“War,” said Donald, “is a filthy business, condemned by all, but charity, now that the public will support. And you know us: we don’t do things by halves. The orphanage project won’t just be announced, it’ll be done properly. The children will get care, food, and a basic education.”

  “And a house completely unfit for them!” Peter burst out. “We need classrooms, a large canteen, a proper kitchen, rooms for the staff, and what do we have? A regular residential home!”

  “There’s no time to build another,” Donald countered. “We’ll manage with a bit of interior remodelling.”

  “And I don’t like that we’re using children as a cover!” I said.

  Donald sighed and switched to the tone adults use when explaining something to a slow child for the tenth time.

  “I didn’t grow up in this city, but I’ve been to others. I’ve seen places like this. Experience tells me these kids are far from innocent: at least a third of the delinquents over fourteen have blood on their hands. And any one of them would jump at the chance to turn bandit. We can leave these little angels be, let the werewolves catch and ‘rehabilitate’ them, and then watch them come to Avoc to butcher our clan.”

  “You’re not wrong,” I admitted, though my unease made me look for flaws in the plan. “But if someone slaughters the orphanage, we’ll be caught in the crossfire.”

  “That’s exactly why I’m here. And not just me.”

  “So you’re in charge now?”

  “Technically. But you will be the face of the project. Orphan raised by the clan and all that…”

  Donald’s words made me wince. They hit a nerve. Partly because I was an orphan, but mostly because I hadn’t been raised by a clan. I’d been brought up by my grandfather. By family. I’d never lacked love. So no, I wasn’t the figure they were trying to mould me into.

  “What’s my assignment, then?”

  “Arrange a meeting between Bryce and de Camp.”

  I nearly refused, wanted to say it was Harry’s connection, not mine. But the situation with the teacher was different. To him, de Camp wasn’t just a contact or partner, he was a patron. A shabby one, if you remembered the Fairburn conflict, but useful, if you recalled how he’d helped secure guardianship over the Sparrow brothers. My own connection to the lord was of a different sort — I was clearly of interest to him.

  “It’ll take time,” I said.

  “We don’t have time. The meeting with the Duke is set for tomorrow evening, at eight. Try to arrange de Camp for the day after.”

  “Why do we need a Duke, if it’s all about the orphanage?”

  “Oh, don’t be daft. It’s like someone in Bremshire launching a major scheme without Bryce or the governor signing off on it.”

  “But de Camp’s not Pike. The Duke doesn’t control him.”

  “True. Officially, we don’t need anything from Farnell. But etiquette still counts for something. And it never hurts to have a fallback, in case our negotiations with the local criminal element get louder than expected.”

  “They will get louder,” I said confidently, remembering how Kate had discussed the distribution of smuggling revenue.

  “There you go. You’re starting to get it,” Donald laughed. “Shall we?” he asked Peter.

  “Let’s,” the architect agreed.

  Peter and Albert, with his son, started heading up. I stood too. So that ultra-secret mission, had it passed me by?

  “All the best, gentlemen,” I said in farewell.

  “Going somewhere?” Peter cut me off. “You’re coming with us!” He grabbed a large leather tube and gestured for me to follow.

  They led me to the basement, modelled after the one in Avoc. To my surprise, this one also had a fully equipped torture chamber and holding cells. One was even occupied. The prisoner was banging on the door and swearing loudly, though thanks to excellent soundproofing, we couldn’t make out a word.

  “Still not calmed down, has he?” Donald snorted.

  “Who is he?”

  “Owner and part-time barman of The Lame Mare. We brought him in this morning.”

  “Bit bold, isn’t it — pulling that kind of thing in someone else’s city? What if he’s innocent?”

  “Him? Definitely not. At least two bodies to his name, and a long list of other offences. Fencing stolen goods, organising armed raids, take your pick.”

  The trio led me to the farthest, most spacious cell, unexpectedly furnished, with a proper chandelier instead of a dim bulb. Clearly intended for higher-value captives. It had a bed, a writing desk and chair, a small dining table, and a wardrobe that took up half a wall.

  Why such a big one?

  “Look,” said Peter, opening the tube. He tipped out the rolled-up plans, sorted through them, and spread them on the table, pinning two corners with cast-iron weights from a pocket under the lid. “This room here,” he pointed to a corner square, then let the blueprint curl back into a tube and moved on to the next sheet, continuing his explanation. “Here it is.”

  After working with Peter for a while, I’d learned to read this kind of document. Now it seemed like he’d been preparing me for this all along. In any case, I quickly got my bearings on the second drawing, which showed the city’s utility lines, and understood immediately when Peter’s finger slid over to the city sewer system.

  “A secret passage,” I nearly swore. What a massive job that would be. “And the entrance’ll be behind the wardrobe, that’s why it’s so bloody huge. Isn’t that a bit obvious?”

  “The passage behind the wardrobe leads into the orphanage. The one into the sewer is under the bed.”

  Well, that was definitely less obvious, but twice the work.

  “Don’t worry so much,” Peter said calmly. “All I need from you is magic. The McLals will provide the brute force.”

  “Thanks for the kindness!” I snapped. “Go on, then. Let’s see what you’ve cooked up. Where’s the change of clothes?”

  “Hold up,” Donald cut in. “Today’s just the briefing. Work starts tomorrow. De Camp’ll be at the town hall for another four hours. Get the hint?”

  “I get it. But there’s no guarantee they’ll let me in without Harry. And we’ll be working after lunch, I’ve got training in the morning, and I’m not giving it up.”

  “I’ve no objection, but we need that tunnel as soon as possible.” Donald jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, probably referring to the barman. “We had to carry him in through the front door. We covered our tracks, of course, but even so, it’s a bit bold and brazen.”

  “At least he doesn’t stink of shit.”

  “The sewers in this part of the city are surprisingly dry.”

  “Not surprising at all,” said Peter. “The toxins from that attack, the one that poisoned the city, all drained into the sewers. The gas was developed for humans, but it affected rats, insects, and worms down below quite differently. In the first days after the attack, the things that crawled out of the sewers… the locals still prefer to shit in buckets. Most of the utility lines are completely blocked, and half the district lost running water during the war.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “How come I’ve never heard about this?” I asked.

  “Because no one shouts it from the rooftops. And I’ve studied the ground I’m building on very thoroughly. Don’t worry, the mutants died off in the first month. I walked through some of the tunnels myself — not a trace. No one’s used them in years. And no one will until the city sorts out the plumbing.”

  After saying goodbye to the Bremor lads, I picked up Knuckles, collapsed into the back seat, and asked him to take me to the town hall. The road quickly faded into the background, my head was full of thoughts and predictions about what Bryce’s scheme might turn into. Once de Camp found out the real reason behind the orphanage project, he was going to be furious.

  My thoughts were interrupted by a sharp screech of tyres and a jolt, I was thrown into the back of the front seat. Knuckles usually drove far more smoothly. Whatever made him pull a stunt like that had to be serious. And surprises are best met with a weapon in hand. I drew my pistol and looked through the windscreen.

  A battered old Cooper truck had blocked the road. In the back, the worn barrel of a Maxim machine gun stuck out — no shield, just iron. The thug behind it had the broad, beefy face of a warehouse loader and the dead-eyed focus of a man with few thoughts to distract him. His companion looked craftier, despite the scuffed work clothes, he was twirling a rod of redwood topped with a large reservoir stone, showing off.

  “Out of the car, my lord, before we turn your fancy wheels into scrap!” the dandy shouted.

  “Shit!” Knuckles swore, checking the mirror. Another truck had boxed us in from behind, blocking the exit. No machine gun this time, but two men at the back were armed with pump-action shotguns.

  “Can we hold them off?” he asked nervously.

  “Who knows,” I said, scanning the finer layers of reality.

  The ammo belt of the machine gun gleamed with steel. The gunmen were glowing, just like Donald and his father, not less. The flashy rod burned with fire, the shotguns shimmered with magma. And thanks to the glints of elemental energy, often several kinds at once, I spotted another half-dozen fighters hiding in the ruined buildings on both sides of the road.

  “Get out, wizard. We just want to talk.”

  I holstered the FN, took out the book, and began activating spells one by one. I could maintain about five on myself, barely, so I had to choose carefully.

  Firm Will… Strong Memory. Finally useful. If I survived, there’d be something to recount and analyse later. Wait, it only lasted a minute and didn’t require upkeep, so I’d activate it last.

  Next: Acceleration and Precision. Absolutely essential, but today they’d be replaced with clan potions. These vials. I pulled the stoppers with my teeth and poured the liquids into my mouth.

  Next: Stone Flesh. We’d skip strength, endurance would do.

  “Get out, you bastard! I’m running out of patience!”

  So what goes in the hand? Petrification? Or Scream? Or something deadlier like Explosion? It was close enough, I could reach them.

  To hell with it — Scream. And I focused on the shield ring.

  I’d swapped the FN’s standard magazine in advance for a full one of enchanted rounds: armour piercing alternating with explosive. Knuckles watched my preparations and replaced the small drum in his submachine gun with a large one with fifty extra rounds.

  “Want me to throw something on you?” I asked him.

  “Thanks, I’m fully kitted out by Harry.”

  Harry had far more experience with this sort of thing than I did, so I wasn’t worried about the lad. He might even be better protected than I was. Though I was definitely more flexible when it came to reacting.

  “Besides these,” I made a quick gesture, forefinger forward, thumb jerking behind my back, “there are others hiding there, there, and there… Don’t rush in. I’ll hit them with Scream first.”

  Knuckles grimaced and gave a crooked smile. He’d experienced that spell himself.

  The dandy grew tired of waiting and ordered the gunner to fire a burst at the Cooper’s bonnet. The bullets rang as they ricocheted off the reinforced metal, shattered against the windscreen, and vanished into the sky.

  “Don’t rush,” I reminded Knuckles. I opened the book at Explosions, set it on the seat, and opened the door.

  “You seem to know me, sir?” I asked, keeping my voice cool.

  Not easy when two shotguns were aimed at the back of your head. At least they didn’t know I could see them perfectly, including in the finer layers. That advantage alone already felt reassuring.

  “I know you, lad. Listen here. My boss…”

  “Introduce yourself, please,” I interrupted.

  “You think I’m here to joke with you?”

  “The jokes ended when your subordinate opened fire on your orders. To avoid any ambiguity, let me be clear: I’m far too poor a wizard to try and take you alive. If you don’t surrender within thirty seconds, I’ll have to kill your men.”

  The performance worked beautifully. The dandy and the gunner even exchanged glances.

  Meanwhile, I released two crystalline blades from my sleeve, carefully, so the men behind me wouldn’t see, and sent them sliding beneath the Cooper.

  My head instantly overheated, hissing like meat on a frying pan. Too much to control at once: the blades via the bracer, the men behind me, maintaining the spells hanging on me, and holding Scream ready. At least the memory of this moment would stay with me forever, I’d be able to analyse exactly what I’d done and how.

  The blades emerged from under the Cooper and began to spread apart.

  For reassurance, the dandy spun his rod, restoring some insolence to his voice, though it no longer sounded quite as confident.

  “What’re you babbling about? This beauty,” he tapped the ribbed casing of the barrel with the rod, “has turned tougher lads than you into mince. You even know what’s in the belt?”

  “Armour piercing,” I replied calmly. “Enchanted with the metal element. Perhaps if you’d all opened fire at once… But you gave me time to prepare.”

  And as I spoke, I felt myself calm down.

  Time — that’s what separates us from warlocks. Us… Harry really had drilled it into me. I no longer associated myself with warlocks, and I acted accordingly.

  While talking, I spread the blades wider. I kept them low so they wouldn’t be noticed, but their polished edges caught a stray sunbeam and bounced it straight into the dandy’s face.

  “What the…” he cried.

  The crystalline blades surged upwards at a forty-five-degree angle, straight for the Maxim’s grips.

  The Maxim’s firing mechanism requires both hands: one thumb to lift the safety, the other to squeeze the trigger. That’s what I aimed for.

  I hit the left hand perfectly, two fingers were shaved off as cleanly as with a razor. I missed badly on the right. I couldn’t see the blade behind the Cooper’s bed, and the barrel hid the hand from me, so the crystal flew higher than intended, sliced across the bandit’s cheek, and buried itself in his eyebrow, flinging the dead body away from the gun.

  At the same time, I activated Scream.

  Ethereal waves rippled out from me like circles on water. I didn’t hear a whisper, but the bandits were writhing. The dandy dropped his rod and collapsed to his knees, clutching his ears. The shotguns behind me fired enchanted rounds, both whizzed past my head, and I belatedly raised the shield from my ring.

  They didn’t fire again. The tougher one bolted. The weaker one followed his boss’s example and froze mid-kneel, hands still pressed to his ears.

  While the spell still held them, I dismissed the shield, tore two Explosions from the book’s pages, and hurled them into the windows of the building on the right, where part of the gang had been hiding.

  The name sounded dramatic, but the spell was quieter than a gunshot. I aimed for the ceiling, bringing down a tonne of dust and old plaster on their heads.

  Knuckles, already braced for the chaos, had ducked away earlier than the bandits and now burst out with his Tommy gun raised. I pointed to the other building, the one I hadn’t hit.

  “Long burst,” I said.

  The Tommy barked like a war drum, far louder than the explosions, and its heavy voice pinned the bastards to the floor.

  I drew my pistol and fired three rounds into the dandy’s shoulder, he’d come to and was reaching for his rod. The bullets scattered into golden sparks, the standard protective amulet of the Fairburn family.

  The man flinched anyway, recoiling, but I gave him one more shot, just to be sure. His shirt flared gold from the overloaded amulet, then blood burst from his arm.

  The thug behind me had recovered too, he raised his shotgun, so I spun and shot him in the leg, ready to fire again if needed. But he flailed his arms and collapsed face-first, his shotgun clattering a couple of metres away.

  While they hesitated, I dove back into the Cooper, flipped a few pages, and grabbed Petrification, then immediately hurled it at the dandy, who was now trying to vault over the side of the truck bed. It hit him square in the back, but to my frustration, a magical shield flared. I couldn’t tell if the spell had worked or not.

  Then I was under fire.

  A hail of heavy rounds came from the same windows I’d hit earlier. Praise the blessed Brick in my satchel, it deflected nearly all of them. Only one tore into my shoulder, but it skimmed off the Stone Flesh. The upholstery and door lining weren’t so lucky.

  I fired a shot at each rifle barrel aimed at me, not at the men, remembering their amulet protection. And I was right.

  One shotgun was ripped from its owner’s hands. Another had its barrel twisted by an enchanted bullet. I didn’t have rounds left for the third, so I hurled a crystalline blade. It scraped the shotgun and, to my surprise, sliced through the shield and lodged in the shooter’s collarbone.

  Knuckles finally stopped his endless burst. The wounded man’s scream cut the air like a blade.

  “Gentlemen,” I called, “surrender if you want to live!”

  I stepped away from the Cooper’s door and changed magazines. Then I crouched and peered under the truck’s chassis. A pair of legs, steady but slow, was almost at the nearest building.

  I aimed at the ankle and pulled the trigger.

  The shot rang out, and the dandy dropped like a felled tree.

  “Gentlemen,” I said again, “this is a limited-time offer. Turns out I’m a slightly better wizard than I thought. So far, only one of you is dead. In thirty seconds, I’m coming to kill the rest.”

  I didn’t expect them to listen, I was bluffing, hoping they’d scatter and spare me more stress.

  Except for that little bastard I’d just shot down. He was slowly crawling for cover under the truck behind me.

  “You,” I barked. “Up.”

  The man froze, staring at me with terrified eyes.

  “Are you deaf?”

  To encourage him, I hurled my last crystalline blade. It stopped an inch from his forehead. At that range, I felt a flicker of resistance, someone else’s will. But with a bit more pressure, I broke through.

  The tip sliced his skin, and he sprang to his feet.

  So that’s how it worked. It wasn’t the spells breaking through shields, it was my will. That was definitely worth discussing with Harry. I hadn’t noticed it in the heat of battle, but I hadn’t forgotten. Wouldn’t forget.

  The image of the crystal blade piercing the gunner’s brow was far too vivid, too precise. Suddenly, Memory didn’t seem like such a good spell after all. Killing a monster, a vampire, say, was one thing. Killing a person, even a bastard like him… that was something else entirely.