The stench of stale ale, bitter spirits, unwashed bodies, and cheap pipeweed clung heavy in the air. Mwanza bit his lip, a sour metallic tang on his tongue, and swallowed the curse that threatened to erupt. Beside him, Hamanymu mirrored his predicament, both forced onto their knees by the Stings.
Around them, the tavern, a crucible of low-life criminality and overt hedonism, had fallen silent. The usual cacophony of clinking coins, raucous laughter, and clumsy dancing had ceased, replaced by the collective, predatory gaze of the patrons, all fixed on the tableau unfolding as Grad fumbled through an explanation to his boss. Perched on a crudely carved throne behind a scarred wooden table, an elf with muscles that strained the seams of his embroidered tunic regarded Grad with a predator's smile.
"Grad, I was right about you." the elf purred, his voice surprisingly silken for his bulk as he took the siver box out of the thief's hands. "You always deliver."
"Thank you sir." Grad responded, the words slick with sycophancy, his head bobbing slightly.
"Why does he even want it?" Mwanza thought as he watched Anderson ran his fingers across the silver boxes surface. The elf's gaze, sharp and burning like smoldering coals, snapped to where Mwanza and Hamanymu knelt. A flicker of annoyance crossed his features.
"What about them?" he asked, the silken voice now edged with flint. "I don't recall asking for human cargo."
"They..." Grad paused nervously before looking back at his team and then back to Anderson. " ...They had the box and tried to stop us from taking it. We considered killing them but we couldn't take that call without your authority boss."
"Is that right?" The elf leaned back, settling deeper into the throne, the grin returning to his face, wider and more chilling this time. "Your stomach isn't strong enough to get your hands a bit wet, so you need me to take that burden off your shoulders, I suppose it was to be expected, you are still a little boy picking pockets."
A rupture of coarse laughter erupted from the surrounding patrons, raining down on Grad like stones. His face flushed a deep, angry red, his hands clenching into white-knuckled fists. Mwanza, even from a distance, could hear the quickening of Grad's breath, a volatile mix of shame and barely restrained fury.
Grad turned to face Lenshina, his face a contorted landscape of contempt as his teeth continued gnashing against eachother. Lenshina for her part looked horrified and averted her gaze from the piercing accusatory eyes of Grad that almost seemed to scream. "I told you that we should have killed them."
"Well then, how shall it go? Do I let my boys do it or are you finally ready to blood yourself?" Anderson asked and Mwanza could not help but cast a gaze at the people within the room, he could the same look in their eyes that the palace Asikari tended to have, the one that told that the person you were looking at would kill you without a second thought.
He had to do something, he looked at Hamanymu who had claimed that he could undo the Mwari thread work that bound them both to their earthen shackles. Hamanymu met his gaze with a reluctant nod, he was ready and Mwanza was about to nod to confirm his readiness when his mother's voice bubbled out of his subconscious.
"Don't be foolish, violence is only one of many tools. Asses every situation and choose the appropriate tool for the occasion." her voice chastised him.
He took another, more careful look around the tavern. He counted forty men, twenty-six women. Thirty were visibly armed, their weapons prominently displayed and ten were clearly incapacitated by drink. He considered unleashing his Mwari as he had in the, but instantly dismissed the notion. It was far too risky. The number of variables, the sheer potential for catastrophic error in such a crowded, hostile environment, was overwhelming.
But he was the son of the Mwami and Queen, regardless of how he hated being forced to sit in on their boring political meetings, he had learned one thing and that was how to talk.
"If I may." he said, his voice cutting through the laughter, surprising everyone, perhaps most of all himself. "There might be a better path. One that could end well for all of us."
"Shut up!" Grad snapped, the fury of his earlier humiliation directed at Mwanza in the form of a sharp backhand to the side of Mwanza's head. "No one gave you the right to speak, do you hear me!"
Temper, temper, Grad." Anderson's voice was laced with amusement, a low, rumbling chuckle starting in his chest. "Every man has the prerogative of last rights."
Anderson then turned his attention to Mwanza. "So tell me boy, do you think I am an idiot."
"If you were an idiot, you would be the one bound and on his knees." Mwanza replied smoothly, ignoring the throbbing pain in his ear. Flattery, he knew, was a surprisingly effective lubricant, even on the most outwardly humble, or in this case, the most outwardly arrogant. "What I am sure of is that you are a business man and I am hoping to negotiate with you."
Anderson leaned forward, the predatory gleam in his eyes intensifying. The hook was set.
"And what," he purred, "can you possibly offer me?"
"Ninty thousand Geld for our lives."
A roar of snickering laughter burst out around him. He fought off the urge to respond to them and he kept his face like stone as he kept his eyes on Anderson who was fighting off the urge to join the mirth which consumed the room.
"And let me guess, you just so happen to have ninty thousand Geld in your little pocket?" Anderson said, his voice shaking slightly with suppressed laughter.
"I have it in a vault with Gillthorns Bank. My code is 56 Black-Lion." Mwanza had indeed opened several such accounts in the past, fueled by a foolish, youthful dream of escaping the gilded cage of the palace. This was one of the most stacked accounts.
He continued, now allowing false relaxed confidence to enter his tone. " I am sure that an elf of your stature has someone in Gillthorns to confirm."
Anderson was taken aback. The laughter died on his lips. His burning eyes narrowed, assessing Mwanza with renewed intensity. He quickly gestured to one of his stooges, who scrambled forward, producing a smooth, iridescent crystal, a Telenga.
That object which allowed communication across Jrod via the psychic space called the Shadow, which took half of his mind to a mental realm of concepts and ideas. Anderson's eyes closed as the crystal in his hand began to vibrate, a low hum filling the air. For five minutes, the tableau held, the only sound being the faint psychic resonance emanating from the Telenga. Then, it ceased. Anderson's eyes snapped open. His face split into a broad, triumphant grin. He tossed the crystal back to his attendant and began to clap slowly, deliberately.
"My, oh my, aren't your pockets deep. That dosent explain why I should just let you go."
"Because we are not a threat to you?"
"You work for the N'anga, can't see how you are not. " Anderson countered.
"Lets say that you do kill us, then you have two assistants to a high ranking N'anga and an Asikari's blood on your hands." Mwanza knew it was best not to mention that he wasn't a servant of Hamanymus boss.
"Now, you might be able to bury the bodies, perhaps even bribe some local Londa branch of the Asikari to look the other way. But then you have an Asikaris blood on your hands especially one is stationed at the royal palace and now you have not just a N'anga coming after you, but also the attention of the Conquering Sun himself and I am going to assume that not even your friends in the Asikari will be willing to look the other way when the Mwami himself calls for blood..."
It was a threat, carefully veiled behind a veneer of concerned observation. He let the implications hang in the air, aimed squarely at the corrupt Asikari of the local Londa policing branch he could sense lurking amongst the crowd. Anderson might have tried to project an image of indifference, but Mwanza saw it, the subtle shifts in posture, the flicker of doubt, the undeniable fear in the eyes of his bought cronies. Anderson was taking a massive risk here. The potential loss of his crucial support network, the web of corruption that allowed him to operate with impunity, would cut deep.
Anderson looked at the prone body of Anderson and for the first time he seemed to recognise the golden patch of the Infulonda branch of the Asikari, those who were stationed to the palace. The color drained slightly from Anderson's face.
"...but you could let us ago and l guarantee you, I have no interesting in fighting a man who has enough contacts in Gillthorns Bank to quickly check diamond level vaults." Mwanza fought off the urge to smile as an ugly grimace masked Anderson's face.
"You really are a wise guy, aren't you?" Anderson rasped, the silken tone replaced by rough gravel.
"No Mr Anderson. I just don't like problems." Mwanza had smoothed everything as best as he could, it was now up to Anderson.
Before the crime lord could speak, the heavy door of the tavern was forced open with a resounding crash. A figure strode in, silhouetted against the less oppressive darkness outside. A leather winter coat billowed around him in the draft, and gold-tipped boots clacked and clanged with measured, metallic steps across the hard-packed floor. The most striking, unsettling aspect of the newcomer was the iron facemask that covered everything but the back of his head. It's features were almost made in a mockery of man's.
A different atmosphere arrived with him. The low hum of chatter that had tentatively resumed amongst Anderson's guests vanished completely. Mwanza watched, mesmerized, as the masked man walked directly towards the throne, stopping before the massive elf without the slightest hint of deference.
"Kazumi." Anderson acknowledged the newcomer, his voice rough and devoid of its previous amusement.
"Anderson." Kazumi's voice was flat, bored, utterly lacking in inflection. "You have it."
"Right here." Anderson grinned as he showed the silver box before he turned to everyone. "Leave us."
The mass of criminals rose almost as one, scrambling towards the doors with surprising speed. The Stings, caught in the general exodus, moved to grab Mwanza and Hamanymu, intending to drag them out, but Anderson's voice cut through the shuffling panic. "Not you. You all stay here."
When the door was immediately shut closed, Anderson turned to Kazumi and cooly sneered. "You could stand to show some more respect."
"I am not one of your goons, Anderson. If you want to so something, you will have to call all your boys back in." Kazumi lazily countered. "Banch of good it would do you anyway. Now hand over the damn box."
Anderson laughed as he lowered the box within Kazumi's grasp. "We are coworkers, Kazumi, no need to get so difficult. What is in that box anyway?"
"That's the boss's business. You want to know, take it up with her." Kazumi's masked head tilted slightly, his gaze sweeping over Mwanza, Hamanymu, and the remaining Stings. "Is this the extraction team?"
"Yeah."
"Do it already," Kazumi responded dismissively. And with that, he turned and strode towards the door, disappearing as quickly as he had arrived, the silver box clutched in his hand.
"Looks like we are going to have to renegotiate. " Anderson breathed out.
"....But we had a deal. Come on, Anderson. We did the job as you wanted." Grad pleaded with a strangely voice on the verge of desperation.
"I wanted discreet, Grad." rasped Anderson as he sat back down upon his throne. "Not half a train carriage and a half dead Asikari in my bar."
"Does it even matter. Sir, no one can trace it to you and the other guy has paid a large amount for their ransom. " Lenshina sharply interjected.
"Grad, I am only going to say this once, tell your little earther pitty pet to know her place." Anderson sneered with a cold menace. "Before I do something everyone but me won't like."
Grad spoke quickly, nervousness coloring his tone. "Lenshina, maybe let's not bother Mr Anderson too much."
"Leza-Mulungu have mercy, you really are a dog for money. I like you boy, but have a bit of some shame from time to time." Anderson said in between his rough wheezing laughter.
"I am not going to pretend to be something other than what I am, Anderson. Now come on, just give us our agreed upon amount and we can all dip out of this and look forward to future joint ventures." Grad spoke with an amount of slithering charm that reminded Mwanza of the members of the House of Law. "You know me Anderson, I am your guy. I have always done the job needed, this was just a little hiccup in the mechanism, but the objective has been fulfilled. If you need it cleaned up, we will fix it."
Andersons rough laughter grew even louder before suddenly vanishing into an unnerving silence. "Fourteen years in the game Grad and you still don't get what is happening?. There is no money here, no future joint ventures and certainly no hard feelings, I hope that you understand, Grad."
A thick, pregnant silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken menace. Then, the sound of sudden, shuffling movement, the Stings shifting uneasily, followed by a loud, sharp bang as Anderson lunged forward from his throne.