The Way of Caine ,The Warcaster Chronicl - By Miles Holmes Page 0,38

head slowly. The cadence of his words, delivered in a thick Llaelese accent, sounded ugly to Caine. The man wasn’t pretty to look at either. A sardonic smile split his face wide as he gripped a tankard of ale. His teeth were crooked, and painted with whatever he’d eaten for dinner. He dragged his tongue across them, before taking a sip of the brew.

Caine got the better of his temper. He tensed his jaw, keeping his mouth shut over the flippant remark. The fact that this informant had not yet given him any intelligence may have been a factor. From his seat in the cramped tavern, he took a sip of his own drink.

While it was safe to say he had taken an instant dislike to the vile man before him, moreover, he was just pissed off. The vagrant’s cloak he’d covered up in smelled like a sewer and his boots still sloshed from the swim. The arcantrik generator in the back of his armor had gotten waterlogged and failed twice on the way here. These things were, of course, minor. The disaster of the night before had left blood on his hands and lingering consequences. Even that was not the whole of it, he knew.

Then there was the thing with Ace.

He couldn’t shake the warjacks bizarre act of loyalty, nor the feeling it had set in his gut. In a word, guilt. But … over a warjack? He took a breath. There was more to it than that. He’d never lost one before. The link in his head was gone, and it felt … awful. In a strange sort of way, Ace now felt like a hole in his jaw where a tooth had been. Except now he couldn’t stop putting his tongue in the spot, and each time he did, the nerve flared red hot at him.

“Getting to you has … not been easy.” He admitted with difficulty across the table.

The informant insouciantly probed his mouth with a toothpick. “Rynnard has seen fit to put us in martial law for the last few months. Not that they call it that, no! It has been a chafe, sure.”

Caine stared at him.

“So what do you have for me?”

Kreel sucked in through his teeth, and then looked around in a conspiratorial manner.

“Well he’s still here. That’s your luck. He leaves town tomorrow, ‘on king’s business.’ Tonight? Different story. Big shipment of gold into Cygnar. Or so a little peek at his ledger says. With twice as much protection as usual.”

Caine sniffed. Fine, he thought. I could use a good fight right now. “What exactly am I looking at?”

“I don’t know. He’s had McCoy on retainer for the past two months. Trollkin. Bouncer at glitzy gambling house, north district. He freelances for Thaddeus on the side. Bulletproof, as I hear it said. Can’t be killed, and those that try are all in the dirt now. He got a new guy too. I don’t know him. Not local. A sniper ace, what I hear. Goes by Zeke.”

Caine pulled his chin. “Where is this happening?”

Kreel slipped him a scrap of paper with an address scrawled.

“West side. Cannery district. Be careful. This is as big as it gets. Maybe he intends to finish this thing with your nobles now?”

Caine turned on that point. “And just what do you actually know about this ‘thing’?”

Kreel shrugged, digging out a piece of meat with his toothpick.

“Beyond what I told your boss, who knows? Thaddeus was always square, so I can’t figure why he plays this game. But his ledger don’t lie. Whatever his reason, he’s gone to big trouble to cover the tracks. I never see more than a peek at a time, behind his back. This? I saw. Payment scheduled to more than dozen of your nobles. Whatever they’re up to, it’s goin’ t’ happen ... soon.” As he emphasized his final point, another chunk of meat was dislodged from his jagged teeth, landing on the table between them.

Caine frowned, his arms crossed. “Exactly how is it you come to know so much about him anyways?”

“He’s my brother.” Kreel smiled most unpleasantly.

Caine sat back, shaking his head. “Ech! You know I’m to kill him, right?” Kreel nodded, still smiling.

“That’s the deal,” he said casually, a sidelong glance at the barkeep as she passed. Seeing Caine’s scowl, he continued. “He’s the elder son. Our father? He’s rich, but not much longer for the world. He always liked Thaddeus better. Bastard will leave him all he’s got, even though