Iron and Wood #Wattys2017

Chapter Twenty-Six

The brick building was exactly the same as every other in the streets of Dangyong's slums.  Shal stood in front of it, ignored by the addicts that huddled against it's walls.  The roof was greened copper, the windows covered in newsprint.  Shal hurried up the five steps to the door, looking down at her hand.  Blood stained her fingers.  She wasn't sure who it belonged to.

She entered the tenement building and went upstairs. 

The hallway was narrow and carpeted, the door of apartment number 8T unguarded. Shal tried the door.  It was locked.

Drawing her sword, she stood back and kicked it above the knob, as the Templars had taught her.  It swung open.

The apartment was a dump, nothing but what she'd always expected from her father, but not what she'd expect from the feared drug lord she'd heard so much about.  Junk and papers littered every surface of the kitchen, and the smell of pin gon emanated from the crates stacked in the corner and dried petals in a bowl on the counter.  The curtains were drawn, and two kerosene lamps burned faintly, threatening to catch the whole place alight.  

Shal bent to pick up a paper that lay on the floor with a bootprint on it.

It was a letter from someone claiming Lok owed him money, much more than the reward Asbrandr had given her.  So he had fallen back to his old habits.  Shal tossed the letter to the side.

She sheathed her sword and searched the kitchen.  Letters from buyers and dealers, extortions and threats flying in both directions.  Nothing that would suggest that her and her siblings had ever existed.

It had been ten years, but for some reason that infuriated her more.  Shal realized that she had been putting the papers back in order after she'd finished reading them.  Now she kicked over the chair that held a stack, swept everything on the counters onto the floor, and finally overturned the table.  Papers floated down to the ground, covering the tiles like an ivory carpet.

Shal gave them a vindictive kick, moving on to the sitting room.  

It was more of the same.  There were no pictures on the walls, and the books on the bookshelf looked like they hadn't been touched in ages.  

Drawing her sword and swinging it wildly, Shal opened gashes in the sofa and armchair, and a crack in the coffee table, which she flipped upside down.  All the documents, as well as several trinkets, cascaded onto the floor.  She stomped on everything breakable until the floor glittered with broken glass, and then tore down the curtain, the rod clanging dully on the windowsill.  Shal rounded on the bookshelf, which landed on its side with a crash like thunder, the books tumbling out.  Shal picked one up and ripped off the cover--

"Who are you?" a voice said from behind her.  

Shal froze, dropping the book. The pile at her feet stared back up at her.  She turned to face him slowly.

Lok Sung was not what she had imagined when she was a child-- as a matter of fact, in this moment, Shal didn't know what she had expected, but she knew at once it was him.  His suit might have been fine once, but now was stained and worn.  His face was sickeningly reminiscent of her own, but he eyed her without recognition, like a common burglar.

"Boss?  What's going on?"

Shal lunged forward, putting her sword at Lok's throat.  He turned the colour of faded parchment.

"No--nothing, just another break-in.  I don't think they took anything."

"Should I come in?"

Shal glared into Lok's eyes, pressing the sword against his pulsing jugular.  His eyes flickered towards the doorway.