- 8 -

  Motives

  All of the guards were standing transfixed on the door. None of them had ever seen anyone other than a scurrier go near it. And even then, they were only permitted to leave their freight on the doorstep.

  A vampire, a boy and a captain of the guard made for an interesting combination.

  Terrant was about to remonstrate with Matthew, who now had the audacity to be rubbing his foot, but faint noises escaped from the heavy doorframe.

  A modest notion of guilt was bubbling under. That he was treating the young d as a quick payday must not have been sitting right for some reason.

  He put it down to briefly seeing his own son the night before, assuming he must have been confting the two. His actions here, would remedy his problem there.

  The clunk of heavy locks and bolts went on for an unreasonably long time. Terrant and Yaro exchanged knowing gnces while Matthew burnt a hole through the door with his gaze. Finally, the sound of rge pnks of wood being removed from their holdings signalled that the wait was finally over.

  One half of the arched door opened, and the figure of a rather rge man greeted them.

  "Fenrir?" Matthew asked.

  The man smirked. "Are you asking for him or asking if I am him?"

  "Are you him?"

  "Do I look like him?"

  "I don’t know. Do you?"

  "We’re here to see Fenrir," said Terrant bluntly, as he pushed the boy aside with a hand to the face.

  "Well, that's all you had to say," the man said. "What is your business?"

  "Who are you?" Matthew asked.

  "You ask too many questions. My name is Ambrose. That’s all you need to know. What are you doing here?"

  "We have business with Fenrir," Yaro said. "It’s important."

  "Anyone could say that. What makes you different?"

  Matthew noticed Ambrose paying particur attention to Terrant behind him. He looked back to see Terrant scratching his left shoulder.

  "Ah," Ambrose said, "that sort of business. Come in."

  Matthew was the first to enter the vil, almost pushing past Ambrose. Terrant chuckled to himself, knowing that the boy would be able to make out very little in the darkness.

  It was a different story for himself however. He was astounded by its grand design and open space. From the artwork hanging on the walls, he could tell Fenrir was an avid collector. He could whip a couple of them off the walls and fence them in the vampire district, but they weren't the only symbols of Fenrir's undeniable wealth.

  He scanned the rest of the corridors, noticing broken bowls with gold ced through them. Ambrose, taking notice of his unhealthy fixations, ambled up beside him.

  "You’re the butler then?" Terrant asked.

  "That’s a rather reductive term," Ambrose replied. "But if it helps you to understand the nature of my service, then let’s go with that."

  "This is never-ending," Matthew said as he gripped onto Yaro’s cape.

  "Don’t fret, boy," Ambrose said. "Nearly there."

  They followed Ambrose to the end of a corridor where they were met with a closed door. Ambrose knocked loudly.

  "You have visitors," Ambrose called out.

  A voice boomed from the other side, "Very well. Let me see them."

  "Do not touch anything," Ambrose warned.

  As Ambrose opened the door, Terrant gawked at the room. It wasn’t the rgest room in the vil, but it was one of the most beautiful sights he’d seen. Artwork decorated the walls, while bookcases housed books upon books on either side of the room. It wasn’t until a warmth enveloped him that he turned to the magnificent marble firepce, rge enough to light a desk across the room. Behind the desk was the ghostly form of an old man.

  The elderly presence neatly put the paperwork into a pile and moved it to the edge of the table.

  Staring into his eyes, Terrant could tell the man was older than he looked. Which was saying a lot considering the man’s long grey hair was thinning and he was small in stature.

  "What can I do for you, gentlemen?" Fenrir asked with a calm voice. "Please. Sit."

  "I am Captain Yaro of the City Watch," Yaro said, taking a seat. He eyed the papers atop the old man's desk. Wondering if the information he required was now within his reach.

  "And I’m Terrant," Terrant said, following Yaro’s lead. "Not a captain. Only a caravan guard…among other things. "

  Matthew recoiled slightly as Fenrir scowled at Terrant fshing the V symbol.

  "Did you fsh an M for ‘man' before?" Fenrir questioned. "Everyone is equal under my roof. Unfortunately, it seems I may not live to see the day such a notion is shared by the majority." The old man ended his short tirade with a look of dejection. "Please don’t take my disdain as a judgement of your character, Terrant. It was my wish that society had progressed since my time. It appears I was wrong."

  "That’s sort of why we’re—" Yaro started but was immediately cut off.

  "Your young companion hasn’t had the chance to introduce himself yet," Fenrir said, wagging his finger at Yaro. "What’s your story, boy?"

  "Uh..." Matthew gulped. "I’m Matthew, and I’m… I'm..." He looked at Terrant, desperately hoping he would have the right thing to say.

  "A marked one," Terrant said.

  Suddenly the air changed around Matthew. Terrant focused on Fenrir as the old vampire’s once keen look of interest morphed into deep thought. This was going to be easy money.

  "Except he hasn’t been marked yet," Yaro protested, causing Fenrir and Ambrose to look at each other with raised eyebrows. Another positive sign.

  "That. Along with…whatever Yaro wants, is why we’re here. The boy came to the city only one day ago, and we’re hoping to send him back without his new condition being known." Terrant hoped that by suggesting they simply let Matthew slip through their fingers, Fenrir would find it impossible not to interject.

  "That certainly is a quandary. And your thoughts, Captain?" Fenrir asked, rexing back in his chair with his eyes fixed squarely on Yaro.

  "He should be sent back," Yaro said. "But not before being marked.” Yaro shifted his gaze from Fenrir to Terrant and then back to the old man. “It is the w, after all."

  "It’s the w to scar a child forever?" Terrant asked, through a loud, sarcastic ugh. "To mark them for something they have no control over?"

  "It’s for the good of your kind. To make sure they know his blood is dangerous."

  Terrant gave another sarcastic ugh, even more forced than before. "We know that’s a lie. It’s so humans know he’s different. That’s all you care about!"

  Terrant took a deep breath, calming his voice. "If he was remaining in the city, I could see your point. However, we’re sending him back to his home, and as neither one thing nor the other, he wouldn’t belong. He’s a valuable commodity, and that puts a target on him and everyone around him. Pirates would want him as a deck-watcher. Why not run him through right now and save him the suffering?"

  "And how do you suppose he keeps it quiet?" Yaro questioned. "How is Matthew supposed to keep it a secret? What if he cuts himself accidentally? Or scrapes his knee? What if blood is taken from his body and they discover what he truly is?"

  "He would be careful. At the end of the day, not being marked is safer. It keeps him away from prying eyes."

  The debate deteriorated as the two began talking over each other. Fenrir simply appeared to be enjoying the show.

  "STOP!!"

  The argument stopped just as he wanted, but now all eyes were on Matthew. Everyone could see the wheels in the boy's head turning to come up with what to say next. Out of every idea there could be, perhaps the most pathetic left his lips.

  "My mother told me, no tattoos." He watched the shocked expressions of Terrant and Yaro as they gnced at one another, mouths wide, still mid-argument.

  "That’s it settled," Fenrir said, rising to his feet and spping the table. "We’ll send him back unmarked. A child who listens to their mother deserves the chance to remain one.”

  "Good," said Terrant triumphantly, failing to realise he had just argued away his chance of a massive score.

  "Now. I believe there was another matter. What can I do to help YOU, Captain Yaro?"

  ***

  "I have a few questions I hoped you could answer," Yaro said, brushing off the previous matter. He scrutinised the old man’s face, wanting to see if there were even the remotest signs of nervousness or guilt. As he suspected, there wasn’t even a flicker of emotion from Fenrir. "Caravans have been attacked outside of the city."

  "I've heard," Fenrir said. "It’s troubling."

  "All independent traders…"

  "Indeed."

  "...And human." He waited for a response, but none came. Yaro didn’t want to seem pushy, and so he waited for a moment, letting Fenrir collect his thoughts. "How much do you know about the attacks?"

  "I know the attackers are almost certainly vampires. I know someone is likely trying to cause unrest between humans and vampires. I also know they’re leaving the bodies in unlit fires. A rather crass attempt at sending a message."

  Yaro’s heart stopped. The bodies in the fire were privileged information that the day commander made sure only a handful of people knew about. Yaro had only one reasonable expnation: Fenrir must have been the one who ordered the attacks.

  With this information, Yaro realised he was in danger, and he’d brought Matthew and Terrant along too. He scanned the room for the only exit. Ambrose was sitting there beside the door, controlling everyone's movement.

  His eyes followed Fenrir, who reached across his desk, picked up a paper from one of the piles and handed it to Yaro.

  Instantly, he recognised the mark of the Guard at the top of the page and the day commander's signature at the bottom. Perusing the paper, he found it was a detailed report of the most recent attack.

  "Unfortunately, I am no wiser than you with regards to who is behind these attacks," Fenrir said. "I understand your natural assumption is that I’m attempting to force out the small remainder of my competition. That couldn’t be further from the truth. A little competition is healthy. I also assume the bodies in the fire change the narrative somewhat, doesn’t it? "

  "Someone’s trying to set up the vampires," Terrant said, finally speaking.

  "It’s a protest of the justiciars' public burnings," Yaro said as he looked up from the paper.

  "Someone is pnning something, but devil if I know who," Fenrir replied. "I don’t know what brought you to my home tonight, but it seems our goals are aligned."

  Yaro wished he could find soce in Fenrir’s calm voice, but his mind was racing with now more questions. The day commander purposefully pyed down the fire element of the attacks, and it made Yaro wonder if he was actively trying to steer suspicion toward Fenrir.

  "I've got no idea what just happened," Terrant said, getting up from his chair. "But it’s been a pleasure."

  "You’re going?" Matthew asked.

  "I have things I need to take care of."

  "Don't fret, son; you can stay here for the night." Fenrir offered Matthew. Everyone except Ambrose was taken aback by the generosity. “As Terrant said, it's not safe for you out there.” Fenrir nodded at Terrant. “If he had any sense, he'd have tried to sell you to me.”

  ***

  Matthew, along with Ambrose, walked Terrant back to the door. Even though they hadn’t been together for long, the boy was upset that they were parting. He noticed Terrant was about to say something, but he interrupted it with a hug. At first, only Matthew was hugging, but it wasn’t long before he felt Terrant give him a gentle squeeze.

  He thought about Tom, whom he would never see again. His friend who’d let his prejudice get the better of him and become his undoing. Yet, deep down, he was relieved. All he needed to do was wait out the night, and then he’d be home to his parents. The thought of seeing them after everything that happened was all that kept him going.

  The clip-clopping of hooves on the street outside of Fenrir’s abode killed the moment. As a voice announced the riders' approaching, Matthew broke away from the hug and found Terrant standing between him and the door.

  "Stay here," Terrant said as he walked into the street.

  Matthew refused to listen and followed closely behind. He recognised some of the riders and where they were from. He ran, speeding past Terrant, a sliver of him hoping his parents were among them. The closer he got to the group surrounded by the city guard, the more his hopes were dashed. By the time he reached them, he had only heard the end of the conversation. He was certain he heard the words "pirates" and "all dead".

  Matthew wanted answers, so he pushed through the guards as Terrant tried to reach him. He met the gaze of one of the vilgers. There was only one question he wanted to ask them, but he was afraid to. One of the vilgers caught his gaze and solemnly shook his head.

  He felt himself fall backwards, but someone scooped him up. He looked up at Terrant, then buried his face i n his ally’s body.

  “No,” he whimpered into his shoulder. He said it again, louder. “No.”