05-336 Haven

  Patrik stood by a shop selling skillfully decorated masks, his back set deliberately against the tiled wall. He stood so still that many passersby failed to notice him, considering the man clothed in dark greys and greens only a shadow.

  The afternoon crowd consisted of ordinary people in their daily business: servants running errands, people shopping for fun or necessity, a group of older men playing a seemingly endless card game, kids running everywhere, and occasional first-timers visiting Haven, classified by the wonder in their eyes.

  Haven was Watergate’s largest city, a melting pot for travellers from all shores of the Shallow Sea. Patrik had visited here many times, and the city failed to awe him: on the contrary, he disliked the disorganized city plan and the constant buzz filling the streets. Patrik preferred the clean, organized cities, specifically Sandau, his Northern home.

  Jesrade’s message had come as a surprise. Patrik was in Haven for work and had believed his half-sister was on the other side of the sea, in Giza. Seeing her handwriting had been like a warm ray of light, and finding the invisible marks, visible only to the sight, had dispelled doubt about the sender. The invisible writing proposed the meeting date and time.

  Half-sister’s rare summonings were usually a pleasurable distraction for Patrik, but this meeting conflicted badly with his schedule. Patrik was in Haven to check a potential informant about the terrorist cell rumored to target Agiisha, her dragon lady, and he had several items screaming for his attention. Still, Patrik chose to shed everything for a while, for family was his priority.

  The crowd on the street was not enough to hide Jesrade from Patrik. She had dressed plainly: a lilac tunic, paired with wide trousers and a brimmed hat, a garb suitable for a junior merchant, and nothing to draw attention.

  “You lost your bodyguard?” Patrik asked, speaking the southern language with practiced ease.

  “Do I need one if I am with you?” Jesrade graced Patrik with a mocking smile. She was in her early twenties, a slender woman with large, bluish-grey eyes and blonde hair she had had the sense to dye dark. Blonde called for trouble, for it was considered a sign of sickness and marked the bearer to be possessed by evil, touched by the demons rising from the end of the world ash, if one believed the southern superstitions.

  “The safety protocol exists for a reason, and you’ll make it easier for everyone if you comply with it.” Patrik’s words were solemn, but Jesrade’s smile lifted the responsibilities’ dark shadow for a precious moment.

  “You're a big grump. Do you ever smile? You already show the first wrinkles.” Jesrade patted Patrik’s cheek playfully, breaking his icy cover and summoning the faintest of smiles on his lips.

  They had met for the first time when Jesrade was eleven. She had visited the theater with Ikanji, their common father. Patrik’s mom had made a show of guiding everyone in her private quarters for drinks and talk.

  Dad had been as distant as ever, but Patrik still remembered the feeling when his eyes met Jesrade’s, and there was a recognition. They were of a kin. The ambitious intelligence in young Jesrade’s eyes carried to her words, but tempered with fierce equality, and Patrik was immediately drawn to her cause. Jesrade was a flame he wanted to see grow strong, his clever, powerful little sister, who chose to fight for a better, fairer world.

  Jesrade’s and Patrik’s lives seldom touched. Patrik had a military career, and Jesrade lived in their father’s mansion away from Sandau. Jesrade’s first steps into politics took her even farther away, a situation Patrik regretted.

  “I thought you were in Giza,” Patrik said, leading them down the street filled with merchants, beggars, and ordinary people on their way. This was a main road in the outer city, housing extraordinary and highly questionable shops, and several entertainment facilities, spanning from bars and gaming dens to performing arts and culinary delights. Patrik took a sharp turn, planning to lead Jesrade away from the rush.

  “I flew here to attend a medical conference tomorrow. The overpricing of essential medicines and saving the best practices only for cult-approved causes must end. I need to sway the Shibasan doctorate to give me audience.”

  Patrik nodded. Jesrade was an idealist at heart, and he sensed that flame like a light in the dark, guiding him through the murky waters of terrorism, spying, blackmailing, and all the darker aspects of his work. Jesrade was a fresh breeze, and she had a vision: Jesrade didn’t stop to help every starving kid, but her ambition drove her to the heart of power, where she could architect a greater change.

  She fought for concepts that evaded Patrik: world peace and the removal of poverty. It sounded like a utopia, but Jesrade had a plan, and she was pushing it forward, one baby step at a time.

  “What did you tell your boyfriend?” Patrik asked.

  “The truth, of course. Maybe I left out some details, but who cares?” Jesrade smirked. The rumor was that she had caught the attention of a Gizan lord. The nobleman was oblivious of Jesrade’s origins.

  “Is he treating you well?”

  “He is lovely, a true gentleman. Too bad he frowns at the Separatist league, otherwise I might introduce my relatives to him.” Jesrade laughed, amusement making her eyes sparkle like light on a breaking wave.

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  Patrik was about to answer when an explosion shattered the windows and showered the street in shards and debris. Patrik shielded Jesrade, pushing her behind a coffee stall, when people around them screamed and scattered to the alleys.

  Black smoke billowed from the broken street-level windows of a building on the opposite side of the street. It was a bar and motel, a seemingly innocent establishment, but it was the den for a gang arranging transportation to the closed reefs.

  Five men walked to the street from the alley where they had lurked, guns in their hands, all sporting blue scarves wrapped around their heads, necks, or arms. They spread out to face the building, and the leader, a bearded man with long hair and tattoos circling his naked torso, shot at a remaining window.

  “Red orchestra out of Haven!” he shouted.

  “This is our territory!” another man screamed, grinning wildly.

  More shots were fired at the smoking building. Patrik kept low as the gang passed them, evaluating the situation: the small mob was focused on the business at hand. Jesrade tugged her hat deeper, glancing around, ready to bolt.

  Haven had always sported a bustling illegal market, and the city’s wealth was built on the fact that criminal life was organized to minimize open conflicts. Viper’s reign over the outer city had a silent approval from Haven’s ruling elite. This kind of open attack was unlikely, and Patrik waited for Viper’s enforcers to appear at any time to stop it.

  Someone threw a bottle out of the smoking building. It smashed into the street close to the closest man and exploded into a cloud of black smoke and shrapnel. The man fell screaming, and others took a step back. A wiry woman stepped forward, leaning against the smoking doorframe. She pointed a shotgun at the men, and other barrels appeared in the windows.

  “Viper will hear about Breakwater Boys breaking the council rules!” the woman said, spitting the words out.

  “Viper’s dead,” the bearded man grunted. The attackers had taken cover, and the firefight was a heartbeat away.

  Jesrade cursed softly under her breath and sneaked away from the coffee stall, towards the nearest alley. Patrik followed her, covering her back. When they turned the corner, they ran, the shots and screaming echoing behind them.

  ***

  They stopped when they couldn’t hear the fight. Patrik breathed evenly; he looked cool and composed, but inside his chest, anger and astonishment coiled like serpents. Viper had ruled Haven for decades; if the rumor about his death was true, it would complicate all the carefully prepared operations in the city.

  Jesrade tugged Patrik around the corner, and they stopped in a nook behind a vegetable stall. The seller looked at them suspiciously, but decided they didn’t look like customers or thieves and let them be.

  They were out of the main streets, and Patrik could sense the changed atmosphere. Something had happened, and the city’s lowlife were always the first to know. They were like the rats that sensed a coming earthquake, scurrying around, their eyes suspicious and glancing at the unfamiliar faces.

  “If Viper is gone, what about Kven? He is somewhere here,” Jesrade asked, a flash of worry in her eyes. She saw the turmoil, too; she had always been good at picking the small signals.

  “He will ride this storm and probably enjoy it,” Patrik answered with his best reassuring voice, but he was unsure and a little worried. Whatever had killed Viper could have targeted his brother, too.

  “He is not like that. Kven respected Viper. I fear something has happened to him.”

  “Don’t worry, Kvenrei is the thing that happens to other people, not the other way round. He will report back without doubt.”

  “You are right.” Jesrade sighed and fixed her eyes on Patrik, lowering her voice and switching to her native language. “There will be so much suffering. Viper was an iron knot tying the smuggling operations together. With him gone, the city will degenerate into rival gangs fighting each other.”

  “In the end, it is our benefit. We can twist the situation to…”

  “Patrik! I didn’t mean spreading the northern influence to dominate the business sector. I meant food and medicines. The rich will get richer, but the poor will starve and get sick!”

  “Yes, but the political situation…”

  “Quit it already. You sound like Dad. Of course, you will secure New Freedom’s political interests in the global game, but you can do it without disrupting citizens’ supply chains. Food and medicines must be available at a reasonable price, even after Haven’s nobility takes control of the trade.”

  “Listen to me. This is an explosive situation, and we must act swiftly.” Patrik put a hand on Jesrade’s arm. The vegetable seller stared at them while packing his wares into boxes. He was closing his stall.

  Jesrade swatted Patrik’s hand away. “No, you listen to me. Did you order Kven to kill Viper? Is that why you are here?” Jesrade’s eyes flashed with challenge; despite every stupid act Kvenrei had pulled, she was loyal to him.

  “That was not my doing. I haven’t heard about him in months. Listen… ”

  “Then why are you here?” Jesrade’s voice was treacherously soft.

  Patrik sighed. Jesrade was impossible when she pressed on, and he had to be moving; there was no time to quarrel. “You know that a terrorist cell has been after you-know-who?”

  Jesrade’s eyes narrowed; this side of politics was unknown waters to her, and Patrik regretted he had to introduce her to the subject without softening the facts. He drew Agiisha’s winged sigil in the air, and Jesrade nodded.

  “There have been attempts to spy on and harm the dragon. We have a potential informant located, and the meeting was scheduled for tomorrow. I am here for that.”

  “Will Viper’s death affect it?”

  Patrik nodded, proud of his sister’s quick deduction. “I fear so. Scrap the smuggler lords, but this is the only clue we have found about the terrorists.”

  “This chaos will spread quickly. Do you know where to find the informant?”

  “Yes, the information service already did a background check. I’ll take you to safety and go to find her. We will talk later, somewhere safer.”

  Jesrade snorted with aristocratic dignity. “No, I’ll help you find this informant. Then you will take me to the Shibasan embassy and help me with the doctorate. I could really use you glaring at them; you are good at being menacing.”

  Patrik saw Jesrade meant it. He shrugged. “Very well. Stay behind and do what I say.“

  “Only if you do what I say with the Shibasians.”

  “It is a deal, dear sister.”