The Old City

0.19: The Treehouse Part 3

Later that day...

"This is the Treehouse," Angelica explained. "It is the safest place in the First Ring."

The energy of the place was electric, unlike anything Seneca had ever felt. It made the hair on his arms stand on end and make his neck break out into sweat. He blinked and saw a world of dense magic. These were old charms, forged of techniques long lost to time, and they were more powerful for it. So many layers built upon one another that he couldn't tell where the spell began or if it ended.

He turned to look at the fire escape and saw the magic extend downward. This is how it remained hidden...

"How did you find this place?" he pondered aloud.

"I remembered it. Sixteen years ago I met this old man who showed it to me. He never told me his name, and I never saw him again. He told me to use this place if I were in danger and that no one could find me here. Now I share it with you. I looked inside earlier – it hasn't been touched in sixteen years. Actually, there isn't even any dust. The place just seems frozen in time."

Seneca was still crouched over the roof, peering down at the city below and puckering his lips. "It feels insulated from the city. Even the air tastes different. It's less salty and far denser in magic, though Soran is already littered with energy. Even when I was in the army, I never saw a place like this. Nobody has protection charms like this. It barely qualifies as magic, it's almost a living spell...

"Angelica, you forgot the Treehouse existed. Are you sure we will be able to return here?"

"It feels different this time, like the Treehouse knows we need someplace to hide. That must be why the ghost led me here. It also showed me you need two things to find the Treehouse: you need to follow a very specific path, and you need to know it exists. I only found this place the first time because I followed that man, like you both followed me. We all trusted the path, even if we didn't know exactly where it would lead. The person we followed knew and opened the door for us."

"You're sayin' even if someone tried to follow us, they couldn't find this place if we hadn't told them about it?" Marcus asked. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't be the safest place in Soran if you could find it so easily."

"It must be stricter than that," Seneca reasoned. "You need intentionality too. Even if someone knew of the Treehouse and followed us through the entire path knowin' that we would return here, I don't think they could find it. People took great care to show us the path and invite us in. That is a basic principle of safe houses. I am certain this one requires an invitation as well."

His mind raced, tinkering through the possibilities these protection spells provided. Deception, confusion, misdirection, entrapment.

"This is not only a safe place," he realized. "It's a secret weapon. If someone tried to follow us, at some point we must just disappear, and they would have no idea where we had gone. It also means we must reappear at different points when we leave the Treehouse, lest the location be discerned as we depart. Angelica, I think this really is the safest place in the First Ring. It is almost an unbelievable resource...

"Also, did you say ghost? What ghost?"

"That's how I remembered the path. This blue specter appeared out of the mist last night and led me back here. I don't know how or why. It couldn't have been that old man, right? He was surely in his seventies or eighties back then..."

"It sounds like a spell," Marcus offered. "Someone wanted you to find this place again - perhaps it was the same old man, but I doubt it was his ghost. Ghosts don't exist."

Seneca rose and gave Marcus a stare of uncertainty before turning to Angelica. "It probably was a spell, and it probably was the same old man, since he is the only other person who knows about this place – as far as we are aware. I wonder why he chose this moment and why he is not showin' his face even after he's intervened, but we can answer these questions later. For now, we should rest inside, make sure the Treehouse is well-stocked, and come up with a plan. I for one do not have any good ideas for dealin' with the targets on our backs."

***

The Grand Bazaar

Two women sat at the southern tables of the Grand Bazaar, sharing a plate of tetaret. They looked at every person who passed by, comparing their face and gait and mannerisms to those of their targets. Two Enforcers patrolled nearby but as soon as they saw these two, they turned to patrol elsewhere.

"We should move," said Relia. Down her right cheek ran a scar so deep you wondered how she survived the original blow. Her yellow eyes were piercing, perceiving everything that crossed her path. Even sitting, she seemed like a mountain, larger than many men who walked by. A five-foot ax was strapped to her back at an angle, with wicked edges on both sides. "They won't come here if they have any sense."

Her companion Garam, a slender woman with a wide face, took another bite of the tetaret. She carried a long bow that now rested against the table, and did not look up, though she possessed the same yellow eyes. "They attacked Granada and our men. They lack sense."

Relia pulled the plate closer and ripped off a piece of the fish's flesh, dunking it in the sweet black sauce. "They're veterans. Most of them found menial labor after the war. We should search the docks and that construction site near the East Gate. They could eat anywhere, but they must go back to work eventually."

Garam nodded. "Let's go. Get two more fish to go."

***

An eagle circled high overhead, watching everything on the surface. It caught an updraft south and shifted its focus from the Grand Bazaar to the docks. This bird had never failed to find its prey.