Hope

“That’s a job for Rainer and Kalista,” Aaron spoke, midway through the morning briefing, “Take Waylan with you as back up.”

“More like dey will be me back up,” Waylan grinned but no one reacted to his bravado.

“Solo work for me then?” Irwyn asked.

“Yes, you are on informants today,” Aaron pointed at a piece of paper that Irwyn would be able to take after the meeting. “Bunch of type 1, one type 2 and a type 3, I have the list for you here. I also need you to get an order from One-hand on the other side since you will already be adequately dressed.”

“Flashpowder?” Irwyn guessed. They had been running a bit low, the increased tensions multiplying the cases where they had to run from someone aggressive.

“Yes. I will give you notes for everything,” Aaron confirmed and continued giving out tasks, the Old Crow observing from the corner but not getting involved directly. Ever since the Blackburg crisis he had been getting less and less involved with Aaron’s decision-making.

When the meeting ended Irwyn got ready and headed right out.

It was hardly the first time Irwyn was at Road street, or at least that was how everyone unofficially called it since there were actually several streets forming it. On a map it looked like a massive laceration, basically dividing Ebon Respite into two; by itself, the Road street was practically a separate city. That was no surprise, Ebon Respite originally stood directly between City Black, the Duchy’s capital and City of Dusktake, a far southern trade hub on the border with the Duchy of Teal. That was, after all, in its name: The last respite before City Black. Road street was built around serving the people passing through, at most stopping for a night.

There were opulent hotels, overpasses over the busy roads, massive warehouses and the constant presence of well-geared guards. Traffic flowed relentlessly but most would at most stop to resupply at one explicitly set up for that purpose. Many didn’t even bother stopping, just going straight through the city. Those going towards the Capital were after all at most a day’s journey away from their destination and those headed the other way were still fresh. Another part of the traffic were exports from the many industrial zones of Ebon Respite, the countless manofactoriums utilising the cheap and disposable labour and then quickly exporting to a major trade hub of City Black or fencing their goods to traveling merchants heading the other way.

Among the sons of merchants, hotel owners or stablemasters Irwyn would not stand out in his current attire.

He had donned his best from when they managed to snatch an entire cache of clothing for some young master of somewhere less than a year ago; it fit him perfectly now. And Rainer had sewed him extra inner pockets. He walked around, pretending well to belong but still on guard as he of all people knew how good of a target he might look like among other thieves, though most weren’t confident enough to operate this close to the center. It takes one shout and there are immediately 20 guards looking for the pickpocket, approaching from all directions.

Judging by the sundial erected upon a large building it was about time, so Irwyn found his way to a small but very specific park, finding himself a seat at a bench. The parks around the center were numerous but rarely full, the majority of the traffic being people just going through. Apparently just their existence made the buildings around them more valuable so there were plenty despite the general unuse.

It did not take 5 minutes before a middle-aged man, around 30, found his way to Irwyn’s side, holding newspapers.

“What a weather we have today,” Irwyn commented, the man pretending to be reading his papers. As a major export, paper was more than affordable, though Aaron has proved himself a better source of important news in Irwyn’s eyes than the directed and redacted 'Blackpapers'.

“It will probably rain tomorrow,” he muttered.

“And the day after,” Irwyn nodded and looked around. There were people around but no one was paying them attention. Irwyn took a note prepared by Aaron containing the passwords for the next time as well as a small pouch with a very exactly calculated number of coins, the man passing back another note in turn. This all happened in just a moment, Irwyn standing up to mask any such motion.

“I have to go. Goodbye, sir,” Irwyn did not spare the man another glance as he took off.

That was the first type of informant that the Tears worked with. Independent brokers, bribable workers or investigators for hire. That was Aaron’s specialty after all, to gather a gargantuan pile of snippets, rumours and unverified claims and turn them into critical intelligence to sell or use. As far as Irwyn knew, that was also exactly how the Old Crow had become a Fowl long before founding the Tears. Rumours had it that in his prime he would have better census and trade data than the city officials.

As far as the informants went Irwyn had been specifically warned to not trust them. At any moment they could choose to doublecross them; sell them out or just plain report them to authorities from a sudden conscience tumor. That is why they knew next to nothing about who they were actually selling this information to. All contact would be done at a specified time at a specified day of the week using a specified password and notes with specified wording. The only thing that changed was that it would be a different teenager or rarely a kid who did the exchange. Part of the strategy was that people would think they were just runners and therefore were less likely to think that betrayal would accomplish anything.

A lot of the Tears actually went out for this kind of work every day and despite the costs, the profits they made were enormous. Either they got wind of very good marks to hit themselves or they sold invaluable information to other gangs.

Either way, Irwyn then proceeded to contact 6 more such informants, one every 30 minutes. Some he would meet at parks just by Road streets, others near shop displays, some further away at a variety of locations. By the time he was done, it was nearing noon and he went to meet the next type of informant.

He walked into the tavern-or-restaurant not far from the main Road street, a business that was the second type of informant: An entire establishment collaborating with the Tears. There could be places like the brothel at the edge of the slums or taverns like this one. Here in the middle of the city he was, of course, far less brazen. Instead of walking up and showing a badge at the front desk he took a seat, some of the servers might not be in on the deal after all; trustworthiness could be scarce in the serving industry when the counter option to work wasn’t always starvation. It didn’t take long for a server to approach him, a young woman not that much older than Irwyn.

“Welcome to our establishment!” she spoke with the fake enthusiasm of a waitress. “Say, you wouldn’t know mister O, would you?”

“What a coincidence, I am actually acquaintanced with mister O,” Irwyn smiled. This one was clearly in on their deal, he almost vaguely remembered her face from the last time he had been sent here but wasn’t quite sure; there were a lot of places like this.

“Mister O’s friends are obviously welcome,” she spoke as she handed Irwyn his menu, slipping him a small stack of notes, Irwyn giving one back right away. He browsed for a while and then ordered lunch. In the past this was highly desired work because of that, but ever since Narcinia took over the kitchen the desire to order food from outside had sharply declined by the virtue of no longer being always better than what they had at home. He paid after the meal, giving the same waitress the agreed-upon payment for the information as well as the price of the meal.

Next he went for another park bench, however, the informant he was meeting with next was of a different kind.

“Hey, Irw,” a young woman, just barely above twenty, took a seat next to Irwyn. She hardly even pretended to be reading the newspapers, though Irwyn was almost surprised she bothered to bring some at all. This lack of care for procedure was something he had come to know her for after all.

“Margarate, it has been a while,” Irwyn nodded to her but kept looking around the area. Just a few pedestrians around but no one paying them any attention.

“You still speak weird, huh,” she grinned.

“And you still disregard information safety,” Irwyn could not help himself but return it.

This was the third type of informant. What happened to the Tears when they grew up? One of two things. Most had become so accustomed to the life of crime they moved on and advanced that career, joining the Guild, setting out on their own or selecting one from the plethora of gangs that wanted people with their expertise and experience. The rest had decided that they were not meant for fieldwork after experiencing it for years, so Old Crow used his old contacts to forge them a flawless identity as an immigrating orphaned but educated young adult, setting out to earn a living in Ebon Respite. That, of course, wasn’t cheap and although Old Crow was running a charity he was very much a proponent of give and take. They were after all using the skills he had taught them to make a life for themselves, lives he had most likely saved in the first place by taking them in. So in return for a legal identity, they would pay the Tears back in some way. That could take many forms, for example, Irwyn knew that one of their former members had managed to become an actual inspector, though most chose to provide insider information to pay off that debt and often continued profiting afterwards.

Margarete? She worked as a secretary for a major merchant group.

“I got something seriously big this time around,” she didn’t delay and took out a small bundle of tied-up notes. “This is my reasoning a proof but the short version: A magelord is going to be storing something for a whole week at our Magical Vault.”

“Are you serious?” Irwyn’s eyes widened in surprise as he took the note but did not open it. “Why would he not just move it to City Black, it’s just another day’s journey away, less with good carriages.”

“That’s the big thing, Irw,” she grinned a toothy grin. “This is just conjecture but I think it’s something so magically potent the client cannot reliably hide it at Black City, at least not for a reasonable price. It might be a legitime artefact.”

“We just had the whole Blackburg catastrophe. I am not sure we want to take a risk like this,” Irwyn admitted, but he certainly felt a pinch of greed rise within him. First we must confirm this is actually something valuable, decisions can come later, he forced some restraint onto himself.

“Well, that’s for you guys to figure out,” she just shrugged. “My rate is the same 10% of the haul, 20% if you need more help.”

“I will get this to Aaron so it can be discussed,” Irwyn nodded.

“Well, I am sure you will let me know,” she smiled, knowing full well that if it really was an artefact, there was no way in the world the Tears would not do whatever it took to steal it.

They had the unique advantage of having a caster after all.

The city became destitute once more as Irwyn passed to the Other side’s slums, which were a fraction of the size. Essentially, a branch of the Stars gang completely controlled them, or it would be more accurate to say that the Stars had started out on this side, they had since expanded over Road street and now controlled just as much turf on both sides of the city. The logistics of smuggling things or people through the relatively tightly guarded Road street was a unique challenge in itself, though Irwyn would need to ask Aaron about specifics.

He was headed to the alchemist everyone called One-arm, you wouldn't be able to guess why; it still irked Irwyn he had to use a nickname though. One-hand, no other name ever provided, had apparently once been very well employed before a failed concoction took out his arm and a significant portion of several buildings. Paying off the damages turned him destitute and with no other option he moved to Ebon Respite to start work with the only people who didn't care about his ruined reputation: The gangs.

That being said, he was well-liked and respected among the slum lowlifes. Even with one arm he could refine gunpowder to the much more useful flashpowder and make some very specialised potions that Road street alchemists wouldn't sell. Irwyn remembered he had once sold them a potion that when in contact with the air turned into highly hallucinogenic gas, no questions asked, though the price for illegal potions was certainly astounding. That would only get worse because rumour had it that the Blackburg agents confiscated his entire stock. Why they would let him go after that was anyone's guess. Irwyn thought they didn't think criminals like them were worth even the time to escort to a guard station as they weren't part of their mission.

It was at this time that he felt something being denied about existing. It was the same kind of magic Rage had used to sneak up on Irwyn back then but it was simply much worse executed. Irwyn was able to tell that it was definitely Void magic and that the person using it was of small build. They were also moving towards him.

Not panicking, Irwyn kept walking as if nothing has happened but preparing to burst into action at any moment. Soon enough it was on the same street as him. Then it passed him without a pause. Irwyn remained vigilant but whoever that was they weren't after him.

One-arm’s shop was at the end of a well-hidden alley, out of the way and sight. As soon as Irwyn approached he immediately realised who the hidden person had been after; seeing the missing door guards was almost enough but the remnants of magic made Irwyn suspect the worst. As soon as he entered the unguarded workshop, his fears were confirmed.

The gruesomeness of it made Irwyn want to vomit but he was just a bit number to the wanton death than a few weeks ago. The door guards probably went in after hearing some commotion and were beheaded by an unnaturally sharp edge, cutting a fair bit into the wall and reinforced door. The thugs inside, 2 of them, suffered much the same fate. From the look of it they never got the opportunity to even dodge as there was distinctly only one spell scar on the walls behind each body.

One-arm’s end was far more gruesome. Almost ritualistic in a horrible way. He too was decapitated but post-mortem received additional treatment: His eyes had been removed and replaced with ebony black constructs of magic. Hollow eyes of nothing for the fool that saw even less. A traditional execution by the old ways of Umbra. Except Irwyn didn’t quite understand what One-hand, the overly cautious alchemist, could have done to deserve this retaliation. The only thing that came to mind was that maybe he made some potion that was used against someone with the means to orchestrate an assassination but this kind of death was not supposed to be for an offense by association. It was originally meant for necromancers who refused to disavow the Betrayer’s magic in the crusade following Ignis’ death, as Irwyn now knew confidently after re-reading the Book of the Name in the full edition.

Looking around, Irwyn quickly located the log book, it was written in code but the times were unencrypted, according to it Irwyn had at least an hour before the next customer was supposed to come. That being said he wasn’t gonna waste any time, quickly scouring the place for documents that could hint at why this happened. In the end, he got besides the logbook some shopping lists, a coded experiment journal and a stack of letters he didn’t have the time to read through. Then he quickly took their original order, a few valuables that would fit into his already filled inner pockets and booked it. If he did not take it, someone else would anyway. Still, that did not mean he wanted to be in any way associated with whatever had gone down.

This was trouble. A lot of trouble. He was supposed to meet with another 2 informants in the evening but skipped those in favour of getting Aaron on this as fast as possible.

Irwyn went straight to Aaron’s office upon returning. Upon opening the door he saw that Waylan, Kalista and Rainer were already inside, looking visibly nervous.

“More bad news?” Aaron asked with a tired grin that said he expected as much.

“One-hand is dead,” Irwyn nodded grimly.

“Let me guess: Eyes plucked out and replaced with a black mass after beheading,” Aaron ‘guessed’.

“Who else?” Irwyn immediately realised the implication.

“Fucking lots,” Kalista cursed, leaning on Rainer. “The boss of the Stars, the new boss of the Snakes and half a dozen other leaders from all over. Not to mention all their damn guards”

“Do you know when?” Aaron asked instead, turning towards Irwyn.

“I was coming on time for the trade and I am pretty sure I felt them leaving,” Irwyn replied.

“That about matches the timeline,” Aaron nodded and took a note. “From the looks of things we have one caster going on a rampage. They have limited information or at least didn’t go after anyone who isn’t widely known. They mark their target with this horrific void eye ritual. And we have no idea why in the world they are doing this.”

“Shit’s gonna go down bad,” Waylan grimaced. “This is too soon after dat last altocity.”

“Atrocity, Waylan,” Rainer corrected with a chuckle before Irwyn could but at least that relieved the atmosphere a bit.

“Well, I at least also have some good news,” Irwyn sighed, reaching for a very specific information package. “I think we might be able to get our biggest mark yet.”