Cold.
Jovan bundled himself into his jacket and zipped it all the way up, trying to fend off Nostramo's cold.
He clearly wasn't succeeding. His efforts had done nothing but get his chin caught in the zipper.
"Fucking freezing," Jovan muttered, rubbing his chin. "How much longer do we have to wait?"
His companion, a fat-bellied man, shook his head. "That depends on when those nobles decide to show up."
"Are you serious?!" Jovan cried. "If they never show, do we have to wait here forever?!"
"Shut your trap, Jovan. Keep your voice down. If the other groups hear us complaining, what do you think they'll tell Mr. Malai afterward?"
Jovan reluctantly nodded. He crouched down in the attic of a house that had been inhabited until recently and lit a cigarette, then took a deep drag.
The kick from the potent chemicals burning made his eyes quickly narrow in satisfaction.
"Stuff from the Old City is the best."
Jovan spoke in a low voice. "It'd be perfect if it weren't so damn expensive."
"Expensive? They raised the price again?"
"Yeah." Jovan nodded.
"I went to buy some three days ago, with Old Hammerhead. The guy selling it wasn't exactly friendly, either. Old Hammerhead asked him to lower the price, and that bastard told us to get lost if we weren't buying."
He chuckled, exposing his yellow-brown teeth. "Can you believe he talked to Old Hammerhead like that?"
The fat man nodded thoughtfully. "So that's why Old Hammerhead's face was all bruised. He got beaten up, right?"
"Yeah. The moment that bastard said that, Old Hammerhead punched him. I was going to join in, but—"
Jovan shrugged, grinning a little smugly.
"Six guys suddenly showed up in that godforsaken alley, and every one of them had a gun. I decided to see how things played out. Then they gave Old Hammerhead a beating. If I hadn't stepped in, he'd probably have been dragged to Doctor Pogrev by now."
"Pogrev's been dead for six months, you idiot."
The fat man said it casually. "They took him apart. Some people say that Vengeful Spirit did it. I doubt it, though. Pogrev had too many enemies. Anyone could've killed him."
"Really?"
Jovan raised an eyebrow in surprise, but soon returned to normal. "After all the people he hurt when they came to him for treatment, it's no wonder someone got to him."
"He deserved it," the man snorted. "Instead of buying meat at the butcher's, he ate the brains of those idiots who came to him for stitches every day."
He sneered as he spoke. "But whoever killed him, they're treating us like fools. Everyone knows Vengeful Spirit is just something made up to scare kids."
"True."
Jovan chuckled darkly, too. "But anyway, I don't think Old Hammerhead took that beating for nothing."
He grinned, raised the cigarette in his hand, and waved it at the man triumphantly.
The fat man pursed his lips, not particularly interested in indulging Jovan.
He knew full well that Jovan's claim to have "stepped in" probably needed an eighty-percent discount. And the same likely went for how he'd gotten the goods.
Jovan had wanted the stuff, sure, but after hearing the price, he definitely hadn't wanted to get it by buying it anymore.
Thinking of this, he glanced down at Jovan. The man's nonchalant air suddenly irritated him.
"Thump!"
"Hey—Barry, why'd you kick me?!"
"Get up, you idiot."
Barry swore under his breath and kicked him again. "Do you know who might be coming tonight?"
"I'm getting up, I'm getting up! Stop kicking me. Who's coming? Just some young masters and mistresses who like to come down here and have a good time, right?"
Jovan irritably brushed the dust off his backside from Barry's kicks. "They might be a little higher up the social ladder, otherwise we wouldn't be standing guard here all night. But what does that have to do with us?"
He got more worked up as he spoke, even waving his arms around. "We're nothing but their fucking dogs anyway!"
"You'd better watch what you say, Jovan."
Barry's expression changed, turning exceptionally grim. "Everyone knows it, but nobody goes around shouting about it like you do. Want to guess why?"
"..."
"And put that damn cigarette out. The smell of Old City stuff carries a long way. Unless you want those old bastards to catch a whiff and come looking for a smoke, put it out."
This time, Jovan did as he was told.
He still had a lot of respect for Barry. Of all the people he knew even a little, Barry was the only one who'd lived through a Great Purge.
Besides, he knew perfectly well what he'd just said.
"I'll tell you why, Jovan."
After a brief silence, Barry spoke again. He stepped forward, his fat belly pressing against the attic windowsill. He raised a hand and pointed at a spire in the distance beneath the night sky.
"See our base? Listen up. Mr. Malai usually calls it Honor. Do you know why?"
Jovan shook his head.
"Because the Skolevok Family gave it to us!"
Barry turned, glaring fiercely with wide eyes as he continued lecturing Jovan. As a result, he missed the two dark figures that flashed past the window.
"During the last Great Purge, we gave our lives to win the Skolevok Family a third of Quintus's New District. That twenty-five-story spire is what they gave us in return!"
"And our guns, our cars, our connections—and the reason you could take that idiot Old Hammerhead to the Old City and try to get goods for free without getting yourself killed—all of it is thanks to the Skolevok Family!"
He turned and advanced on Jovan step by step, pinning him against the wall and punching him hard. Looking down at Jovan as he lay there in pain, Barry sneered and spoke again.
"So you'd better stay quiet and keep a straight face for the rest of the night, understand? Those coming tonight aren't some ordinary young masters and mistresses. They're the offspring of the Skolevok Family!"
Jovan gasped in pain and nodded. Satisfied, Barry returned to the windowsill and resumed his watch. Somewhere beyond his field of vision, a massive black vehicle was speeding toward them.
"Vengeful Spirit."
A pale young man with powder on his lips chuckled. He wore a tight, lace-trimmed shirt and had long hair that fell to his shoulders, making him look like a dissolute young noble.
"Don't you really think that name is ridiculous?" he asked, barely able to contain his amusement.
The two young women sitting opposite him responded in very different ways.
The woman on the left, with a long scar across her face, sneered. "If I were you, I'd wisely keep quiet until you'd seen the truth for yourself, Jando. The Underhive has all sorts of things."
"Oh, oh, the Underhive has all sorts of things—!"
The young man called Jando pinched his voice to imitate her, then burst out laughing. "So that includes a vengeful ghost?"
The woman on the right shook her head. She was dressed with practical elegance in riding breeches and a pale purple, subtly patterned blouse. Though her outfit was simple, she still carried herself with noble grace.
She said sternly, "Don't get carried away, Jando. Father hasn't granted you the Black Mark yet. You need to show your sister some respect."
"Very well, Irene Skolevok, my honored sister." Jando grinned. "But I just think this whole thing is hilarious. Actually, it's downright absurd."
"Absurd?"
The scarred woman sneered again. "A family coroner is dead, and you think it's funny? Jando Skolevok, you pathetic ghoul."
"Hey, I don't eat corpses, Lena Skolevok."
"You're bringing shame on the family," Lena said coldly. "There's never been a direct descendant of the Skolevok Family like you, so fond of such lowly things."
"Come on, Lena."
Jando spread his hands helplessly. "Are people from the Underhive not people? They look just like us, and their bodies are built the same way. If you don't believe me, come to my basement sometime. I'll give you a demonstration for free."
"Let's get down to business."
Irene, dressed with practical elegance, cut them off sternly. "Coroner Manelli is dead. We'll see that she gets justice. But there's something else we need to look into on this trip."
"What is it?" Jando asked. His smile had vanished.
"The death of Lazarus Lohars, the priest at the Church of Rest."
Lena Skolevok frowned sharply. "That traitor from House Lohars?"
"Yes, Lena. Aside from collecting taxes, Coroner Manelli's tour was also meant to investigate his death. And she died right on the heels of Lazarus."
Irene slowly shook her head. "Clearly, something isn't right."
Jando narrowed his eyes. "With this happening on the eve of the Great Purge, it's hard not to suspect that's what's behind it."
Irene nodded without agreeing or disagreeing. "Perhaps another family is stirring things up behind the scenes, but we have no evidence yet. We'll have to see for ourselves and investigate on the ground."
"You're making me look forward to it."
Jando put on that flippant smile again.
"And, my dear sister Irene, once I've earned the Black Mark and Father's favor, I'll make sure to taste you. I imagine you'd be quite sweet."
He took a deep breath, looking satisfied. Lena frowned in disgust, while Irene Skolevok—
She was completely unmoved.
Thanks to everyone for the tips and monthly votes. Thank you, thank you.
Thanks to the author of Warhammer: I Don't Want to Become a Stinky Tin Can!!!, the great Kugeng Yehua, for recommending my book. I know most of you have probably already read his work, but I still want to recommend it. It's substantial, well-written, exciting, and full of vivid characters—in short, it has nothing but good points. Go read it! (shouting)
By the way, I have no idea how to attach a direct link. Orz
Also, isn't this book's update schedule terribly late? (laughs)