Breaking Ranks

Braun: Competition

"How do you like your tour so far, sir?" Derrick asked, once he had smashed the third man's head against the wall.

"It's been very enlightening."

Derrick let the man fall, the poor bastard's face a mess of blood. He collapsed next to the wall beside his two other compatriots. Derrick glanced over to see his two hired thugs trotting back, one of them delicately dabbing at a bloody nose, the other whistling a jaunty tune with a loaded sackcloth bag in one hand.

"You got it? Good. Head on back to Felgor," Derrick called out to the them. "I'm just going to finish with these ones."

They nodded, peeling off into a side passage, as Derrick knelt down. I stood there, hands in my pockets, watching the man rifle around the corpses for spare change. "So what did they do?"

Derrick produced a battered copper piece, raising it up in the sky and frowning at it like a disappointed father at a sickly newborn. "Oh, them? Well, you know," he shrugged, depositing the copper piece in a pocket. "They're competition. Or were."

"Competition in what line of business?"

Derrick straightened up, brushing his tunic off. "I really couldn't say, sir. Not for anything less than five silvers."

I whistled. "What a loyal man you are. I suppose I'm not that curious. They were competition, then. And the siege is a good time to remove this competition?"

"Oh, it's the fucking best of times!" he said with a grin, and just then a flaming missile streaked past.

My jaw dropped.

"Yeah, we should have these more often. The guard's away, half the street gangs are conscripted, the—"

"Did you just see that?" I asked. "That missile just now."

He shrugged. "Chances are they won't land on you. Now as I was saying—"

"It was on fire," I butted in, and for the first time his expression looked worried.

"On fire, you say?"

"On fire."

"Hmm." He seemed to think on this. "That's new. Still, there could be profit in that as well. I'll have to tell Felgor."

"Profit? You're quite the optimist." I looked around the deserted Formian Plaza. "So you're leaving me?"

"Oh, don't worry. There's only one band of cutpurses here worth a damn, and I've just gone and killed them. You'll be fine on your own."

"Right."

Someone shrieked in the distance, followed closely by several thuds in quick succession, and I turned to frown in that direction. Derrick might have been right about the cutpurses but he was likely right about seedy sorts out for quick profit as well.

"Hey, what do you think..." I trailed off, turning to see that Derrick was off already, jogging briskly through the street back to Felgor's tavern.

I swallowed and resolved to at least get a good view of the Imperial embassy. I clambered up one of the ruined apartments that was adjacent to the three story building, pausing for breath. From here I could see over a section of lightly-manned wall, the slackjawed guards staring outward to the bonfire beside the siege engines and—

I paused, seeing a flicker of movement up above. From the ceiling?

Then, my jaw falling open, I watched in shock as four dark blurs fell from above, flaps opening behind them, and then in an instant they had slammed into the distant ground beyond the walls. I shook my head, realizing now what a narrow window of time I had, and pushed forward to a window overlooking the Observer's house.

From my position I could make out a couple rooms through windows on the second floor. I stayed there for several minutes before I saw movement; a dark-haired woman scurrying through with a duster in hand. She stopped by a bust of some fallen Emperor and gave it a quick brush before moving into another room.

So there was a maid here, at least. Just as I was making to leave I heard the creak of a door. I looked up to the third floor, and then further yet. I couldn't make out the roof but I heard a low voice. Eventually a dark shape materialized along the railing of the ceiling. It was a Bridge Security officer, facing towards the walls, apparently talking over comms with his helmet removed. Another flaming missile flashed nearby. Once its wake had passed I strained my ears to hear the man. But I couldn't.

After a moment the man seemed to have ended his conversation, grabbing his helmet and shoving it back on. He turned back in a hurry, passing out of view and into the building. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. As I made my way to the door I came up short as the door to the Imperial compound slammed open. I kept close to the wall, watching as two Imperial guards flanked the Observer as he hurried along the deserted plaza. Two impulses warred between me. It was all but unguarded. But I wasn't ready. And who knew where the man was going?

Then another cascade of slamming sounds echoed, even distant as it was. At least the flaming missiles had stopped. I vacillated outside the Observer's mansion for perhaps another five seconds. And then I slipped into the street and followed the Observer and his guards through the deserted streets of Sandstone as they hurried to the Port Gate. As we moved block by block closer to the gate the deserted streets became populated to the point where a crowd was present near the gate. There was a smashed hovel near the gate, a missile having just landed over the wall, and flames were evident. There was a commotion around the ruins, but even in this chaos people knew to make way for the Imps.

And as they reached the gate it opened. Yet the Observer and his seraphim had halted as if waiting on a new arrival. A moment passed, then another, as I crept forward. Then, just like that a squad of seraphim pushed through tall and regal in their black armor, and I pressed against an alley corner as if they could see through my disguise. I had to admit the effect was electrifying, and around me the people of Sandstone were bowing down. The squad of seraphim strode through, a suppression bot along with him, moving with mechanical gracelessness and pausing to spray the burning hovel with foam. The bot's paint seemed scraped in one spot, as if a spear had raked a line across it, and its head was off-kilter, but the foam spray was steady and presently the fire fizzled out.

As the Imperial Observer greeted the squad of seraphim, I heard the hooves of cavalry galloping behind me. I had studied Superintendent Salazar's personal emblem, but I did not see it present. However it was clearly the superintendent who approached, rearing his horse up dramatically before he dismounted. The man strode forward to greet the seraphim, and all around me the city folk gave up a ragged cheer.

"Keep your distance," I heard from the enhanced speaker system of the seraph in the front. Superintendent Salazar halted, uncertainly. "Fair angel," he began, "we are in your debt."

"I didn't do it for you," the seraph said in the dull, distorted tone produced by their helmet's speakers. "We are going to extinguish any unauthorized fires in this vicinity." Beside him the fire suppression bot had finished coating the hovel in foam, and now the bot stood motionless. It then started off in another direction, the squad of seraphim guarding its sides, as the superintendent and the citizens alike gawped in surprise at these upperdecker thugs dressing themselves up to be descended angels.