Wartorn Obliteration

AQUINT (3)

The shock was so great that his first reaction was to laugh. He put his hands on his sides, put back his head, and guffawed, loud and long. It was just so... so... so audacious! By the gods, the nerve it must have taken.

"I think the joke's lost on me," Cat finally said, with his usual disapproval.

They were outside the Registry, looking up at the north face of the building.

"The cheek!" Aquint managed, bringing his laughter under control. "The grit, the fortitude. What is the matter with you, lad? Can't you appreciate the magnitude of this stunt?"

"You might want to appreciate it a little less loudly," the boy said, his eyes flickering around at the other people.

Naturally, the sight had gathered a crowd. There was a lot of pointing and excited muttered comments. It was causing quite a stir.

Soldiers from the garrison were keeping everybody back, but dispersing the crowd wouldn't do much good. They would only reassemble a little farther away. Besides, the giant sigil could be seen from many streets away.

That obviously had been the whole idea behind it.

Aquint shook his head, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"I'm stunned," he said.

"Then maybe you should try to act it," Cat said.

"Laughter is a way of dealing with shock. You might give it a try sometime."

"I don't feel like laughing," the boy said.

Aquint sighed. "When do you? Lad, the younger you are when you sample the joys and merriments of life, the better your memories of your youth will be."

Cat gave him a flat look. "Will that include all the times I've almost starved in the streets? Or been beaten? Or nearly been stabbed to death because someone wanted what I had?"

Aquint shrugged. Sometimes, there was just no talking to the boy.

"Well, never mind," Aquint said, adopting a businesslike tone. "What do you make of it?"

"Of what?" Cat asked, probably just to be difficult.

"What do you think, boy? That bold and enormous display there on the outer wall of the Registry. The giant circle with the slash through it, rendered in black paint. What do you make of it?"

Cat considered a moment, then said, blandly, "I'll bet the Broken Circle is responsible for it."

For a moment, Aquint was almost tempted to cuff the boy. Instead, he chuckled. "All right, Cat. Fun's over. Now, let's get to work. Come along."

It was early morning. The two of them had received an urgent summons from Governor Jesile. Now Aquint understood what it was all about.

Evidently, sometime during the night, somebody had scaled the north outside wall of the Registry and painted the Broken Circle's emblem there on the white stone. Probably there had been more than one person involved in the stunt. What was truly remarkable was that it had been accomplished almost literally under the noses of the garrison, without raising the alarm.

And that, Aquint judged, took real daring. Whatever else, it was an admirable feat.

He and Cat went around to one of the Registry's other entrances. They made their way to Jesile's office.

Aquint expected to find the Felk governor ranting and furious. He was prepared to let Jesile vent his frustrations by barking orders and demanding that the Circle be brought in, right now.

Instead, Colonel Jesile was at his desk, immersed in paperwork, his hard face showing no special emotion. He glanced up when Aquint and Cat were admitted.

He didn't offer them seats, didn't say anything for a long, curiously blank moment. Then he said, conversationally, "I've been contemplating the particular placement."

Aquint blinked. "How's that, Governor?"

"They chose the north wall," Jesile said, as if pointing out something obvious.

"So they did," said Aquint.

"You don't find that significant?"

"More significant than the fact that the perpetrator or perpetrators managed the deed at all?" Aquint didn't see what the colonel was getting at.

Jesile drummed his fingers among the opened scrolls on his desk. "You're not a Felk native."

It wasn't a question but Aquint answered anyway, "No, I am not." Then he added, with just a slight edge to his voice, "I'm a Callahan by birth." It was information Jesile surely already knew.

"If you were of Felk," the governor said, "you'd understand why those rebel bleeders painted that offense on the north wall."

Suddenly, Aquint did understand. Felk was to the north. It was, in fact, the northernmost city-state of the Isthmus. The Broken Circle had no doubt chosen the northern face of the Registry deliberately for this operation, as a way of demonstrating their most poignant defiance.

"So they've got flair," Aquint finally said, realizing as he did that he was being as drolly aggravating as Cat had been with him earlier.

"Flair?" Jesile said, spearing Aquint with his eyes. For a moment he seemed on the edge of an angry retort. Then he said, maintaining his calm manner, "Very well. We'll agree they've got... flair. I hope you'll also agree that this crime cannot go unanswered."

Aquint, even with his first reaction of stunned laughter, had known this. He had feared it.

"You're quite right," he said to Jesile. He felt Cat giving him a long, subtle sidelong look.

Jesile nodded. "Good. There will have to be visible punitive measures. Can you, at this time, locate any members of the so-called Broken Circle, which is currently operating against the lawful Felk occupation of Callah?"

It was a withering, formal question, and Aquint almost sagged under the weight of it.

"No," he said at last, voice suddenly hoarse, "I can't."

Colonel Jesile nodded again. He made a notation on one of the scrolls on his desk.

"Very well," Jesile said. "I suggest that you and your associates in the Internal Security Corps continue—and perhaps, if I might advise, step up—your efforts to locate the rebel underground here in Callah. In the meantime, I am forced to take actions more aggressive and severe than I would normally be inclined to take. The matter is out of my hands. What occurred last night wasn't merely an act of vandalism. It was a formal declaration of war, as far as I'm concerned."

Aquint nearly interrupted, but caught himself and held silent, dreading what was coming.

"If these people of Callah don't want the peace we've brought them," Jesile said, "then they can experience the alternative. Ten citizens will be rounded up at random. They will be flogged at the top of the watch, starting today at midday, in the public square. At the start of each subsequent watch, they will receive another regulation flogging. It will continue until the ten victims are all dead... or until at least one member of the Broken Circle comes forward and surrenders to this command."

Jesile waved the back of his hand at Aquint and Cat.

"That's all. Dismissed."

The two of them exited the office, a numb silence between them.

There was nothing even remotely amusing about that giant symbol now. It glared down menacingly as Aquint led Cat quickly away from the Registry.

Aquint's thoughts were moving fast. He had anticipated that Jesile would react militantly. But he hadn't expected the Felk governor to take these measures. Ten innocent Callahans were going to be killed. They were going to be beaten to death. Aquint nurtured no illusions that any self-sacrificing member of the Broken Circle was going to actually come forward to stop it. Things didn't work that way.

He looked back, almost involuntarily, at the receding north wall of the Registry. Whoever had managed the escapade had surely used a rope secured to the roof. What that must have been like, dangling there in the night, slapping black paint against stone, swinging gradually across the wall to complete the huge circle and slash, all while the Registry guards milled about obliviously below.

Yes, a bold and audacious feat, Aquint brooded. And one that was going to have dire consequences.

"Who do these godsdamned rebels think they are?" he suddenly exploded, there in the street.

Cat cautioned him to keep his voice down.

Aquint continued, more quietly but just as intently, "This Broken Circle, what good do they think they're doing?"

"I believe they're rebelling against the Felk," Cat said.

Aquint ignored the droll tone this time. "They're rebelling, are they? Then they should rebel. What have they accomplished so far? They've killed one Felk soldier. One! And that was as likely an accident as a premeditated act. They're just stirring up trouble for everybody else."

"What would you have them do?" Cat asked.

Aquint glanced at the boy and saw that he wasn't being facetious now. He considered the lad's question.

He sighed, "I just wish they could find some way to resist the Felk that wouldn't... wouldn't..."

"Wouldn't cause any trouble," Cat supplied quietly.

It pointed out the ridiculousness of Aquint's argument. The Broken Circle was a rebel organization. You couldn't have rebellion without conflict, and conflict had inevitable repercussions.

They walked awhile in tense silence.

Finally Cat asked, "Where are we going?"

Aquint tasted something unpleasant in the back of his throat. From the moment Jesile had made his pronouncement about the public floggings, Aquint had known in his bones what he had to do. It was a ghastly thing. But it was also a lesser evil. He recalled his days of keeping the ledgers of the hauling company he had first gone to work for. He had juggled figures. He had made the numbers balance. It was a talent he had.

Now he was being indirectly saddled with this burden. He couldn't allow ten fellow Callahans to die... not when it was within his power to prevent those deaths.

"Where are we going?" Cat repeated.

They were some distance from the Registry by now. Aquint abruptly halted. He looked about, recognizing the street. There was a drug den of some sort hereabouts. Narcotics had never interested Aquint. Alcohol was so much simpler a recreational stimulant.

Drugs, he understood, were difficult to come by these days, what with the general suspension of trade and the closed roads between the cities. But Aquint wagered the den would still be operating in some shape or form.

He turned to Cat and laid a hand on the boy's bony shoulder.

"We're going to procure ourselves a rebel, Cat," he said solemnly.

Drug addicts could generally be relied on to abuse their habits, more so even than drunks with their liquor.

The place stank like a latrine. Aquint had gone in through the front door, flashing a fistful of scrip notes and purporting to be a buyer. He named the first narcotic he could think of, phato blossoms, and was told he could purchase some inside.

The den smelled of more than just human waste and neglectful hygiene, of course. It smelled of a trap. Aquint was unarmed. He had never been much for weapons, anyway. Even during his stint in the Felk infantry, when he had helped in the slaughter of U'delph, he had felt no ease with a sword. Such an awkward implement.

U'delph... he still hated thinking about it. It was a disgrace, and he was ashamed he'd had any part in it.

Then again, this was pretty shameful as well. But it was also necessary, in order to save those ten innocent lives.

The man who had admitted Aquint now led him into a dimly lit cavernous room, where there were quite a number of people lying about in various states of stupefaction on the floor. Aquint breathed through his mouth, but that only caused him to taste the foul human stench.

"We have blossoms of high quality, my friend." The man grinned, teeth appearing in the dimness. "The more you spend, the better they will be."

Aquint was looking around. The specimens on display here were quite poor. Many were huddling under blankets, presumably to block out any and all traces of light. Aquint studied the bodies. Some looked half-starved. When one was only interested in the procurement and ingestion of one's preferred narcotic, then luxuries like food probably became a low priority.

It was disgusting. But Aquint kept up his search, ignoring the man standing beside him. Finally he crossed toward a figure who was sitting cross-legged and bare-chested, head lolling.

"Where are you going?" the man said behind him, startled.

Aquint looked down on the sitting figure. It was a male, relatively young, though still too old to have been swept up by the Felk conscription. He had a reasonably healthy muscle tone, with enough flesh on his bones that he didn't appear too sickly.

Mostly though there was something about the planes and angles of his face. His cheekbones were sharp, and his bleary eyes had a vaguely sinister cast. He looked like he might be a rebel. He would fulfill the role nicely.

"I'll take him," Aquint said. "How much do you want?"

The man had caught up to him. "What...? But you wanted phato blossoms."

"I've changed my mind. I'll buy him instead. Here, take these. Is it enough?" Aquint stuffed notes into the man's hand.

"This isn't a brothel," the man said, summoning a faint righteous tone, even as he accepted Aquint's money. "But, perhaps two or three more bronze notes..."

Aquint handed them over. Then he reached down and hauled the sitting man up onto his feet. He moved bonelessly, head still lolling. Aquint started him back the way they had come, toward the front door.

"Just a moment," said the den's proprietor, hurrying after them. "I've changed my mind, too. He'll cost you an extra—yeeowchhh!"

Aquint had been expecting the shriek. Greed was a vile trait. Cat of course had crept in here ahead of Aquint, unseen in the dimness, and had watched out to make sure Aquint wasn't waylaid. If the proprietor had just let Aquint go without pressing him for more money, Cat wouldn't have had to jam that needle-shaped little knife he carried into the man's backside. The wound wouldn't be fatal, but it would allow Aquint to vacate the premises without any further bother.

Vacate he did, his arm around the addict's shoulders, propping him up and leading him onward on unsteady feet. Cat joined Aquint a moment later on the street, and they took the man back to their apartment.

The midday watch was approaching. He and Cat worked fast. They rustled up some decent clothing for the man. They groomed him until he looked relatively presentable. That was the easy part. All the while, the man remained only scarcely aware of his surroundings, eyes blinking in druggy stupor.

Aquint leaned close to him and said in a steady tranquil voice, "I am a member of the Broken Circle. I am a member of the Broken Circle. Say it. Say it back to me. I am a member of the Broken Circle. I am—"

Eventually, the man picked up the repetitious words and started to say them in a tiny mumble. Aquint persisted, saying the phrase clearly over and over again. The man followed suit, and the words became more distinct.

"I am a member of the Broken Circle," Aquint said. "I will say nothing else."

"I am a member of the Broken Circle. I will say nothing else." The man spoke it perfectly now, without a hint of slur.

They commandeered a wagon and horses and rode at a reckless speed toward the Registry. Their timing was close, very close. Jesile had already gathered his ten random victims.

Aquint led the man inside, Cat trailing. Aquint had bound the man's hands behind his back. When they reached Jesile, Aquint gave the man a hard shove, and he tumbled to the floor.

"Here," Aquint said. "Ask him who he is."

Colonel Jesile looked at Aquint, then at the man on the floor. "Who are you?" he finally asked.

"I am a member of the Broken Circle," the addict said. "I will say nothing else."

Jesile nodded. "That's good work, Aquint. I hope you'll believe me when I say I would much rather put this guilty man to death than harm any innocent citizen of this city."

Aquint made no reply. He turned and exited, Cat following, leaving behind the single innocent man who would unknowingly sacrifice himself for the sake of ten others.