32 of Fall, 513 AV
As Arlo walked through the door of the building, he noted the interior looked about as good as the exterior. Fantastic. He also noted the wood inside was quite old; there was a fine layer of dust on everything, yet the boards on the windows were new, as the nails used to fasten them had not rusted. Interesting. So the occupation of this "abandoned" house was recent.
As he looked to his left he saw a small sitting area with a wooden table, and two chairs scattered haphazardly. The table had a few playing cards splayed across it, and was curiously devoid of dust, which meant that whoever was playing cards was still here. The hallway seemed to stretch to a small alcove, and to the right of Arlo about ten feet down was a large set of double doors. Past the alcove, he could just barely make out a flight of stairs that rose into the darkness of the second floor.
There did not appear to be any source of illumination. It was day, however, and such illumination was not necessary. Arlo noted the existence of several tallow marks on the floor. Tallow marks would only be left if someone was carrying a candle back and forth, which meant this particular hallway was well-traveled, by someone who did not value caution or they'd use a lantern (which would not leave marks). It did not fit Carver's profile, but he imagined it might fit the man's goons.
There was the faint odor of death in the house, and a strong one of alcohol. Arlo wrinkled his nose in distaste. He disliked both odors, but at the moment it wasn't important enough for him to leave. Instead he headed straight for the staircase at the end of the hall, striding purposefully forward, lips set into a thin, straight line. There weren't any guards at the front door. That could mean one of two things.
Either the inhabitants were not in. In which case, Arlo intended to rifle through whatever papers might have been strewn about, then leave before the owners returned.
The other option was more ... distressing. It was that the inhabitants knew he was coming. It wasn't out of the question: Carver had managed to elude him for quite some time, and only someone who had at least some skill in Intelligence work could have fooled Arlo so completely.
Standing on the last step before the landing, Arlo paused. There was so much to consider, and no time to consider it. He ran over all the information, as meager as it was, over in his mind, looking for some clue he'd missed, some secret key that would tell him what he needed to know. Nothing sprang to mind. Yes, he'd had relatively credible information that pointed to there being activity here. And yes, the house looked somewhat used from further inspection but none of that guaranteed anything.
Arlo sighed and took the last step onto the landing. The back wall of the place was directly before him, the dull gray stone glistening from the sunlight streaming in from the cracks of the window behind him that were not covered up in planks. to his left was a series of three doors, the one furthest down was slightly ajar, the others were shut. To his right was an open door with what appeared to be a large supply room, as he could see crates and objects strewn about inside.
Arlo took a quick peek inside and didn't see anything of interest. It was possible this was where Carver was keeping his ill-gotten gains, but Arlo couldn't be sure based on his cursory inspection. Instead, he withdrew from the door ... only to feel cold iron on his back. He'd been caught.
"Nice day for a stroll, dontcha think?" a voice came from behind him. It was a low, almost gravely voice, which spoke of years of cheap beer and cheaper whores. But Arlo knew his best bet was to maintain calm. He'd used his head to get out of stickier situations before.
"I'm just here to see the boss," Arlo replied evenly, making sure to keep his voice neutral. The other man just barked a laugh.
"Oh he'll see you alright, petcher, with your guts spillin' out," he leered. Arlo just shrugged.
"If you wanted to do that, you wouldn't be threatening me, you'd have killed me," Arlo replied. And it was true. Real killers Arlo knew very well. They didn't bother talking, they just struck. He knew better than to get tangled with them. Men like this, they loved the sound of their own voice.
"Keep pushin' it bub, and I'll gut ya one," the voice warned. Arlo sighed.
"Your boss is expecting me," Arlo bluffed. It wasn't entirely a bluff. If the man hadn't been expecting him he wouldn't have made it so easy to get up here. Besides, this guard didn't seem all that intelligent or he'd never have made it up the stairs.
"Ya don't say?" the man had a tone of sarcasm mixed with incredulity. Arlo decided to take a risk and turned around. When he wasn't immediately impaled, he knew he had the upper hand.
The man facing him had short, close-cropped brown hair with a long scar from his left eye running across his cheek to his ear. He is green eyes were filled with cruelty, and his large, stocky body was obviously well-built. He had on a tan shirt, ripped in several places, and dark-colored pants held up by a rope belt. The man's feet were covered by a pair of dusty old leather boots, and he loomed imposingly over Arlo, eyes boring into his skull.
"You're going to get out of my way, and you're going to show me to your boss," Arlo announced quietly. There was a beat. Two beats. "You were told to expect someone, and to escort him to the boss, were you not? Because if not, you should kill me, right here."
Arlo had been in similar situations before. So he was up against a man who, despite his name, was well-versed in this game. "Carver" was more than just a brute. He hired brutes like this thug, but was clearly smart enough to know Arlo was looking for him. He must have figured it'd be easier to face him on his own turf. Arlo had to hand it to the man, he'd been right. And Arlo had swallowed the bait, hook line and sinker, because here he was, conceding home-turf advantage.
Without another word, the big man growled and turned, walking to the second door and knocking twice, pausing, then knocking again. There was a smooth voice on the other side.
"Send him in," it called. Arlo's face, for a briefest flicker, registered his surprise. In all his dreams and nightmares he'd never thought that Carver would sound like that. Then again, it might not be him. There was only one way to find out.
Arlo strode confidently through the door, which the guard shut tight behind him. The room Arlo found himself in was large, but sparse. In total it was about seven feet by seven feet and had two windows directly facing him on the far wall, as boarded up as the others in the house. The walls were slate gray; Arlo suspected there might have been wallpaper at some point because he could still see bits of it stubbornly clinging to the wall but much of it had ended up on the floor like so much confetti.
There was no furniture to speak of except for a single oak desk, an uncomfortable-looking chair, and a large, high-backed seat upon which sat a solitary man. Carver Jack? Arlo peered at the man curiously. He seemed well-dressed for Sunberth, with a spotless white cotton shirt, collar turned down, and what appeared to be cuff-links on either cuff made of silver. The man had short, tousled black hair, much like Arlo's own, and equally dark slate-gray eyes, also like Arlo. He also had on an easy smile and a calm demeanor.
"Nice of you to drop by," he commented. "Won't you sit down?" |