Cat's Paw

[Konrad Venger]

75th Day of Winter, 516AV
2nd Bell
Pridesun Pavilion

"Tonight."

That was all Jonas had said. One word. Spoken, whispered, murmured into his ear with a hand on his shoulder, a firm squeeze after like the period at the end of a sentence. Konrad didn't need to be told anything else, and the ankal knew it. One word, omitting all the dozens, hundred, thousands leading up to it.

He thought he'd seen some seamless disassemblers in Sunberth, but Jonas... he was in a whole class of his own. Then again, he'd told him about the Web, and how it could recall any information that those who knew how to read it wished. Any conspiracy before a crime, and there would be Watchmen hooked into that vast network of djed to find it.

Konrad thought it was a lot like Sunberth, only the ever-present eyes and ears weren't urchins or vagrants. More like grass and trees.

So the conspiracy had been shattered into fragments that no investigator could put together, and just for that reason. Conversations stretched over days, ended abruptly, resumed days later. Suggestions and hints at parallel preparations, but never explained further. Konrad had absorbed all he'd been told, and kept the specifics for himself echoing only in his head.

A pavilion. A fire. That's your job.

Tonight.

Around him, the pavilion snored or snuffled, depending on one's species. The Drykas slept well at night: hard workers during the day, big eaters in the evening, they all went to their tents and pavilions with full bellies and weary bodies. Konrad had to admit, he hadn't slept better in years.

Not drinking or smoking yourself half-dead every night probably helps, too.

Teeth ground. Jawbones worked. He stared at the top of the tent and beat the still small voice into silence. He liked where he was. It was useful, safe, and informative. He'd learned much and would continue to. But all good things, all things of value, they had a price. Tonight he was paying his, and-

But it won't be just tonight, will it?

Konrad screwed his eyes shut and nearly snarled, even though it-

His nostrils tingled. Just for a tick, but long enough to... smoke? Was that what he smelled? But by the time he'd sat upright, he could tell that it was more than just a cooking fire. There was the angry, insistent buzz of a growing crowd. Indistinct but definite, and growing. The glow beyond the still peaks of the tents, turning the black sky into orange, like paint poured across the bottom of a bowl.

Konrad started forward, slowly, so not to wake the one who shared his tent. His blanket fell away... and he was fully dressed. Even his boots were still on, and his hat was in his hand.

Time to go.

The other wahlak turned over for some reason he couldn't place. As if something had shifted in the world beyond the Dreamscape, but not enough to disturb him. He slumbered on, alone in the tent, as Konrad stole forth into the shadows, and fire burned the sky like dawn at the edge of a rousing, and panicked Endrykas.

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.

[Konrad Venger]

He didn't know the woman. Just her name and where to find her. He didn't know what she liked to eat or her favorite instrument. Didn't know what made her laugh or how many children she'd buried. Barely even knew what she looked liked; just a brief glance that burned enough of her face into his mind that he'd know when the time came. But he didn't know, didn't comprehend, didn't understand how her features fit together when she smiled, or crumpled when she cried.

Whatever he'd become during the last season, he wasn't that man anymore. He was the Venger whose name was whispered or spat in Sunberth taverns. He was the name that was snapped out by Radacke Dynasts or their proxies, dispatched to kill or maim or punish. He was the will to murder given face and form.

This is what you do, he told himself as he kept moving between tents and pavilions, rough cloak wrapped around himself. So don't petch it up.

The sky glowed and he could hear it crackle. Around it, like children or frantic insects, small figures cast giant shadows. They were running madly, heaving buckets of precious water into the blaze that he couldn't quite see. More and more it was blankets, the heft and swing of them spilling shadows across the orange glare.

Konrad spared it a single glance and then moved on. The chaos wouldn't last. Endrykas lived and moved on a vast tinderbox; wild fires and Summer blazes were a common occurrence for them. He had a quarter-bell, maybe less, and did not intend to waste it.

He wound through what sufficed as streets; slipped between rude, rough enclosures for animals; avoided people where he could, and trusted his cloak for the rest. He looked out, peering from the cave of cloth... and saw a riot of sky blue, in the glowing night air.

Good.

He flexed his hand and felt a thrill of surging, restrained energy pulse through it. That was just the crest of the wave; he didn't need chimes or patience to summon his djed. It took just ticks to bring it to heel and hurl it into the world.

Jonas wants a fire. He'll get one.

The cloaked man flicked a look either side of him, and then kept walking. The Sapphire Clan's quarter was a tumult, but all eyes were on the inferno... those eyes that weren't already there and helping, of course. Just children and old folks, and somewhere among the tents...

Konrad plunged deeper, scars on his palms tingling... and a new idea coming to him. The one thing that made him sweat, if one could call it that, was that it had to be a fire, and he was known as one who... well, had ability with that element. But this distraction, this particular type of distraction...

Two birds, one stone. If I can pull it off.

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.

[Konrad Venger]

The birds in question were the task itself, and getting away with it. The latter was always more important to Konrad: no contract, no fee, no purse or motivation mattered, if you'd never survive to enjoy it. Even the job he was on that night committed to that simple rule. Jonas' posturing and sinister threats aside, Konrad still needed to walk away from what he had planned.

For a little while, anyway.

He banished the thought and focused instead on the pavilion. Handmade banners fluttered from the top of it, knitted and crocheted with fur and twine. Grandchildren, if he had to guess. He'd seen them before, days before, when he'd wandered through the Sapphire Clan's quarter on his way to see the Rainshards, get a little more information about his wyrd that was quickly improving.

It was a legitimate reason, and also a fine opportunity to study his target. Konrad liked it when things worked out like that. Like what he was about to do... or imitate, anyway.

That's the problem with fires in places like this.

His words quieted to the merest whisper as he closed his eyes, crouching between two other tents. The shadows were deep there, and his cloak did the rest that they could not. The sky glowed in the distance, and the cacophony of voices were still steady. But not for much longer. So he delved deep and drew his res up as if from a well, closing his eyes just as-

All that cloth and hide and wood and hay lying around.

-first it was a cloud, and then a globe, and then... a single grape of glowing res. Smaller and easier to control. Konrad knew he'd need that. He blew on it as he opened his eyes, and the res started to float away, building up speed-

All those sparks in the air.

-he couldn't go too far, but didn't need to. He felt his control waver, like a line going taut at its limits, and just as it did he willed the ignition-

The res whooshed into flame just before it hit the top of the pavilion. Glowing air became crackling, hissing, smoking material and Konrad was already willing a fresh grape into life-

So dangerous. Anything could happen. To anyone.

Three, all told. Breathed into life with his thoughts and his hands, then sent flying up up a lazy arc, ignited into flames at the edge of his control and allowed to fall onto the roof of Nyatha's pavilion. A rough, ragged line that was enough to set a great mass of material aflame, and he was about to craft a fourth when-

Shouting from inside. Screaming. Time to go.

The sellsword - and that night, that's exactly what he was again - stuffed his glowing hands back under his cloak, turned difficultly on his heel (not easy, at a crouch), and started his skulk away from the pavilion.

Flicked one last glance over his shoulder and saw the entire top of the pavilion ablaze, smoldering embers now raging, crackling, jagged flames eating down and up. Under them... screaming. A woman's yelling.

Konrad shrugged the hood of the cloak a little firmer over his face, and took the long route back.

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.

[Konrad Venger]

It never went away. You could bury it or ignore it or run from it, pretend you'd never felt it or try your best to simply avoid it, but whenever you dipped your toes back into the pool... you felt it again. Like it had never left. Like you'd never changed.

Like you were a fool for trying, or leaving it.

He didn't have the shakes or his cock at full mast when he got back to the tent, and in the early days, Konrad had experienced both after a job well done. The sheer thrill of survival, of triumph, of working thy mortal will with blood and death... gods, he'd been as addicted to that as he had Funkus and Slammer. But the years and long repetition had dulled those more obvious signs of exultation. If he was honest, he was grateful for that.

Would have been hard to explain, coming back with a tent pole in my breeches.

As it was, he rejoined the Pridesun Pavilion to little fanfare, and less attention. It seemed the whole crew of them was away, probably crowding around the inferno Jonas' lads had created, or maybe one of the others that had broken out. Glancing over the top of the tents and yurts, Konrad could see blazing spots of chaotic flame amidst the still, solid dwellings.

He smiled softly to himself. Nyatha's wouldn't be the only "accident" that night. All the better for him.

He found his tent and shrugged off his cloak, listening at the flap for noise... and found only a soft snoring within. He peeked inside and the man he shared the mass of fabric with was still soundly sleeping, and... yes... the faint stink of fermented goat milk was all that told him why.

Cheva's cunny, how can he stomach that shite?

He shrugged to himself, deciding not to question it. Instead he slipped inside, sliding off his boots, hes belt, his breeches, getting under the cloak he used as a blanket and observing the noisy slick of humanity opposite him. Not even wearing a shirt. Just undergarments, he'd wager, gratefully hidden under a blanket.

Konrad settled onto his back and placed his hat over his face. Soon they would come back, soot-blackened and smoke-choked. Full of stories about how terrible the flames were, how much food or produce had been lost, how there were shrunken, blackened bodies inside... and there would be. Of one he knew for sure.

The Sunberth man closed his eyes, and as Tanroa's feet marched on, he found himself in the Dreamscape. His only hindrance was Jonas' smug face, hiding plans for him he knew would not end that night. Another pain in the arse he'd have to deal with.

He did not think of Nyatha. Didn't spare a thought for the dead, because they were dead and their pains were over. He was not, and his were surely beginning.

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.

[Rufio]

G R E A T - W O R K - !

xp

Reimancy +2
Subterfuge +1
Stealth +1


lores

Setting Nyatha's pavilion alight
Subterfuge: Using a larger distraction to conceal acts
Stealth: Sticking to the shadows
Endrykas: Wildfires are common
Konrad: Thrill of the sell-sword life

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