Valor and Violence

Elizabeth drew her bow across the violin strings, a plaintive wail filling her room. She closed her eyes and opened her ears, taking the sound trembling through the confined space and analysing it, marinating in the frequency.

Not quite.

She repositioned her bow and drew again, higher this time, more aggressive. She smiled.

There it is.

She repositioned a final time, slowly drawing the bow, the sound growing louder in the confined space until it was deafening, the shrill note reverberating with enough force that it felt like an assault on Elizabeth’s ears. The windows shattered, glass spraying into the room and dropping to the street outside the Six Cities’ safe house.

“Yes!” she cried, punching a victorious fist into the air, her fingers still wrapped around the bow. She had been at it for hours, and now? Her experiment had finally borne fruit. They had all said she was mad to weaponise sound, the voices in her head, that is, but she had shown them! She was brilliant, the conductor of crime! The virtuoso of violence! The maestro of massacres!

She was trying to come up with a fourth alliteration when boots thumping up the stairs ended her celebrations.

“Oh, Pit.”

She ripped open her desk drawer and dropped the instrument and bow inside, slamming it shut and whirling to lean casually against it as the door burst open. The Guild Master stormed in, a knife in each hand.

“Eliza! What is going on? Are you under attack?”

“What? Oh! Oh, no nononono. Not at all. No attacks here,” she said, screwing her mouth shut and vigorously shaking her head.

“I heard a noise, and then shattering glass.”

“That’s odd. No idea what that’s about.”

“Elizabeth…” He gestured at a ruined window with a knife. “What did you do?”

“Uh! Fine! I broke the window!” she said, balling her hands into fists and stomping a foot.

“Why?”

“Science experiment,” she muttered.

The Master entered the room with a sigh and sat down on her bed. His face was hidden as always, but the slouch in his shoulders spoke to a bone deep weariness.

“Alright, what was the experiment?”

“Trying to see if I could break glass with my violin.”

“You have a violin?” he asked, cocking his head.

“Seriously? I’ve been practicing every day for months. How have you not noticed?”

“Sorry, my dear. I’ve been inside my head quite a lot, of late. I assume the experiment was a success?”

“Heh. Resoundingly,” she said with a grin.

The Master palmed his face as he groaned. “That was awful, my dear. And why were you trying to ruin the windows in the first place?”

Elizabeth shrugged, turning to retrieve the violin. She set it on her collarbone and started up a fun little jig as she skittered about the room.

“Room entry method? If the doors are locked, I can just smash a window with this bad boy and hop on in!”

“Eliza, you have your pipes and grenades, both of which are far more effective. Pit, even a rock would be more practical,” the Master replied, his tone tinged with displeasure. Probably because he’d need to pay for the windows.

“But I always use that stuff! I need something new, something with panache. Something that screams ‘I’m coming in boys, prepare to die!’”

“And the violin was what you came up with?”

She stopped her jig with a discordant shriek from the strings and dropped onto the bed beside her boss.

“I’ve got plans. Might do something with them. Might not. Now that I think about it, it does seem a little ridiculous, though.”

The Master muttered under his breath. Sounded like ‘something something give me strength’, probably imploring the Pantheon. Not that they could save him.

“My dear, why are you doing this?”

“Doing what, boss?”

“This,” he said, gesturing around the room. “Today it’s the windows. Last week you tried weaponising guinea pigs-”

“They can get in through tight spaces, and they’re sneaky! Like rats, but way cuter,” she said, nodding.

“And the week before that, you set fire to a street vendor’s cart. Was that another experiment? Hmm?”

“No, the owner was just an arsehole. A kid was begging, and he kicked the poor little guy! So, I burned down his cart. He was meant to burn with it, but the tricky bastard slipped his bindings.”

She frowned. She had forgotten about that. She would need to do something about him later. She hated leaving a job unfinished. Although, she had stolen all his coins first and given them to the street urchin, so maybe that was what the job really was, and she could ignore the slimy old merchant and focus on more fun things? Although punishing arseholes was fun, so maybe-

“Eliza!” the Master shouted, snapping her attention back to the real world.

“Hmm?”

“I was saying I’ll need to do something about the merchant now! I assume he saw your face?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

The Master’s hand disappeared into the shadows of his cowl again, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll ask again; why are you doing this? You’ve always been… exuberant, but lately you are out of control.”

“Honestly? You only have yourself to blame. I’ve been cooped up in here for ages! I’m climbing the walls!”

“There is a large target on your back, Eliza. The Tok Risim Doge wants your head, along with the surviving Famiglia factions from the rest of the archipelago. It is dangerous for you out in the wider world right now. I am trying to protect you.”

“But I don’t need protection, Master. Let them come, I’ll kill them all.”

“Not if you don’t see them coming. They won’t attack head on, they learned that lesson the hard way. They’ll be insidious in their approach and, no offence, my dear, but your demeanour makes you particularly vulnerable to such approaches.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, her voice dangerously low.

The Master stiffened, crossed the room, and slapped her. Hard. Elizabeth shrieked as she fell to the ground, more in surprise than pain. She held a hand to her smarting cheek and looked up at the Master, tears welling in her eyes.

“Do not take that tone with me ever again, Elizabeth,” he growled. His voice came out as a hiss, his posture tensed forward, betraying his barely restrained rage. Elizabeth cowered, trembling. She had seen the Master like this before, many times, but never…

Never with her.

He sighed and turned away, planting his gloved hands on his hips and taking a few deep breaths.

“I am sorry, my dear. But I cannot abide disrespect. I fear I may have indulged you too much all these years.”

He spun and crouched in a blur, his hand snaking out towards her. She closed her eyes and yelped, but instead of the expected blow, she felt soft velvet caressing her cheek. She hesitated, then cracked an eye to find the Master gently stroking her face.

“You are just so dear to me, Eliza. I worry that I have done you a disservice by letting your more unruly quirks continue unchecked.” He stopped, exhaling heavily through his nose. “Can you accept my apology?”

Still shaking, eyes wide with fear and shame, Elizabeth nodded.

“I’m sorry too, Master. I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

The Master chuckled and patted her on the head before straightening back up.

“I know, my dear. And now that I’m calm, I can see where you are coming from. Walk with me, I may have a job for you after all. How would you like to get out of town for a bit?”

“I would like that very much!” Elizabeth squealed, springing to her feet. Her hands were still shaking, and her heart was thudding in her chest, but her relief at the Master’s forgiveness overwhelmed the other emotions swirling in her heart. She hurried out into the hallway after him. “Who’s the mark? Where are they? Oooh! I hope they live somewhere with good food!”

The Master turned to her, possibly smiling. She couldn’t be sure, because of the shadow, but she wanted to think he was, anyway.

“They are in Aderath. Specifically, Ader itself, on the shores of the great lake. Fresh-water fish, the finest wines, the works.”

“Oh, yay! Who is it?”

“A duke, by the name of Jacques Martel. He has recently been creating problems for me. Our little family has made great strides in establishing themselves in the empire’s underbelly, and the good duke has taken issue with this. He has gathered an alliance of nobles, judges, security and espionage professionals, and is leading a campaign to burn our people out of the country. I want him dealt with.”

“Is this what’s been on your mind? I’m surprised you didn’t send me sooner.”

“I was collecting information, hoping his goals reflected ambition more so than duty. He has become the central figure around which all anti-Guild sentiment has coalesced. I had hoped to turn him, undermine the faction from within, but it seems he is somewhat of a zealot.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I had an agent make contact to start the proceedings. He was nailed above the city gates within the day.”

“Oooft. That’s a rough cop.”

“Right? So, if he will reject my overtures, we will have to be more direct. Which is where you come in, my darling Eliza.”

“Consider it done, boss! I’ll need my pocket money in advance, though. For expenses.”

“For the last time, Eliza,” the Master said, reaching into his robes and pulling out a fat coin purse. “It’s a salary.”

He tossed her the pouch, which she deftly snatched out of the air, opening it to check over the glinting golden coins within. Satisfied, she cinched it closed and tucked it away with a smile.

“Pocket money!”

*

A week later, Elizabeth darted across the rooftops in the Ader docks district. The dense cluster of buildings in the Aderathian Empire’s capital were as easy to traverse as a cobbled road for someone of her athleticism. A full moon hung overhead, bathing the ceramic tiled roofs in soft white light as the Majestue Lake glinted before her, the sound of the waves lapping against the piers almost completely drowned out by the revelry coming from the duke’s carrack, just a hundred odd meters out from land.

They thought they had reason to celebrate. The illustrious duke had just evaded death at the hands of the feared Guild, his guards even now pursuing the miscreant through the labyrinthine streets of their glorious city. No doubt she would be brought to justice any minute now, either summarily executed by the valiant guardsmen, or else captured to be tried for the murder of the brave sentries she had left on the dock.

Bloody fools. The drunken pricks had dragged a serving girl off the boat to have some fun with her, out of sight and out of mind of their high-minded employers. They had settled in for their ‘festivities’ just as Elizabeth had finished attaching her bomb netting to the hull. In theory, she could have slipped away undetected and carried out her plan with no hiccups, but that would have been cowardly and immoral.

She had gutted the lechers, obviously. Even done it silently, too! But then the damn serving girl had gotten spooked and started screaming. Next minute, every guard was piling off the boat, along with a half dozen tipsy lordlings swinging ceremonial sabres and damn near poking each others’ eyes out. She had been forced to take off, kill or lose her pursuers, and circle back to finish the job. It was just lucky the party boat had been built for comfort and not speed. It was crawling across the waves at a snail’s pace, still well within range for a clean shot.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and exhaled, letting a feeling of calm settle over her like a cloak. She plopped down on the roof, pulled out her rifle, and set up her shooter’s position. Right leg bent at the knee, up beside her hip, left leg fully extended, foot turned inwards to absorb the recoil. Elbows propped, the padding sewn into her uniform protecting her bony knobs from bruising. Cheek resting on the buttstock, both eyes open as her dominant eye peered through the scope. She shuffled her hips around, letting her body shift the weapon instead of steering it with her arms, until she could see the netting through the glass.

Breath in.

Hold.

Squeeze.

The Resonance ball shot over the waves with a crack, arcing through the air as it homed in on her target. It struck the central grenade; the impact imparting enough Talent to supersaturate the device, cooking it off in an explosion that caught the rest of the bombs, adding their detonations to the first. The hull exploded, half the structure on the starboard side disappearing completely while roaring flames blazed across the rest, engulfing the boat in moments. It only took a second for the screams to start, gliding over the waves, the distance and distortive heat of the flames giving the cries an ethereal, undulating quality.

Elizabeth shot to her feet, hopping from foot to foot as she punched her fists into the air.

“Oh, shit yeah! That was awesome!” She grinned as she stowed her rifle and darted back into the urban sprawl as guards drawn by the explosion streamed through the streets below her.

Another brilliant plan, flawlessly executed. Time to stow the gear and hole up in a tavern until the drunkards rumour mill confirmed the kill for her.

*

Elizabeth sat at a booth at the back of the tavern, idly swirling the happy grape juice in her cup as she listened in to the surrounding conversations. It was a simple fact that a city of Ader’s size never really slept, and the sizeable sub-culture of drunkard retirees, unhappily married workers, and thirsty guardsmen had carried word of her exploits back to her almost immediately.

Unfortunately, no one could agree on the facts.

One old coot was loudly proclaiming this the work of those damn immigrants from across the Rift, or possibly new blood nobles rich off illicit trade with Calandor via the Tok Risim Republic. He couldn’t keep the villain of his story straight as he slurred his way through a racially charged tirade bemoaning the death of the last quality Aderathian duke.

It was one account vouching for the duke’s death, which was great even though the information’s wrapping made her, and everyone else in the room, very uncomfortable. Problem was, a pair of City Watch skiving off from the search was sure they had seen the duke storming around the docks after the explosion. It was his temper as he kicked open doors and screamed at the rank and file to ‘do their jobs’ that convinced them to disappear until everything had settled down.

If she was going to be honest with herself, the Watch was probably the more reliable information source. Her doubts were confirmed when the tavern door slammed open, a ragged town crier, sweaty despite the time of night, panting as he stumbled inside. With visible effort, he straightened up, tucked a hand against the small of his back, and raised a finger as he opened his mouth.

A strained croak was all that came out. His face turned red with embarrassment and Elizabeth chuckled into her drink as the barman offered the crier a beverage. He gratefully accepted it, guzzling the contents, then trying again.

“Good people of Ader, hear ye, hear ye! Duke Jacques Martel has decreed all available citizens to gather in the port district civic square immediately post breakfast’s bell to hear his address regarding the criminal attack on his vessel.”

That set the room groaning. No doubt the people deep in their cups in the wee hours of the morning were not the kind of people to be up that early. Still, a ducal decree was a ducal degree, and they filtered out of the tavern in a disappointed throng. Elizabeth sighed and joined the procession. As much as she hated early nights, she would need to be fresh faced and alert for her do over in the morning.