Den of Stars. Christopher Byford

contemplate … to do anything I so wish. With enough time you can raise the grandest of ambitions from nothing.’

      ‘That doesn’t sound so great to me. Get enough of that and you’ll be reduced to bones right here. I can imagine better things to smile about.’

      ‘You miss the bigger picture.’ Wilheim tilted his head to the side, his eyes momentarily flicking behind the Bluecoat and back again. ‘Time allows one to achieve a great many things. You can reclaim that which people have taken from you. You can organize repercussions for the ones who have wronged you. With enough time a broken empire can be re-formed. All one needs is patience.’

      The Bluecoat exhaled in boredom. It may have been one of the more eloquent rants he had been subjected to, but it was still delivered by a crook behind bars.

      ‘Then you’ve got plenty of time to think on such things.’

      The guard went to turn, though he froze in doing so quite quickly. The smile upon Wilheim’s face had gone, replaced with a bitter, nasty scowl. The air turned cold in the space between them.

      ‘I’m going to take an educated guess,’ Wilheim said, taking a pair of steps towards the bars. ‘You were assigned especially to watch over me, correct? The sheriff has considerable trust in you – you’ve no doubt been close to him on many an occasion. I imagine he deems you to be steadfast. Honourable. Infallible. Which is why you were given this most prestigious task.’

      ‘Something like that.’ He frowned in curiosity. Where was he going with this?

      ‘I imagine it was down to that raid you performed with him on the illicit bootleggers, where you saved the life of the good sheriff and two of his captains. I imagine that would have gained said trust.’

      The Bluecoat turned pale.

      ‘H-how did you know that?’ he stammered.

      Wilheim stepped forward once more. ‘Time, as I said. Time to look into my circumstances – with the assistance of others loyal to me of course. For instance, I know that you are married to the rather fetching Darleen and live in something I would consider no bigger than a shoebox. You are proud of your eldest son, since he shows interest in following your misguided footsteps. You are forthright, admired by plenty, with a badge for your steadfast, incorruptible nature.’

      Wilheim stood a scant foot from the bars, his eyes glancing behind to the uniformed colleagues who busied themselves.

      ‘You guard me because the sheriff knows that if I offered you a bribe to secure my freedom, your unshakable character would ensure that you would decline it.’

      The Bluecoat swallowed as Wilheim delivered the end of his piece.

      ‘But your friends wouldn’t.’

      The first knife sank into the Bluecoat’s back, deep and between the shoulders. The second slipped around the bare nape of his neck, emptying its contents and robbing the man of breath. He collapsed onto the floor, twitching a few times until remaining still for good. Blood pooled beneath the corpse, reddening his uniform.

      All the while Wilheim showed no measure of emotion in his face. Instead he gave his thanks to the pair of now loyal Bluecoats who had carried out the deed, now unlocking the cell with a ring of keys.

      He stepped into the corridor, quite careful not to get his shoes soaked in the ever-growing puddle of crimson, listening to the erratic pops of gunfire on the floor above. Everything was going perfectly to plan. His contingencies were now paying off.

      Wilheim had used his time to forge revenge against those who had wronged him.

      Now, he would utilize his new-found freedom to administer it.

      In the two years between the then and the now, Wilheim was true to his word.

       Chapter 2

      The Hare herself

      Landusk was one of the first settlements to have developed in the Sand Sea. Scores of migrants from the mountainous territories in the north first created a trading village for trappers who sold exotic beasts found in the wastelands as pets, livestock, or for private zoos.

      It soon exploded with success and in turn thrived with housing. Tall gothic buildings were crammed together, dirty, gas-lit streets threaded between them, with sharp corners and eccentric roads. Roofs dominated the skyline with twisted and pointed apexes; lines of windows, shuttered with accompanying iron balconies, flickered with candlelight.

      Built upon a foundation of rock, the city was erected in the desert with deep recesses in the sand dunes, a good hundred foot deep in places, making it a veritable island. The only means of accessing the city, by either foot or rail, was a series of bridges that straddled the gulfs. Unable to build out, the inhabitants instead built up.

      As was the nature of such things, generations of labourers were broken through dangerous, unforgiving work, all to line the pockets of the elite. The rich became richer and the impoverished simply endured their circumstances, for the alternative outside of the city’s walls ensured the people of Landusk that there was no better place to go.

      Times were difficult all round. What people needed was a little respite.

      Monday morning was as uneventful as any other before it. The sun still struggled to cast its luminescence into Landusk’s streets, contrasting bright, brilliant light in some districts with deep shadow swallowing others. People went about their routines unaware of what was about to occur. Vendors managed their stores. Merchants bartered their wares at market. Grocers yelled excitedly about their prices. The mailmen went about delivering the post.

      But it was today when the mailmen, who did things in their usual manner, were unknowingly the catalyst of a considerably exciting event.

      In the upper districts, where the aristocrats and well-off resided, one mailman reached into his sack and withdrew a brick of string-bound black envelopes. Each one was decorated with gold accents on the edges, the backs sealed with white wax, the insignia a curtailed sun and three prominent stars. He had noticed the curiosity back in the sorting office, handed to him before he began his route. All of the addresses listed were on his rounds, all neatly written in perfect white script, so unburdening himself of further curiosity he set about delivering them one by one.

      The letters patiently waited on mats and in post boxes for their owners to claim them, who then studied their exteriors as much as the postman. None of the recipients were familiar with such stationery and were especially perplexed at the seal on the letter’s reverse, for it belonged to no one they had corresponded with in the past, nor any in the social circles in which they travelled.

      Each envelope was cracked open delicately as if the recipients were fearful to damage such a beautiful façade, though they queried what action they had performed that warranted such theatrics.

      The slip of paper inside, deftly double folded and matching the black envelope, had been added with equal care. Neatly scribed over the surface in white ink, the contents provided little in the way of answers:

       Dear Sir,

       I have great pleasure to inform you that the Morning Star will be present on Sunday 7 p.m. at Redmane train station.

       My entourage and I present to you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be in its presence.

       Your attendance is my fondest wish.

       With deepest respect,

       The Hare

      The invitations were met with fascination. Those who had received them sought other recipients, discovering a pattern of those in high standing or significantly moneyed. Their speculations, despite having considerable resources, came up with nothing solid, only gin-soaked whispers that drunkards spread for attention. What was the Morning Star and who was its ambassador?

      It