Fulcrum

[Roc]

Solo.

A haze of cigar smoke clouded Rocca Ravara’s sitting room. An assortment of trinkets and oddities decorated wooden desks and shelves, arranged with care despite their lack of visible worth. Roc himself lounged in a comfy leather chair, eyes closed, oblivious to the warm afternoon sunlight that penetrated the pall. In his left hand rested a worn brass amulet, chain draped across his bony fingers. From the door came a knock, followed by the protesting creak of hinges. The detective’s gray eyes opened to regard the familiar visitor.

Her name was Rhadriel Talvir. A lithe, athletic elven lass, she was very much a typical member of her species – wheat-blonde hair, clear blue eyes and pointed ears. Her outfit consisted of a simple, sleeveless leather tunic, brown cotton skirt, and soft leather boots. Her phenomenal senses and her skill with a bow were tremendous assets to his team, and her aptitude as a tracker was as useful here in Radasanth as it was in her own native forests. Her face bore an expression of slight disgust. Roc already knew the reason for it, and he suppressed an impish smile.

“I have something you should see, Rocca.” Her voice carried a light, musical quality. He’d hear about her displeasure later, he was sure. For now, she simply crossed the room and handed him a folded piece of paper.

Roc laid his amulet on the arm of his chair, removed the cigar from his mouth and accepted the paper. As he opened it and began to read, Rhadriel briefly explained the situation. “The writer doesn’t give a name. He claims to have information on a person named Tavus. Whether that’s a surname or a given name, I can’t say. He wants to meet with you.”

The detective quickly skimmed the rest of the note before returning his gaze to the young elf. “And what do you think?”

Rhadriel shrugged. “Lot's of risk, no obvious reward. Too many unknowns, and every unknown is an opportunity for something to go wrong. We're a business. If the writer came to us in person with an offer, perhaps I'd feel differently. As it stands, I see no reason for us to gamble on this.” Roc had known the elf for nearly two years now, and her response was typical.

He decided to challenge her this time. “I don’t think this person would have contacted us unless this Tavus was somebody important – somebody we’d want to know more about.”

“Or it could be a ruse.” She shrugged again. “If I’m going to meet somebody I’ve never seen before, I prefer it to be on my terms.”

“That’s doesn't seem to be an option here.” Roc puffed once on the cigar and shifted in his seat. “Give me ten minutes or so. I want to check this note out. Maybe I can find something that isn’t written on the paper.”

The look of faint disgust returned to Rhadriel’s face. “If you don’t object, I’ll wait outside.”

Again Roc stifled a smile. “As you wish.” His refusal to take the bait would irk her even more, he knew.

Finally she caved. “Why do you do that?” she demanded.

His grin finally broke through. “It helps me relax. Makes it a bit easier to focus on the memories.”

“But it stinks.”

“I’m used to it. You’d get used to it too if you’d join me.” He offered her the cigar. She snorted, spun on her heel and stormed out the door. When it slammed shut behind her, Rocca burst into laughter.

[Roc]

Roc looked on as his hands worked. In one, a pen. The other held the paper steady so he could write. He paid little heed to the words; he’d seen those already. Rather, he looked for everything else.

This man had uncommon focus. His eyes never left the paper, even as he paused to search for words. Roc could see a rough wooden desk and a stone floor beyond it, but little else. Even when he dipped his pen into an inkwell, his eyes didn’t waver from the paper. His nose picked up the tangy scent of still-damp ink and the faint, smoky odor of burning candles somewhere out of his field of vision. The scratch of the writer's utensil broke the otherwise eerie silence.

Finally his opportunity came. His man reached for the inkwell once more, but missed. He looked up for a fleeting moment to correct his aim, and in that instant the detective took in as much as he could. The room was windowless and dimly lit by a pair of smoky lanterns. The walls, floor, and ceiling were stone. Two men sat across the room on a featureless rock bench. One was a bald beast of a man with bulging muscles and a grim expression. The other, a groomed and well-dressed man in his forties, hissed a warning to the writer, and Roc’s window of opportunity closed.


He’d seen enough; enough to know that Rhadriel was right.

In that instant, he’d learned two things: that his mystery man knew of his gift, and that he had taken careful measures to keep Roc in the dark. The detective couldn’t say who the men were or what they wanted of him, but he was willing to bet now that it hadn’t been written with friendly intentions.

He stood on his deck with Rhadriel a moment later, squinting against the strong afternoon sunlight. His home was located in one of the nicer parts of Radasanth. The boulevard in front of his house was wide and clean, and the streets that branched from it almost looked safe to traverse at night.

The young elf woman said nothing for a moment after Rocca filled her in. She pushed long, slender fingers through sun-kissed hair, and for a moment the detective felt oddly uncomfortable. He had always considered her to be off-limits, whether because they had become close friends, or because she worked for him, or simply because she was an elf. But every so often he’d see a reminder of just how remarkably beautiful she was, and this was one of those reminders.

He was thankful when she finally broke the silence. “So what’s next?”

Roc shrugged, still feeling a bit edgy. “You called this one right, so I’ll leave it up to you. What should we do about it?”

She frowned. “Well, we can’t ignore it. That much is clear. They’ve gone to great lengths to get in touch with you. I don’t know how persistent they are, and I’d rather not find out.” She paused for a moment. “Do you remember what the other two men look like?” she asked.

He nodded. “I can always search the letter again if I need more details, anyway.”

“We should talk to Georez then. Maybe he can identify these them for us, or at least put his men on the lookout for now.”

Rocca nodded again. “That’s probably a good idea. Let’s go pay him a visit.”

[Roc]

Roc and Rhadriel strode though the gloomy granite halls, meeting the odd guardsman with a nod or a short greeting. They were known and welcomed here, but the men themselves weren't a talkative bunch. Heavy doors of reinforced wood interrupted the stonework at intervals, and some opened into equally-featureless offices or sitting rooms.

They found the captain eating a late lunch alone in an oft-abandoned mess hall in the back. A man in his mid-thirties, Georez was surprisingly small given his profession. What he lacked in size, though, he made up for with street smarts, patience and brutal efficiency. He typically wore a simple shirt of steel chainmail and a steel helm. For now, the headgear rested on the table at his elbow, exposing his tousled black hair. Splashes of gray were already visible at his temples.

He listened without question to Roc’s story, calloused hands folded beneath his chin. Like Rhadriel, he waited for a moment before voicing his thoughts.

“I’ll be completely honest with you, Roc.” He spoke softly. “This isn’t something I want you mixed up in.”

Roc cocked an eyebrow. “Why?”

Georez grimaced. He stood and closed the door to their room before returning to his seat. “Keep this quiet. I wouldn’t tell anyone else,” he explained tersely, looking at each of them in turn. “I know Amarus Tavus. He runs one of the major… we’ll call them ‘gangs’… in Radasanth. At any given time, there are several of these gangs fighting for control. They’re powerful. My men could bring them down in a straight fight, but it almost never comes to that. We don’t know who they are, and we don’t know where they’re located. We must avoid endangering civilians at all costs, so they’re a serious threat.”

Roc stared at him. "You're only telling me this now?" he asked incredulously. He'd known the man for several years. Now he found that Georez had sheltered him from the very people he'd entered his profession to bring down. In his throat rose the sour bile of shame.

"I'm only telling you now to warn you to stay away," the captain said bluntly. "You're vulnerable, Roc. You live alone. You have no weapons training. You've been a valuable asset to me over the years, but I'm not foolish enough to think these ringleaders wouldn't want your skills for their own. I meant well, Roc, you must understand that."

The detective didn't answer. Apparently he and Georez had differing views of the term 'valuable asset.'

“What do you do about them?” Rhadriel asked.

Georez's grin betrayed no trace of mirth. “I play politics. I plant my men in their gangs and incite them to fight one another. While they’re fighting each other in their turf wars, they aren’t troubling Radasanth’s honest citizens – the people I really care about. They all love the idea of dominating Radasanth’s underworld, so fortunately it’s not too difficult to keep them busy.”

He leaned forward. “Roc, I need you to stay out of this if at all possible. I really value the help you’ve given me over the years, but I can’t have you playing vigilante here. You'll do more harm than good.”

“What should I do, then?” the detective asked, still seething inwardly.

“Nothing. Go back home. I’ll post a nightly watch at your place for the next few nights, in case your friend insists on meeting you. Rhadriel, it might not be a bad idea for you to stay close as well.” He grinned at her suddenly. “Are you sure I can’t steal you from this smokestack?”

She returned his smile with a demure shake of her head. “I wouldn’t miss the smell, but I enjoy my work. Sorry.”

[Roc]

Rhadriel sat resolutely in Roc’s leather chair, arms crossed. The last rays of late afternoon glared stubbornly through the windows, casting a red glare on everything in the room.

“I can take care of myself for a night. Go home and get some sleep.” Rocca had tried to dislodge her from his chair for the past half-hour.

“I will not. I am acting with your best interests in mind.”

“My interest at the moment, actually, is to have my chair back so I can light a cigar and enjoy some peace. Go.”

“I will not,” she repeated. Even in the midst of an argument, Rhadriel never lost her temper, or hardly even raised her voice at all. His ex-wife, on the other hand, would have been nearly unintelligible by this point. That wasn’t a very welcome thought. Rocca never enjoyed dwelling on the mistakes of his past.

“You don’t like the smell of cigar smoke.”

“You can do without it for one night. Georez ordered me to stay here.”

Roc’s tone took on an edge. “Georez doesn’t pay you. I do. I’ll see you in the morning.”

At long last her fortress crumbled, and her face adopted a sullen pout. “As you command,” she bit the words off as she rose. Roc winced. He recognized that formal tone; she used it whenever he had managed to piss her off. “I will return at sunrise.”

“Fair enough. Sleep well.”

Unexpectedly she stopped and turned for a moment. “You too.” She smiled radiantly at him as if a frown had never crossed her lips. Then she left and softly closed the door behind her. Roc could only manage an expression of bewilderment as he stared after her.

Women.

Now that his impediment had finally gone home, he selected a cigar from a humidor on one of his shelves and reclaimed his rightful place in his chair. A moment later, a pleasant serenity washed away the excitement of the day. He exhaled, watched for a moment as the smoke rose to the ceiling, and then surveyed his collection of trinkets.

He rose one last time and crossed the room to select a bent silver ring, covered in dings and scratches. With a small smile of satisfaction, he returned to the chair and sprawled across it. Wriggling deeper into the cushions, he took another puff on his cigar, set it in an ashtray and closed his eyes.


Darkness blanketed Radasanth a few hours later. The streets had gone to sleep. Rocca Ravara’s cigar had dimmed and died in its tray long ago, and the detective was oblivious.

He was also unaware of the window that had been pried open with deft skill and silent fingers. Of the three black-hooded men who stood over him.

One of the men nodded to the other, who quickly and firmly pressed a damp cloth across Roc’s face. His eyes fired open, then gradually flickered shut. His ring clinked to the ground. They lifted him from his chair and maneuvered him out the window, then vanished silently into the night.

[Roc]

A right turn. The man scurried furtively down the corridor, eyes never leaving the floor in front of him. He carried in his arms a bundle of straw and a linen sheet. Roc was vaguely aware of a rushing noise. The river… yes, that was it. Somewhere near the docks then?

Down a flight of steps. Another man was advancing up the stairs at the same time. The bedding-burdened fellow pressed to the stone wall and averted his gaze until the man passed by.

At the bottom he doubled back beneath the stairs and entered a room. Four men were standing in here already. Draped over one’s shoulder was a prone figure. Not meeting their gaze, he hurriedly made up the bed with fresh straw and covered it with the sheet. Then, he left.


Roc opened his eyes, then immediately snapped them shut. A hand went to his head as if to fend off the daggers of pain, and he groaned. Then, a voice.

“I apologize. The chemical is a favorable alternative to a club, but it still leaves a hell of a headache. Of course, this could have all been avoided had you been more cooperative.” The detective opened his eyes to a squint. A dark-haired man stood over him, clean-shaven and dressed in a clean, royal blue shirt and dark gray slacks. Rocca recognized him as the man who had given the order to write the letter.

The man smiled thinly. “I suspect that you could figure it out on your own anyway, so I might as well be direct. My name is Amarus Tavus. As your friend at the barracks told you, I head a major part of Radasanth’s… night life.”

Now Roc’s eyes snapped open despite the pain. “How did you know about that?“ His voice creaked as if from neglect.

“Don’t be naïve. Captain Ardemer isn’t the only one with spies. There’s a major difference though: I know who his spies are. He doesn’t know mine. Your friend was right about one thing: he’s playing the game at a major informational disadvantage.”

Roc tried to sit up, but the pain in his head flared anew. Amarus lightly pushed him back down. “Take my advice and just rest there for now. You’re in no position to be getting any exercise.” He coughed. “As I was saying, though, my fight has never been with Radasanth’s people. Your friend might like to think that he’s playing a masterful game, pitting me against the others, but truthfully that’s all I ever wanted in the first place.”

Tavus looked directly at Rocca then. “I will mince no words, Mister Ravara. I require your assistance in my campaign. I will have it. I hope you will cooperate with me, but if not, I am prepared to play hardball. In return, you have my word that you will not be asked anything that could harm innocents.”

He smiled. “But I’ve done enough talking. Rest now. The door will be barred, so save your energy and don’t try to escape. I will return later when you’ve had time to consider my proposal.”

With that, Amarus Tavus crossed the room and closed the door behind him. A second later, Roc heard a heavy thud as the bar fell into place.

[Roc]

Fool.

Rhadriel sprinted down the roads of Radasanth. The sun still sat low in the eastern sky, and the citizens of Corone’s capital had yet to leave bed’s comfort and lover’s embrace. The few that walked the streets at this early hour melted from the elf’s path.

Utter fool!

A right turn. Feet thumped tirelessly against stone. She had tried! She’d done everything but beg to stay with him. She had known something like this would happen.

She should have begged, should have insisted. She should have ignored him when he asserted his authority. He would have been angry for a time, but he would have gotten over it. It would have been for his own good, after all.

A left turn. She flew down one of the main streets. The road was already considerably more crowded than the others, even at this hour. She danced through the milling throng with the grace of a wildcat. Her eyes, though, burned with the intensity of a hunting wolf.

The barracks of the city watch were in sight now. She ascended a short flight of steps, soared through an open iron gate and shoved the big front door inward with a loud crash.

“I need Captain Ardemer,” she demanded of the startled guards. “Now.”


A short moment later, she stood before the captain in his quarters. He sat behind a plain wooden desk, wearing his customary chainmail. His ashen appearance suggested to Rhadriel that he already knew what had happened.

“What happened, Captain?” Her voice betrayed the fringes of her fury. “Roc is gone.”

Georez nodded, face set in a tight grimace "I know. My men returned an hour ago with the news. Why didn't you stay with him last night? That suggestion was for your safety as much as his."

"He commanded me to go home. How did your guards miss this?"

The captain made an indelicate sound. "Incompetence. As far as I could tell, my men only kept watch at the front door. They took him from a window in the back. They heard them as they escaped, but couldn't catch them." Georez sunk his face into his hands and groaned. “I didn’t want this. I told him to stay away from Tavus.”

“He didn’t have a choice. He was involved in this from the moment he received that note.” A trace of frustration colored her anger now. If he had known for an hour, why was he not already moving?

The captain said nothing for a moment. Rhadriel pressed him. “Captain, do something. If you send some men with me, perhaps I can find a-“

“I can’t get involved.” His words were barely more than a whisper.

She stared at him incredulously. “Pardon?”

“I can’t. If I go after him, Tavus will...” His words trailed off, as if he was afraid to speak the words in his mind.

Once more Rhadriel forced an answer out of him. "Tavus will what, Captain?"

His eye flickered up at her before dropping back to down. "He will - he could attack innocents," he stuttered. He was a horrible liar.

Any respect she had for the man eroded away at that very instant. He was no longer a captain of the guard to her, a bastion protecting Radasanth’s civilians from crime. Instead, she saw him for what he was: a spineless wretch who was afraid to act, cowed into immobility by his enemies.

“I see.” It took all of her self-control to restrain her newfound contempt. “Then I am wasting my time here.” Without another word, she turned and left.

[Roc]

Rhadriel always felt weak, somehow naked without her bow and arrows. Radasanth could be a scary place, and she preferred to have a quiver of barbed arrowheads between her and the scum of the streets. The citizens didn’t approve of an armed foreigner in their midst, though, so she left them home more often than she liked.

Their weight comforted her now as she strode resolutely down the street to Rocca’s home. The cowardly captain had given her no aid. Fine. She would do it herself. She could track as well as any man in the watch, and her aim with her bow was true. She had no idea where the detective was or what she would do when she found him, but there came a time when plans were best thrown out the window, a time when acting now was all that mattered.

This was one of those times.

The familiar and unwelcome smell of cigar smoke assailed her nostrils as she entered his home. The elf ignored it as best she could and began searching the place thoroughly, looking for anything she might have missed in her hasty exploration earlier that morning.

The longer she looked, the worse she felt. She knew what he did last night. After he kicked her out, he probably sat in his chair with his tobacco and one of his favorite baubles and took a journey to who-knows-where. He would have never even seen them coming, never had a chance to fight back. Guilty, frustrated tears welled up in her eyes.

So caught up in her own misery was Rhadriel that she almost didn’t realize that she had company. She didn’t even have time to dart for a hiding place as they walked in unannounced. She crouched and readied her bow, reaching over her shoulder into her quiver. There were three men, dressed in an assortment of common clothes, every one of them armed. Her heart began to pound.

“Who are you?” she demanded of them, her bow in her right hand, her left reaching for an arrow.

One of the men smiled suddenly and raised his hands. “Apologies, miss. I think we entered the wrong-” Then he charged forward, hand flashing to his waist.

He crumpled to the floor, the butt of an arrow protruding where his left eye had been. The others leapt over their fallen comrade, both wielding some sort of small needle. A second arrow zipped away with a hiss, followed by a wet thump as it found a home in a man’s throat. He fell dead onto his companion. As Rhadriel reached to her quiver a third time, the last man stabbed his weapon at her chest. She turned but couldn’t evade the blow. She gasped at the sharp pain between her ribs.

Immediately her limbs grew heavy, her world flipped upside down. She reeled and fell backwards. Her mind screamed to her arms to draw the string and slay the enemy, but they wouldn’t listen. She slumped to the floor, unconscious.

[Roc]

Roc felt guilty for even considering Amarus’s request. He lay in the bed, absently watching one of the candles flicker in its bronze sconce. His calm façade told no tales of the tumult that roiled within him.

On many levels it seemed wrong. He had no reason to trust Tavus. No reason to believe him when he said his only goal was to fight the other gangs. No reason to betray Rhadriel and the rest of his team. No reason to forsake all of the work he had done over the past decade and more.

And yet there was a small piece of him that saw merit in the proposal. Captain Ardemer had made it clear that he couldn’t – or wouldn’t – take a stand against the gangs that flourished in Radasanth’s underworld. If Rocca decided to help Tavus, there was a chance that he could do more good as a criminal than he ever had as detective.

It should have been an easy decision, yet it left him wrestling with his conscience until Tavus returned later in the day.

“Well?” the ringleader asked as soon as he entered the room. “I hope you’ve been doing plenty of thinking.”

“I cannot help you, Tavus,” Roc said with a conviction he did not feel.

Amarus sighed in displeasure. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t expect your answer, though I’d dared to hope otherwise.” He leaned against the wall and folded his arms against his chest, his gaze fixed on the detective. “I don’t mind telling you that I’ve been doing some thinking of my own these last few hours. I was originally going to starve you if you refused.” A chill raced down Roc’s spine.

“But I talked myself out of it. I sincerely hope that we can eventually trust each other and work together. It occurred to me that starving you would be a poor start to our partnership.”

“And yet here I sit as your prisoner.” A sarcastic edge colored the words.

If possible, Amarus’s stare grew even more intense. “I gave you an opportunity to assist me by your own free will, but you chose to ignore my invitation. I need your aid, though, and I will have it.”

Roc’s temper flared. Who did Tavus think he was, that he could treat the detective like a mere tool? “Actually, Tavus, you won’t. The ability is mine alone, and so is the leverage.”

The ringleader stepped forward, the fringes of a scowl playing across his face. “If that’s what you think, Mister Ravara, then you don’t understand the meaning of the word ‘leverage’. You will remain in this room twenty-four hours a day until you are willing to cooperate. If you continue to defy me, then I will reconsider my stance on starving you.”

The door opened then. A huge bald man entered the room, a solid slab of muscle clothed in a shirt and slacks of linen. Roc remembered him. He had sat with Amarus Tavus as the letter was written. “Boss, Gordon wants to see you.” The big man glanced tersely at Roc as he spoke.

“Can it wait?” Tavus snapped. “I’m busy.” The man stepped closer and whispered something in his ear, and for the first time since Roc had met him, the ringleader’s gentlemanly façade fell away. A variety of curses spewed from his mouth. Only after a moment did he remember that he had a guest.

Amarus pointed a finger at Roc. “We’ll finish this later,” he said. With one last expletive he turned and followed the big man out, slamming the door as he left.

[Roc]

When Amarus returned twenty minutes later, his demeanor had changed. Gone was the curt, proper captor who spoke with measured, precise words. Gone was the volatile gangster, spitting curses like grape seeds.

In walked a subdued man instead, shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. Roc observed him coolly, expressionless as usual despite the gears that hummed and clicked inside his head. Tavus was proving to be an emotional man, and the detective made a mental note of that trait. He hoped to have an opportunity to see how it affected the ringleader’s actions. Did he let his violent mood swings influence his decisions? Or did he still think clearly even in the midst of such turmoil?

Only when Tavus sat on the bed next to him did Roc feel the first twinges of anxiety gnawing at him. Just what had he learned, anyway? This didn’t feel right.

“There’s no easy way to say this.” No longer did anxiety simply gnaw; it now ripped at the foundation of his calm exterior. “Your friend, the female elf, was captured at your home today.”

The walls tumbled down. The detective stared at Amarus in astonishment. Rhadriel had been captured? He couldn’t believe it. If anybody could have braved the worst of Radasanth’s underworld and emerged unharmed on the other side, Roc would have thought that it was her.

“Is she alive?” He had to ask the question.

Amarus nodded, and Roc breathed a deep sigh of relief. “My source told me that your friend was in your home, presumably looking for a lead to find you.” The ringleader’s stare regained some of its former intensity. “Mister Ravara, it’s time for you to play ball. Who do you think they were really after?”

“Me.” The detective closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and gradually the rest of pieces fell into place. “In fact, they probably took Rhadriel because they’re aware of her connection to me.” A chill ran down his spine as a grim realization hit him: had her captors not known who she was, they likely would have murdered her.

“Frankly I’m surprised she wasn’t killed,” Tavus said. “From what I gathered, three of them jumped her at your home. She killed the first two but the third took her, but he could have easily sought revenge. The discipline of your enemy is why your friend is alive today.”

The ringleader changed the subject then. “I’m going to ask you once again. In fact, I’ll make you a deal: if you agree to help me, then my first priority will be to free your friend. Rhadriel, you said?”

Checkmate. Roc knew it. He had to help his friend, and he couldn’t do that unless he worked with Tavus. The dominoes fell perfectly for the ringleader. In fact…

“You know, I can’t help but feel that this is all working out perfectly for you,” Roc said suspiciously. “You need something to use as leverage, and suddenly Rhadriel ‘happens’ to be kidnapped by your enemy.”

“Are you suggesting that I planned this kidnapping somehow? Mister Ravara, there’s caution and then there’s paranoia. You’re teetering on the edge.”

Roc stood up. “No, I’m suggesting something that requires far less effort on your part: that you just made the story up.”

Tavus rose to face the detective, eyes flashing and jaw locked. “Don’t be an idiot,” he snapped, his voice rising with his temper. “I’ve been nothing but honest about my intentions.”

Forgive me if I don’t trust my captor.” Sarcasm laced the detective’s words.

Amarus opened his mouth to retort, then stopped. Instead, he gave a rueful chuckle. What went on in this man’s head? “I have done little to earn your trust. That is true.” He had shifted back into his ‘gentleman’ persona. “Think, though. Can you really afford to take no action on the chance that I might be lying?”

Checkmate once again. Whether he was telling the truth or not, Tavus had him over a barrel. “You’re right.” The words were quiet, barely above a whisper. Rocca nearly gagged on the bitter taste of his swallowed pride.

[Roc]

“They’re headed to the Merchant’s Quarter, near as I could tell. Zeis should still be tailing them, but I came back to bring you the news as fast as I could.” Marrok was his name. The detective tried not to stereotype people he met, but he wondered how this man could ever be successful at the job Amarus had given him. He looked like a crook, with his unkempt hair and mousy features. His clothing was tattered, woven of plain cotton and adorned by patches of every color imaginable. He was anything but forgettable. In one hand Roc saw a small blade, but the way the man held it suggested that he had no intention of using it.

“Most likely Burren Swope’s crew, then,” Tavus mused. “Mostly down-on-their-luck craftsmen and merchants. They don’t make enough money to make an honest living, so they turn to crime. Mostly just petty theft.” He frowned. “Truthfully I’m a bit surprised that they’d target you or your friend, Mister Ravara. This is very out-of-character for them.”

“How so?” Roc asked.

“Like I said, they’re trying to line their purses with some extra coins. They usually don’t resort to things like kidnapping because it just doesn’t benefit them.” The ringleader looked directly at Roc then. “If I’m not mistaken, your friend Ardemer even has an agreement with them. He looks the other way as long as they limit their activities to theft.”

Roc scoffed. “Georez wouldn’t do that. He’s straight as a razor.”

Tavus maintained his gaze. “You’re naïve, Roc – and I am more familiar with his actions than you are. You know only what Captain Ardemer chooses to tell you. To you, he is straight-laced man of the law because that was what he wants you to see. He’s not quite so simple as all of that.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “That’s not to say he’s wrong in this case.”

As a detective, Roc had heard the excuse time after time. ‘I only did it because I had no other option!’ It was nothing but an appeal to emotion, an attempt to weigh one's own plight as greater than that of others. Over the years, he had learned to tune such pleas out.

Rocca didn’t feel like starting a philosophical debate on the subject, though, and he was relatively certain that he knew which way Amarus’s sympathies would lean. Instead he addressed Marrok. “What else do you know?” he asked.

The spy shrugged. “I can’t tell you much else, but perhaps this can.” He held up a small iron spike, about a foot long with a simple grip of wound hempen cord. “You can find out all sorts of things from random doodads, right? I found this in your place after they took your friend. Maybe it’ll help.” Roc couldn’t help but feel irritated at the freedom with which they entered his home. They’d better not have touched any of his things.

He accepted the small weapon and looked closely at it. It was a rough thing, little more than a thin iron rod with a tapered point. His nostrils picked up the common tang of metal, but there was something else there as well; something fresh, herbal even. The detective sniffed it once and immediately felt light-headed.

“Poisoned,” he said. “This is how they captured her.” A surge of anger welled up within him. He would make somebody pay for this. “Give me ten minutes or so. I’ll see what I can get.” Then he paused. “You wouldn’t happen to have a cigar, would you?"

[Roc]

The smoke tasted cheap and dry on his tongue, nothing compared to his own rich, flavorful variety at home. Still, it was tobacco, and it relaxed him to the point where he felt ready to do what he did best. He looked around briefly for a place to set his cigar, decided on the stone windowsill, and took one last deep drag before putting it down and lying back on his lumpy cot.



As usual, Roc took in as much as he could at a glance. The air in the room was musty and chilly, and he heard none of the street noise customary of Corone’s capital city. Smoky candles illuminated rough stone walls and a floor of packed dirt. A calloused hand dipped the spike into a small glass vial of black liquid. The weapon glistened in the dim light when he removed it. The now-familiar odor of the poison reached his nostrils, and dizziness threatened to overcome him. He held the tools further from his face.

“Towel,” his voice boomed. “Wipe this down. Careful you don’t stick yourself.” Without looking the man proffered the weapon, and it was taken from his fingers almost immediately.

Roc’s vision blurred momentarily before assuming the viewpoint of the new man. He saw a balding mountain of a man in his forties – his former self, in a way – sitting at a workbench, his thick fingers working a cork firmly back into the vial of poison.

He turned to his right, fetching from a shelf an old ragged towel, already smudged with several black stains. He delicately wiped the needle, careful not to touch it to his bare flesh. Once done, he returned the towel to the rack and looked back to his partner.

“Alright, that should be good enough,” the big man said. “Remember, don’t go stabbin’ him through the heart or nothin’. Not tryin' to kill him. If you can, just prick him with it – just enough to break the skin.”

Roc’s man glanced briefly at the poisoned weapon in his hand. “Wouldn’t it be better to just pour some of this on a towel and make him breathe it? Seems a lot less dangerous.”

The man shrugged helplessly. “I’m not no apothecary. They didn’t tell me if that’s dangerous or if I should dilute it in water or whatever. Just told me that it’ll put a feller out for several hours if it gets into the blood, and this is the best way I know of doing that.”

“Whatever.” A long pause stretched between the two of them. “I wish we were never involved in this mess,” he said bitterly. “This ain’t what we do.”

“Andock, you volunteered for it. No gettin’ cold feet on us now. We need you.”

“Yeah, and I’m wishin’ I hadn’t. I’m a carpenter, not a kidnapper.”

They both started at the sound of thumping overhead, and wooden stairs creaked as somebody descended. The new man looked at them, impatience written on his face. He was thin and bony, with short-cut blonde hair and a big nose. Roc noticed a scar on his left cheek, not yet faded to white. “This should have taken two minutes. What’s the wait?” the man demanded.

“Nothin’, boss.” The big man looked away. Was it fear? Something else? “We just finished.”

“About damn time. Come.” The large-snouted fellow turned to Roc’s man. “And put that away before you stab yourself.”

The man turned to go back upstairs, and the detective’s man wheeled around to a table. He set the weapon carefully on a cloth alongside two others, and the world turned to gray.

[Roc]

The transition between moldy cellar and smoky cell caught him off guard. Roc sat up, inhaled a deep breath and immediately coughed, reaching for the still-smoldering cigar on the windowsill. Tavus and Marrok loomed over him, the former looking fascinated, the latter merely impatient. The detective took a moment to gather his thoughts and process what he had seen. Then, he spoke.

“Andock,” he said, glancing up at the ringleader. “Do you know that name?” When Tavus shook his head, he continued. “What about a skinny guy, short blonde hair, big nose and a scar on his face?”

This time Tavus nodded. “That’s a fair description of Swope. What did you see?”

“A cellar of some sort, judging by the smell. I didn’t hear street noise, either. So this was away from the river at the very least, and possibly outside of Radasanth entirely. As for what was going on, not much. A couple of men were dipping the needles in poison.” He held up the spike. “One man was named Andock apparently, never got a look at him, though he did say he was a carpenter. The other was a big fellow, bald, middle-aged, didn’t get a name. They did their thing, then Swope came down and asked them what was taking so long. Seemed to have a temper.”

The ringleader actually grinned at that. “Not the Burren I know. He’s always been meek and afraid of conflict.”

Rocca took a long drag on his cigar. “Planning a kidnapping seems like the kind of thing that could set a person on edge.”

“Perhaps.”

“Well, you’d know better than I would.”

Tavus chuckled. “Not bad, Mister Ravara. No, I wasn’t on edge when I captured you. Amateurs get anxious. I’m no amateur.”

“I noticed. What’s the plan, then?” As interesting as the vision had been, it hadn’t given him anything solid to chase.

“It’s pretty clear that we need to get in touch with Burren. I can think of two ways to do that. I’ll leave the choice up to you.” Roc had a feeling that he wasn’t going to like the ringleader’s ideas much. “I have a plant in Burren’s group. He feeds me updates every so often. I could have him make it known that I need to talk with him.” Tavus frowned somewhat theatrically. “But my man isn’t exactly Swope’s right-hand man. It would likely take days or more to arrange a meeting, if he listened at all. I think you’d agree that we can’t wait that long. Every minute we wait and do nothing is a minute that your Rhadriel could be harmed.”

Roc sighed. “You’re a bad actor, Tavus. Just tell me your plan. I already know I won’t like it.”

“You’re no fun.” The ringleader grinned. Then his expression changed subtly; the smile remained, but the amusement vanished. The result was terrifying. “My man isn’t close enough to Swope to get him to make me a priority. But I know someone who is. Swope has a daughter.”

Rocca stared at the criminal in horror. The idea was even worse than he had feared. “No…”