Syla turned the coin over in her hands. It really was past time to make use of it.

  She sat at the bar of The Weeping Crocodile, a half-eaten breakfast in front of her as she thought over her discoveries. She was dressed in her all-black formal attire, an outfit she was quite fond of for the way it fit her perfectly while simultaneously portraying the air of stern arrogance she would need today. She would employ it more often, but the wait for any repairs or spares with the only tailor she trusted to make it to her exacting standards was over a season in length.

  It was still early morning and the all-night drinkers had recently been sent packing, leaving only her and the slab-jawed barman in the peaceful quiet.

  They had not shared a word since she came through the door. Nor during the entire week she had been coming here for a morning muse. The ritual had been a success, of sorts, but the question was what to do with that information.

  This particular coin fit snugly in the palm of her hand, but she couldn’t stop toying with it. Rolling it across her knuckles, turning it over and over, flicking and flipping it as she mulled over her options. It was a finger-thick disk forged of a high-purity gold that had yet to lose its lustre. While not part of the accepted currency, its weight alone gave it considerable value and it came from a perfectly identical set.

  She should know, she had personally overseen their minting.

  It did not bear the sun and drake’s head of most large-denomination coins, though it was the same size. One face was a blank, smooth sheen while the other bore a curious, asymmetrical symbol raised from its surface: the all-seeing eye. A symbol of one of the old gods, of that dead desert faith.

  She stared into that eye for a few long moments before sighing heavily. She resigned herself to the expenditure its use entailed and left her breakfast behind.

  The air was wonderfully hot and dry, the city bathed in the morning glow as its citizens arose from their slumber. They could be seen on rooftops and outside homes, soaking in the morning sun to heat their cold-blooded bodies. Soon the air would be filled with their hubbub as work began, but for now all was tranquil and quiet. Syla always enjoyed this time of the morning.

  Despite this outward tranquillity, and the considerable lack of people actually walking the streets, Syla still made sure to make three wrong turns and doubled back twice as she wound her way through a series of streets and alleyways before arriving at her destination. She was quite well known among the less scrupulous elements of society, and she had not survived this long by taking chances.

  Three quarters of the way down a narrow alley, barely discernible from the rest, she stopped.

  Tracing her fingers upon the old stone, within seconds she found what she was looking for. She pressed the coin into a small recess hidden amongst the cracks that spiralled out across the wall and waited.

  Something tiny twisted with an imperceptible click and the coin was swallowed up into the wall. She waited a few moments more, until with a slow grind of stone an entranceway yawned open directly behind her.

  A fellow lizard, with faded scales that once might have been green, waited in the opening portal with a scowl on his face and a long, jagged knife in his hand, dripping with some venomous concoction. He pressed the knife squarely against her spine as he looked up and down the alley.

  He started to say something, when Syla suddenly jolted forward and turned in one swift movement, grabbing him by the wrist and twisting just enough to make it painful. The man’s eyes widened as he swallowed his words, mumbling an apology as their eyes met. She released him, and he immediately slinked out of her way. “Sorry! sorry uh…’s been a long-time ma’am.”

  Without even acknowledging the doorman’s existence, Syla strode in, letting him pull the entrance closed behind her and return to skulking quietly at his post. Syla descended a short spiral staircase that opened into a long and dimly lit corridor crafted from roughly hewn stone slabs, just deep enough to lurk under the cellars of its oblivious ‘neighbours’.

  She retrieved her coin from a small wooden bowl that sat beneath a neat circular hole in the ceiling. Pocketing it, she glided along the corridor and into the Guild Hall, her Guild Hall.

  Three stories deep with two mezzanine floors, it was lit by a chandelier hung from the ceiling on a chain.

  Syla emerged on the higher of these two floors, peering over the banister into the space below as the doorway behind her grinded shut.

  Though perhaps not as bustling as they could be, the floors below her were busy enough to satisfy her. The ‘ground’ floor was a mess of tables, chairs and bodies. The bodies belonged to those mad, desperate or driven enough to brave the nightly chill for the promise of payment. Most were helping themselves to food, finalising deals or engaging in murmured discussions before heading to the surface to revitalize themselves from their frigid labours.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  There were innumerable side rooms filled with contraband-selling stores lurking in its depths where thieves and thugs skulked, their scales forming a kaleidoscope of illegitimate business. Small-time criminals kowtowed to gang leaders, mob bosses and cartel kingpins, handing over cuts, making promises and taking jobs that could cost them their life. In turn, these leaders made agreements, decided territory and moved profits like reputable businessmen, all while scheming one another’s downfall.

  Carefully hidden away to avoid the heavy hand of the law, they acted with impunity, and neatly represented the unscrupulous and illicit underbelly of Nerkain society. Syla’s slice of it, anyway.

  Here she was both Lord and Lady, and none would dare question her authority. She was not just some jumped-up gang boss, or a bigger, kingpin. Every single man and woman here owed all of their success to her, and had no right to challenge her authority. She had fought tooth and claw to make this network hers, and had the corpses hidden in sewers across the city to prove it.

  Pulling herself from her reverie, she moved off, making her way down one of the many flights of stairs to the floor below.

  She hadn’t used the only entrance, of course, there were numerous secret doors, tunnels and hatches to provide concealed access to this little sanctuary. The one she had used was affectionately known as the ‘royal’ entrance, for it was the fastest and didn’t involve the labyrinthine pathways she mandated some of her subjects endure.

  She emerged at the ground level, rolling her gaze across the room as heads turned and eyes widened. Lurking under the first mezzanine on the far side of the room was a bar, and among its patrons sat the man she was looking for.

  His back was turned, and he clutched a large mug of ale. Few glimpses of his deep purple scales could be seen peeking out from his outfit; a mixture of furs, hides, and metal wrapped up together into a surprisingly stylish cut.

  Syla took the seat next to him, snapped her fingers for a drink, and shot him a sidelong glance.

  “Mornin,’” he said, a hint of amusement in his deep, rattling voice that was at once jovial and threatening. He sounded as though he had sand lining the back of his throat.

  The large mercenary turned his head, a mis-matched mask of scars that, combined with the milky white orb where his left eye should be, only added to his roguish charm “Business, I hope.” He chuckled with a broad, wry grin.

  “Oh, most certainly.”

  He was one of the better scoundrels here, full of good humour and not as deathly afraid of her as most. “A little hunt for you.”

  “And what manner of beast is it this time?” he asked with relish. His grin was widening, and his remaining blue eye glittered with a thirst for violence. “Preferably not one on two legs.”

  “Strong, serpentine and malicious…but it’s not the creature I want you to find. Not this time. I want you to find its prey.”

  He raised a scaled eyebrow. “Oh? You want me to scour the desert for the prey of some snake?” he rumbled, ruminating on her proposition for a few moments as he took several swigs of ale. “Ccourse, to make this a real hunt there would need to be a bonus on the table should I…accidentally fall foul of this creature and be forced to defend myself.”

  “No,” she declared flatly, letting the mercenary’s face screw up in a mixture of annoyance and confusion. “I will not be providing incentives for your reckless side to manifest. I need you alive for the time being.”

  He shrugged, toying with the drink in his meaty paw. “Then you can hire one of the other, cheaper, mercenary trackers. I’m sure they have plenty of experience falling foul of overgrown desert serpents”

  “This is no Kailai serpent, Shadrak. The hunt will come, but not yet.” Syla assured. She could not afford to lose his interest; she had waited too long already, and now she needed him with a desperation she would never admit.

  Shadrak shrugged again, draining his mug and thumping it on the counter. “Well then, you’d best begin talking pay.”

  “I’ll hire you and a team of your choosing at your day rate until our business is done, no fixed term.”

  Shadrak grunted, tapping his clawed fingers on the bar top as he formed a mental tally. “A generous enough offer,” he concluded. “But I see no incentive to take this over any other contract. Other than who is hiring me.”

  Syla gave him a sharp look. He’d worked with her often enough, and he had caught onto her desperation faster than she had hoped. “Fine, I’ll put an incentive on the table. The fewer injuries the prey has when we find him, the more I will pay you. Once he is found, then we can discuss…further incentives, if you are still eager for it.”

  The mercenary’s face split back into a pleased grin. “Now that sounds far more like a deal worth my attention,” he declared, standing up from his stool with spread arms and a grand sweep of his tail that knocked his stool aside. “Give me a description of our quarry, some leads, and I’ll gather a team. We’ll have him before you in a week.”

  “Gather your team and bring them to my villa. We shall leave together.”

  Shadrak’s hands lowered to his hips. “You’ll be accompanying us? Here I thought you didn’t get your hands dirty anymore.”

  It was Syla’s turn to grin. She turned her back to the bar and reclined against it. “You know how rare it is to see Naga in person, even I have yet to enjoy that particular pleasure.”

  Shadrak’s answering laugh was booming and he, slapped a hand on the bar with a hefty thud. “A Naga?!” he shouted, struggling to contain his merriment enough to speak. “If your friend is the prey of Naga, they’re already in chains and on their way back to the fractals.”

  “If he is, you’ll be swimming to the archipelago to find him. So, for your sake you’d best hope he’s not,” Syla retorted.

  The mercenary raised his hands. “Alright! Alright. I’ll form a team, but if there are Naga involved, I’ll need a few days to gather appropriate…equipment.”

  Syla straightened, and inclined her head like a gracious noble. “Good. Some of our little birds have found one of the prey’s associates will be returning to the city soon. I’ll have a word with her, you gather what we need.”

  Shadrak grunted his agreement as Syla rose from her seat and melted away into the bustling hall behind him.

  He sighed, grabbing one of his fellows at the bar by the shoulder. His grip was tight , and he hauled the man over to a quiet spot to growl into his ear. “Find Misa, tell her to get us some ordinance, we’re hunting big game this time.”