Part 5: And Outta Luck
Adam Bothom was not an impetuous man. He prided himself on his control, on his excellence, on his dedication to upholding the law.
However, he was also a filial son.
Having to face his mother without finding his brother’s killer was something Adam could not do. It would hardly fix things. Her baby boy would still be gone.
But it was all he could offer.
Thankfully, both his duties to his family and the force of law aligned.
As they rode into the small town of Riverside, one of a dozen he knew of in hex six-oh-six alone, his eyes were already sweeping their surroundings. The last few days had been hard. Most of his men weren’t used to riding outside of Vaskerville. They certainly weren’t used to having to sleep beneath the stars. The number of campfire stories about the Eye watching them… superstitious nonsense. If the Eye was watching, surely it would see the wrongs of the world and right them.
It was just as absent as the Empress.
When they approached the locals, Adam took the lead in questioning them. He’d made the mistake of splitting up his men in the first village they’d visited. Now he set them to rest, to keep the worst of their impulses in check.
As they moved through Riverside, he found himself thinking back.
“Captain, Mersa’s found a man who said he’s seen our target,” his second had told him, drawing his attention away from the older woman he’d been questioning.
“Proving that even the worst of us can find the light,” Adam had said, following his lieutenant to the small shop.
Unfortunately when he’d pushed open the doors, Mersa was standing over a man who was clutching at a slit throat, blood pooling around his fingers.
“What happened?” Adam asked as he stepped forward, grimacing as he saw the amount of blood gushing out of the man’s throat. The man pointed at Mersa’s waist. At the dagger still clutched in Mersa’s hand.
“I cut him. Said he sold the man new clothes,” Mersa said, grinning as he brought the murder weapon up, flashing the bloody blade. “Can’t let people go around helping criminals, can we?”
“We are the ones bringing the wanted posters. Tell me, marshal Mersa, how was this man to know he’d helped a criminal?” Adam asked, meeting the other man’s gaze.
“Well… he just shoulda, right?” Mersa asked, glance shifting to Adam’s lieutenant.
The lieutenant knew better than to get involved, though Adam noted he’d gone a bit green at the sight of the shopkeeper.
“There was a time I would’ve been surprised you’d ever been made a marshal,” Adam said, the words tasting like ash even as he straightened his spine, literally and figuratively. “Mersa, in accordance with marshal code of conduct thirty one, I find you guilty. As such, you shall have the requisite punishment administered. Lieutenant, please note that I shall perform the duty personally.”
“Noted, sir.”
“The heck is marshal code of conduct thirty-one?” Mersa asked, glancing at the dying shopkeeper.
“In the call of service, while not putting oneself at risk, no civilian shall meet harm as a direct result of a marshal’s actions.”
“Well, there you have it then. He was putting me at risk, helping a criminal and all,” Mersa had said, giving Adam a gap toothed smile.
Adam had nearly lost his temper, the man close to sporting a new gap. Except that wasn’t the law. And the law would get its satisfaction.
His lieutenant’s voice brought Adam back to the present. They’d found signs that the same pleasure wheeler that had been there before was in dock. And even word of a man who might be the skyfaller they were looking for.
There hadn’t been any witnesses who’d been willing to attest to the skyfaller and Hunter boarding the pleasure wheeler, but Adam partially attributed that to Mersa’s actions.
Even if the shopkeeper hadn’t been well liked, Mersa had killed one of their own.
From what Adam had learned in the wake of the death, the shopkeeper have been beloved.
Despite stringing Mersa up outside town, the man had cost them any chance of getting reliable intel. And it wasn’t like the Investigator Imperialatis would be sharing. They only used the marshals as a blunt instrument.
With so many marshals hewing closer to Mersa’s form these days, Adam found himself unable to blame them.
Which is why, when the shot hit his man, Adam started shouting them down. They didn’t like it. He saw that immediately. First Mersa, now this.
Yet the offending man was already bleeding out on the sand below.
Adam’s attention fell on the blond woman standing across from him, hand still on her revolver. A duel, legally dubious in the city, but between the dueling circle and the laws of the Infinite, entirely within bounds.
The law got a lot harder to track, along the Infinite.
“You there, have you seen this man?” he called, tossing her a bounty page. He’d recognized the distinctive duster as belonging to a hunter of six-oh-six immediately. Maybe she’d already solved his problem for him. It wasn’t unheard of for duelists to take a hunter’s duster as a prize. A lot of hunters underestimated mortals.
Her eyes flickered across the page, before raising her hands in a two-fingered salute, “Take your warrants and shove them, bluecloak!”
Adam didn’t bother correcting the woman. He’d shown her a poster, not a warrant.
Still, he moved to the well dressed man in a suit next, clearly an employee of the pleasure wheeler. After giving the man a copy of the poster and confirming that, no, the brewer would’ve remembered a man with a nose like that, Adam made his way back to his elkheart.
He froze as he was about to mount, a chill passing down his spine. For a second, it had felt as though his death was upon him.
He’d only felt such a couple times before, and soon after he’d been beset by powerful warp demons. Sweeping his gaze around the square, Adam searched for the source of his unease.
Except it had vanished nearly as fast as it had appeared.
That hadn’t happened before. Normally the presence lasted until the beast was killed.
“Lieutenant,” Adam called, getting the smaller man to shift closer. “Have the men prepare the silver lanterns.”
“The lanterns, sir? Aren’t we on a manhunt?”
“We are. But I think we can spare an hour to ensure these good people are safe from demons, don’t you?”
“Of course sir,” the lieutenant said, moving off to give orders to the others.
It was well received, since most of these marshals were used to serving in Vaskerville where silver lamplight never turned up wild demons.
Adam’s gaze drifted up the bleached wooden front of the beachside hotel, a shudder passing down his spine as his gaze reached the roofline.
Hopefully they wouldn’t learn about the demons that lurked outside the light.
…Isekai-eh…
Metsa was pissed. No. That would’ve been too mild a word.
Metsa was ready to shove a cluster of warp-enhanced grenades up someone’s ass, pull them out their throat, and then use the entire mess to ruin the Empire’s day.
It’d only be fair.
“It is just a building. We are more than our possessions,” Sotas said, hand on Metsa’s shoulder.
“It was our home. For nearly a hundred years. And they blew it up to… I don’t even know why,” Metsa said, waving her arm in the direction of the crumpled Hunter’s Hall.
“The reason, I think, we know better than most,” Sotas said, squeezing her shoulder lightly.
“Doesn’t mean this is right,” Metsa said, staring at the ruins of the hunter’s market, trying to think of how many had died because of her choice to train the skyfaller instead of kicking him out on his ass.
“This thing, it is very far from right,” Sotas said, nodding his agreement. “The Empire, it acts, but does not think.”
“This is the thanks we get for restoring part of Vaskerville,” Metsa said, turning back to climb aboard Cella. “Of course they waited until we were out of town to tear us a new one.”
Sotas’ hand on her leg stopped her from climbing into the buggy, making her turn to face him. “This thing. It is not our fault. We have made the world better. We must remember this or else we may again fall into passivity.”
“Better than none,” Metsa muttered rubbing at her nose, glancing back towards the rubble. “How many do you think…”
“Many survived, I think. Or there would still be those searching,” Sotas said, voice heavy. “But not all.”
“Right. We should find Gerty, see what she knows,” Metsa said, shifting towards the cab. This time, Sotas didn’t stop her, climbing on the back instead.
Didn’t take long for her to learn it hadn’t just been the Hunter’s Hall that had been hit. It had taken the worst of the damage, yes but hardly the only place the marshals had struck. The Down ‘n Dirty had been seized, though they’d gotten it back. Her warehouse had been quarantined, as had two of their safehouses.
The marshals hadn’t even tried to hide the fact they were targeting her. Trying to get her to come out of hiding.
“You get that brat out of the city, at least?” Gerty asked after giving Metsa the news.
The old hunter was set up in the corner of the Down ‘n Dirty, where most of the hunters had been operating out of since the hall had been hit.
“Yeah. Whether she’s still safe… well, didn’t know they were gonna escalate this quickly,” Metsa said, staring out across the city, unable to keep from noting the lack of one particular building.
“Strange times, Huntress Carnaga, very strange,” Gerty said, shifting to stab a piece of paper with one of her thin steel prosthetics, bringing it closer.
Metsa took the paper. The marshals wanted to meet, and they’d even sent demands and a meeting spot.
“Well, hardly able to say no, after all they’ve done to make me feel welcome, can I?” Metsa asked, looking up to meet Gerty’s flinty grin.
The meeting happened the next morning, with the Eye just starting to open, warmth spreading across the city.
The marshals came with over a hundred men, on a street that was otherwise vacant, half of them riding up to block the street behind her and Sotas.
Metsa didn’t recognize the man who stepped forward, though his face was familiar. One of the dozens of Boltoms who’d only got their position due to nepotism.
All of the marshals standing there were the same. Good. Made what came next simpler.
“And there she is. The noble Huntress Carnaga,” the man said, stepping forward. “You have the honor of being brought to justice by-”
“Made a mistake, coming here, doing this,” Metsa interrupted from her position just in front of Cella.
“You crossed the Boltom family. A message had to be sent. Those who-”
“Don’t know who’s in charge of your family these days, but pretty sure that if you survived to make it back to them, they’d tell you, you fucked up. You fucked all the way up,” Metsa said, crossing her arms as she met the man’s glare.
“I don’t have to take this shit from a hunter who’s past her prime,” the man snapped, waving a hand at the men behind him. “You’re ancient history.”
At the men who’d been behind him.
“Funny thing about the warp, and being a longtime hunter. Over time, you pick up tricks, little things, like being able to block prey from noticing when they’re being hunted,” Metsa said, stepping towards the man.
He didn’t respond, jaw hanging open as he took in what was left of his marshals. Not much.
She stepped forward, grabbing the stunned man and bringing him to the ground, knowing getting answers out of him was going to be a challenge. One that Gerty would deal with.
With him secured, her gaze flicked to the remnants of the Hunter’s reprisal.
Bits and pieces were all that remained of the marshals who’d attacked the Hunters. Marshals who wouldn’t be attacking anyone ever again.
It meant war, Metsa knew.
So did the Hunters who were cheering from above, celebrating their revenge. The difference was, Metsa knew what war meant.
She prayed these kids never found out.