No Mourners, No Funerals

46.✓

Kaz recoiled from the blow with a hiss, he looked up, eyes narrowing. He wasted no time slamming the weighted top of his cane into Vlam's stomach causing the teen to double over in pain. 

He swept Vlam's legs out from under him with a low arc, then pulled a knife and threw it with deadly accuracy. The blade pinned his shirt collar to the floor, and the shallow cut on his neck began to bleed. Kaz pinned Vlam to the floor with his cane, pressing sharply on his chest with most of his weight. 

"Listen closely, Vlam," he growled, applying pressure. "Your dog followed me. I didn't take her anywhere. I suggest you keep a better eye on her. As for this little stunt, I'm starting to think I should drop you into the barrel and see how well you can survive in it as my enemy." He lifted his cane off Vlam. 

"Get back to the Slat. Take your dog with you. I'll decide what to do with you when I get back. I have more important things to do than see to your fragile feelings and lack of control."

Vlam let out a choked wheeze when the weighted end of Kaz's cane was slammed into his gut, forcing him to bend over and protect his stomach. When his legs had been swept from beneath him a strained yelp escaped his lips as his back slammed into the tiled flooring. Oiche quickly stood between Vlam and Kaz when the knife sunk into the older teen's collar.  She was forced to step aside when the cane was jabbed into Vlam's chest. 

The teen was now quickly realizing how badly he just screwed up and didn't dare move. He just stared up at Kaz, now Dirtyhands, also coming to the realization the blade could have been thrown into his throat. When the cane was lifted, Vlam laid there for a moment longer before slowly pulling the knife from his shirt, and rolling it to Kaz's feet. Then he stood to his feet, wheezing slightly, his chest was still fairly sore. Which, he supposed was the point. 

The older teen shot a glance at Kaz, about to say something, but he saw the look in his eyes and quickly slammed his mouth shut and headed out the door, calling for Oiche to follow. The entire way to the Slat, Vlam couldn't bear to look another Dreg in the eye, especially when he crossed into the Slat.

Kwet glanced at the bruised teen with his wolf-dog, she must have looked pretty rough herself from her fall but she couldn't help but stifle a laugh. He shouldn't have messed with Kaz.

"You crossed a line, Wolf boy." She said as she passed, heading to the mansion. 

She ducked inside finding Kaz with a growing bruise on his face. She was surprised Vlam had even landed the blow.

" I found more information." She murmured. 

"I went to the docks, near Fifth Harbor. I found a trio of scumbags swaggering around. Seemed like they owned the place. They had tattoos on their palms, just like the one on the ID. One was ginger and reeked, the others were blondes, possibly twins. They didn't see my tattoo and I made sure to hide my face." She stated, keeping her hood covering the bruise on the side of her face.

Kaz stared Vlam down as he walked away, then cursed and swiped away the bit of blood on his nose. He retrieved his knife before he headed out of the mansion. He should have seen that coming. Maybe he should try and get more sleep.  

"Very well," he dismissed Kwet. Fifth Harbor was Dreg territory and Kaz would have to enforce that. He'd send some of his newer recruits down there. Clean things up.

***

The boat cracked worse than vertebrae finding its position again. Zhulik sighed, They hated this boat and everyone on it. Zhulik was going to Kerch, to first find booze. Then maybe a job. 

They sauntered up to the main deck and looked around. The sailors were busy running around and prepping the ship for docking. Zhulik walked over to the rails, to watch the shifting sea. It reminded them of themselves, never staying in one place and very shifty. Caught in a trance by the water, a sailor carrying a crate walk into Zhulik. Out of instinct they kicked in the sailor's knee and used a pressure point near the neck and dropped the poor soul quicker than the crate.