For Elimination

Their footsteps blended into the masses of people going up and down the major ways. Their bayonets cleaned of gore, the trio hushed to each other indirectly.

“You sure no one can understand us?”

“No. Only me.”

“Then we talk.”

Like nothing had ever happened, except they now had a teenager in tow. She was a little scruffy, and now that they were out of the alleyway, her atypical way of dressing was a little distinct among the other peasants and merchants flaunting high colors, but Eleanor drew few eyes. Of the lower class, they considered the fine make of the uniform both bourgeois and odd. Still, they shared the same drab grays and tans. Dave and Watermann, sporting their field dress, sold themselves as soldiers, but the lack of armor made for good snickering from indistinct corners. The lieutenant had kept his greatcoat, but the increasing heat made him want to slip it off his shoulders, despite the chill breeze.

“What do we do now?” asked Eleanor.

“In my eyes,” Dave started. We have two options: either we use the intel we recovered and strike first, disorienting them before giving them the slip, or escape right now with no idea what to do.”

“But if we escape, we can get some distance on them. Who knows? They might not even care about the grunts,” said Watermann.

“They obviously will. If they see us with her, they’ll know. And they’ll be angry.”

“We can get a head start.”

“Sure, but we’ll be running forever.”

“That’s what our rifles are for. We can pick ‘em off if they try anything.”

“Our rifles are our greatest asset. Especially for terror. An excellent offense is a good defense. I’m not asking to take on the world, just these three houses, and we’re out.”

Dave side-eyed Watermann, watching as his subordinate thought hard as he spoke. “Seeing their associate’s brains blown all over the floor will really scare ‘em.”

“But we’ll needlessly antagonize them.”

“We did that when we decapitated one of their sicarios.”

Eleanor squinted at the mention of the grizzly scene, but her eyes drew to the mysterious staffs clacking on the shoulders of the two. How they glistened in the sun, yet the polished wood still bore marks of heavy use, and the strange term they referred to them with. Rifles. But Watermann and Dave remained oblivious to her observations as they engrossed further in argument.

“I don’t want to kill people for no reason.”

“Here’s your reason: they’ll slaughter us if they get the chance. They’re slavers, who draw weapons on little girls and try to gut men when they let their guard down. Not the honorable soldiers of yesteryear, are they?”

“Fine. Good reason as any. But why does it have to be us? Can’t we just exit the city and deposit this girl once we have the resources to go on our own ways?”

Eleanor flinched, and her eyes widened. Seeing her chance slip away, Eleanor tugged at Dave’s cuff with her delicate and trembling fingers.

“P—please don’t leave me. I can help you with anything you need,” she mumbled.

“Oh, come on!” Dave almost shouted. “Are you really going to leave a—how old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen-year-old girl to fend for herself as some shady organization tries to bring her under bondage?”

Watermann stared hard. Caught up in his own rhetoric, he’d fumbled his point.

“No.”

“Good! Then you know what we have to do.”

“There must be some other way.”

“There probably is. But do you know one right now?”

“…”

“Exactly.”

“…who are you thinking about when you see her?” Watermann muttered under his breath, but his superior’s sharp ears caught it.

“None of your business,” Dave spat. “Follow your orders, and we’ll make it out alive.”

“…yes, sir.”

Uncomfortable and thoroughly guilty, Eleanor said nothing as she followed the two men. They made it to the central plaza of the city, with ornate fountains spouting from stone mouths and griffins. Water lying at the base swirled and shimmered in an almost white-wine gold. The central castle stood tall above them, and they conspired under the shadow of the afternoon imprints.

“From the Main Via, each street stretches out onto principal ways. These are then broken up into little connecting streets, with their little names and numbers on the side.”

No matter what, it seemed, people always organized.

“Alright,” Dave said. “We can follow the major ways closely. I don’t want to take any chances. I remember seeing some signs in the slums, but nothing legible. At least to me.”

“You are illiterate?”

“Might as well be.”

Eleanor thought for a little while.

“If we take this route,” she said, tracing the lines along her imaginary map, “…then we can hit these two warehouses in quick succession.”

“We’ll really get their goat.”

“I—I don’t follow…”

“They’ll be caught off guard.”

“Don’t you think,” Watermann started. “Don’t you think we should conceal ourselves? Just to protect ourselves?”

“Good thinking. You have a bandana or something?”

“Handkerchief.”

Dave thought about. “Good enough.”

The lieutenant scrambled around for something and found a cloth with printed baby angels, sent to him by his wife. A friendly gesture, a keepsake—something nice to throw into the grave.

“I’m sorry you’ll have to be used like this,” Dave whispered under his breath.

He cut the fabric in half and handed it to Eleanor.

“Hide yourself when we get there.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

They all nodded.

“Eleanor, you lead the way.”

“Move out.”

Shuffling like pack animals, they huddled in the streets and kept their eyes keen. Watermann, who had stowed away his cap, quickly dug it out and put it on. Somewhat disguised, the soldiers followed the mage into the den of baked goods and imported silks, before devolving into the homely smell of fried meat, and finally, the stench. Her direction was subtle, and they caught on quickly. Eleanor pointed out a dingy street where some workers sat and drank.

This way, she hinted.

Sucking through the taste of moss and back-water construction, they entered and found the inconspicuous warehouse among the dozen other rooms. At least, they thought so.

“You sure this is it?” Dave asked. “What does it say?”

“Nothing. Simply a street corner and a phrase.”

She sounded it out.

“Koh-sehn-fah-lo.”

When the syllables left her mouth, a small click sounded from the door to their right.

“An enchanted lock?” Eleanor muttered.

Dave and Watermann stacked up, turned off their safeties, and fixed bayonets. The lieutenant waved for Eleanor to stay behind, and she readied herself. He gave a quick glance. No witnesses in this corner. He began.

“On a count.”

“One.”

Watermann gripped his rifle.

“Two.”

Eleanor hugged the wall.

“Three.”

Dave shoved the door open and waved his rifle around, scanning the left perimeter as Watermann followed suit.

“Clear.”

“Clear on right.”

The room ate the daylight as it came in, bouncing off the walls and revealing little. Strewn boxes and littered trash made up most of the wooden room. In the corner, crates and barrels stamped with lettering dully rested. They searched every nook and cranny, but found nothing apart from rope and a small dining table adorned with cloth. These criminals were everything but sloppy, it seemed.

“Eleanor, what’s inside those barrels?”

“I—I don’t know. It’s stamped with nonsense, or some other language.”

“Good Lord, of all the… Watermann. Open one up.”

The private silently obeyed, approaching with his entrenching tool as he prepared to pry it open. When the lid dislodged, a dried assortment of buds and stems was all that appeared inside the barrel.

“Some kind of plant.”

“Plant—Eleanor?”

“It looks like dried manaflor.”

A flash. Her mind suddenly connected the contents of the barrel with the outside, rather, what was lacking from the outside.

“U—untaxed goods?”

“Or rather…”

“Stolen goods!”

Eleanor rushed over and made Watermann open another one. Sure enough, another illicit good spilled out of the barrel and dripped onto the floor.

“Spirits.”

“Oh… doesn’t that smell good,” the private’s mouth salivated as he thought of liquid gold from back home. But he regained his composure. The lieutenant, still bitter, wanted to quash his orderly’s hopes, but relented. Every man needs his fix, after all.

“Fine. Fill up.”

“Affirmative!”

Watermann chugged the remaining water and replenished his canteen. Instead of joining his comrade, the lieutenant quickly sorted through his options. They needed to dispose of these goods while limiting collateral damage. Burning down a warehouse in the sticks was one thing, but in a dense city full of timber and thatch roofs, where families huddled for warmth…

Like the poorhouses that offered them sanctuary.

It was a good distraction and would cause them to hurt badly. But it wasn’t worth the price.

“Eleanor, can you make this all useless? Or something to destroy this product?”

“Hmm… a water spell would ruin the manaflor, but without a staff or wand, it will take some time preparing the incantation.”

“Do what you can.”

“Right.”

He turned.

“Watermann, help me open every barrel and crate.”

The private, mouth full of whiskey with some dribbling down his mouth, nodded. He scooped up one last batch of liquor and shut his canteen tight. Then, as soon as he finished, he tipped the barrel over, causing it to crash and wash over the floor. Dave did the same, prying each nail open with his tool and ruining more and more perishables. Splinters flew as their aggressive work continued. Eleanor continued to chant and channel mana as the two soldiers moved like prohibitionists. Her trance-like prayer absorbed her in cool blue light. Watermann finished his work and wiped the sweat from his brow, but his ears picked up trouble.

“Company, Lieutenant.”

“Damn… Watermann—flank that door.”

“Aye.”

Each footstep grew louder, and Watermann could hear their pace become frantic as they realized the door stood ajar. The private mouthed and signaled—two coming from the right, probably armed. Dave nodded. Eleanor incanted faster as the two burst into the room, daggers in hand.

“You!”

But before they could even fathom a response, their heads met the furious end of a rifle butt. The grizzly crack of wood against bone made the mage-girl wince slightly. Their bodies fell limp to the ground, but their bellies rhythmically rose and fell.

KO.

Dave wasted no time, motioning for Watermann to get the rope and close the door.

“Hogtie ‘em.”

Soon, all bound and blind with cloth from the table mantel, the rogues slept and dreamed of whatever it was criminals desired. Probably another drink—if they weren’t cerebrally hemorrhaging.

Eleanor completed her chant. A circle of indescribable thinness appeared at her fingertips. Designed with geometries and lines bending like a dream catcher, capturing light within a well, before scaling to the height of the room.

“…with all the oceans of thy bounty and parted from the heavens. I call upon your forces from the sign of the waters above: Nerod!”

Almost out of nowhere, water manifested and climbed up to her finger’s directions like a conductor. Eleanor snapped out of her trance and smiled.

“Cerulean Cliffs!”

Rushing water crashed over the barrels and caused them to break apart, soiling and adulterating the goods as countless geld swirled down the drain.

With a self-satisfied smile, Eleanor struggled to stay up. The two soldiers came over and steadied her.

“Did you see? Did you see?” she tiredly prodded.

“Incredible… just marvelous…” Watermann whispered to himself.”

Dave held up her face as she drooped forward.

“Hey—hey! Are you alright?”

“Yesmm… my magic just took a lot from me… without the amplification of a quality mana crystal, spells require much more mana. Especially offensive spells…”

“Come on, come on,” he said. “We’ll settle for one warehouse. Time to make it to the gate.”

“Wait!”

Eleanor hung onto his greatcoat, pulling it down as she struggled to stand.

“There is another… another person whom they took.”

“A little girl.”

Dave kept her steady. His breath almost stopped.

“Where?”

“Same place I was. The Gilded Harpy. A tavern in the southern sector.”

He thought not even for a moment.

“Watermann?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Prepare for battle.”

At first, he looked with some hesitation, but now getting a glimpse of the reality these people engaged in, he understood.

“I’m at your disposal, Lieutenant.”

Leaving the scene of their sabotage, the trio donned their disguises and navigated at Eleanor’s discretion. Every street corner they crossed contained more of the urban poor, the downtrodden, the picked-upon, the helpless and abused. With hollow eyes and ratty clothes. Knowing that their captors held the monopoly on power. No more. Even if it was just one, Dave would put the fear of God back into these mortal men who played the bit of despot. He prayed for more time. The suns were setting in the backdrop of splendor visible in the distance. Just one more hour. Just one more minute.

One more second.

They arrived.

It was inside another main way, where not even the most brazen merchants passed. A little stable stood to the side and extended out back, which hadn’t cleared of the Thoroughbred’s work. The horses looked back at the two with heads tilted, but innocent gazes. Dave’s eyes darkened under the visor of his officer’s cap. His moistening bandanna betrayed his emotions. Cries of gay laughter and pleasantries echoed out from inside the den of filth and refuse. Watermann flanked on the other side of the inconspicuous wooden door, and Dave held his rifle. Eleanor struggled behind them, but kept her eyes wide and alert.

“Ready in three.”

The lieutenant counted on his fingers.

Three.

Two.

One.

Crash—and they entered the room. The mercenaries in casual dress and girls in almost nothing drank and sang. Even with the disturbance at the front of the tavern, they paid no mind and almost beckoned for them to join. Looking like bandits themselves, the two soldiers were just another pair of hungry sinners looking for grub and fun.

The bayonet’s gleam under candle and lantern light informed the patrons of their true intentions, however. Same with the rogues of the establishment.

“Get down! Get down! Now!” Dave barked.

But none of them obeyed. The honored guest and chief among them laughed and continued his machinations with the lady-friends of the tavern. One guard, thoroughly annoyed with the gall of these foreigners speaking in a nonsense tongue and disrespecting their turf, got out his spiked club. Violence was the only language.

“Put down your weapon! Now!”

He approached without a care in the world. The guard was big, burly, hairy—excellent bouncer material. Too bad his employers were such horrible people, and he seemed to pay no mind. He was ready for the kill.

Dave pulled the trigger.

CRACK!

The sound punched a hole in the room, silencing the merry bar patrons and the composure of the ruffians. A hot Spitzer zipped through and blew out the skull of the slaver, who dropped like a discarded toy to the ground knees-first. His bludgeon fell to the floor. Whatever came before ceased. It didn’t matter. Eleanor remained in her crouched position. Her ears rang; the girl’s heart raced as the unknown magic filled the room with an ashy, acrid smell. Like burned air. It churned her stomach, but her eyes lit up.

Dave’s breath shook from adrenaline. His lungs felt like they could burst out of his chest and pop, but he stayed perfectly still. His heart hardened. He spoke.

“Now,” he began. “I’m no good at speaking. I graduated 55th in my class of 164. Just about average—I never double-checked anyhow. My battles are nothing to write home about; I’m wearing the same damn uniform as every other second lieutenant under the sun. And my mother thinks I’m handsome.”

He kept his rifle raised.

“But what I’ve got here is a Falkenhayn-Lettow Model 1887, chambered in eight-mil Faulken purchased by yours truly.”

The lieutenant pointed it at the chief slaver. He abandoned his knife, keeping his gloved hands open at his sides in terror.

“This blew your buddy’s head clean off, and I’ve got it pointed at your cranium. You can’t understand me, and I don’t either. That’s how it’s going to be.”

“However, you’ve got a girl under here, and I can’t let that go.”

He remained still, and the thug shivered like a rat in the cold.

“If the ringing in your ears is gone by now, I’ve gotta ask—and don’t wait for the translation.”

Dave held his rifle high.

“Parley?”

Even in another world, every man feared the great equalizer.

“Y—yes!” was the only thing Dave needed to hear or comprehend.