I began composing the directions towards a hidden regalia, another message stopped me.

  “You didn’t even like it.”

  I stared at the screen in a sluggish confusion. What didn’t I like? Coffee? There wasn’t much else to have strong feelings about.

  Gaped at the words, even more baffled. Such a trifling little thing, yet he had somehow noticed my schooled sentiment about it. I tried to like it. The price demanded it.

  That man might make a much better politician than I gave the credit. The young lord’s ability to read the minute expressions was outright eerie. No wonder Raktkalis disliked communication without eyes on the full input.

  This was about coffee, then?

  I let out a snort and descended into series of light coughs from an irritated throat. Then, a blinding numbness in the head returned.

  My ailments brought some reality back. This had to be a misdirection. The lord was enraged, but trying his utmost to appear nonchalant. Regardless, this nonstandard development was amusing. Almost as if he attempted a joke.

  I’ll forward the location of the crest tomorrow. I couldn’t risk him knowing I was on the move, nor where I was headed.

  I departed for Pliena in secret, because I didn’t think he’d let me see his prisoner. Raktkalis had been very cagey about the whole thing. I absolutely had to know why he didn’t summon me to talk to the assassin immediately. After all, I had the best chance to learn something pretending to be an ally – especially if brute force hadn’t worked.

  Princeling was far too na?ve if he thought I’d start respecting his plans all of a sudden.

  Just to let Raktkalis know his queries were ignored on purpose, I sent, “What are the pills for?”

  Reply came back instantaneously. Unexpected, but perhaps an anxious lord incessantly paced around the room. Or not. It wasn’t that late yet. Sun had barely began to hide. He could just be bored.

  “Headaches.”

  Not only it was prompt, the reply contained an actual answer. This sudden bout of openness took my breath away. Then I caught it and dismissed the claim.

  “Sure,” I sent, hoping for sarcasm to shine through.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Take one. You must need it after the sonic blast.”

  I peeled my eyes off the text to carefully take inventory of the watchful eyes. Soldiers were aplenty, but they were busy inspecting the carriages for beastly stragglers. Some luggage, too. My arm could potentially be discovered, but thus far they were respectful of something that looked like an injury under the heavy bandages. A lot of people sported wounds or had been outright crippled, especially among the travellers.

  Nobody was paying me the slightest bit of attention. There were ways to track my movement otherwise, but he had to be just fishing. Good guess; nothing else.

  Rather than feigning ignorance of the topic, I sidestepped it completely and typed out, “If only your headache was that gullible.” Hesitated pressing the button.

  Mysterious tablets could be one of three things: medicine, drugs or poison. Raktkalis would not ever let his quarries expire this easily, or away from sight. That man also didn’t as much as drink, so getting high was likely out of question, too. Which left me with the unreasonable notion that this nobleman had spoken the absolute truth. Again. How unsettling.

  Kalantan noble could be suffering from a selection of ailments. Sickly appearance wasn’t a deliberate choice of style.

  I should have kept the crest with me and tried to snoop. Knowledge of Raktkalis’s impeding demise would sell for an astronomical sum. Whoever sent the assassins could just kick back and let nature take its course, for one.

  However, parting with it was a conscious choice. Recklessly waving that document around would land me an attention of House Raktkalis, not just a Raktkalis. I removed the temptation from my person the first chance I got.

  I could have passed it onto a concierge, stewards or even mailed – but that was risky. Losing track of that invaluable article would get me thrown into a dungeon for sure. After all, someone was selling him out. Life of a scapegoat was not for me.

  My slack-jawed pondering has been interrupted by an unmistakable feeling of flesh sinking into flesh.

  Due to the day’s stress, I have forgot to dose my alien arm. As a result, ran into someone’s throat at full speed. There was even a crack.

  Misbehaving limb was still bound, so thankfully I wasn’t standing in a pool of blood in a very public space.

  A boy lay at my feet. He clutched his throat and desperately tried to kick himself away.

  My pocket was undone and I sighed tiredly. This just was not my day. Although, admittedly, it could have been much worse. This little punk could have made off with something actually valuable. As it was, he merely almost killed himself.

  Stepped on a petty criminal’s stomach to stop him from ineffectually scuttling off on the slippery mosaic. The sound was grating.

  The child glanced at the soldiers, but has not cried out for help. Not because of a hurt throat. The thief was afraid of them. This must be a well-known pickpocket, then. Too young to receive a brand for the misdeeds; just ripe enough for a disciplinary beating.

  A soldier’s gaze fell on this awkward situation.

  “I’m sorry, mister! I didn’t mean to. Please forgive me. I won’t do it again. Ever! Please,” kid began hastily muttering.

  People were so exhausting.

  I waved the frowning serviceman away just as he was about to stride forth. The boy immediately attempted to trip me up and run. I was out of sorts, but compared to the usual contenders – handling a bundle half my height was elementary.

  As it happens, the encounter could even be of use to me.

  I pulled out a banknote depicting a hundred. Stuffed that hand back into a different pocket and typed out, “I have a job.”

  Street-bound child’s eyes shone of irreconcilable distrust, but like a hungry rodent that he was, the boy had to know. “What sort?”

  Released my captive and sat on a bench. Uneven steps obediently followed. I rummaged in the bag and pulled out the packet of unknown pills.

  “Take one and tell me what they do.”

  “Just the medicine? Okay,” he agreed eagerly, as if nothing pill-shaped could ever be bad. Or perhaps the orphaned child was won over by the banknote within reach.

  Gestured for him to open the mouth and flicked a pill straight down the throat. Was not going to risk trickery on this subject. I handed over a banknote and directed the kid to get us some food. There was a desperate-looking stall still peddling some local specialty to the hungry stragglers.

  The kid dared to glare at me and I stared back, waiting for him to voice the problem.

  “Mister. Ya said, the hundo was mine,” child muttered adamantly.

  Cash. Of course. I wasn’t particularly attached to my hoard, and especially not such chump change. True refined extravagance might not ever be attainable to me, but at least my mind-set wasn’t that poor. Darkness forbid I ever stoop to counting the lunch money.

  Sighing with an irritated distaste, I pulled out another banknote to wave in front of kid’s nose and hid it again.

  “Be here tomorrow before the departure and you’ll get more.” If you’re alive, that is. I still had my doubts. Even if that was legitimate medicine, Kalanta was bent on healing some ailments with pure poison, too.