Prophecy of Tears: CH8: Shen

Shen

A haze of smoke filled the cantina as Shen Sebun made his way through the crowd toward the fighting pit. He walked in a spreading wave of quiet, his niwa'aban body armor gleaming an ominous blue in the dim light. Ahead of him, the crowd screamed encouragement at the fighters beneath them. Around him, people drew away and began to trickle toward the exits. He didn't care about them. He kept a confident hand on the hilt of his katana and let his presence part the way.

He was masked according to custom, though he didn't wear one of the powered suits. Thus his public face presented the incorruptible face of authority, expressionless and remote. Normally, he might have sought to stop the fight, to arrest those placing illegal bets on human life. Arena dueling was a sport for the crude and bloodthirsty. As for those who fought, well, he supposed they had their reasons, though he could not imagine what could compel someone to risk themselves so. Pride? Profit? Revenge? Tonight, however, he hunted other game. He would achieve enough of a disruption simply by allowing himself to be seen.

The crowd's noise lessened abruptly as he neared the pit. Even the fighters looked up from their circling, curious as to the reason for the drop in volume. Shen spied his quarry, a richly dressed man in a custom booth overlooking the arena. The niwa'aban waited until the man caught sight of him, and then stopped and pointed, signaling for the other to wait. Then he resumed his stride. He received scowls and a few muttered curses, but no one impeded him.

Wise of them, he thought. Very wise.

The niwa'aban had earned the respect of the Firetruce's underworld, enough to be useful in situations such as these. For all they knew, he had a trio of assault armors waiting outside with multi-stunners and a capture wagon. The initial Diamond Sword security approach had been to break up a few of the worst pits early in the Firetruce, confiscate all assets, and deport the defendants to a labor camp on a volcanic planet. Though the effort and expense of such an undertaking had been enormous, it had established the precedent early: the niwa'aban meant business.

Shen entered the booth and faced the man he'd come to see. Kalgo Stolvagg, aka "Pipes," was a stick-thin man with goggle eyes and a slight lisp. He was also one of the most notorious gambling lords at the Firetruce, but so far he had steered clear of illegal drugs or deathmatches - or had managed not to be caught dealing in those commodities. Right now he sat in a comfortable chair with a drink in one hand and a silk-clad girl hanging on his other arm. A pair of hard-looking bodyguards flanked him, their wide-shouldered hrak-leather jackets undoubtedly concealing illegal sidearms. A small table held an assortment of exotic-looking bottles.

"I am Shen Sebun," he said. "We have spoken previously, Stolvagg-reh."

"Greetings, Honored Teacher," Stolvagg said, his voice calm despite its reedy composition. "Can I assist you?"

"I come as Ku-Mori today," Shen replied. "Send your men away. I wish to speak privately."

Stolvagg nodded after a moment's hesitation. "You may go," he told the guards. They left ungraciously, but without comment, shooting glares at Shen that were meant to be intimidating.

The monkey chatters at the hawk but can never take wing, Shen thought, dismissing them. As if these scrof could intimidate a surodoi!

"The girl, too," he said. Stolvagg shooed her out, irritation flashing momentarily across his gaunt features.

After the door closed, Shen took a small device from his belt and placed it on the table, activating it with a touch of his thumb. A red light winked on and shifted to green, indicating proper security had been achieved.

"Forgive the precaution, but my words are only for you," he said.

Stolvagg assumed a polite expression. "Of course. May I offer you refreshment?"

Shen shook his head and also ignored the other's glance toward the room's only other chair. He would stand. "I shall not inconvenience you long, Stolvagg-reh."

Stolvagg accepted the polite honorific. "You never inconvenience, Sebun-kemeh. Your presence can only please me. How may I assist you?"

"I understand from our previous discussions - and our own dossiers - that you have many contacts here in the Bazaar. Is that not true?"

The other nodded warily. "Of course, I do hear some things in the course of my business. Some of my clientele are prone to gossip."

"Ah, yes." Shen remained stock still, but inclined his head slightly. "I'm sure you hear much in the way of rumors and innuendo."

"Yes, Sebun-kemeh. Much of it false, of course."

"Of course. Yet some of it may hold a kernel of truth, is that not so?"

"Perhaps." Stolvagg shrugged. "I do not sift through everything I hear."

"You have heard of the disappearing ghost? The one that killed the Grievers?"

This question struck home. Though he tried to conceal it, Stolvagg's eyes widened fractionally. "I have heard the stories. Ridiculous, neh?"

Shen let his voice harden. "Perhaps. A man killed the Grievers. At least, so the autopsies indicate." He moved forward a step, entering Stolvagg's personal space. It was a calculated breach in manners, but he needed the crime lord off balance. It was the only way he could penetrate the man's mask and find out what truth he concealed.

Castles are best breached by a man inside the wall, the saying went.

Leaning forward, Shen made his own throw of the dice. "I hear there is a killer at the Firetruce, Stolvagg-reh, a very special killer. I want to know more. Such men do not come to events such as these without a target, ayia?"

Stolvagg had gone pale. "I… do not know what you speak of, Sebun-kemeh."

"Give me a name, Stolvagg."

"I do not have a name to give you!"

Shen straightened. "A shame. I will have to call in the armors and confiscate your facility here."

Stolvagg's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Sebun-kemeh! I have done nothing!"

"You run an illegal gambling pit-"

"No!" Stolvagg was sweating freely now. "I permit no fatalities! No weapons!"

"You sell dreamleaf-"

"No! I swear!"

"I smelled it when I entered this room. There is more. That bottle, the blue one, contains extract of-"

At that moment, the two guards burst into the room, pistols in hand. Shen turned and drew his katana with the ease and speed of many years of practice. His blade described a graceful arc from the scabbard to bury its point in the second guard's heart. On the way, it neatly lopped off the hand of the first guard.

"Idiots!" raged Stolvagg. "Did I call you? Did I?"

The guard slumped to his knees in shock. "But… you yelled... something about no weapons…!"

"You're fired! Get out!"

"But my hand-!"

After wiping his blade clean and sheathing it, Shen knelt and tore off a strip from the dead man's shirt. In a few moments, he knotted a tourniquet to stop the other's bleeding.

"Go see Mai-Li-Kaar on the Street of the Raindrop," he said when he was done. "She runs a hospice for the unfortunate. If you pledge to work honorably for her, she will help you. And I will overlook this incident."

The guard stumbled out without even a word of thanks. Shen closed the door and returned to Stolvagg.

"A thousand thousand pardons, Honored One," said Stolvagg, now gray with fear. "I would never order such an attack. It was… obscene. You were most gracious in sparing that fool."

"They were listening," Shen said quietly, "in contravention of our previous arrangements."

Stolvagg opened his mouth, closed it.

Shen snorted. "You cannot expect me to think otherwise, Stolvagg," he said, dropping the honorific. "The inference is plain, but it tells me this: there are many secrets in the wilderzone, and you hold a key to one of them."

"I don't know anything," Stolvagg whispered. "Sebun-kemeh, I swear."

"You don't know anything for certain, but you have heard something. I know how the Firetruce gossip goes through here. I know about your information brokering. Tell me what you know." Shen wiped a fleck of blood from his forearm. "I am prepared to disregard the insult from your guards - if your information proves helpful."

Fear warred with hope in Stolvagg's eyes. The hope won out, but Shen could still see the fear lurking, ready to return.

Fear is the bones of emptiness, he thought. It supports nothing but itself.

"Tell me," he repeated, more sternly this time.

Stolvagg tried to sip his drink, his hand trembling. "Sebun-kemeh, I have heard many… ridiculous things: the Empire has dispatched robot armies into the wilderzone, inhuman spies walk among us, a great weapon has been lost and found and lost again-"

Shen cut him off. "I have heard these rumors as well. They are fodder for the paranoid and those who love thrill vids overmuch."

"Very well." Stolvagg produced a silken cloth and wiped the sweat from his face. "I have heard there is a Ghost haunting the Firetruce, Honored One."

"A ghost? Ridiculous! A dreamleaf story from the Griever murders."

Stolvagg shook his head. "No, Sebun-kemeh, it's not. In my line of work, I hear things, many of which must not be spoken of. One of those things is… the Ghosts."

The man was serious. Moreover, this topic inflamed his fear until it almost glowed on his skin. Whatever frightened him, it was something that cracked his mask deeply. It piqued Shen's interest, even as it stirred a chill deep in his soul. His secret vice was a great love of ghost stories, and he had also heard rumors.

Ghosts might be real, after all.

Fearing he was bound on yet another wild goose chase, Shen pulled the other chair over to face Stolvagg's and seated himself in it. He was Reflective Facet; he would keep an open mind until he had weighed the evidence. Only then would he match the evidence against his own suspicions.

He removed his mask and placed it on the table, a gesture of trust meant to reassure. "Now, tell me, Stolvagg-reh. Tell me everything."

Previous Naj-Zero

Shen

Next The Vatsatz