Ashan 30th Arc 721
Previously
Rokas burst out of the ground, going from a prone position to standing in a matter of moments, body swinging as if mounted on a hinge. His feet were stuck firm in stone, the earth pushed him up at the shoulders. One hand shot straight for the closest enemy, grabbing a shirt and yanking him close, skull smashing into the bridge of his nose. The man stumbled back, grabbing at his face rather than the hilt of his blade. Some time bought, Rokas whirled around in an instant, earth flinging him toward the second pursuer.
He hadn’t moved, likely too stunned to react to the sudden ambush. Befuddled by how fast everything suddenly was happening. By how fast four hundred pounds of human flesh and bone came soaring through the air, catapulted by a protrusion of rock. He snapped out of it at the last second, throwing himself to the side. Too late. Rokas crashed down like a meteor, reaching out and finding an ankle, two hands clamping around it. Momentum conserved, Rokas roared and spun and swung his pursuer into the brickwork of the nearest wall. He gasped as breath fled his lungs. Stone shifted. Hard the moment of impact, turning viscous like molasses as Rokas threw his whole body against the pursuer’s, then solid again.
Once more Rokas switched targets, a large stone formed in his palm, focus shifting to man with he bloody nose. “Grant Zefihr, drop your blade or I’ll turn your brother’s grey matter sunny side up.” But the man he addressed hadn’t drown any weapons, nor was he charging in to attack. He just stood in the middle of the small courtyard still, one hand trying to stop his nosebleed, the other raised above his head in surrender.
“I’m Grant though,” the one stuck in the wall coughed and nodded towards his twin brother. “He’s Kellan.”
The other –Kellan—waved a hesitant hand. “Can you drop the boulder? We’re not here to fight. We just want to have a chat.”
In the wall, Grant nodded. “Just talk, nothing else.”
Rokas glanced from one to the other a couple times, eyes narrowed and brow rumpled. It took a moment, but he moved his hand away from the captured twin’s head, though he refused to let go of the rock. “What’s this about then? You want to tell me why you’re following me around?”
The twins shared a glance, Kellan gave a shrug and Grant began to speak. “Actually, yes. We heard of someone described similar to you wandering the area, but didn’t think much of it at first. We told Barash you drowned in the Southwood, but he apparently wasn’t convinced.” The man in the wall half-shrugged with his one free shoulder. “So he sent some men to keep an eye out, verify his identity.”
Kellan nodded. “When reports came back that suggested it was you after all, he got a little antsy and sent some boys your way. Something about his territory not being a place for … unpredictable elements to hang around in.”
“He gets a little insecure about those things. Sees the presence of just about anyone not belonging to his own as a potential threat to be dealt with immediately,” Grant said.
“So I’ve noticed,” Rokas rumbled, fingers grabbing the boulder a little tighter. “And the two of you are here to finish the job?”
The two brothers stiffened, both of them raising their hands back in the air, to the degree they could. “Founder’s bones, no! We’re here to apologize on Barash’s behalf!” Grant said.
“Honest! We warned him to leave you be, but he didn’t listen until the boys came back, and even then he was adamant about sending triple the amount in retaliation. Took us days to get him to calm down,” Kellan pleaded.
“So you figured you’d apologize by tailing me for half an hour?”
“Well, we left a note under your door a few days ago to meet,” Grant said, “but you didn’t show up. Guess you never saw it?” Oh, Rokas had seen it alright. Found it sticking out the gap between wood and tile floor, read it, and crumpled it into a tight little ball he fed to fire. A suspicious, unsigned letter containing nothing but a time and place to meet. Obviously, whatever waited for him there was an ambush, and he’d rather not walk into another one so soon after the last. “And when we saw you in the street today, we thought it’d be as good an opportunity as any to approach.”
“But you tried to shake us, so we pursued,” Kellan said.
“As would anyone with a miniscule sliver of common sense when you sense someone sneaking up on you. Especially after your … boss?” They nodded. “Your boss had men stalking me all season!”
“What, so you’re saying we could have just walked up to you like old friends then? As if you wouldn’t have tried killing us the moment we came close enough!”
Rokas couldn’t refute that. Point made, Kellan smirked as much as a man trying to staunch a nosebleed could, looking a little too full of himself. Rokas brought his rock back in bludgeoning position, and the grin faded quick.
“Anyway,” Grant continued, shooting a nervous glance at the stone hovering too close to his skull, “We’re not here to settle scores, we’re come bringing gifts by way of apology. For Barash’s rashness, but also for the Southwood business. It was Daggett’s idea, but he promised to pay well, so…”
“What gifts?”
It was Kellan who responded. “Information. About Daggett. You’re wandering Barash’s territory looking for him, right? To make good on your threats? You’re searching the wrong area, Daggett’s actually holed up in the No--”
“I know he’s in the North. I know he’s building himself a gang. He’s bought a tailor shop, hired some goons, and is hoping to join as a sub-group of one of the older gangs. Getting some districts to manage for them, in return for a cut of his profits and answering to them.”
“Mhmm. Joe Gaenell. It’s actually less of a ‘you work for me’ scenario and more of a mutual partnership to more co-manage the territory so they can expand,” Grant corrected.
Kellan frowned. “Wait, wait. If you have all that information, what are you doing in the South?”
“Waiting for an opportune moment to destroy Daggett.”
The two brothers stared at each other for a long moment, then Kellan spoke again, weighing his words carefully. “Can’t you do that right now? He doesn’t know you’re here. You can just waltz right into his headquarters and raise hell. Why wait?”
Ah, the inevitable question. Why indeed? He’d wondered the same thing since returning to Etzos. Of course, there was the matter of his leg needing time to rest and heal. Which it had. So why did he still hide in the South?
“I’m waiting for the best opportunity to destroy everything he’s built up in one fell swoop, at the moment it’ll hurt him most. When he’s accomplished this grand goal of him, and is reveling in the glory of it all, that’s when I’ll barge in and toss him into the pits of despair. Make him watch everything fall to pieces before he dies.”
Both twins were silent for a while, once again communicating with their eyes alone.
“That’s uncharacteristic of you,” Grant said.
“Doesn’t sound like you at all,” Kellan agreed.
They licked their lips, pausing for a moment, glancing toward each other, then focusing back on Rokas and the boulder in his hand. “It’s something we’d expect from Milaq, however. This has his name written all over it.”
And then: “You’re not working with Milaq, are you?”
Rokas gave an affirmative grunt. The twins exchanged meaningful looks, expressions shifting and changing in subtle ways as they locked eyes. It took longer than before, a more substantial back and forth with frowns and little nods and shakes of the head. “Well, if you really think you can trust Milaq…”
A growl escaped Rokas’s throat. It might have been one of amusement, or one of offense. “Trust? No. Make use of? Yes.”
Once more the twins glanced at each other. Grant raised an eyebrow, Kellan just shrugged. Rokas frowned at the exchange, a hunch saying they knew more than they let on, and weren’t telling him.
Kellan spoke up. “We can lend some assistance, if you’d like. You’re waiting for the alliance between Daggett and Joe Gaenell to go through, yes?” A grunt from Rokas. “Well, we know it’s pretty much set in stone at this point. Gaenell’s made up his mind already, but he’s letting Daggett sweat a bit before making it official. Giving him a taste of the power dynamic. Sure, they’ll be partners, but Gaenell’s the one in charge. So while we don’t know when they’re going to shake on the deal, we do know it’s going to happen. And we’ll be among the first to hear of it too.”
“How so?”
“Barash has an arrangement with Gaenell,” Grant said. “They go way back, and purposefully stayed out of each other’s way when they established themselves. Barash in the South, Gaenell in the North. Importantly though, when one’s in trouble, the other will lend aid. Men, weapons, you name it. They inform each other of new alliances, or ones that get dissolved so there’s no … hmmmm, awkward situations happening. Like Barash infringing on the territory of one of Gaenell’s buds, or vice versa. You see what I’m getting at?”
Rokas nodded. He’d never really involved himself in the politics of the Underworld, not as a Blackjack, nor as part of the Fence. He was a simple sort, who followed simple commands and asked few questions. Go rough up this guy. Capture that one. Knock her teeth out. Break his kneecaps. Stand guard at the door. Don’t let anyone in. Go collect due payments, … Simple and straightforward. What did the complex web of partnerships and grudges and antagonism between the gangs matter to him? He and the delicate finagling of the world of politics –on either side of the law, though there really wasn’t as much of a divide as that implied—meshed about as well as a king crocodile and a glassblower’s store. But that didn’t mean he didn’t get it.
“And you will assist how, exactly?”
“Easy,” Kellan shrugged. “You plan on storming Daggett’s office, correct? We’ll supply booze to his men. A lot of booze. As a celebratory present, a gift to welcome the gang to the alliance. The drunker they are, the less trouble they’ll cause you, the faster you get to Daggett himself.”
Bringing up a hand to stroke his jaw, Rokas considered. There definitely was merit in this plan, and sense in their words. Daggett was the real target, the goons Rokas would have to mow through were but collateral damage. The quicker he could dispatch them, the less likely Daggett could escape. And while the elements certainly did grant him an enormous advantage, once the element of surprise had worn off, even he would have trouble beating an entire small gang. He’d not get out unscathed, even if they were drunk out of their minds, but it would make things easier. One thing bothered him though. “And what’s in this for you? I though you were on good terms with Daggett?”
Grant twisted his head as far as the wall allowed, staring up at Rokas. “First of all, we don’t get killed by you.” A major benefit, for sure. “Second, we were, yes. Until he screwed us over right after the Southwood incident.”
Kellan nodded furiously, head moving so fast up and down if became a blur. “He promised to pay very well for helping him drop you in the Southwood. Five hundred, I think?”
“Yeah. Five hundred each, strongly implied,” Grant said.
“He paid two-fifty each. Said something like ‘What? Five hundred each? I don’t recall saying anything of the sort! I’d never pay less than the agreed-upon sum, but we didn’t agree on five hundred each. We agreed on five hundred. If you thought I meant each, then that’s your problem, not mine! Look, I have our agreement in black and white right here. If you want to blame anyone, blame yourselves. You should have read the contract before signing it!'”
While Kellan failed to mimic Daggett’s voice, the tone of it as well as the sheer amount of pompousness, greasy smugness and overacted pretend-surprise were on point. Same for the body language. In fact, the imitation was accurate enough to stoke a fire within Rokas’s chest. His fingers dug into the rock, and the air loomed heavy through the whole courtyard. Then he sucked in a deep, deep breath, which he released after a few moments’ pause. A breeze rolled across the rooftops again, and the clay bricks in the walls stopped cluttering like teeth during Zi’da. Grant, who’d gone rather pale being stuck within one such wall, relaxed a bit.
“And you didn’t beat the money out of him, why?” asked Rokas, pragmatic as always.
“You cracked my ribs,” Kellan accused, crossing his arms.
“I can’t take Arun alone,” Grant grimaced.
“I see. So, retribution.”
They nodded. “Also we prove our worth to Barash, and might get promoted. We keep things civil between you and Barash, the two of us get to walk out of her alive, you get an easier time storming Daggett’s base, you get your revenge on Daggett, we get our revenge on Dagget, and we get promoted.” Kellan raised a finger with each reason listed.
“That’s a win-win-win-win-win-win-situation,” he then said, subtracting a finger with each repeat of the word. “That’s a six-fold win. Not too shabby, I say.”
“Barash approves, then?”
“Not officially. Off the record though? Oh yes. He loathes Daggett just as much as we do. If he could, he’d take Daggett down himself, however Daggett already is part of Gaenell’s men, regardless of how they want to word it. Pointing blades at Daggett is equivalent of pointing them at Gaenell himself. Anyone who messes with Daggett messes with Gaenell, and due to the alliance, with Barash. Which is where the problem lies. Barash will gladly support Gaenell in whatever way necessary, but not Daggett. Obviously, he’d rather not break the agreement with Gaenell, that’d be a huge blow.“
“Right.” Rokas rubbed his jaw with a large hand, pursing his lips. “So while his hands are tied, he’s not going to stop an unaffiliated third party who’d swoop in and crush Daggett to settle a grudge of their own.”
“Exactly! As long as Gaenell doesn’t call on him to help deal with the situation, that is.”
“Which shouldn’t happen if Daggett and his gang are wiped out before Gaenell can react.”
“You got it.”
Clever. If Barash had kept his hatred of Daggett at all hidden, no-one would suspect he had anything to do with this. In a sense, he didn’t. There was no official meeting, face to face to discuss this. All he’d do was having liquor delivered –an innocuous gesture. Even if it was discovered that some of his men had plotted the murder of Daggett, he could wash his hands in innocence and kick the Zefihrs out of the gang. Or –if he wanted to play things safe-- have them executed to appease Gaenell.
If they even found out about it in the first place. Daggett’s been bragging for seasons on end he’d thrown Rokas in the Southwood, disposing of him for good. Anyone with half a wit wouldn’t have to think twice about who to suspect if Rokas turned out to be alive a little while after Daggett ended up murdered.
“In turn I’d appreciate if Barash could look the other way if I happen to be on his turf. No one follows me around, no one bothers me, no one points as much as a butterknife at my throat. His men stay out of my way and leave me alone.”
Grant and Kellan looked at each other for a moment. “I think we can get that sorted. As long as you don’t cause trouble.”
“Or interfere with Barash’s business, or destroy his property,” Grant added.
“Fair.” He gave a nod.
“Then that’s a deal.” Grant extended one of his hands as far as he could, which wasn’t very far at all, given that only his wrist extended from the wall. Rokas dropped his rock and shook it all the same.
He whispered some words to earth, the element responding with a grinding and crunching of stone on stone. The wall Grant hung in shivered and trembled, the bricks that’d molded themselves around the man’s body creaked. They shattered as one, exploding in a shower of dust and gravel. Grant fell to hands and knees, covered in bits of baked clay and mortar, but not sporting any injuries he’d not had before. Kellan hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking towards Rokas, then he rushed up to his brother, helping him to his feet.
In the meantime, Rokas lumbered to the courtyard’s exit and left, giving the twins no more attention or thought. They stopped to exist, as many people did, and the elements came back to the foreground, filling his mind with their distinct voices. The airy laughter of the wind, the rockslide groaning of the earth, fire’s pleasant hiss and cackle, and water’s placid mumbles. All with tales to tell, all desiring his attention. Yet one man remained in Rokas’s thoughts, turning them dark and angry, and quite impatient. Luckily, revenge wouldn’t have to wait much longer, it seemed.
As he headed back to his newest hideout, he asked the elements a question he’d asked many times since escaping death at the bottom of the Southwood.
How do you think I should kill Daggett?