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Chapter Twenty

Staging Area 3

Kolakolvia

Kristoph Vals

When the door to the establishment closed behind the youth, Kristoph sighed and drank the rest of the contents of his glass in a single swallow. The vodka was swill by his standards, but it was probably Rolf’s finest. He immediately poured another one. It had been some time since he had felt the need to drink like this.

This Glazkov was an interesting one. Kristoph had already spoken with five other soldiers from the Wall who had been part of that muddy exchange. Their story had been confirmed by a single Almacian who had been taken captive. Every one of them said the same thing.

The blood storm gate had made no sound. To them it had come seemingly out of nowhere.

But Glazkov had definitely heard it opening. He had described it specifically as ripping. There was no liar in that boy. I doubt he even knew he should have lied in that situation.

After Kristoph’s last meeting with Nicodemus Firsch, he had researched what the arcane symbols and dates on the Chancellor’s map represented. It had turned out that each one had marked the appearance of one of the blood storm gates, and that this was a topic that the Chancellor had been paying a great deal of attention to.

As of yet he’d seen no indication that the Chancellor had alerted anyone in the army about the Almacian’s new gas, and Kristoph was still waiting for the go-ahead to launch his mission against their factory. Why would the Chancellor wait? What did he have to gain by waiting? And what, if anything, did that have to do with these strange gates which were supposedly connected to Hell below?

Kristoph could feel some greater, hidden truth was beginning to unravel and expose itself. The key in such situations was to be the first to see what was revealed in the unraveling. There was a lot happening at once. News of Amos Lowe in Dalhmun Prison, a blood gate opening, and a soldier of the Wall who was possibly magically attuned. All of these things were valuable and momentous pieces of intelligence.

The creak of the bar door pulled Kristoph from his thoughts. Someone else had arrived. From the reaction of the patrons he could see, the newcomer was noteworthy. Female footsteps approached.

“Now, Kristoph. Are you truly going to leave when I’ve only just arrived?”

He suppressed a shiver, one of equal parts pleasure and fear. “Rolf, another glass for my . . . friend.”

“Right away, Mr. Vals,” the bartender said.

Petra Banic took her time walking to his table. Nothing she did was without purpose. Kristoph didn’t need to look to the door to see Vasily hadn’t moved. Ah, so that is it then. Normally, the Cursed would have blocked anyone from approaching his table. The last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

Petra ran her fingers along his shoulder as she passed by before sitting in the seat Glazkov had recently vacated. He’d known the woman for more than a decade, and she hadn’t aged a day. Dark, shimmering hair fell over her shoulders, and her almond-shaped eyes always seemed to hold a smile for him at their corners. A lie, of course. Petra was colder than Kolakolvian winter.

“Petra,” he said when she finally sat down. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Indeed. You stopped calling on me to clean up your messes.”

“I clean up after myself these days.”

“So I hear. You’ve come a long way since that whole business with the Belgracian woman. What was that vile creature’s name?”

“Helena. Though I’d hardy call her vile.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Kristoph tsked. “Come now, Petra. Jealousy doesn’t become you. What can I do for the Chancellor’s personal problem solver? Congratulations on the promotion, by the way.”

“We’ve both come a long way, my dear. Though my old talents are still occasionally useful, I am now official. Didn’t you hear I’ve been completely brought into the fold?”

“A full paper-carrying member of Section 7? I didn’t think being a member of the bureaucracy would suit you. You always told me you preferred having your freedom.”

“There comes a point in a woman’s life where she desires stability.”

Petra’s career had been based in seduction, murder, and destroying evidence. Her idea of stability was far different than most. He didn’t bother asking her what her official rank was, because at their level it wasn’t so much about organizational charts as who had the most leverage on who.

“Good for you, Petra. I can only imagine what it took for you to get there. Doubtless, including a great many pardons.”

“The Chancellor himself offered me this job. He has been very generous to me.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

Petra laughed, but without humor. “I have missed you, Kristoph. Sometimes I wish we could go back to simpler times. Do you ever wish that?”

“On occasion.” Kristoph sometimes missed the old days, hunting down regular criminals and unimaginative traitors, but ambition made life complicated. “Why the visit, Petra? Why send those thugs after me to give me your message?”

“Ah, so you figured that out, did you?”

“It wasn’t too difficult.” He hadn’t truly known who was behind it until that moment, but it all made sense now. “The Cursed would not have stood aside unless they’d been sent by a high-ranking member of the Directorate, and very few of those know me that well. Doesn’t the Chancellor see everything Vasily sees? Surely, you have all the information you need about my activities.”

“That isn’t how it works. The senses of the Cursed aren’t like ours anymore. Their senses are twisted and challenging to decipher.”

You may be the Chancellor’s new toy, but you still don’t know how to play the game. Kristoph kept the smile off his face. Information was his favorite currency, and Petra had a bad habit of giving too much of it away. Not only did she admit she was spying, but she was personally using the Cursed. Fascinating.

Either that, or she had learned over the years, and now she was feeding him bad information on purpose . . . But such was life.

“That is the beauty of the Directorate’s culture. If we’re all spying on each other, than none of us could ever possibly turn traitor. Thank you for your diligence, Petra. In the meantime, I’m sure if the Chancellor wanted you to know all the details to my plans, he would make arrangements for you to know those details.”

“Why were you asking soldiers about the blood storm? Is it because that’s something the Chancellor is interested in?”

“I was not aware I reported to you. Last I checked, I report only to Nicodemus himself.” He held up his glass in a mock salute. “Well, if you will excuse me. I have things to take care of. I hope your next attempt to rattle me is less clumsy. If you have any further questions, you can try to glean them through the blindfolded eyes of dear Vasily, there.”

“Kristoph, don’t make me talk to all the same people you’ve already interviewed. Don’t go down this road. You won’t like where it leads. Just share what you know.”

“Darling Petra, I am sure I do not know what you mean. Have a splendid evening.” He stood from the table, offered a small bow, then walked to the door. As he neared the hulking, unmoving form of Vasily, Kristoph half expected the Cursed to block his way. Vasily moved, but only to follow him out the door.

He was more than a block away, walking in the incessant rain, when he finally trusted himself to let out a sigh of relief. Petra had always been dangerous, but never more than now. She was watching his every move. She’d sent thugs to shake him. He had only just begun investigating the blood storm, so he let her think that was his singular interest. If she somehow figured out the real reason he was here was Amos Lowe, then he would have to kill her. Except with Vasily compromised, he wasn’t even sure that was possible. However, he was fairly certain she didn’t know about Lowe, because surely Petra would have bragged about that if she did.

One problem at a time.



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