Cassandra walked into the Crooked Cage. The first thing that hit her was the smell of cheap perfume and the mingled reek of blood and sweat steaming in the dim room. She stood at the back of the main lobby, arms crossed, staring at things she wanted no part of.
A guard was bound to a chair, his face beaten purple, his nose bent at a wrong angle. One of the Blue Jimmies — the gang she was technically apart of — was beating the man like a farmer ploughing wheat on a sunday. The whole situation was a mess. But business was messy business.
Just another job. A routine takeover. The guard will live, and she'll get paid. That's what she told herself to ease her worries. It's what she told herself, everytime. But it wasn't so simple. Ever since the Blue Jimmies had expanded beyond bandit work, it had been a constant churn of stress and aggression.
She walked past everyone in her way. Cards were scattered across the floor, splattered with blood, and every piece of furniture had been thrown about. Some of the mirrors of the former night establishment had been cracked in the battle, and the few workers who had stayed behind huddled in corners, makeup smeared, clothing torn.
Just the latest acquisition in the Blue Jimmie criminal empire. Her boss's vision was taking on a more concrete shape — and it was going to cause serious problems with the city guards.
She walked past one of the former performers, a woman barely covered in silk and sparse robes. The woman had lost her footing on her clothing and was adjusting herself with shaking hands. She caught Cassandra's eye and looked at her with open desperation. Cas looked away. It wasn't her problem. It wasn't. So why couldn't she stop looking? It's not her problem. Couldn't be her problem. Her jaw tightened as she strode onward, searching for a quiet room somewhere in this mess.
She stopped.
"The Broker" Karrn entered the hall without his usual entourage — an imposing figure who still wore a face mask out of old habit from their bandit days. He crossed the room toward Cassandra and gestured at the stairs leading up.
He wanted to talk.
She didn't have much of a choice. "Cassandra. With me. Now," he grunted. She followed, as she was supposed to. As she needed to.
She stared at the hulking man from behind as they climbed. He was absolutely massive, broad-shouldered, burn scars carved across his body — the result of his famous decision to punch a mage as a way of containing the mage. Swaths of stolen jewellery he hadn't worked a single day to earn draped him in ridiculous extravagance. It was madness that didn't suit a de facto warlord.
As they walked up the stairs, she turned her attention to the changes they'd made to the building. Since two days ago, maps of Inner Ivarcant had been pinned to walls, territories marked in blood-red ink. Supply routes leading out of the city. This was not what she had envisioned when she'd joined them — then again, she hadn't had much of a choice. She never did.
She had to leave. But she couldn't. She wanted to, but she couldn't. Obedient and needy, because no one else would take her as she was, nor accept her bloody skills — because what was she, beyond a butcher? Nothing, really. A disgrace.
The closer they got to his new office, the more uneasy she felt. The heavier each step became. The louder her heart shook. What came next, she had a few guesses, and none of them were pretty.
They entered the opened door to his office. Karrn cranked a lever on a bookshelf and a passage opened, revealing an elevator shaft. The office was much the same as it had been last week — the previous owner's furnishings, for the most part — with the stark exception of a few things that belonged to Karrn now.
They passed through the tunnel, walked a short corridor, and stepped into a wooden elevator. The platform lifted.
At the top, they emerged into a tower connected to the building complex — large enough to overlook all of Ivarcant, and the river that threaded toward the sea strait. The observation room they entered was dusty but well-organized, all manner of stolen goods arranged in a makeshift arsenal. But at the center of the room, an ornate spyglass glowed with a dim pulse of magic.
"Why did you bring me here?" Cassandra asked. She was tired. Sick of work. Desperate for a drink.
He pointed at the large map spread beneath the spyglass — another map of the city, far more detailed than the ones downstairs — with a ledger of names beside it. "Three brothels, two gambling dens. I want something far more legitimate, and I've found it."
He slammed his fist on a marked cross. It sat outside the city, kilometers beyond the gate. An isolated building, circled.
"Look at this. You know what this is."
Cassandra didn't answer. She'd heard of it. And she had a sinking feeling that Rennia was going to end up caught in a very ugly crossfire.
"The Ebongild. They call it 'black gold.' Used to be a fine establishment, ten years ago, or so I hear. Some messed-up woman is holed up there — Ishmere the Witch, they call her in the black markets. Supposedly dead, but this new one sprung up like nothing's the matter."
Cassandra inserted herself carefully into the conversation. "Now, what would you want with an old, decrepit tavern like that? Seems like a waste, boss. No offense."
She really didn't want Rennia's blood on her hands. Karrn and his criminal allies, made quick merciless work of everyone. Everyone, even the unfortunate nobility who's crossed his path.
"Come over here. Let me show you something." He picked up the spyglass and gestured for her to follow. She did, trailing after him like a dog as he hooked a tripod onto the balcony railing and slapped the eyeglass onto its angled pins. He pointed it in the direction of the building. "Take a look. Through the glass."
She did. Cassandra peered through, and the world sharpened with magical focus — splitting, then splitting again, emanating blue light until it settled far in the distance, past a stretch of forest, beyond a broken road. The dilapidated tavern, renewed with makeshift renovations. A corpse of its former self.
"What do you know about the place?"
Cassandra's voice tightened. She had to hold her face steady. She knew Rennia had something to do with that place. She'd also seen the owner once while chasing Rennia — and they both had lives they'd want to keep. But Cas knew that once Karrn had something in his sights, he took it.
"Nothing you don't already know," she said carefully. "Supposedly the owner's immortal — died in a fire a few years ago and somehow came back. What's strange to me is that the authorities don't seem to care. You'd think a living corpse would try to hide. All I know for certain is that she's dangerous. Seriously dangerous."
Karrn leaned closer to the map. "That tavern sits at the crossroads of several kingdoms — Seldiia, the Free City States, and Osterria. It's the perfect smuggling hub. Perfect place to racketeer information. An intelligence network just sitting there like a pile of shit."
"You're going to take it? Isn't that risky — it's in full view of two watchtowers?"
She kept her words measured and careful. Whatever he could gain, the end result would be significantly dangerous.
"Cass." He turned to look at her fully. "I'm trying to move up from a simple gang. Do you remember when you came to me, groveling like a dog for bread?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I gave you everything, and you're doubting me again."
She flinched. "I just... I'm weighing the risks."
"Risks, you?"
She clenched her fists. "There are limits to what I'm willing to do Karrn. Someone I know works there, I believe. You have your Jimmies — do it without me. I can't go through with this."
"Growing a conscience Cassandra?" Karrn sighed. He picked up an empty goblet and waved it in her face. "Wealth, Cassandra. You don't want it? Remember what you told me when we met — you said you wanted the world. What happened? You grow a little moral bone? Do I need to tickle it."
"I'm not your toy, Karrn!"
"You think you have a choice, bitch? I made you what you are. You owe me. I want you on the frontlines. Are you scared of some tavern wench?"
She was furious. She turned to walk away.
"Or," he said quietly, "do I need to call on her? She'd do it if there's fun in it."
Genuine fear flashed across Cassandra's face. The insinuation. The violation. The aggression. She couldn't stand it. "You wouldn't. You can't!"
"Oh, I would. Kassie always obliges when there's blood and guts. You'd think by now, the two of you would have an understanding."
Cassandra gritted her teeth. She started biting at her nails, feet shifting uneasily. A voice whispered to her from the other side — from the inside.
Oh, is little Cassandra scared of the big bad villain? Let me handle this. I can gut him like the pig he is. I can burn his empire to ash. I can make him scream~ A pause. Or we could go along with his plan. Rennia — that was her name, right? Your former friend. Someone who abandoned you. Wouldn't you like to gut her in the—
"Shut the fuck up!" she snapped.
"Now that's what i'd like to see!"Karrn laughed, but his eyes were distant. "She's talking again? Could really use her."
A dark little godling — that's what her grandmother had called the spirit when it first manifested in her childhood. A small, dark thing woven into the fabric of her soul. And of course it had to be her. Cassandra couldn't afford to lose control of herself. If Kassie got loose, heads rolled, buildings burned, and Cas always ended up somewhere worse. But if she could use it to break free of him... she would. She absolutely would.
"Fine," she said. "I'll do it. I'll participate. But Rennia, my "friend", I want to keep her alive."
"Fair." The bandit leader nodded. "Smart girl. You always end up making the right choices." He stepped toward her, pressed one finger to her face, and stared into her mismatched eyes. "Maybe not always the good ones."
She slapped his hand away. Took a step forward. Brought out her dagger. "There's a girl I believe works there. Brunette. Rennia. She's mine. You don't touch her."
"Yes, so you've told me."Karrn chuckled. He picked up the empty goblet and poured himself wine, then offered her one. She refused. He shrugged, sipping the blood-red liquid. "You like the hens and cocks downstairs?"
"No." Her reply was cold.
"I'd prefer if they left," she added.
Karrn scratched at his face. "I told them they could leave, but they couldn't — which brings me to my point. Money is power, and power rules all. A shame you don't like them. Some of them can be accommodating."
Cassandra had had enough of his face for one day. "Keep pushing me, Karrn. You lost several friends not too long ago. Don't think you can't lose me too. I intend to keep my head on my shoulders."
He leaned close — put his face directly against hers. "But then she would be free, wouldn't she? And when she's done burning everything, they'll come for your head. And then who will look after you?" He pulled back, smiling sadly. "You wouldn't abandon me, would you, Cas? Not after everything I did for you?"
The voice that came out was shriveled and disjointed. Both her eyes flashed gold. The knife came to his throat. Kassie stared and growled at him, teeth bared, the devilish horn seeming to stretch longer — one half broken, straining toward something. "Don't mock us, Karrn. This is an alliance of mutual interest. Don't forget what we can do. Don't make me bail, not when things are going to get fun!"
Karrn snorted at the devil.
And Kassie, she laughed back.