Baltukhasar - Went Out At Night

Baltukhasar went out at night. He left by the roof instead of the old well. It made him easy to spot. Fine. Baltukhasar's supernatural senses were alive to threats and opportunities hiding in darkness. He picked out bodies lingering where they didn't belong. If those bodies showed no reaction to his movements, he ignored them. If they reacted, he circled behind, dropped down, and ended the problem before it began.

Twenty years of prosperity had allowed corruption to take root in Great Yao. That gave the corrupt a false sense of security. They believed laws only existed to protect their gains from peasants and the crown. That wasn't wrong. But the corrupt overestimated how much Baltukhasar would respect the letter of the law while enforcing its spirit.

Snapping bones were the sweet music of justice to his sensitive ears.

Baltukhasar could not blink around like flashier mhoddim practitioners, but he moved fast the old fashioned way. Very fast. Going vertical on anything that wasn't polished stone also came easily to him. It did not take long for the Circuit Chief to circle his residence and eliminate the Earl's spies.

It didn't take long for him to return to the city's book district, either.

Kadar-Jormu's intellectual community was not large by the standards of eastern cities, but it was larger than might be expected in the underdeveloped northwest. Ancient ruins dotted the landscape, and the region was filled with many splendors to attract painters and naturalists alike. Jian Peak Abbey, the most pretentious martial order, was not far west of Kadar-Jormu Citadel. Sitting on a rock near the River Aleph's upper falls, the Abbey's view was called the most beautiful in Great Yao. Of course, as the most literate sect, Jian Peak Abbey wrote more travelogues than all other sects combined.

Baltukhasar was not looking for beauty that evening. He was looking for a skilled forger. The wolf had a scent of paper and ink. Legitimate uses for those materials existed. Killing anyone who had a bit of either was too much even for Baltukhasar. Stockpiles not held by stationary supply vendors were suspect, however, especially when those stockpiles were underground. Although Baltukhasar felt comfortable with the idea of killing everyone in such a place, it was still important to pick the right subterranean lair. He wanted the Earl of Kadar-Jormu to know that his operation specifically was being singled out – and that the letter of the Emperor's Law would not save him.

Baltukhasar listened for words and expressions most likely to be used by aristocratic overseers. He also listened for the rustle of fine silk, and sniffed for expensive fragrances. Extending his tongue, he tasted wine. When ink, paper, silk, perfumes, and wine came together in one place, that was the place where the Circuit Chief would start killing.

The establishment resembled a high-end printing shop.

It even served that purpose during daylight hours. Under cover of darkness, Baltukhasar dove in through the back. Half a second later, he was up and aiming for two middle-age men in fine clothes. They had been reminiscing about all the money they made. A second later, they died in showers of gore. Blood splattering parquet floors was the abstract expressionism of justice.

There was no obvious way down into the underground. But passages hidden from sight were not hidden from Baltukhasar. Unusual dust patterns and scratches blinked at him like lights spelling "this way." In addition, he could feel air moving through empty spaces. Baltukhasar smashed through a false wall and rolled down some stairs.

Rolling dives were more efficient than feet in such cases. 

The Royal Guard's Jade Wall Iron Fist style was meant for fighting in confined spaces. Baltukhasar's brutal modifications of that style were even more suited to it. The caravanserai had been a good venue for his boxing, but this forger's den was ideal. A warren of narrow corridors and small rooms expanded farther underground than the printing shop overhead. The only other passageway up, however, led to an alley.

Encountering no unexpected mhoddim practitioners, it scarcely took the Circuit Chief a minute to tear through a dozen men. Although the last few knew something was up, awareness only increased the duration of their terror. It did not save their lives. 

Baltukhasar gave his prey no time to speak. He knew what they would say. An unbroken string of excuses would explain that everything was someone else's fault. Some despicable person forced them to perform despicable acts. They had no choice. If only they were given a chance to redeem themselves, they would make amends. Then they would plot and scheme to get back into the game and Baltukhasar would just have to kill them later.

Filth should not be given second chances.

Neither should the pious idiots who insisted on giving filth second chances.

A pious idiot might insist that Baltukhasar once behaved shamefully and had been given a second chance. The Circuit Chief would not quibble with the accusation that he had behaved shamefully. But he had not been given a second chance. His royal status had been extinguished.

That counted as losing one life.

Baltukhasar looked through bloody clothing. He wanted anything that might lead to his next prey. There were a few official tokens and trinkets. Documents in the process of being forged provided more clues. Deeds identified property being targeted for coercive acquisition. Bogus buffalo licenses could help identify buyers of poached game.

There were even fake edicts authorizing excavation of ancient sites. That was curious.

Baltukhasar considered setting it all on fire, but changed his mind.

He didn't want to punish legitimate businesses for being adjacent to, or on top of, filth. It would also be useful for Kadar-Jormu's authorities to find the evidence. The Earl would suppress it, but that effort would burn favors.

Hold on. Baltukhasar caught the whiff of a different kind of ink.

Infused with orichalcum powder, it was ink used in arcane texts and scrolls. He moved slowly searching for the source. The books were not openly displayed. Baltukhasar examined the warren's walls. The lower rooms had been excavated from the fill Kadar-Jormu's engineers used to level the ramp built by ancient giants. The walls were mostly brick, but fancier rooms had paneling. 

Baltukhasar tapped on a panel. The resonances behind it sounded uninteresting. Yes, there was a gap, but it was not an unreasonable gap. Baltukhasar's nose insisted the books were near. He continued tapping until the sound changed. He had not found a larger gap – but more wood. He knew there was a button somewhere.

Poking it would open the panel in the correct way.

Baltukhasar was not a fussy burglar and didn't feel like looking for the button. There were always at least two ways to get inside a hidden and trapped compartment. Baltukhasar smashed through wood paneling to his right. Then he grabbed the broken wood and pulled. Hard. He continued smashing and pulling until some mechanisms were revealed.

Then he switched to the other side of the room and ripped away wood until more mechanisms were revealed. They were made out of brass. Baltukhasar grabbed a few and yanked. Hidden ceramic canisters broke. The room was filled with poison gas. Poison was one of the least painful ways for Baltukhasar to experience death without dying. It just gave him a headache.

He tore away the last wood paneling.

It revealed sturdy wooden cabinets set into the wall. Expecting more traps, Baltukhasar tore out wood along one side. Once he had enough space for his arm, he reached behind and yanked the inset cabinets forward. They crashed face first onto the floor. Baltukhasar opened then from behind. There were several books – and more scrolls. With nothing to carry them in, Baltukhasar pulled the robes off a dead man, tossed the books and scrolls on those, bundled them up, and left the way he came.

Back in his official residence, he examined his loot. Baltukhasar had been well-educated in Jade Palace Mound. The books and scrolls were copies. That much was clear. The contents appeared convincing, however. Old books were his older brother's thing more than his. 

Baltukhasar selected a thin book full of weird diagrams and packaged it.

Then he went to sleep.

In the morning, his men reported a commotion in the book district. Baltukhasar smiled. It was too early to send the package back to Tianming Town, however. He would wait a couple of weeks. Around noon, an unexpected visitor arrived from Jian Peak Abbey. 

Baltukhasar received the old man cordially.

Jian Peak Abbey had the fewest monks of Sacred Mountain Conclave's sects. They were all fops and dandies. Some were male escorts. But they were also really good with blades, most particularly short swords and long knives.

This old man was their Prior – the second in command. He looked worried.

"What can I do for you, Prior?" asked Baltukhasar.

"Jian Peak Abbot is dead," the man replied.

Baltukhasar blinked.

"How?" he asked.

"It appears he died in his sleep."

"Wasn't he only forty?"

"Forty two," said the man.

"That's…," said Baltukhasar.

He wasn't sure what it was.

"Suspicious," said the Prior. "Our monks excel at painting, calligraphy, pleasure, and cutting people into neat cubes which are all the same size. We do not have experience with crime scene investigations."

"But you do think there was a crime?"

"Circuit Chief," said the Prior, "our Abbot was terrifying. The idea that he couldn't survive a night's sleep is difficult to accept."

"But so is the idea that someone could kill him," said Baltukhasar. "Poison?"

"No sign," said the Prior. "I'm going to Tianming Town to alert the disciples we have there, as well as to check on some of my own suspicions. I don't want to prejudice you by sharing speculation. Please, Circuit Chief, head to Jian Peak. If there is a trail to catch, it won't last long."

"Fine," said Baltukhasar. "In return, take this book to the Crown Prince – and kill anyone who tries to stop you."

The Prior smiled.

"I haven't cut anyone into neat cubes in a long time," he said. "I hope I haven't lost my touch."