The Rose and the Azalea - Chapter One

• Posted by The Sunflower Manual March 16, 2018 - Filed in TSC: Short Story - #Harrow  #Sabina  #Rose/Azalea  - 1,328 views

  

   

   

   

  

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  The art of rose-breeding is believed to have originated in High Rock, pioneered by Ayleid wizards experimenting with plant reproductive morphology and popularised by Breton slaves.

   

   

  

   

   

   

                  When the messenger came, I was in the basement breaking a man’s kneecaps.

   

                  ‘Hold him down,’ I told Edwin as I slid my hammer from my belt. The Imperial clamped his hands onto the merchant’s shoulders, forcing him down into the chair. Edwin was six feet tall, barely half a head higher than me, but his body was built like a tree. As much as the merchant struggled, he couldn’t budge from his seat.

   

                  ‘Mister Chaucer,’ I said, keeping my voice calm and level. ‘You know full well the Flavana family doesn’t appreciate it when you start making side deals and cutting us out of the loop.’

   

                  ‘Please,’ Chaucer said, licking his lips. ‘I-It was just once. I needed an-’

   

                  I slammed the hammer onto the table I was resting my foot on. The merchant jumped at the noise. ‘Yes? Continue. You needed?’

   

                  ‘A-an alternate r-revenue stream…’

   

                  ‘I’m sure you did,’ I growled. ‘Under normal circumstances, we’d have let you off with a beating, but as it turns out, you’re also five months behind on your protection money. You do remember that the penalty for three months is an ear?’

   

                  ‘Please…’ Chaucer stared at me frantically, his face deathly white, his voice hoarse. My eyes were the only part of my face he could see under my heaume, so he focused his pleading gaze on those.

   

                  ‘I’m letting you off easy.’ I lifted the hammer as Edwin kicked his legs out from under the chair, straightening them. ‘Father would’ve had you killed.’

   

                  ‘No, no, n-’

   

                  I brought the hammer down twice, smashing it through his knees, splintering the bone. His begging turned into piercing shrieks as Edwin released him and he slid to the floor a cripple.

   

                  ‘All right, we’re done,’ I said stiffly. ‘Carry him back to his shop.’

   

                  Edwin nodded, saying nothing as usual. He picked up the sobbing merchant as if he weighed no more than a sack of grain, then frowned as his movement produced a fresh bout of wailing. He took a strip of cloth from his pocket.

   

                  ‘No.’ I lifted my hand. ‘No gags. Let him scream. I want the entire block to hear what happens when you cross a Flavana.’

   

                  Edwin nodded again, then carried Chaucer upstairs. On his way out, he passed a girl dressed in the green and yellow tunic of our pages.

   

                  ‘What is it?’ I asked her. My voice must’ve been a bit too gruff, because she flinched and backed away. I sighed. ‘I asked you a question.’

   

                  ‘Lady Sabina,’ the girl said. ‘His Lordship requests your presence at Flavana Manor for the monthly meeting.’

   

                  I stood a little straighter. Father liked to pick his monthly meetings at irregular times, so as to catch his underlings off-guard if they had anything to hide. ‘Tell him I’ll be there right away.’

   

                  The page bowed. Then, as I walked past her, she spoke again. Without my leave.

   

                  ‘Did… did you have to be so ruthless?’ Her voice was trembling. ‘Milady?’ she added hastily.

   

                  I stared hard at the girl, who looked away immediately, cringing. After a moment, I walked up to her. ‘What’s your name?’

   

                  ‘R-Rita, milady.’ She shrunk as I approached, eyes flickering first towards the hammer still in my hands, then towards the sword on my hip. No doubt wondering which one I was going to kill her with.

   

                  ‘Rita,’ I repeated. I took off my helmet. ‘Do I look like I enjoyed what I did back there?’

   

                  ‘No…’

   

                  ‘And yet I did it anyway,’ I said, smiling coldly. ‘It’s a harsh world, Rita. Filled with harsh men. Men that only understand fear and pain.’ I levelled the hammer at her. ‘So here’s another question, from a woman to a woman. Would you rather be the one inflicting that fear and pain, or the one receiving them?’

   

                  The girl stood there without answering. I slid the heaume back onto my head.

   

                  ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. You’ll find out soon enough on your own. You’ll have to, if you want to survive in this business.’

   

                  I strode past her and into my stronghold. It wasn’t a big one – I had no desire for people to think I was trying to show up my own father, and making my base too big would make guarding it too difficult. As it was, the medium-sized mansion in the middle served as my headquarters, and the eight guard posts arranged around the walls kept me safe from attacks even while I slept, which was one of the few times in a day I took my armour off.

   

                  Ugh, my armour.

   

                  All of Father’s underbosses wore a similar set of full Dwemeri plate. It was one of the many rules he put into place, after he married into the family and took over. The armour is what sets us apart from the common gangs. It’s our symbol, he’d say. Symbols inspire fear. And fear gives us power.

   

                  I didn’t feel particularly powerful as I marched out into the streets of Anvil. It was the middle of Last Seed, and the pavement was practically on fire. I could see the air above my gauntlets shimmering as I raised an arm in front of my face, and my shield, slung almost perpetually on my back, could probably fry an egg in thirty seconds flat. Even the sight of pedestrians and guardsmen alike scurrying out of my way failed to make me appreciate my father’s fashion sense. Sure, they might respect me to my face. But that respect was borne of fear, bought with coin. The moment my back was turned, they’d spit where my feet had trod and curse my name under their breaths.

   

                  I’d about had enough by the time I reached the main roads. Anvil was a big city, and the port was bustling with more activity than ever. It would take me at least another half an hour to reach the mansion, and I was already beginning to drown in my helmet. Rather appropriate that it was shaped like a bucket.

   

                  I pulled the damned thing off, wincing as I felt the rough padding scrape my cheeks. The cotton was drenched with sweat. As if it didn’t stink enough to begin with.

   

                  Grimacing, I tossed my hair, letting it fan out behind me, and continued to walk. The air outside was so full of stagnant heat it was barely any better than when I had my heaume on. We were further inland than most other parts of the city, and the buildings were blocking out the sea breeze. I found myself praying to Kynareth for just a single gust of wind.

   

                  I was almost staggering by the time I reached Flavana Manor. At least the air was fresher here in the countryside, away from the sprawl of the city – but the sun was also brighter, glaring down at me like a scornful judge. I usually preferred walking, feeling the thud of my boots against the ground, but right now I was beginning to wish I’d done what the other underbosses would be doing and gotten a servant to drive me here in a carriage.

   

                  ‘Afternoon, ma’am,’ one of the guards at the gate said as he let me in. ‘Ye gods, it’s hot as teats out here.’

   

                  I grunted noncommittally as I went inside the house. Why do people enjoy commenting on the weather so much? It’s not as if it makes the heat any more bearable.

   

                  My father was waiting on the third floor, inside his study. Somehow, in addition to his full armour and helm, he’d managed to keep his cloak on.

   

                  ‘Sabina. I knew you’d be the first one here,’ he boomed at me, his voice regal, authoritative, carried over from his years serving the Wayrest crown as a Knight of the Rose. I saw his eyes narrow under his own heaume. ‘What are you doing with your helmet off?’

   

                  ‘It was hot,’ I replied lamely.

   

                  ‘I see,’ Father said, standing up and crossing his arms. ‘Do you remember why I had everyone hide their faces in the first place?’

   

                  ‘It makes you more than you.’ Same answer as always.

   

                  ‘It makes us more than us,’ Father said. ‘When an underboss dies or is replaced, his successor puts on the same set of armour, the same helmet. To the sheep out there…’ He gestured behind him, towards the vast expanse of Anvil outside the study’s massive window. ‘…that makes us immortal. It’s the same business as when I was in Cedric’s court-’

   

                  His eyes tightened and he said no more. A younger me would’ve pried, but I’d learned by now that he rarely welcomed that kind of probing. I still didn’t know why he ever left High Rock or married my mother. The few things I pieced together during his training sessions left me with more questions than answers. I knew how to fight like a Knight of the Rose, but that was all he saw fit to teach me. I did know that he was so determined to leave it all behind, he even took my mother’s surname of Flavana – an Imperial name.

   

                  Father must’ve seen my curiosity on my face. ‘Another reason you keep the helmet on is to keep the people you deal with from reading your expression,’ he snapped, his disapproval stinging me. ‘Well?’

   

                  Lazy footsteps came up the stairs. I jammed my helmet back on just in time to see Denholm heave his fat belly through the doorframe.

   

                  ‘Boss,’ he huffed, mopping his brow with a lacy handkerchief. ‘Sweltering out there, innit?’

   

                  Again with the weather.

   

                  I saw Father look at his fellow Breton with distaste. Denholm had gotten even more obese in the past year. He was wider than six of me put together and his gut was squashing out under his cuirass. It looked like a pigskin balloon being squeezed so hard it was about to burst – that he’d managed to even put his armour on was a feat worthy of song. I could see all four of his chins quivering. Like me, he’d gone and taken his helmet off on his way to the Manor.

   

                  Unlike me, though, I thought darkly. I’m pretty sure he was carried here in one of his personal wagons.

   

                  I pitied his coachman. Even more so his horses.

   

                  ‘Denholm,’ Father nodded curtly. ‘Sit.’

   

                  He did not tell him to put his helmet back on. Denholm was the money man, the one who did all his work behind the scenes, so he never needed to show his face in public. Despite his appearance, he was one of the cleverest men in the Empire, with a head for numbers like no other; capable of running every Flavana’s finances from his armchair. He was also part of the old guard, having been with the family since before Father became the head. As far as I could tell, the two never got along very well.

   

                  Denholm sat down squarely on a chair – by some miracle he managed to fit in it, and even more miraculously it did not shatter at once – just as the second underboss made her way into the Manor. I heard the spoked wheels grinding up the countryside road and clenched my jaw. I knew the sound of that carriage by heart.

   

                  S’hni sauntered into the room, her helmet also off, parts of her armour cut away to make room for her swishing tail. She was beaming as usual, five feet of manic energy, whiskers twitching all over the place, head bobbing up and down.

   

                  ‘Hello, boss,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Yes, yes, helmet.’

   

                  Father jerked his head. ‘Sit.’

   

                  S’hni plopped the heaume back onto her head as she swung her stubby legs over a chair and sat. I had to stop myself from glaring at her openly. Oh, she might’ve looked like an innocent kitty on the outside, but the Khajiit was actually a slaver, drug dealer and human trafficker – and she often combined the roles, taking refugees who were simply looking for safe harbour, pumping them full of skooma, then selling them into prostitution and worse. She’d been making good business with Morrowind lately. I understood necessity and making do with what life offers you, but that was just obscene. S’hni also had a sadistic streak a mile long. The first time I saw her use a whip, I was ten years old. From that point on, whenever someone truly pissed me off, I threatened to have them sent to the twisted little bitch.

   

                  Some of my hostility must’ve bled through my helmet. S’hni inclined her head at me, her smile widening. ‘M’lady.’

   

                  Before I could respond, I heard bronze horseshoes clatter up the mansion grounds. Denholm frowned. ‘Last one here? It’s not like Rhansan to be late.’

   

                  ‘S'hni is sure he’ll have an explanation ready,’ S’hni giggled, turning around and hugging the back of her chair. ‘There he is! Ooh, new lover?’

   

                  Of all four underbosses, Rhansan was the only one still in full Flavana regalia. I knew even less about the Redguard smuggler than I did my father – I’d never even seen his face. I knew that Father approved of him, though, and that was enough for me.

   

                  A lean Imperial with a hawkish face was accompanying him, a pair of dark, alert eyes darting all over the room. A bow of very fine make was slung on his back, along with two half-empty quivers. ‘Lover?’ he snorted. ‘No… although if you paid me enough…’

   

                  ‘This is my new bodyguard,’ Rhansan said, his voice as dead as ever. ‘His name is Longinus.’

   

                  I could hear Father’s raised eyebrow in his voice. ‘The Longinus? Your contracts don’t come cheap, sir. Rhansan must have made you quite an offer.’

   

                  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ Longinus said awkwardly. ‘I owe Mister Rhansan a debt.’

   

                  ‘He killed sixteen of my men in a hired hit, then he found out his client set him up,’ Rhansan said. ‘He’s agreed to work for free, and I’ve agreed not to… hold grudges.’

   

                  ‘You always did have an eye for talent,’ S’hni cackled.

   

                  ‘Enough chit-chat,’ Father said. ‘Rhansan, I applaud your caution, but you know the rules. All bodyguards stay outside. No matter how famous he is.’

   

                  Rhansan nodded at Longinus, who shrugged and stalked out the door.

   

                  ‘Begin,’ Father said simply.

   

                  Denholm started first with a report on the month’s earnings across all of the family businesses. Gambling rings, skooma dens, extortion rackets, protection money, forgery, heists… the Flavana family had been in Anvil for almost a century, and we’ve used that time well. We had roots here older than most of the city’s residents, and branches reaching as far as Black Marsh and Elsweyr. An empire within the Empire. S’hni and Rhansan followed suit, giving Father a brief overview of all the smuggling and trafficking operations they were handling through the ports.

   

                  They turned to me last. It was hard not to think it was because I was the youngest there. Very few Flavanas made it to underboss at just sixteen, and fewer still could’ve kept the position as long as I have. I wondered sometimes if people thought I owed my success to my father.

   

                  Now, then. To demonstrate that I had earned my place as Father’s enforcer.

   

                  As I gave my report on the state of the people and public opinion on the Flavanas, I found my attention drifting more and more towards the way my father was sitting. He looked… tired. Drained. At first I thought it was just the heat, but I knew him better than that. He’d fought campaigns in far tougher environments than Anvil in midsummer. No, this was something else. Something deeper.

   

                  It took him a few seconds more than usual to respond after I’d ended my report.

   

                  ‘Good, they still know who the wolves are,’ Father said. Now that I was listening for it, I could hear a strain in his voice that wasn’t there last month. ‘Nice job with Chaucer. It should serve as a good reminder for the rest of the sods.’

   

                  That was high praise coming from him. I sank my head in gratitude.

   

                  ‘Why the kneecaps, if I may ask?’ Denholm said.

   

                  ‘Well, the merchant still needs to make money if we’re to get our due,’ I said indifferently. ‘Ruining his face will be bad for his image, while taking hands or fingers will mess with his bookkeeping. He doesn’t need his legs to do business, though.’

   

                  Denholm nodded. ‘Wise decision.’

   

                  ‘That will be all,’ Father said. ‘You may leave now, my friends… but I want a moment with Sabina.’

   

                  The three other underbosses left the study quickly but quietly. Not a minute later, I heard their carriages trundle off into the distance.

   

                  ‘Close the door,’ Father said, and I moved to do so immediately. When I turned back, he was taking his heaume off.

   

                  I blinked, quite taken aback. Father only ever took it off to sleep or eat, and he rarely did those things in the company of others – even myself. I took my own helmet off, wondering if I was supposed to follow suit.

   

                  Father’s face was lined with more wrinkles than I remembered. His hair was balding, and the skin beneath his chin and jowls was beginning to come loose. I understood then, more than ever, why it was so important for the head of the family to cover his face. Seeing him like this… reduced him to just another man.

   

                  ‘Her spitting image,’ Father murmured softly as he looked at me. ‘Right down to the hair…’

   

                  It didn’t take long for his usual personality to reassert itself. ‘So it’s even more important that you keep your helmet on when you go out into the streets, then. Like it or not, you bare your head out there and all people are ever going to see is a pretty redhead.’

   

                  ‘Of course, Father.’ I hesitated for a moment, then continued. ‘Did you keep me here for a reason?’

   

                  ‘Yes.’ Father closed his eyes for a brief second, then opened them again. ‘I’m dying, Sabina.’

   

                  I took a deep breath, held it, then let it out when my lungs began to hurt. ‘I see.’

   

                  Father smiled. It was a cold smile, but I saw pride in it too. ‘No tears? No sobs of grief? Good. I raised a strong daughter.’

   

                  I didn’t ask if we could help him somehow, heal him, cure him of whatever was ailing his body. Father would already have tried. That he was telling me meant that he was certain nothing else could be done. In which case, there was only one thing to ask-

   

                  ‘How long?’

   

                  ‘Weeks. Perhaps a month. Heart condition. Healers either can’t or won’t fix it.’ Father shrugged. ‘It happens. For a man in my position, I’ve lived long enough.’

   

                  I swallowed past the painful lump in my throat. ‘I’ll do my best to support whoever you pick as the new head-’

   

                  ‘You.’

   

                  I blinked. Must’ve misheard.

   

                  ‘You’re the new head of the family, Sabina Flavana.’

   

                  ‘Father, I can’t-’

   

                  ‘I’m not doing this because you’re my daughter, and anyone tell you that to your face, you break some more fucking kneecaps,’ Father growled impatiently. ‘Denholm can’t afford to divide his attention from bookkeeping and accounting. He’s the best money man the Flavanas have had for seventy years, I’m keeping him there. Rhansan is too solitary, too used to doing things alone and in the dark. He couldn’t lead in the open if his life depended on it.’

   

                  ‘And S’hni?’

   

                  ‘S’hni is batshit insane.’

   

                  I couldn’t argue with that.

   

                  ‘This is what I groomed you for, Sabina,’ Father said sternly. ‘This is what you were born to do. True, your time might’ve come a little earlier than I expected – but you’ve been underboss for almost three years now, and your performance was… above average. You might not be ready, but neither was I. Stay true to the family, and you will be fine.’

   

                  I had to struggle to keep my voice from thickening, and I bit my lip in order to keep it from shaking. ‘Thank you, Father. I’ll lead the Flavanas to new heights.’

   

                  ‘Don’t be too ambitious,’ Father warned. ‘In the first few years, focus on stability first. After that, well. Whichever direction you take, the family will follow. Remember that you have good people at your disposal. Use them well, but-’

   

                  ‘Never turn my back on them.’ I nodded firmly. ‘I’ll know what to do when the time comes, Father.’

   

                  ‘I know you will,’ Father said, and for a moment he almost looked like he wanted to reach out to me, to say something else. Some emotion I couldn’t place flashed through his eyes. Sadness? Regret? I didn’t have time to get a better look at his face. He slipped his helmet back onto his face, and I did the same.

   

                  ‘Oh, and Sabina?’ My name came out muffled from under Father’s heaume as I made for the doorway to the study. I turned around. He was looking out of the window over the city he owned, his back to me, the Dwemer metalwork of his armour glinting in the late afternoon sun. I couldn’t even see his eyes, but there was a warmth to his voice I had never heard before.

   

                  ‘Happy nineteenth.’

   

                  I was glad I already had my helmet on. In spite of all the uneasiness and trepidation roiling in my stomach, a giant, silly grin spread over my face as I marched back towards the city.

   

                  He remembered!

   

  

   

  

  Azalea flowers grow the best in dark conditions, which is why so many of them can be found in the shades of great trees.

   

   

   

   

   

   

                  Lilian was in the Inner Sanctum painting. I could tell even before I knocked and entered, from the sound of brush sliding over canvas and the scent of the soft, plant-based paint that she liked to use.

   

                  The Primate smiled at me when I walked inside and closed the door behind me, my robes swishing over my feet. I couldn’t see what she was working on, but I had little doubt it would be another excellent piece. Practitioners of the Dibellan arts emphasised skill not only in erotic ministrations – though that was without question what they were most known for – but also poetry, fine language and oration, as well as the myriad artistic disciplines of Tamriel.

   

                  ‘Good evening, Lilian-ko,’ I said, bowing and dropping my bags at my feet. The Primate was the only one in the entire Chapel who knew what I really was, so it felt proper to address her with honorifics when no one else was around.

   

                  ‘Evening,’ Lilian replied, finishing her painting with a flourishing stroke. ‘Hmm.’ She peered closely at me as she stood up from her work and rinsed her hands in a nearby washbasin. ‘Been saying your goodbyes all day long, haven’t you?’

   

                  Priestesses of Dibella must possess some form of preternatural ability to sense sexual activity. I was quite certain that my physical appearance was impeccable, having washed and bathed before I set off for the Sanctum. I raised a quizzical eyebrow.

   

                  ‘You have a glow around you, you know,’ Lilian laughed, baring her perfect white teeth as her wavy auburn hair trailed behind her. Unlike many other religious sects, a Priestess of Dibella was allowed to indulge in elaborate finery. Today, the Primate was wearing a dress of red velvet that highlighted her striking figure, cut low enough to show a hint of lacy undergarments.

   

                  ‘Do I?’ I slid my arm out of my sleeve and studied it. Nothing out of the ordinary. Was it the hue of my cheeks? ‘I must be in better control of my body than that, Lilian-ko.’

   

                  Then again, the Priestesses had demonstrated many times how untrue that was.

   

                  ‘Still trying to break it down into a science,’ Lilian smiled again, taking my hand. ‘The art of love is heat and passion, my dear. You don’t need to explain it, and oftentimes you can’t.’

   

                  ‘With respect, Lilian-ko, logic and concise instructions make for-’

   

                  ‘Aah, it’s the middle of summer and your skin is still so cool…’ The Primate’s hand slithered up my wrist and naked arm and I gasped, faltering.

   

                  ‘It makes me want to touch you more.’

   

                  With the same motion, she slipped her fingers inside my robes, groping, probing, drawing a whimper from my throat.

   

                  ‘Hmm, yes,’ she teased. ‘Can your logic explain that?’

   

                  ‘Those… sections of the body are known as erogenous zones- hyuu!’

   

                  The Priestess moved behind me, snaking her arms around my torso as she did and sliding my robes from my shoulders. I released a startled little squeak.

   

                  ‘You know, when you first arrived, I had my doubts,’ Lilian sighed, her warm breath parting the hair on my nape. ‘I thought it’d be the worst month of my life, and I only agreed because Bengakhi called in that favour. But now look at you. Most of the other novitiates have a crush on you, you know that? Along with half of the Priestesses.’

   

                  ‘Lilian-ko-’

   

                  ‘As for me, well…’ The Primate’s hug tightened. ‘I’m convinced that when Dibella planted your father’s seed in your mother, she was making a girl, but gave you… these parts as a mistake.’ She slid her hand further and further downwards, and I gasped again. ‘But do go on about erogenous zones. Shinobi study them, do they?’

   

                  ‘There are… nnn- clusters of n-nerv- hiii- clusters of nerves scattered throughout the body- aahhhnnn!’

   

                  ‘If you keep making cute noises like that,’ Lilian whispered, nibbling on my ear, her breasts pressing against me from behind. ‘I won’t be able to hold back…’

   

                  ‘One- last- aii!- lesson…?’

   

                  ‘The night’s still young,’ the Priestess said, moving her mouth to my neck and tilting my head to the side like a vampire. ‘Make that two lessons.’ She pressed the side of her head against my bare back, her lips tickling my skin as she murmured, counting my heartbeats. ‘So slow… at times I almost think it's stopped.’

   

                  ‘Maybe I’m a ghost, Lilian-ko,’ I cooed, recovering some of my composure. ‘Come to haunt you for the night.’

   

                  ‘Then,’ she cooed back, half-pushing, half-carrying me to the altar beneath the statue of the goddess. ‘I shall breathe some life back into your body.’

   

                  The altar was carved of marble, yet curiously warm and soft. Lilian laid me down onto my back, then pressed a finger to my lips.

   

                  ‘Shh,’ the Priestess said, slinking out of her dress. ‘Now we exalt Dibella.’

   

  
  

   

                  Three hours later, I rose from the altar with Primate Lilian still lying next to me. I slid down noiselessly and opened my bag of belongings, tugging my old trousers on.

   

                  ‘You know,’ Lilian said lazily, turning her head towards me. ‘I’m almost offended that you didn’t even try to touch me in my sleep.’

   

                  I slipped into my boots and began tightening the straps. ‘It would’ve been impolite, Lilian-ko.’

   

                  ‘Impolite?’ the Priestess chuckled. ‘Your sole purpose in life is to kill people, and – oh, Dibella forgive my language – I just fucked you for three hours straight, and you’re worried about being impolite?’

   

                  ‘Of course I am,’ I smiled, pulling my folded tunic from the bag. Freshly ironed. ‘And we do far more than simple killing, Lilian-ko.’

   

                  She stared wistfully at me as I secured the tool pouches on my belt. ‘You’re really leaving so soon?’

   

                  ‘Many thanks for taking care of me, Madam Primate.’ I started to bow, but she held up a hand.

   

                  ‘Enough bows already,’ Lilian said, reaching out with her arms. ‘Come here.’

   

                  I hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the altar.

   

                  ‘Give Bengakhi my love,’ she said as she hugged me. ‘Tell the old cat to come visit sometime.’

   

                  ‘I will give Bengakhi-ra your regards,’ I replied formally, and headed for the side door.

   

                  ‘You’re not taking anything else with you?’ Lilian sniffed, pointing at the bags.

   

                  ‘A shinobi always travels light.’ With that, I left the Chapel.

   

                  Master Torako was waiting outside.

   

                  ‘Hello, kit. It’s a dark and cloudy night out here.’

   

                  ‘The best kind, Master.’ I pulled my cowl over my nose and mouth.

   

                  ‘You grew your hair out,’ he observed as I tied it into a ponytail before putting my hood on. ‘With extraordinary speed, I might add; going to waist-length in a month. Did you boost the growth process with Regeneration?’

   

                  ‘Yes, by a factor of two hundred, but no more.’ I followed my mentor as he leapt to a nearby rooftop. ‘Hair growth takes a surprising amount of energy.’

   

                  ‘And studying the Dibellan arts would’ve consumed a fair amount of energy as well, yes,’ Torako said, pouncing to another rooftop. The citizens of Anvil milled below us, holding out torches and lanterns as a night mist rolled in from the sea. The mist brought with it a salty, refreshing scent, and the moisture caressed my skin. ‘Did you enjoy your time in the Chapel?’

   

                  ‘Not as much as one would imagine,’ I said darkly as we flitted from building to building. ‘I’ve learned that even after all of our training and all the mutations we go through, there are ways to twist and manipulate our senses.’

   

                  ‘That is a good thing to learn,’ Torako countered. ‘If you can replicate these methods yourself, you will be able to exert a hold over your targets as few other shinobi can.’

   

                  I nodded. Turn all knowledge to my advantage. ‘Of course, Master. Are we going back to the village?’

   

                  Torako shook his head. ‘Straight to the brothel.’

   

                  ‘I see.’

   

                  ‘Feeling homesick?’

   

                  ‘Just a little, Master. How are Diia and Ambarro?’

   

                  ‘Oh? No more “dunce” this and “dunce” that now? If you’re not careful, you might steal him from Diia.’

   

                  ‘Tch. As if.’

   

                  ‘The two are fine. They’re being assigned mostly routine missions in the Jeralls right now, both to sharpen up their skills and to keep the warlords in line. It’s the same for the other kits in your Year. I expect that to change when the Empire’s preparations heat up, though.’

   

                  We continued zooming over the city for another two miles. The buildings grew taller and more closely clustered as we entered more urban areas, and our leaps grew more frequent.

   

                  ‘The Bouquet is coming up. We’re in the Meat Street already.’

   

                  I looked below me as I swung past a chimney spewing out smoke smelling of roast boar. Arrayed in front of us was the bustling nightlife of Anvil’s entertainment district. Working girls dressed in the bright, flamboyant clothes of their profession stood on display, luring men away into dark alleys and multi-storey brothels. ‘So we are. I thought the Street was just that – one street?’

   

                  ‘The map you’ve been studying is outdated,’ Torako replied, slowing down as we approached the centre of the district. ‘The Meat Street now stretches across a quarter of southwestern Anvil. The Flavana family has been expanding their influence, bringing in new slaves and prostitutes, opening up bawdy houses and illegal sex shops. Naturally, this attracts business for the legitimate brothels as well. Haruka-daro’s been making good money. She contributed to almost five percent of village profit last month.’

   

                  ‘Master Haruka must be very quick at seizing the occasion.’

   

                  ‘Oh, most definitely,’ Torako stopped above a fancy inn, right opposite the street to a large, elaborate, building with two floors and a dozen giant flowers carved next to a sign reading The Bouquet. ‘You’ll find no opportunist more intuitive than Haruka-daro. She’ll make a fine teacher.’

   

                  ‘You seem to approve of her, Master,’ I smiled, taking off my hood and cowl as I pulled a nondescript coat over my shinobi tunic. ‘She must be skilled indeed.’

   

                  ‘Quite,’ Torako said, already disappearing into the shadows. ‘Good luck with your training, kit. See you in two months.’

   

                  I dropped to ground level in a nearby alley after he left, wrapped the coat around me as I emerged, and made my way across the street to the brothel, where my new instructor was waiting.