1 New terms and conditions, same （part time） Void smuggler
“Open up, you shit-faced little ice weasel!” Fi rammed her shoulder against the door.
“Get fucked, Fi!” came a muffled protest from the other side.
She had little space to work in the cramped hotel hallway.
Hypothetically, it wouldn’t be hard to slice the door hinges off with an energy sword—but no, boring people kept telling her that shouldn’t be her first approach to every problem.
A few doors down, an eavesdropper poked a head out at the commotion.
A feral grin from Fi sent them fleeing back into their room.
She slammed her palm to the copper door handle. Energy warmed her muscles, the fuel of living tissue. She harnessed a current out of her bicep, Shaping the prickly magic into a silver glow at her fingers, her body’s energy condensed into physical form.
A shove of magic into the lock clicked it open. Fi rammed the door again.
It didn’t budge, blockaded from the inside.
Void smugglers were, without question, the absolute worst. Fi felt reasonably qualified to make that character judgment.
Sure, she hadn’t run any illicit goods for a year.
And sure, as the new partner of an immortal territory lord, she had a “public obligation” to act “respectable” at least half the time.
That didn’t stop her from cussing into the door jamb.
Inside the room, a window groaned open. Then, the thud of a no-good coward smuggler hauling himself over the sill.
“Fucker,” Fi spat.
She sprinted down the hall. Her boots pounded starburst carpet, copper energy conduits glinting geometric patterns up the walls to feed the light fixtures overhead. In the lobby, the owner rose from his desk, a startled look as Fi careened past.
“Miss Kolbeck? I found the key to the room you were asking about—”
“No longer needed, thank you.”
She burst out the door, the cold air of the Winter Plane sharp in her lungs, snow-dusted cobblestones underfoot. Salt stained the breeze. Sleek-winged seabirds chanted overhead, circling the harbors of Calvariz, the largest port city in Antal Territory.
Fi whistled.
Her only reply was the cackle of a gull perched on a post.
Not insignificantly perturbed by the empty street, she crossed the avenue and skidded to a halt at the metal railing atop a quay wall, boots digging trenches through shoveled slush. Below, harbor water roiled black and cold.
“Aisinay!”
Ghostly silver rippled beneath the water. A scaled horse head breached the surface, finned ears raised, milky-blind eyes pointing in Fi’s general direction. Aisinay paddled, remnants of fish scales in her fangs as she snorted a contented nose full of salt water.
Fi ran the mental calculations of how long it would take to get her Void horse out of the water. An added consideration for the logistics of riding said very wet Void horse.
“Ugh. Never mind! I’ll be back!”
She ran after the fleeing smuggler.
Calvariz sounded like a harbor city, a din of voices from waterside markets and warehouses, the creak of sailing ships roped to piers.
It smelled like a harbor city, like fresh fish and fried fish and salt coating old cobblestone.
Fi crossed over trolley tracks then banked down a staircase to the main waterfront, aiming to cut off her quarry.
True to her new aspirations of decency, Fi wore respectable clothes today: calf-high leather boots, riding pants in black and maroon. Her coat was Void black, crimson decorating the sleeves, a mix of embroidery and polished stone as bright as blood spatter.
Red as daeyari energy. Fi was still settling into the color, the badge of her new office.
Respectable attire wasn’t made for sprinting after smugglers.
The tailored jacket cramped her arms as she ran, the boots too slick on pavement. Her hair tangled in the ocean breeze, Void-black roots flaring into pastel rainbow.
The vibrant attire made her look like a force to steer clear of, at least. People vacated her path, shrinking into alcoves of clothing shops and heated restaurant patios, though the crowd grew denser as she neared the harborside transit terminal.
Fi shoved her way inside. Dark granite tile rumbled beneath footsteps.
Bronze struts hoisted a domed-glass ceiling, casting the atrium in strained Winter sunlight.
Fi skipped the line and vaulted over the ticket checkpoint. A trade warden in a dark blue uniform protested, “Wait, you can’t—”
“Official territory business!” Fi shouted back.
No one else tried to stop her. Shit in the Void, if she’d known claiming to be a territory official was so easy, she’d have had fewer close calls with law enforcement in the past.
Several platforms ran along train tracks, copper-plated signs lit up with Winter Plane destinations of Runeyska, Thomaskweld, Sunip.
On another platform, a line of translucent Curtains hung in the air, thin spots in reality.
Curtains were doors to step off this Plane, onto a Shard.
Shards were a path to other Planes, smaller fragments of reality, stepping stones between worlds.
Since most humans couldn’t see Curtains, stone arches framed each doorway, a city-employed Voidwalker guiding travelers through to the station on the other side, more trains heading to the Planes of Summer, Spring, Autumn.
A dumb, panicking smuggler would flee through one of those public Curtains.
A smart smuggler would slip through the less busy Curtains in the cargo terminal.
The world quieted as Fi rounded a back hallway. She slipped into the shipping warehouse, slowing to survey every aisle, containers of metal and energy capsules exporting out of Winter, imports of Summer Plane melons, Autumn hardwood, fresh Spring alfalfa…
A flash of movement alerted her. She tackled the figure slinking along the wall.
“Void-damned cock-sucking son of bitch—”
The smuggler hit the floor in a flurry of curses. He was lean-built, dark-skinned, beard groomed short and locks tied into a tail. His wool coat had an interior lining of silk-light, steel-tough silviamesh armor. Exquisite quality. Someone was doing well for himself.
He tried, unsuccessfully, to flail free.
Fi dragged him into the privacy of the nearest room—an empty customs office, which she found at least mildly ironic.
Only once she had him cornered did he finally draw a weapon.
A metal dagger hilt flashed in his hand, then a spark of silver, human energy Shaped to form a glowing blade.
Cute.
Fi finally grabbed the sword hilt from her belt. This time, she didn’t draw energy from her own muscles. Her palm closed on a glass capsule in her pocket. The current inside was frigid as the Void, hot as flame, writhing at her touch.
Pulling energy from the storage capsule, Fi Shaped a sword blade onto the hilt. All human energy glowed silver, but her weapon flared crimson—a gift of immortal daeyari magic. The smuggler’s eyes shot wide, his dagger slack. That never got old.
“Hello, Clarence,” Fi greeted cheerfully. “How have you been?”
“Fuck off, Kolbeck.”
“Would you care to sit down?”
“I’d rather not.”
“I’d rather you did.”
After an obstinate pause, during which Clarence considered the glowing red blade pointed at his head, he dropped into a chair, a loud “hmph” saying exactly what he thought about it.
Well, look at that, energy swords did solve some problems. Fi sat as well, legs crossed at the knee.
She was even kind enough to extinguish her weapon.
“It’s been ages, Clarence.” She grinned, wolfish. “What a delight, running into you.”
He studied her with dark, clever eyes. His hairline hid a dent in his temple, an old fracture where a horse had kicked him. He’d only died briefly. Like Fi, when she’d nearly drowned in a river as a child. Brushed by death, returned to life with the ability to see rips between realities.
“What do you want, Fi?”
He was bluffing. He knew what she wanted. Void smugglers talked like gossiping schoolgirls. Clarence would have heard she’d spent the past year tracking down her former competitors across Antal Territory—the good ones, at least. Ones she could make use of.
He’d only play dumb long enough to hear her terms.
“I’m here to acknowledge your spectacular achievements in the field of illicit goods transportation,” Fi said magnanimously. “And to offer you a job.”
Clarence, unmoved by her showmanship, stayed deadpan. “A job?”
“Of course you’ve heard, Antal Territory is under new management.”
“It’s the same daeyari.”
“With new policies.”
“Sure.”
“No more live human sacrifices. More equitable treatment of mortal citizens.”
“Sure.”
“To make that happen, we need resources. Manpower. People like you.”
“People like me?” He laughed. “You’ve lost your Void-damned mind, Kolbeck.”
“To the contrary, Clarence. I think I’m offering an excellent deal.”
“A job for a daeyari?” He leaned forward, arms braced on his knees, voice low. “So I can be a sellout like you?”
Fi sat a little stiffer. Her smile never faltered, lips curved in a slash of dark lipstick, poise worn like armor—but damn if he didn’t know how to cut to the point.
“Whatever do you mean, Clarence?”
“You’re right, we haven’t talked in a while—not since you gave up smuggling to become the Lord Daeyari’s loyal human Arbiter.”
“My smuggling services are temporarily on hold, thank you.” Fi held up an irate finger. “And I’m not his Arbiter. Well, he did offer me the position. I turned it down. A girl needs standards.”
“Since when do you have standards?”
“Hurtful, Clarence.”
Fi’s grin flashed teeth. She, too, could spit farther than she’d trust one of the daeyari’s kiss-ass Arbiters, and she recognized the muddy optics of any human advocating for a beast who’d devoured their kind for centuries. Which meant this negotiation had to establish—
“I’m no servant to the daeyari,” Fi said. “You won’t be, either. Think of it more like a… valued colleague.”
“Colleague.” He huffed. “Until I get eaten?”