known each other too long. Aren’t I the father you should have had? Haven’t I always treated you as a son?”
“You have.” And that had been enough for a long time. Bakar had been the one person he’d been able to rely on. Only now it wasn’t enough. Restless thoughts kept him awake at nights, wondering if the rest of his life was going to be like this – all mapped out, no surprises.
“Well then! Now, you’re chafing in that office, and I know it. It was necessary, I’m afraid, given who you are and who your father was. Equality sadly doesn’t take into account politics, and memories linger. More’s the pity. For a long time it was all I could do just to keep you in the office and not have you turfed out. But now I have something more challenging for you. And perhaps a way to exorcise some of those ghosts I know still haunt you.”
Petri said nothing – from long habit he now spoke little and thought more. It was safer that way, in among the rest of the clerks, who sneered at his accent and laughed at him. He’d borne it because he knew why, because Bakar had taught him that these people had had nothing before because of men like him, and they were long on forgetting it. He’d borne it but lately found he didn’t want to any more.
“Eneko,” Bakar said, and Petri sat up straight. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. He’s always been a slippery bastard. After I took power he behaved himself for a time, but for a while now I’ve been sure he’s slipping back into his old ways. Slaves, money, power, but it all starts with the slaves. Who he sells them to I don’t know, though it’s possible some are going to Ikaras, and that makes me very suspicious. I’m almost sure he’s doing it. Not to mention a few people have, over the years, how shall I put this? Turned up dead, and not by natural causes either, unless you count a cut throat as natural. More lately not just slavers either. Last week one man who’d spoken out against the guild was found dead, and I think we can safely say he didn’t stab himself accidentally in his sleep. A few others have died, mostly my supporters, tradesmen I rely on, people who follow my lead within the council or are otherwise important to me. No one too obvious as yet, and the deaths often look like something else, accidents or random thievery gone wrong. But I see a pattern here, a slow and subtle one, killing my support. And here’s Eneko with a guild of men and women trained in fighting, and killing when they need to, and a grudge against me besides. I want to find out if it’s true, and if so which of them is doing the blood work. And who better than you?”
Petri could think of any number, but Bakar barely paused for breath.
“You know many of the men and women who are now masters, or you did. I know you watch them spar on the bridge sometimes, and even join in – no, don’t deny it. I never minded because you’re your own man and I know I have your loyalty. But you’re a face they know, perhaps trust. Eneko never told what happened to you that day, why you left. He swore the masters in attendance to secrecy. All the rest know is that sometimes you come back for a visit. I want you to visit again, and I want you to use your ears and listen. Find out what Eneko is up to and which of the masters are helping him. Wriggle your way into the guild if you can. Find out what his purpose is. I need proof, Petri, so I can string the bastard up, finally get rid of the guild for good.”
Petri hesitated, but in the end he had little choice but to agree. He hesitated because his trips back to that greensward were always bittersweet. He watched the unofficial sparring, the banter, the familiarity, with something that approached jealousy. That could have been his if not for his father, if not for Eneko. If not for Bakar.
Which was how Petri found himself back sparring with Kacha. She had a way with a blade that was elegant and simple but devastating, but it wasn’t that which had him