Mage Assassin 2 Chapter 6

I rifled through past ledgers and found any documentation I could regarding cases that may have connections to the king and his royal court. Some files just contained the names of the people who had been murdered, like Lord Emory, while others contained the history of any uproars that had come from the community.

I was mostly looking for anything that might backup the king’s claim that Master Abbot had accepted multiple cases from him in the past.

There was nothing in particular that caught my eye, but the more I scanned through the finished documents buried deep in the drawers of the desk, I couldn’t help but notice a pattern that started to emerge. Every now and then, I would find a document marked with a faint stamp that was barely discernible, but it was the same symbol that was on both the Master’s hand and mine.

I took out the documents and laid them in front of me, and I shoved the rest back in the drawer.

It was odd to see the symbol placed anywhere other than my skin. I had never seen it before the binding ceremony, but now there must have been more than fifty files on my desk with that exact same marking.

I got to work and started to read the first file. There wasn’t a lot of information on it, but there was enough to realize what they were for.

The first pertained to a famous death that had taken place thirteen years ago, and it involved the Earl of Robins, who not coincidentally, was said to have been murdered by an unknown suspect. I was young when it happened, but I thought back to the event and the sheer shock that spread through the kingdom over it. Now, looking at the document, it seemed that the murder had been planned the entire time.

I wondered who had taken on such a thing, but there was no assassin listed in the documentation.

Then I considered the familiar symbol at the corner of the page, and I wondered if Master Abbot had conducted this assassination himself.

I skimmed through the sprawling writing on the document and read about how the Earl of Robins had been embezzling money, but he held so much control in his quarter of the kingdom that nobody within the royal court could attempt to take justice into their own hands. The specifics of his so-called “control” weren’t detailed, but I scoured the page front and back to try and piece things together myself.

And then I found one little statement that stood out to me above all the rest.

In tiny script at the very bottom of the backside of the document were the words “taken care of,” with the Master’s signature below.

I gawked at the page, and while it wasn’t filled with as much information as most of our ledgers, there was enough to make me think that the king and Master Abbot did have some kind of professional understanding.

I swiftly pulled out another case from the stack, and this time, it was dated more recently. Only a year ago, a job had been given to the estate that involved one of the viscounts. He hadn’t been murdered, but his wife had. I didn’t know anything about this particular viscount, or his close-knit family, but judging from the file, the king had wanted the wife dead. The file didn’t specify why, or what the rewards were in return, but like the last file, the corner was stamped with that same faint symbol.

On the bottom was the Master’s signature, and the fateful words “taken care of.”

“Interesting,” I muttered under my breath.

I was completely baffled by what I was reading, but I carried on and found a few more files to flick through. Marchioness, dukes, esquires, earls, everyone who was mentioned was part of the royal family or the royal court, but some were just closely connected to important figures within the highest ranks of our kingdom. Even down to a guard, who had been working as a personal assistant for the king at one point had been targeted by our estate.

After a dozen files, I was intrigued enough to want to find out more about this deal that the king offered me, and also confused as to how I didn’t know about the Master’s side jobs.

But I focused on my next task at hand, which was deciding whether the king’s claims against this young duke Monty were true.

I didn’t want to ask the king for more information than what he had already told me, because honestly, I didn’t want him to know that I was interested in the case. I’d go out in the field and dig up the information myself, and I was looking forward to the task.

I didn’t hatch a full plan, but I distinctly remembered the king telling me about the underground speakeasy that was popular amongst the unfavorables. The only problem was that I didn’t know where this place was because I wasn’t a gambler myself.

Luckily, I knew someone who might have the answer.

I left the office and went into my bedroom that was situated right across the hall. It was both way too large for me and stunning. It looked much like my old sleeping quarters, with wood panels on all walls, weapon racks, and ivy growing wildly all over the place. But aside from that, my new room also had its own orangery that was connected to the end of the room for my personal use. This area held a plethora of different plants and fruits, and next to it was a fountain that, unlike the one in the office, continuously glowed the same aquamarine color as Ephy’s pond.

I changed into my regular, less-fitted clothes so I would be more comfortable, and I headed over to the bed where Mazne had put my cloak. Then I tied it around my shoulders, and since I wasn’t attempting to kill anyone on my journey, and I already had my dagger and shortsword sheathed on my belt, I decided not to take a bow, or anything larger. I didn’t know where my investigation would take me exactly, and I didn’t want to have to haul and try to conceal such a cumbersome item.

Although, I wouldn’t have minded ending up in a situation that required a good sparring, because I did love the shortsword I’d been carrying around all day, and it practically begged to be used.

It was made from tungsten and had a single pearl encrusted on the bronze handle, and the blade itself was serrated toward the top, so if I was going to stab anyone, I couldn’t pull the weapon back without causing some serious damage to their insides.

I grinned and patted the hilt of my sword, and then I turned around and left.

I needed to find Incrassatum, since she was the person who dealt with the type of beings who would be found in a place like a troll boxing speakeasy. I headed out the back doors to the outdoor training ground, and I spotted Incrassatum in the middle of the sparring area.

She was training with a sword by herself, and she grunted with every swipe she took, but she still heard me coming and turned to meet me the moment I approached.

“Dex,” she said through a heavy breath. “Or… Master. Whatever, y’know what I mean.”

“Incrassatum,” I returned. “I have a question to ask you regarding a case I’m looking into.”

The woman stabbed her sword into the hard ground so that the handle stuck in the air, and then she leaned on it and raised her brow.

“Go on,” she said.

Incrassatum was a woman of very few words, but I always enjoyed that about her.

“I heard of this place called Lorticon,” I started, “Does it ring a bell?”

The woman gave me a crazed-looking smile and let out a few hard laughs.

“Of course, I’ve heard of Lorticon,” Incrassatum said. “My job has taken me there more times than I can count. What kinda task are you doing to take you to a place like that?”

“Just research,” I replied vaguely. “Can you tell me where it is?”

“You wanna go to the northwest quarter of the town,” the assassin directed me. “You want to go toward where the alchemist smog and the summer meet. There should be a clear line between the two. Once you see that line, you follow it, not in the direction of the magic market just a bit south, but north toward the goblin and troll estates. It’s around there, and it doesn’t look like much, but if you’re looking out for it, then it’s not too hard to find.”

“Ok, thank you.” I smiled.

The assassin nodded her head toward me and ripped her sword back out of the ground to start training again. I took this as my queue to leave her to it, and I was already equipped with everything I needed, so I headed back into the estate house, down the dim, tapestried corridor, and toward the ivy-covered entrance.

“Where are you going?” Mazne asked from the reception when she saw me coming.

“Just doing some research for a case,” I told her.

“Don’t we have enough going on at the moment?” she asked.

“Yes,” I admitted. “But it’s for someone important. I don’t even know if I’ll take it on yet.”

“Right, okay,” Mazne said as I strolled past her. “Just be careful, then.”

“I always am.” I grinned at the petite receptionist and reached for the ivy-covered knob, but just as I went to twist it, I turned back around to meet the bubbly woman’s eyes. “Just don’t tell anyone I’m off, alright? I’m figuring things out at the moment, so pretend like you never saw me leave.”

The receptionist nodded and dramatically rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

I winked at her and laughed slightly, and then I watched as the ivy of the entrance drew itself back for me. As soon as I stepped outside, the late afternoon sunbeams seeped into my skin, and it wasn’t too long until I found the adjoining path that led me to the centre of town.

It wasn’t a busy afternoon, but the streets were not barren, either, and I knew it would only become more crowded soon with the evening approaching. The Pixies’ Estate was not far from where I was walking, and I saw a cluster of them walking together in front of me. They all had light pastel hair and were petite with flowing dresses, daisy bracelets, and bows in their hair made from woven blades of grass.

They each giggled as I passed them, and when I glanced back, I caught them watching me as I walked away. Usually, I would have tossed them a smile, but I had greater things on my mind.

I spotted a carriage with two horses parked on the side of the path. They weren’t Web’s arabian horse, instead they were massive shires that had dark brown fur, and it hung around their massive hooves and made them look as if they were wearing boots. The shire horses also had blinders that covered some of their white-patterned eyes, and thick manes that hung to their knees. I gave them both a few pats, and one of them nuzzled into my hand in an attempt to find food before it loudly huffed and realized I had nothing for it.

“Are you getting in?” the coachman asked in a nasally voice.

He must have just reached adulthood, but I could see that working in the sun had meant that lines were already beginning to crease in his face, and his skin was getting thicker on his right side, where the sun had hit him more.

“Yes, the town centre,” I said and fished out a gold coin to give him.

The driver took it from me and then clicked his horses off to a trot.

I didn’t want to be taken all the way to where Incrassatum had told me Lorticon could be found, simply because I didn’t want to be spotted, especially as Dex Morgan. I had never been to the place before, so being discreet was key, and I was sure a newcomer would stand out in a location like this one. Stopping in the town centre meant that I could still get to the place with relative ease, but I could be stealthier and root out the surroundings more easily.

The horses’ hooves clicked against the dry mud while the carriage wheels rattled as they turned. It was a bumpy ride, and my hair jumped in-time with the uneven road, and I swiped it out of my eyes and looked around the kingdom.

“Just here is perfect,” I told the young coachman after a while.

He halted the horses and said nothing to me as he waited for me to get out of his carriage. Once I climbed out, I tapped the side of his cart, and I briefly watched him as he rattled away.

Then I turned around and tried to work out where I had been dropped in relation to the alchemists’ smog, and I started off in the northwest direction.

The city centre was much busier than it was earlier this morning, but that was because the day was in full swing, and the livelier evening hours would be coming on soon. The stalls had started to cast larger shadows onto the grass and mud, and I passed through multiple stalls, people, and creatures before I wove my way around the back alleys.

Eventually, I found myself at the edge of the marketplace stalls. In front of me were pathways that sprouted off in all different directions, and beyond this were vast fields that broke up the varying estates around the west side of the kingdom.

Incrassatum told me to head toward the line where the alchemists’ smog and the summertime meet, and that meant taking the dirt path ahead and turning to the left. I weaved through the beings around me and walked through the fields where creatures were basking in the late afternoon sun, and then I continued on until I eventually reached another stalled area.

This time, it was where the houses like the Alchemists’ Estate sold their magic products.

I strolled past the stalls and kept my eyes focused on where I needed to be. The shop area was much smaller than the one in the city centre, so it didn’t take long to near the end, but just as I did, I turned around and looked for someone to mirror into. I was looking for an alchemist in particular, not because they were shady characters, but because I figured that if I was caught, then I would have the perfect excuse of losing my way.

It was hard to spot an alchemist in this crowd, especially when they weren’t in their estate robes, but it wasn’t too long until I eyed up an unsuspecting target perusing a stall nearby.

He was tall, probably around the same height as me, and was just as young, too. He had an impressive mop of brown hair that fell limply over his eyes, and I knew he was an alchemist because of one tiny detail in his slack clothing. At the end of his sleeves, the clothing belled, and one side dropped slightly lower than the others. For some reason, this was a design the alchemists had come to use on all of their garments, and although I couldn’t prove he was an alchemist based on anything else, I had enough evidence to make it a logical guess.

“Can I pick your brain for a moment?” I asked the man and bounded over to him with slightly too much enthusiasm.

The man looked up from the stall goods with narrowed eyes.

“What is it?” he asked, and while he didn’t seem rude, he didn’t seem particularly excited about me coming closer to him, either.

“Not much, don’t worry,” I joked. “Just a bit lost and was hoping you might be able to help me. You seem like someone who knows these necks pretty well, so thought I would come and ask.”

“I guess so,” he skeptically returned. “Say, what part of town are you from? I’ve never seen you around here before.”

“From the south,” I returned. “I’m a carpenter.”

“Hm,” the man thought aloud. “So, what can I help you with?”

“I heard about this man who was selling something called a screwbler,” I replied. “A few people have told me to try them, and I can’t seem to find where they are. Do you know?”

The man crossed his arms and looked out into the distance as he tried to work out if he heard that name before.

“Oi!” he yelled to someone that was standing behind the stall he’d been looking through. “My guy here is looking for something called a scrawler, ever heard of it?”

“Screwbler,” I whispered hastily.

“Screwbler,” the tall man corrected himself and shot me a look.

“Nope,” the shopkeeper replied with a downturned bottom lip. “Never heard of the stuff.”

“Neither have I, sorry,” the dark-haired alchemist replied. “Are you sure it’s not at another marketplace around Ocadia?”

I needed to get something else out of him. His arms were still firmly grasped within each other, and I couldn’t leave without some form of contact.

“I don’t know, I’ve just been sent here,” I promptly lied. “I think the seller is called Eroven. Does that name ring a bell?

“Eroven,” the man repeated. “No, sorry, I can’t help, but what’s this scribble thing you’re on about, anyway? Has it got some kind of powers?”

I knew from that moment I had the man exactly where I needed him to be. It would only take a bit of small talk to solidify that much needed handshake.

“It’s called a screwbler,” I corrected him again. “It’s like this blue bubble that alters the mind subtly, but in a very enjoyable way, and it’s-- you know what? I’ll get one for you. I plan on coming up this way again in a day or so, are you usually around these parts?”

“I am.” The man’s frown relaxed. “I come here every afternoon around this time, and I’m always up for a bit of a journey with a new substance. If you ever find this Eroven, that is.”

“Well, if I do find him, then I’ll bring one of these screwblers back here,” I chuckled and held out my hand.

“Sounds good,” he chuckled as well.

Then the man’s slim fingers interlocked with mine, and he gave my hand a rough, hardy shak.

I calmly strolled onward while the tall alchemist went back to perusing the stall beside him, and I scanned the area for a place I could use to mirror. Luckily, the guy I was about to turn into was around the same size as me already, so I didn’t have to worry about fashioning some type of garment, too.

The problem in this area was that the stalls were a lot less bulky than the ones in the city centre. They all stood on four legs, and none had walls. They resembled carts more than actual buildings, so finding somewhere secure and hidden was going to be tough, but I started jogging as I hurried to find an ideal spot.

I could feel my timeframe narrowing.

The only problem with my first mirroring was that I only had a small window to do it in. If I waited too long, my direct contact with my target wouldn’t be fresh enough for me to take on their form, and I glanced around me and found some bushes that lined a wall to some kind of estate I wasn’t familiar with.

I dived into them, and allowed the change to swiftly happen. Once the mirror was complete, I was a lot more careful coming out of the bushes than I’d been heading into them. I didn’t want to look like I was spying, so I had to make sure there was no one around to see my exit. Not only that, but I had just become someone that people in this area would surely know, given he said he came here daily. The alchemist with the moppish hair was clearly a local man, and that meant anyone might try to make small talk with me, and that really wasn’t what I was here for.

At least, not until I got to Lorticon.

Once I had gotten out of the bushes, I kept my head down and my eyes fixed to the path under my boots until the ground started to change.

I was looking for the line between the Alchemists’ Estate and the rest of the world, and it didn’t take long until I found it. On the left side of me was foggy, gray, and dismal, while the sun on the left was dimming in preparation for a sweet summer’s evening.

I hadn’t noticed just how definite the line was before now, maybe because everytime I had been here before I had been thinking about other things. Now, the stout gray clouds lingered around me in a stark contrast, and I carefully darted my eyes around as I followed the line.

There were a few free-standing stalls that lay up the path, and they weren’t near the market stall area. Instead, they seemed to be small inns that served food and drinks. I had never seen this part of town before, and although it wasn’t as busy as the city centre, there was still a decent flow of traffic that was coming in and out of the eateries.

I tried not to pay too much attention to the people passing me, and only flicked my eyes up to see if I could see any sign for Lorticon.

I must have been walking for another five minutes when the shops went sparse again, and the fog split and ran through an entire field. I spun back around in confusion, and I didn’t know if I had passed my intended location already or if I should continue going further. I remembered that the place was an underground speakeasy, and if that was the case, then I concluded it would be much harder to find a building with a sign on it.

I continued to walk the smoggy line, and it was the oddest sensation to have the left side of my body feel damp and cold, and the right prickling under the orange sunset rays.

And then, just like Incrassatum said, I saw what I was looking for.

If I was walking through there on any other day, then I would have headed straight past it without giving it another look, but it had to be Lorticon. It was too odd not to be.

The place in question was toward the right side of me and looked like nothing more than a little mound made from mud, with scraggly grass that had grown over it. But there were no other little hills like this, at least from what I had seen on my journey, and I heard the distinctly muffled sound of troll snarling coming from that general direction.

I headed over to it and pretended I belonged there while I strolled around the grassy hill that seemed to have no entrance point. The snarling was somewhat louder over here, and I walked around the mound until I saw a little mud nodule sticking out from the side.

I didn’t know if I was making the whole thing up, or if I was a genius for finding something so illusive with relative ease, but it was distinct enough for me to try it out.

I pulled the nodule with both my hands, and suddenly, a hatch shot upward from the mud. A blinding orange light beamed through the opening and into my eyes, and the sound of grumbling men and snarling beasts echoed below.

I couldn’t help but smile as curiosity started to get the better of me, and I quickly glanced around before I climbed inside.

The stairs themselves were more like a ladder, and a rickety one at that. There was nothing fancy about what I had seen so far, but I pulled the hatch closed above me and continued downard. Inside, the mound had been hollowed out and reinforced with brick, but the ladder went deeper into the ground than only the small hill. It actually seemed to go on and on while the orange glow became less blinding, and the grumbling that came from the men and beasts got louder and louder.

Soon, the noise echoed all around the brick passage I was descending through. Then my feet graced the floor, and I spun around to find a scene unlike anything I had ever experienced.

The place was overcome with the thick scent of smoke and spirits, and nymphs danced on the stage across the large chamber. They were sweet-looking things, with pinched faces, and slender bodies that shimmered under the light. Usually, they would have hair the color of flowers or leaves, but these nymphs had changed their strands to darker shades to make them look more enticing. They all wore outfits made from the same gold chainmail and black leather, and heels that made them at least six inches taller than they normally would be. Deep purple curtains lined the wall behind them, and I briefly caught sight of three men exiting from different parts.

There must have been fifty or more tables encircling the main floor between me and the stage of nymphs, and all the tables had at least two men or creatures sitting at them, and a small lamp lit each one up from the underneath. The men that sat around the tables were mostly hench, and they had money and cards strewn in front of them, as well as cigar ends, money, drinks, and mysterious powders.

Fights broke out in all different areas of the smoky room while the pretty nymphs danced on without batting an eyelash, and seedy wasn’t even the term to describe the place.

It was totally scandalous, and I found myself grinning at the wild display.

Particularly the central fighting pit.

Right in the middle of the large chamber was where the grunting and snarling was taking place, and the most decrepit trolls were boxing in a ring that was lined with rope.

Their long, bare feet jumped across the springboard, and they punched each other in their gangly faces with all their might. Men were clustered around them with their fists clenched and their teeth bared, and they each hollered drunkenly for the troll they were backing to win.

Troll blood flew across the room with every hit, and half of the men horrahed while the others grumbled even louder. The battered trolls were clearly worn out, and their strength was waning, but they carried on throwing punches until one of them finally fell.

Then the whole speakeasy erupted with noise, both from the spectators and even from the men that were sitting around the edges of the smoky room.

I watched on as the troll that was considered victorious was thrown into the air and caught again, but it didn’t really look like he had won. He was bruised and pale, and his eyes were half-closed, and I wondered if there were any trolls that really won when they fought that hard. Still, the battered boxer had a groggy grin on his bruised face, so I supposed he was pleased with the result.

I glanced back around the room, and I couldn’t help but notice I was surrounded by men with charcoaled eyes and musty hair who looked a lot like they’d end up on my docket one day soon. They were loud, obnoxious, and greedy, and judging by most of their gazes, they were here to leer at the beautiful nymphs they normally wouldn’t have a chance with.

It was a sea of inebriated and lecherous faces in here, but I scanned the crowd for anyone who could pass as a duke. According to the king, my experience should make him easy to find, but it was hard to see in the dim orange lanterns that surrounded the place. There were far too many people around to study everyone, too, so I had to go in deeper, it was the only way.

Surprisingly, there was nobody at the bottom of the ladder to ask me what I was doing there, and nobody seemed to even notice when I ordered a drink and took a seat at the bar. I just asked for anything the barkeep recommended, and sure, I got a pretty intense stare from the fish-headed humanoid that served me, but then a warlock placed an order, and he got back to his work.

Once I received my order, I held the strange looking beverage in my hand. It was a fuschia color with neon green dots swirling in it, and I casually looked around the room while I decided if I should actually drink it.

This sort of lifestyle was the opposite of my strict training and discreet work schedule. I also didn’t mingle too often with anyone but my fellow assassins, and I figured that places like these only got popular through word of mouth recommendations.

Plus, based on the filthy groups I saw leering around the place, Lorticon really did seem like Incrassatum’s jurisdiction. It was crawling with the sort of targets she loved to torture, and I scanned the crowd with a smirk on my face as I imagined her snicker echoing in my ears.

Then something caught my eye.

A head of golden locks came through deep purple curtains behind the nymphs’ stage, and I knew instantly who that hair belonged to.

It could only be Monty.