

      He didn’t have to guess who that may be.

      “You’re wrong. I do have options, and I do have somewhere else to be.”

      The counterfeit patrol leader looked behind Piotra and suddenly realized what the spy was about to do.

      “Stop!” But he was talking to empty air as Piotra casually stepped backwards off the edge of the roof.

       #

      Such a waste, thought Minister Nathan Lensworth as he studied the vacant eyes of the broken body of Piotra Velztra. Nothing of any worth had been found on his person apart from a worker’s temporary identity card that bore his name. Probably a fake name at that.

      The head of Namiran Intelligence eventually held up a hand to stop the sham patrol leader from trying to explain for the umpteenth time why he had failed such an important mission.

      “So, Lieutenant Kato, let me get this straight. Instead of grabbing the suspect, you decided to gloat?”

      “I…I just wanted to be sure we had the right person—”

      The minister gave the unfortunate officer a look that shut him up. That was the weakest explanation yet. True military police were known to grab their victims without any ceremony, but this fool had thought to show off his powers before his juniors instead. He knew this masquerading idiot had been promoted too soon.

      It was time to rectify that mistake.

      “Well, do you know who else is going to be, shall we say, disappointed, by this blunder?” The junior officers moved away from Lieutenant Kato.

      The officer was confused for a long moment. “Um…I…”

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