Returning to his maps, Zaethan again sought a pattern between the haphazard markings. Red lines drafted a distorted circle around the city, sprinkling into the provinces. He had only recently seen the need to classify the bodies found. Crimson hatch-marks clustered the inner Proper, where most of the victims had been drained. Miniature stars dotted Marketown and outward toward the docks, as well as the Drifting Bazaar. Sparingly, tiny squares distinguished where a victim’s body was torn apart. Though spread out, the squares dominated the map outside the Proper and into the plains.
Same victim. Different kill.
Zaethan bent the corner of the map, accidentally tearing it. The pattern, though present, still didn’t add up.
“Ahoté!” A pair of enormous fists shook the tabletop, sloshing the little bwoloa left in his glass. “Ahoté, didn’t you hear me?”
“Ano…when did you get here?” Zaethan looked around. “And where is that waitress?”
“I went to the stables, the offices, your apartments.” Kumo scratched the base of his thick neck. “We’ve been trying to find you for hours, Ahoté. They made an arrest. It’s sheer kakk, though. Just a thief, third offense…” The beta rambled until Zaethan cut him off.
“Doru, cousin. Just stop.” Zaethan held up his hand. “Arrested for what? Lifting some bread?”
“Ano zà!” Kumo’s forefinger pounded the center of the map. “For this! Total kakk. Wekesa’s pryde wanted an arrest, and the commander bought it. Zahra said they rolled through your offices this afternoon and paraded the gutter rat in front of the sentries like some trophy.”
“Shtàka!” Zaethan snarled and swiftly rolled up the maps. “Let’s go.”
“Go where, Ahoté?”
“To the accused,” he yelled over his shoulder as he plunged through the crowd ahead of Kumo. “Depths, after running night after night through this city hunting the man, I want to look him in the eye.”
“But I just told you!” Kumo hollered over the noise. “It’s all kakk. A kàchà kocho pocket-swiper won’t be able to tell us anything.”
“Which is exactly why I want to talk to him.”
Zaethan breathed through his mouth as they descended the spiraling stairs into the lower dungeon. Wekesa was really putting on a show, holding a common thief among the roughest criminals in Bastiion. If anyone suspected his false arrest, they’d have to endure these putrid catacombs beneath the city just to question the prisoner—an unlikely measure for most.
As they turned a corner, Zaethan mistakenly inhaled a whiff of human waste. Chains clanked and jangled against the bars of neighboring cells as he and Kumo marched past. A few prisoners called out perverse proposals, while some wailed in pain in the distance. Understandably, their visit was not well received.
“Depths, I hate this place.” Kumo spat into the rag he’d used to cover his nose and eyed Zaethan peculiarly. “Are you limping?”
“Cramp,” he grumbled.
“That’s a limp, Ahoté…”
“How much further, Timon?” Zaethan asked the young Unitarian sentry at the lead.
“Just ahead, sir. Shtàka,” the sentry swore under his breath. “I meant, Lord al’Haidren. Er—Alpha Zà, sir.”
“They all suit,” he assured the sentry, sympathetic that he probably didn’t get out of the catacombs much.
They stopped before a slim opening between two boulders. Torches dimly lit a hollowed space where a man dangled in the center, his arms chained above his head. His spine and ribs protruded through his skin under the grisly lashes across his back.
“Really wanted to sell it, didn’t he?” Kumo scoffed and tossed the rag aside.
“Timon, fetch the prisoner’s personal effects,” Zaethan ordered. “I’d like to examine his clothing, weaponry, the like.”
The sentry shifted uncomfortably. “There aren’t any, Alpha Zà.”
“Then step outside, Timon.”
The sentry promptly nodded and left. Zaethan was grateful his title still meant something in the dungeons, even if it carried less weight above the surface.
“My name is Zaethan Kasim, Alpha Zà of the Darakaian militia.” He leveled his face with the thief’s, noting the extreme swelling of his haggard cheeks. “I want to discuss your interaction with another alpha by the name of Wekesa.”
A bloodshot eye tracked Zaethan as he mimed a scar over the side of his head, imitating his rival. The thief ground his teeth—the few left, anyway—and glanced aside.
“Eh, this rat’s not going to talk, Ahoté.” Kumo threw his hands up. “To him, we just chained him up to be punished worse than the crime he did commit, yeah?”
“I’m trying to help you.” Zaethan again moved into the man’s line of sight. “But help goes both ways. Where did Wekesa, or his men, find you earlier today?”
It was a wealth of moments before the thief answered. “Alley,” he croaked.
“This was your third offense, I am told. What did you steal?”
His bloodshot eye rolled sarcastically. “Saoirse pearls.”
“Saoirse pearls…see?” Kumo folded his arms.
“Whatever you stole, I assume it was to eat, by the look of you.” Zaethan noted the depressions in the man’s sternum. “I don’t care what it was, so much as where it was.”
“Agost merchant.” The man blinked. “Marrow district.”
Agost honey could buy a family food for a month, if sold to the right bidder. The merchant was foolish to set up a booth near opium tents. Although, Zaethan remembered, many a rich yancy found themselves addicted to the smoked herb—yancies who could also afford goods from Agoston. The type of yancy with whom Wekesa spent his time as of late.
“What was said when they arrested you? Any exchange between the alpha and his men?”
“Makes no difference.” The man sniffed at the blood running from his nostril.
“A third offense loses you a hand.” Zaethan lightly gripped the hilt of his kopar. “You’ve been accused of murder. There is very big difference. Unless, of course, you disagree. Kumo?” He gestured to the exit. “I think we’ve heard enough.”
“Wait!” the thief exclaimed when they reached the opening of passage. “‘Make him unrecognizable,’” he whimpered. “That’s all…all he said.”
“Timon!” When the sentry reappeared, Zaethan ordered, “Take this man to the secondary level. He will provide you his name. He is not to lose his dominant hand—so he may still work. Sear it with hot iron and ensure it’s tended by a physician, then let him go.”