“You’d think,” Bill said. “But no, Thren’s alive, at least last I knew. Things have gotten hectic, what with the Sun Guild’s arrival and the Spider Guild’s disbandment.”
Ghost froze, a plain gray shirt held before him to check its size.
“Disbandment?” he asked. “Bill, if you are trying to amuse me…”
“It’s too damn late for jokes,” Bill said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe leading into the storage room. “The Sun Guild’s come in from Mordeina, and they’ve hit like a gods-damned thunderstorm. The Hawk Guild has been fully destroyed along with the Spiders, and both the Shadow Guild and the Serpent Guild are serving like the loyal little bitches that they are. As for the Wolf Guild, from what I’ve been hearing, it should fold within the week. I think the only ones left to fight are the Ash, but honestly, they’re fighting a hopeless struggle. Anyone can see that, and I’m sure they do too, hence why they’ve been lying low.”
“So, we trade one rat for another,” Ghost said. “Does the difference really matter in the end? Either way, the city remains filled with vermin.”
Bill shrugged.
“At least we used to know who the rats were. This Darkhand fellow is a giant mystery to most of us. When you’re in the business of killing, mysteries are rarely a good thing.”
Ghost removed his old shirt and replaced it with the new one. It was overly tight, but he flexed his arms a few times until it stretched. In the next crate, he found a stack of four breeches, and taking the biggest, he put them on next. Bill crossed his arms and turned away to give him some privacy.
“What can you tell me about the Gemcrofts?” Ghost asked as he tightened its drawstring, then grabbed a pair of boots he’d found during his scavenge.
“Alyssa’s still running things there, though not for long.” Bill turned back around, and he looked glum as he continued. “That crazy woman’s been great to our guild, always kept things interesting, but she’s in over her head now. Some sick man took out her eyes, left her blind. Her mother’s been steadily taking over responsibility, especially given Nathaniel’s age.”
“Nathaniel?”
“Her son.”
Ghost grunted, finished tying the boots, and then continued with his search for supplies. If Melody Gemcroft was coming to him to kill Alyssa’s protector as a way to ensure Melody’s ascension, then Bill was right about Alyssa’s days being numbered. His role looked to be little more than paving the way for whatever else Melody had planned. He wondered if she would come to him afterward, ask him to deal with Nathaniel or Alyssa herself. The idea put a twist in his stomach, but given the freedom Melody had brought to him, what did a few more killings matter?
“Do you have a mirror?” Ghost asked as he found a weapon rack hanging on the wall, and his eyes lit up at seeing the many swords.
“In here somewhere.”
“Help me find it.”
Bill began rummaging, and as he did Ghost pulled two similarly sized swords from the rack, tested their weight. They felt a bit heavy, but he knew his time in the dungeon was more to blame for that than the swords themselves. His arms would grow stronger, their weight less noticeable in time. Beneath the rack was a box with old sword belts, and he grabbed one, looped it around his waist, and slid both sheathed blades into it.
“Here you are,” Bill said, coming over from the corner.
Ghost grabbed it, then returned to the front of the guildhouse to stand in the light of the candles. When he could see, he drew one of his swords, lifted the mirror, and examined his face. He’d never been capable of growing much hair on his face, and in the four years of capture, his uneven beard was disgusting to behold. Slowly, Ghost scraped the blade’s edge along his face, slicing away the growth and congealed bits of white paint. Bill watched in silence, his arms crossed, until Ghost began cutting at his hair.
“If you’re going to shave your head, do it right,” Bill said, retrieving a small satchel from underneath his desk and tossing it to him. “Use a damn razor like a civilized man.”
Ghost flashed him a grin.
“Civilized,” he said. “Is that what you think I am?”
Still, the razor was small and sharp, and it cut across his scalp smoothly. It took some time, and he could see how annoyed Bill was at having the dirty hair fall upon his floor, but when he was done, Ghost felt more relieved than he had in ages. He turned side to side, scanning his face in the mirror. There were scars around his neck now, and a thinness to his cheeks that only time and plentiful food would remove. His eyes in particular were sunken inward and rimmed with dark circles. The gaunt look was unnerving, he had to admit.
Taking the box of paint Melody had given him out from his pocket, he dipped his fingers inside and began to smear it across his newly shaven face. Thicker and thicker he spread the paint, whitening him, hiding him. The last thing he wanted his opponents to see was himself, not with how sick and tired he felt. He needed to be the killer again, the brutal hunter no one could escape. With his swords, his clothes, his paint, he was as close to that as he’d been since being thrown into the Connington dungeons, and as the last of the paint spread across his neck, he let out a wide smile.
“How do I look?” he asked, setting down the mirror.
“Like your old self,” Bill said.
“And for that, I have you to thank.” Ghost dipped his head in respect. “Keep quiet about my return. Once my tasks are over, I plan on traveling far from Veldaren, and if I can, I’d like to ensure no one can follow me.”
“Of course,” Bill said. “Besides, who would believe me? All they’d think is that an old man saw himself a ghost in his sleep.”
He grinned at his own joke, and Ghost slapped the man across the shoulder.
“A shame we never fought side by side,” he said. “No doubt you were a fine mercenary.”
“Best this sorry guild ever saw.”
Before Ghost could leave, Bill returned to the front, used a key from his pocket to unlock a drawer, and then pulled out a small bag tied shut with string.
“Take it,” Bill said. “It’ll rent you a room for a bit, buy you meals when you must. And find yourself a washbasin. Even for a man of the streets, you reek.”
“The guild will not be happy with its disappearance,” said Ghost, accepting the offer.
Bill laughed.
“You don’t get it, Ghost. That there is a death bag, for families of those who die on the job. You had no family and so we kept it, but now I daresay that coin belongs to you. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Ghost flashed him a smile.
“The guild has no idea how lucky it is to have a man like you.”
“Perhaps. Before you go … you promised me a question.”
“I did,” Ghost said. “So ask it, and I promise to answer the best I can.”
Bill clapped his hands together, clearly nervous. Bobbing his head up and down, almost like an old bird, he finally asked his question.
“Where have you been all this time?”
Ghost thought it over, the years, the tortures, the dungeon cell. It seemed impossible to explain it all, nor did he desire to. So, he kept it simple, and gave the only answer that mattered.
“Darkness.”
And with that, he stepped out into the night, and he breathed in the air like a man newly awoken.
“Zusa,” he said, testing out the name of his prey. The Watcher and the Eschaton were both formidable opponents, but this woman was unknown to him. He’d take his time, gather his strength before challenging them, but until then, he knew he should find out more about his mystery target. As Bill adeptly put it, in the killing business, mysteries were rarely a good thing. More often than not, they got you killed.
Well, if Zusa was Alyssa’s watchdog, then there was only one real place to expect her to be. Ghost followed the street north for a mile, keeping his eyes open for the various thief guilds as he did. At the height of the war between the Trifect and the thief guilds, Ghost knew he could have spotted at least one man or woman keeping watch in practically every road. Now, though, he found himself feeling more and more alone. Where were the guilds? Where were their watchful eyes? When the Sun Guild destroyed them, did they have no intention of replacing their numbers with their own?