The sound of knocking dragged Lord Gorkin from the depths of his dreamless sleep. The stupendous amounts of highly refined yearn smoke he’d inhaled the night before yet clung to his mind. He lay there, unsure if he was dreaming, as voices murmured in his outer quarters.

  Fosso’s low rumble.

  A hesitant response.

  Gorkin turned in his bed and pressed his face to his pillow. He could smell the women from last night, though they were long gone. The smell of jessamine perfume and sweat, yearn smoke and sex.

  His body ached pleasantly, his back and buttocks still smarting from the switching.

  What had her name been? The vixen with the crimson hair and flashing eyes. She’d known her way around the quirt. Her legs in those high heels…

  “My lord?” Fosso’s deep voice came from the doorway. “Trouble.”

  “Always trouble.” Gorkin sighed and pushed himself up to sitting. “The question is, what flavor?”

  Fosso’s bulk was a comforting bulwark. He filled the archway, his broad face serene. “Your primary Marheim Gate warehouse. The Red Fists have up and disappeared.”

  Gorkin absorbed the information, considered it. Fosso was precise with his words. It was one of his most exemplary attributes. He’d not mentioned damage or loss to his goods, and “disappeared” indicated a lack of violence.

  “Interesting.” He stood, uncaring of his nakedness, and turned so that Fosso could approach with his robe. “Jacek?”

  “At the warehouse. He’s the one who sent word. He’s invited you to come talk.”

  “He must be mystified. It’s unlike Jacek to not send assurances. Even more interesting. When were the disappearances noted?”

  “When the next shift showed up to replace them. Fourth Bell. Everything was locked.”

  “Why, Fosso.” Gorkin tied his sash. “This is delightful. A mystery. And a black eye for that preening cock, Jacek. Prepare my carriage. I’ll go there immediately.”

  Fosso backed away and bowed. “I’ll see it done.”

  Gorkin stepped to his mirror and studied himself in its silvered depths. Alone now, he allowed his mind to drift. It was an exercise he’d perfected and never shared with anyone that he called “Preliminary Associations”. The mind, he believed, contained far more information than anyone could recall. By simply staring into his own sunken eyes and thinking of nothing, there was a chance he might coax relevant facts and memories into the light of consciousness.

  Gorkin allowed his gaze to unfocus. His thoughts turned to last night, the sting of the lash, his cries of grateful pain. There was nothing like delivering complete control to another for a brief and specified duration. The trick lay in arousing the women’s disgust and scorn before the session began, even as they signed the contracts and learned what they were and were not permitted to do.

  Only when someone had a personal reason to whip him did the pleasure become real. Only when they truly loathed him did they allow their anger to outstrip their wariness of Fosso watching from the corner of the room.

  Gorkin ran his hand lightly over his furred belly. Hmm. Yes. This disappearance felt personal. Refined. If someone had gone to great lengths to disappear an entire unit of Red Fists, then it spoke to both power and exacting care. A desire to disconcert him. To spook him.

  Someone wished to quirt his mercantile buttocks with a vengeance.

  Vengeance.

  Hmm.

  Gorkin blinked.

  Preliminary Associations were only as useful as the information he had at hand. His instincts told him this was personal, that this was revenge, but beyond that, he’d simply wander into speculation.

  Time to gather more facts.

  Gorkin dressed in somber finery, a combination of black and gold, and descended. He waved aside his servants, declined the offer to break his fast, and moved to the entrance hall where Fosso had already opened the massive iron front door.

  As was his custom, Gorkin inclined his head with wry appreciation to the portrait of his illustrious ancestor, the source of his every blessing and the ill-deserved fear and respect that all of Flutic held him in.

  Then he and Fosso emerged into the dreary Flutic morning. The air was damp with fog, the colors bleached of all vibrancy. Sound traveled strangely through the ambient mist, but his carriage was waiting, a heated stone set on its floor to warm his feet. Gorkin allowed Fosso to tuck him in, wrapping thick and finely embroidered blankets about his form, and then closed his eyes.

  Guards moved into position, some climbing onto the carriage, others moving into the fore on their steeds, the rest following behind. Fosso climbed into the carriage via the other door, and sat, a large tin of biscuits on his lap, a cup of heated gravy in the other in which he’d dip.

  Fosso was always eating.

  Gorkin loved that about him.

  A man of known appetites was a known quantity.

  They traveled in silence.

  Finally the carriage stopped. Gorkin opened his eyes. He felt sharper, the yearn smoke having receded further. Fosso exited the carriage, circled, then opened Gorkin’s door, which meant he’d deemed the area secure.

  Gorkin emerged from the blankets and stepped down onto the cobbled street. His guards stood about them, forming a defensive cordon, half still mounted. They were wary and watched the Red Fists with flat stares.

  Anything out of the ordinary was dangerous. Fosso would have told them to expect treachery. Even from the Red Fists.

  Who were present, Jacek standing by the warehouse front door, handsome and brutal and frowning. Silver Sylvia was there, svelte and elegant and refined, her harsh cheekbones and elongated ears betraying her elven blood.

  Gorkin was still plotting on how he could convince or cajole or coerce her into whipping him one night.

  Yanos, his overseer, was also present, looking mortified.

  “My lord,” said Jacek, voice brassy and stern. “Thank you for coming. It’s a strange situation, there’s no two ways about it.”

  “Strange, you say?” murmured Gorkin. The more important you were, the softer you could speak, and the more you could force others to strain to hear you. He moved up, Fosso massive by his side. “I’ve heard the basics. Elaborate.”

  “No signs of forced entry.” Jacek walked alongside Gorkin into the warehouse, Yanos following silently behind. The overseer’s fear was palpable. “The locks, the windows, nothing. Brockburn’s unit is simply missing. No signs of violence.”

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

  All appeared as it should be within. Fosso immediately set to sniffing.

  “But the weird thing is, your chest was out in the open in the main office.”

  Gorkin raised an eyebrow, feeling disappointment. “Don’t tell me this was just a robbery?”

  Yanos piped up. “No, my lord. The scales are still there, the chest forced open and everything. Someone put the chest in plain view, cracked it, but left it all behind. Which precludes a Red Fist robbery, does it not? It must be a message, but what they’re trying to say I can’t fathom.”

  “No,” murmured Gorkin. “I imagine you can’t.”

  They entered the small office. All again appeared as it should but for the iron chest. Gorkin stepped up to the table. The scales glimmered in the lantern light. At a glance they seemed to be the correct amount. But his paperwork was gone.

  That was an annoyance. Not that Gorkin kept anything truly sensitive here.

  But still.

  Fosso was hunched over now, sniffing violently, his head jerking about as he quested.

  As always, Gorkin resisted the urge to ask what he detected. Fosso would reveal what he’d uncovered when he was ready.

  “That’s all we’ve got,” said Jacek. “We checked the rooftops were Quince and Mel were supposed to be keeping watch. No sign of nothing, though that was in the pre-dawn light. We’ll take another look soon as the sun burns away the mist.”

  “Hmm.” Gorkin felt his pulse begin to pick up. “Anything you want to tell me about these five employees, Jacek?”

  The commander took a deep breath. He’d been waiting for this question. “Brockburn’s been with me since the start. We came up together. He’s a right bastard, sure, but he’s rock solid. He wouldn’t have done nothing fishy.”

  “He was, you mean,” murmured Gorkin, eyeing Fosso, who’d moved back to the office doorway.

  “Was what?” asked Jacek.

  “A right bastard.” Gorkin followed his bodyguard, knowing that doing so would allow Fosso to move where he needed to go.

  The huge man moved into the maze of crates, sniffing and snuffling around the perimeter of the building. Almost to the back door, but in a small alcove he paused, made a violent hawking sound, then stepped into the alcove and pressed his face to the wooden crate, where he rubbed his cheek up and down the grain.

  Frowned, disappointed.

  Then dropped to one knee, sniffing again, mouth open, tongue emerging.

  Ah, that was good.

  Fosso only stuck out his tongue when he needed to confirm something.

  “Sex,” grunted the big man. “Blood.”

  “Sex and blood?” Jacek glanced at Sylvia, who’d raised an eyebrow. “What, here?”

  Fosso lowered to all fours and licked the waxen floorboards. A great, slow swipe of his tongue. “Blood,” he confirmed, rising back up. “Soap. Sex in the air, blood on the floor, soap.”

  “Yeben and Revina had a thing going,” Sylvia said quietly.

  “They did?” Jacek clearly hadn’t heard.

  “Recent. Revina told me Yeben was a good lay, nothing more.”

  Fosso stood, still sniffing.

  Gorkin followed him around the warehouse again, to where he paused in a gap in the crates that looked out at the central accounting table.

  “Here,” whispered Fosso, voice slobbery. “Here’s a smell. Cold and black. Like freezing iron. Not a good smell, it’s got death all over it.”

  Fosso passed into the central area, sniffing and snuffling, and again got on all fours. His whole body quivered, his head darting to and fro, and then he yanked his head down and began lapping at the ground again, great big licks, here and there, knocking the table aside as he crawled into one leg.

  Jacek looked mildly horrified, which Gorkin found endlessly amusing.

  Fosso rose back up. “More blood. More soap.” He smacked his lips, worked his tongue, then nodded, looking to Gorkin alone. “Different blood. Richer.”

  Richer meant more potent.

  “Looks like Brockburn died here,” said Gorkin, moving up to the table. “Was anything here touched?”

  Jacek shook his head mutely.

  A deck of cards was neatly set in the center of the table. “Fosso?”

  The big man bowed over the table to place his nose close to the cards. He sniffed, then nodded. “Cold iron.”

  “Hmm. Very well. Take his scent.”

  Fosso took the uppermost card and folded into his mouth. Chewed briefly, then swallowed. For a moment he stared out at nothing, and then he nodded. “Got it.”

  “Good. All right. Jacek? Your company left my goods unguarded for most of the night. That’s not what I’m paying you for.”

  Jacek’s expression darkened as he bit back his first response. “Of course. We’ll double the guard beginning now.”

  “At two-thirds the previous pay,” said Gorkin smoothly. “At least, until you’ve earned my confidence back. You’ll alert the rest of your people to the heightened threat level. We’ve a capable assassin and infiltrator on our hands. Let’s avoid any future embarrassments like this one, shall we?”

  Jacek inclined his head stiffly. “Exactly what I was thinking, my lord.”

  “Good. Yanos, see to it that the locks are changed today and a stronger chest put in my office. I want a list of the documents that were stolen sent to me before luncheon. Provide Jacek with new keys when they’re ready. Is there anything else I should know?”

  Jacek glanced at Yanos, then shook his head. “We’ll keep you updated as new information comes in.”

  “Very good.” Gorkin linked his hands behind his back and surveyed the warehouse’s environs once more. “Then I believe I’m done here.”

  He emerged into the chill morning once more and climbed back into the carriage with Fosso.

  The doors were closed. His guards got back into position, and they rumbled off down the street.

  “What do you make of it?” asked Gorkin, placing his feet on the now lukewarm stone.

  Fosso exhaled deeply. “One person. Careful, but not so careful he didn’t spill blood everywhere. Killed Yeben and Revina while they were fucking, which takes a certain sort. Killed Brockburn, which takes strength. Brockburn was no pushover.”

  “Not in a fair fight, to be sure. So our assassin is powerful, heartless, focused, and very controlled.”

  Fosso nodded, chin disappearing and reappearing into the folds of his neck. “Killing’s easy. Cleaning up…”

  “Yes, quite.” Gorkin tapped his lips. “The goods weren’t touched. The scales left on display. They wanted me to know they weren’t after wealth.”

  “It was a threat,” agreed Fosso, tone lugubrious. “Look what I can do. I’m so dangerous I can disappear Brockburn and the others. But he took your paperwork.”

  “Information. They’re efficient, but not all-knowing.”

  “Wants a new target, perhaps.”

  “Hmm. He must know where I live, and not feel up to attacking me directly. Smart. So now he means to scare me, quirt my buttocks, make me squeal.” Gorkin smiled. “How delightful.”

  “Who’d have hired him?”

  “That’s the question. That’s the very question. An outsider, to be sure. There’s something delightfully naive about striking my warehouse as a first gesture. If they’d really wanted to scare me, they’d have mounted your head on a pike, or done something in one of my secret apartments to one of my toys.”

  “We’d best check them, to be sure.”

  “Yes. Do the circuit this morning. Check for their smell, as obviously they pride themselves in being able to enter and leave where they’re not wanted. It’s possible they’ve already done some reconnaissance. Reassure my lovelies that all is well, for now. But that I might need to move them soon.”

  “Yes.” Fosso hitched his weight over and dug a stick of meat out from his back pocket. Unwrapped the oilcloth and took a large bite. “They struck Sonora’s warehouse.”

  “They did indeed. But our little countess hasn’t come into any scales that I’m aware of. Her little raiders keep her in moldy cheese and coarse wine and little more. This is a new level of threat. She’d have employed it before if she had it.”

  “Unless she’s come into some new fortune.”

  “I’ll ask around. I do hope it’s her.” Gorkin grinned. “I’ve not had much pretext to invite her to our home, but this might suffice. How do you think she’d handle a whip?”

  “She’d take your hide off.”

  “Oh, yes.” Gorkin wriggled. “She would. Such sweet motivation.” For a moment he allowed himself to fantasize, biting his lower lip, but then he sighed. “But it’s not very likely. I’m going to have to ask around the Gate, see if anybody’s been making moves at cornering the market. An outsider, perhaps, looking to destabilize the status quo before making a big play. Yes. It could be something as boring as a Marheim grandee looking to muscle into my area.”

  “Could be,” said Fosso doubtfully.

  Gorkin considered him. “You don’t think it’s mercantile?”

  “No. You don’t either.”

  Gorkin smiled. “Have I told you how much I love you, Fosso dear?”

  “Yes,” said the big man, pulling out another meat stick.

  “It does feel like a quirting. A Marheim idiot would leave the Red Fist strung up as a warning. Would have taken the scales. Yes. This feels more personal.”

  “You’ve upset a fair number of powerful people over the years.”

  “I have, haven’t I?” Gorkin grinned again and shifted his feet about, trying to find the last vestiges of warmth. “Some old count perhaps whose daughter I introduced to the dark and subtle arts?”

  “Count Harbor. That thing you did with his wife two years ago.”

  “Hmm, yes. That was fun. Count Harbor. Possibly.”

  “Or an enemy of the Red Fists,” said Fosso dubiously. “Someone looking to discredit them.”

  “Boring. But possible. I fear, dear Fosso, that we need more information. You can’t draw a line from one dot alone. They’ll strike again. Someone with a penchant for the dramatic like our mystery assassin won’t be able to control themselves. I’d wager we’ll see something new within the next few days.”

  Fosso worked his tongue at something wedged in his teeth and nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Something from the paperwork that was stolen. Once Yanos provides me with a comprehensive list, I’ll identify the most likely targets. Until then, well.” Gorkin shrugged. “I’ll think nothing more of it. Just do the basics, will you?”

  “Course,” rumbled Fosso. “I’ll ask about new merc competitors. New muscle in the Gate. See if any raiders know anything new about House Sonora.”

  “Yes, indeed. I’ll put out some discrete inquiries, too. Something will come to light. And if not?” Gorkin closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “All the better.”

  “Fun,” said Fosso.

  “So much fun.” Gorkin thought of the redheaded wench from the night before. How she’d grunted as she’d whipped him, putting effort into each swing. He rubbed the welts on his aching back against the carriage seat, causing the sting to blossom into pain.

  “So much fun,” he whispered again, and settled down to nap until they reached home.