The Literary Diversions of K.T. Lazarus

Below, enjoy the fourth and final serving of this taster. Interested in more? Stay tuned for the full release of Umbra, available for purchase on most e-book platforms next Friday, December 1st!

-KTL

Sir Janus von Affeldt, First of his Name, stepped onto the field of the Grand Arena and spread his arms wide, spinning slowly to a smattering of quickly hushed jeering. He chuckled and took his place between the two marble pillars he was tasked to protect. 

“You can hate me now, it won’t matter,” he said under his breath. “You’ll shower me with adoration before the day is through.”

He smiled and nodded to his wary opponent, a rookie Third from House Mayhew who’d gained respect in the tournament circuit over the last year, having won three of his last five appearances. They both saluted Crispin and the three ladies of honor, headed today by Duchesse Valeria, and then the Stratan king and queen, seated in the royal box alongside von Affeldt’s father. 

He noted with amusement his father’s other neighbor: the retired Commander-General of the Stratan Army, the Bloody Lord Marshall himself. The two were engaged in what appeared a jovial conversation, as though they had forgotten the three failed attempts on his father’s life the Lord Marshall’s assassins had made—as well as the two his family had authorized in response.

The Duchesse declared that as a visiting dignitary and guest of honor, the right of the first strike must be granted to Sir Janus, who graciously bowed in acceptance. Crispin’s voice boomed out, declaring the match begun, and the duelists began to chant in Ancient. Janus rapidly formed his spell, a new one he’d designed especially for this tournament. Ignoring the extra power he could achieve by channeling the spell through his saber, he wove in a matter of moments a second and then third level of complexity upon an otherwise simple assault. Before Crispin’s voice had finished echoing through the arena, Janus extended his arms toward his opponent’s pillars and released two bristling vortexes of energy.

Mayhew’s eyes flew wide mid-preparation for his counter-spell. Janus knew he was a promising duelist, but still green: he would have trained extensively to combat brute force when equipped with a saber, but failed to consider that an opponent might forgo that power in exchange for speed. With only a split second to react before he’d be struck for two points, he spat out a hasty deflection and sliced with his saber, aiming to ward off at least one of the blasts. Too late, he realized the intent of the additional complexities in von Affeldt’s spell: though they were initially aimed at his pillars, the rotations of both vortexes were aimed in his direction. As his deflection streaked toward the path of one, the vortexes caught against the ground and changed direction, careening in and blasting Mayhew off his feet.

The crowd fell into a deathly silence as the booming of magic faded away, the spectators struck dumb by what was likely the shortest match in tournament history, and then the moment passed and the arena erupted with applause. Sir Janus bowed to the Duchesse and her Ladies of Honor, and then to their Majesties, who were applauding enthusiastically. He watched with a smirk as Lord Marshall laughed raucously and clapped his father on the back, handing over a pair of platinum notes. With a final bow and flourish of his dueling cape for the audience, he retired from the field.

---

Well, John, here it is. The job you’ve been looking for.

The man known only as Dun stepped into the glare outside the warehouse, and hurried across the street to pass under an arch into the dark of one of Foundation’s countless alleyways, speaking to a man who no longer existed. Jonathon Falloway, Second of his Name, had been a respectable noble; an accomplished duelist; an officer in the Royal Army. That name now lived on only in Dun’s mind, taken from him along with the rest of his speech by the shrapnel that had ripped through the left side of his skull. Waking up in a Fierlyndian army hospital invalid ward, he had found himself capable of uttering only a single syllable.

“Dun,” he said again the first word he’d spoken in his new life, as he navigated toward a more recognizable street. Though he only very rarely spoke it anymore, his inexplicable connection to the word had transformed it into a mantra of sorts for him—a keyword to help him cut through rampant thoughts and frustrations, freeing his mind to think clearly.

You are right, Carrows, your reputation precedes you here in the undercity—though your employer is not as mysterious as you think. It is good to finally put a face to your name. It will make you easier to find when it comes time to shove a blade down your throat.

“Dun,” he repeated, and pushed the dark thoughts to the back of his mind. He had a job to run, and it was time to collect the pieces of his puzzle.

He spotted her in one of her usual haunts, leading some clueless Fourth or Fifth into the dark. Tournament days, she was guaranteed to be working late. By the time he’d caught up to them in the alley, she was already on her knees getting ready for her ‘payment first’ line. Not particularly eager to be the awkward other guy in the alleyway when the mark got left behind with a hard-on and swollen testicles, Dun went for the simple approach. He picked up a brick from the litter on the ground, walked up silently behind the man, and clocked him over the head. Lily sprang back in surprise as her prey crumpled to the ground, knives at the ready, and then relaxed when she saw him.

“Oh hi Dun, good to see you too, we should catch up sometime—I had that under control you prick!” She pulled the unconscious man’s notebook out of her waistline and riffled through its contents, then stuffed it back into a pocket in her sash. “How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone when I’m working?”

He shrugged and spat on the ground; a rude gesture from most, but from Dun she knew it to be a sign of indifference.

“I like my marks clueless and confused, not waking up from a concussion knowing they’ve been robbed,” she continued.

You could always just simply pick-pocket them and be done with it, instead of putting on the show of being a whore.

“I don’t need the constables to be looking for me—you may get along fine as a wanted criminal, but I prefer to maintain some amount of respectability and dignity.”

Why do you go to the extra trouble and danger? The money isn’t even the reason you’re doing this, is it? You do it all because of the show.

He knew it was linked to the way he’d found her, a sixteen year old demoiselle from Strata being assaulted by two young lordlings in the unseen depths of Foundation. One of them was dead and the other dying quickly by the time he carried her away to the nearest doctor—little more than an old man in a crumbling shop who had read a few medical textbooks and had a hook up for narcotics on the black market. He’d never learned why she was there to begin with, or who the two men he’d killed were. Even had he been capable of asking, he wasn’t sure he would do so.

No, you do it because one of these days, one of your marks is going to take unkindly to being turned down and try to take what he wants anyway, and you’re going to get to use those sharp little knives I gave you.

He stepped over the concussed noble and followed Lily out the back of the alley.

“Well, let’s go get some food then, creep. My treat. Mark there was made of platinum.”

Dun rarely hurt for money, but he let her treat him to dinner anyway because he knew she liked to. It was her way of thanking him for teaching her how to survive the undercity—that, or of reminding him that she was doing just fine on her own, and didn’t need his damn opinions on how to run her cons anymore. Honestly, he could never quite tell which it was these days.

She took him to a rice shop and ordered two bowls of chicken. Picking up a clump of rice with her sticks, she said, “So, you’ve got a job.” He placed a steaming piece of chicken in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Must be a good one too, if you’re coming to me for help. Dangerous?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Money?”

“Fifty.”

She whistled between her teeth. “Fifty thousand is a good-sized pile of money to be splitting. I’m liking the sound of this.”

He shook his head, pointing at her. “Fifty.” Her face went blank as the information processed. Not fifty thousand marks to be split. Fifty thousand marks was her share of the split.

She wouldn’t need to work for a year.

But you’re not stupid, Lily. You know a job with that much money behind it is going to have baggage attached as well.

“How bad is it? Will I still be able to show my face around the constables afterward?”

He shrugged. “Grab.”

“An abduction,” she nodded, pushing her chicken around the bed of rice beneath it. “Risky, but nothing a mask can’t handle.”

Dun raised a single grain of rice with his sticks and considered it before him. Squeezing lightly, he sheared the grain in half, either side falling down to the sidewalk. “Kill.”

She looked up at him sharply.

“An assassination.”

He nodded slowly. Now you understand.

“But an abduction beforehand, meaning someone’s getting framed.”

Clever girl.

Lily turned back to her food, plucked up a single grain of rice herself, and then slowly sheared it apart the same as he had done. “I’m in.”

Artwork by K. T. Lazarus