Wartorn Obliteration

AQUINT (2)

"I have to trust my instincts... to a point."

"And this isn't past that point?" The boy frowned.

"Cat, when Abraxis appointed me to this position he showed a certain amount of faith in me. Maybe you could—"

Cat cut him off. "I was afraid all this would go to your head, in the end. You really think you are an Internal Security Corps agent." The boy sounded incredulous.

Aquint was getting annoyed. "By the madness of the gods, lad, I am an Internal Security agent! Whether I want to be or not. Whether I wish the Felk would just bugger off back to where they came from or not. I've been given this job as sure as a horse gets a saddle put on it. And I might add that I am very constrained to do this job well... or suffer the consequences."

When Aquint had accepted this assignment from Lord Abraxis, the Felk mage had made a cut on Aquint's thumb and taken a drop of his blood. Abraxis had blotted it onto a piece of cloth, and put it into a red bag that he said remained on his person at all times.

Abraxis had claimed that with that blood sample he could administer disciplinary actions without needing to track Aquint down. That faraway threat was nagging and unsettling. Aquint didn't have any reason to doubt Abraxis's powers. The wizard had also said that similar samples had been taken from every student at that Academy in Felk, where magicians were trained, and from anyone in the empire who held a position of power.

Aquint wondered if that meant that Abraxis had a sample of General Weisel's blood.

"You told me about Abraxis," Cat said, sounding uncharacteristically sullen.

"Then what's the problem?" Aquint asked, trying not to let his irritation show.

They were in their apartment. Cat had been dutifully trying to locate the rebels' new retreat, to no avail. Maybe the boy was just frustrated, Aquint thought. Cat had at least learned that the group was being called by a specific name now. The rebels were the Broken Circle, so went the whispers on the street. A fitting name, thought Aquint, recalling the symbol of the circle with the vertical line through it.

"I just don't know about that pair you recruited," Cat said, shaking his head. "Something about those two..."

He was talking about Deo and Radstac. Aquint admitted he had acted somewhat impulsively in hiring the two on as Internal Security agents, but he had that privilege. Besides, like he'd told Cat earlier, he had to trust his instincts.

"What is it about them you don't like?" Aquint asked, seriously interested. The boy had a nose for trouble.

"Well, for one thing, I hope you don't believe that horseshit about them being ordered through the portals without traveling orders."

Aquint blinked. It was very unlike his young, somewhat prudish friend to use obscenities.

"Of course not," Aquint said.

"They're on the run from something."

"Like the war?"

"Maybe something more," Cat said.

"You have any ideas?" Aquint asked.

Cat shook his head.

"Then what're you..." Aquint started, and trailed off. Could it be that his young associate was jealous? Was that possible? He and Cat had had a partnership since before this war broke out. By now, they had covered a lot of territory together, literally and figuratively. Maybe the boy simply didn't like the idea of anybody else intruding on their association.

Aquint of course didn't voice any of these thoughts. It would only embarrass Cat.

"I wouldn't worry about our two new recruits, Cat," he said, adopting a jollier tone. "We'll keep an eye on them. If they give us any trouble, I can just have them arrested. They're under my direct authority, after all."

"That's good," Cat nodded.

"Besides, I'm only going to use them as bait anyway."

"All right." Cat suddenly shook himself and hopped nimbly to his feet from where he was sitting. "I better get back out there."

Without another word, he slipped out of the apartment, off to roam Callah's streets and alleys, looking for any hint of the rebels.

Aquint sighed. As if he didn't have enough to deal with, now he had to be sensitive to Cat's feelings. Sometimes people and the strange complexities of their emotions could surprise you.

He shrugged and went to grab his coat and arm sling. Cat, whatever else he was, was also Aquint's friend, though their relationship was certainly an unconventional one. If he had to make allowances for the boy's unexpected moods, so be it.

Aquint did in fact have an idea of using Radstac and Deo as bait. He could circulate them through Callah's marketplaces and taverns, posing as people eager to join the Broken Circle's rebel underground. It might work. It was also possible that those rebels, if they got wind of it, might just come down on the two of them, suspecting a trap. But that would at least draw the rebels out.

It struck Aquint, however, that such a plan was a waste of potential talent. He had been favorably impressed by those two. The female, in particular, moved like a fighter of much experience. And they had both somehow finagled their way into being illegally transported to Callah. That took sharp wits and cunning.

Suddenly Aquint came up with another plan, a way to use those two new agents as something more than the meat you laid out in the meadow to entice your prey into range of your bow.

He smiled to himself and exited the apartment.

Callah's new taxes had been officially announced. From the grumbles Aquint overheard as he made his way, they were being received about as enthusiastically as he'd expected.

The panic that had erupted the day Callah's water turned inexplicably into "blood" had died down. For that day, though, a great unease had come over the city's inhabitants, native and Felk alike. Some people called it a sign from the gods, though exactly what the sign meant varied from individual to individual.

Colonel Jesile had grudgingly set his mages onto the problem. They had determined, using the same divining magic that had uncovered the counterfeiting ring, that the water was perfectly safe to drink, despite its unwholesome appearance.

The water supplies had since been refreshed and guards put around the reservoirs, but during those first days it had taken some courage to swallow that thick, red water. Aquint had stuck mostly to wine.

The sights and sounds and ambience of Callah were still a great pleasure to him. This grand city held memories for him in almost every quarter. As a youth, younger even than Cat, he had spent his days running errands for his father. Aquint's father had been a man given to extremes of behavior. When he was happy, which was usually when he had money, he could make everyone around him deliriously happy as well. When he was angry, he was a great storm of rage, fearsome and dangerous.

Aquint had started in the freight-hauling business as just another strong back moving cargo on and off wagons. He wasn't as big as some of the other workers, but he never shirked, never missed a day of work for any reason. That fact impressed the owners of the business. They gave him a little more responsibility, and he proved himself able to handle it.

Actually, he demonstrated that he was quite intelligent, in a shrewd sort of way. With no formal tutelage, Aquint was good with numbers—especially when it came to ledgers and invoices. He had a knack, which his employers soon discovered to their delight, for hiding overages and shortages. These were discrepancies that wouldn't be appreciated by the governmental agencies that handled levies and special export fees.

It got Aquint out of the heavy lifting tasks and drew him ever deeper into the managerial ranks of the enterprise. Soon he was keeping the books for the whole company and also drawing better wages.

Unbeknownst to his employers, he was also paying himself a second equally healthy wage. In all honesty, Aquint judged that he deserved it. He was also in a position to route the monies invisibly to himself. He wasn't greedy in his embezzling, recognizing that such behavior led inevitably to disaster. He kept things fair, accumulated his brasses and bronzes, and bided his time.

Eventually, he had secured enough capital to go into business for himself. He had advantages that others new to such undertakings didn't. He understood the basic deceit of employees, even the most seemingly loyal, the smilingest, the most dependable of the bunch... they could well be the ones shafting you worse than any of the others.

Aquint's personal business philosophy allowed for his workers to help themselves, here and there, now and then, to a little extra something for their troubles. Sometimes merchandise "fell off the wagon" and sometimes payroll was slightly inflated. But as long as none of it got too far out of hand, Aquint had always been willing to turn a blind eye.

He was also equally sincere about punishing those who abused that rare and special privilege.

He'd had a fine business, hauling freight and moving smuggled goods on the side. Sometimes one line did better than the other, but on the whole he probably made as much money doing legitimate business as he did in criminal ventures, though he was loath to admit it.

And then, one day, the Felk had decided they wanted to rule the entire Isthmus, and they came and conquered Callah just to get things started, and that was that for Aquint's business, his personal life, and the sovereignty of his city-state, which hadn't been compromised in many tenwinters.

These people had all suffered the same fates, he thought as he continued through the streets, eyeing merchants and workers. Many still had the same livelihoods as before the Felk had come, true, but whatever monies they'd saved up had been confiscated and replaced by what had turned out to be truly worthless pieces of colored paper. The real money had gone into the Felk war chest.

Callah was conquered... and it felt conquered. Aquint tried not to dwell on it, but it was almost impossible.

He turned in at one of the smaller marketplaces. He sought out a particular stall. He knew the man's goods by reputation, but not the man himself.

"You honestly dare to sell such an indecent implement?" Aquint asked.

"At the price I'm giving you, I will probably have to starve myself for a quarter-lune," the dealer said. "Don't you have eyes to recognize a bargain?"

Aquint held the instrument and fingered its strings, trying to appear knowledgeable. It certainly seemed serviceable. He and the dealer haggled awhile more. The price the man was quoting really was quite high, but Aquint worked him down a little, mostly for the sport of it.

Finally Aquint handed over a fistful of notes and carried away his purchase. The dealer had never questioned how Aquint planned to play the thing with one arm in a sling.

Aquint crossed over several winding, disorganized streets into a shabbier district of Callah. Even these environs, however, were a pleasure to him. He had spent many happy times as a boy capering on these particular streets.

So many familiar faces were gone, sucked away by the war, but here and there he still saw people he recognized. He entered old lady Laina's hostel. She was among those people he knew.

Aquint climbed to the third floor. It had been somewhat whimsical to lodge his two new recruits in the room the Minstrel had occupied. But maybe it did have some purpose. It was nonsense, that old saw about the thief returning to the location of the crime. A thief treated his occupation professionally. Fools who committed crimes impulsively, or for reasons other than profit, however, might return.

Who knew? Maybe the Minstrel would return to this room someday.

Aquint knocked on the door. He had gotten the impression that his two new agents were something more than mere comrades to each other. He didn't want to walk in on them if they were frisking about on that bed in there.

While he waited for someone to answer his knock, Aquint acknowledged that the pair might have fled since he'd installed them here yesterday. He had recognized this risk from the start. They would find it difficult to get out of Callah though.

But the female, Radstac, answered the door. She was, in her way, a very striking woman, even with those scars on her face and her short, choppy hair. She was alluring in the way that snakes were, with their sleek shapes and gliding movements.

"Ah, Radstac." Aquint smiled. "You're finding the room comfortable?"

"I've slept in far worse places," she said. There was some trace of an accent there that Aquint couldn't quite place.

"And you, Deo," Aquint said, looking past her shoulder, "did you get a good night's sleep?"

He nodded. "I did."

"Fine. Now that the pleasantries are done, does anybody know what this is?" Aquint held up the instrument he had purchased at the market.

Deo shrugged. "Looks like a stringbox."

"And so it is," Aquint said. "Do either of you know how to play it?"

Radstac just gazed flatly, but Deo said, "I had a court tutor—uh, I've had some training."

"Then take this."

Aquint held it out, and Deo came forward and took the instrument into his arms. He examined it, flicked a few strings, turned the knob at one end, and nodded.

"Well," Aquint said, a bit impatiently, "let's hear a little something."

Deo took a seat, wedged the vox-mellifluous against his fit body, and rang out a ditty. He faltered a couple times but recovered quickly, picking out a fast tempo. He got more confident with it as Aquint watched.

Finally Aquint lifted a hand. "Enough. That's good. Do you know a lot of songs?"

"A fair number, I guess," Deo said, looking a little confused. "Why?"

Aquint ignored the question. "Can you sing?" he asked.

Deo frowned, then shook his head and sniffed a small laugh. "Actually, no. That they couldn't teach me, no matter how hard they tried. But if you want me to make noises like a wounded dog I can do that." He gave Aquint a self-deprecating smile.

The man had a certain charm to him, Aquint acknowledged. He turned to Radstac. "Can you?"

"Can I what?" she said.

"Can you sing?" Aquint asked sharply, though he didn't really imagine that this woman, so obviously built for battle, would have wasted her time learning to sing songs.

Radstac's eyes were almost free of color. They bore into Aquint a moment, then, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, she drew in a breath and sang out.

Moonlit, your face becomes another, A memory sweeter, now torn asunder. Aquint blinked. Deo, too, was visibly taken aback. Radstac's voice was surprisingly gentle. Into that brief verse she had poured a tenderness that reached Aquint's heart. It was a skilled voice, nicely modulated.

"That was... impressive," he finally said.

"Radstac," Deo said, "I had no idea—"

"You don't really want to know everything about me, do you?" she retorted. "How boring would that be?"

Aquint again noticed the connection between the two. Yes, these two were definitely lovers, whatever else they were to each other.

"Now," Aquint said, pleased with the unanticipated success of this, "you play something on the stringbox, and you sing along."

They consulted briefly with one another, settled on something they both knew, and launched into it. It was a somewhat solemn tune, sounding a lot like the traditional ballads Aquint had heard all his life. That was perfect.

He put his hands together, applauding.

"This is outstanding." He smiled.

They halted the song. They were both looking at him, perplexed, surely wondering what all this was about.

"This is how it's going to work," Aquint said. "You two are going to go around the city, playing and singing. Our Minstrel, the rebel, was probably spreading dissent the same way. I want you to concoct some anti-Felk songs. Just take some other song you already know and swap in some new words. I've written down some ideas for you. Here."

He handed over a couple pages of fragmentary lyrics that he had cobbled together in a cafe after leaving the apartment. He was no poet, but the words put across the point.

"I want these new songs to vilify the Felk," Aquint continued. "I want them full of protest and rebellion. The people of Callah have no love for their conquerors. But I want to draw out those Callahans that have gone to the extreme and thereby made life tougher for everybody else. I want them to rally around these songs."

Deo appeared to be considering the scheme from every angle. "And the garrison won't give us any trouble?" he asked.

Aquint barked a short laugh. "We're Internal Security. We don't have to worry about any of that. I could order Colonel Jesile himself arrested, if he was guilty of treason."

Deo and Radstac both looked impressed.

"Look, you two were smart enough to get yourselves away from the fighting," Aquint said. "Now I'm counting on you to go on being smart, and clever, and wily. You're going to be a pair of... of rebel bards! And, hopefully, you'll draw the Broken Circle to you. After all, who doesn't like a good song?"

Radstac asked, "Do you still want me to fake that limp? I've been practicing it." She demonstrated with a few lurching steps. It was convincing.

"And do you shtill want me to shpeak like thish?" Deo asked, imitating the speech patterns of an imbecile.

"Yes," Aquint said to him. "You're not the one singing. Sometimes a simpleton will have prowess in unexpected areas, like with a musical instrument. Radstac, keep up that limp. We don't want anyone thinking you're working for the Felk. Your ruses will allay suspicions. All I want you to worry about right now is putting together a repertoire of persuasive revolutionary songs. Got it?"

"Yes," they both said.

"Good. Get to work." Aquint exited the room. It was a somewhat unconventional plan but Abraxis had, after all, given him full leeway. All the mage wanted were results, and Aquint was going to have to produce some, soon.

The plan was also very likely going to encourage rebellious thought in Callahans that might not otherwise have considered the notion of rising up against their Felk oppressors. But Aquint decided not to worry right now about such fine points.