Two Piece

Chapter 1: Rendezvous

Chapter One: Rendezvous

The rain beat down on the dark cobblestone streets. Light pooled on the sidewalk as a door opened, then disappeared. Ran D Tarrant pulled his collar up a little higher and quickened his gait. Ahead, voices on a cross street. Tarrant faded back against the wall. His eyes reflected the lantern light green even from the shadow. He felt the short blade strapped underneath his coat press against his spine and took comfort. Two hooded figures splashed past, hunched against the rain. He waited a minute to be sure they were gone.

The doorway he was looking for was solid oak, iron reinforced. He knocked three times, waited, then once, then once again. The pigeonhole opened and a eye scrutinized him for a second. Then he heard bolts being drawn, and the door opened inward. He stepped inside, all senses on alert. The door locked behind him.

"Have a seat. He'll be down shortly."

There was a fireplace crackling on the back wall, throwing a soft glow over the table and two high-backed chairs.

"Take your coat, sir?" the man who let him in was gray-haired, but not frail. Tarrant thought the way he carried himself was like an old soldier turned personal servant. He might even be wearing chain mail under his cloak.

"I'll keep it on for now, thanks."

He strode to the chair, turned it so that it faced away from the fire, and sat down. Old habit- he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark.

"Something to drink, sir?"

"Sure."

Tarrant sipped the spice mead from the pewter mug, enjoying the warmth that traveled down his throat to his belly, and from there spread slowly into his extremities. It was only when he was completely warm, and rethinking his decision to keep his coat on, that his host appeared.

Adinol Vapittori was a very rich man. That much was evident in his velvet pants and silk blouse. Tarrant also knew him to be extremely ambitious, a Baron, with a seat in the High House of Congress for his native country, Bethamis. What he was doing in a Freeport, a fifty miles south of any Confederation state, was what Tarrant didn't know. Or why he had requested a meeting, for that matter.

Tarrant was a detective, and was in the Freeport of Caledon at the conclusion of his most recent case. He would have been on his way already, but a late summer storm, the last vestiges of which were blowing themselves out tonight, had kept him here an additional weekend. He had been restlessly perusing the local shops, looking for a good deal on a secondhand pistol, when a messenger boy had given him a cryptic note. It read,

"Meet me at 4602 Ronam, an hour after sunset. I have a job for you.
-A. Vapittori"

At the bottom of the note was Vapittori's official seal, so here Tarrant was. Vapittori motioned to his manservant. "Bring us our dinner. It is rude to keep our guest waiting!" The manservant bowed and left the room. He came back with two steaming trays, steak atop garnished with cilantro. Tarrant sniffed it suspiciously.

"It's antelope." Vapittori pulled a jeweled dinner knife from his vest and cut himself a slice of the tender meat. "I shot it myself today."

Tarrant said nothing, his eyes green flecks in the firelight. He studied the knife. By custom, every man carried a travelling knife- for eating on the road, for whatever task might require a knife, and for protection against bandits. They were far more a personal statement of fashion for someone like the Baron than a necessity. He had good taste, though- the knife had a 3-inch triangle of a blade, the cutting edge swept back slightly toward the tip. It was a single piece of Damascus steel, running all through the handle, with jewels at strategic points to improve grip.