The Mechanical Crown

Predators

"What's this all about, Stamper?"

Stamper growled quietly under his breath. "We've got eyes on us, Wide Riley," he said. "I don't know who. Might be multiple groups."

"Beautraire's lot?"

"Already finished them." Issuing a hand signal, Stamper led them all away from the water and back towards the better lit streets, towards the tavern. "It's someone else. Might be city guard. Might be King's Eyes. We should keep our eyes peeled."

Tarn could see that Wide Riley was worried, as his eyes darted back and forth, scanning doorways and rooftops and side streets. The whole group was on high alert, moving in a tight, organised formation through the streets.

"Can I help?" Tarn asked.

"You keep quiet," Wide Riley said. "And this had better not be because of you, or Stamper'll have my guts for garters."

Now just a single street away, the agents of the King's Eyes walked the streets, similarly alert, watching for signs of anything out of the ordinary - although in the theatre district, defining ordinary in the first place could be something of a challenge. On a makeshift stage to one side of the street performed a company of dancers and actors, none of whom were equipped with a full set of limbs.

"I'd forgotten what it was like down here," Roldan said quietly.

"It keeps it contained," Pienya said. "The theatre district is the blight that allows the rest of Treydolain to flourish. We manage it."

"You should get out of the city more," Roldan said, pulling a flask from a pocket and taking a warm sip. "When you're surrounded by this everyday you can forget that it's not all the world." He waved a hand, gesturing at their surroundings. "It doesn't have to be like this."

"Then what is the alternative? Quaint farms and dirty mines? Working the land from dawn until dusk? That is not progress. We may as well go back to living in caves."

Roldan smiled and said nothing. He would be back on an airship before the week was finished, sailing away from this pit of humanity. He felt almost guilty for bringing Tranton to this place, and abandoning him to the whims of kings and nobles. He imagined walking up the gangplank into the airship cabin, casting off the ropes and making for the sky.

Roldan nodded towards a group emerging from a sidestreet nearby. "Have you noticed the groups on patrol? There's a shift going on in the district. The gangs are moving."

Pienya nodded. "In the poor district, too. Beautraire's death triggered a power shift."

"And you still think the prisoner killed him?"

"The reports suggest that," Pienya said, shrugging noncommittally. "The description matches the boy that emerged from the sewers."

"And it's said that he was taken away by one of the Stagehands?"

"That's correct."

Another group, dressed differently with clear anvil symbols tattooed on their necks, emerged briefly from an alleyway before vanishing again. Roldan sensed a presence overhead, on the rooftops, and caught a glimpse of a foot and a flicker of cloth as it vanished into the night.

Roldan rolled his shoulders and rocked his neck from side to side, stretching the old muscles. "If the Stagehands have the boy, then everyone else will think they arranged the hit on Beautraire. His allies will be wanting a piece of them."

"Not just them," Pienya continued. "We've already had reports of the Stagehands showing up where they've not been seen before. They're using this as an expansion grab."

"Which would put their base at the centre of all this," Roldan said, sighing. "Not to mention any other factions that are hunting for the boy."

"It's messy," Pienya observed.

"That's what happens when you keep dirty secrets buried for too long."

Pienya raised her eyebrows. "How much do you know, Stryke?"

He smiled grimly, well aware that this young girl kept closer counsel with the queen than he'd ever had with Fenris. "I've been doing this too many years to not pick up a few rumours. I don't know the specifics, but I know enough to piece together a pretty ugly picture."

"Perhaps they'll all just kill each other, and the boy," Pienya mused. "That would solve all our problems."

"Or one of them will grab the boy, he'll talk, and that'll be that," Roldan said, shaking his head. "We don't have much time, regardless. By the amount of traffic on the streets I'd say this is all going down tonight."

"Damn it." Pienya paused, and put a hand on Roldan's arm. "We can't do this alone," she said. "There are even more elements at play than I'd realised, and it's all happening sooner than I'd expected."

Shifting the cloak once again, Roldan instinctively felt for his weapons, concealed beneath. This wasn't an area of the city he'd care to visit unprepared. He never understood how people could dare to come here simply to pay for their wilder excesses; but then he'd never been one to indulge. Not for a long while, at least.

"Go fetch your troops," he said, "they're only stationed one district back. I'll carry on, see if I can get into The Round. I've been there once before."

Pienya looked even more surprised. "You don't strike me as the type."

"It was a long time ago."

She departed, heading back towards the river. Roldan flexed his shoulders once more, feeling the crack of vertebrae as the joints popped, then adopted his most relaxed-looking stroll and advanced on the headquarters of the Stagehands. Around him, on the rooftops and in the alleyways and in tunnels below the streets, other factions began their accidentally coordinated plans, all tightening the noose around the would-be future rulers of the theatre district.