Corrupted blood lord

By sunrise, Zerrik’s blood had dried between the coins on his table.

The cellar no longer resembled a gambling den. Cards, cups, and half-eaten meals had been swept aside, leaving the tables covered with ledgers, maps, coded notes, and lists of names.

Teclos sat in Zerrik’s chair, reading.

The dead man had controlled more than a few pickpockets and smugglers. He collected payments from brothels, gambling rooms, illegal merchants, counterfeiters, and thieves working throughout the southern district. Stable boys told him when wealthy travelers entered the city. Tavern girls reported careless conversations. Beggars watched gates and crossroads in exchange for copper and protection.

Zerrik had possessed eyes everywhere.

He had simply wasted most of them searching for purses to empty.

The thin man who had bowed to Teclos the previous night stood across the table. His name was Harven, and according to the ledgers, he had handled Zerrik’s accounts for nearly six years.

He kept glancing at the bloodstain beside the chair.

Teclos turned another page.

Harven cleared his throat.

"You’ve gone through half of those already."

"Your handwriting is slowing me down."

Harven looked offended for a moment.

"Zerrik understood it."

"Zerrik is dead."

That ended the complaint.

The young pickpocket waited near the stairs. His name was Neri. Someone had washed the dirt from his face, though his clothes remained patched and several sizes too large.

Teclos closed the ledger.

"How many people worked directly for Zerrik?"

Harven considered the question.

"Thirty-two that I paid regularly. A few more came and went."

"How many more?"

"Three, perhaps four. I don’t know whether they’ll come back after hearing what happened."

"And everyone beneath them?"

Harven glanced toward the ledgers.

"That depends on what you count. Thieves, beggars, girls in the taverns, warehouse workers... a few hundred, perhaps."

Teclos leaned back.

"I want the people in charge of them brought here."

Harven’s brows rose.

"All of them?"

"The ones who can make the others listen."

"That would include Korran."

"Should I know who that is?"

"He controls the northern alleys. Or he did under Zerrik." Harven hesitated. "He won’t come because I ask politely."

"Then don’t ask politely. Tell him Zerrik called for him."

Harven looked toward the dried blood.

"He’ll notice Zerrik isn’t here."

"He’ll notice when he arrives."

"And what am I supposed to tell him then?"

"Nothing. Stand out of the way."

Harven thought about that, then bowed and left.

Neri remained near the stairs.

Teclos looked at him.

"You’re still here."

"You told me to carry messages."

"I told you to listen as well."

"I did."

The boy pulled a folded scrap of paper from inside his shirt and placed it on the table.

Teclos opened it.

Three merchants had entered through the eastern gate before dawn. A priest from Alvar had rented a room near the fortress. Two travelers had asked whether the stranger who killed the bandits still kept an old man in chains.

Teclos read the final line twice.

"Who heard them asking?"

"Lina. She works at the Split Cup."

"Did she get their names?"

"No. They wore gray cloaks. One of them spoke like someone from the east."

"What did they pay her to do?"

"Ask around. Find out whether you’re still in the city."

"When was this?"

"Late last night."

Teclos folded the note.

"Find out where they’re staying. Let someone else follow them."

Neri frowned.

"I can do it."

"No."

"I’m good at following people."

"You’re twelve."

"I’m fast."

"And if they catch you, you’ll be a fast corpse."

Neri’s expression changed.

Teclos placed two silver coins on the table.

"One goes to Lina. Give the other to whoever finds their rooms."

Neri swept up the coins.

"What if they leave first?"

"Then I want the gate, the horses, and everyone traveling with them. Don’t guess. Bring me what someone actually saw."

The boy nodded and hurried upstairs.

Teclos watched him leave.

Luther might have sent thralls after him. House Vael’thorr might have stationed informants along the border before Teclos ever crossed it. Even if Luther had not followed personally, the vampire would not forget that one of his servants had broken an absolute pact and escaped with knowledge of his operations.

Someone would come.

Teclos intended to see them first.

—

The first arrivals came before midday.

An old beggar named Brann entered with three men who looked equally worn by the streets. He had a clouded left eye and walked with a stick that concealed a narrow blade.

After him came Maela, who controlled several laundries and rented rooms to women working near the western market. She wore plain clothing, but the rings on her fingers were worth more than the cellar.

A smuggler named Silek arrived through a tunnel beneath the bathhouse rather than using the stairs. Two knife fighters accompanied him.

Last came Korran.

He had controlled the northern alleys for Zerrik and brought twelve armed men into the cellar despite being told to come with two.

Korran saw Teclos in Zerrik’s chair and stopped.

"Where’s Zerrik?"

"He won’t be joining us," Teclos said.

Korran’s gaze dropped to the blood beside the chair.

"You killed him."

"Yes."

Several of his men reached for their weapons.

Harven moved away from the table.

Korran looked around the cellar, perhaps counting who might support him.

Then he looked back at Teclos.

"And you are?"

"The man sitting in his chair."

"That doesn’t answer me."

"It answers the part that matters."

Korran’s mouth twisted.

"I’ve heard about you. Some stranger Veyron sends out whenever he wants bodies piled beside a road."

"Then introductions would be a waste of time."

"You think killing Zerrik gives you his people?"

"No."

Teclos closed the ledger in front of him.

"I think the useful ones will stay. The stupid ones will do something like bringing twelve armed men into my cellar."

Korran’s face hardened.

"My cellar?"

"For the moment."

A few of the men behind him exchanged uncertain glances.

Korran noticed.

"This is what I mean," he said, turning slightly toward them. "He walks in, kills one man, and expects everyone to bend the knee. That might work on bandits in the hills. It won’t work here."

Teclos looked at Korran’s men.

"Is he speaking for all of you?"

No one answered.

Korran drew a knife.

He was fast.

Faster than most people in the cellar expected.

He crossed half the distance before darkness caught his ankle.

Korran struck the floor face-first.

His men began drawing their weapons.

Teclos did not raise his voice.

"Put them away."

Most obeyed, but some didnt.

A thin blade of darkness crossed the room. The first man’s hand fell beside his sword. A tendril caught the second around the throat and slammed him into the ceiling. The third managed one step before his own shadow climbed his body and sealed over his face.

The cellar filled with choking and scraping boots.

Teclos rose.

Korran tried to push himself up, but darkness pinned his wrists to the floor.

Teclos stopped beside him.

"You brought twelve men."

Korran strained against the tendrils.

"They’ll cut you apart."

Teclos glanced toward them.

None moved.

"They don’t seem convinced."

Korran looked at his men.

"Do something!"

One lowered his sword.

The others followed.

Teclos placed his boot between Korran’s shoulders.

The man went still.

"Wait."

Teclos pressed down.

Korran’s spine broke with a dull crack.

No one spoke.

Teclos returned to the table.

"Harven."

The bookkeeper straightened.

"Yes?"

"Remove his name from the ledgers."

Harven looked at Korran’s body.

"And the northern alleys?"

"Split them between Brann and Maela."

Brann raised his eyebrows. Maela merely looked thoughtful.

Silek let out a quiet laugh.

Teclos turned toward him.

"Something funny?"

"Korran spent ten years taking that district from everyone else."

"He should have spent more time keeping it."

Silek’s smile faded.

"I wasn’t objecting."

"Good."

Teclos looked around the room.

"I didn’t bring you here to discuss Korran or collect Zerrik’s debts."

Brann rested both hands on his walking stick.

"Then why are we here?"

"I need information."

Maela folded her arms.

"Zerrik bought information."

"He paid for names of wealthy guests and warehouses with weak locks."

"That was useful to him."

"It isn’t useful to me."

Teclos unfolded Veyron’s map across the table.

"I want everyone entering from Alvar noticed. Priests, nobles, merchants, servants, mercenaries. Especially anyone asking about me or Count Aweq."

At Aweq’s name, several people looked at one another.

Maela was the first to speak.

"What exactly are you expecting to follow you across the border?"

"Vampires. Their servants. Anyone working for House Vael’thorr."

Brann’s good eye narrowed.

"You think one is already inside the city?"

"I think two strangers were paying for information about me last night."

"That doesn’t make them vampires," Silek said.

"No. It makes them the first people we watch."

Teclos pointed toward the eastern gate.

"I want reports of animals found drained of blood. Bodies that don’t decay normally. People disappearing from locked rooms. Guests who never eat, never go out during the day, or buy blood from butchers and apothecaries."

Maela stepped closer to the map.

"Most tavern workers won’t recognize a vampire."

"They don’t have to recognize one."

"Then what are they supposed to report?"

"Anything that doesn’t fit."

Maela waited for more.

Teclos tapped the eastern district.

"A carriage arrives after midnight three nights in a row. A guest pays for food but never touches it. A stable boy notices there’s no mud on a horse that supposedly came from the north road. None of that proves anything."

He moved his hand across the map.

"But if the reports all concern the same person, I want to hear about it."

Harven looked from the map to Teclos.

"You want everything brought here and compared."

"Yes."

"From every district?"

"Eventually."

Harven frowned as he began thinking through the numbers.

"That would be hundreds of reports. Most of them useless."

"Then you sort them."

The bookkeeper looked up.

"Me?"

"You already kept Zerrik’s accounts. You know who lies, who exaggerates, and who brings something worth paying for."

"That is not the same as hunting vampires."

"No. It’s paperwork."

Brann coughed to hide a laugh.

Harven looked less amused.

Teclos pointed toward each of them.

"Brann handles the beggars. Maela takes the taverns, laundries, brothels, kitchens, and rented rooms. Silek keeps the gates, warehouses, and smuggling routes."

"And the thieves?" Maela asked.

"They go where the others can’t."

Brann glanced toward the stairs.

"The children?"

"The ones who can follow orders."

"That removes half of them," Maela said.

"Then use the other half."

Silek looked over the map.

"You’re talking about a great deal of work."

"Yes."

"And payment?"

Teclos pulled Zerrik’s coin chest from beneath the table and opened it.

Silver and gold gleamed beneath the lanterns.

"You keep whatever arrangements you already have. I pay separately for useful reports."

"How much?" Silek asked.

"Silver for something confirmed. Gold if it leads me to someone I’m hunting."

Harven picked up his pen.

"What counts as confirmed?"

"Two witnesses. A name written in an inn ledger. A stable record. Something more than a drunk remembering the wrong face."

"And when someone makes a mistake?"

"They don’t get paid."

"What if they lie?"

Teclos looked toward Korran’s body.

Harven followed his gaze.

"I’ll make a separate column."

Maela picked up one of Zerrik’s ledgers.

"You killed the man holding this place together. Half the alleys will test you before the week ends."

"Let them."

"You cannot kill everyone."

Brann nudged Korran’s body with the end of his stick.

"He won’t need to. By supper, every thief in the southern district will know what happened down here."

Silek glanced at the dead men.

"That should keep them quiet."

"Quiet isn’t useful," Teclos said.

He pushed the open coin chest toward Harven.

The bookkeeper stared at it.

"You’re paying them?"

"For information."

Brann tilted his head.

"And if they’re too frightened to refuse?"

"Fear might stop someone stealing from me. It won’t make him stand outside a gate all night watching strangers."

Teclos tapped the chest.

"Pay for anything useful. More when it leads somewhere. Nothing for tavern gossip dressed up as fact."

Maela studied him.

"You want more than frightened servants."

"I want people to keep working when I’m not in the room."

"Which sounds a great deal like loyalty."

"It sounds like wages."

She smiled slightly.

Teclos ignored it.

"Beggars who can’t spend coin without being robbed get food. If someone is hurt because they reported to us, pay for a healer. If another gang threatens one of our watchers, deal with it."

Silek leaned closer.

"And if dealing with it costs more than the information was worth?"

"Bring me the name."

That answer satisfied him.

—

They spent the afternoon dividing the city.

Harven produced an old sewer map and placed smaller street plans around it. Brann marked the bridges, shrines, and market awnings where beggars slept. Maela added taverns, boarding houses, kitchens, laundries, and rented rooms. Silek knew every warehouse that accepted goods without asking where they came from.

Teclos assigned each district a handler.

Reports would reach the bathhouse cellar twice a day. Urgent information would be left at one of six dead drops throughout the city.

Neri returned while they were choosing the locations.

A length of black thread was tied around one finger.

"The gray-cloaked men are staying at the Lantern House," he said. "Second floor. They paid for three rooms but only sleep in two."

Teclos looked up from the map.

"What’s in the third?"

"I don’t know. The door stays locked."

"Did either of them leave?"

"One went toward the fortress. The other visited an apothecary."

Teclos looked at Maela.

"The Lantern House?"

"I know it."

"Can you put someone inside?"

"I already have a maid there."

Teclos stared at her for a moment.

Maela shrugged.

"You didn’t think Zerrik was the only one listening to guests, did you?"

"What did they buy?" Teclos asked Neri.

"Glass bottles. Preservative salts. Something to keep blood from thickening."

The room quieted.

Silek rested one hand on the table.

"That still doesn’t prove anything."

"I know."

Teclos marked the inn on the map.

"No one enters their rooms. No one speaks to them unless it’s part of their normal work. I want to know who visits, when they leave, and whether either of them goes out during daylight."

Neri nodded.

Brann tapped his stick against the floor.

"I have an old woman near the main gate. The guards step around her every morning without remembering her face."

"Use her."

Neri muttered something.

Teclos heard him.

"You brought useful information twice today. Don’t ruin that by trying to prove you’re impossible to catch."

The boy looked away but stopped arguing.

Teclos studied the people gathered around the maps.

The organization was crude. Most of its members were thieves, drunks, hungry children, and people respectable citizens pretended not to see.

That made them useful.

A noble might notice a knight following him.

No one noticed the boy cleaning mud from his boots.

No merchant feared the washerwoman carrying stained sheets from his rented room. No guard remembered the beggar sleeping near the gate or the serving girl refilling his cup.

The city’s lowest people saw everything.

They had simply never been given a reason to compare what they knew.

Harven opened a clean ledger.

"What do I write at the top?"

"Today’s date."

"I mean the organization."

Teclos looked at him.

"It doesn’t need a name."

Silek shook his head.

"It will have one whether you choose it or not."

"He’s right," Maela said. "People will invent something."

Brann noticed the thread tied around Neri’s finger.

"Black Thread."

Neri looked at his hand.

"Why that?"

Brann caught the loose end between two fingers.

"One thread breaks. Enough of them together can hold something."

"Or choke it," Silek said.

Maela considered the name.

"I’ve heard worse."

Teclos looked around the table.

All of them appeared to be waiting for his approval.

"You’re wasting time."

Harven dipped his pen into the ink.

"Is that a no?"

Teclos exhaled through his nose.

"Call it whatever you like. Just make sure the reports arrive."

Harven wrote the words across the first page.

**The Black Thread.**