Eyeing the crates, larger than my body length, being loaded onto the wagon, I turn to look upon a tall Ionian man with a thin ponytail down the back. His uniform matched House Taorist but he had gold- and red-trimmed shoulder pads contrasting the gold-and-blue tunic, as well as a pinned badge on his chest.
He wasn't looking at me, rather he was checking a ledger with three of his men side by side in front of him. This man leading them had two more men off to the side along with two loading my wagon.
"Varyn, we don't touch anything?" one of my three men asked, whispering next to me while shuffling in place. Out of my peripherals, I saw his gaze moving from the Ionian and back to me. "Varyn?"
"We don't touch anything," I subtly gestured at the Ionian. "That's what his man said. We only move it. Same with the unloading."
The man next to me took a deep breath, looking around apprehensively with the evening light long gone. We had stood there for some time at the Riverside Docks before the small barge pulled up.
"Are we expecting trouble?"
After a brief pause, I turned to meet his troubled gaze.
"We're about to find out. Don't be slack. Stay on your toes."
"Fuck me," the man muttered, about to walk over to the others when a loud scuffling sound drew our attention back to the Ionian.
Of the three men, the one in the middle was being choked out by one previously flanking him. He struggled desperately against the choke hold but the other man stepped around and, pulling out a knife, began stabbing him repeatedly in the stomach.
He reached out, clawing at us for desperate help.
My men shifted nervously. I forced my face into something cold and indifferent.
But underneath?
I was fucking petrified.
The Ionian wasn't even watching the man die, he was watching my face. Watching me.
With a simple hand gesture back to his men, they dragged the limp body to the side, tied a sack to it with rope, and tossed him into the river. All the while the Ionian didn't speak. He simply watched me and watched my anxious men before eventually stepping forward and extending a hand several paces away while his other held the ledger.
"I'm Captain Orson, Intelligencer for House Tariost."
Meeting his gaze with a cold dread coiling in my chest, I stepped forward and shook his hand firmly.
"You don't fear Enforcers seeing that?" I asked.
He snorted before chuckling, looking off to the side at one of his men before back to me.
"House Taorist controls most freight leaving and entering the city. If freight becomes damaged in transit, I'd be more worried about yourselves."
He handed me the ledger. I scanned it and it had three drop-off points.
"Two out in the open… and one at our guild?"
Orson smiled thinly. "Deliver that one first."
"Can I ask why?"
Nodding slowly, Orson looked back at the river where the body was thrown and then back at me. He scoffed, chuckled yet again, and then pointed at me but didn't say anything.
Eventually, he spoke.
"That man we just killed, he was grifting coins off us. Not much, just a few here and there believing he wouldn't get caught."
Leaning in, he whispered coldly, "If your men steal even the dust from inside one of those other crates, trust me, I'll know. I'll know it as well as I know your mother's teal hair and her fucking whore voice."
"What?"
For a split second, my body locked up and I was one heartbeat away from lunging forward and breaking his jaw.
He smirked. He saw the muscles in my jaw clench and lock up, and there was a gleeful twinkle in his eyes.
"I guess your mother hasn't told you yet."
"Told me what?" I snarled through clenched teeth. "What the fuck did you do?"
"Ask her yourself," he replied casually, leaning back. "After you're done with our work tonight."
The satisfaction on his face was unforgettable in that moment and it fed a boiling anger deep within me. His expression then became bored and he turned his back on me to address his men.
"Wrap it up!" He twirled his finger in the air. "We don't have all night to waste in this cesspool!"
Meanwhile, my man stepped back in and began to whisper once more.
"Are we clear to—"
"Get it fucking moving!" I snapped.
I climbed into the wagon's passenger seat as two of my men took position beside it. Behind us, Orson's voice carried over the dock.
"They require your signature only for today!" he called out. "Don't run home too quick!"
------
"Open it."
Immediately my men pry open three crates in the rear bay of the main Gearwright Guild building that were designated for us.
All three were filled with dark brown furniture parts meant to be assembled, with red-and-yellow cushioning for chairs. Atop one was a note neatly folded and tied to a piece.
I opened it and read.
Consider this a gift.
-Signed, Lucian.
Crumpling it, I threw it back into the crate and took a deep, shaky breath. Ren and Gideon, standing next to me with disgusted expressions, had stayed late and were observing out of caution. I pointed at them, then at the crates.
"Burn it. Fucking burn it. All of it."
As I hopped back into the wagon with my men readying for the next drop-off, Ren grunted and nodded.
"It would be our pleasure."