24 R 1
“I need to bloom,” I sent.
“Your garden will take care of that.”
“They only cultivate seedlings now.”
Pretending to be a stupidly eager young recruit, I secured a meeting with the Assassin Order’s scariest branch.
They knew that was a load of crap, but they were interested enough to come gawk from afar. I wasn’t going to actually show up, either.
I just needed a starting location. Their base had to be nearby. After all, if they were producing a lot of vegetables, from a logistical standpoint, that was very traceable.
If they worked away from the urban centres, that might stall me. I had no idea how the unprotected settlements survived out there. Landscape-changing mammoths were just the most obvious peril.
Something Raktkalis would be able to advise on. He likely reclaimed a fair share of autonomous villages. If all my plans go down the shitter, I could always ask.
As if. He didn’t even want me knowing about this.
The biggest hurdle was time. I had to be back for the national holiday. Preferably, with quantifiable results in hand. That forced me to travel in a relative comfort – and under a whole lot of scrutiny.
Which was especially true at the border. I really should have just jumped out of the train and walked for a bit – but that would have cost time, and involved beasts.
However, as it happens, plunging headfirst into the legal apparatus was just as bad.
The bandages on my crooked, bluish arm had been forcefully undone. The busy border post had squads from both sides on my case. Neither would let me pass, in either direction. Asking to simply walk off into the wilderness got them even more agitated.
Security used to be much more lax. That, or I just didn’t notice it, having been human in appearance. Dark damn Raktkalis, fucking everything up for me.
Frankly, I was surprised this hadn’t happened earlier – only when I’d be the most inconvenienced.
My backpack and the pockets have been picked apart as well. The border officials have unearthed my backup plan: the forgery, completely justifying anything and everything, as well as demanding unquestionable cooperation – signed by my most vicious benefactor. Unbeknownst to him.
That was the only reason I wasn’t yet cleansed by fire.
Of course, the god-fearing Selonians immediately accused the infected freak of counterfeiting – even if they couldn’t find fault in the expensive-looking document. Because it wasn’t fake. Everything on it was pristine and correct.
Provincials swarmed to smear the filth off their fingers on the rare parchment. The few locally stationed Kalantans have showed up, too. One even remembered the orders to seek out the vocally impaired. Then, the speculations began in full force.
“If this is real, why didn’t you just show it to begin with?!”
Valid question, all in all. My person would have been treated with far more dignity, even if the amount of suspicion would have remained the same. Still, invoking Raktkalis off the bat was plainly outrageous. I had really counted on avoiding all this circus.
“Who did you steal this from?”
I longingly stared at the lined-up vials. Opportunity to gas them has slipped by irretrievably. The small office I’ve been politely confined at kept getting more and more crowded. Nobody knew what to do. On one hand, I was a disgusting outlawed freak; on the other – they didn’t want to anger a future general by confining his envoy. So, the game of telephoning has begun. From an officer, to a higher officer. From one aide to another. Residence to residence.
I worried my lip nervously. Didn’t know what was worse. Getting cornered by these people, or them actually reaching Raktkalis.
“He d-d-doeh-sn’t need t-to be invohlved,” I tried to talk some sense into them.
If this drags on just a while longer, they will all disperse for the night – and I’ll be able to try for a daring escape. I was mentally preparing myself to leave everything but warhorse behind.
Of course, my reluctance only fuelled the fervour of the bored frontiersmen. The hicks now hunted after the praise from superiors, convinced to have caught a vicious criminal – either a thief or a counterfeiter. And, well, they weren’t wrong.
Mouth tasted of copper. There was a massive chance that they’ll raise a wrong Raktkalis. Then we’ll all be dead. Ahead of schedule! Worse and worse scenarios were being spun by my tired head.
The highest ranking officer in town was roused from an off-duty slumber to sit in front of the landmine, and try to intimidate it into compliance. The phone line kept its secrets. The on-duty major thought he can push buttons better than the other guy – and now there was an extra person breathing in this cramped space.
Well, at least this one was trying to be useful. What were the other twelve doing here?
I heard number fourteen thunder up the stairs long before he actually fell in.
“Sir,” a terribly spooked bald man tried to salute everyone in order. Then shook his head and just passed me the cell phone. From the grave expression alone, I already suspected who this old Kalantan has managed to raise on the need-to-know grapevine. After all, he’s been the one to remember the old orders.
I heard a brush of skin on a corrugated metal handle, then the heavy, lazy swish. And again.
I didn’t need to put the device to my ear, but didn’t want to advertise my otherness even more.
I waited for a stream of uncontrollable laughter – at very least. Perhaps some fury for invoking his credentials without permission, although I hadn’t, really, and I did have the authorisation. Technically.
