Death at the Opera - 6
A gray and cloudy sky gently wept in the early morning. Sending its tears down to clean Milo’s face, nudging him awake.
His eyes fluttered and his muscles twitched as he slowly regained consciousness. And as oblivion drifted away so did it’s ignorance, replaced by the pain of flesh and the pain of knowing.
Milo sat up and agony shot its roots throughout his entire body. He had a splitting headache and his back and left arm burned with pain. But most surprising of all was that he was not dead.
The world slowly swayed and bopped and it took him a moment to realize he had landed in a boat. A boat that must have undocked itself by the impact of when he fell into it. One of the little benches had fractured and broken beneath his weight and Milo was certain he’d be picking splinters from his back later.
He was surrounded by water and fog and not too far away he could see the towers of Lexingrad. It took him a moment to get his bearings but he soon realized he was in the bay south of Blackstone and Voxport. Which meant he had been taken down the Colton River through most of the city and out to sea, though not too far out.
After wracking his brain on what had just happened he suddenly had a terrifying thought occur to him. The necklace!
He hesitantly reached for his bag which had luckily gotten tangled on his arm and not fallen in the river. But given his impact in the boat, it was more than likely the necklace had been damaged as well.
He stuck his hand into the bag and rummaged its contents, finding his toolkit, his scarf and hat along with his folded knife. And then, his fingertips found it. He carefully gripped it and slowly pulled it out. The soft gray light hit it and his eyes beheld the glorious jeweled necklace in all its glory. Interlinked elven silver encasing diamonds and sapphires, with a singular giant sapphire at its center.
Through some miracle or sheer luck, the necklace was undamaged.
“Thank Kheal. Thank the gods.” Milo whispered to himself as he carefully placed it back in the bag. “Now I just gotta get back to land.”
Milo climbed up the rickety docks of Blackstone, beholding the darkened city enshrouded in a fog of gray.
Aside from the occasional fisherman, the streets were largely deserted. It was Sunday after all and most smaller business would be closed today. It meant he would be easier to spot on his journey north to the Dreadward, to Mr Howlett. However that’s where the fog would be a blessing to him. He might be hurt and limping, but a small person like him could always hide away in alleys and gutters to avoid the watchers.
He wondered what had become of the others. Sofia had looked dead but he couldn’t check to make sure. Rykard surely must have died from the explosion, meaning he was the only one left. He should have died in that apartment building. But somehow luck was on his side. Possibly for the first time ever.
And so, he limped northward, thinking of River with each and every single pained step he took. The streets were mostly deserted with the occasional workers prepping for the coming week and other citizens going about their business. But luckily he was able to avoid any and all watchers making their patrols. This endeavor, however, got increasingly more difficult as he crossed on over to the Dreadward. And while he steered entirely clear of Bolton and the apartment building, he could tell there were still watchers about patrolling the streets and probably investigating the scene of the crime.
At one point, as he approached The Bounty, he found a patrol of watchers blocking the street, but soon they departed to patrol elsewhere. Leaving him to reach his destination entirely unaccosted.
As he gripped the handle of The Bounty’s front door, Milo momentarily stopped to look around. Making sure that no one was following him.
The gray mists gave the city a morose look. Like all of Lexingrad was in mourning with him. But as far as he could tell, none had followed him.
Milo inhaled deeply and finally entered The Bounty.
The Bounty’s lower level was deserted this early in the morning, save for those who directly worked for Mr Howlett. Which meant there were no prying eyes as Milo slid the necklace across the table.
Edward Howlett, leader of the “People’s Union” stroked this handlebar mustache as he cocked an eyebrow at the state him. Milo’s dark hair was unkempt, his clothes were dirty and there was a streak of dried and crusted blood on his face. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days with a thousand yard stare to match.
Mr Howlett tore his eyes off of the spectacle that was Milo Kravic and returned to inspecting the necklace.
“Gerritt, please fetch our friend Mr Kravic over here a little pick-me-up.” Howlett ordered without looking away from the necklace.
“That’s quite alright, sir.” Milo protested curtly. “I’m alright.”
“No you’re not.” Replied Mr Howlett, still inspecting the necklace. “You’re on the verge of death and I’d rather you’re child didn’t see you like this.”
Milo watched as a bald, clean shaven man dressed in fine black clothing with tattoos snaking down his arms approached with a bowl of hot water, a towel and a small bottle with a brackish red liquid in it.
“I can’t really afford this, sir.” Said Milo.
Mr Howlett turned his cold blue eyes towards the demure goblin man and for a brief moment he thought he saw warmth in those eyes.
“It’s on the house Mr Kravic, please.”
Milo relented, nodded and began dipping the towel in the hot water. And while Mr Howlett pulled out a small magnifying glass to better inspect his prize, Milo cleaned himself off, winching from pain as he did. He didn’t dare close his eyes for too long, for fear of falling asleep. And once he felt appropriately clean he uncorked the bottle of red liquid and sniffed it. The scent was a strange mixture of bitter and sweet, a scent he had smelled once before. This was what the common folk called a healing potion. Though not strong enough to mend broken bones or stitch together wounds, what they did was reinvigorate oneself and accelerate the body’s natural healing process. At least to regular folk like him.
He placed the bottle to his lips and downed it in one go.
“And the others didn’t make it.”
It wasn’t a question.
“No, sir.”
Mr Howlett nodded, placing the necklace and magnifying glass on the table and then joining his bony hands together with fingers interlocked.
“This is a very serious situation, Mr Kravic.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“Rykard killed that woman, Madeline Keen. Killed her in cold blood. She was connected high up. High enough that they sent Crimson Guard after us.”
“And now you’ve brought it to me.”
The bald man approached the table with a small metal box of some kind and Mr Howlett placed the necklace inside before closing it.
“That was the deal.” Said Milo. “That was the job.”
Mr Howlett nodded. “And against all odds you managed it just fine. There’ll be a lot of heat on this item now.”
“Is it worthless?” asked Milo.
“Pardon?”
“Is it worthless to you because of the heat?”
Mr Howlett smiled through his handlebar mustache.
“For a less savvy businessman, perhaps. But I ain’t no ordinary businessman. To most this would be a cursed piece of contraband. Anyone caught with this would surely be put to death. However, with the dramatic tale that has been spun around this item, a tragic death and daring last stand, I would say that it has certainly gone up in price. Given of couple of months and I might be able to find a buyer who’d pay half an estate for it. That’s money that’ll benefit the people of the Dreadward greatly.”
“How much would it be worth?” asked Milo, hopeful.
“I don’t know. But we’ll be going off the asking price right now.”
“Oh.”
“Chin up. That’s a lot of money.”
“Not enough to pay my debts, Mr Howlett. Sofia and Brian had the rest of the loot and it was left in the safehouse, and my cut of the necklace was only 1100 crowns.”
Mr Howlett furrowed his brow before leaning over the table to look Milo better in the eye.
“Your cut? Well I don’t see anyone else here.”
It took Milo a moment to understand what he meant and upon the dawning realization he felt his heart skip a beat.
“By my calculations. Once you’re debt has been paid, you’ll still have 2900 crowns to spend.”
Milo stammered, struggling to find the words, as tears streamed down his cheeks.
“I suggest you go take your boy out of the city and make a good life for the two of you…somewhere else.”
Tears were Milo’s only answer.
The door to the old and dank room opened up and River looked up from his penny dreadfuls. He’d been cooped up in this room for two days and was used to having scary looking people bring him food or something new to read. But as he looked up he was surprised to see his father.
“DAD!” he screamed as he jumped out of the bed, ran towards the door and wrapped his hands around his father.
“I missed you!”
Milo embraced his son, fighting away the tears as he did.
“I missed you too, River.”
“Are you back? Like, are you back back? Can we leave?”
Milo simply nodded.
Once the boy had gathered his things the two walked back out to the main floor of subterranean chamber of the Bounty. There Mr Howlett stood, waiting for him.
“You have everything you need?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, now get out of my club.”
He then offered his hand and Milo gripped it. Mr Howlett didn’t shake his hand, only squeezed it.
“Live long, and live well, for you son. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.” Said Milo as the two men released one another.
Edward Howlett leaned against a wall as he watched a limping father and his eager son slowly ascend the stairs to depart for greener pastures. For them the world was an infinite horizon of possibilities, but not for him. To him Lexingrad was the world and this was where he belonged.
“I’ve never been to Krovholm.” Said River as he and Milo slowly made their way down the cobblestone street carrying their luggage.
“Me and your mom had to stay there for a few days when we first moved to Lexingrad, or when we were on our way to Lexingrad.” Milo said, wincing through the pain.
“Is it nice there?”
“Oh no. It’s a terrible place.” Said Milo laughing, his lungs aching as he did. “There are so many industrial plants there that the air is thick with smog.”
“Then why are we going there?” asked River, looking up at his father.
“Because from there we’re going onward to the East. To Bladehold and from there we’ll go north…to Gorgol Tillage.”
“That’s where you and mom used to live, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, a long time ago…”
They carried on their backs and under their arms seven suitcases, each filled with what little they had left in the world. Milo remembered once living in a large house filled with his family’s belongings. Now all of his possessions had been reduced to the point that they could be carried in seven suitcases. The city had taken everything from him.
But now was the time to look forward. To move on and to rebuild. Their journey to the edge of Densburrow had been uneventful. It seemed that watcher traffic was especially sparse this day. Milo imagined most of them were either located in the Dreadward or in Wolverham. The nobility had experienced a tragedy and the world always stopped for nobility. In this moment that served him just fine.
The two goblins rounded the corner where they found a set of horse drawn carriages parked at the side of the road. Milo had originally planned on taking the train out of town, but foresaw security being much tighter there. He did not want to be flagged down and arrested when the customs agents viewed his documents and got a closer look at his injuries. No, taking a carriage out to Krovholm was the best course of action.
“Good sir.” Milo called out to the driver of the foremost carriage. “I would like to use your services.”
The driver looked at Milo, looked at his poor clothes and raggedy suitcases and sighed.
“I don’t transport passengers around the city. If you want to go to a different district I advice you to take the trolley.”
The human driver then turned his eyes back to the book he was reading.
“I would like to purchase a trip to Krovholm.” Said Milo with a determined expression.
The driver looked at him again with a confused expression, but when Milo pulled out a pouch that had the unmistakable sound of shifting coins the man’s agape mouth turn to a smile.
“A trip to Krovholm will cost you about 530 crowns, sir.”
“Let’s make it 600.” Said Milo and the two men now exchanged smiles.
“Very well. Put your luggage in the back then and we’ll be off.”
Milo turned to his son. “Go sit inside the carriage and read your penny dreadfuls. I’ll join you in just a minute, alright?”
River nodded and eagerly climbed into the carriage, closing the door behind him. Milo let out a sigh of relief. They were almost there.
He started to load up his suitcases one at a time. They were heavy and he was at the end of his strength. But he had enough for a little more. One by one he lifted up his suitcases, the containers of all his worldly possessions, and strapped them to the backside of the carriage. Until there was but one suitcase left, still resting on the sidewalk next to an alleyway.
Milo took a step and almost lost his balance for a moment. He was tired and ready to leave. But not just yet. Milo reached for the suitcase and felt a hand violently grip his.
Before he knew what was happening he was pulled into the alleyway and thrown against a wall. He collapsed to the ground and when he attempted to get back up he was kicked in the ribs and sent flying further into the alleyway.
It took him a moment to both catch his breath and regain his senses and when he did he saw a hulking figure standing at the mouth of the alley, between him and his son.
“You though you could make a run for it, eh?” a voice growled at him. “You thought you could run away with my money?!”
Ice ran through Milo’s veins at the sound that familiar voice and he watched in disbelief as Rykard Moore stepped into the light. He was wearing a coat that Milo didn’t recognize but he could see the man was bloodied from head to toe underneath it. Droplets of crimson dripped from his fingers and pooled around his feet.
“Rykard? You’re alive.”
“You bet your blue ass I’m alive and here you are trying to run away with my money. I can’t have that.”
“How did you survive the Crimson Guard?”
“You mean the Crimson Guard you called on us? Heh, yeah don’t think I didn’t notice that highly suspicious turn of events. You join our group and all of a sudden a surefire job blows up in our faces and then watchers descend on us. Luckily that explosion threw me into the bedroom wall and into the next apartment. Saved my arse.”
Milo furrowed his brows as he pushed himself up to his feet.
“I knew you were a fucking spy, you Valghastian piece of shit.” Rykard continued.
“Shut up Rykard, you moron.” Milo spat out. “I don’t know if you’re actually dense or if you’re just an expert in self-delusion, so let me spell it out for you. You killed a world famous singer and you killed her in Wolverham. You did it on purpose and the reason why Sofia and Brian are dead is because you fucked us!”
“Oh you’re brave all of a sudden, eh?” Rykard sneered as he pulled out a knife. “Well let’s see how well that goes for you.”
Out on the street River sat in the carriage, reading his penny dreadfuls, when he suddenly noticed something. His father had stopped loading the suitcases. He looked out the window and couldn’t see his father anywhere. Surely he couldn’t have gone far, he would be back soon.
Within the alley, Milo pulled out and opened his foldable knife, gripping its hilt with determination.
“Oh you’re a big man now, huh.” Rykard bark. “Let’s see where that gets you.”
Milo offered no words as he knew they would fall upon deaf ears. There was no reasoning with a mad dog. One could only put it down. And so Milo locked eyes with Rykard and raised his arm, pointing the knife at him. Only one of them was going to leave this city today.
