We talked business for hours.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Some trivialities got mixed in, too.

  “You can’t seem to stop staring.”

  I still mindfully held my tongue more often than not, but the conversation was unfairly relaxed.

  It had no right to be. Not with petrified servants in all corners, and especially not with the four-legged abomination freely traipsing around.

  “And what did the plus two mean?”

  “T-that’s how he wrote it d-down. I think t-the yield is higher than reported.”

  “Mm… not reflected in the income. Given away as a bribe?”

  “Or ext-torted.”

  “By whom?”

  “Yohr loh-rdship’s House.”

  He huffed, caught between laughter and astonishment. “And why wouldn’t you include such a thing?”

  Because he would either know about it, or it was neither of our business.

  Raktkalis flashed me a devilishly playful, knowing grin.

  Unchallenged, the lord’s manic demeanour muted – enough to falsely lull one into a repose. He almost seemed like any other person. Almost. Restless, vigilant eyes and tension in his back hinted at circumstances that had bred an instinctive paranoia.

  Even so – even more so – a competent officer shone through as he was debriefing me on the details of my reports. Ones I sent, and those I was still in the process of compiling. He has been reading them. I smiled privately when he looked away.

  Sun began its arduous climb. One of the pale haunts dared make noise by drawing the velvety curtains away. Expression on a heedful face soured, but this subtle reminder must have been a part of servants’ duties – the displeasure didn’t go beyond that.

  Lord’s gaze thoughtfully drifted outside. He cracked his neck and threw a folder aside. Another ghost soundlessly rushed to pick it up and swept the papers into a neat stack.

  “I’ve got to get ready. Would you like to join me for the meetings?” Raktkalis offered, fully aware that eavesdropping on the state affairs was near-irresistible to me. I’d be so tempted to sell the closed-door ingots. Was this, in fact, a dare? A test?

  As though the invitation wasn’t tantalising on its own, he added, “Miloc is coming.”

  This businessman had a second, secret ledger. One much more precise, with measurements exact to three decimal points. Not a big deal at a first glance, but I found it interesting these books were hidden. Raktkalis was completely exhilarated talking about it. Apparently, in quantities to supply a domain, it added up to a wilful theft.

  A rare chance to witness an end result of my hard work.

  On the other hand, did I really want to be present for that?

  Slowly moved my head side to side and offered an excuse he could accept, “I’d love t-to, Lord Raktk-kalis, but I’ve work to d-do.”

  My employer stared piercingly, as if trying to force out a different answer. Unexpectedly, he ended up agreeing, “Pity. We’ve lots left to discuss.”

  I didn’t think so, but the lord’s grand design was not for me to be made aware of.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  His remarks like that made me wonder if perhaps this man was reluctant to part.

  Two taps on the thigh, and Raktkalis’s beast followed him out. The sight gnashed my budding naiveté.

  To him, a conclusion of this deceptively chummy tea party must be straining his restraint. Raktkalis simply has had a hard time letting his property leave. He’d rather tear me apart barehanded – like the previous batch of man-made monsters. That’s all I was to him. A pet-project he started, but not yet had the chance of seeing to completion.

  I melted back into the creaky sofa to reflect on my poor decisions in comfort. The threat of getting shoved into a cage and carted around as an emotional support freak hung above my head. One of these debriefings will be final. Did he even need my assistance? The people he’s had me checking out weren’t enemies. Just nuisances.

  Then again, I did adamantly refuse to go anywhere near the other great houses. One princeling was more than enough trouble. It was highly unlikely the other generals would try to destabilise their own region anyway.

  He wore armour.

  Regardless of the projected ease, and the capture of that single assassin, he did need me. If that wasn’t the case, Raktkalis wouldn’t have come to me in the first place. He was at wits’ end. But dark damn, that unhinged nobleman was making it awfully hard to want to find whoever was threatening his life.

  Except my goals have never felt closer than in a presence of an approving highborn. Here, I could easily delude myself into thinking I could exist within a same sphere of affluence. Someday.

  “You may wait for me here,” a coarse voice drifted in from two rooms over. He hadn’t raised a pitch even slightly, trusting in my able hearing. He just… let me be me.

  The offer was tempting. For about as many reasons as it would be a terrible idea.

  “Dark dammit, Raktkalis…” I muttered back.

  Discarded the invitation to forage for hidden scandals and stood to go. Felt like scattering the irritant powders around as a parting gift, but vigilant serfs would just clear it. Two politely hovered over the guest – either as helpful hands or watchful eyes.

  “How much coffee does he have here?” my artificial voice listlessly wondered.

  Serving girls glanced at each other with panic on their faces. One dared to speak, “About this much, Mistress.” Her hands made a ball in rough estimation.

  Promising.

  “Bring all of it.”

  Momentarily, I was handed an elegant vase with unfamiliar leaves and berries hugging the shape. It didn’t quite look like steel and I grimaced with distaste. There had to be better uses for precious metals, even in this household.

  Undid the lid to peer inside. It truly was what I requested, but the amount was suspect. On the other hand, Raktkalis seemed to really like the bitter stuff.

  “Is there more?” I insisted.

  “That’s all we brought from Pliena, Mistress.”

  The blackened ornaments suggested as much.

  It was an incredibly nonessential, hard-to-acquire product. Smaller cities, even in central lands, had other concerns than stocking luxury goods.

  Unfortunately, Z3 was just wealthy enough.

  I asked again in an inflectionless voice, “Is this a particular brand?”

  The talkative girl offered up, “No, Mistress. It’s just screened for additives.”

  Native or otherwise. Then re-screened, right before consumption. It’s good I hadn’t been entertaining a poisoning. These soulless ghosts would have fallen ill first and ruined the prank.

  Although, if Raktkalis had no devoted slaves to tend to him, it might wreck the lord’s day more than missing out on a fresh brew.

  “Give me your hand.”

  Girl unhesitatingly presented a pale twig. I touched my multi-tool to her electronic shackle and copied the encrypted contents. It was no warhorse, but the device was exactly enough to relay a malware that messed with target’s functions.

  I heard the shackle’s mechanism click open.

  “Touch it to others and you all can leave,” I informed and darted off in Raktkalis’s wake. He was in a shower now, and that provided me with a perfect opportunity to go through the normally inaccessible pockets.

  A girl was polishing the armour pieces, another pointlessly ironed a new set of fatigues.

  Several items were lined up on a bed. A bag of pills got my attention first, and I pocketed this intriguing find by habit. Wallet was next. I needed help financing the minor crisis that’s about to hit this town.

  I almost cackled upon finding a thick, thorny badge – a poor attempt at flattening a skull in nest of dry branches. The ID of those in the House Raktkalis. The authority this symbol carried aside, this mythical badge could access almost everything. Bank accounts were just the most insignificant item on the list. Don’t mind if I do.

  Horrified servants feigned a sudden onset of blindness. Apparently, the role of these meek girls was to accommodate, not play the guards. Which was fair. Although, it was probably for the best if the whole group quickly absconded anyway. For all involved, but mostly me.

  Ultimately, whatever befell them was their own choice and doing.

  Grabbed the hauntingly beautiful box on the way out and leapt down the whole flights of stairs.

  Out in the street, I immediately boarded a tram going to a nearest slum. The morning rush. Transport was abundant. Everybody was in a hurry to do some honest work – except for the people the services of whom I required.

  Too bad, the hoodlums were still asleep at this time.

  Impatiently tapping my foot, I decided to play some music for them. Two gaunt young men and a scraggly woman turned up shortly.

  “Hey, mind telling the time?”

  Instead of indulging the ongoing robbery, I quickly got to the point, “There’s a job. This is the pay.”

  Few more unsavoury characters turned up, just as my electronic honey trap finished talking. I threw the loudly rattling container.

  “What’s that now?”

  “Box is nice.”

  “Sure, but I want that,” a hoodlum pointed at my pocket.

  “What else you got?” the biggest of the group attempted a grab. I barely stopped my claw from creating a new corpse. His only jacket got shredded.

  “Knife!” someone shouted, but befuddled glances betrayed they saw no such thing. The claw was back its cosy glove as if sensing danger. Or an opportunity.

  Street thugs had their own weapons out, but an unknown threat kept them at a distance. Sometimes mutations could be felt as an unquantifiable danger. I hoped that wasn’t becoming the case.

  The idiots jostled for the box. Contents spilled.

  Economically infeasible beads scattered on the pavement. Rolled away. Everyone’s gazes momentarily ducked down to look at the runaway treasure, but there was no great sense of loss on any of their faces. It dawned upon me then – these simpletons did not recognise it.

  I grossly misplayed my hand.

  “Why’d you go and do that? It was smellin’ pretty dope," the scraggly woman protested.

  “It’s coffee,” I typed.

  “What, for reals?”

  “No way.”

  “Granmama keeps talking about it.”

  “So? Is it, or isn’t it?”

  “I ain’t psychic!”

  “There’s more to be had, if you’re interested.”

  Some hoodlums started gathering the scattered beans – just in case. Interest in a brawl has somewhat diminished. Except for the man with a bleeding pride, who was sidling closer for the seconds. His next attempt will be last thing he ever does.

  “Whacha want for it, then, robovoice?”

  “I need people to carry it.” Because this bunch didn’t dazzle me with their brightness, I added, “The job’s worth a lot more than a phone. It’s a real import.”

  Shortly, a direct descendant of prune came out and verified my claims. The air immediately grew cooperative. Eager. Friendly, almost. The wounded brute was sent home.

  Several of the most presentable specimen rode back with me to empty out Raktkalis’s coffers – and the patience.