Twenty-Three: From Tree to Tree

            (Even when I had not surpassed Tsuyoi in how he deemed such, I had become an experienced Samurai. To consider training, I signed on to be involved with their military. They were more impressed with my attributes than the two grandmasters, simply because they were not the grandmasters. Even in the year of service with them, I looked forward to seeing Kana again. I realised how much I missed her, to add to the dojos and temples.

(I asked her for a big favour. When the time was to come that I read through my mother’s book, I wanted Kana there with me. She questioned why, but was quick to figure out the answer. That time was to come when I had pushed as much as I could against Tsuyoi’s sadistic shite.

(There was more than that. Kashikoi finally spoke to me, to provide his private lessons. The first thing that he taught me was meditation. That was hard to do, for my mind would be faffed with whatever scene would play out in my head. The images were still there of my mother and Clement laying dead, and of the wolf that killed them.

(Kashikoi asked, “What seek you, to do with what you have learned?”

(I answered, “Revenge.” I went into explanation of what had plagued my dreams just days after seeing it.

(Kashikoi commented, “That is what Tsuyoi sees in you: anger. But you utilise more than that. I saw how you practise. The lecturers told me how you paid close attention. You learnt to pick yourself up after a fall; you learnt discipline and patience.”

(I spoke, “I know what you will say about revenge. Tsuyoi and I had long talks about it.”

(Kashikoi explained, “Meditation is not only about calming yourself. You may dwell on your mistakes, but you will learn from them because you wish to be better. You will learn to avoid making the same mistake twice consecutively and how you can better execute your actions.” He added, “As you rely on strategy, you can utilise more than your body and what you hold.”

(I objected, confused, “But I thought only Ninken do that.”

(“That is incorrect”, he clarified. “Everyone uses the environment for their plans and the execution of such. Even us Samurai. There is more to honour than how one fights and kills.”

(Silence followed, indicating the assignment to retry the meditation.)

----- 

            Everything is urgent. I have to know if what Bones has told me is true. It is already bad that Jack’s syndicate was compromised. Even though the information leak has been sealed, the damage is done. Jack will need time to rebuild from it. According to what news I have caught in the time of the train ride, gang wars have broken out in the boroughs. Thanks to my destruction, traffickers south of River Numo have disbanded. They cannot get far if they have lost trust in Giffard or any of his remaining middlemen. Honestly, I hope Jack’s men take advantage of the chaos to reclaim what Giffard took from him.

Upon reaching Ventine, I can feel my heart pounding through my chest. I am so eager for the train to stop that I get up the second it starts slowing down. So, I have to press my hands against the opposite seat of the compartment when the engine comes to a brake. I remember to get my stuff before I dash out of the compartment and then the coach.

            It is just morning when I arrive at the Sanctuary of Mau-Re. There the serval is at the gate. As if he knew I was coming, he opens the barred door before I can request it. I look around with disbelief.

It did happen. Intruders were here, and the fight was bloody, for the severe damage on the pavement. There are lines where blood was spilt. Black spots along with cracks where dynamite exploded decorate the stone tiles. Pasht! I swear to her if Giffard’s men have taken her…

I run to the Grand Temple, where evidence of destruction has also scattered. The plants in the sand are charred and I can make out shards of glass, for which I see cats meticulously searching. Even the Grand Temple has taken damage at the front gates. Still carrying my baggage, I shove the pair of large doors open. Whoever is inside is startled by the sound. I look around. No damage; not even a dent or a scratch on the surfaces or the benches. I drop my bags, running to the altar. I also take off my mask in a hurry.

There she is, unharmed, along with most of the cubs living here. I pant as if I have forgotten how to breathe. How glad I am that the High Priestess and her daughter are unscathed.

I drop to my knees and bend over, facing the ground. I speak, “Forgive me, High Priestess. It was I who led the criminals here. Someone tailed me. I knew not until it was too late.”

The Mau reproaches, “Warriors are not meant to be ashamed.” I instinctively look up. Much to my surprise, she has a rifle in both hands, except it seems like the experimental weapons in which Jack invests. I close my eyes. My nose fools me not; I know her scent, and this cat carries it. Only those around whom she wraps her arms get it from her. I open my eyes, and she dares not point that infernal contraption at me or any of the cubs.

I ask, “Were any of you hurt?”

“Only the guards and agents were killed or injured.” Even now, she is calm, which I first learnt from her.

Straightening myself, I speak, “I will need to hear everything that happened here in my absence.”

The emerald-eyed silver cat undoes clips on her arm and carefully places the weapon on the floor. She speaks, “It is safe to head out, cubs.” Though reluctantly, the cubs clear out. Upon the last kitten, Ghaliya, departing, Pasht begins, “Your intuition serves you well; the men to invade these grounds worked for the Lowell House. The damage has not been fully assessed yet, but there were losses on both sides. The guards saw no time to leave one alive for interrogation. It was a matter of them or us.”

I ask, “How many of your people fell in battle?”

“Only five. Two were injured. The faction consisted of sixteen mercenaries, all paid in advance. The faction came in heavily armed, knowing what to do with their dynamite and their firearms. My quartermaster recognised their guns for those used by the military, which can only mean that the individuals did not buy them. Even their dynamite was potent. Each mercenary was local to Symphon.”

“So, how know you that Giffard gave them their contract?”

“I follow news about him as much as your friend MacNiadh. Only he could afford such strong wolves and dogs, both being bloodthirsty and having good aim.”

I look down, ears drooping. I utter with dread, “Knowing that they have not reported by now, Giffard knows of their failure. It will only drive him ter ‘ire more mercs.”

She exudes confidence, speaking, “Great Wolf, these grounds took nearly a decade to complete, most of the focus having been on this construct. The Sanctuary of Mau-Re has stood the tests of time and every dispute for over a century. A horde of contract killers under a crimelord’s orders will not be sufficient to demolish the foundation.”

I stand up slowly. How I wish to remain humbled in front of such an esteemed figure. If anyone, the statues should be of her. Pasht continues, “I made many foes over my years controlling the spy network and the militia. Nothing surprises me anymore.” I take her point, for I nod. If she can use an infernal firearm of energy that burns, I can imagine how she fights with only what nature gave her.

I ask, “Whot is more dangerous to a crime syndicate: one with nothing to lose, or one with someone to protect?”

Pasht looks at me as if she has just gone brain-dead. She answers, “Both are powerful enemies.” I turn around, disappointed. So, the High Priestess adds, “Mothers will do anything to protect their children, even kill. That is why my namesake goddess is revered.”

I look back, responding, “I always appreciate these talks.” Then, I head out the gate of the temple.

I go to the dining cabin, which is not damaged at all. Everyone is getting along fine, eating their dinner. However, I feel out of place. I am the one who brought the violence upon the Sanctuary. Even the kittens can sense how uneasy I am as I gather large helpings of the items laid out. One row comes off as quiet, and barely listening to the opposite row.

Where I sit is still at the same table where Themba sits. He speaks, “Hello, Sister.” I hum one syllable as a reply. So, Themba says, “You can tell me what bothers you.”

Not looking up, I respond monotonously, “You know fully damn well what bothers me right now.”

“Maybe I do, but they don’t.”

Finally, I look up from my plate, noting the leopard and cheetah sitting with him--his friends. I say, “Mau-Re has no reason to get directly involved with the Lowell House, but you did. And that wos my fault. I knew not until it wos too late.”

The cheetah objects, “You were not the one to shoot up the place and take out the guards.”

I retort, “They had families, no? There are people who will mourn them.”

Themba says, “You are giving yourself too much of a beating.”

I sigh, putting down my utensils and lowering my arms. “When I trained abroad, I learnt from mistakes in combat. With each mistake, I knew where I went wrong, so I could improve. This is no slit or grazing bullet; the damage is like… a broken limb.”

Themba asks, “And how will you learn from this mistake?”

I answer, “Right now, I wonder whom I can trust.”

“There is no question about it”, Themba reproaches. “Your friend, the arms dealer gave you the list. Based on the news in Highcond, you have not been wrong. I can see the latest headline already.” He is right. Jack is the one to thank for bringing me this far. Only three names remain. By then, Giffard will be drawn toward me. I will need a plan for that…

I spend the night at the Sanctuary. I wanted to let the cubs know that I will be there for them. So, I see how far Ghaliya has progressed in her sword fighting. She has learnt well how to handle a Naginata. She wants to learn martial arts, as well, but one thing at a time. Where I settle for the night is in the bed next to Themba. He and I have been close for as long as I can remember. I can only wish that we could have something.

----- 

            (Kashikoi, having observed my stillness and silence, said, “Good.” I was in the grandmasters’ temple with him for his meditation. I had thought long and hard. I knew my mistakes well, and I have honed my skills. He must be the one to tell me if I truly rely on the edge more than the blade to cut.

(He was there to watch the times Tsuyoi challenged me to overcome his traps. The day finally came when I made it through his bamboo spears and his hammer pendulums without getting hit or cut. I was the one to make the first move. I threw two jabs, as a feint, which he seemed to fall for.

(I was about to kick, as a further feint, only to withdraw and handspring backwards. That was followed by a lunge kick, and then a hook, which he blocked. With my opposite hand, I jabbed at his midsection. He backed from that before it could land. He grabbed my fist with one hand, and then wrenched my arm to the side. So, I leapt forwards, to slip from his grip—and to no avail. He punched me squarely in the nose, and this was his hard punch. My nostrils let blood out instantly.

(Tsuyoi still deliberately held back, keeping one arm bound. Every move that I could make, he countered or deflected. I let him keep his hold on me before I yanked my arm, catching him by surprise. That was when I finally hit him. I hooked him in the face, making him lose his grip on me. Now, my onslaught could begin. I delivered a flurry of jabs to his face, all of them landing.

(I was about to trip him with a leg sweep, but he backed up from it. Taking advantage of my surprise, Tsuyoi countered with a low blow, followed by a wind kick, landing in my chest. Now, he had the upper hand again. Tsuyoi performed his barrage of flails and kicks. It was for the damage he’d already done, I could barely keep up.

(I expected a pattern, but he kept changing it. I had a routine, which he could predict too easily. I barely managed to counter by grabbing his leg as he kicked, and then punched his jaw. Having the upper hand again, I performed open-palm blows to his chest, and then leapt, kicking straight twice. His muscles might as well be steel, for I cannot go for his chest and diaphragm without making my knuckles bruise.

(So, we continued our power struggle, enduring what pain we could inflict upon one another. I already knew when he seemed to start winning again that I had beaten my record. Five times, we both topped each other in feats of attack and defence. Having kept up with his feat of strength, he got hot, not that it mattered as he wore no shirt. Even still, I held my own against him as if he were the wolf from years earlier. I flip kicked and spin-kicked, followed by chops and open-palm blows.

(Tsuyoi countered my last blow with the heel of my hand by grabbing my arm and twisting it. This time, I elbowed him. He lost his grip instantly—which turned out to be a feint. We tackled each other to the ground, expecting to hold our opponent in a death grip. As he anticipated that, he resisted well, but we were both on the stone floor.

(As I realised how much I needed to breathe and how fast my heart beat, fatigue got to me—but there was something else. Tsuyoi did not get up. Is this the only to defeat the best in their field of expertise?

(Both Kashikoi and Tsuyoi were surprised by how this heavy spar ended. Both Tsuyoi and I were convinced that we were in a condition to meditate, but Kashikoi insisted that it waited until we got cleaned up.

(After a good wash in the hot springs, I returned to grandmasters’ temple. I expected a lecture from Kashikoi as Tsuyoi was a man of few words. But it was not like that. He only wanted us to meditate. That night, I reflected on what pride could do to you. I was glad that I did not indeed win; I merely appreciated that I had taken such opportunities presented to me.)

----- 

            In the morning, after having eaten breakfast, I reminisce again upon looking at what small mementoes I keep in my store. I expect that the High Priestess considers me vain, for seeking the symbolism of the trinkets. Only two items I own are not trinkets to me: the hung-up Katana and the Naginata in the corner. They are more than artefacts; they are reminders of where I trained. I reach into the corner, to pick up the two-metre-long spiked staff. I pull the scabbard from the blade as if it is delicate. I read the etches on the side. Words of a martyr to become words of wisdom.

I gather the armour pieces, which have been mended, from the forge. Given the circumstances, I need everything that I can work with.

“Almughadrat krybana?”, a familiar voice asks. There she is, the young cat, having followed me to the front gate.

I answer, “I have to.”

Ghaliya objects, “But what if there is another attack here? I know I cannot take the invaders.”

“It cannot be as soon if the Lowell House knows where I am headed.”

Ghaliya tugs at my legging, pleading, “I thought I lost you after Crowsridge, Big Sister.”

I sigh. “’Tis better if the guns are aimed at me than at your mother.” The Mau looks like she could cry as she thinks hard to continue convincing me to stay. “I can draw the Lowell House away just by moving. That will give you and the rest of the cubs time to recover. I promise, I will come back.”

Reluctantly, she lets go of my legging and moves aside. She quietly watches me depart.

As the ride from Ventine to Highcond is several hours, it is almost dinner time when I arrive in the city. So, I get something to eat before I continue my business. I make sure that no one will take the carriage I use in the meantime. I intend not to keep hauling my baggage during my visits to the markets and the pub.

Taking no chances, I sneak into a familiar place, lifting a back window. I let it fall. The office is unoccupied by the one I expect is there. So, I stand in wait.

An hour later, when the sun begins to set, he arrives: the arctic fox with the eyepatch. How long it has been. He glares at me as I stand next to his desk, arms folded, clad in my blue suit and brown vest, but not my golden mask. He knows the visage behind the mask.

He orates, “Has yer trust in me waned far enough fer you ta break into my office?” Jack approaches, raising a finger. “Whatever your intentions are, Death, they better not be interference in my operations. Once you make an enemy of Seàn MacNiadh, yeh sign yer own warrant of execution.”

Maintaining my composure, I say plainly, “I uncovered the traitor in your ring. You should ‘ave known already it was yer right-hand, Bones. He is dead now. Fodder for my friend.”

He quickly lifts his arms and slumps them back to his sides. “Great. One less problem to deal with.” He heads to the counter next to the side window. As he takes a glass and pours whiskey from a bottle, he speaks, “A fox can trust a fox, but Bones proved otherwise. Pity I didn’t get ta confront ‘im meself.” Right now, Jack is as cold toward me as I am to other criminals. He turns to me, glass in hand and takes a swig. Jack continues, “So, what now, Death? Come to say it’s my time?”

I answer, “Of the two biggest crimelords in Highcond, you are the lesser of two evils.”

“Thanks, Lady Death. But I thought Death has no favouritism.”

I have no reproach to that. Instead, I say, “My next aim is toward the Heart of Highcond.”

He pauses, and then takes another swig of his whiskey. On his next pause, he looks as if the alcohol nudges him to contemplate his next words. He says, “You may not believe me, but if you seek leverage and evidence of corruption seeding and sprouting where I claim, I recommend you check the archives.”

“Now, what makes you think I believe you not?”

He gulps the rest of the contents of his glass. He returns to the counter with his alcohol, to refill his glass. Upon re-approaching me, he speaks, “When one’s duty is on the ship of a sailor, let alone the navy, trust is to be earned, but not demanded. That is the first thing I learned when I began serving on a ship. I also realised what a captain feared: mutiny. A ship has a chance of falling to corruption. Whether the captain is clueless, whether the captain is abusive, or whether the captain is impossible to trust, such a thing ends as such.

“I worked me hardest to have me crew invest faith in me. I know how the vessel works; I know how many crew members as well as gunners are needed aboard a ship. However, there is also the idea of who is higher than the captain. Those of the lower ranks always accuse the captain of failures when the vessel takes damage and when crew members die. But every sailor does their best out there.”

Somehow, Jack has made this about himself, but he draws from experience, young as both of us are. He is but two years my senior. He gulps his whiskey and rasps. I say, “It is only because we’ve the same enemy, we are still friends. I would hate to kill you. I would wager you can know someone for years, only to realise that they are something you hate.”

Jack replies, “I heard how someone under Giffard’s contract captured you, and how you outsmarted him and ‘is right-hand. I would love to hear that another time, the deadliest chancer I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

I lower my arms, saying, “Seàn… You have done me wonders, even now. But I fret that there is more than one traitor in your close circle.”

“I understand, Lady Death”, he responds, ears drooping. “I just hope you do well where your mission takes you.”

“Be seein’ yeh soon, Jack”, I say, pulling out and donning my golden mask.

He speaks, “Best of Symphon”, as I climb out his window.

----- 

            (I had made a vow to myself. I had decided that after I was to best Tsuyoi, I would read my mother’s book. The fight had ended in a draw, but I decided that I was ready. Only one person other than him knew about this. I sat with her during tea, the day after Tsuyoi’s trial. I held the tattered book in front of her. I said plainly, “Koseiki.” She knew what I meant, for I had told her that I wanted help to get through my mother’s agonising story.

(So, that night, after dinner, she and I were in the library at a table. We made sure that nobody was in hearing range of her or me. Kana did not know perfect Symphonian, at least at the time, not that I minded. I opened the book for the first time in years. The pages were grey, but they were not fragile.

(I got past the first page without breaking down, but it made me feel sick. What she compared to a curse was the outstanding debt that shouldn’t have existed. My mother’s parents were humble people—farmers from the Countryside. Due to illnesses that were already nothing new, they had to pay a heap of money for such expenses.

(My grandparents saw no choice but to apply for loans for their equipment as well as medicine and sustenance. Of the people to loan to them, one deal was too good to be true. Their financier was a young adult she-wolf of an esteemed house, betrothed to another aristo at the time. It was a scheme common among swindlers: she had provided them with the money needed for their expenses, but charged them double what she loaned. When that could not be paid, my grandmother was taken from my grandfather.

(My mother was born in the camp where my grandmother laboured, only to fail to work off the “debt”, which became my mother’s burden. I read through many gruesome events that she witnessed as a cub. She saw the men fight over who would get the larger portion of food and the women endure emotional and physical abuse. My mother knew the name of her captor, for she had listened to Rodica before. My mother and grandmother knew of two other wolves that watched them and the rest of the labourers in making drugs, explosives, and bullets.

(When my mother was fourteen, there was talk of who she could be betrothed to. She lost her virginity when she was fourteen, and then got more from the men. After the same man shagged her several times, to deal with their frustration, she started a rumour about herself, putting the other men off. My mother knew that she could not resist forever. Hence, the lies.

(There was talk of one guard that seemed to fancy her. She was able to confirm it. She claimed that she was carrying a child of rape to make the other women pity her. Whilst I was in her womb, she met a young Giffard. He was there with his father, who wanted his say for a step-mother. His father saw something in my mother, and Giffard saw an opportunity. They both knew how much my mother would hate such a family. Despite different intentions, they agreed. That was when my mother planned her escape.

(While the machines were sabotaged and opium would go up in smoke, my mother fled, along with my birth father. They could not get too far without being hunted. She put in a story of how they moved from place to place, sticking to the slums of the city. Eventually, the house’s bounty hunters caught up. My mother and father split up and she never saw him again.)

(It was when I read what happened to my birth father, I was in tears. Thankfully, Kana was there to offer comfort. I could not have got through the stories without her holding my hand. Relaying the journey in words that she could understand would have been painful to me, but Kana came off as already knowing what I had just finished reading after a week. I’d had to stop and return. So, I finally learned the truth about where I came from. My family was only one of many families that had been destroyed by wealthy people wanting more wealth.)

----- 

            “Wilbur Hines. Bloodhound. On the Bank of Symphon payroll. Coming from a house of elitists, Hines found work in one of the most essential banks in the world. He has been named financier and accountant by his many clients, also from elite houses. However, he favours the House of Lowell. He keeps records, discrepancies of which other bankers protested, only to be reported missing. Like Giffard, Hines yearns for power, and will make sure that his biggest client will be above other aristocrats for years to come. The Bank of Symphon has a maze-like vault for gold and bills. But surely, you are uninterested in robbing a bank.”

That is in Jack’s notes to me. I still trust his written words. Over the two days of staying in the Heart of Highcond, I have seen for myself how serious things have become. Giffard’s bounty on my head has increased further, which I have heard at a fight club. If that is not enough, I have seen many canines wandering, flaunting rifles and semi-automatics like peacock feathers. I have not spotted Vadimir among them, and he stands out like I.

With night now upon us, I don my royal violet jacket and slacks. I close my jacket, to fasten the clip of my chest guard. To it, I attach the epaulettes. I strap the greaves to my boots, and then fasten my gauntlets. I open and close my hands, turning my arms upon tightening the buckles enough. Now, I have a complete armour set. I scowl. I am ready for our next encounter, Vadimir. I just know that he will follow me. There is no way even a merc can steal from a crimelord and get away with it. This gives me an idea, but right now, I am heading for the bank.

----- 

            History was never my strong suit. But by my impressions, banking has been with Symphon and her neighbouring countries since the time of the first royal family to mandate taxes. Centuries later, we are still that way. Every commoner is a peasant eking by, being drained of their needs. The nobles and business owners are charged not a penny. If only taxes could be abolished, nobody would be on the street, penniless.

Time I pay more attention to the bank. Jack is right to expect that I would check the archives of the Bank of Symphon. I climb down from a window on the second level, in the construct’s east wing. I listen carefully, angling and bending my ears. I also sniff thoroughly from where I am. No fresh fumes. Still, there could be operational security. Who has not attempted to rob a vault at night?

I am in the correct wing, but these are not the kinds of records that I seek. So, I stand up straight. Now, my armour gleams in the moonlight. I amble. As much as the rug muffles my footsteps, my greaves’ toe points are like claws. In the next chamber, there is, indeed, someone idling. A dog in a grey-blue tunic and trousers sits in a chair, reading a book, a lantern next to him. I slowly walk past him, to the other side of the room. The moonlight does not reach here, but the lampposts outside provide minimal light at the windows. So, I climb up the ladder, to the upper level. That makes him look up from the book, but he goes back to his reading. I leap to the spaces between each window. The sound will give me away if the guard’s eyes miss my figure. After the third leap, I hear the dog get up from his chair. That is when I make haste.

To make sure, I stand at the threshold of the next chamber, preparing to punch. However, he does not come this way. Instead, he goes back. I have no choice but to exit this chamber the way I came, or on the ground level. I choose the latter. I listen for any other activity, and somebody is bustling about below, but only looking around. I hear only the lamps hinges squeaking as the guard beneath my position walks casually. I climb down from the railing and drop to the carpeted floor, but not without a thud. I slowly back up as I have the guard’s attention. I want no fight here and now. These dogs are civilians, unlike whomever Giffard’s people recruit.

I leap backwards, reaching the doorway before the dog has me in his sights. I make it to the mass office where I need to be. I can see in the dark. The files are so vast that seeking information on one name is near-impossible.

Until tonight. After searching thoroughly for the records on clients whose surnames start with “L”, I pick up a book on Giffard. His connections are listed in a short table of contents, most of them being my victims. I note the Derrickson siblings, the Samuels brothers, and the Tirrell sisters. I lift other books on Hinds’s other clients. Reading each transaction and direct payment to Hinds carefully, in as much darkness as there can be, I compare what could be inconsistent. I assume Hinds’s other clients to be business owners, and legitimate at that.

I lose track of time on how long I spend comparing deposits and withdrawals, until I hear rapping on a window behind me. Michi! I look in front of me, expecting that someone else has heard him, too. My friend is correct that I have long overstayed my welcome. So, I hastily write on a blank page, addresses of Hinds’s clients. I take that and the books with me to a window that I open and climb through. I run far from the property before a guard could alert the rest of what could has just been stolen.

----- 

            During and after breakfast, I continue comparing the records, and finally note the discrepancies. Unless those clients withdrew their funds themselves, someone has been taking advantage of them. It cannot be a coincidence that on the same days, someone makes a withdrawal and Giffard’s account gains a deposit of the same amount.

However, I might have found evidence of another shady deal. On a regular basis, at least since I destroyed the brothel in Roseberg, Giffard has been making a transaction with an unnamed receiver. Is that it? Giffard’s empire thrives on trafficking? Why else would he be so desperate that he has increased my bounty to ten thousand pounds? Based on Jack’s list, there is but one lead trafficker left, but Hinds is the priority as long as I am in the Heart of Highcond.

----- 

            (When I was to meditate alongside the grandmasters, I brought my mother’s book with me. I presented it, and Tsuyoi shot, what seemed to be a scowl, to Kashikoi. The blue wolf casually nodded. I sat down, legs folded in front of the two men of influence. I said, “I know the truth now.”

(Kashikoi was the one to ask, “And what did you learn?”

(I answered, “My mother was one of thousands of victims to a crime clan.” I went into explanation of what she had to endure, following her escape. I finished, “Their son tracked my mother to our home, the worst borough of slums. He shot my mother, and then my step-father…” I could not bring myself to speak of my regret about him.

(Tsuyoi inquired, “Is your intention still to avenge them?”

(I answered, eyes glassy, “I thought that I would intend only to kill him, the wolf as different from other wolves as I am, but I realised why this was the best place to train. What he does—what his family did—is bigger than one orphan’s revenge.”

(Kashikoi stated, “There is not only one way of the Samurai. Every Samurai house has their own rules.”

(I looked at the blue wolf, and then the red wolf. “My place is in Highcond. My mission is to take down an empire. My intention… is to bring demise to those who deserve it. I must become… a symbol of… what you call Shinigami.”

(The blue wolf and red wolf looked at each other, curious. They had seen me grow, but they never considered me religious. Everything is symbolic. It is what we Symphonites do.

(I continued, “But the face of death cannot be the natural appearance of a wolf. Even a grey wolf with amber eyes is not what anyone expects of one calling themselves Death.”

(Kashikoi, as if he understood, suggested, “Many warriors built their reputation on creating legends. The stories told by their comrades and the ones they protected speak of the skills. If appearance, such an aspect is inconsistent. Samurai would wear helms and masks in addition to their armour.” I did not respond to that; he already knew the answer to his own question.

(Tsuyoi knew it, too, for he interjected, “It is customary among the Tamashi Kadorikyo to fulfil a request of disciples from abroad. Such request of yours will be granted.”)

(Two days later, the grandmasters accompanied me at the swordsmith’s forge. The seamstress was there, too, to make thorough measurements for him. I watched the smith, craft what I requested. I watched as he shaped a plate of a gold alloy. Pure gold is soft, but it is still heavy. To ensure carrying less weight, the gold was fused with copper and nickel. It took hours, but the leopard’s work fascinated me.

(He showed no sign of stopping, even at the most arduous steps of making my defining piece. To fit the theatre of Symphon, he added a little decorative pattern. After cooling the shaped gold plate, he etched his signature in.

(When I picked that item up for the first time, I stared at it as if looking at my reflection. The look with the mask was meant to be the real me.)

----- 

            On the way to the address of the unknown client, I find something that needs my attention. From the rooftop of the house where I am, I spot him—Vadimir. I stay behind the metal chimneys as I keep my eyes on the red-eyed black wolf. He just stands there, talking. I am not behind cover for long. He is presenting a box to a dog in a grey tunic and trousers. I hold back on howling an order to Michi, for that would give me away.

Undoubtedly, the mercenary has more of a reason to be in the Heart than to task a stranger with delivering a package. How astounding. I take that mercenary for a man with nothing to lose. The second the mercenary moves past the messenger, I retreat behind the chimneys. I wait until he is out of range.

The dog in uniform is the man of interest right now, for he could bring me to a place of interest. I see him carry the box with both arms to a nearby carriage. “Michi”, I say plainly. He hovers next to me a second later. I point to the carriage and add, “Karu shitugai.” My raven friend quickly complies. I can find my own way when Michi returns to me.

            When I am at the right address, I cannot believe it. The place is a brewery. At least, it once was. After its foreclosure due to the foreman’s demise, the place construct has been empty, available only for rent. Or so someone such as Giffard wants us to think. I scowl at the thought of him. There is no sign of activity. At its front gate, there is a sign saying, “Vandalism on this property will be met with a high penalty.” If it merely says, “No trespassing”, the police, the officials, and the bank would suspect something. Whomever Giffard wants no one to know owns the property is an individual client. Entering through here looks too easy, even if I just pick the lock keeping the chain on the handles. I head to the side of the building. There has to be an alternate entrance.

I scale the brick wall. The windows are too clouded with dust, as if to keep up with the ruse. Upon reaching the roof, there is an open doorway to the front tower. I go through that door—

And the stenches force their ways to my nostrils. Something is decaying, if not a corpse. The smoke of coals indicates the activity. Furthermore, the fumes of tobacco, various boozes, and metals suggest that there are frequent visits. What fucking berks, thinking that the place is nothing. Only because of the warning sign, it has taken no damage outside.

I carefully walk down the stairs, making minimal sound with my boots on the floorboards. I draw my Khopeshes as I reach the next doorway at the start of the stairs. The stenches come off as more pungent than before. I look down at the planks of the floor where I am. The wood is ridden with splotches of mould. That must be the source of decay. From the fragile walkway, I look down at what should be the workspace. Instead of labourers, the area is filled with crates as well as stacks of money.

So, this is it. Whoever is here right now, guarding Giffard’s merchandise and money, must not leave here alive. I climb down from the railing, Khopeshes in my hands. I hear murmuring, and make out, “I thought nobody ‘ere wos suspicious.” I climb up the crates, utilising the hooks of my Khopeshes. It is my best hope as I hear someone coming from three directions.

My hunch is correct. These people are petty thugs, but without a doubt promised a king’s ransom for this. I can tell by their tattered blazers. Their pistols must have been supplied by Giffard, too. I leap from the top of the crates, blades out. Both men I aim for are stabbed between their ribs. I yank the blades out, and the men fall. I spin the blades, slashing a dog’s forearm, and then cutting across his midsection, making blood spill out. With both Khopeshes, I slash across his chest, breaking his ribs.

“Whot’s oll”- The male voice does not finish the question, for he already knows, and he pulls out a rifle. I leap to my left before he fires. However, a bullet does not go at that second. Instead, a second later, the rifle fires. The shot lands right behind me. Whatever is there has to have stopped it. He says, “Don’ expect me ta just wait fer my death, goin’ there.” Two other pairs of footsteps run toward me. Staying here will only get me closer to being killed. I dash from my cover to another stack of crates.

I intercept the pair of dogs from there. Both of them are well-dressed and well-groomed. One of them barks, “’Tis her!” They pull out their semi-automatics, but I am quick enough to body slam them before seeing if the armour still holds. I disarm them, taking their pistols with my blades’ hooks.

I need to be a hard target for that rifleman. With the pistols out of their reach, the two dogs draw sabres from their canes. I perform a feint on each of them.

Before I can follow that up, they strike at the same time, first with their sabres and then canes. The dogs parry my next attack and perform unison counters, which I barely deflect. All the while, the rifleman is patient to pull his trigger.

I remember to use my body. I spin kick as a feint, and then turn again with my arms stretched out. That gets the two mercs off-guard. I swipe across with my left Khopesh, and then on an angle with my right. Those blows land. Based on their reactions, I give them each a slit. With a scissor motion, I catch their canes as I expect them to deflect. However, before they can complete their counter, I spin around with a snarl. Back turned, I shove them back. I face them again. With a reverse-scissor motion, I slash at their legs. I kick the dog on my left in the midsection, where he has been wounded, and then perform two slashes nearly simultaneously on the same angle.

As the dog on my left recovers, I stab him with both Khopeshes, and then shove him aside, to the rifleman. Finally, he shoots, and stumbles. I slash with both my Khopeshes, separating his head from his neck. I focus on the remaining mercenary. I leap toward him, the hilts of my Khopeshes touching, and cut at each arm. Then, I perform a scissor motion, followed by a reverse-scissor motion. He stumbles backwards, and lays on the floor, cut in half. I sigh. Things will only get more complicated.

Now, to continue with my plan. I open the side door, where carts are parked when making deliveries. I look back. How should I do this? Among the carriages, there is one with an open cart, the horses looking as if they could care less about who approaches them. If money is not the real reason to commit crime and enjoying chaos is not the reason to be a gangster, the criminals are wasting their lives. Giffard and his parents stole thousands of people’s dreams. It is time someone steals back from him.

I empty one crate of automatic rifles and fill it with as many wads as possible among what he has been stockpiling. I estimate a hundred thousand quid. Based on how much has piled up, Giffard has two million quid here. The rest can go up in smoke, like his weapons.

After opening all wooden boxes and scattering their contents about, pick up one of the bombs. Both grenades and dynamite sticks are among the guns. To help with the fire, I splash around what oil is in the inactive lamps. Then, I pull the pin from the one grenade I took. I toss it casually, and then mount the open-carted carriage. However, I idle, watching the fire spread with the explosions. The powder in the rifles burst, the bills scatter in the air, and the chain of explosions follows. Then, I whip the reins, the mares heeding the physical command.

I park the carriage a few blocks away from where I have rented a room, and go the rest of the trip on foot, having changed into my grey pinstripe suit. In the apartment, I count up the bills, and I am correct. I really have filched from Giffard one hundred thousand pounds. I take a note of that, for the next stage of my plan. In the meantime, I hear the familiar rhythm with the rapping on the window.

Michi. I smile at the sight of him. I assume that he was fast and has been waiting for me. So, I change into my violet suit, complete with the armour, and climb out that window. This time, I take to the rooftops and stay the method. I cannot take chances with the mercs in the city.

Where my raven friend guides me, from the street affront of the Woundwort Tower—where the Heart’s foundation began—is all the way to the south edge. Down there is a living neighbourhood, but also a bad one. Affected by the pollution, the community to the eastern station, is a slum. How I despise treading shingled rooves.

But this is the place. My raven friend never lies to me, for he always shows. He perches near me as I observe the lacking activity. The wooden houses, equivalent to beaten statues on display, are shabby. Though the shingles where I am hold, the chimney is blocked, and the edges of the roof look slippery. A few cubs are near the house affront of my location, fishing rods in hands, letting their feet dangle from the edge. I find another pair of cubs jogging, looking as if they have been working at a factory. How I feel for them.

I tread to the house next to me, this one having floorboards on the roof. I am thankful for that. Peculiarly, the doorways that I see on other houses are open, but the windows have been boarded up. On further exploration, as I leap from roof to roof, there are only cubs, no older than fourteen by the looks of them. They all wear work clothes: trousers with suspenders, bandanas on their necks, and the shirts worn by few I can tell are tattered and smudged. The oldest of the cubs, I find sparring, but making no bets.

What they assume is my entrance startles the ones that watch me climb down a boarded house. Instinctively, a wolf cub pulls out a revolver, aiming high with both hands, but the barrel angled slightly downward. The wolf cub, who I assume is eleven, has a teal pelt and sports no more than a pair of ragged striped trousers. He says plainly, “Don’t move.” Now, why would a cub pick a fight with a grown-up? He adds, “State your business.”

I reply, “A man of my interest had a package sent ta this district. If I knew only cubs live ‘ere, I would never come for a fight.”

He barks, “Don’ flog bollocks!” So, he is very sceptic.

I retort calmly, “All I want to know is whot makes the residents of this area significant to a merc.”

“Yeh’ve no time ta question anyone ‘ere.”

I play on how tough the sea-like wolf cub is. I state, “My enemies are common criminals. You are neither thief nor killer.”

He snaps, “I will kill if I hafta!”

“Yer ‘ave a big brother, no? Whot would he say about killing someone without cause?” This makes his eyes waver, and his feet shift. I add, “Please, put the gun down before y-strain yerself.”

After a pause, the cub lowers his arms, looking sombre. His ears bend and his hackles seem to lower. He asks, “Want you to confer with me brother? He owns these properties—oll of them.”

I hold out my left arm, my hand flat. I answer, “If it is no bother.” The teal cub uses a lot of effort to push the hammer of the revolver. Then, he indicates with his muzzle where I should follow him. I do so after he walks by me, past the canal where boats idle.

In an open doorway of a house, tells me where this particular wolf is. The teal cub calls, “Shady! Somebody here ta see yeh!”

The interior of the living room looks not so shabby, for the floorboards and wooden walls are as clean as they can be. The carpet and the fabric-covered chairs look relatively new, having no tears or signs of fading. At a desk is where a grey wolf sits, busy with notes.

He has a dark-grey pelt and orange eyes. He is shirtless, showing lines of muscle and a pale-grey underbelly. A blazer hangs over the chair’s back. He looks up, eyes narrow. He speaks, “Y-weren’t lookin’ fer trouble with the vigilante, were you, Abram?” Silence. The dark-grey wolf continues, “Please leave the gun; I keep sayin’, yeh’re not ready fer one.”

The cub reluctantly departs, complying with the grey wolf. I speak, “Are you really his brother?”

He stands up, speaking, “No, but everyone here thinks of me as a brother.” He is shorter than me, which is odd, even though he is clearly younger than me. Approaching me, he holds out his right arm, adding, “My friends call me Shady.” I accept the handshake.

“So, what know you of Lady Death?”

He answers, “More than you think.”