The sun was hot overhead, a fine day for fishing. Two old men sat at the side of the lake, their poles cast out into the water waiting for a nibble. One sipped at a beer, his eyes half closed as he watched the line bob gently in the water. The other held a book, reading intently, his own pole forgotten.
“You want a beer?”
“No thanks,” the reader replied. The other man just shrugged, and kept sipping at his drink. Their quiet afternoon was disturbed as two helicopters came flying low over the hills, passing by overhead and crossing the lake before disappearing beyond the trees on the far side.
“Who the hell was that?” The beer sipper asked.
The reader, who had put aside his book during the flyby, answered. “Esplandians. They’re flag was on the bottom.”
“Where do you think they were headed?”
Picking up his book the reader started to read once again. “Don’t care,” he answered.
Alwur Skeowaeng stepped out of the helicopter as it touched down on the ground in front of the cabin. Time, as he was well aware, was in short supply today.
He approached the cabin, met by an old women near the door. Her and her husband lived in the cabin and maintained it as a safe house.Thoughthey were old now, the two had been agents of Alwur’s when he served under Katharine II. “Is he secure?” he asked.
The old woman nodded. “We got him out of Pelleg Prison without any fuss.”
“Very well, let’s get this over with.” He stepped through the doorway into the cabin. There was nothing out of the ordinary here, just a mountain cabin with rustic furniture. It was kept neat and tidy, a homely place. But it was no mere cabin.
The old woman opened the closet next to the door and pushed aside the coats hanging inside. He knocked three times on the back paneling. A second passed and then the back opened up, another agent, an old man, waiting.
“Keep an eye out up here,” Alwur told the woman, and then stepped through the back of the closet. A narrow staircase went downwards below the house. Alwur lead the way, the old man following.
“Has he said anything?” Alwur asked, descending the three stories to the bottom.
“Just curses and profanities.”
Alwur nodded. He’d expected as much. At the bottom of the stairs was a door, a solid steel blast door. Alwur stepped forward to a keypad next to it and punched in a code. The pad then asked for a second number. The elderly agent put his own in and a mechanical clanking followed. Alwur turned the handle and pulled open the heavy door. A short, brightly lit hallway lay ahead. There were three doors beyond. One at the far end, and then one on either side.
“Which one?” Alwur asked.
“The left,” the old man answered, pulling the door closed behind them. Alwur went to the door, and pushed it open. It was an empty room except for a steel table and two steel chairs. In one chair, handcuffed to the table, sat Kraes Deffened the former second in command of the Sons of Kaerwent.
“You look like shit,” Alwur said addressing the older man. “Prison food must not agree with you.”
Kraes stared intently at Alwur, his eyes not blinking. “Still Sherwin’s lapdog I see.”
Alwur took a seat across from the man, trying to gage how much he knew. Was he even involved at all? The prison had assured him that there had been no outside contact with anyone in the last year, but Alwur doubted that.
“Are you aware of what’s going on in Karthied?” he asked.
Kraes wrinkled his nose. “I don’t talk to anyone these days, so no. What’s going on? Did somebody finally off the old man?”
Alwur drummed his fingers on the table. He wished he had time to deal with all this properly, but there was a clock ticking. Things were bad in the capital and people were looking for a scapegoat. And if Kraes was going to lie to him, it could very well be the Aernish who was at the receiving end of an angry mob.
“I was given information that the bombs were placed by ex-members of the Sons. If revealed to the Landesgrad, it would mean that the organization was still active in some capacity. There’d be calls for blood.”
Kraes shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “The Sons were disbanded. You and Raederman saw to that.”
Alwur stood up, and paced around the room. There was so much misinformation in the world. And those who knew the truth were often too stubborn to share it.
“This is where Denraes died,” Alwur said. “Not this room, but the one across the hall. He bled out after I got the information I needed.”
Kraes glared fire at Alwur. “You bastard!” he yelled. “It was you? You fucking fuck!” He threw himself against the cuffs as if he could break free and get his revenge.
Alwur ignored his antics and continued, “It would be poetic justice. Two brothers, two traitors, dying in the same hole. Maybe we’ll throw your body in the same bog as his.” Alwur took his pistol out of the holster inside his jacket and pointed it at Kraes. “Were the Sons involved?” he asked coldly.
Kraes stared at Alwur with pure loathing, but no fear. He was ready to die. For a moment Alwur was worried he’d get no answer from the man, that he’d gone too far.
“The Sons had nothing to do with the bombings,” he responded. “Though now I wish we had. And that we’d blown you and your miserable fucking family to dust as well.”
Alwur lowered the weapon, having expected the Sons weren’t behind this. “Do you know who orchestrated it?”
“No,” Kraes answered. “If I did I wouldn’t tell you.”
“That’s a lie. Somebody’s trying to blame you and start a conflict between Aerndreffed and Esplandia. So you would tell me.”
Alwur lowered his pistol to his side. His mind was turning as it wheeled through possibilities. “Who’s in charge of the Sons now?” he asked.
Kraes said nothing.
“Korbin? Or perhaps Maeth?” Still no answer, not even a flicker of emotion to give anything away. Which to Alwur was also a tell. “Braevin, then.”
This time Kraes did flinch, his jaw clenched in anger. “If you harm him…”
“You’ll do nothing,” Alwur interrupted. “Because you died in an attempted prison escape this morning. I was quite sorry to hear the news.”
Alwur stepped out of the room. He nodded to the old man, letting him know he’d gotten what he wanted. The old man entered behind and closed the door. Alwur was still thinking what his next move would be when a muffled shot rang out. The old man returned back through the door, holstering his weapon. Alwur didn’t look at him or give further instructions. The old man would find a place to dump the body and clean everything up here.
Alwur contemplates the situation. Somebody was trying to frame the Sons of Kaerwent for the attack. But it was someone who wasn’t aware that Esplandia had backed them against Alstenbek back in the day. That did narrow it down some. He would need to talk to Braevin Raederman next.
“You want a beer?”
“No thanks,” the reader replied. The other man just shrugged, and kept sipping at his drink. Their quiet afternoon was disturbed as two helicopters came flying low over the hills, passing by overhead and crossing the lake before disappearing beyond the trees on the far side.
“Who the hell was that?” The beer sipper asked.
The reader, who had put aside his book during the flyby, answered. “Esplandians. They’re flag was on the bottom.”
“Where do you think they were headed?”
Picking up his book the reader started to read once again. “Don’t care,” he answered.
Alwur Skeowaeng stepped out of the helicopter as it touched down on the ground in front of the cabin. Time, as he was well aware, was in short supply today.
He approached the cabin, met by an old women near the door. Her and her husband lived in the cabin and maintained it as a safe house.Thoughthey were old now, the two had been agents of Alwur’s when he served under Katharine II. “Is he secure?” he asked.
The old woman nodded. “We got him out of Pelleg Prison without any fuss.”
“Very well, let’s get this over with.” He stepped through the doorway into the cabin. There was nothing out of the ordinary here, just a mountain cabin with rustic furniture. It was kept neat and tidy, a homely place. But it was no mere cabin.
The old woman opened the closet next to the door and pushed aside the coats hanging inside. He knocked three times on the back paneling. A second passed and then the back opened up, another agent, an old man, waiting.
“Keep an eye out up here,” Alwur told the woman, and then stepped through the back of the closet. A narrow staircase went downwards below the house. Alwur lead the way, the old man following.
“Has he said anything?” Alwur asked, descending the three stories to the bottom.
“Just curses and profanities.”
Alwur nodded. He’d expected as much. At the bottom of the stairs was a door, a solid steel blast door. Alwur stepped forward to a keypad next to it and punched in a code. The pad then asked for a second number. The elderly agent put his own in and a mechanical clanking followed. Alwur turned the handle and pulled open the heavy door. A short, brightly lit hallway lay ahead. There were three doors beyond. One at the far end, and then one on either side.
“Which one?” Alwur asked.
“The left,” the old man answered, pulling the door closed behind them. Alwur went to the door, and pushed it open. It was an empty room except for a steel table and two steel chairs. In one chair, handcuffed to the table, sat Kraes Deffened the former second in command of the Sons of Kaerwent.
“You look like shit,” Alwur said addressing the older man. “Prison food must not agree with you.”
Kraes stared intently at Alwur, his eyes not blinking. “Still Sherwin’s lapdog I see.”
Alwur took a seat across from the man, trying to gage how much he knew. Was he even involved at all? The prison had assured him that there had been no outside contact with anyone in the last year, but Alwur doubted that.
“Are you aware of what’s going on in Karthied?” he asked.
Kraes wrinkled his nose. “I don’t talk to anyone these days, so no. What’s going on? Did somebody finally off the old man?”
Alwur drummed his fingers on the table. He wished he had time to deal with all this properly, but there was a clock ticking. Things were bad in the capital and people were looking for a scapegoat. And if Kraes was going to lie to him, it could very well be the Aernish who was at the receiving end of an angry mob.
“I was given information that the bombs were placed by ex-members of the Sons. If revealed to the Landesgrad, it would mean that the organization was still active in some capacity. There’d be calls for blood.”
Kraes shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “The Sons were disbanded. You and Raederman saw to that.”
Alwur stood up, and paced around the room. There was so much misinformation in the world. And those who knew the truth were often too stubborn to share it.
“This is where Denraes died,” Alwur said. “Not this room, but the one across the hall. He bled out after I got the information I needed.”
Kraes glared fire at Alwur. “You bastard!” he yelled. “It was you? You fucking fuck!” He threw himself against the cuffs as if he could break free and get his revenge.
Alwur ignored his antics and continued, “It would be poetic justice. Two brothers, two traitors, dying in the same hole. Maybe we’ll throw your body in the same bog as his.” Alwur took his pistol out of the holster inside his jacket and pointed it at Kraes. “Were the Sons involved?” he asked coldly.
Kraes stared at Alwur with pure loathing, but no fear. He was ready to die. For a moment Alwur was worried he’d get no answer from the man, that he’d gone too far.
“The Sons had nothing to do with the bombings,” he responded. “Though now I wish we had. And that we’d blown you and your miserable fucking family to dust as well.”
Alwur lowered the weapon, having expected the Sons weren’t behind this. “Do you know who orchestrated it?”
“No,” Kraes answered. “If I did I wouldn’t tell you.”
“That’s a lie. Somebody’s trying to blame you and start a conflict between Aerndreffed and Esplandia. So you would tell me.”
Alwur lowered his pistol to his side. His mind was turning as it wheeled through possibilities. “Who’s in charge of the Sons now?” he asked.
Kraes said nothing.
“Korbin? Or perhaps Maeth?” Still no answer, not even a flicker of emotion to give anything away. Which to Alwur was also a tell. “Braevin, then.”
This time Kraes did flinch, his jaw clenched in anger. “If you harm him…”
“You’ll do nothing,” Alwur interrupted. “Because you died in an attempted prison escape this morning. I was quite sorry to hear the news.”
Alwur stepped out of the room. He nodded to the old man, letting him know he’d gotten what he wanted. The old man entered behind and closed the door. Alwur was still thinking what his next move would be when a muffled shot rang out. The old man returned back through the door, holstering his weapon. Alwur didn’t look at him or give further instructions. The old man would find a place to dump the body and clean everything up here.
Alwur contemplates the situation. Somebody was trying to frame the Sons of Kaerwent for the attack. But it was someone who wasn’t aware that Esplandia had backed them against Alstenbek back in the day. That did narrow it down some. He would need to talk to Braevin Raederman next.
