Flash fiction set in Koru

Koru, one of the five countries that make up the continent of Ehrian. Although, that said, one that I'm thinking of changing the name of, mainly because that makes the spoken language 'Koruan', which is little too close to 'Korean'. Maybe 'Korun' works, or 'Kor'. 'Caw, listen to me speak my language'. Bleh.

Anyway! A bit of dunking in the politics of Koru.

General Sun-Ji looked out upon his empire, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. The sun was setting, painting everything in shades of blood; the warmth of the day had already begun to sink into the coolness of evening, and a faint mist was rising from the reflection pools in the shadows far below.

His son, still standing at the desk a few feet behind him, cleared his throat gently. “Father,” the young man said, “The staff are still in revolt. We must do something.” His plea echoed around the hard walls and floor, sounding empty.

“I have already put measures in place,” Sun-Ji said. “Soldiers have set up a perimeter, and the workers are being contained.” He half-turned and graced his son with a smile. “You worry too much, Mako.”

“They will fight.”

“They will die, then,” Sun-Ji said, turning back to the sunset.  Even at fifty, his back was straight and his shoulders broad. He closed his eyes and listened. Whoever had designed the Imperial Office had known his audience. Every movement, however slight, was amplified. There was the sound of a step, almost too tiny to hear, and the susurration of fabric moving against skin. The slightly uneven sound of Mako’s breathing, and underneath it, something out of place, off to the right.

Story 6: Murder on the Inira Express

“Once,” I began, “there was a boy. The boy’s name isn’t really important right now, but his parentage certainly was. He was the son of Ming Bao, the famous investigator.”

Hiri cocked his head to one side. “You had a son?”

“Don’t interrupt me.”

He looked a little surprised at being spoken to in such a way, but closed his flapping mouth.

“Now. This boy was quite happy in his early youth, astounded by his father’s wisdom and able to follow most of the deductive leaps he made. They worked well together, and the father loved his son very much.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, straining to ensure that my voice remained strong. “Everything was fine until the day that a quartet of junior officials in the empire of Koru decided that the Emperor himself represented the biggest losses for the banks and treasuries of the empire, and that he needed to be done away with. Simple, really.”

Hiri’s face paled a little. I narrowed my eyes. “Is any of this sounding at all familiar, Hiri?”

The notary all but inflated with righteous indignation. “I’ve… I’ve never heard of anything so preposterous, man. I should have you arrested for treasonous talk like this!”

“But you won’t,” I said, “because then this little story might come out into the open. You see, there was a problem with merely killing the Emperor. He was good friends with perhaps the finest mind that the generation had produced, the famous investigator Ming Bao. So, naturally, Ming Bao had to be removed first. Messages were passed to elite agents. He was duly invited to the palace. He brought his son with him. Unknowing, servants served tea to the pair, which was poisoned. The Captain of the Guard chose that moment to come into their presence and the famous investigator leaped immediately to his feet to greet the newcomer while his son, not as quick on the uptake, drank his tea.”

I gritted my teeth and sat back. “Oh, it burned the boy, the poison, more than enough to kill a man, more than enough to kill ten men, but for a boy?” I shook my head. “The boy rushed headlong into darkness and collapsed at the feet of the Captain and Ming Bao. There was a prolonged weeping and a wailing; his distraught father, an inconsistent drug-taker, took a lethal overdose in his despair at being left alone. For the boy, a small private funeral was had the day after this father died, and the boy was consigned to a coffin.”

I closed my eyes. “But the boy was not dead. The poison, such an overdose, had placed his mind in a sort of suspension and slowed his vital processes to the point where even the Emperor’s own chirurgeon couldn’t identify whether he was alive or not. When the boy awoke in the coffin, at first he couldn’t do anything against the panic in his mind. The absolute fear overwhelmed everything. But eventually he deduced where he was, calm logic soothing the angry waters of his mind. The coffin was cheap and he was able to pull it apart, and the soil above him, for he had already been buried, was loose.

“Can you imagine what it must have been like?” I opened my eyes. “No, I suppose you can’t. But being born again, with all faculties intact, from a grave, and to gaze upon the stone marking the spot and discovering that you share that grave with the father who raised you!”

“I fail to see what this has to do with-“ Hiri began, but I was quicker.

“It has everything to do with you, you old fool,” I hissed. “You were one of the four who consigned my father to the grave, and nearly me with him, this day so many years ago! You think that, because you got cold feet after causing the death of not just one of the Emperor’s favourites but also his son, that you are somehow absolved of your crime?”

Real pain for the first time touched Hiri’s face. “It wasn’t like that. We never meant to cause a death; we asked for the problem of Ming Bao to go away, for him to be sent somewhere, disgraced. Whoever was sent to do that escalated it into an assassination instead.” He leaned forward, hands clasped on the table as if he were making an offering at the temple. “You have to understand, we meant no harm to you or your father!”

“And yet, here we are, Notary Hiri. Here we are.” I tapped the file, still lying between us on the table. The blood, which had been glistening in a sickly fashion, was drying even as we watched. “I watched, Hiri. I waited. I developed my skills, not just as my father had taught me but in another direction altogether. Oh, it is so easy to think myself into the mind of a criminal. How do you think I caught all of those so-called masterminds? Half of them were put there by me to begin with!” I shoved the file towards Hiri and he opened it. I watched his eyes track down the page, all the while examining and re-examining the feelings whirling inside me. The deductive part of my mind, the one that was my father’s legacy to me, never slept.

“You are the Desert Wind?”

“I am.” I thought about the empty compartment in first class. The character of Jef’nerin, one I had seen in a book as a small child. The book I had been buried with after taking it to the Emperor’s Palace on that day. It had become the shell that had for so long been a part of my psyche that it was like losing a friend to say goodbye to it. The separate parts of myself were finally knitting together as I performed this last operation. I felt the parts of me that I had long ago walled off against this day finally reunite with everything my father had taught me.

“You killed the other three.” It was a statement, not a question. I nodded slowly.

“Yes. You must have realised that it was those three, the three conspirators from your past.”

He laughed bitterly. “So many people die in the Emperor’s employ every week; it was unsurprising that you were able to kill these three without much notice by anyone but the Stationmaster. I suppose you planned to be invited onto this rail?”

“Of course. It was the most sensible course of action for the beleaguered Stationmaster, to invite the great Ming Bao, whose career has spanned two lifetimes, to solve the crimes plaguing his rail.”

“And now you will kill me?” Hiri closed the file, calmer now.

“No.” I smiled. “I already have.” My grin widened. “Think, Hiri; why are you here, on the rail?”

“I am the receiving agent for Benjen’s last order of materials and clothing,” Hiri said. “Loelle Benjen sent me a communication, along with her husband’s ring, that his account was to be closed due to a buyer being found… in Inira.” His eyes widened. “You are the buyer!”

“How else was I going to ensure that you were on this rail? You had no other business in this part of the world, and it had to be… today. And you know what makes it damnably worse?” I shook my head. “You remember all of this. That’s why you tried to stop me from boarding the rail, why you assigned three men to prevent me. But it didn’t matter. Even had I never boarded the rail you would have still died at the appointed time. My involvement was not essential, just poetic.”

“You still haven’t explained how you plan to kill me.”

“It is wonderfully simple, my dear Notary Hiri. You still have the letter with you that Ms Benjen sent, confirming the end of the contract. Yes? I know you do, because the remains of the purple wax that sealed it were on your fingernails when I first met you, and the ring still had traces of it as well.”

“Wax? You plan to kill me with wax?”

How could he be so stupid, I wondered, then tempered the thought with the safe knowledge that, compared to myself, everyone seemed this stupid. “Not the wax; what is in the wax. Miss Benjen was merely the catalyst for all this; I took the liberty of swapping the wax that her husband normally would have used for some of my own devising, some with a little something extra added. Have you ever heard the warnings, Hiri, about not putting something in the amber locker?”

With a shaking hand, Hiri reached into his document case and pulled out the envelope which I knew contained Loelle’s missive to him regarding her husband’s account. He turned it over to look at the seal, which glistened oddly in the light. I noticed immediately that the structure of the seal was breaking down as it heated up, absorbing the surrounding energy from the rail, nearing critical mass.

Quick as a flash I slammed my hand flat onto the envelope and drove it out of Hiri’s hand, sticking the wax seal to the unfortunate man’s forehead. The impact gave it extra energy and the amber, so cleverly mixed in to the wax, began to ignite.

Hiri screamed. I leaned over and locked the door from the inside. The smell of burning flesh began to fill the compartment as the seal melted its way through the man’s forehead and started on the bone; his screams reached a glorious crescendo as it moved on to his brain, and died away as the substance began to eat away at the back of his skull.

Had I not done anything, the seal would eventually have exploded; passing through so much of the rail had already given it enough potential energy for that, but this way it was so much more fitting. As Hiri slumped forward he fell onto the file containing the only things linking me to the Desert Wind and I watched as a burning glob of something fell onto the paper and began to burn it.

I sat back and watched the flames dance higher.

Story 6: Murder on the Inira Express

I woke early on the final day of the journey, aware that I would need my wits about me not only to survive the day, but to ensure that those I was indebted to survived it as well. I dressed in my finest clothing, that which I reserved only for visits with heads of state; a long black jacket embroidered with silk, the embroidery mirroring the sort of style found in rich Koruans, over a white shirt, dark-blue waistcoat and matching trousers, all capped off with boots shines to the point that you could happily do your hair in them. I did, for want of a mirror in the small compartment, and folded the bed away before facing the day.

Breakfast was exquisite; apparently a large pig had gotten on to the tracks and become caught in the screw. Because of the unique design of the screw, not actually touching the rails, it meant that we were saved a nasty derailment that could potentially have killed us all and instead treated to fresh bacon and pork chops. The coffee was still below standard but my palate was, sadly, becoming used to such fare.

Every one of the major players joined me for breakfast, not necessarily at the breakfast table but certainly at the same time. Notary Hiri picked at his plate like a bird, pecking down and skewering some morsel with his fork before devouring it almost whole. His guards, I knew, were forced to eat their meals in a lower class of setting. On the next table over, Loelle Benjen picked at her own meal without much enthusiasm. She seemed despondent, and I wondered whether it was due to her chance meeting with me the previous night or to the end of the trip she was making in her husband’s memory. What would she live for after that?

Next came the corrections officer. He actually acknowledged me as he sat down, his breakfast arriving strangely free of meat. I noticed he’d brought a large buff file to the meal; undoubtedly reminding me that he had his eye on the Desert Wind.

Almost no-one noticed when Jef’nerin walked in to the room, so unassuming was he. He almost blended in to the scenery and not a single person other than myself watched him take a seat on the table across from me. He sat for a few long minutes, completely suspended from the rest of us, operating on some distant plane that none of us subscribed to.

I leaned across. “Coffee?”

He looked over. “Is it any good?”

“It’s… it’s coffee,” I admitted. He shrugged and I took the extra cup which had inexplicably been put on my tray and filled it with coffee. I handed it to him and he breathed in its vapours.

“It is as you say. Coffee,” he said, and took a sip. He pulled a face. “Not anything more, though.”

“The best we can manage here, I suspect,” I murmured, shielding my lips with my cup. Hiri looked up at me curiously, but went back to his breakfast.

“I regret I cannot join you for a proper breakfast on this, our final outing,” Jef’nerin said. “I find pork unpalatable. Not a religious observance or anything; merely that, were I to eat it, I would find myself occupying the conveniences for the foreseeable future.”

“Unfortunate,” I said, and went back to my own breakfast.

The entire carriage was strangely quiet; the sounds of knives and forks scraping on fine china plates remained the only real sounds and I quickly finished and excused myself as the atmosphere became oppressive.

Breakfast had allowed me to put the beginnings of a plan into my mind, though, and I ensured that I was in my compartment and waiting as I listened to the others returning to theirs.

Loelle was first; I heard her close and lock the door of her compartment, pull the shutters down and block out the world; I waited a short while and then heard the small sounds of a woman sobbing, still mourning, perhaps mourning properly for the first time.

Jef’nerin went to his compartment and there were no further sounds. I imagined him simply sat, as he apparently had been the entire journey, staring at the opposite wall. Notary Hiri was the last to arrive; he was a minute or so after the Corrections Officer, who went back to his paperwork. I could hear the occasional sound of a piece of paper being turned from each of them.

A thorny problem indeed, I mused; how best to bring an end to the business of the trip without putting myself in further risk? In the end, I decided that the most straightforward path was the best, and, with that concept in mind, I walked out of my own compartment, down the wood-panelled corridor and straight up to the Corrections Officer’s, ensuring that my footfalls were silent. Outside, I composed myself; I painted a worried expression on my face, elevated my heartbeat to ensure that the flush of my face and neck would match the impression I wished to give and chewed three of the fingernails on my left hand.

I burst in to Officer Dao Habaza’s compartment without warning, crashed into the seat opposite him and panted, looking back the way I had come. He started backwards, hand on the hilt of a sword that lay on the seat next to him, but the narrowed eyes never once left me.

“What is the meaning of-“

“He’s here!” I hissed, leaning forward. “I don’t know how much I can… wait!”

I leapt up, grabbed the door and pulled it closed, then fastened the shutters. I made sure to turn my back on him in this time, sure of his response; as I sat back down I saw that he was suspicious to the point of bringing the sword up onto the table, still sheathed.

“He’s there!” I stage-whispered, pointing behind Habaza. “He’s in the next carriage!”

“Who is? Explain yourself, man,” the Officer said.

“The Desert Wind,” I said. Exactly as I expected, Habaza’s whole manner changed. Sarcastic would begin to describe it; he leaned back, relaxing his grip on the sword.

“Oh, really? And I suppose he told you that himself, did he?”

I nodded vigorously. “He told me some of the crimes he has been behind, and others that I didn’t even know! I swear, Officer, it’s him. He said he was planning some sort of final operation before he emigrated to another continent.”

“Are you aware what this sounds like?” Habaza said. “I’d at least have credited you with coming up with a decent story to get yourself out of your mess, but this? There’s no-one in the compartment next door, certainly no-one who answers to the description of-“

As he spoke, Habaza slowly relaxed his grip on the sword hilt and, as he brought his hand up to cock his thumb over his shoulder at the next-door compartment, I acted. My hands, clasped on the table, were suddenly dagger-straight and aimed at the man’s beefy throat; they sank in, cutting him off mid-sentence, and I felt more than heard Habaza’s windpipe crush in on itself. His head came forward, then he was clawing at his own throat. Quick as a flash, I dug my fingers into his eye sockets, then snaked a hand around behind his head and slammed it down onto the table. Blinded, choking and voiceless, Habaza was completely unprepared for his nose being broken and, I’m sure, he considered it a mercy when I stood up, reached over and snapped his neck, ending his gurgling for good.

He slumped in his chair, bleeding all over the table. Paperwork, most of it with my name on, began the odious task of soaking up its author’s blood. Almost poetic, I thought; Habaza had literally paid in blood for those words. I pulled the file out and brushed off the worst of it.

I opened the door a chink; the sound of the rail’s progress was uninterrupted and no-one was shouting for alarm, so I quickly exited and closed the door. With the shutters down, it would most likely be several hours before anyone found him, most likely the cleaning crew at Inira, and I would be certain to be far away before anything happened.

I went straight to the Notary’s compartment next. The guards were absent, most likely due to the minor stomach problem they were both suffering from as a result of eating some bad bacon. Hiri looked up, unimpressed, then flicked his eyes to the bloodstained file in my hand.

“What the seven hells do you think you’re-“ he said, then I slapped the file down on his table.

“Why did you try to have me killed in Shinsun’s Cowl?” I demanded. He started backwards and his eyes darted away to the side. I leaned forward and dropped my voice to a growl. “No lies, Hiri. You arranged to have me killed. It was a rush job, and you paid them in gold.”

He seemed to cast about for a moment for something to say, then sat back. “Prove it,” he said.

“Your hired goons were good enough to leave evidence for you,” I said. “A ring with an L on it, specks of purple wax still in its grooves. Your fingernails, the first day we were on the rail, had purple wax remnants on them.”

“I have no ring,” he said but I shook my head.

You’re right. You don’t have a ring like that. But the young woman in the room next door does, who arranged to have Ming Bao, the famous investigator, killed. And she sent you, the Emperor’s Notary in charge of exquisite clothing, the ring as proof of her husband’s final delivery. She doesn’t need it any more, and gold is valuable in any country. She’s not as good an actor as she thinks and while she might have fooled most, she could not fool me.” I sat back. “You paid the hired men with the ring, ensuring that your anonymity was secure.”

“Very good, Mr Bao,” the Notary said, “But what do you plan to do now?” He fingered the bloodstained file between us, the stain slowly creeping on to his own paperwork. “And what is this?”

I leaned forward. “Let me tell you a story,” I began.

Story 6: Murder on the Inira Express

Over the twenty-four hours that followed, I kept a close eye on the the various players with whom I shared First Class. Loelle came out for meals but seemed to spend much of her time resting, either asleep or merely at peace. I had conducted a brief search and discovered that her cargo was five cabins down from ours, safely stowed. It consisted mainly of finely tanned leathers, boxes of furs, linen and several cases of completed clothing. Hoping to reaffirm the dates that her husband had been delivering, sure that they provided the alibi she needed, I performed a little light-fingered reconnaissance into the Notary’s cabin while he ate his breakfast. Sure enough, the dates matched up so that, even had she travelled with her husband on his supply route, she would have been in Rida during the first two murders and still in Zar for the third.

Jef’nerin apparently preferred to spend his meals in his cabin, for I did not see him leave once during the day. For hours I turned the problem around in my head; what was his final project? In the past he had successfully kept his business ventures a secret from me. I had been aware of a shadowy figure behind several of the criminals I had apprehended, but he had never made a formal appearance and I had only been able to garner the faintest suggestions about his manner. To have Jef’nerin laid out for my study like this was… unheard of.

I sought out the final person I had yet to talk with. Having spent much of his time engrossed in paperwork, the agent from the Department of Corrections had been a rare sight, though I had seen him enough to gather some of his background. A middle-aged man, he had worked a street patrol in his earlier days before earning a commendation, the medal for which he still wore on his uniform. That he wore his uniform even when travelling like this told me much; he was not just proud of his position but married to it, unable to go off duty even here. Instead of light reading or enjoyment of the view, his leisure time was filled with report-writing or filework.

I paused outside his compartment, straightened my couture and knocked politely on the frame. He looked up, then beckoned me in. He was a large man, head almost spherical, but it was a beefy, solid look rather than fat. His skin was dusky and his facial features suggested that he was Koruan, but he had spent time in other countries judging by some of his mannerisms and accent.

“Ming Bao,” he said. 

I nodded, surprised. “You’ve heard of me?”

“Dao Habaza.” He pronounced with with an odd emphasis on the -ba- syllable, not at all the Koruan fashion. “We almost worked together. You were consulting in Fjornik.” He lay down his pen perfectly parallel to the table edge and folded his hands over his paperwork, neatly blocking my attempt to read whatever it was upside-down. “My superiors sent me for a multi-country operation, a drug problem that was sweeping both our countries. I’m sure you remember it.”

I did. Dust, the grey drug sold in little glass vials, was meant to be swallowed. For a short while, users felt like they could take on anything, and the worst part was, they actually could. It enhanced muscle usage, increasing speed, agility, reflexes… it wore off quickly, thankfully, but the addiction was instant after the first hit and prices soared.

“That was one of my first, Mr Habaza, one that started my career.”

“I transferred in as you left. My superiors were quite…” he allowed a small smile to flicker over his clean-shaved face. “Well, judging by what they said I was quite unlucky to have missed you.”

I smiled. “I’m sure that wasn’t all they said.”

“No. They also said you were an infuriating bastard.”

“That sounds more likely, yes.”

He put his head slightly to one side, eyes still locked on me. “I kept something of a track of you, Mr Bao. You’ve had quite the checkered career these past years. You mix with criminals -“

“Informants.”

He waved a hand. “That may be so. You have a criminal mind -“

“All the better to identify the criminals that the Corrections Departments seem unable to,” I retorted.

“And since we sat down, you have made three separate attempts to read the paperwork on my desk.”

“I profess to be endlessly curious. Is that a crime?”

He leaned forward. “Why are you on this rail, Mr Bao?”

“I’m here by personal invitation of the Stationmaster at Shinsun’s Cowl, Mr Habaza,” I said. “May I ask the same of you?”

He leaned back and ran a hand slowly through his hair. “Interesting,” he murmured. Then he turned the piece of paper he had been writing on around. “This, I think, explains my presence here.”

I took the piece of paper and read it. ‘The Desert Wind’, it began, ‘is a person of importance in several major crimes across at least three of the five countries in Ehrian.’ It went on to list several of the crimes that I had managed to link together, several others that I hadn’t had the evidence to link to the crime lord (but which made perfect sense in retrospect) and then a surprising detailed personal profile of the Desert Wind. A few of the details were ones that surprised me in their accuracy and I found myself engrossed as I worked my way down to the bottom where the foremost suspect for the role of Desert Wind was suggested.

It was quite a fantastic piece of detective work and almost entirely accurate apart from one vital fact.

“You think I am the Desert Wind?” I said, almost choking with laughter. “Are you aware of my many involvements with army and policing forces in Lyria, Zar and Koru?”

“We are.”

“And are you aware of just how many low-life scum I’ve… this is preposterous,” I said, cutting myself off. “Good luck with that theory, Mr Habaza, for I’m not sure you’ll find many sympathetic ears to it.”

“I have found more than a sympathetic ear, Mr Bao,” the Corrections Officer replied. “I am, in fact, on my way to Inira to present my findings to the Emperor’s brother.” He tapped the file. “It’s all in here, documents linking you to the crimes by time if not by direct involvements.”

I smiled mockingly. “Why tell me, then? Are you not worried that I will commit some heinous crime, or escape?”

“I want you to know that the game is up, Mr Bao. Once I have the proper reinforcements, you will be apprehended. I suggest that you make no effort to resist,” he said, calmly taking the paper back from me and placing it exactly in line with the others.

“Do you not worry for your own safety, then? Were I the Desert Wind, surely I would now be thinking about the best way to eliminate you before we arrive at Inira.”

He was shaking his head before I had even finished speaking. “No, the Desert Wind never gets involved in his own schemes. He allows others to take his fall for him, never dirties his hands.”

I gave a short laugh. I wanted to tell him then, tell him how close he was to the real truth about the Desert Wind. To tell him that the Desert Wind was, in fact, on that rail, was actually situated in a compartment very near to his indeed. How the Desert Wind had been near him since the start of the journey and was planning a final operation in which he would, indeed, ‘get his hands dirty’. But no.

“Well, it is going to be fun watching your theory come apart at the seams, Mr Habaza,” I said. “I’m sure that you have all the evidence you think you need. But I warn you; I will not be merciful in my defense. My memory of the past few years is perfect. Can you say the same for yours?”

Not waiting for a response, I stood and left the compartment. This journey was becoming curiouser and curiouser; in the same few square feet we had the Notary, a target; Habaza, the law keeper who was so close to his own personal target; Jef’nerin, the real Desert Wind, apparently bent on performing a last deed; a woman unconnected to it all but caught up in the middle of it; and myself, of course, the one enigma I could never answer.

Inira lay but another twenty-four hours away and I knew that if someone were to make a move on the Notary it would be within those hours. All the kills had been made with a mere two or three hours before the rail docked at its destination and I was sure that this time would be no different.

I made my way to the observation deck where I could view the passing scenery at my ease. I went straight to one of the comfortable chairs that were bolted to the floor against the wind and sank into it. The view consisted of mostly flatlands and swamp, rushing past at a pace far faster than any horse could manage. I closed my eyes and listened to the whistle of the wind passing over the cabin in front and buffeting against me.

“Enjoying the view?”

I snapped my eyes open; Loelle was stood nearby, smoking one of her thin cigars.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Worry not, my dear,” I said, standing and bowing. “I am always prepared for your company.” I noticed a glint in her eyes that had not been there before, and I sat back down. She remained stiffly standing.

“Mr Bao, wasn’t it?” She took a drag and allowed the smoke to be whipped away by the breeze. “You were telling me a story yesterday over lunch. About Kirito Swordancer.”

I nodded. “One of my finest, yes.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I thought that was what you said, yes. I remember now where I recognise your name from. The man who was ruining all of those people was also a trader in legal commodities, including ore, medicines and fine clothing.”

“An odd mix,” I commented.

“Shut up,” she said. “He was a major buyer for my husband. When you put a stop to his criminal activities, his legal trading went up in smoke too and utterly destroyed my husband’s business.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “He never recovered from the loss; the day he died he was in Fjornik trying to negotiate the trade agreement that I am only just fulfilling now. It was a miracle that it’s been honoured.” The tears began to run down her face.

“You consider me to be the source of his death? My dear, how could I have known-“

“Liar! You think of everything! You could have seen that Swordancer was involved in far more than criminal activities; you could have ensured that someone oversaw his other work, someone trustworthy. But no; it was far better to destroy him utterly. That’s what you do.” She laughed bitterly. “You think of everything. But you don’t think of everyone.” She threw the remains of her cigar into the wind and, as it was carried away from the rail by the slipstream, she stalked past me and back inside. I watched her go, emotions warring inside me.

Story 6: Murder on the Inira Express

I sat down at my table in the dining cabin and tucked my napkin into my shirt. The smell of pot-roasted beef, spiced rice and some of the tiny onions so common in Koruan food, mixed with hearty baked vegetables, tantalised and tempted me. As our plates were delivered to our tables, I sat back and took a moment to observe my lunchtime companion.

Her name was Loelle, and she was the woman from the compartment next to mine. Having apparently passed a comfortable night, lulled into sleep much as I was by the shushing of the rail, she had dressed in a simple shirt and trouser ensemble with riding boots up to her thighs. Exuding from every pore the attitude of ‘competent adventurer’, she had simply come and sat down opposite me without any preamble as I sampled the Express’s excuse for a coffee.

“Is it any good?”

“I’m sorry,” I replied, “I haven’t had the pleasure, miss…?”

“Loelle Benjen.” She took my proffered hand and shook it, then pulled a small silver case out of her pocket. She opened it, pulled out a thin white cigar and then looked at me with a cocked eyebrow. “Do you mind if I…?”

“Not at all, my dear,” I said, and she quickly struck a match and lit up. As she puffed the first inhalation out, I breathed in deeply.

“So, Miss Benjen,” I began. “You’re from Zar, yes? I’m sorry to hear about your husband, but I’m sure that the successful completion of his final shipment of superior clothing products will ensure that you experience a happy and prosperous few years. Tell me, did you cross Gargor by airship or caravan?”

The silence that followed was broken only by the slight rattle underfoot as the rail thundered on to its destination. I smiled patiently.

“Ah,” she said finally. “That means that I must ask you how Shinsun’s Cowl is treating you, and whether you miss home?”

“You can, if you wish.”

“You’re Ming Bao, aren’t you? The investigator.” She took another drag on the cigar and allowed the smoke to drift in my direction. I flared my nostrils and inhaled more of its woody warmth. “Go on then,” she said, “How did you know why I’m on the rail?”

“Your hand has an uneven tan where your wedding ring used to be; you’ve spent a lot of time out in the open recently, on horseback probably, and judging by the slightly painful way you walked, you’re not used to it. The tobacco you’re smoking is from Lover’s Lake and the case has a rather unique design embossed on it, one given as gifts by the Low King to all royal suppliers and petitioners in the year that marked his fortieth on the throne and his sixtieth birthday. That would give you access to your husband’s contacts in a limited sense and perhaps afford you a single airship flight for old time’s sake.” I paused and placed a piece of sumptuously-cooked beef into my mouth. It crumbled at the merest movements and the flavours flooded me. I closed my eyes for a moment. “Have I forgotten anything?”

“The clothing.” She gave me an amused smile and blew more smoke out, this time away from me. “How did you know about that?”

I smiled. “Ah, when one is a sometime guest of Imperial Notaries, one keeps one’s eyes open. I simply read it on some of his paperwork yesterday, my dear.”

“Oh, how disappointing,” she said, and we began to eat in earnest.

Her husband, it developed, had died when the city of Fjornik had fallen - quite literally - and she had only survived by dint of visiting family in Varikause. The influx of refugees had brought with them a harrowing tale of an entire tower city falling prey to dark powers and assault by enemies, coming down on the surrounding countryside like a stack of gold coins and killing countless thousands. That, and the circumstances of her late husband’s supply runs, gave her an airtight alibi for at least two of the murders on the Inira Express in recent months. Still, her company was an interesting diversion from the journey and, I realised, actually somewhat enjoyable. In turn, I regaled her with my most last visit to Fjornik before it fell, an adventure in which I discovered the identity of the amber magnate, Kirito Swordancer who was forcing several prominent families to their knees in monopolised prices.

We parted ways after the meal, her leaving for the observation deck at the far end of the rail where she could smoke and watch the scenery go by; I headed for the First Class carriage to check on the one passenger that hadn’t shown his, or her, face yet.

It was a man, in the event; he was sat in his compartment, table folded away, sat as straight upright as it was possible to. He was a thin man, middle-aged, with a long curling moustache that fell to below his chin.

He looked at me as I went past, and something in his face made me slow my pace and stop. Then he turned his head back to look at the seat in front of him. Not a single muscle of his body moved apart from that single head turn; his hands remained neatly folded in his lap and I felt myself drawn to enter the compartment and sit down.

He barely blinked as we regarded one another and I found myself somewhat mystified by this singular gentleman. Nothing about him hinted at his background; his skin colour was slightly dusky in the manner of Dorthian of Koruan natives; the prodigious moustache was definitely a Koruan affectation, but his dress could be from any of the areas of Lyria. I allowed my eyes to travel down to his boots and back up again, feeling rather than seeing him do the same. His belt and shoes were of fine leather, matching the rest of his clothes in quality.

“Mr Bao, I believe?” he said. His accent was thick, not something I had come across before. Intrigued, I nodded.

“I seem to consistently be in the dark about peoples’ names today,” I replied. A sudden thought struck me. “Mr L, I presume?”

“Perhaps your reputation is not deserved, then. My name is Aya Jef’nerin,” he said, his accent lending an almost musical quality to the syllables. “It is high time we spoke, Mr Bao.”

“I’m listening,” I said.

“You have been a thorn in my side several times before.” 

Gargorian. His accent was Gargorian, the name confirmed it. Pieces began to fall into place in my mind. “You were the one funding Swordancer in Fjornik. He mentioned only that someone higher than him was the money behind his business, someone he referred to as The Desert Wind.” 

“Just so,” Jef’nerin said, nodding his head. “I was also behind the West Foreston ‘Fruit from the One Tree’ operation and a particularly profitable venture in South Porton between myself and the Porton Pirates. To name a few.”

“And I was responsible for shutting those down.”

“Among others.” He finally moved his fingers, smoothing his moustache down, all the while studying me with his watery brown eyes. “I have been stymied by you once too often, sir.”

“Why are we having this conversation?”

“Fair warning.” He smiled slightly. “I am a businessman. You will not find me dirtying my hands with blood, or performing deeds most unsanitary in the dead of night. I deal with things very much as the man next door deals with things.” He nodded his head at the compartment with the Notary in. “He sees profit and loss. As do I. You, Mr Bao, you represent loss.”

I smiled. “What do you normally do when your projects turn to loss?”

“Abandon them.”

“This is, what, farewell?” I shook my head. “Somehow I think not. We’ve barely gotten to know each other.”

“That is how I prefer it, Mr Bao. I have one final operation to perform and then I am leaving Ehrian. We are like cats, Mr Bao. We have our territories. I wish for you to understand who stood against you here and then moved on, so that you can understand that you have lost.”

“I’ve lost, against someone I never knew, because that person is leaving me alone?” I queried. I was already spinning evidence together into any sort of conclusion about what his final job could be.

“I am flexible. I can leave; crime is the same everywhere, Mr Bao. Your reputation precedes you here, to be sure. What of other continents? Other countries, cities? Would they afford you the same luxuries as this one?” He gestured around the compartment. “Do you think this came cheaply?”

“And your final operation here? What of that?”

“Already underway.” He smiled calmly. “Do you think I would have told you about it if you had any chance of changing its outcome, Mr Bao? It is inevitable.”

“Well,” I said, standing up, “This has been very mysterious and not at all revealing. I hope that our decidedly cooler weather than Gargor is agreeing with you, Mr Jef’nerin, and I wish you the best of luck in… wherever you end up.” I gave him a short nod and left him staring at the chair I had vacated.

In the corridor I almost immediately bumped into the Notary. He bounced off of me and stumbled backwards; both of his guards reached for the long curved swords they had sheathed at their belts.

I put both hands up in supplication. “No harm, gentlemen. As you were.” They both looked at the Notary, who was adjusting his jacket and dusting himself off.

“I would expect, sir, that one as observant as you are supposed to be would have better reflexes,” he said, then huffed his way past me and on to the dining cabin. I thrust my hands into my empty pockets and made my way back to my cabin.

Story 6: Murder on the Inira Express

I walked down through the carriages towards my compartment, opening my senses to every little nuance. There, a woman going to meet her lover without her husband knowing; the tan line on her ring finger, expensive shoes but worn several times and clothing that was of a lesser quality. He’d bought her the shoes and she used them whenever she could; the ring was around her neck on a chain, though. It wouldn’t last long. I passed her by and continued on. A mother and a small boy, the former feigning sleep while the latter stared out the window at the passing landscape. A travelling bard, composing something he hoped would be the next great thing. I winced as he strummed on his lute; it was unlikely, given that one of the strings was a semitone flat. I passed by them all and a dozen others besides.

Finally I reached my own carriage and found, just as Hanaki had promised, that it was sparsely populated. He had claimed that he was unable to completely clear it apart from the target, but it was more likely to do with money. Tickets for First Class, like mine, were extremely expensive. I kept my eyes open and took a brief catalogue of who I was dealing with, slowing my pace to a casual saunter. Each compartment had a frosted green-glass window either side of a door which itself had another window in it. This latter window was clear, but could be shuttered from inside while the rail made its journey. The compartments themselves were small, enough for four people to sit and play cards around the thin table that ran up the middle, though at night two of those people would have to make their own arrangements. The seats collapsed down most ingeniously and the table turned upside down to form a double bed that was surely comfortable given the general quality of the surroundings. 

A high-ranking corrections officer was sat in the first compartment with the door open; he had paperwork strewn all over the table and the gold-and-black crest of the Department of Corrections was easy to pick out, even if his small document case hadn’t had his office written in gold lettering along the side. 

The next compartment had a closed door, the window shuttered but a few chinks of light escaping nevertheless from around the wood. It was darkening outside; perhaps whoever was inside was preparing for bed.

The notary was in the compartment after that. Two burly imperial guards, neither in full armour, stood outside the door, which was closed. The shutters were open, though, and I could see Lun Hiri inside, apparently asleep in his seat. He was a young man, hair prematurely receding, dressed in the  uniform of the palace; a long black robe with a heavily-embroidered collar that came off separately. The detail in the embroidery told me a lot about the man; his social status, his age, some of the things he had managed to do in his life so far. That was the way of it; the Emperor ensured that, in a glance, he could take in the life story of any one of his underlings, and the position of Imperial Embroiderer was at the same time extremely sought-after and incredibly busy.

The next two compartments were both empty and the one after that had a single woman, her bed already made; she was knelt on it in just a nightdress, brushing her hair. She turned, met my eyes and then reached over to the shutters. They slid down and the view, enticing as it was, disappeared. I filed that away for later consideration; it was far too early for most to consider actually sleeping, though judging by the clothing strewn over the bed she had been travelling on foot or horseback some distance. A rarity, not just for it being a woman but for it being anyone travelling off the rail. Perhaps the rigours of travel had taken their toll, or maybe she just wanted to get the most out of her golden ticket. As the afterimage of her faded in my mind I was struck by the independence in those brown eyes, in the slightly cocked eyebrow that had almost said ‘Oh, really? You’re looking at me?’ before she had shut herself away.

The last cabin before the door into the mechanical cabin was mine; I pushed the door open with my cane and waited for just a moment. A deep and abiding silence greeted me; the curtains to the outside were closed, unusually, and the room was dark, but no poison needles sprung out at me, no thugs with knives dropped down from the ceiling. I stepped inside and lit the lanterns, leaving the door ajar. A case of clothes was on the chair by the window, hastily packed and brought over by my housemaid, and I checked it over quickly to make sure everything was in place.

From up the corridor I could still hear the minstrel practicing and I groaned inwardly. Surely First Class also meant quiet and solitude, though a part of me yearned to start a really good game of cards. I was sure that the woman in the next compartment would be an excellent player, just from what I had seen so far, and the notary would undoubtedly have a tactical mind. No-one got far in the Emperor’s Court without thinking a few steps ahead, like a game of chess, which also meant that the Court operated very efficiently. People were good at their jobs or they were not in their jobs at all.

I heard a knock on the frame of the door and looked up from my reverie. A man in Inira Express uniform was stood there. So many uniforms, I thought.

“How can I help you?”

The man bowed deeply. “I am Hong Fey, captain of this rail, sir. I am given to understand that I should make myself known to you, conduct you on a tour of the mechanical cabin and then ensure that you are not bothered.”

I rose. “Stationmaster Hanaki’s orders, I assume?”

Fey nodded. “If you would like to come this way, sir,” he said, stepping back and gesturing.

The room with the machines that moved the rail was interesting but nothing I hadn’t already hypothesised. A large device filled the central area; it was a sphere studded round with amber, and around that a ring of metal orbited like a gyroscope. Lightning crackled off of it, attracted to orbs of metal spaced evenly around the room, in turn attached to a free-spinning drum that rotated at incredible speeds, turning the wheels and drawing the rail forwards, entirely independent of human contact. The captain’s role was limited to ensuring that the energy buildup didn’t become enough to overload or crack one of the ambers, and switching it off at the appropriate moment to ensure we coasted to a stop in Inira. Observers were protected by Dorthian rubber buffers underfoot and the occasional amber stuff to draw in the excess energy. Studying Fey seemed a better use of my time; he was uptight and obviously not happy to be showing one of the outsiders his personal domain. He ended the tour by showing me the amber locker. Part of the restrictions of travelling by rail meant that anything with an amber source needed to be sequestered away in the amber locker lest it build up a charge, with suitably explosive results.

He took me back to my room as quickly as he politely could and stood again by the door. He bowed.

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No no, not at all. Don’t let me stop you from your job.” I raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure that watching the amber is a vital task requiring all your years of expertise.”

It was a petty shot, and as I watched Fey’s lips thin down and his eyes narrow I knew that my humour had become rudeness. He was gone before I could attempt to smooth things over.

Since I was on my feet, I decided to visit my next stop: Notary Hiri. I identified myself to his guards and allowed myself to be frisked, then was allowed to pass with my cane. Hiri looked up from his work as I set myself down opposite him, allowing my eyes to pass casually over the paperwork. Even upside down I could see that it mostly consisted of treasury reports, tallies and supply orders being fulfilled or yet to be fulfilled. Notary Hiri was a banker, then.

“Ah, Ming Bao, yes? The famous investigator, late of Dorth and now of Shinsun’s Cowl?”

I bowed my head just enough to show the merest deference of station to his. “Indeed, Notary. Koru has been kind to me thus far and I am proud to take it as my adoptive nation. The weather at Shinsun’s Cowl appeals to my ageing body, as well.” I smiled self-deprecatingly.

“Yes, well,” Hiri replied, already looking back at the paperwork. “I hope you can keep me alive. I haven’t worked for all these years to stay alive in the Court just to be killed on the rail like some commoner. Do you have any ideas yet who could be the suspect?”

“Well, Notary, we don’t know for sure that you are a target. According to what we know, however, the chances are good. I am sure that, at least on the previous incident, First Class was shut off from the rest of the rail. That means we can most likely discount the people not in First Class. You trust your guards, I assume?” I cocked my head towards the door where, to give them credit, neither of them moved.

“I do.”

“There’s one customer I have yet to observe, but I’m sure that I’ll have plenty of chances over the next few days.”

“Do just that, Mr Bao. I am sure the Stationmaster will reward you handsomely for saving his reputation.”

I nodded and waited a moment more, allowing my eyes to rove around the chamber as the the Notary went back to his work. A jug of water and a small hip flask sat on the table along with a little porcelain cup; not standard issue, probably his. His case had a lock, the key hanging around his neck, and I wondered what else he was couriering. Evidently something of import. His fingers moved quickly, but not so quick that I couldn’t catch the faintest tinge of purple about the edges of his nails. Poor circulation, possibly. He looked up after a moment, apparently feeling my gaze.

“Was there something else I could help with?”

“Not at all,” I replied, already rising. “I have everything I need for now.”

I got up and walked slowly back to my compartment, hand in pocket, turning the heavy gold ring over and over.

Story 6: Murder on the Inira Express

This story, in six parts, represents the one and only time I will ever write a mystery detective story without first planning every detail. As it was, I deliberately didn't plan any of this and it just kind of tumbled out.

Enjoy!

Thirday, Morning.

Shinsun’s Cowl

A courier arrived this morning with a message for me. Apparently my tickets for the Inira Express are ready for me to pick up from the station office. I asked the courier for something official to identify him with, naturally, but he checked out.

“Can I inform the Stationmaster that you will be along presently, sir?” the boy said. He looked every inch the professional in his green uniform, little flat-top hat and gold trimming dripping from him. I nodded.

“Can’t keep him waiting. I’ll take the first carriage I can find.”

The boy bowed and I closed the door on him, then walked back over to the remains of my breakfast. Like every other day, a bowl of rice, a hardboiled egg, two pieces of toast and a sausage. A neat mix of the place I’d come from and the place I’d taken as my adoptive home.

Ruminatively, I chewed on the now-cold toast, its slightly gritty texture reminding me that I needed to buy better flower. The summons from the Stationmaster I had laid on the table and I flipped it open now to find his elegant copperplate handwriting. I was cordially invited, apparently, to travel between Shinsun’s Cowl and Inira, that very day, on the evening journey. Fascinating, particularly as this was the very first I had heard about my journey. Tickets on the Inira Express were not cheap and to organise one at this late notice took considerable clout.

To be fair, it had been a while since I had taken a case. Things had been quiet after I had successfully found the lost Jewel of Rida; of course, it had been made easier by the Emperor’s cousin, Rinto, being completely unable to keep his mouth shut when he dealt with the ladies in his life. Oh, and that being ladies plural; Rinto’s wife had been less than pleased. All-in-all, it had been difficult for someone inside the system to spot the clues, but for me, coming from outside? No problem.

I threw the last of my toast down and grabbed my jacket off the back of the chair. The full-length looking-glass that stood behind the door reflected back an ageing face, but still a handsome one, I thought. A touch of grey at the temples, still distinguished, set off neatly the grey waistcoat and white shirt I wore, topped off with a black frock coat. My gold pocket watch, a present from the former head of the Science and Industry College, neatly slipped in to one waistcoat pocket and the chain, attached to the garment itself, provided a touch of colour. My cane was leaning against the wall next to me and I ran a finger over the familiar seal on the top of it, my own personal crest.

Nodding at my own reflection in satisfaction, I pulled the door open and stepped out into the crisp Shinsun morning, cane in hand.

Instantly I was surrounded by farmers, stall-owners, merchants, slaves and everything else in between. Almost as if I was expected, a man-powered cart pulled up next to me and the swarthy fellow pulling it smiled at me.

“Cart, sirrah?”

“Aye,” I replied, climbing into the back. “To the Stationmaster’s Office, if you’d be so kind.”

“Certainly, sirrah,” the big man replied and, with a jerk, we set off in the direction of the docks.

I cast my mind over what I knew about the rail. Powered by amber, it enabled fast travel between the walled cities of Koru. The technology behind it was guarded jealously by the Emperor’s household, but I knew that other countries, Zar in particular with its famed SIC, were beginning to approach the same level of usage. In Koru it was very much a case of necessity being the mother of invention as much of the surrounding countryside remained uninhabitable swampland plagued by creatures that barely deserved the likes of day.

To cap it all, the Inira Express was a speciality in its own right. Formally, the line ran from Inira to Shinsun’s Cowl, on to the capital Rida, then through to Taishio. Mostly everyone called it the Inira Express because the money to fund it, the gold and platinum, had come from the ruling shirei of Inira; he’d ensured that the livery the staff wore reflected his personal house colours and that it was by far the most luxurious of all of the operating lines.

I was so wrapped up in my analysis of the known facts that three additional facts completely passed me by. First, we should have arrived at the station by now; second, we were nowhere near the station itself, having completely departed from the route over two miles ago; third, the man pulling the cart was armed, a knife almost concealed in a sheath running down his back. Chance revealed it, as he leaned forward to climb a slight hill and revealed the hilt as his shirt rode up.

“Hey,” I said over the noise of the wheels on the cobbles. “This isn’t the way to the Stationmaster’s office.”

The man slowed down. “Oh, ya noticed,” he rumbled. He slowed to a walk, then stopped. “Well, see, I thought we might visit a friend or two first.”

“I see,” I said, tensing. My own weapon was impractical in the tight confines of the cart and I sat back, feigning indifference. “Well, best get them here, then.”

“See, they’re already here,” the man said, grinning. He turned around, letting go of the handles and reached behind his back for the knife. Almost at the same time, two knives ripped through the canvas cover to the cart, either side of me, and hands grabbed hold of my arms.

I struggled, but they held me firm as the cart man advanced. “See,” he growled, “we got friends that ain’t here that don’t want you to go on that rail ride, mister.”

“What if I agreed not to go?” I asked, still testing the strength of the arms that held me. They were proving quite intractable.

“Well, we was thinkin’ more of a visible reminder, see, wasn’t we chaps?” the cart man said, and behind me I heard his two cronies laughing at his joke. “Maybe a nice little finger? Or something a little more precious?”

As soon as he was in range, I exploded into action. My legs, still free, knifed around; one exquisitely tailored boot went in to his groin, doubling him over; the second chopped down on his shoulder, putting him down for good. The momentum caused the cart to tip over backwards, something I was expecting but the two goons behind me weren’t. In a second I was rolling free of the wreckage and, as the cart tipped up on its end, I gave it a little extra shove. The whole thing crashed down on top of the two men, effectively pinning them.

I straightened my jacket and brushed a little dust off my trousers, then knelt to go through the pockets of the cart man. Besides the usual flotsam and jetsam of everyday life in the gutter, he had one interesting object; a ring wrapped in a handkerchief, quite above his station, heavy, gold and made for sealing letters. It had the inverse letter L on it, and traces of a purple wax still in the grooves. I slipped it into my pocket and stood up.

The two henchmen finally finished pushing the cart off of themselves and stood up. I stared at them, willing them, daring them to retaliate. They looked at each other, turned and ran.

“Cowards!” I shouted after them, but they were gone. Giving the unconscious cart man an extra kicking for good measure, I began the long walk back towards the Stationmaster’s office. If I stepped out, I could be there before the rail was due to leave.

I arrived with minutes to spare to find the Stationmaster, Ryu Hanaki, smoking some of his horrible black cigars in the shadow of the doorway. He was dressed in the green uniform of the line but, unlike most of the staff who served under him, his only barely fit around his rotund form. Judging by the discarded butts on the floor around him, he’d been there for some time. As soon as he saw me he threw down the most recent light and came to meet me.

“Ming Bao!” he said, calling me by my local name. “We are honoured by your presence. We expected you some time ago; was there a problem?”

I nodded. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Three men sought to keep me from coming here and weren’t very good at their jobs. Here, does this mean anything to you?”

I took the ring out and showed it to Hanaki, but he shook his head. “I’m afraid not. If someone tried to prevent you from coming here, though, it can only mean that whoever is behind the murders is on to us.”

My ears pricked up at that. “Murders?”

Hanaki took me through to his office and we sat down either side of his desk. It smelled of old leather and engine oil, suitably enough.

“Three members of the Emperor’s Court have been murdered on the rail between here and Inira in the last six months. Each was found in compromising situations that required a certain amount of… discretion.” Hanaki paused to mop his brow with a handkerchief. “The Emperor has made it clear that if any other members of the Court die, we are to be shut down and… I will be executed.” He swallowed heavily. “We can’t identify any witnesses, any suspects, nothing! Each one simply gets on at one end and is dead by the time they reach the other end. Different circumstances, as well; one in a locked cabin; one while enjoying the private aft deck; the third while under heavy guard, managed to be not just killed but dismembered and arranged in a particularly shaming fashion. Each almost exactly two months apart, the last two months ago.”

I frowned. “You don’t wish to involve anyone else, but can’t risk the member of court who will be travelling today being found dead, correct?”

“Of course, yes; there is indeed a notary travelling today, by the name of Lun Hiri. He travels under guard and with as much security as we can offer, but… it may not be enough.”

“So you ask me.”

Hanaki nodded. “Your discretion is beyond question and your skills legendary. Please,” he said, getting up and coming around the desk to kneel at my feet, “please save my life and honour!”

“Oh do get up, man,” I said, half-smiling. “Of course I will help you. Besides, I’ve always wanted to travel on the famous Inira Express. I’m sure that the experience will be most enlightening!”