Midnight Pavilion

The dawn in the Outer Ring had a scent of its own.

A mixture of brackish water and cheap liquor that spread across tavern floors before reaching the cups. Daniel crossed the streets with no apparent hurry, his cane marking each step, though beneath the dark cloak there was tension in his muscles.

For the first time, the traveler from another world carried a firearm. A revolver with a steel frame and wooden grip. Break-action loading with room for six metal cartridges.

The worn metal showed it was not a new piece, but the cylinder spun smoothly, and the weight felt balanced. Daniel had no affinity for weapons of any kind; the Convergence had given him only the minimum training in combat. And since his Gift favored stealth over direct confrontation, they never bothered to train him to fight on the field.

Perhaps his lack of practice would indeed make things harder tonight, but someone had to follow Thanatos in the Middle Ring. It wasn’t that Grace distrusted the fool, but he was certainly less likely to take risks than Gupta — something the poisoner had already proven back in the Warlock’s Crypt — and with Sallustia as his bodyguard, maybe the artist would feel safer taking action.

There was also the matter of the informant. Zanma had reported how La Farfalla knew exactly what their plans were at The Magus’ Chalice, but there was still too much to consider before accusing anyone. First, their strategic meetings took place in Fort Tinuso, a place infamous for the kind of people who frequented it. Second, the poisoning of the vote counters had been only partially successful, even with Madame Umbra guarding them.

Third… well, he would have more clarity depending on how tonight turned out — provided the night didn’t cost him his life.

The Midnight Pavilion rose at the far end of a wide, muddy avenue. A dark stone building, old, with tall arched windows that by day let in sunlight, but were now sealed behind heavy crimson curtains.

The main gate was flanked by two statues of harpies, wings broken and faces corroded by time and weather. Above, a bronze sign gleamed with the place’s name, even amid the Outer Ring’s scarce light: Pavilionem Noctis.

They said it had been built centuries ago as a concert hall for the nobility. But the decay of neighborhoods far from Gran-Devana’s center, along with the flight of wealthy patrons, had turned the place into something else entirely.

Brothel, tavern, opium den, and gambling hall. All at once. The inner walls still held the original frescoes where half-naked nymphs laughed, frozen in plaster, but the floorboards were worn, the wooden tables marked by knife scratches, and the crystal chandeliers had been replaced by oil lamps that filled the painted ceiling with a sweet-smelling smoke.

Daniel crossed the lobby, ignoring the drunken dancers trying to draw his attention by showing their breasts, the off-key musicians, and the clients laughing too loudly to hide their whispered dealings.

His target was in a more private room in the back. That was where he found Varo.

The slave merchant was a big man, broad-shouldered, heavy-bellied, but without the soft fat of a mere glutton. He was solid, like someone who had spent his life as a dockworker before learning to exploit the labor of others. His black beard, neatly trimmed, framed a square jaw, and his eyes were dark and deep-set.

He wore a brown velvet coat, a white ruffled shirt, and thick wool trousers. On his right hand gleamed a ruby ring. Two bodyguards stood by the door: men with blank expressions, shaved heads, and heavy leather coats. Each carried a musket on the shoulder and a saber at the hip.

“Lord de Lio” Varo said when Daniel entered, his voice slow and deep. “I hear you wish to discuss business.”

Daniel approached the table where the man sipped his wine but did not sit.

“I came for a child. A boy who must have reached you about two weeks ago.”

Varo leaned back in his chair.

“And may I ask why a gentleman such as yourself would be interested in that kind of merchandise?”

“There’s no need for that, Master Varo” Daniel replied. “Just the price, please.”

Varo chuckled softly, exchanging a quick glance with the bodyguards.

“Well, we have a problem. If what my informants say is true, the boy you came for is not for sale.”

“Everything is for sale” Daniel retorted. “It only depends on the offer.”

Varo set his wineglass down, leaning forward.

“Listen carefully. I know who sent you. The King of Beggars wishes to take what lies beyond his stinking alleys. To the eyes, it may not look like much, but you do not understand what is at stake.”

“A child.”

“A vessel” Varo corrected, real fear in his eyes. “That boy bears certain attributes very dear to our monarch of the gutters. Do you really think the king survives on charity and alms alone? He will use the boy. And when he does, this city will bleed. And you don’t even understand, because you don’t know what he is!”

What he is?

Daniel held the man’s gaze.

“That is not my concern” he said at last, deciding that whatever Varo meant did not matter.

He was a slave merchant, after all. His dark interests held no weight for the Convergence.

“It should be” the merchant insisted. “Taking him from here… ah, it will draw eyes upon you that you do not want.”

The silence stretched. From the main hall came the distant clinking of glasses and laughter, as if from another world.

“So there’s no deal?”

“Not for you” Varo said, leaning back again. “Nor for anyone. But take a free piece of advice: forget the boy. There are powers moving we cannot understand. Do yourself a favor and stay ignorant.”

Daniel turned away without asking permission. He could feel the guards’ eyes on him as he left. But he had not given up.

***

Grace ordered a drink.

He sat near the stage in the main hall, where three drowsy musicians played their violins. The audience paid no attention. The cheap wine tasted of rust, but Daniel wasn’t drinking.

He needed a distraction.

Something quick, loud enough to scatter the guards, but not so loud as to draw the Custodia Civilis, exceptionally brutal in the Outer Ring.

When two patrons began arguing near the gaming tables, Daniel saw the chance. A little push here, a spilled drink there, and within seconds the men were trading punches. Chairs overturned, a bottle shattered against a wall, and someone finally screamed for the guards.

Varo’s men rushed out to break the fight. Daniel moved at once.

[You slip past the onlookers unnoticed. Your stealth skill far exceeds the perception of mundanes.]

Daniel read the message and headed for the stairs. From the building’s layout, he guessed the rooms were upstairs. He climbed two steps at a time, keeping his head low.

The corridor above smelled of perfumed incense. Doors lined the walls, some ajar with laughter, whispers, moans drifting through.

At the corridor’s end, Daniel found the door that looked right. Two heavy bolts on the outside and no guard. They were all busy downstairs.

Grace took a deep breath, drew the revolver, and shot the bolt. The lock gave way.

Inside, the light was dim.

The boy was curled up on a narrow cot, wrapped in a rough blanket. Maybe ten years old, thin face streaked with dirt, long brown hair falling over his eyes. The linen shirt was far too big for him, and one torn sleeve exposed a forearm too skinny for his age.

When he saw Daniel, he shrank back against the wall.

“Hey” said the Deorum Tecit softly. “I came to get you out of here.”

“Did the king send you?” The boy’s voice was a thread of sound.

“Yes. Now come. Quickly!”

The sound of boots pounding up the stairs hurried them along. Daniel grabbed the boy’s hand and ran to the window, shoving the rusty shutters open. The glass cracked with a sharp snap.

“Climb on my shoulder. Hurry.”

Below was a slanted roof covering the back storeroom. A hard fall, but not fatal. Daniel jumped, the impact jarring his knees.

Shouts echoed from the corridor above. Someone was warning Varo.

Daniel ran across the roof with the boy in his arms. One guard appeared at the window and fired a musket, the shot flying too wide, but close enough to speed the fugitives up.

At the roof’s edge, Daniel and the boy leapt into an alley. They rolled in the mud, scrambled up, and dashed into the darkness.

Varo’s voice barked orders in the distance.

The guards gave chase, but they did not know the alleys like a master thief. He cut through narrow passages, across abandoned courtyards, under clotheslines heavy with damp rags.

When the pursuers’ footsteps finally faded, Daniel slipped into a ruined building and waited in silence, the boy hiding behind him. Two guards ran past outside, never looking in.

Only when everything was quiet again did Daniel speak:

“I’m taking you home.”