NIGHTWORLD

11: See No Evil

Jaro jerked himself awake, a cry dying in his throat as his mind was violently dragged from mindless dreaming to waking nightmare. Pain shot through his nerves. His arms were numb, no – they were aching, refusing to obey him. That bitter cold of the Nightworld plains bit at his ears and nose, and even as he tried to thrash some movement into his body, he felt the cloying confines of his sleeping bag wrapping about him like a fly in a web. 

“F-fu… Errr…" He groaned through the cotton in his mouth, looking down at the formless silhouette of his body, aiming sleep-riddled eyes at where he thought his paws should be. Pulling them close to his chest, he let out a small whimper, realising they were both shaking and numb, a painful dance of tingles rippling across each finger and wrist. 

“W-what the f-fuck is this?" He cried, trying to push himself up and finding his arms were barely responsive. He managed to thrash halfway off his roll mat before his body gave way beneath him, throwing him down into the freezing dirt of the woods. He blinked some more, huffing as he struggled to get his bearings and remember where they were. It had been a day or two (maybe three?) since Ashani's massacre at Cujac, they'd been… travelling, right? 

Why weren't his arms working? Was it the parasite? Had something bitten him in the night? He tried to keep from hyperventilating, crawling further from his rollmat, each move dragging more of the sleeping bag off him. Had to get some warmth into his body, fire his muscles up. 

He flopped onto his back, trembling paws still held close, staring up the paling sky. Only a few hours to dawn, by the colour. Trees stretched overhead, like withered claws holding him down. He couldn't breathe. The numbness was growing by the second, the pins and needles of his arms slowly creeping further up towards his shoulders. 

“H…help me…" He rasped, struggling to catch his breath, his throat so dry even swallowing felt raw and painful. His tongue felt swollen, too big for his mouth, the sharp tang of metal riding across his taste buds. 

“Jaro?" A voice, somewhere in the dark, concerned. He heard the sound of ruffling, someone grabbing at his rollmat. “Is that you? Where are you?" Jaro tried to answer, but nothing but a thin wheeze escaped his lips. How far had he crawled? A second later Jaro heard the sudden crack of a glowstick, and neon red light suddenly blinded him. 

“Why… Are you alright?" 

Blinking through the haze, Jaro struggled to focus, deliberately slowing his body down and studying the figure. Kristian. It was Kristian. The marten wore a canvas coat and had his glasses barely hanging to his head, a look of concern etched into his narrow features. 

“I… m-my paws… they can't…" Jaro held them up, his fingers reflexively clenching and opening. “Can't stop." 

“Oh dear. Hold on." Before he could say anything more, Kristian had vanished, plunging Jaro back into darkness. The wolf only laid there, closing his eyes and trying to breathe. He ignored the pain in his arms, the stinging numbness, and instead did his best to focus on getting one good breath in. 

He couldn't. His chest was tight, and he could only half-fill his lungs if he was lucky. 

I'm gonna die out here, in the mud and the cold. 

A moment later Kristian returned, laying out his toolkit and removing two large syringes. The first he drew up from a small vial, flicking it once before holding down Jaro's arm with one knee, and pushing the syringe deftly into a vein. “Hope that's the right spot," he muttered, ignoring Jaro's hiss of pain. The marten quickly discarded the needle, brandishing the next. This one looked more like an epipen, and Kristian quickly tugged Jaro's pants down and rammed it into the flesh of his thigh.

It took less than ten seconds to hit.

Jaro felt like he'd been struck by lightning, a sudden rush punching at his chest as he was yanked upright, mouth falling open as he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs in great heaving pants. He put a shuddering paw on his chest, feeling his heart race inside. 

Relief flooded through his panicked body as he could finally breathe, and he felt his mind racing like a horse bolted from the stable. 

“What the fuck was that?" He gasped, looking at Kristian with wide eyes. 

The marten zipped up his toolkit. “That was epinephrine, adrenaline, to get you breathing and moving again. The first was… er, a bit more experimental. An aggressive chelation shot. It binds to trace mercury in your bloodstream, helping it to pass. Hopefully it will keep these symptoms at bay." 

Jaro nodded, still feeling like he could run a thousand miles. It was nauseating and intoxicating all at once. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth, still feeling dry, dehydrated. His teeth ached in his jaw, and a painful stabbing sensation bristled behind his eyes. “This is from the Hellsing serum, then?" 

Kristian shrugged. “You felt numbness, short of breath, blurred vision?" 

“Check, check, and check." 

The marten nodded. “Then yes, I think it must be so." He hesitated, as if embarrassed. “Mercury poisoning is lethal, Jaro. I think you should stop the treatments, we haven't spent enough time refining the serum, clearly it is still too toxic. I'm also unsure if it's even working."

Jaro shook his head, thinking back to Cujac. To the Deadlands. To the Godhead's Lament. His mind played an endless reel of those desiccated bodies left in the Lady's manor. 

“The alternative is worse." He rubbed at his chest, feeling a deep sense of unease there. A leech lived inside him, slowly feeding off of everything that made him good. Turning him into a monster. He poked a finger into his mouth, half-searching for any sign of fangs. “And I'm not one of them yet. Better to die first." 

“We don't know that vampirism isn't reversible." 

Jaro only stared back at him, until eventually Kristian looked away.

An awkward realisation crossed through Jaro as he pulled his pants back up. They'd never spoken about what happened at Chevron's hut. Kristian's sheath, exposed and hard, deep in Jaro's maw. It had been a flash in the pan, an impulsive decision, and by the next morning it seemed neither felt right broaching it. 

“Hey… Kristian I…" Jaro began, clearing his throat. “Thank you, for your help. I'm glad you're here. This place, man, it's absolutely insane. And Kadir, Isla? I think those guys are just insane enough to match it. I'd be dead without you."

Or worse. 

Kristian smiled wanly in the dim light, the red glow bouncing around his features. “I am glad you say that. A part of me feels guilty for treating you like an experiment – this entire experiment is completely unethical. But I enjoy you as a person as well." 

Jaro felt his ears go hot as he nodded slowly. 

“Erm… you aren't regretting the…" the marten trailed off, shrugging. Jaro caught Kristian's eyes dart down towards his waist. 

“Oh, um, that." Jaro breathed deep, his chest throbbing with energy. His sheath stirred just thinking about it. I feel like I'm going insane. How can you be turned on, in a place like this?

“No, I don't regret it." 

They both swallowed, eyes refusing to meet. 

“But?" Kristian asked. 

Jaro laughed awkwardly, massaging the feeling back into his paws. “It's not like that."

“But there is a but, yes?" 

“I… yes. I don't regret it, but I felt a bit guilty, I guess. It was impulsive, I didn't mean to make things uncomfortable." 

Damn but Jaro's throat was dry. He kept swallowing over and over, trying to build up some kind of moisture. 

Kristian sniffed, looking away. “It didn't make me uncomfortable, Jaro. You should not worry." The tension played at Jaro's stomach, a little exciting, a little terrifying. It reminded him of those first few nights spent with Boz. 

The marten glanced across, a slight grin on his lips. “I liked it. I've never done that before but… it felt good. Far from uncomfortable."  

Jaro's breath caught in his throat. Suddenly all he could think about was Boz. Africa.

He's different. This is different. He looked at Kristian again. His skittish smile, those awkward, twitching eyes. Even the way that he looked at things – through all the insanity and violence of Nightworld, Kristian saw only something that needed to be understood. He seemed kinda young, naive almost, but in a pleasant way. He's completely different. Boz was confident, almost aggressively charismatic. Boz lit up a whole room and had everyone looking at him. Kristian waited in the background, only speaking if he had something worth saying.

But was this real? Jaro was wary of finding comfort for comfort's sake. After everything that happened with Boz… He said it himself, he only sees you like a lab rat. You're interesting to him because of what's happened to you. What you're feeling now? That's just the collective trauma. This is not real, and you know it.

Before he could think any further, he was leaning in, their lips touching. Jaro pushed his paw onto Kristian's chest, digging his fingers in as they kissed. The marten was awkward, uncomfortably probing his tongue forward, but neither of them really cared, grunting softly into one another's muzzles. It lasted only a few brief seconds, and then they broke apart, Jaro's tail wagging gently. 

Kristian looked like he'd been slapped. “I, er, um…" 

“Sorry," Jaro said. “I didn't mean to take you by surprise." 

“I've never done this before. I've never done anything like this before."

“Oh, you mean… like, nothing at all?" 

Kristian shook his head, licking his lips, as if he were testing them. “No. My family, they don't…" He just shrugged again. “I spent my whole life studying, and then I was brought into Isla and Fyodor's team. I suppose I just never had the time to… er, consider… this sort of thing." 

“And?" 

“What do you mean, and?" 

Jaro laughed. “And how do you feel about it now, having tried it out?" 

The marten looked away bashfully. 

“This isn't a test, Kristian, you can't fail it. How old are you?" Jaro added, laughing harder. “You're like a blushing schoolgirl." 

“I am twenty-seven!" The marten insisted, bristling. “And I'm a scientist, not a schoolgirl. This is just new to me. No shame in that." 

“If you say so." 

“I do." He paused, considering. “I think this feels good. Although, Jaro, you need to understand–"

A new voice interrupted them. “You two are awake?" 

Jaro looked across himself to see Devna approaching, her sniper rifle slung loose over one shoulder. If the snow leopard thought it was weird to find the two of them sitting on the grass by the light of a single red glow stick, her expression didn't show it. 

“What are you doing?" She cocked her head. 

“Oh, nothing," Kristian said quickly, pushing to his feet. He offered Jaro a paw, helping him up. Now the wolf was on two feet, he saw the pre-dawn shadows were long gone, and the pale morning light was beginning to show its face. 

“What do you need, Devna?" Jaro asked, trying not to feel embarrassed as he adjusted the hard on in his pants. “It's barely dawn."

“Kadir wants everyone up by the crest in five," she said. “We are going into Barda." 

“Tell Kadir we're coming," Kristian said, and the snow leopard turned to leave. 

Jaro watched her go, before turning sheepishly back to Kristian. In the light of the morning, suddenly their little moment felt foolish, almost dreamlike. He could even believe he'd imagined the entire thing.

“Look, Jaro…" Kristian stepped closer, his voice dropping slightly. Closer into the centre of the team's camp, voices were starting to sound out as people woke up hungry, Kadir angrily corralling them towards his lookout. “I do not know what is going to happen next, but I doubt it will be good. Why don't we both just let ourselves enjoy what has transpired, and we can discuss it further later?"

You'd be foolish to think he'd have real feelings for you. 

Jaro inhaled deeply through his nose, looking down at his paw. It had stopped shaking, but was still a bit sore. “Yeah. Alright." 

“You won't tell the others?" 

A secret then, really does remind me of Boz. 

“Of course. Just between us." 

He's embarrassed by you.

The two of them shared another terse smile, before heading up towards where Kadir was camped out. 

They'd approached the copse under darkness the night before, so as they reached the edge of the wooded rise, Jaro's jaw fell as he finally got a proper look at the Wallachian plains below. 

Clearly Barda was nothing like Cujac.

Where Cujac was a small and peaceful village built over a river, Barda was a wide and ugly walled-in town, sprawling over the plains. Muddy roads and paths ran in and out of it from every direction, weaving between swaths of worked fields. There was a grey coldness to it as well, an inhospitable fog that Jaro felt difficult to put into words. 

Barda was nothing compared to what lay behind it, however.

A few dozen metres beyond the edge of Barda, the ground fell away completely. The greyed grass of the plains vanished, replaced with the largest man-made pit Jaro had ever seen, by far. He guessed it at nearly a kilometre long, and maybe half as wide. Just how deep it went was hard to say, but beneath the edge he saw nothing but shadows.

Staring at it created a pit in his own stomach, a falling sensation, like looking off a deep cliff in the ocean. Nothing below. 

Stretching up from the murky shadows of the pit were six black steel pyramids. They were divided into two columns, three rows deep. Valves and vents riddled the exterior, and an intricate network of bridges and gangways connected them all at varying intersections. Acrid green-black smoke poured from the tops, spilling into the air like a foul corruption. 

Dotting the small roads between the city of Barda and the edge of the pit were the tiny-pinpricks of the locals, heading down for their shift inside the factory. If what Vasile said was true, they were ordinary people sworn to helping the Lambcatcher butcher others, in exchange for their own safety.

Steambreather. That was what they called it. 

“Vampire industry," Kadir said, stepping up beside Jaro. “Like the castle, but worse, and ruled by Dracula's Lord of Blood."

“The Lambcatcher," Jaro replied. “Imagine the smell."

“Isla expects us to go into that and drag Fyodor out." The caracal shook his head. “Impossible." 

Each pyramid had to be the size of a small stadium, at least. Jaro tried to picture what they might be like inside. Tons of flowing blood, a factory of agonising death and crushed bones. Industrialised pain. 

Isla's voice cut in. “We will destroy it as well, Kadir." 

Jaro turned to see the Doberman approaching, a fierce look on her face as she glared down at the factory.

“Listen up everyone!" Isla gestured towards Noah, who was waiting to one side by Devna.

“That there is Steambreather," the bear began. “Dracula's factory. A massive resource for them, keeps the vampire monarchy fed. That pit there? It's an old quarry, far as we reckon, the stone was used to build the Godhead's Lament. This is the source of their strength, but it's also their weakness."

 The big bear pulled out a shredded notebook, extra post-its sticking free of every other page. He dropped it on a log in the middle of the group, turning to one of the pages at the back, where a rough map had been sketched out.

“Last night, Madame Koch sent me'n Dev scouting." He nudged Devna, the snow leopard scowling. “The vampires hate running water, but for this it's a necessary evil. From what we saw, they have some level of steam power inside too, but rely on canals for shipping their cargo."

“That cargo is people, right?" Jaro asked.

Noah nodded gravely. “Indeed. Now; a river runs through here to the north, and it meets up with the end of Steambreather's quarry."

“That seems pretty bloody short-sighted," Frankie added, scoffing.

“Remember the Lady?" Jaro asked. “They want to show that it can't stop them. It's a boast."

“Bingo! Plus, they need it to move all that volume," Noah said. “My guess is there are more canals underground, running all the way back to Dracula's castle. The dam backing up the river is massive. It's a marvel, to be honest, for their level of technology. We couldn't get close enough to have any decent look, but she's a sight to behold. Nightworld is… anachronistic. It has technology, but only in specific locations, only when it was truly needed. Innovation hasn't grown organically here, and I suspect–"

“Noah, please," Isla said, focusing the bear. She pointed to the notebook, looking to the group. “We will blow up this dam. Noah is confident it can be destroyed in such a way that it floods Steambreather, rendering the factory useless." 

“Absolute chaos," Devna whispered. 

“Bloody hell, that'll have 'em shittin' themselves," Frankie said, whistling. 

“It will make them afraid," Isla confirmed. “And it will put an end, at least temporarily, to this mortal holocaust-factory Dracula built here. Cutting off their food supply will make them desperate." 

“You make it sound so simple," Kadir said. 

“Kadir, shut the fuck up," Isla snapped. 

“Oh, but that I could," he replied, grinning wickedly. “There's a second part to this plan. Team One?"

“Kadir…" Isla shook her head, turning back to the map. “Yes. I am meaning to send a small contingent inside the factory, covertly, while the other half works to sabotage the dam."

“Suicide," Kadir added.

“I dunno," Jaro said, looking past him at the town below. “Barda looks like a big place. Seems nearly every second person there goes down in the morning to work. Would it be impossible to slip in without them realising?"

Kadir scoffed. “Whose side are you on?" 

“There ain't no fuckin' sides here, daft cunt," Frankie interjected. “There is only us and them. So pull y'bloody head in, and let's do it." 

“I would prefer volunteers," Isla said. “But I want Noah and Devna at the dam. Her marksmanship is more useful outdoors, and he's our sapper." 

“I'll go," Jaro said, nodding. Isla raised an eyebrow, and he met her gaze. “If any of Team One is alive, they'll need a medic."

If anywhere except the Godhead's Lament was going to have information about vampires, it would be here. Maybe a cure for the parasite, maybe not. But Jaro knew he wasn't going to find it waiting outside at some dam. 

Besides. This would hurt them.

“Then I should be there also," Kristian added, raising his toolkit. “I am no use with explosives or long-range shooting. Depending on what state Team One is in, they may need both myself and Jaro." 

“And me," Kadir muttered. 

“And why?" Isla demanded. “You're the most outspoken." 

“Because," Kadir snapped back, “I can't just step back and let you all die down there. Someone has to keep it in check."

“Fine," Isla conceded. “Frankie, you will be going with Noah and Devna. I will lead the contingent inside. Kadir is right, it is… only fair." 

“Sounds good to me boss," the dingo replied, “I wouldn't put me paw up for that in a million fuckin' years."

Isla turned to the others going inside. “We can be taking only small arms. We need to blend in with the locals, that means Kadir can't speak. Kristian, how is your Wallachian?" 

The marten shrugged. “Not as good as Jaro's, but good enough." He raised a scuffed notebook. “I took notes though, I can assist with anything written down."

“Good," the Doberman sniffed sharply. “We search for Fyodor and his team for sixteen hours. If nothing appears, we leave and Noah detonates the charges at the dam." She looked to the bear. “If we are gone more than thirty hours without contact, detonate them anyway." 

“Yes, Ma'am."

“If you are about to be compromised, detonate them anyway, and run for the Source."

“Yes, Ma'am."

“As for my team," she turned to them. “We will bury our weapons on the border of town. In Barda, we must learn what we can about the Lambcatcher. What is he like? Active? Vicious? Isolated? If we see an opportunity to destroy him, it must be taken."

“And likewise," Kadir said. “If we can't find any sign of Fyodor… or of Team One, we need to accept they are lost, and retreat. Understood, Isla?" 

“Kadir, I am here for the same reason you are," Isla replied. “Because I am someone willing to make the difficult decisions. If Fyodor is dead, then we leave."

He stared out at Steambreather for a moment, letting out a deep sigh. “I know, Isla. And I hope I'm wrong about this."

“Good. If there are no questions, all of us will be breaking apart. Eat, and rest. We leave in two hours."

          Walking into Barda felt like walking to the gallows. Jaro's hide itched beneath his fur as the four of them strode in, handguns nestled in the back of their pants, knives and stakes hidden in their pockets. It made him feel naked, walking without a weapon, his fingers still tingling slightly from the mercury attack earlier. 

Kadir had smeared dust and grime on their clothes as best he could, trying to disguise any pockets or bits that would look too drastically out of place.

“Nobody here is looking for us," he'd said, to calm Kristian's nerves. “And they live under a vampire's thumb. They'll keep to themselves if we do the same." 

Where Cujac had been a vibrant village filled with chatter and the babbling of the river, Barda was filled with mostly silence and creaking. Despite this, it was more built-up than he'd anticipated. The streets were paved with uneven cobbles or rough gravel, and Jaro was surprised to find most of the buildings were two or even three storeys tall. 

“Nice of the Lambcatcher to let them build up," Kristian said, following his gaze to the sloped roofing. 

“As well as safety, I am understanding that the people here are afforded more freedoms and luxury," Isla said. She jerked her chin to the south, where the great conjoined pyramids of Steambreather loomed. “As long as they do not stop working." 

“Fucking stinks here," Jaro said, pulling a small cloth from his pocket and securing around his mouth and nose as a muffler. Even through it the stench was nauseating; like roasted sweat, with a thick tinge of sulphur resting beneath it. 

Kadir grunted. “They're burning bones up there." Jaro paled, looking out towards Steambreather. He tried to imagine what it would take to carve that amount of earth free without the use of modern machinery. How many centuries of digging and building had gone into the construction of those factories? How many millions of slaves had died during it?

Jaro remembered the rivers of blood pouring through Dracula's citadel. 

How many people lost their lives every single day in the Lambcatcher's factory, drained to feed the vampiric gluttony? 

The weight of it was suddenly crushing. Genocidal murder on a scale his mind could barely comprehend. It had been easy before, to imagine they'd travelled back in time when they came to Nightworld, but the vampires had been around for the same number of years that Jaro's world had. Thousands of years. Tens of thousands.

And instead of building, they used it to feed.

“It's so quiet here," Kristian whispered, earning a grunt of agreement from Kadir. “Like a ghost town. Hard to imagine anyone actually living here."

Jaro felt the same way. There were people about, but they remained few and far between. He saw their silhouettes moving in the distance; gathering around wells, exchanging vegetables at the tiny faded market stalls, but all the while keeping to themselves. As the group travelled deeper into town, they caught the side-eyed expressions of folks shuffling past, though no one stopped to linger or question. No one wanted to see or be seen. 

Barda was a place where people focused on themselves, and they wouldn't notice you if you didn't notice them. See no evil, and none shall come.

“Can't believe there's a place out here that makes Cujac look downright happy," Jaro whispered to Kristian, and the marten nodded solemnly. 

“Hey, eyes up," Kadir said, gesturing with two fingers. Jaro followed them, looking through a narrow gap between two pitched roofs. There he caught sight of the Barda walls, walkways built on crumbling edifices, but plenty tall enough to see across most of the city and surrounding area. Figures patrolled there, armed with large crossbows, and wearing steel caps that left chainmail to drape down beneath their eyes. They were like ghouls, faceless and soulless, and Jaro had no need to get sight of their mouths to know what they were. 

Black Tongues. Mortals that drank the blood of a vampire, swearing a dependency in exchange for power and long life. 

“What is it?" Kristian asked, trying to get a look. 

Jaro tugged him along, eager to move before they were noticed. “They might be given nice buildings, markets, but don't forget – Barda is a prison. And I think we just saw the wardens." 

“So much for their freedoms," Isla scoffed.

“Freedom in chains," Kadir replied. “Like a dairy cow, free from slaughter so long as she stays useful." 

They pressed on, the caracal turning them down a side-street to try and avoid a gaggle of people.

“We are wasting time going in circles. We need to speak with a local," Isla insisted, stopping in place. Kadir whirled on her, his eyes wide. 

“Are you insane?" He asked, shout-whispering. “Look at this place, Isla, these people will serve us up for a chance to live a little longer. No one will help us. If there ever was morality here, the vampires bled it dry long ago." 

“However true that may be," Kristian added. “I agree with Isla. Kadir, look at the size of that thing, it would take years to search it completely. The plan was to gather intel. A local may have seen Fyodor and the rest of Team One taken through here, I would not put it past the Lambcatcher to display his trophies."

“We need information," Isla added.

Isla and Kadir looked to Jaro, apparently expecting him to turn the tide of discussion. 

“I think Kadir's right," he said softly, squeezing the stake in his pocket. “Look at this place. Anyone we speak with will sell us out to save themselves the first chance they get." 

“Unless we don't give them the chance," Kadir replied, his eyes narrowing. 

“You mean," Kristian paused, looking between them all. “Barging into someone's house, interrogating them… and then…" 

Kadir made a 'cut it' motion at his throat. “These aren't good people, Kristian." 

The marten took a step back, looking between them all, his gaze settling on finally on Jaro. “You cannot be serious. They may not be good, but it's not… you have no way of knowing. You'd be guessing." 

“And if we were to guess wrong?" Isla asked. “I am sorry, Kristian, but if you were locked up in there, you'd want us to do everything we could to find you too, wouldn't you?"

“We could leave them tied up, it doesn't have to be murder." Kristian opened his mouth, then closed it again. He gave Jaro a defeated, pleading look. “Jaro?" 

The wolf only looked away. He didn't have an alternative. 

Should burn this whole city to the ground, and everyone in it too. 

“We need to keep moving," Kadir said. “Kristian I… I'm sorry, if it could be avoided, maybe. But we don't have a lot of time."  

“We will see what happens," Isla said, not meeting the doctor's stare. 

The marten swallowed, closing his eyes and breathing deep, before nodding. “I won't have any part in it." 

“Wouldn't want to get your paws dirty," Kadir muttered.

The four of them pushed deeper still, trying to avoid any direct lines of sight to the patrolling Black Tongues on the city walls. Barda was bigger than it seemed from the lookout, although the streets were still empty. The city sprawled wide, a warren of weathered wood and dilapidated stone. 

Jaro avoided eye-contact whenever they passed by locals, who themselves were busy pushing wheelbarrows of vegetables, or hauling sacks of grain. He saw few children, though there were some, albeit tugged along close to their mother's dresses. Everyone wore hoods pulled tight, or hats pulled low, or had mufflers stretched tight about their mouth and nose.

Everyone wants to hide, to be ignored. 

“Wait, do you see that?" Isla asked, waving Kadir and the others back to a thin slit between the buildings. She pointed, and though it was blurry, Jaro could just make out some kind of decoration in the middle of an open space. “What is that?" 

“That is the centre of town, if I am reading the signs right," Kristian replied, checking his notebook. “It's called the Emperor's Square."

“Isla…" Kadir warned, but the Doberman was already moving in. “Stubborn bitch," he muttered, bracing himself as they followed along. 

“No!" Isla gasped as she stepped free of the alleyway, getting an unfiltered view of the structure. 

Jaro's mouth fell as he joined her.

Emperor's Square was a large, open space. It was lined with warehouse-type buildings, in front of which many (currently empty) market stalls stood. In the centre was a wide, low fountain, through which no water flowed. Instead, a structure had been built atop it. It was made of rusted iron pieces, with three major pillars – huge X's bolted together and surrounded by coiled barbed wire. 

Nailed to the X's through their wrists, shoulders, and ankles, were three dead men in shredded military uniform. They'd been savaged. Flesh ripped free, eyes plucked out, the bones of their ribcage exposed. 

“Isla, I'm sorry," Jaro said. 

“Shut up," she hissed back. To her credit, the Doberman had quickly regained composure, and now stood still, staring in cold determination. “What does it say?" 

“Huh?" 

She pointed to a crude sign nestled below the men. “That. Tell me what it says." 

Jaro had no clue how to read the Nightworld language, so he gestured for Kristian. The marten took a few steps forward, checking his notes.

“I… it's difficult to make out," he said. “But I think it says 'Be wary of interloping conspirators. Slaves serve. Meat suffers.' Then it's signed off, by decree of something." 

“Must be the word for Lambcatcher," Kadir said. “Fucking leech." 

“Isla…" Jaro asked. “Are any of these men…"

“No," she said, glancing back. “None of them are Fyodor. These were his captains. An example."

Suddenly a crisp, older voice cried out to them in Wallachian. “You should not be staring!" 

They flinched in unison, turning on an older otter woman standing there with a teen-aged boy. She was holding a small sack packed full of carrots and cabbage, staring at them with concerned eyes. 

“They are noticing when you stare," she added, giving half a look towards the Black Tongues on the wall.

“Mother, we must go," the boy said, tugging her along. Jaro guessed he was maybe fifteen or sixteen. 

“Were there others?" Isla asked, her grasp on the language was rough, but understandable. “Others? More than them?" 

The otter paused, sucking her teeth. 

“Mother, we go! You be having good day here!" The son said, trying to dismiss them and drag his mother along. 

“You are not from Barda," the woman said slowly, eyes scanning over them, as if she were seeing them for the first time. 

“What's she saying?" Kadir whispered, and Jaro raised a paw to calm him. He glanced down, saw the caracal had his stake half-drawn in one paw, his other behind his back gripping the butt of his gun. 

“She's not going to kill us yet," Jaro hissed back. “Stop." 

The older otter glanced behind herself, as if checking for witnesses. A tense beat passed through the air, and Jaro struggled to fill his lungs, wondering if he was about to help murder an old woman and her son. 

Finally she looked back. “You come. Come with me." 

“Mother! No! We mustn't!" The son insisted, but the otter swatted him away, waving them on. 

“Isla, don't," Kadir warned. 

The Doberman ignored him, following after the woman. Kadir sighed, and the rest of them followed suit, trying to look as inconspicuous as a gaggle of six can on an empty street. 

“Keep your weapon free," he whispered to Jaro, brandishing his handgun and slipping it beneath his shirt. “We don't know what will happen." 

“She's an old woman, Kadir," Kristian said back. “I hardly think that will be necessary. Besides, you would bring the attention of the entire city down on us. Is that what you want? To be ripped apart by terrorised villagers?" 

The caracal only shrugged. “Let them try." 

“Calm down," Jaro warned. “She seems harmless for now. So just… keep your head on, alright?" 

Kadir pursed his lips, but nodded eventually, falling into line. The otter led them down a winding path, bringing them up a small set of stairs before unlocking a great wooden door set into the building's side. She quickly ushered them all inside, before closing the door and dead-bolting it shut. 

It was warm, if not a little cramped inside the otter's home. As the tallest, Isla had to stoop slightly so as not to hit the ceilings.

It was nicer than Jaro would have guessed from the outside. Intricate woven rugs decorated the floor, and there was well cared for wool-covered furniture scattered through. Charcoal drawings and crocheted crests adorned the walls, the whole place comfortably illuminated with the warm flicker of a coal fire in the corner. The people of Barda must live their lives behind closed doors.

Nothing to see here.

The otter placed her sack of vegetables near the fireplace, turning on the group. 

“I am Mariutza," she said, putting a paw on her chest. She gestured to the boy. “The rude child is Florin, but he is meaning well." 

“What is she saying? What?" Kadir insisted. 

“She is introducing herself," Jaro said. “Chill out. I'll translate if I can." 

They all exchanged names, explaining that Kadir didn't speak the archaic Wallachian language. 

“Why are you here? Why have you come?" Mariutza said, her brows furrowed deeply. “Barda is not place to be visiting."

“We are fleeing," Jaro explained. “From Cujac. It was destroyed." 

“You are not from Cujac," Mariutza said, shaking her head. “I know the Martyrfolk, you are not one. Who are you? What is this?" She stepped forward, picking at Kristian's jacket and turning the stitch of his pocket. “Who made this?"

“Forget that," Isla said, pushing Kristian back. “Please, Mariutza, the men in the square… tell me, what happened? We saw the… the…" She snapped her fingers, searching for the word. “The sign. It said the Lambcatcher killed them. Why?" 

Mariutza frowned, tutting as she turned to the fireplace, retrieving a small teapot and pouring out four cups. “No-no, not him, not Lord Belisarius." 

Belisarius, Jaro thought. The Lambcatcher, Dracula's Lord of Blood. Now we know your name, soon you'll know ours. 

“He does not trouble himself with the people of Barda," she explained. “That was the other one." She said a word that was entirely foreign to Jaro, a jumble of painful consonants and awkward vowels. 

The other one? Jaro wondered, running through the list of known Cortège members: 

Dracula – the Impaler. 

Belisarius – the Lambcatcher.

Romulus – the Teardrinker.

Ashani – the Daybreaker.

They could rule out Dracula, from what Ioana said the Dread Emperor never left his castle. And the one whose name he didn't know. Romulus called him The Dreamless.

Which of those would be worse? He shuddered at the thought of Romulus's mind control taking over him once again. But after seeing what Ashani did to Cujac…

“What was that?" He asked, glancing at Kristian. “Did you get it? What does that word mean?" 

The marten was leafing through his notes. “Um, er… I think it's a compound word. Symbol-fighter? Crest-smasher? It's…" His face fell, as he looked up at the otter. “Mariutza, is that a name?" 

“Yes! Yes, the other one, his name. ???????????a?." 

Kristian swallowed, glancing back. “I think it might be Greek, not Romanian. ?????????????. Icon-breaker. Iconoclast. It's a vampire title." 

“Another one?" Jaro asked. “I thought there were four."

“Four in the Vermilion Cortège," Kristian corrected. “Plenty more vampires beside that."

“So the Iconoclast killed them," Isla said, shaking her head. “Why? An example? Were… were there others? Some from the same group, who weren't killed?" 

Mariutza nodded, gingerly taking her seat. In the back of the room, Jaro kept an eye on Florin, though the boy seemed content to sit and scowl. 

“Yes, others." The otter pointed to Isla. “One like you." 

“Fyodor," she whispered. 

“How do we get into the factory?" Jaro asked, pointing out a window. 

“Mother!" Florin interjected, stepping forward. “We should tell the Watch. You should all leave, you are conspirators!" 

“Florin, sit," Mariutza snapped. 

“And if he finds out we are helping them?" 

“It is too late now Florin, we have disobeyed too far already." The boy recoiled, returning to his perch. Jaro didn't miss Kadir carefully watching him. The old otter turned back to Isla and Jaro. “Why would you be wanting to go to that place? That is where many work, but there is nothing there but death and blood. Your friend… he is gone."

“And if I want to be sure? They were alive when they went in, yes?" Isla asked, before glancing at Jaro. “Do not tell Kadir this part."

“Some, yes," Mariutza said slowly, trying to make it easy for Isla to understand. “But they all go in alive. Those three came back like that." She pointed at the door, towards the square. “The rest are…" She shrugged, making a sign with her frail paws.

“Where do they come from?" Kristian asked. “All the people in the factory?"

“Some are from our babies," she replied soberly. “Lord Belisarius demands one of every three. Most come from villages, to the east. Farms." 

“They're breeding people out there," Jaro said. “Camps. Ioana tried to tell me about it. I didn't realise she was being so literal." 

Isla sat, leaning in and taking Mariutza's paws in her own. “Please. Please, Mariutza. I sent those people here." She squeezed. “My own husband. His men. I cannot abandon them without even trying." 

The otter looked down. “You are not understanding. The Iconoclast is frenzied, mad. He is killing and killing, even our own people sometimes. If he does not find you, then Lord Belisarius will. He is never leaving, and knows all that happens inside his factory. No one can get out. No one can go unpunished. Please, do not be going there. Turn around, and forget Barda while you can." 

“I cannot do that," Isla insisted. 

“There is bell," Florin said suddenly, stepping forward. Kadir flinched sharply, but Jaro was quick to calm him, translating. The younger otter pointed in the direction of Steambreather. “Four times a day. Three shift, one break. It goes soon, and when you hear, you all go down and be worker." 

“Florin!" Mariutza said. 

“If they want to go Mother, let them," he sniffed. “Barda turns nobody away. That is our rule." 

“Do not go," Mariutza insisted. “You will not die quick, conspirators are never allowed that. Lord Belisarius obeys his laws, but he is so cruel when they are broken."

“We have to," Isla replied, wiping at her eyes before standing. She looked back to Kadir, who shrugged. “No choice."

“Fyodor wouldn't leave me there," he said. “We came this far." 

Isla looked from Mariutza and Florin, then back to the caracal. “Can we trust them?" She asked, in English. 

Kadir hesitated, and Kristian's mouth fell agape. “You aren't serious." 

“Kristian…" Kadir warned. “We knew this was a possibility." 

“She helped us for no reason! She was trying to warn us." 

The two Bardans recoiled slightly at the argument, faces swirling with puzzlement at the foreign language. Jaro tried to calm them.

“I won't allow it," Kristian insisted. “This is not what we discussed."

“It's not up to you," Kadir said, drawing his gun. 

“Whoa, fuck, Kadir," Jaro said, putting himself between the caracal and the family. “You can't be serious. Kristian's right, these people did nothing." 

“And if they turn us in?" The caracal sighed. “You're putting a lot of trust in people that volunteered for the vampire blood drive. I don't want to do it, Jaro, but look at the expression on that kid's face. Think about the kinds of people that live here. They spend all day bleeding other people dry so there's a chance to save their own hides. They're complacent." 

“They're trapped," Kristian said. “If you hurt them, I will leave. And I won't leave quietly." 

“You'd condemn us to save them?" Kadir asked, cocking his head. “Am I understanding that right, Doctor?" 

Jaro pushed himself between them, getting into the caracal's face. “Kadir. Stop, what's wrong with you? Look, is this really what you wanna do? You really think you can just murder these two people?" 

Kadir paused, licking his lips. “If we had to," he said quietly. “You agreed with me out there."

“It's different now, they took a risk. I know you feel desperate, but this isn't the way. We didn't come here to do that." 

The caracal looked down at the gun in his paw, it was shaking. “I…" His eyes shot between them all. “You…" He inhaled deep. “You're right. You're right." and with that he put the gun away, and they all let out a pent up breath. 

“Nobody needs to get hurt here," Isla agreed, turning back to Mariutza and her son, switching back to Wallachian. “Thank you for help. Please, how long until–"

Her words were cut off as a deep, resonant ringing sounded out across the entire city. Bells chiming. 

Shift change, Jaro thought. 

Kadir grunted. “Time's up, kids. In we go."