2. Cain
2
CAIN
Cain had just stepped into the alley that would take him home when the blue light of the streetlamp behind him blinked once before going out completely. A gust of winter cold rustled his old tan coat. The ghost-like shadows that haunted the buildings melted into the dark, and now the only light came from a smattering of candles in the windows above the alley.
The Power generator in this run-down part of the Imperial Capital was low-grade, and old at that, so simply covering the fuses with a thin lead panel could disrupt the lamps for a while. A method commonly used by muggers, but no mugger or thief in this vicinity would dare make a mark of Cain.
Someone must want to talk to him. Perhaps it had something to do with Fienna. Maybe it was going to be violent. Cain pinched a leg of his spectacles but decided against stashing them in their steel case. Whatever was going to happen, he couldn’t afford to miss any details.
In the alley ahead, a man appeared, his face hidden by the hood of a black cloak. Another person materialized from the shadows at Cain’s right, from the main street he’d just turned off of, and he could hear muffled footsteps farther down the alley from approaching figures he couldn’t yet see.
Cain had a concealed dagger in the inner pocket of his coat, his hand unconsciously creeping toward it, but he paused—he could make out at least five shrouded figures blocking his exit from all angles now. This was not a situation he could get out of by force.
“Cain?” an unfamiliar voice asked. “Cain, of the oil shop?”
Cain turned to face the speaker. A tall woman with short hair stood at the entrance of the alley. No weapons were visible on her person, but the iron in her voice and stance made it clear she’d once served in the legions. And like any ex-legionary, she was bound to be carrying at least one weapon, or to even be wearing armor under her coat.
Cain delayed answering as he glanced at the walls of the alley, noting how smooth they were despite their grime, with nary a handhold to aid his escape. He turned his head back down the alley where a man had come to a stop just six or seven steps away, face still in shadow. Not even his nose or mouth was discernible by the light of the stars and the weak candlelight.
“And who wishes to know?” Cain finally answered, wondering if talking could buy him the time he would need.
“You’ve been asking after that woman all day.” This was spoken by the man nearest to him in the alley, behind whom now stood two more hooded figures.
“What woman?”
Cain knew perfectly well the answer to this question—he’d spent hours inquiring after Fienna, inquiring about her death. And he’d realized, from the moment the streetlamp had blinked off, why these people were after him. He needed time.
He made as if to backtrack but heard quick footsteps behind him. Five of them, including the ex-legionary, just as he had suspected. No way to fight his way out and no escape.
“The woman pulled from the river today, the one named Fienna.”
How polite of them to keep the conversation going. Their accents were not of the Imperial Capital but oddly similar to Arland’s. Ledon? Kamori? Eshen? Cain’s mind went down the list of provinces and the accents he knew from each of them.
“What river?”
“Is there any other river near but the Apathos? There’s no use feigning ignorance.”
The extended hiss in the s of Apathos betrayed their Kamori origins. Cain was from their neighboring country of Arland, and Fienna had also been an Arlander. It mattered to the people who moved to the Capital which province they came from. Not that anyone in power here could find Arland or Kamori on a map of the Empire.
“I have no idea who that is. I just sell olive oil.” This time, Cain let his voice tremble as if he were afraid.
“You went to the dye shop where she worked and asked all sorts of questions about her. We know you’re also the one who went to the patrollers.”
Cain had been to ten places today, but these were the only two the man mentioned. Did that mean something?
“I was asking after the new awning at the dye shop. And reporting a thief to the patrollers.”
“Lies. We know you examined the body at the patrollers’ station.”
The man didn’t note the three cobblers Cain had also visited, because of the new stitching he’d seen on Fienna’s shoes. If they didn’t know that, they hadn’t been following him all day.
Cain made a mental note to return to the dye shop and the patrollers if he survived this encounter. Come to think of it, Fienna had once told him the dye shop owner had regularly accompanied a great merchant, one with a monopoly license, to both Kamori and Arland, before she had her own shop. That might have something to do with all of this.
Fienna had not shown up at the tea shop, their usual meeting place, the night before. And this morning, her body had been fished out of the river by a ferryman’s pole.
When they’d last spoken, Fienna had said there was something important she needed to tell him. Everything seemed important to Fienna—it was just one of many things he loved about his friend—but this time, instead of the usual excitement in her voice whenever she related news from their homeland, her tone had been one of fear. Whatever she had wanted to speak with him about, Cain thought, it had led to her death. He had to find out what it was. Which meant he needed to take advantage of the situation he found himself in now.
“Answer us, imbecile!”
That was another odd thing—the lack of strong curses in their words. Local thugs would have been swearing with gusto in one language or another. Aside from the slight Kamori accents and the mild threats, their Imperial was practically genteel. The silence of the remaining four was also beginning to bother him.
The man walked forward menacingly. Cain took a couple of steps back. It was going to be violent, after all. Cain took off his spectacles and quickly slipped them into their case. The candlelights in the windowsills seemed to flicker in his hazy vision.
“But I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cain said, adopting a whining tone.
“You should’ve stuck to selling oil.” The first man strode toward him and drew back his left fist, as if announcing to the world that he was about to take a swing at Cain. He’d stepped close enough to reveal his face, visible even to Cain’s unaided vision, but the man’s nose and mouth were covered by cloth. Was this someone Cain knew? Was that why he had covered his face? But Cain wasn’t acquainted with anyone from Kamori. And no one who knew Cain would try to intimidate him with such lack of finesse.
The fist came flying and Cain didn’t try to duck. The darkness became darker. Cain spun from the force and fell to the ground as the others rushed toward him, their footsteps ringing in the quiet alley, one of their boots catching his eye. Cain, under the pretense of putting up a fight, grabbed at the hem of one of their trousers. A sleek and thin fabric. He tried to tear it but despite its lightness, it held strong. There was only one kind of fabric Cain knew that had this quality.
One of the boots connected with his spine. He involuntarily screamed in pain and arched his back, but curled quickly back into the fetal position, protecting the case that contained his spectacles.
The blows continued. The well-placed kick had apparently been a bit of blind luck, as the subsequent ones only hit the top half of his back and his forearms, which he held up as offerings to protect his stomach and chest. These assailants were not, evidently, used to violence. And the soldier from before? She was watching the beating unfold with her arms crossed, her sharp gaze shifting from the alley entrance to Cain and back again.
He’d known they had no intention of killing him. If they had, the soldier would have dispensed with the interrogation and instead let the sword she had discreetly fastened beneath her coat speak for her. But whatever their intentions, even fools might eventually land a kick to the back of his head that could accidentally kill him.
As the beating got rougher, Cain carefully but firmly bit the inside of his cheek and coughed dramatically, spitting blood onto the alley floor.
The first man, startled, took a step back.
“Wait, wait! Stop, stop it now.”
There was fear in his voice. The others stopped kicking Cain and looked at one another. The legionary woman walked calmly to Cain and prodded him with her foot; Cain hoped he seemed badly injured but not fatally so, but the woman saved him the trouble of further acting.
“He’s fine. It takes more to kill a man than that.”
The man with the soft trousers mopped his brow with his hand.
“If you keep going around making trouble,” he said to Cain, “we’ll kill you in your sleep.”
The five of them left Cain sprawled on the ground and disappeared down the alley. It was quiet now, almost like they’d never been there at all. A bit delirious, Cain laughed, but it came out in a real cough.
Lying there, he wondered. There weren’t many Kamori in the Imperial Capital. Certainly not many who could afford to wear Cassian velvet. This neighborhood was full of shadowy figures who wouldn’t hesitate to commit worse things than murder for a small price. But the fact that instead such tender-palms should cross paths with him gave him pause.
He rolled to his back and heard a window slam shut above him. Just as he noted it was the one on the third floor to the left, the candle in it went out too. Briefly, he considered coming back the next night to ask them what they had seen.
As he rose from the ground Cain touched his jaw where the first punch had landed. The raw wound was wet, and it stung. If he was lucky, there could be an impression of the ring the man had worn. The streetlamp’s blue light came back with a flicker, restoring the long, ghost-like shadows to their proper places on the alley walls.
Cain took the steel case from his inner pocket and put his spectacles back on.