New Rome

47. Dark Deeds

The prince's vehicle was obliterated – it's shattered fragments now dispersed across the entire square. Caesar spat out teeth and blood, her head ringing from the almighty roar. She moaned in agony and clutched at her face. Blood poured down her neck, weeping from thousands of splinter wounds. Around her was chaos and confusion but as her hearing returned, she became aware of one troubling sound – police sirens.

Fear and adrenaline helped her to her feet and she beat a hasty retreat, stumbling as she did so. Groping at the walls for guidance, she attempted to run. Blood ran in rivulets down her face and seeped into her eyes. Still, she tried to run blind. All of sudden, the ground disappeared and she was falling – rolling down the Thousand Steps of Justice.

The pain was everywhere – knocking the breath from her lungs. When her head cracked against the paving slabs, she let her eyes close – a blissful wave of numbness crashing over her.

**

The customs officer's were doing a sweep of the dock, searching for Oblivion coming into the city. Sawyr stood back as they searched – his expression blank. Their frustration at finding nothing was palpable.

"I deal with souls, gentleman, not drugs," he assured them smoothly when they at last gave up.

The officials moved on, seething at being - once again - a step behind.

Sawyr smirked. He paid good money for advanced warning on any raids or searches – and it was well worth it.

Sawyr pulled up his hood, covering his tattooed head. He stuffed his hands into the large sleeves of his robes and absentmindedly stroked the smooth edge of a coin. A blast roared over the city and Sawyr's head quickly snapped up. He saw birds fly up from all directions – converging on the sky.

Was it just accident? Or was it Caesar?

His grip tightened around the gold coin he was holding, its markings imprinting on his palm. His earlier smugness evaporated – replaced by a furious tension.

"You," he barked at one of his employees, "go find out what that sound was. Quick now!"

The young lad hurried obediently off.

Sawyr turned his back on the city and, instead, faced the spaceships in harbour. The air smelt of burnt rubber and sulphur – a stench that was mildly better than New Rome's notorious den of squalor. His insides churned whenever he thought of the Lantern – the crowded streets that had raised him and that he'd left behind...

Sawyr bowed his head and offered the goddess a silent prayer.

Forgive your daughter Caesar. Close your eyes to what she's done and open them now only to preserve her.

Siren's blazed noisily in the distance and Sawyr clenched his teeth with worry.

Forgive us our dark deeds.

**

"Imperator," Pallas' dull voice intoned over the intercom. "News from Amen."

Graesen straightened, his posture tense but his expression coached into something vaguely calm.

"Send me the report." He directed. He'd been waiting for news from Amen, from his man there in particular. The priest Sawyr had promised them many things - he needed to deliver.